#Case is vibing with the farm life and making up little tunes | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

chris-evans-indian-fanfic · 4 years

Text

Voice

One-Shot

Description: When Mr Freezy enters your life, your peaceful world is destroyed.

Warnings: Non-consensual, voyeurism, masturbation, verbal abuses, harsh language and hints of necrophilia

DO NOT PROCEED IF THESE THINGS UPSET YOU. THIS IS A VERY DARK STORY. ONLY PROCEED IF YOU ARE 18+

This one-shot is my entry for Week 5 of @donutloverxo 's superfun writing challenge. This time, the challenge was based on GIFs. The one I selected will appear in the story below. Click here to participate in their weekly challenges

A/N- I blame @jtargaryen18 for making me an unholy hoe for Mr Freezy!

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I don’t consent to have any of my work published or featured on any third party app, website or translated. If you are seeing this fanfiction anywhere but Tumblr and AO3, it has been reposted without my permission. In that case, please do share the link and let me know.

…

You were living the best life in 1969. Working part-time at the ice-cream parlor in the mornings, hanging out with your friends in the evening and sneaking out for parties at night, you loved your routine, carefree life in New Jersey.

Your foot bobbed along the tunes of Honky Tonk Woman by The Rolling Stones as you read that month's fashion magazine, sitting by the new, shiny cassette player. Taking pride in the fact that your family was the first in the neighborhood to buy the expensive cassette player, latest in the technology of playing music, you smirked as you delicately, almost teasingly fondled the device.

*beep beep*

The annoying horn of the filthy ice-cream truck broke you out of your reverie. Scowling, you turned to look at the abomination on 4 wheels parked right in front of your house. The long-haired driver, who called himself Mr Freezy, always gave you creepy vibes. Maybe he thought his wide smile would lure in more children, but it never failed to make your skin crawl with disgust.

You tried your best to ignore him and his irritating horn, hoping that he would drive away soon enough. Unfortunately, it was a hot summer's day and there was a long, winding line of customers.

After yet another *beep beep* you slammed down the magazine on the table. Walking out in your pinkish-red knee-length skirt and long-sleeved top, you had a good mind to tell Mr Freezy off.

Standing in front of his ice-cream truck window, you stomped your foot and placed your hands on your hips. "How can I help you Ms Jello Mould?" his disgusting attempt at comparing you to a dessert sent a chill down your spine.

"You have a long line of customers! Stop pressing your horn every 5 seconds!" you exclaimed, gesturing your hands towards the waiting people.

Mr Freezy chuckled, but the mirth didn't reach his eyes behind the glasses, "Now now. That is no way to talk to someone who is older than you Raspberry Ripple," he said in a friendly tone, "Not everybody can afford to buy a cassette player."

"Maybe you can if you cleaned your ice-cream truck once in a while," you spat, purposefully covering your nose, "I work in an ice-cream parlor, and no establishment dealing with ice-creams should stink like this!"

"My customers don't seem to mind it Sugar," his sweet tongue rolling the last word as if he was drooling.

You huffed, "I mind it! And stop with the horn! Or I will have daddy make sure you are never seen here again." And with that hardly intimidating threat, you walked towards your house. Mr Freezy licked his lips as he saw your silhouette disappear behind the front door. He could put your bratty nature to good use. Very good use indeed.

🍦

Dressed in a brown checkered dress, you sauntered home after your shift ended, your spirits high as you looked forward to being Ricky's date tonight at the party.

As you entered your home, your eyes fell upon the new cassette sitting besides your beloved player. Squealing with excitement, you rushed and grabbed the plastic box, hurriedly prying it open. To your surprise, a few photographs of you and Ricky fell out of the case with the words "Does daddy know about him?" scribbled on the back of every photograph.

No no no. OH GOD NO! you panicked as you rifled through the images. Your parents had no idea about your nightlife, let alone your boyfriend! These lovey-dovey photographs threatened to reveal your secret and ruin your life.

You found another note in the box behind the cassette, "There are plenty where these came from. Now be a good girl and play the cassette." Just beneath the sentence, a chocolate bar was roughly drawn in the corner and the words “My Chocolate Fudge” were written in small letters.

Your hands trembled as you hit play. A raspy voice greeted you from the device.

"Hey baby." You knew this voice, who was he? "Has daddy's little princess recognised me?" You were pretty shaken up, your mind refused to let go of the terror and think straight for a moment as your thumbs rubbed against one another.

"Oohh Sugar, what am I going to do with you?" the voice chuckled. That sentence brought you to a complete halt. It was Mr Freezy! How dare he threaten you like this?

Before you could form any coherent thought, he tut-tutted in annoyance, "How can an ordinary ice-cream man like me trouble a beautiful young woman such as yourself? What will Daddy say? Let's call Daddy shall we? I am sure he would enjoy looking at how well Ricky can fondle his daughter's breasts."

You felt numb as his words sank in. If your father found out, he would have you sent to the country, to his relatives who lived on a farm! Eww!! You shuddered, overcome with disgust as the cassette continued.

"Now Sugar, we don't need to tell Daddy about us. Do we?" You shook your head in response. "Very good," Mr Freezy continued, "Open the curtains to your right, and look at the house across the street."

You followed the instructions, and nearly choked on your spit. There he was, in your neighbour's house, smiling and waving from their first-floor window. "Follow my next instructions very carefully, or I will make sure that your entire neighborhood comes to know about the wonderful kisser that Ricky is."

You could only nod in response. No matter what, you could not afford to let your family be humiliated because of your actions.

"From now on, hit pause after you finish every command. And hurry, we haven't got all day Sugar. Your mother will be home soon. And if she is home before I am done with you, then let's just say tonight there wouldn't be any dessert for you," you gulped in agreement.

"Pull up a chair near the window and place the player near you." Your fear slowed you down and the recorder kept on playing, "Face the window, and strip." After a pause, you heard, "Sit on the chair and spread your legs wide. Keep your feet on the windowsill."

The rest of the commands fell on deaf ears as your body was stunned in shock. Did this man… really? You couldn't. You wouldn't. Maybe you could still apologise…

Tears brimmed in your eyes as you realised what this man wanted you to do. It was almost 4:30pm and people would soon fill the street in front of your house. If anybody decided to even look towards the window, they would surely see your body on full display.

As if reading your thoughts, Mr Freezy shook his head and pointed to his wristwatch.

You knew your mother would be home before 5:30pm. Whatever you had to do, you would have to do it quickly.

With trembling hands, you paused the cassette, and obeyed his first two commands, the upholstery on the chair feeling warm against your naked bottom. From this angle, you couldn't see him, but you were sure he was keeping an eye on you.

You were correct.

Mr Freezy sucked on his ice-cream bar as he watched the scene unfold. His tongue working the cold dessert as if it were your core. A small bite here, a suck there, and his length was already aching in his pants.

"Oooo look at that slutty pussy! Just waiting for a man's touch," his voice cooed from the recorder, "Play with your clit with one hand, and bring your other hand to your breast."

You begrudgingly relented, wanting to get it all over with soon. Heat flooded to your face as the indignity of your actions set in.

Across the street, Mr Freezy unzipped his pants, and started rubbing the neighbor's panty on his shaft, his touch fleetingly light as he sucked on the bar. He bit into the ice-cream when you rubbed your clit, the cold going straight to his length.

"I love how your plump breasts bounce everytime you take a step. A man can get lost in those curves of yours," his raspy voice continued, "Squeeze your breast lightly. Feel it's roundness. Tease your nipple too. Fondle it with one finger."

You bit your lips as you followed his instructions. You had masturbated a few times and had even reached third base with Ricky, but it had never felt like this. You knew this was humiliation in answer to your rude behaviour. But this… it felt… good. You were ashamed to admit it, but as the teasing prolonged, you started feeling the familiar and ever elusive knot building up in your stomach.

"Yes yes yes baby. Rub that clit harder. Make that pussy wet for me. But don't you dare enter a finger in your cumhole."

He watched as your hips thrust upwards, desperate for friction, as he started pumping himself faster.

"Slap that boob," he commanded as another moan escaped your lips, "slap harder!" and you did. "Pinch your nipple and pull it. Pull it you cock sucking bitch."

More wetness pooled at your core as you continued to play with your body.

"Stop," said Mr Freezy's voice. At first you thought you misheard him and so you didn't.

"I said STOP YOU FUCKING BITCH," his shouts from the player sounded as clear as a bell.

Startled, you brought yourself to a complete stop. Despite yourself, the sudden cessation left you feeling disappointed and hungry for more. "Pause this recording. Go to the full-length mirror in your room and have a good look at yourself," his voice urged you.

Meanwhile, Mr Freezy had come undone across the street, his thick release coating the neighbor's cotton panties. He sighed as he used the neighbor's brassiere to wipe himself clean. He was longing to get a taste of you. Too bad he had other things planned for you instead.

You ran towards your room, trying to hide your nakedness as much as you could. You didn't recognise the woman in the reflection. Hair astray, lips and cheeks slightly flushed, puffed breath, eyes wide and the hair on your mound glistening with your arousal. You couldn't bring yourself to meet your eyes reflected in the mirror.

You carefully went downstairs, and resumed the cassette.

"Saw the slut in the mirror? That's who you are bitch. A whore for a man's cock. Don't let Ricky touch that filthy pussy again, or I will fill you with my cum infront of your Daddy while he watches," the cassette ended with the heavy threat.

🍦

You were living the worst life in 1969. Quite often, you came home to a new cassette with new instructions recorded on them. Everytime, the plastic box was filled with naked photographs of your previous lewd acts. Up until now, you had jumped naked in front of the window, placed ice on different parts of your body, deep-throated an ice-cream bar and stripped to a vulgar song.

Tonight however, it was different. He had asked you to carry a bottle of wine (that he kept on your bed while you were gone) and go to a hotel at midnight. Mr Freezy had explicitly mentioned that you were to wear only your bra and panty. Still, you covered yourself with a long coat as you snuck out of the house.

The hotel, if you could call an almost crumbling building that, was in the notorious part of town. With your heart pounding in your throat, you shed your coat and knocked on the door. A large man answered, his smirk widening as he took in your appearance. "You Buffy's girl?" you nodded just as you had been instructed. The stranger pulled your breast and dragged you into the room.

He smacked your ass as he grabbed the wine bottle with another, "Buffy always sends the best stuff."

He was swift in opening the bottle, chugging the liquid down as if it was water. You shuddered at the thoughts of what this man was capable of doing to you. Tears filled your eyes at the realisation.

The man looked at you and, without warning, shoved the glass bottle in your mouth. "Drink. I like it when my prostitutes are drunk." His gaze swept over your entire body. One second you were gulping down the foul liquid, the next you were gasping for breath as he pulled the cups of your bra and poured the liquid down your torso, "Let these girls drink too! Lets get hammered baby!" he exclaimed as he pulled the elastic band of your panty and poured the wine on your mound.

He laughed maniacally as you squirmed in his grip. Drinking the last of the drops, he pulled you into his lap, licking and sucking at the wine currently following down your figure.

Your protests only spurred him on, but it all lasted only for a few seconds.

You felt the stranger's body seize with yours. Breath coming in harsh rasps, you felt your throat constricting as sharp pain shot in every nerve of your body. Your agony, along with the stranger's, lasted only for a few minutes as your shallow breaths became few, finally coming to a raggedy stop.

Mr Freezy smiled a lopsided grin into his binoculars. He hurried across the street, grabbing the girl's dead body and dumping it into his ice-cream truck.

He happily hummed when he saw the ice slowly creep up your skin. You see, this profession had turned Mr Freezy cold, inside out. To an extent where he despised the warmth of a pussy around his cock. He craved the cold. He craved you.

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#Captainsweeklychallenge #the iceman #iceman #robert pronge #mr freezy #mr freezy x you #mr freezy x reader #mr freezy x y/n #robert pronge x you #robert pronge x y/n #robert pronge x reader

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danetobelieve · 4 years

Text

Bies Bitch || Jared and Winston

When: Early May 2020 Who: @themidnightfarmer & @danetobelieve Where: Jared’s farm. Summary: Flashback to when Jared was first back and Winston and he did the spider-man meme Warnings: None

Winston had to admit they’d always found the fences weird. Not that they’d ever really spent that long at Jared’s farm. They’d known each other since high school, thanks to introductions via Nell. When their old friend had gotten back in contact after being out of town for a while, Winston had been pleased to hear that they were back. As their wheels turned at a slow pace and Winston heard their car struggle along the dirt road, they once again cursed it for being such an old piece of shit. Although they loved their car dearly, it really sucked. It was far too prone to break down and this was perhaps testing the limits. Some generic, incredibly non descript animals grazed in wide open fields which was also weird. Winston was sure that farms were generally set up in some semblance of order but it was just fields. Pulling up outside of the farmhouse, Winston turned the keys in the ignition and the car fell silent. Slipping out of the car they headed to the front door, texting Jared to let him know they’d arrived.

Jared had shot the text off to Winston and then set in about his chores now that he was home. He had no illusions that they wouldn’t head over to say hello, they were good like that. He’d always be glad that Nell had introduced them to Jared. He’d gotten some good friends out of sticking up for Nell at that party all those years ago. The phone in his pocket vibrated and he made his way around the house from the greenhouse around the back, wiping off his hands on his pants of the soil from where he’d been repotting some of the few crops that had grown over the winter unsupervised. “Hey!” He called out as he bounded up the step onto the porch and made his way over around the boxes stacked up there. “Good winter? How are you Winston?” Jared beamed.

Their fist had been raised to knock on the door and they heard him, Winston turned and beamed in his direction before raising a hand to wave their friend over. Giving him a quick, if not slightly awkward hug (as was Winston’s way) they stepped back and nodded. “Yeah, the winter was fine, it has been a bit of a weird time, we had fish raining from the sky and then some weird crab things but hopefully things will calm down now.” Winston smiled and shrugged. “Honestly though it’s really good to see you, how are you doing?” Winston asked curiously. “Where did you go in the end?”

The nymph gave them a good few gentle thumps on the back during the hug and then crossed his arms leaning back to prop himself up on the porch fence. “I heard about that, complete madness, but what else do you get in this town right?” he laughed. It was all he could do really, as far as he knew Winston didn’t know about anything like that, so to act like it wasn’t a big deal was the best route. It was the same with the next question as well, Jared loathed to lie, so he always stuck to half truths where they were concerned. “I’m doing pretty great, it’s nice to be home you know?” Jared started before subtly looking away to start fabricating a little. “Went across the border, hiking you know. It’s like the wind just took me all the way.” He glanced back and grinned at them, “Sounds pretty solidly hippy vibes right? You can laugh. I won’t hold it against you.”

Raising an eyebrow gently, Winston wondered if it was safe to say something about the cursed chest on the beach or the fact that they could do magic. Things you’d normally share with friends. But they’d learned that there were things which were better left unsaid. It wasn’t always the right move to include someone in the supernatural world if they weren’t completely ready for it. Winston didn’t want to risk that with Jared. “Yeah, I guess this town has always had all kinds of weird in it, just wasn’t sure that I was ready for that kind of weird, y’know?” Shrugging gently, Winston did their best not to chuckle. “I was actually pretty impressed that you just went hiking without a plan before you started saying you sounded like a hippy and now I can’t help but agree with you. You’re your own worst. Enemy.”

Jared made a noise of disgruntled dismay, head rolling back to look at the ceiling. “I played myself, I played myself and led you right into it.” He snorted a short laugh and turned pleading puppy dog eyes on them. “Winston… can you forget I said that and go back to thinking I’m cool? I’m cool right? I’m really cool.” he whinged lightly, clasping his hands together and jutting his bottom lip out at his friend. “Tell me I’m still cool, pleeeeease?” He was hamming it up, putting it on as dramatically as he could in hopes of collecting at least a laugh for his efforts if not an admission that he was cool. That was how it alway was.

Snorting with laughter, Winston grinned at Jared and nodded. “You definitely played yourself and I’m about to play myself by agreeing that we forget about this, because if out of the two of us I am actually the one who is cool then we’re both in trouble.” Winston had never been cool. Not that they needed to be. They’d learned long ago that popularity was a farce. “You’re very very cool, the coolest person that I know really.” It was true. Jared had always just done it a little easier. The athletic build, blonde hair and good looks definitely would’ve helped with that. But generally Winston and Jared had always clicked well together because Jared was a good guy and Winston appreciated that. “I hope this isn’t a bad time or anything, you’re not too busy with chores or something?”

Jared gave an easy smile when they agreed to let his slip up slide on by with no further acknowledgment. “Oh come on, you’re cool! I think you’re cool and I make the rules on this farm. And don’t let Nell hear you say that, she’ll insist she’s far cooler,” The nymph insisted himself, waving a hand and then giving a guilty shrug of one shoulder. “There’s always chores to be done around here. Farm and all, the work is never done.” He stood back up properly then, waving a hand and willing Winston to follow him. “Especially since I was gone all winter, but I’m back now. You don’t mind telling me what you’ve been up to while I change some fastenings on the barn doors do you? I can talk and work, or rather listen and work. I want to hear what you’ve been doing while I was gone, fish rain and all.”

Raising an eyebrow, Winston flashed a quick smile before nodding. “You’re a very convincing speaker Jared, maybe you should consider going into some form of politics. But yes, let’s avoid inflating Nell’s ego anymore then we absolutely have to. None of us need to have to deal with that.” Of course they were joking. There was quite literally no one in the world that they felt deserved the confidence they exuded. “Everytime I hear about everything that you have to do on the farm, the more convinced I am that I never ever want to live the farm life.” Winston wasn’t cut out for outdoor living. “Of course not,” Winston said with an easy shrug, “I can even try and help, not really sure how you change fastenings on barn doors but if there’s something I can do. I’m not as incompetent as I look I promise.” Winston was joking of course. They were aware of their level of competence. But self deprecating humour was better then having a personality sometimes.

“The most convincing speaker. Since I’m the coolest person you know I have to be the best most convincing speaker as well right?” Jared was mostly just playing around, well aware he was not the most eloquent. “You take that back, living on this farm is a delight!” He gasped, placing a hand over his heart dramatically. “MY farm is a place of joy and wonder Winston, I won’t hear this kind of talk!” But hearing the offer to help Jared changed his tune rapidly. “But if you’re willing to lend a hand, I could hold the door and you could take out the screws? Easy as pie, I could do it myself but then I’d run the risk of the door taking me down.” He spoke with a little too much experience behind the comment for there to be any misconceptions about how he’d know that for sure. Jared was certain it was safe for Wiston to come with him to the closest barn to the house, a few straggling bies from the herd were in view nearby, but not close enough to be a worry. In any case they’d be hopefully distracted helping with the hardware, and not have time to notice.

“That is definitely how it works,” Winston grinned, “you’ve got a plus five charisma modifier which makes you both a great public speaker but also the coolest guy in the room. I understand. Tell me, when do you plan to run for president?” They winked and laughed. Jared was one of the easiest people to be around and in so many ways he set Winston at ease. “I’m sure that you love it, but look at yourself and then look at me and tell me that the farm is the kind of environment that I am going to excel in.” Following them over to the barn, Winston nodded. “As long as you’re the one that is doing all of the heavy lifting then I can definitely handle a few screws, besides no one wants you to hurt yourself trying to repair a barn door, that would be kind of tragic and I don’t think Nell would ever forgive me.” They winked gently as they glanced at the livestock in the field. Were they a little … weird? Winston blinked a few times before Jared caught their attention again.

“My campaign will begin as soon as I can find a babysitter for my kids, then I’ll be a shoe in.” Jared grinned, winking right back. The nymph fully and comically looked down at himself, and then glanced over Winston with an exaggerated head nod. “The farm is the kind of environment you would excel in.” He tells them with a matter of fact tone and another firm nod before he chuckled to himself and shrugged. “To each their own I guess, but no more rudeness about the farm, my farm is beautiful you hear me?” he warned playfully pointing a finger over his shoulder while they moved. Jared missed the way Winston's eyes flickered to the nearby bies, one of the creatures raising it’s massive head as they passed but otherwise doing nothing, it’s third eye closed for the moment against the sun. They reached the first barn and Jared wrenched one of the doors open with a bit of difficulty. “See the hinges on this door need changed, they’ve been bent wrong and now it’s a nightmare. If I hold it with the door half open you can try and unscrew it?”

