#av donna

[cuntstable]

trying to even figure out what kind of music my favourite characters would listen to like um. idk them…… maybe we arent as close as we thought……

[khruschevshoe]

How Behind-the Scenes Issues Affected the Writing of Doctor Who (Both Good and Bad)

Doctor Who is such a fascinating show to look at from a Watsonian v. Doylist perspective. Like, entirely just from an episode writing point of view:

Twice Upon A Time feels so slow and meandering and even boring in places because Chris Chibnall didn't want to start his run as showrunner and Steven Moffat didn't want the show to lose the coveted Christmas timeslot (ironic, I know) so he bumped the Twelfth Doctor's regeneration from the end of The Doctor Falls (where it makes sense) to the end of the Christmas special

Boom Town (my beloved) only exists because originally there was going to be an episode in its spot explaining that Rose had been molded to be the Doctor's perfect companion (by the Doctor, gross) and the writer didn't have the time to commit to the show

The ending of Last Christmas feels like one inside-a-dream too many because originally Jenna Coleman was questioning whether she was going to leave the show or not and the ending was rewritten after the first readthrough when she decided she wanted to stay for another season

The first five episodes of Season 7 feel like each one takes place in a different genre because that's literally how Steven Moffat pitched it to the writers; for example, A Town Called Mercy was literally pitched as "Doctor Who does a Western"

Not so much a weird one but one I find cool: Eleven's first words and Thirteen's first words were literally written by Moffat and Chibnall respectively, as they were brought in to write the first words of the first Doctors of their runs so as to make it cohesive

The reason why Fourteen isn't wearing Thirteen's clothes when he regenerates is because Jodie Whittaker is much shorter than David Tennant and Russell T. Davies didn't want it to look like he was making fun of the genderfluidity of the Doctor (still think he made the wrong decision, but eh)

Wilfred Mott isn't in the Runaway Bride and Donna's father isn't in Partners in Crime because the actor who played Donna's father, Howard Attfield, died after filming several scenes for Partners In Crime, leading to the character of "Stan Mott" from Voyage of the Damned being written into Partners In Crime as Donna's grandfather

Astrid Peth doesn't die in the original drafts of Voyage of the Damned, but Russell T. Davies wrote what is generally considered one of the most emotional deaths in Doctor Who just because he wanted Kylie Minogue to be able to focus on her music career

Originally Oxygen was written as a prequel to Mummy on the Orient Express, where a corporate representative appeared on a monitor. Said representative was fired for his fumbling of the station and would later live on as the company computer, Gus

During Season 11, Chris Chibnall had to do some major rewrites for many of the one-off episodes, therefore The Battle of Ranskoor Av Kolos ended up being a first draft that made it to screen. He later admitted it was his least favorite episode of the series

And this is only a fraction of what I found in terms of major behind-the-scenes writing reasons. Though I am still totally willing to critique the product that made it to our screens, finding out the reasons behind some of the more badly written episodes of the show really made me feel sympathy for every showrunner of the show as well as appreciate a lot of the good episodes that ended up here despite the short production schedule/unexpected problems (once again, Boom Town my beloved AND everyone's favorite companion Wilfred Mott only exist because of unforseen problems). Absolutely bonkers, isn't it?

[brewed-pangolin]

Just a little bit of Soap comfort...

18+MDNI

--

You didn't have to call him. He was already waiting on your doorstep when you came home.

"C'mere, bonnie." His voice was like velvet. Soothing the open nerves of your heart while his arms welcomed you into his loving sanctuary.

You had cured an unspoken bond when you were together. It was so long ago, yet the tendrils of devotion still pulled at your souls like vines. Stubborn and overgrown.

"I still love ya, y'know." He spoke soflty into the delicate fibers of your hair. Burying your head into his chest, encapsulated within the safety of his embrace as your world shattered like emotionally stained glass all around you.

"I can't do this, Johnny. Not now." Your feigned attempt a reluctance was met by a tighter hold of his arms around you.

"I know. We donnae 'ave to do anythin'. Jus' talk if ya want."

-

That 'just talk' lasted no more than thirty minutes before Johnny had you splayed out underneath him.

Every thrust fracturing your soul. Every fragmented whimper swallowed by his greedy void. Feasting relentlessly on your heartache, emptying the pain within your chest. Filling the vacuum with his overwhelming tenderness to dull the burn of healing as your mind and body cauterized itself from yet another failed relationship.

"Johnny," you whimpered breathlessly into his mouth.

"I know, bonnie. I know."

His wavering timbre sending you barreling into overstimulatation. Clenching your eyes, digging your nails into his flesh of his back as the pulse of an orgasm radiates deep within your pelvic floor.

"Open your eyes, love. Got'a see ya. Fuck, miss seein' ya like this."

You willingly follow his grunting command. Meeting his gaze, immediately drowning in his cerulean seas as you reach your climax and blissfully convulse around him.

"Joh-" your murmured whine was quickly silenced by his mouth. Defeaning your moans as he slows his pace, his hips stuttering with a growly moan as he abruptly empties himself deep within your welcoming caverns.

"I fuckin' love ya, bonnie. Love ya so goddamn much."

"I know, Johnny." His exhausted proclamation ricocheted off the walls and straight into your heart. Cementing the borders of your soul once more as you found yourself again within the deep recesses of his eyes.

You trail a finger across his sweat covered brow. Curling tendrils of his overgrown mohawk behind his ear, find your voice once more as his body steadily trembles above you.

"You wanna try again, Johnny? See what happens?"

"Aye. I'd try fer a lifetime if it meant I could 'ave jus' one night wit you."

You sealed the next juncture of your renewal with a kiss. Rekindling the flame between your conjoined bodies as the doors of eternity opened in a welcoming embrace.

--

I don't know what this is, besides a heap of emotional mumbo-jumbo. Whatever. I love writing SoftSoap. And writing this just healed my soul.

Drabbles Masterlist

@deadbranch @sofasoap @jynxmirage @glitterypirateduck @homicidal-slvt @astraluminaaa @punishmepunisher @d3athtr4psworld @ghosts-goldendoodle @obligatoryghoststare @shotmrmiller @writeforfandoms @thetrashpossum @simpingoverquestionablemen @mykneeshurt @haurasha @kkaaaagt @luismickydees

[angelap3]

Non so perdonare. Né dimenticare.

Lettera scritta in risposta ad Alberto Jacoviello, inviato di «la Repubblica» e «L'Unità», che si scusava per averla offesa in passato.

Caro Jacoviello,

....chiedere scusa, come tu hai fatto, quando si ha torto, è sempre nobile. E non molti ne sono capaci, non molti ne hanno il coraggio. Però devo dirti ciò che dirò e, se non lo facessi, mentirei non solo a te ma a me stessa.

....Io non so perdonare. Né perdonare né dimenticare. È uno dei miei più grandi limiti forse, e il più lugubre. E meno che mai so perdonare quando una ferita mi è stata inferta da persone dalle quali mi aspettavo affetto, tenerezza, o sulle quali mi facevo illusioni positive. Ciò non significa, naturalmente, ch'io dichiari guerra o resti in guerra con coloro che mi hanno ferito, offeso. Significa che quelle persone le liquido. Le cancello dai miei pensieri, dalla mia vita. Se le incontro per strada le saluto, in alcuni casi ci scambio una parola, ma dentro di me è come se mi rivolgessi a un'ombra. Esse non esistono più.

.....In questi ultimi due anni, cioè da quando la morte e il dolore si sono abbattuti su di me indurendomi, ho liquidato più persone che in tutta la mia vita. Non v'è uomo o donna colpevole verso di me che non sia finito nella Siberia dei miei sentimenti.

