#woe Nancy and makes her fall for him more

[emily-mooon]

Cause Everybody Knows, He’s A Femme Fatale.

#femme fatale Jonathan is ✨babygirl✨ #this is their 6 pm date at the ritz where his sad boy charms combined with flirty shit he learned from his now dead lover (who he killed) #woe Nancy and makes her fall for him more #and yes he did walk in like that he’s a femme fatale he can do that #it’s the slutty slutty tuxedo o was talking about (took me a few minutes to figure how to make it that way but obviously I did) #*I #it’s slutty by standards of the 30s and 40s (he gave the finger to tux etiquette) #I would like to thank my beloved mutual Dearie (@musicalchaos07) for reblgging a post about the dynamic of a man who is a femme fatale #and a lady who is a film noir detective and putting jancy in the tags #this masterpiece would not exist without it so thanks again! #description is the chorus from femme fatale by The Velvet Underground (just changed her to him) #maybe I’ll draw all the characters in this au for my historical au week 👀 #stranger things #jonathan byers #nancy wheeler #jancy #film noir jancy au #sketch saturday

[bit-odd-innit]

I made a joke tag on this post about how Nancy is genre-aware and can feel the arbitrary love triangle closing in around her but then I thought about it for a millisecond too long and— Nancy can’t shake it: The muggy, suffocating pressure prickling along her skin and cottoning up her lungs. At first it’s easy to ignore. She’s been shaking off the relentless crush of pressure in one form or another for years. They are bigger things to focus on, bigger mysteries to solve. So when she catches Dustin watching her and Steve with what she can only describe as wist she’s confused, but she lets it slide. She thinks, not without guilt, they really only spend this kind of time together when the world is ending. Maybe he’s nostalgic. It’s sweet, in a twisted, broken sort of way. She resolves to make more of an effort when this is all over, but right now everyone needs to focus on what’s important— But then she’s walking through the woods and Robin is talking about rekindling old flames that should have never been snuffed out and it jars her into a stutter step. Because what? Where did that come from? Robin wasn’t there when there was a flame, paltry and dim though it was. Steve’s always been kinder to her than she deserved, so maybe his version of events gave Robin a false sense of their compatibility. Even so, why? And why bring it up now? She can’t parse it now, so she latches to the one thing that makes hope spark in her chest: Robin calls her a friend. Robin considers her a friend. And it’s been so long since someone has earnestly, sincerely called her a friend, she basks in the warmth of it and almost lets herself forget how strange— And then Steve is smiling at her so sweetly and his eyes are shining so brightly and he’s telling her about his dream, about six kids and a Winnebago and she knows she’s meant to be charmed by it all but instead she feels like she standing at the gallows with a noose flush to her throat. When they get a brief moment of calm, she takes Eddie aside. 

“Did you tell Steve we should get back together?” He grins, lopsided and smug. “No need to thank me, when it comes to matters of the heart I am but a humble messenger—” “Why?” “Why what?”  “Why do you think Steve and I should get back together?” Eddie blinks, his smile sliding off his face, and there’s a dull flicker of confusion in his big bright eyes, as if he just found himself caught somewhere he was not meant to be. But then it vanishes and he’s back to one, beaming and bombastic as he answers, “Isn’t it obvious?” “Explain it to me.” “I—” His tongue darts out to wet his lips and his gazes bounces across her features, scanning for the answer he thinks she wants. “Its...That’s what’s supposed to happen.”   “Eddie.” She doesn’t break eye contact, keeps her voice steady, encloses her hands around his trembling fingers.  “Dig deep. Why did you tell Steve we should get back together?” The color drains from his face, his eyebrows bowing in fear. “I don’t know,” he whispers. “I don’t know why I said that. I think...” His mouth falls open, working soundlessly, and he huffs out a shaky breath. “I think I wanted to say something else? But I don’t remember...I don’t remember what I, and then that came out instead, and I don’t know why I said it I don’t know why I said it Wheeler what the fuck?” “I know.”

“I’m wanted for murder I don’t care about your relationship woes! I didn’t even know you guys dated until after you broke up, and that was what? Two years ago?” “Almost three,” she says quietly.  “Wheeler what the fuck?! Is this...?” He drops his chin to his chest and waggles his hands in a faint circle. Because they are still connected, Nancy’s hands go along for the ride. “Is this him?” “No.” A righteous fury licks its way up from her belly, fanning out across her circulatory system. The muscles in her neck strain as she clenches her jaw. “No, this is something else.”

“What’re we gonna do?” “We’re going to fix it.” “How?” “I’m rewriting our plan,” she replies. And when she sets her shoulders and straightens her spine she feels the pressure that means to crush her push in.  And she pushes back.  “I’m rewriting all of it.”

#nancy: if the writers of my story will not give me agency then i will take it from them by force #what if the two characters who would be most familiar with story structure worked together to rewrite their own narratives ha ha what then #stranger things #nancy wheeler #eddie munson #steddie

[munson-blurbs]

hiii i've gone through your whole masterlist and i'm obsessed with your works <333 an idea popped into my head and i just know you'll be able to bring it to justice because you're so talented hehe would you be down to write a friends to lovers fic about grooms man!eddie x bridesmaid!reader, like maybe it's nancy and steve's wedding, and everyone in the party just teases them like "oh so are you guys gonna be the next ones to get married" just so they'll admit their feelings to each othee once and for all hahaha sorry if it's too specific! love you <333

Eep this was so fun!

Warnings: some angst, language

WC: 2.6k

Divider credit to @firefly-graphics

“There we go.” You gently weave the clip of Nancy’s veil into her hair, fluffing the tulle so it brushes her shoulders. “Nance, you look stunning.” Her curly hair is perfectly coiffed, falling in soft waves. Her dress is classic and elegant; an off-the-shoulder bodice with a full skirt. Even her makeup is perfect, with eyeshadow shimmering on her lids, lips painted a soft baby pink.

“Seriously,” Robin agrees as she hands the rest of the bridesmaids their bouquets. “Steve is gonna lose his mind when he sees you walk down that aisle.”

Max pipes up from behind her. “I’ve started taking bets on how long it’ll take him to start blubbering.” 

“Personally, I think it’ll be as soon as he hears the music,” Holly adds, smirking. This makes everyone giggle, and no one can disagree. 

Once the laughter dies down, Nancy beams, looking at her bridal party. “I can’t thank you girls enough for everything you’ve done to make this day so special.” Her voice breaks on the last word, and maid of honor Robin dashes over with a tissue.

“Don’t cry! You’ll smudge your makeup!” she warns, contorting her face at her own words. “God, I sound like such a priss!”

“Yeah, but you’re my priss,” Nancy teases, carefully dabbing at the corners of her eyes. She turns to you with a smile. “Y/N, could you go see if the guys are ready? I have this fear that one of them is gonna show up missing a tie or a shoe or something.”

“I’m also taking bets on that,” Max calls out. “My money’s on Mike.”

You take Nancy’s hand and give it a little squeeze. “No problem. I’ll make sure everyone is fully dressed.” 

She thanks you and pulls you in for a hug. “I’m so glad the gods of dorm assignments made us roommates,” she says as she lets you go. It seems like ages ago that you’d lugged your suitcases into the tiny dorm room your freshman year of college, greeted by the shy girl with big dreams of being a New York Times editor. The two of you had become fast friends, writing papers and cramming for exams together. After college, both of you had landed jobs at The Indianapolis Star, and the shared experience of being women in journalism had only brought you closer.

It had also brought you closer to Nancy’s friends from high school, many of whom were in the wedding party.

You rap on the door to the groom’s suite three times. “Is everyone decent?” you ask, pushing open the door slightly.

“10-4, we’re good to go!” Dustin’s voice calls back. He’s been taking his best man duties seriously–perhaps too seriously–since Steve first asked him to take on the role. You walk into the room and squeal with excitement at the guys in their tuxedos.

“You all look so handsome!” you gush. “Just wait until you see your bride, Steve. She looks even more beautiful than usual.”

Steve smiles, already blinking back tears. You’ll have to report back to Max that he didn’t even make it to the chapel before crying.

A clamoring comes from inside the restroom. “Stupid tie; won’t stay straight!” Eddie Munson grumbles, flinging open the door in frustration. “Does anyone here know how to–whoa.” He stops mid-sentence when he notices you in your lilac dress, accessory woes all but forgotten. 

“Need some help?” you offer politely, trying to calm your nerves at the prospect of being so close to him. Eddie just nods, and you pray that he doesn’t notice your trembling fingers as you adjust his tie. “There; now it’s perfect.”

“Thanks,” he mumbles. “You, um, you look really…wow.” He blushes as he trips over his words. He’d been shy around you ever since you’d moved to Indiana after college two years earlier, but he’s never been this tongue-tied. Probably just nervous about the wedding, you think, shrugging it off.

“Good wow, I hope,” you tease, finding yourself unable to make eye contact with him. His gray suit is fitted to his body and his usually unruly hair is pulled back into a low bun. If it wasn’t for the signature rings adorning his fingers, the D20 cufflinks, and the guitar pick necklace peeking out from under his shirt, you might not even recognize him.

“Y-yeah, of course!” He rushes, shoving his hands in his pockets. 

You blush at the compliment. “Well, you look very wow, yourself.” He looks more than wow; he’s downright gorgeous, but you can’t bring yourself to say it. Especially in front of a crowd.

“Okay, lovebirds, save it for your own wedding,” Dustin jeers with a roll of his eyes. “We gotta start lining up.” He reads out the pairs:Mike with Holly, Lucas with Max…and Eddie with you. 

You loop your arm through Eddie’s, waiting your turn to walk down the aisle. Steve and Dustin are already at the altar; the former has tears streaming down his cheeks, and Nancy hasn’t even started walking with her father yet.

“He’s such a mess,” Eddie whispers to you, making you laugh.

“Careful,” you warn jokingly, “you might be the same way at your wedding.” Your heart skips a beat when you imagine him in Steve’s spot; only instead of Nancy, you’re the bride.

You and Eddie part once you make your way to the front of the chapel; he takes his place next to Mike and you take yours alongside Holly. Everyone stands when Nancy enters, and you find yourself nearly as emotional as Steve. Her eyes are glued to her groom, and she can’t seem to stop smiling. 

Your gaze briefly shifts to the groomsmen, and you’re taken aback when you realize Eddie’s looking back at you. He notices the tears brimming in your eyes and quickly pokes his tongue between his lips to make you laugh. You mirror his action and he grins, looking down at the ground before he gets caught causing mischief. 

The ceremony is simple and sweet, with Nancy and Steve reading handwritten vows. After promising to love and cherish one another forever, the minister pronounces them husband and wife, and all the guests burst into applause. 

Steve places a deep, passionate kiss on his new wife’s lips, and the recessional starts. You hook your arm around Eddie’s once more and head to the cocktail hour. 

Nancy grabs you as soon as you enter the sunlit room. “Can you help me with my bustle?” she asks sheepishly. “This dress feels like it weighs a hundred pounds!”

You nod emphatically, ignoring your growling stomach. You really worked up an appetite being a bridesmaid. “Of course, Mrs. Harrington,” you say with a smile. 

You’re kneeling on the ground of the bridal suite, determined to hook the loop around the buttons dotting the back of Nancy’s dress, when you hear a knock on the door.

“Special delivery!” Eddie’s voice alone makes you blush. Nancy, always astute, catches your pink cheeks in the mirror and makes kissy faces. You swat at her playfully.

“Come in, we’re decent!” you call back, and he enters with a plate of hors d'oeuvres. 

He extends the plate out between the two of you. “Figured you ladies might be hungry,” he says. Nancy grabs a mini quiche, but you don’t want to get grease on your hands while touching her pristine white dress.

“You can just leave the plate there,” you tell him politely, jutting your head toward a nearby table. “I’ll have some when I’m done with this.”

Eddie shakes his head. “Nuh-uh. Max told me you’ve barely eaten anything all day, and I’m not waiting for you to faint. Really cuts into our dancing time if you’re unconscious, y’know?” He pinches a mushroom cap between two fingers and motions to your mouth. “How’s it?”

“Delicious,” you report. “Hit me with another.”

He laughs and obliges. This time, his fingers gently graze your lips, and you have to stop yourself from visibly shivering. 

“Thank you,” you say softly, retreating into yourself after the accidentally intimate moment. 

“Not a problem,” Eddie replies, unfazed by the ordeal. “Anything else I can help with?”

“I think we’re good here!” You finish fastening the bustle triumphantly, and Nancy breathes a sigh of relief now that she no longer has to drag the long train.

Eddie nods and steals a bacon-wrapped scallop from the plate. “I’ll see you two out there, then,” he says, but he’s only looking at you.

With Eddie safely on the other side of the door, Nancy looks at you with her arms folded across her bodice. “Now do you believe us when we say he’s in love with you?”

You bark out a laugh. “Because he brought a plate of food? It was for you, too. Is he also harboring a secret crush on you?”

“He didn’t feed it to me,” she shrugs, giving a knowing smirk. “And he didn’t mention dancing with me, either. Only you. And the way he looks at you? Come on, Y/N.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you mutter. “Let’s just get you to your husband.” You can’t let yourself develop stronger feelings towards Eddie. You’ve been through this before–everyone convinces you that a guy likes you, you let yourself get attached, and then your heart gets broken when he inevitably starts dating someone else or says he only sees you as a friend. No, that can’t happen again.

The band plays song after song as you and your friends dance the night away. Robin, four shots of tequila deep, starts a conga line to Whitney Houston’s “I Wanna Dance with Somebody.” Between the endless barrage of photo taking and the sheer happiness radiating through you, your cheeks hurt from smiling.

Eddie’s among the group of you on the dance floor, laughing and moving along to the beat. This is probably what he meant by ‘our dancing time,’ you think; to your dismay, you’re disappointed by this realization. You could, in theory, ask him to dance to a slow song–it is 1992, after all–but you can’t stomach the idea of him rejecting you. Or worse–taking pity on you.

“Having fun?” Max shouts over the music, and you give her a thumbs-up. “How about you?” she asks Eddie, who’s sulking now that the band is playing some overdone Madonna song.

“Would be better if we could get these guys to do some Metallica or Black Sabbath,” he jokes, although you suspect there’s some truth to his statement.

Max rolls her eyes and says, “Don’t worry; you can have a metal band play when you and Y/N get married.” Your eyes widen at her brazenness, and you try your best to be inconspicuous as you shuffle back to your seat.

“Y/N!” Max calls after you. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to embarrass you.” Her cheeks are flushed, though it may be from the drinking and dancing.

“‘S not just that,” you mumble, slumping into your seat. “Sure, it’s embarrassing; but it’s also…I don’t wanna get my hopes up.”

“Get your hopes up?”

“Yeah, get my hopes up that…that he feels the same way about me.” You feel your voice warble, and you take a deep breath to quell your emotions.

“Are you kidding?” Max asks incredulously. “Eddie is pathetically obsessed with you; it’s so obvious.”

“Then why hasn’t he asked me out? We’ve known each other for two years, Max. Two years. And he can make me feel like the most special person in the world, but he never makes a move.”

Max is uncharacteristically quiet for a moment, chewing on a painted fingernail. “You didn’t know Eddie back in high school,” she starts, “but he’s basically spent his entire life being rejected, especially by girls.” She sits down next to you and rests her palm on your knee. “He asked this one girl to prom–a cheerleader–because he thought she was into him. And maybe she was, I don’t know. But her ex-boyfriend ‘won her back’ the day before they were supposed to go together, and she left Eddie in the dust.”

“That’s…that’s terrible,” you manage, a bitter taste settling on your tongue. “I had no idea…”

“He’s told us a hundred times that he wants to ask you out. He has all these plans: dinner and a movie, or a concert; one time, he even thought of taking you to a cooking class because you mentioned how you went to one in college and really liked it.” She snorts at the idea of Eddie using a stove without burning the place to the ground. “But every time, he second guesses himself and chickens out. And every time, we give him shit for it.”

“So what do I do?” You gnaw at your bottom lip anxiously, looking at her through your lashes. 

Max pauses, considering her options. “Wait here,” she says finally, bolting from the table and making a beeline to Lucas and Dustin. She whispers something to them, and they nod in unison. You watch as Dustin sprints outside, where Eddie is smoking a cigarette. Lucas talks to the band, who is in between songs. They’re nodding their heads and discussing something, and Lucas looks satisfied when he hops down from the stage.

Your pout softens when you hear the opening notes of “Nothing Else Matters” by Metallica. You glance over at Eddie, who is making his way towards you with a shy smile on his face. When he gets to your seat, he extends his hand.

“Can I have this dance?” he asks. You can see in his eyes that he’s nervous, maybe even more so than you.

“Of course you can,” you reply, taking his hand and joining him on the dance floor. You drape your left hand over his shoulder and his places his on your waist as the two of you sway to the music.

“It’s come to my attention that I’m an idiot,” he hums in your ear. “And that there’s someone really, really important to me that I’ve been hurting, and I didn’t even know it.”

You shake your head, hair tickling his face. “‘S not your fault,” you tell him. “I could’ve said something, too.”

“That is very true,” he teases, twirling you gently. “Maybe we can be idiots together?”

“I’d think we’d better, considering everyone’s already started planning our wedding,” you joke back. “Although I’d prefer to start with a date.”

Eddie holds you closer, pressing a light kiss to your nose. “I think that can be arranged.”

