#google wheres the nearest fucking bridge

[ithurtsithurtsithurtsithurts]

.

[six-improbable-things]

Raynes songs always go hard, but the lyrics for Tie Me To The Tracks are something else:

"You showed me what you are but I couldn't believe you. Assumed you were a star, and never really wondered why your eyes were burning red."

"I see the carrion crows, I hear the whistle blow, I know it's coming soon. I'll close my eyes, imagine what the big surprise could be and say goodbye. Wish I didn't have to die, but I'm not gonna see you again."

"You can tie me to the tracks if you wanna. You can stab me in the back, and I'll take a moment to relax cause at least I'm not gonna see you again."

[inkinmyheartandonthepage]

Snippet

Hey guys! I just wanted to share a little snippet of a Buddie fic I’m working on :) I’ve been seeing WIP Wednesday and although it’s Sunday I thought I’d share something!

It’s titled The Ripple Effect and it’s going to have a whole lot of agnst (with a happy ending), a lot of pining and oblivious idiots.

Summary:Buck finds himself adopted by a group of girls he met at a bar, Eddie is acting weird, and Buck just needs a place to live. 

Buck supposes when he looks back on it that the first thing that could have caused the ripple effect was his landlord telling him he’s selling the loft Buck is renting.

 “And they don’t want to rent it out,” the owner had told Buck and he could hear the sympathetic wince over the phone. The next words came out in a blurred rush that Buck had trouble comprehending. “You have thirty days to find a new place.”

 And, okay, Buck had never really felt at home at the loft. He often found the open plan empty and lonely after a long shift at the fire station. Sometimes the silence became overwhelming, and Buck would find himself driving around looking for some kind of noise. He usually ended up at the Diaz home where he was welcomed with warmth and laughter that settled something deep in Buck’s soul. If it wasn’t the Diaz home then it was with Maddie and Chimney, or Hen and Karen and Denny, or with Bobby and Athena. But their homes were always a reminder of everything Buck wanted but wasn’t sure how to get. Not through lack of trying, of course, but somehow, he never managed to get it quite right.

 So, Buck may not hold a lot of love for his loft, but it was the first place that he had on his own, the first place he had put down roots and made his own and now it was being yanked away in 30 days.

 “Thanks,” Buck had mumbled and had hung up the phone and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fuck.”

 Buck had swiped his keys off the table, googled the nearest storage unit and driven his jeep there to rent a space and buy some moving boxes. When Buck returned home, now the proud owner of some second-hand moving boxes, packing tape and wrapping paper, the sting of the news had lessened leaving something hollow in its place.

 Where was he going to live?

[thessalian]

Thess vs Cauldron CHI

But first ... I am an idiot.

Okay, I'm going to try Google again. Someone somewhere must have an idea on how to actually find a damn salmon in this fucking game.

............................. "Go to workbench. Go to what needs upgrading. Set job. The game will turn it into a quest and guide you to exactly where you need to go to get the materials you need". So thaaaaaaat's what that function's for. Also ... I AM SUCH AN IDIOT; WHY DIDN'T I THINK OF THAT?!?

And of course the one spot it gives me to go for salmon is vast distances from any campfires or shelters. Great. Well, I'll go to the nearest one and see how far I can get as the Sunwing flies.

Okay, glide from this ledge and grab onto this-- waitwut?!?

WHAT THE FUCK IS ATTACKING ME FROM BEHIND?!? LET GO OF THE ROCK, YOU STUPID RED-HEADED AVATAR!

A Stalker and ... four Clamberjaws?!? You have got to be shitting me. And of course they're all right on top of me. FUCK.

SMOKE BOMB. DODGE ROLL. POONK.

Well. That was ... bracing. Off I go.

Why are there so many places where I can climb only halfway up the mountain? It sucks. I guess I'll go around, if I have to.

So apparently salmon only exist in this one tiny pond. Welp. In I go.

No ... no no no ... this time I don't need your skin! I need your bones! GIVE ME YOUR BOOOOOOONES!

THANK you.

And fuckit; I'm going to spend a fast travel pack for this.

All pouches upgraded! WOO! Now if I shoot wildlife, it'll only be for food. Or practice.

Y'know what? Maybe now's a good time to go to Cauldron CHI.

Hrm. I wonder if I can skip the "go to the main entrance" part of this. I mean, I know there's an alternate entrance thanks to that whole thing for the salvage quests in this area, so maybe I could just go into that? ...Nah. I don't want to potentially bug out the quest.

Okay, there are so many flare-mines here. I will shoot them all while watching for Stalkers.

One Stalker ... bye!

...Just one Stalker? Really? Huh. But two Watchers. Bye, Watchers!

Yep. Door is all tangled up. I know where I'm going next, though--

Through more flare mines, apparently. Set them off from a distance and...

...There really was only one Stalker in the whole area?!? Huh. Welp. Up I go.

Right. We start wiiiiiiiiith... Scroungers. Great. Ah well. POONK.

Not spotted at all. Right. What climbing bullshit are you giving me today?

Ah. Pullcaster climbing bullshit. Right.

So I have to pull out those and climb them to get there to pull out the one I actually need. Right. Because this couldn't be easy.

Aaaaaand... Frostclaw. We're freaking out about this ... why? I mean, this is a perfect sniper nest. POONK.

One-shot on the Frostclaw, score! And even if I'd missed it couldn't get anywhere near me. Okay. Now what?

More Pullcaster shenanigans. So I pull that to there, and zipline myself up there, and here I go.

This ... cannot be that easy. What's going to be the thing?

Ah. It's broken. Because something stole a part. ...I'm going to have to deal with Clamberjaws, aren't I.

That ... is ... a lot of scrap. Now, how do I get down there? I feel like that's a lot for a glide.

Ah. Zipline. Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

Okay, this is too easy; where are the-- GAH! CLAMBERJAW IN MY FACE!

This is not a stealth-friendly Cauldron anymore!

Especially not given that I now have to carry this big-ass thing and the zipline only goes one way-- Ah. Things I can pull out of the wall for climbing. Can't climb with this fucking thing either, but I can probably find a bridge-making thing to override.

(I wanna know why I can't just strap this shit to my back like a normal person, but never mind.)

And more Pullcaster shenanigans--

I AM TIRED OF BEING AMBUSHED BY CLAMBERJAWS!

Okay. More pulling and more climbing and more hauling.

...Things are ominously rattling. I don't like it when things are ominously rattling in a room this big. This isn't Tremortusk big or even Slaughterspine big. This is "I need all the mobility" big. This is--

Aaaaaaaaaand here's a Slitherfang, coming right through the damn wall.

(Hey, remember when we were in prologue and we needed to crush it with a space shuttle to have a chance?)

Oh, come ON! I put that acid trap down and you set it off with a lightning strike? Fuck you.

Right. That's that done. Oof. Last of those for awhile, until I inevitably have to go over to that GEMINI Cauldron I saw when we were doing that whole Desert Tribe water quest thing. I have a feeling that's going to be big. And bad. But I can think about it later.

Quick trip to the coast for a couple of data points I missed, and then at the campfire nearest that last relic ruin I haven't been able to figure out. I will get it, damnit.

Meantime I'm waiting for dinner. Big groceries are tomorrow - I have cooking plans for the month - but I am treating myself to takeout today. OMNOM.

[anditwentlikethis]

I will have to watch my national team wear one of the ugliest shirts ever made in the history of international football 🙂🔪

[skrltwtch]

Silverware

Prompt: on a first date and A is a werewolf and doesn’t know the cutlery is silver (Source in master list)

Word count: 4,897 words

Genre: Fluff, romance, supernatural

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

I buried my nose in the bouquet of lilies and roses Jake had bought for me. It was the perfect emblem of summer with its warm, sunny hues and fresh, tangy scent — and the perfect segue to the next part of our date. The first part was a visit to the local farmers market, out of which we were now walking. Coming here had been his suggestion. It was something different from the usual first date stuff like coffee or a movie, and I liked it a lot, notwithstanding my initial reservations. I liked him a lot after what I’d seen of him at the market. I felt like the place helped bring out a certain spark between us. For one, there was constant talk about planning for date number two using what we’d seen and bought. If that wasn’t promising, I didn’t know what was!

‘Thank you, Jake. I love it,’ I said about the bouquet.

‘You’re most welcome,’ he said, a broad grin brightening up his face. ‘And thank you for the flavoured olive oil. Makes me kind of wish we didn’t have this dinner reservation …’ His grin turned sheepish in nature. ‘But that’s what’s making me look forward to our next date.’

See?

‘Do you want to call for a taxi or walk?’ he said.

‘What time’s our reservation?’

‘6:00 p.m. on the dot.’

My watch came alive with a flick of my wrist. ‘Let’s walk, then. I want to walk off all the cheese I sampled.’ I’d sampled a lot. In my defence, it was almost that time of the month — and that other time of the month. ‘Do you know the way?’

‘Google Maps can teach me.’

The route Google Maps recommended was scenic. London Bridge looked lovely at this time of day. Its appeal was heightened tenfold with Jake by my side. Could you believe we met on Tinder? It still felt unreal to me. Getting this match used up all my good luck for the year, and we were only at the halfway point. Well, if it meant burning the roof of my mouth most of the time I ate to be able to quit the dating scene for a reasonable amount of time (“once and for all” seemed a little ambitious, though that would be nice), who was I to whinge about the hand fate had dealt me?

The restaurant was located within the Four Seasons. We had been overdressed for the market. Now we were … dressed. I was flattered as fuck that he picked such a lavish place for dinner for a first date. I hadn’t the faintest clue what it was about my profile and our conversations that made him think of a high-end French restaurant helmed by a Michelin-starred chef in a five-star hotel. I did try to talk him out of it (gently). It wasn’t about the cost. Food was one of the things I was more than happy to splurge on. It was just … I never had anyone think this highly of me before, and I wondered if that’d change if … and when … he knew the truth about me.

The host led us into the main dining room and to our table. An amuse-bouche and warm bread came together with the menus. The prices were as expected of the type of establishment this was. Everything sounded good, though this was my first time coming across some of these words. Looking up what each one meant would add to the time something would take to reach our table, and my stomach would sooner eat itself out of desperation.

‘Please don’t hold back,’ said Jake, sensing my indecision. ‘The price is not an issue.’

I did have to hold back. The coincidental timing of this month’s full moon and crimson tide amplified every-fucking-thing I could possibly feel to a divinely hellish degree in the days leading up to them. As it was, I could easily polish off a five-course meal by myself. If Jake wanted this date to go in a less chaste direction after dinner, hell would freeze over before I’d even dream of talking him out of it, first date etiquette be damned. Was the fact that he was such a goddamn catch helping anything? Absolutely fucking not.

‘No, it’s not that. I can’t — I can’t decide what I want,’ I said. It was technically true. I was torn between the beef (never mind that it was £98) and veal … and both of them at once. ‘What are you having? Maybe I can get some inspiration from you.’

‘I was thinking the turbot … or the pigeon. Yeah, I can’t make up my mind either. I’m leaning toward the pigeon …? No, the turbot. Or the scallops …? Fuck. I need an adult.’

‘Let’s choose for each other.’

‘Promise not to hate each other’s choices — or each other?’

‘Pinky promise.’

We locked our pinkies together. I hoped touching him would never grow old.

Once our promise had been sanctified and we separated from each other, Jake signalled for the nearest available waitstaff. One came over almost instantly. The restaurant was bustling with activity, a far cry from however long it had been since we arrived. She took our order in a cordial fashion, not making a bigger deal of how we were ordering for each other than it should be. I chose the scallops for him; he chose the veal for me. I convinced him to start our evening with the langoustine; he sweet-talked me into ending it with the rhubarb. The waitstaff validated all our choices with a knowing smile.

‘I’ve been meaning to ask — and I hope I’m not stepping on your toes here,’ Jake started when our table was just the two of us again. ‘How did you get that scar on your arm?’

It was a matter of time. And bless him. I would never be offended by being asked about the memento of what’d changed my life forever. I would be offended by an adverse reaction to how exactly my life had been changed forever. I raised my arm, giving the scar in question its time in the limelight: brownish-pink, leathery circles arranged in the shape of a crescent, the ones at both ends abnormally large and ragged-looking.

‘My ex-boyfriend’s dog bit me,’ I said. More like my ex-boyfriend was the offending canine. ‘That’s not why he’s an ex, in case you were wondering.’ I’d wanted to be turned. He’d been more than happy to lend a helping set of fangs. Sadly, the idea of us being cute werewolves together was yet another one of those things that simply sounded nicer on paper. It wasn’t all sour between us. We’d sometimes meet for romps. It got lonely sometimes, and it wasn’t like there was an online forum for werewolves to socialise or whatever. I doubted he’d have known of one anyway: he was literally an American werewolf in London.

‘Did it hurt? It’s such a huge scar. Did anything happen to the dog afterward?’ He held up his hands. ‘Am I being nosy? You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.’

I smiled in the hope that it’d soothe his worries. ‘You’re not being nosy. It was … okay for what it was.’ Euphoric. ‘The dog’s fine. It wouldn’t be fair to punish it for an instinct thing.’ Yup.

‘That’s good to hear. I think it’s a bad-ass scar. And I didn’t think it’s why he’s an ex.’

‘Thank you. Most people did. Yeesh. Give me some credit.’

‘I’m not most people … I hope.’ He smirked. The apples of his cheeks turned pink.

He really wasn’t. And I wanted so badly to tell him the truth there and then to see if that’d still hold true in the face of a bombshell like that. I had yet to tell anyone about my lycanthropy: if movies, television shows, books, etc., were anything to go by, I’d assume most people would react with fear or disgust, or both. Chris had been thoroughly flabbergasted when I reacted the way I did to learning why he always turned down my suggestions to go stargazing on nights with full moons. I got what I wanted … eventually.

Maybe I should tell Jake sooner than later. Separate the wheat from the chaff. Then I wouldn’t have wasted my time having pined for someone who thought I was some kind of freak of nature.

That conversation — or rather, thinking about that conversation would have to wait, as our starter, bearing a strong resemblance to a flower arrangement with colours befitting the season, had arrived. Food was always the perfect diversion. So would the inevitable back-and-forth about who could have the third and last langoustine. Splitting it was not an option, for one piece was as big as my thumb. I loved the portion sizes of frou-frou fancy food. So much bang for one’s buck.

‘Bon appétit,’ said Jake. ‘That’s one of … four French phrases I know. The other three are “bonjour”, “omelette du fromage”, and — I can’t say the last one in a public place.’

‘Is it by any chance … “voulez-vous coucher avec moi, ce soir”?’ I made no effort whatsoever to lower my volume — or maintain a straight face. Brazenness blazed through my cheeks.

