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hunterrrs · 7 months

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photos from here, I NEED FOOTAGE OF THIS. also this article is a great read. he’s invited some families who lost their homes in the halifax fires to practice:

By the time you read this, Pittsburgh Penguins players will have munched on the pudding known as haggis, made from the livers, hearts and lungs of sheep. And learned how to shuck oysters, in all their slimy, gooey glory.

All courtesy of Sidney Crosby, the Pittsburgh captain, who brought team building to an entirely new level on Saturday. From the moment months ago that he learned the Penguins would be playing here, Crosby was stoked. A proud native of Cole Harbour, 10 miles from Halifax, the 36-year-old began planning out his transformation from NHL star to tour guide.

“I think just the feel of it, the people, and to see the excitement for the game,” Crosby said Friday. “And just to get around the city a little bit, those types of things.

“It’s somewhere that I’m really proud of, and I hope everyone enjoys themselves there.”

In order to do that, he set something up with a unique Maritime flavor. Welcome to “The Amazing Race: Crosby Edition.”

“When Sidney found out the team was coming here, he wanted to find a fun way to celebrate his hometown with his teammates and educate them on why it’s such a special place,” his father, Troy, said.

He seems to have done exactly that.

After a morning of golf Saturday, the unsuspecting Penguins set out on an “Amazing Race”-like scavenger-hunt competition that would take them through the streets of Cole Harbour, Dartmouth and downtown Halifax, and across Halifax Harbour on a ferry.

Under the format, the players were divided into teams. They were given instructions of where to go, what venues to visit and what tasks they were to do (e.g., eating haggis, shucking oysters), all while going up against the clock.

The instructions came on laminated cards featuring the Penguins logo and a “Welcome to Cole Harbour” greeting.

The message on one of the cards read, “Every player has to shuck two oysters and eat them or have a teammate eat them on their behalf. Careful with that knife, and don’t break any shells!”

Crosby enlisted the help of Paul Mason, one of his baseball and minor hockey coaches, to help plan the event. Mason was paramount in setting up the three Cole Harbour Stanley Cup celebrations in Crosby’s honor, and No. 87 didn’t hesitate when it came to the perfect person to set up this event.

“In organizing this, when he talked to me about it, he wants this entire weekend to be pretty special for the community, for his teammates, for everyone around him,” Mason said. “You can sense how much these few days mean to him. You could sense his anticipation for months.”

Mason said that even though Crosby is the host for his teammates this weekend, he’s going to try to win everything: golf, the scavenger hunt, the preseason game Monday, you name it.

“He’s competitive at everything, even as a little kid when I was coaching him,” Mason said. “And that hasn’t changed.

“When the NHL was shut down during COVID, his dad Troy and I played Sidney and one of his friends in a golf match. They should have won, but somehow we did. He didn’t accept that. He said it was two out of three. When we won the second one he said it was three out of five. We ended up playing seven of them. The seventh one was in December with snow on the ground. They won that one to take the series 4-3. Suddenly that was acceptable because they’d won.

“Once they’d finally won, it was over,” Mason said with a laugh.

During some of those summers, Greenwood has helped organize some of the offseason skates featuring Crosby, MacKinnon and Marchand at a local arena. The competitiveness gets intense at times, something Greenwood said helps all three drive each other.

“Yeah, they’re friends,” he said. “But when they start playing against each other at times, you’d never know it. They want to beat one another at any and all costs.

“You can see how that drive, that determination, that win-at-all-costs attitude rubs off on some of the younger guys.”

Count Drake Batherson as one of them. The 25-year-old Senators forward grew up in New Minas, 50 miles northwest of Halifax, and has been training during the offseason with Crosby, Marchand and MacKinnon since 2019. He calls those workouts “one of my favorite times of the year.”

As such, he’s looking forward to facing Crosby and the Penguins in Halifax on Monday.

“I've still got posters of the Penguins and Sid on my wall at my parents' house, so it's pretty fun now that me and Sid have built a relationship and we're buddies," Batherson said. "It's pretty cool looking back on it.”

It was a tough spring and summer for Nova Scotia.

In late May and early June, wildfires raged through the outskirts of Halifax and throughout the province. More than 16,000 people were forced to evacuate as a result, many eventually returning to find their homes were nothing more than heaps of smoldering ashes.

Less than two months later, the area was hit with record rainfall that caused historic flooding. Water did seep into Crosby’s home, though to nowhere near the extent of some others where people pretty much lost everything.

“The area has been through a lot,” he said. “But the great thing about some of these communities, and the area in general, is that everyone sticks together and everyone’s willing to help each other.

“I think when you’ve seen adverse times here over the years, you’ve seen people come together more and more. And I think we take a lot of pride in that here. The fact that people know they can depend on each other is huge. I think we’ve shown that time and time again, and there’s pride that comes with that.”

Crosby is doing his part to teach local kids exactly that.

On Sunday, the Penguins will hold a practice at Cole Harbour Place. Hundreds of children from the local minor hockey systems have been invited to attend and take part in a Q&A session with some Pittsburgh players and, with a select few kids getting to go on the ice with them.

Part of that group will be kids from minor hockey whose families lost their homes in the fires. Crosby specifically wanted them to attend, with Mason helping to make it happen. Given the trauma they and their families have gone through, it is Crosby’s way of trying to brighten up their lives, even if it’s just for one afternoon.

“That’s Sid, right?” Greenwood said. “He’s going to have an impact on these kids, both on the ice and off.”

He already has.

In 2009, Crosby established the Sidney Crosby Foundation, an organization that improves the lives of children who are sick or struggling. More recently, Crosby and several foundation board members created Nova Scotia Showdown T-shirts heading into the game Monday, with proceeds going to his foundation.

“He’s helping young kids who are going through hard times, and he’s being a role model for young hockey players in the province,” Mason said. “He’s going out of his way to show his Penguins a good time here, and he’s being a great ambassador for the community.”

Greenwood agrees.

“It’s a privilege,” he said, “to say you live in the same place as someone like that.”

#he is soooooooo #sidney crosby #pittsburgh penguins #nathan mackinnon #colorado avalanche #drake batherson #ottawa senators #ryan graves #po joseph #kris letang

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fullfriendnerdclutch · 4 months

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My question is, how would they know, huh? Because I bet they have no idea that I am just an imposter wearing Troy's clothes and posing as him. This gym is not necessarily a pretty social one too, people mostly mind their own business since it's located downtown when everyone is rushing their routine before heading to their work or just simply want to workout after a hectic day in the office. No one is that sharp or working out that long to realize that Troy already hit the gym from 7 AM to 9 AM only to "appear" again at 10 AM until 12 PM blasting the same set of workout he did just earlier.

Or how Troy is also a spin class instructor for the evening ssssion under different name. I can (and did) pose as someone else for that spin class session or any other session when I wanted to make extra money, but I guess I'm just hooked to this charming cool jock persona. Not to mention the way that some of the attendees tend to ask for "extra session" with the studly Troy more than other look I already worn in the past. There's just this added thrill of using his persona and getting commended on it to my benefit. It's like, I'm Troy and I'm also much better than the original, because, you cannot convince me that the real one knows that much about what's happening nowadays in the pop culture scene or the latest spin craze, while I know about it and so much more.

#male shapeshift #male impostor

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spnluver · 1 month

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Pilot - Part 2

Disclaimer: I do not own supernatural or it's characters apart from Y/N Winchester. Any scene that seems altered or completely new is to fit Y/N's storyline.

Ages: Dean-26, Sam-22, Y/N-14

They drove for what seems like hours until they reached a bridge. “Stay here, got it?” Dean asked Y/N strictly.

“Yes,” Y/N replied. She watched as Dean pulled out two fake FBI cards, and tossed one to Sam before they went to meet the real cops. She watched their interactions, until she saw real FBI agents come. Dean and Sam had a quick little interaction with them, before going back in the car, driving off. “So, what happened?” She asked him.

“We’re going downtown to ask one of their daughters a couple of questions,” he replied. “She dated a victim.”

They continued driving until they reached an old abandoned theatre. Two women were hanging up pictures. “Is that her?” Y/N asked pointing.

"Yeah, that's her," Dean confirmed, parking the car a safe distance away. "Remember, Y/N, we're here to get information, not cause a scene. So, play nice, okay?" Despite his stern tone, there was a hint of amusement in his eyes as they exited the car and approached the women.

“Only if Sam does,” Y/N replied under breath. Dean heard, but didn’t say anything as they got out of the car.

“You’re Amanda right?” Dean asked approaching the woman. “I’m Dean, this is my brother Sam, we’re Troy’s uncles.”

“Who’s the kid?” Amanda asked nodding over to me.

“Y/N, she’s my daughter,” Dean lied.

“He never mentioned you to me,” Amanda said walking away.

“Well, that’s Troy,” Dean said.

Sam walked in front of the woman. “Look, we’re just here to ask a few questions.”

A friend of hers walked up to Amanda. “Hey, you okay?” Amanda nodded.

“Apparently these are Troy’s uncles and…niece,” she said uncertainly not knowing what to call me.

“Listen, ladies this went off on the wrong foot,” Dean interjected. “Why don’t we discuss this over a cup of coffee?”

“Only of you’re paying,” her friend said.

“Fair enough,” Sam said.

They walked over to a coffee shop, and the five shared a booth. “Alright ladies,” Dean said. “We need information, so if the two of you know anything… what?”

The two exchanged a look. Amanda’s friend spoke up. “Well, there’s this old folklore. A woman who hitchhikes. She died on a bridge decades ago, and well, if you see her…”

“Most men don’t return,” Amanda said. “Hopefully that wasn’t Troy.”

“Well, that’s what we’re trying to figure out,” Dean said softly. “Sorry for your loss, ladies.”

“You too,” Amanda said.

The three walked back to the car. Sam was already further ahead. “So, daughter huh?” Y/N asked with a smirk.

Dean grinned, ruffling her hair. "Yeah, well, it was easier than explaining the whole complicated family history," he replied, winking at her. "Besides, you're practically my kid anyway."

Y/N just rolled her eyes, a smirk playing on her lips. "Yeah, right. Don't get any ideas, old man," she shot back, nudging him playfully as they got into the car.

They got to a library and found a free computer with Dean typing in Murder on Centennial. “Let me try,” Sam said after Dean was unsuccessful.

“I got it,” Dean said slapping Sam’s hand out of the way. He kept typing before Sam pushed his chair out of the way so he could scoot in. “Dude! You’re such a control freak.”

“Angry spirits are born from a violent death right?” Sam asked. “So maybe it wasn’t a murder.” He replaced the word murder with suicide, and read the article.

“Does that bridge look familiar to you?” Dean asked Sam. Later that evening, they rode to the same bridge and the cops were gone.

Dean turned off the engine, and the three of them climbed out of the car. The night was quiet, except for the distant hooting of an owl. Y/N followed close behind, her heart pounding in her chest as they ventured deeper into the darkness.

“So this is where Constance took the swan dive,” Dean remarked. Y/N stood close, but kept her distance between the brothers. “Alright, well, we’ll come back in the morning.”

“And do what right now?” Sam asked frustration evident.

“I don’t know, it might take a while,” Dean replied.

“Dean, I told you, I need to get back by Monday,” Sam said.

