#i think i would have been a very bad person to be around if i had been in the hq fandom during the 2020 resurgence

[tommyssupercoolblog]

OKAY here's what I thought of for my source:

Argued that consentual cannibalism is bad by just repeating "it's gross" which is not a valid argument and shows that he is not very good at questioning things and actually examining something before deciding the morality of it. Which is. VERY BAD. Shakes him by the shoulders PEOPLE IN THE PAST THOUGHT THEY WERE MORALLY JUSTIFIED. "IT'S BAD" IS NOT AN EXPLANATION USE YOUR BRAINNNNN DON'T JUST REPEAT WHAT PEOPLE TELL YOU, YOU HAVE TO HAVE AN ACTUAL ARGUMENT AS TO WHYYYYYY IT IS HARMFUL YOU CAN'T JUST SAY GROSS AND BAD!!!!! WITH THAT MINDSET YOU WOULD HAVE BEEN COMPLICIT IN HOMOPHOBIA IF YOU WEREN'T BORN IN THE 2000S AND DIDN'T HAVE ACCEPTING PEOPLE AROUND YOU TO EXPLAIN THAT IT'S OKAY!!!!!!!!!! USE YOUR BRAIN BY YOURSELFDFD PLEASE GOD EXERCISE YOUR RIGHT TO MAKE YOURN OWN DECISIONS AND DON'T LET PEOPLE THINK FOR YOU HOLY SHIT. Bro also didn't even notice one of his editors was using AI and found out from his audience, and he only even knew it was bad because his girlfriend at the time told him. He's just....not very keen on analysis or philosophy which is, for the record, a great way to do or say something heinous and is a terrible, terrible thing to neglect. You don't have to ENJOY IT and do it for FUN but you need to be able to ask questions and train yourself to think independently, and my source.....does not do that as often as he should. Like come on bro don't base your code of ethics and opinions on controversial issues on what the people you like told you, at least understand WHY they think that and don't just go "it's bad. Why? Because....uh..... it's bad" like BRO

This might be just self inflicted, but if he applies it to other people, it'd mean he thinks you need to both date AND have sex with all the genders you think you like to be "sure" you're the sexuality you are. He's bicurious and insists that until he has a boyfriend and has gay sex, he can't be SURE that he's bisexual. Which is. High key bullshit but for all I know maybe that's only a standard he has for himself for like repression reasons??? Idk tho. It's hard to tell if this is a principle he applies to everyone, or just himself.

And then everything else I can think of isn't a personality flaw or anything it's just something he's bad at, like, something that could be influenced by conditions he has and that isn't conscious. Like not being able to read a room, which is just....yeah he's dense AF but that's not a lack of effort or growth on his part that's just that his brain doesn't really do social cues. A lack of Impulse control and not being good at filtering his speech either is another one that could just be the way his brain is built, and not a conscious decision to throw caution to the wind. Idk. So I'm not listing them.

new tumblr game. put in the tags a GENUINE flaw your fav(s) has. cant be something like "too kind" or "loves too much" like something genuinely bad messed up morally wrong they are or have done

[itsnesss]

hihi!! could you please do a younger driver (like ollie or kimi) and a piece on missing the reader’s graduation bc of a race?

𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐚𝐟𝐚𝐫 | oliver bearman × fem!reader

summary | you graduate, but ollie misses it because of a race. you give your speech, heart heavy, thinking of him

warnings | fluff, soft romance, mild angst, long-distance struggles, emotional vulnerability, comfort

word count | 1.5 k

🖇 more ob87 🖇 f1 masterlist

Your dress has been hanging in the closet for days, protected by a garment bag. It’s the same one you picked out with your mom, the one Ollie said made you look like a movie star.

Less than 24 hours to your graduation, and as you place the cap on the bed, you check your phone one more time. Nothing. No new messages. No calls. No news from Ollie.

You knew. You knew there was a chance. A high chance, to be honest, that he wouldn’t make it. But you had made so many plans… He himself promised he would try everything to be there.

“What if I get there just at the end, and I give you a hug when you finish your speech?” he had said excitedly, days before.

You practiced that speech with him. Several times. On video calls from hotels all around the world. He corrected you, laughed when you made a bad joke, asked you to say it slower when you rushed.

And you did it hoping that, when you walked on stage and read the final words, his eyes would be waiting for you in the audience.

But now, less than a day away, everything points to him not being there.

You sit on the bed and dial his number. It goes straight to voicemail.

You take a deep breath, swallowing the disappointment. He loves you. You know that. But sometimes loving someone who also loves their dream is… lonely.

You want to scream. Not at him. At the world.

Then, your phone vibrates.

A voice message from Ollie.

“Hey... love. I’m sure you probably already know what I’m about to say. I tried, really. But I’m not going to make it. I’m stuck here because of the rankings. They won’t let me move anything. I’m so sorry. So sorry. I thought if I didn’t tell you earlier, there might still be a tiny chance. But there isn’t…”

Pause.

“It hurts more than I can explain not to be there tomorrow. I know how much it means to you. To both of us. But even if I can’t see you walk across that stage, I’ll be watching you from wherever I am. And when you finish, when you have your diploma in your hands… call me. Please. Because even if I can’t hug you, I promise I’ll be with you in everything that comes after.”

A tear escapes.

Tomorrow is still ahead.

The sun falls perfectly over campus when you leave the house with your cap in hand and your eyes still swollen from crying the night before. You look in the rearview mirror of your dad’s car and smile automatically. You’ve waited for this day for years. You imagined it again and again. But in all those versions… Ollie was there.

When you get out of the car, everyone seems to be shining. Your classmates take selfies, some rush to meet their families, others joke about not tripping going up the stage. You just look for a face you already know you won’t find.

The ceremony begins. Your name is on the program. You’re going to give a speech. One you practiced with him. One you read over and over so he could hear it between training, interviews, and flights.

“Now, please welcome our graduating class’s guest speaker…”

You’re asked to go up.

The lights blind you a little. The auditorium is huge. It feels bigger without him.

“Good afternoon. I want to start with something very simple… thank you.”

Your voice is steady. No one notices how tightly you grip the edge of the podium, or how your eyes wander over the rows, hoping to see him somewhere. Hoping you could trick fate and make him appear.

“Thank you to my teachers, my parents, my friends… and to someone who isn’t here today. Though he was in every rehearsal, in every word of this speech. This person… believed in me when I didn’t. He listened, encouraged me, interrupted me with bad jokes so I wouldn’t take everything so seriously. And even though he’s not sitting here today… he’s with me. I’m sorry. Because that’s what the people we love do: they’re there, even when they can’t be.”

There’s a long silence. Some people applaud. Others smile, not fully understanding who you meant.

But you know. And that’s enough.

When you step down from the stage, your chest burns a little. Pride, sadness, a warm hollow that carries his name.

You go through the ceremony like a spectator of your own movie. You receive your diploma. You get hugs. Your parents congratulate you. Friends take pictures with you.

And you smile. Because you made it this far.

But something is missing. And no matter how much you deny it, you feel it.

Later, when you’re at home, the dress already wrinkled and the cap on the table, your phone vibrates.

Ollie: Can I call you?

You answer with a simple “Yes.”

Seconds later, his name appears on the screen. You pick up.

“Hi,” you say, barely a whisper.

“You look beautiful,” he says without hesitation.

“How do you know?”

“I watched the whole stream. I had an interview at the same time, but I snuck away. I saw you give the speech. You have no idea how hard it was not to cry like an idiot at the part about ‘the people we love are there, even when they can’t be’…”

You bite your lip. There’s a huge knot in your throat.

“I really wanted you to be there.”

“Me too. Every second. Every damn second. Can I send you something?”

Before you can answer, a notification arrives.

An attached file. A video.

You open it.

It’s Ollie, in his hotel room, still wearing his team suit, holding a small homemade sign that says “Congrats, love. You did it. I’m so proud of you.”

“It’s cheesy,” he laughs from the phone. “But I made it while watching the ceremony. Just in case… you couldn’t see me, so at least you’d know I was with you. In my way.”

And you… you break down crying. Silently. With the full weight of having wanted that moment so badly with him.

“Thank you, Ollie.”

“I’m going to make it up to you. All of it. I promise.”

“No need. Just… thank you for not making me feel alone, even though you were so far away.”

Silence. Warmth.

“I love you,” he says suddenly, steady.

Your heart stops for a second.

“I love you too.”

And at that moment, even though you’re miles apart, even though you haven’t seen each other, even though there’s no photo of you both at your graduation… you know this day will live in your memory as one of the most beautiful ever.

Only three days have passed since your graduation, but it feels like an eternity. After the call with Ollie, everything was bittersweet: you knew he loved you, you knew he tried, but not being able to hug him that day hurt more than you thought.

And you accepted it. You learned to let go of the idea of “the perfect moment.”

Today is Sunday, and you’re at home, in pajamas, watching a documentary you’re barely listening to. Your family is out. You have the house to yourself. Your phone is silent. You don’t even know what country Ollie is in now.

Someone rings the doorbell.

You frown. A package? A neighbor? You get up dragging your feet, expecting anything but what you see when you open the door.

“Hi, love.”

And there he is.

With his suitcase at his side, a cap crooked on his head, hair messy like he just ran out of the airport. His eyes lock onto yours like he can’t believe he’s really seeing you. Like he’s afraid you’re part of a jet-lagged dream.

And you… you’re frozen in shock.

“Ollie,” you whisper.

“I didn’t want to miss another important thing. I took the first flight after the GP. I just arrived. I couldn’t tell you. My battery died, I lost signal, then I got lost in the airport… but… I’m here. And I don’t care how I look now, or that I don’t have a gift, or that I’m sweating like crazy. I just needed to see that you were okay.”

Your eyes fill with tears.

And then you run.

You don’t think. You don’t hesitate. You just hug him like your body finally remembers what breathing well means. Like he fits with your chest, your arms, your story.

He laughs into your neck, his hands firm on your back.

“It was so hard not to cry earlier,” he murmurs. “But this… this is a miracle.”

You pull him tighter.

“It’s not a miracle. It’s that you love me.”

He pulls back a little just to look at you. His fingers brush a strand of hair from your face.

“So much.”

“Want to come in?” you ask with a teary smile.

“Only if you give me coffee and a tour of a brilliant graduate.”

“I’ll give you anything. But the tour starts with you hugging me for another half hour.”

“Deal.”

You close the door. He puts down his suitcase. And without another word, you hug again in the hallway, as if the world has finally aligned.

[homoquartz]

This isn't meant to be antagonistic, I'm genuinely curious. What makes you perceive Edwin (and Charles) as a teenager? I've always thought of him as an adult since he's a 124 year old soul who's been on Earth for 50ish years, and he doesn't really act like a child imo. Just curious why you think it because alternate viewpoint is Interesting

this question is funny to me because i’m incapable of reading edwin and charles as anything other than teenage boys. true their actors look much older though. we all have our own ways of viewing things!

sorry for the long post:

to start, they call themselves boys - not just dead boy detectives, but edwin calls himself a boy directly when talking about monty. textually, they’re children, as identified by the night nurse and lost and found department. she calls them children and they don’t argue. i THINK one of the boys refers to crystal as being “our age” but i could be wrong on that. the cat king also makes a comment about being “older” than edwin.

there’s also their personal arcs. charles is coping with the fact that he will never “grow up.” he is terrified of becoming someone like his dad, so he desperately gloms onto the two dead high school bullies, whom he closely identifies with. he also identifies strongly with the devlin kids. he flirts awkwardly with girls and makes bad jokes.

meanwhile edwin is discovering his sexuality (a classic teenager storyline), having first kisses, and making friends with kids his own age. he watches cartoons with niko and sits on swing sets with monty.

they also just act like teenagers to me, personally. they mouth off, they’re dramatic, they daydream about crushes, they just want a hug, they’re guessing at everything most of the time, they’re goofing around with magical objects. charles can’t talk about kissing or sex without stage whispering and using slang to avoid saying it outright. they date other teenagers, which would be Very Creepy if either of them were older than the day they died, emotionally. they collect toys and children’s mystery book series. edwin wears his school uniform.

to me, there’s an element of play acting when it comes to their detective personas. they take on the identity wholeheartedly as more than just a job or a skillset, but who they are. it reads to me as similar to how kids view professionals like teachers, astronauts, and firefighters as being avatars of their jobs. that’s just my personal reading on that one, though.

on a similar note, i think simon gives us a good vantage point into their emotional stagnation. in simon’s hell, he never progresses past being a schoolboy, afraid of getting in trouble, doodling hearts in his textbooks - but he’s been around just as long as edwin has.

finally, a huge part of their tragedy for me is that they died so young. that loss means little if they can continue to mature after death. that they are trapped as they were, just frightened kids, watching the world move on without them, makes their story all the more poignant.

anyway, that’s my take!

[love-quinn]

— WANT YOU BACK

summary — remus was punishing you for something that wasn’t your fault. you should hate him. unfortunately, you can’t bring yourself to.

pairing — remus lupin x fem!reader

track five — “want you back” by maisie peters

warnings — swearing, the prank and all of its repercussions, the prank happens in 7th year cause i say so, reader w anxiety and panic attacks, snape mention (i hate that man), miscommunication trope (my nemesis), one line that states reader is a pureblood but it’s not super important to the story

word count — 3.1k

note — this concept is probably so overdone but i wanted to write my own, i actively don't read remus fics so idk what other people are doing with this whole thing. this is very much stream of consciousness so i apologise for that, i also wrote it a couple of days ago so if i missed any warnings my bad.

The worst part was that he’d looked right at you as he’d done it. 

His eyes had bored right into yours, an emotion you had never seen on his face before, as he’d looked you dead in the face and broken up with you. Your 18 month relationship, over on a Thursday afternoon. And the worst part was that you hadn’t seen it coming even in the slightest. 

Remus was one of the kindest boys you’ve ever met, endlessly caring and a soft sort of charming that made you weak in the knees. On Monday, he’d kissed you goodnight. Tuesday he’d spent in the hospital wing with his affliction, and you’d expected to see him back in History of Magic in his seat beside you on Thursday morning. Instead, he’d bumped into you Wednesday night - a happy surprise, he’s not always walking about the day after the full moon, but sometimes he does. 

You had reached for him with all the hesitance of someone who knew how deep the ache in his bones ran. He’d pulled away and you hadn’t taken it personally. 

“Can we chat?” He’d asked, and you’d nodded because Remus never asked for much. And then he’d said it - formally, finally, firmly: “I think we need to break up.” And that was that. No explanation, no emotions except exhaustion and resolve. 

“What?” You hadn’t even meant to say it - one stunned syllable. Your brain hadn’t caught up yet. He looked back at you blankly, watching you process it. You kept waiting for it to click, for the joke to make sense, for him to break and laugh at you for being so silly because in what world would he be breaking up with you? But it never happened. His eyes, ones that used to soften at the sight of you, glazed over you, already looking over your shoulder. Like you weren’t even worth it anymore. And then he was gone. 

You didn’t see him in his usual seat beside yours on Thursday morning, which was probably a blessing. You would have thrown up. Or hit him. 

But you also didn’t see him in potions that afternoon either. You and Remus didn’t share a lot of classes now that you were both taking such different electives, so in the ones you did share he’d claimed the chair at your side at the beginning of the year. And it wasn’t as though he was simply skipping them. You’d spent the entirety of your potions class being fully aware of him across the classroom, sitting at a table with James and two Hufflepuff boys. The thing that surprised you the most about that, though, is that there was never usually room at that table. Usually planted firmly at James’s right hand was one Sirius Black. That was a boy you hadn’t seen since Tuesday. 

You had half a mind to corner James or Peter in the hallway one day and demand they tell you what’s going on. The silence was starting to press on you. People were moving around you like you weren’t even there, and truth be told, you didn’t really feel like you were. People would start to notice soon, you knew that. Gossip travelled quickly around the castle, and breakups were the hottest topic. Especially when they were related to Remus and his friends – the two of you becoming a couple had been a topic for almost two weeks. It made sense, you supposed. The boys were popular, they were well liked, they had a lot of friends. People were interested in them – they were interesting people. It didn’t help that they were all very attractive. You’d gotten a few dirty looks in charms after Remus had dropped you off at the room with a chaste kiss very early on in your relationship. 

You knew it bothered him somewhat, he’d confided in you that it made him uncomfortable, the idea of people looking at him, self-conscious. But people had gotten bored, they’d moved on, and eventually the two of you were just a staple. You’d gone home for summer and when you’d come back people had been pleasantly surprised you were still together. You’d spent a week in Wales with him and his parents, he’d come to visit your family for a few days here and there. It was a lot harder to schedule dates when he was out of commission for almost a week every month, the Lupins had access to much less potent heals for their son, the recovery period was slower when he didn’t have Madame Pomphrey taking care of him.

And yet somehow it was over, just like that. It almost made you angry, like he hadn’t respected you enough to even give you a reason as to why he was breaking up with you. 

It was almost a week before you saw Sirius again, and, for maybe the first time in the entire seven years you’d known him, he was alone. He was usually with someone, whether it be James, or Remus or Peter, or just someone he was chatting up. Solitude wasn’t something he was really known for. 

