#I'm in america until some months later so it's still a special day for me! so it still counts. and also do specifics really matter so much

[anewp0tat0]

I tried but not very hard to see what the anniversary date was, and i decided to just prepare myself for the 16th or the 18th... it was the former. so, as always, but this time truly by accident... happy belated 17th birthday Black Butler!! I truly hope this year is amazing for us.

this year, I decided to use an idea I had wanted to try for a while but I never thought I would be able to pull off. and I still probably couldn't in the best way.... but regardless, here is a made up last chapter scenario.

you can also see this comic on webtoon here. whatever your fancy, if you please :>

[encanto17]

Some Headcanons/Fanfic Inspos About Julieta & Agustín's Relationship ;)

Ok so I'm hoping this sounds good cuz I've never written anything like this, and feel free to do with them what you want. If you write a full-length fic you can (don't have to) tag me, but I would love to see it XD I might write a few "real" fics later on here and/or when I get an AO3 account, but until then, enjoy these! Also, I'm really sorry if there's a lot here. I got excited to write this XD I guess you can consider this just a fanfic plot without dialogue and things XD

These aren't really based off of the movie so don't come at me, this is just for fun and to write some ideas down. There might be some Encanto spoilers too!!!

Before:

Agustín was born in Bogotá to Spaniard parents, and he had three older sisters

His family was upper-class

While he had heard stories of the "Encanto", no one really believed them because they were viewed as local legends

He was always a bit clumsy and sometimes a little stupid, but he was very kind and friendly to everyone

He never really had a love interest while growing up, but he did love nature (except bees. He was allergic to bees.)

Being fully honest, he struggled to get along with his family

He ended up studying to become a biologist, and he was traveling throughout South America for his studies

How They Met:

He got a little lost once when he was around 20, and he ended up in a small, isolated town

While in town, he was attacked by bees... so that didn't go so well

A group of young children of the village started yelling for "Julieta" because she could take care of him

When Agustín saw her, he instantly fell in love

She handed him a buñuelo and he was shocked that his bee stings felt better

Julieta refused to tell him of her powers knowing that he was an "outsider" and was afraid that news of the town would get out

That didn't matter because the kids told him all that was up

He honestly didn't care about the magic or powers, he just loved Julieta with all his heart

He stayed in town until night fell, and because he was a little lost, a local family let him stay for the night

He used this as an opportunity to win over Julieta by staying in town for a few days to research a "special flower"- there was no special flower, he just wanted to stay there

On the third day of his visit, he saw her and her sister, Pepa, in town and so he took the opportunity to make his mark

Julieta thought he was sweet but not much else

Dating:

Pepa jokingly convinced her sister to go on a date with him, so she obliged

While Agustín was very excited, Julieta was doing it mostly for the laughs

They had a romantic dinner that night, and afterwards, Julieta realized that she might like him back

They spent the next two days hanging out, with Julieta still playing hard to get, but she introduced him to her family

The family mostly liked him, though Julieta's brother, Bruno, was a little worried he just wanted her healing food

Finally, he decided it was time to go home, so Julieta confessed her love for him, and made him promise to return to the Encanto

For the next year, they communicated with love letters

On the one year anniversary of their first letter, Agustín surprised Julieta with his first visit

While there, he learns that Pepa has a boyfriend herself, from the town

Her boyfriend is a bit of a romantic, and Agustín becomes worried that Julieta would look for someone more like him, and so he gets very clingy and gives her a lot of gifts

After a week-long trip, he returns to Bogotá for three months, still communicating with letters, before he moves to a town near the Encanto to be near Julieta but not *too near*

Now that he can see her two or three times a week, he bonds with her family and friends, epescially Félix, Pepa's boyfriend

He kind of struggled to bond with Bruno, however, even though Bruno had warmed up to him

Their personalities were so different that they just kinda were awkward and had clumsy conversations

After two years of living near Julieta, he receives Alma's permission to marry

Engagement & Wedding:

He surprises Julieta in a romantic little spot near his village and she, of course, says yes

They spend the first three months of their engagement as they had the past two years, as they work out the details of their wedding

For the next three months, Agustín stayed in Bogotá packing up his things

Towards the end of that time, Julieta visits him for a week

This is the first time that she meets his family, and while they get along, the family would prefer that they didn't get married

With this in mind, they agree to not share the news about her magical gift

Then, for the next six months, Agustín returns to his village near hers

Pepa takes this time to work on adding some new space to Casita

Bruno tried to communicate with his brother-in-law more, and they figured out how to be friends, even though Agustín didn't necessarily understand him

Finally, they get married at the local church, and Agustín's family decides not to come because this village was "too low-class"

Of course, Pepa is Julieta's maid of honor

In keeping with tradition, Agustín asks Bruno to be the best man, but he denies due to nerves, so Félix ends up taking that position

The flower girl and ring bearer are from the group of kids that saw Agustín with the bees

While the ceremony is calm and traditional, the reception is full-on chaos and fun

During the reception at Casita, Bruno goes up and hides in his room because it was too noisy, but Félix goes and gets him

Later on in the night/early morning, after many have gone home, Félix ends up proposing to Pepa (and of course she says yes, too!)

They end up skipping the honeymoon but choose to explore the village more

The Early Years of Marriage:

The first four years of marriage were fairly calm

Two years into it, Félix and Pepa get married

Agustín and Félix became absolute best friends, bringing chaos into every situation

As time goes on, Agustín warms up to Bruno's "quirks", somewhat because Félix insisted that he was included in every adventure

Agustín and Julieta went on a lot of romantic double dates with Félix and Pepa

Three years after the wedding, Agustín takes Julieta to Bogotá for a week to see his family and meet his newest nieces and nephews

It turns out his family still wasn't very happy with him, so after three days, they went to explore the city, keeping Julieta and her family and village a secret

A few months after that, Julieta finds out that she is pregnant, and Agustín cannot wait to be a papá

He was very nervous, and was constantly taking care of his wife and baby

He always hoped for a daughter

When baby Isabela was born, he was so excited to have a little girl

He was very protective of his baby, and carried her everywhere

His theory is that, the reason why she has flowers as her gift, is because of the lie he told Julieta so that he could stay in the village

After her Gift Ceremony, Agustín admitted to his family that that was a lie

Ok so I hope that was good!!! I know that was choppy and things but hopefully that can give you some ideas, and maybe give me some ideas too XD If you want any expansions on any of this, or ideas for future hcs, let me know! Thank you for reading!!! :D

[lacharcutiere]

still [sawamura daichi]

1,6k words

previous | masterlist | next ➪

part eight of i’m gone i’m gone i’m gone miniseries. you can only put these things off for so long.

JST: japanese standard time (GMT +9). EST: eastern standard time (GMT -5). EDT: eastern daylight time (GMT -4).

tings // fluff, a little bit of angst, kinda suggestive at the end ?? // i swear this søng is abøut eating øut my best friend's pussy - cøzybøy // dm, ask or comment to be added to taglist ! minors dni.

☾𓆙𓂻

— JAPAN, SUMMER 2024.

the summer passes like this: you and daichi laughing too loudly in busy restaurants and train cars; having arms around each other in the back of taxis on the way home from clubs; making instant udon at three a.m.; walking up and down the neighborhood a hundred times; laying silently side by side and not needing to say anything. it's a routine, it's familiar—it's home.

a couple weeks before you're set to head back to new york, daichi asks you a question as you lay next to him on a blanket in your driveway, staring up at the stars.

"have you decided what your plans are after college?"

"i'm gonna come back here."

"i thought you wanted to go to grad school? you can do way better in the states, especially with a degree from columbia."

you roll onto your side so you can look at him better. "i know. but i've been away too long already. i miss you."

he gives you a little smile. "but i'm right here."

"right here is pretty fucking far from america."

"hm."

"hm."

that's the end of the conversation.

— 2 AUGUST 2024. 23:09 JST.

everything happens the exact same way it has for the past three years: he takes you to the airport. you try hard not to cry; you say your goodbyes. check-in, security, buy some candy to eat at the gate. board the plane. sixteen hours later, you're in america.

one thing was different, though.

when he said goodbye, his lips touched yours.

you don't stop thinking about it for weeks.

☾𓆙𓂻

— AUGUST TO NOVEMBER 2024.

slightly relieving is the fact that amid thesis writing and too many classes and working an internship under one of your professors (that one's nice, it even earns you enough to get a small apartment a few blocks from campus), there proves to be little time to be spent missing daichi.

you finesse your schedule to fit weekly facetimes on friday evenings (new york time) and shoot random texts back and forth about your day between classes and during meals, and without much space for anything else, it's enough. good things are worth waiting for, anyway.

— DECEMBER 2024.

but then winter sem break rolls around and there's no school so it's back to having too much lonely alone time with your thoughts. you write daichi a christmas card and drop it off at the post office. it's early this year, but oh, well.

☾𓆙𓂻

a week before christmas you receive a call from an unknown number. the phone speaker crackles when you accept the call.

“hello?”

“hey.” the voice on the other end is bright, smiley, accented. it’s tōru.

“tōru? what’s up?”

“i’m outside,” he says, “come down and meet me?”

you’re a little confused, but you decide to humor him. “uh, okay, give me a minute… do i need anything?”

“bring a coat, it’s cold out. i’ll be waiting down here.” the call ends.

a few minutes later you push through the doors of the building to be met with a brisk wind and tōru standing by a payphone, grinning.

“do you have your subway pass?”

you feel inside your pocket for it and nod.

“good,” he says. “come on, we’re in a hurry.”

“where are we going?”

“downtown.”

“ohhkay?”

he laughs. “‘s not anything you won’t like, promise.”

you follow him into the nearest subway entrance, lost in thought as you push through the barrier and step onto the train. it's only when he nudges you and says, "this is our stop," that you realize you've been looking at the ground the whole time.

tōru notices how absent you seem to be and asks, "are you okay?"

"i would be if i knew what was going on," you respond.

"yeah," he says, leading you up the stairs and into the terminal, "yeah, i think you will be."

you're in grand central. tōru asks if he can borrow your phone for a second. when he hands it back to you, he doesn't say anything, just takes you by the arm smiling widely and leads you into the fray of commuters that fill the station.

"tōru!" you groan, "can't you just tell me where we're going?"

"magnolia," he replies simply.

"we came all the way here just for coffee?"

"mhm."

"tōru!" he stops walking and turns back to you, trying and failing miserably to stop grinning for a second. "what the fuck?"

"come on," he says, "you'll like it."

"we've been here before! what's so special about—"

"you'll see."

☾𓆙𓂻

coffee in grand central is surprisingly good. it's also surprisingly expensive. ah, well, it's new york. new york has much more to offer than just overpriced cafés.

such as... this. such as a laughing man that leads a remarkably pissed-off looking girl by the arm, towards this stupidly good, stupidly overpriced café.

the pair are weaving through a stream of people, almost there, and then they're there, and the girl is looking much less agitated now. she looks somewhere between crying and wanting to run in the opposite direction. thank god, she chooses the former.

he loves you. so much.

☾𓆙𓂻

"daichi?" you mean it to be a scream but your voice cracks a little and it comes out airy.

he has the exact same look on his face that tōru's had this whole time. "hi."

"oh my god, what the fuck?"

"you said it was lonely, tōru told me maybe it would be nice for you to have a date for new year's, i had some extra money saved up. so i came."

"you— what?" you look back at tōru. "you planned this? just? last minute?"

"nah," daichi laughs, "no, i meant to come visit you for christmas a while ago. i already had tickets and everything, i was gonna tell you but then i got your card and figured it might be more fun if it were a surprise."

"oh my god." that's all you can think to say.

— CHRISTMAS 2024.

you can't even explain how good it feels to wake up and walk into the living room to find daichi asleep on your couch on christmas morning, how good it feels for it to not just be you. the whole time he's been here, though, you've forced yourself not to think about the fact that he's going back home in a week and a half, forced yourself not to do anything just yet. soon, though. just a few more months.

☾𓆙𓂻

when he wakes up, you're making coffee for the two of you.

"merry christmas," he says, wrapping one arm around your shoulders. he places a card on the counter in front of you. "open it."

its message is simple.

you do as it says.

"i, uh, haven't gotten you anything yet, but—"

"daichi," you laugh, "it's okay. and um, i may have also not been able to get you anything. also because i didn't know you'd be here."

"wait, wait, i'm not finished."

"okay?"

"what do you want to do after you're done this year of school?"

"i already told you," you say, "i'll move back home."

"no, what do you want to do? you want to go to grad school, right? continue studying here?"

"no, i just want to stop waiting." you sigh, a little frustrated. "i don't wanna have to keep putting this off, it's been—"

he cuts you off. "i'll be here."

"huh?"

"i'll be here. or wherever."

"i don't get it?"

you've always loved the way daichi's nose scrunches up when he smiles. "you're the one planning on studying more, not me. not immediately, anyway. i'll go with you."

"daichi."

"what?"

"you're fucking joking."

he laughs; you look so confused right now. "i'm not. promise."

"i don't even—"

"hey."

"hm?"

"think you can handle long-distance for five months?"

"uh—" you inhale sharply. "yeah."

"good," he says, "then we don't have to keep putting this off."

it's been five months since you last let your lips touch his. it still feels just like the first time it happened.

— 31 DECEMBER, 2023. 19:36 EST.

he tries not to let you pay for dinner, but in the end, you slip the waiter your card while daichi's in the bathroom. it's his birthday; it's your treat.

and after dinner, there's that new year's eve party that tōru's been going on about. it feels good, so good, not to be there alone. it feels good to watch the broadcast from downtown and count the seconds to midnight as daichi's arms are wrapped around you from behind. the clock reaches zero; daichi kisses you hard. you're both drunk on champagne.

you watch him smile across the room at tōru, who's got his girl on his arm. the two of them look happy, too. everything is warm.

— DEPARTURE: 3 JANUARY 2025. 08:15 EST.

daichi's asleep next to you when the alarm on his phone goes off. you'll miss not waking up next to him for the next five months, but at least that's all it will be.

he makes faces at you in the mirror as you both brush your teeth; keeps trying to tug your sweater off when you get dressed. you spend these thirty minutes laughing with him until it hurts. the two of you take the subway back to grand central; make out in a corner of the terminal while he waits for his train to jfk international to arrive.

"see you in may."

— 21 JANUARY 2025.

taglist: @sakruisin-thru @softetsurou @oligbia

[thewidowsghost]

Daughter of the Sea - Chapter 3

Percy's POV

Confession time: I ditch Grover as soon as we get to the bus terminal.

I know, I know. It was rude. But Grover is kinda freaking me out, looking at me like I am a dead man, muttering, "Why does this always happen?" and "Why does it always have to be the sixth grade?"

Whenever he gets upset, Grover's bladder acts up, so I'm not surprised when, as soon as we get off the bus, he makes me promise to wait for him, then makes a beeline for the restroom. Instead of waiting, I get my suitcase, slip outside, and catch the first taxi uptown.

"East One-hundred-and-forth and First," I tell the driver.

A word about my mother, before you meet her.

Her name is Sally Jackson and she's the best person in the world, which just proves my theory that the best people have the rottenest luck. Her own parents died in a plane crash when she was five, and she was raised by an uncle who didn't care much about her. She wanted to be a novelist, so she spent high school working to save enough money for a college with a good creative-writing program. Then her uncle got cancer, and she had to quit school her senior year to take care of him. After he died, she was left with no money, no family, and no diploma.

The only good break she ever got was meeting mine and (Y/n)'s dad.

We didn't have any memories of him, just this warm sort of glow, maybe the barest trace of his smile. Our mom doesn't like to talk about him because it makes her sad; she has no pictures.

See, they weren't married. She told us he was rich and important, and their relationship was a secret. Then one day, he set sail across the Atlantic on some important journey, and he never came back.

Lost at sea, my mom had told us. Not dead. Lost at sea.

She worked odd jobs, took night classes to get her high school diploma, and raised me and my twin on her own. She never complained or got mad. Not even once. But I knew I wasn't an easy kid.

Finally, she married Gabe Ugliano, who was nice the first thirty seconds we knew him, then showed his true colors as a world-class jerk. When I was young, I nicknamed him Smelly Gabe. I'm sorry, but it's the truth. The guy reeked like moldy garlic pizza wrapped in gym shorts.

Between the two of us, we made my mom's life pretty hard. The way Smelly Gabe treated her, the way he and I got along...well, when I came home is a good example.

I walk into our little apartment, hoping my mom would be home from work. Instead, Smelly Gabe is in the living room, playing poker with his buddies. The television blares ESPN. Chips and beer cans are strewn all over the carpet.

Hardly looking, he says around his cigar, "So, you're home."

"Where's Mom and (Y/n)?" I wonder aloud.

"Your mom's working," he says. "You got any cash?"

That was it. No Welcome back. Good to see you. How has your life been the last six months?

"I don't have any cash," I toll him.

"Here," comes a voice, holding out a ten to the man.

Instantly, a smile sneaks its way onto my face.

"Hey, Perc," my twin sister says with a smile.

(Y/n)'s POV

I grab my brother's suitcase and carry it into his room; I set it down on the bed.

"You wanna come sit in my room?" I ask and Percy nods, a smile still on his face.

I lead the way to my room and when I open the door, Percy sinks into my desk chair.

"Percy?" comes our mom's voice.

She opens my bedroom door.

Our mother can make me feel good just by walking into the room. Her eyes sparkle and change color in the light. Her smile is as warm as a quilt. She's got a few gray streaks mixed in with her long brown hair, but I never think of her as old. When she looks at me, it's like she's seeing all the good things about me, none of the bad. I've never heard her raise her voice or say an unkind word to anyone, not even me or Percy or Gabe.

"Oh, Percy," she hugs her son tightly. "I can't believe it. You've grown since Christmas.

Percy's POV

Her red-white-and-blue Sweet on America uniform smelled like the best things in the world: chocolate, licorice, and all the other stuff she sold at the candy shop in Grand Central. She'd brought me a huge bag of "free samples," the way she always did when I came home.

We sit together on the edge of (Y/n)'s bed. While I attack the blueberry sour strings, (Y/n) stealing a few pieces of candy from the bag, Mom runs her hand through my hair and demands to know everything I hadn't put in my letters. She doesn't mention anything about my getting expelled. She doesn't seem to care about that. But was I okay? Was her little boy doing all right? The whole time, (Y/n)'s eyes were sparkling with amusement.

I tell Mom she is smothering me, and to lay off and all that, but secretly, I was really, really glad to see her and (Y/n).

From the other room, Gabe yells, "Hey, Sally—how about some bean dip, huh?"

I grit my teeth.

My mom is the nicest lady in the world. She should've been married to a millionaire, not to some jerk like Gabe.

For her sake, I try to sound upbeat about my last days at Yancy Academy. I tell her I'm not too down about the expulsion. I'd lasted almost the whole year this time. I'd made some new friends. I'd done pretty well in Latin. And honestly, the fights hadn't been as bad as the headmaster said. I liked Yancy Academy. I really did. I put such a good spin on the year, I almost convince myself. I start choking up, thinking about Grover and Mr. Brunner. Even Nancy Bobofit suddenly doesn't seem so bad.

Until that trip to the museum...

