#it does not visit me often but when it does i am helpless

[galaxythreads]

guys, i think i wrote like 16k yesterday in like 10-12 hours and i do not know how i did that but i think i saw god for a moment and we waved and then i passed out.

[athanasius-symposium-of-writings]

The Economic Difference Between The Miner and Mine Owner's Daughter

Chapter Four

Based of this ask

Rated Explicit | Warning: period typical sexism, depression

Ao3

Taglist: @anastasiablossomlove @tfamidoingwithmylife @luopenis

Chapter Three

Golden Cave ruined your family utterly.

The explosion, the suicide pact made by your father, and ordered the workers to follow. The research on the gas that caused the madness. Then the detonation of the charges buried the cave with everyone inside.

You were left with utterly nothing.

When you woke up, the doctor of the mining site said Norton was carrying your unconscious body to the infirmary before the explosion happened. Since that accident, you have been asleep…

For a year.

There were no dreams, no sensation of being asleep for so long! Doctor Dyer even said they started fearing the worst. Not like that was your concern, it was your father and the miners.

The news given to you is beyond heartbreaking…

In a year you have lost everything your father ever owned or built himself, including your home.

Suddenly, you have fallen from the top to now sinking into the bottom.

The life you knew is gone, your mother's family had turned away from you to keep their livelihood secure (though they pay for your medical upkeep), and the families of those miners demanded your blood. It is a nightmare scenario that leaves you helpless.

It was too much for you. The sense of isolation, loneliness, and helplessness quickly takes root in your heart.

Your friend, the doctor whose name is William Dyer, visits you from time to time. Visiting as often as he can with his wife when you are transferred to a mental ward.

Your dark thoughts had led you to a dark option as you grieved.

Staying in a coma felt like a better option.

In the hospital currently, you sit alone in your room facing the window. A dark and cloudy day, no one is out in the yard because it rained yesterday. It fits your current moods, dark and gloomy. A shell of your former self these days as nightmares plague your mind, you jump at shadows when you force yourself to stay awake.

There are whispers in your mind you swear are voices of those lost in Golden Cave.

Go back. You must go back. You must find out what happened that day!

You stare at your lifeless expression in the window, there are dark bags under your eyes now.

A knock makes you slightly turn towards the door as it takes your attention for a second only for you to ignore it once more to stare outside the gloomy world.

“You have a visitor!” A nurse enters your room, “If you need anything someone will be right outside.” Leading in whoever before closing the door.

There's a second of silence, then the sound of a heel-clicking against the floor as your visitor walks towards you. He stopped only when you spoke.

“Please leave me, Doctor Dyer,” Wiping your tears, “I am afraid I am in no state to be pleasing company.” You dare not look at your friend as you look like a mess. Unkempt hair, your medical gown stained with tears, your face puffy from crying so much.

There is a deep chuckle, one that makes you confused, “Oh, how the mighty have fallen.” A voice that haunts you chills you to the bone. Nights you dreamed about him yet it always feels like a jumbled mess-- All of those dreams, however, end in a way you are shameful to admit: erotic.

Not sure why, yes you did find him attractive but such ideas never crossed your mind out of respect for him.

“Mr. Campbell?” Your voice cracking as you slowly turn around, “I…” When you look at him– Up for he towers over you– He appears different.

A haircut and dyed a lighter shade of brown hair. His skin is clean, no longer covered by the muck of dirt and coal. His attire is bright red, accented by his shoulder gold colored lined cape, with black long boots. Then there is a mask on his face, it hides the scar on his face. The hat was taken off the moment he entered as he held it in his white gloved-covered hand.

No longer does he dress like a prospector, no, he is like a dapper gentleman from some stage play. At least he appears healthy, that you are most grateful for.

“You appear well.” Smiling so gently to him genuinely happy to see his fortune changed.

“Quite,” He moves forward but stops midway when you flinch, “You mousy now? Tsk, when Dyer said you were locked up here I couldn't believe it.” A few long strides and he is beside you facing the window, “To think you would end up here.”

“If you are here to mock me,” Turning your head to look at him, “Please do not.” Begging for a bit of mercy, “It is good however to see you, Mr. Campbell. Despite everything that has happened, I am glad you are safe.”

You still are sweet as honey, you should be broken with all that happened! But you don't remember it… Heh.

“Dyer said you don't remember what happened at Golden Cave.” Ignoring what you said.

You nod then gaze forward as you start explaining what happened.

All you can remember is running into the cave to stop your father. Doctor Dyer says the gas within the cave likely causes you to hallucinate and seems to cause the gap in your memory. The coma though, he does not know what caused that.

“I want to thank you for saving me.” These are the last words to follow.

“Don't see why you should.” Turning around to lean against the hard glass of the window, “Look at the mess you're in.” Crossing his arms.

“Perhaps.” It has been… Hard to put it lightly, “It seems fortune has smiled on you these days. The gold rose pin is a little much though.”

If only you knew how he obtained this wealth. The cost of being now the one on top. If he had to make the choice again… Well, he crossed that threshold of morality the moment he had you in that cave. Taking you, listening to the dark part of himself; his life is now in a place he wants to be. In control and wealthy.

“What brings you here today?” Making conversation, “How have you been?” Curious.

A part of him wishes you would not smile at him, but the other half is excited by you smiling at him. How you have no idea how tainted you are because of him.

He turns to face you as he pulls out an envelope, sealed by ink with a crest design on it, he gives it to you.

Take it in your hand with an inquisitive expression. Why does it have the crest of your mother's family on it?

“I have a business proposal for you.” Cold and cutting to the chase, “One I'm sure you are well acquainted with.”

When you open the envelope, reading each paper, you back away with shock on your face.

“How—” In utter disbelief.

“Money is power, sweetheart. You know that. Don't worry I didn't write that, they did. Figured the best way to settle your pop's debts is to get their granddaughter–” He stopped when he noticed you tearing up but laughing humorlessly.

“Seems karma has a way of balancing out indiscriminately.” You cannot believe this, “Now I am the one owing the company store.”

Sixteen tons. What do you get? Another day older and deeper in debt— He is aware of the miner's song.

“Debt is inevitable. At least, you won't be breaking your back digging for coal.” Shrugging.

“No… Instead, I will be on my knees for you.” A deadpan expression before you sigh. 

Oh, you remember those words, huh? Cute.

“There are worse things that can happen, (Name).” 

You know that. You truly do know that. It just makes you feel bitter, being tossed to be another person's problem. Helpless as these papers basically layout: you have no choice if you want to survive.

There is a harsh reality you must face as a woman of this world: marriage is your only way to stay alive.

“When?”

“In May. A spring wedding. Everyone loves spring weddings from what I was told.”

“And you… Do you agree with this?”

“Why not? They see the advantages and they know how good it would look to marry you to a former employee. One that saved you too. Your father has no kin aside from you and the company is going belly up, I can just absorb it into my own.”

“... What happened to you in a year?”

He does not answer, he instead pulls out a ring from his pocket, “Yes or no, simple as that.” Showing you the ring held up by his thumb and index finger: Gold. An engagement band. Simple with lovely patterns on it.

You offer your left hand to him.

[pareidoliaonthemove]

A New Policy

Part Two: VIP (Very Important imPosition)

(And since Tumblr is being a pain and I can't find Part One here, you can find it here on AO3).

Apolline Morel looked up as the door gave its discreet chime.

And swore.

She had been the Invoicing and Reception Operative at Tracy Industries’ prestigious Custom Transport Paris office for the last seven years, and had seen all sorts of eccentric – and rich – persons come through the door, and by far Francois Lemaire was the worst of the worst.

She and her colleagues had often dreamed and schemed about refusing the obnoxious idiot service, and they had initially been overjoyed at the thought that they had official permission from the highest authority – Scott Tracy, CEO and homme de rêve – to do so. Until they realised that they would have to tell Lemaire that they would not sell whatever it was he wanted.

To his face.

Apolloine, as had all her colleagues, had consoled herself that the chances of having to actually do so were remote. After all, the Blacklisted persons had all been notified that they would no longer be served by Tracy Industries businesses, non?

Non; or at least, Lemaire hadn’t got the message. Apolline’s heart sank as the man burst through the secondary doors, a damned hovercamera flitting around him, and his wife – Madeline – trailing behind him, with the air of a woman who knew she was about to witness a train wreck and was helpless (and disinclined) to stop it.

“And here we are, at our first stop towards adventure! The luxurious offices of Custom Transport Paree” – Apolline rolled her eyes as his English-language monologue made a point of over-emphasising the proper (that is, French) pronunciation of the city – “where the best designers and technicians will spare no effort – and I will spare no expense – to ensure that I, Francois Lemaire, will be in comfort as I forge yet another world first! The first person to drive up Mount Everest!”

Apolline remembered his previous ‘expedition’ to Everest. It had taken three sherpas to carry the man’s cheeses to the top of the mountain. The outcry from the amount of rubbish that had been left on the top of the mountain – not just holy, but considered an actual goddess – had been the final straw that saw the Nepalese severely restricting access to the mountain. Never mind the idiocy on the descent that saw the man trapping himself and three sherpas in an ice cave. With a yak.

Lemaire’s monologue ended with a flourish as he presented himself to the desk. The holocamera drifted out for dramatic wide angle. “I am Francois Lemaire. Adventurer. Explorer!”

A pointed cough from behind him. “Oh, and this my biographer, Madeline Lemaire.” A vague handwave behind him.

“Your wife.” It was muttered, and not meant for Apolline to hear. Apolline met the woman’s eyes, and was surprised when she smirked. “Give it to him good” was mouthed silently.

Apolline didn’t have a chance to acknowledge Madeline, Lemaire had resumed speaking. “And I have come here today, to Custom Transport Paree to order the construction of a car that will enable me to be the first person to drive up Mount Everest!”

He struck a pose, clearly expecting some kind of accolade or ovation.

Apolline smiled at him, tightly. “Does Monsieur have an appointment?”

He stared at her, bewildered. “I am Francois Lemaire,” he repeated. “Explorer? Adventurer? World Famous? First person to visit Halley’s Comet? I brought the Solar Wind off you people!”

Apolline typed into the computer, as she tried to figure out how to handle this. “Francois … Lemaire …”

The computer beeped before Lemaire could list more ‘accomplishments’.

Apolline looked at the display. Apparently Lemaire had also brought a bathyscape, Artic snowcrawler, and submersible from them as well.

Across the client file display in big, violent red letters was the words ‘Account Closed. Blacklisted’. Apolline’s eyes widened. Management wasn’t taking any chances here, were they?

She took a deep breath, and went for broke. “I am sorry, Mr Lemaire, it appears you do not have an appointment, and that you no longer qualify for a client file.”

Apolline had once been visiting friends in Sicily when Mount Etna had undergone it’s biggest eruption in recorded history. The effects of the volcano had nothing on Lemaire’s reaction.

“I AM FRANCOIS LEMAIRE!!!” he screamed. “I AM WORLD FAMOUS!!! I AM RICH!!!! YOU CANNOT REFUSE TO BUILD MY MOUNTAIN CLIMBING CAR!!! I WANT IT!!! AND YOU ARE GOING TO GIVE IT TO ME!!!”

Apolline got to work on the computer as the man continued his tantrum. DM channels; where was … Ah, here. Blacklist: Situation. She started typing rapidly.

Name: Apolline Morel

Section: Invoicing and Reception, Custom Transport Paris

Details: Francois Lemaire arrived office, no appointment, demand construction of ‘mountaineering car’ to be ‘first person to drive up Mt Everest’. Became hysterical on being told no longer qualifies for client file. Request assistance.

She hit send and eyed the time display discreetly inlaid into the desk’s surface. Response within ten minutes, the memo and training packages had said. Well, she’d be testing that promise out today.

She didn’t think she could stand more than ten minutes of this.

They were seven and a half minutes in and Apolline hadn’t seen evidence of Lemaire drawing in a breath as his high-volume tirade continued non-stop. Behind him, Madeline was disinterestedly examining her nails as the holocamera zoomed around the room erratically, closing in and out from Lemaire and careening around in circles, apparently controlled by Lemaire’s hand gestures, his wild gesticulation had sent it haywire.

She was just about to try again to speak when in the ceiling a previously unknown holoprojector flared into life.

Lemaire was finally silenced as everyone in the room stared in shock as a hologram – a very high quality, almost solid appearing hologram – of Scott Tracy appeared standing behind the desk, next to Apolline, as large as life, and almost as physically real.

Mr Tracy turned to Apolline. “Ms Morel,” he said, smiling slightly at her. “I am sorry that you have had to deal with this. Please, take an extended lunch break – with full pay.”

Apolline quickly swiped her employee card at the terminal, logging her out of the system and securing the terminal, and she stood, fighting the urge to curtsy to her employer.

“I am sorry to have bothered you, Mr Tracy. Thank you for your assistance. If you need me, I shall be in the employee lounge, sir.”

Scott smiled, and nodded. “Thank you, Ms Morel. Please take your time.”

He turned back to Lemaire as Apolline backed away, awed to be in the presence of the legendary Scott Tracy, even if said presence was a holographic one.

In the background, Madeline grinned at her, and gave her a discreet ‘thumbs up’ – Apolline smiled back at the woman, and mouthed ‘thank you’ to her.

Holographic Scott Tracy had turned his attention to Lemaire as Apolline ordered the elevator to take her to the second floor. “Now, Mr Lemaire, I believe there are some matters we need to clear up…” was the last thing she heard as the elevator doors closed.

It seemed like every member of Custom Transport Paris’s staff was crammed into the employee lounge.

Apolline barely had time to register this fact when Andre, her manager, seized her by the arm. “Apolline, are you all right? It must have been awful, dealing with that terrible man!”

“I’m fine. But what’s everyone doing here?”

“Word got around that Lemaire was here. We all wanted to see what would happen when you refused him service.”

Apolline snorted. “Thanks. Nobody thought to help me?”

“I think you had plenty of help, without us.” Andre gestured at the security hologram of the lobby and reception desk on display in the centre of the room.

Apolline stared. A holographic Lemaire was scowling at the equally unimpressed holographic (double-holographic?) Scott Tracy. “What’s happened?” she asked.

“After you left Mr Tracy ‘reminded’ Lemaire that he had been blacklisted, and no Tracy Industries companies would serve him.” Andre started.

“And Lemaire kicked off about how that it was illegal,” snickered Juan, one of the designers.

Andre glared at him. “Mr Tracy’s just finished going through the legal details of why and how that is allowed,” he continued. “Mr Tracy either has a very thorough knowledge of business and customer service law, or he has been very well briefed, very quickly.”

“Shhhh!” someone hushed from near the hologram. “It’s starting to get good!”

Everyone pushed closer to the hologram, those in front sitting or kneeling down to allow a better view for those in back.

The tiny Lemaire was pouting, “I don’t know why you’re making such a fuss, nobody died! Anyway, if the car that your company provides fails, you run International Rescue. You can stop people dying because your company provides inferior products.”

There were outraged gasps around the room. Most of the designers were casting longing looks at the door with clenched fists, but were being held in place by their friends from other departments.

Lemaire kept going. “Is that why you started International Rescue? So you can play the hero when your substandard products fail and put people in danger?” He was attempting to poke the hologram in the chest with his fingers. “You put me in danger! I could have got back from Halley’s Comet if your company had given me a safe spaceship.”

