#I have. a job where I have to read and write about instant death constantly

[wigglebox]

I’ve not been having a great time lately. Since March 2020 really but this year in particular

[maxwell-grant]

Red of Overly Sarcastic Productions once said :"If you can imagine your Batman comforting a shared child, then congratulations, you're righting Batman. If not, you're just writing the Punisher in a funny hat". This got me wondering: could the Shadow comfort a scared child?

Could he? You forget who was there to lift young Bruce to his feet at his first brush with death (sadly far from his last).

But it's an interesting question to pose still, because children were straight up not in the pulps, not in any I've read, and I can't recall any episodes of the radio show that feature them much (there's gotta be at least a few, because they had everything in that show). The most interaction I think The Shadow's ever had with children (from comics that I can discuss here, because Marshall Rogers' "Harold Goes to Washington" is way, way too much for me to go into right now, and the less I talk about some other DC comics, the better) is in the Street & Smith comics.

There's Jerry from the Devil Kyoti arc, a kid who was traumatized by an encounter with the villain who Sayre's looking after and who ends up having some kind of hidden power that allows him to see The Shadow and defeat the villain. There was a blonde Jerry who showed up later in the Monstradamus arc, but he isn't a kid so much as he's diet Jimmy Olsen or a replacement for Harry, but he had weird eyesight-based powers and a familiarity with The Shadow, so I assume it's the same character.

There was also Donald Jordan - Shadow Jr, and okay, I may have to talk more about this weird little failed experiment some other time, but the basic gist of it is that The Shadow had a friend in Tibet named Harry Jordan (and someday I'm also gonna write about the weird prevalence and significance of the name "Harry" in The Shadow's mythos in and out of universe) who was murdered, leaving his son orphaned and with nowhere to go. And, I'll admit that I have a real weakness for The Shadow calling people "son", which he does a lot in this story.

And as you can expect, it then turns out that the kid's also learned how to cloud minds and has basically the same powers The Shadow has in these comics, and they solve the mystery of his dad's murder together, and yeah, you can absolutely tell that they are setting up this kid to be The Shadow's Robin. Although, interestingly, they don't have The Shadow actually recruit the kid, instead it's Jordan who asks The Shadow if he can go with him and join his mission, and Cranston even states he's going to have to "earn" his way

"Must I stay here, sir? It will always remind me of dad - I'd like to devote my life to your fight against evil and evil doers!

Now, "Shadow Jr's" career was incredibly short-lived, it only lasted for about two other issues, and I have no idea what happened in his final appearence called "Snake Eyes" in Shadow Comics #77, I cannot find that issue anywhere and I really want to. But the one other solo story of his I've read was...well, I think it kinda illustrates why the idea of The Shadow having a Robin was doomed from the start.

...Yeah. Even The Shadow at his most sanitized and family friendly is still The Shadow, and there's no room for children in his network, obviously he shouldn't and wouldn't have children be in those positions or make decisions expected from grown-ups who have already had encounters with death and danger, why would anyone do that-

The only instance I can think of The Shadow interacting with a child in the pulps was during The Prince of Evil, when he has to rescue a young boy from Stark's thugs.

Cranston, dazed, tried to stagger to his feet. Before he could do so, the thug had picked up the limp figure of the boy and was darting out into the street. There was a scream of horror from pedestrians.

A heavy truck was racing at top speed along the avenue. Straight into the path of the truck, the thug threw the senseless boy!

The driver of the truck jammed on the brakes. But it was too late to halt the heavy vehicle. The broad-tired wheels rolled toward the limp head of the lad on the pavement.

An instant before it could crush out his life, Lamont Cranston dived headlong into the path of destruction. His shoulder struck the boy, rolling him toward the curb. A quick wriggle, and Cranston swerved aside from the grinding death that loomed over him.

He picked up the boy. One glance and he knew there was no time to lose. The attempted killer had leaped into a waiting sedan and had already made his escape.

The boy was all Cranston could see or think about. Brass knuckles had fractured his skull. He had suffered a concussion of the brain. A glance at his bluish lips and the fixed glaze of his staring eyes told Cranston that unless the boy was operated on immediately, he would die.

A leap, Cranston was in his car. He laid the boy gently on the seat beside him, then headed the car toward the nearest hospital. Traffic lights were ignored.

The boy was taken to an emergency operating room and a skilled surgeon went to work. When it was over, Cranston asked only one question: "Will the child live?"

"Hard to say. We'll do our best."

"Spare no expense. Put him in a private room. Engage day and night nurses."

Cranston's face was pale. He knew that he himself was indirectly responsible for the boy's attack. A supercriminal had made a prompt answer to Cranston's message over Jackson's telephone. That telephone must have been tapped. The attempt to kill the boy was a vicious warning for Lamont Cranston to mind his own business about the Harmon family. It was a follow-up of the attack on Jackson's dog.

Cranston felt a surge of hot anger. He kept it under control while he answered routine police questions. He told all he knew - which was nothing.

He had only one angry thought. He intended to drive straight to the office of David Chester. He'd get the truth out of the sleek Chester, if he had to batter him with vengeful fists!

Cranston was actually halfway to Chester's office before common sense returned to him. He realized he had lost his sense of balance. He was behaving exactly as the crooks wanted. He was playing their game, not his!

He parked, and the hot rage drained slowly from him. He stopped thinking about the limp figure of a young lad on a white operating table.

This is definitely because Tinsley writes the character differently than Gibson, but I actually cannot think of another occasion where we got to read about The Shadow actively wanting to hit someone with his fists. It's very, very rare to read about The Shadow actually getting mad in the first place in such an undignified way. And I think with this passage, you'll start to notice a pattern.

The problem isn't that The Shadow cannot interact with kids or that he can't comfort them, he does it to his agents and adults he wants to help just fine, he knows how to address people in their language, or any language. The problem is, The Shadow is constantly surrounded by danger everywhere he goes, because he is The Shadow. He can be any number of things at any number of occasions, but usually, when The Shadow shows up, it's usually because people are going to die, and people are going to kill, and it's his job to address that and work the scales.

Children should not be anywhere near this, and if The Shadow's interacting with a child, it usually means that some grave danger or tragedy fell upon them, and he's here to either prevent greater tragedy or address the fall-out, and he'd be the first to agree that neither of these options should be happening at all. It doesn't mean he's not gonna do what's right and give life and limb to protect them, but, it shouldn't be up to the Boogeyman to look after them in the first place. Maybe it shouldn't be up to the Boogeyman to protect us.

But then again, as I mentioned when I talked about my own reasons for liking The Shadow so much, there are many kids who would like nothing more than to have the Boogeyman by their side to protect them. There's comfort in knowing that the scariest man in the room is unconditionally there to protect you, and that is the comfort that The Shadow gives best. Not as Cranston, not under a friendly face, but as what he is.

Due to a lack of scenes from the pulps or satisfying scenes from elsewhere, I will instead be pulling one from a fan story written by Kimberly-Murphy Smith, editor and writer of The Hot Cornerm where The Shadow rescues a child who was kidnapped for blackmail. I couldn't care less that it's fanfic, and if you do, come back in 20 or so years after The Shadow's been made public domain and it's gonna be just as official as anything licensed (on my “to write about” list: how fickle the separation between “official” and “fanfic” is, and the many times it plainly didn’t exist). There’s aspects of her writing I don’t care for, but I really like this scene and I do think The Shadow’s more gentle interactions with people are necessary to getting the character.

Annabelle.

She stopped crying for a minute. "Who's there?" she said, her voice choked.

A friend. Your mommy and daddy sent me to pick you up.

"Mommy? Mommy's here?"

Sh-h-h. Annabelle felt a gloved hand gently stroking her hair. She's waiting for you at home. So, we need to hurry up and leave.

"'kay." She looked around. "Where are you?"

It's kind of hard to see me. It's dark in here, plus you've been crying so much your eyes probably hurt.

"Yeah."

Don't be afraid. I'm here to help.

"'kay."

The implicit trust of children was simply amazing at times. Adults trembled in fear of The Shadow's wrath, but children somehow seemed to understand that he was there to help them, even if they couldn't see him.

Sit up, Annabelle. I'm going to pick you up. Be very quiet.

One hand took each of her arms and guided them around a neck she could not see. "Why are you wearin' a blanket?" she asked as the fabric of his cloak brushed against her shoulders.

Sometimes I get cold at night.

"Even in the summer?"

Even in the summer. He gently stroked her cheek and wiped away her tears. Now, you need to be very quiet so those bad men in the next room don't hear us. I'll bet you're tired.

She nodded.

He rocked her on his arms, projecting a very gentle hypnotic relaxation into her with his powers as he did. You probably didn't get your nap, either. Poor thing. Lean on my shoulder and go to sleep. And when you wake up, you'll be back with Mommy and Daddy.

She yawned, then snuggled against his shoulder and went to sleep.

The Shadow sighed with relief. Now to get past the men out front. He gently pulled the pistol out of its holster under his left arm and slipped it into the belted waist of his overcoat within easy reach, then secured his grip on Annabelle and draped his cloak over her.

She clutched the edge of his cloak in her hand like a security blanket and snuggled against his shoulder again.

(Art by Jill Thompson)

[random-of-random]

The Secret

Chapter 2 - Just One Day

Authors Note: Thanks for reading and favoriting, and for commenting. You guys are great!

Y/N Y/L/N and Percival Graves had met four years earlier, in 1921. She was new to MACUSA and he was already a top Auror. It was a tradition in the department that new employees learn from close observation of people who had been there longer. Y/N had been assigned to shadow Percival and she was given several words of condolence from her new co-workers.

“Don't let him push you out of here.” Arnold had warned her as he gave her a cheeky grin. He was being shadowed by Lovell. From the little she had gathered Percival Graves was a good guy, however he was also shrewd and some described him as single-minded.

When she went to his office and knocked on the door, she could feel her nerves building. His office was smaller then, and this one he shared with Arnold.

"Come in." His voice called and she hesitantly opened the door. Two desks were crammed into the tiny space, filing cabinets seemed to overflow. There were files covering the desks and piled on the floor. It was easy to see that it was a time-consuming job. Behind the desk to her right sat Percival. He didn't even glance up at her, at first, and he continued writing on a piece of parchment, the quill scratching on the paper reminded her of school.

"Mr. Graves?"

"Yes. You must be Miss. Y/L/N." She moved toward him slowly.

"Yes, sir."

"Graduated from Ilvermorny?" His hair was slicked back and black. She couldn't see the color of his eyes.

"Yes sir."

"One of the top students in your year." He still hadn't looked at her.

"Yes sir."

"What house?"

"Horned Serpent, sir."

"Did you always want to work in magical law enforcement, Miss. Y/L/N?"

"Frankly sir, no." That seemed to get his attention. The quill stopped and he turned to slowly look up at her. His eyes were a chestnut brown and seemed to be looking through her.

"What did you want to be?"

"A stage actress." She admitted and it garnered a small smile.

"Is that so?"

"Yes, sir."

"So, why are you here?" It wasn't a rude question, nor intense. Just inquisitive.

"If I was going to be on the stage then I would want to be somewhere big. Considering the Rappapport Law, I wouldn't be able to achieve that properly. So, I turned to the next best thing."

"From being an actress to catching criminals?"

"Yes, sir."

"And they sent you to me." He stood and placed the paper he was working on in an already full filing cabinet. "I suppose you've heard the stories." She could have lied, kissed a little ass, but that wasn't her style.

"Yes, sir, I have."

"And? How am I living up to them so far?" When he turned to look at her again she couldn't help but catch the smile he was trying to hide. Percival was handsome and she had a feeling he could be very charming if the mood struck him.

"A little lacking, sir." He chuckled.

"Welcome to the department, Miss Y/L/N. Now, if you wouldn't mind, we had a big bust if illegal imports yesterday and most of that needs sorted."

"Fine. Not a problem." She said putting on a smile. As soon as she left his office, she knew she was in trouble. Girls talked about plenty of other men in MACUSA, but Percival Graves was something special.

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

Y/N shadowed him continuously. Yeah, he was tough. Yes, he could be distant and cold. However, he was the best Auror she had ever seen. He was quick with a wand, his spells were powerful, and he had even mastered a few spells without the use of a wand. Every morning she would arrive at the Woolworth building by 7 AM. Every night she wouldn't leave until 8 PM. He stayed the same hours.

People constantly asked her when she was at lunch, "don't you hate this?" Her answer was always the same.

"Of course not! Are you crazy?" And she wasn't lying. She wasn't being insincere. Working as hard as she was had already improved her skills. There was so much Y/N thought she knew that was now being challenged. In her mind, she was working for the best.

The hardest part was Percival himself. She was enjoying being around him entirely too much. The way his eyes followed her suddenly didn't feel uncomfortable. It was welcome. The way he was studying her, she almost dared him to figure out her secrets.

Within three months she had stopped eating with the rest of her co-workers and started eating in Percival's office. Sometimes they would go over files, talk about the goings on in the magical and non-maj governments, and on rare occasions they would talk about personal things.

The personal conversations became more frequent over her year of shadowing him. He talked about the long line of Aurors in his family, and how he felt obligated to follow in their footsteps. However, it turned out that it was a field he was good in and enjoyed. He asked her about her family and seemed to want to know anything she was willing to share. She found out when he attended Ilvermorny he was in the Wampus house. Three had turned for him, the other two being Horned Serpent and Thunderbirds, but he went with the house based with warriors. It suited him.

"When I was in school Wampus beat Horned Serpent every time they played." He joked with her one day.

"That is not true." She said with an accusatory tone, though her eyes were alight. It was almost closing time, but they were still sitting in his office - the same place they had been talking for the last hour.

"It is." He insisted.

"If I waste my time going back through the records to prove you wrong..." he laughed then and the sound was beautiful. The door opened quickly and all signs of the levity were gone in that instant. Arnold walked in carrying yet another file.

"What's that?" Y/N asked.

"Dark wizard from Germany has landed in the US. He's a bad one. Already responsible for seven deaths. We have to catch him." Percival was on his feet in a second.

"Where?" He asked pulling on his coat.

"He was spotted in Central Park." Arnold answered.

"Let me come." Y/N suggested.

"No." Percival answered quickly.

"Why not?" She asked and he seemed to ignore her. "You were the one who said I was doing really well."

"I did say that." He admitted as he walked out of his office. Y/N was in tow.

"Then I should be able to go and prove myself."

Percival let out a tense sigh. “Y/N..."

"Come on, Percival. You know I can do this."

"No!" His shout made her take a step back in shock. The department was suddenly quiet as they all looked on at their head Auror. Granted, most of them were surprised this was the first time they heard him yelling at her. He took a few steps closer to her and lowered his voice so only she could hear. "Not this one. Just, trust me on this?" She merely nodded before she watched him walk toward the elevators. Turning on her heel she headed straight back to his office and shut the door after her. She was so mad it was hard to think of anything else. So, she did what she had been wanting to do for ages. She organized. Everything. Three hours later she was still putting papers into the last cabinet. She modified everything magically so it could fit five times the space is previously had. Any loose papers were sorted and put in their proper files which were then put in alphabetical order in one of the filing cabinets. A work of beauty. She allowed herself a moments rest as she looked over the office. It looked as if there was twice as much room as there had been. When the door opened she stood to smugly see his face, but it was Arnold who walked through the door. His normally styled hair was hanging loose, his tie was completely off, and she saw what looked like blood covering the arm of his white button down.

"Arnold, are you-" She moved toward him, but he put his hand up.

"It's not my blood." Her stomach turned and her breath hitched in her chest.

"I-is Mr. Graves... alright?" She dreaded the answer.

"I think so. He's with the healers now." Arnold took a seat at his desk and leaned back.

"What was he hit with?"

"A spell we had never seen before." Arnold answered her, his voice slightly shaking. "He just started bleeding." Y/N looked at him in shock. "It stopped when we got him subdued, but Percival lost a lot of blood."

"Are you alright though, sir?" She asked.

"I'm going to be fine, Y/N." She nodded and stood awkwardly. "He's in the healers room down on 20. In case you were interested."

"Thank you, sir." She took off, trying her best to look calm and inconspicuous. A few people had started to suspect something was going on between Percival and Y/N. How wrong they were despite how much she wanted them to be right. The rumors seemed to die down quickly. Something about Percival not being the type to settle down, let alone with someone like her. Y/N liked to joke, she was a little more lax about rules, and she didn't mind a little dancing every now and again. People in the building just decided that the two were never possible. Arnold, however, seemed to know how she felt about Percival. He would catch her looking at Graves as he scribbled a sentence on parchment or read quietly. As soon as Y/N would realize he was looking, Arnold would give her a kind smile or a wink. Though, he never told another soul about what he saw.

When the elevator stopped on 20 she stepped out and into a whole different world. She had been to a healing floor before, but not like this. It was bustling with healers running all over the place.

"Can I help you?" A young woman behind a desk asked.

"Yes. My boss was brought in: Percival Graves. I wanted to check and make sure he's alright."

"Your name?"

"Y/N Y/L/N."

"Alright, thank you. Have a seat in our waiting area and someone will be right with you." The woman indicated a small alcove filled with chairs. She hesitantly sat, but within a minute felt that she may stand up and demand an update. It was an excruciating hour before someone came out.

"Miss. Y/L/N?"

"That's me." The man who was now standing in front of her was older, maybe late 50's, with a kind smile.

"I am Mr. Graves healer."

"Is he okay?" She asked.

"Yes. He is going to be alright." She let out a breath she didn't know she was holding and she allowed herself a small smile. "He lost a lot of blood, so we're producing potions for him to take every four hours for the next three days." The doctor explained. "He'll be groggy, but I believe he will do just fine. He will however need care because I want him to get bedrest. I can keep him here, if he would prefer."

"Thank you, and I'll run the options by him." Y/N said as she shook his hand.

"Would you like to see him?"

"Can I?" She asked. He put his hand softly on her upper back and led her back and deeper into the hallway. They walked for less then a minute when they stopped outside a room.

"Go a head in." He encouraged.

The room was very plain and ordinary. Sitting up on the bed was Percival. Already looking like he wanted to go another round. However, his skin was pale and it was easy to see he would be unsteady on his feet. His own clothes must have been discarded as he was wearing a hospital gown. She could faintly make out former cut marks on his arms that were an angry red. His brown eyes connected with hers and for a moment, she saw it. Relief. She couldn't stop herself. Taking several quick steps forward she pulled Percival Graves into a hug. Her arms wrapped around his upper back and shoulders and, to her great surprise, she felt his arms wrap around her waist.

"I'm glad you're back." She whispered before pulling away.

"You didn't have to come down here."

"I know." She answered. "So the docs said you have a potion you have to take every four hours for three days."

"Alright."

"And you have to rest - no working for those three days." He looked almost angry. "That way when you do come back you'll be at 100%."

"If I have to."

"And you're suppose to stay on bedrest. So, I'm going to come take care of you."

"What? No."

"It's your choice, Percival." She said with a shrug of her shoulders. "Let me take care of you for a few days..."

"Or..."

"Or you to stay here and be a special patient of the healers." It was as if he was at war with himself for a moment.

"When can we leave?"

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Hi Steph! How you’re doing? First of all, I wanna say that I love your lists. So, I was wondering, do you have some long Johnlock fics? Like, with a bunch of chapters and all that. Thank you!

Hey Nonny!! 

I absolutely do! And you know what?? I’m gonna be selfish: No one has ever EVER asked me for my shorter long fics, so I’m going to take this opportunity to finally release this list, because it’s been sitting in my drafts for YEARS lol. BUT you can check the list below for the links to all my longer-fics lists! Happy reading!!

NOVELLA LENGTH FICS: 20-25K

See also:

Novella Length Fics: 25 to 50K (Aug. 2019)

Novel Length Fics: 50 to 100K (Nov. 2018)

Novel Length Fics: 50 to 100K Pt 2 (May 2020)

Novel Length Fics: 100K+ w. (May 2019)

Novel Length Fics: 100K+ w. Pt 2 (Aug 2020)

Through the Clouds by Mazarin221b (E, 20,004 w., 6 Ch. || Retirement, Home Improvement, First Time, Romance) – Sherlock takes a remarkably early retirement at 47, and convinces John that a change of pace would do them both good. They buy an old cottage on the South Downs, and exchange their nonstop life in Baker Street for quiet contemplation, bee studies, and book writing. They might go completely insane, but sometimes it takes stepping outside of the life you're living to find the life you want. Part 1 of Through The Clouds

A Life Well-Lived by Kate_Lear (E, 20,121 w., 1 Ch. || Original Male Character, Sherlock Woos John, Jealous Sherlock, Reluctant Bi-John, Past Abuse, Insecure John, Reassuring / Caring Sherlock, Protective Sherlock, Understanding Sherlock) – John got scared off men by an abusive past relationship. Sherlock has to try and woo him while not scaring him off with protective possessive rage.

The White Lotuses by SilentAuror (E, 20,340 w., 1 Ch. || Slow Burn, Domestic, Romance) – One day John realises that he just isn't where he belongs, which is back at Baker Street with Sherlock. So he goes back and Sherlock, in his own way, courts him. Romance.

Out of the Woods by SilentAuror (E, 20,471 w., 1 Ch. || Post S4, Romance, Slow Burn, Flirting, Drunk Sex, Practical Jokes, POV Sherlock, Bottomlock, Possessive John, Pining Sherlock, Frustrated Wanking, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Blow Jobs, First Kiss/Time, Virgin Sherlock, Love Confessions, Soft Sherlock, Dancing, Bum Appreciation, Hanging out with the Yard) – Sherlock is fairly certain that John has taken to flirting with him of late, but can't be entirely certain of it. At least, not until a case takes them into a forest, along with Lestrade's team and something happens that will change everything about their lives...

You're On the Air by prettysailorsoldier (M, 20,616 w., 1 Ch. || Unilock, Matchmaking, Radio, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Sherlock POV, Pining Sherlock, Flirting, Bisexual John) – The Consulting Detective and The Woman dominate the airwaves of their university radio station, doling out advice on everything from meeting the parents to sexual positions. When their ratings start to dip before the holidays, however, manager Mike thinks it's time for some fresh blood, and who better to fill in the gaps than rugby captain--and notorious flirt--John Watson? Part 1 of 25 Days of Johnlock

whiskies neat by Ellipsical (E, 20,660 w., 15 Ch. || Alternate First Meeting, POV Second Person Sherlock, Slow Burn, One Night Stand, Rimming, Blow Jobs, Anal, Soldier John, Crying, Emotional Lovemaking, Switchlock) – Home and hearth and whiskies neat, or, alternatively, Sherlock Holmes falls in love.

Achieving the Together-Coloured Instant by teahigh (E, 20,776 w., 1 Ch. || Est. Rel, PTSD, Codependency, Fluff & Angst, H/C, Smut, Demisexual Sherlock, Experiments) – John wonders if this is how it’s going to be: A life speaking in code, because they’re both too stupid to figure out how to say, “I love you.”

Winter's Delights by Kate_Lear (E, 21,173 w., 1 Ch. || Holmes Family, Christmas, Fake Relationship, Friends to Lovers, Bed Sharing, Domestics) – Sherlock takes John home for Christmas to meet the extended Holmes family. Part 1 of Winter's Delights

Once More, With Feeling by cellard00rs (T, 21,178 w., 7 Ch. || John’s Family, Fake Relationship, Romance, Fluff, Humour) – To put off his meddlesome, matchmaking mother, John convinces Sherlock to play the role of his significant other. Unparalleled awkwardness ensues.

Love Is by SilentAuror (E, 21,508 w., 1 Ch. || Angst, UST / URT, Post HLV, Romance) – At Mrs Hudson's urging, Sherlock finally decides to tell John how he feels about him. Part 1 of Love Is

echoes through time by chellefic (E, 21,619 w. || First Time, Romance, ACD & BBC, Epistolary) – Mummy sends a trunk from the Holmes cottage in Sussex to 221B. Its contents alter the way John and Sherlock see themselves and one another.

The Real Meaning of Idioms by feverishsea (T, 21,691 w., 1 Ch. || Texting, Humour, Post S2) - After two weeks away, John finally texts Sherlock. He doesn’t expect Sherlock to respond. He doesn’t expect Sherlock to keep texting him. And he really doesn’t expect things to spiral out of control so rapidly.

5 Times John Got the Girl (and lost her) and 1 Time John Got the Guy (and kept him) by LiviKate (M, 21,695 w., 6 Ch. || 5 and Ones, Kissing, Oblivious / Awkward Sherlock, BAMF / Sexy / Stud John, Embarassed John, John’s Scar, Hurt/Comfort, Jealous Sherlock) – John has always had good luck with the ladies. He's charming, friendly and funny, not to mention great in bed. However, his usual skill with the opposite sex is constantly being thwarted by Sherlock and his outbursts. How will John ever get a leg over when Sherlock is always cockblocking him?

Brief Conversations with the Woman by May_Shepard (E, 21,906 w., 20 Ch. || Pining, Love Fairy Irene, Filler Fic, UST/URT, Drug Use, Clueless Sherlock, Relationship Advice, Angst w/ Happy Ending) – Sherlock has a puzzle to solve, and his name is John Watson.

When to Let Go by KendylGirl (M, 22,109 w., 8 Ch. || Friends to Lovers, Reverse Reichenbach, Sacrifice, Forgiveness, Angst, Love, Implied Drug Use) – What if it were John who had to die to thwart Moriarty's plans? John's supposed death shatters Sherlock, and when he returns, it will challenge the pair to forge a path of forgiveness, to peace, and to find a way back to each other. Part 1 of When to Let Go

A Shipless Ocean by myswordfishmind (M, 22,135 w. 4 Ch. || Post-TRF, John has a Kid) – Ten years after the fall Sherlock goes back to London to find that John no longer lives there. Instead, he resides in a seaside town, a widower, and the father of a seven year old son. Now, Sherlock must struggle with the fact that there may no longer be a place for him in this new world.

Ghost Stories by SwissMiss (M, 22,256 w., 1 Ch. || Pining, Holmes Family, Christmas, Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Bed Sharing, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, First Time) – Sherlock's parents think he and John are a couple. They might be onto something.

The One With the Proposal by kim47 (E, 22,375 w., 3 Ch. || Fluff, Romance, Marriage Proposal) – Proposing shouldn't be this difficult.

Sonatina in G Minor by SilentAuror (E, 22,574 w., 1 Ch. || Case Fic, POV Sherlock, Angst, UST, Sherlock’s Violin, Post-S3, Romance) – John has come back to Baker Street, but Sherlock doesn't understand the strange tension between them, even after he begins teaching John to play the violin at John's request.