“I am sure that as a presidential candidate they can provide you with some highly qualified farmers to look after all of your fur babies.” Winston laughed outloud. It was really good to see their friend again. Raising an eyebrow at Jared’s frankly bold claim, Winston laughed. “I guess I’ll have to keep coming to visit you and we’ll find out if I warm to the farmer’s life. You’ll have me in denim overalls with a straw hanging out of the corner of my mouth in no time I’m sure. The moose-cow things seemed to be getting large each time Winston glanced at them. They’d gone from being baby cow sized, to donkey sized, to horse sized and was that a third eye. No. Winston was clearly stressed or something. They pulled their glasses off and polished them nervously. “I agree, your farm is beautiful.” Grinning again, Winston spotted a tool box and grabbed a screw driver. “Yeah, if you can lift it so there’s less tension on the hinges then I think that’s fine, it doesn’t look like the actual screws are bent out of shape or anything.”

Jared gave Winston a quick laugh and a grin, oh if only they knew just how ‘qualified’ any babysitters would have to be. “I’ll put you to work, you can help me with all sorts of things around here, mark my words, we'll have time to make you outdoorsy!” He paused then and added “of course if not I suppose we’ll just start meeting at your place. But the overalls are a must, if you’re not in overalls next time we meet there’s going to be a confrontation.” With that Jared set to work lifting the door, he made a small show of it being ‘heavy’ and huffing and puffing for Winston's amusement, when in actuality he had quite a bit of built up strength from similar jobs like this around the place. “Need to take the whole door off, and then put new fittings on.” he told them as he held the door ajar. The nymph had no idea that behind him the illusion was failing on the nearby bies. The mass of them getting bigger before Winstons eyes as the glamour was only made to fool those who had no connection to/ or no thoughts of harm for his animals. And just as Winston was becoming more aware, so was the nearest bies, it’s third eye opening and it’s head turning towards the barn

“I don’t know if I want to become outdoorsy,” Winston replied with a bright smirk. “But you’re welcome to try and convert me to the darkside.” Winston couldn’t imagine themselves in overalls, but now they were determined to use it as a joke around Jared. “Overalls, that is something I can manage, absolutely,” Winston grinned, “I won’t you let you down my dude.” As Winston crouched down and began unscrewing the door, they couldn’t help but notice the large supernatural creature that was appearing before their very eyes. It seemed to get larger in front of their very eyes and did it have a third eye? The colour slowly drained from their face and Winston’s jaw got slack. “Jared, dude, I don’t want to freak you out, but there’s something behind you.” The bies seemed to not like Winston, as it locked eyes with them, all three eyes. Winston dropped the screw driver and stepped in front of Jared and drew into their well of energy. “Stay behind me.”

“Oh I’ll convert you Winston, don’t you worry. It might not have happened yet but one day I’ll have you driving the tractor, or guiding the horses.” Jared might have been getting a little carried away, imagining his friend integrated into the little bits of farm life that wasn’t too dangerous for them. The smile on his face reflected that as Winston agreed that overalls were potentially in their future. He was so lost in thought that when Winston spoke he was too distracted to really understand what they were saying. “The cattle? Don’t worry about them, they won’t give us hassle.” He answered idly. The mood changed however when he finally focused in on what was actually occurring behind him. Winston was shielding him with their body, he dropped the door and turned as well. He noticed then that one of his charges had locked onto Winston, all three eyes and Jared felt a cold sweat start to form. The beast raised it’s spine as if an imitation of an angry cat, teeth baring at Winston and the strange aura they were giving off all of a sudden. It was squaring up to the human as these beasts’ tended to do when they sensed a threat, and that’s what was continuing to distract Jared as the threat level rose “You can see her?” he whispered, likely too low to be heard.

Sparks flew from Winston’s palms as they did their best to remember how they had previously accessed their magic. They knew that they were meant to be new to this and because of this it might not be as easy as they hoped, but it didn’t really matter now it seemed like Jared was in danger and if Winston could do something to help their friend then they were going to. “Cattle?” Winston asked incredulously, “That’s not cattle dude it is huge and has three ey-” then it all clicked into place and the sparks that Winston had tried to form into something more powerful then just sparks sputtered out of existence. “Wait, you - what do you mean i can see her?” Winston frowned gently at Jared. Was it possible that this was someone else who had known about this all along? Probably. Was it possible that this was someone else who had known before them. Apparently. “You know don’t you?”

The sparks shocked Jared, his eyes followed their movement for a moment completely transfixed. He was spurred into action when it was very clear that Winston was well aware of what they were looking at. Jared moved his body between the beast and Winston this time. He raised his own hands in surrender in the hopes that whatever Winston was planning would be halted by the action. “Well uh….usually people just see what I provide for them.” Jared admitted looking at Winston with a newfound curiosity. “You have for a long time, definitely did before I left for my trip.” He was having all sorts of mixed feelings, a sense of elation filled him, but it was marred with the knowledge that their initial reaction had been to fight. “I uh...yeah I know...and you do too?”

Looking at Jared, Winston whipped off their glasses and rubbed their eyes exhaustedly. This was almost too much. “Uh, yeah, I guess I used to just see … glamorous right?” They asked curiously. They had read about that in the library with Orion. “I, right after New Year I was attacked by this dog thing, it breathed fire and had spikes on it and I …” Winston swallowed trying to think of the very best way to explain it, “I uh, you know I managed to fight it off because I accidentally used magic and then, yeah, I know…. How did you find out?” It was starting to occur to Winston as Jared stood between them and the beast, which didn’t seem upset by that at all that Jared had probably known for a long time.

His head nodded at Winstons assumption about the masking that had been placed on the beast behind him. Jared made a worried sort of noise hearing that they had been attacked by something, cringing a second later at the thought of an untamed magical outburst being let loose on the creature. “Guess cat’s out of the bag now huh?” Jared laughed awkwardly for a moment, an uncomfortable expression crossing his features. “Found out I wasn’t human when I was ten.” He lowered his arms and crossed them instead while looking at Winston for a reaction. He couldn’t imagine his friend having a severe negative reaction, but things changed, they might fundamentally disagree with his existence, or in more simply frown on what he was doing. It was all up in the air at that moment, so Jared laid the rest out for full consideration, to be accepted and then lose Winston anyway further down the line would be crushing. Best get it over with now. “Nymph. Vicious creatures.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder at the bies who had now lost interest now that Jared was in the way and had gone back to wandering looking for scraps. “I...the whole farm is full of them...I protect them…”

“Wow, wait,” Winston hadn’t considered that maybe Jared wasn’t human. They just thought that he had known about all of this. “Fuck, that’s so fucking cool, you’re like a nymph? Like from mythology and fantasy and shit. Goddamn dude that is the coolest.” Winston couldn’t help the grin. It wasn’t that they were over excited (they were) it was more that their good friend was a nymph. A fucking nymph. Their heart raced with the excitement and Winston couldn’t help but smile gently. “You’ve got a whole farm full of monsters that you protect ….” Winston grinned, “Dude that’s the coolest shit that anyone has ever told me, get me some overalls because I am suddenly ready for farm life….” Winston was amazed, “... if you protect these things that must mean you could like introduce me to them, like literally and also as to what the hell that actually is, do you know a lot about that stuff?”

Their reaction was so overwhelmingly positive that Jared actually felt a bit emotional. Masking it poorly he beamed back at Winston with very slightly glassy eyes. “Told you I was cool.” He joked weakly “and you humoured me, who’s laughing now.” he added playfully punching Winston on the arm. “I’ll get you steel toe capped boots, a tractor licence and a hat in celebration.” The barn door was completely forgotten as Jared allowed himself to turn and face the same direction as Winston, bumping shoulders with them. The rest of the protective glamour would melt away for Winston. They knew now, there was no need for it. “I’ve learned a lot since I found out I was tied to them. They’re still not ‘safe’ for humans to be around alone, I raise them wild so that if they migrate they can without worrying about them...I didn’t actually go hiking, I was following a herd over the border for winter migration.” he admitted. There would be an awful lot they could share with each other now. It was freeing. “I’d love to tell you about my kids, and you can tell me all about what you’ve been actually doing since new years.” Jared grinned as his pack of hedgehounds emerged from the trees. “There’s a lot to talk about huh?”

“I never really thought that you weren’t cool, you were always like my coolest friend at school.” Winston wasn’t lying either. They had a lot of time for Jared. Raising an eyebrow gently, Winston smiled. “Oh god, a tractor license? Are those actually a thing … I don’t know why I would think that they weren’t a thing but they don’t sound like they should be a thing.” Winston grinned. This was so cool. As the Bies became more and more clear to them, Winston realised that they had been missing all of this information for years. The supernatural world was amazing. Denial was amazing too. There was no other way Winston could explain it. “You migrated with a bunch of monsters?” Winston asked incredulous, “That is just super badass, I guess we also don’t call them monsters, do we prefer furry friends or?” Winston grinned, excited by this new discovery. “I would really love for you to tell me about all of your friends, and maybe help me learn more about them?” Winston had seen a hedgehound before, when they were with Blanche, but these seemed a bit more chill. “I do know what those are though, how do you stop them from trying to kill you?” `

“I was kidding about the license, you can take the tractor any time.” Winston's enthusiasm was catching as they started to ask questions. Questions that Jared was more than happy to answer, you would never catch him unwilling to gush about his animals after all. “I migrated with a herd of Sianach this winter, last winter I followed a Kerashag that was passing through. You know….when I told you I was skiing.” There would be a lot of lies to untangle Jared then realized with a wince. He was glad Winston was so accepting otherwise all the lies might start stacking up. “We prefer ’the kids’, at least I do, Nell followed my lead I think.” He gave Winston a shifty look. “Nell knows about the place and all the bits. She found out just after I left school when you two were still there… I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. It was just sort of a case of that I didn’t want to drag you into things you didn’t need to worry about you know?” Jared threw a tentative arm over Winstons shoulders. “But hey, a healthy respect and an even healthier distance is a human's best friend.” He joked.

“I don’t know if I want to take the tractor without a license now,” Winston replied with a smirk, it was fascinating that so many of their friends from high school were so intricately wrapped up in the supernatural. “Woah, dude that’s crazy, if you ever go on one of those that won’t kill me and is also not going to take a few months, that sounds really fascinating. I never knew that people kept these creatures as cattle or livestock or whatever reason you keep them.” Winston felt like they had suddenly been introduced to a brand new world and they were really starting to learn so much about their old friend. “Cool, the kids it is, wow, so obviously Nell knows too, but please don’t apologise, I would never hold it against you not outting yourself and what you do and who you are to a human who you don’t know if they’ll freak out. I’ll be honest with you, when I did find out, about the magic, about everything. There was some serious denial. I pretended it wasn’t happening for like two whole weeks.”

“If I go on a migration? Come on Win-win you just assured me you weren’t an outdoorsy person. I don’t take a tent with me, It’s all sleeping on the ground and eating beans. Think that’s your speed?” Jared teased them. “Oh I don't think a lot of people keep them. But they’re good for saliva and other exretions, when they die they leave behind a few very expensive pieces. I mostly just keep them around to keep them safe though. They’re either rescues, or wanderers around here.” Jared looked at Winston in amusement. “Full on denial huh? Can’t blame you, you know my family still think I’m human.” He gave out a booming laugh. “I was a weird kid but that means nothing around here I guess.” Jared looked back at the door and waved a hand dismissively. “Let’s get lunch? I want to hear about what you’ve really been up to.”

“I think that if you’re given the opportunity to watch supernatural creatures migrate like wildebeest across the savannah then I can deal with eating beans and sleeping on the floor, besides just because you don’t do it properly doesn’t mean I have to copy exactly what you’re doing.” Winston wasn’t going to go down without a fight. “Wow, so you just had to be extra and keep creatures that aren’t normally kept. I hope you’re proud of yourself because I am very proud. This is fucking amazing.” Winston grinned, this was a whole new side of Jared that Winston had never seen but they approved of. “Do you plan to tell them?” Winston asked curiously, perhaps a bit too nosey, “Sorry, ignore that, you can do whatever it’s none of my business.” Grinning they shrugged. “Let’s get lunch,” Winston agreed enthusiastically, “apparently we really need to catch up.”

#bies bitch #wickedwriting #para #p: jared #chatzy #chatzy para

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sapphicsaro · 5 years

Text

anya || (post) winter soldier

hello all. here is another edition to the “anya” series i’m writing. this part takes place immediately after winter soldier and includes natasha’s pregnancy. i hope you like it. its a long one!

(here’s a link to the civil war chapter, if you missed it too! https://rechutexx.tumblr.com/post/186134602680/anya-civil-war)

thank you to @catching-vibes-and-stars and @jackxangelica for beta reading!

---

“Mister Barton, you have a message from Miss. Romanoff, shall I read it to you?”

Clint continued his practice, eyes locked on the swinging target in front of him. “Sure, JARVIS.”

“Alright. From Miss Romanoff at 2:37pm: ‘She’s already feeling excited. He’s only usually seen entertaining’. End of message. I’m sorry sir, I am not sure who she may be referencing for you.”

His arrow released from his quiver. Bullseye.

“Don’t worry, JARVIS, I understand it. Thank you.”

“No problem, sir. Shall I turn your music back on?”

Clint placed the remaining arrows back into his quiver, and shook his head, “No, I believe I have to start packing up.”

“Alright sir.”

Clint folded his bow up, and placed it, along with his quiver, back into its case.

She was speaking in code like she always did when she needed to be conspicuous.

Safehouse.

She had been gone with Steve for a few weeks, as had become the routine. Strike Team Delta disbanded with the introduction of the Avengers, so now the two spies were free to work with any of the other members. Fury sought out Natasha, knowing she was ready for more missions, unlike Clint, who needed some time to recover from the Battle of NY. Fury asked Nat if she would keep Steve busy and give him something to help him adjust to contemporary society.

So, for the past two years, she had her new partner and was in and out of their home in the tower (which was a move for them that Stark had insisted they make).

But, he was equally as busy as her. Just not with her anymore.

SHIELD may have been utilizing him less, but Stark had found “Hawkeye” more useful for his own missions. Yeah, maybe they weren’t as eventful as the shootouts he would typically have at SHIELD, but he enjoyed the work just the same.

Stark got him home at a reasonable time and he would be in bed, hearing aids out, hours before Natasha would stumble in, kick off her boots and flop onto the bed, falling asleep almost instantaneously.

The two would eat breakfast together, swap stories, and spend a few more hours together before they would both hit the road again.

But she sent the message: safe house.

This was their secret (one of many) and they were the only ones who knew what this meant. The steps to follow were simple:

Text is sent.

Leave wherever you are as quickly as possible.

Don’t speak to anyone.

Send Fury an “x” (he would know what that meant)

Grab a file with new identities and get to the airport.

Step one was done. Time to go.

It took him six minutes to get upstairs, grab the necessities and toss them in their suitcase.

No weapons; those were at the house.

Grab their keepsake boxes.

Toss some clothes in.

Get the new passports.

Get out.

He was used to this. Although the safe house text was rare, he and Natasha were spies. Having to flee and get out quickly was second nature to him.

Clint put on his jacket and grabbed the new passports, hello Elise and Mark. Ugh, Mark? Of all names it had to be-

“Going on vacay, Birdie?”

Tony was leaning against his front door, which in his hurry, Clint must have left open. “Uh, yeah, SHIELD called. They-”

“No they didn’t.”

Fuck.

Tony smirked at Clint, walking into the spies’ home and heading into their kitchen. He opened their fridge, giving it the once over, “Didn’t you hear the news? SHIELD is done-so.”

What.

Clint froze, letting his bag slip slowly down his shoulder, “What are you talking about?”

Tony stuck his head out of the fridge, before grabbing a beer from it. “Oh yeah, it’s brutal. Steve just sent me a message. More like a warning, actually. Apparently a bunch of you were HYDRA. Don’t know which of you to trust.”

Clint couldn’t move, there was too much to process. If what Tony was saying was really true, that meant Natasha was out there fighting against people they thought were on their side. And now Tony thinks that he is HYDRA?

Fuck this. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“You think I’m HYDRA?”

“Hmm, could be. You never know, you two lovers are very hush hush.” Tony gulped at the beer in his hands, “This is terrible. What is this?”

“I’m not HYDRA.”

Tony chuckled, “Wow, I feel much better. Thank you, Barton.”

He wasn’t dealing with this.

“I have to go.”

“What if I won’t let you?” Tony eyed him up.

“You can’t.”

Tony nodded, “Interesting.”

Clint’s eyes never left Tony’s. If he had to, he could overpower Stark, right here, right now. He’s got no suit and Clint is way more experienced and trained. But, neither of them moved. Instead, they remained silent for a moment, two men, ready for a fight in a kitchen.

“Tell me where you’re going, Merida. Seems rather odd that Steve send me that message and I spot you about to flee the tower. You know, I thought we were becoming friends too. But all that time you were just spying on me. Huh.”

“It’s not what it looks like.”

“Oh no?” Tony’s beer was empty now. He placed it gently on the counter, spinning it a few times, eyes focused on the bottle. “Then why can’t you tell me where you are going?”

Clint was stuck. Tell Tony the truth? Risk the safe house. Lie to Tony? Risk everyone thinking he’s HYDRA. Fuck.

“Natasha texted me. She needed to talk. We’re are going away together.”

Tony pursed his lips, clearly not satisfied with his answer. “And I’m supposed to just believe you?”

Clint tries to respond, but he pauses. He gives a second.

“Yes.” Tony looks up, analyzing Clint’s expression as if he was one of his silly little equations.

Fuck this. Fuck Tony.

“Tony, look. I’m telling the truth, if you don’t want to believe me, that’s your problem. Because you just informed me that the place I’ve worked at, for a large portion of my life, mind you, turned out to just be one huge lie. And I brought Natasha there too; I made her leave her life for SHIELD. And now, we lost everything. She texted me. No, she didn’t tell me what happened, she just texted that she needs me; she asked me to go to her. So I’m doing that. Because I love her. And if you want to try and stop me from getting to her, you’re a damned fool.”

Tony stared the archer down once more, but this time, a small grin crept up on his face. He held his hands up as a sign of defeat and headed back toward the front door. “Fine. Go to your girlfriend. But, if I find out you lied to me, I’ll be really upset, Katniss.”

————

Fuck airports. Fuck planes. Fuck old men who can’t keep their mouth shut.

Clint hated planes. Not the actual flying or any of that, but: the people. Dear god, how he hated the people.

He missed the jets that Tasha and him would fly around. They were private; always just the two of them and whatever music she felt like playing that flight.

Public planes were dirty and overcrowded. And when you needed a last minute flight, you got stuck with the worst of the worst. Clint had to sit between a 90 year old man who clearly had been drinking while being on medication, and a middle aged woman who continuously claimed that he had been touching her and eyeing her up.

Clint wanted to put an arrow through his eye.

But the flight was over, he landed safely in Missouri, and he practically ran off the plane.

A 30-minute cab ride led him to the familiar, run-down storage unit where his baby was kept.

His truck. Oh man. For a man friends with Stark, you’d think an old, beat up pickup truck wouldn’t please him at all. But the memories Clint had in his truck were worth more than a thousand of Stark’s fancy, self-driving shits.

Clint dug through his bag, pulling out the keys, and made the familiar route home.

Home?

No, home was supposed to be their apartment in the city, not this “safe house”. But somehow the farm house felt more like his home than the sleek two bedroom in the Avengers tower.

No, this farm house was domestic, intimate. Natasha and him were not spies here; this was where they went to hide, to be “normal”.

Nat was always ‘Tasha’ here.

Here, she wore flannel shirts and baggy sweaters. She would cook food from the market and eat dinner at a real dining room table. She would hum around the house, and sometimes Clint would hear her sing softly when she thought she was alone. At the safe house, she was softer.

Here, she could still kill you in the blink of an eye, but you would die with a record crackling Fleetwood Mac in the background.

But they were rarely here; only when they had a bad mission. Fury would send them on a “mandatory vacation” for anywhere from a week to two months and they always ended up here. They never even discussed it.

So D.C. must have really kicked her ass if Natasha willingly decided to come here.

The drive back was easy, with little to no cars on the road. And when he got closer to the house, all the cars disappeared except for his. Natasha must have left her CD in the player because Clint was stuck listening to Dvorak’s Ninth World Symphony on a loop as the radio stopped working forever ago.

He pulled up; it was getting dark now. He could see a single light on inside. She was here.

He parked, gathered his bags and headed inside. The downstairs was quiet and clean, indicating that she had barely been down here. Her shoes lay sprawled next to the door, her jacket thrown over the railing. She was upset.

Clint slid his boots off, locked the door and made his way up the stairs. He saw the light on at the end of the hall and heard the soft tunes of Ella Fitzgerald playing on the record. “Tasha?”

No answer. Clint got to the bedroom door and slowly opened it to see her curled up on the bed, eyes watery. Shit.

She looked at him, not moving, letting her eyes tell the story.

He dropped his bag by the door and took his jacket off before sliding into the bed with her and enveloping her in his arms. She stayed silent. He did, too.

