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britomart · 3 years ago

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ok helloo i wasn’t sure if i was going to post this but i listed them out anyway so here it is,,,, more or less every book i read in 2021 (under the cut for ridiculous length)

a study in scarlet by arthur conan doyle, slouching towards bethlehem, the miniaturist by jessie burton, the stranger by albert camus, dirk gently’s holistic detective agency by douglas adams, the double by fyodor dostoevsky, the kite runner by khaled hosseini, the empress of salt and fortune by nghi vo, one day in the life of ivan denisovich by aleksandr solzhenitsyn, rhubaiyat of omar khayyam, say nothing by patrick radden keefe, the martian by andy weir, my sister the serial killer by oyinkan braithwaite, the last wish by andrzej spakowski, the martian by andy weir, flowers for algernon by daniel keyes, night sky with exit wounds by ocean vuong, the sailor who fell with grace from the sea by yukio mishima, the yellow wallpaper by charlotte perkins gilman, the adventures of sherlock holmes by arthur conan doyle, crush by richard siken, stoner by john williams, the buried giant by kazuo ishiguro, frog and toad are friends by arnold lobel, ruin and rising by leigh bardugo, the perks of being a wallflower by stephen chbosky, the communist manifesto by marx and engels, never let me go by kazuo ishiguro, always human by ari north, heartstopper by alice oseman, red white and royal blue by casey mcquiston, perceval by chretien de troyes, these witches don’t burn by isabel sterling, princess princess ever after by kay o’neill, lord of the flies by william golding, legendborn by tracy deonn, the lais of marie de france, diary of a cricket god by shamini flint, if not winter: fragments of sappho translated by anne carson, bloom by kevin panetta, kiki’s delivery service by eiko kadono, something to talk about by meryl wilsner, normal people by sally rooney, useless magic by florence welch, giovanni’s room by james baldwin, letters to a young poet by rainer maria rilke, interior chinatown by charles yu, the umbrella academy by gerard way, king artus translated by curt leviant, solitaire by alice oseman, the tea dragon society by kay o’neill, let all the children boogie by sam j. miller, sir gawain and the green knight (various translations), dutch romances iii: five interpolated romances from the lancelot compilation, morien translated by jessie weston, watchmen by alan moore, growing up aboriginal in australia edited by anita heiss, the borrowed by chan ho-kei, the tale of two lovers by aeneas sylvius piccolomini, love in the time of cholera by gabriel garcia marquez, the complete poems of william blake, the catcher in the rye by j.d. salinger, the waves by virginia woolf, the scarlet letter by nathaniel hawthorne, oscar wilde and a death of no importance by gyles brandreth, a portrait of the artist as a young man by james joyce, the wind in the willows by kenneth grahame, odes to common things by pablo neruda, the promised neverland by kaiu shirai, fifth sun by camilla townsend, the poetry of pablo neruda, are you listening? by tillie walden, if beale street could talk by james baldwin, the color purple by alice walker, this one summer by mariko tamaki, a certain hunger by chelsea g. summers, the years by virginia woolf, lore olympus by rachel smythe, the mysterious affair at styles by agatha christie, le lai de lanval by marie de france, murder on the links by agatha christie, mary ventura and the ninth kingdom by sylvia plath, the unbearable lightness of being by milan kundera, the last unicorn by peter s. beagle, post-laureate idyls by oscar fay adams, complete poems and selected letters of john keats, if they come for us by fatimah asghar, white tears/brown scars by ruby hamad, thousand cranes by yasunari kawabata, sonnets from the portuguese by elizabeth barrett browing, simon vs the homo sapiens agenda, in the blood by melbourne tapper, kairo-ko by natsume soseki, the arthurian handbook by norris j. lacy, passing by nella larsen, minor feelings by cathy park hong, carol by patricia highsmith, jews dont count by david baddiel, picnic at hanging rock by joan lindsay, black cats and four leaf clovers by harry oliver, because the internet by gretchen mcculloch, strangers on a train by patricia highsmith, wolf children by mamoru hosoda, richard iii by william shakespeare, 2001: a space odyssey by arthur c. clarke, the time machine by h.g. wells, gone with the wind by margaret mitchell, norse mythology by neil gaiman, howl’s moving castle by diane wynne jones, ziggy stardust and me by james brandon, the boy the mole the fox and the horse by charlie murray, the secret world of arriety by hiromasa yonebayashi, loveless by alice oseman, mrs dalloway by virginia woolf, the crucible by arthur miller, the day of the triffids by john wyndham, where angels fear to tread by e.m. forster, lancelot and the lord of the distant isles by patricia terry, summer of salt by katrina leno, go tell it on the mountain by james baldwin, pride and prejudice by janes austen, the rise and fall of the dinosaurs by steve brusatte, the bell jar by sylvia plath, the little prince by antoine de saint-exupery, oliver twist by charles dickens, the song remains the same by andrew ford and anni heino, the post office girl by stefan zweig, moll flanders by daniel defoe, a room with a view by e.m. forster, of mice and men by john steinbeck, rita hayworth and the shawshank redemption by stephen king, willow by mariko tamaki, at the clinic by sally rooney, fierce femmes and notorious liars by kai cheng thom, an artist of the floating world by kazuo ishiguro, close range by annie proulx, fear by stefan zweig, much ado about nothing by william shakespeare, call me by your name by andre aciman, six of crows by leigh bardugo, clap when you land by elizabeth acevedo, the joy luck club by amy tan, between the acts by virginia woolf, the narrative of john smith by arthur conan doyle, we need to talk about kevin by lionel shriver, the way of the househusband by kousuke oono, the fourteenth letter by claire evans, selected stories by stefan zweig, nick and charlie by alice oseman, the fellowship of the ring by j.r.r. tolkien, the humans by matt haig, no one is talking about this by patricia lockwood, the age of innocence by edith wharton, on a sunbeam by tillie walden, my year of rest and relaxation by ottessa moshfegh, wonder by r.j. palacio, reasons to stay alive by matt haig, the well of loneliness by radclyffe hall, how to do nothing by jenny odell, the charioteer by mary renault, the henna wars by adiba jaigirdar, darkness at noon by arthur koestler, a wizard of earthsea by ursula k. le guin, the story of galahad by mary blackwell sterling, the tombs of atuan by ursula k le guin, david copperfield by charles dickens, such a fun age by kiley reid, lancelot by giles kristian, carry on by rainbow rowell, scoop by evelyn waugh, the story of hong gildong, a handful of dust by evelyn waugh, a little life by hanya yanagihara, the necessary arthur by garth nix, the arthurian legends by richard barber, romeo and juliet by william shakespeare, stamped from the beginning by ibram x kendi, when breath becomes air by paul kalanthi, the fire never goes out by noelle stevenson, kafka on the shore by haruki murakami, kokoro by natsume soseki, delayed rays of a star by amanda lee koe, radio silence by alice oseman, by gaslight by steven price, perfect little world by kevin wilson, wayward son by rainbow rowell, blind willow sleeping woman by haruki murakami, hani and ishu’s guide to fake dating by adiba jaigirdar, taproot by keezy young, ready player one by ernest cline, the gentleman’s guide to vice and virtue by mackenzi lee, le morte d’arthur by thomas malory, nocturnes by kazuo ishiguro, lucky’s by andrew pippos, the magic fish by trung le nguyen, swimming in the dark by tomasz jedrowski, love by roddy doyle, only mostly devastated by sophie gonzales, i was born for this by alice oseman, the invisible man by h.g. wells, spinning by tillie walden, the three musketeers by alexandre dumas, all quiet on the western front by erich maria remarque, perfect on paper by sophie gonzales, parsnips buttered by joe lycett, we were liars by e. lockart, the farthest shore by ursula k. le guin, convenience store woman by sayaka murata, arsene lupin by maurice leblanc, scott pilgrim by bryan lee o’malley, miss carter’s war by sheila hancock, selected letters of virginia woolf, the prophet by kahlil gibran, siddhartha by herman hesse, less by andrew sean greer, reservoir dogs screenplay by quentin tarantino, peta lyre’s rating normal by anna whateley, the hound of the baskerville by arthur conan doyle, inherit the wind by jerome lawrence and robert e lee, the nine cloud dream by kim man-jung, trainspotting by irvine welsh, withnail and i screenplay by bruce robinson, america is in the heart by carlos bulosan, beach read by emily henry, steppenwolf by herman hesse, balzac and the little chinese seamstress by dai sijie, true history of the kelly gang by peter carey, one last stop by casey mcquiston, speaker for the dead by orson scott card, klara and the sun by kazuo ishiguro, the eye of the world by robert jordan, the autobiography of malcolm x as told by alex haley, the two towers by j.r.r tolkien, arsene lupin vs herlock sholmes by maurice leblanc, layamon’s arthur, all systems red by martha wells, mucha by patrick bade, macbeth by shakespeare, perfume by patrick suskind, the grapes of wrath by john steinbeck, collisions: a liminal anthology, the hours by michael cunningham, growing up disabled in australia edited by carly findlay, the betrayals by bridget collins, live and let die by ian fleming, crazy rich asians by kevin kwan, good omens by terry pratchett and neil gaiman, this train is being held by ismee williams, the shape of water by andrea camilleri, the war in the air by h.g. wells, the end of men by christina sweeney-baird, the terracotta dog by andrew camilleri, the moon and sixpence by w somerset maugham, girl woman other by bernadine evaristo, ace of spades by faridah abike-iyimide, sir launfal by thomas chestre, androcles and the lion by bernard shaw, absalom absalom! by william faulkner, crooked kingdom by leigh bardugo, one of us is lying by karen m mcmanus, honeybee by craig silvey, anywhere but earth edited by keith stevenson, first love and other stories by ivan turgenev, no country for old men by cormac mccarthy, annihilation by jeff vandermeer, the road by cormac mccarthy, the duel by aleksandr kuprin, the awakening by kate chopin, the fall by albert camus, a new day yesterday by mike barnes, mort by terry pratchett, view with a grain of sand by wislawa szymborska, no exit and other plays by jean-paul satre, the godfather by mario puzo, tomorrow when the war began by john marsden, the faerie queene by edmund spenser, this poison heart by kalynn bayron, sunlight and seaweed by tim falnnery, aristotle and dante discover the secrets of the universe by benjamin alire saenz, robinson crusoe by daniel defoe, the heart is a lonely hunter by carson mccullers, the great hunt by robert jordan, scythe by neal shusterman, collected poems of w.b. yeats, dead souls by nikolai gogol, the happiest refugee by anh do, yvain the knight with the lion by chretien de troyes, pachinko by min jin lee, she who became the sun by shelley parker-chan, the memory police by yoko ogawa, the last days of judas iscariot by stephen adly guirgis, moby dick by herman melville, selected stories of anton chekhov, sailor moon by naoko takeuchi, king arthur’s death edited by larry d benson, the brothers karamazov by fyodor dostoevsky, the silmarillioin by jrr tolkien, kim jiyoung by cho nam-koo, lady susan by jane austen, cranford by elizabeth gaskell, dune by frank herbert, the divine comedy by dante aligheri, silas marner by george eliot, brute by emily skaja, the old man and the sea by ernest hemingway, the lowland by jhumpa lahiri, slaughterhouse-five by kurt vonnegut, relativity the special and general theory by albert einstein, the end of everything by katie mack, lancelot the knight of the cart by chretien de troyes, eugene onegin by alexander pushkin, bonds of brass by emily skrutskie, murders in the rue morgue by edgar allan poe, the lair of the white worm by bram stoker, the legend of sleepy hollow and other stories by washington irving, the perilous cemetery edited by nancy b black, the call of cthulu and other weird stories by h.p. lovecraft, the princess bride by william goldman, the love hypothesis by ali hazelwood, hamlet by william shakespeare, illuminations by arthur rimbaud, the sign of four by arthur conan doyle, the castle of otranto by horace walpole, the other black girl by zakiya dalila harris, malory’s contemporary audience by thomas h crofts, fight club by chuck palahniuk, french romance medieval sweden and the europeanisation of culture by sofia loden, pale fire by vladimir nabokov, speak okinawa by elizabeth miki brina, james acaster’s classic scrapes, tears sighs and laughter: expressions of emotions in the middle ages edited by per fornegard, the queen’s gambit by walter tevis, the amazing adventures of kavalier and clay by michael chabon, in deeper waters by f.t. lukens, darius the great is not okay by adib khorram, enemy of all mankind by steven johnson, blue period by tsubasa yamaguchi, slow days fast company by eve babitz, middlemarch by george eliot, the stone rose by jacqueline rayner, goblin market by christina rossetti, legends of camelot by jacqueline rayner, the grand inquisitor by fyodor dostoevsky, the lady of shalott by alfred lord tennyosn, the krillitane storm by christopher cooper, grit by silas denver melvin, the ones who walk away from omelas by ursula k le guin, scientific autobriography and other papers by max planck, the forged coupon and other stories by leo tolstoy, rose by russell t davies, brideshead revisited by evelyn waugh, if cats disappeared from the world by genki kawamura, the mill on the floss by george eliot, priestdaddy by patricia lockwood, the hidden reality by brian greene, the memoirs of sherlock holmes by arthur conan doyle, classic mechanics by leonard susskind and george hrabovksy, the raven boys by maggie stiefvater, the ruby’s curse by alex kingston, the borgias by paul strathern, north and south by elizabeth gaskell, jane eyre by charlotte bronte, how music works by david byrne, far from the madding crowd by thomas hardy, anxious people by frederik backman, journey’s end by r.c. sherriff, le chevalier as deus espees edited by paul vincent rockwell, dune messiah by frank herbert, gone girl by gillian flynn, white noise by don delillo, blood of elves by andrzej sapkowski, the highlanders by gerry davis, the underwater menace by nigel robinson, either/or by soren kierkegaard, doctor who and the cybermen by gerry davis, piranesi by susanna clarke, breasts and eggs by mieko kawakami, rendezvous with rama by arthur c clarke, the sea by john banville, the basketball diaries by jim carroll, the dry heart by natalia ginzburg, there is confusion by jessie redmon fauset, wiating for godot by samuel beckett, babette’s feast by isak dinesen, & ms ice sandwich by mieko kawakami

