#i would sent a picture but internet safety & anxiety

[saltlickmp3]

GUYS turns out i can actually do a fantastic tenth dr cosplay using just clothes i already have!!!!!!

brown pants blue button down shirt (even has brown pinstripes like the inverse of his coat) brown waistcoat, blue green brown plaid tie, and i have this really long brown corduroy coat i almost never wear but it fucks hard i swear, and a pair of sneakers like yeah!!!! i'm the doctor!!!!!!! david tennant gender!!!!!!!!!!!

[astronartists-writes]

Helloooo:)

May i request a Twice reaction to their Fem! s.o being protective of them?(like in a healthy way, not possessive)

Have a good day:3

a/n: i was so excited when you sent me this because it was super early that i got this from when i posted everything else.

hope this turned out okay!

Masterlist

TWICE with a protective s/o

TW: mentions of sasaengs, mentioned worries about toxicity

CW: none! :)

fem!reader, race unspecified :)

Park Jihyo

when you first showed her your protectiveness, she was a little worried that you might end up being overbearing

but as time went by, and you were super chill about her living her own life, she realized that you weren’t someone she should be concerned about.

you were perceptive to her feelings, so the second she seemed uncomfortable, you would shoot a nasty glare at whatever was making her feel so

usually it was sasaengs

sometimes it was her stage outfits

the glare was always the first warning

if the glare didn’t work on people, you’d wrap an arm around her as a second warning.

if those warnings didn’t work, you’d start responding in place of Jihyo, your tone flat and dismissive

she thought it was hilarious

it eased any anxiety she might feel

because The Glare can’t really work on an outfit,

you would usually offer her your jacket, or would carry a small blanket around to cover her legs with while she sits

you always made sure to ask if she wanted your jacket or the blanket, giving her a choice of rejection

she’s an independent adult, and you treated her as such

you’ve got her back, and she feels safe when you’re around.

Im Nayeon

i feel like nayeon would be protective of her s/o as well,

so you being protective wouldn’t faze her.

it’s just natural

you always asked her if she was feeling uncomfortable with something, and did everything you could to help her fix it if she was

you could honestly be her personal security guard, you were that effective.

you once practically threw a bitch that was getting a little too close, and she was scared at the time, but laughed a lot when the video surfaced

all of twice’s stage outfits are kind of ridiculous sometimes, and you often complained about the discomfort of not only nayeon, but the other members as well

you knew how uncomfortable clothing that showed a lot of skin could be — especially short skirts,

so you empathized, even going to managers to ask if it was really necessary for the members to wear certain things

she felt very loved when you showed her your protectiveness, and always made sure to make you feel loved, too

Yoo Jeongyeon

personally feeling very protective of jeongyeon right now, hope she’s feeling lots better

so you make sure to give her plenty of space, asking questions once, and not pressuring her for an answer if she couldn’t give you one.

you treated her the way you treated everyone else,

only really being protective of the way people spoke to and/or about her

if you felt something was uncalled for, you immediately told the person who said it off,

sometimes you ordered them to apologize,

sometimes you told them calmly that what they said wasn’t very nice, and gave them a disapproving stare

tbh, not many instances happened where you had to tell them off,

so you tried to express your care for her in other ways

like making her food, getting her tea, sharing your clothes

jeongyeon would tell you clearly if you were to cross a boundary, and you would immediately make sure to never cross it again in order to avoid being possessive

she felt comfortable with you

you never once made her feel bad for not liking something, or not wanting something to be done,

so she was able to openly communicate with you with little to no fears

Hirai Momo

momo liked the two of you doing your own thing for the most part

being independent together was nice

she liked being able to depend on each other for things as well, though

like emotional support, and someone to always have her back

one of her favorite things was seeing you get protective

it usually happened at the smaller things, not the bigger things because you couldn’t be around for many of the big things

like if a bee or a wasp got too close to her, you were right there to move her out of the way

if you saw her shoelace untied, you’d get down and tie it for her so she wouldn’t trip

if you saw someone look at her in a way you didn’t like, you would put an arm around her out of the need to make sure they didn’t try anything harmful

she wasn’t helpless, but it felt nice to show her she could rely on you if she needed to.

Minatozaki Sana

because of her cuteness, you often felt very protective of her

however, we all know that sana is not innocent

she’s an adult, y’know

anyway

at first, she was a little irritated at how protective you could be

you were far more obvious about it than subtle

after a while, she got used to it, and thought about how you didn’t question her choices

you didn’t even try to control her

she liked it a lot

you liked to latch onto her arm in public when there were a lot of people, and she enjoyed holding your waist, poking you in the side every once in a while to get a cute little giggle out of you

the display of protection she liked the most was you tugging down a skirt if you thought it was riding up too much

she liked that you didn’t want anyone to even see the safety shorts, especially when you explained that you just didn’t want her to feel embarrassed if someone posted pictures online

usually when you did something protective, you tried to make it playful.

every once in a while, you’d poke her butt when you pulled her dress down

Myoui Mina

you weren’t protective of her too often because she’s not a very social person,

but you took every opportunity you could

mostly on days she was on stage or doing other activities and you were with her

she stayed home the rest of the time, and while she used to be mostly alone, having you around was something much appreciated

because you were mostly in the safety of your own home, you usually were protective about comments on the internet

she would look through them for things she could improve on — some people left some pretty good constructive criticism

but there would always be hate comments

it’s something to expect from being in the industry

not everyone is going to like you, and the people who don’t can be very cruel

she had learned to mostly not take comments about her personally,

but if you happened to glance at what she was doing out of curiosity and found a comment you didn’t like,

you’d get a little peeved

you’d tell her that she should mute those comments so she wouldn’t see them anymore

this resulted in a very brief argument, where you quickly apologized for the misunderstanding

and explained that you just didn’t want her to feel bad

she thought about it a little and nodded, thanking you for the concern, but explaining that the comments didn’t really get to her

so you’d shyly request to read them with her, dragging the people that left mean comments through the dirt

it made her laugh

if someone dared to say something about her in front of you, though... all hell would break loose.

your protectiveness in public only occurred when the members were being mobbed

you’d hold her hand to make sure she didn’t get pulled away, shooting glares every which way.

your protectiveness made her laugh in private, and made her feel safe in public

Kim Dahyun

you only really protected dahyun when she was frightened or startled at first

which was quite frequent

but after a while, you found yourself saying you’d go before her in things she was nervous about

and then even in things she wasn’t nervous about

the urge to keep her safe was just really strong at that point

she was never actually bugged about it

she liked having a doting girlfriend to hide behind

she even stepped in a few times when you looked nervous, too, eager to keep you feeling safe

she would not be able to do much for you while at high places, though

so even if you were also scared, you’d just clutch her hand and shakily walk with her across area that seemed sketchy.

she gave you a kiss every time you stopped,

and that motivated you enough to keep going

after the hell of high places, she wouldn’t let go of you, trying to show you just how grateful she was by praising you and comforting you

you didn’t feel so scared at the end of it, though

she was grateful for your protectiveness, and was just as protective of you

Son Chaeyoung

she is tiny, so it would be easier to lose her in a crowd than others

she’s responsible enough to not get lost, but you liked to hold her hand just in case

our chaengie is playful,

and so sometimes she’s a little bit too focused on messing around with you to notice potential danger

like a car coming down the narrow road

so you’d tug her out of the way, continuing your conversation without another thought

she usually payed a lot of attention to her surroundings, so the fact that she didn’t realize there was a car was surprising.

you didn’t mention it because you were just keeping her safe, but she was very flustered

if the weather suddenly got colder than expected, you always had a hoodie and a jacket on you

as soon as you saw her shivering,

you’d shed your jacket and hoodie, handing the hoodie to her wordlessly before putting your jacket back on.

you didn’t want her to get sick

she never gave that hoodie back, but she always brought it with her after that.

when people had you on edge, you wouldn’t leave her side

if they were decidedly too much, you’d hold her hand,

and if you really didn’t like a person, you’d straight up just tug her away from them with you (if they followed, you’d totally bark at them)

Chaeyoung found your protectiveness romantic, and wouldn’t trade it for anything

Chou Tzuyu

Tzuyu can hold her own pretty well

she can be quiet, and intimidating, so you weren’t actually protective in a way that people other than her could see

you stayed next to her when you were together, keeping it normal looking if she seemed endangered by anyone

if she needed to get out of a situation, she’d tap your wrist two times and you would get her out of there by any means.

she wasn’t allowed to be mean because of her job, but you could be as mean as you felt needed

another way you were protective was reporting harmful comments and/or posts to JYP directly

always under an anonymous alias

sometimes the two of you would end up looking through rumors and laughing at the ridiculous ones

like a secret boyfriend

that one you screenshot and sent to Tzuyu, who sent it to the group chat for the TWICE members so you could all scoff at it

when you asked if she felt overwhelmed by anything you did, she denied it

she felt comfortable when she was around you. she found your protectiveness sweet.

[amazingphanisnotonfire-imagines]

Archie//happily ever after

Request: Archie Andrews imagine where the reader is pregnant and dodger targets the pregnant reader and you can add whatever else you want but a fluffy ending and then skip to the birth

hey! first, trigger warning: threats/stalking (ikr, what a way to spend valentines day) other than that, i hope you like this!! i really wasn’t sure what to do with it but i think i figured it out! enjoy!

“Archie, really I’m fine.” The last step creaks beneath your feet, the sound alerting your mom to your presence. She looks up from the book she’s reading and sends you a small wave and half a smile before going straight back into reading it. 

It’s one of those that you always find donated somewhere, with the really weird cover of a poorly drawn woman clinging onto a half naked man. This time she’s branched out and is reading about a werwolf falling in love with a human, but it’s still got the same amount of R-rated smut in that makes you shiver every time you think of her reading it.  

You’ve told her that if she wants to read about stuff like that, she’s better off going on the internet, but computers are a gateway to viruses and hacking so she doesn’t touch the computer thats years older than you, sat in the spare room. 

Your dad is stood over the stove, stirring something in a pot that makes you feel sick and hungry at the same time and you’re not sure if you want to throw up or eat all of it. 

You peer over his shoulder, and he looks back at you with a smile before lifting the spoon out and offering it to you. Your eyes light up as you taste it and give him a silent thumbs up while Archie rambles about nothing on the other side of the phone. 

“Seriously I’m okay.” You say again, but he’s not listening and if it weren’t for the bump attached to your stomach that makes it more and more difficult to walk, you’d be over there in five minutes to kick his ass. “You don’t have to come over.” You roll your eyes at him. 

Ever since you got pregnant and he lost his dad, he’s been obsessively worrying about your safety. And it was sweet at first, he was looking out for you and his baby, but now, you’re worried that if he keeps up with this level of anxiety, he’s going to break. 

“Okay, okay. I’ll see you tomorrow.” You interrupt him and for a change he actually shuts up. “Byeee. We love you.” You add and hang up quickly. 

“Was that Archie?” Your dad asks and you let out a small huff. “I see it’s still all rainbows and hearts with you two.” He teases and you narrow your eyes at him. 

“He’s just worried about us.” You reply and point down to your rounded stomach, currently being hidden by the oversized t-shirt you stole from Archie. “Too worried if you ask me.” You mumble and shuffle over to the fridge. 

“Hey!” Your dad smacks your hand with the towel resting over his shoulder. “No snacking, dinner is almost finished!” 

“I’m eating for two dad. I could eat the entire contents of the fridge and dinner and still be hungry.” You reply and he grumbles quietly to himself while plating the food up. 

“You know, I was just like Archie when your mom was pregnant with you.” He says and you place the jar of pickles back in the fridge. “Maybe a little less, but then again me and your mother did live togeth-” 

“Dad.” 

“Sorry. All I’m saying is that it’s natural for him to be anxious. I mean, it’s your first kid and a lot has happened to the two of you. He’s bound to be a little more nervous than most. But it’s not a bad thing.” 

“It’s an annoying thing.” You reply and he rolls his eyes.

“What’s an annoying thing, dear?” Your mom asks as she shuffles past you and opens the fridge. 

“Do you people not see the food that is literally on plates waiting to be eating?” Your dad throws his hands up and you and your mom share a look.

“We do dear.” Your mom cups his cheek and smiles up at him sweetly. “It’s just we don’t want to eat it.” She adds making you laugh loudly. 

“Archie is an annoying thing.” You giggle while your dad glares at the two of you. 

“All men are dear.” She replies and pats your shoulder sympathetically. “Here you go.” She hands you an envelope and you look at her confused. It’s blank, apart from your name in bold black letters and a small x near the bottom. “It was pushed through the front door just before I came in here to see what abomination your father had created today.” 

“The only abomination I created was her, and you helped.” He says and grabs her waist, pulling her into his chest and the two of them giggle. 

“Hey! And ew.” You pull a face and rip the letter open. Your eyes scan the same clunky writing and suddenly you feel your blood run cold. You drop the letter and rush towards the window, frantically pulling the blinds up. 

“What is it?” Your mom joins you, her eyebrows knitted in confusion as she watches you move frantically. 

‘roses are red, violets are blue, you can’t see me but i can see you’ 

Your dad reads aloud, his voice trailing off near the end and slowly he looks back at you. 

The kitchen suddenly seems a lot darker than it was a minute earlier. The light flickers and bushes rustle outside, making you shuffle further towards your mom and suddenly you wish Archie had come over. 

“What?” Your mom laughs. “Who would send something like that?” She shifts uncomfortably and wraps her arms around her. “Y/n, is this one of your friends playing a prank?” 

“No.” You shake your head. “I don’t know who it is.” 

“Well they know you.” She replies. 

“Audrey.” Your dad says lowly and she shuts up. 

The front bell ringing makes the three of you jump, and before either of your parents have a chance to do anything, you’re already stomping your way towards the door. They follow you quickly, both of them shouting for you to leave it but you’ve never listened to them before so why should you now. 

You close your eyes and take a deep breath before swinging the front door open. 

The only thing that greets you is the flowers and ornaments that line the porch and you let out a shaky breath, but then you see it and it feels like you can’t breath again. 

“Oh. Isn’t that nice?” You say sarcastically. Your mom and dad look at each other and then at you, confusion turning into fear when they notice the picture pinned to the front door. 

Your smiling face stares back at the three of you, with scratched out eyes and red paint splattered over it. 

“Y/n, Audrey, go inside.” Your dad ushers the two of you back in before snatching the paper and slamming the door shut. 

You watch your dad storm into the kitchen to grab the not so secret lighter from your mom’s not so secret smoking stash. Your mom follows and the two of them stand in front of the sink as your defaced picture burns. 

You sigh and pull your phone out, already knowing that this is not going to end well. 

“Hey Archie.” You start slowly and you can already hear his heart rate rising with each second that passes. “You might want to come over.” 

---

A rattle at your bedroom window has you awake and sat upright within seconds. You watch the shadow of a figure contort and move across your bedroom walls and you know you should run and scream and cry, but you can’t. Your frozen still in your bed with nothing but a lamp and a duvet cover to protect you. 

A silent sob escapes your lips and you slowly push the blanket off of you, your legs shaking as your feet touch the soft rug by your bed. The wood rattles and you feel the breath leave your lungs and a scream forces its way out of your throat. 

Whoever had sent you that letter, whoever had been watching and following and mailing you pictures of you and your parents doing mundane things like mow the lawn and water plants, they’ve finally decided that tonight is the night. 

Tonight the Y/l/n’s become the newest family to be added on to the growing list of Riverdale’s murder victims. 

Honestly you thought you’d have a little more time, you seem to have escaped death before when investigating the going’s on in town. So you assumed this would just be another thing that gets solved. 

But after four days of Archie and your friends working tirelessly to try and figure out who wants you dead...nothing. And so as you make eye contact with the person or thing that has come to murder you...hopefully in a fast manner, you know this is the end. 

But then the window opens and you see a flash of ginger hair sticking out of a black hoodie and you drop back down onto your bed, ragged breaths leaving your lips. 

“It’s okay.” Archie shushes and rushes towards you. “It’s fine. It’s just me.” He reassures you and pulls you into a tight hug. 

“You idiot.” You smack his chest and he coughs at the force. “I thought you were it! I thought you were going to murder me, you’re a fucking idiot.” You smack his arm with each word. “Idiot.” You finish and he waits a minute before deciding to speak. 

“Sorry.” He mumbles. “It’s just it’s late and I didn’t think anybody would answer the door.” 

“So you decide to climb through the window?” You ask and he shrugs, kicking his shoes off and throwing his jacket over your desk chair. 

“Hey, I used to do it all the time.” He replies and climbs into your bed. 

“Yeah, I remember.” You reply and shuffle in next to him. He props his head on his arm and shifts onto his side so he can look at you properly. “What happened to you?” You ask and stroke his cheek gently. “Why do you look like you’ve just come from a fight.” You add and follow the bruises and dried blood covering his face. 

“Because.” He mumbles and looks down. 

“Because?” 

“Because I have.” He replies and your jaw drops. 

“Archie, you’re gonna be a dad. You can’t go around fighting people because they’ve stolen from Pop’s or threatened your friends.” 

“I know.” He nods and drops onto his back. “I did it because of you.” 

“What?” 

“I know who sent you that note. It was Dodger.” 

Of course it was Dodger. He’d been nothing but a pain in Archie’s ass since he turned up and started involving kids in drugs. Of course, Archie being Archie tried his best to get the kids out of it and Dodger away from Riverdale. However this place being the way it is, nothing is ever that easy, and now you’ve landed yourself a stalker. 

“Him?” You ask surprised. “What the hell did I do to him?” 

“Date me.” He shrugs and you glance at him. 

