#there’s a zero percent chance I recover from watching this

[coconutcordiale]

guys I’m watching everybody wants some for the first time and I am l o s i n g my fucking mind

[bokunoheroanalysisforthefuture]

And so preparations for the final event begin! Let’s see if these being one on one matches helps me get through them a bit faster when I’m not having to transcribe quite so much action all at once.

[No. 32 - Smile, Prince of Nonsense Land!]

Another character profile to start out with! (I swear I’m gonna have to make a post compiling these once we’ve gotten all of them for class 1a… maybe run a comparison with the end of chapter profiles? Eh shrug.)

I swear, my instincts say that something that that tail should not be as flexible as it is because of its circumference. I know, I know, quirks, freaking magic, don’t think about it, but still. It’s a very straightforward quirk with a surprising amount of utility, and he makes full use of it. Good for him! Now, onto the chapter proper.

Kirishima is pretty hyped for a tournament, thinking about how they’ll be up in ‘that ring he sees on TV every year.’ Mina asks him if it was a tournament last year as well, but Sero’s the one to answer - the format’s always different, but most years involve some kind of head to head competition. (Apparently the year before theirs involved foam sword fighting, and now I’m incredibly disappointed we didn’t get to see that for this sports festival finale… would have been absolutely hilarious.)

Midnight holds up a box of lots, saying that match-ups will be decided by drawing lots. Once that’s done, they’ll move on to the festivities and then the tournament itself. It’s up to each of the sixteen finalists whether or not they participate in the fun, since she figures some of them would rather take a breather and save their strength. 

She starts to call for the first place team to draw lots, but Ojiro raises his hand, calling for her attention. He then states that he’d like to drop out, much to the shock of the others. Someone (I think Kirishima?) asks him why, since this is his chance of being noticed by the pros. Ojiro stats that he has no memories of the cavalry battle or anything that happened in it up until the tail end. And it’s probably his quirk that did that. 

Ohh, ominous. And Izuku’s really concerned for Ojiro here. Ojiro states that he knows this is a great opportunity, and he knows it seems stupid to throw it away, but this final turnament… everyone else made it with their own strength. But he’s standing here and he doesn’t even know how or why. He just can’t take it. 

Hagakure says that he’s thinking about it too hard, and that he can just show what he’s made of in the tournament. Mina agrees, saying that by that logic, she shouldn’t really be here either. Ojiro starts crying, hiding his face in his hand as he shakes, explaining that he’s talking about his pride here. He doesn’t think it’s right. (He also has no idea why the girls are dressed like that. Really, the entire cheerleader gimmick seems a bit… awkward, here.)

Izuku has no idea what to say. But class B’s Nirengeki does - kind of. He admits that he can’t remember anything either, so he wants to withdraw as well. This is a contest of skill, so letting someone who didn’t do anything advance… doesn’t that defeat the whole point of the sports festival? Isn’t it against the rules?

Kirishima starts to tear up, calling the two manly. Up in the booth, Present Mic announces the strange turn of events, while Aizawa wonders what Midnight, as the coordinator, will decide. Midnight’s ruling?

She likes it. The two are allowed to withdraw. Aoyama puts a hand on Ojiro’s shoulder and promises to win it for him. 

Midnight tells the kids that replacing the two will be members of team Kendo, who took fifth. Kendo replies that if it’s gonna be like that, then shouldn’t it be team Tetsu instead? Her team was immobilized pretty much the whole time, while team Tetsu were giving it their all to keep what they had until the very end. She then hastens to assure that they aren’t colluding or anything, it just feels right.

Tetsutetsu is in tears by the gesture. After a brief transition, it’s decided that Tetsutetsu and Shiozaki will join the finalists, bringing the number back up to sixteen. And with that, the match-ups can be drawn!

Izuku notes that if he wins his first match, his second’s gonna be against Shouto. Which I feel is very rude of him to just entirely discount the possibility of Sero winning the match. I mean, it’s an honest assessment, but STILL. Rude. Anyways, before his match with Shouto, he still has to face off against Shinsou, who has to be-

And speak of the devil, there’s the guy in question. He wants to know if he’s Midoriya Izuku, which startles Izuku. Izuku recognizes him from the declaration of war two weeks back. He goes to respond, only to be cut off by Ojiro’s tail over his mouth. Shinsou huffs and turns t head away, while Ojiro warns Izuku not to answer him. 

We get a few other reactions from some of the other students: Shouto contemplates how his match with Izuku will be sooner than expected, and that he wants Izuku to bring his best before he takes him down. Katsuki wonders out loud who Uraraka is, which startles an eep out of her, possibly for using her actual name. Mei approaches Tenya, chucking as she starts to ask him something. And Present Mic announces that they’re setting aside the tournament for the time being, and getting on with the thrill-a-minute festivities. 

There’s a few snapshots of what everyone is up to over the course of the side events: some of the non-finalists racing massive balls (probably rubber?) around the inside perimeter of the stadium, Ojiro talking to a stressed out Izuku, Tokoyami napping in a tree, Tenya drinking five (5) cans of orange juice, Katsuki doing… something, Shouto crouched down resting somewhere outside the stadium, and finally some students searching for items on the cards they were given. Oh, right, and the girls are doing cheerleader stuff, with Hagakure being the most enthusiastic, and Jirou and Momo as the least. 

Honestly, with that jump, Hagakure is either buff as heck, or Ochako is lending her a hand. 

While all this is happening, Izuku is narrating how some people preferred to psych themselves up, while others tried to relax. Everyone was dealing with it differently. And before they knew it, the time had come.

We come back into the narrative as Cementoss is just finishing up crafting the battle platform from scratch, which is honestly incredibly impressive. I guess his manipulation of cement includes being able to dry it out super fast. And really, with how it looks, he’s just showing off. Especially with those torches, like, those can’t have been made from cement. Were they just put there and the cement set around them? Did he use the cement to manipulate them into place? I have questions, sir.

As I said, showing off just a touch. 

Present Mic thanks Cementoss before asking the crowds if they’re ready. He talks about how the students have been through hell to get here, but now it’s time for the one-on-one tournament! They’ll only have themselves to rely on. Even if someone isn’t a hero, that saying holds true! You know it! Spirit, technique, strength, wisdom, and knowledge! Use them all and show us your best!

...They’ll only have themselves to rely on, even applied to non-heroes? Uh, wow. Talk about the underlying 𝓲𝓼𝓼𝓾𝓮𝓼 showing up here. I honestly can’t help but think that Izuku’s issues with heading off alone in the current manga arc has less to do with emulating All Might, and more absorbing all these small asides and comments from all the staff of UA. Which is fucking 𝕪𝕚𝕜𝕖𝕤.

Anyways, while Mic’s doing his thing, Izuku is trying to calm himself before his match, only for Toshinori to come up to talk to him. He notes how it took a while, but Izuku’s finally getting the hang of using One For All, and gives Izuku a wonky thumbs up. Izuku is surprised to see his mentor there, but also corrects him - he doesn’t really have a hang of it, he’s still uneasy. He brings up his microwave visualization thing, and how he’s been trying to recall when he launched it at the villain, but it still feels dangerous. As if he could fall apart if he loses focus for a second, and, well, it’s like Toshinori saw. Given the level his body is at, even when Izuku controls it, it only gives a small boost in power. 

Toshinoir thinks on it for a bit, before reminding Izuku about that talk about giving it between zero and a hundred. As Izuku is now, heis body’s capable of about five percent. Izuku considers that, thinking that if it’s like that, then he’s just gotten lucky with everything. Toshinori gives him a few thwacks on the head and neck, telling Izuku that that’s because he’s always been trying his hardest, calling him a prince of nonsense. He also chides Izuku, saying he’ll never be a hero looking so mopey.

While Izuku recovers from the assault, Toshinori tells him to listen, before stating that especially when Izuku is feeling worried or scared, that’s when he needs to smile. Izuku’s come this far, so show some bravado, even if it’s fake. To punctuate this, Toshinori swells up into All Might, giving him another thumbs up. And I guess it kind of works as motivation, since Izuku seems less stressed?

Anywho, we finally get into the first match! Present Mic announces the two, with Izuku getting a comment about his making a weird face despite his good performance, and Shinsou getting a comment about not having done anything to stand out yet. The rules are simple - win by knocking out your opponent, immobilizing them, or getting them to say ‘I give up!’ Bring the pain! Recovery Girl’s on standby. And fight dirty if you must! ‘Ethics’ have no meaning here!

...this explains why Shinsou immediately went for such a low blow. 

Anywho, Cementoss makes himself a seat to watch from, so as to be prepared to stop the match at any time. Present Mic clarifies that going for the kill is a big no-no and will disqualify you, because a true hero’s fists fly only when in pursuit of villains. 

Shinsou starts talking, contemplating the ‘I give up’ option before asking Izuku if he gets it? That this battle’s going to test his strength of will. If you have any kind of vision for your future, there’s no sense in worrying about how you get there. Like that monkey, babbling about his stupid pride. 

Wow is Izuku pissed. Present Mic announces the start of the match as Shinsou rhetorically asks what kind of dumbass throws away a chance like this. Izuku rushes forward furiously demanding to know what Shinsou just said - only to stop dead. Shinsou calls it his win, while in the stands, Ojiro is stressing out, tail flailing as he snaps at how he’d warned Izuku about this. Toshinori is waiting at the entrance to the stadium, confused. 

Present Mic asks what’s wrong, the battle’s just started, show some spirit! Mere seconds into the match, Izuku is frozen in place?

And we end the chapter on that cliffhanger. What an introduction to Shinsou, and we have more to go in the next… one or two chapters, can’t recall. 

Anywho, see y’all next time for spooky quirk shenanigans! Can’t believe our first ghost sighting is about to happen. Fricken love ghosts.

[prurientpuddlejumper]

A Lipless Face That I Want to Marry, Ch. 1

Chapter 2 ->

Summary: Surviving being bitten and burned alive by the Red Dragon was the easy part. Frederick Chilton has a long road ahead before things will ever be close to normal again. But your fiancé is a fighter, and you’ll be with him the whole way. 

Sequel to A Punchable Face That I Want to Kiss

CW: hospitals, surgery, major injury recovery. Sorry for the silly title, this will, in fact, be an angst-fest. 

2,368 words

He seemed fine that first day—as fine as anyone could be after surviving what he had. His skin was red and cracked from being set on fire, and both his lips had been violently torn off—but they had found him in time. He was in the hospital recovering. Talking. You were able to speak with him, and reassure him that you still wanted to marry him, however long his recovery would take. Lips or no lips. You loved him.

You thought that meant he was going to be fine. The Red Dragon didn’t kill him.

But it wasn’t that simple.

His kidney started failing. Dehydration. He needed a massive amount of IV fluids to replace what he had lost and save him, but that volume of fluid had consequences. It made his body swell up to the point that you couldn’t recognize him—to the point that his airway was swollen closed and he couldn’t breathe on his own. And his single, struggling kidney might fail anyway.

Just a day ago he was talking to you, laughing as you teased him, telling you that you didn’t have to stay with him, and crying when you said you would. You had yelled at him for being such an idiot.

When you walked in the next morning, he was gone.

Overnight, he was like a cadaver, lying unconscious with ventilator and feeding tubes stuffed down his throat. Why did you yell at him?

You were so helpless. There was nothing you could do to make any sort of difference, not even encourage him with tender words or a joke. He couldn’t hear you. He was gone. Every snarky, sassy, smug, self-important, dramatic, gossipy remark was gone—silenced—leaving you with a body and no idea when or if he would wake up. All you could do was watch as he swelled, and hope that the fluids did their job saving his life before they killed him. All you could do was be grateful for every breath, every stubborn heartbeat, and pray they didn’t stop.

A doctor told you his chances of waking up would be slim for a healthy person. With ninety percent of his skin destroyed, bacteria could easily enter his bloodstream, and he could rapidly die of sepsis. The complication of his previous organ damage—especially the kidney Abel Gideon removed—made his probability of recovering next to zero.

“You don’t know what he’s lived through,” you seethed. “He did not survive three different serial killers just to die now. So you are not going to treat him like a lost cause, or…” You tried to think of what he would say, “Or I will sue this hospital for malpractice! That is the renowned psychiatrist and bestselling author Dr. Frederick Chilton, and you will not give up on him.”

Blustering didn’t suit you. And haughty threats couldn’t bring his swelling down. The doctors were doing everything they could, but the internal pressure became too much for him to breathe, even with the assistance of a ventilator and oxygen tubes in his nose. They carted him away to the operating room to cut more holes in him.

All you could do was watch.

“It will cause additional scarring,” a very kind nurse with curly hair explained to you as you blinked vacantly in a waiting room, trying not to break down, “but it should allow his chest to expand and save his life.”

You nodded, arms wrapped around your chest. He wouldn’t even notice a few more in the highway map of scars that his body had become. So long as he survived. You were supposed to get married. You just wanted him to wake up.

  ***

Frederick Chilton awoke in a bare and lonely hospital room.

A nurse came in to check on him after a few minutes of blinking groggily and trying to get his bearings through the static fuzz clouding his mind. She explained what had happened, reviewed the medications he was on, showed him the button to press to call for help, and handed him a remote control. No visitors to announce. No one waiting in the lobby all night, haggard with worry, for him to regain consciousness. No flowers crowding the bedside table.

The small television attached to the far wall, which he could barely see or hear, was less than useless, and the morphine drip prevented him from being able to focus enough to read a book. So he lay in bed, alone, in silence save for the tedious beep of the heart monitor.

It was so dull, he was grateful for having been unconscious for the last thirty hours, which was how long it took for the surgeons to get all the organs back inside of him that Abel Gideon took out, determining which ones were viable to go back, and which would go septic and kill him. Like a jigsaw puzzle. Humpty Dumpty, and not all of the pieces could be put together again.

Days passed, and his only visitor was a police officer there on a formality to take his statement.

He would have thought being disemboweled would make a man more popular. Of course it didn’t. This spared him his pride, at the least—he couldn’t tolerate visitors seeing him pale and clammy-skinned, whimpering with pain in a miserable little hospital gown—and for that he was grateful of his churlish nature, which pushed everyone well past arm’s length.

And yet, he wished they would at least try. He wanted people clamoring at his recovery room door so that he could send them away.

He would never be subjected to the indignity of being seen so weak—and yet, what he wouldn’t give to walk in to his office on his first day back and have all of his employees treat him softly, like he was some fragile thing, and not the tyrant they despised. To have them ask if he was all right.

Why didn’t he have more visitors? More flowers? More cards?

He was not well-liked, but he was distinguished. That warranted somebody stopping by with condolences. It was just that there was so little in his bare hospital room to distract him from the pain.

As the anesthetic wore off, a throbbing soreness radiated out from his abdomen, growing sharper with time. It was agonizing. With every breath, the contracting of his diaphragm and the expanding of his lungs and ribs tormented the stitches in his skin and the abused organs inside. He was either pumped full of so much morphine he couldn’t stay awake, or was clear-headed and wishing they would pump him full of more drugs so he could not be.

His mother sent a card, and so did the staff of the Baltimore State Hospital For The Criminally Insane. Both had flowers on the front, watercolor roses, and flowing script font in gold, and both meant equally little.

Perfunctory.

The one from the hospital had been insisted upon by the administrator, who had forced the staff to sign it. Each message was generic and impersonal, like they’d been taken from a standardized get-well form letter—although a few were kind enough to make him close his eyes and pretend they were genuinely meant for him. “We miss you, and wish you a speedy recovery!” His heart turned to think one of his employees really missed him and looked forward to him returning. He found the name signed under the message. He had no idea who it was, but he was certain he had never spoken to them.

The one from his mother had most likely been picked out by a maid, presented to her to mark her signature, and then mailed by said maid. It served mainly as a reminder that she hadn’t bothered to visit in person.

Both stung more to receive than if he had no cards at all—written proof that the only way anyone cared for him was as a formality.

There was a third card, however. The only one sent by someone who wasn’t socially obligated to.

You.

Unlike the others, it was completely unexpected. Jack Crawford, Alana Bloom, or Hannibal Lecter he would have understood, but you were last person he expected to hear from.

It wasn’t even a real card, but printed at home on plain, flimsy printer paper with a cartoon dog wearing a cone-collar that said “Sorry you’re feeling ruff” on the cover. The inside had a short, hand-written message: Glad you didn’t die.

Childish. Cheap. He should have been insulted. The whole thing was obviously intended to convey how little you cared. But he kept the damned thing long after he’d thrown the other two in the trash. He wished you would come visit so he could tell you how tacky you were to your face. Perhaps it was best that you didn’t—he would have wanted to buy himself flowers to fill the room with first, so it wouldn’t seem as if you were the only one who cared, or that your tasteless little gesture was anything of significance to him.

He was Dr. Frederick Chilton. It was important for you to know that he didn’t need you at all.

  ***

Frederick’s eyes moved behind closed lids. The swollen purple lids began to twitch, then slowly creep open. The room was hazy and bright with colors streaking at odd geometric angles away from the lights that produced them.

All he could make out were flowers. Dozens of them, hundreds, surrounding him in a resplendent cloud cloud of white and lavender. Either he fell asleep outside in the garden, or he had died and somehow gotten into heaven.

“No, you’re alive, Frederick,” you said from somewhere close. He must have been whispering to himself out loud. Your voice was wavering with powerful sobs that you shoved down to force it to sound soft and patient, but he could hear the laughter in it, too. “You’ve been out for awhile, but you’re doing really well. You just had a successful surgery. They finished debriding your burns and installing temporary grafts so you don’t go septic. Oh, and they were able to get a skin sample! It’s already in the lab so they can start growing you some of your own new skin.”

“Where…?” he blinked a few times, and tried to move before realizing he couldn’t. His body was heavier than lead and a dull ache like paper being torn pulsed beneath his skin at odd intervals. He went to lick his lips, but they weren’t there. His tongue hit empty air above his teeth, and then nothing until it encountered a gauze bandage and a plastic tube going into his nose.

That brought everything crashing back, and he groaned at reality, missing the previous few moments of anesthetic fog when the Red Dragon was just a dream.

You sat beside his hospital bed, on the side of his good eye, watching over him with a hopeful smile, rambling on about how happy you were that he was awake. There was a blue hospital blanket folded over the arm of the chair, and your hair was a mess—he wondered how long you’d been there. Every inch of surface space that wasn’t needed for medical purposes was covered in roses.

“You bought out Holland’s entire stock of flower exports.”

The way the words scraped sluggishly and humorlessly from his hoarse throat, his eyelids drooping lifelessly, made it sound like a reproach—but you laughed. You always laughed at his jokes. 

“They’re all fake,” you admitted. “Hospital rules—you’re an infection risk.”

He wanted to flash you a charming smile, but he couldn’t. He did not know if his face would ever be able to produce a smile again, or how many agonizing surgeries it would take before it could. You wanted to squeeze his hand and kiss him softly, over and over, but you couldn’t. It would be weeks before you could casually touch his skin without the risk of it ripping off. At least now that he was wrapped head to toe in thick gauze, you could reach out and gently rest your hand on top of his. It stung bitterly, but he didn’t show it—he didn’t want you to take your hand away. The pressure was comforting, and your engagement ring sparkled on your finger. 

“I am… glad to see you. These places can be so dull.” He met your gaze, hoping his one functional eye could shoulder the entire burden of body language in conveying his gratitude. He felt so defeated. Hollowed out. He stared up at the plain white ceiling. His words were often callous; it was physical passion which had brought you together in the first place, and without it, he feared he may begin to push you away like everyone else.

“Frederick,” you smiled, but your eyes looked like they might cry. “I’m glad to see you, too. Really glad. I don’t know who was there looking out for you the last few times you were in the hospital, but I wanted to make sure you know how loved you are this time. I’m going to be here every single day with books, and podcasts, fake flowers, and anything you want that I’m allowed to sneak in, until we can go home together.”

He didn’t want to say something trite like, “I couldn’t do this without you.”

He could.

He had before. But he didn’t want to. He never wanted to again. You had wormed so deeply into his heart and given his world color and meaning he had never known, even in his darkest moments. You made the biggest things seem unimportant, and the smallest things monumentally significant. He could never tell you how important you were to him, what it meant to not be alone.

The heart monitor betrayed the warm fluttering in his chest as the slow, steady beeping rapidly increased. You glanced up at the machine with concern, then back down to him, a sly grin spreading across your cheeks. Prideful embarrassment was written clearly all over his face, even with only part of his face left.

You wished more than ever that you could kiss him.

[general-kenobi357]

Someday Soon-Chapter 7

Pairing: JJ Maybank x Fem!OC

Summary: The Pogues try to pawn off the gold they found but run into more trouble then they bargained for.

Word Count: 4.2k

🔅🔆🔅

The next morning John B parked in front of the pawn shop in town as we all piled out of the van. I grabbed the hunk of gold which had been melted down earlier, I handed it off to JJ, who began to criticize Kie’s work.

“Hell of a job melting it down, Dr. Frankenstein.” He said weighing the gold in his hands.

“Like you could've done better.” Kie countered.

“I could have.” He said, turning to look at the group. “I took a welding class.”

“Yeah, that you skipped every day to visit me in English.” I pointed out, reminding him of the previous school semester.

“Whoa, whoa. Hey. Sh! Chill out, okay?” John B broke off the bickering.

“Easy for you to say. You're not the one that has to pawn this piece of shit off.” JJ responded, looking at the gold in his hands. “How did I get this job anyway?”

“'Cause you're the best liar.” Pope answered without skipping a beat as he entered the pawn shop and we all began to follow.

The bell rang above me as the door shut, I followed Kie to go look at a shelf of trinkets while JJ started talking to the women who sat behind the counter.

After a lengthy debate a price was finally agreed upon and we were told we’d have to go to a warehouse to complete the sale. I found it strange that this pawnshop had a warehouse when there were quite a few bare shelves in the store. Why would they need a warehouse to hold stuff when their shop was half empty? I figured that maybe I just didn’t know enough about the in and outs of pawn shops and chose to not voice my concerns while we all exited the shop with a warehouse address in hand.

🔅🔆🔅

We were driving through the Cut on our way to the “warehouse” and something felt off, but then again things had felt off since we had started this treasure hunt, so I decided to push down the feelings of dread that were beginning to bubble up. I sat between JJ and Kie staring out the window which was across the van watching the rows of trees fly by as we continued down the road to the most deserted part of the island.

“So they keep money out here?” Pope asked in disbelief.

“That's what she said.” JJ replied, pausing for a minute a smirk grew on his lips. “That's what she said.”

“Stop.” Pope cut off JJ from laughing at his own comment.

“I've never even heard of Resurrection Drive.” Sarah turned around to look at us from the passenger’s seat.

“'Cause you're rich.” JJ commented.

“You've never heard of it either.” Kie defended Sarah while I smacked JJ’s arm. “There's nothing but weeds back here.”

A moment passed before the car behind us flashed on lights and sirens signaling us to pull over. The stealth cop car pulling us over in the middle of nowhere only added to the doubt I felt. Something was definitely wrong.

“Cops? Out here?” Kie asked as we all looked back while John B pulled over.

“God! Are you kidding me? What did we do?” JJ demanded on edge. “I hate cops.”

“Did you bring the gun?” Kie asked as he began to hide the gold in his bag, I prayed the answer was no I wasn’t sure what would happen if he had.

“No. Okay? Iz told me that I couldn’t bring it with me everywhere I went. I left it back at the place.”

“Thank God.”

“He's walking up.” Pope warned as JJ stuffed his bag under the seat.

I was looking back at the car when I heard the unmistakable sound of a gun cocking near John B’s open window.

“Why don't I go ahead and see them hands in the air?” A masked man demanded loudly, waving the gun in front of John B. “All y'all's hands up in the air now!”

Everything became a blur as he ushered us out of the van before instructing us to lay down in the ditch. I focused on remembering how to breathe as he began to rip apart the van clearly looking for something. It was all a set up, there was no warehouse, only a dead end road where one man could threaten us at gunpoint in order to take the gold we had found. I hadn’t noticed John B sneak away towards the car that had pulled us over but I did hear the muffled protest from the rest of the group. I could hear JJ cursing beside me while I watched the masked man find the gold and head back to his car which John B had just snuck into.

There was a pause before John B called out to us and we all rushed to his side. Incapacitating the man who had robbed us before John B ripped off his face covering so we could find out who he was. I didn’t recognize him but JJ seemed to, rambling about how he supplied his father with coke.

“Come on, let's get outta here.” John B urged as JJ grabbed the dealer’s wallet. None of us wanted to wait around for the real cops to show up.

“We got one last stop.” JJ told us, looking at the id he had found. “Let's go see where this son of a bitch lives.”

The dealer screamed threats at us as we made our way back to the van so that we could get outta there.

🔅🔆🔅

“Welcome to Crackhead Wasteland.” Sarah spoke up as we drove up to a rundown trailer.

The ride here had been silent as we all tried to recover from what had just gone down.

“I don't know about this, man.” Pope spoke up uneasily. “Dude, why are we at Barry's?”

“This'll only take a second.” JJ responded hopping out of the van before making his way to the steps of the trailer.

“Where are you going?” John B asked JJ as he made his way across the porch.

“Yo soy justicia.” JJ responded as if that answered the question before disappearing into the building.

“Did you glean anything from that?” Pope asked as we all shook our heads.

“You know somebody should probably…” Kie started to say before John B got out of the van.

“Yeah, I got it.” He reassured, following JJ’s path into the trailer.

The rest of us stayed quiet as we waited for the pair to return. I felt numb still trying to figure out what was going on and why I hadn’t spoken up when I had the chance. Maybe if I had voiced my concerns we wouldn’t be here, maybe we could’ve gone to the mainland, traded the gold with someone else.

I was pulled out of the thoughts that were beginning to drown me when the rest of the gang got out of the van as JJ and John B approached us. I stayed sitting near the door figuring we would be leaving soon anyway.

“All right, so we're looking at five grand each for reparations for putting us through that bullshit.” JJ spoke to us all digging through a bag full of cash. “Sorry about that, y'all.”

“So that's what we're doing now? We're robbing drug dealers?” Kie asked hopelessly.

“This Barry guy's gonna find out.” Sarah reasoned. “And he's gonna come after us.”

“Yes, he will. This is not the time to start wilin' out.” John B added, it seemed like he was continuing a previous conversation they had most likely had inside.

“How'd you like havin' a gun pulled on you?” JJ asked finally snapping and pinning John B against the van.

“Relax.” John B told him in an attempt to calm JJ down.

“He had it right here on you, bro.”

“What are you gonna do when he comes for us?”

“We punch him in the throat.”

“Yeah, good fuckin' idea, JJ.”

“I'm not putting it back.” JJ finally said letting go of John B. He climbed past me into the van and sat down before looking at everyone. “You guys getting in or what? What”

“We're sick of your shit.” Kie told him.

“Oh, my shit?” JJ challenged getting back out of the van.

“Yeah. Yeah. Your shit. Yes. Your pulling guns on people shit.”

“You acting like a maniac…” Pope added.

“Okay, Pope, I took the fall for you, man!” JJ cried out. “Know how much I owe because of you?”

“I'm gonna pay you back, and I didn't ask you to do that!”

“I just did pay it back. Right here, right now, by myself.” JJ spat holding up the money he had found inside. “You know what? That's exactly what I'm gonna do. Go off by myself.”

