#for most of these I had their actual names written instead of their nicknames

[moonfurthetemmie]

Some other tidbits about lucidity’s evil polycule from various places, because my notes are literally in three different places, not counting everything I shared with tumblr

From the discord server I rambled in a little:

Nightshade reminds Lucidity of Nightmare, some. They're both chaotic little shits. They know when to stop, but simply choose not to because going past that limit is usually more fun.

Lucidity is, much to his initial irritation, rather impressed by how much Shale’s accomplished with only a team of five people, before he and Nightshade came along.

The fact that there's still some morals that Lucidity clings to reminds Nightshade very much of Dark. Also once he calmed down some Lucidity started being kind a snarky little bitch, but they didn't even realize at first because he kept a perfectly straight face and sounded so serious. Nightshade is having so much fun

Shale will never admit it, but he's also really impressed with what Lucidity’s done. JR must've been incredibly powerful, especially with so many people. also unfortunately people being snarky with him with 0 fear of consequences is something he actually. kind of likes. he's only just realizing this and he's so mad about it

Nightshade was having a lot of fun watching Lucidity try (and succeed) to keep Shale from fucking with Jade and Zuli. Nightshade was having significantly less fun when Lucidity turned on him for being such a dick to Jade for no reason other than being jealous that Dark want to hang out with Jade and not him.

of course, his pushing Nightshade and Shale around doesn't go unpunished. they try to fuck with him once he mellows out a little, and it works. especially when they find out about JR's problem with corrupts.

Lucidity is at the point where he can (and will) admit that he was wrong about positivity and negativity, but Shale and Nightshade are still laughing at him about it. look at you now. you're almost as bad as us!

But the combination of Shale and Nightshade trying to worm their way into Lucidity’s brain to make him think he's exactly as bad as they are, plus the fact that Lucidity’s being a huge help with dealing with the resistance, ends up with them all starting to get along. which is even scarier to the rest of the manor than the emotionally raw Lucidity that seemed to consider slicing their heads off every time they even slightly irritated him.

...it was mostly paraiba and mercury who would get that look. paraiba because girl fam will not hush, and mercury because Mercury was doing his job as a doctor and told Lucidity to stop being a reckless idiot after coming into his office covered in bruises and cuts after returning from...whatever he was doing when he left.

but anyway.

Lucidity didn't really need them trying to manipulate him to settle into a comfortable "well. guess i'm evil now." stance on it. did i mention breaking him by obliterating jr. Nightshade and Shale just kinda helped him settle into it faster, and more comfortably.

Aside from being a good tactician, Lucidity's also got the advantage of flying. This is good for many things. in particular getting the lay of the land, so they can better prepare the team for shit, and dream has been figuring out how to get them more resources to be more efficient.

I was thinking about this and it may not be exactly what you meant but like. Hear me out

Nightshade and Lucidity (mostly Nightshade) pick on Shale just to irritate him. They also are 99.99% of his impulse control so they have to grab and be like ‘hey. Don’t be stupid, dude.’

Shale and Lucidity gang up on Nightshade to pick on HIM. Nightshade is so offended they’d do this to him (not really)

Despite him being able and willing to pick on the other two, Lucidity is really easy to bother with chaotic nonsense. And Shale and Nightshade have so much fun trying to make him mad because of it

Some stuff from notes app:

Shale and Nightshade are definitely still being evil bastards and are manipulating him to get what they want. He doesn’t notice. But they also don’t notice that he’s doing the same to them, which is hilarious because it’s obvious to everyone else.

Lucidity spends one week in the manor and suddenly knows how to convince Shale’s stubborn ass to do something he didn’t want to do. In like, ten minutes, tops. Everyone is in awe.

And he also managed to get Nightshade to leave Jade alone almost entirely? No one’s more confused about that one than Jade.

Shale and Nightshade ask Lucidity about those three that showed up and asked wtf happened to him. Lucidity very hesitantly says that they were once his organization’s most wanted, solely because Nightmare was the negative spirit and the other two were associating with and helping him.

“…how long did you say you were running that place again”

“If Nightmare dies, so will l. And if I die, he will too. We never found a way to break the destiny bond, and so Nightmare was never executed. We captured him a few times, yes, but he always managed to escape. Especially once he met Cross and Error.”

“It sounds like you have regrets about it now.”

“…without my delusions about positivity and negativity clouding my judgement, I… We were friends, once. A long time ago. And I miss him.”

“You could try to get him to join us, yknow.”

“He wouldn’t. Not without a great deal of torment and manipulation. I won’t do that to him, and I won’t let either of you do it, either.”

Shale rolls his eyes but drops it.

Nightshade shrugs. “Well…torment may not be necessary. But I can’t say I don’t understand your concerns. I wouldn’t let Dark join, either. As much as I love him, he couldn’t do it. He cares about people too much to help anyone achieve world domination, even if he didn’t already have a personal vendetta against one of us.”

Nightshade tries to convince Lucidity to at least get Nightmare to stay with them, as like a housemate, but Lucidity won’t even do that. Nightmare is quick and clever, and almost as stubborn as Shale, at best, so unless they can be very subtle about it over a long period of time, it won’t work. Besides, the chances of him agreeing to come before that point so he can try and mess stuff up from inside are pretty high.

Nightshade and Shale decide that they maybe should leave Nightmare alone.

but there is a chance they actually do it. That the Meme Squad end up living in the manor and being in a position similar to Dark’s, where they trust Lucidity entirely and can’t imagine he’d ever do anything wrong. Nightmare in particular.

Lucidity isn’t so far gone that he’ll let even Shale or Nightshade fuck with them (except probably Cross, but he can’t turn a blind eye every single time or the other two will get pissed). He is, however, going to gaslight them about him and his boyfriends being murderers. ‘You three have no idea what you��re talking about, you know I’d never do that,’ etc etc.

He won’t let Shale or Nightshade try to ‘help.’ Which means they’re going to end up being very dependent on Lucidity emotionally, to their detriment.

this is uh. This is one of the other things that Lucidity picked up from them. Manipulative tendencies. It’s mostly Nightshade’s thing, but Shale’s not innocent of it either. Lucidity would be perfectly happy if Error and Cross vanished and left Nightmare behind; it’d make it easier for him to keep Nightmare with him, and keep him safe.

[lonelywretchjervistetch]

The State Birds Initiative: Connecticut (#5)

Hoo boy, it's been a minute! But hey, here we are again, after taking some extra time to figure stuff out. Welcome to the fifth official poll of the State Birds Initiative! Before the poll, though, one thing real quick. My suggestion is that you read the post below before voting in the poll below. That's especially important if you're lacking any context about the birds being presented as the new (or old) State Bird of the Nutmeg State, Connecticut. This is to be fully informed as to why these are being presented, and to make your choices appropriately. Lastly, some of these birds, you will notice, may go against some of the rules listed in the introduction post. All is explained after the jump where the explanations are, I promise you that. And apologies in advance, the spiel before the actual bird selection is...long. But with that...OK! Here's the poll!

Welcome to the Nutmeg State! A small state, mostly known for being between Boston and New York City, this is one of the foundational states of southern New England, while also having a somewhat...divided identity, we'll say. So, I grew up in CT, for part of my childhood, in both the classic upscale suburbs, and in the middle of the goddamn woods, right on the Connecticut River. For the record, the name "Nutmeg State" is based off of salesmen from the state known for peddling nutmegs. However, there's some speculation that the nutmegs sold were actually made of wood, but that's also probably from people who didn't know that nutmegs were supposed to be grated, and instead assumed they had to be cracked like walnuts. They tried, that failed, and they accused Connecticut Yankees for selling fake nutmeg as a result. So, yeah, a confusing legend at the root of the state's nickname.

You'll notice my use of the word "Yankee" there. Well, despite New York's domination of the term, it should arguably be most associated with Connecticut. "Yankee Doodle" is literally the state song; people from CT were previously and historically referred to as Yankees (which was also an epithet applied to northerners in general, to be fair); and it's actually possible the word was first used by the Dutch in reference to Connecticut settlers, according to multiple theories and historical references. But maybe most prominently, Yankee was used as a demonym for people from CT by one of its most favorite residents: Samuel Clemens, AKA Mark Twain.

Twain is, of course, Connecticut's most famous author, having written some of his most famous works while living with his family in Connecticut in his West Hartford house (which every central Connecticut middle school kid has been to at least once, I guaran-goddamn-tee it). Fun fact, though! Did you know...uh...ah, fuck it. Why keep stalling at this point? Look, as much as I love talking about Mark Twain, he was nothing to do with this post. Fact of the matter is...this was a hard one.

Look, I love Connecticut. It was the first state I remember living in, having moved there when I was a kid from the United States Virgin Islands, which I had been really looking forward to for a bunch of reasons. Admittedly (and unsurprisingly), a lot of that was because I was looking forward to seeing the birds! As a kid, I was also obsessed with birds, and I had never seen the birds in the US mainland before. It was an exciting time for me, and I honestly enjoyed growing up in CT, for the most part. I'd be there for almost 6 years of my life, and I have a lot of fond memories of the state. But, uh...ironically enough...finding State Bird nominees for Connecticut has been HARD AS HELL.

We will, of course, talk in GREAT detail about the American Robin (Turdus migratorius), as it's an important bird for more states than just Connecticut, but I'll give you a spoiler now: this is a boring choice for a State Bird. For any state. Don't get me wrong, I love robins! They're an extremely charismatic and iconic bird, and everybody has seen them at least once in their life if they live in the USA. They're also most likely an early bird (pun slightly intended) for people to encounter on a personal standpoint. Again, we'll get to them, but they're a notable entry in this list. And if one of the states kept the American Robin, I would understand. But, uh...is that state Connecticut?

OK, let's look at the state in the same vein as we have others. I'm sure this won't be the last difficult state to examine in the future of this project, so why not do the same here? Starting with habitat, Connecticut is another state placed within the Northeastern Coastal Zone, with a ton of deciduous forests dominated by oak, chestnut, hemlock, and white pine. There was a lot of clearance during early settlement and beyond, but succession has taken over in recent years to grow the forests back. The state's cut in half by the Connecticut Valley, with large floodplains dominated by maple and cottonwood, with the large Connecticut River right in the center of the valley. Finally, the Berkshires in the northwest corner of the state give us some classic New England flair with sugar maple (Acer saccharum), ash, beech, birch, oak, and hemlock trees on higher-altitude slopes, creating a hilly area that turns beautiful colors in fall. Man, I love Connecticut autumns. And the rest of the year, for that matter.

OK, what are Nutmeggers most known for, culturally and historically? It's a diverse state with a lot of mixed culture, partially as a result of its proximity to New York City. A lot of people tend to joke that Connecticut is just New York City, especially people from elsewhere in New England. And having been to NYC a lot when I was a kid, with a mom who worked there part of the week, and an aunt who lived there all of the week...yeah, fair. But Connecticut has a much more detailed culture than that. It's the home of the cotton giiiAAAAAAH, bad place to start that list. Uh, let's see, it's the home of whaliiiiiiing. Jesus. Uh...home of Mark Twain and Harriet Beecher Stowe? OK, that's better. It's a major seat of the Industrial Revolution in the United States, leading to it being a production hub for textiles, clocks, typewriters, machining, sewing machines, steam engines, aircraft, and honestly, women's rights to a certain degree. After all, it's the home of the Radium...Girls. Huh. OK, CT's history has some bumps in it, but what state's history doesn't?

As for modern Nutmeggers, they're industrious, generally well-educated, and honestly quite a bit eccentric. I've gone back to the state a few times in the last couple of years, and I forgot how honestly weird people are there. In a good way, not in the fucked-up MAGA sense of the word. It's a state whose people are unafraid to express themselves, from my experience. Probably a result of the diversity in the state, and the diverse perspectives that result. Its political atmosphere is a bit complicated, but overall pretty liberal. Which...doesn't translate super-well into birds at first blush, but hey, we'll see what we get!

OK, with that, let's jump into the selection of the birds for this list. Real talk, if anybody has a suggestion that I hadn't brought up here, send it my way! I will absolutely add another poll if there are entries I think could bear fruit. But, in the meantime, read on if you're interested in the possible choices for the State Bird of Connecticut!

American Robin (Turdus migratorius)

I think you'd be hard-pressed to find an citizen of the United States of America who hasn't seen a robin. This is, by far, one of our most iconic songbirds, and is certainly one of the most common and widespread. For some of us, they're a sign of spring. For others, they used to be a sign of spring, until global warming prompted some individuals to stick around through the winter, shifting their diet to frugivory a bit more and brightening the snow as well. They're prolific breeders with bright blue-green eggs (which are iconic in their own right), and can have up to three broods in a given season! Extremely successful and very common. And that...is a problem, for our purposes.

See, Connecticut, Michigan, and Wisconsin have the American Robin (Turdus migratorius) for their state bird, and none of them actually have a good reason for that choice. In Wisconsin, it was chosen by schoolkids because it was recognizable. That was also the reason for the Michigan Audubon Society to choose it as state bird. And Connecticut? Absolutely no goddamn idea. It's almost certainly for the same reason, but there is no real recorded reason for the choice of the American Robin as a state bird, as far as I can tell. For literally all of those states, it's a pretty bad choice by virtue of not being a good choice, at the very least. But that said...I mean, it's not the worst possible choice for a State Bird. For one state, anyway.

Robins, for the record, were named after a different robin entirely: the European Robin (Erithacus rubecula). Another red-breasted and beloved songbird, the European Robin was an immediate thought when American settlers saw the American Robin, hence why I keep saying "American". The two are so often confused in pop-culture, even Mary Poppins was guilty of it! That GIF above comes from the film, and in case you haven't realized it yet, that's an American Robin in England. Yeah. Wrong bird to use as a model for your animatronic, Disney. That has bothered me since I was a little kid, I swear to GOD. Erroneous film biogeography is one of my biggest pet peeves...but that's a separate conversation.

Back to the American Robin. Personally, I love robins of all species, and even recently did some genomics work with them (DNA extraction is fun). They're a commonly seen species, and a great entry-level bird for kids to get into birdwatching and nature. As an American icon, I genuinely think these guys should get some recognition...but I'm hard-pressed to say Connecticut needs them as a State Bird. We'll see what people think, but there's not a great case for them to get the title. To keep it...like I said, we'll see. Maybe the others won't be deemed as good a fit for the state. For now, let's move on from a popular backyard bird to a MUCH less popular one.

Blue-winged Warbler (Vermivora cyanoptera)

Here's the eBird pick for Connecticut, and for good reason! The vast majority of the Blue-winged Warbler's (Vermivora cyanoptera) breeding population is in...Wisconsin. Wait, what? Hold on...yeah, actually, Wisconsin, New York, Missouri, Ohio, Pennsylvania, and West Virginia all have higher shares of the population that Connecticut, with 5% overall. That's still a lot better than the American Robin's share in CT (0.2%), but still...seems like that eBird article is SEVERELY outdated, or I'm using the database wrong somehow. Either way...huh. Well, let's make an argument for the Blue-winged Warbler, anyway.

Blue-winged Warblers are a species of some conservation concern, making them automatically of interest. They're also extremely interesting to geneticists and ornithologists because of their relationship to other members of Vermivora, especially the Golden-wined Warbler (Vermivora chrysoptera) and extinct Bachman's Warbler (Vermivora bachmanii), with having documented hybrid offspring with the former that's of interest for various reasons. But outside of that, they of course breed in Connecticut, and represent an interesting bird to look for and find, with a recognizable song and appearance. It's also prized by birdwatchers, and would be a good bird for any aspiring or experienced birdwatchers. It also inhabits shrubland, which is of some conservation interest to CT government and environmental officials. But other than that...not too much else.

Connecticut Warbler (Oporornis agilis)

No. Look, I'm just gonna say this now: no. The Connecticut Warbler (Oporornis agilis) not only doesn't breed in the state (and possibly has never bred in the state), but it's pretty much not found there. Like, at all. This is not an easy warbler to get anywhere in its range in the US, but Connecticut isn't included in that distribution. "But lonelywretch," you scream at your computer screen, "why is it called the Connecticut goddamn Warbler if it isn't even from the state?" First of all, not to police your emotions, but stop screaming; way overboard for this situation. Second of all, it's called the Connecticut Warbler because its describer, ornithologist Alexander Wilson, first saw it in a fly-by during migration while in Connecticut. And...yeah, that's it. They do fly through the state very occasionally during migration, but it's definitely not a reliable bird to count on for local birders there. Honestly...bad bird for the state.

Side note here: there's a lot of talk about renaming birds that are named after people, and I agree with that in almost every case. But here's a hot take to elaborate on in another series: location-based names need to be re-examined. Not all of them are bad by any means, but the Connecticut Warbler is a great example of a bird whose name makes NO FUCKING SENSE. Rename this bird, I BEG of you. If anybody has suggestions for a renaming of this bird, throw them in notes for something! Keep in mind, Gray-headed Warbler is taken (by Myiothlypis griseiceps), so come up with somethin' else. Warranted inclusion in the list for its name, but we're gonna move on.

Osprey (Pandion halieetus)

It's at this point in the list where we get into some interesting candidates...and where I had the most trouble. But I'm fairly satisfied with what I've come up with, so let's move forward! This entry's a somewhat controversial pick for a few reasons, but an interesting one for a bunch of reasons. Now, I don't know about you, but I love Osprey (Pandion halieetus) a whole bunch. An iconic raptor, as well as a very unique one, they're a pescivorous bird found throughout the entire continent. And in Europe. And Asia. And Africa, Australia, and South America. Yeah, they're a cosmopolitan species, found in every continent except for Antarctica. That automatically should make them a bit dodgy of a choice for a State Bird, since they can be found in every state (yes, even occasionally Hawaii). So, why Connecticut?

First off, Connecticut has an intimate connection with the shore and rivers, especially the Connecticut River. Seemingly a loose reason, but the Osprey, AKA the river hawk or sea hawk (we'll get to that later) is an iconic riparian raptor, and a common sight in Connecticut. Having grown up on a river in the state, we used to see Osprey all the time, and it was awesome every time. But their commonness in the state is an important story in and of itself. And, if you know anything about Osprey at all, you know where this is headed. And Connecticut is a great example of this story.

The Osprey is one of the most iconic victims of the DDT crisis that hit the country, as well as a symbol of the environmental success story that resulted from its banning. I won't go into the full story if you haven't heard it, but the short of it is that the pesticide DDT was inadvertently ingested by fish-eating raptors, especially the Bald Eagle (Halieetus leucocephalus) and the Osprey, causing the eggs they laid to have weakened, soft shells. This caused a massive decrease in these and other species, nearly driving both into extinction. However, once environmental movements prompted by Rachel Carson and her book Silent Spring advocated for its eventual banning, the populations recovered. And in Connecticut, they've recovered A LOT.

In 1940, somewhere near 1,000 nests were recorded for Osprey between New York City and Boston. By 1970, the number in Connecticut was down...to 8. Jesus Christ, that's a hell of a crash! One of the worst in the country, in fact. However, today in Connecticut, there are 688 active nests in the state. Which, yeah, doesn't seem like the ultimate success compared to previous, but what's interesting is the rate of increase. Because in 2014, according to the Connecticut State Audubon, there were only 210. In ten years, the number of breeding ospreys known was more than tripled. That's incredible. This has quickly made the Osprey a symbol of conservation in the state, because of a massive amount of monitoring increase. There are states with more of a population, but Connecticut has a pretty good argument for having the Osprey. But that said...other states could also claim this species. Florida and Maryland definitely have claims on it for population size alone, not to mention, well...the most iconic state of all when it comes to having ospreys as a symbol. But we'll get to that one WAY later. just keep that in mind before you vote for Connecticut to have the Osprey.

Sharp-shinned Hawk (Accipiter striatus)

The Sharp-shinned Hawk (Accipiter striatus OR Astur striatus as of recent taxonomic proposals), on the other hand, is another bird of interest. The smallest hawk in the United States of America, this already seems a fitting choice for one of the smallest states in the country. It's listed as endangered in the state, immediately making it of interesting conservation focus. The reason for this status is likely because of window-strikes, which are common for the species in Connecticut, meaning that there's some public outreach needed to protect it. Protecting the forests they nest in (which are in danger) is one thing, but putting up protective window decals to help the species is another. Definitely a cause for focus.

However, there is one...minor detail that makes this a harder fight for public opinion, as well as a potentially ironic one. This is the first species we've discussed whose diet is basically exclusively birds. If you're in the Northeastern United States, and you've seen a bird get attacked and taken at your birdfeeders, it's almost certainly this guy. Which is cool, and important for the species' survival, but the average person being asked to protect a bird that kills other birds, especially birds like the American Robin, is...a palpable irony. Granted, it genuinely needs protecting, and has monitoring programs in the state, and it is a genuinely interesting raptor! But, this is a slightly harder fight to win because of that noncharismatic factor. But hey, it's a cool bird in genuine trouble in the state, it's a scrappy bird for a small state, and it's an interesting species to highlight!

American Black Duck (Anas rubripes)

This is another difficult bird to fight for, but one that needs attention, for God's sake. The American Black Duck (Anas rubripes) is a rapidly disappearing duck species, and not for the reason you think. Let's get to Connecticut representation first. It was the first bird to be used for the Connecticut Migratory Duck Stamp in 1993, the first one issued for the state. It's one of the few states in which it breeds (although it's not the primary state of focus, detracting from its candidacy). And, it's a controlled bird by Fish and Game, meaning hunting of the Black Duck is extremely limited. There is, surprisingly, a point to that statement, but I won't be elaborating here. We'll see how the vote goes, and I'll address it in the Results post.

