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lostdrarryfics · 6 months

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drarry fic where one of them owns a yarn / knitting supplies store - i cant remember which one, but there's a scene where they eat indian take out in harry's apartment. also i think harry has a cat?

We believe you are looking for The Way We Wind by bluefay (45k, E)

Don’t forget to bookmark, leave kudos and comments!

#request 1948 #found fic #justadeadslytherin #bluefay

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door · 1 year

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could you please tel us about some chairs with names

hi i'm sorry for not seeing this earlier! i mostly use tumblr on mobile and it hides the inbox from me.

so, most chairs have names! usually given to them by their designer or manufacturer, but for much older pieces it could be what they've become known as by historians. here are some of my faves:

the womb chair

of course. the womb chair was designed by eero saarinen and manufactured by knoll (now by design within reach) and it is my very favourite chair in the whole world. incredibly comfortable and certifiably iconic (it was the first molded fiberglass chair), it was called the womb chair after Florence Knoll requested a chair she could "curl up" in. It's been enablng laziness since 1948.

the barcelona chair

here's a name that is directly tied to the chair's origin: the barcelona chair was designed by ludwig mies van der rohe for the king and queen of spain to use within the german pavilion which mies designed for the 1929 World's Fair in Barcelona.

it was a hit, and the rest is history! the barcelona chair has been in almost constant production (also by knoll and then design within reach) ever since.

the sgabello

here's one where the name is a type of chair--the sgabello (this one is half of a pair in the national gallery of art, washington dc collection) was big in renaissance europe. designed to line hallways and be sat in for short periods of time (a comfortable seat this was not), sgabelli were usually constructed of walnut and elaborately carved. any chair of this form would be considered a sgabello--here's an earlier one with very different aesthetics in the collection of the met.

the butaque chair

finally, a chair which combines type and proper noun names. the butaque is a chair which came into use in colonial-era latin america, a hybrid of the spanish x-frame chair and pre-columbian duho. this specific butaque, which has come to be known as a proper-noun Butaque Chair, was designed by Cuban-born Clara Porset, who lived and worked in Mexico from 1935 on. She set out to learn more about the vernacular furniture in her adopted home, and came across the butaque. Her version emphasized ergonomics and local materials--the original (c. 1950) porset butaques are covered in wicker, leather, or locally woven fabrics.

here's the one the moma has, which is covered in wicker.

and here's a photograph of porset's home.

i hope you enjoyed this taste of chairs with names! i encourage you to look up the furniture/decorative objects you love the most--they probably have names, too :)

#asks #anonymous #dec arts #LOVE to talk about CHAIRS!!#please ask me stuff about furniture lol

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aidenlydia · 4 months

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Please donate to UNRWA!!

“In the days following the ICJ's decision, the US, Canada, UK, and at least 7 other countries have cut over $662 million in annual funding to UNRWA. The cuts to UNRWA's funding, which constitute the overwhelming majority of its current budget, are an impending catastrophe for more than 6 million Palestinians residing in 60 refugee camps in Occupied Palestine, Lebanon, Jordan, and Syria.

UNRWA, or the United Nations Relief and Work Agency for Palestinian Refugees in the Near East, was created in 1949 as a response to the 'Nakba' or catastrophe of 1948, to provide relief and support human development for Palestinian refugees exiled in 1948 and later years, along with their descendants.

The decision to defund UNRWA a day after the ICJ's decision to grant the majority of provisional measures requested by South Africa is not coincidental. Imperialist powers are seeking to offset the international developments around the ICJ ruling, and prevent aid from entering Palestine.”

- Palestinian Youth Movement

Want to do more for Palestine? Here are other resources and funds:

#unrwa #unrwa funding #free palestine #free gaza #collective punishment #from the river to the sea palestine will be free

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leroibobo · 7 months

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churches in palestine abandoned/destroyed after the 1948 nakba:

church of st. jacob, a melkite catholic church in the christian village of ma'alul. it was restored in 2010 and is currently managed by descendants of the village's original inhabitants. the rest of the village's land is owned by the jewish national fund.

church of our lady, a maronite church in the village of kafr bir'im. it is the only intact remainder of the village after it was destroyed by occupation forces in 1953. since 1972, it has been maintained by descendants of the kafr bir'im villagers who were displaced within palestine.

st. mary's church, a melkite catholic church in the christian village of iqrit. despite the villagers' appeals to the israeli supreme court to allow them to return, the village was destroyed by the idf in 1951. descendants of iqrit villages who were displaced within palestine today retain an outpost nearby and bury their dead in its cemetery.

mari yohanna church, a maronite church in the village of al-mansura. the maronite church requested that the villagers be allowed to return but were refused. the houses in the village have been completely leveled, and the collapsed church is the only structure still standing.

melkite catholic church in the village of al-bassa, to which almost all of the villagers belonged. occupying forces ordered them to bury younger people they had shot outside the church in front of them.

latin catholic church in the village of beisan, whose residents were expelled. the town was resettled and named beit she'an. the building is now the headquarters of the local branch of the likud party.

#palestine #worship #christian #nakba #my posts #yes i saw that one comment on this im ignoring them on purpose

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chaithetics · 15 days

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Fics for Palestine! 🖤❤️🤍💚

Hey, beautiful Tumblr besties!

Do you want a fic and to support a good cause? A super specific fic? Want to ensure you are fed those Monkey Man fics you're needing? Or have you sent me a request and want me to hurry up and write it (Sorry I do take my time with writing)? THEN READ

I will write and prioritise requests from you and have them posted on Tumblr NO LATER THAN MAY 31ST!!!!

All you need to do is send same day confirmation to me either in the ask box or as a message of donating to a fund or organisation on the Operation Olive Branch list! This could be a family's Go Fund Me page for evacuating Palestine, the UNRWA fund, or eSims for Gaza etc.

This is the Operation Olive Branch's linktree page

I don't know what the response will be to this, if miraculously so many people were interested that I was too overwhelmed I would come up with a new date or close temporarily and 'reopen' for June. We'll see how this does, but I will be regularly updating this!

I will write for the following characters:

Any Pedro Pascal characters

Any Oscar Isaac characters

Any Dev Patel characters

Any Fallout characters

Any Succession characters (not Old Guard or Greg lol but even Tom!)

Tommy Miller (TLOU)

Any The Bear characters

Marvel characters like Matt Murdock, Wanda, Bucky etc.

And more I just can't think of, you're more than welcome to ask about a certain character in comments, DMs or in my inbox before donating as well 🫶

What I will write:

I'll write fluff, angst, smut, or any combination! I will write plus size readers, poc readers, disabled readers etc. I will write female readers, and gender-neutral readers, I'm bi/queer so am happy to write wlw fics if you desire Shiv or some Wanda with an f reader or more straight ones- whatever you want! Requests can be as vague or as specific as you want!

If you want Kendall and Stewy's conversation the night before his wedding to Rava with some angst, you got it! If you wanted to request a plus-size reader to go on a bookstore date with a contemporary Ezra, you got it! It's pretty open to your dreams!

I won't write fics that are nonconsensual, 'dark', heavy kink, gore, vore, paedophilia, and nothing with under-18 readers or characters (this includes characters 'aged up' for a fic).

My masterlist is here for navigation and if you aren't familiar with my work but want to get an idea!!! Chaithetics Masterlist

Moving on.....

If you donate 5 USD, CAD, GBP, EURO whatever currency that fund is in:

I will write a fic with your request that is at least 500 words long and is posted no later than May 31st.

If you donate 10 USD, CAD, GBP, EURO whatever currency that fund is in:

I will write a fic with your request that is at least 1,000 words long and is posted no later than May 31st.

If you donate 50 USD, CAD, GBP, EURO whichever currency that fund is in:

I will write a fic with your request that is at least 4,000 words long and is posted no later than May 31st.