He put a hand on his chest, feigning surprise. ‘Well!’ He tittered. ‘Since you asked ever so nicely, and in French … This is why your choices tonight have been shellfish, isn’t it?’

‘You got me.’

‘Looking at their portion sizes, I don’t think your plan’s going to work very well. Not that I’d need the help of — shut up, Jake.’

‘Keep going, Jake’ was what I’d have said and wanted if my stomach hadn’t started getting on my case for letting good food get cold. (‘Rubbery lobster? Gross!’) There was something hot about someone like Jake — a posh, proper Englishman, the polar opposite of Chris … okay, no, stop bringing him up, stop thinking about him, goddammit — talking openly, confidently, about his prowess. Such words … coming out of his mouth … in that accent … I quickly pressed my legs together to quell any desires. Which hunger of mine was responsible for this?

Wanting to satiate the one appetite I could at this very moment without earning myself prison time for my troubles, I said, ‘Bon appétit, Jake’, and picked up my fork … which promptly fell onto my plate with the fucking loudest clang. The smell of burning flesh tickled my nostrils — my burning flesh. My fingers were sizzling where the fork touched them. Sizzling! I prayed it was only my nose that could pick up this delectable aroma.

I stared at the cutlery. Trust a high-end French restaurant helmed by a Michelin-starred chef in a five-star hotel to use real silverware, not that cheap silver-plated shit. I prodded the fork handle — and withdrew my finger immediately. Not one of my finer moments. Please don’t tell me Jake saw it.

‘Is everything okay?’ said Jake.

Ah, fuck.

‘Yeah,’ I said, examining my palm. Good news: the burn hadn’t healed and wasn’t healing as quickly as my wounds and injuries (not that I had many of them) did after I was turned, so that was one less question to dodge. I didn’t want to keep lying to Jake. I didn’t like that I had been. How would I explain the absence of a second-degree burn that existed mere seconds ago anyway? Bad news: was this never going to heal because of what caused it? I had been so careful with silver since I was turned. How would I explain a perpetual second-degree burn? Would it out me as a werewolf to people who knew what to look for? Was now really the time for Twenty Questions?

Noticing Jake had been waiting on me to provide some kind of elucidation on my well-being, I said, ‘I guess I have a silver allergy. Can you believe it? Who’s allergic to silver?’

He didn’t need to say, ‘What kind of allergy burns someone?’ for me to hear it in my head.

‘Can you eat, then?’ he said.

I shook my head. As far as I was concerned, silver was lethal. No ifs, no buts, no maybes. If a perpetual second-degree burn was the worst thing to come out of fleeting contact with the metal, so be it. I’d consider myself a lucky lycan indeed.

‘Pardon me,’ Jake said to the waitstaff who’d come with our entrées, ‘would you have any disposable cutlery perhaps? My lady’ — he did not — ‘is allergic to the silverware.’

The waitstaff did an excellent job of not acting like this very dashing gentleman had just dropped the barmiest string of words on her during her entire employment in this line of work. Even I didn’t quite believe it myself. ‘I’ll see what we have, sir, ma’am,’ she said, cool as a cucumber. After she finished setting down our food, she collected all the silverware on my side of the table and left.

‘I don’t think whatever she comes back with would help with your veal. I could cut it up for you?’ said Jake.

Oh, my God. Getting burnt by silver must be the universe’s way of course-correcting the unusual jackpot I’d hit with him. Good Tinder matches were a myth!

‘No, it’s fine. Thank you. I’ll manage … somehow,’ I said. The wooden cutlery the waitstaff had returned with didn’t inspire confidence in me to not fling a piece of meat or a utensil at someone while cutting into my food.

‘We could swap dishes. I’d be fine with the veal. It was in my top five earlier.’

I suffocated a sigh. His scallops looked more like an appetiser than a main. But what choice did I have? I could either eat the veal like the animal that put me in this position or go through the restaurant’s entire supply of wooden cutlery with nothing to show for the effort in my belly and possibly injure someone in the process. Neither option would do any favours for my image in the eyes of the guy I liked and whose bones I’d like to jump at some point, enhanced animal lust or not.

So, I agreed. I tried to draw out the meal for as long as I could. Between the teeny serving and the unwieldiness of the wooden cutlery, I was having a miserable time. Dinner had become a silent affair, a far cry from everything prior to this point. Contrary to the vibe I was putting out, the food had nothing to do with my dour mood. For the first time since I was turned, I wasn’t happy about what I was. Could I never truly lead a normal life? Did I have to lie to every potential suitor and fret about whether they’d accept that other side of me on top of all the intricacies of dating?

There ought to be a dating app for verified supernatural creatures.

‘How’s the veal?’ I said. I had to speak up: I wasn’t being fair to Jake by acting like a sullen teenager over something he had zero control over, and the silence was deafening.

‘It’s — I might’ve done you a favour. How about my — your scallops?’

‘As good as three bites can get. I can’t tell if it tastes funny because of the wooden fork.’

‘This has been a disaster, hasn’t it?’ He flashed a wry smile. ‘Can I be honest? I have no idea what possessed me to pick a place like this for a first date.’

‘It’s a nice place. And it hasn’t been a disaster.’ If anything, I was the disaster. As always.

‘How was the market?’

‘The market was great. I had an amazing time.’

‘Thank God. I’ll take one out of two.’

I reached across the table and placed my hand on top of his. He made things extra saucy by interlocking his fingers with mine. ‘Jake, it’s fine. Today has been wonderful. I should be sorry for making things awkward with my … allergy.’ Nope, that still sounded silly.

‘What? No, don’t be. It’s not your fault.’

It … kind of was.

‘How about ice cream after this? My treat. I’m certain the rhubarb will be so very pretty and so very … nothing.’

He hit the nail on the head. The food we had would do wonders for my Instagram feed while having done nothing for my diet. I appreciated his offer, though I was afraid it would take more than ice cream to fill me up properly … Then again, that was a problem that rested solely in my dominion, not his, and it was one I intended to solve by trawling the likes of Deliveroo and Uber Eats in the comfort of my underthings at home — the one true way to enjoy food.

I asked for the bill the second dessert arrived. I wanted to leave here as soon as possible. I had quite enough of the wooden cutlery. I felt like a child using them. And like I told Jake earlier, I was on the fence about whether to attribute the food’s slightly off taste to them or my unrefined taste buds. Even the rhubarb wasn’t spared. Dessert was supposed to be my safe space, dammit!

I footed the bill in its entirety despite his objections. It helped that the waitstaff presented it to me because I’d been the one who asked, and that I was quick with my card. Sisters watching out for each other, everyone. The plan was then to go about the rest of the evening as if it had slipped my mind to ask him for his half or even bring it up in the first place. It was the least I could do for putting a wee damper on dinner with my … me-ness. He was going to treat me to ice cream anyway. There. We were even now.

The best-laid plans of mice and men often went awry: Jake snatched the bill folder and, taking out his phone, said, ‘Do you have Paym, Pingit, or PayPal? Why am I only noticing now that they all start with P?’

I admitted defeat: ‘Paym.’ It might be harder for him — or anyone — to believe I had none of those apps than that I was a werewolf. Did I want to put that to the test? No.

My phone buzzed with the confirmation that my plan had been a dud. ‘Thank you. Now let’s blow this popsicle stand and head to a real one.’

We left and worked on our next destination outside the restaurant. The staff had to want us out of there as much as we wanted ourselves out of there. The time of day meant we had limited options: ice cream parlours in London seemed to think people would lose the mood for sweet treats the moment the sky turned dark and the air cooled. Inanity. We had to return to where our date started for the one place that was open at this hour. It was just as well: I needed the walk this time to clear my head after what happened at dinner. It hadn’t seemed to dull the shine of his opinion of me, at least. He was as chipper as ever. Unless he was a good actor and paid up as soon as he did so he could ghost me after this and find himself a date that didn’t have some bogus allergy to silver …

Me? Over-thinking things? Never.

‘Do you want to do takeout or eat in?’ I said when we found ourselves less than fifty metres away from the parlour tasked with plying us with ice cream for tonight without a say in the matter.

‘Let’s do takeout and walk back to Borough Station. Full circle.’

The place was crowded: the most logical outcome for the only ice cream parlour open at this time near a tourist hotspot in the middle of summer. Customer turnover was quick, however, and we left with our orders within fifteen minutes. As tempting as their sundaes and waffles — towering, decadent creations of sugary indulgence — looked, we went back to the basics after our overly sophisticated dinner. Unlike before, what we wanted came to us in a snap: for myself, a speculoos gelato; for Jake, a gelato, too, but make it salted caramel.

And this time, we could help ourselves to each other’s food. With permission, of course.

‘A fraction of the price, but infinitely better,’ I said.

‘I hope the same can be said of our second date.’

‘And what would that be?’

‘Dinner at Chez Walker. Has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?’

‘I do think so.’

‘It would have to be the weekend after next, though.’

‘Why? Got another date next Saturday?’ I had a firm enough grip on reality to recognise and accept that a guy like him had to be neck deep in matches.

‘No … next weekend’s the full moon. I thought you’d know.’

I stopped dead in my tracks. ‘Why would I?’ I buried my stammer under a bemused scoff. Like, why would anyone — any not-werewolf, which, as far as Jake was concerned, was what I was — care to know when the full moon was?

He, too, stopped walking and looked me dead in the eye. ‘Imogen, I know what you are.’

I wiped my palms on the front of my dress. They were suddenly so sweaty. So sweaty. Why were they so sweaty? Could he see that they were so sweaty? I tried to defuse the situation the best — and maybe only — way I knew how: ‘Are we quoting Twilight? I’ll have you know that I liked the book when I first read it in 2007. And I thought the movie wasn’t too bad either.’ This was true, and I wasn’t ashamed of it. Any female millennial who said they had felt nothing for Edward Cullen was a filthy liar.

‘I’m not ashamed either to say I read the book and watched the movie. But I’m serious.’

‘Okay … say it, then. Go on.’ Was that how the line went? I wasn’t going to look it up now. On a list of things that mattered in this moment, accurate movie quotes was nowhere near the top twenty.

‘You’re a werewolf. And I know how this sounds, so don’t humour me or —’ His tone had taken on a jittery lilt, uncharacteristic of someone who ought to be humoured, ridiculed (what his next word had to be), or — my worst-case scenario — feared.

‘How did you know?’

His mien changed in a manner that suggested that wasn’t the reaction he’d been expecting. Fuck it. Chris had trusted me enough to tell me the truth after a handful of dates, and he did it because he liked me a lot and he wanted to get it out of the way as soon as possible so that we could move on in some way. (Me asking him to turn me was the real curveball of that conversation.) The least I could do, really, was to extend that same courtesy to Jake. I liked him. I liked him a lot. If he had a problem with what I was, it was better that I found out now that he did than many months down the road. There was no element of compromise to my … condition.

‘You mean I’m —?’

‘Right? Not crazy?’ I showed him my palm. The burn had taken about an hour to reach the healing stage normal people would reach in a week or so. ‘Yeah.’

‘Damn …’ He cleared his throat. ‘How did I know? I was brought up on a steady diet of horror movies and read way too many young adult supernatural books in the day, more than I’d care to admit. That, and my ex-girlfriend’s second uncle was killed by a werewolf.’

‘Shit.’

‘I’m kidding — about the last part. The first two are true. My ex-girlfriend was a vampire, and one of her uncles — I can’t remember which one; it could’ve really been her second — was with a werewolf when we were together. Vampires and werewolves get along quite well, actually.’

‘You’ve got to be kidding me.’

‘How the tables have turned … I’m not.’ He went through his phone with his free hand and, upon finding what he’d been looking for, passed it to me. ‘Look.’

On the screen was a photo of him with his arm around a hazy figure in clothes that were otherwise in focus.

‘Drove me quite mad at first, thinking something was wrong with my phone. Then she went a little … overboard once, and the rest was history. She shared everything about her world — your world — with me. And I’m also in several online paranormal communities, so there’s that. It’s not all as hush-hush as one might think. It just takes an open mind.’

I returned his phone to him. ‘How did you figure me out?’

‘Your “allergy”. I had my suspicions about your scar. Your reaction to the silverware confirmed them. Allergies … don’t do this.’ He took my hand and stroked my palm. The sensation of his fingers on the raw skin was … electric. ‘I’m sorry I put you in an awkward position and you weren’t ready to tell me. What I said … just slipped out. I understand. It has to be fucking terrifying. It’s okay if you don’t want to see me again after this. But I want you to know that what you are doesn’t change a thing about how I feel about you. How you were turned is none of my business. The whole thing is, really. I did an arse thing. I’m an arse. First with the goddamn restaurant, now this. Way to fucking go, Walker,’ he said to himself quietly.

I flung my empty gelato container into the nearest bin, and then my arms around him. I helped throw away his for him, too. ‘You’re not an arse, Jake. This doesn’t change anything about how I feel about you, too. I like you a lot.’ His cheeks flushed deeply under the moonlight. ‘I was freaking out about this whole thing during dinner because I like you a lot. I am so relieved that we’ve gotten to lay our cards on the table.’ I fanned myself with my hand. Don’t cry, Imogen! ‘And because I don’t want there to be any more lies between us, it was my ex-boyfriend who turned me, and he did it because I wanted it.’

‘Oh. Yeah, it still doesn’t change a thing.’ His lips landed on my forehead in a peck. ‘Okay, I never imagined the topic of our exes would come up so often during our first date. Oh, well. Guess they had more of an impact on us than we’d like to think.’

‘Yeah’ — I chuckled, ‘let’s keep walking.’

I peeled myself off him. Our hands remained intertwined. Like dinner, the remaining walk — as short as it was — to the station was a quiet one. Unlike dinner, it was more so that we were simply basking, revelling, in the afterglow of our attraction to each other and each other’s presence. The world felt right again, just as it did at the farmers market.

The next time we spoke was on the train platform. ‘Thank you for the lovely time,’ I said, ‘and for being such a sweetheart.’ I waved my bouquet at him. It still looked pristine despite all the walking we did. ‘For everything.’

‘Thank you, too. I had an amazing time with you today. I can assure you that Chez Walker will serve larger portions than what we had earlier.’

‘I’m looking forward to it.’

‘The weekend after next, then?’

‘Yes,’ I said, grinning. ‘I’d be down for any time before the weekend, too, if Chez Walker is open then.’

‘I’ll speak with the chef.’

He moved in for a goodbye kiss, which I seized wholeheartedly. His smell and the sound of his heartbeat flooded my senses. I could feel his heart beating against his chest under my touch, thumping, thumping away for every second our lips lingered on each other’s. I had to contain myself and keep things G-rated and light, as such kisses were wont to be, though my instincts were screaming, baying, at me to get to satisfying at least one craving tonight. I was the one to break off the kiss for fear of going too far.