“And he wants to do that?” You ask and wiggle your eyebrows making him laugh. “Now I understand the whole creepy poetry theme.” You say and glance at the small pile of threats sitting on your desk. 

You’ve had one every single day for the past four days, meaning you’re under 24 hour surveillance by your mom, dad and Archie. 

“No, he wants to kill me, so I guess he thought he’d go after you.” He replies and you huff loudly. 

“Well that’s just plain rude. It’s you he’s got the problem with, not me.” 

“I know.” He shakes his head. “Anyway, I tracked him down and told him to leave you alone.”

“And did that work?” You ask and he sends you a look. 

“Does it look like it worked?” He points to his bruised eye and you shrug. 

Silence fills your small room and you stare up at the ceiling, hoping that it’ll tell you the right thing to say. 

“Archie?” You ask and he hums in reply. “You know I love you right? Like more than anything ever?” He nods and you take a deep breath. “You know that me and this baby are going to be fine. Nothing bad is going to happen. I know you’re under a lot of stress and I know you’re really worried, but beating people up isn’t going to fix everything, no matter how much they deserve it. Maybe you should talk to your mom or something.” You whisper and he sighs. 

You feel his hand against your skin, his touch light and soft as his fingers run up your arm, until he rests them against your stomach. You rest your own hand on top of his and let out a shaky breath. 

“It will be okay.” You say, although right now you’re not sure who you’re trying to convince. Because having a baby is terrifying anyway, but it’s even scarier at 18 in a town that’s most famous for murder. It feels like every year there’s something new that you, Archie and your friends barely get out of alive. 

It’s hard keeping yourself safe when the baby is safe inside you, but what happens when they’re born and it become more difficult to keep them safe. 

“Y/n. Listen to me.” He starts, picking up on your panicked breathing. 

“I promised you I would keep you safe. And I plan on keeping that promise. Nobody is ever going to hurt you or our baby.” 

---

It’s been a long and stressful journey, and there were parts of it that thought you wouldn’t make it. 

But finally you’re here. 

The hospital smells like machines and hand sanitiser, and the four blue walls feel like they’ve paled in the time you’ve been stuck between them. 

Archie thought he’d never be able to step foot in a hospital ever again, not after everything that has happened, and not without his father. But then your waters broke in the middle of Pop’s and all of his fears were forgotten. 

Everything after arriving at the hospital seemed to pass him in a blur. He was sure five minutes ago he was helping you through the front doors of Riverdale General Hospital, rambling incoherently about you and the baby and how you need help, and the next he’s stood beside you, letting you break his hand and watching nurses and midwives rush around you. 

Your scream forces him out of the daydream he’s in, and then it’s not you’re scream he can here anymore. High pitched wails are heard throughout the whole room and he lets out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding. 

“Well done babe.” He whispers and presses a kiss to your knuckles. Your let out a tired chuckle and drop your head back onto the pillow. 

“I did it!” You whisper, and a few stray tears roll down your cheeks. Archie grabs a tissue to wipe them off, before pressing a gentle kiss to your nose. 

“I’m so proud of you.” He smiles and kisses you again. Your eyes flutter closed, but a loud cry makes you sit up a little straighter, despite the pain you feel. 

“Y/n. Archie. Meet your son.” A grey haired woman grins as she hands you your son. His small fists kick away the blanket wrapped around him and you both let out a small giggle as you watch his face scrunch up into a yawn. 

“Our son?” Archie asks and runs a hand over his cheek. “Do you think he’ll be ginger?” He asks and you look up at him. He’s already staring back at you, and there’s a look in his eyes that is reserved only for you. It’s so full of love and awe and it makes you feel more loved that you ever have before. 

“I really, really hope so.” You smile and kiss him slowly. A small noise forces you to pull away and the two of you stare down at your newborn son. “Have you got any ideas for names?” 

“Archie Junior!” Archie replies and you send him a look. 

“I have not spent the last 9 hours in labor for you to call our baby Archie Junior.” You say making him huff and mumble a small ‘fine’. “What about Freddie?” You ask and he looks at you quickly. 

“Really?” He asks, his eyes watery and you smile sadly. 

“Of course.” You nod. “Freddie Archibald Andrews. Named after the kindest, sweetest and bravest men I have ever had the privilege of knowing.”

✨tagged ✨

@moxleybabe

[dadzawa-adopt-dabi]

Secret Baby Ch23

Dabi wakes up one day to Giran calling to ask him if he can take on an emergency mission. He needed Dabi to go spend a night or two at the League with Jin. Dabi says no at first, citing the agreement he made when he took Dabi on as an employee. Giran simply sends the exact same message back and Dabi knows he’s not truly asking. He doesn't have an option in whether or not he accepts doing Giran a favor. He’s been kind so far, routinely pays Dabi on time and always gives him his full amount of pay. He Can’t afford to lose his job, especially when the price for betraying Giran is higher than he can pay. “Come to the cafe right away, you will be shown straight to the back this time.”

Dabi swipes to mark it as read as texts Kikiyo’s babysitter, a feeling of dread and anxiety building. That’s normal for him though, he chalks it up to growing up the way he did and being on the wrong side of the law.

'You're going to have to find somebody else ‘Dabi.’ I know that’s not your actual name but whatever, Kikyo is obviously a mutant child. I'm not certified for Mutants. She wouldn’t stop screaming last time, I'm sick of the little feathers tripping me up as I try to take care of the other kids.”

Dabi tried to call her, to work something out just for the day as he drummed his fingers anxiously on the counter. Maybe get a recommendation if she wouldn't babysit Kikiyo, someone who was actually certified instead of going through this again. She must have blocked his number after sending the text because the number comes across as out of service. A quick internet search recommends a daycare several miles away from the nearest bus stop. It’s almost twice what he had been paying her. He swears and bites his lip as he rubs at his tired eyes, pacing in the kitchen. Kikiyo cries, scenting her fathers rising distressed scent filling the air. The black haired omega closes his eyes, biting his lip until it bleeds as he calls his mothers number. There’s a chance she won’t sell him out to Hawks or her husband. Slim as that chance is, Dabi isn’t left with any other choices with the trouble he’s gotten himself into and how much he owes Giran.

He can’t tell Giran that he can’t go through with this job. He can't take Kikiyo with him. This mission is coming at an inconvenient time and he doesn't have anyone else he can call to watch her. It’s been long enough, he misses his siblings if not his mother. He was hoping he wouldn’t have to do this. The phone rings and rings, Giran sends another message asking if he is on his way and Dabi sends back a simple no. Dealing with a disappointed or upset giran is somehow worse than calling his mother and he thinks about hanging up the phone and explaining to Giran for a moment that he has a kid and no babysitter. He doesn't know what other explanation he could give Giran that he couldn't disprove in minutes. He’s never been late before, the bus on his routes are suspiciously never late or full. He’s taken note of it before and had just been grateful. Only now does he consider that it may have been the work of his boss.

Maybe he was seeing how far he would go for him. At what point he would choose Kikiyo over his job. He had a job for kikyo, because of kikiyo. Dabi doesn't know the last time he had a moment or thought or action for himself that it wasn't stolen. Kikiyo’s cries turn to screeches as the call gets declined and Dabi’s stomach plummets. He feels sick as he leans against the counter, squeezing his eyes shut against a migraine hard. Redialing Rei’s number, just in case she had been away from the phone and missed the call. “This is Rei todoroki. May I ask who is calling this number?” she doesn't sound like she’s short of breath or in pain. Maybe it’s a good week. She can come and watch kikiyo and they can talk afterwards. Even if she never wanted Dabi, she can want and love her grandchild. Dabi can make peace with whatever he has to for her safety.

“Hey, it’s uh. It’s Touya.” saying his old name feels clumsy. Like an ill fitting coat, it reminds him of a different kind of stress. When he was struggling to be happy for just a few minutes before everything changed and he made plans to never be seen again. Married off to whoever gave enji the most benefits. Nothing but a tool and an object like his mother was treated. Kikiyo had very well saved him from that fate, Dabi isn’t sure how long he would have been able to bear it.

“I, I don’t know if you guys thought I was dead or um. I don't know what exactly you had thought happened to me but I, I had her, your granddaughter. I’m sorry I lied about geting a abortion. I’ve, I’ve been barely making it mom-” He hates doing this. Rei can’t offer him any help and even if she can she won’t. Dabi doesn't want to give up this thing he’s started with Giran. He can just, He needs his mom to watch kikiyo for a few hours. He can make it on his own with just this help from her.

“I can’t give you any money Touya.” she says and Dabi feels a tear dip down his cheek as he realizes her tone never shifted at the realization she was talking to him. Maybe enij reported him as a runaway but they couldn’t arrest him. they couldn't bring him home again because he was over 18.

“No, i. That's not why i’m calling. I need a babysitter.” He feels more tears leak out his eyes and he pokes Kikiyo’s cheek to make the screeching stop.

He places a few crackers in front of her and she’s instantly distracted with the food. Peeping at him every few bites and holding a cracker out for him that he smiles at as he pretends to eat it. Nibbling at her little fingers and forcing himself to smile at her to give his daughter the impression that everything is just fine. Daddy’s just weird sometimes and smells scared when there’s no need for her to worry.

“I have my own job. I just-” He hates begging her for things, she always lets him down and he’s tired of being out of options. “I’m not going to whatever rodent infested place you've landed yourself in to watch your child. Not when you shouldn’t be off partying with some random alpha who I’ve never even met or who never asked us to court you.” Despite the harsh words her tone is dreamy and far off. Dabi knows she’s staring off into space as she speaks on the phone, no clue where he is. Uncaring and someone else will have to dress the kids and feed them tonight, help with homework since he’s not there. She might come back to herself tonight, it's hard to judge over the phone.

“No mom. I’m by myself. The father isn’t in the picture. I told him the same thing I told you.” he panics slightly. She can't process what he’s saying right now, never has been able to. He needs her though. He’s gotten himself so far down in trouble that he can’t get out and he’s comfortable with that until now. “You can come meet your grand baby. She’s wonderfully behaved, I promise. She can just smell me right now and im. I’m scared and alone and i'm in some trouble if i don’t go on this job.” he admits as his eyes widen in panic and when Kikiyo wont eat her crackers and starts crying again he nearly cries with her. Instead he picks her up and bounces her in the air as he holds the phone between his ear and his shoulder. “I said no Touya. I can’t, He would find out. Just like he found out about your clubbing when that young blond man came knocking on the door. Looking for you. Everyone else had to pay for your mistakes because you weren’t here Touya. I refuse to clean up after a child I never wanted. I don’t have a grandbaby or an oldest omega son.” There’s a click as Kikiyo chirps shirlley and Dabi let himself slide down to sit against his counter.

Dabi’s head snapped up as there was a knock on the door. Grabbing Kikiyo and shuffling back away from the door. He glanced towards the balcony door as he held her tightly. They were on the 5th floor, no way he could make it down with her and still manage to run. The missed Call and message from Giran glowed on the screen and he pressed Kikiyo’s face tightly to his chest as he back away down the hallway. Not that it would do either of them any good to hide in the closet, still he pushed the clothes to the side and as he sank to the back shushing Kikiyo he spread them back forward to hide them. He hadn’t even taken his pills recently so he couldn’t hide them, throwing off distressed omega and baby pheromones.

His heart stopped beating as he buried his nose in Kikiyo's hair, clenching his eyes shut and clutching her to his chest as the door rattled and opened, of course Girain had sent someone who could pick locks.

He froze as his bedroom door rattled and a familiar scent met his nose. Kikiyo’s too seeing as how she managed to pull back enough to let out a cry to be picked up. It didn’t matter that Giran had come himself to harm them, that Dabi was terrified out of his mind and uselessly trying to shush her.

“I, I’m sorry Dabi. I didn’t think about how this must look to you.” Giran spoke outside the door. Dabi didn’t dare breath as he heard the rustle of clothes and Giran sat down outside the closet door. Scent deeply sad and like he was trying to comfort Dabi. Old books cigars and coffee the most comforting thing he’d smelled in a long time and the closest thing he’d ever had had to a comforting parental scent.

“Dabi, would. Would you mind coming out here? I can hold her if you wish or you can leave her in there but i think it’s time we talked. About what exactly you plan to do when your a single disowned omega with an infant getting involved in organized crime.” he sighed. Waiting another moment before he stood up and pulled back the door. Pushing Dabi’s clothes out of the way as Kikiyo cried loudly to be transferred to him and Dabi kept his head down, gritting his teeth against literally baring his fangs at Giran and shuffled them back deeper.

Giran let out a heavy long breath before stepping into the closet and sitting down across from them. Wrinkling his suit even further and closing the door behind him. Dabi marginally relaxed as he peered across the dark space at him. He took off his suit coat and placed it behind himself as he held his arms out for kikiyo. Dabi crumbled as he passed her into his arms as she coo’d at him. Patting him on the nose as tears dripped down Dabi’s face, head kept turned to the side as he avoided looking at Giran. Giran held her close and put her near his shoulder like he would burp her. Gently talking to her about how happy he was to meet her and how hard her dad was working to keep her safe. The words ‘I’m so proud of your father’ came out of his mouth and Dabi let out a sob before he managed to shove a mouth over his hand, fliniching back. “Dabi. Come here.” Giran held out his other arm as he comforted Kikiyo and Dabi dove for it. Getting easily pulled into his arms as he sobbed.

He doesn't know how long the 3 of them sat like that, sitting in Dabi’s closet as he sobbed and Kikiyo giggled and Giran held them both.

[batfam-big-bang]

Batfam Big Bang Official Statement Regarding Recent Issues

We have seen the post made in regards to concerns surrounding this bang. We stand by our previous statements (x,x,x,x), and we regret only that the post created in issue with the mods caused so much anxiety for those tagged in it. Fortunately, the tags have now since been removed, so we are hoping to move on from this and carry on our event with the positive environment we have continued to aim for.

We would like to add that we are not professionals armed with an entire trained PR team and are doing our very best in a situation we are not properly prepared for. We are very human, and frankly we are just comic books nerds—all of us young and new and trying our best. We implore you to see us as we are, and not as what River is painting us out to be. 

Despite this, we are trying our best to be as professional as possible with no training and limited experience. Here are some of the measures we’ve put in place to ensure the utmost safety for our participants (some of which we’ve had since the beginning, some of which have been in response to River’s initial concerns before the public post was made, and some in response to the post itself): we have created channels for each team to use as they please to communicate during our event with the mods available at all times; adults can specify if they don’t want to work with minors, and vice versa; we have made our open door policy explicitly clear; the over 18/under 18 roles are used to protect minors from adults bringing up inappropriate topics in front of them + nsfw content is not allowed in our server; we have marked writers who are minors in our spreadsheet to keep track of who is an adult writer; we just implemented the rule that minors can’t work on M works with adult writers. Many of these things are unique to the Batfam Big Bang and are not seen in any other big bang events. 

Our bang will protect those participating by ensuring there is mod supervision for every team. It is not and never was our intention that minors would be left alone with adults; teams are provided channels within our server for communication, and any writer that wishes to create a separate server will now be required to include a mod in the invite. Our mods will continue to be around if anyone has any questions or concerns. You can contact us in the official bang’s askbox, through the server, or direct messages on Discord.

We will provide more specific responses to the points made in the “call out post” below the cut for those interested.

“Minors in the group were forcibly outed by the mods on Discord.”

We were asked to include the above/under 18 question in a previous bang, and we figured the issue would come up again and so preemptively included it. We also asked for names and pronouns so that people could feel safe and welcomed. We did not think we needed to specify that pseudonyms were fine. These roles, on the whole, were never required, although they were encouraged. Anyone who felt uncomfortable disclosing any of that information would not be forced to.

“Sign of cult-mind: Repeating the same phrase almost verbatim in response to unrelated questions.”

Many questions asked were related, and many of our “rote responses” were our mods attempting to stick to the same answers and policies. We had blanket responses for similar questions so as to ensure that our lines did not get crossed. All the mods responded similarly because we all communicated on the issues raised. Every question goes through the entire mod group.

“She added that the mods did not want to publicly address potential predator safety issues because they did not want to ‘plant the seed’ in someone’s mind. NEWS FLASH: Pedophiles are always actively seeking out new victims. Always. They are especially looking for groups and communities where they have easy, unsupervised access to children. Discussing safety protocols does not ‘plant the seed’ to abuse in their minds - it deters potential abuse because predators realize that the community is on guard and actively seeking to protect their children.”

We are very sorry that what we were trying to say was misconstrued, so we will try to be as clear as we can now: we do not want to “plant the seed” in minors’ minds and make them paranoid and anxious about interacting with adults in a safe and fun event. We were afraid that making an announcement as such would do little but cause anxiety. We were not incorrect, as River’s post has now caused many of our participants anxiety, which we were trying to avoid in the first place.

“participants will be pm’ing each other” + “adults being alone”

Participants will never face a situation that calls for one on one interaction. Groups will be between 5-7 people, and as this is a collaborative event all will be in contact with each other together. It was never our intention that adults + minors would be alone. Communication would always be done in groups, and we were always planning on providing places for that to happen within our server. We, of course, cannot guarantee 100% that it will never happen by choice, but that can happen in any server where two people click and want to take a conversation to dms. As far as we know, we are the only big bang event that hosts the team chats in the main server instead of having all teams make their own private chats (the only other being the Percy Jackson Big Bang, which is run by two of our mods, Jay and Shelby).

“*Note - I received no response to this message, despite the group announcement on Tumblr stating how open the mods supposedly are to any and all concerns” + “My notes in response to the above blog announcement, which received no response from mods.”