aand that’s it! ! thanks for reading? thanks for reading my reading? idk hnjrnjjs

#v.txt #i had no idea how long the actual list was oh my god #putting my whole taste in literature on blast this is only somewhat mortifying but it's okay #also i say 'more or less' bc i've condensed some series (esp graphic novels&manga) into just their title and i think i excluded some more #random ones but this is it this is basically all of them #all 451 uhh #bookshelf

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celestialmazer · 4 years ago

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Julie Mehretu, Untitled 2, 1999. Private collection. Courtesy of White Cube. © Julie Mehretu

Julie Mehretu, Hineni (E. 3:4), 2018. Centre Pompidou, Paris, Musée national d’art moderne/Centre de création industrielle; gift of George Economou, 2019. © Julie Mehretu. Photography:Tom Powel Imaging

Julie Mehretu, Mind-Wind Field Drawings (quarantine studio, d.h.) #1, 2019-2020. Private collection, courtesy Marian Goodman Gallery New York/Paris. © Julie Mehretu. Photography courtesy Marian Goodman Gallery

Julie Mehretu, Mogamma (A Painting in Four Parts) Part 1, 2012. Guggenheim Abu Dhabi. © Julie Mehretu. Photography: White Cube, Ben Westoby

Julie Mehretu, Conjured Parts (eye), Ferguson, 2016. The Broad Art Foundation, Los Angeles. © Julie Mehretu. Photography: Cathy Carver

Julie Mehretu, Migration Direction Map (large), 1996. Private collection. © Julie Mehretu. Photography: Tom Powel Imaging

At home with artist Julie Mehretu

CAMILLE OKHIO - 25 MAR 2021

Julie Mehretu speaks with the joy and conviction of someone who has had the freedom to investigate all their interests. Curiosity has led her to the myriad topics, objects and moments that inform her work, among them cartography, archaeology, the birth of civilisation and mycology. Since the 1990s, her practice has expanded outwardly in all directions like a spider web. A lack of understanding and preconceived notions among reviewers have often led to her work being flattened – simplified so that it is easily digestible – but in reality, her work is far from a simplistic investigation of any one topic. It encompasses multitudes.

The artist’s recent paintings are mostly large scale, but her early works on paper (often created with multiple layers – one sheet of Mylar on top of another) are as small as a six-inch square. The works often comprise innumerable minuscule markings – tremendous force and knowledge communicated through delicate inkings and streaks. Their layers reveal, rather than obfuscate. And though Mehretu’s creative process springs from a desire to understand herself better, the work itself is in no way autobiographical.

Born in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia, on the tails of a continental rejection of colonialism, and raised there, then in Michigan, Mehretu has a flexible and full-hearted understanding of home. It is not one physical place, but many, all holding equal importance. On 25 March, Mehretu will present her first major retrospective at the Whitney Museum of American Art, with works spanning 1996 to 2019. The institution is an important one for Mehretu, as it played host to several pivotal shows in her youth.

Her exhibition has served as an impetus for Mehretu to look back at her already prolific career, observing and organising the thoughts, questions and answers she has put forth for over two decades. The six years it took to bring this exhibition together proved an incredibly valuable time of reflection, fatefully dovetailing with a year of quarantine.

Wallpaper*: Where are you as we speak?

Julie Mehretu: I’m in my studio on 26th Street, right on the West Side Highway. I’ve worked here for 11 years.

W*: Are there any artists, writers or thinkers that have had a meaningful impact on you?

JM: I don’t know how to answer that because there are literally so many! It’s constantly changing. Right now, Kara Walker, David Hammons, William Pope.L, and younger artists like Jason Moran (who has made amazing work around abstraction). There are so many artists that have been informative and important to me: Frank Bowling, Jack Whitten, Caravaggio.

I also look at a lot of prehistoric work, from as far back as 60,000 years ago, as well as cave paintings from 6th century China and early prehistoric drawings in the caves of Australia.

