#Christmas time has beaten me to a pulp this year

[elitadream]

Goodness, what a week. =_= Coming up with a concept on the spot and assuming that I could remotely finish it on time was wishful thinking. Looks like I won't have a chance to draw the Christmas themed idea I had in mind, unfortunately. 🥲😮‍💨

#I've been insanely busy and have learned about a few change of plans today on top of that 🙇‍♀️ #RIP #Not having my tablet or more than an hour of spare time to myself is exhausting #Christmas time has beaten me to a pulp this year #I'm SO tired it's ridiculous 😭 #The good news though? I should be able to share two pieces between the 26th and 31th 🙏 #That'll make up for it! #Plus I might have just found a way to integrate my previous idea to a future piece #So... there's that at least 😅 #I expect the last week of december to go a bit more smoothly #Or at least I hope so 🥺 #Wishing rest to everyone else who needs it atm 😴💫

[bugsy-maria]

Sherlock x Sister reader part 1 TW

TW: mentions of PHYSICAL ABUSE, RAPE, INCEST (If you think i missed one please let me know so i can add it)

(Y/N)' POV

age: 8

I walked up the stairs and walked to Mycroft's room whose door was open. he and Sherlock were playing deductions. They never let me play because they say that I won't be able to understand, but I want to spend time with my twin. I haven't spent time with him for two years, and all I want is him back.

"Can I play?"

"No."

"You never let me play Mycroft."

"Fine, you can play."

"Really?!"

"on one condition." He holds up a finger

"I'll do it."

"Great. so every time you get a deduction wrong. We get to hit you."

"Why?"

"To learn how bruises would affect someone like you." The game had started. Needless to say that by the end of it I was beaten to a pulp.

Age: 13

I was rummaging through Mycroft's drawers because Eurus said he took my homework.

" What are you doing in my room?"

"Trying to find my homework." I was still rummaging through his desk

"Shouldn't it be in your room?"

"Eurus told me you took it." my head was under his desk and he walked up behind me.

"Well, she lied. But if you wanna stay you can help me with an experiment." my head hit the desk as I jumped up. not once has anyone asked for my help.

"You want my help?!" I said as I spun.

"Yes, Sherlock won't do since I need someone average."

-TIME-SKIP-

I lay on my bed numb. the spot in between my legs was burning. it hurt to walk. I was laying in bed for hours. I had school in a couple of hours but I didn't feel like it. I haven't eaten and I don't feel like it. all I feel is regret, regret for not stopping him. all I can think of is what I did to deserve this. twins weren't supposed to help people do that.

Age: 24

it happened again. I got back home from a date and the guy walked me home. he seemed nice until he did to me what Mycroft did. speaking of which I haven't seen him in years. I live with Sherlock now. currently, I am laying on the sofa. its where I sleep.

Age: 32

I was sitting at the table looking up new cases that would be good enough for Sherl. I took a sip of my coffee. since there wasn’t much, left I finished it and through the stylophone cup on the ground along with all the others.

Sherlock came in through the door. I didn't look up though, too focused on finding a new case so Sherlock would get off my arse.

"This is (Y/N) she lives here too."

"It's nice to meet you, I'm John." I saw a hand stretched out in the corner of my eye. I shooed it away since it distracted me from what I needed to do. I had to find a case that would make Sherlock notice and be proud of me. it is harder than you would expect. John drew his hand back and looked at me weird. I don't really care what others think of me now.

I get up and the chair gets pushed back. I go to the kitchen, I grab a coffee cup and pour the old coffee that was made 15 minutes ago. I go back to my chair and continue to strain my eyes on the bright screen. Sherlock had been showing John around during this time. Mrs. Hudson walks into the kitchen and starts to clean up.

"What about these suicides Sherlock. Thought they would be right up your street. Three exactly the same." that's when I got mad. I didn't show it of course but I did look over at the poor old woman and gave her a pretty nasty glare. how could she be better at finding cases for Sherlock then I am?

"Four." Sherlock's voice filled the room as he looked out the window. "There's been a forth, but there is something different this time." I knew what he was saying. the police wouldn't have come for him if there wasn't after all.

Henry or whatever his name comes up the stairs of 221b. He and Sherlock were talking of what was different. it didn't appeal to me since it's not like I’ll be tagging along. I never get invited. I was hoping he would like me to be his assistant, but that didn't happen of coarse. why would it?

Sherlock jumps in front of me after he left. "Brilliant! Yes!" he shouted like a kid that got a shiny Nimbus two-thousand on Christmas.  Sherlock got ready to head out the door, putting on his coat and everything. Sherlock ran out the door. I spaced out thinking of the time when me and Sherlock were close and loved each other very much. I always think of that time whenever he leaves the flat.

"Damn my leg!" I jumped at the shouting. thinking I had done something wrong.

"I'm sorry!" I shouted back before he could excuse himself for shouting. they didn't hear me. I am normal after all. most people open their mouths but nothing ever comes out and no one ever hears you. except when Sherlock is speaking everyone listens.

"You're a doctor." I looked over at the voice. Sherlock was standing in all of his glory as always that is. before I knew it John and him were out the door. before I could control my body I was out the door following. I was sick and tired of not being noticed. I was going to help. even if I died I will.

Tags:

@burdened-withglorious-purpose

#sherlock #x reader #sherlock x reader #angst #fanfic #fanfiction #fiction #reader insert #john watson

[wonderlandleighleigh]

A brief chat about antisemitism

Since December, I have watched people attack fandom artists for daring to draw specific characters in Santa hats. They’ve got from claiming Islamophobia, to Antisemitism, to incest shipping.

And I am tired. 

I cannot speak to the Islamophobia, but reblogged someone who could not to long ago. That post can be found further down the blog.

I don’t think I know many people who do incest shipping. I follow a bunch of bat-blogs. But I generally don’t see much of it.

I DO want to address the claims of antisemitism, because as a Jewish woman in fandom, I feel it’s important to call shit out when I see it. 

Drawing a Santa hat on a character whose religion is, at best, ambiguous (his father’s mother was Jewish. His father was not raised Jewish. His mother’s family’s religion is ?? because they were terrorists who mostly worshiped his grandfather) does not count.

It’s not antisemitism. 

It’s not.

Let me say it once more, with feeling.

This is not, in any way, antisemitism. 

Nobody said being Jewish was bad. Nobody said the characters could NOT be Jewish. Nobody went after anybody who was Jewish. Real people were not, to my knowledge, attacked for being Jewish. They just didn’t draw them depicted as such. 

And because these 80-year-old characters’ religions are, again, ambiguous (DC themselves have portrayed Bruce Wayne celebrating Christmas for literal decades, and never shown him celebrating or practicing Judaism), this should not be a big deal.

But people keep screaming about antisemitism. 

And I am so angry about it, I could scream.

Because there are some really fucked up things happening to Jewish people all over the world. All the time. I’ve experienced antisemitism personally. People used to draw swastikas on my things at school, and kids used corner me and tell me their grandparents were Nazis. I have friends who were beaten to bloody pulps for being Jews. 

Let me tell ya. 

Drawing a Santa hat on a fictional character? Could it be viewed as some sort of erasure? Maybe. If you pay no attention to canon and just pay attention to your own personal head canons. 

But this is not Jews being attacked for being Jewish. And if people feel attacked, there are other ways to deal with that feeling than telling people to go kill themselves.

So to calm my nerves, because at this point, reading through all of this for over a month, has frayed the shit out of them, I encourage everyone to  check out the below link to the ADL, which as some really good definitions for Antisemitism, antizionism, anti Israeli sentiments and criticisms and is just a good place to educate oneself about such matters.

The Anti Defamation League! 

EDIT: I'm adding in a link to T'ruah, a Rabbinic human rights group who work towards human rights in north America, Israel and Palestine, and urges Israel to stop trying to expand and for all parties to sit down and come to a peaceful resolution.

*takes a deep, cleansing breath* 

Okay.

Back to nerdery.

#Judaism #Antisemitism in fandom #For the record #I am INCREDIBLY critical of Israel and their actions #because holy shit #fandom talk

[yourdeepestfathoms]

In Our Bedroom After The War

[Broadway Kids]

Prompt: “Fuck what they think. I respect you and if they don’t, I’ll break their knees.”

Word count: 2944

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

Tommy can’t quite remember when Carrie stopped speaking. Some people said it was in the third grade after she brought that Bible to school and started praying in the middle of lunch, others said after the Christian Youth Camp incident and she swallowed so much water that she “permanently clogged her vocal cords” or something stupid. Whatever happened, something had made Carrie White go silent, and she’s been a target of mockery since.

Deaf and dumb. That’s what the other kids liked to call her. But she isn’t deaf, Tommy knows, because she always reacts to what is said about her with great offense and pain, and she certainly isn’t dumb because Tommy has seen her grades when her report cards are stolen and passed around by bullies. She’s a smart girl, very smart. If anything, he was the dumb one, because the amount of times he’s almost given away their little get-togethers was unbelievable.

It started a month into the school year, he believed. He went into senior year, while Carrie just started high school. He can’t quite remember what caused them to start meeting up in the hidden bathroom under the staircase in the C hall stair well, and he’ll admit that he had never imagined himself hanging out with the city’s resident freak and actually enjoy it, but he would seriously miss their reclusive meetings every Friday after school if they were to ever stop.

Today in particular was very special. 1) because he was finally going to try and teach Carrie about video games (she was fourteen! she should at least know the basics like Pokemon and Mario!) and 2) he had noticed that Carrie seemed a little off the past week and he wanted to ask her about it.

When you saw someone like Carrie White, you would assume that she was constantly in a state of anxiety and depression, but Tommy has learned to pick up on little ticks she does over time. Like how lately, she’s been tugging on her hair and biting her knuckles more often, something she only does if something is really bothering her. Because of their social status in the high school hierarchy, he was never able to ask her if she was alright, so non verbal forms of communication would have to do until their weekly meetup.

There’s the way he tried to avoid letting her out of sight, and if it isn’t that, then it's the way they move around each other in natural synchronicity in the hallway, like celestial bodies that have been caught in orbit for millennia. It's the way he makes excuses to walk alone to class just to make sure she doesn’t get any trouble on the way to her own. It's the silent conversations, an inquisitive look (“You okay?”) answered by a minute nod (“All good.”). It’s everything he wishes he had done for her before his final year of high school.

He tried not to think about it. Tried not to think about how Carrie would soon be all alone again after he graduates. Tried not to think about what would happen to her when he isn’t there as her silent guardian. Tried not to think about how sad he would be without seeing her every day anymore.

Tommy slipped inside the bathroom, shutting the door as quietly as possible to avoid alerting anyone who may have been lurking around, and turned to face the rest of the space. Carrie is sitting at the sink counter on one of two stools Tommy had smuggled in there for them. She turned her head to look at him sideways, but she’s still got her nose buried in a sketchbook, which she still hasn't let him look at. He wondered what she's drawing. Maybe it's a treasure map. Or a secret code. Or that deer they saw earlier. Or him.

  “The party has arrived!” Tommy has announced, his voice rebounding loudly off of the silent bathroom walls. He dropped his backpack on the floor, unlike Carrie had done, as hers was hung up on one of the hooks on the wall.

Carrie finally put her pencil down and swiveled around completely in her stool to smile at him. She doesn’t show any teeth with her grin, and it’s slightly wry, but it’s a smile nonetheless and Tommy is honored to get such a thing from her. He examined her quickly, luckily finding no new wounds from bullying, then crossed over. She hastily closed her sketchbook.

  “One day,” He said. “One day I will see your masterpiece.”

Carrie gave him an apologetic look, her smile becoming a little more tight. She grabbed a nearby whiteboard to write on, but stopped when Tommy waved a hand.

  “No, no,” He said. “No need for that! I’ve been doing really well in my ASL class- you can sign to me!”

Carrie looked skeptical, but Tommy doesn’t miss the flash of excitement in her warm honey eyes. It’s not often that someone understands her when she uses sign language.

  “Come on, I’m smarter than I look! Don’t doubt my abilities to learn a new language!”

Carrie nodded. She held up her hands, shaking down the frayed sleeves of her shirt, and began to sign.

  “What (something) we (something) today?”

Okay, maybe he wasn’t AS fluent as he thought, but Carrie looked so much more comfortable being able to sign! He could just use his context clues!

  “Something very fun!” Tommy assured her. He took out his phone and turned on a playlist that they’ve been progressively adding more and more songs to (with Carrie having to write hers down and give the list to him, seeing as she didn’t own any electronics). You can tell who added what like this: if it’s Christian related or something grungy-chill, Carrie probably added it; if it has folk music vibes and/or a lot of acoustic guitars, it was probably Tommy, surprisingly enough; if it just generally sounds like it’s ripped from an indie movie, it’s kind of a toss up.

He took out the Nintendo Switch he got last Christmas next and set it up on the sink counter. Carrie tilted her head at it as if it were a peculiar flower that had just sprouted out of the porcelain countertop. 

  “Ever played before?” Tommy asked, although he already knew the answer.

  “No. (something) I’ve seen (something) (something).”

  “You’ve seen it before?” Tommy repeated, guessing just by the way Carrie had pointed to her eyes.

Carrie nodded.

  “Well, now you get to play it!” Tommy beamed at her and she smiled back, but it seems a little forced. Something is definitely on her mind- he’ll have to ask once she’s a little more relaxed. “Hmm… How about Minecraft?”

  “M-I-N-E-C-R-A-F-T. I’ve heard (something) (something).”

  “It’s fun!” Tommy assured her, selecting the game. “Trust me, you’ll like it.” He put the controllers in her hands and she rubs her thumbs over the rubber protectors. “So the main goal is surviving,” He went on. “There's a lot of objectives actually, but surviving is always the first one. Once you get used to it, you can play in Survival mode and start making a good base and start getting tools and armor and stuff, then you can move on to other objectives. But for now you can just play in Creative. What should we name the world?”

Carrie thought for a few moments, and Tommy could practically see all the random names cycling through her brain. After a moment, she signed, “(something)”

Tommy blinked.

  “One more time.”

  “(something)”

  “Can you fingerspell it, please?”

  “V-E-N-U-S.”

  “Oh! Venus! We haven’t learned planets yet.” Tommy said. “Wait- Venus?”

  “V-E-N-U-S (something) (something) (something) cool place (something) live.”

Tommy laughed. “Can’t argue with that logic!” He helped Carrie type in the name and clicked through a couple of other settings before hitting “create world”. Within a few moments the world was up and running. Carrie’s character was off in no time, exploring the blocky landscape and sifting through her colorful inventory, although her movements were sporadic and jerky since it was her first time playing.

Decorating the base was by far Carrie’s favorite part. There were so many different flowers for the outside and wood types for flooring and even COLORED glass. The only thing that would make it better was if you could have animals and OH MY GOODNESS YOU COULD HAVE ANIMALS!!!!!!!!

For a moment, Tommy debated just leaving Carrie there and allowing her to design the base and play around however she wanted, but he couldn't. He was so worried that someone may waltz in and see her in the boy’s bathroom and then do something to her. Carrie being nearly drowned in one of the toilets, Carrie getting her head smashed against the sink counter, Carrie being raped, Carrie getting beaten into a bloody pulp- so many horrible scenarios forced their way into his head. Carrie getting her throat slit, Carrie getting her body stuffed in the air vent, Carrie getting sodomized with a mop stick.

Why? Why were kids so cruel to her? Why couldn’t Tommy protect her from everything? Why does he know he can’t?

There was a soft touch on his hand and he jolted out of his thoughts. Carrie flinched away, too, then signed something he couldn’t understand, but knew she was asking if he was okay by the pinched expression on her face.

  “I’m okay,” He assured her. “Just thinking.”

She made the gesture of “what” and tilted her head. Then she pointed to herself.

About me?

  “Yeah,” Tommy admitted.

That made Carrie’s nose scrunch up in a giggle.

  “Don’t (something) S-U-E know.”

  “If you think that I would cheat on my girlfriend with a fish, then you are very much wrong.” Tommy said. “What about you? What’s been on your mind?”

Carrie put the Switch controllers down and shrugged her shoulders. She began to play with the cuff of her sleeve, not really making eye contact anymore.

  “Come on,” Tommy urged. “You can tell me!”

  “People,” Carrie signed vaguely.

  “People?” Tommy echoed. “People being rude to you?”

Carrie shrugged again, and it was clear she didn’t really want to talk about this anymore, nor did she seem to be in a mood to continue playing. Tommy packed up the Nintendo Switch and paused their shared playlist. He gave Carrie her backpack and they started to walk out of the school in mutual silence.

  “Sorry,” Tommy said as they neared the parking lot. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Carrie shook her head, then signed, “You didn’t. Don’t worry.”

  “Yeah, but-”

  “Well if it isn’t praying Carrie!”

Carrie went rigid, like she had been struck by lightning. She stopped mid-step and didn’t move as a group of seniors trot over, their faces alight with mischief and cruelty.

  “Ross!” One of them called. “What are you doing with this freak?”

  “Is she holding you hostage?” Another guessed, casting a look at Carrie.

  “I bet she’s leading him out to his car to force him to let her ride him.” A third said. The group howled with diseased laughter at that. Tommy is appalled. Carrie looked ill. “Is that it, church girl? The need for sex has finally broken into you and you’re ready to sin?”

  “Back off!” Tommy growled, shoving the boy away. He put himself between him and Carrie, becoming a barricade of sorts. “Leave her alone.”

  “I wonder how loud she’ll moan,” A fourth member of the group mused.

  “Can she even moan?” The second wondered out loud.

