#this is a man who has pushed his trauma aside for 25 years to help everyone else

[matchtheminrenown]

elliot augustine + being a literal romance hero

[princess-of-the-corner]

Im pretty sure anyone would take Enji over Gabriel. Enji’s actually written well, with a good character arc.

YEAH NO I

I went off on this a while ago but I'm bringing it back:

The arc with Enji is what they /wanted/ Gabriel to be. A man who is a Hero and cares about people and definitely cares about his family, but did awful and unforgivable things he can't fix due to his own sympathetic goals.

And it works because we genuinely /see this on screen/. While we see the bad stuff, we also see the good.

All of Enji's screentime that doesn't directly involve his homelife is him doing his literal job as a Hero. He held the title of #2 Hero for 25+ years, which is a fantastic thing to do! He's out there helping people and saving lives and risking himself for the sake of others and he's damn good at what he does!

And even when we focus on the stuff at home, we get that too. Yes there's the entire history on how this family started and of course the abuse, but we see him caring about them as well. When Rei's mental health drops, he gets her the actual professional help she needs. While he pushes Shoto too far, he's also proud of his accomplishments and tries to connect with him(it usually ends in failure). Fuyumi asks for family dinners together, and he makes sure to show up instead of giving the 'I'm too busy' excuse even though every dinner ends in a fight. Speaking of fights, he lets Natsuo yell at him during these fights and in turn is terrified at the idea of losing him. He tried to stop Toya from doing something that causes him major harm and could even kill him, and is devastated by his 'death' and immediately hit with guilt when he sees Dabi.

We see the root of all of this. The trauma over losing his father and feeling powerless, wanting to save people so no one has to feel that kind of hurt. Seeing the perfection that is All Might and holding himself to impossible standards, only to try and find alternate methods when he realizes his own inherent weaknesses were stopping him from meeting that goal.

And when Enji is hit with the realization of all that he's fucked up, he takes responsibility for it. This is his fault. No amount of 'good' can counteract the bad, the fact that he cares for his family doesn't erase the harm he caused to them. He can't change the past, but he's going to stay around and do what he can to fix it. Even in the middle of a battle thinking he might die his lament is that he wanted to live to fix things but if he has to give his life to save them then so be it.

Meanwhile.

Gabriel.

Gabriel is being an asshole 95% of his total screentime. We occasionally see him caring for Adrien and Nathalie in earlier seasons and he /says/ he's doing this for Emilie. But that gets contradicted in later seasons as just a fluke when he uses all sorts of magic mind control on Adrien and casts Nathalie aside once she's stopped being useful and ruins his chances of saving Emilie in favor of kicking the shit out of children. Emilie's death is supposed to be his motivation which would make sense if this only started a year ago but no it started at least 15-20 years ago where he's been doing villain shit this whole time. We don't know what spurred his want for at minimum a remote control obedient doll child and possibly world domination(they swing on that so much). And when faced with what he's done, decides to just off himself instead of dealing with the conseqences and trying to fix anything(and low-key taking everyone with him).

And it double hurts because like.

I am currently writing a fic that's a deep-dive on Enji's history and 'how he got here' and all that. And it's. I won't say it's 'easy' to write because writing is hard but if you can write it's not that hard to balance this shit out.

[limitlessgojo]

Blood Bound: Blackened Bond (Ch 16)

Warnings: Action, Coarse Language, Fighting, Descriptions of Blood, Death, Gore, Japanese Mythical Folklore, No Major Character Death

Previous Chapter: 土御門天皇 (Tsuchimikado)

Next Chapter: Inferno: Flames of Hell

Word Count: 3.3k

Tags: Kamo Noritoshi x Reader, Soulmates AU, Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Fem!Reader

Taglist: @lessie-oxj @rizzo-nero @whoreuc @fkngkumiko @isl3t @gojoussunglasses @onepotatostand-blog @s-t-f-u-b-i-t-c-h @sunaswife @lordguameow @track5enthusiast @nayydoesthings

Notes: If you want to be tagged for every update, and specify if you're okay with NSFW posts or not, please mention it in the comments below ty ❤

This chapter is LONG, a lot longer than I expected haha, happy reading!

Chapter 16: Non-Standard

Noritoshi was in a shitty mood to say the least. He went home to his clan immediately after getting a summon. The clan head had discussed their stance on the upcoming war and is readying their jujutsu sorcerers for battle.

His half-brother had made a not too subtle snarky remark about you. "You've already gotten yourself a woman? Wonder if she even likes you. I'm willing to bet Homura's cuter than her." Secretly his brother was curious about you, having heard about your special grade status.

Noritoshi steeled himself, knowing his brother's playboy tendencies at his school.

"That's enough. I am quite serious about her, so don't even think of taking her."

He watched his brother shut up upon seeing him like this and left him hanging.

'Heeehhh? That Noritoshi is actually interested in someone? Interesting…'

Other serious matters aside, his father, as usual, asked about you, only for him to find out you've both gotten into an argument.

The head of the Kamo clan only raised an eyebrow. "That’s normal for every couple."

Noritoshi kept his temper at bay. But he couldn't help resenting his phone call with his father that day. If his father was less controlling and obsessive over their clan status, maybe it would have gone better.

No... He was also influenced by the elders. Ashamed as Noritoshi was to acknowledge it himself.

“We… broke up…”

At that, his father shuts his eyes, mood obviously souring.

"You are literally a fated pair, how is that even possible? *sigh* If it proves too difficult with her… well we had that list of marriage partners set up for you. Homura has made it quite clear she and her family would be very delighted to assimilate with ours."

Is this what Noritoshi wanted? A woman who obviously flirted with him as she lusted for power? No, he wanted you, who never inquired about his status. Just about his family, his mom, dad and half siblings.

You made it very clear you were worried about his family's well-being. And whether they would like you or not. You want him to meet yours. You never even asked him for a gift or much favors. (Though he had a feeling your family was pretty well off, based on your clothes and jewellery.)

And he loved the fact that he could breathe like a regular teenage guy around you. The only thing you’ve requested from him so far was honesty and transparency.

"No. That won't be needed. Y/N is mine. She is the only one for me." He spoke slowly and clearly. This is the first time he actually disagreed with his father. He'd lose his sanity without you.

"I expected as much, I've never seen you this determined about something before. Soulmates are so complicated." His father sighed out. "Do as you wish. It isn't wise for me or the elders to interfere with something as sacred and ancient as this soulbond you share with her anyways."

Noritoshi felt himself earn a small win at that. He was growing a backbone. "Thank you father."

“However! You cannot force her to love you back. Surely you know this. If you don’t get married by the age of 25, as per our clan tradition I’ll have you set up with another woman.”

Noritoshi inwardly sighed, resigned to his fate.

◇◇◇

Needless to say, you trained like a demon as the eve of Christmas quickly approached. Nobody dared come 10 feet near you as you perfected your Blizzard and Tornado techniques. It was normal to hear the crack of a sonic boom and see flashes of lightning around you.

You were hesitant to use your cursed technique reversal. You barely use flames and Inferno in general, but it can't be helped. But now you hold a pack of matches in your hand.

You lit a match and manipulated the flames. It danced dangerously around your fingers before you moved it from one hand to the other.

You were doing well. Spending a lot of time here on campus helped you to control your emotions and not let anger fuel your cursed energy like you did when you were younger. Those were such bad habits.

A wheel of flame circled in front of you. Very clean and stable. All of the sudden, a strong whirl of wind and empty space extinguished the flames like a vacuum … Only one other person in Japan is capable of doing that other than you.

You turned your head to the side and saw an incredibly tall man with snow white hair and a pair of sunglasses approached you. His bright baby blue eyes gently twinkling and peeking over the rims of his shades.

“Satoru nii, it’s been a while. Why visit me now?” You tiredly asked. He came up just a few inches away from you, staring down at you.

“I got a call from Hiroki. I’m here to help you with your special cursed techniques. It’s time, you’ve stopped holding yourself back Neko-chan.” He leered down with his trademark grin.

◇◇◇

You spend the entire afternoon getting pushed around by Satoru. This man was crazy strong. He kicked you against a tree. “OOF” you heaved.

"You avoid using Inferno. Is it because of your childhood trauma? I'm not shaming you but it's something you need to overcome."

You frowned at his words.

"You only have today to train with me y/n! Aren’t you honored I went out of my way from Tokyo to Kyoto?”

"Like hell I am."

“You’re not using the full extent of your cursed techniques. That power is your one true ally in this world. Trust it a bit more. Apart from your soulmate anyways, but I can see you and Noritoshi aren't exactly swell right now." Your eye twitched at that statement.

Satoru eyed the broken strands of red ropes that floated around you. Not a good sign. It was reaching out to the distance. Maybe to where Noritoshi is huh, Satoru wondered. Until he spotted one thin string, still very much intact and alive. He grinned.

‘This prick and his fucking special eye abilities’, you grumbled. He hit your back hard, “What bad language you have. Imma straighten you up today kitteeeen~”

He pranced around you and squatted to lean down to your level.

"But seriously, you say you want to get strong but you fear your own power kitten. Don't do that." Satoru pointed straight at your eyes. “Remove the fear of hurting the people around you. Because you’re literally fighting to protect the ones you love, focus instead on harnessing your cursed energy to fight. Your messed up emotions could cost you a fight, even your life. Doesn’t matter if you’re a special grade like me. At this rate you won’t catch up to me.”

You slumped to the ground in defeat.

“To be honest, I feel like my growth has stunted. I don’t know if it’s the lack of powerful opponents I’ve had lately.”

He sighed out so loudly and obnoxiously that your anger flared up at him. “Thaaat’s what I kept telling you. You shoulda come to Tokyo Jujutsu instead of here! 100% I would enjoy teaching you and I mean it. I could teach you ya know, and Yuuta is there as well. Another Special Grade, although his circumstances are quite unique and with the way he is right now, you have a better chance at beating him one-on-one since he’s a newbie to this world. And yet you kept saying you wanted to be here for your family.” He shook his head.

You felt as though your head cleared up all of a sudden. “Because I was here…. I was meant to be here. Satoru. I know it deep in my soul. Because I met Noritoshi and…. “ Your heart throbbed so loudly you heard it in your ears. A deep pain stabbed into you.

Ah right. You said you were over him. You broke up with him weeks ago.

“And? You’re not together anymore. Figure out your heart and I could let you reconsider transferring to Tokyo Jujutsu High you know?” He said with a frown.

Why does the idea of leaving Noritoshi behind feeling like you were carving your heart out? He isn’t anything to you anymore and yet…

No. Enough of this. You’re here to train and fight that curse that killed Sora. Your emotions were all over the place. Satoru came up to you and wiped your tears off your face.

“What are you doing to yourself y/n? Don’t lie to yourself. I thought you wanted to live life as honestly as possible.” Even Satoru looked concerned and troubled over your state.

You gulped. “Yeah you’re right. I told myself I wanted to get stronger and protect the ones I love. Now I’m just running away. Noritoshi at least has been trying to reach out to me, but I shut him down.” Your heart is hurting.

Satoru stared at you and the cursed energy that was rapidly pulsing around you. Then grinned. “Then... Fight me one-on-one right here right now. Let’s make sure to keep the damages to a minimum and take care of the buildings. All the other students are still here on campus. Sky's the limit since both of us can move well in mid-air. I want to see you control your emotions and fight me properly. I’ll hold back.” He said.

You took a deep breath and looked back up. “Challenge accepted.”

You’ve envisioned this countless times. You wanted to see how you could match-up against Satoru and all his years of experience. You weren’t expecting to win, but you were not going down without a fight. Your cursed technique is actually a good matchup for his.

You can manipulate molecules. Though you suspect his control is on an atomic level, and thus could overpower yours due to his finesse and 6 eyes. But you could at the very least try.

Satoru, on the other hand, already knew of your potential. 'She is the only one I know who can actually touch and surpass me, given that she can control gravity and condense molecules. It will come down to timing and refining techniques.'

“Give me 5 minutes to suit up.” You asked. He agreed. You flew to your room and eyed the katana of your father. He actually planned to give it to Sora when she turns 16. But due to her death, he gave it to you instead on your 16th.

The name was Kintsugi, because it was made of two halves before being welded together in the centre with high grade steel. The center has a core of a fine diamond dust that’s infused with cursed energy. It’s a grade 1 special tool that multiplies the cursed energy you put into it by 10.

“Don’t break it. Don’t break it…. But It’s Satoru I’m going against. It will break.” And so you put it back and instead reached for your best twin blades and metallic whip. You coiled it around your wrist like a bangle, before flying back to Satoru.

“Done preparing, kitten?” He had removed his sunglasses and his blue eyes were out wide open as they assessed your cursed technique.

“Yep!” You yelled. “Ah Toru, shouldn’t we inform the elders or Utahime sensei that we-”

He didn’t give you time to speak as he appeared in front of you all of the sudden. Rushing with a right hook. You quickly dodged. He kept his word and is going easy on you at least.

You exchanged a few blows with him, both his limitless and your spacial barrier active so technically, no hits were landed.

Until you warped the space and forced the molecules around them to retract, making you actually reach and hit him.

He must have expected the solid punch, because in return, he kicked you as he warped off your spacial barrier. You eyed him as you regrouped. It’s anyone’s game huh.

“You’re still holding back! Are you going to be like this in a real battle? Are you okay with staying weak? Or do you have to wait for someone special to die before you ignite?!”

Oh no he didn’t. Your emotions raged, and you tried to calm them down. But all you saw was blood red. You never felt this angry at Satoru before. Before you knew it, you had activated inferno, making the entire surrounding area, which Satoru was in, combust and burn up in flames.

You lit up a match and pulled the flames on the ground and trees towards your smaller flame and held a massive ball of fire. Satoru was gone, it was only soot on the ground. You looked up to see him hurtling down at you.

You barely dodged, before wrapping the flames around you as you used it to strike at him repeatedly. You both rose up higher and higher into the air.

“Special art: Goldenrod,” you shot a bolt of lightning at Satoru only for him to dodge it. “Don’t just shoot it from your hands! Electricity is a current! You can make it run through your entire body!” He yelled as you both spiraled and fought over the campus.

He had the energy to teach you while you were fighting. You scoffed, but listened carefully, generating electricity in your hands before letting it wrap around you.

You were both dodging and striking at each other with such power. The trees swayed violently as winds and rubble were thrown about.

“What on earth…” Noritoshi and the other students stared at the flashes of fire, lightning, and wind above the campus.

The sky darkened. Good. If you had water, that was another asset.

He must have realized this as he immediately activated his Cursed Technique: Reversal. “Red.” You were forced back, plummeting to the ground. You swiftly turned and saw Miwa and Mai staring at you with horror.

You pulled yourself up back into the sky, still filled with fire and lightning, narrowly missing the building. You twisted your fingers to the side. The flames turned into the shape of the Dragon and you whipped back to hit Satoru from the front while your dragon of flame hit him from behind.

He danced around your attacks, teleporting from one area to the next to dodge them.

He then easily extinguished your flames with a flick of his wrist, but your lightning stayed. He can’t extinguish it, because it was coursing through your body, constantly moving.

You both stood, hundreds of feet high above the Kyoto Campus in midair. Lightning flashed above and winds howled.

You’ve never been pushed this hard your entire life. Not with Hiroki. Not with Todo. But Satoru was really on another level of strong. Unbreakable like a monster. He didn’t feel human anymore.

You tried for a Mach Speed hit, which you’ve never tried on anyone else; it would kill them on impact. “Mach 3.5” There was a loud BANG!

Going at Mach Speed has its limits of course. You can afford to do Mach 1, 5 times a day. Mach 2, 3 times, and Mach 4 only once.

A huge cone of smoke formed behind you as you launched yourself at Satoru. He was still able to evade you, but you pointed one hand to him, quickly following up on another attack.

“Fubuki.” Your blizzard technique was a combination of Niflheim and Tatsumaki. Cold air whipped around you and you thrust it towards Satoru. A mini tornado has formed around you and it pushed and pulled widely. But you were in the eye of the storm.

