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Home | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader (Eventual)

Warnings: canon violence, canon gore, mention of parental death, mentions of abuse

Word Count: 4388

Series Rewrite Masterlist

You sat cross-legged on the floor of the boys’ motel room, sipping a coffee you’d run out to get earlier that morning. Dean was on his computer, and you were responding to the potential cases he’d found.

“A fishing trawler found off the coast of Cali—” Dean started.

“Ooh, I like Cali,” you cut him off.

“—Its crew vanished.” He finished.

“And, uh, we got some cattle mutilations in West Texas.” 

“Meh, that’s boring. Let somebody else handle that one,” you dismissed.

Dean noticed Sam hadn’t spoken in just about the last hour. He was frantically scribbling on a notepad.

“Hey,” Dean called to his brother. “Am I boring you with this hunting evil stuff?”

“No. I’m listening. Keep going.”

He clearly wasn’t.

“And, here, a Sacramento man shot himself in the head. Three times.”

“Ooh, I like that one,” you said. 

Dean leaned over and waved a hand in front of Sam’s face. “Any of these things blowin’ up your skirt, pal?”

Sam furrowed his eyebrows at his notepad. “Wait. I’ve seen this.”

“Seen what?” you asked.

Sam got up from his bed and began rifling through his duffel bag. 

“What are you doing?” Dean eyed his brother strangely.

The younger brother pulled out a photo from the bag and held it up next to his drawing. You couldn’t quite see what he was looking at from where you sat.

“Guys, I know where we have to go next.”

“Where?” Dean asked.

“Back home. Back to Kansas,” he responded.

The older brother was surprised. “Okay, random. Where’d that come from?”

He showed the photo to the two of you. “Alright, um, this photo was taken in front of our old house, right? The house where Mom died?”

“Yeah…?” Dean still had no idea where he was going with this.

“And it didn’t burn down, right? I mean, not completely, they rebuilt it, right?” 

Dean— as well as you— was still lost. “I guess so, yeah. What the hell are you talkin’ about?”

“Okay, look, this is gonna sound crazy but… the people who live in our old house— I think they might be in danger,” Sam rushed out.

“Why would you think that?” you questioned.

“Uh… it’s just, um… look, just trust me on this, okay?” Sam turned away.

“Wait, whoa, whoa, trust you?” Dean shook his head and stood to follow him. “Come on, man, that’s weak. You gotta give us a little bit more than that.”

“I can’t really explain it is all,” Sam shrugged.

“Well, tough. I’m not goin’ anywhere until you do.” 

You turned to face Sam as he began to explain. “I have these nightmares.”

You nodded. “We’ve noticed.”

“And sometimes… they come true.”

Dean was stunned. “Come again?”

“Look, Dean… I dreamt about Jessica’s death— for days before it happened,” Sam explained.

“Sam, people have weird dreams, man. I’m sure it’s just a coincidence.” Dean sat back down on the edge of his bed. 

“No,” the younger brother protested. “I dreamt about the blood dripping, her on the ceiling, the fire, everything, and I didn’t do anything about it ‘cause I didn’t believe it. And now I’m dreaming about that tree, about our house, and about some woman inside screaming for help. I mean, that’s where it all started, man, this has to mean something, right?”

You felt overwhelmed, and so did Dean. “I don’t know.”

Sam sat down across from his brother. “What do you mean you don’t know, Dean? This woman might be in danger. I mean, this might even be the thing that killed Mom and Jessica!”

“Sam, slow down—” you urged him, knowing Dean was about to go through the roof.

Sure enough, Dean stood and started pacing. “I mean, first you tell me that you’ve got the Shining? And then you tell me that I’ve gotta go back home? Especially when….”

“When what?” you asked.

Dean’s voice broke for the first time since you’d met him. “When I swore to myself that I would never go back there?”

Sam’s puppy dog eyes appeared as he spoke softly, “Look, Dean, we have to check this out. Just to make sure.”

Dean nodded. “I know we do.”

***

You looked out at the boys’ childhood home and followed them up to the front door.

“You gonna be alright, man?” Sam asked his brother who didn’t respond.

“Jury’s still out on that,” you muttered in response.

Dean knocked on the front door, and a young woman answered. You could see a look of recognition pass over Sam’s face.

“Yes?” the woman said.

“Sorry to bother you, ma’am, but we’re with the Federal—”

One Winchester cut the other off. “I’m Sam Winchester, and this is my brother, Dean. We used to live here. You know, we were just drivin’ by, and we were wondering if we could come see the old place.”

The woman seemed surprised and smiled. “Winchester. Yeah, that’s so funny. You know, I think I found some of your photos the other night.” She turned to you. “Are you a Winchester, too? I didn’t see a little girl in any of the pictures.”

You shook your head. “No, no. Just a friend. (Y/N).”

She smiled at you. “Nice to meet you. Come on in.”

Inside the home, a girl who looked to be around seven sat at the table doing homework, and a little boy who was presumably two jumped in his playpen.

“Juice! Juice! Juice! Juice!” the toddler called excitedly.

“That’s Ritchie. He’s kind of a juice junkie,” Jenny explained, taking a sippy cup from the fridge and bringing it to her son. “But, hey, at least he won’t get scurvy.” She walked back over to her daughter. “Sari, this is Sam, Dean, and (Y/N). The boys used to live here.”

“Hi,” the shy girl said quietly.

You waved.

“So, you just moved in?” Dean asked.

“Yeah, from Wichita.”

“You got family here, or…?”

Jenny’s smile faded. “No. I just, uh… needed a fresh start, that’s all. So, new town, new job— I mean, as soon as I find one. New house.”

“So, how you likin’ it so far?” Sam questioned.

Jenny laughed awkwardly. “Well, uh, all due respect to your childhood home— I mean, I’m sure you had lots of happy memories here—”

You discreetly turned to see Dean smile weakly. 

“But this place has its issues,” she finished.

“What do you mean?” you asked.

“Well, it’s just getting old. Like the wiring, you know? We’ve got flickering lights almost hourly.”

That caught your attention. “Oh, that’s too bad. What else?”

“Um…sink’s backed up, there’s rats in the basement…” She trailed off. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to complain.”

Dean shook his head. “No. Have you seen the rats or have you just heard scratching?”

Jenny looked at him quizzically. “It’s just the scratching, actually.”

Sari tugged on her mom’s shirt, who stooped down next to her. “Ask them if it was here when they lived here.”

“What, Sari?” Sam asked.

“The thing in my closet,” she whispered as if the thing would hear.

“Oh, no, baby, there was nothing in their closets.” Jenny looked up to you and the boys. “Right?”

They shook their heads.

“She had a nightmare the other night,” Jenny explained.

Sari’s voice suddenly got louder. “I wasn’t dreaming. It came into my bedroom and it was on fire.”

The boys seemed too shocked to speak.

You took over. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. You’re okay now though, right?”

She nodded.

“See? It didn’t get ya. It was only a dream.”

You knew it wasn’t. A pit filled your stomach after saying your goodbyes to the family and heading out of the door. 

“You hear that? A figure on fire,” Sam reminded the two of you.

“And that woman, Jenny, that was the woman in your dreams?” Dean asked.

"Yeah. And you hear what she was talking about? Scratching, flickering lights, both signs of a malevolent spirit.”

“Yeah, well, I’m just freaked out that your weirdo visions are comin’ true,” the older brother chuckled humorlessly.

“Well, forget about that for a minute. The thing in the house, do you think it’s the thing that killed Mom and Jessica?”

“I don’t know!” Dean responded.

The brothers were only making each other panic worse at this point.

“Well, I mean, has it come back or has it been here the whole time?” Sam inquired.

“Or maybe it’s something else entirely, Sam, we don’t know yet.”

“Both of you need to calm down,” you told them, simultaneously getting in the car. “We’re gonna get those people safe. Whatever’s in there is not gonna hurt you or those people.”

“Thank you, Dr. Phil,” Dean remarked.

You snapped into a more intense tone, leaning over the backseat. “Look, dude, you’re gonna get your shit together. The two of you are only ramping each other up. Now, you are going to get a grip or I will do this job on my own.”

Sam and Dean both nodded.

“You’re runnin’ low on gas, Dee.” You patted Dean’s cheek before sitting back against your chair. 

***

“We just gotta chill out, that’s all,” Dean said as he pumped gas. 

“I’ve tried telling you that eighty times since we left that house.”

He ignored your snide comment. “You know, if this was any other kind of job, what would we do?”

"We’d try to figure out what we were dealin’ with. We’d dig into the history of the house,” Sam sighed.

"Exactly,” the older brother began, “except this time, we already know what happened.”

"Yeah, but how much do we know? I mean, how much do you actually remember?”

"About that night, you mean?”

"Yeah.”

Dean paused. “Not much. I remember the fire… the heat. And then I carried you out the front door.”

You looked at the floor, knowing how hard this must be for him to open up.

“You did?” the younger Winchester asked.

"Yeah, what, you never knew that?”

"No.”

“And, well, you know Dad’s story as well as I do. Mom was— was on the ceiling. And whatever put her there was long gone by the time Dad found her.”

“And he never had a theory about what did it?”

“If he did, he kept it to himself. God knows we asked him enough times.”

"Okay. So, if we’re gonna figure out what’s goin’ on now…we have to figure out what happened back then. And see if it’s the same thing.”

You decided to add your two cents. “Yeah. We can talk to your dad’s friends, neighbors, people who were there at the time.”

Silence blanketed the three of you for a moment, the air feeling heavy. 

“Does this feel like just another job to you?” Sam piped up.

‘Of course, it doesn’t,’ you thought.

Dean kept quiet for a moment. “I’ll be right back,” he finally said. “I gotta go to the bathroom.” He walked away, and you watched him turn the corner around the gas station. He looked back for a moment, and you assumed it was to see if anyone had followed him.

You furrowed your brows. You allowed a few minutes to pass before you announced to Sam, “I’m gonna go check on Dean.”

While you turned the corner, you saw Dean exiting the bathroom door. He sniffled and wiped his nose with the back of his hand. When he noticed you, he tried to shoulder his normal attitude.

“You stalkin’ me?”

“No, actually, I came to check on you.”

“Well, I’m fine.” He went to brush past you.

You grabbed his bicep. “Don’t lie to me.”

He stopped, looking you over. “I’m fine, sweetheart.”

“Then what’s this?” you gently brushed your first finger under his chin, picking up a tear he had forgotten to wipe away. You held it up for him to see.

Dean opened his mouth to say something before snapping it shut again. He gently pulled his arm out of your grip. “C’mon, let’s go.” He started walking away from you.

You caught up to him, asking, “Are you sure you don’t just want me to do this one by myself?”

He nodded sharply. 

Sam gave you a curious look while Dean got in the car.

You shook your head before the two of you ducked into the Impala simultaneously.

***

The three of you spoke to a man who had owned a car garage with John years ago. You learned how much John had changed before Mary’s death versus after, and you began to understand why Dean was the way he was. You also learned that he had been going to see a palm reader in town. Dean recognized the names of one of the palm readers Sam had read from a compiled list: Missouri Moseley. The three of you went over to her house and waited in her foyer as she finished with her last client.

She guided the client out of the door. “Alright, there. Don’t you worry ‘bout a thing. Your wife is crazy about you.”

The man thanked her, and she closed the door behind you.

She addressed the three of you. “Whew. Poor bastard. His woman is cold-bangin’ the gardener.”

You giggled.

“Why didn’t you tell him?” Dean asked.

“People don’t come here for the truth. They come for good news,” the woman explained. You stared at her, as did the boys.

“Well? Sam, Dean, (Y/N), come on already, I ain’t got all day.”

You looked at Dean. You knew you hadn’t told her your name. The three of you followed her into the next room. 

“Well, lemme look at ya,” she smiled at the boys. “Oh, you boys grew up handsome.” She pointed her finger at Dean. “And you were one goofy-lookin’ kid, too.” 

You giggled again. You liked her a lot.

“Sam.” Missouri grabbed his hand. “Oh, honey…I’m sorry about your girlfriend. And your father— he’s missin’?”

“How’d you know all that?” Sam asked her.

“Well, you were just thinkin’ it just now.”

“Well, where is he? Is he okay?” Dean questioned.

Missouri’s smile faded. “I don’t know.”

“Don’t know? Well, you’re supposed to be a psychic, right?” 

“Boy, you see me sawin’ some bony tramp in half? You think I’m a magician? I may be able to read thoughts and sense energies in a room, but I can’t just pull facts out of thin air. Sit, please.”

You smirked at Sam and sat down.

Missouri snapped at Dean. “Boy, you put your foot on my coffee table, I’m ‘a whack you with a spoon!”

“I didn’t do anything!” he responded.

“But you were thinkin’ about it.”

Dean raised an eyebrow, and you and Sam smiled.

“(Y/N), honey, I didn’t mean to completely disregard you,” she smiled at you. “(Y/L/N)... where do I know that name from?” She pondered for a moment and her smile faded. “I knew your dad. Mean ol’ bastard.”

Your throat clenched. You could feel the boys looking at you, but you kept your eyes on Missouri. 

“I don’t mean to embarrass you,” she went on. “I’m just sorry about what he did to you. And your brother? You poor thing.” She tsked. 

Tears welled in your eyes. 

Sam knew he should change the subject. “Okay. So, our dad— when did you first meet him?”

“He came for a reading. A few days after the fire. I just told him what was really out there in the dark. I guess you could say I drew back the curtains for him,” Missouri explained.

“What about the fire? Do you know about what killed our mom?” Dean questioned.

“A little. Your daddy took me to your house. He was hopin’ I could sense the echoes, the fingerprints of this thing.”

“And could you?”

You tried to focus on the conversation, but your throat was still choked up. You could vaguely register them talking about what Missouri sensed in their house and how she had been keeping an eye on the place since Mary’s passing. All you could focus on were the memories you were being pulled back into. Memories of what your father put you through and how your mother just stood by. Memories of defending your brother against your father’s wickedness. You tried your best to pull yourself back to the light; you knew Missouri could hear what you were thinking. You wouldn’t let yourself be weak enough to let your father hurt you eight years after his death.

“Baby, you are not weak.” Missouri’s voice pulled you back to shore. “I’m sorry I brought all that up for you.”

You nodded at her, voice too weak to respond. Sam squeezed your hand, and you could feel Dean’s gaze boring into the side of your head. 

***

You and the boys headed back to their childhood home with Missouri. You still couldn’t register what was going on outside of your own head. You knew Missouri hadn’t truly brought anything up for you; these memories were all just buried under the surface for you. Hunting didn’t exactly leave much time for you to dwell on your emotions. 

Jenny allowed Missouri to come into her home and showed her and your trio into Sari’s bedroom. You were beginning to come back to earth and could focus on the conversation happening around you. 

“If there’s a dark energy around here, this room should be the center of it,” Missouri explained, walking around Sari’s room. 

“Why?” Sam asked.

Missouri turned to him. “This used to be your nursery, Sam. This is where it all happened.”

Dean pulled out his repurposed walkman.

“That an EMF?” Missouri asked.

“Yeah,” Dean answered.

“Amateur,” she deadpanned.

You noticed the EMF was beeping frantically. 

“I don’t know if you boys should be disappointed or relieved, but this ain’t the thing that took your mom,” Missouri told the Winchesters.

“Wait, are you sure?” Sam furrowed his eyebrows.