"What?" my mom asks. Her and my sister's eyes tug at my conscience, trying to pull out the secrets. "Did something scare you?"

"No, Mom."

I feel back for lying. I want to tell her about Mrs. Dodds and the three old ladies with the yarn, but I think it'd sound stupid.

Mom purses her lips. Both she and (Y/n) could tell I was holding back, but neither push me.

(Y/n)'s POV

"I have a surprise for both of you," Mom says. "We're going to the beach."

Percy's eyes widen. "Montauk?"

"Three nights - same cabin."

"When?" I ask excitedly.

Mom smiles. "As soon as I get changed."

I can't believe it. Mom, Percy, and I hadn't been to Montauk the last two summers, because Gabe said there wasn't enough money.

Gabe appears in my doorway and growls, "Bean dip, Sally? Didn't you hear me?"

"I've got it," I offer, rising from the bed and walking out into the kitchen to make the dip for Mom.

An hour later, we are ready to leave.

Gabe takes a break from his poker game long enough to watch me and Percy lug Mom's bags to the car. He keeps griping and groaning about losing her cooking - and most importantly, his '78 Camaro - for the whole weekend.

"Not a scratch on this car, you two," he warns us as I load the last bag. "Not one little scratch."

Like we'd be the ones driving. We're twelve. But that didn't matter to Gabe. If a seagull so much as pooped on his paint job, he'd find a way to blame us.

We get into the Camero, me in the passenger's seat, and Percy in the back.

Our rental cabin is on the south shore, way out at the tip of the Long Island. It is a little pastel box with faded curtains, half-sunken into the dunes. There is always sand in the sheets and spiders in the cabinets, and most of the time the sea is too cold to swim in.

Percy and I love the place.

We'd been going there since Percy and I were babies. Our mom had been going even longer. She never exactly said, but I knew why the beach was special to her. It was the place she'd met mine and Percy's dad.

As we get closer to Montauk, Mom seems to grow younger, years of worry and work disappearing from her face. Her eyes turning the color of the sea.

We arrive at the cabin, open all the cabin windows, and go through our usual cleaning routine. We walk on the beach, feed blue corn chips to the seagulls, and much on jelly beans, blue saltwater taffy, and all the other free samples my mom had brought from work.

I guess I should explain the blue food.

See, Gabe had once told Mom there was no such thing. They had this fight, which seemed like a small thing at the time. But ever since, Mom had gone out of her way to eat blue. She baked blue birthday cakes. She mixed blueberry smoothies. She bought blue-corn tortilla chips and brought home blue candy from the shop. This - alone with keeping her maiden name, Jackson, rather than calling herself Mrs. Ugliano - was proof that she wasn't totally suckered by Gabe. She did have a rebellious streak, like Percy.

When it gets dark, we make a fire. We roast hot dogs and marshmallows. Mom tells us stories about when she was a kid, back before her parents died in the plane crash. She tells us about the books she wanted to write when she gets enough money to quit the candy shop.

Finally, it seems that Percy gets the nerve to ask about what was always on our minds when we come to Montauk - our father. Mom's eyes go all misty. I figure that she was going to tell us the same things she always said, but neither Percy and I ever got tired of hearing them.

"He was kind, Percy," Mom says. "Tall, handsome, and powerful. But gentle, two. You have his black hair, you know, Percy, and you both have his green eyes."

Mom fishes a blue jelly bean out of her candy bag. "I wish he could see you, Percy, (Y/n). He would be so proud."

Percy's POV

I wondered how she could say that. What's so great about me? A dyslexic, hyperactive boy with a D+ report card, kicked out of the school for the sixth time in six years.

"How old were we?" I ask. "I mean . . . when he left?"

Mom watches the flames. "He was only with me for one summer, Percy. Right here at this beach. This cabin."

"But...he knew us as a baby."

"No, honey. He knew I was expecting twins, but he never saw you two. He had to leave before you were born."

I try to square that with the fact I seem to remember . . . something about my father. A warm glow. A smile.

(Y/n) and I had always assumed that he had known us as babies. Mom had never said it outright, but still, we'd always felt it must be true. Now, to be told that he'd never even seen us . . .

I realize I feel angry at my father. Maybe it was stupid, but I resent him for going on that ocean voyage, for not having the guts to marry Mom. He'd left us, and now we are stuck with Smelly Gable.

"Are you sending me away again?" I ask her. "To another boarding school."

She pulls a marshmallow from the fire.

"I don't know, honey." Mom's voice is heavy. "I think . . . I think we'll have to do something."

"Because you don't want me around?" I regret the words as soon as they come out of my mouth. (Y/n) bows her head, looking at the ground and Mom's eyes well with tears.

Mom takes my hand and squeezes it tight. "Oh, Percy, no. I - I have to, honey. For your own good. I have to send you away."

Her words remind me of what Mr. Brunner had said - that it was best for me to leave Yancy.

"Because I'm not normal," I say.

"You say that as if it's a bad thing, Percy. But you don't realize how important you are. I thought Yancy Academy would be far enough away. I thought you'd finally be safe.

"Safe from what?"

She meets my eyes, and a flood of memories comes back to me - all the weird, scary things that had ever happened to me and (Y/n), some of which we'd tried to forget.

During third grade, a man in a black trench coat had stalked us on the playground. When the teachers threatened to call the police, he went away growling, but no one believed (Y/n) when she'd told them that under his broad-brimmed hat, the man only had one eye, right in the middle of his head.

Before that—a really early memory. I was in preschool, and a teacher accidentally put me down for a nap in a cot that a snake had slithered into. My mom screamed when she came to pick me up and found me playing with a limp, scaly rope I'd somehow managed to strangle to death with my meaty toddler hands.

In every single school, something creepy had happened, something unsafe, and I was forced to move.

I know I should tell my mom about the old ladies at the fruit stand, and Mrs. Dodds at the art museum, about my weird hallucination that I had sliced my math teacher into dust with a sword. But I can't make myself tell her. I have a strange feeling the news would end our trip to Montauk, and I don't want that.

"I've tried to keep you as close to me as I could," my mom says. "They told me that was a mistake. But there's only one other option, Percy—the place your father wanted to send you two. And I just...I just can't stand to do it."

(Y/n)'s POV

"Our father wanted us to go to a special school?" I ask, a little confused.

"Not a school," she says softly. "A summer camp."

My head starts spinning. Why would my dad - who hadn't even stayed around long enough to see me and Percy be born - talk about a summer camp?

"I'm sorry, (Y/n)," she said, seeing the look in my eyes. "But I can't talk about it. I—I couldn't send you two to that place. It might mean saying good-bye to you for good."

"For good?" Percy asks. "But if it's only a summer camp.

Mom turns towards the fire, and I know from her expression that if either of us ask her any more questions, she would start to cry.

I have a weird, vivid dream. It is storming on the beach, and two beautiful animals, a white horse, and a golden eagle are trying to kill each other at the edge of the surf. The eagle swoops down and slashes the horse's muzzle with its huge talons. The horse rears up and kicks at the eagle's wings. As they fight, the ground rumbles and a monstrous voice chuckles somewhere and beneath the earth, goading the animals to fight harder.

I run towards them, knowing I have to stop them from killing each other, but I am running in slow motion. I know I am too late. I see the eagle dive down, its beak aimed at the horse's wide eyes, and I scream, No!

I wake with a start.

Outside, it really is storming, the kind of storm that cracks trees and blows down houses. There is no horse or eagle on the beach, just lightning making false daylight, and twenty-foot waves pounding the dunes like artillery.

With the next thunderclap, my mom and Percy wake. Mom sits up, eyes wide, and says, "Hurricane."

I know that's crazy. Long Island never sees hurricanes this early in the summer. But the ocean seems to have forgotten. Over the roar of the wind, I hear a distant bellow, an angry, tortured sound that makes my hair stand on end.

Percy's POV

Then a much closer noise, like mallets in the sand. A desperate voice - someone yelling, pounding on our cabin door.

My mother springs out of bed in her nightgown and throws open the lock.

Grover stands framed in the doorway against a backdrop of pouring rain. But he isn't . . . he isn't exactly Grover.

"Searching all night," he gasps. "What were you thinking?"

My mother looks at me in terror - not scared of Grover, but of why he'd come.

"Percy," she says, having to shout to be heard over the rain. "What happened at school? What didn't you tell me?"

I am frozen, looking at Grover. I can't understand what I'm seeing, and I see (Y/n) looking at my friend.

"O Zeu kai alloi theoi!" he yells. "It's right behind me! Didn't you tell her?"

I am too shocked to register that he'd just cursed in Ancient Greek, and I'd understood him perfectly. I am too shocked to wonder how Grover had gotten here by himself in the middle of the night. Because Grover doesn't have pants on - and where his legs should be . . . where his legs should be . . .

Mom looks at me sternly and talks in a tone she'd never used before, and (Y/n) flinches: "Percy. Tell me now!"

I stammer something about the old ladies at the fruit stand and Mrs. Dodds, and my mom stares at me, her face deathly pale in the flashes of lightning.

She grabs her purse, tosses me and (Y/n) our rain jackets, and says, "Get the car. All three of you. Go!"

Grover runs for the Camero - but he isn't running, exactly. He is trotting, shaking his shaggy hindquarters, and suddenly his story about a muscular disorder in his legs makes sense to me. I understand how he can run so fast and still limp when he walks.

Because where his feet should be, there are no feet. There are cloven hooves.

Word Count: 3041 words

[echo-three-one]

Whatever It Takes

Alex relives the old days as he single-handedly embarks on a mission to help local German Militia regain their village from the hands of Augustus. But he seemed a little distracted. I wonder why.

Previous Chapter : Roach - A Walk to Remember

Chapter 7 to another story made by Ray (echo-three-one) Comments and Reviews appreciated! I hope you enjoy! Love you all ❤️

"Just Like Old Times"

"Alex"

Task Force 141

1 km East of A Local Militia Settlement, Germany

"Guten Morgen. Hallo." Alex muttered as the plane slowly descended toward his drop off area. He was readying his accent for the negotiation. A few more walks and he'll be on potential enemy territory or ally territory, depending how well he seals the deal. For the whole duration of the flight, he cleared his head on Samantha, how she has no clue about him, and focused on his new task. He was confident he'd get this one right, as this was his playing field. The CIA days were almost nostalgic as he plopped his metal foot on the ground and signaled the chopper goodbye.

Leading small armies to help create forces to counter terrorism. That was his role in the Special Activities Division of the CIA. He was Kate Laswell's favorite when it comes to these kinds of activities and he's confident enough that he could convince them to fight.

The walk was long and quiet, no one was around, most of Alex's trails were just forest upon forest upon forest. He started heading to the sound of the water, and immediately spotted four men, armed and possibly his ticket inside the settlement. Taking a deep breath he emerged from the forest and greeted the gentlemen.

"Hello. Does anyone here know anyone named Blitz?" Alex asked in fluent german. The four of them pointed their guns directly at him and he quickly dropped his bag and raised his hands showing surrender.

"No no. I'm here to help." He kicked the bag as it started to pour out heavy grenadier weapons and bullets. One of them grabbed a radio and called the base.

"What is your name?" he asked.

"Call me Alex." he replied with a grin. The next thing he knew is that he was being tied and escorted to the village. He didn't mind, it's always normal for them to be cautious, especially when facing an unknown person.

They trod the dense forestry until they got to a small settlement buzzing with activity.

Alex found himself seated on a small wooden table, his bag of weapons in front of him while Blitz slowly stepped out of the shadows. Blitz was the leader of the said settlement. He has a pale white skin and almost bald hair, his brethren surrounded him, guns pointed at Alex.

"What brings you to this little town, Alex?" he asked. 

"Augustus." he replied confidently, all the other brothers whispered with each other.

"Shhh!" he silenced the group. "What about him?"

"I want answers from him and I need your help." 

~

Alex took a sip of their popular soup recipe, they were all gathered by the campfire outside but Blitz wanted to talk to him in private.

"Augustus, has done a lot of bad things in our village. He has slaughtered our animals, stolen some of our men and worst of all, he took away our village." he frowned.

"My wife and kids, they are still there… He's using them as shields so your heavy weapons have no use to win them back." he pushed the bag back to him.

"I still have friends who can help. If you're willing to lend us your strength." Blitz looked concerned at Alex's eagerness.

"Tell me, why do you want this Augustus man so bad?" he asked, his eyes reflected the little burn they had on their campfire.

"He's our only hope to save a lot of people," he replied.

"Good. Join us later for our plans. If we are able to evacuate my people, we can have time to play with your toys." he smiled and Alex nodded. Tomorrow, the 141 is going to have Augustus for interrogation.

~

"Don't get your hopes too high, Alex. I don't want to live waiting for uncertainty. I'm done with that." Samantha's words hit him like a brick. Alex peeked at the scope and took a general sweep of the view looking for possible hostiles. It's been months since they last met and if she's true to her word and lives a normal life, she must have someone else looking for her right now, someone else she currently loves and he just had to suck it up when his suspicions were to be true.

He had his chance to tell her everything back at the infirmary but seeing her smile like that made him hesitate. Bringing back memories of him would just cause him pain, like what Maxine felt when she heard her name. And he didn't want her hurt, he just wanted her back.

He started to crumple her letter as he fished it from his pocket. It was inside the ziploc he had to protect from the rain, but now he just wanted to forget. He had been hurt many times in the past days that he couldn't handle facing her anymore. The feeling that he isn't reciprocated the way he expected was pushing him down.

'Don't you dare forget about me.' he sighed. 

He wished it would be the same as last time. She rejected him at first but convinced herself to give him a chance the next day, but even with Maxine badgering her about him, it didn't seem to work.

"There they go Alex. The 6 am supply drop." Blitz whispered over comms. The plan was easy: Augustus supplies a lot of boxes to the base. They contain food and weapons stolen from farms or delivered to them from their higher leaders. This is the opening where most of their forces carry boxes, Anja, Blitz's wife, would lead all their members to a small tunnel they built in cases of invasion. Once everyone is out and accounted for, we will barge in and surround them, taking back what's rightfully theirs.

It's also important that most forces will focus on the northern ridge as that was the place where they came from before they invaded, and Blitz believes that a bigger base is situated there. Alex quickly relays this intel to the Task Force and reconnaissance has since begun.

"Ready, Alex?" Blitz asked one last time, holding their guns.

"Let's go." he said as they slowly creeped towards the entrance.

Alex's fingers gently felt the trigger through his gloves, he was alone with new found friends and he's not going to let Augustus slide past his hands. This has to end now. For Samantha.

For Samantha, who doesn't recognize him anymore, those days in Brazil were Alex's best days as a normal person. He got to experience living full of love for a while and he got into it. He liked the idea.

One huge explosion on an open area inside the settlement. They were smart, they're reclaiming the base so they didn't destroy anything in there. They just set out a warning.

"Alex! These weapons are top-notch!" One of the soldiers he's with roared, dashing across the field and started firing rounds. 

Alex quickly covered himself by an empty barrel, peeking with his sights and firing at the tangos who were defending, slowly pressing themselves inward onto the base.

"Brothers! Let's take back what's rightfully ours!" Blitz yelled in their language, followed by a collective "Ja!" from the men.

Enemies scattered, those with weapons slung on their shoulders immediately retaliated while some of them retreated far back into the village. Alex took note of this and shot runners when he could.

"Brothers, they're going to reinforce themselves with weapons!" Blitz yelled, commanding the rest of the forces to flank, putting pressure on the back exit where most of them could retreat.

"Alex, come with me. Let's get Augustus." The leader commanded and Alex nodded, fighting their way inside the central tent. It was heavily guarded and the duo cautiously made their way in shooting hostiles one barrage of bullets at a time. By the time they made it in a huge chunk of metal caught their attention, it had some sort of satellite components and it hummed dangerously.

Alex and Blitz successfully entered the base but it was Augustus-less, more bad news were reported as their weapons cache was already empty.

"Scheisse!!" Blitz cursed loudly as the village fell quiet. They had won their fight back, but at what cost? Alex consoled the leader and turned to the machine which hummed louder.

"We gotta get out of here!" he yelled, escorting Blitz to the door. But it was too late, the machine whirred and released some sort of small scale EMP blast, forcing their comms to ring in static followed by a loud side effect of ear ringing and minor dizziness.

Alex felt himself drop on the floor, trying his hardest to remove his earpiece. The feeling was mind bending, the ringing didn't stop and it felt piercing straight to the brain, unlike standard military EMP grenades, these lasted longer and rang louder. Whatever this contraption was, he needed it to be destroyed.

With the last of his strength, Alex covered his already bleeding ears and dragged Blitz outside the tent, threw a grenade and hid to safety. It was a slow and steady action but as soon as the machine blasted into pieces, the ringing stopped and everyone started to recover.

The group slowly recovered and got up. Some of Blitz's men began puking as their minds were assaulted by the big machine. If this is one of Nero's big plans, then the team must prepare. Alex still pondered how these blasts weren't familiar on his previous mission and how they could potentially tie to the missing person cases that continued to spread across America.

Alex was afraid of what this thing is capable of and he must report this immediately to the rest of the squad, who he thinks is making their way inside Augustus' base just beyond the mountains behind them.

Next Chapter : Experiment 001

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NOTIFICATION SQUAD, MY BELOVED

[final-girl96]

Radioactive Spider Bite

Peter Parker x fem!Reader

Warnings: language, vilonce, muture content? Maybe later on?, jealousy, death, idk its marvel... slow updates.

A/N: please don't be rude. Feed back is welcome but be kind. If there is any little details you would like to change to fit your style and personality please do so. This will also be on my WATTPAD along with all my other stories. This begins with Civil War when Peter comes home to find Tony Stark there. It will go to Homecoming, Infinity War, End Game, Far From Home, and then when No Way Home is out and I watch it the story will continue as long as there is a new movie with Spider-Man.

Word Count: 1106

Captian America: Civil War

Chapter One

Peter Park was my best friend since we were six when he moved in upstairs with his Uncle Ben and Aunt May. May always watched me when my mom was out of town on a business trip which was often. With Peter living a floor above me, we always used the fire escape to get to each other's bedrooms. Often sitting outside for hours talking.

Peter and I were very different people. Where he was extremely book smart, I was street smart. I wouldn't be passing any of my classes if it wasn't for Peter. He was always helping me with homework and to study for tests. That's why I didn't get it when he dragged me to the science exhibit. That's where it all went weird. I was taking pictures when I felt a pinch on my hand "ouch!" I said and looked down to see a red and blue spider. I was about to smack it when a hand grabbed my wrist. "Stop," Peter said and picked it up off my hand only to be bitten too and dropping it. "You were saying?" I said. "You can't kill it. It was only trying to defend itself," he said rubbing his hand.

That was six months ago. Now, we both have some abilities that spiders have and other abilities as well like... Superhuman strength, agility, endurance, ability to stick to and climb walls and other surfaces. Peter made self-designed web-shooters that allowing us to fire and swing from sticky webs, he uses it more than me. We also have some kind of special "Spider-Sense" that warns us of incoming danger. Once the shock wore off Peter was all into being some kind of superhero. He went around the city saving people from "evil" and other things, he made a suit (that looks ridiculous) and everything. I wasn't all that into it, I never used the web-shooters or went out doing good like he did.