Satoru dodged your winds, but couldn’t escape them all, wincing as some small ice shards cut into his skin. He attracted debris and rocks towards you. One caught on your shoulder, making you yell in pain, but the rest you were able to guard against with your winds.

He immediately closed in on you to prevent you from doing another full blast and punched with ‘Red’. You countered with a roundhouse kick supercharged with your blizzard and lightning, neutralising his infinity jujutsu with a bit of mixed gravity control.

A huge gust of whirlwind was emitted from the impact, forcing everyone on campus down to the ground.

“GOJO! TSUCHIMIKADO! STOP THIS!” Utahime was screaming at the top of her lungs, still heard over the roar of thunderclap.

You both looked at each other and knew it had to end soon. Rain was starting to fall.

He threw his back and laughed out loud. “I hadn’t had this much fun in ages. You’ve grown really strong. Stop me if you can.” And flew away from the buildings and into the surrounding forest. You whipped your tornado around you and quickly followed him.

All the other students that had been watching you go at it followed. Utahime did as well. They stood from a distance as both of you exchanged more hits.

You lit another match and let arrows made of flames rain on Satoru, weakening his limitless barrier as much as you could. Only one arrow slightly singed his sleeve. Damn he was good.

Satoru attracted your body with “Cursed Technique Lapse: Blue.” You felt like your insides were tearing as you tried to stop his force. But his limitless technique easily overpowered yours. You let go and rushed towards him with both your swords out.

He easily sidestepped and kicked them out of your grasp. The hit was so heavy, even though it hit your swords, you felt the force reverberate throughout your body.

Satoru grabbed your neck from behind, and for the very first time since you were awarded the Special Grade Jujutsushi status, you were forced down onto the ground.

You used your cursed technique to soften the blow as much as possible, but Satoru was relentless as he slammed you head-first down onto the grass.

Everyone winced as you hit the ground hard. "He's not human." Mai said. Everyone agreed, not used to seeing you at the mercy of another party like this. They were reminded of who exactly was the strongest sorcerer alive.

In order to win against Satoru, your goal was to touch him and move past his limitless barrier. Even if it’s just for a moment. You couldn’t use Niflheim or Inferno from afar. He would remain unaffected as he guards and stops the change in movement of molecules around him.

But now his hand was around your neck. Your twin blades suddenly rush to close in around his neck in an x position to gather his attention, while you use your technique to warp the space around his hand to weaken limitless and hold onto him.

You lashed out with your metallic whip, letting your cursed technique run through it. It worked and scratched his cheek a bit.

"Enhanced gravity: Output 30%", the ground cracked underneath the both of you as a massive weight pressed down. And then you shocked both Satoru and yourself with the lightning coursing through you. Screaming at the pain in the process.

He gritted his teeth as volts shocked his bones.

Utahime and the others stared at both of you. "What a huge amount of cursed energy." Todo said in awe. "Non-standard Jujutsu users are insane."

Satoru still had the strength to hit your lower back which caused you to heave out and stop Goldenrod from activating. Both of your clothes were literally toasted. “Haha. You’re a scary one y/n.”

That’s all you remembered before you passed out; you were out of cursed energy.

◇◇◇

Noritoshi rushed over to take you in his arms. Pulling your unconscious body close to his, he gave you a once-over. You had just fainted from exhaustion, there were no serious injuries. Good.

"Noritoshi," Satoru called.

"Yes, Gojo San?"

"Take care of her for me please."

He straightened up, "Of course. There’s no need to ask that from me." He then carried you to the infirmary, holding you gently in his arms.

Blood Bound: Table of Contents

Author's Notes: Me writing this entire scene: FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT!!! (x100)

Y/n was able to fight on par with Satoru, because he chose to limit his cursed energy output and match his skills to her level. A psychokinesis cursed technique would be a natural enemy for limitless since you can condense and expand space between molecules. But you still lack experience in battle. And if we were going to talk about Domains, Satoru would dominate the battle.

[katehuntington]

Title: Ride With Me (part 25) Fandom: Supernatural Timeline: 2008 Pairing: Dean x Reader Word count: ±6900 words Summary series: Y/N is a talented horse rider who is on her way to become a professional. In order to convince her father that she deserves the loan needed to start her own farm, she goes to Arizona for six months, to intern at a ranch owned by Bobby and Ellen Singer. Her future is set out, but then she meets a handsome horseman, who goes by the name of Dean Winchester. A heartwarming series about a cowboy who falls for the girl, letting go of the past and the importance of family. Summary part 25: Y/N and Dean struggle with the aftermath of their split. Working together proves to be difficult, but other relationships within the ranch family took a hit as well. When the cowboy thinks the day can’t get much worse, complications arise, forcing him to make yet another difficult decision. Warnings series: NSFW, 18+ only! Fluff,  angst, eventually smut. Swearing, smoking, alcohol intoxication, alcohol abuse. Mutual pining, heartbreak, slowburn. Crying, nightmares, childhood  trauma. Description of animal abuse, domestic violence, mentions of  addiction. Financial problems, stress, mental breakdown. Description of  blood and injury, hospital scenes, character death, grief. Music: (opening scene) The Eye - Brandi Carlile. (Ride with Meadow scene) Home - Hans Zimmer. Follow ‘Kate Huntington’s Ride With Me playlist’ on Spotify! Author’s note: Beta’d by my mom (yes, you read that right. My mom reads my stuff and is on Tumblr). Thank you, @girl-with-a-fandom-fettish​​, @kittenofdoomage​​, @manawhaat​​, @waywardbeanie​​, @atc74​​​​​, and @winchest09​​​​​ for helping me with this story. Also a special thanks to @jules-1999​​​​​, who has offered me her knowledge about rodeo events like these, and @squirrelnotsam​​​​​, who knows Arizona like the back of her hand.

Ride With Me Masterlist

     With frustrated motions, Y/N stuffs her clothes into a bag, not even bothered to sort the items out. Her cheeks are tear-stained once again and she wipes at them angrily. Stop crying, it won’t get you anywhere, she scolds herself, done with feeling this emotional. After all, today is Monday, just another day at the ranch, and they have a lot of work to do. Garth and Ellen did the necessary stable work, but the horses which are usually trained by Jo, Dean, and herself had three days off while their riders were in Flagstaff. 

     Dean. Just the name reverberating in her head forces her to pause her actions. She dips her chin, closes her eyes, and takes a breath. Why? That’s the question she keeps asking herself. Why did he break up with her? Why did he pretend to care, only to hurt her the way he did? Why has he become so bitter, so selfish, so unlike the man she thought he was?

     The questions remain unanswered, and she doesn’t expect they will give her any consolation either. That was the whole issue to begin with, wasn’t it? He can’t be honest. Apparently, he doesn’t think she’s capable of bearing the load he is meant to share with his partner. Apparently, she’s not good enough. Just like she didn’t meet her first boyfriend’s standards, who got tired of her spending more time with her horses than with him. Her second relationship ended in a fiasco as well, this time it was his jealousy of her success that caused the split. Yesterday proved that the third time clearly isn’t a charm. But neither of her previous significant others ever caused a cataclysm as the one Dean has left behind. Her heart is a wasteland now.

     “Are you leaving?”      She’s pulled away from her thoughts by Jo’s voice, her tone matching the horrified expression on her face. She stands in the doorway, looking down at the open suitcase on the floor and the unzipped bag. All of a sudden, Y/N realizes what the scene must look like.      “No. I’m just sorting out my washing,” she says quickly.      “Oh…” the blonde cowgirl sighs, relieved. “For a second there I thought--”      “I won’t let your scumbag cousin chase me away, Jo,” her friend assures her.

     Truth be told, though, she has been thinking about it. Last night she had typed down her information on a booking website, ready to confirm her flight back to Freeport, but as her finger hovered over the ‘confirm’ button, she closed the tab and slammed her laptop closed. The intern came here on a mission. She is going to prove to her parents and to herself that she has what it takes to run her own ranch and that she deserves that business loan. She is not going to abort just because her heart is broken, come hell or high water.

     “Well, good. I would have roped you like a cow and tied you to the saddle anyway,” Jo scoffs, leaning against the doorframe. 

     The cowgirl chuckles as she collects the last of her dirty laundry, zips up the bag, and puts it on the bed. The sight of the not-particularly comfortable mattress has her wishing she could crawl back under the covers and get some much-needed sleep. That’s not an option, however, and so she takes her hat from the corner bedpost and places it on her head. Before she goes out, she quickly checks her makeup in the mirror, but thankfully her tears haven’t smudged her waterproof eyeliner and mascara, and her foundation is still covering the bags under her eyes. It’s been a while since she hid behind the beauty-products, but the confidence Dean gave her has disappeared the second he ended their relationship, so she put her mask back on. There is no way she will give her ex-boyfriend the satisfaction of witnessing just how broken she is.

     Y/N inhales deeply and squares her shoulders, lifting her chin as she stares at her reflection. The woman who looks back at her is fierce and resilient; the complete opposite of the little girl that’s hiding inside. Of course, she doesn’t want to face the day nor the man who hurt her, but she is left with no choice. There is so much more at stake here; her future, her career. This is business, and she will treat it as such. Y/N glances at Jo, giving her a nod, and her friend smiles faintly doing the same.

     Rubbing his tired eyes, Dean pours himself his third cup of coffee. Saying that he had a rough night, is putting it mildly. The first digit of his alarm clock had already changed into a ‘2’ when he finally drifted off, only to jolt awake an hour and a half later, his bedsheets clinging to his sweat-covered skin. For the first time in years, a nightmare has caused havoc, images of his worst memories coming through cracks in the walls he built around all that childhood trauma. After freshening up, he laid in bed again while last night’s events alternated with those same disturbing scenes he saw in his dreams, the sad motion picture of sorrow and heartbreak projected on the ceiling. He gave up on sleeping around four-thirty in the morning, got dressed, and sat out on the porch until the sun came up. But no matter how hard he focused on the sounds of the night that tried to soothe him, he couldn't get her out of his mind. The pain laced in her desperate voice, the tears that fell because of him. But after those hurtful images, he also remembers that bright smile, her giggles, the sparkle in her eyes when she has achieved something. Her tenderness, her touch… It hasn’t even been twelve hours and he’s already craving Y/N, fighting an addiction for a drug he can never have again. The girl who is no longer his Yankee.

     A door squeaks and Dean glances aside, immediately redirecting his gaze back to the coffee mug on the small kitchen counter when Y/N comes into view, followed suit by Jo. Instantly, the tension in the living room shoots through the roof, the crooked, little bunkhouse barely able to maintain the strain. He doesn’t say anything, but thankfully Garth and Benny do exchange a ‘good morning’ with the girls, the silence interrupted by the casual exchange. 

     He spots her perfectly applied makeup, her hair tied back in a tight ponytail that doesn’t  allow a single strand to escape the rubber band. Her shirt is neatly tucked into her jeans, ironed and spotless, just like the day when she arrived at the ranch. Even though she looks breathtaking, the vision saddens him; she’s back to being the woman who needs to have everything under control. He gets it, though, because when she took his advice to loosen up, she let her guard down. If she had kept both hands on the reins, Y/N would have never allowed him to get so close and comfortable. Dean only made things worse for her, and now she was left to pick up the pieces of all that he broke.

     Without saying a word, he grabs his coffee and pushes the door handle down to make his exit, not wanting to make her life more difficult than he already has.

     Ultimately, this Monday was bound to get worse with every passing minute. Dean decided to get an early start before breakfast and got on the tractor, but when the ranch hand tried to back up in order to drag the arena, he couldn't get the old John Deere into reverse. A glance underneath soon determined why and he exclaimed a loud ‘fuck!’ when he detected the puddle of gearbox-oil on the dusty ground. Turning the fresh horses out only added to his agitation, especially when the youngsters stirred up the palomino stallion Led while the wrangler was hand-walking him. The Quarter is still recovering from the nasty tendon injury he suffered on the job, and isn’t supposed to be bouncing off the concrete like a rubber ball on a leash, but tell that to an energetic horse who has barely been out of his box for the past month. Garth readied a horse for his boss, which he managed to ride before breakfast, but Dean was unfocused and gave up after thirty minutes.

     Now, they were all quietly eating their breakfast, the delicious meal giving them some consolation. Ellen observes the awfully silent crew, exchanging a look with her daughter, who with a slow shake of her head tells her mother to not bring it up, and so she doesn’t. The head wrangler is the first to get up from his seat, rinse his plate in the sink, and return to the stables. The others follow his example, the barn soon buzzing with activity. 

     Y/N works like a dog, mucking out the stable in record time without pausing. It’s a good distraction for her reeling mind, the hard labor ridding her of the frustration that boils her blood whenever she thinks of the man who ruined her faith in true love. Garth, sensing that the intern was fine on her own, took the tough job of raking the arena by hand, since machinery has let them down. Meanwhile, Jo and Dean train the animals as per usual, but there’s no bantering between them during the cool down. In fact, the wrangler’s cousin has decided to ignore him altogether. 

     Getting more irritated with every second passing, the horseman dismounts the six-year-old gelding named Santana, deciding that a light workout is enough for today. The wrangler is always careful to not let his emotions bleed into his work, but he’s finding it difficult to keep himself in check. Jo has already parked her horse next to the bay Quarter and has tacked down the buckskin without granting Dean a look. He sighs; Jo is not easily going to forgive him for hurting her friend, but he still tries to break the stifling silence.

     “Can you pass me the water?” he asks, nodding at the yellow garden hose that’s rolled up by the faucet.      Without even granting him a look, the ranch owner’s daughter throws the showerhead in his direction, the nozzle clattering on the tiles in front of Dean’s feet. He sighs, annoyed.      “So this is how it’s gonna be?” he scoffs. “I get that you’re mad, but you can at least t--”      “I have nothing to say to you,” she snaps. 

     It’s not the first time Jo is angry with him, because the two have a habit of getting on each other’s nerves. This time it’s different, though, and the bitterness in her tone sends a clear message that he has burned his bridges. Gritting his teeth, he lets the comment slide, deciding that it’s useless to fire back a counter. She has a solid point after all; he doesn’t deserve her sympathy in the slightest. Figuring that these will be the only words they exchange for at least a couple of days, the cowboy begins to hose down Santana, when Jo turns on her heels with her horse’s lead rope in one hand and her fist firmly planted on her waist.      “You know what? I do have something to say. You just don’t get to speak in return,” she kicks off, about to unleash her wrath.      Dean lifts his gaze from the dirt and sweat that he’s washing out of his horse’s coat, for the first time looking into his cousin’s fiery eyes. The petit cowgirl, who is easily nine inches shorter than the man before her, is intimidating nonetheless. He takes a breath, bracing himself for impact. Here it comes.

     “You’re a cold-hearted, spineless, self-absorbed dick, know that? For once in your life, you’ve got something good goin’, someone who was willing to look past your gigantic ego and your daddy issues, yet the first thing you do when life gets tough, is drop her like a hot potato. Do you have any idea how much pain you’ve caused the poor girl? Because I do! She wouldn’t want me to tell you this, but she cried for hours, hours, and that’s on you! Guess who had to comfort her, huh?” Jo goes off. “I am so far past mad; I am furious! I really thought you had finally found a reason to change into something better than the abbreviated piece of nothing that you are now, but it seems like Y/N wasn’t the only one who was naive.”      “You done?” the wrangler says coldly when she pauses to catch her breath.      “Go hump a cactus, Dean,” she sneers.

     With those words, Jo strides away, the large animal next to her obediently following her, well aware that now is not the time to be stubborn. The man who’s left with the poignant insults still echoing inside his head, pulls at his bottom lip with his teeth, staring at his feet for a second before he sniffs and focuses on the task at hand again. He might have pretended that her message left him unbothered, but the opposite is true. Jo could as well slap him across the face; it would hurt less. 

     Defeated, the wrangler takes Santana to his box and removes the halter from the large animal’s head. The sweet horse seeks contact, nudging her nose against Dean’s shoulder. He rubs the Quarter’s withers before he exits the stable, appreciating the only kindness that he’s received so far this morning.

