#the whole shebang gets me exhausted every year

[green-green-grass]

these besties say fuck amatonormativity

(happy aro week! 💚)

[novetteus]

.

[sweetdreamsofgelato]

Pins and Needles

(Gif from google. If it’s yours, please let me know so I can give credit)

Pairing: Henry x Female!Reader (Y/N)

Summary: Henry must face his needle phobia

Rating: E for Everyone

Word Count: 2375

Warnings/Content: Fluff, mild angst/anxiety, descriptions of medical procedures

A/N:

@pixie1484 Hey, I love all works of yours..i would like to request you to write a medical fanfic where Henry Cavill is sick or injured and is to recieve butt injections..but is really scared of needles..Please consider my request and write a fanfic regarding this..

Thanks for wonderful compliment and for sending this request. I am so sorry this took so long, but here it is!

It isn’t quite a butt injection, but it’s fairly close. 

Also, I am not a trained medical professional, so anything I’ve written is based solely on my limited knowledge gained from internet research. If there are any inaccuracies, you have my apologies. 

Unbeta-ed. All mistakes are my own.

Reposting my works on any other sites or platforms is strictly prohibited (my official AO3 is linked in my master list). Likes, comments, and reblogs are always greatly appreciated.

It finally happened.

Fate determined that she had grown weary of being tempted, and a stunt finally went wrong. Not terribly wrong, as by some divine grace he was still breathing, but the fall definitely left its mark. In those tense minutes right after the accident, he was fairly certain he aged the entire production crew at least ten years. Henry would be shocked if he didn’t have a few more wrinkles and grey hairs of his own.

Henry didn’t remember much. He had a vague recollection the cables losing tension, and then spinning, and then his upper body landing on the crash mat and bouncing, and his hip hitting the ground with a sickening thud. The pain had been immediate and blindingly intense; he remembered gasping for air and clutching his side as his mind raced with all manner of horrifying possibilities.

He vaguely recalled the crew screaming and set medic rushing to him. After he was stabilised, he was whisked off to the closest A&E, and then it was a flurry of doctors and a battery of tests. Most of this information was relayed to him after the fact; everything was pretty fuzzy, which all things considered, was probably a blessing.

Hours later, he vividly remembered the look of complete shock on his attending physician’s face when he remarked, with utter astonishment, that nothing was broken and there were no serious internal injuries. Henry had a nasty contusion on his hip that would require time to heal, and some superficial bumps and scratches, but all in all he was going to be fine.

Apparently, he was extremely lucky.

“Are you sure you are not really Superman?” the doctor asked in awe.

That had made Henry laugh, which of course had made his entire body ache in protest. No more laughing, he decided.

“So, what’s the prognosis?” Henry asked, his voice raspy with pain and exhaustion. Whilst he was grateful to not be in traction or worse, he was not looking forward to months away from work.

“It’s hard to say since healing is very individual. You do have some swelling in and around the hip, but that is to be expected. Unfortunately, at this point, it is difficult to say how that will progress. You will need to take care not to exacerbate it.”

The doctor tucked his chart under his arm. “As for a full recovery,” he hesitated, “I would say around four weeks, assuming you don’t suffer any secondary complications.”

Since fate was obviously not on speaking terms with him, for once in Henry’s life, he did what he was told. Four weeks at home to rest and recuperate.

Nothing strenuous or remotely fun.

The whole, mind-numbingly boring shebang.

The production crew shifted gears, focusing on anything and everything that didn’t require Henry’s presence on set while he was confined to home and bed whilst he healed. He hated every second of it. Cabin fever was real, and he was suffering. The only upside was he managed to get an obscene amount of gaming done.

So here he was, four weeks later, and despite dutifully following his doctor’s orders, his hip was still giving him grief. The stiff hospital gown he wore scratched at his overly sensitive skin as Henry shifted nervously on the examination table. If he were able to walk, he would be pacing the room like a caged tiger, but not being able to walk properly was, essentially, the reason he was here in the first place.

Henry liked to think himself a fairly courageous man. The list of things that truly frightened him was relatively short, and generally, even then, he could usually bite the bullet and carry on.

After another x-ray and examination, the doctor determined his hip joint was inflamed. A common complication and nothing serious, but the course of treatment a hip injection to help improve his mobility.

But it involved needles.

Henry visibly shuddered. It was amazing how he’d gotten this far in life without so many instances with them, and he was thankfully so out of it whilst in hospital that he hadn’t even noticed being poked and prodded during the initial tests. But now, he was fully alert and ready to claw his skin off.

It wasn’t so much a matter of closing his eyes and gritting his teeth. No, he knew the needle was there. He could feel its existence and proximity and that was enough to make him want to run screaming from the room. Or just outright faint, which had happened more times than he wished to admit.

Every sound, every touch, every minuscule movement in the air made his heart race and his entire body break out into a cold sweat.

“How’re you doing?” Y/N asked softly, taking his hands in hers and giving them a reassuring squeeze. She sat on the table next to him and did her best to be a calming presence. He knew she was anxious, if only because he was, but there was something oddly comforting about that particular show of solidarity.

Henry grunted noncommittally. He was in no mood to talk about his feelings; he never was when stressed. He much preferred to ignore his emotions altogether, at least until he was better able to process them aloud, and he was grateful Y/N understood that about him. She soothed her hand over his bare arm before giving his hand another squeeze.

Logically, he knew it was ridiculous to feel emasculated by his phobia, yet he still did. The only thing harder than agreeing to the procedure was telling Y/N about it. It was never easy to admit weakness but being forced to do so was beyond galling.

He wouldn’t have said anything at all, but as his appointment had loomed closer, Henry realised that he wasn’t going to be able to do it alone. He needed someone to keep him calm, otherwise he would certainly end up suffering a full-blown panic attack.

Before his mind could hurtle farther down the rabbit hole of anxiety, the door opened.

“Good morning.” Doctor Harris stepped in with a placid smile stretched across his face. He introduced himself to Y/N before he glanced briefly at his chart. “How are you, Henry?”

“I’m here,” Henry grumbled, sounding far more recalcitrant than a man his age should.

The doctor chuckled, “Yes, I imagine it is a bit of a moot question. Any changes since your last appointment?”

Henry shook his head and dutifully answered all of Doctor Harris’ questions. Anxiety slinked across his nerves, and every fibre of his body drew taut as he tried to stamp it down. His gut rioted with unease when the doctor set aside his chart and rose from his stool.

Henry swallowed thickly. It was time.

“As I mentioned before, the injection is very straight forward and will only take a few minutes. You should feel relief within a day or two, but you still need to take care with your hip until the inflammation is gone, otherwise you risk further injury.” He paused briefly and then asked, “Shall we get it over with?”

Henry sighed and nodded heavily. He really wanted to get back to work and having to continue to rest and be patient was not exactly what he wanted to hear, but regardless the procedure had to be done.

“I will be sure he doesn’t fling himself off any buildings until he has a clean bill of health.” Y/N gave Henry a playful nudge, obviously trying to break the tension with a little levity.

Doctor Harris smiled, “I would be most appreciative of that.” He turned back to Henry. “I’ll make a few marks on your skin for positioning, and I will use an ultrasound whilst I give the injection, so you will feel some coolness from the gel and then a slight prick of the needle and then we will be done.”

The doctor moved to the sink to wash his hands and Henry’s gaze immediately dropped to the floor. Panic clawed down his throat and gripped his chest. His nostrils flared and he inhaled deeply, trying in vain to calm his increasingly frantic heartbeat. It took every ounce of will to not quit the room completely. He gripped Y/N’s hand with more force than he probably should, but if he caused her any pain, she gave no indication.

The snap of the doctor’s gloves sound rang in his ears like a gunshot.

“If you would please lie back,” Doctor Harris said as he walked around the examination table. Beside him was a small wheeled cart upon which sat a tray. He removed the small cloth over it to reveal various instruments and, of course, the dreaded needle.

Henry’s jaw clenched and Y/N pressed firmly at the pressure point between his thumb and forefinger. Fear chased away his voice, so he was grateful when she asked, “Ah, Doctor, Henry has a bit of a thing with needles. Is it possible for me to help keep him calm during the injection?”

“Of course,” Doctor Harris replied. There was a gentle understanding in his voice; it didn’t even make a dent in Henry’s distress, but he was grateful for it, all the same. “Take as much time as you need.”

As Henry lay back, Y/N extracted a pair of noise-cancelling headphones and Henry’s phone from her bag and handed them to him.

“Remember, deep, calming breaths,” she said.

He quickly put the headphones on and set his playlist to full blast, drowning out all other sounds in the room. Henry lay stock still on the table as he concentrated on his breathing. Any movement from him and he feared he’d bolt from the room, being bare arsed in a hospital gown be damned.

Y/N’s hand slid into his, and after a moment he gave it a squeeze, which was their predetermined signal that he was ready.

A cool rush of air brushed his bare skin when his gown fell aside. The doctor palpated his hip and he felt the quick flicks of the marker, followed by the cold wetness of the gel.

All the while, Y/N’s fingers kneaded gently into various pressure points. From his hand, and then to his wrist. She moved upward, pressing just below the crook of his elbow. He focused on her touch and sighed, audibly he wasn’t sure, but each movement was strong and steadfast, yet gentle and calming.

One of her fingertips pushed gently on his forehead between his eyes, then at his temples and then finally at the top of his head.

Before he realised it, Y/N gently squeezed his shoulders, and Henry felt the headphones lift and ambient noise flooded his ears.

“All done. You were an excellent patient, Henry.”

His eyes were still pinched shut as he drew in deep and deliberate breaths. He could scarcely believe they were already finished. He hadn’t felt a thing, well, other than soul-crushing anxiety.

There was a brief pause and then he heard Y/N say, “Oh, definitely that one.”

The doctor gently patted his hip and there was a muffled shuffling of paperwork and footsteps.

He wasn’t sure how much time passed, but Henry finally opened one eye, followed by the other. He flinched at the florescent glare, but he saw the doctor and Y/N in discussion about one thing or another. There was still a faint ringing in his ears, and he really couldn’t register much yet.

He slowly sat up and swivelled around so his legs hung over the side of the table. The doctor turned to him and said, “If you have any abnormal pain or new symptoms, don’t hesitate to contact us. As I said, you should feel relief fairly quickly, but please don’t overdo it. I will see you again in a couple of weeks, just to be sure it is healing properly.”

Doctor Harris shook hands and bid them good day, leaving Henry alone with Y/N as he redressed.

“How’re you feeling?” Y/N asked as she placed the headphones and phone back in her bag.

“I–” Henry wasn’t sure exactly how he felt. Normal? Shockingly so. He was still running on a considerable adrenaline high, but other than that he felt…fine. Slightly edgy, but relieved.

“I’m great. Thank you for coming.”

Y/N slid in between his knees and dropped a quick kiss on his nose. “I am here whenever and however you need me. Now get dressed, I do believe I promised you ice cream since you were such a good boy.”

Henry gave her a cheeky slap on her behind before he eased off the table. “I can think of a better reward.”

“Nope. No, sir.” Y/N shook her head firmly.

“I like when you call me sir.” The tension in his jaw began to ease as he smiled.

Y/N shot him a look of amused exasperation. “You heard the doctor. No aggravating that hip whilst it heals.”

“Fine,” he conceded as he jammed his good leg into his joggers, “but I want three scoops.”

Later that evening, Henry felt remarkably improved. The pain was noticeably less, and he walked with more ease, and it filled him with such relief that he was tempted to do a jig – though he didn’t, for obvious reasons.

“Hey Y/N, I’m going to shower.”

Y/N, who was tucked snuggly under the downy duvet of their bed, nodded, though her eyes didn’t leave the book in her hands.

Henry slid into the ensuite bathroom and flipped on the light. He quickly disrobed and tossed his clothes haphazardly toward the laundry basket in the corner.

Without looking at it, he ran a hand gently over his hip, his fingertips brushing over the small plaster placed over the injection site. Henry staunchly refused to look at it all day; every time he so much as thought about it, it brought back visions of gigantic needles and he wanted no part of that.

But now, Henry glanced down, finally ready – both literally and figuratively – to rip off the bandage.

Had he been in the bedroom, he would have seen the diabolical grin that crept across Y/N’s face when Henry yelled, “A Batman plaster? Really?!”

Tag list: (message me or respond the tag list post linked my master list to be added or removed)

@tumblnewby @henrythickcavill @hell1129-blog @speakerforthedead0-blog @meowpurrbooks @mary-ann84 @frencchfries @desiredposion @kinbhot4henners @omgkatinka @luna-aestas @trippedmetaldetector @michelehansel @peakygroupie @mstgsmy @agniavateira @thereisa8ella @drstyen @memoriesat30 @wolvesandhoundshowltogether @crimsonrae @harlotforhenry  @lyrafraiser @agniavateira @beckster07890 @dummiesshort @rhadigen @pixie1484

[qwertyfingers]

we know that bobby only watched ds9 and dean watched the tos movies for sure which implies he's seen tos as well (plus he calls jack spock). so what do you think everyone's favorite trek is? sam is without a doubt a tng fan first and foremost. i think out of all tos movies cas prefers the wrath of khan because he Feels Things when kirk and spock do the ta'al through the glass. charlie has definitely seen some trek (we've seen her llap), do you think she's into tos first and foremost? anyway let's talk about star trek nights in the bunker.

