#911nmg

[madamebaggio]

Notes: And for @911nmg second request... Kate Bishop and Yelena ;)

***

“Kate Bishop.”

“No!”

“Come on.”

“No!”

“Oh;..”

“I’m serious. Don’t be cute now.”

Yelena grinned. “You think I’m cute?”

Kate groaned. “You know I do.”

Yelena batted her eyelashes at Kate. “Please? For me?”

“That… That’s low!” Kate protested. “You cannot give me the puppy eyes! This is like… Like psychological torture. It… It’s blackmail!”

“Does all that babbling mean you’re caving?” Yelena wanted to know.

Kate groaned. “We shouldn’t.”

“Kate. Look at this.” Yelena waved her phone in front of Kate’s face. “Look at these eyes. At this one single ear. Tell me if he doesn’t need us.”

Kate -who’d closed her eyes -popped just one open and looked at the cat’s picture. Poor dude only had one ear, but he had beautiful green eyes.

“Yelena…” She whined.

“Please! He can be our son!”

And Kate knew she was giving in already. There was very little that Yelena would ask that she wouldn’t do.

Cat included.

[911nmg]

New chapter alert!!!

Fanfic: Bring me out of the dark

Winterwidow/ Buckynat normal life AU

Chapter 28: Animal I have become - Bucky's POV

- We’ve talked about this before, Buck - Steve tried to calm me down.

- I’m dangerous, Steve! I put you back in a hospital!

My split knuckles shook over the figure of my friend, and he lowered his arms, showing an eye socket that was an awful bloodied mess.

Steve had risen from his seat, as if the extra height could counteract the reality of the situation - You didn’t mean to harm any of us.

Read on AO3

[ravenclaw-headcanons]

British ask game 19

19. Which wife of Henry VIII deserved better?

all :) of :) them :)

but if I had to pick my main babe it would be katherine howard. she was just a 17-ish year old girl in way over her head and honestly? by the time she married henry he was 49 years old and stank of pus from an ulcer in his leg. can’t blame a girl for looking elsewhere to get some satisfaction cause you can bet she wasn’t getting it from henry

plus half the reason she was killed was because of her ‘improper’ past but like ??? when a 13 year old has sexual relations with their 36 year old music teacher that’s not ‘unladylike’ that’s child molestation 

 also I’m gonna use this opportunity to tell you that you all need to go listen to six right now! it’s a new show in London that’s basically a pop concert from henry VIII’s wives and every song is a banger

(it’s all up on spotify but here’s katherine howard’s song which has such great character development I love it)

[atalienart]

My favourite headcanon is that Lupin trained the members of the order while Voldemort rose so they would be ready to fight

Might’ve happend :)

[scriptmedic]

Hi. I think my question got deleted last month because you haven't answered (it's a common Tumblr glich). I asked, why do some people in wheelchair are able to control their esfinters and sexual response while others can't? How often does this happen?

Hey there @911nmg. Your ask did indeed come through. However, I got about 400 asks last month, and could answer about 90 of them. I’ve been purging the inbox every month, with large announcements to that effect, as part of ask box management; this blog simply wouldn’t work without them. 

To you, and everyone else whose asks I’ve deleted, sometimes more than twice, I apologize. 

As for what you’re asking about: what you’re asking about is the difference between a complete spinal cord injury (cSCI) and incomplete SCI (iSCI). In an iSCI there are at least some nerves still communicating; a complete spinal cord injury has no communication below the level of the injury. 

There are a number of different types of iSCIs, and each case is highly variable. In fact, real-life iSCI sufferers often feel left out of the conversation around SCI because of the focus on cSCI and the thought that “well, at least you have something below the injury” -- a damaging mindset, but not an uncommon one. 

I’ll admit I know less about iSCI than I’d like, but there’s a good starting point on your research [here]. 

What I don’t know, and which may be case-to-case, is what kind(s) of iSCI retain bladder and sexual function. 