‘Just in time,’ said Jake, his eyes doing that thing they did whenever he smiled. ‘My train’s here. I’ll see you next week?’

‘I thought you said you’ll speak with the chef about next week.’

‘I realised I don’t care what the chef thinks. He’ll be fine with it anyhow: he doesn’t have to bust out the good silverware.’

‘Goodbye, Jake.’

‘See you, Imogen. Message me when you get home?’

‘I will.’

We waved at each other, right before the train doors swallowed him up. My train came soon after, too. I spent the entire ride home wondering not what to fill the void that was my stomach with, but what fresh hell the universe had in store for me in return for scoring me a guy like Jake.

[aliveanddrunkonsunlight]

Amazing race or Modern P&P?

Amazing Race - So, uh, this has been sitting in my Google docs for over a year. It’s never going to get written, so I’m gonna post all of it.

The first day of the race is the hottest day of the year in London. Brienne said goodbye to her dad, making sure he knew where all of the production office phone numbers were, in case he needed to get in touch with her. “I’ll be fine, love.” He said and kissed her on the cheek. “Have a lovely time.” They’d exchanged a long hug in the entryway, guilt clawing at her chest, before she swung her backpack onto her shoulders and walked out to where the scheduled car waited for her. 

The Race had been a popular show in the States for over a decade. With ratings dropping, the producers had decided to partner with media companies across the world and open the competition to participants worldwide. Instead of having competitors audition for the show in pairs, or “teams” as the producers called them, this season was also different because everyone auditioned individually. 

Once Brienne learned she was going to be on the show, she received an email which included fact sheets on all the other participants. Contestants were supposed to look at all the profiles and narrow down their choice for a teammate to three or four people. On the first day of shooting--today--they would have a chance to meet, interview, and pick their teammates. She was dreading that bit. Despite her size and strength, she’d always been picked last for team sports in school, and she could do without being retraumatized by it as an adult. She’d been diligent about doing her research on the other participants and stuck her top three list in her back pocket.

The car takes her all the way to the north side of Tower Bridge, where Brienne has instructions to get out and walk across. Her driver wishes her luck and hands her a bottle of water as she loads on her pack. She’s going to be a sweaty mess before she even arrives at the start. 

Reminding herself of her yoga breathing, Brienne stares out at the slow moving water of the Thames for a few seconds before she starts her walk across. She has to dodge around tourists, her pack gets jostled as people pass, and Brienne starts to understand why the producers asked them to do this. It’s good training for the rest of the race. She knows they will be traveling through tight spaces with their backpacks and probably in hotter conditions than London’s. Once she reaches the south end of the bridge, she can see people in purple Race shirts. “Hi!” One of them greets as she approaches. “You must be Brienne Tarth?”  

She can feel her adrenaline kick in and all she wants is to do this. To get started. The young woman gives Brienne instructions, but she’s barely listening. At the bottom of the stairs of the bridge, someone else wearing a Race shirt directs her to the right. 

Brienne blinks, trying to take in the scene. There’s a small park, which is blocked off for filming, and she can understand why they picked it, as it’s nestled between City Hall and Tower Bridge. Not to mention that on the other side of the Thames is the Tower of London and a view of a few of the modern skyscrapers added to London’s skyline in the last few years. “Brienne?” she hears a familiar voice and looks up to see Catelyn Stark striding towards her, her long auburn hair piled up on her head in a messy, but elegant bun. Catelyn was half the reason she was here at all. “We’re starting to gather all the contestants so we can start filming you choosing your partners.” 

The older woman gestures for someone and a minute later, a young woman with a slightly upturned nose and glittering brown eyes is standing in front of Brienne, dotting her face with a makeup brush. “You have lovely skin,” the young girl tells her. “Just taking away some of that shine for camera.” 

Surveying her fellow contestants is a surreal feeling. She recognizes them all, due to the producers’ email, and her own time spent narrowing down a top three list. Brienne has to wonder if the others did as much research on her as she has on them. Her gaze continues around the circle until she spots him. 

He is somehow even more beautiful than his pictures. His golden hair glitters brightly in the sunlight. He’s cut it since casting, it’s cropped closer now, but it doesn’t make him look any less attractive. There’s a slight smile on his face, as if all this is entertaining more than anything, and he keeps raising his eyebrows when anyone meets his gaze. He hasn’t noticed her staring. Yet. 

The strangest thing about him is while most people are dressed in athletic wear, he’s wearing a white button up shirt. Anyone else might look out of place, like they’re wearing their father’s suit, but he has the sleeves rolled up, showing off his tanned forearms, and he looks relaxed. She hates him for it because she feels as if she’s about to lose her breakfast. 

He folds his arms across his chest and she can see the swell of his bicep through his shirt. Seriously, fuck him. 

Except he had the best resume by far. He had grown up splitting time between Spain, Denmark, and the United States, so he had knowledge of several languages. Had played all variety of sports his whole life, although he preferred lacrosse and football. He’d even played in a professional league, but when he injured his right knee, he’d had to give up any burgeoning professional career. 

She knows she’s probably not even on his radar, so she’ll have to approach him quickly once the producers give them permission. Cameras and crew seem to be circling around, so perhaps it’s time. Brienne feels her gut tightening with nerves. Catelyn comes to the middle of their circle, a clipboard under her arm, and makes a short welcome speech. “Okay, once I step out of the circle, a horn will sound, and you are free to approach each other to choose your team.” She tosses a wink at Brienne and then the horn buzzes. 

She’s taken all of a single step when she notices Jaime striding towards her. “Hi, I’m Jaime.” He smiles and she expects two rows of dazzling white teeth, but she notices a couple of his bottom ones are crooked. It makes him all the more appealing, somehow, knowing someone who looks like him has flaws. He extends a hand, shaking hers. 

“Uh, hello, yes, I know. From the producers’ email?” She stutters, eyes averted. He’s too pretty to look at for too long. She takes a breath, steadying herself. “Anyway, I’m Brienne.” 

“Hello, Brienne. So why should you be my teammate?” 

Now she looks him levelly in the eye. “I’m strong.” He crooks an eyebrow up at his, perhaps impressed by her candor. “I’ve done sports for most of my life. Fencing, football, rowing. I came in fourth at Olympics qualifying three years ago.”

“Brava,” he says, slightly snidely, but pushes on. “Any languages?”

“Italian. A little Greek.” When this earns her another surprised look from Jaime, she explains, “My father is a classics professor.” She is about to ask why she should pick him, even though she’s mostly had her mind made up about him for weeks, when another contestant, a slim girl with long brown hair curled carefully, comes over to Jaime and touches him on the arm. 

“Hi, I’m Margaery.”

“Uh, hi,” Jaime says, a little distractedly, and Brienne can understand why. Unlike most of the other women here, who are wearing tank tops and leggings, Margaery is wearing only a sports bra, her midriff bare, showing off her tiny waist. Not to mention her sports bra appears to be a push-up one--Brienne didn’t even know they made those, but of course they do--because her breasts have an amazing amount of cleavage for someone so petite. Jaime can barely keep his eyes on her face. She lets out a sigh, realizing her top pick for teammate all too easily has fallen for the nearest pretty thing. But before she can step away to talk to her second choice, Jaime manages to tear himself away from the young woman long enough to tell her, “It was nice to meet you, Brienne.”

Maybe hope isn’t lost after all. 

When the twenty minutes are up, they all stand in a circle again and announce their top choices. There are some complicated rules about what happens if multiple people pick the same person, but they’re fair rules, so Brienne is fine with it. She’s too busy trying not to freak out that she didn’t plan this strategically enough, because now it’s obvious to her that everyone will want Jaime as a partner, and she should have selected someone else as her first choice. But it seems too late to change it now. She’d spoken with her second and third choice and they’re both lovely, but they’re not Jaime. To her, he was the only partner who could match her athletically, thus giving them the best chance of winning the grand prize: a million dollars.

Her heart hammers in her chest. The announcement is alphabetical, so it means she probably has to go first, except the cameraman is setting up in front of someone else. Addam. Oh thank god.

Another cameraman approaches her, but she barely has time to think about it, because Addam is already announcing his pick. “Margaery.” Margaery’s eyes widen, but she covers quickly, smiling prettily and giving him a small wave.

“Brienne,” the cameraman whispers, prompting her. “Jaime,” she says solemnly. He smiles politely and nods at her, his expression giving nothing away about how he feels. A couple other people pick him as well and they’re not even through the first half of the alphabet yet. It doesn’t really matter, she tells herself. It’s over. Jaime will pick Margaery and Margaery will pick him. 

She’s so caught up in her thoughts she’s barely paying attention when the cameraman finally focuses on Jaime. He flashes that million watt smile and says, Margaery. “Brienne.” 

What? She opens her eyes--she hadn’t even realized they were closed--and stares at him, mouth half open. Oh god, she is an idiot. He lets out a small laugh and winks at her.

[dykevillanelle]

Listen. I have a very important question. What are your Villianeve “first time” headcanons? IT’S IMPORTANT THAT I KNOW. (Ps. Killing it AGAIN with the new fic. 👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻)

oh SHIT this is such a huge question. i’m gonna throw it under a read more just because, you know, the Sauce™ and also because as i begin to type i know i’m about to get long winded. also thank u xoxo i’m lesbian and i like writing about women who commit murder for each other and also kiss a lot. also OOPS i posted part of a potential fic draft as part of this

honestly after those s2 photo leaks im thinking they actually spent some time against that counter that emerald didn’t let us see....

but ok in all seriousness

im electing to ignore what jodie comer said about them walking away on the bridge, and raise you: they immediately look up the nearest hotel on google maps after tower bridge

eve’s not even nervous because it feels so inevitable 

villanelle, on the other hand, is EXTREMELY FUCKING NERVOUS

honestly i firmly believe that they just make out and talk for like four hours before taking it any further

[banging two metal water bottles together] SCAR! TOUCHING! SCAR! KISSING! 

eve confesses that she listened to villanelle in rome (because i’m so mad we were deprived of any explicit reference to the fact that that happened)

there’s a LOT of paris jokes from both of them. v: “the last time i was in bed with you, i ended up getting penetrated not in a fun way” eve: “do you want me to smash a few bottles of champagne to set the mood?” 

actually both of them make a lot of cursed jokes before, during, and after because they’re both snarky bitches and i love that for them 

finally they’re comfortable with each other again enough to actually get to it, and (because...come on, we all know it) v makes eve astral project 

eve probably has a lot of Existential Thoughts while reciprocating (yes im thinking about that weird passage in the novel where eve is thinking about villanelle stabbing people while being fucked.....god these two are too much) 

but is also very much like “hey, uh, sorry that probably kind of sucked because you’re basically used to sleeping with female casanovas or whatever and i’m...me????” afterwards 

while villanelle is literally laying next to her like “eve...please shut up my entire brain is scrambled eggs”

they watch a movie afterward while in bed holding each other and it’s illegally soft 

villanelle literally can’t sleep afterward. like eve falls asleep after the movie and she’s exhausted but she just stays up staring at her and doing everything short of physically pinching herself because she can’t believe that any of it actually happened (i actually wrote a snippet of this that i might turn into a full fic one of these days that i’ll post below because fuck it why not) 

The first night that Villanelle spends with Eve Polastri on the other side of the bed, she cannot sleep.

By all accounts, she should be exhausted. She is still running an intense sleep debt from the past few horrible weeks. More immediately, they have just spent the past two hours intimately tangled up in each other, which was a physical exertion despite the fact that it had been a lot more romantic than Villanelle had predicted their first time might be. The room still smells of sex, and Eve’s little finger is linked in Villanelle’s as she murmurs something in her sleep, shifts her head with its shock of dark hair on the pillow.

Neither of them had bothered to re-dress afterward, and so Villanelle is unclothed and tucked securely under the duvet of the hotel bed, watching Eve sleep with her eyes adjusted to the dark. She can count on one hand the times she has let herself fall asleep nude since her training. One never knows when one might be ambushed in the night. It feels delicious, like she’s getting away with something. It feels vulnerable. It feels good.

x 

anyway that’s that on villaneve first time™™™

[honesthammie]

Get to know me!

Part 1

Nickname: Kim, Kimmy, K, Kimbo, Kimberlina

Zodiac: Scorpio

Height: No clue but I'd say middle range of 5 foot.

Hogwarts house: proudly Hufflepuff (I took the pottermore test 5 times got slytherin once but Huffle puff 4 times)

Last thing I googled: binary to text translator (I was interested in what one of the dogs toys said as it was a bunch of 1 and 0 on it, turns out a bunch of jibber jabber but I was curious)

Song stuck in my head: Axolotl song by Dream

Number of followers:

Amount of sleep: depends on when I sleep. Can range from 4-12 hours.

Lucky number: 25

Dream job: Dog Groomer

Wearing: a blue shirt that says "an angel of the Lord Castiel" with black wings on it and black and white tracksuit bottoms and lion King socks.

Favourite instrument: I love violins but I personally am a singer on a performance course at university

Spotify or SoundCloud? 

Soundcloud at a push but I mainly use YouTube music

is your room messy or clean?

Not really messy per say, it looks it as its a small room but only mess there are: wires, dirty clothes and a fuck ton of dog fur on floor coz am lazy and haven't hoovered in a while

what color are your eyes?

Blue

do you like your name? why?

Nope. It's too long for me to write my full name down. The boxes and shit are too small for my 25 letters in total full name...

what is your relationship status? 

Single

describe your personality in 3 words or less

Fucked up

what color hair do you have?

Black to dark brown ombre (went that way for pups birthday 8th August)

what kind of car do you drive? color?

I don't drive yet but hoping to soon

where do you shop?

All over...wherever there's deals but mainly Tescos for food and primark/Shein for clothes

how would you describe your style?

All over. I like Gothic punk mainly but that costs more than I believe I am worth but I mainly wear casual fandom shirts and skinny jeans.

favorite social media account

Youtube and Tumblr

what size bed do you have? 

Single cabin bed where I store all my make up (that I hardly wear coz I have no idea how to do anything other than lipstick) and my perfumes and bodymists.

any siblings?

0 human

2 doggie bros

if you can live anywhere in the world where would it be? why?

Japan coz its awesome

favorite snapchat filter? 

Anything gothicy or the question ones

favorite makeup brand(s)

I don't really care tbh

how many times a week do you shower?

Once a week with my hair coz I heard that is best for it and whenever I feel disgusting or I really need to get in for my body so like twice a week minium although sometimes my depression persuades me to only go in once a week and I know that's not hygienic but it does affect me sometimes. I'll also get in more often if my body hurts or if I'm too hot or too cold to get my body at the right temperature.

favorite tv show?

Doctor who and Supernatural

shoe size?

