Video
The Brooklyn Bridge, Financial District, and The Battery Skyline of Lower Manhattan Aerial View by David Oppenheimer Via Flickr: The Brooklyn Bridge, Financial District, and The Battery skyline of Lower Manhattan in New York City nighttime aerial view - © 2024 David Oppenheimer - Performance Impressions aerial photography archives - performanceimpressions.com
#The Brooklyn Bridge#Brooklyn Bridge#Brooklyn Bridge aerial#Financial District#New York Financial District#NYC Financial District#The Battery#bridge#East River#Lower Manhattan#Manhattan Island#NYC skyline#Pier 17#NYC Pier 17#FDR Dr#Pier 11#Wall Street#Wall Street aerial view#Wall Street skyline#120 Wall St#waterfront#70 South St#111 Wall Street#1 Financial Sq#55 Water Street#375 Pearl St#Verizon Building#199 Water St#70 Pine#40 Wall St
0 notes
Text
EASY STREET SERIES MASTERLIST
summary: 2 months after the herd, you fall pregnant. You and Daryl don't know what to think, however you feel blessed with the timing of it all. Alexandria's walls finished rebuilding, and Alexandria just recently joined an alliance with the group named 'Hilltop'. What perfect timing, you think.
Too perfect.
WARNINGS: Torture, murder, major character death, SPOILERS, pregnancy, smut, Negan, TV canonical violence, more to be added.
Prologue - coming soon!
Series Taglist: @clairealeehelsing @celtic-crossbow @wabi-sabi1090 @l0kilaufeys0n7 @daryldixmedown
@holb32
@dixons-sunshine
@starshipsofstarlord
@bigbaldheadname
@aerischan90
@lettersfromyourlove
@lothiriel9
@avabh12
@darylssluttt
@teddymoon06
@lizzleafs
@daryls-wife
@rosey1981
@potatochip-111
#daryl dixon x reader#daryl x reader#daryl dixon angst#daryl dixon smut#daryl dixon#daryl dixon fluff#twd#writers on tumblr#the walking dead#easy street#norman reedus#coming soon :)#fanfic#daryl dixon fanfiction
256 notes
·
View notes
Text
Catching Strays Pt:111🐈⬛💎✨
Red Hood x male!reader who’s a cat burglar with a similar M.O. to Catwoman who’s on a crime spree.
Summary:Your a Cat Burglar who’s dressed similarly to Catwoman. You enjoy the thrill of the chase.
—————
Red Hood’s bike races down the highway, he weaves through traffic pushing his bike to its limits.
He glances down at the screen following the signal. “Please don’t do it.” He huffs as he rushes down a ramp off the highway and onto the main road of East Gotham, still rushing his way through the streets.
—-
Black Mask laughs to himself from his office, he just broadcasted to the GCPD and Batman that he wants 50 million dollars or he’ll release the bio weapon,and if Batman or any of his sidekicks come after him he’ll detonate the virus.
“You think they’ll come lookin’ boss?” Black Mask has his back to him looking at the Gotham City skyline. “The Bat ain’t stupid enough to come here, he’ll be looking for where I’m spreading the virus, good luck to him. I’ve got some insurance this time.” He chuckled.
—-
Y/n landed on his feet in the sewers, he stood up and looked around. He knew he could enter the building itself he’d have to work his way up. He began to run down the tunnels. The only sound was his footsteps and the sound of drilling. He came to an overhang and looked down to see Black Mask’s men setting up lines and tubes.
He crouched and walked for a moment before he noticed a table with blue prints and supplies.
What are you idiots doing?
He glanced at the blueprints and took a few pictures of them. He began to move along until he heard voices from around the corner.
“I’m in charge of this project not you, you’re just the hired muscle!”a man threatened, Y/n peeked around the wall and saw the man get picked up by his throat.
“You misunderstood enano, your boss has me overseeing this project. So get back to work,” he threw him and he landed close to Y/n who accidentally knocked over a bottle.
The man came into the light and Y/n saw Bane for the first time.
“Men, I think we have a rodent problem.” He chuckled and Y/n moved fast.
———-
“Red Hood what’s your ETA?” Batman’s voice filled his com. Red Hood raced into a turn, down a street and barreled towards Black Mask’s office.
“I’m nearly there.”
“Stop, don’t approach. He’s counting on that.”
Jason wanted to ignore him, he was seconds from reaching his destination but he looked up and moved as a gunshot nearly took his eye out. He turned down an alleyway as another gunshot range out.
“Snipers.” He growled.
“Any idiot how he can get in, Robin and I aren’t far from your location. He won’t get away with this.”
Jason shook his head, and noticed a open sewer grate,“Stray hasn’t done anything to Black Mask. He’s in over his head.”
“I don’t mean him, so long as he doesn’t kill him. “
“Well then you better hurry up because I don’t think Black Mask is working alone.” He noticed the room Stray was in and he was leaping out of the way of Bane’s attack.
Red Hood fired his pistol one of them nicking Bane’s shoulder. “Step away from him Bane, I won’t break those arms.”
Bane smirked, “So this is your pussycat, well then I’ll be extra careful with him.” He pressed the button on his wrist and Y/n watched in horror as he doubled in size, his veins extending and turning blue, his demeanor become more deadly.
“I’ll break you both into pieces!” Y/n back flipped away from him and leaped up to where Jason was.
“Friend of yours?”
“Not mine.” He fired at him which pissed him off more.
“Go!”
“I’m not running, from whatever that thing is.” He cracks his whip. The two smirk before jumping out the way of a barrel being flung at them.
Red Hood and Stray dodged out the way of Bane’s attack and would attack him while he was distracted.
Soon though Bane got ahold of Red Hood and through him through a wall sending him flying. Stray jumped and wrapped his whip around Bane’s neck. He jumped down from the rafters and choked him.
“I’ll—break—you.” Y/n took his claws and severed the tube in his head causing him to scream. He got down and moved away from him running to Red Hood who was getting to his feet.
“That’ll hurt tomorrow.” He dusted himself before turning to Y/n who wore an unreadable look.
“Let’s go.” He turned for the stairs. Red Hood followed him upstairs into the main hall of the office lobby.
“You can’t kill him, I get he’s your father—“ Y/n turned toward him and glared.
“Don’t, has many heads as you’ve let roll I don’t care what you or Batman thinks. He owns me.” Y/n sprinted for the elevator and slide inside it as the doors shut. Red Hood was now in a room with armed guards.
“Thanks Cat.” He ready his pistols but then the lights when out and the sound of glass shattered. Smoke soon engulfed the room and one by one they became picked off.
“Where is he?” Batman and Robin emerged from the smoke.
“Penthouse, we have to hurry.”
——-
“Honestly you and Nightwing have rather interesting taste in suitors.”
“Not now.” Red Hood sighed as they entered the penthouse. Batman went inside first and they took in the sight of a struggle.
“He’s gone.” Batman turned to the desk and saw it mashed to pieces. He picked up a black phone that had a shattered screen.
“Tt, a waste of a trip,it seems your friend is just as sneaky as Kyle.” Robin turned to leave the two men in the room.
“No blood, I think Black Mask was waiting for him. “ Red Hood stopped before turning to the giant window.
“The roof.” The two rushed out the room and toward the stairs until they were on the roof. Black Mask had Stray in a headlock as he was getting inside the helicopter.
“Get back Bats,I’ve got a hostage. I’m getting out of the city!” The helicopter was seconds from take off.
“Let him go!” Red Hood clocked his pistol but Black Mask did the same pointing it at Stray’s temple. Blood present on his face.
“You’ll die a painful death.” He spat at the man who pushed the gun farther toward his face.
“I’ll blow your head off kid, you’ve caused me a lot. And I don’t care if your kid I’ll fucking paint this rooftop red, you heard that Batman I’ll fucking repaint this roof.” He pulled them into the helicopter as it took off Red Hood ran to the edge and watched as it began to fly toward the city.
“We—“
“I’ve got that covered.” The Batplane came racing toward them and stopped at the edge.
“Robin follow us on the road, don’t lose Black Mask’s signal.” Batman ordered hopping inside with Red Hood joining him, they flew toward the helicopter.
——-
Stray is still in Black Mask’s iron grip and still manages to piss him off.
“What you not man enough to look at your son tarface.” Black Mask tightens his hold around Y/n neck.
“I will kill you kid, you maybe my flesh blood but your no kin of mine. I’ll drop from the chopper.” He spat. Y/n looked around but his weapons were seized and his mask too.
“Y’know you kinda look like her.” He chuckled watching the city as they passed by.
“Go Fuck yourself.” Y/n spat at him which earned him a hard shove. He nearly fell out the chopper but was grabbed by his collar.
“I really am starting to remember why I never wanted kids. “
The Batplane is now directly behind them and begins to fire at the helicopter.
Black Mask grabs an assault rifle and fires back at them. “I’ll kill you Bats!” Y/n yanks on Black Masks arms and he fires around the small aircraft even hitting the pilot. Black Mask yanks Y/n and stares at him.
“Your dead kid.” Y/n takes his claws and slashes Black Mask’s chest. He pushes Y/n full force and spirals down to the city below.
It’s all in slow motion, the bright and vast city surround him, window after window, balcony and neon signs fade past him.
He barely notices the figure the grabs him and grapples them to safety. It’s only once his feet touch the surface of the rooftop does his world stop spinning and he’s back from cloud 9.
“Did that bastard hurt you?” He looks up at the Red Hood who his clutching Y/n like he’s the only anchor he has to reality.
“No..I’m fine you caught me.” The look up and seen the chopper spiral and crashes into Gotham Bay. The Batplane flies toward the crash before returning flying farther into the city.
The rain starts again, though nearly move to get out of it. Instead Y/n lifts his hands to the help and removes it.
Jason’s face is back before him. The jet black hair matted to his skin, the white tuff proudly in the front it too was wet from sweat and the rain. The scar across his face that Y/n gently traced with his thumb. His eyes still covered by the red domino mask.
“Stray—“
“Call me Y/n.” He cut him off tracing his thumb now just below the bottom of Jason’s lip.
“Well if we’re on a first name basis, I’m Jason.”
“And somehow Handsome that suits you.” Jason pulled him close. He took his hand and pried off his last mask allowing Y/n to see those pretty green eyes.
“I’ve wanted nothing more than to hold you, you are something special to me, someone—I’ve never felt this before.”
Y/n grinned before pulling Jason’s head closer. “Well Red, I think that call that being smitten.”
Jason smirked, “Well my little thief I can say you’ve cracked the code to my heart.” Jason kisses him and the two men hold one another has the rain showers them from above.
When the finally break away his when Jason pulls away with a slight scowl.
“Did I do something?” Jason shakes his head at him press a quick kiss to his forehead.
“No, my family was listening and are killing the moment.” He slightly yelled the last part which caused Y/n to laugh.
“Well then I guess you better not keep them waiting.” He pulls Jason in for another kiss this one more passionate and gentle than the first one. He pulls away and smirks.
“I’m beginning to like this, a lot.” He grins holding his Stray.
“Well it’s just the beginning.” Y/n hands Jason his helmet and grins. Jason wraps his arm around Y/n’s waist.
“I think I know a guy who can get you some new gear, though he’s kinda broody.”
Y/n smirked, “Who your Father?” Jason blushes and looks away.
“Aww you want me to meet your Dad.” Stray tracks Jason’s emblem with his free hand.
“Babe I will leave you on this rooftop.” He fastens his helmet and grapples them away.
“You wouldn’t dream of it, you’d miss me teasing you to much Red.”
“I’m a lucky guy.”
“You sure are Red, you sure are.”
#Jason Todd x male!reader#jason todd x reader#red hood x reader#red hood x male!reader#batfamily#batfamily!reader#Batfamily x male!reader#dc universe#dc comics#batman#batfam#dick grayson#gotham knights#jason todd#tim drake#dc x male reader#barbara gordon#damian wayne#bruce wayne#batgirl#duke thomas#dcau#dcu#cassandra cain#batfamily shenanigans#dc stray#black mask#dc robin
127 notes
·
View notes
Text
Steddie Upside-Down AU Part 112
Part 1 Part 111
Eddie feels anything but serene as he follows Steve up to the front door of the Harrington house. There’s no expensive car in the driveway aside from Steve’s own, but that doesn’t account for all the neighbors. He still remembers the curtains shifting that night, all the rich folks ready to watch the spectacle Billy, Eddie, and Carol were making of themselves.