Dean said Monday at the same time. “Right I forgot, your law school interview. You’re really serious about this aren’t you?”

Sam crossed his arms over his chest, his gaze steely. "Yeah, Dean, I am," he replied. "This is my future we're talking about." Y/N just rolled her eyes, leaning against the railing of the bridge.

“So what are you going to do? Become a lawyer, marry your girl?” Dean asked a hint of resentment in his voice.

“Maybe,” Sam replied.

“Does Jessica know the truth about you? About the things you’ve done?” Dean asked Sam.

“No,” Sam replied. “And she’s never going to.”

“Well that’s healthy,” Dean said. He started to walk away. “Sooner or later Sam, you’re going to have to face who you really are?”

“And what’s that?” Sam asked his voice growing angry.

“One of us,” Dean said. Sam walked in front of him, blocking his path.

“No, I am not going to be like you,” Sam spat. “This is not going to be my life. And you know what? If I could, I would take Y/N with me. Give her a shot at normalcy.”

Dean shot him a surprised look, and for a moment, there was silence. "You think I haven't thought about that?" Dean asked, his voice tense. "You think I don't want that for her too? I do, but it’s not my choice. And besides, you have an obligation.”

“To what?” Sam asked. “To Dad? And his crusade? If it weren’t for pictures, or for Mom being brought back to give birth to Y/N? I wouldn’t even know what she’d look like.

Y/N got angry. She stormed up to him, and yelled. “At least you met Mom. So don't you dare act like you had it worse than me!” Y/N shouted, her voice echoing off the empty buildings. She was shaking with rage, her heart pounding in her chest.

“Y/N, why don’t you go take a walk,” Dean said strictly.

“But you said —“

“I know what I said,” Dean replied. “But go take a walk or something.”

Y/N huffed in frustration, but did as she was told, leaving the two brothers alone. She didn't go too far, just far enough to be out of earshot. She couldn't help but feel a pang of anger towards Sam for his ignorant words, and she spent her time alone trying to cool down. It wasn’t until out of the corner of her eye, she saw Dean shove Sam against the railing. A chill ran down her spine and she turned around to find a woman standing on the railing. “Dean!” She called out.

But her warning came too late. The woman fell over the bridge, but disappeared. “Y/N,” Dean said jogging over to her. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she replied. Then the headlights of the car turned on. “Who’s driving your car?”

He held up his keys and the Impala. It started advancing towards them, and it did so until they had to hop over the ledge.

Y/N screamed, closed her eyes and waited for impact, but it didn’t come. Instead, she felt Sam grab onto her ankle. She opened her eyes, realizing she was hanging off the ledge, her heart pounding in her chest. "I got you," Sam said, his voice strained as he tried to pull her up. He pulled her up while trying not to fall over himself.

“Where’s Dean?” She asked him after she was safely on one of the shafts.

Sam looked over. “DEAN!” He yelled looking down. Soon enough, a muddy Dean came crawling out of the water. “Dean!”

“What?” He asked annoyed.

“Hey, you good?” Sam asked. Y/N looked over, saw him lying on his back giving an okay sign.

“Super,” he replied sarcastically.

Sam laughed and helped Y/N onto the other side of the edge, safely on the bridge before going over himself. “You gonna start talking to me again?”

“Just cause you saved my life doesn’t mean I owe you anything,” she said angrily, storming off to the Impala.

Sam watched as Y/N walked away, a mix of frustration and concern etched on his face. He didn't say anything else as he followed her to the car, leaving Dean to pull himself out of the water. The rest of the night was filled with a tense silence, the tension between the siblings palpable in the confined space of the Impala. When Dean met them there, he was covered in mud. “Your car okay?” Sam asked him as he moved over to inspect it.

“Yeah, whatever Constance did, it didn’t damage it,” Dean replied. “That Constance chick, what a bitch!”

Y/N just rolled her eyes, ignoring Dean as she sat down on the hood of the car. She stared out into the darkness, her thoughts filled with a mix of anger and confusion. “So what now?” Sam asked Dean. Dean raised his arms in frustration.

They sat in silence for a moment before Y/N spoke up. “You smell like a toilet.”

Dean shot her an annoyed look, but didn't say anything. "Yeah, well, you try falling into a river and see how you smell," he grumbled under his breath, earning a small smirk from Y/N.

Before Dean could reach out to hug her she escaped his arms and got back into the passenger seat of the car. Dean then went to the trunk and got out a tarp, setting it down on his portion of the seat before sitting to start the car. Y/N smirked at him. “Shut up,” he said annoyed, starting the car and pulling into a motel. “One room.”

“You guys having a reunion or something?” The receptionist asked. He looked at the card again. “The older guy, Bert Aframian checked out a room for a whole month.”

"Interesting," Dean mused, exchanging a glance with Sam and Y/N. "We'll take the room next to his." Dean added, flashing her a charming smile. The receptionist just nodded, handing over the room key.

Dean stood watch while Y/N picked the lock. “Done,” she muttered opening the door. Dean and Sam followed after her, and noticed an open half-eaten burger, sniffing it.

“Ugh,” he said. “Looks like dad’s been gone a couple of days.”

Y/N walked over to a wall where she saw the same pictures of the missing men. “Cat’s eyes, salt,” Sam said. “Dad was trying to keep something out.”

Dean walked over to where Y/N was. “So what do all these men have in common? They’re all different races, different ages. I mean there has to be some sort of connection.”

“Sometimes all it takes is being a man,” Y/N replied.

Dean gave her a side glance.

Y/N rolled her eyes at him. "I'm just saying, it's a possibility, Dean." she retorted, continuing to examine the photos.

“Yeah, well,” Dean started to reply.

“Guys,” Sam interrupted. “Dad figured it out. Found the same article we did.”

"He was on the right track, but was missing the last piece of the puzzle," Y/N added, pointing to the empty space on the wall. “Wouldn’t Dad have burned the corpse?”

"Maybe he didn't get the chance to," Dean suggested, his gaze on the empty space. "Or maybe there's something else we're missing. Let's keep digging."

“Dude, seriously. There’s a shower right there,” Y/N said as he stood behind her.

Dean shot her a glare before finally conceding. "Fine, but don't touch anything while I'm gone." He headed to the shower, leaving Sam and Y/N alone in the room to continue their investigation.

She heard the water turn on, but then felt stiff knowing she’d have to be left alone in the room with Sam. He didn’t seem to care or feel awkward as he listened to messages on his phone. Some time went by before she heard the water turn off again. “Hey, I’m gonna go get some food from the diner. Want anything? Aframian’s buying.”

“No, I’m good,” Sam said.

“Y/N?” Dean asked. Y/N nodded and followed him out the door. When he closed it, he turned to her. “You okay?" Dean asked, his voice filled with concern. She gave him a small nod, not trusting herself to speak. "Look, I know this is hard for you," Dean continued. "But remember, we're doing this for Dad. We need to stick together, okay?"

They started walking towards the Impala. “I still don’t know why we can’t hunt on our own — 5-oh.” She said seeing the same cops from a couple of days before.

Dean pulled out his phone, calling Sam. He put it away and turned around to face them. “Officers,” Dean greeted.

“Fake Marshall’s, fake credit cards… got anything real?” The cop asked.

Dean smirked. “My boobs.”

The cop’s partner pulled Y/N to the side so they sat in separate cars. She watched him being arrested by the two. The partner got into her car while the main cop drove Dean. “You’re not under arrest,” the cop said to her. “But you need to come with us to the station for questioning," he added, his tone stern but not unkind. Y/N just nodded, letting him guide her into the back of the cop car. She couldn't help but feel a sense of dread creeping up on her as they drove away, leaving the Impala and Dean behind.

He led her gently to the questioning room and met up with a female cop there. “What’s going to happen to my brother?” She asked the minute she sat down.

"Your brother is going to be held for further questioning," the female cop replied. "In the meantime, we would like to hear your side of the story."

“I have nothing to tell you,” she spat with her arms crossed.

The female cop, Detective Ashley looked at her sternly. “Your brother has pictures of decades worth of missing and dead person’s on his wall. He is officially a suspect.”

“Yeah that’s smart, considering he was two during the first kill,” Y/N retorted.

“We know you got an older guy. Maybe he raised him into it. Now you,” the male cop, Detective Benson replied.

“You think I’m being raised to be a killer?” She asked.

"Maybe not a killer, but definitely something suspicious," Detective Ashley said, her gaze steady. "We just want to understand why your family is involved in all this. If your brother is guilty, we won’t charge you. You are a minor after all, under the influence of people who are supposed to raise you. Could be blindly following orders. Believe me, you’ll be innocent in the eyes of the court. But not your brother.”

Y/N's heart pounded in her chest, but she managed to keep her composure. “I want Dean,” she said figuring that they got his real name already. They already knew about the credit cards. She started to panic, wondering how they were going to get out of it this time. She started to get up and pace around.

Detective Ashley sighed, leaning back in her chair. "Dean is being held for questioning, just like you. Right now, the best thing you can do is cooperate with us," she said, her tone firm but not unkind. Y/N just glared at her, her fear transforming into defiance.

“No, I’m not saying anything anyway, I want my brother,” she said, her voice starting to crack.

Detective Benson raised an eyebrow at her outburst, his gaze cold and calculating. "Your brother can't help you here, kid," he said, his voice hard. “If anything we know he might try to influence your answers further.”

“He’s not a killer!” She shouted.

"Maybe not, but we can't rule him out until we know for sure," replied Detective Benson, his tone harsh but steady. "All we want is the truth, kid. So, are you going to help us or make things worse for your brother?"

“I want to speak to my brother,” she said panicking.

Detective Ashley looked over at her partner. “No!” Detective Benson said.

“Look, maybe if she saw he’s fine it’ll calm her down. You know how these kids are,” she said sympathetically.

“Two minutes,” Detective Benson said walking her over to Dean’s questioning room. His detective looked confused but she didn’t care. Instead she hugged him immediately, and he hugged her with his one free hand. The other one was in a handcuff.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Dean said softly. "You okay?" he asked, his voice filled with concern.

“No, I'm not okay," she replied whispering, her voice shaky. "They think you're a killer, Dean. They think you've been raising me to be... to be something bad." She couldn't bring herself to say the words, her fear choking her. "I don't know what to do."

“Hey,” he said his voice stern. “Just answer the questions with what you know. And don’t worry about the rest alright?”

Y/N gave him a nod, taking a deep breath to regain her composure. "Okay," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Deep breaths, remember that,” Dean said softly. “Don’t let yourself get into a panic attack again, okay?”

She nodded again, swallowing hard. "I'll try," she promised, her voice wavering slightly. Dean gave her shoulder a comforting squeeze, his gaze steady and reassuring. She took one last look at him before the detective led her back to her own questioning room, her heart pounding with fear and uncertainty.

Dean turned back to face his own detective, glaring at him. “You seem to care about her, don’t you?” He asked Dean.

“I raised her like my own,” Dean said proudly.

"And yet, you brought her into this dangerous world," the detective retorted, his gaze cold and unyielding. "That doesn't seem like something a responsible guardian would do." Dean just glared at him silently, his jaw clenched in anger. “You’re turning her into a killer just like you, and just like your father.”

"I'm not a killer, and neither is she," Dean retorted, his voice filled with a dangerous edge. "And you don't know anything about my father."