She nodded.

“How do you know?”

“It isn’t the same energy I felt the last time I was here. It’s somethin’ different.”

“What is it?” Dean asked.

“Not it.” Missouri opened the closer. “Them. There’s more than one spirit in this place.”

“What are they doing here?” Dean asked.

“They’re here because of what happened to your family. You see, all those years ago, real evil came to you. It walked this house. That kind of evil leaves wounds. And sometimes, wounds get infected,” Missouri elaborated.

Sam shook his head. “I don’t understand.”

“This place is a magnet for paranormal energy. It’s attracted a poltergeist. A nasty one. And it won’t rest until Jenny and her babies are dead.”

“You said there was more than one spirit.”

“There is. I just can’t quite make out the second one.”

Dean’s voice became hard. “Well, one thing’s for damn sure— nobody’s dyin’ in this house ever again. So whatever is here, how do we stop it?”

***

After Missouri taught you how to pack small protection bags that you and the boys were to place in the cardinal points on both floors in Jenny’s house, you had to get Jenny and her kids out of harm's way.

“Look, I’m not sure I’m comfortable leaving you guys here alone,” she told Missouri.

“Just take your kids to the movies or somethin’, and it’ll be over by the time you get back.”

You could tell the woman was still unsure, but she followed orders anyway. And with that, the four of you got to work.

When you were halfway done with the job, things started to get ugly. Just as you were about to place your second and final bag in the wall of Jenny’s bedroom, a cord snaked around your neck and pulled tightly. You dropped the bag of herbs to the ground; unable to get it into the wall in time. You gasped for air, frantically reaching for the bag but the spirit’s hold was too strong. Your vision began to spot and your face contorted in discomfort; doing the best you could to get air in your lungs. It was no use. Just when you thought it was over, Dean rushed to your side.

“(Y/N)!” he cried, pulling at the cord with all his might.

You clawed at your neck with one hand and motioned to the bag of herbs with the other. Dean understood what you were trying to say, and kicked a hole in the wall. He quickly put the bag inside, and your neck was released. Your head fell to the ground gasping for air.

Dean pulled you into a fierce hug that left you breathless. He pulled back from you, holding your face on either side. “Are you okay?”

You nodded, still trying to catch your breath. He gingerly touched the place where the cord had undoubtedly bruised your neck. “Can you stand?”

You nodded again. With Dean’s help, you made your way down to Missouri and Sam who stood in the middle of an extremely messy kitchen. Jenny’s kitchen table had been turned on its side with knives driven through the top of it, assumedly by the ghosts. The refrigerator door was swung wide open, and various items from the pantry had spilled out all over the place. 

“You sure this is over?” Sam asked the psychic.

“I’m sure. Why? Why do you ask?”

Sam sighed in response. “Never mind. It’s nothin’, I guess.”

The front door opened.

“Hello? We’re home,” Jenny announced when she walked into the house. She came into the kitchen, dumbfounded by the mess. “What happened?”

"Hi, sorry. Um, we’ll pay for all of this,” Sam told her.

“Don’t you worry. Dean’s gonna clean up this mess,” Missouri added.

Dean stood glued to his spot.

“Well, what are you waiting for, boy? Get the mop.”

He glared at Missouri, but began walking away nonetheless.

“And don’t cuss at me!”

***

You remained confused by how Dean had hugged you for the rest of the night which you spent in the Impala parked in front of Jenny’s house.

“Alright, so, tell me again, what are we still doin’ here?” Dean asked his brother.

“I don’t know. I just… I still have a bad feeling,” he responded.

“Why? Missouri did her whole Zelda Rubenstein thing, the house should be clean, it should be over.”

“Yeah, well, probably. But I just wanna make sure, that’s all.”

Dean slumped down in his seat. “Yeah, well, problem is I could be sleeping in a bed right now.”

You slumped down in your seat, too, only to see Jenny screaming and banging on her bedroom window. “Guys, look!”

The three of you rushed into the house.

“You two grab the kids, I’ll get Jenny,” Dean said.

You nodded and sprinted to Ritchie’s room. The sleeping toddler was startled when you woke him up, but allowed you to carry him downstairs nonetheless. You met Sam by the front door who said to Sari, “Take your brother outside as fast as you can, and don’t look back.” She obliged and took the little boy from you. 

Before the two of you could do anything else, you were slammed to the ground and dragged backward across the tile floor. You could hear poor Sari screaming as you and Sam were dragged away. 

You were pinned to the wall by an invisible force and pushed up toward the ceiling. You could hear presumably Dean hacking away at the door, trying desperately to get in as a figure on fire approached you.

Dean made his way into the home and called your names frantically. He raised his gun at the fire figure when he caught sight of it.

“No, don’t! Don’t!” Sam cried.

“What, why?!” you asked.

“Because I know who it is. I can see her now.”

And then, the fire vanished revealing who you recognized from pictures as Mary Winchester. She was wearing a white nightgown and her blonde hair billowed softly around her. Her feet were bare, and her aging skin was only slightly wrinkled.

You could see tears rising in Dean’s eyes as he lowered his gun. “Mom?”

The woman smiled and stepped closer to him. “Dean.”

She walked toward you and her youngest son. “Sam.” Her smile faded. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” he asked. 

She looked at him sadly, but said nothing.  

The woman turned to you last. “Thank you,” she said. 

You smiled back at her, though you weren’t quite sure what she was thanking you for.

She turned away and looked up toward the ceiling. “You get out of my house. And let go of my son.” Her hair and nightgown were swept up into flames once more. The fire licked up to the ceiling, growing larger before disappearing entirely. You and Sam were released from the wall at once.

“Now it’s over,” Sam muttered.

***

The sun had risen while you and the boys were in the house. You called Missouri back to the Winchesters’ childhood home, and she sat on the porch talking with Sam.

You were standing with Dean by the car looking through his old family photos.

“Thanks for these,” Dean told Jenny.

“Don’t thank me, they’re yours.”

Dean put the trunk of photos and family memorabilia in the car.  You and Dean bid Jenny, who thanked you, goodbye before leaning against the car together. The two of you knew you had a lot to talk about, but you weren’t brave enough to start the conversation.

“Are you okay?” Dean asked you.

You couldn’t look at him. “Why do you ask?”

“I think you know.”

You paused a moment before turning to face him. “I promise I’ll tell you, just… not today.” You stuck out your pinkie for him to take.

He chuckled at you. “What are we, five?”

“Just do it, asshole,” you smiled back.

He linked his pinkie with yours, shaking your hand back and forth lightly. The two of you stood there for a second, staring at each other and getting lost in the moment. Before long, you both realized what was going on and jerked away from each other.

Dean scratched his head. “Sam, you ready?” he called.

Sam nodded and came over to the car.

“Don’t you kids be strangers,” Missouri told you.

“We won’t,” Dean responded. 

“See you around,” the woman winked at you.

You smiled at her before getting in the car and driving away. 

Series Rewrite Taglist: @polireader @brightlilith @atcamillanorrman @jrizzelle @insomnia-bookworm @procrastination20 @mrs-liebgott @djs8891 @tiggytaylor @staple-your-mouth @iloveshawn @jesstherebel @rach5ive @strawberrykiwisdogog @bruhidkjustwannaread @mxltifxnd0m @sunshine-on-marz @big-ol-boat @mgchaser @capncrankle @davina-clairee @chervbs @thepocketverse @simpingdeadcharacters @elqsiian @stillhere197 @stephshaww @tearsforhan @take-it-on-the-run @iloveyou2mia @maxinehufflepuffprincess @doublecrazyyymofo

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Hypothetical AI election disinformation risks vs real AI harms

I'm on tour with my new novel The Bezzle! Catch me TONIGHT (Feb 27) in Portland at Powell's. Then, onto Phoenix (Changing Hands, Feb 29), Tucson (Mar 9-12), and more!

You can barely turn around these days without encountering a think-piece warning of the impending risk of AI disinformation in the coming elections. But a recent episode of This Machine Kills podcast reminds us that these are hypothetical risks, and there is no shortage of real AI harms:

https://soundcloud.com/thismachinekillspod/311-selling-pickaxes-for-the-ai-gold-rush

The algorithmic decision-making systems that increasingly run the back-ends to our lives are really, truly very bad at doing their jobs, and worse, these systems constitute a form of "empiricism-washing": if the computer says it's true, it must be true. There's no such thing as racist math, you SJW snowflake!

https://slate.com/news-and-politics/2019/02/aoc-algorithms-racist-bias.html

Nearly 1,000 British postmasters were wrongly convicted of fraud by Horizon, the faulty AI fraud-hunting system that Fujitsu provided to the Royal Mail. They had their lives ruined by this faulty AI, many went to prison, and at least four of the AI's victims killed themselves:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/British_Post_Office_scandal

Tenants across America have seen their rents skyrocket thanks to Realpage's landlord price-fixing algorithm, which deployed the time-honored defense: "It's not a crime if we commit it with an app":

https://www.propublica.org/article/doj-backs-tenants-price-fixing-case-big-landlords-real-estate-tech

Housing, you'll recall, is pretty foundational in the human hierarchy of needs. Losing your home – or being forced to choose between paying rent or buying groceries or gas for your car or clothes for your kid – is a non-hypothetical, widespread, urgent problem that can be traced straight to AI.

Then there's predictive policing: cities across America and the world have bought systems that purport to tell the cops where to look for crime. Of course, these systems are trained on policing data from forces that are seeking to correct racial bias in their practices by using an algorithm to create "fairness." You feed this algorithm a data-set of where the police had detected crime in previous years, and it predicts where you'll find crime in the years to come.

But you only find crime where you look for it. If the cops only ever stop-and-frisk Black and brown kids, or pull over Black and brown drivers, then every knife, baggie or gun they find in someone's trunk or pockets will be found in a Black or brown person's trunk or pocket. A predictive policing algorithm will naively ingest this data and confidently assert that future crimes can be foiled by looking for more Black and brown people and searching them and pulling them over.

Obviously, this is bad for Black and brown people in low-income neighborhoods, whose baseline risk of an encounter with a cop turning violent or even lethal. But it's also bad for affluent people in affluent neighborhoods – because they are underpoliced as a result of these algorithmic biases. For example, domestic abuse that occurs in full detached single-family homes is systematically underrepresented in crime data, because the majority of domestic abuse calls originate with neighbors who can hear the abuse take place through a shared wall.

But the majority of algorithmic harms are inflicted on poor, racialized and/or working class people. Even if you escape a predictive policing algorithm, a facial recognition algorithm may wrongly accuse you of a crime, and even if you were far away from the site of the crime, the cops will still arrest you, because computers don't lie:

https://www.cbsnews.com/sacramento/news/texas-macys-sunglass-hut-facial-recognition-software-wrongful-arrest-sacramento-alibi/

Trying to get a low-waged service job? Be prepared for endless, nonsensical AI "personality tests" that make Scientology look like NASA:

https://futurism.com/mandatory-ai-hiring-tests

Service workers' schedules are at the mercy of shift-allocation algorithms that assign them hours that ensure that they fall just short of qualifying for health and other benefits. These algorithms push workers into "clopening" – where you close the store after midnight and then open it again the next morning before 5AM. And if you try to unionize, another algorithm – that spies on you and your fellow workers' social media activity – targets you for reprisals and your store for closure.

If you're driving an Amazon delivery van, algorithm watches your eyeballs and tells your boss that you're a bad driver if it doesn't like what it sees. If you're working in an Amazon warehouse, an algorithm decides if you've taken too many pee-breaks and automatically dings you:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/04/17/revenge-of-the-chickenized-reverse-centaurs/

If this disgusts you and you're hoping to use your ballot to elect lawmakers who will take up your cause, an algorithm stands in your way again. "AI" tools for purging voter rolls are especially harmful to racialized people – for example, they assume that two "Juan Gomez"es with a shared birthday in two different states must be the same person and remove one or both from the voter rolls:

https://www.cbsnews.com/news/eligible-voters-swept-up-conservative-activists-purge-voter-rolls/

Hoping to get a solid education, the sort that will keep you out of AI-supervised, precarious, low-waged work? Sorry, kiddo: the ed-tech system is riddled with algorithms. There's the grifty "remote invigilation" industry that watches you take tests via webcam and accuses you of cheating if your facial expressions fail its high-tech phrenology standards:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/02/16/unauthorized-paper/#cheating-anticheat

All of these are non-hypothetical, real risks from AI. The AI industry has proven itself incredibly adept at deflecting interest from real harms to hypothetical ones, like the "risk" that the spicy autocomplete will become conscious and take over the world in order to convert us all to paperclips:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/11/27/10-types-of-people/#taking-up-a-lot-of-space

Whenever you hear AI bosses talking about how seriously they're taking a hypothetical risk, that's the moment when you should check in on whether they're doing anything about all these longstanding, real risks. And even as AI bosses promise to fight hypothetical election disinformation, they continue to downplay or ignore the non-hypothetical, here-and-now harms of AI.

There's something unseemly – and even perverse – about worrying so much about AI and election disinformation. It plays into the narrative that kicked off in earnest in 2016, that the reason the electorate votes for manifestly unqualified candidates who run on a platform of bald-faced lies is that they are gullible and easily led astray.

But there's another explanation: the reason people accept conspiratorial accounts of how our institutions are run is because the institutions that are supposed to be defending us are corrupt and captured by actual conspiracies:

https://memex.craphound.com/2019/09/21/republic-of-lies-the-rise-of-conspiratorial-thinking-and-the-actual-conspiracies-that-fuel-it/

The party line on conspiratorial accounts is that these institutions are good, actually. Think of the rebuttal offered to anti-vaxxers who claimed that pharma giants were run by murderous sociopath billionaires who were in league with their regulators to kill us for a buck: "no, I think you'll find pharma companies are great and superbly regulated":

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/05/not-that-naomi/#if-the-naomi-be-klein-youre-doing-just-fine

Institutions are profoundly important to a high-tech society. No one is capable of assessing all the life-or-death choices we make every day, from whether to trust the firmware in your car's anti-lock brakes, the alloys used in the structural members of your home, or the food-safety standards for the meal you're about to eat. We must rely on well-regulated experts to make these calls for us, and when the institutions fail us, we are thrown into a state of epistemological chaos. We must make decisions about whether to trust these technological systems, but we can't make informed choices because the one thing we're sure of is that our institutions aren't trustworthy.

Ironically, the long list of AI harms that we live with every day are the most important contributor to disinformation campaigns. It's these harms that provide the evidence for belief in conspiratorial accounts of the world, because each one is proof that the system can't be trusted. The election disinformation discourse focuses on the lies told – and not why those lies are credible.

That's because the subtext of election disinformation concerns is usually that the electorate is credulous, fools waiting to be suckered in. By refusing to contemplate the institutional failures that sit upstream of conspiracism, we can smugly locate the blame with the peddlers of lies and assume the mantle of paternalistic protectors of the easily gulled electorate.

But the group of people who are demonstrably being tricked by AI is the people who buy the horrifically flawed AI-based algorithmic systems and put them into use despite their manifest failures.