“JJ... Hey, wait, man.” John B spoke up trying to stop him. “Iz could you?”

“Yeah I’ll go see what I can do.” I said. I didn’t have to hear the rest of the question to know John B wanted me to go after JJ thinking he might listen to me.

“Should we wait?” Kie asked as I began to follow JJ.

“No, I’ll um meet you guys at The Wreck later.” I stated, figuring it might take awhile to talk to JJ.

🔅🔆🔅

It took me a couple minutes to catch up with JJ who was walking a lot faster than I expected. When I finally caught up to him I put a hand on his shoulder hoping he would turn around and he did, looking the most pissed off I had ever seen him.

“Jesus, what?” He groaned before realizing it was me, his face softened slightly but he couldn’t take back the comment.

“What? JJ, really?” I asked now that I too was pissed off. “I want to know what the hell is going on. Why are you doing this?”

“Doing what? I’m paying off the restitution.”

“JJ we have the gold, you don’t have to use that drug money. You don’t have to make more enemies.”

“It’s a little late for that Iz. Why do you even care?”

“Why do I care? Oh I don’t know maybe cause you’re important to me, because I know that you’re better than this.”

“Then clearly you don’t know me.” He told me before turning to continue walking. “Stop acting like my girlfriend, I don’t need someone telling me what to do.”

“Where are you even going?” I asked, trying to keep up with his quick pace while also attempting to let go of the comments he was making.

“Home.” He said after a moment. “I gotta go prove to the old man I did it. By myself, without him.”

After that comment I stopped trying to keep up, I stood still and watched him go. The tears I had been holding onto all morning finally springing free as I watched him fade from view. It felt like I had just lost the one person who kept me together.

🔅🔆🔅

I felt more lost than I ever had as I found myself walking up the stairs of The Wreck and towards the table that my friends were all seated at.

“There's about a zero percent chance that JJ goes home.” Pope said, I assumed it was an answer to a question that I had not heard.

“That’s exactly where he’s going.” I corrected Pope as my friends all turned to look at me.

“Are you alright?” Kie asked standing from the table and holding me an arms length away to inspect my features.

At that question I fell apart all over again and as the tears fell freely down my face the rest of my friends got up and all pulled me into a hug. After a couple minutes they all let go of me as Kie led me to sit down.

“What happened?” Pope asked concern written across his features.

“We fought about the money and then he left and I couldn’t stop him.” I explained between hiccups caused by my previous sobbing. “I’m fine guys or I will be, I’m just worried.”

They all gave me a look of uncertainty as if they didn’t believe what I was telling them but after a couple minutes Pope finally decided to change the topic effectively dropping it.

“Okay.” He started hesitantly. “It's too dangerous to pawn this thing off piecemeal. So our best bet is to go down there and get the rest of it. Bring it all up at once. Put it in... in a safe or a vault or something. I... I don't know. Just until we can find someone who won't rip us off. I can figure it out tonight, get it done, and we can be out there tomorrow morning.”

“All right, let's do it.” John B said ready to start planning.

“What about that thing with my dad?” Sarah asked him.

“What thing?” Kie asked as John B cursed under his breath.

“I have to go fishing with Ward.” He explained to us.

“You can't get 400 mil 'cause you're gonna go kill fish?”

“Look, I have to go.”

“Blow it off.” Pope spoke up. “It's 400 million in gold!”

“Make something up!” Kie added

“Look, I... I have to, okay?” John B shut down their suggestions. “He... he saved me, all right? If it weren't for Ward, I'd be in foster care. I have to go. Plus, it'll be better to do it at night. Right?”

“Fine. Fine, go fishing.” Kie said. “And at least JJ will probably have washed up by then.”

But I wondered if he would. As much as JJ’s words had hurt me I still worried, I had seen what Luke Maybank had done before and I knew he would want to keep the money that JJ had got for himself.

“I um I gotta go to work.” I said finally standing up when I noticed the clock on the wall. “I’ll see y’all later.”

“Yeah we’ll meet you at the Château tonight.” Kie reassured me letting go of my hand that she had been holding since I had arrived.

🔅🔆🔅

I closed the car door with a sigh, the sun was low in the sky. My mom had just dropped me off at home after we were done working and was about to go collect Emmy.

“I’ll be back in a while.” She assured me as I opened the back door to grab my bag from the seat.

“Okay I’ll see you then.” I said with a smile as she drove out of our driveway once again.

I made my way up to the porch and was about to go into my house when I noticed something on the dock at the Château. Confused, I dropped my bag on the steps before heading in that direction to go investigate.

As I got closer I noticed someone in a suit working on laying out a blanket. Then a head of unmistakable golden hair popped up as the old deck creaked under my feet.

“JJ?” I asked, confused by whatever was going on.

“Sweetheart.” He greeted me with a smile, meeting me halfway down the dock before leading me towards the picnic he had set up.

“What is this?” I asked him, my concern growing as he sat down.

“Sit, please. I got it all set up.” He stated, avoiding my question.

After a moment I sat as he offered me champagne.

“What is this?” I asked him again, pushing away the glass he was trying to pass to me.

“It’s um, It’s an apology. For this morning and for midsummers. I know I shouldn’t have run away-”

“It’s fine JJ.” I interrupted him trying to figure out what was really going on.

“No. No it’s not fine Iz. I mean I was a dick and I just didn’t know what to do. I’ve never liked a girl as much as I like you and I just don’t know what the hell I’m doing.” He confessed but I had no idea how to react. This is all that I wanted, he was all I wanted and yet now that he had finally said what I had been waiting for him to say I couldn’t hear it.

“JJ did you spend all your money?” I asked him.

“What? No, not on this dinner.” He answered and I knew he was dancing around the question. “Now will you please just stop worrying and enjoy this meal with me after I told you how I feel about you, Sweetheart.”

At that I decided to stop, to give into his request and push away my worries for an hour. Kie and Pope would be here soon, they would know what to do, how to help.

We had finished eating and JJ had convinced me to dance with him. Which is what we were now doing, dancing slowly to the music that played softly from the radio that JJ had brought out onto the dock.

“Can I kiss you?” JJ asked me suddenly, as I looked into his blue eyes.

I took a moment to consider it before nodding my head. This kiss was different from the last, we both knew it was going to happen and as our lips met it felt like it was meant to happen. All of the questions and worries I had melted away as I deepened the kiss.

But as I pulled away to catch my breath they all came crawling back. The questions of where we stood and what we were burned in the back of my throat, begging to be let out but I swallowed them back down as I looked into JJ’s eyes again and saw the smile playing on his lips.

I smiled back as we continued to dance, hoping to prolong this moment as long as I could before we had to go back to reality.

“Hey, do you have a swim suit on?” He asked as the song playing ended.

“Um no. Not right now.” I answered wondering what else he was planning.

“Well go get one.” JJ instructed as we pulled apart from each other. “I’ll meet you at the Château, okay? I’ve got one more surprise.”

“Yeah, okay.” I replied hesitantly making my way over to my house.

As I walked in Mom and Emmy both turned to look at me from the kitchen.

“Hey Hon what’s going on?” Mom asked.

“Um, not much I think I’m gonna hangout at John B’s for a while more.” I explained as I made my way towards my room.

I closed the door behind me before changing into a bathing suit and then throwing on a pair of shorts as I wasn’t sure where JJ was taking me. I had no idea why I needed a swimsuit but I figured maybe if I listened to JJ it would finally explain what was going on. Before I left my room I turned on my phone. I hadn’t used it in days since I had no way to charge it and I was trying to save the battery for anything important. This constituted being important. I dialed Kie’s number and listened to it ring before finally going to voicemail.

“Hey, where the hell are you guys? I’m with JJ at the Château, something is wrong. I don’t know what to do. Please get here soon.” I talked to her voicemail hoping she would hear it soon.

I tried Pope’s phone but got no response there either. After leaving a similar voicemail I figured I should head back over to where JJ was. I considered for a minute asking my Mom for help but then I thought it best not to. I wasn’t ready to explain everything that had gone down in the past few days and I wasn’t even sure how to.

🔅🔆🔅

I crossed the lawn quickly to find JJ waiting in front of the Château for me. He still wore his dress shirt which I found an odd choice since he had ditched the rest of the suit for a pair of colourful swim trunks. In one hand he held tightly to the bottle of champagne he had opened earlier which was now almost empty.

“Finally.” He said, smiling as I walked over to him. “I wasn’t sure you were coming back.”

“Sorry. I couldn't find a bathing suit.” I lied, not wanting to tell him I had called our friends.

“That’s alright.” He said, his words were slow as he finished the last of the champagne before setting down the bottle. “Okay cover your eyes, I’ve got one more surprise for us.” He instructed before taking my hand.

With my eyes closed I couldn’t tell where we were headed but I knew it wasn’t far as we came to a stop after a short walk.

“Okay keep 'em covered.” JJ spoke hesitantly as he let go of my hand. I could hear the shuffling of fabric then a pause before I heard the sound of splashing water. “Alright you can look.”

As I opened my eyes it took me a moment to readjust to the bright lights that surrounded me. I stood with my mouth open in shock. That’s when my gaze lowered to where JJ sat in a huge hot tub a smile covered his face as if he was proud of all this.

“What the hell?” I muttered, still looking around the yard which was completely different. Had I not been so worried about JJ I could’ve appreciated how beautiful it was.

“I bought a hot tub.” He stated, grabbing a new bottle of champagne, I watched him open it, trying to figure out what to say.

“Yeah.” I muttered agreeing with his comment. “Why?”

“I figured we had earned it. You know the Pogues deserve a little luxury.” He explained. “Now you need to get in here, immediately.”

“Did you spend it all?” I asked, hesitantly moving closer to where the hot tub sat.

“Pretty much all of it, yeah. But, I mean, like, come on, look at this!” He exclaimed, waving his arms around. “Finest in jet-based massage therapy, that's what they told me.”

I wanted to scream at him and ask what the hell was going through his mind but I couldn’t form any response. I stood paralyzed watching him. I could feel tears forming, clouding my vision begging to be let out but I wouldn’t let them, I had cried too much today I didn’t want to again.

“Sweetheart, what?” He asked, noticing that I was barely holding it together. “Can't a man have a little luxury in life?”

“JJ, seriously?” I asked, finally finding my voice. “You could have paid for restitution!”

“Okay, well, you know what? I didn't do that!” He snapped, standing up and pointing a finger at me. As he stood I saw the huge bruises covering his torso. It all made sense and I realized that I shouldn’t have let him walk away. I shouldn’t have let him go home. “I got a hot tub! I got a hot tub for us. For my friends. You know what? No, you know what? Screw friends. I got a hot tub for my family!”

“JJ, what happened?” I asked, the tears finally falling down my cheeks. I didn’t need to ask though, I already knew.

“No, you stop being emotional. It's fine, okay? Sweetheart, I’m fine.” He tried to convince me but his voice cracked with every word he spoke, he started moving closer to where I stood. “Just get in!”

JJ held out his arm for me to take and I did. Kicking off my shoes before I climbed over the side, I stood beside him pulling him into a hug. I held him while I cried, I didn’t know what to say. How to make it better. And as I held him he began to break down as well, sobbing into my shoulder.

“I just couldn't do it.” He started to say between sobs. “I can't take him anymore! I was gonna kill him. I just wanna do the right thing.”

“I know.” I tried to tell him but I couldn’t speak very loudly as I choked on my words. “I know.”

We stood there for what felt like hours, I could hear voices speaking behind us before two people climbed up the steps and joined our hug. I could tell it was Kie and Pope as they muttered to us, trying to sooth JJ as he continued to sob.

After we all finally pulled away, Kie explained that they had arrived slightly after our conversation had begun. They had heard it all, they didn’t need an explanation. The rest of the night we all sat in silence. I never left JJ’s side, I held onto his hand like my life depended on it, as I tried to make sense of it all.

🔅🔆🔅

[slashnatic]

May I request Jason, Bubba and/or Thomas losing their s/o by maybe them leaving or getting kidnapped. And lets say it's been a few months and they find them! What do our big bois do?

uhmm, so i divided this into two separate headcanons for each slasher, but the kidnapping one turned out different than it should. i only noticed when i was done writing it so i‘m sorry :) anyways, i like the request a lot and i possibly will write another actual imagine about this :)

Jason Voorhees Headcanons

How does Jason react when his s/o leaves him?

When he wakes up one morning without you there he immediately starts worrying, but he tries to calm himself down by telling himself that you probably only went for a “morning swim“ in the lake or something of that kind. He knows you’re strong and capable of taking care of yourself so he waits for you.

After he waits for a couple of hours without you returning he starts searching. His actions are calm but his mind is racing.

He knows the camp like the back of his hand so he knows something isn‘t right when he doesn’t find you. He doesn‘t care that he‘s been searching the forest for hours, he‘ll go on a second search.

Once he is certain that he won‘t find you he goes back to the cabin and just sits around numbly. He doesn‘t know what to do now, how he should react, how he‘s feeling. He only knows he wants you back.

When the sun rises again the realization actually hits him. He has mixed emotions, but he‘s mostly angry at himself and scared for you. His primary feeling is sadness though. He starts crying with the first thing he‘s doing which he usually would do together with you and it will happen a lot more times throughout the day.

He makes it a part of his schedule to look for you once a day. He always searches for you with the same determination.

After a few months go by without you he is almost completely back to his old self, acting like some kind of emotionless robot, but he never stops searching for you. He still loves you and he misses you everyday.

When he finds you one morning he doesn‘t believe it at first. Is he going completely insane now? He stares at you for a couple of minutes, no matter if you’ve noticed him or not, before he reacts. Then he suffocates you in a hug. He‘s overwhelmed by his emotions and starts to cry again. Without you being there to take care of him he‘s kept his emotions locked up and they all break free when he feels you in his arms.

He doesn‘t ask questions. If you went away because you wanted to be alone, if you needed a break, if you simply got lost on your way to your “morning swim“, he doesn‘t care. You‘re back now and that‘s all that matters.

Afterwards he always keeps an extra eye on you, making sure you‘re one hundred percent satisfied with your living situation in any way, shape or form and also making sure you don‘t get hurt or lost. If he didn‘t devote his whole existence to you before, he will now.

How does Jason react when his s/o gets kidnapped?

He knows something‘s wrong immediately. Jason knows you and the camp better than anyone else, so when you‘re not where you’re supposed to be he comes to your rescue right away.

He doesn‘t have any issue finding you. He‘ll track down whoever kidnapped you in less than an hour for sure. He‘s skilled and smart.

He is worried the whole time. He is scared of why they kidnapped you, what they want from you, what they might do to you. He beats himself up over this because he thinks he should have been there to protect you. Nevertheless he stays calm and he honestly believes he‘s going to find you.

Once he did find you he goes kinda crazy, but it won‘t last long. He makes short shrift of whoever dared to take you away from him. It‘s quite the carnage, actually. He basically rips them to shreds, but only takes a few minutes to do so. After he‘s done he takes care of you, going from maniac killer to romance novel boyfriend in the matter of seconds. After inspecting and most importantly hugging you he simply scoops you up and carries you all the way back to the cabin, stroking your hair, cheek, arm or really any body part of you he can reach.

He won‘t let you leave the cabin without him by your side for quite a while after...forever, actually. It‘s annoying sometimes, but he does it because he loves you. Because he is scared to lose you, because he can‘t live without you. He needs you. If he has to take extra care of you to make sure you‘re alright he‘s more than glad to do so.

Bubba Sawyer Headcanons

How does Bubba react when his s/o leaves him?

Panic. Absolute panic. Bubba and you have a routine for everything. And you do most parts of your routines together, so the moment he notices you are not there he freaks out.

He doesn‘t consider that you actually left at first, he rather thinks something happened to you, that you got hurt. When you don‘t return after a day his brothers start giving him shit for it, or at least declaring that they strongly believe you left him. Bubba understands. He understands what they mean and he understands you.

He thinks he did something wrong, but he doesn‘t think it‘s specifically about him as a person. It‘s not that he is extremely confident but rather that that‘s just his mindset. He believes he did something that upset you in some kind of way.

He searches for you often, not daily but around two times a week. He thinks about you the whole time. He doesn‘t believe that you will come back, but he hopes you wil come back and that feeling completely overpowers the thought of living without you forever. He basically tries to ignore that you decided to leave and just lives in his head, in his little wonderland which is built on the thought that you just went for a walk or something of that sort and will be back soon.

He spends a lot of time with making presents for you or cleaning your shared bedroom, really anything he can come up with which he thinks you would be happy about. After all he thinks he did something wrong and wants to make it up to you like that.

There are nights though when he lies awake thinking he wasn‘t good enough and you finally left. That he‘s going to die alone, craving your love until the day of his death. He cries a lot thinking about that, but when he wakes up in the morning he decides to just go back to his little wonderland.

When you come back his wonderland falls completely apart. He is confronted with every thought he tried to ignore when he sees you and he cries again, a lot. It‘s actually you who has to comfort him. He doesn‘t even have the chance to say hello to you because he breaks down before he could. When you hug him to comfort him he clutches you as if his life depended on it. He decides when the hug ends, not because he wants to force you to hug him, but because he is so lost in the feeling of your body embracing his, that he simply forgets to let go and he is too strong for you to get free.

He wants an explanation but he is too shy to ask for it. What matters most is that you’re back though, you can give him the explanation later anyway. Now, presents. He is very proud of everything he did for you while you were away and will patiently watch you unwrap every single piece (just pretend he didn‘t use human skin to wrap your presents).

For the next months you constantly receive gifts, but he will eventually go back to normal over the time. He‘ll make sure you‘re happy all the time though, he can‘t risk losing you again. When you are there his little wonderland is real.

How does Bubba react when his s/o gets kidnapped?

As mentioned before, Bubba and you have your routines. If something is different than usual he‘ll notice it immediately and he‘ll immediately think you‘re hurt.

There is basically zero need for you to worry, as he will grab the chainsaw and search for you. Sure, maybe you’ve only fell down the stairs and need a few minutes to recover, but he wants to make sure.

It‘s very unlikely that a kidnapper would get very far. Due to your routines you’re barely ever far apart, so he’d most likely find them almost immediately. It‘s pretty simple from there too, he kills them, takes care of you and for the rest of your lives there won’t be a single minute of your routines which you don’t spend together. Sure, he beats himself up over what happened, but he‘s also very eager to do what needs to be done to prevent that this will ever happen again.

If your kidnapper were to actually take you away though he‘d be a complete mess. He thinks it‘s his fault only, that he didn’t go after his responsibilities as your lover and caretaker right and will become super depressed. He sleeps less than usual, when he does he has nightmares, but when he‘s awake you‘d think he‘s actually sleeping. It‘s like he is a robot whose battery needs to be changed and now he‘s on low power mode, shortly before shutting down.

Of course he searches for you too, but he‘s more busy mourning than actually acting on it. That doesn‘t mean he doesn‘t search at all though. When he finds you he acts similar to how he‘d react if you left. He will kill your kidnapper first but he won‘t pay too much attention to them. All his attention is on you. He cries for what feels like hours to both him and you, he‘ll hug you and he won‘t let go. He also definitely carries you back to the house bridal style.

Thomas Hewitt Headcanons

How does Thomas react when his s/o leaves him?

He is broken, absolutely destroyed, but not surprised. It doesn‘t take long for him to put the pieces together and he honestly saw it coming.

He is sad, cries a few times, but forces himself to move on. It doesn‘t actually work, he still thinks about you every damn second of the day, he even dreams about you almost every night, but he is good at pretending to be alright. Or at least at pretending he isn‘t heartbroken.

He is also angry. If you think his past victims were suffering you don‘t want to know what happens to the people who came after you were gone. He is not actually a bad person. He started killing people at some point, he didn‘t stop and he doesn’t have a hobby, so this is the only way to cope with his feelings for him.

He doesn‘t blame you though. This isn‘t your fault, you did nothing wrong. You are perfect and it was just a matter of time until you‘d decide you wanted someone else. He understands you and he forgives you the second he realizes you are gone. Although he is sad and angry he still wants you to be happy.

Because of the mindset he has he won‘t search for you. You wanted another life and you deserve it. Who is he to stop you?

When you come back he has mixed emotions and is very distant towards you. Honestly, at first he thinks you just forgot something and came back to get it. When you declare that you are back because of him he just stares at you. Then he starts shaking. It‘s barely noticeable at first, but when he gasps you realize he is crying. It doesn‘t take much to convince him to let you back in from there. When he feels your arms around him and your lips on his forehead he is all yours again.

He wants to know why you left but he‘s also scared of your answer. Nevertheless Thomas confronts himself with his fears, always, at least when it comes to you. He‘ll only ask after a few months have passed though.

Once you‘re back he needs time to process everything and you definitely need to repeat some steps which you took before you left (concerning your relationship). He is happy that you‘re back though and he gets very handsy. He was shy about that before, but now you‘re back here and feeling you is proof to him that it‘s real. That you actually want him. He unknowingly becomes a bit better at being in a relationship.

How does Thomas react when his s/o gets kidnapped?

In all honesty, he doesn‘t notice it at first. Relationship or not, he is busy with work almost all the time and you have to work too since you‘re now officially a part of the family. Not seeing you for a few hours is nothing special.

When you‘re not waiting in bed for him at the end of the day he knows something‘s wrong though. He knows you’re strong and independent, so he asks the family first if they have seen you. Then he searches for you. When he can‘t find you he knows something happened. As mentioned before he is able to put the pieces together, in this case there are a lot of reasons for him to know that it wasn‘t your choice to leave (mostly visitors from earlier and the family‘s statements after he asked if they had seen you).

He won‘t let them get away with you. There isn’t really any chance for them to actually kidnap you. He takes the chainsaw and runs. It will definitely get messy. He doesn‘t care about anything but your safety in that moment. But he is fucking pissed. It‘s definitely an unpleasant scene.

He carries you home bridal style, no matter if you‘re hurt or not. Although Thomas isn‘t an extremely sexual person, he will make love to you once your safe back at home. Don’t even try to repay him for his actions, he makes love to you, this isn’t about him. Feeling your body reacting to whatever he does is a sign that you’re alive and well, he can be extremely affectionate without talking and he can make you feel like heaven good.

But before that happens he needs to be calmed down, he needs to be comforted. And he needs to comfort you.

The event does change quite a lot. You will work less and spend more time with Thomas. He has an eye on you for one, and two, he can also show you affection more since the lack of that due to him always working is something he feels guilty about. Luda Mae makes sure that you work less and even if you wanted to help she wouldn‘t let you. You are part of the family and ever single member takes care of you.

[brideofedoras]

Under Covers, pt 2

Rating: 18+

Warnings: mentions of masturbation, arousal and sex dreams

Word count: 2900+

Under Covers

Thank you all for the lovely responses to Under Covers, I know that surprise twist was evil of me (but I don’t regret it, it just felt right!).  I received a few requests for a part two, and a suggestion for it to be Cooper’s POV.

So... here is Uncer Covers, as told by Cooper...

And, because I’m just as horny for William Cooper, there will be a part three!  Mwuah!  Love all of ya!

@urban-trek-thru-middle-earth​ @emily-strange​ @nora-hewlett​ @to-boldly-nope​ @pandaqueen7799​ @bakerstreethound​ @portals-to-a-new-world​ @below-average-fangirl​ @writerdee1701​ @ladyreapermc​

Cooper reached for the travel mug in the console… but his fingers curled around nothing.  A quick glance away from the early morning traffic showed an empty cup holder.  “Well, that’s just typical,” he snarled grumpily.

His morning was off to a fan-fucking-tastic start, with a burnt Hot Pocket, his much-needed second cup of coffee forgotten on his desk at the office, and a restless night filled with some incredibly hot dreams of the only person he could one-hundred percent trust at work.

Ember.

She was a blessing, whether she knew it or not.  Quiet, intelligent, efficient, with an uncanny ability to anticipate his needs.  Beautiful.  Sexy.  A big flirt who had done a lot for his ego and self-esteem these past few months, and making him remember he was still a red-blooded man.

Last night’s solo sex on the back deck with a cigar and bourbon, fantasizing about having her on the glider swing or spread out on the patio table… bent over the deck railing…  

“Down, dammit,” he glared down at his crotch when he felt that familiar stir.  

Evidently that quick wank in the shower earlier hadn’t helped.  

God, he hated waking up horny.

It was going to be a dreadfully, painfully, long weekend, he thought as he signalled to pull into the parking lot for Ember’s apartment building.

When the file detailing the op landed on his desk he had immediately known he would assign Ember as his partner.  She did not have a lot of field experience, and had zero undercover experience, but she was a quick learner and self-sufficient.  He’d seen her wipe the floor during hand-to-hand combat training under Kordesky (he was supposed to be teaching that course, but at the time he’d been recovering from busted ribs from an op gone wrong).  Men three times her size hadn’t stood a chance.

It had both terrified him and turned him on.

But an entire weekend, maybe a tad longer, pretending to be a couple on a romantic getaway to nail a bad guy, with her…

Fuck, I’m screwed.

With a frustrated sigh he plucked his phone from the holder on the dash (strictly for GPS reasons) and pulled up the last text thread.

I’m outside.

His hazel eyes flickered to the old limestone building built in the ‘30s and remodeled, what, twenty years ago, into an apartment complex, wondering which part of the structure her apartment was in.  

His phone chirped in his hand.

Be down in a minute.

He groaned, his eyes dropping to his zipper once more.  I won’t.

If he survived the weekend, it would be a miracle.

He started to put the phone back on the clip when he realized he needed to tell her he wasn’t in his SUV.

Black Mercedes sedan.

Her response popped up a second later.  No Porsche?

He chuckled.  “No, no Porsche,” he mused out loud.  He’d thought about it, the sweet little Roadster the CIA had confiscated a while back.  Gorgeous car… but not ideal for a six hour drive to North Carolina.

Didn’t want to look like a man going through a midlife crisis, he texted back.

A classic sports car and a sexy young woman would most definitely make him look like he was.  Well… so would the Mercedes, but it drove like a dream and wouldn’t kill his back or ass for the long trip.

You’re too young for a midlife crisis.

“Oh, you’re flirting, Sweetheart,” he groaned.  He shook his head to clear it before pressing his hand hard against his crotch.  “Behave, dammit, stay down.”

He had no idea when he’d find the opportunity to handle that particular issue.  The little bungalow on the beach they’d be calling home for the next few days only had one bedroom.  Light, airy, lots of windows and a door opening out onto a veranda, a king size bed--

He pulled himself from his thoughts when he saw Ember step out of the building.

“Fuck.”

God damn was he screwed.

Ember was dressed in a snug, scoop neck tank top and cutoff shorts that showed off her long legs.

Legs he’d dreamed of wrapped around his hips.  Draped over his shoulders.  Hooked over his elbows.

“Now is not the time to rehash your favorite fantasies, William,” he scolded himself as he climbed out of the car.  He took the opportunity to adjust himself and straighten his plaid shirt to try to conceal the ridge in his jeans before he walked around to the trunk to open it.

Did she nearly trip over her own feet?

He kept that question to himself as he took her suitcase from her and stowed it next to his.  He carefully shut the lid before turning his attention on Ember.

“Get in the car, Kid.”

She immediately bristled before storming off.

