#amy edgington

[crackinglamb]

Chapters: 8/11 Fandom: Southern Vampire Mysteries - Charlaine Harris, True Blood (TV) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Eric Northman/Sookie Stackhouse Characters: Sookie Stackhouse, Eric Northman, Sam Merlotte, Lafayette Reynolds, Pam Swynford De Beaufort, Chow Lin, Alcide Herveaux, Russell Edgington, Tara Thornton, Amy Ludwig, Lorena Krasiki, Bill Compton, Jason Stackhouse Additional Tags: Established Relationship, Smarter Sookie, Honest Eric, Shameless Smut, Blood Drinking, Vampire Politics, Canon-Typical Violence, Minor Character Death, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, more book than show, Ambiguous/Open Ending, canon mashup, Additional Warnings In Author's Note Series: Part 2 of Butterfly Effect Summary:

Bill is missing. Eric is angry. Sookie may be in over her head.

Or, how might Club Dead/Season 3 be different if Sookie and Eric were already a bonded badass power couple?

 Beta'd by Iron_Angel. Updates weekly.

Chapter 8 - Like Lightning

He drew her back against his chest so she could recover her breath, his fingers trailing lightly along her neck and shoulder, down her arm to finally lace their hands together.  His nose was buried in the nape of her neck and while she knew his fangs were out, he didn’t bite her.  “I could have lost you.”

“But you didn’t.”  He hummed a sound, somewhere between chastising and agreement.  She clasped his fingers tighter for a moment, understanding what he didn’t want to put into words.  The fact that she hadn’t died wasn’t the point.  

“I don’t like feeling things,” he said.  She thought perhaps what he meant was that her mortality scared him.  A vampire should fear nothing.  Especially one as old as he was.  And besides that, he shouldn’t care about a human in the first place.  It just wasn’t done among vampires.  She was a liability to him, from his perspective.  But she wasn’t one he wanted to give up.

[vyrulent]

this is a multimuse roleplay blog with muses that i’ve rp’d from over the years. due to working a full time salaried job, i am a primarily queue based blog. i’m 30+ and have been rping since like 2014/15.

i'm foxxy. she/her. selective. no discord available.

( rules ) ( memes )

muse list beneath the cut:

TV

Chloe Decker ( Lucifer ) Ebenezer Scrooge ( OUaT ) Frederick Chilton ( Hannibal ) Hadley Rockefeller ( TWD ) Jack Frost/Snow Miser ( OUaT ) Jolene July ( NOS4A2 ) Lisa-Marie Andrews ( TWD ) Russell Edgington ( True Blood ) Santiago ( Interview with the Vampire ) Simone Grove ( Why Women Kill )

MOVIES

Aleera de la Fuente ( Van Helsing ) Abigail Samuels ( IT deleted scene ) Amy Peterson ( Fright Night mythos ) Anna Valerious ( Van Helsing ) Ariel Triton ( The Little Mermaid ) Damien Thorn ( The Omen mythos ) Deacon Frost ( Blade mythos ) Harper-Lee Smith ( Texas Chainsaw Massacre mythos ) Kristof Lazar ( Abigail ) Lawrence Talbot ( The Wolf Man mythos ) ( HIATUS ) Lena Dupree ( Scooby Doo on Zombie Island ) Lydia Deetz ( Beetlejuice ) Sibella Dracula ( Scooby Doo & the Ghoul School ) Simone Lenoir ( Scooby Doo on Zombie Island ) Tiana Broussard ( The Princess & the Frog ) Winnie Talbot ( Scooby Doo & the Ghoul School )

NOVELS/MYTHS/LEGENDS

Amber Davies ( Wolf Creek: Desolation Game ) Hades ( Greek mythos ) ( very low activity -- ask interaction only ) Jack Seward ( Dracula ) Lucy Westenra ( Dracula ) Micah Nicolescu/The Big Bad Wolf (The Company of Wolves/Little Red Riding Hood) Minthe ( Greek mythos ) Psyche ( Greek mythos ) Virginia Dare ( Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter & The Last American Vampire ) Zeus ( Greek mythos ) ( very low activity -- ask interaction only )

FANDOMLESS/OTHERS

Anita Bergese

[gatheringbones]

["At the end of August in 1981, I found myself in a small town in Arkansas, where I knew no Lesbians other than my new lover, Lynn. I wanted it that way. We were living in hiding from my armed and vengeful ex-lover who had abused me for four years and had threatened both of us with deadly harm. This was five years before the publication of Kerry Lobel's ground-breaking book, Naming the Violence: Speaking Out About Lesbian Battering. I knew I had been battered, but I did not understand how deeply I had been injured.

I only knew that I seemed to have saved my life at the cost of my sanity. I jumped at loud and not-so-loud noises. A frown from a stranger could reduce me to tears. I was afraid to bathe if I was alone in the apartment. I relived every word of every fight in relentless flashbacks. I had blocked much of the unbearable pain of the previous four years out of my consciousness at the time, in order to cope with immediate danger. Now that I was "safe" it all came flooding back. To escape, I watched TV compulsively, avoiding anything violent—nature shows were my favorites—and I read science fiction. Having lost faith in women as well as men, I was a serious candidate for a species-change operation.