That was until one day Peter and I came home from school walking intp the apartment and Tony Stark was there at the apartment talking to May in the living room on thw couch.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Peter and I stood in the elevator going up to the seventh floor. He had t.v. box or something in his hands to work on one of his projects and I was on my phone and we both had earbuds in with on hanging out so we could hear each other. The elevator dinged and the door opened. We walked out and to his apartment as he pulled his keys out and unlocked the door. We walked in not even looking at May. "Hey, May," we both said. Peter grunted as his backpack fell off his shoulder and ended up tripping me since I was paying attention making me fall into him. "Ow," I whispered. "Hmm. Hey," May said as we set our stuff down.

"Dude, watch where you drop your shit," I said pushing him as we walked into the kitchen. "Watch where you're going," he laughed and pushed me back. "How was school today?" May asked. "Sucked!" I said. "It was okay," Peter said. "What's up with the car outside?" I asked. "Yeah, there this crazy car parked outside," Peter said and we both came to a stop looking into the living room to see May sitting on the couch with Tony Stark. "Holy shit," I said and hit Peter in the chest with the back of my hand. He grabbed it as he grunted. I sometimes forget about the super strength we have.

"Oh, Mr. Parker and Miss. Jones," Tony said. "Um..." peter and I both said. Peter was a huge fan of Tony Stark aka Iron-Man. "What are you doing... Hey! Uh, I'm... I'm... I'm Peter," Peter stuttered out. I rolled my eyes "pretty sure he knows that Pete," I said sarcastically. "Shut up, y/n," Peter said. "Tony," Mr. Stark said. "What are you... what're you doing here?" Peter asked crossing his arms. I stood beside him and crossed my arms as well. "It's about time we met. We've both been getting my emails, right?" Mr. Stark asked. "Yeah. Yeah," Peter said. "Right?" He asked me. "Oh. Umm. I have no idea. I don't look at my email," I said shrugging, and Peter looked at me. "What?" I asked and shook his head looking back at Mr. Stark.

"Yeah. Regarding the..." Peter started but May cut him off. "You didn't tell me about the grant," she said. "About the grant," Peter said. "Grant?" I asked. "The September Foundation," Mr. Stark said. "I'm confused," I said. "Check your email," Peter said. "Remember when you two applied," Mr. Stark said. "I did..." I started but Peter cut me off. "Yeah," he said smiling. "I approved, so now we're in business," Mr. Stark said. I just stood there still confused. "But you didn't tell me anything. What's up with that? You're keeping secrets from me now? What's up with that?" May asked.

"We... we just know how much you love surprises so we thought we would let you know..." Peter stuttered out. "Anyway. What did we apply for?" I asked Mr. Stark. "That's what I'm here to hash out," he said. I nodded my head. "Okay. Hash it out, okay," Peter said. "It's so hard for me to believe that she's someone's aunt," Mr. Stark said about May. My eyebrows shot up as May laughed and blushed. "Yeah, well, we come in all shapes and sizes, you know," she said. I grabbed Peter's arm and we looked at each other before looking back at the two adults. "This walnut date loaf is exceptional," Mr. Stark said.

Peter held his left hand out "Let me just stop you there," he said. "Yeah," Mr. Stark said. "Is this grant got money involved or whatever? No?" Peter asked putting his hands behind his back. "Yeah, it's pretty well funded," Mr. Stark told us. "Yeah? Wow," Peter and I said. "Look who you're talking to. Can I have five minutes with them?" Mr. Stark asked May. "Sure," she said. He stood up and Peter grabbed my wrist pulling me along "my rooms this way," he said and we lead Mr. Stark to Peter's room. We looked at Mr. Stark who closed and locked the door before walking over to the small trash bin in the corner and spit something in it. "As walnut date loaves go, that wasn't bad," he said.

[rebelcap]

We are not just friends —Part 4

Chris Evans x bi!latina!character (Sofia is a people of color, she's brown.)

Chris and Sofia meet when their best friends started dating, it all started at friends with loads of bumps on the road.

Warnings: drinking, smoking, drug use (weed), assault, Chris being Steve Rogers, commitment issues, my girl Sofia kinda messy, lots of fucking (eventually)

This is slow burn at its best, at least emotionally.

Series masterlist

Part 1 — Part 2 — Part 3 —

She was lying on the couch, still on her pajamas on Sunday morning as she gave moral support to Amanda. She was going to meet the parents today for lunch, so she was freaking out a little bit.

4. LA

“So, I'm going to LA.” Sofía casually said as she was trying to find something in Netflix to entertain herself

“What? why?” She asked walking with to different shoes on her feet. One was a black Louboutin pump and the other a nude sandal.

“Use the nude one, looks better with a floral dress. The black one seems to like you're trying too hard.” Sofía advises her and Amanda walked back to her room to put the other shoe on.

“This is good?” She asked walking back into the living room.

“Estas Preciosa.” Sofia smile and gave her a thumb up. “And about LA, the brewery is branching out.”

“Really?” Amanda said with a content smile. “Holy shit, that's awesome.”

“Yeah, I know.” She smiled, kind of proud that she had actually put a lot of her effort to make that happen.

“Fucking Ron should give you a rise for this, you practically run the brewery,” Amanda told her sitting down beside her, putting aside the freaking out for a moment.

“Nah, he got a nice bunch of people. I just help around putting face since and quoting "‘You're the voice and face of this brewery’”

“Why is he taking you to LA?”

“He wants me to help him to set up shop there.”

“How long?” Amanda asked and Sofia just shrugged.

“No idea, but I'm guessing a couple of weeks. Maybe a month or two… maybe, three.” She said making a face waiting for the meltdown.

“That's way too much, it's giving me anxiety.”

“It's not all on once, I'll probably be coming and going,”

“But, you don't know anyone in LA.”

“Chris's going to be there for awhile,” She said shrugging.

“Yes, I agree.” He said and shook his head looking for the car that he had set up to take them to the hotel. “We'll go back, hopefully, sooner than later. There's our ride.” The older men pointed up a guy holding up a paper with the brewery's name.

“That Dorito better takes care of you,” Amanda said. “Or I'll crush him.”

~~~~

“I hate LA.” Where the first thing Sofia said as she landed in Los Angeles. “Take me back to Boston.” She said to his boss, Ron Iglesias. A fifty-four-year-old, owner of the brewery ‘Iglesias Brewery’, revolutionary name, if you asked Sofia.

The hotel was nice, nicer than she had expected, and had a pretty view of the hills. She almost could see the Hollywood sign.

Sofia tested the bed jumping on it after the run from the door and jump into it, bouncing and her body almost sunk in it. It was a soft bed and that makes her make a face, she liked hard mattresses.

She stood there for a while, fumbling with her cellphone mostly texting Amanda to ask Luke, Chris's address to go a bust his balls.

.

Luke asked if he knows you're in LA?

Nope. Don't tell him, I want to surprised him

Of course, babe. I'm texting him, to see what's he's up to.

Record it!

Sofía let out a mischievous laugh and open a new text and wrote.

Heeey❤ , when you're coming back??? I need my Chris to get me through the day 😣

Ah, man. Don't tell me that sweetheart. I'm tied to this fucking city and I miss your ass.

He replied almost instantly.

Sofía let out a laugh, they haven't seen for a good two months now since the water war, he had left the day after. Now it's been roughly nine months since they were friends.

I miss our drunk brunch with beers and pretzels and you trying to convince me to be a Patriots fan.

What's going to happen if I get convert into a Patriots fan?

I miss that Goddamn beer, that's for fucking sure and football season just started, tonight's the first pats game. Use the shirt?, I'm sure you're going to give the boys good luck. pleaseeeeee.

I'll probably get hard just like when I get to touch boobs when I was 13.

She asked out of curiosity, mostly.

So, it's going to happen…?,

Woow, it's gonna be the event of the year.

You're mean. You played with my heart. I changed your name on my phone, you aren't Sofi anymore, it's evil Sofia now.

Not likely.

And with that, he attached a screen capture of her new name with a broken heart and everything.

“Ah, maybe I'll surprise this meatball.” She whispered to herself replying a simple and evil:

Mohahaha 😈

Sofía stand up from the bed and went straight to her suitcase and started pulling a piece of clothes after piece of clothing until she finds what he packed for a special occasion with her soft meatball. (That was Chris's name on her phone now), she was waiting for his birthday to do so, but now it seems like a good time also.

After a quick shower she changed into some blue jeans, a shirt, and a leather jacket, she applied some makeup nothing too complicated but she felt cute a little bit of perfume and loaded her backpack with a few things.

Mandy had texted Chris's address and Sofia uber her ass a few blocks down after Luke's advice to keep his privacy.

“Holy shit,” Sofía whistle when she reached the front of the property. She looked at the intensity of the ‘house’ and sighed.

She wasn't used to this kind of luxury, first world thing. Hell, she grows up in a shitty one-bedroom apartment with no privacy whatsoever, and the first time in her life that she had a bedroom is living with Amanda in Boston.

She knew that Chris was a famous actor and was rich, the fact that he seems rich even walking in sweatpants, beard, and a baseball cap. Besides joking with Amanda about fucking Captain America, honest to God. Sofia couldn't give less of a fuck about fame, money and all that. There's one thing in life she desired more than everything and was a peaceful life and she's getting there.

She looked around for the doorbell besides a gate and push it, she was sure that whoever was on the other side was looking through that camera pointed at her.

Before ringing the bell, she adjusted the cap over her head and hold up the pizza box she bought, and the six-pack his favorite kind of beer from the brewery, and with that, she rings it.

“You've got the pizza, right?” A voice comes up from the speaker and it wasn't Chris's.

“Sure.” She makes a face speaking back.

“Alright, look the game just started to get in and I'll pay you inside.” The masculine voice said back and she heard the buzzing on the gate and it opened up.

“Okay, this is how I get murdered on a movie or there's the beginning of gangbang porn,” Sofía said shaking her head and opened the big ass door and show herself up to Chris's home.

The first thing that she felt was the smell of pretty good fucking weed and cigarettes and the frat boy loudness that Chris liked with his friends, she followed the sounds and found them all, six of them, scattered around the TV.

Chris was right in front of it, his stupid Patriots shirt and a beer in one hand.

“Oh, you've got to be fucking kidding me!” He shouted at the TV. “How the fuck they didn't score that!”

“Because Tom Brady is a douche,” Sofía said casually standing making every dude turn around and look at her and stare like she was telling a blasphemy.

Chris couldn't care less as soon he realized that Sofia was standing there, holding a box of pizza and his favorite six-pack of beer. He squealed like a baby seal and throw his arms up making her laugh as he approached her.

“Ohmygod!” He said in an unbelievable cute voice as he grabbed the pizza box and six-pack putting them on the table and then wrap his arms around her waist and pull her off the floor on a tight hug.

“I missed you, dude.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and hug him tight.

“Yes, miss you too.” Chris planted a loud kiss on her cheek and let her down, putting an arm around her shoulders with a big smile he introduced them to his friends.

“Guys, this is Sofia.”

~~~

It's getting there guys, it's about to get juicy.

Thanks everyone for the feedback, I'm deeply grateful.

Taglist:

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@lunaticbarnes (Sorry love, I can't seem to tag you.)

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[galaxierowls]

The Great Gatsby

by

F. Scott Fitzgerald

Then wear the gold hat, if that will move her;

If you can bounce high, bounce for her too,

Till she cry "Lover, gold-hatted, high-bouncing lover,

I must have you!"

—THOMAS PARKE D'INVILLIERS

Chapter 1

In my younger and more vulnerable years my father gave me some advice that I've been turning over in my mind ever since.

"Whenever you feel like criticizing any one," he told me, "just remember that all the people in this world haven't had the advantages that you've had."

He didn't say any more but we've always been unusually communicative in a reserved way, and I understood that he meant a great deal more than that. In consequence I'm inclined to reserve all judgments, a habit that has opened up many curious natures to me and also made me the victim of not a few veteran bores. The abnormal mind is quick to detect and attach itself to this quality when it appears in a normal person, and so it came about that in college I was unjustly accused of being a politician, because I was privy to the secret griefs of wild, unknown men. Most of the confidences were unsought—frequently I have feigned sleep, preoccupation, or a hostile levity when I realized by some unmistakable sign that an intimate revelation was quivering on the horizon—for the intimate revelations of young men or at least the terms in which they express them are usually plagiaristic and marred by obvious suppressions. Reserving judgments is a matter of infinite hope. I am still a little afraid of missing something if I forget that, as my father snobbishly suggested, and I snobbishly repeat, a sense of the fundamental decencies is parcelled out unequally at birth.

And, after boasting this way of my tolerance, I come to the admission that it has a limit. Conduct may be founded on the hard rock or the wet marshes but after a certain point I don't care what it's founded on. When I came back from the East last autumn I felt that I wanted the world to be in uniform and at a sort of moral attention forever; I wanted no more riotous excursions with privileged glimpses into the human heart. Only Gatsby, the man who gives his name to this book, was exempt from my reaction—Gatsby who represented everything for which I have an unaffected scorn. If personality is an unbroken series of successful gestures, then there was something gorgeous about him, some heightened sensitivity to the promises of life, as if he were related to one of those intricate machines that register earthquakes ten thousand miles away. This responsiveness had nothing to do with that flabby impressionability which is dignified under the name of the "creative temperament"—it was an extraordinary gift for hope, a romantic readiness such as I have never found in any other person and which it is not likely I shall ever find again. No—Gatsby turned out all right at the end; it is what preyed on Gatsby, what foul dust floated in the wake of his dreams that temporarily closed out my interest in the abortive sorrows and short-winded elations of men.

My family have been prominent, well-to-do people in this middle-western city for three generations. The Carraways are something of a clan and we have a tradition that we're descended from the Dukes of Buccleuch, but the actual founder of my line was my grandfather's brother who came here in fifty-one, sent a substitute to the Civil War and started the wholesale hardware business that my father carries on today.

I never saw this great-uncle but I'm supposed to look like him—with special reference to the rather hard-boiled painting that hangs in Father's office. I graduated from New Haven in 1915, just a quarter of a century after my father, and a little later I participated in that delayed Teutonic migration known as the Great War. I enjoyed the counter-raid so thoroughly that I came back restless. Instead of being the warm center of the world the middle-west now seemed like the ragged edge of the universe—so I decided to go east and learn the bond business. Everybody I knew was in the bond business so I supposed it could support one more single man. All my aunts and uncles talked it over as if they were choosing a prep-school for me and finally said, "Why—ye-es" with very grave, hesitant faces. Father agreed to finance me for a year and after various delays I came east, permanently, I thought, in the spring of twenty-two.

The practical thing was to find rooms in the city but it was a warm season and I had just left a country of wide lawns and friendly trees, so when a young man at the office suggested that we take a house together in a commuting town it sounded like a great idea. He found the house, a weather beaten cardboard bungalow at eighty a month, but at the last minute the firm ordered him to Washington and I went out to the country alone. I had a dog, at least I had him for a few days until he ran away, and an old Dodge and a Finnish woman who made my bed and cooked breakfast and muttered Finnish wisdom to herself over the electric stove.

It was lonely for a day or so until one morning some man, more recently arrived than I, stopped me on the road.

"How do you get to West Egg village?" he asked helplessly.

I told him. And as I walked on I was lonely no longer. I was a guide, a pathfinder, an original settler. He had casually conferred on me the freedom of the neighborhood.

And so with the sunshine and the great bursts of leaves growing on the trees—just as things grow in fast movies—I had that familiar conviction that life was beginning over again with the summer.

There was so much to read for one thing and so much fine health to be pulled down out of the young breath-giving air. I bought a dozen volumes on banking and credit and investment securities and they stood on my shelf in red and gold like new money from the mint, promising to unfold the shining secrets that only Midas and Morgan and Maecenas knew. And I had the high intention of reading many other books besides. I was rather literary in college—one year I wrote a series of very solemn and obvious editorials for the "Yale News"—and now I was going to bring back all such things into my life and become again that most limited of all specialists, the "well-rounded man." This isn't just an epigram—life is much more successfully looked at from a single window, after all.

It was a matter of chance that I should have rented a house in one of the strangest communities in North America. It was on that slender riotous island which extends itself due east of New York and where there are, among other natural curiosities, two unusual formations of land. Twenty miles from the city a pair of enormous eggs, identical in contour and separated only by a courtesy bay, jut out into the most domesticated body of salt water in the Western Hemisphere, the great wet barnyard of Long Island Sound. They are not perfect ovals—like the egg in the Columbus story they are both crushed flat at the contact end—but their physical resemblance must be a source of perpetual confusion to the gulls that fly overhead. To the wingless a more arresting phenomenon is their dissimilarity in every particular except shape and size.

I lived at West Egg, the—well, the less fashionable of the two, though this is a most superficial tag to express the bizarre and not a little sinister contrast between them. My house was at the very tip of the egg, only fifty yards from the Sound, and squeezed between two huge places that rented for twelve or fifteen thousand a season. The one on my right was a colossal affair by any standard—it was a factual imitation of some Hôtel de Ville in Normandy, with a tower on one side, spanking new under a thin beard of raw ivy, and a marble swimming pool and more than forty acres of lawn and garden. It was Gatsby's mansion. Or rather, as I didn't know Mr. Gatsby it was a mansion inhabited by a gentleman of that name. My own house was an eye-sore, but it was a small eye-sore, and it had been overlooked, so I had a view of the water, a partial view of my neighbor's lawn, and the consoling proximity of millionaires—all for eighty dollars a month.

Across the courtesy bay the white palaces of fashionable East Egg glittered along the water, and the history of the summer really begins on the evening I drove over there to have dinner with the Tom Buchanans. Daisy was my second cousin once removed and I'd known Tom in college. And just after the war I spent two days with them in Chicago.

Her husband, among various physical accomplishments, had been one of the most powerful ends that ever played football at New Haven—a national figure in a way, one of those men who reach such an acute limited excellence at twenty-one that everything afterward savors of anti-climax. His family were enormously wealthy—even in college his freedom with money was a matter for reproach—but now he'd left Chicago and come east in a fashion that rather took your breath away: for instance he'd brought down a string of polo ponies from Lake Forest. It was hard to realize that a man in my own generation was wealthy enough to do that.

Why they came east I don't know. They had spent a year in France, for no particular reason, and then drifted here and there unrestfully wherever people played polo and were rich together. This was a permanent move, said Daisy over the telephone, but I didn't believe it—I had no sight into Daisy's heart but I felt that Tom would drift on forever seeking a little wistfully for the dramatic turbulence of some irrecoverable football game.

And so it happened that on a warm windy evening I drove over to East Egg to see two old friends whom I scarcely knew at all. Their house was even more elaborate than I expected, a cheerful red and white Georgian Colonial mansion overlooking the bay. The lawn started at the beach and ran toward the front door for a quarter of a mile, jumping over sun-dials and brick walks and burning gardens—finally when it reached the house drifting up the side in bright vines as though from the momentum of its run. The front was broken by a line of French windows, glowing now with reflected gold, and wide open to the warm windy afternoon, and Tom Buchanan in riding clothes was standing with his legs apart on the front porch.