Hai perfettamente ragione a chiudere la tua lettera dicendo che chi non sa perdonare condanna sé stesso alla solitudine. Però hai torto a ritenere che tale «condanna» sia per tutti insopportabile. E dimentichi il proverbio che dice: «Meglio soli che male accompagnati». Non sempre la solitudine è una prigione. A volte, per alcuni, è una conquista che difende da ulteriori ferite ed offese. Solo i deboli e i poveri di spirito hanno paura della solitudine e si annoiano a stare soli. Io non sono debole. Sono molto forte, e durissima ormai. Non sono neanche povera di spirito. Quindi non ho paura della solitudine.

Tutte le volte che ti ho visto mi hai raccontato antichi insulti scritti i pensati. E tutte le volte che ti ho visto è stato come ricevere una coltellata nel cuore. Mi ha colto una nausea che solo la mia capacità di controllo è riuscita a nascondere o a vestire con gli abiti dell'indignazione. È probabile che la tua coscienza si senta lavata dal fatto di avermi confessato quegli antichi insulti scritti o pensati. Ma io non credo che confessare un peccato equivalga a cancellare il peccato. Quel concetto cattolico, anzi cristiano, mi ha sempre inorridito. I peccati commessi restano peccati commessi e niente può cancellarli: né Dio, né il diavolo, né gli uomini, né una sfilata di pater e di ave-maria detti per penitenza. Ciò vale per me, per te, per l'umanità intera presente e passata. Ecco perché non riesco a perdonare. Non voglio.

Ciò è spietato? Sono tanto spietata con me stessa che non vedo perché dovrei essere dolce con gli altri. Il massimo ch'io possa consentirmi è rispondere in modo esteso a chi mi ha scritto in modo esteso. Spiegarmi a chi mi ha spiegato. Ed è molto. Tu sei l'unica persona fra le decine che ho liquidato, esiliato nella Siberia dei sentimenti, cui abbia detto no con una lettera e non col silenzio. Di solito oppongo un silenzio di pietra. Quello che seguirà a questa lettera.

E così farò, sempre, in tutte le circostanze della vita, con tutti coloro che tentano di impormi una prepotenza. E non cederò, mai. Mai. E guai a chi si permette o si è permesso o si permetterà di mettere in dubbio la mia onestà professionale e personale: che poi sono, ovvio, la medesima cosa.

Ora mi è più facile dirti addio.

Peccato. Ma addio.

Oriana Fallaci

[banaynay-art]

Okay hear me out.... trans!tenthree

[ID: A two panel comic. The 10th Doctor or rather Ten Three is sitting next to Donna Noble, sulking. Donna is wearing a scooby doo shirt and drinking tea. The Doctor says: "Sigh. I miss being a woman..." Donna answers: "Don' 'ave to be a man." In the next panel she smiles smugly while the doctor looks ecstatic! /End ID]

[ilikeyoualive]

Fuck Around and Find Out WIP

Main Masterlist

Warnings: Vulgar Language, Typical Omegaverse Dynamic Issues

Word Count: 387

"You should've seen how they writhed on my knot, begging for more. I was tempted to take a video, for a keepsake." (Rando Alpha)

"An’ how much did ye pay fer the performance?" (Soap)

"What?" (Rando Alpha)

"Anyone who's been wit’ an omega durin’ an actual heat kens tha' they donnae act like mindless, cock drunk whores." (Soap) "Which means tha' ye paid fer an omega's company, one who definitely wasnnae in heat."

"What would a fucking beta like you know about omegas in heat?" (Rando Alpha)

"Ah've helped an omega or two through heat before." (Soap)

"Bullshit. Why would an omega want to spend their heat with a beta?" (Rando Alpha)

"Maybe because betas tend tae take no fer an answer an’ respect boundaries, cannae say the same fer knotheads like ye." (Soap)

"The fuck did you just call me?" (Rando Alpha)

"The fact that yer gettin’ aggressive because ae some name-callin’ proves mah point. Yer just an arrogant, empty-minded, waste ae air that so happens tae have a knot." (Soap)

The rando alpha steps into Soap's personal space as he pumps out pheromones that Soap can’t smell and suddenly, a hand is clamping down on the back of the Scot's neck, gloved fingers curling to cover as much of Soap's vulnerable throat as possible as a familiar and ominous presence loomed behind the Scot.

A low rumble reverberated through the training room, stopping everyone dead in their tracks, and Soap had never heard an omega make a sound like that before. He was more used to the purring and the occasional whine, but this was something else entirely. It made goosebumps erupt on his skin, and he was abruptly struck by the instinct to get away from the source of such an enraged sound.

"If you're lookin to start a fight, I'll be finishin it." (Ghost) "Rein your fuckin' pheromones in, Sergeant. Now."

"Lieutenant, he provoked me—" (Rando Alpha)

"So, no’ only were you intendin to force my Sergeant to submit to you usin pheromones, which is prohibi’ed unless you're a Cap’ain or ov higher rankin, you also ‘ave the fuckin' gall to try an’ lie to me." (Ghost)

"I'm not ly—" (Rando Alpha)

"One more word from you an’ I’ll be speakin to my Cap’ain abou’ ‘avin you transferred to a differen’ base." (Ghost)

[donaruz]

E te ne vai, Maria, fra l'altra gente

che si raccoglie intorno al tuo passare,

siepe di sguardi che non fanno male

nella stagione di essere madre.

Sai che fra un'ora forse piangerai

poi la tua mano nasconderà un sorriso:

gioia e dolore hanno il confine incerto

nella stagione che illumina il viso.

Ave Maria, adesso che sei donna,

ave alle donne come te, Maria,

femmine un giorno per un nuovo amore

povero o ricco, umile o Messia.

Femmine un giorno e poi madri per sempre

nella stagione che stagioni non sente.

Fabrizio De Andre / Gian Piero Reverberi

Nuovi Poeti

[metamorphosisff]

|Seven| Breaking Patterns

“Wait!”

I’m running, knees to chest down fourth ave, towards the van on the corner. Xavier was just stepping inside when he heard my voice frantically yell ‘wait’ over and over again. It’s not my fault that I am late but in this situation it won’t matter. Courts don’t care about obnoxious bosses that didn’t let you go until a replacement arrived. There is no way I can miss even one day of community service or else my misdemeanor will go on record and my plea deal out of the window. My lungs are burning when I make it to the van and I can see the members of our group staring from the windows. I flash my middle finger which makes a few of them avert their gazes.

“Take a breath, we weren’t going to leave you. Jazz threatened to pretend to stroke out if we did,” Xavier said, causing me to chuckle as I hoisted myself inside. He climbs in behind me and soon we’re off. Today we’re back on the side of some highway picking up trash.

“Thanks for looking out Jazz,” I say, plopping down next to her in the front. Her hair is back in its usual braids and the marvelous nails from last Thursday gone. I wouldn’t waste a good look on community service either.

“I got you Birdie, drink some water before you pass out,” Jazz says, slipping my water bottle out from my bag and pushing it into my hands.

We’re in the middle of a heat wave, my shirt, and pants are clinging to me in the worst of ways. I take several gulps as the van joins midday traffic. Xavier flashes an amused look in my direction but the squint I send back has him focusing back on the attendance sheet on the top of his clipboard. Since we hung out last week we’ve spoken at least once everyday whether through texts or phone calls. Our silent exchange doesn’t go unnoticed by Jazz but she waits until we are armed with pokers and trash bags before her inquisition begins.

“Spill it lil girl,” Jazz says once we find our piece of the side of the road to call our own. We are out of earshot from any elephant ears.

“It’s not that deep, I agreed to let him try to be my friend,” I said, with a shrug. That might be an oversimplification but it’s the gist of the situation thus far.��

“Good, don’t let him just try, let him be. You saw him again after the meeting?” Jazz asked, having sensed our growing closeness. 

“Yeah, last weekend. We went to this food festival at Bryant Park. It was nice, he’s not so bad. We talk on the phone sometimes,” I replied.

“See what happens when you give folks a chance?” Jazz says.

“Ehh not too much on me Jazz. I’m a work in progress,” I chuckled as I tied the garbage bag around a belt loop. It’s easier than trying to fight with it in my hand as I move around.

