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what-is-your-plan-today · 5 years

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Stark Spangled Banner Ch51: Captain America -Homecoming

Intro: The team at the compound begin their experiment with the Quantum Tunnel, but it doesn’t all go according to plan. But just as everything seems lost, Tony appears having rethought his initial stance, with a little surprise for Steve.

Warnings: Bad Language words.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x OFC Katie Stark

Stark Spangled Banner Masterlist

(Special thanks to @the-omni-princess for fact checking my limited knowledge of the US education system!)

Bruce needed a day to calibrate the computer and systems to the right configuration to use with Scott’s Quantum Tunnel (which was, amusingly yet completely unsurprisingly in the back of his ugly brown van). Katie took the chance to head into the office to catch up and then inform Soraya she didn’t know how much she would be available in person over the coming week. It wasn’t an issue, the department was well structured and pretty much ran itself, plus she was capable of working from anywhere given the level of connectivity she had but still, she felt like she was abandoning her post. It was silly really, after Jamie she had been away for almost a year but this felt different.

They had another day before they were due to collect Emmy from the train station, her five day trip to Philly was drawing to a close and when they had spoken to her last night she had been equal parts excited to come home and fed up that it was ending. But she would be back at school soon, and she had an important few weeks coming up as she was studying for her end of year exams. Katie and Steve had agonised over whether her going to Philadelphia was such a good idea so close to her tests, but when they had seen her stressing out over revision Katie had told Steve how crappy she had found it, so they had agreed that a break would do her good. Plus, Emmy had said she had found the trip useful in that she had found out a lot more facts she would be able to use for her history paper. That, and she was a complete brainbox. Although she was only a freshman, she was taking APs in Human Geography and Psychology (having told her parents she wanted to be a Therapist) and was already being touted by her tutors as Harvard potential. But she was expressing an interest in going to the UK like Katie had done, which scared the shit out of Steve, his daughter being the other side of the Atlantic. But he knew he had to let her make her own decision. And they’d cross that bridge when they got there.

For the time being, the only bridge Steve wanted to cross was the one he and Natasha were currently planning on making to reach out to the remaining original Avengers, Thor and Clint.

“Thor should be easy, surely?” Nat asked, swinging her feet up onto the table as she sat back in her seat. She looked to Steve for confirmation, but instead he sighed and shook his head.

“Has Katie not told you?”

“Told me what?”

Steve scratched at his chin “He had a row with one of the Elders about 6 months back. From what Valkyrie told Katie, there was a bit of a disagreement over the rebuilding of their army and the elder took a shot at Thor, saying he wasn’t fit to lead any kind of battalion as he had failed to keep them safe from Thanos.”

“That’s harsh.” Nat frowned.

“Yeah, I know.” Steve said “I think it was more anger speaking than the guy actually thinking that, but it sent Thor into another downwards spiral and he’s ignored Katie’s attempts to reach out to him again so she’s given in.” “Ok, so, a little harder than we anticipated…” “Least we know where he is.” Steve sighed “Any luck on Barton?”

“Rhodey thinks he’s targeting a gang in Hong Kong.” Nat sighed, “But I won’t know for sure until he arrives.”

Steve, nodded “Ok, well when we find out where he is we can scramble a jet and…” “No.” Nat shook her head “Not we, me. I’ll go alone.” “Nat.” Steve frowned “Clint, he’s been leaving a trail of utter carnage behind him, I don’t think you-“

“He wouldn’t hurt me.” She shook her head.

“It’s not him I’m concerned about, more the people he’s taking on.” “I can handle myself” she said firmly, looking at him. Her eyes were sparkling with that Black Widow venom Steve had to admit he had missed over the past few years. He took a deep breath and against his better judgement conceded.

“Alright. We’ll do it your way.”

Natasha frowned, and smirked “really? That’s it, no argument?”

Steve raised an eyebrow “You want an argument?” “Not really” she shook her head, smiling.

He gave a chuckle and then they were cut off by an incoming call springing up in front of Natasha. She swiped to her right and the hologram form of Rocket appeared on the desk.

“Hey Nat.” he nodded, turning “Cap.” They both greeted him.

“We’re wrapping things up on that latest lead, then we have to nip to Contraxia as I need a few things…” he said, looking the red head “Should be with you day after tomorrow lunchtime, ish” “Rocket, you were close to Thor right?” Steve said, an idea coming to him.

“Kinda.” the animal spun to face him “why?” “We need him.” Steve said “He knows about the stones, but convincing him could be a bit of a task. So I was thinking maybe you could help and go with Katie to New Asgard.” The animal pondered for a while before he shrugged “I can try.”

“That’s all any of us can do.” Steve nodded.

The raccoon nodded again “Alright.” He turned to Nat. “We’ll see you soon.” and with that he disappeared.

Steve stayed at the compound until late afternoon, popping in to see how Bruce and Scott were getting on, before he made his way home. Katie and Jamie were already back and he could hear the two of them in the living room.

“Who’s that?” Jamie asked as he pointed to the photo in the album that his Mom had open on her lap.

“That’s your Uncle Sam…” she smiled at the photo of Steve and his best man at the reception of their wedding “You know you get your name from him, well one of them…”

“Where is he now?” Jamie asked.

“He err…he went away” Katie said, trying to figure out how to explain this “You know how daddy has told you about his friend, Uncle Bucky?” “Yeah.” “Well, a few years ago, before you were born, The Avengers, well they had a fight, with a nasty man, and your Uncle Bucky and Uncle Sam, and one of our other friends, a lady called Wanda…they had to go away afterwards.”

“Was Uncle Tony in the fight?”

“Yeah, he was.” Katie nodded

“And Auntie Nat-Nat?”

“Yeah. And Thor. There was a lot of people involved?”

“Did you and daddy fight with the Avengers?” Jamie asked, his eyes wide.

At that point Katie looked up and saw Steve hovering in the door way. He swallowed and walked into the room.

“A long time ago buddy, yeah.” he said.

“Did you know Captain America?”

“I did yeah.” Steve nodded, kneeling down in front of his son “But he gave up fighting.” Jamie pondered something as Katie looked at her husband. “Not for much longer though…” she said, locking eyes with him.

Steve took a deep breath and swallowed once more. He wasn’t sure he’d ever hold that shield again.

“Maybe.” he said, shrugging, before he stood up and settled on the couch at the other side of his son.

Jamie made to turn the page in the album and the next photo was one of Steve’s favourites and one they had a large framed version of on the mantle piece. It showed him and Katie at their first dance, heads pressed together, huge smiles on their faces as he held her close.

“Momma you look pretty!” Jamie smiled and Katie dropped a kiss to his head.

“Thanks Baby.” “Your momma always looks pretty.” Steve smiled “She’s the most beautiful girl on the planet.” “Charmer.” Katie looked at him as he stretched his arm over the back of his son and pulled her in closer.

“Only for you.” he winked, dropping a kiss to her cheek.

****** Tony stood at the sink, rinsing down the dishes from dinner whilst Pepper settled Morgan down for the night. He’d spoken to Kiddo earlier, she’d told him they were running the first Time Travel trial the day after. He’d managed to push it out of his mind for most of the afternoon but now, as he stood alone, he kept thinking about it over and over again. He knew Bruce was clever, but this really wasn’t his area… but that wasn’t his concern.

What if something went wrong? Not his problem.

His grip on the attachment to the tap slipped and it jerked out of his hand, spraying water all over the place. With a sigh he turned it off and grabbed the tea towel, mopping up the water from around the sink and then the shelf which it had squirted all over. He glanced at the photos, and paused for a moment at the frame that was placed just to the right of the one which held a picture of his dad. He took a deep breath as he wiped the water off the faces- him and Peter Parker holding the fake Stark Internship Certificate upside down, each one pulling peace signs behind the other’s back. He swallowed.

“We can snap our own fingers. We can bring everybody back.” Natasha said.

Tony looked around his kitchen, his stomach turning slightly. Yes, he had something to fight for, something personal, the kid. They all had something personal right? Natasha had Clint’s family, Rogers and Kiddo had Barnes, Wilson and Wanda… Scott had his girlfriend, or whatever. But he couldn’t risk it. He shouldn’t risk it….

“Or screw it up worse than he already has”

“I don’t think we would.” Steve shook his head.

But they were going to risk it. He knew that. And they could, probably would, fuck it up without him.

“Damned it Rogers.” he mumbled, placing the photo down and heading into the dining room.

Two hours later Pepper was out in the greenhouse as she often was later at night and Tony was talking to FRIDAY, with whom he had been brainstorming a number of ideas for the past hour and a half. He looked the holographic model in front of him and tapped at the pad on the table.

“Look at a mod inspiration, let’s see if it checks out.” He said, watching as the image changed in front of his eyes. “So…” he pressed a few keys again “run one last sim before we pack it in for the night.” he clapped his hands together and paced round the side of the table “this time, in the shape of a mobius strip, inverted, please.”

“Processing. “ FRIDAY replied as Tony crossed his arms and watched.

“Give me that Eigen value” he reached out to spin the image with his hand “That, particle factoring, and a spectral decomp,” he grabbed the bottle on the side of the table to take a drink of the smoothie he had made, “that will take a second.”

“Just a moment.”

“And don’t worry if it doesn’t pan out,” he replaced the top on his drink and grabbing a blueberry from the packet he had been eating, “I’m just kinda…” he trailed off chewing the fruit, as he watched FRIDAY do her business.

“Model rendered.”

The red words “Model Successful…” with a rating of “99.987%” flashed in front of his eyes and Tony felt his mouth drop open, utterly bewildered by his discover. He fell back into his chair, looking up at it and his mouth flew to his hand. He’d figure it out. He, Tony Stark, had figured out how to do exactly what Lang had proposed. He’d sussed out how to safely travel time.

Despite himself, he felt a certain level of pride and smugness, and he threw his arms out to his side, “Shit!” he almost laughed out.

“Shit.” a voice spoke from behind him, followed by a giggle. He paused, and turned to see his daughter was sat on the bottom stair, grinning at him.

He held his finger to his lips and shook his head “What are you doing up, little miss?”

“Shit.” she repeated again.

“No, we don’t say that. Only Mommy says that word.” She coined it, it belongs to her.”

“Why you up?”

“Cause I got some important shit going on here,” Tony jerked his thumb over his shoulder at the hologram “What do you think?”

Morgan shot him a frown and he took a deep breath, when she pulled that face she looked ridiculously like her Auntie. ”No, I got something on my mind. I got..I got something on my mind.” he explained in a softer tone.

“Was it Juice Pops?” Morgan asked, hopefully.

“Sure was.” Tony said, looking at the other side of the room before he turned back to his daughter “That’s extortion. That’s a word. “ He stood up, “What kind you want?” he said, taking her hand and she stood up. “Great minds think alike. Juice Pops, exactly was on-” he looked back to the model then turned towards the kitchen “-my mind.”

A little while and a juice pop later Morgan was back in bed, demanding a story.

“Once upon a time, Morgoona went to bed. The end.” Tony grinned.

“That is a horrible story.” Morgan looked at him with a glare.

“Come on, that’s your favorite story. I love you tons.” he said, making it clear that was the end of the conversation. He kissed her on the forehead.

“I love you 3000.”

“Wow.” he said, quietly as he smiled at her. His daughter had an ability, very like Kiddo, to say things that sideswiped him, and made his chest burst with love, and this was one of those moments. He contemplated that for a moment before he stood up and turned off her lamp “Three thousand, that’s crazy.”

He walked to the door, and closing it behind him, still grinning he told her “Go to bed, or I’ll sell all your toys, night night.”

By the time he reached the living room Pepper was back inside, sat on the couch reading a book.

“Not that it’s a competition-” Pepper looked up at him “-but she loves me three thousand.”

“Oh does she now?” Pepper smiled.

“You were somewhere on the low 6 to 900 range.” Pepper laughed and turned back to her book. Tony, still chewing on the juice pop stick looked back to where the model was still projecting over his table.

“What you reading…” he asked, although he wasn’t particularly interested. His mind was racing once more.

“Oh, it’s just a book on composting”.

“What’s new with composting?” his eyes were still on the image. “Interesting science…” she began, but he cut her off.

“I figured it out, by the way.” he looked back at her, removing the juice pop stick from his mouth.”

“And, you know, just so we’re talking about the same thing –“ Pepper looked up at him.

“Time travel.” he whispered.

“What?” she asked as Tony glanced back at the hologram, arms folded. “ Wow…” her gaze dropped down slightly “That’s amazing, and… terrifying.”

“That’s right.” he dropped down besides her, his left arm hanging over the back of the sofa.

“We got really lucky” Pepper said, stroking his arm.

“Yeah, I know.”

“A lot of people didn’t.”

“No, but I can’t help everybody.”

“Well, it sort a seems like you can” she pressed again.

“Not if I stop.” he shrugged, and Pepper gave a small huff of a laugh “I can put a pin in it right now, and stop.”

“Tony, trying to get you to stop has been one of the few failures of my entire life.”

Tony gave a soft laugh and his right arm gently rubbed the hand that was laid over his left arm.

“Something tells me I should put it in a locked box and drop it at the bottom of the lake, go to bed.”