So, why is this a potential issue? Well, Maine and New York arguably should get this bird instead, as they have a higher population. And the breeding population of this bird is incredibly important to promote, because it's disappearing. Why is it disappearing? Well, some of you may have looked at that picture and asked yourselves: "Wait...isn't that just a female Mallard?" And the answer is, no! But a lot of people think that. A lot of birds think that. Mallards think that. Which means that hybrids between Mallards and Black Ducks are incredibly high. SO high, in fact, the species is being bred and hybridized out of existence! They're so similar to Mallards on a genetic level at this point, that they'll be subsumed if their individual populations aren't preserved. So, yeah, these guys deserve some focus. Do I think they're a great Connecticut symbol? Well, to be fair, the state is regularly assumed to be either greater New York City or greater Massachusetts by outsiders. And it's not; it has its own identity that deserves to be preserved for what it is. So, yeah, maybe a good fit for Connecticut after all.

Also, it's the state in New England with the highest proportion of Black Americans (yes, even more than Massachusetts), so...I dunno, that's also something? Probably not, but as a black dude that grew up in CT, I felt the need to bring that up.

Snowy Egret (Egretta thula)

OK, sing it with me now!

Yankee Doodle went to town, a-riding on a pony; Stuck a feather in his hat, and called it "macaroni"! Yankee Doodle, give it up! Yankee Doodle Dandy, Mind the music and the step, and with the girls be handy!

Ooh, that last line aged a little rough, but Yankee Doodle! The Connecticut state anthem! Yes, really. Most Americans in the Northeast know this song, but it's got a unique resonance for Nutmeggers, seeing as it was allegedly based on the son of a Connecticut mayor! The state chose it as their song in 1978, and it's been a beloved symbol ever since. But, for the uninitiated (and probably to most school kids like I was), there is one weird word in there that needs a little explanation: macaroni.

Now, this does not, of course, reference the easy cheesy favorite of every child (and college student). No, this is a reference to an old 18th century term for a form of fashion back in the day. It's what the 2000s called "extra", or bourgeious (pronounced "bougie", of course). Basically, it's somebody who dressed WAY over the top in high-designed clothes and accessories to the point of looking...well, extra. Another applicable 2000s term would be "metrosexual", I guess. The macaroni became a satirical character in British culture, and would later become another character known as the "dandy". It's sort of a class-related satire, to be honest. In any case, the macaroni was known for over-the-top fashion, including...wigs.

So, what does literally any of this have to do with the Snowy Egret (Egretta thula)? More than you'd expect, actually. First off, the egret has a pompodour-like crest of feathers that makes it look quite like a stereotypical macaroni, in my opinion. Secondly, it does breed in Connecticut, albeit extremely rarely, sparely, and barely. Its population in the state used to be a lot greater...until people came around and starting hunting it down. Why, you ask?

Let's just go ahead and call that macaroni now, while we're at it. To be clear here, quite a lot of birds were used in millinery back in the day, but the Snowy Egret (and the Great Egret (Ardea alba), for that matter) are special. Those long white feathery plumes were heavily prized as hat decorations, enough so that the species nearly went extinct from hunting them for the hat trade. As a result of that, people began to turn their eye towards conservation of the species, and the protection of birds in general. Two women, Harriet Hemenway and Minna B. Hall, got a group of women together to protect the birds. They rallied the troops, and their organization became fairly popular. Eventually when they sought to name it, they did so after one of the most famous ornithologists in American history at the time: John James Audubon. And from there...well, you can guess.

The Audubon Society is one of the premiere bird conservation organizations in the world, and especially in the United States, and is well-known to the public sector. And it was born right here in...Massachusetts. Oh. Wait, have I jumped the gun on this one? Maybe a little, yeah. But, in my defense, the macaroni is linked to Connecticut through its state anthem, and the Snowy Egret is linked to the macaroni, as mentioned. But, OK, maybe this is a better proposal for Massachusetts, not Connecticut. But, uh...there may be another contender. Kind of.

Tufted Titmouse (Baeolophus bicolor)

OK, here me out on this one. Look at this picture of a classic macaroni character (on the right, for the record). Does that hairdo not kinda look like the crest of the Tufted Titmouse (Baeolophus bicolor)? Like, just a little bit, at least? I dunno, I can definitely see it. But OK, outside of that, is there another reason for the Tufted Titmouse to be the State Bird of Connecticut? Well, they're extremely common, they've got some charisma to them, and they're definitely found breeding in Connecticut. But...I don't know. I think they're plenty charismatic, but I'm not sure that makes them a great contender.

Still...they should be represented somewhere, right? I mean, the species breeds entirely in the USA, even though it can be found in Canada as well. Plus, other than being very recognizable, they're also an easy bird to find and support with backyard birdfeeding. And, if you want a fun fact about them, they're prone to kleptotrichy. That means, they pluck the fur from mammals to use as insulation in their nests! Yeah! They actually pick the winter coat off of dogs, and use it for their nests! Adorable. But yeah, does this really count for a good State Bird of Connecticut? I doubt it, but I'll let you vote! And I swear to God, it better not be just because of the name that it gets votes.

There you have it. Some complex and controversial choices. I miss any that you think are a valid choice for the state? Do let me know, and I may just issue another poll if this one isn't good enough. We shall see. But, for now, I think it's time to move onto the next state. And lemme tell you, I'm real excited about that one, since...well, I live there! And I have some ideas, lemme tell you. And some people will...disagree with me. For sure. Anyway, see you next time in Boston, kid!

See you next time, and happy birding!

[streda]

Buster Keaton

Born Joseph Francis Keaton on October 4, 1895, was an American director and actor who became famous for various comedy scenes that are still repeated in films today. You may recognize him from the nickname "the man with the stone face". He is known as a director, screenwriter and actor in famous silent comedies such as "The General" and "The Navigator".

Keaton was born into a vaudeville family in Piqua, Kansas. His name Joseph didn't come out of nowhere, it was a family tradition from his father's side. The nickname Buster was invented by Harry Houdini (a friend of his parents) when little Buster fell down the stairs and instead of crying or reacting in any way, he got up and moved on (The nickname was also a reference to the fact that he often caused trouble as a child). At the age of three, Keaton began performing with his parents in The Three Keatons. He first appeared on stage in 1899 in Wilmington, Delaware. The act was mainly a comedy sketch. Despite his run-ins with the law, Keaton was a rising and relatively well-paid theater star. He stated that he learned to read and write late and was taught by his mother. When he was 21, his father's alcoholism threatened the reputation of the family actor, 20, so Keaton and his mother Myra went to New York, where Keaton's career quickly moved from vaudeville to film. Keaton served with the American Expeditionary Forces in France in the United States Army's 40th Infantry Division during World War I. His unit remained intact and was not broken up to provide replacements, as had been the case with some other late-arriving divisions. While in uniform, he contracted an ear infection that permanently damaged his hearing. Keaton was such a natural in his first film, "Butcher Boy," that he was hired on the spot. Finally, he asked to borrow one of the cameras to see how it worked. He took the camera back to his hotel room, where he disassembled and reassembled it by morning. He appeared in a total of 14 Arbuckle shorts, running into 1920. They were popular, and contrary to Keaton's later reputation as "The Great Stone Face", he often smiled and even laughed in them. In 1920, The Saphead was released, marking Keaton's first starring role in a feature-length feature film. After Keaton's successful collaboration with Arbuckle, Schenck gave him his own production unit, Buster Keaton Productions. He made a series of 19 two-reel comedies, including One Week (1920), The Playhouse (1921), Cops (1922), and The Electric House (1922).

The more adventurous ideas called for dangerous stunts, performed by Keaton at great physical risk. During the railroad water-tank scene in Sherlock Jr. (gags written by Clyde Bruckman), Keaton broke his neck when a torrent of water fell on him from a water tower, but he did not realize it until years afterwards. A scene from Steamboat Bill, Jr. required Keaton to stand still on a particular spot. Then, the facade of a two-story building toppled forward on top of Keaton. Keaton's character emerged unscathed, due to a single open window. The stunt required precision, because the prop house weighed two tons, and the window only offered a few inches of clearance around Keaton's body. The sequence furnished one of the most memorable images of his career. Aside from Steamboat Bill, Jr. (1928), Keaton's most enduring feature-length films include Three Ages (1923), Our Hospitality (1923), The Navigator (1924), Sherlock Jr. (1924), Seven Chances (1925), The Cameraman (1928), and The General (1926). The General, set during the American Civil War, combined physical comedy with Keaton's love of trains, including an epic locomotive chase. Employing picturesque locations, the film's storyline reenacted an actual wartime incident. Though it would come to be regarded as Keaton's greatest achievement, the film received mixed reviews at the time. It was too dramatic for some filmgoers expecting a lightweight comedy, and reviewers questioned Keaton's judgment in making a comedic film about the Civil War, even while noting it had a "few laughs." it was an expensive dud, His distributor, United Artists, insisted on a production manager who monitored expenses and interfered with certain story elements. Keaton endured this treatment for two more feature films, and then exchanged his independent setup for employment at Hollywood's biggest studio, Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer (MGM). Keaton's loss of independence as a filmmaker coincided with the coming of sound films (although he was interested in making the transition) and mounting personal problems, and his career in the early sound era was hurt as a result.

I guess that's it for Buster's success.

Keaton died of lung cancer on February 1, 1966, aged 70, in Woodland Hills, Los Angeles. Despite being diagnosed with cancer in January 1966, he was never told he was terminally ill. Keaton thought that he was recovering from a severe case of bronchitis. Confined to a hospital during his final days, Keaton was restless and paced the room endlessly, desiring to return home. In a British television documentary about his career, his widow Eleanor told producers from Thames Television that Keaton was up out of bed and moving around, and even played cards with friends who came to visit the day before he died. He was buried at Forest Lawn Memorial Park Cemetery in Hollywood Hills, California.

Keaton was presented with a 1959 Academy Honorary Award at the 32nd Academy Awards, held in April 1960. Keaton has two stars on the Hollywood Walk of Fame: 6619 Hollywood Boulevard (for motion pictures); and 6225 Hollywood Boulevard (for television).

Three Ages (1923)

Our Hospitality (1923)

Sherlock Jr. (1924)

The Navigator (1924)

Seven Chances (1925)

The Cameraman (1928)

Go West (1925)

Battling Butler (1926)

The General (1926)

College (1927)

Steamboat Bill, Jr. (1928)

Spite Marriage (1929)

-¤-

[super-paper]

"Thank you for such wonderful comedy."

I've been wanting to talk about how MHA plays with the concepts of "fiction vs reality, the characters vs the actor, the world vs the stage" for awhile now, bc I believe understanding how MHA utilizes these concepts is pretty crucial to understanding our Big Bad (and Tomura!) (...and Izuku!) (.. etc!) (y-yeah...!!!) (wooo.....!!!!!)

If this post is more incoherent than usual, I apologize-- I'm just really enthusiastic about stories that play with the fact that they're stories and characters who throw themselves into a fictionalized role as a means of coping. I love the way MHA handles these concepts in particular, so I lost all sense of restraint as usual.

Hori: "I'm Like Dropping Hints That Hero/Villain Personas Are Actually Coping Mechanisms Lol"

"As Tomura Shigaraki and Tenko Shimura, I've got just one wish: the total destruction of everything that created that house." "If my origin as Touya and Dabi was such a simple thing, then... No, there are still things I want to say. Arguments I want to have."

I've seen a few ppl saying that it sounds awkward/strange to have the characters repeatedly asserting themselves in the third person, but imo, the emphasis on real names versus hero/villain names during these particular scenes plays into the idea of the villain/hero identities being "alter egos" that might not actually have the same core desires as the """"actors"""" that are behind these personas.

Tomura and Touya invoke both their real and villain names while asserting their respective wishes. Himiko also invokes her villain name, though it's less obvious to english speakers because she uses her real name as her villain name (in the raws, "HIMIKO TOGA" as a villain name is written using katakana-- and this is what she uses when asserting her wish). MHA plays with the idea of "fiction"/"Alter Egos" as a form of escapism and as a coping method, and at this point in time, the Dabi/Tomura/"Himiko" identities are still being utilized as a crutch/mask by these three very hurt individuals.

*loud, terrifying chanting* PEAK FICTION PEAK FICTION PE--

Ochako's fight being like the second most thematically important fight in the whole series still makes me unreasonably giddy btw.

To contrast, Ochako uses her civilian name alone when asserting her wish-- and imo we're meant to read this as Ochako wanting to save Himiko as herself, not as Uravity. Saving Himiko is not something she can accomplish as her alter-ego-- Ochako is able to save Himiko by stepping off the stage and becoming a "real" person, while also acknowledging the person behind "Toga Himiko (villain name)".

Izuku hasn't had his "I'm Izuku Midoriya"/"I'm-saving-you-as-Izuku-not-as-Deku" moment yet-- instead, we see Tomura intentionally making that distinction between the-hero-and-the-true-self by constantly referring to Izuku by his real, full name. And I'm pr sure Izuku is also the only one he does this to-- we see him referring to all the other heroes he encounters by their hero names alone, or by insulting nicknames (l-lol). Correct me if I'm wrong, tho!

(side note: Tomura switching to calling Izuku just "Hero" in the aftermath of Bakugate is actually a big step backwards imo-- it reads as Tomura trying to push Izuku away by shoving them both back in the hero/villain box and doubling down on enforcing their respective "roles." Not that I ever expected mister doomdere to make things easy, but, woof. Good Fuckin' Luck, Izuku ( ´･ω･) )

TL;DR The final arc has mostly been about tearing off the hero/villain masks to reveal who is hiding underneath— MHA's careful use of names and monikers plays heavily into that and its distinction between "alter-ego"/"true self" a lot. Which is... probably one of the many reasons why All For One still doesn't have a given name, as someone who has all but completely lost himself in his character.

Anyway! That brings us to the meat of this post: how does MHA take the concepts of "reality vs fiction" and "the character vs. the actor" and apply it to All For One (...and Tomura) (and Izuku--)?

"Pay No Attention to That Man Behind the Curtain!"

"If you refuse to submit, then I'll just rewrite the story." - it's amazing how all of this coulda been avoided if someone had just introduced AFO to Demon Lord x Reader fanfiction. (/j)

AFO fancies himself as the author of MHA's greatest tragedy (the desecration of Shimura Nana's legacy via the sacrifice of Shimura Tenko), while simultaneously inserting himself into its overarching narrative and treating himself as the leading villain of the story-- it's self-indulgent and intentionally invasive in the way that most self-insert fanfiction tends to be invasive, with him going to extremes to make it seem as though the whole story revolves around him. AFO wants to be both the author and the leading character and the leading antagonist. This greed is typical of him, but it also establishes him as a character who's more caught up in (read: trapped by) his relationship to "fiction" than anyone else. Again, MHA explores the use of fiction and alter-egos as an escape from a painful reality-- so, it's entirely reasonable to assume that this applies to AFO as well.

To me, so much about AFO reads as an escapist fantasy of someone who is utterly terrified of being put in a position where he is truly seen. The idea of being vulnerable, of being naked, of being "human," is intolerable to him. But by not allowing himself to feel and "be a human," he has effectively cut himself off from what he wants most. The character of “Shigaraki Tomura” is as much an escapist fantasy for AFO as it is Tenko-- It's just another (younger, prettier) layer of skin he can hide his true self in.

"so basically you're saying that AFO is a never nude" yes, actually :)

AFO dehumanizes Tomura through his attempts to turn the boy into his personal comic book character, but he also dehumanizes himself by desperately trying to insert himself into that “character." It's only fitting that Tomura’s innate humanity and capacity for feeling ends up rendering AFO himself painfully, painfully human-- and ultimately causes AFO's carefully constructed character to start crumbling.

If All the World’s a Stage, Then Let’s Destroy the Stage

"That stage is gone now. The theater's knocked down. How much longer can we afford to be spectators on the sideline?" "Once upon a time, a man named All Might showed all of us how to be a hero. But somewhere along the way, people forgot about the heart and soul that made the man." -MHA, Chapter 325

Tomura is attempting to destroy the stage, because without the stage there can be no "Shigaraki Tomura" (Or "All Might," or "All For One," or "Endeavor," etc etc etc). Without the stage, there are no more "characters" and no more tragedies. But-- without the stage, there are no more stories period. There are no more tragedies, but there are no more happy endings either. The world never recognizes the actor behind "Shigaraki Tomura" without the stage. The stage is not inherently a bad thing, so long as people can remember that the actors on the stage still exist outside of it.

But Tomura himself cannot imagine what happens after the curtains fall, and all that's left is Shimura Tenko. He is stuck in a role that was written entirely for someone else, but remains convinced that the role was always his and that the role defines him.

Tomura rebels against the story the only way he knows how--against an "author" who *LITERALLY* views him as a spicier self insert, and against a "setting" that treats his death as a happy ending-- but even so, Tomura still can't picture an ending that doesn't end in tragedy. His rebellion is not about him trying to wring a happy ending out of a miserable, mean-spirited book-- it's about burning the whole damn library down so he never feels let down or hurt by a story again.

Basically: Tomura cannot act outside the confines of his "character" in a way that will truly save him. Even as he rebels, he's rebelling in a way that is painfully consistent with the way his "character" is written-- and that's why AFO (the author) still poses such an enormous threat to him. Destruction cannot save him from this story when he was explicitly penned to destroy.

The only way to break this narrative is to act in a way "the author" doesn't expect, and to tap into all the traits that AFO desperately attempted to "write out" of him-- Shimura Tenko is someone who has always rebelled against his writing, his author, and the unfairness of this story with his kindness and his willingness to accept those that no one else will.

AFO cuts off Tenko's own power at the root by reinforcing Tomura's belief that the world will always inherently reject him, without fail, always and forever-- so he should just reject the world, too (and I've talked at length about this before, but this is why a story that ends with Tomura dying or locked away from society is an ending that fails in its goal to save Tomura). The more Shigaraki Tomura rejects everything and the more Shigaraki Tomura is rejected by everything, the more he distances himself from his root and the source of his power-- and the more Shimura Tenko gets lost in this character.

While AFO is terrified of someone seeing behind his mask, Tomura longs for it. Tenko has been there since the beginning and has been begging for someone to finally see and acknowledge him (both in-universe and out of universe).

"I’ll Be There, Changing Fate by Your Side."

AFO: "Blah Blah Blah Do you still believe myths can save you? Foolish creature. Let me be clear: every version of the story ends with you being slaughtered yadda yadda yadda :) :) :)" ENTER, MIDORIYA IZUKU WITH A STEEL CHAIR.

Izuku's role is that of a completely average boy who gets pulled into a narrative ''that wasn't for him"-- he has no heroic lineage, no hidden powers, and no connection to the centuries old conflict that drives the plot. He's just a boy who did the right thing at the right time and was rewarded for it. Izuku is someone who was "never supposed to be a hero" the same way Tenko was "never supposed to be a villain" per the "rules" of their world-- and Izuku, like Tomura, is someone who exists to destroy those rules and the expectations of their narrative, completely changing the ending.

But rather than burning the book and ending the story forever (like Tomura wants to do), Izuku believes that the story and characters can still be salvaged. There's always something worth saving. It doesn't have to be a tragedy, they can still change the ending. They can talk specifics after Tomura's crazy ass puts the lighter down.

Izuku, like Tomura and so many other characters, throws himself into an alter-ego in an attempt to redefine himself and escape from pain ("Nobody's been saved yet. Don't be the worthless old Deku who can't save anyone" 😬). He almost loses himself in the role of "OFA's torch bearer" the way All Might did-- but just as Izuku managed to find Toshinori Yagi and helped in convincing him that his life as Toshinori has meaning, Izuku ends up getting saved by his friends who couldn't care less about OFA's ~protagonist power~ and know that Izuku is just a goofy, awkward, human boy who needs help.

Like.... If we explore quirklessness as like... a narrative stand-in for characters that the story typically views or dismisses as irrelevant extras/npcs, then AFO's barely restrained anger at Izuku and Toshi (and possibly Yoichi if we're being honest) for daring to ''act beyond their roles'' becomes even funnier. AFO can't stand the idea of his power/the protagonist role being passed on to someone who seems so utterly unworthy, unremarkable, and plain. He can't stand the idea of someone without a quirk/"role" standing up to him, the leading character. Dude really is a toxic comic book fan to the core.

afo really said "I didn't like how things were going so I stopped reading and just wrote a better ending to the story :^)" like...... @mhareddit that's u buddy...........................;

Anyway...........!!!!! AFO is someone who cherry picks what he likes about a story while ignoring the actual intent/message of the work (#theabsolutestateofthemhafandom), but he has no intention of breaking down the dichotomy between heroes/villains and instead actively enforces it (.............#theabsolutestateofthemhafan--). He just wants to flip what side wins in the end.

Tomura wants to break the narrative because he sees that as the only way to escape from his pain (but in doing so, he permanently cuts himself off from being a part of a story with a happy ending). He wants to destroy the dichotomy between heroes and villains because heroes and villains "will never understand each other and never stop creating each other" (lol. lmao, even).

Izuku wants to break the narrative because he's realized that there's something more to this story than your standard "Hero versus Villain," "good vs evil" affair and that he cannot explore what lies behind those masks and labels without tearing them down, first.

These three work together well as a narrative set of Fucking Nerds, and AFO works well as both Tomura and Izuku's villain for all of the above reasons (& also bc he's the only one who is actually benefitting from their current society) ((which basically offers him an endless buffet of hurt and angry children he can exploit on a silver platter)).

Anyway! Kick his ass, Izuku.

[lostelfwriting]

Bury Me with a Rose, We Both Have Thorns (Prologue)

Rating: Explicit

AO3 Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Death & Dream, Dream & Hob, Dream/Hob Gadling

Characters: Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Death of the Endless, Hob Gadling, Jessamy, Matthew, Corinthian, Lucienne

Additional Tags: NO Major Character Death, Hanahaki Disease, Terminal Illnesses, Thoughts about death and dying, Decaying Health, Refusing Treatment, Strong Language, Unrequited Love, Enemies to ?, Past Minor Characters Death(s), Protective Death of the Endless, Doctor Human!Death of the Endless, Alternate Universe - Human, Tattoo Artist Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Flower Shop Owner Hob Gadling, Blood, Angst with a Happy Ending

Word count: 32k

I'm posting the whole work here on the 1st of March, but I strongly reccommend you read it on AO3, where I will be posting one chapter per day. Either way, click Read More or go to AO3 to read the Prologue!

