#the only thing we can do is care and i am not letting you take that from me

[autisticandoddlyspecific]

My contribution: Not only that, but get to know your neighbors and find any common ground you can. Support the people around you.

Humanity's greatest strength in my opinion is our ability to survive crises when we stand together. Not just literally in front of a government building, but support each other emotionally and materially in any way we can.

The people of Poland for example would not have made it through WWII if they didn't work together to survive day to day.

Whether you're anarchist, socialist, social democrat, communist, or just think republicans are nuts who can't be trusted with the country/wish you could be left the fuck alone, our TOP priority is surviving, so find any common ground as you can with your neighbors. A lot of union workers are actually conservative leaning construction workers, for example. Talk with them about advocating for themselves as union workers, and find friends and allies wherever you can.

As for me, I'm starting with my irl friend group. We're fortunately already close and meet up often, so I'm letting them know I am happy to help them with whatever I can. My older sibling will likely be going back to places they used to be a regular to and rebuild a group of interpersonal connections with which to survive, and we can connect our friend groups together to maximize support.

A proper crisis mode involves generosity and helping others as much as we can manage. Like, don't hurt yourself obviously, but taking care of one another makes us stronger over 99% of the time. A good group will also take care of you as much as possible anyway.

Now I know a lot of people on this site are disabled, so I will once again say that you only do what is possible for you, but if at all possible, try and improve your health. Going into a mini-crisis mode involves changes in lifestyle, and one thing is that many of us simply will not be able to afford poor health. I will see what I can do to put some much-needed physical activity into my day and eat nutritious meals so that my health is as good as it reasonably can be.

And finally, do allow yourself to mourn the future you hoped for, but taking action once it's a feasible option for you is important. My heart goes out to everyone this week, and I hope we'll be able to pull ourselves together enough to push against fascism.

no matter the outcome of this election: organize, build local community, build strength in masses. elections aren't the only time politics happen, it also happens on the streets, in the community and by mutually supporting each other.

the way forward is together. we build power from the ground up. in the US and everywhere else in the world.

a better world is possible and we can start building it now, by ourselves. anarchism starts in the now.

hack the planet

[wildernezz]

"i like the enthusiasm but you have to think realistically" i am thinking realistically and realistically all we have is hope. it is the one thing they cannot strip from us; why let them take that away.

realistically, most of us will not move to canada. realistically, they will take away as much of our communication as possible. realistically, we will die on the streets and if we do not die on the streets we will have already been considered dead anyways.

to "think realistically" is to dig your grave before even considering the possibility that you could live.

i'm sorry for wanting to cling onto the one weapon i have. i'm sorry i'd rather die trying than let them win so easily.

i'm sorry my "enthusiasm" is, realistically speaking, the only thing i have.

but i will never be sorry for caring.

[daenysx]

3:23am sirius? With reader waking up from a nightmare? Mayhaps mayhaps ...

3.23 AM I SIRIUS BLACK

you can almost feel the hand on your shoulder that connects you to reality.

it's like slipping from unconsciousness, you're being pulled back, you're desperate to lift your body from bed. there's something wrong but you can't focus on it, trapped in your sleep.

"it's okay." someone says. you feel too warm. "you're okay, baby, wake up."

the slightly scratchy voice tickles your ears deliciously, you open your eyes. it's not like you flinch or anything, but the first thing you see is sirius's worried eyes. his thumb draws circles on your shoulder, does he even know he's been doing that?

"what-" you try to lift yourself on your elbows. the words get stuck.

"i think you were having a nightmare, lovely girl." sirius murmurs with a kiss on your head. "you looked so uncomfortable, i was worried."

"i don't remember." you tell him, and it's true. the feeling of discomfort is remaining, but you don't know what you dreamed of. your face aches from frowning.

"that's okay, and we don't have to talk about it if you don't want to." he says. "do you need me to turn on the lights?"

it's the middle of the night, and he's losing sleep because of you. you know sirius doesn't care about that, but still you want to take your time with processing the negative emotions you felt unconsciously, you don't even know what you saw.

