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[sailorrhansol]

Still Watching? | l.c (m)

❀ Pairing: Lee Chan x f. Reader 

❀ Summary: Blood and Popcorn with your newly minted boyfriend is your favorite. Except now you watch a lot less Buffy and a lot more of Chan. 

❀ Word Count: 2,153

❀ Genre: Established Relationship, PWP

❀ Type: Smut

❀ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging in and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.

❀ Warnings: Shameless pwp, explicit language, explicit sexual content including nipple play, vaginal fingering, a little bit of teasing/edging, cheesy banter. 

❀ A/N: I am writing this as penance to @daechwitatamic to hold her over while I work on things that are not Lee Chan!! 

❀ A/N 2: This is the same couple from Blood & Popcorn but you do not need to read the first story to read this one :) 

❀ Disclaimer: Disclaimer: All members of Seventeen are faces and name claims for stories. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios. Moreover, none of my works accurately reflect, represent or take a stance on the nuances of Korean culture, cities, people etc. Seventeen members are not Seventeen culturally, intellectually, physically, or representationally in my stories, and should be considered name and face stand-ins for made up characters.

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“Honestly, it is so obvious this show was written by a man,” You mutter, watching as Buffy yells at Zander. “He wants to be a hero for her soooo bad.”

“Xander is the worst,” Chan sighs. You rise and fall with his chest, your back pressed against his front where you lay against him. His knees cage you in on either side of your hips, your ass planted firmly between his legs with his arms around your middle, fingers playing with the hem of your shirt. “He really thinks he should win the girl just because he’s a nice guy.” 

“Truly, he has like… very few other qualities than being a nice guy.” 

He hums. “At least Spike knows he’s an asshole. It’s guys like Xander who think just because they’re not blatantly awful that it makes them dateable.” 

“A lot of guys think that.” 

“Mhmm. I’m a rare breed.” 

You crane your neck to look up at him. You can hear and feel the steady thud of his heart, smell the hint of aftershave and menthol from his shower earlier, feel the heat of his skin. It makes you a little dizzy and you unfocus on the screen, studying the gentle curve of Chan’s mouth. 

“You’re surely something,” you mutter in response, grinning a little as you look away toward the screen. His fingers slip under your shirt, skimming your waist. You suppress a shiver, suddenly hyper aware of the way his fingers scrape against you. 

“I’m a nice guy and I know that it takes more than being a decent human being to get the girl.”

“Oh yeah? Remember the time it took four years to confess your feelings to me? What do you know, Lee Chan?”

“Hmm. Data is insufficient. Need more evidence regarding that specific example.” 

For a moment, you’re unable to respond, lids fluttering as Chan continues to caress your lower stomach and hips. His touch is completely innocent, no suggestion that he intends anything. That he means anything. It’s a motion that is instinctual for him, so naturally to have his hands on you that it almost makes it worse. 

Just knowing how easy it is for him to love you never fails to surprise you. You don’t know how you never saw it before. 

Now it seems silly to have ever thought that Chan was anything less than in love with you. It’s in the way he naturally gravitates toward you in every room. It’s in the way he can be totally focused on something else, but his hand reaches out for you, not even really noticing that he’s seeking you out. It’s  in the way that you mold so perfectly into his chest, made to be there. 

“You don’t know your own data?” you shoot back eventually, snuggling a little closer to him. If you could crawl into his hoodie, you would. For now, this is fine. “Seems like you don’t know much.” 

“Hmm?” His fingers stop moving. You feel the question hum against you. “I don’t know much?” 

“Nope.”

Your heart starts to pick up. Chan’s fingers start stroking your skin again but you feel the difference. His blunt nails scrape across your skin, raising goosebumps on your arms. He skims his hands higher and back down, touch light over your ribs. Every time his fingers dance up your side, his reach goes a little higher. 

A tightness forms in your throat. You try to keep your breathing even and will yourself not to squeeze your thighs. You are pressed too close to him for him not to tell if you squirm. Chewing your lip, you stare at the screen totally unseeing. 

“Hm.” Chan’s deep hum hints at trouble. You feel your hands get clammy. “I think I know some things. Like for example…” He trails off for a moment, hand brushing under your left breast. Your teeth dig into your bottom lip, fighting a twitch. “I know that your favorite color on me is green.” 

“Green is a good color on anyone.”

“I know that you like the feeling…” His hand skates low this time, fingers dancing dangerously against the waistband of your shorts. “Of high thread count sheets.”

You snort. “Everyone likes good sheets, Chan.” 

“Good sheets are important,” he agrees. You feel him trace his pointer finger back up with deadly accuracy, following the swell of your breast upward, skating so close to your nipple that you stop breathing. “Everything alright? You stopped breathing.”

“What?” you squeak. “Oh, yep. I am great.” 

“I don’t know, baby. Are you feeling well? You seem… warm.”

Chan presses his palm flat to your chest, fingers splayed wide. His palm is warm and rough, his touch igniting a fire inside of you. The heat spreads outward, licking at every one of your nerves and setting them ablaze. 

In an effort to ignore him, you lick your lips and say, “Never felt better. I like her boots.” 

His chuckle is low. Throaty. You’re barely holding it together, feeling the ache between your thighs at the firmness of his touch. “See, I don’t know a lot about women’s fashion. But I do know those are not boots. Just like I know you’re not paying attention to the show, Bambi.”

You blink and stare at the TV. Chan’s right. Buffy is in sneakers, though in your unfocused haze they had been blurry and looked like boots from a distance. You swallow down the dryness in your throat, Chan’s hand still pressed flat and warm against your chest. 

“I know that your heart is pounding,” Chan murmurs, voice barely audible as he presses his mouth by your ear. Your eyes flutter shut. “I know that you’re trying really hard not to squeeze those thighs.” 

“You can’t possibly know that.” 

To prove his statement true, Chan’s thumb brushes upward, skating gently over a nipple. On command, your thighs squeeze and you feel the shake of his laughter behind you. 

“I know everything about you, Bambi.” His voice brushes against you like his soft touch. You melt, feeling your weight sink into him further. “I know that you don’t share your food with anyone but me. I know that your favorite episode of Buffy is Hush. I know that you think Buffy should end up with Spike. I know that you are probably soaked right now because being caressed drives you crazy.” 

“Insufficient data,” you breathe. “I recommend research.” 

“You know what? Agreed.” 

Chan moves fast. His hand moves from your chest to between your legs, hands slipping under the waistband of your shorts and panties before you can blink. Your lips part, a breathy noise escaping you as Chan drags a slow finger up your sticky folds. 

“What do you know,” he observes. His fingers idly trail up and down your slit, making you twitch against him. “I was right. Do I win anything?” 

“I thought you said nice guys shouldn’t just win the girl.” 

Chan presses his fingers firmly to your clit, a ripple of pleasure ebbing through you. Your hips lift off the couch slightly but he pushes you back down into his lap, other hand looping around your waist to lock you to him. “Maybe I’m not that nice.”

Slowly, he starts to retract his hand. You whimper, both of your hands shooting to grab the wrist belonging to the hand between your legs. He pauses, fingers pressed between your folds. “You are nice!” 

“Oh?”

“Very nice. You’re my very nice, very sweet boyfriend.” 

“I see.” 

He doesn’t move his hand at all. The space is filled with the low hum of Buffy fighting vampires, the blue flash of the screen falling against your silhouettes, body to body as he holds you tight. You try to get control of your racing heart, but that’s never been easy around Chan.

He knows it.  

“Maybe you know some things,” you admit slowly. “Maybe I was wrong.”

Chan’s resounding chuckle is dangerous, but he slides his hand back down. You loosen your grip on his wrist but keep your hands resting on his forearm, feeling the muscle flex under your fingertips as his fingers resume their debauched exploration. 

“See, that’s another thing I know. I know you hate being wrong, so if you’re wrong… it was because you were doing so intentionally.”

His words fall on unlistening ears. You’re too worked up by the simple way he plays you, too focused on the way his fingers gently circle your clit, the perfect stimulation. Too distracted by the way he dips his head down to sweep his mouth across your throat in open-mouthed kisses. 

“I know you’re… not listening.” He stops and you let out a strangled sound, nails digging into his arms. He presses a wet kiss to your pulse point. “Didn’t think so.”

“Chan.” 

“Hmm?”

“Please don’t tease me.”

“Why not? You were teasing me.” 

You pout. He can’t see it, but you know he knows it’s there. “I like to tease you. I have to keep you humble.” 

A long moan slips from your lips and you tilt your head back to Chan’s shoulder when he presses a finger into your aching cunt. You feel yourself twitch around him, hips swiveling for more friction. 

“Humble? How are you ever going to keep me humble when this pussy gets this wet after I’ve barely touched you?”

Well that’s true. You don’t care, though, turning boneless as Chan strokes you with his fingers properly. It feels so good. Only he knows how to touch you like this, familiar with every button to press and every contour to mold to. 

Heat flushes your neck. Chan presses his lips against your cheek, working your cunt with his fingers as he holds you steadfast. It feels like you might suffocate, totally trapped against him. His skin and breath are hot against you, the air thick. He breathes out a groan when your hips buck upward, Chan dropping all pretext of teasing you.

“Like that,” he breathes, heavy. “Do it exactly how you like it.”

Another finger drives you wild. You fumble over his name, squeezing your eyes shut and meeting the quick strokes of his hand. His palm presses firmly against your clit, letting you grind yourself against him for the extra stimulation. 

You burn up. Briefly you wonder if this flash of euphoric heat is what Icarus felt before the fall. The thought is chased away from the intense pressure in your stomach as Chan presses up against that spot inside you, making stars burst behind your eyes.

“Wait - I’m gonna come in my shorts,” you whine, realizing you still have them on. “Chaaaan.”

“So come in them,” he says simply. “Research has revealed that you have a washer and dryer down the hall, baby. Go ahead.” 

“Fuuuuck.” 

“Come for me. I know you want to.” 

You do want to. A moment of static builds up, your thighs squeezing around his hand so hard he can’t move and then you’re coming around his fingers, your nails biting into the skin of his wrist. His grip across your waist is like iron, holding you to him as you come undone. 

Chan’s mouth presses gentle kisses on your jaw, muttering soft I love yous and fuck yeahs against your burning skin. The burning doesn’t stop, your body flushed with heat as you sink away from your orgasm, turning to molten metal and melting into his hold. 

He leaves you like that for a few minutes, thighs shaking around the hand still shoved between your legs, fingers pressed deep inside of you. It feels intimate, and you crane your neck, driven by the desire to kiss him. Chan’s lips are already there because he knew you would want his lips against yours. 

Just like he knows everything about you. 

Chan’s lips are soft and gentle. His tongue brushes against yours in a slow dance and you lean up into him more, desperate for him. He laughs into the kiss, letting you have your way until you’re panting, sweaty and out of breath again. 

You sag, head on his shoulder as you pant. “Your fingers are still in me.”

“Mhm.” He presses them in harshly, making you jolt. It earns a deep laugh from him. “Maybe we should call this Popcorn & Pussy instead. We’ve barely gotten through a full night of episodes since we started dating.”

“Are you aware you make the worst jokes?” You open your eyes and glance at the screen, only to find that the show has paused between episodes, asking if you’re still watching and if you want to continue. “Are you still watching? No, Buffy. I’m not.”

“No problem.” Chan pulls his hand from between your legs, the wet squelch making you whimper. “I have something else you can watch.” 

“Oh?” 

Chan kisses your temple sweetly before getting up, letting you fall back against the couch while he kneels on the couch and pulls your legs toward his face. You inhale deeply, watching as he looks up through long lashes, a smirk on his face. “Still watching, Bambi?” 

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[munson-blurbs]

Living After Midnight (Failed Rockstar!Eddie x Motel Worker!Reader)

♫ Summary: What started as a quest to prove Eddie's 'manhood' ended with a gesture that had you hurtling towards your future--ready or not. (5.4k words)

♫ CW: slowburn, strangers-to-lovers, angst, parental conflict, poverty, lots of bees, mention of parental illness, brief mention of sex work, finally some actual physical contact between them, eventual smut (18+ only, minors DNI)

♫ Divider credit to @hellfire--cult

chapter five: float like a butterfly

For the first time since you’d started working nights, you didn’t dread the sound of your alarm ringing. You’d always appreciated its stillness, with only city noises and the occasional guest puncturing the perfect silence. There were some nights where you didn’t speak a word for the full eight hours of your shift; you just read or wrote or daydreamed until the clock struck six.

Except for last night, of course, when you’d passed the time by talking with Eddie and minimally contributed to wallpaper removal. Your mind flickered back to the way he’d placed his hand on yours. The sensation of his palm, calloused but warm, lingering a beat longer than necessary. 

The whole moment could have been deemed unnecessary, in theory. Surely he could have modeled the action on his own and then handed you the tool so you could imitate him. Was it truly to show you how to scrape off glue, or did he have a more gratuitous intention?

Shaking your head, you eschewed the idea almost as quickly as you’d considered it. He was just being polite, a rarity among most of your male guests. Maybe that's why you were so hyper-focused on it; years of clipped conversations and crude comments had you mistaking kindness for something more flirtatious.

Speak of the Devil…

Eddie stood in the lobby, his guitar case slung across his back. He kept one elbow perched on the desk as he spoke to your mom. Whatever he said was making her laugh, a genuine one that brought a light to her eyes. She noticed you first, and when she waved you over, Eddie turned around to see what caught her attention. His smile shifted from open-mouth to close-lipped, more thoughtful and discreet without losing any of its charm.

Slinging your bag off of your shoulder next to the desk, you feigned a casual demeanor and asked, “What did I miss? Serenading my mom?” You nodded towards the guitar case, biting back a smile.

Eddie shook his head, his curls falling in his face. “Tried to make a couple bucks down at the subway station.” He shrugged, shoving his hand in his pocket. “Not enough for a ticket home, but it’s a start.”

