#freeways without futures

[cnu-newurbanism]

Great Idea 25: Freeways Without Futures

Reducing state and federal infrastructure costs while boosting local economies by strengthening urban places is a win-win from in-city freeway transformation. Read more.

[3liza]

I agree that the pushback against White Woman Paranoia About Men is warranted but

I also see a lot of posts by men and people who situationally may never experience this, about how being wary of men as a class is delusional due to the actual crime statistics being basically negligible compared to, for example, being hit by a car or getting into a car accident. and what this kind of post doesn't acknowledge is that there are lot of ways to have an exceptionally bad experience caused by strange men in public that have nothing to do with anything that is classified as criminal, bodily harm, and specifically any behavior that would actually be worthwhile to report, making it unknown to the statistics. the guy who followed me for two blocks one night and then brushed by my back and said "don't fall" very pointedly as I was standing on a freeway overpass wasn't doing anything illegal and certainly nothing any cop would do anything about if I "reported" it (lmao) but yeah that is an unpleasant experience I remember vividly and would like to avoid in future. one example of many, obviously, I'm not making a whole post about a single experience

it is absolutely the case that the only rapes and most of the physical assaults I've experienced have been from men known to me socially or intimately, but until I got a large dog, going outside was about 60% likely to involve being harassed. which is a lot more than I have been hit by cars (zero times)

being harassed is extremely unpleasant regardless of its likelihood to progress to physical assault. sometimes it can be so unpleasant it affects our daily lives, and a single incident of harassment can impact a person's mental health. the expectation of ongoing harassment does this moreso, it creates a continual expectation of being pursued, questioned, and then having to deal with someone getting angry at you when you don't accede to their demands. in any context this is unpleasant. people who do not experience sexual harassment in their daily lives may be able to empathize with this experience if they were ever bullied as children. people chasing you around, calling you names, creating unpleasant confrontations for no reason, and then the next day you have to get up and go do it again. people change schools, quit jobs and move out of shared living situations to avoid this kind of stress, it's reasonable to develop an aversion to it. it's reasonable to develop reactivity and hypervigilance as well. verbal and social harassment without any physical assault is more than enough to cause a trauma response.

it's also just inconvenient. even if you are not menaced or belittled or traumatized by an episode of harassment, having to Manage a Harassment Situation in the grocery store or post office when you're just trying to get an errand done is a massive waste of time. a lot of women have to plan for extra time during errands or travel to account for getting out of situations like that.

a LOT of the paranoia about men from women that you can read everywhere in the culture is based not in a fear of getting physically harmed or killed, but simply avoiding more harassment.

I think a lot of women have defaulted to explaining this desire to avoid men and avoid being alone with men, or explaining their suspicion of men, as fear of physical harm, because that's the only way people who don't get harassed are able to take it seriously. but it's completely reasonable to want to avoid being annoyed, bothered, harassed, questioned, inconvenienced, interrupted, or to have someone just be rude to you, completely apart from the actual percentage likelihood that they are a serial killer. even the act of telling these men politely that you can't talk right now, aren't interested, have to go, have a boyfriend, whatever, is annoying and often escalates into a confrontation or to the man being angry at you or insulting you. we can agree that getting into a verbal argument for no reason on the street is a negative experience. it can be annoying and unsettling without being a threat to life and limb. and no this isn't a "i have bad social skills and can't handle normal human interactions" thing, it's not a social interaction required by common decency or manners or basic function, it's someone putting you into a bad situation for no reason and then getting mad at you when you decline to entertain them. the harassers are the ones being rude. it is a violation of the social contract to catcall someone. it's just annoying and I want to avoid it. most women want to avoid it, and behave accordingly.

no terfs on this post. everything I just said about being bothered by strangers applies double (at least) to the experiences of most trans women

women aren't the only people who get harassed by strangers either, but it is overwhelmingly an issue experienced by women, and people who are perceived as feminine or as women.

it's also not just men who do the harassing, but again, it is overwhelmingly men who are doing it.

some women experience no harassment or very little of this harassment and won't identify with this post. that's true and real, but doesn't make it not true that a very very large percentage of women, maybe even most women, have experienced this. no experience is universal

[callsign-venus]

For the Love of Love | Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Reader | Part II

Part I | Series Masterlist

Summary: You immediately have doubts. As the morning goes on, they only get stronger. Good thing Bradley can be normal about this. Right?

Word Count: 3.9k

Warnings: fake dating, fake dating Bradley Bradshaw in particular, completely implied age gap

a/n: Thank all y'all for the response to the first part :) I was so nervous to post it, but everyone has been so kind and encouraging! Also, I've created a taglist for this series -- please let me know if you'd like to be tagged in future updates! Ok, ok, let's get this show on the road (literally, we're on the way to Tahoe lol), enjoy x

It was 6:15 am. Streetlights washed your walls a bright, sterile white. You paced in front of your door. Next to it, your pink luggage set waited for you dutifully. Bradley was supposed to pick you up 15 minutes ago. He hadn’t responded to any of your texts. Or your calls.

Were you dumb for thinking he really wanted to join you – and your entire family – in Tahoe? Was he drunker than he let on last night, or maybe he forgot entirely? You hoped not, you’d already bought him the seat next to you on the plane. You really didn’t want to explain to your parents why they were paying for two plane seats when only you arrived at the cabin.

You checked your phone. 6:17. Soon, you’d have to drive by yourself. Maybe he’d catch you at the airport.

Just as you made for your keys, there was a sharp knock at your door. You undid the deadbolt and flung it open. Bradley stood in the sickly yellow light of the hallway, looking better than you wanted him to in just gray sweats and a black hoodie.

“Good morning!” He was surprisingly chirpy for how early it was.

“You’re late. Why didn’t you answer my texts?”

“What texts?”

“The texts I sent you?” You grabbed all three pieces of your luggage and struggled through the door frame.

“My phone died.” He was tapping his phone screen like he was just realizing that it wasn’t turning on. He gave up, pocketed the phone, and lifted the two biggest suitcases out of your hands. “Jesus, how long are we going to be gone? It’s like you packed your whole closet.”

“Three days. But I have to be prepared.” You locked up your apartment and started down the stairs, your suitcase clanking down each step. Your neighbors were probably thrilled.

Bradley followed behind you, lifting your other suitcases as if they weighed nothing.

“So you’re just going to travel with a dead phone?” You asked when you finally made it to the lobby.

He shrugged. “Is your phone charged?”

“Of course.”

“Works good enough for me.”

He reached over your head to hold open the front door as you dragged your suitcase into the brisk early morning. His Bronco shone like adventure. You and Bradley loaded your luggage, and he opened the door for you to get into the passenger seat.

“Coffees?” You asked as he slid into the driver’s seat and started the car.

He glanced down at the twin iced coffees lined up in the cupholders between you. “I thought it'd help us get through the early morning. I didn’t know what you liked though, so I just got you my drink.”

You stabbed a straw through the plastic lid of the coffee and took a sip. It was shockingly sweet. You coughed a little.

“You like it?” Bradley smiled, keeping his eyes on the road. “I’ve perfected my order. Caramel and white mocha and cinnamon sprinkle on top.”

You take another sip. Without the sweetness taking you by surprise, it was much better. “It’s good. I would have pegged you for a hot black coffee guy, though.”

“I’m full of surprises.” He merged on the freeway.

The sound of the road passing under the Bronco filled the silence of the car.

“So…” Bradley tapped his thumb against the Bronco’s wheel, the echoes of some song you didn’t know. “What’s your family like?”

You watched lights flick on in the windows of the buildings you passed. People getting ready for their typical days. You pressed down a shock of panic. This was absurd. But Bradley seemed committed, and if it was going to work, you had to set him up for success. That meant warning him about your family.

“Well, my Grandma Sybil and Grandpa Thomas have been married for sixty years. Obviously.” Nervous laughter bubbled from your lips before you could stop it. “They’re Grandma and Grandpa. I grew up going to their house and stuffing myself on her cookies and falling asleep on his lap. But Grandma Sybil can be… stern.”

He stopped tapping his thumb to snag his coffee and take a sip. “Like, how so?”

“She’s just a little rough around the edges. She had a tough life before meeting my grandfather, and though she softened to him, I don’t think she softened much to the rest of the world. Just, don’t take it personally if she doesn’t warm up to you right away. Or at all.”

“Noted.” You heard him swallow.

You picked at a seam in your pants. “And their oldest daughter is my Aunt Marnie. She’s married to Uncle Jim. They run a crystal shop just outside of Vegas. They might try to push moonstone or onyx on you. Just smile and accept it.”

“Ok. Marnie and Jim. Crystals.” He committed the names to memory.

“Their daughter Sabrine just got married.”

“You went to the wedding, I remember.”

You flushed, grateful that the sun hadn’t quite risen yet and the hotness of your cheeks dissipated in the darkened car. He had remembered. You didn’t think any detail of your life was important enough for him to care to remember – and it really was just one week that you were gone – but maybe your life had bled into the Daggers’ more than you thought.

As the airport came into view, you told him about Sabrine and how she would bring her new husband Matt. She was already seven months pregnant. Grandma Sybil was less than pleased, but Grandpa Thomas either didn’t care or hadn't worked out the math.

“And what do your aunt and uncle think?” Bradley asked.

“I think they’re just happy that she’s happy. They sound excited to be grandparents. But Auntie Marnie did complain that the wedding was tacky.”

Bradley snorted. “Was it?”

“It was sweet,” you said. “It was in his mom’s backyard. The colors were red and black, but it was sweet.”

An airplane roared overhead, glinting in the sun that was just sharpening over the horizon.

Bradley pulled into the airport’s parking garage. He had only packed himself a duffle bag, so he was able to carry all of your luggage plus his own. In exchange, you carried both coffees and locked the Bronco. You slipped Bradley’s keys into his pocket as he instructed, your fingers warming where they grazed the fabric of his sweats.

The airport was fizzing with the whispers of early morning travelers. You rubbed your eyes as you stepped under the fluorescent lights, taking stock of just how many others were yawning and lining up at the baggage counter under those same lights. Why was the airport so busy before 7am?

As if he could read your mind (or maybe he just saw you tense up at the sight of so many people), Bradley said, “It’s ok. We still have time.”

His reassurance drove you to action. You traded his coffee for your bags and shuffled into line for the check in counter. From the standstill line, you watched Bradley as he wandered around the walkway, taking sips of his coffee, staring up at the ceiling, and generally being a 6’1” hazard to the travelers rushing to get to the TSA line. You rolled your suitcases across the green gray carpets the check in counter line eked forward, nearly running into the old man in front of you as you kept your gaze on Bradley. Why was even his boredom endearing?

Just before you got to the front of the line, he stopped and stared up at the ceiling, causing a woman who was looking at her phone to crash into him. You giggled as you watched him apologize, and saw, in real time, as the woman went from indignant to flustered as she realized how hot he was. She tried to strike up a conversation, but he caught your gaze from across the room. Her eyes followed his, and when it hit you, she was quick to disappear into the airport crowd.

Your face grew hot. You mouthed sorry to him as the woman at the counter was calling you forward. You were a little sorry; she was very pretty. But some part of you delighted in being perceived as his girlfriend, even if it was easier to convince a stranger than your family.