“What if someone calls the cops?” Eddie whispers, looking behind them at the seemingly abandoned street. When he turns back around, Steve’s frowning down at his keyring. There’s an empty spot where his house key should be. Right. “Wait, let me–”
Eddie bends down to grab the key from the pot where he’d hidden it. He hands it to Steve with a sheepish smile. Steve doesn’t ask. He turns, fits it into the lock, and twists. The metallic clang of the tumbler turning portends their doom.
“Steve!” Eddie hisses, looking back at all the houses hemming them in.
Steve just scoffs. “Why would they call the cops on a kid going into his own house?” He opens the door wide, ushering Eddie inside until he has no choice but to follow. As if there was ever a world in which he wouldn’t follow Steve anywhere. “There’s no way they told anyone they kicked me out.”
Steve closes the door behind Eddie, clicking the lock and deadbolt home like a bad habit. “Besides, you think Chief Hopper’s going to arrest us?”
Steve doesn’t take off his shoes, so Eddie doesn’t either. Steve skips, light-footed up the stairs, but Eddie clumps, muddy boots leaving clods of dirt with every step. When they reach the top of the stairs, Eddie makes sure to ground his heel extra hard into the new white carpet.
When Eddie takes a little too long to follow, Steve clasps his wrist and pulls him into his old bedroom and shuts the door. He’s not surprised when Steve leads him over to his closet.
He’d known right when Steve’d pulled onto the street.
Steve drops his wrist. He puts his back to the closet wall, slides down it, and sort of crouches there, feet planted on the ground, eyes looking up at Eddie. When he doesn’t move, Steve pats the spot next to him.
Eddie slides down the wall beside him. He ends up sitting criss-cross on the carpet, thigh overlapping Steve’s own. As if waiting for Eddie to take his place, Steve drops his own alert position, falling onto his ass and crossing his own legs so his thigh stays pressed tightly into Eddie’s.
Steve didn’t turn on the bedroom light, but the curtains are open, and there’s still plenty of daylight to burn.
“So…” Eddie trails off leadingly, gaze trained on the atrocious plaid wallpaper that covers the room. “What are we doing here?”
Steve sighs. Eddie feels him shift. He looks over, and Steve’s picking at his fingernails. “I just wanted, I mean, you’re just,” Steve stumbles. He groans, burying his head into his hands before peaking up at Eddie through his fingers. “You know?”
Eddie smiles down at him, equal parts endeared and utterly lost. “Not in the slightest.”
Steve laughs, turning his face fully back into his hands. “Yeah, fair,” he replies, voice muffled into his palms. He groans again, long and loud. “Carol and I practiced this.”
Eddie reaches out to pull one of Steve’s hands free. He resists for a second before dropping them both and pouting up at Eddie. He links their fingers together, and Steve latches on like a drowning man. Eddie runs his thumb across his knuckles.
“Fuck what you practiced.” Eddie’s looking down at their hands. “Just tell me.”
Steve breathes in deep, lets it out slow. He squeezes Eddie’s hand once and speaks, all in one go, like he needs to rush it all together to get the thought out. “This is the first place I ever wanted to kiss you.” Steve laughs. “This was supposed to be romantic, but I forgot all my lines.” He laughs again, but Eddie barely hears it. He’s staring down at their hands, eyes so wide they feel like they’re about ready to pop free from his skull. “Should’ve written it down, I guess.”
Eddie thinks he’s smiling, but he can’t quite feel his face anymore. He can’t imagine Steve sitting next to him, reading off notecards as he stumbles through whatever the hell this is.
Steve doesn’t immediately continue, but he’s already given Eddie so much to pour over, that he hardly notices. Steve Harrington wants to kiss him, has thought about it enough to have a first time, is stumbling over his words trying to talk about it.
“Wait the first time?” Eddie asks, shocked enough to look away from their hands and up at Steve’s eyes. “That first night?”
All Eddie remembers of that first night is fear and Steve Harrington’s body pressed close to his.
“No!” Steve says forcefully, almost glaring over at him. But then he winces, eye twitching half closed as he rocks his head to the side. “Well, yeah probably. I’m always sort of thinking about kissing people.”
“What?”
“But I meant that night on Halloween!” Steve raises his hands in defense, bringing Eddie’s up right along with them to hang in the air awkwardly. “You saved me, you know? And you were wearing my clothes.”
“That does it for you?” Eddie asks, something shaking through his lungs, and making him choke on his words. It emerges as a laugh, unhinged and uncontrolled as he pulls his knees up to his chest, bending down to compress his ribs into them as he shakes with the power of his laughter.
Steve’ still holding his hand up, arm bent awkwardly to the side as he leans forward. “Don’t crack on me now, Munson.”
Eddie leans back, waving his free hand in front of his face as tears stream from his eyes. “Hang on, hang on.” He uses his elbow to wipe the tears away, uncurling as the laughter peters out slowly and dies an awkward death at his feet. “Sorry, sorry.”
He peers at Steve out of the corner of his eyes, afraid of what he’ll see. Steve’s biting his lip against his own amusement, eyes crinkled at the corners the way Eddie loves.
“Can I continue?” he asks, mirth audible in every word.
Eddie rolls his eyes, wiping them dry one last time. He turns away from the ugly plaid wallpaper to face Steve, pulling at their joined hands until Steve turns right along with him, the knees of their crossed legs knocking together.
He’s starting to get an inkling of what this is, and he wants to be able to see Steve’s face as it happens.
“Go on,” he says, squeezing Steve’s hand.
It’s Steve’s turn to look down at their hands as Eddie watches a blush bloom on his face. Eddie keeps holding onto him, and waits. He’s waited a week, a year, a lifetime, for this. He can wait a few minutes more.
“Tommy was my first kiss.” Steve says. Eddie’s shoulder’s hunch then freeze that way. Whatever he was expecting, it wasn’t that. “And Carol was my second.”
The words hang in the air for a second, an arrow to Eddie’s heart. Tommy fucking Hagan who trampled all over Steve’s heart, and Carol fucking Perkins who’d followed right along in his wake.
Eddie doesn’t know what the fuck this is. “What does that…” he starts to ask, voice croaking against whatever feeling is bubbling up in him, but he can’t finish it. What does that have to do with us? He bites his tongue against the words, both hoping and dreading that Steve will pick them out of his brain and answer them anyway.
Steve tugs at his sternum. Eddie shudders and tugs back.
“Carol and Tommy were the ones that were dating,” Steve says, eyebrows furrowed. “That’s what everyone always said, but I was there too, you know?” He looks up at Eddie like he’s expecting something, so Eddie nods, even as his mind spins and spins, never quite clicking back into place.
“I was at most of their dates, and we were each other’s first everythings.” He’s still frowning, but it’s up at Eddie now, and it’s starting to look less like sadness and more like confusion. “They were my everything” He’s squeezing Eddie’s hand hard enough to sting. “So, what was the difference?”
Eddie doesn’t answer. He barely understands the question, even as things start clicking into place. Steve’s heartbreak had always been obvious. In the teddy bear on his bed, and the way he clutched back onto Carol and clung.
There’d always been an empty spot by Steve’s side. The gossip around school was that Steve was too much of a player to ever fill it. It’d continued like that until the trio had imploded upon itself, fracturing into thirds. Even Nancy Wheeler hadn’t made the cut.
Now Eddie’s wondering if there was ever a spot open at all.
Steve still looks like he wants an answer, so Eddie says, “I don’t know.”
Steve shudders, closing his eyes like Eddie had struck him. He pulls Eddie’s hand up to press it to his forehead for a second,
“I don’t know what the difference is,” Steve reiterates, eyes still closed. “But then you kissed me.” Steve pulls Eddie’s hand down his face, pressing a kiss to the back of it as he finally opens his eyes. “And I didn’t know what it meant.”
There’s something burning through Eddie, scorching his veins, cauterizing his words in his throat as he tries desperately to grasp at them. Steve’s looking at him practically begging for answers, and Eddie’s floundering.
Steve throws him a life preserver.
“I heard you talking to Uncle Wayne,” Steve says, and it doesn’t connect until he tacks on, “and Jeff.”
His breath catches. Not a life preserver, an anchor, and he’s at the bottom of the sea drowning.
Steve’s peeking up at him under his lashes. The thing is, he can’t even remember exactly what was said. But he remembers the embarrassment, the pleas for them both to lower their voices.
Was the L word used? He can’t fucking remember.
“But you didn’t…” What? Say anything? What was he supposed to say?
Steve started acting weird that next morning, hadn’t he?
“You said you loved me,” Steve says, a bandaid ripped off a festering wound. “What did that mean?”
Oh. Here’s Steve asking again, what’s the difference. You kissed me, and I didn’t know what it meant.
What does it mean?
Steve’s ears are so red they’re almost bioluminescent. Eddie wants to reach out and see if he can feel the warmth pooling beneath the thin skin. He turns the hand Steve has clasped in his own and held against his face to do just that. The angle’s awkward, and it ends up with Steve’s own wrist bent awkwardly and smooshed against his cheek.
Steve shudders as Eddie trails his pointer finger against the delicate skin. He pulls Eddie’s hand back and for a heartstopping moment he thinks Steve’s going to let go, but all he does is turn Eddie’s hand to press a kiss to the back of it and then drop their still-joined hands into his own lap.
“It meant I wanted more,” Eddie says, scooting closer in the space they don’t have between them. “Means I want more.”
Steve’s laugh is more like a quiet breath, puffing against Eddie’s face, they’re so close. “More like dating?” Eddie’s heartbeat is all the way up in his throat as he nods. “That’s so stupid, Eddie.”
Eddie sucks in a breath, pulling at his hand, but Steve doesn’t loosen his hold. “No wait!” He drops Eddie’s hand, but before Eddie can get any distance, Steve’s clambering into his lap, patting at his chest like he’s looking for a wound. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
Eddie’s breath shudders out of him. He sinks into the carpet more firmly, closing his eyes as he focuses on Steve’s grounding weight atop him. This is Steve. Steve, who would never hurt him. Who let him into his home. Who bleed for him, who tried to die for him, who lives with him.
Steve’s so close, when Eddie opens his eyes. His cheeks are still pink, eyes shining. In the dim light, they look like flat pits of brown. Eddie wants to be this close in the light of day, sunlight shining bright enough to reflect the gold in them.
“I know,” Eddie says, reaching out to clutch Steve’s sides. Whatever prey drive had been thrumming through him thoroughly squashed out under Steve’s bulk. He breathes again while Steve waits, in, out, in, out, in. “What did you mean?”
Steve’s smiling a little as he meets his eyes. The angle’s funky, this close. He can barely see his lips, has to crane his head down a bit just to catch them quirking. “I just meant–” He starts before biting his lip and looking away. His brows furrowed again, like he’s thinking hard about what he wants to say.
Maybe notecards wouldn’t have been such a bad idea.
Steve nods, apparently having reached an accord with his own mind. Eddie loves him so much.
“I just meant, that there is no ‘more,’ Eddie.” He lets go of Eddie long enough to make air quotes around the word “more,” because even in emotional situations, he’s fundamentally a bitch. “You can’t get more than we already are.”
Steve doesn’t settle his hands back on Eddie’s chest; he reaches up to cup his face. “We’re the most we ever could be. Dating doesn’t change that. Kissing doesn’t change that.” Steve’s thumb trails along Eddie’s bottom lip emphasizing the point. “You’re already everything.”
Something untenable is running through Eddie. It’s too big, too untamed. Eddie has to do something with it, or he’s going to immolate on all these feelings.
He leans forward and kisses Steve.
It’s not like last time. Last time was soft, sleepy comfort. It was the warmth of a late night and shared bed.
This time, it’s an inferno. Eddie wants to burn up in it.
Eddie wants to consume Steve; he wants to devour. He wants to die in this perfect, infinite moment.
And Steve’s kissing back, just as ferociously. Eddie wants to get lost in it. But he’s got to know, so he leans back, lets their lips brush as he asks, “but kissing’s okay, right?” He leans in, licking the corner of Steve’s mouth, getting some of his teeth as he laughs. “And you’ll just kiss me?”
Steve doesn’t answer right away, except to reel Eddie back in and press into him, hard and needy. “Just you.” He delves in when Steve gasps, ready to burn up on their connection. Steve bites his lip hard enough to sting.
Eddie loses himself in the moment.
It’s less pulling away, and more kisses slowing, gentling even as they linger.
The light’s almost gone, and both Eddie’s legs are dead beneath Steve’s weight. He reaches out to tuck a hair behind Steve’s ear, smiling as it immediately springs free, Steve’s usual gell released from Eddie’s brushing hands.