I did not respond to River’s last message to me as I was leaving for a trip the next day. I wanted time to formulate a response and so did not respond immediately, and then was preoccupied with travelling. So, my apologies, River, for not responding promptly, I suppose that is on me. Our other mods were available if you were particularly anxious. - shelby

The day after that final direct message was sent, mod Shelby went on vacation. They were not particularly active in the server at all in the period following, between that DM and the post. And the replies pictured were at that point what we considered crossing the line into harassment territory, and therefore we did not want to address it with River in an effort to not invite more argument on her part against us.

“* Notes - What concerns me first of all is that the mods are treating children as if they are adults. Children are not adults.”

Children are not adults, but they are deserving of respect and trust, just like any other human being we encounter in a collaborative experience such as this. Just like it’s expected of minors to respect adults in turn, it’s expected of adults to respect minors. And there is a wide spectrum of an eight-year-old minor versus a sixteen or seventeen-year-old minor. It would be reductive to treat one the same as the other. We tried to give both minors and adults the respect we felt they warranted, as people used to dealing with and navigating the internet and fanfiction communities.

“At the very least, know that this is not a community that takes your safety seriously. I also encourage adults to leave the event, too, because say someone gets abused - do you really want to be identified with a group that happens in? Uh, no.”

Minors, we take your safety and you as a person seriously. And adults, if you don’t trust yourself to act appropriately around minors, then yes, you can go ahead and leave. But our event is meant to foster an environment of content creation and collaboration, and we think that it is important that minors have healthy interactions with adults. Minors having those experiences can be incredibly beneficial, as touchstones to compare unhealthy and predatory interactions against, and both parties are people. There is a wide range within the title of ‘minor’ and wide range within ‘adult’. Yes, age of legality matters, but there is a grayscale. Isolating one group from another takes away the good impact that can come from adults and minors having healthy relationships, and, simply, is impossible.

We want you to be safe. We want to respect you. So we are respecting you in our trust that you know to, and will, tell us when your safety is in question, so we can help address it.

[rookieinbflat]

Ours

Ethan x MC (Levin Stern)

WC: ~1700

Tags: @writerapprentice @vickypoochoices

Summary: you guys apparently love the domestic fluff so I’m going to be doing a little mini series about some Mini Ramseys

Levin can barely contain her excitement as she walks down the halls of Edenbrook, towards Ethan’s office. She’s basically running at this point, manoeuvring her way through the patients with a huge smile, the sort of smile that hurts your cheeks. Levin and Sienna had done the blood tests yesterday and the results just came back in. Curling her fingers into a loose fist, she raps her knuckles on the door to his office gently. He calls out for her to enter and when she opens the door, he looks up at her over the lenses of his glasses, he looks so hot in his glasses, she thinks to herself silently, though she’s said it to him out loud numerous times.

He smiles softly, her beauty never failing to impress him, “To what do I owe the pleasure?” She smirks at him, walking over to his desk and preaching herself by his left side, the skirt she’s wearing rides up over her legs and Ethan has to remind himself that they’re in the workplace. Ethan’s desk is littered with papers and medical journals, he’s writing his new book and the research seems almost endless, if only he could pull out of the contract with the publisher.

“I have some test results I wanted you to look over, the patient has been complaining of lower back pain, abdominal cramps and occasional nausea,” Levin hands him the stack of papers, printed in black and white.

Ethan looks over the blood tests, “Hm, I can't see anything wrong,” he murmurs, “except for here, c’mon Rookie, these are hCG positive,” he shakes his head, surprised she missed such obvious results, his eyes scan up to the corner of the page and looks at the patient name and age.

Stern, L E 17/09/1992

Levin braces herself as he puts the pieces together, his brows furrow and then he shoots out of his chair, gathering her in his arms and spinning the young doctor around his office. Levin squeals loud enough for the entire hospital to hear, but she doesn’t care, she’s excited and full of love. Ethan places her back down on the floor and holds her by the hips, “We’re gonna have a baby?” He asks with a twinkle in his blue eyes, the last time she saw this exact look was their wedding day.

“Actually, Dr Ramsey, I think you missed something in these results,” she smirks and picks up the results from the large oak desk, showing him the paper and pointing out numbers from the blood tests.

A small whisper escapes from his lips, “Twins?” Ethan is shellshocked, a baby was one thing but twins, my god, they were going to need to move, not to mention the cost of baby supplies and getting them on a waiting list for a good daycare, had Levin been taking prenatal supplements? She’s going to need a new car with a higher safety rating and cut back on the caffeine.

Levin looked up at him in awe, her gorgeous husband had been in this hospital since he was twenty-six and had rarely let his guard down, until now. Levin reaches up and places her soft hands on his cheeks, gently caressing them with her thumbs, “Babe, we're gonna get through this,” she reassures him with kind eyes, her voice is calm and soothing and Ethan feels like they’re the only two people in the universe, “together,” he lets out a breath he didn't realise he was holding and leans down to kiss her softly, his stubble tickling her lips.

He sighs, “We're going to have a family,” he says the words like he almost doesn’t believe them, “how far along?” He queries, his gorgeous wife looking up at him with chocolate brown eyes.

“About three months, we’ll need to ultrasound to confirm twins, but they run in my family so I’ve got a pretty good idea,” she chuckles and he throws the paper over his shoulder and all but drags her to obstetrics, plants her in a chair and boots up the ultrasound machine.

The gel he spreads across her torso is cold and she shivers, but when two little blobs start to show up on the ultrasound screen, she’s struggling to hold back tears. The increased hormones haven’t really helped the fact that Levin cries at just about anything, from a cute dog on the sidewalk, to mildly sad stories she sees on the internet. These babies were going to change their life, Levin has wanted this since the day they started going steady, after growing up in a big family, she’d always dreamed of starting her own and now here they were - at the beginning of that journey.

Ethan reaches over to take her hand in his and he squeezes it hard like she’s the only thing keeping holding him to Earth, “Ours.”

—————

The months that follow are a blur and Ethan has launched into full doctor mode - it's endearingly annoying. Levin sighs and rolls out of bed, it's a little past five am and even though she has a day off today, she can't bring herself to sleep in. She sits on the edge of the bed and stretches out of arms and shoulders before standing up to look in the mirror on the vanity. She’s showing now, her belly is round and stretch marks are littered across her hips, she’s had to buy maternity bras which probably run the same price as their utility bill. Levin runs her hands across the skin there, picturing the two little babies growing inside of her. Pregnancy has been both a miracle and a really weird experience. No one prepared her for the feeling of having twins do somersaults in her body, kicking and moving all the time.

Seven months down, two to go.

Levin used to cry a lot - sad movies, cute dogs, adoption videos, you name it and she’s probably cried over it, but since the ultrasound, she hasn’t cried once. Ethan jokes that the pregnancy hormones were better than any anti-anxieties he could prescribe. Ethan has cut back on work, he only goes in five days a week now, he leaves early in the morning and is always home by seven, usually six. They spend their weekends in the park or wandering around the city, looking at boutique baby stores and figuring out what they want their future life as a family to look like. He comes home with sorbet a lot, draws her baths and massages the tension out of her shoulder. They day he tells Naveen the news is the best day of his life, Naveen looks between the two of them with stars in his eyes, his dream of seeing his mentee living his life to the fullest more rewarding that any case he’s ever solved.

Levin attempts to pull her robe around her and walks out to the kitchen where Ethan is preparing breakfast. He does this every morning, no matter what time he has to be at the hospital and he's back every night for dinner. Levin thinks he's more nervous about the pregnancy than her, he spends all his spare time reading parenting books, medical journals on parenting, talking to obstetricians at the top of their field, childhood behavioural analysts. She knows that he's worried about being a good dad, but Levin has no doubts at all. She wouldn’t have gotten this far if she wasn’t completely and utterly sure of the fact that he was going to be the best dad for their children. Levin smiles and turns down the radio slightly, its Mozart and just a little bit loud for five am. She walks over to where he’s cooking eggs on the stovetop and wraps her arms around him, despite the obvious protrusion coming off of her torso.

“Morning,” she sighs lazily and he turns the heat off on the eggs so he can turn around to face her, kissing her softly.

“Morning Rookie, sleep alright?” Ethan brushes stray hairs out of her face and watches her with blue eyes that make her weak at the knees, “sorry if I woke you,”

“No, my body clock is still running on early morning wake-ups,” She shuffles him out of the way and places two eggs on her plate, along with a side of veggies and baked tofu. Ethan hands her a capful of the three different prenatal vitamins he's got her on and she washes them down with some water, “Thanks for making breakfast,” his smile could light up the city, she’s sure of it.

They sit down at the table and Ethan is flicking through his emails when something catches his eye, “Lev,” he lifts his chin, asking her to join him on the other side of the table, “the realtor just sent me this,” he turns the iPad so she can see and her eyes light up.

She gasps softly, “Oh my god, Ethan, it's beautiful,” she tells him, her smile is stretched bright across her face. They’ve been looking for houses since they found out she was pregnant but they’ve struggled to find the perfect place. Everything was too small, or too big, too far out of town or not enough space. Great real estate in Boston was not an easy thing to come by, and when it did come around it often didn't stay on the market for long.

Ethan feels anxiety bubble in his gut - it's getting closer and closer to go time. They were talking about baby names, nursery colours, preschools to send them to. He’s wracked with nerves but then he glances at Levin from the corner of his eye and he sees that smile that gives him a reason. If angels exist, she’s got to be one of them, Ethan is sure of it.

He wraps an arm around her and uses his other hand to navigate the webpage, “They have a viewing on Saturday,” he points out the dates and times, “I’m supposed to be at work but I’m sure I can swing an hour or so off to go with you,” he's smiling now too.

“If you can't make it I’m sure Sienna would come with me, it's not a huge problem,” before she can argue anymore he cuts her off with a kiss, his eyes soft.

“I’ll be there.” He says it with no room for protest so she relents, leans in slowly and tells him she loves him.

[iambuckyrogers]

Promises

Summary: You made a promise to yourself to not succumb to your boss’s charm. How will you cope when you realise you're falling for him?

Word Count: 2340

Pairing: Tony Stark x Reader

Warnings: panic attack, angst, some swear words, it ends happily I swear

Authors Note: This was for @petersshirts  1k challenge. It was struggling a bit with a good storyline for this prompt but thanks to a shitty date I went on recently and my terminally unrequited crush I came up with this beauty. Likes, reblogs and comments are appreciated xx

Prompt: “I’m done. I’m done trying so hard only for you to never look in my direction.”

* * * * *

When you took the job as Tony Stark’s assistant you made a promise to yourself, that you wouldn’t fall for the playboy’s charm. You had done quite well in the first few months, keeping all correspondence strictly professional, never acknowledging his occasional flirtatious remarks or engaging in functions that weren’t work-related. It had all gone downhill quickly when one morning Friday sent you an urgent message calling you to Tony’s workshop. She hadn’t elaborated on what the problem was, so you went in expecting the absolute worst. Due to Tony’s notorious disdain towards personal safety, you expected him to have been injured by some sort of explosion or an invention gone wrong. What you were met with certainly wasn’t what you thought you’d see. Instead, you found Tony curled up in the foetal position at the foot of his workbench. His face was buried into his knees as he rocked himself back and forth, body shaking uncontrollably. You approached him cautiously, an outstretched hand brushing him gently on the shoulder as you settled yourself on the floor next to him.

“Tony, it’s Y/N,” you whispered, “are you ok?” You didn’t really expect a response, it was more to just let him know that you were there for him. He slowly uncurled himself and looked at you with red-rimmed eyes, tear tracks glistening on his cheeks. His breathing was shallow and rapid, sweat beaded along his forehead. You had never seen him look so vulnerable and it broke your heart. You reached out and took one of his hands in yours, resting your fingers on his pulse point you felt the manic beating of his heart.

“Tony, I’m going to need you to take some deep breaths with me, okay?” you took a deep breath, letting it out slowly, “Just like that Tony. Do the next one with me,” You took another breath, this time Tony followed your lead. He took in a shaky breath, held it for a few seconds before letting it out again.

“Okay just a couple more,” you reassured him. He closed his eyes and continued to breathe deeply, each breath coming easier than the last. Gradually, his heart rate returned to normal, you squeezed his hand gently before pulling away.

“How do you feel now, Tone?” you asked. He took another deep breath and opened his eyes but looked anywhere but at you.

“Better thanks,” he replied shortly, pulling himself to his feet and quickly busying himself with the mess of tools that littered his workbench.

“Do you know what triggered your anxiety?” Tony’s shoulders tensed. He turned from his bench to face you, his face unreadable.

“No, I’m fine,” he murmured, more as a question than a statement, “you can go now.” He dismissed you with a wave of his hand and turned back to focus on his work. Not wanting to upset him any further you hurried out of his workshop and went back to your own work.

Since that day, your mission to keep your feelings towards your boss strictly professional got infinitely harder. Seeing a different side of Tony changed the way you saw him. You caught a glimpse of the softer, more sensitive side to the usual extravagant, cocky man that you were so used to dealing with and you wanted to get to know him more. Each interaction with him left your heart beating just a little faster, your hands a bit clammy and heart not quite filled. The only issue was, since that day Tony seemed to be going out of his way to avoid you. He spent as much time as he could locked away in his workshop and when he did emerge he kept any dealings with you very short and succinct. You were starting to go mad, torn between wanting Tony’s attention and wanting to punch him in his stupid face. Your best friend, Y/F/N, wasn’t oblivious to your struggles.

“Come on Y/N, just give it a try,” Y/F/N implored waving the phone in front of your face.

“Fine,” you groaned snatching the phone out of their hand. They had been trying for weeks to get you to sign up for tinder and you’d reached your wits end, giving in if only to shut them up for five minutes. You went about setting up your profile, adding a few decent pictures of yourself but you were stumped for what to write in the bio.

“Just write whatever you feel is right,” your friend suggested. So you did just that, settling for one of the cringiest pick up lines you could find on the internet.

“Hey how does this sound? Are you french? Because Eiffel for you,” you choke out through giggles. Your friend shakes their head and laughs softly.

“Man, that’s so bad.”

“I know, that’s the point.” You had no intention of actually pursuing anyone on tinder so hopefully, the terrible pun would turn any potential suitors off.

“Now start swiping!” your friend snatched the phone out of your hand and swiped right on everyone they came across.

“Woah no don’t do that!” you shouted wrestling them for the phone.

“A match!” they cheered triumphantly causing you to stop your assault.

“Really?!”

“Yep and look at this, they’ve already messaged!” your friend held the phone out to you and sure enough on the screen was a message from a guy named Martin.

Martin: Do you like raisins?

“What the hell?” your fingers hovered over the keyboard thinking of how you could reply to such an odd message. Eventually, you typed your response.

Y/N: Not overly fond but i do enjoy wine

Within seconds Martin replied.

Martin: Well how would you feel about a date?

“Wow this guy is smooth,” you laughed to your friend.

“See it’s not that bad,” they chided to which you stuck out your tongue.

You kept talking to Martin. He was a surprisingly decent guy, he always messaged to see how your day was, he’d tell you bad jokes if you were feeling down and he never once sent you an unsolicited dick pic! Things were going pretty well for you and Martin but you still couldn’t get Tony truly out of your head. It was hard when you saw him almost every day, each time was like a punch to the gut reminding you of what you couldn’t have. You thought about quitting but the pay was amazing and besides, you were really good at your job and doubted that they would let you go without a fight. After a few weeks of talking to Martin, you finally set a date. You were going to meet him at an Italian restaurant in downtown New York. After finishing up your errands for the day you returned to your quarters in the compound. Another perk of being Tony’s assistant, you never knew when he’d need you, so you were on call 24/7 and got to live at the Avengers compound. You had decided to wear the new cocktail dress that you had gotten for your birthday. It was a little red, off the shoulder number that hugged your figure perfectly and accentuated your best features. You finished off your look with silver hoop earrings, a pearl bracelet and silver heels. You applied your make up and pulled your hair up into a loose bun, giving yourself one last look in the mirror before hurrying out to the awaiting uber. You walk past the common room where you spot Tony nursing a bottle of Jack Daniels and bag of popcorn, watching a David Attenborough documentary about the Great Barrier Reef. You kept your head down and walked quickly, heels clicking obnoxiously on the tiled floor.

“Hey Y/N where are you going?” he slurred, pausing the tv and leaning over the back of the couch to watch you as you hurried past.

“On a date, Mr Stark,” you explained stopping in your tracks but not turning around to face him.

“Oh,” he sighed turning back around and flicking the tv on again. You took a deep breath and continued through the compound out to the driveway where the uber was waiting, ready to take you to Martin.

The driver pulled up outside the restaurant, you thanked him and emerged into the chill of the evening air. You were a few minutes early so you decided to wait inside where it was warmer.

“Table for one?” the waiter asked once you entered the restaurant.

“Two actually,” you corrected him, “my date is coming later.” The waiter nodded, picked up 2 menus and gestured for you to follow him. He seated you at a cosy window booth, overlooking a grassy park filled with people enjoying the evening. He poured you a glass of water and silently returned to his post at the door. You checked your phone quickly for the time, it was 6:00 so Martin should be arriving soon.

Ten minutes passed, then 15 which quickly turned to 20 and there was no sign of Martin. He hadn’t even messaged you to say he was going to be late. Frustrated and annoyed you waved the waiter over and got some more breadsticks and a bottle of red wine. You poured yourself a glass and waited some more. An hour ticked past and still no Martin. You had finished the wine and had eaten enough breadsticks to feed a small army. You were upset and mad all at the same time, a tsunami of emotions wreaking havoc on your brain. You decided that it was time to leave, you paid for your meal and tipped the waiter handsomely for fetching you so many breadsticks. It wasn’t long before your uber arrived and you were en route back to the compound.

