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forhappysake · 7 months

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What Lurks Within, Pt. 3

Author's Note: I know this is only my first series, but I'm having soooo much fun with it. This section offers some more background on Y/N's past with the team. If you love lore, this is for you!

Content: When the team gets a lead from the local department's tech analyst, they're forced to look into a questionable detective with a long history of complaints against him. Before they can talk to him, they've got to get him to the precinct, triggering some hard memories from the past as old fears reemerge.

Warnings: Mentions of harassment/sexism in the workplace, brief mentions of Cat Adams and Scratch, mentions of past trauma, established relationship... I think that's pretty much it!

After the detective stormed out of the precinct, the team slowly shuffled out of the conference room into the main bullpen. The young tech worker, evidently named Richie, bent over his shattered monitor. “My poor screen,” he mumbled, bending down to pick up a shard of glass on the floor.

“Richie,” I said, “I’m Agent L/N with the BAU. I’d like to know what all that was about.” I feigned ignorance. I wanted to hear it from Richie’s perspective, and I didn’t want him to know Whittenden had already discussed the matter with Spencer and I.

Richie sighed, standing up straight and rubbing the back of his neck nervously. “You see, when I get files from my bosses, I don’t read them, let alone open them. I just sent them on to whatever department they’re meant for.” I nodded in response, and Richie continued. “The detective thinks I messed with his files, but I didn’t! I swear! I have no reason to…” Richie trailed off, getting distracted by his broken monitor littered over the office carpet. “I can’t believe he did that.”

“Do you know anyone who would have a reason to alter Whittendon’s files?” Emily asked, making her way to the front of the group standing in the conference room doorway.

Richie shook his head. “Look, I’m just the tech guy. I send emails and fix computers. I don’t get involved in all the office drama and crime stuff.” Emily and I made brief eye contact. How can you avoid the “crime stuff” while working in a police department?

“Anyway, I have a hell of a mess to clean up now… If you’ll excuse me…” Richie bent down to the floor, picking up shards of shattered monitor and trying to find any missing pieces that had gone askew on the floor. I sighed at the next dead lead. I made my way back to the team, and just as I started to rejoin the team in the conference room, Richie’s voice came from behind me. “Agent L/N?”

“Yeah, Richie?” I asked, turning around to face him.

“You didn’t hear this from me, but I know Detective Andrews has been after Whittenson’s job for months,” Richie shifted nervously on his feet, looking around the office with paranoia evident in his eyes.

I narrowed my eyes, and nodded. “Thank you, Richie. We’ll look into that.” So much for never partaking in water-cooler gossip. The young man nodded, continuing to pick up pieces of the monitor scattered on the floor.

I rejoined the team in the conference room, shutting the door behind me once again. “Did you guys hear that?” I asked.

“I did,” said Emily, “I’m getting Garcia on the phone right now.” Clicking her contact and turning her phone on speaker, Emily set her phone in the middle of the table. After two rings, a bubbly voice came over the other line.

“Hello, my pretties. How is Denver?” Penelope said. I could almost hear the smile on her lips, and I felt a small smile cross my own face.

“It’s okay, Garcia. We need your help,” Emily answered.

There was a moment of silence as I heard Garcia click around on her computer before she spoke again, “I am at your service, my fine-feathered FBI friends. Tell me what you need to do.”

Emily spoke again, “We need details on a Detective Andrews at the Denver Police Department, preferably anything to do with a recent promotion that he may have missed out on.” I heard Penelope clicking away on her computer.

“Uh-huh… anything else?” Penelope asked.

“Not for now. Have you found anything off the bat?” Emily questioned. She crossed her arms in front of her, staring intently at the cell phone. Spencer sat at the head of the table, leg tapping in anticipation.

“Sending it to your tablets now,” Penelope said. We all heard our tablets buzz from their respective positions on the conference room’s large table. Reaching forward, I opened the file Penelope had sent. A headline caught my attention first: “Detective Ryan Whittendon named Head Homicide Detective for Denver P.D.” I scanned the article quickly, looking for anything about Detective Andrews, when a line of text caught my eye:

“The decision for who would take over as Head Detective was a struggle. The Department was forced to choose between Whittendon, who has served with the Department for 3 years, and Jason Andrews, who has been with the Department for nearly 15 years. The Department made its decision based on success rates of case-closed and input from other office employees.”

“Yikes,” I heard Spencer mumble. He set his tablet down, scanning the faces of our other team members.

“No kidding,” said Rossi, “working here for 15 years and getting passed over for the newbie… I bet that didn’t go over well.”

“So what does this mean?” Luke asked, “Is this guy our unsub?”

“I don’t know about that,” I piped up. “With over fifteen years in law enforcement, becoming a serial killer would require a major personality change.” Matt and Spencer nodded in agreement.

I saw Rossi shrug. “You’d be surprised what people would do when they feel unappreciated. They feel unseen, and they lash out in any way they can to be seen,” he said.

“Regardless,” Emily stepped in, “we need to meet with Jason Andrews immediately. Garcia, do you have his home address available?”

“Sending it to you now,” Penelope said again. “Be safe, my friends.” With that, Penelope’s end of the line went dead. Our tablets buzzed once again, this time with Andrews’ address.

“Okay, here’s how we’re going to do this.” Emily paced around the room, formulating a plan. “Luke and Matt, you’re going to go pick up Jason Andrews. Bring him here and get him situated in an interview room. Spencer and Y/N, I want you to follow behind them as a back up team in case things get ugly when they try to bring Andrews in.” “You’ve got it, boss,” Luke said. He rose to his feet, as Matt followed suit. The two of them headed out the conference room door and exited the precinct. Spencer backed his seat away from the table, standing up and heading for the conference room door.

“Y/N,” he said, “are you coming?” I stared straight ahead of me, not quite making out what he said. I had an uneasy feeling growing in my stomach. I was never one to be overly superstitious, but I did believe in my instinct, and I was almost never wrong.

“I don’t know about this, Emily,” I said. She furrowed her brow, looking at me with concern. I was never one to question her decisions or turn down the chance to chase after a bad guy.

“What’s wrong, L/N?” she asked, coming to rest a hand on my shoulder.

“I just… I don’t know. I just have a bad feeling.” I felt Emily’s eyes rake over me before she looked at Spencer. The two made eye contact before they both looked back at me. “Y/N,” Spencer said again, leaning down so that we were eye level. “Nothing bad is going to happen. We’re just going to pick this guy up and bring him back here so we can talk to him.” The logical part of my brain knew he was right. The guy was a current police detective, surely there was no danger in that.

“I- I’m sorry,” I said, “I don’t know what’s come over me.” I stood from my seat. “Excuse me, I’m going to use the restroom before we go.” I exited the conference room without waiting for either of them to reply, brushing past Spencer and making quick work of the long hallway to the bathroom. I slipped in the door, and found myself staring deep into my own eyes. The reflection in the mirror seemed so foreign, so distant.

I took deep breaths, collecting myself and drying my eyes with a paper towel before tears started to drip out of my eyes. After a couple more seconds of solitude, I left the bathroom, walking slowly back towards the conference room. The door was still cracked open, and I could hear muffled voices inside.

“I’m just worried about her. You know she isn’t fully over everything that happened, Spencer,” Emily’s voice spoke in a hushed volume. I creased my brow. Were they talking about me?

I heard Spencer sigh, followed by a long silence before he replied. “The whole thing messed us all up pretty bad. She’s better, just like we’re all doing better,” he said. The whole thing… Cat… Scratch… part of my life that felt like a pure hell.

Emily spoke again, interrupting my thoughts, “I know, Spencer. You went through a lot, I went through a lot, but you have to acknowledge that she went through her own unique trauma as well.” You mean being psychologically tortured by a maniac before going through the physical trauma of a life-altering car accident? What’s unique about that?

“She’d only been a team member for six months when the two of you started dating. She’d only been here for a year when Cat forced her into that interrogation room and made her endure the whole night with you. Within hours of that, she was in that awful car crash with the rest of us…” Silence took over once more. “All I’m saying is, I know it’s been a few months since then, but those invisible wounds don’t heal in a few months. You should know that better than anyone.”

A long pause filled the room. I held my breath and kept silent outside the door, waiting for what would be spoken next. “Look,” Spencer broke the silence, “I know what she went through was horrendous and unfair. I think about it every day-” I heard his voice break a bit, bringing tears to my eyes once again. I heard him draw in a shaky breath before continuing, “But she is strong, and sidelining her is not going to make it any better. That’s what I do know.”

I decided it was time to stop eavesdropping and to stop letting other people decide my fate. I stepped forward, pushing open the door. I took in Spencer’s glassy eyes, and Emily’s grip on the back of a conference room chair before he spoke. “Y/N, how long have you been out there?” he asked.

“Long enough,” I gave a shy smile, a result of my embarrassment for having admitted to the eavesdropping. “Look guys,” I said, swapping my gaze back and forth between the two of them, “none of this is ever going to be easy for me. This past year has been a lot, but I’m moving forward. We all are, like Spencer said.”

Emily let out an audible breath. “What I’m saying,” I started again, “is that Spencer is right. Sidelining me isn’t going to help me get any better. I know I have my weak moments, but I always come back. I just did, you see.” I gestured to the bathroom before gesturing to the conference room, “I always come back.”

Spencer moved over to my side of the table. He reached out his hand, taking mine and offering a gentle squeeze as his show of support. “Now,” he said, “are we ready to go?” He asked it so quietly, as if he was afraid any force in his voice would break me to pieces. “I’m ready,” I said quietly, “it’s going to be fine.”

“It’s going to be fine,” he echoed. I held his hand all the way out of the precinct to where Matt and Luke sat in their running SUV.

“Where have you two lovebirds been?” Matt asked from the driver’s seat after rolling down his window.

“I had to use the bathroom, my bad!” I shouted back while jogging over to the passenger side of the second SUV. Spencer climbed in the driver’s seat while I slid into the passenger seat. Buckling our seatbelts, Spencer gave Matt a thumbs-up. Matt drove off, and we followed close behind.

The ride was quiet for the first minute or so, but I could see Spencer shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “What’s wrong, Spence?” I asked, examining the way his hands fidgeted on the wheel.

He sighed. “I’m sorry if anything I said to Emily upset you,” he said apologetically. “I know we don’t like to talk about the things that happened. I just didn’t want her to bring it up in front of you and make you feel-”

You held a hand up, stopping him from saying more. “You’re right, Spencer. We don’t like to talk about it. Maybe someday we will, but for now, let’s just keep doing what we’re doing.” You offered him a small smile, a way of letting him know that you were okay. He didn’t say anything else, he just nodded, keeping his eyes on the road. You could tell that something else was bothering him, but you decided not to push the subject more. One of these days we’ll get there.

The next ten minutes passed quickly as you pulled on to a quiet suburban street, Matt and Luke in the lead. Your pager buzzed and Matt’s voice echoed throughout the SUV. “Matt to Y/N, do you copy?”

“Copy, we’ve got you,” I replied. Matt and Luke brought the car to a stop in front of Andrews’ house. Spencer and I stayed parked a few houses back, watching to see if any back up would be needed. Luke jumped out of the car first, cautiously approaching the front step of the large brick house. They had no reason to believe Andrews was a real threat, but it was better to be safe than sorry.