  “If you plowed into her hard enough I bet she’ll make some sort of sound.” The first said.

Carrie darted left and sprinted for the nearby line of trees edging the campus. Tommy glared at the group of seniors, then followed, concerned. 

The darkness of the forest quickly closes around them. Carrie is fast on her feet, but Tommy was an athlete and he caught up quickly. He snagged the back of her jacket in a loose grip. They stumbled together over uneven ground and exposed tree roots until Carrie collapsed in a hollow between two moss-covered rocks. Tommy slotted himself in front of her so that she’s shielded from all sides- the rocks and Tommy forming a barrier from the world.

He said nothing. He listened to the girl’s gasping breaths and knew that it’s nothing that words can cure- not anymore. Not after years of having no one, being stabbed in the back and spoon fed lies. He closed his eyes and immersed himself in the rustling of oak leaves, the distant calls of birds, the persistent harmony of crickets.

He wondered what Carrie used to ground herself.

He wondered if she grounded herself at all.

Slowly, softly, Carrie calmed to some degree. It comes faster than Tommy expected, but he assumed that’s just because she’s grown used to the treatment she gets. She shifted, wiggling her shoes beneath Tommy’s thigh. Tommy doesn’t shift. He won’t leave until she does.

  “It’s okay,” He finally whispered. “I’m here. I won’t let them hurt you.”

Carrie whimpered and made a sloppy gesture- Why?

  “Because I care about you.” Tommy said. “Fuck what they think. I respect you and if they don’t, I’ll break their knees.”

He wanted to make her laugh or smile or at least stop crying, but Carrie just whimpered again. She swiveled around to face him, eyes flashing with tears. 

  “Why?” She signed again, sniffling miserably.

  “We’re friends.” Tommy told her. “You know that, don’t you?” The look he got said that she didn’t believe it. “Come on. Tell me some things you know about me. You’d be surprised how well you know me.”

Carrie hesitated, then began to sign, “Your name is Tommy Ross.” She winced at how bland it was, but Tommy only nodded, brushing a bit of his dark brown hair out of his eyes. Carrie’s face scrunched up like she’s memorizing her timestaple in front of him, struggling to bring that gridded mess of numbers to mind. 

  “You’re the tallest (something) (something) everyone (something) your team,” She continued. The sky overhead is eye-wateringly blue, with crisply white cotton clouds scudding along the horizon. A light breeze shakes the leaves of a nearby oak tree that has the initials of some high school sweethearts carved into the base of its trunk. They’re a little crooked from where someone’s hand had slipped, the flat of a switchblade arcing a little too close to the bark, and making a J thicker, almost a U when you looked at it dead on. 

  “That’s right,” Tommy said. He knows his role here is only background noise. That’s his job, whether Carrie knows it or not, and he’s more than happy to fulfill it. He doesn’t mind being subject to the scrutiny of befriending ol’ praying Carrie because of it. Not if it’s what she needs to feel better.

  “Your eyes (something) like a (something) green-brown, (something) (something) like slimy algae. You always have (something) stupid red sports jacket on. Your sneakers (something) (something) white, once upon a time.” She managed to tease him, uttering out a tiny giggle.

  “What can I say, Carrie, I’m a filthy gremlin, like all boys are-” He joked, and she swatted him lightly on the arm. She bit back a laugh, and Tommy wished that she wouldn’t- Carrie tips her head back when she laughs, unabashed and on the edge of hysterical, giggling and snorting, shoulders shaking with mirth until she’s brought her gaze back down again, cheeks flushed from the exertion of being host to that much joy despite everything that she’s been through. No one holds the weight of trauma and mistreatment as heavily on their shoulders as Carrie White does- Carrieta, the library to all of those scattered instances of would-be’s-could-be’s-shouldn’t-be’s. And still, there is a smidge joy. It’s beautiful. He thought that she’s most beautiful when she’s laughing (don’t tell Sue, and if you do, make sure you let her know it’s completely platonic. but just don’t tell her at all).

  “You have, like, (something) favorite red shirt, with a light brown hood on it. And S-U-E thinks it’s hideous.” Carrie continued. She’s tapping her foot against his leg, a gentle soothing gesture, and he lets her. He knew that it’s more for herself than him.

  “You have a golden ring (something) onto a necklace.” Carrie signed. “But you don’t wear it (something) you think it (something) you look silly. But it’s really pretty.” Pause, and when she signed again, it wasn't about the necklace anymore. “It’s (something) (something) like having a sibling.” Pause. Carrie looked up at him with glittering eyes. “You’re Tommy Ross.”

The weight that she placed on his name makes his heart stutter, catching in his chest- the warmth that he felt towards her is almost unbearable, and he found himself grinning, mouth gone crooked in the gesture.

  “I’m Tommy Ross, that’s right,” He repeated to her, as if they’re introducing themselves at some shitty college icebreaker. “And I’m not going anywhere, Carrie.” He went on, a touch of urgency in his voice- and she smiles, eyes closing, though hers are more reserved than his, somehow. There’s a tear bright in the corner of her right eye, and it traced a thin path down her face. More come. They pool at her chin, dripping off of her face, and soaking into the softness of the earth. His chest ached.

  “And you’re not going anywhere,” She whispered, voice hitching a little halfway through. He swiped a thumb over her cheek, flicked the tear off into the green grass behind them. 

  “I’m not,” He promised. “I’m not leaving you, Carrie.” And his voice had gone soft, her name cradled gently in his mouth, like he’s afraid of breaking something precious.

#it hurts because carrie kills tommy in the musical #dont tag as ship or I WILL pee in your sink #carrie #carrie the musical #broadway kids carrie #carrie white #tommy ross #carrie fanfiction #my writing

[vvvracket]

Stubborn Git

on ao3

As he stumbled through the blindingly white corridors, struggling to keep up with the speed of his own feet, Harry was acutely aware of the fact he felt numb. So startlingly numb, that at one point he stopped, only for half a second, to take a deep breath and make sure he still could- that at some point he hadn’t died and ascended to wherever it was you ascend to next.

From the moment Harry had got the call, from the moment he’d felt his heart drop like a lead ball in his chest, he’d felt numb. There weren’t hundreds of thoughts, all trying to push their way to the front of his mind, as was usual for Harry in a crisis. There was no panic, no deafening screams that only Harry could hear, telling him to hurry up and prepare for the worst, oh god oh god he might be dead. There was only the pounding of Harry’s worn out trainers on the gleaming hospital floors, squeaking when he made sharp turns. All Harry could focus on was what was ahead of him, was following the unclear signs that pointed him in the right direction.

Harry didn’t stop when he sprinted through the hospital cafe, didn’t stop at the sounds of babies laughing, people crying, quiet chatter. Harry didn’t stop when he almost ran into a group of nurses clad in blue talking to the patient they were wheeling in the opposite direction to the way Harry was headed. He didn't let the panic set in when it seemed he had got lost, only glanced at the closest sign and turned back around, righting his direction.

He stopped only when he came to the doors of what he was sure was the right ward, bent down to wash his hands in the small basin with too-hot water, and it was only then that everything set in.

Suddenly, the stark lights on the ceiling above him were too bright. The rush of his blood pumped in his ears so loudly that it drowned out the silence of the empty corridor he’d just run down. As if he’d been in a trance before, Harry was now alert, and that was when the panic pushed forward. He shook the droplets that the paper towel hadn’t caught off of his hands, and turned towards the swing-doors that led into the ward the nice woman at the front desk had directed him to.

Muggle hospitals were horrid. St Mungo’s was filled with the smell of dittany and surrounded you with the strength of healing magic. They were filled with promise and hope and the prospect of better times. Muggle hospitals were filled with crying babies and mourning and loss and no way to save the loved ones that lay in the bleach white sheets.

But the ambulance had reached him before Harry had, as always, so the muggle hospital would once again have to do.

Harry frantically looked around, head spinning as his heart stretched tighter and tighter the longer he went without the reassurance that he would be okay. He’ll be okay, they had said on the phone, just a few scratches, and a broken wrist.

He’d be okay, Harry tried to tell his beating heart. He’ll be fine, He told his pounding head. He’s going to be-

Relief flooded through Harry like a heating spell. He broke into a wide, open-mouthed smile when he spotted a tuft of unkempt white hair over the shoulder of a nurse who was holding a clipboard a few beds down. His smile kept as he jogged the few meters over, not leaving even when he saw the black eye that looked like spilt ink on white parchment.

“Draco.” He sighed, before he’d been spotted.

Draco looked up in surprise, and the stern face of concentration he’d had as he listened carefully to the nurse was washed away by a small smile. The nurse looked up too, and on seeing Harry, murmured something about improvements before wandering away to the next patient.

Harry lent down and kissed Draco delicately on the cheek, avoiding a small scratch that had obviously been an open and bleeding one not long before.

“You’re okay.” He said, sighing again, and leaning back to look into the bright grey eyes that were staring back at him.

“Of course I’m okay you dolt. I’m always okay.” Draco replied with a snort, but he didn’t lose his fond smile as Harry sat down onto the chair beside the hospital bed where Draco lay.

“I was so worried, Draco.” Harry said, his wide grin finally wavering as he remembers the panic he felt only minutes ago.

“You always are.” Draco said calmly, glancing over at Harry with the expression of adoration he reserved only for him.

“Well if you’d stop getting yourself beaten to a pulp every two months, maybe I wouldn’t be close to having a heart attack everytime the phone rings.” Harry said, feigning annoyance, when in reality he knew none of this was Draco’s fault.

“Hm, it is about time I see you lying in these scratchy hospital sheets rather than me.” Draco laughed. Harry loved the sight of Draco laughing, possibly more than anything else. It had taken so long to see it. Taken so long to coax so much as a smile out of the frail, damaged boy he’d met at the doors of Hogwarts their first day of eighth year.

For most of the first term, no one heard so much as a word out of Draco. Everyone knew his father was on house arrest, but had gotten off easy because of his last-minute alliance switch, and that his mother sent owls to Draco twice a day. Nearly everyone who had been directly involved in the Final Battle, certainly all of those that had been labelled as War Heros, had received long apology letters from Draco, all handwritten and personal. It seemed that, for a long time, Draco would never forgive himself, even after everyone he’d tormented, everyone he’d bullied, and everyone who could see how much pain he was in, had.

Harry reached across to clasp Draco’s hand in his own, remembering with a frown just how sorry Draco had been for everything, how apologetic, how remorseful, and wondered how four years on, people were still intent on punishing him for the actions he’d made as a scared sixteen year old boy.

Harry tried to pull Draco’s hand up to kiss, but the blonde winced, and Harry gently lowered it.

“Hurts?” Harry asked stupidly, worried green eyes boring into amused grey ones.

“A little, but that’s to be expected isn’t it?” Draco chuckled, and once again Harry was in awe at how strong the twenty-two year laying in front of him was. “While I’ll forever be impressed with how far muggles have developed without wands to help them, there is still only so much they can do without magic.”

“Yes, well, I’ll send for Hermione the minute we get back and it’ll be fixed faster than you can say paracetamol.” Harry smiled, “They did give you paracetamol, right? You’re not in too much pain?” He added, trying desperately to push down the bubble of panic that threatened to rise again. He couldn’t bear to think about Draco in pain.

Draco laughed, nodding, “You’d think after the amount of times this has happened, you’d have brushed up on your healing spells by now.”

Harry immediately lost his smile, and on seeing this, so did Draco.

“Who was it this time?” Harry asked darkly, not able to avoid the issue with pleasant chit-chat any longer. “If it was Knowles again, I swear Draco, I’ll kill him.”

Draco ruefully shook his head, “What good would that do? And it wasn’t Kowles anyway, I haven’t seen him since you and Weaselby did Circe knows what to him.”

“He had it coming.” Harry said simply, “You can’t keep letting them get away with it Draco! It’s been five years since the Final Battle, for Merlin’s sake! It’s not up to you to be the punching bag of those who lost people.” Harry said exasperatedly, knowing full well that Knowles had lost nothing but himself in the years after the War, and had found that firewhisky was a good companion for a broken soul.

“Harry, how many times?” Draco rolled his eyes, “You can’t blame people for being angry. You and Luna still see mind-healers, and Ronald and Herms only stopped seeing theirs last July. The pain is still fresh for so many people Harry, and that pain is in part due to me.”

Harry had heard the speech a hundred times, but it still made no sense. Why on earth should Draco have to pay for his past mistakes, when he was just as young and vulnerable as the rest of them had been? But Harry would never in a million years want to make Draco upset, and if that meant not filing reports whenever twisted vigilantes took their turn on the only Death-Eater they could find, so be it.

“Who was it though Draco?” Harry asked, determined to pay them back for the damage they caused to Harry’s heart by hurting Draco. Draco rolled his eyes, and Harry tried again, “Please, babe? You know I can’t stand to see them just get away with it.” He pleaded, doing his best impression of the puppy he’d bought Teddy last christmas.

“Even if I did agree with your endearing need to avenge my honour, I couldn’t tell you. They must’ve obliviated me before anyone called an ambulance, try as I might, I can’t remember their face.”

At that, Harry groaned in annoyance.

“Oh don’t be stupid Harry, it’s not as if i’m close to death, it was just a few scratches.” He smiled weakly, and Harry knew exactly what he was thinking.

“But what about when they go too far Draco? What will happen the next time i’m at work and you’re alone in muggle London? What happens when they go too far and end up, end up- ?” Harry seethes between gritted teeth, it’s too painful to imagine.

“That won’t happen Harry.” Draco insists.

“How do you-”

Their conversation was cut short when a different nurse from the woman earlier walked to the foot of Draco’s bed.

“You’re free to go Mr. Potter,” The man smiled, “I do hope this time will be the last I see of you.”

The man made some notes to the card at the end of Draco’s bed, then smiled once more and walked away again.

Draco turned towards Harry with a tight smile, “I know that that won’t happen, because I can’t think of one person in wizarding Britain mad enough to kill The Harry Potter’s husband,” His smile turned genuine, “Even if he is Death Eater scum.”

Harry smiled, but reminded himself to bring the conversation back up later, and stood up, helping Draco out of bed.

“Was Death Eater scum,” he corrected, as the pair made their way back down the hospital’s corridors, “Now you’re just a stubborn git- Ouch!” He squealed when Draco pinched his side.

“I am not a git. There’s only one Potter I know that fits that description, and he’s far more stubborn than me.”

#Draco Malfoy #Harry Potter #drarry #hermione #ron #ronmione #hp #ficlet

[that-zambie-writer]

A/N : First post! Requests are welcomed!

“ Told you I’ve killed for less “.

Summary : At the beginning of the war, Daryl is saved by Y/N. It’s clear you’re the key to winning the war against Negan and Daryl brings you into the fold. This imagine follows the events after the war and how he tries to come to terms with accepting your love for him.

The day he first saw you was a day he'd never forget. Not just because you had blood covering you from head to toe or because you had just beaten three men to death for him with your bare hands, but because of the words that came out of your mouth. Daryl had thanked you for saving his life, but all you said was " Don't worry about it. I've killed for less " with a smirk as your nose bled down your lips. Normally, Daryl would've found you to be a psychopath, but in that moment he knew you could be useful in the war with Negan.So without any family or group, you accepted his offer to fight for the good of his people and you did just that.

You slayed through half of Negan’s numbers by yourself and would've been responsible for his death if Rick hadn't told you to stop. That it wasn't what Carl wanted. While you had only known the boy for a short time before he passed, you had to let Rick do this. Even though you wanted the man dead. This gained the trust and love of the various communities which earned you your own place in Alexandria after the war. You'd gained so many friends and admirers, but out of all of them you still gave your full attention to Daryl. He was gold in your eyes, but you seemed never to be able to earn his love.

Which now that he thinks back on it, he was the crazy one. Every guy in any community, even the old saviors who watched you beat Negan to a pulp, would die to be in his place, but he wouldn’t let himself believe it. Even after chasing for him for over a year, he still wouldn’t believe it. Not even when carol herself tried to tell him. Because you were all he’s ever wanted. Why would you want him? Someone could surely make you happy. God knows they were trying to. You wanted Daryl though, but eventually after being ignored for so long you accepted he didn’t want you the way you believed he did. So, you left Alexandria in hopes to put distance between you and him. Rick wasn’t too happy with your decision, but he understood it. And it turned out Carol and the king needed help running the kingdom, so they offered you their head position of security and admission into the kingdom.

You gladly took the position and one month into it, you were starting to feel better about not seeing Daryl every day. Even though you still wonder if he misses the closeness you two shared. Ezekiel and carol began to notice your sadness and begun to suggest you start to date someone they admire, but you always decline. It was only the day it begun to grow cold outside for the second time since the war that you even consider their offer.

" If I agree will you shut up finally ? " You sigh, rubbing your face too avoid seeing Ezekiel's smile. Carol and Jerry grin from his sides " I will entirely shut my mouth if you agree, Y/N ". You peek from between your fingers and roll your eyes at their smiling faces " Fine. Set it up! But I'm only agreeing to fifteen minutes of my time! ". They do a small cheer as this was a big conquest for the three and you left the old auditorium to begin your working day. The chill hit your bones welcomingly and as much as you didn't want things to change for you, you tell yourself that it’s good for you. You aren’t the woman to let a man bring her so down and to be honest you’re lonely.

Atleast when you lived in Alexandria, you had the hope Daryl would come around, but here you felt empty. No hope at all. " This will be good for you " You whisper, moving towards the breakfast line to ensure everything goes smoothly. Generally there are no issues with the food line, other than Mrs.Perkins having a blood sugar spike, but you still like to make sure it goes as planned.