     “Dean?”      He tenses, not expecting his name to fall off the lips of the woman who he parted from only yesterday. When the cowboy meets her gaze, the look Y/N gives him is as cold as the tone of her voice.      “I need a word,” she says, although it sounds more like a demand.      “S - sure,” he stutters, glancing down briefly before he looks back up again, suddenly nervous. He’s not sure if he can handle being scolded by his ex-girlfriend as well.      “I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to work together anymore,” she states formally. “I’d like a new supervisor.”

     Dean cocks his head back slightly, unbalanced by the appeal. He rubs his temple, averting his eyes but then nods, acknowledging that she’s probably right, even though the request is a painful one.      “Yeah, uh - sure. I’ll ask Garth,” he stammers, estimating that he would be the obvious choice since she’s so close with Jo. He wouldn’t want their friendship to be tainted by the difference in rank.      “Okay,” the intern responds, her expression stark and strained, before she walks past him.

     Motionless, the head wrangler remains on his spot, setting his jaw and closing his eyes for a second. Somehow, he didn’t expect their first exchange to be strictly business. Her stance is so different from what he’s grown used to. Even on the night they met when she gave him a hard time, the tension between them didn’t feel as heavy as it does now. He realized when he called it quits that she would struggle with his decision, but Jo’s confirmation that she spent most of last night crying over their separation has him desperate to ease the pain.

     “Y/N…” he says softly while turning before she’s too far gone to pick up on his voice.      “I have work to do,” she cuts off, shooting him a short glare over her shoulder.

     Dean swallows thickly while watching her leave, fast and determined strides taking her as far away from him as possible. Damn it, he really did ruin his chances of even maintaining any sort of a friendship, didn’t he? He’s not sure what else he expected after the way they parted, but despite the loathing and vexed look she just shot him that feels like a bullet to the heart, he’s glad. Let her be angry, let her hate him. It will be easier for her to deal with those emotions, than just the overwhelming sense of sadness. He knows, because he hasn’t felt this devastated, empty, and incomplete since his family fell apart; he’s talking from experience.      Wishing the day was over already, the cowboy adjusts his hat and gets back to work, hoping that riding will offer him the therapy he so desperately needs.

     Unfortunately, the day doesn’t pass by nearly as fast as Dean would like to. After riding five horses, he, Benny, and Garth use their lunch break to look at the beat-up tractor that once again has let them down. The head wrangler doesn’t mind skipping his midday meal; he would rather avoid sitting across from Y/N in a room overflowing with awkwardness, plus, he’s not hungry anyway. 

     The machine from 1979 was bound to die on the crew sooner than later, but after the farrier slash mechanic discovers metal particles in the gearbox fluid, it becomes clear that a simple oil change isn’t going to cut it this time.      “Yep, she’s toast,” Benny sighs, wiping his dirty hands with a cloth.      “Just what we need,” his friend grunts. He’s not looking forward to his uncle’s response to the setback. “I’ll tell Bobby.”      “I can if you want me to,” the stable boy - who is also responsible for the machinery - offers.      Dean purses his lips slightly, his thumbs hooked through the belt loops of his jeans while he stares at the old John Deere absently. “Nah, I’ll do it. I got a question for you, though. Do you mind supervising Y/N from now on?”      Garth shakes his head, taking in his boss, somewhat confused. “No, not at all.”      “Good,” the wrangler replies quickly, thankful that the slender employee takes on the task without question. The clueless young man didn’t pick up on the relationship between Dean and the intern to begin with, and he would rather keep him in the dark, especially now that it has ended. He knocks on the rusty hood of the tractor before he heads off. “I’ll see y’all in a bit. Can you start rolling out the hay to the pastures with the wheelbarrows? It’s gonna take a hell of a lot longer without this old thing.”

     The shade inside the stables is welcoming, and not just because it offers cooler temperatures. Dean’s eyes are still painfully sore from the lack of sleep and he rubs at them again, trying to stop them from burning. Shit, and it’s only Monday, he sighs to himself. The three-day event over the weekend means no time off for the employees who attended. The last time he didn’t have to show up at seven in the morning or earlier was late September, which means that he has been working twelve-hour plus shifts for fourteen days straight now. Work never stops on a ranch. The horses depend on him; they will always need food, a clean stable and exercise, no matter how tired, lovesick, or miserable he is. 

     The cafeteria is already empty. His aunt is probably at the guesthouses to change the sheets and towels, giving the accommodations a quick once-over. However, he finds a post-it on the long table with his name on it; ‘Don’t forget to eat. Bacon sandwiches are in the fridge - Ellen’. As the cowboy smiles for the first time today, he wonders if Bobby has told his wife anything about John’s unexpected visit in Flagstaff, hoping that he hasn’t. Knowing his aunt, she’s going to sit him down for some sweet tea and a talk, even though previous attempts of having a conversation as such proved to be unsuccessful. He appreciates her concern, though, the idea of his surrogate mom caring about him offering Dean some solace.

     The wrangler walks through the high barn doors on the other side, the sun doing its very best to cheer him up, but the rays don’t reach his soul. He makes his way to the Singer’s home, reckoning he will find Bobby there. As per usual, Dean takes off his hat and hangs it on the coat hanger, kicking off his boots before he proceeds to the office in the back of the house. After knocking, he pushes the door ajar, finding his uncle behind his desk. The place is still a mess, but the occupant’s features aren’t draped in shadows like the last time he was here. The blinders are open, the window a passe-partout of the Joshua tree, together with the paddocks and pastures surrounding it. 

     The rancher looks up when his nephew enters. “Hey, son. How’s the tractor comin’?”      “Well, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but it’s fried. The oil is swimming with debris,” Dean tells, taking a seat on the other side of the desk.      “Metal?” Bobby questions. When the young man across from him nods, he curses. “Balls!”

     Dean presses his lips into a firm line, keeping still in the worn chair to prevent it from squeaking. His uncle seemed to be in a good mood after the successful show, but he can tell that this setback has put a strain on the old man’s frame of mind. 

     “You’re gonna call the service station?” the head wrangler wonders.      “No, that’s gonna cost us. We finally managed to make some money, I ain’t planning on spending it on that damned thing.” The rancher adjusts his ball cap before leaning back in his chair. “You boys can give it a go first, open up that gearbox, see what’s broken. I’ll order parts once you figure out what’s wrong with that piece of shit.”

     Scribbling something down on a piece of paper, Bobby sighs, but then returns his focus to Dean. “There’s somethin’ else I need to discuss with you.”      His right-hand raises his eyebrows slightly, his interest peaked. “What’s that?”      “It’s about Cain,” his uncle murmurs. “Apparently MacLeod didn’t tell the entire story.”      Dean scoffs, shaking his head. “Should I be surprised? I’m not sure what kinda vibes you picked up from that shady dude, but I sure as hell don’t trust him for the life of me.”      “I don’t either. That’s why I think we should reconsider that deal.” Bobby rests his elbows on the armrests of his chair, forking his fingers together in his lap. He expected some resistance from Dean, but not such a strong reaction as his nephew fires back.

     “What?! Are you serious?” he counters, perplexed. “You’re just gonna wipe it off the table?”      “Not ‘just’, but we need to consider our options,” his boss returns.      “How many options do we have exactly? Because the way I see it, this arrangement is a pretty damn good one. It’s good money, a steady income with the prospect of a huge bonus, not to mention what doors it might open for the future. This horse might be the break we need,” Dean advocates, remembering Y/N’s words clearly when she summed up all the possibilities that Cain might bring with him. “Look, I know Fergus is a proper dick, but he has a reputation to protect. There’s too much at stake for him, and I don’t believe he will double-cross us. If we deliver, he’s gonna pay good bucks.”      “And that’s where we might have a problem; actually delivering,” Bobby returns, taking in his head wrangler.      Dean draws his head back, slightly hurt, frowning at his uncle’s words. “You don’t think I can get the job done?”      “I’m not sure if anyone can, son,” the owner of the Gold Canyon Ranch states calmly. “The horse doesn’t just have ‘some behavioral issues’, as Fergus put it. He’s unapproachable, unpredictable, aggressive. That stallion is dangerous to everyone in a square mile radius. Jody rang me this morning to warn us.”      “Jody?” the cowboy returns, puzzled. He’s aware that the female rancher knows a lot of people in this business, but he didn’t expect the news of the famous stallion’s arrival would spread so fast. “How did she even know that Cain was coming to us?”      “Because MacLeod is a client of hers. Cain is currently in her stables.”

     Dean’s eyebrows hit his hairline, emerald greens staring over the desk at the man on the other side. While gaping at his uncle, questions begin to race through his mind. Jody did business with Fergus? Jody is a good trainer with excellent judgment, so if she claims Cain is untrainable, that says something. Their last conversation in Flagstaff comes to mind, the news about Gabe’s hospitalization shocking him at the time. Could his friend’s injuries be the stallion’s doing?

     Bobby watches his trusted worker process the information, rolling his chair a little closer and resting his forearms on the varnished wood, closing his hand over his fist. “I know this complicates things, but I’m gonna leave it up to you. If you think you can handle the stallion, I will trust your judgment. But I don’t want you to risk your neck for the money, Dean. We will find another way.”

     The horseman chews on his lip as he ponders, his focus capturing nothing in particular as his eyes flick over the items and documents on the desk. “We’ll have a week to evaluate him. I’ll make the call after that,” he decides. “Mind if I contact Jody to get some insight on what I’m up against?”      “Knock yourself out,” Bobby consents. “Just leave the numbers that we agreed to out of it.”      “Will do.” 

     Dean gets up from his seat, pushing the chair closer to the desk before he intends to slip out of the office before he’s stopped by his boss.      “One more thing,” the wise man says, looking over his enclosed hands. “What’s going on with you and the intern?”

     Caught, the head wrangler freezes, eyes wide with shock and pure horror staring into the hallway. Shit. How the hell is he going to answer that? Is he referring to the dance at the opening night of the horse show or the palpable tension that has surrounded the former couple whenever they were in close range of each other? Dean doesn’t know, but he has the feeling that the continuation of this conversation is going to be anything but pleasant. Composing himself before he turns back to face his uncle.

     “Nothin’. What do you mean?” He shrugs as the corners of his mouth draw down, pretending to be careless.      “Don’t play dumb, boy. I was born at night, but not last night.” Bobby glares at him knowingly. “Are you messin’ around with her?”      “No,” Dean says firmly, the truth in his words hurting him deep down.      His uncle lifts his chin, holding the cowboy’s gaze while narrowing his eyes. It’s clear that he’s not buying. “You wanna explain then why you two were like two peas in a pot in Flagstaff, but can’t even look at each other now?”

     With his hand still on the door handle, his nephew attempts to keep his act together, but then he sighs. Damn it, he was so close to making it out of this meeting alive. Oh well, what’s one more lecture, right?

     “Look, there’s nothing going on, not anymore. I - uh, I got carried away and I shouldn’t have let it,” he admits. “I broke it off. It won’t happen again.”      “Is this gonna be a problem?” his boss asks sternly. “If you two can’t work together--”      “It isn’t. Garth will supervise her from now on. Just to prevent any issues in the future,” he continues, hoping the fact that they actually discussed how to carry on as colleagues from this point forward will put the concern to rest.

     “There better be a future for her here on this ranch. I can’t afford to lose a free worker, especially not one as skilled as she is,” Bobby warns, not convinced. “I’d pray that she won’t pack her bags if I were you, ‘cause I’ll give ya one guess who’s gonna have to work twice as hard and whose ass I’m gonna bust.”      “She won’t leave,” his head wrangler guarantees, willing to bet his life on it. 

     His promise might seem based on a hopeful hunch, but Y/N hasn’t given Dean any indication to question her professionalism. She even approached him in order to change the conditions of her internship, which couldn’t have been easy for her. Their interaction will be minimized and strictly business from now on, something he reckons she will handle much more gracefully than he will, simply because she has a bigger purpose to focus on. This placement is a stepping stone to her dream of owning her own ranch, and that goal hasn’t changed. He knows she won’t leave Gold Canyon.

     Bobby observes his nephew, still bothered by the fact that he didn’t listen to him when he specifically told the bachelor not to get involved with the intern. He’s going to save the rant for another time, though, the sight of an already dejected man before him having him hold back. It seems like this is doing a number on young fellow, and considering how they were with each other at the horse show this weekend, he’s not surprised. The two reminded him of his twenties when he first got together with his Ellen. The boy is hurting, more than he lets on.      “Alright then. Get goin’, I’ve got bills to pay,” he eventually says, shooing Dean out with a flick of the wrist.

     Relieved that his uncle is cutting him some slack, he nods and silently pulls the door shut, putting a barrier between himself and the conversation he has been dreading for weeks. If only he could be able to tell Bobby that he’s with the girl he’s in love with; he would have taken the grumpy rebuke with a grin on his face. If only.

     While stepping outside, the cowboy pulls his cellphone from his jeans pocket, looking up Jody Mills’ number in his contacts. He begins to slowly stroll back and forth on the porch in its sheltering shade, the floorboards moaning and cracking under his boots as he waits with his Nokia pressed against his ear. The steady tone beeps twice before his friend picks up.      “Hey,” it sounds from the other side of the line. “I was hoping you’d call.”      “Yeah, Bobby told me about Cain,” he returns. “Kinda complicates things, don’t it?”      “I need to listen to me very carefully,” Jody starts, earnest and worried. “Do not take that horse into your stable.”

     The cowboy sighs, glancing over the land while hooking his thumb behind his belt. He figured the female rancher would try to convince him to back off.      “It’s good money, Jody, and I’ve handled difficult cases before. Cain deserves a shot. I have to try.”      “I get it, but hear me out. If Fergus offered you a deal that seems too good to be true, that’s because it is. I know you’re an excellent trainer, hell, the best that I know. But I’m telling you, we’re not talking about a stallion with some authority issues here. That horse is twisted, has wires crossed. I have never seen such behavior,” she presses. “So many people have tried to straighten him out already. I did some digging, and Fergus’ supposedly ‘million dollar prospect’ has moved in and out nine different stables over the past year. No one has succeeded.”

     He ponders, not taking her warning lightly. Jody is an experienced equestrian who has dealt with many tough animals. She even passed some horses on to him when she couldn’t get through to them. The woman is well aware of the limits to her expertise and has always been honest with clients when a horse was too much for her to handle, but never before has she doubted that the wrangler from the Gold Canyon Ranch could do the job.

     “When Gabe got hurt, was it…?” Dean wonders, hesitant, not finishing his sentence.      “It was Cain.”

     He sets his jaw, the muscles flexing under his stubble. Although he assumed it was the stallion who has put his former colleague into the hospital, it still shocks him. He continues to pace the deck in front of the Singer’s home.      “How is he doing?” he wonders.      Jody pulls in a deep breath, the message she’s about to deliver clearly a difficult one. “He’s never gonna walk again. Paralyzed from the waist down.”

     Dean closes his eyes and swallows thickly. It’s the outcome they all feared, but hearing the confirmation makes his gut churn. Losing one's legs is a nightmare for everyone, but for a rider? He can’t possibly picture it, becoming wheelchair-bound. Honestly, he would rather die than to never be able to get in the saddle again.

     “Dean, I know you believe every horse deserves a second chance, but please, let this one go. He is beyond repair. I’m not asking, I’m begging,” she pleads, a tremor in her voice. “If you take on Cain, it’s only a matter of time before you get hurt, or worse.” 

     The words are backed up by a heavy silence. The two stay quiet for a while, the words sinking in with the wrangler. Flight animals fueled by fear can do either two things; run or attack. If getting away from the supposed threat is impossible, they tend to go for the last. It’s not something the horse will even think about; it’s a survival instinct. When a naturally kind creature takes a turn like that, it becomes a thousand-pound killing machine. If Cain is truly that far gone, it is likely that he is indeed beyond saving. The trainer has to see it for himself, though, and not just because the ranch can use the cash. He realizes that if he doesn’t take on this task, someone else will, someone with less experience. If this stallion is really that lethal, the next novice trainer might make an error of judgment that will be his or her last. At least Dean has the skills. It seems like he is Cain’s last resort, because if he isn’t trainable, he will get the bullet at some point. He wouldn’t be the first horse to be put down because of similar problems.

