#(shout out to Davis may you rest in peace)

[live-laugh-obsess]

queen of the damned is really trying my patience

[luciadiosa]

"I did it out of honor"

Pirates of the carribean - Request

for the lovely @umgatochamadopercyval

With i share my birthday today at the 27. december. Capicorns!

Happy birthday to you! I hope you have a nice birthday today with your loved once. Be healthy and may your wishes come true.

Enjoy the little short story with James Norrington.

"Y/N!" she shouted. Your beloved sister. A graceful but strong woman and the real daughter of Gavenor Swann. Elizabeth.

You always fight since you were little. The family adopted you after you los your family. Elizabeth nearly begged her father. Now you watched her with Will and interrupted a moment of peace. A kiss between those too.

"Don't worry" a voice whispered. "I take care of you. Noone will harm you and she loves you either way." You turned around. Sparrow.

"What?"

"You fear you lost her. You don't want to be alone. Aftee you lost your home, your father."

Jack took some steps. "As long Beckett has any use for him."

"Our father lives!" you insisted.

The pirate's words echo in your head. If there were a handful of decent pirates, and if Jack is one of them, then it doesn't matter. Because aboard these pirates, you're just a prisoner and you didn't think you will see Jack Sparrow again.

-

"Darling, without me you would still be on board. I saved you. No Navy, no Will Turner, nor your sister or that bloody Norrington. So you owe me, aye?."

You look at Jack. He was right. It was he who saved her. He pushed open the door, stood over you and freed you. So you own him at least respect and gratitude. You don't admit it but he grew into your heart. He isn't that bad. A filthy pirate yes but no villian.

And yet you are now standing between the men who conquered your heart. One quickly and with ease. You have always admired the other. But James had eyes for your sister. So she was the older one and the one who represented her family. You're just adopted.

You turn to Jack. Freedom with him was exciting and enticing. He showed you more respect in some situations than a Nobelman would. you smile at him Jack leans back slightly and opens his arms. He grinned and pulled up a corner of his mouth. With him you have someone who accepts you as you are.

"A choice has been made! A choice against true love." You turn around sharply when you hear James moan. Davy grabbed him. The captain of the dutchman is happy. He was right when he said you are a monster of the sea a daughter of Calipso and don't deserve to be loved.

The admiral's eyes meet yours. Full of sadness and disappointment that destroyed the rest of longing. "Let him go." you demand "I told you the loser knows the sea." With a shove, James falls over the rail. "No!" you cheer and Davy laughs. "We have to go. THIS is our chance! He won't survive!" Jack whispers, grabbing your sleeve.

You desperately try to break away from Jack's grip. "Y/N!" your name out of his mouth lets you see him. "Remember I rescued you. Remember all the nights of fun and rum. Of our connection." But then he understood and loosens his fingers from you.

A second full of deep understanding before you heave yourself over the railing with quick steps and jump towards the ice-cold water. The sea embraces you like a piece of motherland that calls back a prodigal daughter.

Once the transformation is complete, you could swim faster against the current and grab James by the wrist. He has already closed his eyes when he feels your hands and the pull up. Stunned by the cold and the weight of soaked clothing, he could barely move.

"I'm so sorry. Please hold on!" you call out to him as soon as he was up. Time stopped for a moment. Stopped the sea and you float. With the last of his strength, James lifts his hand and puts it on your cheek. He looks into your [your eye colour] eyes. His blue lips form your name and a smile. At least he sees you in his last hour. Before he loses consciousness, you give him a kiss on his cold lips. Trembling with anger, you clutch his clothes even more. It must not end.

Breaking waves. The constant murmur was only drowned out by the birds migrating across the blue sky.

The sun blinds you as a cough brings you back to reality.

You pull yourself up and see him. The admiral of your heart. James Norington. His actual hair already air dried. When he calmed down, your eyes meet.

His then wandered over your naked body and he realized what was happening.

Even before he asked, he took off his uniform coat and covered you with it. It was wet but served to hide you from view.

"Did I deceive you?" he begins. "Have you...are you...a mermaid?"

Silence. This silence confirms it to him. He looks at the sea and touches his forehead.

"You could have ripped me to pieces if the tales are to be believed. But you didn't." he mentions.

"James.." You lean in and adjust his head with your hand on his chin so he's looking at you. Your hand slips to his cheek.

"I don't kill anyone I have feelings for."

"Feelings?" - "Deep as the sea"

An encouraging smile from you preceded the kiss. But instead of you, James puts both hands on your cheeks and pulls your head into a kiss. In which his lips meet yours.

You kiss back passionately until you wrap your arms around his wet body and let yourself fall back onto the sand with him.

After minutes of intimacy, you now lie there, turned to each other, arm in arm. You can feel his breath through your nose on your forehead.

"I always thought you adored my sister Lizzie." you mumble

"I did it out of honor. I wasn't allowed to follow my heart either. She was a better match in the eyes of society. But when you were with her, I had to force myself not to keep my eyes on the face. Because you I wanted more" James kisses you on the forehead and you smile.

"But things have changed... Unlike her, you didn't join a pirate voluntarily."

"But me and Jack..."

"I ignore it. As much as it hurts... my love for you is stronger and I know we'll find a way."

Silently you snuggle up to his body, whose clothes are slowly drying and warming up in the sun. After all this time you could be with him. That he reciprocated your feelings made your heart leap for joy.

[zaynmirrors]

Fire on Fire: Part 16 (10k)

Pairing: 10k x mom!reader

                                                Chapter 16

I had made it back to Illinois with little to no problems, surprising to say the least. The dirt path in front of me stretched for what felt like miles. 

The farmhouse was well protected. Reinforced fences, and a giant metal gate at the entrance. As I continued to walk a thought hit me, what if I’d come all this and she wasn’t alive. 

I shook my head ridding the thought but not completely. I looked up at the gate unsure of how to get past as if by magic it opened, revealing a man holding a shotgun. 

I put my hands up, “sorry to bother you but I think you may have my daughter” I said trying to come off confident. 

He lowered his gun slightly and asked, “y/n?” I nodded and he gave a small smile. “Murphy said you’d be coming back, just thought there’d be more of you” 

I shook my head, “no sir, just me” He frowned but moved to the side allowing me in then he shut the gate behind us. 

From the moment he had shut that gate I was treated like family. Welcomed in by strangers who didn’t feel like strangers, strangers who had raised my daughter. 

Speaking of my daughter, Emma had grown quite a bit. She was almost three now, and her hair was long and unruly as ever. Truly it was just a mop of curls, taking after Angel. 

“Y/n dear, do you mind getting some water?” I looked over at Maggie, the woman who had been so kind to take in my daughter. Her face set with wrinkles, and grey peppering her auburn hair. 

I nodded and headed out to the well pump. Aware of the shadow I had trailing my heels. I smiled to myself and played oblivious. 

I set down the pail under the faucet and began to pump the handle until the water ran. I let go and let it fill the bucket while I awaited my attacker. 

Almost out of nowhere something small grabs a hold of my leg trying to knock me down, which some of her force caused me to stumble. 

I quickly fell to the ground and said “you got me” before hanging my tongue from my mouth causing her to giggle. Smiling, I sat up and wrapped my arms around her, pulling her close and kissing the top of her head. 

Emma wasn’t really verbal especially for a developing toddler. It reminded me of 10K who never left my mind, he was always there.I pushed the thought aside, choosing not to dwell. 

She crawled out of my lap, walking toward the barn cat she was obsessed with. Shaking my head with a smile I stood and headed inside with the bucket. “Here you go Mrs. Maggie” as I placed it on the counter. 

She said her thank you and started a fire in the wood stove, ready to boil the water to make something delicious for dinner. 

I have to say the best thing about staying here has been the home cooked meals. It’s been nice to have warm food. All the food is grown here by the hands of Davis, Maggie's husband. 

Dinner was made and ate, with light conversation and a few laughs. Maggie and Davis were the first to turn in, Emma and I following behind shortly. 

I never got much sleep though, the bed was too soft after getting accustomed to falling asleep sitting up or on the ground. 

Emma snored softly next to me, I stared out the window at the starry night sky. Listening to the silence which sometimes seemed deafening. I closed my eyes with a small sigh and tried to drift off. 

10k stood, a frown prominent on his face. His arms crossed over his chest he opened his mouth to speak but only thick crimson rolled out. The liquid covered his chin and began to drip, some fell on his jumpsuit and the rest fell to the sand. 

He began making his way towards me, a thick crimson tear falling from his eye. 

“You left me” his voice quivered, the blood making his voice wet. “I needed you” 

“I know, I’m so sorry” my stomach turned, sick at the knowledge I had done this. 

He whimpered in pain as another red tear fell, leaving a Scarlett path down his cheek to join the pool on his chin. “I needed you too!” He spat blood flying onto my face, “I’m always going to come second to her aren’t I?” His voice was emotionless, and thick with blood. 

“You know that's not-“ he cut me off, shoving me backwards I noticed my feet were on the edge of the cliff. Another push and I was done for. 

“You’re going to have to choose between me and her, so who’s it going to be y/n” his eyes pierced mine coldly, they held no warmth or comfort. They stared harsh and venomously. “Choose!” He shouted, shaking me. 

I cried out, “I can’t! I can’t!” A tear rolled down my cheek. I looked back into his eyes hoping that this time there would be some sense of home but they were still a deep black hole full of cruelty. 

“You can’t have both” 10k deadpanned, letting go. He moved further and further away, it registered that I was falling the moment I felt like I was flying. 

Inhaling sharply I awoke as I hit the ground in that torment of a dream. Emma still slept soundly beside me, and the sky outside the window was still pitch black. 

Nightmares were another reason I didn’t sleep. They were always different, but unfailingly including Emma and 10K in some sense. I figured they were from leaving 10k the way I did, but now I have no clue.  As I stared out the window I wondered what he was doing and if he was alright. If he just so happened to be staring at the sky wondering the same thing. 

I jolted awake from another nightmare, unaware I had fallen asleep again. By the looks of it Emma was already up for the day. I stretched and got myself ready.  The smell of biscuits wafted through the house, “sure smells good Mrs. Maggie” I said a smile on my face as she came into view. 

“Thank you dear, Emma’s outside helping Davis in the field” she chuckles “that girl sure doesn’t sit still for long, always has to do something” I nodded, it was true. Emma had a constant need to be doing something, didn’t matter what it was as long as she was occupied. While being here there was plenty for her to do. 

I took a biscuit and headed to the bookshelf which was one of many and plucked out a book. I made my way outside to the porch, taking a seat on the creaky wooden porch swing. This would most likely be where I spent my morning. 

It indeed was, Emma had joined me for an hour before she went with Davis to feed the livestock. Maggie had joined not too long after that propping up in her rocking chair reading a book too. 

What felt like hours went by, listening to the peacefulness of no Zs. Emma crawled into my lap ready to curl up for her afternoon nap. She made herself comfortable, falling asleep in minutes. I set the book down marking my page. Resting back I closed my eyes hoping to get some rest without a nightmare, that was wishful thinking though. 

Gasping awake I realized Emma was gone again, quickly I wiped the tear from my eye and looked around to ground myself. 

I knew they weren’t real but sometimes they just feel like they are. “Bad dream?” Davis asked as he started up the steps, I just nodded. “I think I might have something for that” with that he went inside to which I followed. We went down into the basement, where he handed me a dream catcher. 

“Our son used to swore it helped” he smiled sadly at the memory, “maybe it can help you” I gave him a small smile and a thank you as I gingerly took it. Their son was about my age from what they had told me, lost out there in the apocalypse. They had no clue if he was alive or undead. I sometimes wonder if not knowing would’ve been better. 

“Honey are you down there?” Maggies voice floated down the stairs. Davis replied with a ‘yeah is everything alright’ to which she replied, “I think there’s someone at the gate” Davis sprung into action running up the stairs, Maggie and Emma were ushered down and told to stay put with me. I grabbed the nearest thing I could use as a weapon which happened to be a screw-driver. 

“Mama?” Emma asked small as she held onto my leg. There was not fear in the voice just curiosity. 

I shushed her, “It’s fine Em, we’re fine” making sure my voice was steady and unwavering. Unsure of what was about to happen, I was thankful I got to spend some time with my daughter if we were about to die. 

“-shoot you” My ears picked up the last line as, I heard the pounding of boots above us, I glanced at Maggie who had a bat, when she had gotten that I have no Idea. 

“I know they’re here” The voice was muffled and somewhat unplaceable, it didn't sound like someone I knew. Emma dug into my leg a little more, rubbing her back I quietly shushed her. There was a loud thud causing me to furrow my eyebrows. Maggie and I shared a look before hearing Davis say “Ah shit”

Part 17

[aellynera]

Accidental Anniversary (Llewyn Davis x Reader)

ACCIDENTAL ANNIVERSARY

💜💘 Happy Valentine’s Fic Exchange, @samrockweil​ 💘💜

I am your Valentine’s elf (or maybe cupid?) It was an absolute blast writing this for you!! At first I couldn’t decide which guy to write for, but Llewyn spoke to me and I ran with it and I hope you love it even half as half as much as I did writing it. Happy reading and happy beeps!

Also, huge thanks to @sergeantkane​ for putting this fic exchange together! Love you Clarke!

Word Count: around 8k oops look i had a whole MONTH okay i’m not sorry

Summary: You meet Llewyn Davis one night at the Gaslight, and soon find out that the universe has an odd sense of humor and an even weirder sense of timing.

Warnings: A few curses. Nothing else, it’s 99.999999999% fluffy fluff.

March 14

The air inside the Gaslight is thick with smoke that coils and kinks around the dim lights on the walls and the candles on the tables. Someone at the end of the bar calls out for a whiskey, which you pour and pass down. The sound system shrieks with feedback for three painful seconds as your boss flips the power on.

You’ve been working there for a couple weeks, a side job to help make your rent and keep you busy on the weekends. It’s not a terrible gig, most of the time; the patrons are pleasant enough, the performers hit or miss, and Pappi, your boss, is okayish, so long as you can mostly steer clear of him.

You begin to wipe down part of the bar while the next performer sets up on the small, dingy stage. You haven’t seen him before, but whispers from the stools at the counter hint he’s semi-popular around these parts. You quirk an eyebrow; he certainly is easy on the eyes, at least.

From the minute he takes the stage, your focus is ninety percent on him (you do need a little brain power to do your job, after all) and you find that he is also very easy on the ears. Dark curls, dark beard, dark eyes, dark clothes, but a surprisingly bright voice singing lovely songs. He finishes his set, comes off the stage, and sidles up to the bar. You hand him the requested bourbon with a soft smile.

And the next thing you know, Pappi is on the ground and this stranger is holding his hand, wincing, flexing his fingers. Your mouth drops open.

“Oh my god!” you cry. “What--”

“Jesus Christ, Llewyn,” Pappi groans from the floor. “I was only kidding.”

“Yeah, doubt that,” this Llewyn person mutters under his breath, taking a seat on the stool closest to him. “Can I bother you for some ice?”

You keep a wary eye on him, and on Pappi as he gets up and wanders to the other side of the room like nothing happened, and wrap some ice cubes in a towel and hand it to him. “You decked him.”

He scoffs and takes a sip of his drink. “You hear what he said about you?”

Well, no, you hadn’t actually, but having heard what Pappi has said about others in the club over the past two weeks, you can imagine. “I can handle him,” you say archly.

“I’m sure you can,” a huff of air escapes his lips, “but you shouldn’t have to.” He turns around to look at Pappi, who just glares and shakes his head. The man in front of you flips your boss off.

You refill his glass without him asking and stick out your hand, telling him your name.

He shakes it and says, “Llewyn Davis” with a sheepish smile.

April 14

Llewyn shuffles down the sidewalk towards the Gaslight, really only noticing the early spring chill that hangs in the air. It’s early, before noon, but he wants to run through his set before the night’s performance and the early hour is convenient for him to be able to do so in peace.

He’s about a block away when a sound distracts him. A voice is singing, pure and sweet - if a tiny bit off-key - and if he didn’t know any better - and he certainly does, at least most times - he would call it angelic. No, not angelic. An actual angel. That’s what it sounds like.

Llewyn stops and looks up at an open window on the third floor. He can make out the vague outline of a figure inside, but he’s unable to see any details. But that voice. A few minutes pass as he just listens, staring up at the window, thinking about calling up to get the attention of the mysterious singer. But he doesn’t, and he just stands and listens, until he finds his feet starting to carry him on to his usual destination. 

Three steps into his walk, he realizes he knows the song. It’s one of his songs. Part of him can’t believe it, and the rest of him wants to offer pitch correction. Three more steps into his walk, and his face makes very solid, very resounding contact with the light pole on the corner.

“God dammit,” he shouts.

A few seconds later, the window on the third floor slides open and a head pokes out. “Oh my god. Llewyn?”

Llewyn looks up and groans inwardly as he recognizes your face from that last gig at the Gaslight. “Hey,” he waves awkwardly, leaning on the pole.

“Are you bleeding?” you call down to him.

He reaches up near his eyebrow and realizes he is, in fact, bleeding. Quite a bit, honestly. Before he can answer, you call back down, “Come up the fire escape to the side window!” The window drops shut and he can hear another slide open.

So Llewyn Davis climbs the fire escape steps and meets you at your side window, a first aid kit in your hands as you motion for him to sit. He does and you start to patch up his wound.

“You should be more careful,” you mutter as you worked, stopping briefly to look him right in the eyes.

He holds your gaze. “Sorry, I was...distracted.”

“Mmm,” you return. You fold a gauze pad and hand it to him. “Hold this on that cut. I’m going to get you some ice.” You turn to walk to your kitchen.

He mumbles his thanks and leans his head back against the fire escape railing.

May 14

You glance back behind the bar, making sure the bottles are stocked and the glasses are ready. Another night at the Gaslight is about to start, and although Llewyn isn’t playing tonight, he takes up a spot at the end of the bar and thanks you as you pass him a drink.

“How have you been?” you ask. You’d seen him a few times over the past couple weeks, here and there in the Village, but it’s been several days. You found Llewyn’s company quite enjoyable. You’d talked a bit and even shared lunch once at the diner a couple blocks away.

His lips turn up, a shy smile lighting his face. He opens his mouth to respond, when another voice breaks in.

“He’s been an asshole.”

Llewyn’s head ships around and you follow his gaze. A slender woman with long, straight brown hair and piercing eyes stands about ten feet behind him, arms crossed and glaring. Neither of them says anything for a beat, Llewyn turns away from her, and then she’s on him, daggers flying from her lips, going on and on about assholes and responsibility and electrical tape.

Llewyn keeps his eyes down, the bottom of his glass suddenly staring back at him. “Jesus Christ, Jean.”

You bite your lip as you glance between them. You have no idea who this woman - this Jean - is, but it’s clear she is not a fan of Llewyn Davis. In three seconds flat you decide you do not like her either.

“Is there something you needed?” you break in.

Her eyes flare at Llewyn, then at you, then bore into the back of Llewyn’s head. You resist the urge to literally toss a glass of whiskey in her direction.

“I need Llewyn to stop being an asshole,” she seethes. Llewyn rolls his eyes.

You arch an eyebrow and the words are on your tongue - I need you to back off, you crazy weird bit-- you bite your tongue just hard enough to make your mouth behave. Fortunately, she’s distracted by someone else calling her name and her attention drifts to the stage. With a final mutter of “asshole” and a rude hand gesture, she flounces off.

You point over Llewyn’s shoulder. “Um, what was that?”

He snorts. “A night of bad decisions and a lifetime of regret.” A pause. “It’s...a long story.”

You watch as she adjusts the microphone center stage. “Good lord, is she a singer? Tell me she’s not going to just smile and sing after...whatever that was.”