“As long as you're progressing, that’s all that matters, trust me. I got a good feeling about Mr. Clipboard,” Jazz says, before she starts humming a Donna Summer song.

That’s my cue to take what she’s said and to go on about my business. This is one of those days where we work side by side in comfortable silence and I don’t mind. It allows me to slow down for the first time today. I lose myself in random mental checklists and by the time I’m done so are we. We’re back in the van and are being dumped off in midtown once more. Tonight Xavier teaches, so he doesn’t linger like normal to watch us all get off of the van. He manages to toss me a smile and head nod before heading into his office to grab his stuff. Jazz and I take the trek to the train station on 49th and part ways with a promise to speak later. 

By the time I make it back to my neck of the woods I’m exhausted but not too tired to yell at Papi through the park fence two blocks from our building. “PAPI! Let’s go!”

It’s already close to seven, the basketball court is growing with older kids, and adults which means he no longer needs to be around. He doesn’t question me or plead for more time, simply daps up his friends, and scoops up his bag from a pile on the ground. In less than a minute, he’s jogging by my side, and enveloping me in a sweaty hug.

“Auntie, I'm hungry and Ma’ forgot to leave something. I don’t want cereal,” Papi says, scrunching up his face at the thought.

“I’m making pasta tonight. After you take a shower, come over, and I got you. I’ll leave the door unlocked,” I said.

“Okay, thanks. I thought I was about to be down bad,” he jokes, flashing me a grin.

“Boy please.”

He laughs because he knows I would not let him eat cereal for dinner but being dramatic comes second nature with Mari as his mother. We make quick work of the rest of our short walk before heading into our respective apartments. I take a fast shower, setting the water for the pasta to boil while I wash the grim of the day away. When I finish, I dress in some biker shorts and an oversized Yankees t-shirt I’m pretty sure used to be my father’s. I’m in the middle of placing ground meat into a sauté pan when I hear the front door open and close.

“Papi go in the living room and watch TV. Dinner will be done in like thirty,” I say, adding seasoning to the pan.

“Y’all having dinner without me?” a raspy voice asks, causing me to whip around.

Standing on the other side of the kitchenette counter is my ex Trevor. I frown instantly as I take in the sight of the person I thought I loved. What he and I had was volatile for a lack of better words. We were a season that lasted way too long but his passion is what kept me near. It’s also what ultimately drove me away. He was too possessive and I didn’t like that shit. Case and point, this unwelcomed pop up.

“What the fuck are you doing in here?” I say, moving closer to the knife block.

“Why did you have the door unlocked?” he chuckles, leaning across the counter. He’s dressed in basketball shorts and a graphic t-shirt. Clothes that will let him move stealthily. I eye the knives once again.

“Trevor. I’m about to treat you like an intruder. The fuck do you want?” I asked.

“Jamila chill out, I didn’t even come to argue with you. I wanted to see how you were doing,” he said, drumming his tan fingers against the counter. His knuckles were bruised which is of no surprise. He is always in a fight, with others and with himself.

“I was doing fine until you got here and I will do better when you leave. I don’t want to talk to you. Make this the last time you come here,” I said.

“Damn, it’s like that? I know we go through our little squabbles but-

“Nah call it what it is, you hit me,” I said, causing him to flinch which incenses me further. How dare he act like a victim. 

“I didn’t mean to do that for real, you were just doing a lot, and it was a reflex. An accident for real baby,” Trevor said, taking a step closer causing me to take a step back. The heat from the stove causes me to move up slightly and I can see him calculating how he’ll close the space between us.

“Do not call me that! It wasn’t an accident, you were sober, and it only needs to happen one time for me to know it’ll happen again. I’m not interested. So you need to leave, if you have any respect for me at all.”

Shaking my head I couldn’t even believe I have to say this but I do because Trevor walks through life thinking everyone should bend to his will. If they didn’t do it of their own volition, he became forceful. Whatever bullshit is about to be spewed from his lips is interrupted by Papi and one of the older boys from downstairs coming in armed with bats.

“Aye Ms. Jamila, you aight?” Carlos asks, as he eyes Trevor. For a fifteen year old, he’s built like a D-1 college football player. Trevor’s lanky frame is no match for this kid’s and he knows it, raising his hands in retreat.

“I’m good love, please escort this nigga off the premises. He seems to be lost,” I said, as Papi goes to hold the door wide open.

“Fine Jamila, I see how it is,” Trevor huffs, marching through the door with Carlos trailing behind him. “Don’t know what I was thinking about coming back to your crazy ass anyway.”

“Me either, good riddance. C, come get a plate in like twenty minutes,” I said, following them until I hit my doorway.

It’s the least I can do for him having to play bodyguard for me. Carlos nods his head but doesn’t take his eyes off of Trevor as they walk down the stairs. 

“Auntie, you good? Do I need to call Ma’?” Papi asks, hugging me tightly.

“No my love, let’s not bother her. I’m okay really, you did me proud. Earned my last icee in the fridge for being brave and calling for help,” I said, running my fingers through his dense curls in an effort to soothe him and myself.

“I never liked that guy Auntie,” he sighed, releasing me so that he could step back inside my apartment. “I hope that’s the last we see of him.”

“Me too Papi, me too.”

His words haunt me, so eerily similar to Xavier’s that day he told me about Sabrina. I’m more like his cousin than he knows. I don’t want her ending. I make a mental note to be more on guard for a while in case Trevor tries to come back a second time. Hopefully he has finally accepted that I am no longer interested.

His visit makes Papi extra clingy tonight as the ten year old insists on sleeping in my living room with the bat by his side instead of in his own bed across the hall. I let Marissa know in a voice note what’s happened before her son can beat me to it. This is one thing I don’t need him exaggerating. When that’s done, I lock up, clean the kitchen, and finally head back into my bedroom. I leave the door cracked like I always do when Papi is over. It’s late but my mind is restless. After a brief debate, I call the one person I know who is awake at this hour.

“‘It must be pigs flying somewhere if you called me first,” is how Xavier picks up the line, chuckling to himself.

“Don’t make me hang up on you,” I said, leaning back into my pillows.

“I kid, I kid. What’s on your mind Jamila?” he asks, with what sounds like the wind blowing in the background.

“Are you still outside?” I reply instead.

“Yeah, I stayed late to walk some students through a few errors made on their last test. Got off the train not too long ago,” he said.

“Ahh okay, I can hear the wind but uh to answer your question, Sabrina is on my mind. The story you told me,” I replied.

I hear his breath catch but he recovers quickly and says, “Expound on that a bit please.”

“Let’s say I have an ex like her boyfriend. He only hit me once and I ended it right after it happened. He popped up in my apartment today. Papi and one of his friends had to save me, and he echoed your words ‘I never liked him’ and it scared the shit out of me. Because deep down, I didn’t even like that man, not for real. He was fun and convenient until he was neither. I could have died because I wanted to be special to someone. How fucked up is that?” I breathe out in one shot.

Each sentence had been tossed over and over again in my mind for the duration of the evening. I may not be on drugs like my parents but I sure as hell have the same self-destructive tendencies coded in my DNA. It left me blind to bad decisions until it was too late.

“It’s not fucked up, it’s human. Wanting human interaction is as normal as sensing a predator. You’ve identified where you went wrong and made the corrections needed, don’t be hard on yourself because he’s stuck in the same pattern,” he said.

His words like his voice are soothing but they don’t sink in at the same rate. While his tone makes me settle more underneath my sheets, his words are working hard to make a chink in my armor.

“That is easier said than done. I have a kid sleeping in my living room because he wants to protect me. It should be the other way around,” I sighed.

“You both protect each other in different ways and that’s beautiful,” he says. I hear keys jingling which means he has finally made it home. “How are you doing now though? I know facing him in your space like that was probably scary. Do you think you should call the police?”