He had changed since his New Haven years. Now he was a sturdy, straw haired man of thirty with a rather hard mouth and a supercilious manner. Two shining, arrogant eyes had established dominance over his face and gave him the appearance of always leaning aggressively forward. Not even the effeminate swank of his riding clothes could hide the enormous power of that body—he seemed to fill those glistening boots until he strained the top lacing and you could see a great pack of muscle shifting when his shoulder moved under his thin coat. It was a body capable of enormous leverage—a cruel body.

His speaking voice, a gruff husky tenor, added to the impression of fractiousness he conveyed. There was a touch of paternal contempt in it, even toward people he liked—and there were men at New Haven who had hated his guts.

"Now, don't think my opinion on these matters is final," he seemed to say, "just because I'm stronger and more of a man than you are." We were in the same Senior Society, and while we were never intimate I always had the impression that he approved of me and wanted me to like him with some harsh, defiant wistfulness of his own.

We talked for a few minutes on the sunny porch.

"I've got a nice place here," he said, his eyes flashing about restlessly.

Turning me around by one arm he moved a broad flat hand along the front vista, including in its sweep a sunken Italian garden, a half acre of deep pungent roses and a snub-nosed motor boat that bumped the tide off shore.

"It belonged to Demaine the oil man." He turned me around again, politely and abruptly. "We'll go inside."

We walked through a high hallway into a bright rosy-colored space, fragilely bound into the house by French windows at either end. The windows were ajar and gleaming white against the fresh grass outside that seemed to grow a little way into the house. A breeze blew through the room, blew curtains in at one end and out the other like pale flags, twisting them up toward the frosted wedding cake of the ceiling—and then rippled over the wine-colored rug, making a shadow on it as wind does on the sea.

The only completely stationary object in the room was an enormous couch on which two young women were buoyed up as though upon an anchored balloon. They were both in white and their dresses were rippling and fluttering as if they had just been blown back in after a short flight around the house. I must have stood for a few moments listening to the whip and snap of the curtains and the groan of a picture on the wall. Then there was a boom as Tom Buchanan shut the rear windows and the caught wind died out about the room and the curtains and the rugs and the two young women ballooned slowly to the floor.

The younger of the two was a stranger to me. She was extended full length at her end of the divan, completely motionless and with her chin raised a little as if she were balancing something on it which was quite likely to fall. If she saw me out of the corner of her eyes she gave no hint of it—indeed, I was almost surprised into murmuring an apology for having disturbed her by coming in.

The other girl, Daisy, made an attempt to rise—she leaned slightly forward with a conscientious expression—then she laughed, an absurd, charming little laugh, and I laughed too and came forward into the room.

"I'm p-paralyzed with happiness."

She laughed again, as if she said something very witty, and held my hand for a moment, looking up into my face, promising that there was no one in the world she so much wanted to see. That was a way she had. She hinted in a murmur that the surname of the balancing girl was Baker. (I've heard it said that Daisy's murmur was only to make people lean toward her; an irrelevant criticism that made it no less charming.)

At any rate Miss Baker's lips fluttered, she nodded at me almost imperceptibly and then quickly tipped her head back again—the object she was balancing had obviously tottered a little and given her something of a fright. Again a sort of apology arose to my lips. Almost any exhibition of complete self sufficiency draws a stunned tribute from me.

I looked back at my cousin who began to ask me questions in her low, thrilling voice. It was the kind of voice that the ear follows up and down as if each speech is an arrangement of notes that will never be played again. Her face was sad and lovely with bright things in it, bright eyes and a bright passionate mouth—but there was an excitement in her voice that men who had cared for her found difficult to forget: a singing compulsion, a whispered "Listen," a promise that she had done gay, exciting things just a while since and that there were gay, exciting things hovering in the next hour.

I told her how I had stopped off in Chicago for a day on my way east and how a dozen people had sent their love through me.

"Do they miss me?" she cried ecstatically.

"The whole town is desolate. All the cars have the left rear wheel painted black as a mourning wreath and there's a persistent wail all night along the North Shore."

"How gorgeous! Let's go back, Tom. Tomorrow!" Then she added irrelevantly, "You ought to see the baby."

"I'd like to."

"She's asleep. She's two years old. Haven't you ever seen her?"

"Never."

"Well, you ought to see her. She's—"

Tom Buchanan who had been hovering restlessly about the room stopped and rested his hand on my shoulder.

"What you doing, Nick?"

"I'm a bond man."

"Who with?"

I told him.

"Never heard of them," he remarked decisively.

This annoyed me.

"You will," I answered shortly. "You will if you stay in the East."

"Oh, I'll stay in the East, don't you worry," he said, glancing at Daisy and then back at me, as if he were alert for something more. "I'd be a God Damned fool to live anywhere else."

At this point Miss Baker said "Absolutely!" with such suddenness that I started—it was the first word she uttered since I came into the room. Evidently it surprised her as much as it did me, for she yawned and with a series of rapid, deft movements stood up into the room.

"I'm stiff," she complained, "I've been lying on that sofa for as long as I can remember."

"Don't look at me," Daisy retorted. "I've been trying to get you to New York all afternoon."

"No, thanks," said Miss Baker to the four cocktails just in from the pantry, "I'm absolutely in training."

Her host looked at her incredulously.

"You are!" He took down his drink as if it were a drop in the bottom of a glass. "How you ever get anything done is beyond me."

I looked at Miss Baker wondering what it was she "got done." I enjoyed looking at her. She was a slender, small-breasted girl, with an erect carriage which she accentuated by throwing her body backward at the shoulders like a young cadet. Her grey sun-strained eyes looked back at me with polite reciprocal curiosity out of a wan, charming discontented face. It occurred to me now that I had seen her, or a picture of her, somewhere before.

"You live in West Egg," she remarked contemptuously. "I know somebody there."

"I don't know a single—"

"You must know Gatsby."

"Gatsby?" demanded Daisy. "What Gatsby?"

Before I could reply that he was my neighbor dinner was announced; wedging his tense arm imperatively under mine Tom Buchanan compelled me from the room as though he were moving a checker to another square.

Slenderly, languidly, their hands set lightly on their hips the two young women preceded us out onto a rosy-colored porch open toward the sunset where four candles flickered on the table in the diminished wind.

"Why candles?" objected Daisy, frowning. She snapped them out with her fingers. "In two weeks it'll be the longest day in the year." She looked at us all radiantly. "Do you always watch for the longest day of the year and then miss it? I always watch for the longest day in the year and then miss it."

"We ought to plan something," yawned Miss Baker, sitting down at the table as if she were getting into bed.

"All right," said Daisy. "What'll we plan?" She turned to me helplessly. "What do people plan?"

Before I could answer her eyes fastened with an awed expression on her little finger.

"Look!" she complained. "I hurt it."

We all looked—the knuckle was black and blue.

"You did it, Tom," she said accusingly. "I know you didn't mean to but you did do it. That's what I get for marrying a brute of a man, a great big hulking physical specimen of a—"

"I hate that word hulking," objected Tom crossly, "even in kidding."

"Hulking," insisted Daisy.

Sometimes she and Miss Baker talked at once, unobtrusively and with a bantering inconsequence that was never quite chatter, that was as cool as their white dresses and their impersonal eyes in the absence of all desire. They were here—and they accepted Tom and me, making only a polite pleasant effort to entertain or to be entertained. They knew that presently dinner would be over and a little later the evening too would be over and casually put away. It was sharply different from the West where an evening was hurried from phase to phase toward its close in a continually disappointed anticipation or else in sheer nervous dread of the moment itself.

"You make me feel uncivilized, Daisy," I confessed on my second glass of corky but rather impressive claret. "Can't you talk about crops or something?"

I meant nothing in particular by this remark but it was taken up in an unexpected way.

"Civilization's going to pieces," broke out Tom violently. "I've gotten to be a terrible pessimist about things. Have you read 'The Rise of the Coloured Empires' by this man Goddard?"

"Why, no," I answered, rather surprised by his tone.

"Well, it's a fine book, and everybody ought to read it. The idea is if we don't look out the white race will be—will be utterly submerged. It's all scientific stuff; it's been proved."

"Tom's getting very profound," said Daisy with an expression of unthoughtful sadness. "He reads deep books with long words in them. What was that word we—"

"Well, these books are all scientific," insisted Tom, glancing at her impatiently. "This fellow has worked out the whole thing. It's up to us who are the dominant race to watch out or these other races will have control of things."

"We've got to beat them down," whispered Daisy, winking ferociously toward the fervent sun.

"You ought to live in California—" began Miss Baker but Tom interrupted her by shifting heavily in his chair.

"This idea is that we're Nordics. I am, and you are and you are and—" After an infinitesimal hesitation he included Daisy with a slight nod and she winked at me again. "—and we've produced all the things that go to make civilization—oh, science and art and all that. Do you see?"

There was something pathetic in his concentration as if his complacency, more acute than of old, was not enough to him any more. When, almost immediately, the telephone rang inside and the butler left the porch Daisy seized upon the momentary interruption and leaned toward me.

"I'll tell you a family secret," she whispered enthusiastically. "It's about the butler's nose. Do you want to hear about the butler's nose?"

"That's why I came over tonight."

"Well, he wasn't always a butler; he used to be the silver polisher for some people in New York that had a silver service for two hundred people. He had to polish it from morning till night until finally it began to affect his nose—"

"Things went from bad to worse," suggested Miss Baker.

"Yes. Things went from bad to worse until finally he had to give up his position."

For a moment the last sunshine fell with romantic affection upon her glowing face; her voice compelled me forward breathlessly as I listened—then the glow faded, each light deserting her with lingering regret like children leaving a pleasant street at dusk.

The butler came back and murmured something close to Tom's ear whereupon Tom frowned, pushed back his chair and without a word went inside. As if his absence quickened something within her Daisy leaned forward again, her voice glowing and singing.

"I love to see you at my table, Nick. You remind me of a—of a rose, an absolute rose. Doesn't he?" She turned to Miss Baker for confirmation. "An absolute rose?"

This was untrue. I am not even faintly like a rose. She was only extemporizing but a stirring warmth flowed from her as if her heart was trying to come out to you concealed in one of those breathless, thrilling words. Then suddenly she threw her napkin on the table and excused herself and went into the house.

Miss Baker and I exchanged a short glance consciously devoid of meaning. I was about to speak when she sat up alertly and said "Sh!" in a warning voice. A subdued impassioned murmur was audible in the room beyond and Miss Baker leaned forward, unashamed, trying to hear. The murmur trembled on the verge of coherence, sank down, mounted excitedly, and then ceased altogether.

"This Mr. Gatsby you spoke of is my neighbor—" I said.

"Don't talk. I want to hear what happens."

"Is something happening?" I inquired innocently.

"You mean to say you don't know?" said Miss Baker, honestly surprised. "I thought everybody knew."

"I don't."

"Why—" she said hesitantly, "Tom's got some woman in New York."

"Got some woman?" I repeated blankly.

Miss Baker nodded.

"She might have the decency not to telephone him at dinner-time. Don't you think?"

Almost before I had grasped her meaning there was the flutter of a dress and the crunch of leather boots and Tom and Daisy were back at the table.

"It couldn't be helped!" cried Daisy with tense gayety.

She sat down, glanced searchingly at Miss Baker and then at me and continued: "I looked outdoors for a minute and it's very romantic outdoors. There's a bird on the lawn that I think must be a nightingale come over on the Cunard or White Star Line. He's singing away—" her voice sang "—It's romantic, isn't it, Tom?"

"Very romantic," he said, and then miserably to me: "If it's light enough after dinner I want to take you down to the stables."

The telephone rang inside, startlingly, and as Daisy shook her head decisively at Tom the subject of the stables, in fact all subjects, vanished into air. Among the broken fragments of the last five minutes at table I remember the candles being lit again, pointlessly, and I was conscious of wanting to look squarely at every one and yet to avoid all eyes. I couldn't guess what Daisy and Tom were thinking but I doubt if even Miss Baker who seemed to have mastered a certain hardy skepticism was able utterly to put this fifth guest's shrill metallic urgency out of mind. To a certain temperament the situation might have seemed intriguing—my own instinct was to telephone immediately for the police.

The horses, needless to say, were not mentioned again. Tom and Miss Baker, with several feet of twilight between them strolled back into the library, as if to a vigil beside a perfectly tangible body, while trying to look pleasantly interested and a little deaf I followed Daisy around a chain of connecting verandas to the porch in front. In its deep gloom we sat down side by side on a wicker settee.

Daisy took her face in her hands, as if feeling its lovely shape, and her eyes moved gradually out into the velvet dusk. I saw that turbulent emotions possessed her, so I asked what I thought would be some sedative questions about her little girl.

"We don't know each other very well, Nick," she said suddenly. "Even if we are cousins. You didn't come to my wedding."

"I wasn't back from the war."

"That's true." She hesitated. "Well, I've had a very bad time, Nick, and I'm pretty cynical about everything."

Evidently she had reason to be. I waited but she didn't say any more, and after a moment I returned rather feebly to the subject of her daughter.

"I suppose she talks, and—eats, and everything."

"Oh, yes." She looked at me absently. "Listen, Nick; let me tell you what I said when she was born. Would you like to hear?"

"Very much."

Thank you.

[judgement-free-sideblog]

Ghosts from the rainforest

Captain James Conrad x Reader

Summary: A simple rescue mission will bring him back to a place full of nightmares, and maybe this time he could find redemption. Situated in 1975, 2 years after the events of Skull Island.

Warnings: Violence, blood, wounds, mentions of war, cursing, implied smut, smoking, angst.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

I finally manage to write the end to this tiny fic, I hope you like it, and I'm going to start on my ideas for a Jonathan Pine adventure, but I haven't decide yet.

Chapter 7: Fever [Final]

The helicopter was already on motion, and the rescue crew that Brooks had sent for you were charging everything for the trip. The guys were excited to finally going back home, the Celebes Sea was ahead of you in the military base you were staying, and waiting in the Pacific the majestic USS Constellation  (CV-64) waiting to take all of you home.

Home? A country that had make more damage and taken everything from you, your family, and had force you to live away to mend some of the atrocities they had committed in the name of freedom.

"Not looking so charming today are we?" You said to him once he walked in your room to pick up your bags, you have finally stop the hostilities after he had offered you his shoulder to cry while you mourned Shukri on his funeral and after all the physical torture he had endured so you could safely leave Borneo.

He had been clear about letting you stay if that was what you wanted, and even when the rest of the crew asume you were coming back to USA, he knew you would have to say goodbye sooner or later, so instead of telling him all the things your heart was keeping from him you kept teasing him and pretending the chopper was not waiting for him.

"I have a minor headache love, but it's okay, are you ready to say goodbye?" He said and you noted how his temple had a few wrinkles, he was trying to smile over the pain in his head "It's a shame you don't come with us, I have a lot of things I wanted to show you" he grabbed your hand and all your alarms started to scream.

"Conrad are you okay?" Those words were all you have hoped for, however the radiant heat from his skin told you he was not exactly fine. "Dear God you are burning up" You said touching his head and looking desperately for a thermometer in your belongings.

"I like you too doctor, but why don't we wait until we get to the ship, we can share a bunk bed" He was definitely not himself.

"103° damn it Conrad!" You said, and for some oddly reason remember the night he told you about Randa and how much he complained about mosquitoes while he was dressing "Look at me, I'm not kidding, did you take Chloroquine before we leave Malaysia? I told you guys you had to..."

He nodded negative, and before he could speak he simply throw up in the nearest trash bin, making you suspect of the worst, specially since all the medicine was now gone and the only viable solution now was the aircraft carrier in the middle of the Pacific waiting for you.

"Also you have perfect legs you know that? I could spend my life sleeping on them." He kept saying things like that while you helped him to the heliport "Come here princess your prince charming needs your love" he said trying to kiss you.

"Later dear, preferably when you're not dying or smelling like vomit" you tried to stop him.

"Well you didn't mind me covered in dirt and sweat" He tried again but he stopped to scream "Reg! I love you man, you are like a son to me" and also tried to kiss the boy on the forehead.

"What happened to the Captain?" Slivko asked concerned once you help him to board the chopper while carrying his luggage and your medical bag.

"I have no idea, but I'm afraid it might be Malaria" you said bluntly and all of them looked concerned at you, while he vomited again "Do you have medical equipment here?" You asked the pilot and he only raised his thumb while you make sure he was steady on the helicopter floor, and almost didn't feel the machine take off while you tried to put an IV on his arm.

After one hour that felt like ten you could no longer see the island, only the immensity of the Pacific, and growing in the horizon the USS Constellation, even when you despised war and everything it represented the enormous carrier was enough to let you speechless, specially when a team of nurses and a doctor was already with a stretcher waiting for him.

"It's going to be ok James" you told him holding his hand while the experts rushed him inside.

"You really like men to die quite literally for you right?" He tried to joke, fighting the impulse of vomiting again, "Hey it's okay, I have to take care of you remember?" He smiled and you hold his hand trying to not get on the way of the medical staff, but he was too weak and fall asleep.

After they had stabilized his temperature, and take samples of his blood to determine the pathogen they let you in, the beds inside the medical bay of the ship were oddly spacious, and you could be sited next to him without any other person listening.

"Y/N?" He asked opening his beautiful eyes, "Hey it's okay love, I'm feeling better" He said and tried to reach for the glass of water on the table.

"Let me" You said and put it closer to him, "I know, once they identify the plasmodium they will know what is the best treatment for you, they take test and interrogate all of us, don't tell him I told you but Reles almost passed out when he saw the needle " He attempt to laugh but was still weak so he only smiled.

"Well is rewarding seen you on my dead bed, I'm quite honored, tears look oddly beautiful on you" He said and a small smile form in your lips.

"And you are still delirious" You said looking for a piece of cloth, and cold water from the sink to put on his head. "Here, try to rest, I'll come see you later" you told him but before your hand could leave his head he hold you still "What?"

"I might be dying, so you owe me at least listening me like adults" He said forcing you to stay next to him.

"You are not dying" you said trying to sound like it didn't matter and failing miserably "you are not, but fine. Let's talk" you concede.

"I'm sorry" he started contrary to what you had expected. "I had no idea how you looked before we met, and i was under no circumstances trying to seduce you to lure you back to America" you blush and regret your decision to stay by his side.

"I'm sorry too" You responded after a while "You have done so much helping me, even when half of the trouble I caused was preventable if I haven't trusted in the wrong people." You said and he hold your hand softly, he didn't want to hear about that, and you knew it so you took all the courage you have to continue. "And I'm sorry I over reacted, I am so used to people coming to me with second intentions that I just pushed you away to avoid getting hurt, and I just end up making other people hurt you"

"I'm sorry I make you come to the ship, I knew you wanted to stay" he said sincerely.

"It's okay, I have to make sure you stay alive, you know for the boys, maybe working at Monarch with you and Brooks won't be so bad"

"Well you can always run away from us in Hawaii, or maybe... we could run away together" He gave you a pleading look, and for moment you could imagine that life, keep running away, by his side, the soldier that never came home, and the idealist doctor, and keep leaving ghosts in every island, trying to find happiness apart from the world, but together. He kissed you, but this time it wasn't a lusty hunger kiss, nor passionate and angry like before, it was reassuring and you knew no matter what your answer was, he was on your side, for the first time you had someone on your side "So what do you say?"