“Ma’am, next guest.” The stern voice of the woman at the counter shook you from your thoughts.

Once your bags were checked, you caught up with Bradley. The two of you rounded the corner only to stop short when you saw the enormous security line.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” you groaned.

“We’ll be fine. It’s only 7:15.” Bradley nudged your shoulder with his. “Plus, it gives us time to get our story straight.”

“Our story?” You asked as you both stepped into line.

“Yeah. Like, how did we meet?”

You didn’t skip a beat. “Nat introduced us.”

“That was quick.” He raised his eyebrows.

“Well, let’s try to stick with reality as much as possible. And my family loves Nat, her stamp of approval will go down great.” You really hoped no one could hear you two. But the steady murmur of overlapping early-morning conversation seemed to drown out your weird topic of conversation.

“Well, how long have we been dating?”

That you had to think about. “Well, it can’t be too short, otherwise it would be weird that I’m bringing you.”

“It’s already weird.” He laughed.

“They don’t need to know that,” you said. “How long do you think we could pass for? 2 months? 6?”

“Aren’t they going to ask why you’ve never talked about me or brought me around?”

“Good point. We’ll say 4, and I’ll just tell them I wanted to be sure before I told them about you.”

“You think we could convince them we’ve been dating for four months?”

You shrugged, but your stomach somersaulted. “We can try.”

“Like this?” He grabbed your hand and laced his fingers between yours.

Your hand tensed. Your stomach did a whole gymnastics routine. You were holding hands with Bradley Bradshaw in the airport. You looked around, sure that any TSA agent in your vicinity could sense your anxiety and pull you for secondary screening.

“Relax.” He patted your hand with his free one. “We’re not going to get far like this.”

You forced your fingers to meld with his. The iced coffee and your nerves were a terrible mix for your empty stomach.

“Better.” He kept hold of your hand as you shuffled up the line. Then he grinned.

“What? What’s wrong?”

“You know those couples in lines at amusement parks?” A lopsided smile brightened his face. “When they’re waiting in line?”

“The ones that are really into PDA?”

“Exactly.” He dropped your hand, slid up behind you, and wrapped his arms across your waist and rested his chin on your shoulder. “All we need to do is follow their lead.”

You did everything in your power to stay upright and keep your breathing steady with his chin pressing into your skin. He kept hold of you as the line moved up. You clenched your hands, your nails digging crescents into your palms. There was no way he couldn’t hear your racing heart and your ragged breathing.

“And there’s this move.”

As the line slouched to a stop, he spun you around, still keeping hold of your waist, but now you were face to face. You looked up at him, tried to form a sentence, but found yourself completely dumb. He leaned his forehead against yours. Surely he could feel the warmth of your face, see the confused longing in your eyes. He smiled at you for just a second before he broke away from you and threw his head back laughing, drawing glares from your fellow sleep-deprived travelers.

You were practically mute through the rest of security. Bradley seemed to have fun grabbing your hand, draping an arm around your shoulders, and messing with your hair. You wondered if he knew the effect he was having on you or if he was earnestly trying to practice for your family. Maybe he was just trying to rile you up. 

“You were great.” He patted the top of your head, causing your heart to shrivel a bit. “We’ll have them all wrapped around our fingers.”

You cleared your throat and tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

Once you were through security, you broke up to scrounge some breakfast. Well, that’s what you let Bradley think anyway. You tried to beat down the butterflies in your stomach as you wove between slow-walking travelers toting huge suitcases and knots of families with waddling toddlers, straight to the bathroom.

The stall offered you just enough privacy to freak out. You felt your face, your waist, flexed your hands right in front of your eyes. It took you months to not freak out about the platonic arm draped around your shoulders, his quick hugs goodbye at the Hard Deck. How on Earth were you going to be normal about this?

He complimented you on a job well done, but in truth, he did all the work. You didn’t reach out for him once in the security line. Would your family even believe you liked him? After that performance, the idea that they could possibly think that you were in love seemed laughable.

The weekend stretched long ahead of you. You were beginning to realize how stupid it was for you to begin such a ruse that you’d have to keep up for three days. You wondered if Bradley would react poorly to being sent home after already getting through security.

You hurriedly texted Nat – who knew very well how you felt about her coworker, almost to the point where she might have purposefully orchestrated your trip. It was a bit of a text wall, detailing the TSA line and your dread about the weekend. If she wasn’t already working, she would probably be asleep for three more hours, so you pocketed your phone after hitting send.

The sound of a flushing toilet reminded you that, yes, you were having a small crisis in a public bathroom. That thought was so sad that you took a deep breath, set your shoulders, and walked out of the stall to face the world.

From a little store, you picked up a berry parfait for breakfast and a bottled orange juice, since the TSA confiscated your half-empty iced coffee.

You found Gate 4. People were falling asleep upright in the airport seats, blankets and pillows abound. It smelled like the Jack in the Box across the way. You found two empty seats by the window and kicked up your feet to reserve one for Bradley.

He found you ten minutes later, carrying a bag stuffed with two bagels – one sausage and egg breakfast sandwich and one cinnamon raisin with strawberry cream cheese, he explained. You nodded as you dropped your feet and scraped the rest of your yogurt out of your cup.

“So your cousin Sabrine is pregnant and your grandma isn’t happy,” he said around a big bite of bagel, egg, and sausage. “What else?”

“Well, my grandparents’ youngest child is Auntie Elaine. She lives in Alaska with her husband. They breed sled dogs.”

Bradley paused right before another bite. “Really?”

“Yeah, it’s pretty cool. Some of their dogs run the Iditarod, and I think one was part of the winning team a few years back. They have twins a little older than me. Nora and her wife Madison, they’re… really cool. Last I heard, they were climbing K2. And there’s Nora’s twin brother Owen. He has a girlfriend named Addison, which I think is funny. Madison and Addison. The twins don’t think it’s as funny as I do.”

Bradley laughed. The bagel sandwich was gone, and he traded the leftover wad of greasy wrapping paper for the cinnamon raisin bagel. “And what’s the deal with Owen and Addison?”

“They’re pretty chill.” You thought about it for a minute. “Owen used to punch drywall, but he’s calmed down.”

Bradley stared at you, waiting for you to laugh.

The gate agent called you to board before you could explain. Though you didn’t think any explanation would be helpful.

The plane ride was nice and short. You slept through most of the hour and a half. You were mortified to wake up on Bradley’s shoulder as the plane jolted in the harsh turbulence that shrouded the Reno airport. 

You sat bolt upright, fully awake. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He patted your thigh assuredly. “It’s good practice.”

You didn’t have time to freak out at his touch because the plane rocked again. You’d experienced this turbulence countless times, something about the mountains and the desert air made the plane bounce around like a toy in the hands of an overexcited toddler. Still, as the plane jerked down, it planted a pit in your stomach that made your hands clammy.

When the plane dipped again, you clutched the armrest. You didn’t want to look at Bradley, who probably thought your overreaction was silly. He’d experienced g-forces upwards of 8Gs countless times. It was bad enough flying next to Nat, who you knew would never judge you, but next to Bradley, you felt like a little kid scared of the dark.

“Hey,” he gingerly pried your hand off the armrest and held it with a softness you didn’t expect from him, “look at me.”

You tore your eyes away from the flight tracker on the display in front of you, worried you’d see judgment in his dark eyes. But his expression was everything soft.

He smiled when you met his gaze. “We’re going to be fine. Trust me, I’ve flown a plane or two.”

You laughed despite the plane suddenly banking upward.

He squeezed your hand as the plane leveled. “So here’s the deal: you keep looking at me. You can only panic if I start panicking. Deal?”

You nodded. “Deal.”

He held your hand and your eyes until the plane kissed the blessed tarmac. By then, the pit in your stomach had been flooded with a mushy feeling you simply did not have time to drain because the seatbelt sign dinged off, and you had a rental car to secure.

Getting out of the airport went as smoothly as possible. Within 20 minutes of deboarding, you and all your luggage was crammed into a rental Prius. Bradley’s nose crinkled when he first saw it, but he folded himself into the passenger seat without complaint.

You fiddled with the radio until you got it to play a throwback ‘70s station, then peeled out of the airport. Soon, the dusty city of Reno and its casinos were in the rearview, and the Sierra Nevadas loomed large on the horizon. When the road lifted off the desert floor and began winding through the foothills, childhood excitement drummed through your veins. As the car screamed along the highway, desert scrub blurred into pine trees that jutted straight up toward the endless blue sky. Patches of snow bloomed in their shade.

“Wow,” Bradley said as the trees grew thicker like a tightly stitched blanket over the mountains. Snow carpeted the ground. Little cabins shone through the forest and snow like jewels.

“Wait until we get around this mountain.” You couldn’t keep the smile off your face. You carefully made a sharp turn, the mountainside steep and unwelcoming. But as the car straightened out, the trees yawned apart, and you caught Bradley gawking at the lake out of the corner of your eye.

Nestled between snow-draped mountains, it shone like a sapphire in the late morning sun.

You’d spent several summers splashing in its frigid waters with your cousins until your skin was so covered in goosebumps that Grandma Sybil threatened to pluck you for Christmas dinner. The same lake was the backdrop to hundreds upon hundreds of ski runs and one trip down the mountain with ski patrol. Your arm still ached to think about that late February day, even all these years later.

“It’s beautiful,” Bradley said, and you agreed wholeheartedly.

Your phone’s navigation system stated that there was only 20 minutes until you reached your grandparent’s cabin. You sucked in a breath between your teeth and cracked a window, hoping the cold, piny air would help settle your stomach. It didn’t. But you still had to finish giving Bradley the family rundown.

“My parents are Sean and Catherine,” you said. “My dad might try to intimidate you, but don’t worry, he’s a softie.”

“Ok.”

You couldn’t be sure he was paying attention, as his face was all but pressed against the window, soaking in the spectacular views. Even if you wanted to be mad, you really couldn’t blame him.

You stepped on the breaks as the road started dipping down a little. “My mom will be the most problematic. I swear sometimes she can read my mind. Whatever we do, it’ll be hard to convince her.”

“We’re going to be there in 18 minutes. Next time, a little more heads up please?”

“Sorry, sorry.” Your grip on the steering wheel tightened. “Just tell her that you take me to Vino in La Jolla and buy me flowers.”

“Is that what your ideal man would do?”

Would it be so bad if you just drove off the road? The steep mountainside looked more inviting by the second.

“Shut up.” You froze your gaze to the winding road. “I have a brother, his name is Tommy.”

“I know,” he said. “I think I’ve met him once – when he was in San Diego for spring break?”

“Oh, yeah, I forgot,” you said. “Well, he and his girlfriend Georgia are high school sweethearts. They’re the perfect couple, and it makes me sick.”

Bradley chuckled. “Noted.”

“So first goal: be believable.”

He laid his hand on your thigh. “Done.”

“Good.” His hand was burning hot. The car swerved ever so slightly as you lost focus on the road for a moment. “Second goal: be a better couple than Tommy and Georgia.”

“Let’s not try to overshoot this. We’ve only been dating for 4 months.”