W*: What’s the most interesting thing you have read, watched or listened to recently?

JM: For the last few weeks I’ve been immersed in Steve McQueen films. I’ve been bingeing on lovers rock music. And a TV show that really moved me was [Michaela Cole’s] I May Destroy You. It’s difficult, but it was really well done and powerful.

Ocean Vuong’s novel On Earth We Are Briefly Gorgeous is amazing. The Mushroom at the End of the World by Anna Lowenhaupt Tsing is a really incredible book too – she studies this mushroom that became a delicacy in Japan in the 7th century. It started growing in deforested areas – it’s in these places destroyed by human beings that these mushrooms survive. [I find it interesting] that this mushroom grows on the edge of precarity and destruction. Like with Black folks, there is a constant aspect of insisting on yourself and reinventing yourself in the midst of constant effort of destruction.

W*: What was the first piece of art you remember seeing? How did you feel about it?

JM: One of the first times I remember being moved by a work of art was looking through my mother’s Rembrandt book. We brought so few things back from Ethiopia and that was one of them. [Particularly] Rembrandt’s The Sacrifice of Isaac. That story is so intense. I was so moved by the light and the skin and the way the paint made light and skin.

W*: Do you travel? If so, what does travel afford you, and what have you missed about it during Covid-19?

JM: I travel a lot, but I haven’t travelled this year. There has been this amazing sense of suspension and a pause in that. I miss travelling, but going to look at art, watching films, reading novels and listening to music is the way I travel now. For instance, I’ve been listening to Afro-Peruvian music and now I want to go to Peru.

Before I know it we will be back in this fast-paced, zooming-around environment – there is something I want to savour by staying here, now, in this time and absorbing as much as I can.

W*: You are said to have a vast collection of objects and images. Walk me through your collection – what areas, materials, makers and things have the largest presence and why?

JM: When you enter our home there is this long hallway. Framed along the wall we have around 20 fluorescent Daniel Joseph Martinez block-printed posters he made with words – almost poems. Our kids grew up reading those. One says ‘Sometimes I can’t breathe’ and another one says ‘Don’t work’, while some are really long.

We also have a great Paul Pfeiffer photograph of one from the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse series. We have a group of Richard Tuttle etchings right over our dining table. We have an amazing David Hammons body print as well, and my kids’ work is all over the house.

W*: As the daughter of immigrants and an immigrant yourself – how do you conceptualise home and how do you create it?

JM: There were a lot of times I felt very transient – as a student and a young adult, going in and out of school and residency programmes. It always came back to music and food. There are certain flavours, foods, music, smells that you take wherever you go. Also as a mother, I’m building a home for my children. Home becomes something else because of them. They are the core of home now.

W* How has motherhood affected your practice?

JM: I became much more productive when I had kids for several reasons – one is that I felt a lot of pressure to make [work] in the time I wasn’t with them, which of course is unsustainable. A large part of making is not making – thinking and searching.

When I got to work I could get into it much more quickly. Kids grow and change so fast, you feel time is passing so you need to use it. I wasn’t going to stop working, that’s for sure. All women who are pushing in their lives make that choice.

W*: What is your favourite myth and why does it hold importance for you?

JM: Right now I’m reading Greek myths to my ten-year-old. We’ve read them before, but he wanted to read them again. I still read to him at night even though he’s a voracious reader himself.

The myths I remember the most are myths I’ve come across in visual works. Titian’s Diana and Actaeon – I know that myth so well because of his painting. Bernini’s mesmerising sculpture of Apollo and Daphne I saw in Rome, where her body becomes a tree. The leaves are so delicately carved into the marble, it’s a work of incredible beauty. I’ve been considering this deconstructionist approach to mythology. Storytelling becomes this place to interrogate propositions, which is what I think mythology does.

W*: Have you experienced a flattening of your work?

JM: I’m always concerned with flattening and pigeonholing. That is something that happens to artists like us all the time. When I first was working and showing there was a bit of that happening with my work. It was put into the space of cartography or an architectural analysis of it. It was said to be autobiographical work.

The art world tries to consume. There is this desire to flatten and the desire for Black artists to be a reflection of their experience. I don’t think any artist is like that at all. In reality, none of us are flat. We all contain multitudes and are complicated – that has always been the core of the Black radical tradition.

#julie mehretu #art #abstract art #abstract #mark making #history #geography #nature

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mxstyassasxin · 4 years ago

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Never Too Late (T, 1.2k)

on AO3

“Hey Hermione,” Harry answered the phone, having seen her name pop up on the screen. “What’s up?”

“Not Granger, Potter,” a tense, familiar voice drawled back to him and Harry rolled his eyes. “Where the bloody hell are you? I’ve flooed to Grimmauld, Aunt Andromeda’s, The Burrow, Granger’s place which was empty, so I ended up apparating to that uncouth joke shop where Weasley told me to try Granger’s office.”

“And Hermione just gave you her phone?”

“Well I have no idea where you are to floo you, do I? And Granger said I’d be better off using this than apparating all over Britain.”

“Is she there?”

“Is she there. Of course she’s here, Potter. I didn’t just run off with this bizarre contraption.”

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed in exasperation.

“I heard that.”

“You were supposed to. Now, just have Hermione give you the address to her old house. She connected it up to the floo once her parents decided to stay in Australia.” He didn’t wait for a response, just hung up and pressed play on the remote, waiting for the floo to light up.

“Alright, Potter, why are you hiding here? Wherever here is,” Draco said, stepping out of the floo and looking around the carpeted living room with large, comfortable sofas and unmoving family photographs on wallpapered walls.

“I’m not exactly hiding, Malfoy,” Potter said from one of the sofas with his back to him, looking towards a flickering light box of some sort. “It’s the only place with a TV and Teddy wanted to watch a film.”

The bright blue head of his Aunt’s grandson popped up above the back of the sofa next to Harry.

“We’s watching Lion King, Uncle Draco!” Teddy exclaimed with a massive grin on his face.

“Lion King, Potter. Seriously?” He crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow at the back of Potter’s messy head. “You’re tainting the child already. And it’s we are watching, Teddy. Not we is watching. There are two of you.”

Potter turned around and rested a bare, tanned forearm on the back of the sofa, looking at Draco over his shoulder. The images on the strange light box – the TV, Potter called it - had stopped flickering.

“I can hardly be tainting him when he chose the film. It’s a cartoon. Want to join?” Potter had the nerve to smile at him.

“Yes! Please, Uncle Draco.” Teddy was using the cushions as a trampoline now, holding onto the back of the sofa.

“Teddy,” Draco warned, “please stop jumping on the sofa. It’s not good manners.”

He promptly crossed his little legs and landed on his backside, still grinning up at Draco expectantly.

Draco rolled his eyes and sighed.

“I heard that,” Potter smirked, green eyes sparkling, and Draco had to resist the urge to stick his tongue out at him.

“Alright then, Teddy,” Draco moved around the sofa to sit next to the excited child. “What can you tell me about this Lion King?”

“There’s lions and giraffes and monkeys and a bird and they all sing, Uncle Draco. Did you know lions could sing?”

Draco had to look up at Potter because obviously the animals must have been singing on the film, but animals definitely could not actually sing.

“Teddy,” Potter drew his godson’s attention. “The animals only sing in the cartoon. You know they can’t in real life, right?”

“Of course, Uncle Harry. I’m not stupid, but Uncle Draco asked.”

Draco couldn’t help but chuckle and ruffle Teddy’s mop of hair when he saw the incredulous look of a Black on his face. Being raised by Andromeda was definitely rubbing off on him.

“It’s a cartoon for children based on the muggle play Macbeth. Some of the story is told through songs.” Potter explained, looking at him over the top of Teddy’s blue head.

“Macbeth? Isn’t that a bit… dark for children?”

“Why am I not surprised you know Shakespeare’s tragedies,” Potter laughed gently, shaking his head. “The fact that it’s a colourful cartoon and animals lessens the darkness of it. Plus, don’t forget the songs.”

“Alright, so where are you in it?” Draco asked, relaxing back into the sofa.

“Elephant graveyard!” Teddy shouted, grinning up at Draco. “Simba’s going to get in trou-ble.”

Draco raised an eyebrow at Potter again and mouthed Elephant Graveyard? The prat just laughed again. He shook his head and pulled Teddy into him.

“Come on then. Let’s watch this Simba get in trouble.”

Harry didn’t focus on the film. He’d seen it enough times with Teddy already. Instead, he watched the bright colours flicker across Draco’s face, the images reflecting in his eyes. His smile every time he looked at the excitement on Teddy’s face. The slight bob of his head during the songs and the barely audible laugh when Rafiki hit Simba on the head.

When Teddy curled up into Draco’s side, there was such clear surprise on his face that Harry couldn’t help but smile too. Draco’s surprise turned to a scowl when he realised Harry was looking.

“What are you looking at, Potter?” He whispered.

“Nothing, Malfoy.” Harry grinned back, stressing the surname.

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“Shh Uncle Draco.”