Scott Tracy’s eyes blazed. “MISTER Lemaire. I must warn you that, as per the signage, for security purposes the premises integrate security cameras, and that what you are saying is slander.” A hand appeared from behind Mr Tracy, disappearing into a red and black checked sleeve, and lightly touched his shoulder. Muttered words and Mr Tracy made a visible effort to calm himself, before speaking again and the hand disappeared.

“Mr Lemaire, your stated purpose for commissioning a quote ‘mountain climbing car’ is to ‘drive up’ Mount Sagarmatha–”

“Um, No! I’m going to drive up Mount Everest! I said that VERY clearly. Mount EVER-REST.”

“Mount Sagarmatha, and after your disastrous previous ‘expedition’ – and the numerous crimes you commited during that time–”

“What ‘crimes’? Now how’s slandering who? I committed no crimes!”

Mr Tracy stared. “You mean other than making false statements to gain your climb permit? Fraudulently claiming you had climbed other 8,000ft peaks? Fraudulently claiming you had appropriate insurance. Mistreatment of the Sherpas you hired? Interfering with burial sites?”

Lemaire shuddered. “I was not going to share a camp site with corpses,” he declared. “After all that fuss they made about ‘polluting’ the mountain, you think they’d clean up the corpses. Health hazard, that is.”

“Mr” – and there was no mistaking the disdain in that title – “Lemaire, Mount Sagarmatha is a recognised burial ground. It is dangerous to try and remove from the mountain anybody who cannot realistically be saved. What you did – pushing the bodies off the mountain – was a crime. And as such, the Nepalese Government deported you and banned you from ever returning to their country again.”

Lemaire waved his hand dismissively. “I’m not going back to Nepal. Why would I want to? Much better to drive up Mount Everest from Tibet. The route is all planned.”

There was a sigh. “In any case, other than approved helicopters at both North and South Face base camps, no mechanised vehicles are permitted on Mount Sagarmatha or Mount Chomolungma. Even Thunderbirds are forbidden under normal circumstances. As per our agreement with both the Nepalese and Tibetan Governments, International Rescue do not respond to calls from the Holy Mountain, other than at the request of the governments.” The disembodied hand returned, resting comforting on Mr Tracy’s shoulder.

Apolline shuddered. How many calls for help from dying mountaineers had they been forced to ignore? He heart ached, but she realised that the phrase ‘Holy Mountain’ was how Mr Tracy reminded himself that his help, there on a literal goddess, was not appropriate.

Lemaire sniffed. “Nobody will deny me. Nobody turns away the money I can pay. I’ll drive up Mount Everest. I’ll be the first person to do it, and the world will be watching.” He turned away. “And I’ll make sure everybody knows that Tracy Industries refuses to serve customers.”

Suddenly Lemaire spun back, again stabbing fingers at Mr Tracy’s holographic chest. “And don’t get any ideas about stealing my idea! I’ll sue you into poverty if I find out you’re even thinking about driving up Mount Everest before me!”

Lemaire turned again and flounced out of the building, the holocamera faithful tailing him, with Madeline reluctantly behind. Scott Tracy’s hologram remained, standing in front of the reception desk, hands on hips and frowning at the retreating ‘explorer’

In the employee lounge, people erupted into cheers and catcalls at Lemaire. There were backslaps and hugs all around.

All of which fell to awed silence as the hologram of the reception lobby disappeared to be replaced by the lifesized Scott Tracy. An eyebrow went up at the packed room, before he spoke. “Ms Morel?”

Apolline stepped into the holograms reception field – although she suspected from his reaction that when Mr Tracy accessed it, the reception field was greatly expanded – assisted by a push from Andre. “Yes, Mr Tracy?”

His eyes raked her, assessing, “I wanted to make sure you were alright after your … unpleasant … experience earlier.” His eyes darted around the room. “And I must say, I am very pleased to see you so ably supported by your colleagues.”

Mr Durand, the General Manager, stepped forward. “Please forgive us, Mr Tracy. Mr Lemaire has in the past been an unpleasant person for many of our staff to deal with. When it became apparent that he had returned, despite his Blacklisted status, many people hoped for the satisfaction of seeing him turned away.”

Mr Tracy nodded, thoughtfully. “I hope I didn’t disappoint.” A pause. “And, to further reassure you all, the recording of Mr Lemaire’s statements here today will be forwarded to the Nepalese, Tibetan, and Chinese Governments. If anyone is foolish enough to supply him with the vehicle he is trying to purchase, he will be stopped before he can get anywhere near the mountain.”

There was a general murmur of approval throughout the room, and Mr Tracy frowned again. “Mr Durand, you said that Mr Lemaire has been unpleasant do deal with in the past. Can you please forward to an elaboration on that to my email? And sometime in the next fortnight, please provide a list and broad details of any comparable clients. It appears we need to educate some of our customers as to how to behave politely in public.”

The General Manager nodded, as another murmur of appreciation went up around the room. Mr Tracy turned back to Apolline. “Ms Morel, I am deeply sorry that you had to deal with that outburst earlier. If you feel you need it, please do not hesitate to take time off. I will make sure you receive full pay for any time.”

Apolline gathered herself. “Thank you for your kindness, Mr Tracy. I am perfectly all right. I do not need any time away from work. And it is I who should apologise to you. I am sorry that I disturbed you to deal with this matter.”

Mr Tracy smiled easily. “No apology necessary, Ms Morel. I am afraid we did expect something like this when we instigated the Blacklist, it’s why we set up the Blacklist DM. The people we have been forced to refuse custom are … not known for their social skills, and tend to operate with little regard for safety and the welfare of others.”

Apolline bowed her head. “Then I am sorry that you have to deal with them, Mr Tracy. Hopefully, this will be the last time.”

Mr Tracy sighed. “I doubt it, Ms Morel. Unfortunately, other companies will build what he wants because they cannot afford to turn away commissions. And they will wash their conscience by saying it falls to others to ensure the rules he will break are upheld.”

Someone else spoke up then. “Do you really not rescue people off of Mount, uh –”

Mr Tracy smiled. “The highest mountain in the world? It does get rather confusing about the name issue, but it was only fifty years ago Nepal and Tibet agreed on the official height of the mountain. And as for agreeing on an official name … Well, miracles do happen.” Then he sighed. “And yes, as I told Mr Lemaire, unless we get official requests from the appropriate governments, we do not respond. It is part of the agreement International Rescue has with the Council of World Governments that allows us to operate. We wouldn’t park a Thunderbird in a church, we will not park one on the mountain. Everyone who climbs the mountain does so knowing the risks, and they must accept the consequences.” He seemed to wilt, “It’s hard, but we must do it.”

A klaxon sounded, and a voice announced, “International Rescue, we have a situation.”

Mr Tracy glanced over his shoulder, before turning back to his employees speaking rapidly. “I’m sorry, I’m going to have to go. But thank you again, Ms Morel for your sterling work in a difficult situation, and thank you, everybody, for your support of your colleagues. It’s always a pleasure to see people who work together and look after each other. Mr Durand, I look forward to working with you to ensure our people are treated correctly. Tracy Island out.” The hologram fizzed and blinked out, the view of the empty lobby returning.

“Wow.” Apolline didn’t realise she had spoken until Andre placed a hand on her shoulder.

“Do as Mr Tracy says, Apolline, take some time. I’ll take over the desk for the rest of today.”

Apolline shook herself, and went to speak, but she saw the rest of the company nodding at her, encouragingly. She reconsidered. “Thank you, Andre. I think after this morning a break from reception will be welcome. I will work on invoicing today, if I may.”

Andre glanced at Mr Durand, and they both shrugged. “If you feel that’s best for you, Apolline,” he said.

Mr Durand nodded. “And before everybody returns to their work, may I please request that you provide me with details of past … unpleasant encounters, both with Mr Lemaire and other clients, as Mr Tracy requested. Hopefully we will be able to prevent further such displays.”

The room broke up, Apolline snatching her lunch from the refrigerator before joining the huddle of Invoicing and Reception staff returning to their backroom offices. As she joined in with her own stories of horrible customers, she felt a sense of pride. Not just in herself, but in her colleagues – her friends. Coming to work was still a pain many days, but Tracy Industries went out of its way to treat its people well.

And today proved how far out of its way it would go.

Notes:

I MAY have been fantasising a bit about employers who actually care about and support their employees.

I may also have been catching up on some reading / viewing and had a convergence of Mt Everest (name used for simplicity) related 'texts' (most of which is 'Dead Lucky: life after death on Mount Everest' by Lincoln Hall) - and I now understand MORE about the logistics of doing so, and understand LESS about why anyone would be so insane as to wish to do so.

I hope everyone has employers and colleagues as supportive as Apolline has.

[pleasedontcareaboutme]

Today is such a weirddddd day ahhhh.

I'm going to get a bittttttt personal, but I thought I would share. Besides celebrating Toll today, I wanted to remember Acchan as well, since it's the 10th month since his passing.

Today's really special for me, because it's not only Toll's birthday and Acchan's anniversary, but it's also my mom's birthday. She passed away 4 years ago, so today, when visiting her grave, I thought both about Toll and Atsushi as well. It's so ironic really, it's as if life did this on purpose, that I must face reality, both the good and bad today ahahaha.

Honestly saying, had I not discovered BT, I don't think I could have ever visited her grave with a smile, really.

Sorry really personal, actually bigggggggggg trauma dump lol, reallly long but I just want to let it out, since it is somewhat related to BT and Acchan ahaha. And, this is my diary lol, so I need to be honest with how I feel right haahah. Don't read it if you don't want to hear a pathetic debbie downer yap again ahahaha

I honestly did not have a great relationship with my mom when she was alive. There were many many issues going on in my family, and my mom couldn't handle the stress, so she often snapped at me and my siblings. She was slowly becoming an alcoholic, because she couldn't handle everything by herself. Back then, I resented her for it a lot. I thought to myself "why would she make her children see her like this" and many other nasty remarks in my head, but I kept quiet since I had no business in adult matters. But, now with an adult head, I feel terribly sorry for not understanding her better. My family was not that poor, but poor enough that my dad was forced to work abroad. He came home around once a month. Honestly saying, looking back at it, my mom must have felt so lonely. It must have been suffocating having to raise 2 kids without your husband you love dearly. I'm sure that's why she turned to alcohol as an escape. I regret so many things. I regret not being there for her, I regret not expressing my love for her, but mostly, I regret not expressing how I was just yearning for a mom. Had she knew how much I just wanted to love her, I'm sure her pain would have been easier to bear. But, instead I was mentally ill and put a whole lot more on her shoulders ajajajaiajsjjaj. I was a kid yes, of course, I just wanted a parental figure to be there for me, but still, I wish things could have happened differently. I wish she could have seen that I have recovered and I am living a great life now ( even though I'm still not a 100% yet ahah). Because despite her not being truly present, I felt her concern. I could see the sadness in her eyes when she looked at her helpless child she did not know how to take care of. Of course, I could be angry. I could be angry, it wasn't my fault. But I'm just sad, that I was born fucked up ahahahah. When my family was together, everything was great. Mom and dad loved each other, they tried to give us everything. But I, I had to become depressed and ruin it all. And finances had to interfere in a possibly healthy family life ahh. I wish I could have cherished those moments of happiness for longer, because now they are not possible to get back ahhhhh.

But how does this relate to BT yes well.

So around 5 years ago, my mom developed pancreatic cancer. Due to her lifestyle mostly, but genetics also played a role. I was so caught up in my head that time, I felt like it was a hassle to visit her in the hospital. I felt it was a hassle to call her, I felt it was a hassle to live ahahah. I was way too focused on trying to "better my future". I was obsessively trying to get out of my depression by isolating from everything and everyone and focusing on "being better" . But it became so obsessive I barely lived, I was functioning on autopilot, blocking out every emotion and "problems" from my life. I barely remember anything from this time, honestly. So I also blocked out my mom being sick. I did not, and couldn't acknowledge it. Fast forward, in just a few months she passed away. There was hope, there was despair. I don't fucking recall what was the last thing I said to her and anajajahjahahha I don't rmemeber the last time I spoke to herr ahahahhaha. This was all in the middle of covid so we weren't allowed to visit.

.I. don't. remember. when. was. the. last. time. I. saw. her. Since I never knew it would be the last sjsjwiwkaokwkelowlwlwl. She never called me because even on her death bed!!! she put me fucking first!!!! she didn't want to bother me!!!! cuz she knew I was doing school!!!! and she didn't want me to visit!!!! because she didn't want me to see her so "pathetic"!!!!!! And I just fucking let her do it because Im stupid. Im so sorrryy mom I wish I would have visited I wish I could remember your last words or your face, the last time. You weren't a bother I'm so fucking sorry I made you feel that way. I will never ever ever forgive myself. I was such a fucking brat even when she called me I acted annoyed sjshiauajahaioaiw.

But I could sense. Even then I could sense she wanted to redeem herself. I knew she could feel she was gonna pass and I felt it too. I felt her words kinder and it was so unusual. I felt she finally expressed her love and yet, I couldn't react well. I was a fucking idiot. Even for one last time I should have put my fucking ego aside and should have said I love you. But it was strange, it felt like if I were to do that, I would accept she was going to pass. I was emotionally really shut off, I did not cry once. But deep down, I knew I did not fucking want to let her go. It's selfish of me to say but fucks sake. Everything was terrible, but since she passed, everything got worse.

On that day she died, I did not cry. I remember my dad coming home, bawling his eyes out. Jesus christ. I just hugged him for around half an hour feeling every tear fall down his cheek and. I never want to see him like that again, ever. He was so heartbroken, I felt like looking at a lost little boy. I felt terribly sorry for him oh my god. A lover of 30 years just suddenly gone, that must have been terrible to endure. But still, I couldn't cry. I felt like there was something really wrong with me and even my family thought I was strange. It was like it didn't phase me at all. At around 4am I went to bed and went to school the next day. What a fucking idiot jesus.

And for 4 years, I kept going to school the next day.

Since she passed, I think each day felt even blurrier than before. Eat, sleep, repeat. I could not grieve properly, I could not express how I was feeling. I always struggled to open up to others, I always bottled up everything, until it all exploded ahaha. I think it took me 2 years to first cry about her death. But even then, I wasn't sure what I was feeling. There was regret, sadness, anger, love. They all came out in the form of tears. But it wasn't satisfying, it felt like there was still something heavy weighing down my whole being that I just didn't know how to get rid of.

Well fast forward a lot, until the day I met BT.

Well I did have good moments, bad moments in these 4 years. But I had a ton of emptiness. A lingering sadness that had no root cause, that consumed my every waking moment and made me into a shell of a human being ahaha.

Then sometime last year, I discovered Buck Tick. Honestly, when I heard Atsushi's voice, It was love at first listen ahaha. I did not know what it was, but I felt a presence. I am not spiritual at all. But I felt a really strong presence of someone or something watching me when I listened to their music. It sent shivers down my spine and made me a bit scared ahaha. But it made me all the more intrigued to see what this band was about.

The first live performance of theirs I saw was the Climax Together - Jupiter live. That moment is etched into my brain. When a random school night I went on youtube with an innocent curiousity, wanting to get to know this band, that I didn't know would later change my whole life.