     “Thanks for the warning, Jody,” he responds after a long pause. “I’ll keep it in mind.”      “Dean--”      “I know. I know what you’re gonna say, but if I don’t do this, who knows what might happen to him. I’ve got a week to decide if we wanna go through with it. That’s the least I can do.”      He can hear his friend grunt, frustrated, probably realizing that changing his mind was a long shot to begin with. “Just… be careful, okay?”      “I will, promise,” Dean assures. “Talk to you later.”

     The cowboy hangs up, staring at his phone for a few more seconds before he puts it away and steps out into the sun, heading back to the stables. The admonition continues to ring in his ears, and he allows the caution to imprint the decisions he needs to make in the upcoming days. After all, warned is forearmed.

     Y/N wishes anyone had warned her how painful it is to have her heart broken by the person who made it beat just for him. Maybe she would have been more mindful then, more guarded. Maybe she wouldn’t have let him have it, had she known how careless he would be.

     Around 5 o’clock, her new supervisor said it was okay if she wanted to take her own horse for a ride. Normally she trains Meadow either before or after shift, but she got all the work done at record speed, desperate for a distraction, that all her daily tasks were fulfilled two hours before dinner. Maybe Garth detected that she needed some alone-time with her four-legged friend, because he suggested the ride with a sympathetic smile and a kind nudge, sending her towards the Quarter’s box.

     After straightening out the saddle pad, the cowgirl tightens the cinch. Meadow, who can be a bit of a grumpy mare when it comes to tacking up, stands still without moving a muscle, allowing her owner to ready her for a ride without pulling a prank like she usually does. Sometimes the cheeky horse will try to fish Y/N’s phone from her back pocket, nibble at her hat or her sleeve, or refuse to take a step aside when requested, but not today. Maybe she can sense that such an action could set her human off. 

     The horse accepts the bit when the cowgirl offers it to her, after which she pulls the headpiece over Meadow’s black-tipped ears, securing the straps skillfully. She sniffles, wiping her nose and forcing herself to keep her composure a little while longer. In a few minutes, when she’s away from prying eyes, she will allow to let the tears flow again, but not now, not yet.

     Y/N unties her horse, places her left foot in the stirrup, and swings her right leg over the back of her bay mare, softly landing in the saddle. Picking up the reins, she steers her horse away from the tack up area, the smooth leather between her fingers giving her a sense of control that she’s missing in her love life. 

     Instead of leading Meadow towards the arena, the rider guides her towards the gate that leads to the trail. Her horse had an eventful weekend and gave it her all in competition, so it wouldn’t be fair to put her through a full workout. The performance took a lot out of the willing horse who never seizes to bring her best efforts and more. Even though the freestyle only lasted minutes, the athlete peaked with a brilliant execution of the routine, which takes a lot of skill and strength. Then there’s the ambiance of a show, the new environment, all the sensory overload. The combination of all those factors did a number the Quarter, and she deserves a calm and relaxing ride, much like the young woman she’s carrying on her back. Y/N is in no state to train, well aware that the heightened emotions will get the best of her if something might not work out the way she planned, and that’s not something she wants her companion to bear the consequences of. If anything, Meadow has been absolutely wonderful, seeming to understand that her person is sad and needs someone to lean on.

     After closing the fence behind them, the girl and her horse follow the path that leads towards the hills. Cacti flank the road ahead towards the Superstition Mountains, which stand tall in the backdrop. The beautiful amber colored volcanic rock formations seem even more vibrant now that the setting sun blesses nature with a warm glow. The vegetation is much greener than it was when they searched for the herd of youngsters in the reservoir. Autumn is here, and within a couple of months, the ridges that reach for the sky will be covered in snow. It’s supposed to be a beautiful sight, at least that’s what Dean told her.

     Now that it’s just her and Meadow, Y/N finally allows the suppressed tears to fall. The battle she has been fighting all day is one she knew she would lose eventually, she just wanted to be with her most faithful friend when the levee breaks. She doesn’t even intend to wipe the drops of despair away, knowing that she has to let it out now in order to keep up the facade later. And so the last rays of the day catch the shimmering pathways down her cheeks, similar to how the water cobbled at Willow’s Creek, where she and Dean shared their first kiss. All the memories, those perfect little moments that she thought to cherish forever, they are worth nothing now. It was all just a dream.

     Y/N transits into a slow canter, hoping that the wind in her face will chase the sorrow away. She has to feel something completely opposite to the grief that is ripping her apart. She needs to experience freedom and the bond that comes along with this unique partnership between her and Meadow, the simplicity of moving across the desert like men and their horses have been doing so for centuries. No engines, no computers, no engineering. Just two souls of completely different species merging as one. 

     Resting her free hand on her horse’s neck and gripping the black mane, she pushes her heels into the Quarter’s flanks, aiding her to pick up speed. The bay mare takes over, her rider is no longer in control, but she no longer has to be. Y/N doesn’t need to direct this movie, because she trusts Meadow with her life. If there is any being on the face of the planet that she would follow blindly, it’s her companion. Meadow has never let her down, not once, and her owner knows there will never come a moment when she will. And so she breathes in, welcoming the wind to fill her lungs with newfound courage, brought on by the majestic animal that gallops across the landscape, carrying Y/N on her wings. 

Thank you for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if   you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to like or reblog   my work, shoot me a message or buy me coffee (Link to Kofi in bio at the top of the page).

Read part twenty-six here

[mggpleasedontlookhere]

reid’s anatomy

summary: spencer gets a gunshot wound while working in the field and gets transported to the hospital you work in as a 4th year resident. 

word count: 2,325                                                                                             reading time aprox: 9 mins

masterlist

Gurneys, lights, flying commands, and patients. The trauma room was my favorite place to be, other than the OR of course, it felt like a second home. But nothing compared to the home I had when I laid in Spencer’s arms. 

I was currently working in the trauma room, triaging the patients as I did my rounds. I dismissed a few individuals that had minor injuries, while discovering various accidents that required solutions as small as stitching up a patient to booking an OR for an emergent surgery. 

“Honey can you move your toes for me please?”

In front of me lay my latest patient, a 5 year old boy who had been pushed off of a swing set and had happened to land on his ankle. His cheeks were painted red from the crying he had previously done, a thumb cemented into his mouth as he continued to suck on it for comfort. His mother sat beside him, panic evident in her eyes, although she kept an amiable expression to reassure her son on his well being. 

The boy shook his head frantically, earning a break in composure from the mother. She reached out and folded her hand over her son’s and held on tight to it, with a tight-lipped smile on her face. 

“You’re going to be okay Timothee, mommy’s right here sweetie”. The mother squeezed her son’s hands continuously, looking to me for answers.

“Your son- well Timothee here seems to have sprained his ankle” I explained in layman's terms, lifting up the boys ankle to locate where the injury occurred.  “The issue here is that he seems to have an eversion ankle sprain and has fractured his deltoid ligament, which is more uncommon than a inversion ankle sprain, since the deltoid ligament is close to impossible to fracture”. 

As I finished my description, the mother returned her attention to her son, massaging his head to console him. “We-well it’s just a sprained ankle right? It can heal. My husband has had multiple sprained ankles from how much of a klutz he is” She joked in attempt to lighten the mood. Despite her attempts, there was more news to deliver.

“I wish it was much more simpler than that” I sighed, motioning for the on-call nurse to come over. “Due to Timothee’s young age, my biggest concerns are the development of his bones, considering the fracture he had suffered and that the nerves responsible for motor skills in his legs might have been severed. In most adult cases, the individual is able to recover because the durability of the bone had been fully realized from age. But, Timothee here is at risk of deformation of his osseous matter” I doefully confessed, a small pit forming in my stomach while delivering his diagnosis. 

As the mother’s face dropped, I turned to the nurse telling her to call Neuro and Peds, then asked her to file the paperwork. I looked back at the small family with a sigh, placing his chart at the end of the bed. 

It was moments like these that make me envision the life I’m going to have with Spencer if we ever decided to have children together. Despite our young age, I couldn’t help up configure an idealistic future than only composed of me, Spencer, and 2 or 3 little children running around us in glee. 

“The nurse will be back with the pape-” 

I was cut off by sirens and a magnitude of shrilling voices shouting commands. These were the indications of an incoming trauma. I turned around to peak for a second with the possibility of wanting to check on another case, but the interns and 2nd year residents had beat me to it. 

My focus remained on the child in front of me, checking his vitals from time to time, while eavesdropping on the commotion behind me. 

“We’ve got a caucasian ma...federal...with a GSW in the thoracic cavity, with intercostal tears”. Most of the sentence was muffled by the loud wheels of the crash cart, residents fumbling around, and the attendings yelling orders at the scene. I turned around to witness the chaotic scene, only to be meet with heads full of hair and some that didn’t actually have hair at all. 

Geez, I wouldn’t want to be the guy with the GSW to his chest

In emergent surgery, GSW’s were the most lethal in the clinic as most of the time the patient is either too late or the bullet had caused multiple complications in the patient, causing distress in the body. The tricky thing about GSWs were that they were different every time, it was almost always a different procedure depending on the location. 

I nodded goodbye to the perturbed mother, earning a tight lipped smile and a nod back. I turned to walk towards the nurses station when suddenly I was paged to trauma room 3. I rushed over to the area, sanitizing my hands before walking in. A privacy drape hung from the lower abdomen of the individual, with nurses and residents scrambling to keep his vitals stabilized.   

I faced the trauma nurse as she explained the patients situation. “We’ve got a caucasian male, seems to be 25-35 with a GSW in his thoracic cavity with no exit wound, the bullet is possibly lodged in the pericardial cavity” She spoke in haste. 

“Push 10 of Norepinephrine and call Cardio” I stressed, rushing out of the room to find another resident to scrub into the surgery as I wasn’t finished with my rounds yet. 

On my way around the nurse’s desk I noticed a familiar face that sat glum and slumped over in his chair, well it was more like a familiar group of faces. My steps slowed in order to get a better view to confirm my suspicions, then shuffled over to determine what the occasion was. 

“Hey Morgan-hey guys” I furrowed my eyebrows at the group, my worry peaked at the numerous melancholy expression that they wore on their faces. Despite my observations, there was one face I noticed was missing from the ensemble. 

Spencer. 

A chill ran up my arm, which was usually an indication of something wrong. In spite of the unfavorable pit in my stomach, I was at my workplace where everything usually puts me on edge, so I pushed it aside. 

“Where’s Spenc-” 

My words faded out into an uncomfortable silence when Morgan lifted his head to face me and in his eyes were the deepest of browns, anguish pooled in his irises, similar to the look I gave to the mother of the patient I was treating previously. I glanced at the rest of the team, who wore a identical stares. 

My stomach had churned and twisted into knots. The chill that had ran up my arm traveled to my legs, all the way to the tips of my toes. Everything felt like it was moving in slow motion, I could feel my heart still and my fingers twitch. The overhead lights of the clinic became overwhelmingly bright and a nauseating sensation began crawling up my throat. 

“Y/N-” Morgan began as I stared at him wide-eyed. He grabbed one of my hands and wrapped it in between his rough and sweaty palms, but I tensed in the midst of it, while adrenaline ran up my veins. 

“Reid, he’s...we-we were workin- I...he’s” 

Despite his attempts at an explanation, he wasn’t able to complete any of his phrases as I yanked my hand out of his grasp and bolted towards the trauma room. I heard my name being called in the background, although it became a voice of a phantom as my surroundings became impaired with the sounds of my heartbeat, the loud thuds my feet made as I raced towards the room, and the anxious thoughts that flooded my mind. 

I pushed into the room, only to see a bed was missing. I bee lined to where the residents were, pivoting around the various carts that decorated the room. “Where’s that patient with the GSW in his thoracic cavity? What resident was assigned on his case? What was his name?”. The words spewed out of my lips like a waterfall, earning alarmed looks from the residents. 

“Um, he was transported to OR 3″ One of them explained with naive looks on their faces. 

“Yeah, they’re in surgery right now with Dr. Burke and Dr. Montgomery” Another one added. 

“What’s the patient’s name? Do you remember?” I responded, prying them of all the information they knew. The residents peered at each other dumbfoundedly, looking at each other for answers as if they were taking their MLE exams again. 

“Dr. Y/L/N, no offense but you’re not on this case” One of the residents added with a condescending voice. 

“Dr. Mallory, if you don’t answer me in the matter of 10 seconds, I swear I will go to your senior resident and have you be doing scut for the rest of your medical career” I retorted. Fear was evident in all their eyes, I knew my eyes were brimming with multiple emotions, condensing into nothing but a fiery and aggressive tone.  

“Sp-spencer Reid, Ma’am” A quiet voice spoke up in the group. I nodded a small thank you to the individual and ran to the OR where they held Spencer. 

When I got into the prep room, I grabbed a face mask and entered the OR, witnessing a man’s body, the love of my life under heavy anesthesia and tubes wired up to his chest. Before I could speak, the attending spoke up and questioned me of my presence. 

“I-i was wondering if I could scrub in sir” I replied. “I-I, um, heard that there was in upc...incoming trauma for a GSW and I was wondering if I could scrub in” I repeated. 

“You already said that Dr. Y/L/N” 

“I understand sir, but I-” 

The attending than turned around exposing the sight of Spencer’s chest being retracted open. My entire body ached at the sight, the lifelessness of his body creating an image in my head that couldn’t compare to the images Spencer would see of his victims. I cringed and turned away, tears threatening to spill from my eyes, but I knew I couldn’t let myself go, especially if I wanted to be included in Spencer’s operation. 

“Dr. Y/L/N, with all respect, I know you’re one of the best residents we have in this hospital and I know you’re a phenomenal doctor” The attending explained, letting one of the other senior residents take over for a moment. “But, I also know who this is laying on my table. For this case, you’re not his doctor, you’re family, and I need you to trust that I am able to do my job, as you do yours” He concluded, signaling to one of the nurses to take me out of the OR. 

I nodded hesitantly, following the nurse out of the room, my eyes still locked on the individual that lay on the table. After the nurse had went back inside, I sat on the ground with my hands on my lap, staring at the abyss of the hallway. 

Our future depends on if a single man can maneuver his scalpel with enough wisdom and efficiency. The father of my future children lay on the cold metal table, where I used to find comfort and power in when saving someone else’s loved one. Who knew there would be a time where the roles were switched. 

Who knew that no matter how many years you’ve trained, how many books you’ve read, and the degrees you’ve obtained to save people’s lives, you could still be powerless against what life throws at you. The worst part is the irony that comes with tragedies. I spent a quarter of my life learning how to save people, yet I sit here purposeless when someone that I live for is struggling to stay alive. How malicious is that. 

Tears began streaming down my cheeks, although my expression hasn’t changed. The wetness that enveloped half of my face was the only thing that reminded me of the reality that I was in, keeping my consciousness grounded momentarily. 

I swear my heart pauses, everytime I hear a change in the monitor that indicated Spencer’s vitals or a command that the attending would spew out to the helping resident. I was completely fixated on everything that was happening in the room adjacent to me, disregarding the entire atmosphere that lay in my vision. 

It wasn’t until large legs halted in front of where I was crouched down. I didn’t bother looking up as my thoughts clouded my sensibility. The figure then sat down to my level, I could feel the individual’s eyes boring at my blank visage. I felt a large arm pull me closer to the individual, only this time I realized it was Morgan who had come to console me. 

Awaiting a pursuance of some sort of speech that’s supposed to bring me clarity or amenity. But to my dismay, only the loud presence of silence filled the gap of our exchange. That’s when my emotions began to seep into my skin, filling my heart with heavy matter, making it close to impossible to keep up my facade. 

A whimper escaped my lips while I laid on Morgan’s shoulder for the time being, only for the rest of my somber to follow. I cried in defeat, holding onto the clutches of Morgan’s shirt as he gripped onto the back of my head, massaging it in the process. 

I felt droplets hit the top of my head and a wetness forming rapidly. Weak sniffles emitted from the man above me, betraying his collected composure. We both sat here together with heavy hearts, waiting for what seemed like an eternity. 