Why is this important?

We need to help out and do our part to not be complicit in Israel's genocide against the Palestinian people. Palestinians are begging for our attention and aid, since October 7th 2023, Israel has murdered over 35,000 Palestinians, displacing the survivors so many and committing numerous war crimes. Israel's expulsion, ethnic cleansing and war crimes have been terrorising the Palestinian people and land since 1948. We all have a part to play, so get involved with this if you like, please contact your local representatives and government, keep engaging with Palestinian content and voices, support the funds if you can- I know that's not accessible to everyone, attend rallies, protests, and vigils in support of Palestine. Do what you can, what is physically, emotionally and financially accessible to you.

I'd love it if you could share this as well, especially for my mutuals and others in these fandoms with much bigger platforms (I have a humble 300 followers, that I adore) and also for other writers to consider doing something like this! Thank you for reading this far, let's stay empathetic and support each other in these trying times 🖤❤️🤍💚

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gaypirate420 · 1 year

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Time// Jasper Hale.

Jasper Whitlock Hale x male!reader

Prompt: A loves to watch B sleep since that's the only time B's features aren't shadowed by worries.

angst/fluff.

Requests are open!

1948.

Cold fingers caressing his pale face, tracing his feautres.

A soft, gentle and comforting hand stroking his blonde curls.

"I love you." Has been repeated over and over following soft praises, so much that it sounds like the most powerful prayer.

His eyes are closed as his face was hidden on his beloved's neck.

He's not tired. The vampire doesn't need sleep, yet, he somehow managed to feel so relaxed and calmed that it reminded him of the old memory of falling asleep under one's lover gentle touch. This warmth had been ripped away from him for over a century and now he had gained it back.

The warmth he ached for, the warmth he'll give everything up to feel again and again.

His pale face reflects this heavenly peaceful state, his rosy lips formed into a small smile, a smile that is not the usual expression of the quiet vampire.

The vampire is suffering.

He has to be on a constant watch of himself, not too much of any emotion or his unwanted gift could affect everyone on his environment because he hasn't learned how to control it.

Control, everyone wants him to control something, others or himself, I'm the end it doesn't matter it's all the same exhausting motion.

Suffering with the guilt and regret of his past, scarred body that will always brink back those memories for the rest of his immortal existence.

Life, he's doesn't have a 'life' anymore but yet here, on this moment, he feels alive.

His eyes look up to meet his one and only who's features have been glowing with the sunshine blessing his eyes with his beauty.

After a long hug, and tearless cries, they're now resting together on the soft grass.

"I missed you so much." Jasper whispered against your neck, your gentle hand keeps massaging his scalp.

He's not able to express how much he missed you, there's no words to describe his pain.

"I missed you too, Jazz." You spoke softly with a reassuring smile while your fingers travel down to hold his hand.

Touching, the blonde vampire, when he was alive, used to be so clingy, always touching you or letting be touched.

Now if you go lower his neck he would panic, not letting you see what lies below his shirt, not letting your eyes have a peek of those scars. You wanted to, you needed to have him, all of him, again, to touch him.

But Jasper needs time, to re-adjust, to realize this isn't a dream and that he is now back on your arms.

And lucky for both of you, you've been given an endless amount of time together.

His arms wrap around you, holding you close and tight.

"I love you, sweetness." He whispered softly pulling away a little and closing his eyes once again.

"I love you too, cowboy." You said softly while your eyes looked at him in awe.

He smiles softly and takes a useless deep breath, he grabs your hand and kisses your knuckles with his cold lips, Jasper leans closer to you and closing the distance between your lips and his.

Your lips move in a well memorized dance.

"Immortality doesn't sound so bad now." Jasper said softly with his characteristic smirk, you chuckled softly and kissed him again.

People might think that after a century apart you would talk about everything and anything.

There's plenty of time to catch up, but for now, silence, a comfortable silence in each other's precense.

Jasper closes his eyes once again, taking a deep breath and melting completely with your touch.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: Heyyy, hope you like this, I tried to keep it fluffy and angsty.

#jasper whitlock x reader #jasper hale x male reader #x male reader #twilight x male reader #twilight x reader #the twilight saga #jasper whitlock #jasper hale x reader #jasper hale

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hero-israel · 7 months

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What they said.

And I could have put another 4-6 similar messages in here, I can tell what is weighing on peoples' minds. Though we are outnumbered, it is not hard to see through the lies of our enemies. We just need people who will listen to us.

"Every accusation is a confession" was never more true than in claiming JEWS want to kill off ARABS. The briefest review of regional demographics - WHO has actually wiped out WHOM - makes that instantly clear. Mahmoud Abbas said his family fled their home in Safed in 1948 because they were sure the Jews would try to get revenge for Arab massacres in 1929. In 1967 when Israel took the West Bank, Arabs in Hebron were so afraid of reprisals for 1929 that they flew white bedsheets from their windows and piled their weapons outside their front doors.

There is no such thing as a "genocide" that is true for Palestinians but false for white people. And while most of the time, posting about hypocrisy and double standards isn't going to make a real-life change, this is one time where I'd really like people to point it out, to demand answers from those who correctly identify the Alt-Right as lying. We should also request clarification on whether all warfare involving urban bombing is automatically considered genocide (spoiler: it isn't, but this time Jews are involved, aha!).

Desmond Tutu was notorious for insisting Jews forgive the genocide that had actually been committed against them and also that they be constantly condemned and judged for the potential genocide they were always just about to commit. It is not even meant as a statement of fact - just a way to put us in our place. As David Schraub put it:

For thousands of years, for much of the world, part of the cultural patrimony enjoyed by all non-Jews -- spiritual and secular, Church and Mosque, enlightenment and romantic, European and Middle Eastern -- was the unquestionable right to stand superior over Jews. It was that right which the Holocaust took away, or at least called into question; the unthinking faith of knowing you were the more enlightened one, the spiritually purer one, the more rational one, the dispenser of morality rather than the object of it. To be sure, some people were better positioned to enjoy this right than others. And some people arrived onto the scene late in the game, only to discover that part of the bounty they were promised may no longer be on the table. Of course they're aggrieved! The European immigrant who never owned a slave but was at least promised racial superiority is quite resentful when the wages of Whiteness stop being what they once were. Similarly, persons who lived far from the centers of Christian or Muslim power where Jewish subordination was forged are nonetheless well aware of what was supposed to be included in modernity's gift basket. They recognize what they've "lost" as acutely as anyone else.

Every definition of "genocide" rests on intent; you cannot accidentally do it. That's what both the U.N., Genocide Watch, and basic common sense say. The militia going door-to-door to torture and massacre all the children and elderly is genocidal intent. "The missile launcher built into your house just fired at us, we will now destroy it, you have 5 minutes to evacuate" is not.

I have no idea what is coming next in Gaza, how long it will last or how bad it will get. Godforbid, if the death toll gets another zero at the end, it may become impossible to get people to see it as non-genocidal, regardless of what is empirically, definitionally true. But if people are going to cite sources and moral authorities, let them stick with the boundaries they have introduced.

#Genocide #Israel #Palestine #Palestinians #Gaza #jumblr #Arab antisemitism #leftist antisemitism

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ily-fictional-women · 1 year

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Free Time

Summary: Being a new member of the Avengers has gone over smoothly so far. Besides the ex-assassin, Natasha Romanoff hates Y/n for some reason though. Although with a little free time maybe Y/n will figure out why.

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Warnings: None that I know of, but if I should add anything let me know!

Word count: 1948

a/n: Kind grumpy x Sunshine vibes with a little forced proximity trope. (Reblogs are welcome and critiques/advice are heavily encouraged, but please no translating.)