He cupped her face and ran his thumb across her cheek with his one hand as the other was tangled in her hair. She laid against his chest, arms curled near her face. She locked her legs in his and he kissed her head, breathing her in.

She rarely cried in front of him. She never cried in front of anyone else. Her tears stopped, but he knew that she must have been crying before he got here. The rare times he did see tears fall, they wouldn’t talk about it. Instead, he would silently hold her and she would let him. It was the dance of two people who needed comfort but were too stubborn to admit it.

They laid as the record kept spinning; now Dream a Little Dream of Me was ending and Natasha started to shift in his arms, indicating that she was going to sit up.

“It’s over.”

Her voice was rough, and it may have sounded normal to any other person, but this was his Tasha and he could recognize the pain.

“I heard.”

She shook her head, brows furrowed, but eyes starting too well slightly with tears. “This entire time, Clint. Who knew?”

Clint shrugged, sitting up across from her, “We didn’t.”

Natasha let out a small laugh. It wasn’t a genuine one. “Two highly trained spies couldn’t even figure out we were being double crossed.”

Clint smiled at her, bringing his knees up and folding his arms around them, linking his hands together. “I guess we’re shit, then.”

Natasha finally took her eyes off the wall next to her and looked at Clint, a small smile coming across her face. “Yeah, we suck.”

He didn’t want to prod, but there was a burning sensation that wanted her to tell him everything. He opened his mouth to speak, but was stopped. “I released everything.”

Confusion hit Clint like a ton of bricks, “Released what?”

“All of SHIELD’s secrets. And HYDRA’s technically. Everything. I released them. Now the world knows everything about me.”

Clint slowly nodded his head, trying to process everything she was saying. “That bad, huh?”

“They wanted to arrest me. I told them to fuck off.”

Clint chuckled, “I would expect nothing less.”

He had to take this conversation slow. He knew Natasha better than anyone else did. She was not a revealing person by nature, so if she was going to tell him anything, he had to keep his questions minimal and wait for her to feel ready to open up.

“Are you okay?” was what he deemed appropriate.

She sat for a moment, letting her eyes fall away from him. A short pause later, she looked back up, “No.”

Clint nodded, and stayed silent. This was different from any other time. Usually she would mask the situation, and he would follow along, pretending everything was fine until it actually was.

“We’re safe here. This is still off records. That’s why-” she let out a heavy sigh. “The public knows the person I was before. They’re not going to see me as the person I’ve worked so hard to become. The one who fought on the side of good. And now, with HYDRA, was I ever even on the right side?” She shook her head, “I need to hide out here; just for a bit. I need time for them to cool off so they don’t want to kill me.”

“Okay. We can do that.” Clint looked at her, giving her a half-smile. “It’s like another vacation.”

Natasha chuckled, “Yeah. I supposed so.”

Clint laid back down, a held out his hand, “C’mere.” She placed her hand in his, letting Clint pull her into him again. This time, she ran her hands all over his chest. Clint smiled, and held her tightly, placing little kisses on the top of her head. He reached over, clicking off the light as her breathing got heavier. “G’night, Tasha.”

————

When she woke up, the sun shined brightly through the window, glistening over Clint’s sleeping face. She was still comfortably against his chest, but she felt stiff and groggy.

She felt nauseous; crying for as long as she did yesterday (although no one saw her) would do that to you. She carefully slid out of his arms, as to not wake him, although he was the heaviest sleeper, hearing aids in or out.

She tiptoed to the bathroom, taking a glance in the mirror as she passed it. God, she looked terrible. The bags under her eyes highlighted the sleep she’d lost over the past weeks.

Her stomach hurt. Again.

All of the stress gave her horrendous stomach aches. She had lost everything she ever knew in the past weeks. Luckily, Steve was there for her, but the recent discoveries were still hard on her and it made her ill to think about where she would go from here.

Oh no.

She made it to the toilet before throwing up. Fuck. These stress aches were killing her.

“You okay?” Clint asked, standing in the door frame while rubbing his eyes from exhaustion.

Natasha stayed on the ground, head against the wall; the nausea was still there. “It’s just stress.”

“Stress?” He raised a brow at her, a slight look of confusion across his face, “Since when have you thrown up from stress?”

Natasha looked up at him, he wasn’t wrong.

The two locked eyes as if something was said, but neither spoke a word. If either of them asked the obvious, Natasha would explode. This was not an option.

Nope. Not possible. There was no way.

Clint cleared his throat, “Um, so how long as this, uh, stress sickness been happening?”

“Two weeks.”

“Oh.” He nodded, acting as if this was a conversation about what they were having for breakfast and not a literal human baby.

Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfu-

“Is there a chance you’re-“

“Clint Barton, please do not finish that question.”

There would be no “p” word here.

But let’s just say he did ask. Yeah, they did have sex right before they left, but they always did. Besides, she was sterile. Nothing worked down there. Except for the extremely rare moments she would randomly bleed down there, the Red Room took away all chances of a “p” word happening. She even went undercover once to a doctor in the middle of Iowa to confirm her diagnosis. The doctor was mystified by what she saw, and her conclusion was that she was sterile. Natasha snuck out the building before the doctor could see her again.

“Okay.” He stayed against the doorframe, arms crossed, eyes never leaving her.

Natasha shook her head, still leaning it against the wall as she tried to control her nausea. “Clint, I’ve told you, it’s not possible for me to have a child.”

“I know. I’m just thinking that this is like what happens in the movies, ya know? The girl is all sick and then she pees on a stick and then-”

“Clint, I love you, but please shut up or I’ll puke again.”

“Sorry.”

Clint moved away from the doorframe, instead opting to sit atop the corner of the counter near Natasha. As she sat still, he kicked his feet, back and forth, back and forth-

Oh no.

It happened again. This time she threw up hard and it hurt her throat. Clint jumped off the counter, grabbing a cup and filling it with water. He quickly knelt by her side, “Here, here.”

Natasha took small sips from the glass as Clint rubbed circles on the small of her back. “Fuck,” she coughed out. “I’m gonna have to piss on a stick.”

———

Clint and Natasha were, undoubtedly, two of the toughest people out there. Clint has put more arrows in people than he has targets, and Natasha could kill a man with just her thighs. They’ve seen death, caused death, and have been at death’s door themselves. They’ve been shot, stabbed, bruised, tortured, you name it.

And yet, the two people who have seen the most gruesome ways to die, were scared of a piece of plastic.

The trip to the store was awkward. Neither said a word; Clint just drove all the way into town, got inside the store with Natasha, bought the stick (well, a few), and got back in the car to head home. The cashier smiled at the two and gave a small thumbs up to Clint as Natasha signed the receipt.

Clint didn’t know how to feel. A baby was never an option for them. He didn’t really care though; he was happy with her. And yeah, he loved kids, but he liked the fun parts about them, not the responsibility of having a child. He was the cool uncle who shot bow and arrows and taught little kids archery, not a father.

Could he even see Natasha having a baby?

Meanwhile, Natasha was out of it. Her mind was far away from the place she actually sat in their bedroom. No, she was trying to imagine one line, clear as day, on each of the three sticks. A negative would mean that they could laugh at the absurdity of the day, make dinner, fuck, and forget they even thought she could be pregnant. One line meant she would go back in the field soon. One line meant her whole world didn’t fall apart. Again.

Fuck three minutes feels like a lifetime.

Clint was the first to break the two-hour long silence, “What if-“

“It’ll be negative.”

“But what if-”

“Clint.”

“Okay.”

Back to the silence they went as they waited for the timer to go off. When it did, they both stood up, but Natasha pushed ahead of Clint to gather the tests. Clint sat back down, waiting for her to come back.

Natasha walked back to the bed, three sticks still in her hand.

“Are you...”

“I didn’t look.”

“Oh.”

Her knuckles were turning white with how tightly she held onto them. “Clint, I can’t do this.”

“I’ll look for you.”

“That’s not what I meant.” She took her eyes off the tests and shifted her focus to him, “I can’t be a mother. I’m not meant for that.” Instead of responding, Clint just nodded his head slowly. “I’m a murderer. We both are. We are not cut out for this.”

“You’re right.”

“So if- and it’s a big if- if they are positive, we cannot keep this child.”

“Understood.”

Natasha nodded and then flipped the sticks over.

Two lines, two lines, and a plus.

“Son of a bitch.” She threw her head back, letting her body flop on the bed while Clint stayed frozen, eyes locked on the tests.

“So you’re- wow.”

Natasha tilted her head towards him, “Are you happy about this?”

Uh oh. Clint didn’t know what to say. On one hand he wanted to say, no we can’t do this. But, Natasha just beat the odds, and this baby seemed like a miracle. No, not a miracle. Natasha doesn’t want the baby. It’s her choice.

Natasha had fully sat up at this point, staring Clint down as he stayed locked on the tests, deep in thought. “Clint, talk to me. I can’t hear you think.”

Clint shook his head, keeping it down, “I have a lot of thoughts…I just- I just don’t know. I don’t how I feel.”

Natasha placed a hand gently on his arm, “Talk to me.”

He moved his focus to her, her expression was soft as her hand stayed on his forearm. Clint placed his hand on top of hers and took a deep breath, “I…I feel conflicted. I know we are not meant for this, trust me, it’s almost impossible to picture us taking care of a child for even an hour, let alone forever. But there’s this part of me that’s just like: wow, we thought this was impossible and somehow this baby is there. It’s stupid, I’m sorry, I know we can’t keep a baby, it’s just we never got to even think about the possibility of this happening before.”

“It’s not stupid.” She began chewing at her lip, a nervous habit he noticed she had. “I feel similar.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I mean, I’ve had it in my mind that I could never have a child since my graduation ceremony. And now I’m looking at three things telling me otherwise? And I’m rushing to say we can’t do this and we are spies and not meant for this, but everything is changing and I don’t know how to feel.”

Her eyes welled with tears and Clint wrapped an arm around her shoulders, letting her lean her head against him. “Hey, it’s okay, Tasha.”

“No. No it’s not.” She began to cry, and hard. Clint rubbed circles across her skin, trying to soothe her as she let tears roll onto his shirt. “Why is there a part of me that wants this?”

What.

Of all things he thought she might say, Clint did not expect this. He placed a kiss on the top of her head and gave her a tight squeeze, “So, what if we did?”

Natasha lifted her head off of him, wiping her cheeks, “What?”

“Let’s talk about this, for real. We have two options: keep or don’t. If you decide not to, then I take you to the doctors, we forget this happened, come back home and that’s the end of it. If you decided to keep it, then we hide out here for the pregnancy, have a baby and then-”

“And then what, Clint? Spend our lives hiding a human child from the public? I don’t know if you remember this, but the public isn’t too happy with me right now and I’m sure a lot of people would love to get their hands on the child of Black Widow and Hawkeye.”

“We wouldn’t let that happen.”

“How would we stay hidden for months without anyone needing us or calling us?”

“SHIELD is gone, the Avengers are fine, we have time. We tell the others we have our own mission and that we’ll be hard to reach.”

“And when it’s born? What do we do then?”

Clint shrugged, “We raise it. We can stay here, off the radar, or we go back to Avenger’s Tower and-”

“If we have a baby, we are not raising it in the tower.”

“Okay.”

The silence returned to the room, and both of them adverted looking at the other. They sat like this, on the bed, deep in thought for what felt like hours before Natasha turned to Clint, “We should call the team.”

———

Telling the Avengers that they had their own “mission” they were going on was challenging because each person asked too many god damn questions. Luckily, Natasha and Clint were trained spies; lying was easy. However, dealing with Tony Stark was not.

He asked for check-ins, calls every week, a secret way to contact them, the whole nine yards, but neither spy budged. Natasha calmly told him that they were going to be out of service for a while and to please clean out our fridge in the apartment, the food will rot.

Clint and Natasha didn’t talk about the baby again. In fact the next time the pregnancy was even acknowledged was three weeks later.

Natasha woke up in a pool of sweat, pain accumulating in her abdomen. Clint’s aids were out, so she lightly shook him awake. “Clint.”

Clint jumped up, “Wha-what?”

“Something’s wrong.”

Clint flicked on the light, and scrambled to her side of the bed, kneeling down next to her. “What’s happening, are you okay?”

Natasha sat up slowly, “It’s my left side.”

Clint ran to the bathroom, grabbing a washcloth and soaking it in cold water. He went back to her side, running the washcloth along her face, trying to cool her down. “Are you bleeding?”

Natasha shook her head, “No.”

“Okay.” He continued to wipe the cloth around her face, traveling down to her chest. She tried to slow down her breathing to help ease the pain as the cool water helped relieve her overheating body.

She groaned once more, this time gripping his arm tightly. He used his other hand to rub her back. “Do you want to go to the hospital?”

“Maybe. I don’t know.” She let out a small whimper as pain ran through her again, “Yes.”

“Okay.” Clint stood up and grabbed a duffle bag, piling in a new outfit for her and some of their essentials. Natasha slowly moved, placing her feet on the ground.

She groaned once more, “Fuck.”

Clint zipped up the bag and came back to her, “Can you walk?”

“If you help me.”

He leant down, and she threw her arm over his shoulder. He grabbed the bag with the other hand and slowly went down the stairs. She continuously groaned each step they took down. “Tasha, I can carry you.”

She didn’t say anything, just nodded, and he picked her bridal style. He carried her all way to the car and got her in the passenger seat before climbing into the truck himself and driving away.

He wasn’t going to pretend he wasn’t scared. Sure, they haven’t talked about the baby since they kind of decided to keep it, but he was getting more attached to the bump that was forming. And he thinks she was too. Sometimes when he would look over at her, she would have a hand resting on the bump, her thumb rubbing it slowly.

He drove as careful and quickly as possible, and Natasha had flicked on the CD player to cover the sound of her moans. When they arrived, she stayed in the car while Clint ran in, returning with a nurse and a wheelchair. He lifted her out and gently placed her in the wheelchair as the nurse raced inside with her.

Clint almost forgot their undercover identities as he checked her in, but when he finished, Mark was escorted to his wife, Elise’s, room.

When he got there, he passed the nurse who was exiting the room and stared at Natasha, laid back in the bed. “I hate the name Elise.”

Clint chuckled and sat in the chair next to her bed, grabbing her hand. “Me too.”

A nurse arrived with an ultrasound, and one exam later confirmed she was pregnant, and still pregnant. However, the nurse was perplexed by the exam and called in an OBGYN to take a closer look. Natasha knew the conversation that was about to happen and wanted to launch herself out of the room, but she still needed an answer as to what was causing the pain.

Natasha watched Clint throughout their time there, his eyes bouncing back from her face to the uncovered baby bump. He would deny that he was looking at it, but she knew he was. She couldn’t lie, she had grown more attached to the baby as well. The two of them were terrible at communicating their emotions, but if they were a “normal” couple (like Elise and Mark) they would be reading baby books and designing a nursery by now.

Right now, they were just at ease with the idea of a baby. They hadn’t quite grasped the reality of the situation yet, and especially not enough to plan for the baby to arrive. Granted, they had some time. But this was probably a wake up call for them to start some conversations.

Three hours later, they were settled back at home in bed, headed back to sleep. The doctor concluded that the pain was from her uterus stretching, but because of her “unique” situation down there (when he said unique, Natasha almost punched him in the throat), her pain was going to be more extreme. He gave her a prescription for painkillers approved for pregnant women and sent them on their way home.

Now they were back in their bed, Clint behind Natasha arms wrapped around her, hands landing on her bump. She placed her hands on top of his, scooting back to get closer to him.

Eyes closed, he kisses her hair, “G’night Tasha.”

———

Three months went by and Natasha’s baby bump grew larger to the point where her only outfits consisted of leggings and an oversized sweater. Since the hospital incident, Clint and her made some progress on getting ready for their child. He had emptied one of the upstairs bedrooms (not Kate’s though, that room still remained down the hall), and started to build the nursery. Natasha would stop by it sometimes, resting against the door frame, watching him build.

The first thing he finished was a rocking chair for Natasha. When it was done, he didn’t show it off to her. Instead she noticed it the next morning and ran her hands over it, noticing how well done it was. She had almost teared up when she saw his personalization of it with a “⧗” engraved on the top, but she held her ground.

One weekend, they decided to paint the room. Clint let Natasha pick out the color and she settled with a pale yellow, something Clint was surprised by.

“It’ll look nice in the sunlight with those windows in there,” she had told him.

And she was right.

Even with all the progress they were making, their actuals conversations about the baby were limited. No names were picked out, no talks about parenting, nothing. Natasha didn’t speak to Clint or anyone else about her growing belly. She would read parenting books by herself, and he would watch her as he would read some of his own, but they didn’t discuss it.

Some people would be worried, but Clint knew that Natasha was never going to change into the stereotypical mother that some thought every woman should be like. Instead, she was reserved and kept her feelings to herself, but he knew she would love this baby just the same, if not more.

Clint could tell that she was still apprehensive about having a baby. She had spent five months at the farmhouse so far, the longest they had ever stayed before, and there was still a lot of time left for them here. He did worry that Natasha wasn’t happy here, as she was used to the high intensity, fast-paced life of a spy, but she seemed good for now. The medication helped with pain, and Elise would go to the doctor’s for her monthly checkups with Mark.

At one of the earlier checkups, they got to hear their child’s heartbeat. Natasha didn’t know how to react. Clint started wide-eyed at the screen, trying to hide a smile from forming on his face. Natasha listened intently to the “drum beat” of her child’s heart; holy shit.

At last month’s checkup, the baby started to look more like a real baby. They gave her and Clint each a sonogram to take home. Both of them had it on them at all times, sometimes taking it out just to see their baby one more time.

Natasha was mystified. Six months ago, she thought this was impossible. She thought that she could never conceive a child, but now there was a baby in her, growing day by day.

And they had a heartbeat.

It was a little scary. It reminded her that this was real; that in a few months Clint and her would have a child. She knew in her heart that Clint would be a great father, but she didn’t know how she would be as a mother. Truthfully, she wanted this baby now, but she was also ready to go back to work.

Her whole life she spent fighting, and this “vacation” her and Clint were on was the longest she has ever had to just do nothing. She had new pains everyday, and yes, the medication helped but the feeling of being pregnant and carrying around a baby inside her did not feel like the “miracle” that other women had said it was.

She felt like a different person sometimes. This “Elise” identity felt like it crept into her own and had brainwashed her into becoming more domestic. The old Natasha wouldn’t have taken this break. The old Natasha wouldn’t be buying a stuffed animal in the town’s shop.

It wasn’t the baby that changed her though. It was the fall of SHIELD.

Before her and Steve’s mission to D.C., she felt like herself. She had been working at SHIELD ever since Clint had brought her in all those years ago, and they became the best at the agency. Their team was the most trusted by Fury. They had a success rate of 99 (they don’t talk about the mission in Belize where all hell broke loose and they needed backup).

So when she found out that HYDRA had infiltrated them, she felt lost. She had a purpose before; to fight on the good side and clean out her ledger. But, knowing that HYDRA had been there the whole time, she felt that all her hard work had been invalidated. She was still the same “bad” person she was before.

And yes, her intentions of being a good person were still there, but it felt wrong. Sure, the Avengers were a thing, and she had fought with them to save the world, but she wasn’t ready to go back. Not after the public had gained access to all her dirty secrets.

The timing of this baby seemed too convenient. She felt lost, needing something to do after D.C. and all of a sudden she was miraculously pregnant? ерунда. (Bullshit)

Maybe it wasn’t the best way to express it, but it felt like this baby was her next mission. Strike Team Delta was back, and better than ever. Except one of the members was heavily pregnant, and the other was obsessively building baby furniture. But here they were, the two best spies, in a Missouri farmhouse, reading baby books and buying stuffed animals.

She wouldn’t admit it, but she wanted this baby.

Yes, she would hesitate if you asked her, but that’s because she was scared to bring a baby into a world where their parents fought alien monsters and consistently were in shootouts. But she was filled with an overwhelming sense of needing to protect this child, and they weren’t even born yet. Some might not call that love, per-say, but keep in mind she was a trained assassin who grew up in the Red Room in Russia. She would never be the cutesy mom who wore proper maternity clothes and made scrapbooks.

However, she was going to be the mother who would never allow her child to go through what she and Clint went through. She would protect this child until the day she died. Maybe she wouldn’t be going to the school’s bake sale or see the play, but she would be there when her child cried, and she would make damn sure that her child was well taken care of.

Natasha had fallen asleep on the couch reading another maternity book while Clint was upstairs in the baby’s room, continuing to work on the crib when there was a knock at the door.

Nobody ever came to this house.

Clint jumped up, and instinctively ran to the bedroom to grab his gun. He slowly made his way down the stairs and peeked into the living room, spotting Natasha in the distance, still fast asleep.