We both sat in silence waiting to see if his colleague was alive and if my everything was still breathing. 

-

Pt. 2

A/N:

Pt. 2 coming soon! most likely tomorrow. I was going to write the whole thing today, but frankly, I just need a fresh mind.  

Part 2 out now

[splendidlyimperfect]

Sting’s entire life changed when he was eleven years old and his best friend Rogue told a secret that he’d promised to keep. Taken away from the father who abused him and the best friend who’d tried to save him, Sting tried to start a new life with his uncle. But the trauma wasn’t easy to escape, and eventually Sting turned to drinking to forget the things that hurt.

Now he’s an adult, and he hasn’t been sober in years. But when drinking nearly kills him and a near-stranger saves his life, Sting has a chance to turn his life around, and maybe become the man that Rogue deserves to love.

Chapter Summary: Things with Gray and Joel come to a head, and Sting has to push past his own trauma to help. 

Chapters (20/?): 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Rogue Cheney/Sting Eucliffe, Natsu Dragneel/Gray Fullbuster, Natsu Dragneel & Sting Eucliffe, Gray Fullbuster & Sting Eucliffe, Sting Eucliffe & Weisslogia   Additional Tags: modern au, childhood friends, angst, emotional hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending, child abuse, alcoholism, drug use, recovery

*tw for description of injuries from abuse *this chapter runs parallel with chapter nineteen and twenty of how to become a wildfire.

-----

res·cue | \ ˈre-(ˌ)skyü transitive verb : to free from confinement, danger, or evil

.

xx winter age twenty-four

.

When Kelly’s name shows up on Sting’s caller ID at two in the morning, he immediately knows that something is wrong.  

“It’s your friend,” Kelly says when Sting answers. “We got a call from the hospital.”  

Continue reading on AO3

A cold sense of dread creeps up Sting’s stomach and through his chest. “I’ll be right there,” he manages. Rogue rolls over, frowning at him and yawning. “It’s Gray,” he says, and Rogue’s awake immediately, pushing himself up and rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Sting stumbles out of bed, cursing when he trips over the carpet on his way to the closet. His hands are shaking so badly that he nearly drops his phone.

“I’ll stay up,” Rogue says as Sting tugs on his uniform and runs a trembling hand through his messy hair. “Text me if you can.”  

“I will.” Sting exhales, rubbing his face and giving Rogue an uncertain look. “What if he…”  

“It’s going to be okay,” Rogue insists, but Sting’s thoughts are racing too fast for the words to sink in. His mind is filled with tears and terror and his dad shouting, and his head aching while his fingers went numb.  

His phone dings again and he looks down at it. It’s from Natsu.  

Natsu [02:25] im at the hospital w gray. he left joel.  

Natsu [02:26] hes hurt pretty bad but he’s okay. hospital called the police.

Sting stares at the message as anxiety and fear battle for space in his stomach. ‘Okay’ can mean so many things. Sting was ‘okay’ too, even with thirty-six stitches and a broken arm.  

Sting [02:26] I know, they just called me. I’m coming in with Kelly.  

“What can I do, love?” Rogue asks, touching Sting’s elbow. He flinches, then shakes his head in embarrassment.  

“Sorry—”  

“Don’t apologize.” Rogue waits for Sting to step forward before wrapping his arms around his neck and kissing his cheek. “I love you. You’re so brave and I know you can do this.”  

Sting nods, trying to believe him. “I…” His phone lights up again and he stares down at the words.  

Natsu [02:28] im so scard hes gonna change his mind.  

“Go,” Rogue says gently, nudging Sting toward the door. “I’ll get the guest room ready.”  

Sting gives him a grateful look, then presses one last kiss to Rogue’s cheek before taking the stairs two at a time down to the garage.  

Sting [02:30] I’m on my way.  

~

As soon as Sting steps into the hospital room, he wants to cry. Gray’s sitting on the couch with Natsu’s arm wrapped around his shoulders, staring at the floor with a blank expression on his face. His lip is swollen, and his face is bruised, and Sting’s stomach aches when he sees the reddish fingerprints on Gray’s throat.  

“Hey,” he says gently, pushing aside the anger that rises into his throat as bile. He crouches down next to the couch. “How’re you doin’?”  

Gray shrugs. He looks exhausted. Natsu’s holding him tightly, as if Gray will fall apart if he lets go. Sting’s eyes flick up to Natsu’s face, but Natsu isn’t looking at him. His eyes are on Gray, and they’re so filled with love and pain.  

“I know it hurts, but I’m proud of you,” Sting says to Gray, hoping he can convey the same love through his voice. “We’re gonna do everything we can to help, okay? Do you know where Joel is right now?”  

Gray stares at the badge on Sting’s uniform, eyes dull. Up close, he looks worse – his eye is bloodshot and there’s still a streak of blood by his nose, and there are half-moon fingernail marks on the side of his neck. Sting grits his teeth and counts backward in his head. Anger is the last thing Gray needs right now, even if it’s all Sting can feel.  

“Home,” Gray says. His voice is rough and raw. “When… he passed out. Drunk. Probably still asleep.”  

Sting bites the inside of his cheek as memories start to surface.  

He’s eight and hiding in his bedroom, pushed back in the closet with a hand over his mouth. Quiet, quiet, quiet. Footsteps pound down the stairs, loud and uneven, and Sting waits and waits. He doesn’t move, just makes himself as small as possible and counts to a hundred over and over again.  

Sting exhales, letting the memories wash over him and then dissipate. He’s not there anymore. He’s safe, and he’s here, and he’s going to help Gray.  

“Does he have any weapons in the house?” Sting asks.  

“I… don’t think so.” Gray sounds so small and uncertain. Sting nods, and then Gray looks up at him, expression desperate. “He… Bella. My dog, she… I had to leave, she… s-saved me, and I just, I left her, and…” Tears spill down his cheeks and he pulls in on himself, resting his head on Natsu’s shoulder.  

“I’m going to do everything I can to help you, and her,” Sting reassures him. He touches Gray’s knee carefully, and when there’s no flinch, he squeezes. I’m here for you, he thinks, hoping Gray can feel it through the touch. You’re safe now. I promise.  

Then he stands and turns around, giving Kelly a nod. They usually work together to take statements, but Sting’s too close to this. Kelly squeezes his arm as she passes by and he turns on his radio.  

“Dispatch, this is Eucliffe,” he says, trying to keep his voice steady as he heads out the door. “Requesting officers at 6 Willowdale Crescent for domestic disturbance and assault.” 

~ 

Sting cries the whole way to Gray’s apartment. They’re quiet tears, but they just won’t stop, no matter how many times he wipes at his face. When he arrives at the apartment and sees the other cruiser parked in the lot, he takes a deep breath and pinches his arm until he’s focused.  

“What’ve we got?” Kim gets out of the car as he pulls up beside them, and Sting breathes a sigh of relief when he sees that Lev is with her instead of Janson.  

“I’ll wait down here,” he says quietly once he’s given them all the information he has. It’s dark enough in the parking lot that he hopes they can’t tell he’s been crying. “Call me if you need backup.”  

Then they’re both gone, and Sting is left with nothing but a seething anger and a head full of memories. His phone buzzing is a welcome distraction and he quickly pulls it out of his pocket.  

Natsu [04:03] were leaving the hospital now. rogue called, were going to your place. u ok?  

Sting exhales noisily and runs a hand over his face. Relief tempers the anger – at least at his house, they’ll be safe.  

Sting [04:04] I’ll be fine. How’s Gray?  

Natsu [04:05] not good. is that fucking asshole in jail?

Sting [04:06] I can’t say anything yet. I’ll let you know as soon as I can.  

He’s about to put his phone away when it starts to ring. The picture on the screen pulls a smile from Sting’s fears – it’s the one of him and Rogue and the dandelions.  

“Hey, darling,” he says quietly. He’s not supposed to answer his phone on duty, but he needs to hear Rogue’s voice.  

“Are you okay?”  

“No,” Sting says honestly. “I can’t tell you much yet. Natsu said him and Gray are on their way.” He looks up at the apartment building – a light is on in one of the windows, but Sting isn’t sure if it’s Gray and Joel’s place or not. “He...” Sting swallows. “Gray. He’s... it’s bad.”  

“He’s safe now,” Rogue reassures him. “And so are you. You’re so brave and I’m so proud of you, and I love you so much.”  

Sting swallows, willing himself to not start crying again. He has a sudden, desperate urge to call Uncle Wes, but then there’s movement in the front of the apartment building.  

“I have to go,” he says quickly. “I love you, too. I’ll text you when I’m on my way home.”  

He shoves his phone back in his pocket as the doors to the apartment open. Joel looks surprisingly docile as Lev leads him over to the cruiser, but when he sees Sting, his expression turns sour.  

“You,” Joel growls, and it’s clear that he’s still a little drunk.  

“Me,” Sting agrees, pushing his anger back behind a wall of calm. He’s about to ask Lev about Kim when the apartment door opens again and there’s a loud woof. Sting quickly makes his way over to where Kim is holding the leash of a large, friendly-looking Rottweiler.  

“Hey, Bella,” Sting says, crouching down and reaching out his hand. Bella sniffs him, then quickly headbutts him and moves in to lick his face. “Good girl,” he says softly, stroking her head. He reaches out and takes the leash from Kim, nodding in thanks. “I’ve got her,” he says. “I’ll meet you at the station.”  

~

Bella sits patiently next to Sting’s desk while he fills out his paperwork, eventually curling up under his chair. The precinct is nearly empty this early, and the quiet helps to clear his mind as his pen flies across the forms.  

He finally makes it home at nearly ten in the morning. As soon as he walks in the front door, Bella bolts down the hallway toward the living room, nails clicking on the hardwood floor. There’s a moment of silence, and then Sting’s heart cracks as he hears Gray’s quiet sob.  

“Hey, love,” Rogue says, appearing next to him and reaching out to touch his cheek. Sting quickly pulls him into a hug, tucking his face into Rogue’s neck and letting out a shaky breath. “It’s okay,” Rogue says quietly, running his hand up Sting’s back. “We’re all okay.”  

“I love you,” Sting mumbles into Rogue’s sweater. There’s something about Rogue that always feels like home, and Sting wishes he could just stay in Rogue’s embrace forever. Gray needs him, though, so he pulls back reluctantly.  

“I love you too,” Rogue says, kissing his forehead. “They’re in the living room.”  

Natsu’s on the couch, looking sleepily at Gray, who is sitting on the floor with Bella nearly in his lap. He looks worse in the morning light – his eye is almost swollen shut, and the marks on his neck are turning to fingerprint-shaped bruises. Bella is licking his face, tail pounding against the leg of the coffee table in excitement.  

“Thank you,” Gray whispers when Sting crouches down next to them.  

“He didn’t hurt her,” Sting reassures him, setting the leash down on the table. “She had lots of fun riding in the back of the police cruiser, didn’t you, girl?” Bella licks his hand happily, then headbutts it until he scratches behind her ears.  

Gray’s voice is rough and quiet when he asks what happened, and Sting does his best to explain custody and bail hearings and a no-contact order. When he offers to take Gray back to get his things from the apartment and Gray shakes his head and starts to cry, Sting’s heart breaks a little more. He can’t help thinking of a smashed TV, and broken glass on the floor of his dad’s living room. He’d never gone back there, either.  

“You’re safe now,” Sting says. He’s heard the words a hundred times – from Kelly while she held his hand in the hospital, from Uncle Wes when his dad got out of prison, from Natsu when he thought he couldn’t stay sober, from Rogue when he woke from nightmares and cried. Now they’re his words. His promise.  

The look on Gray’s face is somewhere between disbelief and tentative hope, and when he reaches out and pulls Sting into a hug, Sting nearly starts to cry. He returns the embrace carefully, settling down on the floor next to Gray and holding him close.  

“I know,” he says gently, hoping that Gray can believe him. “You can do this.”

Natsu slides down to the floor and takes Gray’s hand, and the three of them sit like that for a long time – a wall of hope that Sting hopes tempers the fear and anger in Gray’s heart.  

[honeypiehotchner]

Thank You -- a Chuck/God one shot

Hi there! I know this blog has mainly been about Sherlock and Good Omens lately, but if you didn’t know, I am a huge fan of Supernatural.

I went through an old thumb drive just now and found this old piece of writing. I originally was just reading it to reminisce, but as I found myself reading and unconsciously editing, I realize that this still hits home pretty hard for me, and I want to share it with you guys.

I distinctly remember writing this piece two years ago (it’s dated February 25, 2017) and I remember how much it helped me to write it, so I hope that in posting it and reading it, it might help someone else, too.

Warnings: some sadness, mentions of past abuse/trauma, teenage angst, the lot.

This has no pairing. Kassie is sixteen and Sam and Dean are her legal guardians/“pain in the ass big brothers” (her words).

Chuck is back and is staying with the boys in the Bunker, so I’m assuming this was written circa tail end of season 12? Who knows. Enjoy! xx.

The sound of the shower running was what lured Kassie out of her bedroom. She made her way out into the hallway, looking both ways before heading to the kitchen. The Bunker’s halls feel different now, not in a good way. Everything feels different lately.

She sighed in relief upon seeing that the kitchen was empty, but her relief didn’t last as long as she had hoped.

           “So, not talking to God at all, huh?”

           Kas grimaced, turning around from her place at the sink. She had been setting her empty coffee cup down when Sam walked in. He had heard her bedroom door open, the exact thing she had hoped he wouldn’t – she thought he was the one showering.

           Sam was the only one she needed to avoid – aside from Chuck. Dean didn’t care less that she didn’t want to talk to God because hell, Dean didn’t want to at first either. And he wasn’t going to push her to if she didn’t want to. In Dean’s eyes – and in Kas’s – she didn’t owe God a damn thing.

She smiled sheepishly, hoping to avoid his question, but Sam wasn’t having any of it.

           “I still want an answer, y’know,” Sam smiled softly, but he wasn’t playing around.

           “Sam, I really don’t—”

           “I know, you didn’t have the brightest upbringing in the sense of faith,” Sam paused, leaning back against the counter. “But Dean didn’t either, and he talked to Chuck.”

           Again, Kassie sighed. This was why she had stayed in her room. She didn’t want to explain herself. God probably knew exactly why she didn’t want any part of him, and that was okay. She didn’t care. She couldn’t wait for him to leave, actually. For this to all be over, so she could have her Bunker back.

           “Where is Dean, anyway?” She asked, picking at her fingernails.

           “Went on a run,” Sam replied simply, not leaving room for any elaboration. “C’mon,” his voice was softer now. He wanted Kas to let him in, just this once. “Maybe talking to him would help.”

           Kassie shook her head, turning back around and grabbing a cup from the cupboard. She walked over to the fridge and poured herself some sweet tea – which she had to make herself because apparently the boys had never heard of it. When she turned back around, it was evident Sam still hadn’t dropped the subject.

           “I don’t know,” she answered truthfully, and then muttered, “something tells me he wouldn’t be bothered to listen.”

           Sam sighed, but he didn’t sound annoyed. It was a sad sigh, one where his face softened, and his shoulders slumped. He cleared his throat but didn’t say anything. Just continued to stare at Kassie with those pleading eyes.

           And truth be told, Kassie hated those eyes. She couldn’t look at him when he looked at her like that. So, she looked down, studying the ice in her sweet tea. It swirled around when she shook the glass slightly, and then settled down.

           Footsteps sounded through the hallway, stopping at the entrance to the kitchen. Sam looked up, straightening his shoulders.

           “Well,” Chuck laughed uncomfortably. “Family troubles?”

           Sam shrugged, glancing at Kassie who continued to stare at her tea. “Something like that.”

           Chuck stepped into the kitchen, staying near the doorway. “I’m sensing not everything is okay.”

           Kassie scoffed, drinking more of her sweet tea. She clenched her jaw as she stared at the floor, shaking her head. “I’m going to my room.”

           “Kassie—”

           “Don’t, Sam,” she growled, not looking behind her as she walked out of the kitchen, pushing past “God” on her way out.