When I saw the performace, the first few seconds, I started bawling my eyes out. It's like something posessed me. When I looked at Acchan, I felt a familiarity, like my mother was looking at me. That feeling, that, is undescribable. It's like I could feel him standing next to me, the presence was so strong. When I looked at the lyrics of jupiter, I immediately knew it was about his mother, and that time, I did not know his mom also passed away. But that song, that night, changed my life. I think the pent up grief left my body that day ahahha. There was an understanding coming from Atsushi's voice, presence, that no other human has ever made me feel. I felt like I was finally seen.

After that, I read more about buck tick, listened to more songs. Grief began to hit me. I started feeling like everything that happened 4 years ago got cut open and decided to belatedly tear me apart ahaha. How does one explain to others that "sorry, I can't go to work, because the grief I've repressed 4 years ago is hitting me now and I'm unable to function.,, ahah.

Thanks to BT's music, I learned how to feel. I learned that it's okay for me to cry too. That I don't have to be the one to bear everyone's stress. I don't have to be the strong one.

And honestly, I don't want to be the strong one.

I want to cry because I miss my mom!!! I want to tell everyone that I miss my mom!!!! even 4 years later!!!! I want express my love for her that I couldn't in her last moments!!!

And it's all thanks to BT. Their lyrics, their music, their lives. That made me believe it was okay to cry. That even Acchan, then a 20 year old man, can write music about missing his dear mom. And even at 50 he still can!! Then so can I.

Honestly, I strongly, strongly believe BT are my guardian angels. I think Acchan made me feel like I still have a mother. He filled in that role of a parental figure I was yearning for. When I miss my mom, I miss Acchan, when I miss Acchan, I miss my mom. They are one and the same to me. Now, the grief is shared. Since he passed, there are 2 fundamental pieces missing from my heart. But now, I am happy. It is bearable, because I'm able to cry. I can cry and I can love. I can write a 10 page essay about both of them, and why I love them. And because of that, I'll manage. Had I not discovered BT, I would still be stuck in a numb state of mind. But now, I'm sad. And for the first time, I have also felt happiness.

During the recent streams, I felt something really intense. A really intense gratitude. I never cry in front of my family, but that day, I cried to my sister that I am really greatful to have met BT, and that I miss my dear Acchan and mom deeply. Well, I think one could find me weird for this, but she understood me and said she was glad that I met someone like them ahahaha.

I met the people in my life that made me want to live, that made me want to love. That made me want. Anything at all. That made me want to continue, even with an aching heart. Because even an aching heart is a sign that it is alive, that it's beating.

Honestly now, today is a great day. Because I'm able to both remember my mom and Atsushi, with deep love.

Honestly, it's ironic, because when my mom was alive, she always wanted to be in a band, to sing, and to make music. Life was just unfair to her. So since Acchan's passing, and since I started feeling my mom's lingering presence again, I've been learning how to make music. I've been learning how to sing and play the guitar. It's a tough thing, but it's what's keeping me alive right now ahahah.I think Atsushi and my mom will both be kept alive as long as I do music. I do not know how and what this will end up like, but one things for sure, I am passionate. I am passionate to keep the legacy of my mom and Atsushi alive. If I can do that through music, I want to do it. Even as a hobby, but I want to sing for both of them.

One thing I regret is not being able to show BT to her ahaha. Well, by now I'm sure she has heard Atsushi sing ahaah. But nevertheless, I'm sure she would have loved BT. She loved music like their stuff. 🤍

So yes today, there are 2 birthdays and 2 people I remember. But it's a great day,because I remember. 🤍🤍

There’s one more thing I want to mention. So I went to her grave with my dad and sister today. We bought flowers, I bought a rose and some flamboyant flowers, that Acchan likes so much. My dad mentioned how he is feeling like mom is signalling him that it's okay for him to be happy!! That he doesn't have to be consumed by grief, and he can start to live again. He said "mom is angry at me and keeps telling me to leave her some space hahah". And honesty ah. Well I'm just beginning to grieve, but to see my dad slowly gain his spark back is great. Our relationship is pretty distanced since everything that happened, but I still wish him the best.

Well for now, I need Acchan and mom ahaa. I'm sorry I can't let you go yet, I need you.But I hope when I'm able to stand on my own legs without help, and you can sense I'm doing fine alone too, you will both signal me to leave you some space ahahha.

I love both of you, forever. I will write poetry for you and buy flowers. My heart will be filled with warmth when I think of you both. Thanks to you, I was born. And hopefully, I continue to live, with passion and love 🤍🤍🤍

Dear dear Acchan and mommy, I miss you so so much and I'm so happy to have known you both, you will be kept alive by me, as long as you wish to be 🤍🤍🤍

🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍

The night I met you

Was the night I was born

We're rapt in dreaming space

In the Milky Way

[thestarlightforge]

What the Antihero, Your Villain, Has Left

12/31/22

***

It’s interesting how sometimes, the early stages of grief are anger, and these fade into sadness until sadness is all that’s left for a long time—and sometimes, it’s the other way around.

When I was a teenager and had a messy friend-divorce, a situation which left me extremely isolated and cut off from most of my close friends, it was sadness that followed fury. I was angry for years—about how they behaved, what they had said, their abandonment and betrayals. Until eventually, I just missed them—their memories lit in blues, shades of melancholy finally mixing with peace.

But even now at age 24, when you would hope such things would seem less material than in childhood—since adults, in theory, can choose where they go, where they live, and who they see—when I have to leave my extended family after holiday visits, I am left not with sorrow, but with wrath.

For much of my childhood, I simply cried when we left them. I didn’t cry much as a kid—my sibling cried more often—but when I got injured (Brittle Bones) and when we would leave: Those were the times I cried. We would get in the car, and I’d weep for hours. That kind of crying that’s so intense, you choke on your snot from the utter hopelessness. Sometimes, I’d barely get out a “goodbye.” Just had to hope they knew.

Some of those tears were angry, I’m sure, and sobbing can tear forth from the body as violently as screaming can. But in theory, crying is a more helpless, sad emotion, relegated to emasculation—while anger breaks out, from snide remarks to roars, imbued with some fool’s-gold version of power. Whether erudite or brutish, ire can feel like strength, like righteousness—like taking control back.

There is a black torrent of feeling that pours from waves of this realization: That other people could have chosen a whole different life for you, but they didn’t, and you couldn’t. That a world almost existed in which this endless cycle of grief you experience was replaced by a robust support system of family and community—no matter how broken or strange—when you were so young, you couldn’t even form memories of living far away. But it doesn’t exist.

You don’t know how things would’ve turned out in this other world. But from the little glimpses you’ve gotten every school or work vacation all your life, you feel like it would’ve been a good one. A life where, when disaster struck, family may have shown up more often (whether by will or ability). There would’ve been places to go, people to see, when fighting started or struggles arose. Friends to hold in good times and sad.

What or whom you might’ve missed out on in this phantom reality, you do not know—who you may or may not have become is anyone’s guess. But you would’ve been free of this bullshit, anyway.

It does not dignify abusive characters, of course. But I wonder, sometimes, if people who condemn antiheroes, or characters who struggle to do “good,” simply have not tasted much of disempowerment. There is an emptiness, a longing, a helplessness so profound it struggles to find description—and from that, a bitter, deep and primal rage—that is wrapped into the understanding that you almost had the love you deserved, but it was taken from you. That even if you manage to build new things, there are worlds of love you missed out on—worlds you didn’t have to miss, if only for a few different choices.

Tragic corruption arcs in stories are composed out of characters having blended culpability for this: Characters make some of these choices for themselves, usually after some are made for them. Redemption arcs come after and, as much as I love them, sometimes have a habit of individualizing the consequences of systems of oppression—characters accept blame for their own traumas, instead of anyone holding the people or oppressive world who hurt them accountable.

But either way, the best written antiheroes and villains emerge from shadows of love.

Even if someone hasn’t experienced this personally, art is meant to confer empathy—I don’t understand why the “complicated antihero/villain” phenomenon is so hard for some people to grasp. Maybe because they would rather stay in sadness. Because they want to believe they wouldn’t pick up the daggers, the magic or the poison. That they could never lash out so. That if confronted with the power to remake their world—to tear their love and justice from the jaws of those who took or would take it, or at least to punish them—they wouldn’t be tempted.

But as I sit in the back seat of the car, my parents driving us away from my loved ones once again, my disabled (24 y/o) “adulthood” be damned—away from the kinds of support systems that nearly all of my cousins, aunts, uncles and grandparents had close by all my life, while my parents, sibling and I lived elsewhere:

I understand.

[tmisaccidentreportbook]

MAG009, A Father’s Love

Case #0020312, Julia Montauk   Release date: April 11, 2016 First listen: 14th October. Out on the morning feed, I think I’d hit the loop pens by now.

Before hitting play on this one, the title gave me pause.

And I must ask you to too, sensitive discussions of child sex abuse below. If you wish to skip, it’s sandwiched between two sets of ‘***’. Please look after yourselves.

***

Jonny has spoken on the use of sexual violence and trauma in horror in one of the later Q&As, and he put it much better than I can remember how to put it down, but the message I came away with was it’s a form of horror writing that can be very cathartic and important for victims processing and coming to terms with their trauma and as a result is a form of the medium that deserves care and the utmost respect and it is not territory that Jonny himself felt he does not have any need to traverse. I am more than likely paraphrasing and putting words in his mouth, but the gist of it was, Jonny was not going to be giving us horror porn, ‘Squirm’ probably going to be the closest we got.

But this is a world where a 2019 study in England and Wales estimated 7.5% of adults had been sexually abused before the age of 16, around 3.1 million people. This is a world where Josef Fritzl did what he did for over 30 years, the Sheffield incest case, the 2019 South Wales paternal sex abuse case. The list never stops and it’s even longer if you don’t restrict it to biological fathers. The list goes on and it may have been the shadow of Epstein and the Duke of York and every other case reported as victims are coming forward all around the world, but I saw the title and my blood ran cold.

I was still very new to the series, and although academically I knew that the powers at work were unknowable horrors, my first instinct was still diving to the all too human ones.

This is in no way a fault of Jonny’s. Not his writing, and not his subject choice because, of course, he does not take us there. But I think it’s telling of the background radiation of today’s society and the abuse that can grow unfetter in the right conditions. Now that I’m writing, conditions fanned by fear, and I am not qualified to talk on this. Back to the analysis I go.

***

- I’m not quite sure how to word this without coming off as gouache, but I’m trying to imagine myself in the place of a child of a serial killer. I’m impressed with how Jonny achieves it. To me, there is a terrible sadness to Julia, but with no anger or guilt. There’s almost an undercurrent of pity to her statement, and I think regardless she loved her father. I think, despite her best efforts, she will see herself, at least for this period, as exactly what she was; a child caught in the machinations of people with terrible power and something far greater and more terrible than she could imagine.

- Perhaps her helplessness in that time and the subsequent search for answers and understanding are what drove her into the arms of The Hunt.

- She speaks of her father as having ‘actions and motivations’. I get the impression she fully believes he knew what he was doing, he was following a plan, perhaps following orders. Even if to this day, I can’t quite work out what’s going on here. But it isn’t the work or habits of a killer who acts at random or opportunistically.

- Julia has to effectively mourn her father twice. Possibly even three times if we include the change in his behaviour after her mother disappeared. But first to a life sentence, one that while relatively short, she doesn’t mention herself if she visited him often if at all, and then when he died in prison 7 years after his arrest. Julia gives her statement a year after that and she has ‘only recently finished (her) court-appointed counselling sessions’. Has she been in therapy for 8 years?

- The fact that her father kept quite and didn’t speak about it could be another indicator that he is not your typical serial killer, if you could call a serial killer typical. But how Robert Montauk. Is portrayed is at odds with the image we so often get of serial killers. There’s a spectrum of course but you think of a serial killer and you may think of people who like to gloat and goad, both to their victims and the police perusing them. There’s a breed that see themselves as so much better, so much cleverer then anyone else. A narcissistic personality. Of course there is an entire academic and professional field dedicated to criminal psychology that I am no where near brave enough to tread, but Robert’s quietness indicates that all this wasn’t his will.

- ‘Preferring people draw their own conclusions’. I’m fairly certain he knew that if he had spoken the truth, no one would believe what he had to say, it was only going to damn him further. And that’s before considering whatever sway of Rayner may hold.

- ‘Respectable is hardly the word I’d use’. I wonder, did Jonah Magnus keep the institute an oddity and something of a laughing stock on purpose? To reap what The Entities were sowing while presenting a face of academia that was never going to be questioned over much?

- I had to look up what ‘American bombing’ Julia may be referring to happening in 1995 and my best guess would be the Oklahoma City bombing on 19 April 1995. There was a terrible collateral of children’s lives that day too.

- ‘I don’t have any theories as to what any of this means, but I just need to get it down on paper somewhere.’ …. Can’t relate. Sweats

- Been to see ‘The Witches’. Ah yes, children’s media. Far more traumatising than it has any right to be. ‘The Brave Little Toaster’, ‘Watership Down’, ‘The Last Unicorn’, you are all horrifying, why are you kids’ movies.

- The fact that he goes over to the kitchen sink, turns on the tap and sees the stagnant water, says he knew exactly what had come for Julia’s mother, or possibly what she’d gone to meet.

- The reach for alcohol as a crutch always breaks my heart when I see it. And with the vague background knowledge with Jonny’s own history with addiction makes it that much more painful. Someone may reach for alcohol is times of distress because they feel there is no one they can turn to. But in this case, Robert has no one but Julia and she is 7 years old. No grandparents to speak of, Robert can’t tell his colleagues what has happened. The ‘friends over a lot before she vanished’ were evidently friends of Julia’s mother rather than friends of her parents as a couple, and presumably members of the Peoples’ Church of the Divine Host. Possibly others wanting to defect from the cult.

- When Robert tells Julia her mother is gone, a part of me was curious as to how exactly. On my first listen through, I didn’t understand this early. I thought there was a possibility that Julia’s mother had left, the pendant left as statement of her wish to cut herself free. I thought perhaps Robert had gone to look for her and killed her for leaving him. Or possibly she had given herself over to the powers at play and he had needed to kill what she had become.

- ‘I think he did try to look after me as best he could’. The tone of forgiveness and the acceptance of what amounts to child negligence and neglect in Julia’s words makes it all the more damning and hard to listen to.

- ‘He told me he was woodworking’. Coupled with the hearts on shelves, it put me in mind a little of MAG087 The Uncanny Valley.

- ‘That odd smell I sometimes noticed, like tinned meat.’ I love Jonny’s use of the sense of smell to immerse in a scene and build a series of events. Why are smells so evocative? We’ve seen it used before in the relatively short run; burning hair in MAG008 Burnt Out, ozone in MAG004 Page Turner. The use of smell is so interesting because, and it may be different for other people I may be a little bit broken, never asked anyone this before, but if you asked me to imagine a smell, I’d have a really hard time. But if someone told me, to imagine a smell, while I may not be able to ‘play it back to myself’ so to speak, it still elicits an emotional reaction. Can’t trick myself into smelling my mum’s cooking, but thinking about it fills me with a sense of home. I don’t know, brains and senses are weird. But it’s interesting how smell comes up again and again in this statement; blood, brackish water. I wonder if it’s an innate aspect of The Hunt; the scent hound always on point.