Matt followed a few steps behind, quickly hopping up the porch’s front steps, keeping a hand on his holstered weapon. It was nearing six in the morning as Luke knocked on the door, “Jason Andrews, FBI!”

Spencer and I watched in anticipation as to what would happen next. I froze as Luke knocked again. I listened over my radio as Luke’s voice rang out again, “Jason Andrews, we need to talk to you!” Suddenly, the front door swung open. A forty-something year old man in a robe stepped out on the front step with a cup of coffee in his hand.

“Who the hell are you, and why are you on my porch at six in the morning?” Andrews asked, voice low and eyebrows raised in confusion. “My wife and kid are upstairs, keep it down.” I saw Matt and Luke’s shoulders release their tension.

“We need you to come with us to the precinct to talk. It’s urgent.” Matt said.

“That’s fine, just let me get dressed first,” Andrews turned back into the house as Luke and Matt waited on the porch. I let out a sigh of relief.

“Oh, thank God,” I said. That wasn’t nearly as painful as I thought it was going to be.

Spencer let out a quiet chuckle as Andrews stepped back out onto the porch in a full suit, climbing in the SUV with Matt and Luke. “See,” he said, “I told you there wasn’t anything to worry about this time.”

This time… The words echoed in my mind, sending the same sickening feeling to my stomach. I didn’t respond as Spencer pulled away from the curb, following Matt and Luke back to the precinct

* * *

We returned to the local police department, where Luke and Matt left Andrews in an interrogation room before coming to join the rest of the team. We all sat in the conference room once again, blinds shut and door locked, contemplating our next move.

“Okay,” Emily said, “I need your thoughts here, team. Who's going to interview him?” We all exchanged glances.

Matt cleared his throat, “Seeing as how he did pretty well with Luke and I picking him up, I just figured we’d be on it.” Luke shrugged in response, taking a sip of his coffee.

“I originally thought that, too,” Emily said, standing up from her spot at the table and reaching for a file she’d discarded on a shelf nearby. “That was until I read Andrews’ file.” I felt my eyebrows raise involuntarily. Reading someone’s file was a dangerous game to play, you never knew what you might find.

“I wondered why Andrews didn’t win the popularity contest that went into becoming Head Homicide Detective,” Emily explained, as she flipped through pages, “but then I read this.” She sat a piece of paper in front of JJ, who began to read out loud.

“Complaints of harassment against women: twenty-seven,” JJ cringed. “Good lord, how does this guy still work here?”

“So, Andrews is a raging sexist,” Luke said.

Emily nodded. “Exactly, which is why we need a woman in the interrogation room.” JJ and I exchanged looks, as if to say ‘not it.’ “It will throw him off his game. He won’t be able to focus on lying if he’s focused on being a-”

“A douchebag?” Rossi finished for her. Emily nodded quickly. “Well,” Rossi started again, “who's it going to be?”

Matt chimed in again, “Why not send Y/N in? She’s quite a bit younger, I bet he’ll notice that too.” I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. I often forgot about my age in relation to this group. Sure, I was only twenty-five and Matt had a point, but that didn’t make me love the idea any more.

Spencer noticed my discomfort, “Why Y/N? JJ is more than capable.” I felt JJ’s eyes on me, as well as Rossi’s and Emily’s. I did not want to let anyone down, especially after the conversation I’d overheard between Spencer and Emily earlier in the morning.

“No, Spence,” I said, rising from my seat and moving behind his chair. “I’m okay with it. I’ll go in with Luke, we can handle it together.” I tried to reassure him by placing my hands on his shoulders, but Spencer did not seem to relax under my touch.

“Great,” Emily said, “I’m glad to hear it.” She handed Luke the file on Andrews to flip through before turning to me. “Don’t let him get the better of you. He’s going to be a jerk and I want you play along with him. Each time you do, you’ll be loosening his lips even more.”

She gave me a reassuring smile. I nodded, understanding what she wanted from me. Besides, I’ve been locked in interrogation rooms with worse people before.

To be continued!

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bloody-spider77 · 7 months

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Clockwork Headcanons by tic-toc-clock77💚🔪⏱

IGNORE THIS FOR NOW, IM NOT DONE WRITING IT

Some of my rewritten takes (though not far off from canon)

Cw: child abuse, substance abuse, incestuous rape, descriptive murder, blood and gore

FAMILY.

Natalie Dawne Ouellette was born on November 6th, 1996 in Windsor, Canada to David and Mary-Beth Ouellette.

The couple had a shot gun wedding after the conception of their son, Lucas, 4 years before Natalie's birth.

David had grown up with abusive parents and actively followed in their footsteps, always looking for people too use and control. Having just been dumped by a woman his age, the 30 year old man left to a bar, there was where he met Mary-Beth, a 19 year old who'd grown up "the perfect child" and got bored of being clean. Seeing how a younger woman would be easier to manipulate, David got her drunk and took advantage of her substance abuse, taking her out to his car and spending the night together.

The following week, she found out she was pregnant, she was kicked out by her parents who claimed she was a mistake and sent to the streets. That night, she happened to notice David's car and begged him to take her in and marry her for their child which he reluctantly accepted.

Nobody came to the wedding and they moved into a small home with creaky floors, broken doors and scraping wall paint which they never bothered to fix up.

The couple's marriage was loveless, David was cruel and Mary-Beth grew from the messy girl who just wanted to be seen for something other than perfection, to a cold, uncaring, distant wife and mother. David, anxious for a way to keep controlling his wife after Lucas's birth, suggested having another child who would be Natalie and Mary-Beth had always wanted a little girl around, she agreed.

ROAD TRIP.

Natalie grew up in Windsor where she seemed to be oblivious to her parents abuse due to her young age, she was kind and shy which made people like her and she had made a few friends.

She would walk home from school each day with her brother, she'd talk about her day happily and always had kind words to share. At the end of each day, she'd feel the peeling paint of the screen door handle on her fingers, the scent of cigarette smoke and the ugly yellow light that'd shine dimly just before she pulled the door open to walk inside.

One November day, only a few after her 6th birthday, she pulled the door open as per usual, welcomed by the chatter of some football game on TV, her father yelling at the screen and her mother's smoke that filled her lungs. She watched as her mother put out the cigarette, as she had done time and time again, creating more ash on the unclean dining room table.

"Pack up." Her mother told the two siblings who looked at her with confusion. Mary-Beth's career as a sex worker had taken a turn for the worst, as she had stolen money from her pimp to pay for her substance abuse and if she didn't pay up, she'd have to leave and the lazy woman had decided to skip town.

The siblings did as they were told and soon enough they were on the road to Denver, Colorado. The ride was long and terrible, arguing, fighting, they'd even nearly crashed the truck about 3 times.

Sitting the tight space of her father's truck, she couldn't get away from the fighting anymore. It'd always been common around the house but she and her brother could've always just left to the park nearby or one of their friends homes.

Not this time

"It'll be okay, Nat." Lucas told her at the gas station. She undid her seat belt and hugged him. As siblings, they'd always had their arguments and acted as siblings did but when it came down to it, she would depend on him to protect and help her. With him, she felt safe. "I'm scared." She sniffled, gripping his sweater with shaking hands.

The dark and cold atmosphere was made up for by him, thankfully. When David and Mary-Beth returned to the car, he yelled for her to put the seat belt back on, she did as told. The darkness outside was starting to make her tired. She looked out the window at the blue sky, street lights passed in a flash.

She imagined how it would feel to walk in those grassy fields they passed or to be one of the cows on a farm, eating grass. Cows didn't have to worry about being yelled at or neglected, they just one day would be turned to burgers. Childishly, she wondered if living the way she did; being neglected and abused, would result in her not becoming the human version of a burger. She wondered about if she was loved by her parents, would she get weak? Would she just keel over and die the way the animals do? Are those animals even really loved or are they just unliving meat in the eyes of others? Wondering that made her feel much of a connection toward the cows.

The 6 year old was much more sad than she liked to admit, sad and afraid constantly. She tried day in and day to find some positivity bu she was starting to get restless...

NEW HOME.

The family struggled their financials to save up for a two story home, payed for by Mary-Beth's new job as a stripper and David's as a trucker, hauling lumber which paid well enough.

Natalie had her own room and didn't have to sleep on the floor or a couch anymore, she wouldn't have to sleep on gross motel beds that gave her rashes. she was ecstatic as she debated what she would do with the new space then a bright idea came to mind; she didn't need posters or wallpaper to line the walls, she would do it herself! 'I'm an artist, after all.' she thought, taking a packet of crayons she was given by motel staff as a parting gift when she announced her parents made enough money to get a home.

She drew design after design as well as any 6 year old could; flowers, the sun with sun glasses on it, grass and a drawing of her family that used basic shapes like triangles or rectangles. Once finished, she stood triumphantly and admired her work. When her father came in the driveway of their home, she ran outside, anxious to show him her work.

She held her arm around her father's and led him up the stairs, the wide grin on her face only got wider the closer they got to her room. Stepping inside, his face that read pure exhaustion changed to one of anger. She looked up with concern when his face didn't match hers, she watched as his brows furrowed, a deep pit in her stomach grew when she realized this wasn't good. Shaking, she stepped back. He lunged at her in a way he never had before, she turned to run but he grabbed her by the hair, yanking her back. "Damn it, you dumb little brat!" He started to pull her by the long strands of brunette hair on her head and smashed her into the wall, against her drawings.

Hearing her daughter's body be pushed into the wall, Mary-Beth came up the stairs and pushed the door open. "What is wrong with you?!" She screams, grabbing her husband's arm. Natalie's hope sparked for a second her mother pulled at his arm to get him off her but that glimmer faded not long after, "What would the neighbors think?! Can't you at least hold off until we get settled in?" Natalie's eyes darkened at the words. It seemed her mother didn't care for her at all.

Her mother pulled her father down the stairs, leaving Natalie by herself to cower in fear, she ran to her giraffe stuffie that had been placed on the bed of her new room and held it closely to her chest. She didn't speak a word to herself or even the stuffie she'd dubbed "Gaffy".

NATALIE AND HER MOTHER.

To "apologize" for another beating her husband had put her 8 year old daughter through, Mary-Beth had taken her daughter to a clothing store. The inside of it was girly and pink, the bright lights shone in Natalie's tired eyes while her mother dragged her wrist. After she let go, Natalie sat on a stool nearby the dressing room, not enthused about the choices her mother was making for her clothing.

This was common in Windsor; something bad would happen and Mary-Beth would take her clothing shopping instead treating her like a human being with emotions, along with this she would never spend money on food or the bills they'd have to pay. The thought of paying bills and finances made her think of her father and all the times her parents would fight over the money habits of each other, her mother having spent every cent she earned on material possessions while her father would spend each night in bars, wasting away their money like that.

Her mother threw clothes around, not bothering to put anything back properly. "Look at this, Nat." her mother turned, a bright pink dress in her fingers, Natalie raised an eyebrow. Mary-Beth Ouellette wanted nothing less than to live vicariously through her child, she had never once asked what Natalie wanted, she never wanted to know deep down. She figured if she just forced these things, it would all work out and Natalie could be what she never was.

Natalie never fought these ideals head-on but she would groan and make faces whenever she was presented with them. She was a tomboy at heart but her mother didn't even bother with that or...anything that made her daughter happy, if anything could anymore with the way she'd been raised.