           Sam sighed upon hearing her bedroom door slam shut. He slumped back against the counter, hanging his head. He hadn’t known a sixteen-year-old could have such broken faith, but somehow Kassie’s faith was completely shattered.

           Chuck slowly walked further into the kitchen, settling himself on the bench. “If you don’t mind me asking, what happened?”

           Sam shook his head, clearing his throat. “No, I uh – I don’t mind. I’m sorry about her, she’s kind of—”

           Immediately, Chuck shook his head. “Don’t apologize. I’m aware of her situation with faith. I meant what happened just now.”

           “Oh,” Sam chuckled sheepishly. “I suggested that she talk to you, but she doesn’t…want to.”

           Chuck nodded, but still didn’t seem offended. “That understandable. She’s much like Dean.”

           “Yeah,” Sam nodded, blowing a sigh past his lips. “Yeah, she is.”

           “I can try talk to her myself,” Chuck shrugged, shifting around in his seat. “If you’d like.”

           “I dunno,” Sam said warily, his eyes following the sound of the door opening. He leaned over, seeing Dean come into view with bags on both arms.

           “Alright, I got hot pockets, beer, sweet tea for the child,” Dean called out as he walked in. He set the groceries down on the counter, turning back around with a strange expression. “Where’s the kid?”

           Sam cleared his throat, smiling tightly. “She’s in her room.”

           Dean’s head turned slightly to the side as his eyebrows furrowed. “Is she grounded or something…?”

           “No,” Chuck answered this time with a small laugh. “She just doesn’t want to speak to me.”

           “Ah,” Dean nodded, snapping his fingers, and just like that, he went back to attending to the groceries. He rummaged around in the bags, setting the teabags on the counter before crumpling the bag.

           Next, he grabbed the beer and set it in the fridge, staring weirdly at the pitcher of sweet tea before shutting the door. He would never be used to sweet tea. He turned around, coming face with both Sam and Chuck staring at him with raised eyebrows.

           “What?”

           “So, that’s it?” Sam raised his hands incredulously. “You just don’t care?”

           “Look,” Dean spoke as he continued putting away groceries. “No offense, but I didn’t want to speak to your holiness either. So I’m not worried about her.”

           “Dean—”

           “Sam, listen. Not everyone is gonna be all excited when big guns walks in, okay?” Dean gestured to Chuck. “Again, no offense.”

           Chuck shrugged, “None taken.”

           “See? No offense here, so we’re fine. Besides, she took a while to warm up to me when we first got her, so I wasn’t expecting her to be her normal self with God walking around.”

           Sam clenched his jaw, sighing. “Fine. If you’re not worried, then I’m not either.”

           “See, problem solved!” Dean grinned. “No harm done.”

           Sam still didn’t look convinced, but Dean had already moved on from the topic.

 +++

A couple hours passed, and Sam had decided to make Kassie’s favorite thing for dinner: breakfast. It was also chosen because God happened to really enjoy making pancakes.

           “Hey, dinner’s ready. Someone wanna go find Kassie?”

           Dean spoke up, “Yeah, I’ll go get her.”

He placed the last plate down on the table before heading off down the hall to her bedroom. It was quiet as he walked, which was surprising. She usually blasted music when she was upset, or anything in the realm of angry. She got that from Dean, except she didn’t use her headphones. Ever.

Dean furrowed his eyebrows once he reached her door. It appeared to be silent in her room.

“Kassie?” He called out, knocking on her door softly. “Dinner’s ready. Sam made pancakes and bacon, your favorite,” he chuckled softly, but still no response. He was worried to, if he was being honest. He just never showed it.

Slowly he turned the doorknob, pushing her door open just enough for him to peek inside. To his surprise, she sat at her desk with her headphones in. She was staring at pictures, her head propped up in her hand that wasn’t holding an old Polaroid.

Dean slowly walked in, leaving the door open. As he got closer, he could hear her music playing. He didn’t know what it was, but it was up loud enough that he could hear it, and it didn’t sound cheerful.

“Hey,” he said, resting a hand on her shoulder.

She didn’t even flinch as she turned to look at him. There were tearstains on her cheeks. Slowly, she reached up and pulled her headphones out, yanking the end out of her phone as well.

“Yeah?” She asked, and her voice cracked, even though it was only one syllable.

“Dinner’s ready,” Dean shrugged, but then his eyebrows furrowed. “What’s wrong?”

“Oh,” she shook her head, chuckling lightly. “Just looking at pictures of my dad,” she shrugged, not wanting to make a big deal, but when she looked back at a picture of her dad holding her when she was young, the tears welled up in her eyes once again. “He passed away a little before my seventh birthday,” she said quietly. “I don’t really remember him.”

“He was a good man,” Dean said truthfully. “He really did love you.”

“Yeah,” Kassie smiled softly. “Mom used to say it was my fault he died,” she laughed darkly. “I don’t think it was, but she told me it so much I kinda started believing her.”

“Kassie, you know that’s not—”

She shrugged. “It’s whatever, really. What’s for dinner?”

And there was the subject change. Her and Dean’s famous act for getting out of any kind of too-deep-emotional-talk.

“Uh, pancakes,” Dean nodded, straightening up. “And bacon.”

Kassie narrowed her eyes, standing up from her desk chair. “How much bacon?”

He pursed his lips as he thought. “Hm, you might want to run. Before I eat it all.”

           Her eyes widened, but Dean was already running toward the door. She cursed and ran after him, catching up in the hallway. She tried grabbing his flannel a couple times, but he arched his back out of the way, laughing triumphantly.

           “I win!” Dean cheered with his hands tossed in the air as they reached the kitchen.

           “You got a head start,” Kassie whined, crossing her arms over her chest. She smirked and grabbed a piece of bacon off the plate Sam was carrying over to the table. She ate it with a smile.

           “Really, Sam?” Dean groaned. “You weren’t supposed to let her have that.”

           “Why? You cheated,” Sam smirked, walking back over to grab the syrup.

           Dean pouted as Kassie sauntered over to the table, her face falling upon seeing Chuck sitting there. She sighed as she sat down, chewing on her bacon silently.

           Sam gave Dean a look that Dean completely ignored, leaving Sam to throw Dean a helpless gaze. Dean ignored that, too, taking his place at the table beside Kassie.

           The air around dinner was awkward and tense, mainly because of Kassie refusing to speak to Chuck, or anyone really. Dean got her to say a few words, but it was only because he poked her ribs and basically tickled the words out of her.

           Dinner ended after a painfully long fifteen minutes. Kassie placed her plate in the sink, getting about halfway out of the kitchen when Sam called out to her.

           “Hey, Kassie?” Sam paused to clear his throat. “Can we talk?”

           She nodded. “I’ve gotta pee. I’ll meet you in the library in a couple minutes.” And on that note, she walked back to her room.

           Dean stared at Sam incredulously. “What the hell, man? Now you’re gonna force her to talk?”

           “Yes, because talking helps, contrary to popular belief,” Sam replied pointedly as he placed his plate in the sink. “And we’re all going to talk to her. Not just me, and not just Chuck. We need your help, too.”

           Dean sighed, rolling his eyes and shaking his head. “Fine, but you know already that I’m on her side. Don’t get mad when I don’t agree with what you’re saying.”

           “Fine.”

           True to her word, Kassie walked into the library a few minutes later, settling herself down in one of the chairs. She propped her feet up on the table, her hand resting comfortably around her glass of sweet tea.

           Dean walked in before anyone else, sitting next to Kassie. He smiled goofily, poking her ribs as he sat down. She squirmed, swatting his hand away.

           “You’re an asshole,” she pouted, crossing her arms over her chest.

           Dean turned his head to reply, but Sam and Chuck walked in at that moment. Dean’s expression turned into a tired and annoyed one, making Kassie stifle a giggle behind her hand.

           “Alright,” Sam paused to pull a chair out and sit down. God did the same. “What’s goin’ on?”

           Kassie raised an eyebrow, glancing at Dean for a brief moment before responding. “Nothing much. How ‘bout you guys?” She looked between both Chuck and Sam with expectant eyes. “Go on any vacations? See anything exotic?”

           Sam’s face softened, but his eyes showed annoyance. He knew what Kassie was getting at, and Dean did, too. Dean just didn’t seem as affected by it.

           But Sam ignored it, clearing his throat instead. “Earlier you said you though God wouldn’t be bothered to listen. Well,” he paused, gesturing to Chuck. “He’s here now, and willing to listen.”

           “Seriously?” Kassie retorted, chuckling out of hysterics. “That’s why you called me in here?”

           “You said you didn’t think he was listening—”

           “I know what I said, Sam,” Kassie snapped. “It was what I felt. And if you’re gonna use it against me, then I’m gonna leave.”

She went to stand from her chair, but stopped when Dean spoke up. “Hear him out, okay?”

Sam raised his eyebrows, but didn’t say anything as Dean’s pleading eyes stared at Kassie. Her eyes were narrowed with anger, but she sat back down.

Kassie crossed her arms over her chest, looking at Chuck with a clenched jaw. “Well?”

“I was listening,” Chuck said, leaning forward and resting his hands on the table. “I heard every word, even when you prayed to your guardian angel. I heard you.”

Kassie chuckled darkly, “But yet you never replied. What’s the point of listening if you aren’t even going to let me know you did?”

“Well, that’s the point of faith, I suppose,” Chuck shrugged. “I can’t always let you know I heard. You just have to believe I did.”

“Yeah, well, I had enough of filling my heart with false hope. Faith wasn’t exactly something that appealed to me, not even now.”

“Not even as I’m sitting in front of you,” Chuck nodded. “I understand.”

Immediately, she scoffed. “No you don’t,” she shook her head. “If you understood the hell I went through – you would’ve done something about it. But you didn’t. And you wonder why my faith is so shaken up.”

Sam stared sadly at Kassie, but Dean stared down at the table. The latter of the brother’s agreed with her more than she would ever know.

“I sent you signs,” Chuck said, sounding genuine. “I sent you a new dog. I sent you visits from your guardian angel. Little things like that were my way of letting you know I was there.”

In that moment Sam felt bad for Chuck. He sounded sincere and genuine, but all Kassie could see was red. Pure red fury and hatred.

“Well, thanks for those, and thanks for sweet tea,” she stood, grabbing her glass. “But no thanks for leaving me with my abusive mother. That was a hell that even a dog and guardian angel – whoever the hell that was – couldn’t fix.” She turned and walked away, grumbling angrily to herself as she went.

“Hey, Kas?” Sam called out.

She stopped and turned around, but still didn’t look happy. “What?”

“Don’t let yourself be blinded by your hatred.”

And for a moment, Kassie’s face softened. Her eyebrows relaxed as she nodded, Sam’s words sinking in, but she didn’t stay. She still continued down the hallway and into her room, but she wasn’t as angry as she was before. She was calming down.

“What was that?” Dean asked with a raised eyebrow. “One moment she’s seething and then you say a sentence and she calms down.”

“It was a quote from the Harry Potter books. Remus Lupin is her favorite character,” Sam smiled softly. “I figured if anyone could make her understand, it would be him.”

Dean nodded, but since he wasn’t totally familiar with the books, he was still a little confused. A small smile did creep through, though, but it was at the memory of a girl named Charlie.

 +++

 The next day, things were different. Kassie came out of her room for breakfast, and actually conversed with everyone around the table. Even Chuck. It was surprising to all of them, but no one mentioned it. They figured it would be best if it went unsaid. She had a habit of shying away at things after someone mentioned what she was doing.

           It was a little while after breakfast, when Sam and Dean were washing the dishes, when Kassie started speaking to Chuck, and this time without anger.

           “I’m really sorry…about yesterday,” Kassie sighed. “I’ve been thinking about what Sam said, and he was right. I—I shouldn’t let myself be blinded by hatred. I mean, you put me with Sam and Dean – I guess – so you’re not all that bad, right?” She sighed again, leaning back in her chair. She wrung her hands together nervously, trying to find the right words. “Just – If you were listening like you said you were, why didn’t you get me out of there sooner?”

           Chuck sighed heavily, shrugging. “I had to learn that sometimes constantly saving my children from bad situations wasn’t going to teach them anything.” He paused before clarifying, “I saw that I had to take a step back. So I heard you, but I had already established that I needed to step back in order for things to get better.”

           Kassie’s eyebrows furrowed. Her eyes were welling with tears that were refusing to fall.

           “But…” She paused for a second, swallowing thickly. “Things didn’t get any better. They just…got worse. There was just more chaos and heartbreak.”

           “That chaos and heartbreak came from your mother,” Chuck said softly. “Don’t confuse me with her.”

           “I-I’m not, I just—” She paused. “I don’t know.”

           “Well,” Sam jumped in, clearing his throat. He tossed down the dishtowel and walked over, sitting down in the seat next to Kassie. “The important thing is, things are better now.”

           “And you’ve got us,” Dean reminded her, coming to stand behind her. He rested his hand on her shoulder for comfort. “We’re your family.”

           Kassie looked at them both with tear filled eyes. “Thank you,” She nodded. “You’re my pain in the ass big brothers.”

           “And you’re our pain in the ass little sister,” Dean smirked, patting her shoulder.

           Kassie finally shook her head and stood, pushing the chair in under the table. She lurched forward and wrapped her arms around Dean’s neck, holding tightly. It shocked him at first, but eventually he hugged back, wrapping his arms around her torso.

           Sam stood then, pushing his chair under and wrapping his arms around both of them. “Family group hug,” He chuckled.

           Kassie laughed, pushing away from the hug and wiping under her eyes. “Thanks you guys,” She said again, which both of them shrugged off. She turned to Chuck with a sad smile. “And thank you. I’m sorry I hated you for a while there.”

           Chuck shrugged, “No worries. But hey, try not to hate yourself as much, please? I worked really hard on you and I hate seeing you beat yourself up.”

           Kassie’s eyebrows raised slightly in surprise, but she still nodded. “Yeah. I’ll work on it.”

           Chuck grinned, “Thank you.”

[dannydevitosheight]

Steve Rogers Character Arc

I just saw Endgame 4/25 but I’ll queue this post for a later date so I’m not putting out huge spoilers so soon. And this post is not to say I hated Endgame. I really really enjoyed it. Experiencing all those incredible bad ass moments with a theater full of people who were cheering and clapping and as excited as I was...that's something special that's going to stick with me forever. And I'm grateful for it.

This post is about Steve Rogers in Endgame. And to a lesser extent, Bucky Barnes since, let's be honest, he had almost no role in that movie at all.

I just. Really really need to talk about this.

In part, so I can come to terms with this but also because it really hurts so much seeing so many people thinking Steve's ending was perfect and in character.

And before anything let me make this very clear:

I'm a HUGE Steve Rogers Stan and I want his happiness

I also wanted his character arc end to make some sense

I am also a HUGE Bucky Stan and yes,

I am A   H U G E Stucky Stan and I’m really genuinely trying to be unbiased.

Because, I knew Stucky was never going to be canon, but I’m still deeply deeply disappointed in how Steve’s character arc came to and end.

And it’s NOT just because he didn’t end up with Bucky. Although leaving Bucky like he did is a big part of it. It's not because of what I always wanted them to be. It’s so much more than that.

Watching Endgame was, hard, for so many reasons. There were so many wonderful moments like HOLY SHIT STEVE PICKING UP THE HAMMER. FUCKING INCREDIBLE. And some really fucking awful moments like Clint and Nat fighting over who is going to commit suicide and the softness in Nat’s voice before she let go. And of course...Tony. 💔

But Steve’s arc destroyed me. I’ve been a Steve Rogers stan since forever. Everything his character represents, comics or film, has made a huge impact on me. Always been on Team Cap in every version of Civil War. I’ve been in love with MCU Steve Rogers and his character arc. Until Endgame.

I’m not saying I don’t think he deserved to live a happy life with Peggy,

but...why did he need that?

The First Avenger: Steve rescued the 107th, to get Bucky back. 

Steve wanted to destroy Hydra, for what they stood for, but also because of what they did to Bucky. 