Oh shit, he sighed heavily as he watched her yank open the passenger door.  He quickly rounded the car to climb into the driver’s seat.  “Easy there, Tiger,” he looked over at her.  “You okay?”

She shut the door and buckled up before taking in a deep breath.  

Yeah, Cooper, you hit the wrong damn button by accident, he realized.  Better salvage this and fast!

“Yeah.  Sleepless night.”  Her smile was faker than the phony IDs his buddy had made for them in high school.

Yup, wrong button.  

He frowned in sympathy.  “Worried about the op?”  He was giving her a bullshit excuse for her temper flareup and he knew it, but he also knew Ember would not admit him calling her “kid” had upset her.    

Her smile fell, allowing him to see how tired she was.  “You could say that.”

“You’ve got the easy job,” he reminded her as he started the car.  “Look pretty, flirt, be coy.”

Inwardly he flinched.  Wow, Cooper.  That was smooth.

“You call that easy?”  The blush staining her cheeks was downright adorable.  “I can’t flirt my way out of a paper bag if I tried!”

He grinned.  Either she’s in denial about flirting or she’s clueless that she’s a natural.

“‘Your tie brings out the gold in your eyes, Boss’ ring a bell?  Or ‘You’ve got a bit of powdered sugar on your cheek’?”

God, he could still feel her hand cupping his jaw and her thumb brushing over his cheekbone.

Her blush grew brighter.  “A compliment and a gentle warning before a meeting are hardly flirting!”

“You were flirting,” he grinned even more.  “And the plate of extra cookies left over from your Christmas dinner?”

“Figured your kids would like some cookies, and I had more than enough left over!”

Uh-huh.  A whole plate piled high with monster cookies, his favorite fucking kind?

“That’s what break rooms are for,” he couldn't help but chuckle.  “Pretty sure Sanderson would ask you to marry him if you bring baked goods in.”  

Please forgive me.

Ember shuddered and turned a little green.  “Pretty sure he lives in his parents’ basement.”

“Yeah, he has that personality,” he slowed for a stoplight.  “Not your type, then?”

Please say no.  You deserve so much better than him.  Or me.

“Have you ever heard me flirt with him?”

He busted out laughing at her sassy rebuttal.  There’s my girl, he struggled to get the mirth under control so he could speak again.  “No, no, I haven’t,” he shot her a look.  “You can give Wilkes a run for her money in the ice queen department when you’re dealing with him.” 

She finally smiled.  “I hope you’re giving me a compliment and not calling me a frigid bitch,” her own voice was laced with a touch of humor.

“She’s the frigid bitch and she wears that badge with pride,” he pointed out.  “She made Sanderson cry a couple of times.  You’re at least polite.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t be,” she mused.  “And I don’t flirt.”

Oh, Honey.

“‘You’re too young for a midlife crisis’?”  He struggled to keep another grin at bay.

“Not flirting!”  She twisted away from him.

But not before he glimpsed the splotching blush dotting her chest.

His mind went south before he could stop it.  Does she blush like that after an orgasm?

God dammit.

“What is it, then?”  He mentally shook himself to get his mind back on the conversation.  He winced when her head thumped against the window.

“The truth.  Thirty-five is still young,” she sighed.  “Age is only a number.  What matters is how you feel inside.  Take Grandpa-- er, Henry, for example.  He’s eighty-five, still working downstairs, running circles around the younger desk jockeys.”

“I need to find out what his secret is,” he joked.  Sometimes he needed more energy to make it through the day.

“No!”  Her voice squeaked.  “You don’t want to do that!”

His jaw dropped as he looked at her.  “Wait, he really has a secret?  What is it?”  He needed to know.

She blushed again.  “Nope,” she shook her head as if she were trying to shake off an unpleasant thought.  “It was bad enough overhearing it.  I’m not telling you.”

Oh.

Must’ve been something dirty if she was blushing like that.

“H-how long of a drive is it again?”

Did her voice just crack?

“Six hours if the traffic isn’t bad,” he answered.

“Straight through, no stops?” 

He chuckled.  “I’ll make a couple of stops, I’m not a monster.  You have breakfast yet?”  He glanced over to see her shake her head.

“There’s a coffee shop up ahead,” she pointed out.  “They have donuts and breakfast sandwiches.”

His stomach grumbled quietly.    “Any recommendations?”

“The omelette sandwiches are to die for,” she paused to cover her yawn.  “They come with sausage and cheese.  You’ve already had their donuts.”

His mind tripped back to the massive powdered sugar donut that had led to her soft touch that fateful afternoon.  His unintentional groan at that memory bordered on sinful.  “Might have to order a dozen for this weekend.”

“Better make it two dozen.  I’m not crawling out of bed before ten a.m. this weekend.”

No, down, he stubbornly told himself off at the images popping into his head.  “You’ve already claimed the bed, huh?”  He inwardly grimaced at the husky and teasing tone in his voice.  Who’s flirting now, Cooper?

“Figured it was a given since I’m a woman and you seem like the kind of guy who would take the couch.”

She had his number.  Damn, she really is good.  “Sweetheart, my back can’t take sleeping on couches even for a little catnap anymore,” he signaled to turn into the lot for the coffee shop.  

Liar, he ratted on himself.  He’d spent too many nights on the couch before Michelle asked for a divorce when she finally decided she couldn’t take being a CIA agent’s wife anymore.  If it weren’t for his kids he would not have gotten the couch for his new place.

“The bed’s a king, isn’t it?  We could share it.  I promise to be on my best behavior.”

He coughed to cover a strangled groan.  Share a bed with Ember?  All weekend?

Fuck.

“What?”  She asked.

“You’re flirting again.”

“No, I wasn’t,” she frowned at him.  “My brain loses its filter when I’m running on very little sleep.”

“Always an excuse,” he rolled his window down.  “What kind of coffee?”

“Just ask for the Emberleigh special, they’ll know.”

Cooper was pretty sure the barista, Tomer, was eye-fucking him.  Not the first time that had ever happened, but it sure as hell was the first time a guy was so bold about it.  And the not-so-subtle looks he was giving Ember were poorly hidden.  

Oh, yes, I’m gonna be the topic of conversation the next time she stops in, he chuckled to himself.  It was both amusing and flattering.

By the time they hit the freeway his two breakfast sandwiches were demolished and she was barely finished with hers.  He shifted to get comfortable.  Long trips by car were never fun, the miles monotonous and the seat unforgiving.  

Flying had not been an option.  The department could not justify using the jet for a weekend op, which left commercial flights.  He personally hated that option.  Checking weapons and other tools of the trade through security was a headache he did not want to deal with.  It was easier to drive.

“Should we go over the parameters again?”

It never hurt to go over plans a few times, and with this being Ember’s first undercover op he wanted her prepared.

The breathy “no” from her caught him off guard.

He shot her a quick glance.  “Seat reclines if you want to take a quick nap,” he swallowed the groan at the mental images of her stretched out on her back in that leather seat, him leaning over her…  He shifted in his seat when his jeans grew a little tight again.  “If you want to turn the radio on, go for it,” he cleared his throat (and his head).  “I listen to just about anything.  Except for the new crap.”

“Yeah, I can’t listen to that stuff, either.”

Thank god.

“I can Bluetooth my phone if that’s okay?”  She asked softly.

“Go for it,” he nodded.

When the opening guitar licks for one of his favorite songs began to play he grinned.

God, if this song wasn’t the ultimate euphemism for sex.  And the tempo.  Jesus Christ.

And the fact that Ember had the Scorpions on whatever playlist she had?  His crush on her grew that much more.

It reminded him of his high school days, his first car, T-tops off and cruising the strip rocking out to AC/DC, pretty girl in the passenger seat.

Sometimes he missed those days, not having any responsibilities other than keeping his grades up for football.  

He drummed his thumbs on the steering wheel and sang along off-key.  He found himself really getting into the music and tried to tone it down, but after catching Ember trying not to stare he decided to put his all into it.

And all bets were off when his favorite Def Leppard song came on.  

They played random road trip games when he wasn’t rocking out.  Counting state license plates.  Slug bug (or punch buggie as his little Katie loved to holler, especially when she saw the blue ones).  Billboard alphabet.  Count the road kill (gruesome but it worked).  I spy.

When she yawned for the tenth time in about as many minutes he realized why she was playing the games.  She was trying to stay awake despite repeated suggestions to recline the seat back and take a nap.  He even threatened to sing her to sleep.

She stubbornly insisted she needed to stay awake to help him watch traffic.

Somewhere along the way she did fall asleep.  He smiled to himself when she sighed in her sleep and shifted to get comfortable in her seat.  As carefully as he could he reached over to slip her sunglasses off and laid them on the dash.

No way was he waking her up any time soon.  She needed to rest up.  

He was humming along to “In The Air Tonight” and miming the drum solo above the steering wheel (it was a federal offense to not perform the drum solo) when a soft whine came from the passenger seat.  He quickly glanced over at the distressed sound.  “You okay over there?”  He pressed the button on the steering wheel to turn the volume down even more for the radio.

She shifted in her seat, head lolling toward him before a quiet snore reached his ears.  He chuckled and shook his head before he turned back to watch the road.  They were ten minutes from the nearest fast food restaurant and despite still being full from breakfast he needed to go to the bathroom and stretch his legs.  He just didn’t have the heart to wake Ember up quite yet.

A few minutes later she drew in a deep breath and moaned.

That moan sounded suspiciously like his last name.

His grip on the steering wheel tightened.

Ember shifted and moaned again.  “We… shouldn’t…”

He felt his cock begin to stir at the soft little sounds coming from her.  Sounds he had fantasized about more than once.

“Oh… god…” she squirmed.

Fuck, his jeans were uncomfortably tight.  Cooper flipped the turn signal and checked his mirrors before exiting the freeway.  

Her moans and gasps were more frequent now, with his name whined out a few times.  He drew in a shaky breath, that last guttural moan damn near making him cum right there.  

It would be cruel to wake her up, he thought as he pulled into McDonald’s parking lot.  But he could not sit in the car and listen to her have a sex dream about him.

“Oh… god… Cooper…”

The way she was panting.

The way his cock was throbbing dangerously.

He hated himself, for having no choice but to listen to her pretty little sex dream sounds and for waking her up before she could…

No.  Do.  Not.  Think.  About.  It.

“Ember,” he gently squeezed her shoulder before he chickened out.  “Wake up, Sleepyhead,” he murmured gruffly when she blinked her eyes open.  “We’re stopping for lunch.”

She looked disoriented, and he kicked himself for interrupting that dream.

He pulled away, breaking contact before his body could overrule his brain and pounce on her.  “I’m surprised you fell asleep with my singing.  Never worked on my kids when they were little.”

When she remained quiet he looked over.  “No comment?”  

“No!”  Damn, that blush was beautiful on her.  “N-no, I… I guess a smooth car ride combined with a sleepless night put me to sleep.”

“Yeah, that’ll do it,” he agreed as he pocketed the keys.  “Come on, I’ll buy you lunch.”

[for-ests]

Lost In Your Light: Peter Parker x Reader (Part 1)

Summary: Having the power of life and death at your fingertips seems useless when you can't save the ones you love. Y/N knows this all too well, struggling to keep her abilities a secret while helping everyone she can, in any way possible. 

[AU: SENIOR YEAR PETER PARKER] [MATURE CONTENT]

Word count: 2, 060

CASE FILE

Name: Y/N L/N

Age: 18. 

Gender: Female. 

Appearance: (Y/HC) (Y/EC) (Y/H) (Y/W)  

Mother: deceased 

Father: alive 

Emotional stability: unknown 

Abilities: FULL EXTENT UNDISCOVERED

✭✦✭✦✭

EXTRA INFORMATION: Little is know about natural Healing. Mutation is rare and few individuals have been found to have the ability.

Also called:

1. Regeneration

2. Power touch

3. Mend

4. Recovery

Basic Level: User can do anything that normal healing would do, simply accelerated.

Can heal minor wounds such as cuts, bruises and light burns. Recovering from minor to moderate blood loss. Critical wounds such as loss of limbs or damaged nerves and internal organs cannot be healed, but wounds can be closed. Cells that are fatally damaged, such as by burning, cannot be healed, resulting in permanent scarring.

Limitations: Healing may not be permanent.

May be limited to healing either oneself or others.

May only be able to heal non-fatal wounds.

May have limited range, including touch only

May be limited to healing only certain types of wounds or diseases.

May not work on permanent injuries or abnormal injuries that cannot be treated.

May not occur automatically, thus preventing the users from healing injuries by reflex.

May be painful for the recipient of the healing.

Side effects:

User may feel distracted, helpless, and desolate for short periods of time. Feeling as if they are searching for something they will never find.

User may experience blackouts when overworked.

User might fall ill after trying to heal something they can't.

User might die from fatigue.

User may not even know the power they are capable of.

✭✦✭✦✭

CHAPTER 01: LEFT IN THE SNOW

✭✦✭✦✭

The bright lights of Queens illuminated the water. Normally, the city would be buzzing with excitement, but all Y/N could hear were the waves crashing against the shore.

Her legs were hanging over the dock, feet swaying back and fourth as she mapped out which block to walk down. It was 2am, and she was shivering.

The nighttime breeze licked the waves, sending chills down her spine. Yet it didn't bother her, for she did this almost every night. In the exact same place, at the exact same time, where no one would be looking for her.

But doing what she did required her to renounce sleep and comfort. She sacrificed the little things to ensure the safety of others. She knew she was destined to do this, whether people recognized it or not.

Y/N pulled the scarf tighter around her neck and stood up. She tucked her phone inside her pocket and began to run. Her fingers tingled with warmth, knowing It was time. She could feel the helplessness drifting through the air.

The girl darted through the park and across the deserted street. Not even the police were patrolling at this hour. She was only able to escape because her father was a surgeon that worked late into the night.

After racing down a few blocks, she heard the first whimper echo through an alleyway. Turning sharply, Y/N turned down the street and hid, masked in the shadows.

She rested against the bricks, peaking around the corner to watch the situation unfold.

The sounds she heard were heartbreaking. With each kick, she could feel the dog’s life force fading into the abyss. The man who was kicking the animal relentlessly, laughed wickedly at its torment.

Y/N’s stomach wrenched when she noticed the infamous rose tattoo engraved on his forearm.

The Thorns were the city's leading gang in human sex trafficking and dog fighting. Queens was sadly known for the underground organizations. The two seemed completely different, but in this city, they went hand in hand. 

Each member had a rose and thorns tattooed visibly on their bodies for the public to see. And most of them watched dog fights for fun, not giving a damn what happened to the animals afterward. 

Y/N was the one who picked their bludgeoned bodies off the street.

She knew exactly how they did their business, in a back-end "spa" just a few blocks down. Everyone in the city knew it, even the police. But for some reason they turned a blind eye, which allowed for the actions this man was committing to unfold.

The girl was infuriated. The man was holding a beer bottle, pausing every few seconds to take a swig.

"Useless." He muttered before tipping the bottom up and finishing it off. "You made me lose hundreds--"

In the blink of an eye, his foot slammed against the dog's chest. Lelia barely had a moment to process what was happening.

The animal fell back with a cry, and this time it stayed down.

The girl winced, knowing if he kicked the dog again, that it would fall past the point of regeneration. She covered her mouth as blood started to drip onto the pavement.

Y/N was ready to step in, her heart hammering in her chest.

But the man seemed to be finished, satisfied with the damage he inflicted on the already helpless creature. He tossed his beer bottle into a pile of snow, turning on his heels. He walked towards her, flexing his hand. She could see it was already bruising.

She moved backwards into the darkness, not wanting to be seen.

Unfortunately for her, she wasn't aware of the snow bank behind her. Y/N's heel crunched loudly as her weight shifted. She swallowed hard after the man's footsteps halted.

"Who's there?" He grunted, the tone in his voice hinting at his intoxication. She clenched her fists, hoping she would stand a chance against this villain. Usually she was able to avoid this kind of confrontation, but tonight something seemed off. There was an unfamiliar malice hanging in the air. 

Her eyes widened as the man turned the corner, becoming visible under the lamplight. From that angle, she was completely exposed. She cursed under her breath, there was no use hiding anymore.

Y/N walked out from the shadows, trying to keep her cool and remind herself there was a life on the line. She couldn't let the dog die.

"Who the hell are you?" He looked disgusted, eyes narrowing at Y/N as she moved towards the alley. "Were you watching me?"

"Don't mind me." She pleaded, pulling up her hood to cover her face. "I wont tell anyone, just keep walking."

But fate had other plans. She knew she was asking too much of a criminal, for their code was unbreakable.

The man advanced quickly, and Y/N barely dodged his grip. She backed up in surprise, holding her stance with shaking legs. She was zero percent confident in her combat skills.

"Don't touch me!" She managed to hiss.

The stranger looked at her menacingly. She could tell he didn't like to be ordered around by a female.

"You shouldn't be in this part of town." He growled, a smirk appearing on his face shortly after the sentence was uttered. He rolled up his sweatshirt sleeves, trying to intimidate her. This was his territory.

Y/N's adrenaline started to pump wildly, she was frightened beyond belief. "Stay away.." She warned one last time, planting her feet down, ready for any punch he was about to throw at her. Y/N may not be good in combat, but she knew enough to defend herself. Wandering around New York this late at night, she was bound to run into people like him. She would be an idiot to not be prepared.

But of course he didn't listen, and instead, flung his fist directly at her face.

She ducked miraculously, watching him stumble to the side from his drunkenness. She used the split second of exposure to uppercut his jaw.

His head jerked back, and he crumpled to the ground. The stranger groaned loudly, his jaw knocked out of place.

Y/N breathed heavily, gritting her teeth as pain seared across her hand. She used the other to quickly relieve herself from the discomfort. Flexing it again for confirmation, she managed to smile. One perk of her strange ability was that she had the advantage to mend her wounds. 

She turned her attention back to the man. He was on his hands and knees, beginning to push himself up from the ground. Y/N raised her foot and cracked it down on the top of his head as hard as she could.

He fell back to the pavement, knocked out cold. She hated to inflict pain on others, but it wasn't like this man had any reminisce of good inside him. She knew exactly what he was apart of, and what he would do to her if he could. 

Y/N jumped over his limp body and rushed over to the injured animal.

The grey pit bull was in the same position the man had left it. It was still breathing, but barely. She might be too late.

"No... stay with me..." She reached her hands out and pressed them softly against its chest. Her hopes lifted as the pulse began to beat harder in response to her touch. Y/N slipped her bag off her shoulders and set the bag beside her. It was loaded with medical equipment, just in case she wasn't strong enough.

The girl rested her hands back onto the pit bull, and they burned as she closed her eyes. She poured all her emotions into the regeneration, gasping loudly as a current of power surged through her. It was indescribable. Her arms were shaking as the same pale, golden light, swirled in and around the wounds, assisting her in the healing process. She could sense the bones mending, and the muscles rejuvenating. Joy pulsed through her veins at this achievement, she was only able to create this level of mending two other times before.

But soon, the power was too much too handle, and Y/N started to feel exhausted. Sweat dripped along her forehead despite the chilling temperature. The girl worked flawlessly, running her fingers gently along the last few cuts, closing them with little effort.

She slumped forward in fatigue, the golden light vanishing into thin air.

And the alley was dark again. She took the pain away.

On her knees, the girl held her hands in front of her. She was shocked by the improvement. Normally, she couldn't completely heal internal wounds, but she felt it happen.

Ecstatic, Y/N glanced down at the animal. She examined it with an intense gaze, noticing that its ear was still gone. It looked like it had been bitten off previously.

Shuddering, she thumbed over the scar, knowing this dog was involved in a fighting ring.

She held the rest of its ear between her fingertips, wishing she could heal it permanently, but that idea was far fetched. She wasn't that powerful, and would probably never be.

"I’m sorry this happened to you." She whispered softly, her breath misting into the cold winter air. No animal deserved this kind of treatment.

The dog stirred, eyes suddenly snapping open. 

Y/N jumped back in defense, still on alert from the previous attack.

Her body was tense as she watched the dog slowly lift itself off the ground, still in a daze from the near death experience.

"It's okay." She smiled, relaxing her shoulders when she realized the dog meant her no harm. She wondered if it was smart enough to comprehend that she was the one who saved it.

Y/N bent back down to the dog’s level, and pulled out a collar and leash. "I wish I could do more for you." She sighed, knowing the shelter was the last place this poor animal deserved to go. She wished she could take it home with her, but that would be impossible. Her father would never allow it.

Standing to her full height, Y/N turned to check on the intoxicated man. He was still unconscious, and she intended to keep it that way. "Let's go." She urged the dog.

Each second she spent there was unsettling. 

Y/N and the pit bull walked together in a respectable silence until they reached the animal shelter. She gently coaxed the animal inside the rescue enclosure, leaving the leash and collar with it. She quickly scribbled a note and left it on the box.

The people who worked at this shelter must recognize her handwriting by now, regarding the dozen of other dogs she had left inside. Y/N smiled sadly at the thought, hoping she was making an actual difference, hoping each dog she saved had found the loving home it deserved. 

The girl really did feel guilty for leaving it alone, but that was also part of the job. She couldn't take every animal she saved home.

"You'll have a better chance at life here." She smiled sadly, scratching it's head lovingly. "You just have to be nice, promise me that okay?"

She held her hand out and the dog licked her. She took it as a thank you.

Y/N stared up at the sky, exhaling loudly as she noticed the sun peaking over the horizon.

Her father would be home soon, and if she wasn't asleep by then... well, let's just say that wouldn't be good.

✭✦✭✦✭

thank you for reading if you did! This will be a 12 part series so let me know if you’d like to be apart of a tag list! 

[cupcakemolotov]

Scatter the Die: Part 2

Okay, this was supposed to be part of @lalainajanes birthday present, and in true birthday form, exploded. And since I cannot imagine giving a birthday present without some kind of smutty bits, this is going to have to have more added onto it later. But my brain has been stubborn and I am hoping that getting something posted will help me get something else done!

You can read it here at A03 (including Part 1) if you prefer!

Warnings: death, monsters, discussion of murders, dismemberment and so on. 

Caroline shifted her weight uncomfortably, lip caught tightly between her teeth as she bit back a hiss, stubbornly rotating her ankle. Stiff and sore, today was her first full week without cast or crutches, and she refused to spend one more minute than necessary desk bound. The two weeks she'd been forced to take it slow had seriously rankled. Her partner's running commentary about pre-apocalypse medicine had not improved her temper. Witches’ spells could do a lot, but broken bones still needed time to heal. 

There was no one here yet to see her wince through the PT exercises anyway. Taking a slow breath as she finished the motion, Caroline glared at the paper files that had recently become her life. Not that she’d been given much of a choice.

If you’re stuck on a desk, Detective Forbes, we might as well make use of you. Salvatore did a number on the servers. Find me what he wanted to hide.

She supposed it at least had given her something to do as she’d never sat well for long periods of time, and digging through the files of old ghosts hadn’t improved her mood. Lifting her eyes, she gazed across the silent desks, frowning as her eyes lingered where she'd nearly died. She’d made a point to walk over it every day since her return, refusing to let the nightmares that left her sweat-soaked and shivering gain root here. 

They'd replaced sections of the concrete floor, patches that hadn't quite darkened to match the rest. They were a bitter reminder of the blood of the cops who had died under Tyler’s teeth, and his escape along with the fae-witch he’d brought in under the pretense of an arrest still burned a hole in her gut. It was a poor consolation that the bullet she’d put in Tyler would have done almost as much damage as what the collapsed wall had done to her leg. 

Of the injured survivors, she'd been the luckiest. A mangled ankle was at least fixable. Alaric had lost a hand to the fae, and not even magic had been able to reattach it. Matt was still in a coma, his condition unknown. There were a dozen others simply outright killed. 

Brushing a hand down her face, she rubbed her tired eyes. It would be a long time before the precinct forgot the horror of being betrayed by their own. A longer time still, before she stopped re-playing the scene in her head and wishing her bullet had been a half of an inch further to the left.

Noisy, and deliberately loud whistling broke into her thoughts and she rolled her eyes as her partner came around the corner. Caroline shook her head as she took in her partner of four year’s messy hair and stubble. Clearly he hadn’t slept yet.  “You're late.”

Detective Enzo St. John snorted and dropped a bag onto his desk before shuffling the paper cups in his hands to offer her one. “Someone is picky about her donuts. I'll never stop being surprised at the line at this time of night. It’s three am. People should be sleeping, not trying to clog their arteries.”

Caroline accepted the coffee and made grabby hands at the paper bag. In the seven decades since the barrier had gone up, humanity had clawed its way out its primitive post-apocalyptic society. They'd restored the US Government, running water. Electricity. Phones. 

Donuts were her personal favorite. 

She scowled when Enzo reached into the bag produced something that was decisively not a donut. “Were they out of the good stuff?”

“I've got two glazed in the bag for you, Gorgeous, but you need to eat something that isn't puffed sugar,” he drawled as he wiggled the napkin in her direction. “I don’t want to have to explain to that witch-friend of yours why you keeled over on my watch.”

Sighing heavily, Caroline accepted the sausage roll. Gia would have many, many words to say to her if she fainted on the job. “This better have cheese.”

Enzo rolled his eyes, pulling out a jelly filled donut and biting into it, mumbling through his mouthful. “As if I dared give you subpar food. Well, not twice, at least.”

Glaring at him for his lack of manners, she polished off the snack in quick bites. Her partner was a good man, someone who’d been her friend before they’d gotten thrown together. He’d migrated from Britain at some point, and stubbornly maintained that crisp accent, and was mostly human. The non-human part of him was classified as void.

It was his void magic that made a lot of cops nervous, but Caroline hadn’t minded his oddity, fully aware that magic always came with a price. For her partner, when he absorbed magic, his body converted that magic into harmless energy, but that energy had to go somewhere. Most people would’ve considered being somewhat immortal a gift, but Caroline had seen pictures of the wife he had buried. 

Still, having a partner who could eat magic was extremely helpful when magic fireballs started getting tossed about. The number of times Enzo had saved both their asses with his magic had risen exponentially over the past twenty-four months. She knew that he stilled raged that he hadn’t been on sight when Tyler had sprung his trap, that he and others believed that things would have gone differently if he had been here. 

“How's the eye-bleeding going?” 

Caroline shrugged and dusted her hands, studying her friend. “It's all organized and set to be added back into the database.”

Enzo threw his feet onto his desk and grinned, tossing her the paper bag which she caught with a scowl. “Find anything interesting?”

She grimaced and dug out her first slightly squashed donut. “Only in regards to what is missing. It's like the files were scrubbed long before I got my hands on them.”

Which made sense in a way. Mason had been their commander for six decades, for nearly as long as they’d had a precinct to work from post-apocalypse. He’d likely been keeping an eye on the written reports as long as they’d been making them.

It was why Caroline had always been so very careful with what she put into writing. Mason had been someone she’d trusted to do his job, and that trust sat in a bitter knot in her chest, but that trust had had limits. There were some things she’d only ever trusted Enzo with and after everything that had happened, that wasn’t likely to change.

“We knew Mason was most likely a figurehead for the group,” Enzo said tightly, jaw working harshly as he mentioned their previous Commander. “Any chance you can figure out what's missing? Computers might not work as well as they used too, but usually stuff isn’t really gone. Or so I’m told.”