“Yeah. Well,” he offers by way of explanation and doesn’t say anything else. It’s almost like this woman sucked all the fight out of him and you feel your heart give a little twinge.

You toss the rag in the sink and take his glass. “Do you wanna get out of here?” The air around you has a weird vibe now, and you felt a sudden impulse to get out and take this man - your friend - with you, away from this...whatever she was, somewhere safe.

“Fuck yes,” he sighs, a grateful glimmer passing through his dark eyes.

“There’s a great cafe down the block.”

“But don’t you have to...you know...work?”

You look around and shrug. “It’s dead in here, and Bobby can handle it,” you hook your thumb at a co-worker behind the bar. “And if Pappi says anything, I know someone who can set him straight.”

Llewyn’s eyes glint and his lips turn up in a real, honest smile this time. “So, coffee?”

“Coffee.”

June 14

The summer - or very last days of spring, technically - is starting to get hot and your open windows are doing the bare minimum to alleviate the warmth. Of course, the third glass of wine you’re drinking probably isn’t helping things either.

Whatever. It’s your day off.

Shoes kicked off, jeans rolled up above your ankles, feet up on the arm of the couch, a record on the turntable and your glass of red as the dusk slowly melts into dark. The night is tranquil and relaxing and perfect. It has been a shitty week, and all you want is to ignore the outside world and do exactly this.

The shrill ring of your phone bursts that bubble..

You close your eyes and tilt your head back on the couch. Ignore it. If you just ignore it, it will go away. The phone stops ringing. Deciding to take no further chances, you switch off the ringer, completely, then sigh happily, settling yourself on the couch and sipping your wine.

Perfect.

A resounding, repeated thump echoes through the room. You bit back a shriek. Ignore it. If you just ignore it, it will go away - lightning can strike twice, right? It was extremely rude of people to just call you and knock when all you wanted was--

“Hey, are you home?” a muffled voice comes from the other side of the door.

Suddenly alert and somehow much less annoyed, you spring up and cross to your front door. Yanking it open, you find a very disheveled Llewyn Davis on the other side. He doesn’t seem to notice right away that the door was now open, and you had to jump back as his hand, raised to pound on the door again, almost knocks you in the head instead.

You take a deep breath. You catch a waft like the mat under the taps after a long night at the bar.

“Shit,” he mumbles. “Sorry.”

“Are you drunk?” You take him by the arm and drag him inside, appraising him quickly. His eyes are glassy, red-rimmed, his curls an absolute mess, and there’s a dark mark under his left eye and a split in his lip. He looks terrible, smells just as bad, but suddenly all your desire for a quiet, no-other-humans night evaporates. “And did you get in a fight?”

“...yes?”

You sigh and point to the couch. “Go. Sit. I’ll make some coffee, and then you’re getting a shower..”

“You’re incredible,” he slurs, smiling, “And you’re so…I tried t’call you, from th’phone on the corner but you dinnt answer. An’ then I realized, hey, I’m on your corner, so decided t’come up and see you. You’re pretty.”

You take him by the elbow and lead him to the couch, only stumbling twice and managing to catch him as he sways, precariously, once. “Uh huh,” you bite your lip to hide a smile. “Sounds like you’ve had a fun night. You wanna talk about it?”

“Nope.” He flops down on the couch and buries his face in a pillow.

By the time you make the promised pot of coffee and get back to the living room, Llewyn is snoring, still face down in the throw pillow. Turning off the music and the lights, you cover him with a blanket and take your glass of wine to your room.

July 14

Ring, ring, ring.

You’d remembered to turn the ringer back on three days after Llewyn slept it off on your couch, but your phone hadn’t actually rung again until just over half an hour ago, and honestly you weren’t sure if that was a blessing or if it was just sad.

You are sure, however, that the sheer desperation in the voice on the other end when you answered is the reason you’re on this train to Queens. Are you doing anything, Llewyn had asked, because I could really, really use some help right now. Please, I’m begging you. And now the echo of your phone ringing just, well, rings in your ears.

The train screeches to a halt and you exit, making your way to the given address. You knock on the door of a smallish, nondescript row house and it swings open almost immediately, revealing a very disheveled, slightly panicked looking Llewyn.

“Oh, thank fuck,” he breathes and grabs you by the arm, dragging you inside.

“Llewyn? What is going on?”

“It’s a disaster,” he says. He’s completely serious.

You’re preparing yourself for blood, broken bones, water damage, collapsed ceilings, possible dismemberment, anything, really, that could explain your friend’s current frazzled condition. What you get is completely, unexpectedly, not anything like that.

There are about ten kids, all around ten years old, running around in the living room, which is also full of balloons and streamers. One giant pinata, shaped like a baseball glove and bat, hangs from the light fixture. To Llewyn’s credit, it is kind of...chaotic, but it’s far from a disaster and you can barely contain the guffaw that escapes your lungs.

“Whose birthday?” you grin at him.

He narrows his eyes at you. “It’s not funny.”

You consider this and try to straighten your lips. Nope, not working. “It’s a little funny.”

Llewyn smacks you lightly on the shoulder. “It’s my nephew’s birthday, and my sister forgot some party thing and made a run to the store. I was stayin’ here last night and she just decided, oh, Llewyn can watch the kids, and she was gone.”

“So what’s the problem, exactly?”

“She should be back by now,” his eyes look slightly panicked.

“Maybe she had to go to a couple stores? Maybe she just got delayed by transit?”

“I can’t do…” Llewyn gestures around weakly, shaking his head. “This.”

“Llewyn, they’re kids. They can’t be more than what, ten years old? Just blindfold them and let them whack at the pinata.”

“You’re the people person. I can’t...can you help me, please,” he turns to look at you. Directly at you. You’re fairly certain his eyes cannot get any bigger or shine more pleadingly.

“Fine,” you sigh. “Let’s go wrangle some kids.”

The panic slides from his face and to your surprise, he throws an arm over your shoulder and kisses the top of your head in his thanks.

And when one kid takes a wild swing at that tacky papier-mache sports equipment, misses completely, and lands a clean hit on Llewyn’s thigh, neither of you talk about it.

You just get him an ice pack.

August 14

“I’m making lasagna. Come over for dinner.”

You worked early that day, and said this to Llewyn as you left the Gaslight for the day. He isn’t playing tonight, and he’s really just here to stay out of the sun, and as much as he doesn’t like to push his luck with others’ hospitality, he has to admit that a home-cooked meal does sound incredible.

He has a feeling your invitation was partly due to Jean showing up, ready to do unnecessary verbal battle because she just can’t let it go, and you’d asked to both deflect her and keep yourself from actual physical battle. But whatever.

So he finds himself at your front door a couple hours later, a bottle of cheapish red wine in hand and an odd tingle in his chest. He dismisses it offhand; he’s probably just hungry.

You open the door and Llewyn’s nose is assaulted by the smell of homemade sauce - he’s half Italian, he knows these things - and cheese and garlic. You smile brightly at him. Yeah, he’s definitely hungry.

“Hey! Come in, it’s almost ready.”

He hands you the bottle. “Brought wine.”

“Excellent,” you lead him to the kitchen table and motion to a seat. He settles himself into it and grabs a piece of bread from the basket on the table as you grab two wine glasses.

“What’s the occasion?” he asks around a mouthful of carbs.

The timer dings and you pull the lasagna out of the oven. “No occasion. I just felt like making this and I didn’t really want to eat alone.”

“Lucky for you I like to eat,” he chuckles.

Your face suddenly feels warmer. Well, you did just pull a piping hot casserole dish out of the oven, so that does make sense, you suppose. You turn and put the lasagna on the trivet in the middle of the table, then turn and grab two regular glasses for water. There is an outlandish, metallic ka-chunk-ing noise as you turn on the tap, and suddenly water is shooting from under the sink and halfway across the room.

Llewyn jumps up and dives at the faucet, a chunk of bread clutched between his teeth, at the same time you crawl halfway under the sink to try and shut the water off. The stream blasts you in the face and you sputter.

This is not how you imagined tonight. Blasted ancient, rickety building. You make a mental note to have words with the super tomorrow.

You finally get the water shut off, and Llewyn closes the tap and sinks down onto the wet floor next to you. You lean against the cabinets and try to wipe the water out of your eyes.

Llewyn fares a little better; he’s only wet from his waist down. Your head thumps back on the soaked particle board behind you and you turn your head towards him. For a long moment he looks back at you, then rips the butt off the hunk of baguette in his mouth and passes it to you.

You snort. He bites his lip.

“Sorry, I think dinner might be a bit late,” you deadpan, eyes still on him, and take a bite of bread.

He bumps your shoulder with his. “It’s okay. Lasagna is always better the next day.”

Llewyn has to admit, though, it’s still pretty good a couple hours later, after you’re both dry and the lake in the kitchen is mopped up and you settle on the couch with your plates.

And if you use the water glasses for the wine, well, neither of you mentions it.

September 14

It’s pleasantly warm today, the heat of late August dragging itself into the beginning of September, and you find yourself in Washington Square Park, on a checkered blanket, a basket in the middle and a guitar by your feet. Pigeons wander and plot to steal food, but it’s easy enough to shoo them away.

It takes a little convincing, early that morning, to get Llewyn to agree to join you. It didn’t, really; he’s quickly become one of your best friends, and he doesn’t have anywhere else to be, he just likes to tease you.

But he does accept, and you eat some of the bread and cheese you packed and drink the iced tea you brought, and you get out a container of fruit salad and package of cookies your down-the-hall neighbor, Mrs. Peterson, made for you that morning.

“For you and your lovely man,” she’d said as she knocked on your door. You feel the warmth in the tips of your ears and you certainly see the color rise in Llewyn’s embarrassed face, but you don’t have the heart to correct her. She’s such a sweet old lady.

Llewyn plays a song or two while you enjoy your lunch, and even asks if you want to hear a new song he’s been working on, which you are more than happy to agree to.

It’s such a pleasant afternoon.

Until a small, brownish-gray blur jumps onto the blanket and grabs a chunk of bread and darts further onto the lawn.

“What the hell!’ Llewyn shouts as you yelp in surprise. The squirrel, for its part, just stops fifty feet away and turns back with a triumphant gaze, then scoots off into the bushes, leaving a trail of breadcrumbs in its wake.

He starts to make a comment about the nerve of the wildlife, but you’re not really listening. Your eyes are fixed on the path the squirrel just ran and you tug on Llewyn’s sleeve. He keeps muttering and you tug harder.

“Llewyn.”

He finally looks up and follows your finger. There’s a flock - an honest-to-god flock, not that he has any real idea on the technical makeup of a flock, but there’s more than one so as far as he’s concerned, yeah, it’s a flock - of geese marching directly at the blanket.

Okay, so there’s only three of them. But they look angry.

The leader strides forward deliberately and bites at Llewyn’s shoe. Another yelp leaves your lips and he grabs your hand, pulling you to your feet. He also grabs the remainder of the bread and tosses it in the opposite direction as he takes off running towards the fountain, dragging you behind him.

“Where are we going?” you shout.

“No idea,” he replies. The leader falls for the bread feint, but his loyal minions do not, and they follow behind you, quacking and honking and flapping and Llewyn isn’t sure but he may dislike geese even more than he dislikes pigeons.

He jumps up on the edge of the fountain and pulls you into a protective embrace as the beasts close in. Only Llewyn doesn’t account for, you know, physics, and the force of your bodies colliding sends you both straight into the water.

Spluttering, you try to wipe the water out of your eyes. Llewyn is doing the same when a loud HONK startles you both. The leader is back, flanked by his friends, and they’re all staring at you.

“Um, Llewyn?” you whisper.

“Yeah?”

“...don’t geese like, love the water?”

His eyes flick to you, then the winged monsters, then you again, then the fountain like he’s seeing it for the first time and all he can do is mutter, “Shit!” and grab your hand as he pulls you to your feet and takes off running again.

You manage to swing by and gather the leavings of your picnic, blanket and basket tucked under your arms and his precious guitar clutched to him, as you beeline out of the park, soaking wet and laughing.

October 14

Llewyn slides the key into the lock and turns it, an odd flutter rolling up his spine as he hears the bolt click open. He’s had a key to your apartment for almost two months now. You gave it to him, insisted really, telling him this way he wouldn’t need to worry about finding somewhere to crash. That your couch is always open.

It still doesn’t feel real and he doesn’t always use it, but tonight he really, really doesn’t feel like making the rounds. You’ve been spending more time together recently anyway, and he feels mostly comfortable around you.

He’s greeted by the sight of you wearing a catcher’s mask and knee high rubber boots, and you’re wielding a tennis racquet. He doesn’t know what to say for a full minute.

“What are you...why are you wearing...what the hell.”

“There’s a bat,” is your whispered response.

Llewyn’s nose scrunches and he isn’t any less confused than he was a second ago. “What?”

“There’s a bat,’ you repeat. Your voice is slightly on the edge of hysteria because, well, “there is a bat. In the bathroom.”

“...okay?”

You jab your finger at the closed door. “I was just going to wash my face and brush my teeth and I went in there and it was just...in the corner, by the shelves. It was staring at me.”

He bites his lip, trying his hardest to suppress the smile tugging on his face. It isn’t working. He drops to a whisper himself and asks, “Baby, why are you whispering?”

Your head jerks towards the bathroom, and your shrug nearly sends the tennis racquet into his shoulder. “Because that’s how they...they’re...how they do the...the bat hearing thing!”

Llewyn laughs fully. He can’t help it; you’re ridiculous and his face heats a bit as he realizes it’s entirely endearing. “I don’t think that’s how it works,” he says, his voice sliding back to a whisper. He avoids your death glare as he makes his way to the bathroom door. “But sit tight, slugger, I’ll get rid of it.”

“What’re you gonna do?”

Hand on the doorknob, he pauses and considers this. “Just gonna encourage it to go home? I dunno.”

Your grip tightens on the racquet. “How will that work?!”

“I don’t know! I’m not a fucking bat!” he hisses at you. “Just, make sure a window is open.” He opens the bathroom door.

Several things happen at once. Llewyn doesn’t so much open the door as he flings it wide and it slams into the wall. The bat makes a squeaky-shrieky noise (you were entirely unaware, until now, that they could even do that) and swoops out, recklessly streaking through Llewyn’s mess of curls. You make an actual shriek and fling the side window open as wide as possible. Llewyn makes a sound he can’t describe and you’re honestly not sure if it was Llewyn or the bat. The bat decides to take a few laps around the living room and you duck under the window sill just before it mercifully decides that outside is the place to be. Llewyn slams the window shut and you spring back to your feet, crash into his chest and his arms wrap around you.

Neither of you say anything, and Llewyn isn’t sure how much time passes, but he’s very aware of your hand running through his hair, and your soft words catching as you say you’re just trying to smooth out the bat damage.

He clears his throat. “I, uh, I’ll keep watch out here, make sure that thing doesn’t come back,” he jokes. “You okay?”

You finally - finally, he cheers internally - take off the catcher’s mask and nod slowly. “Yeah, I’m...good. Thanks for...thanks.”

Llewyn lets you go and takes the tennis racquet out of your hands, placing it next to the couch. He throws you a soft smile. “Just in case.”

November 14

It’s been a long night at work, a lot longer than it has any right to be and infinitely insufferable. The Gaslight is packed, patrons nearly crawling the walls and not an empty seat to be found. Drink orders stack up and you try to keep up. It’s so crazy that even Pappi doesn’t have a chance to be a smartass like usual.

Apparently it always gets like this, closer to a holiday.

Note to self - skip holidays.

There are two acts tonight. Llewyn is first, and it’s clear much of the crowd is here to catch him. It cheers you slightly, and it would certainly cheer you more if you had the time to pay more attention to him, but the constant call for whiskey and gin takes most of your focus. But for the time he’s on stage, your heart feels lighter.

Then the second act takes the stage, and Jean launches eye missiles at Llewyn from behind the microphone, and your mood sours instantly.

Yeah, it’s a very long night.

Everything is blurry for the rest of the evening, until last call mercifully rolls around and you can finally get to straightening out the mess the bar has become. You notice Llewyn still sitting on his usual stool at the end of the counter, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth.

“Don’t even say it,” you point at him sternly. “When will you stop fussing about this?” Ridiculous man. He has a key to your apartment, and still he worries that he’s an inconvenience.

You toss an orange slice at him, and he allows you a sweet grin.

Finally - finally - you’re home and Llewyn follows you inside, locking the door behind you. He heads for the couch and you head for your room, a mumbled g’night the only word that passes between you. You’re far too exhausted to deal with anything higher level.

It could be minutes or it could be hours later - your alarm clock somehow ended up on the floor and the darkish sky outside giving nothing away, and when did it start raining anyway - when a loud SPRONG and then a yelp and a THUMP from the living room jolts you awake.

It takes a few seconds to regain your senses. “Llewyn?”

“Fuck.”

You stumble out to the living room to find him half-sitting, half-sprawled on the floor, the quilt he normally uses tangled around his knees and ankles. He rubs a spot on his lower back and winces.

“Llewyn! What happened?” you cry.

He points to the middle cushion and you see something sticking up from the padding.

“Oh, Llewyn, jesus. I’m so sorry,” you apologize. You really do feel terrible; your couch hasn’t been in the best shape for ages, and it looks like the squeaky spring you noticed a few weeks ago finally gave up and poked it way through. And stabbed Llewyn in the back as he slept. Damn it. 

“It’s...it’s fine,” he tells you, still wincing. “I can turn the other way, or sleep on the floor. Not a big deal.”

You shake your head. “Yes big deal. My couch just stabbed you, and it’s cold outside, you can’t sleep on the floor.”

“S’fine. Not the first time I ended up on the floor.”

You make up your mind before you even think about it and reach your hand out to him. “Come on,” you wiggle your fingers. “Come to bed.”

Llewyn’s eyes go wide and he opens his mouth to protest, but your look is so firm that he relents with a soft sigh and extricates himself from the blanket. He follows you to the bedroom and asks, no less than seven times, if you’re sure this is okay and says he really has no problem sleeping on the floor. You eventually tell him to shut the hell up and get under the covers.

You both lay on your sides, facing each other, but keep a space between you. Llewyn still looks mildly uneasy but relaxes as you smile at him and the warmth of your duvet and the softness of your pillows pull him under.

“Good night again, Llewyn,” you whisper.

“Good night again,” he replies with a soft yawn.

The rain steadily patters on your window and the sky slowly lightens as morning breaks and you languidly wake, curled into Llewyn’s chest, his arms secure around you.

December 14

Snow falls lightly outside, coats the grass and sticks to Llewyn’s curls, and his breath swirls and makes curlicues in the chill winter air. It’s two weeks until Christmas, and you decide to put up a tree, a real tree, and you tell him he’s going to help decorate it.

You also tell him that a bunch of your light strings have stopped working, and before you can ask him to run to the shop down the block that sells replacements, he volunteers and is out the door.

He can’t remember the last time he was anywhere with a real tree. It was usually those cheap-looking fake ones, the green plastic branches a color that would never exist naturally, if there were any tree at all.

So yeah, maybe he’s a little excited. He comes up the steps to the apartment, a bag perched in the crook of his elbow as he unlocks the door.

“So I got the lights, like you asked,” he says cheerfully, and sets the bag down on the table by the door.

“Help.” That’s...not the response he’s expecting.

It’s two weeks since the entire living room has been rearranged. The new, non-back-stabbing couch is on the opposite wall. You rearranged all your shelves, got a new armchair, and much to Llewyn’s wary delight and bewilderment, a new side table. The side table has blank sheet music and pens and there’s a guitar stand next to it and he doesn’t really know what to make of it. You just smile and tell him he needs a space to be himself, whatever that means.