Home. Obviously he was going home. New York had nothing for him, had chewed him up and spit him out like he left a bitter taste in its mouth. He had no reason to stay.

Oblivious to your disappointment, Mom laughed again. “Mr. Munson–”

“Eddie. Mr. Munson is my uncle.”

“Eddie,” Mom quickly amended, “was just telling me about the time he ripped his pants while he was on stage.” 

Rosy red seeped into Eddie’s cheeks, evidently not expecting your mom to share that information with you. “And that was the last time I wore leather pants,” he said. “Lesson learned.”

Deeming this conclusion insufficient, you inquired further. “How exactly does one rip leather pants?” You stifled a giggle, just imagining him feeling a sudden breeze mid-concert.

“Well, ya see,” he started, crossing his arms over his faded Metallica t-shirt and smirking, “I’m what’s known as an enthusiastic performer. And as such, one might find that leather can be quite restricting.”

“So…you got really sweaty and they ripped.”

Eddie hid his face behind a curtain of curls, all but confirming your suspicions. “Don’t put words in my mouth, Heiress,” he warned with a smile, cocking his pointer finger in your direction.

Mom took that as her cue to leave, quickly clasping your hand and excusing herself. Thick tension set in without her there as a buffer. Her presence prevented any conversation from dipping too deep into flirtation; now, there was nothing stopping it. 

Except, of course, the looming fact that he was a guest. And like all guests, he was a temporary fixture in your life. 

“The new wallpaper didn’t come in yet,” you blurted out. Dad had insisted on ordering it from a family friend, saving money but forgoing the promises of timely delivery afforded by bigger suppliers. 

Eddie shrugged, unbothered by the information. “I know.” He placed a cigarette between his lips and held out the pack in offering, but you shook your head. Without missing a beat, he put his own cigarette back and returned the box to his pocket. “Your mom was saying how excited she is for you to finish your classes and take over the motel.”

Panic flooded your lungs and constricted your breathing at the potential crisis he might have inadvertently caused. Did Mom seem upset? Her usual signs were noticeably absent: narrowed eyes, set jaw, lips painfully taut in a silent roar: we’ll discuss this later. 

There was none of that. She was laughing. Happy. Not a hint of disappointment. Yet anxiety still hooked its claws into your skin, a stinging reminder of the anvil dangling over your head. 

“You didn’t say—”

“Not a word.” Eddie waved away the thought. “Just smiled and nodded.”

Your chest went concave with relief, and you had to stop yourself from reaching out and pulling him into a hug. His arms held a surprising strength, as evidenced by his wallpaper removal abilities, and you wondered how they would feel wrapped around your waist. Did he hug tightly, not letting go until all of the air had been squeezed from your lungs? Or did he prefer a softer, lazier embrace, one with a hand free to stroke up and down your back?

Why did it matter?

“Is there a reason you haven’t told them?” he asked. The sound of his voice invaded your senses, pulling you back to reality in an instant. “I mean, they seem nice enough.”

Stooping down to grab your notebook, you nodded in agreement. “That’s part of the problem, I guess.” Your teeth scraped along your tongue as you considered your words. “If they were shitty, I wouldn’t feel so bad about letting them down.”

“Letting them down?”

You nodded, feeling that familiar pit that formed in your stomach whenever this subject arose. “Yeah. I can’t be a social worker and run the motel. And if I don’t stick around, they’ll have to close this place for good.”

Eddie breathes out with a low whistle. “Pretty high stakes.”

“You can say that again.” Resting your elbows on the desk, you buried your head in your hands. “How did your parents react when you told them you wanted to be a rockstar?” you asked, your voice slightly muffled. 

He took so long to respond that you looked up, wondering if he’d up and left while you weren’t watching. 

“My dad’s, um, not in the picture, and my mom died when I was a kid,” he finally said, using his left thumbnail to pick at the right. 

“I’m sorry.” And you were: for his loss and for prying into his history. Mortification bloomed and prickled sweat under your arms, and you clenched them to your sides in a feeble attempt to hide any forming stains.

“S’okay. I mean, you didn’t know, so…” his shoulders moved up and down, his mouth drawn into a forgiving half-smile, “now you know.”

Now you know. A little slice of him, presented to you like one of the cakes the local bakery kept locked behind a pane of refrigerated glass. The ones you admired as a kid, reveling in their perfectly smooth icing and intricately piped pastel flowers. They’d always seemed too delicate to touch, so you’d skipped over them in favor of sprinkle-laden cookies.

Logically, you know that the cakes were made for consumption. All you needed to do was ask for a taste. But you could never bring yourself to ruin their beauty. Not then, and not now.

And so, as always, you stepped away and chose the easier path instead.   

“Did you really rip your pants on stage?”

Eddie’s nose wrinkled at the sudden subject change, but he recovered quickly. “Sure did. Split right down the seam.” He puffed out a short laugh through his nose. “Poor Gareth got an eyeful that night.”

“Are you sure that isn’t the real reason you left the band?” Picking up the nearest pen, you poked the capped end into his forearm. 

He play-winced, rubbing the spot the cap touched, and shook his head. “Nah, this was my high school band. Corroded Coffin.”

“Sounds ominous.”

“Oh, yeah. We were terrifying.” Eddie widened his eyes in mock-horror. “The backbone of Indiana’s satanic panic, actually.”

You raised your brows. “Impressive.”

“Mhm. We only broke up because our bassist went to college out of state. Princeton.” He lowered his voice at the name as though relaying confidential information. 

“Not the Ivy Leagues!” You pressed your hand to your heart, clutching metaphorical pearls. 

Eddie grimaced. “I’m afraid so.”

“I’ve heard Princeton is known for their demonic studies program, so that tracks.”

This is nice. This is easy. No mention of schoolwork, or the motel, or parents—or lack thereof. You could do this all night. 

A throat clearing followed by a hacking cough took you both by surprise. Peering over Eddie’s shoulder, you found Phyllis standing in the lobby doorway. 

“There’s a wasp nest outside my window,” she said, tugging up one drooping shirt sleeve. The odor of stale cigarettes grew stronger as she walked closer to you and Eddie; even if she quit smoking today, the pungency would always cling to her. 

Uncapping your pen, you reached into the desk drawer and grabbed the stack of Post-Its. “I’ll make a note to get some insecticide spray tomorrow,” you promised, poorly curbing your exasperation. 

If it isn’t one thing, it’s another. 

The older woman didn’t put up any argument, but Eddie was obviously displeased. “Like hell you will.” He glanced around, pent-up energy overflowing as he bounced on the balls of his feet. “You got a baseball bat around here?”

Your “Uh, no,” overlapped with Phyllis’s nonchalant, “Yeah, of course,” and she left to fetch it.

A sigh escaped you, hinting at your mounting irritation. “Eddie, absolutely not,” you insisted. “Just wait till I get the spray and you can do it then.”

He clicked his tongue with a note of condescension that you didn’t particularly appreciate. “Don’t worry about it, Heiress. I’m from the Midwest; our wasps are like your rats. This’ll be nothing.” When you remained unconvinced, he adopted a teasing grin. “I don’t tell you how to do your nerd stuff, do I? So leave me to my man stuff in peace.”

You nearly choked on your own saliva. “Your man stuff?”

“Yes. Very strong and burly.” He flexed a bicep for emphasis and you threw your hands up in defeat, trying to ignore the soft fluttering in your stomach at the vein bulging through his skin.

Phyllis returned with the bat, the wooden neck clenched between arthritic fingers. “It’s right around the side,” she told Eddie. “Just look for the giant nest. And don’t forget to give this back when you’re done; I’m working tonight.” She thrust the bat into Eddie’s hand and padded back to her room, slippers thwacking against the linoleum. 

Eddie twirled the bat, threading it through his fingers and catching it smoothly. He smiled, unable to camouflage his pride. “See? I got this.” His grasp was determined without a hint of tenderness, a stark contrast to the way he’d held your hand the night prior. Tucking it underneath a denim-clad arm, he took a deep breath and pushed through the front door like he was preparing for battle.

You watched him leave, shaking your head. Evidently, he had a point to prove, but you doubted the chances of his success. Part of you wished you could leave the desk to watch him in action. Another part was relieved that you had the excuse to avoid witnessing this disaster as it unfolded.

As you predicted, not even half a minute had passed before you heard Eddie yelping, his footsteps thudding towards the motel’s entrance. He flung the door open with enough force that it smacked against the wall, scrambling to slam it shut behind him. His chest heaved under his jacket as he tried to catch his breath. 

“Shit, shit, shit.” He swatted around his head at some lingering wasps. “Son of a bitch!”  

Sucking your tongue to your front teeth, you bit back an I-told-you-so. “How’s your ‘manhood’ or whatever?” 

Maybe that wasn’t much better than outright gloating, but you couldn’t help yourself. 

Eddie made a closed fist with only his middle finger sticking up, and he winced almost immediately. “I think one of those little fuckers got me.” He cradled one hand in the other as you walked towards him for a closer inspection. 

Sure enough, a stinger was poking out from the side of his forefinger.

Phyllis came shuffling back from her room, pink lipsticked mouth pursed in concern. “Jesus, kid. Were you trying to piss them off?” The loose skin under her neck wobbled when she chortled. “You swung at that nest like you were Babe Ruth!”

Through a tense smile, you asked her to get a soapy washcloth so you could clean out the wound before it could spark an allergic reaction. “Unless, of course, that interferes with your man stuff,” you said to Eddie, all-too happy to throw his words back in his face.

“Fuck off.” A traitorous chuckle broke through his stoic exterior despite his very real pain. His eyes followed your movements as you grabbed the first aid kit.

You took his warm palm in yours, gently turning it to assess the afflicted finger. The stinger was lodged under his skin, already turning the surrounding area an angry red. 

“Oof, he really stung you good, huh?” Your tone was all sympathy; you figured he’d gotten enough jabs from the wasps. 

Eddie gritted his teeth as you gingerly scraped at the stinger with the edge of your notebook, taking care not to squeeze out any of the venom. You tightened your grip to keep his hand in place, feeling the soft but steady thrum of his heartbeat between his wrist and his thumb’s tendon. It had a melody of its own. 

Slowly, meticulously, you eased the stinger out from where it was wedged.

“Sorry,” you said softly, noting the way his eyes clamped shut as you drew out the stinger and brushed it onto the desk. 

“S’okay.” He managed a small smile, one you returned without hesitation.

The night was still for a moment before he spoke again, his voice soft but eager. 

“Tell me more about Izzy.”

Apparently, you weren’t the only one with a penchant for rapid subject changes. 

At once, your head was filled with memories of her: the pigtails held in place with thick rubber bands, the popsicle juice-stained pink t-shirt, the giggles that melted away your stress from a succession of ungrateful customers. He said something else, but you were too engrossed in your own thoughts for the words to register. 

“Hmm?”

“The little girl you helped.” Eddie cocked a quizzical brow, suddenly worried that he’d remembered incorrectly. “That was her name, right?”

You nodded. “She was only there that one day. I didn’t see her again.”

Her mother was probably too embarrassed to stay any longer and found another motel. If you could go back in time, you would have reassured her, maybe even offered to watch after Izzy while she worked. You might have informed her of programs where she could find a job that didn’t put her or Izzy in harm’s way. 

Eddie continued talking, for some reason persistent in his quest for answers. “But you said she talked to you while she was drawing. About her favorite stuff?”

Phyllis returned with cloth before you could answer him, and she rested it on the desk with a sigh. “I’m gonna head out,” she said, pointing at Eddie, “but my bat better be in my room before I get back, Yogi Berra.”

He nodded, absently massaging the nape of his neck. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Good.” One burgundy-painted fingertip pointed at Eddie, then at you. “I like this kid.”

How do you even respond to that? An honest, ‘me, too’? An overly sarcastic, ‘he’s alright’? 

You opted for a small, unassuming smile and the reminder to be safe, which was absurd when you really thought about it. Phyllis had been doing this, as she put it, “since my tits were above my belly button,” yet you were telling her about safety. 

Bringing your attention back to the sting, you clutched the sopping wet washcloth. Phyllis apparently hadn’t wrung it out; water dripped down the side of your fingers and splashed onto the floor in an uneven plop-plop-plop. 

With an abundance of care, you swiped the cloth over the sting site. It was already starting to swell, the skin raised and angry. 

Eddie reflexively pulled away, the tension evident from the way his front teeth formed grooves in his lower lip. 

“Fuck, that hurts.” His free fist pounded into the desktop with so much force that, for a split second, you worried that he might leave a dent. 

“I know, but we have to clean it out,” you said. 

He grumbled something unintelligible under his breath; you weren't sure you even wanted to know what he said. “Yeah, yeah.” He winced as the frayed fibers grazed him again. “So…Izzy?”

“There isn’t much to say,” you answer honestly. “I mean, she just told me she loved McDonalds french fries and Muppet Babies. Especially baby Fozzie Bear.”

“Anything else?”

You thought back for a moment. “Her favorite animal was dogs, but only the little ones. She said the big ones scared her because they barked too loud. Oh, and her favorite color was light purple.”

The memory is bittersweet, bathing you in both comfort and a dull ache. It was almost six years ago but the little girl had made herself at home in your mind. You thought about her on a daily basis, wondering if she and her mom were still bouncing from motel to motel, or if they’d found a permanent place to settle. Every ounce of optimism you possessed worked to help you believe that they were safe and that she didn’t remember when safety wasn’t guaranteed.

“I knew it.”

You looked up from applying calamine lotion, dabbing the pink-stained cotton ball over any excess dripping off of his finger. “Knew what?” 

“I knew you’d remember everything she told you.” His thumb relaxed and fluttered down until it rested on yours, the pad of his finger on your knuckle.

