#it's been almost 15 years since we lost them both in a plane crash

[useragarfield]

9K MAKE ME CHOOSE:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ @sharpesjoy & @yelena-bellova ASKED: Mark/Lexie or Jackson/April?

I know who she is, and if she's going through her worst right now, I wanna go through it with her. She makes me happier than anything I've ever known. And if I can have a part in making her happy again, that's all I want to do. That's all I want to do for the rest of my life.

[becomingbts]

Find a Way (15)

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Type: angst-fluff-supernatural-series

Warning(s): deals with suicide and death. If you’re not comfortable with that subject, I suggest you don’t read it. Supernatural au.

3.2k

Summary: “If you accept, you’ll go back in time each time you’ll fail.” “I don’t care, I’ll save her no matter what.”

In 2011, he left everything behind so that he could follow his dreams. Yet, he also left his bestfriend, the one who supported him to go to the auditions, the one who cheered on him, the one who brought him banana milk when he felt down, but also the one who killed herself a day before he finally came back home.

Notes: Hello everyone! It’s been a while since I updated this series, I’m so sorry!! I keep on trying to finalize proofreading and then I get stuck and forget for a while, but I hope you’ll like this new chapter! I plan on trying to make more consistent update as we’re nearing the end of the story! I hope you’ll enjoy it!! Take well care everyone, love you lots!

Admin Dolly

Chapter 14 - here - Chapter 16

Fourth Timeline

"She what?" Jungkook froze, unable to comprehend her words.

"My sister. She died in an airplane crash. She was supposed to come back today from her school trip. I... I was supposed to t-take her home tonight," Jungkook's eyes widened as it finally made sense; it suddenly clicked. The postcard from France, (Y/N)'s sudden departure from work, the fact that no one knew where she had gone... It was all because her sudden departure for Seoul had never been planed this early. She was supposed to leave after work, only during the afternoon to fetch her sister.

Jungkook put his confusion aside even if it finally started making sense; he had to support her, it was more important than him trying to put the puzzle's piece together. 

"A-are you alright?" He tentatively asked even if he already knew the answer to the question.

"How am I supposed to be? The only person that stuck to me my whole life just left. How am I supposed to be alright? I swore to protect her with everything that I had-"

"Hey, hey, hey (Y/N) it's not your faul-" she cut him abruptly.

"I could have prevented it from happening!! I should have told her no from the very beginning when she asked me if she could go on that trip, I should have said no! I could have done somet-"

"(Y/N), it's not your fault, listen to me," she went quiet after his sudden yell, startled. His own eyes had also widened, bewildered by the volume of his own voice, yet he knew that he had to cut her rambling. Self-blaming would not help anyone, her sister would sadly remain deceased. How could she blame herself for agreeing to a trip? Of course, she would agree. Jungkook knew better than anyone else that (Y/N) always had to skip school trips because she never got the means for it. It was a given that she would say yes to her sister. "It's not your fault, you wanted her to be happy and not to miss trips like you did when we were younger right?" She looked away briefly and Jungkook got the confirmation he needed. Even if they didn't speak for years, he just knew her and he could tell that she probably used all her savings for her sister to go. (Y/N) had never had the possibility to go on school trips when both of them were younger. When her parents had died, she received monetary help but never got enough to go on trips with the whole class. The provided financial help was supposed to support her in her studies and for her future. School trips were usually deemed as comfort and not as a  need. Hence, she had always been left behind while Jungkook had made it his mission to take a lot of pictures for her and to bring her back a present from each trip they made. It always made her smile and Jungkook could still remember the way she cried the first time he brought her back a little present. So it only made sense for her to do everything for her sister to enjoy school trips the way she had dreamed to. "You didn't want her to miss on anything like you had to, right? You only wanted her happiness, how could it be your fault when you only wanted to make her happy?" Jungkook took a step in her direction and for once, she didn't move away. However, her teary eyes refused to meet his and she snorted quietly at his words.

"And yet, it only brought misfortune. Her last moments were in a hospital when she should have had a much longer life. Yet, her lifeless body was lying there, leaving me all alone." She smiled bitterly, tears rolling on her cheeks as she finally let her despair overwhelm her. Wincing at the sight of her tears, Jungkook tried to push his own heartbreak aside to comfort her as he closed the distance between them and draped his arms over her small frame, engulfing her in his warm embrace, trying to console her as much as he could. He didn't know if he could help considering their broken relationship, but if he could, at least this one time, be a shoulder for her to cry, then so be it.

"I'm sorry it happened to the both of you, I'm sorry for your loss (Y/N)." He let his hand wander through her hair, bringing her head closer to him as he tried to hide his own tears. "I'm so, so, sorry."

"I was so happy that t-today would be the l-last day without h-her," she nuzzled her nose against the crook of his neck, seeking warmth and comfort even if nothing but the cold wind was surrounding them. Jungkook felt like her warmth was so far away, her own presence seemed to hold no warmth. Nothing was right, nothing between them was alright, she wanted to hate him for leaving, to hit him for destroying what they had, but if for five minutes she could finally have someone, stay close to him, she would pretend. Pretend that they were fine, that he still was her home.

"W-why did you have to leave?" She whispered as reality crashed down on her. Now she was alone and maybe they would never be fine again. Maybe she would never be alright again.

"I'm sorry (Y/N) if I could take it all back, I would."  He mumbled, fully knowing that he couldn't, but he still hoped that he could make it right this time.

"She had promised me that s-she'd never leave me alone as you did." She hiccuped and Jungkook's heart broke at her quiet confession. Her voice was so quiet that he had to focus to properly hear her words as if worried that he would disappear if someone were to hear her.

"And she would have never left if she could have helped it. (Y/N), you were her dearest person. When we were younger, she threatened to kick me out of the house if I ever made you cry (Y/N)," it hurt, and her heart truly had other things to think about but she still smiled a bit hearing his words.

"She told me yeah," Jungkook whipped his own tears quietly before (Y/N) could notice them, "once you left, she didn't even try to keep her hatred for you silent." He sighed with a small smile, imagining well that her younger sister probably didn't try to keep her words sweet, he wondered what she told (Y/N) but he shook his curiosity away.

"Let's leave that bridge, yeah? We should get you somewhere warm, you're frozen." He was rubbing his arms against hers, noting again how cold she was. Hoping that it was only because of the cold, Jungkook let his eyes meet hers and he could see the distance she tried to keep between them.

"I-I don't really want to stay with you, to be honest." She pushed him gently, avoiding eye contact again. She didn't want to sound miserable and neither did she want to sound mean, but the only thought of staying near him suddenly made her shiver. It was hard to suddenly have someone back in her life when she didn't have him for years. She had believed that she would never have him back, and now that she lost half of her soul, she didn't know how to welcome him again. Did she even want to? She wasn't sure, all she knew was that she didn't want for him to be around today. Her head was hurting; she wanted to go to sleep.

"I can understand that," Jungkook's smile slowly vanished as his concern grew. He could understand that she didn't want to spend time with him, yet he still hoped that he would be able to look after her a little longer. However, it didn't seem to be in her plans for now. Again, he totally could understand that as much as it stung, but he still wished that he had more time to watch over her.

"Would you like me to find you a hotel room for tonight? I don't think that it would be wise for you to drive in your emotional state." He asked, already bothered by the idea of her driving. It couldn't be safe for her to drive now. He wouldn't force her to stay with him, but he could always pay for a hotel room for her. He would never mind for her.

"I'm okay... I'll be okay. I... I'll have to. Thank you for... I don't really know, thank you though." She returned her glance as he took her hand into his, rubbing his thumb against her palm, soothingly trying to comfort her. He didn't know how to provide support. She had changed so much and so did their relationship. He didn't know what was okay and what wasn't anymore. Jungkook guessed that he only had himself to blame for that, yet he wished he knew her more so that he could encourage her better. Everything was different from the time she lost her parents and Jungkook felt incompetent to actually help her properly. But he would try his best. He didn't come so far only to give up now.

"I know I haven't been here for the last year's, I've been the shittiest friend that you probably ever had if we don't count Ana-"

"Of course you weren't worse than her, find someone from your size-" she almost laughed a bit as he said the name of 'Ana'. She had been a friend of (Y/N) for some months before she realized that she was trying to basically initiate her to drugs. She had overlooked a lot of red flags for that girl even if she realized rather quickly that a lot was wrong between them. Her sister and Jungkook had greatly encouraged her to cut ties quickly; (Y/N) smiled at the thought. Maybe Jungkook would help remind her of all the happy times she got with her sister before she lost her. She wouldn't let herself depend on him again, but if he could alleviate her pain, even just a little, who was she to take it away from herself?

"Of course I wasn't, thank you for acknowledging that; if you ever tell me that I was worse than her, I would start questioning my whole existence." He smiled back at her, keeping her hands warm as he rubbed them in his.

"You're not that far from her you know?" He almost laughed at her attempt of teasing. Nothing was alright, but maybe if life started being kinder with her, she could start healing. Jungkook would never have the pretentiousness of thinking that he would be her remedy; he had done too much damage already. However, maybe he could be a painkiller. And if he had the opportunity to help and ease her pain, he would do anything for her.

"I'm offended, but I'll act as if I didn't hear that," he smiled warmly at her, "as I was saying, I'm probably the last person that you'd like to contact, but please, come to me if you ever need to. I know I've been shitty. I have gone against everything I always said I'd never become, but I'll try to make up for everything, I maybe won't ever be able to fill up the gap I created between us, but I'll try to be the friend that I've never been, and even if you don't want me to, it's okay, I can bear with us being only acquaintance, I just want you to be happy. I know it's going to be hard, you're probably living your worst nightmare, but please. You're not alone. I can be here if you want me to... If you allow me to. I'm a phone call away, I swear. No more empty promise, I'll make them all worth it. If you don't trust me, I can understand but p-please, just.." he was at a loss of words. He had so much to say and he felt like he wasn't conveying any of it. Jungkook felt like he would never find the good words and he hated it. His promises felt empty even to him, but he meant all of them! He had to get it right, he had to find the words. If he didn't, when would he ever make it right again? However, before he could continue, (Y/N) interrupted him, much to Jungkook's surprise.

"I hope you know that your words will have weight, right?" She asked, unsure of what to say after his speech.

"I know. And I'll bear it this time. Here take this, it's my number, feel free to take it or throw it. Just... Yeah, do whatever you want, the choice is yours, but my words are not empty this time. I mean them. I'm here for you whatever happens." She weirdly still had her hand in his as he gave her the piece of paper he had so carefully prepared earlier this day.

"Did you prepare this in advance?" Her question panicked him a bit, yet she didn't leave room for his answer, "thank you for saying this." She was obviously shaken and he hated himself for not being able to help more. "I should get my car." She finally broke the contact, leaving his arms with a sad smile, and he hoped that it didn't mean that it would be the end. It couldn't, he needed for her to be strong and to go on even if it would be hard.

"Let's meet someday, yeah?" Jungkook hesitated but he asked anyway, hopeful.

"Maybe, yeah." She nodded one last time before leaving, walking away under his warm eyes while he truly hoped that she would be alright. He watched her until she disappeared at the next corner and he finally let out a breath that he had not realized he was holding.

He had broken the loop. (Y/N) was alive, she made it.

Even though her healing process would probably be long and painful, she would at least live, and it was all that mattered. She had his number, the choice would be hers to text him or not. Jungkook prayed for her to take it, he hoped that she wouldn't throw it but he couldn't force her to call him either. He glanced at his phone as he felt it vibrating inside his pocket and he wondered which one of his brothers tried to contact him. However, as he checked his notifications, he already had a notification from (Y/N). Jungkook had already saved her number as he remembered it from the previous timeline, so as he saw her name on his tiny screen, he almost giggled aloud in the middle of the street.

The message wasn't long, nor was it saying that she wanted to see him again. No, instead, she had sent a brief "Hi, it's (Y/N)" but it was enough for him to feel his heartbeat accelerate like crazy, pounding against his chest as he rubbed one hand over his heart in a poor attempt to soothe it down. She had taken on his offer. (Y/N) had contacted him, and even though it didn't mean that they would meet soon or that it was going to be easy to be forgiven or for her to ever trust him again, he would perhaps have a chance and it made him giddy. He couldn't help the smile that grew on his lips. Relief flowed within himself. 

She would make it, he would make sure of it. He had to be there for her from now on. He smiled at the possibilities that he could finally think of without feeling his stomach twist uneasily; he could maybe introduce her to his members, maybe take her somewhere nice for a simple walk at night and other things that he dearly missed doing with her. They could go to restaurants, go shopping, even making tourists things. Jungkook didn't care, he'd break every single rule made by bighit if it included her happiness at the end.

So much was now possible and he couldn't keep at bay the excitement that overtook him. He would treasure her the way she deserved. He would man up and not ruin his promises again.

He had to protect her the best way he could. His eyes shut tightly as he remembered what she told him, the final missing piece of the puzzle. Her sister died, it was so strange to imagine it. She died so young, it was unfair. How could sure a pure soul be taken away so easily? Jungkook had tried to push his own shock away the fastest he could because he had known that she would need someone to lean on, not someone who would break after the news, so he had tried to shake it off as long as he was in front of her, yet the reality was now taking a toll on him. (S/N) died, leaving a broken older sister behind; a sister that would have given her life to trade with her if she had been able to.

Jungkook sighed. The news shocked him too, maybe he had never been close to her, but he saw that girl grow up too. He knew her even though she wasn't keen on him, he still knew her pretty well, and it hurt to know that he would never see or speak with her ever again. He had expected to meet her, to have to explain, to face an insurmountable wall that would be the biggest hardship between him and (Y/N), however, she would actually never be there anymore and the realization almost brought him to tears. He wasn't close to her, but she had still been a constant of his childhood. Jungkook felt like something had been stripped away from him despite him expecting to be less affected. Sometimes, death left an unspeakable void, even when one didn't expect it.

Jungkook could only imagine how (Y/N) felt. She had been her entire world, they used to be a duo, an unbreakable one. Yet, fate visibly had other plans and Jungkook wondered why was life so terrible with (Y/N). He sighed again, rubbing his temples a bit, everything was slightly too overwhelming for him. He tried to relax his mind thinking of (Y/N), trying to remember her small smile. She would be okay and it wasn't a mere detail. He finally broke the loop. He did the first step. 

Or so he thought as he suddenly and roughly woke up, sweating and panting.

Why the hell did he get back to his starting point?

Frozen into place, Jungkook looked around and immediately recognized his room. He suddenly jolted awake, mindlessly looking for his phone to check the date. As he found it, Jungkook got blinded by the screen but his eyes widened as he read the date on his screen. He was back to square one.

29th April.

The day of (Y/N)'s death.

[lokis-army-77]

If You Please

Chapter twelve

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 2588

This is technically a reader insert but without the (y/n) and all that. She also has no name mentioned so feel free to imagine as you please.

Follow the reader through the events of the Captain America movies and experience her love for Bucky Barnes.

Warnings: none

Note: Normally I am the type of person to be date accurate when writing things and if you are too, I'm sorry. I messed up on the dates, so the battle of New York happens like a month after it should. This is also a short chapter because it's a filler and I'm trying to just get to the Winter Soldier but have everything make sense.

<< Previous Next>>

Masterlist

A few days later I had received a small archivist job in the WWII department of the Smithsonian. Thankfully the made-up resume and a few fake SHIELD recommendations came in handy. I would officially start the following week after a few background checks were cleared. In my free time until then, I unpacked all the boxes in my apartment. It started to feel more homely and warm when all of my things filled up the space. When I didn’t feel like unpacking anything, I started taking long walks to the VFW building. I hadn’t joined in on any of the meetings yet, I just stood by the doorway and watched, listening to the stories people told.

One day that week as I stood back in the hallway after the meeting had ended, a man came up to me. He was a little taller than I was and had the brightest smile I had ever seen. I had watched him in the meetings before, he was usually the one hosting them, giving advice to all who needed it.

“I’ve seen you standing out here for the past three days, why don’t you come have a seat next time? It would be more comfortable than standing out here for an hour.” He said as he leaned his back against the wall right next to me.

“I have thought about it, but I tend to get here after you have started. I don’t want to interrupt anything by just barging in.” I said over my shoulder at him.

“You won't interrupt anything, just come on in next time, we’d be happy to have a new face around,” He pushed himself off the wall and walked down the hall.

After that, I ended up joining the meetings and even spoke a few times. I learned that the man who came up to me that day was Sam Wilson, pararescue, who had served two tours in Afghanistan. From the first day he came up and talked to me to now, we quickly became friends.

The days had turned into weeks and I was finally able to live relatively by my own means. The Smithsonian was great, in the archives, no one was really around and I could spend a whole day without any interruptions, which allowed me to just concentrate on what I was doing. After closing, I normally walked to meet Sam, who was usually way too excited to see me, even though we saw each other almost every day without fail.

“You’re late today.” I jumped, startled out of my thoughts at the sound of someone talking to me. I looked up, spying Sam standing next to one of the small trees outside the VFW building.

“What do you mean late?”

“I mean you usually get here at three-thirty. It's four right now.” He said looking down at his watch.

“Oh sorry, I didn’t realize. I've just been lost in my thoughts lately.” I sighed.

“I know we’ve only been friends for what? A month? But I already know when something is bothering you, What is it?”

“Nothing really, just my brother. Since moving here he's called at least twice a week to check up but it’s been radio silence for the past two weeks, he doesn't even answer when I try calling him. I'm just a little worried that something bad is going on, considering his job.”

“Well, maybe he’s just really busy at the moment, or he's somewhere he can't call you. You know how it is being out on those military missions.”

“I know, it’s just the last time we were apart on a mission,” I trailed off and looked up at Sam, he raised his eyebrows, quietly waiting for the end of the sentence. “Someone close to us passed. It’s still fresh in my mind like it happened yesterday. I was there that day and I was too far away to even know what had happened, now my brother and I aren’t even in the same vicinity as each other, there is no telling what could happen and it makes me nervous.”

He gave me a small apologetic smile and patted my shoulder before leading me from the tree where we stood to where his car was parked. “What do you say we hang out at mine and just watch some tv? Get your mind off things? Or we can talk about it, either way, it’s better than dealing with it alone.” I nodded my head and grabbed onto the car door handle as he unlocked it.

Walking through the front door after him I took a quick look around. It was cozy, way more decorated than I thought it would be for a man in his early thirties living alone.

“Make yourself at home. Do you want anything to drink?” He asked neck-deep in the fridge.

“Okay, I’ll just have some water,” I called out as I made my way further into the living room. The couch was backed up to the wall a few feet away from the dining room table. I sat down on it and scooted as close as I could to its right arm. A few moments later Sam came over with two glasses of water and a bag of chips. He handed me my drink before crashing down into his own seat. “Thank you,” I said before taking a long sip.

He nodded as he said “No problem.” Before he got himself really comfortable he searched around for the TV remote. As he pressed the ‘on’ button the TV came to life. “What in the world is that?” He sounded concerned so I quickly looked at the screen.