What’s interesting: even those characters with cSCI can achieve erections and, often times, even orgasm, though their sensation of it will be very different. 

Hope this helped!

xoxo, Aunt Scripty

[disclaimer]

[Come to Patreon, the land  where the inbox never closes!]

[Maim Your Characters: How Injuries Work in Fiction is now on preorder!]

[mockingjayne12]

Jordan and TC. The Callahan (well writen, I don't know how to spell it) girls are strong - Said TC pulling their little girl to her shoulders.

Colors floated all around them, the sound of music playing in the background, the smell of fried food wafting in the air, permeating them all into the mood for Fiesta.  

The crowd of people feeling a little claustrophobic, keeping up with a wandering toddler that insisted on walking herself, Jordan’s worried eyes constantly glancing down, almost tripping herself up as she watched her baby girl walk unsteadily, but so happily carrying cascarones in each hand.

“T, watch her,” she says, as the girl toddles near the curb, the worry evident in her voice.  The crowd making her more nervous than her husband, who seemed to be much more at peace with the looming unknown than she was.

“She’s fine,” he says with a laugh, as the string from her paper crown halo trails down her back, leaving a hued stream trailing behind her in curls, the colors contrasting with her dark hair.

The young girl gets to the curb, her green eyes squinting at the obstacle.  Jordan’s mouth moving to tuck her lips in in amusement.  As TC crouches down next to her, letting his baby figure it out herself, but unwilling to leave her hanging if she needed him.  Jordan pulls her hand from her jean pockets, coming to rest on his shoulder in his position.

The curious child looks at both hands, finding them both full, and delicately refusing to cash in her eggs for confetti just yet, just barely lifting her leg, contemplating how big of a step she’d need to get up.  Then stomps her sandaled foot down, a determined look on her face.

“I know that face,” Jordan says, what would be a whisper coming out louder due to the noise.

TC glances up at her, his eyebrows raised with a goofy grin, because she’s not wrong.  Despite their daughter looking exactly like her mother, a trait he never lets her forget, she’s a bit of a daredevil like her father.

Scrunching her little face, freckles dotting her cheeks and nose, she takes a big jump, attempting to hop onto the curb.  The results ending in a slipped foot, crushed eggs, and what appears to be a scraped knee.

As soon as she falls, they both jump to hover above her, expecting the tears to well in her eyes, creating emerald gems that had both of them melting whenever those teary eyes were released on them.

“Clara, you okay?” He asks her worriedly, willing to let her try whatever, but the first to over protectively soothe whatever ailed her.

Jordan’s moves to examine her knee, looking like a red strawberry covering her entire knee, but not blood, which was good.  Her thumb slowly moving across the scrape, trying to soothe the girl.  But Clara pays no mind, instead looking down at her cascarones that are now severely cracked, the confetti pouring out from her hands to the pavement below her.

She holds her hands up sadly to her dad, whose brown eyes refuse to leave his baby.

“Broken,” she says in a tiny voice, almost like a question.

“No,” he says, balking back with his neck, his brown eyes huge, in a voice he reserved only for Clara.  “Not broken,” he says, revealing two more eggs from his own hands.  Jordan’s worry melting away, as he distracts the girl, a smile lining her face, as he proceeds to crush one of the eggs atop her head, spilling the confetti over her head.

Childish giggles escape Clara as pieces of the color float down onto her dark lashes, throwing her limbs out, not even acknowledging the injury.

TC’s face alight with joy, his daughter often the cause of his anxiety to melt away, the problems of the past seeming to dim whenever she was there to brighten his life.

“My turn!” She exclaims.  “Mama,” she says innocently, pretending to be doing nothing, but Jordan knows what’s coming next.  

“Yes, Clare bear,” she says, bending lower, offering herself for the taking.  The confetti floating down her head as Clara smashes the remaining egg over her head with a giggle.

“Oop, you got me!” She says, matching colors now adorning both of their heads.

The music gets louder, signaling the start of the parade.

“Come on, time to see the floats,” he says, catching her attention back from her mother.