"no, thank you." you say softly, and settle down in bed again. "um- did i make any sound?"

sirius fixes his hair briefly before bringing his hand to your cheek. "only a few of them. you didn't say anything, but you were feeling nervous, i think."

"maybe i'll remember later." you say.

it's mostly okay, sirius hugs you the way he was doing before he woke up. you put your head on his shoulder, safe in his embrace.

"will you be able to fall asleep again?" he asks silently. he'd stay awake with you until the morning if you can't.

"i feel exhausted." you confess. "i want to sleep, i hope i can."

sleep doesn't come easy. sirius spends the next thirty minutes by rubbing your back with slow circles, kissing your head many times, and speaking in soft encouragements to your ear. you feel like a mush in his arms, desperate for some good rest and unable to find it.

he doesn't let this become insufferable, though. you know he's there with you, you won't sit alone in bed in the middle of the night if you can't find sleep.

sirius pushes his luck a bit harder by adjusting your positions under the covers. he helps you put your head on his heart, you don't protest. it beats steadily, and so beautiful in a way that makes you want to listen to it forever. a nice rhythm in the dark, you follow it. you don't even know when your mind gives up, but at some point it does, leaves you into sleep again.

sirius is proud of himself, and happy with the way you take easier breaths. the night turns into a peaceful one, now that he knows you're feeling better and getting some sleep. you squeeze his fingers. a pretty smile forms on your lips, he can see it this close. he hopes you're having a nice dream this time. he hopes you dream of him.

[iamyourdailydoseofbi]

MONEY, MONEY, MONEY, MUST BE FUNNY IN A RICH MAN'S WORLD. ( HOTD X READER )

AUTHOR NOTE! Thanks for all the love. <3 pairing: Aegon Targaryen x Stagehand! Reader prompt : Aegon falls in love with the stagehand of a jazz club. word count: 1, 000+ words

Aegon had a silver spoon up his ass from birth. He got the best cars, the best drugs, the best clothing, the best food. He didn't understand that not everyone had trust funds or billions in their bank account. He never knew struggle, nor would be thanks to his family name. He was a Targaryen, a god amongst the 'common folk'. But, in the small jazz club on the edge of Flea Bottom, he was just another man.

The bartender's didn't care about him, forcing him to pay full price for drinks. The dancers, more than once, backhanded slapped him for trying to catch a feel. All because of you, the stagehand, and brains behind the club. You preferred the shadows, keeping things smooth behind the scenes, saving you from embarrassment should you fail in public. You keep your co-worker's safe, and they did the same for you.

It was honorable. He could not fault you for ordering them to stand up for themselves. Even in the more sinful way of life, they still deserved basic respect. It also didn't help that you looked stunning when cursing him out. The way your eyes hardened. The way you would rip him apart with words. The color insults.

'The cumshot his Mother should have swallowed..'

'The inbred brat..'

'The depressing little wet rat..'

'The guy named Egg'

There was something about you. He didn't know what exactly. It could been the way you cussed him out. Or it could have been the way your eyes light up when you controlled the jazz club. But, there was a part of you that made him want to kick his feet up and twirl his hair like a giddy school girl.

Letting out a tipsy giggle as you snatch the glass of whiskey out of his hand, he leans against the bar table, a dopey grin on his face. He was not even close to being drunk, he’d barely even taken a sip of his whiskey. But, the look on your face was enough to make him feel drunk. You were so pretty. Your eyebrows furrowed, nose softly scrunched up, teeth gritted together, cheeks a flushed pink from anger.  Resting his chin on the palm of his hand, you were so pretty like this, all red faced and eyes full of hatred. He’d twirl his hair if it was long enough. Leaning a little closer on the bar table, he was practically standing on his tippy toes, eager to be close to you. 

“You come into my club, drunk, and think you can demand more to drink? There is no way that I am going to allow you to put my club at risk.” You snap back, shoving a water bottle into his hand. 

“You’re really pretty. Did you know that?” He giggles, “You’d even be prettier if you were to wear something designer, like some Chanel or some Vivienne Westwood. You should let me buy you some, sometime.”