Daryl on the other hand is just finishing his day. He'd spent the entire night hunting , anything to keep his mind off of the reality that you aren’t coming back. He's missing the nights you two spent together. Which was every night. Rather that was you cooking for him, sharing drinks, or watching Judith while Rick got alone time with michonne. It was his routine. It has nearly been a year since you up and left over night. You didn't even say goodbye. He feels responsible. He knows you were waiting for him to put himself out there, but you couldn't wait anymore. What truly hurts the worse for him is that he can still smell your perfume on all of his clothes. He’d given it to you as a Christmas gift and you wore it everyday. He couldn't escape you.

He’s greeted at Alexandria by the usual crew on guard, but he’s in no mood to respond.He’s tired and justs wants to crawl in bed after the long fruitless night he had. Which is exactly what he does, but as soon as he climbs into bed he smells you there too. Memories flood in of your laughter and the nights you slept in his bed, content enough with just being near him and knowing he was near. His eyes locked into the purple wine stain you left one night. You both were so buzzed that it didn’t bother either person and he remembers you tossing the rest of your wine on him. “ What are you going to do about it huh? “ You dare, eyes full and doe eyed waiting for him to react.

He only threw the rest onto your shirt causing you to scream in laughter. You climbed over to him to try and retaliate, but he grabbed both of your wrists before you could " What do you think your doin' ? ". He can still see the dark in your eyes that seemed to draw him in every time and the plump in your lips that begged to be kissed. But he didn't. He let you go. And a week later you were gone. He grips the sheet where the stain was lighter now. As sad as it was, he wants to just stay right here for the rest of his life. Or until your smell fades away. Though the world has other plans for him as his door receives a knock from Rick who lets himself in.

Daryl shoots up and finds him in the kitchen, leaning over the counter with his hands covering his elbows. As soon as Daryl is in his sights , he straightens up and gives him a look over " I need you to go to the kingdom ". This obviously is a lot to ask since everyone knows the reason why he hasn’t returned there in a year. " No.Not happenin' " He grunts, as if the idea hadn't come to him every day. Rick ignores his objections " We need you to go and discuss with Ezekiel about sending more people. I've already asked myself, but he's not willing to give us anymore than he already has ". Daryl scoffs " And what makes you think he's going to change his mind for me? ". It's obvious why as Rick grows silent. " No, no fucking way. She left for a reason " Daryl argues, pacing infront of his friend.

" She's the head of his security, Daryl. She is the only one who can convince him it's ok to lend the people we need to get the extra seeds. We won't survive without them " Rick explains, but Daryl is still pacing. " Then why haven't you talked to 'Er? " He throws his hand towards Rick. That was obvious as well. Not only did you need space from Daryl, but you needed space from everyone who knows what was going on. If anyone from Alexandria planned a visit to the kingdom you would conveniently offer to go on a run. Which Ezekiel agreed to every time. " How am I supposed to convince her to give us anything when she didn't even say goodbye?".

Rick can see the hurt in his words and offers Daryl a piece of advice " I know you don't want to believe it Daryl, but she loved you. When Negan took you she fought like hell to bring you back and she did didn't she ? With no care for her own life? ", he asks and Daryl nods ," So I'm willing to bet she still cares for you and for Alexandria. She just needs to be reminded of that ". Daryl is still uneasy about it all, but Rick now grabs his shoulder " You need to get to her before someone else does ".

---

It's nearly midnight when you find your way back to your home. Or the small office that was turned into a bedroom for you with the adjoined bathroom. It wasn't close to what you had back in Alexandria, but it was enough. You shut your door behind you and strip off your shoes with a yawn. All you want right now was a shower and a half decent night sleep, but you wouldn't get either tonight. You were gathering your clothes to do so, but your radio begins to blare and you furrow your eyebrows at it. " Front gate to Y/N. Front gate to Y/N. We've got a visitor ". You grab the device from your belt and answer it " This is Y/N. Who's the visitor? ". You're already slipping back into your boots to address the visitor. " Uh- I think you should come see for yourself ". You roll your eyes at the man on the other end of the radio. People are so dramatic here.

You leave your room and go back outside , taking your time to get to the front gate. It’s probably just Henry messing around and you would have to tell his parents so you aren't too concerned. Once there, you yell up to the gate keeper " You just made him stand out there? Open it! ". They do as commanded , slightly afraid of your tone of voice since it wasn't that long ago everyone saw you kill everything in your path , and you wait for the gate to reveal a sad looking Henry. " Henry I told you last time if you snuck out again I would tell your mom an- " You begin to scold before you see his face, but stop as your eyes land on the all too obvious not Henry.

You shine your flash light on the hunter and he squints back at you, but says nothing. Your a loss for words for the man you haven't seen in almost a year. What did he want now? " I need to talk to you" He tells you, obviously aware of what you're thinking. You narrow your eyes at him " Talk then ". It's obvious your not as welcoming as you were a year ago, but he expects as much. " Rick sent me here to talk about the run to get seeds for Alexandria ". He watches you grind your teeth, but your words do not come out angrily " Ezekiel already made up his mind. I'm sorry if you wasted a trip all the way here . I'm sure we can find you a room to stay in for the night ".

Daryl takes steps closer so that you can now speak privately " You know Alexandria will fail without those seeds. People will starve ". You switch weight from foot to foot " And I also know that Ezekiel and carol make the rules. They are the ones you need to talk to ". It's obvious Daryl can see right through you " We both know you run security and I'm sure a lot more behind tha' scenes here. If you so much as whisper something their way they'll agree ". He watches your face twist in agitation, but you still look breath taking. " What makes you think I should hear you out ? ". Your statue is intimidating, but he doesn't stand down " Because you never said goodbye and you know deep down your home is Alexandria. No matter how much you try and tell yourself otherwise ".

This causes your heart to twist uncomfortably, but you don't show it. Instead, you nod up at the guard on duty " He's coming in ".

--

You lead Daryl to the building where you interview people for admission into the kingdom. Which hasn't been used in awhile, so you take the opportunity to give it some use. You flip the lights on inside and sit at the desk , purposely keeping your intimidating composure. He sits across from you without hesitation and now in the light he can see the bags under your eyes. You haven’t slept well it quite some time and he knows you can see the same of him. " Why should I risk the lives of my people for seeds ? ". Daryl knew coming into this you wouldn't be happy to see him, but he also didn't expect you to treat him like an outsider. " So that others don't starve. The sanctuary is at risk too".

Your face holds no emotion causing Daryl to lose his patience " You use to see a future for Alexandria and the sanctuary. What changed ? ". For the first time he sees true emotion in your eyes as you stand up from your seat, sending it sliding back from you " Don't you dare sit there and asked me what changed when you're the reason why! Yes, I care for the sanctuary and Alexandria! I risked my life for them and everyone else! Or did you just forget all of the shit I did for you! ". The room grows quiet as you address the real issue between you both. Daryl looks you up and down, finally seeing what everyone has told him for so long. " You did it all for me? " He rasps, now loosing eye contact.

You roll your eyes " Of course I did it all for you , Daryl! What normal person who didn't love you fight for you like I have? Sure, it became more when I met the others , but you and I ... We were family ". Daryl can hear the pain in your voice causing him to stand up and finally make a move. Sure, he isn’t exactly sure how this whole romance thing goes, but he knows he has to do something now or he'll truly loose you. " What are you- " You begin to question as he grabs your hand, but stop yourself as you can see he's finally coming around.

" M'not good at this stuff Y/N .. You don't know how bad all of those nights I .. " He's lost for words, but you understand what he's trying to say. You always are patient with him and he couldn’t be more grateful for it right now." You don't have to " You grab his hand tighter. He shakes his head " I do. 'Cause you deserve that". You smile softly at him for the first time tonight and he takes the opportunity to get closer to you. At this point, your faces are inches away, but he is still hesitant to do anything. So , you being the blunt and impulsive person you are, you place your free hand on the back of his neck and draw his lips to yours. He's surprised at first, but after a moment he's moving his lips with yours in sync. It doesn't take long for him to find his groove with you and he moves you to where your back is to the desk with your fingers dug into his hair.

Oddly, at this moment you remember Carol and Ezekiel set you up a blind date tomorrow which causes you to begin laughing. You pull back as you can't contain yourself and Daryl gives you a confused look " What? ". You try and stifle your laughter " Ezekiel tried to set me up on a blind date for tomorrow. What am I supposed to say now? ". Daryl's eyebrows knit together harshly at the thought of how close you were to being someone else's " Fuck him . You're with me now ". You don't have time to react as he crashes his lips back down on yours, now more confident.

His hands grasp the back of your neck now and he only pauses to ask you " Where's your room ?".

--

The next morning, Daryl wakes up before you. It's clearly later in the morning as he can hear your radio going off with different voices, but he doesn't care that the world outside is wondering where you are. Currently, your cuddled into his side with your head lying on his chest. You've only got a thin sheet covering your frame right now and nothing could be more important than that. He runs his fingers down your side causing you to stir a little, but you don't wake. You haven't slept well in a long time so he doesn't try it again.

But of course the world has other plans for you.

There's a hard knock at the door causing you to jump awake and reach for your gun,but Daryl stops you causing you to realize where you are. You sigh in relief and give him a smile before calling out to whoever's knocking " Who is it ?". There's a pause before the answer " It's jerry. I didn't want to wake you, but you uh have that appointment ". You don't think of a response in time so Daryl gets up and speaks for you. He shoves his jeans on and opens the door enough so jerry only sees him " Cancel it ". You cover your mouth so Jerry doesn't hear you laugh. " Oh Hey Daryl! Didn't know you were here.. Um I'll uh - " Jerry gets interrupted. " -Cancel it Jerry ". " Right " He nods and Daryl shuts the door.

"Daryl! " You laugh, sitting up with the sheet around you. " What ? " He asks, climbing back on the bed as if he didn't do what he just did. " Be more obvious would you! " You shove him playfully. He shrugs , grabbing your hand " Wanted him to have the information right s'all". Smiling, you let his hands trail up your sides as they find their place on your hips.

" 'sides wasn't as bad as Rick and michonne ".

---

- Present time three years later -

" Daddy? " the two year old with his eyes calls for his attention as she plays with her hair. Daryl looks down at her as he fixes your coffee and hums at her. " Mama " Is all she says back, indicating she wants her mom. He smiles full heartedly down at the two year old who was your spitting image, but has his personality. Of course she wants you, she's his child. " She'll be up once daddy brings 'Er coffee " He explains,but she's not happy with that news. " N-now! " she huffs, yanking on his jeans. He just grins as he pours the sugar in your coffee. " C'mon lets go get mommy " He offers, picking her up and setting her on his hip . He carries the mini you and your coffee up stairs to where your undoubtedly still sleeping.

" Mama? " Little rose asks as Daryl cracks open the door. " Is that my little Rosie ? " You ask with a tired voice, causing rose to squeal and squirm out of her dads arms to get in yours. Daryl chuckles and follows her to hand you your coffee . Rose is already sitting in your lap ready to receive your full attention, but Daryl steals it for a moment to give you a kiss " Morning baby ". You grin at your husband before back down at little rose to give her a morning kiss " Your up early aren't you? ". She nods adorably " U-uncle 'ick ". Daryl and you laugh as she still can't say Rick yet. " That's right uncle rick is taking you and Judy to play with the horses! ".

Rose laughs excitedly and wiggles back down the bed " Go! ". You swing your legs off the bed to get her dressed and take her to Rick, but Daryl stops you " I got 'Er. You stay here ". " Are you sure ? " You ask , ready to help get her ready for the day. He nods and presses another kiss to your lips " I've got it. Be ready for me when I get back ". You nod as he refers the doctor visit he set up for you. He leaves to attend your daughter and you can't help, but smile to yourself. Today would be a good day. Rose would get to spend time with Judith, You and Daryl would get to have alone time , and hopefully at the doctors visit you'd find out for sure if you were about to expand your family again. Sure, you have all the telling signs of being pregnant again, but you wanted the confirmation.

It only seemed like yesterday that you told Daryl about being pregnant with rose. A smile creeps on your face as you can still see the shocked smile on his. This time you were hoping for a boy, but Daryl seemed to just want another girl. Rose is truly the light of his world so another little girl to hold his hand was all he wanted. With the thought in mind, you got up to get dressed and began to tidy up after your little family. You managed to clean up roses room before starting on the kitchen, but that's as far as you got when Daryl came home. " Y/N ? " He calls, slamming the door behind him with his usual fashion. You smirk to yourself " In here ". He's quick to find you with a smirk of his own " You ready?". You nod at him, tossing the rag to the sink " Are you ready soon to be daddy of two?".

He just scoffs and leads you out the door mumbling " Been ready".

--

It was as you laid down on the table with Siddiq pointing at the monitor, that Daryl thought back to the days he wouldn't accept your feelings for him. The fact that you were here with him, pregnant with his kid for the second time , and with the biggest grin on your face tells him this would’ve happened years ago. But, he was happy with how things turned out. “ Daryl, did you hear me ? “ You ask , looking up at him now. He returns to reality “ What? “. You grin at him “ Saddiq thinks it’s going to be another girl “. He smiles down at you happily. “ Is tha’ right ?” .

And as the doctor nods in confirmation and begins to explain why, Daryl just looks to your face. Sure when you two first met, it was covered in different colors of blood and you looked psychotic, but as he looks at you now he sees his family. The woman who fought like hell to keep him safe and who would now do the same for his kids. In later years to come, you'd do just that as the whisperers would pose a threat and the two of you would have to go to war once more, but it would be different this time. This time when you took Beta on by yourself to protect Daryl and once again you had a different mans blood dripping off you, Daryl was proud. That was his wife and mother of two that kicked a man twice her size down a elevator shaft.

You of course couldn't let the opportunity pass to grin at him again and say " Told you I've killed for less , Dixon ". He only rolls his eyes in return and wipes your face with a rag " Yeah, yeah. I believed you tha' first time. Didn't need you ta' remind me. Could've gotten killed ". You let him clean off your face and once done you place a kiss to his cheek " Don't worry I'm going to be around a long time. Or at-least long enough to say it one more time ".

And you would, for at-least a hundred more times. That is until Daryl actually saves you from a walker and repeated it to you. Thus, starting a new tradition of who gets to say it the most.

#daryl fanfiction #fanfic #daryl dixon #daryl x oc #twd fanfiction #love #killer #badass #zombie #daryl dixon fanfiction

[lizzy-frizzle]

Im going to open up cause of this garbage. So uh, this will definitely be tagged but if you dont have my tag "bad thoughts" blocked, this might trigger depression or ptsd.

So, i vented about my parents several times. But I never mentioned what they said to me. My dad told me that I am just like my mother, and that all I do is manipulate people and take advantage of people. For the record, my mom has beaten me to a pulp, she emotionally abused me for 20 years, she got drunk one night and sexually assaulted me, she treated me like the plague, I existed only to be seen, I was not allowed to talk I was not allowed to be loud, I was supposed to keep the house clean and be a proper good boy. So, to accuse me of being like my mom is....extreme. She was highly manipulative, she has two sets of books for her business allowing her to get away with massive tax fraud, like $400k. Getting out of that house was hard, and draining. When I moved in with my dad she tried to take me to court, saying I still lived with her and I was only visiting my dad. I was working at summer camp at the time, and she had brainwashed my sister so well that my sister took it upon herself to hand deliver a packet to my camp for me. This packet was 30 pages long and detailed every instance that she deemed made me an awful son.

So fast forward to 3 months ago. My dad messages me something like "I miss these days" with a picture of me before I transitioned, and my step mom messages me "remember this?" With the video of when I got baptized also before my transition. Ive already stated very publicly that I dont want reminders of that period of my life, so this felt very attacking. I didnt respond because I was busy and adhd made me forget to respond. They message me a couple more times small shit like "hey how are you?" And I dont respond because Im a mom with a baby. I dont have the time to just drop everything and respond to their messages all the time. Well apparently that was the worst thing ever, cause then it turned into an assault, "you're so awful" "why are you ignoring us?" "This is exactly like you." "You're just like your mom" "you dont deserve to be happy" etc etc. Naturally this made me depressed and I didnt respond. I stopped going on facebook because it was relentless. My wife asked me not to tell her what they said cause it affects her a lot and she'd rather not deal with the stress.

They finally go silent for a month or two, but then I get a letter from my dad. Saying that transitioning changed me but he still loves me, and blah blah. The letter gives me anxiety and I have it tucked away on my desk.

Today: my glasses lens is nearly falling out, I cant get my appointment shit figured out, my step mom commented on a christmas photo some passive aggressive shit, and my wife and I get into a discussion about chores, and at some point she asks me, "are you taking advantage of me?" Because she had an abusive ex husband and she has really bad anxiety and ptsd and frequently needs reassurance. But from everything Ive been dealing with lately that was just the wrong thing to ask. So naturally I had a massive mental breakdown. And thats why I spent the last 2 hours sobbing in my bed.

#it feels better to have that typed out #bad thoughts #rape cw #abuse cw #child abuse cw #venting

[imwithmars]

Flaunt Magazine 2004 interview

David Fincher – “It goes kind of like, ‘How   can you tell when Jared is lying? His lips are moving.’”

Rock & Roles –

Flaunt Magazine, by Shari Roman

December 2004

“This is fantastic,” murmurs Jared Leto as the relentless Moroccan   sun sears destiny into his bronzed, bare skin. He is sweating under his tight  armor. His dark horse, Mateo, quivers beneath him and paws the ground nervously. A signal is given.