You reached for a Band-Aid before realizing that opening it required two hands. With more hesitation that you anticipated, you let go of him. “And what makes you say that?” You wrapped the bandage around his finger, careful not to press too tightly around the sting. “There. Good as new.”

Eddie smiled his appreciation. “I, um, had a similar experience when I was a kid.” He swallowed, picking at the Band-Aid until the adhesive side began to bunch up. When he allowed himself to glance at you, he saw you looking back at him, silently encouraging him to tell his story. 

“My mom got sick when I was in kindergarten. The treatment made her tired and nauseous, like, all the time; when she wasn’t sleeping, she was throwing up.” His eyes clouded over and his voice cracked slightly; he cleared his throat and continued. “I was at school one day, and the social worker asked me if I had anyone at home who washed my clothes for me. And when I told her no, she asked me to bring any clothes I needed cleaned with me the next day. So I did, and after school let out, she took me to the Laundromat.” 

If you told him that he didn’t have to keep talking, he'd stop. He’d wipe away any residual tears and excuse himself, and you’d once again spend your shift alone. And so you didn’t say anything, just stood there as his gears turned in recollection.

“She had this game: she’d hold up a piece of clothing and ask if it goes in the ‘lights’ or ‘darks’ pile, and she would get faster and faster until I was laughing too hard to answer.” Eddie exhaled a short laugh and swiped his tongue over his top teeth. “The whole time, I’m thinking that it’s all fun, that this is a normal thing that every kid did. I didn’t realize until years later that it was because my clothes smelled, y’know?” 

Sheepishness colored Eddie’s face in pink splotches as he shifted from man to boy and then back again. 

“Anyway, your story about Izzy kinda reminded me of that. And she might not remember your name or even what you talked about, but she’ll remember someone being there for her. Someone who didn’t act like she was a bother or a charity case. Just a kid who wanted to play.”

His words left you without any of your own. There was so much to digest; chiefly, your newfound glimpse into Eddie’s past. And though you’d only ever known him as an adult, you were still picturing him as a child. He sat atop a counter where others folded their clothes, his brown eyes–looking even bigger than they did presently, given his small stature–gazing up at the woman in wonderment as he giddily sorted his laundry. 

And then, of course, there was the delicately embedded compliment. The reassurance that you had been a positive force in Izzy’s life, even through one brief encounter. 

It was the only part that you could elaborate on without intruding on his privacy. He’d shared something so personal, and while you were desperate to learn more about him, you didn’t want to barge past the boundaries he had so carefully constructed.  

“Yeah, I…just wanted her to feel safe, I guess.” You’d devised a plan while you drew flowers and Care Bears in case no one showed up to find her. Everything had to be done so that she remained in the dark about the situation’s severity; you’d have Mom or Dad check the room, only calling the authorities if Izzy’s mom was unresponsive—or worse. 

In the end, there was no need for you to worry. Her mother was alert and Izzy herself was none the wiser that anything was wrong. You hadn’t even told your parents about the situation despite their potential involvement. Eddie, of all people, was the only other person who knew. 

He nodded and reached over, giving your hand a subtle, tender squeeze. 

“You did.”

Reassurance drifted through the air and clung to you like the sharp scent of tobacco on his jacket. Receiving compliments wasn’t your strongest suit, so you pivoted topics to avoid stretching the ensuing awkward silence any further. 

“The calamine lotion should help with the itching, but you can take some Benadryl if it’s still bad.” Rummaging through the first aid kit, you searched for the medication but only managed to scrounge up a bottle of expired ibuprofen. “There’s a pharmacy a few blocks down. They’ll have some there.” A little mom and pop shop that sold candy and cheap wine in addition to different over-the-counter medicines, it had been a community staple since before you were born.

The corners of Eddie’s eyes crinkled, lips turning upwards in amusement. “An heiress, a social worker, and a nurse? What can’t you do?”

That was a loaded question, and you were relieved that it was rhetorical so you wouldn’t have to list all of your shortcomings. You settled for flipping him off with an accompanying smile of your own.

“I should probably get that bat before she gets back,” he said, glancing towards the older woman’s room. He lowered his voice and continued. “She kinda scares me.”

“Oh, I definitely would not get on her bad side,” you agreed. “Phyllis’s wrath will make that wasp sting feel like a walk in the park.”

“Yeah, that’s what I figured.” His laugh was music that stirred up a desire to dance, to be carried by the melody like a strong gust of wind, and then he was out the door.

Immediately, you were inclined to find something new to talk about when he walked back in. You’d had two days of companionship and had been spoiled by it; the thought of another night in solitude suddenly seemed lonely.

You couldn’t ask about his parents or the social worker who’d taken him to the Laundromat; that was too personal, too soon. Same with his old band. But music–his favorite songs, musicians, albums–that might be safe enough to explore.

The door opened and brought with it a cool evening breeze. Eddie returned much more confidently than he had the last time, Phyllis’s bat slung over his shoulder. 

“Apparently, I actually managed to knock the nest down,” he reported, sounding as surprised as you felt. 

He stifled a yawn, denim creasing at the elbow when he lifted his hand to cover his mouth. It was then that you noticed the way sleep tugged at his eyelids, dashing any remaining hope of having a conversational partner this evening. Asking him to stay awake for you was just selfish. 

“I’ll see you around, Heiress. Let me know if there’s any more man stuff you need from me.” He rapped his knuckles on the desk twice in quick succession and started towards his room. 

“Night, Eddie.”

Opportunity slipped through your fingers as he walked away, the sound of his footsteps eventually too muted to hear. You shoved your disappointment beneath the surface. Eddie wasn’t your friend; he was a guest who happened to be friendly. Asking him to stick around and chat would be unprofessional. 

If he happened to stop by the desk while you worked, you could make small talk. Otherwise, it would be business as usual. 

Minutes were hours and hours were days. Another trucker needed a room for the night, and you checked him in around four o’clock. 

You thought about the certainty in Eddie’s assurance that Izzy had felt safe with you. He didn’t know her; he barely knew you, and he wasn’t even there when it all happened. Yet his approval illuminated from the inside out and you replay it over and over. 

You did. You did. You did. 

Izzy was safe with you and she knew it. If you swallowed your fears and forged your own path, you could help other kids just like her. But it would come at a steep cost unless your parents could somehow miraculously afford to hire a new employee.

Your stomach turns just imagining the motel’s windows shuttered, a For Sale sign propped up in the door, ready to be snapped up by a major hotel chain for a mediocre sum that would barely pay off the overdue bills. It haunted you.

How long could you do this? How long could you push off your own dreams in favor of your parents’? At what point did you cross that fine line between selflessness and martyrdom?

Exhaustion crushed your body, strong enough to overpower the churning anxiety. Still, your sleep was fitful, and you woke up before your alarm feeling wholly unrested. Achiness radiated through your bones as you dragged yourself out of bed.

You knew what you had to do.

Dad noticed your earlier departure, so used to you leaving at 1:45 every day like clockwork. His brows pinched with perplexity as he determined whether he’d forgotten about a change in your schedule.

“Just running an errand before class.”

His confusion faded, replaced with a grin. “Thought I was losing my mind.” The way he stood under the lighting accentuated the gray flecks in his hair and mustache and solidified that he was, in fact, aging. His eventual retirement loomed closer, more of a when than an if with each passing day.

“Can’t lose what you never had,” you teased weakly. Dad met your joke with a wink; if he had picked up on the falter in your voice, he was gracious enough to ignore it.

You took a slight deviation from your usual route, walking past the bus stop and turning the corner until you reached the mailbox. It beckoned you, taunted you, sneered at your cowardice. The stamped envelope mocked you tenfold; innocuous on the surface but held the weight of betrayal.

It contained your admissions letter to NYU with the “accept” box marked and a deposit check that nearly drained your savings, ready to go.

The mailbox hinge creaked open so loudly that it seemed to echo. All you had to do was drop the envelope down the chute and pray that you made the right choice.

Regret surged through your veins the moment the envelope left your fingertips. You acted on instinct, shoving your hand back down the box to reclaim your letter, but you knew it was a fruitless effort before you’d even failed. It was already lost in a sea of bills and birthday cards. 

“Shit!” Yanking your arm out before someone accused you of mail theft, you tilted your head back in an attempt to stop the impending tears.

With one stupid decision, you’d heaved a shovel into the dirt and begun digging a grave for the family business.

What the hell were you thinking? 

As though it had a mind of its own, your foot swung out and smacked against the tin drum with all of your might. It took a beat for the pain to hit, the throbbing in your toes matching the reverberating metal.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” You didn’t care who saw, who heard. Anger and self-loathing bubbled over like boiling water and scalded you in shame. Everything was so far out of your control, and you couldn’t rein it in. The world kept spinning fast, faster, too fast—

“Kicking it won’t make the mailman show up, y’know. ‘S not like rubbing a genie’s lamp.” 

Eddie stood on the other side of the mailbox. A plastic bag dangled from his hand, the box of drugstore brand antihistamine peeking through its translucence. His playfulness morphed into concern when he noted your dewy lashes. “Heiress? You okay?”

“Yeah, fine.” You swiped at your cheeks and sniffed back the mucus that collected in your nostrils. You probably should have been embarrassed that he’d caught you in such a state of distress; maybe you would be once the dust settled. 

He wrinkled his nose dubiously. You couldn’t blame him; why would he be convinced when you were assaulting mailboxes and swearing at the air?

“Seriously. Just having a bad day.” And it was going to get even worse if you missed your bus—again. “Thanks for asking, though.” You managed a grateful smile to prove your sincerity.

Grabbing your backpack from its spot on the ground, you zipped it back up and hoisted it over your shoulder before starting back towards the stop. 

“Hey, wait a sec.” Eddie called out to you, shuffling over until he was by your side. “You, uh, your makeup…” He trailed off bashfully, raising his thumb but stopping before it touched your skin. “May I?”

You nodded, breath hitching as the pad of his finger grazed just below your eye. He gently rubbed, tongue poking between his lips while he focused on removing the smudge without hurting you. 

He was close, almost too close for comfort. There was a small cut on his chin where he must have nicked himself shaving, and you forced yourself to stare at that instead of his wide eyes. 

“There…we…go.” He held up a mascara-stained thumb as evidence. Without thinking, you pressed your own thumb to it. The knuckles of your remaining four fingers slotted between his until you pulled away. 

Eddie laughed, apparently amused by the odd gesture. “I’ll take that as a thank you.” He wiped the residue on his shirt, not caring if it left a mark. “Don’t miss the bus; wouldn’t want you to be late for your nerd stuff again.”

“Mhm.”

You harnessed all of your strength to unglue your feet from the sidewalk. Your body operated on autopilot to its destination while your mind only thought of the heat that leapt from his thumb to yours, or maybe yours to his. 

It was cyclical, you surmised as the bus approached, with no clear beginning or end.

--

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[caelisblade]

i rarely talk about serious topics myself on this blog. at least not directly, in the way that i write the text. i mostly reblog, hoping my limited reach does something to spread awareness on serious topics.

today, i‘d like to do something different. i‘d like to talk about narin güran.

on august 21st, 2024, narin güran leaves her home in diyarbakir to go to her islam school, but she never comes back home. the eight year old girl, now missing, is searched everywhere after the police and volunteers.

a total of 24 arrests happen of suspected people who could have some sort of involvement in this little girl‘s disappearance. the arrests include her own brother, uncle and even her parents. her paternal uncle, salim güran, is named as the main suspect in the investigation.

her dna was found in her paternal uncle‘s car. they compared that dna with some they found on one of her shirts and it matched. they suspect her brother, because there was a bite mark on his body, but they were unable to confirm that narin bit him so they had to let him go on insufficient evidence.

searches last nineteen days. that is until she is found, covered in a blanket, placed underneath stones and branches in a river. nineteen days, nobody knew what had happened.

there is still no official confirmation on who killed her. there are rumors, that narin saw her mother cheating with her paternal uncle and was killed to keep the secret. i‘m not sure if they are correct or confirmed.

narin was eight years old. she had a future ahead of her. and she was taken from this world too early.

the day she was found, schools in türkiye were reopening. comments on social media were flooded with "narin, wake up, it‘s time to go to school."

my heart is breaking for this little girl and her friends and family, that weren’t involved in this. rest in peace, little angel. allah rahmet eylesin.

edit: the affair was confirmed to be true. it‘s said that narin‘s mother and her paternal uncle were in love but narin‘s mother was married to arif, narin‘s father instead. for context, marriages like this were very common in turkiye and still are in some places turkiye.

more edits will possibly follow.

edits made to this post: [september 17th 2:20am (germany time)]: use of words edited from unalived to murdered + additional information

[noxemma]

Kiss and Make Up

Sam (grumpily barging into the bunker kitchen): That’s it! I can’t take it anymore!

Sam (physically picking Cas up off the seat where he’s been sulking and pushing him toward the hallway): Go apologize so you both stop moping around.

Cas (tired and sad, resisting slightly): Sam, I’ve tried. He won’t talk to me.

Sam (deadly serious as he starts dragging Cas to Dean’s door): Cas, it’s been FIVE DAYS. Five days of Dean binging Dr. Sexy 24/7. Five days of you both living in dirty pajamas, not showering, not doing dishes, tension so thick I might need to invest in SCUBA gear.

Cas: Sam, I’ve already apolo-

Sam (ready to tear out his hair): APOLOGIZE AGAIN! Apologize better. I don’t care how you do it, but please, please just kiss and make up already!

Sam opens the door and shoves Cas in. Dean sits on his bed, wrapped in a blanket, his eyes glued to the TV despite Cas’ sudden appearance.

Dean (gruffly): I know Sam put you up to this. He thinks everything will magically get better if you apologize.

Cas (slightly agonized): Dean, I really am sorr-

Dean (angrily): I don’t want to hear another word, Cas. Just, just get out!