There was another knock.

Clint stood frozen, gun aimed at the front door while he watched the doorknob twist and turn. Someone was trying to break in. They picked the wrong house. Clint was ready to fire, no matter what; no one was going to lay a hand on his wife or their unborn child.

The knob twisted harder, until the sound of keys were heard and the door clicked unlocked. Clint took a deep breath, and the door was thrown open.

Fury.

“Hello to you too, Barton.”

“Fury? What the hell-”

“I’m sorry, my two best agents disappear for five months and you expect me to not know you’re here? Reminder that I’m the one who is keeping this house off everyone’s radar. Even after your wife published everything out there.” At this point, he had stepped into the house, walking right into the kitchen and looking around as if he had misplaced something. “Where is Natasha?”

Clint had unloaded his gun, putting the safety back on and placing it down. “She’s asleep on the couch. But I wouldn’t bother her.”

“I have to talk to you both. She can wake up.”

“Sir, I really wouldn’t-”

Fury had spotted her before Clint could finish. There she was, his best spy, asleep and clearly pregnant with a baby book on her lap. “You better tell me that’s fake and you’re really committing to being undercover.”

Clint cleared his throat and crossed his arms, “It’s real.”

Fury couldn’t take his eyes off of her, “How? I thought-”

“We don’t know. We just got lucky, I suppose.”

Some would think that this was a poor reaction to finding out someone was pregnant, but Fury face seemed softer than usual, even though it was definitely not overjoyed.

When Natasha first came to SHIELD, Fury didn’t trust her. He wanted absolutely nothing to do with her until she proved her loyalty to him. Within her first year, she had completed every mission perfectly and could even get the job done in less time than any of the other spies. She was good. Fury liked her. She didn’t showcase emotions, just worked and did it well. Barton and her became his best team. He could trust them with the hard missions and they accepted the challenge gladly.

After the many years they worked together, Fury had forgotten he once despised the young redhead. He had grown to care for her, almost like she was a daughter to him.

So, when she started dating Barton, he wanted to kill the archer. He had indeed threatened him, stating that if Clint ever hurt her, he would kill him and no one would ever find his body. Luckily, the two seemed happy together and the relationship only helped their work instead of hindering it. When he proposed, the only ones who knew were himself, Phil, and Maria. The same three were the only ones allowed to know about their marriage as well, until the Avengers, of course.

And now, they were having a baby. Fury didn’t know what to say. Was he upset? No. Was he happy? Maybe?

“Are you both quitting?” He turned away from Natasha, now staring Clint down.

“SHIELD is gone, sir.”

“The Avengers aren’t.”

Clint nodded his head in acknowledgment, “We know.”

Fury chuckled, “And who is supposed to inform them that two of their members quit and decided to live Little House on the Prairie style, forgetting everything about their old lives?”

“We aren’t quitting, sir.”

Fury raised his voice, slightly, “Well, it sure seems-”

Clint shushed him, pointing towards Natasha. He headed toward the back porch and Fury followed suit. Clint leaned against the railing, while Fury took a seat on one of the wicker chairs.

“We aren’t quitting, sir.”

“How?”

Clint folded his arms in front of his chest, “What do you mean ‘how’? Natasha has three to four more months before she gives birth and then we’ll take some time with our child before Natasha goes back to New York and I stay here with the baby.”

“When do you come back to New York, hmm?”

Clint shrugged, “I don’t know, when the timing is right? I’ll know after the baby’s born.”

Fury shook his head, “This complicates things far more than either of you realize, Barton.” Clint stayed silent; he knew Fury was right, but he would never admit it. “Sure, you can get through the next months doing what you’ve been doing. But once that baby is born, both of your lives change forever. You are underestimating how much that child will mean to the both of you. Natasha may never be ready to go back, and neither may you. And you better be careful. That child is going to need a lot of protection with the parents they’re gonna have. You may be whichever undercover names you are here, but don’t forget you are still Clint Barton and Natasha Romanoff.”

He stood up from the chair, “When she wakes up, you tell her to take care of herself. And that’s an order.”

Clint nodded and Fury places a hand on his shoulder, “Keep me updated, too. I can’t protect you if I don’t know what’s going on. It’ll be just the three of us, none of Avengers will know.”

“Of course, sir.”

Fury walks down the porch steps, “Oh, and call your little Kate Bishop friend, she’s been bugging the shit out of me.”

Fuck. Clint had been so preoccupied in the last couple months he didn’t realize that he had placed Kate on the back burner.

It had been five years ago that he had discovered her trying to be a mini-Hawkeye. And after seeing some promise in her, he decided to began training her. She was a free spirit, and she sure acted like she hated him, but Clint had become very close to the teenager.

No, he was nowhere near like a father to her, maybe more like an older brother?

And he had his phone shut down for the past five months, only thinking about how the Avengers may try to contact him, and not Kate. Fuck, she was going to be pissed.

Clint made his way back into the house; good, Tasha was still asleep. He went back upstairs, taking the gun with him so he could put it away. He went into their closet, spotting the burner phone they had for emergencies.

He knew her number by heart, now he just had to pray she would pick up the phone.

Three rings went by before he heard a dry, “If this is a telemarketer calling, get a life, dude.”

“Kate?”

“That’s my name. What do you want?”

“Kate, it’s Barton.”

There was a long pause.

“Kate?”

“Fuck you.”

“I’m sorry, Kate, I-”

“No seriously, fuck you. Do you know how long I’ve been trying to contact you?”

“I know, I’m sorry.”

“You and Nat go on the run, and you don’t even tell me?”

“It’s more complicated than that, Kate, I’m sorry-”

“Stop saying that!”

“Okay.”

“Look, I know you’re on your little farmhouse and when you guys need a break, I can’t just show up but you could’ve at least kept in contact with me. You just abandoned me for the past five months.”

“Kate, I can’t apologize enough. I never meant to abandon you, something just came up and we had to lose all contact with everyone and I just forgot.”

“Glad I’m forgettable.”

“You know that’s not what I meant.”

“Fine. But what the hell happened that was so important that you completely cut me off from your life? Hmm?”

Clint didn’t know what to say. I mean, he knew he had to reveal his little secret, but this was he first time telling anyone about Natasha.

“Hello? Earth to Barton? What happened?”

“It’s Natasha.”

“…is she okay?”

“She’s pregnant.”

There’s a small pause.

“Shut up, you’re lying.”

“No, I’m not, I promise.”

“How? I mean, I know ‘how’, but like I thought she couldn’t, ya know, have a baby?”

“We aren’t sure. But she is. She’s a little over five months today.”

“Damn…Barton’s having a baby. That’s wild.”

“You can’t tell anyone about this though, okay?”

“Of course.”

“You should stay over soon, you got to see the nursery. I built everything from scratch. It’s pretty nice.”

“For sure. I’ll let you know when. I’m kind of busy doing some small missions of my own here and there. Nothing too intense, but I was trying to keep busy.”

“Good, I’m glad. I should go though, I should probably check on Natasha.”

“Yeah, do that! I’ll see you soon, okay?”

“Bye, Kate.”

“Bye, birdbrain.”

———

Natasha was six months pregnant when she brought up baby names. Clint was in the nursery (which looked like a construction zone at this point) and she took a seat in the rocking chair, asking him if he had any ideas.

It took Clint by surprise, but he stopped his work, sat on the ground and looked back at her. “Honestly, I’m not sure.”

Natasha placed a hand on her bump, which had grown a great deal at this point. “I think it’s a boy.”

Clint laughed a little, “You do?”

“Yeah, I do. Why, you don’t?”

Clint shook his head, “I have no clue. I mean I don’t really have a way of knowing.”

Natasha started rubbing small circles across her bump, feeling the baby shifting around. Last month she felt a kick for the first time. She grabbed Clint’s hand while they laid on the couch together, placing it gently on the bump as the baby kicked for him as well. Clint couldn’t believe what he was feeling and he didn’t take his hand away for a while. Natasha let him enjoy these moments with the bump, as she knew that she got much more experience with the baby daily than he did.

“It might be a girl,” Clint stated, fiddling with a piece of wood in his hands. “A little redhead who looks like you.”

Natasha gave him a small smile. He liked this. This little moment was nice. Sure, it was a little late in her pregnancy, but he would have never rushed her.

“And if it’s a girl, what do we call her?” she asked.

“Hmm. I don’t know. I kind of like shorter names like Ellie or Meg. Why, did you have anything in mind?”

“I was thinking either Sophie or Anya.”

Clint smiled, “Anya? I like that.”

Natasha looked up, “You do?”

“Yeah. It’s pretty. And Russian?”

Natasha nodded, “Yes. It means grace.”

“Well, I think it’s perfect. What if it’s a boy? Do you have a Russian name in mind too?”

“I was thinking Sasha. Or Misha. The first means defending men, the second is gift from God.”

“I like Misha. It’s cute,” Clint replied, leaning back against the finished crib. “I think they should have your last name.”

She raised her brows, “Mine?”

Clint shrugged, “Yeah. We could like hyphenate it like the young kids do now. You know, Romanoff-Barton?”

“Hmm. I’d like that.”

They sat in silence for a couple minutes before she spoke again, “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

Natasha shifted in the chair, moving her focus to her hands, still resting on the bump. “For not talking much. For keeping to myself. For not being overly excited. There’s a lot.”

Clint moved closer to her, placing his hand on her knee, “Tasha, you have nothing to be sorry for. This baby was a lot to take in, and you’re the one doing all the hard work. You can be quiet. You don’t have to talk to me about things you don’t want to. We both are new to this, we’re not going to do everything by the book.”

“Maybe we could start talking about the baby more, though.”

Clint smiled up at her, “Yeah, I’d like that.”

Natasha took one of her hands off her knee and placed it on her belly, “They’re kicking.”

———

Kate stayed over when Natasha hit seven months. She only stayed for a couple days, and she definitely was weirded out. Sure, it was all very exciting, but it was very odd. The woman she knew for five years, who she had seen bloodied, bruised, shooting a gun, throwing knifes into targets, was now folding baby onesies into a dresser in a pale yellow nursery.

It was weird.

And now, Barton, the most sarcastic man in the world, was being gentle around her.

Everything was changing, and Kate didn’t know if she liked it.

For the three days she was there, she tried to keep things like normal. Clint took her shooting in the backyard, which was nice. Then she helped him in the nursery. When she first walked in, it was strange. She would have never pictured this.

The old gray walls were now pale yellow. There was a crib, a changing table, a dresser, and a closet that had the beginnings of a child’s wardrobe. There were a few stuffed animals, a few books, and a blanket draped over the crib.

“Wow,” she said.

Clint smiled, “I know. Weird, huh?”

“Extremely.”

Clint and her started to work on a wooden rocking horse that he had seen in one of the baby books. They fell right back into their old selves, joking around the entire time, each throwing lighthearted insults at the other.

Kate had really missed him. He was the only strong male figure who stayed around in her life, and truthfully, she had grown to love him like family. Sure, she would never say that to his face, but, yeah, it was true.

“So, you, uh, got a name for the little assassin yet?”

“Natasha picked some out. We got Misha Ryan Romanoff-Barton for boy, Anya Arianna Romanoff-Barton for girl.”

“That’s a mouthful.”

“Hey, I’m not doing any of the hard work, so why should the kid just be a Barton?”

Kate handed him the hammer, sitting back as he used it. “This is weird.”

Clint kept hitting the wood piece into place, “Well, it’s not finished yet so don’t-”

“Not the horse.”

Clint stopped and looked up at Kate, whose face had turned somber. “Oh.” He placed the hammer down next to him, “Do you want to talk about it?”

Kate adverted her eyes away from his, “It’s just…It’s just going to be so different.”

“Yeah, it will be. But it’ll be exciting too.”

Kate bit at her bottom lip, “Maybe for you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.” She began fiddling with the tools in front of her, picking one up to examine it, and then placing it back on the floor.

Clint, still seated in front of her, grabbed the tools from her hands. “Talk to me, Hawkette.”

She half-smiled at his nickname for her and looked up at him, “This baby is so important to you guys. I just don’t want our relationship to change.”

Clint nodded, placing a hand on her shoulder, “Kate, that won’t happen. Honestly, the baby will probably make us closer. We’re definitely going to need your help with them. And I want the little bugger to have their Auntie Kate around to teach them and play with them. You can stay here with us, in your room. We aren’t going to change that. You can come here any time you’d like, just as long as you tell us beforehand. We love you, Kate. And yeah, the baby is going to change some stuff, but I promise we are all going to be okay.”

Kate nodded, grinning a little, but still looking unsure. “Okay.”

“I promise you. You’re going to be such a huge part of this baby’s life.”

Kate smiled at Clint, picked up his hammer and handed it to him, “Let’s finish this horse.”

———

Natasha was officially eight months pregnant when she awoke in the middle of the night with severe pains, and a puddle of warm liquid between her legs.

The baby was coming.

She shook Clint awake, “Clint. Clint.”

“Wha-what?”

“I think I’m in labor.”

With the word ‘labor’, he jumped awake, scrambling out of bed, “It’s time?”

Natasha let out a long moan, “Fuckkkkkk-“

“I take that as a yes.”

She shook her head, “It’s only eight months, we aren’t ready for this.”

“I don’t know if the baby is going to wait any longer.” He reached his hand out, “Here, let me help you. We have to get to the hospital.”

“No, no,” Natasha breathed out.

“No? Tasha, what are you talking about? Come on,” he reached for her again.

“Clint, we can’t. We can’t have anybody know about the baby. We have to do it here, we can hide them here, no one will know, we can-”

“Tasha, you aren’t being logical. We have to go to a hospital, we don’t want anything to go wrong.”

Natasha gripped her belly, another contraction slamming her hard. She moaned through it, “I don’t want them to take my baby!”

Oh.

Clint bent down to her side of the bed where she was sitting, feet on the floor. He took both of her hands in his, “Tasha, look at me. No one is going to touch that baby, okay? We’ll go as Mark and Elise, and we’ll give them a fake baby name too. We can call Fury after and sort it all out. But, I’m not risking your life or the baby’s by staying here. I’m not qualified to deliver a baby, and I know you aren’t either. So please, come with me. Please?”

Her eyes welled with tears, and she nodded her head, “Okay.”

Clint got her down the stairs carefully, her groaning in severe pain as she took each step. It felt very reminiscent of when she was two months pregnant, heading to the hospital the first time. Except now, they had a finished nursery with all hand-made furniture, a car seat, a high chair, stuffed animals, books, and more onesies than either had seen in their life.

They seemed like real parents.

And they were about to be. Very soon.

It was difficult to stay undercover for both of them. Especially when the one’s in pain, and the other is trying to comfort them. Natasha had to be careful not to call him ‘Clint’ in front of the nurses who got her all set up in her hospital room. Clint had almost slipped and called her ’Tasha’ while she squeezed his hand through a particularly painful contraction.

So, here they were, posing as Mark and Elise Leonard, about to give birth to either to Amy Marie or Alex Tyler Leonard.

It was ridiculous.

But they couldn’t risk anyone finding out.

Natasha had gotten paranoid at anyone who looked at her longer for five seconds, but luckily, this town was so small that there were less televisions than there were tractors, so most of them did not known the Avengers well, or at all.

The doctor immediately came to check on her when she arrived. He was concerned that the baby was coming too early, as she had three more weeks before she hit her due date.

One ultrasound later revealed that the baby was okay, and that they would just need a careful delivery. Hearing that made Clint feel so much better about coming here, and thankful Natasha agreed with him. If he was alone at home, he would have been so scared that something would have happened to either Natasha or the baby. Or both.

Of all the injuries Natasha had had in her life, nothing was more painful than this. This was the one thing that was most accurate about what she had heard about having a baby.

Labor sucks ass.

She tried to breathe through the contractions, but they hurt like a motherfucker and the fact that she had to be undercover was making her more irritable.

Clint was there for her the whole time, like he had been for this whole pregnancy. She was so grateful for him, but in this moment, she wanted to strangle him for putting this baby in her.

Three hours.

She got through three hours before she was able to receive the epidural. A long needle was shoved into her back, and the nurse was stunned by how well she took it. Clint smiled at her confused face, needles had no effect on the master assassin.

But contractions did.

Luckily the epidural kicked in and relieved her of the pain, but this was still a lot for Natasha.

Four hours of contractions, sweat, tears, and Clint’s hand going numb later, Natasha was at her breaking point.

“I need to push, I need to push, I need to-”

A short nurse came over to the bed, placing a hand on her leg, “You can’t push just yet, we need to make sure you are fully dilated before you do, okay Elise?”

Natasha wanted to kick her in the face.

She got through fifteen more minutes of excruciating pain, squeezing Clint’s hand and letting tears roll down her cheeks. “Please, I have to push,” she cried and the doctor came quickly to check how far along she was. This time, she was ten centimeters dilated and the doctor’s team gathered in the small hospital room, ready to deliver this baby.

The nurses got everything set up, including Clint, who was directed on how to hold his wife and what he should be doing. Clint was sat on the bed with her, body half next to, half behind her. His right arm wrapped around her shoulders, his left pulling up her left leg.

She looked up at him, a glimmer of fear in her watery eyes. He placed a kiss on her sweat covered forehead, “You got this.”

As another contraction hit, she cried through the overwhelming pressure to push, and the doctor was finally ready for her. “Okay, Elise!”

Fuck that name.

“You ready to meet your little one? On your next contraction, I need you to push.”

Natasha nodded, eyes squeezed shut as she waited for the pain to build up again. When it did, she held her breath and began to push how she had read too in the maternity books. Clint held her tightly as she screamed through her first push, a pain that was far worse than she had imagined.

It might not have been this bad if it wasn’t for the Red Room. If it wasn’t for the fact that this baby wasn’t supposed to be here. If she had instead got to live a normal life, like Elise and Mark did.

She snapped out of her thoughts as the doctor counted up, “One, two, three, push!”

Natasha listened to her body’s instincts, pushing as hard as she possibly could. “Good, good!” The doctor said, before she stopped and slammed her head back against the pillow.

“I can’t, I can’t-”

Clint placed his head against hers, “Yes, you can, you are doing so well, you got this.”

Another contraction came over her, and she pushed again. And again. And again.

After six rounds of pushing, Natasha was becoming exhausted, but on the seventh push, the doctor declared that the baby was crowning. He told Mark to take a peak at his baby’s head, and Clint was overwhelmed by what his was witnessing. “You’re almost there, you got this.”

Natasha pushed as hard as she could and this time, the baby’s head was out. After a second, the doctor told her, “One more push, Elise, and then you can see your baby! One, two, three!”

She pushed harder than she ever did, mustering up as much strength as she could through her exhaustion, when she felt an immense pressure release from her and heard the loud wails of a small baby. She flopped back against the bed and Clint as the doctor held up her newborn baby.

“It’s a girl!”

The two spies, heartless as they used to be, both sat astonished by what they were witnessing. Their baby, their little girl was right there, right in front of them.

“Here you go, mama,” a nurse said as she handed the wailing child to Natasha.

Natasha grabbed her carefully and placed the child on her chest, arms wrapped around her gently as Clint was still wrapped around her too. Natasha felt a tear roll down her cheek, “Hello, little one.”

Her Anya was here. And she was beautiful.

Both of the spies cried as they held their child for the first time. Her little screams subsided as she became more adjusted to her surroundings. The nurses got her all cleaned up, weighed and measured her, and wrapped her up in a blanket, putting a small hat on her head.

5lb, 6 oz. 18 inches long.

She was small, but she was mighty.

Their little Anya Arianna Romanoff-Barton.

#black widow #hawkeye #Clintasha #clint barton #natasha romanoff #natasha romanov #clintasha au #clintasha edit #clint/natasha #clintasha fanfiction #clintasha fanfic #anya romanoff-barton #avengers #mcu edit #winter soldier au #mcu #marvel mcu

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qm-vox · 5 years

Text

Hunter: the Vigil - Left-Beef Deliveries

There is a Domino's Pizza in Lenawee County, Michigan, that is open for 24 hours. They don’t get a lot of business after 1 AM or so, though of course you’ve got the stoners and the late-shifters, the early-shifters up before they have to be or the drunks up past when they oughta be the fuck down, but what this joint does get is a lot of calls just like this one:

“I need a none pizza with left beef at Needle Lane Farms.” The voice - a young man’s - is shaking, cut up with ragged breathing and forced into the kind of low, insistent volume one does not associate with shitposting in real life. “M-mind the dogs. They’re loose. Please, we need it right away!”

Our Heroine here at the Domino’s is a thirty-four-year-old lass by the name of Cheryl. Her voice isn’t right for this sorta call either; when she answers it’s in a calm, steady tone, full of compassion and surety: “You kids need to stop with these prank calls. Someone’s gonna do something about it.”

