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raven-moon33 · 4 years ago

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@dorkshadows @earl-of-221b @melonmass @antidotefortheawkward-art @videogamelover99 (I’m tagging a bunch of people in case Tumblr eats my post again.)

Hello everyone! Happy #jttwfestival2020! I’m so excited to be participating in this event, and am so thrilled at all the new content we’re already getting. Here’s my fill for the prompt Day 3: Role Switch!

I will be cross-posting this on AO3 as well, so feel free to leave a kudos or comment there if you happen to swing by.

Basically, Golden Cicada/Sanzang is the super powerful protector of the group while the other four are severely weakened from their various positions before the journey started and can’t protect themselves all that well on the road.

Some notes on this AU thingum:

- Golden Cicada is asked by Guanyin to help with the journey. He agrees and takes the name Sanzang as his human alias and to hide his true identity from demons who might cause them trouble. (He’s referred to as both Sanzang and Golden Cicada in the story, so let me know if that gets to be too confusing.)

- He wears two golden bracelets that limit his powers so that he can stay on the mortal plane in a semi-human form for as long as the journey will take, although the strain of having his powers limited in such a way is sometimes quite tiring and even painful. (He’s still more than powerful enough to protect the group however, so don’t y’all worry).

- Wukong, Bajie, Wujing, and Bailong are all well aware of who their protector is, but they’re not aware of the whole bracelet/limited powers situation. (At least, as far as Sanzang knows).

Anyways, now that we’re done with all that, on with the prompt fill! I hope you all enjoy! :)

Sanzang was deeply regretting his decision to accompany the pilgrims on their journey. Although the four other members of their group were each powerful in their own ways (especially the monkey, good heavens) they still needed him to guard their journey onwards.

In order for the four celestials-turned-demons to redeem themselves and potentially achieve enlightenment, it was vital they had a guardian overseeing their journey, ensuring they remained on the righteous path, and protecting them from the many dangers their road took them towards.

Perhaps if they were taking this journey earlier-

before Bailong was weakened by decades cut off from the sea-

before Zhu Bajie and Sha Wujing lost most of their celestial might from the years of being slowly corrupted from their own demonic behavior and the consumption of human flesh-

before Sun Wukong was trapped under a mountain for five hundred years, once one of the most powerful creatures in existence, withering like a lotus flower locked away from the sun until he became a mere echo of his former self-

perhaps then they would not have needed a protector from the hordes of demons and mortals who sought to end their journey before they could complete it for one reason or another.

But they were not. This was now, and the things of the past could not be changed, only dealt with. So they continued on, however reluctant they might’ve been to do so.

Although the presence of a guardian for the pilgrims was clearly necessary, it most certainly didn’t need to be Golden Cicada himself. The only reason he volunteered to be the guardian of the scripture pilgrims at all was because Bodhisattva Guanyin herself asked it of him, and he never could find it in himself to say no to her. So he took the name Sanzang for his temporary human form and released Wukong from the mountain, beginning their journey west.

So now he was here, less than a year on the road with four demons who clearly didn’t want to be on this journey at all, trying desperately to prevent Wukong from killing. Again.

“Wukong! Stop!” He raised his hand to intercept the golden cudgel, only just stopping it from caving in the cowering bandit’s head. If Wukong was at his full power, the cudgel likely would’ve destroyed Sanzang’s hand (if not more) for the trouble, but as it was the hit left not much more than a stinging sensation reverberating up his arm, easily ignored.

Wukong’s eyes blazed with frustration (whether from Sanzang’s interference or from his own inability to power through that interference as he once might have, Sanzang couldn’t be sure) but his mouth was still tilted in an easy grin and his posture remained casual.

“What is it, little bug? I was just going to give him a tap, a tap! I swear!”

Sanzang couldn’t quite hold back his scoff. “You and I both well know that a ‘tap’ from you is enough to kill an entire army, let alone a single man. I thought you agreed that you wouldn’t kill anymore humans, especially not while on this journey?”

“If they can’t handle someone fighting back, then these bandits have no business trying to steal from people on the road in the first place.” Wukong’s grin became a little more feral when his eyes shifted to the bandit still cowering behind Sanzang. “Or is it alright that they’ve been going after traveling families and elderly folk?” His voice deepened a little into the demonic tone he only got when he was truly angry. “Children?”

“Of course it’s not alright.” Sanzang said with a soft sigh, his grip on the golden cudgel tightening a little to get Wukong’s eyes back on him. “And you know that’s not what I’m saying.” The silence between them grew into a large, tense thing, Wukong’s eyes blazing with the fire of his fury, singing with the memory of his days of havoc, and for a moment Sanzang wondered if they were going to fight once again, like they hadn’t since the very early days.

Back then, Wukong was still so wound tight with frustration at the situation- being freed from the mountain only to be trapped on a journey he wanted no part of, Sanzang having to rescue him from demons so lesser Wukong once probably wouldn’t have even noticed them amongst his horde of monkeys and demons, not even being able to fly on his cloud to make the journey easier or shorter at all, weakened as he was by the weight of Five Finger Mountain- that he’d more often than not lash out at Sanzang over everything, physically and verbally slashing at him with every method available until he either tired himself out, they became distracted by something else, or they managed to reach an uneasy compromise built up of tense silence and avoided glances.

It got better with the addition of the others to their group, levying the tension and anger somewhat with the presence of others who likely better understood and who could commiserate with Wukong’s frustration, but still sometimes there would be an aborted swing of his staff, a grinding of the teeth as he seemed to resist the temptation to bite at Sanzang’s outstretched hand.

But it was getting better, slow as the progress might be. Recently, Wukong even let Sanzang bandage some of his wounds after a particularly rough encounter with a mountain demon, the first time he’d accepted such help from anyone in the year they’d been traveling together.

Sanzang was surprised by how deeply he hoped they wouldn’t slide back into those early days.

It was not only because the constant war of wills had been exhausting, but because he genuinely hoped they could become something approaching friends before the end of their journey together. Sanzang had already become fond of the four demons he watched over, troublesome as they could be at times, but the other three took their cues from the Monkey King. So long as Wukong and Sanzang remained at odds, the others kept their distance from him, figuratively if not literally. (They did share a campfire more often than not, after all.)

And besides that, physical altercations with Wukong were always draining, more than nearly anything else on their journey.

He wasn’t sure if it was because Wukong was still just that powerful (weakened as he might be, it would still be suicide for most to challenge him) or if it was because Sanzang refused to use more than defensive tactics against him when they did fight (regardless of their personal issues, Wukong was still his charge, and he would never knowingly or willingly bring or allow harm to any under his protection), but whatever it was, fights with Wukong could leave him weakened enough to warrant a brief visit to Bodhisattva Guanyin to regain his strength, and he hated leaving the group even for handfuls of minutes, talented as they were at getting themselves into trouble even when he was there.

But luckily, Wukong didn’t seem to want a fight either. With a brief glance at the golden bands wrapped firmly around Sanzang’s wrists, the anger seemed to leech out of the monkey completely. (Not for the first time, Sanzang wondered if Wukong knew more about the bracelets than he was letting on, but now wasn’t the time to question him about it.)

Wukong rolled his eyes and took a step back, tugging his staff out of Sanzang’s grasp. He twirled it until the golden cudgel rested across his shoulders, both arms hanging off it casually.

“Right right, ‘doing wrong unto those who have wronged will not undo their wrongs, only add to your own’, and all that. You need to get some new sayings, little bug, if even those of us who aren’t listening have them memorized.” He walked off before Sanzang could retort, disappearing through the trees and returning to the road the bandits attacked them on. Sighing, out of frustration or relief or maybe even both, Sanzang turned back to the bandit still frozen to the ground behind him. As soon as he saw Sanzang’s eyes on him, the bandit hurried into a kowtow, bowing over and over again as he muttered a shaky litany of ‘sorry’, over and over again, interspersed occasionally with ‘thank you’ and ‘please spare me’.

Abruptly feeling very tired, Sanzang knelt down in front of the bandit, placing a gentle hand on the back of his head as he bent down to stop the frantic movements. The bandit froze and fell quiet instantly, face nearly pressed against the dirt despite the feather-light touch Sanzang had on him.

Sometimes, when he was feeling a little too tired or stressed or frustrated to completely hide the parts of himself the bands couldn’t quite suppress (or when he simply chose to stop hiding himself), everything around him could feel the heavy weight of his presence in the air. The insects in the trees would go silent, the plants in the forest would still their slow growth, and all mortal creatures would stop and tremble and hide in a desperate bid to avoid being seen by whatever now crouched among them, the entire world holding its breath as if waiting for the strike of lightning or the crash of an avalanche to swallow it whole. But, luckily for the bandit bowing beneath him, Golden Cicada was not cruel.

“You have lived a hard life, Chenglei,” the bandit flinched when Golden Cicada used his name, but otherwise didn’t move or make a sound, “but you know in your heart that it does not justify your actions now.” Golden Cicada gentled his tone, feeling the loss and grief twisting the man’s heart, feeling the beginnings of a demon’s bitterness rooted there in the ashes of love and gentleness.

(Loss wrought such devastation on a soul, and there was so much of it in the world; was there truly any wonder as to why so many demons wandered the world?)

“You have lost much, but you know those you’ve lost would be ashamed to see what you have become without them. Do you truly seek to dishonor their memory?”

“No.” The man sobbed out, shaking as his tears stained the dirt beneath them.

“Then go,” Golden Cicada said, standing up and stepping back, “and do better. Live the way they would’ve wanted you to.” The bandit didn’t waste another moment, scrambling up from the dirt and escaping into the forest, running as far and as fast from the road (and from Golden Cicada) as he could. With a small wave of his fingers, a cicada sprung from a nearby leaf and buzzed hurriedly after the man. Golden Cicada had given the bandit a chance, a choice, and it was up to him what he did with it.

But whether he chose to turn from the dark path he walked or continued along it despite Golden Cicada’s interference, he would be sure to face the appropriate consequences; Golden Cicada’s messenger would make sure of that.

The bandit now long gone, Golden Cicada sat down in the shade of a large oak tree, relaxing into the familiar lotus position. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and he drew himself back into himself. The heavy presence of the air eased away until it was locked completely behind golden bands and a human facade once more.

After a brief moment of silence in the newly lightened forest air, the insects began to cautiously chirp and chitter once again, birds hopping nervously onto new branches and singing soft tunes to one another, the trees groaning as they carefully continued their slow growth.

Sanzang released his breath in a long sigh, eyeing the cuffs around his wrists. They were mostly unremarkable looking, plain and nondescript even with their golden appearance, but that rarely meant much when it came to celestial tools.

They were given to him by Bodhisattva Guanyin back when he first agreed to help with the journey, and if it weren’t for the bracelets he wouldn’t be able to accompany the pilgrims at all, especially not for as long as the journey was likely to take. He recognized the necessity of wearing them, yet still he couldn’t help but loathe them at times. They locked away the majority of his powers, the majority of himself, shrinking him into something small and muted enough to exist on the mortal plane in a form he could pass off as human when he needed to, while still giving him enough power to help the pilgrims when they needed him.

The bracelets tethered him to the world in a way he hadn’t been bound for almost as long as he could remember, and although he could technically take them off whenever he desired, they still felt like chains trapping him, keeping him away from the sky and the freedom he’d enjoyed for an eternity (yet still for not long enough).

The heaviness of his own body startled him at times, his bones filled with mortar and his blood as viscous as honey, and he thought often about how he could understand at least some of Wukong’s frustrations. To be a creature of the sky suddenly bound to the unforgiving grip of the earth was a unique kind of torment not easily likened to any other.

He could take off the bands whenever he wanted, free himself and stop feeling like he was too big for his own skin, form itching with the need to be drifting amongst the stars and being the stars and forming the stars and dying with the stars all at once, but he also couldn’t take them off.

As Bodhisattva Guanyin warned him the single time he removed them, (back when a surprisingly powerful demon had his charges captured and was going to kill them, actually going to kill them, and Sanzang in his neutered form might not have been able to save them in time but Golden Cicada in his full glory most certainly could) the bracelets could only be removed and replaced a limited number of times.

Rebinding his power weakened the bracelets significantly, powerful as they were otherwise, and eventually his own form would be too much for the bracelets to contain. If the bracelets broke before the journey was over, there was no telling what would become of the pilgrims left without the guardian and guide they needed, and he was determined to see this journey through to the end for them.

(Come to think of it, Wukong hadn’t picked a fight with him since the time he briefly took them off. Wukong hadn’t been there when they were put back on as far as Sanzang knew, couldn’t have seen how excruciating it had been to lock himself away again after that brief taste of full freedom, but again he wondered if Wukong had managed to glean some understanding of what they were during that incident. Sanzang would have to question him about it soon, for his own peace of mind if nothing else. Something about the thought of any of his charges knowing, but especially Wukong, made something unpleasant shiver under his skin. He hoped none of them would ever know.)

It had only been a year, but already his investment in the pilgrims’ fates had gone from being for Bodhisattva Guanyin’s sake only to being entirely about his hope to see them succeed.

He had become so fond of them even in such a short time, and although he missed his old life amongst the celestials without these bracelets leashing the very essence of him, he found he dearly wished for his charges to succeed and achieve enlightenment themselves far more, even if they themselves didn’t seem to care much about it, judging by how often they complained and conspired against him when they thought he couldn’t hear. (The fact that none of them ever made a serious attempt to abandon the journey was often the only kernel of hope he had as the nights grew longer and the road stretched ever on.)

All these swirling thoughts of his were interrupted by something soft being stroked across his face.

Although he couldn’t see what caused it, he’d spent enough time around Bodhisattva Guanyin to recognize the feeling of a willow branch on his skin. She remained invisible, and although he could see her if he summoned his power once more (straining the magic of the bracelets binding him) he knew she would’ve shown herself if she wanted to be seen.

He recognized her visit for what it was (a gentle reprimand), so he closed his eyes and folded his body into the lotus position once again. The minutes passed peacefully between them, her silent presence as comforting as it always was, warm and gentle as spring rain, and they needed no words between them.

He breathed in, felt the knot of anger and anxiety and frustration and panic coiling in his chest, building from the time he’d last given himself to properly meditate, and he breathed it out.

With each breath he felt himself relaxing more and more, the tight clutch of fear easing until it disappeared entirely. Soon he was empty, mind calm and quiet like it hadn’t been for a good many nights, and he felt as much like himself as he could, bound to the earth as he was.

There was one more feather-light touch to his head (chastising, yet fond) and he could almost hear her saying you must take better care of yourself Golden Cicada; if you yourself are not at peace, then how can you help them find their own? before her presence faded and was gone completely. When he opened his eyes, all that remained as proof of her being there was a small lotus leaf filled with crystal clear water.

Smiling at this generous gift, he picked up the leaf and took a small sip. He drank barely enough to be able to taste it, yet still the subsequent warmth and strength suffusing his body was immediate. (He didn’t realize how weak and tired he’d been feeling recently, not until energy lit him up once more).

With care, he expertly twisted the edges of the leaf together until it closed up, protecting the water inside so he could safely store it in one of the hidden pockets in his robe. He would use it in their stew that night, as he knew they would be facing danger again soon and wanted his charges to have as much strength as they could before that happened. With one last look at his surroundings, Sanzang stood up, brushed himself off, and moved to return to the road where his charges were (hopefully) waiting for him.

When he returned to the site of the bandit attack, what he saw both surprised and warmed him.

The bandits hadn’t really been aiming for their group when they attacked, as their sights were focused more on the wagon of a traveling family who’d been on the same road. Although the combined efforts of Bajie, Wujing, and Bailong were enough to scare away the rest of the bandits while Sanzang prevented Wukong from killing the man he’d chased into the forest, it appeared the family and the wagon hadn’t managed to escape entirely unscathed.

The cart had somehow been flipped onto its side, flinging all of its contents into the grass beside the road, and while the horse pulling the wagon didn’t seem to be harmed, it had gotten loose and was now running down the road at a panicked gallop. The eldest of the group (likely the father of one of the parents), appeared to have broken his leg after falling from the wagon, and the two young children, a boy and a girl surely not more than five years old, were crying from their place stuck in a tree, where they’d gone to hide while the bandits fought the pilgrims.

But it was not all this that made Sanzang suddenly feel so warm and fond.

It was the sight of Wujing carefully lifting and righting the cart onto the road as Bajie helped the father of the group pick up the family’s scattered supplies.

It was Bailong quickly shifting into the horse form he generally seemed to prefer on the road to chase after the frightened mare, calming it down and leading it back to the family before it got too far to catch.

It was Wukong soothing the scared children, carefully lifting them out of the tree and returning them to the ground, letting them cling to him until their shaking stopped and patiently calming them down so their mother could tend to their injured grandfather.

A small smile painting his features, pride in his charges glowing brightly in his chest, Sanzang quickly strode over to help the mother set the elderly man’s leg.

Perhaps there’s hope for this journey after all. He thought to himself.

Somehow, somewhere, he felt like Bodhisattva Guanyin was laughing.

(A/N: Thank you all so much for reading! Let me know what you think and once again, happy #jttwfestival2020!)

#jttwfestival2020 #jttw #journey to the west #Tang Sanzang #golden cicada #sun wukong #sha wujing #zhu bajie #bailong #white dragon horse #Bodhisattva Guanyin #*scuttles into the room out of breath and slams story down onto the table*#sorry I'm late everybody!#holiday season has been a word I'm not allowed to say in front of the children #hopefully I'll be able to get at least a few more of these prompts filled even with the holidays breathing down my neck #someone send help ;;#hopefully my post will actually show up in the tags this time #fingers crossed lmao #but AGH I'm so excited for this and it's only day three

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iwritethat · 5 years ago

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Tim Drake: All Hallows’ Night

A/N: I’ve been waiting all year for this and love the Halloween story ideas and I hope you all do too.

🎃: Tim encounters a ghostly presence in the manner but it turns out you’re more than the folktales let on.

>>>>—————————>

Once upon a time, there was a mysterious ancient house. It was in the rumours, the city speculations and old wives tales that ghosts thrived in Wayne Manor. Of course, all that once lived there or continued to do so were no stranger to these mysteries although the current residents thought nothing of such folk lores as they had no proof to suggest otherwise and thus paid no attention to unusual tendencies.

That was at least until Timothy Drake had one eventful Halloween, one he would not soon forget. At first the odd occurrences weren't given a second thought, objects falling from shelves and peculiar echoes in the hallways were all a normal day to Tim, the single soul in the Manor at the time. That is until he returned to the Bat Computer, scrolling through the research he'd compiled linking to the newest case of underground dealings.

"Definitely a mobster, I'm thinking Penguin to be honest."

"Yes, it certainly matches his usual pattern." The vigilante replied without hesitation to whomever had commented on his case file despite being alone in the Manor that night.

"..."

It was an eery silence, one like no other, despite his focused state, Red Robin had realised the impossibility of having an unfamiliar voice answer the silence.

"Who the flip?!”

With his delayed startling, the stranger laughed, Tim scrambling to his feet only to find an unusual presence perched on the desk of the computer next to where he once sat.

"You're Tim Drake right?" Of course, the male was too bewildered to answer the unwelcome intruder, simply nodding whilst pointing his bo staff.

"I'm (Y/n) (L/n) by the way, thanks for asking."

"How did you get in here? The security systems are top of the range, they would've informed me of your access." He was astounded, tilting his head out of curiosity yet retained the offensive stance.

"Guess they're on the brink huh? No need to worry though mate, I mean you no harm~" The (h/c) beauty grinned with a wicked smile, offering out a hand for Tim to shake. The hero smiled in response, though still wary, met theirs in greeting - however instantly backed away upon doing so, their hands never met, instead his passed straight through (Y/n)'s own.

"Well then, I suppose you have your answer about security now." The entity smiled, hopping off of the counter and strolling towards him.

"What on earth are you?"

"Hmm, technically at this point in time I'm a ghost, wandering spirit? Although phantom has more finesse to it, wouldn't you agree?" The intruder brought a hand to their chin in thought before directing a smile toward him.