You laughed in spite of yourself. When you eventually found your real partner, and everyone gathered in Tahoe again for Tommy and Georgia’s wedding, or a wintery ski trip, or whatever comes next for your family, you’ll come clean. You’ll cling to your partner and tell everyone all about your good friend Bradley Bradshaw and how the two of you never really dated. Your grandparents’ anniversary will be a hazy memory, but everyone will remember the tall, good-looking naval aviator and his (totally out of season) Hawaiian shirts and giant mustache. There would be shock, but eventually it would be an inside joke for years to come. You just had to get through this weekend.

Too soon, you were pulling into the cabin’s long, steep driveway. The cabin itself jutted off of the mountainside, its tapered roof giving it a harsh look, though you swore when you were little it just made it look cozy and inviting. Its windows were like glassy eyes following the Prius.

You put the car in park and turned to Bradley.

“Ready?” You asked.

“Ready, babe.”

Before you could fully register the fact that he called you babe, the cabin’s front door slammed open, and your family bursted out to greet you and the mysterious man you’d arrived with.

The knot in your stomach tightened like a noose.

Read Part III here!

Taglist:

@djs8891 @avengersfan25 @cornishkat @julielightwood @makingpeoplelaughsince1995 @abitdemented @darksparklesficrecs @igotmajordaddyissues @cupofchamomileeee @imaginationlover101 @simpfictionalcharacters

[ganxiously]

I am still firmly of the opinion that Buck being made a captain in s8 would not make any sense narratively speaking. What the writers decide is a different matter altogether but if we follow along with the story, making Buck captain right now is just not feasible. First and foremost, there's Henrietta fucking Wilson in the line and I dare anyone to contest the fact that she would make a great captain. And secondly, I don't know if the other characters or even the audience for that matter, would accept Buck as a captain. We have spent this whole season with Buck being treated as the baby of the group — the one pulling crazy antics, whining, sulking and being his general impulsive self and the other characters have responded to this by treating him like a little puppy you indulge and give treats to and try to keep from tripping over their own tail (re: the baking with Jee, the lawn mowing, the phone). Yes, there have been moments where Buck has shined, personally during the cemetery scene but professionally as well, when he solved the bee situation with his creativity, stopped the cars on the freeway and recently, by calling Tommy for a helicopter ride. However, these incidents are not cohesive enough to make you say with certainty that he is the best choice to lead the 118. And if we aren't saying it, then the characters definitely aren't going to. And let's be real, do you really see Chim, Hen or Eddie respecting Buck's authority enough to follow his orders on the field without question?

But having said all of that, Buck becoming the captain of the 118 is the natural and only logical solution to this issue — not right this second but definitely at some point in the future because while Hen is going to be a damn good captain, she is not the right captain for the 118 specifically, as in the right one to step into Bobby's shoes. That person can only be Buck, someone who inherited Bobby's heart and his warmth and his grit for survival. That's where I think the point A and point B of the plot is at. Hen taking over the captaincy and then moving onward towards Buck finally inheriting it. And no, I really don't see anyone new coming in to fill that position because literally no one, fictional or real, would accept that. So what I see happening, if done right, is Hen becoming captain by the end of this season but as we have seen with the Denny sl and from the 8.17 promo, she is not sure if she wants the responsibility and dangers associated with the job. They could continue with this arc in the next season by showing us how much she is struggling with doing a job she doesn't want but has taken out of a sense of duty. And while she goes through all of that, Buck can slowly rise up to the occasion and take over in an unofficial manner — leading a team through a difficult situation in an emergency, using his organisational skills to get on top of the paperwork Hen is drowning in, cooking dinner to bring everyone together at the table like Bobby used to do. If they did it right, they could drag this out throughout the entire season, slowly build up the conflict, build pressure on Hen and strengthen the foundation of Buck's confidence (better if Buck and Tommy are back together so that he has a steady domestic situation to lift him up) and let everything fall into place with the end of season big emergency with Hen finally giving herself permission to quit and everyone acknowledging and accepting the fact that Buck is ready to step into the shoes that were always meant for him.

And in a perfect world and not in the show where it would mean less Hen on our screens, Hen would take a promotion to a more bureaucratic role which would keep her away from the danger and give her more time with her family. And in the distant future, she would rise to become the Fire Chief one day (as a nod to the last irl LAFD Chief who is a married lesbian with 3 kids).

[queerbrownvegan]

ICE Raids Are A Climate Issue

I am disgusted by the recent ICE raids happening in my hometown in Los Angeles. As a proud immigrant kid, my parents raised me on the principles of compassion, diversity, and resilience. But in recent years, the subject of immigration has continued to worsen, with people seeing immigrants as the issue rather than the system designed to serve a select few individuals.

The palatero man, the woman who sells roses on the corner of the freeway, the cleaners, the people who pick and make our food will constantly be labeled as criminals. Yet, they contribute to the economy for low wages and are disrespected by the average American. These people to me are environmentalists. They are what made my experience of environmentalism holistic and intersectional by watching over me, humanizing me, and their daily “buenos dias” as I took the LA Metro to school.

Growing up in extreme poverty shaped my relationship and love for the world. Immigrants were the ones who kept me safe from the cruel world that tried to make me assimilate into a culture of uniformity, whiteness, and individualism. It reminded me that humanity is within all of us, but can easily be misappropriated when people redirect their hatred from a system that is failing to a group of hard-working people wanting a better life.

Just this past week, I have been in tears from extended family members and friends from my community texting me from London, sharing with me how scared they are and why extremists have taken such an obsession over their livelihoods when they are simply trying to live a safe and prosperous life. I don’t know how we are supposed to handle these heavy emotions during these times when we are living in a state of loss, anger, and institutional distrust from our governments and elected officials. I feel broken inside.

The truth is that I am pissed myself. I feel helpless. I get angry when my ally friends text me, “I’m so sorry,” or “What can I do to help?”, when the reality is that they could have been helping for decades to contribute to a society filled with less hate and more diversity. I have seen videos of families being broken. I love them, but yet it’s not enough to hold a sign or apologize, it’s time we reckon with our moral compass of humanity.

Working-class people at Home Depot are being ripped away and hunted by ICE agents as if it’s a playground for their insidious behavior when they are only gardeners, landscapers, and designers helping beautify homes around LA. These gardeners look like my father. From a pregnant mom feeling helpless about the trauma she just experienced with ICE agents, to even undocumented youth in foster care being chained after being human trafficked.

Understanding the interconnections between the border and surveillance industries is crucial for achieving climate justice. Immigration and climate change are inextricably linked; they are not separate. The ICE raids did not occur overnight; the immigration industrial complex has been in place for decades. Without understanding the behemoth of the system that we are up against, we may risk being unprepared for future attacks on our communities. We must realize these connections now.Subscribed

The border and surveillance industry and the climate crisis

The Border and Surveillance Industry is a term that encompasses a vast sector comprising the border, military, detention, technology, and finance sectors.

The border and surveillance industry is busy at work every day, profiting from a web that spans the world. It’s all around us, and it gets easier to see once you know where to look. Borders can often seem obvious, as seen in the walls and fences along the Southern Border here in the US. Surveillance technology helps to expand these borders, and that is not always so obvious. Think about thermal imaging cameras, fleets of drones, and biometric databases. That is huge collections of fingerprints and iris-scans, as well as AI, phone, and social media tracking.Image provided by Unsplash.

This industry is already huge and predicted to grow faster and bigger than ever before. The largest expansion is set to be in Biometrics and Artificial Intelligence (AI). Markets and Markets research reports forecast the biometric systems market to double from $33 billion in 2019 to $65.3 billion by 2024—of which biometrics for migration purposes will be a significant sector. It says that the AI market will equal US $190.61 billion by 2025.

In the US alone, the detention and deportation machine is already huge. There are a few times and places we can trace its origins back to. One of them is October 1994, when ‘Operation Gatekeeper’ began to roll out across the Southern border. Bill Clinton was President and CBP was known as INS, Immigration and Naturalization Service. They militarized the region, with increased numbers of Border Patrol agents, new interior Border Patrol checkpoints, more beds in detention, border walls and other infrastructure where there had been none, as well as installing technology like seismic sensors to detect people crossing.

After the 9/11 attacks, this was ramped up again. The Migration Policy Institute points out that following the 9/11 attacks, immigration policy was viewed principally through the lens of national security. There were heightened visa controls and screening of international travelers and would-be immigrants, as well as the collection and storage of information in vast new databases used by law enforcement and intelligence agencies, and the use of state and local law enforcement as ‘force multipliers’ in immigration enforcement.

It’s easy to forget sometimes that migration is not a crime and migrants are not criminals, they are just a convenient excuse to militarize borders further. Here in the US, for years now, the border has steadily been fed money, resources and staff. Meanwhile, detaining immigrants began becoming a lucrative business when surging inmate populations in the 1980s led to a boom in for-profit prisons. Today, privately run prisons have become the government’s default detention centers for undocumented migrants. That is all just here in the US - let’s remember that the border and surveillance industry is a global one and as an industry, it is booming.

I want to take a beat here to point out that migration is often framed as a national security threat. This is inaccurate and it’s often xenophobic. Moving is a direct adaptation strategy to global warming. People have always moved. Migration is a natural phenomenon observed in a huge number of species, from butterflies to antelopes to giant blue whales.

Preventing people from migrating is dangerous, and it can even be deadly. We know that the border and surveillance industry is set to make more money than the annual GDP of most countries - so perhaps we can understand why so many corporations, asset management firms, military companies, consultancy firms, and tech companies are hustling hard to get a slice of this pie.

But what has this got to do with climate? A lot!

In 2003, a Pentagon-commissioned report warned that in a worst-case climate scenario, the US would need to erect ‘defensive fortresses’ to stop ‘unwanted starving migrants’ from countries. Today, the Transnational Institute reports that the world’s biggest emitters of greenhouse gases are spending, on average, 2.3 times as much on arming their borders as they are on climate finance. Countries like the United States, Germany, Japan, the United Kingdom, Canada, France and Australia are financing and building their ‘fortresses’ - a “Global Climate Wall” to keep migrants out, rather than facing the crisis that forces people to leave their homes in search of safety in the first place.Link to video HERE

Rich countries—the ones that have emitted the most carbon and caused the most global warming—promised to provide climate finance that could help countries mitigate and adapt to climate change. At a United Nations climate summit in Copenhagen in 2009, developed nations pledged to provide US$100 billion annually to developing nations by 2020, to help them adapt to climate change and mitigate further temperature increases. That promise was broken. They never delivered.

Instead, they are militarizing their response to migration and expanding border and surveillance infrastructure. Earlier this year, Statewatch and the Transnational Institute provided a guide on the EU's security, military, and border budgets for the 2021-27 period. They show a massive increase in funding - a total of €43.9bn compared to €19.7bn from 2014–2020 - this will fuel a huge increase in military spending, the further externalization of the EU's borders, and underpin the expansion of EU border agency ‘Frontex’.

This provides booming profits for a border security industry but unacceptable suffering for refugees and migrants who make increasingly dangerous – and frequently deadly – journeys to seek safety in a climate-changed world. When nations militarize their borders, that does not stop people from needing to move. It simply forces people to make longer and more dangerous journeys. This leads to the horror we saw in Texas in July of this year where 53 people were killed when they suffocated in the trailer of a truck. And the UNHCR reports that more than 3,000 people died or went missing while attempting to cross the Mediterranean and the Atlantic last year, hoping to reach Europe.