The newly-opened space under the window is where the tree is going. Or, should be going. Llewyn looks down at the toppled fir and sees a foot sticking out near the trunk.

“Sweetheart? What happened?”

Your voice answers from beneath the branches. “Can you just help get this off me, please?”

Llewyn rights the tree and turns his head to check on you. He’s more concerned about you than the tree, of course, but he wants to make sure it doesn’t take you out again so he secures it to the stand as he takes you in. Thankfully you look fine, a few needles stuck to your sweater and a tiny scratch on your cheek, but otherwise…

He tries to stifle a laugh. “You’re looking very festive.”

Your eyes narrow. “Go ahead and ask,” you bite out, “because I know you’re going to ask.”

“I already did ask, before I had to be your lumberjack.”

You refrain from telling him that lumberjacks fell trees, not upright them. Whatever. You motion your head to the shiny silver tinsel wrapped around your torso. You can’t use your hands, really, and you’re not sure how they got tied up in this mess, exactly, but here you are, sitting on your living room floor in a pile of pine needles, trussed like a Christmas goose in sparking silver twine.

And your best friend is laughing at you. Jerk.

“I was trying to get this around the top part, and I lost my balance. Then like an idiot I tried to catch myself on the tree, and the whole damn thing went down with me,” you sigh. “I don’t even know how the rest of this tangled mess happened.”

He does laugh now, full and rich. “I was only gone for like, twenty minutes.”

“Yeah, yeah. Um, can you maybe...untie me?”

“Oh! Wait, here, I got something else,” Llewyn jumps to his feet. He ignores your request and pokes around in the shopping bag.

“If it’s not chocolate, I don’t want to hear about it,” your grumbled response brings another laugh.

Llewyn’s back in front of you seconds later, holding a small white cluster above your head. The grin on his face is equally charming and infuriating.

“You have got to be kidding me,” you blink at him.

“I mean, I was just gonna, y’know, hang it above the door later and let it happen, but now seems like a better time for some Christmas cheer.”

“I think you’re pretty satisfyingly cheerful right now, idiot.”

He waves the mistletoe over your heads. “Come on. It’s tradition.”

One day, maybe you’ll be able to stop sighing in his presence, but today is not that day. You sigh again, roll your eyes, and lean in, planting a soft kiss on his cheek and delighting in the shade of crimson he turns in response. He clears his throat and places the mistletoe to the side.

“Now will you untie me?” you ask, sugar-sweet.

He does, and helps you get the tinsel where it’s supposed to go and you spend the rest of the afternoon decorating the tree and drinking hot cider.

Llewyn sings you more than one Christmas song to make up for all the teasing.

January 14

It seems like a good idea at the time. One of your friends at your actual day-to-day job offers to set you up with another coworker, and it’s been ages since you went on a date and you figure, why not? What could possibly go wrong?

It turns out the answer is, a lot. A lot can go wrong. So much that you don’t even want to think about it.

Okay, that’s not entirely true. There is no chemistry, no spark, just an hours-long recitation of how your date is god’s gift to pretty much everything under the sun and possibly also the moon. The name-drops are just the cherry on top.

Maybe your first impression isn’t wrong after all.

You trudge up to your apartment, the bag of your favorite takeout under your arm filled to nearly bursting, and get the door open. All you want to do is stuff your face and maybe take a long, hot bath with a glass of wine. Yes, that sounds perfect.

The melody of a strumming guitar stops as you place the bag on the side table and shimmy out of your coat. The lamp in the corner is the only illumination and you tilt your head towards the armchair’s occupant. You’re surprised that he’s there, but only because he was supposed to be somewhere else tonight. Knowing he wouldn’t be around was at least...half the reason you agreed to this stupid date in the first place.

“Aren’t you supposed to be on a date tonight?” Llewyn asks in a low voice through the dim light.

“Aren’t you supposed to be playing at the Gaslight tonight?” you retort, brow raised.

He shrugs. “Might have had a few too many an’ said some things. Might’ve gotten thrown out.”

“Mmm,” you appraise him. He just looks the same way you feel; ridiculously tired. Exhausted. “Might’ve told my date I had to use the restroom but… maybe didn’t mention I meant the one at my house.”

“That bad?” Despite his snort, Llewyn sounds genuinely curious.

You sigh as you flop down on the couch and hold up the takeout bag. “I’d rather not talk about it. You wanna help me eat this?”

In an instant he’s on the couch next to you and you hand him some plastic utensils and a napkin. You get up and grab two beers. For a while you just focus on eating, passing containers back and forth with occasional comments about the food. Your knees bump sometimes as you each reach for different containers or your drinks.

“So what happened?”

You stab a piece of chicken a bit more forcefully than necessary. “I said I don’t want to talk about it. It was a stupid idea to go on a blind date.”

“Kind of a stupid idea to go on a date at all,” Llewyn replies softly.

“What.” It’s not really a question. You definitely don’t mean it as a question and you vaguely think about throwing an egg roll at him but that would be an honest waste of decent takeout.

“I know what the problem is,” he continues in a normal voice. “It’s the fourteenth.”

You look at him with a raised brow. He has an odd look on his face and you wait a beat before asking, “Okay? And?”

Llewyn also waits a beat before replying and points at you with his fork, a green bean stabbed on the end. You lean forward and pluck it off with your teeth. He needs a moment to clear his throat before he can go on. “It’s the fourteenth,” he repeats. “Don’t know if you noticed, but...well..weird things seem to keep happening. On the fourteenth. Of every month.”

“Huh.” He’s right, now that you think about it. You stab your food again. “What do you think that means?”

Llewyn looks like he wants to say something, like he’s going to say something, but instead he just shrugs. You put the container down and lean back on the couch, swinging your feet into Llewyn’s lap. 

He idly strokes your ankles as his expression grows serious. “I think it means we should not go out on any fourteenths, ever. Just to be safe.”

You poke him with your big toe. “You’re an idiot. There are things that can happen inside. There are things that have happened inside.”

A smirk creeps through his beard. “Shit, you’re right. One-a your crappy novels might fall off the shelf and crack me on the skull.” He pauses. “More run-ins with wildlife? Oh! I know. Squirrels, but this time, in the walls.”

“That’s not funny!” you try to poke him again and dissolve into giggles as he tickles your foot. Your combined laughter ricochets off the living room walls before dissipating back into silence.

This time, you’re clearing your throat before being able to continue. “It’s been a day. I’m gonna go take a hot bath.” You get up and walk down the hall to the bathroom.

“Please don’t fall asleep in the tub!” he calls after you. “Don’t forget what day it is.”

Idiot.

After your bath, you head to the bedroom and find Llewyn passed out on top of the covers. He has a key, and he stays over far more often than not nowadays, and even though he’s been told numerous times since the broken couch that it’s okay if he’d rather sleep in a bed, you don’t mind sharing, he rarely takes you up on that offer. Okay, so this is the first time since the broken couch that he’s even sort of taken up the offer.

It’s been a weird day.

You grab a quilt and curl up on the other side of the bed, pulling it over both of you and snuggling down into your pillow. 

“I wonder what happens on the next fourteenth,” you yawn mutter into the darkness of the room.

You’re asleep, so you can’t notice that Llewyn isn’t, really, and he rolls to face away from you and whispers, “Yeah, me too.”

February 14

The air inside the Gaslight is thick with smoke that coils and kinks around the dim lights on the walls and the candles on the tables. Someone at the end of the bar calls out for a straight bourbon, which you pour and pass down. The sound system shrieks with feedback for three painful seconds as Pappi flips the power on.

You glance back behind the bar, making sure the bottles are stocked and the glasses are ready. Another night at the Gaslight is about to start, and Llewyn isn’t playing tonight, and he hasn’t shown up yet, which is strange.

Another thing that’s strange? This weird feeling of déjà vu.  Whatever, you’ve been working more nights at the club recently, and they’re all starting to blend together.

“Your friend’s out back,” Pappi’s voice breaks into your thoughts as he sidles up to the bar and leans back on it.

“My friend?” you ask, confused.

Pappi shrugs. “Said he was a friend of yours. Dark curly hair, worn corduroy jacket, always looks tired or pissed off or both.”

Your expression doesn’t change. “Wait, why is...did he get the crap kicked out of him again?”

“Nah,” Pappi shakes his head. “At least, maybe not yet. Anyway, I dunno, he just asked me to tell you he was outside. I don’t know what the hell he’s up to.” He nods his head towards the back exit and turns to tend to the bar.

Strange.

You duck your head out the door and glance up and down the alley. You see nothing except the usual debris; trash containers, the dumpster, the rusty drain pipes that run down from the gutters, weathered fire escapes. Something skitters off at the far end and disappears between the buildings. Was that a raccoon?

You snort a laugh as you recall Llewyn’s jab about wildlife run-ins. It would be something that happens, in a dark alley behind a basket house in Greenwich Village on the fourteenth of…

Oh. It is the fourteenth.

“Hey,” a familiar voice calls from the head of the alley.

Llewyn stands there, leaning against the brick, dark curls and worn corduroy and all. He holds a single yellow rose in his hands. He looks incredibly nervous, enough to match you looking incredibly confused.

You step fully outside and the door clicks shut behind you. “Hi?”

“Uhm, this is for you,” he says, awkwardly holding the rose out. “Saw a guy selling ‘em a few blocks down, thought you might like it.”

“Thank you? But what’s the occasion?” Why is everything coming out as a question? Even that.

He bites his lip. “You don’t know what today is?”

“Yeah, it’s the four---” Oh. Oh. 

“You wanna get out of here? Have dinner with me, maybe?” Llewyn rubs the back of his neck. It’s a nervous habit you’ve seen him done countless times, usually when he’s thinking about something serious and… Oh.

You twirl the rose in your fingertips and don’t quite meet his eyes. “I thought you said maybe we shouldn’t go out any fourteenths.”

He chuckles. “Yeah, well. Um, I don’t know if you also noticed, along with this whole fourteenth business, but I...I really like spending time with you, just hanging out with you, and...I don’t know. Maybe it’s stupid, but I thought maybe we could, y’know, have a non-weird fourteenth day of the month for a change.”

He’s rambling and it’s adorable. You hum softly. “...on Valentine’s Day.”

Llewyn’s hands twitch in his pockets. “Well...yeah. I mean, I like spending time with you, but...I also like you. So why not?”

He has a point. And really, now that one of you has said it out loud, you really can’t deny it. All the time spent together, all the shared meals and drinks and late-night talks on the couch and letting him basically move into your apartment...it’s no secret, you realize, it never really was, how close you’ve become over the past many months. How easy it is with him. How natural it is.

All the times he helped you. All the times you helped him. All the times you were together, just being.

The fourteenth of the month be damned.

You pretend to think about it for a little longer than necessary as Llewyn watches you anxiously. “Well, I do have to work, you know.”

“I already asked your boss,” he shakes his head, “and he was more than willing to agree. Something about not getting a black eye on your behalf tonight.”

Your laugh rings out into the street. “But it is the fourteenth. What if one of us gets food poisoning or chokes on dessert or something?”

“Vomit doesn’t bother me and I know the Heimlich,” he smirks. “And I’m already asking you out in a dark alley in the Village, how much weirder can it get?”

“You make a fair point, Llewyn Davis.”

He extends an elbow and a hopeful smile.

If he notices, as he brushes his lips on your knuckles as you take his offered arm, that your breath catches and your heart rate increases, he doesn’t let on.

But later that night, as he trails kisses along your jaw and down your neck and asks you what you want to do on the next fourteenth, well, Llewyn Davis definitely notices then.

~end~

[rebelwrites]

Piece By Piece - Part One

Killian Jones x Amber Davis

Summary: Killian and Amber always seemed to flirt but one night Killian decides to start breaking down the walls around her heart. Amber has never opened up fully to a guy from being burnt so many times in the past. Is she ready to go through that pain again? She doesn’t know but what she does know is that Killian has a certain effect on her and it scares the shit out of her. Every talks about finding their true love but is she ready to take that step to find hers?

Originally requested by @xbreezymeadowsx which gave me the inspo for a multi fic story // May I request prompt 6 w/ Hook? Maybe a bet comes around during Storybrooke’s version of Olympics or something fun like that? Reader and Hook captain rival teams. Please and Thank You. Prompt: "When I win your heart NAME, and I will win it. It won't be because of any trickery. It will be because you want me."

Join The TagList Here 💜 // Piece By Piece Masterlist

Today was the annual Storybrooke “olympics” well the first day of it anyway. The first day always consisted of finding out who was the captain and who was in the teams. Everyone always hoped Amber wa the captain and they were on her team as for the last 4 years she led her team to victory.

Leaning against the wall of the town hall Amber had a smoke hanging from her lips as she texted Emma. She was in her own little world and didn’t realise Killian was standing in front of her

“Davis” he said, clearing his throat, gaining the blondes attention.

“Jones” she said, rolling her eyes before looking back at her phone.

“You ready to be taken down this year?” He smirked.

“No because we all know whatever team I’m on I will win” Amber shrugged putting the phone back in her pocket.

“Hmmm we shall see about that love” he smirked “because I plan on taking you down this year”

“We shall see about that Jones” she winked, patting his chest before walking over to Emma.

“What was going on between you and hook?” Emam grinned as she hugged her friend.

“Nothing” Amber said bluntly “think he is just tryna get into my head”

“I think he was flirting” she winked.

“Stop with that” she sighed.

“You know I’m telling the truth in fact he hasn’t taken his eyes off you since you walked away” she smirked “why don’t you give him a chance”

“Em you know his reputation, I’m not ready to deal with another broken heart okay” she sighed running her hand through her blonde curls.

Emma was the only one that knew that Amber thought he was hot and that she got flustered around him and every opportunity she got she teased her about it. Telling her to take the risk and give him a chance. But Amber couldn’t, she had been hurt too many times to count and it was all about protecting what was left of her heart, slowly putting the broken pieces back together.

“But he might be the one to pick up the broken pieces” she smiled as they walked into the town hall.

“Can we stop talking about it now” Amber said, glaring at her as she found a spare seat.

Leaning back in the chair Amber looked around the room, and found Killian watchingher , as soon as he realised that she was looking in his direction he smirked, winking at her. Rolling her eyes at him she turned her attention to Granny who was standing at the end of the room with a clipboard and a bucket.

“Right so the first captain is” she said dipping her hand into the bucket pulling a piece of paper out “Davis”

Amber knew the drill as she stood up making her way to Granny.

“And the second captain is” she said pulling another piece of paper “Jones”

Within minutes Killian was standing next to Amber with a smug smirk on his face as he winked.

“Told you I was gonna take you down Davis” he smirked.

“Pfft I’d like to see you try, we all know that my team is gonna win so what’s to point in trying” she said squaring up to him.

“Just kiss already” David shouted, making you roll her eyes again as well as giving him the bird.

It was now around 6pm and everyone was gathered at Granny's to have a few drinks to celebrate the start of the games. Amber started to feel a bit Overwhelmed with her team asking what the game plan was so she slipped outside with a beer in hand.

As she was leaning against the wall just letting the quiet wash over her , taking a deep breath she lit a smoke up watching the stars. She had always found the stars calming there was something about them that soothed her soul.

“Calming aren’t they love” Killian said leaning against the wall next to Amber.

“Yeah” she breathed “just wish I knew more about them you know like the constellations and stuff”

“Well if you want I can tell you about them and teach you how to navigate using them” he said.

“Maybe I will take you up on that offer at some point” she smiled.

“What are you doing out here on your own anyway?” Killian asked, moving so he was standing in front of her, his body pressing against hers.

“Just got a bit overwhelmed so needed a minute” she said, she couldn’t help herself as she kept looking from his eyes to his lips hoping he wouldn’t notice.

“Well what do you say we sneak out, head to my ship and watch the stars with a bottle of rum” he smirked placing his hand against the wall above her head. Amber could feel his hot breath tickle her skin from how close he was.

It was like the words got stuck in her throat as his smirk grew wider.

“Cat got your tongue love?” He chuckled “I mean where’s the witty comments, where’s the sass?”

“Killian” Amber breathed.

“Don’t think I haven’t seen you keep flicking between my eyes to my lips” he said

“We can’t do this” she breathed trying to resist temptation. “I can’t do this”

Hearing him sigh he pushed himself off the wall giving Amber her personal space back.

“When I win your heart Amber, and I will win it. It won't be because of any trickery. It will be because you want me." He nodded before walking away from you.

His steps were slow as she thought about what she really wanted. Taking a deep breath she threw the cigarette into the sand bucket before pushing herself off the wall.

“Killian wait” she said, fiddling with the sleeves of her hoodie as he stood still. “That offer still available?”

“Love of course it is” he smiled, spinning around to face her.

“I’m not used to you being this quiet love” Killian as nudging her shoulder “everything okay?”

“Everything is just fine” she smiled “sometimes it’s nice to to fully relax”

“Be Careful lass I might start thinking you are comfortable around me” he winked draping his arm over her shoulders.

“Just had to ruin it didn’t you” she giggled, swatting his chest playfully before taking the bottle of rum from him. “But it’s nice to just chill out and forget about the world for a while”

“It sounds like you have the weight of the world on your shoulders” Killian said as he soothingly rubbed her back.

“You don’t know the half of it” Amber mumbled.

“Well I’m a good listener if you ever need to talk” he whispered.

“Thank you” she nodded leaning her head on his shoulder.

“You know I think this is the most we have talked” Killian laughed.

“Yeah it’s kinda nice” she laughed while taking a drink from the bottle.

“Do you know how long it’s taken me to get you to let your walls down a bit” he whispered “I know I have a reputation but I meant what I said earlier about when I win your heart, it won’t be because of trickery it will be because your heart wants it. I know you have been through some messy relationships but I will wait as long as it takes”

“You’ve been speaking to Emma haven’t you?” She said looking up at him.

“She may have told me a few things” he smirked “but I understand why you are protecting what is left of your heart”

Amber didn’t say anything, she didn’t know what to say. This was a side of Killian she had never seen before. And she couldn’t lie, it made her heart swell. She didn’t know if it was from the rum or his scent that made her feel slightly buzzed but whatever it was she didn’t want this feeling to end.

A yawn escaped her lips and felt her eyes getting heavy.

“Come on lass I think it’s time for bed” Killian smiled as he stood up taking her hand to help her to her feet. “We have a busy day tomorrow”

He guided you through his ship to the bedroom.

“You are too sleepy to travel home but I sometimes sleep out here when I need to be alone” he smiled “I will sleep on the floor”

All she wanted to do was sleep so didn’t fully realise what she was doing but Killian did as he turned around whilst Amber stripped down before climbing into bed.

“Thank you for tonight” she whispered, resting her head on the pillow, his scent washing over her.

“Any time love, now get some sleep” he smiled as he threw some blankets on the floor.

“Killian”

“Yes lass” he responded.

“I don’t want to sleep alone” she mumbled “I miss being held, so can you just hold me whilst I sleep”

His smile grew a little bit wider as he realised slowly but surely he was chipping away at the walls around her heart.

“Of course” he nodded before he stripped down for bed.

As he climbed in, Amber couldn’t help but snuggle up to him, tangling her limbs with his and resting her head on his chest letting the sound of heartbeat be the lullaby she needed to slowly drift off to sleep. It was the first time in a while she felt at peace with the world and the first time in a while her heart felt a bit lighter. Maybe Emma was right, maybe Killian was the person to start piecing her heart back together. All she had to do was give him a chance.

[kortneylovestoentertain]

the siren and the sailor boy

uma is a young siren who lives with her mother ursula, queen of the seas. 