For the first time, she glances down at her knee, still bright red from the fall.

“Owie,” she points, staring up at them.

TC leans forward, kissing the little girl’s knee, her now free hands coming to tangle in his hair, the bond the two of them share something Jordan never doubted from the moment she was placed in his arms.

“All better?” He asks, and she nods, before extending her arms for him to pick her up.

Scooping her into his arms, he situates her on his shoulders, his grip tight so she won’t fall.  “Callahan girls are tough,” he proclaims.

“Yeah!” Clara agrees.

“You tell ‘em.” Jordan encourages, with a shake of her head at his statement.

They stand by the curb, waiting for the floats to start passing them by, the heat of the April day refusing to quit even with the sun going down, the humidity clinging to every surface.

Clara hums along with the music atop his shoulders.

“That’s a good look for you,” he says with a raised brow, alluding to her speckled hair.

“You too,” she says, nodding to the child attached to his hair.

“We did good,” he says, confident in his statement.

And she thinks back to a time when she’d been convinced they were done.  That it was time to move on, having lost a baby and the man she had wanted to be her’s for so many years, convinced the damage could never be repaired.  Now standing here, together, their daughter just as enamored with the man standing beside her as she was.

“We did,” she says, her hand coming to rest on his back, the long road home having finally landed them somewhere good.

Leave the first sentence of a fic in my ask box and I will write the next five sentences.

[prettylittleliarsxxxx]

Oh my freaking God, they did the twincer shit twist!

They did, they sure did. It was...better in theory than in practice but. I’m trying to remember it could have been worse lmao

[eatingdisorderconfession]

Just wanted to share my experience with the anon who doesn't know how much and what to eat. My nutritionist told me that "normally" (because everyone is different) you should be taking: 2 diary products a day, 3 carbs rations, 5 fruit/veggy rations, and 3 protein rations. I got them distributed like follows: 1. Breakfeast: diary + carbs + proteins + fruit 2. Snack: carbs 3. Meal time: carbs+ proteins + veggies + fruit 4. Snack: fruit 5. Dinner: proteins + veggies + diary

Just a note that it IS DIFFERENT FOR EVERY PERSON. And you really should be checking with your own doctor/dietician. But this is also a realistic and healthy set-up so it might give you some good ideas.

-Trelawney

[danceacademystyle]

911nmg replied to your photo “Tara in the movie - Exact leotard In a dance class in the movie, Tara...”

Is the movie already out? I though it was for April...

It’s not out yet, that’s from the trailer :)

[humansofstarshollow]

Laurie (Lorelai) Gilmore & Lucia (Luke) Danes -requested by @911nmg

-endless possibilities: "Luce, i honestly can't believe you convinced me to go camping with you."

"hey, i went to the 'troubadours are a menace' town meeting."

"ah, true love and all that."

[jenniferprentissstuff]

gif request: criminal minds + favorite familial relationship, submitted by @911nmg –> Jack and Aaron Hotchner

That is definitely not spider-man. He’s not a real superhero.

He’s not? okay. I give up. Who are you suppose to be? I’m you Daddy.

[madamebaggio]

Expose your fictional crushes

Thank you @sillyliterature for tagging me.

I feel like this will be very telling, but... Oh well...

Nine fictional crushes, and I’ll try to put a bit like early teens, late teens and now.

Lara Croft (At the time I thought Angelina Jolie was my ‘girl exception’, until I realised I had many exceptions)

Sesshomaru

Hatake Kakashi

Prince Nuada Silverlance

Darth Maul

Susan Pevensie

Thomas Shelby

Choi Moo-Jin

Agent 47 (very especifically this one, played by Rupert Friend)

I feel... Like there’s a theme here... Is it just me? lol

Anyway, I’ll tag @vixenofcourse​, @nemesis729​, @911nmg​, @thedreadandthefugitivemind​, @kiaraalexisklay​ and @lala-bunny​

[911nmg]