Cas stands for a moment, at a loss and in pain at Dean’s harsh words. Then his brow lifts as he recalls Sam’s words.

Cas (whispering mostly to himself): Sam’s right. I’ve been doing this all wrong.

Dean finally turns on the bed to face Cas, evidently paying more attention to the angel than he let on. He is a little shocked to find that Cas has moved to be right next to him, leaving barely any space between them.

Dean (looking up, confused and concerned at the determined look on Cas’ face): Cas, wha-

Cas cuts him off by bending down, firmly cupping his face and drawing him in for a scorching kiss. Dean’s hands land tentatively on Cas’ hips as if he isn’t sure whether he wants to push Cas away or draw him closer. Cas finally pulls back and studies Dean, who looks stunned.

Cas (slightly breathless and oddly shy after the intensity of the kiss): Did it work? Can we make up now?

Dean (blinking and absently running his fingers across his kiss swollen lips): Whoa, um. Wait “make up?”

Cas (nervously rambling): Sam implied that my previous apologies were insufficient and that I should “kiss and make up” with you. I was under the impression that the saying was figurative but after you refused to hear my apology once again, I thought that perhaps it was meant to be literal and that’s why my previous apologies were poorly received.

As Cas speaks Dean realizes just how distressing his anger and avoidance have been to the angel.

Dean (stricken):  Dammit, Cas. I forgive you. Of course, I forgive you. I was just angry. You didn’t need to- I didn’t mean to make you feel like- *sigh* I’ve been an ass. I’m sorry it took you doing something as drastic as kissing me to realize exactly how much of an ass I’ve been.

The room is silent except for Dr. Sexy still playing in the background. Cas doesn’t meet Dean’s eyes, still convinced he’s in the wrong despite Dean’s reassuring words.

Dean (teasing at first but falling flat): Also, while it would be funny to see Sam get a taste of his own medicine, you probably shouldn’t go around apologizing with kisses. Someone might get the wrong idea.

Cas (horrified gaze meeting Dean’s): I would never kiss Sam, or anyone else.

Dean: Oh …

Dean begins to blush as he slowly comes to the realization that Cas has basically just admitted that he only wants to kiss Dean.

Cas: Was it bad?

Dean (confused): Was what bad?

Cas (whispering so softly Dean nearly misses it):  The kiss?

Dean (licking his lip and staring intensely at Cas): Oh, well. I was kinda surprised by it so I couldn’t really say. But, uh, but if you … if you wanted to do it again I could, um, give you some pointers.

Cas (misunderstanding Dean’s words): That’s … you don’t have to do that, Dean. In fact, it was rather selfish of me to ask. I don’t want you to feel obligat-

Dean (grabbing the bottom of Cas’ shirt and pulling him back toward him): Cas, shut up and kiss me already.

Cas obliges, settling onto Dean’s lap to kiss him deeply for several minutes. When they break apart they don’t go far, resting their foreheads against each other, breathless and panting,

Cas (half teasing and half serious): How was that? Better?

Dean (pulling Cas impossibly closer on his lap): Pretty freaking awesome … I mean, you should probably keep practicing.

Cas laughs a little as Dean presses a kiss to his forehead.

Cas (teasingly): I think I could get rather fond of this whole “kiss and make up” idea, although it’s a shame we’d have to fight in order to make up. Dean (flirtatiously): Well then, we should probably just start dating already and make the whole thing easier, boyfriends fight all the time. Cas (shocked, like he didn’t really expect Dean to suggest dating): You think we should start dating? You want to be my … boyfriend?

Dean (fidgeting a bit under Cas and not making eye contact): Um, yeah? If you want me to, but we don’t have to label it or anything if you don’t want. I’m happy being whatever you want me to be. Cas (beaming with happiness and tilting Dean’s head to catch his eye): Boyfriends sounds wonderful. And, as your new boyfriend, I suggest we both shower.

Dean (gasping dramatically): Are you suggesting I stink?

Cas (somehow both sensually and stoically): I’m not denying it, just suggesting that, since my kisses still need practice, I may be able to perform other actions to make up with you. In the shower. Together.

Dean (squirming as Cas punctuates his sentence with a kiss on his neck): Oh. Oh! That’s a great idea, Cas.

They exit Dean’s room, hand in hand, and head down the hallway.

Sam (gloating as he witnesses the hand holding): Finally! Maybe I’ll actually get some peace around here now that they’ve stopped fighting and admitted their feelings.

Muffled moans, gasps, and grunts begin to filter through the thin bathroom door. Sam (horrified and muttering to himself as he puts in earplugs): It’s better than fighting, it’s better than fighting.

[winchesterszvonecek]

Prosecutorial Misconduct 18+

Chapter 1 - An Evening at Forlini’s

Word Count: 6489

Series Masterlist | Full Masterlist

When Detective Melanie Dodds entered the quiet establishment of Forlini’s, the first, and only, person that caught her eye was ADA Rafael Barba. He was by himself. His perfectly tailored blazer now gone from his body as he sat perched on a stool about halfway down the bar, nursing a single glass of scotch in one hand and flicking through a thick manila folder with the other. 

It made her frown, seeing him with his nose buried so deep in another case when they’d only just put their most recent one to rest. Melanie always told him he needed to slow down. That he needed to stop pushing himself so hard, but he never listened. And granted, neither did she when anyone would tell her the same anytime she got so wrapped up in a case that she forgot to eat or drink, but at least she knew when to shut off when said case finally came to a close — which was more than could be said for Barba. 

Nevertheless, Melanie took her time in approaching him, opting to drink in the sight of him sitting there for as long as she possibly could before she annoyed him by snatching away his file. His hair was slightly tousled. His sleeves were rolled up, showcasing the slight tan to his muscular forearms that sat atop the bar where his stuff resided. Even the top two buttons on his shirt were undone, his silk tie absent from its usual place around his neck and no doubt shoved lazily into the pocket of his briefcase. 

Melanie would never admit it aloud to anyone, her partner included, but she’d always found Barba attractive. From the way he presented himself, with that scheming smirk he displayed so frequently in court and that cocky strut of his when he walked. To his usually perfect hair and many tailored suits that Melanie just happened to be a sucker for, it all made him utterly delectable for a woman like her. And oftentimes, she never could get him out of her mind. 

“Detective, are you planning on joining me?” Barba called towards her, pulling Melanie out of the trance she’d fallen into over seeing him with his hair down, so to speak. “Or do you need another few minutes to… ogle me?” 

She knew that sentence was a joke on his part, but Melanie’s face still reddened and given the otherwise pale complexion of her skin tone it was highly noticeable. Barba said nothing though, whether he chose to deliberately spare her the embarrassment of being caught staring or whether he had simply chalked her sudden blush up to the change in temperature from her entering the bar, Melanie had no idea. But she prayed for the latter.

With a flustered clear of her throat, Melanie stepped closer to him, “You would be so lucky as to have me ogle you.” 

“Lucky's not exactly the word I would use.” Barba retorted quietly, glancing to his side to fire Melanie a playful smile — which earned him a gentle punch to the arm as she glared at him. 

The two of them had always had a flirtatious-banter-like relationship. Ever since Melanie witnessed Barba be literally choked with his own belt in court, she’d never once let it go and he was more than happy to play along. He enjoyed seeing her smile when he did, and he wouldn’t admit it aloud, but he liked her. Their interactions were the sole highlight of his boring days, and if playing along meant he got to keep them, then so be it. He’d even continue to take Carisi’s relentless teasing about the two of them being like an old married couple, as just the idea of that… warmed his heart something terribly. 

“Careful counsellor, I could have you arrested for slander,” Melanie fired back, rounding his stool to take the one on his right without the need for an invite, as no matter the circumstances she was always welcome to sit with him. 

“I’d be out in no time…” Barba replied, bringing his glass to his lips before taking a deliberately slow sip. “Insufficient evidence… They’d have no grounds to hold me.” 

“We’ll see about that,” Melanie murmured, hearing Barba chuckle faintly into his near empty glass as she motioned for the bartender’s attention. “Could I please get a tequila? Neat. And a refill for my friend here.”

The bartender nodded, then went to grab their drinks. 

“Tequila, huh?” Barba questioned, a lick of worry rolling off his tongue as he put his folder away and swivelled on his stool to face her. But Melanie ignored him, and instead continued to stare absently at the rows of bottles that sat behind the bar. Thus, he waited, until the bartender returned with their drinks and it wasn’t until Melanie had taken her first sip of tequila, did he speak again — keeping his tone as casual as could be as he knew Melanie hated getting all touchy feely, as she so often put it. “I saw you talking to your dad earlier, outside the courthouse. It seemed… intense.” 

Melanie scoffed and downed her drink, easily, in one swift mouthful, “Everything to do with my father is intense. Including his ideology on how I should present myself within the department, which he made very clear when he reamed me out for standing up at that press conference.” 

At that, Barba said nothing. He had nothing, as he already knew well about her fathers feelings on that particular subject. Chief Dodds had made them exponentially clear to him when he stormed into his office afterwards, practically seething with rage over seeing Melanie on TV, standing by Barba’s side after he explicitly told her not to get herself involved. 

Barba wouldn’t lie, at that moment he’d actually felt a touch of fear in his chest when Dodds threw his door open so hard it almost shattered. He half expected the Chief to hit him the second he entered for dragging Melanie into things, but to his surprise all he did was grit his teeth and — not so much threaten — but strongly advise him what would happen if he dragged his daughter down with him. 

Going after social services had been a risky move, Barba knew that from the get go. He knew he’d need as much help as he could get, and when Melanie offered him hers? Well, feelings or no feelings, he wasn’t exactly about to say no. She was the best help he could ever ask for, and it was because of her testimony alone that the grand jury decided to indict the social workers who indirectly caused the death of little Keisha Houston.

After all, Melanie had been the one to find Keisha, locked in that puppy cage. Starving. Dehydrated, and when she told that jury… When her eyes began to glisten with tears and she painted the picture of what they did to that little girl, Barba knew he had won. He always did when Melanie was involved, and no threat to his job by her overbearing police chief father was ever going to stop him from seeking it whenever the opportunity presented itself. 

“You know, I sometimes think he just does all this as a way to try and get me to leave SVU,” Melanie continued, pulling Barba out of the depths of his mind and throwing him right back into reality — where his heart sank to the floor at the very notion of her leaving. “He’s always wanted me to start working my way up the chain of command. I can’t even count the amount of times he’s stopped by my house to check in on me… Only for me to find an application for the sergeant’s exam sitting on my coffee table when he left.” 

“That’s not something you’re interested in?” Barba asked curiously. 

Melanie shook her head, “It’s hard enough being a female detective with a rocky history and a deputy chief father, I don’t need to add an extra case of nepotism to that pile by trying to move myself up the chain of command.” 

“That’s a shame,” Barba sighed, causing Melanie to shift in her seat to finally face him, just in time to see his lips twitch upwards into an openly amused smile. “I’d have quite liked to hear Carisi have to call you Sergeant.”

At that thought, Melanie let out a gentle laugh — a sound so sweet that Barba almost melted where he sat. He went to open his mouth again, to ask another question in order to keep the topic of conversation going, but like every other time he’d tried to chip away at Melanie’s secretive outer shell, he was interrupted. Her phone had started ringing from within the pocket of her signature leather jacket, causing them both to sigh quietly, of which Barba’s went entirely unheard.

With a muttered excuse me, Melanie dropped her hand to the gap between their bodies and began to fumble around in the deep space in which her phone was buried. She pulled it out, keeping it suspended by her waist as her eyes fell to the dimly lit screen below, where her stomach sank beyond the surface of the floor the second she saw who was calling her.

“Do you need to take that?” Barba asked, unable to stop his own eyes from drifting curiously towards the name that lit up the small space between them. He wondered who Mikey was, and why, instead of answering his call like he expected, all Melanie seemed to do in that moment was reach up to the silver necklace that was always present around her neck — hanging from which was a small DNA charm that sat perfectly between her collarbones and always made him smile at the irony. “Melanie?” 

A few more seconds passed during which she still didn’t reply. Nor did she pick up the phone which continued to ring, with the face of an unfamiliar man still openly displayed on the screen that Melanie’s thumb hovered shakily over. She drew it slowly towards the green of the answer button, where it lingered for a couple seconds longer. But then, before Barba could excuse himself to allow her some privacy, it diverted straight to red and tapped decline with much more force than necessary.

“Sorry, it uh, it’s nothing,” Melanie shook her head softly, flashing a partially forced and apologetic smile Barba’s way as she silenced the phone, placing it back into the safety of her pocket. “All good.” 

“Good,” Barba murmured, sceptically. He knew well enough that everything was not all good , and that something was clearly bothering her. However, he also knew Melanie. He knew when to carry on and when to let things go, and by the way her shoulders stiffened over that phone call as she ordered another drink — a double, this time — he could easily tell it was time for the latter. 

Therefore he stayed quiet. Instead, he simply continued to gaze at her, his eyes lingering on the oaky tone of her own that glistened in the ambient light of the bar. He wondered how long it had been since she last closed them. Her eyelids seemed heavy. Her pale complexion and lack of make-up showed off the dark circles beneath her lashes more prominently than usual, and each time she blinked Barba doubted that she’d even be able to open them again. 

“When was the last time you slept?” He asked worriedly. And it only increased when Melanie’s eyes darted instantly away from him and towards her freshly poured drink, which she swirled gently before raising to her lips. “Or ate something for that matter?” 

“I had a sandwich at the station earlier,” Melanie replied, her brow creasing as she took a slow sip of her tequila. She could feel the harsh burn of it run down her throat and land in her stomach. Her seemingly empty stomach, as it soon gurgled faintly at the mention of food — Perhaps that sandwich hadn’t been today after all. “I mean, I think I did… What day is it?”  

“Melanie,” Barba scolded, his lips pressing into a tight line as he frowned at her. What was it with SVU detectives and their complete inability to look after themselves? “You need to start taking better care of yourself.” 