Flat shoes/sandals: 5 1/2

Trainers/converse: 6

Dockers/boots:6 1/2

sandals or sneakers? 

Sneakers

do you go to the gym? 

No but I wanna

describe your dream date

Its an all day sorta date.

Starts at like 10 in the morning and we get a maccas breakfast in casual outfits. Then we go shopping, not necessarily for clothes but for games and or movies, maybe even some pet stuff. Then it's like 1 in afternoon so we get KFC for dinner. Then we go separate ways for a few hours to get ready for the fancy part of the date. It goes to around 5 and we go to a fancier restaurant and then we go to whatever the nearest big event is, if there is one or we just go to the movies.

how many pillows do you sleep with?

2

do you have a job? what do you do? 

No

how many friends do you have? 

4

whats the worst thing you have ever done? 

Bit someone and made em bleed

whats your favorite candle scent? 

Anything fruity or sweet

3 favorite boy names

Dalton

Jensen

Rossi

3 favorite girl names

Ciel

Vanessa

Stella

favorite actor? 

Misha Collins

favorite actress? 

Used to be Evanna Lynch but Jodie Whittaker is amazing!

who is your celebrity crush?

Jodie Whittaker and Misha Collins

favorite movie? 

Oh god I can't decide so imma put sub categories to make it easier

Disney: Brother bear

Dreamworks: how to train your dragon

Non Disney animated: last unicorn

Musical: Oliver!

Action: Knight and Day

Adventure: Bridge to Terabithia

Comedy: 17 again

Fantasy: Harry Potter

do you read a lot? whats your favorite book? 

Yes, Devon the worlds naughtiest dog

money or brains? 

Brains

how many times have you been to the hospital?

Personally for my own needs: 4/5 times?

To visit others: way too many times

top 10 favourite songs:

One for sorrow by Steps

Viva la radio by Lolly

Bad bitch by Bebe Rexa

Team 6 by vanoss crew

Murder on the dancefloor by Sophie Ellis Bexter

Poison by Alice Cooper

Hypnotized by Set it Off

The ballad of Mono Lisa by Panic! At the Disco

The sound of drums by Chameleon Circuit

Stranger things have happened by Random Encounters

do you take any medications daily? 

Nope

what is your skin type? (oily, dry, etc)

Kinda dry not gonna lie

what is your biggest fear? 

Having no one left and being so alone

how many kids do you want? 

Maybe 1 of each but fuck the painful part nope. Imma adopt plus I skip the nappy parts.

whats your go to hair style?

Everyday is just down but sometimes I put in a high pony, half up half down pony, pig tails/bunches/twin tails, half up half down of pig tails

what type of house do you live in? (big, small, etc) 

I live in a small house

who is your role model? 

Evanna Lynch just look her up and everything she's been through

what was the last compliment you received?

I can't remember it's been a while

what was the last text you sent?

What time can I come down?

I was asking about time to see my best mate whose like a sister

how old were you when you found out santa wasn’t real?

8 coz I heard my parents arguing over where to put the presents but I continued to fake it for a few years until they told me coz I thought it made them happy. They still dint know that I heard em

[jinmukangwrites]

Whumptober Day 28

Mugged

Ao3

Summary: It's a simple get together, and for once everything was fine.

Warnings: GRAPHIC MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH AND GRAPHIC INJURY. DO NOT READ IF THIS KIND OF VIOLENCE BOTHERS YOU, WHETHER ITS DIRECTED TO A CHILD OR AN ADULT. SPOILERS FOR DEATH IS IN TAGS.

-o-o-o-o-

 "You have something on your face," Dick teases, smiling and leaning his elbows forward onto the 24 hour diner table. In the booth across from him, Damian scowls and wipes a smidge of strawberry ice cream from his cheek then elbows to his side to hit the laughing Tim straight into his gut. 

Jason snorts and takes a spoonful of his own ice cream, which is raspberry flavored with little chocolate chips. 

The time outside is very late. So late that when the four of them walked inside the diner after a long, team up for patrol, one of the workers actually glared at them. Which is valid. If Jason worked at one of these places when it was reaching the buttcrack of dawn, then watched as four annoyingly loud and too awake people barged in, he'd probably glare too. 

Maybe they should have came inside in their costumes instead of getting dressed first into their normal clothes. One of the waitresses literally has a Nightwing pin on her vest. They could have probably gotten the ice cream and fries for free. 

Oh well. The ice cream here is worth a little glaring and a few bucks. 

"So I was thinking-" Dick says through a mouthful of ice cream. He's already dipping another fry into his chocolate mint shake, so Jason gets the feeling that whatever Dick says for the next twenty minutes will be through food- "that after this, we can go to a Redbox and pick up a movie."

"What movie?" Tim asks.

Dick hums. "One that Cass hasn't seen yet."

Jason scoffs. "She hasn't seen a lot of movies. You're going to have to be more specific."

"Then what about a movie Duke hasn't seen," Tim asks, scraping the bottom of his shake with his spoon. "That way we can kill two birds with one stone."

"I hate that metaphor," Jason stands up from the booth with his empty shake cup and equally empty bag of fries. 

Dick glares at him with a face that says yes Jason, we all know you died. 

Jason smirks and throws his trash away. 

As they all walk out of the diner, Jason hears one of the workers mumble finally, and he's not even that mad about it. He hopes their shifts end soon and they can go home and watch anime or something. Working night shifts like that in Gotham isn't something to scoff at.

Dick pulls out his phone while Tim runs ahead to take the lead. Jason walks behind the group as Damian falls into step besides Dick and looks over at his phone screen to see what he's typing. "Where's the closest Redbox?" Dick mumbles to himself and Jason rolls his eyes. 

He's serious about the Redbox thing? "You do know we can just buy whatever movie we want with B's card. We don't need a Redbox."

"It's for the experience, Jay," Dick argues back, scrolling on his phone through Google. "Everyone goes to Redbox to get random movies they don't actually want to own."

"Alright, alright," Jason huffs, smirking a little. 

And okay, he'll admit it. Tonight has actually been… a little fun. Even if Dick had to threaten to go skiing without him next winter if he didn't join them for patrol. And while yes, Jason could just go skiing alone or force Roy to come along… and while yes, Dick would have gone skiing with him regardless of the threat and if Jason went through with it… he still found it enjoyable to just pretend to be a family with these idiots for the night. He almost wishes the others could have joined, but with Duke and Cass being busy on their own sibling bonding mission for the night where no one else were allowed they were forced to be just the four of them tonight. 

Dick will have to work with Cass to better schedule sibling get togethers'. Just imagining the shenanigans and trash taking about Bruce they could be doing if it were all six of them has him staunching down a grin. 

Even better if Steph joined as well. 

Jason follows along as Dick picks up speed to pass Tim—whos balancing on the curb of the street like an actual five year old—and lead them towards the nearest Redbox. 

"We should get Princess Bride," Tim suggests as they walk past an alleyway. "I don't think Duke's seen that."

"He has no excuse to have not seen Princess Bride," Damian huffs. "It was one of the first movies Richard showed me."

"And one of the first I showed Cass, too," Dick adds, turning to flash a lopsided grin. "So we need to think of another one."

"What about that new movie?" Tim suggests. 

Jason lifts an eyebrow. "What new movie?"

"You know," Tim replies, "the- the new movie. With that guy from Voltron. Where they go on the bridges and fight the monkeys?" 

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

"It's-" Tim growls, sounding frustrated with himself. Jason finds him amusing. "You know. That one movie."

"Timothy has no idea what he's talking about."

"I'm sorry I don't spend all day watching movies all the time. Oh! Dwayne the Rock Johnson was there!"

"… Are you talking about Jumanji 2?" Dick asks and Tim snaps his fingers. 

"Jumanji 2!" 

They turn a corner, then immediately all stop when they spot the entire road blocked off by orange coned and giant signs telling you to detour. In the middle of the blocked off road is a giant, dangerous looking hole in the ground leading towards the sewers. 

Huh. Jason's almost forgotten one of Two-Face's thugs had thrown a very powerful grenade of some sort last night. 

"Damn. Google hasn't updated this?" Dick sighs and begins tapping on his phone. 

"Crap like this happens all the time in Gotham," Tim sighs while stuffing his hands in his pockets, "you really think they're gonna catch everything?"

Dick's mouth turns into a frown, then he looks up at the building rooftops around them as if wondering how difficult it would be to climb up and parkour towards the nearest Redbox in civilian attire. He sighs, probably settling on it not being difficult, but potentially compromising of their identities ifanyone saw. 

He looks back at the phone. Then turns towards the alleyway they have just passed. 

"… We can cut through the alley," he suggests. 

Jason immediately scoffs while Tim walks towards them, shaking his head. 

"Um no? We shouldn't? Have you forgot what city we're in?" 

Dick gives an unimpressed look at Tim before sighing. "We'll have to go all the way around the block to get to the Redbox. That's like, another twenty minutes. Besides, we just finished patrol. Gotham's at its safest around now."

"We're going to get in there and then get shanked by some rando," Tim argues. 

Damian watches the two of them argue with narrowed eyes. When Damian opens his mouth, Jason decides it's his turn to step in. He grabs Dick by the back of his jacket and then behind to walk towards the mouth of the alleyway. He has his guns on him still, concealed under the belt of his jeans. If anyone is stupid enough to try and try to assult them in the alleyway, all Jason needs to do is pull out his guns and they'll go running for the hills. 

Gotham isn't filled with fighters. Gotham is filled with rats that only prey on those with smaller claws than them. 

"I'm not spendin' another hour out here to get a monkey bridge movie," Jason huffs, stopping in front of the mouth of the alleyway. "Now let's go."

"Fine," Tim mumbles, following behind as Dick takes the lead inside the alley. "But if we all get killed don't blame me."

"Dying isn't that bad, actually," Jason says, and Dick turns around and shoots that glare again. 

Damian huffs and trails behind Dick, but he watches the shadows like how a kid shouldn't. Thirteen years old and he's already seen the worst the world has to offer. Jason, once again, takes the back, fully aware of the weight hanging off his hip. The alleyway is long, and dark, and definitely not as surveillanced as it should be, but they continue anyways. So far, all there is to see is closed doors here and there that would lead into various shops and such if they weren't boarded up. Trash cans, litter, bags, and boxes of various contents dot the entirety of the alleyway. 

Otherwise, it looks pretty empty. 

Jason sighs. It should be fine. Gotham is always quiet around these early morning hours after Batman and his army of sidekicks have just combed through its streets. Criminals are back in there nests, shivering and praying they're not found tonight. Hours like these are usually the safest to go out for a after midnight stroll, or a very early morning jog. It's like a limbo. Where Gotham can actually feel like a normal city for once.

Of course, it's right when Jason let's his guard down that something goes wrong. 

Because something always goes wrong. 

Because some criminals are rats. But there's others who are like moths, too dumb to go back inside and persistent enough to jump at anything shiny enough to catch their attention.

A man, practically rags, skin, and bones jumps our from behind a dumpster, his hands already lifted in front of him with a gun in his grasp. Immediately, everyone pauses in their tracks. Jason goes to grab his own gun like he planned, but the man points his weapon at Jason with shaking, obviously trigger happy hands. 

"No one move!" The man shouts, trembling like a nervous mut. Jason holds off grabbing his guns for the moment, knowing that if he makes any sudden or threatening moves the man will fire. 

Dick, like the idiot he is, immediately steps in front of Damian. Damian growls, but doesn't make a move to fight that show of protection yet. Dick slowly raises his hands in surrender. "Take whatever you want," he says slowly. Evenly. 

Tim shifts behind Dick and glances at Jason, questioning in his eyes. 

"Give me your money- all of it," the man demands, and Jason can practically hear the body of his weapon tremble in his shaking hands. "No one will get hurt if ya give me all your money."

"Okay, okay," Dick says gently. Like he's soothing the mugger. Dick carefully lowers his arms to his pockets and uses smooth motions to bring out his wallet, which is probably only filled a debit card he can easily cancel, his driver's license which is definitely expired, and not even four dollars of cash. Jason only knows what's in Dick's wallet because Dick's his main victim for him to practice pickpocketing on. He holds out his Superman patterned wallet but the man keep his gun up and trained. 

"All of you," he wheezes. "All of you, give me your fuckin' money."

Tim snaps into movement with shaking hands, pulling out his wallet while Damian makes to do the same. Why the kid has a wallet with actual cash, Jason will never know. Something about Bruce wanting Damian to feel independent… like how he bought a lock for Jason's bedroom door that only Jason had the key for, just to make him feel like he had control while small and scared and barely eleven years old. 

The gun moves back to Jason, and Jason realizes he's been focusing too much on the wrong things. He lifts his hands and clears his throat. 

"I don't have anything," he says, because it's true. He doesn't carry his wallet while on patrol, nor does he stash personal belongings with his changes of clothes after patrol. Then, there's also the added fact that this guy is definitely one more nerve shot from firing his weapon. Him seeing a glock on Jason's belt might be the thing that pushes him over the edge. 

"I don't believe you," the man growls, taking a step forward and aiming directly at Jason now. 

And of course this is happening. Of course Jason's being mugged when he doesn't have any change on him. 

"Jason…" Tim hissed and Jason throws him a sideways glare. 

"I'm telling you, man, I don't have anything."

"Show me," the man snarls, jerking his pistol dangerously. "Show me your pockets."

And shit. This is what Jason was worried about. 

"Okay," he says, softening his voice, "alright. Just... I'm carrying okay? But I'm not gonna-"

"YOU HAVE A GUN?!" The man screeches, and Jason winces. Great. He was trying to warn the guy. There's no way Jason can show all of his pockets and his gun go unnoticed. It's grip is hanging out of his jeans waistband, black as night and clear as day. 

Jason lifts his hands immediately in surrender, watching the man wearily as his already panicked breaths become more labored. The tendons in his paper thin wrists are twitching. 

Jason's record for drawing and shooting a gun with accuracy is a little less than two seconds. Even with his hands up like this. 

But this man already has the gun aimed and finger on the trigger. 

"Let's calm down," Dick tries, "we have money, just take it and we can all-"

"You have a gun-" the man practically froths. 

And that is when Jason knew the sound of gunfire will be heard in this alleyway tonight. Jason can see the resolution in the man's eyes to shoot a moment before it happens. Jason doesn't have time to dodge or pull his own weapons. He will try to anyway. 

He goes to dodge, drops his hands to his waistline, and the enemies gun explodes. 

There's normally a moment of nothing between the time you've been shot and the time you realize you've been shot. But it doesn't happen this time. 

What happens is that Jason suddenly blinks on the grimy floor, his gun having skid across the cement from the force of his fall. 

He… he was pushed. 

"RICHARD!"