OKAY SO I HAVE. MANY MANY THOUGHTS ABOUT THIS. SORRY THIS IS SO LONG.

like. like of COURSE bobby only likes ds9 of course he does i could have told you this without the show becuase like. bobby is That Bitch. i think rufus will have watched TOS at least because leonard nimoy worked hard on linking jewish faith and practices into the vulcan lore and i think that would mean something to him. bobby will catch rufus smiling at him sometimes while they’re watching ds9 and ask him what all gruffly and rufus will smirk at him and say something about sisko with jake and bobby with dean and bobby will just cough and take a swig of whiskey and rufus will raise his eyebrows but let it slide. rufus definitely makes a comment once about dean&cas being like jake&nog that totally flies over dean’s head but bobby is all knowing eyebrow raise about.

i think cas and jack would really like discovery. while it has some issues with inconsistency, pacing, being a little dark, it also does better than the other TV treks at utilising the nature of film as a medium to instill a sense of wonder, at space and the world, and that’s something they’d really appreciate. i have my own issues with disco, but an obol for charon is as close to the central core of trek that disco ever gets. cas and jack also like that one in particular because they like listening to all the different languages being spoken. they all love michael (everyone loves michael). cas’ faves are stamets and reno because they’re mean and gay, jack’s fave is tilly because she’s excitable and bright and he latches onto that. dean likes reno because she’s got spunk. sam’s fave is airiam and he will never forgive them for killing her off. sam, cas and dean all feel an uncomfortable kinship with both ash and culber - they’ve both been the one with monster teeming under the surface, controleld by something not themself, but they’ve also all spent that time in hell/purgatory, separated from everyone they love.

thinking about episodes that would really get to them all, darmok is. THE ONE. i have a whole unfinished essay about darmok as the platonic ideal of star trek; the perfect distillation of everything trek is SUPPOSED to be about. it doens’t always get there but by god it tries! that speech michael gives in the disco s2 finale - “There's a whole galaxy of people out there who will reach for you. You have to let them. Find that person who seems farthest from you and reach for them.” - that’s what darmok is about!!! it’s all about a situation where real communication seems impossible, where everything we know about talking and learning has broken down. and picard says, okay, i will find another way. i can’t relate to you, you can’t relate to me, but by god i’m going to try. we all meet people we have trouble communicating with in our lives, and often, those people will not care about changing their own ways to accommodate us. for people with autism, adhd, psychosis, the list goes on, this is a very common occurrence. it’s exhausting and frustrating and alienating. darmok is all about crossing that barrier. about reaching for someone through a world of difficulty and learning how to talk. learning how to share something with someone who seems out of our reach. it’s beautiful, it’s heartwrenching, it means more to me than i can easily put into words! 

anyway i think the bunker fam would experience a lot of emotions watching it together. there’s defintiely a lot of hugging eachother, sam cries a lot and won’t look at anyone until after the episode ends. jack just asks a lot of questions and talks about his progress learning sign language with cas. dean snakes his hand into cas’ halfway through and doesn’t let go. doesn’t show the emotion on his face, but he clutches harder at the emotional beats. cas runs his fingers through jack’s hair and thinks a lot, and decides not to say anything unless dean talks first. its just a Lot for everyone. 

dean def makes them marathon all the TOS and TNG movies. it’s an experience everyone needs at least once. i think you’re right about cas and TWOK with the ta’al through the glass, but also ‘this simple feeling’ and the hand hold would make him feel crazy. bones being the one that spock entrusts with his katra DEF makes dean feel some type of way because as much as destiel is kirkspock-coded, dean IS bones, and seeing spock trust bones so completely despite how at odds they were when they first knew eachother would dig deep into dean’s psyche and make him more than a little bit nutso. the movies are way too long for jack so he mostly sits and plays animal crossing while they watch and looks at the screen when everyone else gasps or when something exciting is happening that holds his attention for a while. sam’s fave is nemesis precisely because it’s terrible and he loves how camp it is.

dean has definitely seen all of trek. i refuse to believe someone who watches as much tv and films as dean wouldn’t sit and watch the whole shebang. i think he’s probably seen TOS and the TOS movies more than the others because its easier than sitting through 7 seasons, but i think rather than that being his favourite he’d just have really strong opinions about the best episodes of each one? like if you asked him what his favourite is he’d say you can’t answer that because they’re all so different from eachother

VOY - bride of chaotica, non seqitur, macrocosm for the favourite episodes. seven, janeway and tuvok would be his favourite characters. he think toms a bit of a knob but also feels a kinship with him for the similar brand of bab dad-ism but he wouldn’t be able to put that into words. he’s also a fierce defender of threshold being a good episode (he’s right for that)

DS9 - our man bashir it’s our man bashir. he doesn’t dislike ds9 but its very plot heavy and he didn’t care for it when he was younger. rewatching it after living through multiple supernatural wars he’d probably appreciate it more. i know for a fact he cries every time there’s an episode about sisko being a good dad. jadzia and garak are his faves

TNG - he LOVES q. he also absolutely will not be caught dead referencing how much loves q after cas comes into his life because sam will do the little brotherly knowing eyebrow raise at him and he will die of embarrassment. he regularly references ‘there are four lights’ because he’s a fucking nerd. he has made cas watch elementary my dear data and fistful of datas a half dozen times each at LEAST. cas KNEW how dean was going to be about the cowboy hat he’s defintiely got into full cowboy getup at home just for watching movies and in cas’ head star trek is fully to blame.

TOS - oh there are so many good TOS eps to choose from. obv he loves most of the series becuase TOS has MANY banger eps, his favourites are probably like. mirror mirror, amok time (baby dean defintiely had some kind of crisis watching it for the first time; i know the rituals are intricate). i know deep in my bones that dean watched the conscience of the king (introduction of the tarsus iv massacre) once and then spent his entire teenage years writing fic about that in his head, whether he posted it or not. dean related too much to those experiences of shared hunger. city on the edge of forever is one of everyone’s faves for a reason (and i’m STILL mad we never got a closer take on that episode in spn it could have been so fun). 

ENT - he definitely thinks enterprise is stupid and he’s not wrong but he has also definitely watched it and been very repressed about the whole thing. mans was like oh i feel a kinship with malcolm reed the obviously repressed queer man. i will never examine this feeling ever again thank you <3 he also makes fun of archer for being obsessed with, of all sports, water polo. shran is his favourite character because he’s a little shit and makes him laugh, and t’pol, because t’pol is a badass and he’d appreciate that. i can’t remember the title of a single episode off the top of my head though lol.

i can see what you’re saying about sam being a TNG stan. i’m conflicted though, I feel like TNG’s generally the favourite of 1) obnoxious nerds who think knowing trivia facts makes them smart, 2) men desperately trying to seem masculine and 3) people who’ve watched it three times and have extremely complex thoughts on the personhood and rights of robots. i could see sam fitting into the third group, but people who are in it for the robot feelings are a coin flip between voyager and tng being the fave, and i just have a feeling that voyager would be his favourite. i know kid sam is getting gender envy watching voyager in shitty motels while dad and dean are out, trying to find the words for it. his first semester at stanford he talks a friend into giving him the janeway haircut and rides that high for months. sam’s favourite characters are seven and EMH. 

sam and dean have definitely had dozens of long drawn out debates about philosophical topics in star trek. do the holograms deserve rights and if so which ones. are the romulans and vulcans still meaningfully the same people. was spock right for trying to foment reunification by going undercover on romulus. can the borg be redeemed. etc etc.

i haven’t seen any of picard at all so i can’t comment. i also think sam and dean probably read a lot of the trek books? they’re pretty common to find in secondhand bookstores and cheap, would have been even cheaper back in the day. sam probably doesn’t care for them much, dean has a few solid faves though. i’ve only read the disco books so i can’t comment anything specifically (besides the fact that i think dean read dead endless and cried like a baby), but some of the TOS and DS9 books are gay as hell and i know dean was eyes emoji-ing that shit. 

[fallencomrade-a]

𝐵𝐸𝐻𝐼𝑁𝐷 𝑇𝐻𝐸 𝑀𝐴𝑆𝐾 -  -  -  ⁍       hullo  tumblr  fam.  i  hope  all  is  going  well  for  each  and  every  one  of  you  reading  this  and  that  life  has  been  treating  you  favorably.  ❀◕ ‿ ◕❀  i’ve  been  absent  these  last  few  months  for  a  number   of  different  reasons.  without  going  into  too  much  detail,  for  a  while  now  i  have  been  struggling  with  some  really  ugly  mental  issues  that,  as  of  late  have  started  to  have  a  noticeable  impact  on  my  physical  health  as  well.  the  ugly  combination  has  in  turn  impacted  my  ability  and  passion  to  write.  that  being  said,  the  buck-ster  is  still  alive  and  kickin’  in  this  brain  o’  mine  and  i  am  not  sure  i  am  ready  to  let  him  go  just  yet.  i’ve  been  considering  this  for  a  little  while  now  and  i  think  -  after  six  years  -  it  might  be  a  good  idea  to  finally  start  anew !  ( sorta  /  not really )  i  think  a  reboot  of  my  blog  might  help  jumpstart  my  muse  again.  i  know  it  will  certainly  delight  my  ( slightly  obsessive )  need  for  organization.

     fresh  new  blog  with  a  new  ( kickass )  theme.  updated  rules  /  verses  and  a  restructuring  of  my  tags  -  the  whole  shebang.  i  can  even  begin  to  rebuild  my  follower  count,  clear  away  some  of  the  inactive  blogs  and  start  to  once  again  make  some  meaningful  connections  with  people  /  plot  some  new  ideas.  i  hope  a  clean  dash  and  a  smaller  follower  count  will  help  me  become  more  active  and  more  alive  in  the  community  again.  

     so  that  is  kind  of  where  i’m  at,  working  on  this  transition.  my  ocd  loves  the  idea  of  starting  something  fresh  and  clean,  but  that  same  ocd  tendency  is  going  to  make  the  move  all  the  more  tedious  and  exhausting.  o(*>ω<*)o    i  will  not  be  dropping  any  of  my  current  threads  because  i  ADORE  every  single  one  of  them  ( && my partners )  far  too  much,  so  they  will  be  carried  over.  once  again,  i  just  ask  for  some  continued  patience  from  all  of  you  while  i  work  on  things.  i  would  like  to  get  everything  updated  and  finished  before  officially  moving  over  ( because  if  i  don’t  do  it  now,  i  will  never  finish  it )  but  once  i’m  all  done,  i  will  post  a  link  to  the  new  blog  for  all  those  still  interested  in  following  /  writing  with  me. 

     it  is  important  though  that  i  emphasize  that  my  lack  of  activity  and  communication  has  nothing  to  do  with  my  love  and  appreciation  for  any  of  you.  unfortunately,  the  constant  exhaustion  and  mental  fatigue  makes  many  every  day  tasks  all  the  more  difficult  to  handle  -  even  enjoyable  activities.  i  am  hoping  this  move  helps  to  boost  my  muse  and  maybe  even  my  mood.  (^_^;)  ok !  thanks  for  reading  this.  i’ll  be  re - posting  this  a  few  times  while  i  work  on  things.  please  stay  safe  out  there  everyone !  xxo

[sitontheground]

#WitchesForBLM

So, I know I don't exactly post much, if at all, but in light of recent events in the US the majority of witches on both tumblr and tik tok have decided that on Friday June 5th, we were all going to be casting spells of protection for the protesters as well as hexing and cursing the cops and the white supremacists who oppose them.

While I am not American (I'm from Canada) nor am I a person of color but I have always been one for activism and fighting for the rights of those whose voices aren't heard or are purposefully silenced. I don't post about it because I don't post much of anything at all. This platform, for me, isn't about making my voice heard but appreciating others' work and words. I also don't particularly care for speaking about my craft much because it is something I find very personal and don't much wish to have others peering in on my personal affairs.

And yet, despite my private nature and lack of desire to post about my activism, I have made the decision to share what I did during the full moon to work this cause into my craft.

For any who have questions or complaints about how I did what I did or why, my craft is my own and I just follow what feels right. If you try and do or say anything to me that I feel is in anyway attacking me and my practice I'm just going to block you. You have no place sticking your nose in my work and I'll not thank you for it.

My Full Moon BLM Support Ritual

As a preface, a lot of the ingredients and items I used were already prepared. Most by happenstance as they are things that I typically keep on hand. The only thing I didn't have in my back pocket before I began was one of the sigils I used.

I also meditated facing the south. Facing the direction of the people I wanted to protect.

Ingredients:

Charged water (I used storm water*)

Charged crystal (I used my fluorite point for the reason that it often amplifies my emotions*)

Needle

Black thread

Orange paper**

Purple paper**

Stick of charcoal (for drawing)

Sigil of protection

Sigil to hex the oppressors

Sachet of protection powder***

Music to increase emotion**** (optional, to be played during both halves of the ritual)

Note: both of the sigils that I used will be shown below

I started when I heard whispers from the witchblr community members that I follow about the full moon being used to help the protesters. That day there was a storm where I live so I was already collecting storm water, but I made sure to separate some for the specific intent of using it on the full moon.

Friday night, I gathered my ingredients and created a sigil for protecting the protesters. I am aware that the eclipse would likely have a negative effect on most protection spells, but the spell I used was one that I created and use without the power of the full moon more often than not. The power of the spell comes entirely from a sacrifice I make for it, which I will explain in more detail later.

Take the storm water, the sigil of protection and the protection powder.

Meditate on the sigil to charge it.

Take a pinch of the powder (A Pinch. You don't need more than that!!!) and sprinkle it in the water.

Swirl the water clockwise 3 times to increase the power of the powder while mixing it in (I had the water in a small Mason jar with a lid so I could swirl it in large movements to incorporate the powder properly without spilling)

Take your right index finger and dip it in the water

Drip 3 drops onto the paper with the sigil

Meditate on the sigil again, focusing on the power of the water sinking into the lines of the sigil

Drink the water with the protection powder to cast the spell

Fold the paper with the sigil on it 3 times, being careful not to rip the wet paper, and leave it in a window or outside until daylight.

Note: the protection powder tastes Bad. Really really really bad. This is why a pinch is more than enough. I usually keep something around to wash the taste out of my mouth when everything is all said and done. This time I used hibiscus water, but usually I use tea.

And that's all there is to the first part of the ritual. Really that can be done at anytime for anyone as long as you have a sigil that corresponds with them.

The next part of this was the part where I actually drew upon the power of the moon.

Take the other sigil, the needle and black thread, and the charged crystal.

Meditate with the crystal in your dominant hand and the hexing sigil in your other focusing on the power that the crystal is feeding into you and pushing it out with your intent through the sigil in order to truly focus the energy you're sending out.

Tear the paper with the sigil on it in until it is in small pieces. As you rend it apart, feel the fire of your anger and the anger of all those fighting for this cause and send it out into the world with every tear in the paper.

Using the needle and the black thread, pierce the center of every piece of the paper until they are all strung up.

Bring all of the pieces together on the string and wrap the thread around the 3 times

Tie a knot in the thread.

Wrap the thread and tie the knot 2 more times.

Cut the thread and cast away the bundle of thread and paper however you see fit (burning, burying, tossing in the trash. whatever works for you)

And that’s that on that. I began my work at midnight on the full moon and when I was finished I was exhausted. I had a headache and my hands were shaking and I just wanted to crawl into my bed so much that I almost forgot to ground myself at the end which would have made everything so much worse the next time I woke. If I were to do it again, and I probably will, I’d make sure to give myself some time in between spells, which I did not in this case. In fact, I’d suggest that if you were to attempt something similar to this you should do them completely separately. However, due to that fact that the moon was in Gemini it felt right for me to complete two spells during it.

And now onto the notes.

*In regards to my choices of charged water and crystal, I have to note that I base my practice by what feels right at the moment. I’ve gone into spells with something in my hand that, by the time I get around to using it during the casting process, it no longer feels like the right tool/ingredient to use and I have gone to find what does feel right, or at least what feels best. The use of storm water has to due with how the chaos and anger that comes from the people on the front lines of this movement feels to me like a storm overhead. They were patient and they brewed this storm for centuries, waiting for us to notice it and do something to lessen the blow that it would cause. But eventually, as all storm must, the thunder rang out and the sweeping gales of wind told everyone just what was going on. Storm water, for this particular variation of my protection spell, seemed very appropriate. I used my fluorite point because whenever I’m working a particularly emotional spell, whether it is my emotion or someone else’s, I use this crystal because it amplifies what I’m feeling and it gives that emotion power.

Also this is my fluorite point.

**As most will suspect, the colors of the paper do signify different things, but if you don’t just happen to have colored paper hanging around white paper would work too. Again this was something that I just figured felt right at the time. I used the purple paper for the protection sigil. Purple, to me, is a regal color that signifies wisdom, power and good fortune. I used the orange paper for the hexing sigil because orange is the most infuriating and aggressive color I could think of (psychologically speaking the color orange is the most likely to send a person into a fit of rage). 