Melanie scoffed into her glass, “You sound exactly like Carisi.”

“Well, for once he’s right,” Barba agreed, watching as Melanie’s eyebrows lifted slowly over the rim of her glass as she took another slow sip. He didn’t usually like to agree with Carisi, but in this case he made some rather excellent points. “I’ll deny that if you ever tell him but he is right, Melanie. I know you like to look out for your victims, but you need to start looking out for yourself first.” 

Melanie pressed the rim of her glass firmly against her lips before lowering it. Then, she sighed. Barba was right. She did need to start taking care of herself, but the only thing was… She didn’t know how. She wore herself thin even during the most cut and dry cases, but you throw an incident of child abuse in there and she was as good as gone — which is exactly what Carisi had told her earlier that day when she turned down sharing his pizza. 

Well, he told her that in his own way, that is. He often expressed his concerns far less politely than Barba in that he told her bluntly that she looked like she had both feet in the grave. But she rarely listened to him. He did it far too often for his own good and besides, no one else in the squad ever said anything. They probably never noticed it, and if they did, they didn’t find it concerning enough to bother bringing up to her directly. 

But Barba did. He always did, and he was a man known for running solely on excessive amounts of caffeine, so if he was telling her that she needed to slow down… then perhaps she really, truly needed to slow down.

“Come on, let me buy you dinner,” Barba said, cocking his head in the general direction of the few empty tables that hugged the wall behind them. He then slid off his seat, hitting the wooden floor beneath with a soft thud as he grabbed his blazer that lay draped across the empty stool beside him. He folded it neatly over his arm then picked up his briefcase before turning to Melanie, holding out his hand where her hesitant eyes dropped to instantly as she began to pick at the chipped black polish that he never saw her nails without. “Don’t make me subpoena you.” 

The hope that riddled Barba’s emerald green eyes as he stared patiently into her own wrapped around Melanie’s chest like a rope, making her unable to say no to him as she simply couldn’t take having to see it diminish should she tell him the truth. That she wasn’t hungry, and probably wouldn’t be until late evening tomorrow as she never could eat during cases involving children as they always made her sick to the deepest pit of her stomach. 

But no one else knew that. Not Carisi. Not Liv. And certainly not Barba. She hadn’t told them yet. She didn’t know if she ever would. Or if she ever could, so she certainly wasn’t about to break out the confessional over something as silly as not wanting to eat tonight. There’d been plenty of other times where she’d felt forced to eat a sandwich or a bag of chips just to stave off suspicion from her co-workers, so a plate of pasta and some breadsticks wouldn’t exactly be a tough challenge. 

With that in mind and a half-forced smile rising on her face, Melanie reached out her hand and clasped it with Barba’s. It was cold, like he’d have guessed. And not just from the rings that always littered her slender fingers, but from her very skin itself. It was like ice. He could almost feel it tremble, even beneath the warmth of his touch, which told him there may be more to what’s been bothering her than she was truly letting on. But he said nothing. He’d gotten her to agree to dinner, and that was a miraculous win as it is, so he didn’t want to make her close herself off by asking more questions whose answers were of no concern to him.

Therefore, all he did was return her smile, help her off her stool and lead her happily towards a small table that sat tucked away in the corner. As they reached it, Barba’s hand fell reluctantly from hers. He set his briefcase aside then quickly draped his blazer over his seat before retreating a few steps back in order to pull out hers. Only, he didn’t even get the chance to feel the chair beneath his fingertips before Melanie stopped him, her hand latching itself tightly onto his forearm in an attempt to keep him in place.

“Actually, do you mind if I sit there?” Melanie asked, nodding towards the seat he’d picked for himself that sat pressed up against the back wall of the establishment. “I just… I have this thing… About sitting with my back to the door.” 

And just like that, things in Barba’s mind clicked instantly into place. It made sense, now that he thought about it — now that she’d said it. He’d never noticed it before but Melanie always did seem to favour sitting places where she could easily see each and every exit. In his office she’d always pick the couch over his desk, and when sitting at his round table with victims and whatnot, she’d always pick the seat next to the window — and if that wasn’t available she’d choose to stand, with her back pressed tightly up against the wall and her eyes fixed on the door. 

It was the same in interrogation. No one ever could get her to sit down when questioning suspects as both sides of the tables had doors behind them. Even her work desk faced the public entrance of the bullpen. And even though there was plenty of empty space and even the break room in the distance behind her, she still had Carisi sitting directly in front of her. Not to mention Rollins and Fin sitting just off to her right, which more than likely made her feel safe from whatever it was that had brought on this apparent fear. 

“Of course, whatever makes you comfortable,” Barba said softly, and with a reassuring smile. He pulled his arm back and grabbed his blazer then shuffled past her, happily taking a seat in the opposite chair as Melanie settled herself in hers. “If you don’t mind me asking, is that a cop thing…? Or a you thing?”

“Little of both, I guess… I just don’t like surprises,” Melanie exhaled tiredly, shrugging her shoulders out of her jacket and placing it lazily over the back of her chair. She didn’t elaborate any further when she turned back around. She didn’t want to either, and Barba clearly picked up on that by her lack of eye contact as he quickly dropped the topic of conversation. 

Instead he picked up their menus and handed one to Melanie, hearing her soft thanks as she took it from his grasp and flicked it open. They remained silent until they ordered. Barba had put a few seconds of thought into his, in that he picked something he wanted. Whereas Melanie ordered the first thing her eyes landed on as she was too tired to actually read over the menu. 

“So,” Barba began hesitantly, drawing Melanie’s attention up and away from the long sleeves of her t-shirt that seemed to be more interesting than he was. He didn’t take it to heart, though. She’d had a long week. She was tired. No doubt hungry, and deep down he knew that she was happy to be here with him. He just needed to coax it out a little first. “A detective… What’s that like?” 

Melanie’s eyes narrowed, “You want to know what it’s like… being a detective?” 

Weird. Barba wasn’t usually into small talk, let alone small talk about the theatrics of being a detective. 

“Why not?” Barba shrugged, taking a sip of his scotch as he tried to play himself off as nothing but curious over the profession. Which granted, he was a little, but really he just wanted to know about her . And this seemed as good a place to start as any. “You always ask me what being an ADA is like, why can’t I reciprocate?” 

“I mean… No offence, but I usually ask that in more of a " how do you sleep at night" kinda way, not a vaguely curious about the job kinda way,” Melanie confessed. She only ever asked him that when she was pissed at him. 

“Yes, I’m aware of that,” Barba admitted, and if he seemed offended by that statement, he didn’t outwardly showcase it. “But still, humour me… Catching bad guys. Is it everything you dreamed it would be?” 

“No, not really,” Melanie replied, and Barba’s eyes widened in surprise as he always got the impression that she loved what she did. “I always wanted to be a cop when I was a kid. Well, except when I was seven and spent the entire year wanting to be Ariel from the little mermaid.” 

At that thought, Barba let out a soft chuckle as he allowed his gaze to cast over the entirety of the natural beauty that was Melanie’s face. He tried picturing how different she might look with bright red hair flowing around those delicate features, rather than the darkness of the jet black locks that were splayed out messily over her shoulders. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t see it. He was just too enthralled by the perfect version of her that sat before him, that his mind didn’t seem to want to allow any other variation of her to enter it. 

“Once I got over that though, I always knew I’d be a cop. My brother and I, we used to steal my dad’s NYPD shirts all the time and go around the house pretending to arrest people,” Melanie continued, a fond smile tugging at her lips as she absently reached up for her necklace, her fingers drawing slowly over the short swirls of the DNA charm that hung there. “It drove my mom crazy, but my dad he… He always used to say that the department wouldn’t know what hit it when Mikey and I joined.” 

“Mikey… That’s your brother?” Barba asked carefully, watching as Melanie’s motions of tracing her necklace came to a slow stop. 

“My twin brother,” Melanie corrected quietly, dropping her hand back down to the table as Barba’s eyebrows raised. He never would have guessed she was a twin. 

“Twins… I heard that’s quite the bond,” Barba said, sipping on his scotch as Melanie lightly rolled her eyes and huffed quietly to herself. “Or not… Did something happen?” 

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Melanie snapped, in a tone harsher than she ever would have liked to have aimed in his direction. Immediately after she picked up her glass, downing the entirety of her drink in one go as Barba did nothing but roll his lips. She set her glass back down, dropping her eyes to the table and closing them, in order to purposely miss seeing the look that flashed across his face at that moment. 

But it was pointless. She didn’t need to be looking at him to know it was there. To know that he was hurt, as she could sense it. She could always sense it and it pained her to know that she was the sole cause of it this time. She could already feel the thick tension that seemed to be forming in the air between them and the longer Barba remained silent, the more the regret built in her stomach over bringing Mike into things. He always was a touchy topic, but she couldn’t blame Barba for being curious as she was well aware that she was a closed book when it came to her personal life. He was only trying to get to know her, and honestly… that only made things feel about a hundred times worse. 

“I’m sorry,” Melanie whispered, opening her eyes and slowly drawing them back up to meet him. “That was… That was uncalled for.”  

“Hey, don’t worry about it, okay. I get it. Family can be tough.” Barba said assuringly, resisting the urge to reach across the table and take her hand. “But just so you know… If you ever do want to talk about it, I’m here.” 

A sweet smile crept across Melanie’s face, “I know. And thank you… You’re a good friend.” 

Friend. She might as well have just ripped Barba’s heart right out of his chest and stomped on it. Sure, he always knew they’d never be anything more than friends. After all, they worked together. It would be highly unprofessional and morally unethical to be anything more. Not to mention the near ten-year age gap between them. 

Or the fact that Melanie’s father pretty much hated him already — that was all he really needed to know that the status of their relationship would never change in his favour. It was carved into stone at this point and he’d made his peace with that a while ago. But still… hearing her say the word friend out loud? When he was all but in love with her? Well, it wasn’t exactly easy on his mind. 

Or his heart. 

“As an ADA I don’t have a lot of those,” Barba confessed, breaking Melanie’s heart as he did. “So I try my best to keep the ones I do.” 

“Well, I’m not going anywhere,” Melanie assured him, “No matter what you do, or how much you annoy me,” — meant playfully, of course — “you’re stuck with me.” 

“I guess I better try harder then,” Barba joked.

Melanie chuckled, “Bring it on, counsellor. I’ve put up with Carisi for this long without killing him, so you better bring your A game.” 

“It’s the only game I know,” Barba replied a touch breathlessly, taking a sip of his scotch whilst continuing to gaze at Melanie over the rim of his glass. He watched as she glanced at some of the artwork on the wall to her left, tucking a thick curl behind her ear which showcased the three silver hoops that bordered her lobe in order of size, the largest of which had a tiny sword hanging from it. 

Fascinated, his eyes continued to trail along the curve of her ear, passing a small snake stud that sat in the crook in the middle before coming to land on the thick silver bar that sat diagonally just above it. On one end was a small metal fletching and on the other a partially rounded point, creating the illusion of a miniature arrow having pierced right through the top of her ear. He’d never noticed it before — or rather, he’d never seen it. And the more he thought about it, the more he came to realise that Melanie had almost always worn her hair down on the days he had seen her as he’d liked to think he’d have remembered the pin board that was once her ear. 

The two of them really couldn’t be more different if they tried, yet Melanie still seemed to have her hooks dug deep into him. It didn’t matter to him that they were nothing alike, both in personality and in style, Barba still liked her. He always had ever since the day he first saw the real Melanie. The one who he’d wondered had ever really existed as in all the time he’d known her, he never once thought she had a soul that wasn’t as dark as the hair on her head. 

Most days it seemed like she only had two consistent moods — gruff and cold. But then one day, during the case of Avery Jordan, when Melanie had personally driven Avery to the airport in order for her to flee the country so she didn’t have to undergo the ridiculous visitation rights with her rapist, Barba had finally gotten a true peak behind the curtain that was Melanie Dodds. 

Before, he’d found her annoyingly stubborn and bad-tempered. He’d seen her as nothing more than a detective who thought she was untouchable given who her father was, but when he found out that she’d risked her own career for a woman she barely knew? That’s when things changed in his mind and ever since then, he’d been completely and utterly hooked on her. 

Due to that, when dinner arrived, Barba kept the conversation flowing. He asked her basic things, like what she liked to do in her spare time, to which she replied with something he never would have seen coming — that she played online video games with Fin any chance they could get. From first person shooter games to calming farming games, they played the lot and to be honest Barba wasn’t sure who he was more shocked over hearing that about. 

After that he kept going. He asked her about her favourite movie — Jaws. He asked if she had any favourite places she liked to go in the city and he was rather surprised to find out she had such a deep love for the aquarium. That she’d sit there for hours simply watching the sea life swimming carefree around her, and not finding it at all scary when the sharks would loom hauntingly over her — which he guessed wasn’t actually that surprising given his newfound knowledge of her favourite movie. 

He then went on to more… personal questions, you could say, in that he finally asked what it was really like being partnered with Carisi — which Melanie had chuckled at given the plainly obvious humour that had unintentionally come out alongside that question. She knew well that her partner irritated him at times with his far-out theories and refresher courses on the law — Barba’s words, not hers — but despite that, Barba had seemed genuinely interested, and so she gave him nothing but a truthful answer.

That Carisi was a great partner. 

And yes, sometimes he could ramble on about how society was growing closer to inevitably collapsing, and when it came to chasing perps it was often left up to her as Carisi was too tall and too skinny that any time one of them turned a sharp corner, he’d almost lose his balance and go flying into any nearby objects (which Barba found greatly amusing when she told him and would never be letting go), but he was still the best partner she’d ever had.