“No, I think he got the hint for real today that it’s over between us but how do I feel?,” I shrugged, as if he could see me. “I was scared at first but I’m annoyed more than anything now that it’s all over. The last few months of my life have been a mess and I don’t want that anymore. I want different, even though I don’t know what that looks like for me yet.”

“Just having the intention to want that for yourself will lead you in the right direction. Keep listening to your gut,” he said.

“I will try my hardest,” I said.

“And let me know if he pops up again. I mean it, Jamila,” he said, making sure to emphasize his words with the following, “You hear me?”

“Yes I hear you, I will let you know,” deciding to let him have the last say on that round. I’ve learned there is no point going back and forth with him when he sounds this determined. So I switched the subject instead. “Sounds like you just got in.”

“Yeah but I won’t sleep for another hour or so. I’m starving,” he chuckles as he moves around, shuffling through his home as he gets settled.

“You’re like a bottomless pit. Where does it all go?” I asked. 

“Ha! I workout a lot, it’s how I deal with stress which in turn has my metabolism through the roof,” he explains.

“Hence the bottomless pit,” I say.

“Hence the bottomless pit,” he repeats, as I hear a water faucet turn on. It sounds as if he’s washing his hands because his voice sounds closer like he’s cradling the phone between his shoulder and ear. “Is it cool if we talk a little more or are you tired?”

Ever since the first night we talked on the phone and I fell asleep, he was always sure to ask me if I was up to staying up. He was considerate in small ways that made me wonder about the large ways in which he could be mindful. 

“Yeah, that’s cool, I’m not tired yet.”

I can practically hear his smile through the phone but don’t call him out on it. Instead, I listen to him launch into a spiel about why I should be watching the Marvel shows on Disney Plus. My shoulders drop for the first time in hours as the tension from earlier melts away. Having another friend isn’t so bad after all.

I underestimated precisely how annoying it was to have more than one friend. They noticed things about you in ways that did not make sense. Xavier had been watching me like a hawk this afternoon and in turn, Jazz had been watching him watch me. Tucking a loose braid behind my ear I squinted my eyes at him but all that earned me was an unbothered smirk. The gesture let me know that he wasn’t going to stop.

“Look at y’all with your own silent language and everything,” Jazz said, pretending to dab at tears.

“Pleaseee. He’s acting like a helicopter parent. Just because I threatened to shove this paint brush up Damon’s– or whatever the fuck that weirdo’s name is– ass, doesn’t mean I’m going to do it,” I said.

Waving her hand in the air, Jazz shook her head. “He gave that ashy boy his walking papers right after you did. That’s not why he’s got his eyes all on you.”

“Probably just being annoying and it’s working because he’s getting on my nerves,” I huff, taking a moment to wipe at my brow.

We were outside painting over walls of graffiti on a commercial block that Chelsea’s gentrified residents had been complaining about. All of this work was in vain. The wall would be tagged again the moment we were out of sight. 

Amused Jazz pauses painting to look over at me, “And pray tell why Mr. Clipboard merely looking at you has you in a tizzy?”

I rolled my eyes. Jazz thought we were both lying to ourselves about having a friendship only. Citing some notion about there being too much chemistry between us. Whatever she was seeing, I had yet to see for myself as Xavier has done a great job at respecting my boundaries. I was growing to appreciate his friendship so a part of me didn’t want to see whatever she was seeing. So I’m going to chalk it up as Jazz  reading into things way too much. 

“He’s being aggravating,” I said loudly, which I heard him chuckle at from a distance.

“Mmhm sure that’s it,” Jazz says, stepping closer to bump her hip with mine. “Listen here Birdie, that man is looking at you like you’re a rare jewel. You’re uncomfortable because no one ever told you that you were precious but you are. You deserve to be admired and you also deserve to enjoy it.”

My chest thumps when her words settle between my ears and start to churn in my mind. She’s speaking on thoughts I haven’t had the time to analyze for myself. They were in me, buried deep, where no light shined because I didn’t have time for those thoughts. I did not have time to think why I was constantly alone or why I became accustomed to being so. I did not have the time now either but I was not as quick to dismiss the ever elusive thoughts of ‘what if’.

“Maybe,” I murmured, bumping her hip with mine. “For now, let’s agree that he’s getting on my nerves.”

“I shall not but I will go back to my podcast while you let what I said simmer,” Jazz chuckles.

It’s just as well because I would not have been paying full attention to anything else in the conversation. She had dropped a bomb on me that took over my thoughts for the remainder of the time we were outside. I still wasn’t quite convinced that Xavier was doing what Jazz claimed. When I dropped my supplies in the back of the van, I pulled him to the side to ask.

“Alright, what’s with the staring,” I said.

He snickered, “Besides getting on your nerves?”

Rolling my eyes, I shook my head. “I knew it.”

“Nah, that was an added bonus,” he smirked, as he readjusted his clipboard underneath his arm. “I was staring because though you said you were okay after ol’ boy popped up, I wanted to make sure you weren’t covering up any aches or pains that aren’t in plain sight.”

His amended answer stills me. The ghost of a stranger looms over my shoulders foreshadowing a future I don’t have to have. I just had to keep choosing myself. 

“Like Sabrina?” I asked softly.

Turning his eyes from the van, they landed on mine as he nodded his head, expression growing serious. “Yeah. I promised myself I’d never let another woman go through something like that on my watch especially if I could see the signs.”

In his gaze I saw the gravity of the vow he took and knew by his tone that he considered me as a woman on his watch. As caveman as that sounded, I appreciate the sentiment because I can’t remember if there ever was a time a man protected me from anything. They normally only caused harm in my world. In his eyes I saw the lengths he would be willing to go and I never wanted him to take them. Not after him sharing a bit of his troubled past with me.

“Very Prince Charming of you,” I said, over sharing my observations.

“I’ll be your knight in shining armor anytime Jamila ,” he said with a wink.

“Anddd there the corniness goes. You never leave home without it do you?” I chuckled, causing him to laugh as he walked closer to the van to close the back doors now that all of the supplies were returned.

“Never,” he said, as we walked towards the front. “Speaking of home, is it cool if I escort you?”

My chest did that thumping thing again and I made a mental note to see a doctor as soon as I got good health insurance. Rubbing at the area, I chewed on my bottom lip as I contemplated his offer.

Pausing my stride I said, “You live in the city and I live all the way in East New York. I can’t ask you to do that.”

“You didn’t ask, I offered,” he countered.

“You aren’t going to take no for an answer are you?” I asked, noting the glint he got in his eyes when he was adamant about something.

“As he shouldn’t!” Jazz says from a cracked window, causing us to whip our heads to the left. “Now come on. We don’t have all day and rush hour traffic is not for the faint of heart.”

We chuckle but board the van knowing that she’s right on both fronts.

“What’s he doing here?”

Papi walks into my apartment with sun kissed skin that glistens with sweat. His book bag half haphazardly hangs off of his shoulder as he eyes Xavier who is sitting at the counter with my laptop. I turn my attention from the stove towards him.

“First off, hello Papi, my day was good. Thanks for asking,” I said, propping my hand on my hip.

“Sorry Auntie,” he says, entering the kitchen to place a kiss on my cheek. “Now, why is he here?”

“Because he’s helping me fix my resume. Stop being rude and say hello,” I said, tapping his shoulder.

“Hi friend,” Papi said, causing Xavier to chuckle.

“What’s up lil man?” Xavier asked.

“You tell me. Why couldn’t you fix the resume on your laptop?” Papi asked him.

Xavier’s eyes darted to mine because he hadn’t expected to be put on the spot. Using my fingertips, I tip his chin so that his gaze is aligned with mine.

“You want to go to that fancy basketball camp right?” I asked.

We had found a camp to send him to that ran all day but wasn’t free. It’d cost two thousand dollars for seven weeks of camp. I told Mari I would be able to go half. We put down the five hundred deposit to hold his spot but would need the rest for him to start. 

“Yeah,” he said.