But you couldn't answer because out of nowhere your stomach make you nauseous and you rush to the toilet to empty its content.

"Are you okay dear?" He screamed from the bed "I'm trying bloody hard to not take this as criticism"

"I'm okay, but I'm going to check your tests and start taking the pills before I end up confessing my sins on the fever like you" you said and walked out of the bathroom to saw him "We can talk later" you assure him.

You marched inside the medical office and started to look in the cabinets, when the young doctor that had received Conrad walked in.

"I'm sorry, I start feeling the symptoms and I thought it would be better if I start on the chloroquine before it gets worse" you excuse yourself.

"That would be great, if any of you had Malaria" he said offering you a seat that you take since he speak with a Texan accent and an authoritarian voice that made up from his young face "But we test all of you and what our SAS friend has is more likely a stomach flu from some bad shrimp, I was just on my way to tell him." He said and you sigh in relief, but also concerned about your own symptoms

"Oh that's great, but I start barfing too, and I didn't had the shrimp last night" you said and he took out a small file with your name that the nurses had put together earlier.

"Well it may be motion sickness, we are in a boat after all, or maybe... you told the nurse you didn't remember when was your last period?" He said looking the file.

"Well we have been in the jungle almost a month so I wasn't exactly counting" you tried to joke.

"The change of environment can trigger the vomit, or if you had sex in the past three weeks you might be pregnant" He smiled and all the weight of the world fall into your shoulders instantly. "In any case you should rest and let alone my medical cabinets, go with nurse Matthews she will give you some vitamins" he said but you were not longer listening.

No, it couldn't be that, right? You tried to convince your mind, but deep down you knew it was true, what would he think? He was a soldier, a man of the field, not a father, and you were obviously not a mother, what will happen now? Now that he wanted to run away in the world next to you, a baby had a place on that plan?.

Two days later Conrad was out of the medical bay and trying to approach you, offering you a fresh start from the afternoon you pause all those weeks ago in Malaysia.

But the stolen kisses on the hallways, and his nightly incursions on your cabin only made it harder for you to find a way to come clean about your news, even when the idea had already sink in your mind, because it was a baby, and it was his baby, how could you not be happy and grateful? Yet you haven't say anything to him.

Four days later he had spend the whole day walking on the deck with you, like if the planes and choppers were an appropriate sighting for a date.

"We'll be in Hawaii soon" He started "If you want to go out for a walk in the morning and get lost in the jungle we have to star planning now" he said and you were looking at the ocean trying to make up your mind.

"Maybe... I was wondering about the work you do at Monarch, maybe I will give it a chance" you start not sure how the whole we are having a baby situation will fit in your speech "I mean if you want to travel the world it might help to have a paying job for a while" you were nervously touching your hands.

"Of course, also when the baby comes I would like to have a proper house for him to be... or she, I don't care you know? as long as they're healthy" he said and you nodded yes.

"Yeah of course... what??" You look at him and he had the most radiant smile on his face, and he was clearly holding his laugh and apparently tears, of joy? "How do you know?

"Well nurse Matthews saw us kissing and then she complained about how Children this days keep having children out of wedlock" he said and you hide your face on your hands.

"I was really going to tell you... for real is just..." but you didn't have the words in you, and the tears were running on your face

"I know, it's fine, I mean is a little soon but if I'm honest I'm tired of running, and after all we've been trough I couldn't imagine a single person to share this experience with" He said cleaning the tears from your face.

"You sure?" You asked again, needing to hear it from his mouth.

"I'm sure, I fall in love with you when I saw you scaring local vendors in Malaysia and then fighting guerilla liders in Borneo, I even loved you when you vomit after kissing me for real, I'm completely taken by you Y/N"

"I fall in love with you too James" you said, and his expression got serious for a moment. "What?"

"Nothing, is just that I'm going to miss Prince Charming" he said giving you again the disarming smile that had started all this adventure.

The end

@damalseer

@kinghiddlestonanddixon (I hope you like the end)

[scarluxia]

Let's talk about some Adventures I had in Phoenix, AZ in 2015. It came up in my FB Memories and even though I determined to let everything from last decade go, this one still rankles. I got "in trouble" with these people for being open about my experiences on my Facebook because, even though I hadn't mentioned names, they didn't like me "putting their business out there".

CW for ableism, depression, rejection sensitive dysphoria, and I'll try to put all that in the tags.

My partner, Loki (yes real name), and I had been urban camping in Portland, OR for about a month. It had gotten cold and rainy to the point where we couldn't safely stay living outdoors, and Loki's father (who didn't approve of me) had demanded he come back to California and live with Loki's uncle. He made it quite clear I was not welcome, so I ended up going to Arizona because I had a friend who was willing to put me up. She and I had known each other since 2008 and I figured I would be safe with her. At the time, Loki was much more easily influenced by what his family wanted, and we ended up having kind of a nasty set of conversations over whether he was abandoning me.

While in Portland, my wallet had been stolen so I had no ID or SS card. I had reported it stolen of course, but had received no response until I was leaving Arizona.

My friend in Arizona had two young sons, a husband, and a boyfriend. Now, I have some sensory issues that make it so I have a hard time being around children. High pitched noises hurt me to my bones, like, even now I have to leave the room if my son gets overly excited and starts shrieking.

I was sleeping on the couch in the living room, which was where the kids would go when they woke up and where the TVs and entertainment consoles were.

Anyway, they wanted me to contribute to the household and whatnot but I was severely depressed and I think I've provided all the context I can remember? If the rest of this doesn't make sense, please know that there was a part 1 but it came up in my Memories on a different day and i didn't think I would be rehashing it.

So I couldn't do work, couldn't do anything anyone had asked me to do to satisfaction because various things that did not, in fact, depend on me. Maybe I wasn't being enough of a ~team player~, I don't know. But anyway, I did my best with what I had. Sometimes, because of THE EXTREME FUCKING SENSORY ISSUES THAT COME WITH AUTISM, I would get overwhelmed by the kids screaming. Two little boys, barely school age, and their parents sat them in front of a TV and gave them controllers. That's it. They had toys in their room, sure, but they weren't getting outside. I suggested taking them out a couple times, but firstly, I didn't know the area and wasn't about to go out alone, and secondly, I can't split in half and I'm not in good shape, so even if I had known the area, I wouldn't have taken TWO small children outside to run around where they could run out of the designated area. I'm kind of anal that way, I guess. But Woman A (mum) and Man B ("uncle") never got off their arses to help me take them outside, and Man A was at work.

Oh, yes, parental interaction with the kids. Woman A loved her sons very much. But at their age (3 and 5), they both should have been toilet trained. They should have gotten at least two hours outside every day. They threw fits when they weren't allowed to play video games because, instead of games being a special treat that was earned with good behavior, they were toys carelessly tossed at the kids to keep them out of everyone's hair. Conversely, and bizarrely, reading to them WAS a special treat. The father woke up, played games, basically brushed off his kids, and went to work. Same when he got home for lunch, and he *ordered* us to have them in bed by the time he got home for good. The mum did somewhat interact with them, but mostly just wanted them out of her hair. I wasn't so nice because I'm not good with kids in general and also loud screeching HURTS, IT HURTS IT HURTS MAKE IT STOP. (Same with snoring, or any noise made when I want to sleep.) This isn't me being a ~diva~, it is an actual manifestation of a mental disability.

Woman A was of the opinion that "everyone who lives in a house with kids automatically becomes a coparent", maybe because she wasn't willing to actually parent her kids herself.

Note from the future: I still disagree with the idea that "anyone who lives in a house with kids is automatically a co-parent". Parent your own kids. I don't expect my dad to parent my son when we go visit him and he made it quite clear when I was pregnant that he would not take on a co-parenting role (because his wives 30-50 years ago had handled the babies and he doesn't really know how to calm them down beyond entertaining them)

She got a really bitchy look on her face whenever I (who have been around children, especially TROUBLED children, all my life) made any sort of suggestion. Well sorry, lady, but it's not like you're doing such a great job with them. Y'all act like you barely want anything to do with them. Like they're cute and little and fun to snuggle, but actually teaching them anything? Forget about it, just toss em a controller and hope they don't kill each other in the game or real life. Meanwhile, they have no outlet for their natural physical energy, no real outlet for their curiosity. They're going to grow up stupid and sedentary, with "no one paid attention to me during childhood except when it was convenient for THEM" to deal with. The older kid recently got on meds for a condition that, from what I observed, was likely much more nurture than nature. And what everyone ate, my God, those kids were the only non-overweight people in the house, and it's little wonder! I bought ACTUAL NUTRITIONAL food for everyone, and the adults look at me like I'm from some demon dimension. I made a light comment about how I'd never eaten anything like what they had growing up. You know, boxed potatoes, veggies out of a can, white bread, sugary peanut butter. And Woman A was like, "well YOU don't have kids."

Um, no, but my father did.

I have a kid now, am working part time at min. wage because my boss sees my performance as so-so (plus she's been forced to give me a raise every time the County of Where I Live raises the minimum), in a single-income household, on as much Family With Kids welfare as My County will allow, and I still wouldn't feed my kid that crap LOL

Spoiler alert: they made me use all my food stamps on their household and then kicked me out later that month so... When I bought food I bought HEALTHY food, like, I've been on food stamps my entire life... Also, WIC specifically pays for WHEAT bread, fruits & veggies, and they do let you get peanut butter without sugar so idk what was going on there with them.

My father was a SINGLE PARENT raising a daughter in America after 20 years of living in Europe and raising kids with his previous wives. Well, up until the divorces, anyway. I was the only kid he ever got to keep. He told me things about how the others had been raised compared to how I was raised, and I saw the outcomes of different parenting styles in my peers as well. My father was a very poor man whose trade had been outsourced and who struggled to support us for years. And yet, we never went hungry, and he never fed me boxed potatoes. Never fed me sugary peanut butter, white bread, or veggies out of a can.

Ok I understand canned veggies are better than no veggies, and not everyone can get fresh, but you CAN get frozen in AZ. I always had fresh or frozen growing up.

It wasn't because we were living in the lap of luxury. It's because...

HE FUCKING VALUED OUR HEALTH OVER CONVENIENT, CRAPPY, NUTRIENT-FREE FOOD!!!! This is not a difficult concept. He ALSO read to me every night, despite having what I now realise was a very grueling day at work just to put said healthy food on the table. I didn't get to watch TV or play computer games (edu-tainment, the only kind I was allowed) until after all my homework was done. I can't remember if I was a particularly active child, but I'm sure I had the OPTION!!!! TO GO OUT.

Meanwhile, when I was at various stages of my life, I met kids whose parents shunted them from guardian to guardian because they didn't want to deal with them, kids whose parents were kind and supportive but rubbish at enforcing discipline, kids whose parents were abusive in every kind of way, and kids whose parents did their best.

You know, I wasn't raised perfectly. My upbringing lacked social grace and included some toxic ideas about womanhood that I've only been learning to overcome recently in my adulthood. But DON'T FUCKING ACT LIKE I DON'T KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT RAISING KIDS JUST BECAUSE I DON'T CURRENTLY HAVE ANY. I have my own life, the lives of my peers, and a wonderful online community of new parents raising children in kind and socially aware ways, to draw inspiration from. I can go to any one of them, and to my own parents, and ask "hey does X seem weird to you?" And they'll give me their honest opinion, which *is valuable*. I have even mapped out a general idea of how to get through some parts of my children's lives, and I'm not even planning to have kids for at least another few years. I mean, honestly, it used to be "I don't want kids ever", but dear gosh, if I can have any part of raising someone in a manner that defies procrastination culture, entitlement culture, and everything wrong with the way my husband and I were raised, maybe it wouldn't be a complete horror. If I can ensure that not all hope for the next generation is lost, hey.

Anyway, I've gone off topic...

I also had some issues with the men. Man B just didn't seem to like anything ever. I had no idea what Woman A saw in him. I remember one time he tried to tell me, a Christian, that I can't tell people what a "real Christian" is because it ~invalidates their identity~. Excuse me, no. It doesn't work that way. There are things that Christ taught, and anyone who blatantly goes against them IN THE NAME OF CHRISTIANITY, IS NOT A REAL CHRISTIAN. And yes, I realise this entire rant has been very judgey and technically I'm not supposed to do that either, but it's not like I'm saying they're going to Hell. Just that their kids are going to be sluggish and stupid, and I can't understand how these people have the gumption to try to lecture anyone else about life when they're not even TRYING to get their own lives together.

Yeah so they tried to lecture me about how I was "letting" Loki mistreat me and how I cared more about "socializing" with my estranged husband (I have separation anxiety) than helping around the house e_e They also implied I used depression as an excuse to be lazy.

Man B was supposedly "super employable." Well, okay, even though his "job hunt" seemed to consist more of sitting around playing video games, he was larger than my father (who is 6 ft tall with a protruding gut and weighs 240 lbs at last count) (My father and I are both 60 lbs above our ideal weights. But we're working on it!), and never seemed to get past the phone-screening process.

Now, Woman A told me that Man B was looking for work and that her family and some friends looked down on him for being a freeloader. Probably because she was anxious about me thinking the same. But here's the thing: I wouldn't have cared. Honestly. If you want to sit around playing games all day in your married girlfriend's apartment with her and her husband playing video games all day, go right ahead. If you want to bake three potatoes at a time and take them back to your room for a snack, hey, more power to you. But don't piss out the window and call it rain.

I don't care how employable you are, where you live, who you're living with, or what your lifestyle is like. It doesn't affect me in any way. But don't act like you're doing something you're not just to appease someone's judgmental family. That doesn't ever end well.

Now, see, I clearly have a problem with people who do that. I don't hide many aspects of myself, though I will refuse to answer a question if I feel it's none of someone's business or if they're just asking it to be a judgmental asshole. I refuse to compromise myself or my safe space to accommodate someone who can't make peace with who they are. Hell, you know me! You know my show!

Wait, this is Tumblr, so you might not know my show. It's a YouTube storyboard dedicated to processing and mocking some spiritual and psychological abuse I've undergone in my life. On Facebook, it was one of the things I was known for at the time because I was constantly posting clips and art, and trying to recruit voice actors.

I sell anyone out who I catch lying to me about anything! That's nothing new! And these people knew that about me. For SEVEN. FUCKING. YEARS.

So anyway. Woman A has a lot of great short term goals but no actual follow through because "I'm just not in the mood right now." No judgment there. I've totally been there. The only problem is when it gets ME in trouble.

"Let's walk the dog." "I'm not in the mood." Okay, then the dog doesn't get walked because I can't figure out my way around the place alone.

"Let's do the dishes." Woman A doesn't let me know when the washer stopped. Okay. Then the rest of the dishes don't get washed.

"Let's take the kids outside." "No I'm too tired." Okay, then they're going to be RUNNING AROUND THE APARTMENT SCREAMING WHICH MY EARS CANNOT FUCKING HANDLE so bye I'm just gonna borrow your room and isolate myself for a bit.

"Let's go to the gym!" "Maybe later." But later never comes.

Do you see where I'm going here? As for the men, they BOTH complain that they're "doing too much" around the house. Okay, probably fair for Man A, who works full time and deserves to come home to a clean house. But Man B. Wtf. You literally do nothing, except when you do, and when you do, we're meant to throw you a parade? That's not how adulthood works, or so I've heard.

Note: All three of these people are older than me. I was 24? at the time, fresh out of trade school, on my own for the first time in my life. (Maybe 2nd? I ran away when I was 17 but ended up with my grandparents so idk if that counts.) Woman A was 26 at the time and had been married since 2008, had experience with office work and parenthood, etc. Both men were older than her. I was a chronological adult with the life experience of a teenager, so I felt comfortable saying that.

So did I mention that I'm sleeping in the living room during this stay? And the adults don't go to bed until like 2 AM, which means, because of my disability, wherein I cannot sleep if there's any sort of non-ambient noise, *I* don't get to sleep until AFTER 2 AM. And the kids? They come in the living room screaming at 6 AM. Yep. Okay. Living on 4 hours of sleep, for the mathematically challenged. That and dealing with the emotional turmoil of being separated from my husband when I've got high separation anxiety in the first place. All my pain, everything, it's up to 11. and I'm supposed to contribute but there's not really anything that allows me to contribute.

So what do they do? They ambush me. Call a "family meeting" to tell me absolutely everything that's wrong with me, after WEEKS of telling me what a big help I am and how grateful they are to have me around. Tell me I'm letting my "social life" get in the way of me helping around the house. Hmm. Social life. You mean, VENTING IN MY SAFE SPACE (Facebook, no names named) AND TRYING TO MEND THINGS WITH MY HUSBAND??????????????? Okay. Well since you guys treat your woman like shit, you clearly don't understand or appreciate devotion to one's spouse. Seriously. Woman A told me she used to have extreme separation anxiety with Man A, and that he would brush off her emotions as irrelevant. Her solution was to make it a poly relationship and take a lover WHO TREATS HER THE EXACT SAME WAY. I'm serious. She got no emotional support from either of them. They basically just threw pills at her and trained her to lie down until her feelings went away.

And she had the gall to lecture me (24 at the time) about how Loki (19 at the time & from a pretty horrific family) treated me. LOL ok. Log. Splinter.

As she knew, I'm monogamous. I do have some opinions on polyamoury based on individuals I've gotten to know who are in those types of relationships, but those opinions are irrelevant to this series of rants. Except one, which is pertinent: if you're going to take another lover, they should provide something that your existing lover(s) don't. If you're suffering from low emotional support and you just find someone else who doesn't emotionally support you and who treats you like a child who can't be trusted??? What are you even DOING? Like, she told me NEITHER of her men trust her judgment. What the fuck is a relationship without trust? And don't even try "dick too bomb" as an excuse when you tell me you haven't gotten laid in months and your husband is using your condoms on Woman B.

They don't support you. They don't trust you. And yet YOU'RE telling ME that things with my husband won't get better unless I follow your lead and take another lover? HELL TO THE NO. My husband has his faults, but if I tell him Person X can be trusted, he believes me.

Except for his ex-girlfriend whom he tried to add to our relationship when he tried to be poly, months later. That went Badly.

Or maybe he just knows I'll deal with them myself, with my hot, hot temper, if they turn out not to be trustworthy. He also doesn't treat me LIKE A CHILD. And while I sometimes point at things and make small motions when I can't physically talk, or sometimes even use baby talk when I'm feeling cutesy, I DON'T POINT AT A PIECE OF PAPER AND GO "THE CARRRRRR!!!!" IN AN INCREASINGLY HIGHER PITCH BECAUSE I DON'T KNOW HOW TO SAY, "Honey, I think we missed the car payment this month. Can you double check while the agent has you on hold, please?"

Okay, being a dick about losing words due to stress was not my finest moment, but at the time, I was just so appalled by how they treated her and how she allowed them to treat me.

So basically these adults who are nowhere near having their lives together, and aren't even really trying, put me on blast for not having everything running perfectly when THEY expected it to.