Eddie’s lips sting, and his throat’s parched. He never wants to get up.
“Was that anything like you and Carol practiced?” he asks, throat a dry croak.
Steve’s eyes are twinkling as he leans back into Eddie’s space. “Well, I hit all the right beats, at least.”
He leans back into Eddie, slotting their lips back together, lingering, lingering, lingering. Eddie pulls back, the desire to kiss Steve and the perpetual need to be a smartass warring within him. “But in the wrong order right?”
“Hey!”
Eddie kisses him before he can make any more complaints. Steve doesn’t seem to mind.
Part 113
#steddie#steve harrington#eddie munson#my fic#steddie upsidedown au#THIS IS NOT A DRILL!!!! also part of my steve harrington is arospec agenda <3!#anyway. hope you guys enjoy 😊#i kept it vague bc Eddie doesn’t Quite get what steve is talking abt. and to be fair. neither really does steve#he's like. devotion is devotion. anyway what is romantic attraction. should we make out?
89 notes
·
View notes
Text
Okay I got a little more confident. Here's the first chapter.
This is a while after Jack had first been kidnapped and sold. This is the first chapter of the book, the other one was a flashback. (Sorry that's confusing. It'll make more sense with the whole thing)
--
Jack bangs his head against the wall. 106. He lazily lifts his neck and drops it again. 107. He decided he was on his way to beat his all time high of 318 a while ago. He only stopped then because he blacked out for a second, and he figured that repeatedly smashing his head into the wall wasn’t the smartest.
Except who the hell cares what the smartest thing to do is when you’re bored out of your mind.
108.
Not ‘oh there’s nothing on TV’ bored. Bored like Jack only has eight books in his cell anyway, and never mind the fact that he’s already read them all so much he’s got them memorized, but also the light has been flickering and if it goes out then he’ll be in darkness for months on end so he might as well just sit in darkness now by choice. So that’s what Jack did. He took a nap. Again. And then sat in darkness and banged the back of his head against the wall because that was better than letting his mind wander.
109.
Jack can never let his mind wander. When it does he always ends up sobbing so hard he throws up, or plots how he can potentially end his own life.
110.
If he lets his mind wander he might think of his mom. He might think that she’s forty eight now, and he missed another Christmas with her. He’ll think about how terrified he was when he was grabbed and thrown into a van. How he never even thought about that happening to him and so he had no idea what to do except lash out and kick his attacker.
He’s still got the scar on the side of his head from the man’s rings.
111.
Jack will think about the times he’s tried to keep track of the days on the wall next to his bed, but he just gave up when he stopped being aware of when was day and when was night. He had a little breakdown that day, when he realized that he’d been there so long he didn’t know exactly how long anymore.
112.
He’ll think about the fingers he lost for trying to run. The way he limps every time he walks and keels over every time he breaths. He’ll think about the part of his ear that--
113. 114. 115. 116.
Shut up shut up shut up shut up shut up!
Jack had a TV once. One of those big box TVs with the VHS player attached that he hadn’t seen since he was in elementary school. He played the few tapes he had basically 24/7. They weren’t good movies, he saw Joe Dirt so many times he dreamt about him, but it was something. Human voices to occupy his time. Voices besides his painful memories and… Mr. Reeder.
117.
Mr. Reeder isn’t the man who first took Jack. Once, in a bout of quiet contemplation much like this one, Jack let himself realize that he was in fact a victim of human trafficking. In his mind, trafficking was only for sex slavery or organ harvesting. But he was kidnapped, and then sold. For money. It’s not like he’s got Google on hand, but Jack’s pretty sure that’s the definition.
118.
No, Jack’s actually got no idea who first threw him in the car. He was walking home from a friend’s house. Not even a friend, just someone to hang out with so he wouldn’t be bored.
Man, 15 year old Jack had no idea what boredom was.
It was dark. He had headphones in playing music. He was alone. He was an idiot.
He never heard the car pull up beside him. Someone grabbed his shoulder and he turned around to ask them what the hell, but by the time he understood what was going on he was already in the man’s arms, hand over his mouth and phone tossed to the street. Jack had kicked out, managing to kick his attacker in the shin, but it didn’t stop him. He was thrown into the trunk of the car, and before he could even catch his breath to call for help, he was knocked out.
The whole ordeal probably didn’t take more than two minutes, if that. No time for anyone to hear a scuffle and come looking.
Jack woke up later to his arms and legs tied up, duct tape around his head, and the feeling of blood on his face.
119.
He doesn’t like to think about the early days. The constant fear and exhaustion that took hold of him. That still does if he’s being honest. He likes to think he’s more resigned now. Apathetic, if you will.
It makes stomaching his own existence a little easier.
120.
He lifts his head off the wall once again, but pauses before he can get to 121. Jack is a very very good listener, out of necessity. So despite being a floor down and many walls away, he can always hear Mr. Reeder’s car pulling into the driveway. No matter how many times he heard it, Jack can never stop the way his body tenses, the way his heart rate picks up. He swallows and stares up at the ceiling, waiting for more.
It’s been a few days. Mr. Reeder would leave to go to work every day, and sometimes he’d go somewhere for a night or two. But this has been the longest ever. Jack had woken up and went to sleep eight different times (half were naps, he knew, but even still it was at least four days.) He’s running out of food. Even if he didn’t see Mr. Reeder every day, he at least knew he was home.
Sickening that this is his home.
The door upstairs slams and Jack can’t repress a flinch. He stares up into the darkness, eyes following the sound of heavy footsteps across the floor. The footsteps stop. Jack holds his breath to listen, the only unwelcome sound that of his own heavy heart.
A slamming door is not good. Stomping across the living room is not good. What kind of mood is he going to be in?
Jack gasps and flinches at the sound of Mr. Reeder yelling, a wordless, angry shout, and then something crashes to the ground above him. Another shout and crash. Another. And another.
Mr. Reeder’s throwing things. So it’s safe to say he’s in, what Jack would call, a not good mood.
He tries his best to tune out the sounds above and focus on himself. He needs to calm down before Mr. Reeder gets here, or it’s going to be worse. Freaking out beforehand helps no one, and he ends up being in pain anyway so, you know. What’s the point. Jack closes his eyes (he can’t see anyway) and takes long, deep breaths in through his nose, and out through his mouth. His ribs flare painfully with each inhale, but Jack welcomes it. It grounds him. Lets him know he still exists, in this painful body and dark basement. He still exists.
Unfortunately.
Jack makes himself keep breathing as the footsteps get closer and closer, making their way down the stairs and stopping just outside his door.
It never gets easier. The suspense of waiting for his captor, it just never does. Even if his mind knows it’s going to be the same old same old, his body was terrified. It was tired of being hurt, of being hungry, of being tired and bored.
Sometimes he’s so bored he’s actually excited, not nervous, when Mr. Reeder comes. Oddly enough, this was not one of those times.
The keys jingle. A lock clicks. And Mr. Reeder pushes open the door.
Jack squints against the light from the basement filtering in from the cracked door. He lets out his last inhale and stares down at the heavy boots in front of him. They weren’t originally that dark of brown, but … you know. Blood.
Mr. Reeder just stands there for a moment, staring at his captive. He’s silhouetted against the light so Jack can’t see his expression. Jack waits for him to say something, anything. He doesn’t.
Jack clears his throat. “H-hi Mr. Reeder.”
“Shut the hell up.”
Jack nods, looking at the ground, heart pounding in his ears.
Mr. Reeder’s hand shoots out suddenly, gripping Jack by the hair and hauling him up out of his room. Jack hisses in pain, hands clawing at the fist tangled in his hair. If it was up to him, he would’ve shaved his head ages ago. But Mr. Reeder would never give him a razor.
Jack kicks at the ground, trying his best to get his feet under himself enough to relieve the pressure on his head. His bad leg howls in protest at the sudden actions, but he does his best to push through. As he begins to be dragged up the stairs, Jack grits his teeth to stop from crying out, knee painfully banging against each. Individual. Step.
Each step, Jack is able to brace the pain a little more and become more aware of what exactly was happening.
He is going upstairs. He hasn’t been upstairs since he first got here. The current circumstances are much different than those last time, so why the hell is Mr. Reeder bringing him upstairs?
He begins to fight.
Jack has been doing this a long time. Longer than he actually knows, but he’s positive it’s years. He’s an adult probably old enough to drink. That’s a long time to become a professional at getting your butt kicked. And being a professional victim, Jack knows that the less you struggle, the easier it is. Easier to deal with the pain, faster to get it over with, and easier to stomach your own cowardice… Or resourcefulness. He’s a survivor, that much he knows.
So he only fights back when he’s really scared.
And he has reason to be. When Jack was just a brand new greenie kidnappee, demanding to be let back upstairs, Mr. Reeder had leaned down, close to his face, so close that Jack had to lean away from the smell of the peppermint gum he was chewing.
“The only way you are ever going back up those stairs,” he said lowly, coldly, “is if I want to see your brains on the wall in natural lighting.”
It was the first time that Jack had thought I might not make it out of here alive. It took him a much longer time to accept it.
Apparently he hasn’t accepted it at all, Jack thinks as he wrenches his head out of Mr. Reeder’s grasp and dives to crawl away from him. It was never going to work but he needs to try.
Jack Thatcher was NOT taken away from his mother for years just to be shot in the head by some isolated lunatic. At least, he wasn’t going to without a fight.
Mr. Reeder grabs him easily, yanking him back by his bag leg, stretching it out. Jack can feel poorly healed bones in his knee scraping together, pinching the long disused muscles around them. He let out a shout before Mr. Reeder pulls him by his waist instead, hauling him into a room and slamming the door shut and sitting in front of it, trapping Jack inside.
With nowhere else to go, Jack pushes himself into the corner farthest from his captor, arms protectively shielding his right knee. His chest heaves and he can feel the stupid tightness starting in his throat that happens before he cries. He hates crying in front of Mr. Reeder, but it is continuously unavoidable.
Mr. Reeder sits in front of the door, catching his breath as well. He runs a hand through greasy hair, staring at the ceiling. He sighs heavily, like his life is the one here not worth living.
Tragic.
With his captor temporarily distracted, Jack takes stock of his surroundings. A mattress with no sheets is pushed against the corner opposite himself, some dirty clothes thrown at it’s end. A cracked mirror is attached to a dresser, dust slightly distorting the image of the ceiling. Behind Jack is a window half boarded up, letting a sliver of light into the room, washing over his captor. It looks like it’s golden hour outside.
Jack’s struck with the thought that this is the first time he’s seen the sun since he went down those stairs. Really, since he was thrown into that car as a teenager. He always had a blindfold on, or he was transported at night. The most fundamental, most simple and base thing a human has access to, Jack hasn’t for years. Still just out of reach.
His attention is brought back to Mr. Reeder when he sighs again. He warily looks up at Jack. “You’re lucky you know.” Jack doesn’t move. He’s heard the ‘you should be glad I’m not worse’ speech before. “You have no idea what you’ve missed. No idea… what you’ve been spared. What I’ve spared you from.”
Jack only watches apprehensively. His body is tight, poised like he’s ready to try to run again. Where, with Mr. Reeder blocking the door? That’s for future Jack to find out.
“I didn’t mean to spare you from it,” he goes on. “Heaven knows that wasn’t my intention. I think you could have benefited from being in the middle of it all.” He chuckles and Jack shrinks away even more. “Oh the look on your face would’ve been everything… Oh well. It’s just about over anyway.”
It’s nonsense. Utter nonsense. Mr. Reeder is certifiably insane, no doubt about it. He’s gone on long manic monologues before, Jack’s heard about everything.
He’s never seen Mr. Reeder pull a gun from his waistband though.
He can’t help the sharp intake of breath, the sudden urge to run! Run now! Go! He’s got no idea what to do with it so he just stands up, so quickly it doesn’t even hurt, and backs even further into the corner. Mr. Reeder always threatened that he had a gun but Jack had never had proof until right now.
Mr. Reeder looks at him from under his brows. “Sit down Jack.”
All he can do is shake his head, breaths coming out fast and shallow. The floor is liquid beneath his feet, making his body shake where it stands.
The gun clicks and points right at Jack. “Sit. Down.”
He slides down the wall, hands up. His throat bobs with a swallow, just to do something with his mouth other than sob. Tears fall steadily down his cheeks and his lower lip trembles.
Mr. Reeder, satisfied with Jack’s cooperation, relaxes his grip on the gun, hefting it like he’s simply judging the weight.