Then Cheryl hangs up the store phone, having put in no order (and how could she, with no payment information) and does two things at the same time: hit a contact on her cell, and call up the address information for Needle Lane Farms in the company’s system. Did you know that a pizza place can often find addresses that 911 dispatch centers can’t? Cheryl certainly does. It’s why she works the graveyard shift.

The person on the other end of the cell call picks up on the second ring. “Deliveries,” they answer, their voice clipped and sure.

“Needle Lane Farms,” Cheryl replies immediately. “Load for wolves and wounded. Standby for directions.”

At a country house far from town (as the natives think of it) and also right next to it (as the map thinks of it), four other people haul themselves out of bed while the woman on the phone with Cheryl writes down a set of directions. They grab shotguns and pistols, ammunition for both, flares, first-aid kits, airhorns, and flashbangs of the kind civilians are not supposed to have, pile into a dented van, and go tearing off into the night. There’s a little Domino’s logo parked on top of the van, a sign to the ticket-hungry cops prowling the dead shifts that if they want to keep their discounts friendly, they need to keep their mitts off the people inside.

* * * *

Needle Lane Farms is a fairly successful, family-owned farm in Lenawee County. They’re big supporters of local farmer’s markets, and their owners and employees can often be found as guest speakers in various high schools around the county, talking about ethically-sourced food and the complex moral choices involved in one’s choice to be vegan, vegetarian, or not. None of that is relevant to the events that follow except insofar as no one involved quite did anything to deserve this. Needle Lane rather unfortunately entered the sight of a group of eco-fascists from Canada that migrated across the lakes to stake a new claim after being...

...Evicted, let’s say...

From their previous arrangements. When they made their displeasure known in the form of slaughtered livestock and destroyed tools, fences, and vehicles, and the cops rather suspiciously turned up nothing, Needle Lane turned to the Lower Michigan Paranormal Investigation Society, three young men and one young woman with a camera who See The Unseen(tm).

One of those young men is currently dead, or at least he’d better be. His head is in the fork of a tree branch, a good thirteen feet from his body, which has deep claw wounds ripping it up just in case decapitation stopped killing humans in the last forty-five seconds.

Our eco-fascists, currently exhibiting the latest fall fashion line from Things That Should Not Be by being eight-and-a-half-foot wolf-men with, say, man-shredding and head-throwing claws, are quite enjoying their introduction to the LMPIS, which is going swimmingly for them. The young woman (Alicia) is proving somewhat troublesome; she’s in the loft of a barn with a seemingly unlimited supply of pepper spray. One of the young men (James) is in the house, on the phone, but the police won’t come here, not after the problems the owners started with the department last year. The last young man (Brad), a fifth-year senior who’s starting to think he should have been studying instead of looking into whatever ended up with him being stalked by god damn werewolves, is fleeing down the driveway towards the main road, shrieking in terror. One of the pack bounds after him, savoring the fear of his prey.

It is this werewolf who first greets Left-Beef Deliveries by getting hit by their van at sixty miles an hour. Bones and the front hood of the van crunch and crumple, and the werewolf goes flying under the old beater’s wheels to the tune of further breaks from being run over. The van skids to a halt, and the moment it’s slow enough the side doors open up and the four people kicked out of their bed by Cheryl’s call and their leader’s insistence go spilling out. Two run down the crushed werewolf as he tries to get up; one, a mousy young man whose ‘just pulled out of a locker’ vibe is being seriously impacted by the double-barrel in his hands, unloads into the werewolf’s center of mass.

Did you know that silver shot melts in sufficiently modern firearms, due to how hot the powder burns and how fast the rounds move? Our young man, Nathaniel Briggs, certainly does, which is why the antique piece of shit he’s using blows an absolute fucking crater in the werewolf instead of punching a neat hole like a better gun might. His battle-buddy next to him, Greta Miller, sweeps the road with a pistol and flashlight while Nathan double-taps the mass of fur and muscle he’s already killed.

In the barn, the sound of gunshots distracts the two werewolves who are trying to figure out how best to menace Alicia. This informs them of two valuable pieces of information. The first is that there are new enemies on the field, who are armed. The second is that Alicia seems to be wholly immune to the aura of maddening terror they usually use against humans; the moment their heads move aside, she pops out of hiding and nails both with a long stream of pepper spray from the canister she’s holding. They flee from the barn, howling in pain and terror, directly into the raised shotgun & pistol of Left Beef’s other sleep-deprived van members: Tess & Sally, the former a brick shithouse of a woman who catches the falling body of her prey in one hand without dropping her shotgun, the latter more resembling what happens when you try to make a Keebler elf edgy.

Two members of the pack remain standing, and when they see the fifth of Left-Beef’s crew - the older woman who took Cheryl’s call, and who is now lifting a bolt-action rifle to her shoulder - they flee into the night, howling in outrage.

After a moment, the van’s driver lowers her rifle and calls for a sweep-and-clear. She slings her weapon across her back, unholsters a pistol from her belt, and starts rounding up LMPIS’s survivors. Both of the young men are wounded, but will live; Alicia is unharmed, and vibrates with a barely-restrained and eminently inadvisable rage.

“W-we owe you one,” James stammers, as his rescuer examines the long, shallow claw marks down his back. “None of the owners even woke up...”

The older woman makes a noncomittal sound. “They do that. And wolves aren’t the only ones that do. I’m Elena, and we’ll all be talking after sunrise.”

Alicia perks her head up. “About?”

“The much more than ‘one’ you idiots owe me.”

#hunter: the vigil #world of darkness #fanfic #violence #horror elements #gun #knives

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theseventhhex · 7 years

Text

Kasabian Interview

Ian Matthews, Sergio Pizzorno, Tom Meighan & Chris Edwards

Kasabian returned earlier this year brimming with confidence with their explosive latest release entitled ‘For Crying Out Loud’. The band’s sixth studio album prompts the usual swagger and flexibility for huge tunes, as well as a more grittier direction compared to 2014’s ‘48:13’. Keen to make a truly great guitar album, the record explores an old-school attitude towards songwriting with striking guitar work formed over a whirlwind six weeks of proficiency for chief songwriter Serge Pizzorno. The imposing outcomes throughout this body of work captures the frequent festival headliners basking in their sweet-spot, delivering upbeat statements and addictive hooks… The Seventh Hex talks to Serge Pizzorno about having parameters in place, Leicester City and fatherhood...

TSH: In the lead-up to 'For Crying Out Loud' you underwent some significant changes in your personal life. Were you very much in the frame of mind of waiting for some sort of influences to guide you?

Serge: Yeah, definitely. Before making any record, you need a real sense of strong influences and worthy inspiration to guide you. I see bands making records to service the machine, you know? I can never do that. When I go in to make a record, it consumes my whole state of mind - I'm even void of sleep at times. You have to fully commit yourself. Initially, I went into the studio and I had no real ideas or thoughts for this album. All of a sudden, I realised what excited me was putting a timeframe in place. I basically gave myself six weeks to complete the record.

TSH: Was it case of having boundaries to help you excel?

Serge: Yeah, I eliminated so many other processes of making an album. I wanted to restrict myself. It's how they made records back in the day when they didn't have enough time. I'm lucky in this day and age like many others to have a studio in my home; therefore I can spend countless hours at home just getting the vibe right.

TSH: Part of imposing limits on yourself meant you were only using guitar and piano...

Serge: Yeah, which made the whole process so exciting and interesting. Also, having this approach allowed me to concentrate on the production side more, knowing that I already had the basis of good melodies and big choruses. I just like to always mix things up, you know? For the next record, I'll conjure up a totally different perspective. Limiting myself worked for this release, it felt like the right thing to do. However, Kasabian will always be offering a new range and variety when it comes to a new record.

TSH: You also went back to the classic songwriting and production style of not letting any song be over three minutes, admiring what you feel is the 'true structure' of songs...

Serge: Definitely. I was quite militant with this approach. I didn't allow myself any self-indulgence until the very end with 'Are You Looking for Action?' being eight minutes long. I thought I'd been so hard on myself that I'd allow a little bit of psychedelia into the mix. Overall, giving each song a three minute length results in such tight and concise tracks, meaning everything within the songs happens at the right time too. I really liked this style and format. It was a throwback to the classic way of working, when artists wrote songs for jukeboxes.

TSH: Is 'Put Your Life On It' perhaps the most personal song you've written?

Serge: Well, since I got married, I've written a few love songs, but they've always been cloaked in mystery. I often dedicate songs to my wife at gigs but a lot of the insane lyrics don't tend to do the songs justice, haha! Anyhow, I wanted a song to express everything I wanted to say to my wife and this track was the one. At one point, John Lennon used to actually write with a lot of ambiguity and metaphors but then he started to write really directly. I'd never really written directly, so I thought I'd do the same. The idea was to write a love song and I decided to say it exactly how it is.

TSH: 'Ill Ray (The King)' consists of a cool video starring Lena Headey from Game of Thrones, however, what sort of motivations do you draw on to pen a track like this one?

Serge: Firstly, it was great to have an awesome actress like Lena in the video; she did such an amazing job. You know, in bringing this song together I was trying to incorporate elements similar to Daft Punk and Justice, as well as some heavy riffs in the vein of the Prodigy and Nirvana. It's a really interesting song and it even has a weird tribal feel. The back beat is from the old rave days, which alongside all the other influences I mentioned seeemed to make the track even more unique. Playing that track live is just amazing, it's otherworldly. I'm really proud of that one.

TSH: Speaking of playing live, Kasabian has legions of admirers connecting with the band's music worldwide. How appreciative are you to be able to travel the globe and perform for such loyal fans?

Serge: Ah man, it's so rewarding and phenomenal! I get asked quite often what's the difference between crowds in various countries compared to the fans in the U.K... I have to say, not a lot. At the end of the day, our gigs always tend to evoke amazing energy regardless of the location, which means a lot to everyone in this band. It's sad that music has become somewhat devalued as people are constantly in front of a screen trying to film the moment instead of experiencing it. For us, when we perform in front of our fans, all the hard work we put into this band makes sense and the atmosphere becomes so precious. For those 90 minutes that we are onstage, we just want to empower and elevate our audience. It's just so amazing to have loyal fans and we're so grateful.

TSH: How do you foresee your songwriting style evolving?

Serge: My songwriting developing is all about learning. I just love learning new stuff. I'm not interested in standing still and admiring the view - I need to know more. I need to explore various avenues, which in turn informs our work. The world can be a frightening place at times, but the power of music can be a very useful tool in helping to make positive change.

TSH: Are you constantly looking to change the conversation with each album?

Serge: Yeah, this type of attitude has always been at the forefront of our minds at all times. We are six albums in and we know people won't stick with you if you give them the same story. Surprise is such an inspiring element to include, plus you have to take risks. People really respect risk takers, sometimes it goes wrong and sometimes it goes right, but it's always exciting.

TSH: When you look back at your classic self-titled debut album, what stands out most?

Serge: It was just such an incredible time man. It was a haze of weed smoking and we lived on a farm together. We had no real plans, you know? We were simply just creating our ideas of what a rock band could be. We were into dance, hip-hop, electro and indie. All of these different genres were just making their way into our record. We were carefree but still focused on making an amazing record. Certain songs from that album have taken on a life of their own and become anthems for people. A lot of people have really taken that record into their hearts, which is so cool.

TSH: Does Leicester City's Premier League winning season still give you goosebumps?

Serge: It's still surreal. I see the footage and highlights now and I still cannot understand how it all happened. It was such an amazing season. Massive credit to the players, the manager, the staff, and our supporters, who all helped make it happen. I mean for it to happen to us as kids growing up in Leicester, it’s just a massive blessing. Football needed a story where the underdog makes the headlines; it's always a great story in any walk of life. You know, I've always loved footie, especially as a kid. I guess I've always gravitated towards things that weren't a real job, such as being a musician or a footballer, haha!

TSH: Was partying on Sir Philip Green's yacht in Monte Carlo amongst the most strangest of experiences for you?

Serge: Haha! At the time, we were about 22 or 23, as you can imagine, we just played up to it. We were little animals just quaffing the champagne and throwing lobsters at people. There were all these celebs on board, but we were just kids from Leicester, and we felt at the time that we'd never see anything like that again. We just made the most of it and had a laugh. We lived like kings, but we were really paupers at the time.

TSH: How has fatherhood impacted you?

Serge: It just happened at the right time. I feared for my creativity a little when I became a dad. I thought I wouldn't have enough time to be inventive, but from that moment on, I've never been more creative. Being a parent has just opened my mind and I feel free. Everything that you think matters just vanishes when you have kids. Your kids become everything.

TSH: Kasabian has lived every moment and remained proud from the very beginning. Is your ethos to challenge yourselves to pull from different angles?

Serge: Absolutely. We all learnt pretty quickly to not let our egos get in the way or cloud our judgment. There are a hell of a lot of casualties in this game, but I like to think that we've remained relevant because we have a lot of love for music. For us, adventure remains the most exciting thing. After all, we're not alive very long, so the inspiration for me carries on, because the need for adventure will never disappear. Some nights I am the last to leave the bar, I'll go missing and you'll find me in the pyramid somewhere, but it's because I'm trying to investigate and find things out. I'm trying to find out what the next move is. Kasabian will never be frightened to risk it all. We've been around a long time and we will not be getting complacent anytime soon. Overall, I just like making shit, it sounds crass, but it's true - that's when my adrenaline kicks in. I constantly want to remain creative.

Kasabian - “Ill Ray (The King)”

Kasabian - “You're In Love With a Psycho”

For Crying Out Loud

#Interview #Kasabian #serge pizzorno #tom meighan

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veneataur · 6 years

Text

I don’t quite know where this came from. I’m really starting to feel bad for Aramis. It’s a dark one again, sort of. It does have a happy ending though, if that helps.

TW: This story deals with self-harm and suicidal thoughts.

Only one more day and I’ll be done doing this to Aramis. At least on a daily basis...

Prompt: Shoulder to Cry On

Fandom: BBC’s The Musketeers

Title: Learning to Trust

Aramis observes d’Artagnan throughout the day. The young man is quiet, reserved, and listless. He knows that Athos and Porthos have seen it too but here, at the station, is not the place to address this. d’Artagnan’s silence makes them all quiet during the work day, on the train, and in the kitchen. Dinner too is a somber affair.

When the young man leaves his plate half eaten without offering to clean up, Aramis knows that it’s time.

“I’ll talk with him. You two clean up,” he says and follows d’Artagnan up to the man’s room. Though the door is half open, Aramis waits beyond the threshold. There are clear boundaries and rules in this house and not just because of Aramis. They all have their demons.

“d’Artagnan,” Aramis says quietly, knocking a knuckle on the door a couple times to further catch the man’s attention.

d’Artagnan looks up, face drawn. He is sitting on the edge of his bed, playing idly with the case of his phone.

“Mind if I come in?”

“You can come in,” d’Artagnan answers quietly. He knows Aramis won’t enter unless there’s clear consent unless danger is evident.

Aramis takes a step in and leans against the doorframe. The younger man’s room is far messier than his own. They don’t say anything about it. The only requirement is that he keeps it clean, a task that they all do for themselves with their bedrooms, their private sanctuaries. Athos had asked too that he properly hang up his posters rather than tape them to the wall. d’Artagnan griped about ruining the vibe, but he did as Athos asked. The young man is just twenty-two though he looks more like sixteen with the lack of facial hair that had come to be stereotypical of the Musketeers.

The two stand and sit in silence.

“Is this some kind of intervention,” d’Artagnan asks, mild irritation in his voice.

Aramis chuckles lightly.

“No. That’s more of a Porthos and Athos thing. They’re scary when they do a double-team intervention.” Aramis pauses. “It’s more of making sure you know that you can come to us. We’ve all been in your position. The first kill is the hardest.”

d’Artagnan huffs.

“I doubt any of you’ve been in my position, especially you, Aramis. I’m a farm boy. We had animals on the farm but never for eating. The most I’ve ever killed is some corn and it doesn’t have a face.”

Aramis waits, considers his words.

“d’Artagnan, do you think me being a sniper makes killing any easier,” Aramis asks, voice quiet. “The people I’ve killed had no idea a bullet was coming at them. They were enjoying their day, spending time with their families, watching a parade. Taking a life isn’t easy, whether you’re several hundred feet away or inches. It’s a person, just like you and me who had a life, family who will miss them, friends. They had goals and dreams and ambitions. And then, in an instant, it’s over, with a single pull of the trigger and you don’t even break a sweat, burn barely a calorie in the killing of a fellow human.”

“But he was a criminal,” d’Artagnan says. “He sold drugs to kids, got them hooked. How many did he kill with those synthetic drugs?”

“It doesn’t mean it’s any easier, d’Artagnan. A life is a life. It doesn’t matter if they’re good or bad, death is not the solution. Justice is and that doesn’t come at the end of a gun, no matter who you are.”

d’Artagnan looks at him and nods.

“I didn’t mean…”

“I know,” Aramis cuts him off gently. “You’re confused right now, not sure what you should feel.” Aramis walks slowly over the bed, sitting next to the young man.

d’Artagnan nods again.

“Part of me is glad that he’s off the streets and the other never wants to pick up a gun again.”

“That’s expected, normal. You should’ve come to us about it,” Aramis says. There’s no chiding in his voice.

“How could I? This is nothing in comparison to what you guys deal with, especially you.”

“d’Artagnan, we all need a shoulder to cry on once in a while. We’re brothers here, that’s what we’re here for. You can cry on any of our shoulders without guilt or embarrassment. Goodness knows I’ve done my share,” Aramis says with a slight huff.

“You?” d’Artagnan gives him a doubtful look. “You’re the strongest person I know. What with everything you’ve dealt with and you’re successful. You’re working at one of the most elite police forces in the nation.” d’Artagnan has been with them for a little more than four months now. He knows snippets of Aramis’ past and what he deals with now.

“You do remember how we met,” Aramis asks, turning the doubting eye back on the younger man.

“And that’s why you’re strong. You pulled yourself out of homelessness to get to where you are now.”

Aramis chuckles wryly and looks down.

“That’s a nice story but it’s not true,” he says.

“Who says it’s not,” Porthos says, just outside the door. d’Artagnan signals for him and Athos to come in. They both take positions near the door, leaning against the wall and doorframe.

“I know it’s not,” Aramis says. Then he sighs. “If it had been up to me, I’d’ve probably been long dead.”

“But…” d’Artagnan begins.

“When you’re in over your head in misery and depression, it’s very hard to pull yourself out of it. You need help. You have to want it, but you need help,” Aramis explains. “And the sooner you can accept that, the easier things will be.”

“Listen to ‘Mis on this one,” Porthos says. “You can always come to us, no matter what.”

“We’re family now, d’Artagnan,” Athos says. “And a family depends on each other to keep going.”

d’Artagnan gives them each a skeptical look.

“We’re not saying it’s easy,” Porthos says.

“No, it’s not,” Aramis says quietly enough he thinks no one hears.

“What happened, ‘Mis,” d’Artagnan asks. He doesn’t use Aramis’ nickname often. It feels awkward in his mouth but not this time. Aramis looks at him, a touch of sadness clear in his face.

“You don’t have to…”

“It’s fine,” Aramis says quickly, cutting him off. Perhaps it will help the young man to see that everyone needs help, even him who d’Atragnan sees as perfect. He takes a breath and when d’Artagnan thinks he’s going to speak, Aramis stays silent, shoulders sinking. d’Artagnan looks to Athos and Porthos, thinking they might jump in but they are standing there, patiently.

“Sometimes it seems like a lifetime ago,” Aramis says finally. His voice has a distant tone. “And other times, like it was yesterday. My first year on the task force, as a Musketeer, I worked two whole months before it all came down before me. I went from staying with Treville and his family to a spare bed crammed in Porthos’ bedroom, to here, Athos’ house and none of it was by choice. Four months on administrative leave did nothing. I just kept getting worse.”

“What happened,” d’Artagnan asks again.

“I gave up,” Aramis says simply.

“You?” d’Artagnan looks to Athos and Porthos.

“I still don’t remember a lot of it. It’s more of a giant black spot.”

“We remember it perfectly,” Athos says, a haunted look in his eyes.

“Do you mind,” Porthos asks, meeting Aramis’ gaze.

“You’ll have to because I only remember waking up days later,” Aramis says.

Porthos pauses before speaking.

“He’d been refusing to do much of anything for a while,” he says. “It’d happened before so we didn’t think much of it. He’d lay there listless but eventually come out of it. We talked to him and he’d tell us what was going on but it wasn’t everything.”

“I woke up one night suddenly,” Athos says. “It was strange because I’d taken melatonin, which usually kept me out until morning.