With your heels in your hand, you stumbled through the compound towards your room. Everything was quiet and dark, you walked with your arms out, feeling around like you were blindfolded and trying to find the piñata at a birthday party. Your arms connected with something hard just moments before you kicked your toe into it.

“Fucking shit,” you swore hopping around on your uninjured foot.

“Y/N?” someone whispered causing you to drop your shoes to the floor with a loud crash. “Friday turn on the lights please.” The lights burst to life, you had to shield your eyes from the sudden intrusion. When your eyes had adjusted you looked around to get your bearings. You had walked into the wall right next to the doorway that you were looking for which lead to your room. The voice you had heard was Tony’s, he was in the same position as you had left him only this time the Jack Daniels bottle was empty and he was surrounded by empty food wrappers.

“What’s up darlin’, you look like crap,” Tony garbled looking you up and down.

“Yeah well I feel like crap too,” you sniffed wiping away the tears that threatened to spill from your eyes.

“Don’t cry sweetheart it can’t be that bad. What’s wrong?”

“Everything,” you choked out, a fresh wave of sadness hitting you like a brick wall. You walked over and slumped onto the couch, tears streaming down your face.

“Want to talk about it?” he whispered moving closer to you.

“Well, that makes a change,” you scoffed moving back so that there was distance between you once again.

“What do you mean?” he asked, taken aback by your tone.

"You’re part of the problem. I’m done. I’m done trying so hard only for you to never look in my direction. You’ve been avoiding me for weeks and I know it. Christ, I even went on a stupid tinder date to try and get you off of my mind only for it to bite me in the ass. I’m sick and tired of being so hopelessly in love with you,” you gasped having realised what you just said, “I’m sorry,” you sobbed into your hands, wishing that your tears could wash away all of the pain you felt inside. You felt a gentle hand brush along your shoulder.

“Hey Y/N, it’s ok,” Tony reassured you, “because I feel the exact same way. I’m an idiot, after you helped me in the lab I freaked out. I’ve lost so many people who’ve cared about me and I couldn’t stand losing you. I thought that the only way to keep you safe was to push you away but clearly that hasn’t helped either you or I. Please forgive me.” You looked into Tony’s eyes, searching for some kind of hint that he was joking, that it was all an elaborate prank but all you found there was the love and admiration that he felt for you.

“God we’re stupid,” you laughed softly as Tony wiped a few stray tears from your cheeks.

“What a pair we are,” he laughed tears of his own pooling in his eyes. He brushed a strand of hair behind your ear before gently cupping your face in his calloused hand. His eyes flicked from your eyes to your lips and back up again as he slowly brought your faces closer together. Your eyes fluttered shut when he finally pressed his lips to yours. Time seemed to slow as you kissed, a single moment of passion stretched out to infinity. You wound your hands into Tony’s hair, pulling him in closer. You gasped as he nipped at your bottom lip allowing him to sweep his tongue into your mouth. He tasted of whisky and smelt like home, he was everything you had imagined and more. You pulled back and rested your forehead against his, needing a chance to catch your breath. You had not just broken your promise of not falling for the playboy’s charm, you had completely and utterly destroyed it, like a tree in a wood chopper there was no going back. Not that you would want to anyway.  

[davids69811]

Discovering a Computer Service Center You Can Trust Fund

Your have a computer repair that requires to get done right now. You are ready to take it anywhere. Concern is, where should you take it? Does it actually matter where you take it? I would suggest that it does. Here are some things you might have not considered before.  PC Repairs

What sort of reverse time do they have? Some computer system repair shops will take two to three weeks to return your computer to you. Are you ready to be without your computer for that long? Otherwise, shop around. There are computer system service center that can get your computer back to you in just a few hours. Some of these faster companies can bill a lot more yet the rate is worth it if you are working with a huge project that has to get done as soon as possible.

What do they bill for their hourly fee? Some firms bill actually high fees and take an actually long time to obtain the computer system back to you. You wish to take your repair service to a computer repair shop that will certainly fast as well as will certainly do the repair right the first time. Try to find a computer service center that uploads their prices. Most shops have an established catalog for particular tasks. Try to find a business that can offer you a solid quote before they start their job. You must likewise ensure they will certainly contact you for authorization if there is any type of reason to boost their repair service expense prior to they start the repair service PC Repairs.

Computer System Repair Service - Choosing a Computer System Service Center While on Vacation

Even in this slowing economy, lots of people still handle to take a holiday. As well as if you are like me, whether you travel for service and/or satisfaction, you bring a laptop.

Getaway Issues

Unfortunately, a fair quantity of people have their laptops damage while vacationing. As careful as you attempt to be, you run out your element and things happen. Maybe it gets dropped at the resort, or maybe you obtain it infected with viruses or spyware while searching online for information about your area. Now, I'm not saying by any means, that Googling for info about some vacation hotspot straight causes getting contaminated. However internet search engine outcomes can lead you to destructive links.

Everybody's internet searching routines are different, their internet sharp vary and so do the safety and security items they use. I know of people vacationing that have actually taken numerous video clips and pictures as well as downloaded them to their laptop computer so they can take more the following day. After that ... BOOM! an unexpected and unforeseen issue occurs with their laptop computer PC Repairs.

If you aren't there for long as well as have a serious trouble, you could simply want to wait till you get residence to have it fixed. However if you have a pair days, or have a computer system emergency situation that can't wait, there are many regional computer system fixing firms that can assist.

Exactly how to Select a Neighborhood Computer Repair Company

First of all, if your computer still start up and you think it is simply a software trouble such as a program error or a spyware infection, you are a great candidate for an on site go to. But if you want service the same day you call, you must call as early as possible, as on site solution is normally by visit only PC Repairs.

An additional note regarding on site service is that there are a variety of mobile only specialists (free-lancers) and stores that can dispatch their very own mobile professionals. In either case, their charge as well as level of experience can differ considerably. I need to admit, that when a customer is concerned concerning whether the technician can handle the job, I do not like obtaining talked to over the phone for 15 mins and after that the prospective consumer asks if they can call you back. That normally implies to us that you have no intention of calling back and also you simply really did not want to harm our feelings. Whatever the situation, there was some objection, generally the cost, trust, inquiries about being able to handle the work, organizing, or whatever PC Repairs.

Asking Concerns

What I would certainly state you should seek, is a specialist that agrees to pay attention to your trouble, and after that ask "YOU" sufficient inquiries to obtain a company understanding about your computer trouble. Many customers have a hard time attempting to explain their issue and just require a little support. You ought to begin feeling secure when the service technician begins to clarify the symptoms and also some feasible causes back to you in words that make sense. I have fixed sufficient computers (lots of thousands) that I can possibly get sufficient information out of you to describe the situation that brought about your issue, along with a fair estimate.

Inside Information

Currently some professionals, including myself sometimes, will certainly have a tendency to restrict "all" the feasible causes for your problem, so as not to frighten you. We can only do so a lot over the phone, and also if there were a small chance of the issue being a pricey motherboard, I wouldn't want to dwell on that if it were more probable to be another thing. Envision your Medical professional discussing cancer cells when you thought you just had a negative cold, and he had not also run any type of examinations yet. However sometimes, despite just how much we hope it isn't serious, often it is. Currently simply to be reasonable, I recognize the client likewise often tends to maintain info to themselves also, for the anxiety that exposing every little thing will certainly make the task cost extra. Whatever the problems are, they will eventually be disclosed throughout fixing anyway. However called long as possible up front aids us to offer you a far better estimate over the phone so we can perform the repair service with no surprises ... for "both" people. Simply remember that we have no control over what you bring us ... what it is, is what it is PC Repairs.

Sadly, some service technicians just intend to set the consultation and don't wish to claim a lot over the phone besides to set the consultation. These guys do not know what they will certainly be walking right into, and also you may obtain a surprise in your bill. I such as to take a little bit of time as well as speak about the problem to see if the task even qualifies to be done on site, because frankly, there are some jobs I do not wish to accept, at the very least out website. They may be labor intensive, making it hard to maintain the rate down, or it simply may require the full-service abilities of a shop.

How much time Should a Repair Work Take?

The majority of on site techs charge per hour, as well as most "telephone certified" tasks need to be able to be repaired on site in between 1 - 2 hours. For suspicious tasks and also outright labor intensive work, I recommend you bring them into a store. Once checked-in store, the whole fixing process is different. Techs need to deal with numerous computer systems simultaneously. Not a big bargain, but it makes an average repair work take in between 2 -4 days.

While dealing without your computer for a few days may give you convulsions, you will be getting a lot even more worth for your money and also the cost is normally based on a level price. I recognize that we perform hrs of additional tedious work like Windows Updates, Disk Defragmentation, Scanning the Hard disk for mistakes, physical cleaning, and also more. Points that you absolutely would not wish to pay additional for if done on site. Having a computer in-shop additionally helps the technology to observe it long enough to see if there are any kind of intermittent problems. Visiting your residence or resort for a hr or so could not disclose these types of troubles PC Repairs.

Most stores additionally have an "accelerate" solution for in-shop repair services where your computer system can be sent to the head of the line, and oftentimes, these can be repaired within 24-hour or even the same day if brought in early enough. Currently all this is based on bringing your computer system into a "local shop" not one of those mega computer system stores.

One thing I neglected to state, is that if you still have a means to get online, I recommend you utilize the net to Google for a neighborhood computer system store. Google is respectable at providing a list of local business and you will certainly have the ability to develop an impact of the company you are calling by their web site, in addition to, that, what, where, why and also how much they are prior to they call. You can likewise contrast what they claim on their web site to what they say over the phone.

Whoever you choose is inevitably your option, however I wish this short article aided notify you concerning a few things you probably never ever believed when it involves choosing a computer system fixing company, whether you are on holiday or in your home town PC Repairs.

Computer System Fixing Buying

Computer Repair work.

When seeking a computer system service center, lots of customers are as doubtful as they would be when acquiring an utilized car, or looking for vehicle repair service. Like the auto market, there is no scarcity of computer system repair service procedures that are more than delighted to benefit from people who are left with no option yet to trust them. Commonly these locations overcharge, are not concerned with maintaining you as a repeat consumer, and/or will not extensively repair the computer system at all. In a lot of cities in the areas though, there are lots of truthful as well as diligent PC fixing techs, and also its most likely you'll be searching for one ultimately if you use a computer daily. Below are a couple of key points to consider when looking for a new computer system repair service guy.

Exactly how to find computer system repair shop?

Word of mouth is constantly reputable, yet not always offered. If you have been residing in the very same area for a long time, or occur to know several people in your town, ask about. Possibilities are that if you have 3 pals a minimum of among them has used a regional computer repair work solution. Additionally, as well as much more reasonably, making use of an internet search is a fantastic (possibly the greatest) way to locate a computer system repair work service. Here's why; making a site quickly searchable and also noticeable is something that needs a certain expertise and also skill, by the time a person has actually created an internet site that looks expert, and also made it quickly searchable for their geo-specific location, they likely are educated and also expert in the modern technology field PC Repairs.

Just how to tell a repair shop is a good one?

First impressions are vital. Exactly how does their advertising and marketing look? Does their website/signs/business card appear like it was made by an innovation specialist? Does the workdesk clerk solution questions/have any appropriate expertise? Does the building resemble a genuine service, or a sham operation someone is running out of their house? Most computer repair shops provide at the very least a couple of standard services, like laptop computer display substitute, infection removal, hard drive replacement, and raising handling rate. Be wary of shops that only offer, or case to "specialize" in one service PC Repairs.

What makes a computer system repair business far better than another?

There are a couple of distinctive and essential high qualities that divide the poor from the good, as well as the great from the terrific PC service center. Initially, ask about turnaround time. Computer system fixing takes some time; particularly when details parts require to be bought, but no person intends to be without their PC for a month to get a brand-new hard drive mounted. Most computer fixing jobs will certainly take a couple of hours once they are really started. If the shop attempts to encourage you then require weeks for the repair work, or are so busy they will not reach your job for weeks, discover another business. Next off, ask about a warranty or warranty on the work. 3rd party tech can not guarantee produces parts, however you require to understand that if they damage your computer system even more, or it breaks shortly after you get it back, that you have some recourse. The majority of great stores will certainly guarantee their work for 30-90 days. One more point to think about is the dimension of the company. Large business like Best Buy and also Geek Team are risk-free, since they are most likely to have the most considerable guarantees and insurance policies, but are often pricey, and also will apply basic solutions to your computer system, rather than extensively solve any kind of problems. Smaller stores are more likely to solve really specific issues, and also work about delicate needs, however you run the risk of taking care of bogus companies. Utilize your best judgment.

Obtain Your COMPUTER Fixed by Top Quality Computer System Fix Store

Computer systems have actually ended up being a very important part of our lives be it at the workplace or in your home. Our service is completely depending on the computer systems; on the other hand we utilize a computer in our homes as a home amusement gadget. Many business all over the globe are making a wide range of computers that remain in excellent demand around the globe too. The computer makes our lives pretty simple however if it instantly quits working after that our life is completely ruined. Infection strikes are rather common if you are making use of net and also these virus attacks can be pretty serious as well PC Repairs.

But you don't require to stress you can conveniently obtain your computer dealt with from the closest computer system service centers. Several computer systems damage down daily but there are thousands of computer systems experts who can repair your computer at a nominal cost. For locating a computer system repairing shop just type computer system repair work Sydney in an online search engine as well as you will most definitely come across tons of information and a variety of stores as well. These repairing shops have worked with some of the most competent as well as qualified experts that can spot any type of error within minutes. Furthermore these are loaded with all devices which assist out of commission any type of problem.

Mobile computer system repair work generally imply a group of computer system experts who prepare to fix any trouble at anytime as well as they are simply a call away. The mobile computer system repair work Sydney is really well-known around the city and also is engaged in successfully serving hundreds of homes and offices for the past many years. The computer system repair shops can repair all kind of computers no matter if you have an older version which is not in use any longer. All these provider charge a nominal cost for common problems. Furthermore, they recognize the value of time and offer these services in the minimal time possible PC Repairs.

[leather-n-laces]

It took me a year to break down but I finally (angrily) admitted something out loud.

Last year we had to put our 13 y/o golden retriever down. Around the same time, my middle sister decided to drop everyone and her responsibilities, including her pet (s) in favour of a relationship. Her dog Skye, fell into the worst fucking depression I’ve seen in my life. Skyes friend was gone, she saw her owner maybe once every few days for five minutes. She stopped eating, wouldn’t play, wouldn’t go outside, she just wasted away in her kennel. Nothing I did helped because I’m not pack, I’m not her mom.

So it was decided we needed to get another dog for Skye. I wanted to adopt an older dog, preferably a golden. I wanted an older dog. I was fucked up last summer. I couldn’t handle a puppy, I knew that. No one else was around and I wouldn’t have trusted any of them to look after a puppy anyways because my family is made up of the most irresponsible lot of people in the universe.

My sister and mother are adamant we can’t get an older dog. They think Skye will react badly or feel like her position as leader is challenged. I try to tell them that’s what meetings are for! That’s why you do home visits! But no. It needs to be a puppy. A puppy that can handle 70lbs of Skye.

So they start obsessively trolling the internet for puppy ads. After a few weeks of them obsessing we make a 2hr drive to the middle of nowhere to see a bunch of puppies. I saw the pictures and said yeah one of them is super pretty 🤷🏻‍♀️ idc if we see them

Skye is super fucked up by this point. I’m the only one trying to help, no one else is listening to me. In my mind - this is bad. Skye was already sick, and what if it got worse? It was so easy to picture her just...dying. Like giving up because physically she already had.

I have severe anxiety. I’m terrified of getting in trouble, I’m terrified of people being unhappy with me or me saying the wrong thing.

We’re playing with puppies and they all look at me “it’s your choice, it’s up to you, your dog”

I was not mentally sound at the time. They all knew it, I could barley get out of bed, I wasn’t sleeping, I was sick, drinking every other night. On top of that - I will make every decision based off what I think will make people happy

Even if it’s the absolute wrong answer and I know it is

They stare at me, it’s almost 11pm. “What do you think? It’s your dog. Your choice” (I don’t remember why they decided it was my dog??? I have a dog, I didn’t want another???? I think it was because I was home all the time...)

I reluctantly say yes. Because she’s cute and we drove all this way, it’s late and what if we drove out here for nothing? Maybe it will help Skye! This is apparently, literally the only thing I can do in my brain. So I say yes.

Within a week I realize holy fuck we have a puppy. This is a lot for me. This is very close to too much for me. I’m still in a very bad way so I beg my mother to help me with her, ask her to get my sisters to help. No one does - “your dog!!!”

A year later. River is over 70+ pounds and afraid of everything. She has a big booming bark and jumps/tries to drag me to people, dogs, other animals, or loud vehicles like she’s telling them to fuck off. I can barely manage her. Ilene don’t have a fenced yard and I’m scared to take her off the property. I know she wouldn’t hurt anyone/anything but a huge dog jumping and barking? That’s a bad fuxking look.No one else, save for my boyfriend will take her out. Or play with her. My mother doesn’t call her River, she calls her “fucking retard” or “moron” or “idiot” or “dumbass”. The only time she pays the dog any attention is if she’s yelling at her and telling her how bad she is. My mother tried to use her “ negative reinforcement training”on River (grabbing her ear and pulling her into submission/TIL it hurts???) and I freaked the fuck out. I don’t care what she’s doing. You don’t hurt things to teach them. My mother got SO mad at me.

I found a trainer, we’ve only had two lessons. Part of it is I got busy and depressed after I was fired. I spent all my time sorting out a new job, and since I was home 24/7 I was expected to be housemaid again. I was surrounded by the negativity and the hate and the fucking mess all the time.