Dear John by wendymarlowe (E, 23,031 w., 64 Ch. || Post-TRF, Online Dating, Pining, Epistolary, Cybersex, Long Distance Romance) – With Sherlock dead, John eventually (under duress) makes a profile on an online dating site. And falls into a long-distance relationship with an enigmatic partner who reminds him of Sherlock in all the right ways. (Hint: it turns out to be Sherlock.) Part 1 of Dear John

Knotted by naughtyspirit (E, 23,166 w., 4 Ch. || UST/URT, Cuddling, Sharing Body Heat, Confessions, Kissing, Mastrubation, Frustration, BAMF!John) – John has to cancel a date because of Sherlock's case, which leads them to be tied up in a basement from which they have to escape. They get wet, get tied up close and John has to step up and save them. Because he's pretty. And hot. And just a little bit of a BAMF.

You Can Imagine the Christmas Dinners by ardenteurophile (T, 23,584 w., 9 Ch. || Pre-Slash, Drama, Fluff & Angst, Humour, Romance) – Sherlock takes John along for Christmas dinner with Mycroft and Mummy (And "Anthea", too). Over the course of the evening, John realises that everyone in the room - apart from him - seems to think that he and Sherlock are a couple. Part 2 of Xmas Dinners Verse

Once Upon a Beast Becoming by antietamfalls (T, 24,042 w., 6 Ch. || Beauty and the Beast AU || Magical Realism, Folklore, Celtic Mythology) – An act of pride, a druid’s curse, an enchanted leaf; Sherlock’s torment has lasted an age. Hope arrives in the form of one John Watson, a man uniquely suited to break the spell. But with a single night to win his affections, Sherlock finds his carefully laid plans disrupted by a monstrous killer whose sights are set on the only thing he has left to lose: John.

The Kepler Problem by kinklock (E, 24,270 w., 1 Ch. || Sci-Fi AU, Alien Sherlock, Space Repairman John, Alien Biology, Horny John) – Working in uncharted space exploration was not as exciting as John had hoped, especially when it turned out to be mostly bot maintenance on uninhabited planets. However, the mystery of the repeated, unexplained malfunctions on planet BAK 2212 might turn out to be exactly the kind of adventure he'd been craving.

Maintaining A Personal Life by Gingerhermit (E, 24,284 w., 6 Ch. || Alternating POV’s, Bisexuality, BAMF!John, Jealous Sherlock, Romance / Drama, Sort-of Case Fic, Peril & Angst, Love Confessions, Toplock, Soft Idiots in Love, Post S3) – Sherlock and John discover some interesting revelations about each other’s sexuality, which lead them both to question the assumptions they've made about one another for years. In the midst of their mutual discoveries, a dangerous psychopath looms on the side-lines who threatens to destroy their new beginning.

The Sexual Awakening of Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson by suitesamba (M, 24,579 w., 10 Ch. || Post-TRF, Case Fic, H/C, First Kiss/Time) – Sherlock owes Mycroft a favor. Mycroft calls in that favor by offering Sherlock's consulting services in a charity auction. Sherlock and John soon find themselves at the country manor of Mrs. Ives-Patton Smarmington III - not very coincidentally a long-time friend of Sherlock's mother - where they are reluctant participants in her Murder Mystery Weekend. It's a play within a play for Sherlock and John, and their roles for the weekend event bleed over into their real lives, waking the sleeping dragons within.

Tomorrow's Song by agirlsname (M, 24,645 w., 5 Ch. || Post-TRF, POV Sherlock, Angst with a Happy Ending, Virgin / Repressed Sherlock, Love Confessions, Slow Burn, Pining, Jealous Sherlock) – How can he think a relationship with me would be a good idea? I am the sort of person to take a break from my life and when I come back after two years, I expect to find it exactly as I left it. In reality I find it shattered to pieces. (I actually equate you with my life. When did I start doing that?)

State of Flux by Atiki (E, 24,655 w., 4 Ch. || Sherlock POV, Slow Burn, First Kiss/Time, Friends to Lovers, Frottage, Cuddles and Snuggles, Awkwardness, Insecure/Virgin Sherlock, Romance) – John’s marriage is over and he is finally back home (i.e. at Baker Street, where he belongs). Sherlock is awfully insecure and John is awfully hesitant, and they're both awkward idiots, of course, but they figure it out. Many First Times happen.

[goatpaste]

WC design/headcannon/ect masterlist- Part B

another chunk of all the headcanos/AU’s/design notes/warrior names for kits and leaders never given a canon one/ect for all the wario cats!

this one is for all the B named cats!

info under the cut

Badgerfang

badgerfang i think a lot of us have a big ol soft spot for, but ought i really care him and his family i think it needs more than jusT the badgerfang death like for real

one of the biggest reasons i wanna learn to animate is because i wanna make a badgerfang and flintfang amv! it would be sdkg more about flintfang because i think he’s a neat character who has a lot of potential for development 

like mAN you ever stop and think about not only was flintfang sad over badgerfangs death because it was sad, bUT also because badgerfang was his sisters kit AND to the thought of blackstar is flintfangs brother. flintfang had to deal with playing a hand in badgerfangs death then watch his brother loyally follow brokenstar, then tigerstar 🥺

Baypaw

baypaw was the first of his lil chunk of family i design, i didnt have a sorrelstripe design made yet so i ultimately decided to base his design on his grandpa Lionblaze. smaller fluffy lionblaze.

I know we should be coming up to baypaw getting their warrior name soon

i think a name like Baysong or Baygale

Beech Tail

the only thing i have  to say is dgjksh when i designed the ‘beech’ prefix designs it was late and i totally went ‘beech... the beach’ and noT beech the tree sdjkgh. so i designed beech tail like that of a penguin sdjkgh

Beechfur

beechfur , riverclan warrior under mistystar’s leadership

i imagine beechfur is be EXTREMely accident prone, from the first instant of getting sick and healed by leafpool all the way up till the end. He is in and out of the medicine cats den constantly. and through this formed a big ol crush on the pretty medicine cat apprentice Willowshine who has had to full on decline his feelings. he is not the only one who has had this treatment, many a riverclan cats have found themself charmed by willowshine

Beechpaw

Beechpaw, a apprentice of ancient skyclan who were forced to leave the forest territory.  i imagine beechpaw was of the few cats who did everything he could to keep the others in good spirit while they tried to find their home, which often came to the annoyance of all his distraught clanmates. he never stopped doing all he could to put a smile on their face until he died.

he was the last apprentice cloudstar named a warrior and only lived a few moons after becoming one.

warrior names i like for him are like Beechshed or Beechshine

Beenose

slight update to my beenose design because i want her to fit my newer darktail group clown aesthetic 

another design note is her and her siblings all are themed after a diff color of the rainbow, beenose is yellow. their mom snowbird has a pale rainbow pattern and each other her kits is a diff color of the rainbow

Beetlewhisker

Beetlewhisker is another one of my quiet favorites i have, and it is because of the error of him being alive for SO many books after he died.

like !!! bitch had a HUGE major death and went on to live for a long time aND be listed as a cats mentor (which i think that has been changed now)

i love the idea of in a way beetlewhisker WAS with the clans that long after his death. that due to his death was in a way locked in the dark forest, his soul stuck there. but because of the ways of the dark forest cat’s he was chased out, and unable to enter starclan having died in the dark forest, now cursed to live in limbo.

He walks to the grounds of riverclan watching over his clanmates while they rest hoping that no one else is to be preyed upon by the dark forest like he was ever again. 

theres ghost stories of riverclan cats seeing the shape of a cat shining brightly when hit by moonlight. a peaceful spirit of the past who protects them.

and in design 100% his design was made to look like that of a smeleton bones lol

Bellaleaf

the erin team will have to pry bellaleaf and firestar being siblings from my cold dead hands!!

you can’t say they look basically exactly alike and their not related i wont take it sdjkg. i DIE for the idea oh whore jake managing to have so many kids that get into the clans. like the over saturation of jake dna through the clans ruining them absolutely kills me sdjkg

i also imagine ravenpaw having like deja vu of firestar when he looks at bella, cats who knew firestar look at her and can’t help feel she reminds them of someone. 

Berryheart

another one of the designfor snowbirds kits, berryheart is the red themed sibling.

she also got a slight design change to be more clowny to fit her time in darktail’s group

Berrynose

i just love berrynose, i think hes very terrible and i love him a lot

i think the books are cowards and i think berrystar woulda been the fUNniest outcome oR like

imagine the powermove if berrynose lived and squirrelflight fucking made berrynose her deputy likE

also berrynose is a lil gay brat, he has a thick country accent and everyone find him weirdly charming. many hate him but cant help but find him alluring. 

he actually is a very good warrior, he stays on top of his task and brings in the prey. his biggest problem is his ego and his need to get in others faces all the time

i love when he’s paired with lionblaze because their stupid rivarly is so good i really wish it was more plot important and lasted longer i LIVE for best friend rivals lion and berry

buT i also love him with jayfeather for the simple dynamic of the one cat who would probably hate him more than anyone else but oops he’s in love to

or him and breezepelt because they could be lil shitheads togeather

Birchface

the biggest thing i can say about birchface is 100% birchface watched over mapleshade’s kits, doesnt let appledusk or his own family hurt them. He treats them like his own.

in AU’s where birchface lives i defiantly can see him having a HUGE crush on mapleshade and being much like thrushpelt was to bluefur. being as a surrogate dad for her kits and keeping the secret.

in my main AU with mapleshade dieing and getting a redemption its mostly the same except they become a sweet happy family together in starclan.

he’s a big goofy dad type and his father had hoped he would become leader one day, but worried that he was too lax with the code and not as driven to fight as others and began to think he would have to rely on frecklewish instead. then they both died and he ended up turning to his youngest son pinefur

Blade

this is just a one time ghost cat buT  i like the design i made for her.

im all here for dark forest cats having this black oozing mark from where they died, starclan gets being covered in stardust and maybe having from pretty plats or glow or other representative stuff on their death. but ghost cats are loUD with their mark of death. its a nagging weight they carry around based on their inability to move on to their respective afterlives. For blade its giant bright red tire marks that slowly circle around her body.

Blazefire

just a lil boy

i imagine he kinda constantly has crushes on cats from other clans which while some might tell him to hush when he shares his thoughts on the pretty cat from riverclan he gets some loving teasing from dovewing and antfur

Blazefire is also miss nearly all of his tail

Blizzardstar and Blizzardwing

not much here but to say 100% i designed blizzardwing in mind of being that of a grandson or great grandson to blizzardstar

Blossomfall

shrug idk a lot to say about her beyond, i know she’s a asshole character but i remember liking her, i think she’s mean but its kinda fun in a way

i think i also just have this soft spot for millies kits because their millie’s

also i just like my blossomfall design i think she’s v fun

Blossomkit

another shadowclan kit who died under brokenstar’s ruling.

i think as sad as it is, i can imagine blossomkit to be badgerfang’s sister, just another sad thing to think about for fernshade’s litter. the potential idea of all her kit’s dying because of brokenstar

a warrior name for her that would been cute woulda been like Blossomglaze or blossomsprout

Bluebellkit

bluebellkit sure disappeared from the books. she’s one of those kits that like, she already had a mouth full of a name and i wish i coulda seen what they woulda named her as a warrior

but she’s another one of snowbird’s rainbow themed kids, her ofc being the blue one.

i think a cute warrior name for her could been Bluebellwhistle or bluebellfoot

Blouder

i lobe boulder i think he is very under appreciated!! 

i think it be very fun to get a novella or something in this POV,,

he’s just hangin out back there yknow,,,

Bouncefire

(bit of an art change from here as i took a break between these two and switched programs)

idk a lot about actual bouncefire, i think the only books with any real characterization in it was ones i havent read

buT id really like to imagine growing up he saw his mentor patchfoot as a father figure and was ultimately the reason patchfoot and his mom got together. and bouncefire being absolutely ecstatic about it. thinking patchfoot is the coolest guy

bouncefire gets along good with his half siblings

gay cat and wanna be emo but just is kinda angy

Brackenfur

my biggest brackenfur AU is my medicat brackenfur which i have info of here

https://goatpaste.tumblr.com/post/631020627780911104/au-where-insteed-of-fireheart-picking-up

and

https://goatpaste.tumblr.com/post/632972589046890496/mmm-writing-out-like-big-plot-point-changes-in-my

the other thing vaguely mention in these but would probably be more prominent in his og story

but brackenfur is quietly the biggest mess in the family. Being on pare with confidence and energy as cinderpelt when they were young, after her accident somethin changed for him. he loved his sister but is a big distant. but its hardly noticeable between the two as they worked very separate jobs in the clan

then his other sister, brightpaw has her accident and brackenfur begins to question something

but when he his the last to leave in the thunderclan group to their new home he stops and looks back at his mother frostfur who is old and frail look, though she wasnt young the damage of the forest hit her hard. 

this when brackenfur decides starclan has it out for his family, especially the mollies. they were cursed he was sure.

moons later he is expecting his kits with sorreltail, letting his mind rest on the idea, the crazy notion that some greater force wanted the she-cats in his family dead. 

then the day his kits arrive cinderpelt dies to the badgers. he pushes down these feelings down again it was the time. But he couldn’t help but think that, if leafpool was there, if starclan had given them a sign of the badgers, anything. maybe cinderpelt might have lived. but he pushes it back down and tells himself it was a warriors death

and then his daughter, cinderpaw is struck by the tree and the stirring in his mind grows stronger. why has starclan done this to his family

then honeyfern gets bit by the snake. how could starclan be so cruel, their always so young.

then his sweet sorreltail fought strongly for her two young daughters future

and on his own, forced to watch seedpaw drown and lilypaw be haunted by what happened.

the women in brackenfurs family is cursed and he bears the burden of relizing it, of living and watching each of them suffer until the end

to the ones that lived and are happy still, with no burdens in their lives he watches happily making sure NOTHING bad comes their way. he would fight starclan themselves to make sure his family is safe and happy

Breezepelt

in design Breezepelt has a p average length tail. which for him is a huge disappointment. His father crowfeather has a long slender windclan tail, a trait that is held to high standards in his family. a trait passed all the way down from windstar herself who had the longest and most beautifully windy tail. 

Breezepelt has a angry spot about this because he feels lacking and especially disconnected to his father. BUT double this with jayfeather having only half windclan blood has a tail even longer than crowfeathers 

i also would NOT put breezepelt with heathertail, i dont see any reason for it. like first off this bitch gay, id love for him to have a boyfriend and it think it should be berrynose because one, their both terrible i think it be funny and i also think its funny to ship berrynose with lionblaze or jayfeather so im like, whats another brother (to be clear not shipped all together, this is separately) and two, the idea heathertail and poppyfrost lesbian could exist

then the big BIg thing is, i would take breezepelts character and gut what happened in crowfeathers trial out of both him and crowfeather

i talk about it a bit here, but i think ill re talk about it in full when i get to crowfeather https://goatpaste.tumblr.com/post/190544981670/breezepelt

Briarlight

miss briarlight i love you!!

very sweetgirl

i based her design off sakuras and bleed heart doves. idk what possessed me but when i went to design her i knEW she was gonna be pink she needed to be she deserved it

briarlight buff as shit in her forlegs she loves trying to rope leafpool and jayfeather into lil strength contest she always wins (sometimes she will let leafpool win on days she needs it) 

her and jayfeather are wlw/mlm best friends. jayfeather calls her pidge which started as a mean nickname that she simply loved and embraced fully

also in my AU with medicat lionblaze i can very much see briarlight and lionblaze being very sweet friends. like big strong lionblaze who is actually docile and compassionate about his work and briarlight loud and rooting him on

Brick

swear to god until i got back into warrior cats this year i had always thought brick was a lady and her and bone were suppous to be scourges like adoptive bad parents jkdg

anyways im still with that, she/her agender brick who adopts their terrible son scourge and is in a monogamous partnership with bone’s. strictly business defiantly not married, they just have a son together. 

Brindlewing

idk a ton about her, but from her wiki it dsjkgh doesnt look like theirs  alot

but i’d like to imagine she’s a very anxious girl and struggles in crowds especially around cat she doesn't know. she feels more comfortable when one of her sisters is with her or her grandmother nightcloud. Nightcloud has always been a source of self confidence for her and they love each very much.

Brindlewing also inherited crowfeather’s family long tail that skipped breezepelt. Brindlewing holds the tail in her mouth as a means of helping her anxiety.

Bristlefrost

a biG design overhaul for my bristlefrost design, i really didnt like the old design i made her. wanted her to be a lil darker colored and in general have a cuter design

i gave her diff color eyes to mark her double agent status one eye green like her fathers and the other sharing the same blue i use for ashfur’s eye color

i kept her with the one white paw which i give to any descendent of jake, just because canonically she is ivy and ferns kid.

but in my rewrite their not togeather. Fernsong was a kittypet or a loner who had lost their mate and home and was found by ivypool caring for his three kittens alone. this is more fernsong headcanon, but bristlefrost is there

bristle and all the kits love ivypool they look up to her big time and all wished she was their mentor when they became apprentices. 

bristlefrost often confides in her father when feeling guilty or unsure of herself and he is always there for her

Bristlekit

half brother to tallstar

i imagine woolytail’s family seems to have a high mortality rate with their kids with only one maybe two usually making it to adulthood. bristlekit would die before becoming an apprentice and spent time in starclan with finchkit and later rabbitkit waiting for wrenflight and tallstar.

if bristlekit made it to being a warrior id like to think he was named Bristlefeather or Bristlefoot

Brook where small fish swim

teeny update to my brook design to give her small white fish dots matching her brothers spots

her general design is mean to be loosely based on a mountain lion. 

she got strong powerful mountain climbing body

i also wish her romance was better developed and wasnt like based in a lot of white savior romance plots given to native and native coded characters

in general the tribe really shoulda just been written better

Brownpaw

brownpaw, brother to littlecloud killed mosspaw as a kit on accident and was apprenticed for it by brokenstar

i imagine him and his brother wetfoot killing mosspaw effect them both deeply. for wetfoot it shook him to the core and made his doubt his own claws

for brownpaw it set him down the path of destruction. brokenstar rewarding him for what happened with mosspaw was the biggest enabler

brownpaw would go on to be a blood thirsty apprentice who would throw his young life away under brokenstars order of attack.

had he been made a warrior i think brokenstar woulda named him Brownmoss claiming he had earned the name when he took it from mosspaw.

Bug

design for bug because i think the book she was in didnt exist when i originally started drawing every warrior cat

love her!

bumblestripe

bumblestripe’s character makes me sad

im SUCH a millie stan and for one of her kids to be disabled then treated like garbage to the end of her life and written super ablest and then her other two kids are total shit heads? makes me sad

i wish at lEAST millie and graystripe had a second little, maybe just one total sweetheart

and its been forever since i read the books. but i remember bumblestripe being a real nobody characters just very generic personality until romance plot for dovewing came into play. and now he super sucks!

i wish he coulda just been a good character who loved dovewing, is sad and kinda jealous of her feelings for tigerheart but in the end respects her decisions and even admires her courage to follow her heart even if it led her over the borders.

Buster/Rippletail

slight buster redesign to fit more in the circus clown look from when he was in the kin

also design note, he’s got an orange themed design to go along with his rainbow themed siblings

Buzzardkit

windclan kit who showed up once in the sight crying and being comforted by a queen

mm i think some good warrior names for them woulda been like

buzzardface, Buzzardshriek or buzzardwhistle

[misc-headcanons]

Lucci/F!Reader: In the Dark

(Commissioned by @junebloom21​)

Word count: 1964

When they first got together, Lucci told ____ that being with him wouldn't end well. He was constantly on the move for his job that he refused to ever share any details of, out of a sense of "protecting" her. He wasn't used to trusting anyone, not completely anyway. He's been called remorseless, heartless, a cold-blooded monster--and he'd admit that those could all easily describe him. Loving someone like that isn't easy, and the last thing he wants to do is ruin ____'s life because she was kind and foolish enough to fall in love with him.

And yet, when he'd told her this, all she did was kiss his cheek and say that she didn't care what kind of misery came about from being together; she'd rather live a hard life with Lucci than an easy one without him. It wasn't the first time he'd heard a partner of his say that after he gave them this "full disclosure" speech, and he'd felt a pang of worry in his heart that ____ would come to regret her desire to stay with him. Still, she said yes, and a stupidly optimistic part of him couldn't help but believe the earnestness and warmth and love in her voice.

But months after that conversation, he could tell that things were becoming strained. He had been called on a covert mission to carry out just before the Reverie, and he wouldn't be able to see ____ for at least two months. Something had happened in Big Mom's territory, and the intelligence gathered there led Lucci's superiors to believe that they'd need to  increase surveillance in Wano and Tottland; infiltrating the territory of two Yonko was definitely going to be a long and difficult affair for the agents of Cipher Pol. As a high-ranking member and one of their best spies, Lucci had been called on to leave as soon as possible. Normally he'd have had enough time to soften the blow of his absence to ____ by taking her out on a nice date, treating her to a perfect evening a few days before he had to ship out. Tonight was no different, but _____ was acting a bit strange.

Lucci had made reservations at ____'s favorite restaurant, and he'd even gone out to buy a few things he'd noticed her eyeing when they'd gone window-shopping in town a few weeks prior. When ____ stepped out of her bedroom in an elegant (and expensive) outfit, Lucci smiled warmly and tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear before kissing her cheek. "You look beautiful," he murmured. "As always."

____ smiled back, though Lucci noticed there was a tightness and tension to her expression. "And you're just as handsome as ever," she replied playfully, eyeing Lucci and his animal companion who was almost always on his shoulder. "Both of you, hehe." She brushed Hattori's chin and the white bird cooed as he rubbed his cheek against her fingers. 

Lucci's eyes narrowed a bit when he saw her expression change for just an instant, and her face fell for a moment as she looked at Hattori. Something was bothering her and he wanted to know what that was. He draped his arms around her back and held her close, pulling her in for an embrace. "Are you alright?" He felt her bristle a bit in his arms. "It seems like something's on your mind."

____ was quiet for a fraction of a second too long. "Oh, it's...nothing," she said hastily, hugging him back and resting her head on his free shoulder. 

Lucci frowned. "If it's bothering you," he replied firmly, "Then it isn't 'nothing.'" He pulled away to look her in the eyes. "You can tell me anything," he assured. "You know that, don't you?"

____ stared back up at him, and the only sounds in the room were the ambient noise of the breeze blowing through an opened window nearby as a pair of silk curtains gently flapped and swayed. Her smile was gone, and Lucci saw that she was biting a small portion of the inside of her mouth. Her body was much more tense than it had been before. "I…" Her voice wobbled slightly, and that waver in her words was enough to send her over the edge of composure; tears welled up in her eyes, causing her mascara to begin to run as she sniffled and lowered her head.

Lucci's eyes widened a bit and he blinked in surprise as he watched her begin to cry. "I'm sorry," she sniffled. "I wanted to be happy tonight and make our last date for a while go well, but...I'm sorry, I can't. I can't pretend I'm happy."

Lucci held her and rubbed circles into her hip and upper back with his thumbs. "Don't apologize," he insisted. "Just tell me why you feel this way." 

____ looked up at him and took a shaky breath. "You're leaving again," she said bluntly. "And you won't be back for at least two or three months--again. And THIS time, you didn't even tell me where you're going!" She wiped away a few tears and glared at Lucci. "I can't call you, I can't send you any letters...Are you just expecting me to wait here for months, not knowing where you are, what you're doing, whether you're alive or dead or injured or…" She let out a soft sob and shook her head. "I can't, not without losing my mind this time."

Lucci's heart sank as he heard her. He knew that his long and frequent absence was hard on her, but he couldn't do anything about it. "You know I can't contact you for your own safety," he reminded her, trying not to sound annoyed or angry--although, a small part of him couldn't help but remember her saying she wanted this relationship with him despite the hardships there would be. "If you knew where I was and someone found out, you could be targeted. And if I gave you any information about my assignment, it could--"

"I know," ____ snapped, turning away from Lucci and crossing her arms. "It could jeopardize your mission and your safety. I've heard that a million times." She pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed. "I'm not asking you to tell me everything, Rob. Just something. Anything, so I'm not completely in the dark when you come back home months from now at 3 AM, covered in random cuts and bruises, and you act like I'm supposed to just not say anything about it."

____ turned around and took Lucci's hand, looking up at him with pleading eyes. "Look, can you please just tell me what's going on?" Before Lucci could open his mouth, she hastily cut him off. "I'm not asking you to tell me everything. But there has to be more you can tell me about...I don't know, just something more than 'I'm leaving next week and won't be back for at least two months.' And I know, I know I told you I was okay with our relationship being…'complicated' because of your work." She squeezed his hand. "But I don't think I'm strong enough, not without something changing."

Lucci silently squeezed her hand back, and let her continue. "Do you know what it's like here when you're gone?" She bit her lip. "I wonder if you're going to come back. I look out the window--" She walked over to the slightly open window and pulled away the curtains to reveal the beautiful city view and coastline. "And I wonder if you're on one of those ships at the docks in a coffin or an urn. I have nightmares all the time, where you're bleeding to death or you're dead in the middle of nowhere. And I think, maybe I'll never know if you die out there." She let out a hollow, bitter laugh. "Maybe the World Government won't let me know you're gone, just so your mission doesn't get compromised. I'll just spend the rest of my life wondering what happened."

Lucci stepped behind her and put her arms around her again. She covered her mouth and started to cry again, staring out at the coastline while he held her. "Please, there has to be something you can tell me," she sniffled. "I won't ever feel okay until you're back through that door, but I need something to just…" She shrugged. "To hold onto, I guess." She turned around and pulled him into a tight hug. "You told me once that you've been an agent since you were a kid, right?"

Lucci nodded. "It's all I've ever done," he replied quietly.

"So...you've never had someone worry about you before," she replied questioningly. "Not just as an asset or something, but worried about you." 

"Aside from my associates, no," he replied. Calling them "associates" somehow seemed too formal; Khalifa, Kaku...they were all more like his siblings after everything they'd gone through together.

____ cling to him a bit tighter. "Well, now you have someone else worried about you," she said, her voice thick and worn from her bout of crying. "I love you, Rob. I'm never going to be okay when you're gone for so long, but if I don't know anything about it...it just makes it even worse."