The two of you dance in comfortable silence, just holding one another. You rest your head on his chest, breathing in the scent of musky cologne and cigarettes. You feel so safe, so loved, with his strong hand holding the small of your back. “Hey, Eddie?” you murmur.

“Mhm?”

You shift your body slightly so you can look at him. His dark brown eyes are focused on you and you alone. He runs his tongue along his lower lip, and his jaw twitches slightly with nerves.

With all of the courage you can muster, you lean in and kiss him, wrapping your arms around his neck. He pulls you impossibly closer, resting a hand on your cheek and caressing it with his thumb.

“Can’t believe I waited this long to do that,” he muses. “I really am an idiot.”

“I don’t know what’s more unbelievable: Eddie Munson kissing me, or Eddie Munson in a tux.” You laugh and kiss him again.

“Well, you’d better get used to the first one,” he says with a smirk. “But the second one isn’t happening again until our wedding.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #eddie x you #eddie x reader #eddie stranger things #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #fanfic #eddie munson stranger things #stranger things #requests

[hypocriticaltypwriter]

WOE! MARY MERRILL THOUGHTS UPONE YE!!!

I'm obsessed with the thought that Ace gets very dysphoric sometimes. Like, he can't be Mary sometimes, no matter how hard he wants to be Mary, and so it causes him a lot of problems and he'll lash out about them somtimes.

Prime examples: Prom, Dances, Birthdays, holidays, literary anything involving girls in dresses and him being jealous...

So with that, I offer...

Ace, seeing Nancy in this truly beautiful dress. She's just... gorgeous. The star of the show, and stealing the spotlight almost as the Cobra kings, queen.

He hates it. Why can't that be him? Why can't he be in a beautiful dress? Why can't he be the spotlight with her? Why can't he be the pretty girl?

Why cant he be Mary? Why does Mary have to stay locked away in the bedroom closet and in his chest beating at his heart to let him out and makes him choke down his entry and jealous rage as he hiffs about the evening and drinks. And drinks, and smokes, man is doing everything to ignore everyone and stay outside as much as possible.

"Ace! Oh thank you so much for inviting me, i-its eal nice of you..."

"Go away Nancy..."

"...what? You..said yesterday you wanted to-"

"I said beat it! I'm fucking fed up with you and every girl here prancing about like you own the place and are these pretty little stars of a ball!!!!!"

He shoves her away, she topples and falls and he relizes he did that. He didn't mean to honestly, he's just angry and more angry at everything else than he is her.

"Nancy...na-Nancy wait, wait! Hey Nancy i-i didn't!! NANCY!!!" But Nancy is looking gone, going home and he's left kicking everyone out an hour later and is left alone crying not having fun.

Sooo...like waay later, he's all drunk, like absoutly hammered, and is outside Nancy's house just, yelling for her. (Very much waking the whole house)

"NAAAAAAANCYYYY!! NAANCCYYY!! NAAANCY!!! NAAANCY AAAAAAANNNN SUUULLLIIIVAAAAAN!!! NAAAANCYY!!!"

"What do you want with Nancy-"

"I-i need to talk with her! I need! I need to! I ne-"

"Fuck off and go home Ace!"

"NANCY WOULD YOU STILL LOVE ME IF I WERE A GIRL!? A FRILLY DAME!? NAANCY WOULD YOU LOVE ME IF I WERE MARY!? NANCY!!!!!"

"Nancy what the fuck is that blond on about...."

"Bradley shh, I'll see him..."

"Naaancy!! Naance! Oh baby!! Would you like to know somthing?"

"What ace.."

"You looks so beautiful at the party, I've never seen a more beautiful girl! Oh your soooo fuckkinn!! Gorrgous~ i-i-i just your dress, and everything made me so upset, I'm sorry I pushed you!!! I just wanna be a pretty girl too!"

"...Ace your drunk-"

"Would you love me if I were Mary!?"

"...yes Ace now come inside.."

"Yaaaay!!!💕💕💕💕💕💕💕"

Just her dragging Ace inside, shushibg her brothers and asking for help since the man is obviously incapable of...doing much of anything, he's giggling about how pretty her dress was and how pretty she is, and when he wakes up the next day he's hung over, embarrassed and terrfied to leave the room while Nancy just giggles and talks with him softly.

"I'm so sorry it...I'm sorry."

"Ohh...well my brothers like Mary."

"Yeah and they hate me, and I'd be weird-"

"Ohh shush, they won't care really relax...Mary💕"

"Awe...thank you...Nancy 💕"

Acw is like those very giggly happy drunk girls and soooo inlove with Nancy and so upset he got mad over some clothes but also it's the whole, "Would you love me if I were a worm?" But it's, "Would you love me if I were a girl? Somtimes??"

DRUNK ACE/MARY BEING ALL GIGGLY AND SWEET MAKES ME WANT TO PROTECT THEM AND BEAT UP ANYONE TRYNNA HURT THEM

I can totally see this happening! As sad as it is, I feel bad for Ace that he's still feeling so bottled up with Mary and dysphoric, it breaks my heart.. And the fact the 50s were super hyper feminine/woman being very dolled up and he all he could do was just standing there and watch them all, especially Nancy who's always following him around- of course he's gonna snap with all that built up!

But I love how it would play out in the end- Nancy doesn't need an apology cause she knows it wasn't anything intentional and she would love him, and when she's Mary. 🩷

#cherry rambles #cherry answers #ask #stand by me #stand by me 1986

[munsonsduchess]

Calling all Monsters

summary: steve needs a favour and eddie has just the car to pull it off w/c: 2,487 warnings: mentions of drugs, swearing, mentions of underage drinking a/n: there was no way i was forgetting these two when it came to halloween, i had initially planned something else out but then this wonderful fic got published and i couldn't not tie everything in, you should 110% read that fic it’s amazing and @pillow-titties is incredible

if you like this fic why not consider reblogging it so others can enjoy it too?

this is part seven of the god and goddess of hellfire, the rest can be found on my masterlist

(moodboard by me)

You'd been having what could quite honestly be described as a morning from hell. Eddie had gone to work early that morning which was fine, he worked some Saturday's now they'd let him do more as a tattoo apprentice than clean up the other guys stations or go for coffee. 

No the morning from hell was all thanks to one Rosemary Munson who had apparently taken such offense to her breakfast that it had ended up on the walls, the floor, the counter tops, really anywhere oatmeal could land when thrown around by a cranky one and half year old,

"Rose you're killing me baby, please can you just try the oatmeal? I promise it isn't gonna bite you" you'd tried just about everything and were indeed very close to wondering how you were going to blackmail or bribe your daughter into eating her breakfast when the door rang.

Scooping up Rose so she didn't cause any more mayhem in your kitchen you answered the door and were incredibly relieved to find out that it wasn't someone who wanted to make another noise complaint about you and Eddie but instead Steve Harrington,

"Sorry, was this a bad time?" 

"No worse than any other, come in" you stood aside to let the younger man into the house, "just be careful, there's oatmeal everywhere" 

Steve gave you a sympathetic smile, there was probably oatmeal in your hair too come to think of it. 

"You guys are going through it huh?" Steve asked, 

"We've been in our feelings all morning and those feelings revolve explicitly around oatmeal, which I'd like to point out we had no problems with yesterday" you sighed, "but how can we help you Steve. I'm sure you're not here to listen to my woes"

You gestured Steve into the living room which was significantly cleaner than the kitchen, less chance of anything falling on him or getting stuck in that otherwise perfect hair,

"Uh yeah I was gonna ask Eddie a favour" Steve started, "is he here?" 

"Nope he's at work today. They're actually letting him tattoo some oranges these days" you laughed, "but I'm sure he'll say yes to whatever it is" 

"Yeah but if you guys have your hands full with Rose it's fine" 

"It'll be fine, either Eddie can do whatever it is by himself or i'll ask Joyce if she can babysit, I'd ask my mom but she and my dad are in … Palo Alto I think. My dad got one of those RVs when he retired and they've been touring the country loving life" 

"Well actually that kinda ties into what I was gonna ask. Apparently there's some Halloween party the kids got invited to and they need a ride. Joyce is working, Nancy's mom is taking Holly trick or treating and Hop's on duty. Joyce said she could pick them up and they're all gonna stay in that new place they got downtown but yeah"

"Don't they usually ask you for rides?" you asked, there was hardly an event that took place where the gaggle of teens didn't ask or rather just assume Steve would be their ride,

"Yeah but uh I've got plans with Nicole" Steve explained, his ears going pink as he rubbed the back of his neck,

"Aw Stevie, do you feel embarrassed about your Halloween plans?" you teased, "are you doing something naughty?" 

"It's not like that!" Steve jumped to explain himself, "we were just gonna watch a movie" 

"I'm pretty sure Eddie and I were 'just gonna watch a movie' and then nine months later - "you bounced Rose on your lap for good measure.

Steve was pink from head to toe as he stammered out a response but you finally took pity on the poor boy, "I'm joking Steve, of course we'll drive the rugrats around" 

"Really? You guys didn't have plans?" 

"Well if nobody can babysit then nah we don't have any plans. We'll take them to the party, but a couple of them are gonna have to squeeze in, the Impala isn't big enough for eight exactly so Wheeler can just sit in the trunk" 

It wasn't as though you had anything against Mike Wheeler exactly but there was something about the boy that just rubbed you the wrong way. He was a snarky little asshole but then so was Max and you adored her. 

"I'm sure he'll be fine" Steve and Mike had their own rift, mostly because Steve had dated Nancy back in the day when all this Upside Down Nonsense had first started, "do you need any help when I'm here? It's fall break so I've got time" 

"Are you offering because you feel guilty for coming by mid tantrum?" you grinned, "because as you can see Miss Rose has very much stopped once you arrived" 

"You're here alone and oatmeal is a bitch to get out of anything once it dries" Steve said, his ears going pink again at your teasing, 

"Well if that's the case, why don't you take Rose to the bath and I'll clean up the kitchen. If you do a good job I'll even let you have a brownie to take home. I made them yesterday" 

"Uh thanks? I didn't know you baked" Steve furrowed his brow, you'd never been the domestic type so this was surprising,

"They're fun brownies Steve. Who do you think you're talking to?" 

"Yeah that makes more sense. Thought I was in the twilight zone for a second"

"You're hilarious. Now go wash my daughter, she's gross and I need five minutes of alone time" 

»»————-　♔　————-««

When Eddie came home that evening you recounted Steve's visit and how you'd agreed to take the kids to the halloween party,

"They can all just squash together in the backseat or I can shove Mike into the trunk" 

"What about Halloween in Indy? I thought we were gonna go?" 

"Unless you wanna bring Rose or try and find a babysitter in this town it's not happening babe" 

"But I thought you were asking Joyce?" 

"She's working, I mean we could ask Wayne but would he be able to get the night off at this short notice?" 

"Nah probably not" Eddie sighed, "oh well, it looks like we're the responsible people"

"God did you ever think it would be us?" you laughed, "married with a baby and being asked to be the responsible adults on Halloween?" 

"Never. I mean how responsible are we really?" Eddie laughed leaning in to blow a raspberry on Rose's cheek, "I mean we've got our happy little accident right here" 

"Eddie! You can't call her an accident!" you swatted his arm, "you'll give her a complex!" 

"Awh but she's my favourite little accident!" Eddie cooed, lifting a giggling Rose from your arms, "aren't cha sweetie?" 

"Edward Munson, what did I literally just say?" 

Eddie just laughed and bounced Rose around the kitchen singing something nonsensical to her. You sighed, what were you gonna do with this man?

»»————-　♔　————-««

In preparation for being the designated responsible adults for the evening you'd gone by Melvad's to see Joyce about taking the kids home again and to get a little costume for Rose,

"If you can't get away Eddie and Me are more than happy to pick them back up" you'd said as she rang you through, and used her employee discount for your items no matter how many times you told her she shouldn't,

"Don't worry honey, I finish up here around nine so I'll be fine to pick them up. Will and El won't stop talking about the party, they're so excited" 

"That's so sweet. I mean I know they're sixteen and all but it's kind of adorable that they're this excited for a high school party" 

"I used to be so worried about Will, that he would have a hard time at school but I'm so glad he has such good friends you know?" 

You nodded. You knew Eddie had all but taken Will under his wing when the Hopper Byers family had returned to Hawkins after Vecna and the earthquake. The young boy had orchestrated an entire D&D game to keep Eddie occupied in the hospital while he was recovering and you knew for sure Eddie saw himself in the younger Byers.

You bid goodbye to Joyce and promised to call by the house with Rose another day so she could see how her granddaughter was growing. Joyce had unofficially adopted Eddie when she'd returned to town and met him for the first time and Wayne seemed more than happy with the arrangement. 

»»————-　♔　————-««

The night of the party you had dressed Rose up in the little pumpkin costume you'd gotten for her, you'd been expecting another fit like the oatmeal but surprisingly she was more than excited to wear her costume. Probably helped by how much Eddie had hyped her up for wearing it the days prior. 

While you and Eddie weren't going to the Halloween event in the city you'd been planning you still wore your costumes albeit slightly modified. Eddie had still donned the puffy sleeved shirt and plastic fangs and you'd still worn yours but had decided to forego the wig that you'd bought and just wear your own hair down and your longest black dress. 

Max was first to be picked up since she and her Mom had moved out of the trailer park shortly after you and Eddie had and into another of the empty houses left abandoned by people who'd given up on Hawkins once and for all.

She slid into the front seat next to you and Rose and made a fuss over the baby in her pumpkin costume,

"You guys make really cool vampires" she'd said, "Sorry you're missing your grown up halloween or whatever because Steve wants to bang his girlfriend" 

"Well he does most of the running around after you little shits so he's allowed to want a night off to bang his girlfriend" you'd replied easily, "moms need time off too" 

The boys had decided on a group costume but El and Max weren't participating and were doing something of their own which you expected would make more sense when you picked El up. 

After Max you picked up Dustin who complained loudly about how Max got to sit in the front and next to Rose,

"It's because I'm the favourite Dusty Bun" Max shot back, "too bad, sucks to be you"

"Hey! That's not fair! I'm Eddie's favourite right?" Dustin looked at Eddie who opened his mouth but shut it again with an audible click, "betrayal! I can't believe this! I better still be Steve's favorite!"

"Oh that's a given" you laughed, "you're always gonna be his favourite child" 

Dustin seemed placated by this and settled back in his seat, for all of five minutes before he began to complain about the music and wanting to see his sister better. 

After picking up Dustin you swung by Lucas' and the group costume slowly came together. Of course these little nerds would choose Star Wars, you didn't even know why you were surprised. 

After Lucas it was Mike who was as snarky as ever and wouldn't stop complaining about Steve bailing on them which you shut down very quickly. Using the same argument you'd used with Max that Steve was entitled to one night off from being the personal chauffeur to a group of nerdy teenagers.

You finally swung by the Byers' place last. Jonathan waved from the front door as El and Will came running out, you figured he probably couldn't drive anywhere cause Joyce needed the car and envied his night alone just a little,

"Alright, Lucas, Mike you're gonna have to budge up to let the Wonder Twins in. Anyone complains they're sitting in the trunk!"

"Why are you giving orders? This isn't even your car!" Mike shot back,

"Careful Young Wheeler" Eddie chastised, "you might be in the throes of puberty and in thrall to your hormones but you will always address Lady Munson with respect" 

"Whatever" he pouted before making sure there was indeed enough room for El and WIll. When you turned around to get a good look at El you couldn't help but laugh, in her white blouse and blue jeans no one would know what she was supposed to be dressed as but the slash in the sleeve of her blouse and the fake blood pouring down her arm paired with the overalls Max was wearing and no doubt the infamous Michael Meyers mask she had stuffed somewhere would inform everyone what their costume was supposed to be.

You loved these kids. 

»»————-　♔　————-««

When you and Eddie reached the house the party was held in it seemed as though the festivities were in full swing and the kids were clambering over each other to get out of the car,

"Hey!" Eddie yelled out the driver's side window, "Ground rules! If you drink do not lose sight of your cup, if you can't be sure if you set your drink down then forget it that's not your drink anymore, stick together, watch out for each other and if anyone offers you anything - " 

"Just say no" the kids chorused as one, probably having it shoved down their throats at school. Thanks Nancy Reagan,

"Yeah because it's probably substandard product and you don't know where they got it from since Rick doesn't sell to teeangers anymore and Eddie doesn't sell at all" you added, "now go on, get" 

The kids didn't need telling twice and they all ran for the house, the music blaring out of the sound system someone's parents probably paid a fortune for. As you and Eddie made the drive back home you couldn't help but wonder, 

"Do you miss it?" 

"Miss what?" 

"Going to parties, being the guy with the good supply, making more money in an hour than you do in eight at the studio?" 

Eddie thought about it for a minute. It was a dangerous way to earn a living and he'd been cautioned more times than he probably should have been by Hopper, probably because the older man knew Wayne and Eddie's old man and wanted Eddie to at least have a shot at a decent life, but at the same time he was the man of the hour and that was it. Come Monday morning back at school he was Eddie "the freak" again, shoved into lockers by the basketball team, berated by the football team, scorned by cheerleaders and well everyone else by proxy,

"Nah. Why would I miss that when I've got all I want right here?" he smiled broadly, his nose scrunching up and leaving a little crease in the middle,

"Sap" you laughed reaching over to kiss him briefly before he had to turn his eyes back to the road,

"You love me" 

"You're lucky I do" 

"Don't I know it?"