Border militarisation has intensified due to COVID-19, leading to increased troops and technology deployed on many borders worldwide. There has been an increase in violent pushbacks of refugees on borders as well as the closure of ports, including to rescue vessels, which has led to increased deaths in already deadly regions such as the Mediterranean, which we just mentioned. And the travel bans that came down super quickly - remember that an abrupt closing of borders is almost always done with no concern for the well being of people on the move.

We will continue to discuss the terrible impact this border part of the industry has on migrants. Later, I want to share with you how this industry targets and endangers people on the move. These are people like my own family - people like your own family - you know - we are all impacted somehow - even if we are not the ones moving right now. Because surveillance is a massive part of it too. Surveillance technologies like drones, centralised biometric databases and even facial recognition smartwatches are often tested out on vulnerable migrant populations before moving on to everybody else.

How are investors using their money to fuel the climate crisis, and profiting from it too?

Currently, I would like to share another crucial aspect to consider regarding the border and surveillance industry: investors are using their money to fuel the climate crisis and profiting from it as well. In fact, they profit from the climate crisis in multiple ways.

Number one: this industry’s investors play a pivotal role in the climate crisis by financing fossil fuels and agribusiness. And we all know those are responsible for increasing greenhouse gas emissions, widespread environmental destruction, and gross human rights abuses. Unfortunately, despite being so demonstrably bad, these industries remain profitable. One analysis of World Bank data shows that the oil and gas industry has generated $2.8 billion per day in pure profit over the last 50 years.

Agribusiness is second only to fossil fuels in driving the climate crisis. The management consultants at McKinsey report that the food and agribusiness industry forms a $5 trillion global sector that is only growing larger. The cost of that, to the people, animals and land, is even bigger. Every year, fires ignited to clear forests for industrial agriculture destroy millions of hectares of land customarily owned and managed by Indigenous Peoples and local communities.

Global Witness reports that extractive industries drive protracted land conflicts and systematic human rights abuses by forcibly grabbing land from Indigenous Peoples and local communities, razing cultural and sacred sites, destroying livelihoods, and unleashing violence and criminalization against those who resist. In 2020, at least 227 land defenders were killed worldwide for seeking to protect their traditional lands. But still, the profits are there, and Friends of the Earth reports that large asset managers such as BlackRock, Vanguard, and State Street all help to bankroll the climate emergency and literally fuel, no pun intended, increasing global instability.

There are plenty of receipts:

Collectively, three of the biggest asset management companies - BlackRock, Vanguard, and State Street hold more than $650 billion worth of shares in the 15 fossil fuel, agribusiness, and border and surveillance companies surveyed by Friends of the Earth.

Collectively, those companies - again lets name them - BlackRock, Vanguard, and State Street hold almost one third of all shares in these very familiar fossil fuels giants - Chevron, ExxonMobil and ConocoPhillips - if we were giving out prizes for top global greenhouse gas emissions - they would be up right there - top twenty. We’re not giving out prizes, though, nope.

That leads us to number 2: The same global instability also leads to the second way those investors make money. They are deeply invested in militarized borders and surveillance. It’s gross.

The border and surveillance industry receives significant levels of financial support from institutional investors and governments. A 2019 forecast by ResearchAndMarkets.com predicted that the Global Homeland Security and Public Safety Market would grow from US$ $431 billion in 2018 to US$ $606 billion in 2024, at a 5.8% annual growth rate. According to the report, one factor driving this is “[climate] warming-related natural disasters growth”.

These big asset management companies not only help to cause the crisis, but they also facilitate human rights violations through their support of the border and surveillance industry. That’s the industry we’re talking about today - an industry heavily in the business of separating families, eroding civil liberties, and promoting systemic racism and ethnonationalism around the world.

Those same asset management companies make money on the other side too, BlackRock, Vanguard, and State Street - hold around 32% of shares in CoreCivic and 38% of shares in GEO Group – those are companies that operate private prisons and migrant detention centers linked to widespread human rights abuses.

ICE, surveillance and climate-linked migration

AI, big data and biometrics are technologies that will substantially shape the future of border policing. For example, the EU is funding a project to develop drones capable of autonomously patrolling Europe’s borders. And many of the same surveillance companies used to expand borders and surveil migrants are also hired by fossil fuel companies to protect pipelines and other interests.

The Latinx and Chicanx organizers at Mijente have been calling out this technology and the willing participation of companies like Amazon Web Services, Palantir, Microsoft, and many others in selling their data to U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement, also known as ICE. Amazon and Palantir are considered the backbone of the federal government’s immigration and law enforcement.

The Tech giant Amazon has a multi-billion-dollar contract with ICE providing the servers needed to profile, track, and detain migrants. While Palantir Technologies, the tech company co-founded and chaired by the Trump-supporting billionaire Peter Thiel, was paid $189m, as reported by The Guardian. to create custom-built programs to allow ICE agents to link public and private databases. So that they could quote,“visualise an interconnected web of data pulled from nearly every part of an individual’s life”. Scary stuff.

Mijente points out that the border and security industry isn’t limited to feeding the detention and deportation machinery but also to policing and military operations, endangering the safety and security of communities already vulnerable to criminalization, from the Bronx to Compton to the southern border.

My own extended family has been targeted by ICE in the past, like so many immigrant families here. This is not by accident. Mijente has uncovered ample evidence of wildly lucrative contracts, invasive technologies at the local, federal, and international levels, and a revolving door of tech executives and government officials driving and making profits off of human rights abuses and widespread trauma and suffering. Ever since the inception of the agency in 2002, ICE has had information technology (IT) contracts with large defense contractors and IT services companies. But with the Trump administration, came unprecedented levels of surveillance, detention and deportation, which heightened the importance of new technologies and companies.

This dragnet of data built up by ICE goes way beyond migrants. ICE has a vast reach, with its intelligence weaponised through algorithmic tools for searching and analysing data. Earlier this year, researchers from Georgetown University released a report that took them two years. In it, they revealed that ICE has been operating largely in secret and with minimal public oversight, to put together a formidable arsenal of digital capabilities that allows its agents to - and I’m quoting the researchers now “pull detailed dossiers on nearly anyone, seemingly at any time”.

Some of the data gathered by ICE includes:

Driver’s license data for three of every four adults living in the US.

Data drawn from the utility records of 75% of adults, covering more than 218 million unique utility consumers in all 50 states.

Facial recognition technology drawn from the driver’s license photos of at least a third of all adults.

The Georgetown researchers base their report on hundreds of freedom of information requests and a review of more than 100,000 previously unseen Ice spending transactions. They suggest the motivation was partly to increase the number of deportations of undocumented people and partly as part of the US government’s - and I’m quoting again - “larger push to amass as much information as possible about all of our lives”.

ICE has spent more than $1.3bn on geolocation technology, including contracts with private companies that own license plate scanning databases, and a further $96m was spent on biometrics, largely face recognition databases; $97m on private data brokers that gather data on individuals from a range of different sources including more than 80 utility companies; and with all of that data they needed even more data analysis tools, and they spent $569m on those.

Why climate justice is migrant justice

Climate change is often referred to as a threat multiplier, as it exacerbates other forces, vulnerabilities, and inequities. When you consider this, it highlights the importance of forming alliances and mutual commitments across movements. The ideal and effective response to these compounding factors needs the engagement and alignment of multiple movements, including climate and environmental justice; immigrant and Indigenous justice; racial, LGBTQ+ and gender justice and economic justice.

And on the subject of money, border violence profiteering is climate change profiteering. The latest IPCC reports are clear - the climate crisis does not care about lines drawn on maps. Creating safe pathways for people to move and live in dignity is essential. You know how, in the environmental movement, we reject the idea of 'sacrifice zones' resulting from ecological destruction? That is so important. We also need to reject the border and surveillance industry that encourages governments and investors to see borders as sacrifice zones for migrants.

Migration has been caused and complicated by war, enslavement and persecution. Today, migrants and refugees must not be stigmatized - if anything needs to be stigmatized it is corporate profiteering from refugee and migration abuse. Migrants are not a problem to be solved, safe migration is and always has been part of the solution.

The climate crisis and the impact of environmental degradation fall disproportionately on people of color and on communities in the Global South. This is patently unfair, considering that the wealthiest 1% of the world’s population causes twice as much carbon dioxide as the poorest 50% of people, and they are the ones who live overwhelmingly in countries most vulnerable to climate change, meaning they are bearing the brunt of a crisis they did not cause.

Now, a vast industry and its investors are preventing those same people from moving to find safety. Without climate justice, there can be no migrant justice.

The climate justice movement and the migrant justice movement have a common oppressor. And common oppressors are evil, but dismantling this oppression is also a beautiful way to build resistance.

It’s also vital that we do that, because our common oppressor is the border and surveillance industry-system that values profits, whether from carbon extraction or border violence, above human life. That industry is connected, organized, and powerful right now - the climate justice movement and the migrant justice movement must be just as connected and organized - that is how we will win. Rather than cashing in on the climate crisis, it is time for the world’s most prominent financiers to divest from the industries that fuel and profit from it.

Protecting immigrants from ICE raids begins with educating ourselves about the history of these horrific industries.

[moviesludge]

F

FACELESS

FADE TO BLACK

FAMILY PLOT

FASTER PUSSYCAT! KILL! KILL!

FATAL EXAM

FATAL EXPOSURE

FAUST: LOVE OF THE DAMNED

FEAST

FEAST II: SLOPPY SECONDS

FEMALE PRISONER 701: SCORPION

FEMALE TROUBLE

FIEND WITHOUT A FACE

FINDING DORY

FITZCARRALDO

FIVE ELEMENT NINJAS

FLESHEATER

FLIGHT OF THE NAVIGATOR

THE FLY II

THE FOG

FORBIDDEN WORLD

FORBIDDEN ZONE

FOREVER EVIL

FOUR ROOMS

FRANKENHOOKER

FREAKED

FREDDY GOT FINGERED

FREEWAY

FREQUENCY

FRIDAY THE 13TH: THE FINAL CHAPTER

FRIDAY THE 13TH: A NEW BEGINNING

FRIDAY THE 13TH PART VII: THE NEW BLOOD

FRIDGE

THE FRIENDS OF EDDIE COYLE

FRIGHT NIGHT

FRIGHT SHOW

THE FRIGHTENERS

FROGS

FROM BEYOND

FROM DUSK TILL DAWN

FROSTBITER: WRATH OF THE WENDIGO

FUBAR

THE FUNHOUSE

FUNKY FOREST: THE FIRST CONTACT

FUNNY MAN

FUTURE KILL

[r4spberry-vinaigrette]

thought of how software by nick lutsco is soooo abel coded

I saw how you suffered

And I was covered in shame

I take offense at my comfort

And never remember your names

"you" in the first line is scott -- abel is ashamed of how 01_01 suffered due to abel trying to bring scott back, but ultimately in the next lyrics he refuses to let himself be comfortable in life without either the grief of losing scott or the joy of having scott back. he doesn't try to remember the names of the other managers after scott dies because hes practically just waiting until the day one of them can be scott.