“Okay, so that costs money. I have to get the best paying job possible and can’t do that with a jacked up application. He’s helping me on my computer because it’s my resume. Got it?” I said.

“Got it. Help us get the bag and then go somewhere. Preferably to your house,” Papi said as he exited the kitchen. “I’m going to take a shower. I’ll be back for dinner.”

“It’ll be done in thirty,” I replied.

Papi gives Xavier one last glare before stomping Vans clad feet across the hall. We listen as he slams his door shut and I sigh while pinching the bridge of my nose.

“Sorry about that,” I said after a beat.

“Aye,” Xavier says, the gentleness in his tone causing me to look up. “He’s a kid who literally had to protect you from another man the other day. He is allowed to be cautious, in fact it’s normal, and healthy that he is.”

I take a few steps closer to the counter that separates us and drum my fingers on top. “I know. I wish he didn’t have to do that. He deserves to just be the kid we weren’t able to be. Feel like I stripped some of his innocence away.”

“Talk to him about it. Kids are more resilient than we think and open communication will help preserve the innocence that remains. You don’t want his knucklehead friends giving him advice on what relationships between men and women are supposed to look like,” he says.

I’m reaching for a braid to twirl when he leans across and intercepts. Using his finger to wrap the strand around. I side eye him but he is unmoved as he continues, “It won’t be as nerve wracking as you're making it out to be but if you want, I can send you one of my old lectures that touches on the subject, and gives some pointers to start from.”

“Thank you, I’d appreciate that. Now unhand me so I can go check on dinner,” I said, shifting my eyes to his finger once more.

He chuckles but releases my hair as effortlessly as he grabbed it before shifting his focus back to the laptop. We fall into a companionable silence, neither us feeling the need to fill the space with words. The soft clicks of the keyboard, the popping of grease, and the Quiet Storm from 107.5 serve as all the ambiance we need. Moving around each other in this space feels natural as a freshly showered Papi joins us. He sits right next to Xavier and eventually thaws enough to start asking questions about resumés as curiosity gets the best of him. When we eat, it’s in the living room while watching a Lakers game, and after Xavier takes it upon himself to wash the dishes as I get Papi settled across the hall. Now we’re standing out front as we wait for his Uber that’s ten minutes away. It’s too late to play with the trains and he has work waiting for him when he gets in.

“When you see me…what do you see?” I ask, causing him to look up from his phone. He’s one of those people that thinks watching the rideshare app screen will make the car come faster. Normally, I’d leave him to it but this question had been plaguing me all day. 

“Like in general?” he replied, angling his body towards me, instantly giving me his undivided attention.

“Yeah, like what’s your perception of me. I have been thinking about how I come off to other people. Wondering if I’m really as cold as I seem, as I feel, if I’m being honest. I know how I got this way but I’m not sure how to reverse it. So I’m hoping there’s more to the eye than the frost I emit. Some part of who I used to be,” I say in a rush.

I don’t know how he does it but when I’m around Xavier words spill out of my mouth like a waterfall. An overflow of thoughts that I now have a human soundboard for. 

“The frost is there but it is not all encompassing. I see a lot of things when I look at you. I see a wisdom forged in years that were meant for mistakes, I see fear of the unknown, I see the distrust you have in people which occurs when your only experience has been one betrayal after the other, I see the resilience you passed onto that young man upstairs, I see the strength from carrying your burden and others, I see generations of beauty on both sides, I see eyes that are curious, I see a mind sharper than any sword that probably belongs in somebody’s boardroom,I see sarcastic comments waiting to be unleashed,  I see…you Jamila. You,” he says, while looking me in the eyes.

There is something in his gaze that makes me believe him. That makes me visualize the puzzle of my personality that he has pieced together. His description is not far off, in fact, it’s pretty spot on. I don’t acknowledge that though, choosing to ask another question instead.

“You’ve only known me for a little over two months and you see all of that?” I asked.

“I’m good at reading people, especially those I find interesting, so yeah, I see all of that. What do you see when you look at me?” he questioned, flipping the tables.

“I see…compassion. The real kind, you don’t perform it, you are it. I see knowledge that I learn from. I see…,” I said, pausing to collect my thoughts. I’m not as eloquent as him so I know I need to get to the point fast. As I muse, he uses the opportunity to inch closer as if he doesn’t want to risk losing any of my words. 

“I see what second chances look like, I see someone who makes things happen for himself, I see the answers to all the questions I have and the patience to hear them all, I see sadness, raw to touch but it’s a scar not a wound. I see the need to find a purpose bigger than yourself.”

He nods his head before saying, “The duration of time doesn’t matter when you’re paying attention to what’s right in front of you. That’s what I have learned over these last few months and you have reminded me of that again.”

“That doesn’t freak you out?” I said.

“Nah, life is about meeting and connecting with as many people as possible. This is how we grow into who we’re meant to be. One conversation at a time,” he said, nudging his shoulder with mine.

“I don’t know about meeting a ton of people but I’m learning that conversations aren’t so terrible,” I say.

“I told your ass,” he chuckles as I look out towards the street. The neighborhood is still alive even at ten in the evening. It’s second nature for me to look around and take in who’s also outside. The same suspects as usual crowd the same corners and front steps. None of them pay us any mind. “What are you doing Saturday?” 

I turn my gaze back towards him. “After doing laundry and shopping with Mari, nothing why?”

“Cause I’ma be back this way. I have to run an errand downtown, want to keep me company?” he asks, his look hopeful. The rest of his body language is calm, with his shoulder relaxed and forearms resting on his lap. It’s those eyes that are alive with the possibility of my answer. 

“Sure as long as you feed me,” I say. For some reason I want to see the rest of him light up with the energy in his eyes and he does. Smiling big as he laughs at my sole stipulation. My eyes swing back towards the street having seen enough.

“Yes, I’ll feed you and you talk about me being greedy,” he says right as I spot a gray Toyota Camry turning onto the end of the block. “That’s me. Thanks for dinner.”

“No thank you for fixing my resume and my cover letters. I appreciate that and for making sure that I was okay,” I said, as we both stood up.

“It’s nothing-

“No, it’s something. People don’t move like you do most of the time,” I said with a shrug, my personal experience has proved otherwise so it was worth noting a positive one. “I might be asleep when you do but text me when you get in.”

“I got you. If I try to hug you, will you punch me?” he asks with a grin.

“Annoying ass,” I said.

“That wasn’t a no!” he snickers.

I roll my eyes again before wrapping him in a side hug. He squeezes me briefly, giving me a waft of his cologne. It’s five seconds at max but when we part he looks like he’s just won the lottery. He wears a silly smile as he walks backwards towards the car. “Goodnight, go inside.”

“I’m going,” I said, as I ease up the steps backwards. “Goodnight.”

We wave at each other one last time before I disappear inside.

I’m home.

Okay, good.

…I kind of want to bother you now that I know you’re still awake.

Go for it.

Within seconds my phone is flashing with an incoming Facetime call which I answer. Xavier is seated on a deep blue couch with a thick stack of papers in his lap, a red pen in hand, and a pair of black glasses resting on the edge of his nose. He’s dressed down in a Boyz N Tha Hood t-shirt and a pair of basketball shorts. His outfit is similar to mine because I’m also in a graphic tee but mine is oversized so it can double as a nightgown. 

“What has you still awake?” he asks.

“I can’t turn my brain off so I was reading trying to tire myself out,” I reply.

“That makes sense, what book is it?” he asks next.

I hold up my copy of Sarah J. Maas’ House of Earth and Blood. It has taken me the last month to get even halfway through but it’s a great story.

“Let me find out you into reading fairy sex the booktok girls be talking about,” he chuckles, causing me to laugh because I wasn’t expecting that to come out of his mouth.

“One, they are fae in this story and two, how do you even know what booktok is?” I question, as I plop the heavy book back down onto my bed.