"I um, what?" Tim stared in confusion, closing his eyes as a break from the newest shreds of weird information.

"Oh no, you know what? Spectre has a nice ring to it too."

"No, I mean... wait, does that mean the stories are true? Wayne Manor is haunted? By you?" Tim was full of questions, just as expected by this latest phenomenon.

"For tonight it is, and for the unforeseeable future I'm afraid. Don't get me wrong, I had the full intention of keeping to myself but it's incredibly boring and this case seemed like a viable distraction." Was carefully explained, gesturing to the computer with a mischievous glint to their eyes much to Tim's fascination.

"Okay. Alright. Sure. For the sake of my sanity I'm not going to argue with a ghost... (Y/n)." Tim shook his head, once again sitting at his computer.

"Ah you're my favourite Robin already." Came the hearty response, the entity leaning on the back of Tim's chair as he scrolled through. They bounced ideas off of each other, methodology, motive, the next areas to strike and soon enough Tim was clad in his uniform readying to disappear into the night. The unlikely pair walked together towards the exit, planning a strategy on dealing with the Penguin and had the intent to carry it out - until Tim walked through the exit and the spirit clashed with an invincible force, curses spewing from their lips.

Red Robin was once again beside them, opting to offer physical comfort before he phased past them and had to settle for verbal inquiries.

"What happened? Is it some sort of barrier?"

"Damnit Constantine, tethering me to Wayne Manor of all places. Dumbass sorcerer..." It was only faint frustrated mutterings but explained your situation rather adequately.

"I'll take that as a yes."

"I haven't been completely honest with you, but in my defence you didn't ask. I'm verging between the spirit and living world and I'm relying on John bloody Constantine to pull me back from this purgatory. And since it's Halloween I'm guessing my spirit can manifest." The entity gave an exasperated sigh, rolling their eyes at the mention of their comrade.

"That's a lot to take in (Y/n), wheres Constantine now? I can go and lend my assistance, maybe I can -"

"No Tim, you have to help Gotham. You've known me no more than a couple of hours, you have more important matters to deal with." Despite their previous remarks it was obvious they had trust in Hellblazer and didn’t wish for their circumstance to interfere with Robins’ duties.

"Maybe so, but I'd like to think a couple of hours is enough to say you’re not so bad. I can't help but wonder what it'd be like meeting you in person." Tim wittily replied, raising a brow in their direction.

"Maybe one day, until then I'll stick to haunting."

"Hey RR, who are you talking to?" Dick Graysons voice rebounded off of the walls to the cave, Tim directing his gesture to his latest accomplice only to catch a glimpse of static where they'd once stood.

"Uh- no one..."

"Hah, for a second there I thought you were going to say a ghost. Anyway, I got an update on that case of yours."

(Y/n)'s presence lingered for a while after Halloween although it was not as strong as then, but there were the little quirks that Tim noticed around the Manor.

'Nice job solving the case detective~'

Was written on the dusty surface of the attic during one of his ventures, foggy windows also held innocent scrawling of which Tim happily replied to whether out loud or with his own scribbles.

Then there was the peculiar static on his TV if he ever watched it between 00:00-1:00am, one he'd grown to value.

"Hey Timbers.”

"Ah you're back, and still haunting the place I see." The male looked up from his laptop, crossing his legs and smiled at the TV.

"Yeah well Constantine is apparently taking his sweet time." The image of the spectre was slightly blurred and flicked every so often but remained viewable.

"He told me what you did to end up here y'know." He’d referred to the call he’d made a few days ago inquiring about the odd circumstance and if he could assist.

"He's lying." It was a confident and quick reply, (Y/n) unwilling to discuss such matters.

"About sacrificing yourself to bring them all back from Hell? Despite not being in the vigilante game?" Red Robin elaborated further, knowing a majority of the details beforehand.

"Yup, so hard to believe it must be a lie."

"Why did you-"

"Because they're my friends, they helped me out and I took on some damn demon curse to save them. Anyway, who are we looking into tonight partner?" With a brief smile, Tim flipped the computer screen in their direction as a visual response.

Tim also took to using the radio frequently whenever he was alone, making it easier for the invisible resident to communicate with him.

"I miss food so much, it's rude of you to constantly eat in front of me you know."

"True but take out is just so amazing, I wanted to share the experience." He was being incredibly dramatic purely to get on his friends nerves though his playful side was rather endearing.

"I hate you right now." The guest replied, the radio crackling as a physical display of their words.

"Alright, alright, when you're back to normal I'm taking you out to dinner on me." Boy wonder instantly caved, but was truly sincere about his statement.

"Are you sure you can spare enough time to do that detective? Won't Gotham crumble without you?" The spectres sarcasm was heard even through the radio, and if he could see their expression Tim would bet they wore a smirk.

"I'll always take time out for you like I do now, but you have a point - I guess we'll have to take down some crime rings before dessert." It was accompanied by a shrug yet (Y/n) was grateful for his words none the less.

"Dinner and a show, I like it."

However it wasn't long before these daily instances Tim looked so forward to seemed nonexistent, the TV displayed the news without any interference, windows remained untouched of meaningful notes and the radio soon lost its appeal. Constantine was unreachable leaving Tim with no inclination as to what happened to the illusive guest and it seemed his family members noticed the sudden deterioration of his mood but chose not to pry quite yet.

It had been a week or two by his count, and he was currently packing for Titans Tower, shifting through his belongings and paperwork.

"Hey stranger, whatcha doing?" The voice held addictive familiarity, clearer to what it had been before, and due to this Tim answered like nothing had changed.

"I'm moving to Titans Tower, the Team thought it’d help our teamwork and I honestly can't wait."

"Hmm, when do you leave?" Their lovely tone held a hint of disappointment but was masked well for anyone but a detective.

"I'm aiming for this weekend, but don't worry I'll come back as often as I can to see you." He took a brief glance to the standing figure, lifting a box and walking straight through like he usually did purely to mess with them.

However, he hit a solid surface, the giggle following his actions causing him to almost drop his belongings but fortunaly the previously thought-to-be ghost stabled it with ease.

"Cool, I'll be able to visit you as well. But do you think you've got time for that dinner first? I'm starving after actually bypassing Manor security and climbing through your window." His realisation bringing a smug grin to (Y/n)’s lips as they finished.

“I- you- you’re back?”

“Yep, in the flesh although there’s some nice side effects... Nothing major though.”

“C’mon you’re telling me everything, the Manor is free tonight so how about take out and a movie?”

“Lead the way detective.”

Tim did so, however as the pair passed a hallway the former ghost halted before a beautiful oil painting and gently straightened the frame then turning to the questioning expression of Drake.

“Oh, it’s a half a centimetre off balance and it’s been winding up the ghost of the Manor for years. I promised to fix it once I returned.” (Y/n) nonchalantly explained, smirking as she passed an awestruck vigilante.

“...Ghost?”

“Who do you think told me about all your identities? Also, according to my recent conversation with the ghost, apparently you missed me Timbers~”

“Of course I did but how do you know that?!”

“Side effects, but don’t worry I missed you too.”