There was a pause, before Pepper looked at him again, her eyes soft and her face rearranged into a knowing expression.

“But would you be able to rest?”

He didn’t reply, he didn’t need to. They both knew the answer was no. *******

“Alright, Emmy, remember what I said?” Katie looked at her daughter who was sat on the couch in the living room of their old quarters.

“Yeah, I can’t leave here until someone comes to get us.” Emmy nodded

“No matter what…”

“Yeah mom, I got it. We’ll be fine, wont we Jamie?”

He nodded, grinning up at his mother “Yeah, fine.”

“Ok, love you both.“

With one last glance back at her kids, Katie made her way back to the hanger.

"Breakers are set. Emergency generators are on standby.” She heard Steve call out as he strode back towards the computer. Katie couldn’t help but admire his ass, he looked pretty good in a pair of black denims, light blue shirt as always tucked into his pants, belt circling his toned waist. He looked at her, raising an eyebrow with a smug smirk as he caught the expression on her face and she shrugged.

“Good, coz if we blow the grid, I don’t wanna lose Tiny here in the 1950s,” Bruce said through gritted teeth, jerking his thumb at Scott, only his comment wasn’t quite as quiet as he thought. Scott, who was stood in his suit, fiddling with something on his helmet heard perfectly.

“Excuse me?” Scott glared at Banner as Katie and Steve exchanged a glance. .

“He’s kidding!” Natasha said in an play-full voice, shaking her head as she tapped on the tablet she was holding which would be used to track Scott. She looked up with a smile, which Katie knew perfectly to be false and laughed “You can’t say things like that.” she said to Bruce.

“Yeah, sorry, it was…just a bad joke.” Bruce smiled as he looked at Scott. Scott nodded once as he walked back to the van.

“You were kidding right?” Katie looked at Bruce.

“I have no idea!” Bruce hissed. “We’re talking about time travel here, either it’s all a joke or none of it is!” He looked away from Katie and flashed Scott the thumbs up “We’re good.”

Steve crossed his arms and let out a breath as Scott pulled his helmet on. He gave Bruce a double thumbs up and Katie smiled in what she hoped was a reassuring way.

“Alright Scott, we’re gonna send you back a week, let you walk around for an hour, then bring you back in ten seconds. Make sense?” Bruce asked as he tapped at the keys on his desk with a pencil

“Perfectly not confusing.” Scott shrugged.

Ok so now Steve was nervous. He took a deep breath and looked at the man stood by the back of the van, his hands dropping to his hips.

“Good luck Scott. You’ve got this.” He refrained from adding I hope…

“You’re right. I do Captain America.” Scott said, proudly, as Bruce hit a button, sucking him into the tunnel.

“On the count of three-“ Bruce called, and Steve dropped his hands, his fists clenching, mouth open slightly as he watched . At the other side of Bruce, Katie and Nat shared a nervous glance “Three… two…one…” Steve breathed a sigh of relief as someone appeared but it was short lived as he realised the person in front of them could be no older than Emmy. Katie frowned as did Natasha, confusion etched across her face and next to them, Bruce adjusted his glasses.

"Guys, something doesn’t feel right.” The boy informed them nervously.

“What’s going on?” Steve asked, as Bruce set about pressing a load more buttons. “Hang on…”

“Is that Scott?” Katie’s eyes grew wide as she looked at Bruce, who ducked down to hit something on the console, her eyes locking with Steve who looked as utterly perplexed as she felt.

“Yes, it’s Scott!” the boy exclaimed.

Teenage Scott was sucked back into the tunnel, Natasha watching Bruce as he straightened up and the four of them looked back to the tunnel to see another person thrown out, this time an elderly man.

“Ow, my back!”

“What is this?” Steve asked

“Can I…I need a little space!” Bruce said, moving to his right.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah…” Steve hastily moved out of the way and going to stand in between his wife and Natasha. “Can you bring him back?“

“I’m working on it…” Bruce hit one of the screens. Katie, Steve and Nat shared another panicked look as Old Scott was yanked back in only to this time reappear as…

"That’s a baby.” Steve deadpanned.

“It’s Scott!” Bruce defended.

“As a baby!” Katie snapped as the infant looked up at them wide eyed.

“He’ll grow!” Bruce said, attempting a joke.

“Bring Scott back!” Steve instructed sharply.

“Nat, when I say kill the power, kill the power!” Bruce called and Natasha ran off to the breaker at the side of the hanger.

Katie and Steve watched as Bruce jabbed more buttons, before he yelled out “Kill it!”

Natasha pulled the lever down and Bruce slapped a large red button. This time Scott Lang returned exactly as he had been before he left.

“Somebody peed my pants.” he said loudly, standing stiffly still “I don’t know if it was baby me,.or old me. Or, just… me-me.”

“Time travel!” Bruce beamed excitedly, throwing his hands out to the side as Katie, Steve and Natasha looked at him. “What? I, I see this as an absolute win.”

Steve simply stared at Bruce in silence for a moment, before he shook his head, placing his hands on his hips. He looked down at the floor before he walked off, Katie watching him as he left the hangar and stepped outside.

“I think we should take a break.” Katie took a deep breath. “Nat can you check the kids, I’m gonna…” she jerked her thumb after Steve and Nat nodded.

Steve stood outside by the large metal pillar at the side of the building, hands still on his hips as he stared at the floor. What was the point of being able to time travel if you couldn’t control it? The worse thing being that he wasn’t even sure if they would be able to perfect it with practice, and was he willing to keep risking Scott to do that? They had been so close, but Tony was right, it had clearly been a pipe dream.

“Hey.” Katie said, her hand gently falling to his elbow. “Honey, we knew it was a long shot…” “I know.” he sighed, looking at her “But I thought it might have worked, you know. That we might have had a chance to…”

He was cut off as a deafening noise rose in the distance. They both looked out over the compound to see a familiar Audi R8 speeding down the drive towards the hangar. Katie and Steve exchanged a glance as the car pulled up to where they were stood, but overshot their position slightly. Steve followed the car with his eyes as it backed up and Tony rolled down the window and looked at them both. Steve raised his eyebrows, looking away.

“Why the long face?” Tony asked, directing his question to Steve “Let me guess: He turned into a baby”

“Among other things, yeah.” Steve said, an edge of frustration in his voice as he looked back at Tony “What are you doing here?”

Tony opened the car door and climbed out, walking to the back, completely ignoring Steve’s question as he spoke.

“That’s the EPR Paradox. Instead of pushing Lang through time, you might’ve wound up pushing time through Lang.” Tony looked at Steve “It’s tricky. Dangerous. Somebody shoulda cautioned you against it.”

“You did.” Steve deadpanned, not in the mood for a lecture.

“Oh, did I?” Tony asked, raising an eyebrow and Katie felt a grin cross her face at her brother’s sarcasm “Thank God I’m here. Regardless, I fixed it” Steve raised his eyebrows as he glanced at his brother in law who held up his right hand which bore what looked like a watch of some description.

“A fully functioning Time-Space GPS.

At this Steve let out a genuine smile as he realised Tony was here to help. Tony returned it with one of his own

“I just want peace.” he made the sign with his fingers “Turns out, being angry and bitter is corrosive, and I hate it.

“Me too.” Steve nodded softly, recognizing this for what it was. An apology for the other day, and he was happy to provide his own.

“Guys, we got a shot at getting these stones, but I gotta tell you my priorities.” Tony urged softly, looking from Steve to Katie and back again “Bring back what we lost? I hope, yes. Keep what I got? I have to, at all costs”.

“So do we Tony.” Katie implored “Our kids…”

“Nothing we do can jeopardise them” Steve dropped his left arm round Katie “Any of them.”

“Yeah, and maybe not die trying will be nice.” Tony shrugged.

Steve smiled and held out his right hand “Sounds like a deal.”

Tony shook it, before he smiled cheekily and headed to the trunk. Steve looked at his wife and she shrugged, before the two of them followed him, Steve watching curiously. He lifted something out, turned it upside down to dislodge the teddy bear sat on it and Katie’s hand flew to her mouth as she saw it was Steve’s shield. Steve hesitated, taking a deep breath.

“Tony… I don’t know..” he swallowed, the nerve twitching in his jaw. He wasn’t worthy of that shield, not anymore.

“Why? He made it for you.” Tony held his gaze “Plus, honestly I have to get it out of the garage before Morgan takes it sledding” Steve looked at Katie, who was fighting back her tears and she gave him an encouraging nod. He lifted his arm and Tony slid the shield straps over his shirt and Steve looked down at it, taking a shaky breath. It felt like slipping into a familiar pair of sneakers. Tony looked at Katie who was wiping her eyes, and he gave her a smile which she returned.

“Thank you, Tony.” Steve looked up at his brother-in-law, his voice choked.

“Will you keep that a little quiet? Didn’t bring one for the whole team.” Tony hesitated for a moment “We are getting the whole team, yeah?

“We’re working on that right now.” Katie nodded, before she heard a yell behind her.

“Uncle Nee!” Jamie shot by her and launched at his uncle.

“Hey sport!” Tony grinned, picking him up “What you been up to?” “Me and Emmy were colouring and making dinosaur models.” “Wow!” Tony said, turning to Emmy who was walking towards them.

“Mom?” She said, her voice a whisper as she spotted what Steve was holding. “Dad’s…” “Yeah.” Katie smiled at her, dropping an arm round the teenager’s shoulders as she glanced at his shield. Never one to miss anything Jamie glanced at his Sister, then his dad and his eyes widened.

“Why you have shield like Captain America?” Jamie frowned as Steve ran his fingers over the edge of the Vibranium before looking at his son as Tony placed him on the floor, struggling to find the words to explain.

Tony clapped Steve on the shoulder “Alright, I’ll leave that one with you…time to go see what a mess of my compound Brucie has made.”

He walked passed Emmy, dropping an arm round her shoulders “Walk with me kid, tell me about Philly…” he shot a glance at Katie who smiled as he steered the teenager back to the compound whilst she began excitedly telling him about her trip. Steve turned to look Katie, his eyes glistening with emotion.

“Still suits you.” she smiled to him and he gave a little chuckle.

“Daddy!” Jamie insisted, tugging on his trousers, annoyed at his question being ignored.

“Sorry pal,” Steve crouched down, shield still on his arm. “I have a shield like Cap because I was Cap.”

Jamie frowned before his eyes grew wide. An older kid might have laughed and told his dad to stop being silly, but Steve had never lied to Jamie before and it would never have occurred to the 3 year old to ever think he would.

“You were Captain America?” Jamie frowned. “When you fighted with the Avengers?”

“Yeah” he sighed, running his hand through Jamie’s golden hair “I was.”

“Are you now?”

“I dunno.” Steve glanced back at his shield.

“I think you are” Jamie cocked his head to one side as his hand reached out to touch the shield. “Because Cap’s a hero and you’re my hero”

Katie saw Steve’s eyes water instantly as he pulled Jamie closer to him, dropping a kiss to the side of his head as the boy’s arms wound around his dad’s neck. He glanced up at Katie and she swallowed, leaning against the column to her left, wiping her eyes. It had been a long time since anyone had called any of the Avengers that, and to hear it from his son meant more to Steve than anything.

“Daddy?” Jamie mumbled against his dad’s shoulder, where his head lay.

“Yeah?”

“You got a helmet too?” Jamie pulled back to study his father’s face as Steve gave out a soft laugh

“Yeah buddy. I do.”

“And a uniform?”

“I have a few…”

“Can I see?”

Steve looked up at Katie and she smiled, nodding.

“Sure… come on.” Steve stood up, Jamie easily lifted in his free arm.

“You coming?” he stopped at his wife’s side as she reached up a hand to smooth down Jamie’s jumper which had ridden up slightly.

“I think this is a hero to son moment, don’t you?” she smiled, standing on her toes so she could give his lips a peck. “Besides, someone’s gotta stop Tony creating havoc in there.” “Good luck with that” he muttered, giving her another kiss before he carried Jamie into the compound, striding through the hangar doors and across to the corridor. Katie waited for a moment, composing herself before she headed back inside.

**** True to their word, Nebula and Rocket arrived the following lunch and it wasn’t long after that Katie and Rocket headed off to New Asgard, along with Banner. They knew Banner and Thor had shared a lot during the events leading up to Thanos attacking the Asgardian ship and Katie was hoping that together they stood a better chance of convincing the God to help. Katie sat in the passenger seat of the truck belonging to one of the Asgardians who had come to greet them. She couldn’t help but smile as they rolled past the sign at the side of the road WELCOME TO NEW ASGARD, PLEASE DRIVE SLOWLY. They stopped at the small port, and Katie hopped out of the truck, thanking the man, whilst Bruce and Rocket climbed out of the back.

“Kind of a step down from a golden palace for an Avenger highness and whatnot.” Rocket mused, looking around.

“Hey, have a little compassion, pal.” Bruce said “First they’ve lost Asgard, then half the people. They’re probably just happy to have a home.”

Katie spotted Valkyrie who smiled at her, and then her face rearranged into surprise as she saw Bruce.

“You shouldn’t have come!” She warned as they approached her.

“Ah, Valkyrie! Great to see you, Angry Girl.” Bruce smiled.