- Also, had a thought about smell and fear, primarily animal fear. If anyone has a good handle on this please let me know and throw me a line if I’m spiralling down the wrong route, but, have a thought. Human sense of smell is meh. Various other animal sense of smell, way better. Is there a little evolutionarily old part of our brain that isn’t getting the work out it once did millennia ago and now when it spots something there that ought not to be there, it has a full panic and drags the rest of the animal brain with it? Also, sight? Well, there’s the thing right there, hopefully. You can see it, can know what it is. Or maybe guess. Hearing? Well, something’s got to have a physical presence to make the air particles do The Wave, so it’s gotta be here, hopefully. Smell, oh friendo that could be so much weirder, that could be so much hard to identify and isolate where it’s coming from. Just permeating everything, nope. Don’t like.

- Though Julia was neglected and left alone so much of her formative years, she didn’t fall to The Lonely. The way she talks about her time in the house, it feels less like abandonment and more like sentry duty.

- ‘if I had asked him in that moment of weakness…’ Darling… you were a child. This should never have been on you.

- ‘I got very good at cleaning [blood stains]’. Big menstrual hygiene mood but I imagine Julia may have been well practised before she needed to be. But I imagine it came in handy as a Hunter.

- The ‘doting father’ years, a tragic mix of loss of life of the victims, the loss of the life Julia and Robert once had with Julia’s mother, do we ever get her name?, and this new life that they’ve pieced together.

- Blowing light bulbs. A manifestation of The Dark no doubt, but I wonder how that worked. If it was routine to let Robert know he was on a clock, random to keep him guessing and on edge, or triggered to let him know he’d displeased the powers that be?

- The photographs confuse me. Why did he take photographs of what he’d done? Was it to show Rayner the job had been done, although, am I right it remembering Rayner is blind? It would have to be confirmed by someone else. Was it to do with the symbols on the victims faces? Did that need to be examined? Was it part of a ritual for The Dark? Was he leaving physical evidence in the event of him being stopped only then to never bring it up during his incarceration? Was he just straight torturing himself with what he had done? Were they trophies for him and him alone as the hearts were tribute to The Dark in some way. Did The Eye have a hand in it somewhere?

- Or was it all a device to have The Dark Room, locked until it was not.

- I’m not entirely sure Julia seeing the contents of the dark room triggers the cascade effect for Robert to tell her ‘it would soon be over’. I’m less inclined to think she’d unknowingly set things in motion by seeing what she did and I think it may be more a father deciding enough was enough. It may not be finished, but no more of this.

- The only thing he told her, was to stay in her room. She left her room to get a class of water. She broke the rules. It’s always the rule in fairytales; never stray from the path. And suddenly the night becomes something out of a Grimm's’ fairytale; a living darkness like something out of an ancient continental forest, the street light glow like a line of will o the wisp drawing the eye, the monster knocking at the door.

- The presence is described as ‘unhurried’ and that has me thinking. Is it the antithesis of the hunt, to be unhurried? Or the very nature of it, to be persistent and inevitable.

- Chasing her through the house conjures up so many images of final girl scenarios; everything from Red Riding Hood, to little Mako in Pacific Rim, to Ellen Ripley in Alien.

- Why hearts exactly? Aside from the religious imagery, why take the heart as a trophy once the victims are dead? If it’s for The Dark, would the eyes had done the job or are we stepping on The Eye’s territory? The brain, were all the panic responses are? Or are we going with the heart for the whole elevated heart rate fear response? Or am I just over thinking this?

- Robert kills at least one member of the People’s Church, presumably more and presumably on Rayner’s orders. Were they all members? Were they willing candidates, offering themselves up to a greater cause? Or were they defectors in need of silencing?

- ‘The serial killer enthusiast community’, oof the distaste in the Archivist’s voice. It’s a tricky line to walk. Because to so many it is interesting, but interest can so easily fall over into admiration.

- ‘I knew I recognised the name from Statement 1106922 though’…. Archivist, I think you may have gotten the numbers jumbled up there a bit? Did you mean Joseph Rayner from MAG007 The Piper, #9220611?

- ‘The house on York Road is still inhabited,’ but not stated as by Julia, and the fact that there is no mention of a follow up interview or further investigation, perhaps she can not be reached. Maybe she is already on the run by now?

- ���Current owners pulled down the shed over a decade ago and replaced it with a patio’… Fred and Rose West anyone?

[succubussally]

Hello!, my name is John. I am currently in South Africa with my parents. It's a long story, but let me tell you a little bit. I had gender reassignment surgery last year. I hope the service went safely. My parents, family in general, and the community around me have isolated me for that act but I didn't care. I don't have a job, I don't have a place to stay, and money to be able to support myself for daily needs like (food) so that life can continue. I feel helpless now. But I have not given up yet because you are my strong people who can help me, Please I need your help now so that I can achieve all these things. Donate even a little I will be grateful. My goal is to earn $2300 and I will solve my problems.

It's wild that I keep getting asks like this. Do I just give "I have lots of money" vibes or something? I'm sorry, I just dropped $200 on getting dental surgery done plus I paid $50 for a ride to be able to do that. Rent actually takes most of my money plus bills and my power bill is higher in the winter and my job no longer reimburses me for that - I am often broke after I pay rent plus bills and I have to pay for food too. I am usually in debt too from payday loans cause that's the only way I can keep things going.

All of the nice stuff I have is from the past. I haven't bought a dress in years.

Plus I have a cat that I have to pay for to take care of and he only eats the fancy food cause he's picky. Plus his other needs like needing a working water fountain and litter, plus brushes and vet visits.

There are so many things I have to pay for, I really don't have money to just give away.

I also have plans to get top surgery myself. I will have to pay for that too.

Lastly, what does this mean? "I had gender reassignment surgery last year. I hope the service went safely"

If you had the surgery... wouldn't you know if it went safely or not??

I ask because I have had several surgeries - starting when I was only one year old. Obviously they all went okay as I'm still here..

[mje51]

poem by David Campbell, which won the top award in the 2011 Bronze Swagman competition.

WASTELAND ... © 2011 – David Campbell

WASTELAND ... © 2011 – David Campbell

My mother sits beside the bed, a quiet, tranquil scene,

but then, once more, a sense of dread destroys what might have been.

I see the wasteland in her eyes…a barren, lonely place

where nods and smiles cannot disguise the sadness in her face.

She walks where no-one else can go, quite deaf and dumb and blind

to anything she used to know, for darkness clouds her mind.

Instead she sees a phantom world, where truth and dreams combine,

like silken threads of cobwebs curled around a withered vine.

And I can’t help the way I feel, the thoughts I can’t deny,

the hurt that simply will not heal, the anger that won’t die.

I still resent what she’s become, what she has done to me,

and then my guilt just leaves me numb, for I can’t set her free.

Where once was love, there’s only fear at what she now might say;

I hate to think what I might hear, the price I’ll have to pay.

She heaves a sigh and takes my hand, then rips my life apart.

I know she doesn’t understand, but yet she breaks my heart.

“Please tell me, dear, how is my boy? I’ve not seen him for years.

He used to bring me so much joy, but now there’s only tears.

I loved him so, my only son, and thought he felt the same;

I cannot think what I have done to give him cause for blame.

I see him out there on the track…he goes to meet his Dad,

and then they both come striding back…he’s such a handsome lad.

The son and father, side by side, both look so very fine,

and I stand watching, filled with pride to know that they are mine.

But now they’re gone, I don’t know where, and I am banished here,

with one small room, a bed, a chair…they’ve let me disappear.

I can’t believe that they’d do this, just simply walk away

without a word, a smile, a kiss, to help me through each day.”

I want to shout “That isn’t true!” but muffle any curse,

for arguing does not get through, and only makes it worse.

Dementia stalks its helpless prey, and strikes with subtle force;

relentlessly, that slow decay pursues its deadly course.

Her memory would wax and wane, and often she accused

my Dad and I of some campaign to keep her all confused.

Then came the day she got quite lost while visiting a friend,

and that was when we learnt the cost, and knew where this would end.

This trauma took away her life…where once she’d always led

as daughter, mother, loving wife, a stranger walked instead.

She had to be in full-time care, a choice that we regret,

but back at home, to our despair, her needs could not be met.

My father will not visit now…he cannot stand the pain,

and tells himself that still, somehow, she’ll be herself again.

So I am left to face her grief, to see her slowly age,

accepting that there’s no relief from unrelenting rage.

Yet as I watch her sitting there, a ghost of days now gone,

I find I’m even more aware of how her light once shone,

as she fought bushfire, drought and flood, and never ceased to strive

to save our land, our flesh and blood, and keep our dream alive.

For she was vibrant, strong and bold, a pioneer to all,

a woman who could not grow old, who answered any call.

She never let a neighbour down or turned back one in need,

and she was honoured in our town for thought and word and deed.

But now she’s trapped, she can’t escape this wasteland of the mind,

a hell that has no form or shape, that cannot be defined.

And then it comes, the fearful thought, though selfish it may be,

that no-one’s safe from getting caught…it might one day be me.

[ramblingtomcat]

Something I have to think about. Last week I was in my home city. I'm rarely there anymore. The city has changed a lot. For once, of course some of the shops I used to go to are just now different shops. Some new buildings have been built. Some were torn down. It's a big city, it's fast paced, whatever. But something stroke out to me. There always had been houseless people and poverty, but nowadays I feel like it's all I see. I know the statistics. People get poorer and poorer, people get richer and richer. Everyone could land on the streets on any point. It could be me. And that's a realization I never had when I lived there. I was never rich, but my family used to live in a quite privileged neighborhood. We had some privileges, but at the same time we were marginalized. My parents were immigrants on one side, intellectuals on the other hand. We had our struggles, but I never grew up with the fear of not having somewhere to live anymore. Although it was tight when my father died, somehow I was somewhat safe.

I'm not anymore. I'm quite a loser. Not a stable job. Mentally ill and struggling almost every day. A starving artist, if you will.

And I went back to that home city of mine. I was there to visit my non-biological family. Attend a ten year death anniversary. I had some time to kill, so I roamed the streets a little. I used to go to the city all the time as a teen. Spending my time in book shops. There have always been houseless people. And I often gave them some change. I didn't think much of it. I had to be aware though, that sometimes there were beggars who were in some begging mafia? Which is a big problem and makes one lose faith in humanity sometimes.

Regardless of that, it never stops me to give when I feel like I can or want to. I walked past a person who sold their chalk drawings. And something made me want to give them something. I gave them some hairspray to fixate the art and some paper and money. And giving those stuff away I felt like crying. I felt both so helpless and weirdly hypocritical. It's not easy to pin down.

Like... For one I do feel good about giving them some art supplies, because I'm an artist myself and feel like it will come in good use. Also I really hoped I could make a difference in their day and maybe I did. But also I felt so helpless because this is just one person amongst so many people who could need help. And I only did that because somehow it resonated with me to see a creative person sitting there trying to survive. It's so much about me that I simultaneously feel bad about it. I feel bad that while probably helping a person out, I still am selfish enough to think about myself. That's also why I didn't tell anyone of that encounter. I feel like that moment would be ruined even more with my selfishness of telling people of a "good deed".

Why did I help them and nobody else? After that person I also gave some change to a person who doesn't look any older than myself. That could be me sitting there.

I feel hypocritical that I help some people and not others. That I don't just randomly give people money, but have reason to do so because they somehow remind me of myself or just seem... Idk. I'm probably not hypocritical. Not more than other people are at least. I only have this much. I can't help them all.

Why can't I do more? And why don't people do more who can?

I'm poor myself and I'm still feeling like I should give all of my money to people who need it more. Why don't people who aren't poor do it?

And why don't millionaires? Why are people who are far from poor so concerned for their own wealth instead of fighting poverty? Whatever that looks like.

Would I be the same if I had more money?

I'm so tired of this world sometimes. I'm so tired of caring. I'm so tired of caring for myself, for others, for strangers. Yet I can't help it. Why do I care anyway? Does it make me a better person? I don't think so at all. Because I can't do anything about it. And it sucks so much.

[monodipita]

ANGEL (Yandere!Angel x Reader)

Words: 1,930

Warning: Yandere content

A/N: This is one of the tamest yandere pieces I've wrote, I think. I hope you enjoy it.

Silence was only broken by the ambient noise that played on the TV and the soft whimpers of someone's voice, otherwise, the air was incredibly still in this apartment.

He stood above them. This poor person who was at the complete and utter mercy of Angel, whose touch could kill anyone if they touched long enough. His deep brown eyes lingered on their body while his hands hovered inches off of their face. Tears rolled down the person's face while they were forced to stare up at him.

"I'm going to ask again. You've already lost about a year of your life with your uneventful answers," Angel spoke. "Please, I've told you again and again, I don't know where [Y/N] is!" The feminine voice cried out quickly after Angel's statement. "But you do," Angel retorted, "[Y/N] has been seen in this apartment complex four times. That means walking by this door four times. Four encounters."

He was trying to piece together something, but you couldn't quite tell what it was. You hovered nearby for the sake of trying to find out what his game plan was, but at the expense of (almost) making your presence known... it wasn't easy getting into this apartment after Angel stepped in, but you wormed in and made yourself comfortable out of sight. You could only pray that he didn't see you, or hear you.

But there was something about all of this that you couldn't quite wrap your head around. Was he trying to figure out if you lived here? Because you didn't. No, your mentor lived here... and it was just normal for you to visit her when you had the time to, outside of work.

"I-I-I don't know..." the voice sobbed, "I have a family! Please don't keep doing this to me!"

It was sickening. Angel was repeatedly threatening this person's life by... touching her. No one could underestimate the power of his hands touching a mere human... even a simple grab of the hand could cost you two months. You could only bitterly imagine what it must've been like to be caressed by him. What it was like to have his face cup your hands. How much of your life would he take away then? You couldn't answer that question clearly, but the person he was interrogating, could.

"No, no no no, PLEASE!" She yelled, before a loud scream erupted from her lips while Angel's hands touched her face. Seconds pass, every one of them feeling like a grueling eternity that made your stomach churn. It was a total of ten seconds before Angel removed his hands. "You're in luck! I only took about a month away. We're nearing that threshold, though, and that can be scary ... so I would start talking now. So, I will ask this question again, Miss. Please answer it to the best of your ability."

He was growing too impatient to keep pestering this person, you could tell. Angel was lazy, and though he surprised you with the amount of effort he put into doing all of this, you knew he couldn't keep it up for long. Especially when it was reaching dead ends like it was now. Angel cleared his throat, "you may be aware of a person named [Y/N] [L/N] that comes into this apartment complex every Tuesday and Thursday around the same time in the afternoons. I know you see [Y/N] because you're a stay-at-home wife. So, I am asking you again. It's... early in the evening," he checked his watch before looking back down at the person. "And [Y/N] wasn't here today. Did something happen."

There was more silence to be followed before the person began to sob again... wail, really. It was distressing to hear. To know that someone was dying because of you really didn't sit well on your mind, or on your stomach.

"This will all be over soon. You've told me all I need to know." Angel's eyes hooded.

"N-n-no, please," the helpless voice uttered over Angel's, "I-I want to live! Please! I don't even know who [Y/N] [L/N] is!! PLEASE, NO!-" Their cries were ... blended, almost. If anyone could make aging be heard, it was Angel, while he took someone's life through simply touching their skin. You still couldn't quite wrap your head around that fact.

You stifled a cry and clamped your hand over your mouth to silence yourself, squeezing your eyes shut. Why? Why would he do this? What did this person do to deserve the touch of death? For just living here, was that it?