As I've written many times, "we're nowhere near a place where bots can steal your job, but we're certainly at the point where your boss can be suckered into firing you and replacing you with a bot that fails at doing your job"

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/15/passive-income-brainworms/#four-hour-work-week

The most visible victims of AI disinformation are the people who are putting AI in charge of the life-chances of millions of the rest of us. Tackle that AI disinformation and its harms, and we'll make conspiratorial claims about our institutions being corrupt far less credible.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/27/ai-conspiracies/#epistemological-collapse

Image: Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en

[storiesofsvu]

A Dangerous Game Ch 12

Emily Prentiss x reader Warnings: language, alcohol, mentions of smut.

I promise y'all I AM putting the read more's in, this hellsite is glitching still...

While Sacramento had once been on your list of travel destinations, you hadn’t wanted to be exploring the city’s streets solving a string of murders.

The upside: the team had taken down the unsub in a matter of days meaning you’d make it back home for the weekend.

The downside: the jet was being serviced and wasn’t available until late Friday morning and you were stuck another night.

Everyone had split off but with a little bit more energy left you and Morgan found the closest dive bar to the hotel with a pool table and cheap beer, alternating between who was paying. You’d just missed your third shot in a row, letting out an annoyed huff before swiping your beer off the side of the table and chugging half of it back.

“You’re off your game Wilson.” Morgan teased, easily sinking his shot, “ya pent up or something?”

“Oh I’m sorry did you already forget about the fact that you booted me in the ribs earlier today?”

“I was aiming for the unsub!”

“Well your aim sucks. And you should be picking up the entire tab tonight.” You scowled in his direction until he finally missed a shot.

“Tell me something, why’re you so grumpy? Weren’t you the one complaining about being stuck in DC? We’re in sunny California and you’re frowning. Or is this about your so called enrichment time?” He waggled his brows in your direction and you scoffed with a roll of your eyes.

“I get plenty of enrichment time.” You stated, stepping up to the table to unfortunately miss yet another shot. Your words were true, it was just that this week Emily was stuck back in the office with extra administrative duties. There was no point in Vegas being a thing if she wasn’t in the field with you.

“Yeah? What’s her name?” Derek grinned.

“Your mom.”

“Very funny Wilson.” He shook his head for a laugh, “and I’m serious, you need to get out more.” Extending the pool cue he went to prod at your ribs and you let out a shriek before he sheepishly backed off with an apology, having already forgotten again.

“I get out perfectly fine.”

“Yeah, coffee with Garcia, farmers market with Prentiss, babysitting for JJ and third wheeling my dates. How many phone numbers did you get that week?”

“Nine.”

“And how many have you called?”

“One.” You half confidentially replied, hoping he would drop it.

“Savannah doesn’t count.” He chuckled and a puff of air blew through your lips as you dropped against a chair behind you. “C’mon, I know a perfectly pretty girl who’d love to go to dinner with you.”

“Oh Derek… please… no.” You eyes widened slightly, shaking your head and he chuckled, pulling out his phone and firing off a couple of texts.

“Tomorrow’s Friday, you always say all you do Friday nights is take out and tv.”

‘And Emily.’ You thought, glancing away as you tugged your lower lip into your mouth. Your moment of distraction had Derek thinking you were considering it, clapping you on the shoulder when his phone pinged.

“Perfect! Look, six thirty at Monocle!”

“Ugghh!” Groaning you pushed off the chair, grabbing his arm to drag him off to the bar, “you’re buying me tequila shots.”

*

Back in DC Emily was working late, which honestly she wasn’t surprised at, extra admin duty plus signing off on any paperwork from the Sacramento case the team had sent over already. Not to mention she wanted to get it all done by the end of day tomorrow, to not have to drag it into her weekend, she had plans.

Since the floor was basically empty and she was in the privacy of her own office she figured she’d get comfortable, her blazer was tossed over the back of a spare chair, her sleeves rolled up and a couple extra buttons of her shirt undone. She’d also pulled her hair up and if you asked her what was in her coffee mug she’d be lying when she told you it was coffee. With a soft sigh, she scribbled a signature onto the last page of the case papers and went to flip the file closed when a loose piece of paper from the back went rogue, shooting across her desk. Picking it up her brow furrowed, quickly reaching out to her phone, swiping up to your contact.

‘Why is there an incident report on my desk?’

It took a couple of minutes, she glanced at the time to do the quick math in her head as she tried to figure out what time it was in California and finally her phone buzzed.

‘Cause Morgan doesn’t know how to aim his kicks.’

‘Where’d he get you?’

‘Ribs.’

‘Please tell me it was your good side…’

‘Oh but that would mean luck was in my favour.’

‘You okay?’

‘EMT’s did a check, should be bruised but fine, just wanted to cover all my bases in case something flairs up.’

‘He better be sucking up.’

‘He’s currently kicking my ass at pool.’

‘Dick. Tell him he should be letting you win.’

‘He can pay my tab. I really just want to get home. It’s weird without you here.’

Her lips curved up into a grin and she felt her entire body relax at the unwritten words in your sentiment and that you were un injured enough to be out and not curled up with an ice pack. Her mind began to wander, wondering if maybe this weekend you could go out rather than do the usual take out, she’d just opened a browser on her phone to look up fancy at home date night meals, her mind still full of images of you when her ears picked up the sound of high heels approaching her office.

“Hey.” Penelope greeted and Emily glanced up, shooting her a grin, “am I interrupting?”

“No.” She shook her head, locking her phone and dropping it onto her desk, “what’re you still doing here?”

“Lost track of time going through the unsub’s hard drive and then I noticed you were still here and I knew you weren’t going anywhere anytime soon, so…” She held up the bag of take out, “figured I’d order for two.”

“You’re an angel Garcia.”

“Oh I know.” With a proud smile she moved through the room while Emily cleared off her desk so she could unpack dinner. “Also I won’t tell if you won’t.” She pulled down the side of the bag to reveal a bottle of wine and Emily chuckled.

“Way ahead of you.” She gestured to her coffee cup, earning a laugh from the other woman. A comfortable small talk over took the office as they began to dig into dinner, little bits of playing catch up and almost gossiping about the team and most recent case.

“You have plans this weekend?” Penelope asked and Emily nearly groaned.

“I dunno…. I mean I’m still trying to decide between home cooked, take out or going on for dinner tomorrow. It’s not like it’s hard!”

“Well if you’re cooking, make sure you’ve got everything in your fridge already, cause you’re not gonna want to stop after work tomorrow to pick things up. I’d go take out, privacy of your own apartment but quality food you don’t have to worry about cooking and both of you can choose exactly what you want.”

“What’d you mean both? I don’t let Sergio order himself a human dinner.”

“You think I didn’t see you smiling like an idiot at your phone when I walked in? Not to mention you haven’t been in the field all week so I know the bruise on your tit isn’t from a punch.” Emily gasped, her hand shooting to clutch the sides of her shirt together, attempting to do up a button with one hand while Garcia chuckled, “and actually, now that your hair’s up I can see the fading one behind your ear. I’d place money down on the bet that there’s at least one on your inner thigh too.” She smirked and Emily blushed a deep shade because there certainly was one on her thigh, and it wasn’t exactly fading yet despite being a week old.

“Thought you weren’t a profiler.” She grumbled, finally admitting defeat and using two hands to redo the button.

“I’m not but I’m surrounded by them all the time, and because I’m not you guys have a tendency to let your guard down a little bit when it’s just little old me. So… who is she?”

Emily sighed, letting out a small groan but when she looked over at Garcia she saw her eyes full of hope and excitement, a warm smile on her cheeks. The girl loved love, and loved seeing her friends happy even more than that, she just wanted to be supporting, an ear to listen so Emily shook her head with a grin on her lips.

“Girl I met at a bar a few months back.” It wasn’t a lie, so why did she feel so flustered about the entire thing?

“You take her home that night or wait til the third date?” Penelope asked with a grin and she laughed.

“Technically we didn’t make it out of the bar…”

“Oho… you’re naughty.” She giggled over a bite of food, “so how long have you been together then?”

“Oh! We’re not— it’s not— uh… no.” She fumbled, “just sex, strictly sex.”

“Must be good then. Because you have been like, blissfully fucked recently.”

“Penelope!”

“You sure it’s just sex? That’s how all these things start off…”

“Yes.” Emily laughed, doing her best now to keep her guard up.

“How often do you two see each other?”

‘Oh only Monday to Friday nine to five not counting trips out of state, Saturday afternoons together and countless hours in the bedroom each week.’

“Once a week…” Emily strained, “dinner, drinks, you know… we usually grab take out, watch a movie or something.”

“And you like her…”

“Well obviously!” She chuckled once again, “it’s not like I’m going to let someone I hate into my apartment. And before we play twenty questions, she’s nice, sweet, gorgeous, a great cook with even better choices of take out, I’m pretty sure she’s Sergio’s favourite person—”

“Sounds like she’s your favourite person too.”

“I—” Emily bit at her thumb, if she admitted it to someone else it meant admitting it to herself and she wasn’t sure if she was ready for that yet, “she could never replace you Pen.”

“While I appreciate the sentiment I highly doubt you right now Agent Prentiss.”

***

Emily had managed to duck into the break room right in time to find you on your own, rinsing out a Tupperware container from lunch.

“Hey, glad I caught you.”

“Did I miss some paperwork?”

“No.” She laughed softly, “I know it’s your turn to buy tonight but I’m stuck in a craving of either Thai or Indian, what’d you think?” Her smile faltered on her cheeks at the way your eyes widened.

“Oh fuck me…” you muttered, “I totally forgot to tell you, I can’t tonight, I’ve got a… thing, tomorrow maybe?”

“A thing?” She raised a brow and you groaned, wincing when you spoke.

“Morgan set me up on a blind date…”

“That’s his way of making up for kicking you in the ribs? Good luck.” She teased and right as you opened your mouth to reply Spencer rounded the corner, greeting both of you before turning to Emily and beginning to ramble off about a theory for a case leaving you to freely slip out of the room.

*

You couldn’t remember the last time you’d been on a date, or at least an actual date. After Skylar there had been a couple of girls here and there in Jacksonville but nothing ever stuck, nothing was ever meaningful or substantial enough to bother continuing on. You found yourself digging through your closet for almost an hour before you finally found clothes that were appropriate to wear. At the very least, Derek had given Maya your number and you’d been able to hash out the details for tonight and exchange pictures so you weren’t going in blind.

Monocle was by far fancier than what you’d expected, it was lavish, five star rating, and the prices on the menu were far beyond what you would normally be willing to pay. You couldn’t help but let out a tiny sigh, if tonight went well, if Maya seemed to be worth the effort, would you really have to be getting all dolled up for too fancy places for weeks on end? You already missed take out on Emily’s couch in sweatpants where you didn’t have to care about what you looked like, where you were completely comfortable with each other already. You knew each other’s history, flaws, favourite shows, preferred drinks, you didn’t have to sit through this boring awkward small talk over drinks. Entrée’s had been ordered, Maya had started on the appetizer while you chose to just continue to pick at the bread basket, doing your best to contribute to the conversation.

If she had asked, you would’ve lied, but you were a hundred percent profiling her right now. She was nice enough, she’d already insisted she would take care of the bill, her dress was well fitted, a high end brand, same with the jewelry, she held herself with confidence, almost too much though. She could hold a good conversation, but it was almost stale, like she was only spewing off things she knew would be impressive, things to show off with, there was no full bellied laughter, no smiles that crinkled her eyes, smirks as she teased you with a glimmer in her eye. At first you thought she was just lacking personality, and then it dawned on you.

No matter how hard she tried, she would always be lacking something.

She wasn’t Emily….

*

Emily thought that maybe a free Friday night would be a good thing, a nice chance to relax by herself, do some self care, have a nice meal. Instead she was reminded as soon as she got home about Garcia’s comment, there certainly wasn’t anything in the fridge she wanted. She didn’t have it in her to try and choose where to order from so she tossed a frozen ravioli into the microwave for dinner, pouring herself a hefty glass of wine. She settled at the kitchen island, blowing on the pasta in an attempt to cool it down when Sergio jumped up on the counter.

“I already fed you.” She grumbled but did give him a scratch behind the ears and he sat down on the counter, looking between her and the empty spot across from her before he let out a particularly loud meow. “What?” She laughed over a bite.

“Mrroooww.” He looked again toward your spot at the island and she huffed.

“Relax buddy, she’s not coming tonight.”

“Mow?” His head tilted.

“I know, it sucks.” She sighed once again, she knew there was a chance you’d gone on the date just to get Morgan to shut up, but something was still irking her, she was so used to having your company on Fridays. It helped the entire wind down for the week, not having to do it alone, not to mention it was your turn to pay this week.

“Meoow?” Sergio plopped down onto his side, baring his stomach as if he was demonstrating exactly why you should be there instead.

“I dunno, she’s out with someone.”

He let out an almost annoyed purr, rolling back onto his stomach as he glanced between the two sides of the island, meowing in Emily’s direction.

“Stop asking me questions I don’t know the answer to!” She mumbled, taking another bite of food.

This time Sergio got up, wandering over to her with an extra loud meow before he head butted her chin.

“Oof, jeeze bud.” She began to scratch at his head as he continued to yell “I know, I know, it’s not fair, she should be here. Friday’s are our days.”

And there it was, she had basically said it out loud.

“Fuck…” she muttered, Sergio mewling up at her once again, glancing between her and the ravioli she wasn’t eating. “You really want this? It’s disgusting…”

“Mow.” He nearly nodded and with an eye roll she slid the container in his direction.

*

You had your phone on the table just in case something happened, but to be polite you’d stashed it underneath your napkin. When you picked that up to wipe off your hand your eyes darted toward the screen, the only reason it was alit was the brief touch from the back of your hand, nothing was going on. Maya let out a little chuckle,

“Everything alright over there?”

“Yeah.” You mumbled, eyes still on the screen almost trying to manifest a message popping up when you realized you didn’t actually need a real message and picked up the device, “but, work…” you feigned a wince, “never ends.”

“Must be nice.”

“What?”

“Having a guaranteed get out of jail free card.” She stated with an amused grin, folding her hands under her chin.

“You’ve lost me.”

“With a job like yours, you can use it as an excuse to get out of basically anything you don’t want to be doing. You’re seeing someone, I get it.”

“No! I— that’s not, I’m just distracted tonight.”

“Because you’ve been thinking about her since you walked in the door.” She stated plainly, surveying you for a moment, “let me guess… it’s been going on for a while but you both insist it’s only casual, nothing serious, maybe even secretive. But now that you’re out with me on an actual date you’re realizing that you’re wishing it was her on this side of the table instead of me?”

You paused for a moment, your brow furrowing in her direction across the table, “I thought I was supposed to be the profiler…”

“The psychiatry degree comes in handy once in a while.” She shrugged, flagging down the server as they walked passed, asking for a couple of take out containers, “take your food to go, enjoy what’s left of your night.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” She smiled softly, “no point in wasting time, right?”

“I’m so sorry…”

“Don’t worry about it.”

*

Emily, completely unable to stop thinking about the fact that you were out on a date with someone else, that there was a chance you were going to spend the night with them, had decided to start deep cleaning her apartment in a feeble attempt to distract herself.

Rock music played through the apartment, a little louder than she would normally have it, trying to drown out her thoughts as she went. She’d finished the kitchen, clearing out the fridge and freezer, already having taken out a couple loads of garbage. Now that she was into the living room Sergio seemed to want to help, continually jumping up onto whatever surface she was trying to polish no matter how many times she dropped him back to the floor. Clearly she wasn’t the only one affected by your absence tonight. She sprayed the tv with Windex as Serg began to slink between the picture frames and artificial plants on the television stand, meowing and purring as he went. He reached the end, turning around to do it again and gave a little extra sway of his back leg, effectively kicking off one of the plants and sent it to the floor where it shattered.