She snorted at the wry note in his voice. Computers didn’t always work right around Enzo and he was lucky she didn’t mind doing the bulk of their reporting. She was pretty sure it was why he’d been shuffled to her in the first place.

“Maybe,” Caroline said. “Most of the detectives originally assigned to the cases are dead, but one or two did survive into retirement. I can call in a favor, meet them to see what they remember, but I'm not sure we’ll get much. Whatever Mason was hiding, he was thorough.”

Enzo leaned back in his chair, arms crossed behind his head as the springs groaned. “The new Commander won't like that.”

Caroline grimaced. 

Interim Commander Katerina Petrova had shown up two days after Mason Lockwood had disappeared. Caroline had still been in the hospital recovering, but Enzo had done a dramatic retelling of how she'd strode in on her Louboutin heels and turned the entire precinct on its ear. Most people grudgingly agreed she'd been mostly fair, but some of the older detectives were considering more than grumbling. 

It certainly hadn’t helped Commander Petrova’s popularity that she was zero percent human. Most cops could accept a certain amount of weirdness, Enzo and then a few others who were witch born or shapeshifter were eyed suspiciously, but mostly ignored. And while Changelings were considered less dangerous than some of the other fae species who’d been cut off when they'd raised the barrier, nothing about them was human. 

Their new Commander was gorgeous, demanding, and dangerous. She wasn’t the sort who Caroline would have pegged as a cop, much less one that played at a local level. Magic users with any power preferred state and federal politics, and they played viciously. The Feds enjoyed little more than stepping in and taking over from the locals as soon as there was a whiff of anything interesting. 

Cops, in turn, generally distrusted anything with true power. They saw too much from the creatures that slipped through the cracks, and New Orleans’ barrier was notoriously thin. It made the city a hotbed for any number of political maneuvering, and too many good cops died in the crosshairs of some FBI agents' personal agenda. Magic users would bleed each other dry if given the opportunity, and even dead, Fae magic lingered. 

Having an FBI Bureau located in New Orleans meant keeping cases local and off the radar of coven or Fae families difficult. Once an agency got involved, the answers they could provide to a family were limited to the most political of answers, if they could even give them that much. Missing persons cases were rarely solved even if they had recovered bodies, and some murders were pushed under the rug entirely. 

Caroline hated it. 

Before his betrayal, Commander Lockwood had given the impression that he'd fought for his people. He’d gone toe to toe with the feds, had occasionally won. Werewolf or not, he'd been trusted. But Mason had used his people's acceptance of his werewolf nature to betray them, and it was still a bitter taste in the department's collective mouths. 

It would be for years.

Now the Feds were watching them closely and they'd put a changeling in the precinct. Tongues were wagging, and Caroline wasn't certain who to trust. 

“I’ve got a buddy or two,” Enzo interrupted her thoughts, words slow. His chin dipped so that his eyes met hers, gaze serious. “A couple of ties to some of the alphabet agencies.”

“Do you?” Caroline murmured, intrigued. It didn’t surprise her. Enzo knew a lot of people. “What sort of gossip has been going around?”

“You aren't going to like it,” he warned. 

Caroline paused. “It doesn’t have to do with any of our past cases, does it?”

Enzo eyes darkened as he absorbed her words and his head moved in a barely perceptible no. The fist around her lungs loosened, and she bit into her donut and motioned for him to continue. His expression turned rueful, and she braced herself.

“Rumor has it our new Captain has some fascinating ties to a certain Mikaelson.”

Caroline’s eyes closed in silent aggravation.  

When she'd been a fresh faced street cop, determined to work her way up the ranks to detective, she'd never have imagined it wasn't magic that was going to cause her the most aggravation, but the politics. She’d learned how complicated they could be at her mother’s murder, had watched it destroy good men who promised to find her answers. But she’d never thought herself incapable of traversing them. What had been important was bringing closure she’d been denied to families. But the better she became at her job, the more she found herself staring at insurmountable roadblocks. 

And of those cases, Special Agent Klaus Mikaelson was a particular pain in her ass. 

She'd met him nearly a half a decade earlier during a case involving a kelpie that had tried to kill her. The Irish water horse had taken on a humanoid form and drowned her victims on land, and New Orleans had been ideal hunting grounds for her. She might have even escaped notice for a few more years but her preferred meal had been male cops. 

Caroline had been one of the detectives hunting the cop killer, but it’d been Mikaelson she'd butted heads against repeatedly. Klaus had thought she was unnecessarily reckless and Caroline had been frustrated by his unwillingness to share information. The fact that he came from a family with deep pockets and even better connections had left her teeth grinding, particularly since she'd known he was keeping things close to his chest. 

To make it worse, she’d found herself grudgingly admiring the fact that he'd never backed down from the bite of her temper. She'd told herself repeatedly during those first few months that the urge to bite his smirking mouth, to see how well he'd bluster with her tongue against his was the result of her dry spell. The chemistry between them had been explosive, and if he hadn't been a Fed intruding on her territory, she might have been intrigued enough to let him charm her.

But later, he’d shown her the truth of himself and she hadn’t really known what to think. She still didn’t but whatever was between them it wasn’t fear. Fear was a cold sweat and tight lungs in the middle of the night, the ice of possibilities. Klaus burned, and the heat between them threatened to send them both up in flames if she gave him even an inch. 

“How fascinating?” Caroline said, voice taut with frustration. “Is she in his pocket?”

Enzo pursed his lips, gaze flicking across the mostly empty bullpen and he pushed his chair closer. “That's a question I don't have an answer too.”

“God dammit.”

He nodded in agreement, gaze careful as he phrased his next question. “Have you found it curious that the FBI is so interested in you? Because I have. No offense, but smart and resourceful aren't necessarily what they are looking for. And they rarely try to recruit full humans.”

Caroline had no answers for him. Whatever Klaus thought he’d seen in her, he had offered no explanation. If it hadn’t been for the way he kept popping up in her life, in her cases, she’d have written it off as a whim. The man was mercurial enough for it but he was also unyielding when it fit his fancy. But there was no good way to explain to her partner the way Klaus watched her when it was just the two of them.  “Who knows what goes on with the Feds?”

Enzo sighed. “I don't think it's much of a secret that the veil between worlds is getting thinner each year; that we're looking at a catastrophic break here in New Orleans. Whatever prisons the supernatural made, whatever it is that they’ve tried to vanish beyond our world, we both know they are starting to slip back through in higher and higher numbers.”

She nodded tightly, thinking of the cold iron knife she always wore, the cuffs that set heavy against her hip. Standard police ammo included silver bullets and her medkit had fresh sage and blessed salt. “I thought finding a way to close those weak points is a priority.”

“Sure, that's what our departmental memos are going to keep spouting, but you don't exactly see the witches succeeding at it,” Enzo drawled, brow arching as the truth of their jobs sat in his eyes. “Shit is going to go down eventually, and humanity is going to be the collateral damage. We’ve already seen it.”

Caroline grimaced. She'd seen the trend, over the years. Humanity made the perfect buffet for a lot of the nightmares behind the veil, and as a species, humans reproduce quickly, unlike many of the supernaturally gifted. Most Fae and the other not-humans thought of humanity as nothing more than an easily replaced buffet. 

Then there had been Silas.

Enzo nodded, voice low. “So we’ve got a situation brewing in New Orleans. The Bayou is a perfect place for things that go bump in the night to find a hiding place while they regain their power. And even keeping both eyes on a situation, we don’t always know about a problem until it goes boom.”

More and more bodies dumped into the bayou were never recovered. Gator hunters were home well before dark, and will o'wisps haunted the water. The kelpie that had attacked cops was the first of three that had been killed in five years. There were rumors of sirens in the Mississippi and gremlins lurked in the shadows of the most brightly lit alleys. 

New Orleans was a powder keg.

“Yeah,” she said tightly, mouth thinning. “We have seen it. We’ve also reported it to all the right channels.”

And until Tyler had killed twenty percent of the cops in her department, until his fae-witch had sunk her hands into the chest of good men and turned them feral, no one had listened. 

“Did I ever tell you that I requested a transfer here?”

Caroline blinked, shook her head. “No. Why on earth would you?”

“Voids aren’t born, Caroline. We’re made.” His mouth twisted in an old memory, eyes dark. “The process is terrible. If anyone survives. After my wife died… well. This city has very established ancestral magic, and a bureau ready to stick its nose into the smallest hint of trouble. Not to mention that the federal government cannot afford to show weakness when it's becoming clearer and clearer every year that humanity is no longer the apex predator; and those that are just happen to wear our skins, sometimes. New Orleans should appear to be a lot safer than it manages.”

Caroline winced, tried not to think about how literal that was about faces. She’d killed a doppelganger three years ago who had worn her face and sometimes that case played a part in her nightmares. “That doesn’t explain why you wanted to be here?”

“I wanted to know why the strength of humanity and the power of witches was failing,” he said bluntly. “Why I was tortured and suffered and lost years with my family if we were only going to fail in the end.”

“Did you find your answer?”

He shook his head. “The veil falling might be inevitable. But I know why we’ve held it so long. Being here, having you as a partner, it’s reminded me that not all of humanity is bad.”

She wadded up the donut bag, tossed it as his face. He ducked with a frown and Caroline smiled. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

“Thanks, I think.”

“So what does all this have to do with the Commander?”

“She’s tied to the State AG, not the local prosecutors. From what I've been able to glean, we’re not the first precinct she's been brought in to clean up. She was in Ireland five years ago, New York before that. She did a short stint in Chicago, but didn't stay long. What I can't find is where she goes once she leaves.”

Caroline licked her lips, pondering those words. “Wait… the new AG? I think I saw something about a replacement when I was in the hospital. It was Elijah something, right?”

“Full name is Elijah Mikaelson.”

“Elijah Mikaelson? Please tell me he’s not…”

“Related to the Very Special Pain in your ass?” Enzo interrupted with a wry grin. “Oldest living brother. There is also a younger sister and brother, both witches. You'll be interested to know she’s recently relocated into the area. And the younger brother has moved stateside.”

Caroline ran a hand down her face. “How do you know all this?”

“Been around awhile,” Enzo said. “Got a few friends, still willing to give me a tip or two. But the Mikaelson horde isn't the only family making a move into the area. There's been an uptick in the locals complaining about being priced out of good apartments and the housing market has taken a surprising turn for a place full of monsters.”

“A State AG,” Caroline said slowly, eyes narrowing, ignoring his grumble about housing. “A Special Agent with the FBI who has enough leeway to fly into the city as he wishes, and witches. What are the Mikaelsons looking for?”

He shrugged, something almost sympathetic behind his eyes. “Good question. You might get a chance to ask him sooner than you think.”

She eyed him warily. “What's that supposed to mean? I'm not exactly on regular speaking terms with any of them.”

Not that it did much good. The first hint of something powerful in her case and Klaus turned up, butting his perfect nose where he wasn’t wanted. She cursed him for it, often. If she’d learned who was tipping him off, they would have had words.

“Yeah,” Enzo drew out slowly, inching his chair back. “Did anyone mention he showed up at the hospital during your surgeries?”

She froze. “What?”

“Hmm,” Enzo held up his hands in a placating manner, still moving slowly backwards. “Brought in his sister, the witch. Rebekah. Interesting girl, very prickly.”

Caroline blinked at the edge of amusement in his voice, that faintest hint of interest. “Wait, did you flirt with her?”

“Regretfully, I didn’t have a chance. Agent Mikaelson was pretty determined to get her into your theatre to make sure that whatever magical damage was done could be corrected.”

Her jaw dropped, lips parting as she gaped. “No one thought to mention this?”

“Yeah, killing the messenger? That's something most people are pretty sure you'd attempt. I'm telling you now,” Enzo said with a shrug. “Besides, that's not really the fun part.”

Her stomach dropped at the word fun. “What does that mean?”

“Your Very Special Agent has relocated. Rumor has it he's now Supervisory Special Agent, and New Orleans is considered his territory.”

“Goddammit.”

Enzo nodded his agreement. “So the real question for all of this is now pretty much isn’t if there is going to be a second apocalypse, Forbes, but when. And are these folks here to stop it or to capitalize on it?”

Caroline dug out her second donut with an air of someone on the executioner's block. Klaus had made New Orleans his home. He was in her city and she’d no doubt he’d turn the FBI Office into his personal fiefdom. She hadn’t forgotten that show of power from him, the truth about himself he’d shown her as she’d sat in the ambulance, half drowned by a kelpie. 

“I guess we’ll have to find that out, won't we?”

“You up for that?”

She sighed. “I don't think I've much of a choice.”

Enzo echoed her expression, mouth twisting. “Good luck, then. If you need me to distract his sister, just let me know.”

She glowered until Enzo spun around at his desk, shoulders shaking with silent laughter.

-

When Caroline had learned a Bennett witch had moved to New Orleans, she very deliberately went out of her way to avoid her. She’d potentially had time during her PTO to arrange a meeting with her old friend, but hadn’t. Bonnie Bennett was an old ghost, if no longer a familiar one. But while Bon was no longer part of her nightmares, the things she represented still lingered like a bad taste in her mouth. 

Liz Forbes had never liked witches. Caroline couldn’t remember if she’d had an opinion before her mother’s murder, but after, the sly smiles and flashy spells from ‘expert consultants’ had sat like lead in her chest. Something about the ease of finding her mom’s killer, the neat little bow tying up all loose ends had always seemed wrong. 

Years later, she’d been proven right. 

But as a grieving teenager, her last real memories of Bonnie had been wrapped up in that grief and a sense of abandonment. She remembered Grams quiet disapproval of the witches invading Mystic Falls, and she’d kept Bonnie confined to the house until the investigation was all over. Caroline had known that hadn’t been Bonnie’s fault, but it had still hurt. Her life had been so violently turned on its head, and she’d wanted her closest friend. In the end, when Caroline walked away from Mystic Falls, she'd gladly left those ties behind. 

Bonnie moving to New Orleans had been a quiet reminder that while she’d solved her mother’s murder, leaving her past completely behind was an impossibility. It had also been another warning that whatever was going on with the barrier, it was getting serious. Caroline might have left Mystic Falls behind, but she’d kept a distant eye on its on-goings. 

And Bonnie was a power. 

But finding her childhood friend ankle deep in mud, frowning over the corpse of a rotting body in the swamp wasn’t how she’d imagined what was probably an inevitable reunion. The tip about a dead woman in the swamp had come through dispatch, and Caroline had called in her response as she’d driven out to secure the scene. 

If she was lucky, the worse she’d seen would have been gator marks. If it was worse, having her partner on hand would be the wisest course of action. She had no real desire to be cursed or eaten. The swamps were dangerous and she had a healthy sense of caution when it came to finding what was potentially a feeding ground. 

But all thoughts of containment had disappeared when she realized she’d been beaten to the body, and by who. The visible surprise when Bonnie had watched her get out of the car had echoed her own. The witch’s dark eyes were hidden by a pair of neat, designer shades that were in such contrast to her clothing that Caroline wondered if she had borrowed them.

“Caroline,” Bonnie started and then stopped, flipping her glasses on top of her head instead. Her hair was twisted away from her face, the elegant bones of her cheekbones surprisingly delicate for the force of the personality behind her eyes. “Or is it Detective Forbes?”

Caroline let her lips curl. “It’s Detective.”

A hint of what might have been sadness briefly tightened her mouth, but then it was gone. Giving a short nod, Bonnie’s eyes lowered back to the corpse. “I thought I was the first one to the body.”

As far as Caroline knew, Bonnie was correct. Dispatch had said the call had been from a gator hunter, and they were too smart to linger where a dead body had washed up. Very few things ever made it to a shoreline. This body was situated about five feet from solid ground, a strange mudflat having made an appearance around it. “News spreads quick, I suppose.”

Those dark eyes studied her, and the right side of her mouth tugged upwards. “I’d heard that about you.”

Caroline arched a brow as she considered the mud between them. It was likely that Bonnie would be fine, and while the mud was a problem, something else about the scene itched at her. Grabbing a camera, she checked her side piece and knife before moving to join Bonnie. Sighing heavily because she liked her boots, she moved carefully down the sharp drop of the bank where the swamp should have pushed up against the shoreline. It was almost as if this area had been drained of water, leaving nothing behind but the thick, sludge-like carpet of mud. It didn’t smell, but there was a disturbing lack of debris and the only visible movement was from Bonnie. 

“Be careful, the mud is deeper than it should be,” Bonnie cautioned as Caroline made her way over. “Something altered the swamp around here, and it’s not good.”

Pulling a face as her boots deeply into the muck, Caroline scowled. “I can see that. And what exactly did you hear? I didn’t think you’d been here that long.”

“Nothing bad, just that you still have a nose for trouble.” A small noise as if Bonnie was remembering something amusing. “And that you’re quite stubborn, but I already knew that.”

“I didn’t really keep up with anyone from home,” Caroline said. “I’m not sure who’d be telling tales.”

“I asked around when I got here.” Her teeth worried her lip for a moment and Bonnie shrugged. “Not that your fellow cops talked much. I barely managed to find out that you were hurt, and that came from different sources entirely.”

Caroline carefully came to stop a foot from the body and studied the remains. Bloated, with her face scarred beyond recognition, whoever this had been had spent enough time in the swamp they should either have started to decompose or been eaten by a gator or worse.

So why hadn’t she? And where were the insects?

“I didn’t catch what you're doing here,” Caroline said after a moment, tugging a pair of latex gloves free from where she stuffed them into her back pocket. It took a moment to tug them on, the humidity leaving her skin sticky. “You seem pretty prepared for a witch who just happened upon a body.”

Bonnie also wore what looked like police issued latex gloves, the material spelled with a little more protection built in than the average pair. But as a witch, Bonnie could have done the spells herself. It was the neat little kit next to her, filled with what were probably samples of the mud and whatever she had been collecting from the body, that really said that Bonnie wasn’t here as a concerned passerbier.

Huffing, Bonnie used her forearm to wipe at her cheek, her skin sweat damp in the muggy heat. “I’m the new Forensic and Magical Anthropologist for the Bureau. And no one ‘happens upon’ these things, Detective. I’ve been seeding the area with detection spells for weeks now. I just didn’t expect them to pop quite like this.”

Caroline snorted as she absorbed that bit of info.  “A Fed? Really, Bon? Did Grams shit a brick?”

Shooting her an exasperated look, Bonnie bent back over and continued her examination. “We’re not that bad.”

“Uh huh,” she retorted. “If you stayed out of my cases, maybe I’d believe that.” If they stayed out of her cases and had been more willing to tell the families the truth. Secrecy left behind open wounds.

“I could say the same thing,” Bonnie shot back, eyes challenging. “You do realize that since I was here first, this scene belongs to me? My boss will make the decision if we turn it over.”

Caroline frowned, trying not to think of who that boss was. “The remains are a bit fresh for your field, aren’t they?”

Bonnie shrugged, unconcerned. “I’ll have the body delivered to the morgue; we’ll have to dispose of the flesh anyway. Whatever happened to this victim isn’t quite right, even for a fae-mauling. They should have started to decompose and nothing here has tried to eat it. That concerns me.”

Warily, Caroline glanced around. “You think it’s a trap?”

“I’m not sure, but I’ll hit us both with a bit of magical napalm to kill anything that might try to attach when we’re done here.” She blew out a breath as she sketched a few quick runes over the body, the symbols glowing faintly for a few quick moments. “Though it seems clean, I don’t trust it. We’ll need to make sure the bones are contained.”

Caroline glanced at her. “Contained?”

A solemn look. “Monsters aren’t the only thing interested in the dead bits and pieces of potential biohazards, Detective.”

Considering those words, the truth of them, Caroline finally sighed. “Do you need help moving anything?”

“Nope. I think anything else will need to be collected once we get the body situated.”

“Alright, I won’t kick up a fuss if you share whatever you find.” Caroline lifted the camera off her neck, and she started snapping careful pictures. Whoever the Feds sent to move the body would likely do the same, but Caroline liked to have her own copies. Plus, the camera was special. 

Bonnie nodded. “Deal. But I want a copy of your pictures. That camera isn’t standard. In fact… It feels like void magic. But that’s impossible.”

Lips curling into a smirk, Catoline agreed. “It’s an experiment.”

Looking interested, Bonnie tipped her head to the side. “What does it do?”

“In theory, it’ll filter out any magical interference.” Gia and Enzo have been working with Enzo’s magic, to see if they could embed it. They’d started the project after what had happened with Silas and the collected evidence had been magically corrupted. So far, they’d only had mixed results. 

Bonnie’s brows lifted. “In theory?”

“The pics will either turn out or end up a weird mess of colors,” Caroline shrugged. “Your forensic minions should have more reliable equipment when they show up.”

“True,” Bonnie said slowly. “But Void magic is still mostly a big mystery. So very few survive the process. I’d be interested in watching these experiments.”

Caroline made a noncommittal noise. Enzo was her friend and her partner, not a science experiment. He could decide what experiments to allow, but that was his business. No one else's. Even if she was found surprisingly comfortable around Bonnie Bennett after all these years.

“Did you find anything interesting?” Caroline pointed the camera away from the body, snapped a few pictures of the swamp around them. “I don’t like this place.”

Bonnie sighed. “Agreed. And it’s hard to say what I’ve found. I’ll know more later.”

“Well, I trust your magical nohow over whomever took over for Alaric. Grams never trained a fool in her life.” Caroline reluctantly admitted as she straightened, glancing back towards her car as she heard the sound of vehicles driving carefully along what there was of a road. Backup was finally arriving. 

“You clearly don’t remember my mom well,” Bonnie replied dryly but there was no heat. “And I think the position of Medical Examiner is still technically vacant. Didn’t you hear?”

“Hear what?” Her gaze narrowed as she recognized the SUV’s pulling up as Federal. Her phone beeped in her back pocket, but she didn’t dare touch it until she’d been cleared of magical contamination. The camera had enough of Enzo’s magic to eat anything that tried to attach itself. 

She was still glaring at the slow moving vehicles when Bonnie spoke. “With the growing concern that we are likely to experience a catastrophic breach of the barrier, the State Legislators have decided that full cooperation between our departments and yours is necessary. We don’t need a morgue. You have one. Though I’m told it’s going to receive a few magical upgrades. Rebekah is… particular.”

Caroline muttered a few choice words under her breath as a familiar figure stepped out of an SUV, the door shutting loudly behind him. His ruffled curls were as recognizable as the tense line of his shoulders. Something twisted in her stomach at the first sight of him, awareness brushing along her skin. For a moment, she faced him, tongue tucked between her teeth as she tried to absorb the impact of his presence even so far from her. Shoving his sunglasses into his hair, Klaus stared back, the long line of him tense as he watched her. 

Deliberately turning her attention back to Bonnie, heart a staccato in her throat, she pulled a face. “Oh, goody. More Feds.”

Bonnie laughed softly and finally straightened, her field kit held firmly in one hand. “I don't think I can learn much more here. We should probably head back to shore, let the paramedics pack up the body.”

Knowing that she couldn’t avoid Klaus forever, Caroline nodded but hesitated, letting her eyes scan along the swamp. Bonnie paused as well, looking around. “What’s wrong?”

Caroline shook her head. “I’m not sure. It just feels like there should be more here. It’s too clean. I don’t trust clean. Not in the swamp.”

Bonnie looked troubled, and jerked her chin towards solid ground. They both started the trek back, and tension ran down Caroline’s spine until she noticed that Klaus was watching the swamp behind them, ignoring everything else. The tense line of her shoulders eased a hair. They’d at least get a warning if something charged them. 

“I don’t disagree,” Bonnie finally murmured as they neared the incline. “Did you get anything useful from your tip? 

“Just a tip that there was a body lying out in the open without a single scavenger,” Caroline replied. “My money is on a gator hunter who knew better than to stick around. I’ve got a twenty pound bag of rock salt in my trunk if you think you’ll need to ward the area.”

“I might.”

Caroline looked up when a hand appeared in front of her as they approached the bank. She frowned to find Klaus waiting on her. His eyes were blue today, and there was something about the set of his mouth that prickled warning down her spine. He arched a brow and she bit the tip of her tongue to keep from doing something dumb. Enzo would never let her hear the end of it if she fell into the mud instead of accepting help with her ankle still healing. 

She was still tempted. Touching Klaus was risky, it gave her dreams too many details and left her wondering about things that were better left as mysteries, but today it didn’t look like she had any choice. Taking his hand, Caroline let Klaus help her back onto solid ground. It was a strain, not to notice how solid he felt beneath her fingers and palm, the heat of his skin noticeable even through two layers of latex.  

“Thanks.”

He nodded, studying her face, and he didn’t immediately release her hand. “Of course, Detective. My understanding is you’ve just been cleared for field duty. I’d hate for you to relapse.”

She wasn’t at all surprised he’d been tracking her recovery, especially if Katerina was a mole for his family. Giving a slight tug, she refused to feel relieved when he finally let her go. 

“Is it?” She shrugged. “I heard you got a promotion.” 

Stripping off her gloves, she kept an eye on the Feds as Bonnie gave orders as she secured her kit in what looked like a box fashioned from cold iron. Beside her, she watched the slow curl of Klaus’ mouth out of her peripheral vision. A herd of wild horses couldn’t drag out of her just how unfair she found the shape of his mouth, but her abdomen went tight at the hint of dimple in his cheek. 

“Keeping track of me, Caroline?”

She snorted and tossed the latex into the biohazard bag one of Bonnie’s people brought over. Several more were slugging through the muck with a body bag. She did not envy them that job.

“I don’t need your people butting into my cases,” Caroline reminded him firmly, ignoring his question. “It was bad enough when you were sticking your nose into things. Now you have minions.”

“That may be so,” Klaus said, studying her with an intensity that felt like a touch. “But even you must recognize that there are some things your department doesn’t have the firepower to deal with.”

Setting her jaw at the carefully worded reminder of the recent events, she lifted her chin to growl back when the ground suddenly bucked and someone screamed. She staggered hard, ankle twinging painfully, and Klaus caught her. For a moment she froze like that, the hard line of his biceps beneath her palms as he steadied her, the feel of his skin fever hot. 

When the ground continued to shake, he yanked her up against him, and the firmness of his hand and arm a brand against her spine and side. The smell of him changed to the scent of an open flame, and she felt the magic gathering around them. Curling her fingers into his shirt, she hung on as the shakes continued to turn the ground violent beneath their feet.

Someone started screaming. 

Klaus barked a handful of orders, the edge in his voice easily carrying over the shrieks of his people. Gripping his shirt with both hands, Caroline twisted her head to stare at the swamp to see and inhaled sharply. Where the dead body had laid earlier, there were tentacles, nearly a dozen of them. The largest was at least seven feet in length. 

The Feds who had been sent out to collect the body had been scattered. Two were being swung through the air, their screams full of pain filled terror. One agent was scrambling through the mud towards the bank, her face bone white as she tried to get to safety.

Caroline couldn’t find the fourth. 

But it was clear the Feds weren’t the main attraction. Instead, unbothered by the mud and lack of deep water, one of the large tentacles wrapped around the body and dragged it back beneath the mud. The ground shuddered violently, but Klaus remained rock solid against her. 