“uma honey, i think we have visitors!” her mother said excitingly. ursula loved uma’s voice and craved to throw it in her little brother, triton’s, face. but, uma didn’t like this. she wanted to use her voice to serenade and not to kill, but she would do anything to please her mother. she just hoped it wouldn’t be a bad day. 

1909 Somewhere Near the Atlantic

“harry! come raise these sails boy!” captain hook shouted.

“coming father!” harry raced from below deck to see the sail. 

“et darling you’re all grown up! i remember when you were just a wee tike.” hook said, patting his daughter's head.

“yes, that’s wonderful father, but erm, where’s my present?” harriet said, tugging on her bodice. 

“alright dear here you are.” hook said as he handed her a beautiful porcelain figurine.

“oh father it’s beautiful! it’s just what i wanted!” harriet said as she admired the small initials carved into the woman's rosemary hat.

“hey! why does she get all the fame and glory but i got stuck with an old solar!” harry exclaimed.

“boy that solar was brand spanking new!” hook said, pointing a finger at his son.

“ah i’m just kidding father!” harry said as he and hook began to laugh.

harriet rolled her eyes. “ugh, boys. wait. where’s callie?” she said.

“i’m right here.” cj said as she was manning the canons. “and i prefer cj.”

“good day calista innit?” hook said taking in the view of the gentle waves.

“daddy! it’s cj!” she said, getting frustrated.

“nugget, I'm your father. i get to call you what i named you.”

cj sighed, “yes father.” she said before running off for breakfast.

“captain i wouldn’t like to interrupt but what is that?” a crew member stated as he pointed south. hook took the binoculars from his hands and saw a girl sitting on a rock. 

“well heavens me mateys! we got ourselves a little lady.” hook stated. “go forth! Let’s see if she needs help.” for the crew did so singing songs on the way until she heard it. 

“daddy?” cj asked. “who’s doing that wonderful singing?!” hook grabbed the binoculars and saw that the girl had a tail and was singing. 

“My god!” he shouted. 

“what is it, captain?” smee asked. 

“SIREN! SIREN!” hook said as he dropped the binoculars. “EVERYONE INSIDE NOW!” hook went to the wheel.

“father, what in davy jones are you doing? you’ll die if you stay out here!” harriet screamed. 

hook turned around to his daughter and flashed his pair of earmuffs. “i’ll be good,” he said. “now, GO!” harriet picked up cj and ran inside. 

“ok headcount time!” jukes called out. “alrighty. smee, check. starkey, check. turk, check. murphy, check. skylights, che- may he rest in peace. mullins, check. wibbles, check. tattoo bagoo, check.” “um my name is marv.” he interrupted. “whatever. chef, check. sharky, check. bones, check. sammy, check. harriet, check. cj, check. Harry- where’s harry?” said Jukes as he turned around to see him being pulled in by the siren song. 

“NO!” the hook sisters stated. 

as if on cue everyone began to bang on the doors, windows, whatever they could find to get hook’s attention.

“What?” hook asked as he looked over his left shoulder and saw harry fall into the siren's arms. “NO! NOT ME BOY!” hook said as he started running over to the edge of the ship.

but they were gone.

“NO!” is all that filled the sea.

“are you alright?” uma asked the boy in her arms. 

“y-you have immense beauty.” harry said.

“damn it. he’s still under the spell.” she said. “ok this will hurt.” uma began singing her song backwards as harry screamed and tossed vigorously. soon he was sane again.

harry found himself in the arms of the siren. “ew! Don’t you dare touch me!” he yelled. “you tried to kill me!” he said. 

“yeah,” uma admitted, “but i spared you.” uma said as she fixed her crown.

“why did you do that? Aren’t sirens supposed to kill?” he asked.

“yeah, but,” uma stopped herself. why should she tell a mortal this?

“but what?” harry asked, waiting for an answer.

“but, I DON’T WANT TO ANYMORE!” uma shouted, breathing heavily as the weight she had was lifted off of her shoulders.

“but why do you do this?” harry asked.

“because of my mother.” uma said and she could tell by harry’s befuddled face that he didn’t know who she was talking about. 

“ursula, queen of the seas.” she stated.

“YOUR MUM IS URSULA THE QUEEN OF THE SEAS?!” harry shouted, shaking uma violently.

uma went to shush him when she heard a familiar voice.

“uma baby,” ursula said, “who are you talking to?” she asked.

“just a guppie mama!” uma said as she covered harry’s mouth. “you have to be quiet if my ma finds out that i spared you, i’ll be fishbait!” uma thought of her mom making her work the kelp station all month and miss the music festival.

harry nodded. “so,” he started. “What’s your name?” 

uma stared at him.

“i mean we have time to buy, and i have to know your name, seeing as you nearly killed me.” harry said.

‘he has a point.’ uma thought. “my name is uma, uma triskelion.” she said letting down her hair from a bun. “and what about you sailor boy?” 

harry brushed his hair from his eyes. “harry, harry hook.” he said.

uma stared at him. 

“what?” he asked. “is there something on my face?” 

uma laughed slightly. “no, nothing of the sort.” she said.

“then what is it?” harry asked again.

“your hat,” she said quietly, “i like it.” 

harry thought for a second before he took his tri cornered hat off, revealing his lucious brown curls. “here,” he stated, “take it.” 

“oh, i couldn’t. i almost killed you today, i wouldn’t want to take your hat too.” she said with a smile. 

“nay mate.” harry said as he dropped the hat lightly on her head. “it’s a perfect fit, for a perfect girl.” 

uma turned her head so harry couldn’t see the slight blush that was forming on her cheeks. maybe this wouldn’t be a bad day after all.

[infinitestarsintheskye]

Agents of Shield Series Finale thoughts (finally)

Or alt title Skye finally sits down to write this after two days of being overtired, overwhelmed and as a result, anxious! Feeling a WHOLE lot better today after a few anxiety naps and watching Phineas and Ferb on Disney + (that show is just pure serotonin I swear) 

God what can I say that hasn’t already been said. I’m so beyond happy. I have no idea what my expectations were but by god were they exceeded. I cannot say enough how happy I am. They saved the world with empathy. How utterly beautiful. The endings everyone got were all just so utterly utterly deserved. I’m still in shock really. 

If you haven’t already guessed it, I did not make it to my alarm at half past 6 on Thursday morning. I woke up at quarter past 5 after barely three hours of sleep and just could not help myself. I finished, cried for two hours and collapsed for another hour and a half. And she wonders why she’s felt like utter shit the past two days...

ANYWAY

DEKE DEKE MY WONDERFUL MY MOST DEAREST DISASTER SON!!!!!!!!! I love him so much. I know he’s happy in alt. 1983 but losing him was honestly such sweet sorrow. I had a feeling that he would sacrifice himself but I could not have guessed that it would happen in honestly such a good way. He still gets to live, gets to be the director of Shield (god help them) and I’m equally happy and devastated for him. I love Deke so much, he is very dear to me, and the money I would pay for a miniseries of him just absolutely killing it as Shield director in the 80′s with his side business of being a popstar, like the amount doesn’t exist. Also his impersonation of Fitz was so incredibly hilarious, Jeff Ward actually does a not bad Scottish accent and the IMMEDIATE adoption of the pregnant lady pose just ABSOLUTELY SENT ME!!!!!!!!!!

Mack. I’m so happy he lived. His team up with Sousa will forever give me life. Them taping goddamn chronicoms to the missiles to blast a hole in the ship, like whoever came up with that idea, you are now my favourite human on this earth. It is so supremely dumb but I love it so much. As much as there was BIG concern going into this that he was going to die, ta Henry, I never once felt worried for him. Like he never even came close???????? Also a raise to whoever put him in that big long jacket at the end like oh my god are you serious, AMAZING

Yoyo. I had NOT A SINGULAR CLUE, NOT EVEN AN INCLINE of what was going to happen to Yoyo. Her little team up at the end with Piper and Davis (DAVIS ROBO!DAVIS YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEESSSS BICKERING WITH PIPER WE LOVE TO SEE IT) was beyond incredible. Yoyo had such a great arc this season, and I’m just so happy to see it concluded so well, plus that shot of her zooming out of the car at the end was beyond A+ it was beautiful.

May. May, wonderful May. Her appearing OUT OF GODDAMN NOWHERE TO JUST ABSOLUTELY END SIBYL IS JUST FOREVER GOING TO GIVE ME LIFE. THE CAVALRY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I was so intrigued with where they were going with her arc this season, like I enjoyed empath May but I was so curious to see where it was going and oh what a pay off it was. I literally shouted AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH at my screen when she put her hands into that machine and Coulson explained it, BECAUSE IT ALL JUST MADE SENSE. Also it was 100000000000000000000% her idea to name it Coulson Academy, and no one disagreed with her. I loved her little call back to S1 with her just being the pilot. In general I thought all of the call backs were very well handled and placed, nothing felt too fan servicey it was all very natural and organic bc these writers really just know what they’re about and are just so incredibly good at their jobs. ANYWAY MAY. I’m happy that she’s getting a little bit of rest from the field, she absolutely deserves it. 

Coulson. I’m not gonna lie, I wasn’t sure about Robo!Coulson when he was introduced at the end of last season, but my god am I so happy for him now. He is truly the heart of this show, the whole thing began because a stubborn group of fans refused to accept that he had died. And really isn’t that a theme that has carried us through this entire show haha? I was so terrifed for about 30 seconds that Sibyl was going to turn him against the rest of the team, so the RELIEF of May popping out of the ceiling to JUST END HER ENTIRE CAREER WAS INCREDIBLE.  The reappearance of Lola ABSOLUTELY SENT ME. I also love that after years of Coulson refusing to let Mack work on Lola, Mack just went “Fuck it” and built one from, I assume, scratch. He is going to be the best Grandpa to little Alya Fitzsimmons and you can tear that headcanon from my cold dead hands. Again, what a deserving ending. I could not be happier for him, that last shot was just perfect. 

Daisy. Oh boy, we’re getting into my heafty emotions now. I would just like to say that her entire arc throughout this entire show is one of the most incredible, most amazing and well crafted and well thought out characters arcs in television history. Watching her go from this lost little hacker with a bit of a smart mouth, to this strong and powerful LITERAL SUPERHERO has actually been a privilege and I cannot stress enough how much I have loved watching her grow and evolve over the past seven years. That being said, I am low key FURIOUS that they made me think that she was dead for even just a SECOND. I WAS SOBBING NO AT MY PHONE FOR THAT ENTIRE LITTLE INTERLUDE LIKE NO FUCKING WAY ARE YOU GOING TO KILL HER OFF AND LEAVE HER BODY IN SPACE I WILL NOT LET YOU, LET ME GO SHARPEN MY PITCHFORK I AM COMING FOR YOU. I will now invite you to imagine the look of absolute and utter joy and relief on my face when I saw she was alive. Skye/Daisy holds such a special place in my heart. Her whole thing with Sousa this season was SO UTTERLY OUT OF THE BLUE BUT SO INCREDIBLY DELIGHTFUL AND DESERVED!?!?!?!??!?!!?!? Like out of everything I think that little plot detail is what surprised me the most, and I surprised myself by really loving it as much as I did. I would have been happy if she had ended the series single but I’m so happy that she has this wonderful partner who loves her so much and has her back and just looks after her like it’s just like the most wonderful added bonus which she deserves. Sousa is also like a whole ass snack and as I have been saying in my tags for the past few weeks, DAISY GET IT!!!! I love that she ended the series with her own little family, her sister and Sousa. I just. I cannot even think about that without welling up. Daisy has a family, and she chose it and she loves them all so much. I know it was last weeks ep too but I will never get over her calling Simmons her sister. Never ever ever for as long as I live. I’m so happy for her. So beyond happy.

FitzSimmons. Here we, here we, here we fucking go. What to even say apart from big, long and loud sobbing noises, cause that’s all I have really been able to do in regards to them for the last two days. Happy isn’t a strong enough word. There is no word big enough, nor all encompassing enough to say how utterly UTTERLY happy I am that they got their most beautiful happy ending. Fitz guiding her through her memories, the second Jemma said Alya I started screaming, I just I knew that was her name, and him just being so gentle with her whilst she was remembering, like oh my heart. I excuse them everything, the lack of Fitz (WHICH WAS NO ONE’S FAULT I WILL NOT HAVE ANYTHING ABOUT THAT HERE) this season was honestly just paid back tenfold in the scenes that we got of him. His frustration IMMEDIATELY at everyone not understanding their plan was so amazingly hilarious. Simmons half remembering everything was both heartbreaking and hilarious, the scene of her asking for a supersuit like Daisy’s was incredible and both Deke and Daisy responding to her like she was a child they needed to trick into doing something for them, like yes if you come with us you’ll get a supersuit and a bit chocolate, incredible. The acting in both episodes from both IDC and Elizabeth was just truly something else. The fact that neither of them have been nominated EVER for their work on this show is nothing less than criminal. Her face when she remembered Alya. Dear god my heart. I have watched that scene of them reuniting with her at least 3000000000000000000000 times since Thursday morning. I won’t ever forget it. What a beautiful scene. What an incredible scene. “You were guarding our everything.” SHE’S THEIR EVERYTHING. THEIR UTTER EVERYTHING! I’M ACTUALLY LIKE SOBBING WRITING THIS I WILL NEVER EVER EVER EVER EVER FOR AS LONG AS I LIVE GET OVER THE FACT THAT THEY LET FITZSIMMONS LIVE IN PEACE FOR FOUR WHOLE ASS YEARS, LET THEM HAVE THE MOST BEAUTIFUL, MOST PRECIOUS LITTLE BABY GIRL AND THEN LET THEM LIVE IN PEACE AGAIN I JUST!!! I HAVE WANTED THIS FOR THEM FOR SO SO SO SO SO SO SO SO SO SO SO SO SO VERY LONG!!! (also @ marvel I’m not in a place where I want any kind of continuation or spin off at the moment but I would watch a FitzSimmons miniseries of them just being happy and domestic and working in space for 4 years. Just SOMETHING to consider) I cannot thank the writers enough for finally finally letting them have their happy ending. They have been through so much, and it was all worth it because it led them to their happily ever after and to their little girl and I just, that is everything. ABSOLUTELY EVERYTHING!!!!!!!!! I have talked a lot in this post about people deserving their endings but honestly none more than FitzSimmons. Fitz playing with Alya in their little garden whilst Simmons watches with the biggest smile on her face. How perfect. I could not have dreamt a better ending for them I’m so so so so so SO beyond happy for them. And god that little girl is just the most precious. Her gleefully exclaiming “Mama!” at Simmons is the EXACT moment that I started sobbing and did not stop for the rest of the episode. Also I know they didn’t explicitly say it but they are 100000000000000% at their cottage in Perthshire, again you can pry that headcanon out of MY COLD DEAD HANDS!!! I’m just so so so so so so so so SO beyond happy that FitzSimmons got the ending that they deserved so much. They can be at peace now. I have loved them since LITERALLY day one, and I cannot imagine what would happen if I got to tell little 15 year old me how they ended up. I’m sending her good vibes to the past, I know she got them, because I never ever ever gave up on that hope for them. FitzSimmons, to me, represent so much goodness and hope and just everything I aspire to have in a relationship (without the constant separation and the death and all that fun shit), but just the utter love they have for each other. (thanks for the impossible standard to which I hold all men now JedMo). I have been on just a rollercoaster with these two characters, their relationship and each of them as individuals have taught me so much and brought me so much comfort, especially during some of the hardest times I have ever experienced. I’ll tell some of those stories one day. Not yet. I’m not ready. I’m still honestly just reeling. I have wanted A Happy FitzSimmons ending for SO LONG and I just cannot believe that we got it. Thank you. Thank you thank you thank you THANK YOU. 

Writing this felt very cathartic. It’s almost been good to just get ALL OF THE EMOTIONS OUT. I think I’m actually going to take a nap now. I forget how tiring it is to be so emotional. What can I say to end this except reiterate again just how happy I am with that finale. I’m so thrilled that they gave us such a beautiful ending, it really was just a love letter to the series as a whole and to it’s message. I think it was quote from Jeff Bell that I saw and I haven’t stopped thinking about it since, because of how true it is, and really that’s why I hold this show so dear and why I have done for the past 7 years, and that is that this show is ultimately about hope. What a beautiful thing. 

[sloanerisette]

Jyoumi Challenge Day #15: Celebration

I originally had another idea, but at the last minute, I thought of this and I’m super happy with it! Got to finally write more with the rest of the DigiDestined, too, and I had a lot of fun. Hope y’all enjoy!

---

With tear-stained eyes and shaking hands, Mimi slowly started to type out a message to the group chat she had with the original DigiDestined.

“He finally popped the question,” she repeated to herself slowly, before attaching a picture that had just been taken moments earlier. One of Mimi in even greater tears than she was now, holding up her right hand for the camera to show off her new engagement ring, with Joe sitting next to her, arm around her shoulders, resting his head next to hers. Both were wearing huge smiles, and Joe had been tearing up, too, eyes red and puffy from wiping them.

“And send,” she said to herself quietly, sending the message and the picture to their friends, before moving into Joe’s lap, hugging him tight. “I can’t believe it. I still can’t believe it. I had no idea…” she breathed out, unable to take her eyes off her right ring finger and the diamond that now adorned it.

“I mean, that was the whole idea, right?” Joe asked with a soft laugh, wrapping his arms around her and letting his head rest on the top of hers. Mimi giggled, looking up at him, and Joe wiped away a few stray tears of hers with his thumb.

“I know, but its still just so incredible. I had no clue when you were planning to propose and… I am just so happy,” she told him.

“Me, too. I’m happy you said yes,” he said sheepishly. Mimi looked up at him, a smirk clear on her face.

“We’ve been dating for more than half of our lives, I’d hope you were happy,” she teased him, playfully bumping her shoulder into him with a giggle.

“I mean, you make me happy, you know that,” he assured her with a soft nod.

“You make me happy, too.”

Silence washed over their apartment, the two enjoying having nothing more but just each other’s presence in those moments. Peace and quiet, and after an eventful night, quiet moments as fiances was all the celebration they needed.

However, that quiet was interrupted after a few minutes by the sudden buzzing of their phones pulled them from their reveries, and Mimi started to scramble off of Joe to get to their coffee table, unable to suppress the elation she was feeling as she started to see text notification after text notification pop up.

He did it?

Congrats!

The lovebirds finally did it!

Congratulations you two!

The ring is so beautiful!

You two look so happy!

The messages were pouring in, and neither of them could hold back the smiles on their faces, and Mimi was quick to let her thumbs fly along her phone’s keyboard.

Thanks everyone! We’re SO happy! The best night of my life :)

She sent the text off, Joe looking over her shoulder to see, then grabbed his own phone.

Mine too.

And Joe’s too!

The newly engaged couple looked at each other from the corners of their eyes, smiling at each other just as much with their eyes as their mouths. Another text alert, however, caused both of them to look back to their phones.

How about we all get together tomorrow night after we’re all off? Gotta celebrate the lovebirds finally getting off their butts!

“Does that sound good to you?” Joe asked Mimi, who nodded enthusiastically.

“Of course!” she chirped, quickly sending off confirmations and details of when to come over, just about vibrating with excitement now as she popped up from the floor.

“We have to get the apartment ready!”

By the time they were both able to make it home that next day, they didn’t have much time to get everything tidied up and set up as much as they wanted. Thankfully, the two already preferred their living space to be neat, but given this would be the first time in a long while that everyone would be coming over.

“You reached out to Yolei about seeing her, Davis, Cody, and Ken later this week?”

“Yup! Friday works?”

“Yeah, I’ll just have to meet you all at the ramen shop,” he told her, Mimi nodding, about to wipe their dining table once again before a loud knock rang out against their door.