You’d left your jumper in transfiguration one afternoon, and Professor McGonagall had kindly held onto it for you, keeping it in her office for you to collect after dinner. You’d waited patiently outside her office door for her to answer, and instead were greeted by Sirius. He tried to brush straight past you as if he didn’t see you - and he very well might not have. He looked awful. Like he hadn’t slept, or eaten. Or showered. 

You didn’t think, reaching out and grabbing his arm. “Hey.”

He startled, anger in his eyes that disappeared with a flash as they landed on your face. “Oh. It’s you.”

You weren’t offended. “Are you alright?”

Sirius laughed, actually laughed in your face. “Oh, come off it.”

Now you were offended. “Sorry?”

Sirius moved so his arm wasn’t in your grip anymore. You flattened your palm against the forearm of your other arm. “There’s no way he didn’t tell you. I didn’t peg you as the type to be antagonistic, you know. But fine, whatever. Go on.”

“What are you talking about?” Did something happen to him? Was there some personal tragedy you were being insensitive about?

He looked blankly at you. You were getting sick of people doing that. “Remus didn’t tell you?”

That time it was your turn to glance at him, steeling yourself. “We broke up.”

That seemed to get him. His eyebrows furrowed at the sight of you, and he seemingly realised in that moment that while he might have looked rough, you didn’t look like the pinnacle of mental health either. “He what?”

“He dumped me. On Thursday. Didn’t even tell me why.”

Sirius looked almost angry on your behalf. “That’s fucked, mate.” He let out a puff of air, looking guilty. “It might have been my fault.” You couldn’t imagine how it could have been. “Last week, it was… you know.” He scratched the back of his head. You didn’t know Sirius very well. You’d gotten on pretty well with James, and you’d had a few nice chats with Peter. Sirius was a mystery to you, though. “Snape had been talking shit,” he started over. “About everything, about me, my family, Remus… You.” He looked at you cautiously, like any second you’d understand the implications of what he was telling you and hex him. “And I got so fucking sick of it, of watching him treat everyone like shit, and sure, I’m not a saint. None of us are, he can mouth off about us all he wants. But you and Moony? He was saying all sorts of vile things about you, about how you’re too good for him because you’re a pure blood, how you were a traitor, how you…” he swallowed. “Some things about us, as in you and me, I won’t repeat them. And I just got so awful, I wanted to teach him a lesson. He finally… he started pestering Remus about where he goes every month, spouting all sorts of bullshit, and I…” Sirius looked like he was struggling to breathe. You almost wanted to reach out and stop him from talking. “I told him that if he wanted to know, he should come see for himself.”

Your jaw opened. “You…”

“I told him how to open the tree,” he leant his back against the wall, utterly defeated. “Talked it up something mad… If James hadn’t…” He took a shuddering, gasping breath. Neither of you mentioned the tears prickling at his eyes. “When Remus heard what happened, he told me to get the fuck out. Hasn’t spoken to me since. I don’t blame him. I’d never forgive myself if it were me.” He swallowed, rubbing at his eyes. He couldn’t even look at you, looking up at one of the wall lanterns lighting the corridor, at the way the flame flickered and bent. “It was like I blacked out, I’ve no clue why I did it. I just wanted Snape to eat his own tongue.”

“I…” you let out a puff of air. “I don’t know what to say to that, that’s fucked up, what you did.”

“I didn’t want to hurt him,” Sirius shook his head, gaze locked on the floor. “Not Remus, never Remus. I didn’t think… I never thought he’d let you go. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to that boy. I did that,” he emphasised, grief stricken. “I ruined his life so much that he couldn’t stand to have you in it. And I hurt you, you don’t deserve that sweetness, and I am so fucking sorry.”

You didn’t accept Sirius’s apology, you couldn’t. He’d understood that, and hadn’t said anything to try and convince you. He seemed perfectly content in his exile, wallowing in his own guilt. He didn’t want you to forgive him. 

You’d never meant to cry in front of James. 

He’d found you one evening, it was the middle of dinner, but you were out in the courtyard, perched on a stone wall, legs to your chest and looking over the black lake. You weren’t quite sure what to do with yourself now. Remus wasn’t your only friend, the two of you weren’t codependent, your roommates had been trying their best to cheer you up over the weeks since you’d broken up. But Remus was the first person in the castle that you’d fully given yourself to. 

Making friends had always been hard, especially in an environment as suffocating as Hogwarts. There were commotions everywhere, noises, hexes and jinxes and a million things that seemed specifically designed to overstimulate you. Not to mention the people. Your anxiety had gotten better over the last couple of years, but there you were, hiding away so as to not let it rear its ugly head. 

James had appeared suddenly. You weren’t sure how he’d known you were out there, he was seemingly just good like that. You’d expected for him to start with some speech about how Remus was doing, to ask something of you, to make you feel guilty. You shouldn’t have, James was a lot of things, but cruel was not one of them. “Are you okay?”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t have to.

“I’m sorry he did it,” James said, sitting down beside you, planting his feet firmly on the ground. You watched as he toed the grout between two stone tiles on the floor. “He is too, I can tell.”

“Am I supposed to feel bad for him?” You did, you felt awful. Had cried the night you’d found out what happened to your sweet boyfriend, sobbed at the idea that he’d felt like that. Now you just felt bitterness. Because when you had your third panic attack in a week, you’d had no one to turn to. You’d dealt with it on your own, despite over a years’ worth of promises you would never have to, not as long as he was breathing. 

James shook his head. “No, he was a knobhead. Told him that. Got so angry with him I couldn’t look at him for the rest of the afternoon but then…” he sighed. “He’s angrier with himself than I could be with him. He… he’s not doing well. He didn’t talk to any of us for days. Still doesn’t really. He woke up that morning in the hospital wing and for a second it was just like normal. He asked about you, if we’d seen you yet. I almost didn’t want to tell him. That was it, afterwards. He told Sirius to fuck off and then shut himself up in his bed. I didn’t even know he’d broken up with you until I heard it from Marlene, who heard it from a fifth year.”

You’d never seen James so earnest. He was always so effortless. Funny, casual, a heart of gold. His voice was low, glasses askew as he ran his hands through those dark curls girls fawned over. “He thinks he’s a monster, always has I guess.” You knew that was the truth. He’d confided in you a few times about fears he had, and you’d done your best to quell them. “Said he… he finally felt like maybe he was allowed to have. To have happiness, a normal life, with friends, with a girl as lovely as you. I don’t blame him for how he reacted, the guy spent his whole life thinking he was a monster and then his best mate used him as a weapon. He thought…” James struggled to think of the words. “He thought once you were confronted with the fact that he is dangerous, as much as we tell him he’s not, because he is,” James pointed out. You knew where he was coming from. You loved Remus, but the wolf was a danger. That’s why he was kept away from others. That wasn’t Remus, though. That wasn’t your boy. “That you’d be disgusted. Should be. That he deserved it.”

“Did you tell him he’s wrong?”

James didn’t hesitate. “Of course. And I know it doesn’t fix what he did to you, but he made a mistake. He thought he was doing right by you. Letting you go before he hurt you.”

Your chest ached. 

“He misses you so much it hurts to watch. I found your jumper in transfiguration and I brought it back to our dorm to give to you and he shut himself away. I could hear him crying.” Your eyes were burning, nose foggy. “I had to take it out, gave it to Minnie. He loves you.”

You left after that, not being able to stay there and listen to how he was torturing himself. A part of you almost wished he didn’t love you. It was easier to be discarded like you were nothing than to be mourned while you were still breathing. James was right, you knew. He thought he’d been protecting you. Didn’t make it less shitty. 

It was almost time for exams by the time you spoke to Remus again. It had been at the potions cupboard – he still sat with James, Sirius had been exiled to the only empty seat: your table. There was one jar of horned slugs left. He’d given it to you without thinking. Then, he opened his mouth. “You look tired.”

You laughed, sharp and grating, a sound that knocked the wind out of him. “You don’t get to say that to me.”

“Right,” he swallowed. He had a new scar, licking up his neck from the collar of his shirt to the bottom of his ear. “Sorry.”

You didn’t answer. What were you meant to say to that? Sorry? You took your jar back to Sirius, putting it down wordlessly. Sirius knew you were pissed at him and had been since the night outside of McGonagall’s office. But he stopped avoiding your eyes and you stopped wanting to deck him, so you supposed that counted for something. 

Exams came and went. You put your head down, buried yourself in schoolwork. You were still having panic attacks – they came like hurricanes; breathless and terrifying, gone in an instant. Your chest ached with the effort of breathing some days. 

It wasn’t until the last Hogsmeade trip of the year that things finally cracked. 

You weren’t even planning on going, but you’d been dragged by your sentimental roommates, begging you to spend the last trip with them before you all graduated. So, you went. You wandered through Honeydukes, listened to them laugh and talk, join in when you wanted to. Finally, you went to the Three Broomsticks, and intended to spend the rest of your afternoon wedged in a booth in the corner with a butterbeer. 

That’s where you’d seen him. He’d been leaving the bar right as you got there, intending to take his drinks back to his friends. There were four glasses in his hands. Remus hadn’t forgiven Sirius yet, nowhere close, and James and Peter were still furious with him. But Sirius wasn’t looking as much like a kicked puppy when around Remus now, so you supposed you’d have to follow suit. 

“Can we talk?” He’d asked. You’d nodded without thinking, because of course. He was Remus. He didn’t ask for much. 

Remus had been one second away from becoming a headline in the Daily Prophet. That wasn’t something he could just get over. He shouldn’t have even been allowed to come to school with his condition. Dumbledore had taken a risk to get him enrolled. Remus felt like he’d proved everyone right. 

And he told you that, spilled everything right then and there, about how terrified he was of waking up one day and finding out he’d hurt you without remorse. That he’d done worse. That one day you’d wake up and realise you’d wasted your life with him. So he’d lashed out, lashed in, and punished himself the only way he knew would really hurt. He’d lost you. 

“Do you still love me?” You’d asked after a lengthy silence. He’d let it all out, and you’d kept your mouth shut for so long he’d almost walked away. Accepted your silence. 

“Of course I do.” That was never the question. 

You knew that after everything that had happened, you should be more angry with Remus. You were tired. You missed him. You’d needed him back in your life, needed the warm and the comfort and the familiarity. Needed the way he loved you, like it was easier than breathing. Breathing had been hard lately. You didn’t have the energy to be angry with him any longer than you had been. 

You looked up at him. There was a look in his eyes you couldn’t pin. “Well, okay then.”

[jeyramarie]

The recruit- Yelena Belova x Reader (Season 2, Part 1)

Summary: Even after some time, love always finds a way… in missions?

w.c: 4,226

warning: ‼️ THUNDERBOLTS* SPOILERS‼️

The recruit (season 1)

a/n: *sighed* it’s good to be back, guys. ngl, i’m a little rusty.. very rusty BUT so excited to see where this fic goes!! If any of you have ideas as to what Y/n’s trauma room should be and if you wanna be in the taglist for future parts, lmk 👀 a bit nervous to post again... but anyway, without further ado, happy reading 🤍

Recently on The recruit...

“Hmm.” She hummed as she tucked a piece of hair behind Y/n’s ear.

“Are you okay?” The y/h/c whispered.

“I’m better than okay.” Yelena smiled cupping Y/n’s face as she pulled her into a kiss. They stayed playing with Fanny and baking muffins all day. Feeling the love radiate around the house.

Who would’ve thought that Yelena Belova would fall for a recruit?

That was a year ago. Exactly one year since Y/n and Yelena saw each other. I know what you’re thinking ‘Oh my god, what happened? they were so in love’. Yeah, well, Valentina happened… again. She was never dead so her chances of coming back were pretty high. Especially when she reached out to Yelena at the worst possible time. 

“What do you want, Valentina?” Yelena spat on the phone as she walked away from her apartment. The apartment she shared with Y/n where they had just gone through a bad argument. “Now is not a really good time.” 

“Aww, I love that for you.” Valentina cackled wickedly. “Anyway, I have a mission for you.” 

“I don’t want anything to do with yo-“

“It’s a big one, Yelena.” She interrupted receiving only silence from the blonde. “I need you for this one.” 

The russian turned around, staring at the apartment building where she lived with Y/n. She reminisced on the difficult times they were having. Yelena was unemployed, Y/n had jobs here and there but the income was never enough. They constantly argued about Yelena always staying home. Y/n discussed the possibility of her having depression but was always met with screams and attitude. 

Yelena sighed, feeling her heart and mind tearing each other apart. She loves Y/n but all she knew was to run away. 

“What do I need to do?” 

A few hours later 

Y/n walked nervously around the apartment, calling Yelena over and over again only to hear her voicemail. ‘It’s Lena, leave a message’. 

“Yelena, where are you? I’ve been calling for hours. I’m worried.” Her voice broke. “Will you please just let me know you’re okay? I know I started the argument and I’m sorry, I-I didn’t mean to. Lena, please just call me.” 

Y/n sat on the couch, feeling defeated as she understood that the blonde clearly didn’t want to talk to her. Yelena didn’t come home that night. Or the night after that. Or the night after that. 

Eventually Y/n stopped calling. Guilt ate her alive so her main focus was work and training from time to time. No one ever called. The only person she truly had was Yelena. She didn’t believe her life could get any worse until she received a call from Valentina on a random Tuesday. 

“You’re calling me for a job…” Y/n replied with sarcasm. “You really think I’m gonna accept when you literally tried to kill me?” 

“I can bring Yelena back to you, just say yes.” 

“Do you know where she is?” She whispered in hope. 

“Of course I know where she is.” Valentina replied. “So tell me, Y/n, what would it be? Do you want your girl back or not?” 

“Where do I go?” 

Valentina’s vault 

Y/n walked into the building just like Valentina had instructed. The door opened and the ex widow immediately pulled out her gun, pointing it around the room in case anyone or… anything popped out. The elevator opened and she stepped inside, watching the door close in front of. She couldn’t help but feel a wave of fear run over. Was she about to see her ex girlfriend? Was Yelena even in that room? Or did Valentina lie just to get her there? 

The elevator arrived at the bottom floor and Y/n pointed the gun in front of her as the doors opened. The room was silent, filled with metal boxes and machinery. Some of them were covered, others out in the open. She walked in, slowly and a metal briefcase caught her eye. Y/n’s curiosity peaked, making her go straight to it. 

Valentina’s plans were all there. Her biggest project was there. Project Sentry. She rummaged through the pictures and files before hearing the elevator move. Someone else had arrived there. The y/h/c quickly moved behind a big container, holding her gun tightly in her hand when the door opened. Heavy footsteps echoed around the room, making her hands shake. 

“Hello?” A manly voice spoke, getting further into the room. “Anyone here?” 

“I’m armed.” Y/n spoke loudly. She took a deep breath and slowly stood up, pointing her gun at the man in the room. 

He wore a navy blue suit with a shield. ‘Captain America?’ Y/n thought to herself as she stared in confusion. 

“Who are you?” He asked. 

“Who are you?” Y/n spoke, walking closer. “I asked you first.” 

“I’m Y/n.” She sighed. “Valentina sent me.” 

“Valentina?” 

“Yeah..”

“Do you know her?” Captain 2.0 asked, lowering his shield. 

“Not really, we just go way back.” The y/h/c shrugged.

“So, you do know her.” He shrugged causing Y/n to lower her gun in annoyance. 

“I do know her, yeah, but not on a deep level.” 

“Is that you said you didn’t know her but in fact you do know-“ 

“Okay, yeah, whatever.” Y/n cut him off. “Who are you?” 

“I’m John Walker, U.S agent.” He replied with a slight smirk. 

“U.S. agent?” She furrowed her brows. “Is that, like, your stage name?” 

“Stage name?” 

“Yeah, I mean, like your title.” 

John was about to reply but they heard the elevator going down. They quickly hid behind tall boxes, holding their weapons as they prepared to react. The door opened and footsteps were heard echoing around the room. They didn’t sound as heavy as Walker’s so, it was definitely a woman. 

Walker silently stepped out from behind the box, immediately shooting at the person that arrived. The bullets start hitting a hard surface causing Y/n to peak from the side. Her eyes widened in disbelief. 

“Lena?” She whispered to herself before bolting over to the agent, immediately jumping on his back. 

He dropped his gun in surprise, giving the y/h/c an opportunity to wrap her leg around his shoulder. John toppled over to the ground as Y/n stood over him. Yelena stood up, staring at the person in confusion until they turned around. 

“Y/n.” The blonde whispered. 

“Are you okay?” The ex widow asked, quickly running to her. “Did he shoot you?” 

“No, I’m- I’m okay.” She quickly answered. “What are you doing here?” 

“Valentina called-“ 

“Valentina called you?!” Yelena exclaimed, looking behind Y/n from time to time. 

The ex widow was about to answer when Yelena saw John getting up from the floor. He ran towards Y/n, causing the blonde to push her away before blocking and dodging his punches. The y/h/c ran towards the agent, pulling on his shield, making his arm go back. That gave the blonde a change to jump and pick him in the chest, making him fly backwards, hitting the wall. 

“How are you here?” Yelena asked out of breath. 

“Valentina told me you’d be here.” Y/n replied with hopeful eyes. “She told me about this job, or.. whatever this is, was gonna bring you back to me.” 