***Alright, so for most of the above I have been rather vague when it comes to the protection powder, but that’s because it is a recipe of my own creation that I have reliably used for a couple of years now and I’m proud of it. It was one of the first things I ever did when I started my craft and I haven’t ever felt like something that I should spread to the masses. Now, however, I don’t feel that same hesitation when it comes to giving the recipe so here it is. 

1 part garlic powder

1 part  cumin

2 parts cinnamon

1 park Himalayan pink salt

1 sprig of cedar, dried and crushed as small as you can make it

When I first made this recipe, I didn’t do anything with it besides mix it all together and put it in a small velvet bag that I got with an old pair of headphones. I soon learned that just mixing together a couple of spices doesn’t exactly create a protection spell and thought it a failure. right as I was about to tear the page with the recipe from my spell book, I decided to meditate on it for a while. That night, I took the little bag with the powder into both of my hands and began to meditate. When I came out of it, I realized that 4 hours had passed by and I could feel the energy from the powder in the bag. So, to make long stories short, you have to key this powder to yourself first. Since then, I have used it as a protection for others by using the same powder that I mixed a couple of years ago that has protected me for that long. I take some of that powder and, using the charged water, I key it to the other that I want to protect, and then by drinking the water I am sacrificing the strength of my protection spell in order to cast one on someone else. This is why I didn’t see an issue doing this spell during the eclipse, which I have read can be a force of undoing. I had no issue casting a hex during the eclipse because I wanted to see the undoing of those that I was trying to hex, but the protection spell will not fail because I didn’t pull on the power of the moon.

****Yes, I listen to music while I work. On the night of the full moon, I was listening to Freedom by Beyoncé ft. Kendrick Lamar on repeat during the whole shebang. When I work, I am incredibly focused, so much that even the slightest disturbance to my balance will send the whole spell crashing down at my feet. If I were to work in silence, a single pin drop could cause me to lose focus and the spell could go awry. So, usually I will put on a single song that reflects the work that I am doing. Either that or I go to ambient-mixer.com and find some background sounds that I can customize and put on for myself. I chose the particular song that I did because both artists are POC angd it sends a message that aligns with the intent of both of these spells.

Sigil of Protection

This one I created myself.

Hexing Sigil

This one I did not create myself. The wonderful ceramyn here on tumblr created it, so this is me crediting her work.

[turning-dreams-into-chaos]

Rain, Rain, Go Away

*Not My Gif*

Part 2

Requested: Nope! (Send some in!)

Paring: Barry Allen X Reader

Word Count: 2200

Post Date: 5-9-19

A/N: This take place a year after the Particle accelerator explosion, just so you all know timelines. I was going to make this a few parts long, and I’ve already half wrote the 2nd part, so if you all are interested in that I’ll post it. Also, if you want another part to Banished (Bellamy Blake) let me know and I’ll post that as well! Send me in requests guys and I’ll be sure to get right on them! Ok Love you all and Thank you so much for reading and sharing my work!

- Ria

~Master List~

~Open Requests~

You watched the rain roll down the window in your crappy apartment, in a trance as a few separate drops combine. The rain had always soothed you, made you feel in control of your life. You always thought that it was dumb, but you’ve loved the rain. Taking the last sip of your coffee you got off your chair and threw on some clothes, heading out for your job. You were completely in love with your job, but lately life just seems more stormy than usual. And not just because you control the weather.

Last year you were hit by the particle accelerator, and at first you thought it hadn’t affected you. But soon you noticed that anytime you were particularly sad it would start to rain outside, not a lot but enough to ruin some people’s days, but not yours. It would always seem to make you feel better, which at that point it seemed the rain would stop. But other times, when you were depressed, like when your boyfriend broke up with you, it would downpour. You hadn’t caught on to the mysterious weather patterns until your parents died, it started to rain, then lightning and thunder followed, it lasted for days. Everyone in Central City was terrified of the weather, some thought the storm was never going to end. But you didn’t care, you just grabbed some beer and a blanket and went up to the roof of your apartment complex, finding a secluded covered area, drank, and watched the rain come down. After a few hours, your younger sister, Kenna, had come up to find you, knowing you’d be in a place to watch the rain. Even though she was 6 years younger than you, making her 17, she was your best friend and now she was your responsibility. You looked at her red, wet cheeks through your tear-filled eyes, gently wiping the streaks away. She laughed at your already motherly instincts causing you to snort out a laugh. At that moment the thunder and lightning stopped, and you immediately felt the change. But not on your body, no, it was more like in your body. You felt the tingling course through your veins as a smile was etched onto your face. When the rain stopped you thought you were crazy. You couldn’t control the weather, could you?

The next few weeks you could feel the shift within you, you paid extra attention to how you were feeling and were sure to track the weather along side your emotions. Central City became the one city where no one had any clue what was going to happen with the weather. Some people were going crazy with their predictions, but most didn’t care, just as long as another freak storm hadn’t come again. You no longer thought you were crazy, everything matched perfectly. It was you. You could control the weather. You weren’t sure what to do now, you couldn’t tell Kenna, you refused to put her in danger. You decided the best thing to do was to learn how to control it, so that’s exactly what you did. You learned how to control your emotions, how to use certain memories to make you feel certain ways. You also learned you could make it rain; inside. It took a while, and a lot of little random fires but you could make it storm, lightning, thunder, the whole shebang. You had the potential to be unstoppable.

Your life was getting better, you and Kenna had become closer and she was about to graduate high school, start at Central City University in the fall. Everything was perfect. Until Kenna had gone out with her friends one night to celebrate the end of high school and was hit by a drunk driver. She was immediately taken to the hospital and you were called. You screamed and dashed into your car, driving like a mad woman to the hospital, but still being careful. When you got there, it was downpouring, but you didn’t care, you couldn’t control your emotions right now. When you got to her room you looked down at your sister, who looked like an angel, with her heartbeat strong and eyes closed. But you knew she wouldn’t open them, amongst your franticness to see her, the doctor had told you she was in a coma, and they didn’t know when, or if, she would wake up. Your eyes scanned her body, taking in the cuts and bruises littered across her once soft skin. You couldn’t help the sobs that escaped your throat, causing more arise in you. The storm outside the office grew as the wind picked up, lights shutting off as the machines beating halted for a moment before picking up when the power came back on. You knew this was you, you needed to control it, but you couldn’t every time you were close you would glance down at her. You closed your eyes as you blindly made your way to the window, watching the rain dribble down the window pane when you opened your eyes. As the weather starts to calm down and the power stop flickering you sat beside your sister, carefully grabbing her hand to hold, laying your head down next to her. Your breathing slowed down as your eyes fluttered closed, still grasping her for comfort.

The next few days went by in a blur, you refused to leave your sister alone, it’s not like you could’ve anyway. You couldn’t have gone home to where there was no one waiting for you, no one who jumped into your arms and drag you to the couch to watch a movie, or to talk about how school was that day, or to just hold. There wasn’t anyone there. You hadn’t been to work in a few days, you didn’t’ tell them what happened, just that you couldn’t make it in. After missing a week your boss called you to tell you that you needed to come in or you were fired, you quit without even thinking, but when you started to tell him off you heard the pitter patter of the rain hitting the streets outside. You immediately tensed up, holding in your breath until you felt the anger simmer away. You hung up the phone looking down once again at the comatose girl before you chucked the phone against the wall, trying to hold in your sobs. A nurse had heard the commotion and rushed in to see your weeping figure on the floor. She pulled you up into a chair, and you were to upset to fall asleep.

“Ms. Y/L/N, I’m so sorry to have to tell you this right now, but you can’t afford to keep her on life support for much longer. I’m so sorry. We can keep her hooked up as long as we can, but we can’t do much more. Once again, I’m so sorry.” She adverted her eyes from yours, she couldn’t be much older than you, obviously very upset with having to deliver this news to you. you numbly shake your head as she leaves you alone in the room, the beeping of the machine the only thing filling the silence.

You needed money, more money than you could’ve gotten in your job. You know, the job you stupidly decided to quit. You exhausted your brain trying to come up with something, anything. For the first time in weeks, you went home. As soon as you stepped in your apartment you felt different, Kenna wasn’t there to great you, and you refused to get used to that feeling. Throwing your keys on the table and shrugging off your jacket, you slowly made your way to the bathroom, turning on the hot water before stripping off your clothes and hopping in, letting the water consume your thoughts. But soon thoughts of your sister had robbed you of relaxation. Wait… robbed? You had an idea. You were going to get the money if it was the last thing you do. You shut of the water, throwing a towel around yourself before dashing to your room. You threw on some pants and a thin strapped shirt before grabbing your computer and heading to the living room, beginning your search on the banks in Central City. You were going to rob them, you had to get the money and with your powers and the training you’ve given yourself it should be simple, the only thing that could throw a wrench in your plan was The Flash. Central City’s famous speedster who popped up a few months ago. He’s saved and stopped a lot of people in the past 6 months, but you weren’t going to let that deter you. When you had everything planned out you realized you forgot something, you needed a disguise. You searched your closet for something, anything, that wouldn’t let anyone know who you were. That’s when you saw it. A light blue leather jacket your mom had bought you months before she passed, you never understood why she bought it, and it didn’t cover your face, but right now it didn’t matter. You threw the jacket on and noted how it looked on you. Perfect. You felt powerful, no idea how a jacket could make you feel like this, but you didn’t care. You continued to search in your closet before moving on to Kenna’s hoping you would be able to look without getting upset. When you opened a bin labeled Halloween you threw your head back in laughter at what was sitting perfectly on top. A white mask, that covered your identity, which had jewels up the side and in a line of the forehead, creating a border affect. You stared at your self in the mirror, wearing clothes that made you feel as if your family was with you. That powerful feeling from before lingering as you grabbed a bag and stuffed the outfit in it, making your way downtown to the nearest bank, careful not to get caught by a camera or someone.

“Barry!” Cisco’s voice rang through the cortex as he spun around on his chair up to the computer screen right as Barry dashed into the room.

“Robbery at Central City Bank. Be careful Barry apparently there’s a freak storm going on around there.” Cisco debriefs as Barry flashes into his suit and races across the city. When he gets there he immediately clears all the people who are in danger, and that’s when his eyes land on you. You’re standing in the middle of the bank, no weapons but your hands sticking out the rain seeming to spread from them, flooding across the floor, making it hard for Barry to run but not impossible. You’re yelling at a worker to put money in a bag, your eyes were bright blue, and shimmering like water. He tried to get closer to you, but you noticed him before he could step any closer.

“Woah, water chick’s making it rain. Oh! RAIN! Not my best but I like it.” Barry hears Cisco say over his coms. He rolls his eyes before giving his attention back to you, who has turned to Barry and lowered her hands a little, causing the rain to slow down but not stop. You were scared, you knew you caused a scene, but you made sure not to hurt anyone, hoping that The Flash was taking a day off. Gaining your confidence back, you pulled your hands up and towards The Flash, all the rain flooding towards the man, collapsing him on the ground drowning on water. Barry can hear his friends yelling in his coms, but he isn’t listening to them, he to busy focused on you. He can see the anger in your eyes, the power you felt, it was obvious to Barry that you weren’t doing this for fun. There was a reason behind the madness. After a few minutes, you lessened the storm on the speedster allowing him to gasp for breath, but not be able to fight.

“Rain!” He huffs out between sputters, “Rain Please! We can help you! You just got to let us!” He yells his voice groggy from the water. You lift your head up letting out a loud laugh.

“Rain? Is that what you’re calling me now? Well, it’s fitting but I can do a lot more than make it rain.” You walk closer to the Flash, a confidence you’ve never felt before filling you up, and you liked it. Your eyes met with his, a smirk appearing on your face as you saw him try and figure you out. You started walking backwards, keeping eye contact with the speedster, as you let out a twisted sounding laugh. You grab the bag of money as you start quietly singing to the tune of “Rain, Rain, Go Away”. When you pull your eyes of him, he got up, completely unaware to you. But you’ve never felt like this before. You were the villain and you liked it. And you were gonna do this job and save your sister. And you weren’t going to let someone like The Flash stop you.

Part 2? Let me know!

[classlesstulip]

  Alright, I mentioned a while back that if anyone was interested, I would post some of the things that didn’t make it into my fic’s and the like. HERE’S THE FIRST ONE!

This particular one is how “Sugar Daddy” was going to start.

He was exhausted, irritated, angry, frustrated, and he felt like his head was about to explode. From the moment he woke up, Julian's day had been shit. This was just the icing on top of the shit cake.

     Last night, he and his now-ex had broken up. He had suspicions for a while that she was cheating and it was confirmed in the most explosive way possible.

     It's not every day that you catch your girlfriend snogging a guy at the bar you WORK at. Or you call her phone, have her deny it, and continue to do so even when you're both staring the other straight in the eye from across the bar. After having at it, he tossed her shit out. By that point, it was near 4am and they had attracted the whole floor of the apartment building.

     Thinking that was that, he essentially took a short nap before getting up for his Epidemiology lecture. After, he had to rush to his residency, getting stuck in the subway when power to the car went out. Getting chewed out by the Ward Director, he got vomited on, along with a volunteer accidentally spilling a tray of urine samples all over him.

     Suffice to say, one would think that things couldn't get worse. Alas, one would be so very wrong. Because that night the bar was packed because of a late-running football match, and Millwall fans are fucking dicks.

     After everything that happened, he decided to treat himself. Picking up a curry, he made his way to his unit just to find some stranger knocking on the door. Thinking they were looking for someone and had gotten lost, Julian decided to do a good deed and help the poor guy out…

     ...just to find out his ex had signed him up on every hook-up site and app she could find, posting his personal ADDRESS for anyone to see.

     He should just go back to Russia.

***

     Rubbing his eyes, he flopped back onto his bed, laptop balanced between crossed legs. On the glowing screen was his open email, message after message and advert after advert for different ‘mingling’ sites displayed.

     Grindr, Tinder, Bumble, the whole shebang. Literally dozens, including ones he didn't even think existed.

     (Some guy named GoatBoy69 on pissparty.com keeps emailing him, wanting Julian to ‘let loose’ all over his chest while he gets railed by his boyfriend. Julian just wants to vanish into the ether.)

     Hearing another chime chirp from his computer, he groaned in emotional agony. Every five minutes he got something from one of the sites, the most active one being a hardcore BDSM sugar baby finder. It hasn't even been a full day since their breakup and he literally has a hundred messages from this site alone.

     Julian would be lying to himself if he said that having a bunch of rich people want to bone him and pay his tuition wasn't a powertrip. Any other time he would be gloating. But, considering he hadn't signed up in the first place, he was just frustrated.

     Another chime coincided with a knock at the door. Sighing in tired resignation he went to answer, ready to repeat his spiel once again. Flinging open the door, he saw no-one before looking down.

     A short woman stood there, dressed in a power suit that probably cost more than what he made in a year. Her long mahogany hair was pulled up in a bun, and she had dark eyes. Like a few others before her, she held a duffle bag that no doubt held all sorts of sordid sex toys.

     For some reason, this was the last straw. All of the anger, frustration, and just downright sadness hit him all at once.