“Oh! They’re here!” she shouted out happily, pulling the tie out of her hair and shaking her head to let her hair fall. She grabbed Joe’s wrist (her fiance’s wrist, she thought to herself, with a smile that felt like it would never go away) and brought him along to the door, flinging it open and seeing the whole group there.

Immediately they were greeted by a bright camera flash, causing Joe to blink a few times to gather himself.

“Congratulations!” the group of six cheered, the newly engaged couple wasting no time in letting their closest friends in, the group all gathering in their living room. Sora was quick to place a vase with a beautiful flower arrangement on the coffee table, with Matt placing a chocolate cake down moments later.

“You guys! You didn’t have to do this! But oh these flowers are so beautiful! And Matt, that cake looks divine!” Mimi gushed, eyes wide and sparkling.

“Thanks so much, guys. Really, you didn’t have to go all out,” Joe said.

TK shook his head, “Come on, its not everyday two of your best friends get engaged! Celebration is in order! Hell, we would be awful friends if we didn’t go all out for you two,” he assured the oldest of the group, gently pushing his shoulder, offering him a smile. Joe laughed and nodded.

“Ok, ok, if you say so. Mimi and I will cut the cake and then we can celebrate,” he said, standing up. Before Mimi could stand up or he could move, Tai was already on his feet, placing a hand on Joe’s shoulder to lower him back down.

“Hey, the man and woman of the hour aren’t gonna cut their own cake, I’ll handle it,” he insisted, waltzing over to the kitchen once he picked up the dessert.

“Don’t cut your finger off!” Kari shouted teasingly.

“I’ll have you know the last time I cut my finger while doing anything with food was years ago,” he waved her off, before pausing for a beat, “And even if I did, we have Joe here!”

Luckily, Tai didn’t hurt himself, and soon enough he and his younger sister were handing out slices to the group, everyone sitting around, relaxing like the old days.

“You know, Joe, when I first met you, I would’ve never expected you’d be the first one out of all of us to get married!” Tai said, to which Joe’s eyes narrowed.

“Thanks, Tai,” he deadpanned, before Tai realized what he had said, his eyes going wide as he waved his hands in front of him.

“No no no, not like that! I just mean when I first met you I wouldn’t have expected it! But getting to know you in the Digital World, it makes sense that you would! Just look at you, you’re a great guy, always there for people, one of the best guys any of us know, I bet,” he explained, the group nodding in agreement.

“And hot to boot!” Mimi added, sitting up straighter in order to give Joe a kiss on the cheek, relishing in how bright red he was now.

“He’s right, man,” Matt said offering Joe a thumbs up, “You two are perfect for each other.”

All of their friends had said this to the two of them over the years, but with the situation they were in now, now engaged, it felt even more unreal to the two of them.

“You’re all so sweet!” Mimi cooed, setting her plate down for a moment to get a closer look at the flowers, “Sora— you just have to do our flowers for the wedding! They’re so beautiful! I just love them!”

Sora flushed, “For you two? Of course, I’d be more than happy to,” she assured the couple, “And if you need any help with wedding planning, I’d be more than happy to help,” she nodded.

“I’m sure Mimi has a binder full of every idea she’s had since we were kids,” Izzy said, the group laughing for a moment before falling silent, eyes turning to Mimi.

“Yup, I definitely have.”

More laughter followed, and conversation continued to flow throughout the group throughout the night, with stories being told of old trips to the Digital World and plenty of teasing the Mimi and Joe— which Joe took in far greater stride than anyone would’ve expected.

The night wore on, calm and serenity filling the atmosphere.

“Congrats again, guys,” Kari said, reaching over to pull Mimi into a hug, Mimi squeezing her back.

“Oh, thank you so much. You’re all the best for doing this,” she said before the two pulled apart, Kari giving Joe a quick hug, too.

“Matt, where’d you get the cake? It was delicious,” Joe asked.

“Oh, this little bakery a few blocks from here. But I would definitely recommend getting a wedding cake from there because it was pretty good,” Matt grinned.

“Be careful, though, because Matt will probably try and eat it all before the reception,” TK laughed, earning a flick to the back of his head from his older brother.

“Hey, I wouldn’t complain if you got another cake like that,” Sora added.

“And, hey, we gotta get a bachelor party planned! I think its up to us, Izzy!” Tai said, clapping his friend on the shoulders, Izzy nearly jumping from where he was sitting. “I’m thinking lots of drinking and lots of karaoke!”

Joe paled, looking towards Mimi, mouthing the word “Help”, which left her cracking up.

TK caught on, and couldn’t help but snicker, “I think that’s a good plan. Make it the wildest night he may not be able to remember.”

“You guys are going to kill him before he even gets married,” Izzy said, voice wholly serious.

“Maybe a few girls to come along with us?” Matt added.

“You guys, at this rate you actually will kill him before his wedding day!” Sora lectured, yanking Tai and Matt up by their shirts, “It is getting pretty late, too. We should let them relax for the night.”

“Oh, don’t worry Sora, Joe will survive, he always has,” Mimi said, patting her fiance on the arm lightly, a big smile on her face.

“Hey, no worries, we’ll get out of your hair. You two can have a night doing whatever cute things engaged people do,” Tai said, as the group of six headed towards the door, Joe and Mimi following.

“Thanks again for everything, guys. Not just tonight, but you know, always. We’ll make sure to keep you all up to date on all of the plans,” Joe said.

“We’ll see you guys later. Congrats again,” Matt said.

And with goodbyes said and their friends off, Joe and Mimi started to gather up the mess in the living room, both humming to themselves happily.

“I know its kind of late… but can we have a celebratory glass of wine before bed? Please?” Mimi asked, looking towards Joe and batting her eyelashes, knowing full well how weak that would make him.

With a happy sigh, he nodded, “Ok, but just one.”

With a squeal, Mimi ran to the fridge, ready to finish off the great celebration that was the night she and Joe Kido got engaged.

[sharkmobster]

spider verse coffee shop au??

Anon im sorry i wanted to draw the coffeeshop au but ive been so tired lately so imma just overshare about what goes down bc this au is just (thick tombstone voice) : “everybody’s traumatized bitch lets get you a latte”

 • this au is incredibly villain centric bc uhhhhh all i do is think about villains

 • its also very aaron davis centric bc time to project my anxiety onto a grown ass man babey!!

 • anyway this takes place in a normal world where there’s no superheros or avengers or what have you, everyone’s super average 

• like i said this is more or less aaron centric and focuses on him readjusting to society and making connections with other people, and just healing in general. Aaron’s whole deal is that he was wrongfully arrested for defending himself against an off duty cop who was harassing him and ended up with a 10 year sentence  (but was let off a year earlier for good behaviour). He’s got a lot of guilt bc of this if only for the fact that he feels like he let down his brother and Miles (who was a small lad at the time).

 • Fun Fact! Jefferson was the one that picked up Aaron at the jail when he served out his sentence! The ride back to brooklyn was awkward! but also jefferson loves his brother and even tho they’ve had their falling outs he never once stopped believing that his brother was innocent. Jefferson also made sure to pull some strings and ended up getting an apartment set up for Aaron (even though jefferson and rio were 100% down to open their home to him for as long as it took him to get back onto his feet but of course aaron denied them bc he didnt want to be a burden) Aaron’s grateful but he tends to avoid his own family…a lot….

• it’s ridiculously hard to find a job bc nobody wants to hire an ex convict no matter the circumstances and Aaron’s legitimately about to lose hope when he spots an expensive looking shop nestled in between an old arcade and a knick knack shop

 • ‘Vanessa’s Cafe’ is neatly printed above the door in fancy gold lettering. it’s obvious that the owner has serious cash bc the shop looks too damn good and too well maintained to be a regular mom and pop shop. there’s a help wanted sign hastily scribbled on a piece of notebook paper in the middle of the window which is odd since it off sets the professional vibe of the place. But hey it’s worth a shot so Aaron walks in ready to be denied another job only to find the weirdest looking group of people he’s ever seen.

 • The first guy that catches his attention is the very large albino man who looks way too stressed out and manic to be working in a coffeeshop, but the job must pay well because he’s very well dressed.

 • “Liv, for fuck’s sake! Clean your goddamn station!” he’s whisper shouting? Is that even a thing? oh look at that he’s got a full set of razor sharp teeth. huh. that’s a hell of an aesthetic he’s going for.

 • The lady in question isn’t even giving him the time of day, just enthralled by her phone with a smile that looks too peaceful given what’s happening around her. She’s got wild hair tied up messily in a knitted bandana, weird glasses (custom made??) and when she glances up at aaron, her eyes widen in interest like he’s some anomaly to be cracked open. aaron looks anywhere that isnt the wild eyed lady at the counter.

• Theres another big guy that’s hanging around the back, heavily tattooed and lifting stacks of heavy boxes. Aaron takes notice of his prosthetic hand and the tattoo guy takes notice of Aaron. 

• “Lonnie. Customer.” The Tattoo guy seems nonplussed about Aaron and walks into the back. aaron assumes that he’s offended him by staring at his prosthetic for longer than necessary which yeah….yeah he’s probably not happy about the staring. 

 • lonnie’s got a bad case of resting bitch face so he’s glaring at aaron without actually glaring and he’s just rough around ALL the edges so his tones got that nice bite to it as he shouts from across the counter (which is not something you do to a customer but it’s lonnie…..)  "Hey! Ya looking for a job, skinny jeans?!“

 • Aaron blanches at the idea of working with these people but he is absolutely desperate for a job at this point.

 •"Yeah. I just got out of-”

 •"Great, you’re hired! We’re speed running this whole introduction thing, string bean.“

 •and that’s all i got other than like small details like:

 •Peter B Parker owns a ”“’'cafe”“” across from Vanessa’s and its literally just a burger joint that h a p p e n s to sell coffee and Parker will fight you if you call his place a deli ahdhdj

 •Liv and May are dating (big shock) and peter b has to constantly deal with seeing his competition over at his place all the time and it’s yikes

 • Tombstone and Noir will 100% throw hands on contact. They don’t hate each other tho??? Its weird they just like to fight. gives them a chance to work on their banter i guess. Noir works the coffee machine at Peter’s “'cafe”’ so i guess he’s the “”barista”” of the joint but he drinks the coffee more than the customers do

 • Miles and the rest of the spider kids “”“”“"intern”“”“” at the cafe which basically translates to free labor

 •  spider ham works there but he isnt a pig he’s just john mulaney. i know its weird. nobody actually sees him tho so he’s a complete mystery as to what he looks like so he could be john mulaney you never know. the only person who’s seen him is noir and that’s only bc they’re  a thing???

 •oh speaking of everyone being gay:  everyone’s gay

 • Lonnie and Gargan (tombstone and scorpion) are 100% dating but everyone legitimately thinks that the both of them are straight old men despite the fact that they live together, go to work together, hang out afterwards together, and they’re just always together

 • lonnie’s  daughter (janice)  visits every other week (def the product of a divorce he went through years ago) she’s alright with gargan but she’s very distant towards her dad and def has that teen angst phase that she’s going through

 • (lonnie can and will talk to you for hours about how much he loves and supports his daughter despite the fact that their relationship is very estranged)

 • you can find janice hanging out with the cute blond punk girl at that weird burger/coffee place across the street

 • oh gargan’s big and strong despite the fact that he’s missing three limbs, liv works in robotics on the side and constantly tweaks and repairs his prosthetics when they start acting up which leads to them having this weird friendship where they both borrow each other when they need something and dont really expect anything in return (like gargan’s good for getting her supplies and doing heavy lifting when she needs it and liv’s always down to run check ups on gargan)

 • oh yeah liv used to be a scientist but immediately lost her license and phd when she started going above some board members heads to buy less than legal things through super illegal sources

.• that’s another thing, kingpin tends to just hire ex cons and criminals to work in his cafe just bc he believes that a person willing to work hard to better themselves deserves a chance to re enter society again.

 • like they’ve all done bad things but still ended up with a job at the cafe. aaron fought a cop, liv did some shady deals for an illegal experiment, gargan used to run a drug ring years ago due to personal reasons but once he was free from jail he never dealt with the stuff again, and lonnie killed a dude (allegedly. he never went to jail bc they couldn’t prove anything but hey word spread around quick and everyone knew not to go anywhere near this guy)

 • kingpin is in this au btw he’s just……a very depressed man who’s still grieving over his wife and son dying in a car accident

.• he rarely shows up to run the cafe bc its too much for him being in the place that his wife loved and built up from the ground. he used to be the manager after she died but couldn’t handle it and mostly left lonnie to take care of it

• which holy fuck lonnie is trying his best to keep this cafe alive and well and there’s only two other people working there so like its enough to have him scrambling all over the place trying to find more help (thanks aaron)

 •miles doesn’t know aaron’s working at the cafe across the street and aaron def wants it that way bc even tho he’s out of jail he hasn’t actually……visited miles yet….. it’s the shame that’s keeping aaron from reaching out to him which is….sad bc miles doesn’t care what happened he just wants his uncle back.

 • oh oh one more thing RIPeter used to run the deli across the street but had to leave brooklyn to go volunteer at homeless shelters across the states indefinitely so theres no telling when he’ll be back, so he left the cafe under the guidance of pb parker (peter b parker voice: my cafe now)

 •and uhhh thats all i got, like i said this au is just found family trope + the healing we all want + bad people getting redemption which is all the tropes that i love all compacted together in the most cliche au you can imagine!

[loretranscripts]

Lore Episode 33: A Dead End (Transcript) - 2nd May, 2016

tw: gore

Disclaimer: This transcript is entirely non-profit and fan-made. All credit for this content goes to Aaron Mahnke, creator of Lore podcast. It is by a fan, for fans, and meant to make the content of the podcast more accessible to all. Also, there may be mistakes, despite rigorous re-reading on my part. Feel free to point them out, but please be nice!

When the trucker pulled up to the toll booth on Route 895 in Virginia, it was the middle of the night, and the look on his face was one of confusion and fear. The toll booth attendant listened to the man’s story and then sent him on his way. The state highway there is referred to as the Pocahontas Parkway, so maybe the man’s story was just a play on the name’s motif, but when the highway department received more than few phone calls that night from distressed motorists, each telling essentially the same story, the authorities began to take notice. What the trucker saw, what all of them claimed to have seen, was a small group of Native Americans standing in the grass between the east- and west-bound lanes of traffic near Mill Road. The trucker described them as standing motionless in the grass, each one holding a burning torch. He assumed they were picketing, of course – after all, the parkway is rumoured to cut through land that’s sacred to local Native American tribes – but the middle of the night didn’t seem like the right time for a peaceful protest. So, it didn’t sit well with him, or the others who claimed to see the very same thing. The Times Dispatch caught wind of the story and soon people were flocking to the Mill Street overpass to see if they, too, could catch a glimpse of the ghosts. And that’s what it all comes down to, isn’t it? We all want to see the ghosts, to witness history press it’s face against the glass of the present, to cheat reality, in a sense. Each year, thousands of people around the world claim that they, too, have seen a ghost. They tell their stories and pass along their goose-bumps like some communicable disease. But the reality is that, for most of us, we never see a thing. History is often nothing more than a distant memory. In some places, though, that history floats a bit closer to the surface. I’m Aaron Mahnke, and this is Lore.

 When the English arrived in what is now Virginia way back in 1607, they found the land heavily populated by the original inhabitants of the region. The English called them the Powhatan, although that was just the name of their leader. If you don’t recognise his name that’s understandable, but everyone certainly remembers his daughter, Pocahontas. Before Richmond was… Richmond, the land where it now stands was an important Powhatan settlement. In 1607, a party from Jamestown travelled inland and claimed the location as their own. Possession of the land bounced back and forth between the Native Americans and the English for years, but it was finally in 1737 that the tribes lost, and Richmond was born.

Early on, Richmond played host to important figures in the American Revolution against England. Patrick Henry, the man who shouted: “Give me liberty, or give me death”, did so from St. John’s Church, right there in Richmond. And in the middle of the Revolutionary War, Thomas Jefferson served as the governor of Virginia out of the city. Less than a century later, Richmond became a key city in the Confederacy, as the American Civil War tore the country apart. From its munitions factory and railroad system to the seat of the new government under Jefferson Davis, it was a powerful city, and rightly so – and at the centre of it all is Belle Isle. It sits right there in the James River, between Hollywood Cemetery to the north and Forest Hill to the south. It’s easy to overlook on a map, but far from being an afterthought, Belle Isle is actually home to some of the most painful memories in the history of the city.

Before the English arrived and Captain John Smith stood atop the rocks there, Belle Isle belonged to the Powhatan. Shortly after the English took control of it late in the early 1700s it was a fishery, and then, in 1814, the Old Dominion Iron and Nail Company built a factory there. Positioned on the river with the strong current never tiring, it was the perfect location to harness the power of the water. As the ironworks grew, so did its footprint. The factory expanded, a village was built around it, and even a general store popped up to serve the hundreds of people who called the island home. But they wouldn’t be the only ones to live there. In 1862, Confederate forces moved onto the island and began to fortify it. Their plan was to use the isolated island as a prison camp and began to transport Union captives there by the thousands. Over the three years it was in operation, the prison played host to over 30,000 Union soldiers, sometimes over 10,000 at a time. The crowded space and resentful feelings between Confederate and Union ideals led to deplorable conditions.

In 1882, after living with memories of the prison camp for nearly two decades, New York cavalry officer William H. Wood wrote to the editor of the National Tribune with his observations. “Many froze to death during the winter,” he wrote, “others were tortured in the most barbarous manner. I’ve seen men put astride a wooden horse such as masons use, say, 5ft high, with their feet tied to stakes in the ground, and left there for an hour or more on a cold, winter morning. Often their feet would freeze and burst open.” He also wrote of their lack of food. “A lieutenant’s dog,” he wrote, “was once enticed over the bank and taken into an old tent, where it was killed and eaten raw. Your humble servant had a piece of it. For this act of hungry men, the entire camp was kept out of rations all day.” There were only a few wooden shacks to house the prisoners, so they lived out their days completely exposed to the elements – blistering heat, freezing cold, rain and frost, and all of it contributed to the suffering of the men who were held there. Estimates vary depending on the source, but it’s thought that nearly half of those that were brought to the camp – that’s close to 15,000 – never left alive.

Today, Belle Isle is a public park, but it’s haunted by a dark past, and by those who lived and died there long ago. You can’t see their ghosts, but you can certainly feel them. It’s a heavy place. Those who visit the island claim to have felt its dark past in the air like the stifling heat of an iron forge. But there are other places in Richmond that are said to be haunted. Unlike Belle Isle, though, these locations aren’t in ruins, or nearly forgotten by the living. They’re right in the middle of everyday life, and each one has a unique story to tell. They have their own past, and according to those who have been there, it can still be seen.

 Technically, Wrexham Hall is in Chesterfield County, just south of Richmond, but when you speak to people about the city’s deep, haunting past, it’s always brought up as a perfect example of local lore, and while it doesn’t have a large number of stories to tell, what it does offer is chilling enough. The house was built at the end of the 18th century by Archibald Walthall, who left the home to his daughters, Polly and Susannah. It was Susannah who later sold her childhood home, but because there was always risk that the property might be used for future construction, she required that the new owners at least preserve the family graveyard. Time and the elements, though, have allowed the site of the burial ground to slip from memory, and according to some, that’s why Susannah has returned to Wrexham Hall, perhaps in an effort to make sure some piece of the past is still remembered.