Lucci froze up at her words. He'd had some partners that lasted longer than any one-night stand or passing fling, but he'd never took their "I love you"s that seriously. They never lasted long anyways, and they'd usually end things even after they said they could handle the distance involved with being with Lucci. His memories of them leaving didn't hurt that much, but the thought of ____ like that...It hurt him, in a way he wasn't used to feeling. He really did love her, against his years of training and his better judgment. 

Lucci was quiet for a long time, and the two of them held each other in silence. His heartbeat sped up in his chest as he tried to find something, anything he could say to give her more information without compromising himself. "...Hypothetically." he said slowly. ____ looked up at him in confusion. "An agent, not specifically me, could find a way to write to their loved one. She would need to learn how to read a certain type of code to read short messages sent to her disguised as inconspicuous scraps of paper--receipts, bills, etcetera." He gripped her shoulders and looked directly into her eyes. "And she would need to burn them immediately after reading them," he said pointedly. "Do you think she could learn that code in a week before her significant other leaves?"

____ smiled and nodded eagerly. "Even if she's not a very good student," she replied playfully, "She might do whatever it took to know whether or not he was okay out there." She let out a small chuckle. "Maybe after she fixed her ruined mascara and made herself look like less of a mess, they could enjoy their date night and then spend some time cuddling and learning this new code."

Lucci smirked and brushed the pad of his thumb over ____'s cheek and lips. "He might be a harsh and strict teacher," he warned jokingly. "Do you think she'd be able to handle his lessons?"

____'s smile widened. "Depends," she replied. "Is he going to discipline her by spanking her with a ruler or something?"

Lucci chuckled and held her close, enjoying the rumble in her chest as she giggled while he nuzzled her neck. She could fix her makeup if she wanted before they left, but right now, he just wanted to enjoy having her in his arms and in his life.

[mhafanfics19]

Last call

This is my take on the Angst April Collab writing for Jin Bubaigawara (Twice) Don’t forget to check out all the other amazing writers on the collab here. Thanks to @dee-madwriter for reading the rough draft of this for me. 

Prompt: “It’s 2 am, I know that, but I need you..” “I’m sorry, but I can’t go to you anymore, you know that.”

Warnings: MANGA SPOILERS, slight cursing, angst, death 

You never should have let him leave.

You had been so busy being mad at Jin because of how involved he had been in his work, that you didn’t stop to really appreciate what you had in front of you, and instead you chose to voice your anger. That has never been an issue for you, the problem is how unintentionally mean you can really be.

Of course you knew what his “job” was, you had been married to the man for four years, and honestly you were not at all that surprised to find out about his line of work.

 It really hit you when a sketch of Jin flashed across the tv during the nightly news, there was no denying it even if you wanted too, your husband was an infamous villain. He was dubbed as a dangerous, cold, evil man, but he was none of that to you. He made you feel like home, and that was a feeling no one else ever gave you.

In your eyes, Jin was just a broken man that was faced with unfortunate circumstances, sure he was conflicted in more ways than one, but you’d be damned if you said you didn’t love him.

It was the night before Jin was supposed to return to the mansion the Paranormal Liberation Front worked out of, the whole fight between the two of you started because Jin had constantly shot down your concerns about having a pro hero in the ranks. He had told you everything about the liberation front, and that included what he knew about the number two hero: Hawks. From the moment he informed you of this, unease washed over you, something was off about the hero.

The feeling only intensified when Jin had mentioned a friendship brewing between them. While you have never personally met Hawks, you definitely formed an opinion of the young hero, and it wasn’t a good one. Every time you tried to voice your concern on the matter, Jin would always say that you worry too much, or that Hawks would never do anything to hurt him. 

All it took was one last time of being ignored before you snapped at him, you loved Jin more than anything you really do, he just had a tendency to be painfully naive about certain things. You had both exchanged some pretty harsh words with each other which resulted in Jin storming out of the small apartment, leaving you alone for the night.

This was an argument you would regret for the rest of your life.

You should have known the moment your phone rang, and your husband’s disheveled voice sounded from the other end that something was very, very wrong. Jin would only call you if there was an emergency, but he would always text you to update you on his day and ask about yours.

So getting a phone call after what had been hours of not receiving any messages was definitely alarming to say the least. By the second ring, you had answered the phone and placed it against your ear, what you heard on the other end terrified you. 

It sounded like a war zone; shouting, the cracking of crumbling concrete, and the one sound that filled your entire body with fear, Jin’s voice accompanied with sharp gasps for air. Even in this moment he desperately tried to sound as normal as possible, he loved you and wouldn’t want you to worry, let alone feel guilty for what was happening to him. 

“Hey love, I’m sorry I didn’t get to text you earlier, but the mansion is under attack by heroes. Nah, I just didn’t want to talk to you.”

Your hand covers your gaping mouth, a reaction not caused by the harshness of the second comment, but because of the name which circled in your mind like a flock of ravenous vultures.

Hawks.

You knew this was his doing, you knew he couldn’t be trusted, and now he hurt Jin. In an instant you frantically try to get your shoes, and jacket on. The phone never leaving its position against your ear. 

“Jin, I need an exact address, I’m coming for you baby. Just hold on for me okay? Don’t close your eyes, stay awake, and talk to me.”

A breathless laugh pipes up from the other end, Jin’s words force your heart into your stomach, the pain in his voice agonizingly clear.

“Love listen to me, I need you to stay home the place is surrounded with pros, all you would do is get yourself hurt or killed. I want you to remember me as I was, you can’t see me like this. Listen to me you ass!” 

No, you couldn’t let him suffer without you there, if it wasn’t for you starting a fight he would have been home. He could be next to you safe and sound instead of laying on some cold hard ground, you weren’t stupid, you know what it sounds like when someone is slipping away.

“Jin I’m so so sorry, this is my fault I need to come help you. You don’t get to leave me after four years do you understand me?”

Tears sting your eyes and stain your reddened cheeks, nausea invades your gut as guilt sinks it’s claws further into you, the love of your life is dying and it’s your fault. Jin’s voice becomes even softer with each ragged breath he takes, only a sliver of his once boisterous personality left.

“My love, please say our thing for me just one more time.” 

All of your actions halt at his request, this isn’t real, it can’t be. With trembling legs you slide down the front door, fat tears pouring from your eyes. Steadying your hiccuping breath you speak the words Jin so desperately wants to hear. 

“Hey babe I’m sorry for calling so late. It’s 2 am, I know that, but I need you here with me.”

You had expected him to say ‘no matter what time or where I am, I’m always going to here for you.’ He didn’t, at least not the version you wanted to hear. 

“It’s okay love, I don’t mind you calling so late. Just remember that no matter what time or where I am, I’ll always be here for you. Unfortunately now, it will have to be as a memory, because tonight my love I can’t come home to you.” 

That was all it took, sobs wrack your body, strained wails echo through your apartment. This is not happening, Jin is not dying, it’s a nightmare and you’ll wake up tomorrow wrapped tightly in his arms. 

You’ll get to cook pancakes again in the morning and throw the mix all over each other, Jin would do everything he could to distract you from cleaning the kitchen instead of helping. You would get to tell him you love him face to face. 

“J-Jin...I love you and I’m so sorry I’m not there for you.” 

Jin’s breathing is barely audible now short, soft gasps take their place, as he whispers out the last words you’ll ever hear from the love of your life. This is going to be your last call, and you’re not ready to face the rest of your life with out the man that is your everything. 

“I love you and I’ll always be there my love...”

[thebeatleaesthetic]

A conversation Hunter Davies had with McCartney in 1981, months after Lennon's murder. McCartney complained about the media's portrayal of him as inferior to Lennon and shared his hurt at comments made by friends that appeared to underline others' impression of him as insincere. McCartney was later disappointed that Davies chose to write about the conversation, which he thought was a private discussion.

[From the 1982 revised edition of The Beatles: The Authorised Biography, Hunter Davies]

It’s slightly lengthy, 3.4k words. It reminds me a bit of the Lennon Remembers interview - very insightful. It does feel like a sensitive moment in Paul’s life, he mentions hurting and feeling hurt by many people. Here’s ~200 words from it if you’re not yet sure you want to read the whole thing (or skip ahead if you are):

"No one ever goes on about the times John hurt ME... People keep on saying I hurt him, but where's the examples, when did I do it?... It's just always the same, blaming me...

"We were always in competition... But that was in compositions. I can't understand why Yoko is saying [I hurt John the most]...

“Perhaps I hurt people by default... 

“I was never out to screw him, never. He could be a maneuvering swine, which no one ever realized. Now since the death he's became Martin Luther Lennon...

“We grew to be equals. It made him insecure. He always was, really...

“If we had to start listing all the times when HE hurt me.... 

“John and I were really Army Buddies. That's what it was like really. I realize now we never got to the bottom of each others souls...

"I still get slagged off for it. In the history books, I'm still the one who broke up the Beatles...

“I didn't hate John. People said to me when he said those things on his record about me, you must hate him, but I didn't. I don't...

“[John] could be wicked. But I'm always sensible. That's me. I would never say the things he said...

And the entire excerpt I found:

▀▀▀▀

Not long after John's death, I had some strange conversations with Paul. He seemed so upset by so many things, not least of which was John's death. This was in May 1981, and I jotted down in a diary some of the things he told me. John's death had grown into a sort of cult, with instant books appearing, and the papers were still full of it. Many people, in praising John, were at the same time putting down Paul, or so it appeared. He felt he had already been criticized in a book that had just been published, written by Philip Norman, a fine writer and formerly a colleague of mine on the Sunday Times. I had helped him, letting him see all my files, when he had come to talk to me, saying he was writing a book about the sixties as a whole. None of the Beatles had in fact given him any interviews for his book, subtitled "The True Story of the Beatles." Paul rang me on May 3, 1981, and went on and on for over an hour, all about how hurt he was. He had already been moaning at length to my wife, as I had been out walking on Hampstead Heath when he had first rung. He said he was fed up with all these people going on about him and John and getting it all wrong. Only he knew the truth. It wasn't anything like the things being said. Paul had a go at me for having gone on some TV program after John's death. In my tribute to him, I had said that John was more the hard man, with the cutting edge, while Paul was more soft and melodic. But what had really got Paul upset that day was an interview with Yoko in which Yoko was quoted as saying that Paul had hurt John more than any other person. Paul thought they were amongst the cruelest words he ever read. "No one ever goes on about the times John hurt ME," said Paul. "When he called my music Muzak. People keep on saying I hurt him, but where's the examples, when did I do it? No one ever says. It's just always the same, blaming me. Could I have hurt John MORE than anyone in the world? More than the person who ran down Julia in his car? "We were always in competition. I wrote ‘Penny Lane,’ so he wrote ‘Strawberry Fields.’ That was how it was. But that was in compositions. I can't understand why Yoko is saying this. The last time I spoke to her she was great. She told me she and John had just been playing one of my albums and had cried." So why don't you ring her up, I suggested, and find out if she really made that remark? "I'm not ringing her up on that. It's too trivial. It's not the time. I wouldn't ring her up on that." What did he think then might have hurt John? “There's only one incident I can think of which John has publicly mentioned. It was when I went off with Ringo and did ‘Why Don't We Do It In the Road?’ It wasn't a deliberate thing. John and George were tied up finishing something and me and Ringo were free, just hanging around, so I said to Ringo let's go and do this. "I did hear him some time later singing it. He liked the song and I suppose he'd wanted to do it with me. It was a very John sort of song anyway. That's why he liked it, I suppose. It was very John, the idea of it, not me. I wrote it as a ricochet off John. "Perhaps I hurt people by default. I never realized at the time John would mind. At Ringo's wedding (the previous week) Neil happened to say to me that Mimi was upset I'd never contacted her after John's death. I'd never even thought of it. I don't know Mimi. I probably hadn't seen her for about twenty years, since Menlove Avenue. I was just the little kid that hung around with John. We didn't get in her house. "Anyway, I rang her up, in case she really was upset, and apologized for not ringing, saying I hadn't got her phone number, and she was terrific and we had a good chat. We discussed Philip Norman's book and she didn't like it either. She said I should write and complain. I told her I'd been writing letters constantly, but I'd torn them all up. She said I should do something about it, stop all this sort of thing. "'In an earthquake you get many different versions of what happened by all the people who saw it. And they're all true.' That's what I wrote in one letter. But how can you get the full story from someone who WASN'T there, nor has talked to the main people? But I tore that one up as well. "Nobody knows how much I HELPED John. Me and Linda went to California and talked him out of his so-called lost weekend, when he was full of drugs. We told him to go back to Yoko, and not long after he did. I went all the way to L.A. to see the bastard. He never gave me an inch, but he took so many yards and feet. "He always suspected me. He accused me of scheming to buy over Northern Songs without telling him. I was thinking of something to invest in, and Peter Brown said what about Northern Songs, invest in yourself, so I bought a few shares, about 1,000 I think. John went mad, suspecting some plot. Then he bought some himself. He was always thinking I was cunning and devious. That's my reputation, someone who's charming, but a clever lad. "It happened the other day at Ringo's wedding. I was saying to Cilia [Black] that I liked Bobby [her husband]. That's all I said. Bobby's a nice bloke. Ah, but what do you REALLY think Paul? You don't mean that, do you, you're getting at something? I was being absolutely straight. But she couldn't believe it. No one ever does. They think I'm calculating all the time. "I do stand back at times, unlike John. I look ahead. I'm careful. John would go for the free guitar and just accept it straight away, in a mad rush. I would stand back and think, but what's this bloke really after, what will it mean? I was always the one that told Klein to put the money away for tax. "I don't LIKE being the careful one. I'd rather be immediate like John. He was all action. John was always the loudest in any crowd. He had the loudest voice. He was the cock who crowed the loudest. Me and George used to call him the cockerel in the studio. I was never out to screw him, never. He could be a maneuvering swine, which no one ever realized. Now since the death he's became Martin Luther Lennon. But that really wasn't him either. He wasn't some sort of holy saint. He was still really a debunker. "For ten years together he took my songs apart. He was paranoiac about my songs. We have great screaming sessions about them. "In the beginning he was a sort of fairground hero. He was the big lad riding the dodgems and we thought he was great. We were younger, me and George, and that mattered. It was teenage hero worship. I've often said how my first impression of him was his boozy breath all over me---but that was just a cute story. That was me being cute. It was true, but only an eighth of the truth. I just used to say that later when people asked me for my first memory of John. My first reaction was very simple---that he was great, that he was a great bloke, and a great singer. My REALLY first impression was that it was amazing how he was making up all the words. "He was singing ‘Come Go with Me to the Penitentiary,’ and he didn't know ONE of the words. He was making up every one as he went along. I thought it was great. "He became so jealous in the end. You know he wouldn't let me even touch his baby. He got really crazy with jealousy at times. I suppose I've inherited some of that... "It's true I didn't care for Stu, but I wasn't against him personally. He just couldn't play bass. That was all there was to it. I had a functional, ambitious-for-the-group sort of objection to him. He knew he couldn't play. I was the one that told him to keep his back to the audience, as that photograph shows. I didn't want him out to get the bass job. Stu himself left us, to stay on in Hamburg. John asked George first to play bass. I've checked that with George the other day. He remembered it well. George refused. So he asked me. I got lumbered with playing bass. It wasn't my scheme. "It was the same with Pete Best. I wasn't jealous of him because he was handsome. That's all junk. He just couldn't play. Ringo was so much better. We wanted him out for that reason. "The idea of Brian's murder is crazy, but all that merchandising trouble was true. We got screwed for millions, but in the end it wasn't worth suing everybody. We'd never get it all back and it would take such time. We knew most of them would still in the end get away with it. It was all Brian's fault. He was green. I always said that about Brian. Green. "We knew he was gay, but it didn't matter. For awhile he didn't know we knew, and we pretended it that way. It didn't matter. We never discussed it with him. He kept it very private. It didn't matter. We might make faces at each other behind his back, you know if someone was dressed up in drag. We'd try to catch Brian's eye, to see if he was blushing. But we didn't say anything. It was all affectionate. As for that drawing with Brian in the middle of a row of kids in the Cavern, SALIVATING, that is not true. I've heard of artistic license, but that's ridiculous. The other drawings were meant to be true, as they started with one based on a photograph, so you took this as being true. It's just part of trying to build up Brian's gay thing. He NEVER sat in the Cavern. He never mixed anyway. He just stood at the very back, so no one could see him or knew he was there. There was no salivating. "I idolized John. He was the big guy in the chip shop. I was the little guy. As I matured and grew up, I started sharing in things with him. I got up to his level. I wrote songs as he did and sometimes they were as good as his. We grew to be equals. It made him insecure. He always was, really. He was insecure with women. You know, he told me when he first met Yoko not to make a play for her. "I saw somewhere that he says he helped on ‘Eleanor Rigby.’ Yeah. About half a line. He also forgot completely that I wrote the tune for "In my Life". That was my tune. But perhaps he just made a mistake on that. Forgot. "I understood what happened when he met Yoko. He had to clear the decks of his old emotions. He went through all his old affairs, confessed them all. Me and Linda did that when we first met. You prove how much you love someone by confessing all the old stuff. John's method was to slag me off. "I've never come back at him, not at all, but I can't help hide my anger about all the things he said at the time, about the Muzak, about me singing like Englebert Humperdink... "If we had to start listing all the times when HE hurt me. Doing that one little song on my own, compared with what he said about ME.... "When you think about it, I've done nothing really to him, compared with that. Anyway, he did the same with ‘Revolution 9′. He went off and made that without me. No one ever says all that. John is now the nice guy and I'm the bastard. It gets repeated all the time." But until John's death, I said, the general image was that you were the nice guy and that John was the bastard. Neither of course was true, not completely. Things will soon shake down. Don't worry. Keep cool. "But people are printing FACTS about me and John. They're NOT facts. This will go down in the records. It will become part of history. It will be there for always. People will believe it all. "Anyway, me, George, and Ringo have promised to be nice guys to each other from now on. When we meet and talk now I never mention Apple. I've learned that. Any mention of Apple just leads to rows and slagging off... "I apparently hurt George Martin by default as well. I didn't know that till I read his book. I didn't let him do ‘She's Leaving Home.’ I rang him up, but he was busy, couldn't make it for two days, or two weeks or something, so I thought what the hell, if he can't fit me in, I'll get someone else. I was hurt at the time, which was why I got someone else. Now he says I deliberately hurt him. Well, if that's the only hurt I've done him... "John and I were really Army Buddies. That's what it was like really. I realize now we never got to the bottom of each others souls. We didn't know the truth. Some fathers turn out to hate their sons. You never know. "At Ringo's wedding, I happened to go to the toilet, and I met Ringo there, at the same time, just the two of us. He said there were two times in his life in which I had done him in. He said that he'd done himself in three times. I happened to be spitting something out, and by chance the spit fell on his jacket. I said there you go, now I've done you three times. We're equal. I laughed it off. It was all affectionate. It wasn't a row. It wasn’t slagging off. He just suddenly said it, and we moved on. But NOW, I keep thinking all the time, what are the two times that Ringo thinks I put him down... "I suppose we all do that. We never publicly come out with little hurts. George told me the other day of a time I'd hurt him. He's done worse, I think, like saying he'd never play guitar with me again. "I was very upset when they said I was just trying to bring in Lee Eastman, because he's my in-law. As if I'd just bring in a member of the family, for no reason. They'd known me twenty years, yet they thought that. I couldn't believe it. John said, 'Magical Mystery Tour was just a big ego trip for Paul.' God. It was for their sake, to keep us together, keep us going, give us something new to do... You were justified over the Klein case. In the end, they all came around to your opinion. You won in the end. I'm sure the truth will come out this time. So just wait, forget it... "Yeah, we lost four million dollars every year. Legally, we were mugs. I still have Lee Eastman, and he's made a fortune. For me, I was forced to sue the Beatles, in order to prove what I knew. I didn't want to. I went up to Scotland and agonized for three months, cut myself off, before I decided it was the only way. To sue the Beatles. It was a terrible decision. "I still get slagged off for it. In the history books, I'm still the one who broke up the Beatles. 

"I didn't hate John. People said to me when he said those things on his record about me, you must hate him, but I didn't. I don't. We were once having a right slagging session and I remember how he took off his granny glasses. I can still see him. He put them down and said, 'It's only me, Paul.' Then he put them back on again, and we continued slagging...That phrase keeps coming back to me all the time. 'It's only me.' It's became a mantra in my mind.

"I have some juicy stuff I could tell about John. But I wouldn't. Not when Yoko's alive, or Cynthia. John would. He would grab, go for the action, say the first thing in his head. We admired him for that. It was honesty; but it could hurt. And it wasn't really all THAT honest. He KNEW he could hurt. He could be wicked. But I'm always sensible. That's me. I would never say the things he said. "No one else knows the truth, such as it is, that's the trouble. I was talking to Neil the other day, having a laugh and remembering some incident, a funny story. We remembered everything exactly, what we said, what I was wearing, that someone had a fan. We were absolutely exact on seventy-five percent of the story, except on one vital thing. I said it took place in Piccadilly and Neil said it was Saville Row. I can see it so clearly, every detail as it happened---and so can Neil, yet it's in different places. "Until I was about thirty, I thought the world was an exact place. Now I know that life just splutters along. John knew that. He was the great debunker. He'd be debunking all his death thing now. "I can't really remember the sixties anyway. I went through it in sort of a purple haze. The other day we are at a place, me and Linda, and this gorgeous blonde came up to me and flung her arms around my neck. 'Remember me, Paul?' I said ‘Hmmm, yeah, now let me see...’ but I had no knowledge of ever seeing her before. 'But Paul, we made love in LA.’ Oh. I said, 'Really. Meet the wife. This is Linda. ‘Scuse us, we'll have to go...' “It happened before of course. It was before I was married. It can be dodgy, but Linda's a good skin." Why don't you write it all down, or tape it all, put down what YOU think was the relationship between you and John, exorcise it once and for all, then stick it in a drawer and forget it? "I might. I did that after being in jail. I've written my feelings about that. I wasn't allowed pencil and paper in jail, and it was all I wanted, so when I came home, I wrote it straight out. I don't know what to do with it. I don't want that usual publishing scene. It's just for me. It's about 20,000 words. Linda and one or two other people have read it and think it's good. I got a private printer, just to print for me one copy, one only. I've got it. I just wanted a plain white cover, and inside just black words on white paper. On cheap white paper. I wanted it like an Olympia Press book. Just a cheap little thing. It fits in the pocket, just six inches by four. I did for a time think of publishing a few and selling them off the back of a barrow. Telling no one, just suddenly selling them in the street, for a few bob. But I don't want a big thing. Then I heard that some pop musician had ready done this, so I didn't want it to look like copying. So I just have the one copy. I'll let you read it sometime. Tell me what you think. "As for me and John, yeah, I might write it down. You know I helped him with his first book. That's never been mentioned by anyone. Not by John anyway..."

[chickensarentcheap]

Sanctuary -Chapter 24

Warnings: mentions of depression, death, grief, sad Tyler, a tad of smut

Tagging: @thunderintheshadows  (although you read this already over on Ao3 lol), @c-a-v-a-l-r-y, @alievans007, @innerpaperexpertcloud

The meeting is scheduled for one pm. Held in one of the hotel's smaller conference rooms; Nik hosting from Colorado through a secure satellite feed arranged by the FBI. At Esme's insistence, she'd sought out Mark's help, who in turn, had agreed to lend his assistance as long as it was kept strictly 'off the books'.  Neither Tyler or Yaz made aware; a need to know situation that Nik was certain they didn't need to know. Not at this particular time, anyway. She'd also managed to convince the hotel management that the team -she'd spun a story about them providing private security for some of Ireland's elite- needed a meeting room for 'strategic purposes', and a hefty money transfer had been sent to them to ensure both their cooperation and their silence.

Yaz arrives last; arms and hands loaded down with bags of food and drink for lunch, along with his laptop and iPad.

“You went back to that coffee shop, didn't you,”  Tyler grins, recognizing the logo emblazoned on the front of one of the paper bags. “Was she there? Did you see her? Did you talk to her?”

Esme sits alongside of him, their thighs touching under the table. The need for closeness...both physically and emotional...is overwhelming. On both their parts. As if something or someone was just waiting in the shadows to snatch them away from one another.   Bot are nervous. Anxious. All of the missing information, the complexities of the case, the uneasiness that comes with being in an unfamiliar place and not knowing exactly who your enemy is. All mixing together to create a brutal and punishing force. All jobs come with their share of danger. With the unexpected twists and turns that jumped out at you without a moments notice. Always having to think three steps ahead of you; always wanting to ahead of your foes so you could take them by surprised, not vice versa. But this was different. The trouble had started before they ever set foot on Ireland soil.  Danger could be lurking around every corner; in every dark alleyway or doorway.  

She is feeling it more than the others. It's been almost six years since she'd last been on a job.  She had thought that that part of her life was behind her. More than content to give up the almost nomadic lifestyle in favour or a quieter existence. Quite enjoying the routine and the familiarity that comes with being a stay at home mother and a housewife. It sounds old fashioned; the solace found in taking care of a house, in cooking dinners and doing laundry and other various chores, in keeping a husband happy and satisfied, in spending time with her children and loving on them as much as humanely possible. But after years of never forming true bonds with anyone and never having a stable place to live while running from her demons,  being a spouse and a parent turned out to be exactly what she'd needed.  She'd needed normal. Or at least their version of normal.

At the mention of a girl, she glances away from her laptop, fingers hovering over the keys; in the midst of sending an instant message to Ovi. Both he and Chloe were in constant contact. Always letting her know what is going on at home. Whether it be sharing stories about what the kids were up to, asking questions about things like favourite foods and things that would provide comfort when the little ones were emotional over the realization that both their mom and dad are gone,  letting her know that things felt safe and secure and there had been no suspicious activity or threats. At least not yet.

“She was,” the grin that spreads across Yaz' face is enormous as he arranges the food and beverages in the middle of the table, then busies himself with setting up the tech needed to hold the meeting. They're running on Nik time, and her time -in her eyes- is extremely valuable and she expects others to recognize and abide by it.  “Her name is Anna,” he says. “Anna O'Brian.”

“Oh how adorably Irish,” Esme quips. “Is she legal? Did you ask to see her driver's licences this time?”

Tyler gives an amused smirk.

“You're getting just as bad as he is,” Yaz complains, nodding in the other man's direction. “He's rubbing of on you.”

“She likes when I rub one off on her,” Tyler says, and then winces when his wife grabs a hold of what little excess fat he has above his hip and pinches as hard as she can.