Written for the event @the-centennial-husbands-bigbang. With beautiful art by @five-and-dimes!

It is a slow day at the studio, so while he is waiting for his next appointment, Dream is – like he does almost all of his free time – sketching new tattoo designs to add to his portfolio and listening to music loud enough to completely shut out his own thoughts. He is sketching a snake, having no doubt that it will catch someone’s eye. There is always someone who wants a tattoo of a snake. He pauses to look at his progress and ends up snorting in disbelief.

The drawing is truly a snake, but the reptile is weaving among the stems of flowers instead of a dead branch like Dream had intended. And they are ugly flowers at that. He is pretty sure that he gave a pot of those flowers to his secondary school teacher, who always called him Murphy, even though he hated that nickname. He can’t resist snapping a picture of the flowers with his phone and trying to look up what they are, but once he finds the name – cyclamen – he refuses to look up their meaning. It would surely be something stupid, like forbidden love, or maybe hopelessness.

Even the snake’s scales seem to actually be made of flower petals, and Dream rolls his eyes as he flips the page of his sketchbook. The downside to trying to tune his mind out is that he doesn’t notice when his subconsciousness begins to interfere with his process, and it has led to many flowery paintings in the past months. With a sigh, he starts copying the usable parts of the design onto another page until an insistent thought makes him pause mid-movement.

Just a few weeks ago, he would have been furious if this had happened. He used to tear those ruined sketches to pieces and then go outside into the late winter chill and glare at every passing person who dared to look his way. He wished they all felt as bad as he did, and most of all, his neighbour with his shop opposite Dream’s studio, with its bright, flowery logo.

Today’s drawing incident feels like just a small inconvenience. He feels zero anger, though he might still opt to destroy the sketch later, just for the miniscule satisfaction that the action will bring him. Or maybe he will keep it. Pin it to the wall next to his bed and look at it every night. He will look at the ugly flowers and realise with wry amusement and aching hollowness that he has finally accepted his fate.

He, Morpheus Endeles, is going to die.

He thinks about it and waits for anger or grief to appear, but they don’t. Good. He was getting sick of the self-pity. It has been months since he noticed the first symptom – the occasional cough – as something seemed to tickle his throat, easily blamed on a bit of dust. And then, a bit later, when he lay awake late at night and everything around him was quiet, he heard the soft rustle of leaves as he breathed. He didn’t need a doctor to tell him that he had the Hanahaki Disease. He tears the ruined sketch out and shreds it into tiny pieces, enjoying the bit of satisfaction that it brings him. Maybe he is still harbouring some badly suppressed anger. He doesn’t need a fortune teller to tell him that he has no chance of getting affection from the person he hopelessly loves. Because it is his neighbour, the owner of The White Rose, Robert Gadling, a straight man who rightfully dislikes Dream.

+*+*+*+*+

Cyclamen: resignation and good-bye

[thevillainswhore]

Hiii! How are you, sweetie? I must say I love your work! Especially the New Tricks series 👀❤️ Do you mind writing something for me?….i-I mean it’s just a request but if it doesn’t attract you, it’s fine too!

I had a One Shot in thought. So Bucky and Fem have been dating for a few weeks and they’re still, always will be in the honeymoon phase. He only gets shy around her and melts at nicknames such as puppy, love and honey etc. They’ve been going slow around kisses and hugs and more..but what if he makes the first move?…

is that an idea?..

Thank you sweets for listening 🧡. love, Reader 🧸

Hi my love!!

First of all, I wanted to thank you for the love and your kind words. It really does warm my heart that you enjoy my work 🥹

As for the oneshot, I wrote a little something for you with a slight tweak. I didn’t want to create a piece so similar to what I had already written but I did want to write a little something. I hope you enjoy it nonetheless 🥰

Okay, so we’ve seen small snippets of Puppy’s confidence shine through his shy demeanor. So what if we flipped the concept around and imagined Buttercup was actually the virgin this time?

Bucky would be the most gentle and yet cockiest son of a bitch ever. Can you imagine the pride he would feel knowing he gets to be the one who gets the entirety of you? To be the one who steals the most precious part of you?

I think he would slowly ease you into taking your virginity though. Take you out on dates and work you up to the main event.

The first move for example… your first kiss.

“C’mere, Bee. I don’t bite.” He pats his thigh at the same time he winks at you.

Let’s say it’s been a couple of weeks of dating at this point, you're comfortable enough around him to be used to his teasing comments.

So you hesitantly shuffle over the sofa, full of jitters. But Bucky notices your slight nerves and holds his palm out to help you climb over his lap and settle over his crotch. “There we go, baby girl. Doin’ so well for me already.”

The fucker knows exactly the reaction his praise elicits. Bucky would be the type to observe each minute expression and store it away for later. Which is why he smirks sadistically when you duck your head and whine, “Stop that.”

But instead, he places two fingers under your chin, gently lifting your head to look him in his eyes. “Don’t act like you don’t like it, Bubs.” The subtle clench of your thighs around his don’t escape him. His eyes light up in excitement as he slides his hand over your exposed waist.

“N—No, I— I just—”

“Shh, baby,” Bucky coos, squeezing your waist while he bites his lip. “You don’t fool me.”

And he’s right — much to your dismay. He knows exactly what he does to you and you don’t really help yourself as you let go of a needy whimper.

“Aw, what’s wrong, Bee? Huh?” His slightly condescending tone only intensifies the ache between your thighs. “You need something from me?”

The air in the room is thick with tension, small touches and kisses to the cheek wouldn’t cut it anymore and if you had to beg Bucky to kiss you, that’s what you would do.

Only, that’s exactly what he wants.

“Ask me — Go on, sweetheart. Use your big girl words.”

“Bucky—”

“As much as I love hearing you moan my name, I don’t hear a question.”

Taking a deep breath, you gather all your courage. “Please,” you whimper. “Please, c-can you..” the anxiety in your stomach stops you from finishing.

“Almost there, Bee,” Bucky encourages, swiping his tongue over his lips while eyeing your own, an animalistic hunger to finally have you clawing its way through his dwindling composure. “Be a good girl and tell me what you need.”

And so, closing your eyes and swallowing the lump in your throat, you finally utter, “Can you kiss me?”

Your pussy flutters, a sudden wetness soaking your panties as Bucky growls, slinking his hand round the back of your neck to thrust you forward at lightning speed. “Thought you’d never fuckin’ ask.”

[nnephthyss]

webcam play - utahime x reader

plot: you and utahime have a long distance relationship and have a little fun on a webcam.

warnings: clit rubbing, fingering, praising, masturbation

wc. 1.3k

(also please don’t bully me! this is my first ever smut fic and im still learning so any nice criticism would help! thank youu.)

———————————————————————————

it’s been a few months since you met your bestfriend utahime through a game and ever since then you were attached to the hip. it wasn’t like you were gonna be able to see her anytime soon. she lived like what? three or four states away from you? it was impossible to go see her at this rate.

shortly after you two met, you started to have… feelings for her and weren't sure how to tell her. she tells you pretty much everything so you knew she liked girls but weren't sure if she’d like.. you.

you got the courage to tell her and she reacted quite well to your feelings. she reciprocated them actually. you both started to date, having a really good relationship at that but what hurt most was not being able to see each other except through a computer screen.

utahime had the great idea to do a webcam video so you both could see each other. you bought the damn thing, set it up and now here you are looking at the girl through a small camera.

“prettier than i remembered.” the dark haired girl says softly but with a bit of roughness to her voice.

she looked so pretty on the other side of the screen. her hair was messy and tucked behind her ears, instead of that signature bow she wore when she’d send pictures to you over text.

you always felt that weird tingling sensation in your tummy when you saw her or even thought about her. she was beautiful, not to mention sexy. you had only been dating for a couple months, not doing anything sexual at all but damn it, if you don’t think about it.

a small blush appears on your pale face through the dingy frame of the web camera. the lighting wasn’t the best and neither was the video quality. she still looked so mesmerizing in the dark shadow of her room, only being lit up by a small lamp on her desk.

“thank you.” you mutter nervously.

even after being friends for so long and now dating, she still gets you all hot and bothered by a couple words.

“whats the matter, baby?” she asks softly, shifting in her seat to get a better look at you.

the little place between your thighs practically *throbs* at the pet name. you look down, diverting your eyes to your lap as you fiddle with your fingers.

“n-nothing.”

she raises an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. she gives you that look. you sigh and look back up at her.

“nothing, you just make me nervous uta.” you use her little nickname and she shifts in her seat again but not to get comfortable this time.

she nods her head and smiles at the nervousness written all over your face. she clearly knew there was something else behind those pretty eyes of yours. so she waits for you to continue and it makes you even more aroused at the the thought of her being so assertive.

“i’ve been thinking of you.” you start and then she leans closer to the camera like she’s trying to hear you better, so you speak up.

“thinking about you sexually.” you finish.

she was slightly taken off guard but now fully surprised because she’s been thinking about you the exact same way. she leans her elbows on the sides of her chair and takes a small breath.

“yeah baby?” she asks softly, smugness in her sweet tone.

“yeah and i-“ you try to say but embarrassment gets the best of you and your words die off.

“you what, love?”

fuck, now why did she have to use such sweet nicknames that made your cunt twitch? you keep your eyes on her through the computer screen and take a small breath.

“I touch myself thinking about you. o-only because i miss you and i can’t see you.”

you try to make up and excuse but utahime didn’t care. she was satisfied with what you were sayin. A glimmer hits her dark eyes and she smiles more, like grins.

“oh you have? and can you show me how you touched yourself, baby?”

your jaw almost drops open when that question falls from her mouth so seductively. you stutter for a moment, words dying off in your throat when you try to speak. you were flustered, heart beating fast and neediness racing through your blood.

she watched closely as you start to pull down your sleep shorts. the fabric falls down your thighs and then you kick them off to the floor along with your delicate lacy panties. you were sitting in one of those rolly chairs, so you swallow hard and spread your thighs in the space of the chair.

utahime swallows hard, her throat becoming dry at the view of your soaking wetness that you present to her. she grasps at the handles of the chair and scoots as close as she can to the monitor.

“now go ahead, baby.” she says softly, urging you to show her what you do when you’re all alone.

you don’t hesitate, right hand coming down between your thighs and running a slender finger through your slick. a shaky breath slips from your lips, chest rising and falling at the sensation already.

utahimes eyes are glued between your legs. she licks her lips, thinking about all the times she’s dreamed of seeing you like this.

“ah yes, just like that pretty girl.” she praises as you start to rub small circles around your puffy clit.

you whimper at her words, the praises that fall from her mouth, making you more aroused. you were trying your not to just come at the slow motions but her eyes were on you and her voice. it was killing you.

you speed up your pace, quicker circles and a small moan escapes your throat at the sensation. you can feel that familiar sensation rise in your stomach. burning pleasure runs through your clit and up your spine.

“uta..” her nickname slips from your mouth in a whine.

your eyes were almost drilled shut at this point. mouth quivered, lip underneath your top one as you bite down hard on it. you draw your other hand closer, slipping a single finger into your aching hole and she can’t feel her own self getting heated.

her eyes are on your soaked cunt. she can see the wetness dripping down your thighs and hand at how drenched you were. you suck in a small breathe, body writhing as you start to curl a finger slowly but quickening your pace once you get adjusted.

she watched closely, eyes glued to your face now. she curses to herself at how beautiful you look. your toes start to curl, hands getting tired but you don’t stop because you were so close.

“gonna come.. uta!” you cry out, legs threatening to close.

she nods her head, licking her lips and leaning in even close if that’s possible. she watched as your head fell back against the chair, thighs twitching against the handle bars.

“come for me, pretty girl.” she coos.

after that comes from utahimes mouth, it’s over for you. a loud cry rings through your bedroom and through the webcam speaker. she watches as your body convulses against the chair, your thighs squeezing shut around your hand as you come.

“ahh that’s it.” she murmurs to you, voice rough with desire.

you whimper, coming down from your high. your eyes open and you see how mesmerized utahime looks from the little show you gave her. a small grin comes to your lips but there was still embarrassment deep down inside of you.

finally you withdraw your hand away from your overstimulated cunt and close your legs, squeezing your thighs shut and making eye contact with utahime.

“did so good for me, pretty girl.” she whispers with a large grin on her face.

———————————————————————————

[faiya9996]

So I’ve just been binging the whole of Batman Caped Crusader (Very tinsy barely a spoiler, spoiler warning)

So there’s this one episode.

There are two small children. One who is clearly in his preteens, black hair, blue eyes and then another who is most likely less than eight, short and a red head.

The name of the older child isn’t given directly but only a nickname from the red head which is fucking Dickie.

I wonder what young child gave an older brother figure that very same nickname who also happened to be short when he was but a baby bird.

At the same time the red head child gives his name. Which is fucking Jason. He then goes on to mention that his nickname given to him by ‘Dickie’ is Jace.

Soon after another child - orphan to be exact is mentioned. A child specifically named Steffy Brown, a child with long blonde hair who is exactly nine years old.

Then, there’s another girl mentioned called Carrie who is a red head, glasses and has a slingshot. She’s so cute as this little kid and I’m so glad to have some Carrie recognition, even if it’s for only like three minutes of screen time.

However, I have had enough of this fucking show deliberately making me suffer and realise none of them (Maybe except Carrie) are going to be Robin and instead possible different characters (perhaps a newly written character), or even no Robin at all appearing in Batman Caped Crusader.

This is all only from one episode, however the episode is episode eight of ten so it is decently far through the series.

I want so desperately to share all of the other little cameos and things I’ve noticed while watching but I do not want to spoil immediately unless this post actually blows up.

[muscrat112]

DEAD ANGEL

hello guys this is my first post. I want to warn you that English is not my native language, so I translated everything with the help of a translator. if someone is ready to help me translate - my nickname is in Telegram in the profile.

TW: suicide, inappropriate topics

the boy was sitting next to her body on the street. wind, cold and rain. she left this life so early. why didn't she tell him that she was mentally ill? they would cope with all the problems together. he was always ready to be there. why did she behave so selfishly? Tim hugged Y/n's body, hugging her to his chest. he cried like the last bitch. he was looking at her pale face. blood was pouring from her head, and brains were lying on the asphalt. he recalls their first meeting.

«girl was in a hurry to do business. it was rush hour and there were many people on the street. Y/n tripped and pushed Tim.

— I am so sorry! - the girl looked at him guiltily.

— everything is fine, really. are you okay?

— I... yes, everything is fine. sorry again. - they stood for a few seconds looking at each other. Tim couldn't help himself and laughed softly.

— can I know the name of this wonderful girl who bumped into me? - asked the boy with a wide smile. this situation amused him.

— Y/n. and you? - the girl smiled at him too.»

he began to cry even harder. all their moments together were so great... why did she decide to end it all?

«— oh, I'm actually an ordinary girl, I'm unlikely to interest you in anything. - the girl was drinking coffee, leaning against the sofa. it was nice to sit in the cafe. the boy laughed softly.

— ordinary? you are not like that at all. you look incredible and... such an interesting person. damn you are perfect.»

«— have you really not thought about what is the meaning of life at all? faith in the best and hope for a better life. the cyclical nature of history... ok, forget it. stupid thoughts. - girl awkwardly smiled while swinging on the swing.

— there is no single meaning of life for everyone. for example, my meaning of life is you. - Tim was sitting on a nearby swing. he was worried that Y/n was saying such... strange things more and more often»

the last memory is the most painful for Tim. if he could change everything. he wouldn't let her die.

«— sweetheart, I'm at home! you have no idea what happened at training today, you had to see it! - boy took off his shoes and threw the bag with hockey equipment in the corridor. Tim went into the bedroom, only to see a note on the bed instead of Y/n. he tensed. Tim came over and took the note. this moment was exciting.

"if you're reading this, then I've decided to finish what I started. do you remember the day we met? I told you later that I rushed home, it turned out funny. then I hastened to end my life by suicide. all these conversations we have about the meaning of life, what will happen after death, why people commit suicide - it's all yuulo for a reason. I was hoping you'd understand what I'm getting at, but alas... Tim, I really do love you. I was able to live another six months thanks to you. I am grateful to you for everything.

all our photos and our little gifts to each other in a keepsake box. take care of them. love you"

everything went cold inside Tim. he turned the note over and the address was written on the back. he quickly ran to the front door»

Tim scream. screamed in pain. he hoped Aki could hear him. he touched her face with his. he could feel her cold skin. touched her lips with his hot fingers. this is not a dream. he kissed her slowly. her cold lips and his hot lips felt so perfect.

"When love is not madness, it is not love" - ​​Pedro Calderon de la Barca

[akwolfgrl]

I'm a great fuck but better lover

Nami was sitting outside enjoying the good weather while she read the paper and sipped some iced tea. A new bird landed on the railing next to her. It had a package slid into the carrier on it back. Nami took the package out, and the bird made no motion to leave, most likely waiting for a reply. Nami shoke the box. There was definitely something heavy inside. Nami ripped the box open, her curiosity getting the best her as she ignored what was written atop the box. She recognized the name of where it came from. She didn't know why it was addressed to eggplant instead of Sanji.

Inside the box was a smaller box with the name The All Blue discovery box, a letter, a book, and a stack of food magazines. Nami flipped through the book, unable to recognize a single word. She shouldn't do this, but Sanji would forgive her, so Nami opened the letter.

She didn't want to get her hopes up, but the thought of exchanging letters with her loved ones back home filled her with such joy. She wanted to reconnect with them after distancing herself for so long. Nami had to admit she was amused by her new nickname, Miss Nectarine. She could guess who the rest were pretty easily. Meatball was Luffy, broccoli was Zoro, and parsnip was Usopp.

Nami turned as she herd familiar footsteps, Sanji was apoching, Mr. Noddles hot on his heels, with a pitcher of tea and a treat for her.

“Nami-swan! I have your snack all ready for you!” Sanji called out he loved himself into a bow presenting the sliver platter. “I made bublanina, it's a very airy cake, slightly sweet and filled with fresh fruit toped with iceing sugar and whipped cream. This time, I used blueberries and cherries,”

“Sanji, I opened your mail. Did Zeff mean it? Would he send our loved ones our letters if we mail it to him?” Nami asked as Sanji refilled her glass.

“Well I haven't read the letter yet, but I'm sure he did mean it, we can tell everyone at lunch so they can write their letters,”

“I'd like that, you can sit next to me and read the letter if you want to,” Nami took a bite of the cake while Mr. Noodles began to beg and reach for the cake. He was almost as bad as Luffy. It was airy like Sanji said it was. The cake itself wasn't sweet, but the fruit was sweet, as was the powdered sugar on top. It was as always delicious, Nami was glad they had recruited an actual chef.

“Thank you, Nami!” Sanji took a seat next to her, placing his tray down as he began to read his letter.

“Sanji, what made Luffy pick you over a different chef?” Nami asked.

“Well I'm not completely sure, but do you remember the pirate Patty tossed out for not having any money?” Nami nodded, Sanji had told this part already. “Luffy followed me out when I went to feed him. We argued a bit and got to talking about the all blue, I don't know if it was my dream or feeding someone that did it but one of the two. The reason I joined was Zoro,”

“Wow even then you wanted him,” Nami teased.

“Hmm well I won't deny he was good-looking, but not what I meant. Seeing him willing to die for his dream made me realize how badly I wanted to presuse mine. I still needed that last push from the other chefs. I felt that I owed it to Zeff to stay, since he gave up his leg for me, it didn't matter what I wanted. I owed him everything,”

Nami hadn't heard that detail yet. She had missed a lot since she had left after seeing Arlong's bounty poster. The next thing she knew, her three friends and the blond from the Baratie had shown up. They saved her and her village.

[joequiinn]

The Dos and Dont’s of Fake Dating | Meet the OC

So, some of you are already in the know that - although my fic is written as x reader - Ice Princess is very much an OC to me, and I've always approached her as such.

Now that Dos & Don'ts is over, I thought it might be fun to finally introduce my dear Cassandra Masters to the world! Buckle up for a long post everyone~

Further Info About Cassandra

Remember in chapter 15 when Ice Princess chose the name Elvira for her d&d character? Well, that was my way of referencing the fact that my beloved Mistress of the Dark is where I got Cass's name from (Elvira is a stage name, and the incredible actress behind her is Cassandra Peterson!)

Eddie is the only person allowed to call her Cass, and if anyone else tries using the nickname they may face her wrath. She LOATHES being called Cassie, something I imagine her old friends used to do just to annoy her.

Although I decided on Katharine Isabelle as Cass's face claim (solely because she served CUNT in Ginger Snaps), I actually drew inspiration from many women, and even in my head Cass doesn't look like any one person in particular. Others who inspired her look include Jennifer Connelly, Jane Seymour, Emmanuelle Beart, Daniela Melchoir, and Ornella Muti. As for characters, I often pictured Heather Duke from Heathers and Dana from Batman Beyond for inspiration as well.

What Didn't Make It Into the Fic

As mentioned in chapter 14, Cass's first kiss was with Steve Harrington at a party when she was about 12 years old. In my happy little AU where bad things never happen in ST4, they become friends after the initial shock of discovering Cass is dating Eddie and Steve is friends with the Freshmen.

Cass falls in love with d&d, and she attends most of the game sessions.

Once Cassandra starts spending more time at the Munson house, she becomes close with Max after recognizing her from school. Max isn't interested in making new friends - considering that she's still grieving from ST3, but Cass wins her over. Cass unintentionally takes on something of a big sister role for Max.

If life worked a little differently, Cass and Chrissy would've become friends.

After graduation, Cass and Janet start to hang out again - Cass then tries to get Janet and Gareth together (they end up having a lil fling later that year, though who knows where it'll go).

Just Some Fun Facts

In my early drafts - before I settled on the fake dating trope - I had the idea that Cassandra always had a crush on Eddie. I always knew she was going to be a popular, bitchy rich girl, but she was more blatantly drawn to the "bad boy." As I developed the story and plot further, I flipped their roles, and instead it became Eddie who was always a little into Cass.