Jason looks up just in time to watch Damian run for the collapsing Dick Grayson… just to be violently knocked to the side by the sound of another bullet launching from the chamber. 

Jason doesn't watch or look anymore. He just scrambles to his gun, turns, aims, and fires.

The man chokes on blood as the bullet rips through his chest. 

And Jason thinks that this should be the end of it. This should be when he can get to his feet and look his brother's all in the eye one at a time. And- and he doesn't know. Go home? Call Gordon? Plead self defense?

However, when he stands up, he finds only Tim standing, his hands leaving his face from protecting himself moments before. 

Dick's on the ground writhing from pooling red in the center of his gut. 

Damian… Damian…

Jason thinks he's going to get sick. 

The damage a 9mil can do to a head at this close of range…

He doesn't look. He can't look. Not yet. He rushes towards Dick and ignored Damian's b- he-

He ignores Damian. He ignores Damian and slams his hands down onto Dick's stomach. 

Guilt twists in his gut like something he's never felt before. Rage. Helplessness. Disbelief. It's all he can do to force his limbs to press down as Dick jolts from agony beneath him. "Stay- stay still-" Jason snarls. His chest hurts so badly. His ears are ringing. 

His fault his fault his fault his fault-

"D-" Dick babbles, blood coating his teeth and dripping from the corners of his mouth. "No- n-"

Dick's not paying attention to anything. It's then, Jason realizes he's not struggling because of his own pain.

He's struggling because his kid is laying across from him in a puddle of blood, a hole in his skull. 

"No-" Dick twitches. Practically sobs. "M'suh- sorry- D'mi…"

"It's okay, just-" it's not okay, but Jason continues- "just focus on me, kay? Just- Tim, hospital?"

"Working on it."

Jason presses harder onto Dick's stomach. Dick sobs and his eyelashes flutter. 

He almost wants to tell Tim to stop. 

The ambulance isn't going to make it in time.

He knows this because he can hear Dick's protests begin to die down. He knows because he can see Dick's hand twitching towards Damian's limp one. He knows because he can feel the final shudder through his frame before his normally clear blue eyes cloud over. 

Jason… doesn't know what to do now. It's like his entire world just… stops. 

And he wants to scream. He wants to throw something. He wants to go back in time and shake Dick by the shoulders until he fixes this. 

He can't... he can't go back to a world where Dick and Damian aren't apart of it. 

Especially not if it's all. His. Fucking. Fault. 

"-we need help- my brother's been shot-"

And Jason clutches his fists in Dick's sopping wet, blood-soaked shirt and turns to find Tim kneeling against Damian, blood painting his fingertips. 

He wants to scream that there's no use of an ambulance. There's no point. 

But then Tim meets his eyes, tears trailing down in tracks, then looks down at Damian. 

It takes a second for Jason to see it. But Damian's chest moves. 

Damian's still alive. 

He's still alive. 

Jason forces himself to leave Dick so he can scramble over to Damian and get a closer, desperate look. Tim rattles off the details of their location the the details of the mugging while Jason just... Hovers. Holding his red stained hands above his- his baby brother. 

He doesn't want to touch Damian. He doesn't want to break him more.

So he sits there and counts every breath the kid stubbornly makes even with a bullet in his skull. 

He sits there until Tim hangs up the call and sits besides him. He sits there until a loud ambulance accompanied by at least three cop cars pull up and then a shock blanket is wrapped around his shoulders. He stays there until Damian is loaded into a gurney. Until he's left there, kneeling, not even realizing he's holding Tim's hand, until a female cop with sad brown eyes kneels down in front of him and tells him Bruce is on his way with Cass and Duke. 

He nods, and stands up, keeping Tim besides him even though he's caused this. 

He looks to his side to see Dick already covered by by a tarp. He can see red bleeding out from under it. 

Slender arms wrap around his waste, and it takes him a moment to realize Tim is clutching to him. 

Jason's... The big brother again. The big brother. 

He- he should…

He wraps his arms around Tim and let's his own tears finally fall.

[magmatickobaian]

Rules: Post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Send me an ask with the title that most intrigues you and I’ll post a little snippet of it or tell you something about it! And then tag as many people as you have WIPs.

Tagged by: @x-rainflame-x and @elricsyao

Oh good God... I have so many god damn WIPs you literally have no idea. This is going to take a second so you better buckle the fuck up.

In Progress

Devils in the Details

Sirius

Semi-In Progress

High Strangeness

A Pro's Log

Blinded Hemispheres

Kaleidoscope

The ship of Theseus is helmed by angels (absolute fucking lmao of me to claim this is "semi in progress" but whatever)

Incision

Desperate Deduction

Wrath is a Virtue

The Great Below

Throe it Off

Shot through the heart, and you're to blame

Haven't Touched

*breathes in*

Ghosts in the Parlor

Self-Indevilgence

A Thousand Pictures Drawn From One Word

Incompatible

Seeking Order in Chaos

The Invisible Seam

Brotherly Love

Defect

The Thing on the Doorstep

Wall of Sound

Exchange Program

Notes from Somewhere

Nothing to Lose

Self-Deprecation

Crossing a Line

Rebound

Ring 4 Errors

Camera Lucida

Paranormal Hyperactivity

Where There's Smoke

Blueshift

Sitting Alone On A Bench With You

Sublimation

Sunlight, Plastic, Metal, Air

Foreign Exchange Program [ed. Note: not the same as "Exchange Program"]

Will Work For Potions

Warm

Xanadu

A Shadow Over Resembool

Beginning of the End

Helping Hands

In Passing

Missing Pieces

My Brother's Keeper

The Sum of Its Parts

The Worst Tattoo Idea

Living In Infamy

Green Earth

Bit Rot

Liminal

Apology Accepted

Problem Child

Memory Leak

Cadence

Midwinter's Nightmare

Parallelism

After the Fire

dad zero attempts to control his gremlin son

Closer to the Heart

You're All Under Arrest

Real Talk

Friends in High Places

Raqia

Unholy Matrimony

She

Carry Over

Out of Mind

Google En Passant

Precious

Bart's Day Out

Rico's Day Out

Spirals

Angel's Repose

The Unconquered Sun [this one slaps I forgot about it]

Catharsis

Chronicity

Circuit Breaker

Dead, Not Buried

Eldritch

Please Report This To Your Nearest Supervisor

Tainted Blood

An Expansive Problem

Genesis

Lost in Translation

Face To Bloodshed

Plants

Void Pointers

Viscosity

Belly of the Beast

Lex Talionis

Dead Like Me AU

Life Unmade

Inertia

193X

Right Hand of the Father

Monologue

Vampires!

Alternating Current

Bioelectricity

Bleeding Heart

End of File

Off Kilter

Sound And Fury Drowns My Heart

Under Masks

The Blame Game

Any Other Name

The Mind's Eye

Burning Bridges

Shards of a Mirror

A Hivemind Divine

The Eternal Shade

...Sorry

A Winter's Ascent

A Failure

Alter Ego

Broken Wings

Descent Into Madness [ed. Note also known as this list]

Evaporation

Illiteral Writing

Metamorphosis

Mile In Another's Shoes

Return To Sender [no relation to rain's fic i swear]

Upside Down

Walk Like Them Until They Walk Like You

So the next time you're feeling bad about having too many WIPs, just look on the bright side... you could be me...

I'm ending this by anticlimactically tagging one person: @liathgray

[izzy-b-hands]

I have rekwest. Sledgefu vs. hot glue gun. They are crafting or something, and well, I always make a big damn mess. You can make of this what you want! ;) Can be modern AU, because I have no idea when the hot glue gun was invented. Cheers :3

Aaah thank you!!!! I was thinking about this all day during work (and googling when the hot glue gun was invented, because I had no idea either-1954! Which sounds wrong lol, I figured it was either way earlier like the 40s or way later like the 60s.) 

Anyway, due to that I did make it a modern AU! 

Mother’s Day is below the cut; I hope you like it (even though I did make it a little bit sad, but just a smidge!) 

And as always, my love to all who read/like/reblog!

“When’s the last time you made something like this for your mom?” Eugene asked, as his hands delicately settled a clay flower on the already dried and baked small clay vase he’d made the week prior. 

Snafu shrugged. “Depends on what’s allowed from year to year.” 

He watched Eugene wince, but shook his head. “It’s okay. She’d appreciate it, if she was around. And I’m sure she appreciates it anyway, if she can see it. And I think she can.” 

He’d told Eugene for weeks it was fine; he was happy to participate in Mother’s Day and make a gift for his mother. He didn’t every year, depending on if he could get back to Louisiana or not. The years he could, he left a gift of some kind, some flowers, a few beans of her favorite coffee. It would be nice to do it again.

But Eugene clearly wasn’t used to it, wasn’t used to the idea of trying to make a parent happy years after they were gone from the earth. 

“No reason why that wouldn’t be, right?” 

Snafu shrugged and gave a gentle tap to the finished portion of the coiled rope basket he was making. “I’ve told the groundskeeper to take whatever he wants from her gifts that he can use at home. I figure him or his wife could use this, and they always thank me when it’s something home decor related, so this should be safe.” 

“Just be careful with that,” Eugene said, nodding towards the hot glue gun in his hand. “Pretty sure your mom doesn’t want you glued to it.” 

“You worry too much,” Snafu teased. “You’ve seen me handle an actual gun; this is nothing.” 

“Is it? Because you still have your finger pressing the trigger...” 

Snafu looked down, and winced at the glue pooling on the cover over their table. “That’ll come off.” 

“I’m sure it will,” Eugene chuckled. “Just don’t let any of it hit your hand.” 

“You really trust me less with this than an actual gun?” 

“Snaf.” 

“Eugene!” Snafu shook his head and moved his hands up in shock and frustration. “This is crafts. Would you feel better if I had a crafting ribbon from the Marines? Maybe an arts and crafts specialization training course? Combat gluing of rope to make a basket? Y’know, I’m gonna add some ribbon on this later for accent, and-” 

He felt his eye twitch as glue hit his bare foot. His first urge was to swear and yelp, but he couldn’t let Eugene know. If he was careful, he could hide this.

“And?” Eugene asked. “What other ways do you think the Marines could use hot glue guns?” 

He let his hand off the trigger, then waited for the remaining glue to drop off the gun and onto his foot before setting the gun back down on the table. “Oh. They’d find something.” 

Eugene snorted. “What sort of non-answer is that? Where’s my man with the snappy comebacks?” 

Currently wondering if he’ll have skin left on his foot after this, was what Snafu thought. Instead, he said: “Just distracted I guess. Thinkin’ about what else I could add to this that Mom would have liked.” 

Eugene gave him an odd look, but nodded. “Fair enough. I shouldn’t be distracting you when you’re holdin’ that dangerous weapon, right?” 

Snafu laughed to hide the hiss he wanted to let out as he felt the glue cooling on his skin. He didn’t even know how to treat that. Could he just pull the glue off? How bad could a burn from a glue gun even be? It sure as hell felt bad. 

They worked in silence for another few minutes before Eugene was satisfied with the additions on his vase. 

“Gonna go put this in to bake. You good on your own? Don’t need me supervising you?” 

“Funny,” Snafu winked, this time to hide a wince as he tried to move his foot further under the table so Eugene couldn’t easily see it.  “I’m good.” 

Eugene pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead, then headed off towards their oven with his vase. 

He couldn’t think of a time he’d whipped out his phone faster, searching online for what he hoped would be an easy answer. 

“Soak in cold water for at least ten minutes? What if I don’t have ten minutes?” he whispered fiercely at his phone. “Shit.” 

“What was that?” Eugene called, and Snafu had never hated how small their apartment was so much until now. 

“Almost dropped my phone!” 

“Be careful! You’re a lovable hazard, you know that?” Eugene giggled. 

“I certainly am,” Snafu muttered quietly to himself, staring at his foot, pondering his next move. 

“Need this?” 

He turned, and Eugene was stood with a bowl of water, just big enough for his foot. 

“How the hell...” Snafu grinned. “Caught.” 

“Yeah. With your hands movin’ like that, I figured you’d hit some part of yourself. Plus, you got a wild tell when you’re in pain.” 

“I do not!” 

“Do so!” Eugene teased. “Honest. You don’t wink with your left eye unless you’re hurting, otherwise you use your right eye.” 

“How the fuck have you noticed that?” 

“How often have you told me some terrible pun and winked at me to get me into bed?” 

Snafu nodded. “Fair enough. Hell of a thing to pick up on though.”

“Like you haven’t picked up on the stuff like that that I do.” 

“You usually swear like a sailor, even more than usual. That’s hint enough,” Snafu said. “That, and you tap your fingers on whatever’s nearest you like you’re pissed at the pain for taking so long to go away.” 

“See?” Eugene said as he walked around the table to him. “Now, what did you...oh.” 

“Yeah,” Snafu sighed, and tried to carefully lift up his foot from the kitchen tile. “Might want to get a towel or two.” 

Eugene was on it in a flash, taking the bowl with him and returning with it and one of their few extra-thick towels to put under it, kneeling by him. “Foot up, let’s get you in this. That’s gonna hurt like a bitch once the glue is off, just so you know.” 

“Hurts now, didn’t figure it would magically stop that,” Snafu smiled grimly as he let his foot settle into the bowl. “Water feels good though. How did you know to get that anyway?” 

Eugene blushed, his head still bent just the slightest bit down, a hand on Snafu’s ankle. “I’ll give you three words.”

Snafu snickered. “Bet I can guess ‘em.” 

“Go for it.”

“Sid, dare, kids.” 

“Pretty much it,” Eugene sighed. “In all fairness, we were pretty young kids. About ten. Old enough to technically know better, but just young enough to still do something that stupid. We dared each other to drop as much hot glue as we could on part of us, a hand or foot, and-” 

“Gene!” 

“Don’t you judge me!” Eugene smiled and laughed. “I can’t really blame you though. Oh, was my mom mad. You know how she gets.”

“All deadly quiet, not sayin’ a word to you the whole time she was fixing you up,” Snafu said, wincing just slightly as Eugene started to rub at the glue, getting it to come away from his skin. “And you don’t dare say a word, or she’d start in on you.” 

Eugene nodded. “Took two days before she was calmed down enough to give a firm talking-to while she was redressing the burn on my foot. Drilled it into my head how to take care of a burn like this, and told me if I ever so much as looked at her hot glue gun again...” 

Snafu shook his head and laughed. “You little shits. Which foot?” 

“Same as you,” Eugene replied, and carefully readjusted so the top of his right foot was visible. A tiny bit of discoloration was noticeable. 

“Your mom did a hell of a job fixing it up then. Can I expect the same level of care?” Snafu asked, reaching down to ruffle Eugene’s hair. 

“We’ll see. I’ll ask you what my mom asked me, when she was first cleaning me up,” Eugene said. “You ever gonna do this again?” 