Sure, Amaro had been great and she missed him terribly but the two of them clashed way more often than they would have liked. They were too similar, and Amaro was too angry, but with Carisi it was like they flowed together perfectly and she couldn’t ask for a more trustworthy partner — all of which she happily told Barba when he asked for more details, part of him almost wishing he hadn’t as he wouldn’t deny… He felt a little jealous of Carisi. And he’d be denying that if he somehow ever found out. 

“Law lessons aside, Sonny is great. He puts up with me and my bullshit,” Melanie carried on, using her fork to break off a small piece of their remaining chocolate cake. They’d gotten a slice to share after dinner, yet she hadn’t seemed to notice that Barba’s cutlery was still clean. “He knows how I like my coffee. My preferred stakeout snacks and music… That’s all I can ask for, really.” 

“If you ask me, the guy deserves a medal,” Barba mumbled jokingly, ignoring the pit in his stomach as he earned himself a tight glare from Melanie, who then reached out and gently nudged his leg with her foot in retaliation before finishing off the last of the chocolate cake.

By the time they left Forlini’s and stepped out into the cool summer’s evening, Melanie was feeling better than she had done in weeks. And it was all thanks to Barba. He’d gone out of his way to make her feel comfortable enough to let her guard down long enough to enjoy a nice dinner. With some rather pleasant company, as she wouldn’t lie, despite his quirks and their witty banter, she’d always thought Barba was all business all the time. 

But tonight she’d been proven wrong. 

Tonight he’d been different. He hadn’t been Barba, the reputable ADA who always seemed like he had his life together. No, tonight he’d been Rafael, the man who’d grown up as a scrawny kid in the Bronx and knew firsthand just how hard life could truly get. 

“You know, I, uh…” Melanie began, taking a deep breath of that warm summer’s air that engulfed her. “I really needed that. It’s been such a crazy few weeks and I guess I just…” 

“Forgot that you’re human too?” Barba finished for her, and Melanie nodded sheepishly. He didn’t give anything in response to that other than a gentle smile, as he didn’t think the subject called for much more speculation. Instead, he placed his hand on her forearm and gave it a light, comforting squeeze before cocking his head to the side, “Come on, let me walk you home.” 

“You’ve done enough for one night,” Melanie protested, “You don’t need to do anything else.” 

“I know I don’t need to,” Barba replied, reluctantly dropping his hand and allowing it to hang loosely by his side as it twitched to reach back out and lace itself with hers. “But I want to. And besides, what kind of man would I be if I let a pretty, slightly intoxicated woman like you walk home alone through this neighbourhood?” 

“I’m the one with the badge and gun here, counsellor,” Melanie said humorously, patting her hip and ignoring the way her stomach flipped over hearing him call her pretty. “And last I checked, crime rates in this neighbourhood are at an all time low.” 

“Irrelevant,” Barba replied, briefly waving his hand in front of him as though brushing that off. “My mother would be disgraced to find out I let you walk home alone, regardless of your profession, so let’s go.” 

Holding out his arm, Barba’s eyes continuously flicked from the grey fabric that covered it to the indecipherable look that was plastered over Melanie’s face. He always hated the fact that he never could tell what she was thinking most of the time. It made it nearly impossible for him to ever know whether or not there was some part of her that might feel the same way about him as he did about her. Truthfully, it grated on him, even now, but when she eventually smiled and gave in, that feeling quickly faded away. Replaced with nothing but pure and utter warmth in his chest when she linked her arm with his and happily allowed him to begin walking her down the block.  

They remained silent for the most part, simply choosing to enjoy each other’s quiet company rather than feel the need to fill it with mindless small talk. It wasn’t an overly long journey to Melanie’s place anyway, and soon enough Barba felt the disappointing feeling of her arm slip from around his as they came to the bottom step of her townhouse — which he was rather surprised to find out she lived in as she’d always struck him as a loft apartment kind of girl. 

“Well, this is me,” Melanie exhaled, nodding lazily to her house as she spun to face Barba properly, where a sudden awkwardness seemed to sweep over the entirety of her being. She couldn’t help but feel like she was at the end of a date, where she never knew whether to invite the guy inside or leave him stewing on the sidewalk wondering whether or not he’d ever see her again. “Thanks for getting me here safely.” 

Smiling at the slight humour in her tone, Barba replied, “You’re welcome.” 

“So, I guess I‘ll probably see you tomorrow,” Melanie said rather hopefully, backing up one step towards her house and praying she didn’t trip and end up embarrassing herself.

“It’s likely,” Barba nodded briefly, “I have some paperwork to go over with Liv, so I’m sure I’ll see you in the squad room.”  

At that Melanie gave him a single, smiling nod of her own before wishing him a soft and quiet goodnight. One that almost made his heart weep when he then had to see her turn fully on her heels and ascend the steps to her front door. Wanting to make sure she got inside safely, he lingered, watching as she fumbled for her keys and began to unlock the strangely numerous locks she had on her door. 

When it finally creaked open he made his move to leave, the shiny silver rims of the black motorbike parked adjacent from Melanie’s house catching his eye as he did. He pondered the idea of it being hers. It matched her personality to a tee and he could almost imagine her cruising smoothly down the streets at night, the wind blowing through her luscious locks as if he knew her, she wouldn’t haven’t ruined her look with a helmet.  

That’s about all had time to think about before he suddenly heard the soft pats of Melanie’s feet mixed with the gentle jingle of the chain that hung from her jeans coming back down the cement steps of her brownstone. He spun on his heels instantly, finding that Melanie was already close enough to him that he could reach out and touch her. His mouth opened, words sitting on the tip of his tongue only he didn’t get a chance to free them before she leaned in, placing a soft, heartwarming kiss to his cheek. 

Almost instantly, Barba’s stomach flipped inside him at the sudden feeling of her lips on his skin. They were soft to the touch. A surprisingly higher temperature than the rest of her and when she parted them a sharp, shuddering shiver rippled up his spine at her breath puffing out across his face as she whispered,  

“Thank you.” 

The words didn’t even have time to settle in the air before she was gone from in front of him again, leaving Barba to do nothing but stand breathlessly on the sidewalk and watch as the front door of the brownstone finally swung shut… with Melanie securely behind it. 

-> Chapter 2

[phenexhotfury]

Welcome to the story mode Part 3 of The Sunny Show : Attraction AU!❤️💛💙

Hope you guys enjoy!!!

and you can also check out my twitter to see more!!! : @phenexhotfury

WARNING: This episode contains Blood / Killing / Deception / Violence picture

In 1982 - January - 28 (10:34PM)

Reporter : Earlier tonight…Police are still unable to apprehend the killer who killed Mr.Anderson Weger ,The bar owner in downtown.

Reporter : Police suspect the killer may have an accomplice but their are no evidence yet to be found.

Reporter : The police department announced to end Mr.Anderson’s case because of insufficient evidence…next-

Grace turns off the TV and smirks a little while Joseph is sleeping beside her. Tired from his acting training…and he has been changed a lot. His surname , His identity, Speaking accent , Behavior , Dyed his hair from brown to the light blue one and lastly…his life.

He is no longer Joseph Cullman nor that Haberdae. He is Mr.Jack who will the main attraction of Sunny Show Pizzeria.

Her Pizzeria which getting popular in children and a bunch of family in downtown. For a months now they gained such a high profit. Children all love the entertainment they get.

The Show, Arcade games…and their parents also enjoy the food , music and the atmosphere like they are driving into a fantasy land.

“Ha….Looks like everything is according to my plan..” Grace said quietly to herself. Thinking about that night….

.

.

.

In 1981 - August - 18 (04:10AM)

Anderson is laying down on the floor. Coughing up and heavily breathing to get much air as he can.

Joseph did stabbed him so hard in the stomach and the blood is oozing…dripping down though his shirt. Anderson heard someone opens up the door. It’s was Grace wearing a pair of black gloves.

“G..Grace… please…help me..” Anderson begging Grace to help him but he can only see her cold look. She is the one do paid Anderson to do a dirty job, to pressure and stress Joseph out. He did got a huge of money.

Grace leans down to grabs the rope that Joseph left earlier. It’s got cut off but the length is long enough to tie something up..

It’s the perfect place for someone to be dying in here since there are no surveillant camera in there.

why…?

because even Mr.Anderson himself opens this pub by illegal way. Joseph working here because Anderson was the one who blackmailed Joseph, but not anymore….

Grace slowly walking towards Anderson

Anderson realizes that Grace is not going to help him..but kill him for sure. He tries to reach to the exit back door that Joseph used but Grace slowly Strangles Anderson by that rope, pulling him to the table. Because of the blood lost he is weak, he tries to wiggle but no use.

She needs to kills him before police arrived ….that will made her plan complete.

“Shhhh…” Grace tighten the rope and watches Anderson’s last breath left his body. He stops struggle. Grace release her pull from the rope and slowly walks out from the room, going out to the back alley…..

.

.

.

Everything is in its place now.

Joseph still…thought that he is the one who killed Anderson. I will be the one who protects him under my control…

.

.

.

In 1982 - January - 29 (02:11PM)

“Grace…? My little star?” Jack voice snaps Grace back to the reality for a moment

“How do I look?” His cheerful voice and his dark color eyes looking at her. Hoping for some answer.

He carry that staff in his hand and swing it professionally. That what he got trained for.

“W..Wow that…look so amazing Jack…” Grace loves what she sees. Jack in a Magician Puppet suit which perfectly fit his size.

They both try to leaving the past behind…Moving forward to the future. They aren’t just a Boss and employee, but a lover that really down into the relationship.

Grace watches his show before that children and family. She is impressed…

.

.

Wait…she just trying to play his feeling…why…suddenly that warm becoming…REAL. Grace is falling for him though every moves.

After the show has ended….

She walks out to her office room ,sigh and trying to clear her mind…

“I must’ve gone insane…” Afraid that her feeling might go too far. She shouldn’t in love her pawn…right…?

(Stay tuned for Part 4) ⭐️💕

love you guys 💕

[dailyunsolvedmysteries]

Who Is ‘Prayer Man’?

On the day of JFK’s assignation, Dave Wiegman and Jimmy Darnell, two of the news cameramen travelling in the motorcade, began filming when they heard gunshots. For several decades, the significance of their two films was thought to lie in their portrayal of the spectators along Elm Street and the cars in the motorcade. More recently, attention has been drawn to the films’ depiction of the doorway of the Texas School Book Depository, and in particular to a previously ignored figure who, according to some observers, may have been Lee Harvey Oswald. In several frames of the two black–and–white news films, a figure is visible in the western corner of the TSBD doorway. From the cameras’ point of view, the figure is standing to the left of the man in the Altgens photograph who has been identified as Billy Lovelady. The figure’s right arm appears to be raised across its chest, which has earned it the name ‘Prayer Man’. The figure is unlikely to have been praying, but it may have its arms crossed, or it may be holding an object up to its chest. Although the figure in the currently available versions of the films is insufficiently distinct to permit a definitive identification, it appears to be a white man, dressed in a loose, dark–toned shirt with an open neck and either short or rolled–up sleeves. The figure does not appear to be wearing a white shirt or a tie, as would have been customary for male office workers in the early 1960s. Its short hair and light skin tone strongly suggest that it is neither a woman nor a black man, although the lack of definition in the images does not completely rule out either possibility. The figure’s head and hairline are not inconsistent with Oswald’s appearance.

Could ‘Prayer Man’ Have Been Oswald?

Lee Oswald claimed to have been on the first floor at the time of the assassination. There is certainly very little evidence to support the official doctrine that he was on the sixth floor of the TSBD. An unreliable witness, Howard Brennan, described the gunman as looking somewhat like Oswald, and a handful of other witnesses gave vague descriptions that matched Oswald along with any number of other young, white men. On the other hand:

Every witness who described the gunman’s clothing, including Brennan, claimed that it did not match Oswald’s clothing.

Oswald was seen on a lower floor about 15 minutes before the shooting, at the same time as a spectator saw a gunman on the sixth floor.

Oswald is known to have been on the first floor, in or near the domino room, about five or ten minutes after this.

Reports in the Dallas Morning News and the New York Herald Tribune, both published on the morning after the assassination, state that Ochus Campbell, the vice–president of the TSBD company, and a policeman saw Oswald very shortly after the shooting in a “storage room on the first floor”

The currently available evidence of Oswald’s location at the time of the assassination does not preclude him from being Prayer Man.

When Marina Oswald (who has maintained her husband’s innocence) was shown by researchers pictures of the "prayer man" from the films taken by Dave Wiegman of NBC-TV and Jimmy Darnell of WBAP-TV during the assassination, an unprompted Marina told Ed LeDoux that the “Prayer Man” was Lee.

[dailyunsolvedmysteries-movedd]

Who Is ‘Prayer Man’?

On the day of JFK’s assignation, Dave Wiegman and Jimmy Darnell, two of the news cameramen travelling in the motorcade, began filming when they heard gunshots. For several decades, the significance of their two films was thought to lie in their portrayal of the spectators along Elm Street and the cars in the motorcade. More recently, attention has been drawn to the films’ depiction of the doorway of the Texas School Book Depository, and in particular to a previously ignored figure who, according to some observers, may have been Lee Harvey Oswald. In several frames of the two black–and–white news films, a figure is visible in the western corner of the TSBD doorway. From the cameras’ point of view, the figure is standing to the left of the man in the Altgens photograph who has been identified as Billy Lovelady. The figure’s right arm appears to be raised across its chest, which has earned it the name ‘Prayer Man’. The figure is unlikely to have been praying, but it may have its arms crossed, or it may be holding an object up to its chest. Although the figure in the currently available versions of the films is insufficiently distinct to permit a definitive identification, it appears to be a white man, dressed in a loose, dark–toned shirt with an open neck and either short or rolled–up sleeves. The figure does not appear to be wearing a white shirt or a tie, as would have been customary for male office workers in the early 1960s. Its short hair and light skin tone strongly suggest that it is neither a woman nor a black man, although the lack of definition in the images does not completely rule out either possibility. The figure’s head and hairline are not inconsistent with Oswald’s appearance.