Leto howls a great animalistic yowl straight from his belly to the ears of   the gods. There is another howl, then another. Thousands of voices fuse into   one animal cry. A legion of alpha males surges forward to meet the enemy, Leto,   blond hair hair streaming past his shoulders, muscular thighs gripped bareback   on his galloping horse, rides hard into the thick of a bloody combat. His sword   cuts through all who oppose him.

This is the filming of Oliver Stone’s Alexander and the legendary battle of   Gaugamela, Alexander’s greatest victory over the Persians - a turning point   in his conquest of the known world. Stone’s sweeping historical saga charts   the life and the legend of one of the greatest figures in world history. The   story is an epic that is a daring and ambitious as its subject, a relentless   conqueror who, by the age of 32, had amassed the greatest empire the world hade   ever seen.

Through the clouds of dust, Leto can see Colin Farrell as Alexander the Great,   his massive blade slicing into flesh and sinew. There is the director, Oliver   Stone, shouting, moving rapidly behind the camera line. There are hordes of   men bellowing, bleeding, bodies everywhere. On the fringes lurks famed military   trainer and Stone cohort, Captain Dale Dye. Today, the Captain isn’t wearing   his favorite T-shirt emblazoned with the motto: “Pain is weakness leaving   the body,” but Leto needs no reminders.

Leto has always propelled himself into physical extremes to live inside a character.   As the champion runner Steve Prefontaine, he bled his feet to the bone. In the   drug-fueled Requiem For A Dream, he reportedly swore off sex (with then girlfriend,   Cameron Diaz) and lost 28 pounds to play a junky. Then there was Fight Club   (he’d been recommended for the part his friend, fellow pretty boy, Brad Pitt.),   in which he begged to have his angelic face beaten to a pulp by a jealous Ed   Norton to prove his fealty. Suffering, pain, causality, creation through transformation.   Leto has pledged himself above and beyond to those epithets years ago.

“Killing people face to face for a living, that was their job,” explains   a laidback Leto a few months later from a low-key restaurant in Southern California.   It’s early afternoon. His clothing is relaxed and he looks pleasantly tired.

“It’s not jet lag. I’m over that. I just couldn’t sleep.” It’s not   due to time spent with his (purported) new, luscious It-girl Scarlett Johansson.   He’s been concentrating on working on some new songs for his band, 30 Seconds   To Mars, taking meetings between rehearsals before he heads off to New York   and South Africa for three months to play another aggressor of sorts - an arms   dealer - in the film Lord of War, with Nicolas Cage and director Andrew Niccol   (Gattaca).

He is still pretty tan, making those pioneering blue eyes even more startling.   His long, blonde warrior-god locks are gone now, dyed and clipped into a light   brown Erik Estrada-style shag for the new movie. But there is still a trace   of the Irish lilt he took on for Alexander. (Aside from gearing it toward Farrell’s   natural tones, Stone’s rationale for the accent was that historically, the Macedonians   were to the Greeks what the Irish have been to the English.) Most of the 15   pounds of muscle weight that he strapped on for the six-month shoot has slipped   from his slim frame. Even so, the intensity of that experience is still on his   mind and in his body.

“The film has plenty of f***ing and fighting and killing and death and   blood. My job was to murder people and stand by Alexander.” who, according   to history, was his best friend since childhood, and his lover.

“Hephaestion, the character I play, and [Alexander] have a really special   connection. It’s a strong, strong relationship. I don’t think there is a term   we have today to define their relationship,” he says, deliberately muddling   around the oft-asked erotic question.

Farrell says, “There was no term for 'bisexuality’. It was just the way   society was. People made love to men and women. It was only later on you had   to pick one side of the fence.”

“But I promise you, in the film,” Leto teases, despite the magnetic   charms of Farrell, and costars Rosario Dawson and Angelina Jolie, who play Alexander’s   wife and mother, “the only kiss I gave out was to my horse. My one true   love.”

He takes the tape recorder and places it gently against his chest, which holds   within it the soul of a man who many have tried to reveal before. “I always   tell the truth. What else do you want to know? What do people really want to   know? What is the truth?” His face is a pure cheeky choir boy dare. “When   have I ever not told you the truth? How can you tell that I’m lying?”

I remind him that the last time we met, he told me he owned three Uzis, that   the first girl he kissed was a 47-year-old tranny named Jorge, that he was 19,   raised by circus performers, and that he studied art at the American University   of Paris for a semester, but was booted out when he wouldn’t give in to the   attentions of the headmaster. And he wouldn’t back down to any of those “facts”.

He laughs. “Really? As Ronald Regan used to say, 'I have no memory of   saying such things.’ ”

Says producer/director David Fincher, who worked with Leto on both Fight Club  and Panic Room, “When it comes to his acting, he is beyond method. He gets  into this whole image of his character. It is interesting how that kind of pain and sacrifice can translate. I mean, look at Requiem. I wish I had 100 Jareds   working for me. He was amazing.

"Jared definitely strives not to be a victim of his genetics. On the films   we did together, he was the guy who is constantly curious, the one you couldn’t bottle up. The one who wouldn’t hit his mark. He was like, 'Hey, I’m living it! Over here!’ But he does like to tell stories. It goes kind of like, 'How can you tell when Jared is lying? His lips are moving.’ ”

Leto, who prefers to see his playful fibbing as a way to keep his private life   private, was born the day after Christmas, 33 years ago, in Bossier City, Louisiana. His mother was an artistic soul, and with his father out of the picture, he and his brother, Shannon (who is also in 30 Seconds To Mars), traveled a great deal while they were growing up. After a stint at New York’s School of Visual Arts, he says, he came to Los Angeles around 12 years ago with a couple hundred bucks in his pocket, no friends, and nowhere to stay. For awhile, he slept on Venice Beach. Then kaboom! a role on television’s My So-Called Life (opposite Claire Daines) and for the next few years, he reigned as a teen pinup - a tag   and a look he has been successfully living down ever since.

According to Leto, “Luck is the residue of destiny.” It’s a phrase   he’s heard which he likes very much. He feels it means that we can get caught up in so many things, but the world has what it has for us. That, in our natural state, everything is the way it’s supposed to be - free and joyous - and that our own insecurities get in the way of all that. It’s an idea which could be   applied to his early life.

“When I was young, all that traveling was exciting,” says Leto. “You   do develop an ability to read people more quickly. You have to learn to adapt to whatever comes along, to survive. Maybe the way I grew up is why I’m drawn to acting, to different characters. From film to film, I’m constantly finding myself, reaching different places outside and inside myself. I want to change, to morph into something else.” To be able to do that for Oliver Stone is a gift, says Leto. “He is one of my f***ing heroes. He is a great man. Present, connected, very physical. I find his way very endearing.”

To work with Stone, he traveled to Morocco, where the oncoming sunset had turned the world orange, into the color of dark rust. But the sky was growing dark, the golden scorpions were scuttling under the rocks, another sandstorm was moving toward the camp, fast.

Within moments, Leto, wearing his usual training gear - a T-shirt, tight shorts,   boots covering his calves - couldn’t see two feet ahead of him. The sand whipped raw against his skin as he made for his tent. Inside, he tightened the flap and listened to the wind howl. He had switched off his cell phone, his e-mail. He hadn’t spoken to anyone in the U.S. for months. Apocalyptic fantasies crowded his brain. Many in the cast had already been horribly sick. There was a virus in the dust. His tent was next door to the latrine and he could hear cast and crew heave by the dozens.

One night, Leto got so sick, he thought he was going to toss a spleen.“I lay in bed for a couple of hours staring at the stars, just breathing really   slow, willing it away. I fell asleep dreaming strange, surreal dreams. When   I woke up, it was gone. That’s the desert.”

Says Dawson, “It was beyond primal, all those men bonding - horse training,   fighting, all buffed up wearing nearly nothing. And as soon as a woman came   on set, the energy was so damn erotic.

"One time Jared came to visit the hotel [where women stayed]. He was so   happy to be there. He got to take a shower, have some proper food.So he’s talking, sitting there, and just sort of adjusting the package, not sexually, but in   this slow, languorous way, like there was no one else around.It was all suited   to his character, but I was like, 'Hey dude…’

"And he was like, 'I’m sorry! We’re out there in our underwear and boots   all the time… maybe it’s got us a little too relaxed.’ Maybe. But it was all   good.” She bats her eyes.“It was wonderful being around that kind of really masculine environment.”

“Oh, Rosario,” responds Leto, “she is so beautiful. Such a great   woman.” He drops his head, smiling, not exactly asking for forgiveness.“Working on Alexander was an amazing experience. It’s all about connectivity. There is an old saying that the greatest leader is the servant of them all. Meaning, you are the most powerful when you are giving.”

“I think that as an artist, in any kind of expression of creation, that   you must have to be in love with the process. It is the most exciting part of the work, and that if you have a desire for greatness, you will have to be willing to f***ing bleed. I think it’s true for me.That’s what drives me.”

He claps his hands over his face. “F***. People are going to read this   and think, 'What the f***? Is weirdo Leto on crack? Hitting the old acid tab again.’ But honestly, it’s what I believe. One of my favorite things about getting older is that my intuition is often wrong.To me, it means I’m uncovering something   new about the world.

#flaunt magazine #jared leto #2004 #interview #did i ever post this? #he used to give great and funny interviews

[mrswhozeewhatsis]

21 Supernatural Questions

Thanks to @sammit-janet for helping me procrastinate tonight!

1. When did you start watching Supernatural?

Early December, 2014. I’d been sick for a month, already, and had run out of other shows I wanted to watch. I decided to watch that show that Misha Collins was on that my goddaughters used to watch. I got through 9.5 seasons by Christmas. That first hellatus was awful, and it’s how I got into the fandom. I needed more, found con videos, then fan fiction, and the rest is history!

2. Who is your favorite in TFW?

It depends on the day. I usually say I’m Winchester-sexual, angel-curious!

3. Who is your least favorite in TFW?

Ugh. I don’t dislike any of them (though I miss BAMF early-seasons Cas who didn’t bleed much and could do things regular hunters couldn’t like see demons’ faces). If I had to rank them, I probably obsess over Cas the least.

4. Tag your top 5 Supernatural blogs.

You’d ask me who my favorite children were, too, wouldn’t you? Not falling for that!

5. Who is your favorite character (not including TFW)?

You’re killing me. You’re really killing me. I CAN’T PICK. Chuck? Donna? Jody? Rowena? I love John and Mary, but I don’t get squishy when I watch them on the show. Charlie? I literally squealed and frightened my husband when we saw AU!Charlie the first time. Ellen? There are too many and you can’t make me pick!!

6. Who is your favorite woman in Supernatural?

Donna. She kicks ass and calls it butt.

7. John or Mary?

Gonna quote @sammit-janet directly, cuz she said it well: “Both.  I know people hate one or the other, but you cannot look at these parents with real-world glasses.  John had the mother of his children burned on the ceiling and he had no fucking clue about the Supernatural until then.  Once he did, he was on a mission to find whatever killed his wife.

“Mary made a deal to save the man she loved.  She would have stopped Azazel that night in the nursery too, but Michael erased her memory.  Now that she’s come back, well, don’t you think it’s a little disorienting to spend 32 years in heavenly bliss and then get thrust back down to earth and find out her children are living the exact life she didn’t want them to?

“Also, don’t forget, EVERYTHING was stacked against them.  Heaven made 100% sure that they got together just so Sam and Dean could be born and play out the apocalypse.”

8. What were your first opinions of Sam, Dean, Cas, and Jack?

Sam: Tall, but the hair, and he’s a baby, I feel like a pedophile.

Dean: Older, still tall, wiseass, heart of gold, if he loves pie, I’m a goner!

Cas: HOLY FUCK.

Jack: If he’s good, I will hold him and love him and squeeze him and call him George. If he’s evil, I will cut him down with the flames of a thousand burning suns.

9. What’s your favorite season?

I really don’t have one. I have seasons I love more, and seasons I love less, but none are my favorites. The writing in the beginning was tighter, and felt like there was an end coming, which made it more electric. But I really love watching the boys grow and change and make better, smarter decisions, or make stupid decisions for bigger, better reasons. I dislike the degradation of angel powers, though. I mean, remember when Cas could smite an entire diner of monsters or demons with just a bright light, but this season he was beaten to pulp by a demon gang? And now that Heaven’s gates are all open, can Cas fly, again? I mean, they couldn’t fly because the closed gates cut them off from Heaven, but now the gates are open, so LET CAS FLY, DAMMIT.

10. What’s your least favorite season?

Season 7, although that season does have an inordinate amount of things I like about it, so it makes no sense. Story-wise, I get it. They had to systematically take away everything the boys valued in order to leave Sam the destroyed mess he was when Dean and Cas disappeared. I don’t like it when my boys hurt, but I understand why they did it. On the other hand, season 7 gave us Charlie, and Frank, and Garth, and Kevin, and numerous dick jokes, and Sam tied to a bed, and Cas naked on Dean’s car covered in bees. So torn, but when I rewatch the series, I take a deep breath when I start season 7. (During my most recent rewatch, I also took a breath when Toni Bevell came onto my screen, so I guess I now put 12 in with 7.)

11. Opinions on Destiel?

Canon - Dean is straight. He’s said multiple times he doesn’t swing that way. I wouldn’t object if the writers decided to change that, but I respect Jensen and the writers in their decision not to go that way. There are more and more diverse characters on our screen every year, and I’m okay with letting Dean be a cis het white male who loves women of all kinds. I would love if they did a Human!Impala episode and the Impala turned out to be John Barrowman, though. On the other hand, Cas is completely unconcerned with gender and sexuality, so I wouldn’t mind seeing him have a romantic thing with a guy. Pretty sure that would break the fandom, though, so not holding my breath.

Fanon - Holy cheeseballs, that boy swings harder than an old-time saloon door, and I love reading about him being so open to everyone. Give me all the guys banging Dean like a screen door in a hurricane. Dean is all the door metaphors and memes, including the memes about Cas loving to destroy doors. Show me these two idiots falling in love any way you got it. They were roommates, you say? YES. There was only one bed, you say? SIGN ME THE FUCK UP. Dean’s a fireman and Cas is a nurse? ARE YOU TRYING TO KILL ME??? BRING IT.

12. Do you believe Supernatural queerbaits?

Not intentionally, or maliciously, but I can see why some folks might think that, sometimes. It’s a fine line the show writers have to balance on when it comes to scenes with Dean and Cas because of the fandom’s obsession with Destiel. They want to show the love between the two characters as brothers, but it can’t be too much love. (However, I sometimes wonder about certain things. I would love to sit down with Jensen, Jerry Wanek, and Robbie Thompson, show them certain moments, and ask why certain decisions were made regarding framing, editing, props, and such. If they weren’t thinking Destiel, what were they thinking??)

13. Seasons 1-7 or 8-14?

You’re asking me to pick my kids, again. 1-7 is Kripke writing, 8-11 is Robbie Thompson writing, NO NO NO YOU CAN’T MAKE ME DECIDE.

14. Favorite villain (plot wise)?

Crowley

15. Do you think they should end the Lucifer plot line?

YES. I’m cool with watching Nick progress into a big bad, but keep Lucifer in The Empty. (I just had a wild thought about The Empty, Lucifer, and The Shadow coming for Jack. Lord, I hope I’m wrong.)

16. Who do you think has gone through more trauma (Sam, Dean, or Cas)?

Quoting Sammit again: “Sam.  He found out he had demon blood in him, was one of Azazel’s “chosen”, died by being stabbed in the back, went to hell for 100 years, lost his soul, was driven mad by Lucifer, almost died doing the trials, was possessed by Gadreel…did i leave anything out?”

Dean and Cas have also had their share, but if you want to quantify it, I think Sam has had more. 

17. What’s your favorite Supernatural episode?

Baby, Dog Dean Afternoon, Don’t Call Me Shurley, most of the other episodes writing by Robbie Thompson, too.

18. Do you like case episodes?

They are a nice breather in between the episodes where I can’t sit back for  moment.

19. Who do you relate most to in TFW?

I switch back and forth between Dean and Sam. I relate to Sam wanting to go to college to get away from his family, I relate to Dean’s eating habits, I understand why Sam’s done all the stupid shit he’s done, and I understand Dean not wanting to delve into things because it’s hard. Oh, and I say awesome almost as much as Dean. Cas, though, is a mystery to me. The only time I relate to him is when he’s confused by pop culture references.

20. Why do you like Supernatural?

The characters. They’re just so fucking interesting, you know? And (with some notable exceptions) the writers have managed to keep them from getting too far away from who they were in the pilot, while showing them growing and changing and improving. I love the world, I love the fantasy, and I love how universal they all are. I mean, if you took characters from another show and put them in a Beach AU, I wouldn’t be able to see it like I can with these characters. They’re awesome.

21. If you could bring back one character and kill off another who would they be?

Keep Lucifer dead, bring back Frank. I also want to see more of Linda Tran. Or Ellen, though I don’t know what they’d do with her with Mary around. I’d say Crowley, but I know that will never happen, and I understand why, so I’m letting him go.

Tag yourselves!

#incoherent babbling by mrswhozeewhatsis

[hellomissmabel]

Fever (Exotic prologue)

MASTERLIST

Pairing: Bucky x siren!reader, Steve x siren!reader and Tony x siren!reader

Warnings: Kidnapping, abuse (physical, mental and sexual), guns and death threats

Word count: 3.5k

Summary:  Someone sneaks a wounded woman into the Tower.

A/N: I was supposed to catch up on some work but instead I started writing this fic.