I knew almost from the start that I wanted Cass to be into figure skating, even before I determined anything else about her (name, look, etc). I loved the idea of Eddie being paired with someone totally opposite of him, but I didn't want to go the more typical cheerleader route - I briefly thought she'd be a dancer, but then figure skating came to me, and it ended up informing a lot of her personality.

I wanted to give Cassandra more interests and depth, and so I decided to make her a closet horror fan due to my own love of horror. As she gets older, horror definitely becomes an even bigger part of her personality, and, unexpectedly, she eventually stumbles into the job of make-up effects artist for films, photoshoots, television, etc.

Cass knows very little about music, so she'll confuse artists/songs constantly ("Led Zeppelin and Pink Floyd sound NOTHING alike, why do you think they're the same band?" is a type of question that comes up regularly, amongst others). She also loves to play dumb about music just to see Eddie get worked up. The one artist she does actively listen to and love is David Bowie, and that only starts up after she sees Labyrinth and becomes thoroughly obsessed.

Cassandra definitely gets into witchcraft in the 90s. Pop culture witches of the 80s/90s just appeal to her (or maybe I'm just saying that because they appeal to me).

Could I keep going on and on and on about Cass and Eddie? You bet your ass I could, but I'll spare everyone for now. I'm sure I'll be making more of these posts in the future, especially if I'll be writing more in the future (which I am def planning on)!

[prev. inspo guide for the fic]

[the-whispers-of-death]

High School Teacher AU

So the results from this poll was to do the AU with both my OCs & the 141, but I want to clarify that while I might do Teacher!141 x Reader if asked, this AU is mainly a Kali x Stone AU. The 141 aren't really the main focus (though that's not to say they'll only appear rarely).

Anyways, I wanted to first to an introduction of all of the characters (because I finally named my newest OC). We're going to talk about what class they're teaching, a little bit about them in this AU.

We're going to do this by grades (because some of them are teaching the same subject ((ie history)) but they're different classes). It's important to note that this is a U.S. high school, not a British/UK one. Also, some of them still have their callsigns because those callsigns could easily be written as a nickname they got from students.

Okay now onto the cast:

Peter Williams, Personal Fitness (Grade 9)- Coach Williams is well-loved by the students and is a former Marine. He's not very strict, very much lenient, hence why the freshmen love him. He has a knife scar that goes through his left eyebrow and all the way through his left eye (but didn't blind him). He is known for gushing about his wife and daughters (though some students and faculty believe that Dr. Greene is actually his "wife").

Arun "Hellstorm" Khatri, Environmental Science (Grade 9)- Mr. Kahtri is a former Naval pilot and is known as "Hellstorm" because he once "rained hell" down on a teacher who humiliated a student by making them stand outside the classroom with a sign detailing how they misbehaved. That being said, he is known for looking like he's perpetually bored due to his face usually being neutral and his voice monotone.

Kyle Garrick, Creative Photography 1 (Grades 9-12)- Mr. Garrick is a former SAS soldier who moved from the UK to teach kids how to get into photography. He teaches Creative Photography 1 only because he primarily works with film instead of digital cameras. Students often gush about how he makes them love photography and how his tips help them become better photographers.

John MacTavish, 2D Studio Art 1 & 2 (Grades 9-12)- Mr. MacTavish is a former SAS soldier and he moved from the UK to help American kids either start their artistic career or better improve their artistic skills. He's very out-going and he's a hit amongst the students. Don't tell the administrative faculty, but he often puts on movies for the kids on slow days.

Fariz "Heartthrob" Shah, Nutrition & Wellness (Grades 9-12)- Mr. Shah is a former Marine and he got his nickname due to being very charismatic. He is said to make all of the faculty swoon and even some students (though he stays away from students, even if they're eighteen). He teaches his students the joys of cooking.

Ashok Kumar, Chorus 1, 2, & 3 (Grades 9-12)- Mr. Kumar is a former Marine and he is extremely tall at 6'6". He walks a fine line of being demanding in terms of choir performance while also having days where his classes are just watching movies to relax. He and his senior chorus class go to Disney every year to perform. His choirs have won more trophies than the football team.

John Price, World History (Grade 10)- Mr. Price is a former SAS soldier and he moved to America as a favor to the principal of the high school whom he had fought alongside with. He is considered to be a rather fair teacher, stern but not too strict. He's vying to be the favorite history teacher among the tenth graders, often clashing with Stone/Mr. Mishra who also teaches tenth graders.

Vasanti Singh, IT Systems and Applications (Grade 10)- Ms. Singh is a former information systems technical and she took this teaching job simply because it was easy enough to let her mind rest. She's known to goof around, being a hit among the students and the other faculty members. Most students take her class because they think it'll be easy, oh how wrong they are.

Simon "Ghost" Riley, Weight Training 1, 2, & 3 (Grades 10-12)- Coach Riley is a former SAS soldier and he is known for being a hard-ass. He's really strict and has made kids cry, but he was the best out of all of the potential candidates so he got hired. His nickname is due to him being able to just disappear without anyone noticing. He lowkey has animosity towards Coach Williams because he doesn't understand why Coach Williams is so easygoing with the students. He pushes his students to be the best they can be. He has declined offers to become the new football coach, despite his leadership potentially being the key to improve the football team.

Nathan Greene, AP Pre-Calculus (Grades 10-12)- Dr. Greene is a former Marine and he has a PHD in mathematics. He could be teaching at a college and be a professor, but he loves to help improve younger students' love for mathematics. He is rumored to be Coach Williams' "actual" wife as he once popped his head in the gym and asked "how their girls were doing" while referring to Coach Williams' daughters. He has a son and most faculty members who believe Coach Williams and Dr. Greene are actually married swear up and down they can see similarities in both Dr. Greene's son and Coach Williams.

Vikram "Stone" Mishra, United States History (Grades 10-12)- Mr. Mishra is a former Corpsman and is a complete mystery to most people. He has managed to hide his first name from most faculty members and all of the students, as the scantrons they take in his class only refer to him as "Stone Mishra". No one knows where the nickname comes from, but every adult refers to him as "Stone". Students are in awe of his countless old battle scars, enough so that they take his class despite knowing how strict he is. He is often told to be the strictest teacher on campus.

Ivan Kohli-Petrov, AP English Literature & Composition (Grades 11-12)- Mr. Kohli-Petrov is a former Marine and is a man of few words. Despite being mostly silent, his teaching has helped the school's overall test scores improve with how much he makes his class seem more fun. Most juniors and seniors say he makes reading more fun than their previous English teachers. He's not known for his friendliness, considering the looks he gives whenever someone asks him how the right side of his body got severely burned.

[nysus-temple]

I saw you mention this twice this week and so I was wondering...what's the thing with Virgil's name being misspelled about?

I never heard of this in class so I'm assuming it has to do with the English version of his name SPECIFICALLY, right? I'm kinda curious

Oh this might get long.

I actually LOVE to talk about this silly little thing !! I had to search for a lot of stuff regarding it back when I had to do an university work about Virgil (and I've never been the same ever since).

A quick clarification first: yes, I only speak for the English, Spanish and "Latin" versions only. I'm not sure how he's called in Italian nowadays. Virgilio, perhaps (that's Spanish).

The whole thing about the name being misspelled is, well, we all know he was called Vergilius in Latin, even if now we refer to him as Virgil and Virgilio respectively, when the actual transcription should have been Vergil and Vergilio, at least if we follow the rules. The reason most languages nowadays keep that <i> in his name instead of an <e> is due to his name having been written as Virgilius instead of Vergilius for quite a LONG while.

At the end of 1484, Angelo Poliziano traveled to Rome for the first time as a member of a Florentine delegation. During that trip, Poliziano had time to look through ancient codices in the Vatican Library. Thanks to that, he had found that Virgil's name was, in fact, Vergilius, not Virgilius, as all the copyists and authors had kept calling him. And well, all the modern research agrees with him nowadays, the name of the mantuan poet has an <e>, not an <i>. It's not certain why Virgilius was the name used instead for so long, BUT we know that by the 5th and 6th centuries this was already the predominant spelling.

And you know to where those centuries belong to? The Middle Ages !! Bear with me, most of the shenanigans regarding poets such as Virgil have to do with that.

Virgilius was associated etymologically with both virgo and virga. It was more metaphorically than an accurate etymology, though. Why do I say this? Well, turns out that back during the Middle Ages, Virgil's Eclogue IV was read as a prediction of the coming of Christ (virgo) and "magic wand" (virga) due to a tradition that made Virgil some sort sorcerer capable of prophesying the birth of Christ.

This is, obviously, not a fact. But given the topic of the Eclogue IV, of course we were going to use that as an excuse to talk about the coming of Christ. (I wonder why the Eclogue II has been ignored for so long, hm).

There's also the traditions of the biographers stating that Virgil had a nickname, parthenias, due to his apparent timid character. And uh, why we do know he didn't like the public gazes much, I'm not so sure if we can take all these biographies as a fact. So take this last bit with a grain of salt.

(Before Poliziano wrote his work explaining why Virgilius was wrong, we DO have one or two examples of the name Vergilius being used instead, but those are odd cases I did not look into.)

You can see how in English this has already been starting to change. People will call the poet either Virgil or Vergil, since both are equally accepted.

My case? While Vergil sounds better, closer to Latin, I use Virgil instead in order to avoid the mantuan poet being confused with *checks notes* the half-demon with family issues. Believe me the DMC fanbase has found some posts of mine in which I tagged the poet as Vergil instead of Virgil, and the misunderstandings were hilarious.

Hilarious, yet understandable. Searching "vergil" shows you the character. If you specify "vergil, poet" it will correct you to "virgil".

In Spanish? Well, if you say Vergilio instead of Virgilio, everyone will give you a side eye. And while, both are accepted like in English, submiting academic work in which he's not being called Virgilio can end up in a bad mark.

I tried that, and the response from my professor was "I don't know, he has always been called like that, I suppose. Vergilio just sounds wrong, correct it."

[heyidkyay]

I guess I’ll take this pain, instead of your name |

Part Twenty-Four - Part B

A/n: Hey, Part B is finally here!! It was a struggle to write but I'm so grateful to know that a lot of you were looking forward to it! Means so much. Again, like the previous part, this will be a collection of flashbacks! Please read the warnings on this one! Hope you enjoy x

Summary: In life, things changed. The boys you'd once grown up with were men now, and famous ones at that. The type that toured the world and had millions of adoring fans.

The five of you shared a shit ton of history. But you also shared a lot of mixed emotions for one of them in particular, a certain drummer.

Warnings: Lots of swearing as per usual, talks and acts of violence, abuse and sexual assault mentioned, description of sick/blood

Masterlist

“London?”

I nodded, eyes fixed firmly on the hands I held in my lap.

“London?!” Matty exclaimed again, only louder this time. He’d stopped pacing to stare down at me. The rest of the boys who had gathered on the sofa were all strangely quiet.

“Yeah, Matty. London.”

“The fuck she want to send you there for?” He argued back, and although I knew his anger wasn’t directed towards me, rather the situation at hand, I still couldn’t quite look him in the eye. 

Things at home had gotten… worse. Not that I’d ever let them know. And although I didn’t want to leave the lads for the summer, I didn’t think I could handle staying there another second longer.

“My nan’s down there. Reckons it’ll be good for me, to get away.” I told him in reply, unable to help the small shrug I gave before I begun biting at a loose thumbnail, “It’ll only be for a week or so.”

“But, but what about the EP? And our gigs!” Matty fought back and, honestly, I was all too thankful for the moment when I heard Hann intercept the start of what would only be another long spiel.

“It’s not like she can really tell her mum no, mate. Besides, it’s like she said, it won’t be for long. We’ll still have the rest of the summer.”

Hann looked around at the rest of the boys, hoping to see their nods. He sighed when Matty only continued on, as though he hadn’t even said a word.

“You can stay here! Lou’ll be in Spain with Dad, Mum’s still filming so she won’t even notice- not that she’d mind.” Matty started to plan, glancing towards the rest of the room for some sort of approval. “It’s a good idea, ain’t it? That way, we can all still be together.”

I exhaled, not quite a sigh, “And what do I tell my mum, when my nan phones her up and asks why I’m not there?”

Matty groaned in agitation. “Tell her to piss off! And that you’re spending the summer with your mates.”

I wish it was as easy as that.

“Matt.” Ross cut in with a certain gruffness that made Matty pause. Ross turned towards me afterwards but I couldn’t force myself to look back at him, eyes trained somewhere to the left of his head.

Ross wasn’t stupid, I knew that much. In fact, none of the boys were. But Ross was also obnoxiously observant, more so than most, and I knew that during the last few months he’d been taking notice of more things than not. He was catching on. Brushing off my excuses. Listening to the lies I weaved into truths and narrowing his eyes. He knew something was up.

“B,” He called to me- short for George’s nickname I supposed, but he hardly ever used it. My eyes skitted between his own, then away again in fear he’d be able to see it all written as plain as day across my face. “Listen, if you wanna go down to London, then go. Ignore this twat-“ Matty squawked indignantly. “The band stuff, the gigs, they’ll all still be here when you get back.” The ‘we’ll still be here’ went unsaid, but it was heard. “Only a few weeks, just like you said. If your mum wants you down there, must be a reason, ey?”

I wiggled my jaw. If only it was that simple, I thought, but simply shrugged again. “‘Spose.”

“What, so you actually wanna go?” Matty cut in, looking almost betrayed, always one for the dramatics. “Just leave us here, when everything’s finally fallin’ into place?”

I frowned at him, “No, I don’t wanna go. But-��� I don’t want to stay in that house any longer.

“Exactly! Just tell her that then, babe!” Matty rushed out before I could even think of an end to that sentence, “She’ll understand, let you stay, and then we can have the entire summer, yeah?”

He was grinning so wide, it was hard to do anything but just nod in defeat. Ross and Hann shook their heads at him as they huffed and drew themselves up onto their feet.

“Alright, can we get to startin’ practice now then or is this family meeting still happening?” Hann not so subtly suggested, quirking a brow at the lot of us. I was just grateful for the opportunity to cut my loses and run, Ross was already moving over towards the amp, and Matty was nodding his hasty agreement.

“Gonna grab some drinks first though.” The curly haired singer added, and he darted out of the garage before Hann could stop him. I chuckled under my breath at Adam’s pained expression and settled further into the settee, making myself comfortable there. It was then that I caught George’s eye though and he jerked his head over towards the driveway, a quiet indication.

I chewed on the inside of my lip before I ultimately nodded, holding back a sigh. He got up first and then I followed, ignoring Hann’s exasperated huff and the lingering look I felt from Ross.

I thought that’d been it, the London topic dropped. But luck was never on my side and even though I had no idea what George would possibly have to say on the subject, I could see that he’d been far too quiet in there. Something was coming.

He wandered a way away from the garage door, slipping round the side of the house and towards the garden gate before he finally stopped, pausing to settle against the low brick wall there. It was a place we often favoured whenever we wanted a breath away from the others, sheltered by overhanging trees and bushes, you could sort of feel invisible there.

George was quiet even as he tugged an already opened pack from his jean pocket and plucked a cigarette from its case. On impulse I pulled out my lighter and flicked it open for him, lighting the end like I usually did.

“How’s Steven doing?” He asked rather abruptly, so much so that a wad of spit caught in the back of my throat at the question and I had to fight not to choke.

“Why the fuck are you asking me that?” I retorted, swallowing harshly and catching my breath.

He didn’t look at me, eyes hard and focused on the opposing wall. He shrugged a shoulder lazily, but I knew better. “You never mentioned London.”

“And what the hell has my mum’s dick of a boyfriend got to do with London?” I sputtered back heatedly, already knowing the answer.

George levelled me with a look and inhaled slowly, gaze finding mine.

“You know what.”

I scowled and folded my arms promptly across my chest. “Fuck you.”

He rolled his eyes at my reaction and billowed out a breath of smoke above us, handing me the fag in quiet offering. I shook my head. He sighed.

“I thought-”

He tried, but I quickly shut him down, “Fuck what you thought, you don’t know a thing.”

George held a single hand up in mock surrender, ash falling with it. I steeled my gaze on the thick cement tiles below us.

“Not claiming to, Birdie.” George said in his usual tone, unaware of what that nickname of his did to me. “But I know something’s up. Reckon the guys are noticing things too.”

I rubbed the curve of my arm subconsciously, knowing there was truth in his words.

“What do you want me to say?” I asked exhaustedly, all the fight I typically had had been drained from me. 

The question had been mostly rhetorical, but George wasn’t the type to care. “The truth.” He answered and I could feel his stare trained on me now.

“The truth?” I scoffed tiredly, the bitten flesh of cheek I so often ground between my teeth was scarred, bumpy as I pressed my tongue to it and thought the whole thing over.

‘Truth’ was something we’d taken to using for a while now, in the buzzing hum of our frequented cafe, within the confines of the shed at the end of my garden, sprawled on his bedsheets whilst getting high. It’d started after a small falling out I’d had with Vicky a few months prior and had continued on almost unconsciously.

Now though, I didn’t know what to tell him, what truth to acknowledge. What he wanted to hear.

George mimicked the low hum I made, cigarette pressed between his lips but otherwise unmoving. “Who’s idea was London then?”

“His.”

We both knew who I was talking about.

“Right.” George nodded once, “She just agreed then?”

She, being my mum. I dipped my chin, a silent confirmation.

His thumb was tapping away at the jut of his knee now, a rhythmic tic I often stilled with a hand covering his own. I couldn’t find it in myself to reach out and touch him now though.

“Why’s he want you gone?”

In truth, I really didn’t know. Maybe I’d gotten too much. Perhaps he’d gotten fed up.

“Think he has better things in mind than having me hang ‘round all summer.”

“You want to go?”

I let his question hang there for a moment. I was toeing two sides of the line with my answer. To go would be easier on everyone, I’d see my Nana, get to explore a whole other city, and have the chance to escape them. But being away also meant leaving the boys.

George didn’t mind not hearing my verbal reply, I think he already knew my answer. He just wanted to be sure of it. He went on, “My mum’s back in town next week.”

A truth for a truth.

“You never mentioned it.” I said, picking at a fraying edge on my denim shorts.

He gave a slow shrug, “You never mentioned London.”

“Only found out a couple days ago.” He raised a brow in return, thinning his lips. I sighed, “Alright, I should’ve said something sooner but I was thinking it over.”

George hummed, “Dad only told me this mornin’.”

Maybe that’s why he’d been so reserved since we’d met up. The whole way to Matty’s he’d barely spoken a word, but I’d been overly anxious, knowing I was planning to tell them about London, which meant that I’d been talking a mile a minute- an attempt I often used to cover it. 

“What are you gonna do?” I asked him, peering up at his solemn features through a lock of fallen hair. 

“What I always do. Stay out of her way.” He told me honestly before he took a longer drag. I watched his chest rise with it, observed how his eyes fluttered slightly. He was always so interesting to watch.

“Could come to London with me. Hide out there.” I offered and was met with the slight quirk to his mouth, he was amused by my words. “I’m serious!” I reiterated and bumped a shoulder against his arm, “Me and you. Together. Nana loves strays.”

George just laughed at that and I couldn’t help the soft smile I made at the sound. “Sod off.” He told me around a chuckle, “London does sound nice though, be good for you I reckon.”

“For us.” I insisted, the idea fully lodging its way into my brain now. “Come on, G. Don’t you think it’d be fun?”

“Yeah sure, but the wrath Matty would rain down on us fucking won’t be.” George snorted, shaking his head at me softly.

“So?” I pestered again, shuffling round on the wall to face him properly, shin pressing against his outer thigh. He glanced down at it and then away, inhaling again. “I can phone her when I get in,”

“Phone who?” George interrupted just as my fingers found the flannel he’d thrown on that same morning. I toyed with it, rolling my eyes.

“My Nana! Keep up.” I huffed at him, “I’ll phone her, ask if she’d be okay with you coming along too and you can just tell the guys you’re being held hostage by your mum, she wants family time, forcing you to go and see an aunt or summat.”

George was wearing this barely there smirk, one I recognised as a crack in his usual stoic resolve. I was wearing him down.

“Think about it, G… You can avoid your mum and waste half your summer away with me.”

I raised my brows at him, hopeful, but he just stared back at me.

“And what would I tell my dad, my mum?” He retorted, finally stubbing out the end of his cigarette and flicking the butt of it into the soil behind us.

“Tell your dad we’re going camping. All of us. And we can leave before your mum gets in.” I explained, in full out planning mode now. I could see it all coming together in my head and tugged on the cuff of his sleeve in excitement. “Come on, G. Please? Be our little secret.”

George’s gaze trailed over my face, his expression as serious as my own. “You really mean it, don’t you?”

I tilted my head, confused by his sentiment. “Of course I do. If I could, I’d take you everywhere with me. It’s us against the world, G. Always.”

He cracked the tiniest of smiles, an action I knew he had no control over, and it only seemed to grow as I matched it. I had him.

“So we’re really doing this then?” He breathed out in amused disbelief. I nodded with a painfully large grin as I wrapped my arms around his neck, leaning in closer.

“Best believe it.” I replied just as he knocked his forehead against mine. Both of us unable to bite back our smiles.

“London.” George whispered.

“London.” I mimicked, marvelling at the very idea of it.

To think, I’d been dreading this entire conversation. How things so quickly changed.

And change they would…

—

“Yeah, yeah!” I prattled away, hardly holding back my anticipation. 

I’d been back barely five minutes before I’d hurried over to the landline, having snuck in through the back gate and shuffled up the drainpipe to my bedroom. I’d waited until I heard the front door slam then made a run for it, scurrying down the stairs and almost throwing the phone off its hook in my hurry. I had half hour until mum was due back from wherever she usually pissed off to, and didn’t have to worry about Old Steven seeing me as he’d just left for the pub.

“‘Course I’m excited, Nana. Haven’t seen you in ages!” I told the older woman, warmly, through the phone, twirling the chord around my finger as I did. 