They sneered at each other over the top of Teddy’s blue head, daring each other to be the first to break. To back away and smile. They did it at the same time, both turning towards the TV to hide it. The wide grin on Harry’s face reflecting back at them in the TV screen.

Draco laughed the hardest yet at Zazu singing ‘I’ve got a lovely bunch of coconuts’. A full laugh that brought a shine to his eyes and did funny things to Harry’s stomach.

When the film finished and Teddy was dancing around the room singing one of the songs, Draco looked at Harry again, across the length of the sofa.

“Thank you, Potter,” he said, but Harry just raised an eyebrow pointedly, receiving a sigh in return. “Fine then. Harry. Thank you, Harry. For letting me join you and Teddy.”

“You’re very welcome. Draco.”

They watched Teddy dance around the room a moment before they spoke again.

“Who wrote the songs?” Draco asked.

“Well the soundtrack was composed by Hans Zimmer. Brilliant film composer. We’ll have to watch his others.” Harry received a bemused look and chuckled. “But the songs are by Elton John. I’ll find you a record or something.”

“That would be great,” Draco smiled but then looked down at his hands folded in his lap, growing unusually flustered. “Both things I mean. Watching more films and the record. They’d both be great, Pot- er, Harry.”

“You’re welcome, Draco. Now, why were you looking for me anyway?” He grinned.

“Oh shit!” Draco exclaimed, then quickly covered his mouth with his hands.

“Uncle Draco! That’s a bad word!”

“I know, Teddy. I’m sorry. We were supposed to meet my mother for dinner.”

Now it was Harry’s turn to laugh out loud. Missing dinner with Narcissa Malfoy to watch The Lion King. They were definitely going to be in trouble.

#end of year fic countdown #drarry #teddy lupin #my fic #drarry preslash #draco and muggle technology

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worldgirlsportal · 4 years ago

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chickensarentcheap · 5 years ago

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I Found - Chapter 20

Warnings: strong language. That’s about it.

@valkyrie-of-the-light I put in some soft and fluffy Tyler just for you ;)

Tagging: @c-a-v-a-l-r-y @alievans007 @hemmyworthy

He arrives at Mumbai Central Prison just shy of ten am. The weather is already unbearable; hot and sticky; sweat dampening the neck of his simple army green t-shirt, the thin fabric sticking to the small of his back. He checks in at the main office. Using the fake law enforcement credentials Nik had sent him to register as a visitor, turning in his gun and the knife that he keeps in his back pocket.

“Long way from home,” the desk clerk comments, as he holds up the identification next to Tyler's face, verifying that the man in the photo is the same as the one who now stands in front of him. “Australia? The land down under?”

“That's what it says,” Tyler shoves the ID into his wallet and slips the latter back into the side pocket of his tan cargo pants.

“What brings you here? All the way to Mumbai.”

“Business. I'm here to see Mahajan.”

The clerk's eyes widen; the drug lord doesn't get many visits, aside from his team of lawyers. The kid had stopped coming to visit a long time ago, and they haven't seen the man servant in at least a year. He'd been the last one to come and see the old man.

“Check the book,” Tyler nods at the thick ledger sitting on the desk. It's an old school system; pen and paper when the old and weathered computers decide they've had enough for the day. “I'm in there.”

He taps the toe of his boot against the crack and faded tiles, watching as the other man flips through the thick leather bound book, and locates the proper page; a long, thin fingers trailing through every written word until he comes up with the one he wants.

“What do you want with him?” the clerk inquires. “A cop all the way from Australia?”

“Like I said, it's business. And I'm not a cop. That's not what I do.”

The man arches an eyebrow, cocks his head to the side. Unsure of what to make of the stranger across from him. Tall and broad shouldered; strong and intimidating. “What is it you do?”

A slow grin. “A lot of things.”

****

He's led to a waiting area. A long, narrow corridor with faded tiles and peeling wallpaper that reveals the original brick underneath. No air conditioning. The temperature unbearably hot. And he uses the front of his t-shirt to clear the sweat away from his face and his forehead. A young woman with a baby sits in a chair in the corner, watching him warily. He's big and scary, as far as she's concerned. A stranger in their country. And as he leans back against the wall and crosses his arms over his chest, he gives her a small smile in hopes of easing some of her discomfort.

Several minutes tick by before the opens once again. An armed guard ordering the woman to stay where she is before giving Tyler a nod and jerking his head towards the main body of the prison. No formalities or mindless chit chat are exchanged as he is led through the central office and back out into the blazing sun. Feeling the curious eyes and hearing the chatter as he follows the guard. Sunglasses on, hiding his eyes as they survey the surroundings and the throngs of prisoners out in the yard. Always on alert. A stranger like him showing up causes a lot of speculation. And with speculation came worry. Which quickly turns into fear. If they felt threatened or spooked, there was no telling what kind of situation could explode.

“Out,” the guard orders all the visitors and prisoners currently in the visitation area. “Hurry up and get out. Move.”

He waits as guests scurry past him and the other prisoners file out, then allows himself to be led down to the very end of the room. Nothing more than a simple metal chair and metal bars separating him from the other side. And he is still standing when Mahajan is led in; heavily armed guards on either side of him, their hands on his upper arms as they guide him, handcuffs securely fastened to his wrists. Tyler is surprised. Unimpressed. Not nearly the intimidating figure that he'd been lead to believe. The years have not been kind to the old man; streaks of gray in his hair and beard, numerous pounds of weight lost. Maybe when he was younger he cut an imposing figure. But now he was nothing more than a pathetic old man who'd spend the rest of his life locked up.

He sits only after Mahajan has done so and the guards depart; waiting and watching from the door. Several minutes pass before anyone speaks; he only sounds in the room the ticking of the clock and the low hum of a window air conditioner. Neither man looks away from the other, Tyler's hands clasped and resting on the ledge in front of him, Mahajan tapping his fingers against the bottom of the frame that holds the bars

“So you're the one,” Mahajan finally speaks. His tone is unimpressed. Tyler supposes he doesn't fit the old man's bill of what a mercenary should look like. He's probably younger than he expected. Not as beat up and harried as most.

“Yeah...” he nods. “...I guess I am.”

“That stupid sonofabitch was supposed to take care of you. You shouldn't even be sitting here right now. Had he done his job properly...”

“He died helping save your son. And I should have died.”

“But here you are. Sitting in front of me. Thinking you have some right to come here and demand my presence? Looking for some kind of thank you? Some kind of respect? So you can gloat about what you've done?”

“That's far from the reason I'm here. You don't have to like me or respect me. I'm far past giving a shit about what others think of me.”

“So it's money you want then? You feel you weren't fairly compensated for the work you done. The one I hired you to do. You work for me. You don't come here in and walk in as if you own the place. As if I owe you something.”

“I don't work for you. And I don't give a shit about your money, mate. I'm here about your son.”

His eyes widen, jaw clenching. “The trouble has gotten worse? Why are you here then? Talking to me? You should be there. At my home. Protecting my son. Not here talking to me and wasting my time.”

“I've got six armed guards always watching the place. Two that follow him to school. I've been handling things. Taking care of your kid. Because apparently you don't give a shit about him enough to keep your head on straight and stay out trouble. What kind of father does that shit? Chooses the life you had over taking care of their own flesh and blood.”

“How dare you talk to me like that!” Mahajan fumes. “How dare you come and here and question my love and loyalty to my son!”

“A year ago I had to put my ass on the line to save your son. You caused that. Because you couldn't get your shit together and just be a father. So yeah. I'm questioning your love and your loyalty to your son. The fact that you have none.”

“You have a family?”

“A wife.,” he confirms “And a baby. A daughter.”

“Are you telling me you wouldn't do anything to care for them? Provide for them?”

“There's nothing I wouldn't do for them. I'd lay down my life for them. No questions asked. But I wouldn't do what you do. Get rich by hurting other people. Put drugs in the hands of kids. Sit back counting my money while people around me die.”

“Are we really that different, you and I? Hmm? Do you not kill people for money? Hurt them? Is that not how I found you in the first place?”

“We're nothing alike, mate. We never will be.”

“Killing comes with your job, does it not? When you were rescuing my son, did you not have to kill people?” Mahajan challenges.

“It's not the same thing,” Tyler insists.

“Killing is the same no matter how it is done. Or who does it. I bet you have taken far more lives than I have. You have the blood of hundreds of men on your hands. You say you kill them because they deserve it. Who are you to judge them? These people that are just trying to live by any means necessary.”

“By hurting innocent people,” Tyler argues. He keeps his tone low, unaffected. Refusing to let the man get to him. “That's the difference. I help the ones who need it and I hurt the ones who don't. They aren't innocent. They hurt people. People who are weaker than them. Who can't defend themselves. We aren't the same, mate. Not by a long shot.”

“We both have blood on our hands. You say that yours is justified. In the same way I do.”

“You put drugs into the hands of kids. You made people into addicts. You ripped families apart. I'm nothing like you.”