Let's reiterate. I couldn't get a job because I had no ID or social security card. I was waiting for them to be returned to me. I couldn't walk the kids or the dog, go to the gym, or complete all the household chores because no one would guide me. I need that guidance because of various components of my disability, which I really hate admitting to because I'm super fucking prideful, but I figured hey, she's not neurotypical either. These people will understand.

Their response when I brought this up? "You're an adult. You should know better." Sure, okay. But you should know that a child ought to be potty trained before he turns 5, or even 3; that kids need to run around, are entitled to their parents' attention and consistent discipline, and need!!! healthy!!!! food!!!!

Oh, discipline! So, she would send Older Boy to his room over misbehaving. But rather than enforce time-out, she'd go, "oh, I think I'm being too haaaard on him," and just... Relinquish. He's not about to learn anything that way, ma'am.

They called me trying to reconnect with the person I love more than almost anyone on this earth "obsessing over your social life". Well again, you treat your woman like shit, so MAYBE my undying devotion to the person I love goes a LITTLE bit over your head.

They told me that the household should be my first priority. Except no, because I am an autonomous person and my FIRST PRIORITY is, was, and ever has been the love of my life, whomever that may be at the time. That is 70% of my personality. I'm pretty sure anyone who had ever met me can vouch for my extreme devotion, and this woman had known me for SEVEN. YEARS. I'm not going to throw away 70% of myself to do an impossible task that no one will help me with.

They told me a lot of things I wasn't doing right, and for those of you who also struggle with anxiety and depression, you know that being told for weeks that everything is okay and you're so great and so helpful, and then being told that you're rubbish at everything... You know that that is hurtful. Devastating, even. I wanted to kill myself. I said that. I said that and expressed my feelings about some other things, in my safe space, without naming any names.

And even though I was posting in my safe space, I was polite about it. I was as gentle and rational as possible. I wasn't calling anyone out. Not like I am now. I wasn't trying to lead a witch hunt. I was just overwhelmed and trying to express my feelings. Trying to get myself not to kill myself. I had to tell myself over and over again that it's not what Loki would want for me.

In the morning, they woke me up and kicked me out. Said it was rude for me to say I don't care about their household. I never, NEVER said that. I said "Loki is my first priority." Something along the lines of "that's just how I am and I shouldn't be vilified for it." That doesn't mean I DON'T CARE ABOUT ANYTHING ELSE. IT JUST MEANS THAT MY PRIORITIES WILL *NEVER* BE WHAT SOMEONE ELSE WANTS THEM TO BE. I AM A PERSON. I HAVE THE RIGHT TO DECIDE WHAT TO PRIORITISE, AND I HAVE THE RIGHT TO LOVE MY HUSBAND!!!

I MEAN, FOR FUCK'S SAKE. MY NAME IS *SIGYN*. WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU IGNORANT ASSHOLES EXPECT?! WHY THE HELL SHOULD YOU HAVE FELT THREATENED BY ME SAYING ANYTHING IF I DIDN'T NAME NAMES AND WAS ACTUALLY RATIONAL? IF YOU SAW THIS, *MAYBE* YOU WOULD HAVE THE RIGHT TO BE PISSY, BUT NOT THEN!

They kicked me out after having asked me to buy them all food. I had used up all my food stamps. Because I hadn't anticipated this at all. I hadn't known they would take such offence to my existence, to my ways. To the fact that I value the man I married more than I value... Whatever they wanted me to value, I guess.

Fun fact: I ended up in a women's shelter after this, and one woman told me to actually kill myself because she was tired of hearing me cry at night.

They said I hadn't made any effort to get my life on track. Because I can just snap my fingers and make my ID appear. Because I can just manifest the money for a replacement. They said all these things that left me almost unable to breathe, in retaliation for me posting that I was suicidal.

Later, Woman A told me that this had been a long time coming and that they were trying to make room for Woman B and Woman C, both of whom were willing to have sex with the men, which is something that I would not. I feel the first woman I met at the shelter was accurate when she said they basically kicked me out because I wouldn't sleep with them.

I also later found out that my ID and SS card had been returned to sender. The Portland PD called me and told me. So my father came to the conclusion that the people I had been staying with sabotaged me from the start. For a while, I didn't feel it, but last night I dreamed about it, and the dream made me angry. I didn't deserve to be treated that way. And I really had to get all this off my chest, so for those of you who didn't immediately whip out your tiny violins, thank you.

[high-functioning-lokipath]

Chapter 3 - First Come First Serve - Words: 2,788

"Here's her profile, Greg," Sergeant Donovon said, dropping a folder on her boss's desk.

"Clarissa Hughes, aged 32, brown and blue, 5' 5", No. 1 District, been on the force since '10, promoted to Sergeant in '17. Unmarried, unattached, no children, father deceased, mother living in Manchester, one sister in America." Greg sighed after reading the file. He leaned back in his chair and rubbed his forehead. He never liked cases involving one of his own. They always gave him a migraine.

The scene yesterday was impressive even for someone like him who'd been in New Scotland Yard for over 30 years. The young woman had been found in her apartment, laying face down on the floor. A small bullet hole in the window revealed a sniper had been perched on the roof of a nearby building. While there were entry and exit wounds, they had not yet found the bullet to give to ballistics.

"There's not much to go on. It could have been random. Maybe she had one bad date with someone who was a bit off their rocker and-"

"Inspector," Anderson interrupted.

"Yes?" Greg replied, migraine now doubling.

"They found this at the scene." Anderson held out a Ziploc with a ruby red, silk handkerchief. It had no markings on it, not even a snag, save for the small, gold R embroidered on the corner.

"Where did they find it?"

"It was special delivered today with no return address or other markings."

"Now why would a woman, whose name does not start with R, order a monogrammed handkerchief."

"Bored!"

*bang*

"BORED!"

*bang bang bang*

"Sherlock! I swear you had better stop that or I will call Lestrade this time and tell him it was you who put the hallucinogen in Anderson's tea!"

"Fine!"

"Good!”

*thwap thud thwap thud thwap thud*

"Sherlock?"

"I'm being quiet!"

"What are you doing?"

"A bow and arrow are much more satisfying!"

"Oh -!"

"Torry! Guess what!" Erin called out to her roommate from the living room of their shared apartment.

"You're moving out?" She called back, teasing as usual.

"Haha, very funny," Erin deadpanned. "Really though, this is awesome."

"Did we get a case?"

"Better!"

"Two cases?"

"Torry!"

"Ok! What?"

"In exactly 1 month you and I will be in London, England speaking at the International Inspectors Convention."

"Wow! That's fantastic! I wonder if-" Torry paused. "Nevermind."

"Don't worry, Torry, I already checked," Erin winked. "He's scheduled to speak the day after us."

"Inspector, there's been another murder," Donovan announced, walking up to Lestrade in the break room.

"Ok," he replied. "Is it my division?"

"Yes, this time it was Amelia Walker. She was an Inspector in No. 3 District." Greg slammed his mug down on the counter.

"Walker and Hughes were two of our best inspectors! Have you found any connection yet?" The two grabbed their jackets and headed downstairs.

"Nothing yet. The landlady just reported her body. Anderson's there now with his team."

"Ok then, let's go." The two got in the car and headed off. When they arrived, Anderson rushed up holding a small envelope.

"Another one just arrived," He said. Lestrade grabbed the envelope and looked inside. Sure enough, another ruby red handkerchief with an embroidered R on the corner. "I asked the delivery boy where he got it from but he said he didn't know. It was a different boy this time too."

"Where is she?" Lestrade asked. They followed Anderson over to the body. "Cause of death?"

"Another sniper." Anderson showed them the bullet hole in a nearby window. Lestrade shook his head.

"Did ballistics ever get a lead on the gun?"

"Nothing," Donovan replied. "It's a standard sniper rifle but there are literally hundreds of those to try and track down."

"There must be something we're missing," Lestrade groaned.

"Ah! London! Doesn't it smell great!" Erin exclaimed, taking a deep breath as they stepped off the plane.

"It smells like airplane fuel. Let's wait till we actually leave the airport," Torry replied.

"Ok, grumpy. Geez, remind me never to take you on a flight again." Torry growled in reply but Erin just chuckled. "Let's go get our bags and head to the hotel."

"And go straight to bed. I'm dead."

The next day, the inspectors convention started. There were hundreds of private investigators, police inspectors, and a few other kinds of detectives. Torry kept her eye out for one specific "Consulting Detective" but there was no sign of him on the first day. They did however meet their hotel room neighbor, Frances Grant. She had been an inspector at NYS in London until she moved to Manchester about a year ago.

"Nice gal," Erin commented, walking out of their bathroom that night.

"Yeah. I wonder what that case she mentioned was," Torry replied from her bed, already laying down.

"I don't know. She said she was going to help her old academy friend investigate while she was here, right?"

"Mm," Torry agreed. "Must be pretty serious," She said sleepily.

"Are you really already going to sleep?"

"And why shouldn't I?"

"Seriously? We're in a hotel, got to bed early, have the opportunity to actually watch BBC from London and you want to sleep."

"Yes. You watch TV and tell me all about it when I wake up. I won't be able to stay awake to give BBC my full attention when I'm this tired."

"Party pooper," Erin teased as she plugged in her earbuds. Torry grunted in reply and went to sleep. 2 hours later, Erin was nearly asleep still watching late night mystery shows on BBC.

*CRASH*

"What the-" Erin startled awake. Looking at the TV she saw the detective on the show had just been shot. "Oh, should probably turn that off and go to sleep," She whispered to herself. After turning off the TV and unplugging her earbuds, Erin rolled over and tried to go to sleep.

"Wake up sleepyhead!" Torry yelled the next morning.

"Ok, ok, I'm up," Erin groaned. The girls got ready for the day, Torry dressing up extra fancy since a certain someone was on the program. They headed down for breakfast, where Frances said she'd meet up with them. She didn't show up though and the girls headed back to their room.

"I wonder why Frances didn't come down for breakfast," Torry mused, walking out of the elevator on their floor. Erin shrugged and was about to say something when there was a yell from down the hallway.

"Help! Help! Police! Someone!" A housekeeper cried out.

"What's wrong, miss?" Erin asked, rushing up to her in front of one of the rooms

"Sh-sh-she's dead!" The woman exclaimed. Torry squeezed past her, not noticing which room it was, and looked inside.

"It's Frances!" Torry called out to Erin.

"Oh no!" Erin replied. "I'll be right there!" Erin turned to the housekeeper and handed her a tissue from a box on the cleaning cart. "Why don't you wait in our room? I'll call the police and then they can take a statement from you once they get here." The lady nodded and Erin took her to their room to sit down. From there she called the police.

Meanwhile, Torry began investigating the scene of the crime. "Hm, sniper," Torry mumbled to herself, noticing the window. She walked around the body, examining it and taking mental notes. Suddenly there was a knock on the room door.

"Police!" Torry opened the door at once. "Inspector Lestrade," The man introduced himself. "Are you the one that called?"

"No, that would be my friend, Erin. She's in our room next door with the housekeeper who found the body."

"Are you here for the convention?" Lestrade asked. 'Last thing I need is some amateur messing things up,' He thought to himself.

"Yes."

'Dang it!' He mentally shouted. "Alright, have you moved or touched anything since you entered the room?"

"Really, Inspector, I wouldn't dare! This is a crime scene after all!"

"Ok, just checking," He defended.

"36, married, no children, lives in Manchester, originally from London. That much she told us last night. We had dinner together. She must have died sometime in the middle of the night. I'd say around 2am. Based off the stage of rigor mortis." Lestrade stared at her, surprised. He'd only ever seen one other person rattle off so many facts so quickly. "She was killed by a sniper through the window. I also noticed that-"

"Wait, sniper?"

"Yes. I believe I just said that."

"What's her name?"

"Frances Grant, she's an-"

"Inspector," Lestrade said sadly. "I went to the Academy with her." He shook his head. "Anderson, get me those two other files. Let's see if this one has a connection."

"I'm sure it does, Graham. You probably just haven't looked well enough," Sherlock drawled from the doorway.

"Did I invite you here, Sherlock?" Lestrade yelled.

"Not specifically," He replied coolly, waltzing into the room. "But I heard there was a murder," He said, eyes lighting up. "And I simply had to come!" He grinned.

"Sherlock!" A shorter man yelled from the hallway. "Where did you get off to?"

"In here John!" Torry was just about to say something, finally past the initial surprise that her favorite Detective was standing in front of her, when Erin yelled from the next room.

"Torry! Get over here!" She yelled. Torry, John, and Greg rushed over. "She's gone into shock, can you help me get her on the bed instead of this chair?"

"I can help you, miss. I'm a Doctor," John said.

"Please do, Dr. Watson," She replied. Turning to the others, she asked: "Are you with the Yard?" Lestrade nodded. "She was the one who discovered her body. You'll want a statement later, obviously."

"Ah yes, thank you, Miss-"

"Erin Blair. And that's Torry Star. We're America's only consulting detectives," Erin said with a wink. John's eyebrows shot up immediately. "Yes, Doctor," She continued. "I've read your blog."

"Speaking of Sherlock," Lestrade spoke up. "I had better get back and make sure he hasn't started world war 3 with Anderson."

"If you don't mind, I'd like to come back with you. There was something I noticed," Torry said. Lestrade nodded and the two of them went to the other room. Torry walks in first and, while Sherlock and Anderson are bickering, paces the room. 'Now, I need to check what's shining behind that chair,' She thought. Attempting to go to the corner to check, Torry finds Sherlock is blocking her path. "If you're not going to help investigate the murder, then get out of my way so I can." Torry states. She then pushes past him to examine what she finds to be a bullet casing. Greg had to bite back a laugh at Sherlock's face.

'I've never seen the man look so offended!' Greg thought. 'This will be interesting.' Just then, the hotel phone rang. "Hello, Inspector Lestrade," He said, picking up the phone.

"Inspector, we just had a package dropped off for Miss Grant's room. The boy asked it be delivered right away to Sergeant Donovan."

"Alright, bring it up." Once the package was brought up, Anderson and Donovan opened it carefully while Sherlock and Torry argued over what type of sniper's rifle shoots those bullets.

"It's another handkerchief!" Anderson exclaimed.

"Another?" Torry and Sherlock asked in surprise. Greg explained to them what had happened with the last two murders.

"There's a note with this one," Donovan said shakily. "Congratulations. You're next."

"Let me see that," Torry said, grabbing the handkerchief. "The sniper is a woman. Military or police training with that level of skill. I'd say about 37 with that handwriting. First name is Ruby. This handkerchief is Ruby red and has her monogram."

"Ruby Jones!" Greg exclaimed. "She went to the Academy with me. She failed though. She didn't like working with others. She was too competitive, always trying to prove herself. She had a high level shooting badge and I think she trained on that rifle you mentioned before. I guess she was taking her revenge."

"I'll put out a warrant," Anderson said.

"Thanks," Donovan said to Torry. "I don't know what to say."

"Really?" Sherlock scoffed. "You're thanking her! She did the same thing I do! Well, not as perfectly but still!"

"She's different, Holmes," Donovan spat. "You wouldn't understand, freak."

"And with that I wish we had solved the case a little later," Torry mumbled. Donovan didn't hear her, but Sherlock did. Though he couldn't hold back a slight smile at that, he still felt a bit put off at Torry stealing his spotlight.

Meanwhile, once the others left the room, John looked at Erin with a smirk. "What?" She chuckled.

"America's only consulting detectives?" He teased.

"I couldn't help it," She replied. "We are fairly well known back in the colonies," She said with a posh British accent, making John smile. "We got invited to speak at the convention yesterday."

"Oh! Of course! You were the guest speakers! I actually wanted to come and see you but Sherlock got stuck on a case. It was really only a 3 but I couldn't get away."

"Ah," Erin sounded in agreement. "Yeah, that's happened to us too. Torry and I work together on every case. If one's there, so is the other."

"So which of you is Sherlock then?" John teased. "If I may do a little deduction of my own, you said you read the blog, you're obviously both fans, so it would only make sense that you've tried to compare yourselves."

"Well done, my dear Watson," Erin grinned. "Yes, we've done that. But we don't line up with either of you exactly. I guess it depends on the case. Some Torry picks up on right away, some I pick up on, and some we figure out together 50/50. And we've had some pretty crazy cases too! Nothing as interesting as yours I suppose though."

"Sounds like you make a good team. I, erm, wouldn't mind discussing some of those interesting cases with you," He said casually. "Perhaps the four of us could go out to dinner this evening?"

"That would be lovely!" Erin said. Just as she finished speaking, they heard yelling from Sherlock and Torry in the next room. They rush over to see what the commotion was. Sherlock and Torry were standing toe to toe right next to the body. Lestrade, Anderson and Donovan were just watching in surprise.

"What makes you think you can just waltz in here and take over my crime scene?" Torry yelled, cheeks bright red.

"Yours?" Sherlock scoffed. "London is mine! You're just some American knock off!"

"Knock off! Well then tell me, why didn't you notice the bullet casing? Hm?"

"I hadn't looked there yet! I was just about to!"

"Week excuse from a man who notices everything!" Torry smirked. "Tell me, what's your excuse now?"

"Excuse for what?" He hissed.

"Dilated pupils, elevated heart rate, rapid breathing, shall I list more?"

"I could ask the same for you," He replied. Torry blushed even brighter but maintained eye contact. Suddenly, after a moment of quiet, Sherlock leaned forward and kissed her quickly. "I like you," He whispered. "Dinner tonight?"

"Ok," Torry squeaked, abit dazed. Sherlock spun around, coat swishing behind him.

"John, let's go, we have to get ready," Sherlock stated. John shook his head and Erin chuckled.

"I guess they're just more blunt than we are," Erin joked.

"It would seem so," John replied, blushing slightly himself. "See you tonight then. We'll pick you up here."

"Ok, John," Erin said. "Well, well, well," She then said, turning to Torry. "Solve the case yet?"

"And that's how Torry and I met," Sherlock stated. He smiled at his fiance who was sitting next to him.

"You forgot to mention how nervous you were that night getting ready," John adds, laughing. Erin and Torry chuckled lightly but Sherlock's ears tinted red. The older couple sitting across them by the fireplace smiled. Sherlock had brought John, Torry and Erin to his parents house to introduce the girls and make the big announcement.

"Well, we couldn't be happier for our son," Mummy said. "Or for you John. You're family too you know," She winked.

"So when's the happy day?" Sherlock's Dad asked. Torry and Erin were just about to reply but they were interrupted.

"Oh please!" Mycroft groaned. "Weddings are simply atrocious emotional events that I have no use for." Sherlock's face fell slightly.

"So I suppose our asking you to officiate would be out of the question?" Sherlock asked

"On the other hand," Mycroft said suddenly, a smile hinting at the corners of his mouth. "Perhaps I can make an exception just this once."

Sherlock BBC Taglist

@lucywrites02

@delightfulheartdream

@bartv21

@another-crazy-fangirl

@ladylulu143

[hot-wiings]

Requested: Wattpad User

[Edited: 5-3-19]

#1 - The Way You Kiss Things Better

Shoto and you were best friends. You both came from rich families and grew up in the same neighborhood.

Six-year-old Shoto Todoroki and you were friends. Despite his train crazy father, he found time to sneak out of the house and play with you.