     Something must have shown on his face because her expression turned from one of controlled flirtation to concern in an instant. She shuffled him back into the apartment, set him down in his breakfast nook, and made him a cup of tea.

     “From the look on your face, this was not your doing, hmm?” She had a nice voice, lower than most women. It was soothing to his frayed nerves.

     “Ah, no, um, miss. It was not, Prew, my ex-” she held out a hand, cutting him off.

    “Say no more. And let me guess? She signed you up for everything under the sun?”

     Julian could only give a subdued nod, sipping his tea. He had curled his long fingers around the stoneware, trying to suck in the warmth it provided. “I emailed most other sites, explaining what happened. They've, ah, been very understanding. Along with my bank. Some sites had a registration fee. I didn't know until one mentioned a refund.” Checking his account balance nearly gave him a heart attack; he only had £5.84 to get him through the rest of the week.

     And it was only Tuesday.

     She hummed. “Have you seen the pictures?”

     His heart stopped.

     Pictures. Prew had posted PICTURES!

     His guest sighed. “I'll take that as a no. Here,” pulling out her phone, she tapped the screen a few times before passing it to him. On it, he could ‘see’ his profile.

     Username: CumDump069

     Sex: Male

     Gender: Male

     Orientation: Everyone and everything ;)

     Tribe: Hard bottom, sissy

     Looking for: Someone to boss me around and hurt me hard! ;lick emoji;

     His face went red when it got to the kinks section. Some were actually quite truthful, while others were quite disgusting.

     (Now he knows why GoatBoy is so interested in him.)

     His heart stopped at the pictures. Some were quite innocent. One was from their day at the beach a few weeks back. The others were personal. Things that should have been kept between them.

     (A small part of him was puzzled; the ‘Mods Favorite’ pic was taken of his shirtless back as he sprawled in bed. Others were more risqué, so why is this a fave?)

     Glimpsing through some of the comments, he passed her phone back with a snort of disgust. “No, I hadn't. Those were personal, just between us.” He felt hollow, violated. Another muffled chime was heard. Julian sighed, cupping his face and leaning on his elbows.

     “Hmm, give me a minute. Oh, the name's Lucille, by the way.” Tapping on her phone again, she placed a call. It only rang through for a few moments before getting picked up. A man's voice could be heard, but it was too quiet for Julian to hear what he said.

     “Hey, Ty. What's going on?” Some gibberish. “I know, I know. In fact, I'm sitting in front of him. Thing is, he didn't do it.” An incredulous sound. “Mhmm, ex-girlfriend. Think you can help out?” An affirmative sound, followed by a few more sentences. Lucille turned to him, “do you mind if I put this on speaker? Ty just wants to ask you a few questions.”

     “Why not? My weeks already ruined.”

     “Awwww, don't be like that. Ty's pretty good at taking care of things. A total Daddy. And you,” she gave him a slow once over, a smirk pulling at her lips, “look like someone Daddy needs to take care of.” Before Julian could sputter out a denial, she put the phone on speaker.

     “Hello?”

     Julian went redder than a brick house. Lucille snorted, not missing the effect such a dark and growly voice had on him. “He-hello? I'm, uh, Julian. Thank you for helping me?” Dear lord above, he hopes the other didn't hear his voice crack.

     “It's no problem, sweetheart. Us kinkster's take things like consent seriously. Now, do you have your computer in front of you? I'm going to be doing some things to your account before we close it.”

     Dashing to get his laptop, he plunked it down before sitting. Navigating to the site's main page, he gave an affirmative.

     “Nice. So, I'm going to start by locking your profile and changing the username. Afterward, it'll get wiped of your info and a disclaimer put up. Then, it'll be left as is for a few days so word will get spread of just what happened. A week later and it'll disappear like magic.”

     “Question. Why leave it up, and not just delete it?”

     “Well, your ex probably has you on a couple of different sites, and our community isn't just limited to using just one. This is the quickest way to spread word and have others keep an eye out. As it is, some of your info is already on the deep web.”

     Julian's heart sank.

     “Unfortunately, honey, the damage is done. All we can do is control. Lucky for you,” Lucille threw him a saucy wink, “a lot of us who use the site have some power and influence. We can keep quiet a bit of your info out of the wrong hands.”

     “I'll also give you my personal number, in case some people won't take no for an answer. I'm not worried about our members acting...improper, so much as the damned vanilla community. Fuckers don't understand that no means no.” Ty rattled off a number, one that had an international code.

     After a few moments of silence, Julian then saw his profile change. All the photos and info vanished. Stuck to the top of the page was a banner, disclaiming this page as being a ‘compromised account, not to be pursued’ with a small screenshot of what had been listed. Another beat later and his eyebrows vanished into his hairline; a multi-paragraph legal disclaimer popped up, stating things like ‘impersonation’, ‘distribution of personal assets’, ‘revenge pornography’, and a list of sites that are also on the lookout.

     This guy has done more to stop and fix the issue than his bank did. And when he called the police, he got laughed at.

     “So, that's that. Now for a profile name. You want anything in particular? Unfortunately, I can't leave it blank. The foundational coding throws a fit if left blank.”

     “If you let him pick, he'll go with something cutesy. Don't do it.”

     “I am beyond the point of caring. I'm tired. I'm hungry. My day has been shit. He can call me ‘kitten’ for all I care.”

     “Mmmhhhh, so if I pet you, will you purr for me?” Ty's voice went darker, a strong heat coming through. Julian covered his face as he groaned in mortification. The other let out a rumbly chuckle. “Gotta say, babe, may want to be careful. You can give a guy ideas…”

     “Tiberius. Leave him alone.”

     “*snort* Oh, you're no fun anymore. Fine, I'll leave sweetheart alone.” A few beats of silence, Ty grumbling under his breath. “There. Got you a new name and everything. I've put extra security on your account in case your ex tries anything. I'll send it to your email. I've also taken care of your registration fee. It's been marked as expedited, so it should be in your account by morning.”

***

     Lucille left after everything was wrapped up, also leaving her number as well. Feeling much lighter than before, Julian slept soundly. His good luck must have carried over because his classes the next day were canceled due to a burst pipe, and his supervisory doctor, Dr. Satrinava left him a message to have the day off, he looked like hell.

     Having a day off for the first time in a while let him do some much-needed housekeeping. Starting a load of laundry, he tackled the dishes as it ran. Looking into his fridge and pantry reminded him he needed to do some needed grocery shopping. Wondering about what he had to work with, he opened his banking app. He wasn't expecting much, knowing that refunds take a few days to process. He just needs enough to get by until the weekend. Seeing his checking account, he nearly dropped his phone, fingers going numb.

     There was £5,000 in his account. He didn't even have a full £1,000 the day before this bullshitfest started, having just paid his rent and utilities. Where the fuck did this come from?

     Heart going mad, he looked through his recent transactions. The usual deductions were clear as day, and he could pinpoint the start of Prew's transgressions. Scrolling through, he made a mental note to email a few other sites he must have missed. Coming to today, there was only one thing posted.

     March 22nd, 2018 (Con't):

       www.darkdelights.com

                               -£99.99

       www.ashleymadison.com

                               -£19.99

       www.sugarandsting.com

                              -£100.00

     March 23, 2018

       www.sugarandsting.com

                           +£100.00

       Roman Financial

                           +£6000.00

       Account Balance: +£5007.45

     Sinking into his kitchen chair, he gave a shaking exhale. This must be a mistake. There is no way that that money is his. He doesn't even know of a Roman Financial!

***

     One panic attack and several hours of being on hold later, and Julian had a few answers. The transfer came directly from a personal bank account. Getting passed around to different levels of the fraud department revealed that the individual called in the transfer and had Julian's account info. Put on hold again, the investigator called Roman for further inquiries. Getting patched into a conference call, the personal accountant of the originator confirmed that yes, it's legit, no, no need for thanks, it's a gift, and will he be okay for right now or does he need more funds until everything is sorted out?

     (Julian is embarrassed to admit that he made a sound not unlike an angry teakettle when asked that. He swears he heard the accountant smother a laugh.)

     Finishing up the call, he had an internal battle with himself. He knows for a fact that the money has to have come from someone who was a member of one of the ‘sugar baby’ websites. Two of the ones he was signed up for had a listing for a checking account, but both were to what must be Prew's account.

     Which means a moderator had to have done it. The question is, why? Is it hush money? Is it a bribe? Settlement?

     Or is someone making good on picking him up as a sugar baby? If so, is he spending this money (on greatly needed essentials, granted) implying his agreement to such an arraignment?

     He'll need to call Ty on this.

***

     Fixing up a cuppa, he curled up on the couch. Wrapping a blanket around his shoulders, Julian scrolled through his phone before selecting Ty's number. Listening to it ring through, he hoped he didn't wake the other. International numbers can be so unpredictable.

     “Mrrh’lo?” A rough, gravelly voice rumbled through the speaker. Julian winced, knowing that he did, indeed wake the other man.

     “Ah, sorry to wake you, Ty,” he felt so guilty. “But, um, something came up and Lucille made a comment last night that leads me to believe you can answer it and ohgodI'msorryto-”

     “Nah, calm down, sweetheart. I've shoulda woke hours ago,” a loud yawn could be heard in the background. “What's goin’ on, babe?”

     “...what's sugar baby etiquette?”

     “Ooooh, you lookin’ for a Daddy? I'm available if you're interested. I know I certainly am.”

     Redder than a hydrant, Julian explained. He stumbled and started a few times, not being familiar with being so frank. He'll flirt up a storm, tease you nice and good, but being this blunt? 

     Never heard of her.

     “Eh, if the accountant says not to worry, then don't. You would have been told directly and in no certain terms what's going on. Hell, a signed contract needs to be established before the relationship can go. If they try to goad you into this, using the money as an excuse, call me. Our site has a top-notch team of rabid lawyers.”

     Julian felt himself relax. It's not normal to trust a literal stranger this much after everything that happened, but he has no real choice. It also helps that neither Lucille or Ty are twigging his ‘Stranger Danger’ alarm.

     Hearing a chime from his laptop, he opened it. Among the now-familiar deluge of mailbox porn was a friend request.

     “I've sent you a request. My handle on Sugar and Sting is ‘NightmareFuel’. A few members are feeling a little worried, so if you're open to it, I can make your profile interactive.”

     Julian was left feeling speechless. He's lived in Cambridge for nearly four years, going back home to Kursk rarely. He has few friends this far from home, despite the efforts of Dr. Satrinava, and his ex-girlfriend is doing her best to make him miserable.

     And here is a group of rich, kinky bastards who want to make sure he's okay.

***

     During dinner, he accepted both the request and decided to make his profile public. Within minutes, he had over a dozen requests, each attached to a message asking how he was doing. Composing himself, he accepted and responded to a few. One linked to a ‘Misc.’ chat board, saying it was kink-free and a good hangout. Logging in, he was bombarded with a variety of greetings, both typed and voice. Dozens of men and women, sounding like they came from all over the world, were treating him like an old friend.

     Sweetheart: Hello? It's nice to meet you all.

     BangCOCK!: finally! fresh MEAT!

     FuckBoysGet$$$: dont you fcuking start

     Snek_Boops: Hello! (waves)

     Qween: Good evening.

     Sweetheart: Wait what? Why is this my handle?

     BangCOCK!: (looking @ Fuel)

     FuckBoysGet$$$: (looking @ Fuel)

     Qween: (looking @ Fuel)

     Snek_Boops: Fuel did it!

     NightmareFuel: fuck all u motherfuckers suck my dick

     Fuck you, Ty. Fuck. You.

***

     The next few months, school really ramped up. He was moved to the labs, analyzing samples and diagnosing illnesses. The bar finally got another bartender on hand, along with additional bouncers, lightening his load significantly.

     Things with Prew continued to go downhill. He had changed the locks a few days after she left but isn't able to move until his lease is up. He may still be stuck there because not many other buildings have flats within his budget. He's trying to find a better job, but not many places offer good pay and are willing to work around his schedule. Dr. Satrinava is putting out word to her colleagues, but not many are in the market for a student that still has another three years to go before being a fully viable employee.

     At least once a week some rando will show up, knocking on his door. Most left him alone when told what's going on, one revealing they found his info on a fucking bathroom stall. A few tried to get handsy regardless. He's already had to send some off with broken noses, one with a broken arm. Last week, he punched a guy so hard that he dislocated his finger along with the guy's teeth.

     (Dr. Satrinava gave him the most disappointed look he's received from anyone other than his mother. Due to his splint, he's been relegated to ‘File Boy’.)

     His resolve is starting to wear thin. He needs to get out, he needs sleep, and he needs a job that will give him the flexibility required to continue his education. He's thought of asking Ty and the others if they know of anyone willing to hire him, but he doesn't want to lean on them too much. Two already are helping him understand some of the weirder concepts of evolutionary biology.

     Looking at his bank account again, Julian sighed. He may not have a choice. Tapping a well-known contact, he shot off a text. Getting a skype invite back, he opened his laptop before launching the app. Putting on his headphones, a wave of nervousness washed over him: with only one exception, all interactions between himself and Ty had someone else present in some way. Granted, they talk nearly every day through Sugar and Sting's chat function but never solo. Until now.

     “So, you said you needed a better job?”

     Julian jumped, having drifted off. That same low heat pooled in his gut, a familiar friend that comes around every time he hears Ty's voice. “Ah, um, yes. Prew has scrawled my address on many, um, loo stalls and it's just, just-”, he gasped, exhaustion and fear collapsing over his chest. “I just can't take it anymore. I can't sleep, my job sucks, I've had to fight off sever-” Ty cut him off.

     “Fight? People have tried to hurt you!? You should have called me when this started! *sigh* Sweetheart, when I said call me if you need help, I meant it. Shit like what your cunt ex did can last for months, if not years. Just…*grumbles*.”

     Julian's chest felt tight. “Sorry. I didn't mean to anger you. It's just…”

     “Haaaa, I know. And I'm not angry at you. Just the situation. When this started happening I did a bit of background on you, and having such a good, hardworking person get dicked over by some self-perceived princess gets me mad.

     Can you give me a few days? I assume you're not looking to be ‘acquired’, so getting something tossed your way may be difficult. I also take it you're looking for something medical-related?”

     “Yes, please.” He was quiet, feeling bashful.

     “Alright, I'll send you what I find. I may know of a few leads. Have a nice night, Sweetheart.”

[langdvnshepherd]

Headcanons: Duncan Shepherd as a dad (Duncan Shepherd x fem!reader)

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: none really it’s literally all tooth-rotting fluff I’m sorry lmao, mentions of smut

A/N: Someone requested more dad!Duncan and I, uh, had to do it. Definitely message me if you ever want to hc dad!Duncan because I can do this shit all day. I’d love some feedback as well as some suggestions on what to write next!

We’ve discussed how Duncan would act before his baby is born, but what about after?