"Could you just try it on?" her mother felt attacked instantly and it showed in her tone. She was going to play the victim, Natalie knew this,

she always plays the victim

Natalie was more than bitter about this, it showed in her thoughts but it was far from words, she was silent save for a groan every now and again. She hastily took the dress in her hands, deciding just to get it over with. She fought herself not to stomp over to the changing room.

She tried it on, it was much too boisterous for her liking. She would've liked a nice pair of shorts and maybe a t-shirt, dresses were far from her thing. "Try these on too!" Mary-Beth threw a couple skirts and a few dresses into her changing stall.

Begrudged, the girl wore the clothes and walked with her shoulders slumped to show the outfit, every time she she put on something new. Upset and embarrassed by the child she deemed ungrateful, Mary-Beth paid for all of the clothes and the number that popped up on the register made the 6 year old's stomach turn.

She dragged her daughter by the wrist back to the car.

"Mom-"

"Don't talk to me."

Natalie looked down at her feet, shutting up quickly. Getting into the car was awkward as she shuffled into the backseat. Her mother lifted a smoke from her pocket and lit it up without bothering to roll down the windows.

The stuffy car ride was nerve racking and terrifying. She knew that once her father seen all this, her mother would run away and leave her to deal with the consequences....

NATALIE AND HER FATHER.

"Come on, kid. We're going to the store." It was midday in 2004 and Natalie had asked for a laptop for Christmas that was still months away. She knew what would happen now, as both her parents did, he was going to get her something and that something was going to be a laptop.

She smiled a bit for the first time in a while as she lowered her sleeves to cover her new bruises from the night before, turned the TV that was playing the movie, "Saw", off and ran downstairs to put her jacket on.

Her father and her drove to the local best buy. She ran inside excitedly and showed him the laptop she wanted. He took it and brought it to the front desk, registered her name and paid for it.

Once home, she was more than excited to get on it and start playing games and getting different drawing apps.

Nights later, she was up by 3:00 a.m. which would soon prove to be the reason for being beaten that night. Eyes wide, she scanned page after page after different art poses, faces, expressions and anything else that would aid her in drawing. She pulled some paper out from the drawer beside her bed. She placed the pages on top of each and grabbed pencils.

She scanned one page then started to draw, carefully and slowly as to not make a single mistake. Thankfully the house was quiet with her earbuds in and she sighed with relief.

She felt a hand yank at her arm. It was her father. He ripped the cord of her earbuds from her ears. Terrified, she looked down at the volume panel, detailing her music had been too loud for her to have heard him coming.

"Why the fuck are you still awake?" his words slurred and her nose stung with the scent of alcohol off his body. One sweaty hand of her overweight father grabbed her by the collar of her shirt, the other lazily slapping her across the face. He dropped her and took the laptop in his hand and bashed it over her head, repeatedly.

She seethed in pain, trying desperately to block his attacks, she kicked and screamed but nothing worked. Bleeding and bruised, tears fell. Her nose stung with pain when she brought a shaky hand to try and defend it from being hurt any longer. He shouted and screamed horrible things at her before winding her; a direct punch in the chest. She fought to get her breathing back on track which was nearly impossible with a man about 5 times her weight beating her half to death. He yelled questions at her, things she she couldn't answer with the amount of pain she was in.

This only made him more angry, "Answer me, bitch!" he screamed, smacking her harshly again, she could barely speak, she sobbed out something he couldn't hear, he it her again. "What the fuck makes you think you can just do this shit? Staying up and blasting your shitty music, you're supposed to asleep." There was truly no other reason than wanting power, he couldn't have cared less about her sleeping habits or anything to do with her as a person, he just didn't want to leave the things he enjoyed doing for anyone else.

Drunk and unthinking, not that he would think whenever he happened to be sober, he dropped her finally and time seemed to have stopped. She sobbed and shook, watching as he left the room.

She sat up, just a little and turned her laptop off, pushing her paper and pencils off the bed. She groaned and sobbed in pain for a short while before finally succumbing to sleep....

PAIN.

Natalie stood in the dim light of her lamp in her room, her face ached when she touched it. She could barely recognize herself, her face lost in the puddle of mush from the worst beating of her life.

Looking in the mirror, she raised a hand to her face, she poked at the bit of mush infused with blood, it stung for only a moment before going numb. She touched it continually, over and over. She smiled, just a little.

There wouldn't be much time left before the ambulance and police would come to the scene. She knew she'd have to lie and say nobody in her family had done this to her. She'd say "The bullies did this." But there were no bullies, at least not yet in the girls life.

She admired the feeling and the way it looked. She knew she should've been down on the ground or stumbling but she stared, smiling at the view and all the pain it caused.

This would not be the last time in Natalie Dawne Ouellette's life that she would smile in the face of pain whether her own or somebody elses.

NATALIE AND HER BROTHER. TW: SA/MENTIONED INCESTUOUS RAPE

Natalie sat in her room, colouring a drawing she had just made while blasting music through her earbuds. She was obsessing over the pain she felt that night and started to wonder how it would feel to hurt somebody else in that way. She started to draw it; different positions and faces, limbs cut off, heads damaged, people crushed, stabbed or bleeding. It gave her a sickening enjoyment to draw these things.

She sighs and pokes her now fixed face. She lays her head on the table. Once she's staring at herself, she looks over her body; she'd grown up much faster than your typical 9 year old. She was chubbier than other girls and her chest had developed much faster and was much larger than her peers.

She didn't think much of it but the doctors did. They commented that she was a healthy weight, at least that was good but she did happen to see the medical student being mentored in the corner staring at her body while shuffling uncomfortably. She noticed how people on the street would stare at her, mostly men. In school, girls would stare and whisper but it didn't bug her too much. Even teachers would stare which made her a little uneasy.

She shrugs and goes back to her colouring. "Hey, Nat." Her brother comes in, she turns down the music. "I told you to knock." She says, not looking up from her page. "Yeah, I know but uh.." He looks around nervously, making her finally look up at him. He shuffles nervously the way the mentored medical student seemed to.

"The thing is...Melanie just broke up with me and uh," he stumbled over his words. Natalie remembered Melanie, she was a 13 year old girl, same age as her brother, who Natalie recently had grown a similar build to.

"What do I care if she broke up with you? Good for her." She joked. "Look, Nat. Can you just shut up for a minute?" His tone didn't seem like he was joking back. "I-I mean, you always were curious, right?" He started to walk toward her and confused and starting to get scared, she backed away. His eyes scared the shit out of her, she covered her chest.

"Get out. Get out of my room." She started to hyperventilate, fear overwhelmed her when he grabbed at her wrist and forced her down....

Later in the evening, she laid on her bed; puke all over the bed and a puddle of blood between her thighs. Lucas had left the room some time ago, she could still hear him in his room talking to a friend on the phone.

She hadn't gotten up since he left, her limbs were still in pain from being forced down, the feeling of the metal rods from under the mattress against her back left red marks, every place on her body was aching but it was nothing compared to...

She fought the urge to puke again as the gravity of the situation hit her as it had many times so far, she sniffled.

She laid quietly, cold tears down her face as she stared up at the ceiling. She continued to drift from full dissociation to wanting to scream for help but as he had threatened, nobody could know so she stayed quiet.

After a few more moments, she felt her stomach grumble. She hadn't eaten all day. She stood from her bed, finally. She hadn't stopped shaking both due to the traumatic experience and the fact that her window was blowing cold air nonstop into her room and being in the nude, it was freezing.

She peered at herself in the mirror and felt pure disgust. She took the corner of her thin blanket and wiped down her thighs, blood and some other substance she didn't want to think about cleansed off her. She wiped down her bed then wrapped it up with each disgusting fluid inside of it.

She threw the blanket out the window and went to her closet to search for a new one. She reached her hand into the darkness of the closet and felt around. Strangely, she felt a paper and pulled it out.

Her stomach dropped; it was a photo she'd drawn of herself and Lucas dated 15/12/2002. Her breathing hitched when she started to sob. She threw the photo away quickly, she tried to push it down.

She wouldn't cry, she wouldn't speak, she wouldn't do anything ever again, she would just stay completely still. She promised that all to herself....

BULLIES

It'd been two weeks since her brother started abusing her nightly. She said nothing like she promised but it was starting to eat at her. Sitting in the cafeteria while waiting for her mother to pick her up, she looked around and finally spotted a group of girls.

The girls were 'popular' or at least they acted like they were. "Hey Mia." Natalie started nervously, her voice meek. The girls quit their chatter and swing their heads toward her, she began to explain everything and the girls listened carefully to her problems. Feeling confident they would keep her secret, she didn't look back when she walked away from the table.

She felt fine the next day, finally. Nobody had touched her the night before and maybe, just maybe, she was about to have some real friends for once. She walked in the doors of her school with a grin on her face. Mia and her friends came running to speak with her, "Good morning." She smiled at the girls.

Today was going to be nice, she was excited to be able to head to an assembly instead of class in the afternoon and that she didn't have to sit alone. She sat with her new friends and discussed how Mia, as the class rep, would be taking the stage and talking to the entire school.

Natalie sat in her seat, having listened the entire assembly quietly. She watched with anticipation as Mia's curly golden hair bounced against her back when she walked past her then up on stage. Standing before the whole school Mia said her speech as she had written it but then something...shocking happened.

"Oh yeah, just one more thing." Mia took a breath, "Natalie Ouellette is a major slut!" Mia's slender finger pointed out Natalie to the crowd of kids and they all turned to her. Soon enough, one person laughed, then another and finally, most of, if not all, of the students were laughing in her face.

She recoiled into herself and for the first time she imagined taking Mia by the throat and squeezing it until all the air in her lungs would deflate but it only lasted a second. Blinking slowly, the laughter began to fade from her ears and was replaced by a loud ringing sound. She stood and walked out.

The days that followed would prove to be awful with the things Natalie told those girls began to spread like wildfire; she got weird looks, laughs, food thrown at her. She was constantly antagonized and called horrible names for something that she didn't want any part in but nobody would listen, nobody would help her...she felt a disdain for people build up inside.

Every morning, she'd turn on her phone to see nothing but restless hate made out to be jokes, memes and hate accounts with her name and pictures all over, she locked the accounts but they just kept making more, she couldn't go on her laptop without being swarmed. She'd head downstairs and try to avoid eye contact with her family, even keeping her head low, she'd still mumble some things under her and get beaten for it.

The truth was that poor 9 year old Natalie Ouellette had been ruined and this would follow her, she would only get worse by the time she was 12 and fully stopped caring; she'd say whatever she wanted, flip people off, skip classes and even picked up the habit of stealing a few smokes from her mother's purse and smoke them in the bathrooms. She spent day after day in those bathroom stalls, usually smoking one or two cigarettes' down to the filter

FRESH START

ROMANCE

SEXUALITY

BREAKING POINT

CLOCKWORK

AFTERMATH

#creepypasta #clockwork #clockwork creepypasta #natalie ouellette #🕷️'s headcaons

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jungle-angel · 1 year

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Alley Cats on a Rusted Roof (Rhett Abbott x Reader)

Summary: Rhett’s hiding from his mother and (y/n) and it’s not long before the other men in the extended family come to join

Notes: Based off of the “Mike and Molly” episode where Joyce goes crazy with the spring cleaning and the guys are all roosted up on the roof and singing John Denver

Granite Trail Reservation

Wabang, WY

Rhett couldn’t get to the Redwood’s fast enough. Cece had already gone nuts with the spring cleaning, making him, Perry and Royal clean out the attic, rake the yard and the rest of the ranch work on top of that. He needed a day, but knew he wasn’t going to get anywhere else......plus it didn’t really help that the Duttons had come down from Montana to visit and that the kids were all running amuck.