“Do you?” The detective asked.

Dean's anger flared at the insinuation. "My father is a good man," he shot back, his voice icy. "He might have made some questionable choices, but he did what he thought was best for us. He didn’t kill anyone. And I did my best to protect my sister. You can question and insult me all you want, but bring my sister into this and we’ll have a problem.”

The detective raised an eyebrow at Dean's outburst, a smirk playing on his lips. "Is that a threat, Mr. Winchester?" he asked, his tone mocking. Dean just glared at him, his silence speaking volumes.

“I’m protecting my kid,” Dean replied.

“I thought she’s your sister,” the cop said raising an eyebrow.

"Biologically, yes," Dean answered, a hard edge in his voice. "But I raised her, I took care of her. She's as much my kid as she is my sister."

The detective leaned back in his chair, studying Dean for a moment. "That's a heavy burden for someone your age," he remarked. "I can't imagine it was easy." Despite his stern facade, there was a hint of sympathy in his eyes. “But that doesn’t change the facts, Dean. You are a suspected killer, forcing your kid into this life. You think that’ll look good in the eyes of the court?”

Dean's jaw clenched at the detective's words, his gaze hardening. "I don't give a damn about how it looks," he retorted, his voice cold. "All I care about is keeping Y/N safe. That's all that matters."

The detective sneered, leaning forward on his desk. "Is she safe though? Being raised in a world of crime and danger, constantly on the run," he questioned. "Doesn't sound like a safe environment for a child to me. Sounds a bit controlling to me.”

“I’m doing my best to get her out,” he retorted.

“Out of what, Mr. Winchester?” The detective asked nearly cracking Dean. Dean could feel the walls closing in, the pressure mounting.

“Officer,” one of his partners came in the room. “Fire on seventh street. Got a call from a witness.”

When the cop left, Dean let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He grabbed a paper clip from his father’s journal, unlocked the cuffs, grabbed the journal, and went to his sister’s questioning room. He unlocked her own handcuffs. “Hey, kid,” Dean said as he picked the lock.

“What’re you—“ she started to ask. The lock clicked. “What’s dad’s—“

“C’mon,” Dean replied ushering her out. “We don’t got a lot of time.”

Together, Dean guided her out safely, running almost a mile before hitting a phone booth, where Dean called Sam. “Sammy-“

“Look, can you shut up for a second that’s what I’m trying to tell you. Dad left Jericho, I have his journal,” Dean said there was a small pause. “I know, but that’s why Constance is still out. Dad never burned her corpse. Yeah, Y/N's fine she’s with me.”

They then jump started a car, driving to the old abandoned house that belonged to the Woman in White.

#supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #dean winchester #sam winchester #sam and dean #winchester sister #y/n reader

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whoredmode · 4 months

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too long awake

some context: in my canon, dex and anteros were planning on going to a bar downtown together after anteros met with hughes on the yacht. dex went ahead and anteros promised to meet him there. a lot of time passes, and just when dex was about to call him (again), he looks up at the TV in the bar and sees the alderman’s yacht in flames. it doesn’t seem real. he rushes out of the bar, getting to the waterside only to see the smoldering remains of the boat, crowds and police surrounding the area, and most striking of all: a despondent troy.

troy had been nearby while anteros was on the yacht. he happened to be smoking and contemplating his undercover assignment there. the yacht was in his line of sight, and he did notice what appeared to be anteros on it. he watches, pensive, but all at once the ground shakes as the yacht goes up in flames. he can feel the heat coming off of it and he’s horrified. and then he sees the body of anteros floating face down in the water. his body acts without thinking, and he dives in to save him. he drags him out, desperately trying to resuscitate him to no avail. he grabs his phone and calls for an ambulance, even using his cop status to demand they get it there now. he holds anteros’ body in his arms and weeps. when help does arrive, they don’t let him ride with him.

all he can do is stare at his hands, at the confused crowd of onlookers, and in that moment he locks eyes with dex. they have separate moments of “oh god” at the sight of one another. troy, who knew the real nature of anteros and dex’s relationship, and dex, who had growing suspicions that troy was an undercover cop. they feel sick.

and yet, somehow, they end up in the hospital waiting room together. in the midst of the rush of doctors and nurses, the uninvolved patients just anticipating their chance to see someone, the eventual sobs of those who’d lost someone on the yacht, they’re anchored. to each other, to the cheap waiting room chairs, to this moment.

#my art tag #saints row #dex jackson #troy bradshaw #click for better quality this one got destroyed #also the caption is referencing one of the songs on the sr1 radio #honestly a very fitting and sad song especially for the end of the game

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thepopculturearchivist · 2 months

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Pro-Palestinian rally, Troy NY, March 2, 2024. This space was formerly a parking garage for the dead mall that now hosts a quite popular farmers' market that helps make downtown a regional attraction on Saturdays. I don't know of any plans to develop it but the space would make a nice common on the New England model. No endorsement of the sentiments expressed need be inferred as I prefer to be apolitical here, but this looked like a moment in time worth recording.

#Troy New York #Palestine #protest #demonstration

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hvcmixtape · 8 months

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love's all fair when you're checking the decisions between you and seungkwan on the basketball court on the island of jeju

pairing: seungkwan x reader themes: vacation!(Y/N), resort worker!seungkwan, jeju!seungkwan, there's no mention of caffeine but assume seungkwan still has his caffeine addiction 🤣 wc: ~2600 genre: fluff note: first fic released in a long while! hope you enjoy this AU :>

“I know you say you’re trying, but are you really?” Seungkwan teases you with a fiery tongue. He looks down at you as if the whole world is in his hand, the corner of his lips digging deep into his smirk. With the basketball cradled in his palm, you shoot daggers into his eyes. Who does he think he is, Troy Bolton?

You're the only two on the court at this late hour, but it's only because of the consequences of your own actions, all of which started just earlier that day.

It's your yearly vacation with your family and they decided, why not go to a resort where the destination is the journey itself?

As soon as you heard that come from your mom's mouth, you weren't sure what to make of the next week you'd be spending in Jeju, a place you'd been to a few times before. You've already visited the major attractions on the island, like hiking the Hallasan volcano, so what are a few more hikes? But realistically, who are you to deny your parents, the ones paying for the vacation in the first place?

Packing was difficult as you've thrown random clothing that you'll hope will make cute outfits when you're on the beachy island, and as soon as you know it, you're on the flight to Jeju, then in the shuttle to the resort, and then your ass is kissing the seat to a poolside view.

September is one of the best times to visit Jeju—the rainy season is starting to die down, but it's still bright and warm outside when there aren't any clouds. There aren't as many tourists at this time, but you've soon figured out that this is the time for locals to make the trip to Jeju so it's almost as crowded as you figured it would be. You suppose it's just another testament to how amazing Korea's geography can be.

As you sip on your drink, your mom beside you flips through one of the many brochures they handed her at check-in.

"Me and dad want to do a cooking class," she says after reading the description. "They'll teach us how to make paella; it's a Spanish rice dish."

"That sounds really yummy," you mindlessly reply, but as soon as you say that, she places one on your torso. "You want me to find things to do too?"

"Why not? Weren't you complaining and asking why we were coming back to Jeju? That's why I chose this place," your mom roughly says. "You don't have to do everything, but at least do something other than staying by the pool all day."

"I guess," you grumble, finally opening the pamphlet. There are a lot of things to try out: surfing and scuba diving caught your eye, but you weren't sure how you'd fare with those very physical activities. When you flip to the other side of the paper, your eyes are drawn to the left side. "Mom, they have an activity center for people my age—"

"Try it out! It'll be fun. Maybe you can go there after lunch and see what things they have planned for the day."

Lunch comes and goes and you have no choice but to venture off on your own, as your parents decided they want to do a wine tasting in the downtown area, taking the rental car with them.

Your first step is to approach the reception area, where you find a young man, probably around your age, manning the desk.

"Hi, good afternoon, how can I help you?" His full cheeks give him a boyish look, and his messy hair just adds to his appearance. He's wearing the same linen shirt the other staff you've seen wear, but on him, it looks just a little bit better.

"I was wondering if you have any information on the young adult activity center here. I saw it in one of the brochures."

A smile beams on his face. "You've come to the right place. I'm the worker in charge of the young adult activity center. I'm Seungkwan."

He puts out a hand for you to shake, and you accept it right away. "My name is (Y/N), it's nice to meet you," you reply back. "When are there usually activities during the day? I'm staying at the resort until the end of the week."

"Usually every few hours is a light activity and sometimes, we do excursions. Let me check to see what we have for today."

As Seungkwan pulls up the schedule on his computer, you say, "You seem a little young to be working at a resort full-time?"

He chuckles, pulling his focus toward you. "This is actually my aunt's resort. I'm working with her until I manage to figure out what I want to do. But I am 21, so I'm not totally young."

"Oh, I'm only a little bit older than you. I'm just turned 22," you reply. "But this seems like a fun job."

"Yeah, I like it most of the time. I'm sort of thinking of going into the entertainment industry, so I'd say this is good practice." Seungkwan shrugs. "So, for today's schedule, we're planning on hiking around the Cheonjeyeon waterfalls. We'll meet at 3:30 so we can make it for the sunset and head back right after that."

"Sounds good. Where's the meeting spot?"

"It'll be right here at the reception desk. We usually have 5 to 10 people come around, especially for the hikes. And since we're at the end of summer and the beginning of autumn, not as many young adults are here." There's something in that sentence that makes you raise an eyebrow but you don't think further of it.

"I'll see you at 3:30 then," you smile. "See you later, Seungkwan."

You find him later on with a pair of sunglasses perched at the top of his head, waving around a tiny green flag. You can't help but laugh at how cutely he spins the flag in circles as he raises his hand high above his head.

"Hi Seungkwan," you say as you approach the group of 7 people so far. Most seem around your age but some have younger faces.

"Hi, (Y/N). You look ready to hike," he smiles and leans in toward your ear, making you feel some type of way when his breath tickles your ear when he speaks. "Some people seem like they've been forced to come by their parents."

You chuckle at his hushed tone and take a good look around you, where everyone is wearing completely different styles that might not be the best for hiking to a waterfall. One guy is wearing an all-white outfit, and you know that can't be good news for a hike.

"I suppose you get this often then?" You ask, as you turn away from him and you rummage through your backpack to find the sunscreen that you'll definitely need with the sun's rays still beating down at this time.

Seungkwan's eyes are stuck on your hands as they glide the sunscreen along your arms and shoulders, not even able to answer your question. He bites his lip as he can see you try to reach the exposed parts of your back with your fingers that just can't find a way there, but he keeps his mouth shut.

"Can," you look back at him with a pleading smile. "Can you put sunscreen on the parts I can't get?"

He doesn't have much of a choice and he accepts the bottle with a flushed face. "Sure," he says, squeezing the product onto his hand and watching the cream soak into your skin. He's embarrassed to admit that he knows the spots on your back that didn't get covered.

"Thanks!" You beam with a bright smile as you turn toward him, not knowing that he'll be thinking about that moment for a long while.

"Bye, Seoyeong, it was nice meeting you!" You wave to a girl who leaves almost as soon as the group returns to the lobby. She doesn't say much back, but you hope you'll get to see her again in the next few days that you're still here.