“Breaking: Attack on New York City. This afternoon at 2:15 several unidentified aircraft descended onto Earth's surface. Strange beings, some are calling aliens, Accompanied these ships and are causing havoc in Manhattan. Eyewitnesses have stated that they have seen Iron Man, and what seemed to be Captain America, leading a team of three others fighting back against the invaders. The battle seems to be over but updates are still coming in, let's take a look at some footage of the downtown destruction.” My eyes went wide and my heart stopped as I listened to what the reporter was saying. I kept my eyes glued to the screen as it changed to show a destroyed street. As the camera panned around I spotted Steve fighting against two of the creatures, before the clip quickly changed to show one of the large ships crashing into the New York skyline.

“Oh God Steve, what did you get into?” I murmured to myself.

“You say that like you know him personally.”

“Uhh.” I just gave him a wide-eyed look of surprise. “I do, he’s my brother.”

“Now really isn’t the time to be joking about things,” He gave me a pointed look.

“I swear I’m not joking, he really is my brother. I can explain later, I need to try and get a hold of him.” I pulled out the small flip phone from my pocket and dialed the number for Steve's cell phone, it rang and rang but no answer. I hung up quickly and dialed the number Fury gave me at the beginning of the month. After two rings he answered.

“I assume you are looking for Captain Rogers.”

“Where is he? Is he okay?” I tried to keep the worried tone from coming through in my voice.

“He’s fine. He is in the middle of a debriefing. I’ll tell him you called.”

“Okay, thank you.” As soon as the words left my mouth he gave a quick hum and then hung up. I looked over at Sam whose eyes hadn't left me at all. “Everything is fine, he's in a debrief so that means that whatever happened in New York is definitely over.”

“That’s good to hear, hopefully, those things don’t try to come back again.” He shook like a shiver ran down his spine. “Now please explain how Captain America, a man from the 1940s, is your brother.”

“I can hear the skepticism in your voice.”

He held his hands up in defense, “Hey, I'm not the one saying I'm the sister to a 90 something-year-old man.”

“Look, it’s a long story that I would rather not get into now but the short version is that I was born in 1921, Steve is my older brother, we both ended up taking the super-soldier serum and fought against HYDRA in the second world war. We ended up crashing a plane into some Ice in the Atlantic ocean and were found and unfrozen last October.” “If you are really Captain America’s sister, then why are you never mentioned in anything?” I looked at him and shook my head.

“Well for starters it was the forties and I was a woman fighting on the front lines. Credit is never given where it is due. But there is also the fact that I was a part of the SSR, which was very secretive, after I died.” I put my fingers up in air quotes, “They should have erased most, if not all the files on me, per protocol. The only reason Steve is well known is because of his time going cross country selling war bonds.” I paused for a second before quickly adding, “I’m sure if you look hard enough, you’ll find me in the history books somewhere.”

Sam just sat there not really saying anything. This was the first time I think he had ever been quiet for more than five seconds. I let out a deep sigh and stood, grabbing my bag from the floor. “Thanks for having me over, but I think I need to go. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He stood and walked me to the door.

“Don’t be late. I’ll see you.” Sam waved me off and I headed down the street.

About half a year later while sorting through some archive files, I came across Peggy Carter. I felt a pang in my heart as I stared at the photo of her standing next to Howard Stark. Other than Steve and Bucky, those two were my closest friends. I fell down a rabbit hole after that, finding any information on the two that I could find. They had both helped found SHIELD in 1965, they had both gotten married and had children of their own. Peggy's children had stayed out of the public eye, but in true Stark fashion, Howard’s son evidently took over the family business and was living the high life. I pulled out a newspaper from the stack I had on the table in front of me and was shocked at what I saw. The title read ‘Howard and Maria Stark Die in Car Accident’, I knew Howard most likely wasn’t alive anymore but seeing the photographs of the wrecked car in the newspaper cast a somber mood through the room.

I laid the paper down on the table and ruffled through more of the papers before determining that we had no information on if Peggy was alive or not. That sent me into a frenzy of looking through phone books to try and find her and calling every retirement home in DC that I could. The only lead I had to go off of was a small interview from a newspaper, talking to Peggy about the seventieth anniversary of V-E Day, stated that she was living in Washington, DC.

After eight failed calls, finally, on the ninth, I had finally found a home which had a Peggy Carter as a residence in room 204. I rushed to pack up my things and left my office early. I ran down the back hallways as fast as I could without drawing too much attention. When I made it out of the building I ran full speed to the road to hail a cab.

Amazingly the traffic was almost nonexistent and I made it to the retirement home in only ten minutes. I fumbled out of the cab and I raced through the front doors of the building. I must have startled the women at the front desk because as soon as I rounded the corner to the staircase, they were yelling after me. I took the steps three at a time in my haste to get to the second floor. I stopped running when I was outside of room 204. I couldn’t see anything clearly through the frosted window so I knocked hesitantly and slowly opened the door and stepped in.

There in the middle of the room, against the wall was a single bed. A woman laid there quietly with her eyes closed. The closer I came to her the more familiar she looked. I let out a relieved gush of breath. There she was, older now, but still the Peggy I once knew. I nervously grabbed one of the chairs in the corner of the room and brought it over to her bedside so I could sit. Gently I gave her a small tap on the hand before just holding it in mine. She stirred but her eyes never opened.

All of a sudden one of the nurses from downstairs came into the room, with an angry and shocked expression.

“Ma’am, You can't be in here. If you want to see a patient, you have to sign in.” I ignored her, my eyes trained on Peggy's face. The commotion of the woman barging into the room had made her open her eyes and look around. I just watched as she scanned the room, first to the door on the left, to the wall in front of her, past me sitting on her right, then to the window behind me.” Her brows raised and she lifted her hands to her eyes to rub. The shock on her face was evident as she turned her head to stare directly at me.

“Hey Carter, long time no see huh?” I gave her the biggest smile that I could.

“Is it really you?” She reached her hand out to mine and grabbed hold.

“It is, it’s really me.”

“Ma’am, I mean it, you can't be here.” The nurse tried again, this time Peggy shot her a glare.

“Ms. I’ll have you know this is one of my best friends and she can be in here if she wants to. Now leave us alone.” The young nurse nodded her head and rushed out, even in old age she could still put on that commanding tone that struck fear in every man. She slowly turned back to me, almost like if she looked back for me, I would be gone. “How? How are you here?”

“It’s a long story Peg, are you sure you want to hear it?”

“Look where I am, I have nothing but time.” She laughed out and I let out my own small laugh as I shook my head.

In addition to what I had been doing, like hanging out with Sam, after that first visit, I made it a priority to see Peggy once or twice every two weeks, depending on how she was doing. Dementia had put a lot of stress on her, and seeing me after almost seventy-five years and looking relatively the same as I had when frozen took out a giant toll on her.

And that's how the next 10 months went until Steve eventually moved into an apartment directly under me.

Tag List: @ginger-swag-rapunzel @underc0vercryptid-reads @geek-and-proud @intothesoul @leyannrae @starkleila

[djemsostylist]

Farewell, my love

I thought I was done ranting about SCK, and I swear this is the last one. I've learned my dizi lesson, and I have so many good ones to look forward to watching. Lesson number one, don't watch a dizi where the only draw is the two leads.

Here's the thing. In the past couple of months, and having watched a few other dizis, I started to wonder if maybe Hande and Kerem had blinded me into liking a show that was never actually more than crap. But in my recent rewatch (I'm up to 12) it was good. It genuinely was. The chemistry was great, the slow burn was great, but for me, the biggest part of why SCK 1-12 was great is that the angst and the drawn out story made sense. Eda and Serkan not talking to each other and keeping their feelings close made sense when Serkan wasn't sure Eda didn't hate him and Eda wasn't sure he wouldn't always choose Selin. Their angst and noncommunication worked here, because this was a story about two people getting to know each other and falling in love. Here, we (and they) learn about their fears, their doubts, their insecurities, their uncertainties, and we learned who they were as people. In 13-21, we watched them grow as people. We watched as they loved each other through pain and as they set up boundaries and learned what would and would not be acceptable to them as a couple. They learned how to talk and share their feelings and be open with how they feel (granted it took fucking forever, but we got there. Finally).

And, and perhaps this is the MOST key--they were in character, they had arcs, and things didn't simply happen for plot. At least not in ways that sacrificed character.

From 22-39, we mostly dealt with plot. Plot which drove characters, but one thing, ONE THING that remained at the of it all was the Eda and Serkan could not be apart. Even when they aren't together, they are together. Their longest separation is immediately following the plane crash, in which Eda does everything humanly possible to keep pieces of Serkan as close to her as she can.

They are it for each other. The love story told in the first several episodes was clear--they are soul mates, they have invisible handcuffs, etc etc. They can't separate, they won't no matter how hard things get. And they both have lines. Eda believes strongly in telling the truth, trusting your partner, believing in them, and above all, family. She lost her parents--being able to be a mom with a family is something we know is important to her. Serkan is self-sacrificial, but he channels it into doing anything and everything he can to make Eda happy. He has learned how to be a partner, how to share his feelings and trust others, and like Eda, his own issues with his parents and the feeling of abandonment mean that he has a deep desire to want to build a strong family.

We have watched them go through literal hell and back. We have watched them fall in love and learn each other over, and over, and over. So to see them having finally survived all of that--crazy families, tumors, plane crashes, gas lighting fiancees, awful friends, terrible parents, and to have survived and come out the other side--and then, what, break up? Spend five years hating each other and Eda keeping his child from him...for what? What could possibly have caused them to be so broken that they left each other and Eda kept a child from him? What is worse than plane crashes, crazy grandmothers, amnesia, crazy ex-girlfriends--what? This isn't sensible angst that shows characters growing and changing and moving. This is angst for angst sake. This is drama for drama's sake. And it's not it for me.

The Eda I know would never, EVER keep Serkan's child from him. Ever. No matter what he said or did, the Eda I know, the one who confronts people head on, who fights for the people she loves and who doesn't let someone off the hook, the one who knows how hurt he was by his own father, who still mourns her own, would not do this. Even if, as some people think, Serkan tried to drive her away (and we'll address that in a minute), my Eda, episode 15 Eda, would shove her pregnancy test in his face and say "yeah? You don't love me, fine, but your child? How about that?" She wouldn't leave. Or would she? This is the Eda, after all, who ran away in 37 instead of standing with him and finding out the truth and making choices together. Did she leave bc he didn't tell her about the tumor? "Sorry you found out you're dying, but since you lied I'm gonna let you die alone. Oh, and keep your kid's existence from you, peace out."

As for Serkan, why would he let her go? Because he thought he was dying? I mean, I guess if she got mad enough about the secret to leave him, I could see him letting her go. It would reinforce what he has always though, that he isn't worthy of love--hers, his parents. It means that all the growth and reassurance and peace he got means nothing. And honestly, I don't think he's survive that. After all, what would he even have to live for, after it's reaffirmed that he isn't worth loving? And if he drives her away instead, then what was the entire point of 14-21? What? That entire 7 episodes of learning to love her, of learning to be the partner who listens and gives and trusts means nothing. Hell, 14-28 mean nothing. Because he is right back to where he started in 13. And if Eda, who knows he has a tumor, listens?

The point is, these aren't the people I love. These aren't my characters. This isn't the kind of beautiful angst that was built in 1-12. This is pure plot to sell things, and I hate everything about it. For me, there is no redemption here for Eda. She kept a child from him. It's not a thing you can say "oops sorry" for. She kept his child from him. Unless she was escaping a plot on her life bc Serkan is a secret mob boss and she had to go into hiding for her safety, there is not way I see this not making her not only a pretty horrible person, but also a hypocrite of the highest order.

As for Serkan, he's already been "the bad guy". He's made mistakes before (although I'd argue he gets a pass for actual brain damage), and I have no desire to see him, once again, thrust into the "Asshole Bolat" role. Not Robot Bolat, because our beloved RoBo would never have let Eda leave. Just Asshole. Which is what I assume, otherwise how do you justify another fucking breakup?

This show is starting it's 40th episode. 40th, and our couple has been together and happy for 4? Almost 5 episodes. It's too much. I'm done. At some point you start to wonder if they aren't just toxic and need to stay away from each other. Because if all they are is pride and miscommunication and refusing to talk and now a child is being hurt as a result--just no. This isn't the love story I signed up for.

So, it was a good run. I'm grateful to SCK for introducing me to Turkish tv (again), for helping me meet some truly amazing people, and for giving me a fandom again after far too long. But, like every other fandom I've been in, it's time for it to end. It's reached a point where I no longer find joy in a story that has gone so far beyond it's original tale as to be entirely unrecognizable. So I'm getting off this train. It's been real.

[morceid]

Snowy Sniffles

💡SPENCER REID X DEREK MORGAN💡

read on ao3

Summary: Derek gets the flu when he and Spencer are snowed in on a case in Colorado.

Word Count:  2k

Category: fluff, slight angst

Content Warnings: swearing, sickness, case details

A/N: enjoy my otp being cute and cuddly for my first day of 12 days of moreid :)

The snowy mountains of Colorado. A serial killer as cold as the air was out there, and It was the job of the BAU to catch him.

The team boarded their plane like normal, occasionally Derek coughed and cleared his throat. Not enough to realize what was happening, but enough to get a “You okay?” from JJ.

There weren’t many hiccups with local police, except for them withholding information about the victims. Derek and Spencer were sent to profile the dump site, JJ and Emily to interview victims' families, while Rossi and Hotch set up at the station.

The dump site was in a clearing next to a mountain frequently used for sledding. A visiting family from Texas was recommended the mountain by a friend and since they weren’t familiar with the area, the mom got lost and they came across the body. Thankfully the kids weren’t there to see it.

Spencer and Derek walked out of the black SUV and ducked under the police tape in their fleece jackets and large boots. 

“The victim was Hannah Gentry. She was a fourteen year old girl who ran away from her abusive father. No sign of sexual assault, but there were signs of restrains on her thighs and around her stomach.” Spencer walked around the area the body had previously been found, searching for anything left behind by the unsub.

“Maybe he thought he was saving these girls. How old were each of the victims?” Derek said, pulling tissues from jacket pocket.

“Ages ranged from 13 to 19. All had someone abusive close to them. You sure you’re okay?”

Before Derek could reply he was coughing and gagging into the torn kleenex in his hand.

“I’ll be fine,” The stuffiness in his nose was apparent in his voice now. “Let’s go back to the station. I’m sure Rossi and Hotch are at the M.E. now.”

The two walked back to the car and headed towards the police station. On the way it started snowing and Spencer said something about growing up in Vegas without snow, and how in Virginia they never really saw the snow fall, they just woke up to it on the ground and in the streets.

Between the snowfall rapidly increasing, the windshield wipers not doing anything to help, and Derek driving in an unfamiliar area, he began having a coughing fit and swerved off the road.

They didn’t get hurt in the accident, just a large rush of adrenaline, but the car wasn’t in the best shape. The engine made a sound that contorted Spencer’s face.

“We should probably check that.”

Derek tried to push his door open but he had driven into a ditch and snow was piled up tp his window. He rolled it down and shoveled some of the snow with his gloved hands. He got the door all the way open with a little wrestling of the handle. The boot of the car was opened and steam was rising from it. Spencer had crawled across the center console and got out from Derek’s side.

“Do you think we could get an officer to pick us up?” Derek sniffled.

“I think the snow is coming down too hard now.” Spencer’s black coat was powdered with snow that he didn’t bother to shake off, knowing it would be back there in an instant.

“I’ll call Hotch.” Derek fished his phone out of his pocket.

“You fell in a ditch? Morgan, this is a very time sensitive case. This guy kills every three days and it’s been the second day since the last body was found. We need you guys here.” Spencer overheard Hotch’s near yells over the phone.

“Okay, dad, calm down there. I’ll call up Garcia to find us the closest hotel and we’ll crash there. Reid says snowing too much for an officer to come pick us up.” It was around 7:30 and the sun was starting to set.

“Alright, we can send someone to get you tomorrow.” Hotch hung up and Derek called Penelope.

“Hey-llo my chocolate thunder! Anything I could do for you?”

Derek coughed a couple of times.

“You okay, Derek?”

“Yeah, uh, me and Reid got stuck in the snow and we can’t get back to the hotel. Are there any near us that we can crash at?”

“You’re in luck, Derek Morgan, There is a motel only a seven minute walk away from you. Anything else?”

“Not right now, baby girl, take care of yourself.”

“So what are we gonna do?” Spencer had begun chewing on his fingernails and pacing in a circle around the car.

“Kid,” Derek took Spencer’s cold hands into his warm, gloved ones. “Stop your worrying. I can see all of those gears in your head going a million miles an hour. Garcia found a motel near us and we can walk there and stay the night until someone can pick us up. We’ll be okay.”

“I know I’m gonna be okay, it’s you I’m worried about, Morgan.” Spencer took his hands out of Derek’s and leaned into the car to grab his bag.

“What do you mean? I’m fine.” As if on cue, Derek started having a coughing fit.

“I’m talking about that, Derek. You’re showing signs of getting the flu. Your heart rate has sped up by 39% in the last couple of days. You constantly have a running nose and you won’t stop coughing. I am not getting sick, I cannot afford to get sick, especially on a case, so I hope this motel has two beds.” Spencer pushed away from Derek and began walking.

“Wait!” Derek ran to catch up. “Pretty boy, you’ve already been with me for almost 24 hours. I think you are already infected. Besides, you, my friend, are shivering. Now let me give you one of my coats.”

Spencer slowed his walking and let Derek drape his second jacket over his thin, purple one. Having a crush on your coworker was the worst.

When the pair reached the motel the sun had fully set and they had snow covering their shoulders and resting on their heads. They brushed it off before entering, where they were bombarded with the overwhelming scent of perfume as what could only be presumed as the owner tugged them in with both of her arms. She was short and wore a sparkly pink dress not unlike one Penelope would wear.

“What can I do for you kind fellows today? Did ya crash on the side of the road? Lots of people did tonight. Can I get you a room? Was it your engine? Faulty car?” The woman rambled.

“Um, we fell in a ditch a little bit back. We just need two rooms for the night,” Spencer looked down at her nametag, “Sasha. Thank you.”

“Well, boys, I am sorry to disappoint but we only have one more room for the night. You’re just gonna have to share.”

“Are there at least two beds?” Spencer whined.

“Sorry,” Sasha took Derek’s credit card and punched in the numbers on a computer that looked almost a decade old. “You good there? You look like you could throw up any second?”

“I’m fine, ma’am. Just give us the room key please.” Derek cleared his throat.

“Alrighty, there you go FBI guys.” Sasha handed them the room key labed 7B.

Given the overwhelming personality that brought them in, neither had a chance to look around and profile the front office. When they got to the room they realized just how miserable the stay would be.

The heater seemed to be turned off resulting in the room being colder than the outside. Complementary water bottles on the nightstand had frozen, expanded, and exploded. The pipes in the walls creaked and whined. Derek moved towards the bed, which when he pulled up the sheets, they were stiff and barely moved at his touch. Spencer moved past the bed and to the kitchen, where he found a coffee machine and cups in the cupboard.

“What are you doing?” Derek coughed.

“Making coffee. It’s something to keep me warm.” Spencer still had Derek’s jacket across his shoulders.

“Alright well, you might be right. I think I’m starting to get a fever. I’m gonna hop in the shower. Hopefully it’s just the reverse air conditioning that’s broken.”

Derek’s observations were proven correct as he unexpectedly walked into the spray of a nearly boiling shower. His muscles relaxed as he began thinking about the events of the day. His nose ran more than it had in the cold weather and it reminded him of a moment in the office that happened some while ago, back when Spencer first joined the BAU.