He pulled up to the smaller ranch he had known so well and the house that once had been a good sized mobile home with other pieces and extensions built off of it. In the yard roamed a few horses while the barn out back housed the other animals and critters that called this place home. As soon as Rhett pulled to a stop, he went up and knocked at the screen door.

“The hell are you doing here?” Wes chuckled when he answered the door.

“You gotta hide me dude,” Rhett told him. “Ma’s going crazy with the spring cleaning and I can’t take it anymore.”

“You’re in luck,” Wes told him. “Gutters need cleaning and the roof needs re-shingling.”

Rhett groaned and ran his hand over his face.

“C’mon, what can it hurt?” Wes asked him. “I go up to the roof when I hide from Nora.”

Rhett rolled his eyes and followed Wes as they grabbed a ladder and headed up to the roof. “You gonna want lunch?” Wes asked him.

“What do you have?”

“Might go down to the corner and grab a sandwich later,” Wes answered. “Uncle said he’s gonna come by and see if he can help get one of the fences repaired.”

Rhett and Wes set to work cleaning out the gutters, a job that was less then pleasant and not one they necessarily looked forward to. Rhett gagged when he hauled out a dead rat that had probably been there since the beginning of winter, cringing as he thought of Bartholomew, the cream colored little rat Hannah had kept as a pet.

“Oh God, it’s nasty,” Rhett gagged. ‘So nasty!”

“Chuck it across the yard,” Wes told him. “Buzzards will probably get at it.”

Rhett and Wes continued to scoop out the nasty muck from the gutters when they heard someone climbing up the ladder to the roof. “Ta 'c meeywi, knuckleheads,” Wes’s father greeted.

“Mornin Russ,” Rhett replied.

“Dad, what the hell are you doing?” Wes asked him.

“I’m hiding from your mother,” Russ chuckled.

“You’ve got knee surgery in three days,” Wes reminded him. “You shouldn’t even be up here.”

“If I’m gonna go, it’s gonna be after at least three beers and in peace and quiet,” Russell told him. “And not with your mother nagging my ear off at every hour of every day.”

Russ hauled up a small red beer cooler with him, his knee creaking and popping as Rhett and Wes both helped him up. “You hiding too Rhett?” Russ asked him.

“Yeah, Ma’s goin crazy with the spring cleaning,” Rhett answered. “Last I heard, (y/n), Monica and Beth were all cleaning the silver.”

Russell made a face. “And I thought our end was bad,” he laughed.

The three of them scraped the last of the gunk from the gutters, hosing it out as best they could until the water ran clear. The sun was shining high in the sky and not a cloud to be seen. The grass rippled in the warm breeze as it blew across the hills and through the pines while somewhere high in the sky, a flock of birds took off from the treetops.

Another truck pulled up barely a half hour later and out jumped Royal, John, Thomas and Mo, each one of them hoping to find a spot up on the roof to hide from the women of the house. Kayce and Rip weren’t too far behind them, both of them exasperated and ready to relax.

“Ya’ll got any spots up there?!” Royal called to Russ.

“C’mon up!” Russell answered.

The men climbed up the ladder, perching themselves up on the roof before digging into the cooler and settling in like roosters perched on the roof of a coop.

************************

Cecelia Abbott pulled up to the house, noticing the three trucks parked in the dirt driveway. She smiled and shook her head as she got out and made her way to the front door.

“Cece!” Winona Redwood said happily. “Whatcha looking for?”

“My clueless knucklehead of a son and his equally clueless knucklehead of a father,” Cece answered.

“Check the roof, I think we have a nice assortment up there,” Winona told her. “You gonna want anything before you go? I need to run down to the corner and get a box of salt.”

“I’ll help make lunch as soon as I find’em,” Cece half laughed.

Cece rounded the corner to find the ladder, lured by the off kilter singing of a group of men who sounded more like screechy alley cats than actual singers. Sure enough, she climbed up and there they all were.

“Aye, Calypso, the places you've been to The things that you've shown us, the stories you tell Aye, Calypso, I sing to your spirit The men who have served you so long and so well”

Cece suddenly chimed in, the men turning their heads and each one with an “oh shit” look on their faces before they too joined her and finished off the song.

“Oh hey, darlin,” Royal greeted. “I didn’t know you were here.”

Cece gave him “the look”, one hand on her hip and the other still gripping the ladder. “Neither did I,” she said sternly.

Each of the men meekly hid their beers, knowing what was bound to come next.

“Now pray tell, why did ya’ll sneak away from your chores?”

None of them really wanted to answer but Cece could tell what all of them were thinking.

“Well,” she said. “I’m gonna go into town with Nona for a bit. Chores can wait till tomorrow.”

As soon as she was gone, the men thanked God above that they had gotten out of their spring chores. Yet one thing still stuck with them even as they started singing the song once more.

Cece always did....and always would, scare the ever living crap out of them.

#outer range #yellowstone #rhett abbott #cecelia abbott #royal abbott #john dutton #rip wheeler #kayce dutton

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starset21 · 11 months

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Sincerely, Yours

Standard disclaimer: I only own my original characters, I've done some research but there will likely be Navy/military inaccuracies, and I do not consent to the posting, translating, or publishing of my work to any 3rd party site, the only place it may be found is on tumblr and Wattpad under @.itswildflower A/N: I hate having to say this but please leave a comment or reblog because I have no idea if people are actually reading this series and if people are liking it. Summary: The big mission

Looking for previous chapters? Sincerely, Yours Masterlist

Chapter 9:

Cyclone and Warlock stand with the ship’s Officers and Comms Crew. Hondo is there as well, anxiously watching the screens. “Support assets airborne. Strike package ready. Standing by for launch decision.” Cyclone nods. “Send ‘em.” A catapult officer signals with a two-finger wave, as the two jets facing him throttle engines to full. Maverick and Rooster, side-by-side, salute the Officer, then press their heads back against the headrests. The final check crews around each aircraft offer a thumbs-up, one by one, causing the Catapult Officer to crouch, touching the deck to point forward. Maverick and Rooster’s Super Hornets fly across the deck, ripping into the sky. Phoenix and Bob as well as Tempest and Denver are launched a moment later. The four F-18s fly above dark ominous clouds, maintaining their delta formation. “Rough Rider. Dagger, Texaco complete. Comanche, standby check-in,” Maverick says. An air control officer watches streams of data roll in. “Comanche one-one, set. Lightning One, status.” An F-35 pilot monitors his electronic view of the valley. “Lightning One, set. Bravo route is clear.” The four F-18s descend through the clouds to 1000 feet. “Here we go. Enemy territory up ahead. Feet dry in 60 seconds. Comanche, dagger one. Picture.” The air control officer looks at her screens before responding. “Comanche. Picture clean. The decision is yours,” she said. “Copy. Proceeding to Bravo. Dagger attack,” Maverick’s voice came over the channel. “Dagger’s assume attack formation.” They adjusted their formation into their attack order. “Daggers set. Proceeding to target. Two minutes and 30 seconds in three, two, one, Mark.” All four push the button and their clocks start counting down. “Two mark,” came Tempest’s voice. “Three mark,” Rooster called out. “Four mark,” Phoenix called out last. With Mav taking the lead, the Strike Package flies in a staggered formation toward enemy territory. “Tomahawks airborne,” the comms officer informs the team moments before they fly over the heads of the aviators.

“First SAM site overhead, no movement,” came Denver’s voice over the channel. “Looks like we’re clear on radar, Mav,” Tempest called out. “Let’s not take it for granted,” Mav reminded them. They shoot into an ever-compressing canyon, hauling ass over the broken landscape, snowy trees flashing just beneath. It’s training times ten. The valley walls are tight, and the high speed and sharp turns are resulting in higher Gs. “We got two minutes to target,” Denver tells the team. “Copy,” Tempest responds. “We’re a few seconds behind, Rooster. We got to move,” Phoenix warns. “Thirty seconds to tomahawk impact on the enemy airstrip,” a second comms officer alerts them. Radar beeps before they are updated with new information. “Dagger, Comanche. We’re picking up two bandits. Single group, two contacts.”

“Comanche, what’s their heading?” Tempest asks. “Bull’s-eye 090, 50, tacked southwest,” they were informed. “They’ve headed away from us. They don’t know we’re here,” Rooster called out. “The second those tomahawks hit the air base, those bandits are gonna move to defend the target. We have to get there before they do. Increase speed,” Maverick ordered. “We got you, Mav. Don’t wait for me!” The physical pressure on the team alone is intense, requiring every ounce of concentration, skill, and endurance. Each of the pilots contends with the intensity in their own way. Training was nothing compared to this. They’re all feeling it. “Come on, Rooster. Bandits inbound. We got to make up time now. Let’s turn and burn,” Phoenix tells her partner. “Heads up, Tempest,” Mav calls out. As they turn sideways and pass through a narrow gap under a bridge Denver quietly lets out a “woah.”

“Guys, we’re falling behind. We really gotta move,” Bob calls out. “If we don’t increase our speed right now, those bandits are gonna be waiting for us when we reach the target,” Phoenix tells Rooster. A quiet “Talk to me, Dad,” came from Rooster. “Come on, kid, you can do it. Don’t think, just do,” Maverick encouraged. Bradley took a deep breath and he hit the throttle. “Jesus, Rooster, not that fast!” Bob exclaims. “Damn, Rooster, take it easy,” Phoenix chimes in, throttling up to pursue. “Thirty seconds to target. Denver, check your laser,” Mav ordered. “Air-to-ground check complete. Laser code verified, 1688. Laser is a go!” Denver exclaimed. “Tempest, stand by for pop-up strike,” Mav said. “Dagger three in position,” she replied. “Popping in three, two, one,” Maverick counted down before both pilots pulled back on their sticks. “Get me eyes on that target, Denver,” Mav ordered. “Dagger three. Stand by, Mav.” His system beeped. “I’ve got it. Captured!” he responded. “Target acquired, bombs away.” Maverick and Tempest wrench their jets into a body-smashing climb - excessive Gs. Only this time it’s for keeps as a mountain face is coming up fast. For a few moments, the only sound over the comms was grunting as they climbed. “We’ve got impact! Check, direct hit! Direct hit!” Denver calls out before grunting. “Dagger two, status,” Mav asks when it's a little easier to breathe. “Almost there, Mav. Almost there. Bob, where’s my laser?” Bob’s eyes frantically dart over his screens. “Rooster, there’s something wrong with this laser! Shit! Deadeye, deadeye, deadeye!” Bob called out. “Come on, guys, we’re running out of time. Get it online!” Rooster replied. “Nearly there! Nearly there!” he replies his hands flying over the controls and trying to fix the problem. “There’s no time. I’m dropping blind,” Rooster says after a moment. “Rooster, I got this!” Bob yells. “No time. Pull up,” Rooster orders. “Wait!” Phoenix tries. “Great balls of fire,” Rooster mutters as he drops his payload. “Bullseye!” They’re informed by overwatch. “We’re not out of this yet. Here it comes,” Maverick warns and suddenly the first two jets are climbing into the clear blue sky. The first array comes automatically to life, swivels, and fires. “Radar warning! Smoke in the air. Tempest, break right!” Denver yells. “Emergency jettison. Dagger three defending,” Tempest declares as she dodges the incoming missiles. “Here comes another one!” Denver warns. “Dagger one defending.” Maverick shoots off flares. “Rooster, status,” Mav asks. “Oh, my god,” Rooster murmurs as they crest over the mountain to see Mav and Tempest dodging missiles and trying to get low to the ground. “Smoke in the air! Smoke in the air! Break right, Phoenix!” Bob yells. “Breaking right,” she replies, doing as she was told. “Oh, my god, here they come!” Bob exclaims. “Sam on your six, Rooster!” he warns. “Deploying countermeasures. Negative contact.” The comms channel was a mess, the aviators doing their best to avoid being shot out of the sky. Sounds of the aviators fill the room back on the command deck. The breathing hard, the shouting, straining, and cursing. It’s hell.