As people start to break ways, you're reluctant to leave. "Do people usually leave right away, or do they hang around?" You ask Seungkwan. He says he's still on the clock, whether he's with the young adults' group or he returns to manning the front desk, so it doesn't matter much to him how he spends the last part of his day.

"Most leave right away, but you're more than welcome to hang around if you want." Seungkwan smiles and it's the first time you've felt like you want to absolutely squish his cheeks.

You fold your fingers tight, not letting them leave your side. "You don't mind?"

"Of course not. We can get to know each other better, and," he glances down at his watch. "I get off of work in 45 minutes and that was a pretty hefty hike, so we can grab food if you want? I can take you somewhere outside of the resort."

...Is this a date?

After letting your mother know that you're off to eat dinner with one of the people you've met at the hike, you click your seatbelt buckle and are ready to go wherever he leads you. Never mind the fact that you've known him for half the day—you are usually more aware than this—but you just feel good about Seungkwan. Something feels right about him.

"Do you like hamburgers?" Seungkwan asks as he adjusts the mirrors of his car. You can feel your heart pattering against your chest from such a domestic action.

"Yeah. I get them often with my friends after classes." You go deeper into conversation about your academic aspirations when he wonders what courses you're taking, and it's nice, to say the least. You enjoy getting to know someone better and it definitely doesn't hurt that you find him attractive. Maybe he's just being nice and maybe he's done this with other people who have been to the resort and met up with him, but you're only here for a few days anyway. If things don't work out, it's fine.

Seungkwan's a smooth driver as you glaze over his appearance: his brown hair floating up and down when the wind blows through it, the wire glasses that perch on his nose, and a smile that comes about often when he's speaking. He doesn't let the conversation drop, making sure he's nodding his head in acknowledgment while also keeping his eyes on the road.

As he approaches the parking lot of the restaurant, you mention that parking is so difficult.

"No, it's pretty easy," Seungkwan shakes his head. He removes his hand from the wheel and places it on the back of your seat as he reverses the car into the space.

"Easy for you to say," you mutter, trying to look in the side mirror if your face can get any redder.

After you head into the restaurant and order your food, you look out the window and even a simple hamburger place has the best views. "I wouldn't see the ocean while eating a burger like this in Seoul."

"Just another great thing about Jeju," Seungkwan says as he digs into his burger. "This is my favorite burger place, I go here pretty often whenever I finish a shift."

"I like your shirt, by the way. It looks good on you," you blurt out and you can't help but take a huge bite of your burger so you can shut up.

Seungkwan sets down his burger and covers his laugh with a napkin. "Thanks," he replies after he settles down. It's a simple outfit—just a blue button-up with a white inner shirt, but it's the rolled-up sleeves that do it for you.

You move on from that topic as soon as you can.

"Thanks for taking me there, Seungkwan," You grin as you walk out potbellied after the meal. "And thank you for paying for me too, you didn't have to."

"Just wanted to show you around is all, so it's my pleasure."

You're not quite sure what he means of it, but he brings you to a walkway that leads down to the coast. "This is a nice place to walk along," you say as your shoes crush the sand below you.

"Yeah, I usually like to exercise after my meals, especially with burgers," he laughs at himself.

The two of you walk in silence for a little bit, taking in the sights and sounds of Jeju, a place Seungkwan has known forever and a place you're just here to touch on for a few days.

"Hey," Seungkwan pipes up. "Do you like basketball?"

“You suck, Kwan,” you say, as you jump, jump, jump. Your arm stretches out as far as you can, fingertips grazing his forearm each time your feet leave the ground. “What happened to playing a fair game?”

You're surprised that you get the court all to yourselves. Seungkwan said that the courts close for guests around 9 at night, but since it's his aunt's resort, a key can solve all of his problems. The floodlights are still on, illuminating the green and white basketball court you stand on.

“This is fair!” He can’t help but to laugh. “You just can’t reach me because you’re short.” His eyes crinkle at the outer points, still keeping enough focus to maintain the ball in his possession. Damn you, Seungkwan.

Maybe it’s the heat, or maybe it’s all of the mixed signals he’s been giving you but ah, to hell with it. It’s time for you to get on the offense and make a move.

With a deep breath in and out, you wrap your arms around his waist, looking up at him with the softest eyes you could muster.

As soon as he feels contact on his body, only a layer of clothing between your fingers and his midriff, his face burns. And you have never seen Seungkwan flustered to a point that the ball falls from his hand immediately and bounces multiple times on the court.

His feet are frozen and his eyes land on you, even as you run after the ball and sink a shot that’s not the cleanest, but still swishes through the net.

Grabbing the ball, you saunter up as cool as you can, and hold the ball on your hip as you stand face-to-face. “Maybe that wasn’t fair, but I was trying at least.”

Your smart comment goes right over his head, as he’s still trying to process what the hell just happened.

"(Y/N)," he can only manage to utter, looking around to see if anyone saw what he just experienced. His eyes are wider than the full moon in the sky and he blinks a few times to shake off his surprise. "Yeah, I guess that would be trying." He puffs his cheeks and purses his lips, not knowing what else to say.

"I think you're cool Seungkwan."

"You do?"

"But I mean, do you do this with all the girls you meet when they come here for vacation?"

You have time to run away if need be, but you find yourself taking one, two, three steps closer to him.

"No," he replies, his voice softer than ever before. "Only you."

#kflixnet #k-labels #seungkwan x reader #boo seungkwan #seungkwan #seungkwan fic #seungkwan fluff #seventeen #seventeen fic #seventeen fluff #seventeen x reader #seungkwan seventeen

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numinousmysteries · 5 months

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B'Sha'ah Tovah

@eightnightsofmulder

@today-in-fic

Eight Nights of Mulder Day Eight: Light

[on Ao3]

Note: I had so much fun participating in this challenge and reading everyone else's wonderful work. Thank you @welsharcher, @agent-troi, and @randomfoggytiger for organizing!

December 2000

The crowds in the Hoover building thin out as the holidays approach. Hanukkah starts tomorrow and Christmas is next week, but for Scully time stopped months ago when Mulder disappeared in the woods of Oregon.

The life growing within her is the only bittersweet reminder that the days march on. It doesn’t feel right for anything to flourish while she’s enveloped in darkness.

She wants it all to pause until Mulder returns. But life perseveres. Her hair grows faster and thicker, her heart beats harder as it works to pump more blood through her body, and her belly is starting to protrude. Her stubborn, miraculous baby keeps growing and making its presence known against all odds. Just like its father.

He’s missed so much already. She’s nearly halfway through her pregnancy and it doesn’t make sense that Mulder isn’t here to experience it alongside her. As an investigator, she knows the more time goes by, the less likely it is he’ll be found alive. But as his partner, his best friend, and his lover, she also knows the widely accepted figures and statistics do not apply to Fox Mulder.

She spends more and more time in the office. Only here does she feel like she’s upholding her unspoken promises—to never stop looking for him and to never give up on his work. The more time passes since his abduction, though, the more it feels like she’s spinning her wheels. She’s in constant contact with the Lone Gunmen but they’ve all but admitted the chatter on abductees in rural Oregon has dried up. There have been no reports of a man who fits his description wandering into a hospital or turning up at a morgue in months.

So she crisscrosses the country with her new partner hunting down humanoid bats and parasitic slugs, telling herself it’s what Mulder would have wanted. Ironically, if he were here, he’d tell her to go home, to rest, to take care of the baby and herself, but he isn’t here.

Now that it’s winter, she comes in before sunrise and stays long after sunset. Surrounded by his yellowing news clippings, file cabinets of notes written in his indecipherable (to all but her) scrawl, and array of trinkets and memorabilia, this is where she feels closest to him. Holed up in the basement, she lives in darkness.

Doggett is out for the week and she cherishes the time she can spend in the office on her own. He’s been a good partner, but sharing this space with anyone else but Mulder feels like a betrayal. Even Skinner left early for the day. He came down to the basement to tell her he’d be out until late next week and wished her a happy holiday. He does things like that now–checks in on her. She just nodded, gave him a tight-lipped smile, and wished him well.

She declined her mother’s invitation to join her at Bill’s in San Diego for Christmas this year, and when Maggie offered to stay back in DC with her, she begged her not to. If she can’t be with him, she only wants to be alone.

It’s getting late, even for her, but she isn’t ready to go home. Her apartment is too quiet and empty.

To bide the time before she can sleep, she walks around the downtown shopping district. She likes the anonymity it provides. Here, she can be just another woman doing last-minute Christmas shopping.

There’s an upscale baby and children’s clothes boutique that she often walks past but doesn’t dare go inside. It’s full of beautiful but expensive and impractical items like dry-clean only cashmere sweaters that will inevitably be covered in spit up, drool, and mashed up food. There’s nothing she would ever buy but she knows Mulder wouldn’t be able to resist the impossibly small pieces. She imagines rolling her eyes, but smiling, as he drapes tiny onesies over her belly and insists on spending hundreds of dollars on clothing their baby will outgrow in a matter of months.

She hasn’t bought anything useful or necessary for the baby, either. It wouldn’t be right to do it without him. Her mother keeps asking if she wants help cleaning out her second bedroom for the nursery, but she still imagines that there will be time to do it with Mulder once he’s back. “Once,” she repeats to herself. Never “if.”

Down the block from the children’s shop is a small Judaica store she hadn’t noticed before. A warm glow of light emanates from inside and she’s drawn to pull the door open.

She’s the only customer inside. The store is full of merchandise—intricately carved mezuzahs, Kiddush cups, servingware, and a wall of books in Hebrew and English—but it feels cozy, not crowded.

An older woman with wiry gray hair and black-frame glasses stands at the register near a glass case of jewelry. “Let me know if you need help with anything,” she says as Scully surveys the shelves.

She finds a small selection of menorahs and examines them one by one. There’s one made from shiny silver with inlaid blue stones, and another angular, more modern style. Then her eyes land on a small brass menorah. It’s tarnished in spots but still catches the light. Tiny olive leaves are sculpted along the branches.

“We’re a little picked over,” the woman calls over to her. “Last minute and all, you know?”

Scully smiles and nods at her. “This one is beautiful,” she says, picking up the brass menorah. It feels solid, heavier than she expected.

“It is, right? I found it at an estate sale. I wish I knew more about it but I can tell it’s old, possibly from the mid-1800s, and it’s similar to ones I’ve seen from the Netherlands.”

“I’ll take it,” Scully says. She’s never known Mulder to own a menorah, but it feels like something she needs to do to honor him.

At the register, the woman carefully wraps the menorah in tissue paper before placing it in a shopping bag.

“I’ll throw in some candles for you, too,” she says. “Happy Hanukkah.” “Thank you.”

“And, I don’t mean to assume,” the woman says, her eyes dropping to toward Scully’s belly, “but b'sha'ah tovah.”

“Excuse me?”

“May your baby be born at a favorable time,” she says. “It’s a traditional Jewish blessing. We tend to be a little superstitious around pregnancy so we don’t say mazel tov until after the baby is born.”

“I appreciate that, thank you,” Scully says, bringing her hand to her stomach.