“What?” he asks innocently.  And when she huffs in disgusts and turns her attention back to the laptop, he playfully nudges her in the ribs with his elbow.

“You're disgusting,” she replies. “I can't believe you even said that.”

Yet at the same time, she can recognize the remarkable transformation -one of many- that he's gone through over the past five and a half years.  He's no longer on guard twenty four seven; he's able to relax and actually live in the moment. No longer constantly haunted by the horrible decisions of the past.  Comfortable enough in his own skin...his new skin...to not only let others in, but to be like everyone else.  Sarcastic,  humorous, finally content in his own skin.  Yet when it's time for the seriousness of a situation to kick in, he will be back to all business.

He'll be the old Tyler again. A transformation so quick and subtle that its as if the new one never even existed.

“I read it's supposed to be good for the skin,” he reasons. “It's probably why you look as young as you do. Like a natural moisturizer.”

“You've got serious issues,” she huffs, and then yelps when he grabs a hold of the back of her knee, squeezing lightly and the proceeding to tickle her mercilessly. “Stop it!” she orders in between the laughing and the hiccups that soon make an appearance. “What is wrong with you? Tyler! For fuck sakes! You're going to make me pee myself!”

“You too make me sick,” Yaz declares, when Tyler finally relents; smiling and winking at her, running a hand over her hair and then pressing a kiss to her temple.  “It's gross. The way you two are. All happy and in love and shit. It's been almost six years. Shouldn't you hate each other by now? Isn't this when things go south and you just stay together for the kids?”

“Oh there's days,” Esme says. “Where he is walking a very thin line. Believe me. He's too scared of me to push things too far.”

Tyler nods in agreement. She holds all the power.  It doesn't matter that he's a foot taller or ninety pounds heavier.  He knows when to just shut up and tow the line.  “Then she gets over it when I hate fuck her,” he grins. “She's  relatively harmless after that.”

She sighs in exasperation. “So who's this girl, Yaz?” she asks, as she returns to composing her message to Ovi.  “Waitress? Bartender? Stripper?”

“Speaking of strippers,” Yaz grins. “Tyler...remember that red head in Russia. The one that kept rubbing her massive...”  he gestures to his own chest, mimicking breasts. “...in your face.”

“Oh my god I do not need to hear this!” Esme makes a dramatic gagging noise and places her hands over her ears. “I want to remain oblivious to what he was up to before I met him. Those days didn't exist! I want to pretend they never happened!”

“She had a massive girl boner for your man. She did these things for free. She probably would have given him money for letting her.”

“Yaz...” her eyes are narrow as she glares at him. “...I will punch you in the throat, I swear to God.”

“You remind me of her,” he continues. “With the new hair. Only your boobs are real.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Tyler frowns, and smacks the younger man upside the head as he gets up to grab food. “Don't talk about my wife's body like that. Don't cross that line, mate. Don't make things weird.”

“My knight in shining armour,” Esme grins.

“Slightly tarnished and dented armour,” Yaz suggests to her “You like that one? Give me that one. Are you impressed by me?”

“I'll both accept it and allow it,” she nods. “I'm going to write that one down so when I get down to writing my book entitled 'Shit Yaz Says', I can include it. So who is she? This girl? Don't leave me out of the loop.”

“A waitress. At a place we went to the other day. She gave me her phone number and I wanted to go in and apologize for not calling her yet. I even brought her flowers.”

“Nicely done,” Tyler nods his approval.  “You've been taking notes.”

“We're going for drinks tonight,” Yaz excitedly bounces up and down on his heels, like a little kid that just found out the Tooth Fairy now gives out twenties for a molar.

“Drinks?” Esme arches an eyebrow. “So that's what kids call it these days. Just call it what Tyler does. Studying.”

“For the record, I did not start that shit,” he places two plates of food on the table and slides one towards her. It's weird in a way; how you get to know someone so well that you know exactly what they'll eat, and be appreciative of even the small gesture of getting it for them.  “I did not call it studying. Ovi said he and Chloe were studying.  I just took it from there.”

“Tyler is a huge fan of studying,” she continues, briefly pressing her shoulder into his when he sits down, giving him a smile of appreciation.  “He likes to study alone.”

“That is not what I said. I said if I have to study alone, I will. Not that I enjoy it. Just that it needs to be done sometimes. What are you supposed to do when your study partner gets a lot of headaches or doesn't feel well?”

“Excuse you, but when was the last time you heard any of those excuses from me? Months. Declan was still a tiny little thing.”

“You two are both fucked,” Yaz declares, and then adjusts the blinds covering the window; so there isn't too much sun streaming into the room and preventing them from seeing the smart board that Nik will appear on.  “T minus six minutes. You guys ready for this shit? It's going to get weird, isn't it. Even more weird than it already is.”

“I have been eating at the buffet of strange all day,” Esme declares, then fills him on everything that has taken place since she'd opened up her eyes first thing in the morning. The strangers outside the hotel room; the nervous shuffling of feet and harsh whispers.  How'd she attempted to glimpse a glimpse of them but had been just a few seconds too late. About the housekeeper insisting that no one was staying in the room that Esme had seen...with her own two eyes...the couple emerge from.

“Hmmm...” Yaz says in response to that piece of information, then looks at Tyler from across the table. Pointed stares. Tyler's eyebrows shooting up. So much communicated between them without even needing to use words.

She launches into what she knows about the Buckman family; no hands on knowledge, but history with colleagues that had gone toe to toe with them and had somehow managed to survive.

“They're not a family you want to fuck with,” she says, as she sips from a bottle of water.  “This is Amir Asif on steroids. I'm not even joking. If you thought Dhaka went to shit, this has the chance to be a hundred times worse. If this blows up in our faces, it's going to be damn near impossible to get those kids out. Not when it's just one person doing the heavy lifting.”

“You think we need more help?” Yaz asks, and when she shrugs, he addresses Tyler.  “You think you need more help? You're the one actually going in.  How are you feeling about the chances? Or being able to get both of them? Two kids plus yourself? Do you think you can get all three of you out?”

“I'm fine with it,” Tyler replies. “I'll be okay. I can handle it.”

“Realistically what's the chances?” Yaz inquires. “That you can successfully get two kids out at once and go up against anyone coming at you? It isn't going to be as easy as just walking in there and grabbing them and taking off. There's going to be resistance. Big time. You think you can handle two kids plus all the other shit being thrown at you?”

“I think you need to let me worry about all of that and let me do my job.  How many extractions have I done? Tons.  Yet you think I'm some kind of rookie just walking in there blind? I know what I'm doing. I can handle getting two kids out.”

“And yourself?” Esme speaks up, not looking away from her laptop.

“We're not talking about that right now. This is about the kids.”

“Your life is just as important,” she gently argues. “Whether you think it is or not.”

“The job is a success if the kids get out,” he counters. “It doesn't matter if I do or not.”

“It matters to me. And to your kids.”

“Maybe we need an extra set of hands,” Yaz suggests. “Someone watching your back.”

“I don't need someone going in with me. What I need is people leaving me alone to do my job. I work better alone. I'll get the kids out. No matter what it takes. That's all that matters. Getting to them and getting the fuck out of there. I've done this before, remember? Have either of you gone in and done the bloody stuff?”

“That's not the point,” Esme says. “How many extractions have you done where you've had two people to get out?”

“None,” he admits.

“Exactly,” she huffs. “What harm does having back up do?”

“It's messy enough with just one person. I don't need someone all up in my ass questioning everything I do. I work alone. I've always worked alone.  So just let me go in and do what I have to do. I'll have it under control. You need to trust me.”

“Two kids, two people,” Yaz reasons. “Would make it a hell of a lot easier.”

“Neither of you are listening to what I'm saying. I run this part of things. I call the shots. Not you. And not you,” he gives Esme's thigh a squeeze under the table. “You have to just back off and let me do what I do.  You want things to run smooth? Or as smooth as they can? Then keep other people out of the way. That's all I ask. Please...” he presses a kiss to her temple. “...trust me. Just trust me.”

“Fine,” she relents.  “But I don't like this. I don't like any of this. Two kids plus yourself? While trying to out run and out gun whoever is going to try and stop you? There's no Saju busting his ass to clear a path. There's no Nik and the team providing tactical support. There's no  G to act as a sniper like he did in Dhaka.”

“You were a sniper,” Yaz points out. “In the corps.”

“I was not a sniper. I merely acted as one from time to time.”

“But you still did it,” Tyler says. “When you had to.”

“Oh hell no. You two are not putting this on me. I came here to help with intel. That's it. That is as far as I'm going. You two are not dragging me down into some fucked up rabbit hole because one of you is too stubborn to ask for outside help and the other just puts his tail between his legs and agrees to whatever the first  one says. No. I'm not doing this. I won't do it.”

“You've got the experience,” Yaz continues. “And I trust you. Tyler trusts you.  You can handle it. And we don't have to drag more people into this. Your intel stuff will be down by then, right? So why not stick around and help out? Better than bringing in outsiders, don't you think?”

“And you agree with this?” Esme address her husband. “You think this is a good idea? Getting me even more involved in this than I already am?”

“I trust you,” he says.  “If there's anyone I want having my back...”

“This is fucked!” she cries. “You're both insane. What in the actual hell is wrong with the two of you? Where did all the common sense go? Both of you used to have tons of it and now it's just gone. It's disappeared.  How does any of this make sense? How do I go from being the intel person to suddenly being tactical back up? Explain to me where this all went wrong.”

“You don't have to actually go in,” Tyler explains. “Just be there. Like G was in Dhaka when I went to see Ovi's captors.”

“Just be there in case you're needed,” Yaz adds. “You know this is going to go to shit. They're going to have a lot of fire power. And Tyler can't get those two kids and himself out of there and be one hundred percent effective when engaging. It's impossible. Not with two little kids tagging along. Just hang out. Find a nice high perch somewhere. Wait and see if you're needed.”

“This is crazy,” she runs her hands over her face. “This is just all so crazy. What are the chances of any of us actually surviving this?”

“Did you make it out of Dhaka?” Tyler inquires. “Did I not find a way to keep you alive? To get you across the bridge?”

“That's not the same thing and you know it.”

“I'll get you out of this too, ” he says. “I promise.”

****

“Talk to me,” Nik says in trademark fashion.  “Who has information?”

“Esme knows the Buckmans. ” Yaz speaks up, and his sister arches a quizzical -yet extremely interested-  eyebrow.

“I don't know them. I know of them. There's a huge difference.”

“What do you know?” Nik asks.

“I only what I've heard through the grapevine. In the circles that I travelled in. Word gets around. Especially about families like that. The old man was killed ten years ago. Everyone suspected it was a hit, but no one every really knew for sure. It was all hearsay. Water cooler chatter.  And I saw his file. His rap sheet was enormous. There were charges on there that should have had him rotting away in jail. Yet he always found a way out of and around things.”

“Are they dangerous?”

“They were back then. When the old guy was running things. I've been out of this for five years, Nik. I'm not exactly up on all the gossip. They were powerful. Probably the most powerful crime family out there. But they were quiet about it. Always flying under the radar. But people knew about them and people feared them and that was enough. They had access to all kinds of shit. Money can buy you a lot of toys. Extremely dangerous and scary ones. So if the daughter really is running the show...”

“She has the same kind of resources and money available to her,” Nik concludes.  

“And the pictures,” Esme taps her fingernails on one hand against the tabletop as she speaks, using the other hand to bring up the photos of Heather Buckman on the laptop. “The ones someone gave to Tyler. The ones with the kids are very real. There's no doubt about that. You can't fake that kind of terror in someone's eyes. Especially kids. But the wife? Those are not real, Nik. It gets more and more obvious every time I look at them. First of all, it makes no sense to keep mother and kids in two different spots. That's two separate places you have to constantly man and monitor. Second, she's only been given a minor working over.  Nothing like the kids. The hair was a nice touch, but it was too much.  Too much effort into trying to make something look real.”

“Any way of figuring out where she or the kids are being held?”

“Based just on those pictures? No. There's thousands of places that could look just what it's in the photos. Without actually narrowing down locations, it's impossible. What's the chances of going into McMann's house?”

“I can get you into anywhere you feel the need to be,” Nik confidently declares. “What are you thinking?”

“I'm not even sure to be honest. But maybe there's something there that can give us some sort of clue. It's a long shot. But...”

“I'll arrange it and contact you. In the meantime, I have a couple places for you to check out. I want you go in and ask some questions. Tell them that you're a journalist from over the pond that received an anonymous tip that there's trouble brewing between the IRA and a New Zealand crime family. That should be enough to loosen some lips. Charm them. Get them to warm up to you. Flirt with them if you have to. Pull out all the stops. I don't care how far you have to go to get information. Just get it. I'm sending the address to your SAT. It's a bar in downtown Belfast. Owned by an active IRA member.”

“She's not going alone.” Tyler speaks up. “No way. Not into something like that.”

“You tag along but you stay outside,” Nik says. “I don't want you in there. They'll recognize you when they see you and we can't have the two of you being connected in any way.  Stay across the street. Or somewhere they won't spot you. But no more than a hundred yards away. Make sure you're armed. Just in case.”

“She should be armed too,” he suggests.

“They'll make her for sure. We can't take that chance. She goes in alone and does what she needs to do. You stay outside and keep an eye on things. You only go in if things go to shit and you have no other choice. Understand me?”

He nods.

“I have someone coming to meet you. He'll be there between six and nine pm, you're time. He's from Dublin. He's reliable. He's bringing you some more ammo and some weapons. He's on the up and up. You can trust him. Have you talked to McMann? Does he know that you're onto him?”

“I'm meeting with him tomorrow morning,” Tyler says.  “He wants to talk. See where we are at with things. To be honest, I want to fucking strangle him.”

“Well try not to. I know you're pissed. And I understand it. But you should let him know. That you know everything he told you about his New Zealand extraction was a lie. Maybe if you lose it on him it will get him to talk. He knows more than he's letting on. Maybe seeing you pissed will scare some sense into him. Tell him everything. About the pictures. About the threats against your family. Lean on him and lean on him hard. As hard you can without physically hurting him.”

“I vote that Tyler at least gets to throw one punch,” Yaz pipes up. “To the throat. Nice and hard.”

Esme nods in agreement.

“Yaz,” his sister address him now. “I've got someone meeting up with you with some new technology. High tech. Ways that we can all communicate without it being noticeable. Ear wigs, bugs, things like that. Inconspicuous. The old radios won't cut it. Too noticeable. I'm sending you his information and you can reach out to him and arrange something.”

“Where are we at on this Erin girl?” Tyler inquires. “The one that showed up at my room.”

“I've done all the digging I can do,” Nik replies. “There is no Erin Ferguson in Belfast that matches her description. I don't know if Esme would have more luck.”

“I can try,” she offers. “But there's only so much I can do. Without facial recognition software and other high tech shit like that, my hands are pretty well tied. I can see if there's any security footage of her entering or leaving the hotel and maybe I'll get lucky with image search on google. But that's a big 'if', Nik.”

“See what you can do. I'm not expecting miracles.”

“How's things there?” Tyler asks.  

“There's been no sign of anything even remotely suspicious. No threats. Nothing. But I'm going to stay here and keep the detail I have. Ovi and Chloe are handling things. The kids are happy. Calm. Well, as calm as they can be. You know what you're kids are like. Calm doesn't exactly describe them well.  But they're fine. They miss you guys.  I didn't realize how much they look and act just like you, Tyler.  It's kind of unnerving. Scary even. You have some seriously strong genes.”

Esme nods in agreement, and he gives her a wink and a smile and takes her hand under the table.

“We've come up with a plan,” Yaz informs his sister. “When it comes to tactical support. For when it comes time for Tyler to get the kids out. It's going to be hard. Juggling two kids and fighting back. Because you just know the shit is going to hit the fan and they're going to come at him and they're going to come at him hard. With everything they've got.”

“What kind of plan?” Nik asks.

“Esme can do it. She has the experience. She can just find a place to watch and wait from.  If things don't go wrong, then that's all she'll have to do. Watch. If things do blow up...”

“And they will,” Esme speaks up. “Because if Dhaka as bad as it did, this is going to go a hundred times worse. And that's being fatalistic. That's being realistic. These people? They're capable of bad shit. Horribly bad shit. They make Amir Asif seem tame in comparison.  Dhaka was a shit show.  This is going be Dhaka on a massive dose of steroids.”

“But will you do it?” Nik asks.  “Can you do it? Because I think we all understand if you can't.”

Esme sighs, pushes her hair behind her ears.  “I can do it,” she confidently.  “I don't want to do it. But I will.  Only because it's Tyler.”

****

They make love. The drapes drawn across the window; rays of sunlight poking through the small gaps in the fabric. His hands on her hips as she straddles him; guiding every slow, deliberate movement. Sex has always been what they do. A coping mechanism. The most pure yet raw way of experiencing the deepest and most primal form of intimacy.   Driven out of need and desperation; fuelled by worry and stress and the fear that each time may be the last.  So many unknowns lying ahead of them. The future suddenly terrifying unstable.

When she comes undone -nails scrapping painfully down his chest, his name exploding from her lips- he gives her little time to recuperate. One strong arm wrapping around her waist and throwing her down onto her stomach, legs flat against the bed, a knee pushing her tights apart before settling himself between them. Pausing long enough to run the tip of his tongue all the way down the length of her spine; eliciting a whimper from her, her entire body trembling from both the new sensation and the aftermath of her powerful orgasm.  His hands running over her shoulders, fingertips grazing over her ribs and down to her hips, once more gripping them tightly as he pushes into her. The friction intense; the press of her body against the bed, the tightness of those barely spread legs, his hips sinking as far into her as they possibly can. A low, feral growl erupting from within his chest as he bottoms out inside of her.  Dropping his head, longer strands of hair brushing against her bare skin as his teeth nip at her shoulders and the back of her neck. Holding back as he revels in the sensation of being so deep inside of her, until her hand is lifting up and blindly grabbing at his hair; a clear indication for him to continue.  And he captures her hand in hers, holding her arm above her head, pinned to the mattress as he pulls out entirely and then slides back in with such force that it pushes her body up the body and causes her to cry out into the pillow underneath her.

His control is non existent. He'd felt it slipping away inside that conference room.  Everything was going to shit and he knew it.  The disaster was inevitable; looming on the horizon like some dark, threatening cloud that you can't possibly outrun.  Things have already gone so wrong. The worry and the fear are already overwhelming. The stress all consuming. And he is physically channels those emotions; using her body as a way to relieve some of the burden.  Bruising, painful thrusts that have her whimpering and crying out, his name repeatedly tumbling from her parched lips.  Her nails digging into his fingers with enough force to break the top layer of skin, her other hand grasping at the sheets below.  And he kneels above her, free hand sliding between her and the mattress, fingers pushing past her sopping lips to find her clit.  Slowly rubbing at it until the second orgasm hits; tears streaming down her face, his name being screamed loud enough for anyone in the hallway or adjacent rooms to here.  Continuing his ministrations until she's coming a third time; her eyes wide, delirious sounds escaping her. Fucking her until she can't quite possibly can't handle any more; both hands biting into her hips as he pushes his pelvis against her ass  and empties himself inside of her.  Sweat dripping from his brow, the droplets glistening on her bare skin.

Afterwards they rest.  Letting their bodies settle.  Their minds absorb -and fixate- on all of the information they'd be given early.  He lays on back,  a forearm over his eyes, a hand on Esme's hip as she naps on her side, ass tucked against his hip.  He hears her stir; the long, soft sigh that she releases, followed by her quiet, sleepy voice.

“Tyler?”

He switches positions, rolling over onto his side; front pressed tightly against her back. The hand that was on her hip now coming to rest on her shoulder; palm gliding all the way down her arm, fingertips passing over her wrist and down onto the top of her hand, then retreating and sliding back up again, until his hand settles on her ribs.  

“Yeah?” he asks, and presses a kiss to her shoulder.

“Are you okay? You seem...I don't know...different. Distant. Ever since the meeting with Nik.”

“I'm fine,” he assures her. “Just a lot on my mind.”

“Like?”

“Lots of things.  About us.  About you.”

“Bad things or...?”

“I'm just worried,” he admits.

“About?”

“You.”

She brings her arm across her body and places her hand over his, lacing their fingers together.

“I don’t want you going there,” he says.  “To that bar. Alone.”

“You’ll be outside. A hundred feet away.”

“Outside,” he stresses the word.  “You’ll be inside. Alone.”

“I’m only going in there to ask some questions,” she reasons. “See if I can’t lure them in. Get them to talk. Or send me in the direction of people who will. What do you think is going to happen?”

“They’re IRA,” he reminds her. “They’ll be armed. What if they make you?”

“They won’t. I know what I’m doing.”

“Do you?”

She sighs, slipping her hand out of his and then rolling over to face him. Their heads sharing the same pillow, the ends of their noses practically touching.

His hand moves to her thigh now, stroking it softly.  

“Remember in the elevator?” she asks. “When that kid was armed and I was freaking out? And you said you weren’t some rookie?”

He nods.

“Well neither am I. This isn’t the first time I’ll be doing this. I spent years going into worse places. Mingling. Being accepted. Getting people to open up to me. I’ve deal with some pretty scary, hard core people and not once did I ever get made. You need to trust me, Tyler.”

“I do trust you. You’re my wife.  I trust you with my kids, don’t I?”

“It’s not the same thing and you know it. I’m not talking about the trust that comes with sharing a life together. Sharing a bed. Sharing children. I’m talking about the trust that comes with the job.”

His brow furrows. “You’re not in the job. You never have been. And I don’t want you to be.”

“Then why am I here?” she challenges.

“Because I need your help.”

“Which means I’m in this. Whether you like it or not. You brought me into this, Tyler. I was more than happy to stay home and take care of a house and give you babies and raise those babies. That is what you wanted. You made that clear as soon as we got married. You wanted a housewife. You wanted someone to give you kids. You wanted a family. You wanted everything your mother was and then some. And I went with it. Because I knew it was what you needed. I knew you needed that normalcy. That if you were going to successfully balance the job and a regular life, that you needed things a certain way at home. And I’ve given you that. Or I’ve tried to, at least.”

“You have. You know you have. And you know how much I love you. How much I love my kids. How much I love our life. And you’re right. I did need all of that. I still do.”

“But I had a life before you. I had a life before all of this. Before marriage and kids.”

“I know.”

“And it bothers you to even think about. You hate thinking about what I was like before you. But this was my life, Tyler. Before you ever existed in it. I lied to people. I conned them. I made them trust me. Then I let other people…people like you…destroy them. And I was good at it. Damn good. Other mercenaries trusted me. So why don’t you?”

He regards her intently, drawing in a long, shaky breath, teeth grazing against his bottom lip. “Because it’s different.”

“How? And I’m not trying to be difficult. I’m genuinely curious. How is it different?”

“Because you weren’t married to any of them. I’m your husband. The father of your kids. They didn’t have any ties to you. I do.  I love you. And I don’t want anything happening to you.”

“You trusted me in Dhaka,” she points out.

“Dhaka was different.”

“How so?”

“Because it fucking was,” his last shred of patience finally snaps, and he hates himself for it.  How he doesn’t have a logical and sound explanation for why he feels the way he does. “Things were different then,” he attempts, and rolls over onto his back, running his hands over his face before sitting up and leaning back against the headboard. “We were different then.”

“We were just fucking then, you mean. Back then, I meant nothing to you. I was just some desperate and lonely girl. A warm body for you to occupy yourself with. It was easier for you that way.  To just let me do what I needed to do because I meant absolutely nothing to you. It wouldn’t have mattered back then if something happened to me.”

He gives a derisive snort and shakes his head, then reaches for a bottle of water on the nightstand. “That’s bullshit and you know it. You meant something. Even then. I don’t know what it was.  I can’t explain what I felt. I just know I felt it. I just know you meant something. Stop tying to fucking psychoanalyze me all the time. I know what I felt. About you. About what was happening. I shouldn’t have to explain it.”

“It was sex, Tyler. There’s nothing wrong with admitting it. That that’s all it was.”

“That’s not all it was.  Maybe it started out that way.  Maybe that’s all I wanted at first.  But it changed, okay? Some time in those five days. I don’t know when or how. Just that it did.  I knew I wanted more from you.  That we could have something fucking amazing if we actually tried.  If we trusted one another enough to try. And we were so close. So fucking close. To getting that. To getting to that boat and never looking back and just seeing where things took us.”

“Do you regret the path we had to take to get to where we are now?”

“I don’t regret anything. Do I sometimes wish things were different? That things didn’t go so wrong in Dhaka? I wish that all the time. That we just got across the bridge and got the fuck out of there. But we didn’t.   Things happened the way they did. We can’t go back and change that. Do I wish we could have had more time to get to know each other? Before we found out we were having a baby and decided to get married? Yeah. Sometimes I do wish that. Only because I think it would have been better for you.”

“Tyler, I have you. I have our kids. How much better do you think I need things to be?”

“I don’t mean better in that way. I mean…I don’t know…easier…” he swallows half the bottle of water, and she plucks it from his hand and finishes it before pushing herself up onto her knees and shuffling towards him.  “…don’t make me talk about these things. Please. Just don’t.”

“You’re doing fine,” she assures him, as she straddles his lap, a gentle smile on her lips as she pushes her fingers through his hair, nails scraping along his scalp before resting clasping her hands together at the nape of his neck. “What are you so scared of?”

“Nothing. I’m not scared of anything. I just don’t want to talk about shit like this. This isn’t me. You know that.”

“I think it is. Deep down. I think you need to talk about these things or you wouldn’t bring them up in the first place. Talk to me…” she pecks his lips, then rests her forehead against. “It’s okay…you can do this…you can be this way with me…you know that…”

He sighs, eyes closing as his palms run along her thighs, over her hips and up her back. Stopping briefly at her shoulders; fingers pressing into the flesh before his hands slide back down again, coming to rest of her sides.

“It’s okay…” she repeats. “Tyler…look at me…”

He opens his eyes. Brilliant blue locked on chocolate brown. And in that moment, Esme realizes that in almost six years, she’s never seen him like this. Not even when he was in the hospital fighting to not only heal, but to regain some sense of control over his life. Looking so confused and lost. Worried.

Vulnerable.

This big, strong and seemingly man for once wearing his heart on his sleeve.

“Tyler…you can say it. Whatever you need to say. You don’t have to do this. Keep things from me. Please. Just tell me. Talk to me.”

“Sometimes I think you hate me. For making things so hard on you.”

She blinks. “What?”