She was rambling away now, had been ever since I’d said hello. She’d been gruff in her answer at first, having thought I was one of those poxy telemarketers she could often never shake, but was over the moon to know it’d been me once she’d heard my voice. 

Apparently she was rather excited to know that I was coming down to visit, though she hadn’t heard a word of it until I’d brought it up then- fucking mum. Still, she told me she’d set up the spare room and let my aunt know too, she sounded just as pleased as me. It was then that I thought it best to try and bring up George.

“Aunt Del will be so pleased to see you, love. Have to cook up something proper for when you arrive too, won’t I?” 

I smiled fondly at her voice, her heavy accent so different to mine. “Don’t have to go to too much trouble for me, nan.”

“Oh bugger off, you daft cow! My granddaughter’s comin’ to see me, I’ll do as I please.” Nana scoffed and I bit back a giggle.

“Alright.” I appeased her, then she asked what day I’d be heading off. I thought it over for a second, knowing that G’s mum was due back Sunday night, so that morning probably gave us enough time to set off and make the train. “Sunday, Nana.” I replied and she hummed, but before she could say anything in actual reply I was quick to mention the deal-breaker. “Actually Nana, whilst I still have you, I um, I was meant to ask you something. Just, I don’t want to put you out or nothing…”

“Sweet, you’d best spit whatever ask you have out ‘fore you swallow your own tongue. I ain’t gettin’ any younger and the days ain’t gettin’ any longer. So out with it.” She demanded. She was just as I remembered, headstrong to a fault and overly blunt. The woman said what she pleased and if you didn’t like that then you’d simply have to deal with it, nowt to do with her.

I huffed a mirthful chuckle, “Sorry.”

“None of that now, sunshine. Tell me what you’re after.”

“See, I have this friend…”

“Oh, a friend, is it? Let me guess, this friend of yours, they headed down my way too?” She never missed a thing that woman, I’ll give her that.

“Might be.”

Nana laughed and I could hear her shuffling about, probably in the kitchen from the sound of pots clinking in the background. “Just like your father, I tell you. Cheek on the pair of ya.”

My heart caught at her words, no one spoke of my dad. To hear that I was similar to him in any way, well that paused my whirling mind for a split second. 

Though to my Nana, it had just been an off handed comment, a slip of the tongue, because she was already breezing on by whilst I fought to catch up.

“Tell me about this friend of yours then. They nice? Treat you well?” Nana pestered, last she knew of my life here up North was my closeness with Vicky and my lingering eyes which were often casted towards her older brother, Jamie. How things had changed.

I smiled at the questions and thought of George. He was a hard person to describe in truth. There wasn’t a thing I disliked about him. There were things that annoyed me about him, sure- he was one of few people who knew exactly what buttons to press- but describing George, well it sort of felt like describing myself. That, plus, I didn’t want to give too much away.

“He’s nice, Nana.”

She hummed and I heard the sweet drawl to it, as though she was grasping at something. The sound made me flush a tad. “He’s nice, is he?”

Put my foot right in it there. Could’ve tried getting away with it by being vague, have her think it was a girl ’til George’s ginormous self gangled his way through her door, but nope.

“Yup.” I popped back, too far gone to backtrack now. 

My feelings towards George were honestly a confusing mountain of mess, but they had yet to make me force him away. Hearing my nan allude to something of the like did not help at all.

“Hm, and he’s wantin’ to follow after you, is he? Down ‘ere to see little old me.”

I shook my head even though she couldn’t see. “It were my idea. I-”

She stopped me short, “No need to explain, dove. He sounds like a very nice friend, this boy. One you’d like to keep near I assume?” I hummed noncommittally and could hear her devious smile, “Handsome is he?”

“Nana.” I droned out, regretting ever having even mentioned it now. Should’ve just surprised her, at least then she wouldn’t be teasing me like this. Actually, scrap that. That was a complete lie. She so fucking would.

“‘Course he can come along, love.” She allowed, relenting with her teasing a tad, or so I thought. “Just got the one spare room though, so if you don’t mind putting up with him for a couple nights… or I ‘spose I could just make up the sofa.”

“Whatever’s easiest for you, Nana. And thank you. I,” I inhaled slowly, the sound sharp in the quiet of the house, “I really do appreciate it, you putting me up and that.”

“Nonsense. Always worryin’ ‘bout you up there, that mother of yours never phones.” Nana tutted. If she only knew that half of it, I thought to myself. “But anyway darlin’, there’s nothin’ to thank me for, only way you could is with a pack of Rothmans Blue- Superking, mind.”

I snorted to myself, “Consider it done. Sunday paper, too?”

“Oh, you know me so well. Daily mail, none of that other shite.”

I mouthed the last few words as she spoke them, knowing that they’d be coming, and grinned when I was right. 

“‘Course not.” I said with a smile, “If you need anything else picking up, call this time Saturday, yeah?”

“You got a schedule or somethin’ there, lovie?” Nana joked, laughing lightly even as my own smile faltered slightly.

“Something like that.” I murmured, then thought I heard the key turn in the front door. 

My head snapped towards the sound, sheltering the phone against my shoulder to listen in closer. 

Yeah, someone was definitely home. 

Wary, I hurried to say my goodbyes, “Listen Nana, think that’s mum headed in now with the shopping. I’d best go and help her.”

“Shoppin’? This late?” Nana questioned but I was already standing, bouncing from foot to foot, praying to every star in the night sky that it was mum and not Steven.

“Yeah, she had a late shift tonight. Is that alright, Nana? I’ll call before I leave Sunday, okay?”

I was fretting now, heart racing as the door hinges begun to squeak.

“‘Course it is, love. Say hello to your mum too, won’t ya, sweetheart? And I’ll see you Sunday.”

“I will, love you.” I rushed out and was left with the beginnings of a smile when I heard her parrot it back to me. I hung up just as the front door slammed closed and jumped towards the kitchen sink like a trapeze artist would a free-falling rope. More than grateful to see that there were a few cups littering the basin.

I was washing up just as she walked in, I heard her paused in the archway, probably surprised to see me down here.

“What you doin’ that for?” She asked me and I glanced over my shoulder, holding back a shaky breath whilst I flashed her smile.

“Just thought I’d be helpful, mum.” I replied and turned back to the task at hand to subtly release the balloon of air that’d been swelling in my chest.

She hummed indifferently and tossed her purse down onto the kitchen table, “Steve in?”

I shook my head, “Wasn’t here when I got back.” Liar.

“Right.” She worked her jaw, staring off into space before she headed over towards the fridge, plucking up a cider. “Gonna run a bath, back’s been killin’ me. You alright to make your own tea?”

I swallowed back the hollow laugh that wanted to escape me, I always fixed my own tea. Did everything myself. “Yeah, mum.” I told her instead of voicing that though, choosing not to glance her way again.

“Right.” She repeated and then I heard nothing for a few beats before her feet were wandering out of the kitchen again and up the stairs.

I let myself slump against the counter as I listened to her disappear, hands covered in soap duds and not caring for the water that dripped its way down my forearm. I let my eyes fall close for a brief minute. That’d been too close for my liking.

—

I told George of the talk I’d had with my nan, along with the plan, the next day. We’d leave about nine, Sunday morning, to try and make it to London before the rush of lunch, and my Aunt Del would then pick us up from the station soon after.

We’d been sat on the school playing fields, waiting for the rest of the guys. Just lazing about there, seeing as we only had a couple days before school finally let out. Days like these were always the best kind though, when the teachers gave up on teaching us anything and just stuck a film on. Hoping it’d quiet our ever growing excitement. Did it fuck.

“I didn’t think you were being serious!” George exclaimed with a light laugh once I’d finally finished, eyes wide as he glanced down at me. I was sprawled out on the grass, head in his lap.

“Of course I fucking was! Do you not know me at all?” I replied in the same tone he’d used, titling my head back to exaggerate my own eyes. “We said it! We agreed!”

“So? I said I’d pull the plug on Matty’s life support machine if he ever ended up braindead, don’t mean I’ll actually do it.” George snorted right back, hands toying with the ends of my hair.

“Well, he’s not far off, is he?” I teased, even though Matty wasn’t around to hear. “And besides, I’m not Matty. I’m me. And you,” I exaggerated, pointing a finger up at him, “can’t say no to a face like this.”

“When d’you get so vain, ey?” Was all that George replied. I rolled my eyes and huffed.

“Please, G. Nana’s excited to meet you now. Can’t let her down, can you? Imagine what it’ll do to her poor old heart.”

He dragged a thumb across my lip, wiping the pout I wore right off my face. The surprising action didn’t deter me though, neither did the sickening butterflies I felt.

“Heartless heathen. Just watch this space,” I told him in false seriousness, “See when I turn up all alone and she’s devastated. So utterly heartbroken.”

“Oh shut up, would you?” George huffed, tugging on a strand of my hair and rolling his eyes at my scowl. “I’ll go.” My face quickly morphed and I knew he saw it when he leant in closer to cut off whatever I’d been about to say, our noses a breath apart. “But, only if you help me break it to the boys- my dad as well.”

I mulled it over, “I could do that.”

“You say that now.” He chuckled down at me, brown eyes dancing between my own before he pulled away and glanced over to see the boys headed our way.

To say that the rest of the band had taken the news of George’s departure easily was an utter lie. As expected, Matty had gone off on one, all grumpy and disheartened. Hann had sighed, but said that they could put off any recording sessions for a week or so. And Ross had just sat there grinning lazily at us like a overweight cat stretched out in the sun, unbothered by it but also looking a little too smug for my liking. 

I’d narrowed my eyes at him but said nothing.

George’s dad on the other hand was a whole other story.

I’d only met the man twice. Once when he’d caught me up in George’s bedroom, splayed out on the floor after having fallen out of a handstand his son had dared me into. Then a second time in the supermarket on the high street, I’d been grabbing food for the house seeing as no one else could be bothered, and he’d been on the phone to someone or other, heatedly whispering away. We’d caught each others eye, gave a strange awkward wave, then sped off down separate aisles. 

I’d been mortified both times. Not the best impression to have left on anyone, let alone your mate’s dad.

Still, I’d agreed to help and so now here I was. Sat in George’s kitchen, him at the stove, me perched by the table, both of us waiting for his dad to come home from work.

I was biting at my knuckle nervously, eyes trained on the door, George swatted my arm when he finally noticed, passing by me to pull a pack of pasta from out of the cupboard. “Why’re you so worked up? He’s harmless, plus you’ve met him before.”

Harmless, that’s how Matty often described George. I wondered if the two of them were much alike. Like my dad and I.

“I’m not.” I defended, but was levelled with a look telling me to cut the bullshit. “Fine, I just- I don’t know! Okay? Will you just run me through the story again?”

George chuckled to himself, pouring pasta shells into some salted water. “I’ll start, hint that a few of us are wanting to go camping. He won’t ask who, but if he does just say the lads. Like Hann and that- don’t mention Matty though, they’ve met.”

“He doesn’t like Matty?” I questioned with a pinched brow.

George’s shoulders moved with an unsure shrug, his back to me as he checked on the sauce he was making. I found it strange how I never knew he could cook til now. Or at least I hoped he could, I was supposed to be eating this.

“Nah, not that he doesn’t like him. Just thinks he’s a bit…” He replied, searching for the right word.

“Over the top? Eccentric? Loud?”

With a snort, George nodded. “Yeah. So, just be wary.”

I hummed, fiddling with the coasters that sat nearby. George’s house was nice, looked hardly lived in but it was tidy and inviting. Nothing as extravagant as Matty’s, but not quite like mine either. His family did well for themselves, you could see it.

“You don’t have to do this, you know. I was just pulling your leg earlier.” He told me after a minute or two had passed in quiet.

I shook my head. “I said I would, didn’t I? Don’t go back on my word.” I ridiculed, giving him a knowing look as I thought back to his first agreement over the trip to London. George just rolled his eyes at me and turned back towards the stove again. 

Besides, I thought to myself, I was here now. Might as well.

The telltale sign of a car pulling up onto the drive sounded then and my eyes widened on their own accord. “Oh shit.”

I was regretting everything now. I had no idea how to act, or what to say. I wanted to crawl under the table and hide until it was safe to come out again. My mind screaming at me to just make a run for it before I fucked the entire thing up.

I was sat staring a hole into the kitchen door, just waiting anxiously, when George carded a hand through my hair. I hadn’t even heard him approach.

“Don’t stress.” 

I glanced up towards him, then blew a heavy breath out of my nose, letting my forehead fall against his stomach.

“How can you say that? I’m freaking out, G.” My words were muffled by his t-shirt and so I felt it when he gave a muted chuckle in return. Strangely, the movement soothed me, but the gentle hand he held to the back of my head helped too. 

“You’ll be fine, B.” He murmured out into the kitchen and I pulled away when I heard the front door rattle. “Besides, when have I ever let you down?”

I released a shallow breath and then plastered on a more convincing smile. I caught George’s hand in mine just before he went back to watching the boiling pot and squeezed the digits, he returned the gesture kindly. I was thankful to have him, I realised in that moment, the easy way we worked only just hitting me then.

George was back by the stove when the kitchen handle turned and we both glanced over in the direction of the door to watch his dad walk on through it. The man was tall, that was the first thing I noticed, he had to duck his head to wander through the frame so that he wouldn’t hit it, and he also looked a lot like George. They shared the same eyes.

“Oh.” The older man paused when he spotted me at the table, slowing his movements ever so slightly to process it. It seemed that syllabic reactions were also something that the pair shared too.

“Hi, Mr Daniel. Hope me being here isn’t too much of a bother.” I greeted him, trying for polite, my voice was quieter than I expected though and I noted the way George’s furrowed brow turned towards me when he heard it too.

George’s dad stepped further into the kitchen, placing a carrier bag down on the kitchen counter before he walked over to drop his briefcase onto a wooden chair.

“Not a bother.” His accent was peculiar, it held a hint of, what I could only assume to be, Dutch, that was overpowered slightly by his low speech. “And I’m Jules, no need for formalities. You must be Y/n.”

I nodded and gave a smile when he quirked one of his own, however tiny. “I am, it’s nice to properly meet you.” I told him as he propped himself into the seat sat opposite me. 

“Yes, I agree. Though I have heard a lot about you, George has spoken of you before.” Jules informed, analysing eyes flitting over to where his son was stood, pretending to be absorbed in his cooking, before they settled back on me, “He speaks highly of you.”

A genuine smile broke out across my face then and, unable to stop it, I glanced down to my lap in hopes to hide it.

“That’s kind of him.” I laughed softly and was pleased when George’s dad chuckled along with me, it was a resonant sound one that came from deep within.

“My son’s a good boy. A kind one. I hope he’ll turn into a good man also.”

The look he casted George was sweet, one I couldn’t relate to but adored all the same. This man held his son in high regard, he loved him.

George decided to grace us with a bit of input then. “Are we done talking about me now?” He quipped, looking a bit self-conscious which was new. “Just waiting for him to start telling you my most embarrassing moments or pull out the baby photos.”

I flashed his dad a hopeful grin, “I’d love that.”

Jules just laughed and glanced towards his son. “I like this girl. Where did you find her?”

George shook his head in retort, rolling his eyes but not hiding his fond smile. “She found me.”

The two of us shared a look then and laughed- he had a point.

“Oh?” Jules said, questioning gaze jumping between the both of us now.

“I heard him play. At school.” I acquiesced the older man’s wondering and instinctively he knew I was talking about drumming. “He was hiding away in the music room when I’d been walking past, decided to poke my head in.”

“Ambushed me, more like.” George scoffed, a tea towel slung over his shoulder, looking every bit like the chef he was feigning to be. 

“I did not!” I gasped.

George laughed loudly, I was marvelled by the sound but I didn’t let it put me off upholding my honour. 

“You did.” He affirmed, “Gave me an address on a piece of paper like some slick gangster and told me to be there.” 

“I- it was-” I tried to find the right response but he had me there- although, slick gangster was quite the compliment if I was being honest. “I was just trying to be helpful! Besides, you hardly said a word to me. I thought you hated me at first!”

George quirked a brow, as though this was a surprise to him, maybe it was.

Jules cut in, his question held a hint of mirth, “An address?”

George glanced towards his dad and nodded once more, “For the band. That’s how I joined.”

“Ah.” George’s dad sounded, “Are you in this band too?” He asked me.

George snickered and I tried not to glare at him as I answered Jules. “No, just the boys. I keep them all in order though.”

“The world would crumble without a woman in charge. Count yourselves lucky.” Jules sent a grin towards his son, it was toothy and I noted that the fine lines around both his eyes and mouth resembled those I’d seen on George. His familiar eyes found mine next, “Do you play though?”

I shook my head, if only. “I can play a few chords on the piano but I’m no Chopin.” Adam’s doing, that. 

“Sing?” Jules questioned and I found myself wringing my hands beneath the tabletop.

“A little. Not in front of people though.” I told him honestly, not paying mind to the pause George made or the way his expression deepened. “It’s something of my own.”

Jules looked to me then, really looked at me I mean, and dipped his head in an earnest understanding. “Some things are meant for the heart, these are the things that keep us grounded.”

I nodded too, thankful that he could relate in some way, and the kitchen settled into a peaceful lull for once. No nervous energy to be found. George turned his back on us to drain the pasta and stir a pot.

After a few muted minutes filled with George just puttering about, he padded his way over and placed two plates before his dad and I. We thanked him and he returned with one of his own as well as a bowl of grated cheese. He and his dad tucked right in, loading up on the mountain of parmesan, I however passed.

George cleared his throat once we’d all settled in, his foot finding my ankle beneath the table. I peered over to him but he was still staring down at his dinner. “I forgot to mention, dad. There’s this trip coming up.”

“At school?” Jules asked him, not noticing George’s awkward stance, the way his shoulders were hunched over his plate. I nudged my knee against his encouragingly.

“No, um just a group of us. To celebrate the end of the year.” He replied, having paused in his eating now to watch his dad’s reaction, who was still chewing happily away. “Camping.”

That did catch the man’s attention. “Camping?” He mimicked, one brow raising as he looked to George. “Where?”

“Down by the coast. Margate way.” Wow, he’d really thought this through.

His dad hummed around his next mouthful, then turned to me. I tried not to falter under his attention and the sudden pressure I felt. “Are you going, Y/n?”

I swallowed. 

“I am. It’s a big group of us. Seven or so.” I replied. In truth, there was an actual trip happening with some of the kids in our year- Vicky was actually going. They were all headed to some festival, a few of them camping out there, others staying in hotels nearby or with mates. When Matty had first heard about it he’d wanted to tag along, but then he’d saw the lineup and thought better of it.

“And your parents don’t mind?” Jules prodded, ignoring the sharp look George sent him.

“My mum is looking forward to the peace.” I joked with a soft chuckle, aiming to ease some of the nervousness I felt. “But she doesn’t mind, as long as I keep in touch and stay safe.”

God, I’d really pulled that one out of my arse, hadn’t I?

Jules seemed to buy it though and hummed again, folding his hands together. “When is this?”

“Next week, they’re leaving Sunday.” George answered, taking a sip of the drink he’d made us earlier.

“Your mother-” His dad attempted to say but George was swifter, “I know, that’s why I’m asking you now.”

Jules didn’t look too happy about the interruption or having been put on the spot, but didn’t comment on it, nor did he add to George’s explanation.

“I could call her, mention it.” Jules murmured, thinking it over as his eyes passed over his son’s. “But I don’t think she will mind. As long as you have fun, ah?”

The older man grinned and I felt the tightness in my chest loosen, going back to my food as the duo continued to talk more about the trip and then the football match that was supposedly on later tonight. 

I smiled to myself, figuring that this was probably the most normal family interaction I’d been apart of in a long time. And my smile only grew when George trapped my ankle between both of his feet, a silent acknowledgement.

He walked me home later that evening, hands in our pockets after having said a quiet goodbye to his dad, who’d looked just about ready to nod off on the sofa. 

It was quiet out and the walk was short so we decided on taking the long way, talking amongst ourselves, me staring up at the stars, him kicking at the pebbles we passed by.

“You never mentioned singing before.”

George’s sudden mention of the earlier topic faltered my step briefly, but I kept looking on. “Not something I tell most people.” I replied with a lazy shrug.

“Why?” He asked me, and if it’d been anyone else I’d’ve told them to mind their own. But this was George. George who new more parts of me than most. Who knew and didn’t judge. Who never whispered a word of it to anyone.

I rolled my lips against one another. “It was just something I always shared with my dad.”

George didn’t say anything for a minute or so, probably mulling it over, thinking of something to say. People always got so tense whenever I mentioned him. Death made people weird.

“You any good?”

That ask prompted an unexpected laugh from me and I peered over at him with a bright smile, teeth brushing against my lower lip. 

He knew me so well. I didn’t need pity, apologies, sympathy. 

“The next Britney, me.”

George grimaced and I chuckled some more before gazing down at my feet.

“I don’t know. My dad liked to hear me, said it reminded him of when his grandad used to take him to the local market down by the lock near their house. The women there used to sing on the barges that passed.”

George hummed around a sweet smile, “Will you sing to me?”

“Not even on your dying day.” I quipped right back, laughing when he stopped to narrow his eyes at me. 

“Come on, just a song. A verse!” He attempted to bargain but I wouldn’t budge, shaking my head.

“You’re going to get me in trouble, you know.” I told him with a laugh, “Was meant to be home twenty minutes ago, I’ll have to shuffle up the drain again.”

“Well, we’re already late so you’ll still have to make do with that drainpipe of yours, or I can offer you a shoulder up.”

I snorted softly, “What a sight that’d be if a neighbour saw.”

George gifted me a lopsided grin and continued on walking, “So no chance of a song then?”

I shook my head.

“Not even if I swore to moon the headmaster tomorrow morning?”

I wasn’t quick enough to swallow down my loud cackle, not having expected that response from him.

“As if you’d showcase your spotty arse to the entire school.”

George hip-checked me, “Fuck you, I do not have a spotty arse.”

“Well, how would I know? I’ve never seen it.”

“This your way of asking?” He smirked back, winking at me.

My jaw dropped at his blatant cheek, honestly so surprised I struggled to find a proper retort. “You wish.” 