Terror turned her mouth to ash as she watched the thing move. The tentacles were more than long enough to reach the shore and grab more victims. Only the feel of Klaus, hot and solid, kept her from sprinting for cover. She had a shotgun in the truck, but she wasn’t sure even rocksalt would penetrate the thickness of those tentacles. Horror closed her throat, and she heard seams pop from her grip on Klaus’ shirt. He remained rock steady against her, fingers splayed against her hip fever hot. 

“Bennett,” he growled. “A little urgency.”

Bonnie stepped forward, palms lifted, but before she could cast whatever spell she’d been planning, the tentacles suddenly retreated with alarming speed. The agent who had nearly reached the shore screamed as a tentacle snagged her around the waist. The sounds of guns firing seemed to do nothing as it dragged the agents beneath the mud. For several tense minutes everyone was unnaturally silent after the boom of the last expended cartridge died as they waited for it to come back. Caroline’s breath burned harshly in her throat, and she was unashamed by the grip she had on Klaus. 

Giant tentacle monsters were way outside her paygrade. 

“Bennett, secure the perimeter. Kol, help her.” The sound of Klaus’ firm voice broke through the shocked silence. “Someone secure those remaining samples and find me a response team. I want to know where it went and if we have a chance of recovery, and I want it five minutes ago.”

Forcing herself to release his shirt as the feds scrambled, Caroline leaned back. Klaus didn’t move, hand curved firmly against her hip. Biting the tip of her tongue to hold in her wince as she put pressure on her ankle, she tapped his wrist firmly. 

“Agent Mikaelson. I need to call this in.”

His gaze lowered to hers and she forced herself not to flinch when she saw his eyes. The blue was gone, the white hot center of his pupils bleeding his iris gold and turning his gaze inhuman. There was something dangerous about the set of his mouth, the angle of his jaw but she had never let him intimidate her and she wasn’t going to start now.

“This is our scene, Detective.” His gaze flickered over her shoulder. “The veil is far too thin here.”

Caroline nodded. This was way past her precinct's ability to handle. Whatever was going on in the swamp was dangerous. Most cops weren’t equipped to deal with tentacles and unholy swamp mud. “Agreed. But I still need to call it in. We get a half dozen reports a day that a body has been found in a swamp; real and fake. I’ll need to let the precinct know that those investigations need to be directed to you. My partner is also on his way, he needs to be warned.”

Klaus’ head dipped, eyes sharp and too bright against her face. “You’re not usually so helpful.”

She gave him a tight lipped smile. “That’s because you usually stick your nose into places you aren’t needed. This?” She jerked her chin, encompassing the swamp and everything in it. “Totally your kind problem.”

Those bright, calculating eyes narrowed but his hand fell away from her side. His gaze lowered, dragging down the line of her legs and lingering on the mud encrusted mess of her boots. Something his jaw shifted, mouth compressing before his eyes lifted to her face. “Agreed. It is my kind of problem. And as such, we’re going to need your boots, love.”

Caroline dropped her eyes to her feet and groaned. She was caked to her ankles in mud, and after seeing what had come out of the mud, she was wearing evidence. “Goddammit.”

Klaus made a noncommittal noise in his throat. “You’re probably not going to want to track that around. We’ll get you some plastic to wrap up in, but you’ll need to come with us to the morgue. I’ll have one of the agents drive your car.”

Glancing at the baby faced agents wandering around, she gave him a look full of disbelief. “You must be joking.”

His lips curved, the hard gold light in his gaze finally softening into a more familiar blue as he finally stepped away from her. The air was hot and muggy, but somehow she still felt a chill now that he wasn’t holding her. “Afraid not. Driving with both feet wrapped in plastic seems a bit unsafe. You can take the front seat in my SUV, if you like.”

The only thing worse than being chauffeured around by Klaus would be being stuck in the back seat. Huffing, she shifted her weight and couldn’t quite hide her wince as her ankle throbbed. His gaze sharpened, and she shook her head, cutting off whatever he was going to say. “I’m fine. It’s nothing that needs immediate attention.”

She watched as he clearly considered fighting her. Gaze dropping back to her muddy feet, he finally exhaled harshly. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his keys. Offering them, his head tipped towards one of the large SUVs. “Let’s get your feet wrapped and you tucked into my car, then. Bekah can look at your ankle when we’re at the morgue and you’ve gone through decontamination protocols.”

Caroline frowned, trying to pin down the familiarity of that name. “Bekah?”

A slashing look. “Dr. Rebekah Mikaelson. My sister.”

Turning on his heel, he started snapping out a series of orders. Bonnie twisted around a moment later and stared down her feet with an irritated expression, mouth drawn tight. Her gaze snagged Caroline’s, and for a moment they stood with mirrored expressions of complete exasperation. It almost made the way she had to bite her tongue as they wrapped her feet in plastic worth it. 

-

The clothes she’d been given after decontamination were two sizes too big and worn thin after too many washes, and she really wished she had a jacket. Morgue’s were never warm, and the hum of the air conditioning was a steady buzz to combat the muggy heat of New Orleans. The ice that Klaus’ sister had all but slapped onto her ankle wasn’t helping much either. Dr. Rebekah Mikaelson’s gaze had been frosty enough to freeze a dead body solid in thirty seconds as she’d demanded Caroline keep the bag in place for fifteen minutes before she’d disappeared with both her and Bonnie’s boots. 

Bonnie had shrugged at her, warm and cozy in her back up clothes, expression slightly sympathetic. “Rebekah takes some getting used to.”

Caroline snorted. “I can’t say I’d have noticed.”

Her old friend relaxed enough to smile, eyes warming a little. “Honestly, the whole family is like that but they do… grow on you, I suppose. Some of them, anyway.”

She made a noncommittal noise, unwilling to comment on anything about that particular family. She’d be willing to bet a significant portion of her life savings that there were a number of spells in the room monitoring their conversations. She’d have assumed Bonne would have noticed them, but she wasn’t taking any chances. 

“How long have you been with the feds?”

“Almost a year,” Bonnie answered easily enough. Her head tilted. “You’ve been here, what, six years?”

“Almost seven,” Caroline corrected. That information would give no secrets away and was a matter of public record. “A detective for most of that.”

Bonnie nodded, eyes going a little distant as she fell into her own thoughts. Caroline let her, the familiar tug of post-adrenaline exhaustion tugging at her bones. Needing a distraction, she took a moment to study the room. She had never spent much time in this section of the building, wouldn't even have known a break room existed if one of Klaus’ minions hadn’t ushered her and Bonnie into the small, but tidy space. Klaus had disappeared further into the morgue, and she hoped the staff here was used to him. It wouldn’t be easy studying samples while he prowled behind them, his impatience and temper sharp in the air. 

She sympathized.

It’d been a long ride back into the city limits. They hadn’t spoken much, but she’d gotten the impression he was riding a knife edge of anger and if he tipped the wrong way it would be disastrous. She couldn’t help but think about the feel of his magic, the heat of it burning in his eyes. She’d done a good job over the years, not letting the mystery that was Special Agent Klaus Mikaelson niggle at her in those rare, quiet moments in her life. But sitting in his oversized vehicle, the tense muscle and bone of him next to her, she’d wondered if the status quo between them had inevitably changed. The veil between her world and the nightmares the fae had tried to banish was weakening at an alarming rate and the witches had no answers. 

No one did. 

But it was starting to look like more than one magical family had a plan, but only time would tell just what those plans were and how badly humanity would come out on the other end. The first apocalypse had taught a lot of hard lessons, and left deep scars. What did it mean that Klaus had angled himself into this city, into a position of such authority? What did he want? And what did she do with the knowledge that watching him fume, the line of his jaw and the set of his shoulders rock hard, his magic noticeable to even her senses that she wasn’t worried his temper would pick her as the target?

There were too many questions she didn’t have the answers for. What she needed to figure out was what exactly he wanted and how deeply involved his family was in this mess. Dr. Rebekah Mikaelson seemed competent, and if Enzo could be believed, she was responsible for the magical repairs on her ankle. 

Deciding that was something to deal with later, she studied the seemingly mundane around her instead with cop eyes. There was a coffee pot, a small mini-fridge, and the couch was clearly new. Rebekah’s influence, she decided.  None of those items came cheap, and department budgets were always stretched too thin. Here, most of the allotted money would have gone to maintaining the air conditioning. No one wanted dead bodies exposed to warm, muggy air. The mini-fridge was a relic of the past and probably had been converted to an icebox which was easier to maintain with spells, but the look of it was cool. She wondered what kind of favors it’d take to get a pot of coffee going. She’d bet whatever Rebekah had on hand would be far better than the swill she’d spent her shift drinking. 

At least the couch was super comfy, and if she’d been anywhere else, she’d have settled in for some quick shut eye. Whatever had happened that afternoon was going to cause a stir and nothing good could come of it. Giving herself a moment to mourn the bed she wasn’t likely to see for several hours yet, she settled in to wait instead. 

“How long have you known Klaus?”

Caroline glanced at Bonnie as she broke the silence between them. “What do you mean?”

Bonnie's gaze was curious. “You seemed familiar with each other. I expected that but…” her words stopped and she frowned, gaze darting behind Caroline. “Ah. I think your partner is here.”

A moment later, Enzo strolled in carrying a very familiar bag over his shoulder. His expression was tense, but the hard line of his shoulders relaxed at the sight of her though his mouth tightened as he caught sight of her ankle. He offered her the bag he was carrying with a sigh. “I thought we’d agreed to fewer life or death situations when you were on your own.”

She accepted the emergency bag she kept at Enzo’s place with a murmured thanks, yanking on the zipper and digging for the sweater she knew was buried inside as well as her spare pair of sneakers. “It’s not like I planned on there being a giant tentacle monster hiding in the swamp, Enzo. And I did call you even though dispatch should have messaged you.”

“And yet, somehow I didn’t manage to make it out of the city limits before the fun was all over,” he replied dryly. “Exploring the swamp by yourself isn’t exactly wise for any number of reasons.”

Caroline rolled her eyes as she pulled on the extra layer. “I wasn’t by myself.”

Enzo’s gaze shifted to the witch next to her. “Oh? Replacing me already?”

Taking the hint, Caroline made introductions. “Enzo, meet Dr. Bonnie Benett, the new Forensic and Magical Anthropologist for the Bureau. Bonnie, this is Detective Enzo St. John, my partner.”

Bonnie smiled. “It's a pleasure.”

Enzo lifted a brow. “Bennett? From Mystic Falls, that Bennett?”

“Yes,” she said slowly, head tipping to the side.”But how would you know that?”

“You exposed that little heretic cult problem that was trying to bring down the veil. Helped catch Kai Parker. It was memorable.”

Bonnie’s eyes narrowed. “I’m surprised you know about that. Not many people do.”

He smiled, charm thick in his voice.“I had an interest in keeping an eye on that case file, and I know people. I hear things.” 

Her old friend didn’t look impressed with his explanation, and Caroline wished her luck. When Enzo clamped down on a source, not even a strange, self-proclaimed fae-god could get him to talk. She knew, because she’d seen Silas try, right before Enzo had sucked him dry. Shifting the bag, she carefully slid her camera inside, tucking it between her second favorite set of sweats before closing the bag and casually tucking it behind her legs. 

“Dispatch sent around a very interesting warning about fifteen minutes ago and is requesting that all patrol calls check in every half hour.” Enzo continued, his gaze moving between the women with something hard behind his eyes. “Quite a curious change of events, when they were so adamant that things were getting back to normal. So what exactly did you two do?”

“What do you mean what did we do?” Caroline questioned, gaze narrowing. “This wasn't my fault; blame dispatch. I was just following up on the tip since everyone else had their hands full.” 

“And the fact that you were off duty and should have been heading home to grab some shut eye?”

She shrugged her shoulders. “Semantics.”

Enzo let out a long sigh. “And you wonder how you find so much trouble.”

A muffled cough filled the room, and Caroline turned her head to glare at a clearly amused Bonnie. “Really, Bon?”

The childhood nickname slipped out, but Bonnie only smiled. “He’s not wrong. You do have a knack for trouble. You always have.”

“It seems to be something you share in common.” 

The clipped, british accent broke into their conversation without warning, and Caroline turned to find that Klaus had finally joined them. She narrowed her eyes, she hated it when he snuck up on her, and he met her gaze unflinchingly. Behind him stood his sister and another dark haired man who shared their dimples and Rebekah’s cheekbones. Another family member then. 

How many did Enzo say he had?

Bonnie’s chin lifted. “I followed protocol to the letter.”

“Come now darling, going into a swamp all by your lonesome with only a human cop as backup?” The dark haired man tsked. “Seems risky. Did you not take my warnings seriously about what I would do if you managed to be pulled into the otherside of the veil?”

Definitely related, she thought, recognizing that particular brand of threat. Bonnie didn’t seem particularly impressed by it, and it made Caroline like her childhood friend just a bit more.

“No one takes anything you say seriously,” Bonnie returned flatly. “The idea that you’d do something for someone else without expecting an equally great favor in payment is even less believable.”

Kol’s eyes narrowed, and as much as Caroline wanted to let the argument play, see how much they could learn, now wasn’t the time. Enzo’s gaze met hers and the exasperation there had her fighting a smile. But her partner gamely inserted himself smoothly into the conversation.

“Must have been something pretty impressive at the swamp to get your team so riled, Dr. Bennett.” He crossed his arms and smiled, ignoring Kol’s narrow-eyed look. “What exactly did my partner get herself involved in?”

“It was a kraken,” Rebekah answered, her back still to the room and her voice bored. “A tiny one.”

Enzo straightened at those words, expression going flat. “A kraken.”

“I thought kraken kept to deep waters,” Caroline said slowly, something cold settling in her gut. “There hasn’t been a sighting in a few decades.”

Rebekah huffed and walked across the room to what would have once been an electric teapot that had been converted to run on magic. Hitting a button, she stared moodily at it as it started to heat the water. “We’ve known for some time that there was a possibility that the creatures on the other side of the veil are adapting, mutating. It seems like we now have proof.”

Bonnie reached up and rubbed a fingertip between her eyes as if to chase away a growing headache. “The veil shouldn’t be receding this quickly; the magic that formed it isn’t breaking, it's disappearing. Not even Kai was able to do that, and he did more than enough damage.”

Caroline wondered if that was why Bonnie had been putting out so many detection spells and made a mental note to ask Enzo about Kai Parker, and what exactly his little cult had hoped to accomplish. That Rebekah had named the monster at the swamp a kraken, that it was a small one…

Uneasy, she glanced over at Klaus to find him watching her. His eyes were blue now, the worst of his rage tucked back into the hidden spaces where he kept it. There was something about the tilt of his lips, the angle of his eyes that concerned her far more than the words that Rebekah and Kol had been tossing around.

The veil was going to fall. 

“How much time do we have?”

To his credit, he didn’t pretend to misunderstand her. 

“Days,” Klaus said. “Maybe a week, if the deterioration continues at this rate.”

The dark haired witch smiled brightly, eyes gleaming. “I, for one, can’t wait. This is going to be so much fun.”

“Kol,” Bonnie snapped, voice hard.

Kol sighed and shrugged, hands sliding into his pockets. “Oh, don’t look so annoyed, witchling. Everyone in this room has known this was coming for years. That something sped up the timeline just makes it interesting, don’t you think?”

“A lot of people are going to die,” Caroline said flatly. “I don’t find that interesting.”

An amused look full of cocksure arrogance. “It's not like you're going to be one of the unlucky ones going into something’s gullett, darling. Not with Klaus keeping both eyes on you, though I’m not particularly sure of the appeal.”

Caroline didn’t bother responding to his baiting, recognizing his type. She didn’t doubt that Kol was a powerful witch, but he was as likely to use that power for a prank as for anything else. Any help from him was likely to bite. 

Enzo gave him a lazy smile. “Short sightedness does seem to be an affliction of witches.”

Those dark eyes narrowed when Rebekah laughed, and then Kol smirked. “The Void. I had forgotten you existed. You do collect the most interesting friends for a human, Detective Forbes.”

“That’s enough,” Klaus cut in before Kol could keep going. “Rebekah, what do you need?”

She turned with a mug in her hand and stalked over, shoving it at Caroline. “From you? Nothing. The spells here will contain whatever magical residue the kraken left behind. Human flesh is its preferred choice for a meal, so I imagine more bodies will start popping up in the bayou.”

“Of course they will,” Kol said. “Human’s never stay where they are supposed to.”

Rebekah pinned him with a glare. “Then you won’t mind finding me one. Between us, I’m sure Bonnie and I can give a much more thorough report once we’ve had a recently dead specimen to study instead of just scrapings of rotting mud.”

“If I must.”

“You must,” Rebekah replied. “Until then, stay out of my morgue and stop terrifying my people.”

Bonnie frowned a little, brows bunching together. “The spells I’ve layered on the bayou will give us some warning if the deterioration escalates, but I’ll need to check them manually to confirm.”

“You’ll take another witch with you,” Klaus said firmly. “There will be no more solo missions.”

“What am I supposed to do with this?” Caroline asked when it was clear that everyone was done making demands, chin dipping towards the mug of steaming liquid she’d been given as she eyed the clearly annoyed witch. 

“Drink it.”

“Yes, thank you.” She managed to say through a somewhat polite smile. “Why?”

“I spent a lot of magic putting your ankle back together,” the blonde said coolly. Tossing her braid over her shoulder, she gave Caroline a tight smile. “That will ensure the healing sticks. Drink it or not I suppose, but I won’t be fixing your ankle a second time.” 

“Charming,” Enzo murmured as Rebekah swept out, his lips curling slightly in the corners. “I like her.”

Bonnie stood with a snort. “I suppose someone should. If that is all, Mikaelson, I’m going to go see just those slides Rebekah’s minions are studying for magical contamination.” Klaus tipped his head in silent permission and Bonnie paused in the doorway. Her eyes caught Caroline’s and they flickered briefly towards the gym bag at her legs. “We’ll talk later, Care.”

To keep from having to answer immediately, she took a cautious sip of whatever it was that Rebekah had shoved at it. It wasn’t the worst tasting tea she’d ever had, so she took another and very, very carefully didn’t look at Klaus. She’d wondered if Bonnie was going to bring up the camera in front of Klaus. She wondered what it meant that her old friend hadn’t. 

Kol didn’t bother saying goodbye as he followed Bonnie down the hall, a jaunty whistle echoing down the hallway.

“Your brother is a piece of work.”

Klaus lifted a brow at Enzo’s words, unbothered. “He’s been called worse, all of it accurate.”

“I’m assuming I’m free to go?” Caroline asked when it looked like her partner was going to say something else. The last thing she needed was him picking a fight with Klaus. She wrinkled her nose, glanced at her tea. “After I finish this, at least.”

“I have no intention of keeping you here longer than necessary,” Klaus murmured, gaze lowering to skim along her body, a hint of gold glinting in his pupil. “But there are a few things we must discuss. How did you end up at my scene, love?”

She narrowed her eyes. “Its Detective, and I was responding to a request to investigate from dispatch. Information from the call should be logged.”

“I’m sure our delightful Commander-in-Chief is digging into the details,” Enzo supplied cheerfully. “She wasn’t particularly thrilled to learn that you were almost tentacle bait. Particularly since you were supposed to be off duty.”

Caroline shot him a sour look. “Thanks.”

“Welcome.”

Klaus tipped his head, considering her words. “There are still a number of locals determined to make a living off the swamp despite the dangers, I’m not sure we’ll get much from that front.”

“You think it was a set up?”

A shake of his head. “Unlikely. At least, it wasn’t a trap meant to catch anyone specific if it was a set up. More likely, someone wanted me to know they have power.”

“Wanted you to know?” Caroline repeated. “A bit arrogant, don’t you think?”

Something terrible moved behind his eyes, hot jagged lines of gold barely visible before disappearing. “Not at all. The veil is going to fall, Caroline. And when it does, the lines of power are going to change. I’ve claimed this city as mine.”

There were so many things about that statement that pinged her instincts. The glint behind his eyes, the set of his mouth told her he meant those words. He thought them true. The edge of his mouth kicked up, something possessive and territorial bleeding through his expression as he watched her before it disappeared again. “But I won’t keep you. You just finished your shift, if I heard correctly? Rebekah has cleared you of any potential magical contamination, but I expect you to call it in if you have any reason to think otherwise.”

Enzo made an amused noise. “She feels clean.”

Klaus studied her partner for a long moment before nodding. “Understood, but the orders stay the same.”

Caroline frowned at them both, eyes flickering from one to the other, exasperation turning her voice sharp. “Seriously? I’m not a rookie.”

A hint of a smile tugged at Klaus’ mouth but disappeared as he glanced back at Enzo. “I assume you can get her home?”

“I can drive myself,” Caroline tartly interjected. 

“That’s the plan,” Enzo agreed, ignoring her pithy comment as his hands slid into his pockets. “I’ll make sure she makes it safe and sound.”

Klaus’ eyes gleamed as they met hers before something caught his attention down the hall. “I’ll have someone drop your car off. Do try to stay out of trouble for the rest of the night, love. The next few days are likely to keep us all busy. I’m sure I’ll be seeing you soon.”

“Best finish your tea,” Enzo suggested into the silence after they’d watched Klaus leave. “We still have to call in an update to the commander and who knows how long that will take, and I for one am ready for my bed.”

Sighing, she gulped down the tea before shoving her feet into her sneakers and standing. Enzo took her mug as she gathered her things, putting it in the small dishwasher.  Caroline paused for a moment to glance down the long hallway Klaus had disappeared. There had been something in his voice, the glitter behind his eyes that warned her she was only seeing a small part of the picture. Instinct and the nagging curiosity that made up the heart of who she was a detective was hyper aware of Klaus had gone. But she could let it go for now. 

Because he’d been right. 

She didn’t doubt she was going to see him very soon.

[sciencespies]

The Great Koala Rescue Operation

https://sciencespies.com/nature/the-great-koala-rescue-operation/

The Great Koala Rescue Operation

I ​arrived on Kangaroo Island bracing myself for the sight of acres of blackened trees and white ash, but I had not expected the parasitic bright green vines wrapped around almost every charred trunk, glowing phosphorescent in the sunlight. This was no parasite, I learned. It was epicormic growth, bursting directly from the burnt trunks themselves, a desperate bid for photosynthesis in the absence of a leaf canopy.

The growth looks nothing like a eucalyptus tree’s normal adult leaves. It’s soft and waxy, with rounded edges instead of long pointy tips, and it blooms from cracks in the trunks or right from the tree’s base, rather than along the branches where leaves typically grow. It is beautiful, and also very strange, in keeping with the surreal phenomena that became almost commonplace over this past apocalyptic Australian summer, even before the coronavirus pandemic further upended life as we know it. A few weeks earlier, in Sydney, I’d watched red-brown rain fall to the ground after rain clouds collided with ash in a smoke-filled sky. During a recent downpour here on Kangaroo Island, burnt blue gum trees foamed mysteriously, as if soap suds had been sprayed over them.

Even in less strange times, Kangaroo Island can feel like the edge of the earth. Although it sits fewer than ten miles off the southern coast of Australia, about 75 miles from Adelaide, it is a geographical Noah’s Ark; its isolation from the mainland 10,000 years ago because of rising seas transformed it into an ecological haven. It is vast and rugged, with dramatic views of bush or sea- or cliff-scapes in every direction. National parks or protected wilderness areas make up a third of the island’s 1,700 square miles. Much of the rest of the island is farmland or privately owned backcountry. In recent years, the island has rebranded itself as a high-end tourist paradise, with unspoiled wilderness, farm-to-table produce, fresh oysters, and wine from local vineyards. But while there are luxury accommodations here and there, the island’s few small settlements feel decidedly unglamorous, befitting laid-back country and coastal towns.

Left, Kangaroo Island sits a few miles off the coast of South Australia. Right, at the height of the fires, in January, most of the island’s western half was ablaze, as seen in these images based on data from a NASA satellite.

(Guilbert Gates; NASA Worldview (2))

The fires started here in December, after dry lightning strikes on the island’s north coast and remote western bushland areas, and then escalated and jumped containment lines, ripping through the island in early January, with high winds and hot temperatures fueling the front. Two people died, and hundreds of properties were affected, many of them farms. Tens of thousands of stock animals were lost in the blaze. While the bushfires all over Australia were horrific, burning more than 16 million acres—nearly eight times the area lost to fire in Brazil’s Amazon basin in 2019—people around the world focused on Kangaroo Island because of the relative scale of the fires, which consumed close to half the island, as well as the concentrated death and suffering of the island’s abundant wildlife, including wallabies, kangaroos, possums and koalas. Wildlife experts worried that certain vulnerable species endemic to the island, such as the glossy black-cockatoo and a mouse-like marsupial known as the Kangaroo Island dunnart, might be lost forever.

Flinders Chase National Park, the vast nature preserve encompassing the island’s western edge, is closed indefinitely. There were rumors that parts of this natural bushland, which depends on fire to propagate, might never fully regenerate, because the heat from the fires was so intense that the soil seed bank may have been destroyed. Climate change researchers are warning that while fires in Australia are “natural,” they’re now so hot and frequent that even fire-adapted plants don’t have the chance to recover. A major fire burned 85 percent of Flinders Chase just 13 years ago. Matt White, an ecologist at the Arthur Rylah Institute for Environmental Research, in Victoria, told me the fires are almost certainly decreasing biodiversity, despite “the oft-repeated rhetoric about the resilience of Australian flora.” Now the fires are out, and the immediate danger has passed, but life on the island is very far from normal. On certain parts of the northern coast, coves are silted with ash, black tide marks on the sand. Outside several towns are signs directing people to a Bushfire Last Resort Refuge, a chilling reminder of how bad things can get.

A lone koala clings to a charred trunk in a severely burned plantation of eucalyptus trees.

(David Maurice Smith)

Kangaroo Island’s east coast, where I disembarked from the ferry, seemed relatively unscathed, but as I drove west through the central agricultural area, known as the Heartlands, I crossed a line into devastation. The color palette shifted from the beige and olive green of roadside scrub to charcoal trunks and scorched leaves in shades of orange, an uncanny simulacrum of autumn. The deeper into the fire grounds I went, the more the shock of that green epicormic growth scrambled my perceptions, as did the long green shoots of grass trees, emerging from their blackened, pineapple-shaped trunks. These trees are pyrophytic—they thrive after fires.

In Parndana, a small agricultural town, I saw a handwritten sign outside a makeshift store offering free groceries to families affected by the fires. A newsletter posted in a gas station reported on wineries going under, tourism businesses destroyed, and burned buildings requiring asbestos cleanup. In a roadside café near Vivonne Bay, on the south coast, I found mental health pamphlets and notices of counseling services and depression hot lines for a community reeling from losses. An Australian Psychological Society handout was stacked on the counter: “Now, a few months after the fires, many people are feeling tired and stressed, and they know that their daily struggle isn’t going to be over any time soon.”

The news media’s fixation on the island as the fires raged has created a complicated legacy for any reporter who turns up a month or two later. I was aware of being viewed with distrust by locals who’ve felt justifiably used in the media storm’s sudden descent and then abrupt disappearance. The press attention, combined with social media’s refraction of certain stories into trend roller coasters, has had the undeniable upside of an outpouring of genuine sympathy and generosity. An effort to recruit 120 volunteers to set up food and water stations for wildlife throughout devastated areas, organized by Australia’s Royal Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals, was inundated by more than 13,000 applications in a matter of days. Online crowdfunding has raised close to $2.5 million for Kangaroo Island bushfire recovery. But there’s a downside, too: a trading in the suffering of others. In the midst of the fires, one foreign journalist demanded of a shellshocked local resident, “I want to see burnt animals, and where those two people died.”