“There wasn’t much time,” he says. Jack shifts his focus from the gun to his captor, staring with wide eyes and frayed nerves. “I was trying to think about what to do with you but… I mean there just wasn’t much. I’m not sure I would’ve done anything even if there was. You’ve said it yourself Jack, who wants to die alone?”
His eyes meet Jack’s for the first time and Jack can see… tears. Welling in them. It only terrifies him more. “Mr. Reeder…”
“Shh. Shh sh sh.” He shakes his head, working his jaw. “Do you believe in God, Jack?”
Jack swallows. “I don’t know,” he whispers, voice catching on the words. “I used to.”
“What about heaven and hell? Think those exist?”
Jack can feel the panic claw up his throat, making him want to sob and scream. “I hope so.”
“Hmm… I wonder if hell will be any worse than earth.”
This is it then, Jack thinks. He’s going to take us both out, as a sick end to his sick life. He’s bored of me and now it’s over, it’s all over.
“Mr. Reeder please,” Jack begs, tears blurring him, “please don’t. Don’t do it.”
He furrows his brows, and looks down at the gun. He shakes his head. “See you in hell, Jack.”
59 notes
·
View notes
Text
o 625 words to know in your target language o
There is a really interesting blog called "Fluent Forever" that aids foreign language learners in tricks, tips and techniques to guide them to achieving fluency "quickly" and efficiently. One of the tricks is to learn these 625 vocab words in your target language, that way you have a basis to start delving into grammar with ease as you can understand a lot of vocab right off the bat. Plus this list of words are common across the world and will aid you in whatever language you are learning. Here is the list in thematic order
• Animal: dog, cat, fish, bird, cow, pig, mouse, horse, wing, animal
• Transportation: train, plane, car, truck, bicycle, bus, boat, ship, tire, gasoline, engine, (train) ticket, transportation
• Location: city, house, apartment, street/road, airport, train station, bridge hotel, restaurant, farm, court, school, office, room, town, university, club, bar, park, camp, store/shop, theater, library, hospital, church, market, country (USA,
France, etc.), building, ground, space (outer space), bank, location
• Clothing: hat, dress, suit, skirt, shirt, T-shirt, pants, shoes, pocket, coat, stain, clothing
• Color: red, green, blue (light/dark), yellow, brown, pink, orange, black, white, gray, color
• People: son, daughter, mother, father, parent (= mother/father), baby, man, woman, brother, sister, family, grandfather, grandmother, husband, wife, king, queen, president, neighbor, boy, girl, child (= boy/girl), adult (= man/woman), human (# animal), friend (Add a friend's name), victim, player, fan, crowd, person
• Job: Teacher, student, lawyer, doctor, patient, waiter, secretary, priest, police, army, soldier, artist, author, manager, reporter, actor, job
• Society: religion, heaven, hell, death, medicine, money, dollar, bill, marriage, wedding, team, race (ethnicity), sex (the act), sex (gender), murder, prison, technology, energy, war, peace, attack, election, magazine, newspaper, poison, gun, sport, race (sport), exercise, ball, game, price, contract, drug, sign, science, God
• Art. band, song, instrument (musical), music, movie, art
• Beverages: coffee, tea, wine, beer, juice, water, milk, beverage
• Food: egg, cheese, bread, soup, cake, chicken, pork, beef, apple, banana orange, lemon, corn, rice, oil, seed, knife, spoon, fork, plate, cup, breakfast, lunch, dinner, sugar, salt, bottle, food
• Home: table, chair, bed, dream, window, door, bedroom, kitchen, bathroom, pencil, pen, photograph, soap, book, page, key, paint, letter, note, wall, paper, floor, ceiling, roof, pool, lock, telephone, garden, yard, needle, bag, box, gift, card, ring, tool
• Electronics: clock, lamp, fan, cell phone, network, computer, program (computer), laptop, screen, camera, television, radio
• Body: head, neck, face, beard, hair, eye, mouth, lip, nose, tooth, ear, tear (drop), tongue, back, toe, finger, foot, hand, leg, arm, shoulder, heart, blood, brain, knee, sweat, disease, bone, voice, skin, body
• Nature: sea, ocean, river, mountain, rain, snow, tree, sun, moon, world, Earth, forest, sky, plant, wind, soil/earth, flower, valley, root, lake, star, grass, leaf, air, sand, beach, wave, fire, ice, island, hill, heat, nature
• Materials: glass, metal, plastic, wood, stone, diamond, clay, dust, gold, copper, silver, material
• Math/Measurements: meter, centimeter, kilogram, inch, foot, pound, half, circle, square, temperature, date, weight, edge, corner
• Misc Nouns: map, dot, consonant, vowel, light, sound, yes, no, piece, pain, injury, hole, image, pattern, noun, verb, adjective
• Directions: top, bottom, side, front, back, outside, inside, up, down, left, right, straight, north, south, east, west, direction
• Seasons: Summer, Spring, Winter, Fall, season
• Numbers: 0, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20 21, 22, 30, 31, 32, 40, 41, 42, 50, 51, 52, 60, 61, 62, 70, 71, 72, 80, 81, 82, 90, 91, 92, 100, 101, 102, 110, 111, 1000, 1001, 10000, 100000, million, billion, 1st, 2nd, 3rd, 4th, 5th, number
• Months: January, February, March, April, May, June, July, August, September, October, November, December
• Days of the week: Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday
• Time: year, month, week, day, hour, minute, second, morning, afternoon, evening, night, time
• Verbs: work, play, walk, run, drive, fly, swim, go, stop, follow, think, speak/say, eat, drink, kill, die, smile, laugh, cry, buy, pay, sell, shoot(a gun), learn, jump, smell, hear (a sound), listen (music), taste, touch, see (a bird), watch (TV), kiss, burn, melt, dig, explode, sit, stand, love, pass by, cut, fight, lie down, dance, sleep, wake up, sing, count, marry, pray, win, lose, mix/stir, bend, wash, cook, open, close, write, call, turn, build, teach, grow, draw, feed, catch, throw, clean, find, fall, push, pull, carry, break, wear, hang, shake, sign, beat, lift
• Adjectives: long, short (long), tall, short (vs tall), wide, narrow, big/large, small/little, slow, fast, hot, cold, warm, cool, new, old (new), young, old (young), weak, dead, alive, heavy, light (heavy), dark, light (dark), nuclear, famous
69 notes
·
View notes
Text
today completes 32 years of the carandiru prison massacre!
on october 2, 1992, a riot began in carandiru jail. it was the biggest prison in brasil and one of, if not the biggest in latin america. it was meant to house around 3500 men.
by that day, there were 9800.
the riot began in the morning. by the early afternoon, the police shock force had entered the seven pavilions which made up the detention center. by the end of the afternoon, the sounds of sirens, gunshots and unintelligible yells had been sure ringing out in the ears of the neighborhood — despite being a massive jail, an equally large neighborhood had been informally built around the seven pavilions.
if you tried hard enough that day, you might've seen a glimpse of the massacre that followed from the windows of the train that followed along the tracks right in front of the jail.
the news and police helicopters flew in circles in the sky, the news and police vans honked and screeched around the street. the murderous police dogs barked while the families of the inmates shrieked and sobbed — their wails immortalized in the reporter's cameras. 111 inmates had been murdered by the police.
the images shown in brazilian televisions that day are perhaps some of the most shocking and gruesome that we had ever seen. there were two that stuck in public conscience the most. the two that, if you ask any brazilian about the massacre, will be the first to pop into their heads.
the first, men, hundreds of them, naked, lined up, some with blood on their skin, in the same fetal position on the hot floor. survivors. the same black hair, the same dark skin, the same vultures in armor that patrolled around them. this would be the poster for the movie carandiru (2003) dir. hector babenco.
youtube
the second, blood, crimson, as we had never seen before. dripping down the green floors and walls, the rusted jail cells, the dirty cotton beds. an entire hallway covered in blood, and the vague silhouette of the men that had been left to clean it. of course, there were no pictures released to the press of the men whose bodies the blood belonged to. mostly. brazilian media has always hated prison inmates — there were no doubt those who laughed as the massacre happened. this would be one of the more striking images of racionais MC's diário de um detento (an inmate's journal) a song detailed the day before, during, and after the massacre. "adolf hitler smiles in hell" has always been my favorite line from it.
youtube
in 2002, the governor of são paulo ordered the jail to be bombed and demolished.
in 2012, a library and a public park had been opened in its place. the park is called "parque da juventude" (youth park).
in 2022, president bolsonaro pardoned the men who had been court martialed for the massacre. on the same years of its 30th anniversary, the president has pardoned men who had murdered 111 inmates in cold blood, murderers with families and wives and husbands and daughters and sons and granddaughters and grandsons and mothers and fathers and grandmothers and grandfathers.
in 2024, a few weeks ago — close to the massacre's 32th birthday — the são paulo justice court labelled this pardon "constitutional".
it really makes you wonder if some things ever change.
#i didnt mention it here but this is a personak story to me#i didnt have any family members or acquaintances who were in the prison#but i live 20 minutes away from it#every time i take the train i pass by what once was that prison#i went to the park and library when i was a child#i think of it often#Youtube
6 notes
·
View notes
Text
FO4 Companions react to Sole's chem addiction
@falloutchicken Alright! Finished it~ Sorry it's a little long, I had an idea for a different format style and I ran with it - but I love how it turned out <3
tw: addiction, drugs, trauma, chem-use as an addiction
----------------------------------------------------------
While trading at the Diamond City market, the Sole Survivor of vault 111 overheard folks whispering over their steaming noodle bowls about an abandoned shopping center filled with valuable loot. The only barrier between them and the score of a lifetime were the supermutants inside. The gossiping locals didn’t have the fire power for such an altercation, but the sole survivor did. And they certainly would not be going alone.
----------------------------------------------------------
Selecting your companion:
Cait: I’ll come, but just don’t make me wear anything stupid
Curie: “Oh! Shopping!” She mused delightfully, her voice ringing with pleasure.
Codsworth: How delightful, mum! I do so miss shopping expeditions and, please pardon my saying, but your jumpsuit is looking rather drab. Off we go, miss!
Deacon: Sounds like my kind of dig! I could always use some new disguises.
McCready (sarcastically): Oh, we better hurry. I hear clothes practically fly off the shelves with their discounts.
Piper: Jesus, Blue. Sounds dangerous. Something wrong with the clothes you already have?
Preston: Absolutely, General. I wouldn’t want you facing this on your own.
Hancock: *heh* Thought you’d never ask. Let’s get the fuck out of Diamond city.*grumbles, muttering under his breath* Never understood how these bigots can sleep at night…
Danse: I advise against putting yourself in unnecessary danger. The gossip of strangers isn’t worth risking your life, but I’ll be damned if I let you face this alone.
Nick Valentine: Well, if it’s worth your time kid, than it’s worth mine *grabs his hat and coat before locking the detective agency door behind them* Lead the way
X6-88: I agree. We might find something useful. A large shopping center may have valuable pre-war goods. Right behind you, ma’am.
----------------------------------------------------------
The Sole Survivor walks out of Diamond City with their companion, combat shotgun in hand. Though well armored and stocked with plenty of ammunition, they carefully made their way south through the ruins of Boston. Sole and their companion had not walked far from the Boston Police Rationing Site when they heard the unmistakable sounds of feral ghouls, clumsily kicking tin rubbish and bones left on the broken streets. Sole and their companion crouched behind the remains of a building’s wall. Daring a look, sole peaked above the wall, only to notice the dirty, ruined faces but unmistakable faces of her pre-war neighbors, Mr. Donoghue and Mrs. Donoghue. Sole immediately felt sick and dizzy watching the two ghouls stumble down the street aimlessly, eyes white and staring at nothing. Mr. Donoghue and Mrs. Donoghue were expecting a child as well. Sole had spent hours in their kitchen, chatting about the excitement of parenthood. They swapped ideas over coffee and pie. 200 years after the bombs dropped, while sole was safe in a vault, her neighbors had been turned into radiation monsters, void of the humanity they used to possess. Alive in a physical sense, but her neighbors were lost. Sole had no choice but to put them down and out of their miserable experience. It’s what they would have wanted…
----------------------------------------------------------
Your companion reacts:
Cait: Jesus Christ, not a way to go. At least you had the ‘ol Vault-Tec treatment, eh? *Cait notices tears filling in sole’s eyes, rapidly decides to change her approach* I - er - um…..I know this must be difficult for you…I…I am here if you need to talk, or something.