“Y/n L/n, Director Fury requests your immediate attendance in the debriefing center.” The robotic voice was something Y/n still hadn’t grown accustomed to even after being an Avenger for a few months now. “Tell Fury I’ll be right there.” Y/n begrudgingly got up from the couch she was lounging on in her room. Making her way to debrief center passing through the kitchen she’s stopped by Clint who has a large bowl of cereal in front of him, “And where exactly are you going?” The archer asked in such a tone that would make you think he knew the answer.

“Just the debrief center, why are you so curious?” Clint laughs out loud dropping his spoon into the bowl quickly. As Y/n shoots him a questioning look though he settles down with a big smile still on his face, “It’s nothing” he waves his hand trying to shoo away Y/n “It’s nothing at all trust me.” Side-eyeing Clint Y/n continues to make her way toward the debriefing room.

Making her way through the glass doors that’s when she finally notices her, Natasha Romanoff. As Natahsa looks in Y/n’s direction she immediately rolls her eye, “No, I’m not doing this. I’m not working with her.” Fury places two files on the long wooden table motioning for Y/n to sit next to Natasha, “You don’t have a choice Miss Romanoff, you and Miss L/n will be working together on this mission.”

Natasha lets out an annoyed sigh, the rest of the debriefing going normally. Although it was hard for Y/n to focus with the radiating annoyed energy coming from Natasha. The basics were simple to remember though. Natasha and her were going to inspect an abandoned hydra base on a secluded island and inspect for any weapons. Extraction would come once either Y/n or Natasha made the call.

As the Quinjet landed quickly on the sandy beach of the island, Natasha grabbed her duffle bag seemingly in a rush to get out of the jet that she, Y/n, and a SHIELD pilot had been stuck in for hours. Not long after Y/n followed, the Quinjet quickly shot back up to the sky. The old hydra base was set at the top of a short mountain, the build of the base and the woods surrounding it making it impossible to land anywhere close to it.

“So, you have an idea of how we’re supposed to get inside the base?” Natasha huffed, “If you read the file you would know there should be a keypad panel with the code- 8254181.” Y/n put up her hand defensively as if Natasha could see behind her as they trudge through the forest on the way to the base.

“You have any plans after this?” Y/n tried to fill the insufferable silence. Natasha just pushed back a branch that (maybe) accidentally hit Y/n in the face, “We don’t have to talk to each other you know that right?” The comment kind of stung but Y/n tried to keep quiet. Besides some exasperated pants and the occasional sigh, the walk through the forest and the hike up the mountain were practically silent.

Natasha placed down her bag, punching the code into the keypad with Y/n behind her, nothing happened- but within the blink of an eye, a quick sonic blast hit the two. Ears still ringing, Y/n managed to get up and check on Natasha who was knocked out from being closer to the blast.

“Hey, hey. Natasha, come on. I’m gonna need you to wake up. Please.” Y/n was lightly tapping Natasha’s left cheek. After about two minutes Natasha finally woke up giving Y/n a dazed look causing Y/n to take a quick gasp of relief. With all the adrenaline rushing through her Y/n hadn’t realized until after Natasha woke up that she had been straddling her this whole time. After Natasha murmured something incoherent, Y/n awkwardly jumped off her moving to her side.

“Uh,” she clears her throat, “Y-you okay?” Natasha scoffs moving herself to sit up by her elbows wincing in between shuffles, “Yeah, yeah. I’m great.” She fully stands up finally, Y/n following suit. Taking out her phone carefully Natasha clicks the on button once, then spams it a bunch of times, “Shit, shit, shit” she hurls the phone off the mountain “Shit.”

“What the hell was that for?!” Y/n’s tone came out more angry than panicked which caused Natasha to press her hands against her face in frustration, “It was an EMP. The blast was an EMP. And by the looks of it, there’s nothing in there but dust and spiders.” Y/n started pacing, “How the hell are we gonna get out of here.” Instead of hearing an answer, she saw Natasha grab her duffle bag and start walking down the path down the mountain.

“Where the hell are you going?!” Natasha shrugged throwing up her hands, “If we’re going to be playing the waiting game I’m not doing it up here.” Despite Natasha’s attitude, Y/n followed her down the path leading to the beach, the two settling in the soft warm sand. Of course, a good moment can never last, and Y/n loudly rummaging through her bag ruined it. It took a few seconds but Y/n fished out a granola bar ripping off the plastic wrapping but pausing after.

She holds out the bar to the redhead, a faint smile on her face, “You want some? You should eat after that hike.” Natasha hesitates for a moment eyeing the granola bar as Y/n waves it lightly, “Fine.” She pinches the bar breaking it into two halves so they could eat separately. Taking small bites off the granola bar Y/n looked closer at the woman next to her, or that is until Natasha herself broke the quiet noises of the ocean.

“How long do you think we’ll be here?” Y/n laughed quietly to herself, “I thought we didn’t have to talk.” Y/n’s sarcastic comment was quickly followed by a sharp glare from Natasha making Y/n laugh a little harder, “Alright alright. In all seriousness it could be a few hours, a day, a week maybe even more but no matter how long they take” she stands up unzipping her jacket and loosening her pants “I am going to enjoy myself.”

Finally taking off her jacket and pants, leaving herself in her underwear and tank top. Natasha watched as Y/n splashed into the water sinking her whole body under the moving current. She shot back up from the water with a big grin across her face looking at Natasha, “You should come join me, Romanoff. It’s cold but nice. And there’s no way your thick suit can be comfortable.”

Natasha ignored the comment focusing her attention in a separate direction. Some part of her wanted to keep looking at Y/n, keep watching, maybe even join her. But it didn’t feel right at the same time.

Before they both knew it the sun was setting making the ocean shimmer with mixes of yellows and oranges. Y/n got out of the water admiring the sunset with Natasha. She leaned closer to Natasha, “If the sun’s setting it’ll get dark soon. We should start a fire.”

“We?” Natasha asked finally putting her focus back on Y/n.

“Do you want to gather sticks alone?” Y/n said with a quick and short laugh.

“Yes,” Natasha replied quickly getting up and walking toward the woods. Despite wanting to follow Y/n knew now was a time to leave her alone, just for a few minutes at most, while watching the sunset.

Once Natasha finally came back with the bundle of wood carried like a hammock in the jacket she finally took off, the stars were shimmering and Y/n was lying on her back staring up at them. “I got the wood.” Natasha interrupted staring down at Y/n who was looking up at the sky as if it were her first time. “Thank you.” She finally sat up with Natasha settling down in front of her placing down the wood gently as Y/n started stacking the short pieces, before carefully lighting it with a match.

The crackling warm light of the fire combined with the cold loud crashes of the ocean offered a type of security, and comfort you could never get in the city. “Why do you hate me so much?” Y/n’s question made everything feel like it went silent for Natasha, “I- I don’t hate you Y/n.” Even though to some Natasha’s answer would be considered enough Y/n rolled her eyes at it.

“Then why is that the first time I’ve heard you say my name? Or more importantly, why do you always seem angry around? ‘No I’m not working with her’ you said that. It- it just feels like-” Natasha interrupted her, “I don’t hate you Y/n I’m jealous.” She said it so quick it was hard to understand.

“What?” Natasha slowed her speech, quieter, “I don’t hate you Y/n, I’m jealous, of you.” Despite Natasha speaking slower Y/n still seemed confused, “What do I have for you to be jealous over?” Natasha groaned looking up for a moment as if trying to find the right answer in the sky but inevitably putting her focus back on Y/n.

“You transitioned into the Avengers and SHIELD so easily. You already get along so well with so many people. And I’m jealous of that. I wish people could look at me the way they look at you.” Y/n put a gentle hand on top of Natasha’s, “Don’t ever say that.” It was Natasha’s turn to be confused, “Why not?” Y/n rubbed soft circles into her hand, “Because, you’re too amazing to be jealous. You should see the way the people who are important in your life look at you. So many people think you’re more than amazing, you just need to look carefully for it.”