Mahajan smirks, leans back in his chair, eyes cold and calculated. “Did the men you kill not have families? Children? Hmm? Were there not innocent people connected to them? You sit here, thinking you're better than me. A white man who thinks he is somewhat superior because of the colour of skin. You walk in here with your God complex, judging me? Does your wife and your child know what you do?”

“My wife and my child have nothing to do with this.”

“You put them in harms way, do you not? You preach to me about my son and you do the same with your child. Do you think it would stop people? People that want to hurt you? You think it would stop them from hurting her because she is a baby? That won't matter to the people that hate you. The ones that want revenge.”

“Let's get one thing straight...” Tyler leans forward in his chair, trying to ignore how his blood runs cold at the man's words. A chill that starts at the roots of his hair and travels his entire body. “...my daughter is innocent. In the same way your son is. We are not the same. I help people. Like your son. And I bring them back to their families. Without guys like me, your son would be dead. Without guys like you, a lot of innocent people would still be alive. We are not same.”

The older man finally relents. Holding his hands up in surrender. “You say you're here for my son yet there's been no trouble. So why are you here? Hmm? Wasting my time?”

“I'm here because your son deserves a better life. One where he's not looking over his shoulder all the time. Where he's not constantly paying for his father's mistakes. He shouldn't have to live like this. Alone.”

'He has everything he could possibly want. A beautiful house to live in, food on the table, an expensive school.”

“He doesn't have a family. And that's what he wants the most. He wants a family. People who love him. Who will take care of him. Who want more for his future than this bullshit existence he has now. He has no one. All those things surrounding him, yet he's very much alone. Even you must be able to see that.”

Mahajan nods slowly, considering his words.

“My wife and I want to take him. When we leave here. We want to...”

“Take my son away from me?” he laughs. “You come here with a request like that? My only son? My blood? Hand him to you? A stranger?”

“A stranger that already laid down his life once for him. Who'd do it again. In a heartbeat.”

“For money,” he reminds Tyler. “You did it for money.”

“That's how it started out, yeah. But it became much more when you decided to fuck me. There was never any money. Not enough to afford me, anyway. That's why you had Saju try to kill me and steal him back. How'd that work out for you?”

Mahajan inhales sharply.

“I could have easily left your kid in the street. When I knew there was no money. I could have handed him right over to Asif. I had the chance. My part of ten million dollars if I just handed him over. But I didn't. I kept your son alive. And for what? This shitty fucking existence? Always looking over his shoulder, waiting for the next threat? Even you must be able to see it. That he has nothing. He doesn't even have a father.”

“I'm his father!” the other man roars, and leaps to his feet.

Tyler waves the guards off when he sees them attempt to make a move towards them. “You're not his father, mate. You're just the guy who helped make him. There's a lot more to being a father like that. Swallow your fucking pride and think about your son for once. Think about the kind of life he has compared to the one he deserves.”

“You think I can't hurt you from here? That I can't take away everything and everyone you love? That you...”

“I think you need to sit down and shut up. Don't threaten me. Or my family. Because you're not the only one who knows how to get shit done.”

The older man blinks. His chest heaving with fury.

“Sit down,” Tyler repeats. “Or you'll see just how far I'm willing to go to protect my family.”

Mahajan sighs heavily, then reluctantly sinks back into his seat.

“We want to take Ovi with us,” Tyler continues. “When we leave here. We want to give him a proper life. The kind of life that he deserves and he wants. You must have at least one shred of humanity left. Especially when it comes to your own son.”

“I would do anything for him. In the same way you'd do anything for your child.”

“Then do this for him. Let us take him. Let us give him a life. One where he isn't constantly looking over his shoulder in fear. He deserves that much, doesn't he? We're fathers. You and I. And don't we want the same thing? Don't we want to give our kids the world?”

The drug lord's face finally softens. “Of course. I wouldn't be a father if I didn't want that.”

“Then do the right thing,” Tyler implores. “Give us guardianship. Give us the chance to take care of the kid. To love him.”

“And you promise to take care of him? That you would lay down your life for him if need be?”

“I've already done it once. And I'd do it again, no questions asked.”

Mahajan gives a firm nod, then waves to the guards signalling that their visit is over. “I'll talk to my lawyer.”

***

TOMORROW. 1PM. ON THE BRIDGE.

It is a simple text that packs a powerful punch.

She's been waiting for this since the moment Jason left for Dhaka. She was tense. Impatient. Tired of the way Nik seemed to be dragging her heels despite the deal they had made. Leary that perhaps her friend had never had any intention of actually helping her. Just leading her on and feeding her hope, only to never follow through. Jason had been anxious to help. He wanted something more than security detail. A chance to prove that he was far more capable of bigger and better things. The time had seemed to drag since he left; she was constantly checking her cell phone for mixed texts or emails. But in the end, he had gotten exactly what she wanted.

She hastily makes arrangements. Plotting a way out of the house in the wee hours of the morning. Sneaking the keys to the rented SUV and making her way to the airport. If all went well, she'd be in the air and on her way to Dhaka before anyone even realized she was gone. Securing the help of an old contact that could get her a last minute seat on a small charter flying out of Mumbai. It was the moment that she'd been waiting for. Longing for. When she would come face to face with the person that had nearly taken everything away from her.

In lieu of text she sends an email in return. Texts were too easily soon and she still had an email address under an account she she hasn't used in years. Detailing her plans. That she'll be in Dhaka well before noon and will meet him on the bridge. With the kid.

She watches as Tyler steps into the court. That familiar lick of desire that fills her body; the heat and the pressure that builds between her legs. It's always been that way; the powerful sexual connection between them, the lust and want and desperate need that consumes her. It was the first time in her life that a man had had that kind of effect on her. Where her breath hitched and her raced. Where a simple touch could send her body into a frenzy. Not even her ex husband had made her feel that way. As handsome and charming that he'd been at the start. It had taken time for those feelings to develop. Weeks. Even months. With Tyler it had been near instantaneous. The moment those blue eyes had watched her walk into his little shack in the outback. Those five days in that Dhaka hotel room had been unlike anything she'd ever experienced. Completely succumbing to a man that took his time exploring every inch of her body; unselfishly concentrating solely on her and pleasuring her in ways and to heights she never thought possible.

Walking sex. She had called him that once. And he'd just laughed, a slight blush creeping into his cheeks and the tips of his ears. But it was true. That is exactly what he is. Broad shouldered and muscular and just so goddamn attractive. Even in a simple t-shirt and cargo pants.

“How'd it go?” she asks, as she sits on the edge of the pool with her feet submersed, holding Amelia securely around the waist, occasionally dipping those tiny toes into the water. Laughing every time the baby's bright blue eyes widen when her feet make contact with the cold liquid. There's real smiles now. Wide, beaming ones that crinkle the corners of her eyes. Her father's smile. His clone, from head to toe.

“Alright, I guess,” he pulls at the laces of his boots and toes them off, then removes his socks and rolls his pants up past the shins. “Here...” he hands her a small brown paper bag from a pharmacy he'd stopped at in Mumbai. “...for later...”

Tyler sits down alongside of her, placing his own feet in the water. Then leans over and presses a kiss to her ear. “Hi, by the way.”

“Hi,” she smiles and kisses him. Short and sweet. “Look who it is, Millie,” she speaks to the baby in the soft, melodic tone that she seems to enjoy the most. “Who is that guy, huh? Who is that handsome man? Is that your daddy?” She notices the way her husband's entire face lights up; the smile spreading from ear to ear, his features softening. A big man with an even bigger heart. “Look at the way she looks at you. The way she smiles at you. I do all the hard work and heavy lifting and all that matters is you.”

“She's a daddy's girl. Nothing wrong with that.”

She could see him years down the road. Those hands that can -and have- inflicted so much pain and suffering on those who deserved it, braiding hair or putting it in pig tails. Maybe even indulging in playing with dolls and being a guest at tea parties. There was something both adorable and amusing at that thought; a man like Tyler Rake allowing a little girl to subject him to such things. This was a side of him that so few got to see. That she was blessed to witness.

“Here,” he holds his hands out towards her. “Give her to me. I'm all that matters now. You're just the one who feeds her from here on out.”

“Traitor,” Esme gives her daughter a dramatic pout and places her in those large, capable hands. Watches the way he leans down to press a kiss to their daughter's cheek, that smile never leaving his face as he fixes the tiny sunhat and then lowers Amelia towards the pool, letting those tiny feet disappear beneath the surface. “She's definitely yours. She loves being outside.”

“She would have loved living in the shack,” he muses. “Out there with nothing else around.”

“With a dog and a chicken for siblings,” Esme adds with a grin.

“Yeah...” he nods. “...she would have loved bathroom chicken.”

His friend Koen lives there now. Spending the time on the repairs that needed to be, even adding on an extra room. Taking care of the chicken and the dog. He'd stepped up when Tyler had been incapacitated. . Moving in without hesitation and making sure everything was being taken care of. He would visit the hospital every so often; sitting on the edge of the bed and teasing the shit out of him for being so 'bent out of shape over a flesh wound' and talking about old times. Like their booze filled camping trips and hikes day he'd scared the shit out of their buddy Raka with a nonchalant plunge off a thirty meter cliff. Koen never asked for anything in return. Just thankful for a place to live and the feeling of doing something good and right.