“I try to keep up with my sister's interest but I had to draw the line once I found out that booktok is just a bunch of magical sex. There’s no way I’m discussing any of that shit with her young ass,” he says with a dramatic shudder as he jots down a note on what looks like a test as he flips the page. 

“That’s fair but it’s nice that you even tried. My brother talks at me, not to me,” I said, causing him to look up.

“Is he older or younger? And do you have more siblings?” he asks.

“Nah, it’s just us, and he is technically older by seven months but we’re the same age so no,” I said, which he snickers at.

“I take it y’all don’t get along,” he says.

“Not really, when things got bad here, his mother took back full custody of him, and they moved down to Virginia. He went on to continue having a normal childhood and I was stuck here. He doesn’t understand my choices and I don’t understand his. We live in two different worlds,” I said with a shrug.

“There’s always a chance to fix that if you want to, that is. My sister is my only sibling but I have a gang of cousins who are like siblings. We don’t always get along or understand each other but we try. Sometimes it’s easy and sometimes…,” he trails off but he doesn’t have to finish. I know where his thoughts are going and I want to keep him in the moment.

“Sometimes you have to accept the differences are too great to ignore. It’s what I have had to do but getting back to the subject at hand,  all I meant was, I know your sister appreciates you taking an interest in her life,” I said.

“I hope so man, I hope so. I know she regards me as a third parent but I really want to be her sibling too and not just another authority figure,” he said.

“Well it sounds like you’re doing a great job. Keep being consistent with her, that's important,” I said, as I sink further down into my bed. I lay my face on my pillow and prop the phone up against another pillow so that I don’t have to hold it. 

The sound of my movement draws his attention as he looks up at me. He pauses, as his eyes rove over my face. Even through a screen I can see thoughts swirling in them but I don’t ask for particulars.

“Getting tired?” he asks.

“A little but it’s okay, I’m still very much alert.”

He nods his head, giving me one last glance before returning to his work. I go back and forth between watching him work and getting lost in my thoughts. Eventually I fall asleep with the sound of his pen swishing across tests serving as much needed white noise.

[juncyoon]

𝐒𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐅𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐑 𝑚𝑎𝑦 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑠𝑒 𝑓𝑙𝑜𝑤𝑒𝑟𝑠 𝑓𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑜𝑛 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑠𝑎𝑑 𝑠𝑚𝑖𝑙𝑒

— point of view.

menção honrosa: @donnasjo e @swfpetrus

A ligação de Junho com as plantas é algo que sai fora do controle, desde pequeno havia essa forte ligação com o verde, mesmo morando em um apartamento minúsculo, sempre tinha plantas por perto. Então no acampamento não seria diferente, não é a toa que a sua cama sempre fica próxima da janela, porque não tinha espaço suficiente para ele e todo o verde que sempre surgia a sua volta, agora com o quarto de conselheiro, fica mais fácil de manter o seu cantinho bem seu e não interferir no espaço de nenhum de seus irmãos.

E na enfermaria estava da mesma forma, sendo a primeira vez em que Junho estaria na posição de paciente e necessitando de atenção, e de cuidados, os curandeiros precisavam se policiar sempre que uma planta nova surgia naquela parte da enfermaria, acabou sendo colocado em uma cama mais afastada para que houvesse mais espaço. E, de alguma forma, essa necessidade causava uma sensação boa, mesmo que Junho estivesse desacordado por tanto tempo, cada vez que uma folha surgia, era o sinal mais forte que tinham de que tudo estava bem.

E muitos se perguntavam o que estava se passando na cabeça do semideus, se questionando se realmente as coisas estavam bem por ali, quer dizer, desde o momento que retornou naquela forma tão engraçadinha de porquinho da índia, Junho não acordou mais e entendiam o motivo, os ferimentos foram bem mais profundos do que aparentavam, perdeu muito sangue, chegou muito enfraquecido, e se tivessem demorado um pouco mais, sequer teria chegado com vida. Graças a Donna, conseguiram reverter a magia de Circe e a sua forma humana foi recuperada, só então tiveram noção do nível dos ferimentos. A resistência de um semideus tem limites e, no caso dele, estava beirando a linha vermelha. Não foi preciso deixar mensagens de apoio e nem flores na cabeceira, o semideus recebia atenção de todas as formas, as vezes era um beijar-flor, rondando e pousando sobre ele, deslizando suas penas contra o corpo desacordado do filho de Deméter. Até abelhas eram vistas ali, como se buscassem apoia-lo de alguma maneira, havia o boato da benção que ele carregava desde quando nasceu, o presente que Perséfone deixou para que o irmão fosse bem cuidado, mas na prática, era difícil de ser visto, com ele desacordado naquela parte da enfermaria, estava se tornando comum.

E em uma noite fria, muito chuvosa, sem ter nem a iluminação da lua sobre eles, Junho finalmente deu sinais de alguma coisa. Seus dedos se remexiam como se estivesse preso a um pesadelo, espasmos talvez?! O corpo de Junho parecia estar reagindo ao tratamento, enquanto a noite se mantinha silenciosa, a enfermaria quieta e recebendo apenas a brisa gelada que invadia o espaço, com ela vinham vozes, não, não eram as vozes da fenda, Junho ouvia as plantas que finalmente decidiram falar. Uma pena que tenham decidido falar enquanto ele dormia, mas estavam tentando desperta-lo daquele pesadelo.

Junho estava preso a um loop constante, na escuridão do mundo dos sonhos, ele vivia e revivia momentos de sua vida que ele não queria mais lembrar, primeiro foi o que aconteceu com a sua vizinha e babá, depois o que aconteceu com o seu pai e em seguida, as lâminas das aves sendo lançadas nele, acertando-o de todas as formas possíveis, quando isso acontecia ele sumia, virava um pó iluminado e quente, e então tudo voltava a acontecer de novo. Naquela noite, foi diferente, estava no apartamento minúsculo em Nova Iorque, já era adulto e seu pai ainda lhe chamava de a-gi, pedia que ele lavasse a louça e cuidasse de suas plantas, porque ele era o único que conseguia fazer isso.

E então ficava sozinho na casa.

— Juno... Juno... Está ouvindo? - O sussurro invadiu o seu pequeno lar, fazendo ele virar o rosto em busca de quem lhe falava. Nunca ouviu nada tão direto e tão visível, era como se ninfas estivessem brincando com ele.

— Não devíamos falar nada, você sabe disso, Sabugo.

— Pinho, ele precisa saber.

"O que estão falando aí?" Junho se levantou para ir até a janela, que estranho, não era a cidade de pedra fedida a mijo que vivia com o seu pai e sim o vasto verde do acampamento. Chegou a olhar para o cômodo e viu a sala pequena, bem arrumada e com a tv pequena passando uma de suas animações preferidas: Sakura Card Captors. Suspirou, aquilo ainda era um sonho, mas estava diferente naquela noite. "Eu sei quem são... é o pinheiro que fica ao lado da casa grande e o sabugo do lado da enfermaria, estão longe demais para estarem conversando tanto"

— Temos raízes, Juno. Você sabe disso.

— Não seja grosseiro, Sabugo.

— Ele precisa saber, Pinho. Juno, não tente mais se comunicar com Petrus... não se aproxime dele...

— Eu acho crueldade, ele não tem culpa do pai que tem.

— Não seja tolo, Pinho. Aquele menino é perigoso... não devíamos te contar, estamos quebrando um pacto de silêncio...

— Mas é que você tá tão fraquinho... e é tão sensível... amigo de todo mundo... não queremos que seja vítima dele.

— Ouvimos a fenda, Petrus recebeu o pai dele no acampamento...

— Ele não tem alma, Juno. Ele morreu e retornou, como que pode isso? Nem as plantas conseguem fazer isso...

"Shiu!"