“And who would think of me like that?” Natasha knew the answer but she wanted to hear it. Y/n intertwined her hand with Natasha’s, “Me. And others. But at least on this island, me.” Natasha gently tightened her grip on Y/n’s hand moving her focus to the fire, “Can I ask you a question? Since you asked me one.” Y/n raised an eyebrow smiling again, “Yeah, yeah. Totally.”

“Back on the mountain, after the blast. You were on top of me and looked worried. Why?” Y/n laughed loudly this time, “Did you get a concussion up there? I don’t want you to die.” She cut off her laugh when she caught a glance at Natasha who’s eyes had begun to tear up. Placing a gentle hand on her face Y/n whipped away a stray tear that had started to fall, “And because I care about you Natasha.”

“How can you care about me with how I treat you?” Y/n shrugged, “Because, I think everyone deserves to be loved and cared about.” Natasha wiped her head over to Y/n, “You love me?”

“Yeah, but not romantically” Y/n smiled suggestively, “I could do that over time if you wanted.” That made Natasha smile, “Maybe.”

It took five days for SHIELD to get back to them, each day the two of them getting closer. Very close. Having them get closer was part of Fury’s plan, but this close? That was not planned, and definitely not expected.

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff x female #natasha romanoff fanfic #natasha romanoff x reader #nick fury #clint barton #marvel fancic #marvel imagine

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bella-rose29 · 4 months

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The Greatest Thing - Lockwood x fem!reader

requested by anon: Hi, I love the way you write! I was wondering (if requests are still open) if you could write a Lockwood x reader where reader's mother died when she was little for some reason, and by taking on a case reader and Lockwood find themselves having to fight the ghost of reader's mother ? And maybe even Lockwood calming Reader down after the mission? Feel free to change parts. (btw: sorry if English is terrible, I'm Italian, English is not my native language)

my lovely you don't need to apologise for your English, it's better than a lot of actual English people I know (myself included) <333

sorry this took me so long, but hopefully you enjoy!!

for reference, the song that's mentioned is specifically Nat King Cole's version of Nature Boy from 1948 <3

Word count: 4.2k

Warnings: swearing (only a lil), brief mentions of cancer (not explicit though), idk if there's anything else

I did just copy and paste the tag list from DTH part 9 so feel free to not read this if you don't want to! <3

It was nearly one in the morning when the telephone rang.

This was odd, because the phone had been broken for a little over twenty years.

It was more sentimental than anything else, and it was kept as a reminder of someone long gone, as was the typewriter that sat on the shelves next to the telephone, on top of the case it came in so that it could be admired. There was a record player too, although that was in perfect working condition, unlike the other two objects.

The ringing of the telephone woke up the inhabitant of the bedroom, and he groggily rubbed at his eyes as he sat up and turned the light on. The glare made him wince, but when he realised the broken telephone on his shelf was ringing, his eyes shot wide open. He scrambled for the working phone on his bedside table, trying not to panic too much and failing as he punched in the numbers. The line rang three times before someone picked up, and his breathing was shaky.

“Hello? I think there’s a ghost in my bedroom.”

~~~

“Lockwood? You awake?” Y/n pushed open the door to the library, making note of the dim light that shone under the door. Her voice was quiet, just in case he’d actually managed to fall asleep, but as soon as she stepped inside she saw him sat in his usual armchair with a book.

“Everything alright?” he asked.

“Not really. Dad’s just phoned me.” She took the chair next to him, watching as he put a bookmark in place and held the book closed on his lap.

“Ah, that’s who was calling.” He frowned. “You don’t sound too happy about it.”

“He thinks there’s a ghost in his room. Said the old telephone that Mum bought ages ago started ringing just now. He wants us to come and check it out as soon as we can.”

“How do we know it’s not just… someone calling?”

“It’s broken, Lockwood. Has been for ages. Pretty sure it was broken when Mum got it, but she thought it looked nice.”

“Right. Well… you know the house layout, and where things are. And if you’re not too tired… I suppose we could head over now? Only if you wanted. Your father is welcome to stay here if he wants, too.”

“Thank you, Lockwood. I don’t know that I’ll be able to sleep, not knowing Dad’s in danger. And he won’t want to go outside at this time of night anyway, not without a safe route to somewhere else. You sure you’re alright with going on a case now?”

“Of course I am, Y/n. Especially for you.” She tried not to flush too much at how sincerely he had said it and pushed out of the chair.

“Okay then. I’ll just… go and get changed.” She was still in her pyjamas from earlier. Lockwood was, predictably, in a suit, just without the jacket and tie. She was certain they were a second skin on him now.

“Meet me by the front door in ten? I’ll get the kit ready.”

“Sure. Don’t forget the biscuits like you did last time.”

~~~

It took five minutes of quietly moving around the attic so as not to wake Lucy for Y/n to get changed. She wasn’t entirely successful in being silent, since the floorboards creaked every two seconds and she fell over trying to get her jumper on because she got stuck inside it and didn’t see the corner of her bed, but somehow Lucy slept through it all. Y/n headed downstairs, wincing when the steps groaned under her weight, and went to find Lockwood in the basement. He was nearly done packing up the bags, and when he caught sight of her his smile was blinding.

“You all ready to go?”

“Yeah, think so. I’ve been thinking, about what the Source could be?” she said, although her voice lifted at the end to make it sound more like she was asking him a question. Lockwood nodded, zipping up the second kit bag and handing it to her when she reached for it. “I feel like the phone is too obvious, but if it’s some sort of Poltergeist it might be a good idea to check anyway. There’s quite a lot of things that could be a Source, actually. Mum loved collecting old stuff, said it reminded her of her childhood.”

“She wasn’t an agent, was she?”

“No. No Talent. Not with a capital ‘t’ anyway. She was amazing at loads of other things though.” They were in the hallway now, grabbing their rapiers out of the stand. Lockwood shrugged on his coat.

“What do you know about the history of the house? Any murders or deaths that could result in a Visitor?”

“No. There was Mum’s, but Dad got the place sorted out as soon as he could. DEPRAC came in and cleared the room.”

“Well, we’ll see what we can find, yeah?”

“Yeah. Thanks,” she said when he opened the front door and gestured for her to go first. Lockwood must have called a cab, because now there sat one just in front of the gate. “I told Dad to get into the kitchen and turn the table lamp on, ‘cause a couple years ago he got iron strips put in the floor, so he should be alright in there. We can get this taxi to wait for him and bring him here, right?”

“Of course. That was a smart move, both the iron strips and your suggestion. We’ll make the kitchen our main retreat, then.”

Ten minutes later they were pulling up outside her childhood home, and as soon as the taxi stopped Y/n was opening the door and rushing to greet her dad. Lockwood was talking to the driver, paying him for the journey they’d just taken and asking if he might stay a little longer to take a passenger back to 35 Portland Row.

“Hi, Dad, you alright?” Y/n breathed, wrapping her arms around her father.

“Been better, love. I’m glad you and your boyfriend are here though.”

“He’s not my boyfriend, Dad,” she said, feeling heat creep up her neck. “Lockwood’s my boss.”

“I just thought that since you talk about him all the time, y’know? Lockwood this and Lockwood that.”

“I’m gonna walk away now, I think. Have fun with the ghost!” she joked, knowing that she would never leave her father in a house where there was a possible haunting. “We, uh… we thought it might be best if you went to Portland Row for tonight while we work here. It’s a standard procedure to not have the clients in the house, but normally they’ve got somewhere to go and a bit more notice, and Lockwood said you can take his bed if you wanted. We have also got a sofa, but it’s not nearly as comfortable as a bed.”

“Alright, love. You’ll be alright, just the two of you?”

“Yeah.”