It was a slow day in the bullpen. With Spencer being nearly fresh from college, Derek wasn’t expecting him to take the best care of himself, no one was. Derek looked up, ready to throw Spencer a rolled up note about how bored he was. Instead he was greeted with an empty desk. After asking Hotch where the boy genius was and getting a surprised ‘I don’t know’ in response, he went in search of him. Spencer was found laying on the couch in an empty office. HIs skin was red and burning to the touch. Derek gave him a couple of shakes and he woke up, groaning. Spencer had gotten the flu and didn’t know how to deal with it at work. Not wanting to disappoint Hotch by skipping a day for something so insignificant as a virus, he settled in an office he correctly assumed was vacant. He insisted that he was okay but Derek refused to believe him. He dropped Spencer off at his apartment and immediately knew. He was in love with Spencer Reid. And he wanted to spend as much time with him as possible.

When Derek was in the shower for at least 15 minutes Spencer presumed that the shower was warm, so he called Sasha at the front desk from the phone in the room. She wouldn’t be able to get someone to come fix it for another day. He sat on the bed, spreading his arms and legs out in an attempt to warm the sheets. Letting his mind wander, he started asking himself questions. Why did he like Derek? He was just his coworker. Just someone in his life. An attractive person in his life, but just like anyone else in his life. Did Derek know how much he meant to him? Would he ever know? Would he be given the chance to let Derek know that he loved him and wanted to spend his life with the other knowing?

He was taken out of his day dream when Derek came out of the bathroom. Derek was shaking. He wore thick, flannel sweatpants and a grey hoodie, along with his socks, not wanting to leave a single part of his body too exposed.

“Uh, I know you’re super germaphobic and probably want nothing to do with my running nose and sore throat right now, but kid, all of my muscles are aching. Do you mind if I-”

“Not at all.” Spencer wrapped his arms around Derek’s middle as he sank onto the bed.

Derek let out a sigh of relief and settled in Spencer’s arms. It wasn’t long until his breathing evened out and he fell asleep in the lanky man’s arms.

“I think I love you, Derek Morgan.” Spencer whispered.

The next day Hotch called Derek to let him know that they caught the unsub. He was an amateur child groomer who left a hair in his latest victims mouth. An officer picked up the pair from the motel and they boarded the jet. Derek’s flu passed as soon as it came and he was better in the morning. A little cuddling with Spencer was just what the doctor ordered.

“Hey, Spencer.” Derek sat across from him after everyone on the jet had fallen asleep.

“Yes, Derek?” Spencer noted the use of his first name in his head.

“We need to talk about last night.”

“What about it?”

“I heard you, Spencer.”

“Wh-what are you talking about? Heard me say what?”

“Spencer,” Derek put his hand on the other’s knee, “I love you too.”

In a panic, Spencer leaned forward and pecked Derek on the lips.

“I-I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that.” He stammered.

“It’s okay. We can do that if you want.” Derek leaned back in for a real kiss from Spencer. He still tasted like the cheap hotel coffee.

“We can do anything as long as we’re together.”

TAGLIST: @greenaway-lewis @pretty-b0yy @w0rmpi3 @sunflowrly @fuckshitupm8-deactivated3728 @the-sassy-one @endetit @adhd-lesbian @nobody121113​ @stalinthestripper​

[histoireettralala]

Charles Nungesser, fighter ace, adventurer, war hero.

Charles Eugène Jules Marie Nungesser (15 March 1892 – presumably on or after 8 May 1927) was a French ace pilot and adventurer, best remembered as a rival of Charles Lindbergh. Nungesser was a renowned ace in France, ranking third highest in the country with 43 air combat victories during World War I.

After the war, Nungesser mysteriously disappears on an attempt to make the first non-stop transatlantic flight from Paris to New York, flying with wartime comrade François Coli in L’Oiseau Blanc (The White Bird). Their aircraft takes off from Paris on 8 May 1927, is sighted once more over Ireland, and then is never seen again. The disappearance of Nungesser is considered one of the great mysteries in the history of aviation, and modern speculation is that the aircraft was either lost over the Atlantic or crashed in Newfoundland or Maine.

Wikipedia

Filled with an exceptionnal spirit and energy, Nungesser is very early confronted with the difficulties of life, he is not afraid to cross the Atlantic although he is not yet an adult. Once on the soil of the South American subcontinent, he will practice a whole series of trades. In turn boxer, gaucho or racing driver, Nungesser asserts himself as an adventurous heart. A thrill seeker, he already takes all the risks and does not hesitate to punch even with men, whose stature is much higher than his. It was in South America that he developed his passion for aviation and contracted the piloting virus. Therefore, all the elements are already in place to make Nungesser an extraordinary character, literally atypical and flamboyant. The Great War will give the young man the opportunity to find his vocation and become a legend ...

It is September 3, 1914, during a reconnaissance mission, Nungesser, freshly incorporated into the 2nd Hussar regiment, both rescues his wounded officer and with the help of a few infantrymen captures a Mors type automobile killing both its occupants and above all, recovering the documents it contained. Back in his regiment, after crossing enemy lines under heavy fire behind the wheel of the captured vehicle, his feat caused a sensation and rose to the ears of the general commanding his division. The latter immediately made him obtain the military medal and therefore gave him his nickname Hussard de la Mors, by reference to the Hussars of Death (”Hussards de la Mort”), a squadron created in 1792 and whose motto was "conquer or die".

He is then granted his request to be transferred to the Service Aéronautique, to Escadrille VB106. While there, in July 1915, he shoots down his first plane, a German Albatros, and is awarded the Croix de Guerre. This action initiates the Nungesser legend. On 31 July 1915, Nungesser and his mechanic Roger Pochon are on standby duty. The two take off in a Voisin 3LAS despite Nungesser's assignment to non-flying duties. In an encounter with five Albatros two-seaters, the French duo shoots one down near Nancy. Returning to their airfield, Nungesser is placed under house arrest for eight days for his insubordination. He is then decorated and forwarded to training in Nieuport fighters.

Assigned to N 65, Charles displays a fiery temper and a courage that strikes the minds of all his comrades in arms. He also willingly shows a certain independence of spirit and cannot help frequently ending his patrols with acrobatics above his airfield, which will earn him a few days off, that the command will lift just as quickly as it cannot do without the excellence of Nungesser's services while the position war is in full swing…

Charles isn’t one for strict military discipline. His rugged good looks, flamboyant personality, appetite for danger, women, wine and fast cars make him the embodiment of the stereotypical fighter ace and contribute to his legend. He is sometimes spotted arriving for morning patrol still dressed in the tuxedo he'd worn the night before and even occasionally with a female companion.

He is well liked by his comrades. Determined, fiery, excellent pilot, he is selected at the beginning of 2016 to test a prototype fighter plane, the Ponnier. Decided not to go easy on the machine, the indestructible Nungesser soars into the air and pushes the plane into its entrenchments. The result was immediate: the plane went into a spin and Charles crashed to the ground. The broomstick crosses his jaw and he suffers from multiple fractures, particularly in the legs and numerous bruises. You would believe his career is over ? Not at all! Barely out of the hospital and after a period in a coma, he refuses to be discharged and fights tooth and nail to return to Nancy.

He can’t go without a walking stick and has to be helped into his cockpit. It doesn’t stop him from fighting above Verdun (ten victories) and then over the Somme (nine victories) during 1916. He shows concern for the infantrymen, and often comes to help allied pilots, which will earn him many foreign decorations (from the UK, USA, Belgium, Serbia, Russia, Portugal..).

This is the year he famously decorates his plane with a black heart-shaped field, a macabre skull and bones, and a coffin and candles painted inside, in tribute in particular to his nickname as well as to his terrible accident of 1916. At the end of the Great War, Nungesser will accumulate forty-five approved victories and his war cross will count twenty-eight palms and two stars… Nothing and no one will have prevented him from flying and fighting until the last day.

His Officier de la Légion d'honneur citation, 19 May 1918, reads:

"Incomparable pursuit pilot, with exceptional knowledge and magnificent bravery, which reflect the power and inflexible will of his ancestry. In the cavalry, where during his first engagements he earned the Médaille militaire, then in a groupe de bombardement where for his daily prowess he was cited several times in orders and was decorated with the Legion of Honor, and finally with an Escadrille de chasse, for thirty months his exploits were prodigious, and he always presented himself as a superb example of tenacity and audacity, displaying an arrogant contempt for death. Absent from the front several times because of crashes and wounds, his ferocious energy was not dampened, and he returned each time to the fray, with his spirit undaunted gaining victory after victory, finally becoming famous as the most feared adversary for German aviation. 31 enemy aircraft downed, three balloons flamed, two wounds, fifteen citations."

By the end of the war, a succinct summary of Nungesser's wounds and injuries reads: "Skull fracture, brain concussion, internal injuries (multiple), five fractures of the upper jaw, two fractures of lower jaw, piece of anti-aircraft shrapnel imbedded [sic] in right arm, dislocation of knees (left and right), re-dislocation of left knee, bullet wound in mouth, bullet wound in ear, atrophy of tendons in left leg, atrophy of muscles in calf, dislocated clavicle, dislocated wrist, dislocated right ankle, loss of teeth, contusions too numerous to mention."

When the war ends, Captain Charles Nungesser is 26, and the third ranked French flying ace behind René Fonck and Georges Guynemer, in spite of his many wounds, accidents and physical disabilities.

Some anecdotes:

In 1915 he does a bunch of wild flying over a nearby town, and many people complains.  The commander of the squadron tells Nungesser that if he was going to do aerobatics, do them over the German lines.  Nungesser jumps into his plane, flies to the nearest German field, and gives them quite a show.  He reports back to his commander, tells him what he did and is put under arrest again.

1916: during a flight, he runs out of ammunition and places himself in the middle of enemy planes, since they cannot shoot him if they risk hitting one of their own.

One of Nungesser's drinking buddies is Jean Navarre, another flamboyant ace. The two of them almost create the image of fighter pilots as handsome, reckless, hard-living, womanizing rakes. They dislike military discipline and enjoy Paris' many attractions as often as possible. Once, Nungesser is driving into Paris, amidst heavy traffic, when he spots his own aircraft heading that way. It is Navarre! He has borrowed Nungesser's airplane; he explains that his own has been shot up and that he "has forgotten what a woman looks like”.

On August 26, 1918 he gives his popularity a new boost by participating in the crossing of Paris by swimming, and, if he does not win the competition, asserts himself as the spokesman of the disabled veterans and attracts cheers from the public.

We still don’t know what really happened... but if he reached the land he was indeed the first man - with François Coli- to cross the Atlantic by plane.

Even though René Fonck ended up as the French Ace of Aces, both Georges Guynemer and Charles Nungesser have enjoyed a greater popularity, due to their personality, the legend that quickly built around them, and probably to their disappearance up in the sky while they were world famous.

Sources:

Opérationnels SLDS 38 39 hiver 2018 Nungesser le Résilient, article de Romain Petit

David Méchin, "Charles Nungesser, la rage de vaincre", dans Le Fana de l'Aviation no 551 et 552 (octobre et novembre 2015)

Wikipedia, French and English articles

[pynkhues]

You're such a good writer. Have you ever thought about writing professionally? :)

Ah! Thank you, anon! You’re so sweet!

I actually do write professionally. It’s forever a weird thing to say, haha, but I’m an award-winning short fiction writer, and have had over 15 original stories published in journals, anthologies and collections. (Also actually just found out I’m having another one published this week, which means I’ve got three stories already coming out this year, which is exciting!) I’ve also written a few novel manuscripts that have been shortlisted for prizes, but haven’t been published yet, and have a screenplay that has been optioned by a production company, but hasn’t yet been turned into a movie. 

Unfortunately, there is not a lot of money in any of those things, haha, at least not in Australia, and I grew up pretty poor, so I also work as both a gun for hire / freelance writer, writing everything from utility manuals to child safety policies and procedures, to product descriptions for various online stores, as well as at a theatre company which makes interactive works for disadvantaged children. 

But yes!

I’m actually currently working on a new novel manuscript which is set against the backdrop of Houdini’s tour of Australia in 1910, and how during that tour he became the first person to fly a plane in Australia. The novel itself though is actually a mystery novel about a woman investigating her grandfather’s (who was a magician) strange death, and how she ends up sort of accidentally teaming up with an American journalist who’s out in Australia reporting on Houdini’s tour. 

You can have a little excerpt, if you’d like!

“Mrs. Hathaway?” Joe asks, and Alma laughs, but it’s empty, even to her own ears. 

“I was, I suppose. Once.”

If Joe has any thoughts about the matter, he keeps his face carefully blank. Instead, he lifts his scotch glass, swirls the liquid like a God does a muddy river in the palm of his clean hand. Before them, the fire crackles – lit for the cool desert night, and only serving to stifle the day’s stagnant heat. There are certain customs that are hard to shake, she thinks, and she pinches the sleeves of her sweaty blouse and thinks that any real place, accustomed to this heat, would never ask this constriction of its people.

In front of the fire, moths and beetles fly, a haphazard array of insects, crashing into one another, fleeing, crashing all over again. The realisation of it is not one that Alma especially cares for, but she keeps it in her head all the same. The way the flames cast their light across the glossy shells of the insects.

“I don’t want to pry,” Joe says suddenly, and Alma tilts her head towards him. Takes in his careful, downcast expression, his careful, downturned lips.

“I rather think you do,” she says, as gently as she can manage it. “You don’t have to be so careful, really. There’s no fantastic story to tell, and no particularly extraordinary tragedy about the matter. I was married, and now I am not.”

Joe looks at her then, properly, for perhaps the first time since Mr. Wellesley called her name across the gathering all those days ago. His eyes are so green, it almost surprises her.

“See, I’m not entirely sure I believe that,” he replies, and Alma laughs, dropping her head forwards and reaching for her own conspiring cup.

“Last I checked, I was not your story.”

Joe tilts his head, back and forth, as if weighing up her statement, a shadow of that familiar smile ghosting his lips.

“Perhaps I undersold your character.”

“Perhaps you did.”

The insects are growing in volume, if not size. Their wings a light catching gauze in the throes of this deep night. Vaguely, Alma can hear patrons on the floor above them, stepping the long corridors of the hotel, their laughs and their slurs and their missteps like a play across the stage of her head. And if they are, then perhaps she is to Mr. Goddard, she supposes. She sighs.

“You are aware that I worked as a governess in one of the northern houses?”

Joe nods, quickly, briskly, leaning ever so slightly forwards in his seat.

“Mr. Hathaway was a groundsman at the same house. He’d served in the Boer War, and from the stories I’d heard, not all of him had made it back.”

She swirls the scotch around in her own glass, watching the amber liquid mouth up the sides of her cup.

“That is not uncommon,” Joe says quietly. “At least, not of the men I know who have served.”

“No, of course not,” Alma says, shaking her head. “And that’s not entirely what I meant. I suppose I never knew him before it, and so the man I met was the only man I knew. He was kind and he was quiet, tormented, but I know a lot of tormented folk, so it was not unusual to me. We did not fall in love exactly, but - - I liked him. And I rather think he liked me, and perhaps that could have become love. I don’t know.”

She pauses, lost, for a moment, in her own memories of a man who had, for a very brief time, become the most important part of her life. It’s as if a tent has been erected inside her, forcing aside her bones and her organs, allowing unwelcome feelings to sleep within her. Alma sighs.

“He shot himself. About a year after we were married.”

She finishes her scotch.

Beside her, Joe is quiet, still turning over the glass in his hands, letting the liquid roll up the sides, warm between his skin and the fire. He brings it to his nose, inhales deeply, but does not take a sip. It’s unexpected, unusual, perhaps, but she had been warned about the strange habits of Americans, and of this, this seems like one of Joe’s lesser ones.

“I rather think you’ve done what many thought impossible,” Joe muses quietly. “And rendered me speechless.”

She laughs, and Joe weighs her with a careful, considering look.

“Oh, Mr. Goddard, if only I knew the key to that was a few well-timed words of my own.”

He laughs, but his face remains shadowed, uncertain, and she puts her own glass down on the floor and reaches her hands for his free one. He gives it freely, and she turns it over in hers, running her fingers, still damp from her glass, across the palm of his freckled hand.

“You know, back when I was a part of my grandfather’s act, I would put on a shawl and read palms as the opener.”

He laughs again, a gentler one this time, scrunching up his nose in a way that reminds her that they are both so young still. So young to have felt this much. He leans back, almost embarrassed, but Alma follows him.

“Hm,” she hums, stroking a finger down his palm. A part of her knows this is improper, a young, widowed woman, without gloves, touching the skin of a young, unwedded man, but for now, there’s nothing in the world that feels more proper than this.

“This,” she says, her voice donning the vague, European accent she’d wear during her shows. “This is your lifeline.”

She taps it once, twice, three times.

“It’s long,” and it is. Very long, stretching around the heel of his hand and curling at the base. “You’ll live a long life.”

Joe sits up a little straighter, leaning forwards in his own chair.

“A good life?”

“That, unfortunately, is not something the palms can easily tell.”

He chuckles, a breathy one, spreading his fingers better in her hand, as if offering better access to the lines of him, and Alma swallows thickly.

The weight of a hand in hers is not foreign to her, but somehow Joe’s feels both too heavy and impossibly light. Feels - -

Well.

Just feels, she supposes.

She turns his hand over in her own, looking at the long, graceful lines of it, the fresh dirt beneath his nails, the cricks in his skin that tell her everything and nothing.

“Your hands are long,” she says, running her thumb across his knuckles, relishing in the warmth it spreads through her chest. “And thin. Which means you’re loyal, and that you’re kind, and you’re thumb bends out, so you’re generous too. But,” and she tuts then, amused, shaking her head. “Your fingernails. They’re short and round, which means you’re a gossip.”

He hoots at that, like she’d thought he might, and a smile paints her face as she opens his hand again in hers. She can feel him then, leaning closer, his breath on the back of her head, shifting her sweat-damp hair.

She uncurls his hand in hers, moving her thumbs from the heel of his hand up towards the tips of his long, arching fingers. She can feel the pulse in them, the flutter of it just below the veil of his thin skin.

“Your head line is short, which means you are impulsive, but it curves down slightly, which means you are gentle.”

She can feel Joe getting closer, shifting beneath her hands, moving nearer to her in his seat, until his whole body is curved towards her. Her own breath picks up, the fire before them suddenly too hot. Hotter than it has felt before. She brushes a hand back through her hair. Tries to stroke any knot from it. Free it from its bindings. She must be quiet too long, for the next question Joe asks, is: “Are there any more?”

Alma blinks, feels the sweat building at her lashes, tries to blink them free.

“Your heart line,” she says, and she can feel more than see Joe smile. “It starts before your index finger, and it’s deep. Which means you fall in love quickly, but that you love intensely.”

He hums, a small sound like an agreement, and Alma touches the rough flat of her thumb to the softness of his palm, and she remembers all the ways she wasn’t made for this man.  That Joe - - that Mr. Goddard - - that he might be a working man in the bowels of New York City, but as far as the rough, dirty middle of Queensland is, he’s an upper class boy with no idea as to the gruelling design of this land. He was built for the tamed, not the wild, and he is not Alma. He is not a desperate, writhing snake trying to find family in the desert that has loved her and abandoned her and made her whole, nor the tropics which have weathered her skin, and shed her bare beneath the tempest of its moods. He will marry a good, American girl with a good, American dowry, and a quick wit and a smart look, and the wild of this trip, and the wild of Alma, will become a story he will tell friends at bars, if it even becomes that.