“I think I liked you better either of the other ways.” she almost chuckled, taking in his appearance.

“This is Rocket.” Katie gestured to the raccoon.

“How you doin’?” He greeted her.

Valkyrie nodded at him before she turned to Katie “He won’t see you.

“Still that bad, huh?” Katie folded her arms.

“We only see him once a month, when he comes for... “ she looked over to the pile of kegs on the side of the port “… supplies.

“It’s that bad.” Bruce mumbled.

“Yeah.”

“We have to try.” Katie bit her lip, looking round before she turned to Bruce and Rocket, “Come on.” She led them down the side of the harbour and they walked up the small, cobbled street towards the fishing hut Thor was living in. She paused, and tried the handle. It opened and Rocket stepped in first. Instantly Katie was hit with a smell that made her nose wrinkle. It was a combination of dirty clothes, stale beer and old take-outs.

“What the… Woo!” Rocket grimaced “Something died in here.”

“Hello? Thor?” Bruce called.

Thor’s voice rumbled through to them from another room. “Are you here about the cable?”

They made their way into the main room and Thor, who was shirtless, having definitely put on more than a couple of pounds since Katie had last seen him, was walking across the room gesturing to the TV.

“The Cinemax ran out about two weeks ago, and the sports are all kind of fuzzy.” he grabbed a beer from the ice bucket and Katie looked at Bruce who was frowning. She gave him a sad nod.

“Thor?” He asked, his voice disbelieving.

Thor turned and took a moment to look at the three of them, before his face cracked into a smile

“Boys!” He laughed out “Little Stark! Oh my God! It’s so good to see you!”

He crossed towards Rocket, trying to hug him, his knuckles rubbing the raccoons head “Come here, you little rascal!”

“No, I’m good. I’m good. That’s not necessary.” Rocket groaned, wriggling away.

“Hulk, Little Stark, you know my friends, Miek, Korg, right?”

Miek and Korg were sat on a couch, the Rock creature in a Hawaiian shirt, play station controller in his hand playing what looked to Katie like Fortnite- one of Emmy’s favourites.

“Hey guys!” Korg raised his hand in greeting.

“Hey!” Bruce smiled. “Long time no see.”

“Beers in the bucket. Feel free to log on to the Wi-Fi. No password, obviously.” Korg said cheerfully as he turned back to his game, growing suddenly serious. “Thor, he’s back. The kid on the TV that called me a dickhead again.”

“Noobmaster.” Thor growled out as he spun round. Miek threw a piece of pizza towards the TV in disgust, giving a little click.

“Yeah, Noobmaster69. Called me a dickhead.”

Thor stomped over to Korg, took his headphones and spoke loudly into the mic.

“Noobmaster? Yeah, it’s Thor again. You know, the God of Thunder? Listen, buddy. If you don’t log off this game immediately, I am gonna fly over to your house, come down to that basement you’re hiding in, rip off your arms and shove them up your butt! Oh, that’s right. Yes, go cry to your father, you little weasel!”

Katie and Rocket exchanged a look as Thor returned Korg’s head set, before she glanced up at Banner who was watching, a look of disbelief on his face and Katie couldn’t help but echo his feelings. Seeing their friend, their once mighty Avenger partner in such a state made her beyond sad.

“So you guys want a drink? What are you drinking? We have beer, tequila, all sorts of things.” Thor asked, using Stormbreaker to open a bottle of beer. Bruce walked over to him and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Buddy, you all right?”

“Yes, I’m fine! Why, don’t I look all right?” Thor frowned.

“You look like melted ice cream.” Rocket crossed his arms, but despite his joke Katie could tell he was concerned.

Thor simply laughed and looked at them all. “So, what’s up?

“We need your help” Katie said gently “There might be a chance we could fix everything.”

“What, like the cable?” Thor burped “Cause that’s been driving me bananas for weeks.”

“Like Thanos.” Bruce spoke and Katie saw Thor’s smile slowly disappear. He put a shaky hand on Bruce’s shoulder and pointed at him.

“Don’t you say that name.”

Behind Thor Korg stood up, taking off his headphones. “Um, yeah. We don’t actually say that name in here.”

“Please take your hand off me” Bruce’s tone was quiet as he brushed away Thor’s grip on his shoulder. “Now, I know that… guy might scare you…”

“Why would, why would I be scared of that guy?” Thor scoffed, turning away. “I’m the one who killed that guy, remember? Anyone else here killed that guy? Nope. Didn’t think so. Korg, why don’t you, tell everybody who chopped Thanos’ big head off.”

“Umm… Stormbreaker?” Korg offered.

“No, who was swinging Stormbreaker?” Thor shot back.

“Thor.” Katie started gently “I get it, we all get it. You’re in a rough spot right now-”

“I’ve been there myself.” Bruce picked up from her “You wanna know who helped me out of it?”

“I don’t know…Natasha?” Thor snorted and Katie rolled her eyes.

“It was you. You helped me”.

Thor walked back over to Bruce and pointed out of the window with the hand holding his beer. “Why don’t you ask the Asgardians down there, how much my help was worth?” he dropped onto the chair “The ones that are left, anyway.”

“We think we can bring them back.” Katie looked at him.

“Little Stark, please stop. Stop, okay?” He pleaded, opening a packet of M&Ms. “I know you think I’m down here wallowing in my own self-pity, waiting to be rescued and saved. But I’m fine, okay? We’re fine, aren’t we?”

He looked at Korg and Miek eating pizza and playing once more on the Playstation.

“Nah, all good here, mate!” Korg nodded.

Katie looked back at Thor as he stared up at her. “So, whatever it is that you’re offering, we’re not into it, don’t care, couldn’t care less. Goodbye.”

“We need you Thunder God.” she said gently. ”Please.”

Thor shook his head and ignored her.

“There’s beer on the ship.” Rocket said, crossing his arms.

Thor paused, and without looking up he spoke again, this time his words softer “What kind?”

Tags

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libertine-lioness · 4 years

Text

123✨February13,2021

Hangin by a Literal Thread🙃

FAIR WARNING: This post contains some serious bitching about the current fuckery going on in my life . If you relate in any way shape or form... hang in there Brotherrrr! If I have to keep truckin’(even though I really don’t wanna),so do you😘 And On the other hand,If you happen to live a perfectly peaceful life and you don’t relate to any kind of dis bullshit.... props to you! ya filthy liar!😶Either way, I’m going to bitch about the struggles of existing,on MY Tumblr blog AGAIN. I do hate to be such a drag to your dash, my Dear Followers. BUT Perhaps if moderately decent therapy was affordable, I’d go throw up my dark feelings there. Unfortunately that’s just not the case. Wild, right?!🤯 ANNNNYHOOOT!!!!!!

Okay so before I get into those dark dirty deets, I’ll start out by sharing a little noteworthy positivity going on. A little silver lining to the chaos surrounding my every day thoughts and feels...

A few months ago I was told that the iron and Vitamin D levels in my body, were so dangerously low, that my test results showed “alert levels” instead of the average “high,normal, or low levels”. Scary, huh? Anyway, I’ve been prescribed an extremely high dose of Vitamin D that I take twice a week. I’ve also been receiving Iron infusions once a week at the Khafman Cancer Center. And although, I’m not finished with the infusions quite yet, I feel like I’ve noticed a dramatic difference in my energy level after only 3 weeks.

Basically, I don’t feel quite as dead inside anymore. I was convinced that my low energy came from my crippling depression(still there no doubt),when in fact, a huge factor of my torpid state of being, came from my body being broken. I’m grateful that at least one of my issues are being mended. I actually feel somewhat human again. Fingers crossed, I won’t feel at all like a zombie after a few more weeks🤞🏻

Okay, so now that I’ve gotten that off my chest, here’s where the bitching begins🙃

2021 sure as hell isn’t going down like I previously anticipated. With all the global issues aside, my personal life was looking up back in November and December, 2020. I really believed for a second that maybe, just maybe, things were finally starting to look up(emotionally speaking) and that 2021 wasn’t going to hurt quite as bad as the year before.

FOOOL!

I was so very foolish, for thinking so optimistically! And wow! I gadda say... this feeling blows. I’ve been let down a ton in my time, and yet somehow this time, it’s truly hitting way different! This time feels like hitting rock bottom, followed by being metaphorically curb stomped, and then to top off that emotional and mental turmoil...financial catastrophes are swallowing me whole. Definitely not ideal.

Let me break it down....

Financially speaking:

👎🏻I’m already a shitty “saver”. I’ll admit it. But I pay my bills on time and I have enough to get by comfortably(normally). Not right now though...

👎🏻I haven’t gotten my stimulus check yet.

👎🏻While I was driving on my favorite back road home last week, I got a flat tire (after buying 4 new tires less than 3 months ago/ plus an additional $600 worth of needed repairs. $980 total in car repairs)

👎🏻Put my car in the shop only to find out I needed way more than just a new tire.

👎🏻Apparently I need at least $600-$700 worth of more work done on my car.

👎🏻 I’ve been late on every bill this month because of this issue and have had to put my tail between my legs to ask to borrow money from my grandmother.

👎🏻finally the IRS/ Covid relief system going on has royally fucked me this year on my taxes. I allegedly owe thousands of dollars. I’m not buying it, but uhh okayyy.

Emotionally speaking:

💘 I allowed myself to fall for another Leo male. As if I haven’t learned my lesson multiple times before.

💘 He felt so different though! Especially because he’s been in my life for five fucking years!

💘 I painted him a “masterpiece” and bought him “Punpkin King” socks for Christmas(to keep it breezy and light)

💘 we spent New Year’s Eve together and it felt magical enough for me to write him a handwritten appreciation letter the day after I left his place in Philly.

💘he went awol and disappeared for weeks, so I of course I took that shit personal.

💘he finally (sorta) acknowledged my letter over a month later. He got it but said “he wasn’t in the right head space to read it yet” on Saturday.

💘On Thursday he messaged me a cute silly selfie, followed by some casual flirty banter. Still didn’t fully acknowledge the letter’s content though.

💘to bandaid my fragile gaping wound of an ego... I got back on Tinder. 750 matches and dozens of flattering messages later, I’m still hung up on the leo.

💘I’ve been sleeping with an ex con who happens to be my first kiss/ first hand job.

💘I entertained conversation with my ex boyfriend, despite my better judgment (never ever again btw).

💘 I lost an uncle to Covid, and my dads best friend to cancer.

💘 still no fucking concerts

Mentally Speaking:

🤕 I’m overly anxious about my living situation.

🤕 the one person who could possibly understand me (the former resident of the room I rent/ my so called BFF) is ghosting me like a bitch.

🤕my parents think I’m crazy

🤕I’m isolating myself from friends

🤕I’m overindulging in recklessness

🤕my job is mundane

🤕still lack real motivation

🤕my brain is in a constant state of scattered, fear, and worry.

With alllll that being said.....

PLEASE UNIVERSE! I’m pleading desperately for some genuine clarity. I have got to get myself out of this dreadful hole I keep falling deeper into. Please please please.... cut me a break and hit me with those sweet signs you used to send me! I don’t know how much longer I can last if life keeps going this way.

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ppdoddy · 4 years

Text

Michael Moore

AN OPEN LETTER TO JOE BIDEN Dear President-Elect Biden:

First of all, congratulations! YOU did it. WE did it! You stopped the madness. A grateful nation - and myself - are in a state of joy, hope and relief. Thank you for that! We are all eager to join with you to repair the damage done to our country — and to eliminate that about our society and our politics which gave us Donald Trump in the first place.

Mr. President-Elect, I first met you at the Democratic National Convention in Boston in 2004. It was clear to me from our talk that day that you were not the politician I remembered from the 1990s. On that day in Boston, we were by then over a year into the Iraq War, a war you voted for. My “Fahrenheit 9/11“ had just come out and you wanted to let me know that you were aware of the folly you had been sucked into. It seemed to me that you were doing a lot of soul searching and you wanted to hear my thoughts. To be honest, I was distracted by how perfect your teeth were, and I wondered, could you really be from the working class? By the end of our talk I was convinced there was something that was quite real and very good about you, though perhaps somewhat buried inside. Would it ever come out so the public could see it? As I reflect today on it - and you - I am sincerely hoping that you will indeed govern as a president who’s from the working class. You - one of us - in the White House. That’s how it should feel. Your actions, if bold, and brave, will make that true.

You are also our second Catholic president. I believe you are a person of faith. You and I were taught the same lessons in Catholic school: to love our neighbor, even our enemy; to create a world where everyone regardless of status or station has a seat at the table, and everyone gets a slice of the pie; a world where “the rich man will have a harder time getting into heaven than a camel will have getting through the eye of the needle.” We were taught that we will be judged by how we treat the least amongst us. Do I have that right? Are these not the moral, foundational principles of the coming Biden presidency?

I was so moved by your victory speech Saturday night when you told the immigrants and the children of immigrants that the Dreamers no longer had to live in fear. That Muslims were once again welcomed into our country. That the world could breathe a sigh of relief because we were going to let the planet Earth itself breathe and have some relief. And you told the teachers of America that starting January 20th, “one of your own will be living in the White House.” That just felt instantly good.