“I take it he’s keeping that cab for me?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay then. I’ll see you in the morning, love.” He must have known that she would ask him to leave the house because he reached behind him and picked up a bag, hoisting it over his shoulder and planting a quick kiss on her cheek.

“Bye, Dad!”

She watched as he sent a small wave over his shoulder, shaking Lockwood by the hand and thanking him for the offer of a place to stay, and then he was getting in the taxi and going back the way that she and Lockwood had come from.

Lockwood had the keys to the house in his hand, and before he unlocked the front door (her father had locked it when he’d seen the taxi approach) he turned back. “Are you sure you’ll be alright?”

“I can do this, Lockwood. For my Dad. Besides, if something’s only just surfacing now from one of the antiques, it can’t be too bad can it? I mean, it didn’t hurt my dad.”

~~~

As it turned out, it was quite bad.

Not in a holy-shit-this-ghost-will-kill-us way, but more in a holy-shit-why-does-this-house-feel-worse-than-a-graveyard-at-night? way.

Y/n had grown up in this house, had only really moved out two years ago, and she had never once felt unsafe or uneasy. Walking around it now, though, doing initial readings of sensations and temperature, she wondered how her father had managed to stay positive. Most things she just got echoes of her own childhood, her laughter as she ran through the halls while her parents chased her when she was three, baking in the kitchen and licking the bowl when she was five, crying when she tripped and slid down the last couple of steps on the stairs and grazed her knee at the bottom, and her mother pressing kisses to her hair and a plaster to her tiny injury when she was six. But underneath it all there was a malaise, something unsettling that seeped into Y/n and Lockwood’s bones and made them cautious.

“Does it normally feel like this?” he asked when they made it to the top of the stairs and around most of the rooms, one hand on his rapier hilt. They hadn’t drawn their weapons yet, but they knew it was only a matter of time.

“No. Dad would have said something.” The thermometer beeped, alerting them of a drop in temperature. Lockwood checked it where it sat attached to his belt.

“Minus two. It was three degrees just now.” They stood in silence on the landing, both looking at the thermometer. “Well, only one door left, I suppose. Do you want to do it or should I?”

“I’ll do it.” She made her way to the door of her parents’ bedroom and took a shaky breath before placing her hand on the doorknob. Immediately a rush of memories hit her, from when her parents first moved in after their marriage, to the day she was born in that room, to the countless times Y/n had crept in in the night because she’d had a bad dream, up to the point when her mother had last touched the handle. It went further, but the force of the memory of her mother made her push the door open and step over the threshold.

Lockwood was right behind her, and she heard him draw in a breath and reach into his coat for his sunglasses. Y/n whipped around to look at him just as he pushed them over his eyes, catching the last of his squint while he warily studied the bed. “Why are you putting those on?” she asked, not liking the wobble that accompanied it.

“Death glow on the bed. Are…” he hesitated for a moment, and she imagined his eyes darting between her and the bed behind her. “Are you absolutely sure that your father got the house cleaned out?” His voice was soft, like he was trying to not agitate her too much, but she got defensive anyway.

“Yes. He wouldn’t lie about something like that, not when he had a six year old living in a possibly haunted house!”

“But… and I’m not doubting you, or your father, I just need to know, were you here when the house got cleaned out after your mother passed?”

“No, Dad sent me to my friend’s house. He said it wouldn’t be good for us to be in the house while they were working.”

“So you never actually saw people cleaning out this place?” She froze, catching on to what Lockwood was getting at.

“No,” she whispered, turning to look back at the bed. Her mother had died in it over ten years ago from untreated cancer, completely unexpectedly. She’d gone peacefully at least, in her sleep, but it had broken the two members of the family that had been left behind. Her father had told her that he’d call DEPRAC and get the house cleaned out, to keep the two of them safe, but now as she grabbed a hold of the doorknob again she realised there was no memory of people coming in to do that job. “Shit. Shit shit shit shit.”

“Hey,” Lockwood said, sunglasses still perched on his nose. “It’s alright. We’re agents, and we’re Lockwood and Co. I know… I know this won’t be easy, Y/n/n, but we can do this. You can do this. Just breathe in, and back out. Good. Right. Have a think: what in here could be the Source? Hey, focus, Y/n.” His tone grew a little harsher as he grabbed her shoulders, pulling her away from the door.

“Why wouldn’t he clean the house?” Her breath was coming too quickly now, and her eyes couldn’t settle on any one thing. “Why, Lockwood? Why wouldn’t he do it?”

“Because sometimes we love someone too much to have them gone forever.” Her eyes finally stopped moving around, instead meeting his and making her draw in a breath at the vulnerability in his eyes. His voice had been rough with emotion, and immediately she thought of the door on the landing back at 35 Portland Row. As quickly as he had opened up, his walls had snapped back into place, and he was leaning back and smiling softly at her. “Let’s try not to focus on that too much, yeah? Maybe the phone?” As though he had summoned it, the old telephone on the shelf started ringing as soon as he finished talking. “Okay… that was weird.”

“It’s not even got wires attached to it,” Y/n breathed.

“Visitor is definitely a Poltergeist then. There’s no apparition which is good, because no ghost-touch. That’s also bad though. No way of really knowing what the Source could be.” She tuned Lockwood out, knowing that he would just be talking himself through the situation they were in, and kept on staring at the telephone. It hadn’t stopped ringing.

Music suddenly started blaring out of the record player, despite there not being any record to play. It was a song that Y/n recognised, although she couldn’t remember where from.

“Is that… is that ‘Nature Boy’?” Lockwood asked, glancing incredulously at the record player.

“Oh my god. Yeah. It was Mum’s favourite song, specifically this version.” Her mother would often be found with it playing on the record player in the study downstairs, and she’d told Y/n the story behind it a million times. She’d been adamant that Y/n never forget the words, and now as it played she knew it was her mother haunting this room.

“I think it’s broken,” Lockwood said when the song skipped back to repeat the last section of the song.

“The greatest thing…”

“No, it’s not. Maybe it’s the record player? Maybe that’s the Source?” The music stopped, and she knew she was wrong. “Okay… so the telephone is the Source?” At once the music started again, but from a different point.

“But very wise…”

“Is… is your mother helping us?”

“I think so.”

“… Why?”

“Maybe she just wants to move on?”

“But very wise…”

“Okay this is freaking me out a little bit now,” she said, moving over to the telephone. It stopped ringing when she got close enough to reach out and touch it, and she glanced at Lockwood. “Silver net?” He wordlessly passed her one, his sunglasses still obscuring his eyes. His face was impassive and she couldn’t figure out what he was thinking, but he was focused on the record player. It had continued playing from where her mother’s ghost had skipped back to help them, and was finishing up the last lines of the song.

“The greatest thing… you’ll ever learn… is just to love… and be loved… in return…”

The room became silent after that, and both Lockwood and Y/n stood staring at the record player. Nothing moved until Y/n finally broke out of whatever world she had disappeared into, slowly placing the silver net over the telephone and wrapping it carefully. At once the temperature lifted, and just before she had finished containing the Source of her mother’s ghost she heard a sigh in the air, as though someone was finally being allowed some peace.

“We should head over to the furnaces,” Lockwood finally said. “Unless you wanted to put it in a silver glass case?”

“I’ll talk to Dad about it in the morning.”

“Alright. Here, let me…” he stepped over and gently removed the telephone from her hands. “Why don’t you go and sort out the kitchen, get all our things together? I’ll get a taxi for us.” Y/n nodded, not taking her eyes off of the bundle in his arms. “Y/n?”

“Hmm?” She was unfocused, untethered to this world, and his voice was muffled. She vaguely noted Lockwood putting the Source down and coming closer to her, and then he was hugging her tightly, pressing her into his chest and his lips to her head when she drew in a shaky breath and sobbed.

“It’s alright. It’s alright.”

She wasn’t sure how long they were there for, her crying into his dress shirt and him rubbing her back and whispering softly to her, but by the time she pulled back, her sobs reduced to slight hitches in her breath, her throat was sore and her eyes puffy. “Thank you.”

“Anytime, Y/n.”