Many years after her death, the home was owned by a man named Stanley Hague. He and a handful of other men had been working in the field near the house when they looked up to see a woman in a red dress sitting on the front porch. They all saw her, and even commented to each other about it. It was hard to miss that bright red against the white home. Later, when Stanley headed home from work, he asked his wife if her mother had been on the porch that day. No, she told him, she’d been away all day in Richmond.

In Hollywood Cemetery, just north of Belle Isle, there are other stories afoot. The graveyard was established in 1849 and is the final resting place of a number of important figures – former US presidents James Monroe and John Tyler, along with Confederate president Jefferson Davis. There are also two Supreme Court Justices buried there, along with 22 confederate generals and over 18,000 troops. The soldiers are honoured with an enormous stone pyramid that reaches up beyond the tree tops, and even though no one is buried beneath it, there have been several reports of moans heard coming from the stones. Others have claimed to have felt cold spots near the base. But it’s really a grave nearby that’s the site of the most activity there. This grave belongs to a little girl who died at the age of three from a childhood illness, and standing beside her tombstone is a large, cast iron dog. According to the local legend, the dog once stood outside her father’s grocery store, but when she passed away in 1862, it was moved to her grave to look after her. That might not be completely accurate, though. In the early 1860s, many iron objects were melted down to be used for military purposes, so the dog was most likely moved to the cemetery as a way of protecting it, but that hasn’t stopped the stories – stories that include visions of a little girl playing near the grave, or the sound of barking in the middle of the night.

Nearby, on Cary Street, is the old, historic Byrd Theatre. It was built in 1928 and named after the founder of Richmond himself, William Byrd. The space inside is enormous – it can seat over 900 on the lower level and another 400 or so in the balcony, and it’s up there that some of the oddest experiences have taken place. When the theatre opened its doors in December of 1928, Robert Coulter was the manager, and he continued to serve in that role all the way up until 1971, when he passed away. For over four decades, he was a permanent fixture in the theatre, often found sitting in his favourite seat up to one side of the balcony, and if we believe the stories, Robert never left. The current manager has been told by a number of people that they’ve all seen a tall man in a suit, sitting in the balcony at times when no one else was up there. Others have physically felt someone pass by them while operating the projector. The former manager has even been seen on more than one occasion by employees locking the front doors at night, as if he were coming out to help them. The stories that are whispered about places like Byrd Theatre aren’t alone. There are dozens of locations across the city that claim unusual activity and equally eerie stories, but none can claim to have played host to a flesh and blood monster. None, that is, except for one.

 In 1875, the Chesapeake and Ohio Railway Company was looking to connect some track in Richmond to another spur 75 miles to the south. Newport News was down that way, and that meant ocean and shipping. It was a gamble to make their railroad more profitable in the wake of the Industrial Revolution and its increasing demand for things like coal, something mined in western Virginia. Part of the new railway line would cut through Richmond, near Jefferson Park, and it was decided that a tunnel would be constructed for the track to pass through. Trains would enter on 18th Street and then exit 4000ft later on the eastern end, near 31st Street. It was one of those ideas that sounded perfect on paper. Reality, though, had a few complications to throw at them. Richmond sits on a geological foundation of clay, as opposed to the bedrock found in other parts of the state. It’s the kind of soil that changes consistency depending on the season and weather. Rainy months lead to more ground water, and that swells the clay. Dry months cause the opposite. As you can imagine, it’s difficult to build on ground that constantly changes density. Even during construction, there were a number of cave-ins. Between the project’s inception in 1875 and its completion six years later, at least ten men died while working in the tunnel. Even after it was open, water had a tendency to seep in and cause problems, something that went on for decades.

Around 1901, though, alternative routes were created, and the Church Hill Tunnel was used less and less. But when the railroad wanted to increase capacity in 1925, they remembered the old tunnel, and began work to bring it up to modern standards. Maybe now, they thought, they could do it right. By the autumn of 1925, the tunnel was playing host to a crew of brave men, supported by a work train powered by steam. They were slowly making their way along the length of the tunnel, making repairs, improving the engineering and hopefully making the tunnel safe for future use. But even after claiming so many lives decades before, the tunnel didn’t seem to be done just yet.

On October 2nd, while doing what they’d been doing for weeks, dozens of men were working inside the tunnel when the ceiling collapsed. Most escaped, but five men were trapped inside, buried alive. And to make matters worse, the steam engine exploded from the weight of the debris pressed down on it, filling the tunnel with steam and dust, eventually contributing to even further collapse. According to the story as it’s told today, something did, in fact, walk out of the tunnel – but it wasn’t human. They say it was a hulking creature, covered in strips of decaying flesh, with sharp teeth and a crazed look in its eye. And because witnesses reported that blood was flowing from its mouth, many have since referred to it as the Richmond Vampire. No one could explain why the creature was there. Some suggested that it had been attracted to the carnage and had come to feed. They say that’s why the early rescue attempts only found one of the five missing men, still seated at the control of the work train. There was no other sign of the other victims of the tragedy, though, so some suggest that perhaps the vampire had something to do with that. Witnesses say that the creature fled out the eastern end of the tunnel, past the gathering crowd of workers, and then made its way south to Hollywood Cemetery. Some of the workmen who had managed to escape the collapse and witnessed the creature’s getaway were able to make chase, following it through the graveyard for a distance. Then, they claimed, it slipped into one of the tombs, the final resting place of a man named W. W. Pool.

Pool, it turns out, was a relatively unknown accountant who had died just three years prior. According to the local legend, this made sense – the blood on the mouth, the jagged teeth, the return to the mausoleum. All of it pointed to one, undeniable fact that quickly spread across the city as one of the premier legends of Richmond. Pool was, of course, a vampire. It’s said that people returned to the cemetery for many nights, each one eagerly waiting to see if the vampire would emerge from its hiding place once more, but there were no other stories to tell us what happened next. If the Richmond Vampire had been active before the Church Hill tunnel incident, it seems he had gone into retirement immediately after it. Like many tales of local lore, this story ends on an unsatisfying note. Just as the mysterious creature’s trail from the collapsed tunnel finally ended in the shadowy doorway of a cold mausoleum, the story of what happened seems to end in shadows as well. Much like the tunnel itself, it was now nothing more than a dead end.

 A funny thing happens somewhere between real life events in the past and the stories we tell each other around the campfire or dining room table. Much like the true and tried telephone game, where the message is passed from person to person through a long chain of possession, these old stories shift and change. The change is never visible. They adapt to a new culture, or take on elements that are only relevant to a particular generation, but after decades, sometimes even centuries, these stories stand before us transformed, which is the difference between history and folklore, after all. History, there’s a paper trail, a clear image of the original that time and distance has more difficult time eroding. Folklore is like water, forever shifting to fit the crevice as the rock breaks down. Richmond is an old city by the standards of most Americans. Yes, there are older places on the east coast, but it has a storied history that makes it feel almost timeless – Jamestown, the Revolutionary War, the Civil War and the Confederacy. American history would be lacking something essential without the role Richmond has played through it all. Some of that history is unchanged, but some, it seems, has undergone deep transformation over the years, and a prime example of that is the story of the Richmond Vampire.

The collapsed tunnel and the train inside are all fact. There have even been modern day efforts to rescue the train car inside and clear the rubble, but the tunnel is now flooded with the same ground water that made it unstable in the first place. The events that happened on that dark, October day in 1925 were real, though – at least to a degree. A lone survivor did crawl from the wreckage, as the story tells us. His teeth were sharp and his mouth was bloody. Even his skin, hanging from his body like wet linen bandages, is documented fact. But the survivor had a name – Benjamin Mosby. He was a 28-year-old employee of the railroad and was described as big and strong. At the moment of the accident, he’d been standing in front of the train’s open coal door, shirt off, covered in sweat, and shovelling fuel into the fire. When the tunnel collapsed, the boiler burst under the pressure, washing Mosby in a flood of scalding water. But he somehow survived, crawled free from the rock and twisted metal, and walked to safety. He died the following day at the local hospital, and it was his appearance, with bloody, broken teeth and skin boiled from his body in ribbons, that fuelled the story we still whisper today. It’s almost cliché to say it, but it’s true – sometimes the real-life events that birth the legend turn out to be more frightening and horrific than any folktale could ever be.

[Closing Statements]

[cookieswriting]

So this is one for Floopdeedoopdee on AO3, who requested Brock and Clay whump together. Hope you like this ;)

Fandom: SEAL Team

Characters: Clay Spenser, Brock Reynolds, Bravo Team

Prompt: Buried under rubble

“I’m just sayin’, when we get back stateside, we need to go out and have a boys-only night to get young Spencer back on the horse,” Sonny insisted as Bravo team made their way to the waiting Blackhawk.  The blonde in question rolled his eyes with a smile.

“You mean to tell me you’re going to exclude the best wingman you’ve got?!” Davis replied in their ears, drawing chuckles from all of the men.  Cerberus trotted ahead of them and leapt into the chopper easily and Brock shoved Sonny’s shoulder as he followed his canine partner.  

“Fine…boys plus Davis.”

Clay climbed into the chopper and settled in beside Brock.  “Don’t I get a say in whether or not I’m even interested in ‘getting back on the horse’?”

“No.”  

The flight was relatively quiet as the team prepared themselves for the op: confirm intel that their latest target was where he said he was, capture (or kill) him, and get back out before morning call to prayer.  Before the chopper had even fully touched down Bravo was on the move, bleeding into the shadows without sound and making their way towards their target building.  

Cerberus and Brock took point, and the dog was practically vibrating with anticipation when they reached the doorway.  After receiving confirmation that IR showed one in the building and no other souls in the immediate vicinity, Clay prepped the door with breaching explosives.  A firm nod from Bravo One and the explosive was detonated.  Brock followed Cerberus in, Clay’s hand on his shoulder as they moved to clear the first room.  Vicious barking erupted from the canine, and Bravo Six caught glimpse of explosives strapped to a man hovering in the doorway.

“S Vest!” he shouted.  In the same movement, Clay jerked back on Brock’s arm and grabbed the handle of Cerb’s tactical vest to haul him backwards - into the arms of a startled Sonny, who stumbled under the dog’s weight and back out into the night.  That was the last thing Clay saw before the suicide vest was activated and the building started to come down around the two members of Bravo still inside; he was thrown onto his back, and the blinding pain from his head connecting with the ground sent Spenser into peaceful oblivion.

“Clay! Brock!”

“Bravo Five, Six do you copy?”

“Bravo One, what the hell just happened?”

Sonny stared in shock as the dust started to settle.  Cerberus wriggled free from his arms and darted towards the now-blocked doorway, whining and pawing at the debris separating him from his master.  No...no way in hell did this just happen.  

“Havoc, this is One...tango was wearing an S Vest.  Bravo Six saw it right before it went off, forced Three and Cerberus back out.  The entrance is now blocked by debris, no sign of movement from Five or Six.  Can you see them from IR?”

“Negative, Bravo One...I can’t see any movement.  Can you get in to them?”

When Brock came to, the first thing he registered was an obnoxious ringing in his ears...then came the stabbing pain in his left arm.  A quick glance revealed that said arm had been pinned to the ground by a slab of what was most likely the wall previously standing between him and their target.  Turning his head, Bravo Five found Six a few feet away, half-buried under debris from the roof and utterly unmoving.  “Six?  Bravo Six, can you hear me?  Clay!”  Nothing.  “C’mon, brother…”

He paused when the sound of voices crackled through Clay’s radio, the rest of their team calling for sitrep.  With his free hand Brock reached for his own radio, only to realize it had been caught under the wall and therefore destroyed.  He attempted to reach out at touch Clay, but came up inches short.  Growling in frustration, he dropped his head back to the ground, and turned his thoughts to his dog...and Sonny, who’d been just behind Clay when they breached.  

It didn’t take long for his worries to be assuaged.  “Brock, GQ, if you two don’t respond toot-sweet I will be digging in just to kick your asses myself,” Sonny growled over Clay’s radio.  “The dog is getting antsy and you know how he is when he doesn’t get his way.”  The SEAL wished that he could reach Clay...wished that he knew for sure that he was even alive, wished that he could see the extent of whatever injuries he’d sustained...wished that they’d done more recon before breaching.

Unlike Brock’s gradual return to consciousness, it hits Clay all at once, memories of the explosion included, and he comes to shouting for the other man.  His head swivels around, sending stabs of pain from his temple down his neck, and the desperate attempts to move are useless; only his left arm is free, a chunk of debris covering his other limbs and weighing down heavily on his chest.  “Brock?!” he called again, grunting in desperation.

“Right here, brother...I’m good.  My left arm is pinned and my radio’s trashed.  What’s going on with you?”

The blonde took a moment, now that he knew his brother was alive and - relatively - safe, to assess his own status.  Despite the weight bearing down on him, all ten fingers and toes responded to the command to move, and doing so caused no further pain to indicate broken bones.  Well that’s a miracle…“Won’t be moving anytime soon and not sure if my chestplate will keep bearing the weight of this slab forever, but for now I’m good.”

“Good...any chance you can let the rest of the team know we’re alive?” Brock’s relief was evident in his voice, and Clay smirked as he reached up with his free arm to key his radio.

“Bravo One, this is Bravo Six...Five and I are both pinned under debris but otherwise no serious injuries.  Are Three and Cerb okay?”

“Six, it is damn good to hear your voice, kid.  Three and the hair missile are fine, both whining about getting you guys outta there,” Jason joked.  Clay chuckled and shifted his hips, and abruptly the breath was forced from his lungs as the debris covering him moved with him. What had been manageable pressure became agonizingly constricting, and he was moderately confident something had cracked in his ribcage or sternum.  Panic threatened to overwhelm him as breathing became more and more difficult.

“Clay! Clay, I need you to listen to my voice, you’ve gotta be as still as possible so you don’t shift that slab any more, okay?  I know you can’t catch your breath right now, but if you don’t slow it down a little bit you’re going to pass out on me, okay? Focus on steady, shallow breaths.”  The soothing tenor of his brother’s voice brought Clay back down to the point that he was able to maintain those shallow breaths and the darkness at the corners of his vision dissipated.  “Good, that’s great brother.  Can you pass me the receiver of your radio and I’ll talk to Jason?”  Clay nodded and obeyed, fingers barely brushing as they managed to bridge the distance between them.  “Bravo One, this is Five.  We’re gonna need you to hurry...the debris is unstable and has already shifted on Bravo Six.  He’s okay for now, but I’m not sure that’ll be the case if things shift again.  I can’t do anything to help him.”

“Copy that Bravo Five.  We’re double-timing, just sit tight a little bit longer.  Alpha and support are almost here to help with the moving.”

“Yeah, we’ll just be hanging out when you get here,” Brock replied with a wry, tired smile.  He hooked the receiver onto his vest and returned his attention to Clay.  “How you holding up, Spense?”

“Just me...or is it...a bit stuffy in here?” the blonde quipped.  Truthfully the darkness was creeping back in, his chest felt like it was caving in, and he wasn’t sure how much longer he would be able to keep up sniper breathing.

“Shit...Clay, stay with me, brother. You’ve gotta stay awake.  Talk to me, tell me-” Clay jerked his head around when Brock’s voice cut off with a strangled groan and an audible ‘pop’.  Bravo Five’s head dropped back against the ground limply.

“Son of a…” Clay keyed the radio at his shoulder.  “Guys...I think Bravo Five...may have dislocated his shoulder.”  He dropped his own head back and winced when it sparked fireworks behind his eyes.  Another groan from beside him let him know that Brock had woken again, and he turned his head to catch the older man’s gaze.  “You good?”

“Hurts like a mother, but pretty sure it’s just dislocated.  Did I black out?”

“Just for a minute,” Clay breathed.  Just as he opened his mouth to speak again, light cut through the doorway, quickly shadowed by a thickly-bearded face.  “Bout...time, Bravo Three…”

“I know you’ve been anxiously awaiting the sight of my handsome face.  We’ll have you two out in a hot second now that help has arrived.”  Their teammate was true to his word, and within moments both men had been inspected by an anxious Cerberus as Alpha and Bravo teams filed in, careful not to jar the slabs of wall and ceiling prematurely.  Six men surrounded Clay and in unison hefted the debris from the younger SEAL.  Jason and Ray deftly slid him out to a clear spot, and the others moved on to let Brock free as well.  As soon as Brock was free, Trent inspected his shoulder.  Clay watched silently, struggling to steady his breathing.

“Dislocation looks to be right.  You ready?” With a short nod and a steadying breath, Brock braced himself against a still-stable wall. Cerberus whined and nudged his good hand, providing sufficient distraction for Trent to reset the dislocated joint.  

“Ooooh sonofabitch…”  Trent felt his arm gently, content when nothing moved that shouldn’t.  “I’m good, thanks brother...check on Clay.”  The medic nodded and turned to the blonde, concerned by the paleness of Clay’s lips and his rapid breaths.  “We’ve got you, Spense, easy breathing remember?” Clay turned his head to look at Brock as he dropped to his knees and reached out with his good hand.  The blond took it, grateful for the physical connection after the rollercoaster they’d been on since entering the building.

“I’m going to take off your vest, Clay, see if anything’s broken, okay?”  Clay nodded and Cerberus laid his head across his knees in an attempt to offer comfort, just as he’d done for Brock.  Removing the vest did little to ease the pressure, and still Clay struggled to draw a deep breath.  Trent tried to be gentle in his assessment, but Clay couldn’t hide the hisses and winces of pain.  “This isn’t going to be fun but it might help stimulate bloodflow again and make it a little easier on your chest when you’re breathing,” Trent warned.  Clay nodded again, and clenched his jaw when knuckles rubbed firmly up and down his sternum.  As uncomfortable as it was, Clay found that by the time he stopped, breathing was in fact easier.  “Better?”

“Yeah.”

“Good...I’m gonna check your legs and the arm that was pinned just to make sure circulation is good everywhere else, and then we can get the hell outta here, how’s that sound?”

“Sounds like it’s about friggin time,” Sonny chimed from above them as Trent ordered Cerberus back.  The medic made quick work of checking Clay over, and then nodded to Brock to help get the younger man on his feet.  The abrupt change in altitude made everything spin, and a hand on his chest had him looking up into the concerned eyes of his favorite Texan.  “You sure you’re good Goldilocks?”

After giving the room a minute to stop spinning, Clay grinned at Sonny and squeezed both hands gripping his.  “Let’s go home, shall we?”  Trent let him go once he was sure Clay was steady, and Brock ducked under Clay’s arm, careful not to jar is own injury.  With each step they took towards exfil, the pair surrounded by their teammates and the support team, the weight on Clay’s chest lifted.

[bbclesmis]

The Guardian: Les Misérables review – merci, Andrew Davies, c'est magnifique

Liberally scattered with talent from Dominic West and David Oyelowo to Lily Collins, this mercifully song-free adaptation was a rich feast to end the year

Andrew Davies’s six-part adaptation of Victor Hugo’s classic novel Les Misérables (BBC One) begins with an explanatory caption. “After 20 years of war, France is defeated and Napoleon is exiled. A new king is waiting to be crowned. The old order is to be restored. The revolution is to be forgotten. And there are no songs.”

It didn’t really say that last bit. But it could have, because the USP of this version is that it is not the musical that long ago usurped the novel as What We Mean When We Talk About Les Misérables. “Boo!” shouts the half of the country that also likes fancy-dress parties, board games and other terrible, terrible things. “Hurrah!” shout the rest of us.