“Y/n.”

“You left.” The y/h/c began as her throat closed up. “You left with no explanation. You never replied to my calls. I didn’t know if you were okay.” 

Yelena starred in sadness, not knowing how to explain to her that she just decided to run away from her problems instead of facing them. Before she could reply, John pulled on Y/n’s elbow, causing her to turn and meet his fist right on the bridge of her nose. He pushed her to the side and Yelena launched at him, being quickly knocked down. The y/h/c grunted as she stood up, feeling overwhelming pain on her head. 

“What the hell is happening?” Yelena grunted, lifting her head from the ground. 

Y/n kicked John behind his knee, making him buckle to the ground as she whipped out her knife. She swung at him and he dodged before pushing her, making her crash into the machinery. 

Yelena ran towards him, swinging her legs around his shoulders. The blonde was about to stab him but was held behind with his hand. 

“You aren’t even my target.” She spoke with gritted teeth. 

“You’re mine.” He grunted, throwing her off him. 

“No she’s not.” Y/n stated, pulling a baton from her back that shot electricity from the tip. “You’re not touching her again, buddy.” 

The y/h/c swung the baton back before coming in contact with his shield. Walker hit her hand harshly, making her drop her weapon. He grabbed her arm and threw her across the room, crashing her into more boxes. Y/n groaned as she lifted her head, making eye contact with Yelena, who was laying at the other side of the room.

Suddenly, a figure in a masked suit came into the vault, kicking John’s shield, making him fly across the room. ‘Finally.’ Y/n thought to herself as she grabbed her baton that laid next to her. The figure's mask opened to reveal, Antonia? 

“I’m not here for either of you.” She spoke dryly, looking at the widows before launching onto John. 

The girls stared at each other in disbelief, confused as to why Antonia would be involved in their mission. And why would she be involved with Valentina? Yelena stood up and before she could run to John, another figure appeared behind him- Ghost. The person wore a black suit with a white mask. 

“There you are.” Yelena spoke, turning to the figure. 

“Now what?” John chuckled dryly. 

“What the frick is going on?” Y/n asked as she stood up. 

“Oh, get over yourself.” The woman spoke to John before they disappeared and suddenly reappeared behind him, going towards Antonia, punching her in her stomach. 

Taskmaster flew backward as Yelena pulled her hand up to release the taser. The woman disappeared once again, making the taser fall directly on Walker. Antonia returned, throwing her punches to the unknown figure who sent her flying to the boxes once again. Yelena took the chance and launched at them. She disappeared again, causing the blonde to fall on her knees before the figure appeared again, kicking Yelena harshly on her cheekbone. 

“Stay out of my way.” Ava spoke as the blonde grunted in pain. 

Y/n kicked John away and ran towards the ex widow. She pulled her shoulder, placing her hand on the blonde’s jaw to turn her face. The y/h/c’s ear became muffled. All she thought about was Yelena. She could see the blonde’s lips moving but couldn’t hear a thing, not until Yelena cupped her cheeks. The skin contact made her react, it made her wake up. It reminded her that she was still alive. 

“I’m okay.” She nodded her head. “I’m fine, that was nothing.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“Yes, I’m oka-” 

Gunshots echoed in the room, causing the widows to look up to see John Walker pointing directly at them. Yelena stood and ran, her hand tightly around Y/n’s as she slid over a table. She flipped it over, using it as a shield to protect them from the bullets. Y/n tripped over and fell back, hitting a panel from one of the boxes. The noises and grunts were overwhelming, casting out the sound of the panel turning on. 

Y/n quickly stood up, pulling a knife that hid next to her thigh. She bolted towards John, who was already attacking Yelena. Her legs wrapped over his shoulder, taking the knife towards his left shoulder. He immediately grabbed her wrist, throwing her across the room. Y/n’s back crashed against the wall before falling to the ground with a painful grunt. 

Yelena hid behind a metal box and moved it toward to get closer to the unknown woman, her target. The blonde threw the knife towards her as she disappeared. It was later thrown to Antonia’s shield, flying directly to John, who caught it before it reached him. The widow pushed the box to the side, before on her back in surprise. The agent moved his knife to her face causing her to cross her arm in front of her face in protection. She groaned using all her strength to get him off her. 

A loud gunshot ran around the room, causing all of them to stop and stare at the source. Taskemaster laid on the ground with a wound on her forehead, blood slipping out onto the mask. The shooter deactivated their mask to reveal a woman with a victorious smile. Y/n stood and began to run towards Walker when weird noises began to come from behind one of the many boxes.

Everyone turned towards the sound in question, Yelena took the opportunity and kicked Walker off of her before rolling away and pulling her gun out. They all stood with their weapons in front of them, pointing at each other in precaution. Y/n took her eyes away from the blonde and towards the noise to see a man crawling out from behind the boxes. The weapons pointed at him immediately as he turned his head towards them in confusion. 

He began to run towards the exit when an alarm rang, making the metal doors go down, leaving them trapped inside the vault. They all turned to the doors but once they shut, their guns pointed at the man again causing him to put his hands up in fear. 

“Wow, wow, wow, I-I’m, I’m Bob.” He said shakingly. 

“Who are you?” Ava questioned, never lowering her gun. 

“I’m Bob.” He shrugged. “L-like I told you, I-I’m Bob, yeah.” 

“Jesus Christ, stop saying Bob.” John spoke feeling annoyed. 

“Who sent you Bob?” Yelena questioned, getting a death stare from the agent. 

“N-no- nobody, why would I be sent?” Bob stuttered. “You w-were all sent?” 

“I’m not sure what's happening here and you’re all exhausting.” The woman sighed, lowering her gun as she walked forward towards the doors. “But my job here is done.”

“Well you see my job is to keep an eye on you so you are not gonna go anywhere anymore.” Yelena spoke, her accent thick in determination. 

“So you’re keeping an eye on her, huh?” John began. “That’s a halfway decent cover from someone who’s stealing assets from OX.” 

“What?” Y/n questioned as she lowered her gun. 

“I’m not stealing.” The blonde chuckled dryly before pointing at the mysterious woman. “She’s stealing..” 

Yelena met Y/n’s eyes in relization. Valentina had tricked all of them into the vault. She was the one stealing from OX and they were all witnesses to a lot of her crimes. The blonde closed her eyes and shook her head in disbelief. 

“Okay.” She began, moving her hands next to her head. “It’s clear we have all worked for Valentina in some sort of Shadow of OX capacity.”

“Yeah, so?” Walker questioned, clearly annoyed with the situation. 

“So, all of this is OX’s secrets.” Y/n pointed around the room. “And so are we.” 

“Which makes us liabilities that no one would miss.” Ava continued and sighed in defeat. 

“Speak for yourself.” John scoffed. 

“We are the evidence and this is the shredder.” Yelena pointed out. 

“She clearly wants all of us gone.” Y/n shrugged, crossing her arms over her chest. 

“Your theory is flawed.” John began. 

“Oh please, go on.” Ava rolled her eyes. 

“Okay, well, look at the facts, the infamous Ghost.” He spoke, walking towards the women. “Shield’s regret on the run for 15 missions?” 

“Dead one over there.” He said pointing at Antonia’s body on the ground. “Destroyed half of Budapest.” 

“Don’t talk about her.” Yelena muttered. 

“And you two.” Walker said, staring back and forth between the widows. “Former Red Room assassins and God only knows that blood on your hands.”  

“Really weird coming from a dime store Captain America.” Ava shrugged as Y/n chuckled under her breath. 

“Well, I’ll have you know I was the offiicial, Captain America, so.” 

“Yeah, for like two seconds.” Yelena chuckled. 

“You were really bad at it.” Y/n spoke simultaneously with the blonde. 

“Before you publicly murdered an innocent man on the street.” Ava furrowed her brows. “Do I have that right?” 

Walker replied bitterly as Y/n’s mind went quiet. She placed her gun in the holter and stared at the ground as she paced around, closer to the doors. Her eyes lifted, staring at the blonde who was already staring at her. She moved away from Ava and John, walking towards the y/h/c with determination. 

“Are you okay?” The blonde whispered. 

“Yeah.” Y/n nodded and shrugged. “Just confused about all this.” 

“It’s weird, yeah.” Yelena spoke, looking behind her for a second. “Even for Valentina.” 

“It is.” 

“I’m sorry, Y/n.” The blonde blurted out as her eyes got watery. “I shouldn’t have left you.” 

“Yelena, I don-”

“No, please, listen.” Yelena cut her off and sniffled. “I didn’t want to face our problems, in fact, I wanted to run away from them and I did. I didn’t want to confront you after our argument and I’m sorry.” 

“I’m sorry for always picking up a fight with you.” Y/n said looking into the blonde’s green orbs. “I wanted to help, I just didn’t know how.” 

“I love you.” Yelena muttered, walking closer to the y/h/c. “I never stopped.” 

“I-”

“Will you two stop whispering to each other?” John spoke, interrupting Y/n before she even spoke. “Tie yourselves up.” 

“What?” Y/n furrowed her brows as she followed the blonde towards the rest of the group. 

“I’m out of here.” Ava spoke, putting her helmet on before disappearing as she walked towards the metal door. 

She reappeared as she was getting closer, causing a loud ringing noise to echo around the room. They all ground in pain, covering their ears with their eyes slammed shut. The screeching stopped and they all looked around, hoping for a glimpse of an answer. 

“Wow.” Bob whispered. “Did you guys hear that?” 

“We all heard it, yes.” Y/n replied with a kind smile. 

“Well, it doesnt seem like we’re getting out anytime soon so..” Ava sighed, looking around before landing her eyes on Antonia. “I’m gonna explore.” 

She moved towards the dead body as Y/n sat on the ground while Yelena sat on a metal box. The y/h/c rested her head on the blonde’s thigh before feeling her fingers run through her hair. Bob walked around the room, looking up at the ceiling, the walls, the corners, anywhere that could be a potential exit. Ava and John began to rummage through Taskmaster’s suit, searching for possible weapons they could use in a near future. 

“Hey!” Yelena called out. “Job or not, can you have some respect please?” 

“Can you not touch her stuff?” Y/n added before John grabbed something else as he replied in sarcasm. 

Suddenly, the room turned dark, only a red light shining as a bong-like sound rang in the room. The machinery above turned on as numbers appeared on the wall. It read 2:00. 

“What the hell is that?” Walker questioned. 

“That doesn’t sound like a shredder.” Ava spoke. “Sounds like an incinerator.” 

“2 minutes.” Yelena said, pointing at the wall. “And Valentina’s slate is wiped clean.” 

“You don’t know that for sure, could be for anything.” The U.S Agent started. “Could be them coming to pick me up.” 

“Oh my god.” Y/n groaned, walking away from them. 

“Do you feel that?” Ava turned to him. “The temperature rising like heat was involved?” 

“Okay, it's an incinerator.” John shrugged. 

“No shit.” Y/n muttered, turning to Yelena. 

“Oh boy, that’s no way to go.” Bob shook his head, still feeling disoriented. 

“How would you like to die, Bob?” John raised his voice. 

“Leave him alone.” Y/n raised her voice, giving the agent a death stare. 

“Ghost lady.” Yelena began. 

“Ava.” 

“Yeah, whatever, don’t care.” The blonde waved in dismissal. “We need to get you through the wall so that you can open the door.” 

“She tried that already.” John spat as he rolled his eyes. 

“I know that she did but we haven’t tried shutting down the sound barrier.” 

“I can try hacking into the system.” Y/n shrugged, turning to her girlfriend(?). “We just need to find the fuse box.” 

“If they built it just for her.” Walker nodded slightly. “It’s got to be the main power source.” 

Yelena rolled her eyes and sighed. “Okay, let’s go.” 

They began to walk around the room, looking for the fuse box to shut down the sound barrier. Y/n walked alongside the farthest wall, catching a glimpse at the clock. It read 00:57. Fear began to creep into her chest. Her mind began to race about all the posible scenarios of what could happen if they didn’t find that fuse box. What could happen if they didn’t-

“I think I found it!” Yelena shouted from across the room as she pressed her ear to a box-like object on the wall. 

“Watch out!” Ava shouted, running towards the blonde before opening the box to reveal an ordeal of wires. 

“Let me see, maybe I can connect to the server throught here.” Y/n began, pulling out a small black box from the small pocket on her thigh. 

“On your left!” John announced, causing Yelena to pull the y/h/c as the agent pushed his shield against the panel. 

The fuse flickered before turning completely off, immediately shutting off the strong noise of the incinerator. Y/n frowned, feeling pleased by the quick work of the agent. They all moved to the middle of the room, ushering Ava towards the door. She successfully went throught, taking some weight off of Y/n’s chest. The clock now read 00:22 and they all stood next to each other, staring at the doors. 

“Do you think she’s coming back?” Bob spoke with fear in his eyes. 

“Should’ve seen this coming.” John muttered in disappointment. 

Y/n grabbed Yelena’s hand, intertwining their fingers together as the vault became hotter and hotter. Their eyes locked, silently telling each other how much they love each other. The y/h/c lifted the blonde’s hand, kissing her knuckles. Yelena looked upward and closed her eyes along with Y/n as they both waited for their death. 

An alarm began to blare as the door opened upward. They all ran towards the exit as the clock turned 00:00 causing an explosion to erupt. The four of them flew across the room where Y/n’s head crashed against the wall before landing on the ground. The y/h/c fell unconscious for a quick second, but when she opened her eyes, she wasn’t in the vault anymore. She stood in the middle of an empty warehouse. Voices began to come from her right, causing her to turn to see a familiar man being dragged towards her. He was tied up, mouth covered in ductape and eyes overflowing with tears. 

“Finish the job.” A Russian man spat, pushing him towards Y/n. 

She stared in confusion but quickly noticed they weren’t staring directly at her, they stared next to her. There stood 10 y/o Y/n, in her Red Room uniform. Her skin glossy with a sheer coat of sweat as her hands shook. 

“What are you waiting for?” A man questioned, behind her. 

The y/h/c recognized that voice. She had nightmares with that voice. It was Dreykov. He moved towards young Y/n, aggresively grabbing her arm to lift her gun towards the man. Her hands shook in fear. It was clear this was her first kill. 

“Do it.” Dreykov whispered into her ear. “What are you waiting for?” 

The girl stayed quiet, feeling nothing but fear and a wave of anxiety over her. The grip on her arm became tighter each second. So tight, that she began to fight against his grip, yearning for release. 

“Shoot him!” He shouted and the gun went off unexpectedly. 

Old Y/n stared teary eyed as her younger self crumbled in a sobbing ball before she was dragged away by older widows. She swallowed her nerves and turned her head to see Bob and Yelena staring in sadness. 

“Bob?” The y/h/c stared in confusion. “Lena?” 

Her eyes opened and she quickly noticed that she was stil lying on the ground with her fingers slightly grazing Bob’s hand. Their eyes met for a second before the y/h/c hurried to a sitting position, immediately thinking of Yelena. The blonde laid next to her, her green eyes fluttering open, instantly looking at Y/n in sadness. 

“Y/n..” The blonde began. 

“Not now, Lena.” She cut her off as she stood up, bringing the widow with her. “We can discuss that later.” 

The blonde nodded and moved towards Bob to make sure he was alright. Y/n stared at the wall for a few seconds, reminiscing on what she saw. Why would that image pop into her head? Why did it feel so real? Why were Bob and Yelena in there? 

What the hell just happened? Y/n thought to herself as she looked over her shoulder to the rest of her group.

yelena taglist: @imfuckinggenius @yelenabelovv @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @ilovewinter101 @s1ut4nat @nebulablakemurphy @theshippergal @kacka84 @an-evergreen-rose @wandaswifeyforlifey @loomontoia @zombies1ayea

[starleska]

about that scene with the Doctor...(spoilers for The Interstellar Song Contest)

i agree with everyone that the Eurovision allegory was dreadfully handled, and the character of Kid was done a tremendous disservice. the messaging of making your genocide-survivor character hell-bent on murdering countless others to make a point is dreadful, especially in the context of the Israeli-Palestininian conflict. what we end up with is a weak, gross message that one should comply with their persecutors in order to deliver 'acceptable' protest (e.g., Cora with her Hellian song). of all the messaging in these recent episodes of Doctor Who, this has been the nastiest, whether intentional or otherwise. however: i don't think the Doctor snapped because his morals suddenly went out the window and he decided to torture a genocide survivor. he snapped because he saw himself reflected in Kid.