First of all, he would not be able to keep his eyes off of them

He’s in awe at all times that someone as cold as him helped create the most precious thing he had ever seen in his life

Even when he’s exhausted from taking care of them all night and changing diaper after diaper, he would opt to just watch the way their little nose twitches and their fingers flex as they sleep

Every little coo or grunt that comes out of them is the cutest thing he’s ever heard

Their cute little toes are his favorite

Loses it every time he sees how tiny their clothes are

sorry idk how to make the cut work so this line has to be here lmao my b

Also really loves watching you breastfeed because those are his two favorite people and they get to bond in this very special way

Obsessed with how their eyes get droopy and they get all sleepy after their bellies are so full of milk

Going a little off topic— I picture that this is when he’d ask you to marry him

It would be super casual

You’re cuddled into his side while you’re feeding your little bub one morning and he’s contently watching the two of you and it just dawns on him that there’s literally no other way he could/would want to picture his life being like

He wants it to be you, him and the herd of babies the two of you create for as long as he lives

He says it plainly and matter-of-fact-ly that he wants you to marry him because this is it for him and he doesn’t want anything else

“I was gonna get you flowers and a giant ass ring and take you to a fancy dinner and be dramatic and with the whole shebang, but this just felt right. We can figure the rest out later.”

I would say he takes to fatherhood fairly well

Always offers to get up in the middle of the night and rock them back to sleep

Spit up and poop doesn’t gross him out

Thinks their little burps and farts are hilarious

“Heyyyyy, impressive! Just like your daddy.”

Cherishes skin-to-skin contact

At any and all times he can be found sitting on the couch or nursery rocking chair shirtless with his baby tucked into his chest

Also does the thing where if the baby falls asleep on him he refuses to move until they wake up regardless of what position he’s in

“My leg has been asleep for an hour, but there’s no way in hell I’m moving and waking up this sweet baby.”

You have an entire photo album on your phone of him and the baby asleep in the weirdest positions looking like identical versions of each other

Duncan’s arm tucked behind his head and slumped into the corner of the couch with your baby’s chubby cheeks smushed into his chest and legs tucked into their chest like a little football

When he has to take care of them alone for the first time he feels like he’s gonna puke

He’s convinced that something bad is going to happen even though you’re just going to work for half a day

If something happens it will be his fault and he won’t be able to live with himself

He calls you to before everything he does to make sure he’s not going to accidentally hurt them

“They have a rash on their butt, is the diaper cream the blue tube or the red tube?”

“Duncan, you know which one it is. You put it on them last week.”

“Yeah, I know. I just wanted to double check.”

He measures every breath they take until you get home because he doesn’t full trust himself alone with a child

You end up coming home to a quiet house and find Duncan and the baby knocked out on the floor with an old Mickey Mouse cartoon playing softly on the tv

He was going to be perfectly fine, you tried to tell him

The first time the baby gets sick he’s so heartbroken

Usually their cries can be softened with a boob in their mouth or some gentle rocking and pats on the booty but knowing he can’t do anything to help them this time makes him feel so sad

He just hold them as close as he can and tells them he’s sorry there’s nothing he can do until they finally drift off

Duncan also probably withdrawals himself from work gradually after the baby is born

Also chills out on the shady business because now he has a kid to consider and if he gets caught he isn’t the only one that will suffer the consequences

Taking on less of a work load to he can spend time with you two but also because having a kid has made him reflect a lot

He wants to be the parent he never really had

He wants to look back and say he was able to provide for his family, but was also still present for all of the little moments

Him and his baby are best buddies and I am a firm believer in that

You can calm them down and make them laugh and they love you so much but it’s nothing compared when they see Duncan walk into the room

They’re immediately in a better mood or having a giggle fit

They love it when Duncan tickles them with his beard when he gives them kisses or blow raspberries on their tummy and they love making grabby hands at it and scratching it

He talks to the baby like they’re grown and like their little babbles are actually words and it’s hilarious

“What’s that? You thought the State of the Union was pure shit? Well that makes two of us! I couldn’t believe the hot garbage coming out of his mouth either! What an idiot.”

It only encourages the baby to mumble and speak more gibberish because they’re thriving off of the attention they’re getting from their dad even though they have no idea what the fuck he’s saying

He fake wrestles with them by pretending to choke-slam them but he just softly flips them around and gently flops them down on the couch

Walks around the house with them hugging his leg or on his shoulders while they hold onto him by his hair

Duncan is always letting them do things you don’t want them to do like crawl around butt-naked or letting them suck a tiny bit of cake frosting off of his finger when you aren’t looking

“Duncan, you can’t keep doing that! All of that sugar’s going to upset their stomach.”

“But look at them, they LOVE it. You can’t look at that face and tell me that they don’t absolutely love it.”

Their first steps are towards Duncan one day when he’s home alone with them

He’s working on his laptop while the baby was messing around on the floor with their toy piano and chewing on the ear of their stuffed elephant

For whatever reason he diverts his attention from the screen to the baby and sees that they’re fully standing on two feet and rocking back and forth and concentrating super hard on staying upright

Duncan realizes what’s about to happen and eggs them on with the bowl of dry Cheerios they had been eating for breakfast

“Come on! Oh my god oh my god, come on you’re so close you can do it!!! Come here!!!”

They make it clear across the living room and stumble right before falling but Duncan scoops them up and tosses them straight up in the air out of excitement and the baby is a squealing mess from the kisses Duncan covers them in

Their first word is “mama” and he’s honestly a little salty because he thought he was special

“After all I do for you? All the times I get yelled at by your mom for feeding you sweets and cuddling you at night when you should be sleeping in your crib? You betray me like this? I see how it is.”

He definitely finds it extremely entertaining to make them say random words like ���shit” or “fuck” and 100% gets yelled at for it after they made a habit of screaming it around the house

IMAGINE their first birthday

You know Duncan spends way too much money on unnecessary things that a one-year old will never remember

A giant cake that they’re inevitably going to smash to pieces with their tiny fists

He buys so many expensive baby toys and it doesn’t even matter in the end because all the baby wants to play with is Duncan’s cell phone and try to chew on his watch

Given that babies and toddlers are a handful to say the least, the relationship between the two of you definitely changes

Not in a bad way, just different

There’s not a lot of time when it’s just the two of you, so you have to make accommodations

Quickies in the shower or cuddle sex 20 minutes before the alarm goes off in the morning

Most of the time, you’re both too exhausted to do anything so it’s a lot different from when it was just the two of you and you were constantly trying to jump each other’s bones whenever possible

Random, domestic things that the other does start to turn you on

Watching Duncan in the kitchen in his glasses and boxers on a weekend morning teaching your kid how to peel an orange

Duncan watching you frustratingly change tops for the third time because you kept leaking through the fabric

Daddy kink takes on a new meaning

You fall more in love with each other after going through the adjustments of parenthood together

When they start going to daycare, Duncan is pretty sad

His baby isn’t really a baby anymore

But he lightens up when he sees how much fun they have when he picks them up everyday

They’re so excited to show him their new friends and where they put their mat for naptime and the finger-painting they made of your family (they insist that’s what it is but it’s really just a bunch of giant blobs but Duncan refuses to acknowledge that and congratulates them on being such a talented artist and puts it on the fridge it as soon as he gets home

They also love getting into the routine of getting ready with Duncan in the morning

Duncan let’s them stand on the counter and brush their teeth beside him and they make faces at each other in the mirror

Once, they tried to go for the razor because they saw Duncan do it once and Duncan’s life flashed before his eyes

They always give him a big, fat kiss and a tight hug with their tiny arms around his neck right before they run off into their classroom

He is the dilf of the daycare and we all know it

Everyone already thought your kid was the cutest in the class, but loses their shit when they see how hot their dad is

Comes in handy when he finds out another kid was mean to his one day and pulled their hair or called them a mean name and has to bitch to the people in the office about it

They started crying as soon as they got in the car from being picked up and Duncan’s heart hurts so bad

They’re so tiny and young and there’s no reason for anyone to be mean to them

He lays with them in their toddler bed and rubs their tummy and pets their hair until they fall asleep

Tells them that sometimes people are mean for no reason and they’re not whatever name they were called and they should never do those things because that’s not how you treat people

He’s obviously still upset about it when he gets into bed with you later that night

He didn’t think his kid would be subjected to the cruel world at such a young age and he hates that he wasn’t there to protect them

“There’s only so much you can do. You did everything you could, and that’s what matters to them. That you love them, and that you’ll always be there for them to talk to.”

Duncan nods but it’s clear that he’s still beating himself up over it

“Donut, if you don’t stop moping I’m gonna have to show you how good of a dad you are by making you another one.”

“.....is that a promise?”

Ok I’m done now I think please send in more hc’s if you think of them dad!Duncan is my lifeline that’s it thanks

Some of you asked to be tagged and idk if you meant just in the sugar daddy fic or in everything so lmk what you meant lmao

@sloppy-little-witch-bitch26 ​ @langdons-rep ​ @avesatanormalpeoplescareme @venusxxlangdon

[wolfpawn]

I Hate You, I Love You, Chapter 15

Chapter Summary -

Tom tries contacting Danielle about something small, will she respond? Also, when Benedict turns up on his doorstep, how does that go?

Danielle and Paul discuss something that has been something of a point of contention for them, bringing up something from Paul's own past.

And when Emma rings an exhausted sleeping Danielle and Tom hears Paul with her, how does he react?

Previous Chapter

Rating - Mature (some chapters contain smut)

Triggers - references to Tom Hiddleston’s work with the #MeToo Movement. That chapter will be tagged accordingly.

authors Note - I have been working on this for the last 3 years, it is currently 180+ chapters long.  This will be updated daily, so long as I can get time to do so, obviously.

If you wish to be tagged, please let me know.

tags: @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog  @jessibelle-nerdy-mum @nonsensicalobsessions @damalseer @hiddlesbitch1

Hey Elle,

I know you don’t really want to talk to me at present, and I know your boyfriend told me to give you some space, but I was passing that bike shop I told you about, you know the really good one just down from my place, and they have a huge stock clearance sale going on, something to do with new models (I just nodded, you know better than I do) but I went in and asked them what the deal was and they said they have loads of triathlon, trail, and road bikes, all the best brands for half price because they are last years colours (is that seriously a thing for bikes, I mean, they’re bikes!) and you were saying at Christmas you wished you could ask ‘Santa’ for a Madone??? Well I mentioned that to the guys there, and they said they have a middle of the range one for £1,500 in your size (I told them you were a short arse) which is apparently the bargain of the year, and they will hold it for me until Thursday, so if you want it, you can tell Emma and she will let me know, or whatever, I just know you wanted one.

Sorry for rambling, that could have all been said in two simple sentences.

Tom

PS  I’m really sorry about everything else, I told myself I wouldn’t bring it up, but I can’t help it. I’m really sorry Elle, please forgive me.

Elle looked at the email for the fortieth time. She knew Tom was trying to do something nice for her, while also trying to worm his way back in. she sighed, not sure if the idea of her dream bike would be worth it. Rubbing her hands over her face, she felt conflicted. She could just text Emma, give her the money and not talk to Tom, but that was just plain wrong, and she knew it, but what were her alternatives? Say yes and have tom email her incessantly about something she didn’t want to discuss or bluntly sent a one-word email back and be as big an asshole as he had been; neither appealed to her.

“A penny for your thoughts?” Paul asked, handing her a cup of tea.

“It’s Tom,” she stated plainly.

Paul frowned. “You’re Googling him?” he seemed somewhat hurt at the idea.

“No, he sent me an email about a really brilliant bike I’ve wanted for a while, it is going cheap near his home, he remembered I said I wanted one so he told me about it.”

“Did he mention anything to do with…?”

“Just that he was sorry, and asking my forgiveness.”

“So are you?” She looked at him. “Are you just going to forgive him now?”

“I can’t. I’m not there yet.”

“But you want that bike?” She nodded. “Catch twenty-two I’m afraid.”

“Hence my sighing and confliction.”

“You really care about him.”

“I care about all of them; they’ve been like family to me.” She explained.

“Well, family forgives.”

“Even if they tell you your parents must not have thought you worth the money on your education to pay for you to study privately.”

“I thought you said he was not abusive.”

“He was mad, Paul.”

“That is a terrible thing to say about someone.”

“You studied at the College of Surgeons, right?” Paul nodded. “One of the most elite medical colleges in Britain?” Again he nodded. “Meaning your family is not exactly from the council estates of London.”

“We were not landed gentry, no, but my parents and I made it so I could get through it, with some help from loans.”

“Did you scoff at those who studied medicine in other less prestigious colleges?”

“I was younger and more naïve.”

“And Tom was hurt by my words, I am not condoning his words, but we both struck low.”

“How did this go from me defending him to you defending him?” Paul asked with a chuckle.

Danielle thought for a moment before laughing. “I have no idea.”

“He seems to be a big topic of conversation of late.”

Danielle looked at Paul analytically. “I’ve noticed, but poor Emma, this has been so hard for the whole family.”

“I was wondering, it’s a little ironic since we were just talking about my college, but my old classmates wanted to meet up and have a bragging match soon, and I was hoping you would come with me.”

“What? To show them all you are slumming it with some paramedic?” she joked.

“Danni, you know your job is important, if you don’t care for them before they get to the A&E then they don’t make it.”

“Except you know that I know what doctors tend to think about paramedics, that we don’t have the brains to be ‘real doctors’.”

“You know I don’t think like that, especially with you.” He kissed her. “Please Danni; I really want to actually introduce you to people.”

Danielle gave a noncommittal sound in response, one that Paul noticed immediately.

*

Tom,

Thank you very much for inquiring on my behalf and for recalling the model I was looking for, and also for having them hold it. I gave Emma the money, she said she is heading your way anyway, so this gives her an added excuse, just be forewarned of her arrival.

Elle.

It was short, and did not have any of Elle’s usual jokes, or a threat on his life for calling her short arse, but it was a start, and that was all that Tom could ask for.

With any other woman he could just buy her the bike as his plea for forgiveness, but he knew Elle enough to know she would never allow it, she would return it or give a donation to UNICEF under his name or something rather than owe him that, and he had to respect that about her, she was too independent to allow him to buy her forgiveness, in truth, that was what made her so different to every other woman around him. She was always the one to want to give him things, as opposed to the other way around. He felt his throat tighten at the thought of how she would have probably paced for hours, thinking of what to send, trying to neither encourage him to respond or seem rude, but yet talk with him. Part of him wanted to email back, tell her everything, but that would be too much too fast and he knew it. She would dismiss him if that happened, and they would be back at the start of it all.

So he took what she gave and was grateful for it. He immediately set about going to the bike shop and purchasing the bike before wheeling it to his car and realising he had no way to bring it to his house. Which required the further purchase of a bike rack, and very amused salesmen making comment on it being the first time they ever helped put one on a Jaguar, but in the end, he was able to get it back to his house.

“A bit small, isn’t it?” Tom turned to see Benedict standing in his driveway, looking at the bike, still attached to his car.

“It’s for Elle.”

“I was wondering; it’s not really in a colour scheme that matches you.” He joked. “So you two have patched things up then?”

“Not entirely, but I’m working on it.” Tom looked sheepishly at Ben. “I…”

Benedict held up his hand to silence him. “It’s done, I’m just glad to see you back here, and looking somewhat fresher in yourself. Need a hand?”

“Please.” Between them, they untied the bike and took it off the car.