Even the refuseniks would surely have been rewarded. Starring Dominic West as a toweringly furious Jean Valjean, David Oyelowo as his remorseless nemesis Javert and Lily Collins – who pulls off the feat of making Fantine heartbreakingly naive rather than goppingly stupid – and liberally scattered with further talent (Emma Fielding, for example, was glimpsed as the infant Marius Pontmercy’s nurse), last night’s opening episode was a groaning table of treats – a rich feast with which to end the year and see us into the next. And, while I know it is not the done thing to refer to a person’s age when it is strictly speaking an irrelevance to the task at hand, could we take a moment to tip our hats to Davies who, two years after his War and Peace was broadcast, delivers this unto us, at the age of 82? If Attenborough gets kudos for voicing new nature programmes, we should be able to acknowledge this admiringly, too.

The first episode covered the last year of Valjean’s 19-year sentence breaking rocks in the Toulon penal colony. There is no commutation when he saves the life of a guard crushed by a rockfall (albeit one that Valjean, creature of instinct that he is, caused when the guard enraged him). Rather, as even those of us who have never read the book or seen the musical but have absorbed the story by osmosis will know, the strength he displays in the rescue is only going to come back and bite him on his exceptionally well-muscled bum later. On his eventual release, Javert points out, with no small measure of satisfaction, that the next crime he commits, however minor, will put him back there for life. “You can never win.” Valjean may see battle lines drawn. Viewers see a net beginning to be lightly drawn around the whole.

Meanwhile, the young grisette Fantine and her friends have become enmeshed with a trio of posh boys who promise them the world – gold necklaces, fine clothes, £350m extra a week for the NHS – then bugger off home when they have had enough, careless of the grief, destruction and, in the case of Fantine’s Felix, the daughter they leave behind. Her friends had tried to warn her. “The ground we walk on isn’t solid ground,” says Favourite. “Maybe it isn’t always like that,” says Fantine with the hope that will doom her. “Yes it is,” Favourite says, brutally, accurately. “It is always like that.”

Valjean’s new papers mark him as an ex-convict. He is cheated of pay and is offered shelter, kindness and a chance at redemption by Monseigneur Myriel (Derek Jacobi) before the bitterness at the unfairness of his life consumes him. Valjean – as again, somehow we all know – steals the silverware instead. He is brought back, and Myriel (and coming from a Catholic family, let me tell you this is something we left-footers excel at) heaps coals of fire on his head by pretending to the gendarmes that he gave Valjean the silverware and pressing some silver candlesticks on him before he leaves again.

As Fantine stares out the window of the flat that I doubt Felix has even paid for till the end of the month, holding Cosette and wondering quite what her options are as a young, penniless working-class woman on the streets of 19th-century Paris, Valjean is still struggling with his baser instincts. When a young boy passes him on the road, Valjean steals the 40-sou coin he is carrying. The boy runs off. Valjean repents. A new set of narrative engines fire up, and next week we shall be firmly in the thick of things.

C’est magnifique – and there is no chance of Russell Crowe popping up to sing about stars or runaway carts. Merci, Monsieur Davies. Merci.

The Guardian, 30 Dec 2018

[scarheaded-ferret]

Professors in Love (and a baby Scorpius) - Chapter 1

It’s here guys! This was based off of the Professor!Drarry headcanon post I did a couple days ago, I’m so excited to write this!!! :^D

Chapter Links

***

Harry beamed as he watched Ginny walked down the aisle. She looked beautiful in the tailored navy blue robes that complimented her flaming hair surprisingly well. He looked to his left to see Luna staring at her soon-to-be wife with loving eyes. Harry took Ginny’s bouquet from her as she took her place on the altar, opposite from Luna.  Their vows were beautiful, and had everyone in tears by the time they finished.

“I now pronounce you wife and wife,” said Luna’s great uncle, who they had gotten to be their minister. The two leaned in and kissed as their guests erupted into cheers and applause. Harry grinned and clapped along with everyone else, the love he felt for both of his friends was so strong, and he was extremely happy for them.

After the war, Harry and Ginny both realized that they loved each other like brother and sister, and parted mutually as friends. In fact, their past relationship was often brought about as a joke, and Ron liked to tease that Harry turned Ginny gay. But everyone knew that Ginny and Luna fit better together than Harry and Ginny ever could, and Harry was quite relieved at that. He realized that he had used Ginny as a way to be legally apart of the Weasley family. When he and Ginny broke up, he apologized extensively for this, and Ginny with her fierce temper was mad at him for using her, but understood his reason.

Another realization for Harry, was that he was bisexual. When he told Ron and Hermione, they both gave him a look that said, do you think we’re stupid? Even Ron had concluded some things from the way Harry would look longingly at both boys and girls during their Hogwarts years.

“So, you’re- you’re okay with it? I’m not a- a freak or anything?” Years of hearing the Dursleys ramble on about how disgusting the gay couple who lived down the street was flashed through his mind. Disgusting faggots, polluting our children, that’s what they’re doing. Vernon had liked to say when the Sander-Davies could be seen walking with their adopted son.

“Of course not, Harry! Blimey, calling you a freak would have me going against Ginny, wouldn’t it?” Ron had told him reassuringly.

“Harry, we’ll love you no matter who you choose to love, you deserve that happiness,” Harry beamed at their words and had enveloped them both into hugs. He felt so loved in that moment, and for the first time after the war, he felt a small shrivel of peace. Two months after that day he was walking into Luna and Ginny’s wedding reception with Justin Finch-Fletchley on his arm.

The reporters had gone into a frenzy as he walked into building, shouting inquiries about his sexuality, and if he was in a relationship with Justin. He seemed a bit nervous, and Harry gave his arm a reassuring squeeze as they stepped into the hall the Weasley’s had rented for the wedding. Harry smiled at Justin before walking over to take his place at the head table beside Neville, who was Luna’s best man. They both gave their speeches that had half of the guests in fits of laughter, and the other crying from the emotional parts.

“To the happy couple!” Harry shouted, and the room repeated his words with enthusiasm. The rest of the wedding went very well. Harry danced with Justin a couple of times, and found him to be a fun, even if shy, person to be around.  They didn’t kiss, but promised to meet up for a pint sometime before Justin left for Auror training.

As Harry laughed with his arms slung around Seamus and Ron’s shoulders, singing to a song they didn’t know, he felt like the pressure and guilt from the war was lifted from his shoulders, not entirely, but enough.

Harry said his goodbyes, wished Luna and Ginny a happy honeymoon, and left with Hermione and Ron to go back to the flat they shared in Hogsmeade. Ron and Hermione weren’t together either, understanding that they were both better as friends.

Their flat wasn’t big, but managed to fit the trio just fine. Harry still had Grimmauld place, but it held too many memories that he wasn’t ready to deal with yet. There was a sitting room with an overstuffed couch and armchairs, similar to the ones found in the Gryffindor common room. Bookshelves lined the walls, holding the books Hermione couldn’t fit in her room, along with several photographs and potted plants.

The kitchen was full of muggle appliances that Ron refused to touch after a peculiar incident involving the toaster. There was a wooden breakfast table that had a view of the village, and even a distant glimpse of Hogwarts.

The three of them stumbled into the flat laughing about nothing at all, sporting grins and equal levels of amusement. They murmured goodnights and went to their separate rooms. Harry got into his bed and fell asleep right away, the night was fun, yet a tiring one. As he dozed off, the last images that flitted through his head were the happy smiles of his friends and the way everyone seemed to forget about the war for one beautiful night.

***

Two years later, and not too far away, Draco Malfoy was on the receiving end of news that he had anticipated. He knew what was wrong the minute Astoria sat down with him.

“You’re pregnant,”

“I’m pregnant,” they both spoke at the same time, Draco smirked.

“Damn, how do you always do that? You knew when I told you about my Healer internship and now this!” She yelled but there was no mirth to her words.  

“How old should he be when we divorce?”

“I’d say at least two years, and how do you know it’s not a girl?” “At the moment I cannot come up with any Malfoy men who have produced a girl as their first-born, and you know I have the family tree memorized by heart,” Astoria sighed and shook her head fondly.

“Alright, we should tell our families now, yes?”

“Yes, I’m certain mother would kill me if she found out I did not inform her immediately,”

Draco stood and they both visited each family together, informing of them of the pregnancy, but only Daphne was to know of the coming divorce. Astoria trusted her more than she was willing to admit.

They entered their townhouse and sat down together in the sitting room.

“How’s Millie doing?”

“Oh she’s lovely, I’m seeing her tomorrow night,” Draco raised a brow, this would be the fifth time she would be meeting up with Millie this week. “Speaking of dates, why haven’t I seen you with any hot young men?”

Draco raised his left arm, showing the faded mark, “I think you may be forgetting a certain detail,”

“Yes, but that doesn’t mean you can’t use a glamour and pull every once in a while,” Draco rolled his eyes. He knew he could do that, but abhorred the idea of his glamour fading and his partner recoiling in disgust at the sight of him. “And besides, there are plenty of men who would be willing to overlook it, you are very handsome you know. If I wasn’t a lesbian I would probably enjoy our sex life,”

Draco laughed and kissed her cheek as he stood, “I’m going to visit Pansy, I’ll see you later, Stori,”

“Think about going to one of those gay bars!” she shouted as he stepped through the floo.

Draco supposed that he and Astoria would be a good match if they both weren’t extremely gay. They had an agreement that as long as they produced an heir, they could go out with anyone they wanted while still being married to the other. Draco loved Astoria, but not in the way their mothers had hoped.

She was his best friend, and even though their marriage was arranged, he wouldn’t pick anyone else to be his wife.

He greeted Pansy at the little cafe she had grown fond of, a little shop on the edge of Hogsmeade. Pansy’s taste was often questionable, but Draco found the little tea shop, with it’s fairy lights and light yellow walls, wasn’t all too bad. The tea was good as well, Draco thought as he sipped his peppermint blend. He crossed his ankles and relaxed as he listened to Pansy go on about how awful the man her parents had introduced her to the night before was.

“Far too full of himself, and this is coming from me! It seemed as though he wanted me to applaud him for bringing the bloody wine! Fucking narcissist,” Draco smiled at her rantings, he didn’t realize how much he had missed hanging out with her. Nothing was ever normal after the war, but they were healing, very slowly.  

“Takes one to know one,” Draco said, quirking up the end of his mouth.

“Oh fuck off,”

It was August, a little over two years after the war and Draco had surprisingly kept in touch with most of his Slytherin peers. He and Pansy had tea almost every Sunday afternoon, on Friday nights he would have a pint with Blaise, Millie, and occasionally Theo. And at least three times a month, he, Astoria, Daphne, Pansy, Blaise, Theo, Millie, and Greg would meet up to eat dinner as a group and get pissed.

He had expected them to have split up after the war, it was the most realistic outcome. But they were Slyterthins, and would stick together for as long as possible.

“Stori’s expecting,” Draco said casually in between sips of his tea. Pansy shrieked, attracting the attention of the people around them. She ignored them and clapped her hands.

“God, it’s like fifth year all over again,” Pansy rolled her eyes but was smiling joviantly.

“Oh! I’m going to be an Aunt Pansy!”

“And a terrible one you will be,” Draco said, smirking. Pansy smacked his arm playfully.

“It’ll be a spring birth! Oh, imagine you getting the alert in the middle of a lesson!” Pansy laughed and Draco huffed. He had been the Arithmancy professor at Hogwarts for a year now, and was mortified at the thought of his students hearing about the birth of his son in the middle of class. He would much rather have a proper, public announcement.

A half-hour later he was bidding Pansy goodbye. There was a little potions shop he needed to go to for Astoria’s maternity potions. He walked out of the door of the little teashop and right into the person he had been hoping to avoid.

[thedailychalkboard]

When The Bird Comes Home To Roost

Here we are again, another Thanksgiving of cooking, crowds and cleats. The last item on this list is a nod towards those readers who happen to be football fans- which, by the way, I am not. Call me un-American but I can find infinitely more on TV to shout at than a field full of muscle bound millionaires working diligently to give each other a concussion. I’d rather read a book or have a meaningful conversation with a mime than spend time entranced and        infuriated by a sport.  Although I do have to admit it has become much more interesting as the politics of it all recently became the national rage.

My type of sport, and what I find fun, is going bat shit rogue at freestyle riffing in a game called metaphor. There’s something about relating human traits for being outlandishly absurd to things found in nature that have absolutely no connection to one another. Okay I’ll admit, like fruitcake, this is an acquired taste. The ironic thing is we all do it all the time. We just don’t realize it, or if we do, just don’t give it much thought.

So armed with my weird, quirky, and somewhat obtuse sense of sarcastic humor, I'm here to ruin your Thanksgiving Day. No really.  Many of you aren't going to be happy or giving me any thanks once this word game ends. You may snicker a bit, but are more likely to be compelled to engage in some serious soul searching.

Please note that what you perceive in this parable will no doubt be translated through the filter of your own interests and experiences. No two people will agree on what analogy is being made or the subject being addressed. The intent is to encourage you to think, contemplate and consider, not agree with any specific point of view. So, put on your pads and helmet because this is going to be one helluva contact sport.

To begin allow me to set the stage for you, or more correctly, the playing        field. It’s early Thanksgiving Day. Like really early. Like when the rooster        crows at freakin’ 6am in the morning early. Everyone’s come home to        enjoy a big family roost for the holiday. As with most traditionally dysfunctional   families we’ve got a colorful gathering of personality types beginning to stir        here in the hen house. There are eagles, hawks, doves, vultures, chickens, ducks and of course a turkey or two to name a few. There’s even some dodo and gooney birds to complete our festive aviary. The pecking order is pretty well represented as we look around our fowl little gathering on this holiday morn and it's not long before some wingnut tweets out a comment to get the game      rolling and feathers begin to ruffle and fly.

The first group to start squawking about the twit who took a knee and tweeted are the hawks in the group. They  have an opinion about everything, because, and they’re not bashful about reminding everyone that, they’ve “been there and done that”. The harried hens begin to cackle among themselves in the middle of it all and soon some gooney bird, overhearing their conversation, tells one of them to go lay an egg. Soon all hell breaks loose.  As the doves in the group flit and flutter around trying to introduce a peaceful resolution a hawk makes an off color remark to some duck who happens to waddle in at the wrong moment. The dodo birds begin to gather in the far left corner as the hawks take up a defensive position in the right corner, vowing to never give quarter to such a motley bunch of never –never- landers. Silently, circling        overhead, the vultures maintain a watchful eye, while pooping on the whole party. They wait their turn knowing it all means a free meal for them in the end.

Once things have grown to a fevered bird flu pitch, the eagle of the family rises to the occasion. Always a bird of propriety and poise his mere presence demands the group grow quiet and so they do. All except for those damned dodo birds, and nothing seems to get them to shut up. Somebody forgot to tell them they're extinct. The regal eagle reminds this group of pin feathered poultry that there is one guest yet to arrive; the guest of honor actually. All eyes brighten at this reminder and are now glued to the chicken wire in anticipation of the arrival of the greatest bird in the barnyard; the mighty turkey.  For some reason everyone seems to admires the turkey and treats him like royalty. It's evidently his insatiable appetite for gobbling everything up that holds their admiration.          Each of the birds gathered in this melting pot of a hen house  worship the        turkey, not unlike the ancient Aztecs worshiped Quetzalcoatl at the Temple of the Feathered Serpent at Teotihuacan.  That‘s another story but not really.  Suffice it to say that once a bird has tasted the elixir of the holy grail of corn they will never go back to simple grubs and seeds. Instead, they will blindly follow those turkeys who promise to lead them to the mother of all corn caches without so much as a question of how come or why they should, in their little bird brains. They’ve even named this illusive cornucopia of a corn cache that comes but once a year. The turkeys call it Black Friday and have succeeded in endowing it with dazzling mythical powers. Woe be to the feathered fowl who ignore or treat this power with disdain for they shall be cast into the tar pits of hell and shunned for eternity from future fellowship with the rest of the flock.

No one remembers why it's called Black  Friday or really cares. All they can think about is lots more corn at bargain prices. It consumes them. Which is quite ironic if you really think about it. I mean who is devouring whom? The turkey always promises to lead the way to Black  Friday and is willing to go so far as to designate all the other birds honorary turkeys to mark this wondrous occasion. Secretly most of flock felt each of the other birds deserved this honorary turkey distinction though. Certainly not them.  

When the turkey showed up all the other birds rushed out of the relative chaotic safety of the hen house to greet him except for a few hawks and the eagle. These older, battle scared, and wiser birds sat back and watched,  all the while thinking, “been there done that”. The gaggle ecstatically greeted the feather god of Black Friday with twitter filled cheers as they clogged the barnyard and set out to join the growing lines of eager corn seeking birds from other hen houses waiting to storm the doors of the nearest Holy Shrine of the Incredible Deal. The crowd began moving as one, in unison, with the incessant drumbeat of the sacred feathered dragon dance of low priced ecstasy.

Just out of sight of this avian parade, a pack of hunger crazed bean counting foxes lay in wait. When all these turkeys were far enough from the safety of        the henhouse the foxes descended upon them creating a feathered feast        of the real and proxy poultry. Yes indeed, these turkeys were discovering the true meaning of Black Friday. Those that survived were to find out soon enough as well. As the next billing cycle on their all inclusive membership cards to this Black Friday club is completed, they will once again understand the true meaning of when the bird comes home to roost.

 As with all tales, short or tall, there's a moral in this one as well. Birds of a feather who flock together, are all susceptible  to being fleeced, even if they        don’t share much in common. So Don't let the foxes pull the wool over your eyes by acting like a turkey. You may actually be mistaken for one and end up getting gutted, roasted and devoured. - MDD

©2018 Michael D. Davis   All Rights Reserved Michael D. Davis is a communicator by vocation, a mentor by avocation and a social media maven by choice. His work can be found on popular channels on the web and on his blog at http://thedailychalkboard.tumblr.com/   Michael welcomes your comments and invites you to join him. Just Google #michaelddavis or #thedailychalkboard to find him and request to connect.

[stephenmccull]

Searching For Safety: Where Children Hide When Gunfire Is All Too Common

Justice Buress, 4, demonstrates how she hides under a table during a drill at Little Explorers Learning Center in St. Louis. Day care director Tess Trice carries out monthly drills to train the children to get on the floor when they hear gunfire.(Carolina Hidalgo/St. Louis Public Radio)

ST. LOUIS — Champale Greene-Anderson keeps the volume up on her television when she watches 5-year-old granddaughter Amor Robinson while the girl’s mom is at work.

This story is part of a partnership that includes St. Louis Public Radio, NPR and Kaiser Health News.

This story can be republished for free (details).

“So we won’t hear the gunshots,” Greene-Anderson said. “I have little bitty grandbabies, and I don’t want them to be afraid to be here.”

As a preschooler, Amor already knows and fears the sounds that occurred with regularity in their neighborhood before the pandemic — and continue even now as the rest of the world has slowed down.

“I don’t like the pop, pop noises,” Amor explained, swinging the beads in her hair. “I can’t hear my tablet when I watch something.”

And when the television or her hot-pink headphones and matching tablet can’t mask the noise of a shooting? “She usually stops everything,” said her mother, Satin White. “Sometimes she cries, sometimes she covers her ears.”

Her grandmother has even watched Amor hide inside a narrow gap between the couch and recliner.

Five-year-old Amor Robinson demonstrates where she sat in her grandmother’s home in St. Louis when she heard gunfire outside. The narrow gap between the couch and armchair recliner became her hideaway.(Carolina Hidalgo/St. Louis Public Radio)

In communities across the United States this spring, families are dealing with more than just the threat of the coronavirus outside their homes. In the midst of violence that does not stop even during a pandemic, children like Amor continually search for safety, peace and a quiet place. “Safer at Home” slogans don’t guarantee safety for them.

More than two dozen parents and caregivers who spoke with Kaiser Health News attested that the kids hide underneath beds, in basements and dry bathtubs, waiting for gunfire to stop while their parents pray that a bullet never finds them.