Curie: One must wonder, what causes the deterioration of this ghoul condition? Some "ghouls" are in possession of their mental faculties. Others are not. I wonder why Mr. Donoghue and Mrs. Donoghue became feral while many other ghouls have maintained their mental capacities [Sole - Those were my neighbors, Curie. Not a science experiment] My apologies, sir/madam, I didn't mean to offend you. Grief can be managed with a well balanced diet, exercise, and spending time with loved ones!
Codsworth: Oh dear *emotional processors cracking through his speakers* Is that…the Donoghues? Mum, I’m…I’m so sorry *offers a hankie*
Deacon: Well, that was terrible *sigh* radiation, you unbelievable bastard.[notices how upset sole is] Ah..Look, I’m sorry. This…I mean, what you’re going through, I can’t even imagine. If you wanna talk or something…[trails off]
McCready: Oh man…*He pauses, letting the information sink in regarding sole’s neighbors* I’m really sorry. We can turn around if you want. That department store isn’t going anywhere.
Piper: You okay, [sole]? You seem pretty shaken up. Why don’t we rest for a bit.
Preston: Oh, I’m really sorry, General. *he removes his hat, holding to his chest, tired eyes looking away in respect* Take all the time you need. I can help you bury the bodies if you would like to give them a proper burial.
Hancock: Ah shit. Old neighbors, huh? Hey, let's just get outta here. I hate seein’ you so broken up like this.
Danse: You’re awfully quiet. Want to tell me what’s on your mind? [listens intently to what Sole says about the feral ghouls they had recognized and killed] I see. Take as long as you need, soldier. I can’t imagine what you must be feeling right now.
Nick Valentine: “You seemed to recognize those two, who were they?” [response from sole] “Oh, I’m so sorry for your loss,” he spoke softly, placing a supportive synth hand on sole’s arm.
X6-88: Those were your neighbors? My condolences.
----------------------------------------------------------
The sole survivor heaves in grief, but is eventually able to continue on, intrigued by the elaborate wooden welcome sign to Fairline Hill Estates. They had toured the gated community long ago when looking for a house. Sanctuary Hills, the houses of tomorrow, had captured their attention more, with all their technologically advanced features the estates lacked. But all that remained now were the corpses of friends turned into monsters from nuclear radiation and two lazy yao guai, chewing on the bloody bones of rotting brahmin.
----------------------------------------------------------
Your companion reacts:
Cait: Oh! Such fascinating creatures! Shall we get a closer look? I wish to study the effects of radiation on these beasts
Curie: You’ve got be fucking kiddin’ me. yao guai? That’s the last thing we need right now.
Codsworth: Oh dear. You don’t think they can see us, right mom?
Deacon: That is disgusting *he giggles* How do you want to play this, boss?
McCready: *Chuckles gleefully, silently pulling out his well polished rifle* This is where the fun begins.
Piper: Well that’s just great. Breaking news: Diamond City reporter torn to ribbons by a giant, stupid, irritated bear.
Preston: Dammit, I think we're in trouble here *pulls out his musket, at the ready* I’m with you, general.
Hancock: We ain’t alone *drops shotgun ammunition into the barrels of his gun* Those yao guai are mean bastards, they hit hard. Just lemme know when you’re ready and I got your back.
Danse: Yao guai..Not to worry, we’ll send those monsters right back to hell [Charges, heavily clad in power armor, laser weapons firing away, breaking the silence of a sleepy afternoon] Die, you godless heathen! Die!
Nick Valentine: There’s no getting out of this without a fight *loads his 10mm with a satisfying click* You ready, kid?
X6-88: Good, I was starting to feel a little bored. You ready to engage, [sole]? This shouldn’t take long
----------------------------------------------------------
The Sole Survivor and their trusted companion gawk at the yao guai corpses, bleeding from their many fatal bullet holes. Sole sighs in exhaustion, dropping to squat and holding their face in hands.Their companion rubs their back sympathetically and suggests the tempting idea of spending the night at Fairline Hills Estates. The area was relatively safe now, with Mr. Donoghue & Mrs. Donoghue and the yao guais dead. Keenly aware of the mental torment they both witnessed and given Sole’s fragile state, their trusted companion led the way to the southeast house. Sole collapses weakly on the sunken couch and watches as their companion wanders into the brokedown kitchen to prepare dinner for the night. They ate the meal peacefully without many words to be said about the days’ events. The sole survivor turned down every request to talk about the killing of her neighbors and the close call they had with the yao guai in what used to be a highly sought after gated community. Their companion accepted that sole just wasn’t ready to talk about. They offer to take the first watch to let the sole survivor get some much needed rest.
Once their trusted companion shuts the door to the house to begin their watch, the sole survivor slinks away to the attached garage. They had noticed the chemistry station earlier and knew exactly how to use it. There were piles of dead leaves everywhere, a natural fertilizer. Using the leaves along with the plastic from some junk lying around the house, sole knew they could craft jet - lots of jet. Sole gets to work, tinkering feverishly at the chemistry station, sweating from the withdrawal and desperate for relief. The Sole Survivor sighed in contented satisfaction, admiring their own craftsmanship. Not even bothering to step from the chemistry station, they begin taking hit after hit of jet. Sighing happily as the pain of memories and her broken heart eased into comfortable numbness. Sole wanted to take jet until they couldn’t remember who they were, much less what had happened to them. Sole stumbled back slightly, the room a spiraling blur. No matter, they take another hit and watch the world slowly rise until they felt their back hit the floor. The stared blankly at the ceiling, surrounded by empty jet cartridges. Hearing the loud THUD sole’s companion rushed into the room, fearing the worst (an intruder, a kind of murderous threat) only to find in their horror, a close friend in indescribable pain.
----------------------------------------------------------
Your companion reacts:
Cait: “*tsk* Havin’ a good time now, are we?” Cait teased, pointing on the jet in sole’s hand as they slouched against the chemistry station. Cait’s eyes scanned the scene further, noticing the familiar signs of a serious addiction problem.Given the amount of empty jet canisters scattered on the floor around sole, it was a miracle they were even still alive.] I think you’ve got a wee bit of a drug problem, [sole]. Which ain’t right, especially after everythin’ you watched me go through. Why would you let yourself get hooked on the stuff? Can’t believe you’re doin’ this to yourself?!” She shouted, breathing deepling like sole had taught her to calm down. “You’re an idiot, [sole]. But I’ll help ya, just like how you helped me. Let’s go, we’re getting you cleaned up”
Curie: She stares curiously, “I have more than enough data on the physiological effects of chems, there is no need to provide me with more data, sir/madam.” She notices the dilated pupils, racing heart beat, the sweating… “Are you alright, sir/madam? I believe you should see a doctor, we cannot treat your condition here.”
Codsworth: “Are you well, mum?!” Codsworth panicked, desperately trying to assess the situation. A Mister Handy bot was designed for household duties, not crises.
Deacon: Wow, looks like you’ve been partying pretty hard with out me. Miiiight want to lay off cause I think you’ve enough.
McCready: *Slaps the empty get out of sole’s hand, they glare at him angrily, demanding an explanation* That crap is gonna rot your mind. This stops right now (Dad-mode activated)
Piper: Ooooookay (nabs all the empty jet cartridges) I think you’ve had enough, Blue. (Stares at the insane amount of jet in the room). I think we better get you to a doctor. I just hope it’s not too late (she sighs heavily, emotion tightening around her neck hotly) This is why I wanted to talk, Blue! So you - you wouldn’t do anything stupid! Arg! What a mess. Come on, (she lifts sole up) let’s get you to a doctor.
Preston: This is how it ends, [sole]. You keep this up and I’ll have to bury a friend. The Minutemen need you. I need you. And you don’t need those chems. You have people who love and care about you.
Hancock: “Woah!” Hancock froze, staring at the used jet scattered about the room. 2..4..6..three over there, that makes 9…pile of 5 in the corner makes…14? 14! How are they alive? Hancock glanced at the sole survivor, slumped pitifully against the chemistry station, empty jet still in hand. They just kept staring at his boots, completely unresponsive, but he could see the steady rise and fall of their chest with each shallow breath. Hancock began to sweat, panic sweeping in, staring at sole’s chest. What if it they stop…what if they breathing stops - he’s mayor, not fucking doctor.”H-hey, stay with me, now! Look,” He turn’s sole’s face to look at him only to be greeted with dull and empty eyes. “Hey, sunshine. It’s me, remember? Hancock. D-don’t go, you can’t do this to me. I need you, please. Don’t leave me alone.” Tears welled in the crevices of Hancok’s face as he sat beside the sole survivor, holding their hand. He gasped as a familiar smooth hand rested on his. “I could never forget you, Hancock.” The mayor choked back sobs, gripping sole’s hand like it could fade away any moment. “Don’t you ever do this again. Never trip alone. We’re getting you help. Like, now now.” He takes sole’s arm and wraps it around his shoulder’s, pulling them to their feet.
Danse: [Stares in stunned silence mixed with disgust and concern] He crouches beside sole, pushing the drugs away, and whispered angrily, “How can you fight when your brain’s clouded with those drugs? You’re going to get yourself killed. And I’m not just gonna stand here and watch brotherhood’s best, my friend, die unnecessarily. We’re getting you clean and that’s an order.”
Nick Valentine: “SHIT!” Nick hissed under his breath. He'd see a lot of folks at their worst in his line of work. He’d seen this scene too many times before. A case closed in an overdose. There were even some rare occasions where he found Mayor Hancock after a few too many chems. But usually, there were warning signs. How could he call himself a detective when he couldn’t even save his friend from themselves. Nick crouches beside the body, holding their limp wrist in his. A pulse, weak but still there. “Alright, now you’ve done it, kid” He scooped up the sole survivor into his arms. “We need to get you to a doc.”
X6-88: Oh god…[composes himself] You don’t look so good sir/ma’am, Might want to lay off the chems for a while. I’ll be throwing these away (disposes of all the chems the Sole Survivor made and had on their person)
The Sole Survivor wakes up in a familiar bed at the Castle, a stack of addictol was left on the nightstand. This was certainly a more permanent detour to Fallon’s Department store than they planned for. Sole’s companion apologizes for moving them and delaying their trip to the department store. But sole’s close friend promises profusely that it was and always will be for the sole survivor’s own good. They promise again and again that they do not feel any different about them and still deeply appreciate the relationship that they share. So much so, they couldn’t bare to lose their friend to addiction. After some time and regular check-ins with the Minutemen Surgeon General, The Sole Survivor will finally leaves thre Castle and continuing their journey.
#fallout 4#fo4#fictional writing#fo4 companions#fallout 4 companions#agnst#fallout#companion reacts#hurt/comfort#ao3#ao3 writer#fanfic writer#fanfic writing#baddieladdie#john hancock#fo4 deacon#paladin danse#fo4 curie#fallout wiki#sole survivor#gender neutral sole survivor#nick valentine#xdreamwriterx#robert joseph maccready#robert maccready#preston garvey#fo4 jet#X6-88#tw: addiction#tw: gore
30 notes
·
View notes
Text
As the death toll in Gaza rises, the Israeli military is making space for its occupation of Gaza. The army demolished hundreds of buildings in Gaza within 1km of the fence, seeking to create a buffer zone, The Wall Street Journal reports, citing a new Hebrew University study. According to the study, about 40 percent of the 2,824 buildings in Gaza located within 1km of the border have been razed since October 7. “Everything has been flattened. It was mostly agriculture. Now it’s a military zone, a complete no man’s land,” one soldier is quoted as saying. Around Khan Younis city in southern Gaza, which has been under constant Israeli attacks for weeks, 67 percent of buildings within 1km of the border have been destroyed.
Al Jazeera’s Stefanie Dekker says Israel claims the plan is needed to “establish security” and prevent attacks. But this risks “diminishing an already tiny strip of Gaza, whose population has been stuck between walls and the sea” for years. The United States has opposed the creation of a buffer zone, saying there should be no permanent change to Palestinian territory. “However, it’s happening, Israel is executing it, and this of course is something the Palestinians and the wider international community does see as a land grab,” said Dekker.