Series masterlist can be found here

DAY ONE

Monday evening, 11 p.m.

The security system identified unfamiliar movement. The alarm did not go off nor did the other security measures alert Tony of any suspicious activity at the tower and it wasn’t until all the lights went on simultaneously, thus waking up every resident formerly asleep, that the Avengers for the first time noticed something was off. The security cameras and sensors had picked up on a foreign entity located near Tony’s lab, so he decided that since he was the first one up he might as well go check it out himself. But nothing could’ve prepared him for what was waiting at the far end of the corridor, tucked away in a dark, quiet corner.

She’s in a foetal position, her body wrapped in a thin white sheet that barely reaches the curve of her ass. She’s shivering from head to toe, her breathing shallow as she’s obviously in a great deal of pain. Tony can easily make out the several cuts and bruises that adorn her body through the thin fabric, not an inch of skin that doesn’t colour a nasty black, blue or purple. That is, apart from the angry red and sensitive skin of her thighs and Tony shudders at the hidden implication of these particular injuries. All of a sudden it’s as if he’s glued to the spot.

The others come shortly after Tony finds her and Steve is the first to run towards her aid immediately after his eyes take in the dishevelled state of her figure. She recoils at his touch, her eyes screwed shut as she refuses to look at him.

“Hey,” he says softly, “you don’t have to be afraid. My name is Steve. You’re safe now.”

After the initial shock subsides, Tony joins Steve and the girl. “Who brought you here?,” Tony  inquires quietly, looking back and forth between Steve, the rest of the team now gathering around them and the girl quivering in front of him.

“You need to see a doctor. May I?,” Steve queries when she does not reply to Tony’s initial question.

She doesn’t say anything, her only acknowledgement a small nod of her head.

“There is no point in arguing, she needs to be looked after first, questions can always be asked and answered later,” he says, turning to Tony as he speaks. Steve then picks her up in his arms and starts to carry her towards the med bay. It doesn’t go unnoticed how the girl tenses up almost instantly from the sudden close physical contact and he can’t help but feel the pressure in his chest rise at the unpleasant insinuations that run through his mind as the realisation hits him point blank.

DAY 11

Steve’s POV

It’s been ten days since we found her and every day doctor Cho tells me the same thing, she doesn’t respond to anyone. Her vitals are stable but she has no will to fight, the life in her slowly fading away as each day she grows weaker and weaker. She asks me if I don’t want to give it a try, the girl might respond to me since I was the first person to reach out to her. I say I will do my best but can’t make any promises I won’t be able to keep.

Tony sits by her side day and night, like a watchdog, barking at anyone without clearance or authority who dares come near her. He does of course make an exception for the team and we often find ourselves praying that one day soon she’ll wake up. He’s committed to her welfare and I don’t think he ever sleeps, the memory still fresh in his mind, in all of our minds. He doesn’t talk much about it but we all feel the same way, unable to shake off the image of this poor girl beaten to pulp and left for dead in the middle of the night.

Or maybe not the latter, since they brought her to the tower and therefore must’ve known we would help her, do everything in our power to heal her. Tony’s been wrecking his brain at how on earth it is possible that somebody hacked into his security system and did so entirely undetected. But I believe the most important question remains, who are we dealing with?

Bruce often reads to her convinced it will stimulate her brain and help her process what’s happened. Doctor Cho encourages this, explaining that it will give her the hope she needs to keep fighting for her life. Nat likes to pay her a visit as well but never really comes close to her bed and usually just watches the others trying to interact with her.

I like to think Wanda and Pietro are the highlight of her day, if she has any sense whatsoever of what’s going on around her. Wanda puts on some jazzy music and together with her brother she’s often spotted twirling to the intoxicating rhythm, her cheerful laughter and Pietro’s clumsy dance moves lightening up the mood. Other nurses occasionally chime in and soon enough it’s a party, loosening up even Tony’s frown. Their positivity is what keeps me going. I normally just hold her hand and hope for the best.

Her chart lies in front of me and I’m afraid to look at it. Doctor Cho has already given me a quick head’s up about what to expect but that won’t make it any easier. Her blood pressure is exponentially elevated and she has a couple peculiar substances in her blood. I quickly scan the words for additional information about her blood work and notice the doctor has also requested a rape kit.

I swallow thickly and move on to the next page. Apparently most of her injuries on her upper body go back as far as 4, maybe 5 years. As for her lower body, most of them date back approximately 6 to 7 years which leads to believe she’s been held captive for 7 years and perhaps even longer. I try to suppress the bile that’s working its way up the back of my throat, who knows what’s she’s been through? No wonder she has lost every ounce of fight in her.

DAY 18

Tony’s POV

One more week passes before doctor Cho decides it’s time to wake her up from her induced coma. I wanted to be there the entire time but she wouldn’t let me, told me the girl needed some more rest and that she would send for me when the time is ready. It has been the worst two hours of my life so far. Steve’s expression pretty much says it all. There’s so much hurt, sadness, anger, disgust and so on so forth that’s been keeping us busy for 18 consecutive fucking days. We’re all still shaken up by what we’ve seen and heard from the good doctor. This girl’s been through hell and back, I can tell you that much.

“You can come see her now.”

Those six words is all it takes to break the chain of thoughts eating away at me and I’m speeding off towards her with Steve walking closely behind me. I expected to see her in the same vegetative state she’s been in for the past 17 days, but I never would’ve guessed this. She’s sitting upright in her hospital bed, trying to swallow down a spoon of absolutely revolting vanilla pudding that secretly contains a bunch of pain meds, just in case the patient refuses to take any and believe me when I say many have done so before, the Avengers never cutting back on their infamous stubbornness.

We lock eyes and for a minute I’m completely and utterly dumbfounded because holy mother of God, she’s the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen. Her tousled brunette hair falls just past her shoulders and her eyes are the colour of a sundown over the Atlantic, the most intense golden-blue hue I’ve ever had the privilege of laying my eyes on. From that moment on I know she’s got me hooked.

DAY 23

Nat’s POV

She’s been awake for 5 days now and we still don’t have a clue, although her fingerprints gave us some more information about who she is. What happened to her remains a mystery as her lips are sealed tight. I don’t know if it’s because she’s frightened, if she’s suppressing her memories or if it’s something else entirely but my gut feeling tells me something is seriously off about this girl. The way her eyes always find Steve’s, the way she’s got Tony wrapped around her finger even though she doesn’t do anything particularly special. It’s as if somehow by an inexplicable law of attraction they find themselves drawn to her. It only repulses me more.

“She grew up in a military family,” Fury announces, his voice carrying the weight of the world and stressing the gravity of the situation. “Her mother was a highly valued and respected lieutenant corporal who died of cancer shortly after her daughter went missing. Her father served under his wife as a warrant officer and died of a gunshot wound. The shooter was never apprehended.”

“Her mother was a lieutenant corporal and her father a warrant officer? That’s an interesting combination,” Tony uttered, clearly impressed with her mother’s credentials.

“As I said,” Fury replied in his typical stern manner, “Military family. Born and raised on an army base until her father died and her mother got taken ill.”

“What do we know about her disappearance?,” Steve asks Fury, eyes pensive and with a troubled expression. It’s all he ever wears these days. Steve’s wrecked and I’m afraid he’ll crack under the pressure. This girl makes him tick. She got under his skin and I’m not sure if that’s a good thing. “It says here she went missing almost 10 years ago.”

Fury clears his throat. “That is correct, Captain. Y/N Y/L/N was last seen going to a local pharmacy to retrieve a prescription for her mother’s medication.”

DAY 30

Tony’s POV

Her voice is a little hoarse when she speaks, but it’s a heavenly sound nonetheless. She’s switched to more solid nutrition and finally feels at ease in her new surroundings, although she still doesn’t trust many. She actually only trusts Steve and me, or so I thought.

“Thank you,” she croaks when I hand her the ugly Christmas sweater I’ve been meaning to give her for a while now. It’s a dark green, a colour that suits her well I believe, with Rudolph the red-nosed reindeer up front. She quickly pulls it over her head and sighs deeply and contently at the warmth it brings her.

The corners of her lips tug upwards into a grateful little smile and I can’t help but feel overjoyed. I have come to care a lot for this girl and I can’t let her out of my sight without knowing she’s alright. The same applies to Steve and by the way her watchful gaze follows his every movement, even when he isn’t looking, I am a 100% certain she takes a fancy to him.

“Thank you,” she repeats, cupping my cheek with her hand. I’m momentarily startled and she looks funnily at me, searching my eyes for any sign of repulsion. It’s the first contact she’s ever initiated and I’m surprised it’s towards me. She seems to recognise my disbelief and quickly drops her hand back in her lap, looking a little bit lost and it’s almost as if she’s sad the moment’s gone so soon.

“You’re welcome, love.”

Bruce is eager to know how she’s doing and I can tell she recognises his voice and has started to enjoy his presence. In time she’ll learn to warm up to him. And Nat, well, Nat was initially a more tricky question. Of all the others, Nat keeps herself at bay the most and it raises my suspicions yet I never talk to her about it.

“Y/N, what would you say if I told you you’re being discharged tomorrow?” My voice sounds way too giddy for my liking and I quickly turn it down a notch, seeing the twinkle in her lovely eyes fade away at my obvious cheerfulness. “Y/N, what’s wrong?”

“I – I,” she stutters and I can see her mind frantically searching for the right words to express her feelings. I take her hand in mine and she looks straight at me with a fearful expression. She doesn’t pull her hand away like she did the first time I tried to comfort her after a particularly distressing nightmare. It was the second day of her reawakening and the darkness in her eyes alerted me that she wasn’t quite ready for a lot of physical contact just yet. She’s come a long way, her fingers holding tightly onto my hand, afraid I’ll let her go. This time her panic is directed towards an entirely different objective.

“Where will I stay?,” she whispers softly and my heart breaks a little more. She truly believes her time at the tower, her time with us has come to an end and I’ll send her off someplace far removed from here.

“You can have your own room if you’d like.” She nods quickly at this, the idea appealing to her, spurring me on in my quest to keep her safe and sheltered but with enough freedom of her own. “It’s right next to Steve’s room, so if there’s anything, and I mean anything at all, he’ll be right there,” I assure her although I think I convinced her as soon as I mentioned Steve’s name.

“Okay,” is all she says but to me it’s the most delightful word in the whole wide world at the moment.

“I’ll go tell Steve the good news,” I reply and lean a bit closer to place a chaste kiss to her temple. When she releases my hand, I notice a shift in the atmosphere yet I can’t put my finger on it. It isn’t until I’ve reached the door and turn around to give her my final goodbye that I see it. The monitor stopped detecting any activity. Her heart stopped beating.

Yet she’s sitting on the edge of the hospital bed looking just as surprised as me.

“So, medically speaking, she’s dead?,” Steve inquires, unsure of how to put the current situation into words. “But by some miracle, she’s not?”

Doctor Cho sighs and I’m under the impression that she’s highly uncomfortable being scrutinised by the team’s expectant gaze, almost demanding an answer from her straightaway. “Mister Rogers, I have no logical explanation that will fully cover what has transpired yesterday.”

“Has any of you even considered asking her about this?,” Nat asks and her voice is dripping with mocked disbelief. “Really? The though never crossed your minds? Let’s go see her now!,” she exclaims and marches towards the door but before she can reach out to open it, she’s stopped short by Steve.

He’s in full Captain mode, towering over her and even I have to admit it’s a little intimidating. He clears his throat before speaking sternly, the temperature in the room dropping below zero, his blue eyes cold and calculated. “If you dare even come near her, agent Romanoff, I swear to God – ”

“You don’t have shit on me, Captain,” she hisses, cutting him off mid-sentence. “She can’t be trusted.”

Steve scoffs at her, anger radiating off of him in thick waves. “How do you know? You’ve never even bothered talking to her,” he snarls, taking a step closer until they’re almost chest to chest.

“I’m sorry to interrupt your staring contest,” Bruce interjects as he crosses his arms over his chest, “But do you hear that too?”

It’s a faint sound yet reaches the Avengers’ ears effortlessly, a stunning singing voice drawing all attention back to the young girl in the hospital room. Her voice is exhilarating in the low notes and like an epiphany in the higher ones. It’s unclear which song she is singing, but at this point the men don’t mind. Steve, Tony, Clint, Sam,… all of them find themselves staring intently at the girl on the other side of the glass. Every man except Bruce, who exchanged a curious look with Nat, confirming her suspicions that she is in fact a siren.

Bucky’s POV

“Soldat,” the Komandir exclaims, his voice like nails on a chalk board. “Where is she? Where did you take the siren?”

I stare blankly at him, not even blinking an eye. He can’t know that around midnight, when the password and codes to the facility change automatically, there’s a small window of mere seconds that certain doors remain unlocked, waiting for the code to be reprogrammed. Through one of those doors we escaped last night.

With a monotone voice I deny any culpability. “The siren is still in her private quarters, Komandir.”

“No she is not,” he sneers while waving an angry hand at a woman standing behind me in the shadows. “Raegan, где сирена? вы сказали мне, что она не в своей комнате.” (Raegan, where is the siren? You told me she isn’t in her room.)

The white-haired woman nods, her stern tone in stark contrast with her soft looks. “Я услышал, как замок захлопнул дверь в полночь. Кто-то открыл дверь и вытащил ее.” (I heard the lock to her door click open at midnight. Someone opened her door and carried her out.)

“Она была в сознании?” (She was conscious?)

Shaking her head, she points to me with an accusing look. “Он отвел ее к ним.” (He took her to them)

“You took her to your old pal, Captain America, didn’t you, Soldat?,” the Komandir sneers as he takes out his gun and cocks the handle, getting ready to chase a bullet through the young woman as he knows bullets will not harm me the slightest. “Such a stupid move, Soldat. And now she will have to pay for your mistake.”

“Не стреляй в нее, командир.” (Do not shoot her komandir.)

Andrei enters the room and with one sentence silences the Komandir. “Raegan is far too valuable to waste her life on a bullet. Just wipe the Soldat and he will comply again.”

“Actually,” you blonde pipes up as she takes a step forward towards Andrei. “I believe that the more you erase the Soldat’s memories, the more rebellious he will become. And even though it a setback for our cause, the presence of the siren amongst the Avengers might not be an entirely bad thing. Sirens in Greek mythology were hideous creatures, but Y/N is not. They will see her as a wounded bird rather than the vulture she really is.”

The Komandir scoffs and takes a fistful of her hair, pulling hard at her scalp and yanking her towards him before throwing her down at Andrei’s feet. “She is lying! Солдат и ее вместе работают над этим.” (The soldier and her are working together on this.)

Andrei merely looks at her with curious eyes as she speaks and I almost forget she is his lover rather than just another one of his minions. “Perhaps you are right, my sweet Raegan. Maybe the good Captain will fall for her and we have an agent on the inside. But for now, the Soldat shall just be put into cryo again. That is the safest choice.”

She nods as Andrei cups her face and caresses her cheek, pushing her aside as he steps away towards the exit. Raegan stays down on the ground, head down, listening to Andrei giving the Komandir some further orders to prepare to freeze me again. My heart sinks and my teeth clench at the thought, but then I see her gaze at me with fierce eyes, mouthing something in her best Russian.

“Вы можете поблагодарить меня позже.” (You can thank me later.)

“Я тоже могу спасти,” I mumble back under my breath. (I can save you too.)

“Не тратьте на меня дыхание. Я этого не ценю. У тебя мое сердце. Теперь иди.” (Don't waste your breath on me. I am not worth it. You have my heart. Now go.)

How I picture Raegan:

Tagging: @avengerofyourheart @a-little-hell-to-raise  @marvelingatthewonder @mrshopkirk @hardcorehippos @knittingknerdy  @winterboobaer @viollettes @hymnofthevalkyrie  @feelmyroarrrr @justareader @austinamelio @volklana @howlingbarnes  @themcuhasruinedme @theoneandonlysaucymo @caplansteverogers @amrita31199  @emilyevanston @minervaem @howlingbarnes @buchananbarnestrash @youandb  @thatawkwardtinyperson @barnes-heaven  @that-sokovian-bastard @abovethesmokestacks @marvelrevival  @marvel-fanfiction @justanotherbuckydevotee @barnes-heaven  @heartmade-writingbucky @buckyywiththegoodhair @captnbarnesrogers  @its-not-a-phase-hux @melconnor2007 @ivvitm1109 @toofuckinfabulous  @ailynalonso15 @hollycornish  @delicatecapnerd @camigt1999 @learisa @curlyexpat @palaiasaurus64  @fanndas-snow-goddess @crisssivonne @yourenotrogers @tomhollandzs @aletheladyinred @xbergiex @reniescarlett  @promarvelfangirl @capbuckybuchanan @lovemarvelousfics @yknott81 @rrwilson66 @pegasusdragontiger @salty-holographic-stickers  @sebstanchrisevanchickforever19 @sammyissassy @kudosia  @bellejeunefillesansmerci @lumelgy @mizzzpink @southernbellestatues @daringtodreamawake @neurotic-narwhal @cokamarie24 @blue1928 @movingonto-betterthings  @breezy1415 @isnt-the-blog-youre-looking-for @jesspfly @weenie-butt  @debzybrazy @fuckingchaotic  @always-an-evans-addict @petersunderroos  @thegreentgirl @nedthegay @eve1978 @yourtropegirl @4theluvofall  @lostinthoughtsandfeelings @pineapplebooboo @curvybihufflepuff  @thefridgeismybestie @supernatural508 @supernaturaldean67  @ssweet-empowerment @cant-decide-at-this-moment @mehrmonga @specs15 @kanupps06 @imnotinsanehunny @sarahgracej @jasura @jo-l-ab @autijahnerd13s-blahg​ @sophiealiice @movingonto-betterthings  @sarahmatthews7​

Series tag list (closed): @incoherent-smiles-deactivated @persephone-is-here-omg @thebookisbtr @just-another-teen01 @grande-and-thediamonds @badassbaker @mizzzpink @suz-123 @missinstantgratification @sebspocketsquare @kyaracrazy @lastfallenstar @afabletimelady @satanwithoutstyle

 Strikethrough means Tumblr wouldn’t let me tag you!