Kid was about to murder three trillion people. by the skin of his teeth, the Doctor managed to stop Kid from murdering the thousands on board that space station, and he still thought they were casualties because he had no idea to get them back. to him, not only was Belinda dead, but every memory of Earth was also dead, all in an instant, with another atrocity coming. i think the poorly-communicated message of this episode which attempted to flesh out the Fifteenth Doctor's character is to do with the cycle of trauma and violence. i think we can all agree that the Doctor's reaction was horrific, and it's clear we are supposed to be horrified by his actions. we've seen in previous incarnations (Seven, Ten, etc.) that the Doctor is capable of a tremendous amount of cruelty in response to horrendous acts. for the past two seasons the Doctor, a war veteran who has witnessed unimaginable horrors across countless lifetimes, has been on the edge of a complete nervous breakdown, and we've been seeing signs of that since Boom and Joy to the World. in Kid, the Doctor saw reflected back a version of himself he despises: a person willing to harm others to exact vengeance and make up for heinous acts. and he lost. his. mind. the gigantic misstep in this episode was making Kid the villain. the writers attempted to fix this by having the Fifteenth Doctor assess Kid as having a "cold, filthy heart" that "just likes to kill", and because the episode has such awful, muddled messaging, we can't even begin to untangle whether or not that's true. either way it doesn't look good: the most generous interpretation is that Kid was just a "bad egg" who wanted to hurt people in the first place, but what kind of awful writing is that? we end up with Kid being the bad one for lashing out, and Cora being the good one for complying, and that...ugh. that puts a sour taste in my mouth. this episode was not the right time or place for the Doctor to have his Time Lord Victorious moment. it is important to note that this episode aired directly before the actual Eurovision Song Contest, on the BBC. i'm honestly astonished that they let this air at all, as even a confusing, politically murky reference to the ESC being funded by Israel could've easily been tanked. the episode makes an attempt at a pro-Palestinian allegory, but it drowns itself in its own contradictions and ends up making our main character torture someone who is both a Palestinian stand-in and a would-be mass murderer. my confusing feelings on the episode are:

i understand what the writers were trying to do, and i think they missed the mark enormously

i appreciate that they were trying to make an episode which addresses the controversy around the Eurovision Song Contest, but it came off as offensive and honestly a bit horrifying

i was glad to see the Doctor finally have an episode of sincere, uncontrolled rage, but unnerved by who that rage was directed at (even if it makes sense given the Doctor's history)

it's impossible to divorce this episode from its real-life context, and that makes examining the Doctor's actions very difficult.

does Kid's attempted mass-murder justify the Doctor torturing him? of course not. does Kid's status as a genocide survivor preclude him from committing horrendous acts? no, but that particular messaging with this context feels deeply gross. did both Kid and the Doctor act in horrendous ways partly due to the trauma they've both experienced, as well as their own propensity for violence and harm? yes, i think that was the idea, even if it was handled very, very poorly. tldr; writers tried to do something clever and flesh out Fifteen's capacity for anger and harm, but did it in a way which demonises a suffering group of people. i don't think deliberate harm was intended, but there's a reason why myself and so many others watched this episode and came away feeling disturbed. the episode is ostensibly critical of Israel's funding of Eurovision, but the allegory falls flat in the face of the Doctor's rage.

[crimeronan]

musing on horror fiction and disability.

i've seen a lot of interesting discussion recently on whether or not disability horror is Okay (TM). the most common conclusion (from people who, like, care about ableism) is that disabled protags should Exist, but their disability shouldn't be the source of the horror, and should perhaps even help them survive. and there's been a lot of good horror fiction written around this specific concept!

it's a pretty sensible starting point because, like. disability Actually Exists. you don't want to write a story where the point is to gawk at an actual subsection of your readers n go "wow, GOD, that would suck!! how scary!! so glad it's not me!! okay byeeee"

On The Other Hand, though. when i write horror, i DEFINITELY plot using chronic illness and other disability-related stuff as a key source. so i'm musing on that.

people who already Know my horror work are gonna say "yeah, because you're writing from experience!! so you do it Right!!"

and if we're gonna set Rules (TM) on what narratives are or aren't done "right," then... yeah, i agree. i know what i'm doing and i will not stop doing it anytime soon, regardless of where the Discourse (TM) falls. but i'm trying to figure out what, specifically, makes it Right. you know??

so.

i think some of it is about knowing Why the thing is scary. the Why is what makes horror effective in the first place, anyway! if you know the Why, then you can lean into & manipulate your audience's feelings!

and sometimes the Why is just. shitty.

like, psycho is scary because crazy men in dresses with DID might kill you in the shower. split is scary for similar reasons. i'm trying to remember bad horror about physical disabilities but my mind is protecting me. let's just say, like, the whole subgenre about haunted hospitals with scary disabled patients. the PATIENTS are going to hurt you??? the PATIENTS??!!?!

but the Why re: disability isn't Always othering or cruel or inaccurate, imo.

sometimes being sick Is Scary. not gonna get too deep into it here, but like. it just is. it just fuckin' is. it's scary both internally and externally. the loss of control is scary. the loss of ability itself is scary; the consequences for that loss of ability are also scary. the loss of autonomy is scary. it's scary when doctors don't know what's wrong, and it's scary when they do. it's scary to undergo treatment, and it's scary not to have access to treatment. it's scary not to know what the future holds. it's all fucking scary!!

so like. the "why" in "why is it scary," for me at least, often boils down to "because it is Real."

disability is coming for everyone who's blessed with old age. disability is coming for a wide swath of much younger people, too. it is happening. that's a scary thing for people to reckon with on a personal level, and so it just seems sensible to me for this to crop up in horror.

what is scary about being sick?? take your pick. but for the love of god, ground it in truth.

then the Other thing is: i think you Have to know your audience. and i think you Have to assume a good portion of your audience Will share the disability in question.

i write my horror FOR chronically ill people. i don't really care about anyone else or anybody else's opinions.

and that's part of why stuff like psycho sucks -- the othering. the takeaway is "people like you are frightening and dangerous." another example that's not actually horror, but which Does hurt my feelings, is a little life by hanya yanagihara -- that book is engineered to tell all the disabled rape victims in the audience that the only sensible course for their lives is suicide.

but then, like. the episodes of the magnus archives dealing with hospitals and psychosis and addiction are Fucking Brilliant. because they're taking the Very Real Horror of those Very Real Experiences and telling the audience, "no, you're not crazy. that was fucked up. it was fucked up that it happened and it's fucked up that it still happens and you are right to feel violated. that's the horror here"

and like. that is!! SUCH an enormous comfort!! at least for some of us!!

so. i write about how being sick is fucked up. and i do it for the people who want someone to tell them, yeah, it sucks, it hurts, and it's fucked up.

not everybody wants this! many disabled people want The Exact Opposite of this in their horror stories. which is why the "disabled horror protag beats the slasher villain to death with their prosthetic leg" stuff rocks.

but different people want different things from their fiction.

for example, on a purely personal level, i can't Stand fluffy escapist fiction about no-ableism worlds where the disabled protags are all perfectly cared for n happy. it just makes me unhappy and upset about the world i'm currently living in.

but that specific genre is a lifeline for other people!!

so. anyway.

i don't know if any of this makes sense.

i will conclude by saying that i'm remembering something hank green said about how he only takes cancer advice from fellow cancer patients. his example was that if someone tells them weed helped with their chemo pain, he's like, thank you, that's great to know!! but if someone tells him to do weed for cancer bc they're.... just a stoner.... then he's like, "uh.... i do not care."

in that vein, i always always Always find it really valuable to hear from other people with the same kind of autoimmune diseases and degenerative illnesses i have/write -- those perspectives on horror/representation/visibility are Wonderful. (even when disagreeing with me!)

but if people's feedback amounts to "well, being sick Doesn't suck for me, so you should be more careful about writing sickness that sucks"

.....i'm like. well. i.... don't think this conversation is about you. i don't think i was talking to you.

maybe sometimes what's scary is being told you're hurting your own community by having. the Wrong Feelings.

[hypothermiatapes]

Sometimes I randomly think about how much Harry’s childhood probably affected his personalities and relationships.

We know Harry was abused as a kid—it glaringly obvious in the books—, but my question is what exactly did this abuse do to him in the long run?

I think for Harry it wasn’t as obvious as it could have been, but to me he seems like a wonderful example of an abuse victim in a way. When he gets angry it’s usually cold and calculated, Harry usually not being too loud as not to draw attention but to let his anger be known. He doesn’t like attention, usually avoiding it if he can and getting uncomfortable from it, I think it could be traced back to attention usually having negative consequences.

While he may go to an adult first when a problem arises (McGonagall and the Philosophers Stone) if the adult proves incompetent he will take matters into his own hands and not bother getting their help again. He also doesn’t respect them like he could and treats those who treat him badly the same, Snape a wonderful example of this. To him he is on the same level as them and thinks lowly of them at the same time.

When Ron and Hermione are bickering it annoys him and often causes him to blow if it goes on too long or he’s pulled into it. I think raised voices or arguing are a type of trigger, not one that’s very strong but can makes him feel more on edge and slightly more antsy. I also think him being treated as “less than”—or like a child—is also a slight trigger because that’s how the Dursleys would treat him.

He also usually is very unaware of the people around him that don’t make a difference in his life, failing to know the names of kids he’s gone to school with for years. To me it seems like someone that’s always only relied on themselves is too busy caring for themselves that they don’t have time to care about people that don’t matter. These people also fade to the back because they don’t pose a risk in any way nor do they bring him any joy. At the Dursleys he wouldn’t have had time to care about kids at school because he’s too busy thinking about how to escape Dudley and his gang and not get on his aunt and uncles bad side.

The sorting hat also mentioned how Harry had a thirst to prove himself, something that’s common among abused kids because they want to be treated better. His risk taking behavior could have been mixed with this because a subconscious part of his mind thought it the only way to be liked due to him being a celebrity.

I also noticed how he doesn’t really branch out when it comes to meeting people, simply going with the flow. It could be because as a kid if he went up to Petunia, Vernon or Dudley for attention it never ended well and the kids at his primary school probably shied away because he was a target for bullying. The logical decision is to let people come to him and prove they want to be around, so he let Ron and Hermione come around without really reaching out.

Emotions also make him uncomfortable, seen with Cho crying around him. He doesn’t understand them likely because he was forced to push his away because he wasn’t allowed to ever be upset or too happy. Something that’s common in emotionally neglected children, it also points to his lack of empathy. While Harry may seem to care he does not come across as very empathetic for the average person unless it’s people he’s close with.

Harry is a wonderful example of an abuse victim in a way, but only if you look really closely.

[bridgetlynn]

For the drabble game, Frank and Dana and, because I like pain, number 69 :)

Okay, so thanks for the kick to get something written. #69 was Annoyance. And I'm not sure if this is what you were thinking about - but I think there's a general overall feel of that emotion throughout. I just kind of wrote and wound up in an interesting place. And Robby showed up to play as well. Hope that's okay. Five sentences went out the window around 1pm. It actually clocks in at 4290 words. It's still untitled. Hope you enjoy it - even if it went in a different direction then I necessarily expected it to. So here are Dana dealing with Frank and Robby and Annoyance.

The start of a shift cycle, following the two day break, always came around too soon in Dana Evans’ opinion. This one, following the roughest shift she’d had in her entire career when not counting a global pandemic, had seemed to come a little sooner than usual. It also happened to be, on top of everything, a Monday. 

And now, something had been blown up that couldn’t be put back into its box; and according to her computer, it might not have needed to have such a large blast radius.

Needless to say she’s had better mornings.

“Hi!”

Dana looked up from where she was reviewing the status of the patients currently inhabiting her emergency room, as she had been off for four days, and met the bluest eyes she had ever seen in person. It would be a lovely sight if those eyes weren’t currently in the skull of a puppy turned human. A puppy wearing black scrubs which meant it was going to probably be her problem eventually.

“Who are you and why are you bouncing in front of my desk an hour before you should be?”

“Frank Langdon. Intern,” he introduced himself and then to her horror brought a hand up and proceeded to drain a can of Red Bull at six o’clock in the morning. “Nice to meet you,” he added once he was done. 

Dana just groaned, loudly, and held a hand out as she saw him start looking around for, hopefully, a garbage, “Give me.” He frowned slightly but passed the can over. “Sit,” she added, pointing at the chair directly next to her. “If I let you wander you’ll get lost or stolen and I don’t have the time to make flyers today.”

“Yes ma’am?” he questioned more then replied and slowly sat in the chair while Dana got back to reviewing the computer charts.  

Two minutes later the puppy’s feet started tapping and shortly thereafter the chair she had put him on started swinging back and forth. She glanced to the side and watched as the swinging slowly became spinning and let him have four rotations before her own hand snapped out and grabbed the arm of the chair, “Bad puppy. Q-word time. Shhh.”

“Q-word? You mean quiet?”

“Fuck,” Dana groaned and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Bad puppy. No more talking.”

“I thought you were quitting?” 

Dana rolled her eyes, and gritted her teeth, before looking up and replying, in a very serious tone, to Robby’s overly sarcastic question, “I’ve quit at least once a year since long before you strolled through those doors as a cocky fellow, barely out of his twenties, ready to blow through all the young and pretty nurses,” she said very pointedly.

“Well, that’s not true at all,” Robby replied, laughing slightly and missing the way Dana’s eyes hardened somewhat.

“No. It is,” she assured him. “Back then you were absolutely what my daughter would refer to as a Grade C Fuckboy with your floppy hair and ‘fix me’ energy.” She smirked, kind of meanly, at his widened eyes and added, “Oh! But don’t worry; by now you’ve reached at least an A. And you still need to be fixed. I’ve been told it’s your most attractive trait. Until those women actually date you.”

Robby opened his mouth and paused; then he examined Dana’s face and seemed to finally register that she wasn’t remotely amused at the moment, “Okay? What’s wrong? You’re pissed at me.”

She quietly gathered up the stack of papers she had just finished printing shortly before Robby arrived, the reason she had been here two hours before shift, and slid the folder across the counter to him. 

“Is this the thing?” he asked, dropping his voice to a nearly incomprehensible volume and Dana rolled her eyes again.

“Yes; that’s the pharmacy audit you had me run against Langdon’s hospital ID. I’d have done it quietly - like you originally asked - but I figured that was blown to hell after you started screaming about it for all and sundry to hear in the ambulance bay,” she responded at a normal level since as she pointed out - everyone knew even if they didn’t officially yet. “Stop fidgeting Francis James Langdon. God didn’t bless me with sons for reasons. Please stop doing things to remind of some of those reasons,” Dana stated without looking away from where she was double checking the inventory in Trauma Two’s cabinets and med-carts for various medications and supplies. 

As it was, normally, she wouldn’t even be doing the inventory in the trauma rooms; however, they had six fairly major trauma’s roll through one after the other in the course of an hour and a half, three for each room, and hadn’t had time before now to fully flip the rooms for much more than cleanliness. Which meant that her LPNs who had acted as Scribes for the traumas also hadn’t had time to get their notes into the computer; and therefore, Dana had no final inventory numbers of what was used and two very bare trauma rooms. It was definitely a case of doing for oneself when you need it done quickly and correctly - and she needed to get an order to Central Supply within the next hour. 

On any other day Dana wouldn’t mind him letting off a little energy while it was on the calmer side in the department; but she was on a time crunch and Frank had already dropped one box each of tubing, gauze and gloves in the last ten minutes and they were getting to the more breakable items shortly.  Easily distracted and over-caffeinated residents still in their puppy stages bouncing on her last shred of patience was not a great combination at four o’clock on a Saturday afternoon eight days into a July heatwave. She was half convinced they weren’t packed, beyond the traumas, because no one had the energy to leave their houses and get here unless they were ready to bleed out. Unfortunately, that could flip in a moment with no notice so, fidgeting wasn’t going to fly right now.

It was also her own fault for asking the hyperactive R2 to help her. The gangly boy was useful for high places and bulky crates. 

“I think I’m meant to be insulted by that,” Frank muttered while pushing the cart she pointed at over to the other side of the room. “But I’m awesome. So I won’t be.”

“Don’t think sweetie,” Dana replied. “Know. Know that you are to be insulted by that.”

“Oh come on Dana,” Frank grumbled, shuffling back over to her looking for all the world like Tanner and not for the first time Dana wondered if Abby hadn’t just cloned and shrunk her husband. “What’d I do now?”

“Knocked up your wife while she’s trying to finish her Master’s degree when you already have a two year old ,” Dana said decisively. “This is why I don’t have sons. My girl’s know not to let any nasty penis’ near them until after they finish their degrees. Boys would need to be tied up in their bedrooms through puberty. Too much work.”

She saw Frank smirk and shake his head before responding with a laugh, “No boy of yours would dare. Also, Kate’s married with a kid, Julia’s a lesbian and Rose is fourteen. I think you’re…okay?” She watched as he suddenly stopped moving the next cart and slowly turned to face the Charge Nurse before sputtering out a denial, “What did you say first? Because…no I didn’t!”

Dana blinked, because that was genuine confusion, “Oops?”

“What oops?!”

“I mean, Congratulations?”

Frank scowled and pulled his phone out of his pocket, glaring at the older woman, he snapped, “Excuse me. I have to go make a phone call right now.”

“I said oops!” Dana called after the resident. “Sorry puppy,” she mumbled and grabbed her tablet to keep marking down what needed to be restocked within the next hour. 

When Robby walked in a few minutes later she just raised an eyebrow at him, not in the mood to deal with the older version of the resident had just stalked away. He merely raised his hands up and, despite a clear warning on her face, asked, “Why did Langdon just ask me how to ask his wife why she told you something before him?”

Dana froze for a second and then burst out laughing, “He asked you for advice on talking to a wife?”

“I think I’m supposed to be insulted by that,” Robby mumbled and left the room while Dana continued to laugh. Robby scowled and Dana held up a hand before he could say anything else, loudly or otherwise, and continued speaking, “I do not appreciate it when orderlies whose names I do not even know start asking me if a senior resident is in jail for shooting up fentanyl or something. And when I ask what the hell they are talking about the response is, apparently, Dr. Robby was screaming about him being arrested for stealing medication and being high at work.”