“I would have made you keep bathroom chicken out of her room,” Esme says. “That's the last place we would need all kind of chicken shit. And I wonder if he ate her yet. Koen. If bathroom chicken has met her demise.”

“Bite your bloody tongue. That's my child you're talking about.”

She rolls her eyes. “Sometimes I think you love bathroom chicken more than me.”

“I definitely love you more. You don't shit everywhere.”

“Well that's a hell of a standard to live up to,” she laughs, and pinches his side playfully. Opening the paper bag he'd given her, she can't help but grin. “Two tests? Are you taking one too? That's not how this works, baby.”

“Just in case the first one gets fucked up.”

“All I have to do is pee on it. It's honestly not that hard.”

“Better to be safe than sorry,” he reasons. “I'm kind of excited.”

“About me peeing on a stick? You have weird things you enjoy as foreplay.”

“I didn't get to be there with the first one. I didn't even know that you thought you were pregnant the first time around.”

“Well in all fairness, you had a lot on your mind. You were going through a lot. I didn't want to add something else to the plate that you had to worry about.”

He understood it. Her reason for keeping it a secret for as long as she'd had. But part of him wishes he could have known. That he could have actually been there when she took the test.

“Well this time I get to be there,” he says. “Sounds stupid, I know. Being excited over something like that.”

“I think it sounds beautiful,” she admits, and presses a kiss to his cheek. Beard rough against her lips. And she curls an arm around his waist and uses her free hand to rub his stomach. “Tyler Rake, you big softie.”

“Easy now. Don't say that too loud. I have a reputation to uphold.”

She rests her head against his arm, feet swinging back and forth in the water. Watching as he dotes over their tiny daughter; speaking to her in unbelievably soft and sweet tones, those huge hands so tender and careful, the smile never leaving his face. “So it went okay? With Ovi's dad?”

“He was a hard nut to crack.”

“But you did? Crack him?”

He grins. “Are you seriously questioning my nut cracking skills, right now?”

“You're more of a ass kicker than a nut cracker But go off.”

“He was pretty pissed. That I had the balls to even show up to see him. I definitely was not what he expected. I don't think I fit the picture he had in his mind of the guy who rescued his kid.”

“Well, in all fairness, you are devastatingly handsome,” she muses. “So I can't fault him there.”

“He gave me a hard time. Kept insisting that we're the same. That we do the same things. Hurt people. Kill them.”

She frowns. “You know that's not true right?”

“Well it is what I do, right? I do hurt people. I do kill them. My hands aren't exactly clean.”

“What you do and what he does is entirely different. You do what you do to help people. To keep them safe. He does what he does because an evil asshole. You are nothing alike. Far from it. Don't let him get into your head. His son is alive because of you. You almost died because he's a major fuck up of a father. You are not like him at all, Tyler. Did you tell him? About us wanting to take Ovi?”

“He didn't want to hear anything about it at first. But you were right. There was an ounce of humanity left. He says he's going to talk to his lawyer. Who knows what will happen after that. But at least it's a step in the right direction, yeah?”

She nods in agreement, then falls silent. Her legs swinging back and forth, eyes riveted on the ripples in the water. She wants to tell him. About going to Dhaka. Knowing that if he'd just listen to her reasoning and consider what she needed to do to finally heal and move on, he'd agree it was a good idea. Not a great one. But acceptable. Maybe he'd even offer to come along. Just to keep an eye on her. That city was dangerous. Unpredictable. Which had been all too clear during their first foray into city limits.

But she stays silent. The situation is under control. Jason will be there, after all.

Besides, how much damage could one street kid do?

****

Tyler stands on the threshold of the master's en-suite bathroom; leaning against the door jamb with his arms over his chest. Watching his wife as she sits on the edge of the tub, her eyes riveted on that plastic stick across the room, as it rests on the sink ledge. She's nervous; chewing absentmindedly on her bottom lip, palms continuously running along her thighs.

“How long does this take?” he inquires. “It's been like half an hour.”

“It's been a minute and half,” she replies. “Two more minutes at least. There's quicker ones you could have gotten. Those digital things that pretty much give the results right away.”

“This is the first time I've ever had to buy something like this. I'm a rookie here.”

“A rookie with extremely strong and determined swimmers, apparently,” she retorts. “Where's the baby?”

“Ovi took her downstairs. He's playing the piano for her. He swears she likes it.”

“Another male she has wrapped around her little finger. Maybe I won't have to worry about her bringing boys home. With you two around. I can just see you. Sitting on the front porch with a shot gun on your lap.”

“I was thinking more a fully automatic. Or a grenade launcher. Or maybe even flamethrower. Maybe all three. Depending on my mood.”

“You can't keep the boys away forever. You can't keep her locked in the house.”

“You just watch me.”

She laughs at that. More nervous than amused.

“I don't know what you're so freaked out. This isn't your first rodeo.”

“It's scary,” she says. “The thought of having another human being inside of you. That relies on you for everything. I have to actually keep a tiny person alive.”

“Well you did amazing the first time,” he points out. “And considering everything else you were dealing with at the time, I'd say that makes you pretty fucking awesome.”

She smiles at him. And he shoots her a wink before wandering into the room and taking a seat on the ledge of the tub beside her.

“I'm nervous too,” he confesses, as he takes on her hands in both of his own. Her hands are soft, impossibly small within his. “And scared.”

She looks at him. “You are?”

He nods. “Not just because this is an awful shitty time to be going through all of this. We can get through all of that. I don't doubt that for a second. I worry about being a dad.”

“You're already a dad. And you've been one for over ten years. If we count Austin.” And they do. Despite his suffering and his unfortunate passing, his son is still very much a part of their family. “And you're a great dad, Tyler. An amazing dad. So don't ever doubt that. You see the way she looks at you. The way her entire face just lights up when she hears your voice. She adores you. No one else in the world matters as much as her daddy.”

“Sorry about that by the way,” he grins. “That she loves me more than you,”

“That's harsh, Tyler. First I spend nine months getting fat and gross and puking all the time and then you go and say something like that. I do know divorce lawyers, you know.”

“You'd never get rid of me. And you weren't fat and gross by the way. You were beautiful. You always are. But even more beautiful when you were having her. Knowing that I was the one who helped but her there. That that was my baby inside of you.”

She leans into him, placing a kiss on his shoulder. “I like this side of you. The sappy one.”

“Just don't tell anyone, okay? I'd never live it down. I need people to think I'm a bad ass.”

“I don't think anyone could ever say you aren't a bad ass. You killed a man with a garden rake.”

“Two,” he corrects. “With the same garden rake. I'm just saying.”

She settles against him; head against his shoulder, her hand tightly clenched between his.

“What if it happens again?” he inquires.

“Having to kill a man with a garden rake?”

“No,” he can't help but chuckle. “Although that is always a possibility. Anything can happen. I mean Austin. And his cancer. What if that happens again?”

“The chances of that happening are slim to none.”

“But there's still a chance.”

“There's a chance we could walk out of the house tomorrow and get hit by a bus,” she gently argues. “His cancer wasn't genetic. It just happened, Tyler. It was nothing you or your ex caused. It just happened.”

“I just worry about it. I can't help it. Sometimes I'll watch Millie sleeping and think about it. What I'd do if she got sick. How I don't think I'd be able to handle it. Seeing her suffer. I'm worried I'm going to make the same mistake. Run away like I did. Because I'm a fucking coward.”

“You are many things, Tyler. But a coward is not one of them. It's fight or flight. Your flight drive was stronger than your fight. It happens.”

“But it shouldn't have happened. That's the point.”

She rubs his back; palm moving in slow, smooth, comforting circles. “Think of it this way, if things hadn't have have happened the way they did, we probably wouldn't be here right now. We probably would have never even met. You would have been on an entirely different path and our lives probably never would have connected. And that's worth something, right? You and I? Millie? What happened was horrible and you didn't deserve that. And Austin definitely didn't deserve it. But we're here. Millie and I. And that has to make up for everything else somehow right?”

“Of course it does.” If someone had have told him a year ago that he'd end up a husband and father again, he would have told them that they were insane. He had been struggling to find a way to keep on living when all he wanted to do was die. And he'd found a reason to keep on, keeping on. Something...someone...that gave him a purpose. Now he couldn't imagine his life without them. That feeling of completeness that comes with knowing you matter to someone. That they rely on you.

“You are way too hard on yourself,” she says, and tousles his hair. “Try seeing yourself through my eyes. Just once.”

“I'll try,” he promises, and she smiles and a lays a hand against his cheek, covering his lips with hers in a long, soft kiss. “I think it's time. You ready?”

“As I'll ever be, I guess. You?”

“Not really, no. But I guess we have to find out.”

“You do it. I got to do it the first time. This one is all yours.”

“That's it, put all the pressure on me,” he teases, and gives her hand one last squeeze and a kiss to the forehead before standing up and approaching the sink.