The shopkeeper’s words echo in her mind on the drive home. It feels like the only appropriate thing anyone has said to her about her pregnancy. She’s given hollow smiles and nods to ultrasound technicians who’ve congratulated her and asked how happy she was to be having a baby. Her mother has been a little more sensitive, but Maggie still insists on trying to cheer her up and look on the bright side even though her blessing is tinged with darkness. But: b’sha’ah tovah, at a favorable time. It gives her comfort—the hope that the right time will come, that Mulder will return to her and their child.

Back at her apartment, she gently unwraps the menorah and sets it in the center of her kitchen table. Looking closely at it, she sees there’s even more detail to each individual olive leaf, lines and shading etched into the brass, than she noticed in the store.

The next night, she comes straight home from work and digs a box of matches from her kitchen drawer to light the menorah. She and Mulder once celebrated an improvised Hanukkah with battery-powered candles in an airport bar, so she knows to light the center candle, the shamash, first. Then she places a candle in the far right branch and uses the shamash to light that one, too.

She grins at the improbability of it all: Dana Katherine Scully, star Sunday school pupil and lapsed Catholic, lighting a menorah. She doesn’t know the Hebrew prayer that Mulder recited to her once so she silently says her own. She prays for her baby and for Mulder, prays they’ll be together again soon.

More than two millennia ago, a group of Jews kept a menorah, just like this one, lit for eight nights through the power of their beliefs alone. Like the Maccabees, she’s exhausted nearly all of her resources. To the FBI, Mulder’s disappearance is essentially a cold case with no leads left to track. There’s no evidence for her to analyze or put under a microscope hoping it will guide her to him. All she has left to go on is faith.

The warm glow of the candles reflecting on the brass cuts through the darkness surrounding her. She feels the tiniest flutter within her and it nearly takes her breath away. She brings a palm to her belly and feels it again. Life perseveres.

“Happy Hanukkah, little one,” she whispers. “Next year we’ll light the candles with your dad. I promise.”

#eightdaysofmulder #eightnightsofmulder #8dom #txf #xf fanfic #xfiles fanfic #msr

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conradscrime · 15 days

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Unsolved Canadian Cases

April 17, 2024

These are cases of individuals who have gone missing in Canada but may not have enough information to be an entire case post of their own.

James David Kunuk

James David Kunuk was born in 1981 and was 34 years old at the time of his disappearance. He was last seen by family on September 21, 2016 in Whitehorse, Yukon, Canada. He was not reported missing until December 2016 by his landlord.

James had been living in downtown Vancouver, BC, but had recently moved to the Yukon and not yet unpacked his belongings. He did not take his wallet with him.

James did not contact his family for his birthday or over Christmas, which was unusual. Most do not think he moved again, however, he does have family in the Northwest Territories.

James uses multiple aliases including Jay Kunuk, Jimmy Miller, Jay David Springgay, Jimmy Kunuk, James Thrasher, Jeremiah McClusky.

He is Indigenous, 5'10 in height, 181 pounds with a medium build. He has short, straight black hair and brown eyes. He has two tattoos; one on his left forearm of a cross with the word "LIFE" and on his right arm of the word "THUG."

He would be 42 years old today.

Edward Joseph Arcand

Edward Joseph Arcand left his home in Coleman, Alberta driving a 1969 Ford Falcon station wagon on June 8, 1975. He has never been seen since.

On June 15, 1975, one week later, his vehicle was found abandoned 80 km north of Coleman on Highway 940. However, the Doe Network states his car was found in July 1975. Edward is Indigenous, 5'8 in height, 139 pounds with a medium build. Joseph has brown eyes and short black hair, last seen wearing a blue, denim jacket, red shirt and blue, denim pants.

Many speculated he could have been Septic Tank Sam, a man whose remains were discovered in a septic tank outside Tofield, Alberta in 1977. However, Edward was missing 6 teeth and Sam had all his teeth.

Septic Tank Sam would later be identified in June 2021 as a 26 year old Indigenous man named Gordon Sanderson, who had been murdered by a gunshot wound in 1976 or 1977.

Joseph had a hernia scar on his lower abdomen, a dark complexion, and no facial hair at the time. He was 27 years old at the time of his disappearance.

Joseph would be turning 76 years old in 2024.

Glenn Field

Glenn Field was 62 years old when he was last seen in April 2019 by a pilot flying over his campsite at Rolfe Lake, Northwest Territories. Glenn had flown to Rolfe Lake on September 13, 2018 to spend the winter living on the land.

He was then going to make his way back to Yellowknife, Northwest Territories in the spring of 2019. Glenn had three dogs with him and enough food to last the winter.

In October 2019, the RCMP Search and Rescue team did an aerial search of Rolfe Lake, but found no sign of Glenn.

Glenn is 5'10 in height, 170 pounds with grey hair and grey eyes. He has glaucoma and is missing one toe on his left foot and two toes on his right foot.

Glenn would be 67-68 years old in 2024.

Jean Gravel & Jean-Guy Champagne

Jean Gravel was 24 years old and went missing with his coworker Jean-Guy Champagne, who was 25, on July 6, 1972 in Trois-Rivières, Québec. Both men were employees of the Rio Bar in downtown.

Both arrived to work early in the evening to work the closing shift. Neither ever returned home and have not been seen since. They were reported missing on July 10, 1972.

Jean Gravel is described as being 5'8 in height, 139 pounds with brown eyes and hair. He was wearing yellow corduroy pants, a beige wool vest, leather black and white running shoes, a gold ring on his left finger, a necklace with assorted colours and a dark blue coat.

Jean-Guy Champagne was described as 5'11 in heigh, 163 pounds with brown eyes and brown hair. He was wearing a green cotton coat, white cotton shirt, green cotton pants, a watch that may have been "Timex" brand, a silver wedding ring on his left finger, black shoes that were size 10-10.5 and has a scar on his chin.

If you have information on any of the above cases you can contact Crime Stoppers: 1-800-222-TIPS(8477) or online at https://www.canadiancrimestoppers.org/tips. You can stay anonymous.

Source: Canada Unsolved (canadaunsolved.com)

#true crime #crime #unsolved mysteries #murder #unsolved #homicide #unsolved murder #unsolved case #mystery #solved #missing person #disappeared #disappearance #unsolved disappearance #canada

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3garcons · 5 months

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Troy Victorian Stroll Various Act 2023

will add some early items till this line goes away.

#downtown troy #troy #victorian stroll #saxophone

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corner-stories · 4 months

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when it's dark in a cold decembre (but i've got you to keep me warm)

Jean Kirschtein. Mikasa Ackerman. Kiyomi Azumabito. Holiday Visits. Awkward Family Dinners. Cuddles. Doggies. 4191 words. (ao3.)

Vancouver is a change of pace. Having grown so used to winters in Montreal — or even his hometown of Trois-Rivieres — arriving at YVR to rain instead of snow leaves him confused.

At least Mikasa seems to find amusement in the poor Quebecer getting soaked in the drizzle.

A rapid transit line takes them from the airport to downtown, then an Uber driver takes them the rest of the way. As the vehicle crosses the Lionsgate Bridge, Jean’s eyes are affixed to the window and towards the rainy city outside.

At this time of night, all he can see is artificial lights — buildings with glass exteriors standing amidst the ocean and coniferous trees. It’s just enough to let him see the outline of the mountains. Above it all are clouds in a dark sky.

The car drives deeper into West Vancouver. The houses lining the roads are built with an emphasis on style and aesthetic, most of them looking to have been designed very recently with walls made of stone and glass.

Mikasa had told him that her Auntie was wealthy, and as the car passes by a house with more driveways and outdoor entertaining space to do with, the sentiment rings true.

Soon enough, the car arrives at the destination.

The house Mikasa grew up in differs from the gray homes adorning the streets. When Jean sees it, his eyes go to the vinyl siding and the rugged roof tiles, attributes that make the craftsman home feel like an island in the ocean of stone and glass houses.

Jean hoists his bags over his shoulder as the Uber driver takes off down the street. Mikasa walks from the street to the curb, comfortably taking her boyfriend’s hand as he looks at the house.

“You like?”

Jean nods, unable to take his eyes off the bulbs adorning the eaves. “I like the lights.”

“Auntie likes them, too.” She then squeezes his hand and begins guiding him towards the house.

Jean follows, keeping his eyes on the ground and watching her boots step into the puddles on the pathway. The rain is lighter here than it is at the airport, but it’s still enough for water droplets to collect in his hair.

The two climb up the steps and Jean mentally goes over the backstory Mikasa had given him regarding her aunt. Kiyomi had grown up alongside Mikasa’s mother in Tokyo, and despite being cousins they acted a lot more like sisters. They even moved to Vancouver together to study. They had kept in touch even when Makoto married a local man while Kiyomi moved back to Japan.

It was no surprise that Kiyomi was the one who stepped up after Mikasa’s parents passed, gladly taking the nine-year-old in and giving her shelter in a time where she had none. She even decided to move back to Canada permanently to be near her niece.

Despite coming from wealth, Kiyomi kept herself busy as a tenured professor at a local university. Giving lectures on international relations seemed to be her second priority on top of providing for Mikasa. Academia appeared to run in the Azumabito-Ackerman household.

As Jean keeps reciting the lore in his head, he turns to Mikasa and asks a last-minute question.

“So… is there anything else I should know?” His voice is just slightly tinged with his signature wit. “You know, before the point of no return?”

“Just be yourself,” Mikasa insists as her boots touch the top of the porch. “Besides, you both like sassing me and old school Celine Dion, in her mind you can do no wrong.”

Jean makes a noise that’s in between an awkward laugh and a nervous chuckle. “That’s one way to look at things…”

When the doorbell rings, what immediately follows is the sound of several dogs barking their heads off — one even sounds like a howl. Through the pane of glass in the door Jean can see two fluffy creatures with legs rushing to the door. After they yelp at the door for a few seconds, a person descends the stairs and gestures for said creatures to quiet down.

Unsurprisingly, the act of wagging one’s finger at two rambunctious dogs does nothing to quell their screams.

Nonetheless, the door opens and the pair of tired traveling grad students are greeted to the sight of Mikasa’s Aunt Kiyomi.

As to be expected, the older lady is smiling from ear to ear and immediately steps forward to embrace her niece. Mikasa herself gives a gentle grin as she hugs her Aunt back.

“Mikasa!”

“Auntie.”

Jean gives them their space as they reunite. In the space between the doorframe and the door, he gets a better look into the house, taking note of the wooden floors, the warm lighting, the spotless walls. The whole place is impeccably clean, even with the two dogs running around.

Speaking of which, Jean also gets an eyeful of the canines standing behind Kiyomi — one is a samoyed with the doofiest grin he’s ever seen on a dog, and the other is husky with an abundance of fluffy fur. The husky in particular is letting out dramatic weeping noises as it looks at the visitors at the door.

When aunt and niece separate, Kiyomi sets her eyes on Jean.

“And is this the boyfriend I’ve heard so much about?” she asks. “Jean, right?”

Jean gives a nod and a polite smile. “That’s me.” He reaches out and shakes her hand. “Nice to meet you, Miss Azumabito.”

Kiyomi is a head shorter than both Jean and Mikasa. Like her niece, her hair is dark, but she keeps it neatly combed and tied into a proper bun.