“Sergio!” Emily yelped, scolding him again before she scooped him up to lock him in the bedroom while she cleaned it up to make sure he didn’t step in any broken ceramic.

Letting out a weary sigh she grabbed the broom and dustpan, starting to sweep up the dirt and little pieces, she was sure she was just sweeping dirt and faux leaves when something clinked against the metal dustpan and her brow furrowed. She tilted the dustpan a bit, shifting the dirt and a piece of silver buried amongst the black caught the light in the room, glinting right back at her. Her body shifted into high alert, her heart jumping in her chest as she shifted it again, metal glittering back at her and she was thoughtful enough to keep her mouth shut. Squatting down her fingers shifted through the dirt until she managed to pick it out and her suspicion was confirmed.

It was an audio bug. Someone had been in her apartment, more importantly, someone had been listening in to everything that had been going on in her apartment. Letting out an internal swear she suddenly remembered the night at Rossi’s when she’d found her window cracked open. Whoever had planted the bug had been listening in for months. She practically jumped out of her skin when her phone rang, ringtone blaring through the apartment effectively stopping the music and she dropped the bug back into the pile of dirt.

“Hello?”

______________

@ssa-sapphic @mickey-gomez @clarawatson @cabotfan42 @momlifebehard @melindawarnersgf @itisdoctortoyousir @emilyprentiss4life @somethingimaginative17 @temilyrights @alexxavicry  @anya-casablanca @daddy-heather-dunbar @evilregal2002 @aliensaurusrex @rustyzebra @ilovemycrayons @mandy-asimp @thegrantwater @leftoverenvy @kades95 @dextur @m00nkn1ghts @augustvandyne @supercriminalbean @daffodil-heart @msvenablesbitch @its-soph-xx  @going-gray @just-a-torn-up-masterpiece @hopelesslyfallenninlove @peanutbutterprincess  @kdaghay @emilyprentisssluvr @lex13cm @awolfcsworld @zizzlekwum @emobabeyy @riveramorylunar @s1ut4nat @midnight-sapphic @scorpsik @thisisraes @prentiss-theorem @unsubologyy @strongsassysexysloane @svushots  @lavenderhoney94 @overtrred28 @borg-queer

[matttgirlies]

Matt & Me🎀

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

a story heavily based on Priscilla Presley’s Book “Elvis & Me” based in the 1950’s - 1970’s.

fem! reader x singer! matt

disclaimer!! - in no way am i saying matt would ever support or do these kind of things, for the sake of the book certain unethical things do happen at times.

warnings - mentions of dead people,, arguing

y/nn = your nickname for any confusion🩷

Chapter 14

I’d now been living with Matt about two years and traveling with him regularly. My parents, having returned from Germany, were now staying temporarily with my Uncle Ray in Connecticut, on their way to Travis Air force Base near Sacramento. I was anxious to see them, yet I hated leaving Graceland. Outside those gates, the cord was cut. I was afraid that the one moment I was away from his world would be the one moment when another could slip in.

Yet I needed to see my parents. I did miss them. I was well aware that my appearance—in a tight, form-fitting dress, spiked high heels, heavy makeup, and with my hair dyed jet black and piled high on top of my head in a beehive hairdo—would elicit, as usual, a less than delighted response from them, but I was determined not to change a single part of the total look that Matt had painstakingly created. I flew to Connecticut and my expectations were correct. My parents were again so shocked when they saw me that they could barely speak. Later, my father told me that under all that makeup, my eyes looked like “two holes in the snow.”

The rest of the weekend brought no improvement. I wasn’t being honest about my relationship and style of life. Anticipating uncomfortable questions about my future, I spent most of the time in my room. However, the questions came.

“What’s it like, living at Graceland?”

“Is it true that Matt never goes anywhere?”

I felt their probing was an invasion of my privacy, my personal life, and I gave them guarded answers.

My parents didn’t appreciate my attitude or my defensiveness. They were just showing a natural interest in me, and a concern for my well-being, when they asked how I’d done in school, what kinds of grades I’d gotten, and if I’d brought my report card. They also wanted to know if I was planning to attend college. Even though my only plan was to go wherever Matt was going, I said that I intended to enroll. I tried to tell them what they wanted to hear, and to say as little as possible, convinced that if I said one thing wrong, they’d order me home.

After that weekend, I tried to avoid my parents. But they knew I joined Matt in Los Angeles while he was filming, and they wanted me to spend weekends with them in Sacramento. This created a problem. I couldn’t think of sharing my time with anyone but Matt, especially weekends when he wasn’t working. Still, I’d make occasional trips to Sacramento, because if I didn’t visit my parents, they’d visit us. I knew Matt was very touchy, and I was never sure what might set him off.

I was particularly nervous when my parents decided to bring my sister and brothers down to Disneyland for the weekend—and to stop and see us in Bel Air. I persuaded them that Bel Air was much too far out of their way and it’d be easier for me to meet them at Disneyland. I spent the weekend with them there, but on Sunday my parents insisted on bringing me home. Of course I had to invite them all to dinner.

They dropped me off and drove on to a nearby hotel to check in and get changed. I ran into the house in a panic because I knew I’d have to show them around. I certainly couldn’t tell my parents that I slept with Matt, and I decided to try to fool them into believing that I had my own room.

I asked Charlie Hodge, one of the employees, if I could borrow his room. I rushed up and down the hall, taking things from Matt’s room and putting them in Charlie’s. I placed my little perfume bottles around the tables, hung some of my clothes in the closet, which I strategically left partly open, and finally put all of the stuffed dogs and teddy bears that I loved to collect on the bed.

That evening when we had dinner, Matt was charming and wonderful, but I was too petrified to eat. I was always anxious whenever Matt and my father got together, since I never knew what Dad was going to ask him. Matt used to get very annoyed because so many people were curious about the “regulars,” always asking what this one did, or that one did, and why Matt needed to have so many of them around him. When I would try and tell Dad to be less curious, that only made him more curious.

“Why can’t I ask questions?” he’d demand. “What’s there to hide?”

After dinner, I gave my family a tour of the house. I tried to show them “my” room as casually as I had the others. “See how it overlooks the patio,” I said calmly. “Come on, I’ll show you Matt’s room.”

I opened the door to his room, praying that no one would want to see any of his huge walk-in closets because if they opened a closet door, all of my things would be revealed. One of my shoes, I noticed in horror, had been left next to the bed. I managed to kick it out of sight.

Amazingly, the entire evening came off without mishap. Although my parents never questioned the story about my own room, I’m sure they never believed it either.

That night, when Matt looked in Charlie’s room and saw all of the stuffed animals, he burst out laughing.

I continued to guard my life-style. I was always afraid they’d look too closely at my relationship with Matt. As it was, they inquired about our future together.

“How much longer is this going to go on like this?” they wanted to know. “What are his intentions? Are there any plans for anything? If not, why don’t you just pack your bags and come home? We think it’s about time.”

Hearing this was my greatest fear. I always told them, “We’re doing great. I’m sure everything will work out fine.” I’d give them vanilla ice cream with candy and whipped cream and a cherry on top—so that everything sounded really promising.

Everything wasn’t nearly as promising as I led my parents to believe. Matt and I couldn’t really be happy together because he was so unhappy with his career. At first glance, he had it made: He was the highest-paid actor in Hollywood with a three-picture-a-year contract, at a phenomenal salary, plus fifty percent of the profits. But in reality, his brilliant career had lost its luster. By 1965 the public had access to Matt solely through his films and records. He hadn’t appeared on television since his special with Frank Sinatra in 1960, and he hadn’t performed in a live concert since the spring of 1961.

The sales of his records indicated that his massive popularity was slipping. His singles were no longer automatically Top Ten hits, and he hadn’t enjoyed a Number One record since the spring of 1962.

He blamed his fading popularity on his humdrum movies. He loathed their stock plots and short shooting schedules, but whenever he complained to the Colonel, Colonel reminded him that they were making millions, that the fact that his last two serious films, Flaming Star and Wild in the Country, were box-office failures proved that his fans wanted to see him only in musicals.

He could have demanded better, more substantial scripts but he didn’t. Part of the reason was the lavish life-style he had established and become accustomed to. The main reason, however, was his inability to stand up to the Colonel. In Matt’s personal life, there were no stops in letting anyone know how or what he felt. But when it came time to stand up to Colonel William, he backed off. Matt detested the business side of his career. He would sign a contract without even reading it.

For years Matt had stayed on top of the record charts because he had been given a good selection of songs to choose from, and he’d had free rein to record them in his own style, his own way, and had not yet become disillusioned with the music industry.

When he was excited about the material, he loved recording sessions. He liked to work as a team—with his voice, the backup singers, and the instruments all recorded at the same volume. He didn’t want his voice out front alone. He liked the impact of the whole group. It was his sound, and it was a fabulous sound until one day Colonel said there were complaints from fans and from RCA that they couldn’t hear Matt well enough. Whether or not this was true, he suggested Matt’s voice be brought out more.

This is one of the few times Matt bucked heads with him, stating, “I’ve been singing that way all of my life. What do a few heads in RCA know about music? I’ll sing the songs the way I hear them.”

Matt could handle only so much and then he’d lose heart. He’d put up with the horrendous movies, but now they were tampering with his songs.

Colonel did not intentionally plot to make Matt sound bad, or to get artistic control. His only interest was in getting out the product so the money could keep coming in. But when he started crossing over the line from business negotiations into Matt’s artistry, Matt slowly began going downhill.

I wanted desperately to help him, but I wasn’t sure how. In my innocence, I kept trying to convince him to argue with the Colonel. But he would only get angry, saying I didn’t know what I was talking about.

I didn’t understand his difficulty in revealing his weaknesses to me. Only later did I realize how important it was to Matt to always appear in control in front of me. Whenever I stated my own opinions too strongly, especially if they differed from his, he’d remind me that his was the stronger sex, and as a woman, I had my place. He liked to say that it was intended for woman to be on the left side of man, close to his heart, where she gives him strength through her support.

His role with me was that of lover and father, and with neither could he let down his guard and become fallible or truly intimate. I longed for that, and as a woman, I needed it.

There were nights when he slept restlessly, beset by worries and fears. I lay silently beside him, anxious about what he might be thinking and whether there was a place in his life for me. Lost in our separate miseries, we were unable to give each other strength or support. He was controlled by his inability to take responsibility for his own life and for compromising his own standards—and I was controlled by him, compromising mine.

When things were bad, Matt called James and they talked for hours about their problems. He told his dad he was lonely and depressed and no one understood him. When I overheard these words, I continued to take it personally, again thinking that I was failing him.

I would put on my brightest smile, my prettiest dress—and my phoniest personality and try to rouse his spirits. When I couldn’t get him out of the dumps, he would shut himself up all day in his room. This left me devastated. Afraid of saying or doing the wrong thing, I suppressed my real feelings and eventually developed an ulcer.

The more frustrations increased, the more pressure he felt and this resulted in his manifesting physical illnesses. Specifically to handle depression, he was now prescribed antidepressants. His enormously creative gifts were being squandered and he couldn’t face it.

Although Colonel William knew about his state of mind, he had a long-standing agreement with Matt that he’d stay out of his personal life. Instead of confronting Matt, he tried to get the guys to report to him. It was a very touchy situation, and the boys were skeptical. Colonel used to have Sonny West and Jerry Schilling drive him back and forth to Palm Springs on weekends. During the long drive he casually tried to pump them for information. They had to be very careful. If they said the wrong thing, they would be put in a position of having betrayed Matt.

It was especially hard on Nate Doe who, as foreman of the group, spent a lot of time with the Colonel. When Matt began canceling meetings, or acting strangely on the set, Colonel would say, “What’s going on with Matt, Nate? He looks like he’s in bad shape. We can’t let him be seen like this.”

Nate was torn between his loyalties to Colonel and to Matt. He cared about Matt and respected his wishes, but he understood that the Colonel made the deals and had to deliver “the product”: Matt.

When Colonel made Nate responsible for reporting to him on Matt’s “mental and emotional state,” a euphemistic phrase for drug use, Matt found out and said, “I don’t want any sons of bitches here telling Colonel what I do or what goes on in this household.” He fired Nate on the spot. Six months later he forgave him and took him back. It was typical of Matt to blow off steam and then forgive all.

From the time I first arrived at Graceland I began to notice a gradual change in Matt’s personality. In the early days of our relationship he seemed to be more in command of his emotions.

He was a man capable of enjoying life to the fullest, especially during our own special times. We loved to stroll about in the early evenings just before dark. Usually we’d end up at his father’s home and stay and watch television, father and son relaxing, puffing on cigars, discussing the state of the world.

Walking back home with Matt, we’d speak of fate—how it had brought us together, how we were meant for each other, how God worked in strange ways, uniting two people from different parts of the world.

I loved it when he’d talk like this. He’d plan our lives, saying how he was destined to be with me and could never be with anyone else. In this loving atmosphere I found I could open up and express my opinions freely.

Once we were going through a stack of demo records for an RCA soundtrack album and his distaste for each song grew increasingly apparent. Before a record was halfway through, he was on to the next, getting more and more discouraged. Finally he found one that held his attention and asked me what I thought. Remembering that first incident in Vegas, I truly felt our relationship had developed to where he would want my honest opinion. “I don’t really like it,” I said.

“What do you mean, you don’t like it?”

“I don’t know—there’s just something about it, a catchiness that’s missing.”

To my horror, a chair came hurtling toward me.

I moved out of the way just in time, but there were stacks of records piled on it and one flew off and hit me in the face.

Within seconds he had me in his arms, apologizing frantically. It was said that he inherited his temper from his parents. I’d heard stories about how, when Mary Lou was furious, she’d grab a frying pan and fling it at James, and I’d already observed James’s harsh words firsthand. This genetic trait was inherent in Matt’s temperament.

You could sense the vibration when he was angry. The tension in the room mounted to flash point, and no one wanted to be around for the explosion. Yet, if anyone decided to leave, they automatically became the target for his rage, me included. Like the time he came storming downstairs because his black suit which he had worn only the day beforehadn’t been returned from the cleaners.

“Why isn’t it back yet, y/nn?” he screamed. “Where the hell is my goddamn suit?”

He had two other suits identical to the one at the cleaners, but he wanted that one.

When he was angry, it was like the roar of thunder. No one could challenge his biting words; we could only wait until the storm passed. When he calmed down, he made excuses—he hadn’t had enough sleep, he’d had too much sleep, or he hadn’t had his morning coffee yet.

Sometimes he lashed out just to drive home a point. If he thought it would teach us a lesson, he’d blow some minor grievance out of all proportion, and even as he was yelling he might wink at someone nearby. Then, ten minutes later, he’d be fine, leaving us bewildered and emotionally depleted. There were also times he would leave us emotionally uplifted. He was truly a master at manipulating people.

Matt was filled with complexities and contradictions. We would spend an evening discussing the spiritual life and then watch horror films.

One evening while watching the classic horror movie Diabolique, Matt leaned over and asked if I was in a daring mood.

“Sure.” I didn’t know what he was up to, but adventure excited me.

“I’m going to take you somewhere that will scare the fire out of you—it did me the first time I went there.”