Robby visibly winced at that and scrubbed a hand over his face, “I wasn’t thinking. He just got me so mad. I sent him home and he wouldn’t leave. And yes, I should have handled it a little better; I can admit that. He did approach me calmly and I am the one who blew it up into…loud.”

“Yes,” she snapped and then immediately lowered her voice. “Into “loud” is one way to put it. I mean, seriously, Robby? It was a bad day there is no doubt about it; but you’ve been spiraling for over a year and you crossed a line Friday. There is no excuse for Frank’s shit to be aired all over the fucking hospital,” she hissed at him. 

“And what about what he said to me?” 

Dana raised an eyebrow at that and then pointedly looked around the ER, where no one was even looking in their direction, before replying, “You’re Chief. Remember what I said to you when you asked what people were saying? No one sees anything or says anything where you are concerned. A fourth year resident in a competitive program who is more talented than most of the other residents put together? Hmm, I wonder how fast they want that star to fall?”

Robby nodded and fiddled with the stack of papers and rather than respond to what she had said he simply asked, “How bad is it?” She shrugged, “Well in thirty-three years I’ve seen worse. Hell, there was an anesthesiologist here in the early aughts, before your time here, who probably could have given Escobar a run for his money.”

“Dana,” Robby admonished. “Seriously.”

“I am,” she responded with a shrug. “What Langdon did isn’t good. But, when I tell you I’ve seen worse I mean it. And don’t tell me you dare tell me you can’t say the same.” Robby frowned deeper and tapped the folder with a pointed look to which she, again, rolled her eyes at the stubborn man. “Okay. Fine. I went back three days like you asked and the only somewhat questionable thing other than Louie’s meds was a, technical, pedes case on Wednesday.” “Pedes!?” Robby practically shrieked and Dana held up a hand, glaring at him. “Before you immediately jump to the worst case scenario, I remember that patient and the mother was so high strung that I jumped on as Frank’s nurse for it. You know he doesn’t deal well with mother’s that are clones of his own.” “Dana. Point please?” Robby implored, though he at least visibly paled at the comparison the nurse made. None of them liked thinking back on the one time they had met Louse Langdon in person.

“I’m getting there,” she muttered, resisting the urge to throttle him as she had been since early that morning. “Kid was almost seventeen, a wrestler and couldn’t stand up straight after practice. Back was totally frozen from the shoulder to hips. He admitted his partner screwed up some hold they were not supposed to be doing and he felt like he just got stuck. Scans showed no skeletal damage or tears, exam indicated that he probably just, essentially, pulled everything. Langdon called in a neuro consult and Janson came down.”

Robby winced again, “He should retire. Or be retired.”

“Yep,” Dana agreed, exhaling through her nose tiredly. “Janson prescribed valium and percocet. And Frank argued with him over here by the desk; pointing out, ironically, how bad of an idea it is to give a kid access to that kind of medication. Janson disagreed; but like you said - he’s old. So, Janson sent the script. Frank delivered the meds…and the mother winged them back at his face. The bottles landed halfway to the trauma rooms,” Dana explained, pointing behind her. “I don’t know what happened to them after that,” she admitted with a tight smile. “But Langdon changed the prescription to what he originally wanted.”

“Which was?” “Prescription strength ibuprofen and a week-long course of metaxalone. The mother was a bit more receptive to that after Frank explained that it was non-narcotic but that she should still disperse the meds to him herself at the correct times.”

“Skeletal muscle relaxer? Yea, I guess that’s a little better for that injury at that age,” Robby admitted quietly.

“Right,” she replied, nodding slightly. “So, then I went back to April, around when he got injured, and he only prescribed lorazepam ten times in that six month period and he never actually accessed the Pyxis himself for any of them before Friday. So take that how you will. Sometimes it is just a shitty vial or maybe he did something to that one. No way to really prove it.”

“OH Jesus what happened?!” Dana almost screamed and hurried across the room to her bouncing baby R3 who was currently walking through the ambulance bay doors alone, despite having the weekend off, and bleeding profusely; looking like someone had taken a bat to the side of his head.

“Baseball bat,” he mumbled, more than slightly dazed, as she steered him towards an exam room reminding herself that head wounds bleed a lot, and his white t-shirt being half red was probably not a big deal. 

“Robby!” Dana called, waving him down and pointing. She saw his eyes widen and he then proceeded to shove the tablet he was holding into the hands of Dr. Scott, one of the other A shift Attendings, who he had been speaking with before tearing across the department, tugging Heather Collin’s sleeve as he passed her to get her to follow him.

“What happened?!” he asked as both doctors came into the room while Jesse and Dana helped Frank up onto a gurney, ignoring his protests that he was fine. “You are not fine,” Robby calmly replied before Dana could do it herself. 

Which was probably a good thing as she was currently more likely to scream at him out of sheer terror then do anything calmly.  “Frank baby,” Dana said, trying to keep herself calm and stepping aside to allow Jesse to begin hooking the resident up to monitor’s at Robby’s quiet directions. “What happened? Did someone hit you with a baseball bat?” she asked carefully. “Do we need to get the police?”

Frank stared back at her, with thankfully even pupils even if he did look like he wasn’t fully aware of what was going on, and then burst out laughing. The fact that Jesse and Heather were both snickering a little and staring back at her and Robby while they did so was swiftly making her terror be replaced by aggravation. 

“It is not funny,” Robby snapped. “Look at him,” he added, and started listing off a barrage of lab tests, a full body CT, a chest x-ray and, after peering into Frank’s ear on the side of his head that was hit, an ENT consult, since his ear was bleeding. 

“It’s a little funny,” Collins disagreed. “No one hit him on purpose with a baseball bat. Don’t you remember he said his family was in town this weekend? Look how he’s dressed,” she added, pointing to Frank’s dirty clothes that Dana just realized consisted of baseball pants, a t-shirt and cleats. 

“Oh,” Dana mumbled and then froze again when Frank interjected something that she was sure she misunderstood in a spacey tone. “I’m sorry sweetheart what was that?” she asked.“Heather’s wrong. Henry absolutely hit me on purpose.”

“Henry?” Dana croaked out the question and felt somewhat justified in the pointed eyebrow she shot at Heather who looked horrified herself now.

“My older brother,” Frank explained, shrugging and then wincing. “Ow.”

“What ow?” Robby asked, looking exhausted. 

“Shoulder.”

“Did he hit you there too?” Jesse asked, since all four of them were a little flummoxed by the situation they were in; as were the various people who had been popping their heads into the exam room for the last ten minutes. “No, I wrenched it” Frank disagreed and then turned a pout in Dana’s direction. “I left my fidget.”

“Frank,” Robby redirected the younger doctor’s attention. “How’d you also wrench your shoulder?”

“Ginny,” he replied, still sounding distracted. “Heather? Can I have your clicky pen please?” he asked, pointing at the pen hanging on her shirt collar. “I won’t click it. Much.”

An hour later Dana was praying for her strength and her blood pressure. 

“Mrs. Langdon, your son has a grade two concussion because your other son hit him in the head with a baseball bat,” she explained slowly, glaring at the woman and not bothering to hide it. 

“Oh dear, honestly though boys will be boys. Henry didn’t do it on purpose. Frank caught out Henry’s home run. He wasn’t actually going to hit him; but Frank stepped the wrong way. He stepped into the swing instead of away from it. Henry would never want to hurt his baby brother. Henry’s my good boy. Always has been,” Louise Langdon explained, as though that made everything better. “Besides, Frank’s had that type of concussion before and he was fine. The last time it was his fault too. He was always getting hurt as a child. He just never pays attention to things; even now as an adult and it’s still happening. Are you sure I really can’t see him yet? Frankie can not make decisions about things like this. He’s very distractible,” the older woman was almost rambling at Dana by the end of her explanation, sounding like she was trying to justify it all in her own mind as much as to Dana. 

“Right,” Dana muttered. “And his shoulder? He said that Ginny wrenched it?” she asked, as that was the one thing that they couldn’t figure out; none of it made sense but at least most of it had a clear cause and effect.

“Oh, well, yes, Ginny. Henry’s wife. She might have had a few too many cocktails last night; it was a family bar-be-que,” she began explaining with a laugh and a shrug. “Well, she almost dropped Ellie.” Dana blanched and leaned back on the desk behind her as this woman casually explained that her son’s wife had almost dropped her five month old granddaughter because she was drunk. “Frank lunged, but since we were standing at the top of the back porch stairs he had to grab the railing to keep from falling when he overreacted.”

“Right,” Dana mumbled. “Well thanks for letting us know so we can treat him properly,” she added and hurried away before she got fired for murder. Suddenly everything Abby had ever said to Dana about never seeing her in-laws despite them living a half hour away and Frank avoiding all mention of his parents except in the most serious circumstances made a lot more sense. “Oh,” Robby mumbled and began quietly flipping through the papers in the folder, skimming through the information for himself. “These are Hagan’s records too?” he asked in surprise.

Dana nodded as she slipped on the cardigan she had worn that morning, “Sure are. He was prescribing the same dose of medication to Frank from when he got hurt up until last week. Right about the time he went on vacation. Or, more accurately, according to Lisa Jacobs, the charge nurse for the day shift on Five, otherwise known as the ortho floor, he has been encouraged to retire quietly due to inconsistencies in his prescribing. So yes, those are Hagan’s records. I thought they might help when you pull your head out of your ass and make sure he can keep his job.”

“I don’t know if I can do that,” Robby admitted. “I told him what needs to be done and he’s not answering his phone now.” “Yea, well I took care of that for you too,” she responded. “His cell phone is currently off and in the bottom of Abby’s purse. As of an hour ago Frank himself has been checked in across town at Presby to detox for the next week to ten days. They might pull some strings to keep him there; but Abby didn’t like that because that would mean keeping him in the psych ward since they don’t have an inpatient facility for just rehab.”

“So what you’re saying is I have a week to figure out where to send him that is covered by insurance?”

“I’m saying you have a week to pull a few favors out of your ass because insurance will stick that boy in a hell hole that’ll be overcrowded and understaffed and he’ll twiddle his thumbs for a month and bullshit his way past whatever first year psych resident he gets assigned to. This isn’t the 80s anymore Robby. Insurance doesn’t actually want people to get clean. They make less money that way.”

“I hear you,” he agreed and then noticed something. “Why are you wearing jeans?”

“Cause for the next two weeks I am on medical leave,” she explained, gesturing at her own face. “I mean, I’m fine. But, hey, free extra vacation days? I’ll take ‘em. Better than pizza. And I’m serious Robby. Figure out something. Because even if you’re pissed at him as your friend, you’re a damned doctor and Hagan fucked a lot of people up it looks like. I know he’s an adult; but there is a reason I mentioned the Grade C Fuckboy.” “Oh?”

“Yea; you made Frank Langdon look like the most responsible boring straight laced by the book rule following residents to ever walk through those doors. And you were two years older then than he is now. See you in two weeks.”

“Abby shouldn’t have called you. Not after last night,” Frank whispered as Dana took a seat next to him on the couch in the basement den of the Langdon’s small house three in the morning mere hours after they got off the worst shift of his career. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine,” Dana disagreed and squeezed his clammy hand. “Here’s what is going to happen,” she began, taking on her best no bullshit tone. “You are going to take this pill,” Dana explained, slipping a librium into Frank’s hand and gestured at the bottle of water sitting on the table in front of him. “Abby has six more upstairs that she will give you, in halves if necessary, you will use these pills to keep from going into DTs.”

Frank shifted on the couch looking uncomfortable and avoiding her eyes so she just squeezed his hand tighter and continued explaining the plan she had started coming up with the moment he had left the break room that night, “No later than Tuesday you will get a call to go to Presby. My sister-in-law is a Nurse Manager in behavioral health over there and she said she can get you in as soon as a bed opens up in their detox program. She said the absolute latest should be Tuesday morning.”

“You didn’t need to do that,” he replied softly, finally looking at her with tear filled eyes. Dana simply shook her head and wiped away the one tear that fell. “Sure I did,” she disagreed. “I’ve told you for years; I just don’t have time to put up flyers. Also, you’re finally housebroken,” she joked and then frowned when he had no reaction other then to still look like he was minutes away from a total breakdown. “Listen to me Frank, for as much as I’m very angry with you right now? I still love you and I will not lose you to this.” Dana leaned back into the couch and stretched a kink out of her neck before continuing, “Also you owe your wife a vacation, Robby an apology and that overly cocky brat who caught you at least one month’s rent coverage.”

“Dana,” Frank groaned in protest and she smirked even as she reached over and pushed his hair out of his eyes. “I’ll let you send it anonymously because lord if she doesn’t make Intern-you look cool, calm and collected. It’s got to be karma of some sort. She’s the universe’s gift to you for the headache inducer you were to every senior resident you had.”

“And what is she to you?” Frank joked back, even as he started looking like he was falling asleep, where he was sitting, from her repeatedly running her hand through his hair. 

“A reminder that boys aren’t so bad afterall,” Dana replied a few minutes later after he had finally fallen asleep. “See you in two weeks kid.”

[delicateperspective]

Hi, if Simon Jones is bad at his job, then why did Louis keep working with him after leaving Sony? The only reason I can think of is BBG.

And speaking of Sony, I used to think they retained Louis because it was a way to control Harry, but now that he's no longer with them, do you think that was the reason he was sabotaged? He is even banned from radio stations by Sony CEO's brother. Don't you think Harry could do something to prevent it if he's their golden goose?

i have... theories. but let me try to stick to the facts first.

we don’t know exactly what L signed when he re-signed with syco/sony after the band’s hiatus. but it’s very possible that while he was eventually released from that label in 2020, he signed a separate PR deal with simon jones around that time. simon’s company isn’t sony—he’s PR. and that kind of deal can exist independently of whatever label he’s signed to.

also: it makes a twisted kind of sense that the man who helped build the closet would be the one “trusted” to navigate it now. simon jones invented the het-louis narrative. he knows exactly how to play that role in public because he wrote the script. and while i loathe that, i also think it’s why he’s still around—because he’s familiar, and because he keeps L’s public image contained.

as for actual music PR? that does not appear to be simon. matt and chris seem to be the ones handling L’s music rollouts and strategy. simon’s job is broader image management.

now onto sony: most major labels have “right of first refusal” clauses—meaning that when the band went on hiatus, sony had first dibs on any solo contracts the boys might sign. unless another label came in with a significantly better offer, they basically had to say yes to sony. so it’s not just about choice—it’s about leverage.

this is where i veer a bit into speculation:

i do think rob stringer (sony’s global CEO) wanted both H and L—H as the frontman, L behind the scenes writing songs for other people. and i think L might’ve been okay with that because he loved writing in 1D... at first. but in AOTV he talks about how conversations with his mom helped shift his focus. he decided he wanted to make his music.

so instead of sticking to rob’s plan, he went back to simon cowell and started crafting his solo career. and i think that pissed rob off.

(reminder: simon cowell’s syco was a branch under sony. rob stringer is sony’s top exec. there’s some weird power dynamics here that aren’t easy to unravel, but they absolutely impact what happens to artists under their umbrella.)

as for the idea that H could’ve stopped the sabotage? honestly, no. in 2016–2017, H wasn’t the global powerhouse he is now. he was just a boyband member trying to go solo—a gamble, not a guarantee. labels drop solo acts all the time. the idea that he could’ve waltzed into sony’s top floor and made demands about how L was treated? that’s not how this works. that’s not how any of this works.

and even now, i doubt he’d have that kind of pull. sony’s top brass doesn’t answer to their artists. they answer to shareholders.

plus... we don’t know what H said or did behind the scenes. maybe he tried. maybe he couldn’t. maybe he wasn’t allowed to speak on it. we simply don’t know.

but suggesting that he should’ve stepped in assumes that L would’ve wanted him to. and that’s where i personally draw the line. L has fought tooth and nail to stand on his own as an artist. the idea that H should’ve swooped in to save him reduces him to “harry styles’ partner” rather than a full artist in his own right.

[transfemme-shelterdog]

All the transandrophobia/anti-transmasculinity has been getting to me.

It was hard enough coming to terms with being trans, and starting my transition. It was extra hard accepting that I'm mainly a feminine trans man, considering the attitudes around that.

Now with the "trans men really are the men of the trans community" and "trans men don't experience transphobia/misogyny/abuse" and "trans men haven't contributed anything to the trans community" and "these laws don't affect trans men" and "trans MRAs" and "theyfabs" and "bomb that kills all trans mascs" and "sit down and shut up for once" and "forcefem all tmes!" and "trans men are predators" and and and...

It just makes me not want to be a trans man anymore. It makes me feel like I'm bad, or lesser, or missing out on what the "real" trans and human experience is. Like my mlm love will never be as deep or as fun and my bonds will never be as meaningful as those between women.

I can't get any official help because "sorry, this program only helps women and no I don't have an alternative to recommend to you," and it feels like the queer community couldn't give less of a shit if I died. There's nothing for me, even just emotional support and the feeling of belonging. I will never belong anywhere. Even other trans men speak with derision about guys like me who just want to be listened to.