Steve, liked Peggy. Obviously. But what really was their relationship? A powerful attractive woman who kissed him one time? I mean, Steve buddy I get the initial boner but how much substance did their relationship really have in comparison to Steve's relationship to Bucky?

I don't even mean romantically. I mean if I had to choose between my best friend since childhood and a hot guy I've known for a few months...I would pick my best friend? Every time? Wouldn't you? And wouldn't that be a perfectly understandable choice?

But, moving on, in the end of TFA we obviously know Steve sacrifices himself for the greater good.

Avengers: Steve just, did what needed to be done.

He didn’t really have specific motivation at this time aside from his own strong morality and wanting to do the right thing.

The Winter Soldier: Steve has a hard time knowing what he’s fighting for...until he found out Bucky was alive.

After that, everything  was about getting Bucky to remember, and making Hydra pay for what they’d done. To Steve. To Bucky. Once his mission was complete, Steve dropped his shield for Bucky. He literally was going to let Bucky kill him, because he was that goddamn dedicated to sticking with Bucky until the end of the line. The ship doesn’t matter. This is just canon. Steve was willing to die. Just for Bucky this time.

This wasn't for the greater good. It wasn't to end Hydra this time. He already did that. He was literally willing to die...for Bucky, and Bucky only.

Also, for emphasis:

"Even when I had nothing I had Bucky."

"It's kind of hard to find someone with shared life experience."

(Not 20 minutes later who does Steve meet? Bucky, with pretty damn similar shared life experience)

"Then finish it. 'Cause I'm with ya to the end of the line."

Also, Steve has the hots for Sharon. Peggy's great niece. But he doesn't even know that. So like he just likes a woman that isn't Peggy. So. That's a thing.

Age of Ultron: Steve specifically states he doesn’t want a domestic life. After he has that weird stress vision about dancing with Peggy.

I don’t. UNDERSTAND. WHY. That was pART OF HIS CHARACTER ARC WHEN HE WAS JUST. GOING TO HAVE THAT ANYWAYS BUT OKAY.

Civil War: Steve literally did everything in this movie For Bucky.

"He remembered you, you know. Your pal. Your buddy. Your Bucky."

"He said 'Bucky' and it was like I was 16-year-old again in Brooklyn."

"Why did you pull me from the river?"

"I don't know."

"Yes, you do."

"I'm sorry, Tony. He's my friend."

And for the second time!!!!, Steve abandoned his shield for Bucky. I don’t know what else to say. He did it all for Bucky. I’m. Do you still think it makes sense for Steve to go back to Peggy? Shall I press further?

Oh right, remember how he buried Peggy in that movie, found out Sharon was her great niece and made out with her? Like. Okay. We all hated that but they were trying to say SOMETHING about Steve's love life. And it sure as hell wasn't that he was gonna leave everything for Peggy but alright.

Infinity War: Bucky was shown to be dusted first to show the tragedy and significance of this loss through Steve’s eyes. The Russos stated this. Steve sits in Bucky’s ashes. “Oh god.” 

Endgame: Steve literally doesn’t even talk about Bucky. Ever. He says his name once to shock his past self.

When everyone comes back, Steve and Bucky don’t even get to have a reunion. Tony reunites with Peter, and Doctor Strange. Rocket reunites with Groot. Okoye shows up with T’Challa and Shuri. Later on, Wanda and Clint have a moment, a call back to Age of Ultron. Why didn’t Steve reunite with Bucky? Or at least with Sam?! The whole movie was about those lost five years ago and Steve like doesn't even give a shit about both of his best friends coming back from the dead. In fact, the entire movie focused on Steve’s loss over Peggy, who died in Civil War. And yet he talks about being unable to move on from the loss of the snap? Are you serious? They don’t even allow or show ANY grieving over Sam or Bucky. We’ve already grieved over Peggy. He already moved on and dated Sharon. So why the fuck is SHE Steve’s focus and motivation again? Why doesn't he talk about Bucky or Sam AT ALL? Tony mentions "I lost the kid" Steve doesn't even mention watching Bucky die a second time. Like okay would have loved to see how he moved on from that and straight back into Peggy, somehow. But alright.

This literally came out of NO WHERE and SERVES NO PURPOSE other than to reduce Peggy's character to be a boner motivator for Steve and to prove, beyond a reasonable doubt, that this entire time, Steve Rogers always has been and always will be a Straight Man.

In a story telling sense, it makes ZERO sense!! Steve’s character arc went from him being a morally strong self sacrificing fool to a deeply depressed man who didn’t want to be with anyone that didn’t have “shared life experience.” He found that. He found Bucky. The nature of the relationship doesn’t matter, it’s incredibly strong. That's been painfully obvious since TWS.

EVEN IF they were meant to be something like brothers, Steve should have stayed with Bucky. It seemed like the entire arc of both their characters was leading to them both getting rest together. Steve sacrificed everything in Civil War to save Bucky, so Bucky could start recovering and so that they could just, be a family together. So they could stop fighting and live quietly together. Chris Evans has talked so much about his character in conjunction with Bucky. How Bucky is Steve’s family. And Sebastian Stan has even stated the one thing that keeps Bucky from committing suicide is Steve. And Steve just. Leaves him. Leaves all of his family, who should arguably mean more to him than one girl he kissed one time in his past.

Is it a nicely wrapped up ending? Yes, I guess. But honestly, seriously, why was it NECESSARY? THERE were a millions ways Steve could still have a happy peaceful ending that didn't have to involve him leaving all of these people for one woman.

I feel cheated. This cut deep. I’m not going to lie. No interaction with Steve and Bucky expect a hug, repeated lines from TFA, and a pained, “I’m really going to miss you man,” from Bucky. We don't even get to see Bucky talk to Steve as an old man. That fucking hurts. We at LEAST deserved that.

Because he knew Steve was going to go back and marry Peggy. And that Steve was going to give up the mantle of Captain America. And I believe because Bucky told Sam to talk to Steve, Steve had already shared his intentions with Bucky before he went back in time. Which is nice but means nothing having it all happen off screen. I’m sure Steve wanted Bucky to be Captain America but he insisted Sam should take up the mantle. Probably because Bucky doesn't want to fucking fight anymore and was still recovering when he was asked to fight in Infinity War. Of course Steve wouldn't put this burden on him but why would he leave him? Steve was Bucky's closest friend, essentially his main support. Someone who could help him remember his old life and someone who could somewhat understand his trauma. No one else can be that person for Bucky. No one. Not even Sam. Sam wasn't there for Bucky's entire life. Steve was. And he just fucking left.

It's like. They gave Steve this arc across several films. One that broke down his faith in society and systems and pushed him closer to Bucky. And it's like. The Russo's (mainly) created this, really beautiful relationship between two men, two friends...but when it got too close to being possibly homosexual they had to drive a wedge between the two, one so wide there's no chance for any subtext to be there anymore, and no chance for us to assume Steve could be anything other than ramrod straight for Peggy and Peggy Only except Sharon That One or Two Times I Guess.

Steve Stans, wouldn't you say this ending is at least a little tiny bit unfair?! Have we all been watching the same movies? Going on the same journey with Steve Rogers? Regardless of your ships, you can't possibly deny the strength of Steve's bond with Bucky. How does it make sense for him to leave Bucky like this? How does it make sense for Steve to never mention him even once in Endgame?? WHY DOES IT MAKE SENSE FOR STEVE TO SUDDENLY REKINDLE HIS FEELINGS FOR PEGGY WHEN HE WAS SHOWN TO HAVE MOVED ON?!??

I literally. Don't. Understand. At all. How any of y'all. Can think. This makes sense?!

The Russo's Did Steve and Bucky Fucking Dirty in the End and Y'all Know it's True.

They queerbaited us. Okay. They did. They think having a gay extra makes up for it. Well it fucking doesn't. Because you know what else? I have one last thing. One last beef. The thing that really ripped my heart to shreds:

Remember, back in Winter Soldier, when Steve flirted with Sharon and she says "Oh and I think you left your stereo on?" And Steve is like oh thank you. And it's Fury playing a record on a loop. Remember the song? It was the only actual song on TWS sound track besides Trouble Man. It's called It's Been a Long, Long Time, and it's about lovers reuniting after WWII. That song plays just as Steve unknowingly meets Bucky for the first time since WWII. There is nothing to indicate Peggy in this scene. Fury plays the record. Fury gets shot. Steve pursues the shooter (Bucky).

And just before he does that, if you listen closely, with headphones, the song fades in and out at specific moments. These are the specific lyrics the sound designers chose to have audible enough to hear: "Kiss me once...long, long time...haven't felt like this my dear since...you'll never know how many dreams I dreamed about you...just how empty...without you."

The sound designers, editors, directors, make choices such as these to add depth to the film. These are the lyrics they chose from a song about lovers meeting after WWII during a scene were Steve (unknowingly) meets Bucky again for the first time since WWII.

And then they. Had the audacity. To end Endgame. With Steve dancing to that song. With Peggy. When they know what they fucking did in TWS. The sound design was very intentional. The scene they did that for was intentional. I can't possibly think of any other reason or way that scene and song would tie back to Peggy other than what that song is written about. But they KNOW that applies to both Steve and Peggy and Steve and Bucky.

The Russo's have been queerbaiting the fandom. And the more popular Stucky became, the more they tried to take it away from us. And when we pointed out how insanely strong and well developed Steve and Bucky's relationship was, they made sure Steve would never ever be considered bi again. They made sure to prove to us Steve's love for Bucky wasn't stronger than a sexual/romantic love for a woman. And in doing so they ruined Steve's character arc. They just did.

And before I get people upset with me, accusing me of hating Steve or wanting Steve to be unhappy...

If it was switched.

If Peggy and Steve were friends since childhood, if Peggy was kidnapped, experimented on, if Peggy was the Winter Soldier, if Peggy killed Tony's parents, if Peggy broke out of 70 years of brainwashing by Steve saying all of one phrase to her, if Steve gave anything and everything to save Peggy's life, to give her peace and just be with her again, if Steve resigned himself to letting Peggy murder him, if Steve abandoned his shield twice for Peggy, if you had experience the pain of Steve watching Peggy die not once, but twice right in front of him,

What would you call their love?

And what would you think if, after all that, Steve just decided to leave Peggy behind to spend time with Bucky? Wouldn't it hurt?

[tina-incambodia]

Service Interrupted.

I have so much to say but I'm not sure I could put it into words that would successfully complete the journey from my mushy brain to my shaky finger tips. I wasn't planning on ever having a "Part 2." I planned on an 11 day vacation in the 9th month of my service. Instead, I left my home for about 8 weeks. Home? What's home?

“You will never be completely at home again, because part of your heart always will be elsewhere. That is the price you pay for the richness of loving and knowing people in more than one place.”

― Miriam Adeney

June 14, 2018

I'm sitting in the airport. The same one I sat in almost one year ago to leave the first time, but it couldn’t feel more different now. I have people, whole families that love me on both sides of the planet. I have two bedrooms, thousands of miles apart. I am welcomed at countless dinner tables and patio chairs, yet I couldn’t feel more lost or, most of all, homeless. So I'm back on a plane to search for a feeling and chase a dream. It is a wonderful yet painful experience to have a heart so full yet stretched so, so thin, 8,671 miles to be exact. 

So, 8 weeks is a long time to be home… or be away from home…? It’s a long time to be so unsure of and have no control over what comes next. Limbo, as I like to refer to it. With Peace Corps as the facilitator, I've spent many, many months of the past few years in limbo. And the answer to most questions during those times is, "I don't know." Not "I don't know," because I don’t want to tell you, but because I truly don’t know. I don’t know when I'm leaving. I don’t know if I'm staying. I don’t know what I'm hoping for either. That is one real thing I've learned. When Peace Corps used the word, "flexible," years ago, I can say now that I had absolutely no knowledge of what that word actually means. To be flexible with coming or going, and staying or leaving, in regards to home…. And to know and understand that hoping worrying for either end is, to be frank, useless. To reach a place in your mind where either and any option will be okay for you. On small scales this is simpler; having flexible eating habits, for example comes more easily. Sure, I won't be happy about eating my 536th bowl of rice this year but hey, I'm flexible. This is the definition of flexibility I expected when I signed my name in the little box 2 years ago. 

The universe throws you for loops, and through hoops, under falling rocks, and over oceans. "It doesn’t get any easier along the way, it just gets different." I had been looking forward to my  April vacation to the US for about 8 months. At the beginning of September, not even 2 months into my service, my nephew Camden Jorge was born and it broke my heart to miss out. I was determined to visit home the first chance I had so I could meet this gentle bundle of joy before he took his first steps. And my niece too; we had countdowns and plans far in advance to bake a cake and have a sleepover. I had 11 days home and every moment was precious. That was the plan. 11 days, 1 family party, 1 sleepover, a trip to Boston, and a lot of pizza and buffalo chicken. I had been dreaming about the damn buffalo chicken… I got to have it many, many more times than I had expected, because instead of a short 11 days, I was home for 8 weeks: 2 weeks of vacation and 6 weeks of medical evacuation…. 

August 17, 2018 

To cut to the point: I was knocked to the ground and stepped on by an elephant. Yup, you read correctly, an elephant. I was traveling alone to a sanctuary and reservation in Modulkiri, a province in northeast Cambodia, for what I hoped would be a peaceful and adventurous retreat before I went back to the states. There were 9, lucky for me, very kind helpful people on our tour and we had just taken a crazy ride in the back of a pick-up into the jungle and met the first two elephants of the five we would see that day. My fear and apprehension in the face of the gentle beasts had worn off in time to meet Lucky, a 72 year old female who likes to live alone across the river from the others. I was the last one to join the tour group when we found her thanks to a young woman dressed more for a picturesque summer pool party than a trek in the Cambodian jungle. Needless to say, she had a little trouble keeping up in her Forever 21 flip-flops and I was stuck behind her for the walk. By the time I arrived, Mr. Tree, the guide and owner of the sanctuary, had already finished his introduction to Lucky, which apparently was very important to hear as this elephant is especially particular about how she is fed. I asked a young French woman who I had spoken with earlier to take a few pictures as I fed Lucky.

We were in a tight space surrounded by tall grass; the 9 of us just fitting into the nooks and crannies of the paths created by the elephants and their trainers. I stood about a foot from Lucky as I fed her and touched her truck. In the next moment, she turned towards me and rammed the strongest part of her against my chest and neck. My head whipped backwards and I fell to the ground away from her but my lower extremities were still in her reach. The knock to the ground scared me but didn’t hurt just yet. It was the excruciating pain I immediately felt in my right foot. As I shot up, pushing the branches of the bush I fell into out of my way, my thoughts were racing and I expected a bag of bones for a foot. Luckily, (no pun intended) my foot was still in the shape of a foot. From what I could see, my first and fourth toenails had bent all the way back, and my third toe was unmistakably dislocated. I have never had any broken bones before but some sort of instinct kicked in and I fixed what I could; maybe thinking it would help the pain subside. I pushed my toenails back down and popped my dislocated toe back into place. I cringe thinking about it now, even after telling the story hundreds of times. Mr. Tree sat down in front of me and asked if I was okay. "This has happened to four girls before you," he said. Searching for some comic relief, I responded, "Oh, you don’t put that on your website do you?" He didn’t think the comment was so funny. I could tell from his wide-eyed worried face, probably thinking what would happen if I was the next review on TripAdvisor. I winced as he tried to pull all my toes into the right place, just like you do when you might be trying to crack your knuckles. I had to get up and out of the bush and get to some place of comfort. An older Canadian man traveling with his wife helped me to a small clearing. I grabbed my makeshift med kit, which I would later learn, didn’t contain even half of what I needed to care for an actual injury, from my backpack and popped three Peace Corps issued Ibuprofens.  My fellow tourists gave me clean wipes, elevated my foot with their backpacks, and sat by me while I processed the trauma. The Canadian woman sat by me and rubbed my shoulders, breathed with me, and talked me through my fits of sobbing, laughing, and complete and utter disbelief. "What the actual fuck?!" I kept repeating. “How could this happen? How did I just get attacked by an elephant?” I didn’t know it then but, for the next two months family, friends, and strangers would try to answer these hypothetical questions with such wise words, “Well, at least it’s a good story.” I can’t count how many times I’ve heard that one. I sat on a log and waited for a truck from in town to deliver the stretcher I would involuntarily be carried out of the jungle on. Usually, when I'm hurt, I try to act tough, I don’t ask for help, I hold back the tears and carry on. This time, I wanted to do all those things but absolutely could not. I tried to walk and crumbled in the pain and as we sat and waited the adrenaline and shock wore off and the pain only got worse. So, four Khmer men lifted me up and I was dubbed, "Queen of the Jungle."