Junho ouviu um sopro em seu ouvido e um arrepio percorreu o seu corpo inteiro, focado na discussão que acontecia na extensão de nada, apenas verde, escuridão e frio. Ele acordou, sozinho, na enfermaria após sentir aquela brisa esquisita tocando a sua nuca e despertar como se alguém tivesse falado em seu ouvido, se levantou rapidamente e olhou a sua volta, sentiu uma dor infernal no corpo ao fazer isso e então percebeu as faixas, suas feridas ainda não tinham cicatrizado, nunca demorou tanto para que elas sumissem. Algo estava estranho, fraco, sentindo suas pernas formigarem, ele decidiu se levantar. Praticamente se arrastou até a janela, podia ouvir as plantas lhe chamando, como um vento sonoro dizendo - Juno, Juno, ele acordou.

Andou um pouco mais, haviam muitas pessoas ali, não só aqueles que dormiam em suas macas, como também alguns adormecidos sobre a cadeira ao lado. Mas Juno estava sozinho, não havia ninguém ao seu lado e o sentimento que tomou o seu peito naquele momento foi doloroso, caminhou um pouco mais e parou na varanda, sendo o momento que viu o que parecia ser uma pessoa caminhando na escuridão, ainda não tinha certeza se era o que estava vendo ou se era apenas um delírio. A mão tocou o Sabugo ao lado e quando pensou que tudo parecia uma grande loucura, pôde ouvir o sussurro novamente.

— Juno... você acordou...

— Ele devia estar na cama e não zanzando por aí.

— Cuidado, ele é quem comanda o cão infernal e precisa de uma nova alma.

— Juno, volte pra cama, agora.

— Pinho, não seja grosseiro... já que abriu essa sua enorme rachadura, me deixe falar.

— Não seja estúpido, Sabugo... ele precisa descansar.

— Juno, ele morreu e foi o filho de Apolo que o trouxe de volta, mas agora parece que quer mais alguém...

— É perigoso estar fora da cama, Juno, volte já.

— Ele precisa de uma nova alma... volte e fique seguro.

"Volte pra cama já!" E mais uma vez, aquele sussurro invadindo os seus ouvidos e lhe causando aquele arrepio, Juno não teve forças para voltar, os olhos arregalados pelo temor, não era uma planta que falava com ele e não fazia ideia de quem era... era uma pessoa, ele podia sentir e podia ver no canto do olho, uma silhueta escura e assustadora... parecia... parecia muito... com...

"Pai!" Foi o que ele disse antes de desmaiar no chão gelado da varanda, poderia ter sido apenas um sonho ou um delírio, não tinha como saber, mas definitivamente aquilo ficaria gravado na sua memória para sempre.

@silencehq

[jaxteller87]

Valentine’s Day Surprise

Teenagers years  

There I stood, lingering in the hallway, silently observing the girls in the classroom reveling in the blossoming romance of receiving flowers from admirers, both secret and known. I purchased a single rose myself, and it was destined for Amber, the girl I’ve found myself secretly crushing on for a few weeks now. I was nervous to see how she’d react but excited at the same time.

“What’s going on?” Donna asked, approaching me from behind. Just as she fired off her words, Amber received the flower I got her. At first, she was surprised, just staring at it like it must have been some sort of mix-up or mistake. After a moment of convincing herself that perhaps it was actually destined for her, she closed her eyes, gently pressed the petals to her nose, and smiled.

“You think she likes it?” I asked.

Donna peered into the classroom and saw Amber smiling at the rose. “Ah, now I get it. Don’t take this the wrong way, Teller, but I see right through your tough, badass exterior. Believe it or not, deep down, you’re a softie.” 

“Just because I run with the Sons doesn’t mean I don’t know a thing or two about how to treat a woman,” I was talking to Donna, but I couldn’t stop looking at Amber.

“Yeah, I see how some of you SOA boys treat the ladies,” she sneered as if catching me in the act of something nefarious.

“Think what you will, but we’re not all like that.” At least not most of the time, but I wasn’t going to tell her that. “I promise you, Don, I’m one of the good ones.”

She sized me up, “Yeah, maybe you are, Teller. Maybe you are.”

“I am. And my boy Opie isn’t too bad either,” I put in a good word for Ope, for what it was worth.

“Jury’s still out on that one,” she smiled awkwardly, clearly having strong feelings for him.

“What do you mean?”

“Look around, Teller. Even Brian Johnson got a flower for Lara Holtheimer, and he’s cheated on her twice,” Donna pointed to the fledgling lovebirds in the corner of the classroom.

I scoffed. “It was a lot more than twice,” I corrected her.

“Whatever, it doesn’t matter. I know you guys are cut from a different cloth, but as a simple small-town girl, I guess I just kind of look forward to little quirky things like this,” she explained.

Just then, Phillip, the AV club president who was in charge of handing out the flowers and stuffed bears, cut in between us. ”Excuse me, Donna?”

“Um, yes?”

“Here, this is for you.” He handed her a little stuffed bear with a card.

“And you were saying?” I asked like a smartass.

“Aw!” Donna squealed with a knowing smile, realizing that her badass biker wasn’t a stranger to romantic gestures after all. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that I had reminded him an hour past the cut-off window for orders, but after roughing up the kid in charge, we got Ope on the list.

Later that afternoon, the sun began its descent, casting a warm glow over the backyard, where I discovered Amber surrounded by her canine companions. Instead of her usual wheelchair, she was sitting on a lawn chair, which was a pretty rare sight. Taking the seat beside her, I looked into her eyes and forgot what I was going to say. 

“Thank you,” she blushed, breaking the short awkward silence.

“For what?”

“Don’t lie, Teller; I know it was you.”

I sat back in the chair and sighed, “Ah, I see. Donna tell ya?”

“Nope,” she chuckled, “You just did, though.”

I walked into that. “That’s not fair,” I joked, “but you’re welcome. Oh, and thanks for the candy bar I found in my locker.”

She gave me a puzzled look, “Dang, how’d you know it was me? Donna tell you?”

“Nah,” I smirked, “but you just did.”  We shared a laugh, and it felt magical. Everyone had been right; I found myself falling head over heels for Amber. Yet, an unspoken longing lingered—I wished she could see herself through my eyes. Perhaps, one day, she would. 

Many years later... 

I stepped out onto the porch, greeted by a surprise that warmed my heart — a bag filled with my favorite candies and a twelve-pack of beer. It was a thoughtful gesture from Amber, who, being pregnant, found it challenging to get in and out of the car, which meant she most likely had it delivered.

I told her a thousand times, expressing that she didn’t need to go to such lengths for me. But ever since high school, I had presented her with a single rose every Valentine’s Day, a tradition that I never broke once. Sure, some might say a single rose isn’t much, but to anyone who knows our story, it’s more about the memory than the monetary aspect. We grew up in the same town but came from two very different neighborhoods.

I strolled into the living room with the bag in my hand, catching Amber off guard. Before I could say a word, she immediately burst into tears. “You weren’t supposed to see that yet,” she confessed, joining me in the living room.

“Darlin’, what did I tell you?” 

“I know,” she sniffled, wiping her face on her sweater sleeve. “But I just felt bad. Every year, it warms my heart to see you keep up with a tradition that literally changed my life for the better. All those years in middle school, watching girls get Valentine’s cards, candies, and gifts, but none of them were ever for me. Well, aside from the pity presents from the teacher or super popular kids, but never from a secret admirer. I didn’t care, though; I knew I was different. I mean, some people are just cut out for different paths than others. It’s not fair, but it’s life. The sooner you realize that the sooner you can learn to enjoy everything else life has to offer.” 

Another wave of tears rolled down her cheeks, and then, unexpectedly, she started to giggle. “These damn hormones, I’m sorry,” she laughed. “I shouldn’t be crying over something so silly. Please forgive me, babe.”

“Relax, darlin’, of course, you are forgiven, my love,” I smiled, planting a gentle kiss on her forehead. “I just don’t want you overexerting yourself on my behalf. The only surprise I need to come home to every day is you.”

“Okay, but—”

“No buts,” I interrupted.

“But babe—I really didn’t go too far out of my way.”