I am blaming the software

There’s something wrong with the code

Then we fight for solutions

As if we’re screaming at ghosts

It’s all a part of the display

It only adds to the pain

I left my car on the freeway

And I'm never going back again

the first two lyrics is ... literally him trying to figure out how to bring scott back. he figures if he just reoptimizes the code a bit more, itll be like scott never left and everything will be worth it. he'll be a person again. "then we fight for solutions / as if we're screaming at ghosts" is abel trying to find a solution to his grief over scott, but it's a losing cause. he is both literally arguing with ghosts (the people who have died in the name of becoming scott) and metaphorically doing so (trying to argue for something that is intangible). "it's all a part of the display / it only adds to the pain" because 01_01 was marketed but that only made abel feel worse when 01_01 kept failing to be scott, along with the subsequent five managers and every phone guy after that abel got to witness... "i left my car on the freeway / and i'm never going back again" is a bit more of a stretch but like. cars are vehicles typically used to get somewhere or get away from somewhere, a means of transport. in this sense, abel has stagnated. hes still trying to get to the same goal by some means but hes rejecting the one way that will get him there reliably. he is going towards a cause he keeps sabotaging himself on and the cause (bringing back scott) was doomed from the start !!! my brains kinda short circuiting cuz im tired rn but i have THOUGHTS on this.

I keep surmising you’re next And my indifference withdraws I begin pulling you closer And mourn each passing day lost It’s like I’m fighting a sickness Convincing me we’re already gone Sometimes it feels like God is a DJ And “Tribulation” is His favorite song

first two lines are about abel w/ the five managers after scott passes... he keeps sending the five managers to their deaths and while hes a dick in the name of having scott back, each time he might be able to have scott back he softens a bit in the face of it. he keeps pulling the memory of scott closer and mourning him just as badly, and itd likely be hard for that not to leech into when the five managers get closer to being "scott". but then his hopes are shattered again, of course. also on the "tribulation is His favorite song" line -- tribulation can literally mean "an experience that tests one's endurance, patience, or faith" and especially with scott being treated like almost a deity in how highly hes spoken of ... abel believing that all the pain hes going through is a test of faith in scott... aauagh.

this is part headcanon and all but its still interesting to think about in terms of application and interpretation of canon events methinks ↕️🙂

[btw... @rratskill @antiquecandlekitty sorry for pings but i think yall would like this... feel free to tell me not to mention yall in the future if that bugs you :)]

[atlantathecity]

Building city developments at access points to the Beltline & MARTA & bike lanes is the future Atlanta needs. Building cities around access points to freeways is a problematic past that we need to undo.

It's hard to walk across this North Avenue bridge over I-75/85 without pondering these things. It offers a striking view of our mistakes.

[cnu-newurbanism]

Freeways Without Futures 2023

This year saw the release of our 8th #FreewaysWithoutFutures report. The 2023 report featured ten local campaigns in communities advocating for equity & reconnection during a time of reckoning for North American urban freeway infrastructure.

https://www.cnu.org/highways-boulevards/freeways-without-futures/2023

[cvsette]

I want to go home so so so badly I want to go back to my 70sq ft room with high ceilings and a tall window and get off the F train at 15th st-prospect park and walk down past the Catholic church/school and the grocery store and the dogwood tree and the tree the coffee shop doesn’t trim so you have to duck under it in the spring and the subway vents and on that one narrow strip of concrete between those and the main sidewalk that you can walk on like it’s a tightrope just watch out there’s a crack that will trip you if you forget. and the cars on the freeway sound like the ocean. and you take the train to work and everyone at work is a friend or a future friend and you look forward to seeing your regulars and watching their kids grow up and have their orders memorized. and if the subway skips your stop on your way home you can walk 20-30 minutes at 2am without fear. and you feel lonely (like you always have) but you never feel alone because you’re always surrounded by other people and no matter how preoccupied you are with your own issues you notice five interesting things going on around you without even trying to. And every day you could theoretically call in sick and go to the Met but you don’t because you’re too straight-laced but you could.. And you read Frank O’Hara’s A Step Away From Them and The Day Lady Died and As Planned on the subway in a book of poetry you bought from McNally Jackson at Albee square mall and then you stop by the wine/liquor store next door and go up to your room and listen to the men talking and smoking cigars through the window as a woman gives birth next door. And you feel you’ve carved out a little home for yourself and you’re proud of it and the insignificant life you have made for yourself in this vast sea of humanity. and you think of how everyone you’ve ever walked past is striving for something and the way the lights of the city look when you take an uber home late and the arguments of the three child-preteen-teen sisters and their parents in the unit above you and feel more human than you ever realized it was possible to feel.

[borealswatch-clangen]

Colony Culture

Please feel free to send asks regarding more, this is not everything! Just put down what felt most important.

Vocabulary

The story lacks warrior cats specific terms. Seasons, time passage, and many nouns are simply the same as human english terms.

Laws, World & Society

Cats do not follow any strict code or law unless related to their home colony's beliefs.

The borders of colonies is not always strict, not is "trespassing" especially strict either. It is noted when a cat from elsewhere is deep within the territory of another home and may be questioned. Colony feelings are more based around direct actions and not things like respecting borders, exploring land, etc. So long as a cat is not committing bad behavior or a group is not terrorizing the other, most things are welcomed.

This includes cross-colony romance, but some colonies don't favour it and will see those cats are not truly being part of their home colony any longer.

While cats can meet with others between colonies with ease and little issue, colonies gather once every 3 moons for a "Gathering". Located close to South Hills and within viewing range of a distant freeway. A rocky crag with a fallen cell and tracking tower with no power. Leaders perch atop the large fallen pole while cats gather on the stones.

Ranks & Names

No warrior cats name conventions. All cats hold normal names of varying things-- some are named after nature while others pass on "human" names which have been learned over generations of house cat exposure across all areas.

Leaders gain a special suffix however. It is acquired based on when the former leader has died. If a leader dies at day time, the new leader will get -Sun (at midday). Others include -Moon (at nighttime), -Dawn (at sunset), -Dusk (at sunrise). If a leader's death is somehow "unknown" it is simply based on when the deputy becomes aware of the death as that is when it is considered "official". Past leaders are referred to with a -Sky suffix after death.

Ranks are less strict across most colonies but they vary. They are often assigned jobs but those jobs are not strict, and are chosen primarily by the cat themself.

All colonies have a leader, deputy (second hand), nurses, apprentices, and kits. However kits and apprentices are not referred to by such a rank and are simply marked off at ages.

Adult cats are categorized by jobs. Hunter, Fighters, Watchers, and Aides. Some dabble across multiple jobs. Most cats will learn some of all jobs, but ultimately decide what they wish to follow as a primary job.

Watchers originate from BW and are not adopted the same way across other colonies, and their purpose can range from being spiritual to not spiritual at all.

Their job is similar to that of a mediator and medicine cat combined, without healing. They are limited in number unlike the others, and are the cats who will communicate with the other colonies outside of gatherings. A Watcher typically is a cat who watches the stars and "reads" them for signs, and scouts the territory for its status and safety. They convene with other colony Watchers to report on these things, instead of waiting every 3 months for a gathering.

Spirituality & beliefs

All colonies have varying similar beliefs. Things like leader name structure originate from High Lake, and carry across all colonies in the present.

High Lake cats tend to focus on the stars as something to read or gets guidance from. But this does not include "visions" or "prophecies". They like to document their findings and have deep discussions between Watchers on what constellations mean and what their positions mean. They do not have special beliefs about their ancestors aside from finding constellations that resemble them or their events.

Boreal's Watch have more extensive and spiritual beliefs. Their leaders are cats who can "read" the fires, and for them the fires can contain messages about their future, way of life, or prophecies. They use stars much like the Lake cats do, for stories and constellations (which may be shared between colonies or entirely unique). In their culture is is considered incredibly disrespectful to cause a fire yourself, as it is seen as manipulating the words of God. Lightning/thunderstorms are seen as important as they often bring fires. Putting out or directing fires during wildfire season is part of their purpose, as they respect the safety of the forests and "mastering" the flames is what they believe in. Dying in a fire however is seen as bad, because of the respect and message fires can carry for them.

The BW cats also look up to their founder in a very elevated way. Boreal is seen as a near god-like figure. Cats will swear on his name for being the original "fire reader", for finding this new spiritual language of sorts. They see God as the creator of their world, as Boreal claimed.

The colony follows Boreal's original ideals and new ones brought by future leaders:

- Fire holds true messages, not the stars. They are sacred because they do not last, and because life is born from them after they leave.

- You must accept loss from disaster, as disaster is part of living. Those unable to accept loss and go against this (ex. leaving the colony) are weak and unworthy of the good fires can bring.

- "God" is the horizon and the sun and moon are his children that keep us alive

- Cats must be united as a pair for marriage, to follow the first messages of the fire's perfect way of life.

- Cats must follow the messages the fire brings, as told by their colony leader.

The Burns follow similar beliefs to BW, but do not strongly follow a "God" or rules around what Boreal claimed. They do not beleive the fire holds actual messages and rather like to beleive that the earth and stars are part of their fallen ancestors. They also hold lore of their own constellations. They prefer to leave their dead in the open so they can be taken by nature easily.

It is said that some of their cats can read the fires too, but because they do not practice it, this tradition fell our of their culture and has little importance to them. Some see it as a curse, and feel one can be driven mad if they are swayed by the words the fire has.

The South Hills have varying beleifs and are not very spiritual. They come from many backgrounds and are also not a very organized group compared to the other colonies, due to many that arrive come from past the freeway.

[gagirlleaving]

Life Was Simpler In 1970

I was a kid. Dad got an apartment in Atlanta because he got a job there with the phone company. Everyone thought he was a nice fella.

Yeah, right. He also was abusive and my mother tried to cope. This particular year, we were on the way back home from Dad's apartment.

This photograph kind of symbolizes my life. Trying to merge onto a freeway with a very short on-ramp.

Looks kind of peaceful. Mama had just gotten me a Kodak Instamatic camera and traffic was exciting to me. This is my only photo from that trip.

I have generic memories of our trips to Atlanta. We took MARTA, which was fun. Got things we couldn't get in our rural town. Mama and I loved the excitement of the city, and Dad's apartment gave us a new home base for exploration.

Mama talked about taking trains to Atlanta from her rural town. Later, Mama and Dad lived there.

When life is hard, as it was with Dad's constant put downs and worse, you learn to appreciate the good things in life. Even a car trip in stop-and-start traffic, which Mama hated. That's why we took MARTA, besides Mama wanting me to learn practical skills with transit.

I think we were so close because of Dad's abuse. We were both female, and cooperated to cope.

My life is like this picture. It only looks peaceful, in the way a duck looks that way while paddling hard beneath the surface. Every merge on this interstate brought danger. Stop-and-start traffic was very hard on Mama and painful because she had a bad back.

But, like Mama, I keep going and smile while I am doing it.

Life was simpler then because prices were cheap. There were always things we couldn't afford, but Mama had a great sense of humor. I miss her a lot.

In 1970 we were complaining about Richard Nixon and Watergate. Women were fighting for equal pay for equal work. I was slowly gaining understanding of just how hard it was to make ends meet.