“You're drunk.”  You scoff, shaking your head. 

“Pff! I am not drunk, well, drunk enough to not recognize that you're pretty when you're cursing me out. You’re, like, really pretty when you do it. But, I do think you’d be prettier if you did in something vintage.” He rambles on, the dopey grin on his face growing. 

“You’re drunk.” You state bluntly, rolling your eyes. 

"Again, with assuming that I am drunk."

Sitting back in his seat, he watches you pour out his whiskey into the sink, filling the cup with water. Unable to resist, he rolls his eyes hard a the sight of your routine. This happened almost every time, like clock work. He'd make a ass of himself, you'd assume he was drunk, pour out his drink and serve him water. It was oddly comforting. You cared, or at least it felt like you had cared for him. Even though a tiny part of him knew that you only cared for your club and the lawsuit that could happen. Still, he choose to believe that you cared for him.

"Let me..Let me take you out, just one date? We don't even need to kiss or hold hands." He attempts to negotiate, "I'll take you to the movies we can watch a nice film and just talk."

"I do not think that this is in your vocabulary." You scoff, placing the glass in front of him.

"And you know my vocabulary, now?" He scoffs back, mimicking your face playfully.

"I know people like you, your not that special or hard to read." You argues, "You pretend to be perfect just to get me to let you in my bed."

"One movie, that's it. No funny business."

"I do not like movies." You shake your head, making him scowl.

"Then we can go to the park and talk, there's a farmer's market." He tries again, "Get something to eat."

Watching you shake your head with a bitter chuckle, he cracks a smile, fingers drumming against the bar top. You may have been mocking him. Or maybe he was just high off the smell of cigarettes and cheap cologne that was thick in the club. But, just for a moment it all felt real. Like you cared, like you would consider it and accept.

"You're not giving up, are you?" You ask, lifting your gaze up to him.

"I will, if you ask me too."

"And..And if I want you to take me on a million dollar shopping spree?" You ask, the curiosity in your voice clear.

"I'd take you on a ten million one." He states without hesitation.

Watching you chew on your bottom lip, he waits, not daring to say another thing. He'd fear that if he say anything else it would made you rethink everything. That you'd call for security. Drumming his fingers on the bar top, you roll your eyes hard, making his heart sink. Cowering in his seat, he loose his confidence, his shoulders shagging. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he tries to shrug it off, scoffing. He didn't care? Why would he? It wasn't that big of a deal.

"I get off in an hour, stay and wait or don't." You mumble walking away, "I don't care."

---

[webanglikethat]

to every single queer person out there—trans, gay, bi, pan, ace, nonbinary, however you identify—let me just say this: I am so, so fucking sorry. SO, SO, SO FUCKING SORRY. I am furious. I’m pissed off beyond words. english seems like a forgotten skill as I'm typing this. I am so sorry.

we never deserved this. we never fucking deserved this.

I am sorry that you’ve been betrayed like this, that we’ve all been betrayed like this. I’m sorry that SO MANY of our damn votes weren’t counted, like we don’t even matter. like we’re just numbers on a page that they can toss out without a thought. like we can just be erased, as if we do not exist, like we’re puzzle pieces that don’t fit into their perfect picture, so they just throw us out, discarded, like we were never there in the first place. I’m sorry she just conceded, just gave up. left us hanging. just handed us over like we’re some afterthought, like we’re collateral damage in this disgusting twisted fucking game. as if our lives, our rights, everything we fought for, meant nothing. she just rolled over and let us get steamrolled, like we’re just noise, just numbers on a page, just nothing worth fighting for. do they even care that real people, people who trusted her, who put their hopes in her, are being crushed by this? and not only in the US. we ALL believed in her. and ... she ... just ... she was gone. just like that. and we’re the ones who have to pay the price. we’re the ones left with our futures on the line, wondering what rights we’ll have tomorrow, if we’ll even be safe tomorrow. and she just… gave it all up. handed us over to people who are hell-bent on erasing us, who’ve been clear from day one about what they think of us, what they want to take away. how do we even make sense of that? how do we believe in ANYONE? how can you abandon us in the lion's den and yet demand compassion and trust? to trust in the very hands that have left us to bleed, to burn, to fight alone?