She pulls away, dropping his hand, and ignoring the way he tries to chase her.

“There will be someone worthy of that hand, some day,” she says instead, rising from her seat, a quiver in her legs that surprises her. “Sadly, this is where I must leave you, Mr. Goddard. I am rather tired, all of a sudden, and know we have a rather monstrous day ahead of us, if we are to make it back down to Marigold’s before the dusk.”

She turns, moving promptly towards the stairs leading up to their rooms, and she hears the scrape of the chair across the floorboards behind her, and the calling of her name - names, Miss Rivers first, and then Mrs Hathaway and then suddenly, strikingly, Alma, and she picks up her pace away from him before she can even consider that it is the first time she has heard her name at his lips.

[sparklyjojos]

CARNIVAL recaps [6/13]

Today’s recap: A visit in Ryuuguujou, pen name switcharoo, and Juku the accidental sniper.

--

TWELVE

09 Nov 1996 — 15 Nov 1996

ARC DE TRIOMPHE

--

Juku and Nemu ride to Ryuuguujou, the splendid residence of the Ryuuguu family. On the way they talk about how Juku has yet to make any meaningful progress in investigating “Tsukumo Jaki”. They only have one small clue: witnesses say the person who sent the threatening fax looked androgynous and wore double denim. It might be the same person as the one described in Cosmic, so the one who sent Dakushoin’s manuscript to JDC. The scary implication is that whoever is behind the Crime Olympics could also be the true mastermind behind the Locked Room Lord case.

The detectives were recently given advance copies of Joker, which has some interesting and suspicious parts as well. Juku is quite surprised that this “Seiryoin” would know about his secret conversation with Yaiba [the one at the very end of Joker].

As they get close to Ryuuguujou, Juku takes off his sunglasses to look at the scenery through the car window, while Nemu gets lost in thought. Not only does Cosmic contain information about Maimu’s child and other predictions, but it reveals Nemu’s own secret—she’s colorblind. She, Juku and Ajiro should be the only ones who know about it, and yet. With Cosmic in circulation, other JDC detectives are now pestering her with uncomfortable questions, and she resorted to claiming that the mysterious author had just made that up. [Here the narration hints ominously: however, the fact that she is colorblind will be very important in a few years… but that’s another case, for another time.]

Nemu thinks about how Ryuuguujou looks as wondrous as the actual palace from the tale about Urashima Tarou, and how Jounosuke himself has this unreal fairytale atmosphere of sorts. Then again, so does indescribably beautiful Juku and a bunch of other people in JDC. [The narration pipes in again to state that Jounosuke’s quirky personality will be of importance in the Crime Olympics. The author is really trying to make sure we remember things for the future.]

The Tsukumo siblings are sad that not everyone could gather in Ryuuguujou. Ajiro is missing, Kirika is hospitalized, Amagoi is busy with a case in Italy, and Hikimiya and Christmas couldn’t return on time because of getting involved in the latest Billion Killer case in France. It’s sad, but the reason why the Tsukumos came to visit Jounosuke in the first place is depressing in itself.

Noticing Nemu’s sadness, Juku asks her if she still has the omamori from him—an invisible talisman embodying his will to always protect her, which he gave her at the very beginning of her path to becoming a detective. She answers that of course she still carries it, as a part of her. Juku says that he prays there won’t come a day when she would truly need it—hopefully never. [This is incredibly heartwarming, but also sounds like he gave her a gun.]

--

Let’s go back in time a bit to explain why Hikimiya and Christmas couldn’t make it on time.

The fourteenth Billion Killer case involved a jet plane teleporting from the sky to just above a Parisian street, decimating everything in its path, and exploding when it reached Arc de Triomphe. Hikimiya and Christmas were on that plane, but luckily managed to get away with only some injuries; Hikimiya broke his left arm and his beloved laptop.

Frau D happened to have been in Arc de Triomphe at the time and sustained serious injuries, so he would have to be hospitalized for months. He seemed to be pretty cheerful when Hikimiya visited him, though, and said (who knows whether seriously or in jest) that he wasn’t going to die until he won Hikimiya’s heart. Frau would be incapacitated for the foreseeable future, so he asked Hikimiya to take over his responsibilities working with the Egg Mac and the Desert Colosseum AI. Hikimiya was pissed off at the prospect, since he really wanted a break; the crashed plane was supposed to bring him back to Japan, but now he had to stay in Paris for who knows how long. Before exiting the room in a huff, Hikimiya asked why exactly Frau had been in Arc de Triomphe, to which he got a grin and the answer “to look after your plane leaving—because I love you, boy.” (Hikimiya was really, really not sure if this was a joke or not.)

Later Hikimiya met up with Christmas, who informed him that Jounosuke was going to Peru for an investigation in a few days. That seemed just preposterous—Jounosuke was seriously ill and should stay in bed—but you can’t really get through that guy’s stubbornness sometimes.

Then again, Jounosuke didn’t even know yet that he had Alive. Nobody wanted to tell him. Did the plane not crash, Hikimiya and Christmas would go to Ryuuguujou with everyone to spend time with him before the disease progressed further.

--

Back to the present day in Ryuuguujou…

Otohime, Jouka, Juku and Nemu all gather in Jounosuke’s bedroom to his delight. Juku says that Inugami Yasha wanted to visit too, but is busy with something in his hometown right now.

Jounosuke is in high spirits, claims that he’s just fine and will sooner die from boredom lying in bed all day, and this sort of giant mysteries like the Crime Olympics just waiting to be solved don’t happen every day, you know! He states that in a few days he’s going to Peru, as the local president asked him for help. They banter a bit with Otohime in a true sibling style, “please rest for the love of god” versus “but I’m fine, and listen, THE MYSTERY!”, culminating with Otohime asking Jouka to please look after this petulant child.

The conversation moves to Somedaring Amagoi, the teenage JDC detective dressed like a miko priestess and seeming like a copy of Jounosuke in terms of making horrible worldplays.

Amagoi gave a few detectives omamori, but seemed to mix them up by accident; Jounosuke inexplicably got anzan (supposed to help with pregnancy and delivery), and Juku got gakugyo-joju (mostly for students dealing with exams, but also for gaining knowledge in general). Both men laugh about it, but still appreciate the thought and carry these talismans close to their hearts (Jounosuke can complain about Amagoi being an annoyance all he wants, but he wears that omamori even when he’s lying in bed in pajamas all day).

Jouka tells the others what she investigated about the mysterious “Seiryoin Ryusui”. They thought at first that it could be Dakushoin’s sister Minase Nagisa, but Nagisa denies it and claims that judging by the writing style, Cosmic and Joker could both have been written by her brother—but he died in 1993, so how would he know about current things like Maimu’s ability?

Otohime, who is an avid reader, is able to distinguish between the writing style of Dakushoin and Nagisa enough to realize that Cosmic and Joker are actually more similar to Nagisa’s own books. However, this doesn’t have to mean that Nagisa is lying.

Jounosuke realizes what Otohime means: they had the pen names of the twins mixed up all along! Perhaps it was the brother Tamei Hidetaka who published under the name “Minase Nagisa”, while his sister Tamei Madoka used the handle “Dakushoin Ryuusui”, and they’ve been keeping this switch secret from everyone.

This sounds probable, but Juku and Nemu think the truth may be even more complicated: this switch may involve a mysterious third writer. Tamei Hidetaka would receive manuscripts from that someone and act like they were his own. That third writer might be that “Seiryoin” they’re searching for.

---

Otohime and Juku excuse themselves outside, leaving the other three to talk about Cosmic. Nemu is concerned about a brief passage claiming that Jounosuke’s parents subjected him to some sort of brainwashing. It must be a lie—Mr. and Mrs. Ryuuguu are nice people—but Nemu’s fuzzy reasoning tells her vaguely that there might be more to it. Jounosuke’s tendency to always wear black, call himself “Ryuuguu” in third person, make machines malfunction with one touch, be fascinated with words, present almost too happy of a demeanor sometimes… is there more to all of it?

Jounosuke jokes that this Seiryoin guy should hurry up and write a book about the current events so they could get even more clues, maybe called Carnival or something.

As Nemu leaves the room, she thinks briefly about love. Jounosuke and Jouka are very good friends with similar atmosphere, but obviously don’t have any romantic feelings towards each other (especially since, as Jounosuke himself stated many times, he’s just not attracted to anyone no matter their gender). The same can be said about Juku and Otohime.

Nemu kinda only now realizes that she herself never really was in love—or perhaps was too immature to realize what her feelings were...?—and while thinking about this, she reminisces about her old friend Ajiro Souya.

---

Shortly before the Tsukumo siblings arrived at Ryuuguujou, one of Otohime’s bodyguards, Matsuo “Macho” Mentei, suddenly fainted while looking at the scenery. It turned out that he had somehow, in some way, made eye contact with Juku, who was at the time staring at Ryuuguujou through the car window. Even though the two couldn’t actually see each other from that distance, Macho still fainted. Juku apologizes to him profusely, and later he and Otohime talk in the hallway.

The narration informs us that the friendship between the Ryuuguus and the Tsukumo siblings goes back sixteen years to the Saimon Family Murder Case, during which little Juku stayed at Ryuuguujou for some time. Due to their deep connection Jounosuke treats Juku a bit like a younger brother, while Otohime has the kind of deep understanding with him where they can spend time together in comfortable silence.

Juku and Otohime talk about the Crime Olympics and what the “ultimate trick” used in it could be. Otohime states that there’s no such thing as something “ultimate” or “the best of the best”—the concept of something “ultimate” only makes sense if nothing can actually reach that level, because then the definition of “ultimate” would just shift to mean something even better.

Juku thinks that whoever’s behind the Crime Olympics might be using a new technology of some kind, something that just like radio waves can’t exactly be spotted if you don’t know they exist. He compares it to how Matsuo Mentei has fainted due to “something unseeable”. Otohime responds that this today was just an accident, so it’s strange to compare it to something like the Crime Olympics.

Juku says that who knows, perhaps the “trick” behind the incident with Matsuo Mentei and the trick of the Crime Olympics will turn out to have the same origin.

--

THIRTEEN

16 Nov 1996 — 22 Nov 1996

GREENWICH

--

On the second day of his trip to Peru, Jounosuke falls into a deep feverish sleep due to Alive, and when he finally wakes up, he seems like a different person. Innocent charm all but disappears from his face and something dark creeps into his usually cheerful atmosphere. He wants only Jouka to stay by his side and proposes to her. Christmas is delegated to investigate the Easter Island in case a Billion Killer case happens there.

Christmas feels like the world is going insane.

Counting the newest Billion Killer case—the Royal Observatory in Greenwich being destroyed—over four hundred million people have died so far.

--

[END OF PART 1 — CARNIVAL ACT]

--

[>>>NEXT PART>>>]

[meepmorpperaltiago]

If I Go There’s Just No Telling How Far I’ll Go (a b99 Princess Diaries AU) (1/9)

I’ve finally turned the Princess Diaries AU I wrote a few weeks ago into a full series, so I hope you enjoy this! I also want to give credit to @middleclassaunty for coming up with the title (and yes, it is a Moana reference) and @amez-santiago for coming up with the idea of putting this in a diary format!

Thursday, 17th of April 2014

Breaking News: Tragic Plane Crash Takes Life of Genovian Prince

Tributes have been pouring in from all over the world, as Prince Mateo, Genovia’s beloved heir, has tragically lost his life in a plane crash.                The Prince was traveling in his private jet to a meeting with several international leaders, when the engine of the plane started to break down.       The Genovian Prime Minister released a statement earlier this morning.       He said: “It is with great sorrow that we confirm that our beloved Prince has been lost. We ask that the press, both national and international, respects the Royal household’s privacy at this difficult time.”                                                                                            There were no survivors and the conference has been suspended for the next week.                     

The news is also expected to throw Genovia into political turmoil, as the widowed Queen has no immediate relatives to take the throne.                  

It’s likely that the Genovian government will need to look further afield for a future monarch – but for now, the country and indeed the world, will mourn this extraordinary Prince.

 Monday, May 12th 2014

Dear diary,

Sorry for the lack of updates, but there’s not been much to report on over the past few weeks. Since my victory in the Jimmy Jab Games, nothing much exciting has been happening in the precinct and things have been the same as usual with Teddy. I like that about us though – we’re steady. I think that Jake and I are starting to get over all of the awkward stuff that happened before he went undercover, as we’re still working on the murder case I wrote about last week. I honestly don’t think we’ll be able to crack this one, as our only lead at the moment is a witness who refuses to talk, which is of course the most frustrating type of case. I’m so relieved that we’ve been able to work together and be friends again.

I almost forgot, I did get a weird prank call the other day, from a guy claiming to be the Genovian Foreign Minister – of all the pranks to pick, that has to be the strangest! Especially as, (fun factoid about me), I am distantly related to the Genovian Royal Family.

Love,

Amy

Tuesday, May 13th, 2014

Jake solved it. He had one thought, then he worked it all out in less than a minute and our suspect confessed! He really is brilliant sometimes. Well, a lot of the time actually. I’ve begrudgingly given him all of the credit for cracking the case and we went out to Shaws with the rest of the squad to celebrate. I did feel a little guilty, as I haven’t seen Teddy since our date on Sunday night, but as we’re both cops I’m sure he understands the thrill that comes from closing a case (even if I didn’t technically solve it this time).

Love,

Amy

Wednesday, May 14th, 2014

I got another prank message today, this time an email, saying that I was the new heir to the Genovian throne – I thought it might be a new scam, but when I tried to google it nothing came up!

In other news, Gina spent the entire day using her camera phone to film the first episode of her new reality show, Linetti Set Go. Eventually Holt took her phone away and I honestly thought she was going to try and attack him. She looked like she was in mourning for the rest of the day. Nothing much else to say really and Teddy and I are going out for dinner in half an hour, so I guess I should go and get ready!

Love,

Amy

Thursday, May 15th, 2014

This Genovia thing is starting to get weird – I’ve had 3 emails, but they all seems to be specifically targeting me. I have no idea what to do, but I haven’t told anyone, not even my mom and as you know I tell her everything (within good reason, of course).

Also, a new stationery store opened across the street, with so many beautiful binders that I know are going to be such a drain on my bank account.

Love,

Amy

Friday, May 16th, 2014

It was real. It was all real. I’ve been asked to become the new heir to the Genovian throne. I got a letter today, with the official Royal seal and signed by both the Prime Minister and the Queen. I got into contact with the Genovian Foreign Office, (I of course checked that I was calling a legitimate number) and they confirmed it.

I can’t believe it. I’m a 33-year old living the dream life of a 5-year old. There’s so much to consider – I would have to leave my entire life behind to rule a country I’ve never even visited, I would have to give up on all my career ambitions, all my dreams, everything I’ve ever wanted. I would also have to leave my family and the squad, who are basically like a family to me at this point – I would miss all of them so much. I would miss Jake so much.

And, (admittedly further down on my list of priorities at the moment), how would all of this affect my relationship with Teddy? We haven’t been dating long, but I was really hoping it would go somewhere – now, for it to work long-term, he would have to move to Genovia and become a Prince consort. I mean, I’m not completely sure that I want to marry him, but you get my point. Not that I wouldn’t potentially want to marry him, in some hypothetical future, but I don’t feel at the moment that… well you get my point.

At the same time, it is an incredible opportunity and I know that their country will be thrown into political chaos without an heir.

I would have “Princess Lessons” in the meantime, and my decision would be announced at Genovia’s Independence Day Ball. They said I could take my time making my choice, so that’s what I’m going to do.

Love,

Amy

Sunday, May 17th, 2014

I called the Genovian Foreign Office today and told them that I will consider becoming the Princess of Genovia.

[disco-chef-blog]

It begins

  And just like that, the long, uncomfortable process of keeping a personal blog begins. Hi, I’m Niko (you can call me that or Nikos or Nick or Disco, whatever is easiest for you, don’t worry about it) and long story short I am a university dropout who quit in order to pursue a  career in the cooking/baking world. From about the beginning of 2016 up until October 2018. Due to injury to my spine (herniated disc pressuring the sciatic nerve) I had to quit my job and seek re-education in another field. I was an engineering and business administration student prior to this in Loughborough University and KULeuven respectively. I have always found myself far more comfortable working with/around computers so when a close friend of mine was about to start a new one-year course in Java development, I followed him through the registration process which included 3 days of lessons and a test on the 4th day. I was told that due to there being an unusual amount of people with some experience with Java, the few seats that they had were given to those that scored highest, even though I had achieved a decent grade. That’s when I caught the second bug of my life: coding. I found another course that begins in mid-April, although it is in Ruby and focuses more on web (and app, kinda) development but thankfully it is in English, unlike the Java course where I found that the people there had a hard time understanding my semi-broken flemmish and alien accent. It was surprising to see how frustrating it can be to not be understood.

  I have created this page in order to document that journey and everything revolves around it like side projects on java on codecademy, epiphanies and whatever else comes along with it. The idea is to develop an idea that I have had for an app during my time in the pastry business. Failing that, I will find a job as a junior developer, hopefully.

There has been odd sets of circumstances and events that have led to this point. If you are curious to find out, read on. If you don’t wanna be attacked by another huge wall of text avert your eyes now!

 Back in the end of 2015, I was initially working as a part-time deal for funds while being a student, but I fell in love with the work, the intensity and funnily enough the stress of it. I quit my studies 3 months in, and took on every contract they offered me. These were at most week contracts for interim work and I believe the official title was either cook or cook’s helper. After about two years of this, I was sent to a client who was making these incredible structures from pastries. Choux “glued” together with caramel towering above the guests, tartes tatins as far as the eye could see while also the pâtissiers, who were all working in a synchronous rhythm. 

  I was mesmerised. I knew I had to at least learn the basics. 

  When it had come to regular kitchen work, I was very fortunate to have learned from my mother how to cook from a very young age. Being the youngest, I usually would come home first, having to wait for my sisters to finish their classes and my parents to return from work. My poor mother at the time had been working almost every day of her life since she was 15. I would call her a woman who had to be a superwoman in her times in order to achieve what she has achieved, both professionally and in her private life. She would have food ready for all of us in pots and casseroles when we came from school, but I was not a very patient child. I would eat half of the food that was available, at first stunning my family but later aggravating them slightly. So, instead of my mother having to cook more quantities and spending more etc, I decided I would cook for myself something extra. It’s very funny to me still, how children don’t have any self-doubt when they set a goal. If I wanted to eat more than the rest, I had to cook something more. The early days are mostly a blur of Greek, Italian, Turkish, French recipes. I couldn’t seem to stick to one, since we had shelves full of books to choose from. Eventually, I found my favourites and would endlessly perfect them over the years with each iteration.

  But when it came to baking, to me it was a whole other world. You can fuck up a recipe and many points in regular cooking and you can quite easily remedy them at many, if not all, stages of the process. With baking, however, the margin for error seemed to be unforgiving. It would be the ultimate test of ability: preparing something to perfection, every single time, in order to provide a consistency and quality that I had not seen before.