The trainer was so kind and knowledgeable but I’m terrified of getting in contact with her. I haven’t made any improvements with River because I let myself drown in the depression. To make matters worse. I would try to explain what the professional trainer recommended, how to proceed with River. Everyone ignores it. My dad thinks it’s stupid, my mother just doesn’t give a fuck. It made me feel so defeated. Like what am I supposed to do if they’re going to undo all the work?

Why is this coming out now?

River chose my baby sister as her second alpha. My baby sister will tell you herself she’s not a good person. She has her moments but overall she’s a Grade A Bitch. My sister has 0 time for River and her puppy energy. Which is bad because the dog loves her. Wants pets from her, wants to play with her. My sister forcibly shoves her and yells at her.

Tonight my sister looked at me and said “if that dumbass jumps on the couch I’m throwing her ass off.” In the most vicious tone I’ve heard in my life. I went off. I fucking went off. I’m so tired of people treating her like shit. It’s not her fault she’s here, it’s ours. It’s our fault she’s not trained, her bad behaviours are our fault.

During my rant about that I blurted out that I didn’t even want a puppy. I didn’t want a dog. She tried to say “well why didn’t you say no?” And I lost it. I did say no but I had to give up. I did what I thought was right because it was about the well-being of the pack.

BF and I go out. When I come home my father is waiting, and like I’m 12, asks where all this stuff about not wanting the dog came from. Why did I let it happen? Why didn’t I say anything! I tried to tell him that I literally couldn’t. I was terrified, because this would be my fault too - if it didn’t work out all the money spent and the annoyance caused would be on me. He also said my sister told him she asked me nicely to keep the dog off the couch and I tore her apart for no reason. Which, she lies. Years ago she sent my dad 30 manic texts telling him I was so mad I was going to kill her and she feared for her safety. She begged him to tell me not to touch her. Our other sister is my witness, I’m not And ever have been violent, and I was mad that night but all those texts she sent about me threatening her? I didn’t talk to her at all that night. Not a word. Not a fucking word.

I’m so tired of this. I don’t deserve it, River doesn’t deserve it. I’m at my wits end with everyone and as bad as it is - with River (it’s my fault - I’ve been a shit owner) and I don’t know what to do anymore. I feel like such a bad fucking owner, for even saying “I didn’t want her” but it’s true. I got her because I thought that was what needed to be done. It wasn’t a good idea. I don’t want to get ride of her. No ones suggested it but I feel like if things don’t improve someone will say something. As much as she drives me crazy and as anxious as she makes me I don’t think I could. we’ve always had big dogs and I know if I could just get her energy managed properly and stick with the training she would be good. It’s so hard to work with her because we don’t have a fenced yard, no one we know does. We don’t have space in the house right now either where I can do 1 on 1. I can’t get her energy down because taking her out is a nightmare. I’m always worried about what if someone gets scared by her and calls animal control? What if I let go of the leash when she’s pulling like crazy and she runs into traffic? We live beside a highway...that’s busy all the time. She’s so strong and I’m just...not. I’m no match for a scared/hyped up Monster.

I just don’t know what to do anymore. I kind of want to send a lengthy email to the trainer explaining the situation, because I haven’t contacted her in over a month but even that terrifies me since there’s been no progress because I suck...

[abcnewsgathering-blog]

CAMERAMAN’S CHALLENGE ON MOSUL’S BATTLEFIELDS - GET THE SHOT WITHOUT GETTING SHOT

(Aaron Hollett inside an Iraqi military vehicle travelling to the war zone in Mosul - Photo: ABC News)

Filming the battle to reclaim the Iraqi city of Mosul from Islamic State for the Four Corners program, ‘Highway to Hell’, was a dangerous and difficult assignment for cameraman Aaron Hollett. He and Middle East Correspondent Matt Brown came under fire as conflict erupted between government forces and IS fighters. They also had to contend with difficult weather conditions, limited food supplies and keeping camera and communications equipment charged in areas with no electricity. 

By Aaron Hollett

We ended up making three trips to Iraq for the Four Corners story, each one was very different. Our last one was the most dangerous. Before we left, we had security and safety briefings and phone hook ups with our managers in Sydney. I wasn’t sure what to expect and some mild anxiety had gone through my head in the weeks leading up to the trip. In the end it all turned out well.

(Correspondent Matt Brown and cameraman Aaron Hollett on assignment in Mosul for Four Corners - Photo: ABC News)

I took my large P2 camera. Some people like to shoot on smaller cameras, such as a C300, but I feel I miss things while fiddling around with buttons. I can operate my PX5000 with my eyes closed and it puts out great pictures. The standard and wide lenses never fail me and they are of high quality. The C100 I have in the office is not equipped with the lenses I would need to cover a war. I can zoom very quickly with the standard lens on the P2. I try to never miss a shot. I always shoot on at least a five second pre-roll when in a conflict zone. This allows me to catch the audio of something unfolding if I haven’t yet pressed record, so it means the camera is always rolling. For example, I can pan straight over to Matt Brown and get his reaction to an explosion.

We were assigned to the Iraqi regular army, the Golden Division (Iraqi special forces), which dropped us close to Mosul. We based ourselves in Bartella. Our fixer found us a room in a house that some Iraqi soldiers were using. It still had ISIS slogans scrawled on the walls with a spray can. The ISIS soldiers had left only a couple weeks ago. There was rubbish everywhere, piles of it. It stank, especially the toilet.  I later bought some bleach and cleaned it, much to the amusement of the soldiers we were staying with.

(Where Matt and Aaron stayed in Bartella - Photo: Aaron Hollett)

One night I was working, making proxy files of our vision, and a soldier came in and said  “dinner is ready!” I said, “I am sorry I have to work.” He pointed his AK at me and said, “You must eat,” giggling as he spoke! I sternly told him not to point a gun at me but I don’t think he really got why I was so alarmed.

Each day we left with all our gear, not knowing if we would be back to the house or if we would stay out with the Iraqi army. On the second night we headed out, we stayed out. We left our car at an outpost and took only what we needed in a backpack. I had four camera batteries and no charger. There was no electricity anywhere in the suburbs. Conserving batteries was the most important thing on my mind, that and knowing when to stay down or lay on the floor.

(A man carrying his injured daughter through Mosul’s war ravaged streets - Photo: Aaron Hollett)

We spent the morning on the top of the hill on the front line. The Iraqi army rained down fire on the city below. Helicopters from the air and small tanks from the ground hit targets next to the river. Their aim was to clear the last pockets of ISIS on the east side of the Tigris river. 

(Helicopter firing on ground targets - Photo: Aaron Hollett)

There was so much gunfire, it was hard to tell if it was outgoing or incoming. The  soldiers told us to stay away from the windows, but seemed to stand right in front of them! It was confusing to say the least. There was confusion and panic. At one stage they informed us that ISIS fighters were heading towards us on motorbikes, they never arrived. Gunfire erupted around us, shots often went over our heads, some hitting nearby walls. The distinctive zing of a passing bullet often had me taking cover.

(On patrol with Iraqi soldiers - Photo: Aaron Hollett)

That afternoon we got the order that the group of soldiers we were accompanying were ready to move into the city below. As we walked in I was a little anxious, not knowing exactly what we were going into. The soldiers were sure there were many ISIS fighters in houses not far from us. I could hear plenty of fire and as we made it down to the bottom of the hill we saw our first dead soldier being carried by his fellow soldiers. I knew we were getting close. The streets were jammed with locals’ cars, they were there to prevent ISIS driving suicide car bombs through the streets.

(Cars blocking the streets to stop suicide bombers - Photo: Aaron Hollett)

We walked another 500 metres and soldiers began to door knock houses, looking for a good place to spend the night. We ended up in a house that a doctor owned, taking over the top floor. It had a good roof from where the soldiers could see across the suburb. The eldest son of the house proudly showed us his dad’s paintings, something that was illegal under ISIS. These artworks would have attracted lashings if found. There was understated happiness that Daesh had been driven from their part of the neighborhood.

As the sun went down we decided to get our beds together and try to get some sleep. We grabbed whatever blankets and mattresses we could and bunkered down. I woke about 3am to the sound of massive explosions. It was cold, below zero, and the warm bed and safety of the house were tempting, but I dragged myself out of bed and went onto the roof.

(Click here to watch dramatic footage of fierce fighting in Mosul captured by Aaron Hollett)

I greeted the soldiers on the roof, with my inadequate Arabic. Coalition airstrikes were happening frequently and there was a massive firefight with helicopter gunships over the ridge. I didn’t have a tripod, so I perched my camera on the edge of the wall. I started recording audio on my iPhone and waited with my camera on five second pre-roll. Bam! I rolled and hoped for the best. Two strikes happened and I hoped I got shots of them, they were so far away. They didn’t blow up with a massive fireball like they did in Gaza.

Things quietened down for a bit and I returned to bed. As the sun came up, I again woke to lots of gunfire. I ran up the stairs and found the soldiers in a gun battle. There were tracers flying everywhere and they were yelling about snipers.Matt ran up the stairs half asleep and instantaneously recorded a piece-to-camera. After about an hour it stopped and one of the soldiers brought up some dry biscuit type bread. They flicked water on it, which made it soggy and a horrible texture but I wasn’t complaining. That was all there was to eat and we didn’t know when we would eat next. Someone then opened a jar of cream cheese - GOURMET!

(A huge sign declaring an area controlled by ISIS - Photo: Aaron Hollett)

That afternoon we headed back to the staging point we had left the day before.We again passed the massive ISIS sign, it had until a day earlier heralded that this area was controlled by ISIS. Hundreds of refugees were streaming out of the suburbs, families waved white flags as they escaped. I expected more action, it was to come in the next day.

I wear a flak jacket and helmet on these types of assignments. There were bullets and other projectiles constantly passing over our heads when we were on the front line. You need to know when to be extra cautious and when you can take a bit of a breather. We had a security adviser travelling with us who is ex-British military.

(Matt Brown reporting during fierce fighting - Photo: Aaron Hollett)

I talked to Matt a lot about risk. We have covered many of these stories together. I trust Matt with my life, you have to when you are in it together. He is a great teacher and is always reminding me of things to consider. For example, Matt repeated over and over, “Always be on the lookout for where you can find cover if we come under attack”. This includes doorways, culverts, front gates, basically somewhere that you can shelter from fire.

One challenging part of this assignment was that we had no field producer. We were on our own. It was a very quick turn around for Four Corners and they needed to get translations and logging started as soon as possible. So every night after the day’s filming, I had to make proxy files of all the interviews and get them to our Lebanese producer in Beirut for translation. This seems like an easy task, but it is time consuming and really you just want to go to bed.

On the nights we weren’t on the frontline, squatting in houses without electricity, Matt and I sat together and went through each card. We picked interviews that needed translating and named them with date, card number and a description - e.g.’200116_Card12_RedScarfLady_proxy’

I cut them into segments from the proxies generated by my camera (another reason I don’t use the C100 when you need proxies quickly) in the Final Cut editing system. I made them as small as I could, then compressed them again with HandBrake. The smaller the better, it cost $7.50 a MB to send. From there I had to upload them to Dropbox for our producer in Beirut to access. I used the Thuraya or the BGAN mini satellite dishes (I took both so I had a back up). Each night I had problems sending the files, often I would spend two hours trying to get them through. There was an American controlled airbase right next to us and I think this may caused some issues with out internet signal. Matt also scripted and sent over the internet using the satellite dishes. Once this was done, I’d pack the gear up and get ready for the next day.

When we eventually arrived back to our busted home in Bartella (dubbed Hotel Bartella) I would put my camera batteries on charge, along with GoPro cameras, mobile phones, external batteries and laptops. We had limited time to do this. A full camera battery charge would usually take at least five hours. I had two chargers. The Army would put on a generator as soon as night fell, but it could stop at any time, depending on the amount of fuel they had. Batteries were a major issue on this trip. It was cold and batteries don’t work at their best in cold conditions. Most nights it was zero or below. I really had to conserve batteries, as each day we didn’t know where we would be the next. I begged people to use their car batteries so I could get any charge back into my batteries. I had a few inverters that changed 12 volts to 240 volts.

(Aaron using an inverter attached to a car battery to charge camera batteries - Photo: ABC News)

I have always found Iraqi people warm and welcoming. Even as they fled their houses for their lives, they were warm and polite. It humbles me and I use these encounters to keep me going. In one town ISIS had only been pushed out the day before. We watched as men shaved off their beards for the first time in two years. We came across a hipster looking guy who told us that he was reborn and how he was so happy. Those moments were brilliant, they also make great television.

(Men having their beards shaved in a liberated neighborhood - Photo: Aaron Hollett)

We ventured into towns that had only recently been recaptured and they were badly damaged. We went into churches that had been badly damaged. We filmed a child that had minutes before died. I feel that sometimes when you see things in black and white and through a small eyepiece, somehow it doesn’t seem as real. I am often concentrating on the technical side of things.

Matt and I talk about things we see afterwards, but the dead girl didn’t affect me as much as many might expect, though seeing her bundled into the ambulance on top of all the people inside was pretty hard. It just struck me as crazy, it’s not normal for anyone in this world. I also witnessed the body of an ISIS soldier that was hanging on a light pole on the way into Mosul. He had been shot in the head. Soldiers told us that he admitted to executing several families.

As I have written previously, I have always undertaken counselling to mitigate mental health issues that might arise from exposure to traumatic events. The thing that I take away from these horrors is that I appreciate what I have so much more. I don’t whinge much about my life anymore. I know that I have a good life, I can go home after the war, I can have friends over for dinner, my girlfriend and my family are safe.

Once the story went to air, an amazing flood of congratulatory messages reached us. It was really great to see the effect the program had on people. Peers of mine commended me and total strangers even wrote to me, saying thanks for an amazing insight into this conflict. It was also a significant professional experience to shoot a whole Four Corners program. I am privileged to be able to cover these sort of stories. I am due to come home at the end of the year and it’s a reality that I really don’t want to think about.

WATCH FOUR CORNERS HIGHWAY TO HELL

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Reporting from the front line of the fight against Islamic State by Matt Brown

More stories from Aaron Hollett here.

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[not-tryin-2-have-a-debate]

i want to keep my original long draft for an essay abotu my Psych Ward Expirience somewhere so i’m post it here under readmore bc its super long

When most people hear the phrase “Psych Ward,” they think of settings in horror movies. They picture 1800’s sanatoriums, dark and crumbling asylums full of dangerous murderers. I don’t know if hollywood or a general societal ignorance towards mental disorders should be blamed more for that, but living with a serious mental illness is one of those things that “outsiders” never really seem to understand. That misunderstanding extends to treatment as well.

    Therapy comes in many shapes and sizes, different types and intensities. There are different amounts of work expected from the patient, different ways the therapist can try to work through their issues, but the biggest range of differences is probably in the environments these sessions can take place in. One-on-One appointments with a therapist, Group therapy that meets once or twice a week, specific support groups, and anger management classes are all things that we in the business would call “outpatient” treatment. Some programs are dubbed as “intensive outpatient” or “semi-inpatient” programs, for when they want to hospitalize someone but aren’t allowed to for whatever reason (usually because they can’t pay for it, or the family in charge of their affairs won’t allow it, or they're actually a good and understanding doctor that sees the problem with taking a mother away from her job and kids from three days to three months depending on the program.)

Group homes, halfway houses, and stays in mental hospitals would all be on the “inpatient” or residential side of things. Some places are specifically “Crisis Hospitals,” a place where suicidal patients go for one or two days until they aren’t considered an active threat to themselves anymore. Depending on the hospital and how much they actually care, the patient may run out the clock of their stay and can sent to a different center or dropped back into society while still in the middle of their crisis. Every psychiatric hospital has protocol for patients on suicide watch and many have specific rooms for it, open cubbies in a big long hall with no doors or front walls, so the staff can be watching you at all times.

When someone’s in treatment for any mental issues extending beyond mild depression or anxiety, being hospitalized is a kind of vague threat always looming on the horizon. If they say something a little too dark, or they fly off the handle a little too often, the question comes up asking if they’re in need of more ‘intense’ care.

Most patients that have been around a while know how to quickly deflect a nervous doctor. We get told our own horror stories; tales of prisons with heavily medicated inmates, friends recounting abuse from their nurses, being locked up in a place that claimed to help them but in actuality just held their lives/times for ransom until they stopped complaining.

I’m asked about my safety every time I see my psychiatrist. I sit in Brian’s office once every three or four weeks and discuss how much of a failure I am at pretending to be a human being. Every time, near the end, he looks me in the eye with an uncomfortable grimace and asks me how safe I feel. We both know it's a strange and impossible question. I could say no for so many different reasons. Realistically I will probably hurt myself before our next appointment. There will definitely be at least a few times I think of dying, go over the details in my head. I could point to my paranoia, or my childhood, and tell him I haven’t felt safe in a long, long time. But he knows all of that, and he knows my honest answer, and we both know that him asking how safe I currently feel is just secret code for whether or not I want to be sent to a hospital. So I shrug and tell him I’ll be just fine.

I guess I was having a pretty rough time at fourteen. I say “I guess” because I can’t remember most of it, but what I do remember wasn’t particularly any worse than two years before or the year after. It was mainly just that when I was fourteen, people were noticing more, and feeling more guilty, and I was saying some wrong things at the wrong times.