“Well, obviously you did; you had my favorite stuff ordered and scheduled to be dropped off on our doorstep,” I pleaded my point.

She had a shit-eating grin on her face. “Actually, I just asked Ope to pick it up on his way home from work and drop it off.”

I looked at her in disbelief for a moment before laughing at the simplicity of her plan. “Alright, fine. I guess that’s okay,” I smiled, planting a big, juicy kiss on her lips. “How about we make it an early night?”

“Jax, it’s not even 5:30 yet,” she said, glancing at the clock.

“It’s okay; no one has to know,” I smirked, kissing her forehead, slowly moving down her cheek and into her sweet spot on the neck. “But first, let’s get some dinner; I’m starving. Do you want to help me cook something?”

“Nah,” she shrugged.

“Nah? Why not?” I asked, almost offended.

“I also asked Opie to swing by that new steakhouse that opened up outside of Charming and pick us up ribeyes. I have the to-go containers hidden in the oven. It was going to be the rest of your surprise.”

“You were going to pass it off as your own cooking?” I asked, smirking at the idea.

“Perhaps,” she blushed, looking away.

“You are too funny! I love the shit out of you; do you know that?” I kissed her neck some more before she unloaded our meal from the oven.

And so, after a delightful steak dinner, we retreated to the coziness of our large bed.

“Thank you, sweetie. Happy Valentine’s Day,” she whispered.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, darlin’,” I whispered back.

[whencyclopedfr]

Inscription de la Bataille de Megiddo par Thoutmôsis III

La bataille de Megiddo (c. 1457 av. J.-C.) est l'un des engagements militaires les plus célèbres de l'histoire. Thoutmôsis III (1458-1425 av. J.-C.) d'Égypte vainquit la coalition des régions sujettes à la rébellion menée par les rois de Qadech et de Megiddo. La bataille elle-même fut une victoire décisive pour l'Égypte et le siège de sept ou huit mois qui suivit réduisit le pouvoir des rois sujets, donna à Thoutmôsis III le contrôle du nord de Canaan (à partir duquel il lança ses campagnes en Mésopotamie) et éleva le statut du roi égyptien au rang de légende.

Lire la suite...

[francesca-fra-70]

La Mamma di tutte le mamme! ❤

"Donna dell'attesa e madre di speranza. Donna del riposo e madre del silenzio, Donna del presente e madre del ritorno. Donna della terra e madre dell'amore, ora pro nobis. "🎧

Ave Maria, ave! 

[phantomofthehoepera]

idk much abt the casting process for the original evil dead but I'm convinced ellen sandweiss just had to be like the craziest bitch the crew knew bc she always brings three times as much to her deadite acting as literally anyone else like she is always the prima donna deadite. first movie she has some good contenders like linda but nothing can beat her unhinged basement cheerleader swag and in aved she's literally only around for like one ep and manages to outclass every deadite in the entire show by a landslide I'm in awe of her

[arreton]

Credo che sia stato ingenuo da parte dello psicologo voler intraprendere la carriera da psicologo perché la psicoterapia che aveva iniziato da ragazzo si era rivelata inefficace. In questo modo ha reso i pazienti una proiezione di sé stesso, una estensione del suo dolore: curando loro cura se stesso, ma credo fallendo più spesso di quanto lui stesso si voglia rendere conto. Ed infatti a me aveva dato il suo istinto paterno – nel senso di complesso di edipo, imitare il padre fino ad ucciderlo, essere come lui fino ad essere migliore di lui – destabilizzandomi ulteriormente. Io comunque faccio autoanalisi e per natura sono parecchio introspettiva, ad un certo punto ho saputo grossomodo staccare (con tutti i suoi limiti, visto quanto è presente in me l'assenza del padre) le due figure: lui era il padre immaginario che ho sempre desiderato (benestante, rassicurante, tenero con sua figlia, aperto al dialogo e che dà consigli grossomodo inutili ma che indicano comunque che ha ascoltato) e di cui in quel momento avevo bisogno per delle questioni familiari che si erano riaperte, ed infatti inizialmente lo psicologo era la mia "cotta borghese" che schifavo ma che desider(av)o. Solo dopo qualche tempo (con delle forti crisi) ho iniziato a staccare le figure: dottore e persona. E solo adesso, a terapia ormai conclusa da tempo con lui e re-iniziata con una donna, mi rendo conto di quanto avessi proiettato in lui una mancanza infantile. Il legame almeno mentalmente tendo a conservarlo lo stesso poiché tendo ad attaccarmi agli altri, ma razionalmente so che non ha più motivo di esistere quel legame ed infatti vado contro la mia inclinazione. Un altro paziente, come me nel senso dei miei stessi bisogni o peggio di me, non so se alla fine riuscirebbe a fare lo stesso percorso di distacco, e se ne sarebbe incapace credo che i rischi sarebbero: una incapacità di concludere la psicoterapia (e di renderla quindi utile); una incapacità di individualizzarsi, di irrobustirsi come individuo; un continuo ri-mettere in scena il trauma originario senza riuscire a superarlo.

Ecco perché storcervo il naso quando mi diceva: quando io vado a toccare i traumi dei pazienti e li vado a risvegliare, io cosa ci faccio con quei traumi? Chi mi assicura che toccandoli non vado a fare ancora più del male al paziente? Domande legittime ma anche qui ingenue, dal mio punto di vista. Sono legittime se pensi che quel che è stato non si ripresenta sotto mentite spoglie, se escludi cioè un inconscio. Io non glielo avevo detto che avevo bisogno di un padre, né lo avevo detto a me stessa anzi: quando la psichiatra – che ci aveva visto giusto – me lo aveva chiesto, io mi ero pure arrabbiata. Ma intanto il bisogno infantile, la mancanza infantile, il trauma originario si era comunque ripresentato in una maniera sottile, che nemmeno io riuscivo al tempo a riconoscere e a parlare né a parlarmi. Ed infatti credo che eravamo l'una la cotta dell'altro, dato che ho il sospetto che io sia incarnavo il suo ideale di ragazza, sia stimolavo in lui (come grossomodo quasi tutti i suoi pazienti) la necessità di prendersi cura degli altri per curare se stesso. Le nostre sedute non erano insomma delle sedute tra terapeuta e paziente, ma tra paziente e paziente. A lui non so se hanno portato qualcosa di positivo, anche se mi disse che era stato un piacere avere una paziente come me, che i nostri scambi erano stati molto stimolanti (ed infatti era capitato più volte che volesse il mio parere per capire alcune cose, credo che un terapeuta non dovrebbe dirlo così esplicitamente ad un paziente); a me hanno fatto prendere coscienza di quanto io ho sofferto e soffro tutt'ora l'assenza di una figura paterna. Cosa che sapevo già ma non in questi termini e fino a questo punto. Per questo motivo, anche, storco il naso nei confronti di una psicoterapia cognitivo-comportamentale, in certi casi: siamo anche stimolo-risposta come gli animali, ma non siamo solo quello, indipendentemente da come lo si chiami (inconscio, sé ecc). Insomma la trovo efficace ma solo per determinati problemi. Per dire: la mia ansia non ha ricevuto alcun beneficio dalla psicoterapia cognitivo-comportamentale là era e là è rimasta, nonostante dicano che la terapia cognitivo-comportamentale sia utile per il disturbo d'ansia. Credo che dipende molto dal paziente, a me non fai fessa dicendomi pensa questo piuttosto che questo, fai questo, cambia questi pensieri con questi altri pensieri: tendo a razionalizzare moltissimo (il rischio dell'introspezione e di una autoanalisi fatta male) e cioè: grossomodo so in anticipo quello che mi dirai. E qui concludo con una bella domanda che mi ha fatto a primo incontro la nuova psicologa: con quale parte del corpo hai razionalizzato?

[deviljho]

these comments on donna bowman’s (formerly of the av club breaking bad & BCS reviews) write up of the last episode of better call saul are haunting me btw if you even care