  I asked for a small raise after working for that interim company for 2 years and was denied. I basically asked 1-2 euros more per hour, seeing as I was accepting the jobs with asshole clients that no one would take. Since I never said no, always did what was asked, covered for my colleagues when they made a mistake. Accepting the blame for something that I knew exactly who had done it, but choosing not to make a big deal of it and rather keep my head down and work harder, faster. I must say to this day, that really surprised me. Kitchens environments in general are as bad as they seem in television. The people who work there are uncultured or uneducated most of the time, the level of humour is very, very low. I had thought I had a great relationship with my boss and the many planners we have had. Many of whom I had saved their ass when they double-booked someone or had no one available (or willing) to take on the jobs with lazy clients. So I wrote myself in a 6 month crash course in baking much faster than I had expected. 

  It was a government funded program intended to help those who were seeking re-education in another field. During that program I did my internship at a local bakery where in the area I had just moved in to. While I may not have been treated as a real employee there all of the time and was given a lot of crap for being the young new guy (which, honestly, is understandable and common in many kitchen environments) I loved every second of working there, even on the bad days. I learned more there than I ever could have at any other educational facility. Most importantly, I lost a part of my innocence and gained more self respect. Unfortunately, being the young new guy, I always found that I had to work as fast as possible and as hard as possible (even though while I did that, I was nowhere near the level of skill of my colleagues or my boss). Which in turn meant that I didn’t always lift things properly, lifted things that I probably shouldn’t have (in order to save time or to avoid bending over every time). I first started feeling the pain on a flight as the plane was taking off and my lower back was pressed on the corner of the seat. Still kept working, thinking it was just a mild sciatica, but it became worse. I never took a break from my job during that time, seeing osteopaths for a quick 30 minute session during work and then returning back to the workshop immediately to continue working. That’s the deal with small businesses like that. We were only 4 people working in the production and that meant that if any one of us was absent, we were fucked in the sense that we would have to pull off a 18+ hour day rather than the usual 10-13 hour day and still being behind schedule. I loved most moments of it though but the pain was getting worse and worse until eventually I was stuck to the floor while emptying the dishwasher. One CT scan later I find out that I have a badly herniated disc on the L5S1 (right side). My boss was understandably not happy about this.

  At the same exact time, I had been living with an old colleague from when I was an interim cook. He had many demons he had been avoiding to face over the years, always avoiding his problems with cocaine or other hard drugs and a lot of alcohol. At some point, the housemate had a mental breakdown and came to the conclusion that the people who had stood by him over the years where not worthy of his friendship (this coming from him that would always avoid his friends because he was never in a mood to talk to them just because he was in a funk all the time). I was evicted and forced to move out with no help of his, even though he knew about my back. I begrudgingly moved back to my parents place with the help of a close friend and have been living here ever since (November 2018). 

  Since then I am following online courses and also in-person courses concerning programming. 

  So there, now we have come full circle. Onward now to much, much shorter (maybe even daily depending on if I feel like it, I don’t know..) updates.

[rebaobsessivelywrites]

Emotional Intelligence Ch2 (SS:BH Pt1)

You can find this entire series here on AO3. This chapter is here.

Fandom: Sanders Sides (Web Series) and Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)

Fic Description: Logan was a genius. Everyone said so. He was also the most self sufficient 12-year-old you would ever meet, and he was very happy with that--thank you very much. If there was one thing he did not want, it was an android. Thankfully, things don't quite go his way.

(This is the first installment in a 5-part series. I expect 3 chapters currently.)

Warnings: ‘benign’ neglect, social anxiety, panic attack, emotional, and misgendering. This chapter is mostly comfort/fluff though

Chapter word count:  3,841

Headcanon post, master list, previous chapter, next chapter. 

A/N: Finally done! And in time for #sidescontentweek too!!

One dinner, Logan could handle. Two? Sure. A day at an event? Well, he could suck it up. But a weekend? Three days spent being paraded around like a prize pony, passed from important person to important person… he just couldn’t.

His parents had sprung the surprise on him Thursday, just after his fourth visit to the chess park. The following morning, they packed up and left bright and early, caught a plane, and were plunged directly into the chaos of politics and high-class socialization. There were dinners and events and lectures every hour of the day, it seemed, as Logan was expected to attend every event either of his parents had been invited to. That meant breakfasts, lunches, and dinners with politicians and scientists and lobbyists and CEOs and everyone in between, with added lectures and meetings.

Logan didn’t understand it all, but he understood a lot and the people his parents met with were always so impressed by him and his parents loved to use that to their advantage. And, well, it was interesting. He did enjoy the science and finance and that sort of thing, but… he wasn’t used to that many people. This was the first time his parents had asked him to be so involved in one of these symposiums when both of them were attending, and it was absolutely excruciating.

He got about five hours to himself each day, but two of those were from waking up at 5 am and two were spent hiding in the corner of some hotel or event center, desperately trying to center himself before the next event. He was used to maybe 3 or 4 hours with people a day, and that used to be only 1 hour or so with his parents before he started visiting the park a couple times a week. So this? This was overwhelming.

It was the third and final day, and Logan was certain the only reason he had made it this far was his android. Three weeks ago, he would have never believed that he would become irreparably attached to the thing, but now he was seriously wondering what he would do with out h—it. Beyond its now integral role in his daily life, the HK400 had been a godsend throughout the weekend, carefully monitoring Logan and swooping in at the best possible times with various excuses—he hadn’t eaten enough vegetables, he needed to spend 15 more minutes in the sun in order to absorb the proper amount of vitamin D, he hadn’t slept sufficiently and needed to go to bed early, etc—that bought him a couple minutes, at least, to regroup. It kept him sane.

But even with that crucial aid, it was too much. He had been at lunch (again) when he had been cornered and interrogated by a curious stranger (again) and he just couldn’t. He couldn’t stand another minute in that room; he couldn’t think or even breathe! So he fled. He didn’t manage to do much more than mutter a few apologies before he was on his way out of the ballroom and running up the stairs to his room. He fumbled with the electronic key, stumbled into the luxuriant room, and immediately collapsed, bracing himself against the wall and struggling to breathe.

He wasn’t sure how long he sat there, hunched over, before he finally caught his breath and stopped feeling like he was drowning, but once he did a wave of overwhelming shame crashed into him stealing his breath in a completely different way. Why had he left? He shouldn’t have done that! What were his parents going to say? He was a horrible son. Horrible…

A quiet knock on the door startled him out of his thoughts and made him jump. As he frantically picked himself up off the ground and attempted to make himself presentable, he realized that he had be crying. He scraped the sleeve of his suit over his cheeks and cleared his throat, “Yes?”

“It’s just me, Logan,” the last voice he was expecting but the first voice he should have expected echoed through the door, “Can I come in, kiddo?”

“HK400,” Logan protested, just as he had every time since the android had started using that awful nickname. The only blessing was he never used it around other people.

The HK400 obviously took his response as permission as the locking mechanism gave a telltale click and the droid slid into the room with hi—its key card. It had its near constant smile already plastered across its face as it carefully moved closer, giving him a concerned once over. “How are you, Logan? What can I do to help?”

“I’m fine,” Logan shook his head and pasted his smile back on, “I just… forgot something,” he finished lamely.

The android gave him the most unimpressed look he had ever seen—not just on it, but on anyone—and for a moment Logan very much felt like the 12-year-old he was. “We both know that’s not true,” it pointed out softly, “You don’t need to hide from me, Logan. I won’t tell anyone. I promise.”

Logan stood there for a long moment, taking in the steady blue LED that shone brightly in the muffled daylight of the hotel room, and the matching earnest blue eyes. “I know,” he almost whispered, “I just—” His voice broke and a hand flew to his mouth of its own accord. Breathing through his nose, he swallowed hard and did his best to force down the tears.

The HK400 stood as still as a statue, as though he was attempting not to startle a wild animal, a concerned look still plastered across his face. For some reason, the steady unassuming silence calmed Logan down even more.

“I can’t,” he choked out after a minute that felt like an eternity. His entire body was trembling, and Logan was just so frustrated with himself. He was angry and guilty and so very sad… He felt like his world was crumbling around him, but that was completely illogical—he was fine! He needed to piece himself back together and rejoin his parents, that was it.

The android gave him a pained look of understanding and stepped closer, as though preparing to physically help and… that was it. The dam broke open again and Logan let out a painful sob that shook his entire body. It was followed by another and another, and he was shaking harder and harder. His knees gave out on him but before he could do more than start to tip, he was suddenly surrounded by a pair of powerful arms, pulled in close to a solid chest. The android had knelt in front of him and was nestling him close and rubbing his back… “Let it out, Logan,” he murmured, “It’s ok, just let it all out. I’ve got you.”

Logan did.

He wasn’t sure how long he spent in his android’s arms, soaking his uniform with tears, but after some indeterminant period he stopped shaking and the android slowly loosened his hold on him. “Hey, Logan?” he murmured against his hair, “How does NASA organize a party?”

Brows furrowing in confusion, Logan pulled away to frown at his caretaker in confusion, “What?”

The HK400 gave him a crooked smile, “They planet.”

Logan felt his eyes, which were no doubt red from all the crying he had been doing, widen comically. His android had just told a joke. …Why?? The experience had become more common since the bot had slipped up in the park over a week previously, but it still baffled Logan to no end every time, and this was by far the most blatant occurrence yet.

“What’s orange and sounds like a parrot?” he—it asked in the same tone of voice, that was almost mischievous.

“What? No, that’s,” Logan shook his head, “There’s nothing… I mean, maybe an orange parrot, but—”

“A carrot!” it exclaimed before letting out a delighted little giggle.

Logan stopped to stare again, forgetting to close his mouth in the process. He was still baffled and dumbfounded, but he was also thankful that the android wasn’t immediately retreating and making excuses like he had a few times in the past.

“Come on,” he—it— smiled warmly and stood, offering him a hand, “Let’s move to the table. It’ll be more comfortable for the chair of us.”

Still stunned from the last joke, Logan couldn’t do more than accept and let himself be led to the small round table that was equipped with two chairs and a small coffee setup—including a coffee maker and all the proper accoutrements. It was currently piled with everything Logan had gathered from the lectures he had enjoyed over the past two days, but neither of them cared about the clutter. (HK400 was most certainly bothered by it, but he didn’t press the issue and was clearly preoccupied at the moment.)

As Logan sat down, however, he wobbled slightly on his still unsteady knees and accidentally knocked several papers off the table. His android immediately bent to collect them, a faint smile still playing on its lips. When he straightened and set the collection of articles and book recommendations back where they belonged, Logan was still staring—no doubt with a slack jawed look.

The HK400’s lips twitched slightly. A moment later, he lost the battle and a broad grin stretched across his face, “Aw, you ok there, Logan?” he teased gently, pushing the article on the top of the pile towards him, “Do you need a patent the back?

Once again, Logan was completely lost, “…you mean… a pat on the back?” After a moment of confusion, however, he glanced down at the paper the android had pushed towards him. It was an article he had picked up on his first day, when he had been attending an informative lecture on the legal bounds of patents with his father…. The article was an overview of every type of patent the government authorized, complete with examples. His eyes widened in realization. Patent.

The android reached over the pile of papers and fished a pink packet out of the coffee service station. “I’m not sugar,” he said almost contemplatively, waving it at Logan, “what do you pink?”

Logan let out a soft groan and leant his head forward into his hands. Despite his actions, however, there was a smile floating at the corner of his mouth. “Your mispronunciation of words… is meant to have a comedic effect,” he muttered, “But I am not certain how I feel about your attempts.”

“No, no, Logan,” the android grinned cheekily at him, “Its mispro-pun-ciation!”

Logan gave him his best glare, but it failed miserably thanks to the laughter that bubbled up in in throat and slipped past his lips. The HK400 observed his reaction with unadulterated glee, letting his own laughter join. The sound of the android giggling like a little kid set Logan off even more, and soon he was caught in a downright hysteric bought of belly-deep laughter. He nearly fell out of his chair before the android managed to settle himself down enough to catch him.

Just like before, with his uncontrollable sobbing, Logan was unsure how long he spent laughing himself silly, but eventually it passed. He spent a few moments after it finally died off gasping for breath and examining his android, who was fast becoming something akin to a friend. He was sitting in the chair opposite from Logan now, grinning dopily—almost like laughter was a drug to him. The sight of the content expression on the bot’s face made Logan smile again.

“HK400,” he started, before stopping, stumbling over his own tongue. That sounded so wrong. HK400… was a type of android. It seemed illogical to continue to insist on calling him—it… whatever!—something so generic and impersonal, not to mention a mouthful. If the past three weeks had shown him anything, it was that the HK400 was possibly the best thing that had ever happened to him. It —hell— he didn’t deserve that.

“Logan?” the bot asked in concern, breaking through his thoughts.

Logan shook himself and smiled up at him, “Sorry, I was just thinking that HK400 is a rather big mouthful.” The android simply frowned down at him, a hopeful but baffled expression on his face. Logan self-consciously straightened his glasses, “I mean, it would be more, uh.. logical to call you something more… unique?”

“Are you,” the bot hesitated, his LED flashing rapidly and his eyes growing wide, “asking me to register a name?”

Logan swallowed hard, “Uh, yeah, I… I think I am.”

His LED flashed yellow once before it settled to a more certain blue. “That… I’d like that,” the HK400 unit smiled softly, “Who am I, Logan?”

Logan paused at the wording, examining the android, “In all honesty, I think only you are capable of answering that question.”

“I don’t… understand,” confusion creased his eyebrows, although his smile didn’t waver.

The young genius shook his head softly, “That’s for another day. But I truly don’t know what to call you.”

“No?” the android asked curiously, thankfully showing no offence.

“No,” he confirmed, “I’m sorry, I should have thought this through more…”

“Don’t be,” he held up his hand, still grinning brightly, “You’ll think of something.”

“I’m not so sure,” Logan couldn’t help giving a self-deprecating shrug, looking down at where his hands rested on the table. He wasn’t creative, and giving his android a name was such a big thing…

After a beat of silence, the article on patents was pushed to brush against his fingers. He glanced up to find the HK400 smiling mischievously at him again, “Well, that’s patently absurd!”

Logan groaned, lips twitching without his consent, “Are you ever going to stop now?”

“Pat-ain’t likely!” he chuckled warmly, looking proud of himself.

Logan smiled ruefully and shook his head slightly. This new attitude his android was displaying was annoying, but it also…. It was nice. And the puns were… interesting, or at least creative that’s for sure.

A thought occurred to him, eyes widening unseeingly. “Pat…” he murmured.

“What?” the android shifted forward slightly “Are you ok, Logan?” Logan’s eyes snapped back into focus to find his caretaker’s LED cycling yellow. “Do you need another patent the back?”

“Sorry,” he smiled reassuringly before his eyebrows drew together in concentration, “Just… Your name. What about Pat… something. Patrick?” As soon as the name left his mouth he wrinkled his nose in distaste, “No.”

The android leant forward eagerly, resting a hand on each of Logan’s and smiling encouragingly. Logan returned the smile and carefully regarded the machine he had come to care for. He really wanted to get this right; a name helped a person define their sense of self, and for him it was so much more important because he had existed for almost a month fully cognizant without one. In the beginning that didn’t seem to be a problem, but now… he —and the android was definitely not an it, not if Logan was honest with himself— was so clearly capable of independent thought and it seemed wrong to call him by his model name.

The android gently squeezed Logan’s hands and the 12-year-old’s eyes were drawn down to where they rested on the table… on the article. “Pat…ton. Patton.” Logan nodded to himself, lifting his head to observe his android’s reaction.

His soft smile grew to a blinding intensity as he stared at Logan, an emotion the young genius failed to identify shining in his eyes. “Patton,” he murmured, as though testing the word, “I like that.” He giggled, “I could give you a Patton the back whenever I want.”

Logan simply raised his eyebrows at his caretaker; yes, the name was inspired by the pun but was it really necessary—

“Or a Patte,” the newly minted Patton added happily, retrieving a mug from beside the coffee pot on the table.

The genius couldn’t help rolling his eyes a little, lifting his freed hand to adjust his glasses again. “Let’s not push it too far,” he muttered.

The android froze in the middle of his movement, causing Logan to jolt and stare at him in surprise; Patton’s eyebrows were furrowed, his LED spinning yellow.

It took Logan a moment before the reason clicked, but as soon as it did his eyes blew wide and he hurried to correct his mistake, “No, no I don’t…” he shook his head and glanced down, carefully shifting the hand that still rested in Patton’s grip to give him a comforting squeeze. “I mean… I doubt my tolerance— for puns, that is— could possibly withstand your, uh, obvious aptitude for them.”

To the genius’ relief, the android immediately relaxed, tension draining out of his frame, and gave him another blinding smile, “I guess we’ll just have to see, now won’t we?”

Logan hesitantly returned the smile, “If we must… Patton.”

The way Patton’s smile grew in response to hearing his new name left a warm feeling in Logan’s chest, leaving him more settled than he had in days. That same warmth, renewed every time Patton smiled, miraculously lasted even as he ventured forth from his room and back into the mire of social expectations. It buoyed him through the remainder of the unpleasant weekend, and left him content and focused for days afterwards.

Upon their return from the stressful trip, everything returned to normal. Logan resumed his studies, rarely seeing his parents, Patton flitted around the manor, efficiently handling every problem before Logan ever encountered it, and the pair upped their outings to three or four times a week. Logan found himself growing fond of Mr. Stokes and the other chess enthusiasts, who seemed to almost live in the park, and was happy to oblige his android’s incessant herding.

In fact, Logan found he actually appreciated Patton’s constant presence and energy. On one particular occasion, the food delivery service his family used failed to arrive and Patton left to fetch supplies. The young genius was alone for only a few hours, but it had felt like days; without the background noise his energetic android provided, he had simply been unable to focus. Patton had given him the softest smile he had ever seen upon returning to find his grouchy, unfocused charge.

It was much easier to focus on matrices and derivatives when he could hear the android humming idly from just beyond his bedroom doorway.

“Hey, Logan?” the familiar cheerful voice cut through the 12-year-old’s train of thought.

A smile already spreading across his face, he glanced up from his textbook to see his android approaching. Patton gave him a smile in return and lifted an object for observation—a pair of glasses held carefully by the ear pieces, “What are these?”

For a moment Logan just blinked at them; they appeared uncannily like his own, except for the fact that they were obviously too large and no longer held lenses of any variety. That moment was, however, all it took for him to remember and flush a vivid red.

“I was cleaning your room and found them wedged…” Patton trailed off as he glanced up from the object of his curiosity. “Kiddo?” he asked, concern coloring his tone.

“They, ah,” Logan cleared his voice, “They were my father’s. I was, evidently, so fascinated with them that… after he had surgery to fix his vision, he gave them to me.”

“Oh!” the bot exclaimed in delight, returning his attention to his discovery, “That’s nifty.”

Another smile claimed his lips without his consent and he shook his head at the android’s word choice. Patton had grown on him even more over the past few weeks. He seemed to be increasingly comfortable both with himself and with Logan; he only reverted to his initial behavior (what Logan was coming to think of as his ‘pre-programmed’ behavior) when in the presence of others. Even then, he had begun to slip more and more around Logan’s chess partners. The genius received an inordinate amount of pleasure watching their reactions to the android’s unexpected sense of humor.