After the film he took my hand and we all piled into the limo. Matt instructed the driver, “Take us to the Boston morgue.”

“What!”

I didn’t believe what I had just heard.

“Yeah, there’s this guy who oversees the place. I went there once before. I was roaming around the rooms, looking at bodies, and we ran into each other. It scared the shit out of us both.”

“You mean we’re going inside?”

“Well, we’re not supposed to, but I got ways.”

“Okay, I’m game.”

His fame was his passkey. It was eerie walking through the halls and viewing each room. They were still, solemn, dimly lit. I clutched at Matt’s hand. At first I didn’t want to look, but he assured me the bodies were at peace and that once I looked, it wouldn’t be so bad.

We wandered from room to room. I was amazed at how easy it was to become accustomed to this unusual sight. It was serene, almost as if we were in church.

We were doing fine until I looked on a table and saw an infant who appeared to be two or three months old. We both gazed in silence.

“Oh Matt,” I said, “he’s so little, so innocent. What could have happened? There’s no scars.” Tears were streaming down my face.

“I don’t know,” he said softly. “Sometimes God works in strange ways. I guess it was just meant for the little fellow to be with Him.”

We both took the infant’s hand and Matt said a prayer. A few minutes later, we stood over a middle-aged woman who had just been embalmed. I looked away.

“This is good for you,” he said. “You have to see things like this sometimes. This is the hard cold fact—reality. When you look at a body, you realize how temporary it all is, how it could end in a matter of minutes.”

The spiritual side of Matt was a dominant part of his nature. As a small boy growing up in Boston, Massachusetts, he and his family attended church regularly at the First Assembly of God. He was raised on hellfire-and-brimstone preaching that put the fear of God in you and music that led to the Pearly Gates. Matt, James, and Mary Lou would join in with the congregation and choir, and it was then that music first rocked Matt’s soul. He was capable of spiritual healing; one touch of his hands to my temples and the most painful headaches disappeared.

He always kept the Bible on his bedside table and read it often. Now, faced with an ever-deepening despair, he began looking to other philosophical books for answers and guidance. He read the works of Kahlil Gibran. One book in particular, The Prophet, inspired him. He also read Siddhartha by Hermann Hesse and The Impersonal Life by Joseph Benner. He became so enamored of these books that he passed them out to friends, fellow actors, and fans. They appealed to his religious nature and he loved bringing people together “in the spirit of one underlying force Almighty God.”

When his mother, Mary Lou, was alive, Matt had one person to answer to, whom he respected and who constantly reminded him of his values and his roots. It was Mary Lou who kept Matt aware of the difference between right and wrong, of the evils of temptation, and of the danger of life in the fast lane.

“Mom,” he’d say. “I want you and Dad in Hollywood with me. There’s a lot of fast talkin’ businessmen there, makin’ a lot of decisions, fancy talk I don’t understand.”

In the early days, James and Mary Lou accompanied Matt on most of his major appearances around the South and visits to Hollywood when he made his first films. It was Mary Lou’s common sense that counteracted Matt’s insecurities in his youth.

Since Mary Lou’s death, there were no boundaries for Matt. She was the force that kept him in line. Now that she was gone, he was continually in conflict between his own personal ethics and the temptations that surrounded him.

Excerpt from: "Elvis and Me" by Priscilla Beaulieu Presley. Scribd. This material may be protected by copyright.

a/n - this chapter is so sad 🎀

[juancarlos-ortiz]

Marked for Carnage - Chapter 1 (Juice Ortiz x OC Fic)

Marked for Carnage Masterlist

A/N: This is chapter 1 of my Juice Ortiz x OC multi chapter fanfic. I am hoping to mesh this story line with all 7 seasons of SOA. This is an 18+ fic so if you are under 18 please do not interact or read. The themes may not hit 18+ for a few chapters but I intend them to as the story progresses. I apologize that there isn't much Juice x OC in this chapter, I was really wanting to set a foundation for my OC and how she is tied into this world. My asks are open if anyone has any questions about my OC. Also I aplogise if there are any errors, I have a toddler and a baby so I'm doing this on the fly. I hope you enjoy :)

Word Count: 2390 words

If there was one thing that Veronica Winston wished for it was that she had taken the job offer from Mercy General rather than St Thomas. Sacramento was close enough to Charming without being too close, but - being the push over that she was - she had let her father talk her into moving home. "Nothing's more important than family," he had stated, using her brother's recent release from prison to really drive the point home. Now here she was, stalking the hallways of St Thomas Hospital, the scent of antiseptic flooding her nose, as she followed the directions given to her by the admin staff to the nearest elevator. She had just about ran from the desk when the lady behind it asked if she was related to "those Winston's."

She pulled her long, dark hair out from the ponytail she'd put it in, hoping it would provide some kind of barrier between her and anyone who may recognize her. It had been nearly 10 years since she had last stepped foot in Charming. Her stomach had been lead weight since she had driven past the welcome sign at the edge of town. She jabbed the elevator button as she stopped in front of the closed doors, tapping her foot impatiently. She quickly scanned the area behind her, regretting the action as soon as her eyes met his. Jax Teller. Quickly she looked away and hoped that he hadn’t seen her.

"Ronnie?" She sighed when he called her name. Shoving her phone into the pocket of her scrubs she turned and smiled at him. "Hey Jax," she sent a silent prayer to the elevator gods that the stupid thing would hurry up and arrive. "Jesus, how long has it been?" he asked, pulling her into a quick one armed hug. "Nearly 10 years," she shrugged, kicking the toe of her shoe on the linoleum. "Yeah I guess so… your Pops didn’t say anything about you being back in town?" he asked, adjusting his cut. Her eyes found the Vice President patch sewn there. She raised her eyebrows. "I ah… asked him not to tell anyone. Ope too." Jax cocked an eyebrow and angled his head in question. "Alright…" he murmured. "I'll keep this under wraps then." Ronnie smiled appreciatively.

 "You visiting someone?" she asked. His face dropped and suddenly she regretted asking him. "My kid is up in the NICU. He had surgery last night." Ronnie sighed and shook her head. "Shit Jax, I hope everything's ok." He shrugged and glanced down the hallway. "He's looking ok. Strong little guy. Shit with Wendy ya know…" he shrugged. "Damn, she still not got her shit together?" she asked. Jax shook his head. "Well he is a Teller. I'm sure he will pull through." Jax grinned proudly and nodded. "Well, you should come by Gemma's place sometime. She's still in the same house. I'm sure she would love to see you," Jax began to make his way down the hallway, throwing a wave behind him as he left. "Yeah, sure," Ronnie mumbled half heartedly. The elevator doors finally opened and Ronnie got in, pressing the button for the bottom floor. She found the doors she was looking for, the sign above indicating that she had reached the morgue. Of course, it would be strange to admit that she felt at home in a morgue. Which is why she never said it out loud. But it was true. Pulling her hair back into it's ponytail she walked through the doors, ready for a fresh start.

10 hours later Ronnie stood in the parking lot, stretching her back as the balmy early evening air settled around her. It appeared that being an assistant medical examiner in Charming wasn't going to be as fast paced as her previous location. She had spent part of her morning reviewing the one case they currently had open - a hit and run that had happened in the Charming jurisdiction although only by literal centimetres - and then the rest of her time she archived historical paperwork and counted down the minutes until her scheduled breaks. Ronnie groaned at the pain in her back, cursing herself for sitting with shitty posture for her whole shift, when suddenly someone cleared their throat. She turned and spotted the row of Harley's parked against the curb.

A guy around her age, with golden brown skin and a mohawk with two tattoos inked either side of it, sat on the bike at the very end. He was sporting one of the most gorgeous smiles she had ever seen and he was directing it at her. Ronnie's stomach buzzed, but she told it to pipe down when she spotted the cut she was wearing - one with a patch identical to her brother and fathers. She looked around in case he was looking at someone else, but they were the only two souls in the lot. "Nice ink," he said, jutting his chin in her direction. She looked down at her right arm, as if noticing the various designs tattooed there for the first time. Feeling her face warming, she met his stare. "Thanks, you too," she murmured, before walking to her car and hastily getting behind the wheel. Putting the key in the ignition she started it up, cursing and looking back at the man on the bike in her mirror as the engine coughed and sputtered before starting up. Pulling out of the lot, Ronnie began her journey home.

Juice smirked as he watched the black Toyota SUV pull out of the hospital parking lot. He had never seen the woman who had driven it away before, but the fullness of her hips and the soft curving of her waist had him wanting to see more of her. Juice would admit that it didn't take much to rev his engine but the way she had raised her eyebrow at him in indifference, how her tattoos covered the soft looking skin of her arm and the groan she let out as she stretched her back… almost had him adjusting himself in his pants. "Hey idiot," Tig smacked him up the back of the head. "What's got you so goddam happy?" Juice only grinned and shook his head. "Just thinkin' about Sack and that deer." Tig laughed and pointed straight at him. "Bet you're glad you're not the bottom of the food chain no more, huh?" Juice nodded as he watched the rest of his brothers exit the hospital, strapping his helmet on and starting up his dyna.

Ronnie sat on the small sofa in her loungeroom, an open beer on the coffee table and a microwaved dinner on her lap. She aimlessly flicked through channels, stopping briefly on the local news channel when she saw the headlines "San Leandro Warehouse Fire, Multiple Deaths." "Jesus Christ," she mumbled, taking a sip of beer. Suddenly, her phone ringing pulled her attention from the tv. Flicking it open, she saw her father's landline number and answered. "Hey Pop," she smiled. "Hey sweetheart," her father's rough timber came through the receiver. "How was your first day?" Ronnie smiled. She had missed this. Her father only really called once every couple of months when she had been gone from Charming, and she was certainly guilty of avoiding calling him. But since being back he seemed to really be interested in what was happening in her life.

"It was good dad, same shit different state really." Piney laughed. "Well that's good to hear, Ron, good to hear." She rolled her eyes at the nickname. "Listen, I was going to head over to Opie and Donna's place for dinner. Why don’t you come too? See the kids and say hello," Piney trailed off, leaving the buzz of the phone line ringing in Ronnie's ears. "I don’t know dad, I mean… I've already had dinner and," she paused, blowing out a sigh. "I don’t think Ope would want me there." Her father grunted on the other end, no doubt rolling his eyes identically to the way she had moments beforehand. "He's your brother. Of course he wants you there," he said. Ronnie closed her eyes. "Alright, I'll come see them. Do you need a ride?"

Ronnie pulled up out the front of her brothers house, parking her car next to Piney's trike. She made her way up the path to the front door, wringing her hands together in anxiety. She tersely rapped her knuckles against the door, her stomach in knots. Donna pulled the door open, her eyes widening at the site of her sister-in-law. "Veronica!" she exclaimed, glancing back into the house. "I didn’t know you were coming," Donna said, awkwardly smiling. "Oh, shit sorry, I thought dad might have said something. He kind of… invited me I guess," Ronnie said. Trust Piney to not say shit. "It's fine," Donna stepped aside, motioning for Ronnie to enter. "Come in. I've just served dinner, are you hungry?" Ronnie shook her head as she entered the house. "Nah I already ate. Thanks though." She continued to blindly follow the hallway, hoping she was going the right way.

The hall opened up into the dining room and Veronica stopped short as she saw Piney, Opie and her niece and nephew, Ellie and Kenny, sitting at the table with plates in front of them. "Hey," Ronnie cleared her throat. "Hey Ope. Hi Ellie, Kenny." She waved at the kids. They awkwardly waved back, glancing at their dad. Opie dropped his fork, making Ronnie and the kids jump as it clattered against his plate. "Ope?!" Donna started from behind Ronnie. "Not hungry," he grunted out before he made his way out the back door into the backyard, slamming the door behind him. The silence in the room was deafening as Ronnie internally fought with what she should do next. She smiled at the kids again before she followed her brother through the door. Opie sat on a porch swing that was in the back corner of the backyard, a lit cigarette between his lips.

Ronnie made her way over to him, her black boots scuffing along the short patched of turf and dirt. "Those things will kill ya, you know," she motioned to his cigarette. Opie ignored her, taking a long drag. "Look, Ope…" she began, pushing her hands into her pockets. "I know you’re not my biggest fan right n-" "You really think you can just come back like you didn’t just drop off the face of the earth for 10 years?" he cut her off. Ronnie sighed, running her hand over her hair, gathering it over one shoulder. "Dropping off the face of the earth is slightly dramatic, don’t ya think?" Opie met her eyes, his mouth a hard line. "Dad was already sick before you left and you just disappearing only made him worse. You missed my wedding!" he took a another draw of his cigarette. "My kids hardly even know their Aunt…" he laughed without humour and shook his head. "And you just walk in and say hi? You really think that would be it?"

Ronnie sighed and sat next to her brother on the porch swing. "I'm… I'm sorry Ope. I couldn't stay," she cracked her knuckles, habit her mother always scolded her for when she was little. "I honestly didn’t realise I'd hurt you this bad." Opie shook his head, knocking his knee against Ronnie's. "You're my baby sister," he mumbled. "We already had so much time apart after mom and dad divorced. It felt like I had gotten you back for a little while and then you just took off." Ronnie's heart sank. She never gave her brother much credit for just how much he loved his family - although he didn’t always show it. "Shit Ope. You know I didn't do it to hurt you. I had to get away. Away from," she swallowed thickly, her skin crawling. "Him." Opie scoffed. "You know we wouldn’t have let him put his hands on you. Me, Pops. Shit even Jax would put a bullet in his head before he let you get hurt."

Ronnie shook her head. "But he did put his hands on me Ope. Distance," she sighed. "Distance felt like the best option. And this place. This town," she motioned with her hand. "Everywhere I went it felt like him. Felt like he had tainted it somehow. Even being back now," she shivered, running her hands up and down her arms. "I'm sick to my stomach Ope. He could pop up anywhere." Opie turned to his sister, his stare cutting her off. "You see one glimpse of him, you tell me. I won't let that shit stain near you." Ronnie smiled flatly, patting Opie's back and standing. "Yeah yeah, I'll put you on speed dial," she smiled. Opie huffed a laugh and stood.  Ronnie smiled and pulled him into a brief hug. "Still not okay with you going ghost," he said. She nodded, pulling away. "I know. But I'm here now. And I'm gonna make up for these last 10 years."

Ronnie walked arm in arm with her father to where their vehicles were parked. "Well after your brothers tantrum, that all seemed to go okay," Piney said, leaning over to kiss his daughter on the head. "Yeah Pops, you know Ope. He's soft at heart. Won’t be long and I'll be back in his good books," she smiled, watching Piney climb aboard his trike. "You working tomorrow sweetheart?" he asked, buckling his helmet on. She nodded, unlocking her SUV. "Yeah I'm always working." Piney smiled, his old heart warming knowing there was no longer distance between him and his two kids. "Alright, I'll follow you home. Make sure you get there safe." Ronnie began to protest and then remembered her conversation with her brother. "That would be great, thanks Pop." She slid into the drivers seat of her car and tried to start the engine. The car coughed and chugged once before it conked out completely. "Piece of shit," she slammed her hands against the wheel. Piney lifted his arms in a questioning manner. She jumped out. "Car won’t start." Piney motioned back to Opie's house. "Get your brother to drive you home, I'll get someone from TM to come tow your car to the garage tomorrow." Ronnie sighed and bid her father farewell before she made her way back up the path towards Opie's house.