The immediate compassionate response of people pulling together in a crisis is now wearing thin. Tendrils of suspicion are snaking their way through the community, as locals assess the distribution of government and crowdfunded resources. Almost everybody has their heart in the right place, but the reality is that these decisions are political and contested. Old divides are widening—between, say, stock farmers in the Heartlands and those motivated to protect the island’s unique wildlife, to say nothing of the divide between locals and outsiders.

Tens of thousands of koalas were killed in the island blaze, and an additional number perished from starvation or dehydration after the blue gum plantations where they lived were destroyed.

(David Maurice Smith)

The remains of a Tammar wallaby. Where the fires raged, populations of kangaroo and wallabies were devastated; up to 40 percent of the island’s unique kangaroo subspecies may have been killed.

(David Maurice Smith)

In every conversation, whether with a lodge manager, the owner of a feed business, or at the corner-store café, people wanted me to know that they’re upset about the way resources were being distributed. Special anger was reserved for rogue operators who have raised huge amounts of cash for wildlife work on the island, but with no real right to be there. Many singled out a Japanese outfit, reportedly run by a guy who turned up on the island with good intentions but zero clue. He had set himself up in a house in Kingscote, the island’s largest town (pop. around 1,800), and without coordinating with any recognized wildfire rescue operations was bringing in koalas from the wild that were healthy and didn’t need rescuing. Yet he had raised a small fortune through his organization’s website, from good people donating to the wrong cause. One islander told me, “I never realized disaster would be like this. At first, everyone helped. Then it got scary. It became about money, fame, randoms making an absolute killing.”

* * *

Kangaroo Island was given its modern name by the British navigator Matthew Flinders, who sailed the HMS Investigator to its shores in March 1802. The island was then uninhabited, but archaeologists later found stone tools and other evidence that ancestors of modern Aboriginal Tasmanians lived there thousands of years ago, at least until the island was cut off from the mainland, and possibly afterward. Rebe Taylor, a historian, writes that the Ngarrindjeri people of the coast opposite Kangaroo Island call it the “land of the dead,” and have a creation story about rising seas flooding a land bridge to the island.

Flinders and his men were amazed to find kangaroos—a subspecies of the mainland’s western greys—that were so unused to humans that they “suffered themselves to be shot in the eyes,” Flinders recalled in his expedition notes, “and in some cases to be knocked on the head with sticks.” In gratitude for this meat after four months without fresh provisions, he named it Kanguroo Island (misspelling his own). The French explorer Nicolas Baudin, sailing the Géographe, was disappointed not to have arrived before his English rival—their ships crossed paths as Flinders was leaving the island—but Baudin took 18 kangaroos with him, in the name of science. He made two of his men surrender their cabins to the animals in a bid to keep them alive. Baudin himself died from tuberculosis on the return journey, but some of the kangaroos survived, and they reportedly became part of the menagerie outside Paris owned by Napoleon’s wife, the Empress Josephine.

The recent fires killed as many as 40 percent of the island’s 60,000 or so kangaroos, yet worldwide attention has focused mostly on the fate of the koalas. At least 45,000 koalas, or some 75 percent or more of the island population, are thought to have died, and the crisis has revived an old controversy, with battle lines drawn anew between those who believe the koalas don’t deserve all the attention they’re getting and those who do.

Koalas have always had the species advantage of being considered cute, cuddly Australian icons, but they are not native to Kangaroo Island. They were introduced by wildlife officials only in the 1920s, from a breeding program on French Island, off mainland Victoria, with a founding population of fewer than 30 animals. The effort was an early attempt at conservation; habitat loss and hunters trading in their fur had driven koalas on the mainland to near extinction. Since then, the island had become overpopulated with koalas, which some people think are in danger of eating themselves out of house and home. In fact, since the late 1990s a government-run koala sterilization program has tried to stem population growth, not only for the koala population’s sake but also because the animals wreak destruction on native vegetation, including rough-bark manna gums, a type of eucalyptus that is key to preventing soil erosion, and paddock trees.

Charred eucalyptus trees sport green epicormic growth— shoots emerging from cracks in the bark to give the trees another chance at life.

(David Maurice Smith)

New growth springs from the trunk of a charred blue gum tree after the bushfires on Kangaroo Island.

(David Maurice Smith)

In addition, tens of thousands of koalas lived in eucalyptus plantations owned by a timber company with plans to harvest and export those trees; those animals would have to be moved eventually. Finally, the Kangaroo Island koalas are so highly inbred that some experts argue they may be of little use in bolstering northern Australia koala populations, which are classified as vulnerable.

Some wildlife advocates believe that preventing species extinction, or saving species that are endemic or unique to the island, should be the priority. They argue that funding would be better channeled toward specialists working to save the few remaining Kangaroo Island dunnarts, or Tammar wallabies (which are almost extinct in mainland South Australia), or pygmy possums, or endangered glossy black-cockatoos, which mainly feed on the seeds of casuarina trees (many of the trees burnt), or Ligurian bees, introduced in 1885 and believed to be the species’ last genetically pure population in the world.

Island farmers, meanwhile, feel that wildlife has unfairly consumed all the attention when so many stock animals burned during the fires. Many local farming families are descended from soldier-settlers who were given parcels of land after each of the world wars, which they worked hard to make productive in difficult circumstances. (The island’s natural soil quality is so poor, and the lack of surface water so severe, that most British colonists backed by the South Australian Company who settled the island in 1836 left after just five months.)

One islander confided to me that, while he felt bad for the farmers, stock animals are “replaceable,” and often covered by insurance, but wildlife is not; and while it may seem from news media coverage that Australia cares about its wildlife, the government in fact has an appalling track record when it comes to protecting wildlife and biodiversity. “Australia is a global deforestation hotspot,” Suzanne Milthorpe, from the Wilderness Society Australia, told me. “We are ranked second in the world for biodiversity loss, and three unique animals have gone extinct in the last decade alone. In comparison, the United States’ Endangered Species Act, which contains real protections against harm and habitat destruction, has been 99 percent successful at preventing extinction.” (Critics of American species conservation efforts point out that less than 3 percent of listed species have recovered sufficiently to be removed from protection.)

The koalas on Kangaroo Island were also fortunate in being able to be rescued at all; many were found sheltering high enough in the treetops to have escaped the flames. Hundreds were saved, treated and survived, and many were set free. Even young, orphaned koalas that must be bottle-fed and tended by hand would survive in captivity. By contrast, kangaroos and wallabies often couldn’t outrun the fires, and most of the rescued animals were badly burned and had little chance of recovery.

All of this helped me understand why legitimate, professional koala rescues on the island really do matter, and why the stakes feel so high for those who are skilled at and committed to this grueling work. For people desperate to help in the aftermath of the fires, rescuing and treating injured koalas and relocating koalas stranded in devastated forest areas has become a kind of humane religion, something to cling to and thus avoid descending into despair. Each and every rescue becomes a small but holy and tangible act to stem the wider suffering.

* * *

As soon as the story began to circulate, during the fires, that the Kangaroo Island Wildlife Park, outside Parndana, had become the impromptu center for the emergency treatment of burned wildlife, the place was inundated with journalists. The largely open-air park, which was already home to 600 or so animals, including snakes, wombats, cassowaries and an alligator, is owned by Dana and Sam Mitchell, a couple in their late 20s who moved to the island in 2013, after meeting while working at a wildlife park in Victoria. Journalists turned up even as the fires were burning, sleeping uninvited on the floor of the park’s café, barging into the Mitchells’ house at all hours.

This, to be fair, had some positive outcomes. An Australian TV channel, for instance, arranged for a popular home renovation show to build a wildlife hospital in the park, and the Mitchells have raised more than $1.6 million through crowdfunding to pay for professional veterinary costs, new buildings for wildlife care, and an islandwide koala rescue and rehabilitation program.

Yet it was overwhelming, too. Dana had to evacuate twice with their toddler, Connor, during the peak of the fires, while Sam stayed with staff and other family members to defend the property; the park and its animals were spared only after the wind changed direction as the fires were bearing down.

Meanwhile, hundreds of injured wild animals were brought to the park by Army personnel, the State Emergency Service and firefighters. As the roads reopened, many locals also began to arrive with injured wildlife, unsure where else to take them. Since the start of January, more than 600 koalas have been brought to the park, though not all have survived. Kangaroos with melted feet and koalas with melted paws had to be put out of their suffering. Orphaned baby koalas, called joeys, arrived with ears or noses burnt off. There were severely dehydrated older koalas with kidney disorders, and possums and wallabies blinded by the heat. “We were having to make it up on the spot,” Sam told me. “We were just a small wildlife park. These animals weren’t my responsibility, but nobody else was doing anything. The government wasn’t giving any direction.” In the first weeks, they operated a triage center out of a tin shed, with no power.

Sam and Dana soldiered on, and by now they have an impressive setup for koala rescue, treatment, rehabilitation and release. Behind their house is a series of brand-new buildings and dozens of koala enclosures, tended to by vets and veterinary nurses from Australia Zoo, Zoos South Australia, and Savem, a veterinary equivalent of Doctors Without Borders, as well as trusted local volunteers.

Oliver Funnell, a veterinarian at Zoos South Australia, and veterinary nurse Donna Hearn attend to an injured koala at the Wildlife Park.

(David Maurice Smith)

A hospitalized koala has pink spots on its paw that are healed burn areas.

(David Maurice Smith)

Sam has a grim sense of humor to help deal with the trauma of the past months, but he and Dana are physically and emotionally exhausted, as is everybody I met on the island. I felt bad asking them to retell their experiences during the fires, the ins and outs of how they survived, aware of the symbolic violence of being forced to perform your own private trauma for outsiders over and over again. Yet they did so, graciously, describing the unusual warning of white ash hitting the park even before the smoke. Desperate for sleep after staying awake several nights, Sam eventually brought a blanket outside and laid it on the grass, setting his phone alarm to go off every 15 minutes. He was worried that if he slept inside he wouldn’t see the fire coming.

In spite of their fatigue, they welcomed me into the joey clinic one morning. Dana was in the middle of individually bottle-feeding some 15 baby koalas while also caring for Connor. He was toddling around holding a branch of acacia and following the family dog, Rikku, who is remarkably tolerant of human babies and a tiny kangaroo named Kylo that likes to practice its boxing on the dog’s face. Staff and volunteers swirled in and out of the clinic, eating breakfast, getting medical supplies, asking about treatment plans. Dozens of rescued, slightly older joeys under 18 months old live in enclosures outside, since they no longer depend on milk, along with 30 older koalas with names like Ralph, Bonecrusher and Pearl; the number changes constantly as they recover enough to be released. Dana sat on a sofa cradling a baby koala they’d named Maddie, feeding it a morning bottle of Wombaroo, a low-lactose formula. When Maddie was rescued, she weighed just two pounds. “She had no burns when we found her,” Dana said, “but also no mum.”

Dana Mitchell feeds an injured baby koala at the Kangaroo Island Wildlife Park, which Mitchell owns with her husband, Sam. The park has treated more than 600 koalas since January.

(David Maurice Smith)

Nearby sat Kirsten Latham, head keeper of Australia Zoo’s koala program, holding 10-month-old Duke, who was swaddled in a towel. He was rescued in January with second-degree burns and was missing several claws—which are crucial for tree-climbing—and had to be fed with a syringe before he started taking the bottle. “You have to really concentrate when you’re feeding them, as they can aspirate the milk when they’re young,” Kirsten said. “It helps to wrap them in a towel and keep a hand over their eyes, because when they’re drinking from their mums they keep their heads tucked right into the pouch, where it’s dark and quiet.” These feedings are done three times a day, and it can take each person three hours to feed all the baby koalas during a mealtime.

* * *

In the clinic’s kitchen, I found Kailas Wild and Freya Harvey, both fit and sunburned, wearing black T-shirts and cargo pants. They were studying a map of the island’s plantations and natural bushland, planning their next koala rescues. They are old friends and skilled climbers, and have been on the island for weeks, doing the dangerous work of climbing the tall, burnt blue gum trees to reach koalas perched at the very top, sometimes as high as 80 feet.

Kailas is an arborist and volunteer for the State Emergency Service in New South Wales, and Freya is currently based in New Zealand, but they both dropped everything to go to Kangaroo Island as soon as they realized their tree-climbing skills could help save wildlife. Kailas drove the 900-odd miles from Sydney to the ferry terminal in Cape Jervis in his pickup truck, sleeping in the back along the way, and bringing it across to the island on the ferry. It took them a little while to earn Sam’s trust; his classic Australian suspicion of “blow-ins” has been compounded by having been let down by others who turned up offering help but haven’t followed through. But now that they have it, I can see the three of them have formed a close-knit team, daily coordinating koala rescues and treatment.

Kailas Wild, an arborist from Sydney who aided rescue efforts on the island, with a young kangaroo. He saved more than 100 koalas.

(David Maurice Smith)

The ground rescue crew that Kailas and Freya have been working with is a local family of four: Lisa and Jared Karran and their children, Saskia and Utah. They live near Kingscote, where Jared is a police officer. They’ve spent almost every day since the fires out in the bush rescuing animals. At first, the ground was so hot it was smoking, and they had to wear special boots so the soles didn’t melt. Now the risk is falling trees. They work up to 12 hours a day, the kids uncomplaining and involved, outfitted with gloves and hard hats, handling the koalas like pros, and accompanying Jared for long drives at the end of each day to release rehabilitated survivors into a distant unburned plantation. As of last count, they’ve helped rescue 143 koalas.

Outside the clinic, in a nearby field, a Robinson R44 helicopter had just landed after an aerial survey using a thermal-imaging camera to locate koalas by detecting their body heat; this is one of several ways that Sam and the rescue team are now experimenting with technology to find where koalas are clustered and whether those habitats are burned or still viable. Sam was paying a lot to rent the helicopter, and the results have been promising, but Sam is still learning how to operate the infrared camera from the air—it’s no easy feat to adjust the focus and pan-and-tilt speed while fine-tuning koala heat signatures from inside a moving helicopter—and the data is complicated to interpret.

At this phase of the recovery effort, the goal is no longer strictly to rescue injured koalas and get them to the hospital for treatment. The team is also trying to figure out if koalas remaining in the wild have enough food to survive. The fear is there will be a second wave of koala deaths, from starvation. The team is also experimenting with drones, and Thomas Gooch, founder of a Melbourne environmental analytics firm called the Office of Planetary Observations, has donated recent satellite-observation maps that display vegetation cover to identify areas that have burned.

California wildlife rescuer Douglas Thron and environmentalist Freya Harvey launch a drone outfitted with an infrared camera to spot stranded koalas.

(David Maurice Smith)

A newer member of the koala rescue team is Douglas Thron, an aerial cinematographer and wildlife rescuer from Oakland, California, who was brought to the island by Humane Society International. In the 1990s, Thron used to take politicians and celebrities up in a little Cessna to show them the impact of clear-cutting old-growth redwood forests in California. Last year, he spent months after California’s devastating fires, and in the Bahamas after Hurricane Dorian, using a custom-made drone to spot dogs and cats trapped in the debris.

Douglas had been on the island since late February, using his drone—configured to carry an infrared camera and a 180x zoom lens and spotlight—to help the team identify where in the vast acreage of burnt blue gum plantations there were koalas needing rescue or resettlement. So far, he had spotted 110, of which 60 had been rescued.

Douglas, Kailas and Freya had spent most of the previous night in the bush, using the drone to do thermal imaging and closer spotlighting of the treetops in the darkness, when it’s easier to see the koalas’ heat signatures. From the ground, Douglas used a video screen attached to the drone controls to identify ten koalas in one section of a burnt eucalyptus plantation. Today, it would be up to the ground rescue team to head out and see what they could find by daylight.

* * *

“We were calling it Pompeii,” said Lisa Karran as we drove past a tragic tableau of carbonized Tammar wallabies huddled in a clearing beside rows of burnt blue gums. The hardest part, she said, was seeing the incinerated family groups together—baby koalas holding onto branches beside their moms, dead possums and kangaroos with their young beside them.

Standing amid rows of charred trunks, Utah, who is 13, was readying the koala pole—an extendable metal pole with a shredded feed bag attached to the end, which the climbers shake above the koala’s head to scare it down the tree. Saskia, who is 15, held the crate at the base of the tree. Jared had spotted this particular koala—“because I’m koalified!” he joked—curled right at the top of a black trunk with no leaves.

Upper left, a climber wielding a “koala pole” persuades an animal to leave its towering hideout and descend to the ground, where rescuers could examine it and crate it for later treatment. Upper right, Rescuers placed vegetables in devastated areas to feed animals. Some 13,000 people applied for 120 openings for volunteers to distribute food and water. Below, Utah Karran, 13, releases a recovered koala into an intact blue gum plantation. Karran and his sister and parents spent two months rescuing animals at risk.

(David Maurice Smith)

The luminous epicormic growth was sprouting from many of the trunks around us. The rescue team had begun to wonder if this growth, which is known to be more toxic than mature leaves, as the tree’s natural defense against insects and animal browsing while the tree itself struggles to survive, might be making the koalas sick. Some of the koalas they’d seen eating it, and had subsequently brought in for treatment, had diarrhea or gut bloat. They’d also observed koalas eating dead leaves rather than epicormic growth, suggesting the animals may not find it an ideal food source. Koalas are naturally adapted to the toxins in eucalyptus leaves, with gut flora that help digest the leaves and flush out the toxins. But the higher toxicity levels of the new growth may be beyond their tolerance. Ben Moore, a koala ecologist at Western Sydney University, said that there are no detailed studies that directly compare the chemical makeup of epicormic growth with adult leaves, but he hypothesized that any dramatic change in a koala’s diet would change that individual’s microbiome, and in turn affect its gut function.

In recent weeks, the group has rented a mechanized crane, which makes it easier to get to the tops of the trees, but there are still many rescues where the koala is so high up that Freya or Kailas need to clip in and use the arborist’s technique of throwing a weight and line to climb the burnt and brittle trees, and then shake the koala pole above the animal’s head. Typically, a koala grunts or squeals and climbs down a trunk amazingly fast. After Lisa or Utah plucks it off the trunk at the bottom and places it in a crate, it becomes surprisingly docile, gazing up at its human saviors.

The first koala rescued that day was underweight, and others had pink patches on their feet signaling healing burns, but some were healthy enough, the group decided, to be released elsewhere without needing to be checked by vets at the Wildlife Park.

Out of the hundreds of koalas that volunteers and staff have rescued, many are being raised in captivity. Older koalas are released into intact eucalyptus plantations.

(David Maurice Smith)

Hours and hours passed like this in the hot plantations. It was gripping to watch. Each rescue had a unique emotional texture—a dramatic arc of growing tension as those on the ground waited for the climbers to encourage the koalas down, the adrenaline spike of grabbing the animals behind their strong necks and getting them into the crate, and the communal relief if they were found to be healthy. Each of the ten koalas rescued that day was found almost exactly where Douglas’s drone had spotted them the night before.

During one rescue, a koala kept up a plaintive high-pitched wail but would not budge from its perch. Freya and Kailas both had to clip in and climb up in order to coax it down. Once on the ground the team knew this koala was seriously unwell: its paws were covered in fresh blood, from the loss of several claws—a sign of previous burns or infections. Kailas, in particular, was devastated, and sobbed openly. They knew from experience what fate awaited this koala. Later that night, after its condition was checked at the Wildlife Park, it was euthanized.

The next day, Kailas made his 100th rescue. It also happened to be Jared’s last day doing rescues with his family. The next Monday, he’d be back at work as a police officer. “There’ll be criminals robbing the bank, and I’ll be gazing up into the trees, looking for koalas,” he said wistfully. He’d been scrolling back through his photos, and had been struck by a picture of Saskia and Utah swimming in the sea the day before the fires started, two months before. “Every day since, it’s just been so different,” he said. “I was thinking this morning that I want to get back to that.”

At dusk, the Karrans drove out to one of the only plantations that didn’t burn, called Kellendale. They had six healthy koalas in the back seat and the trunk of their SUV, rescued from plantations with no leaf cover for food. After the eerie silence of another long day spent in burnt plantations—not a single insect hum or bird song—it was a joy to see a flash of pink from the belly of a rose-breasted cockatoo, and to hear the soft, wavelike rustling of living eucalyptus leaves in the breeze. It felt like paradise.

Utah and Saskia released the koalas from their crates one by one, and the family laughed together as one of their feistiest rescues, a female koala with lovely fluffy ears, sprinted for a tree, climbed about 15 feet up, then stopped and stared back down at the humans for a good long while. Then she climbed higher, cozily wedged herself in the fork of a branch, and held on tight as the narrow trunk rocked in the wind.

#Nature

[zor-earp]

Mysterious Blondes and Stupid Pickup Lines

Her eyes glanced around the dimly lit room filled with the loudest music she had ever heard. “I cannot believe I let you drag me to a godforsaken bar…”

“It’s Friday night Lena. You need to let loose! Live a little! You’re not getting any younger and staying cooped up in your office every day and every night is boring as hell.” Sam shouted over the deafening noise.

“I am happy the way I am currently living my life, thank you very much,” Lena grumbled as she was dragged over to the counter. She had hoped for a quiet evening with a nice glass of Rosé and a good book in her hands. Being hauled off to a bar by her nagging best friend hadn’t been the plan whatsoever.

After ordering their drinks, they sat down and Sam looked around the room filled with people. “Anyone catch your eye yet?” she asked, glancing at her friend who was sipping her drink in silence.

“I’ve already told you, Sam, I’m not interested in you finding me someone to shag.”

Sam let out a loud laugh as she shook her head at her friend. “Shag? Did you just say “shag” Lena? Come on. You’re a grown-ass woman. Can’t you just say fuck?”

“I am a refined and sophisticated woman. I do not say fuck.”

“Of course you are Lena…” The taller brunette rolled her eyes and chuckled softly.

She had known Lena since their first day of university and throughout all those years, she had come to discover that her friend was a complete workaholic. Lena would never go out to parties, would never date, would never stop working for even a minute. One time, the shorter woman had gotten a fever of over 105°F and yet, had still gone to take her economics test. She, of course, aced it… and then was immediately sent to the hospital. It took her about two weeks to recover and even though she was supposed to be on bed rest, she studied day in and day out.

It got worse when she took over Luthor Corp. But Sam couldn’t blame her. The young woman had a huge amount of pressure on her shoulders. Her brother’s attacks had made everything worse and it didn’t help that her mother frowned upon everything she did. The whole world was watching her every move because of her last name. Even after she changed the company’s name to L-Corp, the people of National City were still wary of her. She did her best to get people to forget her shameful last name and what it meant but to no avail. She would be branded as “a Luthor” for the rest of her life. But damn it if she was going to let that stop her from making the world a better place.

“Sam, you still with me?”

The taller woman shook her head to bring her back to reality. She turned and looked at her friend who was putting her phone back in her pocket. “Sorry what?”

“You zoned out staring at the gorgeous redhead in the back there.” Lena chucked and pointed to a beautiful redheaded woman sitting in a booth at the back of the room.

“I was not… who were you emailing?” Sam blushed, hoping she could change the subject.

“Who said I was emailing anyone?” A slim black eyebrow raised in question as Lena looked back at her friend.

“Because the only person you text is me and I’m sitting right beside you so there is no way you’re texting.”

“I text people who aren’t you,” Lena shot back defensively.

“Oh really? Who?”

Lena sat quietly for a second before mumbling a ‘no one’. The tall brunette barked out a laugh and took a swig of her drink. “That’s what I thought.”

“Shut it, Arias. Are you going to go talk to the beautiful woman or not? Because you might lose your chance.” Lena pointed out.

“Maybe… you wouldn’t mind, would you? Because I’d hate to abandon you here… especially since you didn’t even want to be here in the first place…”

“Just go. Who knows, maybe you’ll leave with someone who isn’t me.” Lena flicked her wrist towards the back of the bar, a silent way of telling Sam to go and talk to the woman.

Sam smiled, a silent “thank you” was mouthed before she got up and made her way towards the tall redhead.

Lena let out a sigh as she ordered a second scotch.

“A gorgeous lady like you shouldn’t be drinking alone. Mind if I join you?”

Lena looked up at the voice beside her. She was surprised to see a young blonde looking at her with a smile. The woman gestured to the seat next to Lena. “This seat isn’t taken is it?”

“No… I was graciously abandoned by my friend…” She chuckled as she took a sip of her drink. She looked the woman up and down. Lena was slightly mesmerized. The mysterious stranger was wearing a blue button-down with the sleeves rolled up past her elbows which showed off her strong arms.

“Wow” was all Lena could think and she continued to look at the blonde. Her shirt was tucked into some dark jeans, and Lena would never admit this out loud, but they highlighted her ass perfectly. The brunette turned back to look around the room when she realized she had started staring.

The mystery woman waved down the bartender and ordered herself a drink before sitting down next to Lena. “So, are you a parking ticket?”

“Excuse me?” Lena asked as she turned to look back at the cute blonde.

“Are you a parking ticket?” she repeated, “Because you have ‘fine’ written all over you.”

Lena’s eyebrow rose as she stared at the woman. “That… that was oh so terrible,” she muttered, shaking her head and looking away.

“I can do better.”

“I highly doubt that.” Lena chuckled and looked at the woman pointedly, letting her continue with the pickup lines.

“Alright… well, I’m no photograph but… I can picture us together.” The blonde smirked and ran her fingers through her hair before flashing Lena a cocky grin.

“That the best you can do?” Lena knew she shouldn’t be feeding into this little game that was going on but she couldn’t help herself. The woman sitting next to her was kinda cute…

“Are you a magician? Because whenever I look at you, everyone else just disappears.”

“I’m not. I’m the CEO of my company darling,” Lena responded with a chuckle. This woman had guts to come up to Lena fricken Luthor and use these horrible, and when Lena said horrible, she meant horrible pickup lines.

The blonde furrowed her brow and looked around, seeming confused for a few seconds before she looked back up to Lena’s face. “Wait... okay… I seem to be lost…”

“What are you talking about..?”

“Look… I seem to be lost. Do you mind giving me directions to your heart?” She smirked up at Lena who was now sporting a confused look on her face before it morphed into a neutral expression.

“... Really? Okay… that one wasn’t that bad…” She had to admit, these damn pickup lines were getting slightly better.

“Gosh, that really must have hurt,” the taller woman started saying.

“What? When I fell from heaven? Because I’m an angel? Seriously? That one’s the worst of them all.” Lena said, cutting off whatever was to come next from that line.

“No… I was going to say when you fell out of that vending machine,” the woman responded, seemingly unfazed by Lena cutting her off.

“A vend-- okay what the hell?”

“Well, you must have fallen out of a vending machine since you look like an absolute snack…” The blonde winked and took a sip of her drink, keeping eye contact with Lena.

“Wow… I’ll admit, I didn’t expect that one.”

“I am known for being full of surprise.” She chuckled, shrugging her shoulders as she looked at the brunette. “But umm… hey. You’re pretty and I’m cute… together we’d be Pretty Cute don’t you think?”

“And we’re back to zero. How do you go from being an absolute dork to a decent flirt, back to a complete dork?”