The only woman looks him up and down, seemingly content with finally meeting him in the flesh. She even seems flattered by his formality. “Please, call me Kiyomi. And come in, you two must be soaked.”

Jean and Mikasa enter the home, bringing their luggage with them. He’s only been in Vancouver for an hour and he’s already relieved to get out of the downpour.

As Jean shakes the water out of his hair, Mikasa kneels down to the two dogs of the Azumabito household. She beams sweetly at both the husky and the samoyed, both of which are excited to see her return. The husky in particular is wagging its tail so hard that its rear end is shaking.

Back at McGill, Mikasa had spoken at length about her dogs back at home. Back at their apartment, there’s a photo of both the husky and samoyed as puppies pinned to their refrigerator.

Seeing the dogs in the fluff is significantly more enjoyable than seeing them in photo form. The sweet look of heartfelt joy on Mikasa’s face is also a bonus.

“Yes, yes, I missed you, too,” says Mikasa as the husky kisses her cheek.

Kiyomi immediately proves to be a cordial host. She takes Jean’s jacket without being prompted, hanging it up on a nearby coat rack. She then reaches for the luggage and grabs the first two bags she can find.

“It’s been raining all week,” the older lady says. She takes a pair of backpacks to a nearby closet.

“Has it?” asks Mikasa.

There is an irked, gravelly tone to Kiyomi’s voice as she replies. “Unfortunately.”

Mikasa lets out a hum, which is her way of laughing. “That’s a Vancouver Christmas for you.”

Jean chuckles as he rubs his freezing hands together. Now free from the constraints of his parka, he kneels down to get to Mikasa’s level and looks at the pair of dogs.

“Hey, I’ve heard a lot about you two,” he says, petting the head of the cheery samoyed. “So… which one’s which again?”

Mikasa gestures to the husky lovingly licking her cheek. “This one’s Mochi…” She then points to the white fluff ball. “...and this one’s Miso.”

Jean can’t help but chuckle, a throaty one that makes the corners of his mouth turn up.

Somehow, he’s getting the feeling that he’ll enjoy the holidays here.

…

Dinner is a simple affair, though Kiyomi uses it as an excuse to break out a bottle of red from the cellar. Christmas may be a few days away, but her beloved niece returning home is a good reason to celebrate. She serves dishes that Mikasa has had throughout her childhood, only occasionally having to scold the dogs for putting their paws on the table. Evidently, Mochi absolutely drools in the presence of Kiyomi’s katsudon.

And true to Mikasa’s words, Kiyomi is a fan of old-school Dion, as the singer’s Christmas album proceeds to play on the house stereo.

Jean sits at the table and listens to aunt and niece catching up, taking note of the way Mikasa’s eyes light up as she speaks. Sometimes they’ll slip into Japanese in the middle of the conversation, only exchanging a few brief sentences before returning to English. It happens so smoothly that Jean can tell it’s just one of those habits the two share.

And suddenly, he now knows how Mikasa feels when he switches into French with other francophones in front of her.

A part of him is hesitant to chime in, as the flow of the conversation feels so fast. He’s also worried that he might spoil the joy of the reunion.

So he spends the time petting Miso under the table while Mochi tries to steal some bites of okonomiyaki. At least the samoyed has begun taking a liking to him.

Mikasa recalls to her Aunt Kiyomi exactly how she and Jean met. The story involved a social gathering for McGill grad students, as well as alcohol and a karaoke machine. Sometimes Jean thinks about how different things would have been had Mikasa not spilled wine on his shirt at the start of the party — he would have probably spent the night drunk singing instead of watching her trying to fruitlessly clean his clothes in the bathroom.

Considering how many of his colleagues at the School of Architecture were attending the party, Mikasa had most likely saved his reputation before he even had one to destroy.

Mikasa is in the midst of explaining her thesis to Kiyomi, detailing how she made the choice to specialize in plant pathology. Recently, she’s been studying a virus that has only been affecting flowers that thrive in cold weather.

Jean loves it when she gets like this, so wrapped up in explaining her work that she’s talking more than she usually does. Truth be told, he can’t comprehend enough botanical science to truly understand what she’s talking about, but the fact that she can talk about trees and flowers like an artist talks about the Sistine Chapel is enough for him. Seeing the way she lights up as she talks about what she’s dedicating her life to is all he’ll ever need.

Plus, Mikasa always seems tuned in when he goes on and on about architecture mumbo jumbo, even the stuff that he knows for a fact will bore people to tears. (“No one cares about the history of the pillar,” Sasha’s voice echoes in his head.) The least he can do is be an attentive boyfriend.

“It’s nice to know that all those years away from home have done you good,” Kiyomi says, pouring herself a little more wine.

“It has,” Mikasa assures. She then looks down and sees Mochi resting his chin on her lap with a loving look in his eyes.“But I can never stay away for too long…”

Kiyomi looks amused. “Have you ever considered getting a dog?”

“We have,” Jean finally speaks up. It’s telling of him that the one topic he’s more comfortable chining in on is pets. “But it’d be a hassle while we’re both still in school.”

Nonetheless, Kiyomi looks interested and listens intently.

“We did dogsit for our friend Historia once — she’s got a terrier mix, we watched it for about a week,” Jean continues, then lets out a chuckle. “The poor guy would weep every time we crated him for the night, wouldn’t sleep unless he was in the bed with us.”

Mikasa lets out a polite hum, reliving the memories of the two stressed grad students trying to curb a terrier’s energy inside their apartment. At least the little one was calm once he was allowed to sleep in the realm of the humans.

“And our bedroom still has some of Donut’s dog hair in it,” Mikasa adds.

Kiyomi spends a moment politely laughing along.

“Oh, speaking of which,” the older lady starts, eyeing the man currently petting the samoyed under the table. “Jean, I prepared the guest bedroom for you.”

It does not take long for both Jean and Mikasa to understand the implications. Jean is suddenly plunged into a mix of embarrassment and confusion, a sensation that makes him pick up the fidgety mannerisms of a twelve-year-old boy.

“Ah… thank you?” is all he can muster. Awkwardly, he scratches the back of his neck.

Meanwhile, Mikasa’s sweet smile disappears from her pretty face and in its place is a glare directed at the hostess.

“Auntie, I was under the impression that my room would be available for us,” she asks in a tone that’s the slightest bit stilted, perhaps to cover up her clear agitation.

“Oh, certainly, Dear, it’s available for you,” Kiyomi explains simply. The way she says ‘dear’ is both motherly and condescending. “I’ve cleaned it and everything.”

Mikasa starts to look more and more frustrated with every passing second. “I meant for both of us.”

“Not in my house.” Kiyomi then reaches for the bottle in the middle of the table like nothing is wrong. “More wine, anyone?”

Then just like before, Mikasa and Kiyomi slip into a tongue that’s foreign to Jean's ears. This time, instead of speaking Japanese for a sentence or two, the two engage into what can respectfully be referred to as a “passive aggressive debate.”

Jean hasn’t learned enough Japanese to discern exactly what the two are saying, but the subject matter is enough to bring a blush to his cheeks. He didn’t anticipate that the concept of he and Mikasa sharing a room — despite sharing so much more back in their apartment in Montreal — would be such a hot topic in the Azumabito household. Apparently, Kiyomi had put a lot of thought into making sure that her niece and her niece’s boyfriend didn’t get too close.

Mikasa’s tone is composed, focused, the one she uses when she has to babysit freshmen undergrads all day. Yet it is laced with just enough persistence to prove that she’s not backing down without a fight. On the other hand, Kiyomi remains placid as she explains her point, continuing to act like there’s nothing wrong with her silly little rule.

Suddenly, Jean’s wondering why he passed up on his mother’s offer to spend the holidays with her in Montpellier.

To quell the uncomfortable knot forming in his stomach, Jean begins petting another dog — Mochi this time — and reaches for the bottle of red.

“Some wine sounds nice, actually.”

…

Once dinner and the debate is over, the two jet-lagged grad students decide to retire for the night. It’s only 9 o’clock but it feels so much later than that.

The outcome of the conversation has caused Jean to unpack his luggage in the basement guest room, whereas Mikasa is forced to do the same on the top floor.

The last time Mikasa had stayed in her childhood bedroom, she was taking a break before heading onto grad school. She can remember the months she spent preparing to move across the country for a second time — the tables she waited to earn extra cash, the lessons she spent with a tutor to get a better grasp on French. Montreal was going to be a whole new beast compared to Toronto — where she had completed her undergrad — and every reminder of that was a sign that she needed to prepare.

That era of her life was roughly two years ago, yet Mikasa feels like it’s a millenia away.

Despite Kiyomi’s rule regarding her niece and her niece’s significant other, at least the bedroom is clean and cozy. Although the pictures and art on the wall have been removed, the sheets are clean and the blankets are soft, more than enough to help Mikasa survive the night.

So alone in her room, Mikasa lies on a bed and reads a book, her usual habit whenever she needs to fall asleep. With the sound of rain hitting the roof and the two dogs napping at the foot of her bed, she almost feels like she’s in high school again, preferring to spend hours in her room just snuggling with Mochi and Miso.

As Mikasa turns the page, she hears a light knock. Mochi immediately lifts his head from the cushions and watches the door open. Jean peaks in with a playful, almost boyish look on his face, knowing well that what he’s doing is a little mischievous.

He steps into the room calmly, having changed from his traveling clothes to something a lot more comfortable. He’s wearing a pair of pyjama pants that Mikasa bought for him on a whim, as well as a flannel shirt that he’s buttoned sparingly. His hair is damp from a shower, ashy brown locks draping messily over his face. The stubble on his jawline and chin looks a bit thicker, more like a short beard.

Knowing Jean, Mikasa wonders if he’s trying to entice her, as he knows exactly what she thinks when she sees him looking so disheveled.

“What are you reading?” he asks, stepping barefoot into her room. He sits on the edge of her bed and starts petting Miso, who predictably reacts with a doofy grin.

Mikasa looks away from her book. “One of Sasha’s romance novels — she lent it to me.”

Jean catches sight of the muscular man on the cover and raises an eyebrow. “Sasha reads romance?”

“When she can,” Mikasa answers. “Vet school’s been taking up a lot of her time.”

There is a beat — Mikasa continues reading and Jean continues petting the dog on the bed. He then notices something that brings a smile to his face.

“You’re wearing my shirt.”

Mikasa is nonplussed as she turns a page. “I know.”

Nowadays, Jean’s green button-front shirt finds itself in Mikasa’s care more often than his. He doesn’t seem to mind though.

Mikasa changes the subject with ease. She looks up and affixes her gaze to his. “How’s the guest room? Cozy?”

“It is.” He nods his head, then his voice goes warm. “Not as cozy as this though.”

Mikasa is quick to close her book and give him a knowing look. “Don’t get any ideas. I wouldn’t want Kiyomi to toss you onto the street.”

Jean puts his hands up in mock defeat. “Trust me, I wouldn’t want that either.”

Putting her novel away, she straightens her back and sits up. “I’m sorry you had to see the argument.”

“It’s fine,” Jean shrugs. At least he’s good at taking things in stride. “What’s the holidays without some family bickering, huh?”

Mikasa lets out a sigh and looks down. “Unfortunately.”

In hindsight, attempting to argue with Kiyomi in Japanese was somewhat pointless, as Jean most likely knew that they were talking about thanks to their mannerisms. Some things in the world are just made to transcend language barriers.