“For having to make the decisions you did. For having to give up your life. The job.  Everything changed when we met. Everything changed once things went to shit on that bridge. I changed. So did you. And you could have just walked away afterwards. But you didn’t.”

“Because I didn’t want to. Because I wanted to be with you. You didn’t force me to stay. I stayed willingly.”

“But things were hard. They sucked. Huge. You shouldn’t have had to see the things you did. Hear the things you did. You should have just left. When I was in the hospital. You should have just walked away. And sometimes I wonder if you wish you did.”

“Not once have I ever wished that. Not once have I ever hated you. I don’t regret giving up my life for you. Did it suck sometimes? Did I hate seeing you like that? Did I feel like shit because I couldn’t help you more than I already was? Did I hate seeing you in pain and suffering? Of course I did. I hated the circumstances. Not you.”

He nods slowly, eyes never leaving hers, searching for even the smallest hint of regret.

“Do I sometimes wish none of that ever happened? That things never went wrong in Dhaka? Of course I do. I wish every day that you didn’t have to go through what you did. That you didn’t have to suffer like you did. All those months of rehab and all the pain. I would take those away in a heartbeat and you know I would.  But everything else? Finding out we were having a baby? Deciding to get married? I don’t regret any of that.  I mean, you’re a pain in my ass…”

He gives a small chuckle.

“…but I don’t regret marrying you. Or having your children. And I’ve never hated you. Not even during our worst fights. When you’ve said some brutal and hurtful shit. Not even then. I love you. More than I ever thought I could love someone. And I meant what I said. That there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you. But you need to trust me, Tyler. You wanted my help. You brought me into this. And now you have to trust me to do what I need to do. I know what I’m doing.”

“I can’t lose you,” his voice is barely above a whisper, those eyes still locked on hers. “I just can’t. You always talk about how scared you are to lose me. But I’m just as scared as you are. I don’t want to lose you. I can’t do this by myself. Take care of four kids. I just can’t.”

“Yes. You can. You would do it because you wouldn’t have any other choice.”

He shakes his head, finally turning his face away from her when the emotion becomes too much to handle. The rawness of the situation. The blatant, heart breaking honesty.

“You’re stronger and braver than you give yourself credit for,” she says, and presses a kiss to his temple.  “You’d be okay. And so would the kids.”

“I don’t…” the tears are hot and bitter as they trickle down his face.   “….can we not talk about this….please…I don’t want to talk about this…”

Placing a soft, tender kiss on his cheek, she lays on hand on the back of his head, encouraging him to rest it upon her shoulder.

“I don’t want to talk about this,” he whispers, and then clings to her, arms wrapped tightly around her slender body. “Please…” he begs, barely able to get the words out. “…don’t make me talk about this…”

She tightens her hold on him, one arm wrapped around his neck, the fingers of her other hand pressing into his scalp. “It’s okay,” she assures him.  “It’s okay, Tyler. I’ve got you.”

Those words hit with tremendous power.  And he surrenders. Finally giving in to all the fear and the worry.

His entire body shaking with the ferocity of his sobs.

[theastrophilearchitect]

March TBR/W.

Every book, audiobook, tv show and movie I want to consume in March 2021.

-Hence ‘TBR/W’ - to-be-read/watched.

I’m not usually a fan of pre-planning my media for the month - I plan out all my media obsessively, but doing it by month seems a little too much like setting deadlines for my taste, and I’m sure I’ll somehow manage to turn watching tv into a chore. Regardless, it’s worth a shot, so this is going to be a rough guide - I’m going to pick four of each category, one per week, because I’d rather underestimate and surpass than overestimate and have to defer things to the next month. So let’s go.

Books

1. Skyward and 2. Starsight by Brandon Sanderson

Skyward is set in a future where the human race is on the verge of extinction, trapped on a planet constantly attacked by alien warriors. Spensa, a teenage girl stuck on the planet, wants to be a pilot, but it seems far-off. Then, she finds the wreckage of a ship that appears to have a soul, and she must figure out how to repair it, and persuade it to help her navigate flight school.

In truth, I mainly want to read this because of how highly it’s been praised by Hailey in Bookland on YouTube. I actually tried reading Sanderson’s Mistborn series a couple years ago, and just didn’t click with it. I love fantasy, but I can pretty confidently say epic fantasy just isn’t for me. However, Sanderson’s work is adored by many, and Skyward and its sequel Starsight appeal so much more to me, and I can’t wait to get to them.

3. House of Earth and Blood by Sarah J Maas

This is Maas’s first technically-adult book; Throne of Glass is young adult, ACOTAR being classed either as young or new adult. I’ve been a fan of Maas for a long time, and, though I enjoy her books less now than I have in the past due to how seriously they tend to take themselves, I’d still love to read this one. Where her previous series were both fantasies, this sits somewhere between that and a sci-fi, but I can’t say as-of-yet what I think, because I haven’t read it yet.

Bryce Quinlan finds herself investigating her friends’ deaths in an attempt to avenge them after they were taken from her by a demon. Hunt Athalar is a Fallen angel, enslaved by Archangels, forced to assassinate their enemies, when he’s offered a deal to assist Bryce in exchange for his freedom.

4. Scythe by Neal Shusterman

I listened to this as an audiobook in 2019 as part of BookTuber Book Roast’s Magical Readathon, and didn’t hugely get along with it in truth. The audiobook was excellent as an audiobook, but the story Ian’s I just didn’t really vibe. I think I just want to like this book, so I think it’s worth a reread to see if my opinion changes.

This follows Citra and Rowan, a reluctant pair of apprentice Scythes - in a utopian future where humanity has the means to live forever, it is the job of the Scythes to control the population by essentially reaping the souls of those they choose to die. Neither Citra or Rowan want it, but I don’t remember enough about this book to say any more.

Audiobooks

1. Mockingjay by Suzanne Collins

This is the last book in the Hunger Games trilogy, and you either already know what this series is about, or you’ve been living under a rock for the last thirteen years. I read this book for the first time nearly seven years ago, and it’s stuck with me. It sent me into a phase of only reading dystopian books (The Darkest Minds by Alexandra Bracken was part of this, and was the series that really got me into reading), but this was the main one that stuck with me. 

It contains a powerful message about capitalism and discrimination, and this is the second time I’ve listened to the audiobooks, though the god-only-knows-what time I’ve read the series. I listened to The Hunger Games and Catching Fire in February, which automatically puts this on my to-listen for March.

2. Ghosts of the Shadow Market by Cassandra Clare, Sarah Rees Brennan, Maureen Johnson, Kelly Link and Robin Wasserman

This is a novella bind-up set in the Shadowhunters world, that I would imagine has quite a bit to do with the Shadow Market, an aspect of the Downworld introduced in The Dark Artifices, which I finished in January.

In truth, I’m mainly planning to listen to this audiobook because it’s the only Shadowhunters novella bind-up with an audiobook, and I’d just rather read additions to the main Shadowhunters series in this format rather than physically.

3. The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes by Suzanne Collins

This is a Hunger Games prequel that was released early last year, and I just wasn’t going to read it. I heard several reviews, the general consensus of which was basically that it’s not as good as the trilogy and is somewhat unnecessary, but, in truth, my curiosity’s got the better of me, especially since I started listening to the trilogy’s audiobooks again.

This prequel follows Coriolanus Snow as a mentor in the Games before he became President of Panem and the wonderful villain of the original trilogy.

4. Eliza and Her Monsters by Francesca Zappia

I mentioned this in my physical TBR post a couple weeks ago, but have decided to listen to the audiobook instead. A few weeks ago, I’d started to run out of audiobooks I wanted to listen to, and didn’t want to read anything on my regular TBR in this format, including this book. But, I went through a load of audiobook recommendations, and this was one of them, so it joined my to-listen.

I’m not hugely into contemporary books, but I’ve wanted to get more into the genre for a while, and this was the first one to join my TBR.

This novel follows Eliza Mirk, your typical high school outcast, who publishes a hugely popular web comic under the pseudonym LadyConstellation. Then Wallace Warland, the biggest fanfic writer of her comic transfers to her school and begins to draw her out of her shell.

TV Shows

Before I go into my list, I’d like to mention that I am currently watching WandaVision and am definitely planning to watch Falcon and the Winter Soldier on Disney+, but both come out on a weekly basis, so aren’t being included on this list. Also, I’ve been watching way too much YouTube recently, so I’m not sure I’ll get through all of these this month, especially since I’m watching the Arrowverse shows, which have such long seasons.

1. Love, Victor Season 1

This Love, Simon spin-off follows a character named Victor at Creekwood (I think that’s the name?) High School. I saw Love, Simon twice in cinemas when it was released, and, miraculously, it made me cry. I love that movie.

This series was released last year on Hulu, which is only available in the US, but as of February 23rd, it’s one of the shows that came to Disney+ as part of Star.

2. The Flash Season 1

As mentioned, I’ve started watching the DC Arrowverse shows. I watch tv shows through alternating seasons - as in, I watch season 1 of show A, then season 1 of show B, then 2 of A, etc., then when I finish one, I start watching show C - but I’m treating the Arrowverse as one show (even though it isn’t) so it’s not the only thing I’m watching. So this is technically Arrowverse S3, preceded by Arrow S1+2 (though I haven’t actually started S2 as of writing this because of how much YouTube I’ve been watching, so I’ll be finishing that first).

I genuinely don’t know that much about most DC superheroes, Flash included, but I’m going into this having been assured it takes itself less goddamn seriously than Arrow. It’s my sister’s favourite Arrowverse show, and I can’t wait.

3. Dare Me Season 1

I added this Netflix show to my watchlist when it came out, and my basic understanding is that it focuses on the cheerleaders at a high school, and begins when a new coach arrives. It focuses on the psychological damage behind competitive cheerleading, and I’m not convinced I’m going to love it, but I think it’s worth a shot.

4. Arrow Season 3

I’m so confused by this poster. This is specifically the season 3 poster, and I’m so confused, but I’m sure it’ll make more sense when I watch the season.

I explained the weird way I’m watching Arrowverse (named as such because Arrow was the first show in it) already, but Arrow follows Oliver Queen, the son of one of the billionaires of Starling City upon his return after being stuck for five years on an island when a cruise ship carrying him and his father sunk. His father left him with a list of names of the people ‘corrupting’ the city, and Oliver takes it upon himself to assume a vigilante identity and take them down.

Movies

I’m not a huge movie-watcher, but I end up compiling so many to watch that, to ensure I get round to them, I watch a movie every time I finish a tv show season. I’m also currently re-watching the MCU movies in chronological order.

1. Instant Family

This is just something that came onto Netflix recently and I thought might be entertaining, and so it joined my list.

This follows a couple who decide to adopt a teenager, only to find out she has two more siblings.

2. Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 2 

This is just a continuation of my MCU re-watch - I love this movie. I love Guardians of the Galaxy, full stop (on another note, I just generally don’t understand why British people call it a full stop and Americans call it a period. Neither name makes particular sense). 

3. Avengers: Age of Ultron

And here we have another continuation of my MCU rewatch. I honestly think this is my favourite Avengers movie, because the whole teams actually together, and Wanda, Scarlet Witch, is introduced - I love her. I really didn’t like Vision until WandaVision came out, though.

4. Behind The Try: A Try Guys Documentary

Not technically a movie, but still. (Are documentaries movies? I tend to think of them as separate categories, but I guess they’re both movies. Hm.) I’ve been watching the Try Guys for years, which means I need to convince my sister to give me her Google password so I don’t have to pay for this.

I’m probably not going to stick to this list, and even if I do, I’m either going to also consume things not on it, or just not finish it. But, you’ll have to wait for my March wrap-up to find out.

[armandyke]

hallo here are the hc's i whipped up for the teacher au!! i'm sorry this turned into an essay i'm just a dumbass who loves soft teacher au a lot!!

“not sure what the others would teach in this teacher au tho-” *wakes up in the dead of night with cold sweat* *kicks down the door* I HAVE SOME THOUGHTS!!

oh boy…get ready….cause it’s A LOT

- Submitted by @katgreeves

luther: physics teacher, cause you know…spaceboy……everyone is scared at the beginning of the year when they get him as a teacher cause he’s TALL AND HUGE AS FUUUUUCK, but then fast forward two months later and everyone is chill because turns out he’s a really easygoing and soft teacher…just really socially awkward and lowkey dumb sometimes

asshole kids in his classes use his softness to his disadvantage and pull pranks on him constantly, poor guy….the other kids tho always tell them to shove it tho because he may be soft and dumb and socially awkward but he’S OUR SOFT AND DUMB AND SOCIALLY AWKWARD TEACHER DON’T TOUCH HIM!! the first time they protected him he had to remind himself not to tear up because HE FELT SO LOVED!!!! 

he gets them snacks even if they’re not supposed in the science classrooms because “eXPeriMENts and CHEmIcALsSsSsssSS!!!” and will rant for hours about space and starts and THE MOOOOON cause when he was a kid he always wanted to be an astronaut ( :’))))))) ) and his kids get fed up one day and go “why don’t you just make an astrology club mr luther????” and he does and IT’S A REAL SUCCESS WITH THE SCHOOL BODY YAY!!!

(five when he grows up also becomes a physics teacher and pesters luther all the time like “I AM 10 TIMES THE TEACHER YOU EVER WERE-” “NO YOU AREN’T STFU” and he’s technically wrong and right because material wise??? yes he’s 100% the better teacher and he always has answers to the kids questions and teaches them extra content cause he’s always been a genius but as a physics teacher that kids really like????? no siree that title goes to luther because he was a soft teddy bear to his students and they trusted him while five is eccentric and strict the the point where his kids are scared the FUCK out of him)

diego: pe teacher, SWEARS SO MUCH IN FRONT OF THE KIDS IN CLASS OMG HOW IS HE NOT FIRED YET?? is tough on the kids sometimes so push harder but IS ALSO SOFT AND REALLY ENCOURAGING THE KIDS TO WORK AND TRY THEIR BEST BECAUSE HE BELIEVES IN THEM!!! (except for the group of cocky assholes he’ll get in every class and don’t want to listen to them…he has personally removed their rights in the class)

whenever the self-defense unit comes around he’s sooooo dedicated to it and makes sure that the kids master everything to a t, cause who knows when it might come in handy??? he wants to make sure that the kids know how to protect themselves as the world is a shitty place and you never know when shit will go bad (except he does…he’s had enough bullshit and scared happen to him and has gotten involved in so many fights that he wants to make sure that the kids won’t hurt like him :“’))))))))) ) 

he’s a secret softie that will protect the kind kids that are not as good at pe and get bullied by the cocky assholes in the class becAUSE THAT’S JUST WHAT HE WOULD DO NO IM NOT SELF PROJECTING OF WHAT I WANTED OUT OF MY PE TEACHERS SHUT U-

also eudora is a pe teacher and the two of them are very competitive to be the best pe teacher and this rivalry turns into playful flirting and big ass crushes that they’re way too stubborn to admit, the entire school still ships it anyways (the entire school also ships klaus and dave because gay rights!!!!!)

allison: either school counselor or principal i can’t decide because she can be super kind and open to talk and gives advice that helps a LOT but she’s also a hbic THAT CAN AND WILL run the place. 

anyways, whatever job she has, she also helps with the drama club and school plays, and literally every year the theatre kids BEG HER to kick out the current drama teachers and replace them because allison>>>>>>>>>>>> all of the existing drama teachers there  

ben: is either a literature or philosophy teacher. super smart and knowledgable but is also really laid back and fun to talk to. he’s got a dark and snarky sense of humor and his students always have sass battles with him. the number of INSANE inside jokes his students and him share is HUGE.

HE DEMANDS THAT HIS STUDENTS PARTAKE IN READING TIME IN THE BEGINNING OF CLASS NO MATTER WHAT THEY HAVE TO DO BECAUSE READING IN AN IMPORTANT SKILL AND HOBBY FOR DEVELOPMENT AS A READER, WRITER, LEARNER, AND OVERALL PERSON AND NO AMY DON’T ROLL YOUR EYES AT ME I’M THE TEACHER HERE AND I SAID NO ELECTRONICS SO PUT THE GODDAMN PHONE AWAY BEFORE I COME OVER THERE AN-

anyways…he is really considerate to what students need and makes them as relaxed as possible because school is HELL. students LOOOOOVE HIM. HE’S THE ONE TEACHER BESIDES DAVE THAT LITERALLY EVERYONE LIKES. (highkey inspired by my philosophy and lit teachers because they’re also really smart but sassy and cool like ben and I JUST THINK THEY’RE NEAT)

vanya: strings orchestra teacher for obvious reasons. she was real shy at first when she first got hired but the the strings department at that time was soooo small and crappy that she went “oh HELL no,” rolled up her sleeves, and set to revitalize it just because she cares about music so much.

she recruited more students, got more advanced music so the kids could feel a challenge and be motivated to improve, and collaborated with the choir and band departments to provide more clubs, events and opportunities outside of class for kids to do music.

she is a no business type of teacher when it comes to arrogant people that put other players down or people who don’t practice and goof around and will snap at them SO HARD because everyone needs to be at their a game for a concert and in an orchestra no single person is bigger that the collective. she’s however SOOOO SOFT with really soft playing and shy kids because she understands how it feels when you think your playing isn’t good enough, so gives them extra help, gives them solo lines or solos to play so they gain more confidence in themselves, all while constantly giving encouraging words about how much they’ve improved that always makes them feel better and more motivated to improve.

she’s an absolute anxious and cranky maniac a week before the concert but she throws parties with food, drinks, and games afterwards to celebrate with her kids. she constantly gets them to play music related games and challenges that they do as a class for team bonding to make things more entertaining in class. she makes dumb music puns a lot too! 

she also will in the class say crazy stories of her childhood and the crazy shit she and her siblings did and then somehow always relate it back to the lesson and make it some sage advice…the kids never understand how she does it

(me???? self projecting more of my teachers into this au cause they’re cool??? more likely than you think)

also one day she chops her hair real short and cute and the conversation with her students basically went like this:

students: miss vanya you cut your hair???

vanya: yes kids I’m a lesbian

students: !!!!!!!!!!!!

vanya: ;))))))))

students: MISS VANYA SAID GAY RIGHTS!!!!

vanya: HELL YE I DID!!!

bonus grace yayyyy!!!!!: is the school nurse…she’s so sweet, so soft….has precisely whatever people need when they feel sick/injured…helps them calm down in they’re freaking out…always has a couple of beds in the nurse’s office so people can lie if they feel dizzy…gives out candy/sweets/food to people so they feel better!!

diego meets her a lot because a lot of kids in his class gets injuries and he takes them to the nurse and he jUST LOVES HER SM!!! INSTANT MOM FIGURE!! THEY TALK AND JOKE AND LAUGH TOGETHER AND GRACE WILL ALWAYS GIVE HIM A PASTRY SHE MADE WHENEVER HE COMES BY AND HE JUST IS SO SOFT AROUND HER ITS GREAT (his students find his sudden change in his demeanour amusing “hey mr diego is nurse grace your MMMmoooOoOooOOOmMMMMMMmmmmmM??” “kid your a good one but say that shit to me one more time and I will beat the sh-”)

she always has a smile on her and everyone LOVES HER…..except for the administration that always want to get her fired because they are assholes and they think she’s too weird to stay. however, every time they try to fire her, a certain teacher comes by the office for what they claim is a civil discussion...and after an hour of yelling, death threats, and the door getting 10 knife marks they go “you know what grace…you can stay" 

those assholes are persistant though, and one time though not even a certain teacher could get them away from firing her so once the news breaks out that nurse grace is leaving the whole school is FURIOUS and throws a 1 week riot and the administration get so scared and tired that they just go "OK WERE SORRY JUST KIDDIN- OK OK SHE’S STAYING FOR GOOD JESUS”

grace is so grateful that she makes a whole bunch of cake for everyone and everyone with tears in their eyes just goes “this…is why we love you sm nurse mom”

~~okkkieee that’s the end of it sorry it’s a literal essay I just got very passionate about this au lmao rip!!! I’m slowly tempted to write a fic about it even though i’ve never written a fic before in my LIFE and I already have like 3 other au fic ideas in my head already smh

[thestudyfeels]

How To NOT Be Depressed.

(Or If You Prefer — How to Be Substantially Happy About Life.) 

WARNING: This is one rollercoaster ride of a post. Proceed with extreme caution. For some, the staggering levels of insight may induce true purpose and re-establish their warrior spirit. For others, side effects may include grammatically incorrect hate or aloof eyerolls. We advise exiting if the said group includes you, for we're very tired of cleaning vomit off the seats.

Step aboard at your own risk.

If you’re one of the brave souls who stayed back to join us, I congratulate you for even I am scared of how crazy this post truly is. Alrighty then, kick back and relax folks, today we’re having a mature, adult conversation. Merely another cheery afternoon spent talking about life and its realities. Not too bad, eh?

Before we begin, spoiler alert! For those of you already turned off by the mention of 'depression’ and packing their bunnies to leave, sit tight. This ISN'T really about depression. This is about HAPPINESS. No clickbait. That got your attention, right butterfly? Nice, now stay.

A welcoming, maybe demanding A/N: Do me a favor and read this in one go. Maybe even plug in those headphones and listen to the songs dedicated to each part as you read. It's long, you have the new Riverdale episode to catch up on, but don't hop away just yet because (I had a couple moments writing this, alright) it's life changing. You'll prolly cry a few tears of realization, nod all nod-able body parts in agreement, beat your chest at random instants 'cause the hype’s too real, and perhaps, if it isn’t too much to hope for, finally go change your life for the better. In case you've forgotten, this'll remind you that there’s always hope, that you're a born conqueror, and you were made to THRIVE, not survive. Convinced? Kay, roll the cams.

   To clarify first-hand, no, I'm not depressed although I’ve experienced mild depression for a period before. Glad to say I'm out of it but I still struggle with tackling what I'm about to detail next.

Insert bitter voice, it’s this: My life is nowhere near I want it to be. Though I know vaguely what I wanna do, I haven't yet figured out how the hell I’m supposed to get there, or how my dream life is to be sketched out. It’s all a blurry mess. Which, to put it bluntly, hurts. I HATE feeling powerless and worthless, roaming about aimlessly.

There are many such moments where I hit the brakes to wonder why I’m not living THE Life already. There have been several times when I curl up and cry a frickin’ Amazon. There are horrible nights where I'm shaking with emotions, but they won't release, leaving me choked. (…not in that way, you hoes. Um, just ruined the dramatic mood with a lame dirty joke, sorry.)

   They say talking helps and that's why I figured I'd drop in. But perhaps more importantly, I wanted to hang because no matter how unfocused the lens may seem at my future, I don't consider myself a dopey loser incapable of the crazy dreams or wild bucket lists I fantasize about– and I thought I'd skip along to remind you that neither should you. (Or maybe I just came to sniff the new appetizers, who knows?)

PS: I also broke a sweat listing six ways to get outta depression– alternatively, to be more of a conqueror– because y'all are always pestering me with asks that go “how do I conquer omg send supplies” (Like, imagine a conqueror saying that! Oh, the crime, the atrocity!)

So yes, you're welcome. Have a feast with this litness.  

The main reason behind people being so frightfully sad, I’ve found, is a huge lack of fulfillment. We don't do what we love, for either— [ 1 ] we aren’t living life the way we want to (since we keep doing things we feel we're supposed to do) OR [ 2 ] because Mama, Papa and Mrs. Carter next door feel that struggling is the only way, and project their traditional beliefs onto us. Either way, whether or not we consciously realize this, subconsciously, we're all hurting because of it. Badly.

That lingering feeling of emptiness never seems to leave. You feel drained every night when you drop into bed, not because you gave it your all, but because you couldn't. And so, we do the next best thing. Drugs. Maybe not literally, but figuratively. We numb out this subconscious pain by binge watching Netflix shows. We deaden ourselves to that discomfort by reading smut in the bathroom or by playing dumb video games all day. We try (and fail) to extinguish this feeling of not ‘being enough’ by having silly flings or fake friendships.

And ultimately, we NUMB ourselves out to LIFE for we can't bear to live the way we're living. There's a reason why “How to Stop Procrastinating” posts are so popular (they’re a blogger’s most foolproof way of paying the month’s rent, and yes, even I'm guilty of a couple). We’re constantly having FOMO and tuning into others' highlights on social media– completely missing out on our own lives in the process. We fail to realize that the culprit is lack of genuine purpose more than zero self-control (or maybe it’s both, but that’s a tale for another day).

[On a side note, obviously I did generalize a bit– video games can be a passion for you, watching shows a way of winding down. But for most, they’re only DISTRACTIONS, just another way of ignoring the calls of life by hanging up the phone.]

   And here's the bitter truth about depression: The longer you wait to start living authentically, the more you start tuning out the inner cries wanting change, the faster your dreams start to ebb away, and the more you'll want to become insignificant. And to me, that's the scariest part of this journey to my dream life.

Nothing frightens me more than knowing that the moment I stop pushing, the very moment I give in to distractions and fears, my goals will stop manifesting themselves and I'll be stuck in this small town with its small people eternally. And THAT, I'm certain, won't be any more fun than working your way through a soggy ham sandwich, ironic as soggy is what life has become. (Yes, I have a thing against soggy sandwiches. They were a kid's worst lunch nightmare.)

   If you relate, and I’m sure you do (it’s probably why you stopped scrolling through cheesy fanfic for ten minutes to read this, I know you amigo) — here are six ways to NOT be depressed. Or more accurately, to gift wrap yourself some sweet ol’ happiness.

You're a Samurai and the Following Be Your Katanas —

Hol’ up. The second you reach the End Card, I want you to drop your Cheerios and implement at least THREE of these six strategies. Just follow the Takeaways, I've made this really simple. And as a rule, one of them has to be this one. (Look, don't whine. If you wanna climb outta that dark hole, you gotta put in some effort. So pop that booty, and let’s get down to business!)

Here’s the most truthful, though cheesy thing I’ll ever say: I would be nowhere I am today without this blog. If not for it, I would most likely be weeping in a dug-out hole somewhere, drowning in my salty little pond of tears and chiming every loser’s favorite words (“there's no point”). Creating this blog gave me a definite purpose – putting out fiery content, dipping myself deep into my newly found passion for writing and influencing, and connecting with other conquerors on the platform.  

I meet a lot of folks, whether at Sad School, Mouldy Mall, or Boring Bus stop, who always seem to be in a state of death-inducing boredom. When asked about their favorite thing to do, they’ll mumble “sleep” or “food” like Siri narrating your cat’s evening routine. And then you see adults, dragging through life mindlessly. Utterly clueless, floating like a piece of driftwood in an ocean bubbling with life. My sympathy quota gets overdosed everytime I think about it.