Athos remembers the strange feeling he had, it pulled him from his bed and he followed it out into the hallway where Aramis’ door was shut. It never was shut. The man didn’t like to be closed off from noise, from the world.

“Aramis,” he calls loudly, but calmly. He gives a few short knocks on the door. When there’s no answer, he hesitates for a moment and then cracks the door open. The nightstand light is on but Aramis isn’t in the bed. He isn’t in sight.

“Aramis,” Athos calls out again, more frantically this time, walking swiftly around the bed to see if the man is perhaps on the other side of the bed. And there he finds Aramis, unconscious and bloody.

“Porthos,” he yells out. He grabs some spare shirts that Aramis has lying on the floor and holds them against the wounds on his wrists. They’re not deadly wounds, but they are bleeding heavily. “Porthos,” he calls louder. “I need your help.”

Seconds later, he hears Porthos stumble and run out of his room right into Aramis’. He’s right across from the young man.

“Athos, what’s going on,” he asks, adrenalin chasing away the last vestiges of sleep.

“He’s cut himself,” Athos says. “Call 911.”

“You don’t want us to take him in ourselves?”

“No. Call, please,” Athos says urgently. “He’s been bleeding for a bit, I think, and isn’t waking up.”

Porthos doesn’t argue, running back to grab his phone. He’s already talking with the emergency operator when he walks back in.

“I don’t know. My friend found him maybe five minutes ago. He said he’s been unconscious the whole time.”

Athos tunes out the conversation as he changes out the half-sodden shirts with dry ones. The bleeding isn’t stopping and that worries him. They know that Aramis has been suicidal in the last year and made one attempt but he thought Treville got through to him.

When the paramedics arrive, Athos is shooed away briskly and watches with a vacant gaze as the paramedics work to stem the bleeding as best as they can and then whisk Aramis away. They don’t offer a ride to one of them and it’s only when Porthos asks where they’re taking him that Athos starts to process again.

“Come on, Athos, we have to get going,” Porthos says. His voice still sounds distant. “Athos, you okay?” Porthos stands in front of him, looking at him with concerned eyes. Athos looks back down at his hands, his bloody hands. Then he sees the stretch of carpet, the circles of blood-stained carpet, the t-shirts half-soaked with Aramis’ blood. And he vomits. Right there. Porthos moves quick enough to avoid the main bout but is hit with splatters. He holds his friend as he’s bent at the waist, violently throwing up. He winces at the harshness of each heave.

Then, as suddenly as it began, it’s over. Athos is left panting for breath and Porthos holds on still. He will feel this too eventually, but for now, his friends need him to function.

“Let’s get your hands washed, Athos,” he says quietly, directing Athos to the hallway bathroom.

“But Aramis,” Athos counters quietly.

“Will be there when we get there. We need to take care of you first. You can’t go walking around with blood all over your hands, now can you?”

Athos shakes his head and lets Porthos wash his hands. He’s too unsteady himself to take care of it. The warm water feels nice on his cold hands. When he’s done, Porthos grabs a hand towel and dries most of the water from his hands before leaving Athos to take care of the rest.

“Let’s get changed and then I’ll drive us over,” Porthos says.

“We should let Treville know,” Athos says.

“You can call him on our way over.”

They change out of their dirty nightclothes and make the drive to the ER. Athos calls Treville on the drive. Their Captain arrives minutes after them.

“Family for d’Herblay,” a nurse asks them as they walk to the desk.

“Yes,” Porthos says. “How is he?”

“The doctor is currently seeing him,” she says plainly, ignoring Porthos’ question. “You’ll have to wait out here.”

“Why? We’re his friends. His emergency contacts.”

“The doctor is busy working on your friend. When he’s done, you can go back.”

“Can you at least tell us if he’s okay?”

She looks at some papers. “He’s stable but in serious condition. The doctor is working on closing the wounds without much more blood loss.”

Aramis, when they get back to the exam room, a private one, is in a hospital gown. He’s been cleaned up and his wrists tightly bandaged. There’s the familiar array of machinery: wires for the heart monitor, a pulse ox monitor, IV, and nasal cannula. Beneath it all he’s pale and that, for some reason, shocks Porthos the most.

“How is he,” Porthos asks.

“A very lucky man,” the doctor says, finishing up his exam.

“Lucky?”

“If you hadn’t woken during the night, he’d’ve been dead.”

“He’ll make it then?”

“He should. We’re going to hold off on a transfusion. While he’s lost a good deal of blood, it’s not a critical amount and given time, he should be able to make it up on his own,” the doctor explains. “He’s been depressed, I gather.”

“Yeah,” Porthos nods, looking slightly puzzled at the doctor.

“And this isn’t the first time he’s cut himself?”

“What,” Treville says, turning to the others.

“We had no idea,” Porthos says, looking to the doctor.

“There are other marks on his wrists, in various stages of healing. He’s been doing this for a while. None of these are marks indicating suicide, but tonight’s are worrying.”

“Because they wouldn’t stop bleeding?”

“They were slow to stop because your friend is drunk and dehydrated.”

Treville turns to Athos and Porthos. “What’s been going on?”

“He was talking to us, trusting us, or so we thought,” Porthos says, confused and frustrated.

“His files show he’s not seeing a psychiatrist,” the doctor questions.

“He keeps rejecting them. I’m sure your files show he has a rather long list of illnesses,” Treville says. “It’s made finding the right one hard.”

“Well, he’s going to have to find one. I’m placing him on a three-day hold and he’ll have to talk with one of our psychiatrists.”

They nod. There’s no point in arguing. In many ways, they saw this coming.

They wait with Aramis in the ER and then in the room he’s assigned. He wakes fully a couple days after but he doesn’t talk. Instead, he rolls over and goes back to sleep. The psychiatrist comes in a few times and attempts to talk to him and when he refuses, his stay is lengthened.

By the eighth day, he’s stronger. He didn’t need a transfusion but he still looks pale and doesn’t bother getting out of bed. As much as Athos, Porthos, and Treville would like to stay with him all day, his sour mood and their own jobs make it impossible. Instead, they alternate hospital duty.

Lunchtime on day eight is Athos’ turn. He walks into the room to see a combative Aramis. A couple of male nurses stand on either side holding him down and putting soft restraints on his arms and legs as he continues to fight and yell at them.

“What happened,” Athos asks the psychiatrist.

“I tried talking with him again and when he refused, I told him his stay was lengthened again. He grew angry, tried to rip out his stitches,” she explains. “I know this looks harsh, but it’s for his own safety.”

“He’s not a danger,” Athos says, rather weakly.

“To others, no. But to himself, he is. We may need to look at a treatment facility.”

“No,” Athos says quickly. “No, not that.” He pauses for a moment. “Let me try talking to him. I have some experience with this sort of thing.”

“You studied psychology?”

“No. Personal experience,” he says, giving a slight, wry smile and then goes into the room. The nurses are done and Aramis seems to have figured out that his range of motion has been limited severely. The fight is gone from him and he lays on the bed, avoiding all glances.

When the nurses leave, Athos moves a chair close to Aramis, on the side where Aramis is facing. Not surprisingly, the man turns his head in the other direction.

“Do you want to die, Aramis,” Athos asks him bluntly.

Aramis doesn’t respond.

“It’s a simple question, Aramis. Do you want to die?”

Still no response.

“You know that you’re going to be kept here until you start responding. And they’re talking about something more long-term, like a treatment facility,” Athos says. “If you think this is restrictive, then you’ll lose any remaining freedom there. Trust me. Even the nice ones are depressing and dull. Treatment will be forced on you, is that what you want?”

This time Aramis turns his head to look at Athos.

“Why didn’t you tell us you were feeling so low? We want to help you but we thought everything was fine.”

Aramis’ face scrunches up and he tries to move his hands to cover his face, but they’re caught in the restraints. Athos thinks about letting one hand go, but he needs Aramis to confront this. Not hide away. He knows the younger man would do worse in a treatment facility.

“We’re your friends, Aramis. Your family. Families depend on each other to keep going. They talk to each other when something is wrong so we can help. Why Aramis?”

“I don’t know,” Aramis says quietly, voice raspy with disuse. Athos helps him drink some water.

“Do you not trust us? Did we do something wrong?”

Aramis shakes his head.

“Words, ‘Mis, please.” He doesn’t like forcing the man like this, but he wants to keep him talking.

“No.” Aramis doesn’t fight him.

“Then what happened?”

“I don’t know,” Aramis repeats, tears freely flowing now. Athos stands and moves to sit on the edge of the bed. He grabs one of Aramis’ hands in his own.

“What’s been going on?”

“I don’t know.” Aramis shakes his head lightly.

“You know. Tell me.”

“It’s… It…” Aramis trails off, unable to voice his problem.

“You can tell me. We’ve had this talk before. I don’t have all the same illnesses as you, but I understand depression. I know it’s erratic, cloying nature. Talk to me, ‘Mis.”

Aramis pauses. “Everything,” he says in a rush.

“Everything?”

“Everything.” Aramis is calming some.

“What do you mean?”

“The nightmares, the flashbacks, the panic attacks, the PTSD, the anxiety, the depression, work, life. Everything.”

“That is everything, from the sounds of it,” Athos says quietly.

“I didn’t mean to start but it helped. And then I couldn’t stop.”

“What about the other night?”

“That was an accident.” Aramis looks up, away from Athos’ gaze.

“That’s quite an accident.” Athos raises an eyebrow.

“I didn’t mean for it to be this bad.” Aramis looks back at Athos and he can see the sincerity in the young man’s eyes.

“But the fact is, it is this bad. But if you had talked with us, we could’ve helped you. Instead of bottling everything up until you think the only solution is hurting yourself, talk to us. We won’t understand always and we may not have a solution but we will listen as long as it takes. You’re not alone, but you have to want the help.”

“It’s not easy, Athos.”

“Oh, I know it’s not. It took me years to finally tell my parents but once I did it was better. Family helps family. That’s how it works.”

“I know, I know.”

Athos knows they’re battling against deep-seated trust issues. Friends had previously made such family pledges to him and abandoned him when Aramis needed them the most.

“How… how do I know this is real,” Aramis asks quietly.

“Is there something I can do to prove it to you easily?”

Aramis pauses to think. “No.” He shakes his head, looking away.

“Words are just that, ‘Mis. Words. You’re going to have to trust us.”

“And if you abandon me?”

“I won’t. Porthos won’t. Treville won’t.”

Aramis hesitates.

“It’s a big leap of faith, ‘Mis. And you have to decide if you’re going to make it. But I can tell you, it’s worth it. Porthos and I had to do the same with each other and I’ve never regretted it.”

Athos lets Aramis think in silence but he doesn’t move from the bed and he keeps his gentle grip on Aramis’ hand.

“It was just like that,” d’Artagnan asks, looking at Aramis.

“Not quite,” Aramis says. “Trust is easily broken but hard to establish. It took time but I’ve come to trust them with my life and I don’t regret it.” Aramis looks at Porthos and Athos.

“And now, you have to make that decision,” Athos says.

“We’re not going to force you and if you can’t trust all of us right away, that’s fine,” Porthos says.

“But find one of us to place that trust in because holding everything in like you have been, it’s not healthy. You have to get it out before it comes out in a way you don’t want,” Aramis adds.

d’Artagnan nods. He understands them. While he doesn’t have the emotional baggage that these men have, coming from a small town where he knew everyone, extending trust to strangers who he’s known for a few months isn’t easy. But perhaps he can try with Aramis first, the man did save him from being mugged after all.

#bbc the musketeers #aramis #d'artagnan #athos #porthos #treville #fan fiction #modernAU #whumptober #please please read the warning before reading

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joyfullyimportantyouth-blog · 7 years

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Reportage: Why Cleansing is Totes Necessary // A Comedy // Bougie AF

So, this weekend I felt like being a mixture of regimented and “mindful” and I felt like a caricature of privilege. Despite the fact that I live with ten people and am unemployed, I am not impoverished. I have grown up with the privilege of Costco and homegrown radishes and Portuguese soap dishes. I’ve always felt a little bad (but not really) about my inclination towards the more nicely packaged/ more expensive items everywhere, although I usually write out budget lists that are realistically sketched out to include a $13 budget in entertainment. And intend on reading THICH NHAT HAHN and then quickly loop back to Wikipedia-ing and trolling celebrity gossip.

So while I was googling “how to really cleanse/simplify your life” yesterday, I had to have a moment of reprieve from my privileged ways. Why are we so obsessed with this word (”we” as in me and millions of lifestyle blogs) and why are there usually only the options of zen and moneybags reloaded into formulas for us to refer to? Just for humor’s sake, I created a list of stereotypes of my search results. There’s no answer on how to cleanse other than to purge what’s not needed, which is subjective-ish.

Cleansing is perhaps just saying “no” a lot of the time... Just doing the minimum of what is necessary and picking two things that are important to you for each day. Because drinking miso soup and eating celery and drum circle-ing some subpar world music to reactivate your sexual organs are not the only ways to get rid of anything keeping ya down.

-- CLEANSING: A MANUAL OF WHO NEEDS A CLEANSE--

“Cleansing” : The Rich Bitch Earth Mother

She carries her African woven basket full of farmers market carrots everywhere, because she loves Farm to Table! It helps her imagine the simpler times of vacationing in the South of France when she smells the freshly cut lavender on the West Elm birchwood counter engraved with affirmations to keep “elevated” as she breaks bread/macca.

She beams with gratitude as she meets each person EVERY SINGLE DAY IN HER BUSY LIFE with a gaze as “sensually earthy” as amber candelabras. Of course, she made those last weekend at her glassblowing class - after her 5 AM ashtanga practice - because her next thing will be pottery and selling spirulina goji berry energy fragrance to Gwyneth at Goop.

Her Woodstock turned financier husband doesn’t pay attention to her even when she suggests tantric weekend getaways in Oregon wine country for a “cleanse” from the modern world. He always sighs at her after smoking some high-grade vape Sativa and buys her another turquoise ring from the Iroquois she “volunteers” her time for because she’s always been certain that she is Native American… or at least 1/16 Sacagawea.

She has made it her life path to realize her full potential as a Capricorn Sun / Aries Rising in the sweat lodges she invites herself to. She finagled her way into these sacred ceremonies by what she believes to be a “calling” but more accurately occurred after procuring a bankrolled friendship with a local Native American artist. She knew they were kindred spirits after buying his sacred geometry blankets at her best friend’s boutique “Gather.” A new one called “Savor” is going to sell her wrap dresses that she buys from her Guetemalan Shaman, who always forgets that she doesn’t drink regular milk only ALMOND MILK and no gluten when they trip together on $500 ayahuasca that keeps true to her frugal roots of growing up in Marin County. She just loves the “spirit” of Central American people because it makes her feel like she is in the Peace Corps when they smile back at her and offer her the opportunity to pose in photos next to a “saddening” market stand.

All of the Instagram photos of posing in collectivos with poor people will be framed at the cafe where she namaste-scolds the barista everyday for her stupidity in not knowing her clear distaste for regular hummus (acidic!). It’s always only going to be beet hummus until edamame hummus gets on the menu for godssakes. Here she always meets with her caftan-clad yoga friends who all used to be dancers and now have rich husbands who built them modern Adobe lairs to be bored in but pretend like blackberry sage tea gets them high from well being.

She feels forlorn that there is something discontenting about the “minimalism” she has so ambitiously set out to create/dump shitloads of money into, so in the only way she knows how, she will book an Iyasca retreat in Peru. Maybe poor Peruvian people can teach her the meaning of life so she can write a memoir about how life changing it all was. Holding hands with the street children… and never returning again because it makes her too sad, but the lessons of the third world will be tattooed literally and figuratively in a Quechua phrase for life on her wrist so she can talk about it to the young hot river guide men in Telluride…

“Cleansing” : The Twenty-Something Project

She has had way too much casual sex for her pressing emotional need to find someone who loves tequila and rock climbing and contemporary fiction just as much as she does. She drinks way too much tequila five days a week as well as wine during the day because she feels like she can’t access who she really is (that’s what a partner would help her discover in his egocentric artistic ways of being). She spends eight hours on the computer writing shit that doesn’t matter to her (like emails) and trolling pointless social media sites that make her wonder if models really are people. This is usually the apex of her day, when she recounts how she is in charge of her own happiness but jesus how many genetically modified Victoria’s Secret models are there out there? These girls are now chronicled to be “anti-social-media-bullying” and are just “regular girls,” which she intellectually realizes. But she thinks and researches for a long time how they can be just so: how can they get someone to take their photo at just the right moment when they are writhing around in the water so that you can see that they are so in tune with and gently being kissed by their sexy actor boyfriend (bio in link for his new film with Harrison Ford!)? This is happening while being blessed by the Tahitian palm tree shading themselves, because they’re responsible so they use La Roche Posay SPF and feel #grateful that they are very hot people and have so many loyal followers.

She decides that becoming a massage therapist will likely zen her out all the time and make her like wheatgrass and never drink again and only date “spiritual” men with man buns. Maybe being a masseuse will train her to refuse being around “negative vibes” and only will be in the same room as people who make her feel “full.” And being a masseuse will likely get her laid because she’ll be a healer. So like the google-generation, she finds a massage training in Tulum. But it’s $5,000 over-budget. Instead, she thinks she will just clean her room and eat a mango from the bodega around the corner because it’s only $1. And only have 3 apps instead of 13.

“Cleansing” : The I-Came-of-Age-In-The-Rob-Lowe-Coked-Out-Power-Dressing-Glamor-of-The-1980’s-Workaholic

EVERYTHING IS FALLING APART. She works so much that she has no life. She hates her pantsuits but started working in the age of Anita Hill and thought she had to break the glass ceiling more because her mom would quote Betty Friedan and preach to not be “ungrateful” to the women like Jane Fonda who paved the way (and the song “9-5,” too). She used to dream about working in transportation and logistics just so she could scan her government card everyday.

Now she hates the Boys Club. She even hates most of the women, who are such mechanical bores and all majored in “Political Science” like smart girls do at Dartmouth. They’re the sociopathic philanthropists who only “endorse” International causes that pay people to publicize the plight of poor people because it looks good in photos and they don’t actually want to help poor people. Unless you’re George and Amal Clooney, you can just show yourself the door.

So guess what? She QUITS HER JOB and decides that something must change... and also that she absolutely loathes Elizabeth Gilbert. This means that she doesn’t want to be BORED hanging out doing yoga in some fucking yurt pagoda thing and she doesn’t want to get FAT in Italy with some boy toy whose worshipping would be as aging feeling as a lifestyle blog… and she doesn’t want to SHUT THE FUCK UP in India in some ashram with annoying as fuck Californians who think using crystalized deoderant is as repenting as when they culturally appropriated Ganesh on their saggy backs.

So what does she want to “cleanse?” Anything committing or societally-fulfilling for women her age (like the constant suggestion of growing a damn garden to be happy…). The solution is to do whatever she damn well pleases from the comforts of her current home and maybe tell people what to do from her computer every once in a while “freelancing” and occasionally go on a few dates and walking out when they’re just blah blah blah.

Perhaps trying to be “budget-y” but realizing she earned her accolades thirty years ago, so only voting with her dollar when she feels like reusing the same dishtowel or using up everything in the fridge. She learned long ago that you’re not better than others just because you “know how to be poor and sustainable” by eating pumpkins from the garbage … and living with a commune of people you kind of hate for judging you about not knowing the merits of free speech feminism and cleaning with vinegar absolutely everywhere (...everywhere).

She will damn well do as she pleases in purchasing a sugaring appointment or buying a $50 solo dinner. Or online shopping at FreePeople if she feels like she’s lagging a bit on her “cleanse” and wants to look a little like she had a love affair in Barcelona and went cray at the flea markets that apparently only sell pillow case dresses that are so bright and flouncy you have to dance in the streets when you wear them and look like you’re having an enlightening experience even when you drink “fresh mint water.”

“Cleansing”: The Legit Monk Woman

She GOT RID OF EVERYTHING to be noble to a million sutras she can’t quite name but she tries to, usually when she’s drinking a single cup of tea for four hours. She went to Ladakh in 1987 and comes back to Los Angeles in 2017 named Nag Champa and gets a job teaching at some liberal theology college in Orange County where Steven Spielbergh’s kids occasionally come to class. At least they link the school website in their online interviews with Vogue all the time. They are using the Tibetan sound bowls to create a new experimental electronic album that can maybe buy their way into Coachella and they may have her be their life coach while on tour to “combat the stressful perils of the industry.”