(Y/n) remained cursed for the rest of her mortal life, to become a spectre as the clock strikes, marking the Witching Hour for every Hallows' Eve to come until the festival was up.

~~~

"The End." You dramatically finished, accompanied by a spooky hand gesture for emphasis as you enjoyed the warm glow of the campfire.

The fellow hero's seated on surrounding logs remained silent for a few moments before cheering, thoroughly enthralled in the tale you bestowed upon them as per tradition of Halloween night.

"That's one hell of a story (Y/n), and basing the characters off of yourself and Tim was genius!" Cassie complimented, standing up with sheer delight as you smiled.

"Way to put a twist on a classic horror story telling, never would've thought of something like that." Conner nodded in approval, proudly smirking at the exchange of smiles between yourself and your boyfriend.

Tim sat beside you, nudging your shoulder out of the playful knowing you both shared and of course what came with the success of your tale. The chime of the cities bell tower echoed in the distance and with it you stood before your fellow hero's who had no intention of sleeping quite yet and wished them a good night. Tim followed your lead, gently brushing his fingers with yours as you strolled back to your room for the evening as the Team watched you both disappear into the eery night exchanging playful remarks.

But... if they had just looked a little closer....

Taken more notice...

Maybe they would have caught how Tim's digits effortlessly phased through your own as the witching hour had begun...

#dc #dc imagine #tim drake #tim drake imagine #tim drake x reader #red robin #red robin imagine #red robin x reader #dc gets spoopy

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hpconsentfest · 6 years ago

Text

Consent Fest 2019: Masterlist

CF friends--here we are. After months of prompting, creating, betaing, revising, reading, hyping, squeeing, and guessing, it’s time for reveals.

As with last year, the mods were staggered by the depth of thought and care and time and energy that everyone put into their creations. Likewise, we were heartened every time we saw a like, reblog, kudos, comment, or other hype.

Thank you to every creators and every reader and hyper for giving this fest such a wonderful, community vibe--you folks make CF.

Now, without further ado, read on for reveals!

ART

Title: Coming loose Artist: @owlpostart Prompt: #80 Rating: E Pairing: None Warnings/Content Notes: Lots of very pornographic NSFW drawings, internalised acephobia, unenjoyable sex, bite and blood fetish. Summary: Pansy Parkinson has a lot of sex. Until she realises that it’s okay to not want to. Medium: Ink and marker on paper

Title: Human, Not Object Artist: @nifflers-n-nargles Prompt: #23 Rating: Teen Warnings/Content Notes: Street harassment, cat calling, unsolicited touching, verbal harassment of a sexual nature, fighting back, defiant woman, powerful woman Summary: Fleur Delacour has endured harassment of all kinds from men from a young age. Growing up she’s told that’s “just what men do.” As a powerful woman learning to navigate the world she finds this mentality unacceptable and chooses to live her life defiantly. Medium: Digital

Title: Something they don’t want to be afraid of Artist: @impasseart Prompt: # 21 Rating: explicit Pairing: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter Warnings/Content Notes: Internalized Homophobia, unenjoyable sex in a flashback See full tagset on AO3 Summary: Draco struggles with his internalized homophobia and fears, even when he really wants something. Last time, it went ugly. And ugly won’t do. They have to try again. Find a way to make it better. Medium: digital art

Title: Who They Are Artist: @spaceaas Prompt: #15 Rating: G Pairing: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter Warnings/Content Notes: genderqueer/nonbinary character, minor transphobia that is more unintended ignorance than anything else Summary: Draco’s always known who they are. They’ve just been waiting for someone to listen. Medium: Digital

FIC

Title: All The Little Signs Add Up Author: @gold-from-straw Prompt: # 49 Rating: Explicit Pairing: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter Warnings/Content Notes: Past domestic abuse, past child abuse Summary: Harry starts to notice some worrying signs in his relationship with Draco. He flinches when Harry moves too quickly, he thinks everything is going to be blamed on him, and he doesn’t think his own desires count. Harry, fresh from dealing with his own childhood PTSD, jumps to some conclusions. Some of them are right, some of them are way off. Word Count: 9624

Title: Blind Item #3 Author: @postjentacular Prompt: #88 Rating: T Pairing: Albus Severus Potter/Scorpius Malfoy Warnings/Content Notes: tabloids, right to privacy, forced outing, homophobic slurs, rated T for swearing, british sixteen year old talking about sex, blink and you’ll miss it threat of sexual violence Summary: What’s the ssssecret doing the rounds in a certain common room? Rumour has it that the other snakes have been turning a blind eye to this burgeoning love affair, but what will the boys’ fathers say when they hear about it? Word Count: 7064

Title: Blood Will Out Author: @frnklymrshnkly Prompt: # 87 Rating: T Pairing: Marietta Edgecombe/Pansy Parkinson Warnings/Content Notes: menstruation, PMS, endometriosis, heavy bleeding, cramps, intense period pain, Healers, doctors, hospitals, exams, critique of Healing and medical institutions, family secrets, memory modification, horrible parenting, blood status discourse, self-reflection redemption arcs See full tagset on AO3 Summary: Marietta Edgecombe doesn’t need re-education. She’s done nothing wrong. She just wants to keep her head down and keep her job. At least until Pansy Parkinson starts acting weird and a visit to the Healer suddenly brings the post-war conversation too close for comfort. Word Count: 21565

Title: Capture the moment (Capture my heart) Author: @all-drarry-to-me Prompt number: 24 Rating: Mature Pairing: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter Warnings/Content Notes: Asexual Draco Malfoy, Demisexuality, Queer Character, Brief mention (from previous encounter) of Mildly Dubious Consent, Photographs, Minor Luna Lovegood/Pansy Parkinson, Minor Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley Summary: Surrounded by photographs with just a cat to keep him company, Draco was left questioning his identity and what a new label would mean for his relationship with Harry. Word Count: 9,612

Title: Curry & Wine Author: @dorthyanndrarry Prompt: # 35 Rating: Mature Pairing: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter Warnings/Content Notes: Mentions of main character being pressured to have sex in the past Summary: Harry’s promised Draco their first proper date. What could be better than homemade curry, a little wine, a much-needed talk? Word Count: 1,651

Title: Epoximise Author: @ladderofyears Prompt: #10 Rating: Explicit Pairing: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter Warnings/Consent Notes: Press and Tabloids, Dom/Sub Play, Sub Harry Potter, Dom Draco Malfoy, Sex Magic, Kink Spells, Coming on Demand, Dildos, Magic used as a Restraint, Panic Attacks, Discussion about Consent, Discussion about setting Ground Rules before Sexual Activity, Discussion about Safe Words, Sexual Triggers. Word count: 2487

Title: Forbidden Fruit Author: @momstiel Prompt: # 15 Rating: Teen Pairing: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter Warnings/Content Notes: Internalized Homophobia Summary: “To Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter had always been akin to forbidden fruit.” In which Harry comes out as genderqueer, and Draco envies his self-confidence. Word Count: 1,907

Title: The Generation Who Lived Author: @lettersbyelise Prompt: # 11 Rating: Explicit Pairing: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter Warnings/Content Notes: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Journalist Draco Malfoy, Enemies to lovers, Past relationship, Getting back together, Minor Luna/Neville, Minor Ginny/Blaise, Interview format, Post second war with Voldemort, Enthusiastic consent, Rimming, Anal sex, POV Draco Malfoy Summary: In the months leading up to the 10th anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts, Draco Malfoy writes a series of articles about famous war survivors.

So far, he’s managed to interview everyone he wanted.

Everyone…except his old nemesis, his one-time lover, and the elusive war hero who stubbornly refuses to be featured in Draco’s interview series, Harry Potter. Word Count: 14761

Title:I See You In The Club Author: Elle Gray (LGray) Rating: E Pairing: Draco Malfoy/OMC Warnings/Content Notes: Sex club, Dom/sub play, Light Bondage, Age difference, Consent Issues, Dubious Consent due to Identity Issues, Ruminating on the Topic of Consent See full tagset on AO3 Summary: Draco, recently divorced (for the second time) is finally free to explore ‘other interests’. In particular, reconnecting with some long-put-aside desires to play with dominance. He’s not confident in what he’s doing, but he’s done his research, and surely this delectable young thing, kneeling in wait for him, can help?

'Hello,’ he says, and feels immediately stupid.

'Hello, Sir,’ Alex says, his voice low, barely above a whisper. Draco wonders if it’s an effort to sound sexy, or show submission, or if his throat is so well-fucked by others that he can no longer talk. He doesn’t even know if it matters. Word Count: 12909

Title: Knights in Shining Armour (Ever After Lovers) Author: @thirdeyeblinkings Prompt #: 23 Rating: M Pairing: Bill Weasley/Fleur Delacour Warnings: No major archive warnings See tagset on AO3 Summary: Fleur has been objectified for most of her life, her bodily autonomy often dismissed. Being part Veela only makes matters worse. Word Count: 8.6 k

Title: Like The Sun Author: @marlenemckinn Prompt: #78 Rating: T Pairing: Remus Lupin/Sirius Black Warnings/Content Notes: Unaware Veritaserum consumption See full tagset on AO3 Summary: Sirius wants a good laugh and when he comes across some Veritaserum, he decides slipping into Remus Lupin’s, the ever guarded werewolf, pumpkin juice will be a great way to start their day. Remus ends up revealing a bit more than Sirius had anticipated. Word Count: 4033

Title: Lily Luna, Unapologetic: The Things We Don’t Talk About (But Should) Author: @nifflers-n-nargles and @slashfoxes Prompt: #39 Rating: Hard T Pairing: None Warnings/Content Notes: Implied Dubcon/Noncon, Offscreen Dubcon/Noncon, Implied Violence (offscreen), Implied vs Explicit Consent, Consent Issues, Teaching Consent, Sex Education, Peer Pressure, Harry Potter Next Generation, Badass!Lily Luna, When Internet Meets Magic, Alternative format: magazine profile Summary: “Before I can get my first question out Lily asks me, ‘When was the first time someone gave you a sex talk?’I find myself telling her about overhearing my mom in my older sister’s room when she was home on hols from Hogwarts in her fourth year—I was 10 and had just received my letter. It was the year there had been a string of love potion ��accidents’ and I could tell my mum was worried.

She nods and jots something down in her notebook. As I continue telling her about these memories, I wonder why I’m sharing all this information with Lily. Aren’t I the one supposed to be interviewing her?

‘That sounds awful,’ she commiserates, ‘but can I ask you one more thing?’ I nod, curiosity piqued by her tone. ‘When was the first time someone talked to you about consent?’” Word Count: ~8,000

Title: Long live the beautiful heart (who find love and tear it apart) Author: @etalice Prompt: #46 Rating: GEN Pairing: Ginny Weasley/Harry Potter Warnings/Content Notes: Angst, Depression, Abusive relationship See full tagset on AO3 Summary: If Harry were someone else, someone who loves and understand books, someone like Hermione or Draco, he might think of a classical tragedy. He might section the whole catastrophe neatly into five acts and make sense of it that way. But he’s not, and so he doesn’t, and, anyway it’s just the beginning of the story yet. Word Count: 6630

Title: (Never) Be Still My Beating Heart Author: @sliceosunshine Prompt: Self-Prompt Rating: M Pairing: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter Warnings/Content Notes: Hurt/Comfort, Anxiety, Trauma, Violence, some blood, Vampires, Light Dubcon Parallels, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, further explanation of dubcon tag in A/N See full tagset on AO3 Summary: Post-War, Draco decides he’s done being comfortable. Which turns out to be quite convenient as he’s thrust headlong into a case involving a Serial Biting Vampire. Worst of all, Potter’s gotten himself involved. Draco thinks he can take it, so long as his heart doesn’t give out on him along the way. Word Count: 15595

Title: a note to the boy I love Author: @violetclarity Prompt: # 81 Rating: E Pairing: Albus Severus Potter/Scorpius Malfoy Warnings: Underage See full tagset on AO3 Content Notes: epistolary, first person POV, established relationship, school romance, communication, consent, sexting except in letters because they are wizards, underage in that they are both seventeen (17), first time, loss of virginity (but that’s a social construct anyway), letter writing, dirty talk (sort of), vignettes, kissing, frottage, dry humping, oral sex, love confessions, boys in love Summary: Albus knows what he wants to do in bed with Scorpius, but struggles with actually talking about it. Scorpius’s solution? Writing letters. Word Count: 4,359

Title: A pink tie, a box of condoms Author: Barry_Manilows_Wardrobe Prompt: 52 Rating: E Pairing: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter Warnings/Content Notes: See tagset on AO3 Summary: It had been months since they’d last seen each other. And if Potter didn’t show up soon… Word Count: 1459

Title: One and Only Author: @nerdherderette Prompt: # 20 Rating: Explicit Pairing: Albus Severus Potter/Draco Malfoy Warnings/Content Notes: Bodyguard AU, Bodyguard!Draco, Minister for Magic!Harry Potter, Pansexual Albus Potter, Potions Accident, Forced Bonding, Sharing a Bed, Legilimency, Explicit Sexual Content, Masturbation, Frottage, Oral Sex, Anal Sex, Bottom!Draco Malfoy, Age Difference, Implied/Reference Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Prostitution, References to Addiction, Implied/Referenced Dubious Consent, Eventual Consensual Relationship, Romance Summary: Draco always knew his downfall would be at the hands of a Potter.He just never realised which one. Word Count: 19.6k

Title: Risks Worth Taking Author: @keyflight790 Prompt: 83 Rating: E Pairing: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter Warnings/Content Notes: Light BDSM, Dubious Consent, Mildly Dubious Consent See full tagset on AO3 Summary: Draco and Harry broke up 78 nights ago. Only a miracle (or perhaps an errant spell) could bring them back together. Word Count: 18,149

Title: Ron Weasley and the Clothes of Doom Author: Liesha130 Prompt: #86 Rating: Explicit Pairing: Blaise Zabini/Ron Weasley Warnings/Content Notes: (I honestly don’t know) Summary: Do the clothes make the man?Ron Weasley thinks he has no chance, until one night when he dresses up and Blaise Zabini can’t take his eyes off him. The solution is easy, then, right? Ron just has to keep dressing up, and Blaise will keep wanting him. But every time Ron puts the new clothes on, he’s sent spiraling off into a past filled with insecurity. Will he really be able to keep this up without going completely bonkers? And what does Blaise actually want from him, anyway? Word Count: 32,872

Title: Safe Words Author: @e-sebastian Prompt: # 47 Rating: Explicit Pairing: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter Warnings/Content Notes: Consent, BDSM, Bondage, Whipping, Safe words, Safe Sane and Consensual, Kink, Family Drama, lots of book reading, Dirty Talk, Slapping, Kink Negotiation, Rough Sex, Accidental Bodily Harm, Remorse, Weasley Bashing, Molly Bashing, but please know it’s from Draco’s admittedly skewed perspective, In this house we love Molly Weasley to death even if our characters don’t always, Married couples are kinky too Summary: Draco discovers his husband has been keeping a secret from him. At first he’s amused. Then he’s curious.

The problem? Harry’s always had a hard time saying no. Word Count: 26,867

Title: Sex Ed for Witches and Wizards of All Ages Author: AhaMarimbas Prompt: # 68 Rating: E Pairing: Multi-ship Warnings/Content Notes: Major Character Death, Underage, Explicit sexual content See full tagset on AO3 Summary: Draco and Astoria decide on their wedding night that they’re not going to raise their future children with the same outdated traditions they were raised with, especially relating to love and sex. They never could have predicted exactly how much that decision would change Scorpius’ life. Word Count: 76 732

Title: So sweet with that blood in your teeth Author: @bangyababy Prompt: # 16 Rating: E Pairing: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter Warnings/Content Notes: Dom/Sub, Consent issues, vampires, sleep issues, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Mind manipulation, depression See full tagset on AO3 Summary: Harry works for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. His latest case his to stop a vampire uprising lead by none other than Draco Malfoy. Malfoy seems willing to negotiate with the Ministry. There’s just one small condition: Harry has to agree to be Malfoy’s dinner. Word Count: 25k

Title: swallow your words Author: @candybarrnerd Prompt: # 67 Rating: Explicit Pairing: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter Warnings/Content Notes: No archive warnings apply Summary: The truth is, not many things are known about the magic that is behind soulmarks. They’ll turn up when they want and not before.

The truth is, you don’t get a choice in your soulmark. The truth is, not everyone is okay with that. Word Count: 9,140

Title: That’s Ace Author: @acciotomriddle Prompt: Self-prompt Rating: Explicit Pairing: Charlie Weasley/Harry Potter Warnings/Content Notes: Asexual character, bisexual character, sex toys, non-penetrative sex, mutual masturbation, monogamy Summary: Charlie is asexual. Harry isn’t. They still find a way to satisfy both of their needs, however Word Count: 2080

Title: They Talked Author: @unadulteratedstorycollector Prompt: Self-prompt Rating: Teen Pairing: Ron & Draco (platonic) Warnings/Content Notes: none Summary: Is it ok if they talk? Draco isn’t sure, but it keeps happening. Word Count: 1094

Title: This Year’s Love Author: @thusspoketrish Prompt: Self-Prompt. H/D—how to navigate feelings for your best mate. Rating: Explicit Pairing: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter Warnings/Content Notes: This story discusses complex topics such as slut-shaming, promiscuity, heartbreak, dating culture(s), and sexual autonomy within everyday life. See full tagset on AO3 Summary: This year’s love had better last, heaven knows it’s high time when you try to make lovers from friends. But Harry Potter realises time and time again that it’s simply not possible for him. And then along comes Draco Malfoy— the ultimate foe on the mend. Whatever will become of them? A story about love. Word Count: 84000

Title: A Touch Of Respect Author: @rose-grangerweasleyisbae Prompt: #90 Rating: Teen Pairing: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter Warnings/Content Notes: Family Drama, Touch Phobia, Panic Attacks, Old Fashioned Parenting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Past Minor Character Death (Astoria), Past Ginny Weasley/Harry Potter, Child in Hospital Summary: Five year old Scorpius isn’t fond of people touching him, and he has a million reasons for it. However, his father is of the opinion that just saying ‘no’ should be enough without giving any of those reasons, but not everyone in his new-found family agrees. Word Count: 23.432

Title: Unconditional Author: @ladderofyears Prompt: #32 Rating: Teen and up Pairing: Albus Severus Potter/Scorpius Malfoy Warnings/Consent Notes: Anxiety, Boys in Love, First Boyfriend, First Kiss, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Feelings of Inadequacy in a relationship, Discussions of Pyschological and Emotional Manipulation, Relationship Discussions, non-consensual touching, Scorpius gives good advice, Mild Bigoted Language to describe Asexuality, Discussions about Healthy Relationships, Demisexual Albus Potter, Awakening Feelings of Desire, Eventual happy Ending. Word count: 7277

Title: The Way Your Heart Touches Mine Author: @bafflinghaze Prompt: # 56 Rating: Explicit Pairing: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter Warnings/Content Notes: N/A Summary: What does it mean when a certain someone gives you numerous gifts on ordinary days? Harry’s kind of sure (and mostly hoping) that Draco likes him. So why hasn’t Draco asked him out yet? Word Count: 3.9k

Title: The Words that Pass Between Us Author: @elderxprice Prompt: # 28 Rating: Teen and Up Audiences Pairing: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter Warnings/Content Notes: POV Draco Malfoy; Invasion of Privacy; Loss of Trust; Infidelity; Misogyny, Classism, Unredeemed Draco Malfoy, Verbal Abuse of a House Elf Summary: Sometimes, Draco draws pictures of what could have been, had he made all the right choices: Draco in the Slug Club; Draco holding the Quidditch World Cup; Draco holding hands with some nameless, faceless person whose become some sick, secret sort of friend. He’s on every page Draco has touched. He flies with him, sleeps with him, laughs with him. And sometimes, if he pretends hard enough, Draco swears he can feel this person’s breath against his neck; a whispered I love you that has him pressing into the mattress every night, only to wake up alone wishing it were real. Word Count: 10,047

Title: Working Out The Kinks Author: @potter-loves-malfoy Prompt: #18 Rating: E Pairing: Jeddy Warnings/Content Notes: Mild Dom/Sub Elements, Mild DubCon See full tagset on AO3 Summary:

There are three things James Sirius Potter is certain of:

One: He’s loved his boyfriend since he learned what romantic love was;

Two: There is nothing James wants more than said boyfriend to pound him into the mattress;

Three: His boyfriend, Teddy Lupin, can never find out about number two.

—or—

Four times James tried to pretend he wasn’t submissive and the one time he didn’t.

Word Count: 6,247

Title: You Set My Soul Alight Author: @parkkate Prompt: #13 Rating: Explicit Pairing: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter Warnings/Content Notes: Post-War, Auror partners, case fic, enemies to lovers, mystery, romance, adventure, pining, getting together, forced proximity, bed sharing, banter, UST, loss of virginity, first time, dub-con, consent issues, secrets, misunderstandings, miscommunication, sleep talking, frottage, rimming, face-sitting, intergluteal sex, anal sex, switching, blow jobs, fluff, angst, angst with a happy ending, references to suicidal thoughts, implied/referenced child abuse, references to depression, mental health issues, emotional hurt/comfort, minor character death, arguing, reconciliation, ewe Summary: Students are going missing at Hogwarts, but that’s not the only mystery Draco is determined to solve. Something’s going on with Potter. He can deny it all he wants. Draco is going to find out what it is. Unfortunately, trying to get to the bottom of it has some unexpected consequences and if Draco isn’t careful, he’s going to jeopardise their mission. Word Count: 54k

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punchmedanny · 6 years ago

Text

Chicago II July 25, 2018

Alright strap yourselves in cuz this is gonna be a long ass post WITH SPOILERS for Interactive Introverts. I will mark where spoilers begin if you want to read about pre show stuff. If you don't want any spoilers whatsoever, don't feel obligated to read this even if we're buddies! Feel free to send me an ask/dm instead 😅

Alright folks, let's go!

Playing the Waiting Game

I was supposed to get to the venue at 4 for m&g, but I got there before 3 because a) i'm terrified of being late and b) my uber driver made excellent time.

The venue was not open yet, so my bf and I walked to a nearby mall. We passed by the tour buses (presumably dnp's plus other performers'). There was a group of people hanging around them looking v stalkerish (please don't hang around the buses before the show)

We got back to venue around 3:50 and waited in line outside till 4 when the venue let us in. We were near the middle of the line, so if you want to be closer to the front, get there sooner lol

Turns out I was behind the lovely @noodlephil in line (although I didn’t know till after!)

Two internet friends were meeting for the first time and crying (it was adorable)

Inside, there was a table with staff that checked and marked our tickets then gave us silver paper wristbands

We got in a second line where we had a bag check (our venue allowed sealed water bottles, but that might vary) and were scanned by a wand metal detector. After that, staff scanned our tickets

We went to a third line which was the actual line for m&g and were told the m&g itself would start around 4:30

Marianne came by and said we would be waiting a bit longer for "latecomers" (im p sure dnp were the latecomers because most people were there at that point haha)

Marianne walked like a frickin goddess and her voice was beautiful

She made a speech giving us a rundown of how m&g would work, which I recorded

The m&g area was set up in the lobby to the side of the theatre doors

Dan and Phil entered from our left (towards the back of the theate)

They jogged across the m&g backdrop where we could see them better and waved. Dan did the cutest bouncy jump ever while waving. He stayed out longer than Phil

There was a table to set your bag on as you approached the backdrop

The music was loud af and there was NO WAY to see or hear other people's m&g - it was v private even though there were tons of people

Marianne was at the very front of the line and asked what she could do to help. I was like uhhh (because I'm eloquent like that) and she asked if we had anything for them to sign. My bf had golf balls lmao and gave them to her. I said I wanted to take a Polaroid for them to sign. She had me turn the camera on because apparently they’d had issues with Polaroid cameras in the past

I thanked her for the way everything was being run and joked a bit while we waited

When it was our turn, the people in front of us were completely gone (I repeat: v private). Marianne gestured and verbally told us to go on in

Meeting Dan and Phil

Phil was wearing his red jacket and good vibes t-shirt just like the beginning of "week in the life" He welcomed us with open arms and I went in for the Phil Hug. Wow. Phil is an excellent hugger and his arms felt a lot stronger than I imagined. And, yes, he waited for me to let go first

As soon as I let go of Phil, I stepped to the side and and looked at Dan. He was wearing his II denim jacket over a white t-shirt. He also had his arms wide for a hug. And lemme tell you, that boi has a fuckin wingspan. Dan gave a more gentle hug than Phil and we let go at like the same time

I am not a hugger and wasnt even 100% sure before I went in that I would hug them tbh

After the hugs, I stepped back and took them both in that's what she said. My initial impression was confidence and class. Literally, the most confident people I've ever encountered irl

Everyone says they're tall, but they are, as my bf said, taller than advertised. He's 6'2 and still looked up to both of them. I feel like they're both close to the next inch up honestly

They are wide. Like we've all noticed the Phil is wide, but Dan is too! They are literal giants

The cameras do NOT do them justice. Phil looks his age irl and I mean that in the sexiest way possible. He does actually have pores and tiny wrinkles (gasp), but I think they only make him more attractive. He oozes understated masculinity. But he also has serious nerd energy and idgaf attitude. Basically, he seems kind of badass

Dan looked flawless. Like I know every so often people wonder about if he wears makeup and all imma say is either he does OR he has the best damn skin care routine and/or genetics ever. He looks like someone after they use a filter

I'd say dan is suave and phil has swagger

(I'm about to sound real fucking weird) They both had such strong auras or energy or whatever you want to call it. It was palpable and BIG - like it extended off of them a couple feet. Dan's felt more static-y, while phil's felt more like balloon about to burst. It merged together between them to where I couldn't tell where one stopped and the other started

Marianne handed Phil the golf balls and he and Dan just stared at them in his hand in confusion for a second then Phil said "golf balls?" before my bf explained it was because they were the caddy lads. They chuckled and Dan said it was "the only series that has any value"

I am now the proud (?) owner of photos and video of phil holding two balls in his hand and I feel really weird about it

Dan asked if I had anything for them to sign, so I told him I wanted to take a Polaroid to which Dan replied, "D'ya want me to attempt the rare Polaroid selfie?"

Then I actually gently teased Dan (!?!?) because I'm a little shit lol I said, "I successfully did one this morning, so I hope you can"

They both seemed mildly amused and he did the thing where he touched his chest lightly in mock offense and said, "Well, let's see"

Tbh I think this was why I got genuine smiles in my pic

Dan said, "Beautiful" and Phil said "Amazing" lol (it really was tho)

Dan described the signature he'd be doing as "the tiniest little dan" and he used the highest voice ever

Phil's signature was so bad im pretty sure dan laughed at it lmao

Dan offered another selfie with my phone (i love him)

I shook their hands before I left and they seemed surprised, but appreciative. They both had excellent handshakes: firm, but not too hard. They both had soft, warm hands with Phil's being about average and Dan's being warmer than average

Overall, they were incredibly kind and professional. The vibe to be was sort of like talking to a boss who isn't your direct boss at a work party: fun, but still guarded

The saying goes "Never meet your heroes," but whoever said that obviously never met dan and phil. This was one of my happiest memories of all time

1500+ word description of the meeting including a sommelier worthy account of how the boys smell

And here’s the (real shit) video of my m&g

The Pre-Show

After meeting the bois, we were immediately given our goodie bags (one of them was double stuffed, lucky me)

Staff asked if we’d be staying in the theatre or not. Upon telling them we’d be leaving, they let us know we’d need to scan out so we could re-enter later

We bought merch (tie-dye/marbled look tee, long sleeved tee, and denim jacket). The line was basically non-existant, so if you have VIP 100% get your merch at this time

We scanned out and were told we could re-enter at 6 along with general admittance ticket holders

We had dinner then got back around 6:10. There was no line this time and we went through security and ticket scanning again

There were so many people everywhere and everyone was so cute! Why are we such a good looking fandom??? The line for merch was EXTREMELY long. RIP those folks

So was the line for the restrooms (and multiple men’s rooms were turned into ladydoors women’s restrooms)

We got 2 drinks (both for me) then went to our seats. We were front and center - I could literally touch the stage with my shoe from my seat. At this time I met @phandommom and @crunchytoasted1

The pre-show music was loud af where I was seated (I actually put in ear plugs lol). Lots of people were dancing and I got to witness crunchytoast dance to “Ladydoor” live which was a treat. At one point various people were running across the theatre with various LGBT+ flags to plenty of cheers. ‘Twas glorious. People did the whole waving the phone flashlights thing and sang along during “Welcome to the Black Parade”

My bf got me 2 more drinks

Showtime!

THIS IS WHERE THE SPOILERS START!!!

It was so, so weird to see them onstage after having the m&g. I legit wanted to climb onstage and like be close again, but, ya know, I didn’t cuz I know what’s socially acceptable

We were called Susan. Classic

Phil was wearing waffle socks. As in socks with tiny waffles all over them

We sacrificed Phil to Satan and Dan died in a furry nightclub

None of mine or my bf’s answers got chosen and I’m a bit salty lol

We sacrificed Dan (the only correct choice fite me)

At intermission the line for the bathrooms was sooooo long omg. I got myself 2 more drinks at this point and called @h-owllslide to gush about the show. I spilled one of my drinks on my bf a little when I sat back down.

Danny was 3 centimeters away from loosing his dick and he got paint on his shoe. He seemed legit irked lol

Nick Jonas was in Dan’s box, but I don’t recall the other two cuz that was the only one that mattered imo

I got a piece of the sign and when they threw it into the audience it was a bit disturbing how everyone tore into it like a swarm of pirahnas

They wore Cubs baseball shirts over their usual shirts during the rap/song finale which was absolutely precious. I LOVED the finale so fucking much - it was magnificent

END SPOILERS!!!

Closing Thoughts

I wish I hadn’t drank so much (6 wines for those of you keeping track at home). I was getting real embarrassing by the end (as in screaming excitedly too much/ too often) and I don’t remember it as clearly as I wish I did. I was just freaking tf out and my anti-anxiety meds weren’t cutting it

I was struggling incredibly hard not to disassociate the entire time

I wish I could go to another show. It was so fun!

The following day, I had a major mood drop. If you’re prone to this, maybe have a plan to hang with someone and do something nice, but lowkey the next day

This was literally the most fun thing I’ve done in at least two years and was one of my happiest memories ever. We’re talking patronus conjuring levels of happy

If you can go, go. If you can’t, don’t feel too bad. It was EXTREMELY intense and not for everyone (especially m&g). Plus they are putting it up later, which I’m looking forward to because I think I’ll be able to better absorb it

Please feel free to ask me anything about the show! I’d love to go on about it lol

#omg this is so much longer than i anticipated #i mean i aint apologizing lmao #i will be legitimately surprised if anyone reads this in its entirety #it's mainly to help me remember because i have some memory issues #Dan and Phil #dan howell #daniel howell #phil lester #amazingphil #DNP #interactive introverts spoilers #interactive introverts #ii spoilers #ii m&g #text post #punchmedanny #tw: alcohol

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toadlingscentral · 7 years ago

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Spider-man and a Toad

I want to share a comic that I adore and a few panels that really get to me. The comic is the Amazing Spider-man issue 266. Before I get into it, I will say now that this post will mention suicide a little so if this is a trigger for you, please do not click on the read more.

Alright so issue 266 of the Amazing Spider-man like I said is a comic I really enjoy. It is where Spider-man has a unique encounter with Toad known mostly from the X-men and being the lackey of Magneto. How do they meet? At Toad’s lowest point. Where he is on the ledge of a fifteen story building and about to commit suicide as we see here.

Cops are there, there is a crowd and a total jerk actually encouraging Mortimer to jump. Does he listen to those shouts?

Yup. If you are wondering what he is saying because the speech bubble is blurred, Mortimer is saying “Yes! For once I’m going to do something worthwhile with my life... END IT!” This says a lot. You know Mortimer is at rock bottom or thinks he is. It’s so heartbreaking that he believes this is the only worthwhile thing he can do with his life. This also tells me that he knows how others see him, not just folks seeing him as a mutant but like those he has faced off with and even Magneto. Heck, Magneto would be enough since the man constantly verbally abuses Toad. But taking that into account with his past history, you can see where his depression begins to take seed. Here it is overwhelming him.

Now because this is in an Amazing Spider-man comic, we know that Mortimer will not die. In fact as can be predicted, he is saved by the neighborhood spider-man. How does Mortimer react to this?

Yup, Mortimer is so low on himself that he is thinking he can’t even take his own life right. Because he can’t do anything right according to him. Honestly my heart breaks at this panel alone.

Mortimer here shares a few of his thoughts and these can be easily seen if you read about him. Not only that but one can relate to his pain over these (at least I can). You can also kinda get the feel that he is expecting Spider-man to also be another that will feel sorry for Mortimer but not take him seriously. Yet Spider-man tells him the exact opposite. A first I am willing to bet.

Then our amazing friendly neighborhood Spider-man does this. His response to Mortimer’s question of this being for real, Spider-man replies ‘Cross my heart and hope to die, Morty.’ I will admit I was never a huge fan of Spider-man, I was/am a dead hard X-men fan. But this really warms me to Spider-man. Here he is, willing to be Mortimer’s first friend. I am not going to show any more comic panels but I will say that he stays true to his word even when Mortimer takes it upon himself to be Spider-man’s sidekick in this comic and well, he causes Spider-man a few headaches. Still Spidey stays true to his word. Even to the point that in the comic line ‘Wolverine and the X-men’ when Spider-man shows up, he greets Mortimer and they have a small chit-chat. So one can say that Spider-man is still Mortimer’s friend. Which I believe is a huge deal to Mortimer and this whole scene is something he will never forget. This touches me on personal levels and I am so glad that this issue was written. One can never underestimate how much friendship and acceptance can mean to a single person. It can honestly be the most valued thing in a person’s life. Oh and if you are wondering about that jerk that was encouraging Mortimer to jump, Spider-man hushed him with web over the mouth. Personally he deserves to be put in the back of one of the cop cars with a black eye but I’m not upset with Spider-man’s more peaceful approach. Alright, I will stop here. Hope you enjoyed this small bit of sharing and I totally recommend reading this issue if possible. It does get corny and silly but it’s still a great read.

#ooc #out of slime #Spider-man and a Toad #comic related #amazing spider-man #Toad #Mortimer Toynbee #TW suicide

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hookedonapirate · 7 years ago

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Tangled Up In Blue

Enough is Enough (Chapter 27/?)

Summary: Fear for her unborn child, a bruised and broken Emma Swan is determined to escape an abusive marriage. After she drives a long way from home to a small town in Maine, she doesn’t think her life could get more complicated… that is until she ends up falling for her OBGYN, a blue-eyed British man who’s shielded his heart from love long ago. But he may be just what she needs to begin her healing process and start a new life for her child. If only nothing gets in the way.

Notes: Okay folks, this chapter is the freaking monster of all chapters. It was probably the most difficult thing I’ve written thus far, so I’m sorry if it’s a mess. There are still some questions that won’t be answered by the end of the chapter but I promise everything will make more sense in the next one.

I have to give the biggest shout out to my best friend, Lydia (@rouhn), who has helped me out so much throughout my struggles, with her ideas and endless support, and points out my stupid mistakes. According to her, it’s the best chapter of this story, so hopefully you will all agree.

All I can say is, you’re either going to love me or hate me by the end of the chapter, probably both.

Also, for those of you who are interested, I’ve posted a deleted scene of Killian’s thoughts during their first encounter. It’s scene 3 of my collection.

Thanks for reading!

*TRIGGER WARNING* Mentions and depictions of physical and verbal abuse/domestic violence

Rated: M

Catch Up: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26

Check out deleted scenes: 1 2 3

Also available on: AO3 FF.N

The ticking of the wall clock was loud in the quiet room as he grabbed his bag, glancing around to make sure he didn’t leave anything behind before heading for the door. The four walls were painted in a cheerful yellow that made his stomach churn, and the furniture was old and worn out, but he tolerated it because it was free. Besides, he didn’t have anywhere else to go.

He was opening the door and walking out of his hotel room when he heard the familiar voices coming from the front desk.

“James, I’m gonna need the money you overcharged one of our guests back please.”

The man’s curiosity got the best of him as he quietly shut the door and made his way down the corridor.

Peering around the corner, he watched the interactions between the brothers from the short distance.

James certainly looked guilty as he pulled what appeared to be a bill from his wallet, handing it over to David. “I’m sorry, but you know it’s hard to break habits.”

David snatched the money from his hand, pointing a firm finger in James’ face, displeasure written all over his features. “I’m well aware, but you can at least make an effort. The reason why I gave you this job was so you could turn your life around, not continue your conniving ways. I thought I made that perfectly clear after you stole from Emma her first night here. You’re lucky I didn’t can your ass right then. ”

Sighing deeply in exasperation, James shook his head. “I already apologized to you both. What more do you want from me?”

With a long audible exhale, David planted his hands on his hips, glaring at his brother. “What I don’t want is another apology. You need to prove to me that I didn’t make a huge mistake by hiring an ex-con. Especially since Emma’s now living with my wife and I. She’s been through enough as it is and doesn’t need the harassment; she came to this town to get away from that.”

Narrowing his eyes, James furrowed his brows in confusion. “What do you mean? What exactly happened to her?”

Making his way around the desk, David opened the cash register, returning the money before shoving it closed. A heavy sigh fell past his lips as he turned to look at James again, crossing his arms. “Mary Margaret would kill me if I told you this, so you can’t say anything to anyone, you got it?”

James nodded. “Yeah, of course, what is it?”

The man had to listen even more intently to hear what David was saying as he spoke more quietly.

“Emma ran away from Tallahassee to escape an abusive husband.”

Well, this is an interesting development.

Guilt was flashing in James’ eyes that could easily be seen from down the corridor. “I’m sorry… I didn’t know.”

Ideas were unraveling in his mind as the man took in the information the brothers were unknowingly supplying him with. He wondered how much a heartbroken man would pay to have his wife returned to him, or how much he would pay to find out her whereabouts.

After David left the building, the man came from around the corner, stalking his way to the counter.

James noticed his presence, and warily approached from the other side, the palm of his hands bracing against the surface. “Look, I can’t let you stay here for free anymore. I’m already in enough trouble as it is.”

The man grinned, leaning on the counter and looking James in the eye. “You don’t have to work here, you know? You could always take another job. In fact I have one you might be interested in.”