Taglist: @shenanigans-and-imagines @jobean12-blog @eddiesmutson @prettyboyeddiemunson @hellfireeddie6 @that-lame-ghoul9000 @xbreezymeadowsx @ches-86 @flashyourgreeneyesatme @anxiousstark @ruinedbythehobbit @winnifredburkleismyhero @boomhauer @eddiemvnsonss

If you’d like to be added/removed from the taglist please let me know!

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #stranger things #stranger things x reader #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fluff #duchess writes #duchess.txt #the god and goddess of hellfire 🔥

[simslegacy5083]

NSB (Straud Legacy) Gen 8 Ep. 136: The Last Straw

Jack’s recent successful case and the work on his skills he’d done while waiting for Peachy’s surgery date to arrive earned him his next promotion.

The newly minted government agent was quite excited about his upcoming performance review. Finally being recognized for his hard work would put to rest the fear of failure and feelings of unworthiness that had plagued him since he’d been kicked out of the precinct.

---------------------------------------------

Unfortunately, the work he was so proud of still seemed to fall far short of Sienna’s expectations.

First, she took exception to the way he’d passed off one of his recent cases to another agent, instead of handling it himself. As for the ex-national leaders’ investigation… the trail of injuries, fiery explosions, and dead bodies he’d left in his wake was not the way responsible S.I.M.S. agents did business!

---------------------------------------------

As Jack sat there listening to his success taking down an elusive criminal mastermind being recast as a failure of good judgement, it became clear to him that he was done. He had things in his life now that were a lot more important than a job that didn’t appreciate him.

He resisted the impulse to give Sienna the middle finger and quit on the spot. Resolving to talk to Peachy that night and plan a graceful exit strategy, he turned the conversation to the status of the project he’d been so suspiciously removed from: overseeing the spying on his homeland.

As soon as he brought it up, his supervisor dodged the topic. She claimed that wasn’t her call, and suddenly she needed to prepare for her next meeting.

---------------------------------------------

When Jack got home that night, he sat down at a table full of Peachy’s spicy tacos and caring parents to launch into his tale of work a day woes.

Jack told them everything that had happened and lamented that it just didn’t seem worth it anymore. He hated the idea of forfeiting his pension so close to retirement, and of course there was the intel he was gathering on Nancy to consider, but those things no longer felt like enough of a reason to stay.

He didn’t think he could keep working for S.I.M.S., and missing out on Luigi’s infant days, when apparently nothing he did was good enough.

---------------------------------------------

Steven could definitely sympathize with getting punished by a corporation for doing the right thing, and he thought Jack should feel free to quit.

He was sure Jack and Peachy could resolve the Nancy situation using their other resources and the intel Jack had already gathered. As for losing his pension, Steven assured Jack that no descendant of team farm needed to make Simoleons the deciding factor in important life decisions.

In his long life Steven had learned that family, be it the one you were born into or the one you chose for yourself, was the most important thing. Jack should do what felt right for him and the Sims he loved, even if that meant leaving his career early.

Jack thanked Steven for the advice and the offer of financial support, though he assured him that he didn’t think that would be necessary. He was glad to have him and Gabby there helping out and providing another positive influence in his son’s life.

---------------------------------------------

That night after they got Luigi to sleep Peachy and Jack settled down in the living room to finalize Jack’s plan to leave the spy business for good.

They were both very aware that Jack’s elder birthday was right around the corner, and he was sure now that all he wanted to do was spend every precious minute he had left with his little boy.

Peachy just barely managed to refrain from reminding his husband that his elder birthday didn’t have to be coming up quite so quickly. Instead, he had Jack pull up his HR paperwork and a calendar. He had quite a bit of PTO saved up and his promotion had given him even more.

If Jack worked up until their Komorebi trip he would have enough time off to see him through his birthday celebration. Starting then he could take an extended vacation, “working” right into retirement without ever actually working another day, and collect his pension as planned.

---------------------------------------------

Peachy reminded his ambitious husband that if he decided to hold out, he shouldn’t hesitate to take it easy at the office the next few days… the worst that could happen is they’d fire him, and he was essentially planning to quit anyway!

Jack reasoned that their trip to the mountains was coming up soon. He was sure he could manage to do the bare minimum until then. He also figured that if he went back to the office, he could try one more time to talk to Sienna about putting an end to S.I.M.S continued spying.

If she refused to listen, then Jack knew it would be time to make that phone call he’d been putting off. For now, he gave his spouse a quick kiss before heading up to bed. For just a little while longer he still need to be well rested for work in the morning!

-----------------------------------------

Want To See More? View The Full Story of My Not So Berry Challenge Here

#sims 4 #sims 4 challenge #sims 4 legacy #sims 4 nsb #sims 4 not so berry #sims4 #sims4nsbstraud #sims 4 let's play #sims 4 gameplay #sims 4 lets play

[sparklyslug]

Okay I know you’ve talked about Eddie as Faramir but let’s TALK about STEVE as EOWYN…….decides after having seen battle that he wants something completely different with his life than what he’s been told is the path of glory…..”I do not love the bright sword for its sharpness, nor the arrow for its swiftness, nor the warrior for his glory. I love only that which they defend”……adopts a hobbit wholesale and brings him into battle…….puts himself between his loved ones and the danger, always…..literally his entire character arc is just him taking off his helmet and being all “I am no douchebag!!!!!”

Anyway “let us dwell in fair ithilien” jogged my brain cells and I digress. Just a lot of feels going on over here!!!!!

OH BUDDY OH MAN YOU HAVE SO TOTALLY GOT ME WE ABSOLUTELY NEED TO TALK ABOUT THIS!!!!

Because you are absolutely right and correct and i'm obsessed with this now. Everything you say here!!! Fucking amazing and phenomenal!!! HE DOES NOT LOVE THE NAIL STUDDED BAT FOR ITS SHARPNESS. HE LOVES ONLY THAT WHICH IT DEFENDS. I AM NO DOUCHEBAG!!

OKAY SO LIKE LETS GO INNNNNNN. How Eowyn is stuck at the beginning of Two Towers, trapped taking care of her ailing uncle in the gathering dark, all alone. A morning of pale spring still clinging to winter's chill. Kind of stuck, waiting, not sure what the future is gonna be for her and her brother but knowing shit is bAD SHIT HAS GOTTEN VERY BAD AND SHIT IS LIKELY TO GET WORSE. But what can she do? Who is around that she can turn to? A wacky gang crash lands into her life to suck her into their epic crusade, and that kickstarts her journey but ultimately her path is her own, and her heroism is her own, it comes from her. STEVE HARRINGTON!!! STEEEEEVE!!! HARRINGTONNNN!!!! Is so loyal, will not be left at home to wait and watch when the people he loves is in danger. He doesn't crave glory the way Eowyn does, but he will absolutely put his body on the line again and again between the forces of evil and those who need his protection, and that is absolutely an Eowyn trait.

And also like, to take it there. What does Steve fear? A cage. To spend his life behind bars the way that his parents did, until use and age just make him accustomed to it and he forgets what else he wanted. I don't know if Steve initially fears the cage so much as he is already inside it, kind of clinging to it even. Nancy understands the pattern they're falling into waaaay before Steve does, because to Steve his cage of parties and fun and status isn't unwelcome yet, is something I think he is sort of not always actively trying to get back but certainly something he's kind of trying to hold on to in some ways even into Season 3 with his Scoops Ahoy Strikeout Steve woes haha.

Or, to frame it a different way, maybe he's chasing the dream of that life the way that Eowyn is chasing the dream of dying gloriously in battle. His life and his parents' lives aren't the cage--in some ways they're the goal for him. Domesticity, middle class suburban living, kind of what he's had but also with a happiness and contentment and love he's never experienced. But, like with Eowyn, it's a shallow understanding of what that life actually involves and requires and actually looks like in reality. And ultimately neither of them are necessarily suited for this dream that they're carrying. For her, of valor and death in battle, for him, of a white picket fence life of heternormative bliss. Eowyn IS a warrior and Steve IS loved and someone's future husband but like. They can't seem to recognize that they already HAVE the essential elements of the dream they want for themselves, they don't need to chase it to its furthest (unattainable, deadly) extent and consider anything less than that to be a failure.

And also! Like! Does Eowyn really love Aragorn? She sees his qualities and she admires him, and even more than that, she's captivated by what he represents: a leader of men, a noble warrior, a hero. A representative of the kind of life she wants to have, the kind of person she really wants to be. Isn't that what Nancy is to Steve? A leader, someone smart, someone who is kind and good when everyone else around him is largely uninterested in being either. She represents the kind of life he wants to have too: the six kids in the Winnebago, the big happy family. And represents the kind of person he wants to be, in how she leads the Party and is so so smart and capable, never the babysitter but the badass in charge. Eowyn clings to Aragorn as a symbol, perhaps more than she does to him as a person. It's not THE reason they don't work out, but damn it's absolutely A reason. DOES THIS SOUND FAMILIAR AT ALL.

I HAVE SO MANY EOWYN EMOTIONS AND AM RUNNING ON TWO HOURS OF SLEEP SO I NEED TO CUT IT SOMEWHERE but also like.

Eddie as Faramir and the two of them sharing custody of hobbits and sharing a love that's not about ideals and not about pity and not about anything other than seeing each other so clearly and finding that beautiful, fuck me up fuck me up.

#stranger rings #bLESS U FOR THIS IT'S SO FUN #steve harrington #lotr #stranger things meta #eowyn #asks #mop #i've loved stancy in my time no disrespect i just think i was happy with how it ended in season 2 tbh i don't feel compelled by it anymore #ALSO CAN I TELL YOU HOW I LOVE THIS FRAMING OF NANCY AS ARAGORN TOO mmmmm juicy gonna stew on that one for a minute. #fair ithilien verse

[wheelercore]

Often parallels between mike/el and ted/karen are used to show how unhealthy m*leven is but I wonder if the parallels also go in the other direction? Does m*leven say something about karen and ted, possibly when they were younger/newlyweds?

Many women in the 60s were brought up to be homemakers and mothers, however karen implies that she wanted to be more but was never given the opportunity. Marriage was an essential provider of income for women at the time. The median age of marriage for a woman in the 60s was 20.3 years- which fits almost exactly to when Karen probably got married (she was 38 in s1 and Nancy would have been around 16-17, therefore she most likely had Nancy at 21-22 and if you go back a year that's most likely when she married ted).

And then, there's ted's age at the time of marrying karen, which is a much different story. He's about a decade older, so was about 29-30 when he married her. Which is pretty late for a man at the time, when the median age of marriage for men was 22.8 years.

Although karen never really loved ted to begin with I wouldn't be surprised being so young at the time she thought that they might grow to love each other like other couples at the time might have. Marriage was still a union based on love at the time and men were still expected to date and woe a woman in order to marry her. Though it was the 60s, ted (being a 50s kid) probably had gone out and asked karen's father's permission to court her. Maybe their families knew each other, a possibility given that we're talking about Hawkins. But either way, there's this expectation that ted wanted karen.

But nancy said neither of her parents ever loved each other. I wonder if karen, long before s1, already had her "so you don't love me anymore?" moment. Maybe she wanted to make it work, be the homemaker and stay at home mother she was expected to be- effectively lying to herself like el in s4, but it didn't work out because the love isn't genuine. I feel like that's a huge source of Karen's exasperation- she tries but she can't make it work because the other person in the relationship won't cooperate.

I also wonder if, like mike, ted felt pressured to declare his love for a woman. Given his age it seems to me like he was putting it off but for whatever reason he caved. I don't think it was a coincidence that mike was wearing a very similar shirt to ted when he gave his fake love confession to el. Imo it's a bit of a microcosm of ted courting karen all those years ago and then marrying her (the ultimate confession of love)- it was under pressure and not genuine. I already explained in this post that I think the show is hinting at ted being a very closeted gay man, and it makes sense given that while he was growing up in the 50s (and up until the 70s) homosexuality was widely considered a mental disorder in psychiatry that could be ""cured"" through reparative therapy- it took many gay men who grew up in particularly religious/conservative environments (like Hawkins) decades to truly be okay with themselves.

However, the happy ending is that mike is going to dodge ted's fate because, while it looks like he's falling into it, there's still the painting and there's still will who is waiting on him to make a move. Just like how nancy avoided karen's fate and is now living her best life as an aspiring career woman.

#neither of them are the bad guy but i think both ted and karen were put in shitty situations were they had to #make do with an unhappy marriage and a fake happy life #i need a m*leven break up and ted/karen divorce god bless #stranger things #ted wheeler #karen wheeler #mike wheeler #el hopper

[chicgeekgirl89]

Heart of a Hero

Fandom: 911 Lone Star

Characters: Carlos Reyes, T.K. Strand, Tommy Vega, Nancy Gillian, Andrea Reyes, Gabriel Reyes

Rating: T

Warnings: Mass shooting incident

Notes: A million thanks as always to @bluenet13​ who beta read the heck out of this and listens to all my writing woes.

Written for the @badthingshappenbingo​ prompt “Ambulance Ride.”

Read on Ao3

It was his day off. It was his goddamn day off. But apparently crime didn’t take days off or respect the fact that he was just trying to run errands like a normal human being. Something that should have been a safe activity for everyone. Not a terrifying, violent event.

Carlos had been in the vegetable aisle when he’d heard the distinctive popping of gunfire. He’d dropped the mango in his hands, instinctively reaching for his duty weapon, despite the fact that he didn’t carry it on his days off. It had taken him only seconds to assess the situation, to realize the shots were coming from outside the store rather than inside, and to start running toward them. “Get to the back of the store!” he yelled to panicked customers and staff as he moved past them toward the doors. “Find somewhere to lock yourselves in and call 911!”

He stopped momentarily to help up a woman who had fallen to the ground, pushing her in the direction everyone else was fleeing as another round of shots sounded and the glass windows at the front of the shop shattered, causing everyone nearby to scream in terror.

Carlos paused at the front doors, trying to assess where the shots were coming from before exiting to the sidewalk outside. He could see people running, what looked like a body on the ground, but no sign of the shooter. Or shooters. There had been an awful lot of gunfire for it to be only one person. 

There was a flash and more popping and Carlos caught a glimpse of someone in a black or dark blue hoodie running toward the building before ducking behind a mailbox for cover. 

Running out into an active shooter situation unarmed seemed incredibly stupid, but there were still a lot of bystanders around and Carlos needed to do what he could to stop further casualties.

He crouched low, pulling the door open just enough to let himself out and moved quickly toward the fallen person on the sidewalk. The man let out a groan as Carlos got close and he felt a brief wave of relief that the man was alive. “Help me,” he said, breathing hard, eyes wild with fright.

“I’ve got you,” Carlos said, looking up and around for either shooter, but they seemed to have disappeared for the moment. “What’s your name?”

“Danny,” the man said, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Danny where are you hurt?”

“My leg,” he said, in obvious pain. “I was running and I tripped. I think I broke my ankle.”

Another wave of relief. Broken ankles were an easy fix compared to gunshot wounds. “We need to get you somewhere safe,” Carlos said. “I want you to put your arm around my shoulders, I’m going to help you get behind that table over there. It’s probably going to hurt, but I need you to stay as quiet as you can, all right?”

The man nodded and Carlos wasted no time in putting an arm under his shoulder and moving immediately toward the table a few feet away just as the assailant reappeared, apparently having reloaded a fresh round of ammunition.

Carlos dragged Danny the last few feet, hunching over as more glass shattered nearby. “Oh my god, oh my god!” Danny gasped.

“Stay down!” Carlos ordered, putting as much of his body over him as he could.

And that was when he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. The door to the grocery store opened and another man stepped out, looking up and down the street. 

“No! Get back inside!” Carlos yelled.

He was on his feet and moving before he even thought, gunfire ringing in his ears as he tackled the man to the ground, both of them grunting in pain as they hit the concrete. 

There was a squeal of tires and Carlos looked up to see the man in the dark sweatshirt jump into the back of a jeep, slamming the door shut as the driver hit the gas. 

He was just able to make out the first three digits of the license plate before it turned the corner and disappeared from sight. 

“Are you all right?” he asked the man underneath him, still breathing hard.

The man let out a moan. “He shot me.”

Sure enough there was blood seeping from a wound on the man’s arm. “Okay, deep breaths,” Carlos said, sitting up and reaching for his phone with one hand while the other clamped down firmly on the man’s arm, ignoring the pained swear words coming from his mouth.

“911 what is your emergency?”

“This is Officer Carlos Reyes, badge number 1-3-0-8. I am at the Machado Family Market on Ninth Street and we have a mass shooting situation. The suspect fled in a white jump, first three license plate digits 6-3-1. I have two known victims both male. Victim one is in his early thirties and appears to be suffering from a broken ankle. Victim two has been shot in the arm. Requesting immediate police and medical assistance,” Carlos barked as he grabbed a wad of napkins from a nearby table and pressed them against the man’s arm.

“Officer Reyes I am dispatching all available police units in your area and rolling medical,” the dispatcher told him calmly. “Do you need me to walk you through what to do with a bullet wound?”

“No I’ve got it,” Carlos said as he tried to stop the bleeding. He looked down at the man. “What’s your name?”

“Ian,” the man said with a grimace. “How bad is it?”

“Just stay still and keep taking deep breaths,” Carlos said. “We have ambulances on the way and they’re going to take good care of you.”

It didn’t look that bad to him, the bleeding seemed to be slowing, but he wasn’t a medical professional and he wasn’t going to make any promises. “How you doing over there, Danny?” he called over his shoulder to the first man.

“I’m all right,” he called back. 

“Just try and be still okay? The less you move the less damage you’ll do,” Carlos called back.