“Dagger one defending.”

“Talk to me, Bob.”

“Break right, Phoenix!”

“Break right! Mav!”

“Nine o’clock! Tempest, Nine o’clock!”

“Rooster, two more on your six.”

“Dagger two, defending.”

“Phoenix, Sam on your nose.”

“Dagger four defending.”

“Rooster, tally, seven o’clock!”

“Talk to me, Bob!”

“On our six!”

“Dagger two defending.”

“Denver!”

“Tempest Break Right!”

“I see it!”

“Dagger two defending. Shit, I’m out of flares!”

“Rooster, evade, evade!”

“I can’t shake ’em! They’re on me! They’re on me!”

An F-18 fills his sight picture.

“MAVERICK, NO!”

Maverick releases flares, but he’s too late. And he knows it. The missile slams into Maverick’s engine. A fireball shreds the splintering rear of the jet. “Dagger one is hit! I repeat, dagger one is hit!” Tempest calls it in, doing her best to keep her voice from wavering. “Maverick is down.” The remaining jets dive into the valley and below the SAM’s and their radar. The arrays go still. “Dagger one, status,” Rooster calls out, waiting a moment. “Status! Anyone see him? Does anyone see him? Dagger one, come in!” Rooster exclaims again. “I didn’t see a parachute,” Tempest says softly. “We have to circle back!” Rooster yells. “Comanche. Bandits inbound. Single group, hot. Recommend dagger flow south. One minute to intercept. All daggers flow to ECP. You have bandits headed for you.” Phoenix and Tempest look at each other as they fly side by side, their eyes sad from the loss of their mentor. “What about Maverick!” Rooster tries. “Dagger spare request permission to launch and fly air cover,” Hangman’s voice comes over the radio. “Negative, spare.” Jake nearly punches his dash in frustration.

“Dagger, you are not to engage. Repeat, do not engage. Dagger two, return to the carrier. Acknowledge. Acknowledge,” the comms officer relays their orders. “Rooster, those bandits are closing. We can’t go back,” Phoenix tries to reason. “Rooster, he’s gone. Maverick’s gone,” Bob says solemnly. Bradley takes a moment staring up into the blue vastness of the sky. “Screw it.” A deep breath later and he’s turning back, leaving Phoenix and Tempest. “Dagger two is hit. Dagger two is hit,” Phoenix relays just as the radar shows the command deck his jet has gone offline. “Dagger two, come in. Dagger two, do you copy? Dagger two, come in.” The remaining aviators wait to hear their friend’s voice in vain. When no response is given Ria’s chest hurt, and not from the G’s this time. Phoenix looked over at Tempest as she pulled up beside her jet. “Don’t you leave me too,” she says quietly. Elliot reached a gloved hand through the small gap in the metal separating their seats and squeezed her shoulder. “It’s not just me in this jet. I have to get Eli home,” is all she says, turning her eyes to the horizon and doing her best to prevent her voice from shaking and tears from lining her eyes. On Tempest’s wing, Phoenix follows her back to the ship, circling overhead as Tempest traps and taxis into her jet's space, running through all the shutdown procedures. “Rooster’s ESAT is online and supersonic. Overwatch reports an f-14 tomcat is airborne and on course for our position.” It was Maverick. The sounds of a jet launching reach their ears and they watch as Jake’s jet screams off the carrier and climbs in altitude.

“Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen, this is your savior speaking. Please fasten your seatbelts, return your tray tables to their upright and locked position, and prepare for landing,” Jake’s voice comes through the radio after several very tense minutes. “Hey, Hangman... you look good,” Bradley replies and Ria breathes a sigh of relief. “I am good, Rooster. I’m very good.” The four mission aviators already on deck are given the all-clear to depart their jets. Tired and sweaty the four aviators embrace each other tightly. Maverick and Rooster watch as Hangman’s F-18 circles back, doing a hotshot twirl of the wings. A victory roll.

All eyes are on the horizon as two planes are inbound. All of the pilots watch from Vulture’s Row, the balcony platform with the best view of the entire flight deck. Cyclone, Warlock, and Hondo have moved up to the Primary Flight Control room. “Get Hangman down first. Maverick may burn the deck,” Cyclone orders. Hondo without a word, runs from the command center. Hondo emerges on the deck where the crew is awaiting Hangman’s arrival. Emergency crews are standing by. “The minute Hangman touches down, pull the trip wires and have the barricade stanchions ready.” The crew just stares at him. “HE DOESN’T HAVE A GODDAMN TAILHOOK!” Hondo yells. The crew realizes and scrambles. It’s organized chaos once again. Cyclone, Warlock, and several officers stand in the PFC with binoculars, watching as Hangman’s super hornet comes in for a landing. His tail hook snagging the arrest cable, his plane jerking to a stop.

The Deck Crew rushes in to clear the way for Maverick. A ballet of precise emergency response. Hundreds of sailors work to remove Trap-Wires and raise Barricade Stanchions, lift up a 15-foot-high nylon barricade, stretching a massive net across the width of the landing deck. The F-14 circles overhead. “Rough Rider, Ghostrider here. We are requesting a tower fly-by.” Cyclone and Warlock share a look. “Is this a joke?” Cyclone asks. “Rough Rider, I say again-” Cyclone has the radio now. “Ghostrider, this is Cyclone. Put that bird on the deck now.”

“-odswor- -strider- -adio”

“Does he even want to land?” Cyclone asked Warlock. “He asked permission. That’s progress,” the other man replies. Cyclone sighs, nods begrudgingly to the Comm Tech who, despite everything, has to grin a little as he relays orders. “Ghostrider, pattern is clear, you are cleared for flyby.” Maverick raises a brow. “Huh. That’s a first.” Rooster knocks his helmet repeatedly on the canopy. “Why did I bother saving your ass?” Maverick blazes by the tower at high speed, rocking the tower. Cyclone shakes his head as several of the aviators on Vulture’s Row cheer. The battered Tomcat comes around, lining up with the runway before it smashes down, sliding across the deck on its nose, showering sparks and spewing smoke, until it slams into the nylon net, ripping it forward before snapping to a violent halt. Finally. Safe home. The emergency crews rush the jet as Mav and Rooster climb out. They check themselves and each other before climbing down. Sailors swarm them. Maverick gazes up to Vultures Row, spying Cyclone and Warlock. Cyclone gives him a simple, grateful nod.

“Chalked yourself another kill,” Bradley muses as Jake walks up to him, offering him a hand. “That makes two,” Jake smiles as they shake hands. “Maverick has five. Makes him an ace,” Phoenix steps in, finally pushing through the crowd of sailors that had rushed to congratulate them. Jake’s smile fades just a little bit. “Still impressive all things considering,” Ria’s voice rings out as she pushes out from behind Natasha, a small smile on her face as she gives Bradley a tight hug. As she pulls away she smacks his shoulder. “Don’t do that again!” Bradley groaned, rubbing his shoulder. “Wasn’t planning on it.” Ria gives him a stern look before turning her attention to Jake. She marches over to him and pulls him down by the flight vest and kisses him soundly. Whistles sound all around them as she pulled away but Jake didn’t let her go far. He pulled her back into another deep kiss. Cheers and more whistles followed. “I love you,” he murmured when he pulled back. “I love you!” she replied quietly just for him. Jake smiled wide and held her close to him.

Filled with jubilant sailors, the whole ship celebrates the mission’s return.

#top gun maverick #jake seresin x oc #starset writes #jake hangman seresin #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw #pete maverick mitchell #natasha phoenix trace #robert bob floyd #kazansky oc

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thebookofcommonprayer · 10 months

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i'm answering this from my main; thank you for asking! here's my tweet for a little further context for everyone else:

essentially what i have going is that rusty and the boys live in death and decay in a miserable ramshackle apartment building in a bad part of denver (probably five points or capitol hill, i'm not sure yet, i'll have to do more research). rusty used to be the child star of the action/adventure show that his daddy produced and when he turned eighteen, hollywood realized that he's a terrible actor and jonas realized this too. he focused his attention entirely on funding jj's career, who became very successful for his science shows on documentary channels. jonas dies and rusty gets very little from his will. he uses this to very, very briefly live large and he tries desperately to make money by starring in terribly, critically-panned indie movies. he gets nowhere aside from briefly falling in love with one of his costars, knocking her up, and not trying that hard to make it work with her for the next several months. feeling miserable and confused and trapped, she leaves and abandons her twin infants with rusty.

so throughout the years rusty drags his kids from bad to worse places, getting constantly fired from wageslave jobs in fits of pill-addled hysteria or drunkenness. the boys are pulled in and out of school until they're around eleven or twelve and then they never go again. rusty continues to build up tolerances to prescription drugs and finally decides that things can't really get that much worse in his life and he maybe-sorta-kinda decides to try heroin via the ambiguously gay albino and little person duo that lives on another floor. and things obviously immediately get worse.

rusty's concepts of morality and shame and guilt are endlessly twisted past the point of no return after suffering so tremendously during his career and beyond that and even though he gets a little bit of welfare every month, it's not nearly enough to fund his drug habits and also pay his meager rent and also keep his children fed, and they're clearly never going to be able to go to college or amount to anything at all, so rusty starts to force dean into secondhand dresses and heels and stolen makeup and he sends him out into the streets with hank acting as his pimp (he's got more business sensibilities anyway and he knows how to handle money and sell a product). they both try very hard to make money for daddy even though this is really, really scary and weird and it feels so awful. they'll crawl back to the apartment at dawn and hand the money over and they always pray to a god who won't listen that it's enough.

over time, hank starts to pocket some of it so he can use it during the nights that he sneaks out. dean doesn't like it and he doesn't go with him, but he begrudgingly promises not to tell. if he's not trying to make awkward, insane conversation with the 24-hour convenience store cashier (21) a block away, hank will go see the gruff, ruggedly handsome former soldier a few rooms down from theirs who's been hiding out and doing spy work over the past six months. extremely sympathetic to the situation (despite not ever really letting it show), brock will let hank stick around and vent and complain and cry while cleaning weapons or doing paperwork. hank is absolutely crazy about him and whispers stories about him to dean when they're curled up in bed together, huddled on a twin mattress across the room from their father.

i have this idea that malcolm was also a former child star whose accomplishments were constantly overshadowed in comparison to rusty, who was always thought to be his much cuter, pluckier twin on screen. malcolm and sheila are a deeply codependent couple that also live in the crackhouse and they're trying desperately to scrape their way out of poverty and they've kidnapped the boys a few times for ransom, because they're really the only kids they've ever seen in the entire complex and they're very kidnappable. obviously, this never works and they're always quickly let go. malcolm is constantly overcome with rage that rusty pissed away all his money even after getting all the fame and glory over him and never being grateful for it.

there's a lot more to this whole thing knocking around in my head but this is all i have rn ... i'm thinking about it. i'm thinking about it hard

#i think the guild is probably just . child protective services #orpheus is a librarian. poor traumatized kids love libraries (speaking from experience)#there's so much i can do with this and it would be so fun as fucked up as i want it to be #commonasks

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fastfur07 · 2 years

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Ham Sandwich

CW: Vore

This one's been stagnant for a while, but don't worry; it's been thoroughly cleaned.