George snorted at the flustered reply and continued walking on with a proud grin. He’d bested me there, we both knew it.

I huffed and let him have the win. Mostly because we were fast approaching my house and I could already see that the lights were still on.

With a sigh, I slowed my steps, all but lugging myself along the pavement now. George seemed to notice, but when did he not?

“You can always call me, you know? Just a text away.” He spoke, voice trailing out along the late summer air.

He knew I was dreading going inside, but that was to be expected. I always felt that way.

Instead of making any fuss though I merely grinned, waving him off. “I’ll be fine. But make sure you put your dad to bed, hey? Heard him complain about his back as he bent down to get in the freezer. He’ll regret kipping on that settee come morning.”

George gave me a small smile, finding amusement in my truthful words, but I could see the concern in his eyes. The worry lines that aged his face. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?” I assured, smiling up at him. “Last day and then we’re home free, G!”

George nodded at the reminder and tugged a hand out from his pocket to tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear, fingertips trailing along my jaw ever so gently. I held my breath. Wondering if he’d finally close that distance between us. If he knew I wanted it just as badly.

But then he pulled away again and I tried to hide my sinking disappointment.

“See you tomorrow, Birdie.”

I gave him a crooked smile and pushed up on my tiptoes to press a careful kiss to his cheek. “Tomorrow. Night, G.”

…

I was on a bit of a high as I made my way around the side of the house, trainers dodging the dried out mud puddled beneath the kitchen window before I slid through the wearing wooden gate. 

George hadn’t made a move but it was a baby step. 

Ross’s words repeated on a loop in my head as I climbed my way up onto the garden wall to grab at the ledge sat just above the backdoor. Once I was stable there I shuffled my way up and over to my bedroom window, always just leaving it off the latch. 

‘He’s half fucking in love with you.’

‘But that’s alright, I guess. Seeing as he has no clue that you like him too.’

He was a wise one, our Ross. But I don’t know, part of me was desperate to believe him, the other fearful- of what, I wasn’t quite sure.

I forced out a heavy breath as I lugged my body in through the open window, being mindful not to make too much noise as I stuck my landing.

With a breathless exhale I spun around to close the window again, startling when I saw a figure sat in the corner of my room, looming in the old wicker chair I’d had there for years.

My hand jumped up to my racing heart as I processed the shock, biting back the sudden fear that crawled its way up the back of my neck when I noticed his predatory grin.

“Been wonderin’ how you’ve been sneakin’ in and out without me noticing.” Steven commented causally, as though it was perfectly normal for a grown man to be sat up waiting for a teenage girl in her bedroom. “‘Cause at first, you see, at first I reckoned you were just pretty stealthy. Funny that, what with you bein’ so lard.”

He snorted at his own joke, but I paid his cruel words no attention, far too used to the rotten things he’d often spout. Men were all the same, only Steven just didn’t have a single good bone in his body. 

I walked over to my dresser, fiddling with the rings there before I reached for a hair tie. I was trying not to show him that I cared, that I hated him for invading my space, that I wanted to run as quick as my legs would let me away. If I did then it was game over, he’d win.

I almost didn’t hear him stand, so I tensed slightly when a floorboard creaked beneath his weight. He approached from behind, his face coming into view beside mine in the dresser mirror. I didn’t look him in the eye.

“Where you been then? Out with yer mates, or were you gettin’ your leg over?”

Bile rose, it suffocated my senses for a moment before I steeled myself. He wouldn’t get the upper hand here. I wouldn’t give him a reaction.

“Saw you outside with that lad. Harry down the pub says your often with him, sees the two of you out late most nights.” Steven said snidely, “Do you love him, pet? Reckon he loves you back, do ya?”

My eyes flew up towards his in the mirror, “Did you want something, Steven?”

He whistled lowly then and I watched his mouth tug up into a menacing smirk as his eyes grazed over my face in the reflection, slowly making their way down to the curve of my neck and then lower. I kept my head held high even as I turned to slide out from between him and the dresser, only I wasn’t quick enough.

His hips jerked out instinctively and he pinned me to the wooden drawers. My mind buzzed, I was panicking now. He’d never gotten close like this. A punch here, a shove there. But, never like this.

“Let me go.”

“Why, petal? Don’t you think we could have some fun?”

“Let me go.” I repeated, firmer this time, fists steeled against the countertop. 

When he only laughed at my reaction I took the chance his ego gave me, kicking back swiftly with my leg to hit him just below his knee and buckle him. He did, but only just, springing out to claw at me as I darted my way to the bedroom door. 

I screamed when I felt his hands catch at my waist, but the handle was already in my hand and so I tugged as hard as I could. It opened, flying out to catch the side of my face. 

Shocked by the sudden impact, my head fell limply and I stopped struggling for a moment. His hold tightened though and I knew I had to keep on, get to the stairs, then to the front door. 

Just get out. 

“Let go!” I screeched, scratching at his greedy hands and tugging my body relentlessly towards the hallway. 

It was a game of tug-of-war, and for him I supposed I was the prize. But I wasn’t too easily won. I sent another kick backwards, he avoided it. I used the same foot to crash down hard on his toes, he yelped and loosened his arms slightly in surprise, enough for me to break out into the hall, crashing into the wall opposite my room. 

His fist collided with the back of my head just as my cheek bounced off the photo frame mum had hung there, I slumped lower, wiggling my way downwards and towards where I knew the banister would be.

“Don’t, be, difficult.” He grunted out. 

“Fuck you.” I spat back. 

On the floor now, I rolled over and ignored the carpet that burned the skin of my arms. I kicked harder, vision hazy as he loomed over me. He struck me again for talking back, like he often did whenever he was home, but then hit me twice more just because he could. Laughing about it now.

I forced myself backwards, the hallway was dim, the only light coming from the bedroom at the end of the walkway. I wondered if she was in there. If she could hear all of this. “Mum?” I called out, wailing almost. “Mum!”

Steven laughed harder at that. “She ain’t here. Even if she were, she’d be no help to you, you little tramp. Now get up!” He ordered and I felt the back of my hand brush against the wooden beam of the banister. “Up!”

I did as I was told, legs trembling before me. He struck me back down again, then ordered the same. “Up!”

I could hardly feel anything but the licking fire that flooded my veins, every inch of my body hurting. But I couldn’t let it show.

I stumbled to my feet, vision so blurred I ought to be concussed. He pinned me to the wall there, hands roaming, I whimpered and he only grinned, getting in my face.

“Pretty when you try, ain’t you?” He snarked. I gritted my teeth and thrashed about, spitting in his face when I couldn’t smash his head away with my own.

He worked his jaw for a moment, blinking once at me before another disgusting smirk replaced his thinly pressed lips.

“I could kill you, here and now. Make it hurt, do it nice and slow. No one would even notice. Would they? No one would be none the wiser. You hear me?” He hissed brutally into my ear, I was quivering now, whimpering as he drew closer and closer, pressing against me. “Yer mum would thank me, kiss my feet even, for having gotten rid of the tart she birthed. She cries, you know. All the time. Tells me she wishes it were you who died, and not your old man.”

I choked on a sob, thrashing again. He laughed joyfully. 

“Is that it? Do you miss yer daddy, little girl?” He taunted, mouth pressing against the skin of my cheek now, breath hot as his fingers worked at the button of my shorts. “But he ain’t comin’ to help you, petal. No one is.”

I turned my face further away from him, as far as I possibly could. Lip trembling and arms falling slack. He chuckled, shaking his head at me and tutting, but his mistake was thinking I’d make this easy for him. He could go fuck himself. 

As soon as he released one of my wrists to paw at the cut of my shorts, I shot my knee out, colliding with his lower half hard. He groaned in pain, fingers flexing against the jut of my wrist when I shoved him as hard as I could away with my free hand. 

He twisted the arm he still held as he stumbled slightly, but I couldn’t react, not even to the sharp pain that flew up towards my elbow. I had to take the chance while I still had it, thrashing even more and grabbing blindly for the ancient ornament my mum had kept on the shelf nearby for years. I brought it down hard once my fingers wrapped around its metal, smashing it against the hand that still encased my arm. He shouted out and in his agony flew his uninjured arm back at me, knocking the side of the ornament I still gripped and sending its pointed top sailing towards my neck. It pierced the thin skin between my collar and shoulder blade.

I pulled it free thoughtlessly, gawking at the sight of it before he came flying towards me. On instinct I chucked the hefty ornament back his way, catching the side of his head when he attempted to duck away from it. I darted towards the bathroom in the same second, the closest room available, and slammed the door shut behind me. Fiddling with the lock, it slipped through my fingers three times before it finally latched.

I looked around the room for anything to protect myself with, shaking violently, but my only option was the plunger and the cabinet on the adjacent wall. But I wasn’t even sure that it could come away. My next idea was the window. 

Steven banged at the door then, a flight of fury, anger creeping in from the tiny gap beneath it as he shouted at the top of his lungs. I was already crouched in the sink, heartbeat filling up my ears. I fumbled with the window’s latch, coating the white windowsill in red as I forced the tiny pane open as far as it’d go.

I glanced out helplessly, trying to actively ignore the harsh thumping coming from behind me. I was a whole story up and had nothing to catch me down below, not even a ledge or a pipe to help me with my descent. 

I paused for a moment to try and think things through, but that was my mistake, the bathroom door behind me splintered under the full force of his weight and he all but jumped across the tiled floor to grab at me. 

I didn’t even think about it, throwing myself out of the open window in my panic, but not quick enough it seemed because his hand wrapped itself halfway around my leg like a snake would its prey. I was practically dangling upside down out of the window now, my hands desperately clawing at the brickwork to find something to hang onto. Still kicking as he tried to pull me back inside. 

I’d rather die, I thought in the hectic haze, or maybe I screamed it.

I heard her voice then. Her screaming out his name, my eyes shot up to see a flash of her hair above me in the bathroom. But it was in that moment that he chose to finally release me. That he finally let me go. And I fell. Dropped. Barely even feeling the ground as I splattered against it, face full of grass, hip colliding with the concrete patio.

She called out for me then. Said my name. It was the first time I’d heard her say it in weeks. 

My vision begun to flash, coming in and out of focus in thick streaks, I dragged myself upwards. Pain radiated throughout the length of my body as I did, but I just kept on going. Knowing if I kept on going then this would be the last of it. It would all be over.  

Struggling, fighting with myself to just keep on, to escape, I staggered down the garden path to pass through the side gate and out onto the sheltered drive. I clung to the wall there, using it as a crutch to aid me along.

I could still hear their shouts over the ringing, the incessant ringing that distracted me from most of the pain. I kept on pushing, forcing myself out onto the street now. Someone was coming after me, I’d heard the door rattle open but hadn’t dared look back, too focused on moving forward. 

My name.

I heard her call my name over and over. 

But somehow, by some miracle, I managed to break into a limping run. My lungs ached and I was gasping for air, but once I’d made it far enough, as far as I was capable, I felt my body drop against the curbed pavement. Head buried in the gravel road, hand clutching at my throbbing shoulder.

Next thing I knew there were lights, people. Sirens.

I kept on screaming.

“Don’t touch me! Please!” I sobbed, utterly distraught, “Don’t!”

They couldn’t touch me. I wouldn’t- they couldn’t. I wouldn’t let them.

So many voices flittered in and out of focus, attempts to talk me down, to help.

Everyone had gathered around to witness, it seemed, and I caved further into my shivering body, unable to focus on their whispers, the gasps, the looks. I didn’t know where I was. I was too scared to even ask. Too shocked to notice the familiar faces that littered the neighbourhood, looking down at me. Too terrified that he’d find me. That I’d be dragged back.

I sobbed harder. Eyes flicking to and fro. Trying to assess the situation, looking for any and all warning signs. An escape. But I couldn’t. Head too heavy to concentrate, my thoughts shutting down. 

Then there was a scuffle off to the far side and I tensed at the shouting that pursued, someone nearby was ordering people to step back, to go home.

Home, I wanted so desperately to scoff. How could I go home?

“Hey! You can’t be here.” They repeated, their voice itching at my skin, tightening every single muscle in my body. “Move away. Step away now!”

“She’s my friend! Let me fucking through. Y/n! Y/n!” 

Breathless, my head snapped up at the call of my name and through my hazy vision, I caught a glimpse of him. Him. How he’d known I was here, I had no idea, but he was there.

“George.” I sobbed openly, and that was the signal that seemed to allow him access. 

He all but threw himself towards me and the woman crouched about a foot away called out a warning to him, but I was reaching out too. Desperate for that safety that’d been so easily ripped away from me. 

I continued to sob, for who knows how long. He held me, tight. An anchor and a protector. He never let anyone get near. The sirens and flashing lights faded, and all I could hear was his voice. He sounded so lost. I wanted to apologise. I wanted him to hold me tighter.

“Come on, B. You need to get up now, alright? I need you to let them check you over. You won’t stop bleeding.”

He kept on repeating himself. Over and over. I couldn’t understand why. I was fine. Terrified but fine. I didn’t need them. I didn’t need to be touched. I didn’t want to be looked at. 

I wanted to go home. But where the fuck was home?

It wasn’t back there. It wasn’t with him.

I cried harder. 

“Birdie. Hey, Birdie, babe. Listen to me please. I’m here. I’m here and I’ve got you. Come on, we’re going to get into the ambulance, okay? Together. Just me and you.”

Me and you. “Me and you.” I repeated, his hand tightening a fraction in mine.

“That okay? Can you do that for me, love?”

I think I nodded, I couldn’t be sure. Uncertain of which way was up and which way was down. I leaned against his sturdy frame. “George, I lied.” I gasped out to him through my relentless spluttering, clawing at his chest. 

He didn’t reply.

“I lied, G! I said I’d be fine.” I cracked, barely even aware of the words I was spewing to him. “Can you stay? Please can you stay? I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

He wrapped himself further around me, hand in my matted hair. 

“Yeah, Birdie. I’ll stay. I’m not going nowhere.” He assured me, gentle as he lifted me up and into the ambulance. “I’ve got you.”

—

I’d always hated hospitals. Ever since my dad had died. 

I hated the fact that I was here again, in the same one he’d left us in. Left me in. 

I didn’t pay much attention to anything, only ever reacting when someone touched me without warning. Waking when a nurse would pop her head in or when someone would pass outside the door.

George was dozing in the chair beside my bed. I couldn’t remember calling him. I couldn’t remember much. I suppose I didn’t want to.

I ached. Everywhere.

But it was my mind that caused the most pain. Relentless in its pursuit to keep me under. To never let me forget.

I could still feel his hands. The groping, the press of his mouth. The breath on my ear. 

I shivered, forcing back the tears and swallowing past the harsh lump.

My eyes fluttered again. Heavy now. Heavier than ever. The room faded, George’s faint breaths lulling my mind, sleep dragging me under. 

——

“Fuck!” George hissed out, slamming his fist into the opposing wall to keep from chucking up whatever else his stomach had left to give. “Fuck.” He repeated, only with a lot less conviction, less drive.

She wouldn’t stop crying. She wouldn’t let them come near. She’d been so defenceless.

And where was I? His head screamed at him.

Where the hell was I?

His fist collided with the wall above the toilet again, face scrunched up tight to keep from crying too.

His breaths grew ragged, hands clenched hard enough to hurt, all whilst feeling sick to his stomach. 

He startled.

A knock had sounded from just outside and he inhaled a sharp breath, waiting a moment, before he croaked out, “Yeah?”

He sounded so weak. Voice shaking.

“Um, there’s a call here for you, sir.” An unfamiliar voice spoke through the thick door, “Asking for a George Daniel.”

He swallowed thickly, the action doing nothing at all to dull the nausea that rolled through him. “Yeah.” He rasped in reply, pulling the toilet chain and moving towards the door as his insides flushed away.

He stepped out into the quiet corridor, to where she now laid asleep in the room opposite. George’s tired, albeit alert, gaze honed in on a nurse dressed in blue staring carefully back at him. 

“They’ve phone three times now.” She told him, voice soft. “I kept them on the line, but I can’t hold them off any longer.”

George swallowed again and nodded to her, casting a long glance into the room beside them.

The nurse followed his eye, “She’s strong. They’ll let her go soon enough.”

He dipped his head and reluctantly let her lead him down towards the ward’s reception desk, to where a phone was sat off the hook. She gestured towards it with a nod and then left him to it.

It was late enough that there weren’t many people mulling about, let alone any visitors, he’d only been allowed to stay because she’d refused to be treated otherwise.

“Hello?” George answered, voice cracking, having picked up the phone and brought it to his ear.

“Fuck. George, that you, mate?”

Ross.

“Yeah, yeah it’s me.” He answered in a slow breath, “How’d you know to call?”

“It’s everywhere, mate. They say she got jumped, is it true? Is she alright?”

Jumped.

His mind lingered on that word. Staring off down the corridor. Lingered on the fact that people in their shitty fucking town were already gossiping about it. It made him hate himself a little bit more.

“She’s asleep.” Was all that he replied.

“Is she. Okay. George.” Ross demanded before the line went quiet once more, eerily George could still hear the other boy’s resolved glare from down the phone. It was a hard image not to picture.

“She’s,” He had to pause, force down the wetness in his tone, the tears that were coming. “I don’t know.”

“What do you mean, you don’t know?” Ross stressed and George had never heard him sound so serious. So grown up.

“They found her on the road just off of mine. Some woman.” He swallowed again, though the salvia was just pooling in his mouth at this point. “Y/n. She, she was screaming- sobbing. I only knew about it when I heard the sirens, the lights. I- I just had a feeling, Ross. I ran down, hoping, praying, but… Fuck.”

He squeezed his eyes tightly shut and pinched the bridge of his nose, breaths laboured.

“George?” Ross called out to him, “You still there?”

“Yeah,” He rasped in reply, straining to keep his voice even as he wet the flesh of his lip. “She. She’s been checked over, they have her on a drip. No broken bones, just a few sprains. Said she jumped from a window.”

“She did what?”

“I don’t know. I don’t fucking know what happened, but it weren’t good.” George muttered to himself, bloodshot eyes trained on an off-centred tile a way away. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to say. She- there was so much blood, Ross.”

“Blood? What the fuck are you talking about, what went on?” Ross hissed down the phone, George knew that he wasn’t really asking him.

“Stab wound to her shoulder.” He answered though, needing to get it all out, in fear he’d never be able to again. “Wasn’t very deep but they stitched it up. Along with the cut on her head.”

“Hang on- stabbed? George, what?”

“I don’t know, Ross!” He stressed, tears blurring his vision now as he thought back to her sat there on that roadside, beaten, alone, sobbing. “I don’t know, okay! I just- I don’t know what to do. What do I do? What do I say?”

A long pause.

“It’s my fault.” He whispered brokenly into the receiver, “I let her leave. I let her go home.” He admitted quietly, tear rolling down the skin of his cheek. “It’s my fault, Ross.”

“G… mate, you can’t say that. It’s- you didn’t know.”

He did. He knew. He’d known for a long time how bad it was. How bad it’d been. He knew. He knew. He knew. 

“It’s all my fault.”

A piercing scream startled him then and he all but dropped the phone to dart in its direction. Three long strides and he was at her door, shouting at the idiot that’d come in to tamper with the IV beside her, his entire body trembling. 

“Get out!” He demanded, hands shaking in fury, in fear. Before he looked towards her, hating that he saw that same terror reflected on her face. He rushed to her side and she grabbed aimlessly for his hand, he let her take it. Let her burrow her face in his chest as he wrapped an arm around her and settled on the edge of the bed. “I’m here.” He murmured into her hair, “I’m here, Birdie.”

——

No one should’ve known, no one had heard it from me. 

But everyone did.

The police had been by. Twice.

So had Matty’s mum, she’d charged in this morning and started making demands. Not daring to touch me, to ask questions.

She sat with me whilst they ran more tests, George outside with the boys. They were quiet. All four of them. I would’ve felt humiliated, deep down I probably did, but I couldn’t feel much of anything with how horrified I was. With how my mind never let up, never let me rest.

He’d been arrested, an officer had told me. Not charged, not yet. Maybe not ever.

My mum had come by asking questions, someone had sent her away. I hadn’t seen her. 

Next thing I knew I was being carted out of the hospital and into the back of Denise’s car with a pile of leaflets and a therapist to contact. No one said a word. 

The police were outside of Matty’s when we arrived, I ignored them until my eyes found George hunched on the settee. He was still in the same trackie bottoms from before, I could tell because they were still littered with specs of my blood. The white t-shirt was gone though, replaced by one of Matty’s biggest hoodies, which still looked too small on him.

Denise and George stayed with me whilst I was questioned again, repeating the same answers again and again. The boys just outside. I told the officers most of what happened. Told them about the way he’d treated me, and mum. How she wasn’t to blame. How scared she’d been. Liar. 

They spoke to Denise as though I wasn’t there afterwards and, in a way, I supposed I wasn’t. Not really. Mind off elsewhere.

George had let me hold his hand through the entire thing, fingers pale against mine. He’d kept looking at me, every few seconds, as though he was scared I was going to disappear or maybe just fall apart.

I kept thinking back to him. To the ambulance ride. To the whispers he’d gifted me, the promises he’d made. How I’d lied. Liar. 

School had been and gone, my last day snatched from not just me, but all the boys too.

Denise let me have the guest room, running me a hot bath and laying out some clothes. I’d been thankful for the offer but wary, George had followed me up in silence and then planted himself on the floor outside the bathroom without a word.

He’d still been there when I’d let the door creak back open, lifted his head and given me a tired smile before we’d both puttered into the bedroom.

It was barely even afternoon before I crawled into the bed upstairs. Larger than I was used to, having been holed up on the same twin sized mattress I’d had since I was thirteen.

I was fearful that George would go home at that point, but he merely showered and borrowed some more clothes off of Matty. He dwarfed them but I smiled as he entered the room to silently set up the blow up mattress Denise had brought in.