So if I may, I’d like to suggest a few things that might make your presidency one of the best this country has ever had. You and I may have our political differences (you like Amtrak trains, I’d like to ride a bullet train from New York to LA in 10 hours!😎), but I know that you and I - and tens of millions of others - all want and believe in the same basic things: • Health Care is a human right and every American must be covered; • Everyone must be paid a living wage and all of us must work to eliminate poverty and rebuild our broken middle class; • The massive and growing gulf between the ultra rich and everyone else must be narrowed — and the wealthy must go back to paying the taxes they should pay; • Women must be paid the same as men, and no man or government has the right to tell them what they can do or not do with their bodies.

So here’s my two cents:

1. You are right to make containing Covid-19 Job #1. Had Trump won, I’m guessing up to a million people in the next year or so would have died from him ignoring this virus. Yesterday you named your Covid task force of doctors and scientists and you are putting them to work. We don’t have a second to lose. Thank you for this.

2. As soon as you can, please provide much more unemployment relief for the jobless, stimulus checks for all, help for small businesses, and the creation of jobs we desperately need.

3. Millions have lost their health insurance because our system ties one’s health coverage to their employer. What happens when the employer, like now, is suddenly gone, or the boss wakes up one morning and decides these employees’ health benefits are too costly and must be cut? BOOM! Millions of families suddenly have no health insurance. This is nuts.

You MUST create a health system like every other industrial democracy — one backed by the government, not by the whims of the boss where you work or the pandemic that has shut him or her down. This is just plain common sense.

4. I see various people trying to take credit for your victory — and using their personal agendas to push you away from the progressive Left and toward the cowardly center which believes that the best way to beat Republicans is to just be a more easily-digestible version of Republicans. They think because Trump got 70 million votes the Democrats should reject Black Lives Matter, AOC, and anything that vaguely sounds like socialism — at a time when the majority of our citizens under the age of 35, according to most polls, prefer the idea of democratic socialism over the greed of modern-day capitalism. Why risk losing them? We need to listen to and understand why they feel this way. They’ve been saddled with crushing student debt and we’ve handed them a planet In the middle of its 6th extinction event as their future. You and Barack introduced them to the benefits of democratic socialism by letting them stay on their parents health insurance until they’re 26! The result: They just set a record by coming out and voting for you in the largest youth numbers ever.

But you know all this. And you also know how you won these razor-thin victories in the final five states as we nervously watched the final ballots come in from Black Philly, Black Detroit, Black Atlanta, Black Flint. Out west, it was Latinx and Navajo voters who delivered Nevada and Arizona to you. In your speech on Saturday you acknowledged it. And never in our history have I heard a President-elect single out the Black community and thank them “for having my back. And I promise you, I will have your back!” Black and brown and indigenous peoples, plus a landslide of women and young adult voters made this happen. Wow. I absolutely know you’ll keep that promise.

5. Please do not make the same mistake an otherwise well-meaning President Obama made in his first two years. He wanted everyone to get along. He was willing to compromise on anything. Kumbaya. The Republicans had already decided they were going to block EVERYTHING Obama proposed and that’s exactly what they did for eight long years with a discipline and a ruthlessness we should probably envy.

Don’t let this happen to you. Charge in on January 20th like FDR on steroids. You have no choice. People are dying! You need to sign executive orders and cajole, demand and shame Congress into action. And GO BIG! Eliminate the Electoral College through the National Popular Vote Act! DONE! Ratify the Equal Rights Amendment for women! Just one more state needed! DONE! Send in the Army Corps of Engineers to Flint to replace the poisoned water pipes! DONE!!

And none of the above needs a single vote of the United States Senate! In fact, this past summer, your “Biden-Bernie” unity joint task force identified a whopping 277 policies and decisions of Trump’s that you have the legal authority to immediately reverse by executive order or presidential policy decision https://prospect.org/…/277-policies-biden-need-not-ask-per…/. Find that big fat black marker of his and do it!

But, yes, we also desperately need those two Georgia Senate seats to get the Biden/Harris years off to a blazing start. So let’s make that happen! All hands on deck between now and January 5th!! We will all do whatever is needed.

Friends of mine on the Left who are more cynical than I am are probably wondering why I’m sending you this letter. Haha! Well, because I saw you kiss the head of that young grieving man at the Parkland, Florida memorial for the shooting victims of Stoneman Douglas High School. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FyMa96yOel0

And because I saw you in New Hampshire this year while we were there working for Bernie, and you were doing a campaign stop and there was a restless five-year boy in the front row. His parents were trying to get him to settle down. You stopped and spoke to the boy. “Hey buddy,” you said in a kind but parental way, “if you can hang on and be a good boy for just a little bit, I’ll buy ya an ice cream!” The boy quieted down, you wrapped up and afterward you went over to the boy and his parents and you gave the kid five bucks so his mom and dad could go get him an ice cream cone. And I thought to myself, this is the weirdest thing I’ve ever seen — and then I started to cry because I wanted so much for that piece of America to come back — goofy, kind, and focusing on what’s truly important: a goddamned ice cream cone!

I think that’s why you won. People saw what I saw with you there in New Hampshire and back in Boston on that day 16 years ago — they knew that maybe, just maybe, their lives might just get a bit better - hopefully a LOT better - with you in the White House. Maybe less of them will die from the virus, this preventable horror. Trump, of whom we knew many despicable things and thought we’d already seen how low the bar could possibly go for one human being — but we never considered him under the moniker of mass killer, terrorist or superspreader. Then you, Joe, came along and offered us a respite, a break from the insanity — “Mr. Biden, we’ll be happy if you just give us four years of ‘Not Trump!’”

But I think you can give us much more than that. What could our lives be like in four years or eight years (with a Democratic Senate to boot)? How ‘bout no one ever goes bankrupt again because they got sick? How ‘bout no one is sitting in a prison cell for possessing marijuana or actual drugs? How ‘bout every child gets to go to a great school and every neighborhood has an expanded free library open seven days a week? How ‘bout paid family medical leave so you can take care of your elderly parents and not lose your job? How ‘bout my bullet train! You and we can make all this happen. It’s not rocket science. 30+ other countries already do it. (https://www.amazon.com/Where-Invade-Next-Micha…/…/B01EGW9EOU) They’re happier. Why not us? Our founders promised it to us in their second sentence: “the pursuit of Happiness.“ They said that’s what America would be — and it’s been a rare day when we’ve actually had a glimpse of it.

Joe, you’re the guy to fulfill the promise. I’ll help. So will my neighbors on the floor where I live. As will the woman who delivers my mail, the workers who stock the shelves of my neighborhood market, the nurse who just wrote me in tears because yesterday she watched her 22nd patient die, alone, no family allowed, from Covid. Not to mention the millions upon millions of Americans who are ready to be foot soldiers in your army of justice, equality and love. We’re all in! We don’t want to go back to the old “normal.” We want a new normal!

We want ice cream.

All my best, Michael Moore

P.S. You know why I think you can and will do this? You picked Kamala Harris to run with you! Ranked as the most liberal senator in the U.S. Senate. A woman. A Black woman! I saw the first debate, the one where she challenged you and threw shade on your younger self. Most people (including me), if that had happened to us, we probably wouldn’t have gotten over it. You did. I’m guessing your conscience whispered to you, “well, dang, maybe she has a point.” You hold no grudges. You are a forgiving soul. But then you didn’t just forgive her — you put her on the Big Ticket! Who would do that? You did! That’s why my cautious, hopeful bet is on the good hands we’re now in — both your hands, Kamala’s hands, and the hands of the mass millions who voted for you and will continue to rise up and fight for this new, better, post-Trump, post-pandemic America.

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unfolded73 · 7 years

Text

What Comes Next (2/8)

Summary: They lived happily ever after. And then what happened? (A Post-S6 story.) Starts about a week after the final battle, and explores the highs and lows of newly married life between Emma and Killian as they deal with work, friends, and family as life in Storybrooke settles down somewhat.

Captain Swan, Explicit overall, ~3700 words this chapter

Thanks to @j-philly-b for the beta.

CHAPTER 1

“Nice gig you’ve got here,” Killian said, leaning against the doorway of the empty room where Emma was sitting on the hardwood floor with her baby brother. Neal squealed and threw his stuffed bear for approximately the fiftieth time, and Emma leaned backwards to grab it and hand it to him again. This little game had kept him happily entertained for going on half an hour now.

“Hey, my job is very important. I keep Neal occupied and out of the way while you big strong men carry boxes.” As promised, they were helping her parents move into the new house, which their meager possessions from the loft were not coming anywhere close to filling. Given her own relatively large house and both her and Killian’s tendency to travel light, Emma could sympathize.

Killian snorted and lifted a water bottle to his mouth to drink. Emma watched his throat work, the way it glistened with sweat from his exertions. He’d chosen to forgo a jacket or vest, and had rolled his sleeves up to the elbow, exposing his brace on one side and his bare forearm on the other. He looked absolutely delicious.

“Seriously, though, we can trade off if you want,” she offered.

“No need; we’re almost done.” Neal threw his bear again, then pitched himself over onto his hands and crawled after it, babbling the whole time. “The lad there isn’t going to know what to do with all this space.”

“I know.” She stood up and stretched out her back. “It’s a little bit sad, them not being at the loft anymore. I mean, don’t get me wrong, this house is great, but I’ll still miss that old place. A lot of stuff happened there.”

“Why, Swan, I didn’t think you were so sentimental,” he said, sidling up to her. Emma continued to stare at the sweat in the hollow of his throat.

She rolled her eyes. “Come on, you picked me up for our first date there. You’re not a little bit sentimental about it?”

“No, I am. I have very fond memories of wooing you in that apartment.” He reached for her, stroking his hook up and down her arm, making her skin break out in goosebumps. “But the memories are ours no matter what happens to the place.”

Emma wrapped her arms around him, his shirt damp with sweat under her palms. “That’s true.” She leaned in close, anticipating the saltiness of his skin on her tongue, but before she could act there was a plaintive cry behind her.

Neal seemed to have crawled until he’d bumped into the wall, and now he sat whimpering under one of the windows. With a sigh, Emma walked over and scooped her baby brother into her arms.

“Oh, here you guys are,” Snow said from the doorway. “David’s going to order some pizzas for everyone. Any preferences?”

“Killian hates pepperoni, loves anchovies, and likes pretty much everything else. Even pineapple,” Emma said as she bounced Neal on her hip to soothe him.

“There’s nothing wrong with pineapple on a pizza, Swan--”

“It’s an abomination, Killian.”

Snow smiled at them both indulgently. “Okay, well, everything’s unloaded from the truck, and you can help yourselves to beer from the fridge.”

“Mamamamama,” Neal whined, reaching for Snow, who accepted him from Emma’s arms automatically, before she turned and headed to the kitchen.

“I’ll just go check and see if your father needs anything else done,” Killian said, brushing his lips against Emma’s cheek before he moved off toward another part of the house.

Snow put Neal in his high chair and started peeling a banana and feeding it to him in little pieces. “I’ll admit, I cried when we locked up the old apartment for the last time,” she said. “So many memories.”

“We were just talking about that,” Emma said, sitting on one of her mother’s old stools. This new kitchen didn’t have anything resembling a breakfast bar, so the stools seemed orphaned and out-of-place.

“I’ve been so busy with the move, I haven’t even had a chance to check in with you lately. How’s everything going?”

Emma watched as Neal squished banana between his fingers, opening his hand against his face and getting some fraction of the fruit into his mouth. “It’s fine.”

Snow regarded her for a few seconds. “Are you sure?”

Sighing heavily, Emma stood up again, feeling fidgety. “It honestly is fine, I’m not lying about that. It’s just… have you ever heard of people who think they’re going to die of cancer and then go into remission, that they get depressed afterwards? It’s almost like, I spent so long preparing myself for the worst, for the prophecy of my death, for losing the final battle, that now that we’ve won, and now that life has sort of settled into a pattern, I feel… strange. Empty, I guess.”

“Oh, sweetie, I’ve gotta think that’s normal after everything you went through.”

Emma bit her lip, feeling the sudden urge to cry. “But I feel guilty for not being happier. I have everything I wanted. A husband that I love so much, and family, and a job I like and a nice house. Being unsatisfied when I have all of that is so stupid.”

“You went through a trauma, Emma. Several of them. I mean, did you and Killian have any time at all to process his dying and being resurrected before the next crisis hit?” Snow put another piece of banana on Neal’s tray.

“Not really.”

“And then right on the heels of that, you get told that you’re destined to die. And that the final battle is coming. All the while you and Killian are going through so many important changes in your relationship, moving in together, getting engaged--”

“Twice,” Emma added.

“Twice,” Snow agreed. “And there was our sleeping curse, and then you almost lost him again, and then the wedding, getting separated again, the battle, Gideon stabbing you… Emma, if you weren’t reeling from all of that, you wouldn’t be human.”

Emma reached back and tightened her ponytail. “Okay, when you put it like that…”

Snow gave her a sympathetic smile. “I guess your week off wasn’t as idyllic as I hoped it was.”

“No, it was.” Emma smiled, her cheeks heating. “But I think I was distracting myself with sex.”

Snow’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh. Actually, yeah, that makes sense. It’s hormones.”