[ggws-official]

MELORA GHIRGA | INTRO

-----RUNAWAY RENEGADE ---->

BASIC INFO

Name: Melora Renata Montero Ghirga

Stand: Livin' On the Edge 'L.O.E'

Age: 17

D.O.B: January 19, 2008

Gender: Female

Birthplace: Sacramento, California?

Ethnicity: Italian-Filipino

Nationality: Italian-American

Height: 153cm

Likes: Playing poker with her relatives, American rap music, seafood, spicy food, Legally Blonde

Voice Claims:

JP | Asami Seto

ENG | Amber Lee Connors

PERSONALITY

(non spoiler version)

Melora is introduced as a snappy and blunt teenage girl, keeping a rough exterior yet her internal dialogue shows her true personality, a people pleasing teenager who approaches every problem with fear, sweeping any problem she has under the rug, having a 'it will pass' mindset. It can also be noted her facade breaks easily, with a tendency to panic and do things frantically.

Just like her father in his youth, Melora is also noted for her quick temper. Being foul-mouthed and loud when aggravated. Though unlike her father, Melora initially shows some restraint in her outbursts, fearing to do anything illegal. Though she claims to fear committing anything illegal, the teenager has committed petty crime in the past such as pickpocketing from her schoolmates or shoplifting.

Despite her delinquent-like behavior, Melora still possesses a gentle heart underneath all the ferocity she exudes, even showing some form of hesitation when she argues with her parents, specifically her father, before she goes on to say something hurtful. With the exception of her father, Melora presents a sweet side to those whom she trusts such as her mother and younger brother.

Melora shows interest in American rap and often makes pop culture references. She compares the situations she's in to movies she's watched, which actually do help her succeed from time to time.

BACKGROUND

(non spoiler, though there's one spoiler hinted here.)

Melora Ghirga was born on January 19 2008 to Narancia Ghirga and Marah Ghirga, being told by her parents she was born in California. Melora's childhood was that of a normal child, her father worked as a as a stay at home father, unable to get into the workforce for an undisclosed reason. Due to her mother working two jobs at the same time, Melora was mostly supported by her father. Though the two were close when she was a child, Melora began to act more distant from Narancia at the age of 17, mostly due to his overprotective and nagging behavior. (can't emphasize further, spoiler territory!)

Melora currently attends East Valley Highschool as a 4th year student, living in Sacramento, specifically in Midtown Sacramento.

Upon getting framed and arrested for an act of vandalism she didn't commit by her 'friend group', she was bailed out by her father. After the two have an argument in the car, Melora is suddenly given a small box containing a metal shard on her bedroom door. Upon further inspection, it leaves a bleeding gash on her palm. But weirdly, the gash stops bleeding after a minute or so.

APPEARANCE

Melora is a petite teenage girl with a lean build. Her face has asian and european features, having slightly tanned skin. She has messy, layered long dark hair, two prominent bangs under her eyes. She sports a slim black tube top, pants and a choker. She has lighter garments such as her bandana, blazer, wristbands, belt embedded with a double diamond symbol and a cape attached to her back.

STAND ABILITY

LIVIN' ON THE EDGE: Close Range, Reconnaisance, Artifical Non Humanoid

L.O.E takes the appearance of an extra pair of mechanical arms situated on Melora's shoulders. Melora can either 'integrate it' into her body or leave it in it's default form.

INTEGRATED

Livin' On the Edge can dispense strips of tape up to 30 meters, forming depositing slits on Melora's body, usually her arms where the tape can shoot out. L.O.E's integrated form gives Melora a longer range, however it cannot perform stand rushes in this state. Melora can generate up to 10 dispensing slits on her body before it starts to hurt her.

DEFAULT

Livin' On the Edge's default form appears an extra pair of mechanical arms on Melora's shoulder. It can dispense tape on it's arms, although only up to 8 meters. But default mode is ideal for close range combat as Melora can perform stand barrages in this state. It is also noted that the stand functions independently from Melora's actual arms, moving according to her subconscious intent.

RECONNAISSANCE USE: Melora can create thin strips of tape to act as a tripwire and if she makes it thin enough to the point it resembles that of a nylon string, she can eavesdrop on conversation.

OTHER NOTES: The default width of Melora's tape is 3.6cm, but if she concentrates hard enough, she could alter the size of the slit she generates, allowing her tape strips to vary in size. Thinner strips require more concentration, Wider strips require endurance and can take a toll on her if wide enough.

"VOLAVOLAVOLAVOLAVOLAVOLA VOLAAAAAAA!!!!!"

[cheerfullycatholic]

Dina Madsen: Testimony of an Ex-Abortion Provider

Dina Madsen California, United States

I had to leave my heart at home.

I went to work for a Sacramento abortion mill in the first week of September 1990. Before then, the word "abortion" had seldom passed through my mind, and I had no concept of what one actually was. I had lived a "dysfunctional" life and the sacredness of human life was not something I thought of much.

My official title at the mill was "health worker." I did various duties-lab work, leading groups (deceiving women about their abortions), "advocating" (deceiving women during their abortions), and assisting the abortionist, which included helping during the abortion and checking to make sure all the parts of the baby were there in the collection jar afterwards. I will never forget, in the second-trimester abortions, holding those little feet up to a chart on the wall to make sure of the age of the baby.

Just like everyone else employed there I laughed at the pro-lifers outside the mill and hardened my heart against the truth. If I thought about what was really happening, it became overwhelming. So, I treated the whole issue as a joke-but somewhere along the line God started working on my heart. I started to read literature left by the pro-lifers, and pro-life books. I began to see what I was doing in a whole new light. I saw these babies for what they were-human beings. It was very hard for my heart and head to accept because I had been leaving both my heart and head at home for so long to work there.

I began looking towards God and sometimes visiting church and reading the Bible. I know that the only thing keeping me from accepting Christ into my life was the fact that I was involved in murder-the murder of those made in His image. After working there eight months, I could no longer resist God-He had awakened me to the ugliness of abortion. I knew that in every abortion a living human being is killed, and I believe that a part of the mother is killed too. In May of 1991 I left the mill and believed that I had shut the door on my abortion experience.

After leaving the mill, I accepted the Lord into my heart and my life, and was baptized. After years of searching, I found my true home in the Catholic Church, into which I was fully received on April 2, 1994. I am now married to a kind and loving man and we have two beautiful boys.

It was during my pregnancies that I began to deal with my experience in the mill. I know now that I was experiencing post-abortion syndrome-just as if I'd had an abortion myself, only I felt even worse because I had participated in hundreds of them. God worked on my heart for a long time, showing me His forgiveness, letting me know that I had to forgive myself because He had work for me to do. In early 1994 I finally felt ready to respond to the Lord's calling. I began to sidewalk counsel, picket, and speak publicly. I know I was doing what the Lord wanted me to do, and I was warned and knew that Satan hates God's people and their work for Him.

There have been difficult times, with much persecution and attacks from Satan, but I know that the Lord is my protector; His works will prevail! I took a break from my sidewalk counseling to strengthen myself in the Lord-and then He told me it was time to go back. I just am so grateful that He pulled me out of the darkness and into the light. He has shown me how terribly evil abortion is. He has shown me how precious life is. He has shown me that every preborn baby is His child, and that no one has the right to take that life. He has shown me that there is forgiveness and healing in Him. For those who have participated in abortions or had abortions I pray that the pro-death people will have their hearts changed and believe that life is the only "choice."

My walk with God has not been easy. Life is full of ups and downs, joy and pain. But I know that He is always there beside me. He has blessed me beyond anything I ever imagined, and continues to do so. He can do the same for anyone if He is only asked to.

I think it's important to pray for those women who are considering abortion and also for those caught up in the evil of the abortion industry, that they will see the truth and be set free. Abortion is not just a "choice," it is a destructive, life-taking act that will only bring pain and loss to those involved.

Psalm 40:1-3

I waited patiently for the Lord;

He turned to me and heard my cry.

He lifted me out of the slimy pit, out of the mud and mire;

He set my feet on a rock and gave me a firm place to stand.

He put a new song in my mouth, a hymn of praise to our God.

Many will see and fear and put their trust in the Lord.

Read more testimonies at Silent No More

[japhan2024]

💛Smoshblr December Asks Final Day💙

We‘ve done it! We’ve finally reached the end of this lil ask game and also the end of 2023! 🥳 Thank you so much for joining in on this, I truly appreciate it so much 🫶! I wish you a wonderful start into the new year and that all your hopes and dreams for 2024 will come true! ✨💞

But, since the year isn’t quite over yet, I thought this might be a nice time to reminisce a little bit. Therefore, the final question of the Smoshblr December Asks Game:

What are your favourite smosh-related memories of 2023? 💖

(no specific amount required for this one; and you can ofc also include older smosh memories, if you want to 🤗)

Stella!! I'm so gonna miss getting your asks every day in my inbox T_T thank you so much for making this month extra special and festive, it was absolutely wonderful waking up knowing there would be a new one waiting!!! <3

My favorite Smosh-related memory? Well, idk, I read a really great fanfic, but it was a bit out there, a bit too sentimental and unrealistic... it goes like this:

Friendship always wins

The sun scorched the suburbs of Sacramento. The neighborhood looked like if a stock photo had a heroine problem. Bored out of their minds, two sixth graders got grouped together for a school project.

"Here, let me draw some turds on the trash pile."

"I'll add flies."

"Hehehe, yeah that looks better."

The two kids, Ian and Anthony, connected through their shared humor, which ranged from Beavis and Butthead to Home Alone to Southpark, and to whatever was on the internet in that godforsaken time pre-2005.

The oldest one, Anthony, came from a broken home. He had to grow up fast and take care of his siblings and mom. The only times he could really be a kid and fuck around, was with his best friend Ian. Feeling nurtured by Ian's mom and dad, and constantly laughing at Ian's jokes, his happiness was there, with Ian. He could get through working hard, as long as he had Ian to go back to and have fun.

Their nerdy friend group were all into internet humor and Anthony came up with the idea of having a forum for them all to shitpost on and share their creations and collaborate.

But then he got sick. Really sick. He couldn't go to school, had to stay home for six months. He felt so isolated, not seeing his friends, most of all Ian. But Ian showed up at his house with a get well soon card. It was signed by everyone from his class. He could cry, he was so happy with this symbol of friendship. It kept him going the rest of the months. He put his time and energy into coding and learning how to do graphic design.

Smosh was born and it took off. First the website was just for them; Ian, Anthony, and their friends. It had stuff like articles, memes and videos. But soon the whole school was frequenting the site. News traveled outside the school even, and before they knew it, Smosh was an internet phenomenon. After they graduated, Ian and Anthony chose to keep the website going. Just for fun. And they got some money from merch they would distribute themselves.

One day, they saw that one of their videos was pirated and hosted on some new platform: YouTube. That gave them an idea: why not host all their videos there? It was free after all. Being at the right place at the right time, with the right kind of humor and the right kind of raw talent, Smosh was propelled to be one of the biggest YouTube channels there were. They even became the biggest one. However, with success also comes vultures, ready to take everything from you...

A company introduced themselves to Ian and Anthony and promised them the world: give Smosh to us, and you will only have to worry about making videos. We will take care of everything else. It sounded too good to be true. And sadly, it was. For even though at first, Ian and Anthony had more fun than ever, coming up with bigger and funnier videos than ever, they soon found out they were not in control anymore.

Anthony, who had always fought to stay in control of things; his family, his health, his whole life... it was very hard to see his creation being contorted and mutilated into something he didn't want it to be. And he grew to hate it. That hate spread everywhere, even towards his best friend, who kept trying to tell him "man, let's take the losses and be happy we have this job, we could have still been in Sacramento with nowhere to go."

But Anthony had had it.

"Ian, come with me, let's start a new channel, just the two of us."

"Anthony... I can't. It doesn't make any sense business wise. I know it's not ideal, but please, Anthony, stay?"

After years and years of putting his all into the company, Anthony couldn't do it anymore. He quit Smosh, and a shockwave went through the entire fandom that had built around it.

Smosh was still going. But you see, money and power got involved, and Ian and Anthony had lost sight of each other... they tried to hold on, you could see it clear as day, but they were ripped apart by the greed of the soulless company, which is a tautology, if you think about it.

Both guys were heartbroken. Still sneaking glances at each other, but not able to speak. Too much had happened between them.

And then the company went bankrupt and Smosh was in mortal danger. Ian, who had fought to keep the brand alive ever since Anthony left, fought as hard as he could to find someone to buy it, who wouldn't just sell it off for parts like an old car. Luckily, a YouTuber duo who knew Smosh from afar, stepped in and saved the day. Thanks to them and to Ian, Smosh survived. But was it really still Smosh? What was Smosh if it wasn't Ian and Anthony?

In the meantime, Anthony had rebooted his personal YouTube channel and through trial and error found success. Nothing like Smosh, of course, but impressive nonetheless.

Apart from each other, Ian and Anthony persevered. But they were still heartbroken and in need of something. That something was each other of course. And finally, years later, they met again. And they were both surprised. They had both healed and grown enough to see each other and talk freely, like adults. And they were surprised to see how well they still clicked.

It was like they were the same friends they had been all those years ago, but eve better. The slogan they had come up with all those years, finally rang true again, more than it had ever done. Friendship always wins.

And as they reconnected more and more, one faithful day, one of them said..

"what if we bought Smosh?"

And at that moment, their family was no longer broken, they were reunited and Anthony suddenly had a lot more 'kids' to take care of. But he was so happy, so happy to be with Ian again. He was finally fulfilled.

[melmoonbow]

Commission for a Sacramento event. However, this version is for the rights we continue to fight for: Native Rights and LGBT+ Rights.

"We were all wounded at wounded knee. You and me" - Redbone is 70's rock band consisting of Native American/Mexican Heritage members. Their song "We Were All Wounded at Wounded Knee" is still unfortunately true today. The Miwuk, and other displaced original american Natives continue to fight for Native rights and federal recognition today! Some of these requests are DECADES old, older than me.

AMERICA, WE WERE NEVER GREAT. UNTIL THE PEOPLE HAVE SOME SEMBLANCE OF THEIR HOMES BACK AND THE RIGHTS FOR ALL, AMERICA IS NOT GREAT. I am NOT proud to be an american, I see the struggles of the natives and my LGBT+ family TODAY. ENOUGH.

The rights of the LGBT+ are still being fought for today. Native people take back what is yours and LGBT+ people take back your rights as a person!! OUR TIME IS NOW.

This art was extremely special, as the pride flags are a direct representation of our local LGBT+ community here. We may fly united under the one gay flag 🏳️‍🌈 but other flags are just as important to our queer community as well. LGBT+ representation is important!!

Donate to MIWUK Federal Recognition and LGBT+ safe places for ALL: https://linktr.ee/melmoonbow

I see you, and I hear you. LGBT Flag Responses: https://tinyurl.com/mrxs75vn

[remembertheplunge]

Black Pears Journal

 Monday 10/25/2004 Just past 6am. still dark.Black Pearls Journal

Quotes from the National Best Seller “Black Pearls."

ANGER;  “ When you clench your fist, no one can put anything in your hand, nor can your hand pick up anything.' Alex Haley from “Roots”

On this day, I…..ponder existence, 

Monday’s true spelling is anger.  The heart stops at 9am. Denny and Margie here. Intense, Burt fun. They sleep.