-- From "‘Operation Al-Aqsa Flood’ Day 111" by Leila Warah for Mondoweiss, 25 Jan 2024
9 notes
·
View notes
Text
The Woman Who Borrowed Memories: Selected Stories by Tove Jansson, translated by Thomas Teal & Silvester Mazzarelli
What is night? Sleeping till the next day; trying to sleep away your tiredness so you can face what you don't want to face; hiding yourself in a cautious little death for which you're not to blame—for hours that seem like seconds when you wake up. She walked back and forth between the windows and thought, Call! Call me and ask me if I'm frightened. She watched the storm tear the snowdrifts on the street into spirals and press the snow against the façades of the buildings like great outstretched hands. The greenish light had grown darker. And dreams, what are they? They dig up your fear and display it, enlarged by cruelty. There is no rest, there is no comfort! (The Storm, p. 26)
***
I eat out but make my own tea in the mornings and evenings. My apartment is very quiet. Sometimes when I'm having my evening tea I get the odd feeling that I don't exist, almost as if I had never existed. This is one of those details that writing may help me to explain. I need to write every day and I must always take great pains to be precise. For that matter, it is a part of my job. I have been accused of being standoffish, of never showing my face. This has happened several times. But what gives them the right to see my face? I don't know what they expect of me, but, whatever it is, they have no right to it. (The Locomotive, p. 111)
***
The walls were still white-washed, but everything else in the very small room was new and different: an excess of furniture, lamps, ornaments, draperies... It was much too warm. Stella took off her coat. The room was shrunken and frightening. As if trees had been cut and a thicket of undergrowth had taken their place. (The Woman Who Borrowed Memories, p. 175)
***
I assume you're busy clearing out the house—very natural. Congratulations! I'm doing the same and I've been gradually learning all kinds of things, one being that if you give special treasures to young people they're not usually particularly pleased to have them. If you persist, they get more and more polite and more and more irritated. Have you noticed? (Letters From Klara, p. 252)
2 notes
·
View notes
Text
Okay, under the button since it's like almost two hundred movies, but I want to start making some progress on watching these films, but despite it being two hundred, my brain says that it is still a small list, so I am once again looking for more movie recs. 🙇
1. Requiem for a Dream
2. Pacific Rim
3. War Games
4. Sharp Objects (2018) dir. Jean-Marc Vallée
5. Les soeurs Brontë (1979)
6. Crimes of the Future
7. Videodrome
8. Jackass
9. Novitiate (2017)
10. The Sons of Katie Elder
11. El Dorado
12. Raw Deal
13. The Running Man (arnold)
14. The Mist
15. Black Mountain Side
16. In The Mouth of Madness
17. The Fifth Element
18. The Many Saints of Newark (will watch show first)
19. James Bond series
20. Resident Evil (seven thousandth watch)
21. The Boy and the Heron
22. Moulin Rouge
23. Bill and Ted (second watch)
24. The Day The Earth Stood Still
25. The Texas Chainsaw Massacre
26. Jurassic Park (second watch)
27. Robocop
28. The Perks of Being a Wallflower
29. The Boondock Saints
30. Legally Blonde (second watch)
31. The Fog (second watch)
32. Llamageddon
33. Hellraiser
34. Candyman
35. Shaun of The Dead (second watch)
36. Scarface
37. The Shawshank Redemption
38. Ghost in The Shell
39. No Country for Old Men
40. Kill Bill series
41. The Wolf of Wall Street
42. Watchmen
43. Lone Wolf and Cub series
44. Last Night in Soho
45. Throne of Blood
46. Fargo
47. Hereditary
48. David Lynch:: The Art Life
49. Wayne's World series
50. I Am Legend (second watch)
51. Grease
52. Good Will Hunting
53. The VVitch
54. Leatherface
55. Fantastic Planet
56. Blue Velvet
57. Pulp Fiction (second watch)
58. Twister (second watch)
59. Donnie Darko (second watch)
60. Tales from Earthsea
61. The Secret World of Arrietty
62. Late Spring (1949)
63. From Up on Poppy Hill
64. Rashomon
65. Intermezzo
66. Casablanca
67. When Marnie Was There
68. The Wind Rises
69. The Tale of Princess Kaguya
70. I Married a Witch
71. David Bowie: The Last Five Years
72. Vampyr
73. Kill Boksoon
74. Glass Onion series
75. The Wonder (2022)
76. Hook (1991) (second watch)
77. Time Trap
78. The Yin Yang Master
79. Hold The Dark
80. All Quiet on the Western Front
81. The Cloverfield Paradox
82. Reservoir Dogs
83. Spider-man (2002)
84. The Karate Kid series
85. Unknown Cosmic Time Machine
86. The Good Nurse (2022)
87. What Did Jack Do?
88. Banyuki
89. Amina (2021)
90. The Colony (2021)
91. Cities of Last Things
92. The Metamorphosis of Birds
93. The Mirror (andrei)
94. Andrei Rublev
95. Nostalgia (andrei)
96. The Sacrifice (andrei)
97. Ivan's Childhood (andrei)
98. The Steamroller and Violin (andrei)
99. Sunset Blvd (1950)
100. Ikiru (1952)
101. Seven Samurai (1954)
102. Citizen Kane
103. Dr. Strangelove
104. La La Land (2016)
105. Noriko's Dinner Table
106. The Godfather
107. Once Upon a Time in Hollywood
108. The Good The Bad The Ugly
109. Mad Max Fury Road
110. Goodfellas
111. Indiana Jones series
112. Fight Club
113. Galaxy Quest
114. Dunkirk
115. Groundhog Day
116. Star Trek movies
117. Full Metal Jacket
118. Pink Floyd: The Wall
119. Naked Lunch
120. The Iron Giant
121. Chinatown (1974)
122. Minority Report
123. Velvet Goldmine
124. Dogma
125. To Wong Foo, Thanks for Everything! Julie Newma
126. The Prestige
127. Annie Hall
128. Taxi Driver
129. Dead Poets Society
130. The Matrix
131. The Green Mile
132. Django Unchained
133. Your Name
134. Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind
135. Inland Empire
136. The Elephant Man
137. Lost Highway
138. Woman in the Dunes
139. Meshes of an Afternoon
140. Tokyo Decadence
141. Limbo (1999)
142. Maps to the Stars
143. The Machinist
144. Under the Silver Lake
145. The Northman
146. Kingdom of Heaven
147. The Grand Budapest Hotel
148. The Revenant (alejandro)
149. A Clockwork Orange
150. Incendies
151. Apocalypse Now
152. Knight of Cups
153. Once Upon a Time in America
154. Valhalla Rising
155. Inception
156. Interview with a Vampire
157. But I'm a Cheerleader
158. Angels in America
159. Pan's Labyrinth
160. Clue
161. Asteroid City
162. Anastasia
163. Jo jo rabbit
164. Fantastic Mr. Fox
165. Rambo
166. Mission Impossible
167. Suspiria
168. Jarhead
169. Macbeth
170. Mishima: A Life In Four Chapters
171. Visions of Ecstasy
172. The Handmaiden (2016)
173. The Fly (cronenberg)
174. Dead Ringers
175. Tenet
176. Sicario
177. Vanishing on 7th Street
178. Invasion of the Body Snatchers
179. Gladiator
180. Once Upon a Time in the West
181. Children of the Corn
182. The Revenant 2016
183. Transformers series
184. The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance
185. Gaslight (1944)
186. The Road
187. Vesper
188. The Hills Have Eyes
189. Tentacles
190. Die Hard series
191. Freddy Got Fingered
192. The Day After Tomorrow
193. The Song of the Scarlet Flower (Teuvo Tulio, 1938)
194. Jane Eyre
195. Northanger Abbey (2007)
196. Lady Chatterley`s Lover (2015)
197. LA COLLECTIONNEUSE (1967) dir. Éric Rohmer
198. The Lion In Winter
3 notes
·
View notes
Text
News Roundup 12/8/2023 | The Libertarian Institute
Here is your daily roundup of today's news:
News Roundup 12/8/2023
by Kyle Anzalone
Venezuela
The US military said Thursday that it would conduct flight operations in Guyana amid tensions between the Caribbean nation and its neighbor Venezuela over the disputed Guayana Esequiba region. AWC
Russia
Ukrainian and Eastern European Officials Travel to Lobby Congress for More Military. The HillAWC
White House Announces New $175 Million Weapons Package for Ukraine. Press ReleaseAWC
The US and Sweden have signed a Defense Cooperation Agreement (DCA) that will grant the US military access to bases across the Nordic country as Stockholm has abandoned its centuries-old policy of neutrality. AWC
Senate Republicans blocked a motion to advance a massive $111 billion spending package that includes military aid for Ukraine, Israel, and Taiwan over a partisan dispute on border issues. AWC
Israel
Top UN Chief Says Gaza Situation “Apocalyptic.” Guardian
US Officials Say Israel Will Continue Major Military Operations in Gaza into 2024. CNN
White House Interns Pen Letter Demanding Gaza Ceasefire and Call Israeli Actions Against Palestinians a “Genocide.” MEE
Despite the soaring civilian deaths in Gaza, the Biden administration is not considering using any of the leverage it has over Israel to get the Israeli military to change its tactics, Reuters reported on Tuesday. AWC
The UN Security Council is expected to meet on Friday to discuss the Israeli onslaught in Gaza after UN Secretary-General Antonio Guterres invoked Article 99 of the UN Charter for the first time during his tenure, which started in 2017. AWC
Israeli Defense Minister Yoav Gallant said Wednesday that Hezbollah must be pushed back from the Israeli border, and if it’s not achieved through diplomatic means, Israel will take military action. AWC
Joint Investigation Finds Israeli Tank Shell Killed Journalist in Lebanon. WashPoThe Institute
Egypt Warns Israel Driving Palestinians Into Sinai Will “Rupture” Ties. Axios
US Deputy National Security Advisor Jon Finer said Thursday that the Biden administration has not set a deadline on Israel’s war in Gaza and reiterated US opposition to a ceasefire. AWC
Yemen
US Navy Claims to Shoot Down Another Houthi Drone. VOA
Saudi Arabia Is Requesting the US Show Restraint Responding to Houthi Attacks in Red Sea. Jerusalem Post
US Places Sanctions on Houthis in Response to Attacks in Red Sea. VOA
Israel Claims to Shoot Down Yemeni Ballistic Missile. Haaretz
The Biden administration has asked Israel not to respond to recent attacks by Yemen’s Houthis, The Wall Street Journal reported on Thursday. AWC
Read More
3 notes
·
View notes
Link
3 notes
·
View notes
Text
Sims 2 Apartments House-ified Pt. 1
I don't hate the Belladonna Cove apartments, but I like having control of an entire building, being able to change it at command and not be limited by the existing walls and structures. Sure more sims can live in a spot, but then you're limited to the amount of space you can decorate in.
So I'm converting the apartments into proper houses, starting with the Main Street Mobile Home lot. Smallest apartment rooms and best place to watch your neighbors get repeated struck by lightning every time it storms.
I didn't really like the roofing or foundations of these mobile houses so I modified them a bit to look more like trailer home instead. Each one is on their own seperate 20x20 lot and every lot is under 20,000 simoleons. I've checked these lots with Clean Installer and there's no CC attached to them.
All the houses have their original floorplan, but the furniture is different.
There are five mobile homes and the fifth mobile home plan has two different versions:
Main Street 115 is this one and has the deck and staircase on the left side of the house.
Main Street 115 Alt is the same house, but with the deck and staircase at the very front of the house.
I have the Ultimate Collection version of Sims 2 and if you don't have that or all the expansions, some of the furniture might not appear in your game! Let me know if there's any issues with the download.
You'll get all files from the SFS download and you can just delete the houses you don't want.
DOWNLOAD: Main Street Mobile Homes Seperated
If you want a bit more info, I've marked down which trailer is which color, their price, and how many bedrooms and bathrooms they've got down here:
Main Street 111 - Black Trailer, Costs 15,736, 2 Bed + 1 Bath
Main Street 112 - Red Trailer, Costs 12,812, 1 Bed + 1 Bath
Main Street 113 - White Trailer, Costs 19894, 2 Bed + 1 Bath
Main Street 114 - Blue-Green Trailer, Costs 13,758, Open Concept Bedroom (no walls seperating the bedroom and living room) + 1 Bath
Main Street 115 - Blue-Grey Trailer, deck/stairs on side, Costs 15,328, 1 Bed + 1 Bath
Main Street 115 Alt - Blue-Grey Trailer, deck/stairs in front, Costs 15,578, 1 Bed + 1 Bath
4 notes
·
View notes
Text
January 7/8 2023
Work was pretty slow for the most part. I made a good day of sales. I opted out of approved overtime because I was tired and slept like shit. Baby didn’t nap and after work I asked her if she wanted to go on a walk and she said no. She was too immersed in Sesame Street. I didn’t go on a walk by myself because for the past several days I’ve been waiting on this cyst to finally burst on my left side. I’ve been using the heating pad anytime I get a chance because the mattress we have is a pile of shit. She has been a fucking nightmare. Defiant, and just a shithead overall. I love my kid no doubt about it but this is me venting on how fucking aggravating she is. We put her to bed after a warm bath about 830 and within ten minutes she is out. I think I fell asleep around nine or ten.