Logan watched with a similar sense of amusement as Patton, face scrunched up in thought, ever so carefully placed the glasses on his own face. After a moment spent fiddling with them, making them sit more comfortably, he beamed down at Logan, “What d’ya think?”

Even though the frames were very similar to Logan’s, they looked remarkably different on Patton’s face. They seemed… rounder, less rectangular, even though that wasn’t possible, and made Patton’s bright blue eyes look twice as large, despite the absence of lenses.

“They look nice,” he answered honestly, earning beaming smile.

Patton quickly scooted a few feet to the side, so he could see himself in the mirror on Logan’s wall and regard his new accessory with curiosity. After a moment he turned back to Logan, a mischievous smile creeping across his face and setting alarm bells off in Logan’s head, “Well, they are rather… spectacular!”

“Patton,” Logan groaned, rolling his eyes to the ceiling.

“Are you doing math?” he asked out of the blue, moving closer to his charge and peering down at his calculus textbook.

“Patton…” Logan muttered in warning. Where he would have been confused a few weeks ago, he was now merely suspicious, eyeing his android carefully, “don’t—”

Patton merely grinned, “You might need some new glasses to help with that di­vision!”

“Ugh,” he huffed, burying his face—glasses and all—into his hands.

The android just giggled, moving to perch on a nearby chair and removing the black frames from his face. Once Logan recovered from the horrible pun and Patton settled his giggles, the pair just smiled at each other.

Logan had never smiled so often, before Patton had entered his life.

But as he stared at him, Logan couldn’t help noting how different his caretaker looked without the glasses on, almost as though frames had belonged on his face from the start. “You should keep them,” he burst out, gesturing to the frames in the bot’s lap, “It’s not like they were doing any good, wherever they were when you found them.”

Patton blinked at him in surprise, “Are you sure?”

He gave a one shouldered shrug, “Yeah, I mean, I’m not going to use them.”

“Thanks, Lo,” the android gave him another brilliant smile, warming him in a way he was still growing used to. He watched fondly as Patton returned the frames to his face, dramatically pushing them up the bridge of his nose.

Logan may not be certain about everything, especially not when it came to his android, but he was positive that Patton was the most amazing person he had ever met. He did not know how he had developed such obvious independence or if all androids were capable of doing so, but he was incredibly grateful to have him in his life. Puns and all.

A/N: I know the last scene seems a little tacked on, and I almost didn't include it but I wanted to limit this installment to three chapters and it REALLY doesn't fit with the next one. Speaking of... brace for angst. (I still need Patton to deviate, after all. He's only bending his programming at the moment, kinda like snarky Connor in the game. He still needs to tear down the wall, so to speak.)

Let me know if you want to be tagged! (I will be reblogging with the taglist from @reba-andthesides)

[shirlleycoyle]

‘It’s Going to End Up Like Boeing:’ How Freight Rail Is Courting Catastrophe

Just before 5 a.m. on August 2, 2017, Alice Murray was fast asleep when her entire house shook, almost as if a freight train had crashed into the block, she told the Cumberland Times-News.

That's exactly what happened.

About 30 yards away, just off Cleveland Street in Hyndman, Pennsylvania, 33 cars in a 178-car freight train belonging to CSX Corporation derailed. The train crashed into one house and damaged two others. The entire town had to be evacuated. Miraculously, no one was killed.

As scary as the derailment in Hyndman was, it could have been much worse. Of the 178 cars on that train, 70 contained hazardous material, including 15 of the derailed cars, according to a National Transportation Safety Board (NTSB) investigation. Luckily, just three of them—which contained molten asphalt, molten sulfur, and propane—either leaked or lit on fire.

The town was evacuated because molten asphalt, if released, can create vapors that, according to the NTSB, are an "explosive mixture with air." Some of the other derailed cars contained liquified petroleum gas, and one car that did not derail contained Sodium Chlorate, which is potentially poisonous to inhale.

Derailment in Hyndman, PA. Photo: NTSB

Like plane crashes, freight train derailments are rarely the result of a single failure. Many different things have to go wrong. Also like air travel, freight trains are a highly regulated form of transportation because of the potential for catastrophe.

And yet, freight train derailments are surprisingly common. In 2019, railroads reported 341 derailments on main line track, meaning the parts of the rail system not in yards or other work areas. Of those 341 derailments, 24 were freight trains carrying 159 cars of hazardous material, according to data the railroads voluntarily submitted to the Federal Railroad Administration. Even local news reports provide an alarming window into how frequent derailments are that people actually notice. While reporting this article, freight trains derailed on February 15 in Illinois, February 23 in Pennsylvania, March 3 in California, March 7 in Alabama, and March 11 in both Wisconsin and Minnesota.

None of these derailments resulted in any reported injuries. But according to Greg Regan, President of the Transportation Trades Department, a labor organization consisting of 33 transportation unions, these are red flags.

"If you have increases in the less significant or catastrophic derailments," Regan said, "it reflects a degrading safety culture, and certainly leads to oversights and an environment that could lead to the more disastrous types of derailment that again grab the headlines."

To be sure, even on well-run freight railways or rigorously regulated airlines, accidents still happen. And at first glance, the derailment in Hyndman appeared to be just another accident. NTSB investigators found the train derailed largely because of a combination of improper braking procedures and the empty cars being in the front of the train. Long trains have an accordion effect where they expand and contract as they brake and accelerate. Empty cars brake faster than heavy ones, and if the empty cars are in front, the full ones will push against them, possibly forcing the empty cars up and off the tracks.

This is not a new problem. How to properly and safely space empty rail cars amid long freight trains and how to brake so as to minimize derailments are some of the oldest and most basic safety protocols in rail operation. And those protocols, along with other rules and practices meant to ensure as safe a rail network as possible, are now being ignored for the sake of profit.

According to interviews with current and former rail workers, union officials, and independent experts, the Hyndman derailment and others like it are the all-too-predictable result of nearly all the major freight rail companies adopting a business approach called Precision Scheduled Railroading (PSR). Proponents of PSR say it is about leveraging modern technology to improve efficiency. But those who work on the railroads every day say it is little more than a euphemism for draconian cost-cutting in order to achieve an arbitrary metric that pleases shareholders. That metric, called an "operating ratio," must get below 60 percent, which means only 60 percent of every dollar earned goes towards actually running the railroads. The rest can go towards executive pay and shareholder dividends. All but one of the seven so-called "Class I" railroad companies, which account for 94 percent of the freight rail industry's revenue, have explicitly adopted some form of PSR.

How freight railroads are being run, and for whose benefit, is not just a railroad industry issue. It is a problem that has ramifications across the American economy. Freight rail moves 57 tons of goods per American per year. It is often the most economical, efficient, and environmentally friendly way to move things over long distances. It is also widely recognized as the safest way to move vast quantities of hazardous materials that, for better or worse, currently undergird our comfortable living standards and economic productivity.

Have changes in the freight rail industry affected you? Do you work in the freight rail industry? Do you ship goods regularly via freight rail? Do you live in a small town regularly impacted by long trains? We'd love to hear from you. Email Aaron Gordon at aaron.gordon@vice.com.

But, as the Hyndman derailment demonstrated, moving those hazardous materials is a potential life-and-death question for communities all along the industry's 140,000 miles of rail. And unlike our roads, bridges, tunnels, and public transportation systems, the entire Class I freight rail system is privately operated and maintained. In other words, the railroad companies themselves get to decide how much to invest in repair, maintenance and other safety measures, and how much to keep as profit.

Increasingly, railroads are choosing to boost profits and pay shareholders rather than invest in safety. In interviews with Motherboard, workers said that since their respective companies adopted PSR, they barely recognize the work that they do. All of their priorities have changed. What used to be about safety is now about cutting costs. Among the changes:

Workers now have to inspect many multiples more rail cars in a fraction of the time, barely giving them enough time to walk the entire train

Trains are longer than they used to be and assembled haphazardly, with little thought as to where the heavy and empty cars should go to avoid derailments because it would keep the train in the yard longer

Shops and yards that used to perform inspections along routes have been closed, meaning there are fewer inspection points

Routes have been changed so cars stop for inspection less frequently

Maintenance is deferred as long as possible

Knowledgeable and safety-conscious supervisors have often been replaced by businessmen who cultivate a culture of fear and intimidation around reporting unsafe equipment; doing so would keep the train in the yard longer, hurting the metrics on which supervisors are graded

While there are strict federal rules governing how often the people running the trains must rest so as to minimize accidents, the workers performing safety-critical inspections have been pushed to compensate for mass layoffs by working 16 hours per shift or more, discouraged from taking lunch breaks, and sometimes required to work overtime or risk losing their jobs

One 40-year veteran railroad worker told Motherboard he has never seen anything like it. "They're just cutting everywhere, on both ends of everything." (Motherboard agreed to not name several railroad workers quoted in this article because they feared being fired for speaking out about sensitive safety issues.)

In statements to Motherboard, neither Norfolk Southern nor CSX directly addressed any of these points. Instead, they issued broad defenses of their safety practices, pointing to aggregate safety metrics reported to regulators.

"Norfolk Southern is firmly committed at all levels to operating safely, protecting our employees and the communities that we serve," said Norfolk Southern's spokesman Jeff DeGraff. "Our comprehensive approach mirrors that of the freight railroad industry, including significant private investment, employee training efforts, technology implementation, regular inspections, and community outreach, which has led to dramatic safety improvements over the past two decades with respect to train accidents and employee injuries."

Cindy Schild, director of media relations at CSX, said in a statement to Motherboard, "Safety is a core value at CSX, and while we will always strive to be better, we are proud that after implementing our new operating model in 2017 and 2018, CSX significantly improved our safety performance as evidenced by the metrics reported to our Federal regulator, the FRA [Federal Railroad Administration]."

The impact of PSR on freight rail safety appears to be one of the worst kept secrets in the industry. Workers are afraid to speak out publicly because, several told Motherboard, it would put a target on their backs at a time when one out of every four freight rail workers has lost their jobs in the last five years alone. But there is a bubbling desperation to get someone, anyone, to do something before it's too late.

To a person, the more than a dozen workers and union officials Motherboard spoke to warned that railroads are courting disaster. Unless something is done to hinder these dangerous practices, they cautioned, derailments like Hyndman will look trivial in comparison to "the big one," a disaster so bad it will plaster the news and snap Congress and regulators into action.

"Railroads haul the most dangerous gases in the world," one veteran worker told Motherboard. "I do think it's a matter of time. There's going to be a freight car that hasn't been inspected in 90,000 miles that comes off the track, as it goes off the track and slams into other cars, into a tank car, and either explodes or leaks poisonous gas out. It's going to take something like that, and a lot of deaths, and then all of a sudden everybody's going to care."

This is not a mere theoretical possibility. This exact set of circumstances happened not long ago just a few miles across the U.S. border. On July 6, 2013, a Montreal, Maine and Atlantic (MMA) Railway train carrying two million gallons of liquid petroleum in 72 tank cars crashed into the downtown area of Lac-Megantic, Quebec. 47 people died, 2,000 people were evacuated, 40 buildings were destroyed, and millions of gallons of oil seeped into the soil and nearby river. Among the causes of this tragedy, according to Canada's Transportation Safety Board's then-chairperson Wendy Tadros, was "a shortline railway running its operations at the margins" and cutting corners on maintenance and training. Three lower-level employees, including the train's engineer, were charged with criminal negligence but ultimately acquitted.

This is just some of the damage caused by the Lac Megantic derailment. Credit: Lucas Oleniuk via Getty

Many of the towns' residents sought accountability at a higher level. Jean Paradis, who lost three friends in the disaster, told Canada's Global News, "Transport Canada has let those cheap companies run railroads for less money, for making more money instead of acting for security for people."

Now, those familiar with the rail industry stateside say the same is happening here. "It's only a matter of time before fatigued workers, unrealistic inspection policies, and unqualified inspections result in a major incident in someone's neighborhood," said Jason Cox of the Brotherhood of Railway Carmen in a video posted to Youtube in early February. "I implore anyone who might be watching who has the authority to act to please act now." As of this writing, the video has nine views.

SMART-TD union president Jeremy Ferguson, who has been involved in the freight rail industry since 1997, offered a grim warning. He compared what is occurring in the freight industry to a high-profile transportation disaster from not too long ago in which 346 people died and from an industry that, in a lot of ways, has a lot in common with freight rail.

"It's going to end up," he said, "like Boeing."

"Safety Fourth"

Norfolk Southern (NS) used to be one of the safest railroads in the country. It won an industry award for safest Class I railroad 20 years in a row until the award was discontinued in 2012. Safety was always the highest priority, workers told Motherboard, but that started to change when NS implemented PSR.

In early February 2019, NS announced it would implement its own version of PSR. Although its workforce had already been declining, in order to lower its operating ratio by about five percent in two years, the railroad planned to reduce its workforce by 3,000 people.

Motherboard spoke to four NS workers who asked to remain anonymous because they fear retaliation from the company for speaking to the press. They all said these cuts have resulted in a dramatic personnel shortage, and since none of the company's efficiency metrics measure safety, supervisors and workers are placed in the thankless position of either sacrificing safety in order to hit the numbers or do the responsible thing and risk getting punished.

Across the different crafts, workers highlighted the same general problem: in the push for efficiency, fewer workers are being tasked with more, rushed through safety-critical inspections and repairs, and are pressured not to report defects or potential safety issues that will take cars out of service and require manpower to fix.

As an example, several workers told Motherboard about car inspections. When a freight train comes into a yard, Federal Railroad Administration (FRA) regulations require the cars be inspected, with dozens of different inspection points per car to make sure the freight was up for another punishing run on the rails. When these workers first started years or even decades ago, there was no set rule about how long these inspections should take because cars are different lengths and designs vary with some having more inspection points than others. But, as a rule of thumb, carmen generally estimated it would take three minutes per car. About five years ago, NS management mandated inspections take no more than two and a half minutes per car. Some of the workers Motherboard spoke to thought this was reasonable enough.

But in the past two years, management started mandating workers spend no more than two minutes per car. Then 1.8. Then 1.5. Now, it's 1.4, barely giving workers any time to stop and look at the car they're supposedly inspecting, which can be up to 100 feet in length. Thanks to the staff cuts, rail yard closures and operation consolidation, workers that used to inspect perhaps 300 cars a day are now inspecting three or four times that. Company notices and presentations that used to highlight the importance of safety now talk about efficiency. In one bulletin board material, a worker said, safety was listed as the fourth most important thing, behind measures like reducing car dwell time and getting trains back on the rails. The workers have a joke around the shop floor now: "Safety Fourth."

This forces workers into an impossible situation that can only be solved one of two ways. The first way is, as one worker told Motherboard, to lie on the inspection sheet about how much time it took per car. "Basically, our bosses now, they basically told us, just lie," one worker told Motherboard. "Please just lie on that inspection sheet. Just lie, write bogus times, to satisfy 'em."

The second way is to not really do the inspections, at least not properly. Management doesn't explicitly tell workers to do this but "you're just made to feel you're an idiot," another worker said, like "you're the only one in the world who would care about this stuff, now you're holding up the train and pushing everything back." And it is made clear to them that if they keep holding trains back, their yard will be shut down and they'll lose their jobs.

As a result, "normal maintenance is getting neglected severely," that worker said. A different NS worker concurred, telling Motherboard that recently a train came into his yard with some freight cars that hadn't received a basic walk-around inspection in 90,000 miles. Per FRA regulations, trains are not supposed to travel 3,500 miles without an inspection. He estimated about 13 out of the 60 cars had "major defects."

The consequences of these policies are deadly. In the early evening of October 4, 2018, a Union Pacific train collided into another in Granite Canyon, Wyoming. The moving train was speeding down a hill at 50 miles per hour unable to stop due to problems with the air brakes. Both the engineer and conductor were killed. NTSB investigators determined six of the 10 cars added to the train at the previous stop were overdue for air brake testing by a period of a few weeks to two years. The NTSB concluded that, had the cars been tested per federal safety regulations, the air brake problems would almost certainly have been detected.

Granite Canyon derailment. Photo: NTSB

In a statement, Union Pacific spokesperson Kristen South told Motherboard, "Union Pacific has recognized many operational efficiencies in the past few years that have reduced the amount of equipment and resources on our network."

Echoing many PSR proponents over the years, South asserted these PSR-esque initiatives actually improve safety. "The ability to operate trains with more rail cars results in fewer trains, reducing the potential for employee injuries and derailments. Additionally, we successfully utilized Distributed Power locomotive technology and improved train consist parameters to enhance braking ability and train handling capabilities. This technology allows for new train lengths without compromising our high safety expectations."

South disputed claims their equipment is not properly inspected, saying it undergoes "detailed inspections, meeting federal requirements, before departing and after arriving at destinations" and leverages various technologies to supplement inspections.

The Moneyball of Railroading

Precision Schedule Railroading is the brainchild of Hunter Harrison, who by most accounts is the single most important figure in North American railroading of the last 50 years. And even he understood the dire consequences of his innovations.

In October 2017, just two months after the CSX derailment in Hyndman, Harrison appeared before the Surface Transportation Board to hear complaints from shippers about how his cost-cutting at CSX  tanked service. Harrison had been receiving oxygen for some months to treat his emphysema and would die two months later.

"I got blood all over my hands," Harrison said in a somewhat bizarre non sequitur. "From injuries in this industry that should have been avoidable. And I think these issues of safety never fall to the wayside with us. And they always will be."

Harrison started his railroading career in 1963 as an oiler on the St. Louis-San Francisco Railway, which, like many misleading railroad names, ran in the south and nowhere near San Francisco. The "Frisco," as it was nicknamed, was acquired by Burlington Northern (the "BN" in BNSF, a Class I railroad) in 1980. Harrison worked his way up the management ladder. He left BN in 1989 to take an executive job at Illinois Central, a railroad that mostly ran down the midwest from Chicago to Alabama and had recently been purchased by an investment group. It was here that Harrison first implemented PSR.

PSR is the Moneyball of railroading. In an industry that at the time did not run on set schedules, struggled to be profitable, and didn't bother to measure or track many key performance indicators, Harrison brought a rigorous, data-driven approach to railroad scheduling and asset management that made them run more efficiently. Rather than run hub-and-spoke networks with inefficient branch lines, Harrison sold off unprofitable parts of the business, ran longer, heavier trains at faster speeds on set schedules and eliminated as many intermediate stops to change cargo as possible. Howard Green, Harrison's biographer, wrote that few things bothered Harrison more than "underutilised assets." Harrison himself wrote "If an asset isn't used, it's a liability" because, he believed, railroads only make money when cars are moving.

These are all solid enough management principles, but like any cost-cutting or efficiency obsessions, they have their limits. At some point, all the fat has been trimmed, all the underutilized assets sold off, and all that's left is muscle and bone. The remainder of Harrison's railroading career was premised on rejecting this idea, on assuring shareholders that there was always more fat to trim.

In 1999, Illinois Central was absorbed by Canadian National Railway (CN), a Class I railroad. Harrison became CEO in 2002, doing the PSR thing there, too. He left in 2009 having made CN the most efficient Class I in North America and a celebrated railroadman in industry circles.