I’d already been in regular therapy for years; I’d been through one group until my therapist got transferred and an “intensive outpatient therapy plan” after that.     Every two weeks or so one of my parents would dig me out of bed and drive me to the one small therapy office in my town. I would wait for at least forty minutes past my appointment and then be called back to see the nurse, Mellisa. (Her name was spelled with two L’s and one S; I know about that because she would get very upset with the other staff for spelling it wrong.) Every time I went to that office, Mellisa would have me take a pregnancy test, no matter how many things about me made its results obvious, because when you’re a kid medical professionals will never trust a single word out of your mouth: especially if you’re crazy.     My mother and I would go and sit in an uncomfortably warm room waiting for my psychiatrist go come online. I would study the boring, mass-produced ocean painting on the wall, finding anything to look towards but my mother.     My psychiatrist at the time was an attractive nigerian man that I was only ever introduced to as Dr.O; one time I asked Mellisa what his full name was, because I felt disrespectful not knowing it, but she’d brushed it off as too hard to even try pronouncing. Dr.O lived somewhere else in the state and would see me for our appointments through a computer monitor, setup on a cheap wooden coffee table across from some chairs. My parents always complained about having to drive all the way to the office just to have a skype call; I always just wondered why they bothered setting up the fancy room, since you could hear what everyone was saying through the walls anyway.     Dr.O mainly saw older patients and I could tell that he usually thought I was being overdramatic. I would keep my head down, trying my best to speak up so he could hear me through the microphone on the table (and often being chided by him and my mother to move closer to it when he still couldn’t hear me.) I would stay silent as my mother talked the whole time, giving half of the story with none of the context. I would stiffly and awkwardly be made to stand up and show a man on a screen the words carved into my arms, motion to where the cuts went on my legs. I would look at noe one and try not to think of the mostly-screamed “lecture” that was waiting for me once we were done there, where both of my parents sat me on my bed and stood there with crossed arms, telling me they weren’t angry, they were just frustrated, telling me they just didn’t understand why I did these things to myself. They didn’t understand why I couldn’t just come talk to them.

Dr.O decided once, while my mom was in the middle of telling him her version of what I was going through, that I needed to be hospitalized. I snapped back to attention, stopped picking at the scabs on my arm, asked what I did. I barely remember what the real reasoning was: something about how I was already suicidal and they were going to take me off my anti-depressants which were making me more depressed on top of causing me to gain weight, and I would probably feel even more suicidal when I was in the withdrawal from those so I needed to be monitored, or something. That’s a series of events that I’ve gone through about five or six times with five or six different drugs, and that one (paxil, for anyone wondering) wasn’t the first. I’m still not sure why that time it was any different...maybe those reasons were an excuse for some kind of psychic doctor vibe he was getting from me.     My mother was, of course, completely furious for all the wrong reasons. I was calmly sent out of the room to wait with Mellisa while she screamed, asking if he was really about to lock up a fourteen year old girl with a bunch of “violent drug addicts” because I was having “some issues adjusting.” When I was younger my mother would often refer to my ‘adjustment issues’--i was never sure what it was I was trying to adjust to.

My mother called my father and I thought to myself that this was a really bad way to make me not want to die. He entered the building crying and confused, probably having only been told a vague three word explanation by my mother, leaning down at me chair, caressing my face like I was dying or like we would never see each other again. For all I knew, we wouldn’t; for all the information I’d been given, I was about to be shipped off somewhere for life. We spent probably another hour in that office, me sitting in my chair, watching everyone else argue and talk and come and go and give me weird looks for split seconds and then continue on talking about me like they’d already sent me to the terrifying gate of hell that a mental hospital apparently was. Mellisa tried to comfort me and pointed out that I was crying.  She put a hand on my shoulder and I accidentally, involuntarily, blurted out for her not to touch me. My mouth says a lot of things I don’t want it to. That’s one of the times I’ve most regretted it.     I was eventually told I would go home, pack my things, and drive to the hospital that night. That had set my mother off again right when she’d started to calm down--     “Tonight!?” she’d barked at Mellisa. “We can’t even wait til tomorrow?!”     Imagine what a dinner that would’ve been.     I assume I did as I was told. I remember packing the stuffed animal my internet boyfriend had hot-glued together for me, and a (paperback) Robert Louis Stevenson novel that I was trying to read and pretending I understood more than half of. You aren’t allowed to take a whole list of things with you to the hospital; anything that could possibly be considered dangerous to you or to anyone else is prohibited. No shoes with laces or pants with drawstrings. No mirror, hair brushes, toothbrushes, or soaps either, because the hospital would supply those. At one point I bitterly argued with a nurse that I could shove a sock in my mouth a choke on it if I really wanted to, and she threatened to take all my socks away. I decided to stay quiet on the realization I had that if I got really desperate I could just try to bite off my own tongue.     The drive was two hours long and completely silent. My mother spent the first twenty minutes determined to squeeze as much as she could out of the time we had left til arrival, but I was in a confused haze and she was tired from screaming at doctors...or tired from dealing with her defective daughter. She tried to comfort me, assuring me that this would be good for me, that maybe this hospital would straighten some things out and set me on the road to true recovery after all this time spent struggling. I looked at the moonless sky outside and chose not to tell her that she had finally admitted something was wrong with me. It was almost midnight when we actually reached the hospital; we passed it once on accident since we could barely make out the sign. My body was working on its own again at this point. I took mechnical steps, looking straight ahead, hand held in my mother’s because she needed the comfort.

The sterile white walls and fluorescent lights in the front lobby were blinding coming in from the night. I squinted at the woman who came up to meet us, shook my dad’s hand, my mom’s, glanced at me for maybe half of a second. A man named Jesus took and searched my things while we were guided into a more traditional room for this setting, corporate representations of calming moods. Light blue or green walls, wicker and tweed furniture, mass-produced ocean paintings. I focussed on how much I hated paintings of the beach while my parents filled out forms, until the woman finally turned her attention to me. I was comforted and assured, again, that this would be good for me, and then assured that they legally weren’t allowed to use electro-shock therapy. I was told I would do regular groups and that the security wouldn’t use force unless I posed a violent threat. She explained expressive therapy to me, as if I’d never heard of art, while I signed a form saying I consented to being medically sedated if need be. I asked how they would sedate people. She asked if I was afraid of needles.

After signing my name a hundred times, with one of my parents signing after each, it was time for us to say our goodbyes. I’m sure I cried, but I can’t honestly say I remember.

Jesus reappeared without my belongings, telling me before I could ask that they were waiting on my new bed. He led me about three steps out of the conference room to a set of wooden double-doors, like the entrance to a school cafeteria.     “This is the Ad Ward…’Ad’ stands for ‘Adolescent.’” he told me, shuffling out an ID card to unlock the doors. He quickly ushered me through and it the first door on the left before I could nothing anything other than a hardwood floor. Jesus handed me a paper hospital gown I never noticed him holding and instructed me to put in on, pointing at the spot on the floor on the small empty room where I should put my clothes. He said a woman would come in shortly to search them and me and then took his swift exit before I could ask any questions. I did as I was told as quickly as possible, nervously trying to make out the muffled voices right outside the door.     The second I’d put my clothes in their neatly folded line the head nurse came into the room, making good on Jesus’s word. She went down the line of clothed I had made her, picking up and shaking out every part of my outfit without saying a word. When she was satisfied with them, she turned to me.     For those of you that have never been strip searched, please know that it is every bit as strange and mortifying as you would expect, and that no matter how many times you’ve been through it, it’s going to stay just as weird. As my mostly-naked fourteen year old self squatted and coughed before the eyes of a stern older woman with a clipboard, I wondered again how this place was supposed to make life seem worth living.     After that, and her metal detector being set off by my braces, I was regifted my clothes (but not my shoes) and handed off to my last stop for the night before bed. I finally got a good look at the Royal Oak Hospital Adolescent Ward: one long hallway with a nurses station near the exit, an elevator, and a long line of almost closed doors.     A younger nurse took me into one of them, again completely different from the others I’d been in, and sat me down on an expensive medical equipment looking chair. The girl’s name was Rebecca, she told me sweetly, in the first actual human conversation I’d had in hours. She tried at mostly one-sided small talk with me and she gave me some kind of vaccination or shot. I remember being told it was just a precaution, but I can’t remember what it actually was. The second she was done with the mysterious syringe, though, Rebecca turned on me, bringing out a clipboard and a volley of emotionless questioned that seemed routine to her, but invasive and a little nerve-wracking to me. Asking if I ok with having a roommate or if they had to move my stuff to a different bed was one thing, but at the time I was tired and scared and every question after seemed to strike just the right nerve. She got about halfway down her sheet and asked, casually, what my sexuality was, before I started sobbing. She went back to the good Rebecca and sent me off to bed. We could finish the questions tomorrow.     I wouldn’t get to really get a look at my new room and roommate until the morning, as all the other patients on ward were already asleep (or were pretending to be). I slid into the bed, noting the plastic covering on the mattress and the starched, motel room feel of the blanket. Jesus peaked in the doorway to tell me it needed to stay open at night and that he and another man would keep watch on the hall. He said if I couldn’t sleep I was allowed to come sit out there and talk with them; there was usually at least one kid that took advantage of that at some point in the night.     I thanked him but chose to stay where I was, holding my handmade stuffed animal so tight it hurt my wrists and staring at the cracked door. I listened to Jesus and the other man talking quietly for hours until I finally passed out. I finally drifted off some time after Jesus lamented about how little time he was getting with his daughter after his divorce.     Morning Routine in the hospital was as follows: wake up at 8 a.m. and line up in the hallway for Checks. Roll was taken and an always different nurse that didn’t know our names would check our blood pressure, temperature, and pulse. People who took meds in the morning were given their pills and some water in two small paper cups, and David, the nurse that later became my favorite, would ask everyone who they wanted to call on the phone that day. (Phone time was allowed during a break after lunch; we could only ask to call people on an approved list of phone numbers written during admission.) Then, and only then, were we allowed to cram into the one elevator that led from the ward to the basement, and eat breakfast in the cafeteria. After that our daily routine mainly consisted of therapy, one-on-one conversations with a psychiatrist, and school, if it was a weekday.     My first morning I was greeted with a great enthusiasm by the eight other kids on the ward. Most of them were older than me by a year or two and I was quickly taken under their collective wing as a newbie. My roommate introduced herself (I’ll call her L) and wasted no time in getting to the stereotypical “what are you in for” conversation. Since my answer was pretty much a vague shrug she made up the difference, telling me a fabulous story embellished highly in her favor about how she punched her school’s superintendent in the face and was given the option of juvie or the hospital. We agreed that it was stupid of the school to give her that choice.

L loved to see how far she could cross the line before she got in trouble, but in the middle of testing people’s limits she would get angry and fly off the handle. She bragged to me that by the time I got there she had been restrained twice and medically sedated the second time. Eventually I had to change rooms when she started an altercation with Jesus and had to and was put on restrictions.     There’s an immediate air of understanding and camaraderie between patients on a ward, even between people that kind of hate each other on a personal level. I think it makes perfect sense given the environment, and the fact that in a short time there everyone is going to learn a lot of deep and personal things about everyone else. I remember most of the kids I met there well:     M was a small blond and the youngest on the ward at thirteen. He was extremely proud that he was old enough to belong with the teenagers. He was one of the most adamantly alive people I have ever met. He was very upfront about the fact that he had anger issues. I think I was the only one there who didn’t.

G is a girl that I think about very often, fondly and worriedly. She was such a genuine and lovely person, a heavy and pretty girl with long curly hair that was always smiling and talked with her hands. I worry about her because I was never able to contact her once i was out of the hospital; she didn’t give anyone contact information because she wasn’t sure where exactly she was going to end up after her stay there. Knowing what i did learn from her about her family...I still worry about her. But i also worry that trying to look her up now would be weird, but also only make me sad no matter what i found, even the best answers would feel bittersweet. I think that for now i prefer to just remember G fondly as a very dear friend i only got to spend a precious little amount of time with.     R was nice but was also the most actively angry about being there, and none of us could blame him. From what he told us (looking back on it now I’m still not sure which side was truthful) his parents had forced him into his stay after blowing an argument completely out of proportion. R as I gravitated towards each other magically, drawn by our innate ability to Tell. from my experience there were always two or three kids on the ward or in the group who aren’t straight, and we would always find each other and group together as quickly as possible.     D was the third or the two or three gay kids. I was told she made advances at me but I don’t remember noticing any of them. She really liked naruto and would tell me dramatic stories that I knew were mostly lies but listened to anyways because we were friends.     J was a surprise in a lot of ways. He showed up very suddenly and had the staff scrambling. He was tall and wide and older than most of us, with gauged ears and angry eyes. I feel guilty for the amount of time I spent compulsively strategizing self-defense plans against him before we got to know each other. J had been in juvenile detention before coming to the ward as a way to ease his transition back out into the “real world.”     The only person I didn’t really get along with was K, but I wasn’t the only one; she sat on the ‘normal people’ side of the social rift and didn’t particularly want anything to do with the rest of the group. Her choice.     The rest I don’t remember by name anymore; the teenage mother who got transferred to a different hospital, a boy who would not talk talk about anything other than weed every time I heard him speak. A quiet boy who’s name started with a D and had a nurse communicate things for him.   

The usual length of a stay at Royal Oaks was around a week, so people were usually coming and going every other day, making a rotating list of patients for David complained about because it complicated his job and phone call cataloguing. L left on day four, the weed guy the night before her. We vaguely celebrated when someone was left; we could have done more, but it would have meant celebrating almost every night, and jesus didn’t have enough change for the vending machine. We would say our goodbyes before we went to sleep, and part ways at breakfast. The new kids would be greeted with stories of who they replaced, and would be taken under our collective wing, and the cycle would continue.     I never personally got to see them, but there was a ward for Adults somewhere on our floor and one for “Pre-Ads” (children under the age of thirteen) downstairs, with the classroom, cafeteria, and ET room. The full layout of the Ad Ward wasn’t much more complicated than what I had observed the night before; one mysterious room was the “Lounge,” a baby blue nightmare where we spent free time, and another was a shower--yes, the whole room, that was it. A twelve-by-twelve cube of brown tile from floor to ceiling, with a small drain in the middle of the floor and a sad faucet with the water pressure of slow falling tears on one wall. About a foot in from the door there was a haphazardly installed shower curtain, and right below the faucet was a wall-hanging soap dispenser, like same kind you find in most public bathrooms. I’d heard of 2-in-1 shampoo and conditioner before, but never All-in-1 general showering goo.     Every other room in the hall was a bedroom, and most of them looked identical. Blue walls, two beds set in wooden box frames, and a strange storage-shelf-table-sink hybrid on the other wall. Each room also had a small closet with a toilet in it (two of the rooms had actual bathrooms with their own, normal shower, but most of us weren’t as lucky.)     Bathroom doors weren’t allowed to be closed unless they were actively being used. We could only close the door to our room if we were changing clothes, or “with permission,” which meant we could only close the door when we were changing clothes. We were each given a plastic basket of toiletries with our name on it, given it us from a locked space in the nurse’s station after break and before we went to sleep.     At some point in the afternoon we would each be called away separately to go meet with a psychiatrist for a bit; a rotating door of short indian men that usually didn’t introduce themselves. The psychiatrists were nice but impersonal, concerned but not well-informed about your situation, fitting with the general theme the hospital seemed to have going. Once one of them took me outside to have our talk, in a little fenced in area with a basketball hoop but not enough room to really try playing with it. I don’t remember anything we talked about other than how I was feeling, how I felt about the hospital, same old thing again and again.

Every night after dinner, two patients that behaved well were allowed to order 1 soda and 1 candy bar from a vending machine outside our reach in the ward. I got a twix and a coke on my first full day, and all the other kids were simultaneously very jealous and proud.     The art therapy room was, like all walls in my world at that point, blue, but now with past patient’s art hung up and painted onto them all over, which was a welcome change. Art therapy only involved making art about three of the times that I went. Other times We’d have another group therapy session, or try and fail miserably to play ping pong, or be forced to watch the movie “Freedom Writers” and then talk about our feelings on it. My feelings were that it was a bad film with a nice idea.

The hospital had a Classroom right beside the cafeteria that the ad and pre-ad patients had to attend for three hours every school day. We went separately; the wards weren’t allowed to mix, especially after it turned out that a girl on our ward was the cousin of a kid on the pre-ad. Every week a new sweet older lady would be our teacher, a good samaritan volunteering her time to the hospital. Most of us were old enough that we would just work on our own homework from our school; i was lucky enough that my high school didn’t want to work with the hospital at all, and was unwilling to give me any assignments but the one’s I had brought with me. When I finished those halfway through the first day of class I was given general middle school level work packets and left to my own devices. When i finished those i started trying to help the others, usually M with his science worksheets, or I would spend as long as possible with one of the medical student interns going over a graded french test. I told G how to pronounce her name with a french accent, and she excited told every member of staff about her new name for the rest of the day.

The food, unless you were on suicide watch or “Finger Foods.” Finger Foods was the general terms for when someone had their privileges taken away after an outburst or trying to hurt themselves. You could only use crayons to write, couldn’t handle any sharp objects, were out of the running for a night time candy bar, and obviously, good only eat food with your hands in the cafeteria. Suicide watch Included all the rules of being on Finger Foods but with an added element of direct surveillance at all times; there were some people on suicide watch who were still allowed to be rewarded or participate in activities with supervision, because the restrictions were meant more for their protection than as a punishment. For my first two days at every meal a bulimic girl on my ward would be light-heartedly threatened with a feeding tube if she didn't eat. She and the nurses all seemed to think it was funny, so i just accepted it.     At one point we were promised a pizza for our good behavior. We never received that pizza. I’m bitter about that to this day.