“No, I will not.”

“You ever gonna be careless with something that can burn you like this again?” 

“On my honor, I will not. The utmost care will be taken in the future.”

“You gonna be good and help me remember to keep burn cream on it?” 

Snafu nodded, then broke and giggled. “She really asked you that?” 

“I had to set alarms! She did most of it, since I was young, but I had to help her remember so we could put more cream on, change the dressing, keep it from gettin’ infected.” 

“I love your mom,” Snafu grinned. 

“Me too,” Eugene said. “And I’ll love watching you tell her all about this next weekend when we go over to visit and take my vase to her.” 

Snafu let his head drop back and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. “It won’t be healed by then?” 

Eugene shrugged. “Take a look. Glue is finally off, but...I mean, it could be worse.” 

Snafu looked down, then immediately looked back up.

“Holy...look at how grey you just got! I think you might deserve a medal or ribbon for this wound,” Eugene mused. “You just focus on taking slow breaths, don’t pass out, and let me do the rest. Call me medic until we’ve got you all fixed up.” 

“Kinky,” Snafu tried to tease, but it came out as a weak whisper. Who knew seeing his foot missing a decent layer of skin and looking gross as all hell would take him out so easily? “Want me to call you that in bed tonight too?” 

“You gonna throw up?”

“Please don’t say throw up,” Snafu murmured, and let his head gently drop to the cool surface of the table. 

“You aren’t normally so squeamish...didn’t think I’d ever see you lookin’ like that. Guess you can’t go hurting your feet ever again, huh?” 

He wanted to respond, but he was too light-headed to lift his head up.

 Instead, he let Eugene work, feeling as Eugene’s hands helped lift his foot out of the water, drying it gently with the towel, then leaving it wrapped there for a moment on the floor. 

He heard Eugene go for the first aid kid, and closed his eyes for the rest of it. The sensation of Eugene carefully moving the towel, a shade of red that had reminded Snafu of Eugene’s hair in the sun and his whole reason for buying the towel at all, then applying burn cream so tenderly it was as if Eugene thought his foot might just break apart at the slightest touch. The sensation of the gauze made him wince, and he heard Eugene hiss at the movement. 

“I’m gonna go get you a glass of cold water,” Eugene was suddenly standing, near his other side, the bowl in his hands. “Then get you settled on the couch to elevate that. You can finish the basket later; if I let you sit up and pass out right here I am one hundred percent sure your mother will come haunt me.”

Snafu managed a chuckle. “Probably. She always told me, ‘You aren’t always gonna find someone who babies you like I do. You gotta learn to be careful.’ I don’t think I learned that last bit real well, but I found someone who babies me when I need it. She’d still show up though, give us both a lecture.”

“It would a deserved one,” Eugene said, returning with the glass of water. “And yeah, you are definitely gettin’ babied for the rest of the night, at least. You’re still awfully grey...” 

He tried to keep his head upright, his feet in a straight line, as Eugene kept one hand on his back, the other holding the glass of water, maneuvering him towards their couch. 

Once he was settled, propped up with two of their many pillows (no one couple needed six throw pillows, but they were all cute and had either a cat or dog on them, and who could say no to that?), the glass of water safely in his hands, he started to feel more steady.

“That looks better already,” Eugene smiled. “I’m gonna go check on the vase, and you stay put. Once I’ve got it out of the oven, I think we’re due for a movie night. Best thing for resting and healing is falling asleep in front of something good.”

Snafu nodded, and grinned as Eugene walked back into the kitchen. “How’d I get so lucky, Mama? He’s an angel, I’m tellin’ ya. I can’t wait to introduce you two, when I bring your present by. Without any of me or my skin accidentally attached, I promise.”

That promise he could keep, as well as one he’d made his mother years ago, when he was too young to know what it meant.

If you find someone who cares for you, really loves you? Takes care of you no matter what silly thing has happened, and the entire time, all you can think about is how you’d do the same for them? You treat them well, love them deeply, and thank your lucky stars you have them in your life.

He could keep that promise too, easily, with Eugene. 

[seblore]

everyday i wake up and you still havent posted your evermore rant </3

there u go boo 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩

GDBDNSKDJHHDDNDS GIRL................ ok so i very cleverly avoided ranking folklore because every song REALLY HIT and the whole album was just SO.. SO.. yeah. i can however rank miss evermore. i dont want to compare the two album i do not get the point in that. both give off really different vibes. now what i will say is with folklore, AS AN ALBUM, it is just a master masterpiece. The songs flowed amazingly with each other and really held you close the entire first listen. at least thats what I felt like <3 with evermore however, the individual songs are OMG!!! THERE IS LITERALLY NO SONG I DONT LIKE FROM ANY OF THE TWO ALBUMS. but as an album on the first listen i did feel a bit disconnected from evermore which didnt happen to me with folklore. why i think that might’ve happened is BECAUSE taylor is just so brilliant m8.... the MASSIVE contrasting emotions between the songs was too much for my little brain to handle.

Ok so now that’s out of the way dhsjsk time for rankings :) i have no idea where im going to put each song im just going to make it up as we go <3 ill ALSO give you my fave lyrics from each if I remember it <333 (oh and also you’ll notice marjorie isnt here. im sorry but i never listened to it after the first listen because it hits a little too close to home and i dont want to unpack all of that now im sorry! it is a beautiful song)

14. Closure: she popped off <3 she really said dont treat me like a situation that needs to be handled 💃🤙💯 a beautiful song with beautiful lyrics HOWEVER its the first song i couldnt connect with thus it’s down here BUT I STILL WOULD LISTEN TO IT ON REPEAT THO... the last in my ranking but still fucks 🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️ thats taylor swift 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩

13. long story short: i have never been in a relationship ever BUT GODDAMN ‘pushed from the precipice, clung to the nearest lips’ hdjsksksjjddjnBbdns jddd ubebs!:!?:?:$3&39383$hzjs WOAH.... and this bitch really summarized the full 2016 drama with long story short it was a bad time. HILARITY. yeah not much to say here tho this is just the ‘at least one mandatory song to shake your tits to on each ts album’ song of evermore <3 and always remember that if the shoe fits walk in it TILL YOUR HIGH HEELS BREAK WOOH ANDIFELLDOWNTHEPEDESTALRIGHTDOWNTHERA—

12: dorothea: making a lark of misery :D RENt free. i had to listen to ‘if youre tired of being known for who you know you know youll always know me’ 113 times to finally understand it tho 😐 some of us are stupid and illiterate have you ever thought about that miss swift???? anyways TINGTINGTINGINGINGING THE STARS IN YOUR EYES SHINED BRIGHTER IN TUPELO <33333 such an innocent feel good song I LOVE!!!!!

11. ivy: the goddamn here and the hush of mirrorball ARE THE REASON IM STILL ALIVE 😽 another lyrical masterclass <3 ‘id live and die for moments that we stole on begged and borrowed time’ IS2G!!!!!!!!!!! anyways what if you cheated on your husband with me and i cheated on my husband with you and my pain fit in the palm of your freezing hands 😳 JK JK 😅 unless...... 🤪😏 hdjsks yeah this song is magnificently cursed and i am in love with it 🧎‍♀️

10. tis the damn season: this song is august but the other side of the coin. august but four months later. AUGUST SLIPPED AWAY LIKE A BOTTLE OF WINE- THE HOLIDAYS LINGER LIKE A BAD PERFUMEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE... she sounds so pretty goshhh! ‘time flies messy as the mud on your truck tires NOW IM MISSING YOUR SMILE hear me out we could just ride around and the road not taken looks real good now’ is on repeat in my mind. and as always the bridge ::::::::::::::.............:::::::::::::: how does she do this everytime. ‘and wonder about the only soul who can tell which smiles im faking’ 🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️ after every ts song i listen my expectations about true love grows exponentially and my chances of finding true love falls exponentially simultaneously ADIEU.

9. willow: she really took the invisible string quartet and put it in huh..................... FUCKED IN THE HEADDDDDDDDDDDDDD. what can i say <3 its just such a pretty song <3 hashtag gorgeous hashtag i cant say anything to its face. WRECK MY PLANS!!!!!! WRECK IT BITCH!!! ‘wait for the signal and ill meet you after dark’ LOVE STORY WHIPLASH. also mate i cant even focus on the song she looks SO GOOD in the music video i—

8. happiness: !!!! what can i say.... one of the best songs of the album hands down. lyrical masterpiece AND musically rich. she really logged into tumblr dot com and typed out ‘THERE’LL BE HAPPINESS AFTER YOU’ AND ‘THERE WAS HAPPINESS BECAUSE OF YOU’ ARE IDEAS THAT CAN COEXIST and logged off...... h8 her and her insanity. the one word i have to describe this song is: picturesque. tis a picturesque song <3 oh and dfbhhffcbhDDVHHTRSDVJK when i heard ‘i hope she’ll be a beautiful fool who takes my spot next to you’ i audibly GASPED and then she says ‘no i didnt mean that sorry i cant see facts through all of my fury’................. i fell out of my chair. IT FELT LIKE AS IF SHE HEARD MY GASP AND TOLD ME SPECIFICALLY THAT NO SHE DIDNT MEAN IT LIKE THAT... anyways yeah. ill write an article one day named THE SWIFT DECEPTION OF TAYLOR about how she keeps writing songs with deceptive titles and this will be the opening case 😈🤙 also the fact that this is one of my faves and i put it in number 8 says a lot......

7. evermore: i havent recovered from ‘motion capture. put me in a bad light’. i mean come on the whole goddamn song is a lyrical masterpiece. ‘writing letters addressed to the fire’. IS SHE OK!????????????? i think tf not. beautiful song beautiful arrangement. iver sounded really good too. and lol lol rofl WOOFWOOFbarkbark ‘HEY DECEMBER GUESS IM FEELING UNMOORED’ unmoored definition from google dot com: no longer attached. she doesn’t go back to december anymore. about2 faint oml. long story short: i did not survive. THIS PAIN WOULD BE FOR EVERMORE........ what i felt with this song is that she took the quarantine sadness we all felt at least once this year and made it into a masterpiece of a song. couldve been easily the top song on any album except this. no i will not elaborate <3

6. no body no crime: i cannot believe. she teased us with a musical number. this woman teased us with. a musical number. I THINK SHE IS WRITING A MUSICAL BUT I JUST CANT PROVE IT! when she wins that tony 16 years later call me prophetic xoxo. anyways yeah she literally wrote this to flex her storytelling abilities. send tweet 🐥

5. cowboy like me: YEEEHAWWW I’LL BE HONEST WITH YOU I DONT EVEN KNOW WHAT THE FULL SONG SOUNDS LIKE I JUST HAVE THE BRIDGE ON REPEAT!!!! OMFG!!! the skeletons in both our closets plotted hard to fuck this up. AAAA!! ??? STFU. IM NOT EVEN TALKING ABOUT THE LYRICS MATE THE WAY ITS SUNG!!!!!!! GUT WRENCHING! the best bridge she has ever written musically. i cant stop listening to it. REALLYYY DID BELIEEEVE I WAS THE ONEEE. STORIESSS ABOUT WHEEEN YOU PASSSEDDD THROUGHH TOWN. y e l l. and then she hits me with ‘now you hang from my lips like the gardens of babylon.’ L ???? M !!!!! A $$$$$ O “”””” i had to pause it and sit there for 10 minutes to take in what i had just heard. case closed critical hit sustained yeedhawd.

4. tolerate it: i cried. the only reason it’s not 1 is because it hurt me too much. WHAT THE FUCK YOU MF YOU ASSUME IM FINE BUT WYD IF I BREAK FREE AND LEAVE US IN THE RUINS???? TOOK THIS DAGGER IN ME AND REMOV— m8 this physically hurts me everytime. if its all in my head TELL ME RN. aghhh aRghhhhhhh. pain. and lol she broke down sleep to its bare essentials ‘breathing with your eyes closed’.

3. ??? coney island: i know it’s a bit of a controversial top three but WHO CARES 🕴this is solely here for ‘AND IM SITTING ON A BENCH IN CONEY ISLAND wondering where did my BABYy GO’ im shaking. my bed is shaking. my body is shaking. my pupils are shaking. THE WAY SHE SINGS IT OH MY GOODNESS ME i have to lie down gimme a sec. ‘and if this is the long haul howd we get here so soon 😟’ SCREAM. and when i was hearing it for the first time and she said ‘sorry for not making you my centerfold’ i was like yeah and?? so what?? and then she hits me with ‘over and over’...... so she didnt make him/her/them her centerfold over and over !!!!!!! she is sorry she didnt do it over and over!!!!!! mannn.... the chorus.. i shall not speak. i am held at gunpoint i CANNOT SPEAK. the bridge tho dhdnsksksjsb I CAN SPEAK AND I SHALL SPEAK. BITCH WENT OFFFFFFFF. <3 this is the apology she deserved from her exes which she never got so she wrote it herself. podium. grey skies. birthday cake. ACCIDENT. im laughingggggggggggg <///3 and yeah so overall it is a really yummy song with yummy vocals and yummy arrangement 9/10 would recommend. also!! life lessons kids life lessons. disappointments? SIMPLY CLOSE YOUR EYES AND PRETEND YOU DO NOT SEE IT YAAAAAAAAAS

2. gold rush: ETHEREAL!!!!!! The last time i felt like this™️ whilst listening to a song was with mirrorball <3 the production of this song omg omg omg LOVE 💃 but what propelled it to number two status was the ‘i dont like slow motion double vision in ROSE BLUSH/ i dont like that falling feels like flying till the BONE CRUSH’ imagine how fucked in the head a person needs to be to rhyme rose blush with bone crush. yeah i have nothing more to say really this song is extremely gorgeous and ‘eyes like sinking ships on water so inviting i almost jumped in’ / ‘walk past quick brush’ ?:!:!&:8483 F A V E <33333 and the transition transmission transfusion from ‘... gray old tea cuz itll never be ᵍˡᵉᵃᵃᵃᵃᵐⁱⁿᵍ ᵗʷⁱⁿᵏˡⁱⁿᵍᵍᵍᵍ’ MADAME

1. champagne problems: are we surprised? ARE WE REALLY SURPRISED? when listening to new albums i normally listen to it at one go in order. i stick to that rule. HOWEVER after many years of my solid album listening self made rule tm i finally broke and immediately replayed this mf song after listening to it once. ‘you had a speech, youre speechless/ love slipped beyond your reaches’???? stfu???? VILE. PUNISHABLE. DEROGATORY. and welp the entire bridge ...... .... ........... what can i say. And the parallels to miss all too well??? WHAT WAS THE REASON???? your SISTER splashed out on the bottle- left my scarf there at your SISTER’s house 😐 she’ll patch up your tapestry that i SHRED- maybe this thing was a masterpiece till you TORE it all up 😐 your MOM’s ring in your pocket- your MOTHER’s telling stories bout you on the tee ball team 😐 November flush and your FLANNEL cure- PLAID shirt days and nights when you made me your own 😐 wHAT A SHAME SHE IS FUCKED IN THE HEAD IS2G........... and also why would she not rhyme POCKET with LOCKET?????? why with wallet???????????? slant rhyme why????????????? AND THE NOTE THIS MF SONG ENDS ON..... FUCKED IN THE HEAD

THATS IT. i really sat here and did this for the past 2 hours huh...... hhdjsms anyways LONG STORY SHORT: I HATE ONE INSANE WOMAN AND HER NAME IS TAYLOR ALISON SWIFT. GODSPEEED 🏃‍♀️

[ghargoyle]

Demon of Hidden Things (Demon x Female Reader) - Part 2

This is late and my pacing is soooooooo rushed but just TAKE IT

Part 1

En route to his destination, Sartael felt his facade start to slip. An involuntary growl reverberated from his chest; the skin on his hands was gradually fading from a golden tan to blood red. When the conductor came by to check his ticket, the conductor’s face dropped.