“But hey, I don’t wanna rock the boat.” He’s trying to keep a positive undertone to his voice. “I just wanted to say goodnight.”

He moves on the bed a bit to sit next to her, gently cupping her face with his hand and pressing a kiss to her forehead. Mikasa closes her eyes and lets the gesture send a warm sensation throughout her entire body. The unease she had dealt with at dinner starts to fade away.

With his palms still touching her cheeks, Jean presses a kiss to her lips. It’s gentle, sweet, and makes her want him to stay.

She puts her hands on his as they remain on her face, gently deepening their kiss as her forehead brushes against his. He’s warm, so warm.

Mikasa’s hands trail down to Jean’s shoulders, then to his chest — her thumbs start hooking into the hems of his shirt.

But before anything more can happen, Jean pulls away. She can see the flustered look on his face as his breathing goes unsteady.

“I should go,” he insists, quickly buttoning up his shirt.

Sensing the urgency Mikasa nods along. She then remembers that Kiyomi is still awake and currently relaxing one floor beneath them.

Also, if they are to engage in any intimacy during the stay, she would rather do it without the dogs in the room.

Jean takes her hand and kisses it, a last gesture before he leaves.

“See you in the morning, mon amour.”

And when everything said is done, he leaves. Standing from the bed, he gives the dogs some last pets before walking out of the bedroom. He makes sure to give Mikasa one last assuring look before he is truly gone.

Once the door is closed, Mikasa takes in a breath and rubs her face. Her palms are sweating. When she opens her eyes she is greeted to the sight of Mochi and Miso staring at her with their unblinking gazes.

Her first instinct is to glare back. “Don’t judge me, I’ve seen you two dig up a hornet’s nest.”

…

It’s 5AM when Mikasa wakes. The room is warm and so is the bed, yet when she reaches to the other side to only feel nothing it might as well be cold as ice.

After opening her eyes, she spends a few moments staring at the ceiling and thinking about how tired she is. She may be on vacation, but parts of her are still in grad student mode. Her body has yet to comprehend that she’s not going to spend the day TAing or going over research notes.

When Mikasa gets up, she notices that the dogs are no longer sleeping at the foot of her bed. With the bedroom door ajar, she surmises that Mochi and Miso have transitioned to sleeping in Kiyomi’s bed, as per usual.

Being jet-lagged, Mikasa feels awake, but the kind of awake where one can either function for the day or go for a few more hours of slumber. She contemplates going for an early morning run to ease her nerves, then looks to the window to find that last night’s downpour has intensified.

Vancouver is always rainy, but the kind of rain that makes it impossible to go outside feels truly constricting.

Then an idea pops into Mikasa’s head, one attached to consequences but possible enough to pull off. She has to be careful though, so as quietly as she can she slips out of bed and steps onto the floor.

The carpets dampen the noise of her footfalls as she makes her way through the hallway. When she sees Kiyomi’s bedroom door slightly ajar, she takes in the sight of her Auntie sleeping in between the world’s fluffiest dogs. Smartly, she makes sure to close the door.

Mikasa descends the stairs to the first floor, moving past the furniture and framed photographs before approaching the basement entrance. The lower portion of the house is as cozy as the rest and when she arrives at the bedroom at the end of the hall she slips in without any hesitation. She makes sure to lock the door behind her.

The guest room is warm, Jean’s belongings are scattered about. On a nearby chair is the shirt he had been wearing in her room and on the desk is one of his sketchbooks — he’s quite fond of traveling with at least one. The open page is filled with doodles of Mochi and Miso.

Jean is fast asleep on the bed, bare-chested and breathing gently. His eyes are closed and his hair is strewn in every direction.

Mikasa doesn’t waste any more time. She slips under the sheets, her body easily finding his, and begins peppering kisses against his shoulder.

With the sweetest touch, she trails her lips up his neck and onto his jaw. His stubble is soft and tickles her face. He lets out a hum, as he’s used to being woken up like this. His eyes are still closed as he shifts slightly, letting Mikasa easily pry herself under his arm. Soon she rests her head on his chest, where she always likes to be. He’s warm, warmer than her room upstairs.

With all his strength, Jean manages to open his eyes just enough to see his girlfriend snuggling against him. The room is dark, but she can still see the sleepy smile on his beautiful face.

“Couldn’t stay away?”

“Not a bit.”

Mikasa relaxes into him, letting his heartbeat become a gentle lullaby. In the sheets his hand finds hers and holds it tight, one of her legs hooking around his. She is content to drift off to sleep just like this.

She’ll deal with the consequences later.

#Jeankasa #Jeanmika #jean kirstein #mikasa ackerman #jean kirschtein #kiyomi azumabito #modern au #grad student au #snk #jkholidaysspecial2023 #jkholidaysspecial

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thebisexualdogdad · 2 years

Text

Glow of the fire - Donna Tory x M!Reader

It had been raining for a couple of days in San Francisco so the Titans didn't have as much crime to be stopping which gave you a chance for a night of romance with Donna.

You told the team to stay off the fourth floor of the tower where you wined and dined Donna, cooking her a nice dinner and drinking a fancy bottle of wine that Kory had gotten you.

After dinner you sat on the blanketed floor in front of a roaring fire in the fireplace just talking about life.

"I had a really good time tonight Y/N, it's been a while since we've gotten to have a real date," Donna says, taking a sip of her wine.

"Far too long, I mean we didn't even get to celebrate our anniversary last month because of Mammoth wrecking havoc downtown," you say.

"We can celebrate right now," she says, raising an eyebrow suggestively.

"Oh can we?" You grin.

"Mhmm," she nods, leaning in to kiss you.

She sets her wine glass down on the ground as the kiss heats up and not just from the intensity of the fire.

Your hands wander across each other's bodies, removing clothing one piece at a time.

Eventually you're on top of her, your shirt gone with Donna only in her bra and panties, the glow of the fire radiating on her skin.

"You are so beautiful Donna Troy," you tell her.

"I love you Y/N," she says pulling you down to kiss her.

Your hand glides down her stomach and to her panties, touching her through the material and feeling her arousal pooling.

Slipping your hand under the material you toy with her clit and she twitches under you.

"I love the way your body reacts to me," you mutter into the kiss and ease a finger inside her.

"God you make me so wet," she tells you, moaning as you add a second finger and begin pumping them.

You kiss her neck, holding yourself up with one hand while the other plays with her.

You rub circles over her clit with your thumb and curl your fingers upwards hitting her g spot causing her to cry out your name as she cums.

When her thighs stop trembling you remove your fingers, undoing your belt and Donna watches intently as you get out of your pants.

She takes her bra off as you get out of your boxers, adding them to the pile of your clothes.

Last to be gone is her panties which you slowly take off while kissing down her legs.

You spread her legs apart, settling in between them and stroking your cock.

Using her cum you lather your cock, easily guiding it inside her and she groans feeling so full.

You gently rock your hips, enjoying the way her eyes screw shut and she bites her lip in pleasure.

"Oh fuck, oh fuck," she chants as you move faster, her breasts bouncing with each thrust.

The fire crackles and pops, mixing with the sounds of you two moaning.

You hold onto her waist, a hand resting on her stomach and you can feel her abs tightening.

Your hand moves up to her chest, palming her breasts.

Her nipples are hard and sensitive, she gasps when you pinch one and tug on it.

Her own hand goes down to her clit, furiously rubbing it as all the sensations she feels make her climax for the second time.

"Y/N!" She shouts, her whole body spasming.

You fuck her through her orgasm, giving her aftershock upon aftershock.

She taps the floor meaning she can't take anymore so you pull out of her, firmly stroking yourself until you cum on the blanket under her.

She's dripping with cum so you lean down, slowly licking her clean which gives her one last aftershock that courses throughout her entire body.

You gently kiss her stomach and along her hip bones, Donna smiling in a hazy bliss.

You get up to grab some waters from the nearby kitchen, handing her one when you return.

She's sitting up, her messy hair falling around her shoulders while she gulps nearly the entire bottle.

"Happy late anniversary," you smile at her, tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear and kissing her jaw.

"Oh I am far from done with you," she grins, "put the fire out and meet me in our room, I feel like using the handcuffs on you."

You can't even form words as your mind races thinking about what Donna is about to do to you.

She gets to her feet and starts walking to your bedroom, smirking because she knows you are staring at her ass.

"You coming or not?" She says over her shoulder.

"I'm right behind you," you gulp, nearly falling over as you try to hastily put the fire out, too excited for what was to come.

#titans imagine #donna troy imagine #donna troy x reader #x male reader #fic

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outpost51 · 3 months

Text

7 snippets 7 people

tagged by @writernopal over here tyyyyy i love this one

tagging: @sparatus @thetrashbagswasteland @omniblades-and-stars @sunflaresspace @mxanigel @bambino1294 @westernlarch

have a few of my favorite bits from unlikely adventures. CW: gore, violence, smut, the usual suspects

CH 2: My Sister's Keeper

Dillon was eight when her parents divorced. It wasn’t nasty. No one yelled. Darren didn’t demand custody, but Cheryl politely requested it, and he signed the papers without a second thought. He even gave up the house, choosing instead to stay in a much more reasonable two-bedroom apartment downtown, closer to his job with the law firm.

But she was eight, and all she ever knew about love she learned from her parents, and all the storybooks ended at ‘happily ever after,’ not ‘and then years later, when they realized they only got hitched because the princess was fifteen and pregnant and the prince was scared of her daddy’s shotgun, there was a civil division of community property and they never spoke again.’ A father should never be his daughter’s first taste of heartbreak, but Darren always was an overachiever. He got to put that trophy right up on his Dillon wall next to ‘Dada was her first word’ and ‘she took her first steps for me.’

She really was a daddy’s girl before, thrashing to his classic metal CDs in the basement and trying to out-belch each other at the dinner table. And after all that, he didn’t even fight for custody. He didn’t fight for her. Dillon saw it as her father wanting nothing to do with her and Daisy, even if he had free visitation rights and took them to the movies and the mall and theme parks. She was always shut down and distant during those trips, believing them to be a farcical attempt at bribing her and her sister, or a token effort because her mom asked him to.

CH 3: Death Doesn't Give Third Chances

“Your dad doesn’t remember.”

“Remember what?”

“That your sister died.” Cheryl flipped through a few pages. Raised her eyebrows a few times. She set the book down and went down to the basement, leaving Dillon alone at the counter with a massive stack of pancakes. Unattended. Four fell prey to her grabby hands before Cheryl returned.

With a severed head, its face frozen in a scream.

That she promptly whacked against the counter over and over until it cracked open.

“You cut up bodies three nights out of the month, pickle,” Cheryl chided as her daughter lost her pancakes in the sink.

Dillon looked at her mother with a mix of shock and disgust. “Yeah, I cut ‘em up, I don’t brutalize them.”

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic, it’s not like it’s bleeding.” Cheryl dropped the pulpy remains in her daughter’s outstretched hands. “Do something with that, please. I need to scramble this before your sister comes back down.”

With her mind completely dissociated from her physical form, Dillon sputtered, “Like what? I can’t just throw this in the trash!”