Matty had stopped by to say goodnight, pain in his pretty brown eyes, but with a brave smile limning his lips. I’d let him squeeze my hand before he’d left, shutting the door quietly behind him. George took up space on the mattress below and I shuffled all the way to one end of the bed to reach my hand out towards him. He took it without a second thought and I fell asleep like that, with his hand tucked safely in mine, his thumb soothing careful circles into the back of my wrist.

—

“Are you sure, sweetheart? I mean, you’re barely even out of hospital.” Denise fussed over me as I waited for George to join us downstairs. 

It was finally Sunday. Which meant we were leaving. 

“I’m sure.” I told her quietly, she hid her frown well but I could still see it there, behind the lingering look she gave me.

“At least let me drop you both to the station, or pack you something to take with you.” Denise continued, I smiled when she cradled my cheek. “You’ve hardly eaten since I’ve seen you! Worries me.”

I knew it did. Matty had already brought me up both breakfast and lunch, and it was barely gone ten.

“I’ll take the lift if you really are offering.” I acquiesced and watched a smile bloom on her face.

“Right then, I’ll go grab my keys.”

She puttered off just before George shuffled his way down the stairs, Matty talking his ear off all the while. I smiled at the sight of them, at the way George rolled his tired eyes.

He’d hardly slept, same as me, but I still felt a twinge of guilt ripple through me when he caught my staring. 

“Oh look! It’s the second half to the pair of traitors I once called friends.” Matty scoffed as he bounced off the third step and dropped down onto the floor, he turned his nose up at me and I rolled my eyes in return. Unfazed by his melodramatics.

“Don’t be jealous, Healy. You’ll always be my favourite.” I smirked at him, hoping it looked as genuine as it felt. 

Matty grinned in turn whilst George settled the duffle he’d picked up from his yesterday by the front door, he strolled back over to join us.

“Hear that, G? I’m her favourite.” Matty boasted, sniffing with an overly pleased smile.

George wrapped an arm around my shoulder and, naturally, I leant into him. “Don’t think it matters, mate. You’ll still be stuck here, whilst we’re off in the city.”

Yeah. Matty now knew of our little secret. 

It had all come out late last night, when I’d fought tooth and nail with George about the trip down south. I still wanted to go, more now than ever. But he’d had his reservations.

With a childish scowl, Matty made a face in retaliation and propped himself up against the banister bar. “Still can’t believe you lied to us. I mean, where’s your sense of camaraderie?”

I chuckled to myself, hiding the soft sound in the groove of George’s shoulder.

“I’m stuck here, all fucking summer long, with Hann and Ross… mum too! I can already picture it! The four of us down at the pub, just drowning our sorrows and sniffling into our pints. You can’t actually leave me here with them!”

When I glanced back up Matty had seemingly decided to drop to his knees to beg for an invitation, hands clasped before him, that was also the same moment Denise decided to pop back in.

“Oh, Jesus Christ, Matthew. What in heavens are you up to now?” She scolded with a half-hearted huff, tutting as she shook her head at her eldest son. 

“I’m making a plea, mum.” Matty told her in all seriousness, barely sparing her a glance as she passed by. 

“For goodness sake.” Denise sighed, unable to do much else, which was almost always a given with anything Matty related. “Get up off the floor and make yourself useful, would you? I’ve got the hoover plugged in, be a dear and run over the rugs for me.”

Matty’s hands fell limply to his sides just as his mouth dropped in disbelief. He glanced back towards George and I. “You see what kind of hell you’re leaving me in? What teenage boy hoovers??” 

“Mine!” Denise told him simply, poking at his shoulder to get him to stand with smile, “Now, run along. I’ve got to drop these two off before their train leaves, haven’t I?”

George and I took that as our queue to start grabbing at our things, him swiping up the small suitcase Denise had taken from mine yesterday before I had the chance. I flattened my expression, showing my displeasure. 

“Mum.” Matty all but whined, neither one of them paying much attention to us now. “Can’t I just come? You know, see my mates off and all.”

Denise wasn’t a woman to be bargained with. “No, you’ll see them soon enough. Now, if you’d like to make your goodbyes while I start the car then have at.”

I bit back the giggle that wanted to escape me upon seeing Matty’s dejected face, whilst Denise double checked for her car keys and purse then slid out the front door yelling, “Five minutes!”

“You make it sound like I’d been sentenced to death, woman!” Matty shouted out after her and his mum’s reply was what broke the dam, letting a flood of muffled laughter escape me. “Hoover and you might just live to tell the tale, Matthew!”

Matty grumbled to himself, shaking his head before he peered back over at us with his hands on his hips, looking like a little old lady.

“So, you know what happened here then if I’m missing when you two get back.” He sighed, as though he’d already gone and accepted his fate. “Tell the coppers it was her, yeah? And have a party at my funeral, no fuckin’ tears or nothin’ either. Oh, and I want my coffin a bright pink, the flowers can-”

“Matt.” George spoke with an amused chuckle, cutting into Matty’s longwinded rant. He opened his arm out wide and snorted when the curly haired freak catapulted himself across the hall at him. 

“Gonna miss you lot.” Matty mumbled into George’s shoulder before he pulled away and stepped towards me, a little warily. I moved over to him, silently assuring him that I wanted a good cuddle too. He grinned down at me and I felt him press a gentle peck to the top of my head when he’d wrapped me up in his arms. “Make sure you bring me something back, yeah? Something sick.”

I smiled fondly as we parted, squeezing his fingers briefly. “Promise.”

Matty’s gaze trailed between the two of us then and a sly smirk begun to overwhelm his features. “And I want all the details about this-” he waved a hand between us, “when you get back.”

The fucker. Way to make things awkward, I thought. 

I honestly did go to correct him, to tell him that nothing had happened between George and I. But G beat me to it. 

Well, not really, because he didn’t deny anything of the sort, just laughed as he treaded closer to the door. “Bye, Matty.”

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” Matty called out after us, and I chuckled as I followed George out. 

Always one to make a scene though, Matty stood and waved us off from the front step of the house once we’d both settled in the car and Denise had just begun to pull away.

His mum only sighed.

—

I shifted again for what felt like the umpteenth time. 

I was uncomfortable. Incredibly so, enough that I was quickly beginning to regret having been so stubborn about not postponing this entire trip when the offer had been there.  

“You alright?” George asked from where he sat across the table from me, his hands toying with a ticket. 

We were on the train now, the journey just under three hours. But we weren’t even a quarter of the way through yet and I was already dreading the rest of it.

I nodded in reply, still shuffling about. “Just can’t get comfortable.”

My body ached, my head and spine were bruised to bits, but it was just my hip that wouldn’t allow me to settle in my seat. The doctors reckoned I’d sprained it falling out that upstairs window, but they couldn’t do anything for the cramping I kept feeling other than offer me a prescription, which had just been an over-the-counter pain relief.

Tough fucking luck, hey?

“Here.” George motioned to me. I watched him jump up from the seat he’d fallen into when we’d first boarded and then jerk his head down at it. 

I frowned slightly but stood carefully before rounding the tiny table which had separated us, observing closely as he rolled up his hoodie and bundled it against the car’s window. He ushered me in afterwards and I went, letting him take the seat beside me so that he could pull my legs up to lay across his lap.

“Better?” He questioned, a hand wrapped loosely around my ankle now.

I smiled and gifted him a grateful nod. It’d helped a ton actually.

“Good.” He replied, then pulled out a tiny notebook from the duffle he’d brought with him, “‘Cause now there’ll be no excuses when I beat you in hangman.”

I laughed at that. “Oh, you’re on.”

—

George’s quiet laughter only agitated me further as I mumbled to myself about ‘fucking trains’ and ‘toffy twats who didn’t know when to shut the fuck up’ as we manoeuvred our way through the hectic crowds of Kings Cross Station.

We’d spent the last half of our journey surrounded by a bunch of rowdy university lads, who were obviously on their way back home. But listen, because I’m the very last person to have a bitch and a moan about people just enjoying themselves or having fun- even when it inconvenienced me, yeah? But these fucking ignorant twats had really pushed my limit. 

I mean, who the fuck starts a loud debate over their fucking political crushes? And then go on to boast to one another about where they’d be spending their summers whilst simultaneously mocking anyone who holidayed in ‘the isles’ or didn’t at all. 

I’d sent a wide eyed glance at George when they’d first started up and my disbelieving frown had quickly grown into me just biting my tongue to keep from ripping them each a new one when they’d started snickering at the rest of us. At the tiny family down the far end of the car, with its single mother and her chocolate covered toddler who was sporting an upset frown. At the elderly bloke cooped up in the far corner, who kept nervously jumping whenever the train rattled too hard against the tracks. Even at George and I. Because of my fucked up face and George’s nonplussed reaction.

George’s calming hand had been the only thing to keep me stated. Otherwise they never would’ve made it to the station. 

Should count themselves lucky.

“Don’t laugh, George. I hate people like that.” I grunted out as I rubbed at my hip again, thankful that I hadn’t fought him when he’d taken my suitcase. “Looking down on others, acting like their shit don’t stink the same.”

George visibly fought not to snort outright at that and I huffed.

“Keep on, Daniel, and you’ll be hearing a lot worse.” I told him pointedly, but smiled politely at the ticket officer as we passed through the barriers.

“Don’t doubt it.” George replied, hiking his duffle up higher over his shoulder. “But B, you’ve got to learn not to let people like that affect you. Otherwise I’d be having to fight off every idiot that looked at you funny.”

“I can fight my own battles, thank you.” I retorted primly.

George huffed out a chuckle. “I know that much, but no one’s gonna hurt you again with me around.”

My gaze focused on the buzzing swarm ahead, at the giant boards hanging high above us, anything but him. “I thought we weren’t talking about it.” I murmured, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear and wincing when I forgot about the stitches in my shoulder.

I heard him sigh and said nothing more on the topic.

We’d just about made it to the taxi rank, where Aunt Del had said she’d be waiting for us yesterday, when George spoke up again. “I’m gonna grab some deodorant and shit from the pharmacy over there- forgot to pack it in with the rest. You want anything?”

I watched as he settled our bags down beside a bench and then jerk his head over towards a Boots nearby. I shrugged, “Maybe a drink. If you don’t mind?”

George flashed me a smile, waving off the second part of my comment. “Diet Coke, yeah?”

I nodded, flashing him an overdue smile, “You know me so well.”

He shook his head lightly, lips still upturned as he headed in the other direction. I sighed whilst slumping onto the bench.

I’d been in London five minutes and already I felt overwhelmed. The station was hectic, even on a Sunday! There were people everywhere, lights and signs adorned every possible space, and there was never a lulling moment of peace. Everyone was just go, go, go.

Saying that, it was possibly the best place I’d ever people watched. There were all sorts of personalities down here. I mean, it wasn’t everyday you spotted a 6ft woman with a mohawk the length of a tennis racket walking through the streets of Wilmslow. Or an old hippy dressed in a black bin bag, waving a guitar.

It was pretty incredible. And I took the time to search for all the anomalies littered amongst the suits and denim jeans, a game of Where's Wally?. I much preferred their eccentricity.

“Alright, they were out of the stuff I usually get so I got this instead, smelt nice enough though.” I glanced up at the sound of George’s voice and spotted him making his way back to me whilst peering down at the deodorant can he held in his hand. My drink was tucked up under his left arm and he had a carrier bag dangling from his wrist. “What d’you think?” He asked when he reached the bench, holding the can out towards me. I sniffed at the scent whilst he settled the drink he’d purchased beside me and quickly tucked the bag into his duffle. 

“I like it.” I told him honestly, glancing down at the label. “It’s different.”

“That good or bad?” He chuckled in reply and I smiled.

“Good. You’ll pull any one you fancy now that you’ve got something to cover that awful smell that often follows you about.”

His eyes wrinkled as he pulled a face in retaliation, “Hilarious, you. Why’d I ever let you talk me into coming again?”

I chuckled to myself, grinning up at him when he moved in closer to swipe the deodorant from my grasp. “‘Cause you’d be lost without me- dead bored too.”

He hummed, as though mulling it all over. Then leaned down towards me, nose almost touching mine as his face broke into a smile. “Sounds about right.”

I wanted to crane my neck up in that moment, let my lips brush against his. It was all I wanted in truth. But I didn’t dare. Too terrified of how he’d react. If every lie I’d heard ever told about me turned out to be true. If I was just as worthless as their words painted me to be.

“Yeah. It does, don’t it?”

George’s grin was large but still soft somehow, and his brown eyes danced between my own whilst the station continued to buzz around us. He hummed again, rocking on his feet, edging ever so closer.

Smash!

We both jolted apart at the sudden commotion, heads snapping up and over towards the loud bang. We both snorted at the same time, having spotted the culprit.

“They’re a fucking whole different breed down here.” George laughed lowly, shaking his head at a hefty looking pigeon that had seemingly taken the opportunity to try and nab a sandwich from out of an older woman’s hand- only it’d flown headfirst into a shop’s swinging sign.

I could only agree with his statement before I pivoted slightly, pausing only when I spotted another older woman waving her arms about wildly just outside the station doors. My jaw dropped for a second before I found myself chuckling at the sight, nudging George’s side to grab his attention too. He only raised his brows at the mad cow dressed in orange dungarees and a striped tee who was so obviously waving at us.

“I reckon everything down here’s different, G.” I snorted before I was waving back at my Aunt just as eagerly, already gathering up our stuff.

“No shit.” Is all I heard George say in return.

…

“Oh my Christ, ain’t you just grown so big!” Was the first thing Aunt Del said after she’d sprinted over to wrap me up in a long-overdue hug. “My, I swear you look like the double of me when I was your age.” She breathed out, her bright red lips matching her cherry coloured hair, gentle green eyes gazing down at me.

“Hi to you too, Aunt Del.” I chuckled, smiling back at her. She hadn’t changed at all from the day I remembered her, just as bubbly and as lovable as ever. 

“Oh psh, none of that hello nonsense!” She retorted, blowing out a willowy breath as she waved a hand between us both. “I’m too excited! Have been ever since your Nan mentioned the visit. I can’t believe how long it’s been, doll!”

“I know.” I said in quiet agreement, my hand finding hers just before I shuffled over to reveal the tall teenage boy stood not too far behind me. “Oh Aunt Del, this is my friend, George. G, this is my Auntie Delany.”

Aunt Del’s eyes brightened as she took in all George had to offer, grinning a wry little smile before she squeezed my hand tightly. “Your Nana mentioned you were bringing a friend…” She let slip and then nodded her head for George to come closer, “But she never said he’d be a looker. How’re you, love? The train treat you alright?”

I gave a silent snort at the wobbly expression George’s face pulled itself into when my aunt tugged him into a hug as well. He gifted me a bewildered glance from over her shoulder and I shrugged, attempting to bite back my mad smile. He knew it was there though, I could tell from the brief scowl he sent me before they were pulling apart.

“Tall, handsome… you smart as well, darlin’? Or are you only a pretty face?” Aunt Del pondered as she stepped back and tilted her head up at him.

“Del.” I warned, but George’s mouth just quirked upwards ever so slightly.

“Smart enough to know when to use the pretty face to my advantage.” He quipped back easily, and I was relieved to hear Del’s sweet laugh.

“Oh, I like this one, Y/n.” She whispered theatrically, glancing over her shoulder at me before another flood of people escaped the station and she started ushering us away. “Come on now, kiddos. Parked the car over here, din’t I?”

My forehead pinched in concern, “In a taxi rank?”

“Well, where else?” Del laughed, dragging my suitcase along ahead of us while George shot me another bewildered look.

I could only assume that we’d be loaded with a hefty fucking fine.

But before I could voice that, or at least allude to it, Aunt Del had already pulled out a chain of gangly keys on an old piece of string and wandered over to a pink coloured cab.

I blinked at the sight of it. Del caught the look because she was grinning over at me from where she’d just placed my suitcase in the boot. “Good old Hewson here always gets a few heads turning, don’t you, beaut?” Aunt Del said as she patted the cab’s side, I was still taking it all in.

“Sorry, Hewson?” I questioned as she motioned to George to throw his duffle in the back too, “You named your car Hewson?”

But before Aunt Del could answer me, George cut in. He had his thinking face on.

“Hewson as in Bono?” He wondered aloud and Del spun right around to grin at him, he shut the boot for her.

“Bingo. I knew I had a good feeling about you!” Aunt Del exclaimed with a finger extended towards the chuckling teenager. She turned back to me, shaking her head in mock disappointment, “I thought for sure you’d get it, dove.”

With a wry grin I could only shrug my shoulder at her, “Sorry to disappoint, Aunt Del, but G here is the music expert between us.”

Del’s smile only appeared to widen as she shot around to the drivers side door, “Well have I got a playlist in here for you then! Only the greats, mind. So you’d best have brushed up on your seventies trivia.”

George all but beamed as he followed her over and opened up the backdoor for me, very much in his element now. I slid into the cab first, smiling at the leopard print seats and sequinned roof, then G swiftly followed.

“Oh, a gentleman too, is he?” Aunt Del cooed from the front where a pair of fuzzy dice hung from the rearview mirror, her hands gripping at the neon coloured wheel. “You’ve hit the jackpot with this one.” She winked at me and I looked away to hide my flush. “So my Georgie-pie, you get on alright with The Jam?”

George’s hand found my knee as he leant forward in his seat to grin alongside my aunt, the pair of them chatting away whilst she jolted into reverse and out of the bay. I gripped at the door’s handle to keep from being thrown about when we took off down Pancras Road, Town Called Malice blasting out over the noise of the noisy city.

…

My cheeks had begun to hurt from how hard I’d been smiling throughout the entire ride down to the simple terraced house my grandparents owned in Bethnal Green. From what I could recall, it’d been the house my grandfather had grown up in, he’d only inherited it after the Second World War when his own mother had passed away from fever, his father having died earlier on whilst stationed at the frontline. He’d raised both of his kids there, my dad and Aunt Del, after his stoop in prison, before they’d both grown up and he’d eventually passed on as well. Leaving only my Nan and Delaney left.

It wasn’t a very busy street, all the houses old and built right beside the other, but it was nice, pretty even. A vast change in pace to the busy streets of the city we’d driven through on the way over.

Del was still talking a mile a minute when she pulled up into a marked bay, only narrowly avoiding hitting the curb whilst an old Grateful Dead tune continued to blare through the speakers. George hopped out first, slipping around to my side and opening the door for me so that he could help ease me out as well, his hand stayed in mine even as we moved to join Aunt Del by the boot.

“Here’re.” Del said, divvying up the luggage between George and herself. I sighed, but it fell into more of an unhappy groan when I reached up to shut the back door of the car only to have George beat me to it.

“I haven’t lost all capability.” I muttered to him whilst Aunt Del locked up the cab and took off down the pavement, excited to get us inside.

George’s fingers linked between mine and he tugged me closer, his duffle back on his shoulder. “I know that,” He murmured into my ear, breath tickling the skin of my neck, “But it makes me feel useful, yeah?”

I sighed again, only softer this time around, as I slumped into his embrace, letting him have this one thing. At least for a short while. I knew that soon enough it’d start to drive me mad.

“You two lovebirds comin’ or am I gonna have to stand here all day?” Del mocked from where she was now rocking back and forth at the top of a set of high steps, stood in front of an indistinct door.

I shot her a sharp look which she only grinned to, before George and I ascended the short staircase too. Del already had her gangly keys back out again and we watched on as she shoved a Yale cut key into the top lock, shouting out a warning as she tumbled on through it, “Mum, I’ve brought back Northerners!”

I giggled to myself as I followed in after her, eyes racking over everything that they possibly could. We’d entered into a long narrow hallway where an old cast iron radiator still stood atop a mosaic tiled floor. The walls here had been painted a softened white and victorian blue, the blue sat beneath a moulding halfway up and spilled out onto the staircase that’d been fitted with a warm beige runner. Photo frames littered the place, diving beneath a carved ceiling arch and around a few brass fixtures. It was beautiful, homey.

George shut the heavy wooden door quietly behind us and I heard a shuffle sound farther up ahead. Del gestured us further inside, dropping our luggage at the foot of the stairs before wandering down the walkway. We followed silently, both George and I feeling the nerves edge in now, and we were quite surprised to shuffle into an open kitchen and spot a petite looking woman relaxed in an dining chair, cigarette in one hand and a TV Times in the other. She glanced up once we’d entered and the sight of her had my heart climbing to my throat, her toothy smile reminded me a lot of the pictures I'd seen of my dad.

“Well, ain’t this lovely?” My Nana chirped, already moving to stub out the remnants of her fag in a glass ashtray before standing. George released my hand so I could go meet her, legs trembling slightly. “My little dove, how you’ve grown, hey? All big now. Too tall.” She grinned at me as I dipped down a tad to bury my face into her neck.

“Hey, Nana.” I whispered, my smile shaky as she ran a soothing hand over the length of my back.

When she pulled away she pressed a thin, ring clad hand to my cheek, eyes taking me in. “You’re alright, darlin’. Looking so beautiful too. Oh, how I’ve missed ya.”

I chuckled wetly, but didn’t let the shimmering tears that’d begun to well fall, “Missed you too.” More than she knew. “It feels so mad to be here, I remember bits and pieces but not much.”

“Ah the last time you were ‘ere, ought to’ve been when you were about six. You made a right old mess of this kitchen. Treckin’ in mud and kickin’ your feet. My God, your dad had gone mad- couldnt help his grin though when you’d started singin’ that tune he so loved. What was it again, my darlin’?”

“You Make My Pants Want to Get Up and Dance.” I answered her in a whispered chuckle, the song a vivid reminder of days we’d spent dancing around this very room.

Nana released a sweet laugh and turned to Del, “You remember, don’t you, Del? The pair of ‘em, prattling about the place.”

Aunt Del shared a conspiratorial grin with me, nodding from where she’d taken perch over by the fridge. “Oh yeah. That one Christmas mornin’, it was all that’d been on. Drove me bloody mental.”

“See?” Nana enforced, hand falling to my upper arm, “What I tell ya? Might be gettin’ on a bit but my mind’s still as quick as a whip.”