Like maybe if I went back to being a "broken girl" instead of a "gender traitor/disgusting man" people might give a shit about me again. Maybe they'd care about the violence and abuse I've survived, about my medical neglect, about my poverty and struggles and lack of support. Maybe I'd be able to access resources and maybe there'd be a community out there willing to help and comfort and love me if I need it. They tell me "welcome to being a man, isn't this what you wanted?"

But detransitioning also feels like what they want, except even that doesn't feel true because it feels like they just want me dead. I haven't even been able to afford hormones for years but I'm still very obviously trans and there's nothing I can do about that.

People say "oh you'll never encounter these opinions out in the real world" and that's zero comfort. Real people are saying these things. People are immensely capable of having horrific views and keeping it to themselves unless in "friendly" company, and their views are going to affect their actions and support of me, even if they're polite to my face, which they might not even be.

I'm sorry if this is a lot, I just have nobody I can actually talk to about this stuff.

I'm sorry to hear you're dealing with all that. I can see how it would be tough, and my heart does hurt for you, and every other trans guy out there that is going through the same stuff. That's why I'm so passionate about this issue - is because I care deeply about these struggles that I see you guys facing, and I want to help you how I can.

Ultimately, it's your choice if you want to detransition or not, and nobody is going to judge you, or see you as a bad person for doing so, if you do choose to do so. But I do ask, is that something you want? Would you rather be miserable and "accepted" as a woman, and deal with all the struggles that come with womanhood plus dysphoria? Or would you rather say "fuck you" to the haters, power through the hate, and be the man you've always wanted to be?

If you can't engage with the discourse online because of your mental state, that's ok. You're allowed to log off and go outside and ignore the shitty discourse. Yeah, there's still real world issues you'll need to face, but this at least reduces the amount of stress and mental load you have to deal with.

You should be who you want to be, no matter what others say. These transphobes are shitty people, and their opinions should mean jack shit to you. They think you're a "stupid theyfab" who should be blown up with a bomb? Adopt the mantra of: Cool opinion, it would look better shoved up your ass.

Don't give any credence or put any weight in the opinions of people who hold no value, and don't value you in return. Only care about the opinions of those who love you, and want the best for you.

There are people out there who do care about you, and do want you to keep being yourself. Surround yourself with those people, and don't listen to those who hate you. You detransitioning won't make them respect you any more. All you'll get out of it is more dysphoria.

I love you Anon. I care about you. Please don't stop being yourself. <3

[sequinsmile-x]

Fortis

/ˈfɔː(ɹ)tɪs/ , adjective, Origin: Latin

conveys the idea of strength, power, courage, and bravery

She’d never considered a middle ground. Never thought that there would be something wrong, but that there would be an option to fix it.

-x-

Hi besties,

Is this me putting Emily through something so I can get my head around something entirely different going on in my life? Maybe?

Definitely. But hey, what is fan fic for if it isn't for projecting onto your favs?

As always, let me know what you think <3

-x-

Warnings: pregnancy, infertility, surgery

Words: 4.3k

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

She’s already awake when he sits on her side of the bed. She’d woken up before him for once but hadn’t moved, had stayed still with her eyes closed until he woke up. She’d laid there as he got out of bed, as he stamped a kiss against her forehead before he got ready for the day, pottering around their bedroom in silence as he let her rest as long as he could. He knows she’s awake. She can tell he does by the way he doesn’t run his hand up and down her arm to slowly draw her out of sleep like he usually would. Instead, he just rests his hand on her shoulder and squeezes gently, the warmth of his palm a stark contrast to the cool air of their bedroom. 

“Sweetheart, we need to get ready,” he says, and she opens her eyes to look up at him, making no attempt to get up. “Our appointment is at 9.” 

She hums, but still doesn’t attempt to move, held in place in the safety of their bed by anxiety and preemptive grief that she’s been carrying around for weeks now like a cloak. A way of protecting herself from what she was already sure she’d be told, as if having her worst fears confirmed wouldn’t devastate her, as if she wouldn’t grieve the life she could have had. 

Very early on in her relationship with Aaron, they’d spoken about kids. The conversation had happened by accident, a question he’d asked without thinking one evening after a tough case with children at the very centre of it. He’d apologised immediately, a rare occurrence where he stuttered over his words whilst she smiled at him like he was the most adorable person on the planet. She’d kissed him and told him she wanted kids, that she always had but that she’d been waiting for the right person, and she made it clear that she was talking about him. 

It all seemed so easy in theory. She knew she could get pregnant; she knew Aaron could have kids, so it seemed like a foregone conclusion. Like something that would just happen for them after they moved into the house they bought together and got married. She booked an appointment with her OBGYN before they started trying so she could have all the information she needed, a little too aware of her age to not talk things through with her doctor first. She had what felt like an endless number of tests, and it was only when her OBGYN referred her to a general surgeon, stating she wanted someone a little more specialised to look at her abdominal scarring, that it occurred to Emily that it might not be as easy as she’d hoped. Today’s appointment was a follow-up with the general surgeon, Doctor Norton. Her office had called and asked them to come in to discuss the results of the scans and tests she’d had the previous week, and Emily had been worried ever since, convinced it could only be bad news.

Ian had wanted to take from her what she’d taken from him, and she was starting to wonder if he might just have achieved it, if he had the final laugh after all, the sound of it echoing out from his unmarked and untended grave to fill the home she shared with Aaron. 

“What are you thinking, sweetheart?” Aaron asks, his thumb running back and forth over the top of her shoulder, and she sighs, shaking her head at herself as she tries to sink further into the bed.

“It sounds stupid,” she says, avoiding eye contact with him as she looks past him, her eyes fixed on the wall as she tugs the covers even higher around her shoulders, trapping his hand underneath it. “But I’ve half convinced myself that if I don’t get out of bed, if I don’t go to the appointment, they can’t give me bad news,” she huffs out a breath, “They can’t give me good news either, however unlikely that feels.” 

“Schrödinger's appointment,” Aaron quips, and she hums, smiling softly when she looks back at him and nods. 

“I always forget that you’re a nerd too,” she replies, grateful when he smiles at her. It’s a flash of them, a moment of lightness in the dark, a beacon of hope she would desperately cling to for as long as she needed to. 

“I’m just better at hiding it than you are,” he says, stroking his thumb back and forth over her shoulder again. “It could be good news.” 

Anger she knows he doesn’t deserve swells in her gut, feels it takes up so much space that she can barely breathe, her lungs cramped with it as she does her best to swallow it down, to not take everything out on the one person who was always on her side. 

“They don’t call you and give you no information over the phone if it’s good news, honey,” she says, her lips pressed together as she tries to control the shake in them, unwilling to fall apart even in the sanctuary of their bedroom until she had all the information. She sits up, forcing the covers and his hand to fall away from her, and she looks at him. “Will you…

She drifts off, unsure she really wants the answer to the question she can’t bring herself to ask. Too afraid of the answer, of what he might say. Before him, no one had ever loved her without condition before, without some part of it hanging on what she could give them. Even her own mother hadn’t, not really. She knew her mother loved her, but it never came with disappointment or anger when she couldn’t be who she wanted her to be. Even now, with everything they’d been through and everything they promised each other, a part of her still doubted her worth to Aaron, and she worried that if she couldn’t give him this, couldn’t give him something they both wanted so much, that he’d end up resenting her for it. 

“Will I, what, Em?” He asks, cupping her cheek to make her look at him. He touches her with such reverence, such love that she isn’t sure if it’s the thing holding her together or the thing that will break her. 

“Will you…still love me if I can’t give you a baby?” 

The question hangs in the air around them, and she watches as he sucks in a breath that looks painful. Her doubt floods his lungs, filling his chest as hurt flashes in his eyes, and she wishes she could take it back as he swallows thickly, pushing down the bitter taste of it as he does what he always does - he puts her first. 

“Sweetheart-”

“And I don’t mean now,” she says, cutting over him, seemingly unable to stop now she’d started, all the very worst things she’d been thinking tumbling out of her now she’d unlocked the box she’d stuffed them all in. “I mean in 20, 30 years from now, when you realise someone else could have given you everything you wanted.” 

“Emily, there is nothing that would make me stop loving you,” he says firmly, and she sighs, opening her mouth to reply, but he stops her. He cups her cheeks, his jaw tight as he rests his forehead against hers, his voice as stern as it ever was with her. “I mean it, Em. We could have our own football team worth of kids, or it could be you, me and Jack for the rest of our lives,” he pulls back to look at her, his hands still on her cheeks. “I love you,” he wipes a stray tear from her cheek, “And you’ve already given me so much. Anything else would be a bonus.”

She swallows thickly, her throat so stuffed full of guilt that her voice croaks when she speaks, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…” 

He pulls her into a hug, one she returns fiercely, her hands in tight fists around the material of his shirt as she anchors herself to him. “You have nothing to be sorry for, sweetheart,” he says, kissing the side of her head, “No matter what the doctor says, we’ll deal with it together, okay? Just like everything else.” 

She nods against him and pulls back just enough to kiss him, her lips stamped against his for a moment before she presses her forehead against his. 

“Okay.” 

___

She knew she was right the moment they walked into Doctor Norton’s office. The doctor’s smile was kind, too kind, and there was a box of tissues on her desk that hadn’t been there during their last visit. It made Emily curse her ability to notice small details, a skill that had saved her life countless times, that had this time dashed the small amount of hope she’d managed to cling on to.

She listens as Doctor Norton tells her that the amount of scar tissue in her abdomen was a concern and that, after discussions with Emily’s OBGYN, they believed that it would inhibit her ability to stay pregnant. It guts her, makes her grab Aaron’s hand so tightly she’s sure it hurts, but he doesn’t flinch. Instead, he sandwiches her hand between both of his, providing silent comfort as he asks the questions she can’t think to ask, so caught up in trying not to fall apart. 

She’d never considered a middle ground. Never thought that there would be something wrong, but that there would be an option to fix it, so when Doctor Norton says they could remove some of her scar tissue laparoscopically to provide some relief, it surprises her. It’s not a guarantee, Doctor Norton is clear on that, but it’s something. Their best chance to give them something they wanted so desperately. 

Any hope it gives her is fleeting, stamped out by feelings she thought she’d long since overcome.  The memory of the long, hard, lonely recovery she’d had in France suddenly overwhelming her as everything around her fades away as if she’s underwater, the conversation around her, about her, muffled and out of focus as she has to remind herself to breathe. If she were asked, she wouldn’t remember the end of the appointment or what Doctor Norton said to her, nor would she remember the drive home. Instead, all she can think of is the scar on her abdomen, of all the damage behind it that she couldn’t see, the damage that might well stop her from having everything she wanted. 

Aaron knows her well enough not to push, and they go through their day like it’s any other one. They work, they pick Jack up from school, and then they spend the evening with him. Emily isn’t sure if her friends don’t notice that something is wrong, if she really is that good at hiding from them, or if they know her well enough to know she wouldn’t tell the truth even if she was asked. Jack senses something, innocent and sweet in his attempt to cheer her up as he snuggles against her on the couch before it’s time for him to go to bed. 

As soon as he’s upstairs, with Aaron in tow - something she’s sure her husband does to give her a little space - she finds herself on the back porch, sitting on the top step as she looks out over the backyard. The yard was part of what had made her fall in love with this house. The realtor had left them right where she was sitting to give them some time alone after their tour, and Aaron had wrapped his arms around her from behind, his lips against her temple as he whispered about watching their kids play in the yard. He’d painted such a beautiful picture of them sitting in the porch swing behind her as the children would run around playing, he talked about a swing set and a kiddie pool they’d pull out of the garage each summer, laughing against her hairline as he quipped they’d always misplace the pump for it and argue over who had packed it away the summer before. It had all seemed so clear then, vivid and bright and beautiful. It was dulled now, ripped and faded like it had been torn to pieces, just like she had been, and she hates that she’s been left to make a choice. Hates that on paper it seems so simple, like the answer would be obvious. 

Her recovery had been brutal last time. Hard enough that more than once she’d wished Ian had simply killed her, that she’d died and the pain was gone along with her. It had taken her to the edge and back more than once, her anger and hatred all focused on a physical therapist whom she’s sure she was awful to. She had no one else. Dead to almost everyone who knew her, forced to recover a continent away from all the people she loved. The loneliness had been as hard as the rest of it, and she wondered when she’d stopped being someone who thrived on her own company, when she became someone who needed other people. 

Her scar aches in a way it hasn’t in years, painful and raw and tingling in a way she knows isn’t real, but it doesn’t stop her from feeling every pull in her abdomen whenever she moves. She rests her hand on it but lets it drop, imagines for a fleeting second how she’d feel to do the same thing if a baby lay beneath her palm, and she sighs, resting her elbows on her knees as she covers her face with her hands. 

She doesn’t know how long she has been sitting there by herself by the time she hears familiar footsteps behind her, and she uncovers her face just in time to see a hot chocolate come into her line of sight. She smiles when she takes it, when she smells the whiskey mixed in with the chocolate. The warmth of it is a nice distraction, the slight burn of the ceramic against her palms something she can concentrate on instead of the ache in her gut. 

“Do you want to be alone?” Aaron asks, his hand on her shoulder, and she shakes her head immediately, turning to look at him as she answers.

“No,” she says, “I don’t want to be alone.” The relief makes her suck in a breath as he sits next to her, initially giving her a little space between them, but she shuffles closer, lets her shoulder knock against his. She hums as she looks at his empty hands, and she holds up her drink. “You didn’t make yourself one?” 

He smiles, and it’s soft and comforting, and she thinks she falls even more in love with him right there and then, “I was hoping I’d get to share yours.” 

She chuckles dryly and sips the hot chocolate before she passes it to him. She coughs a little at the burn of the alcohol, “You didn’t shy away from the whiskey.” 

“Thought you could use it.” He replies before he sips it himself, spluttering a little, “Although, I may have been a little heavy-handed.” 

She laughs, a real, genuine laugh, but the joy fades quickly. Turning to ask in her mouth as she swallows thickly. “I don’t know what to do.” 

“I know,” he says, and he places his hand on her knee, his palm warm even through her jeans, and she grabs it, sandwiches it between both of her own as she runs her thumb back and forth over his wedding ring. “It’s not an easy choice. No matter how obvious it might seem.”

She hums, “If you were anybody else, I don’t think you’d understand that it isn’t easy.” 

He places the hot chocolate down on the porch step and uses his free hand to cup her cheek, encouraging her to look up at him, “Good thing I’m not anybody else then, isn’t it?” 

“Yeah, it is,” she nods, and her chin trembles, everything she’d been holding back all day rushing to the surface, a tidal wave of emotion pulling her under as she sobs. But he’s there, wrapping his arms around her as he pulls her as close as he can, holding her against him as if her life depended on it, and right in that moment, she thinks it might. 

“I’m right here, Em,” he says, running his hand up and down her back as he stamps a kiss against the top of her head, “I’m right here.” 

“I’m so angry,” she says, shaking her head as she pulls back, furiously wiping tears away as they splash down onto her cheeks, burning tracks into her skin she thinks might be permanent, “I’m so mad that this is my choice. That it isn’t easy.” 

“It’s not fair,” he replies, and she thinks it should sound childish, like something a kid would say if they didn’t get their way, but it doesn’t. It wasn’t fair. She’d been through enough, they’d been through enough, and it seemed cruel that life wasn’t quite done kicking them yet. 

“What…what do you want me to do?” She asks, and it’s only as she asks it that she realises it’s just another way of asking what she’d asked of him that morning. A rephrasing of the question that she knew hadn’t been fair even as she asked it. 

Will you still love me if I don’t do this?

He tucks her hair behind her ear, and he sighs sadly, his eyes swimming with tears as he looks at her like she’d hung the stars in the sky. “Em, I can’t tell you or ask you to do something to it that you don’t want to do. I meant it this morning when I said I’ll love you no matter what. Nothing has changed,” he says, wiping another tear from her cheek, “It’s your body.” 

She chokes on a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob, “Matthew said that to be back in Rome,” she says, her eyes drifting shut as she thinks of it, how young she’d been, how young her friend had been too. When she opens her eyes, she sees the lines on Aaron’s face, the age and the wisdom that was woven into them, and she shakes her head, desperate to stop herself from making comparisons she didn’t want to make. “My recovery in Paris…it was hard. And I know this will be different, that it’s nowhere near as invasive, but every time I think of it…I feel like I’m right back there in that bed in Bethesda, in so much pain I wished I was dead for real.” 

He tightens his hold on her, and she almost apologises for it, but she doesn’t, because she knows that’s not what he expects from her. 

“No matter what you decide, sweetheart, you won’t be alone. I’ll be right here by your side.” 

She hums sadly as she runs her fingers through his hair, “Where you always are,” she says, and he nods. For a reason she doesn’t entirely understand, that makes her decision for her, the confirmation of something she already knew, the final tick on her mental checklist that lets her know she’s ready for this. “I want to do it.” 