“Uh. Hello...sir. Got your ticket?”

“Yeah, right here. Thank you.” He attempted to flash the conductor one of his brilliant Wall Street smiles, but it didn’t seem to help his case, and the man hurried along to the next passenger.

Turning to glimpse his dim reflection in the train window, Sartael immediately noticed that his eyes had reverted to a startling neon yellow with slitted pupils. Oh. Well that explains the look. Whatever, he probably thought they were costume contacts or something. Hesitantly, the demon opened his mouth to find a full set of pointed fangs. Well, that’s a bit harder to explain away. Thankfully this is New York, so that’s probably not even the weirdest thing he’s seen today.

Slipping his monthly train pass into his wallet, Sartael paused and smirked at his ID and business card. “Jim Alaster”, it read, in a classy black font with gold detailing. A name he had carefully crafted for himself before moving to America. “Jim” coming from “Jinn” with the n’s mashed together, “Alaster” being an anagram of his own name that also hinted at his demonic identity without being too obvious. The full name, conveniently, was similar enough to that of some Northern Irish politician that Sartael didn’t come up on the first page of Google results. Of course, he had made himself a website and a fairly realistic-looking set of social media accounts anyway. Just in case.

He wouldn’t need the name anymore, but he was still proud of it, in an odd way. He might keep the wallet and its contents as a souvenir when he returned to Hell.

Hell. Did he even want to return? He gazed out the window at the Northeastern landscapes, which seemed to alternate pristine woodlands with sparkling lakes and grey industrial wastelands, all concrete and carbon emissions. Occasionally, the train would pass a quaint town or chic city occupied by the country’s elite--Starbucks and artisan bistros, boutiques selling $200 plain dresses and decor that read “Home is where the heart is.”

He knew which stop was his when the air became thick with a pulsing energy. By that point, his chin and nose had started to protrude and veins of red stretched across the expanses of his once carefully-curated face. He could feel his feet starting to turn into hooves in his polished Italian leather shoes, his tail pressing against the inside of his pants.

Guess Uber isn’t an option.

Thankfully, his destination seemed to be a relatively small coastal town, walkable in a few hours at most. The amulet seemed to call out to him in a soft but insistent humming tone, beckoning him to close his eyes.

When he opened them, he knew. He started toward the ocean, ignoring the stares he got, knowing that humans--especially in this part of the world--were too cynical to believe even their own eyes.

Just over an hour later, Sartael came upon an apartment building on the shore. He breathed deeply for a moment, taking in the aura, reveling in the anticipation.

And he promptly ripped the building’s door off its hinges.

And took the elevator to the 8th floor.

And walked down the hall to apartment #83, where he knocked meekly on the door and waited.

You weren’t sure what you expected when you peeked through the peephole in your apartment door, but what you got was a man who looked like he was in dire straits. You couldn’t make out the details of his visage through the smudged glass, but he looked redder than any normal human should, and he seemed to be huffing and puffing quite a bit. Maybe the elevator was broken again?

You opened the door and greeted him with an expectant “Hi!”, only to have him charge and tackle you to the ground before kicking the door closed behind him.

“WHERE is my AMULET?” he roared. You screamed, and he covered your mouth with one ha--were those claws?! “Scream and I swear I’ll kill you and find it myself. It is a green gemstone with a sigil carved into it. Where is it?”

You furrowed your brow for a moment, thinking. Then you attempted to pry his hand off your mouth, leveling him with a glare.

“The only thing I can think of that matches that description is the stone on the cover of my journal. If you get the fuck off of me, I’ll gladly show it to you.”

The demon let go with a slight shove, and you hurried to your room to fish through your desk. You pulled it out less than two minutes later and nearly threw it at the demon, who glared at you and then gazed down at the cover with a wicked grin. His fingers hovered just above the gemstone, as if he was nervous to finally make contact. When he did, the carved sigil glowed emerald for a moment, and then faded back to normal.

“What….” He swallowed. “What in the name of Lucifer himself did you do to it.”

“Huh?”

“What. Did. YOU DO TO IT.”

“Nothing? I bought this at a flea market. It was already embedded in the cover of the journal.”

He tore the leather cover to shreds with one long talon and held the stone flat in the palm of his hand. After a long moment in which you could see golden flames raging in his irises, he looked up at you.

“I don’t suppose you know where the nearest portal to hell is, do you.”

You stared at him and snorted. “Behind the ramen joint across the street.”

Sartael, as he told you his name was, was a bit surprised to see that there actually was a portal to Hell behind the ramen shop across the street.

“Well yeah, I wasn’t kidding. I figured if any place around here were a portal to Hell, it’d be this one.”

“Well played.” In a split second, he grabbed you and jumped into the gaping hole in the ground. Another split second, and you found yourself at the mouth of a sweltering cave, where masses of downtrodden people groaned and screamed and marched toward their eternal damnation.

You winced. Sartael looked around for a moment before snatching your arm and walking right into the cave, ignoring the protests of the guard-demons, none of whom seemed willing to leave their post to stop him. Inside, you could see tall columns of fire, rivers of blood, and...well. All the things you might expect to find in Hell.

Not thirty seconds later, Sartael was recognized by an elderly-looking demon with glasses.

“Sartael?! By St. Michael’s bastard, that can’t be you! It’s been centuries!”

“Olgrath. Where is your brother?”

“Where do you think? As if that old fool would ever step foot outside that library.” Olgrath laughed. “Goodness, it really has been ages. I--”

“Thank you, my friend. But we really are in a hurry.”

“Leaving so soo--”

Sartael once again grabbed your hand and took off, dodging demons and condemned souls alike. You came to a pair of massive wooden doors engraved with a sigil and guarded by what looked like a hydra. It didn’t kill Sartael (nor you) immediately--did it recognize him? He acknowledged the creature with a nod and started tapping out a pattern on the sigil as though entering a code on a keypad. At last, he pressed his palm to the sigil, and a voice came booming from the other side of the doors.

“Who is it?”

“Sartael.”

The doors opened to reveal a...surprisingly small demon. Smaller even than Sartael, who was not much larger than you. He closely resembled his brother, down to the thick glasses resting on the bridge of his Roman nose. If you had previously been asked what the librarian of Hell would look like, he might have fit the bill, but his voice had thrown you through a bit of a loop.

“Sartael!” The small demon grinned. “Finally returned from your centuries-long vacation with a...living human, I see.”

“We’re here on business.”

“I should hope so.” He turned to you and his grin turned slightly menacing, a glint of something terrible in his eye. “Hello, my dear. You may call me Ilgrath. Enchanté.”

You gulped, forced a smile, and were about to tell him your name when Sartael interrupted.

“I have recovered my amulet, but it glowed green and then nothing happened.”

Ilgrath held out his hand for the stone, which Sartael reluctantly handed over. The librarian held it up to his eye, glancing between you and your demonic companion, let out a pensive hum and handed it back.

“It appears as though she has become the de facto owner of the amulet, although she doesn’t have the capacity to harness its power.”

Sartael shot you a bewildered look. “How do I get it back?”

The librarian laughed and clapped his hands. “By ritual, of course!”

“Blast it! Always with the damn rituals!” He stopped a hooved leg. “What does the ritual entail, then?”

“I don’t know anything about that. You’ll have to ask the Master Librarian of Infernal Objects.”

“The bureaucracy here really is awful. Now I remember why I hate this place.”

You trudged off down a hallway to an elevator servicing 666 floors. Great, you thought. We’re probably on 665. Thankfully Sartael pushed the button for the 17th floor and you arrived instantly. Magic, you figured. You started really wishing you had brought a water bottle, although you were pretty sure it would have boiled or melted by this point.

Sartael marched out, gearing up to shout at whoever you encountered. Instead, a stout demon with large, rough hands stood at a desk, tinkering with an object under a magnifying glass. Before Sartael could start ranting, the demon spoke.

“There are two ways in which the ritual may be completed. You may kill her, and use her body in a ritual with these objects.” He tossed a small scroll to Sartael, who struggled to catch it. “Or you may mate with her.”

Sartael unrolled the scroll and let out a string of very angry-sounding demonic words. The other demon seemed unfazed, and when he replied, it was in the same deep, monotone voice as before, although you still couldn’t understand the language. Whatever he said made Sartael whip his head toward you, looking at once shocked, anxious, and infuriated. Without another word, he dragged you to the elevator and pressed the 666th button. You shut your eyes tight, and when you opened them, you were…

Back on Earth.

Sartael turned to you. “You have as long to live as it takes me to gather the items for the ritual. Some of them are found only in the most remote areas of the human world, so we will need to travel. I will cover the costs with Jim Alaster’s savings…”

“Jim Alaster? The Wall Street guy?”

“Yes, and my supposed identity. We will need to be careful, however, because at the moment he is supposed to be missing.”

You laughed and shook your head. “Whatever. I guess traveling the world is how I would want to spend my final days anyway.”

“If it’s any consolation, it will probably be more like final months than final days.”

“Sweet. Where to first?”

[berniesrevolution]

The morning of our trip to Nuevo Laredo, I am looking decidedly worse for wear. Numerous times the previous night, I awoke suddenly and compulsively googled “nuevo laredo” yet again on my phone. I must have been hoping, I suppose, that one of those times, I would get a result that says something like Nuevo Laredo Very Nice This Time Of Year. Instead, I kept getting stuff like Is it safe to travel to Nuevo Laredo? and Nine bloody bodies dumped outside Nuevo Laredo home with note: “This is not a game.”

THE U.S. DEPARTMENT OF STATE HAS ASSESSED NUEVO LAREDO AS BEING A CRITICAL-THREAT LOCATION FOR CRIME DIRECTED AT OR AFFECTING OFFICIAL U.S. GOVERNMENT INTERESTS, says the U.S. Department of State website, in ominous capitals. Do not travel due to crime. Violent crime, such as murder, armed robbery, carjacking, kidnapping, extortion, and sexual assault, is common. Gang activity, including gun battles, is widespread. Local law enforcement has limited capability to respond to violence.

“Guys,” I venture cautiously to my roommates, who are edging sleepily around one another in the tiny kitchen of our trailer. “I’m, uh, kind of fucking terrified about today.”

“I’m not!” announces S. cheerily. “I’m not scared at all. I trust A.”

Our friend A. is Mexican, and has been to Nuevo Laredo before. She is enthusiastic and indefatigable, with a self-deprecating sense of humor and a fund of funny stories, like the one about the time she accidentally fell asleep curled up behind the piano as a child and her family thought she had been kidnapped, or the time her graduation party was ruined because a drug lord showed up at the restaurant and filled the place with gunmen. Yes, of course I trust A. I would trust her to water my plants, to borrow my credit card, to drive me to the airport. But A. is, importantly, a 23-year-old girl, and probably no more use in a firefight or carjacking scenario than I would be. Moreover, between the fact that A. grew up in Ciudad Juarez—which was, until quite recently, the murder capital of Mexico—and the fact that A. is currently living in an old ranch house where she regularly finds live scorpions in her pajamas, I am not convinced that we assess risk in quite the same way.

My roommates, S. and L., are determined to go to Nuevo Laredo. They are undergrads who have taken their summer to come to Dilley, a tiny town in Texas, to help asylum-seekers in detention. There is a migrant shelter just across the Mexican border in Nuevo Laredo where recent deportees are often dumped, and S. and L. want to go see it. S. and L. are much more engaged with the real world than I ever was in college. They cry about their clients and work themselves to the point of emotional collapse. I love them so much it makes my lungs hurt. Because of them, peculiarly, this has been one of the best summers of my life.

If I plead out of going to Nuevo Laredo, S. and L. will think I’m a coward, which is clearly not an option, so my brain quickly reverse-engineers a list of reasons why going to Nuevo Laredo makes perfect sense.

1. Even in a city with a high crime rate, it is statistically unlikely, on a single given day, that you will be murdered, especially as an outsider uninvolved in local disputes.

2. If S. and L. and A. go to Nuevo Laredo without you and die, you’ll have to live with that for the rest of your life! Is that what you want for yourself?

3. People die on this stupid planet all the time, many of them under deeply distressing circumstances! What, do you think you’re better than them?? You worm! You make me SICK!

Half an hour later, A. picks us up in her car; she is the designated driver for our trip to the border. She wants to follow up with a Cuban migrant she met at the shelter there last time, who got stranded in Mexico when the U.S. abruptly changed its “wet foot, dry foot” policy, which had previously allowed people fleeing Communist Oppression in Cuba to bypass the usual asylum process and get permanent residency in the U.S. There’s a chance he will want to approach a port of entry to ask for asylum today, and it’s sometimes useful to have a U.S. citizen on hand to help escort the asylees and document any bullshit that may go down at the bridge. We are also going to look around for a Mexican client of ours who recently lost her case and was deported; since Nuevo Laredo is the nearest border city to Dilley, it seems likely she would have been dropped off there, and possibly taken refuge in the shelter we are visiting.

Driving around Nuevo Laredo ourselves, however, is a dodgy prospect, so we are going to park the car on the U.S. side of the border and then get a ride. A. says she knows a taxi driver who can take us. Alternatively, the priest who runs the migrant shelter has offered to come pick us up. I opt vehemently for the priest.

(Continue Reading)

[kgstyr]

So if y’all for some reason want to hear about my Hurricane Florence story, then you’ve come to the right place. I raveled with my mother and eldest sister on our evacuation journey, while my sister and her husband and kid stayed home.

I’ll put it under a read more if you don’t want to read all of it, but just know it was a wild ride. And plz do me a forgive bc my memory is kinda shitty and selective so im prob missing great moments.