Cheryl exhaled through her nose. “Of course not, that’s wasteful. Put it in a bag and put it back in the freezer. I’ll boil it later to make freezie-pops.” She scoffed at Dillon’s continued perturbation. “What? Werewolves get hot, too. It’s too much work to fill a kiddie pool with ice for Gus to roll in every time we go on a run. Get some of my bacon while you’re down there.”

Dillon inhaled to respond, but swallowed the thought at her mother’s look.

CH 4: Like Moths

“Oi, Lawson, fuck off,” Moira barked. She had such an elegant way with words.

“Or what, freak? You gonna hex me?” Troy made a dismissive gesture. “Go back to your coffin, the sun’s still out.”

Dillon could almost hear the creak of Moira’s jaw as she clenched it. The pentacle necklace that never left her neck rose and fell with every angry breath, flashing a warning in the afternoon sun. Dillon stepped up behind her best friend. Her belly button barely cleared the top of the table, but she could still mean mug the shit out of them. Moira didn’t need help taking on six high schoolers, it was the thought that counted.

“Oh look, it’s the littlest Monroe, too,” Troy’s best friend, Conner Stevens, drawled. He didn’t move from his relaxed drape against the back of the booth. “What’re you gonna do, cut yourself at us?”

The bar for being the bigger person suddenly got a lot lower. Moira snarled over the table. Dillon put a gentle hand on her bicep. “No, Troy,” she chuffed. “I’m not. But you wanna know what I can do?” She hopped up on the table, jostling his drink with the jolt and wobble of the table. “You remember what happened to Brett?”

That got Troy’s attention. “What, you gonna pull a bear outta your ass? Wouldn’t surprise me, if you’re as big of a whore as your s—” His voice was suddenly cut off with a wet choke.

“Dill—”

“He brought Daisy into it, Moira,” she spat. “His ass is fair game now.” Her head hurt and her chest tightened as her emotions rose higher, but this time she was ready for it, and greeted the pain like an old friend. Passing out would so be worth making that little worm regret even thinking Daisy’s name.

Conner shook Troy’s shoulder, but it was no use. He was fully choking on a massive lump lodged firmly in his esophagus. His blond girlfriend-of-the-week pulled him into a Heimlich position — she was a lifeguard at the community pool, Dillon thought — and on the fourth violent thrust of her hands against his diaphragm, the foreign object in his throat finally dislodged itself.

A clump of daisies the size of her fist slopped wetly onto his half-finished burger.

Dillon felt something wet trickle from her nose. Worth it. “Now get the fuck away from our table before I pick something with thorns.”

CH 5: Come, Devil

"The show hasn't even begun, mon petit aperitif, I still have my pants on." He took his time turning on the shower, fiddling with the temperature, pulling out towels — all while letting Dillon dangle over his shoulder, and when she decided grumbling wouldn't get her anywhere and instead caught one wing in her hands to bite the sensitive membrane, he reminded her that his hands weren't the only disciplinary tools at his disposal, wrapping his tail around her arms and yanking her upright. How she still managed to maintain enough dignity to look angry with her pants and underwear hanging around her ankles, he didn't know, but he liked it a fair share more than he was willing to admit. It's not like anything was fully on display either, thanks to the massive shirt drowning her in fabric, but that was easily remedied. He grabbed the hem and made to rip it free—

"Don't tear my shirt, please." The quiet earnestness of her plea was jarring in the wake of her snarling fit, enough so that it turned his muscles to stone and forced him to meet her eyes. There was a flicker of fear in their hollow depths, suddenly so cold and lifeless, had he not felt her pulse fluttering against the underside of his tail, he'd wonder if she still had one at all. "Daisy bought it for me. It was the first concert we went to together."

Well, fuck. Zadimus set her down and stepped back, watching her kick off her other clothes and slowly, reverently strip off her shirt and fold it on the counter. "You really do love your sister, don't you?"

The fire went right back into her eyes as she looked up with raw determination and something he couldn't place, the sort of vicious familial passion he'd never observed in a member of his own kind; it drove otherwise pacifistic mothers to violent, gruesome vengeance killings, and made brothers fight more fiercely for — and sometimes against — each other than they would in any other circumstance. "I poured my soul into the ground so she could climb back out of it," she spat. "What do you think?"

"I think we're going to get along brilliantly," he replied, then pulled her into his arms again to crush their mouths together. The kiss was short-lived; she drew back and he worried he'd crossed a boundary somewhere, but she thrust her thumbs into his mouth and pried his jaws open.

"So that's what it was!"

"Whah?"

She grinned in triumph. "Your tongue's pierced, you wily fucking devil."

Zadimus batted her hand away. “I have other things pierced, you know, if that’s what really gets you going,” he drawled. “But as it stands, Miss Monroe, you have a filthy fucking mouth and it’s high time someone cleaned up your act.”

CH 8: Bullet on the Tracks

“Did you grab the bacon from up here or downstairs?”

Zadimus pointed to a plate of bacon that looked leaner than usual. “Downstairs for me,” he said, then pointed at the pan sizzling in front of him, “and up here for you.” He dumped the bacon onto a paper-towel-covered plate. “Your mother has a good system, all the cooking vessels are marked so there’s no risk of cross-contamination.”

Dillon nodded, reaching for a slice of her bacon. “Yeah, she adapted pretty quick— fuck!”

“You just saw me take that out of the pan, dipshit,” Zadimus scoffed at Dillon’s pitiful puppy eyes, then pulled her injured finger from her mouth. “It’s just a bit irritated, you’ll live.”

“But it hurts,” she pouted.

With a sigh, he ran his tongue over her finger before resuming his prior task of cracking eggs into the pan. “Better?”

Dillon gaped at the tingling still chasing away the angry red of a minor burn. “Wh— how.”

“Magic.”

“In your… spit.”

“Ah, no.” Zadimus tossed the empty carton into the recycling and the shells into the compost bin. “In general. But my hands were full,” he chuffed with a wink, squeezing her thigh.

Dillon scrunched up her nose to hide her grin. “Letch.”

“Careful, Dillon,” he teased. “I might think you like me and my brazen ways.”

She smacked his bicep, but the smile on her face lit the room and the flush of her cheeks warmed it. Zadimus released her into the kitchen so she could go about fixing coffee, as their infernal, unnecessarily complicated device refused to tell him its secrets. He was buying a machine for himself the next chance he got, something with as few buttons as possible and a normal filter. He got so lost in his fantasy of simplicity he almost missed her question. “Where are we going today?”

It didn’t help that she had half a bagel shoved into her mouth. How someone so small managed to open her jaw so wide— he shook off that train of thought before it could go anywhere that might cause another delay this morning.

CH 8: Bullet on the Tracks

So Zadimus let Dillon poke and prod his fading bruises; the single rib fracture that had started righting itself, the kink in his tail he’d already straightened in the back seat with someone’s hoodie in his mouth to muffle the grunt of pain it had wrung from him. That one smarted a bit, and he gave her a token wince so she’d have something to fuss over. He had been around long enough to know mortals needed to fret and tend to each other after a fight, to regain some control over something when everything else had been more or less out of it. He would never know the fear of a final death, but he understood it, and he had felt the stain it left behind once or twice in his thousand years.

He lifted the pads of her fingers to his lips and kissed the worry from each one, letting the tingle of magic distract her from their ordeal long enough to steal another kiss from her mouth. “See? I’m fine.”

He might have been, but she wasn’t — with her worrying hands at last sated to stillness, Zadimus could see where blood had dried beneath her fingernails, where boiling ichor had stained her knuckles an angry red, where she’d cut her lip either with her own teeth or while she was ripping the wraith apart. Flecks of darkness stubbornly clung to the outer edges of her irises. There was that glimpse again: scarlet braid, leather and metal, sturdy hips and silk-over-steel thighs, and the most vibrantly green eyes he’d ever seen.

There was nothing hard about Dillon except her damned head, but she hadn’t lived through war, famine, pestilence — only a pale horse roamed her pastures, yet she was neither afraid of its bray nor its bite. Her struggles all lived in her heart, and somehow it had still remained as chiffon-soft as the rest of her.

He’d recognize those eyes anywhere, though. Like sunlight reflecting off a dragon’s scales, sharp as a sword and twice as lethal, and when he found himself caught in her gaze—

“Zadimus?”

—the tenderness stabbed him with want so deep, so fathomless, he thought it might actually kill him.

Her lip split again when he crushed his mouth against hers. Blood and moss. She tasted like blood and moss and something ancient, something wild. Energy sparked against his teeth, a volley of arrows meant to take out his fortress defenses, and the energy within him answered in kind, pouring over her tongue and down her throat.

The backs of his thighs collided with the kitchen table. Fuck it. Zadimus let her push him back, spreading his wings across the surface and over the sides like a tablecloth. “People eat here, Dillon,” he teased, even as he helped her climb over him.

She bit his nipple.

Interlude II: Bad Blood

“Pamela Foster,” the newcomer clipped. “Castlebury Park. Sorry I’m late, the homeowner’s association meeting ran long because some people don’t seem to understand neighborhood beautification standards exist for a reason, and a black garage door is an eyesore.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, Acheron,” Sterling hissed. His chair scraped as he rose, knocking into his hovering servant. If he noticed, he didn’t acknowledge it. “This? This is the fabled new bloodline? What’s she going to do, ask to speak to the manager?”

“Mister La Croix and I have already spoken, actually, thank you.” Pam took her seat at the end of the table. Acheron didn’t miss the mild panic flitting across Jedediah’s face and the subtle scoot of his chair away from her. Interesting. “We’re here because of my turning, correct?”

“A completely new bloodline hasn’t appeared since the seventeenth century, just mutated from older ones, so this is… most unusual,” Idris explained. “We’re sure you’re perfectly capable, but--”

“But what? I sent in my curriculum vitae, you’re all aware of my leadership capabilities, and further--”

“A leader ain’t just a few fancy words on a piece of paper, Pammy.”

Pam’s eyes narrowed and her mouth pressed into a thin line. Acheron felt his entire body threaten to implode into itself to escape. “Do not interrupt me, Mister… the Dragonheart, is it? Or so help me, you will find out why I was chosen as this line’s progenitor.”

Hagar’s mouth quirked up into an intrigued grin. How long had it been since another member challenged him like that? How long since anyone had?

“Further, I have submitted my territory demarcation through the appropriate channels, so I hardly think an entire meeting is necessary. I’m sure you all have better things to do,” the newcomer concluded. Her shock of bleached-blonde hair seemed to move in a breeze only she could feel. What little of it could move, anyway; the pixie cut looked sprayed and gelled and spiked to within an inch of its life.

Her conclusion once more erupted the room into cacophonous bickering, and again Hagar fired his gun to silence it before Acheron could even raise his voice. A second chunk of plaster joined the first. Pam did not look happy about it, and wouldn’t you know, the big brute actually flinched.

“Can we at least pretend we belong in our respective positions and act with a smidgen of civility? We aren’t werewolves,” Acheron snapped. Seconds later, he was clawing at an invisible hand constricting tighter and tighter around his throat.

“The woman I intend to take as my mate is a werewolf, Mister La Croix.” Pam’s eyes glowed a deep, dusky red. Her clothes swept up in the quickening breeze. “Tread carefully.”

#my fic #sneeps.txt #unlikely adventures #the arsonist chronicles

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