Group therapy came in two flavors: there was actual group therapy where we would do therapy, but in a group, and then there was what group normally meant, which was “a nurse is going to come talk about some topic no one cares about for a while.” riveting topics covered in our sessions included personal hygiene and the importance of not doing drugs if you don’t already do drugs, which half of us did. Actual group required more emotional effort but at least I wasn’t going to be bored to tears by the end of the hour. The ward’s main therapist was a nice guy that happened to look exactly like sigmund freud. He also happened to not enjoy it very much when i blurted out that he looked like sigmund freud.     We were told multiple times a day by various nurses that shoes were a privilege and you would earn back your shows after you showed staff you were deserving of them. I never saw a single person earn their shoes, and not for lack of trying.     This was a problem because if a single person on the ward was without their shoes, we weren’t allowed to have time outside. Every time I’ve ever recounted this to someone they’ve seen the Immediate flaw in this system, but it apparently slid past all members of staff on a daily basis, despite continued incredulous whining from a dozen barefoot teenagers.On the fourth or fifth day, I was whisked off with no explanation to get an EEG (a test where they part sticker attached to wired attached to a machine on your head and listen to the electricity in your brain.) i was never told the results on that test or why i was getting it done. The lady washed my hair afterwards, which maybe up for the fact that i had to miss breakfast but didn’t make up for the strip searches before and after i left the building. At the very least it made G jealous i’d gotten to wash myself with anything other than the suspicious shower goo.

At some point i started routinely being woken up about a half-hour before everyone else to a nurse that would take my blood pressure. Then i would lay there, tired and confused, until we all had to wake up and get in taken as a group anyways. I asked about this every time they did it and was never given an answer as to why this was necessary. Honestly I think they might have just been messing with me.

We were supposed to refrain from asking for personal information about each other, and told that if we wrote down another patient's email or phone number whatever it was written on would be thrown away if found. Obviously we all worked around this; one girl secretly wrote names on her stomach an hour before she was processed for release, another kid wrote phone numbers in code. For me it was as simple as just remembering people’s last names so I could find them on facebook.

The hospital existed in a kind of twilight zone half in and half out of reality, where a crisis would occur every other hour but in the between times we were all bored to tears. Surrounded by such an intense atmosphere, staff trying to force an understanding of our lives being in our own hands, and we would just sit there, nodding our hands and coloring with our crayons. In a way the hospital was a sanctuary; no family to get into screaming matches with, no classmates to end up in a fist fight with. An environment meant to be scrubbed clean of all the stressors of day to day life.     Visiting hours happened twice a week; kids with visitors would go down into the cafeteria while everyone else hung around in the lounge. Usually it was just me and M waiting down there for our families; the visits were always entirely uncomfortable. My parents wanted to be sure I was being treated right, and held my hand with a guilty sadness that I didn’t really want to acknowledge. Free time didn’t offer very many options. We would play cards and coloring mandalas printed out on copy paper. I finished coloring about six of the things before a decided it would no longer be a helpful part of my mental healing journey. Our card game of choice was called “BS,” initially because it was the only game everyone who wanted to play cards seemed to know. BS became a highlight of our day, because of M. The hospital had a lot of rules about how to conduct yourself. We weren’t supposed to yell, run around, or touch each other unnecessarily. We also weren’t supposed to curse.     The name of the card game “BS” is short for “Bullshit.” the rules of the game are very simple--cards are passed out and someone decides to go first. In turns, everyone goes around, putting some cards face down on the pile and announcing what value those cards supposed were (someone put down two cards and says they had two jacks, etc.). Multiple cards have to be on the same value, if you think someone is lying, putting down more cards than they had to win faster, you point to them and call out that you think they’re lying. The challenged player turns over their cards, and depending on if they were telling the truth or not one of the players in penalized.     Usually the thing you yell out when you challenge someone is “Bullshit,” but we weren’t allowed to say that and were told to call it something else. M thought that this was a personal affront to him and everything that he stood for as a person. Every single free time, two or three times a day, we got into the routine of playing this card game solely to see this scene play out. We would start out normally and do as we were told, politely pointing out lies. M wouldn’t say anything. We’d go on for as long as we could, before someone would make an obvious play, putting down three jacks after someone else put two or saying they had five aces. Then, ecstatic, M would heave air into his lungs, jumping up and pointing at the other player and yelling as loudly as he could: “BULLSHIT!!”

He stopped being scolded for it around the fifth time because most of the staff thought it was hilarious. We’d stop playing the game immediately after that, our point achieved, all of us having got what we came there for.     We sat in the hall and shared stories about when each of us had lost our virginity, or the first time we’d been punched in the face. He giggled at Jared as he mimicked grasping at his bleeding nose. The nurses didn’t seem to find it as funny.         There was a general, noticeable disconnect between us and them, even the nurses we all likes the most. Not  really because of age, or because they were on the job. It was a feeling of disconnecting, not quite meshing with normal people, that all of us already went through life with separately-- and here, where we had community, that only intensified. For many of us this was the first time that our abnormalities had really been accepted and even admired by others. Being with the other kids in my ward was a time i felt freest, even in our restricted and controlled environment. None of them cares if i’d twitch and fidget, none of them minded my shiness or were caught off guard by the things I’d say. While the nurses would squint at me suspiciously if i repeated that they said or spiralled into babbling from our conversations, my new friends had all accepted these things by the third time they came around. I was allowed to express myself and allowed to not be able to, and it felt effortless to return the favor, because who was i to judge. Little outbursts, conversations that trailed off into blank stares, people needing to go walk around or cry or smack their seat five times before they sat on it, these things were all easy to look past. It was hard, however, not to notice the trouble staff still saw with them, and not to turn on them a bit for that. My friends accepted that i spoke weird, while the nurses would roll their eyes if i stammered. G would nod understandingly when I confided in her about the past while staff would react uncomfortably, their only help in offering to make police reports i didn’t want made. If I told the others i felt like hurting myself, they would show sympathy and talk with me about it; the one time I told a nurse i was “having urges,” like we were supposed to, I was put on finger foods.     This tension culminated in one particular group session. A thin older woman replaced our usual freud impersonator, loitering outside to chat with the nurses as long as possible before having to deal with us. We whispered to each other; no one had met or before, or seen her around the building. That was probably a bad sign. She told us to call her Olivia, I think.     Olivia was the worst therapist I have ever seen in action, and that should be frightening.     She commanded direct eye contact between her and the patient speaking, and that no one else speak until directly spoken to (interruptions are one thing, but discussion is just about the entire point of doing therapy in a group.) She gave us all a question she assumed would be simple enough for our tiny broken minds. “What do you think is keeping you here?”     I started echoing the hard way she said “What” and clamped my mouth shut as soon as possible. Usually I could keep the parrot in my head around doctors, with some effort; being open with my impulses around the others made it hard to start shutting up again. She took my weird reflex as volunteering to go first, and looked to me expectantly.     Its honestly the most stupid and annoying question you will ever be asked in a therapy setting. I never heard it asked in a tone other than condescending, and it's never failed to be ignorant; ‘Why do you think you’re here?’ is therapist code for ‘why are you messing up your life, and can you convince me it isn’t on purpose?’     I had a routine for this question that seemed to be shared with the others; attempt to answer honestly, listing all the things in and out of your control, your life and environment and symptoms, the fact that you are a complex human being with feelings and a past. Then, try not to sigh at your doctor and list some rehearsed line about how you guess you’re just a disrespectful child acting out for attention. I ran through it as quickly as possible, feeling restless and trying not to avert my eyes from hers or change my position too much as she would impatiently observe every movement. Usually I’d have something in my hands to funnel my stress into, but this had to be the one time I forgot to take one of my hoarded stress toys from the pile in my room.     Three more kids went after me, in the same routine, with varying degrees of sass. Then Olivia set her eyes on G. The rest of us shared a silent realization and looked to each other with worry, straightening up, thinking up ways to deflect Olivia onto something else. It was too late when G shrunk, laughing nervously and not meeting the womans eyes.     G’s home situation was truly heartbreaking to hear retold. I love and respect her too much to retell the details of it here, but Olivia spent what seemed like unending years of punishment pulling this story out of the girl, giving us a demeaning hush if we objected. It was surreal and we didn’t know what to do, stuck in a room with one authority figure under threat and tranquilizers, watching the friend we all openly adored the most be forced to recount such a cruel thing in such complete detail. Obviously she was crying, most of us were too. J sat alone on a couch beside Olivia’s, hands in fists, and I focussed on my fear for him instead of my fear of him. I was sitting beside G, being shushed at every concerned whine that forced its way out, unable to think of an escape plan because I couldn’t turn off my ears. It was when she reached a specific point of the story, G cut herself off and let out a sob and my hand automatically went to her shoulder. Olivia barked out, in the coldest tone I think I have ever heard, “No Touching.”     The room exploded, every one of us reacting at the same time with a vicious intensity. The others jumped to their feet, protectively leaning towards G. M pointed and yelled a few choice words hand selected for our doctor, R went for the door to get other staff, someone else just cried out at her hysterically. J lunged at the woman as G slid into my arms, looking away from what was happening and sobbing into my shirt. I put my hand on her hair half to comfort her and half to make sure she didn’t look back.     A dozen staff members crowded around the doorway of the room but only three actually entered; I don’t remember how it felt watching my friend try to choke out an old woman and be pulled away by security, but the picture of it in my head is crystal clear. A nurse, Cecily, had her arms out low but wide, making a barrier between us and the gasping doctor. Everyone was yelling, us at staff and staff at us. The intern that helped me with french came to guide Olivia out of the room and M screeched that he was a traitor, throwing a stack on coloring sheets in their general direction. Olivia said something under her breath as she left-- something about how we were terrible demon children, or how ‘never in all her years in the field’ something like this had happened, I think I forgot because her words aren’t worth remembering. We locked eyes for a split second before the slid out of the room, and I muffled “Occupational Hazard” into G’s hair.

For an hour after we were forced to sit and have alcohol poisoning explained to us until Freud Jr. Appeared. We were happy to see him but still furious, all on the same side against Olivia once we were finally asked what had happened. Everyone recounted the same story, agreeing loudly with each other, stopping to comfort and apologize to G and ask if she was okay. We stayed in that room for another hour, giving our testimony and demanding J shouldn’t be punished, or more begging they didn’t send him back to juvenile. Freud nodded solemnly as he listened to us the way only he and Jesus and two of the nurses did, meaning at all. He told us he’d see what he could do. We didn’t see J for the rest of the day and come morning, Jesus was his new shadow. He was on some kind of reverse suicide watch, with all the restrictions, but the league of nameless psychiatrists and hospital directors had agreed or been swayed to agree that J’s only real crime was being physically violent with staff. After dinner that night, I asked if he could have my candy bar, and threw it in the trash when I was refused.

    I was discharged after nine days on the ward, feeling no more or less suicidal, no more or less recovered, not more normal but not more different. I remember Rebecca calling me into the hallway to ask if i was afraid to go home. Of course I was, I told her! I was leaving friends I had connected to more in a week than I had with anyone in years. I was returning to a town of people like the staff, strangers that didn’t understand and only pretended to want to. I would be returning to my second month of high school, gone for the last week of September, though I’d barely showed up at all before then. I asked her what I had not to be worried about, but then dropped it, because I knew we were only having this conversation in case my answer alluded that my parents weren’t safe to go home to.

    The goodbyes I was given before 8 o’clock lights out were short and sweet and always, turning our attention back and forth between them and “Oh Brother, Where Art Thou!” playing on the television. I only slept an hour through that night, feeling about everything I could think to. In the morning, I was given my shoes while the others were lined up, in the middle of Checks. I waved silently at them and heard M call out “Bring a better book next time!” Before Jesus closed the double-doors behind us.

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Yes, I Am Afraid to Fly, But I Won’t Let My Fear Control Me

“Feel the fear and do it anyway.” ~Susan Jeffers

Let’s do a thought exercise together.

I have flown, I don’t know two or four times a year since I was eighteen and a few times before that, and I am now almost thirty-seven. On the low end that puts me around forty times. On the high ends that is, what seventy-five times in my life? Let’s split the difference and say I have flown fifty-five times because I have never kept track of things like that.

Also, I have jumped out of planes before. Yep, it was beautiful, and seriously it is only the first step that is the hardest, because after that you are totally involved. So, if that is something you want to do, just close your eyes and step out. But I digress.

Recently (over the last two years), I have become terrified to fly. I blame it on a trip where I had a bit of what I would consider severe turbulence. Really, though, it has just been a growing fear. With each flight, with each significant life event I have been ill prepared to handle, with each death I had to fly home for, the fear and anxiety has quietly and sometimes loudly and harshly grown.

Most flights I have not enjoyed. However, there was a time I do remember when I loved to fly. The spooling of the engines, the way you are pushed back into your seat at take-off, that moment of lightness you feel right at the top of the take-off.

I loved watching out the little window as the people, trees, and buildings would get smaller and smaller as you climbed to altitude. I even loved when we would fly over different farm areas and see the different colored plots of ground.

Then there is the opportunity to watch the sun rise and set from 30,000 feet in the air. Morning flights are so great for this. It's just darkness with little color lights below, but as you watch out into the darkness, the nothingness, slowly the darkness begins to turn into these beautiful, rich, and warm reds, yellows, and oranges. They pull across the sky and stretch into memories and dreams almost.

And the clouds, I love the fluffy ones, the heavy, wintry ones that are filled with a mixture of snow and rain, and the long, airy ones. These are my favorite; they stretch and dance across the sky like little fairy wisps.

When I think about it now, safely on the ground, it feels beautiful and calm. Picturesque as I travel to some place beautiful that is full of opportunity to explore.

Flying offers me a mixture of beauty and fear. The last time I flew was the worst I have ever had. The flight itself was merciful and calm. However, I have never had a panic attack that severe before.

I knew I had to fly. I didn’t want to. With every fearful bone in my body, every muscle tensing at just the idea of leaving my house, I really didn’t want to. But I had to. I tried to figure out how long it would take to drive, if there was a way to cancel, if I could just say no.

Those weren’t options. I had to fly.

So, I did my preparations. I have been a long believer in cognitive based therapy and the thought records my therapist has used to help me.

I did as much research as I could on statistics of flying, specific airlines, the best time of the day to fly; I watched turbulence maps, checked weather forecasts as well as historical weather maps. I read safety numbers and statistics galore from reputable and not-so-reputable places on the internet.

I found calming techniques like writing with your non-dominant hand over and over again, listening to quiet and calming music (I chose loud and high-based EDM), and coloring. I even got prescribed medicines from my primary care physician to take the edge off.

I did as much preparation that I thought I could. But I was still afraid. My body ached and pulled from all of the adrenaline. I was terrified in a way that I have never been before, and even with the medication my doctor gave me to calm my nerves, the thought record in hand, and coping mechanisms in place, it was still incredibly hard to get on the plane.

I almost didn’t do it, and if I didn’t need to get there by a certain time that day, I would have driven the fourteen hours to my destination.

It is amazing how fear can control us, can take us to that lizard brain level and win. That’s a hard and harsh reality for me because there are so many places I want to go. So many things I want to see and experience.

Not everyone wants to travel. Not everyone has a calling to their soul that says, “But what’s over there?” What have you not seen, felt, or experienced that could be just on the other side of that mountain? But I do. I am a traveler at heart.

There are so many places across this world that are filled with cultures and history I have not seen or experienced in the very real sense of just being present in it. Where you can taste the excitement, feel it in the air and in the music that has its own unique song for those who listen close enough.

I love going new places, meeting strangers, breathing in the experiences with every breath. I crave that. I dream about it. And of course, I save pictures and research these exquisite places and daydreams to my Pinterest boards because I am unsure I can break the fear enough to go.

That is until recently. I had a moment of pause the other day. A moment of realization that struck a chord so much that I am writing to you.

I have this pain in my leg. It has been here for months and when I called the doctor to schedule they immediately thought it was a blood clot and sent me directly to the emergency room.

After many tests, they determined it wasn’t a blood clot in my big important veins and sent me home. I still have no idea what it is or why it causes me so much pain, but I know it isn’t a blood clot.

However, a few days ago it was aching noticeably again and a moment of “oh gosh” hit me. Being an anxious person, the immediate question of “could it be cancer?” came to my mind.

For many people, I am sure that question probably doesn’t pop up. But my mother got cancer at thirty-eight, and my thirty-seventh birthday is less than a month away. It was breast cancer and she’s fine now. But my stepdad died of cancer two and a half years ago. Watching his experience of slowly getting sicker and sicker and the cancer spreading across his body still haunts my thoughts.

For the record, his was also not cancer in the leg. But sometimes your mind just starts with an idea and attaches to it immediately and starts going with the what-ifs.

At that moment, though, I didn’t play out what-ifs; I didn’t think about the medical procedures and things I would have to do if it really did turn out to be cancer. My thoughts did not do the dizzying spiral they normally do. I had only one thought at that moment.

I went immediately to the looming fear of flying and my desperate, aching desire to see more of the world and asked myself if this was really cancer, if there was a sickness that was about to affect my entire life, would I no longer be petrified of flying?

I realized at that moment I have a 100 percent chance of dying. Absolutely, unequivocally, I am eventually going to die. And it very much could come from this random pain in my leg, from cancer, or even from a plane crash (although statistically I have a much greater chance of the cancer than the crash).

But I realized something I had never before, and that is I could die today. Now don’t get me wrong, I have had many days and thoughts of dying over the years. Through weird and not even logical ways of dying. But this moment was real, was higher than my lizard brain fears, was calm.

And I had to decide, am I going to do the things I fear so I can see the things I dream of?

I realized it’s okay that I am still afraid, it’s okay that I need medicine from my doctor, strong coping mechanisms, and research, but I have to go. If exploring is important to me the way I feel it is, then I am going to have to explore and accept that anxiety and fear might be traveling companions, but they do not have to be road blocks. Not anymore.