Think I’ll take the afternoon off. Call in sick. Vacation.Day Off. Lu day. Day to detail. Note. Notice. Collect. Appreciate. feel. To be. Huge effort. To get. To here. Take the day off. Off. Off what? Off the hook? Off means “In”.   In. Joy. Meant. I like goofing off more than Money. From Alan Watts book.

End of entry

Note:

I’d seen a little squib on CNN the day before I wrote the above entry. I believe that it said most heart attacks in the USA are at 9am Monday or on Saturday. It also said that 20% of US workers call in sick  because they just don’t feel like working. I think it was 20%.

As you can see from above and from the photo of this page I will post after I post this entry, at 9:30am 10/25/2004, fellow attorney Gene Trimble called to tell me that Superior Court Judge Wray Ladine died of a heart attack in the court house earlier that morning!

When I interviewed for a DA job in Modesto in The Spring of 1984, Wray Ladine, then a Deputy District Attorney, was one of two Da’s to interview me. I had also applied to work at the Stanislaus County Public Defender’s office. The Da’s office didn’t hire me. But, thg Public Defender’s office did.

 Wray Ladine died in the courtt house 10/25/2004.  What I heard was, the weekend before his death, an ambulance had been called to judge Ladine’s  house, but, he sent it away. He only had one case on in his Department, Department 8 that morning. He wasn’t supposed to be in that day,

At around 8:20am, before the case was called at 8:30am, he was sitting in a chair outside of his chamber’s by the bailiff’s desk. A Deputy District Attorney, and a Female probation  officer were in the area. 

They heard the judge’s pencil drop. They turned to watch  him collapse to the floor, dead. The court house community was horrified. For me, Department 8 has never been the same. 

So, kind of uncanny that I wrote about Monday morning heart attacks at 6am that morning. 

At 5:03pm, I noted that the #2 story on KCRA 3 TV News out of Sacramento was about Judge Ladine “Died in his chambers” A judge from 2000-2004.

Margie and Denny were my partner Jim’s mother and older brother.

They lived in San Luis Obispo County, a 4 or 5 hour drive from our house in Modesto.

They left for home that day, October 25, 2004..

It was the last time that we saw Margie in person before her death in April 2005.

Black Pearls Journal was a journal book I bought at a yard sale. It had not been written in. Each page contained  a quote from the book Black Pearls and the prompt “On this day, I…” followed by a blank space for you to write your thoughts.

[deadpresidents]

Thoughts on the Super Tuesday results? Specifically any local races in California/Sac/LA?

Not really. Nothing really surprised me. I figured that Adam Schiff and Steve Garvey would be the two Senate candidates to proceed to the general election, and I'm pretty confident Schiff will beat Garvey in November.

I'm hoping that Kevin McCarty finds the right folks back home in Sacramento to help him run a good campaign for Mayor. He was around quite a bit during the early days of Obama first Presidential campaign when he was a young member of the City Council and he's been a great representative of Sacramento for a long time now. He's a true Sacramento native -- born and raised -- and I'd like to see him succeed Mayor Steinberg.

[filipfuckingtelford]

Aim for the head part 5

New part of Sons of Anarchy x The Walking Dead fic. Heroes have to deal with two threats now. What would happen to them? Will they succeed to save their shelter? Would everyone survive?

Feel free to comment and enjoy.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 6

_______________________

Next morning eight Mayans came to join the future battle. Alvarez and his VP decided to stay at their shelter just in case and to coordinate people. Clay and Bobby were busy with others discussing possible strategy and which position would be the best for everyone of them when the fight begins.

Those family members and residents of the shelter who were not supposed to fight left to the Mayans safe house and were instructed to leave with their people if something goes wrong. One of Sons would have to go warn them.

Meanwile the suicide sqad - Chibs, Tig, Jax, Juice, Happy and Y/N were in the chapel discussing details of their plan.

"So you want all of us to surround the horde and lead then some other direction?" Jax asked Chibs as they were all looking at the map.

"Yes. We need to make sure all the horde or at least the biggest amount of empties would turn to where we lead them, so at first we'll need everyone to help" Chibs nodded and pointed to the map "Here, I think we'll meet them on the border of Lodi and it would be the best to lead them to their right, towards Rio Vista. There are not many towns in the area and a lot of rivers. If we get lucky some of them will simply drown"

"Then when we make sure they are heading to Suisun City, we can speed up and drive all the way around to Dixon, Sacramento and then head back home" Y/N supported, tracing the rout on the map.

"Sound like a plan. But it's not that far and Chibs said we need six people to change each other" Tig frowned.

"It's not far if you drive with your usual speed" Happy smirked.

"True. But we need to move slow to make sure the hoard didn't loose tracks. It will take us about nine or ten hours to lead the horde away and then about three hours to come back home" Jax counted and nodded.

"So we first make sure that they are following, then two of us stay with the horde and the rest drive fast ahead and have rest before they see us comming. Then new pair will keep leading the horde as the rest four will speed up again. And so on untill we reach the bridge leading to Rio Vista. After we and what's more important the horde pass this bridge we all speed up straight ahead and then turn to Dixon here" Chibs set the marker on the map "This way empties will keep going straing forward and won't follow us anymore"

"We need to change each other every couple of hours I think" Juice suggested "It will take a lot of concentration to lead the horde"

No one protested. The only question was when to start.

"It depends on when the hord will pass Lodi" Clay said when everyone including Sons and Mayans gathered together to make every detail of the plan clear for each one of them "And on when the gang will find us"

"If something goes wrong with the hord at least one of us should go back here as soon as possible to tell the others. But if something goes wrong here, I don't know... We'll probably find out only when we come back" Chibs frowned. He couldn't imagine the whole situation and it made him feel insecure about the whole plan.

"There's no other option Chibs, you stay safe out there and get back here, probably we will need your help if the fight would be as bad as we expect" Clay nodded "Okay, that's enough I think. Let's send someone to check on the horde and the road to the south to see if the gang's already coming to decide if we have to start today"

"I'll go check on the horde" Chibs stood up.

"I'll go to the south then" Juice joined him and together they left the clubhouse.

Filip mounted on his bike and headed towards the road leading to Lodi. On the cliff he stopped and looked down to the valley where the swarm of emties were still moving slowly but inevitably towards Charming. They were in Lodi already and by the speed of them he could tell that in the morning of the next day the hord will be right where they needed. So his group should probably start their mission in the night.

He leaned against his bike and lit a cigarette, taking deep drags on it and having his time to stop and relax. It had to be done, no matter how crazy the plan was. And Chibs finally felt relaxed. No matter what happens, they all will do what they can to protect their home.

He finally flick his cigarette out and headed back home. Everyone was still in the chapel waiting for him and Juice to come back. Chibs was the first one but he only had time to tell everyone about the timing when they heard the roar of engine outside and Juice rushed in.

"They're coming!" He exclaimed as he entered the chapel "Four cars on their way, I think they will be here in about an hour guys"

"Let us begin then" Clay raised from his chair and looked around "Get ready for it brothers and God help us all"

As fast as they could Chibs, Tig, Jax, Juice, Happy and Y/N packed some food and water along with some ammunition to bags on their bikes.

Clay and Bobby came to say goodby just in case. As guys were hugging and shaking hands, Y/N wrapped her arms around Clay's neck and he kissed her forehead.

"Be carefull out there, baby" He said quietly, holding her tight.

"I will, daddy. And please be safe here" She replied and gave him a soft kiss on the cheek.

As Clay let her go, Chibs came up to her. He still couldn't believe she was goind to participate in any of the shit they had to deal with.

"Lass" He looked into her eyes not really sure what to say.

"I love you, Filip" She smiled gently "We'll be okay"

"I love you too, Y/N" Chibs whispered and mounted on his bike.

Others followed his lead, the gates opened and six bikes headed outside, leaving the rest to protect their shelter. As soon as they turned the corner they heard the engines of heavy cars approaching the clubhouse. Everyone knew what will follow.

The road to Lodi took them about twenty minutes. From the height of the hill they saw the horde moving in the valley and while for Chibs it was nothing new now the rest of the group was shocked by the view of it. Filip stopped not far away from the right turn they needed and took his helmet off.

"We probably need to wait a bit until the horde comes to the open place so we can surround them" He said as everyone unmounted.

The group sat on the ground on the side of the road and waited. Chibs took Y/N's hand discreetly and squeezed it gently relaxing a bit as he felt her touch.

"We didn't decide who would be first two and the rest teams" Jax said in awhile as he was looking right infront of him, smoking.

"Aye, Jackie Boy" Chibs noded and looked at his brothers "Me and Y/N would be the first one"

"Juicey, would you keep my company to be the second team?" Jax asked and Ortiz agreed.

"We would be the last two then" Tig smirked "I love teaming up with Hap"

"You're still sick bastard even if I'm around" Happy laughed.

They kept silence for awhile. No one knew how long they waited when Jax stood up.

"Okay lady and gentlmen, our cue" He said and put his helmet back on as the fisrt empties started leaving the city of Lodi.

Everyone was ready, they mounted on bikes and drove slowly towards the horde. Empties heard the roar of engines at once, they usual indifferent pace changed and they fastened willing to attack and kill any human being they met. But the group was ready. As soon as the horde was on the flat land Chibs and Y/N continued driving in front of it and others went on the sides surrounding empties from right and left.

"Come here rotten bastards!" Tig yelled excited yet terrified by the sight of so many zombies around.

"You try to come and get me!" Jax's voice from the other side of the crowd was heard.

Chibs pulled out the gun and made several shots in the air attracting even more attention to himself.

Slowly but steadily the hord started following trying to get them, but everyone was aware of the distance to keep in order to still draw bastards' attention and stay safe at the same time.

It took them about half an hour to get all the horde following and as it was done Tig, Happy, Jax and Juice sped up, leaving Y/N and Chibs alone with empties. Filip glanced at his lass to make sure she was okay. She was nervous of course, she didn't have as much experience with the bike as Sons and thus Chibs was the one to shout sometimes and shoot to keep the attention of zombies, Y/N needed to drive along his side just in case.

For the first hour everything was fine, but as the first beams of sunlight started warming up the air some noise was heard from the middle of the horde. Chibs looked back right on time to see the source for it. Several rotten creatures were moving their way faster than the rest of the horde. They looked just the same as the one which killed Miles at n9ers base.

"Christ" Chibs mumbled aiming. Happily the usual empties made it harder for their faster relatives to reach people and Filip could shoot them down before it was too late.

"What the hell?" Y/N tried to look around as well but she couldn't drive like that and had to watch the road.

"It's okay!" Chibs replied and took a bit to the left to see the horde from the side. He didn't notice any other odd activity though and got back on his track.

Two hours passed from the moment they started leading the horde and soon Chibs noticed his brothers on the distance. They saw him and Y/N as well and mounted on their bikes ready to switch places with the first team.

Juice and Jax took their places in the head of the horde while Tig, Happy and Y/N sped up.

"Be careful, brother" Filip said to Juice before he followed the others "I've seen three of those fast jumpers we met at niners. Watch the crowd"

"For fucks sake can we just have a bunch of normal empties" Juice pleaded and laughed "I got it, Chibby, thank you"

Chibs gave him small smile and headed forward to meet others ahead.

As he parked his bike next to other three Harleys and took his helmet and gloves off, Y/N looked at him confused.

"Why were you shooting? What did you see?" She asked worried.

"There were three creatures similar to the one from niners base" Chibs replied.

"Oh my god" Y/N pressed her palm to her lips shocked and Chibs couldn't stop himself from pulling her closer to himself to comfort her.

"It's okay love, I killed those" He whispered quietly not paying any attention to Tig and Happy looking at them with surprise.

"Why didn't they attack the moment they noticed us?" Happy finally broke the silence.

"I don't know, brother" Chibs shrugged still holding Y/N in his arms "I think it might to be the sunlight. They attacked right after the sunrise. The one that attacked Miles was very active and it was after noon. It's like they are inactive and sleepy in the night. Opposite to the usual ones who are more active when it's dark. It's just an idea though"

"Bad... That's fucking bad. We always thought we're in partial safety during the day" Tig exhaled heavily.

"Aye. But we never saw those new creatures before. They may be mutating or something" Chibs finally let Y/N go as she calmed down a little and took his flask out.

They were having rest for about two hours or so when they heard the engines and saw Jax and Juice riding slowly followed by the horde. Mounted they got ready to meet their friends and Tig with Hap were about to take their shift.

As the group approached Ortiz and Teller they saw that Juices' kutte was covered in some green goo on the back and the leather of it was melted a little.

"Be careful and watch out for everything unusual, guys" Jax stated leaving his post for Tig and Happy and drove faster followed by the others.

"What the fuck?" Chibs asked as they've stopped several miles away from the horde.

"New beast" Juice smirked with disgust and took his kutte off to clean it up and to make sure none of this liquid is on his skin.

"It was thin and tall, raising above others, slow though. We were trying to figure out what it was when it spit this green shit at Juicey" Jax explained "I shot it, but you see how this thing works. I hope it won't affect him"

"How many new species of those rottens are there, holly shit" Y/N shook her head and helped Juice to clean up, avoiding contact with the liquid.

"I hope we won't find any new ones" Chibs closed his eyes. He felt tired and stressed and god only knew what else they were about to face.

Next several hours were okay, they kept changing each others every now and then and nothing new happened, just the road ahead, the horde behind and the thoughts of what was going on back at TM shelter. Everyone was concerned about the outcome of the fight there.

The bridge leading to Rio Vista was not that far away but everyone was exhausted by this long drive. It was the end of Tig and Happy's second shift, Chibs and the others already saw them coming when something bad happened.

Out of nowhere the small crooked figure jumped out of the horde and landed on Happy's back, long disgusting fingers grabbing his head, scratching his skin, closing his eyes.

"Fuck!" Chibs yelled and jumped on his bike immediately rushing towards his brother as the rest of the group followed.

"I can't aim!" Tig shouted as this thing was squirming constantly and Tragger didn't dare to shoot as he could hurt Happy.

"I can't see anything" Happy breathed out hardly holding his harley in balance. "I'm gonna fall"

With the side vision Chibs noticed Y/N passing him and approaching Happy, holding the handlebar with one hand and her bowie knife with the other.

"Careful!" Chibs shouted, unable to help her.

The blade piereced through creature's head easily and it let go of Happy allowing him to regain balance. But Y/N herself lost control of her bike at this point and fell down. Her harley smashed againt the crowd of empties and she rolled down to the side of the road.

"Drive! Make them follow you!" Chibs yelled at his friends and turned towards Y/N as she was laying down on the ground and several empties were moving her way ready to grab and tear her apart. He couldn't let it happen. Speeding up towards her Filip shot several of them but the one was too close and it was dangerous to shoot. "Lass, I'm coming"

He didn't realize tears of fear were falling down his face. Chibs was there the very next second, grabbing Y/N's hand and pulled her onto his bike right before the empty could grab her.

"Jesus, Y/N!" Telford could hardly breath driving on the side of the road along the hoard but he finally returned to the road and sped up to catch up with the rest of the group.

"I had to help" Y/N was holding on him tight now sitting on the back of his bike "Harley was just too heavy for me"

"You could've died" Filip whispered. He couldn't stand this thought or say it out loud.

"Let's drive all together, it's not long" Jax suggested as Chibs was finally with them.

"Aye" He agreed not really able to argue or even think straight right now.