Could ‘Prayer Man’ Have Been Oswald?

Lee Oswald claimed to have been on the first floor at the time of the assassination. There is certainly very little evidence to support the official doctrine that he was on the sixth floor of the TSBD. An unreliable witness, Howard Brennan, described the gunman as looking somewhat like Oswald, and a handful of other witnesses gave vague descriptions that matched Oswald along with any number of other young, white men. On the other hand:

Every witness who described the gunman’s clothing, including Brennan, claimed that it did not match Oswald’s clothing.

Oswald was seen on a lower floor about 15 minutes before the shooting, at the same time as a spectator saw a gunman on the sixth floor.

Oswald is known to have been on the first floor, in or near the domino room, about five or ten minutes after this.

Reports in the Dallas Morning News and the New York Herald Tribune, both published on the morning after the assassination, state that Ochus Campbell, the vice–president of the TSBD company, and a policeman saw Oswald very shortly after the shooting in a “storage room on the first floor”

The currently available evidence of Oswald’s location at the time of the assassination does not preclude him from being Prayer Man.

When Marina Oswald (who has maintained her husband’s innocence) was shown by researchers pictures of the “prayer man” from the films taken by Dave Wiegman of NBC-TV and Jimmy Darnell of WBAP-TV during the assassination, an unprompted Marina told Ed LeDoux that the “Prayer Man” was Lee.

[devouringfate]

Since Castoria pretended to be Mash, OBVIOUSLY the one she should swallow to take care of her hunger is the resident Shielder. Just be careful to do it when no one else is looking.....

Days and nights and missions and assignments and all sorts of things had been blending together for a while now already, to the point that Castoria had simply found herself wandering the halls of Chaldea without a full awareness of herself, or what she had been doing until now to end up up and about this apparently late into everything.

All she knew and cared about right now, was the fact that she was hungry and knew the way to the cafeteria. She could figure out the rest later.

—Yet before she even got that far, she found a different option, quickly taking a few steps back and nearly hiding behind the frame leading to the actual eating area. For as little as they meant in the grand scheme of things, there were still defenses in place to try and deter midnight riders, such as herself, Jack, Nursery and so on, from taking insufficiently prepared supplies. Getting to the food, as such, would be a challenge… Were it not for the presence of someone sitting in the cafeteria and simply holding a cup of tea as if just warming her hands was enough.

Even with Castoria’s temporary loss of place in time and space, she could tell that Mashu was in a state of her own. Her clothes were almost obviously only recently, and rather poorly, thrown on, her hair was matted, her expression relaxed and half-asleep… Castoria still made sure to approach carefully and stealthily, only further confirming the theory as the Shielder smelled like sweat and sex, carrying Gudako’s almost distinctive scent.

Almost ironically, Mashu was rather defenseless in this moment, allowing Castoria to put her hands on Mashu’s shoulders from behind, startling the Shielder for a moment and prompting her to look up, only to see the inside of Castoria’s gaping mouth as she began to descend with an unhinged jaw that effectively took Mashu’s entire face in one go, followed by a tongue starting to lick Mashu’s scared expression to try and scrape off some of the dried juices.

A quick hand smacked the tea away before Mashu could try to use it against her, her head descending as her other arm tried to make Mashu’s ascend deeper. Putting both hands under Mashu’s shoulders and lifting like that, combined with a poor decision on Mashu’s part to grab the back of Castoria’s head and try to pull her away, allowed Castoria to lift up the Shielder a lot faster and with more support, making quick work of her head and starting to scrape her teeth against the neck in a barely consciously learned intimidation tactic.

Mashu’s clothing was thankfully, currently, light, consisting of a rather loose dress shirt that just barely covered up the fact she was wearing a bra at all, while her legs were only clad in pantyhose over a pair of panties. It wasn’t much in the way of clothes, but Castoria knew that it would get in the way of some of the taste, as well as that she couldn’t really strip her of even that much, mostly due to hunger and some level of awareness that it was best that no one finds out about this using the sort of evidence that discarded clothes would leave.

Instead, she struggled a little as she missed the back of the dress shirt’s collar, leading to it getting caught on her chin for a few moments before she managed to get it where it belonged, giving Mashu more time to try and get some final struggles in with her arms before Castoria started to limit their movements by going over the shoulders and thus starting to pin the arms to Mashu’s side.

Mashu’s protests started to get more vivid, though Castoria wasn’t really able to make much sense of it, simply feeling the vibrations in her throat and body, reducing the effectiveness by a lot. Instead, she focused on pushing Mashu’s massive bust into her mouth. The gradual incline of having started head first like this made it easier, Mashu’s breasts gradually squeezing inside as Castoria slid her hands further and further down to keep a grip.

A few exploratory fingers did sink into Mashu’s bust from the side, mostly only finding the texture and presence of her bra instead of the soft tit flesh, but that hardly stopped the intrusive thoughts as she took advantage of the situation.

Castoria took a few steps back, the chair that Mashu was sitting on still pinned between the two of them and now leaning on its back legs as Castoria tugged and bounced Mashu for a few moments, feeling the jiggle as it filled her cheeks, further enforced as she supported and bounced the bottom of Mashu’s hefty chest to send stronger ripples. The feeling continued even after the bust fully passed her lips, continuing deeper and deeper inside her mouth and the entrance to her throat with every swallow.

Feeling Mashu’s head just starting to enter her stomach, very slowly filling her up, Castoria took a very short break, simply to ease the chair down to the ground and avoid a loud crash before she continued, both hands on Mashu’s ass and pulling-lifting her up into the depths of her throat, crossing the midriff as Mashu’s legs continued to flail through the air and find no purchase.

Her stomach expanded appropriately as her food was sent into it, bulging out slightly at first with the indent of Mashu’s head as she worked her way to Mashu’s ass, sinking her fingers into it to see if she can squeezed anything out for her to further play with when she gets to that part.

Feeling increasingly and exponentially filled, Castoria picked up the pace, shoveling more of Mashu into herself, almost sensually dragging her hands down her length and pressing her fingers into the thighs instead, her tongue exploring the ass and gradually coming to… An almost disappointing discovery.

The taste of sex was still there, not even washed off, Mashu most likely simply having put on her panties without having bothered to clean up, locking the tastes to her crotch, but there wasn’t any new wetness present, no excitement in spite of Castoria’s attempts at some measure of foreplay and messing with the Shielder like she had. Even rubbing the insides of her thighs failed to get anything going…

She would not let her meal be spoiled by this alone though, pressing her tongue against Mashu’s taint, crossing the distance between the soft ass and the, admittedly fairly, dry pussy as if she had the strength to push it down with her tongue alone. Powerful swallows did the job just as well though, pulling Mashu deeper still, more and more of her body entering Castoria’s stomach and expanding it, very slowly returning some measure of movement to the Shielder.

Right now, all Mashu could do was squirm and thrash in an almost snake-like manner, trying to do as much as she could with the top part of her body, trying to headbutt the lining of Castoria’s stomach in an attempt to set herself free. It was useless however, no amount of movement getting her any closer to freedom as Castoria simply swallowed along the length of her legs.

No longer having to hold her food still, Castoria put her hands on the bottom of her stomach, providing just a bit of added support as she finished off the last of the Shielder. After her thighs, there was simply nothing else interesting to her, allowing her to make quick work of the rest of the legs and finally close her lips properly. In spite of the size of her meal, Castoria found herself still rather tired and because of the size of her meal, Castoria found herself suddenly at the edge of a food coma… So she did the only natural thing and started heading back to her room, content with the results and not quite aware of the fact that Mashu couldn’t just be resummoned after the fact…

[misterrogers22]

Episode 26 of the Juras-Sick Park-Cast: "Control"

is now available on Youtube! Featuring excellent guest @Jordan_Mallon sharing about #tyrannosaurus #triceratops #spiclypeus lumping and splitting and naming new #dinosaurs!

#JurassicPark #MichaelCrichton

0:00 - Introduction Welcome to the Juras-Sick Park-Cast podcast, the Jurassic Park podcast about Michael Crichton's 1990 novel Jurassic Park, and also not about that, too.

Find the episode webpage at: Episode 26 - Control www.jurassickparkcast.blogspot.com/2022/08/episode-26-control.html

06:17 - Interview with special guest Dr. Jordan Mallon In this episode, my terrific guest Dr. Jordan Mallon returns to chat with me about: Tyrannosaurus imperator, T-regina, and T-rex, amorphous reptile bones, lumping and splitting, species diversity, extinctions, Triceratops trivia, big dinosaurs in Late Cretaceous North America, the bias in the fossil record towards large dinosaurs, naming dinosaurs like Spiclypeus, dinosaur names based on the Jurassic Park film, dinosaurs named in honour of Michael Crichton, dino-mania, styracosterna v. ankylopollexa, comparative anatomy, hadrosaurs v. saurolphines, synonymizing dinosaur names, Gryposaurus, Edmontosaurus v . Ugrunaaluk, phylogenetic mapping, why DNA doesn't preserve (hint, it's water!), and more!

15:00 - Why lumping and splitting different species of dinosaurs?

18:10 - The coolest things about triceratops!

29:15 - Naming dinosaurs, and dinosaurs named after Jurassic Park.

Plus dinosaur news about:

01:25 - Tyrannosaurus imperator, Tyrannosaurus regina and T. rex! Insufficient Evidence for Multiple Species of Tyrannosaurus in the Latest Cretaceous of North America: A Comment on “The Tyrant Lizard King, Queen and Emperor: Multiple Lines of Morphological and Stratigraphic Evidence Support Subtle Evolution and Probable Speciation Within the North American Genus Tyrannosaurus”

03:48 - A specimen-level phylogenetic analysis and taxonomicrevision of Diplodocidae (Dinosauria, Sauropoda)

0:33 - Featuring the music of Snale www.snalerock.bandcamp.com/releases

Intro: Supergroovy. Outro: T-Shirts.

The Text: This week’s text is Control, spanning from pages 126 - 133.

01:00:16 - A synopsis of the chapter Control in Jurassic Park Synopsis: As Jurassic Park’s employees conclude their demonstration of all their systems of control, Grant and Malcolm find themselves uneasy with the park’s approach to controlling living, breathing animals in an artificial setting, which is aiming to recreate a natural park setting.

01:06:33 - Analyzing the literary and stylistic techniques

01:13:12 - Discussions surround The Illusion of Control, dinosaurs, Version 4.4, Control is a hoax, Timeline and the God Complex Discussions surround: The Dinosaurs, Version 4.4, Control is a Hoax, the Timeline, and the God Complex.

Side effects: May cause animals like the Gila monster and rattlesnake to share their hemotoxins.

Thank you! The Jura-Sick Park-cast is a part of the Spring Chickens banner of amateur intellectual properties including the Spring Chickens funny pages, Tomb of the Undead graphic novel, the Second Lapse graphic novelettes, The Infantry, and the worst of it all, the King St. Capers. You can find links to all that baggage in the show notes, or by visiting the schickens.blogpost.com or finding us on Facebook, at Facebook.com/SpringChickenCapers or me, I’m on twitter at @RogersRyan22 or email me at ryansrogers-at-gmail.com. Thank you, dearly, for tuning in to the Juras-Sick Park-Cast, the Jurassic Park podcast where we talk about the novel Jurassic Park, and also not that, too. Until next time! #JurassicPark #MichaelCrichton

[dankusner]

Well, hello again, podner

Big Texs tepped up—boots and all —onto his usual spot on his platform at Big Tex Circle during his installation Friday at the State Fair of Texas at Dallas' Fair Park.

A crowd of about 100 people—from local media to children dressed just like the 55-foot-tall fair icon in blue shirts,jeans and white hats—gathered in the heat to make him feel welcome during the process, which required work crews and one very, very tall crane.

This year marks Big Tex's 72nd appearance at the fair, which opens Friday and will run through Oct. 20.

I BET HE’S GOT A GREAT, BIG… CAR

He's got a 75-gallon cowboy hat.

72 yards of denim.

And a size 70 Justin boot.

DALLAS

Attorney general to appeal State Fair firearms ruling

Judge had rejected Paxton’s attempt to temporarily halt policy

Texas Attorney General Ken Paxton plans to appeal to a higher court after a Dallas County district judge on Thursday denied his office’s request to temporarily halt a new State Fair of Texas policy prohibiting firearms on its fairgrounds.

Judge Emily Tobolowsky, in a court hearing Thursday, rejected Paxton’s request for a temporary injunction, saying there was insufficient evidence showing any laws were broken by the new restriction.

State attorneys did not say during the hearing whether they planned to appeal and declined to comment to reporters outside the courtroom.

They filed a notice to appeal later in the afternoon to the 15th Court of Appeals.

The filing late Thursday signals a forthcoming change in venue for the legal dispute, which began after fair organizers announced Aug. 8 they would increase security and limit who would be allowed to carry guns into Fair Park.

The policy change comes after a man shot three people at the fair last year.

In previous years, the fair allowed attendees with a valid handgun license to bring a gun as long as it was concealed, but state law doesn’t require Texans to have a permit to carry a firearm in a public place.

The state requested an accelerated appeal.

The filing comes just over a week before the first day of the State Fair of Texas, which runs from Sept. 27 through Oct. 20.

The case will be among the first ones heard in the 15th Court of Appeals.

The Texas Legislature created the Austin-based appeals court last year.

It is the venue for cases from the state’s business courts, appeals brought by or against the state and disputes over the constitutionality of state laws.

This summer, Gov. Greg Abbott appointed three justices to the court. Its inaugural term began Sept. 1.

Dallas officials have maintained city officials weren’t involved in the State Fair of Texas’ decision to enact the new policy.