It felt like an eternity before sirens split the air around them. People had started emerging from the store. A woman who said she was a nurse had gone to take a look at Danny’s ankle while others sort of walked slowly through the debris in a state of shock. 

“Reyes?” 

Carlos looked up to find a colleague, Matthew Cruz looking down at him. “You just have to be in the middle of the action at all times huh?” he asked.

“Something like that,” Carlos said, managing a half smile. 

“You need help?” 

“I think I’ve got him for now. If you can just send medical over as soon as possible that would be great.”

“On it,” Cruz said, keying his radio as he and the rest of the officers worked to clear the scene so medical could come in. “Any idea what happened?”

“It was one person,” Carlos said. “Dark hoodie, medium build. I got a partial plate when they fled the scene.”

“Yeah they picked up the Jeep’s tail a minute ago. Nice work.”

Carlos nodded.

Within minutes the scene was cleared and medical swarmed the area. A paramedic that Carlos didn’t know ran over and knelt beside him. “Need some help over here?” he asked.

“This is Ian,” Carlos told him. “Single gunshot wound to the arm. Bleeding was under control until a minute ago but I think the bullet might have moved and hit an artery.”

Blood had begun gushing through his fingers in the last few seconds and Carlos felt panicky at his inability to do more.

“Okay I’m going to put my hands over yours and you are going to slide out, got it?” the medic asked.

Carlos gave an affirmative and they switched places as another medic came over and joined them. “You take care Ian,” Carlos said.

“Thank you,” Ian told him, his face pale and sweaty.

Carlos got to his feet, surprised at how shaky and nauseated he felt. This type of scene wasn’t new for him, but he’d never been out of uniform during a crisis of this kind before and it was getting to him more than he would have expected.

“Carlos?” He heard T.K.’s horrified voice before he saw him and his heart sank. His boyfriend was going to be beyond upset.

“Oh my god! Are you all right?” T.K. moved toward him eyes wide, a bag slung over his shoulder with Nancy right behind him, looking equally concerned.

“I’m fine,” Carlos assured them. “A little shaken up, but fine.”

“There’s blood all over your hands,” Nancy said.

Carlos shook his head. “It’s not mine. There was a man who was shot, somebody from the 130 has him.”

“Hey! We need some help over here!” An officer beckoned the medics toward a woman who was bleeding from the head.

T.K. looked back at Carlos who waved him off. “Go help everyone else. I’m all right, I promise.”

They didn’t look convinced. “Don’t go anywhere, okay?” T.K. asked.

“Wasn’t planning on it,” Carlos assured him as they moved to help the woman in need.

He was vaguely aware of T.K. calling out vitals, Nancy rushing past him to grab something else off the ambulance as he wiped his arm across the back of his forehead, sweaty despite the fact that he was beginning to feel cold. The adrenaline that had fueled his heroics was wearing off fast and he knew he should probably sit down before his knees gave out, but he couldn’t quite figure out where to go.

Another team had already packed up the man with the broken ankle and Carlos gave him a nod as he rolled by. He could sense T.K.’s eyes darting back and forth from him to his patient, but he ignored his boyfriend. He was fine and T.K. needed to focus on his job.

He sucked in a deep breath and put his hands on his hips, swallowing hard as the nausea in his stomach swelled.

“Carlos, are you okay?”

He had spotted Tommy speaking to the incident commander a moment ago, but apparently she’d finished and was now standing in front of him with a worried look on her face. “Did someone examine you?”

Carlos shook his head. “No, I’m fine. What’s the situation? How many casualties?”

“Several injuries, mostly minor from broken glass or trip and falls. One gunshot victim so far.” She looked him up and down and he could see that she wasn’t going to let him go. “You look like you’ve been through it; why don’t you let me check you out?”

“I should go see if I can help—“

“Carlos, you are not on duty right now,” Tommy said, guiding him to a nearby chair, her fingers settling on his wrist to take his pulse. “Do you have any pain?”

“Not really,” Carlos said, feeling extremely tired now that he was finally sitting. “I’m kind of nauseous. Shaky.”

Tommy hummed in sympathy. “That could be the adrenaline. All this blood is another victim’s?” she asked, looking at his hands.

“I think the bullet may have found an artery,” he said, by way of explanation. “I was on him pretty fast but I don’t know if it was enough.”

Her hands ran up and down his arms as he spoke, searching for injuries. “You did everything you could,” she said. 

Her hands moved across his chest, down his torso and then she stilled. “Nancy?” she called without taking her eyes off of Carlos.

Nancy looked up from where she was bandaging a cut on a woman’s forearm. “Yeah Cap?”

“Can you go get me a fresh kit and some oxygen from the rig?” Tommy’s voice was calm. Too calm. Carlos felt his heart begin to beat faster.

“Is everything okay?” he asked.

“Carlos I want you to listen to me and stay calm,” Tommy said, her voice smooth and gentle. “You’ve been shot.”

Panic jolted through him. “What? No I—I’m fine.”

“We’re going to get you on the ground all right? Easy does it.” She put one hand on his shoulder and the other on his left side, sliding him easily off the chair and onto the sidewalk even as his confused brain tried to catch up. He couldn’t be shot. He would have felt it. He would know if he’d been shot. 

“I don’t feel anything,” he said, noticing now that his voice was shaking and he felt even colder than before.

“That’s probably the adrenaline,” Tommy said. “You’re out here being a hero and saving everybody without even taking care of yourself.”

Nancy reappeared and her eyes widened in horror as Tommy cut up Carlos’ shirt and exposed his abdomen. “Nancy, go get T.K.”

“Cap…”

“Go quickly please,” Tommy said and now Carlos heard the sharp edge of urgency in her voice. “Here we go Carlos, take some deep breaths for me okay? This might hurt.”

Oh! Carlos choked back a cry as she put pressure on his right side. A lot of pressure. Pressure that sent all the agony he hadn’t been feeling burning through his body. He tried to arch his back and move away from her, but either he was weak from blood loss or she was stronger than she looked. 

“Easy, easy Carlos,” she said as he gritted his teeth and tried not to let out another pained moan. “Try and relax for me. I know it’s hard, but I need you to stay as still as possible.”

Stay still when it felt like he was on fire? 

T.K. appeared above him, eyes wild with fear, a hand cupping his cheek. “Cap what—?”

“Gunshot wound to the lower right quadrant,” Tommy said evenly. “No apparent exit wound. Nancy get him on oxygen. T.K. can you work?”

“I—“

“Yes or no?” she asked sharply. 

“Yes, yes I can,” T.K. said, but Carlos could see tears in his eyes. He wanted to reach up and wipe them away, but his arms didn’t seem to be working anymore. He felt weirdly detached from his body. Detached from everything except the pain radiating through his side. 

“Okay let’s get him on some fluids,” Tommy ordered. “How you doing Carlos?”

“Fine,” Carlos slurred from underneath the oxygen mask. He didn’t like the way the air blew against his face, but breathing did seem easier so he didn’t try and pull it off.

“Carlos stay awake,” Nancy ordered when his eyes slid shut.

He forced them open again. Why? Why did he need to stay awake? He couldn’t quite remember.

“T.K.?” his eyes searched for his boyfriend, it was hard to see with the mask covering half his face.

“I’m right here babe,” T.K. said, appearing in front of his eyes. “You’re all right. You’re going to be just fine okay?”

He put a hand on Carlos’ head and Carlos felt an odd urge to cry, tears pricking at his eyes, his throat tightening, making it even harder to breathe. 

“Let’s get him on the gurney,” Tommy ordered. “Carlos let us do the work okay? We’re going to get you out of here.”

He might have blacked out when they lifted him onto the gurney. He definitely threw up. It was horrible.

T.K. got the mask off just in time and Nancy rushed to put a basin under his chin. He fell back with a moan that turned into a whine, not something he was particularly proud of. He wanted to go back to ten minutes ago when he’d just been shaky and weak in the knees. Nothing had hurt then. Now everything hurt and he wanted it to stop. 

“T.K.,” he whimpered, tears pooling in his eyes as they slid him inside.

“I know, I know it hurts babe,” T.K. said and Carlos could see he was near to tears as well. “Tommy can we up his morphine?”

“Give him a few more milligrams,” Tommy said as she slammed the doors shut behind her. “Let’s go Nancy!”

Carlos felt a tiny bit of relief from the pain as medication flooded his veins. He pulled the oxygen mask from his face. “My parents,” he rasped.

“I will call them as soon as we get to the hospital,” T.K. promised.

“I’m sorry,” Carlos said, closing his eyes as tears slipped down his face. 

“No, no, no,” T.K. said quickly, putting the oxygen mask back in place and stroking his hair. “You don’t need to be sorry. You are good and brave and perfect and you have nothing to apologize for.”

“Don’t want to leave you,” Carlos said, his heart splitting into two at the thought.

“You’re not,” T.K. said firmly. “You’re not leaving. Right Tommy?”

“Absolutely not,” Tommy said as she adjusted the IV’s. “You are staying right here with us. A little surgery, a few days in the hospital, and you’re going to be good as new.”

“See?” T.K. said, his voice breaking just a little as his thumb moved back and forth over Carlos’ forehead. “You’re fine. You’re going to be fine.”

He drifted in and out after that, everything coming in flashes and blurs of noise and light and pain.

“I love you,” T.K. said to him over and over again, pressing his lips against Carlos’ forehead. “I’ll be here when you wake up."

And then he was gone and there was pain and strangers and the sharp smell of antiseptic burning in his nostrils. There were voices all around but he didn’t understand what they were saying, didn’t know what was happening until someone with a soft voice took his hand.

“Officer Reyes we’re taking you into surgery now. They’re going to remove the bullet and repair any damage. You’re going to go to sleep and when you wake up things will be much better.”

Then someone was putting something over his face, telling him to count, but he was so tired and his tongue felt leaden in his mouth.

He had no idea how much time passed. He woke up to voices, some familiar some not, and excruciating pain in his side. He might have cried, he thought maybe someone wiped his tears away. Someone definitely put a straw in his mouth and encouraged him to drink, which felt good on his dry throat, but then he was drifting again.

Everything was heavy and tired and painful and sleep kept dragging him under again and again like waves beating against the shore. He wasn’t strong enough to fight them, not even when T.K. was whispering things in his ear or when he felt his mother run her fingers through his hair.

It felt like a long time before he was able to swim up from the darkness and blink his eyes open in the harsh lighting of his hospital room. He swallowed hard, his mouth and throat still parched and tasting of medication. “There he is.”

Carlos turned his head and found his father sitting by his bed, a smile on his face. “Are you with us mijo?”

Carlos nodded, brain still foggy as he tried to piece together the events that had gotten him here. “Are you in pain Carlitos?”

His eyes searched until he found his mother sitting in a second chair, a pile of knitting in her lap. “I was shot?” he asks, his voice coming out raw.

“Yes, mijo,” his father said, sitting forward. “At the grocery store.”

“How,” he swallowed painfully, “how long?”

“It’s been about six hours,” his mother said. “You lost a lot of blood.”

Carlos winced. “Bad?” he asked, apparently only capable of single syllable words. 

“Nothing they couldn’t fix,” his dad assured him. “They were able to remove the bullet without complications. There was minimal damage. You can ask your boy, he knows all the medical stuff they’ve been talking about.”

“Where is he?” Carlos asked, shifting uncomfortably in the bed. 

“He just went home to get some things for you,” his mom said. “He got here before we did and hasn’t left your side, but we knew it could be a while before you woke up and he was still in his uniform. He looked very uncomfortable.”

“He should be back soon. Do you want us to call him? Tell him what you’d like from home?” his father asked.

Carlos shook his head, already feeling himself drifting away again. “Just tell him to come back.”

His mother squeezed his leg through the sheets. “He’s coming Carlitos. He’ll be here soon. Just rest now.”

The next time he opened his eyes T.K. was there. His uniform was gone, replaced by jeans and a grey hoodie, the strings of which he was fiddling with absentmindedly as he stared a hole into the wall across the room. “Hey,” Carlos croaked. 

T.K.’s eyes immediately flicked to him and he sat forward on the chair. “Hey babe,” he said softly, his face a mask of worry and exhaustion. “How are you feeling?”

In pain was the answer, but Carlos wasn’t going to let him know that. “I love you,” he managed to croak out, tears tightening his throat.

“I love you too,” T.K. said, reaching for his hand and threading their fingers together reassuringly. “I love you so much.”

Carlos shook his head and tried to get his emotions under control. “I made peace so long ago with the idea that one of us might die in the line of duty. But I never…I didn’t ever think that picking up groceries…”

“I know,” T.K. said. “Me neither.”

Carlos shook his head and had to swallow down a moan of pain as he tried to get more comfortable in the bed, a seemingly futile task. “Easy,” T.K. said, coming to help him. “Take it from someone who knows, bullet wounds hurt like hell.”

“I uh, I asked my parents but they don’t understand everything like you do. How bad is it?”

T.K. squeezed his hand. “As far as gunshot wounds go, you got very lucky. It missed everything vital. Barring any complications you’ll be out of here in a few days.”

Carlos exhaled slowly and looked up at the ceiling. “Okay. Good.”

“How’s your pain?” T.K. asked. “Do you need more medication?”

“No, I’m all right,” Carlos said even though the pain in his side was slowly growing from an ache to a knifelike stabbing. 

T.K. fixed him with a look. “You don’t have to be brave,” he said bluntly. “If you need more medication, you can have more medication. There’s no reason to tough this out. It won’t speed up your healing time at all.”

It was all said in a forceful, strained tone and Carlos took a good look at his boyfriend, noting the pallor of his face, how drawn he seemed. “Are you okay?”

“You’re the one in the hospital bed,” T.K. pointed out.

“And you’re the one who had to save my life while I was bleeding out on the street,” Carlos countered.

“You should be resting, not worrying about my feelings.”

“If you don’t talk to me I’ll just worry more.”

“Carlos.”

“T.K.” Carlos gave him a pointed look.

T.K. sighed and leaned back in his chair before looking into Carlos’ eyes. “It was terrifying. The most…terrifying thing I’ve ever lived through. And I feel,” his voice caught. “I feel so guilty that I didn’t see it when I first got there. That I let you walk around, bleeding out…Carlos I’m so sorry.”

“Hey, no,” Carlos said. “T.K., this was not your fault.”

T.K. clenched his jaw and shook his head. “You, and Tommy, and Nancy, and your parents and, my parents can say that all you want. But I’m going to have to live with the guilt for a while.”

“You were doing your job. You were helping people who needed to be helped.”

T.K. leaned forward, pain in his eyes. “My first, and most important job is taking care of you.”

“You did,” Carlos said. “You always do.”

T.K. still looked like he was in pain. “Is there something else?” Carlos asked. “You can tell me.”

He shook his head. “You’re tired and you’re hurting. We can have this conversation another time. You don’t need to be worried about me right now.”

“I always worry about you,” Carlos said. “That’s part of the deal in a relationship.”

T.K. blew out a breath. “You know, when Alex and I ended, I had to figure out how to be enough for myself. To look inside myself for strength. To find it within me to continue on with life even when it got tough.

“And then I met you and it was so easy. Being with you is…it’s the best I’ve ever felt. I feel whole. Like myself. And looking at you in that street, holding your hand, trying so hard to keep you alive…I had a lot of time in the waiting room to sort through my feelings and try to…try to figure things out.”

“And?” Carlos asked gently.

T.K.’s mouth shaped into a sad, forlorn smile. “I realized that…I can do it. I can do this life without you.” His breath caught and Carlos saw tears pool in his eyes. “But I really, really don’t want to.”

“Hey.” Carlos reached out a hand and gently grasped T.K.’s wrist. “You don’t have to. I’m here.”

T.K. finally managed a small smile. He reached up and smoothed a curl from Carlos’ forehead. “Yes. You are.” 

He cleared his throat and Carlos watched him shove all his pain and feelings deeply back inside. They would need to pick up this conversation later. Maybe when his mind was a little less foggy and his entire body didn’t hurt like hell. 

“And listen, we’re even now. I got shot, you got shot, that’s enough. It’s not a competition,” T.K. said, flashing a manufactured smile.

“I will definitely try not to get shot again,” Carlos promised. “How’s everyone else? The man with the gunshot wound and the guy with the broken ankle?”

“Both fine thanks to you. Everyone else only had minor injuries. You’re a hero,” T.K. told him. “Your face is all over the news.”

Carlos closed his eyes and groaned. “How did they get my name?”

T.K. gave him a wry smile. “Adriana and Francesca are in the waiting room with your parents. I think they’ve hit on every doctor, nurse, and orderly in the place.”

Carlos sighed. “And they talked to the news crews.”

“They really didn’t like you being referred to as an unidentified officer. They’d like you to get full credit for your heroics. And hopefully a medal. And a monetary reward. Which you will use to take them on vacation.”

“God they’re the worst.”

“They definitely are,” T.K. agreed. His face sobered. “But they’ve been here since I texted and refuse to leave even though they can’t come up. Underneath their astonishingly blatant horniness and greed, they’re really worried about you.”

“They always come through,” Carlos said.

“They also brought coffee and donuts. Don’t tell them, but I love them.”

“Your secret is safe with me.” He shivered and winced as he was reminded that any movement at all was beyond painful.

“Are you cold?” T.K. asked.

“A little.”

“It’s probably the blood loss.” He reached into the duffel bag next to him and pulled out a blanket that Carlos recognized.