A yawn characteristically came from Angel's mouth before he stepped over the person's body, tucking his hands in his pockets as he stopped at the door. He stood there for a moment before he he turned his head, beautiful locks tumbling down his back as he looked around with narrowed eyes. You did your best to stay quiet in the corner you were in, you didn't want to draw attention to yourself and risk him knowing that you were here.

The longer he stayed at the door though, the more you found yourself beginning to question why you were even here in the first place... but you knew why. He was acting strange. He had been acting strange ever since that little date the two of you went on.

Ice cream. It wasn't a very romantic setting and it was actually one he and Aki Hayakawa frequented quite often, but something about this particular day happened to set him off. You treated him to something nice after he proved to be helpful against a devil you couldn't get close to—so it was just the two of you this time, Aki was nowhere in sight. A lot of the time you two spent together at that time was spent toward speaking about things, such as the ice cream you ate, how he saved your life, and how you were thankful that he helped you out.

Angel wanted to know so much about you after that—and was clingy, moreso than what you would've expected from someone like him, who seemed like he couldn't have gave a damn whether someone lived or died, as long as he wasn't bothered. In the days, maybe even weeks after leading up to now, he never really left you alone until you broke off from him to go home for the day. The days you went to visit your mentor, you linked up with him shortly after leaving the apartment complex, some ways away from it. You didn't quite think of it like you were thinking about it now, but looking back on it, there were clearly some things that were wrong here. How did he find out that you were coming to this apartment complex? Was he following you?

"I thought I heard something other than that woman when I walked inside."

"Gah!" You squeaked in fear, making your body jolt as your arm covered your face in self-defense. Angel found you, he finally found you. "F-fuck!"

"What are you doing here, [Y/N]?" He asked, "are you here to talk to whoever you're talking to?"

"W-why does that matter?" You stammer, as you find the courage to finally remove your arm from your face to look up at him. Why, he looked mental. His eyes looked like beads against his white sclera. What a terrifying expression to come back to—it made your heart leap into your throat. "I didn't feel like visiting my mentor today."

"Oh. Your mentor."

Silence between the two of you begins to pick up after that. Your heart felt like it was going to explode with how fast it was beating. So many questions had to be asked, but how could you ask them? You didn't even know what to say right now.

"Want to go get some ice cream?" He asked, as if everything that happened didn't just happen. You swallowed thickly at the question asked and looked around nervously. Did you beat around the bush? Agree, and act like nothing happened in this room? Or did you face the fact that what Angel did was unforgivable?

Another gap of silence.

"Angel, you just killed an innocent human being for no reason," you stated the obvious. Your brows furrowed and you stared at him. "Do you have any idea what this means?"

"Mm, no," Angel shook his head, "I'm sure I don't really care, either." He then pointed to the door. "Do you want to get ice cream with me, [Y/N]?"

"A-angel!" You pressed him with your words. "You... you killed an innocent human being!"

"...why do I care?" He gave you a blank stare. "I was doing her a favor. Now, do you want to get ice cream with me?" He extended his free hand in the direction of your body. "I know you're going home soon, since this is your day off."

You stared at him, horrified by the lack of humanity within him. Well, he was a devil... so of course he didn't have any shred of humanity, but still, didn't he feel even an ounce of remorse over what he just did? None at all? "Y-you killed her because of me," you reiterated in a more... significant light. "Why?"

"Because I didn't see you come into the building today, so I went around asking," he responded and sighed before he shoved his hands into his pockets. He would know better than to touch someone he cared for if he didn't want them to die. "She was mean to me, so she suffered the consequences."

Those words worried you. "What do you mean you went around and asked?" You narrowed your eyes. "Did you..."

"Only to those who were rude." Angel calmly stated, "not a lot of them were even subjected to what this woman went through. But I know she saw you... she saw you every time you came up on this floor. I know she did. She proceeded to lie about it, and for lying, she had to be killed." He tilted his head. "Have I answered your questions enough? Can we go get ice cream now?"

So many people had their lives threatened because of you. That was a tough pill to swallow, wasn't it?

The sound of the door opening made your heart beat quicken again. Your eyes shot to the door to see him standing in the doorway with his eyes still on you. "Come on. I want to go get ice cream."

"...why... why did you do it?" You weakly asked him as you stumbled forward to meet him. "Why would you subject all of these people to torture? A-and for... for me..?" It just didn't sound right.

"It may not be a lot, but it's honest work. I try my best to keep you safe. I have to know where you are at all times to do that though, right?" Angel shrugged his shoulders. "Think of me as your guardian angel, maybe that'll make the pill easier to swallow. ...so, can we go get ice cream?"

"N-no," you gently push him out of the way so that you can leave the building. "We won't be doing anything of the sort. I'm going to go to the hunter's association and ask to be reassigned to another devil."

Angel stumbled back, but was quick to grab your arm.

"Not if you want to live, you won't." He narrowed his eyes. "We're together now. If I can't have you, no one else can."

[frankiekatt]

Wowy hii, saw that you're writing for slasher, so here I am!

Can I plz have some hcs about any slashers with s/o, but their s/o is a literal gremlin, like they're not serious at all, always joking and annoying people around, but sometimes might be quite soft and quiet.

Thank you and have a nice day! ❤️

This was fun to write lmao

Warnings: Sexual harassment, NSFW, murder, blood, canabilism

Characters: Thomas Hewitt, Bo Sinclair, Lester Sinclair, Billy Lenz, Stu Macher, Michal Myers

Slashers With An S/O That Never Takes Anything Seriously:

Thomas Hewitt:

Thomas is a little overwhelmed by your personality at first.

He’s a quiet and reserved man who’s never had any kind of friends, so goofiness and jokes can make him feel uneasy at first.

But!! He gets used to everything very quickly!!!

Thomas loves everything about you and he finds you to be incredibly charming.

He can get a little anxious when he sees you annoying Hoyt because he doesn’t want his uncle to do anything bad to you in irritation/retaliation.

Your jokes are always a stress reliever for him, since he spends most of his days in a dark basement, surrounded by blood and gore. Your humor just shines a little bit of light on his day, and he loves you for that!

While Luda Mae and Hoyt might not like the fact that you never take anything seriously, Thomas finds it relieving. At the beginning of your relationship, Thomas was terrified of losing you because he thought you would be terrified of all screams, murder, and cannabilism, but he was pleasantly surprised to see that you didn’t pay much mind to it.

Thomas’ family mostly saw you as a clown, but Thomas could only ever look at you as the brightest ray of sunshine that has ever graced his life.

After all, he was the only one that saw your softer side.

Your soft and quiet side mostly shone through during the evening. Something about the sunset and cicada chirping calmed your heart.

You would often take Thomas by the hand and lead him outside to sit on the front porch with you, so the two of you could cuddle and watch the sunset together.

Thomas was always so used to your voice, because you loved to talk about anything and everything, so your temporary quiet nature was new, yet comforting.

During these moments, there didn’t need to be any talking between the two of you. You deep emotional bond allowed you both to communicate through actions.

You would lay your head on Thomas shoulder, stroking his chest, and Thomas would wrap his big arms around your smaller frame, resting his masked cheek against the top of your head.

This was Thomas’ way of saying, “I love you, you’re the best thing in my life,” and your way of saying “I could never live without you.”

Bo Sinclair:

:|

You’re gonna annoy the fuck out of this boy

Sometimes you both wonder how the two of you even got together, but the nights you and Bo spent pleasuring each other, going round after round, reminded you both how. (Your both just sexy okay its that simple)

Bo was a serious guy, so he was a little miffed that he was always the one having to take the lead in everything since you just couldn’t stop making a joke out of everything.

Sometimes you would actually make him really irritated due to your tendency to irk people endlessly, so he would have to step away to cool off and blow off some steam.

Sometimes he would yell at you in anger, which always made him feel like shit after, so he tended to stalk off to his shop to calm down before speaking to you.

You would have to go see him a couple hours later to wrap your arms around him from behind and shyly apologize to him.

He favored these moments the most.

Your voice quieter than usual, focusing on just him, touching him gently.

He would always accept your apologies, of course, and would let you know by kissing your lips softly.

Bo liked to take advantage of your softer side by lifting you up by your waist and setting you on the hood of whatever car he had been working on and kissing down your neck.

As revenge, Bo liked to draw out his teasing as long as possible. Kissing down your neck, chest, stomach, massaging your pussy through your skirt, palming your breast roughly.

It gets to a point where you just have to tell him, “Bo, I need you to fuck me.”

And he would oblige.

He would take you right then and there, on the hood of the car.

The metal beneath you was always shockingly cold, making you shiver against Bo’s chest.

“You cold, Darlin,” Bo would ask teasingly as he pulled your panties off. “Don’t worry, I’ll warm you right up.”

He would spend hours licking your pretty pink pussy if he could. He licks and sucks and kisses your most intimate part until you're shaking and crying above him, begging him to fuck you sensless.

After he’s satisfied with your helplessness, he’ll lean back up and ram himself inside of you. There have been many nights where he has taken you gently and slowly in his garage, holding your hand with every thrust, kissing your sweet lips to quiet your whimpers, but tonight was different. There was a primal need shared between you two. Bo wanted to let his frustrations on through loving you, and you wanted to be taken hard and fast.

When the two of you are done, you lounge around inside the car to catch your breath, holding hands. Everything seems so perfect.

Until-

“Hey, Bo? What did the toaster say to the slice of bread?”

“.....”

“I want you inside me! Eh ha ha..”

:////

Lester Sinclair:

!!!!!

You like constantly joking and never taking things seriously? He does too!!

Lester would find you absolutely hilarious. Every joke you cracked would have him doubling over in laughter. Which would make you double over in laughter. Which would make Lester laugh harder, because now you both have the giggles and both of your laughs are just too infectious.

Everytime the two of you would go to Ambrose to visit his brothers, you guys would annoy the hell out of Bo and Vincent. Bo just wants to be left alone to work in his shop but instead he’s stuck listening to you tell a 40 minutes story about how you burnt dinner last night.

And Vincent just wants to be left alone to paint and sculpt but instead he’s here listening to Lester crack jokes that are a.) not funny and b.) don’t make any sense. -_-

Your and Lester’s trailer is always filled with so much love and laughter and the two of you could not be any happier.

You both have your own soft and quiet moments that hit at random times.

Sometimes it happens when the two of you are play fighting in the living room, howling with laughter. You both fall to the floor, wrestling and giggling until the both of you run out of breath and just gaze at each other as you lay on the carpet.

“You look so cute,” he giggles.

“No, YOU look so cute!”

“W-well!!! I love you!!”

“Uhm...well...I love you MORE.”

And it just turns into an argument about who adores the other more.

Billy Lenz (1974):

The perfect couple.

Literally.

The two of you are always joking around, cackling and goofing about every little thing.

Billy has finally found his soulmate and he could not be happier.

He two of you prank the sorority girls together, making sex sounds in unison to sound even more vulgar.

Everytime you crack a joke, you get worried Billy is joking because of how hard he’s laughing.

“Umm Billy you okay? It wasn’t even that funny.”

“HA haha...piggy makes me laugh...Billy loves your jokes.”

Needless to say, your relationship is filled with smiles, laughter, and praise.

Billy will tell you you’re the funniest person he’s ever met and he wants to keep you forever.

You tell Billy you love how much he laughs at your antics and that you can’t live without him.

It’s impossible to annoy Billy. It’s just not feasible.

Any time you try, he’ll just giggle and pat your head, telling you you’re his ‘favorite piggy ever.’

He LOVES when you annoy the sorority girls thoug!

Hearing you moan and squeal and speak so sexily vulgarly to Barb and Jess makes Billy so proud. And horny.

Almost all of your sexual encounters are filled with complete silliness.

Sometimes, however, the joking and cackling subside. The two of you will just be chilling, nothing else to do, and you just feel the need to profess your love for your boyfriend.

“I love you so much Billy.”

Billy will look startled at your sudden outburst, before he breaks out in a huge grin, launching across the room to tackle you into a hug.

“Billy loves you too! Billy loves you more than anything!!!”

Now the rest of your day will be spent in Billy’s arms, whispering sweet nothings to each other.

Stu Macher:

Match made in Heaven!

Stu loves to joke around.

He hardly ever takes anything seriously.

He annoys everyone.

And once he meets you? It's love at first sight.

The two of you are always in detention because you guys just cannot shut up in class. You are always disrupting something.

But you know what that means!

Detention dates <3

As long as the two of you together, Stu couldn't care less about where he was.

He and Billy appreciate your habit of not taking anything seriously because once the murders start occuring, you don't think too much about it, never asking questions or arousing suspicion around your boyfriend and his bestie.

When Billy had told Stu his plan to kill Sydney, and asked him if he was going to kill you as well, Stu’s heart sank.

He remembers when he was dating Tatum, just a few months ago, before he broke up with her for you, he had no qualms about killing her,

But you?

He loved you. You were his other half. The one person who understood him, who accepted him. He could never hurt you.

“Nah dude. I’m leaving her out of this.”

That night, he sneaks through your bedroom window to see you.

“Stu! (where the hell have you been loca) What’re you doing here?”

The sparkling smile you flash at him and the love swimming in your big, beautiful eyes makes him feel even guitler.

He feels bad that you’re dating a serial killer. He thinks you deserve better, but he would never let you go.

“Hey babe! I just missed you!”

You rushed over to him, dressed in kitty cat pajamas, and hugged him tight. He had only snuck through your bedroom window a couple of times before, and they had all been planned. Seeing him in your room as a surprise made your heart burst with happiness.

Stu led you to your bed and pulled you up onto his chest to cuddle you. It was late, and the both of you were tired. Stu just wanted to lay with you in silence, appreciating your presence.

You didn’t feel like releasing your usual high energy at the moment. Right now, you just wanted to fall asleep on your boyfriend’s chest, listening to the sound of his heartbeat.

Michael Myers:

Girl

Michael does not appreciate your antics.

Annoying him is easy, but you would never know that.

He keeps his emotions very private, so when he is annoyed he’ll just stalk away from you.

He does not think you’re funny :(

He does enjoy your quiet moments. He likes to come home when your energy is low.

He’s usually covered in blood when this happens, so you clean him up without cracking a joke which he appreciates.

You’ll turn on a movie for the both of you, and Michael lets you cuddle up with him.

He does like you, he just doesn’t want you to know that...

[59writes]

SEVENTEEN- REACTION: THEIR S/O GETS INJURED (PART 2)

(PART ONE)

part two of @honeyylin ‘s request!!! sorry it took so long honey ㅠㅠ

also check out honey’s acc!!! they’ve recently started writing fic so give em a visit!! <3

today’s photo theme is green green green green green green green green green green

(I didn’t proofread this I will when it’s not 5 am lol)

tw: food, injury

SEOKMIN

• *insert terrified screaming*

• yikes. this man. this poor fellow.

• he’s so worried about you!!!

• like. you’re fine. it’s not a big deal you just won’t be able to walk without crutches for a while

• but this man PHYSICALLY refuses to go to work

• Jihoon even comes to your apartment to beat Seokmin’s ass gently request he come to work cuz they kind of need him

• but no, because “y/n needs me more!!”

• please you’re fine. you can walk and you work from home already. you’ll live. You’ve been injured before.

• this goes in one ear and out the other!

• he will stay home and baby you and peek in your room every ten minutes like “hey are you ok???? do you need anything???”

