#HELLO I'M BACK

[claraoswalds]

DOCTOR WHO The End of Time: Part Two

[rageserenity]

He is half of my soul, as the poets say.

[wonyoung]

( 240517 ) WONYOUNG ♡ ACCENDIO

[holmesoldfellow]

"My Dearest Holmes" by Rohase Pierce (1988)

[howicked]

#happy thanktival to those who celebrate

YONDERLAND (2013 - 2016) | 03x09 "It's the Thought that Counts"

[moonflowerus]

Happy 5th anniversary, ONEUS!

[bedtimescenarios]

Periculum in mora- Part 1?

CW: implied threats, mentions of past abuse, mentions of violence, implied stalking, living weapon whump

Emory clutches the piece of paper so tightly they aren't sure it's still suitable for the evidence bag. If it weren't for the gloves on their hands, they're certain it would disintegrate under their sweat. Their gaze continues scanning the handwriting, which is too neat to be arranged into a sentence so awfully terrifying that they kind of wish they skipped first grade reading lessons. The words seem to pulse on the page, and their breath hitches as a twig cracks nearby.

"You okay?" Lauryn's voice sounds from behind them, and their head whips around to face her.

Emory swallows. When they got this job, they were nothing short of ecstatic- a well-recognized, highly respected detective role at the PD was everything they'd been working for. And they certainly hadn't expected to get it, not with their past, not after the trial. But when they received the acceptance e-mail, they knew they had a shot at catching him. At finally putting that bastard behind bars and reversing the roles after all that time. Still, they expected it to happen on their own terms. Not like this.

For a moment, Emory stares at the body sprawled out on the ground, eyes fixed on the jean pocket where they found the note, surprisingly clean compared to the crimson staining the rest of the scene. To say these recent murders have been brutal would be an understatement. They were carried out with the raw violence of a rabid lion, yet at the same time with incredible surgical precision to ensure prolonged unbearable pain. When Emory was assigned the case, they instantly shut down the possibility of their tormentor being behind them, despite a lingering feeling in the back of their mind that transposed into their nightmares. Now, as they hold that damned piece of paper, that feeling is winning.

Emory's icy eyes meet Lauryn's warm ones, and they step around the pale body and towards their colleague. They don't speak as they hand her the paper, and watch as her eyebrows furrow in confusion- of course she wouldn't know its significance. Why would she? This is so much deeper than its spelling, than its meaning.

Lauryn looks up, and Emory can distinguish a hint of worry on her face. It's something they see quite often- Lauryn is an exceptional detective, perhaps the best they know, but she can get overly involved in cases, not to mention ones so closely tied to her co-workers. Her empathy felt surreal during Emory's first few weeks at the department, especially after what they'd been taught for so long. She showed them what caring truly meant.

"Periculum in mora." Lauryn recites the contents slowly, as if testing the way they roll off her tongue, and Emory's jaw clenches. "Latin. I'll look up the meaning-"

She doesn't have time to reach for her phone because Emory's mouth outpaces them. "Danger in delay."

Lauryn's head tilts to the left, and Emory knows she's waiting for an explanation. A moment passes before they're sure they've composed themselves enough to speak. "He used to say it to me after I tried to run."

Their mind automatically completes the statement with the sound of the whip cracking against their back, their strangled cries contrasting his laugh. They don't share that with Lauryn.

Either way, the woman's frown deepens, small creases forming between her eyebrows. She's trying hard not to show pity, they can tell- they've told her that it's pointless countless times- but Emory can see it flash across her expression. With another look at the note, her nose flares slightly, and she takes in a deep breath.

"Do you think Hayes has something to do with this?" Her words seem calculated, almost as if she's scared of screwing up.

Emory hates it. They also hate how the name alone sends a shiver down their spine. Aden Hayes. Infamous leader of the hitmen network registered in police records as responsible for more than 296 kills. A quarter of which were reported by Emory after they ripped that chip out of their skin and ran until the soles of their feet were nearly detached and half of their wounds re-opened. That man, he's still out there- Emory has known that for a while, since the investigation's leads suddenly started dropping like flies- and now he knows where Emory works.