Unwilling prey, soft, safe vore, digestion mention.

My name is Ham. I know, it’s a stupid name, but according to my parents it comes from someone in the Bible. That doesn’t make me feel any better, but at least now you know my parents weren’t just crazy about food.

I’m the one who’s crazy about food. I’m a champion speed-eater, and today I’m going up against Stockville, my neighbouring town, in the annual hot dog eating contest. I’m tense - I haven’t had a chance to see my opponent yet, so I’ve been training full-force for the whole week. Three times a day, every day, I set the clock and stuff my face with crass, store-bought hot dogs. It’s not easy to work at this pace, but I’m the kind of guy to take every chance I get.

I’m starting to get sick of hot dogs. There’s a plate of them in front of me in the stadium lounge, and as unappetizing as they look, it’s taking all my willpower not to inhale them with the same methodical frenzy as the last few hundred. I skipped breakfast: I need to be totally on top of my game.

Finally an attendant escorts me out to the field. It’s a bright, cloudless morning, perfect hot dog eating weather, but there’s still no sign of the Stockville competitor. I wave to the crowd, sending a cheer echoing through the stadium - people are surprisingly enthusiastic to see two guys stuffing themselves with hot dogs. I lap up the adoration. It should make things go down a lot more easily.

There’s a whine of feedback from the speakers as the announcer plugs in his microphone. “Sorry,” he mutters, clearing his throat. “Welcome, everyone, to the 156th annual Hot Dog Eating Contest Face-off!”

This inspires even more cheering. The announcer continues, “Today, as I’m sure you’ve noticed, we have a new competitor!”

All eyes are on me. There’s a sudden silence, but I can almost hear the crowd’s thoughts: who is this mystery man? He’s awfully small for a speed-eater. It’s true, I am small. There are probably pigs larger than this Ham, but I can put away more hot dogs than even the most gluttonous hog. They’re gonna be shocked.

“Representing Burnley… it’s Ham Lanolin!”

Riotous laughter. I expected that. I want to climb up, grab the microphone from the announcer, and shout, “It’s from the Bible!” But I don’t, because it only takes a few moments for everyone to realise their mistake. The laughter dissolves into wild applause, and I take a few bows. That’s better.

“And now, our contender!”

I look over at the door on the far side of the stadium. Hasn’t he come out yet? Maybe he snuck out while I wasn’t looking. The crowd is hushed. Who could it be? I know a lot of Stockville speed-eaters.

“Representing Stockville… Jeremiah Denver!”

Oh my god, he’s enormous.

Backed by thunderous applause, a huge hulk of a man strolls out of the door and waves to the crowd. How is this fair? He must be able to keep down twice as many hot dogs as me! But I have to stay confident. I’m small, so I’m nimbler than him. I can go faster. The contest is based on time, so I just need to not get full. Should be easy enough.

“Now, you all know the rules… whoever eats the most hot dogs in five minutes will be this year’s champion!” the announcer explains.

Two attendants appear, holding two massive plates of hot dogs. They look so much better than the ones in the lounge; they must be handmade. I’m drooling already, but I keep my composure.

There’s also a big bottle of water for each of us - damn it, why didn’t I practice without water?! I was practically drinking straight from the hose when I was training, so having a limited supply of water will test me.

I sit down, and Jeremiah sits next to me. “Ham, is it?” he says in a gravelly voice, and offers me a steak-sized hand. I shake it sourly.

“No, it’s hot dogs,” I growl.

The scoreboard flashes up on the stadium’s screen; we’re about to start. Good. I’m hungry.

“Ham and Jeremiah, are you ready?”

More cheers from the crowd as we both nod.

“On your marks!”

I lower my head, singling out the weakest sausage.

“Get set!”

I ready my hands.

“Go!”

---

The first hot dog goes down, smooth as butter. So does the second. The third catches on something in my throat, but the fourth helps it along. Everything’s going well so far. I wonder how Jeremiah’s doing.

It’s hard to time five minutes in your head while you’re stuffing hot dogs into your mouth, but I think it’s at around the one-minute mark that I take my first sip of water. Not too much - just enough to keep everything running in good condition. I’m a machine, I remind myself. A hot dog machine - what kind of machine, though? A street sweeper? An industrial shredder? A trash compactor? Yes, that’s it. I’m a hot dog trash compactor. Keeping myself mentally occupied like this helps me forget how sick I’m beginning to feel. I can take it. There’s four minutes to go.

Eventually, when I reach for another hot dog, my fingers close around nothing. My mouth is still full, so I can’t call to the attendants, but they’re already putting down a new plate. I’m back in action. I think I counted twenty in the first batch, and my record for five minutes is thirty. Maybe I’ll beat that record today. I’d love to see the look on Jeremiah’s face.

I cram them in, sausage after sausage and bun after bun. A chant seems to have started up on my side of the stadium: “HAM! HAM! HAM!”

I raise a hand to wave, and I’m about to resume my struggle when I’m jarred by the announcer’s voice over the speakers: “One minute left!”

Now I start to panic. I increase my pace, still not daring to look at Jeremiah. He probably hasn’t finished his first plate, the big lug. I shove in two at once like a chipmunk and drain the rest of my water to force them down. It’s becoming increasingly difficult to swallow, but I can’t afford to stop. I just have to remember, small, nimble. And don’t throw up.

As I continue pushing myself to fit them in, just one more, over and over, the horn is finally blown to signal the end of the competition. I drop the hot dog I’m holding, almost falling out of my chair as I crumple under my own weight. I can't contain my anticipation any longer. I have to know who won.

I crane my neck to look at the scoreboard:

Ham, 32; Jeremiah, 40.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we have our champion!”

Forty hot dogs?! My folks back in Burnley must think that’s a world record. The crowd erupts into cheers as Jeremiah stands up and waves. I slowly get up too, feeling like I went through this torture for nothing.

"Congratulations, Jeremiah," the announcer says, coming over with the microphone. "Anything you want to say to the audience?"

Jeremiah nods. Taking the microphone from the announcer's hands, he looses a disgustingly boisterous belch. It echoes through the stadium, and there's mixed reactions from the audience. I turn away, burying my face in my hands as Jeremiah hands the microphone back, grinning from ear to ear. Does this guy have no shame?

After the camera crew packs up and the audience disperses, I'm left waiting for my folks to take me home. Jeremiah is standing next to me, evidently in the same situation. I opt to strike up conversation, and answer the question that’s been on my mind ever since the competition finished.

“How d… how do you do that?” I splutter.

Jeremiah looks down at me. “Do what?”

“...You know!” I gesture at the scoreboard, then realise they turned it off. “Forty? My record was thirty! There must be something I’m missing. How do you possibly get forty!”

The only answer I get is a blank stare. Jeremiah blinks a few times, but then he seems to understand me. “Oh. The hot dogs.”

He leans in, lowering his voice. “Well, it’s a secret technique where you… oh, well, it’s hard to explain. How about I just show it to you?”

I nod. Jeremiah heads for the stadium door he entered from, and I follow him.

Jeremiah’s lounge is identical to mine, but for a difference I notice immediately: there are no hot dogs on the plate. He must have eaten them already.

He flops onto one of the chairs, which creaks under his weight, and smirks. “Ready to see how I beat you?”

“Yes, but…” I pick up the plate. “Won’t you need more hot dogs?”

“Nah, I’m sick of hot dogs.” Jeremiah beckons me closer. Now that we’re within touching distance I notice a strange growling and bubbling noise coming from his stomach. It fills me with dread, although I'm not sure why. He must not have finished digesting the hot dogs, I tell myself. He can't still be hungry. I hope he's not still hungry.

“So what are you going to use?” I venture.

“I was thinking… a good old Ham sandwich.”

I don’t have a reply to this. What would I say? I’m starting to think this is some sort of elaborate joke when Jeremiah claps his huge hands around my waist and lifts my small body into the air, with seemingly no effort.

“YEEEEK!” I drop the plate in shock, and it smashes on the floor. “What are you doing?!”

“Heh. Showing you my secret. Up close.” Before I can react, his mouth is open and I’m rapidly approaching it.

“Wait no no no no–” I put out my hands to stop him, but it’s too late. Somehow he’s wrapped his jaws around my entire head. Everything goes dark - and wet.

“AHHH!” I can’t believe what’s happening; he’s scarfing me down like an oversized hot dog. I squirm against his throat, but it’s too strong, and all I end up doing is wriggling like a worm, arms pinned to my sides. For all I know, my efforts could only be sending me deeper. “SOMEONE HELP!” I wail, but I know no one can hear me. The growling from Jeremiah’s body grows to a roar. I feel my torso grow damp with saliva, then my legs. My shoes are tugged off my feet, and in a matter of seconds, I’m swallowed whole.

---

I land in a mushy pile of half-chewed hot dogs. I’m breathing heavily; Jeremiah’s throat muscles squeezed all the air out of me. As soon as I recover I begin thrashing with all my strength, desperate to escape. It’s hot, it’s gross, and I don’t know how long my air will last.

“Jeremiah, you stupid–” I snarl. A thump from outside sends me off balance, but I keep kicking. There’s a surprising amount of room in here; I can almost fully extend my legs.

“You see now, Ham?” Jeremiah purrs, his voice booming through my enclosure. “I get my training partners to stretch my stomach out from the inside, just like you’re doing right now.”

Immediately I stop moving, tucking myself into a ball. There is no way I’m letting him improve as a speed-eater at my expense. This prompts a harsh laugh from Jeremiah.

“Okay!” I shout. “You’ve shown me how you do it, now can you PLEASE get me out?!”

“Nah,” Jeremiah replies, releasing another loud burp. “Maybe later. You don’t taste like ham, by the way,” he adds.

I’m hit by a new wave of fear. How long is he going to leave me in here? Surely his stomach will start dissolving me soon, if it hasn’t already. I press my face to the wall and cry out again, “Is that all I am to you? Just another… another meal? I’m gonna be digested! Let me out!” I’m almost bursting into tears now. How can he be doing this to me?

“Of course not, kid!” Jeremiah stresses. I’m not sure, but I think there’s a hint of guilt in his voice. “I’m not gonna digest you! Where did you get that idea?”

“Um… I’m in your STOMACH?”

I cast around for an exit; there is that other way out… no! No, I can't go that way! Can I?

"Please, Ham, just listen to me. I'm not trying to hurt you. Besides, there must be some reward for winning, right?"

I pout. I'm about to give this glutton a little more to chew on when another slap of his belly sends me toppling over again. Damn; he's got me every way I turn. I guess I'm stuck in here.