Three years later, an activist investor from Pershing Square Capital Management named William Ackman installed Harrison as CEO at CN's rival, Canadian Pacific Railway (CP). Harrison did a kind of PSR-Plus at CP, stepping up the cost-cutting measures, leaving CP's operating ratio on par with CN's.

In 2017, yet another activist investor at Mantle Ridge replicated the process at CSX Corporation, another Class I railroad, where Harrison implemented a mega-PSR. He got rid of 900 locomotives, 26,000 wagons, and aimed to slash the 31,000-person workforce by a third. Before he could do so, Harrison died in December 2017.

According to Harrison's biographer, shareholders of the railroads Harrison ran benefited to the tune of approximately $50 billion in increased stock value. Meanwhile, as CSX's competitors saw the writing on the wall and implemented their own versions of PSR, according to Surface Transportation Board data, the Class I railroad workforce has been cut by 25 percent since 2016.

Harrison (right) and Ackman (left) promised to "shake up the board" of Canadian Pacific Credit: David Cooper via Getty

Harrison ushered in a generation of freight railroading with many advocates. But it also has many skeptics who argue, whatever its merits may have been back when railroads were less efficient and struggling for profitability, PSR is now little more than cover for a mass corporate looting of North American freight rail.

"PSR appears to have definite advantages to some parties," independent railway economist Jim Blaze told Rail Journal in 2019. "However, the focused cost cutting is done with a slash-and-burn zest rarely seen before by previous cost-cutters.”

In fact, one has to go back to the Gilded Age to find a similar period in railroad history. Richard White, a Stanford historian and author of Railroaded: The Transcontinentals and the Making of Modern America told Motherboard that, while the analogy is not exact, PSR reminds him a lot of the "Fast Freight Lines" of the late 19th Century, "whose goal was to keep freight in motion by moving directly between points of origin and destination and avoiding the long delays when cars were switched at division points." There are differences between then and now; for example, that was a period where railroading was stupendously competitive and technology has advanced to the point where coordinating a continent-spanning freight network is actually feasible. Plus, the workforce now is almost entirely unionized providing protections 19th Century workers fought bitter and often deadly battles to win.

But, some of the overarching lessons from the Fast Freight era still apply. While accounting was far more primitive—and often done with cooked books—more than a century ago, the end result was surprisingly similar. As White described it, "Insiders took over Fast Freight lines and siphoned off the profits." And that, he added, "meant less for maintenance and safer technologies."

Just as workers a century ago were a driving force in making railroads safer for everyone, so too do workers today want reforms before disasters. The workers Motherboard spoke to said they agreed to talk because they considered it their duty to make the railroad as safe as possible. Their jobs, both before and since PSR, are to report any defects they see.

Now, things have gotten to the point where the defects are not limited to the freight cars. To them, the entire corporate philosophy is defective. And they're worried more people will get hurt. As one put it, "if I don't shop it and it gets a conductor hurt or a train derails, that's on me."

One worker framed the issue slightly differently. In much the same way workers accept responsibility if a car they inspect ends up having a defect that isn't fixed and hurts someone, the executives making the decisions that make these types of accidents inevitable need to be held accountable as well.

Harkening back to the Boeing comparison, another worker said he thinks it's important to speak out so executives cannot claim after the fact that they had no knowledge of what they were doing, that whatever catastrophe may occur is not "just another accident."  In case a railroad executive is ever, say, hauled before Congress to account for his actions, he wants it on the record before the fact that everyone working on the railroads knows a catastrophic derailment is "totally foreseeable."

‘It’s Going to End Up Like Boeing:’ How Freight Rail Is Courting Catastrophe syndicated from https://triviaqaweb.wordpress.com/feed/

[notthetoothfairy]

KLAINE ADVENT 2017: LoveSick (20/24)

Summary: Kurt has SCID and can’t leave his house. Ever. Luckily, Blaine moves in next door.

A/N: A fic?!?!?! Yes, my dears, after what feels like an eternity, I finally wrote a new thing. I was going to do just one prompt for @klaineadvent​ but - ha ha ha, and ho ho ho - never mind, I wrote an entire story.

The plot is loosely based on “Everything Everything”. Saw it on the plane, didn’t end up liking it all that much but I loooved the premise for Klaine, so here it is. :D It’s not all that realistic, sorry about that, but I tried to make it as accurate as possible!

Beta: @a-simple-rainbow (who’s surprised? not us - we’re basically fandom wives)

Read: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24

Read on: AO3

UNDERLINE

Kurt was right when he said Blaine wasn’t trained in disappointment: All test results indicate that there is no successful match for Kurt. It’s almost more upsetting for Blaine than it is for Kurt, who merely shrugs and says, “Figures.”

Deep in his heart, Blaine was convinced that he could be Kurt’s match, had harbored that little shred of hope ever since he learned about Kurt’s condition. He wanted to come in and save the day, be Kurt’s knight in shining armor, no matter how clichéd it would have been.

In the end, it’s not Kurt who talks him through the crashing disappointment, but Burt, who comes over to Blaine’s house a few days after the results come in. Blaine has a feeling that Kurt sent his dad on a mission after he was unable to cheer Blaine up at all.

“Blaine, you’ve turned Kurt’s life around already,” he tells Blaine right away. “Not in this way, but you’ve done more than others could and would have in your situation.”

Blaine sighs. “I guess I was just hoping for a miracle.”

“Well, maybe the lesson here is that there simply are no miracles. But I know for a fact that there are miraculous people. People like you. People who don’t give up, who stick around no matter what. And you’re doing just that. Kurt is really lucky – well, we are really lucky to have you.”

“Mr. Hummel…” Blaine is a bit speechless. Burt had been more than impressed when Blaine offered to stay away and not come over until his SCID was cured, but Blaine had no idea he had grown that fond of him.

“Burt,” Kurt’s dad says. “How many times more? Just call me Burt.” He puts his hand on Blaine’s arm. “I feel utterly helpless sometimes, too, you know? I lost my wife to cancer, and I can’t lose Kurt to SCID. I can’t, and I won’t. SCID won’t push the Hummels around. As far as I’m concerned, you’re part of the Hummels now. So… we’re here for you, Blaine. We’ll deal with this together. You in?”

Blaine straightens his back. “Absolutely… Burt.”

It gets better after that. While it is absolutely devastating not to be able to see and be with Kurt like they used to, he is more determined than ever to make a change. He starts a rally at school, campaigns for blood donations and bone-marrow transplants – a cause that even Karofsky joins because he lost a family member to cancer.

So, Blaine might be a wide-eyed optimist with the occasional low blow, but he won’t compromise his optimism for the immobility of pessimism. At least he’s doing something.

His hard work pays off eventually, not in the way he thought it would, but in a way that truly feels miraculous.

Blaine wakes up to his phone ringing with a call from Kurt early on a Monday morning. As he sleepily says hello he doesn’t suspect that the next words out of Kurt’s mouth are going to be life-changing.

“Blaine! I’m going to Italy!”

Blaine bolts upright in his bed and looks at Kurt jumping up and down excitedly in his own bedroom.

“It’s not April’s Fools, right?” Blaine asks groggily, just to make sure.

Kurt laughs and shakes his head. “It’s January, Blaine.”

“Still…” Blaine blinks a few times to process the news. When he finally does, he jumps out of bed and is at his window in about a millisecond. “Oh my god, Kurt!!! How?! When?! And… what???”

“All excellent questions,” Kurt replies breathily. “I don’t even know how to explain it without dying of excitement. Uhm…” He turns around and grabs his laptop from the desk. “I’m just gonna forward Rachel’s email.”

Blaine’s too confused to question what role Rachel has to play in all of this but his excitement increases when he reads her email.

“She got a donor and the transplants are working?!” he asks. “But I thought she was getting gene therapy soon…?”

“Read on.”

“She’s giving you part of her campaign donations and her spot in Italy as a late Christmas present…? Wow!”

“Her GoFundMe always got a lot more attention than my attempts because her dads are very involved in the Broadway community and they have a good network,” Kurt shakes his head fondly, cheeks pink. “I used to be so jealous of that.”

“Wait, what’s this underlined part in the email?” Blaine asks as he scans more of Rachel’s wordy message. He catches his name every now and then.

“Oh, I took the liberty of underlining the part you will probably be surprised by most,” Kurt says with a wide, dimpled smile that piques Blaine’s curiosity.

“More surprises?” he asks, eyebrows raised.

“Read it,” Kurt urges him.

Also, a huge THANK YOU is in order because you will not believe who my donor is!!! A certain Wesley Montgomery, who apparently used to go to school with Blaine? He tells me Blaine motivated a lot of people from school to get tested for matches when you were sick (Kurt, he is such a keeper – well done, you!), and while none of them were any matches for you, Wes is a perfect match for me!!! My dads said they would let me give up the spot in Italy for you once the transplants show first signs of success, and well, here we are! I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you earlier but I figured the enormity of the surprise would make everything worth it. :)

So, please, tell Blaine I am so, so thankful for what he did and I can’t wait to actually meet you both IN PERSON sometime this year!!!

Blaine doesn’t think he’s ever been this speechless.

[i-write-about-anything]

Little Beta(s) Chapter 16

Prompt: Liam get’s turned at an early age and he looks at you as his guardian/parent. Plus you’re dating Scott who’s always trying to look after him. (10 year gap between Liam and reader)

Pairing: Liam Dunbar x Reader (platonic) Scott McCall x Reader

Chapters:

1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8 - 9 - 10 - 11 - 12 - 13 - 14 - 15

Reader’s POV

Derek had completely engulfed his plate and half of mine, I would’ve been shocked but Liam does the exact same thing. He apologized multiple times for taking my food but I quickly reminded him that I had offered it in the first place. It hadn’t taken long at the small restaurant, probably an hour and Scott still hadn’t texted back. I had promised him I wouldn’t worry too much but that’s what I do best. I got a text from Liam a few moments after we got to the mall asking where I had been and before I could reply my phone died, I hadn’t charged it the night before given the whole stitches shit. “Was that Scott?” Derek’s voice stopped me from cursing. 

“Liam, actually. And now my phone is dead.” I sighed and he looked at me. 

“We could always leave if you want.” I shook my head. 

“No, it’s fine, they can live without me for a couple of hours.” I smiled and put my dead phone in my purse. 

“Was it hard, taking care of Liam at an early age? I mean you’re young and all of a sudden you’re a mom? How does that make you feel?” He was direct, he didn’t care much for small talk. 

“Was it hard? Yeah of course it was hard, I was a sixteen year old taking care of a five soon to be six year old. I’m all he really knew, he hardly ever saw his own mother and I guess that’s why he’s so attached to me. Then when I started dating Scott he started acting up, but it was typical, kids don’t like change, eventually he just kind of adjusted to Scott.” I began to explain the whole story, something I hadn’t done since Melissa found out about Liam.

“How did Scott take it?” Derek interjected. 

“Scott was weirded out at first, he didn't know what to think of it. Here he was dating me and then he finds out that the next door kid is basically my own kid. He didn’t like it at first, we actually broke up because of it, he said it was too much responsibility and I understood, most of the time we’d have to be in my house with Liam, couldn’t really go anywhere because he had homework to do and I had to teach him stuff. I think what scared Scott the most was the day we were watching a movie at my house, we had skipped school, I wasn't feeling well. And Liam bursted into my house, running straight at me with tears in his eyes. He ran into my arms and sobbed into my chest telling me all the things that happened to him at school, and showing me the new cut on his knee. I comforted him immediately dropping the conversation Scott and I had been having. Scott didn’t know what to do, he got up and left. The next day we broke up.” I looked at Derek who’s stopped walking now. I saw a bench and I guided him towards it both of us sitting down. 

“But you guys are together. How did he come to be okay with it?” Derek looked at me. 

“One day, probably a week from our break up he saw me at school with Liam. I had been sick the entire week with the flu and I hadn’t been able to attend school. So I went in with Liam, who’d also gotten sick from being around me too much, to get my school work to catch up on the weekend. I was pretty hard to spot as everyone stared at me as Liam clung to my leg. Rumors started, saying Liam was my kid and I had been knocked up by some random guy at a party and I heard them one day. Normally I wouldn’t have paid much attention to the rumors but when it got to our set of friends it did. Scott saw me crying one day and he came up to me and helped me get through it. And soon he told me he’d want to try again, and we did and now we’re here.” I sigh. “I’m not going to sit here and lie to you Derek, when he first shifted, that’s when he started to get even closer to me, it was hard. He almost ripped my throat out, I hadn’t been scared of anything until that day. Granted I'm not as scared of him anymore because he does listen most of the time but he’s a ticking time bomb sometimes. He was close to Scott don’t get me wrong, but not as close to me. He’s only known me since he could remember and that’s why it’s hard for him to make friends. Mason’s mom worked at pizza planet. I took Liam there on his sixth birthday and Mason had been at a table alone when we got there. Liam had been tripped by some older kids and Mason helped him up. That’s how they became friends. Luckily they had been going to school together already and that made elementary a little better for him.” 

“How do you even remember all of that? I can’t even remember my dad.” I gave him a weak smile. 

“Liam was one of the best things to happen to me. Both me and Scott were going in the wrong direction and when Liam turned I had promised Scott that I was done with the supernatural stuff, I was done, I didn’t want anything to do with it cause I knew if I continued Liam was going to eventually find out about it. Of course I didn’t anticipate for Liam to be attached to me when he did shift, I had planed to get the hell out of beacon hills but I couldn’t bring myself to leave Liam behind.” I fiddled with my fingers.

“And why don’t you just leave now? You could always start new lives, tell people that Liam is actually your son and no one would second guess it.” I laugh and shake my head.  “I can’t rip Liam away from his only friend, I don’t know if you’ve noticed but Liam doesn’t take change well.” Derek sighed. “So I guess to answer your question on how does it make me feel, it makes me feel good. I like that Liam can trust me enough to talk to me about everything. I wouldn’t change it for the world.” I smiled. 

“He’s lucky to have you, maybe I wouldn’t be the way I am if I had someone like you to take care of me.” I raise my eyebrows.

“Oh sweetheart, I'm lucky to have him. Plus, I am taking care of you now. You’re not the cocky boy that showed up at my doorstep two weeks ago that’s for sure.” I ruffled his hair and he chuckled. “Now let’s go get you some clothes, it looks like your clothes have shrunk.” I get up and he laughs. 

__________

Liam’s POV

Mom had been gone for over ten hours and it was slowly approaching midnight. Dad didn’t want me to worry he said she was fine and at the back of my mind I knew she was but I hated not hearing from her for hours. When the clock hit eleven fifty-two the door opened and her laughs could be heard and so could Derek’s. She had bags in her hands and so did he. “Hey, you’re back.” Dad kissed her lips and the smile on her face grew even more. 

“Yeah, sorry we took so long, we lost the car in the parking garage and then we went to get some ice cream.” She smiled back at Derek who’d taken the bags from her. 

“Thank you (y/n) for today.” Derek spoke and she ruffled his hair.

“Don’t worry about it squirt.” She smiled and he looked at dad before starting to walk to his room. 

“Hey Liam.” He spoke on his way there. I looked at mom who’d now looked at me I'm sure she could see the frown on my face because she walked towards me with her arms already out. I pushed them away when she got closer and I shook my head. 

“Liam, honey what’s wrong?” I shook my head.

“You promised me we’d have a day together and instead you have one with Derek?” Her eyebrows scrunched together and she tried to move closer but I backed up.

“Honey.” I put my hands on my ears and shook my head. 

“No, I don’t want to hear it. You’re a liar!” The tears spilled out of my eyes and Derek came running out. 

“Hey don’t yell at your mom.” Dad said a little louder.

“What’s going on?” He looked at me. “Liam, are you okay? What happen?” He looked at mom and she shook her head. 

“Nothing Derek, just go to your room, okay?” Derek hesitated before nodding and returning to his room. 

“You’re a liar, you said you’d spend a day with me and you didn’t, how could you?” I was frantic. 

“Honey, listen to me, we can still spend a day together, why are you making this such a big deal? We talked about this Liam.” I shook my head again and she grabbed my arm. 

“No, you lied, you ignored my texts and my calls because you were too busy having fun with Derek.” She sighed and rubbed her eyes. 

“Liam, please just calm down. Let’s sit down and talk.” She spoke softly but I didn’t want anything to do with her right now. 

“No, let me go.” I yanked my arm out of her grip. “Just leave me alone.” I walked to my room and slammed the door before locking it. 

_______

Reader’s POV

I looked at Scott who sighed as I tried to grasp what the hell just happened. I started to walk to Liam’s room and Scott grabbed my arm. “Don’t you think you should just give him some time?” I shook my head. 

“No, I think I need to talk to him about it before he thinks I'm trying to replace him again.” I start walking and Scott pulls me back. 

“Baby, just let him cool down, he’ll be fine.” Scott’s voice was soft and I sighed. I heard a loud crash come from his room and I immediately bolted to his door and to find it locked. 

“Liam, open the door, you know what we said about locked doors!” I yell over all things crashing. Scott pushed me gently to the side as he kicked the door in. Liam’s yellow eyes met mine and I saw the tears running down them and I made a decision Scott would hate me for. I ran to Liam and wrapped my arms around him. Scott tried to stop me but I gave him pleading eyes as I hugged Liam close. “Liam, baby calm down, please.” He growled in my ear and I flinched, but not letting him go. "This little light of mine.” I started to sing and he growled once more making tears run down my face. I had only done this once and I didn’t know if it was going to work but I was determined to try. “I’m gonna let it shine. This little light of mine, I'm gonna let it shine.” I repeated as I took his face in my hands seeing his yellow eyes stare into mine.

___________

Flashback:

It had been Liam’s first shift and neither Scott or I had any way of calming him down. His yellow eyes met mine as his teeth grew and I didn’t know what do but I was going to try anything I could. “Liam.” I stepped closer and Scott shook his head but I reassured him that I had already been through way worse. “Liam, honey.” I got on my knees in front of his as his claws outgrew his nails. I looked into his yellow eyes and sighed. “Sing me that song you like. Sing it to me, we can sing it together.” A whimper escaped his lips and I closed my eyes taking in a deep breath. “Come on Liam, you can do it.” I encouraged him and soon he was opening his mouth. 

“This little light.” A growl escaped his lips and I maintained my ground putting my hands in his. “I’m gonna let it shine.” He struggled to get the last words out but he did. 

“This little light of mine, I'm gonna let it shine.” I sang to him and soon we were singing together and his claws dug back in as his teeth did as well. His eyes fading to his normal color and he looked at me. “You did it honey.” I smiled hugging him and looking back at Scott who’d been holding on to his breath.

End of Flashback:

______

“This little light of mine, I'm gonna let it shine.” Liam’s eyes opened and they had returned to their original color as the tears streamed down his face. I took him into my arms once again and kissed his forehead, letting him cry into my shoulder as I rocked him back and forth. I looked at Scott, the same look on his face from years ago. 

_____

tags; @leslieandjensen @hirafth @neptuneluek @lydiasbxtch @adellyhatter-blog @nxthing-lasts-fxrever@letmebecomeataboo @cloudchaserr @nerdyowlbookfreak @xcastawayherosx @k-baileyy @scotttstilinskii

[whimsically-ominously-auspice]

World War III

1. I said "there's a remote" at least 10 times because I'm not a control freak but I'm also not trusting either. So i know i put an alternative to a satellite on land and I know I put a remote in case who we trusted didn't use the missle.