Emory instinctively runs a finger over the ragged scar on their palm, almost absentmindedly. They try not to recall the memory associated with it. "This is him."

Despite their unfocused gaze, they notice their colleague's body stiffening. "This might just be a coincidence, you know."

They wish that was true. Hell, they wish they could at least believe it, embrace the sweet bliss that is ignorance. They wish their mind didn't flash with images of blood and death and loss and so, so much pain. But that note... it's a taunt, and they know exactly what it means.

"It's him. And he's coming after me."

Taglist: @sarahsbookshop

[oscarwetnwilde]

James Wilby as Dundine in Dutch Girls. (1985)

[books-and-kids]

Just got a text from a Safe Families coach asking me to take two kids tonight. They haven’t texted in months because they’ve respected that I’m taking a break, so I know it’s urgent… but I still said no.

The guilt and shame and feeling of failure is strong. It’s been 3 months since I last hosted, and I only hosted for one week in March. Now, admittedly, from January to May I was driving Coco and Charlie back and forth from their new host to their mom most weekends — 2+ hour drive on both Friday and Sunday, and my car only fits 2 carseats which made it impossible to host on the weekends. And I was training for a half marathon, which required me to be able to leave my house and run long distances multiple times a week, which was also incompatible with hosting. But both of those commitments are over now, and I could have taken more kids. I’m still on the distribution list for texts, so I know there’s plenty of need. And I keep not picking up the phone to call.

It’s not that I don’t want to. It’s that I wan’t to and I don’t want to simultaneously. It’s that if I say yes to a kid, I have to cancel/say no to spending time with friends, say no to book club, say no to running club. It means I can’t be confident I’ll get any sleep. So far, hosting has prevented me from exercising. And basically every hosting I’ve done has dramatically affected my ability to do my job (because of sick kids staying home, lack of afterschool/daycare requiring me to drive and supervise kids during the work day, or both). When I think about my experience with prior hostings I have such a visceral sense memory of feeling trapped and lonely, of the long endless day stretching out before me and no human interaction except the children.

I should buy a jogging stroller, or be more willing to do long walks. And buy one of those plastic gates that I could use to block off my living room and contain the children in a safe area. I’m hoping that eventually one of the kids who needs hosting will be a school-age kid whose school has afterschool care, or a kid for whom Safe Families is willing to pay for daycare. And I should also accept that I’m not going to host as often as I thought I was, and stop feeling like that indicates failure. (When I first started out I think I envisioned that I’d have a kid with me maybe half the time, and I wasn’t far off from that in the first few months, but realistically I don’t think that works while I’m single and don’t have any parent friends, because the isolation is so bad for my mental health.)

But my secret fear is that even if all those things happen, it still won't be enough. That I will still be isolated and lonely. That the early experiences of it feeling so hard will poison my brain and I won’t feel that wanting to host kids that I did when I started. That instead of imagining taking care of the kids, and loving them, and supporting their families, the only thing I’ll be able to imagine is spending two weeks with no in-person adult human interaction* outside the Trader Joe’s cashier. I know some of y’all are single and fostering… how do you keep from going insane?

*I work remotely, so "no in-person adult human interaction" really means none at all

[littlesiren79]

[ann-reese]

I've been away for a while

[neomuna-nights]

://: OPERATION: Seraph's Shield

[probayern]

asldkgjaslgdjk 3-0?! fuck yeah

[eayenthecertifiedsilly]

after a LOOONG while of inactivity im deciding to return! Ngl looking back at before the break I was a pretty weird being..

Been thru alot though the past months and improved myself aswell as my art.

Hoping to build a new refreshing chapter on here! :)

[brontefanaticc]

[the-delightful-temptation]

"I'm finally back. How I missed you all, my beautiful deviants."