So, I am writing to you, people I don’t know, who may experience similar things, who may be terrified of flying too, to offer you this simple yet real realization.

I am still very much afraid today, but I am going to book my next flight and leave room for my anxiety and fear to come along. Maybe one day they won’t accompany me on my trips, but I know I am going to ensure they do not stop me in the meantime.

About Stacey Mitchell

Stacey Mitchell is an artist and writer living in south Texas. Professionally she works in cyber security and has previously worked as a research analyst and cyber instructor. She loves to travel and explore with her daughter, whether that’s exploring somewhere in their town or somewhere across the globe.

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[thehowtostuff-blog]

For the nearly 20% percent of Americans who experience severe online harassment, there’s a new company launching in the latest batch of Y Combinator called Tall Poppy that’s giving them the tools to fight back.

Co-founded by Leigh Honeywell and Logan Dean, Tall Poppy grew out of the work that Honeywell, a security specialist, had been doing to hunt down trolls in online communities since at least 2008.

That was the year that Honeywell first went after a particularly noxious specimen who spent his time sending death threats to women in various Linux communities. Honeywell cooperated with law enforcement to try and track down the troll and eventually pushed the commenter into hiding after he was visited by investigators.

That early success led Honeywell to assume a not-so-secret identity as a security expert by day for companies like Microsoft, Salesforce, and Slack, and a defender against online harassment when she wasn’t at work.

“It was an accidental thing that I got into this work,” says Honeywell. “It’s sort of an occupational hazard of being an internet feminist.”

Honeywell started working one-on-one with victims of online harassment that would be referred to her directly.

“As people were coming forward with #metoo… I was working with a number of high profile folks to essentially batten down the hatches,” says Honeywell. “It’s been satisfying work helping people get back a sense of safety when they feel like they have lost it.”

As those referrals began to climb (eventually numbering in the low hundreds of cases), Honeywell began to think about ways to systematize her approach so it could reach the widest number of people possible.

“The reason we’re doing it that way is to help scale up,” says Honeywell. “As with everything in computer security it’s an arms race… As you learn to combat abuse the abusive people adopt technologies and learn new tactics and ways to get around it.”

Primarily, Tall Poppy will provide an educational toolkit to help people lock down their own presence and do incident response properly, says Honeywell. The company will work with customers to gain an understanding of how to protect themselves, but also to be aware of the laws in each state that they can use to protect themselves and punish their attackers.

The scope of the problem

Based on research conducted by the Pew Foundation, there are millions of people in the U.S. alone, who could benefit from the type of service that Tall Poppy aims to provide.

According to a 2017 study, “nearly one-in-five Americans (18%) have been subjected to particularly severe forms of harassment online, such as physical threats, harassment over a sustained period, sexual harassment or stalking.”

The women and minorities that bear the brunt of these assaults (and, let’s be clear, it is primarily women and minorities who bear the brunt of these assaults), face very real consequences from these virtual assaults.

Take the case of the New York principal who lost her job when an ex-boyfriend sent stolen photographs of her to the New York Post and her boss. In a powerful piece for Jezebel she wrote about the consequences of her harassment.

As a result, city investigators escorted me out of my school pending an investigation. The subsequent investigation quickly showed that I was set up by my abuser. Still, Mayor Bill de Blasio’s administration demoted me from principal to teacher, slashed my pay in half, and sent me to a rubber room, the DOE’s notorious reassignment centers where hundreds of unwanted employees languish until they are fired or forgotten.

In 2016, I took a yearlong medical leave from the DOE to treat extreme post-traumatic stress and anxiety. Since the leave was almost entirely unpaid, I took loans against my pension to get by. I ran out of money in early 2017 and reported back to the department, where I was quickly sent to an administrative trial. There the city tried to terminate me. I was charged with eight counts of misconduct despite the conclusion by all parties that my ex-partner uploaded the photos to the computer and that there was no evidence to back up his salacious story. I was accused of bringing “widespread negative publicity, ridicule and notoriety” to the school system, as well as “failing to safeguard a Department of Education computer” from my abusive ex.

Her story isn’t unique. Victims of online harassment regularly face serious consequences from online harassment.

According to a  2013 Science Daily study, cyber stalking victims routinely need to take time off from work, or change or quit their job or school. And the stalking costs the victims $1200 on average to even attempt to address the harassment, the study said.

“It’s this widespread problem and the platforms have in many ways have dropped the ball on this,” Honeywell says.

Tall Poppy’s co-founders

Creating Tall Poppy

As Honeywell heard more and more stories of online intimidation and assault, she started laying the groundwork for the service that would eventually become Tall Poppy. Through a mutual friend she reached out to Dean, a talented coder who had been working at Ticketfly before its Eventbrite acquisition and was looking for a new opportunity.

That was in early 2015. But, afraid that striking out on her own would affect her citizenship status (Honeywell is Canadian), she and Dean waited before making the move to finally start the company.

What ultimately convinced them was the election of Donald Trump.

“After the election I had a heart-to-heart with myself… And I decided that I could move back to Canada, but I wanted to stay and fight,” Honeywell says.

Initially, Honeywell took on a year-long fellowship with the American Civil Liberties Union to pick up on work around privacy and security that had been handled by Chris Soghoian who had left to take a position with Senator Ron Wyden’s office.

But the idea for Tall Poppy remained, and once Honeywell received her green card, she was “chomping at the bit to start this company.”

A few months in the company already has businesses that have signed up for the services and tools it provides to help companies protect their employees.

Some platforms have taken small steps against online harassment. Facebook, for instance, launched an initiative to get people to upload their nude pictures  so that the social network can monitor when similar images are distributed online and contact a user to see if the distribution is consensual.

Meanwhile, Twitter has made a series of changes to its algorithm to combat online abuse.

Twitter algorithm changes will hide more bad tweets and trolls

“People were shocked and horrified that people were trying this,” Honeywell says. “[But] what is the way [harassers] can do the most damage? Sharing them to Facebook is one of the ways where they can do the most damage. It was a worthwhile experiment.”

To underscore how pervasive a problem online harassment is, out of the four companies where the company is doing business or could do business in the first month and a half there is already an issue that the company is addressing. 

“It is an important problem to work on,” says Honeywell. “My recurring realization is that the cavalry is not coming.”

from TechCrunch https://ift.tt/2NBwzBC

[theinvinciblenoob]

For the nearly 20 percent of Americans who experience severe online harassment, there’s a new company launching in the latest batch of Y Combinator called Tall Poppy that’s giving them the tools to fight back.

Co-founded by Leigh Honeywell and Logan Dean, Tall Poppy grew out of the work that Honeywell, a security specialist, had been doing to hunt down trolls in online communities since at least 2008.

That was the year that Honeywell first went after a particularly noxious specimen who spent his time sending death threats to women in various Linux communities. Honeywell cooperated with law enforcement to try and track down the troll and eventually pushed the commenter into hiding after he was visited by investigators.

That early success led Honeywell to assume a not-so-secret identity as a security expert by day for companies like Microsoft, Salesforce, and Slack, and a defender against online harassment when she wasn’t at work.

“It was an accidental thing that I got into this work,” says Honeywell. “It’s sort of an occupational hazard of being an internet feminist.”

Honeywell started working one-on-one with victims of online harassment that would be referred to her directly.

“As people were coming forward with #metoo… I was working with a number of high profile folks to essentially batten down the hatches,” says Honeywell. “It’s been satisfying work helping people get back a sense of safety when they feel like they have lost it.”

As those referrals began to climb (eventually numbering in the low hundreds of cases), Honeywell began to think about ways to systematize her approach so it could reach the widest number of people possible.

“The reason we’re doing it that way is to help scale up,” says Honeywell. “As with everything in computer security it’s an arms race… As you learn to combat abuse the abusive people adopt technologies and learn new tactics and ways to get around it.”

Primarily, Tall Poppy will provide an educational toolkit to help people lock down their own presence and do incident response properly, says Honeywell. The company will work with customers to gain an understanding of how to protect themselves, but also to be aware of the laws in each state that they can use to protect themselves and punish their attackers.

The scope of the problem

Based on research conducted by the Pew Foundation, there are millions of people in the U.S. alone, who could benefit from the type of service that Tall Poppy aims to provide.

According to a 2017 study, “nearly one-in-five Americans (18%) have been subjected to particularly severe forms of harassment online, such as physical threats, harassment over a sustained period, sexual harassment or stalking.”

The women and minorities that bear the brunt of these assaults (and, let’s be clear, it is primarily women and minorities who bear the brunt of these assaults), face very real consequences from these virtual assaults.

Take the case of the New York principal who lost her job when an ex-boyfriend sent stolen photographs of her to the New York Post and her boss. In a powerful piece for Jezebel she wrote about the consequences of her harassment.

As a result, city investigators escorted me out of my school pending an investigation. The subsequent investigation quickly showed that I was set up by my abuser. Still, Mayor Bill de Blasio’s administration demoted me from principal to teacher, slashed my pay in half, and sent me to a rubber room, the DOE’s notorious reassignment centers where hundreds of unwanted employees languish until they are fired or forgotten.

In 2016, I took a yearlong medical leave from the DOE to treat extreme post-traumatic stress and anxiety. Since the leave was almost entirely unpaid, I took loans against my pension to get by. I ran out of money in early 2017 and reported back to the department, where I was quickly sent to an administrative trial. There the city tried to terminate me. I was charged with eight counts of misconduct despite the conclusion by all parties that my ex-partner uploaded the photos to the computer and that there was no evidence to back up his salacious story. I was accused of bringing “widespread negative publicity, ridicule and notoriety” to the school system, as well as “failing to safeguard a Department of Education computer” from my abusive ex.

Her story isn’t unique. Victims of online harassment regularly face serious consequences from online harassment.

According to a  2013 Science Daily study, cyber stalking victims routinely need to take time off from work, or change or quit their job or school. And the stalking costs the victims $1200 on average to even attempt to address the harassment, the study said.

“It’s this widespread problem and the platforms have in many ways have dropped the ball on this,” Honeywell says.

Tall Poppy’s co-founders

Creating Tall Poppy

As Honeywell heard more and more stories of online intimidation and assault, she started laying the groundwork for the service that would eventually become Tall Poppy. Through a mutual friend she reached out to Dean, a talented coder who had been working at Ticketfly before its Eventbrite acquisition and was looking for a new opportunity.

That was in early 2015. But, afraid that striking out on her own would affect her citizenship status (Honeywell is Canadian), she and Dean waited before making the move to finally start the company.

What ultimately convinced them was the election of Donald Trump.

“After the election I had a heart-to-heart with myself… And I decided that I could move back to Canada, but I wanted to stay and fight,” Honeywell says.

Initially, Honeywell took on a year-long fellowship with the American Civil Liberties Union to pick up on work around privacy and security that had been handled by Chris Soghoian who had left to take a position with Senator Ron Wyden’s office.

But the idea for Tall Poppy remained, and once Honeywell received her green card, she was “chomping at the bit to start this company.”

A few months in the company already has businesses that have signed up for the services and tools it provides to help companies protect their employees.

Some platforms have taken small steps against online harassment. Facebook, for instance, launched an initiative to get people to upload their nude pictures  so that the social network can monitor when similar images are distributed online and contact a user to see if the distribution is consensual.

Meanwhile, Twitter has made a series of changes to its algorithm to combat online abuse.

Twitter algorithm changes will hide more bad tweets and trolls

“People were shocked and horrified that people were trying this,” Honeywell says. “[But] what is the way [harassers] can do the most damage? Sharing them to Facebook is one of the ways where they can do the most damage. It was a worthwhile experiment.”

To underscore how pervasive a problem online harassment is, out of the four companies where the company is doing business or could do business in the first month and a half there is already an issue that the company is addressing. 

“It is an important problem to work on,” says Honeywell. “My recurring realization is that the cavalry is not coming.”

via TechCrunch

[latestnews2018-blog]

Tall Poppy aims to make online harassment protection an employee benefit

New Post has been published on https://latestnews2018.com/tall-poppy-aims-to-make-online-harassment-protection-an-employee-benefit/

Tall Poppy aims to make online harassment protection an employee benefit

For the nearly 20 percent of Americans who experience severe online harassment, there’s a new company launching in the latest batch of Y Combinator called Tall Poppy that’s giving them the tools to fight back.

Co-founded by Leigh Honeywell and Logan Dean, Tall Poppy grew out of the work that Honeywell, a security specialist, had been doing to hunt down trolls in online communities since at least 2008.

That was the year that Honeywell first went after a particularly noxious specimen who spent his time sending death threats to women in various Linux communities. Honeywell cooperated with law enforcement to try and track down the troll and eventually pushed the commenter into hiding after he was visited by investigators.

That early success led Honeywell to assume a not-so-secret identity as a security expert by day for companies like Microsoft, Salesforce, and Slack, and a defender against online harassment when she wasn’t at work.

“It was an accidental thing that I got into this work,” says Honeywell. “It’s sort of an occupational hazard of being an internet feminist.”

Honeywell started working one-on-one with victims of online harassment that would be referred to her directly.

“As people were coming forward with #metoo… I was working with a number of high profile folks to essentially batten down the hatches,” says Honeywell. “It’s been satisfying work helping people get back a sense of safety when they feel like they have lost it.”

As those referrals began to climb (eventually numbering in the low hundreds of cases), Honeywell began to think about ways to systematize her approach so it could reach the widest number of people possible.

“The reason we’re doing it that way is to help scale up,” says Honeywell. “As with everything in computer security it’s an arms race… As you learn to combat abuse the abusive people adopt technologies and learn new tactics and ways to get around it.”

Primarily, Tall Poppy will provide an educational toolkit to help people lock down their own presence and do incident response properly, says Honeywell. The company will work with customers to gain an understanding of how to protect themselves, but also to be aware of the laws in each state that they can use to protect themselves and punish their attackers.

The scope of the problem

Based on research conducted by the Pew Foundation, there are millions of people in the U.S. alone, who could benefit from the type of service that Tall Poppy aims to provide.

According to a 2017 study, “nearly one-in-five Americans (18%) have been subjected to particularly severe forms of harassment online, such as physical threats, harassment over a sustained period, sexual harassment or stalking.”

The women and minorities that bear the brunt of these assaults (and, let’s be clear, it is primarily women and minorities who bear the brunt of these assaults), face very real consequences from these virtual assaults.

Take the case of the New York principal who lost her job when an ex-boyfriend sent stolen photographs of her to the New York Post and her boss. In a powerful piece for Jezebel she wrote about the consequences of her harassment.

As a result, city investigators escorted me out of my school pending an investigation. The subsequent investigation quickly showed that I was set up by my abuser. Still, Mayor Bill de Blasio’s administration demoted me from principal to teacher, slashed my pay in half, and sent me to a rubber room, the DOE’s notorious reassignment centers where hundreds of unwanted employees languish until they are fired or forgotten.

In 2016, I took a yearlong medical leave from the DOE to treat extreme post-traumatic stress and anxiety. Since the leave was almost entirely unpaid, I took loans against my pension to get by. I ran out of money in early 2017 and reported back to the department, where I was quickly sent to an administrative trial. There the city tried to terminate me. I was charged with eight counts of misconduct despite the conclusion by all parties that my ex-partner uploaded the photos to the computer and that there was no evidence to back up his salacious story. I was accused of bringing “widespread negative publicity, ridicule and notoriety” to the school system, as well as “failing to safeguard a Department of Education computer” from my abusive ex.

Her story isn’t unique. Victims of online harassment regularly face serious consequences from online harassment.

According to a  2013 Science Daily study, cyber stalking victims routinely need to take time off from work, or change or quit their job or school. And the stalking costs the victims $1200 on average to even attempt to address the harassment, the study said.

“It’s this widespread problem and the platforms have in many ways have dropped the ball on this,” Honeywell says.

Tall Poppy’s co-founders

Creating Tall Poppy

As Honeywell heard more and more stories of online intimidation and assault, she started laying the groundwork for the service that would eventually become Tall Poppy. Through a mutual friend she reached out to Dean, a talented coder who had been working at Ticketfly before its Eventbrite acquisition and was looking for a new opportunity.

That was in early 2015. But, afraid that striking out on her own would affect her citizenship status (Honeywell is Canadian), she and Dean waited before making the move to finally start the company.

What ultimately convinced them was the election of Donald Trump.

“After the election I had a heart-to-heart with myself… And I decided that I could move back to Canada, but I wanted to stay and fight,” Honeywell says.

Initially, Honeywell took on a year-long fellowship with the American Civil Liberties Union to pick up on work around privacy and security that had been handled by Chris Soghoian who had left to take a position with Senator Ron Wyden’s office.

But the idea for Tall Poppy remained, and once Honeywell received her green card, she was “chomping at the bit to start this company.”

A few months in the company already has businesses that have signed up for the services and tools it provides to help companies protect their employees.

Some platforms have taken small steps against online harassment. Facebook, for instance, launched an initiative to get people to upload their nude pictures  so that the social network can monitor when similar images are distributed online and contact a user to see if the distribution is consensual.

Meanwhile, Twitter has made a series of changes to its algorithm to combat online abuse.

“People were shocked and horrified that people were trying this,” Honeywell says. “[But] what is the way [harassers] can do the most damage? Sharing them to Facebook is one of the ways where they can do the most damage. It was a worthwhile experiment.”

To underscore how pervasive a problem online harassment is, out of the four companies where the company is doing business or could do business in the first month and a half there is already an issue that the company is addressing. 

“It is an important problem to work on,” says Honeywell. “My recurring realization is that the cavalry is not coming.”