“That thing weighs less than Christopher did when he was born.” Benedict lifted the bike a few times in one hand.

“Apparently it is carbon fibre, so it only weighs a few hundred grams.” Tom shrugged. “Listen, Ben, thank you, for everything.”

“It’s what friends are for.” Benedict smiled in return. “I want you to have what I have man, to be happy, but that wasn’t you, and it was obvious. No one that is happy is that angry in themselves.”

“Is that some Buddhist thing?”

“No, that is a common-sense psychology thing.” Ben walked the bike to the door as Tom fiddled with his keys. “So, after my hard work, am I getting a cuppa and a biscuit?”

“All I have is Hobnobs.”

“All you ever have is Hobnobs; I would die of shock if you didn’t.” Benedict joked.

*

“Danni?” the paramedic looked around her garden, she had gotten too into a book and forgotten that she was supposed to be alone, so when she heard Paul call her by his nickname for her, she became confused for a moment. “You back there?”

“Yeah.” She got to her feet and walked around the side of her house to see Paul standing in front of her. “What the fuck?”

“Drug addict got a little violent at work last night, nothing much.” He dismissed; his bruised cheekbone and black eye negating his statement.

“Have you seen yourself in a mirror yet?”

“Yes, but overall, I really think it is nothing. Cathy, you know her, the admin nurse?” Danielle nodded. “The bastard bit her.”

“What!”

“Hep tests, HIV tests; the whole shebang she has to deal with now, so I’ll take my bruises.”

“Okay, I concede, you’re fine.” She raised her hands in defeat. “What has you here?”

Paul frowned. “Do I need an excuse to see my girlfriend?”

“No, but you usually call.”

He enveloped her in his arms before kissing her. “I know, but I really needed to see you, and you know the rules with texting or calling when in the car.”

“Good point. Tea?”

“Actually, I had something else in mind.” He grinned slyly.

“Seriously, a post-work booty call?”

“No, well a little, I was hoping we could…”

“Are we actually discussing this in my garden, where we can be overheard by people? Get into the house.” She dragged him around to the back door, Mac Tíre getting a half a salute as they did. “I rather not discuss that part of this in public,” she stated when they got into her kitchen.

“It’s not something to be…are you embarrassed by it, by me?”

“What no, I just…what I, we do is no one's business.”

“But you say you are close to Diana and Emma.”

“Not that sort of close, I don’t discuss what Emma does with Jack, it’s not my business. The only time that ever was broached was when she was saying about the future, how she wanted kids in a couple years.”

“I’m sorry, I got a little paranoid,” Paul admitted. “No man wants to think his girlfriend is embarrassed by him, especially in bed.”

“Do I want to know?”

“My last girlfriend, well, you know…”

“You’re ex-fiancé?”

“Yeah, that one, she said the reason she cheated was that I…well apparently I wasn’t good enough, you know, on that front.”

“Ah.” Danielle realised what he was implying. “So that explains a few things.”

“I just, you are not really…you never want to go passed certain things, and I get worried it’s because of me, and I…Jesus, I’m making an absolute balls of this.” Paul rubbed his hands over his face, wincing and groaning when he rubbed his sore cheek.

“Paul? “He looked at Danielle. “I, I’m not avoiding that because of you, I just…I am not there yet.”

“Okay.” He nodded, more to himself than to her. “I get it; I suppose we should have talked about this sooner.”

“Yeah; that would probably have helped.” She agreed.

Paul walked over to her again, taking her in his arms as he kissed her. “How about we take a shower, together, and do whatever feels right?”

“I am spending a lot of time showering recently because of you.” Danielle laughed.

“All the more reason to conserve water and have one with me.” He grinned; happy that she kept her hand in his when he led her towards the hallway to the stairs.

*

Danielle groaned when her phone began to ring, forcing her from a very satisfying sleep. She had left it charging by her bed before Paul had called over. She could not make out who it was that was calling. “Hello?”

“Hey, sleepyhead.” Emma sang down the phone. “Are you home?”

“Ya, ‘M home.”

“Wow, you really are sleepy.”

“Shh tup.”

“You sound the same when you are tired and drunk, you know that?” Emma continued to jest. “I have the bike; Tom got a bike rack and drove it from London.”

“Love-eel.”

“Go back to sleep.” Paul groaned from beside her, “You’re not making sense.”

“Mm’kay.” Danielle had not been fully awake, to begin with, and dozed off again immediately.

Paul chuckled as he took her phone and put it to his ear. “I’ll tell her to collect it before work, alright Emma?”

“Thanks, Paul, let her get some more sleep, she sounds like she needs it, I’ll keep it in mums til she wakes up.”

“Will do. Take it easy.”

“You as well, bye Paul.” Emma smiled as she hung up the phone. “I think Elle’s a little tired at present, I’ll bring it over later.” She turned to Tom, who had been next to her when she had made the phone call only to find he wasn’t there. “Tom?”

In his mother’s garden, Tom tried to calm his breathing, but as Mac barked at a bird on Danielle’s roof, he found himself looking at the closed curtains of the master bedroom, knowing she was inside there, asleep in Paul’s arms, and he could not catch his breath.

[piccolina-mina]

Holding the Universe Together

Fandom: Roswell New Mexico

Characters: Maria Deluca, Max Evans

Inspo: Dia de Maria

“She wasn’t doing a thing that I could see, except standing there leaning on the balcony railing, holding the universe together.” - Salinger 

A/N: Pre-series Maria and Max. The brotp I need in my life. Freestyle, all errors are due to humanity and sleep-deprivation. 

—

Thwack

“First time’s a warning; next time it’s hitting one of you, got it?” Maria popped her gum while pointing the baseball bat at both rowdy, drunken patrons who were seconds away from a brawl.

“We’re closed now,” she feigned sweetness as she cocked her head to the side. “Now get outta here!”

She stared both men down as neither of them made a move towards the exit. She twirled the bat like a baton and was on her way around the counter when he found his voice in his drunken haze.

“The lady,” he shook his head to better clear his thoughts and assert some semblance of authority. “The lady told you to leave, gentlemen.”

Max glared at the two drunks until they had the right mind to retreat, and when they did, he laughed in delight; it worked.

Two Marias looked back at him.

“Thanks for the assist, newly appointed lawman Evans.” She went back to wiping down the counter. “I had it though.”

Was that sass? Yeah, it was probably sass. It had been a few years since high school, but even then, Maria could kill a man with her sass. It would be the sweetest kind of death though.

“The lady doth protests too much.”

He was pretty sure his words were slurring together, and he didn’t realize he had celebrated his new official role at the sheriff’s department so much. He didn’t normally drink a lot. That was something he left to Michael.

Maria came into focus again, and he realized that the real reason he avoided the Pony was she reminded him of Rosa – she reminded him of Liz.

He didn’t realize the mere thought had brought him to tears until warm hands were rubbing at his neck and face.

“Easy there, Evans,” Maria cooed. I think you had more than enough.“

She sounded so maternal, and it made him want to cry more. If she knew anything about how he affected her life, she wouldn’t be soothing him as if he were a child.

He couldn’t understand why she was in the first place, but she had this faraway look in those soulful brown eyes that made him think it wasn’t about him at all.

“Do you think she would be proud of me?” He asked before he could stop himself, and he cringed at how pathetic he sounded.

She knew. Maria always knew. He never bought into her and her mom being psychics or witches or whatever else the town liked to call them, but she had a certain intuition he couldn’t explain.

“Oh honey,” she smiled a sad smile and patted his hair. “I always had a soft spot for you, you know?”

He scoffed in disbelief since Isobel all but made him believe he was a dope who no one could ever appreciate, at least back in high school.

“You were supposed to be a writer, Evans,” she replied quietly. She rested her hip half sitting on the table and absentmindedly stacked his glasses for cleanup.

“You were supposed to travel the world,” he shot back. “You were supposed to sing.”

He watched her body tense, but he didn’t know if it was out of anger or surprise.

“How the heck did you know that?”

Surprise then.

“You mattered to Liz,” he said honestly with a shrug. “So you mattered to me.”

He studied her face. It was something he was getting better at with the new job. Her eyes were misty, and for a moment he could see a longing in them.

He never knew what held her back; Maria was too big for their small town, and he figured she would take off after high school.

He doesn’t know if she ever did, but if she had, she came back sooner than expected.

“The job, does it make you happy?” She asked. “Does it fulfill you?”

He thought about it for seconds too long, and his head lolled a little too far to the side; she suppressed a smirk. He could tell.

“I get to help people,” he says a little too loudly, and he overcompensates by whispering it again. “I get to help people, and I like that part a lot.”

She smiles down at him. “Then she’s proud of you.” She squeezes his hand and collects the cups.

“Does this make you happy? Does this fulfill you?” He asked, but when her hand stalled and her face scrunched up, he figured he screwed up again.

“Oh, oh, sorry. Please don’t cry,” he shoved damp bar napkins at her and reached for her face before dropping them awkwardly.

“I’m not about to cry, you dope,”  she laughed him off, and he thought maybe she was lying, but he was too inebriated to tell.

“Alright, Evans. Who am I calling for you? The dirty mechanic who is in here every other week or the bitchy socialite?”

He must have looked confused as hell because she took pity on him. “Why don’t you go wash up, and I’ll take you home.”

He nodded and stumbled to the bathroom for a splash of cold water before returning to the bar. The lights were mostly out.

Maria stood palms gripping the bar counter her head tilted into the phone pressed between her ear and shoulder blade.

“I’ll be home soon, Mimi,” her voice was a higher pitch as if she was hiding how exhausted she sounded. She also sounded worried.

“Did you get the food I left you? No, mom. I’m not babying you. You’re right, I was just checking in. I’m making a quick stop, and I’ll be home shortly. No, not that type of stop. Fine, it’s that type of stop. He’s tall dark, handsome and wears a uniform. Whole shebang. I’ll tell you all the details.”

She hung up and leaned forward onto the bar and exhaled. He felt bad for impeding on her moment, but then without even turning back around to look at him, she asked: “Are you ready officer tall, dark, and handsome?”

He stumbled in surprised, and she was by his side propping him up. “Easy there, cowboy.”

“I’m s-sorry, ” he stuttered leaning into her more than he wanted.

“I don’t give this special treatment to just anyone. You should be flattered, Evans,” she grunted under his weight. “You were always one of the sweet ones, and no worries, I’m not taking you home to ravish you.”

She laughed when his eyes went wide, and his cheeks flushed upon realizing she knew he was eavesdropping after all.

The night air did him some good, but Maria stayed tucked beneath him like a toy puppy. She was small, the way Liz was small. But she was strong enough to hold up his frame, and as she helped him get in he wondered why he never bothered befriending Maria.

She was a good friend and a nurturer, and he realized that in some ways they had a lot in common.

He saw the medical paperwork on the seat – endless papers which mostly had Mimi Deluca’s name all over them, and it was beginning to make sense why Maria may have remained in Roswell and at the ripe age of 23 was running her family bar alone.

“No one knows what’s wrong with her, "she said softly as they cruised along. "The doctors don’t even listen.”

“I’m sorry,” he responded sincerely. He reached out and squeezed her hand, and she squeezed it back. “She would be proud of you too. She loved you so much.”

“Yeah, I miss her,” she said with such sadness he wanted another drink to drown out the guilt.

She switched the radio on and Bon Jovi’s “Living On a Prayer” flooded the car. She began singing at the top of her lungs, and he didn’t know what it was about Maria, but by her third nudge, he joined in.

“One of these days we’re going to do this proper, cowboy,” She yelled over the music. “We’re going to do karaoke.”

He snorted and blushed at the mere thought. “I don’t think that’s ever going to happen.”

“Oh Maximilian, you owe me, and I always get my way.”

His headache was starting to settle in, but he wouldn’t dare derail her jam session.

So it made it all the easier to believe that, yeah, she always did.

[goodfemalecharacters]

14x06 Coda: Definition Love

destiel, Jack asking more about love, 2k

When Jack opens his eyes, the first words out of his mouth are the very last words that Dean would have expected.

“What is love, then?”

Dean lets out a shaky breath.  Despite himself, he’s grown to care about Jack.  He doesn’t know what he would have done if he’d had to tell Sam—had to tell Cas—that he was gone.

The last hour or so has passed in a blur.  After Jack’s collapse, Dean hauled him into his room and tucked him beneath the covers.  He’s been pacing back and forth, dialing and redialing ever since.

He lowers the cellphone at the sound of Jack’s voice and sits gingerly at the end of the kid’s bed.  The tinny recording of Cas’s voicemail keeps playing even as he muffles it into the blankets.  

There’s a sour scent just beginning to tinge the air.  How he hadn’t noticed before is beyond him.  Dean thinks of the trials—of bloody tissues in the trash can—and mentally kicks himself.

“You scared the hell out of me, kid.”

Jack’s eyes lower. “I’m sorry.”

There’s a fine sheen of sweat on his forehead, and the high points of his cheeks glow red.  He bunches the blankets in his fist and doesn’t meet Dean’s eyes.

“Don’t be sorry.”

Suddenly, all he can think about is Sam, swallowed in the sheets of a too-big motel bed, lower lip quivering as he fought off another round of shaking shoulders,

“I got some medicine in you while you were out, but I don’t know how much it will help.”

They’d run out of medicine that week, Dean remembers.  He shakes off the memory of his six-year-old brother.  Sam’s fever had come down with some ibuprofen in him.  He knows better than to hope it’ll be the same for a Nephilim.

Jack lets out a wracking cough.  Dean springs from his seat and hands him a tissue so he doesn’t smear blood in his blankets.

“For the record,” Dean says, taking the now-bloody tissue and dumping it in the trash can next to Jack’s bed, “this is not what a cold looks like.”

Jack says nothing.

Dean sighs.  He might not be able to snap his fingers and make the kid stop coughing up blood, but he can at least answer the question.

“Love is needing someone,” he says quietly. “Not because of what they can do for you, but because of what they are for you.”

Jack nods—keeps nodding, because his head is heavy and he can’t quite stop.

“Sit up a minute,” Dean tells him.

He pulls Jack forward a little, fluffs his pillow.  Jack sinks back into it the moment Dean lets go, letting out a sigh.  Dean heads toward the door, convinced that Jack isn’t going to die, at least not right this moment.

“Dean?” Jack says after a moment, voice small, “I love you.”

Dean pauses, hand on the light switch. “Get some sleep.  Cas will be home soon.”

Jack manages to lever himself up on to his elbows when he hears the door open.  He tries not to frown when Charlie walks through the door instead of Cas or Sam.

“I brought provisions,” she says. “Sam will come see you soon.  He’s got two hunters up in Albuquerque that have never seen a ghoul before.”

Jack tries to smile.  It must look a little lopsided, because Charlie’s fades.

“Laptop, DVDs, the whole shebang.”

She sets her offering down on the end of Jack’s bed.

His face lights up. “Star Wars?”

Charlie grins. “Best movies of all time.  I love Leia.”

He’s been turning over what Dean said in his mind for the last few hours as he stared at the ceiling—his chest hurts too much to do anything else—and it doesn’t quite make sense yet.

“Charlie, what’s love?”