Now, with rents out of sight and food prices soaring, things promise to be worse in 2025.

So, my grown daughter and I are planning our move to Mexico.

Without a visa, we may be able to stay for 6 months, come back to the US, and go back to Mexico where we start our 6 month stay again.

I'm a packrat, so we'll have to go through our 3 bedrooms filled with boxes and have an estate sale.

My daughter will have to sell her house. This is a great disappointment for her. We thought this move would be our last. But, we had high hopes, didn't we?

But, Corene can go back to school. That's a plus. This will be like a long study abroad program. We are both studying Spanish. Corene is very smart, and I have better hopes for her future now that we made this decision.

At this point, we're waiting to hear back from the realtor. This will determine the timing of this move, because the house must sell first, and we want to get maximum money for it.

I'm posting under a pseudonym because I don't want our relatives to know. Not yet.

This account will be a diary of our research, and our thoughts, and how we plan to accomplish The Big Adventure.

[kudosmyhero]

Transformers vs. The Terminator #1: Enemy of My Enemy - part 1

Read Date: August 24, 2023 Cover Date: March 2020 ● Writer: David Mariotte ◦ John Barber ● Art: Alex Milne ● Colorist: David García Cruz ● Letterer: Jake M. Wood ● Editor: Tom Waltz ◦ Riley Farmer ●

**HERE BE SPOILERS: Skip ahead to the fan art/podcast to avoid spoilers (👏=didn't like it, 👏👏=it was ok, 👏👏👏=I liked it, 👏👏👏👏=I really liked it!, 👏👏👏👏👏=I loved it!)

Reactions As I Read: ● it’s series like this that prompted me to create the “crossover that dreams are made of” tag ● 1984, eh? ● the art, ink, and coloring are awesome! ● I am fully on board

● 👏👏👏👏👏

Synopsis: The year 2029: in the war-torn ruins of Los Angeles, a lone resistance fighter makes his way through a mass graveyard of mangled Cybertronian corpses, slips past the machines that patrol the burned-out city, and makes his way to his rendezvous, only to be met by a skeletal Terminator android! But all is not as it seems; this resistance fighter is himself a Terminator, an advanced T-800 unit clad in human flesh, sourced by Skynet for a desperate, last-ditch mission. In Skynet's subterranean Omega Base, legions of Terminators prepare this cyborg infiltrator for a trip through time via Skynet's experimental time displacement device, but their window of opportunity is closing fast. Sure enough, an aboveground explosion shakes the bunker, a sure sign that an enemy patrol's found their position—a patrol that consists of Starscream, his Seekers, and the Insecticons… for in this upside-down future, Skynet is the resistance, whose mechanical soldiers wage a losing war against the forces of the Decepticons!

War machines from two different worlds clash as Skynet tries to stall out the Decepticons for as long as possible: hordes of T-800 Terminators attempt to overwhelm their foes but are quickly blown to bits, and even Skynet's gigantic, Cybertronian-derived T-8000s only impede the Transformers for a moment before Skywarp and Thundercracker get the upper hand. With the destruction of Skynet's last holdout, the Decepticons have seemingly completed their conquest of Earth, until Starscream glimpses the activation of the time machine. Although he's unaware of the true nature of Skynet's final gambit, Starscream nevertheless tries to snatch the T-800 out of the glowing energy sphere that envelops the cyborg, but he's not fast enough to stop his foe from disappearing in a blinding flash of light…

The year 1984: in a Los Angeles alleyway, a crackling time sphere deposits the naked form of the T-800 just outside of the Big Jeff's restaurant that will, in his future, eventually become the site of Omega Base. Inside that restaurant, a news broadcast reports on the impending eruption of Mount St. Hilary in Oregon, but waitress Sarah Connor has other concerns on her mind as she serves coffee to a particularly surly trucker, whose enthusiasm about his new shotgun causes her to accidentally spill coffee on his shirt. At the behest of her manager, Sarah goes after the man when he storms out without paying his bill, and although Sarah tries to get him to see sense, the trucker grows more and more irate. Right when it seems that the situation is about to get violent, however, he finds himself grabbed by the still-nude Terminator, who demands that the man hand over his clothes. Naturally, the trucker refuses and immediately goes for his gun, but although his shot goes right through his assailant's hand, it doesn't even slow him down—and the Terminator promptly kills the man with a single punch. Understandably terrified by this encounter, Sarah tries to get out of the situation as fast as she can, but freezes when her rescuer, now dressed in the other man's clothing, points a gun at her and demands to know her name. When Sarah introduces herself, the Terminator asks if she knows anything about Mount St. Hilary and how he can get there. Sarah stammers that he could take the freeway up to Oregon… but the Terminator intimidates her into joining him as he climbs into the truck.

The unlikely duo make their way north along the interstate to Oregon as Sarah tries to press this mysterious man for more information, but the Terminator remains cagey and simply tells her that they need to reach the volcano before it erupts, the only way to prevent the end of the world. Although she's understandably confused, Sarah takes the opportunity to point out that this plan has already gone awry: the volcano has already begun its fateful eruption. Sarah's compatriot informs her that, although they can't stop the volcano from erupting, he can switch to his secondary directive… seconds before he stomps on the gas pedal and smashes through a state trooper roadblock! Terrified, Sarah tries to shout that she's being kidnapped as she wrestles for control of the wheel, but the Terminator misunderstands the gesture and takes it as a cue to veer their truck right off the road and into the foothills. Sarah initially thinks that they're driving their truck straight into the lava until the Terminator corrects her… they're headed towards the looming shape of a gigantic starship lodged in the mountainside.

As the truck approaches the vessel, a tiny machine emerges from the wreck; this strange probe promptly envelops their truck in a beam of blue light… at which point the Terminator uses the trucker's shotgun to blow the machine out of the sky. The critically damaged probe loses altitude and slams into the driver's side of the vehicle, crumpling the Terminator beneath a mass of metal—and although it takes much more than that to put down a Terminator, a horrified Sarah realizes that her captor isn't human at all when the impact sloughs off half of the robot's organic face. Ignoring her questions, the Terminator grinds the ruined truck to a halt deep inside the cavernous starship and explains that this is where it all began: this is the ship that brought Skynet's enemies to Earth, and the probe is a sign that the alien invaders have already awoken. Sarah asks what'll happen to her, but the Terminator doesn't care: she played no role in the development of Skynet, and her survival in the coming machine war is irrelevant. Although Skynet did not send him back far enough to achieve his primary directive—to prevent the awakening of the Cybertronians entirely—his secondary directive is to terminate Skynet's enemies; a fact that he boldly announces to the Decepticons as a reactivated Megatron looms over a still-dormant Optimus Prime!

(https://tfwiki.net/wiki/Enemy_of_My_Enemy_Part_One)

Fan Art: Transformers Vs Terminator by Justiceavenger

Accompanying Podcast: ● Swerve's Bar Podcast - here

[randomperson99sworld]

Ruffled Feathers 🪶

~ Part 42 ~

Summary: Julia Morgan, Bobby's niece, has always been a royal thorn in Dean Winchesters ass since the day they met 1 year ago at Bobby's memorial. She wants to be a hunter, he thinks she's a dumb kid playing dress up. Will she always be seen as an unwanted load in Dean's eyes or will he see something more?

Pairing: Dean x OC

Warnings: Age gap, language, sexual themes (used lightly), physical abuse (Not by Dean).

Word Count: 3,772

A/N: Did you guys like this chapter? It’s def my longest one lol there’s a lot to unpack in it, poor Julia :/ so glad she has Dean there for her tho. Also, Julia works at a vet clinic part time. I didn’t put that in the chapters because it’s unnecessary but there will be a scene in a future chapter that includes this. I don’t want to give away any spoilers tho lol Stated as always this story is cross posted on Wattpad. Happy reading! ♥️

Things at the bunker had settled back into a routine after the vamp hunt. Dean and Sam were already gearing up for another hunt, some strange occurrences in a nearby town that had them leaving early in the morning. Julia, feeling restless, had been left behind this time with strict instructions from both brothers to take it easy.

But Julia wasn't the type to sit idle, especially when she heard whispers of a demon wreaking havoc nearby. She knew she could handle it. After all, she had learned a lot from Sam and Dean. Plus, their hunt was nearby too, so if needed, she could always call for backup. So, without telling them, she grabbed her gear and headed out, determined to take care of it alone.

The hunt had gone smoothly, at least at first. Julia tracked the demon to an old, abandoned building. Armed with the devil's trap and her angel blade, she took it down with relative ease. What she didn't realize, though, was that she'd missed its friend—a second demon lurking nearby, watching her every move.

She hadn't noticed anything unusual until she was already back on the freeway, heading home. A creeping sense of dread washed over her as she glanced in her rearview mirror. The black car behind her was getting closer... too close. Her heart pounded in her chest as the car picked up speed, clearly aiming for her. Panic set in.

Julia fumbled for her phone, quickly dialing Dean.

Dean's voice was gruff when he answered,

"Hey, we're just wrapping up here. What's up?"

"I... uh, I might've gone after a demon on my own," Julia admitted, her voice shaking slightly.

"And I think it's friend is after me. It's been tailing me for miles."

"What?!" Dean's voice immediately shot up an octave, a mix of anger and concern flooding his words. "Julia, are you serious right now? Why the hell didn't you tell us? Where are you?"

"I'm on the freeway, heading back toward the bunker," she said, glancing nervously at the car still closing in on her. "But I don't think I'm gonna make it there before this thing catches up to me."

Dean's jaw clenched on the other end. Alright, I'm coming to get you. Just—stay calm, alright? Don't do anything stupid. Keep driving."

"I'm trying!" Julia's voice wavered as she saw the car gaining on her.

Suddenly, the black car sped up and slammed into the back of her vehicle, causing her to swerve. Julia let out a sharp gasp, struggling to maintain control of the car.

"Julia?!" Dean's voice was loud in her ear. "What's happening?!"

"They just hit me!" she cried out, her knuckles white as she gripped the steering wheel.

"Shit. Alright, I'm on my way. Just keep it together, okay? I'm coming for you."

But as the words left his mouth, Julia's world tilted violently. The black car hit her again, harder this time, and she lost control. Her car veered off the road, flipping as it crashed into the ditch. The phone flew out of her hand, and the world went black.

"Julia?! Julia!" Dean shouted into the phone, but there was no response. The sound of static crackled in his ear, and his heart dropped into his stomach.

Without wasting another second, Dean floored it, racing against time to get to her.

Dean drove like a man possessed, his hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white. The road blurred in front of him as he pushed the Impala to its limit, the only thought running through his mind: Get to Julia. Now.

When he finally reached the scene, his heart nearly stopped. Julia's car was upside down in the ditch, smoke rising from the crumpled wreckage. His blood ran cold as he leaped out of the Impala and ran toward the car.

"Julia!" he shouted, skidding to a halt next to the overturned vehicle. His hands were shaking as he tried to pry the door open, finally managing to yank it free.

Julia was slumped in the driver's seat, blood smeared across her face, her breathing shallow. For a moment, everything else faded away. The only thing that mattered was her.