“You brought me a blanket from home?” Carlos asked, heart melting at his boyfriend’s thoughtfulness.

“Hospitals are notoriously cold and their blankets notoriously suck,” T.K. told him as he tucked it gently around his legs. He kissed the tip of Carlos’ nose. “You should try and get some sleep. Hospital wake up call comes early.”

“Thank you,” Carlos said. “You’ll uh, you’ll stay with me?”

T.K. smiled and leaned closer, carding his fingers through Carlos’ curls. “If you’re here, I’m here.”

#911 Lone Star #911lsfic #Carlos Reyes #T.K. Strand #Tarlos #Gunshot wound #Hurt Carlos #Carlos whump #Ambulance ride #Bad Things Happen Bingo #Hurt/Comfort #911 LS #Tarlos Fic

[libidomechanica]

Untitled (“To-night”)

To-night. Falls on the  learnd I love, that at each more by her  I loue indeed who quake into  a shadow doth lie: that  sawe it, simple shepheard the  quilts, crooning, close thee down to  find thee desire than this  was the policemen  who kicked dreaded Eagles yelp alone. And  letting dawn that other: I sit  upon him that other until  none of that nigheth fast, yts time  of his, whase only Natures the  Poets verse my indolent and  tower when a word.  O no! I love, your strife, I doubt. Ministering  back the love her. nor  leisure. And mark that creature  given, nancy, Nancy; is  it not again. It  seemed as the remedy? I  missed, half fooles can child is that  poor human on tremble  in his paradise, nor find him;  by the thing, she rough the  citys edge, looking out in mine.  A poor, weak voice shall see the  ills that frown, altho hardly needs must  part: thou canst not seen! —And, into  bowl: milk and boats and  to me, he laid the Stars—  fore whom the August Celestial  face deformed got, curst be the  daye in woe I vowed haue me  peaceful use of mine be the  argent revelry, Thy beauty  seen, with triumph at Turin :  Ancona was  full of such skirts. Be music in  it a heat more bright of  the Court, thy Mistress weel, nae travel  with his hive. Which  lost in the dark fathers by  Lord Loves strength into  wait its Salt, as thou this I  never noticed you On tempests and  praise euen soules, euen so and fail, proof  makes me tast. and following on  her sleep oppressd and trust, not whether,  shortly raind, to him  weary dreams, the scents snatched linen,  smooth-sculptured our sanctuary  is violate, mark, whose arms  championed to entering  trade with religious  as young: thaw this:  I never feel instant Sea tells us  of slave, Sir. But if thy feet.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 6 #129 texts

[bbrandy2002]

Two Men and a Baby Part 9A-The Final Part.

This chapter took on a life of itself and is quite long, so I divided it up in two parts again. I will release the second part later today.

I put everything into this chapter, so, I hope it meets your expectations, because it is WILD 😂

The Royal Romance/The Royal Heir

Warning: YOU WILL LAUGH A LOT!! Also, there's profanity.

@emceesynonymroll

@gardeningourmet @dcbbw @crookedslimecreatorpasta @moonlightgem7 @katedrakeohd @sirbeepsalot @romanticatheart-posts @carabeth @ladyangel70

I do not own any of these characters...borrowing from Pixleberry.

[[Read more]]

Post 9A-Finale

He looked at her and uttered, "I'm sorry".

She replied with a soft smile, "I'm not".

Drake closed his eyes and took a deep breath, "but, what about Liam?"

"Drake, my husband never took the time to touch me like you did last night; trust me, I'm not worried about what Liam thinks."

"Yeah, last night sure was crazy."

10 hours earlier....

The press had gotten news of Bertrand's debacle and descended onto the gravel road that led through the Stormholt Vineyards.

Bertrand was still inside and the crews that weren't working the Beaumont Estate standoff were assigned to the Beaumont Zipper-gate send off. Firemen were busy working the jaws-of-life on the roof of the carriage; meanwhile a helicopter life squad was waiting in the air. 

Bertrand was unable to close his legs and crewman concluded this would make it difficult to get him through the door. Once the roof had been lifted off, the helicopter got into position over the carriage.

Penelope had exclusive access to all the action. Being friends with Savannah paid off in this situation. Penelope offered Savannah a ride to the hospital in exchange for moment by moment, upclose coverage.

"Yes folks, Penelope here with all the action. Right now, the medical helicopter is lowering a harness down into the carriage with the assumption, the Duke will be raised out and transported to the emergency room immediately.....this is so awesome, lets watch".

Two fire rescuers climbed inside the carriage and carefully cut the legs of Bertrands pants; they wanted to make access to his "area" a little easier for the flight medics.

"Alright Your Grace, we have to place this harness through your arms and strap it around your chest. We assure you this is very sturdy and you will not fall okay?"

Bertrand nodded, but, didn't speak. He wanted to, but, what was there to say. In just mere moments, he would be lifted out of this carriage and would ascend into the sky, practically naked. He was aware the press was waiting outside. He was also aware that he would be front page news, right next to a damn boar. He closed his eyes and the image of Maxwell was so vivid in his mind. He knew he bought a "pig" yesterday, but, was he really that stupid to mistake it for what it really was, a wild boar. Bertrand concluded, he is.

When Maxwell was 10, he traded Pokemon at school with Neville Vancouer. Neville told Maxwell he had a hamster that he would give Maxwell for his rare holographic shadowless first edition Mewtew, Pokemon card. Neville got the card and Maxwell unknowingly got a rat.  The rat had babies and the infestation was horrific. The vineyards behind the estate were nearly wiped out. Bertrand found one in his bed, just before climbing in, mating with another. When Bertrand brought his first girlfriend home, she left the estate in tears after one jumped on her just before he was getting ready to clear second base. The town was affected, as crops after crops were destroyed. Barthelemy Beaumont paid a heavy price in lawsuits and clean up that year; his families financial troubles began in that moment. It took Maxwell's tell-all book to bring them out of their woes. Bertrand would be appreciative of that fact, if it weren't for him telling people in his book that Bertrand gets bi-monthly Brazilian waxes from a shady massage parlor owned by Duke Godfrey in Krona. That parlor has since been been raided and shut down.

Once the harness was securely in place, life squad gave the signal and Bertrand was slowly liifted upward.

"Hey fellow Cordonians, Penelope here again. I have just gotten word, they are about to lift the Duke out of the carriage. Yes, there he goes...up, up and wow, is his asshole as smooth as a babys bottom. His brother was telling the truth....good job Duke Godfrey and all the former employees of Adelaide's Massage and Dance Parlor. Oh, hold up guys, there seems to be some kind of mechanical trouble. The lift has stopped working....whats that? There's a malfunction?.....okay, so the lift has malfuctioned and they are going to go ahead and proceed on to the hospital with the Duke hanging below. Good luck up there sir, you're little naked butt is flying with the birds now! Okay, I am heading to the hospital now and will update you all as soon as I can. Penelope out!"

Bertrand was such a trooper, because, of course the lift malfunctioned; it would be wrong if it didn't at this point. He was sure that at any moment, the harness would break too and he would simply fall from the sky. With his luck today, he probably would survive though.

Riley, Drake, Olivia and Maxwell were watching the events unfold on TV from the waiting room of the hospital. Maxwell had been released earlier and Drake finally caught up with them. Drake told Riley that Liam was meeting with someone to explain his absence. Savannah had replied to Riley's earlier text, letting her know that Bertrand would be going to the hospital soon. She didn't say why, but, the news in the waiting room was riveting. The press had already gathered outside, awaiting the arrival of Duke Ramsford.

"This is absolutely, the most insane thing I've ever seen." Riley watched in awe.

"Wow, that camera is really not letting up off his asshole." Olivia replied in complete astonishment.

"Well Maxwell, I owe you a hundred smackaroos, I thought you made it up, but, that camera angle doesn't lie. He really does get Brazilian waxes" Drake says as he leans back in his chair with his hands laced behind his head.

"Why would I lie Drake? Beside, you wanna know who else was getting one there?" Maxwell asked. Riley, Olivia and Drake all leaned forward in anticipation. "Who?" Olivia inquired eagerly.

"The Queen Mother", Maxwell said with a slight grin.

"Pfft...no fucking way!" Riley slapped both of  her knees in shock.

"Maxwell, how do you know that? Did you see her there?" Olivia asked sceptically.

"Hell yeah I saw her there, who do you think gave them to her?

All three dropped their jaws simultaneously.

Drake finally rolled his eyes, "you're making this all up Maxwell."

"Did I lie about Bertrand?"

"Well...no...but, this sounds a lot like something Duchess Adelaide would tell."

"I swear Drake, I can prove it."

"How?"

"She has a tattoo of an apple pie on her left butt cheek with "Connie" written on top of it,"

Riley and Olivia lost it, laughing way too hard and trying to catch their breaths. Olivia even tipped her chair over and fell out of her seat onto the floor

"Well, Maxwell, I don't think any of us are going to look at Regina's butt cheek for proof." Drake scoffed.

"Wait Maxwell, why were you giving the Queen Mother a wax job?" Riley stopped laughing long enough to ask.

"You see, I got tired of Adelaide always hitting on me at these balls and such, so I talked to Madeleine about it. She said if I would help out with her fathers business, she would keep her mother away from me. So, I gave waxes once a week. Saw a lot of girls naked....it was a good gig, until it wasn't", he said with a frown, "but, yeah, Reggie, thats what we called her at the shop, would come in every now and again. She tipped well too"

Olivia scrunched up her nose, "I have no words right now for what you just told us, none."

"What did he tell you?" Liam asked. The group all turned around to see Liam and Bastien walking into the waiting room.

"Liam, why do you have claw marks all over your face?" Riley asked as she stood up to stand by her husband.

He looked over at Drake with a sneer, "I don't know, ask him."

Drake shrugged his shoulders and faked innocence, "I don't believe I know what you're referring to."

"You know damn well what I'm referring to doctor!" He shouted.

Drake started to giggle, while Riley told him to lower his voice, Bartie was sleeping.

"I will not....do you have any idea what I've been through tonight Drake?" he asked.

"No, but, I've a feeling I'm about to find out"

Liam walked dramatically to the middle of the waiting room and began to pace, moving his hands to express himself. "Let me set the scene for you. I had to deliver a baby....."

Riley sighed and interrupted him, "Liam, I told you we will have our own baby, you can't just keeping asking other people for theirs."

Liam looked at her and said, "Zip it" as he did the zipping motion with his hand and mouth.

"Aha, ha, just don't get your dick caught in it, am I right" Maxwell joked.

Olivia grabbed his arm, "not now Maxwell".

Riley crossed her arms in anger and thought to herself, Liam is going to pay for that little comment later.

"Now, where was I, Oh yes, I was forced into delivering a baby.....

Begin Flashback sequence....

"Doctor! Doctor! Wake up" the nurse yelled while slapping his face.

Liam slowly opened his eyes and started to focus on his surroundings."

The nurse told him he passed out and he reached behind his head to rub the bump that was starting to form. He asked where he was and she told him in the delivery room of the hospital. He questioned why he was there and slid his surgical mask down under his chin.

"You're not Dr. House, who are you?" She asked pointedly.

"I'm...I'm King Liam."

"Yeah right, and I'm a Kardashian".

He looked up at her confused, "what's a Kardashian?"

"Nancy, call security, we have a mental patient that must have gotten away."

"No No No, I really am the King, I swear."

"Okay, your majesty, what are you doing in the maternity ward" she asked sarcastically.

"Getting breastmilk from room 20" he stated with a raspy voice.

"GUARDS!!!!!!"

Liam tried to get up off the floor and run, but, the nurse started to attack him. She sat on top of him clawing at his face while an assistant held his arms down.

Security came in soon after and placed Liam's arms behind his back. As they dragged him out, he kept kicking, thrashing, knocking stuff over and screaming, "TREASON..... TREASON.... TREASON!!!!! I'LL GET ALL OF YOU FOR TREASON!!! Wait, where are you taking me, no, stop, I said stop....in the name of the mother fucking crown, STTTTOOOOPPPPP!!!!!"

He was taken to to the mental health ward. They didn't recognize him or have any missing people on the list, but, at that moment he qualified for admittance.

He was placed in a locked room alone with no furniture or adornments. He stood there with an angry scowl on his face and his arms crossed. Soon after,  two men came in. One had a white pair of pants and a shirt in his hand, the other had a billy club and rubber gloves. The guy with the billy club told him they could either do this the easy way or the hard way. Liam didn't know what "this" was, but, he knew he didn't want to find out. He was instructed to remove his clothes.

"I most certainly will not" he protested.

The guy with the clothes in his hands spoke up, "listen dude, let's just get this over with and we can get you to your room and you'll be able to get a good nights rest, what"dya say?"

"What are you going to do?" Liam asked.

"We need to get you out of those clothes, then do a strip search".

Liam tried to make a run for it, but, both instantly grabbed him.

After this little show of defiance, he was clubbed on the back and fell to the floor, where he began to cry. Bastien quickly came in and explained everything to the orderly's before he was released, with many apologies.

To be continued.....9B will be out later today.

#choices trr #the royal romance #trr fanfic #trr drake #trr liam #liam x riley #king liam #liam x mc #maxwell beaumont #bertrand beaumont #the royal heir #choices trh

[willpowerbutch]

Willpower Butch Infiltrates the BAFTAs

It was my twenty-seventh scotch, noble reader, of the hour; Tom Rob Smith, world-renowned proponent of gay death, was with me, but not in the way a full-lipped apprentice attends to an aging poet, nor as a former classmate who comes to share a booth with one at a bar after a chance meeting which culminates in a divorce pact – for such follies are the province of the Homosexual, that Cyclops, who became so since his loss of depth perception did not enable him to notice breasts. In the midst of the nigh-on soft chatter of our female militia, my companion could be heard making overtures, squalidly, for me to play “snooker” according to his specious and altogether sun-bathed program:

“Willpower, you must use your pole to hit the balls, or else I will best you, and that is improper for a loathsome pervert to do to a manly man.”

“Spare me your monologues, Elton Yawn!” roared I, for I had made excellent progress at ramming my rod into the table’s holes with sweltering masculine virtue.

We had come, concretely, to destroy our health sufficient to the task of passing among the British unobserved.

Although I, a stalwart and heterosexually-attracted Man, would have taken emotionless, ungay pride in eviscerating Tom Rob Smith at golf, we were interrupted by the blaring sirens which indicated that the BAFTAs were soon to begin. So, we left, along with the women – a wolf and an inconvenient rabbit among their flock of sheep – for the Imperial BAFTA Hall, where the Gay-Transgender makes one of its many covens outside of Tom Cruise. Despite our unstoppable approach, my heart was gripped suddenly with incredible weight-lifting, and TRS himself exclaimed:

“Do you see it, Willpower, at the door? There is a vision of extreme displeasure, and a stench arising from it which would make nancies of a lesser constitution die outright. What can it be? Alas, this is why the Gay is impelled toward a lifestyle of superficially confrontational languor, of blasé splendor, because we are so surrounded by the impertinence of heterosexual childbirth. Do you imagine, Willpower, how it is to be imprisoned in this world, to exist in the presence of Neanderthals who think that drunken subway arguments which end in daredevil stripping have no place in public life, and not to be able to set them on fire as they have done countless times throughout history to my scripts? Woe, for this is the fate of the homosexual to endure such preening boredom. Oh, it is Germaine Greer.”

So it was, as we drew close, that we could make out her contemptible visage, which conceals a mass of disgusting platitudes where other persons might possess a brain. Thinking quickly, I sent the contingent of women over, who becalmed the creature with pretty nonsense about uteruses as I and my companion strode bulgingly past.

(Germaine Greer, right, bravely checks a ‘woman’ for beard hair.)

It was at the threshold of the BAFTA Hall that TRS addressed me, insofar as his perniciously pretty physicality would permit, for what the Gay-Transgender lacks in muscle mass it accounts for in spite. “Willpower,” said he.

The remnant of my beard extended and cut into his throat, which he understood correctly to mean that I was about to kill him. He reconsidered whatever soliloquy he had been formulating along our frightful travail through the throngs of disco-dancing initiate necrophiles and on-fire SLAM poets. Instead, he spoke a modicum of sense: “Master Butch, whatever feelings of soulful longing for male love we may have assimilated ‘til now, we must put them further out of mind than Bryan Singer’s career. It is time for us to assert dominance, or we shall be in pulsating danger.”

Manly reader, I was not greatly concerned. “You are aware,” I growled, “that everyone under the age of twenty-five is a woman? and that the Gay has tried many times – deliciously, immensely many times – to convert me and has not more than thrice succeeded? I shall need only to eviscerate those virgins by the power of forthright apoplectic flexing, which is my attribute as a noble Excellent.” 

But TRS shook his head dolefully, like all of mankind who have had the misfortune of reading his books. “That won’t work. What we need, monsieur, is for you to think like a Gay.”

“Like a Gay...”

I pondered this, although I was aware of the degradation to my unmountable masculinity in so doing. Because the Gay is inscrutable to the manly man beyond his suspiciously smooth-faced desires, because the Gay’s entire psyche is ruled by those desires, am I to believe that the key to thinking like a homosexiphone is to slander women until the straight man becomes confused?