“Well, I’d say it’s all part of my charm. Wouldn’t you?” She grinned and shifted closer to the brunette.

“I’d say it’s part of your annoyingness…” Lena mumbled under her breath as she shook her head. She looked over at Sam who seemed to be having fun… making out with the redhead. Her friend sure knew how to get right to the point when it came to things she wanted.

A quiet voice brought her back to reality. “Is that your friend over there?”

“Yes. The tall brunette making out with the redhead.”

“Yeah… the umm… the redhead is my sister.”

Lena turned to look fully at the blonde. “She is…?”

“Yeah.” The blonde gave her a short nod and finished off her drink.

“Oh” was all Lena managed to say before she downed her whole drink.

“You alright?”

“Just fine.”

“You sure.” “One hundred percent.”

“Are you from Tennessee?”

Lena snapped out of whatever little haze she was in, looking back at the blonde. “No?”

“Really? Because you’re the only ten I see.”

“I’m actually from Ireland,” Lena responded with a slight chuckle.

“Oh… and here I thought you were from France.”

“What in the world would make you think I’m from France?” She asked, confused. Did she sound french? She’d have to ask Sam later.

“Well, you know… I figured you were from France because I think Eiffel for you…”

Lena faced palmed internally. “This is getting ridiculous…” she muttered quietly.

The blonde got up and stood in front of Lena. “Feel my shirt.”

“What? No.”

“Come on, just feel it. Please?” she asked with a slight puppy dog pout.

“Fine.” Surrendering to the pout on the other woman’s lips, Lena reached her arm out and felt the cotton fabric. “Okay? What about it?”

“Do you know what it’s made of?”

“Probably cotton? Why?”

“Wrong. It’s made of girlfriend material.” The blonde winked before taking a slow sip of her drink.

Lena just sat there, staring at the woman before her who was sporting a huge smile on her face.

“You are just… unbelievable…” she whispered as her eyes glanced down to the blonde’s lips.

That’s when said lips turned into a slight smirk. “Well then… kiss me if I’m wrong but… dinosaurs still exist right?”

And that was it for the young brunette. Lena grabbed a fistful of the woman’s shirt and pulled her forwards, crashing their lips together.

Lena felt the blonde’s arms wrap around her waist as she held firmly onto her shirt, deepening their kiss. Their lips worked in unison as they held each other close.

Lena ran her hands through blonde locks of hair as the other woman moved her body in between the Luthor’s legs.

The blonde woman only pulled away when they finally had to catch their breath. They stayed quiet, foreheads pressed against each other with their eyes closed. This felt… right.

Lena opened her eyes to blue ones staring right back at her. “Hi…” she whispered, not letting go of the blue-eyed beauty.

“Hi yourself…” the blonde chuckled.

“I missed you…”

“I know… I meant to drop by today with lunch but Snapper gave me an extra article and I didn’t have time…”

Lena smiled. “Well, then it’s a good thing we were both at the same bar tonight huh?”

Kara chuckled, nodding her head before quickly pecking Lena’s lips. “Definitely.”

Lena kept her arms around her girlfriend’s neck as she looked into her eyes. “I can’t believe you hit on me using those horrible pickup lines darling…”

“Hey, you loved every minute of it. Don’t try to deny it.”

“I did… you were quite… charming.”

“Only for you babe,” Kara smiled and breathed in. It felt nice being in Lena’s arms again. With their busy schedules, they hadn’t had much time to themselves. This was nice. She had missed this all week.

“So… your sister…” Lena started, nibbling her lip nervously.

“I know… I didn’t think you’d be here… Alex and I were just getting drinks. She had a long day and thought we both needed to have a chill night…”

“Yes well… she might end up “Netflix and chilling” with Sam if my dear old friend has anything to say about it…” Lena chuckled, pointing to the two women currently making out in the booth.

“Ew… I do not need to see my sister making out with your best friend…”

“Yes well, grow up my love. Your sister is allowed to have a sexual relationship. You don’t see her complaining about you having one now do you.”

Kara rolled her eyes. “Oh shush… You ready to meet her?”

“I wasn’t expecting to meet your sister for the first time tonight… I’m not even wearing appropriate attire…” Lena mumbled quietly.

“You look beautiful. You always do, baby,” Kara smiled as she looked her girlfriend up and down.

“What if she doesn’t like me? Kara this is your sister… Your older sister… I don’t even have my speech with me…”

“You made a speech?” Kara asked, amusement lacing her voice.

“Yes of course! I had to be prepared. I’m not prepared right now.”

Kara smiled and took Lena’s hands in her own. “Lena, sweetheart,” she started, using one hand to lift Lena’s chin so they could be eye to eye, “she is going to love you because she sees how happy you make me.”

“But wh--”

“No buts. She’s going to love you. Just like I love you. And even if she didn’t, that wouldn’t change how I feel about you. I am so deeply in love with you Lena Luthor. And nothing will ever change that.”

Lena sighed, a small smile gracing her lips. She leaned forward slightly, kissing the blonde ever so softly. “I love you too Kara Danvers…”

They stayed still as they held each other close. “Also,” Kara started quietly, “I overheard you telling Sam that you are, and I quote, “a refined and sophisticated woman who doesn’t say fuck”,” Kara smirked as she felt Lena tense up. “And the many nights in my bedroom would say otherwise my dear…” she whispered, just loud enough for just Lena to hear her.

She let out a laugh when she was shoved off her brunette girlfriend. “Oh shut it,” Lena grumbled as she pushed Kara to the side so she could stand up.

Kara chuckled and took Lena’s hand in her own. “Come on, it’s time you meet my sister.”

She lead them over to the booth at the back of the room where her sister was sitting and making out with Sam. Letting out a small cough to get their attention, Kara stood next to the booth with Lena holding her hand tightly. Alex and Sam stopped their kissing when they realized they had company.

“Alex, I’d like you to meet Lena… my girlfriend. Lena, this is my big sister Alex.” Kara smiled as she looked between her sister and her nervous girlfriend, hoping for the best.

The redhead moved away from Sam slightly to look up at the brunette who seemed to be clutching onto the blonde for dear life.

“Nice to meet you, Lena,” Alex started saying before Sam promptly cut her off.

“Girlfriend?!” Sam shrieked, causing multiple heads to turn in the direction of the four women. “Lena? Did she say “girlfriend”?! Care to explain?” she continued with a slightly whispered voice.

“Yes, Samantha,” Lena rolled her eyes at her friend, “you heard right.”

“Okay, yes, I heard right. But please, explain. Why didn’t you tell me you were dating someone? I’ve been trying to set you up for months!”

“Oh, simple, because I didn’t want you to find out,” Lena stated easily, sliding into the booth across from the other two women and pulling Kara along with her.

Sam sat there, staring at Lena with her mouth widened slightly while the two Danvers Sisters watched them with amusement on their faces.

“I didn’t want you to know about Kara because I know how you get whenever I start dating someone.”

“You’ve never really dated anyone, Lena...”

“Which is exactly why I didn’t tell you about her. You always expect my relationships to be… well…  meaningless sex… I didn’t want you to think whatever was happening with Kara was just a one-time thing… because,” Lena paused, taking Kara’s hand in her own and looking into beautiful blue eyes, “I like-- love her… a lot... More than anything in the world. And I’m hoping she’ll be a big part of my life… for a long time.”

Kara smiled as a blush came over Lena’s face. “You’re adorable babe…” she chuckled, kissing the brunette's cheek. “I love you too.”

“I approve!”

All three women turned to look at Alex who had just smacked down her mug of beer. The redhead smiled before downing the rest of her brew and looking around at the three pairs of eyes watching at her. “What? Why are you all staring at me?”

“Did you just say you approve?” Kara smiled widely as she pulled Lena closer. “See? I told you she’d approve of you sweetheart.”

Lena let out a heavy breath she hadn’t realize she was holding in. “Oh thank god…” she sighed in relief.

“Now, let’s get wasted!” Alex shouted, as she flagged down a waiter and ordering a few more rounds.

The night continued and the four women managed to closed down the bar. Though, they did get kicked out at around 3 AM when Alex tried to steal some booze from behind the counter.

They stumbled out from the building and looked around. “God, that was fucking awesome!” Alex shouted into the night.

“Shhh… too loud Danvers… too loud,” Sam mumbled as she grabbed onto the redhead’s arm. “No more loud noises please…”

Lena and Kara stood back slightly as they watched the two other women drunkenly walk out onto the sidewalk. Kara smiled as she held onto her girlfriend’s hand, keeping an eye on her sister to make sure she didn’t run out into the street.

“I’m glad you came out to a bar tonight…” she whispered, glancing down at the smaller brunette.

“Me too…” Lena smiled, leaning into the blonde’s side. “Who knew my best friend and your sister would get along so well…” she chuckled as Sam pulled Alex into a drunken kiss.

Kara shivered slightly. “Oh… gross…”

Lena let out a soft laugh as she leaned up to kiss her girlfriend. “I enjoyed meeting your sister tonight… I’m glad she approved of us…”

“I told you she would…”

“And you were right. Once again.” Lena smiled as she leaned up, kissing the blonde deeply.

“I love you, Kara Danvers…”

“I love you too, Lena Luthor…”

[dlwritings]

It Wasn’t Supposed to Snow | Tom Holland

masterlist found here

pairing - Tom x reader word count - 2,044 warnings - A/N - I really wanted to have a good Christmas, I really did. Instead, I spent about 5 hours with family I don’t fit in with, thinking about the fact that I got a letter from my school yesterday kicking me out of the program I’m in because I have a GPA 0.02 under the requirement, and that I told myself that if it snowed today I would tell the guy I liked that I liked him. It snowed. I didn’t tell him. This is how it would’ve happened in my dreams if I did. In other words, my day has been absolute shit and I’d love to sleep and not wake up for a while.

summary - You would never say that your life was cliche, but when London gets a statistically improbable white Christmas, you feel like you’re living out a Hallmark movie.

The following four statements were true:

It hadn’t snowed in London all month.

There was a zero percent chance of a white Christmas.

Tom Holland, your childhood best friend, would be spending Christmas in Kingston.

You were absolutely, irrevocably in love with him.

So while laying in bed, two days before Christmas, you made a promise to yourself. If it snowed on Christmas day, you would call Tom and tell him you loved him. You felt very comfortable in your chances. All the meteorologists had been saying for weeks that it would be a green Christmas. Even if it did snow -which it wouldn’t- the most you could do would be call Tom as you weren’t going to travel 45 minutes just for him to laugh in your face.

You would’ve been content never telling him, but after watching Love Actually and crying when Mark told Juliet he loved her (despite the fact that you’d seen the movie a million times before), you kind of figured that deep in your subconscious, you needed to confess. Your friends had been telling you to do so for ages. That, even if he didn’t like you back, you’d at least be able to get it off your chest and move on. It had taken you over two years of being madly in love with him to realize that they were right. Someday you’d need to tell him, otherwise the feelings would eat you alive.

On Christmas Eve, you woke up to a light dusting of snow on the ground. You sat up in bed, blinked harshly, and looked out the window to see the snow coating the grass in your yard. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” you mumbled to yourself. Immediately, your brain started coming up with conditions. The snow on Christmas morning couldn’t just be on the ground. You’d have to actually physically see it snowing. And it couldn’t be the gross snow that looked more like rain. It’d have to be the fluffy, white, pure snow -the kind that only happened in the really cliche moments during a Hallmark film. Because that was what your life had come to: a wannabe Hallmark film.

On Christmas Day, you woke up to the same light dusting of snow. You smiled to yourself. No snow falling from the sky? No love confession. A Christmas success.

You went over to your grandparents’ house that day with the rest of your family. You didn’t exactly love your family, so you were only really half aware of everything happening around you. It wasn’t until one of your particularly loud aunts shouted, “Look at the snow!” that you sat up and started paying attention.

Snow. Beautiful, white, picture-perfect snow. Your mouth was ajar in shock. You hardly even realized that you had stepped outside until the flakes started landing on your eyelashes. You took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “(Y/N), what are you doing?” you heard your mom call. You turned around to see her standing in the doorway with her arms crossed at her chest. “Come inside! It’s time for presents.”

“Sorry,” you called back. You jogged up to the front door and shook the snow off the top of your head. As you took your shoes off, your mind continued to wander. You didn’t really have to tell him. It’s not like you made a deal with a real person who would hold you accountable. All you did was say it to yourself one night late in your room. There was no need to follow through on this promise.

And yet, you knew you had to.

The whole ride back to your apartment was stressful. Your mind was overflowing with stressful thoughts. What the fuck were you supposed to say? Hey Tom! Merry Christmas! How’s your day been? Your family good? Have I told you before that I’m in love with you? Nope. Not gonna happen. Not the way to do it.

You were getting a headache.

On the upside, it was Christmas. The chance of Tom actually answering his phone was slim. He would be far too busy with family. He probably didn’t even have his phone on him. Tom prioritized family over everything. That made it better. All you’d have to do would be leave a message. The message could be stupid and it’d be fine. You wouldn’t have to face hearing what he had to say back because he’d probably just never speak to you again. Yes. This was good.

Before you could give yourself a chance to reconsider, you reached in your pocket and pulled out your phone. You clicked Tom’s contact name and pressed the phone to your cheek. You could feel your hands shaking and you kept taking heavy breaths to stabilize yourself. Your palms were clammy and your head was pounding. You decided to pace the room because you were too antsy to sit in one place.

“Hey, this is Tom! Sorry I missed your call. Leave a message and I’ll ring you back when I can!”

You took a deep breath, waited for the beep, and left your voicemail.

“Hey, Tom. Uh, Merry Christmas! I know it’s weird that I’m calling today and, well I kind of figured you wouldn’t pick up so that’s fine. I really just wanted to leave a message anyway. You don’t have to worry about calling me back or anything. I just want to say what I’ve got to say and then… well I haven’t really figured out what’ll happen after that. God, okay I should probably hurry up because I don’t know if the machine’s gonna cut me off. I don’t usually leave people messages so I don’t know… sorry okay, ahh okay. Did you know it hasn’t snowed in London all month? The people on the news have been saying for weeks that we were going to have a green Christmas. Like, they were 100% certain of it. And then, well I woke up this morning and there was snow on the ground and, and when I visited my grandparents it started actually snowing. Like, it was soft, white snowflakes just coming down. And, okay so basically, ah fuck okay. What happened was I was so certain it wouldn’t snow that I told myself that if it did, I would call you and tell you I love you. So, so I guess that’s what I’m doing. Something out of a stupid Hallmark Christmas film, I guess. I didn’t actually think stuff like this happened in real life, but here we are. So. Yeah. I guess that’s all. You don’t, please don’t call me back. We don’t have to talk about this. I hope you don’t hate me or anything because I still really want to be your friend. You’re my best friend. If this is going to make things weird then we’re just going to pretend I didn’t send this and we’re gonna move on. Okay. Yeah. Merry Christmas, I guess. Okay. Yep. Bye.”

You hung up your phone and threw it on your bed before covering your mouth with your hands. Reality hit you and you shouted, “What the fuck did I just do?”

You quickly grabbed your phone again and shut it off. As long as you pretended this didn’t happen, it didn’t happen. You’d keep your phone off for the rest of the night, cuddle under a blanket with hot chocolate and Christmas films, and pretend like you didn’t just make the worst mistake of your life.

You started with Arthur Christmas. It was one of your favorite Christmas films. Cute, simple, sweet, wholesome, funny. Everything you needed to keep your mind from imploding. Once it was over, you hopped up from the couch, went over to your DVDs, and put The Santa Clause in the player. You hadn’t even sat back down when the doorbell rang. You furrowed your eyebrows. Surely it wasn’t Christmas carolers. It was always Christmas carolers on TV, but you had never actually gotten any before. The doorbell rang again so you called, “Coming!” and jogged over to the door. You knew you looked silly (you were wearing a snowman print onesie and your hair was up in a bun) but whoever it was was just going to have to deal with it.

You did not expect “whoever it was” to be Tom.

Your jaw dropped a bit when you saw it was him, but you tried to quickly recover. “Hey,” you said slowly. You folded your arms across your chest and stepped back slightly. “Uh, what’re you doing here? Thought you were with family in Kingston?”

“I am,” he said. “Er, well, I was.” He scratched the back of his head. “Can I come in?”

“Yeah, yeah, sorry,” you said quickly, stepping aside to let him in. He smiled and did so, taking off his jacket and shoes before heading into the kitchen. “Do you want any hot chocolate or tea or anything?”

“I’m okay,” he said. You could feel your breath catching in your lungs.

He knew. He heard the messages. He knew. So why was he here?

“I, I got your message,” Tom said softly. You closed your eyes and hung your head. You were leaning against the kitchen counter, but Tom was still standing in the doorway to the room.

“I’m, yeah, I’m sorry?” you said. You didn’t know what else to say. Fuck. This is exactly what you had wanted to avoid.

“Don’t, why’re you sorry?” he asked.

“Tom, look, I shouldn’t have said anything,” you said. “And I shouldn’t have said it over the phone, let alone a voicemail message. This is weird. I put us both in a weird place and now you’re here which I didn’t expect you to come and be here, like, I kind of assumed you’d send me to voicemail and then maybe listen to it and then pretend-”

Tom cut you off with a kiss.

He had taken a few steps closer to you whilst you were rambling and you hadn’t even noticed, too wrapped up in your own worrying thoughts. But when he kissed you, he had taken one massive step towards you and grabbed your face in his hands. The kiss was soft and hesitant. When you didn’t kiss him back, he pulled away from you. He kept his forehead pressed to yours. You looked each other in the eyes for a moment, both of you breathing very heavily. You were the one who grabbed the back of his head and pulled him in for another kiss. You kept your hands around his neck while he laid his on your hips. He stood so that his legs were on either side of yours and his hands squeezed your hips tightly, holding you impossibly close to him.

When you both pulled away again, you couldn’t help but let out a breathy laugh. “What just happened?” you whispered. You closed your eyes and hung your head, only looking back up at him when he put his finger under your chin and made you.

“I love you, too,” he said. He laughed, “Fuck, I love you. I always have loved you. When I listened to your voicemail, I left my family right away.”

“Really?” you laughed.

“Straight away,” he laughed back. “Everyone was so confused but I couldn’t think of anything to say. I just kept saying I gotta go. I gotta go. So I left.” He paused and furrowed his eyebrows for a minute. “Should probably ring them and tell them I’m okay.” You laughed and leaned your forehead against his again.

“Can’t believe you really love me,” you said quietly. “I guess, I guess I should’ve told you a long time ago.”

“I probably should’ve said something too,” he laughed. “I’m just as at fault as you are. But.” He paused and smiled. “None of that really matters now, does it?”

“Nope,” you said simply. “Doesn’t matter at all. I am sorry I ruined your family Christmas, though.”

“Ah, don’t be,” he said with a grin. “I’ll tell them later. They won’t mind. Probably be thrilled actually. And anyway, fuck ‘em. This is the best bloody Christmas present ever. I wouldn’t have missed this for the world.”

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

Reconnecting (the s5 continuation of Lena’s No Good Very Bad 4a arc)

Season Five opens with Lena being rushed into surgery. It’s a replay of James’ experience-- for everyone but James, who remembers nothing but the chest punch of the gunshot and then waking up on the operating table. He never fully appreciated the way the others closed ranks around him, even resented their hovering. For him it had been a blip on the radar, a few weeks of soreness and no lingering after effects. Now… he understands.

Lena survives. It’s hard won, without more of her cure helping things along, but Lena is nothing if not stubborn. The first episode ends with her waking in the medbay, surrounded by her friends. James holds her hand as though to let her go would let her drift away. Before she falls asleep again, she shares the name of her likely shooter-- Mercy Graves.

Mercy, they learn, is the only one wily enough to have escaped apprehension so far. It’s good, Lena mutters, as her eyes start to slam, that she’s gunning for Lena. Now they’ll know where she’ll be, and they can finally get her. All of them jump to protest, but Alex heads them off. “Later,” she insists. “Lectures can wait.”

After that, the first few episode show Lena’s slow recovery in the B-plot. It serves as a chance for her to reconnect, and more than a few people end up in her medbay in the weeks that follow, for a chance to reflect, and gain some insight into whatever their problem of the week is. And Lena remains true to her word-- even from her hospital bed, she helps however she can. As a sounding board, a strategist… they each go to her for something different, and none of them leave empty-handed.

But even as her personal relationships rekindle, it’s not all smooth sailing. James has to deal with the guilt of his quick recovery in the face of Lena’s slow one, and they still have to work through the fact that Lena abandoned them all for an entire year. 

Tensions rise and snap, especially when Lena is finally released to go home. Her first episode home, she insists she doesn’t need help, and James can’t articulate his need to help, to be needed, and it sparks a fight that lasts the entire episode. By the end of it, Lena ends up stuck in her shirt on the bathroom floor, unable to lift her arms high enough to get it over her head.

Lena had been ready to give the help she’d denied them for the past year. She hadn’t anticipated needing to accept their help in return. But she needs it, and she trusts them. When James returns that night, ready to apologize, Lena finally asks for help. And she gets it.

And so it goes through 5a-- Lena’s slow return to L-Corp and the DEO, and even CatCo. She regains much of her function, but the pain lingers. Mercy sends goons after her, and Lena learns a new kind of vulnerability when her injury leaves her unable to defend herself. We might even get a side plot of helping Lena find new ways to protect herself that doesn’t involve brawling.

It all comes to a head at the midseason. Lena’s mostly recovered, and she and James end up at a public event that Mercy crashes. Lena instinctively moves in front of James to protect him, but James accepts absolutely zero percent of that nonsense and goes into Guardian mode. When Mercy starts firing on them, James’ shield protects them from most of it, but after Supergirl comes to intercept, Lena pats him down looking for injury and finds several bullet holes torn into his shirt-- with no corresponding injuries.

“We need to go,” she urges quietly. James is all too happy to oblige, if it means getting Lena away from the action (addressing his new protective streak for Lena is it’s own episode). And the mid-season cliffhanger is the realization that James is invulnerable.

When the season resumes, it opens with Lena and James working together to determine how far his new abilities go. They both know it’s the harun’el treatment that caused it, and Lena runs every test known to man trying to figure out what else it might have caused. They test for speed, strength, how deep his invulnerability goes, whether it includes rapid healing. It’s just invulnerability-- no regeneration, no flight, no speed or strength.

“No one can know,” Lena warns him. “Not until we know more.”

James wants to tell Kara and Alex. Lena refuses, adamant that the DEO will hunt James down and cut him open to find out how to replicate the serum. Alex can’t protect him from this government, so desperate to level the playing field. They have to wait until they know more. It’s possible Lena can reverse it. James clearly does not want to reverse it.

So the back end of the season is them working together on this, keeping his secret together to middling effect. The Superfriends find out, as they do, and they agree to help keep it secret as well. James struggles with staying out of the fight, desperate to help but the others unwilling to risk exposing his secret.

It causes quite a bit of tension between them, as James gets more and more restless. But it’s still them against the world, and he isn’t about to let it split him from Lena. In the end, it’s Kara who helps Lena understand where James is coming from. She should know after all-- she’s Supergirl.

The reveal sits about as well as you think it would. Lena’s hurt, and humiliated for being the only one to not know for so long. Their friendship nearly splinters, but they come to a tenuous agreement to work through it-- together.

It all comes to a head in the season finale. The baddie this year would be something only Kara could battle. It comes down to her and her kryptonian knowledge-- there’s no special gadget to help her, no last minute save from her cousin. It’s just her and her villain… and her friends willing to run interference.

James shows up in full Guardian gear, and the others in their uniforms and disguises. Brainy, Nia, even J’onn. The biggest surprise though, is Lena.

“This might be your fight,” Lena tells her, decked out in her modified Lexosuit. “But running interference for my best friend is the least I can do.”

And it works. The Superfriends buy Kara enough time to do whatever she needs to do, and they all emerge from the other side victorious-- and in tact.

In the triumph that follows, Kara gets a chance to apologize to Lena again, and to thank her. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

Lena rolls her eyes, even as she smiles self-deprecatingly. “Well, you have until now, so…”

“No, Lena… I’ve always had your help. Your trust. It was you who didn’t have mine. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.” Kara reaches for Lena’s hand, and finds herself swept up into a hug instead. She melts in the warmth of Lena’s forgiveness. “I’m really lucky to have you as my friend.”

After Kara moves on, Lena turns to James. “I understand now,” she says in a quiet moment of their victory party, “why Guardian is so important to you. I’m sorry I tried to keep you from it.”

James smiles, and hugs her close. He understands her concern now-- there’d been a moment in that fight, when Lena had almost gone down, that James’ heart had almost stopped. He’d almost dropped everything to spirit her away from the fight. Almost.

“We make a pretty good team, don’t we?” he asks.

Lena grins. “We sure do.”

When Kara raises her glass in a toast later, she looks at the people around her, and feels as though her heart might burst.

“All my life, I’ve heard the words of el mayarah. There was a time I thought I’d never find it again.” Her eyes burn with tears, and she hiccups when she sees Alex’s eyes swimming with their own. “But I have. In fact, I’m not sure I ever understood their true meaning before I met all of you. You’ve become my family, when I thought I’d lost mine all over again. And all I can say is… Thank you.”

Kara meets Lena’s gaze, and James’. J’onn and Brainy and Nia. Kelly and Alex, watching with pride and love. She was home.

“El mayarah,” she says finally, lifting her glass.

“El mayarah.”

[keywestlou]

NEW EXPERIENCE.....A PRESIDENT WHO SPEAKS TRUTH AND GETS RESULTS

Not even close to his first hundred days and President Biden is performing big time and speaking truth to the American people.

Refreshing!

Biden said he would see that 100 people would receive the vaccine in his first hundred days. He is scheduled to announce today that number has been reached. Forty seven days early.

At some point, Biden will have to deal right on with the filibuster. And he will. America cannot permit a Senate procedure which has past its time to stop him. Especially in days of many needs.

The Republicans will receive an epiphany. They will claim surprise. However, it is obvious they know it’s coming.

This week Biden called Putin a “killer.” Something  Trump was reluctant to do. Whatever wrongdoing Putin was guilty of at a particular time, Trump would say I asked him and he said he didn’t do it.

Some day the world will learn why Trump bought Putin’s lies. It will have to involve women and money.

Florida’s Department of Health has removed from its daily COVID report the number of people who received their second shots.

Florida claims its actions lie withing CDC guidelines. Moderna requires the second shot on the 28th day following the first. Pfizer on the 21st day.

The CDC recently advised those days are not rigid. There is flexibility involved. Can be late. The CDC however did not spell out how late.

DeSantis’ people said if the second shot day is not fixed and rigid, we do not have to report it all. And thusly was the decision made by Florida.

DeSantis and many others in this country forget a most important thing Fauci said: We are in “a race between vaccine and the virus.” One would think every elected official would recognize and move their asses with regard to vaccine shots.

Republican Senator Rand Paul is an obstructionist, a know it all and a pain in the ass. He also is a doctor. An ophthalmologist.

He never agrees with Fauci. Fauci rarely agrees with him. They frequently have words during Committee hearings where Fauci is speaking. It was face to face bickering yesterday. The issue mask wearing.

Rand told Fauci masks were not needed. He believes people are not a at the risk of COVID after they have recovered or have been vaccinated. Rand said it was all “theater.”