~~~

It was nearly three in the morning when the telephone rang.

This wasn’t odd, because this time it was Lockwood phoning Portland Row to let them know that the ghost had been dealt with, and he and Y/n were coming back.

Y/n had remained silent for the duration of the taxi ride back to 35 Portland Row, staring out the window with her eyes looking at something that Lockwood couldn’t see. He knew what it was like, to be in her position, but he had no idea how to comfort her other than just being here. She’d gripped him earlier, when they were hugging, like she thought he might be the next one to leave. It had broken his heart and made it swell at the same time that she had held him so tightly, but now he was left to wonder how else he might help.

She was still silent when they walked through the front door.

Her father came out of the living room to greet them, and Y/n had frozen, rapier mid-air while she went to put it away in the umbrella stand. Lockwood had put his own rapier away, and the sound made her snap out of whatever trance she had been in and finish her previous action before taking one last look at her father and running upstairs. Lockwood shrugged off his long coat, hanging it on the stand.

“It was her mother,” he said, looking at the stairs instead of at the man he was talking to. “I think she’s upset that you lied to her, about clearing out the house.”

“I couldn’t-” he broke off, coughing slightly to clear his throat when emotion clogged it up. “I couldn’t bring myself to do it.”

“I know.” He could barely look at that door on the landing most of the time. He turned to face Y/n’s father. “But you made that house unsafe. You got lucky. She was a Poltergeist, but completely unaggressive like they normally are. Very lucky, in fact, because there was no chance of you being ghost-touched. But still, you should have told her.” The man nodded, tears starting to fall on his cheeks.

“I suppose you put the Source in the furnaces then?”

“No, actually. I asked Y/n what she wanted to do, and she said she’d talk to you. You could keep it, so long as it was in a sealed silver glass box. You wouldn’t have to lose her again.”

“That would be great, thank you. Is it safe here overnight?”

“I’ll put it in the storeroom downstairs,” Lockwood smiled, one of his classic customer service smiles, and moved towards the kitchen. “Whereabouts did you decide to sleep in the end? The living room?”

“Yeah.”

“Alright. Well, goodnight, sir.”