“What?”

“There’s a hormone they give you in the hospital to induce labor, but it’s also released naturally when nursing, and during, you know. Orgasm. And one of the things it does is give you a feeling of well-being. So in a way, you were self-medicating.”

“Huh.” Emma frowned. “How do you know about that?”

Snow shrugged. “It was in a baby book, I think. The point is, you have every right to feel the way you’re feeling. You shouldn’t feel guilty about it or try to hide it.”

“Pizza’s on the way,” David announced as he and Killian joined them in the kitchen.

Killian positioned himself behind Emma’s stool, leaning over to kiss the top of her head.

David got another beer out of the fridge and turned to her. “Listen, while we’re waiting, Emma, there’s something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about, and now is probably as good a time as any.”

“Actually, David--” Snow started, but he cut her off.

“This isn’t going to just be a new house for us, it’s going to be a whole new lifestyle. I’d like to try my hand at farming again, like my father did.” Emma glanced back at Killian, but he was looking at the floor. “Emma, when I started working for the sheriff’s department, it was a matter of necessity because you were trapped in the Enchanted Forest. And I’ve loved working with you, but it’s never been what I’ve wanted to do forever.”

Her heart plummeted. “You’re leaving,” she said flatly.

“Only once you find a new deputy; I’m not going to leave you in the lurch. And when you and Killian take that honeymoon trip, I can fill in for you, so don’t worry about that.”

Emma took a shaky breath and stood, picking up Neal’s dropped sippy cup from the floor to give herself something to do. “Yeah, I mean, I get it…”

An apology for David’s poorly-timed announcement was plain on Snow’s face even as she tried to smile. “We had an idea, though, of someone who might want to take over as sheriff’s deputy.”

“Yeah, we thought maybe Killian might be interested,” David said.

Killian looked up from his beer, surprised. “What, me? In law enforcement? You’re joking.”

Emma looked at him, considering. She knew he wouldn’t think so, but he’d actually be great at it, she thought.

“Much as the idea of supporting Emma in her job is appealing,” Killian went on, “I’m a pirate.”

“Yeah, but kind of in name only,” David said. “You’re also the prince consort.”

“Didn’t I say never to call me that, mate?” Killian scratched behind his ear.

“The people of Storybrooke have seen you fighting at Emma’s side; they know you’re a hero, and that you’ve worked to protect them on multiple occasions,” Snow said. “I think it’s a perfect fit.”

“I… agree,” Emma said. “That is, if you want to do it.”

“The only downside I see is that the two of you might get sick of each other, spending so much time together,” Snow said as she wiped the banana off of Neal’s face and hands with a damp towel.

“Never,” Killian proclaimed, coming over and putting his arm around Emma. “After all the times we’ve been separated against our will, I can’t think of anything that would make me happier than being at your side every day.” He dropped his voice. “But are you certain you want me as your deputy, love?”

Emma felt a smile blooming on her face. “Yeah, I’m sure. I think you’d make a great deputy.” She put her arm around his lower back, her other hand drifting to his chest as it so often did. “Plus, we can make out in the supply closet.”

~*~

“Yeah, but we could get a car with an attachment on the steering wheel for your hook,” Emma was saying as they walked toward the Bug. “Or you could get a special prosthetic for driving. Anything you want.”

David had spent a few more days at the station, ostensibly training Killian although mostly it looked like they were goofing off any time Emma came upon them. She wasn’t sure how she felt about her husband and her father being such good friends; it seemed a good thing on the surface, but she couldn’t help thinking it was gonna get her in trouble one of these days.

Now they were going out on patrol together for the first time, and Emma was feeling pretty happy, all things considered. Even so, the double whammy of her parents moving to the edge of town and then her father quitting the sheriff’s department still stung, when she thought too hard about it. She knew intellectually that it was all for the best, but the lost little girl inside her couldn’t help but feel abandoned.

Killian, with his smile and his workplace-inappropriate wandering hand, provided a welcome distraction.

“And you’re going to teach me to pilot an automobile?” he said as he opened the passenger door to her car.

“Sure, I could. Or Dad probably could.” She sat down in the driver’s seat and felt something in her pocket poking her in the leg. “Oh, I almost forgot!” she said, lifting her hips and digging in the pocket of her jeans while Killian sat beside her and watched with interest. Emma pulled out the deputy’s badge, the very one that she’d worn when she first worked for Graham, and held it up. “I found this for you.”

Killian eyed it with discomfort. While he seemed pleased to be working with her, he still shied away from the idea of himself as an officer of the law. After so many years of ignoring the law, she supposed that made sense. She’d felt that way herself at first.

“Here,” she said, unfastening the clasp and leaning over. “Can I pin it on you?”

“Be my guest, love.”

Emma put the pin through the fabric of Killian’s vest, careful not to prick him with it. “That’s ‘Sheriff’ to you, Deputy,” she said, grinning.

When she was done, he looked down at the shiny badge and adjusted it with his fingers. “So, I’m your deputy,” he said, smiling. “Does that carry over into the bedroom, darling? Because I’ll happily take orders from you there as well.”

Emma rolled her eyes, grinning in spite of herself. “We should probably try to be marginally professional while we’re at work, Killian.”

“Oh, but where’s the fun in that?”

“Sh.. sheriff, this is Dispatch, over,” came a voice from the radio.

It sounded like Bashful working the dispatch desk, she thought as she picked up the mouthpiece and pressed the button. “This is Sheriff Swan.”

“A robbery was reported at 427 Spruce Street. Victim’s name is Moe French,” Bashful reported. “O...over.”

“Got it; we’re on our way.” She put the radio mouthpiece down, pointing to the bubble light she kept in the Bug for just this purpose. “Can you put the light out for me?”

“Another break-in, like at Granny’s?” he asked as he reached out of the car window and affixed the light to the top of the car.

“Could be,” Emma said, pulling out of her parking space and making a U-turn on Main Street to head toward Belle’s father’s shop. They arrived at Game of Thorns after only a few minutes. “Look at this, our first case together,” she said, grinning at Killian.

“Aye.” He held the door to the flower shop open for her. “After you, Sheriff.”

Moe sat behind the counter, his face red with anger. “I came in this morning to find the lock on the back door broken, and all the cash in the register gone,” he said to them without greeting or preamble. “The crime rate in this town is getting out of control, and I want to know what you’re going to do about it, Sheriff.”

“Killian, why don’t you go check out the back door?” Emma said, trying to maintain her cool in the face of Moe’s anger. Killian shot her a look that asked, are you sure? She nodded, and he went.

“Anything else missing other than the cash?” she asked, pulling out a notepad.

“Isn’t that enough?” he shouted, and then seemed to wilt a little. “I apologize; I’m just upset.”

“I understand,” she said evenly.

“I didn’t notice anything else missing. There were a couple of overturned vases,” he said, pointing to a small mess next to the doorway to the back of the shop, “but not like the place had been torn apart.”

“More like the thief was just clumsy,” Emma mused.

“The back door was forced open; the lock wasn’t picked.” Killian shook his head. “No finesse at all with these thieves.”

“Yeah, it was the same at Granny’s. Could be a pattern,” she said. “You aren’t missing any trinkets, are you, Moe? Anything small you had around here that the thief might take as a souvenir?”

He looked around and shrugged. “Not that I can tell.”

“If anything comes to mind, let us know. We may be dealing with the same person who robbed Granny’s a couple of weeks ago,” she said. “We’ll check for any fingerprints and any other evidence as soon as I’m done taking your statement. I assure you, we’ll do everything we can to find who did this.”

Moe deflated further. “I didn’t mean to insult you, Sheriff. I’m just worried about… personal things.” His eyes went to Killian. “Have you spoken to my daughter lately? You know she went back to him?”

Killian looked decidedly uncomfortable. “Aye, I’m aware.”

“Well, can’t you do something? I know you helped her before, when she left him. I know she’d listen to you,” Moe said.

“They just went through a massive ordeal with Gideon,” Emma said. “I think Belle and Gold are probably focused on the fact that they got their baby back, and not so much on their past, or maybe on their relationship at all.” Not that she knew for sure, no one had really seen either of them since the final battle, but Snow had heard from Belle that they were fine and were spending some time alone together as a family.

“He’s going to hurt her again. Or he’ll hurt my grandson,” Moe said, pain evident in his voice. “He may have the best of intentions, he may even love her, but he’s the Dark One. The Black Fairy was his mother. Everything he touches, he’ll eventually pollute with that darkness.”

Emma shared a look with Killian, remembering her own time as the Dark One. Remembering his. She couldn’t very well argue with what Moe was saying, given their own experiences with the corrupting influence of that darkness.

“Belle is a grown woman,” Killian said. “If she comes to me, of course I will always do anything within my power to help her. We both will. But it’s not my place to try to break up another couple’s marriage, no matter my personal feelings.”

Moe grimaced, his fist on the counter clenched so hard his knuckles were white. “How many times in one lifetime must a man mourn the loss of his only daughter?”

~*~

“Moe French was right,” Killian said as he was getting undressed for bed several days later.

Snow had at first suggested a re-do of their wedding reception, since it had been cut so short by the Black Fairy’s curse, but Emma immediately vetoed that idea. The last thing she had wanted to deal with, given her fragile emotional state lately, was a huge party. She’d talked her mother down to a small dinner party at Granny’s with just family invited. And due in part to the fact that Gold was Henry’s grandfather (but likely due in larger part to Snow wanting to see baby Gideon for herself), Belle and Gold had been invited. Everyone had been cordial, and Emma had thought the evening had gone very well -- or as well as a dinner party with three babies at it could possibly go -- so she was surprised with Killian’s statement.

“About Belle?” she asked as she took out her earrings. “Why would you say that? I don’t think I’ve ever seen them so happy.”

Killian’s expression was dark. “They’re like lambs, Belle and Gideon, unaware that they’re living with a wolf.”

“Okay, one, you’re committed to crocodile; you can’t change animals now. Two, I’m glad Ruby’s not around to hear you bad-mouthing wolves that way. And three, Belle’s not a lamb. She knows exactly what he’s capable of.”

Killian didn’t acknowledge her witty reply (if she did say so herself). “You didn’t see him do to her what I saw, back when she was staying on my ship. As long as everything’s going his way, he’s fine. He’s probably a model husband. But as soon as things don’t go his way, he’ll turn on her.”

All of the half-hearted argument drained out of her. “Yeah. I know.” Emma walked into their en-suite bathroom and closed the door. She didn’t know what else she could say. She knew Killian was probably right, but she also didn’t know what they could do about it. With a heavy sigh, she pulled her underwear down and sat on the toilet to pee.

“And if she tries to leave him again with that child?” Killian said, opening the door to the bathroom and walking in. “He’ll never allow that to happen. He’ll do everything in his power to control her and keep her from leaving.”

“Babe, I’m on the toilet.”

He looked at her and blinked. “Oh. Sorry.”

“So maybe don’t come barging into the bathroom when I’m on the toilet,” she grumbled, wiping herself, standing, and pulling her underwear up.

“My apologies, love.”

“It’s okay.” She flushed, and then bumped his hip with hers so that she could get in front of the sink to wash her hands. “So are you going to say something to her? What about the stuff you said to Moe? That she’s a grown woman? That’s still true.”

He looked at himself in the mirror and wiped his hand over his face. “I know. But I could talk to her. Not to try to talk her into anything, but just to check on how she’s doing, and to make it clear that we’re here if she ever needs us.”

Emma leaned up and kissed him on the cheek. “You’re a good friend, you know that?”

One side of his mouth quirked up in a half-smile.

“And a good husband.” She kissed his cheek again before grabbing her toothbrush. “Even when you do walk in on me peeing.”

Killian pulled her into a hug, tickling her side and making her squirm and huff against his bare chest. “I’m intimately acquainted with every inch of your body, darling. Seeing you relieving yourself is no matter.”

“Yeah, but you should only associate my body with fun, sexy stuff, not gross, bathroom stuff.” She wrinkled her nose.

“Emma, I plan to spend the rest of my life with you.”

She smiled. “Yeah, same.”

“And I’m hoping that will be a good fifty years or more, aye? So I imagine there will be some gross stuff in that time, bathroom and otherwise.”

She kissed him on the lips. “See? You’re a good husband.”

He dragged his hand around to her ass and squeezed. “And for the record, if your body were any more fun and sexy, I’d have perished by now.”

Emma giggled, and pulled his head down to kiss him thoroughly.

CHAPTER 3

#my fic #what comes next fic #cs ff #captain swan ff #post s6 fic #emma and snow #captain swan #anti rumple #anti rumbelle

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stevemoffett · 5 years

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Putting yourself out there

Living near Philly, I would tell close friends and family that the places in which I felt most comfortable were: my apartment, whatever gym I was currently using, my parents’s house/childhood home, and my brother/sister-in-law’s house.

Nowadays, being far from my family and most of my friends, it’s easy to be very solitary. My comfortable places out here are: my apartment, and my apartment’s gym. End of list. It makes sense, but it doesn’t leave too much potential for socializing, making new friends, or trying new experiences.

I had a small epiphany when I went to a “pizza party” that my apartment complex threw, with beer and board games and, obviously, pizza.