In St. Louis, which has the nation’s highest murder rate among cities with at least 100,000 people, the reasons are especially stark. More than 20 children in the St. Louis area were killed by gunfire last year, and this year at least 11 children have died already.

While some of the children’s deaths were caused by accidental shootings inside a home, regular gunfire outside is a hurtful reminder that adults have to find ways to keep children safe. And while parents hope their kids grow into healthy adults, evidence shows that children who grow up around violence or witness it frequently are more likely to have health problems later in life.

Can you imagine as a child, you are sleeping, you know, no care in the world as you sleep and being jarred out of your sleep to get under the bed and hide?

Lekesha Davis, a St. Louis mental health counselor

Although the mental health of children around the world has been taxed these past few months, for some children the stress has been going on far longer. Regularly hearing shootings is one example of what’s called an “adverse childhood experience.” Americans who have adverse childhood experiences that remain unaddressed are more likely to suffer heart disease, cancer, chronic respiratory diseases and stroke, according to a 2019 Centers for Disease Control and Prevention report.

St. Louis mental health counselor Lekesha Davis said children and their parents can become desensitized to the violence around them — where even one’s home doesn’t feel safe. And, research shows, black parents and children in the U.S., especially, often cannot get the mental health treatment they may need because of bias or lack of cultural understanding from providers.

“Can you imagine as a child, you are sleeping, you know, no care in the world as you sleep and being jarred out of your sleep to get under the bed and hide?” Davis asked.

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“We have to look at this, not just, you know, emotionally, but what does that do to our body?” she added. “Our brain is impacted by this fight-or-flight response. That’s supposed to happen in rare instances, but when you’re having them happen every single day, you’re having these chemicals released in the brain on a daily basis. How does that affect you as you get older?”

But future health problems are hard to think about when you’re trying to survive.

At This Day Care, ‘Dora’ Means Drop

The children at Little Explorers Learning Center are getting reacquainted with their daily routine now that the day care facility has reopened for families of essential workers as the COVID pandemic stay-at-home orders loosen. And there’s a lot to remember.

Teachers at the center remind the children of their hand-washing, mealtime and academic routines. They also make sure the kids remember what to do when gunfire erupts nearby.  Assistant director Tawanda Brand runs a gunfire safety drill once a month. First, she tells the children to get ready. Then, she shouts: “Dora the Explorer!”

“Dora” is a code word, Brand explained, signaling the kids to drop to the floor — the safest place — in case gunfire erupts nearby.

A child looks out the window to watch snow falling at the Little Explorers Learning Center on Jan. 29, in St. Louis. In November 2019, a stray bullet came through the window.(Carolina Hidalgo/St. Louis Public Radio)

Little Explorers Learning Center assistant director and teacher Tawanda Brand works with preschool students in St. Louis on Jan. 29. After closing temporarily because of the coronavirus, the center reopened in May for the children of essential workers. All staff members now wear masks.(Carolina Hidalgo/St. Louis Public Radio)

During a drill one morning before the pandemic, most of the children got down. Others walked around, sending Brand on a chase as she tried to corral the group of 3- to 5-year-olds.

The drill may sound playful, but sometimes the danger is real.

The Little Explorers protocol isn’t like the “active shooter” drills that took place in schools around the country on the rare chance someone would come inside to shoot — as at Columbine, Parkland or Sandy Hook. The day care program performs these drills because nearby shootings are an ongoing threat.

Day care director Tess Trice said a bullet pierced the window in November while the children were inside. Then, the very next day, bullets flew again.

“We heard gunshots, we got on the floor,” Trice said. “Eventually, when we got up and looked out the window, we saw a body out there.”

Tess Trice, who owns and runs Little Explorers Learning Center, conducts monthly drills to keep the kids safe amid gunfire, which has come frighteningly close. Trice was photographed on Jan. 29, before the center temporarily closed; it reopened in early May for the children of essential workers, and all staff members now wear masks.(Carolina Hidalgo/St. Louis Public Radio)

Trice called parents that day to see if they wanted to pick up their children early. Nicollette Mayo was one of the parents who received a call from the teachers. She knows the neighborhood faces challenges, but can’t see her 4-year-old daughter, Justice, and infant son, Marquis, going anywhere else.

“I trust them,” Mayo said. “And I know that, God forbid, if there is an incident that I’m going to be contacted immediately. They’re gonna do what they need to do to keep my children safe.”

Trice considered bulletproof glass for the day care center but could not afford it. A local company estimated it would cost $8,000 to $10,000 per window. So she relies on the “Dora” drills and newly installed cameras.

Still, in a city with such an alarming homicide rate, such drills aren’t happening only at the few day care facilities that have reopened. They also happen at home.

‘You Live Better If You Sit On The Floor’

Long before the coronavirus pandemic pushed the world to isolate at home, the Hicks family had their own version of sheltering in place. But it was from gun violence. When they hear gunshots outside their home in East St. Louis, Illinois, everyone hides in the dark.

The goal is to keep the family out of sight, because bearing witness to a shooting could put them at a different kind of risk, mom Kianna Hicks said.

Khanyla Blueford, 12, and her siblings demonstrate a drill they practice in which they drop to the floor quickly at their home in East St. Louis, Illinois. The drill helps them feel prepared for when they hear gunfire, which in past years happened at least twice a week in warm months.(Carolina Hidalgo/St. Louis Public Radio)

So when trouble erupts, they do their best to remain unseen and unheard.

“We turn the TV down,” said 13-year-old Anajah Hicks, the oldest of four. “We turn the lights off, and we hurry up and get down on the ground.”

A few times each month, the family practices what to do when they hear gunshots. Hicks tells the kids to get ready. Then, their grandmother Gloria Hicks claps her hands to simulate the sound of gunfire.

“I need them to know exactly what to do, because in too many instances, where we’ve been sitting around, and gunshots, you know, people start shooting, and they’ll just be up walking around or trying to run,” Kianna Hicks said. “I’ll tell ’em, ‘Naw, that’s not what you do. You hear gunshots, you hear gunshots. No matter where you at, you stop — you get on the ground and you wait until it’s over with and then you move around.’”

And this summer, Hicks wants to make sure the kids are ready. At least twice a week in past years when the weather warmed up, the family got on the floor in response to real gunfire. Violence spikes in summer months, according to the Giffords Law Center to Prevent Gun Violence. And she knows they could be spending more time in the house if football camp for her boys is canceled because of coronavirus fears.

Other families in tough neighborhoods sit on the floor more often, even amid moments of relative quiet. The first time Gloria Hicks saw a family sitting on the floor, she was visiting her godson in Chicago decades ago. It was hot that summer, Hicks recalled, so families kept their apartment doors open to stay cool.

“They were sitting on the floor watching TV and I wondered, Why is it like that?” Hicks recalled. “Then I learned that you live better if you sit on the floor than on the couch, because you don’t know when the bullets gon’ fly.”

‘I Immediately Dropped To The Floor’

Although 16-year-old Mariah knows what to do when bullets fly, she said, she still has a difficult time processing the sound of violence. The honor student was babysitting her little cousins at her St. Louis home last winter when she heard gunshots.

“It couldn’t have been no further than, like, my doorstep,” recalled Mariah, whose mother asked that the teen’s last name not be printed so the discussion of the trauma doesn’t follow her into adulthood. “I immediately dropped to the floor, and then in a split second the second thing that ran through my head is like, ‘Oh, my God, the kids.’”

Mariah and her mom, Eisha Taylor, pose for a portrait at their home in St. Louis on Feb. 1. Mariah was babysitting her little cousins there last winter when she heard nearby gunshots.(Carolina Hidalgo/St. Louis Public Radio)

When Mariah walked into the next room, she saw her two younger cousins on the floor doing exactly what their mother had taught them to do when gunfire erupts.

Get down and don’t move.

“I was so worried,” Mariah recalled. “They’re 6 and 3. Imagine that.”

The three kids walked away physically OK that day. But later that night, Mariah said, she pulled out strands of her hair, a behavior associated with stress.

“Pulling my hair got really bad,” she said. “I had to oil my hair again because when I oil it, it makes it hard to pull out.”

Davis, the mental health counselor who has worked for 20 years with children experiencing trauma, encourages parents to comfort their kids after a traumatic event and for the kids to fully explore and discuss their emotions, even months after the fact.

She said getting on the floor explains only how families are maintaining their physical safety.

“But no one’s addressing the emotional and the mental toll that this takes on individuals,” said Davis, vice president of the Hopewell Center, one of the few mental health agencies for kids in the city of St. Louis.

“We get children that were playing in their backyard and they witnessed someone being shot right in front of them,” Davis said. “These are the daily experiences of our children. And that’s not normal.”

Carolina Hidalgo contributed to this report as a journalist at St. Louis Public Radio.

Searching For Safety: Where Children Hide When Gunfire Is All Too Common published first on https://smartdrinkingweb.weebly.com/

[gordonwilliamsweb]

Searching For Safety: Where Children Hide When Gunfire Is All Too Common

Justice Buress, 4, demonstrates how she hides under a table during a drill at Little Explorers Learning Center in St. Louis. Day care director Tess Trice carries out monthly drills to train the children to get on the floor when they hear gunfire.(Carolina Hidalgo/St. Louis Public Radio)

ST. LOUIS — Champale Greene-Anderson keeps the volume up on her television when she watches 5-year-old granddaughter Amor Robinson while the girl’s mom is at work.

This story is part of a partnership that includes St. Louis Public Radio, NPR and Kaiser Health News.

This story can be republished for free (details).

“So we won’t hear the gunshots,” Greene-Anderson said. “I have little bitty grandbabies, and I don’t want them to be afraid to be here.”

As a preschooler, Amor already knows and fears the sounds that occurred with regularity in their neighborhood before the pandemic — and continue even now as the rest of the world has slowed down.

“I don’t like the pop, pop noises,” Amor explained, swinging the beads in her hair. “I can’t hear my tablet when I watch something.”

And when the television or her hot-pink headphones and matching tablet can’t mask the noise of a shooting? “She usually stops everything,” said her mother, Satin White. “Sometimes she cries, sometimes she covers her ears.”

Her grandmother has even watched Amor hide inside a narrow gap between the couch and recliner.

Five-year-old Amor Robinson demonstrates where she sat in her grandmother’s home in St. Louis when she heard gunfire outside. The narrow gap between the couch and armchair recliner became her hideaway.(Carolina Hidalgo/St. Louis Public Radio)

In communities across the United States this spring, families are dealing with more than just the threat of the coronavirus outside their homes. In the midst of violence that does not stop even during a pandemic, children like Amor continually search for safety, peace and a quiet place. “Safer at Home” slogans don’t guarantee safety for them.

More than two dozen parents and caregivers who spoke with Kaiser Health News attested that the kids hide underneath beds, in basements and dry bathtubs, waiting for gunfire to stop while their parents pray that a bullet never finds them.

In St. Louis, which has the nation’s highest murder rate among cities with at least 100,000 people, the reasons are especially stark. More than 20 children in the St. Louis area were killed by gunfire last year, and this year at least 11 children have died already.

While some of the children’s deaths were caused by accidental shootings inside a home, regular gunfire outside is a hurtful reminder that adults have to find ways to keep children safe. And while parents hope their kids grow into healthy adults, evidence shows that children who grow up around violence or witness it frequently are more likely to have health problems later in life.

Can you imagine as a child, you are sleeping, you know, no care in the world as you sleep and being jarred out of your sleep to get under the bed and hide?

Lekesha Davis, a St. Louis mental health counselor

Although the mental health of children around the world has been taxed these past few months, for some children the stress has been going on far longer. Regularly hearing shootings is one example of what’s called an “adverse childhood experience.” Americans who have adverse childhood experiences that remain unaddressed are more likely to suffer heart disease, cancer, chronic respiratory diseases and stroke, according to a 2019 Centers for Disease Control and Prevention report.

St. Louis mental health counselor Lekesha Davis said children and their parents can become desensitized to the violence around them — where even one’s home doesn’t feel safe. And, research shows, black parents and children in the U.S., especially, often cannot get the mental health treatment they may need because of bias or lack of cultural understanding from providers.

“Can you imagine as a child, you are sleeping, you know, no care in the world as you sleep and being jarred out of your sleep to get under the bed and hide?” Davis asked.

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Subscribe to KHN’s free Morning Briefing.

Sign Up

Please confirm your email address below:

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“We have to look at this, not just, you know, emotionally, but what does that do to our body?” she added. “Our brain is impacted by this fight-or-flight response. That’s supposed to happen in rare instances, but when you’re having them happen every single day, you’re having these chemicals released in the brain on a daily basis. How does that affect you as you get older?”

But future health problems are hard to think about when you’re trying to survive.

At This Day Care, ‘Dora’ Means Drop

The children at Little Explorers Learning Center are getting reacquainted with their daily routine now that the day care facility has reopened for families of essential workers as the COVID pandemic stay-at-home orders loosen. And there’s a lot to remember.

Teachers at the center remind the children of their hand-washing, mealtime and academic routines. They also make sure the kids remember what to do when gunfire erupts nearby.  Assistant director Tawanda Brand runs a gunfire safety drill once a month. First, she tells the children to get ready. Then, she shouts: “Dora the Explorer!”

“Dora” is a code word, Brand explained, signaling the kids to drop to the floor — the safest place — in case gunfire erupts nearby.

A child looks out the window to watch snow falling at the Little Explorers Learning Center on Jan. 29, in St. Louis. In November 2019, a stray bullet came through the window.(Carolina Hidalgo/St. Louis Public Radio)

Little Explorers Learning Center assistant director and teacher Tawanda Brand works with preschool students in St. Louis on Jan. 29. After closing temporarily because of the coronavirus, the center reopened in May for the children of essential workers. All staff members now wear masks.(Carolina Hidalgo/St. Louis Public Radio)

During a drill one morning before the pandemic, most of the children got down. Others walked around, sending Brand on a chase as she tried to corral the group of 3- to 5-year-olds.

The drill may sound playful, but sometimes the danger is real.

The Little Explorers protocol isn’t like the “active shooter” drills that took place in schools around the country on the rare chance someone would come inside to shoot — as at Columbine, Parkland or Sandy Hook. The day care program performs these drills because nearby shootings are an ongoing threat.

Day care director Tess Trice said a bullet pierced the window in November while the children were inside. Then, the very next day, bullets flew again.

“We heard gunshots, we got on the floor,” Trice said. “Eventually, when we got up and looked out the window, we saw a body out there.”

Tess Trice, who owns and runs Little Explorers Learning Center, conducts monthly drills to keep the kids safe amid gunfire, which has come frighteningly close. Trice was photographed on Jan. 29, before the center temporarily closed; it reopened in early May for the children of essential workers, and all staff members now wear masks.(Carolina Hidalgo/St. Louis Public Radio)

Trice called parents that day to see if they wanted to pick up their children early. Nicollette Mayo was one of the parents who received a call from the teachers. She knows the neighborhood faces challenges, but can’t see her 4-year-old daughter, Justice, and infant son, Marquis, going anywhere else.

“I trust them,” Mayo said. “And I know that, God forbid, if there is an incident that I’m going to be contacted immediately. They’re gonna do what they need to do to keep my children safe.”

Trice considered bulletproof glass for the day care center but could not afford it. A local company estimated it would cost $8,000 to $10,000 per window. So she relies on the “Dora” drills and newly installed cameras.

Still, in a city with such an alarming homicide rate, such drills aren’t happening only at the few day care facilities that have reopened. They also happen at home.

‘You Live Better If You Sit On The Floor’

Long before the coronavirus pandemic pushed the world to isolate at home, the Hicks family had their own version of sheltering in place. But it was from gun violence. When they hear gunshots outside their home in East St. Louis, Illinois, everyone hides in the dark.

The goal is to keep the family out of sight, because bearing witness to a shooting could put them at a different kind of risk, mom Kianna Hicks said.

Khanyla Blueford, 12, and her siblings demonstrate a drill they practice in which they drop to the floor quickly at their home in East St. Louis, Illinois. The drill helps them feel prepared for when they hear gunfire, which in past years happened at least twice a week in warm months.(Carolina Hidalgo/St. Louis Public Radio)

So when trouble erupts, they do their best to remain unseen and unheard.

“We turn the TV down,” said 13-year-old Anajah Hicks, the oldest of four. “We turn the lights off, and we hurry up and get down on the ground.”

A few times each month, the family practices what to do when they hear gunshots. Hicks tells the kids to get ready. Then, their grandmother Gloria Hicks claps her hands to simulate the sound of gunfire.

“I need them to know exactly what to do, because in too many instances, where we’ve been sitting around, and gunshots, you know, people start shooting, and they’ll just be up walking around or trying to run,” Kianna Hicks said. “I’ll tell ’em, ‘Naw, that’s not what you do. You hear gunshots, you hear gunshots. No matter where you at, you stop — you get on the ground and you wait until it’s over with and then you move around.’”

And this summer, Hicks wants to make sure the kids are ready. At least twice a week in past years when the weather warmed up, the family got on the floor in response to real gunfire. Violence spikes in summer months, according to the Giffords Law Center to Prevent Gun Violence. And she knows they could be spending more time in the house if football camp for her boys is canceled because of coronavirus fears.

Other families in tough neighborhoods sit on the floor more often, even amid moments of relative quiet. The first time Gloria Hicks saw a family sitting on the floor, she was visiting her godson in Chicago decades ago. It was hot that summer, Hicks recalled, so families kept their apartment doors open to stay cool.

“They were sitting on the floor watching TV and I wondered, Why is it like that?” Hicks recalled. “Then I learned that you live better if you sit on the floor than on the couch, because you don’t know when the bullets gon’ fly.”

‘I Immediately Dropped To The Floor’

Although 16-year-old Mariah knows what to do when bullets fly, she said, she still has a difficult time processing the sound of violence. The honor student was babysitting her little cousins at her St. Louis home last winter when she heard gunshots.

“It couldn’t have been no further than, like, my doorstep,” recalled Mariah, whose mother asked that the teen’s last name not be printed so the discussion of the trauma doesn’t follow her into adulthood. “I immediately dropped to the floor, and then in a split second the second thing that ran through my head is like, ‘Oh, my God, the kids.’”

Mariah and her mom, Eisha Taylor, pose for a portrait at their home in St. Louis on Feb. 1. Mariah was babysitting her little cousins there last winter when she heard nearby gunshots.(Carolina Hidalgo/St. Louis Public Radio)

When Mariah walked into the next room, she saw her two younger cousins on the floor doing exactly what their mother had taught them to do when gunfire erupts.

Get down and don’t move.

“I was so worried,” Mariah recalled. “They’re 6 and 3. Imagine that.”

The three kids walked away physically OK that day. But later that night, Mariah said, she pulled out strands of her hair, a behavior associated with stress.

“Pulling my hair got really bad,” she said. “I had to oil my hair again because when I oil it, it makes it hard to pull out.”

Davis, the mental health counselor who has worked for 20 years with children experiencing trauma, encourages parents to comfort their kids after a traumatic event and for the kids to fully explore and discuss their emotions, even months after the fact.

She said getting on the floor explains only how families are maintaining their physical safety.

“But no one’s addressing the emotional and the mental toll that this takes on individuals,” said Davis, vice president of the Hopewell Center, one of the few mental health agencies for kids in the city of St. Louis.

“We get children that were playing in their backyard and they witnessed someone being shot right in front of them,” Davis said. “These are the daily experiences of our children. And that’s not normal.”

Carolina Hidalgo contributed to this report as a journalist at St. Louis Public Radio.

Searching For Safety: Where Children Hide When Gunfire Is All Too Common published first on https://nootropicspowdersupplier.tumblr.com/