I smiled, but that was when she finally took note of the giant stood crowding her kitchen doorway. George wore a soft smile that only grew in nervousness when my nan’s gaze sought him out. “And this must be the famous friend!” She teased, already motioning him over. “Come on, love. I don’t bite.”

George blew out a small chuckle and walked over to join us, surprising me when he leaned down to wrap an arm around the petite woman. My Nana smiled proudly and gently squeezed George’s wrist when they pulled apart.

“It’s good to finally meet you.” George assured her, his tone quiet, warm.

“And you, sweetheart.” My Nana spoke, smiling up at him. “But my, ain’t you tall? Remind me a bit of my Charlie, you do. He was a giant too, always dwarfed me in size whenever he took my hand. Only ever saw his tie when we was dancin’, and din’t he just love to complain of a sore neck, bendin’ down to greet me whenever he came home from wherever he’d been.”

I giggled quietly to myself, watching the pair. Enamoured.

“Got those eyes of his too, kind but quick. Too smart for yer own good, ain’t ya sometimes? Trouble finds you.”

George’s eyes glanced over towards me at that and he could only agree. “She does.”

Both my Nana and Aunt Del laughed at that, catching on to his sentiment whilst I just tutted and shook my head. “You’re lucky to have me.”

“Ain’t he just.” Nana confirmed with a dip of her chin, her blue eyes twinkling now beneath the kitchen light. “A right pair you make. Reckon we’ll have a few more stories to tell once you leave.”

“You’ve gone and jinxed it now.” George chuckled teasingly, obviously settling in fine, “Only got yourself to blame.”

Nana clucked her tongue, eyes on Del whilst she motioned her head in G’s direction, “Funny, this one. You hearin’ this too, Del? Quite the joker we have.”

I could only grin and watch on as my seventy-three year old nan cajoled George into the chair beside hers. It quickly fell though when I heard how she was planning to spill a few stories from my childhood to him. And I couldn’t even stop her because Aunt Del was already dragging me back out of the kitchen, claiming she needed help picking up dinner from the local takeaway. George merely sent me a reassuring grin when I’d casted an alarmed glance back over my shoulder, and I felt the anxiety in me fall away. 

—

It was a long while after dinner when George and I finally got the first bit of quiet since having left Manchester.

The four of us, being Nana, George, Aunt Del and I, had all camped out in the living-room shortly after Del and I had returned to the house with a couple bags of food- fish and chips actually, from this tiny little shop up on the main road that Del had raved about. 

We’d all been more than hungry so we’d been quick settle down. The tele had been stuck straight on, the very same that’d been there a decade prior, and apparently Nana’s preference for game shows hadn’t changed either, so we’d all spaced out around it, not paying much attention to who was winning or losing. Just talking about the things you did with family.

Nana’s dog, Cyril, had plodded in from the upstairs landing as soon as he’d sniffed out the food. He was this big slobbering beast of a thing that I immediately fell in love with. A great bullmastiff with a red and fawn-coloured coat, who’d gone and plopped himself down on the tops of my feet. George had been taken with him too, cooing to him in the armchair opposite and pouting when the dog hardly spared him a glance. Both Nana and Del had chuckled, Aunt Del saying, “Cyril ain’t too fond of men- din’t give dad the time of day when he was home either. Only ever noticed him when he had a lead in his hand.” George had looked determined though. 

When the plates had been cleared away, Cyril jumped up on the sofa between Nana and I, he’d sniffed at her leg before she’d shooed him off down my end, and he did as he was told, looking over at me with these big puppy-dog eyes. I’d let him curl up beside me, head in my lap, stroking the scruff of his neck as we continued to catch up, Nana asking after George and his life. She was set on getting to know him.

A couple hours had passed before the older woman had shuffled the pair of us on up the staircase when I’d started yawning though, and Aunt Del said that she’d let Cyril out into the garden before she took off home herself, promising to pop back round the very next day. George had helped tidy the living-room away as I’d said my goodbyes to her, catching Nana in the hallway once the door had closed.

“I know you don’t want to hear it, but thank you.” I’d whispered to her in the quiet warmth of the evening light that’d fluttered in. She’d simply taken my hand and gifted me a soft smile in turn.

“You were always welcome here, sweetheart. Just needed you to see it.” Nana had replied, “And anyway, I should be the one thankin’ you. Ain’t had such a lovely time since it was all of us living here together. Feels nice havin’ the house full of people again. And that lad of yours is a real charmer, in’t he? Lovely, lovely boy.”

I’d gone to correct her, mouth halfway agape when she’d just chuckled and pointed a finger up at me. “None of that now. Only known him a couple of hours but I see the way he looks at you, my love.”

It was eerily similar to what Ross had said to me all those weeks before.

“He’s patient too. Bit like your grandfather there. And gentle, which is somethin’ that’s obviously needed when knockin’ about with you. ’Cause don’t think for one second I’ve not noticed the big black eye you’re sporting under that makeup of yours, or the face you pull each time you sit or stand up.”

I’d looked away from her aged eyes, so full of emotion, to hide my guilt. Nana had only grasped my chin though and steered my face back towards her, “But that’s for another time, alright darlin’? You need sleep- must’ve been mental bein’ on all those silly trains. I’ll tell you something now, I never could step on another after the war’d ended, too many reminders, you know?”

Too many reminders. Yeah, that was something I did know. 

I’d only nodded silently at her though and the pair of us listened to the quiet murmur George had made when he’d tried once more to make friends with Cyril. Nana had chuckled and squeezed my chin between her fingers before George had stepped out into the hallway to join us, a little surprised to find us there. An apology had been on the tip of his tongue, obviously not having meant to interrupt, but Nana had swiftly cut him off, stating that she’d already made up the spare bed and laid out a few towels for us.

I’d given her cheek a gentle kiss in an unsaid thanks, still so beyond grateful, and George had followed, smiling to himself when he’d bent down for her and the older woman had whispered something in his ear. She’d shooed us on up after quickly after, patting George’s back just as Cyril trotted to stand beside her at the bottom of the stairs. Our light footsteps had trailed all the way up and then across the landing. 

So as I’d been saying, the quiet that’d settled upstairs in the far bedroom was something of a reprieve. As much as I’d loved spending time with Nana, Aunt Del, and Cyril too, it was nice to shut the door on all the noise and madness and take a second to just breathe.

The spare bedroom sat at the very front of the house, it looked out onto the street below and homed sash-windows which were currently being illuminated by the evening sun shining through. The floor was made of hardwood, glossy and dark in comparison to the lighter walls that had been panelled with pretty mouldings. A fireplace sat at one end too, directly opposite the bed, it was old, one I’d have to ask Nana about using, but had a delicate vase of lilies sat atop it as well as a brass framed mirror.

My eyes flittered about the space, taking in the ancient radio on the windowsill with its lengthy aerial, the large chest sat at the foot of the bed, as well as the wearing guitar propped up against the wall in the corner. George’s eye caught on that too and he wandered over to it first.

“Belonged to my dad.” I told him as I tiptoed over to the edge of the bed, taking a seat there as my gaze continued to roam. “It was his room, shared it with Del when they were kids but then she took over the downstairs den when she’d hit fourteen. Den’s gone now, think they knocked it through to make more room for the kitchen’s renovation after she moved out.”

George hummed and put the instrument back in its place before spinning on his heel, his gaze trailing between me and the bed. 

“You still alright to share?” I asked him, wondering if perhaps he was thinking better of it now. “I could set up the sofa if not.”

Shaking his head, George must’ve shaken off whatever other emotion that’d made him pause because he padded over to join me. “Nah, it’ll be fine.”

His voice was low and as he flopped down onto the mattress beside me I could only smile, thankful for the fact that he hadn’t changed his mind.

“Good.” I responded, grinning over at his slumped form sprawled out on the crisp white sheets, “‘Cause if you can spoon with Matty then you should be alright spending a couple nights shacked up with me.”

George snorted, hands resting on his chest, eyes turned towards the ceiling. “That’s different. We fell asleep on the settee, and he’s a cuddler.”

Still amused by the picture my mind conjured up, I hummed. “And to think you two once hated each other.”

“Wouldn’t say hate. Bit strong there, B.”

I rolled my eyes before glancing down at the spot beside him, silently deliberating. George must’ve noticed because he took my hand in his and tugged me down, laughing when I yelped in surprise.

We stayed there for a short while in silence, his fingers grazing gently at my arm, both of us listening to the heavy paws of Cyril on the stairs and the cars that passed by outside.

He inhaled a little deeper, “How you feeling then?”

I turned my head against the sheets to peer up at him. “Being here?” I questioned him and he nodded, “I feel good. Tired, but good. Happy. Didn’t realise home could feel like this, you know?”

George blew out a breath and scooted a little closer, close enough to drape an arm across the space above my head and come to rest on his side. “Do you want to talk about it now?”

I knew what he meant. He wanted to talk about that night.

I raised my good shoulder in a shrug. “Not much to say. I hope he rots in a cell for a bit though, ‘cause we both know they’ll let him back out soon enough.”

George’s jaw tightened at my words but his eyes stayed soft, locked on me. “Well I hope he finds a decent cliff and takes a dive off it.”

I shot him a look. “G..”

He shrugged, uncaring, but the gentle touch of his fingers tangling themselves into my hair was anything but. “Ain’t gonna lie to you, Birdie. He deserves worse. I-” His eyes slipped closed as he took a breath to calm himself, “Look, I can’t take back what happened. Turn back time and all that just to erase it all. But I can make sure that it never happens again.”

“You can’t be sure though, George. That’s not how life works.” I murmured into the quiet that followed his solemn assurance.

“Well it’s how it’s gonna have to work.” Was all that he replied to me. Ever so stubborn.

His eyes were still closed, that familiar warmth of his sheltered behind fluttering lids, I reached out to trail my fingers across them and then down the bridge of his nose. “This okay?”

He hummed sweetly, mouth twitching when my fingertips traced its curve. He was always so close, only ever a breath away, but even now it felt like we were toeing at invisible lines, both of us too afraid to make that jump.

“I like your nan.” He told me then and I huffed out a small chuckle at the unexpected revelation. “Del too.” He added.

“I’m glad.” I replied with a soft smile of my own, staring down at him even as he blinked his eyes back open. They roamed the entirety of my face, taking in every detail.

“They remind me of you.”

My smile broadened, pleased to hear that. “Oh yeah?”

George hummed a low confirmation. “You want to know what your Nana to me said as we were headin’ up?”

My eyes flickered up to meet his whilst I trailed over a constellation of freckles on his cheek. “What?”

He chuckled deeply, grin wrinkling his nose. “She said, run her a bath, will you? And keep the noise down if you ever do get the balls to make a move.”

A sharp laugh escaped me, eyes wide and alive. “I swear, she’s an actual menace.”

George smirked lazily, “Right though.”

I blinked, all humour suddenly lost as I stared back at him. 

“Right about what?” I asked him quietly, heart in my throat.

His hand stilled in my hair and he knocked his forehead against my own, our noses brushed just above the sheets and he gifted me the sweetest smile. “This.” He whispered back, right before he titled his head and grazed his lips against mine.

—

I’d been on a high all morning. Having woken up in George’s arms under a stream of sunlight.

There’d been a light scuffle out in the hallway, probably Nana getting up to let Cyril out, and I’d laid there listening to the gentle song of the birds outside as well as George’s quiet breathing. He looked different in this light, lashes casting dark shadows across his apples of his cheeks and lips poutier than I’d ever seen them. It’d been struggle not to reach out.

Instead, I’d reluctantly slipped from his grasp when the urge to use the loo became too much to bare and decided to finally have that bath Nana had suggested last night whilst I waited for him to wake. 

Yesterday had honestly been everything I’d been waiting for. With George I just felt so safe, so… loved. Was that a strange way to feel? Maybe it was. But I didn’t care, I thought about it though as I let the steam from the water engulf me, the heat of it doing wonders for my aching bones.

We hadn’t gone any further than kissing. Though if he had tried to cop a feel I wouldn’t of denied him. He was rather sweet about the whole thing actually and we’d spent the time afterwards shooting each other coy smiles as we got ready for bed.

I pulled myself up out of the tub once my hands had begun to wrinkle, hating the feel of it. I wrapped myself in a fluffy towel and combed through my hair once my feet had dampened the bath mat, but groaned when I realised I’d forgotten to grab some clothes beforehand.

Wiggling my jaw as I clasped my bottom lip between my forefinger and thumb, I contemplated just heading back out into the bedroom. George was probably still asleep and I could simply roll my suitcase back in here without waking him.

Yeah, that sounded like the best option.

So I took a deep breath as I silently slipped out of the bathroom and across the landing into the shared room. I was in for the shock of my life though when I spotted George sat up in bed, duvet pooled around his hips as he rubbed tiredly at his eye. His head turned towards me when he heard the handle lift and he stilled in his movements. 

I must’ve looked a right picture, frozen in the doorway with my gob halfway to the floor, and I watched a slow but obvious smirk creep across George’s features as he dropped his arm to get a good old look at me.

I narrowed my eyes in retort and feigned as much confidence as I possibly could with his eyes stuck on me, before I made my way over to where my suitcase was sat. “It’s rude to stare, you know.”

George laughed, it was a gruff and low sound, littered with sleep. “Just wonderin’ if I’m still dreamin’- nice sight to wake up to ’s all.”

I scoffed out a quiet, disbelieving chuckle, “Oh yeah, black eyes get you going, do they?”

“On you? Anything would.”

I flushed at his comment and dropped down to hide it as I worked my way through the pile of clothes I had in my case, gripping the top of my towel.

“Who are you and what have you done with George?” I tossed the question over my shoulder, still feeling his eyes on me. “‘Cause the real George would never act this shameless.”

I could feel his shrug ripple throughout the room. “Teenage boy. Besides, you know I’m the real deal ‘cause when have I ever lied to you?”

My tongue was in my cheek as I shifted through a few tops, he wasn’t wrong there. “I just forgot to grab some clothes before I jumped in the bath. Thought you’d still be asleep.”

“Woke up just before you came in.”

I hummed. Talk about timing. 

“You sleep alright?” He asked and I could hear him shuffling about now behind me. I wanted to take a peek, see what he was up to, but focused on grabbing what I needed instead.

What had he asked again? Oh, “Um, yeah actually.” Best one I’d had in weeks, if we were being painfully honest. “You?”

“Knackered after that journey yesterday but I stayed up a bit after you passed out.” George replied and I jumped ever so slightly when I felt him drape his arms over my shoulders, chin resting against the side of my head. “You look angelic even when you snore.”

I elbowed him lightly and shook my head. “I don’t snore, you knob.”

“Oh but you do.” George chuckled roughly, “Sounds a bit like this.”

He then proceeded to make horrible snoring sounds in my ear, making me cringe and forcing me to wiggle out of his grasp to escape them. “Ah don’t do that! It makes me feel all bleh.” I shivered to exaggerate the feeling whilst he simply laughed.

“What?” He exclaimed teasingly, “That’s what I had to deal with, all night!”

I chucked the top I’d been holding at him. “Idiot. And to think I let you kiss me.”

A beat passed between us and I feared I’d fucked things by bringing it up. I casted a nervous glance at him when I went to try and retrieve a hoodie or something like it.

“Surprised you broke first. Was betting that I’d have to.” George told me, wearing a lopsided grin, he walked over to the duffle that was laid open by the dresser and grabbed at a grey sweatshirt. “Here’re have this.”

I glanced down at it, then back up at his face. I took it carefully, “Thanks.”

He hummed and moved back towards the duffle to find some clothes of his own to wear.

I was then reminded of what he’d just said, “Hang on, you made a bet with yourself?”

George shot me a toothy grin, “‘You don’t do that?”

I shrugged, unsure. Hadn’t really thought about it. “So, we’re still okay then? You know-”

“After you kissed me?” He teased and I scowled.

“After you kissed me, you mean.”

“Whatever you say, Birdie. But I ‘spose we’ll never truly know.” He was being a twat.

“You’re being a twat.” I told him rightly, but unable to help my light chuckle, “You know you kissed me first.”

He hummed, unconvinced.

“G!” I complained but he merely laughed before waving me off.

“Go get changed, will you?”

“Why?” I challenged him, a bundle of clothes tucked up under my arm. “I’m rather alright as I am, thanks.”

“‘Cause you’re driving me half mad stood there like that.” He quipped back with a hand extended out towards me, “Besides, your nan will come looking if neither one of us turns up to breakfast.”

I grinned, “Reckon I’m that easy do you, Georgie?”

He paused and stopped his riffling to meet my gaze head-on. “No, I just know that if you’d let me I’d spend as long as I could admiring every part of you.”

Pursing my lips to fight my smile, I said, “Nana was right about another thing.”

George titled his head at me, sporting a pleased grin. “And what would that be?”

“You, George Daniel, are a right charmer.”

He snorted with a roll of his eyes then turned back to his duffle. “You love it.” He snarked back, sounding sure.

And he had every right to be, because that was one of the many things I loved about him.

Part Twenty-five>

[galaxysodapopdraws]

Alrighty, since I've written out some things out of my sonic au, Sonic Genesis, I'll reintroduce ya'll to the Parlouzer kids! Only two major things changed with them: 1. Tails is now part of Sonic's family being adopted by Paulie and Brenda. 2. I aged up Sonia and Manic to be 18 years old instead of 10 like before (they're still twins though!). Mostly because I've been doodling punk rock and emo outfits and thought it would suit them better. So here's some new things about them:

Sonic was around eight years old when he brought Tails home. He had found him all curled up in the woods all alone with only some Flickys watching over him. Paulie and Brenda at first searched to see if someone was looking for him but when no one claimed him they happily welcomed him into the family. They didn't name him Tails that was just a nickname Sonic gave him. Brenda was the one to name him Miles.

Sonia and Manic are in a emo punk rock band called "Chaos Underground", I currently have ideas for the band members but I need to draw them first. Both of them are porcupine/hedgehog hybrids but the dad is unknown (mom is Aleena). Sonia still has super strength and is still the more thoughtful of the two but can be bratty. She now also has a motorbike she uses to get the two around. Manic has no powers making him the only kid in the whole Parlouzer family to be powerless. But he is very cunning and skillful when it comes to hacking and thievery. Despite being in a well known band they actually don't make much money so they tend to do odd jobs whether good or bad. But babysitting is the easiest thing for them since they're great with kids.

Shard is an odd family member. Starting out as the Og metal sonic, he was rebuilt by chuck after showing there's good in him after saving sonic and tails. He was somewhat rebuilt in secret with only a few people knowing, but one day while chuck was fixing his power shard he cut his finger in it making his dna mix into shard's....shard. And thus a few hours later he became an organic striped tenrec. He can switch back and forth from metal to organic but prefers being organic most of the time. It took Chuck a while to accept him into the family but he's happy he did even though shard likes to annoy him a lot. Shard is also in a way Elias and Sally's step bro since Chuck is married to Nigel.

That's all I'm doing for now but I'll be back with more art soon!

[canonmisogynyvictimstournament]

PROPAGANDA

KAMALA KHAN (MARVEL COMICS) (CW: Racism)

1.) One of the most prominent brown women in all of comics, beloved by the fan base. Recently killed in a PETER PARKER SPIDERMAN COMIC (despite being much closer with Miles Morales and having basically no relationship with Peter) in what’s probably the name of MCU synergy, which nobody wanted (she’ll probably be resurrected as a mutant, erasing her unique and interesting history as an Inhuman). She was using her shapeshifting powers again despite having stopped in her solo as she got more confident in her own skin and identity as a Pakistani American girl, died disguised as the very white Mary Jane as a fake out/last minute replacement for killing off MJ. I fucking hate it here. A cheap trick to drive sales. L + Misogyny + racism + are you fucking kidding me

STEPHANIE (EVERYMANHYBRID)

1.) Aw jeez. Starts out as a really interesting peripheral character with a lot of knowledge the main (male) characters don’t have and a unique voice and perspective, but almost as soon as she meets the main guys her role is reduced to Girlfriend, she gets vanishingly little screen time, and almost no attention is paid to her role in the larger plot. The story instead favors the male characters and their relationships. This is despite the fact that she’s metaphysically tied to the guys in the same way they are to each other (past life multiple reincarnations deal) - much attention is paid to the fact that the dude characters have this relationship to each other but this gets almost completely ignored for Steph! And then her boyfriend gets her pregnant (we hear nothing about it or her feelings on the situation until after her death) and THEN her boyfriend gets possessed by an evil murder entity who kills her. Also cannibalizes her infant daughter (yeah, for a misogyny bonus round, we know that the dead baby is a girl). After this, Steph disappears from the story completely - the next time she gets mentioned again is her boyfriend monologuing about how bad he feels about getting possessed and killing her. It’s a horror story, and during that point in the plot a lot of characters get killed off in grotesque and cruel ways - but it’s especially bad to the point of misogyny for Steph because 1. she’s the only woman at that point, every other female character has also been killed and 2. she gets so little focus and is not mentioned after her death except in the context of her boyfriend’s manpain. The other major character that gets murdered concurrent with this gets an eight minute video all to himself - Steph’s last appearance before she’s confirmed dead is less than a minute long and she shares the video with the death of a much more minor male character. It fucking sucks man. And we do know that her actress wanted to leave the project and had to be written out, but doing it in such a shitty, perfunctory way, having it be at the hands of her boyfriend, focusing on her baby and her boyfriend’s pain as if all that matters about women is their reproductive capacity and the fact that men have feelings about them sometimes - it’s bad! They put her in the fucking fridge dude!!! As an addendum - this one can’t be entirely blamed on the series itself because the fans came up with the nickname and the character approved it in the fiction, but still - before we knew her actual name, Steph was known as DAMSEL. christ alive.

2.) Completely Fridged. she was a promising standalone character and then the actress left the project and she went from Cool Artist with A Bone-Deep Lifelong Struggle with the paranormal to She Gave Birth And Then Died ¯(ツ)/¯ free my girl she should’ve done so much more shit

3.) She was killed by a demon possessing her boyfriend right after having their child and then both she and the child were literally never mentioned again except to underscore the boyfriend’s pain