#fever #exotic prologue #exotic #bucky x reader #steve x reader #tony x reader #bucky fan fiction #steve fan fiction #tony fan fiction #bucky barnes fan fiction #steve rogers fan fiction #tony stark fan fiction #siren!reader #marvel #marvel fan fiction #fan fiction #tony stark #steve rogers #bucky barnes #sebastian stan #robert downey junior #chris evans

[multiple-fandomimagines]

Steve Harrington Masterlist *updated 2/15/21*

NONE OF THESE ARE MINE!!! I did NOT write any of these! I believe they are amazing fanfics, written by insanely talented people, and deserve to be shared. ALL CREDIT GOES TO THE AUTHORS!!!

Steve x Billy

Bad by flippyspoon (Billy Hargrove x Steve Harrington)(Billy Hargrove & Eleven)(Billy Hargrove & Max Mayfield) Billy hates the cold but he takes walks in the snowy woods anyway. Never know who you’ll meet there.

Pain, Will You Return It? by shocked_into_shame (Billy Hargrove x Steve Harrington) When Billy gets beaten to a literal pulp by his dad, the police get involved. Billy has to come to terms with what he has done to those around him. He doesn’t want to be like his dad. Especially when he sees Steve Harrington. When he sees Steve, he wants to be good.

Marquee Moons by flippyspoon (Billy Hargrove x Steve Harrington) Billy helps out with some demodog bustin’.

Runaway by ohmbgosh (Billy Hargrove x Steve Harrington)(Billy Hargrove & Jim Hopper)(Billy Hargrove & Eleven) Jim Hopper just wants to find a Christmas present for his telepathic daughter. He didn’t ask for all these extra teenagers in his home.

Holiday’s at the Henderson’s by ohmbgosh (Billy Hargrove x Steve Harrington) For some reason Steve really wants Dustin to get along with Billy. Since it’s almost Christmas, Dustin reluctantly gives it a shot.

To Build a Home by inkyreveries (Billy Hargrove x Steve Harrington) In which Neil Hargrove dies and Billy and Steve go back to Hawkins.

Saint Anger by maikurosaki (Billy Hargrove x Steve Harrington) Hopper sighed and scratched his beard. “Look, kid, the reason why I'm offering you a second chance is because you need it. You don't deserve it, but you need it. So I got your back.” Or how, on his harrowing road to redemption (because second chances don't come easy), Billy Hargrove loses a good-for-nothing father, but gains a tough little sister, a giant older brother, a preppy boyfriend, and an obnoxious pack of nerds, not necessarily in this particular order.

Angels Come To Us Disguised by AuthorsBane (Billy Hargrove x Steve Harrington)(Protective Parent Jim Hopper) It's a quiet night in Hawkins. That is, until Chief Hopper receives news he would have been able to live without. What follows is the worst night on call he can imagine once Billy Hargrove and Steve Harrington get involved.

"It's like the Body Snatchers!" by ChangeTheCircumstances (Billy Hargrove & Max Mayfield)(Billy Hargrove x Steve Harrington) Max wonders if her life will ever be normal again, if anything can be normal in a place like Hawkins. She doubts it but there's at least one thing she's sure of: the last person to ever realize what's really going on in this crazy place will be Billy. No way would anything supernatural ever happen to him.

Don't Tell Me There's No Hope At All/ Together We Stand, Divided We Fall by Straight_Outta_Hobbiton (Billy Hargrove & Max Mayfield)(Billy Hargrove x Steve Harrington) Billy's used to being afraid of his father, and he knows he's not the only one scared. But it's one thing to know your stepmother gets smacked around every once in a while and another thing completely to find her body on the bathroom floor.He's a mess, Max is even more of a mess, and Joyce Byers is a queen among mothers, she really is.

Hargrove by petersnotkingyet (Billy Hargrove x Steve Harrington) “Chief?” “Yeah?” Hopper responded. It was barely eight o’clock; he’d just made it to the office. “Principal Wallace needs you down at the high school. The Hargrove kid’s sleeping in his car again, and they can’t get him to wake up.”

stand (in the place where you live) by Boardingschooled (Billy Hargrove & Max Mayfield)(Billy Hargrove x Steve Harrington) After the gate is closed, Billy Hargrove has to face the consequences of what he's done, and it's all thanks to Hopper and his habit of taking in strays. Alternatively: Billy becomes a good big brother, learns how to apologize, and makes some very gay mixtapes, not in that order.

Holding Out For A Hero by TumbleTree Billy had never cared for the kids Steve called his own. He had already started tolerating them for Max’s sake and not because she almost busted his nuts that one time with the baseball bat. But when Steve had looked at him with those big brown eyes, begging him to keep an eye on the kids while he was on some ‘vacation’ with his asshole parents Billy couldn’t say no.So fuck Steve for putting him in all the situations that followed that conversation. He owed him a ton of blow jobs for all the shit he had to put up with now.—Five times Billy protected their kids and the one time they protected him…sort of.

We Slip And Slide by CallieB It came from the Discord, y'all.Pure indulgent post-S3 fluff, including but not limited to the discussed concepts of: - Billy moving in with Joyce - The Jonathan/Billy friendship we all need - Grouchy Hopper - Jonathan and Billy smoking weed together and arguing about music. Because punk and metal are two different things. BUT they unite against Steve’s taste - Robin and Jonathan being excellent wing-persons - Hop and Billy teaming up against Mike to protect El - Shovel talks all round - Robin being clever and eating popcorn - The you rule/you suck board

the greatest adventure is the family you’ve searched for coming alive by ThePackWantstheD Billy spends a night fighting monsters with a crowbar in his hand after Harrington knocks him into the Byers’ fridge.In the aftermath, he and Max call a ceasefire.or: Billy Hargrove gets the family he deserves in the form of three children taking up the seats of the camaro, in the form of Billy teaching Max that she can be as badass as she wants without being less of a girl because Billy taking care of himself doesn’t make him less of a man, in the form of the blood and bruises and broken bones that Eleven and Billy share, in the form of Will Byers learning that he’s not the only boy in Hawkins who wants to kiss other boys.

The Great Escape by flippyspoon  Hopper’s been in a cell in Kamchatka for three months. He’s got a routine and he takes it one day at a time. And then a certain blonde bad boy from Hawkins shows up.

Limits by That_Is_Americas_Ass Everyone has their limits.Max has just finally hit hers.She’s done with hiding behind closed doors listening to her step-father Neil hurt her brother, his own flesh and blood son, beyond reason and without remorse. She’s done watching her own mother cower in ignorance behind a mask of indifference. She’s done hiding in the dark while Billy takes the abuse to try and save her from the heartless man who dared call himself their father.Of all the monsters lurking in Hawkins, who would have guessed the worst of them all was living in Max’s own home?

Shovel Talk(s) by Invaderdumbass Max wasn’t a great sister, hell she wasn’t even a decent sister until recently. It took her brother dying, El spilling the secrets that lurk in her home, then him coming back to life for her to shape up.Or a bit of a Max Mayfield character study and everyones got an opinion on Billy and Steve getting together.

Steve & The Kids

A Chance To Heal by usa123 (Steve Harrington & The Stranger Things Kids)(Protective Parent Jim Hopper & Steve Harrington) Missing scene from the end of 2x09 The Gate in which papa!Hopper is in full swing, Eleven believes Eggos can (help) cure any injury, and Steve gets all the platonic love and affection he deserves.

Found Families by darkangel86 (Jonathan Byers x Steve Harrington x Nancy Wheeler)(Protective Steve Harrington)(Steve & The Kids) One year and six months had passed since Lonnie had last set foot in Hawkins and in everyone's opinion that was still too soon for him to show his face again. So, of course the first time he shows up at the house, its Will who's home. Alone. For one of the first times since he'd been back from the Upside Down.

Misplaced Kids by StrangerStars (Steve Harrington & The Stranger Things Kids)(Protective Steve Harrington) In which Steve can't find the kids and freaks the hell out.

The King of Hawkins High by el_spirito (Steve Harrington & The Stranger Things Kids) (Protective Parent Jim Hopper) Just some missing scenes/an episode tag to the season finale because Steve got the crap beat out of him and there were just so many opportunities for our strange little family to bond and angst and persevere together. Featuring slightly-delirious-but-still-a-mom Steve, protective Dustin, snarky children, and paternal Hopper, among other things.

Common Cents  by StrangerStars (Steve Harrington & The Stranger Things Kids)(Parent Jim Hopper & Steve Harrington)(Joyce Byers & Steve Harrington) Making a will at eighteen seems incredibly morbid. The lawyer stares at him long and hard the entire time. She acts like he's contagious, like she might catch her death from him or maybe he'll ruin her rug by dropping dead in her office. Steve figures she has nothing to worry about. If anything's going to kill him, it's probably going to be a monster from the Upside Down. In which Steve hunts monsters, becomes a deputy, makes a will, and finds a family. Among other things.

The Steve Harrington Guide to Babysitting by UnoriginalToast (Steve Harrington & The Stranger Things Kids) Steve has been tasked with babysitting El after the Gate is closed, which sounds like an easy enough job. After all, she's too tired to be much trouble, right? But what Steve doesn't factor in is the trouble her four nosey friends and that girl with the shitty brother can get themselves into.

Icebreaker by futureboy (Steve Harrington & The Stranger Things Kids) Steve’s annoying new eighth-grader friends officially induct him as an ally to their party. It’s a prime opportunity for him to get to know that superhero buddy of theirs who keeps saving their skins.

"It's like the Body Snatchers!" by ChangeTheCircumstances (Billy Hargrove & Max Mayfield)(Billy Hargrove x Steve Harrington)(Steve Harrington & The Stranger Things Kids) Max wonders if her life will ever be normal again, if anything can be normal in a place like Hawkins. She doubts it but there's at least one thing she's sure of: the last person to ever realize what's really going on in this crazy place will be Billy. No way would anything supernatural ever happen to him.

Don't Tell Me There's No Hope At All/ Together We Stand, Divided We Fall by Straight_Outta_Hobbiton (Billy Hargrove & Max Mayfield)(Billy Hargrove x Steve Harrington) Billy's used to being afraid of his father, and he knows he's not the only one scared. But it's one thing to know your stepmother gets smacked around every once in a while and another thing completely to find her body on the bathroom floor.He's a mess, Max is even more of a mess, and Joyce Byers is a queen among mothers, she really is.

proud by mercytio (scundtrack) (Billy Hargrove & Max Mayfield)(Steve Harrington & Max Mayfield) max graduates and steve tells her exactly what she needed to hear

Steve x Reader

I Want You To Show Me by v_writings (Steve Harrington x Reader) Steve finds you in your secret place after dropping Dustin off at the Snow Ball, and talking about how he’s feeling leads you to do something neither of you could have expected.

#archive of our own #masterlist #stranger things #steve harrington #steve harrington masterlist #stranger things masterlist #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x billy hargrove #harringrove #strangerthings

[soundonreadings]

Sound On InstaReadings Series Volume 4 with Jillian Christmas & Lauren Turner

Welcome to Sound on InstaReadings Series. Our second installment features readers Jillian Christmas & Lauren Turner and is hosted by David Ly and Cynara Geissler.

Posted here for your enjoyment are the bios of our fine readers and the text of their readings. Thanks!

Jillian Christmas is a queer, afro-caribbean writer living on the unceded territories of the Squamish, Tsleil-Waututh and Musqueam people (Vancouver, BC.) where she served for six years as Artistic Director of Versəs Festival of Words. She has won numerous Grand Poetry-Slam Championship titles and represented Toronto and Vancouver at 11 national poetry festivals, notably breaking ground as the first Canadian to perform on the final stage of the Women of the World Poetry Slam. Jillian's work has been published in a number of magazines and books, most recently Matrix New Queer Writing (issue 98), Plenitude Magazine, Room Magazine (39.1) and celebrated anthology, The Great Black North. Her debut poetry collection The Gospel of Breaking is available now from Arsenal Pulp Press.

Reading text:

(sugar plum)

mommy sat down on the porch to put her foot up. She has so much to tell me today, about the iguana and how it could make aunty run, about the good bush that washes away the bad spirits anyone might put on me. I must take some to charlotteville and bathe with it in the ocean. She tells me too many times about the fish I am already sure I do not want to eat. But I listen. mommy is ninety-nine and she has earned all of her indulgences. So she tells me again about the house she built, how no man helped her do it. When I ask about her mother, she tells me her maiden name was murray. I want to know more about her mother, my great- grandmother. I want to know what she looked like and how she smelled and what she did to stay alive. Was her hair long like mine, was her skin dark like /uncle/?

mommy doesn’t talk much about her mother. Says she liked her mother fine, but she loves her /daddy/. So I listen to her talk about my /great grandfather/ defratis. She tells me he was nice, and fair, with beautiful hair. Half guyanese and half portuguese. She tells me he had plenty money, was a rum dealer with lots of business, rum shops here and there. She tells me how he died at 30 years and how a woman who worked with him told her the story. Some jealous man put poison in his rum so he could steal up all of his business. She asks me if I understand. I do, but as always I have a tough time telling the difference between truth and myth.

Satisfied of my understanding she goes on. She tells me how she loved him. How she cried and threw herself down in the street , just a little girl of five, begging her /father/ not to go to work. She only met him this once, but she loved him her whole life.

When she rolled around and threw a fit to stop him leaving, he reached for his belt, began to unbuckle to lash her into better behaviour, but he stopped himself. Picked her up out of the road and carried her into the store. He told the young woman in there to cook some food and share with her and then he was gone.

mommy says that if her /daddy/ hadn’t died, she would’ve gone with him, travelled to portugal and all over. She says he would’ve left her some money and she wouldn’t have had to work so hard all of her life. Things would’ve been different. She would not have stayed in charlotteville, or married /my grandfather/,  (she doesn’t say much about this but I think I already know he was a heavy handed man). I listen. Eventually, in a moment of gratitude, I say that if things had been different I wouldn’t be here, I wouldn’t exist. That’s what I’m telling you, she replies. My gratitude melts into a kind of passive sadness, she has already measured this option, has found it acceptable. I say, but what about your children? I would’ve had different children. She doesn’t say it with malice, but a tepid resignation. I repeat BUT I WOULDN’T EXIST!

No, you wouldn’t be my child. It’s a reasonable compromise for her, a whole life, house, children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren still, gambled on trust for /a man/ only met once, gambled on the kindness of her being fed, instead of beaten.

I think about the longing I have suffered in my life. How I have stretched toward people who would not have stayed even if there were no venom.

The promise of possibility is a trap that has kept me from the joys of my own life.

And what joys am I missing, in clinging to a /daddy/ who is always missing, always walking toward poison and away from food? What love do I dishonour and ignore, in searching for a face I hardly know?

Let them go to their poison /great- grandfathers/ and /daddies/ too. Let them go and leave behind children crying as they will, mourning as we do. Let them go, and let us see what wild plants grow in their absence. What medicines will spring from a line of women with lost fathers and distant /daddies/? A line of maidens and witches who carry their own names and build their own houses, and birth their own bloodlines and cook their own food.

I Miss You Much

I miss you like dark and icy waters miss the warmth of sun’s sweet kisses or lust for the hard hand of wind’s fleeting embraces I miss you like a hungry storm wet and urgent carving torrents through rough and choppy places I miss you deep and aching long and heavy and though you may not heed this truth is by the time you read this I will miss you more already my room is hot the air hangs damp and heady and I miss you I am missing you in places where other lovers’ hands become unsteady at the mention of our skin where others’ sin is weak and thin and other fingers dare not dream to touch come back to me tonight my love I promise I am ready and I miss you much my love MY GOD I miss you much

Lauren Turner is a disabled poet and essayist, who wrote the chapbook, We’re Not Going to Do Better Next Time (knife | fork | book, 2018). Her work has appeared in Grain, Arc Magazine, Poetry is Dead, Cosmonauts Avenue, The Puritan, canthius and elsewhere. She won the 2018 Short Grain Contest and was a finalist for the 2017 3Macs carte blanche Prize. She lives in Tiohtiá:ke/Montréal on the unceded land of the Kanien’kehá:ka Nation.

Reading Text:

excerpt from Stop Bringing Me Here

I want to take the violence out of my life and replace it with a swan pond.

::

There’s a reading at my alma mater. By attending, I open the nostalgic dam without meaning to, gingerly stepping back into your kitchen.

You have me against the counter, nothing perverse yet – I wanted this.

Onstage, a poet is reciting poems filled with light, weather, and nature.

I hear her animals and I think: How advantageous this woman’s life must be that she can inhabit the pastoral in her poetry. 

Do I err as a poet or as a woman? I wasn’t taught to respect either one.

::

The university reading folds open to a student bar. Presiding over the visiting writers, my former mentor won’t look at me, hasn’t since finding out I’d been involved with you. Gulping my cider like oxygen, I try to visualize sunfish winnowing water into ripples to keep back tears. I want to say: The movements of power aren’t difficult to follow. You weren’t, after all, a rodent tunnelling snow but the cat that pounced in its nest. 