~~~

Killian entered the Bed and Breakfast in haste, drawing in the warm air as he stomped his boots on the mat to shake off the snow, a weary sigh escaping his lips. As he approached the front desk, a look of desperation was wearing in his features as he ran his hand through his damp hair, brushing out some of the snowflakes that had fallen from the early winter morning sky during the brisk walk from his car.

James raised his brow in curiosity, his eyes flashing with concern as he studied Killian intently. “What’s wrong? Don’t tell me, there’s trouble in paradise already.”

Quickly shaking his head, Killian braced his hands on the counter, thoughts of last night racing through his mind. He hadn’t slept at all; he was still shaken from what had transpired.

…

Killian stared at the note in his hand, swallowing the lump in his throat. He’d been in a state of panic since he’d found the bed empty, and Emma nowhere to be seen. He was surprised that she would just up and leave, even for a short time.

Swaying Ian gently in his arms, he set the note down and called her cellphone, but it went straight to her voicemail.

…

“I think Emma’s up to something,” Killian confessed, his voice wrecked as he thought of what she might be planning.

“Why do you say that?” James asked, the area between his brows wrinkling in confusion.

“Emma went to the grocery store last night.”

James appeared to be even more confused, and of course, Killian couldn’t blame him. In his frazzled state, he didn’t think he could make sense if he wanted to.

“She left me with Ian and went to get milk.“

The other man stared at him blankly for a few brief seconds before shaking his head. “I’m not following. What’s the big deal about Emma going to the store to get milk?”

“James, if you look in our refrigerator, you’d be able to see that we already had a gallon of it before she left.”

James didn’t seem any less perplexed. “She has an infant who can only have milk. Why is it a surprise that she needs extra milk?”

Killian started to get irritated, although it wasn’t really the Nolan’s fault. He wouldn’t expect James to know a thing about babies, but that really wasn’t Killian’s concern at the moment. Knowing that Neal would be loose on the streets soon was enough to make him insane with worry. He tried not to be, but this was his family. Ian and his Swan were his world, and he was afraid that if someone dared to take them away, Killian would not be able to control his actions. In fact he would probably end up getting killed because Neal knew how to fight, and he did not. He feared that he would lose again, like he did at the bar. Neal hadn’t been much better off, but then again, he’d not been the one to incur broken ribs. “Aye, I’m well aware what Ian needs, but newborns don’t consume cow’s milk - Ian is exclusively breastfeeding.”

James’ features started to smooth out, but Killian could tell he still wasn’t quite sure what Killian was getting at.

“And that’s not the only thing that worries me… Emma has not been apart from Ian since he was taken from the hospital. Normally she hates even the idea of being separated from him, and normally she would take the time to wait for him to wake up and strap him into his car seat for a five-minute drive to the grocery store.”

James nodded; he was finally beginning to understand why Killian would be worried. “So, where do you think she went off to?”

Killian shook his head, feeling a bit depleted. He’d tried wracking his brain all night for an answer to his question, but there was only one thing he could possibly think of, and he was desperately hoping he was incorrect. “I’m not sure, but I have my suspicions.” He didn’t want to question her about it though, for fear that she might think he was interrogating her or didn’t trust her. The last thing he ever wanted to do was have her think that he was trying to control her or disrespect her boundaries. He never wanted her to feel that way with him - not ever.

“And?” James asked, encouraging him to continue.

“And I need your assistance.” Killian couldn’t believe he was coming to James for his help again, but he was a desperate man.

Nolan crossed his arms, eyeing him skeptically. “You want me to assist you in breaking into someone’s shop again?”

Leaning closer, Killian gripped at the edge of the counter, his jaw tightening as he thought about what he needed to do. It wasn’t something that he wanted to easily admit, but the thought of a certain man he absolutely detested brought out the rage in him, and he wanted to be able to deliver that rage correctly, if need be. He would do anything to make sure that low-life piece of scum never laid a hand on Emma or Ian ever again.

“I need you to teach me how to fight.”

~~~

The incessant ringing of Emma’s phone came from her jacket pocket, drawing Mary Margaret’s and Ruby’s attention as they walked through the crowded mall. Emma was pushing Ian in his stroller, not intending to answer her phone, but Ruby dug into her pocket to retrieve it for her.

“Here you go, Em.” Ruby held it out for her, so Emma took it, wondering who it might be. Killian was performing surgery at the moment, so she knew it wasn’t him.

When she viewed the screen, her throat closed up, and she couldn’t breathe. Panic was coursing through her blood, her thumb hovering over the “decline” option on her phone as she gnawed on her bottom lip; it was a restricted number, but she had a feeling she knew exactly who it could be, and she really had no one else to blame except herself. She’s the one who decided to poke the sleeping giant.

“You alright, Em?” Mary Margaret asked out of concern.

Emma declined the call and glanced up from the screen, offering a smile. “Yeah, it’s an unknown number. If it’s important, they can leave a message. She tucked the phone into her pocket as her friends accepted her answer.

“I don’t blame you. I never pick up my phone unless I know who the person is,” Mary Margaret told them as they continued to another store.

“Have you decided what you’re going to get Killian for Christmas?” Ruby asked curiously, changing the subject.

Emma shrugged in distress. Restricted phone calls weren’t the only thing making her panic. Christmas was just around the corner and she still hadn’t bought her boyfriend a present yet. “Does it make me a terrible girlfriend that I waited this long and still have no idea what to get him?”

Both of her friends shook their head. “Please, chica, you’ve had a lot going on. You have no reason to feel guilty,” Ruby assured her.

“Exactly. And besides, you’ve only started dating a few months ago. I don’t think Killian would mind at all if you didn’t get him anything. To him, you and Ian are everything he would ever ask for,” Mary Margaret added with a warm grin.

“I want to get him something though. He’s been so amazing to me and Ian, and he’s done so much for us. And yet I know he’s still going to get me something extravagant for Christmas. He probably has it all wrapped up and hidden in the house somewhere.”

Both of the brunettes didn’t hesitate to agree with both a laugh and a nod.

“You’re probably right about that,” Ruby chirped, “but no worries, we’re going to help you find something.”

Emma looked at Ruby cautiously, seeing her wicked smile and the mischief in her eyes. “Okay, but please, nothing gynecologist-related and nothing kinky, got it?”

Ruby dropped her jaw in shock, pretending to be offended. “Well of course, what kind of person do you take me for?”

It was Emma’s turn to laugh with Mary Margaret. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she managed to find something that was both,” Mary Margaret joked quietly to Emma.

“Hey, I heard that,” Ruby shot back, spurring on more giggles.

Emma managed to get through the afternoon having a nice time with her friends and son and coming up with something to get Killian while trying not to think about the phone call she’d received.

However, when she looked at her phone again later on, she saw the notification on her screen, informing her that she had a message waiting for her.

With trembling fingers she called her voicemail.

The moment he started to speak, she lost a breath. "Hey babe, you probably heard the good news already - I’m out.”

~~~

“You’re doing great, Killian… for a beginner,” James taunted with a chuckle.

“Maybe so, but it’s not good enough.” Killian stayed focus, concentrating on his target as he held up his fists, bouncing from foot to foot while trying to maintain the form that James had constantly been hounding him about. “Now, come on, Nolan, give me your best shot.”

James approached him, but Killian lashed out first, hoping to catch him by surprise, his fist aiming for his face, but James blocked Killian’s attempts, barely flinching and keeping his stance.

“Come on, Jones, that’s the best you got?” Killian had made progress, but he didn’t think he was ready quite yet. Although, this time, he managed to block everything James threw at him. He was breathing hard after two minutes, but he wasn’t heaving like he had in the beginning.

“Don’t forget to breathe,” James had consistently reminded him. “Breathe out when you strike and breathe out when you get hit.”

They’d been meeting almost every day since Killian had asked for his help, and he was a quick learner, but there still wasn’t enough time. Neal had been freed from jail the day before, and Killian was now certain, more than ever, that Emma was planning something because of how secretive she was being. He just didn’t know exactly what it was, but he was determined to find out. At the same time, he didn’t want to hover over Emma and Ian; he wanted to give them their space and the freedom they needed without having him being too protective of them.

In the meantime, James had shown him how to do the most damage within the small amount of time they had; how to form a fist, where to hit, how to keep his fingers stiff to jab them into someone’s eyes, how to grapple and throw - all the things Killian would never dream of doing before because it wasn’t him. He had never wanted to hurt anyone, but there was one man who was now an exception.

It was one of the most frustrating things he’d ever done because whenever he was fighting James, even though it wasn’t actual fighting, he transformed into something else entirely; pretending James was Killian’s actual opponent. That was how much Neal had affected him.

Killian ducked, avoiding a punch from James, grabbing hold of his forearm and pivoting around to lift the Nolan brother and send him over his shoulder and onto the exercise mat with ease.

James was on the ground, winded and looking up him with a surprised, but gratified grin as Killian extended his hand to help him up.

“See? You’re getting it. Don’t be too hard on yourself.”

In the beginning of Killian’s training, James had started him on a punching bag so he could work on the force and speed of his punch, and eventually moved him onto sparring. Before Killian had even started, he could already do most things, sort of; he had muscles and strength, he just lacked the finesse of actual fighting.

Killian helped James up and let out a pained sigh.

He could sense Nolan’s eyes on him as he strolled across the room and took a large drink from his water bottle. He swallowed it down, catching James as he watched and observing him with a concerned expression.

James came over to Killian, planting his hands on his hips and staring at Killian with weighty eyes. “This isn’t about how well you’re doing; you’re just worried about Emma, aren’t you?”

He wasn’t sure what gave it away, but James had a skill of reading body language, and apparently Killian wasn’t good at hiding his despair.

“What do you think?” There was a bit of harshness in his words; he wanted to combust, but James was not the person he wanted to take out his frustrations on. Killian looked at his feet; there was wreckage in his eyes as he spoke in a softer volume. “Emma’s been planning something and I have no idea what to do. I feel completely helpless.”

James offered an understanding nod. “I can imagine, but… there may be…” James paused and Killian lifted his eyes, waiting for him to finish. Nolan looked away, trying to decide if he should continue or not.

“There may be what?”

James shook his head. “Forget I said anything.” He turned around and started to walk away, but Killian grabbed his arm to stop him.

“Please tell me.”

With a heavy sigh, James turned around to look at him again. “There may be a way to find out what she’s planning, but you may not like the method.”

“James, if you want to talk to her, you should just do it. She’s lost a good friend, and as much as I hate to admit it, I think you’re probably the only person who could get her to confess.” Ever since James had been accused of being Neal’s spy, Emma was still weary around James, even after he helped his brother bring Ian and Kilian back to her, and Killian knew they weren’t as close as they used to be.

James gave him a cocky grin. “You know, you’re probably right about that, but… I have another idea.”

Arching a brow, Killian looked at him expectantly, urging him to continue. “I’m listening.”

“Like I said you’re not going to like it, but the best way to find out whether she’s actually hiding something is to give her the opportunity to go through with her plan.”

James was correct; Killian did not like where this was heading, but he decided not to refute, and instead allowed him to continue. “And how do you suppose I do that?”

“Okay, here’s what you need to do…”

~*~

“Emma, are you sure about this? I really don’t have to go if you don’t want me to.”

She was holding Ian in her arms, managing a feeble smile. She’d previously bundled the little guy in a onesie, a cotton seater and a thick blanket to protect him from the cold while she stood in her boyfriend’s driveway to say goodbye. “We’ll be fine. I told you, Mary Margaret and David will be stopping by to keep me company.” She could clearly see that her words didn’t do much to put Killian at ease, so she leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his lips, her son stirring quietly between them.

He drew in an unsure breath, his eyes fluttering shut as he wrapped them both in his arms, relishing in the kiss for as long as he could.

After a moment, Killian tore his lips away with great reluctance, leaning his forehead against hers.

She cupped his jaw in the palm of her hand, her thumb brushing over the apple of his cheek. “I love you, Killian.”

He lifted his eyelids, revealing his crystal blues as he finally graced her with a small smile. “I love you too, Emma… and Ian. You have no idea how much,” he spoke in a gentle whisper.

Emma had to blink back the tears threatening her eyes. He wouldn’t be gone for long, only a few days out of town for a medical conference, but still, it was difficult to say goodbye. “I think I might.”

“You promise you’ll call me if something happens, no matter what?” he asked her, his eyes full of wreckage.

Removing her forehead from his, she gave him a nod. “I promise.”

Killian kissed her one last time, and she savored the feel of his lips against hers. “I’ll miss you both.”

She had been taken off guard when he’d told her he was leaving, especially after Neal was released from jail, but Killian said that he was asked to speak at an OBGYN convention. Emma didn’t want to keep him from his career; she wanted him to keep doing what made him happy. Plus, it was the perfect opportunity to set her plan in motion.

“We’ll miss you too.”

Killian took out Ian’s small hand and pressed a kiss to his fingers. “Bye little Prince; take care of your Mum while I’m gone.” He dropped a kiss to the top of Ian’s cap-covered head, and the newborn looked up at Killian with his big blue eyes, holding a big smile on his face. Killian looked between the two of them, as though he were trying to memorize every detail before he had to part. “Bye, my loves.”

“Bye, Killian. Please drive safe,” her voice was cracked as Killian pulled away, opening the car door.

“I will sweetness.”

She watched as he got into his car and backed out of the driveway, waving her goodbye. She waved back at him and held her baby closer, brushing her lips to Ian’s forehead.

When Killian’s car disappeared from her view, she took Ian inside the house and settled him into his Rock ‘N Play Sleeper on the kitchen table before retrieving her phone from the counter. Her hands were shaking as she dialed, her breathing uneven, but she needed to do this.

The phone rang three times before he answered.

“He just left for three days. Meet me at the park tomorrow night at seven o’clock.”

~~~

Killian could see Storybrooke in his rearview mirror, cringing at the thought of lying to Emma. He didn’t want to, but he knew he had to. He knew that she was keeping something from him. She was afraid of telling him the truth, because whatever it was, he would not be happy about it. She was probably right.

Pulling into a hotel out of town, Killian was constantly keeping an eye on his surroundings. He didn’t want to risk being caught, so he had driven far enough to not be noticed by anyone who would grow suspicious, but still close enough to get to Emma in a short amount of time if and when he needed to.

He checked into his room and carried his luggage upstairs. His heart was aching from being apart from Emma and Ian, and the knots in his stomach were overwhelmingly tight; he couldn’t even think about eating. The thought of what Emma might be up to, made him physically ill.

He waited in his room, anxious and on high alert. He was constantly pacing the room and checking his phone unable to be still for one bloody second.