Fauci strongly responded: “Masks are not theater. I totally disagree with you.”

Fauci explained science believes the vaccine is good for 6 months. Not sure after that. One reason to keep wearing a mask. The other are the variants that are popping up. No one is sure how the virus will react to a variant. Another reason to continue wearing a mask.

Rand continued to disagree again claiming there was “virtually zero percent chance of anyone getting COVID-19 if recovered or received the vaccine.”

Pope Francis. One terrific person! Much like Biden. Francis has half the Church hierarchy against him.

It was on this day in 2013 that Francis officially began his ministry as the Catholic Church’s 266th Pope.

May God continue to help him in holding off the hordes of troublemakers he has to deal with on a daily basis.

An interesting piece of information. The Brooking Institute claims there were 300,000 fewer births in the U.S. in 2021. The reason coronavirus. It was noted that in Planned Parenthood’s recent fiscal year, it performed 354,871 abortions.

The Monroe County Commission is to be complimented. Actually, cheered! They voted to stand with Key West in its cruise ship problem.

The bubbas and business people claim the people want bigger ships and more ships visiting Key West. Of course, their pocketbooks are invcolved.

They have exerted their “influence” in getting the State legislature to introduce and presently have moving through committees a bill that would permit the State to preempt the recent vote by Key Westers to limit size and number of ships.

In the election, Key Westers voted in 3 referendums by more than 60 percent each for the limitations.

The State is wrong re the preemption issue. The bubbas and business people likewise. Though i can understand their position. Their pocketbooks are at stake.

An interesting article in the Key West Citizen this morning. The question was raised asking how the restaurant business has been doing since COVID-19 hit. The surprising answer, 8 new restaurants opened.

Would you believe!

Good for the new owners. They may have properly seen the future and took the gamble.

I wish each good luck. Once my quarantine is behind me, I have 8 new restaurants to try,

The Key West Art and Historical Society is to be complimented. Its curator Cori Convertino is to receive special recognition.

A new exhibit opens today. The History of Duval Street. It will run through August.

Exciting! Can’t wait to view the exhibit. After my self-quarantine ends, of course.

On this day in 1949, Harry Truman left Key West after a 2 week vacation at The Little White House.

The 11 trips and 175 days he spent in Key West speaks well for the community. Truman had to like more than the accommodations beach. He had to be enamored with the people. Their uniqueness.

March Madness is here!

Syracuse opens tonight against San Diego State. San Diego had a great season and is favored. It is the #6 seed in the Midwest Region. Syracuse the #11 seed.

The game will be carried on CBS at 9:40 this evening. Hope I can stay awake to watch the whole game. Hope Syracuse wins!

Go “Cuse!’

Enjoy your day!

  NEW EXPERIENCE…..A PRESIDENT WHO SPEAKS TRUTH AND GETS RESULTS was originally published on Key West Lou

[dickshardblog]

Resistance is Futile

The virus is real. The virus is here. It is highly contagious and potentially deadly. I think we can debate about the severity and the origins of the virus later, or, we could debate it now, but while staying the hell away from each other and cutting off this thing's lifeline.

Okay, so, it's easy for me to have that opinion. I'm lucky. Kind of. Ish. I've kept my job. Kind of. Ish. My pay has actually been slashed pretty badly. Commission has been cancelled for April and May so I'm going to be getting base pay only. Okay, yeah, I know a lot of people only get base pay and I was one of them for a very long time, and I’m lucky to have gotten anything above and beyond that. But I have been getting paid above and beyond my base pay and I've grown accustomed to a new comfort level. The stimulus covers that for this month, so I’m not feeling it yet.  But I'm lucky to have kept my job and gained the flexibility to do it from home, which is something I've been lobbying for to management for the past four years, anyway.

But the immediate lifestyle adjustments? Fuck, man. This is heaven. Sequestration is magical. I have a valid reason now for telling people to stay the fuck away from me when before I was just an asshole. I never had any desire to go anywhere anyway — and now I have the perfect excuse, and zero guilt. It's fucking fantastic.

Okay, so, I like the lockdown. It's not hard for me. I'm working from home, which is perfection. I want my commission pay back, my performance-based earnings, but aside from that, we can keep this lockdown going for everyone capable of working remotely for just as long as … well, forever. We can just keep this up forever.  

I don't miss anything.  I don't miss eating out. I don't miss going out. In fact, I just had to go out, and it was sheer hell. I needed a VGA cable immediately, so I ordered one from Best Buy for curbside pickup. Traffic is fucking stupid. Fucking assholes everywhere. Nobody at Best Buy was wearing a mask or gloves, and they're walking up to customers' cars handing them merchandise, talking to each other in close quarters.  The guy who handed me my purchase weighed at least four hundred pounds. If he gets this virus, he's pretty likely dead. This thing isn't kind to the morbidly obese. Unfortunately, most of central Indiana is morbidly obese.

Okay, so, all cards on the table, I have ulterior motives. I like things shut down. So, of course I'm going to champion this course of action. But I also just think it's the right thing … nay, the ONLY thing to do right now. The death toll will likely be at or very near 45,000 by the time I post this, and it is climbing steeply on a daily basis. And that's with all of the extreme social distancing most of us are practicing right now. If we hadn't done this, if we hadn't shut down, we'd be over 200,000 deaths, easy, and it would be fucking chaos out there. Hospitals would be beyond capacity, mayhem would ensue. I have no proof of that, it's just what I think. I can't prove something that I think would have happened under different circumstances.

I'm not terrified of this thing. I'm being respectfully cautious. This is a formidable enemy. My goal is to not get it, to avoid it completely. That way I don't roll the immune system dice on this disease at all, and I maintain a zero fault status in the spread of the virus. If I can pull that off, that will be a perfect game, I win. But this thing is highly contagious, and it is in my city, and it is inside far more people than the daily news numbers show because hardly anyone is being tested. Also, a lot of people get it, and they are just fine. If I get it, I will likely be okay. But, that's not a guarantee. There is a risk. People say the mainstream media is collectively sensationalizing this. Well, of course they are, in their way. Of course they're playing it up for ratings, that's what they do.  

But I don't think they are making it sound worse than it is. I was watching a news broadcast and they said that eighty-six percent of the people under fifty who died of COVID-19 had an underlying health condition such as an autoimmune disorder, obesity, diabetes, high-blood pressure, asthma, or being a smoker. First of all, those are all pretty common. That's a lot of at-risk people. But second, that's what they did say. Eighty-six percent of those under fifty who died had an underlying health condition. But what they didn't say, and what I heard was this: Fourteen percent of the people under fifty who died of COVID-19 did NOT have an underlying health condition. That sounds fucking scary.  Yes, that is still a small number. Most of the people who die from COVID-19 are over eighty years of age. So, the percentage of people who died who are under fifty is low, and it's fourteen percent of that number … but still. That's otherwise healthy young people with no underlying health conditions who are dying. Greater risk for the elderly doesn't equal zero risk for the young. That's not how math or statistics work.  

I've watched videos online from real people. Nurses on the front lines in the hardest hit cities describing chaotic and dangerous conditions in hospitals. People who got the disease pretty badly, but recovered, recounting their terrifying near-death experiences. Yes, a lot of people have a sniffle and a cough. Yes, some people remain asymptomatic throughout the life of their infection, remaining symptom free, but still allowing the virus to replicate in their bodies so they can spread it. But this thing just slaps the fuck out of some people, and sometimes kills them, for no reason. Not because they're old, or sick, or have an otherwise compromised immune system, but they’re just simply unlucky. I mean, maybe there’s something we don’t know. Perhaps they all have something in common, some underlying factor that hasn’t been identified as a risk. That’s surely possible. But still — do you have it, this factor? Do I? 

But fear of getting infected isn't the main reason to distance and hunker down.

We should stay locked down and we should try our best not to spread it because it's extremely contagious, and there is a pretty large section of our society, who, for various reasons, really shouldn't be put into battle with this virus. A lot of them don't have a chance, and we, as a society, need to do the right fucking thing and keep this bug as far away from them as we can. And if caring about the sick and elderly is outside of your capacity, just know that you aren't safe, either. It could kill you, too. Fourteen percent of the people under fifty who died from COVID-19 did not have an underlying medical condition or compromised immune system. I'm sure they all thought they would be fine.

I have learned the following by reading articles written by experts in the field.

There are eight strains of SARS-CoV-2 circulating the globe right now that cause the disease COVID-19. No one strain is deadlier than another, they are all very similar to each other. SARS-CoV-2 is not likely to rapidly mutate and go airborne or get into the water supply. Its current method of transmission from human to human is so effective it has no immediate need to try to adapt or evolve. If and when it does need to evolve to try to bypass our eventual vaccine, it will take it a while. Coronavirus evolves, or mutates, at a slow rate, about four times slower than influenza.

I should be citing this stuff, but this is a blog, not a peer-reviewed paper. This isn't shit I've discovered through testing and examination,  and I’m not trying to formulate my own hypothesis. I’m no expert in any of this, I'm just repeating shit I've found from articles that were well-sourced, and anyone can find them by Googling this stuff and seeing where I found it. But I digress, as I am wont to do.  Anyway, more science facts.

SARS-CoV-2 spreads from human to human in both large droplets and aerosol that exit the body during a cough, sneeze, panting, heavy breathing, etc. Any method that would allow moisture to escape the mouth on the breath. The virus can hang suspended in mist for up to three hours and remain active. The virus can live on paper and cardboard for up to 24 hours, and can live for up to 72 hours on plastic, stainless steel, and other smooth shiny surfaces.

So, on a relatively humid day, and, I know, how many of those are we going to see in mid-Spring, right? On a relatively humid day, an infected person sneezes. That infected aerosol can join with the water already in the air, and just float around ready to be breathed in for up to three hours. So, sure, stay six feet away, but if you move into a space someone else was just standing, you're now breathing in what they just breathed out.

I don't care who says what about masks.  I don't need someone to explain to me how and why masks work. I get that the virus is small and can pass through very small openings and to be fully effective a mask would have to be rated to work against particles as small as the virus, which in this case is N-95. But I also understand that if you're sick and you cough and you're wearing a piece of cloth over your face, you're going to greatly decrease the chances that you're going to spread the virus. Yes, small aerosols will make it through, but a lot of the germs will be caught and never enter the atmosphere. So, yeah, masks are prudent. Any of us could have it, and we should try not to spread it in case we do.

I am lucky and I get to stay in my house. I don’t know what lies I’d be telling myself if I had to go out in the world every day like nothing has changed and do a thankless job. Everyone still out in the world and not practicing social distancing will probably get this. I may get this, despite my best efforts. Most of us will be okay. Some of us won’t. 

[jewrocker]

The Trump/Twitter Hypocrisy.  When Will It End?

Last week, the nice folks at Twitter permanently suspended my account - again.  For the fourth time.  The previous three times I was kicked off the site were for trolling upstanding patriots like Matt Gaetz, Mitch McConnell, and Lindsey Graham, respectively. 

The interesting thing re: this latest suspension, was not that I was kicked off again. By now, I’m used to seeing my account suspended on what seems like a monthly basis - as well as having to rebuild my followers from scratch.  Whatever.  However, the apparent reason for this latest suspension was for posting a satirical clip a few of us Resisters made of president pie hole opening fire on a group of holiday shoppers -- an obvious nod to his own statement of being able to get away with “shooting people on Fifth Ave.”  The caption read "Raise your hand if you think this will be the scene the day after he’s acquitted by the Senate." 

Interestingly enough, no sooner am I banished to the Phantom Zone, forever, the Trump campaign releases a video depicting the president as the mass-murdering 'Thanos' from the Avengers, showing the president waving his hand and eviscerating the entire Congressional Impeachment delegation.  

Did the folks at Twitter suspend his deplorable offspring for retweeting such blatant hate speech and for all-but-calling for the deaths of these elected officials?  Did they at least suspend the accounts of those running Trump’s campaign who created the ad and who thought it was a good idea to publicly advocate for the annihilation of his rivals?  Did they do this because, as our Commander-in-Chief, he -as well as the people around him - should be held to higher standards than your average Twitter user? Did they do anything at all?  How about the last video, in which the president’s featured as “The Kingsman”, assassinating church goers, including entire news organizations, as well as shooting president Obama in the face?  Did they do anything then?  #Crickets

Why not, you ask?  Ah, that's the big head scratcher, kids.  Maybe it’s because there’s a shitload of GOP/Trump-sympathizing interns working the servers who make it their mission to tilt the scales every chance they get?  (That would explain our on-again-off-again relationship).  Maybe it’s because the geeks at Headquarters were playing Xbox when the spot was posted and not paying attention?  Or, perhaps it’s because CEO Jack Dorsey found himself puckering up and kissing some bloated, orange ass in exchange for a few undisclosed favors in one of the happy couple’s recent White House meetings?  Maybe good ole Jack’s so guilt-ridden, he decided to relocate to Africa to avoid the media?  Who knows?  The only thing certain is there is an unequivocal double-standard when it comes to how Twitter polices Trump vs. the rest of us, i.e. it’s non-existent.

Why, since this incredibly unqualified lunatic took office, has Twitter not done a thing to try and curb his attacks on private citizens?  

Why haven’t they taken any action when the president of the Unites States uses members of Congress, the FBI (poor Lisa Page), career ambassadors, even dead Congressmen and Senators, as target practice?  

Why have they stood by and done nothing as the orange idiot calls for the “outing” of whistleblowers?  Why are they doing nothing now that he’s apparently followed through and leaked the Ukraine whistleblower’s name? Aside from being a crime, this makes Twitter accomplices in allowing this brave individual’s life, and possibly the lives of his/her family to be put in danger.  

If all this is not enough, does it get any more pathetic than the president of the United States using his favorite app to publicly shame a sixteen year-old girl because he’s jealous he didn’t win “Person of the Year”? Or because he was virtually ignored at Davos in favor of this brilliant and brave teenager? 

However, the Orange Emperor’s favorite Twitter past time seems to be publicly shaming/attacking Congressman Adam Schiff - be it using his bully pulpit to criticize his physical appearance in front of an arena full of hungry zombies, or going so far as calling for his head on a spike. 

There are so many things wrong with this mind-boggling ambivalence on the part of the world’s most popular communication tool, it’s beyond words.  Forget the fact that the president violates one of Twitter’s “Main Commandments” on an hourly basis.  That being: 

“You may not engage in the targeted harassment of someone, or incite other people to do so.”  

Seriously, Twitter?  You’re joking, right?  Take away every single tweet in which @RealdonaldTrump has either directly harassed, or called for the harassment/public shaming of one of his critics and/or opponents, and you’re left with about six on the economy.  Out of about twenty-five thousand.  If that’s not bias, I don’t know what is.  

Why hasn’t there been a single article or opinion piece in the last three awful years by an executive at Twitter Central who’s watched their application be used for the primary purpose of sowing chaos and discord amongst his/her fellow Americans and who had the balls to try and put a stop to it?  Where is the Twitter whistleblower?  Something is definitely rotten in Denmark.  

Legally speaking, at the moment, there doesn’t seem to be anything we can do.  I’ve had scores of friends who’ve had to deal with the two-faced, spineless, hypocritical policies of an entity that thrives on playing judge, jury and executioner towards its users for the most minor of infractions, who, like me, want to sue, and who are then told by an attorney that, because Twitter is not a state or federal agency, they are not bound by first amendment law.

This is a problem that needs fixing, asap.  After all, we, the users are the reason - the ONLY reason - Twitter is a multi-billion dollar company.  It would seem being allowed to operate, virtually unregulated (you listening Congress?), you’d think the Powers That Be would be forced to afford its users some sort of protection under the Constitution.  Especially if they define their main purpose as that of a tool for “Public Conversation.”

Should the biggest entity for conversation/communication/breaking news the world has ever seen be allowed to operate free of oversight?  To reap the financial/social rewards it gets by providing such a platform and, in turn, not be subjected to any rules, outside of the ones it provides for itself?  Seems a tad one-sided.  Especially since they’re now a publicly traded company. 

Additionally, Twitter’s entire “Appeal Process” is an absolute joke.  A pathetic sham that mocks the user in its apathetic taunt to offer a chance at redemption.  Be interesting to know how many users whose accounts have been suspended were reinstated on appeal.  I’d venture to say the number is zero to none, as you aren’t ever given the opportunity to communicate w/ a live human being, or to fully explain your situation/defense. 

Similar to Facebook’s M.O. of treating its users like batteries in The Matrix, sucking every bit of life they can get before flushing us into the void, Twitter provides one of the most pathetically inadequate support departments in the history of support departments.  They make the cable companies look like Trader Joe’s.   I’ve had my account suspended for stupid things like ‘wishing’ for Mitch McConnell’s untimely passing (please God, hurry).  However, there’s a big difference between wanting/wishing for something and threatening to do it, yourself.  With each one-sided suspension, Twitter is telling us they are the Thought Police. 

The real dangerous part about what’s happening is, once again, we have technology far eclipsing the pace of regulatory practices/congressional oversight.  As we speak, there’s absolutely nothing stopping the most powerful man on earth from using the power of his office, and the technology at his fingertips, to threaten, intimidate, harass, bully, and lie, round-the-clock, 24/7.  Not Congress, not The People, and, Lord knows, not Twitter, itself.  It may take generations to recover from such a traumatic, incessant, daily assault on our senses, on the Truth, and our world as a whole.  And, for providing our unhinged POTUS a soapbox free of consequences, Twitter’s role cannot be understated. 

Imagine, for a minute, how much better things would be if they actually held the president to the same standards as the rest of us?  Imagine if Trump’s Twitter account had been suspended for violating their terms early on? Even for a week.  Not only would it have made him think twice before he attacks another private citizen/company, or out a whistleblower, imagine what an amazing week that would’ve been?  Free of hate, free of malice and misleading proclamations and declarations being spewed out and blasted at us from the most powerful man on earth, every five minutes, like the spigot of a piping hot sprinkler of hate on a sweltering summer’s day?  One can dream.

Til then, perhaps a massive class action suit against Twitter by thousands of users who were suspended/kicked off/banned for the same things the president does on a daily basis would wake them and/or Congress up?  Even if it’s not winnable, watching their stock drop a dozen points due to such an egregious pr gaff would make any company rethink its relationship with its users, and the public.   Feel free to email me - David.Fagin@aolnews.com if you’re interested in joining the suit. When combined, we ‘snowflakes’ form an avalanche. 

Social media has become the primary way of communication for 99% of modern society - not to mention a trillion dollar behemoth that’s virtually unregulated.  It’s about time these Titans of Text were held accountable to their users, from whom, they generate one hundred percent of their value.  Til then, keep a look out for my fifth Twitter profile. #RESIST 

(UPDATE: 5/26/20 After nearly four years and twenty-thousand lies, it's good to see Twitter finally decided, to put a 'disclaimer' on ONE of orange idiot's ridiculous tweets and hold him to the same standards as the rest of us.  (wink). #Babysteps  

Twitter also suspended my account, yet again, this past weekend for comparing White House press sec and houseplant, Kayleigh McEnany to the cliche bimbo at the opening of a slasher movie.  The Thought Police claim, by saying an empty-headed bimbo who walks right into a machete has more credibility than McEnany, I’m “promoting violence.”  Also, trying to fill out the “Appeal Box”- which, as stated above, as all but useless, would be a bit more fair if you were given more than a twenty character limit to state your case.

But my main point above, re: in lieu of a class action, public pressure can force Twitter and/or Congress to do the right thing and apply their policies equally, no matter the individual’s status, was just proven to work.  In fact, IMO the leader of the free world should be held to a higher standards than the rest of us.  Nonetheless, Twitter finally bowed to pressure due to all of us screaming bloody murder.  Keep it up, folks.

[topcbdoilhub]

Ally Natural CBD Oil Reviews, Joint Pain Benefits Read, Price & Buy ?

Natural CBD Oil  :- Ally Natural CBD Oill isn't that. With Life Restore Partner Characteristic Ally Natural  CBD Oil hemp oil, you're ingesting Partner Common Ally Natural CBD Oil without the THC, so there should be no high, simply repairing. For extra all around, legitimate explanation about the possible medicinal focal points of cannabidiol, click here. Ally Natural CBD Oil  Ally Natural CBD Oil Oral Drops Menu Bounce to content HomePrivacy Course of action Terms of Use Life Restore Partner Characteristic Ally Natural CBD Oil Overview Life Restore Ally Natural CBD Oill IngredientsLife RestoreAlly Characteristic Ally Natural CBD Oil Helping You Patch Typically What may you rather do? Siphon your system overflowing with built synthetics made in a lab from blends you can't expressive, or ingest something created, typical, and unadulterated? Abnormally, in the present society, more people are picking the manufactured substances since they essentially don't have the foggiest thought regarding there's another option. There is. Life Restore Partner Characteristic Ally Natural CBD Oil is a concentrate from hemp. Various people are heading off to this thing, and ones like it, for their prosperity concerns. Life Restore drops are an alternative as opposed to current prescriptions that are taken by methods for pills and syringes. These are a trademark concentrate planned to alleviate different signs.

What Are The Ally Natural CBD Oil Ingredients ?

If you have to get comfortable with this kind of retouching, continue scrutinizing, yet on the off chance that you're set up to endeavor Life Restore Partner Characteristic Ally Natural CBD Oil  oral drops, click any of the associations on this page to get your container today. As a matter of first importance, these drops are delivered utilizing hemp, and really, hemp is a sort of pot. Life Restore Partner Common Ally Natural CBD Oil hemp oil isn't an unlawful medicine in any case it's an elective sort of solution.Since the start, hemp has had a bigger number of livelihoods than you may speculate, and with the continuous move toward the plant's recovering properties, a greater number of people than whenever in ongoing memory are using it for the obvious preferences. Hemp is ordinary, flawless, unadulterated, and it might just be the homeopathic course of action you've been looking for. Life Restore Partner Characteristic Ally Natural CBD Oil Worth Life Restore Partner Common Ally Natural CBD Oil Hemp Drops — What is Partner Normal Ally Natural CBD Oil? Partner Common Ally Natural CBD Oil speak to cannabidiol. It's a compound in hemp that many acknowledge contains a colossal proportion of medicinal favorable circumstances (more on that later). We need to make one thing unquestionable: Ally Natural CBD Oill isn't equivalent to THC. THC is the compound in maryjane that gets people high.

What are the Benefits of Ally Natural CBD Oil ?

Endless Anguish Pressure Apprehension Attacks of uneasiness Issues Resting Mind Dimness Inconvenience Focusing Nonattendance of Clearness Life Restore Partner Characteristic Ally Natural CBD Oil Rules  How Might I Use Partner Common Ally Natural CBD Oil? That is a better than average inquiry to have. Since it's such a novel thing, various people do not understand how to oversee it, anyway here's a straightforward manual for using Life Restore Partner Characteristic Ally Natural CBD Oil drops. Watch any symptoms that Partner Normal Ally Natural CBD Oil could help with. Use the eye-dropper to part out the proportion of Life Restore Ally Natural CBD Oill hemp drops you wish to take. Drop the oil either clearly on your tongue or mix it in with your favored sustenances. Continue taking this improvement routinely. Watch any change in your signs. Life Restore Partner Common Ally Natural CBD Oil  Prosperity Is This Oil safe To Take? The hemp used in this thing is grown normally, as shown by its makers. They don't use any pesticides, stimulants, or fabricated manufactured blends. The thing ought to be 100% typical. In like manner, as we referenced already, the creators took out the illegal THC part through a filtration methodology, so this oil won't get you high. The Life restore Ally Natural CBD Oill site even communicates that this oil has NO Responses.

How does Ally Natural CBD Oil work?

In perspective on that information, we'd expect that genuinely, this oil is ensured to Take. Life Restore Partner Characteristic Ally Natural CBD Oil  Authenticity Is This Legal To Case And Use? A pack of pot is unlawful (in numerous states). This isn't a sack of plants that you're expecting to smoke. It's a little bottle with a helpful eye-dropper and a constrained amount of oil in it. Before long, the unlawful THC part has been removed from this oil, so really, it is legal in the U.S. If you don't confide in us, go to the solicitation page and witness for yourself. It in all regards clearly communicates that the thing is authentic in every one of the 50 states, and they will ship to every one of them. It's even made suitable here in the USA.Before we start, note that we are not specialists or researchers and this guide isn't an offering of wellbeing exhortation. Be that as it may, Kelsie on The Sleep Yard group went through more than 40 hours inquiring about this theme so we feel like this guide is a useful beginning stage for you. All things considered, we prescribe you ask your primary care physician before joining new "prescription" into your daily practice. While it looks exceptionally confident that CBD can treat a huge assortment of afflictions with next to zero reactions, thinks about are still in progress to demonstrate this 100% genuine. You are free to attempt CBD, yet make sure to do so mindfully.

Where To Buy Ally Natural CBD Oil?

CBD is shorthand that represents cannabidiol, which is a cannabinoid that is found in cannabis. It was first inquired about, harking back to the 1940s, however has been utilized restoratively for a sleeping disorder and other rest issues in different societies for a considerable length of time. Cannabidiols are concoction exacerbates that work with our endocannabinoid framework, which is the biochemical correspondence framework in our bodies that assume a job in mental capacities like rest, state of mind, agony, and hunger. CBD speaks with receptors, proteins, and synthetic substances in the cerebrum to help advance unwinding, relief from discomfort, and better rest. Ally Natural CBD Oil is only one of the numerous structures that CBD comes in. We'll make sure to talk about the numerous different structures that CBD is accessible in, later in this post. While CBD and THC (Tetrahydrocannabinol) are both synthetic mixes found in cannabis (and there are more than 100, with CBD and THC being the most mainstream), they are especially extraordinary. THC has the capacities to give you psychoactive impacts, or get you "high" or "stoned." Ally Natural CBD Oil  can't get you "high" essentially, yet it can improve mind-set. It isn't psychoactive as is THC, however. Additionally, CBD works much better when a minor piece of THC is available, so you may generally discover CBD items that contain THC levels around .3%. This isn't sufficient to get you high, and is delegated hemp, not weed.

Ally Natural CBD Oil Reviews

Since CBD doesn't have any of these impacts, it is legitimate in every one of the 50 states. THC is just lawful in certain states, and its utilization (restorative or recreational) is dependent upon the laws of the state. Indeed, even in states where THC is totally unlawful, it is as yet lawful to buy and utilize CBD. A World Wellbeing Association report issued in 2017 expressed that CBD does not seem to have misuse potential or cause hurt, yet consistently continue with alert. The first is the CO2 strategy, which works by pushing CO2 through the plant at a high weight and low temperature. This concentrates CBD in its most flawless structure, which means its the most secure and cleanest technique for making Ally Natural CBD Oil  since it evacuates additional substances, similar to chlorophyll, and doesn't gather any buildup. Ally Natural CBD Oil extricated along these lines is portrayed as having a "cleaner taste," but on the other hand is typically the most costly type of Ally Natural CBD Oil. You ought to likewise know about what your CBD is being extricated from. In the event that your CBD is removed from real cannabis leaves as opposed to hemp, it can have a higher THC content (up to 30 percent), and can have psychoactive impacts. Continuously make a point to check the THC level when buying CBD, and ask where the CBD was gotten from.

http://topcbdoilhub.com/ally-natural-cbd-oil/