   To spell it out, find something to do. Anything! Learn a language, try some ballet, take pictures of your neighbor's rose garden, make an art piece and show it to your mom, stitch buttons onto shirts for fun, heck, make an entire shirt out of buttons, take a break from reading smut to write your own, frutify your farts, WHATEVER, just get up and move.

And here’s why – nay, not to keep you engaged or make you feel less worthless, not that bullcrap. It’s to put in gear the journey of figuring out what is the shite that you love doing. Too often we get stuck thinking about what our oh-so-great passion is. Get this, passion is energy. A spark for something. A magical fortune cookie which, when cracked, seems to explain everything, gives you the very reason for being alive. You can only feel that fire, that wild love, when you actually do it. So get cracking is all I’ll say!

Takeaway:

Attempt something. Nah, scratch that, imagine you’re in a sweet shop with shelves lined with free samples and try everything. Pick up that Polaroid cam, take that dreaded history course, buy that children’s cooking kit– in short, start working. Pull out all the stops, get curious, and get creative. In the process, if you promise to try hard enough, you WILL (money back guarantee) find out what makes your little heart burst with mad happiness and would willingly do for free, if needed, because you really are that crazy about it. And that, my dear, will be your oh-so-great-indeed passion. Have no doubt, you’ll never be “bored” again.

Real talk, having a dream is a big deal. And unfortunately, I’ve witnessed, rarely anyone has one to begin with. They’re either more dead than the cheap skeleton I bought for Halloween or believe they have a dream, but in reality, it belongs to mom, dad, or Uncle Sammy. Listen, doing something for someone you love (my Uncle Sammy used to supply me with cold cash whenever he came around, loved that guy) is great! YET, if you’re willing to throw away your life to fulfill others’ expectations, convincing yourself it's because they love you, even when YOUR lonely heart craves bigger things than just a marketing job, then you, my friend? Are the biggest fool. Don’t get offended, we both know it, this girl needn't ramble.

Recently, my relatives were over (nope, sadly not Uncle Sammy) and my cousin and I had a chat about life (correct, I grab every opportunity to do so). It wasn't very exciting I must say, he kept staring off into the distance (I wonder why), but what he SAID is what I'll talk about. After I’d gushed about my dreams, he asked skeptically if being an influencer would still be an ambition two years from now when I graduate. I raised my eyebrows, mock hurt, like eff you son, I ain’t giving up on my dreams! But that question got me thinking.

Life is wild. Unpredictable. An unexpected call, a single person, a random BLOG POST (cough) – can turn your life upside down, sometimes in the affirmative, other times not. This variability of life isn’t uncommon, and everyone experiences some part of it– unpaid student loans, failing startups, talent and art going unnoticed in industries dominated by wealth and connections, you name it. If all of that doesn’t make you run for the Himalayas and abandon any dreams, throw in a quick side dish of dysfunctionale famiglia with a sprinkle of self-image issues.

It ain’t easy, darling. The world is one cruel headmistress; it loves slapping awake the daydreamers and wishful thinkers. That hasn't ever actually stopped the dropouts and class clowns from building castles in the air though. And the common blueprint you notice they follow? Let me introduce you to…  Madness. Obsession. Maniacal obsession, to say. (Yes, I'm done playing with my words.)

   I struggled writing this point. A pestering voice in my head kept mumbling – They'll go back to doing the same sad shit anyway. Um, does anyone even read your posts? Lol, call yourself an influencer, hun. Hesitation started creeping in. Then the irony of the situation struck me. I laughed, shook my head and got back to typing.

We ran out of juicy gossip weeks ago, so here’s your tea served cold: insecurities and self doubt WILL get in the way. That whiny voice was just a mild version of what you face when you go all in. Fear traps you in its cage, and those who prattled behind your back now progress to talking shit in your face. Criticism and self doubt resurfaces, so unless your defenses are strong, you'll be crushed. Destroyed REAL quick.

When hell breaks loose (oh honey, and it WILL), your self defense comprising of maniacal obsession must be well learnt. Let them attack, mock, heck, drag you away from the desk and hurl you at the top of a damn mountain, but you better STILL hike back down, show them the middle finger, and continue working. That's how bulletproof you've gotta be. That's how madly do you have to love your dreams. And if you really think this will be a cake walk or want to continue complaining about Stuart being born with a silver spoon, hop off the train already. Your destination isn't on the tour list.

Look, my dreams terrify me. But they certainly make me feel more alive than complying with what every parent said about getting good grades and holding together a roof on my head. My ambitions set me free, give me a reason to fucking live. And yet, every now and then, something makes me question them. A fear engulfs me, some doubter proclaims I suck, someone I love is so blinded they can't see my vision. And that's okay. My defenses are way stronger. The next day rolls round, and you'll find me hustling again, thriving again. All because I know that even if no one reads my posts (the worst case scenario, I know y'all love me lol), someday in the future, someone will. I know that even if I’m not an influencer yet, if just one reader becomes a conqueror because of my words, it would be a win. A big win. I'd have done my job. All because I’m wildly, yes maniacally, obsessed with my dreams.

So hey, cousin? This influencer thing? This will be my dream long after I've graduated. Till the day I die, and maybe even then I'll rise from my grave to give a dead pal a lively pep talk. My watchtower has just been upgraded, so thank u, next.

Takeaway: 

“General, we've arrived!” Finally! Position those cannons, Martha, let’s talk them through the defenses. All aboard? AHOY MATEY! (wait, that was one for the pirates). Step one, dare to create a dream in your mind’s eye. The bigger, the crazier, and the scarier, the better. Doesn’t matter how impossible it is, don’t care how many voice their opinion against it, just imagine, keep a million possibilities in mind.

Once you see the life you truly want (you’ll know, everything will seem to zing)— have a sip. Become OBSESSED for that life. Thirst after that vision, itch to manifest it, and pine for the satisfaction that’ll come to your soul once it’s made a reality. Fall madly in love with the process and how magical it feel when you do it. And THEN, bellow a loud war cry and charge headfirst into battle, shields held high at all the criticisms. We conquerors never cared much for them anyway.

(play ♬) Picture this: forehead stamped with beads of sweat. Calloused hands working their fingers to the bone and eyebrows furrowed in deep concentration. Conjure an image where powerful beats are pulsing hard in your ears, synced with your own elevated heartbeats, and you’re thriving. Performing. Winning. Guess the secret to that? Preparation. Champions prepare. You can’t throw anything to the winds or rely on ‘luck’ or chance to conquer.

Tough days are in everyone’s calendar, be it your extra cheerful neighbor, Sally, or lone wolf classmate, Derrick. We’ve all found ourselves sulking over an awful situation, scooping into mint ice cream to forget mistakes, errands, and ghosting exes. Yet guess what? The solution isn’t the proclaimed “be positive!” or “It all happens for a reason, don’t you worry” - the key is coming up with a method to dodge the discouraging effect these hiccups have on us.   

So every bad day, I bring out a mason jar containing a knot of chits and one secret letter which is, on most days, kept hidden on the top shelf of my cupboard. I make myself comfortable on the bed, read all my bits of paper carefully, including the letter addressed to yours truly, close my eyes, and mentally fight back whatever’s bringing me down.

A short while later, I get up, now a warrior, and go slay the rest of the day like it was my last one on this planet. That jar is my jar. A Conqueror’s jar. One look at those powerful reminders, and I’m grounded once again, the beast within me now unleashed to kill.

Takeaway:

Honey, go get yourself a jar. Along with some papyrus and ink. Then start jotting down. Document past victories, future visions, fears that mean zilch to the person you’re about to become, batty goals you’ve still gotta chase, reminders that the majority will never understand what it is you’re tryna do here, and how that’s perfectly alright 'cause you'll find your conquerors, your squad one day. Create your victory jar. And then go knock ‘em down dead. Bad days stand no chance against you. You’re a winner, a fucking rebel. Go take what’s yours.

Y’know, I’m perfectly aware that many muggles reading this will whine that dealing with depression ain’t no piece o’ pie and it’s hella hard to get up and take the crown when you feel like a pile of dino dung.

Stop it. Get some help. (See what I did? Like Michael- ok ok, calm thyself.) For real though, and I’m tired of repeating this with my kitten stamped microphone (but I’ll keep at it ‘cause it’s that significant) – whining is WORTHLESS. It saps up precious energy that could be used to make life a scrumptious smoothie. (Loothie? As in life + smoothie? Right, yes, I’m shutting up.)

And even THEN, we find denizens complaining about slow WiFis and thin crust pizzas and how the market’s down and the government’s incompetent. Because blabbering makes us feel important. Heard. But keeping yo’ trap shut and actually doing stuff? Hustling for your dreams when nobody’s watching? Actually walking the talk? C’mon, Emma, don't be naive, ain’t nobody getting recognition for that.

Trust me, I get it. The world is yet to become a feminist, turns out your boyfriend was cheating on you while you were looking up wedding dresses, mommy’s a drunk loser, and idiots are being voted into office. It’s a lot to handle. But thanks to our immense and ever increasing population (we folks really love our rumpy pumpy, can you tell) — there will surely be one chum, facing exactly the same misfortunes as you, but still turning up at every party and bulk-spamming his friends with puppy pictures while you sit and wail. (One Moaning Myrtle is enough, thank you very much.)

Look, I’m not undermining your worries or obstacles. I’m only reminding that you have the marvelous choice of positivity. To CHOOSE hope and a better future when others won't. To FIND (and it's always possible) something to look forward to even when the to-do’s a big snore. To KNOW, deep inside, that you're a magnificent conqueror, no matter what mess you’re in at the moment, and that the world dances to your rhythm. Realise that it's up to you to let yourself be happy. At any moment, you have the very say-so to get up and start rocking. Dumbledore said it himself, “It is our choices, that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities.” So choose better, and you’ll unconsciously do better as well. And yes, that being said, this is the last HP reference, don't fret. Be positive instead. (Edit: Ha, look at these quips, the girl's all grown up now.)

Takeaway: 

Your new occupation is to be a sunflower. If you think back, you'll probably recall Miss Honey rattling on about phototropic movement in AP biology. No? Me neither. Point is, sunflowers always face the sun. Put them ANYWHERE, hide them in the dungeons, throw them in a trash bag and shoot it off to the moon, they’ll still turn around and face the sun. No matter what. And taking inspo from that, you too can stop scripting creative soliloquies for being depressed. Happiness is YOUR right, YOUR priority, don't let anyone take it away from you or diminish its importance. DON’T let sadness ruin your vibe, do what you've gotta do to protect yourself. Track happiness in yo’ journal, set 84 reminders on your phone, and tattoo “Long as you’re beaming up at the sun, all the shadows will be left behind” on your boobs. Do whatever, just don’t turn the corners of your mouth down. You’re so pretty this way.

The other day, I was doing the deathly Plié Alternative Heel Lifts (these names, I swear) and my legs felt dead. Gone. Put to sleep like the Wicked Witch of the East. Now obviously, the timer wasn’t not even halfway done yet, but my cheeks were already flushing red like dear Santa, and NOT because I was high on choco chip cookies. I sighed, and at that point, I was so over giving up. All this while, I’d been whining and protesting because my muscles felt sore, but in that moment, I made up my mind. I bit my lip and kept going. On and on. Keep pulsing, you got it, don't stop, was the mantra I kept chanting.

   Won’t sugarcoat it, I honestly hadn’t died this much since that time Miss Honey buried me alive with trig assignments. My legs were now basically Play-doh and I was shaking, fighting for balance. A few seconds in though, something crazy happened. My legs went numb. My grumbling mind quietened and the pain vanished. That evening, I had the upper hand, not my physical perceptions of myself. I was powerful. Flawless. (Hey Santa, do you even lift bro?) Real talk, I was in the Zone, bitches.

I’m not sure if that was the result of excessive pain or because Wonder Woman’s spirit possessed ma bod, but staying loyal to my love for metaphors, I’ll use the experience to explain what I’m tryna get at here.

   Look, here’s the real deal — if all of the greats gave up the second things got frowny, we probably would have no one to worship. Nix role models, nix inspirations, none to stalk on Insta - we’d all be bumbling about like Sad from the even sadder Emoji movie (no shade, emojis be lit).

And that'd be very sad (pun definitely intended). Hence, cue some tangible ways to boosting your grit, so that you can be your own superhero:

1) Get yo’self a goddamn motto,

2) Know your “Why,”

3) Repeat the cycle till it’s in your blood. Btw, Shawn, if you here, I’m still a single pringl—HEY PAL I SEE YOU, DON'T SCROLL.

Seriously, don't brush these prime steps aside. We're always going for the advanced modes, and deeming these basic levels a waste of time. Well guess what, compadre, YOUR LIFE IS A GODDAMN WASTE O’ TIME IF YOU DON'T HAVE YOUR BASICS RIGHT. Excuse my outburst, but listen. You can’t do a hundred bicep curls on your first workout if you haven't lifted anything more than a crisps packet. Likewise, if you simply jump into Life one day, and decide “ok, here it is, 12 habits to build, sleep schedule to fix, man to ask out, let's go,” you ain't getting nowhere, chum. Start small. Take baby steps. It's clearly not as fun (definitely negates the bragging on Facebook part of it) but it'll stick. You’ll create a consistency that not even Grandma's cake batter can achieve.

1. Talking mottos — For context, a motto that I always mutter (my mom thinks I'm cursing, oh what a bad child) every time I spill milk while making coffee is “Do more. Give more. BE more.” Not only does it help me stay right on track for the rest of the day but it helps me clean up my mess, figuratively and otherwise, or I’d just be sitting in a puddle of spilt milk, cursing adulting for real this time and with more laundry to do.

2. Why you need the Big Why — Owning up, I’m guilty of attempting to learn Welsh for less than 48 hours because I hadn't a single reason to speak the language. A similar thing happened with half of my 2018 resolutions, which had a bunch of rubbish like “Floss daily”, something my eyes got trained to skip because, um, who the hell flosses every day?

Lame humor aside, I still workout almost daily because I have my Why straight. 1) I want to feel good about my body and get closer to the confident badass I envision my future self to be, 2) I simply HAVE to sustain my health to live to build my legacy and fulfill my dreams of opening a bakery at 90 and 3) Because I’m an influencer, and want to walk my talk and be the inspiration people need. Those are the reasons as to why I turn up to my yoga mat everyday, shut my jabbering mind, and keep on pulsing. This “Why” strategy applies to everything. Wanna get outta depression? Why? Wanna lose 20 pounds? Why? Wanna listen to your dentist’s desperate pleadings and floss already? WHY EH? Unless you know your intentions, you’ll give up at the first chance you get to not act on your goals. And watch out, because there'll be a LOT of those.

For me, leaving a legacy behind means more than having a slice of cake or missing a workout because there’s a fun movie playing. Find what's important to YOU, make it your why, and go marry your goals.

3. And then, Repeat — Bear in mind, if you're not living your best life yet, there are NO weekends. NO work-shy days. No weak days, no pick-me-up days, no eat-candy-do-nothing days. Everyday is a damn Monday. EVERYDAY is life or death. Every holy day you wake up is a chance to push your limits, challenge your mindset, and see how far you can go. And every 24 hours, when the cycle starts again, it’s your mission to race to build a stronger, wiser and crazier you.

And who knows, perhaps one day, you and I will just be casually sipping tea in our dream home, laughing at how the milk is still being spilt but knowing, proudly, fiercely, that we’ve come so far, even though there’s still more left to do, more to give and so much more to be.

Takeaway: 

Quit quitting. You're, guaranteed, 20x stronger than you think. I doubted I could go through with the workout, it seemed beyond my present physical capabilities. But I did, because I treated it as life or death. Understand this, the second you start making excuses, for being depressed, for taking an unnecessary day off - you give away your power. You are a very powerful being. You're limitless, capable of everything.

I'm not throwing these words around to make you feel cute, I actually mean AND believe them. There’s so much that's been done already— the iconic four minute mile by Roger Bannister, invention of the light bulb, cars, toothpaste and other junk, people who lost both legs and climbed Mt. Everest, we sent a man to moon in frickin’ 1969 (50 YEARS ago), some ran a 26 mile marathon with zero training, love and hope is still strong in this world, oh let's also add coffee and motivational music— and YOU think you can't finish a workout or get outta depression or meet your idols or marry the man of your dreams or become the artist you wanna be? Ridiculous. Don't give away your power that easily, this ain't no charity shop.

(play ♬) Having personally dealt with unwelcome yet familiar feelings of emptiness quite often, I’ve now reached a point where each bad day is simply a reminder of how long my journey ahead is, and just how badly I want to reach my destination.

We finally near the end of this novel of a post (thanks for sticking around, bud), and my best advice would be this: Rather than wallowing in self pity and throwing one-man parties because your life is so awfully dreadful, know that even when life throws you to the floor, long as you can look up, long as you can read an entire book about defeating depression (cough)– you can GET UP too. Let those emotions of sorrow and frustration blaze up into a roaring, crackling fire that doesn’t consume you, but instead, urges you, fuels you.

Lately, no matter how much shit I go through, how many arguments I tumble into, or how barren my dreams look sometimes, I don’t break down. And no, it wasn't always like this. I never even had aspirations to name two years ago. Six months back, it had become a night routine to cry. Not anymore.

Now, every setback and every failure only pushes me to be stronger and give more than I ever gave. The day I made the decision to Conquer (truly, madly, deeply, with all of my heart) was also the day I said a big, loud ‘fuck you’ to every resistance that was to cross my path. I had finally understood that life was nothing but a battle of WILLS, that it was all in or nothing, and I made up my mind once and for all to NEVER give in to depression, or to society, or to anyone who tells me I cannot make it.

I had conquered depression. There was no looking back now.

Takeaway: 

Here’s something no one will tell you: the key to bringing depression to its knees is seeing it positively. Pretend that it's a friend continuously sending strong, aggressive signals urging you to be happy. And what do you do when a caring friend throws some holy light? You listen, push past your ego, and follow accordingly.

And if that parallel seems unconvincing, here's another one (sup, DJ Khaled. This post is turning musical, sorry): it's scared of you. Depression is scared shit of you. Y'know how bullies are, right? Majorly insecure, self-loathing too perhaps, hardly fans of self love, and always trying to numb all that subconscious pain by inflicting pain on others. Depression has the same instruction manual. Your fears and doubts are your (pathetic) bullies, and depression is the big ol’ crony who does the dirty work for 'em.

Whenever you decide shit this is it, I'm going for it, they go paranoid and try stopping you because they've seen no better. And if they succeed, BOOM, you're depressed, paralyzed, your qualms reigning over you again. Don't let them in. I'll say it a thousand times if I gotta because I want (HAVE) to see you conquer – you're so much stronger than you think you are. You can do so much more than you think. It's all in your head! Don't just sit there, click away, and go back to living a sad life. You’re better than that. DO better than that. You’re meant to freaking CONQUER, straight-up dominate, my pal. Pay heed to that voice craving freedom. You got this. And you better know it.

One thing’s fixed like the (beloved by all) proportionality constants in Physics, you will come across depressing mornings and sluggish evenings even in the future. I assure you. Lots o’ bad hair days in the calendar, sis. But here's what you’ll do: you'll deactivate the miserable thoughts, keep a cool head, remind yourself that this is yet another test (better, rap your new mantra) and USE that hurt, pain, and anger to create a fervor and passion that wreaks havoc on its obstacles and drives you to accomplish EVERYTHING you've ever wanted to do. The easy choice would be to just give up, bellyache about the situation, and want sympathy for your worries. Yet, what you'll never do is… exactly that.

Rule 1) NEVER give up. Stand your ground. Have faith in your strength. Know that you'll have your way soon enough anyway. Rule 2) NEVER complain. All it does is drain your energy, that precious fire you could to high jump your way into the clouds. Makes you a pathetic wimp too, definitely not something you want on a warrior’s resume. Lastly, Rule 3) NEVER seek validation. From anyone. It sure feels nice to be acknowledged and encouraged, but grasp this— this is your journey. YOUR life and YOUR vision. Validation won't get you anywhere, for there'll never be enough of it.

Cuz Marty, if you're tryna bring something new, different, and authentic into this world – you'll most likely be hated on badly, before you'll be loved madly (hi, me a rapper). Learn to invite hate instead—IMPORTANT: hate from others, not yourself. Sounds counterintuitive, but this is the real tea: hate is good. It means you're standing up for something, refusing to fit like a puzzle piece in society, and being UNAPOLOGETICALLY yourself. And it’s certainly a sign that you’re on the right path if you can ignore that hate and stick your tongue out at it.  

Yet another reason to never seek validation is simply this: you have to fight for yourself. In order to meet your own expectations, reach the doorstep of the best version of you, and transform this world, you'll have to go wildly IN. Toil and hammer away. Shut out all the haters and non-believers, listening only to your gut. Importantly, learn to accept the rejection slips, validating yourself not with what Molly says about it being okay, but with the reminder that your time is coming soon. Depend on yourself. Validation will NEVER be enough.

I get it, it's a lot of homework, but perhaps you already realize that it’s THIS work that'll change your life forever. Not “how to not procrastinate, Jesus take the wheel” or “HELLO, life's a mess so here are ten things to do (you won't believe number four!)”. Clickbaits don't work, stop believing that a fancy planner is going to be your savior. There is no rule to making your life a masterpiece. You'll have to get to know yourself and your dreams (journaling, meditation, silent pondering), build the work ethics and the mentality needed (lots of work in this one, yet no strict framework to go about it) and GET GOING.

AND with that firework, I'll begin to slip away now. Again, I won’t say it’s easy, that’s cock and bull. Life’s no fairytale. You will never feel ready to start bringing your dreams to fruition. But, my darling (I’m being so nice yo, follow me), you must. You must force yourself to work for the future you want till it becomes a habit, an obsession. The world badly needs heroes; confident people who can stand for themselves so that others can stare at first, maybe even hate a little, but then follow because they seem unstoppable and are, truthfully, having the most fun at life. YOU'RE one of them. No validation, just plain facts.

You see, conquering is a LOT of blood and sweat (K-pop, anyone? BTS? Lmao, this is me tryna clickbait y'all to read). Even getting up will seem huge when you're just starting out, and this is one long road, dear pal. Still then, I have enough faith in you to hope you don't give into your fears, I hope you willingly chase discomfort, and I hope you find the courage to do all that you want to do, while that heart's still beating.

I hope you conquer. I'll do too, and I'd really like to see some familiar faces during the ride.

Peace, amigo.

A loud ass A/N: And now, we come the most important part of this post. WAKE UP Luke, stop snoring, and take some notes. Remember kids, I won't accept anything but an A.

   If you couldn’t identify yourself throughout this post and currently are scoffing like um woman, that's not really why I'm depressed, hang in there a sec. Yes, you can stop singing It Ain’t Me now. You've a very nice voice by the way.

I'm not a doctor, and I don't have enough exposure to know why so many earthlings are depressed today. HOWEVER, by talking to many, following their stories, watching and reading stuff – I do know with firm conviction that a majority suffers from severe unfulfillment. Don't believe me? A study shows 85% of the working class worldwide hate their jobs. Do you realize what that actually means? EIGHTY-FIVE PERCENT of the THREE BILLION PEOPLE employed today, hate being employed in the first place! They do it for prime survival, to sustain themselves. And that's just jobs. I won't scare you, but 50% (yes, HALF, you heard that right) of students HATE going to school. Kids waste SEVEN hours of their life every day going somewhere they dislike, doing something they hate. Who's singing now?

People find themselves trapped in golden handcuffs, taking the paycheck despite the passionless job. They push aside the art and business they love, to become a slave of good ol’ cash. Several surround themselves with negativity and get frustrated when unable to escape the choking (no, not THAT kind again, hello someone pour holy water over this post) atmosphere. An innumerable are forced into taking up courses that they don't care about under parental pressure. The reasons are endless, and I don't think I'll amuse myself listing all the sad excuses.

This has always been the story. Hundreds of influencers have preached the same words I’m tryna put into your head here and you’ll yourself say you’ve heard this a million times. YET, you’re dissatisfied. YET, you feel like crap everyday, feeding yourself the same lie that the next day will be better, that you’ll get up tomorrow– while you let life beat the shit out of you.

That’s why, all of my words, everything you’ve read today - all of that boils down to just one single question. A difficult but necessary choice. Will you let this happen to YOU? Will you, seriously, even after this wild ride together, go back to doing nothing and being nothing? Will you, for real, continue deceiving yourself, sacrifice your happiness for the sake of pleasing everyone else, and remain a statistic on a website?

   (play ♬) If you’re not sure of your answer, read: Look, making you feel guilty is not my intention, because that’s not how this works. I need you to understand instead. Guilt wears off, it’s only understanding that brings about change. So, just for old times’ sake, I’ll rant a bit more (ik, just can’t seem to leave y’all).

You’re so, so young right now. More than half of your life is yet to be experienced. None of this probably makes much impact right now but it will the day you die. Remember, on your deathbed, you won't EVER look back and say, “Damn, wish I'd spent more time at the office. Saved up just one more dollar. Could’ve got that promotion before Amy.” Nay, it won’t even be on the calendar. That day, one foot in the grave, you'll reflect and wonder why the heck you didn’t let yourself be happier. Why you took up that lacklustre, soul-sucking architect job when all you've ever wanted to do is keep laughing. Why you didn't ask your crush out, why you were so afraid to walk up to that audition, because dammit, you could’ve been running your own comedy show by now. Why you dragged around a karaoke machine all this time instead of singing your own song. Why you couldn’t love yourself. Why you submitted. Why.

And the moment you realize that you hadn't lived a life for you, you’ll be crushed. Broken. The arthritis in your grannie joints won't even compare and neither will the mild dissatisfaction you’re feeling right now. Those whys will haunt you, they'll terrorize you, break you. It'll hurt tremendously to know that there isn't a single thing in your long life that you could call completely your own.

 With every death today so many dreams are left unachieved, crazy things left unchecked on the bucket list, and unique potential left unexpressed.

DON'T let that be you. Please. I'm still a mess myself, struggling to reach class on time and studying subjects that aren't exactly fun, when all I want to do is create content (read: fireworks) that is at a level of insanity, influence folks to do better, hold crazy world tours and meet-and-greets to give hugs, and get an adorable puppy so I can create a dogstagram (yes, I'm that mom). Sure, I could declare it's too hard, hang onto small-minded and negative people who whine endlessly, and follow the crowd, getting lost in it, with ease.