He furrows his brow for a fleeting second before he attempts to hide it from her, “Em-”

“I do, I want to.” She says, using the heel of her hand to wipe her cheeks, “I really want a baby with you, Aaron. And I know the surgery doesn’t gurantee anything, and I know it’s going to suck and it’s going to make me a miserable person to live with,” she says, choking on a laugh when he shakes his head at her, “But I want a baby with you and if this gives me the slightest chance then I want to do it. I just need you to promise not to leave me alone in any of it, okay?” 

She knows he won’t, that he’d be there every step of the way just like he had been so far, but she needs to say it. Needs to get her worst fear off her chest so she can breathe a little easier. 

He nods and he pulls her into a hug, his arms tight around her as he kisses her cheek, her temple, anywhere he can reach, his love for her a delicate stamp across her skin. 

“I’ll be right here, sweetheart. Forever.”

___

The first thing she’s aware of is his hand wrapped around hers.

The second thing is the pain, sharp and familiar in her abdomen, and she opens her eyes, blinking a few times as the slightly too bright lights of her hospital room make her groan. 

“Hi, sweetheart,” Aaron says, and she turns to look at him, smiling at the sight of him sitting in the chair next to her bed, the hand not wrapped around hers securing a tiny bundle to his chest, their son. “Are you feeling better after sleeping a little?” 

“Better is a strong word,” she says, huffing out a breath as she tries to sit up but fails, “Can you help?” 

He nods and stands up, his hand tight around hers as he helps her sit up, wincing with her when the movement pulls at her new scar. “Sorry.” 

“It’s okay,” she says, catching her breath as he rearranges the pillows around her. “I did have major surgery this morning,” she quips, smiling softly as she adjusts the hat on the newborn's head when Aaron sits on the edge of her bed. “Can I have him?” 

Aaron leans forward to kiss her forehead, “Of course, Em. He’s yours.”

She feels something she can only describe as relief when her son is back in her arms. She studies his face, a face she’d imagined for 9 months, for much longer than that if she was honest with herself, and she tries to commit it all to memory, well aware he’d change and grow quicker than she’d ever be happy with. 

“He still needs a name,” she says, stroking her knuckles back and forth over his impossibly soft cheek, “Nothing feels…” 

It was hard to put into words, hard to even think of a way that described it. It had been 18 months since the surgery she’d had to remove her excess scar tissue. The surgery had been harder on her mentally than it had been physically. But Aaron had been there. He’d held her hand and brought her snacks and fussed over her in a way she thinks would have annoyed her just a few years prior. It’s what she’d needed, his enduring, limitless love for her, the very thing she needed to recover from things she hadn’t even known she needed to recover from. She thinks that was why the idea of a c-section, something her OBGYN had said was the best option for her from the start, hadn’t made her panic like the suggestion of the scar revision had. 

She wasn’t alone, and she never would be again. 

As soon as they found out she was pregnant, it felt like everything was finally falling into place. Every hard thing worth it when she found herself staring at a test with two lines on it. She took every moment of her pregnancy in her stride, even when it stripped away every single thing that made her feel like herself. And again, Aaron was always there. Wiping away tears when she’d cry over wanting a particular type of food she couldn’t eat, or holding her hand through every appointment. He was there and he was hers, and she couldn’t imagine doing any of this with anyone else. 

They knew they were having a boy from about halfway through her pregnancy, so she’d scoured every book she could find, every website, to try and find something that would suit her son. Now she was looking at him, it felt even harder, impossible even to do something like name a person who she’d love for the rest of her life. 

“Big enough.” He finishes for her, and she nods, forever in awe at how well he knew her. 

“Yeah,” she says, lifting the baby to kiss his forehead, “But we need to think of something. Baby Boy Hotchner might be cute now,” she quips, looking at the hospital band around his ankle, “But I don’t think he’d thank us for it when he has to write a resume.” 

“I don’t think kids at school would be kind about it either,” he jokes, and she shakes her head lovingly at him. He wraps his arm around them both and rests his cheek against the top of Emily’s head. “I’m proud of you, sweetheart,” he says, smiling at her when she tilts her head to look at him. “One day, when we’re so used to saying his name that we forget how hard it was to chose one,” he says, reaching out and cupping the back of the baby’s head, “I’m going to tell him all about his brave mom and all the things she went through just so he could be here.” 

She sucks in a breath, feels it catch on all her ribs as she shakes her head at him, “Aaron…”

“I mean it, sweetheart,” he says, leaning in to kiss her, his hand on her cheek as he pulls back, “I’m so proud of you.” 

She chokes on a sound she can’t name, her control over her emotions and her ability to name them lost months ago, and she nods, her forehead knocking against his for a moment before she looks back at their baby boy. 

“Yeah,” she says, and for once she lets her voice crack, revelling in the love and joy that settles in it, “I’m proud of me too.” 

[m1ssunderstanding]

I enjoy your blog and opinion especially father and son McCartney. I don't mean anything bad with this post. I just try to understand Paul a bit more. Can you give some opinion about Paul's relationship with his Mother Mary, the aunts, and the stepmother and sister Ruth. I've seen some posts and read a few biographs but it doesn"t really seem to fit. Do you think his Mother would have allowed Paul to become a part if the band? And this is just a personal question to you. Do you think that Paul's father might have thought about the queer posibilty with Paul and John?

Hahaha you're like "you do know he has other family members too, right?"

And you are so correct! Thanks for asking this, I'm really excited to get into my thoughts on these extremely niche, rare Beatles characters lol.

Long rambling road under the cut

Mary:

Born to an Irish immigrant father and a Liverpool-Irish mother in Liverpool.

When her mother died when she was very young, her father lost everything in a horse racing bet and moved them back to a tiny farm in Ireland where she was expected to become the new mother to her younger siblings

When her father remarried, his new wife basically acted like Cinderella's step mother to Mary, so she found shelter with some aunts in Liverpool.

At 14, she started working full time as a nurse, while continuing to train to expand her skill set.

By the time WWII came around, she was a state registered nurse and midwife.

She was 31 when she met Jim. At that age at that time, she was considered a spinster. Secondary sources say she was too career-driven to have thought of marriage, and that's possible. But my theory is she just wasn't interested in the whole husband and kids thing after her childhood experiences. Whatever the case, Jim won her over easily, according to sources.

Jim also won her over when it came to religious studies. Apparently, before Jim Mary was a somewhat faithful Catholic, and though it mattered enough to her to have her boys baptized (or christened or whatever it is they do to babies) and taught the basics of the religion at home, she agreed they would not go to Catholic school or attend mass. My theory is this was a class climbing thing.

Because they were part of the war effort, Jim and Mary were allowed to live in government housing, and they continued doing so after the war because Mary continued working for the government.

Paul and Mike always say it was her choice to constantly be moving to slightly nicer apartments in slightly nicer areas. I don't know if she earned that choice through just being really dedicated to her job or through diplomacy with whoever was in charge of that or both, but I would love to know. We know Paul got his diplomacy skills from Jim and trauma, but could be also have some from Mary's side?

Mary was apparently quite strict with her children, had extremely high expectations for academics, behavior, cleanliness, and even accent. She must have approved at least to some degree of Jim's corporal punishment, because she would threaten to call him in when she was very upset with her sons (for example, when Paul drew a nude woman at school). She was the more affectionate parent, but neither Paul nor Mike describe her as notably cuddly or doting, and if she only managed to say to her husband that she loved him on her death bed, it's not entirely out of the realm of possibilities that she did the same to her children.

When Paul has been asked about his earliest memory, he has mentioned three things that I'm aware of. 1. Waiting to hit some bully over the head with a crow bar (sounds too crazy to be true but also too crazy to be a lie) 2. A neighbor gifting his mother a porcelain doll in gratitude for her work to bring their baby into the world (he says people would bring gifts often) 3. His mother bicycling to work in the snow (she continued to ride her bicycle to work even doubled over in pain during her struggle with breast cancer, and she was on call at all hours of the night and day)

Although Mary worked very hard outside the home and always made more money than Jim, it seems she also took on the majority, if not the entirely, of the housework. Before her death, Paul remembers her heaping piles of pancakes on shrove Tuesday, sugar butties, scouse, and yorkshire pudding with golden syrup. After Mary's death, Mike remembers eating bread fried in lard, fighting over it with Paul, and ending up throwing it at the wall, leaving a stain, and getting in trouble. Paul also took on cooking responsibility after Mary's death. Mary kept the house immaculately clean. She refused to own a clothes washer, saying it was immoral. When she was literally about to die from tumors in her breasts and brain, Mary deep the whole house and laid out her children's clothes, so everything would be ready if she didn't come back. (Which is insane on multiple levels. 1. That poor woman. Why did she feel like she had to do all that? 2. As a mom, I'd rather spend that time doing some activity my children enjoyed or talking with them or writing them letters or something, but for whatever reason, either Mary just didn't have that in her, or she genuinely thought the house was more important)

Paul definitely has (or had) a lot of strong feelings about Mary. Two of his biggest regrets as far as things he wishes he hadn't said had to do with her. The first was while she was alive. She, as mentioned before, was very big on the Received Pronunciation accent because she was very big on giving her sons a better life than she'd been given and at the time that was a major key to the class ladder. Anyway, once, when they had company over, Mary was trying to talk posh, and Paul corrected her in front of the company and she was clearly very embarrassed and he immediately regretted it and continued to regret it for decades. Then there's the infamous (VALID!) "what are we going to do without her money?" quote, which has been talked about. I bring it up here to point out that pre-teen Paul very much depended on his mother financially. Speaking of memories of his mother, though, Paul said, in the early 2000s I believe, that if he could go back in time for any reason, it would be to spend more time with his mother.

The family didn't have money for a marked grave at the time (I assume) and her grave remains unmarked to this day, probably for privacy and respect, but someone on the Mohin side of the family made a big stink about it on the internet because Paul was apparently stingy with that side of the family. Whatever.

My I guess nutshell take on Mary is this. Paul didn't really think his mom was cool like he thought his dad was, but he understood that she was the parent he needed to model himself after if he was going to be successful, so he tried to be practical, hard working, perfectionistic, ambitious, stoic, dependable, gentle, strong, etc like she was.

Mike:

I really think this quote sort of defines the complication and depth of love in their relationship.

Everybody was quite confident that Paul would pass the eleven-plus – for Mum and Dad thought of him as the brains of the family. And of course, he didn’t let us down, because he was a natural at exams. When I passed in my turn, it was so unexpected, apparently, that Mum burst out crying – I think the idea that she had two “intelligent” sons was too much for her! They say sensitivity often goes with intelligence and certainly I’d say this was true of Paul. Although on the surface he tried to give the impression that he was a fairly tough, swashbuckling, mildly-tearaway character, underneath there was a great deal of thoughtfulness and real tenderness.” – Mike McCartney, 1965

They also did all the normal sibling stuff like dangerous dares, rough housing embarrassment, stupid shenanigans, etc, and there are stories of Paul coming to Mike's aid when it came to bullies at school and their dad. There's all the great pictures Mike took of Paul with the camera Paul got him, the McGear album, and Paul being Mike's best man.

My take is that they were and are very close and loving and protective of each other despite being sort of accidentally pitted against each other by the toxic family roles they fell into.

Aunts:

Just on Jim's side there were six aunts, and on Mary's there were potentially three, though I'm not sure how close they were with that side of the family.

btw very weird naming going on. There's an Ann and an Annie as well as having an auntie Jin, Jim's older sister.

Jim's side actually started having these "family sing songs" when he was very young for the purpose of making money for the family the minute they were gifted that piano Paul learned on. They'd advertise and charge for admission to these things. They kept them up, just for a family bonding experience, long after they'd all got grown up jobs and spouses and kids. Paul remembers these events extremely fondly, credits them for much of his success as a composer, and brings them up any time anyone asks about his family life growing up. The drunken singing aunties generally feature prominently. Paul also kept up the tradition at least into the late seventies.

Paul and Mike were sent to live with a few different aunties for a few months after Mary's death while the family tried to get Jim's suicidal ideation etc under control. Accounts vary, but I believe it was once of these aunts who told them the news about their mother and sent them to school that very day.

Some of the aunts would take turns coming on about a biweekly basis to help Jim Paul and Mike around the house after Mary's death. We don't know if this continued indefinitely or just until they could get their feet under them again. Either way, they definitely get points for doing that.

Auntie Jin once told Mike and Paul off for looking unhappy soon after their mother's death and reminded them to think of their father and stop acting so sad. Well meaning, I'm sure, since she was probably terrified for them that one little thing could result in their losing a second parent in the most horrible way. But. Definitely scaring.

Auntie Jin was known as "control" and was very much the Queen Bea of the family.

Once Paul got money, he began paying for extended family expenses, like phone bills, hospital stays, or new furniture. This obviously includes the aunties.

When the extended family heard he was getting into weed, they sent Auntie Jin to go talk some sense into him, but he converted her and she went home and converted the whole family.

My general take on the aunties is this. They all seem to be doing their very very best with very very little. I don't even begrudge the emotional abuse because they genuinely didn't have a better option. I do wince at the financial exploitation, but only slightly. It's one of those things where you would hope they'd have a little more empathy for their nephew holding up the family like Louisa from Encanto, but nobody is perfect.

Angie:

Married a man almost 30 years her senior after meeting him five times to make sure he had full access to his millionaire son's bank account.

Enabled, or at least did nothing to stop, her husband's crippling gambling addiction, instead allowing her stepson to cover the damages.

Resented when said unlimited bank account turned into an allowance upon said son's marriage and fatherhood.

Panicked when her ancient husband kicked it and immediately sold off the famous son's personal childhood mementos while he was conveniently in another country for work.

Got pissed and went to the press when stepson cut her off.

Calls herself Mrs McCartney to this day for marketing purposes and milks that dead relationship like an abused dairy cow.

Do I blame her for getting that bag? Not really. Am I a fan? Not really.

Ruth:

Remembers thinking Jim's new mansion and the nice things inside it were impossibly huge and fantastic when she first met him.

Remembers Jim as kind, gentle, and stoic.

Remembers Paul's time with Jane Asher very fondly and seems almost to credit her for her positive early memories of Paul, such as them (she also remembers John) teaching her how to ride a bike or taking her shopping. Paul bought her a dog and they'd play in the backyard and experiment when being parents on her and she loved it.

Her remembrances shift dramatically with the arrival of Linda. The shared bank account closed, Paul was focused on his actual children, and she has a few memories of Paul verbally taking out his pain on her similar to the apple employees.

Then, she gets almost Francie Schwartz levels of bitter after Paul cut her and her mother off. She was almost seventeen, and Paul had paid for her to go to all the best schools all her life and set her up with every possible advantage, not to mention the famous connection she'd go on to drag into the next century. I don't feel bad at all.

My basic take on her is this. Spoiled brat. Excellent source on Paul and his dad.

Did Jim think John and Paul might've been gay for each other?

My gut tells me yes, but there's really no way of knowing. Jim might've hated John because he was worried about Paul's sexuality, or he might've just hated John for being a positive presence in his son's life who encouraged independence. Who knows?

Would Mary have allowed Paul to become part of the band?

I think her attitude would've been very similar to Mimi's -- weirdly I think those two would've been great friends and I actually would love to see a Mimi/Mary fix-it fic someday. But. -- I think Paul would've had some difficulty defying his mother simply because his respect for her was so great, but I actually hate when people go with that Mike quote that says she would've never allowed the band. I think if Paul got past his dad's physical and financial abuse as well as the emotional manipulation in order to be in the band, he would've found a way to get around Mary too.