• it’s kind of endearing

• the calls you keep getting from Seungcheol and Jihoon are not though because SOMEONE keeps forgetting to “call in sick” to work!!

• it’s just part of the whole shebang. he calms down eventually and gets over the anxiety of you getting even more hurt or struggling and goes back to the others

• but you bet your ass when he comes home at night you’re not going anywhere and he’s gonna baby you until he deems you all better

• also he definitely just likes babying you because he doesn’t declare you better until a week after the doctor does, “just to be safe!!!”

• he loves you very much and if anything we’re to happen to the love of his life he’d like. Evaporate on the spot

• 10/10 man right here

MINGYU

• ok so we know how clumsy this man is

• he technically knows how to take care of injuries

• also the injury was sort of maybe his fault ):

• he tripped over a damn rock and made you stumble too, falling and scraping up your leg

• and this poor man is apologizing faster than he raps

• you’re not badly hurt, and when the pain wears off you’re laughing

• and Mingyu’s all pouty lol

• and though you assure him that you’re ok and everyone trips up sometimes, he just wants to make it up to you

• he is also one of the other mfs who would make soup. him and Josh r gonna open a soup kitchen s2g

• but he’s also super cheesy and you wake up from a nap and see that Mingyu’s gone out and gotten flowers and made some nice food and made a little mini date in ur apartment

• and he just feels so bad !!!! please help this man

• once you joke that maybe you should get injured more often so you guys have more dates like this he finally really calms down

• but like I said, he’d know how to treat any injury

• maybe not well, and I’m sure this man’s instinctive response is “I will put a bandaid on it and move on with my life” but how focused he is when he is just wiping off dirt from your arm or leg or whatever and making you sit still while he gauzes it up is just really sweet he cares so much

MINGHAO

• this man does not know anything.

• I mean don’t get me wrong he’s incredibly smart and emotionally intelligent but also. there’s nothing in this man’s brain except for dastardly ideas

• and you nearly breaking your arm is not exactly a dastardly idea

• so he kinda just shuts down

• he wants to help !!! So bad !!!! but he can’t do anything !!!

• like he’s genuinely such a kind dude and always willing to help even if he teases about it and just always there

• and this is the one thing he can’t help with!!!

• so frustrated ):

• so he spends his time with you by lurking with a pout, ready for any request you had

• he definitely looks like a lost puppy ㅠㅠ

• maybe you act a little more helpless than usual so he can feel better about himself. just maybe

• seeing him brighten when you ask him to get the pasta from the top shelf or help with the laundry is completely worth getting hurt for!!

• eventually he cheers up and goes back to his normal and teasing ways

• and once you heal up he’s so glad he can hug you super tight again (:<

SEUNGKWAN

• Ah, Seungkwan.

• be prepared for lots of passive-aggressive scolding

• I mean when it first happens you can see the panic in this poor man’s eyes

• ok well technically you texted him about it but his reply was violently misspelled and he showed up at your house within 15 minutes

• tbh you should be scolding him because he definitely was speeding to get home that fast

• but he was scolding you!!!

• like wtf you’re already feeling shitty and then Seungkwan comes over and is acting like your mom

• but this man is emotionally mature!!!

• he notices how frustrated and snippy your replies get and calms down, hugging you tightly where you sit on the bathroom counter as he cleans you up

• complains about getting blood on his shirt tho the bastard

• but he definitely hangs out with you for the rest of the day and you catch up and eat ice cream while you lie around on the floor and it’s just. aju nice. (lol)

• he does his best to keep your mind off of any pain or struggling, and we all know this man is a master of distraction so it goes very well

• he’s a very home-y person and you always feel safe with him (:

VERNON

• his literal response is “well that’s not good”

• you fuckin call him like “hey sol I’m in urgent care kinda like. broke my arm” and he’s just like “Yeah that’s a problem”

• thank you Hansol “Sherlock” Chwe

• he is just. out of his element please this man will just stare at your cast or whatever with wide eyes like “yo you broke your arm” yes Vernon

• he’s kinda just fascinated ngl

• he lets you tell your story with wide eyes, beaming proudly when you said you didn’t cry

• he’s like “yeah that’s my partner (:< so cool and badass”

• he’s just very silly about it and doesn’t treat you any differently

• which is nice because you kinda hate people bringing attention to it cuz it’s annoying as shit already ):<

• and he’s already so helpful and willing to do chores or whatever so you don’t have to worry about carrying things or washing dishes or whatever cuz Vernon’s got it!!!

• plus it’s adorable how literally every night he’s just like “it’s so cool how you have a cast” like it’s the dumbest thing ever but he finds it so entertaining. like not even the fact you got hurt just like “holy shit like. it’s cement they basically cement your arm in place you have cement on your arm y/n you could knock someone out with that”

• he’s a cutie lol

CHAN

• ok contrary to popular belief I think he would handle it very well!!

• don’t get me wrong this man is PANICKING under the surface but like. he’s so calm about it on the outside??? hello????

• you call him during practice like “hey so I kinda got hurt I’m ok tho, at the doctor rn” and he’s just like “yes ok are you ok?!”

• little dude lol

• and even though you are, in fact, completely fine, he’s gotta worry smh it’s his job!!

• he comes home and listens to the story as he helps you change the bandages with the most gentle hands ))))):

• and being near you definitely helps calm him down

• he’s back to teasing and being goofy in no time

• this man also definitely knows some medical shit idk what makes me think that but he knows how to like. deal with an injury.

• he definitely is very medically aware idk man I feel like he listens to doctor speak cuz it’s cool and is like “oh yeah go ice that you don’t want it cramping up” whenever one of the other guys complains about something minor lol

• he’s very caring ): I love he sm (:

• he can be a little rat but he knows when to stop and be an ally and what an excellent ally he is!!!!!!!!!

I’m so sorry I’ve never done an after note like this before but seeing all the green and plants makes me think of this damn tweet and I can’t stop laughinh

“he has pollen allergy” I’m sobbing please

[animeyanderelover]

Omg it's been so long since I've gotten here in time when requests are open but here I am anyway I hope your doing ok and things went well with your visit with friends &Grandparents anyways I feel weird asking it but after reading your intepretation you caught my intrigue I'd like to request yandere Ging hc of him with a s/o who always tries to move b/c he annoys her but he keeps coming back !!! Feel free to make it soft 😊

It's been a while indeed since I've seen you so I'm happy you made it. Sorry that it took so long, but school enables me to only write one post per day😞. Buuut...I have only one week left before holidays and the last week we won't do much anything so I hope that by tomorrow I'll be able to write more again!

Tw: Yandere themes, unhealthy mindset, unhealthy relationship, obsessiveness, stalking, Ging annoying the s/o, meltdown of the s/o

Annoying

🍎I feel you, darling. It has to be exhausting to never know when exactly this man comes back or not, the times he just pops up in front of your house or has already somehow broken in and acting like he is at home. Ging simply can't help making bad impressions on his darling due to his constant absence and the indifference he seems to possess whenever they're pissed and want to scold him for his behavior. As someone who would like avoiding such arguments, he either disappears yet again or at least tries to calm you down in a way that doesn't help in most cases.

🍎You think moving away will work, hmm? Sorry to tell you, but it won't. Despite the impression that Ging doesn't look like he cares much and is a rather messy person, he is a respected Hunter. Connections, the possibilities he has with the status of being a Hunter and his very own skills are nothing to be forgotten and so he will have the new location of his darling found out the moment he finds out that they've moved. It's not like he pushes you into a corner for it the next time he just appears in front of the darling's door, ignoring their flabbergasted impression and going inside.

🍎The Hunter has already figured out from the very first incident why exactly you wanted to move, you were happy in your old home with the only thing annoying you being him. Ging is aware of his behavior and that it often has you feel like you want to rip your hair out yet he never really considered it too deeply. That is the kind of guy Ging is and it makes him a horrible person in more than just one pair of eyes. It just feels like he is not taking his darling seriously and ridicules them and that hurts, not to mention that he is so often away.

🍎So maybe now is the time to start recalling his actions and that he's made you go livid to the point where you do not want to be with him anymore. It becomes more and more visible every time you move away, slam the door shut as soon as he knocks on it or just refuses to open it at all. Something he would call "overreacting" at first seems to only turn more and more turbulent until the very first time his darling has a complete meltdown in front of him whilst he was telling them to chill out. Hysterical screaming and yelling whilst starting to burst out in tears before pushing him with violence out, slamming the door shut behind him.

🍎That was the first time Ging shut up when witnessing all of this, freezing and not knowing what to do. Even after he has been kicked down he doesn't know how to act, only the cries inside the house accompanying his thoughts for a while until you seem to calm down a bit. Overwhelmed would be the word to use for him, the feeling of helplessness and confusion, the feeling of having no idea what exactly to do now. It is the very first time his darling has given him such a emotional reaction, a highly negative one. The turning point where Ging has to ask himself if things can really stay the way they are or if he has to do something.

🍎Obviously he acts like a horrible person, but maybe he just happened to hit the wrong nerve after pocking for so long at you, maybe you just had enough. And as much as he hates troubles like those, even he is not too dumb or lazy to think that he can just act like he always did. Not this time, you clearly despise him by now. And that is not the kind of relationship he wishes to have when with the s/o. But the biggest problem for him now is what he is even suppose to do. He's no expert and will never be. How does someone apologize to their loved one without ruining things even more?

🍎The sudden disappearance from this man is something you're used to and wish for and that is what happens after. But not exactly for the reason you think. Ging believes that what you need now most is time to calm down, visiting you right after your outburst is not a wise option. Additionally he himself needs time to think now on what he should do, how he can make things right again. Well, as right as possible at least. It's written all over his face that something is bothering him and some people actually speak to him because of it. And Ging...well, after some time he tells them in vague details what is on his mind.

🍎Such talks are what turns out to be a big help because some people are surprisingly helpful. Especially all those married people who somewhat sympathize with the Hunter tell him in return their stories and what they did to make up with their partners and lovers. Lots of different advices and stories and yet Ging finds himself still having troubles. He's never done anything like this before so he is more nervous than he would like to admit after he has been away for a bit, tracking down the new home of yours again. Something really has to change.

🍎Blocking the door with his foot as you try to slam it shut right in front of his nose again is within his expectations as well as the yelling and he endures it with the same angering calmness as he always does. It's all the same in his darling's opinion. Until the very moment where he actually pulls out a bouquet of flowers from behind his back, handing them in a somewhat shy manner over. The man is highly embarrassed about it, not able to look his darling straight into their confused face as he stutters out an apology he has practiced beforehand. The practice was useless though, in front of the s/o this is a completely different thing.

🍎Instant forgiveness is not what you give him nor does he expect this. He did go too far about this time and he knows that he should stay to fix this. And he does. Somewhere else of course but it is the very first time he stays for a really long time since the grudge you have against him is not easy. During this time he comes to realize something uite importantt himself, how much of your life he actually missed whilst being constantly away. There are new hobbies and new friends you didn't know you had before and some of those friends are people he doesn't like. Because they're too close and you ignore him for them.

🍎It's rather silly since they're the only ones who kept you company whilst he was always away and he deserves this, but karma is a bitter bitch as he experiences himself. The relationship you two once had is in your eyes probably no more, increasing the danger of you falling in love with someone else, someone who will actually stay with you. Maybe that is why Ging turns unusually petty, following his darling around and biting his tongue when he catches them with one of those people he has officially recognized as love rivals. What a nasty feeling jealousy is and how frustrating your grin is when you caught him jealous for the very first time in a long while. Seems like the roles have reversed, haven't they?

🍎Using his connections is an option, but by now Ging is far too much provoked to do this himself. Not like he was planning before to use it, another drama with you is the last thing on his list he wants. His darling is letting him dance around here for quite a bit to the point where he accuses them mentally for being a sadist since he is pushed to do so many things he never did before and for that feels extremely awkward. Yet he goes through everything with embarrassment burning his skin, the desire to want the relationship far greater.

🍎The s/o comes to realize that he is serious as well, though doubting it at first. But the constant small gifts and the fact that he apologizes whenever he sees themplus tehe valuable fact that he stays around for a very long time convince them after some time. But forgiving him sweetly right after isn't what you would want after all the emotional roller coaster. You'll get back at him for everything before you shall grant him the relationship back. It takes a very long time and by the end of it Ging has probably the most frustrating months of his entire life behind him so it's safe to assume that now he knows how you must feel. Believe me, he has learned his lesson of a lifetime to treat his darling better from now on.

[crowdedimagines]

Meant To Be - Harry Styles

i am a WHORE for singledad!harry 🤩 3k

Just like nearly all of the other boys in the band, Harry fell right in line and became a father shortly after the release of his first album. He couldn’t have been more excited, being a dad has always been something he craved. The only thing he would change would be the fact that he wished it happened out of love, rather than a one night stand with a woman who would give up full custody only eight days after their son was born.

She was young, not ready for motherhood and definitely not ready to deal with being the mother of Harry Styles’ child, and that Harry couldn’t blame her for that. Even though he would never understand how anyone could leave a part of themselves. How someone could give up their own child.

So for a while Harry took a break from the public and raised his son. His fans were understanding of the break, just waiting for the day he would come back to them. He was alone, but never really. He always had the help of Anne and Gemma, not to mention all of the close friends who wanted to steal away little Sawyer who was truly a mini Harry. A mess of loose brown curls that were impossible to tame.

Sawyer was nearly three when Y/n came into their lives. She was soft and warm, and both boys were quick to fall. Anne introduced them, she had come across Y/n at her grocery store.

“Harry, you just have to meet her.” Anne gushed, following Harry around her living room as he picks up toys that had been littered throughout her house.

“Mum, I don’t think I need you setting me up. I’m not looking for anything right now.” Harry tried explaining, he was tired about his mother talking about this woman that she had encountered and befriended.

“You guys are meant to be!”

“Mum-”

“Trust me on this one, when I met her I just had this gut feeling.”

“What d’ya mean?” Harry asks, finally pausing to look at her.

“Like she’s going to be family one day.”

Harry didn’t have time for dating, not while raising his son and still finding time to write music. He would love to share his life with someone other than Sawyer, but he didn’t need it.

He wasn’t surprised even slightly when he came down for breakfast with Sawyer tucked on his hip to find out that Y/n would be joining them for lunch. His mother wouldn’t miss the opportunity of him staying with her. She was taking advantage of Harry making a week-long trip north to visit.

Lunch came fast and Sawyer was just getting up from his nap when Y/n knocked on the door.

“Y/n! C’mon in!” Anne ushered her straight through the front door.

“Your home is lovely.”

Harry heard her voice before he caught a glimpse and it would be a lie to say that his heart didn’t skip a beat when he rounded the corner and saw her for the first time.

She was talking enthusiastically with Anne that had something to do with the paint in the entryway. His mother had mentioned something about her being an interior designer. He didn’t even have to exchange words with the girl to know what his mom was talking about. He had the same feeling that she had, this girl was different.

“Hi!” His typically shy boy says loudly, revealing to both of the women that he was standing there.

Y/n turns to face them, a warm grin already gracing her face.

“And you must be Sawyer.”

Sawyer nods, turning back to his shy roots. He ducks his head back against Harry’s neck to hide away a little.

“Hi, I’m Y/n.” She greets, introducing herself to both of them now.

“It’s lovely to meet you.” Harry smiles.

“Likewise.”

After that they moved onto lunch in Anne’s garden. The conversation was overflowing, Harry had never felt to at ease talking with someone, especially not after having Sawyer.