~~~

It was half past five o’clock as Emma finished knitting the tiny sweater she’d been working on. Ian was growing like a weed, and was quickly outgrowing his clothes, so she decided to put the knitting lessons that Cordelia had previously given her to good use. Besides, she needed something to distract her from thinking about the nerves in the pit of her stomach. She had done everything she could to keep herself occupied. The main rooms had already been adorned with Christmas decorations, there were three stockings hanging above the fireplace and there was a Christmas tree twinkling with soft blue lights that Killian had cut down himself and brought home for them to decorate together while drinking hot cocoa and cinnamon and munching on some of the cookies she had baked with Mary Margaret and Ruby. She could honestly say that she’d never been a huge fan of the holidays, but ever since she had people in her life, other than Neal, to celebrate with - her friends, her boyfriend, her son - this time of the year was beginning to grow on her. She even bought some gifts for everyone and wrapped them up, placing them underneath the tree. And now there was nothing left for her to do.

The entire house was absolutely spotless, and she’d made some apple pie for when Killian came home from his convention. So now she was left stewing in her thoughts, her mind frazzled; she had no idea how her plan would unravel.

Emma drew in a shaky breath as she set down the sweater and needle on the coffee table and grabbed her mug of hot cocoa as she stood from the couch, walking over to the large bay windows. Pulling back the curtain, she admired the soft snowflakes falling and covering the ground in a thick blanket of white. Her stomach was coiled in knots as she sipped the hot beverage, her eyes peering over the mug and soaking in the sight of the dark evening sky through the glass.

As she licked her lips to savor the comforting taste, she could see the Christmas lights and her son’s bassinet in the reflection of the window. She was missing Killian like crazy and she knew Ian was too. She loved their little family. Her two boys were honestly the best thing that ever happened to her. This is why she needed to do what was necessary; she needed to keep their family intact.

Emma was about to close the curtain when a dark figure appeared in the reflection of the window. When she recognized who it was, her stomach plummeted and the mug fell from her hand, falling to the floor, her drink spilling over an area of the carpet.

“Hello, Emma.”

~~~

Large snowflakes landed softly on the window as Killian drove through busy traffic, the windshield wipers working frantically to make the road in front of him visible. Killian’s heart was pounding erratically as he gritted his teeth, cursing under his breath. He should’ve left the hotel earlier.

The downtown streets of Storybrooke were always crowded and buzzing with excitement this time of year; everyone was out Christmas shopping and getting ready for the blessed holiday; not that he wasn’t a fan. It will be the wee lad’s first Christmas after all, and Killian will have the honor of spending it with him and his Swan. He was very much looking forward to it.

But, he currently had a very bad feeling in the pit of his stomach and he would not be able to rest until he verified his suspicions. He and Emma had been talking quite frequently ever since he left the day before. She would send him adorable pictures of Ian that would melt his heart and they would send playful texts to one another, but apart from that morning, he hadn’t received any calls or texts, and she hadn’t answered a single one of his phone calls.

So when his phone started ringing, his stomach flipped, and he picked it up, hoping it was her. However, when his eyes flickered from road in front of him to his screen, paralyzing fear swept through him.

He swiped the screen to unlock it and raised the phone to his ear, unable to get in a word when he heard the panicked voice on the other end.

“Killian, where are you? You need to get home now.”

Killian froze, unable to speak.

“You were right about Emma - she’s in danger.”

~~~

Emma swallowed roughly; her throat felt like sandpaper. She couldn’t move; her feet felt like they were glued to the floor as she stared back at her husband. His arms were crossed and he had a menacing smile on his face as the flames from the fireplace were flickering in his cold, expressionless eyes.

“Wh-what are you… what are you doing here?” she stammered out when she could finally gather both the strength and the words to do so.

Neal just studied her, his smile fading as a dark expression took over the rough features of his face. Emma gnawed on her bottom lip and tore her gaze from him for a second, her eyes glancing at the clock on the wall, then Ian’s bassinet, which was luckily across the room from him. She slowly moved over and stood in front of it, her hand gripping onto the edge behind her, seeking some sort of stability.

“What, I don’t get a hello?”

Emma found it difficult to think straight, the fear of him being there was more crippling than she’d ever thought was possible, no matter how many times she had envisioned having to see him again. “Only visitors are welcomed with a ‘hello’. You broke into my home,” she replied, her voice cracked with fear.

Neal laughed shortly. “Ah, you mean your Doctor’s home?” He started pacing to the other side of the room, still maintaining his distance from her as he looked around, observing the photos on Killian’s mantle. He picked up one, studying it intently - it was one of Emma pregnant and sitting in Killian’s lap, both of them gazing at one another with big smiles on their faces as he rested his hand on her belly. “Such a nice place he’s built here. No wonder why you didn’t want to leave.” He suddenly let the photo frame fall from his hands, and Emma gasped as the glass cracked when the frame made contact with the hard floor in front of the fireplace. “Did you really think I was going to fall for your tricks, Emma? Did you really think I was going to meet you at the park so you could make a scene and get me in trouble?” He tore his gaze away from the other pictures and looked at her again, tilting his head to the side. “I’m not that stupid.”

If Emma weren’t scared for her life, she probably would’ve laughed, but instead she was more worried about maintaining some semblance in her features and her breathing. “How did you even get in here?” she demanded, attempting to keep her voice even.

Again, her husband mocked Emma with a laugh that sent an unsettling shiver down her spine. “You don’t look so happy to see me. I take it you didn’t expect me to show up here?”

Emma drew in a long breath, trying to keep her voice from wobbling. “You didn’t answer my question. How did you get in here?” she asked again.

Neal chuckled. “It was easy. You know I’ve always been good at breaking locks.” He grabbed another photo, and this time, it was the one Ruby had taken in the hospital of her, Killian and Ian. He looked at Emma, holding up the picture frame. “Now I believe you and I had a deal.” Neal stepped forward, making her wince. “You and our son come with me and the doctor doesn’t get hurt.”

Emma shook her head. “That wasn’t the deal. You have to tell me how you found me first.”

“Emma, I already told you.”

“You told me it was James that called you up in Tallahassee. Is that true?”

“What, you can’t trust your own husband?” he asked, clearly offended.

She scoffed, her heart pounding sporadically in her chest. “You tell me.”

Neal’s eyes were flashing with impatience, and glazed over with drunkenness. “I can prove it.”

Swallowing thickly, Emma gave a nod, encouraging him to do so. At the same time, she was praying that Neal was bluffing.

Then he took out his phone and tossed the photo aside, letting it land on the carpet. “I still have the voice message he left the first time he tried to get in touch with me.”

“Go ahead, play it then.”

He fiddled with the phone for a moment until Emma heard a man’s voice over the speakerphone.

The message was spoken with a flat even tone, “My name is James Nolan. I found your wife, Emma Cassidy, who now goes by the name Emma Swan. If you’re interested, I’ll accept a cash reward for her whereabouts. Or if you wish, I will bring her to you myself for double the price.”

“There, is that enough proof for you?” Neal asked when the recorded message had ended.

Emma nodded, maintaining a blank expression. “Yeah, it is.”

“Now, enough messing around; get the kid and let’s go,” he commanded firmly, taking another few steps forward, causing Emma to flinch.

She wasn’t going to back down so easily though. Instead, she shook her head, standing her ground. “Not so fast. Why did you kidnap my son?”

“He’s our son!” Neal barked angrily, making every hair on the back of Emma’s neck stand on its end. “He’s not your precious doctor’s! He’s mine,” he growled, “and I wasn’t about to let someone else steal my wife and son away from me!”

The sudden volume and harshness in his voice had startled her, but Emma did her best to remain calm. “So, you hit Killian over the head, and had your goons lock him up and take Ian from the hospital?”

Neal let out an exasperated sigh, clenching his fists. “Of course I did. I have your friend wrapped around my finger. After he told me you were at the restaurant, and you got away from me, I knew you would call the Sheriff and I knew he would be on the lookout for me. I showed up at the hospital, knowing I would get arrested if I tried to take you away. It was the perfect opportunity to fake a kidnapping and make it look like Dr. Jones did it.” Neal laughed wickedly, thoroughly amused. “You wouldn’t believe how gullible the people in this town are. All James had to do was wait until your brunette friend left the room to distract the nurse at her station while Gold slipped in to take Ian, covering him in a pink blanket and cap to pass off as Collette. No one would question the respected shop owner.” Emma could see the anger flashing in his eyes again. “The whole plan was flawless up until that bastard betrayed me and let Killian escape before the Sheriff and Deputy arrived,” Neal spat, gritting his teeth.

Emma had to hold back the satisfied grin threatening her lips. “So, Gold was in on it too?”

“Of course he was. He helped James track me down. Who do you think kept me hidden all this time?”

She nodded, not surprised at all. “So, tell me, Neal… have you ever met James, besides at the hospital when you were being arrested?”

He shook his head. “Nope; didn’t need to. Our business was done over the phone, and he was always more than willing to do my dirty work for a little money.

“Hmm,” Emma hummed with a nod. “And my yellow bug? Why did you buy it from Liam?”

Neal sighed impatiently at that point. “Because I needed to ditch mine - you know me; always finding ways to survive. I robbed a few banks on the way here. How do you think I had the money to pay James?” He exhaled a depleted sigh, his eyes never leaving hers. “Without you, I had nothing Em,” his voice was softer, a little wrecked in fact. She wanted to be sick. “I wanted to come get you myself, baby. You know I don’t like other men touching you. That’s why it hurt so bad to find out that not only you came here to forget about me, but you found someone else,” he said gritting his teeth, his tone growing harsher. “To top it off, you went and pawned off your engagement ring. Do you know how upset that made me?”

She took a few deep breaths and a few cautious steps forward, trying to keep her fingers from shaking. The only thing that was keeping her sane was the sound of Ian’s cries from the bassinet. “I know… but you… you hurt me Neal,” she choked out quietly. “You could’ve hurt our baby.”

“I never meant to. You know I love you both.” He walked up to her, slowly closing the distance as he pulled something out of his pocket. “You know I’ll take care of you and our boy. I always take care of you don’t I?” He was holding her engagement ring, and she cringed looking at it.

Praying for a miracle, she turned her head to look at the wall. Time seemed to be standing still, and she started to get unbearably anxious. She glanced back at Neal, managing a small smile as she held out her hand in front of him. “Of course you do.”

“I want us to start over, Em. Just the three of us, what do you say?”

Emma nodded, forcing her smile to widen. “I want that too. I want the three of us to be a happy family.” She wanted it to be as believable as possible, so she allowed Neal to slip the ring on her finger before she lifted her hand to cup his cheek; he took it in his own, and her whole body shivered. She was hoping it wasn’t noticeable.

“Me too, Em. Now, let’s get our boy and go home?” he offered, moving closer to kiss her lips.

Emma thought she was going to vomit as she allowed him to press his mouth to hers. She could smell the wretched stench of alcohol on his breath, and suddenly the memories of having to put up with his behavior every night - the memories she had been able to suppress for a short period of time - came rushing back to her.

She tried to push them away as she pulled away from him, speaking in a pinched tone. “Let me grab our son’s bag and you can hold him, how does that sound?”

Neal’s eyes lit up and he grinned as she moved away from the bassinet. “I’ve been waiting for this moment for a long time.” He stepped forward, and Emma stood back, watching him as he looked down and reached into the bassinet. He started shuffling around blankets, calmly at first, and then frantically throwing everything from the crib before pulling out a small device that was playing Ian’s prerecorded cries. That’s when she hit panic button by the door, triggering a silent alarm.

“Who’s gullible now, you asshole?” Emma asked sharply, trying to hide the fear from her voice. She could see the anger spiraling through him as he turned around.

His eyes were dark and his jaw was clenched. “You stupid whore.”

Emma gulped, seeing the murderous look in his eyes.

She instinctively started to run, heading for the front door, but she was still weak and not as quick as she thought she would be.

He took off after her and caught up, grabbing her hair with a hard yank. She whimpered as he pulled her back and shut the door to the hallway, pressing her firmly against it. She tried to look away from his menacing gaze but he grabbed her chin, pressing his thumb rough underneath her lip, forcing her to look at him. His mouth was inches from hers, and she could smell the alcohol on his breath, making her want to vomit as he breathed in her face. “Where do you think you’re going, Emma, huh? Did you really think your plan would work? Did you really think I would let you get away? For the last goddamn time, you’re coming home with me, whether you fucking like it or not! Now tell me where the fuck our son is?!” Neal’s shouting rang in her ear, ice cold fear rippling through her blood in a mad rush; she felt the air escaping her body.

“Answer me!” he snapped, lifting his hand and slapping her in the face. Her head whipped to the side and she cried out, holding her cheek, trying to sooth the sharp sting. “Why can’t you just be an obedient wife and listen to your husband after everything I’ve done for you?! I gave you a home when you were just a poor fucking orphan! I gave you everything and this is how you repay me!“

Before she could even attempt to speak, he wrapped his hands around her neck, tightening his grip. Emma grabbed his hands, trying to pull him away, but he was too strong. The air was growing thin and she couldn’t breathe. “You’re such a whore. I’ll bet it was some other fucking bastard who knocked you up, but you know what?” Neal’s words grew quiet as he stepped closer, her face turning beat red. “I don’t give a fuck, because you’re both mine!”

Emma shook her head, panic swarming through her and drowning her; the room was spinning, making her dizzy. Neal’s fingers were pressed into her throat, and the terror was building inside of her, she could feel her legs giving out.

He finally released her, not waiting for her to catch her breath before slapping her so hard that she fell to the floor. She lay there choking, holding her neck as though she were still suffocating, and she sucked in as much air back into her lungs as she could. Through her blurred vision, she looked up towards the ceiling seeing Neal standing over her. She had never been more afraid of him than she was in that moment.

Before she could even attempt to move, Neal kicked her in the shin, and she howled out in pain. She wanted to curl up into a ball, but she couldn’t. Then suddenly, he took a fistful of her hair and dragged her to the sofa, throwing her onto it. Emma landed with a thud; her body was numb, and she couldn’t move as Neal got on top of her, pinning her arms down.

She tried to scream, but her voice gave out on her.

“Tell me where our son is!”

Emma was still struggling to breathe and she was weak, but somehow she summoned every ounce of energy within her to speak. “He’s- he’s not yours! You will never go near him!”

She could see the rage inside of him bubble to the surface, and he pulled his fist back, about to punch her in the face when suddenly he was being lifted off of her.

Emma caught a breath, her whole body sighing in relief.

“Get your filthy hands off of her, you fucking bastard!”

She was in a daze as she looked over, seeing Killian punch Neal in the face, complete rage in his eyes. “Killian…”

Emma struggled to sit up, and she became afraid for different reasons, hearing them struggle and throw punches at one another. She had never seen this side of Killian before. He was tossing Neal against the wall as though he were a bag of potatoes.

“Please, stop!” she pleaded, although neither of them were listening. She didn’t want Killian to get hurt.

Neal went down again at the hands of her lover. And for the first time in what seemed like ages, she saw fear in Neal’s eyes as he looked up, Killian towering over him. Everything was hurting as she tried to collect her bearings, but somehow she summoned the strength to remove herself from the couch. She started wobbling over to Killian. Neal struggled to get away, and if it weren’t for her urging hands and pleading words, Killian probably would’ve murdered him. Instead Neal got up and ran for the living room door, but was stopped by James as he stood in the doorway.

Neal panicked, surrounded and trapped as he reached into the waist of his pants and pulled out a gun. They immediately stiffened up and gasped as Neal grabbed Emma’s arm, pulling her to him and holding the barrel to her temple. “Stay back or I swear to god, I’ll shoot her.”

“Neal, please…” James begged him, holding up his hands in surrender. “Just let her go.”

Neal removed the gun from her head and aimed it at James. “Shut up! You betrayed me!”

James narrowed his eyes, confusion falling over his features. “What are you talking about?”

Neal tried to chuckle, but the fear was resonating through him, Emma could easily see it in his eyes. “Don’t play dumb. I played the voicemail you left me when you contacted me down in Tallahassee.” Neal never tore the pistol away from her friend, and the panic she felt grew more intense; it was crippling.

“Neal, it wasn’t him. It wasn’t his voice,” she choked out.

Neal stiffened and then moved the gun, this time aiming it at Killian. Emma’s breath caught in her throat and she almost cried out as she locked eyes with him. She could see the pain in his eyes, and could almost hear his shallow breathing, but she knew it wasn’t because Neal could shoot him any second. She knew it was because he didn’t want anything to happen to her.

“Then who the hell was it?” Neal demanded.

“I’m not sure, but it wasn’t James,” Emma replied.

James’ eyes widened in realization from where he stood. “I think I know who.”

…

James stood straighter; his jaw firmly set as he crossed his arms and shook his head. “I don’t think so. I already told you I’m not interested in being your spy anymore. I have to prove to my brother that he didn’t make a mistake by helping me out.”

The man frowned, his features full of disappointment. “I haven’t even told you what the job is yet.”

Again he shook his head. The offer was tempting, but he didn’t want to go down that path again. He didn’t know why, but from the moment he met Emma, he was drawn to her. He decided he wanted to be a better man. He hated disappointing his brother, and he thought maybe he could earn Emma’s trust like David and Mary Margaret did. He hated being the bad guy who nobody wanted to be around. So he stood his ground. “Don’t care. Now leave before I start charging you for all the times I let you stay here.”

Anger spiraled through him. He couldn’t believe James was choosing to play ‘good guy’ after everything he’s done for him “Suit yourself,” the man flashed a dark smile as he headed for the door. “But mark my words, Nolan, you’ll regret turning down a job from me.”

…

Just then, the sound of a siren went off, the house flooding with red and blue lights. The air of the room shifted; Neal went stiff and the other three sighed in relief.

“Don’t move!” Neal started to panic, waving the gun around as he pulled on Emma’s arm and quickly forced her to move, dragging her toward the door. He picked up the pace and she almost tripped as they went through the door.

But it was too late.

“Lay down your weapon and remain where you are.” The sound of August’s forceful call from behind her made Neal stop in his tracks, but he didn’t release the tight grip he had on her.

“Sir, I need you to slowly lay down your weapon.”

She could feel Neal’s body tremble with fear as he turned her around so they were both facing the Sheriff.

Neal threatened to shoot her, forcing August to put his gun down before he started shuffling backwards down the hall, heading towards the backdoor. He released Emma and turned around, running. But he was stopped by Graham.

August assisted his deputy as Emma limped back to the living room, assuring Killian and James that Neal was being arrested. She flew into both of their arms, the three of them sighing in relief. Killian observed her face and neck with anger in his eyes; she knew there were bruises but she wasn’t the least bit worried about them right now. She knew, however, that Killian wished he could have killed Neal when he had the chance.

“Please tell me Ian’s okay?” he asked, his voice completely wrecked.

Emma nodded. “He’s safe. Mary Margaret and David are watching him.

Killian sighed in deep relief and drew her in for another hug, being careful not to hold her too tightly.

Just when they thought the night was over with, there was a gun fired.

The three of them panicked and hurried through the door, although it was more difficult for Emma because her leg was still throbbing.

August was on the floor, groaning in pain, his leg bleeding through the hole in his pant leg as Graham tackled Neal to the floor, putting him in handcuffs with the assistance of another officer. The doctor in Killian took over and he tended to August as James retrieved a first aid kit so Killian could stop the bleeding.

The officers started taking Neal away when she approached and stood in front of him, looking him directly in his empty, dark eyes. Her features were hard - as icy as the evening air outside.