::

Dear [former mentor], Confiding in you felt hazard-filled. I was terrified of blame, the assumption that I tried to capitalize on the power of an older, established man – your friend. Where could he get me?

I never wanted to be gotten anywhere, only to bring myself to the place where he wouldn’t act embarrassed of me. I thought this place existed. If only my appeal wasn’t bound up in the shame he knew to foster.

I trusted you, [former mentor], but you prefer to trust power.

::

It’s lazy to accuse young women of fucking to the top. Harder to ask why they heard a child’s loon call as love, leapt toward it. 

Wait, that metaphor is weak. Turn the child adult, their playtime sinister. 

::

Several men came whistling into my lakeside summer. I swam with them, and that season is no one’s voyeuristic wet dream, except mine.

::

You upended my life, for a time. I won’t call every fault line pain or pretend we never shared moments that sweetened our brine, making the cuts itch a little less.

Often, those memories carry more pain than your cruelty, that you added value to my life in equal measures to what you took away.

Three years left before I could write that. I’m not sure it’s true.

::

Moving on didn’t dissuade a part of me from staying entrenched in this. I imagine that’s the part you take issue with. I wonder if you, like my mentor, have recalibrated my culpability to account for your fall.

I didn’t intend to topple you from the pedestal. On TV, a statue in shackles bends like it was never worth admiring and I couldn’t want that for you.

::

Maybe it was my fault, I tell a friend, trying to hush the sadness that gnaws like the slow hunger of being disbelieved. I should’ve turned him down. Why was I flattered by his interest? Did I believe he was capable of genuine care? How could our relationship grow into anything except a power struggle?

These questions eat beyond their satiation point.

::

So what, replies society. We’ve all been young and most of us aren’t crying foul about our less savoury trysts. You consented to fucking him and he took it to mean fucking you over. You should’ve been clearer.

::

I don’t know what I want from this poem. I want to write poems where I’m not dripping across the linoleum with my cunt in your mouth. 

It’s a clean request: a plea for poems where birds could take up nest. I needed to talk to you without talking to you, but every line I try goes dead. Let’s take my quiet in handfuls, like a drunken night with too much winter 

clothing and it’s always June somewhere. 

::

Fine, have it your way: I never craved his love, only to swallow his prestige with my body, lapping up the Goldschläger cum that clung to the fine mink of his crotch. I was mature in early life and tucked my naïveté up my too-long sleeves. Isn’t that how girls grow up? By pretending we can handle the depths, flaunting our sodden selves like we chose to dive in, rather than hit water from a shove. Swimming is a reflexive motion in ducks. Also in girls.

::

No matter how softly I cauterize this life, someone asks, But what happened in his kitchen?

It’s my fault. I thought I could enter a man’s home without catching a sliver of his expectation. No, tell me exactly with your bons mots. Spell it out. And what if I can’t, what then?          He was nothing I didn’t say yes to.

::

The men are getting restless, I imagine addressing a lecture hall as I would a horse stable. As if men are no different than beasts broken over centuries, proudly trotted into poetry without fearing their hooves in my stanzas’s soft meat. When they realized I wouldn’t keep quiet, they waited around for me to slip up and write the words they could bridle me with. ::

I am terrified I built my poetry on the backs of violent men. I am terrified. I built my poetry on the backs of violent men.

I am built on the back of violence.

[eenefangirlanalysis]

“What’s the matter, Jimmy?” Sarah asks with little to no concern.

“I’m not allowed to go in there, Sarah. I still have bad dreams. And my Mom had to buy a mattress cover.”

This is the first and only mention of Jimmy’s Mom.

We hardly know Jimmy’s parents. I say hardly because Jonny has never said anything about his parents. Although he does quip that freezing up the house for Christmas is a tradition. It’s never stated whether his parents go along with it too since they appear to be home.

There have been multiple head canons on who Jimmy’s father is. Is he close with him? Is he more close with his mom? I know Jimmy has a big family seeing how he was all set up for a party in Jingle Jingle Jangle. @jenny2x4 recently pointed out that Jimmy’s family may be of higher status. The Eds are Comin’ is the first time we actually see other parts of his house. We’ve only been in his massive bedroom.

This rich head canon turns around my own ideas about Jimmy’s family. Are Jimmy’s parents similar to Edd’s? They’re constantly busy working leaving Jimmy to depend on Sarah as if she were his sister or a parent. And Sarah does take over the motherly role for him.

If Jimmy’s parents are also rarely around it explains how Jimmy and Edd formed a close bond.

From my viewpoint I get that vibe that Jimmy’s mother is almost annoyed about buying the mattress cover. Or she is concerned. How long has Jimmy needed a mattress cover before? If Jimmy is constantly wetting the bed at 8-9 years old this could be a more serious problem.

Jimmy even mentioned that he has/had a therapist in Fa-La-La-La Ed when he couldn’t bring himself to smash is piggy bank. When it was revealed that Jimmy may not have to go through the painful process he told Sarah that he can cancel his therapy. Did he? I hope he didn’t. He was going through a rather rough time post Fistful. I will get into that observation in a short bit.

As for Jimmy’s father the only mention he has ever received was If It Smells as an Ed. As a ruse. Jimmy clearly has the hockey stick which was used to frame the Ed’s. Jimmy tells them spilling clear crocodile tears that his father made him practice upon the Ed’s framing him. And the lie works.

Jimmy is not the most masculine character on the show. His sexuality has been in question. He has quite an imagination and plays with feminine products such as dolls. Though he does tend to take interest in playing sports and hanging out with the Ed’s. He likes spending time with them as he can talk about things he’s not comfortable talking about with Sarah.

I have a head canon that Jimmy’s father used to drink. Jimmy doesn’t rely on Sarah as much in the later seasons 3-5. Not mentally that is. He needs to her to physically fight off others for him.

Jimmy had a major black out and beat Edd to a pulp in Fistful of Ed. He was horrified at the aftermath. The incident affected him so much that his wining didn’t resonate with him. What if he believes that he is turning into his father who is still getting better? He’s beginning to spend more time with him while he slips away from the Ed’s.

Sarah could care less about Jimmy’s woes.

This is very unlike her. Jimmy has always come first. She appeared in seconds upon Jimmy blowing the whistle in Ed in Half Shell.

Their friendship has been diminishing over time. They bicker more in season 4. I think it’s due to growing up. Jimmy wants to explore his independent side more then Sarah.

“OOOOkaaAy....”

“But you’re really going to miss a doozy!”

And Sarah abandons Jimmy!

Witnessing this fight is more important to her then comforting her best friend.

If you think about it, this is Sarah’s first decision that is her own. Similar to Edd she always has to run her plans by Jimmy to see if they’re okay. Often Jimmy will call her out on her bad behavior. Still, it doesn’t stop Sarah. Here, she never asked Jimmy if it was okay if she went along by herself. Her mother told her no matter what she always had to get her way.

Sarah has always relied on her mom. Other then Nazz she is the only close female figure she has. Very similar to Eddy in his relationship with Bro. Since Bro was the only figure Eddy had around when he was little Eddy decided to look up to him. Both characters learn how wrong they were to do so and how they were never ready to face the world.

It’s a shame that Eddy and Sarah don’t have any screen time together. They don’t realize they learn the same lesson.

Speaking of which is that why Sarah craves to see this fight?

She knows that her brother is going to get beat up. What does Sarah have against Ed? Could she hate him because her mother never told her what was wrong with him?

Sarah doesn’t have anything against Edd. There has always been a flip flopped crush between them.

I think Sarah mainly wants to witness this fight to see Eddy get beaten to a pulp. They’re constantly arguing and don’t see eye to eye. She harasses at him at any given time. In all actuality they’d be great friends post BPS as they learn how similar they are. They were different to begin with.

Before I go on I wanted to mentioned a deleted scene that was cut while Sarah and Jimmy were skipping along. They were to discuss their theories on what may have been under Edd’s hat. One of these theories being the famous blonde hair.

See, AKA has been watching the fandom closely for viewers head canons on their show. As for why this scene was cut maybe it was for time sake. The movie would have gone in a much different and deeper direction if the confession scene was left in. 

Danny actually meant what he said in the video when he admitted they were finally going to show viewers what was under Edd’s hat. There was build up during many points to show viewers what was under Edd’s hat. Once they decided to cut the scene, this little moment must have been cut too as it would have made no sense. 

Jimmy is at a loss for words seeing Sarah run off without him.

Jimmy just started trusting himself again. As I was explaining Jimmy had an identity crisis for some time after Fistful. In his two appearances from the season 6 episodes and the special The Eds are Comin’ he’s afraid of himself and tends to let others take the action.

His appearance in May I Have This Ed is minor but take a look at the outfit he’s wearing to the dance. Does that outfit look like something Jimmy would wear?

Look Before You Ed, the finally episode ever produced, is an important episode as it reconnects Edd and Jimmy. Jimmy becomes confident in himself once more. Although he abandons Edd and makes a mockery of he and his friends Jimmy is back to himself, making up his own ideas and taking leadership, much to Sarah’s disliking.

Jimmy has had quite the character evolution out of any character on this show. From the passive whiny child who was a magnet to slapstick to turning into one of the most hated among the fan base. I understand Jimmy’s ‘Agatha Christie’ scam riled viewers but think about what he did. 

Would season 1 Jimmy have been able to do that? He let Sarah fight his battles and cried over every little thing. Jimmy should not be hated. He should be applauded for his growth, becoming the voice, and standing up for himself.

Why does he put up with Sarah when she won’t listen to him?

Because they depend on one another.

We all know what Sarah’s home life situation is like. If any of my own head canons are true I think they came together understanding one another. Sarah can be utter monster at times. Jimmy knows there is more. He is patient with Sarah. Sarah is lucky to have Jimmy as friend. It’s implied that she doesn’t have any other friends her own age. She’s driven everyone with her behavior. 

Which brings us to an important character arc for Sarah. Learning to count on Jimmy and trust her own instincts.

“I hope Kevin knocks Eddy’s teeth out!”

How could Jimmy say this when Eddy is the one who helped him out from his passive ways?

Jimmy was terrified of Eddy before the day they spent together in Ed in a Half Shell. I wonder if he was able to relate to Eddy on some level during his teachings.

Can each character relate to Eddy?

Arguably, Eddy has helped/saved each character from becoming someone they’re not. He has also tested their wits with these scams. Once the kids catch on to the scams and ignore the pleas for money Eddy has to admit that he is happy as they are finally thinking before following through.

In all actuality it was really Bro who saved the characters from becoming something they were not. Still, Eddy had a hand in this. Eddy is the most compassionate person on the show. We have had multiple discussions on how Eddy is more of a giver then a selfish person. Eddy has made everyone think about who they are and brought quite a positive impact within the cul-de-sac.

Nobody can live without Eddy.

Jimmy decides to follow Sarah.

“Wait for me, girlfriend?”

Do you think Sarah and Jimmy will ever date when they’re older?

It depends on fans opinions about his sexuality. I head canon that maybe they’ll date for a brief period until Jimmy comes terms with his sexuality.

The horror aspect doesn’t end as Jimmy runs down the opposite road of Sarah.

We head into a very familiar trailer park.

#Ed Edd n Eddy #eene #ed edd n eddy big picture show #Sarah #Jimmy #character analysis #eene analysis #ed edd n eddy jingle jingle jangle #if it smells like an ed #A Fistful of Ed #Look Before You Ed #May I Have This Ed #eene season 6 #Eddy's Brother #Ed #Edd #Eddy #Edd's Hat #eene head canons #eene fandom #The Eds are Comin #AKA #danny antonucci #Nazz #Ed's Mother #Jimmy's Parents #fa la la la ed

[mayphoenix]

For the record...

...I feel I need to justify my stance on something new that is making the rounds in Johnlock fandom: John as a perpetrator of domestic violence against Sherlock on a regular basis.  

A photo of Benedict -- I’m assuming from another role -- with his face looking like raw meat following a severe beating, has inspired some fans to speculate that John did that to Sherlock.  Some have even said that Sherlock hides Rosie to protect her when John goes into one of his tirades and that things like the anniversary of Mary’s death are enough to set him off into beating Sherlock the way he did in TLD.  While I tend to ignore most of fandom’s theories when they don’t agree with my own headcanon (because, really, to each his own), domestic abuse is one of my big triggers and the reason I have PTSD, so it’s kind of hard to just scroll past this one without making a comment.  I even remarked that I didn’t want to see this “shit” anymore, that John and Sherlock are supposed to love each other (even if we don’t get a gay relationship out of it, they are without a doubt devoted to one another and do love one another, to the point where they are each willing to take dangerous risks to protect each other).   But it still bothers me that some people are taking John’s outburst in TLD and running with it in this very dark, terrible direction.  They are turning this good man into a monster and hate him for attacking Sherlock.  Few are willing to take a step back and really look at the reasons behind it, especially in the context of the character as presented to us for seven years.  Yes, John is a soldier and he does have an addiction to danger, and he could break all your bones while naming them.  The only times we have seen him attack Sherlock physically, it was after extreme provocation.  In ASiB, Sherlock tells John to hit him and John refuses until Sherlock hits him first.  In TEH, John leaps at Sherlock for joking around after coming back from the dead (all things considered, I know I would be pissed if my best friend faked his death and then came back with no concern for my grief but instead cracked jokes about my appearance).   In TLD, John has a lot weighing on him by the time he snaps and begins attacking Sherlock.  First, he didn’t just blithely go after Sherlock -- he saw Sherlock acting irrationally and holding a deadly weapon.  It started as a means of disarming him and trying to snap Sherlock out of his frenzied state, and quickly escalated because of all the personal things built up behind it: John’s anger at Sherlock for using (again) and putting his life at risk (according to Molly, who just got done saying Sherlock is going to die at this rate).  This is John reacting to the fear of watching Sherlock die once again (the first time being his “death” from jumping off St. Bart’s, the second being after he was shot by Mary quickly followed by going into cardiac arrest at Baker Street), and then seeing the list of drugs Sherlock took on the jet (TAB).  It is ACD canon that Watson has never approved of Holmes’ drug use, and BBC’s John Watson is no exception. (Hell, even Molly slapped Sherlock three times for testing positive and upsetting the people who love him with his reckless behavior -- are we going to accuse Molly of being a domestic abuser, too?)  

We know John, by his own admission, finds it difficult to express his emotions; when he began to cry at Sherlock’s grave, he schooled himself quickly even though he was alone with no one (that he knew) to see him fall apart.  He had to fight the tears over Sherlock’s Best Man speech.  He had to fight the emotion when he thought they were going to blow up with that train car under Parliament.  In suppressing his tears, his emotions manifest in anger (shouting, kicking furniture around), and while we’ve seen him -- rightfully -- direct that anger toward actual threats (including anyone who might talk trash about Sherlock in his presence) to protect himself and those he holds dear (kind of like when Sherlock threw a guy out a second-story window after he had already beaten him bloody for harming Mrs. Hudson), we have never seen John just attack without reason.  We have seen him walk away from Sherlock more times than not when Sherlock has become verbally abusive/insulting, rather than argue with him.   Back to TLD:  in addition to his fear-motivated anger at Sherlock for using drugs, John is also carrying a lot of guilt and self-loathing over what happened with Mary. We know he was unhappy in the marriage as far back as HLV but he stayed and struggled to convince himself that they could make it work, even after he told Mary to her face (in TST) that he used to like her.  John considers the texting with “E” to be cheating -- he entertained the thought of an affair and was being sneaky about it, and did not have a chance to come clean before Mary died, which left him without closure.  John has always tried to be a good man but he thinks he is a failure.  He is flawed, yes, but then -- who isn’t?  If he truly was a bad person he would have pursued the affair.  He would have left Mary when she was still pregnant, after finding out she was an assassin who lied to him and shot his best friend.   So he turns on Sherlock for breaking a vow, but it was his anger at himself for constantly wanting to break his own vows.  Misdirected anger.  Also, in sacrificing her life to save Sherlock, Mary gave Sherlock a gift and by taking drugs and putting himself at risk, Sherlock was abusing that gift.  That added to John’s frustration.  Sherlock didn’t kill John’s wife.  He didn’t make her jump in front of that bullet.  John was so blinded with grief, self-loathing, and guilt (especially if he ever had even the slightest feeling of relief that he was free of her without having to be the one to leave) that he could not see that and admit it until later.  He knows Sherlock is not responsible for Mary’s death.  That he volunteers to sit with Sherlock while Sherlock is detoxing says that he still cares about him.  He feels a sense of obligation to him and guilt over what he did by unleashing that rage.  If he didn’t, he wouldn’t still be with him, solving crimes.  John has made a commitment to Sherlock that he has never made to anyone else, not even Mary; he even distanced himself from his sister Harry while she was still drinking heavily (planning to spend Christmas with her when he believed she was off the booze).  And after TLD, things were different between John and Sherlock but in a better way.  Sherlock referred to John as “family.”  There is a new sense of closeness between them throughout TFP (if any of that episode can even be believed), as though they had just traversed that proverbial Dark Night of the Soul and come out stronger on the other side.   When Mycroft is standing there putting John down at Sherrinford during Eurus’ game, John’s face registers pain because he believes he is unworthy of Sherlock after what he did to him.  And yet, Sherlock is prepared to kill himself rather than shoot John.  Sherlock holds no grudges against John for what he did.  He put John through so much hell over the past seven years, playing with his emotions, and he realizes he is just as guilty.  