"Just relax. I'll take care of ya," I hear Jeremiah say, but I'm not listening any more. All I'm thinking about is whether or not he's going to keep his word. I guess only time will tell.

But I can wait. I'm in a stomach. I've got all the time in the world.

The end

#vore writing #vore story #cw vore #soft vore #unwilling prey

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yum-cy · 2 years

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[VD: I'm Not Okay by My Chemical Romance and a crowd singing along. Before the song begins, Gerard Way says, "Alright," to the crowd. The person behind the camera can be heard singing along. The video is shaky and switches between zooming in on the stage and the big screen. During Ray Toro's solo, the video zooms in on him playing his guitar on one of the amps in front of the stage. After the song ends, Gerard Way says, "(unclear what they say here) Do you guys in Denver just get used to the bands that come to town getting up here and just being unable to breathe (unclear what he says here) I'll go to Las Vegas. These motherfuckers. I'm over forty years old. (unclear what they say here) It's just a mild challenge. No concerns. No worries. We got this." The person filming can be heard laughing. /End VD]

I'm Not Okay!! Ray's solo blew my tits clean off. im....pretty sure i got ray during his solo? i couldnt quite see so i was hoping

i had to compress this video to upload it, im sorry if it's worse than my other videos

#mcr #mcrdenver #my chemical romance #ray toro #mikey way #gerard way #frank iero #yancy's bullshit ✌#im. so dysphoric about my voice. im so sorry #flashing #flashing tw #flashing cw

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denverneumann · 2 months

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fight or flight; a self para

"The park is now closed. Any trespassers will be removed by park security."

The guards came back. They were the same as the previous night, hunting in packs of two, with most of the tributes scrambling to hide lest they end up like Phila, head on a pike in front of the castle. Denver honestly didn't pay them much attention.

Ordinarily she would be glued to a screen for the entire duration of the Games, but the lights and the glamour of the ball and the intrigue of each carnival booth distracted her. Denver was tipsy, colorful drinks flowing liberally. She won a goldfish. She met Montgomery freaking Cannon. Denver spoke with her new friends. Time passed. She danced the night away. Denver caught, from the corner of her eye, the onscreen image of a guard delivering a blow to a tribute's face.

Denver dropped her cocktail, glass shattering silently beneath the din of the crowded room.

"Do you think I'm a fool, Ms. Neumann?"

The pastel gauze of Denver's skirts quickly and easily soaked up the vivid blue of the cocktail, but she paid that no mind, her gaze now fixed on the screen. Her face was beet red and it was certainly from the combination of the alcohol, the dancing, and the heat of the room, but her cheek stung anyway, as though the blush was the aftermath of a slap, delivered by one of two Peacekeepers in a dimly lit room.

Denver'd never liked Peacekeepers. They went too far in their jobs. She'd always thought that, especially as a teenager, following more than one close call with them. But this, this was beyond dislike. The mutt on the screen was faceless, but as anxiety began to ripple through her, Denver could have sworn it looked just like Captain Valorant.

The tribute screamed, and Denver felt tears prick her eyes. It wasn't Farina, she tried to tell herself. This wasn't some payback for sneaking out of the Tower after the Reaping. The guard snarled. Denver was sure she could hear the snarl even as far as she was from the speakers. Snarled just like the captain, and for a second she almost felt his breath in her ear.

Denver kicked off her shoes and ran from the ballroom into the cold night air.

It wasn't long before Denver was winded and uncomfortable. She wasn't used to so much physical exertion, much less so in bare feet on the rough sidewalk. It was too far to go back to her apartment. God, she was an idiot. What had she been thinking? The guards on the screen were not going to hurt her. She was fine.

Slowly, she turned back in the direction of the ball, still hesitating to return when a voice sounded in her ear.

"Are you okay?" the man's voice asked, and Denver didn't think, just reacted. She elbowed the man in his gut and took off running again, ignoring the pain in her gut and whatever dirt and debris was clinging to her feet. Her hands were in her skirts, hefting them up to keep herself from tripping. She was gasping for air, and the Tribute Tower was far closer than her apartment, so that's where she headed, uncaring of whoever saw her in this moment, so long as they didn't try to follow her.

She burst through the front doors of the Tower like a woman on a mission, ignoring the night guards who said she couldn't be there. They must have recognized her from her booth, because the didn't press, didn't try to stop her when she stalked down the hall to the first door she could find.

She thought she'd made it to a viewing room.

It was a supply closet.

No, no no no one no one no one no one. Denver screamed and kicked a mop bucket.

"No one!" she shouted, fists flailing at the exposed brick of the wall. "I wasn't meeting anyone," she said, softer as her hands began to smart from their impact on the bricks. It wasn't helping, and Denver grabbed and shoved at the shelf next to her, tilting it. The room was to small for it to fall over, but as the cleaning supplies fell on top of her she screamed again, and again, and again, until her voice was hoarse.

Her beautiful gloves were ripped to shreds and she tried to kick the various cans and bottles at her feet until she made enough room to collapse in a heap, various chemicals joining the cocktails in ruining her dress.

Denver sobbed, picking up bottles and throwing them the two or three feet to the wall, and then throwing them again when they inevitably came to a stop within arms distance from her. It would be fitting to say she was imagining it was Captain Valorant she was hitting with the bottles, but all Denver saw was red and anger and fear and pain and a damned brick wall and no way out.

Exhausted, Denver found herself leaning against the mop bucket, and cried until she fell asleep.

#self para #135 #135mb #panic attack tw

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theplumbnerd · 5 months

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DIY Sink Drain Unclogging: Plumb Nerd's Step-by-Step Guide

Introduction

Hey there, DIY warriors! Jack Thompson, your Plumb Nerd buddy from Denver, is here to rescue you from the woes of a clogged sink drain. If you're tired of that slow-draining sink or dealing with standing water, I've got your back. This step-by-step DIY guide will help you unclog that drain and restore the smooth flow of water. Let's grab our tools and tackle this plumbing challenge together.

Why Unclog Your Sink Drain?

Before we plunge into the steps, let's quickly understand why tackling a clogged sink drain is a DIY essential: - Restore Functionality: A clogged drain disrupts the normal flow of water, causing inconvenience and potential damage. - Prevent Odors: Standing water in a clogged drain can lead to unpleasant odors – unclogging eliminates this issue. - Avoid Costly Repairs: Prompt action can prevent more severe blockages, avoiding the need for professional intervention.

Plumb Nerd's Step-by-Step Guide

Here's your roadmap to becoming a sink drain unclogging expert: 1. Safety First (Always!) Our golden rule: - How-to: Put on rubber gloves to protect your hands. - Why: Keeps you safe from any potential contaminants in the drain. 2. Remove Standing Water Start with a clean slate: - How-to: Use a cup or bucket to remove any standing water from the sink. - Why: Provides better access to the drain and minimizes mess. 3. Use a Plunger Plunge away the clog: - How-to: Position the plunger over the drain and plunge vigorously up and down for about 20 seconds. - Why: Creates pressure to dislodge the clog. 4. Check the Drain Trap Inspect and clean: - How-to: Locate the drain trap (P-trap) under the sink and place a bucket beneath it. Unscrew and remove the trap to check for and remove any debris. - Why: Often, clogs accumulate in the P-trap, and cleaning it can solve the issue. 5. Use a Plumbing Snake or Zip-It Tool Get to the root of the problem: - How-to: Insert a plumbing snake or a Zip-It tool into the drain and rotate or pull to dislodge the clog. - Why: Reaches deeper into the pipes to tackle stubborn clogs. 6. Mix a Homemade Drain Cleaner DIY magic: - How-to: Combine equal parts baking soda and vinegar, pour it down the drain, and let it sit for 15-20 minutes. Follow with hot water. - Why: Creates a fizzing reaction that can help break down organic matter causing the clog. 7. Boil Hot Water Heat things up: - How-to: Boil a pot of water and pour it down the drain in stages, allowing hot water to work on the clog. - Why: Helps dissolve grease and soap scum causing the clog. 8. Check the Air Vent Breathe easy: - How-to: Ensure the air vent, usually on the roof, is clear of obstructions. - Why: A blocked vent can impede proper drainage. 9. Repeat the Process Persistence pays off: - How-to: If the clog persists, repeat the steps or try a combination of methods until the drain is clear. - Why: Some clogs may require multiple attempts for complete removal. 10. Run Water to Test The moment of truth: - How-to: Open the tap and let water run to see if the drain is clear. - Why: Confirms the success of your unclogging efforts. 11. Practice Preventive Measures Avoid future clogs: - How-to: Dispose of grease properly, use drain screens, and avoid putting large food particles down the sink. - Why: Prevents future clogs and keeps your sink draining smoothly.

Conclusion

There you have it, DIY champs! A practical guide to unclogging your sink drain, delivered by Jack Thompson, your Plumb Nerd. If you ever need more DIY wisdom, head over to plumbnerd.com. Now, go rescue that sink from the clutches of the clog. Happy unclogging! Read the full article

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datascraping001 · 5 months

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thealphareporter · 6 months

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Spotless Screens, Happy Homes: The Ultimate Guide to Screen Cleaning in Denver, CO

http://dlvr.it/SzSQNz

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easeyourpanesdenver · 7 months

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youtube

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masterofd1saster · 8 months

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CJ current events 26oct23

San Francisco poster child

A homeless convicted child sex offender has set up camp near a San Francisco Catholic school and public library — along with large signs offering “free fentanyl” for new users and “meth for stolen items.” Joseph Adam Moore, 46, was imprisoned for six years for sex crimes, having molested a 12-year-old girl — and was accused of having sex with a 15-year-old girl just a month after getting out of prison, according to records obtained by the San Francisco Standard. The sex offender has also been arrested five times since 2007 for failing to notify authorities of his address as a sex offender, according to the outlet. He is now living in a tent on Ninth Avenue near the Stella Maris Academy and the Richmond District library — with photos showing hand-written signs saying “Meth for stolen items” and “free fentanyl 4 new users.” “It’s not a joke,” Moore told the San Francisco Chronicle of the drug signs while confirming he was a registered sex offender.***

Cal DoJ via https://nypost.com/2023/10/19/homeless-sex-offender-camped-near-san-fran-school-with-free-fentanyl-sign

***

you're prefer fixed, flanking enfilading, but this'll work

A Washington homeowner fired multiple shots and scared off a group of three armed burglars attempting to kick down the front door while pretending to be Seattle officers, police said. Shocking surveillance video from Thursday morning shows three masked men arriving at a home on 117 PL SE, in Auburn. The suspects could be seen using their jackets and gloves to avoid touching the screen door directly as one of them yells, “Seattle Police.” Another suspect, dressed in a gray hoodie and sweatpants, then proceeds to try and kick the front door down, with an accomplice, dressed in all dark colors, helping him. When the door refuses to budge, the men take turns ramming it with their shoulders. As they continue to fail, a gunshot can be heard from inside the house.*** https://nypost.com/2023/10/19/homeowner-fires-at-armed-burglars-pretending-to-be-seattle-police

video - https://twitter.com/i/status/1715112092754382870

***

What happens when NGOs and gov't agencies make fat stacks from homelessness?