The officers held him still, and she could tell he had no interest in talking to her, but she mustered up the courage and spoke anyway, pulling off the engagement ring from her finger. “Neal… I want a divorce,” she said flatly. “I don’t love you anymore. In fact, I absolutely detest you, and I never want you around me or my child ever again.”

Emma felt a lot lighter from getting those things off of her chest as she threw the ring at him, letting it hit him in the chest before it fell to the ground. She expected him to be enraged, but instead he just looked back at her coldly, not saying a word as the officers forced him out of the house.

Neal was being dragged away to the police cruiser as Graham approached her on his way to the front door, asking her if she was alright. Of course she wasn’t. She was still in shock, and her entire body was in pain. But at least, she had accomplished what she needed to. At least now Neal will be locked up for good, and she felt much safer having that kind of satisfaction.

“Not really, but I have everything on video.”

He looked at her in surprise.

“The entire house is under surveillance,” she explained to him.

“It’s true.” The sound of Killian’s voice was comforting to her as he came up from behind him. “Video and sound.”

“And I have proof that Gold helped kidnap my baby. I got Neal to confess everything,” she added weakly.

Graham nodded, clearly impressed. “Good work, Emma.”

“And I know who tracked down Neal?” James chipped in.

Emma and Killian raised a brow, eyeing him in surprise.

“Hades Underbrooke. I believe that’s the voice that left Neal that message on his phone.”

“I will check out the evidence, and I’ll need the three of you to come in for questioning.”

Emma nodded softly as Killian put his arm around her, and she used him for balance, her body pressing into his. Killian pressed a kiss through her disheveled hair, and Graham was surprised by the affection he showed her; she could tell he was mentally putting the pieces together, but of course there were more pressing matters. He offered a small smile, informing them that an ambulance was on its way before he headed out the front door.

James went to fetch Emma a blanket, as she sought comfort from Killian’s arms. They sat on the steps in the foyer, waiting for the ambulance to arrive as Killian had a look at her leg; there was a dark bruise, but it wasn’t broken.

Killian looked at her, a mixture of pain and relief lingering in his eyes as he gently cupped her cheeks in his hands.

“I’m proud of you, Emma,” he whispered gently.

Emma gazed at him, perplexed. “You are?” She was expecting a lecture from him for baiting Neal into his home, she was expecting him to be a bit pissed at her even, but she wasn’t expecting that.

“Aye. Of course I don’t agree with your methods… you had me worried sick, but you confronted Neal after everything… and when you threw that ring at him-”

“Killian, I can explain- he got it back from Gold and-.”

“Emma, it’s okay. You don’t have to explain anything right now. I just… I just wanted to say… when you told him you wanted a divorce, I was grinning proudly.” Killian flashed a small smile as he continued. “That bravery I saw in your eyes is one of the many reasons why I fell in love with you.”

Emma’s breath caught in her throat, her heart skipping a beat at his words as she stared back at him. “I didn’t feel very brave… but I did it for you and Ian,” she managed, a small smile curving her lips. “I did it so we can be a family.”

Killian’s eyes lit up and his smile grew wider. “I know you did, love.” He kissed her lips ever so delicately and she sighed softly against him, letting herself become more relaxed.

James came back and wrapped Emma in a blanket; she laid her head on Killian’s shoulder as he leaned his head on hers, rubbing gentle circles over her back. There was so much to be said, but for now, Emma just closed her eyes, trying to process everything. For the first time all night, the adrenaline had completely subsided, she stopped trembling and everything seemed to be still as she got lost in Killian’s warm embrace.

@resident-of-storybrooke @followbatb @weplaydumbb @strawberrycupcakeprincess @shady-swan-jones @kmomof4 @ultraluckycatnd @phoenixsxul @eala-captian @teamhook @i-love-books2014 @andiirivera @piratesbooty63fan @missclois86 @fallensites @harrietmjones @winterbaby89 @wordsmith-storyweaver @andiirivera @slimacwrites @jennjenn615 @its-about-bloody-time-cs @liloproductions @followbatb @klar425 @hey-it-is-jess @ascolinwishes

#cs ff #cs ff au #cs fanfics #captain swan #abuse #violence #cs parents #tangled up in blue #my fic

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fuckyeahwintershock · 7 years ago

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Author Spotlight: Anogete

This week’s spotlight shines on a relative newbie to our little corner of fandom, but she has a record THREE nominations! @dresupi, @fudebusho, and @pieannamay all recommended her which made @anogete a popular choice indeed.

Here’s her thoughts on the ship:

01. What about Wintershock as a pairing appeals to you?

Where to begin? They’re just lovely together. They play off each other extremely well. Initially, I viewed Darcy as a tool to bring Bucky out of his shell. He’s been damaged by his time with HYDRA, and her lightness, irreverence and easy-going way of caring pair well with someone who is suspicious and bottled-up. She wouldn’t smother him or make him feel obligated to give more than he was able. While I still think all of that is true, I also believe that Bucky has plenty to give to Darcy. I think her flippant demeanor hides someone who has insecurities deep down, someone who doesn’t think she’s important enough for someone to be serious with her and only her. He’d be wonderful at dispelling those insecurities and making her realize she’s worth his undivided attention. There is a weight to his personality after all he’s been through that I think would connect well with her.

02. How did you first encounter the pairing?

I had seen the two Thor movies and and the first Avengers one years ago. At that time, I had dabbled in reading Loki/OFC fics, but had difficulty finding the quality of writing I wanted to read (though I’m sure there are some out there). I gave up and wandered out of the MCU fandom. Recently, while reading some Kastle (Karen Page/Frank Castle) fic on AO3, I noticed there were quite a few Steve/Darcy fics. I hadn’t really paid that much attention to either of those characters when watching the three Marvel movies I had seen. I started reading Shieldshock and found really excellent writing. At that time, I avoided all Steve/Darcy/Bucky because I didn’t know who the hell Bucky was. ;-) I finally ended up reading a fic (which I have since lost and searched high and low for) that involved Steve and Darcy dating and Bucky being Steve’s lonely roommate who has a huge crush on her. You’re all going to think I’m crazy, but it wasn’t until then that I looked up a picture of Bucky and ended up with a gif of the murder strut and was like, “YES, BITCH, THAT.” I jumped into Bucky/Darcy immediately.

03. Do you have any specific Wintershock headcanons?

Darcy having a little bit of a thing for bad boys and a history of dating really shitty guys who are terrible for her, which makes Bucky perfect since he’s a good guy who has a little bit of the bad boy edge. Bucky being touch-deprived and Darcy’s easy-going and touchy personality playing off that need of his. Steve being a total romantic and wanting to set his best friend up with this ballsy woman who kind of intimidates him because he thinks she’d bring out the old Bucky. And that when you put Bucky and Darcy together and add sex, they’d both be super playful and have fun with it.

04. Do you associate any particular songs with Wintershock? If so, which one?

I have playlists for fics when I write them, and I listen to the songs over and over again while I write. While I associate those songs with those fics, not all of them fit so well with the pairing general. If I had to pick, I’d say my favs for the pairing are Under the Influence by Snoh Aalegra, ...goingtohell by Miguel, To Be Alone by Hozier, and Alabama by Night Moves.

05. What Wintershock fic by someone else would you recommend to others to read? What about this fic appeals to you?

I feel like I can’t completely do this question justice because I haven’t read as much Wintershock as many others. Shortly after finding the pairing, I sequestered myself and starting writing. I avoided reading other people’s take on the pairing at that time. However, of what I’ve read, I have a preference for sexual tension and smut, so… Captain Bucky by SerialObsessor is fantastic because I love the premise of Bucky filling in for Steve and there being misunderstandings on top of misunderstandings with sexual tension and sweetness all over the place. Tasers, Soliders, and Captains, oh my! by DriannaHarper has really amazing, realistic dialogue that I can actually hear in my head in the characters’ voices. A Real Dick Move by meleedamage is hot as all get-out, but also tinged with humor and cuteness. Also, if I can break the rules a little bit, I loved We’ll Never Get Started by becisvolatile, which is WinterShieldShock. The Bucky in that fic has probably had the most influence on how I write him. Realistic, flawed, and sometimes a little too proud or self-hating to admit that he wants/deserves affection/love.

06. What kind of Wintershock story would you love to read that hasn’t been written yet by you or others?

I’m constantly amazed at the innovative imaginations of the writers in this fandom, so there isn’t much that I’d want to read that isn’t out there and available. That being said, I’d love to see more fics that address Bucky’s PTSD and how Darcy helps him overcome it or deal with it. I’d love to see flirty stuff where Darcy’s bravado and BAMF-ery slips in a moment of self-doubt and Bucky swoops in to show her just how awesome she is, preferably without clothing. Just the usual fun stuff, you know. ;-)

07. Out of the Wintershock stories you’ve written, which is your favourite, and why?

I love both my Wintershock fics, but I’m very attached to Better Than Okay because it’s the longest fic I’ve ever written and writing it was emotional for me. I don’t have personal experience with PTSD or depression or any of the crazy shit Bucky’s been through, but I wanted to write a fic that honestly addressed them in a realistic way, but was still very much a romance. I didn’t want to play up the fantastical elements like the super solider/hero thing or the HYDRA danger lurking around the corner. I just wanted it to be a simple story about how he struggled with and overcame suicidal thoughts and self esteem issues to fall in love with and accept the love of a woman who is the perfect fit. And I think I accomplished what I set out to do.

08. Quote a favourite extract from one of your stories. What is it that you like about it?

Hmm, I really enjoyed writing chapter 9 of Better Than Okay because it was a brief interlude where Bucky and Darcy connected in a way that was completely without sexual tension or even physical attraction. In a way, that chapter was more intimate and a bigger leap in their relationship than the sex the next morning.

He swallowed the emotion blocking up his throat. “I can’t have what I want, doll. But that’s okay. I’ve made peace with it.”

“What do you want?”

“I thought I told you what when we were talking in my bed one morning. To be happy.”

“What would make you happy?” she asked, her eyes so serious they made him uncomfortable. Darcy wasn’t serious. She was flirty and funny and flippant. Irreverent.

You, he wanted to say. You would make me so happy. “I don’t know,” was his verbal answer. His bald-faced fucking lie. “Are you happy?”

She glanced over at him and then looked up at the curving rock above them. “I am right now.”

“But in general.”

“That’s harder,” she replied. “Sometimes it’s easier to just find those moments when nothing is wrong and try to hold onto them.”

“And this is one of those moments?”

“Yeah. Don’t you think so?”

Bucky nodded. “Yeah, it is.”

“See. You’re happy. Right here, right now.”

He nodded again. “I am.”

“That’s something.” Her voice was soft and her eyes were far away. There was something going on in her head and he desperately wished he knew what it was. Was she thinking about him?

“Yeah, something,” he agreed. Something he thought he’d never be able to say. That he is happy right here and right now. Everything is perfect in this moment. The little bench sheltered by high walls of rusty rock, the spicy brown mustard mixing with tender turkey and soft bread, the bite of carbonation in the sugary-sweet soda, the quickly cooling air and subtle breeze across the hairs of his right arm. The woman sitting beside him. Most of all her. This moment wouldn’t be perfect if that wasn’t her sitting there next to him.

Thank you @anogete!

And this is the time where I do a Madonna and get down on my knees. We’re out of nominations, folks. If I don’t get new nominations, I can’t keep the Spotlight going. It’s so easy - all you have to do is send a message to the blog or me (@latessitrice).

(nb: If you’ve nominated someone and they haven’t appeared here it’s because I’ve not been able to get in touch with them to get them to take part. Some people appear not be that active anymore).

#author spotlight #mod post #wintershock

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emily-jared-zoe-benjamin-blog · 8 years ago

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TW: Abuse, rape, toxic houses, abelism, additction. text heavy post below the cut. Please read. Do not comment with anything that is unsupportive. x x x x x x x x x x I ususally dont have the energy or am too ashamed to tell people whats actually going on with me. It has felt very isolating and put me in a bad mental place for a long time. This time I am speaking out. It's hard for me to put this in words without being emotional. I have reached out to some folks in my community. I have direct support from members of MBAC, TWAC, NLG, SURJ. Three or four years ago, I and others started a rad community house to center marganilized folks. I have been the primary person holding down this house (as in emotional labor, physical labor, and financial labor). Awesome friends have lived here. So have alot of shitty, abusive assholes. I've been fucked over beyond anything I feel like going into. Things have deteriorated. The people I currently live with have worn me down to nothing and have turned the house into a toxic environment. They were all friends before moving in and reinforce and enable each others problematic behaviors. They are abelist and abusive. They aren't paying bills or rent. We are getting shut off notices everyday. One of my roommmates raped someone in the house and the rest have enabled this behavior thru appoligism and denial. JARED HUNSAKER BENJAMIN DONOLON AKA JOHN SMITH EMILY KAYE WARNER ZOE SNIK OR ZOE JENKINS TOXIC ENVIRONMENT Since this summer, I have consistently been woken up by rowdy partying every night from the hours of 3-9 AM. They will sleep or drink through the day. There is a culture of drug and alchohol use on a nightly and daily basis. Personally, I dont care what drugs people do as long as it does not negativly affect others in the house. That is the case here. The drugs they are using makes them highly aggressive. Often what wakes me up is barking dogs and sketchy-and-drunk, agro-white-cis dudes getting into fights or raising their voices. People and their dogs have literally stayed at the house for upwards of two months. Typically this is without discussion. Most of them have been physically violent and aggressive and verbally abusive. Most of them have been kicked out after multiple incidents of violence and agression. Most of these incidents arent communicated with other housemates. I finally find out once it's really bad that, oh, they knew this person was agro all along and had expierenced it. Many times these are people my roommates later claim to 'barely know' or just met. All are white cis dudes. I realize a lot of this behavior is deeply imbedded in their community. I have been in a constant state of exhaustion due to lack of sleep. I have chronic pain and I get exhausted everyday just from living and have explained this to them many times. It's disorienting being woken up from a deep REM sleep consistently. And I cant function/think. The last fucking noise I want to be woken up by is either a barking dog or the sound of a white cis dude who probably has dred locks. This is not a punk house. When I reached my limit and asked that we not host folks for a few weeks (especially white cis dudes) they did so anyways and lied to my face that no one was there (even when I saw them). I've also asked for specific people who have been agro not to be back at the house. This has also been ignored. When neighbors began coming to me, they finally took the noise seriously. ANON ROOMMATE - RAPE/ABUSE It is in this toxic culture that one of my roommates raped someone in the house. The entire house apparently knew/or was involved and didnt tell me, nor did they hold this person acocuntable. Why? Because they are denialists, appologists, and enablers. They shamed the survivor to their face as well as blamed them for the abuse because they both had drank. In addition, Emily screamed and violently reacted to the survivor when the survivor went to them for support. The rapist literally said things such as, "she is only saying I raped her because her feelings are hurt." They shit talked the survivor and said they were out to ruin them and not to trust them. These conversations took place in a Facebook chat which I am no longer in and copied and pasted to email form. *some screenshots included.. I reached the limit of pictures that could be posted, however, there is much more* I learned about the rape when rent was due (one month after the abuse) when the abuser didnt have money because he had to pay for part of the abortion. I immediatly reached out to the survivor and offered support. The survivor told me they reached out to everyone in the house to try to hold the abuser accountable and asked that I be told. No one in the house did that. I then sent a Facebook message to the entire house calling out the abuser and the other people's appoligist, enabling behaviors. I asked for accountability. I set up ground rules for this conversation and said I would end the conversation if they were broken (for example, no gaslighting, no survivor blaming, shaming, no aggressive personal attacks, etc). These rules were broken repeaditly as were boundaries the survivor set. They seriously triggered the survivor. I was unable to continue speaking with them because of how disguisting their comments were. I then reached out to the community for support. I arranged for a neutral mediator to meet with us in an effort to hold the abuser and others accountable. At first they were receptive. Then they never responded when the mediator reached out to them. We made more attempts and waited longer. Then said they refused to engage in mediation. I've made many efforts to hold them accountable within the house. This has failed. JARED HUNSAKER white cis male. Jared got in my face while I was in my chair, yelling when I asked him to be quiet at 4 am. He then refused to move out of my way and blocked my path and continued yelling at me until I came back out of my room to talk to him. He says that any request I have is either overreacting or petty. Usually, after I make a request to Emily (as the noise is coming from her room and I dont want to enter a room of people partying at 4 am, especially not after being attacked) for the entire group to be quiet, I will get a nasty text at 4 or 6 am from Jared saying "the whole house thinks it's time I move out" or calling me "petty." This has happened multiple times. Only two of those times are included. It's at a point where I know asking for them to respect basic boundaries or to do things around the house wont happen. I dont feel comfertable talking to them in person, so I have been talking to them over Facebook. At this point, I dont feel talking to them in any form will change anything. BENJAMIN DONLON AKA JOHN SMITH Benjamin is a poc cis male who recently moved here from Denver, Colorado. He used to organize and live at R2D2 and was briefly active in dont shoot. I found out that Benjamin basically fled Coloroado to escape accountability there. He was kicked out of his last house. Benjamin did not inform people in the house any of this information. I found out thru someone else in passing. When I asked him about this and for the name of the facilitator in Denver, he told me he was involved in a mutually abusive, co-dependant relationship where he was being mentally abused and he was physically violent. I asked him for the phone number of the facilitator of the process he went through. I asked four times. He never gave it to me. I thought it was a huge red flag that he didnt tell anyone about his past. I found the number myself. I learned that he was kicked out of a community house in Colorado for being violent towards other people and his former partner. He went through a process and was staying in the house. However, after that process, he chased his former partner into a room and she had to lock the door and trap herself in. He had punched walls before this and this time punched other folks trying to hold him back from punching the door more. It was at that time that he left Colorado. He has exibited the same behavior with me (chasing me into my room, yelling and banging the door down and trying to open it, refusing to leave). When he found out I spoke with the person in Denver, he became aggressive with me. Towering over me in my chair, yelling, blocking my path, hitting walls and counters, he accused me of "talking shit about him to people out of state" and then gaslit me, saying I never asked him for the phone number. Another time he did this to me, he ripped down a bill (in close proximity to my face and body, as I was literally in the act of putting up a shut off notice under the heat control when he ripped it down in my face). I told him to stop touching the heat unless he intended to pay, because it was about to be shut off. He then told me he would continue turning the heat on and to try to stop him (he hasn't paid bills since he moved in or paid full rent - as Emily told him this was okay). He began yelling at me and accusing me of stealing mail (???) and I quickly went into my room and held the door shut (my doors are french doors tied by a rope knot). He continued yelling and tried to break open the door. He left only when I blasted music to drown him out. Every encounter I have had with him since has been super aggressive. I later saw him and Zoe emptying the trash bins outside in apparent attempts to look for mail (?) it was gross and aggressive intimidation. He has harassed me while I was in the bathroom by yelling and threatening me (through a curtain door). He has waited outside my room in the dark for me to come out and mess with me on several occasions. EMILY WARNER: Emily works at Sam's Billiards as a cook (NE Sandy/42ndish). She's friends with people who party alot. She works most nights and parties afterwards until 9 am. Emily recently moved here from Michigan. I dont know where she meets her friends and would often later find out that she "doesn't know them" or just met them. She will also say that she doesnt know who's in her room and she isn't home when they are there. Both her and Zoe will say things are missing from their rooms all the time. Recently, Zoe has accused me of stealing from them, which is a baseless accusation; it clearly is the people they are bringing into the house. Emily has a pattern of abelism and creating conflict when asked to follow thru on basic promised responsibilities. Emily's dogs are dogs that bark at everything and destroy everything unless there are people around. They have been completly neglected. They almost never stop barking. Emily has barely been home these past few months. They may be cared for once a day if that. When she first moved in, she (like many before her) assumed that I would provide free animal care because I am disabled and at the house more than her. I told her after it was becoming apparent that I was not able to do this. She then paid others in the house to do this. My labor is always a free and exploited thing, of course. Then she stopped paying others and the dogs for months have been locked away in her room. Deficating and urinating in there and making a huge mess. They are so unhappy. Most of our conversations are about the dogs or being woken up. I have tried so many times, begging Emily to do something. The non-stop barking and wining every hour on a nightly basis is a nusance. She will say she is sorry and has done nothing to remedy this. She continues to neglect them or have the dogs in the presence of rowdy people and new dogs who rile them up. Others in the house have expressed the same sentiments. Emily generally has not followed thru on the things she has promised to do, and the same goes for most people in the house. Thus, house meetings continued to cover the same things that werent getting done until I finally told them that I refused to participate in house meetings. It was another drain on my labor to facilitate and plan the same meeting without follow through. So I did all the "to dos" and projects myself. Most of this involved physical labor, such as removing large objects, forming a gate, and cleaning the yard of large pallets and their party trash, clearing matresses, and so on. They did nothing to help. Finally, two months ago, I passed on the responsibility for paying rent and bills to Emily because I was at my breaking point. Most of the time people dont pay rent or bills. It's fucking not okay. I'm not a fucking bank. I exist on disability income while they all work/can work and spend their money on alchohol and molly. I've been dealing with this ontop of organizing and ontop of having almost zero will to exist. So Emily was taking our money and didn't pay any bills the entire time. If they took it, if they didnt have enough to cover bills, if they didn't communicate to us they need more money. I dont know and I dont care. I am facing shut off notices everyday and sadled with over $800 past due bills because of this. She continues to lie about paying them and does nothing. The bills she has said she paid are actually not paid. I have actual copies of the bills reflecting that as well as all her texts claiming that she paid them. She enabled the abuser by covering his rent and survivor-shamed by hiding the abuse from others in the house (along with other housemates). Last month, when rent was due, the money I gave her was missing. For 24 hours she wouldnt give me a straight answer as to where it was or if she had it. She strings me along saying things are paid and then I call the utilitiy the next day and find out she hasn't. This pattern has been going on for awhile and is exhausting. She will then spin elaborate stories to create conflict and to confuse the issue (not just about this, but everything). This is something all the folks in the house have been doing. They have been banding together to defend and enable an abuser and their own abusive behaviors. Sometimes I doubt my own reality. Lately I have been refusing to engage in their webs of lies. I've cut off all contact with them. ZOE SNIK- Zoe is someone I know from mutual friends in twac and also from shows. I had the most hope for them and am truelly sorry they are not seeing things clearly. They seemed somewhat supportive initially, but since I have taken action to kick Benjamin out of the house, they have been spreading actual lies about me online. They are best friends with Emily. They told me about the rape. When they did they did so, however, it was in a denialist way of shaming, dismissing, and denying the survivor's story. They and others said, "they were there" and thats not what happened. Or that the survivor was drunk at the time. After one or two initial conversations, Zoe refused to engage in further discussion about the abuse. Zoe has brought over many agro white cis dudes who have stayed for months. They continue to bring over folks who I specifically asked them not to, due to their aggressive behaviors toward me. These folks are always drunk when they are here. It makes me very uncomferable. They continued to bring groups of people over when specifically asked not to on a temporary basis because of how rowdy the house had been. I am the only one in this house who cleans or constantly picks up after the entire house and their beer cans, clearing other people's huge mattresses and yard couches. We havent had any spoons in the kitchen for many months. The past weeks, I've stopped cleaning up after them and no one did anything. During one telling incident (with past people), after we got an eviction notice, I cleaned the entire house and mowed the whole yard by myself as they sat on the porch smoking cigarettes. That literally happened. I've had to post desprate CraigsList ads. I trade my houseless friend weed in exhange for labor now. Recently Zoe dumped a moldy matreess that I specifically asked them not to dump in our yard/freepile, because I knew I'd be the one dealing with it, along with the others, right next to an actual no dumping sign that I made. After asking several times, I of course had to be the one to get rid of it. I empty the trash and do dishes. They virtually never contribute. I've explained how recylcing works a million times and im still having to sort thru our trash constantly because they don't care. With them having so many people over, I've never seen so much trash in the house. In the end, it is me dealing with it all and cleaning up after them all while being told that I'm being 'petty'. I maintain all the basics - I'm the sole person for years getting tiolet paper, soap, staple foods, ect. I have paid rent and bills and been in the constant state of being owed money. At times, two thosand dollars. It has taken me months to get repaid, only to have someone else not pay rent and me have to cover. Why is the one disabled person cleaning up after abelist messes? The air quality got so bad in here that the day has finally come. I am empyting bob myself (aka carrying up huge buckets of water from the basement upstairs). Fuck every last abelist bone in their body. Folks who support me have offered to help with this but asking someone to come do that seems like more time than it would for me to do it. This alone caused me alot of anxiety, then during this Emily felt entitled to take the dehumifier to her room. After spending days of trying to get outside help just to empty the thing, she has made it impossible. I texted her over the span of two days letting her know nicely that it needs to be returned, that it belongs to the house and I am having a real bad pain flare up because of her actions. First she didn't respond, then finally was snippy, and eventually moved it after the point where I lost my calm with her. Community members served a Restraining Order (RO) on Benjamin and are trying to find Jared. We went to great lengths to keep this within the community and not involve the police. If we did involve the police this would have been over already. Emily and Zoe will be evicted thru a community eviction. After serving an RO on Benjamin, both Zoe and Emily made posts on housing forums targetting me and attacking me for supporting survivors and making up lies about the situation. They have refused any accountability for their actions as to why they are being asked to leave. I am extremely worried about the past due bills that Emily has not paid on behalf of the house for months and making rent by April 1. I was planning on giving Zoe a second chance, despite their behaviors, because I saw hope in them working on this stuff. However, due to their lack of accountability and smear campaign against my name, that will no longer be the case.