“You’re a good lad, Mr. Lockwood. I can see why my Y/n likes you so much. Goodnight,” he waved, disappearing into the living room and closing the door behind him. Lockwood stood in the hallway, Source still wrapped in the silver net, and tried not to blush too much at the way those words had been said.

~~~

“What are you doing in here?”

Y/n jumped at the sound of Lockwood’s voice, and immediately felt a little guilty for intruding on his personal space. “Sorry,” she muttered. “I didn’t want to wake Lucy up, ‘cause she hasn’t been sleeping well recently, so I came in here. Sorry.”

“That’s alright.” He went to grab his pyjamas, then did a double-take. “Is that my shirt?”

“Oh.” She looked down and flushed. “I didn’t… I forgot that by not going up to the attic I wouldn’t have anything to sleep in, so… yeah.”

“Oh.”

She wished he would say more, because his gaze was as heavy as the silence that settled over them after that single syllable.

“Lockwood?”

A pause. “Yeah?”

“I can leave-”

“No!” He swallowed thickly, then repeated himself. “No. I mean, no point waking Lucy up, is there? I’ll be back in a bit, just… going to go get changed.” She watched him leave, and then five minutes later she watched him come back.

“You alright?”

“Yeah,” he answered, sounding anything but. He looked… nervous? Why the hell was he nervous? “You?”

“I’m alright.” She tried not to laugh, settling for an amused smile instead, and waited for him to get into bed next to her and turn off the light. Once it was dark (or as dark as it could be with the ghost lamp outside the window), she heard him shuffle around in his bed so that he was facing her. The outline of his face was barely visible, but it was enough that she could make out where his eyes were, and where his faint smile was. “Lockwood?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you. For earlier.”

“I already told you, anytime.” They went quiet, just enjoying the comfort of Lockwood’s bedroom. “I talked to your dad, by the way. He said he didn’t want to lose her again, so I’ve offered to sort out a case for the phone in the morning. I also told him off for lying to you, which terrified me, because your dad is not a small man.” Y/n let out a snort at the last part, and she saw the faint light from outside light up Lockwood’s teeth as he grinned.

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“I did. Back at the house, you were… well, I’m not really sure what you were. But you weren’t you, and it scared me. It’s like you went somewhere else, Y/n. I just can’t lose you, is all.”

“Oh.” Now it was her turn to not say much, and she could feel him fidgeting.

“Your dad said something. About you.”

“What? What did he say?” Her heart was beating faster, not knowing if he’d said something good or bad.

“He said that you like me a lot.” Now her heart was thumping for a different reason.

“Well, yeah. It’s difficult not to like you, Lockwood, you’re a very likeable person, you know? Very-”

“Why are you nervous?”

“What?”

“You’re talking really fast. You do that when you’re nervous. Why are you nervous?” Damn him for knowing her so well.

“Uh… I just… I don’t know.” She did know, but how could she admit to her boss that she had the biggest crush on him while they were lying in his bed together?

“Sorry. I shouldn’t have- it just sounded like he meant it in a… in a like like way.” She took a deep breath, and decided to bite the bullet. At least if it was dark she couldn’t see his face when he rejected her.

“He did. I… I’ve liked you for a while, actually.” There was no response, and suddenly it all seemed like a terrible idea. “Lockwood?”

“How long?” There was no discernible emotion in his voice.

“About two years?”

“So… since you got here?”

“Yeah, basically.”

“You’re telling me,” he started, frustration seeping through, and she shrunk in on herself a little. “You’re telling me that we could have been together this entire time?!”

“Yeah, I guess so. Wait,” she frowned, “wait what did you just say?”

“It took us removing your mother’s Source from your childhood home and your father telling me that you really like me for this to happen?!”

“… Yeah?” She heard him bring his hands up to his face and groan, and then heard him shuffle around again. A moment later his hand was touching hers, tentatively at first, then lacing his fingers through hers and tugging her closer to him when he realised he’d found her. She ended up curled into his side, her head in the crook of his neck, and his arms wrapped around her torso under the duvet.

“Well I know you’re free after we wake up, so right after we get the glass case sorted out I’m taking you out for food.”

“Like a date?”

“Exactly like that.”

It wasn’t long after that that the pair of them fell asleep, and before she drifted off in Lockwood’s arms, she couldn’t help but think how her mother had been right about loving and being loved, and how it was the greatest thing in the world.

tag list: @ahead-fullofdreams, @aislinrayne, @anathemaloren, @anthgoldenhrry, @augustisintheair, @avdiobliss, @aysha4life, @bobbys-not-that-small, @briar-rose23, @curseofhecate, @dangelnleif, @edible-rat-vomit, @el-de-phi, @ell0ra-br3kk3r, @ettadear, @fearlessmoony, @fudosl, @idkbubs, @imaginebeingmentallystable, @informedimagining, @karensirkobabes, @lady-ashfade, @light-23, @locklyebrainrot, @locklyle1kanij, @locknco, @magicandrosewaters, @mentallyillsodapop, @mischivana, @mitskiswift99, @mrsklockwood, @mrsyixingunicorn10, @newbooksmell777, @no-morning-glories, @novelizt, @phlooper, @ran23sblog, @reggiepeterss, @simrah1012, @somethingrandomwatzit, @star-of-velaris, @superpositvecloudshipper, @t2sh0, @taygrls, @tournesol77, @whistle1whistle, @whenselenefallsinlove, @wordsarelife, @y0urm0m12, @zoom1374, @asyouwish-fromcabin3, @magicandrosewaters

#lockwood and co #lockwood & co #anthony lockwood #anthony lockwood x reader #anthony lockwood x you #lockwood x reader

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tamamita · 4 months

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People are dragging taylor for her silence as if a tweet from her could be enough to stop a conflict that has been going on since 1948 crazy every day we discover new things. crazy to demand a political request from a singer and not from the world leaders who actually have direct influence on the matter lmao

I promise you that I do not give one single crap about some rich white celebrity's opinion

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billlydear · 1 year

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hi, can i request a hurt/comfort fic where reader is struggling with family problems (maybe like billy or maybe something different) and they’re kind of a jerk like billy too? but then something happens that breaks them down and he just so happens to be there and he actually helps them deal with it. if you’ve already written something like this then i’m sorry, i’m new here 😅 but i love your writing and i’m excited to read more 💓

GOT A LIGHT? - BILLY HARGROVE X READER

W.C 1948 - INBOX (please request !) - GIF CREDIT TO OWNER

A/N: ohh my god i'm sorry i went MIA for like two weeks!! more to come soon, i promise <3 warnings: mentions of abuse, reader is abused similar to billy, they smoke together, angst, angst with a happy ending (? maybe hopeful, not happy 😅)

He's in his car when it happens. It's late, past 2AM, which is why he supposes your mother sees no problem opening the door and shoving you out. You trip over the porch step when she pushes you, landing hard on your ass on the concrete while she looms over you.

"Find somewhere to stay for the night," She seethes, spitting mad, "Because you're not welcome here."

He's suspected it for a while. Anger like the stuff inside of him, anger like the stuff he's seen ooze out of you, that doesn't happen for no reason. He's disappointed but not surprised to watch you fall, staying concealed in the darkness of his car as he watches from across the street.

You don't even try to get up, and Billy knows exactly how you feel. Sometimes, when you're knocked on your ass, you don't get back up. You're a modern day Sisyphus, and the boulder's rolled back down your hill one too many times. He decides to help you push.

He doesn't want you to startle if he slams the door to his car, so he leaves it open. Under any other circumstances, he'd close and lock it, watching from the other side of the street to make sure no one even breathes near it. But it's in the back of his mind as he crosses the street to your house, the slightly chilled night air nipping at his bare, toned arms.

He stops behind you, boots scraping slightly against the pavement. You don't dare look at him, you know who he is. There's only one person across the street that would be out at 2AM, and he's the last person you want to see.

"Come sit in my car," He murmurs, keeping his voice low in case your mom can hear from inside.

"Fuck off." You keep your eyes down, still turned away from him and splayed over the pavement. You're propped up on your elbows, and Billy sees one of them slowly staining the ground red.

"You can sleep in the backseat if you want," He presses on, ignoring your hostility the way no one ever ignores his, "I'll pass out in the front and keep the heater running."

"Fuck. off."

"I'm not allowed inside tonight either," Billy finally admits, "My dad and your mom took the same parenting class."

You're quiet, and Billy knows you're thinking about it. Thinking about all the times you've seen him threaten to blow, all the times you've heard the whistle of his teapot before it boiled over, all the times he lingers on the street too late to be casual.

"I have a first aid kit under the seat." Billy looks at the red-stained concrete, "And you can bum my cigarettes."

It's a peace offering. It's all a peace offering, a confirmation that there's someone else like him out there, and he'll be damned if he lets you slip through his fingers. He's spent enough time hiding from everyone that could never understand, and now that he knows someone can, he can finally talk. He can finally feel, he can finally relate, he can finally live.

Everything hinges on this. He can't keep doing this, he can't keep spending cold nights on the front steps or sneaking to the kitchen for an ice pack to put over his ribs. He can't do it alone, and you're the only one that can help him. He feels his heart beating out of his chest, pounding in his ears and pooling blood near his feet where they're bent against the sidewalk. His thighs are burning from how long he's been squatting, but he'd rather die than give up and walk away.

He uses your silence to mentally heal your wounds. He thinks about bandaging your fingers, disinfecting your cuts with a thin, pale antiseptic wipe that'll burn his own abrasions. He fantasizes about the simple act of sharing a cigarette with a friend, and you seem to share his thoughts.

"You- uh, you got a light?"

He knows that surrender. He knows the witty quip, the emotionally-distant snark meant to change the subject and disguise hurt for indifference. It's why he doesn't demand a 'Thank you,' because the way you look back at him is enough of one. You let him help you off the ground, and support half of your weight when the knee you'd tweaked gives you trouble. He helps you hobble back to his car, and he even shuffles you into the driver's seat to get you in quick and easy, where the door is still open. No one else has ever sat in the driver's seat of his car.

"I'll get the first aid kit," He murmurs, "Take a smoke."

He hears you wrestle with the pack of cigarettes he'd left on the center console while he digs around in the backseat for his first aid kit. When he gets back with the little plastic box there's one between your lips unlit, and he remembers your earlier question.

"Here," He fumbles in his pocket for his lighter. He yanks it out, sparking it until a flame roars to life. He holds it against your unlit cigarette, watching as the embers form and glow in the dark.

"Thanks," You mumble, and he nods while reaching for your hands. They're scraped and raw, blood dark in the creases of your fingers but light over your palms like you'd formed a fist and bunched it up there. There's rocks in your cuts from the concrete of your front steps, and he picks it out with his fingernails, crimson gathering under them that, for once, isn't his own.