I spoke to a couple of guys who, like me, generally kept to themselves. They had their own hobbies, which didn’t really jive with my own, so during my conversation with them I realized that it would probably be our last. But, I mentally acknowledged the similarity in our general ways of being, if not in our specific interests.

Then I wondered: am I a shut-in? Am I losing social skills by atrophy?

Later on, over a game of Jenga with two girls, meaning to make a self-deprecating joke, I said, “I came here partially because I realized I’m not talking to anyone over the weekends! Sometimes Monday morning comes and I realize I didn’t say a word since Friday!”

Not that I was looking for a date, but the room dropped a couple of degrees after that. Later, as I walked back to my apartment in the button-up shirt that I’d chosen carefully for the evening, I started thinking that the encounter might have been one of those critical moments, the beginning of a slippery slope to becoming a total reclusive weirdo. (You’ll notice that lately I’ve been worried about getting stuck in the rut of certain character flaws as I get older).

But the mid/late 30s memes are true: I revel in the not-my-fault canceling of plans. “A night downtown” to me is broken up into the choice whether to use Uber to get there, and whether wherever I end up will be loud enough to merit wearing ear plugs (a real social magnet, those ear plugs are), and whether I have enough cash to avoid starting a bar tab, and deciding what time is the absolute latest I will tolerate being out (and usually exceeding that time by an hour at least), and determining how many drinks I am willing to drink if I’m not driving (1-2: no effect, slight headache next morning; 3-4: pleasantly buzzed tonight, but after peak buzz, the drunkenness “breaks” into an unpleasant what-is-it-all-for mood until I get home, and ibuprofen will definitely be needed the next morning; 5+: full-body hangover with about 8 hours of acute clinical depression upon waking).

I also know, though, that nights alone tend to not be worth remembering. I can have an enjoyable night by myself at home in front of my computer or sitting at my electric piano, but I can’t remember any of them more than three days later. On the other hand, I’ll never forget a random moment one night in 2012 when I watched a bartender break a sleeve of quarters on the corner of the bar and felt the vibration go through the wood and into my knee. Whatever the rule is that determines why I keep some memories and let others fade to nothing except a vague sense of recognition is beyond me.

What I think I mean with all this is that I still have a social impulse, but I’m starting to feel weighted down by my growing urge to sit still. At home, I don’t watch and re-watch TV shows, or play video games--I usually just screw around and let the non-political Youtube algorithm serve stuff up. As a result, I’m mildly revolted by my machine-learned Youtube homepage/echo chamber.

A video that the algorithm decided I would like: STRANGER THINGS SEASON TWO WAS A POORLY WRITTEN MESS (49:53).

I don’t know guys, I thought Stranger Things season 2 was fine. Lately if I start a video and there’s narration over muted clips of a TV show or movie, especially if the narrator is a man with an English accent, I just X the tab out.

Sometimes, in my florist-refrigerated, table-for-none apartment, I’ll think up some melody or story idea that I like and try to develop, but those nights are few and far between, and lately, the ideas have not developed into much.

A friend at work invited me to join a social/soccer club with him. I said “yes,” following my head rather than my heart, which was screaming “no.” I paid the $60 fee for a team shirt and a 7-game season.

Now, in my signup survey that served to distribute people onto teams, I put a check next to the option that read, “I’m here to have a good game and make new friends!” I think a lot of others chose the same option but I also think, in this case, that the devil is in the details.

In the language of that survey option, what, to you, constitutes a “good game”? To me, non-soccer player who trips over my own feet that I am, a good game involves plenty of running, nobody getting hurt, nobody shouting in anger, and high fives all around at the end. As a result, I did not thrive in the league, on my team, the Kickstars.

Since the games all had to be played after work, this being an adult league, they were played on one of two fields reserved from 6PM-11PM. Due to some a-hole in the schedule making department, five out of our seven games began at 9:30PM.

The soccer field had giant stadium-style lights, which at 9:30PM blaze down on everything so brightly that they wash everything out into a monochrome, cinematic mood, like sports movie shorthand for The Big Game, where it all. Comes down. To this. As a result, at the first match, those lights primed me to try hard and dig it out on every run, but remember that I trip over my own feet.

During the game, I sucked. There’s no other way to describe it. Pass the ball to me? It’s as good as stripped. Get open, while I have the ball? The ball’s going to go somewhere, but not toward you. Somebody’s driving toward the goal, and I’m the only one close enough to defend?

The score is gonna be whatever-plus-1 to 0 in about three seconds.

But I did all this sucking while running like my life depended on it, and at 10:15PM, when the last whistle blew, I felt like I was going to pass out. My kicking leg cramped up as I was prying my shin guards off. As soon as I got home I showered the sweat and bug spray off, but my heart didn’t calm down enough to let me sleep until around 1AM. I woke up at 6 like usual and limped around at work the next day feeling generally like a human joke.

This brings me back to how the devil is in the details. To the others who joined the soccer/social club, I think that a “good game” meant, “To get another taste of the victory high I got when I played on the varsity team in high school/college.”

Their yelled advice--”Pressure! PRESSURE!”, “TRAP IT!”--fell on ignorant ears; I had to sheepishly ask a girl or guy next to me when I subbed out, “Uh, excuse me...so, when Jeffrey was screaming at me to, uh, ‘clear, for the love of God, CLEAR!’...what did he mean by ‘clear’?”

They were all nice before the game. And they were charitable after the game. But during the games, they mustered a spirit of competition that I simply could not. They were skilled players of the sport, and I was not even a soccer enthusiast--”I came here to make friends!” I could imagine myself shouting indignantly, if it were a reality show.

I still ran hard for the ball, still tried hard to block passes and shots on the goal, but I decided that I was never going to dive into what I knew would be a gallery of ankle sprains and jammed fingers.

I didn’t get hurt during the season, but several people did, enough to put them out for the next few games. At the end of the 7 weeks, I was given an option to renew for another 7-game season, a prospect I simply laughed at. I had gone to every game save one, when I flew home for a week, knowing that I shouldn’t quit because that would mean there would be one less person to sub out, which would make it harder for everyone else on the team. But with that one commitment satisfied, my soccer career was over.

Final scores: Games lost: 6 (we won the last one). Lessons learned: 1. Friends made: 0.

Even at that first game, I saw the writing on the wall. This was not going to be the venue where I would make deep and lasting friendships. Aside from what I’ve already mentioned, nearly everyone else on the team was a spry 23-27 years old. They were all at different stages of life from me: when, at 10:20PM, someone suggested we all go congregate at a bar, I groaned under my breath and said aloud that I had to go home and sleep.

After the next game, I went to the bar. Only two others showed up, one of whom was my friend from work.

I could almost hear: “Aaaand the waitress is practicing politics...”

There is a library near my apartment. Libraries are great: if you have a library card, you might not need to buy books from Amazon or Audible if you just use the Libby app. And libraries sometimes have classes, or workshops, for cool things. I suggest you look the closest one to you up, because you might be missing out on something neat.

I decided that I wanted to join a book club.

So, I looked into it, and found out that the library near my apartment has a monthly book club. They meet on Thursdays at 10:30 AM, right around the time that I’m buzzing on my second cup of coffee and heading back into the lab.

I decided that I wanted to start a book club.

Surprisingly, the library had to do an official background check before they’d let me start one. In all, it took 4 months before I could even have my first general-interest meeting. A nice older lady came--a former librarian who moved here from a nearby city--and she kindly gave me some advice on how to run a book club (this was my first experience with one).

The next month, I decided I would have the club discuss Jonathan Franzen’s The Corrections, because it’s my favorite book. I know that it’s not a perfect novel--in fact, it has plenty of flaws--but no book has made me feel as connected to it as this one did. Close second, Jerry Spinelli’s Space Station Seventh Grade.

The day rolled around and when I arrived, two septuagenarians were sat at the table in the meeting room, arms crossed.

They had not finished the book, they said. They had read only the first 100 pages, they said. Those 100 pages were “bizarrely sexual,” one of them said. They “wanted to get a look at the person who’d had us read this book.”

But an hour’s an hour, a hundred pages is an honest try at a long book, and I knew The Corrections very well, so I was able to drag an entire hour of conversation about those 100 pages out of them. I truly did not mind their disliking what they read, as long as they would elaborate on why.

It was frustrating at times (”Chip was obsessed with sex,” one of them said, which made me want to respond like an old-timey comedian: “Lady? If you think that’s obsessed...”), but overall, it was a good conversation. I still left the library feeling guilty that they had not been entertained by what they read, and pessimistic about either of them returning.

But this month’s book club came, and one of them returned! And a different other lady came! And they’d both read the whole book!

As I stalked through the aisles at the library just after the last meeting, embarrassed, I had been thinking, “All right, you want a short book? I’m going to have us read the shortest friggin book I can find,” which ended up being the 200-page On Chesil Beach, by Ian McEwan. I opened the cover and read, on the inner flap, the words “Newlywed virgins” and “sex-averse” and I figured, well, all right.

When I told the librarian to have the other library branches send their copies of On Chesil Beach for next month’s meeting, I thought that the book flap was advertising a story that would mostly feature two people in cable knit sweaters, standing on a jetty addressing the issue indirectly, like, “Darling, I feel a bit fretful when you rest your hand on the small of my back.”

But I was so, so wrong. At least 66 of its 200 pages explicitly describe all of the details of the wedding night of the two main characters, with at least as many utterances of the word “penis” as in an article from a journal of urology.

It was the opposite of an erotic story. It was graphic and clinical and, at times, difficult. But the story was good. The characters were well-drawn, and I cared about them a lot. It was a breath of fresh air after having read a lot of sci-fi on my own in the meantime, but I dreaded the next meeting--I figured I was going to be labeled the library’s resident pervert, the lord of the porn-watching bums in the computer section.

A wedding night of excruciatingly-detailed sexual misadventure is apparently not beyond the pale for the little old ladies in my book club. And this time, the hour went quickly. I used my old high school film appreciation teacher, Mr. Truitt, as a role model on how to keep the conversation going--he used to pepper in the usual literary theory type stuff along with other questions that took the story at face value, as if it had really happened, and wasn’t an intimidating puzzle of symbols and motifs and vocabulary. “Do you believe X when she says she loves Y?” “If you were there, would you have intervened when Z lunged for W?” “Is this a normal way two people in this kind of relationship treat each other?”

I left the library whistling, fortified by the approval of both ladies. I had brought cookies to the meeting, but there were a bunch left over, so I brought the rest into work on Monday and told everyone how it went.

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angry-pan-ace · 4 years

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Intense Pedophilia and Grooming Trigger warning