Anne was all too proud to say ‘I told you so’ to Harry as soon as she shut the door behind Y/n. It was impossible to miss the connection they shared, and if that wasn’t enough she caught them exchanging phone numbers towards the end of their day.

They moved quickly after that, texting, calling, and facetiming as often as they could which lead to dates. Only a month after meeting each other Harry asked her to be his girlfriend. She was happy to say yes, and just thankful to be exclusive with the boy who had taken over her heart and mind the past few weeks.

So for months they dated, things going better than any other relationship they had ever been in. Harry loved her for everything that made her Y/n. For the way she treated Sawyer and respected their relationship.

It was only seven months into their relationship when Harry decided that he was going to  propose, he wanted Y/n to be his wife as soon as possible. He knew after the third date that he wanted to keep her around, but it was a cold day in London when he knew for sure that she would forever be family to himself and Sawyer.

Sawyer was on day two of his cold, he finally had medication but he was still having trouble with his cough and couldn’t always breath. Harry was worried, but he had been through the flu and colds with Sawyer before. Y/n hadn’t and she had been more than attentive at the doctor's office. Harry couldn’t help, but smile over her concern and her many many questions.

She settled once they got home and meds that could help.

“I hate feeling helpless like this.” Y/n mutters as she takes the kettle off so that both her and Harry could have some tea.

“You’re not helpless, love.” Harry reassures, “Kids get sick.”

“I know.” She sighs.

She lets out a yawn as she brings over a mug to Harry at the counter. Harry presses a kiss to her temple as a thank you. They were both tired, checking in on Sawyer last night a little, making sure that he was still breathing. Y/n spent the night, like she always does. Rarely does she leave the Styles home these days.

Y/n whips up some dinner for them, earlier than they would normally, but they all need their sleep. After they’ve all filled their bellies with a sufficient amount of pasta Harry gives Sawyer a bath while Y/n cleans up their dishes.

“Daddy, I want Y/n to pick out my pajamas.”

Harry pauses drying off his son, pleasantly surprised by his request. Sawyer likes Y/n, more than most, but the bond that the father and son had was tough to ever beat. Anything that he could get from his father, that’s the way he wanted it.

“Y/n, you’re being requested.” Harry yells just loud enough for her to hear downstairs.

“What can I do for my boys.” She leans against the doorway to the bathroom, a smile on her face.

Harry gives his boy a nudge to ask her himself.

“Will you pick out my pajamas tonight?”

“I would love to.” Y/n grins, “Lets go little man.”

Harry watches from the floor as they take off together for Sawyer’s room. He listens to them talk softly in the next room for a while before he drains the tub and puts away all of the toys. Once he’s cleaned up a bit he comes in to see Sawyer tucked in his bed, Y/n sitting on the edge. She’s just given him his night medication to help him sleep.

“Goodnight, Soy.” She presses a kiss to his forehead, Sawyer smiling at his nickname.

She gets up from the bed and notices Harry watching them from the doorway. She pats him on the shoulder as she walks out, giving them space to talk a little and say goodnight to each other. By the time Harry comes back to their room Y/n is sitting up against the headboard, rubbing in a lotion over her arms.

“Is he out?” She asks, looking up.

“Yeah, I think that medicine knocked him out. I just hope he can sleep through the night tonight.” Harry sighs, he lets himself fall on the bed. Y/n reaches out a hand to lightly rub his back. They stay like that for a few minutes until Harry gets up to turn off the lights and take off his clothes to sleep. The pair fall asleep almost as soon as their heads hit the pillow.

It’s a few hours later when Harry can hear a soft voice, it’s enough to pull him out of his deep sleep and open his eyes. The door to his bedroom is open and the light is on in the hall.

“Daddy.” Sawyer whispers, grabbing his attention, Harry looks down to see his son standing at the edge of his bed.

“Hey, what’re you doing up?” Harry sits up, wiping at his eyes.

“My throat hurts.” Sawyer barks out a few coughs.

“Alright, let's get you some more medicine.” Harry checks the time to make sure he can give him another dose before grabbing it off of his night stand.

“Can I lay with Y/n?” Sawyer asks after having taken his medicine and drinking some more water. His request shocks Harry, but he couldn’t blame the boy for wanting to crawl right in bed with them while feeling ill.

“She’s asleep right now, could you settle for me?”

Slowly tears start to fill Sawyer’s eyes. Not that he doesn’t have love for his father, but with feeling sick all he wants is to be in her arms. No one could tell you why, but something about being in Y/n’s arms had a powerful calm to them.  

Harry looks over to see his girlfriend sleeping peacefully next to him. Sawyer simply raises his arms to be lifted into the bed which Harry obliges. Sawyer crawls over Harry’s lap and lads on the edge of Y/n’s hair making Harry wince.

“Y/n.” Sawyer whispers loudly.

She stirs and turns over to face them, surprised to be face to face with the little three year old rather than her own boyfriend.

“Hi lovey, how’re you feeling?” She asks, walking up a little more with each second so she can look at the teary eyed boy. He looks exhausted and it breaks Y/n’s heart.

“Hold me?” Sawyer asks simply.

Y/n lifts up the covers and opens her arms for him. She doesn’t even flinch as he openly coughs into her neck where he settles his head. Y/n lays on her back and wraps her arms around the boy, pulling the covers back up over them.

She rubs her hand up and down his small back, finally looking over to see Harry watching them.

“Did you give him some more meds?” Y/n asks softly, Harry nods and settles back in a little. It looks like this is how they’re staying for the night.

Every once in a while Sawyer coughs to break the silence in the room, Y/n never stops slowly rubbing his back. Or pushing the curls off of his forehead to press a soft kiss. She’s kicked off their blanket, growing too hot under all the close contact but never wavering in holding his son. Harry’s heart is nearly bursting at the seams at the sight.

“Marry me.” Harry’s voice a whisper soft enough just for him and Y/n to hear. He had been thinking about it all night, not to mention the weeks or months that he’s known her. Tonight has only confirmed what he already knew. Y/n looks over at him, noticing that he hasn’t changed positions and stays on his side to watch over his two favorite people.

“We don’t even live together.” She laughs, not taking his words for more than anything other than a lack of sleep.

“You take up over half of my closet now, love. You check back in on your apartment once a month practically to restock. Sawyer thinks you live here.” Harry looks down at his boy who he knows for a fact, if tonight has proven anything, it’s that he wants Y/n to be just as much a part of his life as Harry.

“Are you crazy?” Y/n turns to fully look at him now, taking in how serious he is being. It’s only been a few months, he can’t be serious.

“Y/n I could’ve proposed the moment you walked through my mother’s front door. I knew then and she knew before we even met.” Harry reaches out to tuck a strand back off her forehead behind her ear, “Will you marry me?”

“Yes, even once you take it back in the morning once you’re no longer suffering from sleep deprivation.” She teases, still running her hand over Sawyer‘s back.

“Stay right there.” Harry throws off the covers, careful to not wake up Sawyer.

Y/n’s eyes follow him as he walks over to his dresser and digs around in the drawer closest to the bottom. She’s beyond confused until he lets out a soft cheer and comes back to the bed. A small black velvet box in hand.

Now Y/n realizes how very serious he is being. She didn’t think Harry would throw marriage around lightly, but they haven’t been together long. She would be lying if she didn’t say that she pictured the rest of her life with these boys.

A little black box which she’s ninety percent sure doesn’t contain earrings.

“I bought this with my Mum after our third real date. Before I even asked you to be my girl technically, I was afraid to jump the gun. So instead I made an investment, I didn’t know when, but I knew someday you would get this ring. I knew it then as much as I know it now that we are meant to be.”

He pauses to clear his throat, “Y/n let me ask one more time, will you marry me?”

“Yes.” She sighs happily, Harry kneels on the bed, crawling back over to her. She finally pulls her hand away from Sawyer so he could slide the ring on.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.” She shifts a little more so her and Sawyer are a little more tucked into Harry’s side. All three of them cuddled up together.

“S’pretty.” She holds out her hand, looking at it shine in the moonlight.

“Picked it just for you.”

Slowly after that they all manage to drift off to sleep once again. Harry couldn’t wipe the grin off his face even if he wanted to. They manage to sleep in until late morning, finally Sawyer ends up stepping on Harry, successfully waking him up.

“I want breakfast.” Sawyer says.

“Alright let's go.” He pulls him off the bed and they make their way down to the kitchen. Harry has managed to make pancakes, eggs, and fresh orange juice by the time Y/n makes it downstairs.

“You want to take this back?” She holds up her hand to show off the large ring that now adorns it.

“Not even slightly, do you?” He looks back to her across the kitchen island.

She shakes her head, a wide smile now gracing her face. She walks over and presses a long kiss against his lips. She had been afraid that it was all a dream. It couldn’t be real that she could be this lucky to be asked into such a blessing of a family.

“Y/n!” Sawyer yells loudly from his chair at the table, “Guess what?”

“What?” She asks back with just as much enthusiasm, breaking away from her little bubble of Harry.

“You have healing hands!” He grins showing off his teeth.

“I do?” She walks over to sit beside him.

“Yeah, I don’t even feel sick anymore! Isn’t that right, Dad?”

“I think it is, buddy.” Harry smiles, bringing over a plate to Y/n.

“Really? And we’re sure that the medicine didn’t have anything to do with it?” She looks around at the boys. Giving Harry a smirk.

“NO!” Sawyer quickly shuts down, “I didn’t feel better until I came to sleep with you guys.”

“Ahh, healing hands it is then.” Y/n presses a kiss to the top of his head as she gets up to trade in her orange juice for some coffee.

Anne and Gemma let themselves in, eager to check in on their favorite grandson/nephew and see how he’s doing.

“Good morning!” All heads snap in the direction to see who’s arrived.

“Grandma!” Sawyer gets off his chair to race over to them, “Auntie Gem!”

“How are you feeling, love?” Anne asks, kneeling down to his height.

“I’m all better!” He cheers, causing everyone to laugh at his enthusiasm.

“You’re all better?” Gemma asks, stealing a hug from the boy.

“Yeah, and guess what! Y/n has healing hands!” He answers before giving anyone the chance to answer, not that ‘healing hands’ would’ve been at the top of the list.

“Does she now?” Anne asks, walking over to the table to join us.

“Yeah, you have to feel them!” Sawyer insists, “She gives the best hugs too.”

“Oi, what about my hugs?” Harry interrupts, grabbing his son to tickle his sides. Laughter filling the entire room.

“I think I need one of those hugs.” Anne laughs.

Y/n happily gets up from her spot to pull Anne in for a hug. She could hug this woman forever, being a second mom to her truly and the sole reason she met the love of her life.

“I think I know what you mean, Sawyer. She’s got some magic in her.”

“Let me see those healing hands.” Gemma teases, coming over.

I roll my eyes before holding out my hands for her. Gemma just as easily becoming a hugely important part of Y/n’s life.

“Holy shit.” She mutters, taking Y/n’s left hand in hers.

“Language, Gemma.” Anne says, reminding her off the impressionable three year old two feet away. “I swear sometimes you forget who you’re with-”

“When did you two get engaged?”

[doubleleoenergy]

Medusa

She looked right through me, and I turned to stone. Medusa, Medusa, I've been here alone. And I crumbled to pieces my body, my weakness, is on the floor. And the wind will blow and blow, and I won't be here no more.

Pairing: Medusa!Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, mentions of rape/almost rape, loss of virginity, fingering (female receiving), lots of smutty goodness

Word Count: 2122

Author’s Notes: I wrote this for the Greek Mythology Writing Challenge via: faeryloki. Using the prompt of Medusa. I was super nervous and excited to write this, I hope you all enjoy!

Natasha, Natasha, you REALLY shouldn’t be here. It’s not the first time she’s visited the temple since Athena’s wrath turned her into the VILE image that everyone feared, but she couldn’t HELP it. Something about returning to the place where she had lost EVERYTHING, the place where she felt so helpless and small when she now felt so POWERFUL sent adrenaline rushing through her veins.

Athena’s TEMPLE, who would’ve thought she’d end up here, but she just HAD to. Was she really going to pay her respects to the Goddess? To the statue of the woman who had clearly been ENVIOUS of her beauty long before her beautiful spirals turned to SNAKES? She should be pissed, but Natasha was only mad at POSEIDON at this point, the one who had raped her and sent her on her path towards pain and destruction.

Her calloused fingers reached out to touch the smooth doric column, running them up and down the simple fluting that ran vertically along the tall stone. She used to LOVE this place, loved sitting on the porch in front of the stone and gold deity inside. It was her safe haven, which was ironic given that Athena was KNOWN for being the Goddess of War. But Athena was so much MORE than that, she was badass enough to have been born by Zeus and Zeus ALONE. She was a beautiful virgin, something Natasha had once been TOO.

Natasha’s thoughts were interrupted by a blood curdling SCREAM drifting from the inner temple. Brows furrowed and footsteps remained light along the temple floor as she walked inside. That’s when she noticed the man and the MAIDEN.

The man was tall and muscular, his dark curls piled high atop his head. His chiton was slightly open, his body pinning down the SMALL woman below him. Her hair fell loosely down her back, her peplos ripped and tattered along the floor by her side, her chiton that was pinned in place pulled open to reveal her bare body underneath. The woman was MORTAL, but her body could rival any Goddess in the way that it was displayed perfectly against the porch steps.

“Please, I beg of you, let me go!” The woman shrieked, tears staining her rosy red cheeks. “I’m a VIRGIN, please.” The words brought Natasha back to her past, banging her hand on the column beside her as a way to demand the attention from the room.

“I believe the maiden wants to be let GO.” She snarled. The man released his hold on the damsel below, standing up and turning to face her.

“Oh yeah? And who are you to tell me what to-” He trailed off, eyes meeting hers, instantly knowing his fate. The serpents along her hairline stood in defense, hissing at the man who DARED to rest his eyes upon hers. His fate was quickly sealed, his body groaning as inch by inch was encrusted from his bare feet to the top of his head in STONE.

The woman who had just almost become the man’s victim watched in HORROR at the sight of him encapsulated in stone, her own body frozen where she lay in front of the statue of Athena. She wanted to pull her chiton tight around her body again, feeling uncomfortably bare in front of Natasha, but she couldn’t move her hands. Though she wasn’t STONE like the man, it was only her mind that kept her from moving. 

Her eyes moved from the now statuesque man to the other woman. The moment she set her sight upon Natasha she knew just who she was. Her chiton was TIGHT against her skin, her hourglass figure accentuated by the taut fabric. Brown sandals adorned her feet, her eyes following up to the woman’s face, the serpents moving side-to-side against her head.

“You’re MEDUSA.” She croaked, letting go of a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. The woman’s attention turned from the stoned figure to the damsel in distress again, taking a stride forward in the direction of her voice.

“That I AM, but you can call me Natasha.” She boasted. Natasha moved to stand in front of the other, hands resting on her hips. “And what was a beautiful maiden like you doing in here with such a VILE mortal as he?” Her head tilts, the serpents going back to rest against her skull.

Her heart feels like it’s beating out of her chest, glancing to the stone man and then back to Natasha. “I-I was just admiring Athena’s statue, talking to her...which I often do. The man came in after me, introduced himself and sat down with me. Before I knew it he...he…” Tears are welling up in her eyes, swallowing the large lump in her throat as she FIGHTS them back.