This time when he came to see you, he had a fresh scar on his face. Although he was only six, he knew his father was a monster. But he didn't understand why his mother would throw boiling water on him.

He knocked on your door and your mother answered the door, you hidden behind her legs. Once you saw Shoto, you leave the comforts of your mother and pull him in the house.

Shoto kinda envied how you had such a caring mother you could hide behind.

"Shoto, what happened to your eye?"

Shoto subconsciously touched his eye, where his scar is. He wasn't sure if he should say what happened, but he trusted you.

"My mom poured boiling hot water on me."

Your face looked so sad, and your heart ached for Shoto. You couldn't imagine having a mother who could do such things.

"Oh, can I kiss or better?"

Shoto couldn't tell what it was he was feeling when he saw your sad face after what he told you. But a small hue graced his cheeks while your 5-year-old lips kissed the bandage over his eye.

Shoto would in the future years associate this feeling with love.

#2 - They Way Your Protective

You and Shoto started UA together. Both getting in by recommendation. Being neighbors and best friends, you walked together every day.

Every day, Shoto would offer to carry your bag, but you always declined. School bags were very heavy, you thought it wouldn't be fair for him to carry both of your bags.

Upon first arriving at UA you made many friends, Shoto was less than pleased to say he was jealous.

However, you stood by Shotos side throughout the school days, barely parting. You always remained Shotos best friend, and he was yours.

It wasn't until one month of attending UA, you and Shoto had the displeasure of meeting class 1-B's Neito Monoma.

"So you're at the top of class 1-A? HA. What a joke. Can you even see properly with that scar."

You saw how stunned Shoto was after being insulted. You were having none of that. How dare this, over-gelled prick insult your best friend.

You started to stomp over towards Neito to rip him a new one. He was gonna regret ever opening his mouth.

"Listen here you god-damn colossal asshole. I'm gonna punch you so fucking hard your teeth break."

You took a step closer ready to pounce on him. Out of the two of you, you were always the hot-headed one.

"I'm gonna use my [Quirk Type] on you. Your gonna regret-"

Shoto seemed to snap back to reality. He clamped his hand over your mouth and used his other arm to hold you back.

Although Shoto liked how you got protective of him, he didn't want you getting in a fight for him.

"You need to learn to think first, act later."

"I am thinking. Thinking of beating that punk ass bitch! He insulted you!"

"It's okay. My little hero, let's go home."

"Shut up, I'm still angry."

Shoto decided then, he liked how you got riled up on half of protecting him. How you were ready to defend him. It made him feel special. Was this what love felt like?

#3 - The Way You're Forgiving

You and Shoto barely separated. That included during UAs Sports Festival. Of course, you promised to give each other your all if you got paired against each other.

However, you stayed together, that of course excluded during battles. But you stayed to the side and cheered each other on.

You were there when Izuku confronted him about his left side.

"He's right you know. Your left side IS yours. Not your fathers."

He used his left side, and when he saw you cheering him on, he made a decision. He was gonna go see his mother.

After the UA festive, Shoto asked you to go with him.

"I wanna do something, but I'm not sure it's a good idea. You'll probably think it's a bad idea."

"What is it?"

"I wanna see my mother."

"Okay."

"Okay? So you'll go with me?"

"If you want me to..."

-

Shoto ended up taking you to see his mother. He was nervous. He hadn't seen his mother since she poured hot water on him. Since she scarred him.

He was worried about you. You particularly hated his mother for scarring him. But he couldn't imagine going to see his mother without you.

Shoto awkwardly stood in his mother's room. You holding his hand for comfort.

"I'm sorry, Shoto. I'm sorry for pouring that water on you. But you have to understand, your father abused me, he mentally destroyed me."

You rubbed circles into Shotos hand and smiled at him. As if to say, 'It's okay. You can forgive her.'

"It's okay mom. I forgive you. I'm also sorry, for not forgiving you all this time. For not coming to see you."

Shoto looked at you and smiled. He didn't think he would have ever have gone to see his mom if it weren't for you. You gave him the strength to forgive her. He knew you forgave her, so he did too.

#4 - The Way Rain Looks On Your Skin.

You and Shoto were dating now. You had just gotten out of UA. You were about to be heroes, you just needed to sign up for an agency.

You hadn't told Shoto yet, but several agencies from America were seeking you out. You were considering accepting.

You sighed as you ran your fingers through your hair. You were going to tell him today. You heard Shoto knock on your bedroom door. You smiled and looked over at him.

Shoto looked anything but happy. He was angry. You saw papers in his hands. The agency papers. Your stomach dropped.

"When were you gonna tell me about this?"

"Soon..."

"Are you seriously considering this?"

"Well, um, kind of..."

"How could you be so selfish. Our careers are just starting, and you wanna leave me?"

"There are plane trips, and we'll still see each other."

"It's not the same."

"I don't get why you're getting so mad! Your right. OUR careers are starting. I have to think of my career too. It's not just you in this relationship."

Shoto stormed out of your house and you followed him. You weren't gonna let him leave without finishing this conversation.

Even though it was raining outside you followed him.

"I don't wanna leave you, but you have to understand, we're both gonna have to sacrifice things for this relationship to work. It can't be one-sided. Or it's over"

Shoto turned around and looked at you. His eyes softened at the sight of you. You were soaked to the bone in clothes unsuited for the weather.

"I'm sorry. I don't want us to be over. I'm just scared. I don't wanna lose you. How can I protect you, if your miles away?"

Shoto wrapped his arms around you.

"If you decide to go, I'll support you."

Shoto couldn't help but think how beautiful the rain looked while it cascaded down your skin. He wiped some of the water off your face. He knew here, that he loved you irrevocably and that he always has.

#5 - The Way You Smile

Over the years you and Shoto stayed together. You made it work through the ups and downs. That's why Shoto asked you to marry him.

He watched as you walked down the aisle, your beautiful white dress flowing behind you. You had Momo, Mina, and Uraraka as your bride maids.

Izuku, Kirishima, and even Katsuki were the best men. How he got Katsuki there as the best man was beyond your knowledge.

You all remained friends throughout the years. You even had Denki as the Officiater.

You began your vow.

"Shoto, I have loved you since we were kids.-"

You were interrupted. Endeavor was there. Who even invited him? Must have been a misprint.

"Shoto! Don't marry this woman. You can still walk away. I have a dozen, girls who would make great wives to breed powerful children."

"You know what? No one actually gives a shit about what you have to say, just leave."

You stuck your tongue out at Endeavor. What a childish bride you were, but that's why he loved you. You finished your vows.

Shoto was nervous but your smile calmed him.

"[Y/N], I didn't know it at the time, but when we were 5 & 6, I loved you. I loved you, even more, when you tried fighting Neito for me. I realized it when you went with me to see my mom. It grew when had our first fight. I love you, I'll always love you, but as a wife instead."

You smiled at Shoto and kissed him. It was that smile. Shoto loved it. It could calm raging seas. It gave him hope. He knew. He knew that you were the one. That you would be together forever.

[almasexya]

Carnivorous Plants and the Things I Know About Them

I've been kicking around the idea of making a post like this and I figured it was of enough general interest to folks on Tumblr to go for it.

So

One of the things I do is grow carnivorous plants, like these

From top left to bottom right we have a Venus Flytrap, a North American Pitcher Plant, a Sundew, and a Butterwort. All of these are pictures I've taken of plants during the growing season.

Now if you look at these weird looking plants you probably wouldn't expect them to be native to North America, but they are. You can find pitcher plants all over the southeast up to the northeast into Canada, flytraps in the Carolinas, and butterworts and sundews all over the continent.

These plants are a lot of fun and easy to grow once you understand their requirements, but before we get into that, I want to take a moment and explain how they came to be in the first place.

To keep it short, carnivorous plants are carnivorous because they grow in soils that are lacking in the nutrients plants need to put out new growth. Because of this, they evolved to find their nutrients a different way - by luring, trapping, and digesting insects. While these plants still photosynthesize, they supplement this with the nutrients they absorb from insects.

Now that we've got that out of the way, I'm going to go into the basics of growing them, point by point. A short disclaimer - I'm specifically talking about temperate North American plants, since they're what I have experience growing. I can provide basic info on how to take care of tropical plants like the southeast asian pitcher plants, but as of this post I don't have experience with them yet.

Soil: For carnivorous plants, a good soil mixture is a must. These plants grow in nutrient-poor marshes, and the soil they call home is constantly wet. The main ingredient in basically any carnivorous plant soil mix is sphagnum peat moss, which is slightly acidic. The second part of the mixture is often perlite or horticultural sand. Some nurseries use a mix of equal parts peat and perlite while others use 80% peat and 20% perlite, but I've had success with both. The most important thing to ensure is that your soil doesn't have any fertilizer added to it. Because carnivores grow in low nutrient soil, any kind of medium that contains fertilizer can actually kill them.

Water: The other vitally important part of the equation (and the one that kills lots of plants when incorrectly applied) is water. Generally, unless your tap water is soft, water carnivores with distilled or reverse osmosis water. The minerals in tap water or even bottled drinking water can eventually build up and kill your plant in the same way fertilized soil does. Carnivores love waterlogged soil, and some even get flooded in nature. To approximate this, set your plant in a tray of water no more than an inch or two high. This ensures your soil stays wet without having to constantly water it.

Containers: Plastic pots are your friend. Avoid terra cotta clay pots, since they can leech minerals into the soil and also tend to dry out your substrate faster. Glazed clay containers can also work. If you're using the tray system, make sure to buy pots with drainage holes, so the water can get in. Also, a trick that lets the water in but keeps the soil from escaping is to line the bottom of the pot with long-fibered sphagnum moss. If you go with an undrained container, make sure to keep the soil wet at all times, but allow some of the water to evaporate in order to keep the water table fluctuating.

Sunlight: Since carnivores evolved their leaves to catch insects, they're pretty poor at photosynthesis. As a result, these plants love sun - the more the better. Many a store bought flytrap has perished as a houseplant due to lack of sun, so if you can, put these plants outside, in the sunniest spot you can. Generally, it's good to give most carnivores around 6 hours of sunlight per day. Many can get by with 4, but they don't often thrive with that amount of light.

Dormancy: Plants that grow in temperate or warm temperate climates tend to buckle down and hibernate during the late fall and winter months, conserving energy until spring. Generally speaking, the large traps die off, or in some cases the plant dies down to the roots, or forms a small bud that rests on the ground. Plants grown outside respond to colder temperatures and shorter photoperiods, while plants grown inside usually need some help. If you're growing your plants on a windowsill or in a terrarium, move them somewhere cold or cut down on their heating, and also diminish the amount of daily light they receive. You can also slow down on watering, though they still need some water to get by.

Temperature: Temperate and warm temperate carnivores can tolerate a wide range of temperatures, despite what you might think. My pots survived the freak snowstorm the Pacific Northwest got this February without a single dead plant. Most species can tolerate temperatures up to 100 degrees Fahrenheit and down to 20 degrees, though not for prolonged periods of time. If you see long spells of hot or cold weather coming, try and move your plants to a protected area until they pass.

Feeding and Fertilizing: Now I know what you're thinking. Fertilizer? He just told us that stuff was death! And it often is, but there are ways to fertilize your plants. Generally, a fertilizer made for acid-loving plants can be diluted and applied to the leaves during the growing season. I use Maxsea 16-16-16 on plants that are too young to easily catch prey (diluted down to a half teaspoon per gallon) and haven't had issues. Try not to spray the soil unless you frequently water your plants from overhead, as the dreaded mineral buildup can still occur. That said, if your plants are outside, they'll fertilize themselves. You can also "feed" your plants insects using tongs - keep in mind that some plants require their prey to be alive in order to secrete digestive enzymes. I'll get into prey in more detail in other posts about specific types of plants.

Flowering and Propagation: For a lot of carnivorous plants, flowering is an exhausting effort that tends to deplete the energy they would use creating traps. As a general rule, if you're not interested in seed, clip the flower stalks off. Many plants can be propagated through leaf or root cuttings, which produce genetically identical plants. Some plants also clump and form their own divisions over time, meaning all you need to do to get more is wait for a year or so, depending on the age of the plant.

Pests: Carnivores can be targeted by various pests. For insecticides, I've seen neem oil recommended, as its generally less harmful to the plant and the environment. I haven't had to make much use of these yet, so my information on insecticides is a bit of a blind spot. Generally, try and stay away from soap insecticides and aerosols, and stick to less concentrated varieties. If you're dealing with squirrels or rodents digging up your plants, I found a generous sprinkling of cayenne pepper around the plants works wonders, and does no harm to the plants.

This is a basic rundown of carnivorous plants and how to take care of some of them. I must stress there's a ton of information out there - this post is geared more towards starter plants that are fairly forgiving and simple to grow.

So why grow carnivorous plants when you can just go out and buy some petunias?

They're active: Carnivores are showy, unique plants that can move on their own through some incredibly unique and complex evolutions. Watching a Venus Flytrap snap shut or a Sundew curl around an insect is a truly special thing to see.

They're a conversation piece: The relative rarity of carnivores in cultivation means the average person doesn't know much about them, despite maybe having heard of a Venus Flytrap before. A 12" pot of flytraps, sundews, and pitchers is a surefire way to grab attention.

They can control certain pests: Carnivorous plants can act as natural pest controllers. North American Pitcher Plants gorge themselves on flies and wasps, and considering some pitchers can grow over two feet tall, they can hold plenty of them. Sundews and butterworts specialize in catching smaller prey, such as fungus gnats, fruit flies, and even fleas. These plants can work as limited, natural pest controllers, though they won't eradicate a yellow jacket nest for you.

They're endangered in the wild: The wet, marshy habitats carnivores call home are rapidly dwindling due to improper land management and development. Some are nearly extinct in their home ranges, kept going through dedicated nurseries and attempts to naturalize them in other locations. By caring for carnivorous plants, you're raising awareness of these unique, underappreciated organisms and aiding in their conservation by keeping them alive.

Phew, I realize this was a lot, but I hope it was a fun read! Let me know what you think about carnivorous plants, or if you have any questions about them. I'm going to try and go into more detail on specific plants later, but for now, I wanted to bang out the basics.

If you're looking for more information, Flytrapcare.com is a great forum, and the r/savagegarden subreddit is very helpful as well. For books on the subject, the Savage Garden by Peter D'Amato is the go to source. Nurseries I've used and can vouch for are Sarracenia Northwest (located in Oregon) and California Carnivores (located in California).

[rottengalzsworld]

I'm Lost Without You.

"I'm sorry.." "Let's end this.."

I wonder when it started. When did we lost our spark? When did our relationship fell apart? When did we fall out of love? Or rather.. where did his love go?

We're childhood friends. We have been neighbors for who knows how long. My parents and his are the best of friends. Like literally. Both my mom and dad and his. They even want us to get married if only one of us is a girl. We couldn't careless over such things since we were still kids that time. I remember he always comes over to play everyday. Laughing, Sleeping, Eating.. we did that together. We went on the same elementary he was my saviour when I'm being bullied. At the same time I was his teacher and I taught him everything about academics.

High school started we went on the same school. Again. Same grade, Same section, and year. Since were always together our classmates teases us as husband and wife. It didn't seem to bother him so I just went on with it too. I forgot this is also the stage where we get curious about almost everything. Sexuality. Relationship. Love. Pleasure. One day while walking home after school he told me he wanna come over. I said "Yeah. Sure." I wasn't thinking of anything else since I'm use to him being always in our house. We went inside. No one's home. "Go on to my room first. I'll get us some snacks and drinks" I said. He nodded and went ahead. I brought some cookies and juice. As I went inside my room he's lying on my bed. Faced down. "Hey. I brought some cookies" he gave me a moan as an answer. I sat down on the floor and leaned my back against my bed. He suddenly got up took his bag and started rummaging inside. "Ah! Found it!" He took out a somewhat called a dvd. "DOJUN! let's watch this!" He showed me what that dvd was about and to my surprise.. It was an adult dvd. "Wha-- where did you even get that?!" I asked embarrassingly. He smiled at me "Hehehe.. I saw this from my father's closet and I figured we should watch it together! Hihihi" he immediately put the dvd on and I had no choice but to watch it with him. Then like any other guy in puberty we reacted naturally. We weren't talking nor even glancing at each other. Too embarrassed of the situation. Haaah.. seriously.. why did we end up like this? I glanced at him and his all red and sweaty. His face screams pain. He's covering his crotch. 'Hehehe.. how cute' I thought to myself. "Could you quit staring at me? I'm getting uncomfortable" he's blushing so hard.. 'cute.. cute.. cute..' This side of him makes me wanna tease him more. And so I did. I slowly touched his arms. He shivered. "Wha- what the hell dojun!" He said while still blushing.. "What? You look like your in pain.. just wanna help you out." I said.. aah. He's so cute when he's embarrassed. "S-stop it.." he said.. ugh! I held both of his hands up. Went in front of him.. kissed him while un-buckling his pants. I don't know what came over me. But I can't stop myself. He was.. He kept on saying no.. but why do I feel like he doesn't mean it? I looked at him and stared.. "wh-what?" He asked nervously. "Heesoo.." I called out his name.. with a tone of hunger. I want him. What? Why? Why do I want him? He chuckled looked back at me and said "we've already gone this far.. don't leave me hanging now." After that I kissed him passionately.. started jerking both of our thing. Up and down. Twists and turns. Until we both came.

I kept on apologizing.. but he said it was okay and that he didn't hated it. But it didn't just end there. It happened multiple more times. It became a routine. Every time he comes over. We do it. I realized my true feelings for him when were talking about what we wanted to be in the future and what school were going to. When he said he wants to go to another state for college.. it pierced me. Thinking that I'm not gonna able to see him everyday.. kills me. And so our graduation came. I confessed my feelings. I told him that wherever he goes.. I'll go and that I like him.. more than just a friend. He was shocked. I expected as much. But he answered my feelings right then and there. "I thought I will never hear that from you" he smiled and hugged me. Not long after our parents knew about our relationship and they're all supportive.

Days turned into weeks, weeks turned into months, and months turned into years. We graduated college and again together. After graduation we bought our own apartment and lived there. We both work and have separate but not so much different schedules. We see each other every weekends. Spend it like any other couple. After a year I was promoted as an executive. We celebrated it but things go downhill for the two of us after this. Higher rank means more work load. I come home late. Wake up early or sometimes too late. We see each other once per week or sometimes we don't. We haven't spent time with each other. And I think that's one of the reason why something changed. It was the night of our anniversary and I did whatever it takes to come home early. I brought flowers and his favorite sweets. As I arrived I saw his shoes. "He's here" I smiled and I looked at the time. I made it. "Heesoo? I'm ho-me.." I saw bags at the side of the entrance. What? Did someone came over? He was sitting on the couch. "Heesoo?" He stood up and came to me. Then I heard the words I have been wishing and hoping to never hear my entire life.