[ashyjingles]

GUESS FUCKING WHAT BITCHES

i just posted chapter 8 of violent and volatile, otherwise known as my hunger games au!! :)

chapter 8/12, 15k for this chapter and 90k for the whole fic so far. THIAM LIVES!!! they just go through hell first. the MCD tag is for other major characters

and then some snipppetts <33333 (they may contain minor spoilers so im hiding them under the cut!!!!)

snippet 1/4:

Violet’s face fades from the sky and the section of the hellish world they’ve claimed as theirs goes dark again. Theo sighs softly and starts pushing the sleeping bag around like he’s a bird getting its nest just right, and Liam is so entranced by the sight he can’t do anything but sit and stare like a statue watching signs of a life foreign to its stoic facade. Theo notices, turns his head and meets his gaze with that owl eye stare. For a moment they’re two stars staring at each other from across a dark and empty abyss and the next they’re two animals circling each other, sniffing at the other in curiosity but never getting quite close enough to know the other. Liam thinks that if they had to be any animals in the world, he’d be a wolf and Theo would be a coyote. He can’t explain the reasoning behind it, just that it fits so painfully well that Liam feels the sudden urge, the sudden need to either bare his teeth or bare his throat to this strange creature in front of him that’s both the closest thing to himself he’s seen in a lifetime and yet the farthest. So strange, yet so familiar.

snippet 2/4:

“Now hug,” Tara demands. Liam tenses up and takes a half conscious step back. He feels nauseous just at the thought of it. The fire abated, but it still thrums under his skin, wild and dangerous. Theo sits across from him, wild and dangerous but cold. Tara stands between them, a cotton figure standing too close to the flame. “Fuck no,” Theo spits, venom landing at Liam’s feet and burning through the grass. It smells acrid and tastes of bile, and Liam jerks to the side. Theo lunges for the machete, and that’s all Liam sees before he’s emptying the contents of his stomach in a violent mess. Kill me now, Liam begs in his head, Kill me now so I don’t have to watch you do it. Theo doesn’t. He only watches as Liam’s stomach wrings itself out until he’s dry heaving for the fourth time that week.  Liam feels pathetic, reduced like a pot full of water boiled so far down the only thing left for the remnants to do is burn. Theo only stands off to the side, holding the machete with a white knuckle grip and white hot stare. But Tara, sweet Tara who hates people getting hurt even in an arena of death, who’s still afraid of the dark, who likes picking flowers because they’re pretty, pads over with a water bottle and crouches down next to him. “Are you okay?” She asks quietly.

snippet 3/4:

“No. I was scared, not angry.” “Well that's a first.” Liam scoffs. “I’m more than just my anger–” “You are, until your anger gets to be more than you. When you get sad or scared or confused you turn that discomfort into anger. Maybe it’s easier for you that way, I don’t know. But you're a very one-line person, like an algorithm. Your unpredictability is rather predictable.” Liam’s eyes bore into the ground. “No one’s ever… No one’s ever put it like that,” he whispers. “Most people don’t get it.” “Most people aren’t paying the right kind of attention to you. Let me guess, the assholes back home only focus on the bad parts of you, and your friends and family only focus on the good parts of you?” Liam nods. “But you’re not one or the other. You’re both. One side of you can’t coexist without the other and when you’re forced to choose just one, you blow up. You can’t expect someone to be half of themselves and still be okay.”

snippet 4/4:

The forest has been his entire life as long as he can remember. When his father had pretended he still loved him, he’d bring a young Liam out on his shoulders when he went to work. When his mom decided they would do some good by taking the long route, it had always been under the towering redwoods, or the slender birches, or the gnarled oaks, or the tall mahoganies, or the flowering magnolias.  But always, no matter what type of trees they walked under, it felt like home. The buzz of bugs, or the chirp of birds, or the whistle of the wind, or the skittering of squirrels, or hum of the swaying trees themselves; the forest was always home to Liam and every other wild creature that didn’t always abide by society’s rules. The trees didn’t judge him, didn’t quiet when he walked into a room to point and stare and whisper behind their hands. They only sang for themselves, and to Liam when he chose to sit and listen to their sweet lullabies.The sound of the forest called to Liam in a way the silence of his father’s apathy did not. It was a melody Liam craved, because the crowing of the sheer life in the forest gave something his father’s howls never did.

thanks for hanging out! :D here's the first chapter if you would rather have that!

[hollowed-theory-hall]

Hi, do you think that Harry's personality was altered to fit with Ginny's in HBP? I can put my money on the fact that the Harry Potter from OotP would not put up with any of Ginny's bullshit. He wouldn't even talk to her if he could help it let alone date her.

If jkr wasn't on her trojan horse to make hinny endgame, Harry probably would not date anybody in sixth year. Not with Sirius's death, voldemort's horcruxes, his disastrous relationship (really, it's a stretch) with Cho the previous year and his new found obsession with Malfoy. His brain could only hold so much.

Hi, like, Harry's personality definitely changed in HBP, but I don't think Ginny was the only reason (Ginny's personality also changed from OotP, for the worse if you ask me). Harry's personality change between OotP and HBP isn't all that bad. Last time I read the book, a lot of it can be explained by his trauma response (his sass and even less self-preservation than before).

What is a little odd about HBP Harry is that he is way calmer than OotP Harry and tries harder not to annoy Ginny, even early in the book, before he supposedly realises his crush. Which is in stark contrast to Harry with anybody else and in any other book. Harry isn't scared of calling out people for bad behaviour, even people he likes (Lupin, Ron, Hermione, etc.), and who is outright rude to Ginny late in OotP. Basically, the transitions in Harry's opinions and behaviour towards Ginny didn't change naturally and go against how he usually reacts to people. Because you're right that OotP Harry would not try to appease Ginny when she gets all worked up over Fluer, he wouldn't care what she thought, and we don't see the summer between OotP and HBP when he supposedly changed his whole treatment of Ginny — which is a problem.

As for whether he'd date at all after Sirius' death... it can go both ways. I actually think it's very possible Harry throws himself into a relationship with Ginny — who he sees as a normal and safe dating option, she represents normal teenage life, and not being the Boy Who Lived — because of his trauma and Sirius' death and everything going on with Voldemort.

I mean, we are told pretty explicitly he sees his time with Ginny as a break of normalcy from his eventful life. It's a distraction and a coping mechanism:

“It’s been like . . . like something out of someone else’s life, these last few weeks with you,” said Harry. “But I can’t . . . we can’t . . . I’ve got things to do alone now.”

(HBP, Ch30)

So, I don't think that's inherently out of character, actually. What is, is Harry thinking he loves Ginny as much as he does, without knowing her and being chill with a lot of her behaviour he would have called her out for before:

“She’s a damn sight nicer than Phlegm,’’ said Ginny “And she’s more intelligent, she’s an Auror!” said Hermione from the corner. “Fleur’s not stupid, she was good enough to enter the Triwizard Tournament,” said Harry. “Not you as well!” said Hermione bitterly. “I suppose you like the way Phlegm says ‘ ’Arry,’ do you?” asked Ginny scornfully. “No,” said Harry, wishing he hadn’t spoken, “I was just saying, Phlegm — I mean, Fleur —” [...] “I wouldn’t go in the kitchen just now,” she warned him. “There’s a lot of Phlegm around.” “I’ll be careful not to slip in it.” Harry smiled

(HBP, Ch5)

First, Hermione and Ginny should lay off Fleur. Second, how come Harry finds Ginny's comments about Fleur funny after he just spoke in Fleur's defence? Why is he regretting having talked? He doesn't regret it when he speaks up to defend people he cares about or to say what people need to hear when it's the truth, even in HBP and DH. Ginny is the only exception, and we don't see what made her that exception in the books. Especially when Harry repeatedly shows he cares for Ron and Hermione more than her.

“And Ginny, don’t call Ron a prat, you’re not the Captain of this team —” “Well, you seemed too busy to call him a prat and I thought someone should —” Harry forced himself not to laugh.

(HBP, Ch14)

You're telling me Harry would find this behaviour funny, JKR? He would if he didn't like Ron, sure, but Ron is one of his most important people, more important to him than Ginny (as proven time and time again in DH), and he knows Ron's insecure enough as is. Harry would not stand for the Ron slander, even if it's from his sister.

Harry looked over at Ron, who was hunched in a corner, staring at his knees, a bottle of butterbeer clutched in his hand. “Angelina still won’t let him resign,” Ginny said, as though reading Harry’s mind. “She says she knows he’s got it in him.” Harry liked Angelina for the faith she was showing in Ron, but at the same time thought it would really be kinder to let him leave the team.

(OotP, Ch26) - Harry likes when people show faith in Ron's abilities! Wild that he's a good friend!

For context, Harry to Ginny in OotP when he's stressed over Sirius and annoyed with her:

“Hi,” said Ginny uncertainly. “We recognized Harry’s voice — what are you yelling about?” “Never you mind,” said Harry roughly. Ginny raised her eyebrows. “There’s no need to take that tone with me,” she said coolly. “I was only wondering whether I could help.” “Well, you can’t,” said Harry shortly.

(OotP, Ch32)

But I wouldn't say Harry won't talk to her if he could help it. He likes Ginny in OotP but not more than Fred and George. He finds some of her comments amusing and thinks she's alright. He doesn't hate her, far from it — but he doesn't see her as a romantic interest, he sees her as Ron's little sister. He's actively surprised she has any interest or talent in Quidditch and finds it unlikely. OotP Harry doesn't think very highly of Ginny, nor is he super interested in her as a person:

“You and Fred and George,” she said impatiently. “We’ve got an- other Seeker!” “Who?” said Harry quickly. “Ginny Weasley,” said Katie. Harry gaped at her. “Yeah, I know,” said Angelina, pulling out her wand and flexing her arm. “But she’s pretty good, actually. Nothing on you, of course,” she said, throwing him a very dirty look

(OotP, Ch21)

“Well, that was a bit stupid of you,” said Ginny angrily, “seeing as you don’t know anyone but me who’s been possessed by You-Know-Who, and I can tell you how it feels.” Harry remained quite still as the impact of these words hit him. Then he turned on the spot to face her. “I forgot,” he said. “Lucky you,” said Ginny coolly. “I’m sorry,” Harry said, and he meant it. “So . . . so do you think I’m being possessed, then?”

(OotP, Ch23)

And even the "best" hinny scene in OotP in the library (in quotations because that scene is really weird), Harry isn't really telling Ginny what's bothering him. He tells her he wants to talk to Sirius, but not why (Which is his doubts about James and what he saw in Snape's worst memory. He doesn't tell Ron and Hermione about it either, but it is an example of him not being more open with her than with Ron and Hermione. He isn't).

It's not all out of character in HBP, and Harry could get to a point where he treats Ginny and her comments the way he does, there's just nothing that happens in the books that justifies it — hence why it's so jarring. We didn't see Harry's emotions evolve to this point; they just sorta appear, and are really weird when they are there (god, I hate the chest monster).

[princess-glassred]

I finally made an IT OC!! 🎡🎢🎃🎟

Norma Nell Dresden

•Born October Eigth 1976, making her star sign Libra

•She's lived in Derry Maine her entire life, and in the time frame she's become well aquinted with how weird everything is

•Norma is autistic and she's legally blind, which is why she wears those big thick glasses

•Her special interest is Universal horror monsters and old horror movies, she lives and breathes monsters. She is CRAZY about them.

•She loves to make minatures and little models of sets and creatures from her favorite movies, sew costumes for herself, do SFX makeup, make stop motion films using her miniatures, read horror comics/books, and draw- even tho her art style looks like rejected yaoi art.

•Really Norma is in love with all of he technical elements of making horror movies

•She's the kind of girl who would happily dress as a vampire every day of her life if she could

•She dresses like monsters so much people forget that she's a girl half the time. If you asked Norma tho she'd probably say something like "I'm not a girl i'm a dracula".

•She has a pet tarantula named Corncob who she loves dearly. She loves all types of spiders, she thinks they're misunderstood, like her!

•Norma gets picked on at school a lot for her interests, people call her the R word sometimes and Henry Bowers has been known to steal her notebook and laugh at her crappy drawings. People also tend to slam things around her on purpose because she hates loud noises. Sometimes Victor criss will steal her action figures out of her hands or rip a page out of her creepshow comics on the walk home. She hates them, and she wishes frankenstein would toss them all into a pond.

•Her personal fashion sense leaves much to be desired tbh, she's so girlfail

•I was a teenage werewolf is her favorite movie

•Although Norma is generally a sweet girl, she's sometimes very blunt and apathetic due to her autism and the fact most people around don't seem to understand her.

•She can also be a real snob when it comes to movies. She thinks most new horror movies are bad and cant hold a candle to the classics. She'd rather watch a movie in black and white over a block buster any day.

•She also has little patience for monster jokes that shes heard a million times, and if you say something wildly incorrect about monster lore she will go off on you in a nerd filled rage. Afterwards she'd shrink back down and apologize for her temper, but she's just heated because she's passionate.

•Her favorite colors are green and orange

•Her favorite person ever is Mary Shelley, if you bring her up she'd probably go "The creator of science fiction Mary Shelley? The mother of Frankenstein Mary Shelley? The daughter of the founder of feminism Mary Shelley? That Mary Shelley?" And scream. She loves her.

•Norma also loves amusement park rides and theme parks, she just thinks it's so awesome seeing all of the magic and planning that goes into making a world feel themed.

•When she was young she used to say her dream career was an imagineer at disneyland

•Her favorite place in the world is actually Canal Days festival at Derry, solely because she has many happy memories there of riding rides and eating the food and enjoying the band.

•If you looked in her bedroom you'd see a big model of Derry Township she built herself, horror movie posters, collectibles, a film projector, cosplays, a vanity for her to do her SFX makeup at, a comic collection, a bookshelf filled with horror novels, and many more.

•She doesn't have a voice claim yet but i think she'd have a huskier voice like Emma Stone.

•She snorts when she laughs, something she's embarrassed of.

•she's also very lanky for a girl, another thing she's embarrassed of.

•Her home life is a little rocky.

•Her mother, Mary Lianne Dresden works at a department store doing alterations, and she's as supportive as she can be of her daughter. She's very deadpan and sarcastic though, and she's painfully aware of how much of a loser her daughter is. Frankly, she does not have the time or energy to reel her in anymore, so she just lets her live in her little movie monster world.

•She has a step dad that she hates named Paul Keyes, Paul is not physically abusive like Alvin Marsh but he is a bully who often makes Norma feel bad for her interests. He calls her a freak and threatens to throw out all her stuff all the time, trying to force her to have some kind of normal interests. He bounces from job to job a lot, which makes Norma see him as a total bum, and he spends most of his time yelling at the TV because his football team is losing. One time Norma asked him why he kept watching sports if they just made him angry and he said that he was just used to it, to which Norma replied "being used to something doessn't mean you like it. You're used to me and you hate me.", which got her a talking to over her "smart mouth".

•She has a step sister named Becca Keyes, who, although they can sometimes be seen together in public, doesn't like her much. Its not exactly evil step sister territory, but Becca sneers at Norma's interest and often makes her feel like she's not girly enough to fit in anywhere. Norma hates most feminine things, but Becca does pageants and has all the typical girl interests. She's also friends with Gretta Keene which makes Norma pissed cause that means Gretta is at her house all the time.

•Her father, Archibald (Archie) Dresden is the member of her family she's closest to, which is unfortunate because he's been dead for years. He passed away when Norma was only six, and the way he passed away burned itself in her brain. He used to work at the Derry paper mill until he fell into the machine and met his maker. When he came out he looked like fucking hamburger meat, and they had to bury one of his watches since they didn't have a body. Ever since then Norma has been oddly intrigued by all the weird ways someone could die, and she thinks that all death should be as explosive and memorable as her dads. She thinks its sad when someone wastes away into an old husk and ends up just dying in a hospital bed, if it were up to her, she'd die by getting decapitated on a rollercoaster in her 50's. Life is one big party, might as well make a memorable exit- right? With all that being said, she does miss her father a lot. She makes it a point to go visit his grave once a week and tell him about what's going on in her life. Of course he cant hear her, but norma just talking to herself anyways.

•Another interesting thing about Norma is thar she is asexual, mostly due to the fact she doesnt understand why people bother with that stuff since watching movies is more fun, but she gets crushes insanely hard.

•She had a very intense crush on Bill Denbrough for a few days because he was handsome and wrote cool horror stories, and this led to such confusing teen awkwardness she's lucky they only spoke more than a few times. She used to have dreams about him sneaking through her window at night as a hot vampire and whisking her away to the woods, which then inspired some truly terrible artwork in her notebook. Then went on for a while until he saw her flirt wirh Bev and her little heart broke. Norma can be a little overdramatic sometimes, and this was her first heartbreak, so she got really depressed afterwards like bill had somehow hurt her on purpose. She got over it though, and to prove it she burnt all her drawings of bill in her backyard.

•She's into Mike Hanlon now, who she feels she can be much more of a normal person around. They both like researching old and disturbing things about Derry, and when she showed him her model of Derry Township he thought it was the coolest thing ever. They helped each other on a history project where she made a scale model and he made a collage, it was so much fun. They also bonded over having lost a parent in a really graphic and horrible way, but Norma managed to change Mikes perspective on death by saying at least he will always remember his parents, even if they died when he was really young. For halloween Mike asked if she'd be willing to make him a costume since he had no money and she went so hard, he made him a gender swapped bride of frankenstein costume and even did his makeup. Their ideal date would be either the library to research derry more or the movies to see an old black and white film. In short, she likes Mike a lot and the only thing that could make her like him more is if he had fangs.

•As an adult she opens up a horror theme park named Hellville Park that combines all of her interest into making the best immersive experience horror fans could ever want. She went very hard on planning it all out, and it's made her filthy rich in the process. She also makes stop motion movies as side projects, so she's kind of like a combination of Walt Disney and Tim Burton.

•Her greatest fear is the headless horseman, even tough she knows it's very ridiculous. Ever since she first saw an adaptation of it on tv as a small child she's been terrified of him. If Pennywise attacked her it'd transform into the headless horseman and chase her on her walk home alone at night right over the Derry town bridge, only to toss it's flaming pumpkin head at her and nearly kill her. If you want a deeper meaning as to why Norma is terrified of him, i think its because to her- the headless horseman feels like a lose of identity. He doesn't even have a face or a name, but he used to be a person at some point. Norma doesn't wanna lose parts of herself as she grows up, she likes herself as is, but everyone around her treats her interests like theyre just a phase and soon she'll be a normal girl again. She'd rather die than let that happen.

•Norma always loves "the other" and "the outcast", which is partially why she loves horror movies like frankenstein and the creature from the black lagoon so much. Her favorite childhood fairytale was beauty and the beast for a reason lol. Maybe it's because she's been the ugly duckling her whole life and she's always eager to look beyond the surface and rethink who deserves sympathy and who doesn't.

•All in all, Norma is a pretty interesting girl who's just going through the worst years of her life. She'll find her way through it tho im sure. ;)

R.I.P Norma, you would have loved The Shape Of Water.