“Well?” her voice is shaky. Perhaps a mixture of both nerves and anticipation. “What does it say?”

“I'm not sure. What does two pink lines mean?”

The tears prick her eyes. Her lower lip quivers.

“It means we're having a baby.”

#tyler rake #tyler rake fan fic #tyler rake fan fiction #i found #extraction

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parabelled · 5 years ago

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tagged by @anathenma WOO GIRL <3

rules: tag 10 followers you want to get to know better

name: Lauren

gender: Female

star sign: Virgo Sun || Leo Moon || Leo Ascendent, which basically means I have the usually quiet reserved personality of an analytical, organised virgo on the fact of things, am usually the goofy, chill friend amongst my friends, and don’t like to take anyone’s shit, but if I am disrespected, I’m a sensitive six foot flower and withdraw from the world until I can get over it. xD I don’t like conflict.

height: 183cm/6 feet

age: 27 (YIKES XD)

wallpaper on my phone: (I had to check XD) A calendar of May 2020 stylistically arranged around ribbons

house: Slytherin

ever crush on a teacher: Both my parents and my uncle are teachers and consequently I knew every teacher in my school as actual human people and not ‘crushes’ growing up. So no. XD

coolest halloween costume: I went as the Starbucks logo one year when I was eight, a gigantic Lady Luck die one year with a top hat covered in poker chips and cards. I had some good ones I made: I was creative as fuck when I was 9-11 especially, and I had to be, because I was already around 5′7 and people assumed I was just some weirdo dressing up to get candy (Hearing ‘AREN’T YOU A LITTLE OLD TO BE TRICK OR TREATING’ at eleven CRUSHED me XD)

Favorite 90s tv show:

Okay. So there’s one’s I watched actually as a child of the 90s, and ones that were just always ON in the 90s that I ended up watching. It’s debatable whether these are actually good NOW. XD

That being said, the background ones were Saved By the Bell (ZACH MORRIS IS TRAAAAassssh~~), Boy Meets World, Seinfeld, Everybody Loves Raymond.

As a kid, I loved the Aladdin Animated Series, The Hercules Animated Series, CHIP AND DALE RESCUE RANGERS (Which didn’t really hold up sadly but still has the best theme song of all time, fight me), and Timon and Pumbaa.

One I rarely caught but really liked was All That, The Wonder Years, Sabrina the Teenage Witch- occasionally Fresh Prince.

Out of all of these, I still have a super fond spot for Saved By the Bell, especially with the ‘Zach Morris is Trash’ series on Youtube (Seriously, go watch it. It’s fucking hilarious and basically breaks down how much of a serial killer in the making Zach Morris is XD). The clothing is ridiculous and no one really dressed like that in the early 90s outside of commercials and TV (unfortunately). Maybe one shoddy item out of the bunch. Meanwhile Saved by the Bell is like LETS PUT IT ALL ON. XD It was terrible once they got to college, but it was stupid and fun and made me feel ‘cool’ watching it because I was like three and being like, “YEAH, IT’S BRIGHT AND THESE PEOPLE ARE COOL AND I CAN FOLLOW THE PLOT. I’M MATURE.” XD It’s literally still the only one of these I actively watch now in the form of Zach Morris is Trash, so I’ll go with it. xD

Last kiss: Never had a consensual kiss. Make of that what you will. xD

Have you ever been stood up: Nope.

Favourite pair of shoes:

I have terrible plantar fasciitis from sports, so I’m a shoe snob, and have to have properly fitting/constructed shoes. It depends on what I’m doing in them, really. I got a pair of trail running shoes for trail running during COVID, but they’re not the most aesthetically pleasing. I’d say the best mixture between comfort and style are either a good ol’pair of black ankle boots with a slight heel (so I can be 6′2 and intimidate people with my height muhahahaha), or more practically on a day to day basis, I have a pair of Reeboks that are 90s-styled with pastel pink and blue triangles on the side. They’re pretty dope. xD

have you ever been to vegas: No, but my parents have. Basically, they said you tire of shopping after two days, and then you’re just stuck inside hotels and shopping malls there. If you’re not a gambler, drinker, or have a ton of money to splash out on stage shows, I don’t think it’s particularly worth going.

favorite fruit: Mango or raspberry, but they’re super-expensive in the land of Maple Syrup so I usually don’t get them any other way other than frozen in smoothies.

Favourite book:

I could never choose a favourite book. It’s literally like choosing between children. It’s my microcosmic version of Sophie’s Choice. xD Tasteless joke aside, it’d honestly depend on the occasion. There’s a huge difference between entertainment reading, literary exploits, and educating yourself through books as a whole.

My ‘plane’ book (which I’m terrible at flying, so that was a joke), as in, an easy, fun, instantly rereadable read to read on the plane when I used to have super long fifteen hour flights to Australia, was always Mario Puzo’s ‘The Godfather,’ because I also had a huge crush on Michael Corleone.

But it’s also not the ‘best’ book and literally spends an inordinate and honestly disturbing amount of time on the fact that this poor woman in the story (which thankfully in the film, it gets cut down), but the bridesmaid Sonny Corleone has sex with, and how you see his wife indicating his ‘size’?

THAT’S LITERALLY AN ENTIRE SUBPLOT OF THIS BROAD’S STORY I SHIT YOU NOT BECAUSE NOTHING IS ‘BIG’ ENOUGH FOR HER AFTER HIM AND THEN YOU FIND OUT SHE HAS A MEDICAL CONDITION AND GOOD FOR HER SHE’S ABLE TO FIND LOVE AGAIN BUT WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK MARIO PUZO XD IT WAS A LOT OKAY.

(Footnote: I also suffered through his horrific sequels because I love Michael Corleone and will take him in any form he comes in, even horrifically written Sicilian backhill exploits that were never told to us in the original book and were clearly just written because Puzo needed another pay check but I digress.)

Horrific subplots aside, I really enjoy The Godfather for its sheer pulpiness. The book is essentially what Andrew Lloyd Weber is to musicals. xD (Yes, I come with musical theatre burns. Fight me.)

In terms of a piece of literature that I think is amazingly well done? Things Fall Apart by Chinua Achebe, or Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury.

Stupidest thing you ever done:

Um, maybe when I was at Cambridge I tried to dye my roots to match the rest of my ‘blonde’ hair at the time, and it turned out bright orange? And because it’s Cambridge, they had this super-strict attendance policy, so I was literally trying not to hyperventilate because it was running close to class (which was across campus) and I was trying to find some way to remedy my hair without it falling out/ someone asking about it. So, I grabbed a toque-cap-thing despite it being literally one of the hottest summer on record in the UK (It was like 35 degrees, it was MENTAL), and had to sprint to class all the way on the other side of campus from my college dodging dodgy tourist groups blocking the sidewalk while I went. Then when I sat down inside, I had to be weirdly rude and wear my hat inside the lecture hall even though the professor was looking at me (it was a specialised program in German Literature) like, “Are you going to take that shit off?” xD THEN I tried to dye it back to brown, and it literally looked like mud mixed with a runny egg had exploded on the top of my head; it was AWFUL. XD So FINALLY I did my research and found a salon, but by THAT point I had done 250 pounds worth of damage to my hair (WHICH IS LIKE 400 DOLLARS CANADIAN AT THE TIME), and I almost had a heart attack and thanked my lucky stars that I had money put away so I could give my parents the ‘parent price’ when they asked why they hadn’t seen me on FaceTime or Skype for like, three weeks, and I replaced my face with a photo of John Cleese from Fawlty Towers, which they tease me about to this day. xD

The other dumbest thing I ever said was when I was so desperate for friends in grade six when I moved to a new school (and because being American was ‘cool’ at the time, apparently), I told everyone I was a dual citizen because my mother LITERALLY GAVE BIRTH TO ME ON THE BORDER CROSSING WHAT. XD And bless this poor bespectacled girl named Mara (who was actually a little class friend of mine), who just said timidly in the back, “That’s not how citizenship works.” xD It basically came out of attempting to be cool and failing, but I’m still SO embarrassed about THAT one that I’d never admit it to ANYONE besides shouting it out into the Tumblr black hole. xD I’m still embarrassed to THIS DAY.