So all six of them kept driving slowly across the river and further untill they finally saw the road sign they agreed to be the point to speed up and go back home. The roar of their engines got louder and soon the horde was left behind as Sons turned to the right towards Dixon.

In about an hour they've stopped at the abandoned gas station. As soon as everyone unmounted Happy came up to Y/N and took her palms in his, pressing his lips against her skin. This gesture was so unexpected that everyone froze watching.

"Happy? Are you okay?" Y/N asked confused.

"Yeah. I owe you my life, girl. Thank you for saving my ass" Happy said and he really meant it. Then he let go of her hands and looked at Chibs "Sorry, brother. I won't ever touch your woman again"

Filip smirked and pulled Y/N closer to himself "It's fine Hap. And you!" He looked at her strict "Don't you ever dare to risk your life Y/N Y/L/N"

"I had to help, Filip! It was too dangerous to shoot!" She looked up at him, smiling gently "You saved me, I'm fine, don't worry"

Chibs leaned down to her and kissed her lips softly unable to stay away from her after he almost lost her.

"Oh... Wow" Juice who was the last one to find out about those two couldn't say anything more and made Tig and Happy laugh so hard.

They all needed some relief after all they've been through.

"At least we're all alive and safe" Jax stated after they had some rest and some snacks "Let's get back home"

Two more hours that seemed like eternity. Chibs was hardly keeping his eyes opened as they were riding back to Charming. It was so dark around since all the lights were off long ago and they could harly see the way but kept driving everyone willing to get back home and find out how it all went.

Familiar contours of Charming buildings could be finally seen in the dim light of their bikes and Sons were moving towards the TM shelter ready to join the fight if it was still on. But it ended. The gates of the safe house were opened, two of the recruits standing on guard while the yard was almost empty.

Parking his harley Chibs noticed several bodies covered with fabrics on the futher side of the territory and could only guess who it was.

"Everyone who survived are inside" one of the recruits notified closing the gates and sat on the ground to have some rest.

"Sheit" Chibs mumbled as he followed Y/N and Jax who rushed inside as soon as they could. Tig, Happy and Juice just laid on the ground unable to move just yet.

What he saw inside was bad. Gemma was sitting on the couch with Abel and Thomas and Clay was laying on the table in the chapel, Tara trying to help him.

"Daddy!" Y/N rushed towards the table to check on her father and help Tara who was now trying to stop the bleeding from the bullet hole.

"I'm okay, sweetheart" Clay whispered weak and smiled seeing her. Tara just let out a relieved sigh as soon as Jax appeared next to her.

"Thanks God" she exhaled and continued her work "Press here Y/N while I stich him up. You dad would be fine but he needs rest"

"Where's Bobby and Ratboy?" Chibs asked quietly as he landed on the couch next to Gem and boys.

Gemma shook her head grief on her face and Filip groaned hiding his face in his palms. He couldn't believe his brothers were gone.

"Chibs" Clay called from the chapell ten minutes later when he was stiched. He was sitting in his chair even though Tara protested. He needed to deal with what they've got here before he could have rest. Tara and Jax were holding each other in the corner of the room and Tig, Juice and Happy already took their places around the table. Tig couldn't hold back tears as he heard about Bobby and Ratboy, Juice was silent and pale and Happy's face was now a stone mask with no expression on it.

Filip took his place and immediately felt Y/N's palm on his shoulder as she stood behind him trying to ease his pain at least a little. He was grateful for that. He needed her around to feel anything but sorrow and anger.

"Tell me what happened, pres" Chibs asked.

"There were about forty of them. Their leader who you saw there at the base was a real prick. He knocked our gates as soon as you guys left and introduced himself. Negan he said. And he demanded lots of supplies to leave us alone" Clay caughed but stopped Tara from any comments as she was about to order him to go to bed.

"Christ" Chibs mumbled "So you turned him down?"

"Yeah. We had battle for several hours in a row and we fucking killed almost everyone. But Bobby didn't make it and Ratboy was bitten by one of many empties who entered the territory while we were fighting" Clay kept explaining what happened not looking at anyone "They finally left hardly having enough people to drive their cars but Negan promised he will come back and have more people with him. He will probably be here in the morning. So I've sent those three Mayans who survived along with one of our recruits to warn our people. Only Tara and Gemma came back here. All of our people left with Mayans including that recruit. And I can't blame them. We probably should leave as well before those people show up again"

No one could say a word. Sons never thought that in this crazy broken world the main threat would still be the other gang. And no one wanted to leave this place, no one had any idea about where to go. Yet there were probably no more options.

"We really have to leave" Y/N said finally "There are only eleven of us left so we need a car for mom, dad, Tara and boys your bikes and the van. Everyone who will drive should have at least couple of hours of sleep. And dad should have rest as well"

"Okay, baby. Who am I to argue" Clay let out a small laugh and stood up heavily. He headed to the dorm followed by Gemma who was the one to drive.

"Go, Filip. Have rest" Y/N squeezed Chibs' shoulder and he obeyed.

Soon Jax, Tig, Happy and Juice as long as one of the recruits named Tray left as well as they were also supposed to drive in the morning and Y/N, Tara and Gemma along with the last one of the recruits named Ashley started packing everything they could.

By the break of dawn everything was ready. The last thing they did before leaving was burying their people. Five bikes one car and the van left the clubhouse and the group headed to the East, Valley Springs being their first destination point. The Teller-Morrow shelter was left behind the whole area mined as a goodby surprise for the gang that was about to show up.

[thepastisalreadywritten]

In 1531, a "Lady from Heaven" appeared to Saint Juan Diego, a poor Indian from Tepeyac, a hill northwest of Mexico City.

She identified herself as the Mother of the True God and instructed him to have the bishop build a church on the site.

As a sign for the bishop, she left an image of herself imprinted miraculously on his tilma, a poor quality cactus-cloth.

The tilma should have deteriorated within 20 years but shows no sign of decay after over 470 years.

To this day, it defies all scientific explanations of its origin.

In the eyes of Our Lady of Guadalupe on the tilma, we can see reflected what was in front of her in 1531.

Her message of love and compassion, and her universal promise of help and protection to all mankind, as well as the story of the apparitions, are described in the "Nican Mopohua," a 16th-century document written in the native Nahuatl language.

There is reason to believe that at Tepeyac, Mary came in her glorified body.

Her actual physical hands rearranged the roses in Juan Diego’s tilma, which makes this apparition very special.

An incredible list of miracles, cures, and interventions are attributed to Our Lady of Guadalupe.

Each year, an estimated 10 million people visit her Basilica, making her Mexico City home the most popular Marian shrine in the world and the most visited Catholic church in the world after Saint Peter’s Basilica in the Vatican.

Science cannot explain the tilma to this day. There is no under sketch, no sizing, and no protective over-varnish on the image.

Microscopic examination revealed that there were no brush strokes.

The image seems to increase in size and change colors due to an unknown property of the surface and substance of which it is made.

According to Kodak of Mexico, the image is smooth and feels like a modern day photograph (produced 300 years before the invention of photography).

The image has consistently defied exact reproduction, whether by brush or camera.

Several images can be seen reflected in the eyes of the Virgin.

It is believed to be the images of Juan Diego, Bishop Juan de Zummaraga, Juan Gonzales-the interpreter, and others.

The distortion and place of the images are identical to what is produced in the normal eye, which is impossible to obtain on a flat surface.

The stars on Our Lady's Mantle coincide with the constellation in the sky on 12 December 1531.

All who have scientifically examined the image of Our Lady over the centuries confess that its properties are absolutely unique and so inexplicable in human terms that the image can only be supernatural.

Altogether, 24 popes have officially honored Our Lady of Guadalupe.

His Holiness Pope John Paul II visited her Sanctuary four times: on his first apostolic trip outside Rome as Pope in 1979, 1990, 1999, and 2002.

The Feast of Our Lady of Guadalupe is celebrated on December 12.

In 1999, Pope John Paul II, in his homily given during the Solemn Mass at the Basilica of Our Lady of Guadalupe, his third visit to the sanctuary, declared the date of December the 12th as a Liturgical Holy Day for the whole continent.

During the same visit, Pope John Paul II entrusted the cause of life to her loving protection and placed under her motherly care the innocent lives of children, especially those who are in danger of not being born.

Patronage: Americas, Central America, diocese of Colorado Springs Colorado, diocese of Corpus Christi Texas, diocese of Dodge City, Kansas, Estremadura Spain, diocese of Gallup New Mexico, Mexico, diocese of Nashville Tennessee, New Mexico, New World, diocese of Orange California, diocese of Phoenix Arizona, Puerto Vallarta, Mexico, diocese of Sacramento, California, diocese of Sioux City Iowa, Spain.

[myrfing]

i think if the world was ending most of us wouldnt start eating each other alive. some would and they’d probably get beat to death for it eventually. What I think would happen is that everyone will help each other go home. You’ll see so many hitchhikers and nobody will be like ummm it’s stupid to let a stranger into your car or to go into the car of a stranger. if they’re already home a lot of people would probably just do what they normally do but if you asked them for gas or if they had a spare pair of shoes they’d probably give it to you. suddenly air traffic controllers and train conductors feel like they have the last true job in the universe. and some guy who’s never talked to anybody will be like so your girlfriend is up in sacramento isn’t she well I’m going my way there. and he wasn’t even he just has the spare time

[daejahsfilmdiary]

Exploring the heart of Shmunty in Diary 001 📖✨ Gratitude echoes through her words: 'Music can bring people together, and I’m super grateful to witness that when I play.' Dive into the exclusive interview and mesmerizing photo set by Daejahsfilmdiary. #ShmuntyRevealed #Diary001 #MusicConnects

What inspired you to pursue a career as a disc jockey, and how did your journey begin?

S: Since I’ve been young I’ve always been surrounded by music, I think one thing that drew me in to Djing was just the fact I could control the vibe of the room and also just play whatever i wanted to. That alone inspired me a lot during the pandemic to just start trying it out as a hobby.

How do you approach the creative process when curating a set or producing music?

S: One thing I’m always doing is constantly listening to music whether it’s my current rotation or just new music. Whenever I curate a set I always take a step back and think of what’s currently not being played or what I don’t typically hear at events. But I also just try to have fun and experiment with different sounds.

Are there specific genres or artists that influence your work the most?

S: Lately I’ve been super interested in Bailè Funk and Jersey club, getting in to new genres is always inspiring and fun to me. As for influences I’m constantly surrounded by them , DJs like Shino Smoke, Casi , DJ keith , Ms.Organic , Solace Denim, the list goes on. Sacramento holds a home for amazing and inspiring DJs like them and I’m always grateful to learn so much from each of them.

How do you balance staying authentic to your style while adapting to changing trends in the music scene?

S: I think one thing I always try to do is to stay true to myself and not feel pressured into only doing trendy sounds, there’s too many DJs in the world to just stick to what’s trendy. And if anything I think keeping my same sound and style is just as unique.

What advice would you give to aspiring disc jockeys or individuals looking to enter the music industry?

S: My advice would be to just have fun. There’s still so much I need to learn in this industry personally but one thing that’s pretty consistent is to just enjoy what you’re doing.

Is there a particular message or emotion you aim to convey through your music, and how does it resonate with your audience?

S: My main goal with any set is to get people to dance and just feel good. One of the best feelings has got to be looking up and seeing everybody dance and have a great time. Music can bring people together and I’m super grateful to witness that when I play.

[carlessvalley]

μ's Case Studies - Sacramento, Calif. and needless segregation.

Segregation is often considered by Americans to be long gone in the Land of the Free.™ And although that may be true in the legal definition of racial and gender segregation (Until you want to pee, and then it's the 1960s again) there's still a specific case wherein segregation is alive and well, benefits nobody, and yet the abolition of which would be met with fierce opposition from the left and right wings alike. Urban Segregation.

Here's a map of downtown Sacramento with the caging highways that surround it.

Beyond what's already problematic about walling in your central business district (and still managing to fit in a lot of single-family zoning, somehow) I want to explore some of the most particularly terrible effects of the presence of these freeways, and even explore some alternative routes that would make these freeways less terribly useless than they currently are.

Case I - A children's museum

Yeah, you read correctly. A children's museum has gotten itself wrapped up in all this.

The MoSaC I believe it's called, has the following land uses surrounding it: A 10-lane freeway, 6 run-down motels, 2 gas stations, a parking lot as big as it is, and a waterfront park.

Only one of those is a good thing to have around a children's museum.

Here's a visual:

As you can see, the area is just so inviting, that i'd find it hard to just... stay home, instead.

Case II - An entire park

Southside and O'Niel parks are obviously supposed to be a single park spanning 10 blocks not too far from the state capitol building. However, the Business Loop of I-80 has cut it in half, leaving O'Niel park to just be a soccer field.

But worry not, the land taken from the park has been intelligently reused as...

...A surface parking lot, and a 3-lane one-way road.

The only people who must've thought this was a good idea have probably never used either park.

Case 2.5 - The car museum

I find it ironic how the literal Automobile Museum is incredibly difficult to access even by car.

The thing is entombed by the very machine it celebrates. Pure irony.

Case III - The primary tourist attraction and entire historic district.

Yeah... so when you're working with the tourist attraction designed around the part of town that still resembles the walkable cities of American past featuring a railroad museum, it's only natural that you'd make it impossible to walk to and separated from the city's intercity rail station.

That's right, we're talking about Old Sacramento.

Too many times have I parked in the horrid parking garage that rests below I-5 here. Too many times have I had to walk from Old Sacramento to the train station or actual downtown of the city.

This part of town has so much potential. It's right beside the state capitol, and features the walkable historic district, intercity train station, and massive arena all within this single screenshot.

There's also Chinatown... But I'm not sure how to feel about it being a block and a half.

And you may say, after visiting Sacramento, "What about the numerous crossings under the freeway that connect downtown and Old Sacramento?"

Allow me to share with you a few pictures:

These spaces do not feel safe to a pedestrian. They feel uninviting and claustrophobic. And if there's not a lot of foot traffic already, they can feel downright unsafe.

When you allow the view of your historic district to look like this:

You can't complain if the terrible pedestrian facilities you create aren't being utilized.

Now onto how they can fix this mess:

Highway 50 is a pretty simple fix: it doesn't even pass through downtown Sacramento, so you can just tear it down and instead have it end in Folsom.

Whether you have it lead into the premium outlets, or use the current exit on Folsom Boulevard, this is right about where the freeway starts becoming an issue.

I-80 Business Loop is also a very simple fix. I-80 itself already skirts downtown, so you really don't need the business loop to consist of a literal elevated freeay.

Just tear down the freeway infrastructure and have the business loop use local roads. You know, so people are encouraged to visit businesses.

I-5 is probably the one that would require the most adjustment. As you can see, the interstate makes a total dick move and goes out of its way to cit through Sacramento.

I propose that it just... goes around the city, like it appears to before making a breakneck turn in Woodland. What would that look like? Here's a visual if you need it.

I do probably have to clarify that this is a mockup that ignores any wetlands that might be along this stretch, but gets the important part: Downtown Sacramento really doesn't need to have three freeways cutting through it.

Especially the I-5 diversion would create an amazingly interconnected downtown. And if you pedestrianize the entire downtown core (demarcated by P street, 16th street, and G street) with a rail connection to the airport, you'd likely end up with a very prosperous and attractive downtown.