Fanfiction: Bring me out of the dark

Winterwidow/ Buckynat normal life AU

NEW CHAPTER OUT

Chapter 8: Run boy run - Bucky's POV

[multifandom-wonderland]

Rules: post ten gifs of your favorite movies without naming them and then tag ten people

Tagged by @911nmg

[dammit-stark]

With A Little Help From My Friends

This is a little Ashley Seaver x reader requested by @911nmg. I apologize if I didn’t write the character(s) very well in this as I do not have very much experience writing for Ashley. My bad, whoops. I hope you enjoy anyways :)

You are in love with Ashley and realize that she relapsed on her eating disorder. You go to Rossi for help, knowing their relationship, and hope that the two do you can do something.

“Ash,” You smiled up at her. She had tried to come in sneakily, refill her coffee and leave, but you caught her and she froze with her mug outstretched. Your smile was what caught her, “Sit down and have lunch with me.”

Ashley Seaver smiled, kind and quiet and lively, stammering just ever so slightly before falling into a seat across from you. Yep, your smile could still rope her in.

You tossed a chip in your mouth, crunching it between your teeth as Ashley went on about some loose theories she had for the case. You liked it when she did this, let her uninhibited brilliance show. Eventually, her speech slowed as her train of consciousness dwindled, exhausting all her ideas.

“Where are my manners?” You said with an easy laugh, the kind you could only ever manage when with her for some reason, “You want a bite of my sandwich?”

Ashley shook her head roughly, her lips flattening into a straight line, polite and nondescript, “I’m good,” She muttered, her eyes floating over your food, “Thanks, though.”

If it had been any other day you wouldn’t have noticed it. But today, more than usual, you had been noticing her, so for some godforsaken reason it dawned awfully upon you that only twice Ashley had ever eaten while in your company, both times being on dates at romantic restaurants where really it would have been rude to eat nothing but half a roll and a light side salad (her apparently typical order). Your smile squelched as well, but you tried not to let her notice.

“You sure?” You nudged your bag of chips closer to Ashley, hopefully, “What about chips?”

She stiffened again, nearly frowning, “No, I’m good.” Ashley forced a smile, “Besides, they’re your favorite, wouldn’t wanna go taking them from you.”

You tried your best to enjoy the rest of the meal, to encourage her own sort of chat, but it wasn’t the same. Your smile had shifted and it no longer kept her as captivated.

A couple of hours later you were walking along the catwalk hoping desperately that Ashley didn’t see you. You knocked roughly on Rossi’s door and quickly slipped inside.

“Rossi?” You asked, eying him from behind an intimidating pile of paperwork, “Can I ask you something?”

“What’s up, y/n?” He mumbled distractedly, his own continuing to scribble.

“It’s, um, it’s about Ashley,” That caught his attention.

“What’s up?” He carefully put his pen down onto his desk, out of way of temptation.

You were more nervous than you thought you should be, wringing your hands together and hoping Ashley didn’t walk in. Would she feel betrayed and insulted, embarrassed, if she knew what you were doing? You hoped not.

“Listen, Rossi,” You started, “I know how much you mean to Ashley. You’re like a… mentor to her, and she respects you so much.” He smiled wistfully at that, proud, but held his attention on you as you continued. He leaned back in his chair a little, “Well, now I-I think she might be relapsing on her eating disorder.”

Rossi looked just a little heartbroken at your words and you knew that you made the right choice in telling him, “What do you need?” He asked firmly, determinedly, leaning forward.

“I want us to talk to her, together, so she knows we care.”

He was already standing, “Anything.”

It was a couple hours later filled with minute discussions of intervention and healing, of consequences and aftermath, and outcomes and you’d rather not think about, of feeling better and breathing easy, when you and Rossi decided you were finally ready.

He let you take the lead with your confident stride and steady sway. Though inexperienced in such… matters, you cared, and that was what counted.

The two of you went down to her together, after the others had already begun to filter out. Rossi trailed behind you.

Ashley almost instinctively smiled up at you, “Hey,” She said, “Haven’t seen you in awhile? Whatcha been up to?”