Now the two of them are healing.  There is no way that John is ever going to go off on Sherlock again to the same extreme as we saw in TLD.  Even when Sherlock ignored John’s “Vatican Cameos” warning, John did not get angry with him.  When Sherlock didn’t come and rescue him right away from the well, John didn’t seem to be put off.  By the end of S4, these men seemed happier and stronger together in their relationship, which is why I refuse to believe that John would become some kind of regular perpetrator of domestic violence.  Oh, they will still bicker.  But beating Sherlock to a pulp?  No.  

Up until S4, everyone believed in the perfect love that is Johnlock.  Why does that have to change, especially when so many of us can see S4 is messed up?  Why is this kind of thing suddenly being accepted, when there is so much in S4 that makes no sense whatsoever; when we’re questioning other actions that are totally OOC and events that don’t line up?  Why can’t fans see it for the unusual circumstance it is and distance themselves from it, and let these boys be happy?  If John didn’t love Sherlock, he would not have cried in front of him, or let Sherlock hold him.  He would not rebuild Baker Street with him, or let him handle his child.  And if Sherlock didn’t love John, he would not continue to want him in his life, or open his heart to him and his daughter.  If theirs was a relationship of regular domestic violence, with John beating up on Sherlock, there is no way either of them -- or their friends -- would allow it to continue.  So why should we, as Johnlock shippers, allow it?  That’s what I don’t understand, and why I feel it has no place in this fandom.  We have enough negativity to deal with from outside forces; why should we let that kind of thing poison something we have always seen as one of the most potentially beautiful relationships in existence?       

#johnlock #johnlock theories #johnlock and domestic abuse

[prevariicator-archive]

6 Random Things About Myself

Tagged by @theagelesswanderer

1. I struggle with basic math. People make fun of me, some, like my mom, get frustrated and try to have me work out problems in my head-no paper or pen- and my answers are always too far off or I get too frustrated to even come up with an answer. Despite this, no one has thought to get me tested for dyscalculia. I suspect I have it but have no money to get tested or even know where to get tested. Because of my inability to do math, my school life became hell (it was torture for other reasons as well), In 5th grade my teacher Mrs. Webb, a very mean and portly woman with thinning and greying brown hair would constantly yell at me saying I was falling behind because I was faking not understanding. I was moved to a program where I went to a class and they helped students with their work-she wouldn’t let me go.  Mid 6th my teacher got pregnant. I lost the teacher who understood I had trouble for a fill in who, like Mrs.Webb, was furious and made me feel stupid. 7th was the same, and the teacher openly stated in front of the small class of kids that she refused to try and teach me and made me sit separately from the other students. She told me, when speaking about my failing grades, that I was destined to be a dropout. -I quit school until mid 10th grade when I moved to a new town. The teachers were better in that town but still expected me to know things learned from 7th-9th grade, which I did not attend. College required math classes. I failed them multiple times and only passed via cheating and what I suspect was one man's pity seeing me struggle so hard. 

2. The reason I left school in 7th grade wasn’t just math. I left because I was being bullied by teachers, students, administration, and for protecting myself had to go to court and got community service. The main trigger for my mom to finally pull me out of school was one day I stopped a bully from making my friend cry by calling her a bitch and pulling my friend away. -She gathered all the black students she could at the bus stop claiming I was a KKK member and threatened to kill her. My friend had to rush to get a teacher, and I narrowly escaped getting my ass beaten to a pulp. -That was the last day before Christmas break. I didn’t go back to a real school until November in 10th grade.  When there was the possibility that I would have been forced to go back to that school, my mom says she saw my face drain of color, that I looked like I’d rather be dead than go back. She was right. 

3. I struggle with depression, anxiety, and general human connection. Unless it’s on a screen, I can’t make friends. I have been properly diagnosed with depression, however, my parents refused to take the anti-depressant route. From watching others on them, my friend became a sleeping beauty, she rarely was awake and when she was she was a zombie. My brother hallucinated like crazy. My father panicked and almost killed himself when he took one. My cousin didn’t take his like he was supposed to, and he killed himself. So I have my doubts that I should be on those, even if I’ve been assured they aren’t awful and do help. 

4. My favorite concert venue is The Door in Deep Ellum/Dallas Texas. The reason for this is that I love how dark it is. It’s small, it’s comfortable, the lighting isn’t obnoxious, the people who go there, or to the shows I went to, went to have a good time, and I felt like I belonged. The music they play before a show is familiar, and if not, I find great artists listening to their mixes for the nights before a concert. Even before the action I’m singing and having fun. Then, when it's concert time, you can feel the vibrations of the music from everywhere. Other venues I have been to have failed to make me so happy. 

5. I’m 25 years old, and though everyone thinks it is childish, I still sleep with my Raggedy Ann which I got for Christmas in 1998. My parents used to not mind, but now when I travel between home and my apartment for school, they will hide her in a bag so others won't see a doll being carried around. They fail to see that besides my cat, that doll is the only thing I have while at the school since my friends live too far away, are always busy, and rarely get to speak with me. Even then, I have 2 friends that aren’t internet friends. When it comes to internet friends, I only speak to one regularly. The others have faded away since life is demanding, and I accept and respect that. 

6. If someone suggests playing with an Ouija board or going to a haunted place I am the first to say NO. Not because I am scared, but because I have been haunted before and it was not fun. Ghosts seem to attach themselves to members of my family, comes from my dad's side. The last time we had ghost problems it targeted me often. Likely because I was the most vulnerable, being a suicidal teenager. This ghost, or whatever it was, stayed in my room. The expierience was traumatising, and while I love ghost hunting and the like, I do not want another ghost latching onto me. 

Tagging@anyone 

[writerpyre]

Pavlova Peril

Ao3 // Fanfic.net

I’ve finally, finally finished my Secret Santa contribution for @argentis, who asked for: “Incarnation: TAG. Virgil Tracy + Pavlova. Medium: Anything.”

 Argentis, I’m so incredibly sorry it’s taken me this long to get your gift completed. My life in RL has been unbelievably hectic and stressful to the extreme this holiday season, but I needed something to keep my brain moving, and this was it. It was a wonderful prompt to work with, and sent me off on several different tangents and research paths to work out how I wanted to approach it, so I really hope you enjoy reading it. Happy Christmas, Friend. I hope you’re having a wonderful start to the new year. <3

He’d heard a rescuee talking about them on a mission, five days into December, on a course to prevent a large yacht from sinking in a storm at the outer edges of Port Phillip Bay, and he thought it was pretty cool-sounding. A dessert made of meringue, chocolate, mint and kiwifruit sounded pretty colourful to say the least, not to mention delicious. The name, he mused, sounded familiar, at any rate, even if he’d prefer much more berries and tropical fruit with it, thanks very much.

There was a supply run for the Christmas season not long after that; Grandma liked having all her ducks in a row long before December 25th, so Virgil offered to go with her in the intention of finding the ingredients in his internet-pilfered recipe to try it out, with the ability to start again if the damned automated module ate it like he had a sneaking suspicion it would, before he managed to get the dessert right. Contrary to popular belief (or just in their subsequent comparison of his skills to that of Grandma Tracy), Virgil wasn’t that great at cooking and baking, even if Alan (with his preternatural senses for knowing when it wasn’t Grandma in the kitchen) certainly thought so.

He’d never actually made meringue before, despite Gordon’s eager support of his supposed prowess, let alone meringue with cream that needed to be spread across the top of it… That was the easy part.

The reason why he was wary was because any contact he’d had with the electric mixer or  other cooking utensils of the kind before now had involved him pulling it apart to see how it worked, rather than actually getting any experience in using the thing, so he was a little wary as to how it was going to turn out, especially as he was going to be using the Automated Kitchen Module, rather than the 392℉ oven that the recipe specified. The machine, new to the appliance market as it was, combined with the first-time experiment this adventure was, Virgil had to concede that it was going to be interesting.

Said recipe itself, Virgil found, in his off-tangent research into why the dessert sounded so familiar -- when he saw pictures of the finished product before he even dared start making it -- brought back memories of a Christmas when he was small, before Mom had passed away and they’d gone on one of their few family holidays overseas to visit Jeff’s youngest brother and his wife in Melbourne. Virgil now recalled thoroughly enjoying licking the whipped cream off his own fingers, and watching an even younger Gordon -- somewhere in the years between the kid’s third birthday and Alan’s birth a couple years later -- attempt to fling a spoonful of his across the table at Scott, much to their father’s and aunt’s displeasure.

The pavlova dessert, Virgil discovered, had no actually trackable regional or geographic origin. Some sources had it coming to the US as a german torte, the other, more widely accepted conclusion was that of the legendary squabble between Australia and New Zealand over the ‘invention’ of the specific dessert, one with official numbers over recipe variations sitting somewhere around the 650-70 mark. His eyebrows had risen exponentially at that revelation, courtesy of a researcher from sometime in the early 2000s at the University of Otago in Aotearoa, but on the other hand, he wasn’t surprised. One of his areas of independent interest at MIT had been a series of essays, specifically related to engineering, but with references to a myriad of other obscure topics on the proliferation of how different regional disparities had a habit of having multiple places of divergence, so he had just shaken his head and moved on.

##

Once he’d chivvied both Grandma and Scott out of the kitchen; his grandmother and eldest brother wanting to ‘help’, and prevent Grandma from helping, respectively -- plus threatening to kick Gordon’s ass if he tried to do a switcheroo with his ingredients again thank you, crutches or not you moron -- Virgil finally had the Module set with the appropriate cooking temperature, and had (pretty intuitively, he was pleased to announce, even to himself) gotten the mixer working with as much ease as he’d done with the test runs of his ion screwdriver.

Meringues were tricky. He came to that conclusion pretty quickly. The main technique involved gestures that had a lot of ‘folding in’ of the beaten cornflour, cream of tartar and egg-whites with the vanilla and sugar to make sure that he didn’t accidentally beat all of the air out of the stuff before he spooned it onto his grease-papered baking tray. Unfortunately, his first attempt, despite being as careful as he possibly could’ve been to not have gone and dropped the entire mixture onto the tray into a blob, after an hour and a half of cooking (and shooing frustrating siblings, Kayo included from the kitchen) proved to be nothing more than a mushy, burned mess, running across the edges of the tray and fouling the Module so the whole kitchen somehow stank like burned sugar. Wonderful.

Take two turned out somewhat better, the mess somewhat more confined to the edges of the tray, and the top just a little less burned since he’d dialed down the Module settings a bit, figuring that the heating element was a little too intense for the delicate structure of the meringue. Virgil examined it critically as he cleaned the bowl this time around and did a general tidy-up, and got the mixer set up again in order to whip the cream and gauge how many berries he wanted to stick on top of this thing -- and whether he’d gotten too many mangoes, seeing as no one else in the family actually liked the things aside from him. He then decided that the second time was better than the mess that the first had turned out to be, so be it if it tasted funky. He left the door open as he let it cool down entirely, and decided that if his family didn’t like it, despite their continued interest in his project -- go away John, I mean it, unless it’s an emergency, no! -- he’d just eat it himself. More blueberries for him. He grinned.

##

Virgil’s plan and what seemed to be his enjoyment of the entire experience went kind of kaput when it came to take it out of the module. His thickened cream was in a bowl on the counter, ready to dollop and his fresh fruit and passionfruit pulp all ready to set out in a pattern he’d drawn up, but to his absolute frustration (and no lack of a vehement kind of under-the-breath swearing) it wasn’t until it had slid off his tray and onto his once-black boots and the shiny wooden flooring that he realised that he’d forgotten to wipe the excess grease off the tray before he’d added the new lot of paper to it, and the whole pavlova base, from the bottom up and all the way through the middle had no friction to stick to the metal, resulting in the associated death plunge to the floor.

Damn.

Sighing, he bent on his knees with the spatula, the trashcan and his paper towelling, and set to cleaning up mess No. 2… Third time lucky? He wondered. Perhaps...

##

Take three, post-mixing found Virgil standing with his arms crossed at the kitchen bench --  streaks of powder and egg in his hair and across his face from his angry frustration at how nothing was going right; I’m following the recipe, how hard is this supposed to be?

Lip pulled between his teeth in concentration as his eyes flickered from the mixture in the bowl to the recipe print-out, to the cleaned and prepared and ready baking tray once more, he glared pointedly at the stupid thing, just daring something to go wrong this time. Normally known as patient and mild-mannered, for some reason, probably to do with his annoyance at this mess just not working for him, even when he actually expected it, it was making him even more irritated in the process. This time, the engineer thought grimly, he was going to throw it at the wall, see if creating a baking-mix mural was going to be a better use of his time than this.

He was just about to take the plunge and dab the concoction on the tray once more, when Brains arrived, data pad in hand, nearly walking straight through Virgil’s un-mopped floor, near the nook without even an upwards glance until his feet suddenly slid a little.

Virgil looked up as the older man blinked twice as he registered the white mess that now, despite Virgil’s cleaning, seemed to take over every other available surface, from Virgil’s hair and face as aforementioned, the counter top, the front of the module, the floor, the sink and everything in between, and Brains’ brown eyes narrowed behind his spectacles.

“V-Virgil,” He queried, frowning. “W-what are you doing?”

Virgil looked around and seemed to register just what a state he was in before looking back at Brains. “I was attempting to bake,” he replied quietly. “And I guess I use bake in the loosest sense of the word.”

Brains looked around, looking for a clean surface to place his data pad down. “Uh, one moment,” he said, retreating to the other side of the room. He deposited the pad before returning. “Alright, Virgil, what were you attempting to, uh, bake?”

“A pavlova,” Virgil responded. “I just can’t understand where I keep going wrong. This is my third attempt.”

“Hmm,” Brains murmured thoughtfully and looked over at the implements on the counter. He pointed at the lined tray. “Is that what you’ve been putting the m-mixture in to bake?”

“Yeah, I lined the tin and everything but I can’t understand why it’s coming out so greasy.”

“Uh, perhaps because you’ve, uh, lined the tray with the wrong p-paper,” he said, taking the bowl of mixture out of his hands and putting it down.

Virgil let him and huffed in frustration. “I didn’t realise there was a wrong sort,” he mumbled. “What’s the right sort?”

“Baking paper,” Brains replied, heading over to the cupboard to get it for him.

“Oh,” Virgil said, taking it from him. “Thanks.” He looked at the box. “I didn’t even see this in there.”

Brains smiled kindly at him. “It’s an easy mistake,” he pointed out. “D-do you want some help?”

“To be honest, I won’t say no.” He took the paper from the tray and replaced it with the baking paper Brains had given him, then refilled the tray again.

Brains took it from him and put it into the module, adjusting the temperature. “Alright, there you go, we’ll, uh, check on it again later.”

“Why did you turn the thermostat down?” Virgil asked, pointing at the controls.

“You’re supposed to preheat the m-module then turn it down for baking.”

“Oh, so that’s why it looked better the second time round.”

“Yes,” Brains smiled. “I-indeed.”

##

“Virgil, this tastes… awesome!” Alan cried enthusiastically, as he shoved his dessert spoon in his mouth at lunch on Christmas Day. Thankfully there had been no early-morning call-outs, and while Dad was still regrettably absent, and they couldn’t count on the record lasting for the remainder of the day as well, they had all just been glad they’d at least been able to sit down for lunch together. It’d been a great morning of present exchanges and good wishes shared between them, Virgil thought. He personally had some new oil paints that his grandmother had bought him that he was eager to try out at some point... “I told you you could do it bro!”

“Too right, Virg!” Gordon nodded, licking his lips and his fingers of cream and smirking. “It’s really tasty.”  John, with his Christmas hat perched on his head, and breaking up his mint crisp chocolate on top of his slice, and Scott, with his mouth full of blueberries -- the ass had swiped almost all of the ones in the vicinity of his slice -- nodded as well.

“It has certainly turned out very well, Virgil.” Grandma Tracy said. “I’d have thought I’d be helping you to fix up any boo-boos.” She smiled. “I’m glad to see that I’ve been very much mistaken.”

“I remember this from when we were kids,” John said wistfully. Scott looked thoughtful. “I thought I recognised the taste,” The oldest brother picked up a berry, examining it with bright blue eyes, before he popped it into his mouth and closing them as he munched. “Mmmmm.” Virgil grinned wryly, rolling his eyes at Scott’s overdramatics. “Well, I had Brains to help with that.” He said, gesturing to the engineer, suspiciously quiet in all the excitement since he’d set the pavlova  in the middle of the dining table. “This is actually my third attempt.” He tipped his head at Kayo, who had been eyeing him suspiciously up until this point, a smile of her own playing across her lips. “He was most helpful with telling me the things that I’d done wrong…” If he were any less, ahem... mature, he’d have stuck his tongue out at her by now. He knew that look!

“Thank you, V-Virgil,” Brains said softly, smiling in slight embarrassment. “Y-you did all the hard work!” He insisted. “I just gave you some p-pointers!”

“In any case, it tastes great.” Scott said decisively, raising his glass for another toast (the first having been for Mom and Dad and Grandpa). Virgil looked at him, startled, as clearly a little confused, the others followed suit. “To Brains and Virgil,” Scott said proudly. “For a wonderful dessert, and for three attempts for making it a Christmas worth remembering!”

“Merry Christmas!”

They all cheered, and Virgil smiled. Mission accomplished.

(Also, a huge thanks to my friend @kellyfhaycock for giving me some much-needed help with a sticky bit in the middle!! Love you hun. <3)

#pyre talks #pyre writing tag #secret santa #secret santa 2016 #thunderbirds #thunderbirds are go #thunderbirdsarego #fic prompts #virgil tracy #ss 16