About five I woke up and went back to sleep. Around eight she woke up and I got up and gave her a drink and put on paw patrol. I laid back down and finally around nine this morning (Sunday, 1/8) I got up with her while her dad slept (lucky bastard) I had half a bacon sandwich for breakfast. I moved my phone, water bottle and took my PV with me to the other room. Not sure when he woke up. I went to get her a snack this morning and realized the bananas are going bad and I made banana bread.
Not sure when I took a nap but in that time she sprayed her juice all over the carpet. We rent and that was fun to clean. Zod shampooed the entire house that’s carpeted and we disciplined her. I shredded the chicken he made last night from the crockpot and he seasoned it. I have some to her and had a sandwich. Afterwards I napped for a whole 20 minutes!111 😤
That’s when she became a fucking terrorist and he had to shampoo the house because of this little shithead 😑 the banana bread gave me some awesome heartburn I made some ramen for dinner and of course she painted the walls with it. I’m so fucking over this fucking destructive behavior. No matter what we do she honestly doesn’t give a f flying fuck and no fuck gentle parenting
She’s been given water with tiny ice cubes to drink. No more juices or punch.
I have had the worst fucking migraine. I chalk it up to stress, my back, my cysts, and this wonderful migraine. I took some medication for it with a cold beer and a hot bath which helped. After the bath, it came back with a vengeance. It’s 8:30 pm and I can’t wait for bedtime in the next hour.
This beer is helping me forget about getting older. I looked all afternoon to find a therapist that takes my insurance and I am just so fucking mad. They don’t work on my days off and they’re all men who don’t specialize in PPD/anxiety/and women’s issues. This fucking sucks. I need just an hour or two to myself and if I could just escape for a few hours alone I’d call that a fucking vacation.
Tomorrow (1/9/23 Monday) more than likely I’ll work overtime. We need it and it’s a nice cushion. This week it’s an extra ten on top of what I make and bonus. I’m just tired of working overtime even on my days off. It could be worse, I could be still living with his brother and bitch of a sister in law where she’d watch us in the kitchen. Glad we have had our freedom back for almost three years.
Ignore this post. I’m just a bitter ole’ bitch
3 notes
·
View notes
Text
Endless Dusk Chapter One
This is I guess a sneak peak at Endless Dusk. The entire first chapter! If you so saw me post an unfinished version of this chapter a few months ago no you didn't
Hope you guys enjoy :) roughly 5k words
--
Chapter One
Jack bangs his head against the wall. 106. He lazily lifts his neck and drops it again. 107. He decided he was on his way to beat his all time high of 318 a while ago. He only stopped then because he blacked out for a second, and he figured that repeatedly smashing his head into the wall wasn’t the smartest thing to do.
But he can’t find it in himself to care what the smartest thing to do is when he is this bored out of his mind.
108.
Not like ‘there’s nothing on TV’ bored. Bored like Jack only has eight books in his cell anyway, and never mind the fact that he’s already read them all so much he’s got them memorized, but also the lightbulb has been flickering and if it goes out then he’ll be in darkness for months on end so he might as well just sit in darkness now by choice. So that’s what Jack’s doing. He took a nap. Again. And now he’s sitting in darkness and banging the back of his head against the wall because this is better than letting his mind wander.
109.
Jack can never let his mind wander. When it does he always ends up crying so hard he throws up, or plotting how he can potentially end his own life.
110.
If he lets his mind wander he might think of his mom. He might think that he’s got no idea how old she is now and she’s spent too many Christmases alone. He’ll think about how terrified he was when he was grabbed and thrown into the trunk of a car. How he never even thought about that happening to him so he had no idea what to do except lash out and kick his attacker.
He’s still got the scar on the side of his head from the man’s rings.
111.
Jack will think about the times he’s tried to keep track of the days on the wall next to his bed, but gave up when he stopped being aware of when it was day or night. He had a little breakdown that day, when he realized that he’d been there so long he didn’t know how long anymore.
112.
He’ll think about the part of his ear that was cut off for no reason. The way he limps every time he walks and keels over every time he breathes too hard. He’ll think about the fingers he’s lo—
113. 114. 115. 116.
Shut up shut up shut up shut up shut up!
Jack had a TV once. One of those big box TVs with the VHS player attached that he hadn’t seen since he was in elementary school. He played the few tapes he had basically 24/7. They weren’t good movies, he saw Joe Dirt so many times he dreamt about him, but it was something. Human voices to occupy his time. Voices besides his painful memories and… Mr. Reeder.
117.
Mr. Reeder isn’t the man who first took Jack. Once, in a bout of quiet contemplation much like this one, Jack let himself realize that he was in fact a victim of human trafficking. In his mind, trafficking was only for sex slavery or organ harvesting. But he was kidnapped, and then sold. For money. It’s not like he’s got Google on hand, but Jack’s pretty sure that’s the definition.
118.
No, Jack’s actually got no idea who first threw him in the car. He was walking home from a friend’s house. Not even a friend, just someone to hang out with so he wouldn’t be bored.
Fifteen year old Jack had no idea what boredom was.
It was dark. He had earbuds in. He was alone. He was an idiot.
He never heard the car pull up beside him. Someone grabbed his shoulder and he turned around to ask them what the hell, but by the time he understood what was going on he was already in the man’s arms, hand over his mouth and phone tossed to the street. Jack had kicked out, managing to hit his attacker in the shin, but it didn’t stop him. He was thrown into the trunk of the car, and before he could even catch his breath to call for help, he was knocked out.
The whole ordeal probably didn’t take more than two minutes, if that. No time for anyone to hear a scuffle and come looking.
Jack woke up later to his arms and legs tied up, duct tape around his head, and the feeling of blood on his face.
119.
He doesn’t like to think about the early days. The constant fear and exhaustion that took hold of him. That still does if he’s being honest. He likes to think he’s more resigned now. Apathetic, if you will.
It makes stomaching his own existence a little easier.
120.
He lifts his head off the wall once again, but pauses before he can get to 121. Out of pure necessity, Jack is a very good listener. So despite being a floor down and many walls away, he can always hear Mr. Reeder’s car pulling into the driveway. No matter how many times he hears it, Jack can never stop the way his body tenses, the way his heart rate picks up. He swallows and stares up at the ceiling, waiting for more.
It’s been a few days. Mr. Reeder would leave to go to work every day, and sometimes he’d go somewhere for a night or two, but this has been the longest yet. Jack had woken up and went to sleep eight different times (half were naps, he knew, but even still it was at least four days). He’s running out of food. Even if he didn’t see Mr. Reeder every day, he at least knew he was home.
He despises that he thinks of this place as his home.
The door upstairs slams and Jack can’t repress a flinch. He stares up into the darkness, eyes following the sound of heavy footsteps across the floor. The footsteps stop. Jack holds his breath to listen, the only unwelcome sound that of his own heavy heart.
A slamming door is not good. Stomping across the living room is not good. What kind of mood is he going to be in?
Jack gasps and flinches again at the sound of Mr. Reeder yelling, a wordless, angry shout, and then something crashes to the ground above him. Another shout and crash. Another. And another.
Mr. Reeder’s throwing things. So it’s safe to say he’s in, what Jack would call, a not good mood.
He tries his best to tune out the sounds above and focus on himself. He needs to calm down before Mr. Reeder gets here, or it’s going to be worse. Freaking out beforehand helps no one, and he ends up being in pain anyway so what’s the point.
Jack closes his eyes (he can’t see anyway) and takes long, deep breaths. In through his nose, out through his mouth. His ribs flare painfully with each inhale, but Jack welcomes it. It grounds him. Lets him know he still exists, in this painful body and dark basement. He still exists.
Unfortunately.
Jack makes himself keep breathing as the footsteps get closer and closer, making their way down the stairs and stopping just outside his door.
It never gets easier. The suspense of waiting for his captor, it just never does. Even if his mind knows it’s going to be the same old same old, his body is terrified. It’s tired of being hurt, of being hungry, of being weary and bored.
Sometimes he’s so bored he’s actually relieved, not nervous, when Mr. Reeder comes. Oddly enough, this was not one of those times.
The keys jingle. A lock clicks. And Mr. Reeder pushes open the door.
Jack squints against the light from the basement filtering in from the cracked door. He lets out his last inhale and stares down at the heavy boots in front of him. He’s always wondered how much of the mud caking them is actually his own blood.
Mr. Reeder just stands there for a moment, watching his captive. He’s silhouetted against the light so Jack can’t see his expression. Jack waits for him to say something, anything. He doesn’t.
Jack clears his throat. “Mr. Reeder?”
“Shut the hell up.”
Jack nods, looking at the ground. His heart pounds in his ears.
Mr. Reeder’s hand shoots out suddenly, gripping Jack by the hair and hauling him up out of his room. Jack hisses in pain, hands clawing at the fist tangled in his hair.
Jack kicks at the ground, trying his best to get his feet under himself enough to relieve the pressure on his head. His bad leg howls in protest at the sudden actions, but he does his best to push through. As he begins to be dragged up the stairs, Jack grits his teeth to stop from crying out, knee painfully banging against each. Individual. Step.
Each step, Jack is able to brace the pain a little more and become more aware of what exactly is happening.
He’s going upstairs. He hasn’t been upstairs since he first got here. The current circumstances are much different than those last time, so why the hell is Mr. Reeder bringing him upstairs?
He begins to fight.
Jack has been doing this a long time. Longer than he actually knows, but he’s positive it’s years. He’s an adult probably old enough to drink. That’s a long time to become a professional at getting your ass kicked. And being a professional victim, Jack knows that the less you struggle, the easier it is. Easier to deal with the pain, to get it over with, and stomach his own cowardice… Or resourcefulness. He’s a survivor, that much he knows.
So he only fights back when he’s really scared.
And he has reason to be. When Jack was just a brand new greenie kidnappee, demanding to be let back upstairs, Mr. Reeder had leaned down, close to his face, so close that Jack had to lean away from the smell of the peppermint nicotine pouch in his mouth.
“The only way you are ever going back up those stairs,” he said lowly, coldly, “is if I want to see your brains on the wall in natural lighting.”
It was the first time that Jack had thought I might not make it out of here alive. It took him a much longer time to accept it.
Apparently he hasn’t accepted it at all, Jack thinks as he wrenches his head out of Mr. Reeder’s grasp and dives to crawl away from him. It was never going to work but he needs to try.
Jack Thatcher was NOT taken away from his mother for years just to be shot in the head by some isolated lunatic. At least, he wasn’t going to without a fight.
Mr. Reeder grabs him easily, yanking him back by his bad leg, stretching it out. Jack can feel poorly healed bones in his knee scraping together, pinching the long disused muscles around them. He let out a shout before Mr. Reeder pulls him by his waist instead, hauling him into a room, slamming the door shut and sitting in front of it, trapping Jack inside.
With nowhere else to go, Jack pushes himself into the corner farthest from his captor, arms protectively shielding his right knee. His chest heaves and he can feel the stupid tightness starting in his throat that happens before he cries. He hates crying in front of Mr. Reeder, but it is continuously unavoidable.
Mr. Reeder sits in front of the door, catching his breath as well. He runs a hand through greasy hair, staring at the ceiling. He sighs heavily, like his life is the one here not worth living.
Tragic.
With his captor temporarily distracted, Jack takes stock of his surroundings. A mattress with no sheets is pushed against the corner opposite himself, some dirty clothes thrown at it’s end. A cracked mirror is attached to a dresser, dust slightly distorting the image of the ceiling. Behind Jack is a window half boarded up, letting a sliver of light into the room, washing over his captor. It looks like it’s golden hour outside.
Jack’s struck with the thought that this is the first time he’s seen the sun since he went down those stairs. Really, since he was thrown into that car as a teenager. He always had a blindfold on, or he was transported at night. The most fundamental, most simple and basic thing a human has access to, Jack hasn’t for years. Still just out of reach.
His attention is brought back to Mr. Reeder when he sighs again. He warily looks up at Jack. “You’re lucky you know.” Jack doesn’t move. He’s heard the ‘you should be glad I’m not worse’ speech before. “You have no idea what you’ve missed. No idea … what you’ve been spared. What I’ve spared you from.”
Jack only watches apprehensively. His body is tight, poised like he’s ready to try to run again. Where, with Mr. Reeder blocking the door?