"Julia, come on," Dean muttered, gently pulling her out of the car, cradling her limp body in his arms. "Stay with me. You hear me?"

She groaned softly, her eyelids fluttering open. "Dean..."

"I'm here," Dean said, his voice thick with emotion. "I've got you."

He didn't waste any time. Carefully, he carried her back to the Impala, laying her in the back seat before jumping into the driver's seat. His hands were still shaking, but he forced himself to focus as he sped toward the nearest hospital.

Dean sat in the cold, sterile waiting room of the hospital, the constant beeping of machines and low hum of voices around him only adding to his restlessness. He had been pacing for what felt like hours, hands clenched into fists at his sides. His mind replayed the crash over and over again, the sound of Julia's voice cutting off, the sight of her covered in blood. It was enough to drive him mad with worry.

He was so deep in thought that he almost jumped when his phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out, seeing Sam's name flash across the screen. In the chaos of the last few hours, he had completely forgotten to tell Sam what had happened.

With a sigh, Dean answered, bracing himself for the inevitable questions.

"Dean, where the hell did you go?" Sam's voice was sharp, but there was an edge of concern underneath the frustration. "I turn around for one second and you're just... gone."

"Sam..." Dean rubbed the back of his neck, his voice heavy. "Something happened. Julia... she went on a hunt alone."

"What?" Sam sounded both surprised and worried. "Why didn't she tell us?"

"I don't know, man," Dean replied, his voice tight with guilt and frustration. "She took on a demon alone and didn't realize it had a buddy. She called me when the second one was after her. I was on the phone with her when she crashed."

Sam was silent for a moment, clearly processing what Dean had said. "Is she okay?" he finally asked, his voice quieter.

"She's in surgery," Dean said, his heart tightening at the words. "The docs said she should be fine, but... hell, man. It was close."

Sam let out a slow breath. "You should've called me sooner."

"I know," Dean muttered, guilt flooding through him. "I just... I wasn't thinking straight. I had to get to her."

"It's okay," Sam said, his tone softening. "You did the right thing. Just let me know how she's doing. I'll catch a ride back to the bunker."

Dean nodded, though Sam couldn't see it. "I'll keep you updated."

They hung up, and Dean stared at the phone for a moment, feeling a knot of guilt settle in his chest. He had left Sam without an explanation, but Sam understood. He always did.

A short while later, a doctor approached Dean, pulling him from his thoughts. The man's expression was calm, and Dean immediately stood, his heart pounding in his chest.

"How is she?" Dean asked, his voice rough with worry.

The doctor gave a reassuring smile. "We were able to stop the bleeding. She has a minor concussion and some bruised ribs, but she's stable now. She should be waking up shortly."

Dean let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. Relief flooded his system, and for the first time in hours, he felt like he could breathe again.

"Can I see her?" he asked, his voice softer now.

The doctor nodded. "She's in recovery. You can go in, but don't stay too long. She still needs to rest."

Dean thanked him and made his way down the hall to Julia's room. When he walked in, the sight of her lying there—her face pale, a bandage wrapped around her head—sent a wave of guilt crashing over him again.

He pulled up a chair next to her bed, sitting down heavily. He reached out, gently taking her hand in his, his thumb brushing over her knuckles.

"Dammit, Jules," he muttered under his breath, his voice thick with emotion. "Why didn't you just tell us? You didn't have to do this alone."

Julia stirred slightly, her eyelids fluttering as she began to wake. Dean leaned in closer, his heart pounding in his chest as her eyes finally opened.

She blinked up at him, confusion and pain clouding her expression for a moment before she registered where she was. "Dean?" she croaked, her voice hoarse.

"I'm here," Dean said softly, squeezing her hand. "You're okay."

Julia winced slightly, trying to shift in the bed, but she immediately stilled as pain shot through her body. "What... what happened?"

"You went and did something stupid," Dean replied, though his voice was more tender than harsh. "You went after a demon alone, remember?"

Her brows furrowed as the memories slowly came back. "Yeah... I remember." She groaned softly, closing her eyes. "I really messed up, didn't I?"

Dean shook his head, though the guilt in his eyes told another story. "You got lucky, that's all. Don't do it again."

Julia managed a small, weak smile, her fingers curling around his. "I'll try not to."

They sat in silence for a few moments, the weight of everything that had happened still hanging in the air. Dean could feel the fear and anger bubbling just beneath the surface, but he pushed it down for now. She was safe, and that was all that mattered.

"I'm sorry," Julia whispered, her voice barely above a breath. "I didn't mean to make you worry."

Dean sighed, leaning forward to press a kiss to her forehead. "Just promise me you won't go solo again."

She nodded, her eyes closing as exhaustion overtook her. "Promise."

Dean stayed by her side, holding her hand as she drifted back to sleep.

As the night settled in, the hospital room dimmed, casting a soft glow over Julia's sleeping figure. Dean sat in the chair beside her bed, still holding her hand gently. He hadn't let go since she'd fallen asleep again. Every now and then, he glanced at her face, watching her chest rise and fall with steady breaths. The sight was comforting, but the weight of the day still sat heavy on his chest.

He glanced at his phone, realizing he hadn't updated Sam yet. Pulling it out, Dean dialed his brother's number, his eyes still on Julia. After a few rings, Sam picked up.

"Hey, Dean. How's she doing?"

Dean sighed softly, leaning back in the chair. "She's stable. Doc says she'll be okay, but they want her to stay overnight. Just to make sure everything's fine."

Sam's voice softened with relief. "That's good to hear. You staying there with her?"

"Yeah," Dean replied without hesitation. "I'm not leaving until she's out of here. I'll be back at the bunker in the morning once they let her go."

"Alright," Sam said. "I figured. Do you need anything? I can bring some stuff by if you want."

Dean shook his head, though Sam couldn't see it. "Nah, I'm good. Just let me know if you find any cases or anything."

"I will. Take care of her, Dean. And get some rest if you can," Sam advised, his tone understanding.

"I'll try," Dean muttered, knowing sleep wouldn't come easy.

After hanging up, Dean leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. The beeping of the heart monitor and the quiet sounds of the hospital filled the room. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to push back the guilt gnawing at him.

Julia had been reckless, but so had he—rushing into the situation without thinking it through. The fear of losing her had clouded everything else. He couldn't stop the what-ifs from spinning in his head: What if he hadn't gotten there in time? What if the crash had been worse?

The thought made his grip on her hand tighten just a bit, as if holding her would keep the fear at bay.

Several hours passed like this—Dean sitting vigil by her side, his thoughts a constant loop of worry, guilt, and relief. Eventually, he dozed off, his head resting on the side of her bed, still holding her hand.

When he stirred, it was the sound of footsteps outside the room that woke him. He sat up straight, blinking the sleep from his eyes. The hospital was quiet, except for the occasional nurse walking by. Julia was still asleep, her face peaceful but pale under the dim light.

Dean glanced at the clock on the wall. It was well past midnight now. He rubbed a hand over his face, trying to shake the exhaustion that clung to him. He wasn't leaving her side, no matter how tired he was.

A few hours later, just as the first hints of dawn were starting to creep through the blinds, Julia began to stir again. Her eyes fluttered open, and she looked over at Dean, her voice still groggy. "You didn't leave, did you?"

Dean shook his head, giving her a small smile. "Not a chance."

She gave a tired smile back, her fingers weakly squeezing his hand. "You didn't have to stay, you know."

Dean scoffed lightly. "Like hell I didn't. After the stunt you pulled, someone's gotta make sure you don't do anything else stupid."

Julia chuckled softly, though it quickly turned into a wince of pain. "Yeah... I deserve that."

"You think?" Dean's tone was teasing, but there was still a seriousness in his eyes. He wasn't letting her off the hook that easily.

"Okay, okay," she muttered. "I messed up. Won't happen again."

"It better not," Dean replied, his voice softening as he leaned in closer. "I don't know what I'd do if I lost you."

Julia's eyes met his, and for a moment, there was nothing but silence between them. The weight of his words hung in the air, unspoken but understood.

Before she could say anything, the door to the room opened, and a nurse stepped in, checking Julia's chart. "Good morning," she said with a smile, "You have a visitor,"

Julia's eyes widened, with confusion. Who?? Before she could fully gather her thoughts, the door swung open, and there he was—her father, with the same intense expression she remembered from her childhood.

What the hell was he doing here?

"I got here as soon as I could," George said in a gruff voice, his concern evident as he quickly walked to Julia's bedside. His eyes scanned her injuries with a mix of worry and barely concealed anger. "I flew in as soon as I got the call from the hospital. What the hell happened, Julia?"

She swallowed hard, unsure of how to even begin explaining. Her father's eyes flicked over to Dean, narrowing suspiciously.

"And who the hell is this?" George snapped, his voice rising as he pointed at Dean.

Dean, who had been standing quietly by her side, straightened up, his own irritation flaring at the man's tone. "Her boyfriend," Dean replied curtly, his jaw clenched. "Who the hell are you?"

"My dad," Julia interjected quickly, sensing the tension rising between the two men. Her eyes darted between them, seeing the fire in Dean's eyes and knowing exactly why it was there. He remembered all too well the stories she had told him about her past—the black eye her father had given her, the years of resentment and unresolved anger that lingered between them.

George's eyes widened in shock for a moment before he masked it with a scoff, crossing his arms. "Boyfriend, huh?" His tone was dismissive, as if Dean's existence in Julia's life was nothing more than a nuisance. "I guess I shouldn't be surprised."

Dean's fists tightened at his sides, the urge to say something sharp or retaliate bubbling inside him. But he held back, if only for Julia's sake. He knew this wasn't the time or place to pick a fight, no matter how much this man deserved it. But God, all he could think about was that story Julia had told him about her father—the one who had once given her a black eye when she was just a kid.

His mind raced with anger and protectiveness, and Julia, sensing it all, quickly spoke up.

"Dean, could you get me a glass of water?" she asked softly, her voice cutting through the tense atmosphere in the room. She needed to break the moment, to give Dean a reason to step away before things escalated any further.

Dean hesitated, his eyes still locked on her father, but then he gave a small nod, turning on his heel and heading toward the door. Julia watched him go, relief and guilt washing over her. She hated the tension, the way her past was crashing into her present.

As soon as Dean was out of earshot, her father turned his gaze back to her, his expression a mix of anger and concern. "What the hell are you thinking, Julia? Getting involved with someone like that?"

Julia clenched her fists in her lap, her eyes narrowing. "You don't know him, Dad."

"And you do?", George shot back. "He's trouble. I can see it from a mile away. The look in his eyes, the way he carries himself. You're getting yourself into more problems, just like you always do."

Julia's heart pounded in her chest, frustration bubbling up inside her. "No, Dad. The only problems I had were because of you."

George's face tightened, clearly not expecting that response. "I came here because I'm worried about you, Julia."

"Worried?" she scoffed, shaking her head. "You haven't been worried about me for years. So don't pretend now."

The silence between them stretched, heavy and uncomfortable, as the weight of their history hung between them. Julia looked toward the door, hoping Dean would come back soon. She needed him—his presence, his calm strength—to get her through this.