But I won’t because I can’t take the burden of those regrets. That painful unrest and discontent that nothing could cure, not drugs, alcohol, buddies, not even true love. For then I’d be just another drone, my controller in the hands of society, forcing me to see the world through its eyes. I can’t give in because I’m scared, terrified even, of wasting away this one life doing the bidding of others- folks who won't even notice when I’m gone.

It’s easy to be depressed and crib your entire life. It’s easy to think you’re worthless and that trying is pointless since nothing ever goes your way.

But perhaps, if you rise, if you simply DECIDE to have the audacity to fight for what you believe in, if you work and focus on becoming better, things will go your way. Life will bend to you, in awe, at your incredible relentlessness. Life will take one look at you, wonder who the fuck is this person? How the fuck are they so incapable of giving up? And back right away. And then perhaps, life will be such a blast for you that depression would become the past you never had.

   I know you can get there, conqueror. It’s time you knew it too.

🌚🌝 Further reading? 🌝🌚

Last Post :— How To Get Back Into The Creative Process – For you, if you're in a creative rut. Get outta it and go create magic!

5 Reasons Why You're Unhappy — To help you identify & cut out CURRENT sources of sadness so that you can spice up yo’ life with some happiness instead. Definitely recommend reading AND implementing.

The Bubble Trap & How To Get Out Of It — One of my classics. Everyone is in one of these 'bubbles’ till they consciously do something about it; that's just how it is. Are you still in one? (Someone teach me marketing, lmao.)

The 5 Biggest Regrets of The Dying (from Greatist) — I LOVED reading this. Pretty much all you need to cut the crap and do meaningful stuff. Read it, memorize it, work it.

++ Want to request a blog post? Leave your request in my ask box! I'll get back to you with a reply, along with the average time I'll need to birth that magical idea.

Thanks for dropping by! It was a pleasure to have you around. If you wish to stick for a bit, I'd suggest picking one of the related posts mentioned above.

If you wanna check out my blog, here's a little something about me (y'all know I love the attention). What do I write about? Three arenas I dominate, Work, Lifestyle and Life, they are, my mate! Take your pick!

I post new blog posts bi-weekly, and my wins, & journal entries throughout the week, so follow me if you're into conquering life, leaving a legacy and being the baddest badass you can possibly be. I'll be your side pal, cheering you along.✨

And that was it, it's a wrap! Martha, shut the cams, Henry, pause the audio, and Nandita, I know you're pretending to be deaf, but Mom's yelling something about doing the dishes. Better skip along.

And you, fellow conqueror? Keep slaying life, doing the work and making it count. I hope you're well, stay strong and go conquer life. ✧

I'm sending you so much love, see you soon.

— Nandini 💌 (´｡• ᵕ •｡`) ♡

[callsignbaphomet]

For the ABC OC Ask, randomly selected: C # 1-5, D # 1-5, F # 1-5, G # 1-5, I # 1-5, M # 1-5. It's a lot of questions, take your time & feel free to answer as few or as many as you want. :)

Ooh, no worries, I looooove lots of questions. Also sorry, wasn’t ignoring this. I’m a scatter brain with no sense of time management. Since a lot of these are repeated I’ll skip over them since they’ll be in the previous post. Also I’ll give the answer to whichever OC I think best fits the question.

C: Comfort1. how do they sit in a chair?Angelus sits horribly in any chair especially if he finds it uncomfortable since he’ll be twisting and turning every which way until he finds a comfortable enough position.

3. what is their ideal comfort day?For Jelani it’s a quiet day where his phone doesn’t ring and he can get up at whatever hour he wants though even if he tried he can’t really sleep past 8:30 and he can spend the rest of the day in the art room reading while his husband is drawing.

4. what is their major comfort food? why?For Angelus it’s totally steamed dumplings. Just had one shitty day once and was taken out to eat but he wasn’t feeling up to eating much but nibbled on a few and loved them instantly so from that moment on every time he sees steamed dumplings it’s like instant serotonin.

5. who is the best at comforting them when down?Abigail? LokeLoke? JelaniJelani? LokeAngelus? GingerGinger? AngelusTrevor? LokeTre? TrevorLatoya? Abigail

D: Decoration2. how would they decorate their child’s room?So Fae is actually a graphic designer and in her spare time an interior designer so when she head her first baby, Leah, she went overboard with the latest trends but made it cute and neutral since she wanted it to be a surprise. Now with the triplets she wanted to know their gender for sure given the fact that she was dealing with triplets. Again went with the latest trends turned cute but she stuck to neutral designs anyway.

3. how do they decorate their own room?Ginger and Abigail have a bit of a gothic theme to their whole apartment but their room is especially heavily themed. The rest of the place is subtle but not their room. We’re talking Victorian goth, black silk sheets, dim lighting, dark reds and deep purples and lots of black.

4. what type of clothes and accessories do they wear?Okay so for a while now I’ve been sketching and writing Angelus as a cross dresser and idk I think it fits him well plus he’s super into cute things. Any kind of skirts though he heavily prefers short and really short skirts, especially loves heeled boots, thigh high socks, baggy sweaters or any cute tops really. He mostly sticks to soft and pastel colors. Men’s clothes he’ll go with darker colors.

Accessories? He’s really into bows, flowers and really subtle bracelets, necklaces and earrings. No, he isn’t trans, he’s very cis. He just likes to cross dress and no, he isn’t doing it as a way to mock trans people he just really likes how he looks and feels while wearing women’s and girl’s clothes.5. do they like makeup/nail/beauty trends?Going with Angelus again, yeah he loves that stuff especially makeup. He’s gathered a pretty big collection of it over time gotten dozens of nail polish of all kinds of colors, and has a ton of makeup. He’d wear acrylic nails but 1) he’s super clumsy and 2) I’m not so sure it’s a good idea for a werewolf to do that.

F: Fun1. what do they do for fun?Most of them just really enjoy getting together, ordering a few large pizzas or just buying a bunch of tacos and bring a bunch of beer and soda and spend a few hours playing video games. Bringing their own consoles to have more people playing and if they feel silly enough probably stream it for friends who couldn’t come over to watch. If they don’t feel like going to one apartment they stay in their own and meet up online on whatever game they wanna play at the moment.3. who would they have the most fun with?Honestly a lot of them have known each other for literal centuries and have grown close and sometimes intimate so really they all just have a lot of fun together.4. can they have fun while conforming to rules?They can but Loke and Jelani are constantly holding the group back from making any idiot mistakes. Unless it’s to defend one of them they’re pretty chill when out.5. do they go out a lot?Not that often really. With the job sometimes they’re out for weeks and even months and when they finally have some down time they’re too tired to do much of anything else. They do go out though but just not when they’re on call.

G: Gorgeous1. what is their most attractive external feature?Jelani? Everything!2. what is the most attractive part of their personality?Abigail’s ability to always be encouraging and her bubbly personality just triples that.3. what benefits come with being their friend?Jelani: spoils friends and family every chance he gets, is always just one text or call away no matter if it’s an emergency or for fun, and is faithful to the end. 5. what parts of others do they envy?So out of all Angelus has the lowest self-esteem and he just thinks the worst of himself. He wishes he was as good a person as Loke is or as talented as Ginger or as confident as Jelani. Not just personality wise, he genuinely believes he’s some ugly monster that needs to be hidden (was raised to believe that and unfortunately stuck). He just wishes he wasn’t him on bad days but he’s been working on all of that and has done really well to the point where he doesn’t feel that way about himself all the time.

I: In-the-closet1. what is their sexuality?Angelus: gayJelani: pansexualAbigail: lesbianLoke: bisexual (demisexual)Latoya: pansexualTrevor: pansexual (aromentic)Ginger: bisexualAlly: ace/aroSanaa: queerIngvarr: bisexualJørgen: queerMason: gayTre: straightLeah: bisexualAnette: lesbian2. have they ever questioned their sexuality?Well, shit a bunch of them have at one point or another. Some took a little to settle their feelings while some took long years to realize certain things about themselves.3. have they ever questioned their gender?Asher did for long years though he wasn’t sure of what was actually happening and why he was so confused over a lot of things. Wasn’t until much later that he finally figured himself out.4. would/was their family be okay with them being LGBT?Angelus’s abusers, if they ever found out, would just use it as another reason to hate him even more though I won’t really touch up on that. They’re just incredibly hateful and abusive people.

M: Maternal1. would they want a daughter or a son?Loke wouldn’t care especially considering that they may end up being trans. He just wants one or two at the most.2. how many children do they want?Angelus wants none. He doesn’t hate kids or anything like that, he’s pretty good with them, really soft spoken and patient with kids. When Jela babysits his cousins he goes with him and helps out especially since it’s a teenager and three 7 year-olds. He’s just scared to death that he’ll end up abandoning them like his parents abandoned him (when I mean I abandoned I mean sold him) or worse that he’ll be like his abusers and he wouldn’t want any child to go through what he went through. Luckily his husband doesn’t want kids either.

As for Jax they’re Angelus and Jelani’s hypothetical child. Just something I wanted to have fun with. A Maker and a werewolf end up making a demigod hellhound btw!. Would this change in the future? Hell if I know, man. Maybe, maybe not.4. what would they name a son? what would they name a daughter?Trevor eventually ends up becoming a single father, accidentally but nonetheless he was super happy about it and will be a pretty great dad. He ends up having a son which he named Damien and had it been a girl he woulda named her Rosemary. If it wasn’t obvious Trevor is a huge horror nerd.5. would they adopt?Ginger and Abigail have talked about it a lot and since neither can have a kid (vampires in my setting can’t procreate, they’re very undead) they’ve decided to adopt but not yet. Not till they feel like they can be fully prepared.

[angelicwritingoflesilva]

Sunday (shh it’s not Monday be quiet), “S.O.S” (completed short story!)

 no just because it’s midnight doesn’t mean it doesn’t count (need anymore negatives, angel? xp)

Here it is! Polished, shiny, and hopefully error-free, S.O.S, my first story for my Short Story Summer challenge, is officially completed! I’ve had such a blast doing this, and, although it isn’t excessively sci-fi-y, it forced me to step out of my comfort zone. 

What I’ve Learned: hOly cow, exposition is hard in short stories. I do think that, at times, S.O.S suffers from a bog of exposition, but I really shouldn’t edit it anymore considering it’s already Monday,,, ;n;

Also, procrastinating is bad. I am so bad at getting things done it is 12:10 as I am writing this.

Finally, cinnabun characters are so perfect. Ta’hua is meant to be that kind of character, and, if I ever revisit this universe, I think I’ll either set the story in Ta’hua’s past or the life he lives with Ashley and, his now adopted brother, Sterling. >u<

Final Word Count: 5,336

Final Time Spent (Writing/Editing): 5 hrs and 33 minutes

And, now that I have teased the ever living hek out of you, enjoy reading S.O.S

Trigger warning: blood, implied death, suicide, slavery, cruelty, dead family

S.O.S

“S-Sani is dead.”

The words are whispered to Sterling. The young boy’s gaze flicks to the side, meeting the dull, but worried, eyes of his friend, Ta’hua. The young Avian’s head feathers droop in sadness, his hands shaking as he pushes his mop along the deck. Sterling glances down at his own motionless mop before replying.

“How? When?”

Ta’hua turns back to his task, replying quietly. “After br-breakfast. He ju-umped.”

Sterling swallows a lump in his throat. It hurts to do so. Suddenly, his ribs feel much more pronounced, the bags underneath his eyes much heavier. “I’ll look for one this time.” Sterling says. Shoulders sagging in relief, Ta’hua gives an almost imperceptible nod before directing his mop away from Sterling.

When he is sure that his friend is out of earshot, Sterling whispers to himself in a voice devoid of emotion, “Fourteen.” Sani marks the fourteenth body. Over four years, Sterling has slowly killed fourteen different slaves aboard this ship. In the beginning, it was almost impossible to ask for others for their measly food, for their blind labor. It has become so dreadfully easy. He feels little guilt when he begs the kind-hearted, the weak-willed, the elderly, the mothers, and anyone else, for food. No shame rushes him when he manipulates others. Now, it is more of an annoyance than anything else when someone dies, because it means that he has to find a new target. He knows that he should feel guilty, disgusted at himself, devastated, anything but the cool numbness resting in his chest.

But, quite simply, he doesn’t.

He used to amend his guilt by telling himself that he needed this food, that the meals given to the slaves aboard this ship weren’t enough for anyone. While true, it didn’t become true to him until two years ago. Up until then, he would shake in his cot nightly, going insane with guilt. With every person he starved, every innocent victim to his unholy crimes, the only face he could see was his father’s. His father, who only ate enough to make it to the next meal time, just so he could feed his son most of that, who whispered stories late at night about a forgotten life, who died of starvation because he cared too much about his son.

But taking advantage of his fellow slaves now? Easy. There weren’t many weak-hearted slaves on board, but sometimes, newer ones were easier to convince. They didn’t understand the truly horrible conditions, and, before they did, they already found themselves caring about Sterling and Ta’hua. They would begin to form a one-sided parental bond with the children. They would feed them. They would take part of their workload. They would eventually die for them. Sterling swallows another hard lump in his throat. It is no easier to swallow than the first.

He turns to look at Ta’hua. His head is lowered and his back is hunched over his mop. As usual, his body shakes with every step. Everything about him screams that he doesn’t belong on this ship. His sun-like eyes and vibrant blue and yellow feathers speak of island life. His stutter and quiet demeanor are far too delicate to survive on this ship. Every time Sterling looks at Ta’hua, he sees an escape from reality, the rebellious call to something long dead. The only spring blossom untouched by winter’s greedy kiss. A person worth sharing his food with.

A whip cracks over Sterling’s head, causing the boy to flinch. The sudden motion brings instant, fiery pain to the deep sunburns on his face, and he struggles to push back tears. Looking up, a slaver yells at him in a language he doesn’t understand. He stabs a clawed finger at his motionless mop, and Sterling realizes that he had stopped working. He pushes himself to move again. The whip snaps again, although, this time, fresh agony washes across his body. Sterling can no longer hold back tears as fresh blood drips down his back. The blood, at least, cools his burned skin.

Sterling has been watching a certain slave for about three hours now. He works on the hauling team, pulling the net full of diamonds from the bottom of the ocean. It takes a strong set of slaves, at least a hundred, to pull up such a hefty net. The diamonds, which are formed under the ocean’s immense pressure, are said to be worth more than diamonds on earth, due to their rather exotic formation underneath the Oilcean.

Sterling’s mother had educated him all about the Oilcean before they travelled to it. He remembers the wondrous tales she spun about the immensely deep ocean, filled with riches such as diamonds and oil. Every moment she spent with him was precious, simply because they were so rare. It was always his older sister who took care of him and his younger sister. It was she who would kiss them goodnight. Sterling can’t remember her name, her face, or even her voice. Just the warm, cherry-scented comfort of her arms. She loved cherry soap. He wondered where she is now.

He learned bits of Avian from his mother, for which he is immensely grateful. Ta’hua was also taught some basic English and, together, they have created their own language that is a mix between the two. He remembers his first words in Avian. It was a quick “hello” to the bird-like people who welcomed him onto the cruise ship. His mother had been so excited to board that ship. 

Sterling blinks, and his mind clears. His back stings a reminder; thoughts have done him no good today.

Instead, he chooses to think about the slave he has his eye on. While the creatures themselves do not call their kind this, humans have dubbed their kind Frog Men, clunkily so. Despite this, the name is apt.

The slave is to the far right of the net--his bleeding hands are proof that he has not yet had time to develop calluses. On top of that, his clothing is not yet caked with blood or stiff with salt. His feet slip against the wave-soaked, peeling floorboards of the ship.

What’s beneficial about targeting Frog Men is that they are given much to eat. This is due to the facts that they tend to have the heavy-lifting jobs and that their massive bodies need plenty of food to function. If Sterling could convince one to share some of his food, he and Ta’hua wouldn’t have to worry about starvation for a long while.

The only trouble is convincing them to help. They’re not the smartest creatures, and there is more than a language barrier between Frog Men and everyone else. It might be too much trouble to coax food out of one. Nonetheless, Sterling has managed to do it before.

The sound of a scream jolts him out of his thoughts. A human is curled over her dripping arm, screeching in pain. The wooden planks beneath her are stained darkly. A mop rests next to her shaking body. Sterling bites his tongue slightly, trying to block out the screaming. Even so, he can’t take his eyes away from the scene. A slaver stands above the fallen slave. His leathery skin stretches to accommodate a widening smile.

The slavers are disgusting creatures. Tall and gray-skinned, their body is covered with wrinkles and spider-webbing veins. Their faces have only a mouth, one that is constantly pulled into a sharp, yellow-toothed grin. Their eyes hang from muscular tubes that sprout off of the top of their heads. Sterling has heard some slaves mutter about tearing off their eyes from their heads. He also holds this wish close to his heart.

Sterling tears his gaze away as the slaver slices at the slave’s exposed neck. Their innate violence scares him; he can never show any reason to be punished. Even the smallest things can have severe repercussions. Plus, the slavers don’t bother bandaging any injuries they cause. Either you deal with it yourself, or you die.

They love to cause pain, but hate to lose. If a slave is caught attempting to jump off the deck, the slavers will torture the unlucky soul for weeks before they put them out of their misery. They would sooner kill the slaves than let any of them escape.

Sterling spots Ta’hua gagging, but still working. It kills Ta’hua to see anyone treated this way. It seems at times that he is the only one on deck lamenting the lives lost. He sings songs to those who pass away, songs from his tribe, meant to guide the dead to their final resting place. But he cannot afford to sing now. For now, he must continue to work. If he stops, he opens the door to pain and death. Ta’hua may be mournful, but he’s no fool.

The deck must be cleaned at all times, otherwise, salt will settle into the wood and rot it. This makes it instantly clear who slacks on their duties above deck. All day, the deck slaves work under the boiling sun on a never-ending task. The boat is so large that it takes fifty slaves just to keep the deck from rotting. Every day, they clean the deck. Scrub it. Ignore the painful splinters that wedge underneath their nails. Avoid the slaver’s wrath. And the next day they do it all over again.

It begins to have a wear on your brain, this life. Sterling has started to forget anything but the boat, but the work, but the endless waves. He can’t even remember the last time the boat was docked at a port, even though he was sure it was less than a few months ago. Perhaps. Or was it last week? He doesn’t know. All he knows is how to push a mop across the deck floor.

And how to manipulate innocents.

Finish your work. Finish your work. Sterling chants to himself.

Finish your work. Finish your work.

A stick suddenly jabs into Sterling’s back. Flinching, expecting further punishment, Sterling draws his shoulders into his body to protect himself.

Nothing.

He cracks an eye open, met by blinding sunlight. Gradually opening himself up again, he turns to meet whatever poked him.

An elderly Avian stands in front of Sterling. Through the layer of thinning red feathers, a pair of tired, wrinkled eyes blearily stare at him. “My apologies, young man,” the Avian says, his voice a hoarse whisper. “I didn’t see you there.” His mop stick is now lowered, away from where it had accidentally bumped into Sterling.

He rubs the spot on his back. The seemingly harmless prod peeled up skin from the sunburn there. Through his shirt, he could already feel specks of blood pushing to the surface. The pain is not unbearable, but it stings badly. He lets his eyes water slightly, biting his lip. “It’s al-alright,” he sniffs. “I’m fine.”

The Avian’s beak twitches slightly. “Good man,” the Avian replies. Underneath all the bumps and grooves of his voice is a tone of deep sadness.

Sterling inclines his head ever so slightly before continuing with his work. Once he hears the old Avian shuffle away, he considers his new option.

Fortune smiled on him today. The old Avian would be a perfect temporary food source for Ta’hua and him. Already, the elderly are among the easiest to convince to share. Thanks to the incident today, Sterling has been able to plant the seeds of empathy in the slave’s heart. Hopefully, within the week, he would feel comfortable enough to give food to Sterling and his friend.

The only issue with the elderly is that, unlike younger slaves, they cannot last long without all of their food. They are also more likely to be punished since they work at a much slower rate than anyone else.

Sterling contemplates his options as he continues to mindlessly scrub the deck. He could set up a temporary food source with the Avian while he worked on the Frog Man’s willingness. That way, they could both be fed and, given some more time, perhaps convince a second slave.

He ignores the pang of a buried emotion, and continues to work.

Sterling lives for the sunsets.

Despite the coldness and unyielding waves, the sunsets on the Oilcean are gorgeous. For the first time all day, the heat abates to let in an embracing coolness. It wraps Sterling in its shivering arms, soothing his burns and splintery hands.

The sun lights up the waves. Bright flashes skitter across the water. The sky is painted in rich purples and delicate pinks, and, as the night progresses, it deepens into the most magnificent starry blue. Sometimes, Sterling feels a quiet desire to know why the sky changes to such beautiful colors.

As if called by the ensuing darkness, phosphorescent creatures rise from the depths. When the sun disappears, thousands of pulsating squids, octopi, and jellyfish take its place. Now, instead of cheerful gleams off of the waves, green and blue lights float regally beneath the frigid waters. Miles upon miles of open ocean are lit up in an underwater celebration of hope and light in the face of darkness.

And, best of all, the sunsets bring the promise of a break.

The familiar hiss of a slaver makes Sterling giddy with excitement. He gets a rest. He doesn’t have to work for the next five hours. His aching muscles and burning skin will no longer need to cry out for a bed.

He gathers up his cleaning supplies--his mop, sponge, and bucket coated with suds. Without a backward glance, he eagerly turns away from his workspace. He is the third in line to the locked door that leads downstairs. A slaver stares at them, his two eyes swinging down by his chin, as he watches the line. Once he deems that everyone is ready, he unlocks the door with a definite click.

The slaves hurry inside. Although relieved to be inside, none run. The last time someone was caught running below deck, they were thrown overboard and fed to the waiting squids.

They file steadily to a large cabinet, in which the mops are neatly stacked in a corner. The slavers will take any opportunity to hurt their slaves, so if anything is out of place, someone is guaranteed a beating.

As soon as Sterling makes sure that his bucket is facing the right direction and that his mop is not leaning against the wall, he quickly walks out of the room. Now that he has stopped working, his stomach begins to growl, as if it is just now noticing that it is empty. Eagerly, he makes his way to the cafeteria.

The gem cleaners and polishers, who work below deck, are already eating their food in silence. Sterling’s gut clenches in anger--they get the easiest job. Never burned by the sun, never doing the hard work, but always first to dinner. They claim the spots by the walls, so their backs are supported nicely. His gaze slides past their gaunt faces and onward to the line ahead of him.

Once he receives his dinner, he searches the line for Ta’hua. The blue and yellow Avian is easy to pick out of the crowd. He stands hunch-shouldered between a human and a Frog Man. His feet drag with every movement of the line. Sterling waits patiently for his friend to receive his meal.

Ta’hua approaches him right away and, without a word, make their way to a part of the room with fewer slaves. They sit down together, Ta’hua’s hands shaking as he holds his food.

“So little,” Sterling murmurs. A bread crust is all they have for tonight. Touching the rim of the crust, where bread once was, Sterling can feel teeth marks and a certain wetness.

He tears the corner of the crust off, places it in his mouth, and chews it slowly. He’s learned that he can trick his stomach into believing that there is more food if he eats it piece by piece. So, every bite is savored, every crumb licked from his hand.

“Di-did you find anyone?” Ta’hua asks.

Sterling shrugs slightly. “I may have found someone to temporarily support us. An old Avian. Red feathers.”

Ta’hua’s head droops further. “Another el-el-elder?”

Instead of getting angry with Ta’hua’s pickiness, Sterling nods wearily.

“Is there an-anyone else-se?”

“Maybe a Frog Man. He’s new.” Setting his head on his knees, Sterling bites his fingernail. “I’m not sure though.”

“I hate it here,” Ta’hua says suddenly. Sterling glances up sharply. Ta’hua’s stutter is gone. Although his words are quiet, each shakes with anger and sorrow.  “I hate it so much. I hate what we do. I don’t care if we have to, I hate it so much. I want to go one night without crying or having a nightmare or hating myself so much that I want to die. I want one day to pass where I’m not whipped. I want…” Ta’hua trails off, his eyes dulling with tears. “I wa-ant…”

Despite Sterling’s best efforts, tears form at the reminder that he once had something better. His heart is hollow, his stomach even more so. A sudden wave of disgust at his earlier excitement washes over him.

He remembers his sister. Her comforting words. Her cherry soap. Mom will be back soon, she’s just on a business trip with daddy right now. She always knew what to say. Now it is his turn to know what to say.

“We’re not going to be here forever.” Sterling whispers. He closes his eyes, letting tears drip off of his eyelashes. “It just can’t happen.”

The rest of dinner is spent in silence.

As a bell rings, slaves hurry to stand up. Many just finished savoring their meal. Slavers let whips trail from their claws threateningly. They bark orders in their language at the slaves and, although no one knows what they are saying, their meaning is clear. They file out of the room in a hurry, their heads bowed submissively as they make their way to the slave’s quarters.

They enter the dark room one by one. There aren’t any beds, just rows and rows of wooden shelves. There are at least three hundred sleeping spots packed into a room meant for twenty.

Each slave climbs onto a shelf. There is nothing to stop one from rolling off in the middle of the night. Many prefer to take the bottom shelves so they don’t break a bone. However, the shelves closer to the floor tend to have rat infestations.

Sterling climbs up a ladder to take a shelf in the back of the room. Four shelves up, far enough from the rats but not too far from the ground to take a potentially life-threatening tumble. He bends his knees slightly, wishing to draw them up to his chest. If he did so, he would be too wide for the shelf and fall out. His clothing scratches painfully against his burns and, where there are holes, the wood does the same. The cold is now unwelcome, making his whole body shiver and promising him a restless night.

Nonetheless, Sterling knows that, if he is going to have energy for tomorrow, he will have to sleep. So, he closes his eyes and continues to tremble with cold.

His dream is filled with laughter and light. Nothing is coherent, except for the warm sense of peace and happiness in his chest. His sister holds him close, tightly. It is not painful; he is not burned. He enjoys the hug, nestling into the crook of her shoulder. Her hands rub up and down his back comfortingly. I love you so much, Sterling… Never give up… When tears splash onto his cheek, he looks up. Why are you crying? he asks softly.

Because I’m going to lose you…  because I have already lost everyone…

You’ll never lose me, Ash. I promise.