Luckily, at some point in that bleak winter, I read a magazine article on Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) in Vietnam Vets, and I recognized all my symptoms. I had a name for my suffering, and 1 knew I was not "crazy." I'd felt so much guilt and anger towards myself for not being okay, that is, my old self, since I was "free." Now I knew healing would take time and effort, and I gave myself permission to not be normal right away. Also, seeing how much my condition resembled that of war survivors helped break down some of my denial about the hell I'd been through.

Still, I had no guidance on how to recover from PTSD. I followed only the dimmest instincts. First, I began to read accounts by survivors of any serious trauma. These people became my invisible support group. I found myself drawn especially to stories of political prisoners and concentration camp survivors. Although my experience was not like theirs, these were the people I felt would understand how my will had been sapped and my strengths twisted, how the smallest acts of resistance and mere endurance had needed all my wits and courage. Bruno Bettleheim in his chapters called "Behavior in Extreme Situations" (The Informed Heart) finally answered the question I'd put to myself every 44 hour since my escape: "How could I have been so stupid?" He made me realize that under abuse, especially the combination of intermittent threats, unpredictable violence and constant psychological torture, everyone responds differently, but everyone changes fundamentally, and everyone has their breaking point.

One day as I sat reading at the kitchen table, I looked out the window at the small yard beside our duplex apartment, and I began to imagine growing a garden there in the spring. It seemed like a highly improbable idea: the area was very small, steep, bare of everything but gray shale and orange clay, and the house shaded it part of the day. But the notion of a garden took root strongly. For the first time in several years I had something pleasant to anticipate.

I wrangled my landlady's permission to put in a garden. Then I mailed off postcards for seed catalogs. I persuaded an acquaintance who owned a truck to bring me a load of cedar slabs discarded by a local sawmill, and I used these to construct two frames, about four feet by six feet, and two even smaller ones, just three feet by four feet. By this time Lynn and I had saved enough money to buy a very old VW bug, so we drove to a nearby creekbank and filled bushel baskets with rich bottom dirt, which we dumped into the frames to make raised beds about four inches deep.

To supplement the tiny growing space, Lynn scavenged large cans from the cafeteria of the hospital where she worked. I painted them a hopeful green, filled them with soil and placed them along the sidewalk below our porch. Old-timey "Corn-row Beans," originally bred to tolerate the shade of cornfields, grew up strings tied to the roof and bore prolifically.

I didn't have much money from my SSI income to spend on garden gadgets, so I made do. I wove a trellis for my peas from six-pack rings liberated from a liquor store trash bin. (I can testify that this plastic never biodegrades—the pea fence survives to this day.) I got some more bushel baskets from the local grocery, painted them with non-toxic preservative and lined them with garbage bags after snipping a few drainage holes in the bottom. Placed around a small stone patio above the garden, these became containers for large plants.

The garden rewarded me before the first mouthful of early spinach was harvested. It moved me out of the gloomy apartment and into the sunshine, watering can in hand. It motivated me to interact with people and to occasionally risk asking for help. I found out they would usually say yes. My attention was now focused on the future, not the bitter, unchangeable past. At night when the flashbacks threatened to roll, when I dreaded the dreams I might have, I put myself to sleep with 45 detailed plans of my next crop rotation. I found out I could learn a major new skill, a little at a time. I could do things right, even come up with ingenious solutions to seemingly impossible difficulties. And when I did things wrong, plants were most often forgiving. The plants themselves were a tremendous source of inspiration. Talk about survivors! They defied every book written about their needs, often thriving with too little sun, too little water, and too little soil. At the end of a year, I could easily stick my shovel in the dirt up to the hilt, where only four inches of top soil had previously existed; compost and the action of the roots had created friable loam out of shale and clay.

When I experienced failure with gardening, it was never the kind of disaster I'd grown to associate with mistakes. We didn't go hungry, because other crops outstripped our expectations. My lover didn't beat or berate me, but sympathized and helped. The garden was important to us economically, because we'd both lost almost everything we owned in our escape. Luckily, in southern Arkansas, it's possible to garden yearround. The garden gave me precious, desperately needed tastes of success. Disabled, unemployed, I still felt like an important contributor to the household. I even had food to give away sometimes, and that was a delicious feeling.

Gardening was not the only factor in my recovery, but it was an important one. I didn't grow up with abuse, but battering and similar traumas can expand minutes into hours, years into decades, until four years feel like most of a lifetime. At the end of a year and a half of gardening, I no longer felt as if I'd spent the majority of my life in a battering situation. Healing had acquired a new definition for me: I didn't insist on having the old me back; I'd mourned her long and well. I accepted the fact that some injuries are too severe to be made whole, that I might never be the same again. But I began to actually like and trust the me I am now, scars and all. As my garden taught me, I must make do with what I am. I have discovered that my flaws are not fatal and my successes are greater than I'd hoped for. So far I have not gone hungry, and I even have something to offer."]