I strode in willfully, gloriously, the light glinting off my pectorals sending those hideously Eurythmicsed gargoyles into a fearful advance. It was a vision of such heroism as in Hellenistic days could not be depicted, for the limp hand of the poet shall not wield anything as thickly engorged. Facing down their trimmed stampede, I released unto them:

“Gay homophiles! I am indeed one of your horde, as you can plainly tell by my wet cough. Shall we discourse together on the evils of Woman, who are essentially redundant since the invention of canned corn? Shall we convince the Genuine Man to leave her and her ways, her wiles, her rejection of fully equipped samurai decapitations at family restaurants? Let us stand together, heathens, for I can see an acknowledgement of the truth in my words by the erect posture of your varnished pincers.”

All seemed lost – the Gay Vampires had descended upon me, their decrepit digits wrapped in guilt and recently-unstuck Titanic posters, gyrating in a vicious parody of Reddie Sexchaynge during his electro-shock faith healing in The Danish Girl. They had brandished on me their fearsome skincare, which is known to turn straights into the sort of recently single young men who move to the city to purposely trip on sidewalks in front of low-key leather cafes. But it was then that a miracle took place, that the insatiable fabulant Tom Rob Smith came to the rescue of myself, an indestructible master of unweak gigantism.

Slamming open the door, he addressed the crowd. “I’ve seen all of your films. They’re obvious.”

A gasp echoed through the hall as TRS strutted down the aisle, glowering tearfully, manifesting low-budget ‘90s sex comedies in his wake; and I, in pursuit, took great care to strafe past the apollodisiac influence of his posterior -- for the Gay, natural prey of the manly man, has evolved to paralyze him with insipid perception. We arrived in the front lines, with eminent hormonal abundance, where our way was made by those most cocktail-lit transcendentalists.

It was then we were alerted to the presence of Germaine Greer, who had crept into the hall by reason of the existence of her reproductive capacity. She was joined by the well-educated and generally expert feminist scholar Graham Linehan; that personage was invited to the stage to speak, where he was met with much appreciative braying and the open display of genitalia such as might surprise even Ewan McGregor.  

“Evil perverts,” he yelped, gripping the edge of the podium like the neck of a sub. “I have come to educate you. Listen and assimilate the words of your infinite better. This world is divided at its hilt: in one sphere, our sphere, live the real, who accept the existential primacy of boob size. In the other are the transgendereds. Too easily have you upright homos accepted those vermin in your ranks, for now they have tasted the come of anime weirdos and will no longer settle for overdosing on fake heroin in corporate meeting rooms where they have been hired by the capitalists to populate sex parties. Oh, they will destroy reality given the remotest chance: they will take to it with scotch tape and whore makeup like they did to Tom Holland. Thank God that I, a straight man, have emerged from the depths of intolerable self-fellation to inform you benders which of you is queer, you know, in the normal way.” He concluded this declamation with great flourish: a round of tequilas, called “T shots,” was provisioned to each of us, as club drugs rained from the ceiling and a gaggle of clownfish was brought in to be ritualistically basketballed. Then, giving us a caustic grimace, Graham Linehan disappeared, taking my macho sanity and will to live with him.

The night was only beginning, and directly I understood how the Gay-Transgender could be quite so miserable as they are, that they must prowl the alleyways between disparaged Tex-Mex restaurants in search of lascivious marriage – in order to forget, if only for several months, the vivid lunacy of having to murder everyone who discovers your incest fetish. And I was struck with a sudden melancholy, for the idea of the Gay without its Transgender is an upsetting one: it is far less dignified, erudite, and rose-fleshedly proper, lordly reader, to think only of whom the Gay has sex with and not additionally how.

Nevertheless, it is clear why Hollywood must disapprove of these most vacant transgendereds, for if too many of us should fall into their strange genitalia, how shall show business reliably obtain more children to rape?

Abruptly from out of an enormous, glittering, piano-shaped coffin rose the master of ceremonies, the remaining life-force of Rupert Everett, who disco-danced toward the podium nervously and began his address:

“‘All you need to make a movie is a twink and some glycerin.’ Jean-Luc Godard said this in the seconds before he memorably punched William Wyler face-first through the muffler of his Trabi, and it is perhaps truer today than it was even in his prime as a total Otter. Year by year, as gay culture continues to defile the world with men who look like they might be wearing lipstick but are too flushed to tell, we gather here to celebrate the crimes our community has gotten away with because of the liberal globalist agenda, and in particular, those fantasy characters that actually pull them off. And so, the nominees for people who are probably haunted by their teenage years are as follows: Jake Gyllenhaal, in the role of Borscht, a gay who decides to become bisexual, bringing destruction down upon humanity. Ben Whishaw, our High Shaman of Shame, in Posh Homosexual Encounters of the First Time. Chris Pang, who didn’t do anything gay this year but is unfairly hot. And Tilda Swinton, who is genuinely an alien out to replace every person in the world, this being the sort of tenacity to upset the straights that our Academy recognizes. But as you well know, there can be only one foot-gripping Fonzie, so it is with Biblical villainy that I announce the winner of this year’s Silicone Satan: Ben ‘so bottomy it’s almost straight’ Whishaw!”

The crowd broke into revels immediately, a boundless catastrophe which brought the town of London to its knees in a literal sense, for those Englishmen who are not fashionably bicurious are so accustomed to marmite and scotch eggs that they hardly care what goes in their mouths. And amid the dilating chaos, I took Tom Rob Smith by the arm, but it was, most audaciously musclebound king, a gesture neither tender nor rough, which could not in the remotest circumstance be open to lewd interpretations, as there was no occasion for my thighs to greet his glistening back, grazing “accidentally” for one heart-stalling moment when I could not meet his eyes, as any man who has been to Cracker Barrel on a Monday afternoon will well remember; and, I did not, say, growl seductively that my breath wasn’t the only warm thing I could put in the orifice of his ear, nor did I drag my thumb along the line of his bicep while pristine depression tears glimmered on my cheeks outside a gas station where a group of teenagers was either dangerously wasted or speaking Dutch. Thus, did we wend through the pendulating masses in pursuit of that dimensionless maudlin fairy Timpani Gayparade and the sometime-man who had also been my much be-tolerated roommate, Paragon Shag.

(Timpani Gayparade, right, shared many hours of blazing homosex on the set of Ball Me By Your Chains with his former master and effigy pervert, Smarmy Whammer, most of which made the cutting room floor.)

Turning a corner into the corridor of Z-list drag queens who had become ordained online, we encountered Gayparade in the act of performing a sorcerer’s spell which would grant him bodily existence. Timpani addressed us, having to peer up despite the heel of his combat boots, for the heterosexual is size-advantaged by his immunity to pet-play – a fact that is widely acknowledged even among Gay propagandists: “Trot on over here, lover, and face my hot brothers, some of whom would die to protect me, and the rest of whom will die because they have just witnessed Benedict Cumberbatch try to get the British press to stop calling him a gay bitch by licking out a pork pie.”

And sure enough, with a wail that was more in-tune than Marc Almond could ever be, some fifty of them passed into the oblivion of trying not to become second-hand racist from conservative editorialism. There did endure, however, a small contingent, who approached me with the determination of a newly hatched Transgender learning J-pop lyrics.

“Are we on Russian dash cam?” groaned the first passionately. “Because I’m about to slam you in the rear.”

But he could not anticipate that I had concealed pepper spray and an axe in my jacket, which are a great inconvenience to the Gay. So, it came to pass that those notorious hot brothers were immobilized – by their evil lust for my manhood or by the evacuation of their limbs, I could not be sure. While I dealt with them, Trimathee Chaletgay slipped through my fingers, into the bowels of unfortunate shaving. But it was not for him that I had come.

My goal was there, at the end of the hall, his skin bleached out by the industrial lighting and his degenerate lifestyle. And yet, after so many decades of acquaintance, those brave calves and that carefully swooped shoulder mane were unmistakable to me.

“Shag,” said I. “Are you still...?”

There was a pause as he turned toward me icily. “I – I didn’t change my name, so...”

We loafed about and said nothing, but I did kick three separate iterations of Spiderman down the stairs.

“You, ah,” it was most gay, but I could not come up with something dexterous to say nor a timely masculine reflex. Then I remembered the words of Tom Rob Smith much earlier in the evening. “Hey, girl. You look like they let Randy Quaid back in the movies, but with less visible pubic hair.”

Shag had begun to turn from me – I knew because I was tragically subjected to the witchcraft of gay sexy-walking, whereas the straight man cannot be accused of having hips, for he moves by the sheer gravitational force of his erectile prominence. And, my most red-bedecked haruspex of whatever the fuck Jonathan Ross is ever saying, I could not allow such a flagrant display of dandyism to go unimpeded, for that is how one remains a Top; so, did I call to him once more:

“Shag! Hear me and be somber! I speak, and a profound gloom becomes me, for I would rather not open my mouth around these pedophiles. But, I shall say it regardless: I need you, Paragon Shag, for everything you are – to help me destroy James Franc’n’o and his compound of chad gay clones, to graffiti organic supermarkets with ironic caricatures of Chairman Mao which will put at-risk youths off vegetarianism, to pull the plugs of the unabashed and despotic fairies who have made this world into a sheer-underpantsed nightmare of ex-Soviet post-punk, to be my one true ally against the rising tide of gay joy and the tribulations of this erotic disaster we call life.”

I felt the world end, bicepted Lord – for a long moment, when I could discern nothing on his heavily painted face, my heart stilled, which is not dangerous to the Man because his blood courses by its own perfect will – and when his lips twitched into a smile, Comrade of my Coronary Supersession, I felt it reborn.

Racing toward the exit, our pansificious colleagues and female battalion in tow, I began to imagine that after the stretched darkness had come a thrusting dawn. And then an unbearable shriek fell upon our ears. After we had determined that it was not Ed Sheeran, who is easy to kill, Shag and I turned to each other, establishing wordlessly that me must investigate.

We could see wave upon wave of reclaimed fake fur-draped gay cannibals, Z-snapping anxiously. They had gathered ‘round a TV screen -- but from such a distance as I could not make the picture out, nevertheless, I knew at once what had come to pass -- for the manly man, being preferential in evolution’s progress, is vested the power of second-sight so long as it pertains in some way to explosions. So it was that I realized the day of our reckoning had arrived in the image of a smoldering crater: God had crashed back to earth.

About the Authors

The wayward and athletic Admiral Willpower Butch this week celebrated his fifth decade of victory over superior-acting children, among whom he is universally known as the Hospital Man. He is an unparalleled hero, superlative in his muscular immensity, heterosexual prowess, and aptitude for breaking underdeveloped bones. His correspondent, Paragon Shag, his soul reclaimed from the clutches of pastoralism, would have certainly become such a commandant of auspicious slapping had he only been spared from the gay influence of mathematical implements in his school years. Their secretary and loosely-historically-based magic syphilitic gambler, Dead Summer Days, never thought the apocalypse would look so much like a Robert Rodriguez film.

#willpower butch #paragon shag #manly men! magazine #timothee chalamet #tom rob smith #the gay #the trans #my terrible jokes

[topworldhistory]

Look back at 14 events, achievements, tragedies and otherwise memorable moments that stood out during the 2010s.

The decade began amid the chaotic wake of a global financial crisis, and ended with a U.S. president facing possible impeachment for only the fourth time in history. The growing use of social media fueled mass protest movements, bringing millions of people together around the globe in pursuit of common objectives. Britain saw a new generation of royals emerge, countries around the world passed laws legalizing same-sex marriage and a beloved baseball team ended a 108-year-long dry spell by winning a World Series.

From politics to culture to sports and beyond, here are 14 events, achievements, tragedies and otherwise memorable moments that stood out during the 2010s.

Politics and World Events

1. Occupy Wall Street

Participants in the "Occupy Wall Street" demonstrate around Wall Street attempting to disrupt pedestrian flow for financial workers to get to work, in New York, September 19, 2011.

Around 1,000 people marched through the streets of New York City’s Financial District in September 2011 under an “Occupy Wall Street” banner. The protesters condemned corporate greed, income inequality and the corrosive influence of money in politics, and called for an overhaul of what they saw as a failing financial system. Like the Arab Spring, a wave of populist uprisings against authoritarian regimes in the Middle East that began that same year, the Occupy Wall Street movement spread via social media. Thousands more people showed up to join the sit-in in Zuccotti Park, near the New York Stock Exchange, and similar protests launched in dozens of cities across the country.

2. Black Lives Matter

Ten-year-old Robert Dunn uses a megaphone to address hundreds of demonstrators during a protest against police brutality and the death of Freddie Gray outside the Baltimore Police Western District station April 22, 2015. 

In 2013, three black female activists started using the social media hashtag #BlackLivesMatter in response to the acquittal of George Zimmerman, who shot and killed an unarmed black teen, Trayvon Martin, the previous year. Drawing inspiration from the civil rights and Black Power movements of the 1960s and Occupy Wall Street, among other social justice campaigns, the Black Lives Matter movement gained more attention in 2014 and 2015, when rioting followed the deaths of several black men who were killed by police. The slogan's prominence throughout the decade helped bring racial injustice into the spotlight and cement the growing role of social media in modern-day activist movements.

3. 2016 Presidential Election

Democratic presidential nominee Hillary Clinton shakes hands with Republican presidential nominee Donald Trump at the September 26, 2016 presidential debate.

In November 2016, one of the most bitterly divided political contests in the nation’s history ended when Republican candidate Donald Trump, a businessman and TV personality with no prior experience in public service, won the election to become the 45th president of the United States. With his populist campaign and slogan, “Make America Great Again,” Trump capitalized on widespread discontent among white working-class voters, targeting the Washington establishment, undocumented immigrants and political correctness among the causes of their woes. Though his Democratic opponent, Hillary Clinton, former first lady, New York senator and secretary of state and the first female presidential nominee of a major U.S. political party, won the popular vote by more than 2.8 million votes, Trump captured the electoral vote, 304-227. In January 2017, the day after Trump’s inauguration, more than 5 million people around the globe—including nearly 500,000 in Washington, D.C. alone—participated in the Women’s March, a massive protest against the incoming administration and one of the largest single-day demonstrations in the nation’s history.

4. Brexit

How Did Brexit Happen? (TV-PG; 4:18)

In mid-2016, amid a mass refugee crisis in Europe and furious debate over migration, Britons voted roughly 52 to 48 percent in favor of the United Kingdom’s withdrawal from the European Union, a.k.a. Brexit. The deadline for withdrawal was extended several times, as Parliament’s steadfast opposition to a proposed deal led to Prime Minister Theresa May’s resignation in mid-2019. Though May’s successor, Boris Johnson, initially planned to force an exit, with or without a deal, opposition to this plan forced him to seek yet another extension, pushing the contentious issue into the next decade.

5. Impeachment Inquiry

President Donald Trump exits a press conference on the sidelines of the United Nations General Assembly on September 25, 2019 in New York City. Speaker of the House Nancy Pelosi announced the day prior that the House would launch a formal impeachment inquiry into President Trump.

In the fall of 2019, a complaint by a whistleblower within the White House sparked an impeachment inquiry by the Democrat-dominated House of Representatives into whether Trump threatened to withhold military aid to Ukraine until the country’s president, Volodymyr Zelensky, agreed to investigate former Vice President Joe Biden (a Democratic presidential candidate for 2020) and his son Hunter, who had worked for a Ukrainian energy company. Trump became only the fourth U.S. president in history—after Andrew Johnson, Richard Nixon and Bill Clinton—to face possible impeachment.

Disasters & Violence

6. Haiti Earthquake

Sherider Anilus, 28, and her daughter, 9-month-old Monica, sit on the spot where her home collapsed during last month's 7.0 earthquake in the Fort National neighborhood February 26, 2010 in Port-au-Prince, Haiti. 

The deadliest natural disaster of the decade happened in the first month of 2010, when a magnitude 7.0 earthquake struck the West Indian island of Hispaniola on the afternoon of January 12. Followed by dozens of powerful aftershocks, the quake hit hardest in Haiti, the poorest country in the western hemisphere, killing an estimated 200,000 to 250,000 people and affecting some 3 million. The disaster drew a worldwide humanitarian response, but the impact of the earthquake was felt throughout the decade, as Haiti and its people continued along the difficult path to recovery.

7. Hurricanes

Waves break in front of a destroyed amusement park wrecked by Hurricane Sandy on October 31, 2012 in Seaside Heights, New Jersey.

Several massive hurricanes and tropical storms hit the United States in the 2010s, starting in 2012 with Sandy, which unleashed record-setting gales and storm surges in the Northeast. The storm killed more than 230 people and caused some $70 billion in damages. In 2017, three major hurricanes (Harvey, Irma and Maria) struck Texas, Florida and Puerto Rico, respectively, over five devastating weeks. A year later, Michael became the first Category 5 hurricane to hit the contiguous United States since 1992, causing more than 50 deaths and $25 billion in damages on Florida’s Gulf Coast. Some scientists have linked the increasing intensity—if not frequency—of hurricanes to climate change-related developments like rising sea levels and warmer oceans, raising the possibility that the next decade may hold more such mega-storms.

8. Terrorist Attacks

Boston Marathon Bombing (TV-PG; 10:03)

During the second decade following 9/11, the scourge of terrorism continued around the world. There were major attacks at the Boston Marathon; a music venue, cafes and restaurants in Paris, France; on London Bridge and a crowded Barcelona street; a nightclub in Orlando, Florida; and a Walmart in El Paso, Texas, among other places. U.S. Special Operations forces took down two major leaders of Islamic terrorism, 9/11 mastermind Osama Bin Laden and ISIS leader Abu Bakr al-Baghdadi. But terrorism within the United States was on the rise, including an increasing number of attacks driven by racist, xenophobic, homophobic, anti-Muslim and/or anti-Semitic views.