#tw abuse #call out #emily warner #jared hunsaker #zoe snik #benjamin donolon #aka john smith #portland abusers #abuse #assault #rape #portland #community house

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nonbinary-nature-lover-jeri · 8 years ago

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Coming Out To All My Facebook Friends

A week ago I decided to come out to all my friends on Facebook even prodding to see if I got a reply from people I wasn't sure of. This is the letter followed by observations about the response:

Dear Friends,

As most of you know in late Summer of 2014 I began a gender journey. All my life I had felt insecure about my gender. There were a number of opportunities earlier in my life to look at my own gender identity. In the second half of my Junior year in high school at Pine Tree Academy I boarded with a local dentist and his wife. They had a daughter a few years older than me in college where she stayed in a dorm. As the dentist and his wife worked I often had a couple hours every now and then when I was alone. I discovered the daughters wardrobe or at least the part she left at home. I tried the clothes on and remember feeling that this was more than simple curiosity. Meanwhile at school there were a couple bullies who had made comments and shoved me when they knew no one could see them. At the end of the year I passed around my yearbook for signatures. Two of the entries were quite hateful. One used "gay" as an insult and the other called me a "faggot." So come Senior year I made it a point to butch it up a bit, (appear more masculine), to avoid the bullying.

After graduation I left for college at Atlantic Union College in Massachusetts. In my first year there I met up with 3 or 4 gay guys. One of them was gender non-conforming, I became friends with him and had chats with him in the dorm stairwells where we found a measure of privacy. One memorable night he even took me and a couple others to a gay club. This was the fall of 1975 and my young mind was just overwhelmed by the experience. We continued to share secrets and concerns with each other. I came out as being attracted to guys and he shared both some of his exciting weekend encounters and his sadness at not being able to reconcile his sexual orientation with the church's beliefs. Soon Winter break came and we went in different directions. As the break ended I was informed of something pretty horrific. My flamboyant gay friend had committed suicide. I was scared, sad, confused and determined to keep my secrets hidden which I did until 1987.

I came out as gay in February of 1987, thirty years ago. I quickly got involved with the community. I began working with people with HIV/AIDS (PWA), devising outreach programs and assisting PWAs secure services and support. During that time I heard a sermon at the Unitarian Universalist Church by a guest preacher who ran the denomination's LGBT Program. He quoted Harry Hay, an early gay rights pioneer and founder of The Radical Faerie movement. What he said really struck a cord because his belief was that gay and lesbian people were different then straight people not just in the choice of sexual partners but also in our gender expression. The belief was that people like me were shamans, magicians and priests who stood between men and women and helped heal stresses and misunderstandings between men and women. I thought that I had found the answer.

During this time I got to know several transgender individuals beginning in the late '80s. They were for the most part trans women and while I didn't feel completely like a man, I didn't feel completely like a woman either. So, while I felt an affinity with my trans friends back then, their gender identity didn't match up with how I was feeling. By this time I had entered a relationship which became quite well known given our willingness to open up to the press. In an effort to be attractive to my partner who like hairy guys known as "bears" in gay subculture, I grew a beard stopped trimming hair off my body and became a bear, at least on the outside. I really grew to hate how I was frequently read - many presumed I was hyper masculine and probably into leather and S&M. I was really repulsed by that idea. I kept this a secret and our relationship weathered lots of challenges that came our way unitil August of 1996. On that date, for several different reasons, my partner and I changed our relationship from partner to close friend.

In 1996 I came to New Mexico and continued to work in HIV/AIDS work, focusing on prevention. As a way of deflecting presumptions about my masculinity I grew my hair out and declared myself a fairy bear which sometimes morphed into a "care bear." I got to know some wonderful Trans people here and learned a lot from them, particularly a couple Dine'/Navajo trans women who shared the ancient wisdom passed down by their elders about genders beyond male and female.

By 2009 my disabilities, symptoms and medication side effects made it difficult to work. Eventually I was declared disabled and left work. I began searching the internet for information that would answer the lifelong confusion I had about my gender. I began to see talk of genderqueer individuals. At first it didn't click with me because all I observed were individuals who were assigned female at birth. Finally a news story changed everything. I happened on a news story about a hate crime that occurred in California. I've shared the story many times so I will just lay out the facts. A high school student who identified as agender, (who had been assigned male at birth), was riding home on a bus and had nodded off to sleep. A boy sitting nearby who thought it would be a practical joke to set the person's skirt on fire. The agender student sustained serious burns on his legs and their story, (many agender individuals prefer people use a singular version of they as their pronoun), made local and national news. In response the community rallied round them. The high school the agender individual attended had an event where most students and teachers in the school wore skirts for a day to show their support. Other schools and groups honored diversity and showed their support in other ways. This story, particularly the explication of what an agender and genderqueer person was, really meant something special to me.

I continued to explore, I came out as trans/agender on my blog. I will not rewrite what I already have in my blog. If you haven't read it leave a comment and I'll give you a link. After this gender journey I'd been taking on my own I felt the need to connect with others. I discovered a trans support group here in Santa Fe and went to my first meeting. I wasn't sure I'd be accepted but that fear soon left as I was warmly welcomed. Soon I became involved in the group and helped out with a website and a Twiiter account. I also help facilitate meetings now and then. I have met so many wonderful trans men, trans women and nonbinary/genderqueer individuals. I have learned from their stories and continued to engage in self reflection.

I am very grateful to all the people I have met on my journey. Everyone of you has played a part in my life and your kindness and knowledge have been very important. I now identify as a trans femme, agender, nonbinary/genderqueer person, but if it's easier for you to remember you can call me transgender.

I am part of the trans community, a community that is now under siege. I consider the trans community as a very large extended family. When a black trans woman is murdered it breaks my heart, when someone is bullied and tormented so often they consider suicide I am deeply saddened. I also am dismayed that some on the right have reduced our community to mythological bathroom predators. I want my trans men and trans women friends to be free to use the facility that aligns with their gender identity and I, along with other nonbinary trans people want to have a gender neutral restroom available. Just like you all we want to do is take care of business, wash our hands and leave. We've been doing this for years without a problem. It's simply a fact that after losing the marriage equality battle the religious right aimed their sights on trans folk. A mythology was created and occasional incidents involving cis men were woven into the tale. I promise you we aren't putting ourselves in further danger by lingering in the bathroom one second longer than necessary. It's trans people that are the victims in some bathrooms. Bullies in schools are on the lookout for anyone who isn't their idea of normal. So it's trans students, gay and lesbian students and gender non-conforming cis students who get verbally and physically attacked. This needs to end now! I am proud to be a member of the trans community. This community has changed my life and made it meaningful again. If you don't understand, that's okay. Ask questions, read up on who we are and remain our friend. On the other hand, if you don't understand and refuse to learn and open your heart then, regrettably, I can no longer remain friends. I am too old to deal with negativity! I faced enough of it earlier in my life. As for my wonderful friends, family of choice, biological family and fellow activists who accept me and my community I thank you from the bottom of my heart ❤️!

Hugs, Jerry/Jeri

After this post began to receive likes and kind comments I was moved to respond. Here is that response with the names removed

I am feeling so blessed and overwhelmed with gratitude at the response to this post. Three of my friends, from way back, during my years in Norridgewock, Maine from 13 - 16 years old. Your simple "likes" were so moving for me. It shows you may not understand all I've shared but your willing to try. You'll never know how much that means to me and the literal tears of gratitude I've shared. Thank you so much! I was also moved by the "like" from my high school classmate at Pine Tree Academy. A time filled with both wonder and joy as well as internal turmoil I didn't show anyone.

And... my friends from my college era who left comments or "liked" this post. I'm so overwhelmed by their memories, their acceptance and/or their willingness to understand, even if it's with some trepidation. This means so much.

Then there are all friends who knew me during my gay/AIDS activist 🏳️‍🌈 era your acceptance means the world to me. Finally my new trans family 🦄 who've welcomed me with open arms, gave me encouragement and advice and support and love ❤️ your literal and virtual embrace have sustained me during the last two and a half years. Thanks so much. Finally my two unwitting fairy godmothers, your inspiration means more to me than either of you will ever know. I owe you so much and I will try and pass it on by being an inspiration and activist in our community. Before I end I should acknowledge my friend and dare I say apprentice, we embarked on our new journey together and I wish you all the best life has to offer. I may have missed someone, if I have I'm sorry but know your friendship is gratefully accepted. To all thanks🙏🏼, hugs🤗, love❤️and unicorns🦄!!

# nonbinary #coming out #friends #non-binary #non-binary gender identity #nonbinary genders #personal #trans #transgender

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thelifeofascholar-blog1 · 8 years ago

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In which the Scholar Dines In

Consider the ignominy, dear admirers, of being forced to prepare one’s own supper. Is it not unimaginable? Is it not horrific to behold? Does it not cause tremors in one’s extremities and blemishes in one’s complexion? I have been forced not only to face the thought of such an injustice, but to encounter the very thing head on. My poor, dear old mother used to call me a “trooper,” and as nauseatingly pedestrian as the appellation is, I daresay I have lived up to its full connotation on this dark day. My mother will be proud to hear of it in the next installation of my triweekly epistle.

Like any self-respecting man of my social and intellectual station, I have my meals prepared by my manservant Chip. In the occasional event that Chip should be indisposed to my alimentation, I am wont to explore the few culinary wonders and many blunders of the neighborhood surrounding my dwelling. For the first time today, however, a confluence of outrageous circumstances whirled into a veritable hurricane of dire fortune, locking me into only one possibility: I had either to suffer death at the hands of cruel hunger, every pang drawing me closer to the grave, or I had to cook.

I do not exaggerate when I say that no other option existed. Chip has been absent with some sort of ailment of which I am unfamiliar, one that he called “march madness.” I was sure to grant him whatever time off necessary to make a full recovery, for my mind is far too valuable to risk losing to a contagious mania. Being home without an attendant, I, as I stated before, thought to proceed to a nearby eatery, but I had only the day prior twisted my left ankle savagely against a wayward pebble that lay in my path upon the walkway before my apartment. I have begun the process of suing the city for the terrifying physical and mental anguish I have suffered as a result of that lapse in public sanitation, but in the meantime the dolorous event has rendered walking even to the end of my own block a prohibitive affair.

My options, therefore, were few. One might suggest that I order in, but I have had more than enough negative experience in that regard. Chip has attempted to endear those services to me in the past, but the establishments in my vicinity ostensibly offering delivery of victuals do so with such a measure of incompetence that I cannot bear to let them leave my threshold without a thorough verbal thrashing. Once I received an approximation to a pizza in a box whose lid had sunken into the very foodstuff, rendering the entirety of the already unappetizing tomato-based mess inedible. On another occasion, a container of soy sauce had leaked over the interior of the bag in which my fried rice resided; the rice taunted me through an inaccessible film of spilled condiment. On numerous occasions I have scolded the deliverers for their tardiness, and for allowing my foodstuffs to become cold, congealed, and indigestible. Suffice it to say that services no longer willingly deliver food to my home, nor would I desire them to do so.

I thought, instead, that I would breach my regular routine and enjoy a bowl of cereal with milk, a pleasure that I generally reserve for breakfast, snacks, and nightcap. However, neither nightcap nor supper was cereal destined to be, for Chip in his temporary madness had failed to keep my refrigerator stocked with milk. My mouth watered for the sweet indulgence of oat and marshmallow, but in my infirm state I could do no more than wish.

Instead, I had to make do with what ingredients I could muster from the pantry. This was unexplored territory for your humble expositor. Versed as I am in the culinary arts, it is purely in the abstract, suitable for the enjoyment and criticism of others’ comestible creations. I know what it is to sauté, but I myself have never before been forced to condescend to the act. I do not wish to diminish the talent of chefs the world over for whom cooking is an art, but they surely must admit it is an inferior one; for no dish has ever sat upon a museum pedestal, and no plate has ever bookended a philosophical movement. Moreover, the word art as applied in the kitchen can only be accurate at the very most advanced levels of the trade. For the rest of the world it is an unspeakable burden, peasants’ work masquerading as daily necessity.

I couldn’t be content allowing my work to fall into such a category. If art the work could be, however transient and second-class, then art it must be. I sought no recipe, for what art has ever followed formula? I simply arrayed my canvas with a cooking pot and assembled my palette of ingredients.

I discovered at that moment that Chip had neglected more than just the purchase of milk. My paltry pantry sat largely empty. Therein I found some salt, flour, sugar, oil, and baking powder, and little else, and in the refrigerator sat a measly dozen eggs and carton of buttermilk--hardly the makings of any proper foodstuff. It would be a miracle if I did not starve even with these items at hand. However, I have surprised myself before, and I resolved that I would surprise myself this night. I would have to.

I began to experiment. The buttermilk proved to be exceedingly sour, no doubt spoiled by Chip’s neglect. I threw it out and thought up a suitable scolding for my negligent manservant’s eventual return. I thought then to try my hand at a few hard boiled eggs, but it seems there is more skill involved in their production than I ever realized. The eggs, cracked into the boiling water, simply fragmented into the rolling fluid to produce a translucent flecked soup, the sight of which would have made me lose whatever appetite I had in less desperate circumstances. As it stood, I tasted the mess and nearly became ill.

My next endeavors were similarly fruitless and taxing to my constitution, as I scalded my hands upon hot oil and nearly suffocated in smoke from an ill-fated attempt at unleavened bread. I was bruised, burned, and beaten, and it was clear that the approach I thought cautious would not be my friend this night.

Something snapped in my mind. I do not know if it arose from hunger-induced delirium, or from frustration at my failures, or from a touch of Chip’s madness, but I lost all inhibition. No longer did I care what went into my repast. I mixed ingredients with complete abandon, combining flour and eggs like some kind of madman. I even withdrew the carton of buttermilk from the trash and included it in the frenzy. The result was a putrid slime, the thought of which causes my now-sane knees to buckle, which I in my momentarily maniacal state poured into the hot oil that had previously burned me.

What drove this serendipitous act, I wonder? What led my hands in their work? I can only assume that the angels of culinary mercy had smiled upon my wretched efforts and had taken charge of my fortune, for it is impossible to understand how such a positively unpalatable ooze could amalgamate into sustenance, and yet such occurred. The goop, in fat and heat, turned out to be some sort of batter or dough that, in the hot pan, fried into a flat, round piece of bready substance not unlike cake. I thought to develop some sort of French nomenclature for the stuff, but in honor of its humble origins in my low moment I decided to give it a more practical name: “pan bread”. Wondering as I did at my latent genius, I gave the pan bread a taste.