You hiss as he pulls a particularly rough rock from its spot, and he fights not to acknowledge it. He doesn't want you to feel weak, so he keeps picking until your hands are gravel-free. He's far too good at wrapping wounds for an 18 year-old, but neither of you comment on it. He knows you are, too.

"There," He keeps your hands in his own, only a thin layer of gauze separating his skin from yours. He only moves his hands to pluck the cigarette from between your lips with one, and you blow smoke out of the side of your mouth instead of in his face as a thank-you.

"You sleep in here?" You raise an eyebrow, and he throws a scathing glance at his house.

"Sometimes. Only when my dad's having a bad night."

"So all of them," You scoff, "I've seen you out here before. I was gonna-" You pause, scoffing, then bury your face in your bandaged hands, scrubbing it clean of something Billy's sure is vulnerability. He takes a drag from your cigarette while you hesitate.

"I was gonna come out and ask if you were okay," You grumble from inside your protective shell, "But I- I dunno, I try not to be out here at night if I don't have to be."

"You don't know if they'll let you back in," Billy mumbles, nodding while funneling smoke out of the corner of his mouth, "I get it."

You nod, then shiver. Billy suddenly remembers he's still crouched on asphalt and not safe inside, because a cigarette and a friend concoct warmth he's never known before. He pats your knee, then stands, "I'll crank up the heater."

It's weird being in the passenger's seat of his own car. He's been in there to clean, scrape mud from the wheels of Max's skateboard off of the floor while he curses her under his breath. But it's different settling in the seat, head leaning back against the headrest while you shut the driver's side door. Silence envelops the car, and Billy clicks the lights on so that you've got a warm glow cast over you.

"Thanks for the cigarette," You take it back from him when he offers it to you, "That's what- uh, that's why I was out there. My mom found mine."

"My dad doesn't care," Billy spits, grateful for the freedom but doomed by the negligence, "I think he'll be glad if I die of lung cancer so he doesn't have to kill me himself."

You snort, and he's so glad you don't apologize. There's a certain familiarity that the two of you can speak with, you don't have to preface anything with 'okay, this is kind of dark, but-' or 'can i tell you something personal?'. You both have the same lives, and conversation clicks into place like puzzle pieces.

He wonders when the last time you got to relax was, as you sink into the seat. Your shoulders aren't tense and your eyes drift shut, both things that seem impossible for Billy in his own home. He suspects it's the same for you, which is why he doesn't lament the night ending so soon.

He wants to say goodnight to you, like a friend would. He wants to pretend he's at a sleepover on your floor, like your mom had brought you two cookies an hour ago, and now you're playing cards in your sleeping bags. He wants to pretend things are normal, that you're kids hopped up on sugar and giggles, not teenagers on nicotine and despair.

But the scent of smoke fills his car, and there are bandages on your hands. So he waits for your breathing to even out, watching the slow rise and fall of your chest in time with the seconds that slip away from your last encounter with your family. In, out, in, out, further and further away from the horrors in your house.

Only when he's absolutely certain you're asleep does he dare speak, and his voice is barely anything above a whisper, raspy and cautious.

"Goodnight," He murmurs, because he feels incomplete shutting his eyes without saying it. He keeps his head turned towards you as he sleeps, legs splayed open as he slumps against the seat behind him. He's almost afraid to go to sleep, on high alert to make sure that nothing can steal away his opportunity. Making sure the lights in his house are still off, that his dad won't give up and push him back into the house in case the neighbors see him sleeping in his car. He's busy making sure your lights aren't on either, that your mother doesn't storm over and demand that her child be released from the young man's car. And he's making sure you don't slip out yourself, like you're a puff of smoke that could vanish if he puts too much faith in you.

But eventually, his eyes slip shut and don't open again for hours. He goes to sleep with a friend in his car, and he wakes up with one, too. There's light streaming through the windshield, and the car is more than warm because of it. There's birds chirping, there's people walking their dogs, there's chatter over backyard fences, and there's you.

You're flipping through a book of postcards that he keeps in the driver's side door, all of California's scenic spots. Your fingers are brushing over his favorite now, the beaches along the coast that he'd swore to surf clean across. You glance over at him when he shifts in his seat, and you bite the inside of your cheek before breaking the silence.

"Morning," You mumble, averting your eyes to the postcard in your lap, "These are.. these are really pretty."

"Yeah they are," Billy rasps, morning voice in full effect, "Prettier in person, though."

"I'll have to go sometime, then." You hum, and Billy's decided before you flip to the next page that he'll be the one to take you.

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morbidology · 6 months

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26-year-old Isaac Woodard had been in the Army for more than three years. He had served in the Pacific theater in a labor battalion as a longshoreman and was promoted to sergeant. He had earned a battle star for his Asiatic-Pacific Theater Campaign Medal by unloading ships while under fire in New Guinea, and had also received the Good Conduct Medal and the Service medal as well as the World War II Victory Medal.

On the 12th of February, 1946, he was travelling back home to Winnsboro, North Carolina, and had been looking forward to reuniting with his wife. Unbeknownst to Isaac, he would never see his wife again. While on the bus, he asked the bus driver for a bathroom break just outside Aiken, South Carolina. The bus driver was rude for Isaac and later claimed that he had been drunk. When they stopped at Woodard, the bus driver called police. When they arrived, Isaac, who was still wearing his Army uniform, professed that he had done nothing wrong.

Isaac was beaten and arrested by police Sheriff Lynwood Shull. Back at the station, Sheriff Shull unleashed a brutal and prolonged attack on Isaac. Over the course of the night, he was beaten and jabbed in the eyes with a billy club, leaving Isaac fully blind. The following morning, Isaac was found guilty of drunk and disorderly conduct and fined fifty dollars. He requested medical assistance but it took two days for a doctor to finally be sent to him. In addition to being blind and severely beaten, Isaac was suffering from amnesia.

Isaac would end up at a hospital in Aiken and wouldn’t be found by his family for another three weeks. He was then taken to an Army hospital in Spartanburg where he regained his memory. Sadly, nothing could be done for his eyes.

The senseless attack would garner national attention and would be instrumental in President Harry Truman forming a Council on Civil Rights and integrate the military in 1948. He also ordered a federal investigation and overlooked the trial of Lynwood Shull. Ultimately, he would be acquitted by an all-white jury.

Isaac Woodard died in 1992 at the age of 73.

#history #world #true crime #civil rights #hate crime

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workersolidarity · 5 months

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[South Africa demands International Court of Justice impose provisional measures on Israel to halt its assault on Gaza. South Africa's delegation underscored the mass killing of Palestinians in Gaza, saying it formed a 'calculated pattern of conduct by Israel indicating a genocidal intent']

🇿🇦🇮🇱 🚨 GENOCIDE TRIAL BEGINS AGAINST THE ISRAELI ENTITY AT INTERNATIONAL COURT OF JUSTICE

The first hearings against Israel on charges of genocide are currently being held at the International Court of Justice in The Hague, Netherlands on Thursday, as Israeli occupation bombing and shelling continued to massacre entire families in the Gaza Strip.

The charges, brought against the Israeli entity by South Africa, were filed with the ICJ on Dec. 29th, 2023, accusing the Jewish apartheid-State of the crime of genocide, implemented as a matter of policy against the Palestinian population of the enclave.

South Africa filed the charges with the ICJ in a meticulously crafted case that included an 84-page report compiling evidence of genocide against the Palestinian population of the Gaza Strip by the Israeli occupation.

In the 84-page document, South Africa accuses the Israeli entity of creating conditions "conducive to [the Palestinian population's] physical destruction," which South Africa and several other Arab and African nations believe constitutes the crime of "genocide" being inflicted against the native population of the enclave, by the mostly European Jewish colonists.

The hearings, which are being held in The Hague, Netherlands, will be exclusively addressing the request by South Africa that the International community take urgent measures to direct the Israeli occupation to cease and disist its military operations in the Gaza Strip while the Court hears evidence in the case, a process that can span several years.

Hearings began with a statement by South Africa's Deputy Attorney General and Minister of Justice, Ronald Lamola, followed by a presentation from the South African representative.

Early on in the hearings, Adila Hassim, an advocate of South Africa's High Court, began setting the stage for the current conflict by describing for the Court the events of 1948 and the Nakba, arguing that the Palestinian people faced a "catastrophe" that year, with the Israeli entity depriving the Arab population of their non-negotiable Rights, such as the right of return and self-determination.

The advocate called for the immediate end to discriminatory policies targeting Palestinians, and pointed out that Israel's aggression against the Arab population has escalated.

Hassim also pointed to Israel's system of apartheid imposed on the Palestinian people, along with the blockade and siege of the Gaza Strip, and described for the Court the ways in which Israel incites violence against Palestinians, in direct contravention of the Genocide Convention.

“We, along with representatives of the state of Palestine and human rights, file this lawsuit on behalf of the citizens of Gaza who cannot live in safety,” Hassim told the Court.

Later on in the hearings, South Africa's Minister of Justice, Ronald Lamola, added that “no armed attack on any territory, however grave its danger (…) can justify violations of the Convention," and accused the Israeli occupation of failing to uphold its obligations under International Law and the Genocide Conventions.

Over the course of two days, the Court will hear South Africa's justifications for filing the case with the ICJ, and will hear Israel's response on Friday.

Several Arab and African nations have also voiced support for South Africa's case of genocide against the Israeli occupation, including Jordan, Turkey, Libya, Pakistan, Bangladesh, the Maldives, Venezuela, Namibia, Nicaragua, Malaysia, Indonesia, Bolivia, Colombia, Brazil, as well as the Organization of Islamic Cooperation (OIC), comprising 57 Muslim-majority countries, and the members of the Arab League as well.

More than 200 Professors, academics and experts in International Law, the majority of which being from prestigious universities in the United States, have also endorsed South Africa's case against Israel.

More than 23'000 Palestinian civilians have been killed in Israel's genocidal war on Gaza, with nearly 60'000 wounded, 70% of whom are women and children, and with another 7'000 or more buried under the rubble.

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