She writes a few blog posts for Depak who is always trynna hit on her. She goes to Wanderlust and blesses the dreadlocked crowd with a hybrid Buddhist-Rastafarian-Katy Perry lyric blessing, throwing Whole Foods rosewater on their toned bodies that they got growing up skiing in Aspen. All of them say they want to be mentored by her in between their barista/yoga teaching/juice cleansing lifestyles, maybe when they’re done setting up their kombucha bar they can swing by and have like a $6,000 certifying sesh that has all inclusive vegan food? Or they can barter with nuts and berries that they brought back from their trip to INDIA.

Yes, she must capitalize on this moment of “wellness.” You can find her speaking and retreat information on LinkedIn that she’s still waiting to customize in a more boisonberry color for calming effects…

“Cleansing”: The-Doesn’t-Want-To-Give-A-Shit-But-Still-Kind-of-Does Woman

She needs to get her finances in order a bit and is somehow always “busy” so she gets rid of what’s not needed by saying: Yes, she needs her organic food. No, she doesn’t need her Argan oil face wash. Yes, she needs a drink at somewhere other than a dive bar every other Friday. No, she doesn’t need to go to Brazilian dance yoga with Shanti for $40 every day. Yes, she needs to go see a concert every once in a while. No, she doesn’t need five paid-for “music experience” apps that “customize” user experience depending on their ever-fluctuating mood and will bring you to “up and coming artists.” Because honestly, these musicians sound like they took a Xanax and hipsters just go to their shows because they’re insecure that they’re being called “hipsters” and hate “categorization of gender norms” but totally need reassurance that they’re doing life right by the Anthropologie curtain-esque crop tops and leg tattoos they appear bored in everywhere. So every grainy film Insta shot is in fact very intentional but they won’t admit it because they will always be pale-faced underdogs just like these up and coming artists who have long hair and little annoying vegan kids with no manners who have ginger hair and are gonna grow up to be soft-core racists because they intentionally want to have black friends (only with septum piercings and a denim jacket) so they can show how liberal they are because their parents were once underpaid touring musicians and they know what struggle is because they tried acid when they were 14 and they saw how we are all “the same.”

Yes, she needs stupid email to make a living. No, she doesn’t need Snapchat because so much meh and overwhelming tapping all the time.

…DONE. Now she’s livin’.

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dailymusingsofamedic · 4 years

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25th May 2020 - Orff

Carl Orff (1895-1982)

Gisei, Das Opfer (1913) https://open.spotify.com/album/74d2v19w4fuI8aPcRkVi99?si=MqdFYt9VRIuezbY-YEqMGg

‘O’ is another letter that doesn’t have huge amounts to offer in terms of composers. I’ve chosen Orff because I’m genuinely intrigued to see what else this composer has put out apart from Carmina Burana. I wonder if Orff suspected that his magnum opus would be used in every single ‘dramatic’ moment in reality TV for the intellectually challenged from now until presumably the end of time. You’ve all heard Camrina Burana, but what else did Orff do? I’ve chosen a fairly early work of his, written at just 18 years of age. It’s a story of a Japanese calligraphy teacher who kills one of his pupils, but not the right one, and his parents are sad, basically. Apparently heavily influenced (perhaps pillaged) from Debussy, it was not performed until 2010. Also, Orf is a viral skin infection passed to humans by infected sheep and goats, colloquially known as scabby mouth in the farming community. And who said I couldn’t get music and medicine into the same blog?

Get ready, this is a long one!

Above - do we think this might me set in Japan?

1. Vorspiel: introduction. A very quiet and tender opening by the eerie female voices. Also with some windy noises. A few lines spread around the woodwind, and then things begin to get a bit more exciting with the introduction of the tune in the cello part (maybe viola). I think the choir are humming. I don’t know about Debussy, but the section from 1:35 sounds exactly like Ravel’s Daphnis et Chloe. Not quite as nice though. I mean, there’s no denying this overture is nice to listen to, and quite interesting, but it doesn’t sound new. Interesting trombone solo with wind machine. Aren’t they synonymous? Ehhhhh. 3:35 is a shock. Is this where the boy gets killed? No idea.

2. Vorspiel: No demo yama. Right, so this is still the overture. The section with strings harp and female voices from about 0:56 is really cool, atmospheric. 1:36 sounds a bit ominous again, with tremolos, then some brass, then hahaha that tuba solo at the end is cracking me up. Firstly, is that all people think tubas can do. Plod plod bitch. Secondly, what happens to the sound at the end of the last note?? Is it a weird vibrato? Is it running out of air? It sounds like such a wispy sound considering the instrument it’s coming from.

3. Vorspiel: Die Gottheit nahm das Opfer am. This means ‘the deity accepted the sacrifice’. That seems like a big plot point considering we’re still apparently in the overture. Or as google translate calls it: foreplay. Scary baritone and interesting textures with the brass in the next section, both muted and un-. Oh the singing sounds German, at least he used a real language in this opera. The accompaniment sounds like accompaniment, and by that I mean, I feel like there should be some singing over the top a lot of the time when there isn’t. Lots of lovely tuba. Ooooh 2:24 could be more in tune I think…it does sound quite high to be fair. Actually, the rest of the singing so far has been pretty good. Lots of hard Ts. 3:35 is a really interesting section, it’s very grand but then diminishes into being pretty scary again very well.

4. Vorspiel: Dann…tiefste Nacht. Then deepest night. 0:13 onwards all feels a bit familiar as well, from other composers works. I have to say it doesn’t sounds very ‘deepest night’. The last movement did more. I had a heart attack at 1:21. There’s lots of variation over the next few minutes. I’d love to see what’s meant to be happening on stage. Without that, it does feel a little disjointed. The little harp scale up to 3:55 brings us to a really lovely section actually. That harmony’s interesting, as is the instrumentation. Laughed again at 5:05. How else would we know we were in japan if not for some exposed gong/tamtam notes? It’s tuned for the singer to come in at least! “Doot Doot Doot” is fun. Then the shit hits the fan. The orchestral accompaniment does sounds at times a little like a concerto for orchestra, with solos from bassoon, tuba, double basses. It’s nicely written. Again the end of this part feels like I need to be watching something alongside it. The texture at the end is fantastic. I don’t know what’s playing but I like it.

Above - Cut the vorspiel, I’m ready for the main event. Also, if you look closely you can see the TV I’m thinking of buying.

5. Oper: introduction. Ok so we’re into the actual opera now. Well, nearly, we’ve finished foreplay anyway. Nice controlled accelerando, and the clarinet part’s pretty cool, before we’re back to the first section. I like this so far. A great introduction to the meat of the work.

6. Oper: Wollt ihr Ruhe halten. Or as my other half often says to me when they’ve run out of my favourite dim sum at Ping Pong: ‘Do you want to keep calm?’. Solo violin pretending to be a butterfly (Schmetterling) isn’t very nice. I’ve never heard a butterfly sound like that. The duet from 1:15 is lovely, however brief.

7. Oper: Sakura! Sakura! I’m hoping this is how star of Rupaul’s Drag Race Season 12; Rock M Sakura got her name, but I feel like the reference may be a little niche. Starts off with the waily woman from the last movement. Now she’s wailing ‘Sakura’ though. Who is Sakura? I feel like actually this could do with a little more accompaniment than just harp. The singer is a little overpowering at times, although her pianos are really soft and well done.

Above - life imitating art.

8. Oper: Ist’s erlaubt? It’s allowed. What’s allowed? A synopsis would really ameliorate my listening experience I’m sure, but that’s effort, and I can’t read, type, and listen at the same time. Another excellent tuba demonstration at 0:25. There’s a nice cough at 0:59. Is this a live recording? Maybe this is the only time it’s ever been performed. Are trombone chords every in tune? Not according to 1:53 of this. 2:33 all gets a bit exciting briefly. The string entry at 3:15 is very inaccurate. That must be the violas. More out of tune trombone at 4:03. I feel like the orchestra are maybe sight-reading because they know this isn’t going to be a roaring success…Again 5:00 onwards is very directionless. All jokes aside, the tamtam playing is great, and the sound is dampened at exactly the right time. It’s really effective. At 6:02 what is happening? Is that two tubas? Or a tuba and something else being badly played, out of tune on top. I can’t tell, but it’s bad. HA that dramatic ending is then followed by one solitary note on the tamtam which sounds very much like an accident.

9. Oper: Sei nicht mehr Traurig. Don’t be sad any more. Or, what Alex says to me 2 weeks after we went out for that dim sum-less meal. Interesting harmony. Quite waily again though.

10. Oper: Oh! Bauerngeischter. Oh! Peasant hunt!!! That is not what I was expecting. Oh wait, it’s actually Bauerngesichter – peasant faces, much better. Fanfare central. Maybe it is a peasant hunt too? Bassoon trills are fun. I have absolutely no clue what that is 0:38. If anyone could enlighten me, I would be very grateful. Is it a contrabassoon played high? I honestly have no clue; it could even be stringed at a push. Beefy last note though. I mostly spend the rest of this movement wondering what that instrument was. I can’t find the bloody instrumentation anywhere. Snapped out of my stupor by laughing at the random extra tuba note at 3:11. HERE IT IS AGAIN at 3:46. So weird, so out of tune in the higher portions. That’s why it’s on its own I think.

Above - Orf; why you should wash your hands at the petting zoo!!

11. Oper: Hinter uns lag die Stadt. The city was behind us. If you listen carefully at 0:02 you can hear the tuba player stick his hand in a crisp packet. Nice combination of the bass, and high register of the harp, I like that quite a lot. It’s more interesting than the bass and tuba duet afterwards. 2:00 is straight out of Daphnis again for 2 seconds. The trombone chord at 3:22 is eventually in tune, but it doesn’t start that way.

12. Oper: Ihr wart doch heut’ beim Mahl des Bonzen? If you had given me 1,000 goes at guessing this translation, I would never have come out with the correct answer: You were eating the fat cat today? This seems to be a rather rude question judging by the bloke’s reaction. This baritone bit is quite recitative-y, I just wish I could understand what they were saying. From 2:00, the orchestral parts are exciting, if a little forced. 2:50, we see this weird tuba vibe again. And the chord at 3:06 is actually really nice, as Roxxxy Andrews would say: thick and juicy. String entry at 3:30 is very messy again. Another heart attack at 4:48. So screechy. More of the same until the end.

13. Oper: Entlasst nun eure Schuler, Genzo. Now release your students Genzo. Heard across the country in March, when money-grabbing boarding schools tried to keep their students during the pandemic for ‘safety’ reasons. More tuba. 0:14 – what is this person playing at. The entry of this mysterious companion of the half decent tuba sounds like they flutter-tongue that entry. I often joke “Oh I could do a better job” but in this case, I think I actually could. IS it just a low horn? I can’t tell. Lots of to-and-fro between a couple of the men now, but I don’t know what about. One sounds much angrier than the other. I assume the calligrapher is the friendly sounding one, but that’s a very stereotypical assumption.

14. Oper: Hm! Seltsam! Hm! Strange! You’re telling me. Nice little bit of spoken word. It’s actually nicer than hearing them belting all the time. There’s a glass harmonium or some glasses being played at 0:50, sounds quite cool. Probably not worth the expense of renting one. Christ, calm down at 1:08. They briefly switch to English at 1:53, but ‘can shoe size’ doesn’t make much sense, or is at least very cryptic. Someone undoes their Velcro shoe at 3:09, maybe that’s what it’s referring to. 3:34 is nice, and I get the Debussy vibes here. Again at 4:00.

15. Oper: Macht auf! Macht auf! Open Up! X2. Orff does love whacking two very low instruments next to each other and just hoping they can play in tune. Spoiler alert, they can’t. I like the dramatic knocking on the door. Just sing, love, it’s louder. The lady sounds worried about something. If only I knew what. 2:09 is fun. The chord at 3:23 sounds exactly like what you would hear in a film set in Transylvania when the camera pans to Dracula’s house. More shit low playing at several more points in the next section. 4:50 to the end is great actually.

16. Oper: Die Sonne sinkt! The sun is setting (I assume, I didn’t actually look that one up). The tuba and miscellaneous other instrument’s last hurrah before a random piano plays 3 chords, someone coughs and the strings forget to come in; all before 1:00. Why is there now a piano? Wouldn’t the harp have done the same job? The end is quite simple, but it sounds nice. Although the last chord is uncomfortable and sounds very unfinished. Deliberately I’m sure.

Overall – 6/10. Well that was a couple of hours of my life I will never get back. I’m perhaps being harsh because opera obviously isn’t meant to be just heard, and with the right staging, and acting and me being able to understand the plot, it might be a nice little work. A lot of the problems I have with this are actually with the playing rather than the writing, although many of the tuning issues may be attributable to weird instrumentation. Either way, it’s certainly got areas of interest, but there’s lots of weak parts too. It’s not going to be accompanying the talentless droves on the X-Factor any time soon, put it that way.

Below is what Orff intended for his music, in its purest form:

youtube

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thegreenhorseman · 5 years

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As with everything all things must come to an end. For the past year Zeno Bay and Vai Via have been in my care and I have loved and adored them as they if were my own. They are incredible horses, full of love, and I have been blessed to be part of their rehabilitation in all aspects; physically, emotionally, and spiritually.

Zeno Bay has put on weight. He has blossomed into a loving, amazing, very genuine horse. Vai Via has overcome a lot of anxiety. He still needs some time on certain things but he is a completely different being than when he first arrived at my home.

Unfortunately the time has come for them to move on as I am parting ways with the rescue group for personal reasons. I am heartbroken to lose them but it has been a long time coming from behind the scenes. The horses have been wonderful. Perfect. I’ve enjoyed having them. I’ve enjoyed training when I can. I have enjoyed getting to know them.

With the two boys departing soon I am faced with a terrible yet exciting new opportunity to find blade a permanent sibling.

This has not been an easy decision for me.

I have two amazing horses right now that need and deserve my love and at the same time I need to do what’s right for me. With my next horse I have decided I need to be selfish. I need to find a horse that is young, physically fit, and sound to be my next partner for the activities that I currently enjoy.

I only live once and right now I can’t guarantee that I will still be riding like this later on in life and as we all know I typically bring animals into my home for life. When I adopted Blade he was for life; though his body cannot perform to my needs he is happy and healthy otherwise. Until he’s no longer happy nor healthy he will forever be safe. This is why I’ve decided to be selfish and this is why it has been such a hard decision for me.

Another problem I’m facing is that I don’t have savings for the purchase of a brand new horse. This is not something that I planned to do just yet, in fact, I was hoping to get the truck and trailer before I get my second horse. So my budget is very tight. Regardless I began my search to see what I could find.

Remarkably, I was overwhelmed by the amount of beautiful, sound, sane, horses that are available within my non-existent price range. Within a course of a week or two I had been offered about 20-25 horses. I didn’t have to aggressively search. There was a mix of people that reached out…people who know me, people who have never met me, people who have mutual friends.

Most were people with whom I have mutual friends (and of course my friends serve as great references). Everyone offered up some incredible options. I did not expect to have so many to choose from; though I’m excited about the options it makes it very difficult to walk away from a really good horse.

My search criteria.

Sound

Good brain

Under 15 years

Good size for a petite chunk like myself

Prefer gelding (but will consider the right mare)

Prefer barefoot

Any breed

Will be using horse for my next partner to do hunter paces, jumping, and who knows what else.

I had a number of great contacts at first.

There was a beautiful paint horse that was in a lesson program and loves to jump. He was 19.

…and a beautiful black QH gelding that also loves jumping. He was 18.

There were a couple of friends who have some friendly lovable mares.

I sifted through all of the information. Finally I began to visit a few…

I began my search with a friend who brought me to a wonderful family’s home that had some great horses available.

The first horse we saw was a little Mustang gelding named Vegas. He had the mustang shaped face which is not a deal-breaker but it’s not lovely. He had a solid little body. He was a decent height but he was little pigeon-toed. Looking closely you could tell his legs were straight but his hooves had not been trimmed for a long time. Perhaps regular trims would correct the issue. He also had a divot on his right shoulder. He didn’t flex as well to the right either which made me think perhaps it caused him discomfort.

Looking at his face he had kind eyes, but he had a worried look. He wasn’t so sure of himself or the situation. I did not have much space to work with him but he could tell that I was a leader and wanted desperately to stay with me.

I tried to teach him to lunge but he didn’t want to leave my side and with limited space, there is only so much I could do. I asked him to back up and he resisted; a few times even reared up. He wasn’t a bad horse but I don’t believe he was the one for me. I don’t know how his body would handle training and I don’t know if that was a project that would have worked out for me. There’s a lot of uncertainty here.

VEGAS

Another horse we saw was a sweet appaloosa gelding. He was a great size and very friendly. We were told he is extremely herd bound. I’m unsure of his age because we didn’t look at him very long.

Another horse was a handsome red dun quarter horse about 11 years old named Reggie. I am a sucker for red dun. His training under saddle is unknown. At the time somebody had already decided to buy him but I believe he became available again shortly after we saw him.

Regardless I’m not sure I want to devote time to training an 11 year old horse.

The same family also showed me their standardbred mare, Duchess. She is 15, very sweet, and a good size. She was well trained though she had not been ridden in at least five years. I lunged her a little bit and even decided to get on her for a walk around the pasture. She was extremely good especially considering she had not been ridden in years. She was looking around a lot it seemed like she would be a reactive type of horse but we all know Blade has gone through his reactive moments too. It’s what I know well.

My biggest concern is how attached Blade might become with a mare. He was devastated to lose Happy even though he had Zeno Bay and Vai Via.

DUCHESS

With Duchess lived another Mustang; a 12 year old appaloosa mustang gelding named Coco. Coco is owned by somebody else but has also not been ridden in 5 years. I really liked this horse a lot end fell in love with his face and personality.

He has a gentle eye, solid body, and was very smart. I lunged him for a couple minutes and he responded really well and was in tune with me. I decided to get on him as well. He was not nearly as reactive as Duchess and I liked his willingness; it was a vastly different feeling I got on him. He gave me the “let’s explore” vibe.

Unfortunately, I learned that the owner is not yet ready to re-home Coco…that he might be in the near future but not on this particular day.

I have kept Coco on my list among the top in case the owner changes his mind.

COCO

Shortly after our first excursion I was offered a gorgeous large paint who came from Hawaii. In fact he was probably at Kualoa Ranch when Zac and I went to Hawaii in 2013.

First… I love paints…especially ones with solid markings and a perfect blaze.

Second…how ironic that I was at the very ranch he came from 5,000 miles away?

Hawaii 2013

Nahe is 14 years old, has big solid body, and has great feet. I LOVE his markings and he has a perfectly kissable face (and that blaze!).

He has some sensitivities to bugs and slightly crooked legs but he’s sound regardless. He had a great personality and I got along well with him. He has jumped at a foxhunt recently. I loved that he was challenging but willing and not mean at all. He’s set in his ways and I can’t fault him for that.

We took him on a trail ride and I was amazed by his sure-footedness. Being the chicken I am we descended steep hill coated with dead leaves; I was concerned about slipping but this horse knew exactly what to do and took care of me.

This is what made him stand out from everybody else immediately. I was very happy with him.

NAHE

On the same day I visited the farm Blade came from. I had the opportunity to meet Blade’s half-sister, Abby, who is 2 years old and just back from the trainer. I was told she was one of the quietest foals they’ve had and a pleasure to work with. It seems so cool and rare that I could have siblings living with me.

Unfortunately she has a small windpipe. She roars. I was told the vet said this should not limit her riding but it will cause some noise. She certainly cannot race and be ridden flat-out, but I wouldn’t do that anyway. She has had surgery to help correct her situation as much as possible.

I could call the vet and talk to them one-on-one regarding Abby’s long-term ability as a riding horse. I’ll repeat this a lot…for this second horse I am being selfish and I want to make sure that the horse I choose will be my partner for the long term.

I am aware that things happen but I can at least choose the horse that will give us the best chance of long-term success in writing. I was concerned that this beautiful little filly could not hold up to hunter paces or whatever else I may want to do with her.

It was really nice to visit this farm again. I can’t believe it was just over 4 years ago I first visited and met Blade here. It’s an absolutely stunning property.

While I was visiting I learned Blade’s dam, Jet Black Magic, is available and unfortunately may be put down if not given a good home. This is the part of horse shopping that hurts me the most. I can’t provide a home for all of the horses and I hate that even though I have a space open I have to turn my back on them. I’m sure Blade’s mom is a great horse though I don’t think she’s truly a riding horse and she’s 18 years old. Putting her to sleep may be the most humane thing if a safe permanent home cannot be found…but it’s still sad regardless.

…and another broodmare that will be available once her foal is weaned!

As I continued my search I applied for New Vocations Racehorse Adoption Program. The program rehomes horses from the track, both thoroughbreds and standardbreds alike. Unfortunately I was rejected because I don’t have stalls. Of course I would confine them to a stall if stall rest was required but I don’t believe keeping them in a box for hours entirely necessary.