A flash of emotions play out across her face, one after the other.  It’s too fast for Jack to follow.  She finally settles on a neutral expression.

“I’m gonna go out on a limb and say that you’re not talking about Leia.”

Jack nods.  He knows why someone would love her—she’s the coolest.

“Love is pretending you love cupcakes, even if you don’t, just because she makes them for you.”

Her eyes glitter a little with tears.  Jack focuses on the shiny DVD cover while she recovers.

“Anyway.  Rest.  The others will swing around soon.”

Jack watches her retreating back until the door clicks shut and then slides the DVD out.

Toward the end of The Empire Strikes Back, Jack pauses on “I know” and fishes his phone out of the tangle of his sheets.

Mary?

He types and retypes the text a few times before he finally sends it.

what’s love?

If anyone would know, it would be Mary.  When they were captured by Michael, she’d tell him stories at night as she patched him up after Michael’s experiments.  About Sam and Dean when they were kids, about her husband, her parents.  

Love had been in every one.

She hesitates on her answer.  Jack can see the bubbles appear and then disappear.  He holds his phone tighter.

Love is being there for someone.

Then, another text.

I heard from Sam.  I’m on my way.

Love is being there.  Jack puts the phone away, and despite the pain in his chest, he doesn’t think he’s felt this at ease since Lucifer stole his Grace.

By the time Sam bursts into his room, Jack is nearly done with Return of the Jedi.  Sam has the beginning of a five o’clock shadow edging on to his face.  Jack wonders distractedly if that’s what happens when he gets worried—he just grows a beard.

“Jack.”

Jack tries to suppress a cough.  His whole body shakes with it.  Sam sits down on the edge of his bed, reaches out to take his temperature with the back of his hand.  It’s cool.  Jack leans into it despite himself.

He’s expecting Sam to yell at him for putting himself—for putting Dean—in danger.  The buddy system doesn’t do much good when one of the buddies is spitting up blood in between interviewing witnesses.  Sam doesn’t.

“I thought—” Sam’s voice stops.

He looks so much older than the last time Jack saw him.  For the first time, he notices the glint of silver just beginning to poke through the roots of Sam’s hair.  Sam scrubs a hand over his face.  It doesn’t do much to make him look less exhausted.

“Love,” Jack says abruptly, wanting to distract him. “Dean tried to explain it to me.”

A smile. “Dean?  As in, my brother?”

Jack just stares at him. “He’s the only Dean I know.”

Sam snorts. “Yeah, I know.  He’s just not really—love and love, you know?  Not really his bag.”

Jack doesn’t know what he could possibly mean by that.  He’s not sure if it’s the pounding headache that’s beginning to build behind his eyes or not.  He must look confused, because Sam keeps going.

“Love, huh?” Sam smooths his hands over his thighs, brushes some dirt off the knees of his jeans. “Forgiveness.  That’s love.”

Jack can’t help the yawn.  He tries his best to fight it back, but Sam still notices.  His face softens.

“You need rest.  Whatever this is—well.  You’ll need all the strength you can get.”

When Jack opens his eyes again, it’s to find Castiel sitting by his bedside.  He blinks blearily for a moment.  It’s hard to keep his eyes open. “Hello, Jack,” Cas says, leaning forward. He brushes some of Jack’s hair out of his face.  Jack’s throat closes over, and it’s not his illness.  He’s seen that movement in movies and TV shows.

As far as Jack is concerned, he doesn’t have a father.  But he imagines this is what it’s like. “I brought you soup.” Jack tries to sit up, but he doesn’t have the energy.  Cas braces a hand behind his head and helps him lean against the headboard.  Jack has never felt so weak in his life. “Thanks,” Jack manages to croak. He takes a swallow as Cas raises a spoon to his mouth.  Jack can’t quite tell what the flavor is, but the warmth feels good on his throat.  His whole body aches, and even the slight movement hurts.  He closes his eyes. “I tried to heal you while you were asleep.” Neither of them need to finish the sentence.  Something cold settles in Jack’s chest. He doesn’t think he’s afraid to die—facing down Lucifer in that church, all he’d wanted was for Sam to escape.  But the thought of Cas here in this room, alone, Cas carrying his body, wrapped in a sheet—it nearly breaks him. “Cas—“ he starts, but he can’t quite finish the thought. Cas spoons another mouthful into Jack’s mouth.  When a bit escapes on to his chin, Cas wipes it away. “Dean said I should give you ‘the talk,’ but only once you’re better.” He puts actual air quotes around the words.  Jack tried to smile, but it takes pretty much all of his energy to stay upright. “Tell me about love, then.”

Cas smiles.  There’s a flicker of the Castiel that Jack knows beneath the worried hunch of his shoulders.

“Love is coming home,” Cas tells him. “Come on.  Eat the rest of your soup.”

Love, Jack decides, is a lot simpler than the movies say.

“Hey.”

Cas looks up from the pile of books in front of him.  None of them have shown him how to save Jack, and his flipping between pages has gotten more and more frantic as the evening has worn on.

“Dean,” he acknowledges, turning back to the book.

It’s about angelic diseases.  And, as far as Cas knows, it’s totally false.  He’s never heard of an angel getting sick before.  

“It’s been hours.  You need to take a break.”

Cas glares. “I do not need breaks.”

Dean sinks into the chair beside him, watching him carefully.  For his part, Cas returns his gaze to the pile in front of him.  It’s become clear these past through hours that the cure to Jack’s illness isn’t going to be in a book.  There have only been about a dozen Nephilims over the course of human history.  None, to Cas’s knowledge, have ever had their Grace ripped out.

“I’ve been thinking about something since I talked to Jack.”

Something about the tone in his voice makes Cas look up from his book.  Dean takes one from the top of the stack and opens it to the table of contents.

“He asked me about love.”

Cas nods.  Apparently, he’s just been asking around the bunker.  He’d overheard Charlie telling Maggie about it when he’d gone to find a few more books.

“And I started thinking.  About how I’ve never said some things that I should have.”

This is not the right time for this.

“Dean—”

Dean doesn’t look at him. “After Ramiel nearly killed you, you said something.  And I was too scared to do anything about it.  I just need you to know that—”

“—I know,” Cas says. “I do, Dean.  I just can’t.  Not right now.  With Jack, I—”

Dean nods, looks down at the books. “Right.  Yeah.”

He gets up.

When he returns, he has coffee and a blanket that he passes over to Cas without a word.  Then, he takes the seat beside him and opens up his book.  Cas glances over at him when Dean’s not looking.  There’s going to be a time for this, he swears it.

Because being here with Dean?  It’s like coming home.

(ao3)

[dionysus-is-my-dude]

Soooo, I’m gonna start going through my stuff and sell some of it.

Some books, for sure. Most of them I haven’t read in YEARS. Mostly teenage sci-fi or paranormal romance books, y’know? ‘cause I was swept in that “Twilight” craze when I was a teenager. I may even sell a few of my witchcraft/Wicca books if anyone would be interested in those. I’d sell for way cheaper than I bought them for, of course, as some of these books are very expensive. I have boxes of books that I will never read again and could get a bit of money for, y’know? So, I’ll go through those. I also have some kids toys and stuff from when I was *cough cough* ( a Little, such shame, such cringe ). I could sell those, too. Uhh, there’s no way I’m selling my beautiful, antique tea cups. Too precious. Or my other antique items. Too pretty, much prettiness. Much cottagecore/grandmacore/goblincore- ness. I don’t own much else...Like, all of my collections are books, movies, and antique trinkets. And I don’t think I wanna part with any of my movies. I have SOME books I’d like to keep, like my Jane Austin novels and my Shakespeare bible and stuff like that. But all the teenage romance novels can go bye-bye. Along with tons of my clothes. I’ll post everything to Ebay once I have everything looked at.

School is almost over, thank Athena! I’m so exhausted. I’m almost tempted to not do any more homework and just take the final tests to get a boost at the end. I only have two weeks left! I’m gonna have so much free time now to craft and clean and relax. Business at the stand is picking up, which is noice. Tomorrow, I need to deposit my cash paycheck into the bank so I have money in my account to pay off some bills. I NEED to pay these medical bills, I swear, they’re piling up. I wonder if that’s what I can do tomorrow: call the business offices of the hospitals to see if there’s some kind of payment plan or something I can work with because I just don’t have that much money right NOW. By the end of the Summer, I’ll be making decent money, but right now, when these bills are due, I don’t make that much.

Didn’t do much today for Beltane. Just mostly napped all day because I was EXHAUSTED today for some reason. Had to work, but mostly just napped off and on in my car, lifting my head every now and then to see if someone was there. I can always celebrate a little more tomorrow when I have more time off. But I have to also run to the library and drop off my Elton John CD that I borrow two weeks ago. (Yeah, I’ve been rocking out to “Rocketman” and “Benny and the Jets” for the past two weeks.)

Uhh, I’d like to learn homesteading. Yeah. Me. Who used to dream about living in a city and shopping at expensive stores and stuff. Nah. I have a new dream to live in a little cottage/house with my wife, a cat, maybe some kids, and live off the land. I want a massive garden, some chickens, a clothesline, the whole shebang. I wanna live simply, y’know? I’m tired of dreading about money. If I can make my own food and home items instead of spending hundreds of dollars every year on store-bought ones, I will HAPPILY do that. If I end up on “Extreme Cheapskates”, I don’t care. I wanna be rich under the radar. Look simple on the outside and have just enough wealth to go on vacations and provide for my children.

Speaking of children, I’m once again weighing the options of having them vs not having them. On the one hand, having children is something I’ve always dreamed about; the silliness, the laughter, the playtime, the pride in seeing them grow into wonderful adults. That all sounds delightful. On the other hand, NOT having children would provide much, too; less yearly costs, more time spent alone with my wife, less time and anxiety spent watching over them on a homestead, and other things like that. I still have a long time until I have to make a decision. And it also really depends on what my future wife will be comfortable with. If we’re both in agreement that children would make our lives happier, than I’m all for that, as long as I’m not going to be a single parent. In this economy, even if I made a living on my own means, I probably wouldn’t be able to afford children on my own.

Ok, long update and thoughts over. If any of you would be interested in the books in my collection, I’ll post a short list of some of the books/series that will go up for sale tomorrow. And if any lovely ladies would like to start a homestead with me in the future, hmu.

[simplegalsmolworld-blog]

A simple gal’s thoughts on pregnancy..abortions.. the whole shebang.

Some backstory: I grew up in an Asian household. My parents aren’t like crazy conservative or anything but still...if I were to wound up pregnant they’d kick me out. I’d like to think of myself as an intersectional feminist. I’ve taken multiple gender studies classes throughout the years and I’m planning on getting into women’s rights law. So... here’s my take on pregnancy, abortions and the whole shebang. I wrote this after a few months of hell which includes me stressing out about the possibility of being pregnant.. see my period has always been irregular but after having been sexually active, I can’t help but think that I'd fucked up somehow. (Also, my apologies for any grammar mistakes, etc cos this was written on the iPhone note app). 

Thought process:

I feel like I shouldnt have to stay up all night stressing about a possible pregnancy or literally skip meals and spend hella money on tests to calm my nerves..or hide the fact that im purchasing contraceptives and shit from my parents. I feel like this society that I live in (particularly my household) breeds an illogical fear of sex and its consequence: pregnancy. It’s so unfair because as girls we are obviously by nature already inferior to the male species. For example, we get paid less and we get slut-shamed/objectified/restricted by gender stereotypes every single fucking day and now we have to stress about SOMETHING THAT IS A NORMAL PART OF HUMAN NATURE WHICH IS RESPONSIBLE AND SAFE SEX!! Having SAFE sex doesn’t mean you’re a bad person. And it’s not bad for your body either. GETTING AN ABORTION DOESNT MEAN U R A BAD PERSON. 

Its already unfair that I, as a woman, have to face the consequences of sex.. in which a man does not. I should still be allowed to get an abortion if I’ve exhausted all my resources into making sure that i am engaging in safe sex. I shouldnt have to sit here worrying about what society, what my parents or what people would think of me of i were pregnant because what? Because someway somehow the condom on the penis that isnt attached to my fucking body broke? Like its so stupid that if something were to go wrong when im engaging in safe sex, the man would be able to walk away unscathed while i will have to deal with the consequences. It would be fine if society has evolved to the point where people would help women with those consequences.. but sadly we arent there yet. So it’s so unfair that if i were to get pregnant, i’d literally have to get an abortion in secret and my parents would most definitely disown me. Even though I engaged in safe sex. Sex at any age (granted once ure legal) IS FINE AS LONG AS IT IS SAFE AND IT IS RESPONSIBLE. BUt mistakes can happen. People make mistakes all the time...that is WHY WE ARE HUMANS. And people should be able to have second chances. And no matter what that means (whether it means GETTING an abortion or NOT getting one) it is a woman’s own choice to decide because IT IS HER FUCKING BODY. I hate how this society has literally made me so stressed about this and it upsets me because I know if I were to end up pregnant, the ones that I love the most would not be there for me. My parents would not be there for me. And thats what scares me the most.

So.. to all my ladies out there: you are not alone. I’m here for you. 

[geezeralert]

A Beatles fan gets back to where he once belonged

(Some albums from my collection)

(First of three parts)

As a really big fan of the Beatles, I have always been somewhat in awe of those who are really HUGE fans of the famed singing group.

They just seemed to enjoy the music on a whole different level, with thorough knowledge and appreciation for what was produced by this unique musical foursome in their eight-plus years together.  

So, over the last four months, as a retired-geezer-bucket-list endeavor, I took a huge leap towards earning my “huge fan” badge.

I re-listened to, re-enjoyed and studied — consulting at least five books — each of the some 300 Beatles’ recordings, as contained on their 13 official albums/CDs along with many of their various related versions (on the three two-CD anthologies, various collections like “One” and the BBC live sessions).

I am blogging about it because, honestly, I’d just like to share my experience and put my basic impressions down in writing.  It was riveting and sinfully fun, spending too much money and too much time — including many breaks to just sit back, travel down memory lane and simply be entertained by these pop songs/albums that took me through the 1960s, from my pre-teen to college years — on what’s really a rather personal, trivial pursuit.  

But I’m also holding out hope that my findings could be interesting for other Beatles fans, of whatever level.

Quick bottom line: I am more impressed now than I was before with the output of this pop group and the incredible blending of the four multi-talented musicians Paul McCartney, John Lennon, George Harrison and Ringo Starr.  I’ll write about why and list the highlights of what I learned in the second part.

First off, though, I should define “really big fans,” my current state and that of many millions of my contemporaries worldwide from the sixties.

This group is familiar with all the Beatles recordings (able to identify them when hearing just the opening notes), their background as a group and individuals (back to teenage years), their basic timeline as recording artists (who authored what compositions and when), their alternate recordings, their post-Beatles recordings, their relations (girlfriends, wives), and their basic life stories.

In other words, we just just paid attention all these years, watching the relevant movies and videos, buying their records and reading at least the most reliable major books about them — first by Hunter Davies and then by Bob Spitz — while also picking up more than a few of the annual money-grabbing “new” ones.