Brave boy… stay brave, will you?

I will.

He sits up suddenly, hitting his head on the shelf above him. The slave above him pounds an angry fist against the wood plank. Sterling drags his legs to the side of his bed, so they can dangle, as he rubs the sore spot on his face. What woke me up…? His dream had been pleasant. No nightmare to shock him out of sleep tonight. Shaking his head, he listens closely to what seems like only waves. But soon, he can hear it again--shuff, shuffff. Shuff.

Heart rising in his throat, Sterling pulls his legs back into his cot. Those sounded like footsteps. Not the confident stride of the slavers, but someone trying to be sneaky. It was either someone trying to escape or--

Someone screamed, and gunfire filled the night.

Instantly, everyone was awake in the slave’s quarters. Some started to wail with fear, others prayed, but most just silently shook inside their shelves. The footsteps above were not so sneaky now. Rather, painful sounding thuds punctuated the crack of pistols and the smooth hiss of a different, more advanced weapon. Something that the slavers definitely couldn’t afford.

Sterling hid. He tried to keep his emotions in check, but his heart was already trembling with hope. Could it be…? Would he finally go back to his old life? He clenched his fists, begging some god unknown to let the attackers win. He couldn’t even bring himself to consider that the assailants could be a rival pirate ship. If all this meant was that a more powerful clan would take him, there was no way he could possibly live any longer.

Suddenly the door swings up, hitting the wall with a loud bang. Sterling’s head pokes out of his cot to see the person, and he instantly pulls it back in as he registers what’s happening. The slaver begins firing shots at the cots, and Sterling covers his ears. Crack crack, thunk, crack crack crack!

His voice is loud, screaming at the slaves as he shoots them down. It hisses and cracks with pure, ungodly rage. What was going on?

Wood splinters as bullets ricochet everywhere in the room. Sterling shakes so hard that he can barely keep his hands on his ears. Is this it? he wonders tearfully. Am I going to die now? Do I die in this awful place?

No.

The gunshots are suddenly cut off, replaced by a strangled gurgling noise. “I found them,” someone whispers.

A tinny voice replies, “Where are you, soldier?”

“Below deck. It looks like everyone is down here.”

Hardly daring to breathe, Sterling sits up. As his eyes travel down the aisles, finally he spots the soldier. The man is covered head to toe in white armor, and orange, glowing glass plates protect his eyes. As soon as Sterling sees him, he forgets the ship.

He forgets his years spent on it.

He forgets his caution.

He cries out, stumbling down the ladder to rush to the man. He is crying so hard that he can barely breathe, his breath hitching every second. As he collapses in the soldier’s arms, he is screaming. After a second of hesitation, the man picks up Sterling, propping up the child on his hip. A cool, armored hand presses against his back. The other rests atop Sterling’s limp hair. The man calls to the room, “You’ve been rescued by the Navy of the Oilcean. We’re here to help you.”

Sterling wails incoherently as the man’s backup arrives. Doctors rush the room, helping up those injured by the wild shooting of the slaver, who now lies dead on the floor. They tie red ribbons onto the toes of the dead and cover them with heavy blankets. It was probably the best cloth that those slaves had felt in years.

The man carries Sterling through the ship. His crying echoes throughout the boat that he had spent the last four years tending. Each pause in his sobbing opens up another painful memory, sending him through the cycle again.

Once he reaches above deck, the soldier sets the child down. “Sh,” he says softly. “We’re here to help. You’re going home.”

“Please don’t leave me,” Sterling whispers, clutching the man’s wrist. Desperation clogs his words. “Please.”

“I--”

“Soldier Ruben!” A voice shouts.

The soldier’s gentle demeanor disappears as he snaps into a salute. “Yes, Senior Captain Ashley!” His voice matches the bark of the first.

“Why are you above deck! Why aren’t you helping with the injured?”

The soldier’s eyes trail down to Sterling, and he swallows slightly. “I was comforting this child, Senior Captain Ashley!”

The Captain marches over to Sterling. She is not wearing white armor--rather, she is wearing a helmet and a strange, scaly looking shirt. There is something vaguely familiar about the round curve of his face. The blonde hair hanging by her chin might as well be his own…

Their gazes meet.

The Captain sinks to the ground, her brown eyes suddenly filling with tears. A trembling hand presses against his cheek. “S-Sterling?”

Sterling’s eyes squint in confusion. “…Ash?”

Sterling’s sister pulls him in for a hug, her quiet gasping sobs scraping past his ears.

The gentle, floral scent of cherries reaches him.

“Sterling,” she pulls back from the hug. Her eyes are still wet with tears, but no more form. “I have to let you go for now. My men need my help. Soldier Ruben will lead you to the submarine. There are people waiting to help you.”

With that, the Captain stands. She heads to the door leading downstairs, her boots cracking the floorboards of the ship with every stride. His reality crumbles with every step she takes.

Crack. Tomorrow I won’t have to wake up before sunrise.

Crack. Tomorrow I won’t have to trick someone into feeding me.

Crack. Tomorrow I won’t have to fear for my life.

When Ashley reaches the door, she looks back once and nods. Then, she disappears into the blackness of the stairway.

Sterling stares after her for a few more seconds before Soldier Ruben leads him to the edge of the deck. A ladder is bolted onto the side of the ship. Above the waves, the top of a submarine cuts through the water as it keeps pace with the ship.

Ruben holds Sterling’s emaciated body close to his chest as he climbs down the ladder. His bony knees knock together with every step. Each rung takes him further away from the memories of death and slavery. Each rung takes him closer to freedom.

Once they reach the submarine, a group of humans takes Sterling. Ruben leaves Sterling to them, off to help more of the rescued onto the submarine. Every moment is a blur. They bathe him in warm water, gently washing away the dirt, dead skin, and grime that have accumulated over years without bathing. They dry him with a towel so fluffy that it practically floats above his skin. Then, they dress him in clothes too soft to imagine.

Sterling remembers staying awake to search for Tu’hua. Eventually, when his friend comes, they sat together and cried. Once their tears are too painful to continue crying, they fall asleep together in the safety of a warm bed.

Two days later, Sterling wakes up in a hospital. He’s dressed in different clothing, and a white blanket is tucked up to his chin. He sits up, his eyes half open, expecting instant pain. When nothing comes, he checks his face for burns. Nothing. He pats his back--only old whip scars.

“You’re awake.” A quiet voice says from the corner.

Sterling’s eyes go straight towards the sound. “A-Ashley?”

The woman sitting in front of him is a far cry to the girl from four years ago. Her eyes are tired, bags worn into her face underneath them. Muscles have formed on her arms, and there is a certain cunning to her eyes that Sterling does not remember.

“Do you remember me, Sterling?” The boy looks down at his hands, which clench the covers of his cot.

“I remember your cherry soap.” He says softly. “I remember the way you would hold me close when I cried because mommy wasn’t home. I… I remember that, even though you’re my sister, you’re like mommy.”

She nods. “Do you remember the day we were captured?”

Sterling closes his eyes. His breathing increases slightly. “Yes,” he whispers. “We were on a cruise ship. Mommy and daddy were celebrating their company’s success. I remember we weren’t supposed to be on the Oilcean, because of the pirates, but daddy gave money to the man that said we couldn’t and then he said we could. And then our ship was attacked, and mommy and Emma… they… they died… and they took you away…”

“Sterling,” Ashley broke in. “I need you to tell me where dad is. I know he went on the same ship as you. Is he alive?”

Sterling shook his head, his eyes still closed.

Ashley fell back in her chair. A trembling sigh brushed past her lips. “That’s it then. You and I are the only two left.” Only a few moments pass before she breathes in deeply, bracing herself against the wall of emotions threatening to crush her. “Sterling, I’m going to tell you what happened to me. Once I’m done, you can ask questions. I’m not going to make you tell me your story.”

Sterling’s eyes crack open to see his sister. She has her forearms braced on her knees, which she leans over. Her hair swings in front of her eyes as she begins to speak.

“When they separated me from you and dad, I almost died with grief and fear. I didn’t know where I was going, didn’t know what would happen, and had no one to tell me what to do. All I could do was what I was supposed to. I was put on an oil rig. I was always covered in the stuff. It was always in my mouth; all of the food tasted like oil. It was awful.

“But, within a year, my oil rig was liberated by the Navy of the Oilcean. I was free, but I had nowhere to go. Dad and mom’s company had already been claimed by one of their heirs, and they shut me out. They didn’t want a lawsuit on their hands. I… I didn’t know what to do.

“I realized that I had to do something with my life. After all, it was saved for a reason. So I looked to you. I had a new goal in life--finding you and dad. The best way to go about that was to join the Navy. I spent every moment trying to make my way to the next rank, so I could start searching specifically for you and dad.

“It was hard, because people easily connected my actions with my past. Many tried to get me fired since they thought I was biased towards you.” Ashley chuckles softly. “They were right, of course. Didn’t mean I could let them get in my way.

“I spent every minute of my day fighting my way to the top. And, once I was there, I spent every other minute fighting to stay there. I was able to trace several ships that could possibly have you onboard. As the years went by, I had to confront the possibility that you and dad might be dead. But… I never gave up.” She smiles sadly. “And here we are.”

Sterling blinks. “Where is here?”

Ashley sits up, and her sadness fades away. “We’re still on the Oilcean. A hospital, in San Paola.”

“Is Ta’hua safe?”

“The Avian you fell asleep with?” At Sterling’s nod, she continues. “He’s doing just fine. He’s been awake for a few hours now, actually. Very quiet, that boy.”

Sterling’s lip trembles. “Am… am I safe?”

Ashley’s eyebrows slant sadly. She comes to sit on his bed, careful not to disturb his legs. She grasps one of his hands. “From now and forever.”

Sterling smiles at her, his eyes filling with tears built up over four years of torture, pain, and misery.

From now and forever.

And there it is! I hope you enjoyed reading my first short story of the summer! Thank you for reading!

- L.E. Silva

[taehyungiestummy]

Lucky -- Chapter Five

Masterlist     Previous     Next

Warnings: None

Word Count: 2052

“Please, let me go,” I whimper as the man holding me gives me a rough shove. “You’re hurting me.” “Should have stayed home tonight,” the man shakes his head. “Be careful with her,” Hansung glares at the man holding me. “We are all tied up, she can’t go anywhere, so don’t hurt her. Or I will make sure you get in trouble once I get out of here.” “I won’t take commands from a criminal,” the man snaps, but I feel his tight grip loosen. “You should have made better decisions tonight. This is going to be the least of the pain you will be feeling.” “This is one adventure I am having tonight,” I mumble as everyone is lead to an area with chairs, poles, and tables with objects that do not look friendly. This is a torture area. There is no doubt in my mind about that. “Tie them all up!” An older man shouts to the soldiers that are holding us all. “The girl goes on the ground. Tie up her legs.” A lot of shoving happens in the next few moments as the boys resist to being tied to the poles. I quietly, and quickly, do as my guard says, sitting down near the edges of the poles, and letting him tie my legs together. No way I can escape now. Not that I had a chance before. Once everyone is tied up, I look up to see Hansung sadly looking down at me. It seems like Ban-Ryu and Sooho are still fighting. They are doing a good job at keeping their voices down by whisper-yelling, as I can’t hear a word they are saying. “I am so sorry, Ara,” Hansung sighs. “I didn’t think this would happen. I shouldn’t have dragged you into this. I am so stupid. I am beyond the stars sorry.” “No, you’re not stupid. I did agree to come with you tonight,” I flash a small smile. “It’s just as much my fault. I’ll have to put this down as the adventure that didn’t end too well, but it will be the adventure that I remember the most clearly. I forgive you, Hansungie, but there is nothing to be sorry for.” “What is all the commotion?” The man who first called us to be caught, steps up as Sooho gets a little loud because of something Ban-Ryu said. “Look,” Sooho speaks up. “I want to say something to my father. My father is-” “You…” the man narrows his gaze, walking closer. “Are still clueless, right?” I take a deep breath, biting the tip of my tongue so I don’t say anything. “If you enter here alive, you will leave dead,” the man begins pacing back and forth. “Even if you came here dead, you would leave as bones.” He turns his gaze to Ban-Ryu when he makes it back to the center. “Don’t be ill-mannered, and wait quietly. The Queen Dowager is in the middle of wondering what to do with all of you.” Hansung has looked away from me, and I can see his lips trembling in fear. That’s when I notice how my whole body is trembling, and I know it’s not form the cold. I focus on my breathing to try to calm down, but I still feel a few tears run down my cheeks. This can’t be happening. This is not going to be how I end my life. I need to be strong, and prove that I am not below these boys. I’ve really done nothing wrong. Hansung can’t seem to keep his eyes off me, looking down at me constantly. “I’m fine,” I smile, tilting my head slightly to one side. “Don’t worry. I am tough, and can power through this. We’ll get out of this, I just know we will.” “A lady should never be in a situation like this,” Hansung sighs. “You should be at home, sleeping the night away.” “I’m not like most ladies, remember,” I suppress a giggle. “I’d rather be doing something like this than sleeping life away. How many times do I have to tell you that I am not a doll?” “I’m sorry, Ara. I just feel so responsible for getting you into trouble.” “I forgive you, Hansungie. You have nothing to be sorry for. I promise.” His eyes brighten as he sees the sincerity in my smile, and hears it in my words. If he is still internally blaming himself, I can’t tell now. My arms are tied down to my body, and my legs are bent so I can rest my head on my knees if I please. My mouth is a desert, and everything is cramping. Hansung’s eyes flutter close after a while, and I see that a lot of boys are closing their eyes to try to fall asleep. A yawn passes through my lips. It has been a long day, and I it is all crashing down on me. My body is aching from my restraints, and my brain is beginning to hurt from lack of sleep. I let my eyelids fall closed, resting my forehead onto my knees. There are only a few positions that I am able to move into, so I hope that this doesn’t cramp me up more than I already am. Somehow, I end up in a very dream filled sleep. I am never truly asleep, or fully awake; being tormented by images I can’t even understand. The whole night is terrifying for me, but it can’t be any worse than what is going to happen to me once the Queen makes up her mind.

********

Cold water hits my face, jolting me awake. My brain is alert in an instant, meaning I can feel how sore the muscles in my limbs are. Hansung is panting above me, water dripping off his face and hair. The cold water shocking him right out of his sleep as well. I feel my cheeks heat up at how attractive my best friend looks. It’s terrible, considering out situation, but I can’t help it. I am a single female surrounded by a group of boys that have a special place in my heart. “You must be thirst and feel like your legs will fall off,” an older man, that I have never seen before, steps up to stand in front of us all. “The bad news is we haven’t even started the torture yet.” I feel a knot twist in my stomach. “You are here for committing high treason at Sacred Najeong.” I am so lucky to have ended up in this position. “You will be killed by a terrible punishment. This is the Queen Dowager’s final command.” For a second, I can’t breathe. My head is spinning at the face that I am going to die. “Tie these people to the chairs!” A soldier shouts out. I want to scream as they move Hansung from his pole into one of the torture chairs, but my throat is too dry to make a noise. “Hello little lady,” the older man steps up to me. He looks to be a teacher of some sort by the looks of his outfit. “From what I understand, you are very lucky. You weren’t caught fighting, but are still stuck here.” “I don’t want to die,” I whimper. “And I am not lucky.” “Your fate is in your hands, star eyes,” he nods, walking to be in front of the boys once again. I look up at Hansung, and I know he must be thinking about me. This was my decision to follow his lead last night, and I am going to take the punishments in stride. It only I could talk to my father one last time, or tell Hansung everything I couldn’t before. The teacher man takes a seat behind a desk once some of the boys have been move to the chairs. A messenger stands beside him with a paper I can’t read from where I am sitting. I wiggle around, hoping to get a better view of everything happening in front of me. “Your great fathers have requested, and acquired, a way for you to live,” the teacher speaks up. “To avoid torture, and death, you must pledge allegiance to become a Hwarang.” I take in a shocking breath. My fate truly is in my hands, and I know my answer in a second. “All you have to do is sign this paper, and go back home. Simple, yes? Or, experience what the next step is for yourself.” “Excuse me!” Sooho shouts out. “So, if we write the oath, we can leave?” “That’s correct.” “Ah, you should have said that sooner. I was going to do that anyway. Here, untie me.” I watch as soldiers untie Sooho from his chair. “If you are willing to sigh, tell me right away,” the teacher nods. “Untie me!” The boys start shouting out. I take a deep breath, clearing my throat. “Me too! I’ll sigh the oath!” “Ara,” Hansung glances over at me. Soldiers rush around, untying the boys in order of the shouting out. As I took a while to shout out, I am towards the end of being let free. The man who unties me is kind enough to help me up, brushing dust off my nightgown. “A lady like you shouldn’t be here.” I smile, shrugging a little. “That is just my luck. I am sure everything will work out.” The man nods, walking off to leave me be. I shake my legs out, stepping up to Hansung who is still tied to a chair. “One of the worst sleeps in my life, but I’ll take an amazing nap once I get home.” “I wish I could take one with you,” Hansung sighs. “You can,” I pat his hand. “Just meet me outside, and we’ll head to my house.” I smile at him for a few seconds, going to stand in line to sign the oath. Danse and Hansung talk behind me, but I don’t catch what they are saying. I can only assume that Danse is convincing his brother to join the Hwarang. “Please, untie him as well,” Danse shouts out. “What are you doing?” Hansung says loud enough for me to hear before I take a step close to the oath, and further away from him. Danse and Hansung go back to talking, and I hope that Hansung will follow everyone else to join the Hwarang. No matter how difficult, or dangerous, it will be. “Untie me as well,” Hansung speaks up after a moment. My heart skips a beat, and I struggle to keep a smile off my lips. “The one girl of Hwarang,” the teacher grins. “I won’t hold back on you. You will be treated like the boys.” I grin back, “I wouldn’t want it any other way, sir. I am up for it, don’t you worry.” I coat my palm in the red dye in the box. I have already written the oath, and signed my name. “This is my fate,” I press my hand to the paper, sealing my destiny. A soldier leads me out of the area, showing me a bucket of water to was off my hand. Then I step off to the side to wait for Hansung. “Ara,” Hansung’s voice fills my ears. I turn around just in time to be pulled into a firm chest, giggling as Hansung nuzzles his cheek against mine. “I think next time you come to my house after the sun has gone down, I’ll just cuddle you, so you can’t leave.” “Sure, sure,” Hansung slowly rubs my back. “I really am sorry for dragging you into this mess.” “It is okay, Hansungie. I don’t blame you for anything that has happened. Besides, I was going to be a Hwarang, anyways. This doesn’t ruin my plans in the slightest.” He holds me out by my shoulders, placing a kiss to my cheek in the process. “Let’s get you home. I’m sure your dad is worried sick.” “And you will take a nap with me?” I slightly pout, widening my eyes. Hansung smiles, “Yes, I will take a nap with you. Hopefully it will be a better sleep than last night.” “I’m sure it will be if you are by my side.”

**** ++++ **** ++++ **** ++++ **** ++++ **** ++++ **** ++++ **** ++++ **** ++++ 

Sorry that it has been so long since a chapter of this has come out! Life got really busy. I am on break now, so I will be able to post a lot more. The next thing I will be posting will be a chapter of Summer Dreams. Hope you enjoyed this!

[cuddletrain]

Dogpatch Press Threatening Atlantic City Fur Con - False Accusations of Alt-Right Involvement / Smear Campaign Against Venerable Con Host for No Reason

Dogpatch Press, ran by Patch O' Furr, Dogpatch, Scratch, Muttpatch, Patchmutt, Hitlerhatermutt, Antifapryde53 and Patch Packrat is an outlet for extortion and bullying of furries. Dogpatch runs his publication not as a temple of journalistic pride but more like an fascist media arm where he himself is the Fuhrer, aiming to inflate trust into his publication and use it as a tool to extort and bully furries in order to groom the fandom to his way. This is all highly symptomatic of mental health issues with Dogpatch, who has recently started trying to shut down Atlantic City Fur Con because it's focusing on increasing convention accessibility when he would prefer conventions to remain for the elite - the furries who can afford to go to a convention that's ran like an oligarchy than the free-spirited convention Radfox envisions.

That's why Dogpatch has begun to attempt to drag Rad into his alt-right fascist theories because ultimately, that's what Dogpatch is and wants everyone else to be as well. Let's talk about Dogpatch attacking the venerable Radfox, then about how Dogpatch loves public masturbation and likely Nazis and wrap it all up about how this is an example of mental illness and someone in need of help.

If you'd rather just get your lol's on, Kiwi Farm's has done the legwork there. Visit' em!

Dogpatch vs. Radfox - The Sickest Fight of the Century

If there was a goodest furry, many would point to Rad. He's been in the community being an all-star while working to keep this country's power grid running. He's sincere, honest, kind and generous and has recently tried to make conventions more accessible by changing the format to enable them to operate in areas without large attendance numbers and where it'd be hard to pull in enough staff. The new way he's pioneering involves furries going to a hotel and hanging out together, but without any of the structure like panels or convention staff or the need even for badges.

This means that those who can't afford a badge and the locals who can't travel (much less budget in a $60+ con badge to their convention activities) won't have to pay out. No panels will mean that there isn't money going to empty rooms when there isn't enough panel hosts or empty panels because the panel hosts a con can get don't have relevant content for the audience. Everyone makes their own rules, hangs out with those they want to hang out with and it's cheaper for everyone involved and easier to run since all you need is the hotel being okay with it and folks to show up.

Spoiler: None of those people are connected to anything but Chick-Fil-A and a love of fine Starbucks.

The rise of ghosting shows that more and more furries attend cons for friends and not the sideshows the con runs. Conventions like this solve that problem.

Dogpatch though doesn't enjoy the idea of this convention and wants it to end. He's begun threatening Radfox with "kill pieces" and is sourcing news from strangers in an attempt to weave a story about how AC Furcon supports the alt-right. Which is, to anyone with a drop of common sense, stupid because Radfox would be the first in the room to punch a nazi if you knew him (and he's strong enough that his one punch would likely do).

He wants Rad to change the con or he's going to write a killer hit piece and take it down, which, I mean, is hypocritical coming from a man who loves public masturbation (see below gif).

Dogpatch and Public Masturbation

Why are we even talking about this? Well, Patch's furry news website, likely read by his mom and a few people he @'s at on Twitter, shows a ranking of 800,000 on Alexa which puts it as a website that has some readers, but not many and constantly falls below 1,000,000 (the cut-off to be even ranked, aka a pretty much dead site). That tells you pretty much how irrelevant his website is and debunks even his ability to

The owner, Dogpatch, loves public masturbation and lots of other freaky kinky things (that I don't want to Kinkshame on, but you could just easily assume what they are) and wants public nudity to be a thing, but at the same time doesn't like a convention focused around removing the barriers and disbanding the oligarchy that most cons run under (i.e. taking power away from the con chair and the "staff" that often use their power to control attendees and bully them) so much he's willing to disparage random furries and accuse them of being part of the alt-right.

His aspersions about the alt-right are comical and come off almost as if he was projecting a world in which everyone is alt-right and that means his "sick opinions" are alright. His evidence comes from when Rad was literally making the convention chat "SFW" and taking the NSFW talk to a second room, where furries being furries started clowning around with some distasteful jokes like in every NSFW chat.

Rad's empathy for others made him do this even though only a few people complained about some rude remarks.

Rad didn't participate, didn't throw out a heil hitler, didn't do anything yet Dogpatch the public masturbator has to for some reason try to disparage this convention because he's just not right. We can go into detail about it, but Kiwi Farms does a much better job than I'm going to do and I don't want to rehash their content, but let's just say this isn't the pot calling the kettle black, but the pot calling a white fence black.

As you can see, his news is consumed by mostly one sex. No wonder he’s so against inclusion in the fandom.

Basically, Dogpatch is a big proponent of whipping it out in public even if it's not legal to do so while in suit. Then he roles on to the Internet, sees a convention that's trying to make the fandom more accessible and then somehow tries to shoehorn his alt-right conspiracy theories in with it while claiming he's some credible outlet for journalism.

Credibility Lost

Proper journalism is rather simple. You vet your sources, you vet your stories and then you move on. How do you know when the media is corrupt? When they no longer are vetting their information. Dogpatch, in speaking with Literally Furry Hell, began assuming random identities for various members, even though it's unfair to the people he's accusing and to the victims of his estranged identity theft ways.

Which, by default means his paper is "fake news" and is a "rag." It's basically nothing at this point but his opinion piece, as he skews context and abuses his illusional authority to weave a tale of Radfox somehow being involved with the alt-right while at the same time being completely delusional when it comes to reality.

Mental Health - A Serious Issue

This all points to a serious mental health issue with Dogpatch. Something is happening where he sees enemies and threats where they just don't exist. He needs to control the fandom and maintain the status quo of how cons are run. He needs the attention, constantly trying to get his unpopular website attention through screaming into the void loud enough that maybe something will scream back at him.

It's hard when venerable members of the community come under attack to sympathize with the abuser, but sometimes we have to take that high road. You can read lots of comments and replies to Dogpatch where people are concerned about him and the way his behavior is. On one hand, he's a kink fiend who wants to make seeing his junk in public okay no matter what but on the other don't you dare hold a convention where people don't have to register.

Let’s hope the death wish is figurative.

I say that we all acknowledge that he needs to seek help and make sure to remind him when he runs around trying to find somewhere in the void to scream that you're not weak standing up and saying you have a problem, you are strong and that strength is respected.

There is nothing wrong with us respecting Dogpatch, if he stops abusing the word "journalist," starts citing credible stories, starts writing credible pieces and doesn't throw the alt-right around like it's an instant win card. For that to happen though, he'd have to do things differently and we often need help to show us that what we're doing is wrong and that there is a better path in life.

This isn’t his first rodeo and honestly, the idea that he would smear Rad shows that this is a sick individual out to hurt others and he needs to stop.

Everyone wants everyone else to have a great life and there is no reason for him to suffer in this delusional world, so let's have sympathy for him and let's encourage him to get the help he needs. Spinning around trying to argue with his crazy points and prove every thing he makes up as a lie is a waste of energy when treating the root cause in this scenario is far more productive.

If you’re a friend of his or trusted by him and feel that these words speak to you, please reach out and encourage & support him making himself a better man.

- Praise

P.S. I don’t make the argument he’s in it for the money because $209 a month isn’t much for writing content every day and pay for the hosting. You could say that his zeal and lack of reward contribute the idea that he’s doing this to control and terrify; to sate some primal need that shouldn’t exist.