I have nothing against stalls and Blade lived in a stall for years but I don’t see how it should be detrimental to my ability to provide a great home. This was a bit frustrating especially considering I successfully kept 3 thoroughbreds happy and healthy (2 were older with bad teeth mind you) all throughout the worst of winter.

My second mom (my mom’s childhood friend and the lady who got me into the horse world) has a number of horses on her property. She had reached out to me about a filly she rescued last year from the slaughter pipeline. The filly is about 1.5 years old, bay, and growing to be a decent size already. When I visited she immediately ran to greet us, ignoring her herd-mates.

FILLY

She spent time with us, picked up her feet for us. She was a lovely young lady growing up nicely. She moved nicely. She LOVED Zac.

I have never trained a young horse before. I’m sure I could do it, and I know I’d start her the right way. Lots of groundwork. I like the idea that I can still give her plenty of time to grow and mature before riding her…that perhaps I’ll have a truck and trailer by the time she’s under saddle.

She is standing behind Casey. A wonderful QH that I used to ride. They match!

The last horse I looked at was owned by a family my trainer placed me in contact with. Their daughter went off to college and they were looking for a home for their 6 year old thoroughbred gelding. I began talking to them and at first they were concerned about my 24/7 turn out situation. My trainer reached out to them unbeknownst to me and personally vouched for me along with my ability to provide excellent care to my animals. Within the next week they reached out again and told me I was welcome to come meet him if I was still interested.

I grabbed my childhood friend who shares my love of thoroughbreds and we visited R Tom Cat at a gorgeous equine facility less than an hour south of me. I admit I felt very self-conscious visiting this barn. It was stunning; picture perfect with picture perfect riders. I am a good rider and I claim to not care what others think but I can’t help that it still crosses my mind. I’m heavier that I want to be. I don’t wear pristine clothes….heck I’m lucky I even have a pair of breeches (thank you Ashley!).

When I got in the saddle I instantly felt at ease.

R TOM CAT, the photo that was initially sent to me.

R Tom Cat and I clicked immediately and became one being; together we moved around the ring. He was soft, willing, and brave. We took a cross rail effortlessly. At that point my insecurities held me back from trying the vertical and the oxar in front of everybody. In truth I would have done fine but I got in my own head…and my head is not a good place to be while riding. After a few laps around and changing directions we decided to take it outdoors.

I was told he was more forward outside. True; he was forward…but he was in no way like Blade forward. I felt in control of the entire time and he moved effortlessly through the field. My dream came true riding through an open grassy field, something I’ve always wanted to do and we were doing it! At the end of the field I reined him in some and he adjusted his stride to a much more collected canter.

Just like that.

No fuss.

No arguments.

He just came back.

I finished our ride smiling and was honored to hear the farm owner say he liked me. It was great news because I really liked him too. At this point I wasn’t 100% certain his owners would select me since there were several other people interested in seeing him. At the very least I can say I’m super happy to have had a chance to ride this horse.

THE FINAL LOOK

I have been given a lot to think about. My future may be vastly different depending on the horse I select (or the horse that selects me) to become my next permanent family member.

WHO WILL COME LIVE WITH BLADE?

VEGAS

DUCHESS

COCO

ABBY

NAHE

FILLY

R TOM CAT

VEGAS

PROS: Mustang, Good height, good age, kind, trusting

CONS: Crooked legs/pigeon toed, lacks training, lacked confidence, rears when confused

THOUGHTS: Concerned about long-term rideability and soundness

COCO:

PROS: Mustang, great body condition on pasture only, great feet, great mind, soft eye

CONS: Owner not ready to part with horse

THOUGHTS: Mustangs are a very hardy breed, bred by nature the way nature intended.

DUCHESS

PROS: Good height, kind, good body condition on pasture only

CONS: Mare, possibly reactive, cow kicking during ride

THOUGHTS: Hard to decipher pain vs bugs in one ride. Concerned Blade might get too attached to a mare

ABBY

PROS: Blade’s half sister, great build, perfect height, great age, good temperament

CONS: Small windpipe

THOUGHTS: Concerned about long-term health and soundness, would be cool to have siblings

NAHE

PROS: Surefooted, great build, calm, kind, comfortable, sound, great hooves,

CONS: Sensitive to bugs, might resist direct reining, can be stubborn

THOUGHTS: I love paints. I’m not worried about training, as long as he’s willing to try. Medication for allergies is cheap

FILLY

PROS: Young, nice conformation, great personality

CONS: 1.5 years old, never started a horse, Blade might get attached

THOUGHTS: Having a baby will give me time to get my act together and get a truck and trailer before we are ready to go do things. I’m concerned I may get in over my head starting a young horse.

R TOM CAT

PROS: Ideal age, ideal height, great temperament, trained exactly for what I want to do

CONS: Shod, Other interested parties, well trained may be out of my league

THOUGHTS: I loved this horse but shoes can be expensive and I need to make sure I ride often as he is accustomed to a certain standard

Fast forward a bit…my new horse is coming home tomorrow morning.

WHO WILL IT BE?

The Green Horseman’s Latest Quest As with everything all things must come to an end. For the past year Zeno Bay and Vai Via have been in my care and I have loved and adored them as they if were my own.

#Blade #equine #EquineTherapy #Horse #horselover #Horses #HorseShopping #MajorLifeChanges #TheGreenHorseman #WarriorsBlade

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howellrichard · 6 years

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My 2017 Holiday Gift Guide

Hiya Gorgeous!

I just finished decorating my Christmas tree, digging out the holiday decor from the basement and making my shopping list. Gotta say, I’m ahead with my to-do’s this year and it feels really great because I’m often behind and wondering how I’m going to get it all done. This can lead to stressy last minute gift purchases that no one wants or needs. Can you relate?

With that in mind, we’re kicking off my annual Holiday Gift Guide. I hope it helps you (and me!) get some shopping done in an easy, meaningful way. During the season of giving, consider using this opportunity to share self-care, positivity, wellness and global impact. Your dollars will make a bigger difference if you do.

In the list below, you’ll find a variety of ideas and price ranges, from sweet stocking stuffers, to guidance for finding the calm in the chaos and tapping into spirit, to cozy clothes with a powerful message, to fun & fancy kitchen items and sparkly jewels, and of course (my favorite)—a few phenomenal charities doing incredible things in the world.

I love these products and I bet they’d make the perfect gift for your loved ones—whether you want to send them some good vibes, help boost their well-being, or donate in their honor—the best gift of all.

So get your gift list out, browse the goodies below, and get some shopping done! Psst…I’ve even found a few sale items for you too…keep your eye out for discount codes below.

Get your #holiday gift list out & browse this #HolidayGiftGuide + a few sale items for you too with #discountcodes @Kris_Carr

GOOD VIBES

Sugarboo & Co Canvas Zip Bags ($16)

I love my Sugarboo & Co bag! There’s 20 different quote options so browse for one that resonates. This bag also makes a unique gift wrap, makeup pouch, travel bag, or pencil case. Check it out.

Love Bomb Mason Jars ($13)

Who wouldn’t want to drink a big glass of green juice out of this? With 8 different design options, these love bomb jars are the perfect blast of sunshine. Check it out.

Letters to my Future Self ($14.95)

I saw this in a store in Venice and had to buy one for me and my BF Marie. This book contains 12 letters—each with a prompt to inspire reflection. The letters can be sealed with stickers and postdated, arriving in the future. A thoughtful present for anyone embarking on a new adventure or stage of life. Check it out.

Beyonce Wake Pray Slay Journal ($25)

I love me some Queen B! This beautiful black and gold journal is the perfect place to write down all your dreams, affirmations and actions for your bright future. Bonus—it comes with three pencils too. Check it out.

Love Bomb Mason Jars ($13)

How amazing is this? A jar stuffed with notes from all your loved ones and friends—delivered to your doorstep. This is the perfect gift for healing, weddings, birthdays, teachers, military, holidays, graduations—you name it! A wonderful way to show someone how loved and special they are. Check it out.

GIVEBACK

She’s the First ($25+)

Nothing feels better than to pay it forward for someone else. She’s the First fights gender inequality through education. 100% of donations go to scholarship funds to support girls in low-income countries. With different giving levels, you can be matched with a She’s the First scholar whose progress you can follow. Donations can be one-time or monthly. Check it out.

The David Sheldrick Wildlife Trust Fostering Program (minimum $50/year)

The David Sheldrick Wildlife Trust fosters orphan elephants. When a baby elephant is orphaned, it’s because its mother and family have been killed to serve the brutal ivory trade. For an elephant, family is all important. Sponsor an elephant as a gift for the elephant lover in your life. They’ll receive a certificate with their adoption info and updates on how their elephant is doing. Great gift for an elephant lover! Check it out.

Adopt a Farm Animal with Farm Sanctuary

The reason I love Farm Sanctuary is because they aren’t just a sanctuary—they also advocate for laws and policies, reach out to legislators and businesses and help to bring about institutional reforms. How awesome is that?! Farm Sanctuary’s shelter animals are in need of loving parents to sponsor their monthly costs—feed, shelter, and vet care. This is a wonderful gift for any animal lover—you can adopt a cow, pig, donkey, sheep, goat, chicken, and more, providing support for a rescued farm animal and helping to defend all farm animals against cruelty. Check it out.

The Sato Project

This year, in the wake of Hurricane Maria, I hosted a flash fundraiser to support The Sato Project, which works to save abandoned and abused dogs from Dead Dog Beach in Puerto Rico. Together, we raised almost $100K!! This wonderful organization, run by the amazing Chrissy Beckles, took a direct hit from the Hurricane and is still in great need of support. Donate to their Hurricane Maria relief fund in honor of someone you love—and help sato pups get the love and care they deserve. Check it out.

Make a Contribution to the NRDC

Donate to the Natural Resources Defense Council in honor of your favorite nature lover. NRDC is a really important organization that helps protect the wild and wildlife. Make a tax-deductible donation in someone’s honor or memory. Your heartfelt gift helps NRDC to safeguard the environment. And they’ll mail your recipient a card letting them know your generous donation was made in their name! Check it out.

BEAUTY & SELF-CARE

Annmarie Gift Bundles ($145.95 and up – plus 25% off!)

I love these all-natural beauty gift sets from my pal Annmarie. Her love-filled essential oils are a wonderful way to share self-care. Choose from her six gift set options—and each one comes with a cute bag to store all the goodies! Plus I have a special discount code for you! Get a 25% discount on all full-priced items until 11/30 using the code ‘RADIATEBEAUTY’. Check it out.

W3LL PEOPLE Expressionist Pro Mascara ($21.99)

I get this mascara for my mom each year, she lives for it! Best gift ever! I also keep one in my makeup bag too. Give this to your favorite beauty maven—I promise they’ll love it! Check it out.

Herbivore x Urban Outfitters Hair Perfume Mist ($12)

Mmmm…this spray is so delicious. Using all-natural ingredients, it’s the perfect spritzer to make your locks smell and feel fresh. With different scents to try out, this is a wonderful treat for any lady (or man!) who wants their hair to smell fantastic. Check it out.

Paddywax Balsam + Fir Candle ($20)

There’s nothing more peaceful than lighting up a beautiful candle. This Balsam + Fir candle by Paddywax is the perfect scent for the holiday and winter season, composed of clean-burning soy wax, a mix of fragrant oils and a 100% cotton wick. Check it out.

EcoTools Four-Piece Complexion Brush Set ($19.99)

This four-brush set is so incredibly fluffy and 100% vegan! The brushes are great at picking up the exact amount of powder needed and the domed tip on the Correcting Concealer Brush is perfect for reaching the nooks and crannies of your face. Check it out.

Light Therapy Lamp ($69.95)

For dark winter climates, this light therapy lamp is a game-changer! Set yourself up for a little light soaking session and you’re sure to feel perkier—and healthier than before! Check it out.

STOCKING STUFFERS

Best Friends Luggage Tag ($8)

Best Friends Animal Society is working hard to create a world where there’s no more homeless pets—they believe we can save them all (and so do I)! Add some four-legged fun to your luggage with a Best Friends luggage tag. With 3 options, these tags were designed exclusively for Best Friends by New York designer R. Nichols. Cute, right? Check it out.

Palomino Blackwing Pencils ($22.95)

These pencils have history! First created in the 1930’s, Blackwing built a following (including John Steinbeck and Chuck Jones, who used them to create Bugs Bunny & other Looney Tunes). Discontinued in the 90’s, people were paying as much as $40 for a pencil. In 2010, the brand was revived for a new generation of creatives. A portion of the sales benefits the Blackwing Foundation—which funds and develops arts and music education for kids. Check it out.

In the Soulshine Sticker Pack ($10.95)

Perfect for your day planner or computer! This vegan pack of goodies is a great way to spread your message of compassion and get a daily reminder of why you chose the plant-based life. A wonderful gift for your favorite vegan! Check it out.

FOOD & FUN

Garden Jar Window Herb Kit ($54)

This Herb Essentials Garden Jar Set features three self-watering herb kits:Basil, Parsley and Mint. Each mason jar has a passive hydroponic system known as “wicking,” which brings water up to the plant’s roots. Grow indoors on a sunny windowsill, then add to your favorite sauces, soups, salads and more. All seeds are certified organic and/or non-GMO. Check it out.

Vitamix Reconditioned 5300 – SALE! ($259.95)

As you probably already know, I’m a HUGE fan of Vitamix. It helps with all my smoothie and blending needs. And this baby’s currently on mega sale—scoop it up for the smoothie lover in your life (even if it’s you!). Check it out.

Le Creuset Tea Kettle ($84.95)

Oh, how I love a nice warm cup of tea! This fancy kettle is a tried and true classic for any tea lover. Some of the perks: it’s heat-resistant, ergonomic and the loop handle ensures a secure grip. Plus, it’s looks absolutely gorgeous on the stove. Just sayin’. Check it out.

Psst…If it’s out of your price range, check this one out.

KitchenAid Sparkling Beverage Maker ($263.77)

Want to make your own bubbly drinks? This sparkling beverage maker is my fave! You can add a hint of lime or whatever your taste buds are craving! The best part is you know what’s going in it and you’re not buying plastic bottles that contribute to environmental waste. Check it out.

Mercy for Animals Love Notions Tote ($24.99)

Show your love and kindness for farmed animals with Mercy for Animal’s endearingly sweet, all-over-printed shoulder tote. The perfect bag to bring to the Farmer’s Market! Check it out.

Mercy for Animals Cow Kindness Bottle ($24.99)

Mercy for Animal’s super cute water bottle will quench your thirst while gently reminding the world that we all have boundless compassion to share—including with our animal friends. Check it out.

VitaJewel Bottles with Crystals ($78.00)

A wonderful and pretty way to pass along the gift of hydration. This lead-free, glass water bottle comes with one interchangeable gem pod (with amethyst, rose quartz, and clear quartz). Check it out.

CALENDARS

Sierra Club Calendars ($15.95)

This calendar will inspire you to explore and protect our beautiful planet. The Sierra Club is an environmental organization founded by John Muir, that’s helping to preserve our world and is an outlet for activists who want to protect our Earth. Check it out.

MUTTS 2018 Wall Calendar ($18)

Show how much you love MUTTS with this joy-filled cute calendar. Inside, there’s tributes to many beloved MUTTS characters, along with a few of the classic strips! Check it out.

Best Friends 2018 Desk Calendar ($24)

Made by designer R. Nichols, this animal-themed desk calendar lets you know what day it is, along with very charming, unique artwork that’s great for the home and office. Check it out.

COOKBOOKS

Crazy Sexy Juice (Hardcover: $25.50; Paperback: $14.96)

New Year, new you is coming! No better time to kick-start good habits, and no better way to do it than with fresh, yummy juices or smoothies! In fact, if changing your diet seems like too much to handle, start here. Grab yourself or your secret Santa a copy of Crazy Sexy Juice. It’s filled with 100+ juice, smoothie and nut milk recipes as well as an easy and energizing three-day cleanse. Cheers! Check it out.

Chloe’s Kitchen: 125 Easy, Delicious Recipes for Making the Food You Love the Vegan Way by Chloe Coscarelli ($12.34)

I’ll be honest, I use this one so much that it’s broken—held together with a big paper clip! Chloe’s Kitchen is filled with a big array of recipes that I totally adore, along with tried and true tips for even the most seasoned chef. Check it out.

Oh She Glows Every Day: Quick and Simply Satisfying Plant-based Recipes by Angela Liddon ($15.48)

Coming from the popular Oh She Glows blog, this is Angela’s second cookbook and it’s focus is convenience. If you’re feeling busy and your schedule is packed, this is a treasure chest of nutritious recipes for the busy lifestyle. I love all the tips for adjusting recipes to you and your fam’s dietary needs. Check it out.

Happy Healthy Vegan Kitchen by Kathy Patalsky ($13.99)

Kathy’s cookbook is a staple for the seasoned vegan or newbie, with loads of flavor-packed recipes and invaluable kitchen tips. And her vibe is infectious—who doesn’t wanna make cooking fun?! Check it out.

SOUL

Coming Soon! Extraordinary: Meditations for a Magnificent Life

I’ve created a special new meditation album—just in time for the holidays! Enter your info below so you can be the first to know when it’s here. This will make the perfect holiday gift! Stay tuned for more details coming soon…

My new meditation album comes out in a few days. Be the first to know when it’s released:

Crazy Sexy Love Notes ($7)

Pass on the gift of daily self-love. The fact is, we all deserve it. My 52-card deck features gorgeous illustrations by artist Lori Portka. Inside you’ll find gentle yet powerful reminders to care and appreciate one’s self at the deepest level—each and every day. SALE! Hay House is having a $7 Card Deck sale through Thursday, 11/30—grab this great stocking stuffer before the savings disappear! Check it out.

Crazy Sexy Miracles – SALE: $99

After years of teaching together, Gabrielle Bernstein, and I have created the Crazy Sexy Miracles Lecture Collection—the full set of videos from our lecture series. The soulful lessons, actionable tools and incredible humor in this 9 hour video collection teach us how to deepen our spiritual practice, amp up our wellness routine and start showing up for our brilliant life today! Check it out.

COZY CLOTHING

Pencils of Promise Crewneck ($50)

Pencils of Promise believes everyone deserves access to a quality education. And they make cute swag too! 100% of proceeds will go towards educating children in Ghana, Guatemala and Laos. Check it out.

Herbivore Clothing Compassion is Invincible ($40)

Love the message on this slouchy shirt from Herbivore Clothing: Compassion Is Invincible. It can save lives and change the world. Let it start with you! Check it out.

Travel Threads T-Shirt ($34.99)

I love the message on these adorable t-shirts! Perfect for the women and little ladies in your life. A reminder that courage and being strong IS beautiful! Bonus: a portion of the proceeds goes to the Kiva organization, which offers loans to entrepreneurs living in poverty so they can realize their full potential (by starting a business, going to school, etc.). Check it out.

Pawj Vegan Boots ($149.97)

Wanna keep your tootsies warm this winter? Pawj Vegan Boots are made with high quality suede and faux fur which makes them 100% vegan. The boots are offered in five different colors and many fur patterns and are stain and water resistant. Check it out.

Love Your Melon ($40)

Winter accessories that help kids with cancer—my heart is melting! Love Your Melon began with the simple idea of putting a hat on every child battling cancer in America. To date, they’ve given over 2.8 million dollars to nonprofit partners and shared over 120,000 hats to kids with cancer. They ROCK. Check it out.

JEWELS

Tiny Devotions Limitless Collection Mala Beads ($98 – $127)

Mala beads are a meditation tool that help harness the healing and restorative power of gemstones. I love the message behind these beads: “You were born Limitless. There are no rules you need to abide by. The only thing stopping yourself, is you.” Pass this on as a loving gift to anyone in need of some quiet, meditative time and beautiful gemstone jewelry. SALE! Get 10% off with the discount code crazysexy10 at checkout. Check it out.

Rose Quartz Guardian from Rock and Raw Jewelry (20% off! – Click for Prices)

Here’s a super fancy gift for those who can afford to splurge this holiday season. This necklace is one of deep heart connection and opening. It comes in regular size and mini, in solid gold and silver, and you can even add a diamond suspension. The rose quartz that Rock & Raw uses is special, completely inclusion free, and the highest grade of rose quartz on the planet—most people won’t have experienced rose quartz just quite like it! Discount Alert! Use the code ‘GIFT’ it will give them 20% off and free shipping worldwide. All orders placed before 8th December will arrive in time for Christmas. Check it out.

Your turn: What are your favorite gifts to give? Share with me in the comments below. I’d love to add to my list!

Peace and happy shoppin’,

The post My 2017 Holiday Gift Guide appeared first on KrisCarr.com.

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