I’ve read two books by “first wives” Patti Boyd (“Wonderful Tonight”) and Cynthia Lennon (“John”) and Lennon’s sister, “My Brother.”

I also bought one of the first song-by-song compilation books, “Beatlesongs” (1989) by William J. Dowling. For decades, it was my go-to source for day-to-day inquires like “who played that great bass part on ‘Hey Bulldog’”?  

By being a big fan, my Christmas and birthday presents from family and friends often have been Beatles stuff (when they tired of stuff feeding my other passion, baseball) including three coffee table books, a box of “The BBC Archives” TV and radio broadcast material, and three other books going into each of the group’s songs.

From all that, I am left wondering if the Beatles ever had a private, unphotographed, unrecorded (in writing or audio) stretch long than five minutes.

It was the final gift last Christmas,  “Revolution in the Head” by Ian MacDonald, that propelled me to finally take on this long-planned intensive study of the Beatles’ music.

MacDonald’s definitive work, updated three times since published in 1994, is classified as a textbook by the Los Angeles Public Library. It goes into great detail on the musical and sociological aspects of each song so it was sometimes beyond my sphere of interest. But it was most useful to me by going song-by-song in chronological order, referencing all the alternative versions of the songs and telling where to find them.  

Along the way, I also found the fascinating (although partially disputed) book “Here, There and Everywhere” by Geoff Emerick, a teenage recording studio prodigy who helped engineer (record, mix) just about every Beatles song, either as an assistant in his teens or the primary engineer in his early 20s.

His first-person observations helped flesh out the more technical aspects or third-party accounts of the Beatles songs.

(Other books used for the song-by-song marathon: “The Beatles: A Hard Day’s Write. The Stories Behind Every Song” by Steve Turner and “All the Songs. The Story Behind Every Beatles Release,” a massive, picture-filled coffee table book by Jean-Michel Guesdon and Phillippe Margotin.)  

Meanwhile, there are a ton of other written works out there awaiting my attention once this project is done – exhaustive books by Mark Lewisohn; memoirs by the group’s producer (and Fifth Beatle early on) George Martin and original drummer Pete Best; “Shout: The Beatles in their Generation” by Philip Norman; and “Paul McCartney: Many Years From Now,” by Barry Miles — to name a few . . . in my price range (more on that in part three). There’s a seemingly never-ending flow of written material and reworked music.

And it’s fair to assume “really huge fans” have read them all. (I’ll delve more into what constitutes that fan level in parts two and three.)  

The original idea for trying this project came after advanced technology, resolved legal issues and a favorable marketplace brought about the production of the entire Beatles catalogue on CDs nine years ago.

I had tried keeping up with the Beatles’ output over the years on vinyl, eight-track tapes and cassettes but, for one reason or another, had some holes.

Nearly my entire Beatles collection of vinyl albums was stolen from my college dorm room in the early 1970s. I then rebought some of the biggest ones at that time but then sat back and waited for releases in the latest medium (eight-track, cassettes, CDs, digital) and lost track of what I had.

So, when the complete collection on CD (remastered to sound even better!) became available, I perked up. But the price tag ($150-200) gave me pause.

Then came an offer to buy the whole shebang at half price. I was ready to pounce.

But there remained another major issue.

The Beatles’ studio personnel, I learned, recorded each of their songs in both monaural (“mono”) and stereo. Each version had/has its strong backers, especially as the original tapes were revisited and reproduced with improved quality (both in stereo and mono) for the latest CD versions.

For the “true experience” of listing to the Beatles songs, did one really have to possess and listen to both stereo and mono versions? The inner Beatles fanatic and picky perfectionist told me “yes.” My practical and realistic self, though, said that’s crazy, unnecessary and an expense only the crazy wealthy fan would want to pay.

Luckily, many music critics recognized the dilemma this posed for the average fan. From reading a few of their comparisons and conclusions, I came up with a fairly consistent recommendation for which albums are best in mono and which are best in stereo:

Mono sounds best for “Please Please Me,” “With the Beatles,” “Hard Days Night,” “Beatles For Sale” and “Help.” Stereo is recommended for “Rubber Soul,” “Revolver,” “Magical Mystery Tour” “The Beatles (The White Album)” “Yellow Submarine” “Let It Be” and “Abbey Road.” (The latter two were only mixed in stereo anyway.)

Mono and stereo versions of “Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band” both offer great listening experiences, and the 50th anniversary remix in 2017 added yet another aural mix.

The mono box set includes all the songs released as singles (45 rpm) and not on any of the basic albums (though some, those that rose to no. 1 on Billboard lists, are included in the “Beatles — 1” album/CD).  

Emerick actually recommended the mono mixes of  “Revolver” and “Sgt. Pepper,” which he engineered. He said much more care was given to the mono versions than the stereo ones, which were rushed at the conclusion of the project.

He wrote:

“True Beatles fans would do well to avail themselves of the mono versions of Sgt. Pepper and Revolver because far more time and effort went into those mixes than the stereo mixes. The stereo versions of those albums have an unnecessary surfeit of panning and effects like ADT (Automatic Double Tracking) and flanging. (Fellow engineer) Richard and I would sometimes get carried away with them because of their novelty value . . . especially if George Martin wasn’t there to rebuke us. Needless to say, it was John who especially loved that kind of overkill — we’d sometimes whack something on too severely just to see how it sounded, only to find him winking at us, saying, ‘More!’”

It should be noted that Emerick wrote his book in 2007, before all the remastering of the Beatles albums took place. So, perhaps the new stereo mixes enhance those versions to the point that they now are preferable.  

And then there’s the whole “Let It Be” controversy, when the original recordings were turned over to “wall of sound” maestro Phil Specter, reportedly by John Lennon, much to the chagrin of McCartney.

So, a stripped down version of those songs “Let It Be-Naked,” was produced.

For my listening project, I listened to that naked CD as well as a number of mono vs. stereo renditions of Beatles’ songs.  

Basically, I agreed with experts (they are so grateful, I’m sure!) that the early albums are best in mono.

This was a time when few people had quality stereo systems, if any stereo at all (I had a small portable one in my room), and thus much more time and care was given to the mono versions (says my books). Those tunes in stereo sound pretty tinny and awkward to listen to (says my ears), especially with headphones (e.g. the drums and base in one ear, the voices in another).  

Of course, musical preferences, like all reactions to art, are wholly subjective. When I posted a list of my personal choices for “five worst Beatles songs” (yes, they did produce some songs I cannot stand: “Rain,” “Paperback Writer,” “Baby You’re a Rich Man,” “I’m Down,” “Helter Skelter”) on a Facebook site, several respondents said the tunes were actually among their favorites. Some fans treat all of the group’s output as wonderful and any criticism as sacrilege.

In the books I consulted, Beatles tunes certified as “classic” by one author sometimes were depicted as “a disaster” by another. Even the Beatles disparaged as “garbage” some songs I (and others) enjoy.

Typical of most listeners, my reactions when sampling the stereo and mono recordings are probably based on how I first heard the songs. And for nearly all of them, that would be mono. Anything different sounds off kilter.

Some examples: The stereo “Taxman,” the lead song on side one of “Revolver,” has the bass and rhythm section on the left side while the lead guitar and percussion are on the right, with vocals in both. It sounds wrong to my ears, which first heard all the music coming out of both speakers (mono). Likewise, on the same album, “She Said She Said” (a favorite of mine) splits the instruments into separate channels and doesn’t sound quite right to me.

Still, the later works, as remastered, do have much greater depth and clarity in the stereo versions. Songs like “Martha, My Dear,” “Savoy Truffle” and “Glass Onion” sound terrific (I played them over and over). Likewise, most of Sgt. Pepper, which was remastered a second time for the 50th anniversary CD, is fine in stereo.

In several cases, like “Martha My Dear,” I enjoyed a song in the latest version far more than I did originally.

Which brings us to my general observations on what I heard and read. That would be part two, coming tomorrow.  

[nightshade1013]

How did Krycek come to be involved with the Syndicate? Why does he do the things he does? This is my take on his history and motivations...as told to Scully.

She clenches her eyes tightly shut and shakes her head in frustration, or maybe disbelief, then raises her voice again, “Enough, Krycek. If you want the disk for yourself, if you’ve decided you don’t want to share the information, then just take it and go. I don’t know why you have to play mind games. Just get the hell out of here.”

I intentionally soften my voice in order to contrast as much as possible with hers, “I’m very, very good at mind games, but I’m not playing them now. I WANT to share the information with you, Scully, I’m...eager to.”

Another question mark face.

“I’m tired. I’m so tired of working solo. It’s exhausting. I need...I need to trust someone. I need a mind like yours to help me…” I wave my hand toward my discarded laptop, “...unravel all this...all this...shit. I need another perspective. Someone else to help me sort it all out. There’s too much at stake, Scully. It’s too much for me alone. It’s too much for anyone alone. I need you.”

Her mouth is a rigid, straight line as she considers and processes my words. “You don’t know what you need, Krycek. You’re all over the map. I think maybe what you DO need right now is sleep. You’ll be able to think more clearly after you’ve gotten some rest.”

“I’m being perfectly cogent.”

I take a small step towards her. “I want to trust you, Scully. More than that, I want to prove to you that any trust you give me will not be misplaced. Or taken for granted. I want to decode these files, I want to face their contents, any revelations they might provide, with you. I want to see how that amazing mind of yours processes it, what it determines to be the best next step. And I want to be able to take those steps forward with you at my side.”

“You’re looking for a partner in crime.”

“If you define ‘crime’ as doing whatever it takes to save the human race.”

She shakes her head at me. “You’re a liar, Krycek. And a murderer. And a double crosser and an all-around snake in the grass. The only human being you want to save is yourself.”

Her words sting me now as they never have before. I’m guilty of a lot of horrible shit, and I live with regret on a daily basis, but I’ve done the best I’ve known how to do. Somehow I’ve got to convince her of that. So I do something I’ve never done before. I pull my wallet out and open it, find the photo I carry with me at all times, and place it in her hand.

“These are my sisters.”

She examines the three children standing in front of a huge tree trunk, squinting in the sun, the two youngest smiling widely at the camera. A 10 year old Alex holds the hand of a 6 year old girl with long, dark hair and a taller, teenage girl with much lighter brown hair stands on the other side of the little one, looking much less excited about being in the picture. Her arms are crossed over her chest and her expression is so typical of teen angst and rebellion.

“Everything I’ve ever done, however heinous, however abhorrent you may think it was, was done for them. To protect them, and to protect their children. I AM a liar. And a murderer. And every life truncated, every twisted plan hatched, was for them.”

She seems almost moved for a moment, then hands the picture back. “So my sister’s life was sacrificed in place of your sister’s.” It’s not a question. It’s a statement of fact that, I assume, is a necessary step in her coming to terms with it.

“In a way, yes...of course it wasn’t supposed to be your sister who died.”

She hangs her head suddenly.

“I regret that she died, and that you had to suffer the inevitable guilt from knowing you were the target. But I don’t regret the mistake. I’ll never regret that you were spared.”

Her eyes glisten with unshed tears when she looks up at me. She has suffered so much, and I have been directly and indirectly responsible for so much of it. Maybe I can help soften her pain by explaining my work, my life, my motives to her. Maybe she will actually listen, and by playing the roll of my confessor, she’ll help ease some of my pain, too. The story begins to tumble from my lips before I can reconsider how wise it is to reveal everything to the FBI. I’m weak and tired and I want human contact. Real connection. I know she is noble. I know she will give me a fighting chance.

“There was a member of the Syndicate who knew my father. He was a drunk and a gambler. The photo I showed you was taken one year before my mother died, two years before my father turned me over to them in order to absolve his debts. I was clever and attractive, the two qualities they value most, so I was potentially very useful to them. In only six weeks I proved myself to be smart and responsive enough to warrant their investment and at that point I officially disappeared. I was taken to New York and never saw my family again.”

Her gasp of shock, coupled with her wet eyes unnerves me for a moment. I didn’t mean to cause this reaction.

“I’m not looking for sympathy, Scully. I was treated well and received the best education money could buy. I traveled the world and was given an important purpose. I gained a life of opportunity not afforded to many. I just need to tell you these things because it’s important to me that you understand that I come from a completely different world, with a completely different perspective, but my motivations and goals are not far from your own.”

I pause and sit down, prompting her to sit as well.

“I was given private tutors and military training. I spent my summers on submarines, doing research in the archives of the British Museum, learning to fly small airplanes and helicopters, deep sea diving. I speak 11 languages -- 6 or 7 of them fluently -- and I can pretty accurately read 3 dead ones. I can read two alien languages. I’ve met with Syndicate leaders on every continent, I’ve seen their secret facilities, learned about their research, their tests, their struggles and successes. I’ve met with aliens, worked with clones and hybrids. I’ve helped shape policies and strategies. In short, I’ve been groomed to become one of them. One of the next generation.”

Scully is leaning forward, hanging on my every word.

“By about 15 or 16 I learned more and more about what all these things I’d seen really meant. They slowly explained the connections to me and I came to understand the weight and import of my position. I was one of the elite. Mulder has met one of the other elites, Marita Covarrubias.”

“But my training and knowledge are a liability for them now. As are Marita’s. We came to disagree with the decisions made over 40 years ago and the subsequent actions taken. Our generation has seen the rebel alien race rise and gain strength. We see hope in resistance but the first generation, Mulder’s father’s generation, or what’s left of them, is too afraid to even consider it. Mulder thinks I murdered his father, but he’s wrong. I learned of their plan to kill him and went there to try to protect him. Bill Mulder was the one, single dissenting voice. The only one willing to point towards resistance as an option. And he was there from the beginning. His perspective and knowledge were respected and we wanted to learn from him and count him as an ally. But I got there 10 seconds too late. I watched him go down and I knew the shot was fatal, so I fled in fear that if they saw me there they’d kill me, too.”

My story unfolds and she listens intently. I go on for hours, long into the night and the early morning hours. I recall all the questions she asked me on our drive down here, all the ones I avoided or answered in only the briefest of sentences, and finally give her the full answers she wanted. She asks for clarification from time to time, but overall she remains silent and just listens. I can practically see the wheels turning in her head as she absorbs it all and the dots slowly get connected.

There is a long silence that lingers after my concluding words. There is a frustration inherent in it, born of overstimulated neurons, a sense of urgency and desperation to step up to the plate and DO something to mitigate the problem, coupled with empty stomachs and lack of sleep. Our brains want to continue but our muscles and bones demand quiet and rest, and nourishment.

I don’t know how she manages to walk, but Scully gets up and goes to the kitchen. My eyes close as I slump back on the couch, but I am awakened by the noise of plastic wrappers. She is opening a package of crackers, places a slice of cheese on top, and shoves it greedily into her mouth. I reach for the can of tuna, use my fingers to scoop the meat out and onto a cracker, and begin to gorge myself as she is doing. There are no fresh foods here, we didn’t bring anything with us. But there are bags of dried fruit, peanut butter, all manor of snacks. It seems an appropriate spread given the level of desperation we’re feeling. We eat quickly, perfunctorally, and we fall asleep in place without any attempt to clean up after our feast.

Read the whole shebang here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13291284?view_full_work=true