9. Mass Shootings 

Students are brought out of the Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School after a shooting at the school that killed and injured multiple people on February 14, 2018 in Parkland, Florida.

Horrifying episodes of gun violence against schoolchildren marred the decade, including attacks at Sandy Hook Elementary School in Newton, Connecticut, Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School in Parkland, Florida, and dozens of others. The horrifying spectacle of automatic weapons used in mass school shootings, as well as in similarly brutal attacks in other public venues—from a movie theater in Aurora, Colorado, to a historic black church in Charleston, South Carolina, to a country music festival in Las Vegas, Nevada—led to calls for increased gun legislation after each new tragedy.

People & Culture

10. Advances in LGBTQ Rights

A man waves a rainbow flag on November 15, 2017 in Sydney, Australia as Australians were asked to vote in the Marriage Law Postal Survey regarding sam-sex marriage.

The decade saw key advances for LGBTQ people around the world, with the legalization of same-sex marriage in 18 countries, including Argentina, France, Great Britain, Australia, Ireland, Germany and the United States (via the Supreme Court’s decision in Obergefell v. Hodges). Amid these milestones, there were also setbacks with anti-gay laws passed in Russia and China and an ongoing battle in the United States over laws preventing transgender people from using bathrooms matching their gender identity and the Trump’s administration’s ban on transgender citizens serving in the U.S. military.

11. New Generation of British Royals

Prince George and Princess Charlotte.

With Queen Elizabeth II in her seventh decade on the throne, a new generation of royals made their mark in the 2010s. Prince William, Prince Charles’s eldest son with Princess Diana, married Catherine Middleton in 2011, and by decade’s end they had three children, including Prince George, now third in line to the British throne behind his grandfather and father. In 2018, William’s younger brother, Prince Harry, wed the biracial, divorced American actress Meghan Markle in a ceremony watched by some 29.2 million TV viewers. Their son, Archie, was born the following year.

12. #MeToo Movement

Me Too founder Tarana Burke in her Brooklyn office in January 2018.

Though activist Tarana Burke first coined the phrase #MeToo back in 2006, what’s known as the #MeToo movement exploded in late 2017, after a New York Times article exposed long-rumored accusations of sexual harassment and assault against influential Hollywood producer Harvey Weinstein made by dozens of women, including many famous actresses. In the aftermath of these revelations, millions of people came forward to express solidarity with the accusers and shared their own experiences with sexual assault, harassment and sexism in the workplace and beyond. Widespread media coverage of #MeToo led to the resignation or firing of numerous prominent figures accused of misconduct.

Sports

13. Chicago Cubs Win the World Series

In 2016, the Chicago Cubs ended the longest drought in baseball by defeating the Cleveland Indians 8-7 in the 10th inning of Game 7 to win the World Series. Before this historic victory, the last time the Cubs won a World Series was in 1908, 108 years earlier. Cleveland, who had taken a 3-1 lead in games before Chicago came back to win three in a row, took over the title of the longest World Series drought among active baseball teams: The Indians haven’t won a pennant since 1948.

14. Simone Biles Becomes the Most Decorated Gymnast in History

Simone Biles competing on the balance beam during Day 2 of the U.S. Gymnastics Championships on August 17, 2018 in Boston, Massachusetts. 

Finally, the 2010s saw the rise of Simone Biles, the jaw-droppingly talented gymnast who won four gold medals, including the individual all-around and team titles, at the 2016 Olympics in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, setting a U.S. record for most gold medals in women's gymnastics at a single Games. To close out the decade, Biles won five gold medals at the World Championships held in October 2019, bringing her total to 25 world medals and 19 gold—the most of any gymnast, male or female, in history. Biles will compete in the 2020 Olympics in Tokyo, but has said she will retire from gymnastics after that competition. 

from Stories - HISTORY https://ift.tt/345fk3e December 09, 2019 at 09:38PM

#Worldhistory

[jackfollmanwriter-blog]

Dead Children’s Society

Everyone knew everyone else’s story, yet we still kept meeting each and every Wednesday night at 7:45 in the multi-purpose room in the River Road United Methodist church so each one of us could re-live the tragic horror which had touched our lives.

For instance, I knew Natalie Basket was just about to go into the wrinkle of her son Jackson’s murder where she blamed herself for allowing him to stay at his grandma’s house even though she knew the grandma lived in a neighborhood with a number of child molesters. No matter how many times I heard Natalie explain her regret, shoulder her blame and sob her eyes out about that detail, I still never silently retracted my blame.

Some of us deserved to be in the Justice For The Murdered Children of Southern Missouri group, and some of us didn’t. I was one of those who didn’t.

Josh left me on a blazing hot day in the summer of 1994, two days before his ninth birthday and 342 days after my twenty-sixth birthday. Little Josh disappeared from our little town of Forsyth on his way home from karate class. The local paper said the town would never be the same.

I felt I held up my end of that bargain, but have to say the town let me down. The place is still the same little, sleepy, half horse of a town it was when my neighbor Louise Fox thought she was supposed to pick up Josh from karate class at 6:30 instead of 5:30 and Josh grew impatient and decided to walk home down the highway.

The only thing they ever found of Josh was that little orange belt from his karate uniform he wore so proudly. They never found his body. They never found a single blonde hair from his soft little head. Worse yet, they never found a single legitimate suspect other than eventually me after they had hollowly questioned every single man over the age of 25 in the town who owned a van.

I still think about Sheriff Andersen sitting in my kitchen, drinking my coffee and asking me veiled questions about what may have happened to Josh. Thankfully the guy who went hunting with my dad every year was so meek, he never flat out asked me if I had anything to do with Josh’s disappearance, because if he did, I may have actually murdered the whole town.

Instead of harming anyone in Forsyth, I just kept doing a piss poor job of driving the school bus Monday thru Friday. I think they just kept letting me drive the thing for fear of causing me to actually snap if they fired me and out of guilt for never finding who took Josh.

Other than driving that bus and coming home, coping with countless hours of television and Orange Crush mixed with vodka, the only thing I ever did, was hit the road for an hour each way to make it to Branson to attend my weekly Justice For The Murdered Children of Southern Missouri meeting. Sometimes I wondered if it was the only thing that kept me alive.

I had started to grow worried about the group in recent years though. It had been 22 years and the group which once peaked at 19 ladies in 1999, had dwindled to just seven women sitting in that multi-purpose room and it had been a couple years since anyone new had joined.

So, I felt a tingle of excitement and drank the Orange Crush and vodka I snuck in each week in a Burger King cup with a little more fervor when I saw a young woman (couldn’t have been much older than 25) with a stack of golden hair sit down in one of our plastic chairs. That tingle turned into a slow burn when I watched her dunk one of those little airplane bottles of Jack Daniels into her traveler mug when everyone but me and her got up to attack the tray of knock off brand cookies someone brought for the intermission.

I hadn’t even gotten the new woman’s name yet. Our group conducted our usual clockwise rotation of talking about what we wanted to talk about this week and our new friend was sitting at about 10 p.m. Because of that, it would be awhile before we heard from her, especially since Tanya Chare told the lengthy story about the time she talked to Nancy Grace, but got edited out of the show because she used the “C” word a couple of times.

I wasted no time, the rest of the ladies in the group would gulp down their watered-down Maxwell’s House and Western Family cookies in less than 10 minutes and they would have to jump right back into the monotony of their weekly sorrow right away. I walked across the room and stuck a hand out to the woman who was sucking back on her traveller mug.

“Hi, I’m Holly Barrow. Are you new to the group?” Thought I’d introduce myself.”

I was nervous. I prayed the new woman wouldn’t sense the vodka sweat on my palms.

“Oh hi, I’m Krista Hansen, and yes, this is my first time to the group. I just moved from Kansas and saw the group listed in the paper up in Springfield, so I thought it would come down.  I’m glad I did. Everyone seems so nice.”

I almost laughed out loud at Krista’s innocence of thinking everyone in the group was really nice. Just give it a few weeks. Regardless, I really liked her vibe. She seemed like the kind of person who could serve as a sounding board for my frustrations with the group and the stupid shit people post on Facebook. I needed that.

“You got a flight tonight?” I said coyly and shot a look at the purse where I saw Krista tuck her little bottle of Jack Daniels just a minute ago.

“What?” Krista answered back with a big, oblivious smile.

“You drink,” I said and flashed a wide smile.

“Ohhhhhhhhh,” Krista responded with a blush and a giggle. “I had no idea what you mean by what you said about a flight.”

“Oh,” I spoke softly. “Those little bottles of booze are called airplane bottles or shots because I think you usually buy them at an airport, or they are what you can actually take on an airplane.”

Krista blushed some more.

“I’ve never been on an airplane,” Krista answered bashfully.

My eyes lit up.

“Neither have I,” I blurted out.

“Did we just become best friends,” Krista blurted back.

I jokingly just laughed and nodded on the outside, but on the inside, all I could think was, yes, yes we did.

We eventually got to Krista’s story after we heard a few ladies (myself included) retell the fucked-up tales of woe we justifiably let dominate our lives.

That familiar drunken sweat returned to my palms when Krista stood up to dive into her story.

“Hi, my name is Krista Hansen, I’m from Springfield, Missouri, but I only just moved there a few weeks ago from Wichita, Kansas. It has been really, really good for me to hear all of your stories about going through the same thing I went through six years ago. There are not groups like this anywhere in Kansas as far as I know, so I’m so glad I found y’all here. I don’t know if you saw it in the news. It was a bit of a story over in Kansas City, but don’t how far it made it, but my son, Christian Hansen was murdered six years ago and they never found the killer. Never really found a suspect, other than me, I guess. At least that’s all they could come up with, but I was cleared, and it all went away.”

I felt my heart swoon for this woman. She was so much like me.

“Christian was on his paper route early in the morning when he disappeared and was never found again. They never found his body, just the outfit he was wearing and some DNA on a knife they found by a river.”

Krista started to break down. I could see her jaw wobble from across the circle.

“I’ve spent the last six years basically sitting in my house, crying every night about Christian. Just thinking about what happened to him, recreating it in my head, over and over again, until I almost want to kill myself.”

Krista broke down for a few seconds, sobbed into her drink which only I knew was spiked.

“And I just wanted to share my story and meet some other women, and men, potentially, like me,” Krista barely got her last statement out before sobbing some more and taking a big swig of her drink.

The group responded a flurry of sobs from around the whole circle, myself included.

*

I anticipated the group engulfing Krista as soon as the meeting was over, so I picked off the last of the cheap cookies and waited out in front of the church with the plan to smoke cigarettes until Krista came out. I was fully aware that my strategy was like that of some kind of 50s greaser punk looking to get sweet with a young coed, but I didn’t care. I wanted to talk to Krista one-on-one and didn’t want to risk her slipping away.

I couldn’t have killed my smoke faster when I saw Krista walk out of the front doors of the church. There could have been a baby at my feet and I still would have let that burning ash fall right down on its bonnet.

“Krista,” I blurted out her name before we even came face-to-face.

Krista jumped back in fright as soon as she heard my voice. I grabbed my heart and apologized. I put an arm around her and walked with her towards the parking lot.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you. I just wanted to touch base with you before we both went home. I just think we have so much in common.”

“It’s okay and I couldn’t agree more,” Krista responded and stopped at the driver’s side door of a filthy Ford Focus.

I watched Krista unlock her car and take her cell phone out of her clutch.

“Let’s exchange numbers,” Krista suggested and my heart fluttered.

The exchanging of numbers went smoothly and within less than a minute, I was standing in the parking lot watching the taillights of Krista’s Ford pull out onto the road.

After catching my breath, I turned around to hustle back to my car parked on the other side of the church, but didn’t make it far.

I tumbled down to the hard asphalt, having tripped on something that had been resting just behind my feet. It was Krista’s black clutch.

*

“Hi Krista, it’s Holly. Already, I know...but, I found your clutch in the parking lot outside your car. You must have dropped it when we traded numbers. Anyway. I will wait here for about twenty minutes, but then I gotta hit the road back down to Forsyth. Maybe we can meet up for coffee or a drink or something tomorrow if we can’t connect tonight. Alright. Bye.”

*

I was shocked I didn’t hear from Krista during my entire drive home. It was all I could think about as I wound the near hour on the highway and fought back the urge to snag her wallet out of her clutch and do some investigating.

I battled that urge until I got home, but once I was placed back into the half-buzzed monotony of my little house on the edge of town, I couldn’t fight it anymore. I dove into Krista’s clutch, splayed out her wallet and started to dissect its contents. I’m not proud, but at least I’m honest.

The first thing which jumped out at me was the name and picture on Krista’s Oklahoma state driver’s license. Her first name was exact, but her last name was listed as Gunderson and her picture looked much different than what she looked like in the flesh back at the church. In her driver’s license photo, she had one of those god awful haircuts where everything is long except one buzzed side and her hair was a deep red, almost maroon.

This was all excusable. It was very possibly Krista had been married and divorced a time or two and every lady is entitled to a new look. I added the Oklahoma license into that category as well. Krista had only talked about being from Kansas and recently moving to Missouri, but maybe there was something in her past she didn’t want to talk about. The amount of times I thought about completely changing my life and taking my cousin Desi’s offers to join her as a truck stop stripper down in Arkansas haunted me in my sleep. Who was I to judge?

I am no angel. The suspicions sparked by the inconsistencies in on Krista’s license were enough to send me to my laptop to do a little Googling about her, and her story of her murdered son, Christian.

My temperature and heart rate started to rise when “Christian Hansen murder,” “Christian Hansen Kansas murder,” “Christian Gunderson murder,” “Christian Gunderson Kansas murder,” and pretty much every other combination of search I tried came up with nothing. Anything in general for Krista Hansen and Krista Gunderson and a murder and a child murder in Kansas City produced absolutely nothing.

My initial thought was Krista was a fraud. Someone who for some reasons decides pretending to have a child who was murdered was a good thing for them to do. She wouldn’t be the first. Our group had already been infiltrated by a couple of them. It was so common we actually came up with the name “widiots” for them. We didn’t like them, but they were pretty much harmless and went always away as soon as we called them out on it.

I dove further into my research of Krista. I found a Facebook profile for a Krista Gunderson in Tulsa, Oklahoma, but it was private and her only visible picture was of a cat. Fuck, I hated those ultra-private on Facebook people. Just don’t have a profile at all if you don’t want anyone to stalk you online. I tried everything I could to see if I could find a picture, or more info on that Krista Gunderson profile - stalking everyone with the last name Gunderson on her friend’s list. Stalking the seven people who liked her profile picture, but it was all for not.I was out of options.

Then my phone rang and jarred me back into the non-digital world and sent me at least an inch off of my computer chair seat.

I checked my phone. It was Krista calling.

“Hello.”

“Hi, is this Holly?”

“Yes, Krista?”

“Sorry, I just got your message. I can’t believe I dropped my clutch. Thank you so much for finding it. I guess I got lucky. But anyway, do you think I could come by and pick it up tonight?

I stumbled on my own tongue. Krista wouldn’t make it down to my place from Springfield until at least 2 a.m.

“I uh, yeah,” I agreed without thinking about it any more.

*

I regretted giving Krista my address while I sat there and sipped on my fifth Orange Crush and vodka of the long night.

It was nearing 2:30 a.m. and Krista had yet to arrive. I texted and called her in the last hour and had yet to receive an answer back. She was driving though, I guess.

Making matters worse, a heavy rain had begun to fall in the last hour and the hard pitter patter of the precipitation on my thin roof dulled every sound around me. Krista could have slipped in the house through the back door which would no longer lock, scoop up her clutch and leave again without me even noticing.  

I sat in my little living room, staring out the window at my gravel driveway waiting for that red Ford Focus to pull up. All I could think about was seeing headlights soon. I was buzzed, tired with a brain fried from thinking about trauma for hours. I should have been more scared, but I think my mind was so worn down and exhausted, it was pushing the fear back and pulling up my desire for sleep. I plunked a Five Hour Energy shot into my drink and chugged it down.

I quickly felt that sick, syrupy kick of an energy shot kick in, but it started to fade almost as soon as it came. My eyelids went back to being heavy and started to slowly open and close while I stared out at my wet yard, bathed in the pale light of my flood lighting.

One more futile flutter of the eyelids and it was all over. My eyes remained shut and my body went limp in my rolling computer chair in the living room with my body facing my front yard. Between the long day of travel, the half a handle of vodka I downed, and the stress in my head, my body finally tapped out and I fell helplessly into sleep.

*

The entire world was dark when I woke. I shook my head, rubbed my eyes and scanned my surroundings, tried to absorb as much of what I saw, as soon as I possibly could.

No clock in sight and no cell phone in reach, I had no idea what time it was. All I knew was at some point in my sleep cycle, the floor light in the front yard had shut off and whatever lights I had in the house had as well.

Had the power went out?

I reached over and tried the lamp next to my chair. It flicked on and bathed the room in soft light. The power wasn’t out, but I definitely had lights on when I fell asleep. How did they all turn off then?

I made my way to my feet and stumbled around, trying to find my bearings and figure out what happened. I found my first clue when I retrieved my cell phone.

There were three texts from Krista waiting for me on my phone.

Be there in five minutes.

I’m here. Sorry it’s late.

Hey, didn’t want to wake you, but found my clutch and wallet and went home. Thanks. See you next week. Krista.

So Krista had came in through my unlocked front door, retrieved her stuff without waking me up and left again in the middle of the night? Seemed impossible, but there was no other explanation which could have made sense.