“Shh...it’s okay now my dear maiden...you’re SAFE…” Natasha cooed, dropping to her knees in front of the woman. “I’m surprised you’re even talking with me, most mortals would run away AFRAID of me by now...well, those of whom I hadn’t yet turned to STONE…” Natasha’s eyes roam the damsel’s body, licking her lips until she meets her gaze again. She still doesn’t see fear in them, not like how they looked at the man who had almost RAPED her.

Y/N manages to shake her head, not wanting to remove eye contact. Even with the serpents, Natasha was BREATHTAKINGLY beautiful. “No, I’m not afraid. You saved my LIFE. I am forever grateful to you, Natasha.” She doesn’t know why she moves to bow her head to the woman. She wasn’t even a real GODDESS like those who had temples made in their honor, but the Gods and Goddesses were not here to save her, not like NATASHA.

“Grateful, huh?” Her lips curl into a flirtatious smirk at the bow. “Well, would you like to SHOW me how grateful you are?”

The maiden bites her bottom lip, eyes darting from Natasha’s gaze to her plush lips and then back up again. She sits up, her chiton falling the rest of the way off of her shoulders, her face inches from the woman's. The serpents are silent, none jutting out to bite her even though she was so CLOSE. They didn’t feel threatened by her presence.

Natasha grips y/n’s chin in her fingers, her nails digging softly into the skin. She closes the gap between the two, velvet to velvet lips crashing together. This is the maiden’s FIRST kiss, Natasha can tell, especially from the way she seems to not move them at all against hers. Natasha is doing all the work, her tongue jutting out to help part the woman’s lips, crushing theirs more closely together. The rhythm Natasha has set helps the maiden ease into it, figuring out what to do with her lips as they continue.

The hand that once cupped the maiden’s lips moves down to cup one of her breasts, Natasha massaging the soft skin, eliciting a groan of pleasure from y/n. She’s never FELT like this, never been touched by anyone, and for some reason it made her feel an ache in her core that had never HAPPENED. Not sure what to do with her own hands, she moves them around Natasha’s neck, interlocking her fingers together to keep them in place. This breaks Natasha from the kiss, her lips trailing across the woman’s jawline and placing hot kisses along her neck. She pulls back, making sure she can look the maiden in the eyes once more.

“I need you to verbally say what you want, beautiful.” She herself had not been given the option to CHOOSE in the temple when Poseidon used her body, she would NOT let herself turn into a ravenous monster such as he was.

Y/N’s cheeks flush a bright red, her fingers careful against the woman’s neck not to touch the serpents, all eyes on HER. “I-I’ve never done this...any of this...but I want you to touch me.” She whispers. “Your touch feels so GOOD.”

A verbal okay to continue, that’s all Natasha needed before her lips crash against the fragile woman’s again, her hands moving to push her back against the open chiton she had once worn. “Then I will make you feel good with my touch...show you what it feels like to be a GOOD girl.” Her hands trail down y/n’s sides, her mouth kissing from her collarbone to her breast, taking a red nipple into her mouth and sucking softly on it. The feeling makes her other nipple harden, her back arching to get more of the woman’s lips on her. 

Somehow her body felt COLD from a breeze ripping through the temple, yet so hot under Natasha’s lips. Fingers moved down her y/n’s chest, reaching her outerfolds that were already sheen and glistening with wetness.

“My my...you may not know what to do but your body sure DOES.” Natasha takes her lips from the woman’s nipple and moves them to the neglected one, two fingers circling that bundle of nerves the maiden probably didn’t even realize she HAD below her legs. 

“Oh my goodness!” She cries out, her legs instinctively moving to close but Natsha’s knee nuzzles between them, keeping them apart.

“My beautiful MAIDEN, you mustn’t move. If you want to feel good, like I said before...you’ve got to be a good girl.” There’s that phrase again, good girl. She did WANT to be a good girl. Y/N’s fingers busy themselves in the ripped cloth of her chiton beneath her, trying to keep from bucking her hips into Natasha’s fingers. She wanted to do as she was told, wanted to FEEL good.

Natasha’s fingers stopped their motions against her clit, moving them to y/n’s lips. “Open.” She commands, the maiden below opening her mouth wide enough to let the fingers in. “Get them nice and wet for your cunt.”

A shiver runs down her spine, sucking on the thin fingers before Natasha decides they’re wet enough with saliva and pulls them away, moving one of the fingers down and pressing it between her folds. She can now feel the wetness she’d produced, using that and the spit from her finger to push into her.

Y/N’s eyes close tight, her walls also tightening instinctively around the finger inside of her. She’s not used to this, but she cannot help but feel thankful for the way Natasha was pleasuring her body. Once her body relaxes Natasha moves the finger in and out, warming her body up before she pushes the second finger inside. The serpent's hiss at the woman crying out in pleasure, moving along her head to get a better view.

“Look how PRETTY you look on my fingers, taking them in your cunt so well. It’s so tight, but you want them to fit, don’t you? You want to be a good girl and keep them inside.” Her pace quickens, the maiden’s moans bouncing off the stone walls of the inner temple. Natasha is clearly pleased with herself, eyes taking in the sight of the woman coming undone below her.

“Open those eyes, beautiful. Want you to see how proud you have made me.” Her eyes flutter open, her stomach in knots as she feels a tightness she has never FELT before. “Natasha, I...I feel weird.” She shushes her, eyes darkening at the thought of what’s to come.

“That’s a GOOD feeling, your body wants you to let go, to cum all over my fingers. And you can do that, I want you to do that as long as you LOOK at me.” Being the MEDUSA made eye contact not possible for most, others refusing to look at her just for who she was. The maiden, however, looked at her with WANT, with LUST, and she couldn’t help but feel powerful with all eyes on her for once.

Y/N’s body starts to quiver, a final cry slipping out of her mouth as her walls tighten around Natasha’s fingers, keeping her gaze on the woman above her as she releases her orgasm. The fingers inside her continue to pump in and out, coaxing her down from her release before they are pulled out, leaving the maiden feeling EMPTY.

Natasha sits up, towering further over the woman as her lips curl around her fingers, sucking the sweet juices from the skin. Once they have been stripped of their sweetness she pulls them out with a pop, a sigh of excitement leaving her lips.

“You did AMAZING, my beautiful maiden.” She moves her body next to the woman’s on the porch, eyes briefly meeting the gaze of Athena’s statue before she brings her attention back to her naked lover. “Now I want you to do what I just did to ME.”

[lesbiansforboromir]

Let me tell you all about a very personally satisfying HC I have that, whilst perhaps explaining some things within the books, is really just for my own enjoyment. 

So, the idea originates in the concept that everyone in the Dol Amrothian line are very spooky. The close elven lineage and living near an old abandoned elven haven had particularly mysterious effects on the whole family. Sure there are Dunadain in Gondor and they can develop certain spooky traits, but the Lords of Dol Amroth start out spooky and usually stay that way. It goes up and down depending on the individual, but generally they are all uncanny at the very least.

Denethor can see into the hearts of men, yeah ok cool I guess. Imrahil goes down to the Dol Amroth harbour at dusk and whispers to the swans until midnight, he answers questions you were sure you did not say out loud, he can make you weep with genuine grief over a sadness he hasn’t even mentioned. Speaking with Finduilas sometimes makes you feel like time passes in an instant, or incredibly slowly, or not at all... except no... really... how much time has passed? Wasn’t it just morning? How is the sun setting already? Or, oh my gosh, I’m going to be late! Or... not..? it’s barely been a few moments, yet I feel like I just lived a lifetime...

Ivriniel insists this is all nonsense, doggedly, she refuses to acknowledge it, no matter how many political rivals raise her considerable ire and come down with a mysterious and debilitating illness the next day. Grandmother Duilindes is just straight up a witch. ‘It’s all for the honour of Eru’ she says placatingly, as she enters her rooms in the Palace that she forbids anyone else from entering.

Denethor had heard these rumours before meeting Finduilas and, sure, he sometimes feels like he is being hunted, only to turn and find Adrahil’s eyes on him. But Dunadain are just a little strange like that! Surely it’s been blown out of proportion. He believes this up until he comes to Dol Amroth as Finduilas’ suitor. 

Denethor: Shall we take a walk after dinner? Everyone looks up from their plates in alarm Adrahil: Are you joking? Denethor: ??? Imrahil: It's the seventh day! The gardens aren't to be disturbed! Denethor, whispering to Finduilas: What does that mean?? Finduilas, chuckling: oh, Denethor! 

He sees Imrahil whispering to the swans at one point and is about to call out to him before Finduilas quickly gestures him silent.

Denethor, whispered: What is he doing? Finduilas: Shh, if the swans hear us we'll surely be attacked. Denethor: But then shouldn't Imrah- Finduilas: SHH.

One evening Ivriniel sweeps in with a stormy countenance, muttering over Lord Garahel’s stupidity. The next morning Denethor hears Imrahil mention that Lord Garahel has been taken ill with some fainting sickness. The look he gives Ivriniel is enough for her to know his mind. 

Ivriniel: Your imagination will run wild Denethor, I had thought you more reasonable. You think I, what? Cursed him? Don’t be ridiculous. Denethor, turning to Finduilas: Do you think... she knows she's doing it? Finduilas: Oh no, in fact she's determined to remain ignorant to it. Denethor: Can you... do that? Finduilas: I havent tried :)

At some point Finduilas had told Denethor that ‘Imrahil is the odd one of the family’ and by the end of the visit all Denethor can think is ‘by what metric??’

Denethor had to admit to himself privately that he was not at all put off by Finduilas’ nature, but he did have cause to worry what their children would be like. Finduilas came across Denethor, early after Boromir’s birth, rocking him to sleep and murmuring softly; 'I may have my failings as a father, I am sure I shall, but I swear they will be honestly meant, I love you so dearly my son... please do not curse me when you are older and I do not allow you everything you ask. I promise I only ever have your wellness in mind.' And she thought it was very sweet and proper, but she didn’t tell him he was wrong! And for very good reason! 

Boromir was an unnerving child. He learned to speak just a little too quickly, and when he did he would often say uncanny things, too knowing things, indecipherable things that became daunting the longer you thought about them. He had such a powerful grasp of complex feeling that he would often solve arguments between adults, explain emotions back at his parents or offer reasons for another child’s behaviour that were so accurate it became uncomfortable. 

3yo Boromir: (explains the reason Denethor’s secretary was distracted that day unprompted) Finduilas: (laughs) yes that's right! Denethor: It's.... TOO right. Finduilas: Oh well children are intuitive aren't they? Denethor, picking Boromir up: ... I feel under qualified to teach you things. Boromir: (baby-giggles but in a like way too knowing way)

And then sometimes Denethor would be sitting reading on a bench on a balcony in the early evening with Boromir contentedly playing with a fiddle-toy beside him, and suddenly his son’s voice would break the silence with; 'When I wasn't here I was colder, so I think I like it here, I'll stay. The air isn't as delicious but there's more to see.'

And then he’d go back to playing as though nothing was wrong whilst Denethor had an existential crisis. 

Denethor: W.. where were you, before? Boromir: Well I didn't know, because I couldn't know, but now I can know things, just not that. I haven't decided if I like it.

He asks Finduilas about it as soon as he can find her and she just laughs, ‘don't worry he'll forget he knows that in a few years’ she says, as though that helps at all.

But in general this is as far as Boromir ventures into the ‘spooky Dol Amroth’ territory. Sometimes he mentions things he CHOSE NOT to do that suggests he is capable of more, but other than randomly forcing Denethor to consider his position in the universe and reading him for shit, the first five years of being a parent is fine for Denethor.

At one point, when Boromir was about two, someone asked Finduilas if they were planning for another baby soon. Finduilas laughed ruefully, as though everyone would know that was a foolish question. ‘Oh no, much too soon for that’ she said. Denethor knew he had to follow up on what the hell that meant later. But when asked, all Finduilas said was ‘Oh you know! If siblings are born too close then they align their powers. Haven’t you heard my father talk about my uncles?’ She says it with the same tone as reading something out of a parenting manual. Denethor doesn’t want to hear about Finduilas’ uncles, but accepts this is important and stops thinking about it.

And it’s a good thing they did wait because, whilst Boromir was unnerving, Faramir is straight up terrifying.

What Denethor realised was that Boromir had been showing restraint. Faramir however was very comfortable with his powers and saw no reason not to use them. Denethor would find himself lost in baby Faramir’s eyes, feeling unable to move simply because of the weight of his stare. Finduilas and Boromir would have to save him from Faramir’s grasp, an act that would make Faramir look very put out. 

If people irritated Denethor when he was holding his youngest son, then just a glance from this child would make them drop whatever they were holding, Faramir grinning victoriously all the while. If Faramir did not want to take a bath then Finduilas would have to be present in case the baby decided to make Denethor relive his entire childhood. 

Sometimes Denethor would come outside to see his toddler just surrounded by the street cats of Minas Tirith, conducting some kind of incomprehensible tribunal that all the cats appeared to abide by. At one point Boromir was holding Faramir when Faramir grasped his brother’s face and pulled so that their eyes locked. Boromir passively held Faramir’s intense gaze for a while in this charged and tense moment, before calmly looking away as Faramir pouted. Denethor once again begged Finduilas to explain, but all she had to give was a fond sigh and a ‘Aw, Faramir just wants to get to know him, but our Boromir is too canny, Ivriniel and I used to do that.’ Denethor is used to helpless bemusement and concern by now. 

Now the SECOND part to this HC- YES I’M STILL GOING, THIS IS ALL IMPORTANT- the second part is that Dol Amrothians ALSO get a kind of ‘choice’. (This is likely not at all canon friendly tbh but uwu I can have a leetle canon noncompliance if it doesn’t effect the vast expansive canon... as a treat) It is far more unconscious and happens in childhood, but there is a point where a child will ‘decide’ to continue being spooky or to be more mundane. This never overrides ALL the spookiness, hence Ivriniel’s intermittent cursing and Finduilas’ occasional time dilation, but Imrahil still out spooks the lot of them. Amongst the family this is known as ‘settling’.

Boromir settles when he is eight. One day he comes to breakfast and Denethor looks into his son’s face and feels like he is suddenly more in the world, more in the moment. Boromir seems as himself as ever, but he makes friends easier afterwards. Whereas he had always been liked, now he is popular and has close relationships with children, rather than always seeming too distant. This also coincides with one of Gandalf’s rare visits. He had been trying to connect with Boromir, trying to engage him on very specific topics. Boromir had not been amused. 

Denethor would never say that Boromir hating Gandalf’s vibes was the reason he settled for mundanity. Boromir had many good reasons, he is sure. But the fact that he chose that moment to settle, so that Denethor was allowed to watch Gandalf also realise that Boromir was no longer ‘apt to his hand’, well he might have gleaned some little pleasure from it. 

The only aspect Boromir retains is his general resistance to such spookiness. Hence his frustration in both Rivendell and Lothlorien, the time distortion of those places not effecting him and the imposed rest not touching him, meaning he feels every passing day keenly. It also explains his resistance towards the Balrog’s doomful presence, as well as his heightened distress at Galadriel’s ability to see into his mind, where he had always been able to defend himself before. 

Faramir on the other hand is seven when he settles, thoroughly content with his spooky powers and wanting even more command over them. It is with this settling that he becomes able to sometimes cause people pain for lying to him. Denethor... struggles as a single father for many reasons.