His head's down "I'm sorry.." his voice is shaking "L-let's end this.." That time my chest started burning. My back aches. My knees are losing strength. I'm getting lightheaded. I can't say anything. My voice won't come out. "Nothings wrong with you.. You.. did nothing wrong. It's.. it's me.." he said while still looking down. I wanna say something but my voice just won't come out. I want to ask him why? what's wrong? But none of those were heard. I was staring at him. Surprised. Hurt. Confused. "I'm going." He walked pass me. I can't move. My chest hurts. I can't breathe. He left. He really left. I don't understand what just happened. I can't process everything. I sat down and held my head. Trying to calm down and think. My heart beats so fast I can hear it. My vision is blurry. Tears started flowing.

2 weeks passed and I haven't heard anything from him. I tried calling his number but his phone's off. Messaging him but no reply. I've asked his mom where he could possibly be but she said she have no idea. Even his friends doesn't know where he is. Heesoo. Please. Come back to me.

6 months later.. I'm still working at the same company. And a horrible news came to me. Heesoo's mom called and told me that she know's where his son is. She said that heesoo is moving to another country. My heart is beating so fast. It's burning. My chest. The same sensation I had that day. She said that heesoo will be moving to America but she doesn't know where and that he's leaving today. I ran fast to my car. Drove to the airport. Ran inside. Looking for him. I'm out of breath but I didn't stop. Then I saw him. "HEESOO!" I shouted. He looked back to see where that voice came from. He saw me. I ran to him. "Dojun! What the hell are you doing here?!" I hugged him. Oh god. Thank you. I miss him so much. "Heesoo.. why are you leaving? Do you hate me that much?" I asked him tearfully. "No. Dojun. I don't hate you." He said. "Then why? Why are leaving? That time too. I'm sorry about everything. I promise.. I promise I'll make it up to you.. just.. just don't leave me.."

"I'm sorry.. but I can't" he said. "I have to do this dojun. We've always been together.. always behind each other's backs and coz of that I.. I grew to not live by myself anymore. And so when you got promoted and come home late I felt so lonely I could die." But isn't that a good thing? Atleast I know you can't live without me.

"I know what your thinking. It isn't a good thing dojun. I don't wanna be a hindrance for your growth.. your success.. specially.. I don't want to be a burden." What? What's he saying?

"Heesoo. You know your no--" I tried to say something but he cut me "YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND! Dojun.. this is not just a simple thing. I have to do this not just for me but for us. I don't want us to end up like my parents.." his parents?

"My dad can't live without my mom.. he became too clingy.. at first my mom finds it cute but as time goes it became troublesome. My dad gets jealous easily. Thinking every guy my mom talks to is her lover. I'm slowly being like that.. and I don't like it dojun!" He's starting to cry.. this is the first time I'm hearing this.. "I don't want our relationship to be like that.. That's why I ended it. After fixing myself I'm thinking of coming back to you. I know it's selfish. But for us to have a happily ever after.. I will do everything." Heesoo.. so he broke up with me because he wants to save.. us?

"I want to create a brand new story with you. Start a new relationship that'll last forever and for that to happen.. I have to reconstruct myself... *cries*" he caressed my face..

"I want to be a man that deserves to stand beside you.."

I'm horrible.. I made the person I love cry.

"Will you be able to wait for me?" He asked.. full of hope I'd say yes..

"Heesoo.." I took his hand off my face and held it.. then put it on my chest..

"Your the reason why this is still beating.. my heart will solely forever be yours." I said. My tears fell. One by one.

"I will wait for you.. no matter how long it takes. Just promise me you'll come back."

"I will. I promise. My love."

I kissed him. Hugged him. One last time.

I don't know how long it will take him. But that doesn't bother me. Coz I know he'll be back. Back to my arms.

As I stand here.. watching you go. Staring at your back walking further and further away.. Slowly being engulfed by the crowd of passengers. The burning in my chest fades away. It still stings but I know that this pain will turn into happiness. I just have to wait.

Heesoo.. The love of my life. My one and only. I'll always be here waiting for you. I love you.

[mr-jokepasta-blog]

Barbara (creepy pasta)

About in year ago 1980s there was a family. Well not your typical family who gives you just regular life and prevent you from danger. These family are way odd than unusual.

These family love 1940s style ever since the first generation family moved in the country of United States in the year 1940. It's been hard since to try to lived in America, luckily they found somewhere in Ohio from this nice female who helped them to have a home.

Few years later around 1940s a female who gave three members of the family whose name is Barbara that she is 36 year old and the one of the family member is the youngest and name Nathan that is 16 year old. They fall in love with each other and more family members ever since that they make an oath for keep their 1940s style to remember that great grandma Barbara who've help their family members.

Now in the mid late 1980s there's new child has noborn into our world that turned out to be a female and right after her mother has passed away while she gave birth. The father was quite an upset for a while to see his own daughter that killed his wife. Then came the nurse take his child away from him for putting baby girl in a nursing room.

The doctor asked the father what is going to name her. He answered, “ Barbara”.

In a couple years later Barbara has grew into a age of becoming a woman. Her dad is very surprised that she kinda look similarity to passed away mother. The grandma was gathering items for Barbara's sixteen birthday party.

Barbara like birthday parties. She always decorate the house like it from the 40s. Her dad loves of how it looks. He complement his own daughter like it was a flirting way.

In a few three hours later her party starts. The ones is at her party is her grandma and the dad. They were listening to music from the 40s, eating steak and milk, plus watching couple of episode Hopalong Cassidy reruns. Then when the time comes birthday present comes in. There couples of few birthday presents is at the table. It makes Barbara happy that is from her.

One of the birthday present design has a baby angels around the wrapper. It makes her smile that she loves babies. She thinks that they were cute.

Barbara always loves babies ever since she plays with baby dolls at the age of eight. Somehow Barbara always spend more time with a baby doll in the morning through night. Barbara wants more baby doll as a collection.

Luckily for Barbara, her dad knows a guy who gave away really old 1940s baby doll at the antique stores. The store owner knows Barbara's family since in 1950s. They kept old junk in the back. Also they keep it fresh and clean to look like they were new.

So ford,when Barbara opens up her birthday gift that has a baby angel on it, Barbara was excited that what she saw of the gifts. It's another baby doll that she always wanted. She hugs her dad while gave him a kiss on his cheek.

In a couple minutes later after the gifts were open, it is time for the birthday candles to blew on top of the cake. Barbara close her eyes and wish of what she really wants in her life. She wishes for a real baby.

Barbara told her dad that she wants a real baby after the party was over by cleaning up the mess. Her dad always give it of what she wants. What matters what the price is going to pay.

He can't adopted orphanage because he got some secret that no one can't find about. Plus he knows that Barbara don't know any boys at school because she's at home school. Only one thing he can do is find sixteen year old male to impregnate his daughter.

He went out for a bit on the next day at noon to drive around to find random sixteen year old boy at hangout area. The farther still driving at the city but now it's night instead. While he's driving he found sixteen year old boy is walking alone on a sidewalk.

The father stop his car and offered to the teen for a ride. The teen thinks offered him a ride home.in reality the teenager male notice something different while Barbara's dad is driving. The teenager always knows where the location to his home is. Also he told Barbara's dad the location of where's the teenager live.

The teen was really scared from the start when Barbara's dad go to different area. So the teen take his shoe off to hit Barbara's dad for forcing him to stop the car and car were swerving crazy then hit an oak tree. Luckily the teen survive from crash including Barbara's dad. But he's unconscious.

Then teenager take off his seat belt, unlock the door to flee away from Barbara's dad. But Barbara's was woke up immediately and saw the boy running towards into the wood. And so Barbara's dad get out of his car and chasing after him. He caught up if tackle the boy down to the ground and punched until Barbara's dad has to catch his breath.

“Oh look at you.” Said Barbara's dad. “You ain't perfect anymore. My daughter wouldn't like this now. Well.” Barbara's dad took out his pocket knife from right side pocket and flip out the little blade. “Now we not going to waste unperfect body.”

“Wait what are you doing?” Whimpering the boy. As he seen Barbara's dad is getting to something with a pocket knife. The boy can't do anything now while he's legs and arms is total damage that won't move to protect himself. “Please don't please don't PLEASE.”Barbara's has dad closed his eyes and stabbed the boy into his chest.

In three hours later Barbara's dad had finally come home. The grandma and Barbara the both of them have worried of where's the dad been all this time. “Daddy where have you been?”. Asked Barbara.

“Nowhere special I just driving around that's all sweetie.” Said dad after he closed the door. But Barbara look down at the dad's pants.

“Daddy, what happened to your pants it got dirt on them”. And then she looks up at his button white checkered  shirt. “Who's blood is that dad?”

He looked down on a shocking face on him. “ Oh it's a deer honey. I accidentally ran over the creature.” He put on his hand on her right shoulder while he's talking.And look right into her eyes few seconds. “ Barbara I got to tell something private in my room about your gift. Stacey.” The Grandma. “Can you be a deer go start finishing the kitchen?” So she did.

It's very suspicious about the farther why he stared to Barbara's eyes. Maybe something about he told a lied to her and felt guilty about it. Or why he asked his mom to clean up the kitchen, he should told everyone the truth of what's really going on.

He might go for telling the truth only to Barbara alone in his room. And keep a secret between him and Barbara. He was actually nervous for bringing his daughter in his room. But Barbara don't know what's going on in her dad's mind.

“ Barbara.” The dad said her name after they both enter the room and she sat down the dad's bed. “ Do you remember what's your birthday wish was?” Then he closed the door and lock it.

“Yeah. It was I really want a baby.” Now her dad sat down right next to her.

“ Well about that wish, my mission was to make that happen.”

“What do you mean daddy?”

“It means that I go find a male is a same age than you to make a baby.”

“How?”

“Is really simple. He just put a seed in you then poof you're the mommy.”

“So wha- what happened to the boy?”

“I'm going to explain to you honey. So I met this boy explained to him that I'm going to show my beautiful daughter and told him with a nice question about him helping you to make a baby. He said no.”

“Why?”

“He told me you look gross and don't want to be near you.”

“What? But he never met me yet?”

“That's what I said to him. I show him the picture of you but he snatched away from my hand ripped the picture.” Then he showed it the ripped up picture to Barb. “I'm sorry honey I think you'll never going to be a mom.” Barbara started to cry. “It's okay honey it's okay. Everytime you wanted something, I give to you want you want. And that's why I'm here for to help making a baby.”

“How?”

In the late August, Barb's dad was living in life sentence in prison for murdered the kid.As the grandma, well little miss innocent has passed away. And for Barb, was an orphan and pregnant also. She tries to give birth her first born at hospital church but it was too late, her baby dies inside of Barb, she started to cry constantly. As she's crying, she started to laugh over and over again.

No one knows what happened to Barb in the late mid 90s, some people know the kids were missing in a few month. But luckily cops founded the kids with Barbara at a abandon house at night. The cops wouldn't believe what they've witness it; they have seen kids were on strap on a wooden chair and having a birthday hat on top of their heads, Barb is also wearing 1940s style with too much makeup with a creepy grin on her face, plus serving some discussing cake to the children, while the 1940s music were playing in the background.

Barbara was sent to mental asylum of what she has become. She smiled in her room she spoke to herself about nursery rhymes that her grandma said it to her. “Children children where do you go. Mommy mommy is worry about you. Please come please your birthday party is here waiting for you.”

[theapplesweremonitored]

Hi there! I had a question. So, I'm on the fence about pro-life/pro-choice. Women's bodies are their own and they should have a say in what happens to them. But...At the same time, they're pregnant with a to-be baby. And I'd really like to see know someone else's view. Like, I said. I'm on the fence and I just want someone else's opinion on the matter. That's, if you don't mind talking about it.

That’s cool, I don’t mind at all! In fact, here’s a few other posts that may be of interest to you and have really shaped my own perceptions.

Tbh, I’m not the most unbiased or, uh, sensitive of people to ask about this, but I suppose that’s the point and I’ll do my best to answer in a way that doesn’t devolve into ranting. (Edit: this got very long and kind of rambling, but hopefully it doesn’t come off as mean.)

First off we need to establish that I’m asexual, aromantic, at times agender, and have less than zero desire to be a part of any stage of the human reproductive process. In all honesty, pregnancy is a very special kind of body-horror to me, and that likely factors into my reaction to the self-styled “pro-life” side. Because, when you get right down to it, much of the “pro-life” side isn’t pro-life, it’s pro-fetus.

You’d think if a person was pro-life, they’d care about, say: the homeless epidemic, or how America likes to march into foreign countries and murder a shit-ton of people, or all the queer/lgbt+ people who are victims of hate crimes. They’d care about people of color who are murdered by the police every day, or the thousands of kids abused by a system meant to protect them, or women (and, of course, others) who are victims of domestic violence or rape culture. But the thing is, a lot of them aren’t.

Because, like I said, a lot of them only care about the fetus, and care nothing for the woman* who’s carrying it. Once that baby is born, they cease giving a fuck because obviously if it’s been born, then their job is done, and they don’t care what happens next. They don’t care if those women carrying the fetus was raped, or got drunk and didn’t use protection, or did absolutely everything “right” and still got pregnant. They don’t care that those women don’t want to be pregnant; those women don’t want to give up forty weeks of their life to what (when you think about it clinically) amounts to a parasite; those women don’t want to give birth; those women don’t want to be responsible for raising a child, and often don’t have the means to do it right.

A frighteningly large amount of “pro-lifers” are white Christians who refuse to acknowledge the complexities of pregnancy, childbirth, and child-rearing. They argue that “life begins at conception” but say nothing about the life or lives that may be ruined by that conception (and subsequent birth). They use the Bible to justify forcing women to carry an unwanted fetus to term, and then also use it to justify hate crimes against queer/LGBT+ people, discriminatory treatment of PoC, and the general subjugation of women. Oh, and we can’t ever forget the Islamophobia and general air of xenophobia that usually accompanies them as well.

In essence, a more accurate description of the pro-life side is anti-choice, because that’s what it comes down to.

Listen, I don’t mean to be a dick about this.

I get that you haven’t made up your mind and that the idea of terminating a potential human being (and I stress this word because like 90% of abortions take place during the first trimester, when it is more accurate to call it an embryo) probably squicks you out.

I totally understand that.

But it’s important to be aware that for a lot of people on the anti-choice side, their little crusade is just another way to express their bigotry and their hatred of women, often queer/LGBT+ women and women of color.

Story time:

My grandmother on my mom’s side got pregnant out of wedlock when she was sixteen. That became my Aunt Dawn (for whom I was named) and she’s the sweetest, most well-meaning woman… maybe not in the world, but that I’ve ever met, certainly. But guess what? Grandma Kathy didn’t want her. She was sixteen, she made a dumbass decision, and didn’t want to have a kid. But you know what her parents did? They told her they were taking her to get an abortion, bundled her up in the car, drove several states away, and dropped her at a “home for fallen women.” They didn’t tell her where they were leaving her, or for how long, or anything. Just that she could come back “home” later. “Later” meaning after she gave birth to my Aunt Dawn.

Listen, I love my Aunt Dawn. Out of literally all of my family, and hoo-boy there’s a lot of them on either side, she’s basically the only one that I even like, let alone love. But my grandma didn’t want my Aunt Dawn and she shouldn’t have been forced to have her. She shouldn’t have been lied to and abandoned and blackmailed into having and raising a child. And it took a toll on her, let me assure you.

Okay, I like my grandma well enough, okay? But she isn’t exactly the healthiest person, she doesn’t have the healthiest relationships, and doesn’t make the healthiest decisions. She’s had five daughters and two sons by several different men, she’s poor and unemployed, and I’m pretty sure she’s had some issues with drinking.

If I were able to go back in time and help her get an abortion, I fucking would. Even knowing that it would mean that me and my sisters and my nephew and my mom and my Aunt Dawn wouldn’t exist, I would still do it. (It sounds terrible, but I don’t care much about my uncles and cousins. They’re all a bunch of fucked up assholes.)

And now let’s talk about my sisters. I have a lot. I have one who got pregnant in her senior year of high school and had to drop out; my nephew is going to be four now in a few months and she’s only just gotten a job that pays a living wage.

I have another who’s currently pregnant and with the guy who knocked her up even though he’s and idiot and an asshole and makes her cry; I fear for the future of both her and the kid that’s on the way because those futures are not gonna be fuckin pretty.

I have two (adopted) sisters who are actually sisters themselves; only half, though, because their dad is a piece of shit who couldn’t keep it in his damn pants and didn’t even try. He’s in prison now and blames his parents for everything that’s gone wrong in his life, up to and including the fact that he isn’t fit to take care of his kids. (I know this because he’s my step-dad’s kid and sent a long series of texts to that effect to my mom a few months ago.) My new little sisters’ moms are both drug addicts who couldn’t be trusted with their daughters. And, of course, my sisters have another sister by another woman (who’d also had drug problems but is now clean and takes care of her daughter) and a brother that I don’t know much about.

And then, of course, there’s my other sisters on the other side of things, who are desperate to have children. I have one who’s been trying with her husband for a couple of years now, who’s had fertility treatments and has visited multiple doctors to try to figure out what’s up with her junk, because we know it’s something but don’t know what. She’s slated for some kind of surgery soon.

I’ve also got another sister, my oldest, who wants kids. She just got married to an old friend of hers who I had never even heard of until I was invited to the wedding. She stayed in a relationship with an abusive ex-Navy Seal for years because he kept dangling the possibility of having kids with her like a fucking carrot. They had physical fights, she had to take all kinds of medication for anxiety and shit, and liked to combine them with alcohol because being in a relationship with him was such a fucking trial on her psyche.

My immediate family alone pretty much runs the gamut of reproductive experiences, barring (to my knowledge) sexual assault and the fact that (to my knowledge) they’re all cis.

What I’m saying is: there’s a lot of shit out there. A lot. There’s girls who got pregnant on accident, and never even consider abortion. There’s girls who got pregnant on accident, and never got access to abortion. There’s girls who want to get pregnant but can’t because of medical reasons. There’s girls who want to get pregnant and men use that to abuse and manipulate them.

I support all of them. I support those that never consider abortions; I support those that want abortions; I support those that want to carry to term; I support those that are desperate to get pregnant in the first place. I support each and every one of them, for all that I am completely unable to empathize with those that want kids in the first place.

I support them because, even though I have no idea what any of that must feel like, it’s their choice and I respect that. Anti-choicers, pro-lifers, whatever you wanna call them, they don’t respect that. They treat pregnancy like it’s the be-all and end-all of human existence and experience. They treat women who get pregnant and want to abort as if they’re stupid, irresponsible, the devil himself, etc.

Now, if you’ve made it all this way, then I’d like to apologize for all the detours and digressions and also congratulate you on getting through them all. As you may have noticed, I’ve got some thoughts on the subject in general as well as some tangentially-personal experience. What it all boils down to is this: while it may affect us, while it may impact the course of our lives, unless it is us who is the one who is pregnant, it’s not our decision. We can have opinions; we can offer advice; we can counsel the one who is pregnant. But, when it comes right down to it, the only one who gets to make the decision of whether to carry to term or abort, is the one who is pregnant.

And, to me, that’s all there is to it.

*not everyone who becomes pregnant is a woman and may be instead nonbinary/genderqueer or a man who was assigned female at birth. However, I very much doubt that someone who cares very little or (more likely) absolutely nothing for a person’s body autonomy will care anything for respecting their gender identity.