***dispute began in September 2021, when Seattle-based Unico paid $61.2 million for the five-story building. 7-Eleven had been a tenant for 11 years by that time. Within months of buying the property, Unico began complaining of problems there. “Over the last several weeks, one person has overdosed in front of the premises, a stabbing suspect fled into the premises, a partially clothed man slept in front of the store, a family slept outside (it), and an exterior window was shattered,” Unico’s property manager, Maria Clark, wrote to 7-Eleven’s corporate office near Dallas in August 2022. That letter, like others cited in this article, was attached as an exhibit to 7-Eleven’s lawsuit and obtained by BusinessDen from Denver District Court in a records request. Clark’s letter included 91 photos taken outside the 7-Eleven last year. Many showed transient people, but others displayed clean sidewalks and a presentable storefront. Those photos, according to Unico, were taken between January and April 2022 — when 7-Eleven was closed. To Unico, this was proof that 7-Eleven was attracting trouble, not a passive victim of it. So, Unico began billing 7-Eleven for the two full-time security guards and one part-time day porter that it hired at 1755 Blake St. The convenience store paid $20,000 to Unico under protest in December, then refused to pay another $54,000 that Unico demanded in March.*** https://www.denverpost.com/2023/10/19/7-eleven-homelessness-denver-lawsuit/

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What's up, doc?

A beloved nursing student in Michigan was kidnapped and killed by her abusive ex-boyfriend, a doctor — who shot her in the head in Illinois and then took his own life in Iowa after first calling his parents. Gina Nicole Bryant, 25, a student at the University of Michigan-Flint, was killed by Dr. Justin Wendling, 26, of Holly, Michigan, at a gas station in La Salle, Illinois, on Oct. 13, the Macomb County Sheriff’s Office said.*** La Salle Detective Sgt. Brian Camenisch confirmed that Wendling, a medical resident at Ascension Genesys Hospital in Grand Blanc Township, “was responsible for the homicide based on our investigation,” the Detroit News reported. Bryant was reported missing on Oct. 12 after co-workers grew concerned when she did not return to work as a medical assistant after her lunch break and they began receiving odd messages from her phone, the Macomb County Sheriff’s Office said.*** “Tragically, surveillance video and witnesses from a truck stop in LaSalle, Ill., confirmed that the suspect had shot and killed the victim at approximately 12:00 a.m. on 10/13/2023,” the sheriff’s office said. “The suspect then fled to Bettendorf, Iowa. It was reported to the MCSO that as local officers approached the vehicle, the suspect shot and killed himself,” police added. Bryant had lived with Wendling in Grand Blanc Township after they began dating 11 months ago, her oldest sister, Angelica Gintner, told the Detroit News. In late September, Bryant’s mother and sister moved her out of the apartment after she told them that Wendling had been abusing her for months, according to the outlet.*** https://nypost.com/2023/10/19/nursing-student-shot-dead-by-doctor-ex-who-then-kills-self

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finally caught him

Newly released surveillance footage shows the moment the violent felon accused of murdering tech CEO Pava LaPere was cornered after a desperate 11-day manhunt. Jason Billingsly, 32, could be seen sitting under an awning at Bowie train station in Maryland with an unidentified man on Sept. 30 — days after police warned that he was someone who “will kill and he will rape.” He’d been hunted even before the battered body of LaPere, 26, was found on Sept. 25, having been accused of the Sept. 19 rape of a woman who was then set on fire along with her boyfriend. After being spotted at the station, Billingsly had a spotlight shone on him as US marshalls appeared across the tracks, with one aiming a rifle at the suspect, the footage first obtained by the Baltimore Banner shows. Both Billingsly and the man with him immediately raised their arms to surrender.*** The arrest marked the end of a long manhunt for the 6-foot-4, 305-pound suspect who had been released on mandatory supervision after completing a rape sentence less than one year ago. Investigators applied for search warrants on Sept. 20, hours after he was accused of the “targeted” gunpoint rape of woman who was set on fire along with a man who was with her.*** https://nypost.com/2023/10/20/video-shows-arrest-of-pava-laperes-suspected-killer/

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Good!

Hollywood star Alec Baldwin could soon face fresh charges in connection to the fatal Rust shooting almost exactly two years ago as New Mexico prosecutors seek to present new evidence to a grand jury.

The announcement represents a dramatic reversal after prosecutors dropped their involuntary manslaughter case against Baldwin earlier this year. On Tuesday, they said “additional facts have come to light” following an “extensive” investigation they carried out in recent months.*** “After extensive investigation over the past several months, additional facts have come to light that we believe show Mr. Baldwin has criminal culpability in the death of Halyna Hutchins and the shooting of Joel Souza,” special prosecutors Kari Morrissey and Jason Lewis said in a statement reported by Deadline. “We believe the appropriate course of action is to permit a panel of New Mexico citizens to determine from here whether Mr. Baldwin should be held over for criminal trial.”*** https://www.breitbart.com/entertainment/2023/10/17/alec-baldwin-facing-possible-new-charges-over-rust-shooting-as-new-mexico-prosecutors-revive-case

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Good column by a Jew arguing for free speech by antisemites

Takes guts.

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that's bad

DETROIT, Mich – Prominent Detroit synagogue president Samantha Woll has been found dead outside of her home, police said. Her body was found with multiple stab wounds early Saturday morning, along with a trail of blood that led from the suspected crime scene to Woll’s home, the Detroit News reported. There’s no apparent motive for the deadly attack, according to police.*** https://davebondydigital.com/2023/10/21/detroit-jewish-synagogue-president-found-dead-outside-her-home/

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This is part of why I scaffold your writing assignments.

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think before writing headlines

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You hate 83 people?

An off-duty pilot is charged with 83 counts of attempted murder after he allegedly tried to shut off the engines by pulling the fire extinguisher handles on an Alaska Airlines flight, according to officials. The plane was scheduled to fly from Everett, Washington, to San Francisco before it diverted late Sunday to Portland after a "credible security threat related to an authorized occupant in the flight deck jump seat," the airline confirmed to ABC News. The suspect allegedly tried to pull the fire extinguisher handles on the engines, preliminary information obtained by investigators indicated, according to a federal official briefed on the probe. The suspect was overwhelmed by flight crew and subdued and then handcuffed to a seat, the federal official told ABC News. The suspect, Joseph David Emerson, was taken into custody, the Port of Portland confirmed. Emerson is charged with 83 counts of attempted murder, according to the Multnomah County Sheriff's Office. He is also facing 83 counts of reckless endangerment, a misdemeanor, and one felony count of endangering an aircraft.*** https://abcnews.go.com/US/alaska-airlines-flight-diverted-after-credible-security-threat/story?id=104223059

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after Tues

FAA & airlines prohibit taking benadryl

The off-duty pilot accused of trying to bring down an Alaska Airlines flight told investigators he took psychedelic mushrooms 48 hours prior to the incident, had been depressed, and believed he was experiencing a mental breakdown, authorities said. The off-duty pilot — Joseph Emerson, 44, of California — has since been charged with more than 80 counts of attempted murder, and the FBI is investigating whether he was under the influence when he tried to shut down the plane's engines while sitting in the cockpit of Sunday's flight from Everett, Washington, to San Francisco, officials told NBC News.***https://www.msn.com/en-us/news/us/off-duty-alaska-airlines-pilot-who-allegedly-tried-to-shut-down-engines-may-have-been-taking-mushrooms/ar-AA1iMjlR

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You won't mind if we shoot you....

Jareh Sebastian Dalke, 31, of Colorado Springs, pleaded guilty today to six counts of attempting to transmit classified National Defense Information (NDI) to an agent of the Russian Federation (Russia). According to court documents, from June 6, 2022, to July 1, 2022, Dalke was an employee of the National Security Agency (NSA) where he served as an Information Systems Security Designer. Dalke admitted that between August and September 2022, in order to demonstrate both his “legitimate access and willingness to share,” he used an encrypted email account to transmit excerpts of three classified documents to an individual he believed to be a Russian agent. In actuality, that person was an FBI online covert employee. All three documents from which the excerpts were taken contain NDI, are classified as Top Secret//Sensitive Compartmented Information (SCI) and were obtained by Dalke during his employment with the NSA. On or about Aug. 26, 2022, Dalke requested $85,000 in return for all the information in his possession. Dalke claimed the information would be of value to Russia and told the FBI online covert employee that he would share more information in the future, once he returned to the Washington, D.C., area. Dalke subsequently arranged to transfer additional classified information in his possession to the purported Russian agent at Union Station in downtown Denver. Using a laptop computer and the instructions provided by the FBI online covert employee, Dalke transferred five files, four of which contain Top Secret NDI. The other file was a letter, which begins (in Russian and Cyrillic characters) “My friends!” and states, in part, “I am very happy to finally provide this information to you. . . . I look forward to our friendship and shared benefit. Please let me know if there are desired documents to find and I will try when I return to my main office.” The FBI arrested Dalke on Sept. 28, moments after he transmitted the files.*** https://www.justice.gov/opa/pr/former-nsa-employee-pleads-guilty-attempted-espionage

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when you don't prosecute crimes

U.S. Postal Service letter carriers from across Metro Denver rallied at the Aurora Main Post Office on Tuesday to raise awareness for increasing assaults and robberies and to call for more federal prosecution of the crimes. About 30 letter carriers stood outside the post office Tuesday night, listening to state and national union leaders and chanting “Enough is enough!” The Colorado State Association of Letter Carriers has tracked 10 assaults and robberies on metro-area letter carriers in 2023, President Richard Byrne said Tuesday, up from two cases reported to the group in 2022. Byrne, a letter carrier in Greeley, said people who commit crimes against federal employees should face federal charges.*** Denver letter carrier Ken Deuel worked for the Postal Service for 30 years before he was robbed and shot at during his regular route in South Park Hill in January.*** Assaults and robberies of letter carriers have sharply increased in the last decade, according to the Associated Press, with nearly 500 postal carriers robbed in the United States in 2022. “I took an oath to protect the sanctity of the mail, and now they’re like ‘Don’t worry about it, if you’re getting robbed, let them take whatever they want,’” Deuel said.*** “Every postal employee deserves to work in safety and to be free from targeting by criminals seeking to access the public’s mail,” Boxrud said. “In an increasingly challenging environment, the USPS and the United States Postal Inspection Service are highly focused on protecting postal employees and property and ensuring the secure delivery of the nation’s mail and packages.”

Why not "Every human deserves to work in safety and to be free from targeting by criminals?"

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Sad

LEWISTON, Maine -- At least 16 people have been killed and dozens of others injured in shootings in Lewiston, Maine, two law enforcement officials told The Associated Press. The shootings happened Wednesday evening at a bar and bowling alley.*** At least 10 people were killed Wednesday in shootings in Lewiston, Maine, and the death toll is expected to rise, two law enforcement officials told The Associated Press. *** Police were searching for the man who opened fire Wednesday at two locations in the Maine city.*** Lewiston Police said in an earlier Facebook post that they were dealing with an active shooter incident at Schemengees Bar and Grille and Sparetime Recreation, a bowling alley.*** https://abcnews.go.com/US/wireStory/police-active-shooter-lewiston-maine-investigating-multiple-scenes-104319509

(Androscoggin County Sheriff’s Office via AP) https://www.marinij.com/2023/10/25/at-least-16-dead-in-maine-shooting-and-dozens-injured-law-enforcement-officials-tell-ap/

Robert Card. https://www.breitbart.com/2nd-amendment/2023/10/25/suspect-sought-connection-maine-shootings-robert-card/

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