We returned to the lodge perched above the jungle and the girl I had asked to take my picture helped tape my toes and as the rest of the tourists continued on with the planned excursions for the day, I sat looking out at the Cambodian canopy skyline all afternoon ruminating over my recent trauma and convincing myself the injury wasn't that bad. At least I had a great view. They don’t do anything for broken toes anyway, right? (wrong) In addition to a hammock for the night, the tour provides a traditional Khmer dinner and rice wine too. I didn’t want to miss out on any of it. I waited till the next morning, said good bye to my helpful, kind fellow adventurers, climbed up a big hill to reach the tuk-tuk and returned to the lodge in town. Cutting my peaceful adventure a few days short, I called PC explained the story and was delivered to the hospital in Phnom Penh, a 6 hour long car ride. 

The doctors in Phnom Penh showed me my X-rays and the breaks, gave me a huge ugly boot, and 3 prescriptions. I couldn’t process how real my injury was, even if it was just broken toes. I would be spending my much treasured time at home in a big boot and on anti-biotics. I was devastated and, aside from the amazing PC Medical Officer, alone in Phnom Penh. I didn’t even tell my family at home. I didn’t want them to worry about me traveling home. And I mostly didn’t want to have to tell my story again and again before I had even processed it myself. I spent the next 3 days in a hotel room ordering delivery, binging netflix, soaking my swollen purple foot in ice cold water, and crying. It sounds dramatic, I know. It could have been much worse, I know. 

I tried to mentally prepare myself for the next 25 hours of traveling, which is something I would, in a normal state, enjoy. Traveling alone gives me a sense of independence and maturity. I like to explore airports, drink bloody marys at whatever time I damn well please, and if I'm in the right mood, talk to some strangers. I had even considered leaving the airport during my layover in Dubai. But this time, I was dreading it; dressed like a bum with swollen, "I've been crying for days," eyes, lugging around bags much too heavy for broken toes, and stuck in a bulky plastic boot. I didn't want a bloody mary, I wanted a hug and my bed. I had to ask for bulkhead seating so I could elevate my foot during the flight and get up and walk often to avoid blood clots. I didn’t think about how hard this might be on a full 16 hour flight from Dubai to Boston sitting in a window seat next to a very nice, but very sleepy, couple. 

So, I went home for vacation, arrived at the airport with a great story for the family and then did all the things as planned. I finally met my nephew, I had a sleepover with my niece, ate food I had been craving with the people I missed, and on the 8th day home had one little party so I could see my whole family before heading back. I saw a podiatrist the day after to make sure everything was healing correctly. It was healing... but nowhere close to where it needed to be for my main form of transportation to be a bicycle. The doctor said, "Your big toe is in 5 pieces...there is no way you are going back in 3 days. I'll see you in 3 weeks.” My jaw dropped, I hadn't expected this at all. When I was in Cambodia PC had already seen the x-rays and ruled I'd be just fine to come back. Turns out the expert podiatrist thought differently. I called PC. I’d be home for 6 more weeks.

An extended vacation, you say? Oh! How wonderful! More time to spend with family and friends, more buffalo chicken and quality beer, maybe even a beach day? Great point. The thing is, my partner planned to leave for Cambodia the following week. In the most romantic and wild gesture, he quit his jobs, tied up loose ends and we planned spend the next 3 months in the same country  figuring out if we could make it work after spending the last year on opposite sides of the world trying to move on and failing at it quite miserably. It was a crazy thing to even think about. I had left for Cambodia almost a year ago and now he would be coming too; for us. We had been planning this for months now and we were so close, but the universe doesn’t care about your plans! So now, with flights booked already, he would leave for Cambodia and I'd be home. And we would be on opposite sides of the world, yet again all because of this elephant ironically named, Lucky. If I believed in signs like I say I do… I think this was one for the books. The universe with all its magic and power was pulling us apart once again. Writing this now, 4 months later, I still can't believe it all happened. I'm not sure Hollywood or even the infamous Lifetime could write this story. 

Before I was assigned medical evacuation status, I thought of it quite romantically; that'd be nice… six weeks home. I could use an extended vacation from bucket showers and rice. And it was nice. It was great to have so much extra, unexpected time with family and friends. I was home for mother’s day and my brother’s college graduation (peek my big ugly boot in the pic).  I even fit in a beach day. But I really didn’t expect all the mental and emotional challenges that come along with living in such a state of limbo for 6 weeks, in which I had no control of the outcome. Did I want to return to PC? Yes. Was I completely sure of that answer? No. But was I ready to quit? Hell no. Was it even in my hands? Nope. If I wasn’t healed in 6 weeks, I would be "medically separated," essentially ending my service unless I wanted to apply to return at a later date. If my foot didn’t heal correctly, I would need surgery, which would most definitely exceed my six week limit. The podiatrist explained where he would stick the three metal pins in my big toe if the 5 puzzle pieces weren't agreeing with each other.  I can’t count how many times or how many people, relatives, friends, old bar customers, and strangers, I told my story to. But I can say that my answer to their follow up questions was usually, "I don’t know." I had no clue when I was going back. I had no clue even if I was going back. And while I tried to swim in this state of uncertain limbo, I felt that I really didn’t have a place at "home" anymore. My friends were busy with jobs, boyfriends, and moving on with new cars and apartments. And although time with my family was great, many times my mind reminded me that this is what I was missing out on as I struggled to teach English and drink a gallon of water a day to make up for all the sweating on the other side of the world.  It had been years since I first decided I wanted to join PC, and I was facing the decision again, and it was harder than ever before.  I didn’t expect anyone's life to stop while I went on my big adventure, but I also didn’t expect to feel so lost and out of place when I returned. I loved eating chips and salsa on my couch alone, it was something I had been looking forward to, but I never expected to feel so lonely doing it. Yoga had become my saving grace throughout the past year of ups and downs and with 3 broken toes I couldn't even do that. And other activities I would have found peace in, hiking mountains, dancing, walking through parks, were all impossible for me. I felt the universe was giving me a big middle finger. Self-pity, I know, but that’s how I felt. I had waited almost a year to spend time with my partner again and he was traveling Thailand and Myanmar while I sunk into the couch. For a few weeks I really had no idea how to deal with all of these emotions. They say you are never alone but had this ever happened to anyone else in the history of the world? This crazy, unbelievable story of mine truly started to weigh me down. And having to tell it over and over again only to get the same advice or laughs or looks from each and every person was draining. All of my plans were crumbling in front of me and I had no control over what would happen next.

A long six weeks and several doctor appointments and x-rays later, I received medical clearance just in time. Leaving the second time was much harder than the first. The excitement of the unknown was lost and I knew I was going back to a challenge, one that I wasn’t even sure I wanted to take on again. After three long flights and two treacherous and stressful layovers, one of which if I hadn't been flying the same airline, I would have missed my next flight, I arrived in Phnom Penh close to midnight on June 17th. Two of my closest friends here surprised me at the hotel with a bouquet of freshly picked flowers and a few beers. We stayed up late catching up on the balcony overlooking the city. And just like that, I was back. It is months later now and I'm still not sure how I feel about it. Just last week someone said, "So happy you came back." I had heard that so many times since I returned. This time, I finally replied, "Me too," without the guilt of lying. I am happy I came back. It was a strange transition. It still is. I returned towards the end of the school year with energy and motivation dying down on the parts of both students and teachers. I hadn’t spoken any Khmer in 8 weeks. I felt, and still feel, such a loss of fluency, and more emotionally, a loss of belonging. I went home to America and didn’t belong there. I came back to Cambodia and didn’t belong here either. It was a tough and painful and at times still is, but all in all, home is where you make it; it just takes a lot of effort and time.

My partner was here for my first five weeks back; we spent our weekends together as planned, finally on the same side of the planet and in the same country. It was wonderful. We visited some of the most beautiful spots in Cambodia. My family here, in addition to welcoming me back after 8 weeks, also made him feel at home as well. It was heartwarming to witness my two worlds meeting. He left at the beginning of August. School vacation began at the same time and now I'm left with a crazy amount of free time which I'm hoping to fill with productive and fulfilling activities. I’ve been getting back into yoga, reading some good books, and prepping some eager 12th graders for their exam. All in all, I guess I’m pretty lucky to be here considering I was attacked by a 6,000 pound beast. So begins part 2 of my service. I am left with the task of jumpstarting my heart and mind to be fully here; committed and happy. 

[antoine-roquentin]

For about five years, Mic.com was a place where readers could go to get moral clarity. In the Mic universe, heroes fought for equality against villains who tried to take it away. Every day, there was someone, like plus-size model Ashley Graham, to cheer for, and someone else, like manspreaders, to excoriate. Kim Kardashian annihilated slut shamers, George Takei clapped back at transphobes. “In a Single Tweet, One Man Beautifully Destroys the Hypocrisy of Anti-Muslim Bigotry.” “This Brave Woman's Horrifying Photo Has Become a Viral Rallying Cry Against Sexual Harassment.” “Young Conservative Tries to Mansplain Hijab in Viral Olympic Photo, Gets It All Wrong.” “The Problematic Disney Body Image Trend We're Not Talking About.” “The Very Problematic Reason This Woman Is Taking a Stand Against Leggings.”The site had an unfiltered voice that spoke on behalf of marginalized individuals. Breitbart called it “SJW Central.” “I think a lot of people in today’s day and age want to know, ‘What are we supposed to be outraged about?’” a former Mic staffer who left the site earlier this year told The Outline. “It seemed as if we were trying to position ourselves as, ‘We are the definition of woke, and this is how you break down this narrative or fight the mainstream.’”But after laying off 25 staffers last week, Mic has a new mandate: pivoting to video. According to a memo that was sent to staff, the site’s new mission is “to make Mic the leader in visual journalism.”

In retrospect, it looks like Mic’s commitment to social justice was never that deep — which surprised and disappointed many of the young ideologues who went to work there. (The Outline spoke to 17 current and former staffers who requested anonymity due to nondisclosure agreements.) Mic chanced upon the social justice narrative, discovered it was Facebook gold, and mined away. Now the quarry is nearly dry....

The site started in 2010 as PolicyMic, an evenhanded, forgettable politics website where unpaid contributors posted commentary that could be upvoted by other site members. The PolicyMic origin story was that Chris Altchek, a Goldman Sachs banker who leaned conservative, was always debating his friend Jake Horowitz, a foreign policy columnist for Change.org who leaned liberal. The two had fierce debates about the issues of the day, and they wanted to convert that spirit into a website “to help our generation talk about the issues that really matter,” Horowitz told The New York Observer. The two met in jazz band at the New York prep school Horace Mann; they started the site when they were 23, each having raised $75,000. Altchek contributed his Goldman bonus....

This Facebook-driven success was no accident. Every time Mic had a hit, it would distill that success into a formula and then replicate it until it was dead. Successful “frameworks,” or headlines, that went through this process included “Science Proves TK,” “In One Perfect Tweet TK,” “TK Reveals the One Brutal Truth About TK,” and “TK Celebrity Just Said TK Thing About TK Issue. Here’s why that’s important.” At one point, according to an early staffer who has since left, news writers had to follow a formula with bolded sections, which ensured their stories didn’t leave readers with any questions: The intro. The problem. The context. The takeaway....

In some communications, Horowitz and Altchek emerged as tone-deaf to the diverse staff they had cultivated. In 2015, when a TV news reporter and a cameraman were fatally shot in Virginia during a live broadcast, Horowitz and Altchek ordered pizza for the office and sent an email to staff letting them know that they could take time off if they felt traumatized by the news. In response, a group of employees of color wrote an email pointing out the fact that the site frequently covered shootings of black people by police and those writers had never been offered pizza or a personal day.

The leadership was excited about elevating underrepresented communities, but employees said that Mic had become a content factory. The site had “no plan” for a Trump win on election night, multiple former employees told me, and improvised by pulling queer people and people of color out of the newsroom, putting them in front of a camera, and having them talk about how they felt. In another instance, a former staffer told me about how Horowitz, who served as editor in chief of the site until mid-2015 and is now editor at large, once interrupted a reporter pitching a video about a woman building rooftop gardens in New Orleans: “‘But, is she black? Is she black?’" the former staffer recalled Horowitz asking, “as if the story would be less impactful had the woman doing the work been white or Hispanic or Martian.” When the site was pushing into original comedy, Altchek told multiple staffers that he wanted to make “the next Chappelle Show, except it’s hosted by a trans woman of color.” Multiple former employees brought up the time Altchek introduced a video about the feminist #FreeTheNipple movement at a large staff gathering with a joke implying that the video still would have been excellent even if it hadn’t included boobs: “Titties aside,” he said, it was a great piece.

Altchek’s biggest misstep, however, was a get-out-the-vote effort called #69TheVote, which launched in late 2016. The conceit was that, while 69 million baby boomers and 69 million millennials are eligible to vote, only the former actually do so. “Boomers have always been on top,” the voiceover in the announcement video says. “Sometimes it seems like they're afraid to try new positions. But we're ready to go down on history” — a voice interrupts — “ahem, in history” — “oh right….” The video was widely disavowed by staff members and lambasted by The Washington Post, Gawker, Vice, and others....

Cahill’s suggestions belied his ignorance of reporting and lack of sensitivity to social issues, according to former staffers. Cahill wanted to replicate the success of New York magazine’s cover story with photos of women who had accused Bill Cosby of rape, said the staffer who covered social justice issues, and suggested they “do a similar roundup” with survivors of sexual assault. “‘Maybe campus rape, maybe not...whatever! Just find rape victims and get them to share their stories!’” the staffer recalled in an email, mocking the tone. “I know it wasn't intended to be so… gross. But to me it demonstrated such a complete lack of understanding of how sensitive those stories are, how difficult it is to find dozens of victims willing to go on the record about the trauma they've experienced, the trust a writer has to earn, not to mention the horror of how many Cosby accusers there were… all of it. It showed me he didn't get how any of the work the reporters were doing was done, or that the reason NYMag's story did well had nothing to do with that ‘story template’ playing well.”

While Cahill was remaking the site in Google’s image, Mic hired NPR NewsExecutive Editor Madhulika Sikka to shore up its journalism cred. Sikka was brought in with the hope that serious journalism could help free Mic from its dependence on Facebook — and that her resume could offset the fact that former news director Jared Keller and former managing editor of news Chris Miles were both found to have plagiarized parts of stories. Seven months later, Sikka was out, telling Ad Age that the job “wasn't quite the right fit for me.” Meanwhile, Cahill was promoted to managing editor of editorial operations in January 2016 and then VP of content in June 2016, according to his LinkedIn profile.

During these experiments, Mic continued to bait Facebook readers into getting worked up over everything: Mark Zuckerberg’s hoodie, a high school teacher in Oregon who doesn’t believe in rape culture, people with bad opinions onThought Catalog, people using bad hashtags, and Zazzle.com. “Mic trafficked in outrage culture,” a former staffer who left in 2017 said. “A lot of the videos that we would publish would be like, ‘Here is this racist person doing a racist thing in this nondescript southern city somewhere.’ There wouldn’t be any reporting or story around it, just, ‘Look at this person being racist, wow what a terrible racist.’” Mic had already exhausted its outrage vocabulary by the time Trump’s election supercharged civil rights violations.

“It ratchets everything up to 11, to a point where if everything is an outrage, nothing is an outrage,” the staffer who left in 2017 said. “Everything is the biggest deal in the world because you’re trying to create traffic, and it desensitizes us to what are actually huge breaks in social and political norms.”