Alas, my creation was salty as the Dead Sea! Clearly in my mania I had underestimated the potency of the fundamental seasoning. Undeterred, I began offsetting the salt in the unholy batter by adding proportionally more of the remaining ingredients (I did not become so mad during that moment of abandon as to fail to keep meticulous track of the components of the mess). What resulted was, I hazard to guess, gallons of batter.

So I set to work. I began to see something of the enjoyment that those simple folk of culinary persuasion must find in their craft, as pan bread after pan bread emerged more perfect than the last, more golden brown, more succulent to behold. Hours passed with me staring, watching as these circular loaves formed in my little pan.

Only as I arrived at the dregs of the batter did I realize what volume of pan bread I had just made. I let out a peep of fright as I surveyed the numerous pieces of food around me. They sat stacked sometimes two or three high, covering both the kitchenette counter and the dining table. I took a moment to count them in astonishment, but in my hungered state I failed to even number through a stack before collapsing, light-headed on the floor. I only with difficulty succeeded in reaching a trembling hand into the mass of pan breads to withdraw one. It was overdone, so I labored then to withdraw another. This one would have to do, in spite of its awkward oblong shape, and I set to work recovering my strength.

The pan bread was warm and sweet, and in my famished state there, lying on the floor of my kitchenette, I scarfed it handily and marveled once again at my wondrous capabilities. Oh world, you cannot begin to understand what it is like to be as prodigious as I. I mused that the little cake would perhaps pass muster as an entrée in the finest restaurant, and if I ever were to deign to such menial labor, it could make me a fortune. Indeed, I have withheld the precise details of the recipe just in case.

Lifting myself off of the floor, I proceeded to draw a bath, adding Epsom salts with one hand and munching on another pan bread with the other. I was almost sad that I would not soon have another opportunity to prepare my own nourishment, but to allow the act to become regular is to allow myself to enter the lower classes. I may as well plunge toilets for a living.

#supper #cooking #ignominious #culinary arts #hunger #alimentation #march madness #foodstuffs #dead sea #batter #pan bread

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topbeautifulwomens · 6 years ago

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#Getting #Married? #Where #to #Save #and #Where #to #Splurge #friday #portraits #acting #aichannel #dancing #fashionshoot #funnyvideos #happiness #makeup #quotes

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The post Getting Married? Where to Save and Where to Splurge appeared first on Beautiful Women.

source http://topbeautifulwomen.com/getting-married-where-to-save-and-where-to-splurge/

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sarcasticlykaeon-blog · 6 years ago

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Caught Between Worlds

Stuck. Thats how it felt, every hour of every day, for as long as I could remember. Like i was some sort of freak, on the outside looking in. I can remember when i was small, barely old enough to really walk and talk, two and a half, three...and i hated dresses. I hated pink. I hated lace and frills. If i could choose or make my will known it was pants. Tshirts and sweatshirts. Childrens overalls. I hated games in preschool. The girls always wanted to play house, with husbands and babies in some sort of elaborate roleplay. The boys wouldnt let me play with them. "No girls," theyd say. "You wont know how," or "girls arent any good at this. Go play with dolls." somehow...just because i didnt have the same lower regions i wasnt good enough. So i played alone, with blocks or toys, making up elaborate adventures or stories in the process. My mother, my aunts, my grandmother...they all wanted me to be a girl. They tried to take me underwing in baking, playing with makeup, dressup, dolls...they tried to teach me about playing with hair. Me? I just wanted to test out the new computer, watch ninja turtles, and kick butt like she-ra. My one concession to female marketed programs was Jem...but honestly? I loved the story and drama, not the glamour, glitter, fashion, or fame. I was the oldest...five years between me and my brother meant i was dads son substitute until i was almost 11. I learned things like changing the oil in a car, ms-dos programming and how to kick ass in Doom, how to tackle and fight back if grabbed by a bigger opponent. Of course...the instant my middle brother was old enough to do son things....fwip! I was ignored. About the only thing i could get the old man to do was D&D. My grandfather insisted it was a phase i would grow out of, that id become a seeker of a strong man and an actual woman eventually. My mother tried to force me to conform to gender standards. My aunt was disappointed. My father only started caring about gender normativity when i hit puberty. I never told them things like "i want to grow up to be a boy" because even at three, i knew it didnt work that way, on some instinctual level. But i dod wail and growl about the unfairness. Why is x okay for boys but not girls? Why are girls expected to be like this but boys arent? And the answer...oh the answer just upset me and angered me. "Because youre expected to be a young lady." By puberty, the words "young lady" were guarenteed to trigger a huge emotional fit of rage...but i couldnt explain why. Just like the fact that i had to fight for my place amidst whatever boys lived in the neighborhood. I had to work twice as hard to prove i was worthy of being allowed to hang out...and still they sought to ditch me at every opportunity. School was even worse. I was overly tall, strong, and hyper intelligent. I was part of the "Gifted Program" (which in most school systems is naught but busy work or a careful way to set up classes in high school to fix the averages of a class.) I was, in every concievable way the outcast. And then puberty found me. Early. The first time i bled in sixth grade, i cried myself to sleep, hiding blood ruined underwear in the back of my closet until i could throw it away. I didnt tell my mother until i was sixteen--hiding this horrid, agonizingly painful thing that happened to me once a month. When i grew breasts i hated them. I hated bras. And of course, i have breasts that grew huge. I survive with super tight sports bras and tshirts because nothing else fits my fucked up frame: ive got broad shoulders, long legs, and huge feet (size 12 womens, which is impossible to find), and im like 5'8". Id be taller but my arms and torso are short, and ive got wide hips and huge breasts and butt. I hated my body and i still do. I feel like i was a crapshoot built out of the mismatched leftovers of several people. And the shit my parents tried to enforce for gender conformity to this "new identity of a young lady." first was acne management. I wasnt a pizza face, but i did and still do have a bit of an issue with blackheads (Glasses have that effect.) But my parents tried to force me to pop my zits...and when i refused because it hurt, they basically held me down and popped them for me. Then was "shaving my legs". Okay. Underarms i get because pits stink. I shave those because it feels less stanky when i do. But their issue? My legs. I refused to do it. "Boys dont, why do i? Thats not fair!" i fought. Hard. But...like the zits...theyd hold me down and buzz my legs for me from knee to foot while i thrashed and begged...all to force on me a title i never wanted, a mold i didnt fit. And i didnt understand WHY. Why was my behavior, my life and interests and hobbies and clothing all supposed to be dictated by something so unimportant? And then...when i was sixteen, i met a person i hit it off with. A sweet and funny youth my age with hair as long as mine and a goofy smile on his face. In a few months we were dating long distance and i suspect my family sighed in relief that i wasnt a lesbian. Our fathers got to be friends(which was useful, since 200miles between us put a crimp in relations.) But this had another side effect. You see, that next year i learned something id never heard before. Something id never considered until that day in 2002. His father...felt he was a woman trapped in a mans body. I was floored. This could happen? What? So i researched what i could to understand (there wasnt much, back then.) And...i began to wonder....because all I could find was for males becoming females. Even joked with my boyfriend that the universe "got us backwards" (he agreed, seeing as how he was girlier than me) And then it all crashed to a halt one night at dinner. His father, him, me, another mtf person and two other adults were at a restaurant, and the kne guy at the table with no knowledge on trans folks was asking questions. I listened, enraptured as the emotions and disconnects id always felt were described from the other side. Emboldened, 17, and perhaps seeking some form of connection or...validation for my feelings, i piped up, expressing how i felt the universe had gotten me backwards. That was the worst thing to say, as his father unloaded on me verbally for being mocking and insensitive and jumping on a bandwagon i had no business on. Treated me like i was being scum--damn near drove me to tears and made me feel small and useless. And i thought "if this is what trans ppl are like...i dont want to be like them ever." it crushed my desire to understand my gender identity and sexuality for years. It didnt help that as time went by ot seemed every trans person i encountered was one of two things: a dramawhore with the emotional stability of a 14year old girl, or someone like my bf's father who decided that i couldnt belong to his elitest club in a fashion that echoed years of "no girls allowed" from boys everywhere. The internets vast collection of professionally offended "keyboard warriors" who spew bigotry and hate and small minded idiocy while calling it "truth" or "just what X group deserves" is a steaming cesspit of shit I dont want to be part of on any level, and unfortunately many of them claim to be whatever "alternate" gender identity or sexuality is the fad this month. Its not winning me over at all, and made me shy further away from actual people i might be able to relate to...maybe who can help me. I finally did own up to something when i was 23--I was more sexually attracted to women than men. In fact...beyond a few emotion driven crushes as a teen, the only male i have ever found attractive was that same goofy, funny, smiling boy with the long hair...except these days hes my supportive, goofy, smiling mate with the softest heart of gold ive ever known inside a powerful and intimidatingly sized viking-esque exterior. But again...because on the outside, our relationship seems very "normal" im not welcomed much by the vocal minority and so im super wary of all parts of the lgbt crowd. I dont advertise or tell my relatives--my parents and their respective siblings are between 50 and 70 years old. They barely believe this stuff exists. I still dont want to be a girl. I dont want the societal expectations of it. I hate having breasts that risk knocking my teeth loose if i move too fast. And dont get me started on the fucking shit show that is my sex life. Its a complicated shit show that starts with the disconnect of parts and ends with kinks i can never actually engage in because, guess what? Im a GIRL. But at the same time, i stare at the only transmen examples and stories i can find, which seem to be rare and hidden somewhere, at places like fb and tumblr and twitter...at pride rallies and news stories...at stuff recounted by friends...and i dont want to be associated with people whose actions turn them into examples of literal human garbage. And so here i sit, caught between two worlds, never part of either one and feeling like im slowly drowning. It seems like one doesnt want me and the other i dont want... Im so tired of being stuck.

#Gender dysphoria #gender identity #emotional stress #confusion #feeling like a freak

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the--happy--heart · 8 years ago

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Another fictional plot

THE BOOKWORM

“He is a tall, skinny lad. Has brown glistening iris within beautifully carved eyes. A youthful, meek smile adorns his amiable face. His dense, black, wooly hair adds charm to his fair countenance. He is a true gentleman, polite and courteous. Diffident, to be more precise (for he cannot even directly look into a girl’s eye while conversing). To others his coyness might appear stupid but to me it is perhaps the most pleasant thing about him.

Most surprisingly, however, all these compliments with which I earnestly praise him are invisible to the world. To the guys and girls at P.E.C. College, Mumbai, he is only a Bookworm! A buried-behind-the-books guy! A nerd from whom one should maintain all possible distance to avoid realization of one’s own ignorance. He knows the answers to most difficult questions and seems to have learnt everything, word-by-word, from the most revered books on the concerned subject. But he lacks confidence and while answering in class always ends up stuttering and making a joke of himself. The teachers like him for he speaks well during viva but is overwhelmed with fear of messing up the answers in class in front of the mean back-benchers who mock him for his studious temperament and call him rude names whenever they encounter him outside the lecture theatres. Despite his weaknesses, I like him. He is good hearted and not at all selfish like other brainy folks.”

This is what Tanya had written about Bookworm in her diary when she had freshly joined college and had started making new acquaintances. Bookworm was not the only person about whom she had written in it for she would write about every other new friend she made in her college but the Bookworm’s page was carefully written in a neat handwriting with multihued ink and other pages were carelessly scribbled in black and white.

Tanya had, while carelessly turning the pages of a popular business magazine, come across the pictures of a bestselling autobiographical novel titled ‘Bookworm’ written by a leading industrialist of the country who had won many National and International awards for his brilliance at trade and owned many companies which were reveling in prosperity and enormous economy. The title ‘Bookworm’ caught Tanya’s eyes instantly and soon she was madly searching for her old college diary in the grubby storeroom. As soon as she found it, Tanya frantically turned the pages of her diary and stopped only when she found that multi-colored page with the bold heading ‘Bookworm’. Slowly, as she read her own inscription, the old memories of her college life unfolded before her.

“Bookworm does not have many friends. No one wants to spend time with someone who knew nothing but the mind-numbing text from books. Maybe this was the reason he sought my company often. A nerd can seek no one but another nerd for company. I am not as popular as he is for ‘nerd-ness’. I am only a sincere scholar who reads a lot and can answer few easy questions during lectures. I am confident while answering but never as accurate and conceptually clear as he is. And that is why I admire him. Because he is better than me in that one thing I think is most important for my academic prosperity. Clarity and better understanding of concepts. Moreover, I feel sorry for him sometimes. He has no family. No friends. No one likes him in the class and he has no one to talk to. I never fail to compliment him whenever I can and try my best to keep his spirits high so that he never loses his dedication.”

As the end of the first year approached, Bookworm formally invited Tanya for starting a weekly ‘tricky topic’ discussion session with him which she accepted immediately as it was a great idea for her to discuss difficult topics with someone who knew everything so well. His knowledge was immense and explained things effortlessly. So they had started seeing each other weekly, initially, twice or thrice a week, later, and by the end of four years they were seen to be studying together most of the times. To them it was a formal study session wherein they talked about nothing but books. But to the fellow pupils this formal alliance looked suspicious. Tanya’s friends adviced her to stop speaking with the guy.

"Soon you will start talking like him. And that shall be gross." They warned. Tanya never paid attention to any of these unwanted suggestions nor to the gossips which travelled around among the back-benchers. Once she heard them say, “The bookworm has found himself a stud-bee." It was not that these repulsive comments did not affect her or that she could not comprehend whom they were pointing at. It was just that she did not want to lose this opportunity of learning better. These useless back benchers ravenously hunted for preys whom they could deride and tease. Besides, the Bookworm or Mr. Know-it-all (with all due respect) had always been too busy talking sense and never seemed to even think of anything outside the books. On one fine day, however, he did talk nonsense. He suddenly, while they were in the middle of the most difficult part of the chapter, asked Tanya, "How, in your opinion, is my appearance?" "Appearance?” Tanya squeaked with surprise. "I mean, in your opinion, how do I look?" Though Tanya always looked up at him with admiration and wanted to compliment him then with ‘you are an exquisite blend of beauty and brain’, she stopped herself from doing that reminding herself that they weren’t supposed to talk nonsense as per that ‘vow of sincerity and absolute formality’ which was never really verbalized but deeply acknowledged between the two scholars. Moreover the 'beauty with brain' title seemed to traditionally suit girls better. So she plainly answered, "You, um, look fine. You have a pair of fine eyes, two fine ears, a mouth and a nose. All in their right places. Neither too big nor too small."

"Is that all you have to say about me?" What was he doing? What did he want to hear and from where did this oddity creep into him suddenly? Still, Tanya looked weekly at him and tried to furnish a smile. "Ya, I think that is all." He looked wounded. His perpetually beaming face looked smaller and cheerless.

"Ohh. Fine it is then. Fine. And that is all." Tanya, without more ado, started to look into her phone wishing all the time that he would come back into his usual form and stop being unusually chatty.

“After that he never tried to ask me any such thing again. He is an introvert and to try and move even an inch out of that invisible yet evident shell of introversion was too difficult a task for him. That one incidence was enough to embarrass him. I had not intended to sound mean but could not sound any more pleasant while avoiding crossing my self- constructed boundary of feminine decency. He has never asked me any personal question since then. Not even about my study schedule. We just work like robots. Impassively. And that is all.” Thus Tanya had written.

But friends told her that he used to steal glances at her in the library from behind the bookshelves and talked mostly about her during whatever little dialogue he had with other mortals. “Our discussion sessions were never affected by these stupid discussions about us, however. We continued learning our lessons. The sessions are very formal, as ususal. Mostly he talks and I listen. I get to speak only on those rare occasions when I know any topic better or when I am repeating what he had already taught. But one thing I cannot avoid noticing each time is that his otherwise grim face lights up whenever we are together.”

Years flew. Tanya and Bookworm continued to read together. Tanya was happy as her performance was improving and Bookworm was happy to have found someone who wanted to spend time with him and one who always motivated him to become more confident and positive.

It was one fine morning in their final year at college when just before the last practical exam Bookworm called Tanya in the cafeteria. He asked her if he could have Tanya’s notebook for a day. This might seem quite a normal request to anyone but not to someone who had known Bookworm as a student for four years. He was known for lending his notes to the needy and less witted. He, asking for a notebook, meant that he had missed a lecture, which was impossible. He had a remorseless habit of missing attractive opportunities like his only friend's birthday parties (his only friend, one ancient friend from school who loved the free rides on his bike more than he loved him), free tickets to movies (which he was awarded for his brilliant answers in viva by a passionate professor, a Hollywood addict who was unacquainted with his students’ interests and dislikes), free meals offered by teachers at the cafeteria after the award ceremonies he was always invited to attend. He was known to miss on many utter essentials like his showers, brushing teeth, combing hair, wearing his shirt (he had, incredibly, done that once on the day of his grand viva). But he would never miss a lecture.

Tanya, however, gave it to him immediately because she was indebted for having taken his notes thousand times before without him asking any favour in return. His cheeks were unusually red when he came to return the notebook to her the other day.

This was the last time Tanya saw him. They both graduated with flying colours. Soon they parted to pursue their destiny in different parts of the world.

Ten years had passed. Tanya was married and living in New Delhi with her husband and five year old son. She was doing great as the manager of an important production unit.

Today, after all these years of hectic job and demanding domestic chores, when she had read about the novel with the most astonishing and familiar title ‘Bookworm’ she could not stop herself from looking back into time and refreshing whatever little reminiscence she had in her diary of her old study-partner. She hurried to the closest bookshop that very day and got herself a copy of the ‘Bookworm’. It was an autobiography. The author had shared his experience of a hard life at school, college and thereafter when he was searching for a job and trying to find a place for himself in this mean world, how he had to fight isolation and recurring rejections and how he finally became what he was today, a rich and successful businessman who was admired by the Indian youth.

Tanya read the whole novel and found that there was no deep detailing of incidences at college or no mention of any person in particular. Having read the entire novel when she was just glimpsing through the first few pages she stopped to look at a page where there was printed text in the author’s own handwriting.

It read- “Dedicated to S.P, my first love. The only person who made me feel wanted and important in my dark days when I was a ‘no-one’. She brought out the hidden gem in me and today I am what I am because of her.”

Tanya’s hands trembled as she read the script again and again especially the word ‘love’. S.P? Who was S.P?

She quickly opened her diary again and madly flipped through its pages. And there in a bookmarked page in the middle of the diary was a letter scribbled in that same handwriting she had just read in the bestselling novel.

“Dear S.P. (study-partner),

I really like you. I have liked you since the first day I saw you and had been trying frantically to talk to you but could never summon enough courage as I was such a loser then. Finally, when I did request you to study with me you accepted my invitation without any hesitation. I was ecstatic. We had been really committed study partners for these four years.

I asked you to lend me your notebook and by mistake you have given me this diary of yours. Trust me I have read nothing in it but the pages in which you have made mention of me as Bookworm. I did not loathe being called a bookworm by you. I know you didn’t mean to hurt me by calling me this. It has been my epithet since my schooldays and surely you could not think of any other cryptic name for me but this one. I am used to it. But it never felt as sweet as it does now; to read it in your handwriting. The knowledge that someone has been writing about me in a diary, thinking of me, or at-least constantly aware of my existence was a delight too much for my desolate heart to hold.

I know that you are very sincere and devoted towards following your dreams. Don’t worry! I don’t desire any intimate friendship with you. I had become aware of your ‘self-constructed boundary of feminine decency’ even before I read it written here. It is because of your decency and humility that I like you so much. Instead, I am writing this just because I want you to know that without you I would have been lost. You have saved a life. Thank you for being my beacon.

Best wishes,

Bookworm (eternally)”

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#the-happy-heart #thebookworm shortfiction romantictales

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