but, I never really see myself as a "victim" of grooming or pedophilia but there's many times like tonight where I remember that I... really was. by many people actually. theI had a friend trying to get me into giantess and feet fetish stuff when I was as young as 14/15. I literally have art of it on here still. I remember them calling me mature for my age. We talked about sexual stuff all the time and even eventually had a sex rp. I even showed nudes and stuff as well to them. I can't remember how old I was but I don't think I was a minor at the time. Now I don't even want to talk to anymore despite him being what I had considered a good friend. I get a weird feeling whenever I think about him. I remember him pushing me to vore either his muse or someone elses and promised me a commission if I did it. OF course I wanted a commission so I did. I remember a lot of pushyness and red flags I just kinda ignored or didn't see when I was younger. another one of his friends was someone I talked to often that also did sexual stuff with me. Wouldn't tell me off or anything and would instigate it. I can barely remember what but I remembered I talked about sexual stuff with him and a particular "Younger people can have fantasies about older people and I"m not gonna stop that" sort of thing. There was another guy in his 30s that actually helped me figure out I was bi by pretending to be a girl and initiating rp with my female muse. That was also around when I was 15 ish and continued way longer than it should have. It stepped up from muses to wanting to have sex rps as just him and I. He made comments about how my parents had the same age gap. We stopped talking many times and he'd come back with some "id rather be friends without sexual rps than not be friends" but ultimately he eventually went away and bitched me out because I kept not wanting to have sex rps with him but would talk about sexual things on my NSFW blog about myself. Not in a sexual way, mind you. Just talking about my experiences. If I remember correctly this was either right before or around the time I was 18. I also had another friend that I was really attached to. Our main ocs were together for years, had kids, and I had known them since around the same age. We did nsfw rps and stuff too despite an age gap. We talked about pretty much everything. Things I don't even think I'll ever bring up again. They talked about incest stuff a lot. Felt the same way that I did in the sense of it being fake and harmless. They did a lot of things that made me uncomfortable but the tipping point was when he kept making offhand scenario/jokes that their ponysona that I shipped my ponysona with was a "Philly fiddler." AKA pedo. Situations with minor canon chars and his char. when I brought it up when I ended up ghosting them, they mentioned It was a phase, and I'll respect that from them because I also had uncomfortable "phases" that I've mentioned,. but it still made me uncomfortable as shit and I should've talked about it when it was happening. He also had a lot of political ideals I disagreed with but obviously that's a bit of a tangent and not an accusation. I remember seeing something relatively recently when I started missing him and checked his blog out, about that kid that was forced to dance for older men, and there was some snarky comment about "But it's okay for Tumblr because it's gay." and like. I don't even want to go into how wrong and homophobic that is but yeah. They said shit like that a lot despite trying to claim to be lgbtq+ positive. Despite all that I've yet to find a friend like them even after nearly 4 years of not talking with them anymore. Someone I trust and confided in everything with and talked with on a nearly daily basis. I miss the interaction still but my social presence get worse and worse on here as time goes by, and I don't think I ever will find someone I'll connect with like that again and it sucks knowing that they'll be it. I also around this time (and longer than I'd like to talk about) I used to be into horrible shit. I remember drawing incest porn of two of my characters. I used to have a noncon fetish and had a few drawings with that I've since deleted. Things that I defended when I was younger for the same reasons I still see today. "It's fiction. Its not reality." "I'm not actually into noncon/incest IRL and hate it, and know the difference between it and fiction." "Fantasizing isn't the same as actually doing it." I'm sure you've heard it all. Not really questioning or wondering why I thought it was acceptable in the form of fiction when I hated it in reality. Not thinking or understanding how this could hurt people, rather they were victims or NOT. All this, it hurts because I know I instigated a fair amount of these things, being painfully cringy and downright bold and even pushy about how horny I was as a developing kid, and because of that feel responsible for it. But, god damn I was just a fucking kid. Going through feelings and physical changes and shit I didn't even understand, and was nothing but taken advantage of by these people. While part of me feels guilt and shame for my actions, the other part of me remembers that these were fucking adult men leagues older than I was (with the exception of one who was only a few years older than me) that should've known better. It feels humiliating even thinking and talking about the things that happened, yet I can't even fucking imagine talking or dealing with a 15 year old like they did with me. It puts a knot in my stomach. and while I have that I also have instances of people the same age acting 100 percent responsibly with me that I still consider my friends to this day. It's just so fucking awful what happened. The internet can have such amazing things on it but also so much fucking trash and garbage. If any other kid my age came up to me and told me what I've said now, I'd hurt me so much. I'd feel so much anger towards the people who hurt them and I'd look at them like fucking scum. Yet I don't with them. Yet I don't even consider myself a victim. And tonight it makes me wonder how many others experienced a similar or even the same thing that feel the same way. Who feel "Lucky" because they were never actually physically assaulted like I feel. Who feel like it was just a part of them growing up as a woman like I did. Or that feel completely differently than I do and actually hurt but have no outlet to talk about it. and I remember my family trying to stop it. My dad was livid when he found out I was talking with adults online. My sister suspected some of the stuff I was doing but I played it off because I was a stupid kid. They could've helped me if I had just let them. If you're a minor that happened to stumble here, don't trust a single adult that's willing to be sexual with you. Or calls you mature. or approaches you with anything sexual. Don't do it. Even if they seem like a decent person, they aren't. It's not different between you and them.. It's not harmless. It may not even seem wrong to you at the time, but I can tell you it's wrong. It's awful. If you're an adult and a minor approaches you sexually. Ignore it. Tell them off. Do not interact with them even if you think they're "Mature" enough. Dont' be fucking gross and misuse your power over them. You should know better period. You have no rhyme or reason to act this way and have no excuse. You know better. and I don't wonder if this is why I have so many problems with my sexuality, or asexuality rather. Sometimes I even wonder if it's why I'm asexual. Every time I tried to express it when I was younger was either in a completely unsafe environment or it failed miserably. I was fat and "ugly" and the weird kid, no one but the town horndog wanted to fuck me and that went fucking horrible. Plus, sex ed is a fucking joke around here. absolutely nothing about boundaries or making sure your partner is comfortable or anything actually useful was covered, things I frankly feel I need more of than the average person. Rather I think I'm a victim or not, Rather I think about these things or not, They've affected me for the rest of my life on how I handle and do certain things. This shit isn't okay. It never will be okay, and I will never support it no matter how many people wanna call me an """Anti""" or what the fuck ever, and I get sick to my stomach thinking that I know people who do. Not from a "Fandom" standpoint either. It's something I've felt for years before the stupid "Anti" and "Anti-anti" terms came to be. This shit harms kids rather you think it does or not. Fiction impacts. It's important as hell, especially fandom based writings and fictions. If you don't approach these subjects with tact, and end up normalizing it/defending it, it hurts people. It gets so frustrating to see the same people that talk about how much fanfics and fandom artist drawings have impacted their lives, how beautiful they are to them, but also have the audacity to say that "Fiction isn't real, it's not hurting anyone." or "it's just fiction writing don't like it don't read" when talking about harmful shit like Incest, abuse romanticizing, pedophilia, ect.

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itsworn · 5 years

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1971 Dodge Dart: Destiny and Determination

After a 22-year journey, Bill Hartman finally has the big-block Dart he’s always wanted.

Bill Hartman grew up immersed in all things Mopar, because his father was the service manager at Springfield Dodge in Springfield, Pennsylvania, in the 1960s and 1970s. The family always had a shiny new loaner car in the driveway so Bill was exposed to a wide variety of different Chrysler products throughout his childhood, but it was actually his brother-in-law, not his dad, who got him hooked on muscle cars. “My father was predominantly a light-footed driver,” he recalls, “so my first hammer-down ride came at age 12 in my brother in-law’s 1968 440-powered GTX. I had helped him install new motor mounts and Lakewood Traction Action bars on the GTX. We stopped by a shop in South Philly to have one of the motor mounts shaved, and I was standing behind the GTX when my brother-in-law moved it in order to let another car exit the garage. He hammered it and black-tracked away from me. That was it! After seeing the GTX rip down the street like that I was hooked!”

Following high school, Bill joined the U.S. Air Force and spent the next 24 years wrenching on KC-135 Stratotankers, C-130 Hercules and B-1B Bombers in support of our nation’s freedom. In the early 1980s, while stationed at Altus Air Force Base in the small farming community of Altus, Oklahoma, he spotted a clean 1971 Buick GS 455 on a used car lot. “While some might consider this a momentary lapse in judgment given my strict Mopar upbringing, I couldn’t walk away from the GS sitting there on the lot just begging to be bought.”

The Buick was fun, but not surprisingly, it was only a detour in Bill’s journey to find the right Chrysler product. Fast-forward to June of 1997 in Abilene, Texas, where he was stationed at Dyess Air Force Base. A small ad in the local paper for a 1971 Dodge Dart Swinger project car caught his attention. “The car was rough,” he recalls, “with just an engine core and transmission sitting in the framerails, driveshaft, and steering column in the trunk, trashed seats, boxes of parts sitting beside it, no exhaust, a ’74ish front bumper, a junk rear end in the car, and so on.”

It took a few visits to look at the car before vivid memories of another Dart from decades earlier compelled him to pull the trigger. “The inspiration that kept calling me back to look at the Dart stemmed not only from my family’s Mopar ties, but a vivid memory from my high school cruising days in the 1970s on MacDade Boulevard in Delaware County, and a revered 1970 B5 Blue Swinger that was upgraded from its former 340 to become a 440 big-block Dart. Those words spoke loudly in terms of street credit in those days, and hearing all the chatter about it has stuck with me to this day.”

The first thing Bill and his wife, Diane, did after getting the Dart home was evict a family of rats living inside it. They then gutted the interior to get rid of the odor the unwanted rodents left behind, and began accumulating parts for the planned resurrection. While deployed to Maxwell Air Force Base in Alabama in 2000, Bill stumbled across a 1971 Dodge Demon in a salvage yard. “It was literally just the shell and framerails sitting on the ground with only one removable aspect remaining — the perfectly straight front bumper and its mounts that I needed!” He also needed a Dodge emblem for the deck lid, which wasn’t being reproduced at the time, and managed to find that at a salvage yard in Roswell, New Mexico, while there doing some certification at the Bombardier Flight Test Center. He later bought an entire front grille assembly from an internet auction site. “The parts were in Dwight, Kansas, and ironically, at the time of purchase, we had what was to be our final military assignment in hand and were preparing to relocate from Abilene to Wichita, Kansas, so rather than ship the fragile grille and risk breakage, the seller was kind enough to hold on to it for a few months until we moved there, and I could make the 120-mile trek north to fetch the grille.”

In 2003, the still-disassembled car and growing parts collection went with them to that new assignment at McConnell Air Force Base in Wichita. Three years later Bill retired from the Air Force and spent the next several years at GE Engine Services supervising overhaul of CFM-56 and CF-34 TurboFan Jet Engines and at Bombardier’s Flight Test Center as a project engineer, helping facilitate certification tests on newly designed Bombardier aircraft.

Some 10 years after buying the Dart, Bill finally had the time to work on it in earnest. First, the car went to Autobody Connection in Rose Hill, Kansas, where Vern Hammond’s team “transformed its outer appearance from barn find to barn stormer.” Though originally B5 blue, the Dart was painted black early on. Bill knew he wanted to return it to blue, but was indecisive regarding the exact shade. After much debate, he opted for 2003 PT Cruiser Electric Blue Pearl for the body and 2002 PT Cruiser Bright White for the tail stripe. Besides doing a masterful job with the body and paintwork, Autobody Connection also did the work needed to install a full complement of Auto Meter gauges in the dash and an RCI 15-gallon fuel cell.

After getting the car back from Autobody Connection, Bill spent the next four years putting it all back together with mostly stock parts, and in September 2011 he started the newly rebuilt 440 for the first time. It roared to life and put an ear-to-ear grin on Bill’s face, but the joy was short-lived as he discovered the 727 automatic, which had come with the car and was represented to be in excellent working condition, was in fact fried inside. After he and his wife pushed the Dart back into their garage, he removed the transmission and turned it over to friend Mark Wise, who expertly rebuilt it.

Following reinstallation of the 727, the Hartmans enjoyed their reborn Dart very much, driving it to many shows and cruises in the Wichita area. The following year, Bill noticed the engine wasn’t quite as peppy as it used to be and traced the problem to some worn lobes on its Mopar Performance cam. “With problems come opportunities to upgrade,” he reasons, “so a Comp Cams Retrofit Hydraulic Roller Cam, Comp Roller Rockers, and Howard Hydraulic Rollers were installed in place of the stock parts.”

In 2016, Bill made another significant upgrade to his engine’s performance. “I had been closely following Andy Finkbeiner’s finely detailed dyno assessments sorting out a new line of Trick Flow Specialties Aluminum Cylinder Heads at his business, AR Engineering. After concluding these are a great set of heads, Santa, in the form of my wife, Diane, was gracious enough to drop a pair of the Trick Flow Specialties PowerPort 240 heads down the chimney for Christmas, and the Dart’s long-standing breathing problems were eviscerated once and for all. Trick Flow’s new line of aluminum cylinder heads were designed specifically for big-block Mopar’s and hands down were indeed a great power adder!”

With the engine running great and making the level of power he wanted, Bill turned his attention to the car’s brakes. In 2018, he replaced the OEM setup using a Wilwood disc brake conversion kit that put four-piston calipers and 11-inch steel rotors on all four corners. Never one to sit still for long, the next project on his radar screen is installation of a six-point rollbar and RCI five-point harness. Both of these safety upgrades will be done in preparation for some much-anticipated drag racing.

The Hartman’s 22-year odyssey with their Dart Swinger has had many challenges, but the hard work and determination has paid off. The car is a wonderful reminder of Bill’s childhood growing up surrounded by Chryslers, courtesy of his father’s job at Springfield Dodge, and his teenage years hanging with all of his car buddies. They continue driving it to local shows and cruises, and get a great deal of enjoyment from sharing the car with others. “With Darts having sported fairly high production numbers in the early 1970s, the car starts a lot of conversations at car shows with people whose parents had Darts, or it was their first car, and those who had 340 Darts, or Demons, etc. Many key in on the Swinger emblems and the trademark sunflower accenting the “i” and how well that fit the ’70s era. The Dart is a trip to drive and gets its fair share of attention with lots of waves, thumbs up, picture grabs, and gas station conversations.”