All time favorite shows:

I’ll go for the original run of The Twilight Zone, which has some schmaltzy episodes (I’m really not a fan of any of the episodes entirely dedicated to the Space Race or the weird cowboy fanaticism of the fifties/ sixties, or anything that’s overtly like “ALIENS DID IT SO THERE”), but I LOVE their psychological horror episodes or Dystopian episodes. It’s when Rod Serling’s writing and narrative voice is the strongest and most prophetic, and the twists are usually the best. Other shows have tries to imitate it, or reboot it, but I really think the original, due to Rod Serling’s unmatchable voice, in every sense of the word. There’s lists of some of the greatest episodes, but I remember LOVING the episode ‘A Stop at Willoughby.’ The twist literally made me clap my hands in horror and delight, it was amazing. xD

Other than that? Off the top of my head, Mad Men and Band of Brothers, even though I haven’t rewatched either in ages.

last movie you saw in theaters:

Oh God, before all THIS hit? Probably Rise of Skywalker. I get agoraphobic and itchy if a movie theatre is too busy, and we only have really pokey sort of ones nearby that you’re guaranteed to see someone you went to high school with (terrible), so now that I can properly drive I go out to the big redneck theatre out in the boonies. I miss living in Montreal though, because when you live in a big city like that downtown (and can actually afford to live there), you could see blockbuster movies at like ten in the morning. xD Which would be AMAZING because I’d go to see any of the early Avengers/Marvel movies when they opened, the day of opening, and it was literally me, one old man who fell asleep halfway through and sat near the back, and maybe an elderly couple on a morning date to the movies. xD I get really annoyed with obnoxious movie-goers, and I’m really picky about just being completely absorbed in the movie, so I tend not to go unless I’m guaranteed that space.

tagging: Anyone who wishes to tag me back so I can learn about them <3

#meme #well god this was embarrassing #still hope you found something of interest in there though xD #personal #I indented the longer answers so this was somewhat cohesive

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drywalldc9-blog · 5 years ago

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drywall repair in dc

Here in Australia, we call it plasterboard. In the US it's called drywall.

No matter what you call it, you are able to still fix it exactly the same way. Your plasterboard/drywalls could be damaged by children, animals, doorknobs etc. You shouldn't ignore that damage and in just a few easy steps you are going to discover ways to repair the sort of damage you would get from nail and screw holes, like you get from picture hooks, small dents and /or surface paper tears.

All you have to do for these is apply a small amount of Spackle or Pollyfilla and sand it when dry.

Jobs done!

Nails which have let it go will also be a drywall contractors dc fix.

Here's everything you have to do to repair a popped nail. You are going to need another nail or even a wall screw. If you utilize the screw, you will be needing a routine and the correct bits. If you are using another nail then just a hammer will do.

You will be needing some premixed joint filler, a putty spatula and a sanding sponge. You will also need to get yourself a dust mask and a couple of safety glasses.

First action to take is to wash up the region that you're fixing. If the old nail isn't holding anymore you should have to re-attach the plasterboard/drywall. If you never, the nail will just pop out again. Take the brand new nail or wall screw and drive it in to the stud about 2.5cm to 4cm above the popped nail. Be sure that it's recessed into the face paper of the plasterboard /drywall, but don't drive it in far enough to tear the paper. Now recess the old nail as well. For a restoration such as this you can use a joint filler or joint compound, as it's called in the US, or you can use Pollyfilla. Pollyfilla is thicker than joint filler and is manufactured specifically for repairing minor damage. However, it is recommended for employment this size that you use joint filler and a putty spatula to spread the mixture on the damaged area.

When selecting your putty washington dc drywall repair you will find that there are lots of different sizes and types available. Obviously, the more expensive the region you're repairing the more expensive the spatula you will need. A tiny one is all you could will be needing with this job.

Put a small amount of joint filler on your own spatula and cover the recess. Spread a thin coat of filler flush to the surface ensuring there's no excess on the corners then allow it dry for around 24 hours. Once it's dry you can use the sanding sponge to level the surface. If you wish to, you can use sandpaper but a damp sponge creates less dust than sandpaper. In the event that you opt for sandpaper you should secure a plastic bag beneath the sanding area, with painters tape or similar, to gather the dust because it falls. Yet again, Job's done!

Obviously you should be sure you prime the surface before painting or applying wallpaper.

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natashakalitadesign · 6 years ago

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Today I thought I'd venture off the beaten path and feature a few of my all-time favourite little girls' rooms and nurseries. It's actually quite strange that I don't feature them more often as they are among my very favourite rooms to decorate! When I came across this wallpaper company that specializes in children's design called Minnie and Me Interiors from Melbourne, Australia, I fell in love.💜 Their beautiful papers create such magical and inspiring spaces. I know of a few little girls who would have massive room envy! Find them at @minnieandmeinteriors 1. Design by @hudson_and_harlow. 2. Design by @momentswithus_ 8. Design by @candice.shenae.style #interiordesign #interiordesigner #wallpapercompany #interiordecor #iginspo #homedesignideas #homedecor #bedroomdecor #childrensdecor #childrensdesign #littlegirlsroom #darlingdesigns #designtoinspire #design123 #realhousesofig #beautifulhomes #homeinspo #wallpapers #wallpaperlove #prettydesign #australiarealestate (at Melbourne, Victoria, Australia) https://www.instagram.com/p/BuMDCtonK3c/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=1xpi57h85fbu2

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mxstyassasxin · 5 years ago

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Never Too Late

Day 11 of the 24 drabbles in the run up to my 24th birthday. Draco joins Teddy and Harry for a movie night, but Harry can’t seem to focus on the film. Also on AO3 and FFN.

Inspired by Elton John’s Never Too Late

“Hey Hermione,” Harry answered the phone, having seen her name pop up on the screen. “What’s up?”

“And Hermione just gave you her phone?”

“Well I have no idea where you are to floo you, do I? And Granger said I’d be better off using this than apparating all over Britain.”

“Is she there?”

“Is she there. Of course she’s here, Potter. I didn’t just run off with this bizarre contraption.”

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed in exasperation.

“I heard that.”

The bright blue head of his Aunt’s grandson popped up above the back of the sofa next to Harry.

“We’s watching Lion King, Uncle Draco!” Teddy exclaimed with a massive grin on his face.

“I can hardly be tainting him when he chose the film. It’s a cartoon. Want to join?” Potter had the nerve to smile at him.

“Yes! Please, Uncle Draco.” Teddy was using the cushions as a trampoline now, holding onto the back of the sofa.

“Teddy,” Draco warned, “please stop jumping on the sofa. It’s not good manners.”

He promptly crossed his little legs and landed on his backside, still grinning up at Draco expectantly.

Draco rolled his eyes and sighed.

“I heard that,” Potter smirked, green eyes sparkling, and Draco had to resist the urge to stick his tongue out at him.

“Alright then, Teddy,” Draco moved around the sofa to sit next to the excited child. “What can you tell me about this Lion King?”

“There’s lions and giraffes and monkeys and a bird and they all sing, Uncle Draco. Did you know lions could sing?”

Draco had to look up at Potter because obviously the animals must have been singing on the film, but animals definitely could not actually sing.

“Teddy,” Potter draws his godson’s attention. “The animals only sing in the cartoon. You know they can’t in real life, right?”

“Of course, Uncle Harry. I’m not stupid, but Uncle Draco asked.”

Draco couldn’t help but chuckle and ruffle Teddy’s mop of hair when he saw the incredulous look of a Black on his face. Being raised by Andromeda was definitely rubbing off on him.

“It’s a cartoon for children based on the muggle play Macbeth. Some of the story is told through songs.” Potter explained, looking at him over the top of Teddy’s blue head.

“Macbeth? Isn’t that a bit… dark for children?”

“Why am I not surprised you know Shakespeare’s tragedies,” Potter laughs gently, shaking his head. “The fact that it’s a colourful cartoon and animals lessens the darkness of it. Plus, don’t forget the songs.”

“Alright, so where are you in it?” Draco asks, relaxing back into the sofa.

“Elephant graveyard!” Teddy shouts, grinning up at Draco. “Simba’s going to get in trou-ble.”

Draco raised an eyebrow at Potter again and mouthed Elephant Graveyard? The prat just laughed again. He shook his head and pulled Teddy into him.

“Come on then. Let’s watch this Simba get in trouble.”

When Teddy curled up into Draco’s side, there was such clear surprise on his face that Harry couldn’t help but smile too. Draco’s surprise turned to a scowl when he realised Harry was looking.

“What are you looking at, Potter?” He whispered.

“Nothing, Malfoy.” Harry grinned back, stressing the surname.

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“Shh Uncle Draco.”

Draco laughed the hardest yet at Zazu singing ‘I’ve got a lovely bunch of coconuts’. A full laugh that brought a shine to his eyes and did funny things to Harry’s stomach.

When the film finished and Teddy was dancing around the room singing one of the songs, Draco looked at Harry again, across the length of the sofa.

“Thank you, Potter,” he said, but Harry just raised an eyebrow pointedly, receiving a sigh in return. “Fine then. Harry. Thank you, Harry. For letting me join you and Teddy.”

“You’re very welcome. Draco.”

They watched Teddy dance around the room a moment before they spoke again.

“Who wrote the songs?” Draco asked.

“That would be great,” Draco smiles but then looks down at his hands folded in his lap, growing unusually flustered. “Both things I mean. Watching more films and the record. They’d both be great, Pot- er, Harry.”

“You’re welcome, Draco. Now, why were you looking for me anyway?” He grinned.

“Oh shit!” Draco exclaimed, then quickly covered his mouth with his hands.

“Uncle Draco! That’s a bad word!”

“I know, Teddy. I’m sorry. We were supposed to meet my mother for dinner.”

Now it was Harry’s turn to laugh out loud. Missing dinner with Narcissa Malfoy to watch The Lion King. They were definitely going to be in trouble.

#my fic #drarry #harry potter #draco malfoy #teddy lupin #movie night

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