Now she remembers how i told her to turn the MISSLE on and off because i expected people to trust me and allow me to speak and not tell me im too stupid to not create a remote for a missle on NORTH KOREA when i lived in NEW MEXICO, USA.

Im not gonna say how. But there was also clue words this week to help her remember. But okay

2. So instead of saving the world, the world learned How to save itself. And that's better.

Our last war. And the whole world joined in. We are now completing WWIII. The best war ever!!!! That we finally are winning. The First World War that every country joined to fight and protect the world. 🌎 it was a real world war not a prissy fit over having the most money or the kings and queens (gods and goddesses) in the world.

3. The remote. I gave to the one person in the world that i knew for a fact that would kill her clone sister. No description no nothing. An active missle and it would be done 100%

4. The remote had no labels. I requested that it just look like an old hearing aid type device which i was told it was but was really a listening device we had in the cup above our sofa in NYC. But i didn't live with my parents and I didn't speak to my Uncle unless it was about is son or something wrong with the living conditions. I got my parents and neighborhood involved. I knew the consequences. So i never spoke about my days or nights and what i done in secret except on walks wirh our mouths covered or turn around and point at something random or look at the ground with our hair covering our faces, we coded/hid everything my friends and i did and even said.

4. She tested the first button then called North Korea to see what happened. The satellite had a little door which was unimportant. But it would indicate the sare was off. She was trying to figure out the turn on code which would been simple enough in a frustrated move.

5. As it was North Korea was invaded by Trump. 20 minutes into her struggle. So Kim Jong-Un unplugged it as per his instructions.

6. She understood the invasion but we needed the missle more than ever. So she tried to get him to turn it on. He refused because the satellite door closed. So they thought it was Broke. No. Its a dam on and off switch. Look its on!! look its off! SIMPLE look out the window!!

7. He wouldn't turn on the missle which would then turn on both the missle and satellite by default. SIMPLE.

8. She couldn't figure out the remote! They said it didn't exist! And no one would tell me what was going on. And the remote wouldn't plug in a missle launcher!! Im fucking sorry world!! 🌎

9. She had no instructions and no labels. She was to tell Kimmy she was experimenting. So he could tell her how to label it if she felt it was safe. With a number system only she remembered. But he wouldn't answer the phone because he got a new phone number for the missle room. She didn't know -- it just rang and rang. By the time she figured it was safe enough to interrupt the missle Trump invaded and Kimmy went to the bunker!!

10. She just tonight hit the button that notifies him what is happening to the machine which she hadn't had a chance to do before he unplugged it.

11. Everyone thought the priority was to fix the unbroken satellite. While holding hostage the Trump invader.

12. I can protect Ethan with falling planes that I wreck into with a Chinook i use my palms to propel on the dash board. I can run a war from a bedroom with nothing but my heart and soul and heal millions of dead. BUT I DON'T KNOW HOW TO LOCK DOWN A MISSLE LAUNCHER INTO REMOTE MODE to go out for tea OR TELL IF A SATELLITE IS NOT BROKE. that is what i was told multiple times. And not by North Korea. My own fucking team that has studied every fucking thing I've done and seen i make Plans A - D just to walk myself to the bathroom. And assures me in the midst of a war that i am being throughly researched so we win. "Go get 'em champ!"

13. So last night i found William still working on the fucking satellite who said the piece was being made and it was 10 fucking days. For an on and off switch that was cosmetic and the actual switch was 1 foot inside the satellite in a bullet proof box that could never break. And hes begging to doubt anyone was actually making it.

14. This is bullsjit i said. Its not even fucking broken. I'm having a fit. Look at this fucking shit and i magnet in 18 satellites. "Get what you want" scream at one guy inside an old 1980s one i called Direct TV because it had a 2 way camera on it. So I use part of his to make a bullet shooter because this shit... Was on my last nerve. And i shoot EVERY GODDAM thing i can't see.

15. People from other people were calling the International Space Station asking "does she have a problem today?"

16. Yes And every galaxy was losing their evil. Cause Fuck i needed help so did they.

17. William finally finished not fixing the satellite and I propped open the button to turn it into a two seater. And we went to find out who i killed in the International Space Station. 45. So the 2/3 unhappy due to 10% were happy we found.

18. Truth or Consequences would take 5 and a half minutes to complete. Now it takes 6 and a half seconds. William sped it up. And set it to the core.

19. My GPS range is only 105 miles. Now 102.

World War III is almost over. It will be over -- should be -- by the time that the last time zone enters 2020.

Its been Hell.

We can all see that while us world leaders and I the smartest and bravest of any galaxy can still be overtaken by one troll.

Which is why we must always remember to work together.

My plans had no flaws. It was prepared for absolutely everything.

20. Even air war. The planes were all bullet proof and battle proof except the Pilot Windows. I designed the eQ2 fleet. Convinced her that they would open the windows like WWII planes for fun and should. Because nothing in the world would be better so don't waste money on extra bullet proofing. We gained one jelly filled body, only lost one good one arm and one jelly filled body (due to water and Tree healing) and millions of evil and clones. And I also used those planes to protect Ethan as they crashed and William protected Logan's twin today as i was busy.

21. I also designed the Chinook since 1998 in 2008 i made upgrades.

World War Three was a success for Planet Earth, Saturn, Neptune, Uranus, Jupiter, San Frensesno, and Pluto plus many more including Mars and Venus.

And it was only fought on Earth all others remained Peaceful.

And each planet saw how to protect their planet so now in the future they can be as protected as us. I asked them not to intervene as i don't know their planets. Except in dire emergency. They didn't. So we did a fucking good job.

22. Pluto we designed War assistance together so we knew them. Since 1994 they have been here to protect us. That is why it became uncategorized as a planet.

So Happy New Year. I'm sorry NYC I missed it once again. It's only 10 pm here

Im down to 98 miles.

What have I said?

Our plan of defense and protection failed.

We continued to defend as we were attacked and successfully protected.

...

We failed at working together. So we got more people to help us. And when that was scary, we called Pluto and gave them the honor they deserve. And they loved it.

So ask for help.

"Hey babe help me with the dishes" and talk about your day you'll probably end up in giggles if you talk about me.

"Hey babe. Finish reading that paperwork I was sent on missiles will you" and you may just end up saving the world.

"Hey doofus, remind me every once in a while that you died in 1998. That would help me a whole lot to figure shit out on my own and beat amnesia because i been beat in the head too much" and you may Just never know to fucking say that!!! So don't let your soulmate trick you into saying something stupid!

So ask for help when you know you need it.

The world knew how much they wanted to help. Did y'all know how much we needed it? In the end... We really didn't. But the world needed to help. And we needed to help them. Us.

My Twin Brother doesn't drive 362 mph on training days because we like to take the slow lane.

We wanted every one to be happy and safe as fast as possible.

That was a downfall as soon as Gary Trump found out how to regrow the penis I shot off in 1984 on purpose, cause he is a pervert. He thought he could finish taking over the world with his greed.

And what happened class?

He began to. And we dominated him. We would gotten to the satellite and we would still fought the way we had even if he was still alive. But the healing and damage would been much greater.

We could have handled it easy. We had mild shit. Y'all if I25 had air war which did until I announced no GPS or lights and the neighborhood commander retreated and admitted defeat and announced surreandered.

I could had had the planes fall to protect y'all. And still had time for Wichita Texas with brothers Ethan, Logan and Ezekiel.

I pulled William and Matt out for their sakes. They needed a break, anyway. It wasn't punishment it was to protect them as they were targets. Sure its easy to heal but come on. Why for when your mom and dad are here for the first time in thirty years? Don't go to work. It's safer and healthier on Earth... Or was supposed to be for William.

Yet a bad thing worked fine in the end.

Because we all began caring in ways we hadn't before or in a long time.

For the first time Mr McNabb lost a child. Before he never had the loss his children did when he was taken in as a hostage then human trafficking victim. So he finally learned the sadness his children felt all their lives when thinking about their parents. The craziness he thought he saw was actually beauty of the mind and heart working together not to just survive but help others as well and to help them heal. And now he sees his sons not only as fierce fearless warriors but also as healers that are gentle and kind. And he can recognize the sadness and fear he kept hidden all these years. And finally let it go.

Tonight if you have Pluto with you. I am on the west mesa near the Belen airport.

Up here your loved one will stay the longest.

If you are evil. Your last moments can be spent here and may be finally for once your greedy heart can begin to grow. Much like the Grinch and you have a chance to save your soul

I am the only Jesus you will ever know.

I am at 70 miles range now. At 1050 pm

[belladonnadream]

Stevie n Mick 9-11 Memorial

Stevie Nicks September 11, 2016 · September 11th, 2016

As I always say on this day~ No one needs to remind me~ of what happened in New York on September 11th, 2001. I was there~ at the Waldorf~ sleeping~ when the first plane hit the first tower. We, 7 of us, had come in from Canada that night~ landed at 2:30 in the morning~ ready to spend my day off in my favorite city. I went to bed at 7:30am... It was a beautiful day~ looking out the windows before I laid down. I was so excited to be there~ I had such hopes for that beautiful day~ and then the world stopped. The world changed. As the day went by you could not see the sun~ we put wet towels around all the windows. It was as if the world had ended.

I kept a journal all through the four days we were there. As we drove away from New York on Friday at sunset (on a bus) heading towards Atlantic City (show on Saturday had not been canceled) we looked back across the water at the fallen towers and the sad grey city. We drove slowly, taking pictures in our minds~ knowing that nothing ~ NOTHING ~ would ever be the same. And we cried. Silent grey shadowed tears of disbelief~ I think we cried all the way to Atlantic City. I don’t think any words were even spoken, and we prayed that the world would heal and get better.

It hasn’t.

Our world is dangerous. The warnings are everywhere. People are afraid. I am afraid and I hate being afraid. I want to be strong and fearless. I want anyone who reads this to do everything they can to help this world~

Please God show them the way Please God ~on this day~ Spirits all~ give them the strength Peace can come if you fight for it~ I think we’re just in time to save it Please God Give them the strength On this day Please God Please God Please God Show them the way~

These words are from a song you have yet to hear~ about this day...

I am re-posting my journal entries again for you to read~ I wrote them for all of us. Consider these words as you go through the next sixty days~

Love to All, Stevie Nicks

2001

Dearest Everyone- This is my journal entry for September 11, 2001. I wanted to share it with you, because I was in New York; because it was the heaviest thing I have ever experienced ~

Love, Stevie Nicks

Sept. 11, 2001 11:30 a.m. We got into New York via private jet at 2 o’clock this morning, coming into New York from Toronto, Canada. I have been listening to Shawn Colvin’s song, Another Plane Went Down, from her new album, A Whole New You, all the way here while trying to compose a letter to Gladys Knight about Aaliyah, her niece; about my dream. Airports, planes everywhere, music, music, tears in my eyes, Sulamith (my yorkie) was upset all the way from Canada, psychic, dreamlike, flying, flying, flying.

And now, it has happened. Two planes dove into the World Trade Center Towers ~ 4 hijackings in 3 hours. The Trade Center is gone, thousands of people are dead. The Pentagon was attacked kamikaze style, and one plane they are pretty sure, was on its way to the White House.

Everyone is pretty sure it was Osama Bin Laden, the evil high tech murderer hiding in Afghanistan...

People are walking across the Brooklyn Bridge trying to get home. I am here at the world famous Waldorf=Astoria, the hotel where the presidents stay ~

I will write as the day unfolds~

I am pretty sure Radio City will cancel; I think their offices were in the Towers...I am so sad for them...

Aircraft warships are on their way to us here in New York and to Washington... I don’t really know what we are going to do now – the airports are completely shut down-

My heart is broken.

8:42 a.m. First Tower 9:04 a.m. 2nd Tower 9:40 a.m. Pentagon 9:59 a.m. South Tower falls 10:28 a.m. North Tower falls (people jump) 11:29 a.m. United flt 99 crashes in rural Pennsylvania 5:20 p.m. #7 Tower collapses

Sept. 12, 2001 4:42 a.m. in the morning

We are a devastated city I feel I am a part of this city. We are a strong, brilliant city. We are watching a piece of history We are living through a tragedy Like no one – has ever seen...

The fire chief of New York is dead. His assistant fire chief is dead. One of my champions from Warner Brothers wife is gone. She was coming home from Boston after settling their twin daughters at a University. Their grandmother was with their Mom.

M.H. called from Toronto. He is there with the Backstreet Boys. One of their carpenters went home because his wife was having a baby. He was on one of those planes. We are a grieving city A surreal city ~ It is 5:09 a.m. in the morning We are still a dark city – But soon it will be dawn – and the dreamlike reality of yesterday will turn into the true reality of what has really happened.

I have seen grown men cry today. They seem to be having the most trouble with this. They are the protectors –

And they feel so helpless ~ They can’t stand it.

It seems that, as Don Henley so brilliantly said ~ “This is the end- of the innocence.”

5:15 a.m.

I sit here at 5:15 in the morning – in shock. The tears just don’t stop. As a writer, I am driven to write what it has been like to be 20 minutes away from the Twin Towers ~ To be here at the world famous, Waldorf=Astoria Hotel, home of foreign diplomats and gathering place of politicians, in a suite where I am quite sure Heads of State have met, and discussed the problems of the world. The living room is all dark wood, ceiling to floor, and you can just imagine John Kennedy sitting at the desk. It is stunning. This hotel is where the presidents have always stayed, and this grand old hotel is in full lockdown. All but two entrances are closed, the driveway through the hotel – shut, all the cars - moved out.

I feel strangely safe here in New York now – and the city still looks awesome from my windows, still sparkly, still beautiful, almost like – from this room- Nothing ever happened- Almost...

The television news people are extraordinary – all of them. They are tired; you can see it in their changing faces, as the day has gone by. Of course, I feel like I know them all, like they are really dear friends, choking up and recovering, just like me, hour after hour... You can’t go through something like this with a city. You become attached.

You become “war buddies.” It is just so deep. It is 6:10. It is sunrise

6:38 a.m.

It was a beautiful sunrise. It has turned the white curtains pink, the room pink- I swear. The sun is one half inch over the city horizon, the sky is peacock blue, sky blue but the city is still glowing pink. If I had been sleeping since Monday and I looked out this window, I would think, “It just looks like a beautiful New York fall day, my favorite thing, let’s shop! It looks just like it did Tuesday morning when I went to bed, just before this all happened. The view is so beautiful that looking up at it, almost makes you start to feel good, and forget, and then, honestly you feel guilty, and then you feel worse and sick to your stomach. If they can’t sleep, then I’m not going to sleep either... So today is both beautiful and frightening, looking out from 36 floors up, can I tell you how unimaginable it would be if I looked up and saw a big jet flying towards me, in this country? Not possible. My question – “How could this happen?”

I am overwhelmed with how extraordinary the firemen and the policemen are. They just don’t give up. They “don’t stop.” They are awesome...and so is Mayor Guiliani. I would ALWAYS want them on my team. They are my heroes.

Well, I think I have to sleep now. In an interview from the street, a man says in tears, “You do not want to see the things I’ve seen today...I am traumatized.” “I am traumatized for life...”

That is the truth...We are all traumatized.

“I’m tired. I’m thirsty – I’m wild eyed In my misery.”

God Bless everyone that lost someone ~ And all of those ~ that are gone... I am so sorry ~

Stevie Nicks 7:06 in the morning

P .S. The room is still glowing pink – I swear...

Last Thought...September 14, 2001

Please everyone, do not blame people for this just because they are Muslim – or come from some other ethnic group. If you do, you let Osama Bin Laden win – as surely as if you helped him put those planes through those towers. You - become him. He wins. Consider this carefully...

2011

September 11, 2011 9-11 Nine Eleven 2001

It is four o’7~ 4:07 in the afternoon. It is Sunday. It is the 10th Anniversary of the attack on the great towers of New York City. The twins~ those two awesome skyscrapers who stood above our beautiful city. I say “our” because I became a New Yorker on that day.

I am not watching television, at least not yet. I do not need T.V. to jar my memory. I remember it all, as if it were yesterday. Landing in New York at 2:30 in the morning~ coming in from Canada to spend my one day off in New York. Looking forward to playing Radio City Music Hall~ one of my favorite places to play. Driving into the city from the airport~ excited~ it’s always a romantic drive for me~ like something wonderful could happen~ New York City~ just like I pictured it. Awesome. Awesome...

And awesome it was. Arriving at the world famous Waldorf=Astoria Hotel. Famous people live there. Political dignitaries live there. Wallace Simpson and the ex-King of England~ lived there for 5 years in the suite with the 3 great arched windows. History oozes from its great walls. When you are there~ you are part of history. We got to our suite at about 4 in the morning~ the very grand~ all dark wood suite~ we unpacked~ the sun was coming up over the city~ the 4 windows in the living room full of pink light~ extraordinary pink~ bathing the brown Bosendorfer in light~ the sun is up~ it is 7:30. I say to the girls~ “Maybe we should just go out now and have breakfast and go shopping~ and sleep later. I was looking out one of the windows at the city that was now full of people and cars and cabs and limousines~ crazy energy~ and we laughed, realizing how tired we were after 2 shows in a row and the flight from Canada...Maybe a little sleep would help~ then we’ll hit the streets. Sulamith Wulfing and I went to bed~ dreaming of going out later~ maybe finding a little diamond something~ and off we went to sleep.

Right after the second plane hit the second tower, Karen woke me. I don’t remember exactly what she said. I just remember jumping up and running to the window where I had stood 3 1⁄2 hours before. Looking down at that same street, no cars, no cabs, and no people. Just empty. Not beautiful~ just frighteningly silent. No way out~ just fear.

Karen was on the phone with my manager Sheryl. She had been on the phone with her when the plane hit the first tower. Because of that~ we had a line out to the world. Sheryl was able to have someone call our parents and my band in Canada and let people know we were all right.

The Waldorf went into lock down. It is the presidents hotel, so lock down is something the do well. Then we waited. We turned on the big T.V. in the living room and watched ~ and watched~ and watched.

Because we were hooked up to T.V. all over the world~ we saw things that I think most people didn’t see. Spanish T.V.~ people actually jumping. That was momentary~ pulled immediately by the networks. The first newspaper with a horrid image on the front page~ not seen again. We kept the newspaper.

As the hours went by we, like everyone else in the city who wasn’t close to ground zero~we just sat and watched T.V. and cried. I never left the suite. From Tuesday afternoon to Friday night when we drove away to Atlantic City I just sat in front of the T.V. and cried. The sunsets were extra beautiful. All that dust and smoke makes sunsets and sunrises more beautiful. Like smoke on stage makes the lights more beautiful. After that, soon after that actually, I developed an allergy to dust and smoke. I don’t use smoke on my stage anymore. It shuts down my throat~ I can’t sing in it~ and it’s not beautiful.

It’s 4:58p right now~ the devastation I felt that day is starting to creep in. My throat is starting to close up~ and my eyes are starting to fill with tears.

I guess that’s how it will always be. All those people lost. All those families ruined. All those hearts broken. I was 20 minutes away. I did not lose a best friend or a child or a lover. But part of my heart went down with those towers... And that will never change...

Stevie Nicks 9-11-11