Amy Edgington, Gaining Ground, from Garden Variety Dykes: Lesbian Traditions In Gardening, Herbooks, 1994

[pterodyketyl]

"I have Scheuermann’s disease. For reasons unknown my spine slowly twists into a more and more pronounced S-shape curve, when viewed from the side and from the back. It’s actually a spiral: I have seen trees shaped like me that look strong and graceful. Yet this is considered an ugly defect in humans, and in a female ugliness is the worst sin."

A Medal For Not Drowning by Amy Edgington

Found in Lesbian Culture : An Anthology

[squeakpip]

5 things

Tagged by @maxisawerewolf

5 things you’ll find in my bag/pockets: 

phone

horchata lip balm

wallet

prescription sunglasses

keys

5 things you’ll find in my bedroom: 

4 Amy Edgington collages (3 originals, 1 print, with more of her work elsewhere in the flat, yes I know this is excessive and they will be better spaced out when I move someplace bigger) 

a gold unicorn lamp, with rainbow LED light bulb

a hideous moose painted on a mirror, waiting for the frame to be salvaged

my cat’s favourite mousie

a vintage pillow case covered in sweet pea vines

5 things I’ve always wanted to do in my life: 

own and remodel a house (and live in it longer than 2 years, which is the longest I’ve lived anywhere else)

host regular themed dinner parties

dress well every. damn. day. 

have a decent chunk “fuck you” money

go storm chasing

5 things that make me happy: 

handknit socks

holding a rounded mug/cup/bowl in my hands

places with intense and overwhelming ambiance

tea

the satisfaction of a task well-done

5 things on my to-do list: 

text M for the number of her contractor

get dressed

seek out lunch

make next week’s menu

sweep floors

5 things people may not know about me: 

I studied printmaking for two years

I considered becoming a coroner

I’m very good at navigating paperwork and bureaucracy

English isn’t my first language, I spoke Spanish exclusively until I was two

I’ve played World of Warcraft consistently for the last 8 years

Feel free to say I tagged you if you want an excuse to talk about yourself! 

[thegayhimbo]

Relationships on True Blood (My Opinions)

Best human friendship:

Sookie/Tara – Jason/Hoyt – Holly/Arlene – Tara/Lafayette - Sookie/Jason

Best maker/progeny relationship:

Eric/Pam – Eric/Godric - Bill/Jessica – Pam/Tara – Bill/Lorena - Russell/Talbot

Favorite character/characters:

Sookie – Eric – Bill – Pam – Terry - Lafayette – Jason – Jessica - Jesus - Alcide – Andy - Tommy - Tara – Sam - Arlene - Godric - Luna - Holly

Favorite Ship:

- Sookie/Eric – Sookie/Bill – Sookie/Alcide – Sookie/Sam - Sookie/Warlow - None of them. I’m of the opinion that Sookie should have ended the series single.

- Pam/Eric – Pam/Tara

- Jess/Hoyt – Jess/Jason – Jess/James

- Lafayette/Jesus – Lafayette/James

- Arlene/Terry – Arlene/Keith

- Sam/Tara – Sam/Luna – Sam/Nicole

- Tara/Sam - Tara/Eggs - Tara/Franklin - Tara/Naomi - Tara/Pam

- Jason/Amy - Jason/Sarah - Jason/Crystal - Jason/Jessica - Jason/Violet - Jason/Brigette - Other (Jason/Amy was an interesting relationship but not a healthy one, and I was more interested in Jason and Jessica as friends than as lovers.)

Favorite Villains:

Rene Lenier - Maryann Forrester - Russell Edgington - Franklin Mott - Debbie Pelt - Steve Newlin - Sarah Newlin - Marnie Stonebrook - Salome Agrippa - Sweetie Des Arts - Bud Dearborne - Macklyn Warlow - Truman Burrell - The Yakutza

Favorite bromance:

Jason/Eric  – Bill/Eric – Andy/Jason

Your NOTP of the show:

Sookie/Bill - Franklin/Tara - Sookie/Warlow - Jessica/Hoyt - Jason/Crystal - Jason/Violet - Sam/Nicole

[anxietyhaver]

No matter how agonizing our remorse may be, it does not begin to compare with the injury racism inflicts on people of color or to cancel out the privileges domination brings to white people

Moving Beyond White Guilt by Amy Edgington 

[matildahoney]

We are told it lies no deeper than a woman's skin. We are told it lives In someone else's eye. We starve ourselves and pad our breasts, bleach or burn our skins, curl or straighten our hair, because beauty must be domesticated - wolves don't worry about their appearance; there is no Miss Bear contest. But underneath the clothes and the attitudes that cage us, something paces, wanting out. A wild woman longs to strut, baring every scar and crease and bulge: she knows her pack would not judge but read what life has written on her. They would delight to see how the spirit spills through her frayed skin, shining, like electric fur.

Beauty Is A Beast, Amy Edgington