1971 Dodge Dart Swinger Bill Hartman, Wichita, Kansas

ENGINE Type: 440-cid V-8 Bore x stroke: 4.320 (bore) x 3.750 (stroke) inches Block: Stock cast iron Rotating assembly: stock cast crank, stock connecting rods, stock aluminum pistons Compression: 9.0:1 Cylinder heads: Trick Flow Specialties PowerPort 240 aluminum heads Valves: Trick Flow, 2.190-inch intake;1.760-inch exhaust Valve Springs: PAC Racing dual springs Rocker Arms: Comp Cams Ultra Pro Magnum roller rocker arms; 1.5:1 ratio Push Rods: Smith Brothers custom push rods Valve Lifters: Howard’s hydraulic roller lifters Camshaft: Comp Cams Retro-Fit hydraulic roller, duration 283-degrees intake/303-degrees exhaust; 227 degrees intake/241 degrees exhaust at .050-inch lift; lift 0.513-inch intake/0.498-inch exhaust Machine work done by: Ed’s Automotive Machine and Supply (Abilene, Texas) Induction: Edelbrock Victor 440 intake manifold, Holley 850-cfm double pumper with mechanical secondaries Oiling system: stock oil pump and Milodon 7-quart deep oil pan Exhaust: Tube Technologies, Inc. headers with 1.75-inch primaries and 3-inch collectors, Dynomax Ultra Flow mufflers, 2.5-inch pipes with X-pipe Ignition: MSD Pro-Billet distributor, MSD Blaster coil, MSD Digit 6-Plus CD ignition controller, FireCore50 custom fit wires Cooling: Engineered Cooling Products 26-inch HD Cooling II aluminum radiator, 440 Source aluminum water pump housing, aluminum water pump, and billet aluminum water neck Fuel: 15-gallon RCI Racing fuel cell, Holley Blue electric fuel pump, Earl’s Performance Plumbing, Fram fuel filter Engine built by: owner Bill Hartman

DRIVETRAIN Transmission: 727 TorqueFlite three-speed automatic with B&M Transpak manual valvebody, built by Mark Wise in Wichita, Kansas Converter: Turbo Action S800 Series 11-inch torque converter, 3,000-stall Cooler: B&M SuperCooler Shifter: Hurst Pistol-Grip Quarter Stick, B&M shift cable with fire sleeve Driveshaft: Victory custom 3.25x.065 mild steel driveshaft with US Tool bolt-in drive shaft safety loop Rear End: Mopar 8 3/4 limited slip with 3.91:1 Mopar Performance gears Axles: OEM 29-spline

CHASSIS Front suspension: OEM stock, Competition Engineering 3-Way Adjustable Drag Shocks Rear suspension: Competition Engineering subframe connectors, mini-tubs, Mopar Performance leaf spring relocation kit, Mopar Performance super stock springs, Calvert Racing CalTracs, Competition Engineering 3-Way Adjustable Drag Shocks Steering: OEM fast-ratio manual box Front brakes: Wilwood forged Dynalite Pro Series 4-piston calipers, 11x 0.810 rotors Rear brakes: Wilwood forged Dynalite Pro Series 4-piston calipers, 11×0.810 rotors; Wilwood DynaPro low-profile rear parking brake kit Master Cylinder: Mopar Performance lightweight master cylinder, Wilwood proportioning valve, Hurst line lock

WHEELS & TIRES Wheels: 15×6 (front) and 15×10 (rear) Weld Racing Prostar Front Tires: 26×7.5×15 Mickey Thompson Sportsman Rear Tires: M&H Racemaster N50x15 Muscle Car D.O.T. drag

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flauntpage · 6 years

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Deadspin Writer Shreds NJ.Com Sports Director, Again

Background information:

A few weeks ago Kevin Manahan, the sports director over at NJ.com, put up a somewhat snarky and condescending job post on his Twitter account. He was looking for a super-motivated reporter to cover the 76ers for a monthly stipend, and the description of the gig was widely-panned because he just sort of sounded like a dick.

This job posting resulted in an internet-wide referendum on the sports writing business, with people conflicted over the concept of wanting to work a real job with real wages and real benefits vs. the potential of taking a fringe opportunity and turning it into something bigger. Most of us went down the latter path, working shit jobs for shit money until we could make a full-time living off of our work.

Laura Wagner at Deadspin wrote a story about the posting, titled “NJ.com Sports Director Advertises Shitty Job, Is A Real Asshole About It.” It was a short post ripping him for coming across like, well, an asshole. Manahan later pushed back while reiterating that he didn’t specify the dollar amount of the monthly stipend or the amount of hours this employee was expected to work.

Just when it seemed like all of this stuff had subsided, Wagner came back today with a 3,000 word follow-up, revealing that Manahan deleted his Twitter account while quoting local guys like Joe Giglio in an effort to get a read on whether or not Manahan was, in fact, a douche bag.

It’s an interesting read. Wagner says she spoke to “more than a dozen current and former NJ.com employees, people who worked with (Manahan) at other companies, and various other people in the industry who have come into contact with him.”

I wanna pull some of the most relevant parts of the story and respond to those, after the jump:

The website features tabs for the Giants, the Jets, the Knicks, the Nets, the Devils, the Mets, the Yankees, Rutgers football, Rutgers basketball, the Eagles, the Flyers, the Red Bulls, the Rangers, the Phillies, Seton Hall, and the 76ers. It’s unclear how many of these teams are covered by part-time staff and how many are full-time. (It’s worth noting that full-time staffers are paid competitive salaries and receive benefits.) In an email to the president of NJ Advance Media, Steve Alessi, I asked about the size of the sports department; Alessi did not respond.

Several people pointed to Manahan as the reason there is so much turnover at NJ.com. Some leave because they get other jobs; Manahan sours on some; others won’t put up with him and quit. In the past year alone, at least seven employees have left the NJ.com sports department for various reasons.

Among them: Eliot Shorr-Parks, who went to 94 WIP, and Chris Sheridan, who did the Sixers beat for something like two weeks before parting ways with the company.

Former 97.5 the Fanatic host Matt Lombardo is still with NJ.Com, but swapped the Eagles beat for the Giants beat, which resulted in Zack Rosenblatt sliding over to NovaCare this season alongside Mike Kaye, who formerly covered the Jaguars and spent some time with Bleeding Green Nation. Anthony Gilbert, who does a variety of freelance gigs, was brought in to be a 76ers guy in place of Sheridan and Rosenblatt.

Of all the people I spoke to, and all the people I reached out to to ask about their experience working with Manahan, good or bad, only one person spoke about him glowingly. Joe Giglio, whose NJ.com bio describes him as a “Sports Engagement Specialist,” emailed me saying:

“Kevin’s been nothing but a good boss to me. I’m not available (two little kids and two jobs!) for a longer conversation, but nothing but positive things from my perspective, on or off the record. Thanks for reaching out.”

Joe was writing articles for NJ.Com while covering shifts at WIP a few years back. He also did radio in New York, similar to how Jody Mac splits time between NY and Philly. Giglio is now anchoring the evening shift on a nightly basis at 94.1, so his role at NJ.Com is limited to NFL picks and predictions along with some baseball free agency and trade rumor posts as well. Most of Joe’s writing is national in scope these days.

The defining pattern that emerged through all these conversations? People were wary of allowing specific anecdotes to be included in this story because they feared Manahan would have the ability and the vindictiveness to identify them and seek revenge.

This is what happened when we wrote the NBC Sports Philadelphia story. People were worried that Michelle Murray and the bosses over there would spend more time trying to identify who spoke to us, rather than considering what people had to say about morale.

Why Manahan has been able to attract talent even when offering poor pay to work under bad conditions is clear enough: Young writers are understandably eager to jump at the chance to cover a pro sports beat. Thirty, 20, or even 10 years ago, when newspapers still reigned supreme, there were plenty of entry-level sports reporting jobs to go around, and the career track was clear: A writer would make his or her star at a small local paper, move on to a bigger regional paper, and then maybe make it to the big leagues, writing for a national publication. As newspaper jobs have dried up, that traditional paths has changed. Places like the Athletic, whose stated goal is to make local newspapers’ sports coverage obsolete, primarily hire people with sizable social-media followings, meaning that to make it there, reporters have to have built a following somewhere. One way to do so might involve writing for little or no money and no benefits at somewhere like an SB Nation team site; another might involve working for a monthly stipend and no benefits at a place like NJ.com. One sportswriter recounted a conversation in which Manahan was frank about the realities of the industry, and about the ways he understands the dynamics involved.

Yeah. Welcome to the club.

That’s why most of us were freelancers. We worked 2-4 jobs and combined our salaries into something feasible. A vast majority of younger writers go this route because we know we’re not ripping off a full-time job with full-time benefits in the post-newspaper landscape that Wagner writes about.

For me, about 85% of monthly income came from working at CBS 3, while 15% came from writing about the Philadelphia Union and reffing youth soccer games. As the years went on, that number came closer to 20%, 25%, and 30%, so you start to tip the scales as you build a following and gain more experience.

It was the stability afforded by channel 3 that allowed me to grow my side career as a writer, which I think is how most people operate these days. It’s true that some people are propped up by their parents or spouse or live in their mom’s basement or whatever, but that’s certainly not the story for every middle-class college-educated kid. It’s not even close. Most of the sports writers I know had supplemental income that they themselves created. I used to wait tables and do consulting gigs on the side. That was the hustle. You weren’t propped up by your parents, you were propped up by the three other gigs you worked while trying to “make it big.” This is the same exact path that aspiring actors and musicians follow. Stunningly, there are fewer legitimate opportunities for non-essential careers.

“He essentially said why would he pay a Yankees writer $100,000 when he could pay two kids $50,000 apiece and run them into the ground for a few years,” the sportswriter said. “Then when they move on to something better or burn out, he can replace them with more young, cheap labor.”

This is common practice in every industry in the United States. I also don’t know many writers approaching anything close to six-figure salaries, but if you find them, let me know.

The reason Manahan posted the 76ers job description in the first place, according to people familiar with the situation, was that the incumbent writer, Anthony Gilbert, had been let go after only a few months for not drawing enough traffic. (His bylines are still appearing on the site every day, as he is apparently finishing out his month’s contract. Gilbert declined to comment.) Such a short amount of time doesn’t seem like enough to judge a new writer’s ability to work sources, develop their beat, or even see if they’ll be responsive to the training Manahan’s supporters claim he offers. Manahan’s primary interest, though, seems to have to do with none of that; he seems strictly focused on raw page views and on getting them on the cheap.

It’s not enough time. Not nearly enough time, especially in a city like Philadelphia where people have been working the Eagles beat for 20+ years.

It takes time to earn trust and build a following and earn respect. It usually takes years to develop sources and break your first story. If Anthony was let go “after only a few months,” then that’s really shitty on Manahan’s part. Instead of just cutting ties and moving on, maybe sit down and talk about a strategy to improve traffic. Identify stories that are doing well and stories that aren’t doing well. If you run through reporters with this frequency, then maybe you’e the problem, not the writer.

Plus, Philly can spot a fake. Anybody can walk into a new beat and start throwing hot takes around and force page views that way, but nobody is truly taking you seriously. The best beats in this town, guys like Sheil Kapadia and Zach Berman and Rich Hofmann and Derek Bodner over the Athletic, they understand the value of building your reputation via solid content without the need to throw shit at the wall, just to see if it sticks.

The $50,000 the sportswriter said Manahan bragged about paying to writers he’d then run into the ground is, for instance, far more than Manahan paid a “kid” recently to cover a beat for NJ.com. For writing 15 or 16 articles a week and doing video hits after home games, this young writer was paid $2,300 a month.

I need to know what beat this is. A lot of people are doing similar work for less than $2,300 a month, which amounts to $27,600 a year. If you work this gig in addition to something else on the side, you can easily hit $40,000, which is what most kids in their early 20s are earning as their introduction to the business.

It’s true that the industry is fucked: Sports media is chock full of companies like the previously mentioned SB Nation (which is facing a collective action lawsuit for not paying its worker as employees) and Sports Illustrated’s FanSided (which no one takes seriously), which exert downward pressure on wages by selling young writers on “exposure” and telling them it’s normal to work for little or no money. The scam digital sweatshops are running, though, is simply the logical extension of the similar one newspapers have been running since time immemorial, one that has in addition to exploiting workers for corporate profit worked to keep sportswriting far richer, far whiter, and far more male than either society generally or the part of society it covers. This is part of why it was so strange last week to see not just veteran sportswriters who’d worked with Manahan defending him, but others defending the system of which his shop and his shitty listing for a non-job are merely expressions.

It sucks, but it’s free market capitalism, so I don’t know what Wagner and other people expect. If you don’t like it, don’t work for Kevin Manahan, don’t apply for a gig at SB Nation and don’t read FanSided.

Look no further than the creators of The Athletic, who decided to build a different model and try to operate that way instead of just complaining about the industry on Twitter. This blog was created in a similar fashion, because Kyle wanted to do his own thing and had his own ideas. That’s really what America is, isn’t it? If you don’t like the way things are done, do it your own way. Build a better product with a different revenue model.

In June, NJ.com held a meeting intended for women to speak about the challenges of being a women in media, and to help the men in the newsroom understand these obstacles. That, at least, was the goal, until Manahan derailed it.

“After ONA [the Online News Association conference] this year, some female reporters from the newsroom came back and hosted a reporting/sourcing as a female workshop here. It was a space where men were also welcome and encouraged to listen and learn how to help out their female colleagues,” one newsroom source said. “About halfway through, we were talking about how it feels to be a female reporter in male-dominated spaces, and how that often happens in sports. Manahan took over and started talking over the women who were present and didn’t listen when they tried to explain how it can feel to be a female reporter in a men’s locker room, or how to navigate being condescended to.

“He was essentially [saying] that being condescended to was part of the job, while being condescending,” the source said. “The fact that he talked for so much of the meeting and was so tone-deaf in what he was saying was kind of talk of the newsroom that day and among the female staff.”

This source’s description of the event was confirmed by a second newsroom source.

“He spoke for 20 minutes,” this person said. “And ended it with, ‘ESPN keeps taking my female reporters to fill their quota.’”

Yeah, well, that’s not a great look.

Time’s yours.

The post Deadspin Writer Shreds NJ.Com Sports Director, Again appeared first on Crossing Broad.

Deadspin Writer Shreds NJ.Com Sports Director, Again published first on https://footballhighlightseurope.tumblr.com/

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optimisticpoetrypost-blog · 6 years

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