The nonprofit group leases Fair Park from the city for the event. Seeking to block the restriction, Paxton sued the fair, Dallas and interim City Manager Kimberly Bizor Tolbert on Aug. 29.

He contends the restriction is illegal and infringes on gun owners’ rights.

[projectconstitution]

🔍 Get ready to level up your legal knowledge! 💡Daily Post 4/19/24

🔍 Get ready to level up your legal knowledge! 💡 Every day, I'm bringing you insights into cases that either defend our rights or challenge them. Whether it's a victory for justice or a warning sign for our freedoms, these cases are essential to know in case you find yourself in a similar situation. Today, let's dive into a landmark case that shook the foundation of Fourth Amendment protections: Florida v. J.L. (2000). 🏛️

Florida v. J.L. is a significant case that deals with the Fourth Amendment to the United States Constitution, which protects against unreasonable searches and seizures. Here's everything you need to know about it:

Case Background: In November 1995, an anonymous caller contacted the Miami-Dade Police Department and reported that a young black male wearing a plaid shirt standing at a particular bus stop was carrying a gun. The caller did not provide any information about how they knew this or whether they witnessed any criminal activity. Police Response: Based solely on the anonymous tip, without any corroboration or independent verification of the information provided, police officers arrived at the bus stop and observed three black males, including the defendant, J.L., one of whom was wearing a plaid shirt. Without observing any suspicious behavior or confirming the presence of a weapon, the officers conducted a pat-down search of J.L. and discovered a gun.

Legal Proceedings: J.L. was charged with carrying a concealed firearm without a license. However, his defense argued that the evidence obtained from the search should be suppressed because it was the result of an unconstitutional search and seizure, violating his Fourth Amendment rights.

Supreme Court Decision: In a 5-4 decision, the United States Supreme Court ruled in favor of J.L. and held that the anonymous tip lacked sufficient indicia of reliability to provide reasonable suspicion for a Terry stop and frisk. The Court emphasized that an anonymous tip, standing alone, does not justify a stop and frisk without further corroborating information or observations by law enforcement. In this case, the tip did not provide any predictive information to support its reliability, nor did the police independently observe any suspicious behavior.

Legal Significance: Florida v. J.L. clarified that an anonymous tip, without additional corroborating evidence, is generally insufficient to establish reasonable suspicion for a Terry stop and frisk. This decision reinforced the Fourth Amendment's requirement of particularized and objective evidence to justify intrusions on individual liberty.

In summary, Florida v. J.L. reaffirmed the principle that anonymous tips must be reliable and provide specific, corroborated information to justify police action under the Fourth Amendment.

[denimbex1986]

'When we told people we were writing a sci-fi novel together during lockdown, they’d ask us what it was about. A reasonable question, but very hard to answer. “A love letter to genre fiction” felt insufficient, and “a military spy adventure mystery horror sci-fi queer romance thriller” too much. But now, in this glorious summer of Barbenheimer, a time of proliferating memes and T-shirts printed with hot-pink mushroom clouds, we usually answer the question with “It’s Barbie meets Oppenheimer”.

Set in 2010 in a universe just one perilous step from our own, Prophet was intended to be as comedic and subversive as Barbie and as darkly philosophical as Oppenheimer – and it also has scenes set in nuclear test towns in the Nevada desert overrun with animate plastic dolls. But the deepest connection between Prophet, Barbie and Oppenheimer is that all, in different ways, are shaped by nostalgia. Greta Gerwig’s film playfully interrogates the candy-lit utopia of a consumerist childhood, and Christopher Nolan’s complex response to the terrifying romance of the cold war nuclear desert reminds us of a time when the apocalypse was easier to comprehend because it only came in nuclear flavour.

Our subject, in Prophet, is the literal weaponisation of nostalgia. The plot is about a covert American military project that’s experimenting with a mysterious substance that causes those exposed to it to spontaneously create beloved childhood objects out of thin air – to quote Walter Benjamin, they literally “seize hold of a memory as it flashes up at a moment of danger”.

Once they create their object, they are trapped in a deadly trance clutching it, be it a doll, a teddy bear, a Scrabble set or rocking chair. This came partly from the notion of the “Valley of Lost Things”, a literary conceit discussed in Kathryn Schulz’s wonderful memoir Lost and Found that situates all the things we’ve lost in our lives in a far, inaccessible place. The idea can be found in works as various as Mary Poppins and the 1516 epic poem Orlando Furioso. But it also came from that strange, heady pang we all feel when we see a photo of something from our childhood on social media – a candy bar or a toy or the decor of a fast food restaurant. As the historian David Lowenthal maintained, we all crave evidence that the past endures in recoverable form – that some mechanism or faith will enable us not just to know it but to see and feel it.

It’s not hard to understand why nostalgia is everywhere in this era of pandemic and economic hardship. It feels as though the world is spiralling towards fascism in the midst of an accelerating environmental apocalypse, and a yearning for a lost past that seems safer and better than our present is an understandable reaction. Nostalgia flourishes in societies after wars and times of social dislocation.

In the 18th century, however, when the word nostalgia was coined by the medic Johannes Hofer (from the Greek nostos, meaning homecoming or home, and algos, meaning pain), it was to describe a military disease experienced by Swiss mercenaries on battlefields far from home; they became indifferent and haggard, heard voices and saw ghosts. Later, nostalgia was considered a vice, the consequence of not being manly enough, before shifting in the Romantic period to become a far more positive phenomenon, linked to a sense of national or cultural pride.

Today, nostalgia has become a viciously effective way to guarantee instant emotional engagement across advertising, television, movies and social media. Hollywood is so rife with it, it feels as if it’s entering a death spiral of recycled intellectual property. Following Barbie, there are Hot Wheels, Polly Pocket and Barney the Dinosaur movies all in the works. Across every sphere, late capitalism is eating itself, using nostalgia as a seasoning.

When we asked people on Twitter what single emotionally resonant object they would retrieve from their own past if they could, the responses were bewitching and often heartbreaking. Button boxes, parental jackets, grandparents’ lounge chairs, lampshades, childhood trees, pets. Some, chillingly, mentioned ex‑girlfriends. But because, as the critic Jean Starobinski explained, our longing for home increasingly shrank in the 20th century into a longing for one’s own childhood, mostly the objects were toys.

We built Prophet from nostalgic things, weaving it from tropes pulled from old spy movies: snowbound ski-chalet lairs, secret medical laboratories, shady government operatives. We gave it Bourne-style action scenes and B-movie horrors. On a different level, it’s about the legacy of trauma, dislocation and loss, all classic nostalgia triggers.

At its heart, our novel is a fable about how dangerous it is to venerate the past at the expense of the idea of a future. We’re living at a time where believing in a livable future feels increasingly difficult. The despair this belief evokes in us makes it easy to give up, stop fighting, turn to nostalgia for our refuge. As Rebecca Solnit and others have written, it takes hard work to trust that there is still uncertainty about the future. But we need that uncertainty. We need hope. We must recognise and believe that, even now, history can still be made and changed for the better by our actions.'

[futurecommpr]

Green Up the Planet Launches Ecology Fundraiser

Green Up the Planet is a nonprofit organization devoted to providing underfunded schools with vital resources for teaching students about the environment. They have recently announced the launch of their fundraising campaign to support their upcoming ecology project, coinciding with the fall reopening of schools.  With a vision to create a greener future for all, Green Up the Planet strives to empower schools and inspire environmental stewardship.

In recent years, public schools have encountered a multitude of challenges, including the impacts of COVID-19, the surging growth of homeschooling, and insufficient funding. As schools strive to adapt their learning environments, the challenges range from a shortage of books and supplies to limited access to technology. Jacob Dearing, Board Director of Green Up The Planet, stresses “there is an urgent need for greater investments in our educational infrastructure, as these challenges have become even more evident.”

School districts continue to grapple with critical budget cuts and funding shortages that are expected to deepen further. This presents a crucial opportunity for both industries and nonprofits to step up and fill the void. Green Up the Planet was established with the mission to ensure that underfunded schools have access to innovative tools for teaching critically important subjects such as ecology and protecting the environment.

Students at schools participating in the Green Up the Planet program will receive a packet containing a grade/age-appropriate book about plants, engaging stickers, a seed packet, and a t-shirt featuring the Green Up the Planet logo. The intention of these resources is to ignite discussions about the environment, fostering engagement not only within the classroom setting but also extending beyond its boundaries.  The supplies are currently being stocked and assembled, and distribution to schools will begin in October.  Through direct collaboration with suppliers, the organization has successfully secured below wholesale costs for all items contained in the packets.

To contribute to the fundraiser and make a difference in a young student’s life, interested individuals can visit the website at https://greenuptheplanet.org/ to sponsor a packet or make a flat donation. Additionally, donations can be made through the GoFundMe page at https://gofund.me/f9422fcc .

Teachers and school administrators who wish to apply for their schools can do so directly on the website.

For more information, please visit: https://GreenUpThePlanet.org.

[god-whispers]

jun 2

friday headlines

Pride Month 2023 Launches To A First-Ever Major Pushback As Glamour Magazine Features ‘Pregnant Man’ Logan Brown On Their Digital Edition Cover Pride Month 2023 officially started today, and to quote the movie ‘It’s A Wonderful Life’, it’s ‘shaping up to be a squall!’. Glamour Magazine is featuring ‘proof’ of a ‘pregnant man’ on the cover of its UK digital edition which is emblematic of what the true problem really is.

Elon Musk’s Neuralink Gets FDA Approval to Study Brain Implants in Humans Neuralink, Elon Musk’s neurotechnology company, recently obtained approval from the Food and Drug Administration (FDA) to conduct a clinical study of brain implants in humans. This marks the first in-human clinical study for the company.

Criminals ‘Can Find Everything’ About You, Warns Surveillance Expert Artificial intelligence (AI) has advanced to such a level that criminals can now surveil and know “everything” about their targets, including predicting where the targets could be at some point in the future, experts warn.

Shocking New York Times Review of The Little Mermaid Complains the Children’s Film Had Insufficient ‘Kink’ The review, perhaps correctly, noted that the film “reeks of obligation and noble intentions,” but lost most people when it continued to say “joy, fun, mystery, risk, flavor, kink — they’re missing.”

Synthetic biology aims to replace natural life forms with something that is man-made Several years ago, leaked FEMA documents described that people would be put into FEMA camps for, essentially, re-education.  That concept “is old,” Celeste Solum told Maria Zeee.  The plan has been replaced by a “posthuman” ideology.

Now or Never – Israel and Iran’s Nuclear Weapons Program Iran is busy building new, impenetrable nuclear bunkers and developing advanced ballistic missiles. What is Israel waiting for? There are all kinds of developments that indicate Israel is getting closer to direct action against Iran.

‘Surveillance over every citizen on Earth’: Devious group looks to rule entire world The World Health Organization has set its sights on establishing “a platform for global governance through health care.”

Fears Satanists have returned as lamb’s throat slit and has Bible placed on dead body A coven of Satanists could again be stalking the New Forest, locals fear, after a slaughtered lamb was found with a bloodstained Bible resting on its body. There were concerns raised in 2019 after evidence of Satanic rituals was found in the forest. Pigs were found with their hearts ripped out and sheep and cows were also killed and mutilated.

REVEALED: Target tells employees only ‘extremists’ are concerned with sexualization of children As Target faces backlash, resulting in monetary losses over its Pride collection, the company has sent an internal memo stating that those who worry about the sexualization of children are extremists. The line includes clothing and accessories for children, including shirts that read “Queer! Queer! Queer!” and onesies about how trans is beautiful.

Thousands Of Roman Catholics Flock To Worship At The Dead Body Of ‘Miracle Nun’ Sister Wilhelmina Lancaster Whose Body Did Not Decay The ‘miracle nun’ Sister Wilhelmina Lancaster whose exhumed body showed nearly no signs of decomposition four years after she died is drawing thousands of Roman Catholics hoping to worship her corpse

Biden’s ex-nuclear official played key role in blasphemous drag ‘nuns’ group The disgraced former Biden administration official, Sam Brinton, reportedly used to serve as the principal officer for Washington D.C.’s chapter of the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence…Brinton was also present at an explicit Easter Sunday event in San Francisco in 2019, where scantily clad men mimicked Christ’s crucifixion and poll-danced on a cross.

EMA admits COVID Vaccination causes Infertility The European Medicines Agency (EMA) has finally admitted that Covid-19 vaccination can have an adverse effect on female fertility. The admission comes months after it was revealed in confidential Pfizer documents revealed that shedding of the Covid-19 vaccine is possible by skin-to-skin contact and/or breathing the same air as a vaccinated person, and can, unfortunately, lead to menstrual cycle disruption among women and miscarriage among pregnant women.

Disneyland Hires Man In Dress to Greet Little Girls At Bibbidy Bobbidi Boutique A video that was uploaded on Twitter by Jason Jones shows a grown man wearing a dress at Disneyland’s Bibbidi Bobbidi Boutique. In the video a man who clearly has a mustache is wearing a dress and greeting little girls as they walk into the dress boutique.

satan Has Become One Of The Hottest Spiritual Figures In America Should we be surprised?  As our society comes apart at the seams all around us, Satan and Satanism are becoming extremely popular.  Videos featuring Satan are getting millions of views on TikTok and YouTube, millions of Americans are watching shows that feature Satan as a main character on Netflix and other streaming services, and the Satanic Temple has become one of the fastest growing religious organizations that the United States has ever seen.

Warning on Upcoming Disney+ Show About a Girl Carrying satan’s Baby The family-friendly entertainment organization MovieGuide is sounding the alarm about an upcoming Disney+ that features a teenage girl’s love affair with satan.

You Say You Want a Revival? We also see no evidence of a major revival in the End Times. If anything, we expect growing apostasy and more virulent rebellion against God. That is why Jesus asked rhetorically whether the Son of Man will find faith on the Earth when He comes again (Luke 18:8).