“I didn’t mean to spare you from it,” he goes on. “Heaven knows that wasn’t my intention. I think you could have benefited from being in the middle of it all.” He chuckles and Jack shrinks away even more. “Oh the look on your face would’ve been everything … Oh well. It’s just about over anyway.”
It’s nonsense. Total nonsense. Mr. Reeder is certifiably insane, no doubt about it. He’s gone on long manic monologues before, Jack’s heard just about everything.
He’s never seen Mr. Reeder pull a gun from his waistband though.
He can’t help the sharp intake of breath, the sudden urge to run! Run now! Go! He’s got no idea what to do with it so he just stands up, so quickly it doesn’t even hurt, and backs even further into the corner. Mr. Reeder always threatened that he had a gun but Jack had never had proof until right now.
Mr. Reeder looks at him from under his brows. “Sit down Jack.”
All he can do is shake his head, breaths coming out fast and shallow. The floor is liquid beneath his feet, his body shakes where it stands.
The gun clicks and points right at Jack. “Sit. Down.”
He slides down the wall, hands up. His throat bobs with a swallow, just to do something with his mouth other than sob. Tears fall steadily down his cheeks and his lower lip trembles.
Mr. Reeder, satisfied with Jack’s cooperation, relaxes his grip on the gun, hefting it like he’s simply judging the weight.
“There wasn’t much time,” he says. Jack shifts his focus from the gun to his captor, staring with wide eyes and frayed nerves. “I was trying to think about what to do with you but … I mean, there just wasn’t much time. I’m not sure I would’ve done anything even if there was. You’ve said it yourself Jack, who wants to die alone?”
His eyes meet Jack’s for the first time and Jack can see … tears. Welling in them. It only terrifies him more. “Mr. Reeder …”
“Shh. Shh sh sh.” He shakes his head, working his jaw. “Do you believe in God, Jack?”
Jack swallows. “I don’t know,” he whispers, voice catching on the words. “I used to.”
“What about heaven and hell? Think those exist?”
Jack can feel the panic claw up his throat, making him want to sob and scream. “I hope so.”
“Hmm … I wonder if hell will be any worse than earth.”
This is it then, Jack thinks. He’s going to take us both out, as a sick end to his sick life. He’s bored of me and now it’s over, it’s all over.
“Mr. Reeder please,” Jack begs, tears blurring his vision, “please don’t. Don’t do it.”
He furrows his brows, and looks down at the gun. He shakes his head. “See you in hell, Jack.”
Jack hears the sound of the gun before he can process what his eyes just saw. He flinches back violently, closing his eyes and clapping his hands over his ears. Everything is quiet for a long while and Jack wonders if he saw wrong, if he’s dead right now. The ringing sets in a moment later, and, with a sinking heart, he opens his eyes.
Mr. Reeder sits, slack jawed, against the door. The gun lies limply in his lap. Blank eyes stare right at Jack.
And the orange light from the window illuminates the blood and brain matter splattered across the door.
Jack can’t help the scream that escapes from his lips. It tears at his throat, breaking in and out of sound. He screams so loudly and long he runs out of breath, and then suddenly keels over and retches on the ground, coughing against the vile acid in his throat. He squeezes his eyes shut, gasping for breath.
What the hell. What the hell what the hell what the hell! It’s all he can think, around and around again and again.
He opens his eyes and glances back up at Mr. Reeder for just a moment before looking away again.
Jack is still alive. He’s still alive, he’s alive. Mr. Reeder is dead. Not just dead—he killed himself. He just took Jack into a room and shot himself in the head! He talked about killing Jack all the time to see him squirm but he never once acted like he was going down with him! He didn’t even try to kill Jack…
Jack sits, eyes closed and breathing heavily, mind running in circles, for much longer than he cares to admit before one thought breaks through the horror and revulsion.
I can leave.
He's upstairs. He’s not locked in. The man in control of him is dead. He can get up and walk away. He can leave, there’s nothing stopping him.
Except the dead body in front of the door.
Jack stares up at the ceiling and lets his head fall back against the wall behind him. He does it again, and again. 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10 …
He’s to 51 when he finally feels calm enough to do what he needs to. Jack uses the wall to hoist himself up, right leg slightly bent to keep pressure off of it. It hurts like a mother because of the recent abuse. Mr. Reeder usually leaves the leg alone now, saying having a full cripple would be too much work.
Well.
He used to say that anyway.
The corner of Jack’s mouth slightly rises in a half smile. He limps forward, keeping his eyes averted. His hands shake when he reaches for the door handle and pulls, but it doesn’t budge. Mr. Reeder is too heavy. He’s going to have to move him.
“Don’t think about it,” he mutters. “Don’t think about it, don’t think about it.” He holds his breath—that makes it easier he thinks—reaches down, grabs the body’s shoulder, and pulls. Mr. Reeder doesn’t do much but slump over, forehead touching the ground.
The wound on the back of his head gapes. Jack covers his mouth when he realizes the white and pink stuff is Mr. Reeder’s brain and skull.
Mr. Reeder was just a man. He wasn’t a god or a monster. He was just a man who made Jack’s life hell. A man who wanted power and got it, albeit only over one person. A man with no feelings, no empathy.
And now he’s just a body. A body that can’t hurt Jack anymore.
Jack opens the door and steps into the hallway.
It is so … eerily quiet. The basement was quiet most of the time, sure, but it’s supposed to be quiet. It’s a basement. It makes sense. This is a house. A normal house. There’s carpet and cupboards and a thermostat on the wall. It isn’t supposed to be silent, but something in Jack can’t bear to disturb it. He tiptoes down the hallway and pauses at the end of it, peering into the living room.
It is trashed. The TV is shattered, glass strewn on the carpet. The couch and chair are upended, one of the legs broken in two.
That was what Mr. Reeder was doing? Ruining his house before he offed himself? Who does that?
“Psychos, Jack,” he says aloud. “Psychos.”
Something on the other side of the room catches his eye.
A landline.
Jack watches where he’s going, carefully avoiding the glass and splintered wood, rushing to the phone. He holds it to his ear and dials 911 with shaking hands, listening closely.
He waits, five, ten, thirty seconds. He hangs up and dials again. There’s not even a dial tone. Jack smashes the phone against the wall and lets it hang.
“Dammit!” The sound is hollowly absorbed against the walls. Everything echoes so much down in his cell that it’s slightly off-putting. But he needs to think.
Mr. Reeder probably has a cell phone, but Jack is not going back in that room. A shudder runs through him even thinking about it.
He cautiously walks through the kitchen, stepping over the overturned kitchen table and chairs, to a back door. The musty smell of a garage washes over him, and he rushes for the car. It’s a junker from the 90s, paint and rust aging it. His hands shake reaching for the doorhandle, pulling it open with a piercing squeak from the door hinges. The keys are still in the ignition, thank the freakin’ heavens. The engine sputters when Jack turns them. He tries again, stepping on the gas.
The car doesn’t move. His eyes track along the dash and he just manages to spot the LOW FUEL flashing light next to the arrow sitting past the E before he smashes his head against the steering wheel. How did Mr. Reeder even get home?! Did he ride in on fumes? It’s a miracle he got in the freakin’ garage!
Jack sighs, putting his head in his hands. He has no choice. He has to go looking for someone.
Mr. Reeder’s house is a solid five miles away from anyone and anything, Jack knows. Mr. Reeder has made it very clear over the years that no one would ever hear his screaming, and no one would ever know where he is.
He had no idea that he would somehow be even more alone only a couple years later.
The only car Jack ever heard coming down the road was Mr. Reeder’s own. No one passed or drove through, so he is most likely going to have to make the whole five mile hike to get help.
He looks doubtfully down at himself. A roughly twenty year old man wearing dirty sweatpants and a shirt with holes torn along the hem, not to mention the blood stains. No shoes. A detrimental limp, only eight fingers, one and a half ears, scars galore … He’s certainly a sight to behold.
At least no one will doubt his legitimacy. But it is going to be a, for lack of a better word, sucky walk.
His heart aches a bit as he thinks that a five mile walk would’ve been no issue for him before.
“Knock it off,” he says aloud. “That doesn’t help anything.”
First, Jack needs shoes. Looking near the front door he sees a small collection of shoes, old and dirt covered. He picks out a pair of brown New Balances that surely used to be white and slips them on. No socks and shoes a size too big will leave him wicked blisters but he can’t find it in himself to care at the moment.
It’s hot in the house, and Jack assumes it is outside too, but he takes a jacket hanging from a hook anyway. It feels the tiniest bit blasphemous in a way to wear the clothes of a dead man. But what’s he gonna do? He’s dead and he sucked when he was alive.
Lastly, he finds a water bottle in the kitchen and fills it—twice because he drank all of it in one go the first time.
Jack is psyching himself up for the walk when he realizes he left something downstairs in the basement. In his cell. He groans, making his way to the staircase. The lights are still on, illuminating the plain wooden boards. It doesn’t feel right. It’s such a nightmare of a place, it should be shrouded in darkness like in a horror movie. It looks like a normal unfinished basement from the top of the stairs.
“The sooner you go the sooner you can leave forever. Just go.” So with one hand tightly wrapped around the banister, Jack descends back into hell.
It’s jarring, how different the basement is from what a regular person would expect. The raw wood of the last step is stained brown and burgundy from Jack’s own blood. Hooks hang from the ceiling with chains, ropes are wrapped around a dining table chair. A collection of freak stuff like handcuffs, whips, and stun guns are tossed on a table, dropped recklessly by Mr. Reeder after they had served their purpose. His cell is just a room in the corner with a small bathroom attached.
Jack doesn’t give the makeshift dungeon a glance, eyes trained on the floor. He beelines for the cot pushed in the corner, on which he was sitting bored out of his mind only a few minutes ago. It already feels like forever.
He reaches under the thin mattress and into a small tear he’d made. Inside, among the weird mattress stuffing, is a small piece of paper. He grips it protectively, slipping it into his jacket pocket.
He runs up the stairs faster than he cares to admit, stopping to catch his breath at the top.
Jack childishly flips the basement off one last time.
The front door is white, with brass hardware. It has no window. There are scuff marks on the bottom, and dirty finger prints on the paint near the handle. Jack takes a deep breath and notices this all again.
He knows he’s stalling. He even knows why he’s stalling. It’s like … when you’re reading a book that is breaking your heart but it still hurts to finish it and leave it in the past. Like when Jack’s dad died and all he wanted to do was leave the funeral, but when it was time to go home he couldn’t. His grandma had to basically carry him out of the cemetery, and as soon as they stepped outside Jack knew something had ended, despite how young he was.
But that’s stupid. That’s stupid here, it’s dumb. He was tortured here. He was starved and beat and filmed and dehumanized in every way possible. What the hell would he be missing?
Stability. Knowing what each day entailed. Anonymity. When you step out that door, everyone will know. Mom will know. Strangers will know. Everyone will know your pain.
It’s petrifying, having to share your pain. Most people won’t be gentle with it.
Something compels Jack to take one last look at the living room, and a calendar on the wall catches his eye. Nothing about the photograph of the beautiful landscape in a foreign country. It’s the date that makes Jack finally turn the handle.
Orange light washes over him. He closes his eyes and turns his head up to the rays. It soaks into his skin, warming a part of him that had long gone cold. It’s invigorating, life giving. Jack has never felt anything like it before.
It’s been six years since he’s seen the sun.
—
Five miles is really freakin’ long when you’re severely malnourished and have a bum leg, Jack figures out pretty quickly. He frequently needs to stop and breathe, leaning against trees lining the long road away from Mr. Reeder’s.
Every sound has him looking down the road, ready to flag down a car and ask to be taken to the police station.
What was he even going to say?
Hi, I don’t know if you know me but I’m Jack Thatcher, I was kidnapped a whopping six years ago and held by a lunatic in his basement and tortured—he’d probably leave that part out—can I borrow your phone to call my mom?
The more he thinks about it the more he’s embarrassed to admit to someone he was kidnapped. No one else he knows was kidnapped. He wasn’t even good enough to be held for ransom, just sold off like cattle.
Jack stops in the road and takes another drink, holding the rapidly warming water bottle to his brow. The sun is beating on Jack in a way he didn’t expect, since it seems to be sunset. It’s not getting any cooler though. It’s been hot this whole time. Mr. Reeder’s basement was always relatively cold, the chill seeping deep into his bones in what he assumed were the winter months, making him shake til his limbs hurt.
Walking in the shade of the trees would probably be a better idea, but Jack needs to stay on the road where cars will see him.
It is enticing though, the idea of shade. He’s entirely unused to this type of heat. The last time would have been—well just about six years ago…
7 notes
·
View notes