We left on the September 13th a little after 10 in the morning, but before we had even left, the outer bands of Florence were bearing down on us and we had already lost power.

We rode through the town of Swansboro, were the water was already high enough to lap the bottom of the tiny bridge into the town (even tho its low to begin with) even tho it wasn’t going to make landfall til the next morning.

/Now for all of you who don’t know about hurricanes, they usually only last 24-36 hours. It lasted for over 4 days. When hurricanes linger like that, it only makes it worse, even though Florence was only a category 1, it felt more powerful./

We kept driving, past Jacksonville, but until we got past there, I can’t tell you how many times the radio went off for Tornado Warnings (at least 4) up and down the coast of NC within an hour or so. I’ve been through a number of Hurricanes and Tropical Storms, but hearing all those warnings were a bit unnerving. Flood warnings started popping up as well, and as hard as it started raining I believed it happened that fast.

We drove up there pretty much without incident (we are direction illiterate, so almost without incident) up to the city of Pinehurst/Southern Pines, and stayed up in a hotel there for about 3 days. The first day was p good, we chilled up there- the drivers were aggressive as FUCK like run you off the road- it was real pretty with tall Carolina Pines and worldstar golf courses, just like country club on steroids.

The bed was kinda uncomfy and the window leaked a lil bit, but otherwise the first night was a good rest after a long day of driving.

But the next morning (or two, days get away from me), we went to the lobby to rent the room for another night, only for them to tell us that they had booked our room that day, so we had to leave. We were mad as hell, but we couldn't fight it given as we were in unknown territory, so we packed up our stuff and got ready to leave- only to tell us that they had gotten mixed up and that we could stay another night.

Needless to say, we were not happy about having to unpack, then repack, then unpack again.

When they said Florence was slow moving, y’all don’t understand how slow. usually, when hurricanes hit land, they may slow down for a bit, but they speed up and are usually carried out by the jet streams or approaching fronts within a day. It moved slower than 6 mph: ppl can walk faster than that.

The second day, it started raining where we were, and at first it was sporadic outer bands, but soon it become constant with fluctuating torrential downpours. By the end of the second day, the rains and wind had picked up enough to knock out the power to out hotel for an hour or so.

And the same thing happened with the hotel the next morning: they said they had booked our room, but then apologized and said that we can stay. This time at least we didn’t pack up before that.

Now, we went up to the Sandhills to get away from the flooding on the coast, but it came to us. The rain was pouring, and not letting up, and we went under a flash flood emergency nearly continuously from the second day onward, and evacuations across the county were in effect. After the third or fourth day, we decided to leave the area bc all of the water that was rising and evacuations.

After we had left the hotel area, we passed the town of Aberdeen, and we ended up pulling over at a gas station to look at the map (remember: direction illiterate family here) and that’s when I told my mother the famous line

“We should go back to Aberdeen, Mama.” Saying that we knew our way back home

But she decided not to, saying that we couldn’t go back because of the weather. We tried to travel south a lil bit to skirt around an area that was flooded, but we ended up getting pushed down way father south than we anticipated due to impassable areas and flooding, and we ended up on the outskirts of Rockingham. After riding around for hours, trying to find a way out, we ended up at a shelter for the night at the local high school because conditions had deteriorated to an unsafe level, and we were directed by some very nice highway patrolmen to where the shelter is.

None of us had even stayed in a shelter before, so it was a new experience for all of us. The people running the place were nice, but damn some of the ppl were annoying.

I now hate cots, and my Mama and sister hate them too. I really couldn’t sleep on it b/c of the steel rods in my back (scoliosis) and Mama has bad arthritis, so it wasn’t a pleasant night.

It got worse when Rockingham and the county started experiencing massive flash flooding in the middle of the night, and we were up half the night listening to the weather and keeping an eye out just in case we need to evacuate from the shelter. It became a lil more nerve-wracking when evacuees from other counties (like Horry, SC) were transported to our shelter. It was semi- peaceful at the shelter til like 10 other people were brought in.

I had said this several times by this point, but while we were trying to rest on horrid cots, I told Mama: “We’ve should’ve gone back to Aberdeen.”

Long night short, we were semi- kicked out in the morning, and we packed up our stuff and loaded up the car again, having made a soft plan the night before to head to the next town of Hamlet.

We were so tired and fed up and ready to go the hell home that when the car didn’t start, we all started hardcore panicking, and me and my mama, at least, are not panicky people. At first, we thought the car had gotten flooded from all the rain, but after a quick look around we concluded that that was not it, unless someone had just poured a bucket of water on our engine.

After several minutes of pulling each other’s hair out, we found out that the car just needed some oil. Either the long ride up the Sandhills had burned it all and we had rolled it in on fumes last night, or my sister didn’t exactly tell the truth when she said the car was fully oiled up.

Probably both, but that’s not the point (she is a special gurl no hate plz she tries her best).

After that, we stopped at the nearest Burger King in Hamlet and we tried to plot a course home, this time, trying to shoot straight up towards Asheboro and then going around Raleigh and coming home, because by this point other ppl from my hometown that had evacuated to Raleigh had come home from that route.

We left about 11:30-ish. We got as close to Asheboro as the city of Candor (google map it im bad at distance) and then got stuck on this loop for hours between Rockingham and Asheboro.

Literally at least 6 hours. A good chunk of that was trying to get to a town called Candor. We never found it nor made it.

At this point we were all at our wits end, screaming and yelling at each other (out of love ofc) because we are all so bad at directions that we can’t follow a straight line-

We stopped for dinner at somewhere, I can’t remember where, I think at Rockingham again, and then-

“We should go back to Aberdeen.” I say, and Mama laughs and asks why in hell we should go back. I told her that we had stayed in that area for multiple days and that I knew where the hotels in that area (Aberdeen, Pinehurst, Southern Pines, etc.) were-

It was nearly 6, and we were tired and exhausted and running low on money, so Mama agreed, because she didn’t want to spend another night in a shelter.

And, like I said, we couldn’t turn onto a straight line, so we got lost trying to find a hotel, but by a stroke of a lucky piece of my memory, I remembered where a Holiday Inn Express was in the city of Southern Pines, and we managed to find out way there in a darker-than-expected city. 

It was about 8:30 at night, and we were ready to just fucking perish when me and my sister went into the lobby, and asked the front manager if a room was available.

She said no, because a large part of the city had lost power itself and everybody in the town had crowded into the hotels. I felt my stomach drop just a tiny amount because we had been through direction illiterate hell to get there, just to not have a room for the night.

We asked her if there was any other hotel with a vacancy, and she checked and told us the nearest vacancy was in Durham, well over a hundred miles away. My sister, ever the conversationalist, ended up asking her if there was any way we could just crash in the lobby tonight. She said sure. So, we went out to tell Mama that we could stay in the lobby, and we got what we needed for the night to rest in the lobby.

We fully expected to be in the lobby all night, but then the desk lad left for a bit and told us that even though she wasn’t a housekeeper, she could clean a recently vacated room for us that night. We even got it for cheaper since we couldn’t afford the full price.

Lemme tell you, that was the quickest I’ve ever fallen asleep on a bed, and it was a gucci pillowtop bed too like 4 feet into the air, much better than the first hotel. Breakfast was a bit sparse, but that was understandable since power was limited throughout the city. We thanked her repeatedly for what she did; she had no obligation to actually get us a room, but she pulled a rabbit out of her Miracle Hat and gave us a good 8 hour night of deep sleep.

“See?” I said. “We should’ve gone back to Aberdeen.” My new favorite meme. Even though it was the next town over, it still counts as Aberdeen, right?

Over breakfast and leading up to our checkout time, we plotted our way home, and we headed out and started driving home at noon. And since we can’t follow our own directions, it was a tense few 10 miles or so before we got out onto open highway.

It took us a while, because our car is an older car and can’t get up the Sandhills that well, but we started seeing flatter land, and it was a blessed sight.

Mama saw a sign for the city of Benson, and she turned off the exit to go towards that city because she knew her way home from there.

Except like 300 feet from where she turned, the right front tire blew out. WE were nearly halfway home, and our fucking tire blows out. At the very least, I am thankful that it blew out 300 feet onto the exit and not 300 feet back, because if it had blown out on the Interstate we would’ve more than likely have crashed and killed bc no modern safety features on this old piece of beautiful junk.

We managed to roll it into a gas station on the left on the rim, the tire pushed inward and leaving the metal exposed, and that’s when we all had a coming to Jesus moment because back in Rockingham? Filling up the oil was a simple fix. Tire blowing out? We couldn’t do that on our own.

My sister went into the gas station to ask the clerk to call a nearby mechanic, while me and mama refilled our snacks then sat outside on a patio while we waited. Not 15 minutes later, an old, hunchbacked man came into an old, black truck that looked like it needed some repairs itself to check our tires.

Thank goodness that it was only hat one tire than had blowed out, having somehow been slashed all the way around. My sister, the socialite, told him about our harrowing journey up til that point, and I’m sure he could see the complimentary American Red Cross blankets strewn across the backseat along with everything else.

He only charged $40 for a used tire, a bad lugnut, and labor, which was amazingly cheap. He would only take $40, and he did a pretty damn good job because the ride was much smoother after that, and he even pointed out that the tires were misaligned. We got back on the highway, and started driving again.

The hills had started to flatten out when we got into Wayne county, and the trip was winding and calming down from all of our experiences earlier, but then we started to see signs of actual damage from Florence, not just rain and flooded roads.

It started out as just some snapped tree limbs, then smaller trees, then shingles and metal ripped off roofs and large trees snapped in half- and the smell- if you’ve ever smelt like, water mold or water that wasn’t were it was supposed to be (out of its basin), it was rancid and ripe, and not even rolling up the windows could keep it out of the air. I’ll never forget the smells.

The road was brown along lower areas, signs of recent standing water, and it was really visible as we went by Goldsboro. We didn’t go into the city because we had heard about the flooding, but we could literally smell the destruction.

It continued all the way thru Kinston, the smell of water mold and downed trees and damaged structures- we had to stop in New Bern to get some groceries because there were no more stores open after that stop to our city, and we went into a Food Lion in New Bern. There wasn’t much in there, but we got a few Pepsis and things, along with a tiny styrofoam cooler.

There prices were a little high, so we didn’t buy as much as we had planned on- plus their store was getting rather bare.

Someone stole a bottle of alcohol while we were in there, and that made us get the heck out of dodge super fast. Around that time, we had been passed by a fleet of 21 police cars/ SUVS heading towards New Bern and past it, lights on but no sirens.

We saw a few scattered in New Bern, Havelock, Newport- to stop the rioting and looting from earlier from happening again. When the news says people are looting these cities, they really are. New Bern had a lot of side roads closed, the road was a bit raggedy, and you could see what the constant winds did to the siding and roofs of structures.

Also I think one of those cops caught a guy we saw deliberately run a red light. Justice does work, people.

New Bern was bad, Havelock was worse. Nearly all of their side roads were closed, and over half of their street lights were off, which was not good for driving at like 10 at night. We saw cops lining a side street, and we just assumed that they were doing criminal shenanigans down there.

Plus I forgot to mention, frogs were everywhere. It was too dark to see them, but you could hear them for several counties in standing water. They were having frog orgies, I guess.

We knew the Newport River in Newport had flooded, so when the smell of river flooding was ripe, we knew where we were at. A lot more trees were down, and the road was dirty and brown with tree branches brushed to the middle lane or the side of the road, from what we could see in the dark.

My city  looked like someone took a fucking AOE chainsaw and went down the street and cut all the trees but with bad aim. The closer to the waterfront, the more it was obvious that there was damage, as quite a number of houses had gaping homes in their roofs.

The sister that stayed told us that the day after the storm, it looked like a bomb went off in the city, and even though they had gotten the worse of it off the roads and stuff by the time we got back, I believe that. The structures along the waterfront were flooded with the storm surge, and the cites across the Sound bore the brunt of it.

The power came back on for us just a few hours before we arrived home after 5 days of being gone, so it seems like we have perfect timing for that. Before the power started coming back on, it was like the county was a third world country Africa-style (still kinda is!) with the roads flooded making them cutoff from the outside world.

When people say they need donations, they need them. I’ve never had to go into a church to get a hot meal, but now I have. I’ve never slept in a shelter to get away from a natural disaster, but now I have. I’ve never gone to a store to scrounge around for food to restock our nearly empty shelves with, but now I have.

We didn’t get it nearly as bad as Wilmington, or Fayetteville, or Lumberton, but in the grand scheme, all the cities were affected in some way. 

Speaking of Lumberton, at the first hotel we met a very nice and polite black woman from the city of Lumberton, who said she lost everything in Matthew and was praying she didn’t lose everything this time. If she lost it all in Matthew, hen she probably lost everything including the kitchen sink this time as well. I hope there’s something left for her.

Also my Laptop broke (stupid Microsoft updates) at the first hotel on teh first night.

My apartment building sustained some damage (I wouldn’t call it major, but definitely some repairs are needed). It’s 2-story, and I’ve spent an hour today picking up some shingles and paint chips that had flown off the roof and onto the front side. Nobody else was gonna do it, and I didn’t want little kids to step on one with a nail in it and hurt themselves, and plus I wanted to help.

The wood for the balcony for the second definitely needs to be replaced, actually most of the balconies will need to be replaced, and the porch and lawn lights needs fixing bc many of them are bent or gone. A couple of apartments need extensive repairs in the back, and the trees that have snapped needs to be picked up- and the potholes need to be filled as well, but we’ve all been complaining for over 10 years to get them fixed and they haven’t been solved, and now there’s more- part of the sidewalk/driveway is gone somewhere.

The park across from us needs to have the trees picked up off of it, and it needs to be inspected so it’s safe for the kiddos. It could’ve been a lot worse if Florence hadn’t weakened, if it had stalled any longer.

IDK why u read all of this but for that I give u smooches. I guess this is just why I won’t be evacuating again unless its a Cat 5 barreling down on my ass because this was just 2 stressful 4 my frag ile ass. I guess if you wanna know more u can dm me but hey im just tryna survive in a third world city in America like the best boi i can be.

Just wanna shoutout the hotel desk girl who got us a room, the old tire man who spared out thin wallets and speedy service and that lady from Lumberton who I hope at least is somewhere warm and safe because GOTDAMN was our shelter cold as hell, like I felt like it was a solid 40 degrees in there. Plus all the little peeps along the way who helped us out in minor ways.

Also did I mention ppl driving in the Sandhills are rude and aggressive as hell? Yes? Well, I’m saying this again. They are the kind of ppl to road rage ur ass.

Just keep the smaller cities in the wide circle of Florence’s thot circle of destruction.

Yeet dabs

               ~Jek