Julia's eyes darkened with a simmering anger she had kept hidden for years. She took a deep breath, her voice low but firm. "I know I've always been a disappointment to you. I didn't live up to the family name. I dropped out of college. I'm working part-time at a vet clinic as a secretary just to pay the bills. But you never cared about me then, so don't stand here and pretend you care now."

George's face twisted in frustration, his hands tightening into fists at his sides. "Julia, you have no idea what you're talking about."

"I don't?" Julia scoffed, her voice rising. "I grew up in that house with you. I know exactly what I'm talking about."

George's expression shifted from anger to something more dangerous—a cold, hard look. Without warning, he stepped forward, grabbing her arm roughly, the one still sore from the accident. Julia winced in pain, unable to hide it.

"You need to come home," he hissed, his grip tightening on her arm. "You're spiraling out of control, and you need someone to keep you in check. You're not thinking straight—"

Before he could finish, the door to the room flew open, and Dean stormed in. His eyes widened at the sight of her George's hand on Julia, and in that instant, he dropped the glass of water he had been holding. It shattered against the floor, but the sound barely registered in the tension-filled room. Dean was already moving, his hand shoving her father away from her and slamming him up against the wall.

"Get your hands off her," Dean growled, his voice low and deadly. His eyes blazed with fury as he glared at the man, holding him pinned against the wall with ease. "You don't get to come here and throw your weight around. You lost that right a long time ago."

George struggled against Dean's hold, but Dean was stronger, more determined. His chest heaved with barely contained rage, every muscle in his body tense, ready to act if her father so much as twitched wrong.

George's eyes flickered with a mixture of fear and anger. "Who the hell do you think you are?"

"I'm the guy who cares about her," Dean retorted, his voice steady but cold. "Which is a hell of a lot more than you ever did."

"Dean," Julia's voice broke through the tension, soft but resolute. She stepped closer, her hand resting lightly on his arm, trying to ground him. "Let him go."

Dean's eyes didn't leave George though, but after a long moment, he relented, releasing his hold. Her father stumbled back, glaring at Dean before turning his attention to Julia. His face was red with anger, his pride clearly wounded, but there was something else in his eyes too—a flicker of realization, maybe.

Julia took a deep breath, steadying herself as she spoke, her voice firm but calm. "If you really care about me, Dad, you'll let me go for good. Stop trying to control me. Stop showing up like you care when you don't. Just... let me live my life."

George opened his mouth as if to argue, but no words came out. Instead, he stood there, fists clenching and unclenching as if he didn't know what to do with his own anger. Finally, with a sharp exhale, he shook his head, muttering under his breath. "You're making a mistake."

"Maybe," Julia replied softly, her eyes locked on his. "But it's mine to make."

Without another word, George turned and walked out of the room, the door slamming behind him. The silence that followed was thick, heavy with unspoken words and lingering tension.

Dean turned to Julia, his expression softening as his gaze shifted from the door to her face. "You okay?" His voice was gentle now, a stark contrast to the anger that had filled the room just moments before.

Julia nodded, though her heart was still pounding in her chest. "Yeah," she whispered, her voice a little shaky. "I'm okay."

Dean stepped closer, his hand finding hers and giving it a reassuring squeeze. "You're not a disappointment, you know that, right?"

Julia smiled, though her eyes were a little misty. "I know. Thanks, Dean."

Dean kissed her forehead softly, lingering there for a moment before pulling back and giving her a small, supportive smile. "C'mon, let's get you that water."

[fleshengine]

You click the button and hang up. Dead air fills the car, silent as we rumble down the freeway. A minute later you remember and go to plug your phone back in to get the music going to push back those thoughts another half hour until we get home and you can decompose in your room. Before you can hit spotify I poke the button to turn off my little Fiat's stereo. As you start to react,

"You know it's not your fault right?" I say, more as a statement than a question.

"What?"

"It's not your fault, what was done to you, what IS done to you every time you answer your mom." There's an edge to my voice that you haven't really ever heard before in our year of living together and years of being friends. Something almost mean stirs in me.

"Yeah I know, can we turn the mu-"

"I don't think you do dude." I interupt you, I feel terrible about it later. "I think you've convinced yourself that you do these things of your own free will."

"Look, let's talk about this later I'm tired."

"No, if I wait any longer I'll lose my nerve." It's true, I've thought about having this conversation a half dozen times this week alone. "I can't put up with it anymore."

"You don't have to put up with anything, I'm not asking you to."

"I care about you." My voice breaks, I pause, you see something there, a glint behind my eye, I'm holding so much back. "I care about you okay, and I can't take seeing the way that you look after she calls you, or when you ask me to come pick you up from her house."

"You don't have to pick me up..."

"Someone does! Someone has to help get you out of there when you finally can't take it. I don't care about how long the drive is, I care that I can't get there immediately. I know you don't like people feeling responsible for you and that you're your own person and all that but I do. I do feel responsible for you. I feel responsible because as far as I know there isn't anyone else who will wake you up on time for classes in the morning, who will cook you breakfast, who will hold you when you finally convince your mom to let you hang up the phone, when you ask for a ride home after things go south up at her house."

My fingers grip the wheel, only breaking to wipe tears from my eyes. The freeway extends before us, thousands of cars between us and home. The car trundles over a rougher section of pavement as we sit in silence. You don't know what to say, scared from me raising my voice. I'm afraid to keep talking, having run out of the scripts I wrote to myself in the shower.

"Look dude, I feel responsible for you because you have like the same problems I did years ago. I want to help you, in every single way I can because I'm probably not going to be there for you much longer. We've got a year left before I have to try and get my life together and you follow A to their medschool."

"I've gotta step up now because I don't know who will have the time or energy in your future. You'll have them, but med students are notoriously busy. I need you to know that there's love in the world outside romantic partners. Because I love you. I love you and I want to help you fix your problems before you move away and stop talking to me forever. I won't be able to manage if all I get is an update about how terrible your life is every six months."

I've run out of steam. The car's gas gauge ticks down another pip. A chevy merges ahead of us without signalling. I tap the brakes and sigh heavily. It's my normal heavy sigh, you used to ask me if something was wrong every time I did that sigh and every time I told you everything was fine and I just make that noise sometimes. I've since learned it's a self soothing method.

"We can turn on the music, we don't have to keep talking but like... I love you dude, you're one of my best friends and I couldn't ask for a better roommate. Please let me help you in a way that matters one of these days."

I click the button on the stereo, and your phone starts in the middle of a Chappel Roan song. I watch the road, you watch your phone. I get us home, we cry in our rooms.

[all-the-gory-details]

Whumptober Day 1

Safety Net / Swooning / “How many fingers am I holding up?”

Alternative: 09. Drugging

TW: implied transphobia, implied drugging

Georgia hardly felt the chill October air as she waited by the mailbox, so focused was she on the road. Being out late at night was always scary for her, but this was different. Somehow, she was convinced that the world knew she was about to escape, and seemed bent on preventing her from doing so. Not only had she tripped on the stairs on her way down from her bedroom, duffel bags in hand; not only had the front door creaked louder than it did in old horror movies; not only had the family dog start barking like she was bent on breaking in instead of breaking away; but now, her phone was dead.

She sighed, straining her eyes to see further down the long, winding road of the rural neighborhood. Al had promised to be here at 3 a.m., and it was looking like he would be late. Not that she knew for sure, she reminded herself. It wasn’t like she could check the time.

Even a minute of waiting opened up space in her brain. As much as she tried to preoccupy her mind elsewhere, it stubbornly kept returning to the one thing she wanted to avoid thinking about. That's the thing about brains: they like to think.

Georgia’s brain was particularly bent on thinking about the exact expression her mother had made earlier that night, the disgust in her father’s voice when he said she was his son. She had known they wouldn’t accept her, but she was an adult, goddammit. She deserved some basic respect. To be listened to and considered instead of yelled at like a child.

Alexei had listened to her rant, as he always did. They had been friends on discord for a few months, and Georgia had never met anyone who listened as well as he did, giving support and comfort at just the right moments. That night, however, he gave her something even better.

He gave her a way out.

Finally, the bright glow of headlights rounded the corner, blinding her momentarily. She brought her hand up to shield her eyes as the black truck pulled up next to her. She took a few steps back, onto the lawn, to get a better look at the person behind the wheel.

There was no need, though. The door opened and the driver stepped out, a tall man with half bleached hair and a concerned expression.

Al.

They had called before, of course, and even video chatted a few times, but it was different to see a person right in front of you. It was easy for her to forget that the person holding all her deepest secrets was flesh and blood, and not just a collection of pixels on a computer screen.

But here he was. Real. Real and ready to take her away.

“You ready, Georgie?” 

She nodded without hesitation.

The first part of the drive went by in a blur. Driving through the streets she had grown up with for the last time, so familiar and yet so foreign in the darkness, was a surreal experience. Once they were on the freeway, her mind cleared a bit, and she turned to Alexei with a smile.

“I… I can’t believe it. I’m out.”

“You are,” He said with a grin. “Did you leave the note?”

“Yup. They know not to expect me back.”

“Serves them right. I brought you some food, if you’re hungry.”

He reached into the back and pulled out a mcdonalds bag, grease soaking through the paper in a leopard print pattern.

“Mostly thirsty,” she said, accepting the bag gratefully. Alexei pointed to a drink in the cupholder with a smile.

“I got you a sprite.”

“You are literally a lifesaver,” she said with a smile, sticking in a straw and taking a huge sip.

“I wouldn’t say that, exactly.”

Georgia turned to him, confused. His tone worried her, and she took another sip nervously. “What… what do you mean?”

“You saved yourself, Georgie. I might have helped, but you’re the one who’ll bring about your future.”

She sighed in relief. “Yeah, I suppose so. Sorry, I’m just… nervous.”

“That makes sense. But you don’t need to be nervous. I’ve got you.”

They drove in silence for a while, Alexei focused on the road and Georgia watching the blurry lights fly by. But… it wasn’t just the lights that were blurry.

Suddenly, everything was spinning in and out of focus. She gasped in surprise, and Alexei looked over.

“Everything ok?”

“I… I don’t… everything is spinning, and I can’t…” Georgia closed her eyes as pressure behind her eyes built up in a painful burst of light.

She dimly registered Alexei pulling over, shaking her shoulder, calling her name. He was holding her upright, pushing her into a position where she wouldn’t fall over.

“Georgia, open your eyes, goddammit! I need to make sure I don't use too much, I haven’t used this one before…”

Slowly, she opened her eyes to see Al leaning over her, concern on his face. The world was spinning, but he seemed to get some comfort out of seeing that she was conscious.

“How many fingers am I holding up, Georgie?” She saw his hand, swaying a foot or two away from her face. Was his hand swaying, or was she? It didn’t matter.

“Four…no, three?”

He put his arm down and smiled. Something about his smile chilled her right down to the bone, but she couldn’t place it. “Good enough,” he said, retreating back into the driver’s seat and buckling himself in. “Go on and close your eyes, Georgia. I’ve got you now. No need to fight it.”

Some small voice in her said that something was wrong, that she needed to fight and get out of this car. But the voice was so quiet and the world was still spinning, and so Georgia closed her eyes as the car pulled back onto the road. And as she let herself drift into comfortable oblivion, she told herself that at least she had escaped. She was out. 

She was free.