Your expression (also Rossi’s, too) betrayed your intentions, sober in a way unimaginable, “Ashley,” You said, trying to be steady and calm, “We have to talk.”

She tilted her head, pretending she had no idea what you were talking about. Rossi was like a shadow beside you, grimacing and morose under the unfortunately dim lighting.

“We know that your eating disorder came back. We-we want to help.” You hated that your voice couldn’t remain steady.

Ashley’s expression turned stony, “I don’t need help.” She insisted.

“Please,” Rossi spoke up finally, “Just let us be your friends. Let us help you.”

Ashley frowned as she stood up, sharp, rigid, just a little angry. She reached for her coat in one swift mocemt, reaching for her purse in another, “I’m fine.” She frowned, “I don’t need help.”

“Ash-” You started again, taking a step toward her. Rossi moved with you.

“No,” She stopped you, her words sharp, “I’m going home. I’ll see you both tomorrow.”

And Ashley disappeared.

[scriptmedic]

Dislocation of the feet: my story on incomplete recovery

Hey everybuddy! Today’s offering is another awesome guest post, this time by the lovely @911nmg, who’s been kind enough to share a story about chronic dislocations and joint weakness in the foot and ankle! 

Dislocations are one of the most frequent injuries suffered by heroes in the action department, particularly in detective movies like the Lethal Weapon series. But the reality of living with loose joints and chronic dislocations is slightly less flashy than what we see on TV. 

Remember that, because this is someone else’s life experience, I necessarily cannot verify everything that’s in the post, but it’s also very much not my place to censor what other people say about their own lives. 

Thanks again to @911nmg for the gracious guest post and for being willing to share your story with us! Take it away! 

xoxo, Aunt Scripty 

[disclaimer]

Hi there!

I’ve been scrolling through the dislocation tag and found out not much has been asked about feet, so I wanted to give my story with it.

Since I was little I showed signs of having articular hypermobility, a benign alteration of the composition of muscles and tendons that allows for extra range of movements of the joints. I was thrilled with it because I wanted to be a dancer but it actually prevented me from becoming one.

At age 5 I had already had three shoulder dislocations (I wanted to cross the street without looking and my parents grabbed me so I wouldn’t get run over by a car, that was all it was needed for the joint to pop out) and a wrist one (fighting over a teddy bear) but one day in summer, running to get to beautifull purple flowers, both my right and my left foot popped out.

In the moment it wasn’t that bad, my dad put them back in place and I got two ankle bracelets, but over time it got worse, I kept on dislocating my right foot over and over, at school, in the park, on dance class, it was so common I actually learnt how to put it back on place myself.

At age ten however I was running on gym at school and I suddenly fell and I couldn’t get back up, my parents were informed and an ecography and scan later my doctor resolved I had scars on the peronean ligaments and I had to quit sports (just about a week after starting pointe shoe lessons).

Nevertheless it got worse and by age fifteen I was diagnosed with chronic pain, still I tried to live my life normally (do sports, wear high heels, go dancing all night) but at eighteen I was limping my way through life and I had to take pain killers everyday, so, I was put on intensive phisiotherapy.

We tried everything from thermo and criotherapy, passing through electric pulses, to good old fashioned masotherapy, I was given a lot of feet exercises to do, including balancing exercises with my bodyweight on a bosu balance trainer.

Today I’m 21, I have chronic pain but is manageable with ice, heat, exercises and the ocassional pain killer. All my shoes (including heels) are approved by my orthopedic doctor, I’m forbiden from doing high impact sports (so no step, or zumba, or running for me) and the occasional ones I do (skating and skiing) I strap myself with ankle braceles, ribon, and the closures of the boots so tight I have lost sensibility of my fingers more than once.

The worst thing for me is walking through irregular surfaces specialy sand, because it requires my feet to balance themselves over and over in the region of the ligament scars.

Hope this helps for all future writers out there.

Love your blog aunt scripty!