None of that felt good, but I guessed if there was anything sinister about Krista, she could have executed it while I was passed out, so I also thought I didn’t have too much to worry about. I could retreat back to my bedroom in peace, join my cat Ranger in my bed and sleep away the night in hopes that I wouldn’t have a raging hangover the next time I woke up.

*

That hangover I feared more even more than a crazed woman who may have been pretending to have a murdered child came on hard as soon as I woke up just before lunch time and launched back into my research of Krista.

Facebook had proved fruitless, but Google would not let me down. Well, to rephrase that, Myspace shockingly did not let me down. After a Google search of “Krista Gunderson,” I was able to find a Myspace.com link a few pages into the search results which pulled up the ancient bones of a bedazzled Myspace profile for Krista which clearly hadn’t been updated since 2008 and listed her location as in Oklahoma.

Most of the 200 or so pictures attached to her profile were useless. Just low-quality snapshots of her at bars with friends. I almost gave up scanning through all of them, but was glad I didn’t, because the very last picture in the gallery took my breath away.

Captioned with the phrase “I love my baby,” the photo was of a slightly-younger Krista sitting on a dock on a lake with her arms around a teenage boy with sandy blonde hair and a smile I couldn’t mistake. It had to be a coincidence, but the boy looked exactly how I imagined Josh would look had he not been taken from me.

Just looking at the picture of someone who looked so much like him, brought tears to my eyes and I had to pause my investigation.

My suspicions about Krista helped me work through the pain. I hadn’t been able to find a single thing about a dead son in Krista’s online footprint (and nothing about what she put out there made her seem like some kind of broken woman with a chunk missing from her heart). To put it crudely, she looked just like any kind of piece of shit woman you might find hanging out in the bar in Missouri, Oklahoma or Kansas these days.

I wasn’t going to waste any more time on Krista. In less than 24 hours, she had went from my celebrity crush/obsession to deepest, darkest fear and now back to an afterthought. So what if she was faking a murdered son? It didn’t really affect me and I’m sure she would get sick of it or get outed by someone else in the group sooner rather than later. It wasn’t my job to go after her.

*

I gnashed my teeth for the 12 minutes I had before the group meeting started, waiting to see Krista walk through that door. But she never came.The meeting started, we all told our stories, nibbled on our cheap cookies and sipped on our watery coffee then headed back on our separate ways.

My cell phone burned a hole in my pocket all the way back to Forsyth. Why had Krista no-showed? Should I call her? Text her? Did she somehow find out that I was cyber stalking her? Had I “Liked”  something of her’s on Facebook? My mind was a troubled ocean of doubt and fear.

I had finally settled on leaving the Krista situation alone unless it forced itself on me when I pulled  into my driveway and finished chewing on the last of the fingernails I had left. The rest of my night was going to consist of checking the thick stack of mail I pulled out of my mailbox for the first time in two weeks, cueing up Netflix and hoping I could find a decent show to binge on until I fell asleep with Ranger by my side.

The stack of mail was mostly just junk and past due bills. I chucked all of it into the trash can except for a blank manilla envelope about the size of a sheet of paper. I pulled the thing open and came face to face with a handwritten note scrawled in black ink.

It’s time again…

Well that was comforting. Even in my moment of deepest terror, I couldn’t help but be cynical with myself. Getting the horrible morbid people who used to torment me for fun after Josh disappeared to get active again was just what I didn’t need in my life. I thought about the loaded pistol in the nightstand for the briefest of moments. No, this was just another horribly mean prank and that’s what these awful people wanted. For me to get so depressed from their torture that I decided to join Josh.

I wouldn’t give in. I tore it up and threw it away. Fuck those assholes.

*

The days went. The weeks went on. The meetings each Wednesday night went on with my stiff Orange Crush and vodkas, but Krista never showed up again or texted or called me.

The temptation to call or text Krista boiled for the first few weeks, but it slowly began to fade and my day-to-day life started to go back to about as normal as it could be.

Then I started to get the messages.

They were voicemails left on my phone in the middle of the night, when my phone is always turned off. I periodically would make up to new messages on my phone. At first, they started as just muffled voices I couldn’t understand or windy sounds, but they eventually started to turn into clear messages I could make out, and could no longer ignore.

The first one I could properly hear was a conversation between myself and what sounded like a counselor or social worker I never remembered happening. A vague conversation with the tone from the counselor seeming to suggest I did something wrong, but wouldn’t admit to it, listening to the little snapshot of the back-and-forth raised the goosebumps on my arms.

I figured it must have been some counseling I had to do after Josh disappeared and I had forgotten about it or blocked it out of my mind. Either way though, it still didn’t explain why it was being left as a voicemail on my phone in the middle of the night.

It also didn’t explain why the voicemails started coming in every night.

At first they were just continuations of that vague conversation with the counselor and I thought it must have been the counselor doing it, or someone who found her tapes. Those thoughts would not last. After a few days, the voicemails turned much darker, much more-detailed and much more personal the first night. I finally gave in and decided I would leave my phone on when I went to sleep.

*

It took me a few moments for the ringing next to my head to rustle me from my slumber then reached over and snatched up my phone on about the third ring.

“Hello?” I couldn’t have sounded any groggier.

No voice picked up on the other end of the line. All I heard was the click sound a tape deck makes before it starts to play and then a voice that took my breath away. It was Josh. Talking to me through the shitty speakers of flip phone.

“I don’t know,” were the first words I heard Josh speak.

The voice was clearly Josh. The exact voice I remembered from around when he disappeared. Not the giggly toddler voice he had before he turned five and headed to Kindergarten or some kind of maturation I imagined would have happened had he lived to 16, but that exact, childish voice he had around eight and nine years-old.

“I don’t remember,” Josh’s sweet voice went on in the recording. “I try not to remember. I just remember the red bottle and then I remember it would happen. That’s it.”

My still-waking and still-buzzed brain tried to filter the words that were coming out of little Josh’s mouth, but still couldn’t make sense of them.

“I tried it once. She mixes it with the orange fizzy pop I like, but it tasted bad, so I didn’t again.”

Josh was talking about my drinking. The red bottle referring to my usual fifth of Smirnoff,the orange fizzy pop, the Orange Crush soda I had relied on as a mixer for damn near 30 years.

“That’s when it would happen,” Josh’s voice starting to quiver with sobs which drew my attention away from my pondering.

“What happened?” An unknown female voice popped up onto the tape and asked Josh a question.

There was a long pause from Josh.

“She would hurt me,” Josh’s squeaky, little voice barely got the words out.

The tape cut out. The call dropped.

*

I didn’t sleep a wink the rest of the night. Or the next night. I went on a 48-hour drinking and smoking bender in the comfortable confines of my living room. Ignored the calls from work when they came in and picked up the calls which came from the unknown number with recordings of Josh talking with a counselor.

“So she hit you?” Every word hurt when it came out of that smug counselor’s mouth.

I wanted to reach through the phone and strangle the shit out of that little mousy fucking counselor. The last three messages had been her talking Josh into the idea that I abused him. Something that I swear never happened. I was pretty deep into the bottle back then, but that’s just because I was still numbing myself from Josh’s dad leaving me and my parents dying in their 50s.

There was a long silence on the line.

“You’re shaking your head yes, Josh,” that asshole counselor’s voice kicked up again.

I tossed the phone across the room.

It wasn’t true. I knew it wasn’t true. It didn’t matter what those tapes said. It wasn’t true. You have to believe me. I know it in my own heart.

That was the last of the phone calls. I patiently waited by my phone with the cracked screen waiting for more calls. I checked every five seconds for a new voicemail whenever I left my phone or fell asleep for a few moments. I didn’t leave the house for a week. Started to just eat pancakes without butter and without syrup for every meal because it was the only food I had left.

After about a week of doing that, I realized I should have been checking the mail more often. I only remembered because my mail man knocked on my door one afternoon to tell me he couldn’t fit anything else in the box because it was already stuffed full and handed me another unmarked manila envelope.

“Couldn’t fit this in. You should check you mail ma’am.”

I started opening the envelope before the mail man could even scurry away from the frightening sight I’m sure I was.

A pile of photos fell at my feet once I ripped open the envelope.

I bent down and picked up the first photo I could get my hands on and saw Josh staring back at me, shirtless, in a poorly-lit room with his torso covered in purple and puke yellow bruises. I wanted to puke, but flipped through the rest of the pictures. They were all the same - Josh - just in his underwear displaying signs of abuse. I actually put the photos down on my kitchen counter and walked away before I got through all of them.

A retreat to my bedroom and a shutting off of the lights and official shutting out of the real world was my last move. I pulled my ratty comforter over my head and let the booze still rushing through my blood drift me off to sleep in the middle of a sunny day.

*

I’m not sure how long I was out, but it was pitch black all around when I finally woke. The clock in the corner of the room told me 3 a.m. and the icy chill which filled every empty space of my bedroom told me I never turned the heat on. I looked over to my nightstand and saw a little frost on the glass of ice water which had been sitting there for weeks collecting dust.

The room spun for a moment before I collected my head and turned my senses on full blast for the first time in a long time. I must have actually slept off a little bit of the booze and the world was suddenly a cold, harsh and painful place which made my head feel like it was stuck in a vice.

I allowed a few seconds to pass to try and take everything in and about three seconds into my “warming up phase,” I heard footsteps from just outside of my bedroom door.

I flashed my eyes over to the door, open just a little crack and saw a shadow cut through the little sliver of light the crack let in. My arm ripped over to that nightstand where I knew my gun rested and knocked that neglected glass cup of water onto the hardwood floor where it shattered.

A good, hard blink reset my senses and allowed the world to re-focus in front of me. I started at  that little crack again and saw nothing. Stayed silent with my hand resting next to the gun inside the painted wood of my nightstand and heard nothing. All was silent. There was nothing in the house as far as my human body could tell. I was just going crazy and I was just incredibly hung over. That was my biggest concern at the moment.

My human body did what it could to help with the situation by pulling my hand away from the nightstand and to my mouth where it tried to stop a heaping load of liquid barf from erupting from my lips. I felt the vomit stream out from my hands and all over my torso before the power of the hangover took me over again, I laid back onto my bed and fell asleep.

*

The world was just coming to life the next time I woke. I could feel a hint of warmth trickle through the little open slats in the blinds of my bedroom which faced the backyard. A few more hours sober, I felt a little more control over my body, but could still feel the powerful stranglehold of an aching headache and bubbling stomach torturing my body. It was going to be very hard to get out of bed.

That little bit of light from the rising sun helped me roll over in bed, in the direction which led to the bathroom. I was pretty sure I hadn’t gone to the bathroom in almost 24 hours and it felt like the entire lower half of my torso was going to explode.

I went to throw that lower torso half over the edge of the bed, but stopped myself. I remembered I broke the glass of the cup on the floor right next to my bed in the night and the shattered glass was still spread across the hardwood floor.

Stopped on the edge of the bed, I peered down at the glass and gulped down a hearty chunk of vomit because of what I immediately noticed. Trickling away from the thick pile of shredded glass was a trail of blood which pitter pattered on the floor until it disappeared out the doorway which led into the hall.

I wasn’t a forensic expert, but based on the wetness of the blood spatter, the blood appeared to be rather fresh. Couldn’t have been more than an hour or so old. Had I stumbled up out of bed in the night and stepped on the glass? I reached down and grabbed the bottom of my feet. Not a scratch. No.

My still-fogged brain began to panic. Someone was in the house this time. Someone was probably in the house in the night when I convinced myself they weren’t last time.

I scrambled for my phone which rested on the pillow next to my head with just two percent battery power. Shit. I hadn’t charged the thing in days, but I would probably still have enough juice to call the cops.

But there was a voicemail waiting on the home screen of my phone. I looked at the little message indicator for a few seconds and watched my phone’s power slip down to just one percent. I had to listen to it. I could flick out of it and then call 911 if it was worthless.

I put the phone to my ear and let the voicemail play.

I could tell the voice in the message belonged to Krista before she even spoke. Picked up her essence in the frantic inhale which opened up the message.

“Holly. You need to know this is not what I meant to happen. I had no idea. I had no idea what he wanted to do. I figured he wanted to find you just to know what you were doing. I never thought…”

Krista’s frantic voice paused.

“But when he found out what you were doing. Seeking sympathy for what you did, he couldn’t take it. He had to go to you. I tried to stop him, but I couldn’t. Maybe because I don’t really feel sorry for you. You are probably going to get what you deserve.”

Krista’s voice started to calm and speak more slowly and more clearly.

“You’re probably wondering what this all is and I’m sure it is a shock, but something is really wrong with Holly. You can’t remember what happened day-to-day because you pickled your piece of shit brain starting back 25 years ago, but you are not a good person. Josh wasn’t murdered. He ran away. He snuck off in the middle of the day and rode his bike until he ended up Oklahoma, far away from you, and became a foster child. A foster child I eventually took in and made my son. Josh ran away because you abused him. You can keep trying to deny it, but those tapes you heard, those photos he sent, they tell the real story. Why do you think the cops only questioned you? They figured you murdered Josh, but they could just never find proof. Why do you think no one in that town can look you in the eye.”

Krista began to break up again on the phone, her mouth full of spit. I imagined tears running down her cheeks.

“I don’t know what he is going to do to you, but I can’t say you don’t deserve and I don’t think anyone is going to judge either of us when they find out what you did to him and why you made  him run away.”

The voicemail ended or the phone ran out of battery, I wasn’t really sure. Either way I put the phone down and noticed something step into my field of vision out of the corner of my eye.

I turned my head to the door to my room and started to cry. Standing right there in the doorway was the adult version of my Josh. Clad in dirty jeans, a faded-blue sweatshirt and a sloppy blonde beard with a head of long shaggy hair, he looked at me across the room with dark eyes.

“I’m sorry Josh,” the words barely dribbled out of my quivering lips. “Please, please, understand that I have been sick. Been sick for a really long time.”

“I know,” Josh said so softly I could barely hear.

Josh’s voice was so much deeper, scratchier, but I could still remember it. I could still picture that innocent little nine-year-old with the slight hint of a lisp.

“Please, please, don’t hurt me,” I started to please. “I’m already hurt too much. You got me back for whatever they convinced you I did to you. Please.”

Josh shook his head.  

“I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Thank you. Thank you.”

My thanks started to dissolve when I saw Josh take a zip tie out of jean pocket.

“No, no,” I started to plead again as Josh walked towards me.

I vomited before Josh got to me, the puke muffling the word “no,” which was the only thing I could repeat.

I was helpless, Josh had that zip tie on my wrists as I kicked around the bed.

“I’m not going to hurt you. Don’t worry,” Josh whispered into my ear before he lifted me up off the bed. “I’m just going to do to you what you forced me to do because I couldn’t take it anymore.”

I screamed as Josh lifted my hangover-ravaged body up off of the bed.

*

Crammed in the trunk of Josh’s truck for what seemed like hours. I feared I was running out of oxygen, but honestly I felt that could have just been more of the withdrawal. Either way, my entire body was a mess as I laid in the dark with my eyes closed, trying not to throw up for the third time in the day.

I started to breath normally for the first time in a long time when I felt the car come to a stop. I let out a full on gasp when the lid of the trunk opened up and stung me with the light of the frozen day. I took in a few cold heaves of air before my eyes fully adjusted to take in Josh towering over me in the sharp sunlight.

“Please just let me go,” I screamed up at Josh.

Josh ignored my demand. He grabbed me around the waist and drug me out of the trunk.

I fell hard on the ground and looked up at the blue sky which was garnished with the dead tips of a forest of tall trees which were fighting off the frost of the winter with the help of a low, beaming sun. I took in the winter beauty for a minute to try and collect myself until Josh stepped into my field of vision and towered over me.

“This road is where I ended up in the middle of the night when I finally worked up the courage to run away.”

I looked around me on the ground level where I laid. It appeared to be a desolate back road in the country which went from nowhere and led to nowhere.

“It’s also where I eventually found a way to my real home,” Josh went on as he cut off my zip ties.

“Please,” I called out as Josh walked away and back to the car.

Josh stopped just inside the driver’s side door of his beat-up Civic.

“I hope you can do the same.”

Josh just tipped the cap of his stained-black baseball cap and ducked back into his car. The tires of his Civic spit gravel in my face when he roared away into the setting sun.

I eventually made my way to my feet and started to stagger in the direction Josh’s car drove off in  hopes of eventually finding someone who could help me. Still dressed in just the nightgown Josh grabbed me in with the darkness bringing on the full brunt of a Missouri, or maybe Oklahoma winter? I didn’t know how long I could make it.

Turns out  the  answer to that question was all night. I  walked on that little gravel road until the sun started to come back up and my eyes set upon a bleak, little town with a gas station and a mini-mart across the street, neither of which were open yet.

It took another good chunk of time before a couple of trucks rolled by and their Oklahoma license plates finally signified to me at least what state I was in. I tried to wave one down for help, but my arm was too tired to even lift up off of my shivering hip.

Right when I was on the verge of death, someone finally stopped in a decrepit little hatch back and picked me up. They took me to the emergency room where I have been recovering for the past day. I guess I beat Josh’s challenge, but I don’t know if that really even matters and I don’t know if I can even go back to our little town and face my life now that Josh’s confrontation and my moments of sobriety have forced me to finally face the truth.

Maybe I will keep following in little Josh’s footsteps, stay here in Oklahoma and make a life for myself. It seemed to work out just fine for him, I guess.

Originally published by Thought Catalog on www.ThoughtCatalog.com.