we deserve better. we deserved someone who would stand with us when it mattered, who wouldn’t just throw in the towel and walk away when things got tough. we’re not just collateral. we’re not disposable. we’re human beings with lives, with love, with the right to exist without fear. we aren't statistics, diagrams, names forgotten on a wall. we are queer, and we are real. and she ... just left us to face down a nightmare she knows damn well is coming. so how dare they tell us to “keep faith” when they’ve shown us that our lives were never worth the fight to them. we needed someone who would dig in and say, “no, you can’t have them. not now, not ever.” and instead? we were left out in the cold to fend for ourselves. like always. like fucking always. and this isn’t just some political setback for us. this is our lives, our right to exist. we’ve fought and bled and stood through hell just to claim an inch of ground to live openly, to love who we love, and to be who we are. we deserved so much more than empty promises. and we won’t forget this.

right now, it feels like every warning, every fear we’ve had has come to life in the worst way. and let’s be real—what’s next is terrifying. I will not sugarcoat it. rights are going to be stripped away, our existence denied, our safety threatened. trump hasn’t hidden it; he’s promised it. this was supposed to be our home too. but they’re pushing us out, forcing us to hide. so please, if you need to, go back into the closet. change states if that’s what it takes. hell, think about leaving the country if you can, because it’s becoming clear that staying might mean risking everything. you do not owe anyone anything, just think of yourself first. you are your own priority.

and god .. Love. Love—something so pure, something so simple—has been twisted into a reason for others to hate us, to fear us, to hurt us. we were never supposed to be the ones people saw as a “threat.” that label should belong to hatred, to racism, to homophobia, to everything that has poisoned this world. but instead, somehow we are the ones they call dangerous. we are the ones they want to erase. and it’s maddening. what kind of world are we living in, where the fight to just exist is an endless battle? was it not love that led Eve to take that fateful bite, trusting in the bond she shared with Adam? and if love is the foundation upon which humanity was built, how can we be faulted for following its lead? of all the things we could hate, and we chose love.

if this moment feels like it’s too much, if it feels like everything you’ve fought for, every piece of yourself you’ve worked to own, every right, every dream, every bit of safety is collapsing around you -- I get it. I feel it in my bones. it feels like drowning, like being swallowed whole by a storm that never ends. the shore seems so far away. but listen to me: don’t you fucking dare let them break you. don’t let them get that satisfaction. don’t give them that power. we are not here to let monsters erase us. we’re here to outlast every single one of them. we’re here to survive and thrive. we are queer, we are real, we exist, we will continue to exist.

their power, their hatred, their cruelty—it won’t last forever. I know it's difficult to see the light at the end of this tunnel. but they are the ones who don’t belong in a world built on compassion, on love, on freedom. You are the real thing. You are here. You deserve to be here, and you deserve to feel safe, loved, and free.

if you’re feeling like there’s no point anymore, if this all feels like it’s too damn much to take, please just hang on. this fight is brutal, and sometimes it feels like it never ends. but I’m begging you—don’t give up. don’t let them have that final victory. don’t let them silence your voice, your light, your life. scream, cry, punch walls, call someone, reach out, hold on to whatever will keep you here another day, another hour. do whatever you have to do to survive this moment. because you’re needed. we need you. the world needs you.

you might not see it now, but you are a part of something big, something powerful, something they wish they could destroy but never will. you’re part of a legacy of resilience, of love, of defiance against hatred. every queer person, every person who has ever had to stand up against a world that told them they shouldn’t exist, that they should be crucified, erased, beaten up, has carried that legacy forward, passed it down so we could be here. so you could be here. and they did not survive all they did, did not fight, did not sacrifice so much just for us to lose hope. we’re still here because others fought and held on. now, it’s our turn. we owe it to them, to ourselves, to hold on with everything we have, to fight with everything in us.

and one day, I promise you, I truly pinkie promise you, that you’re going to wake up in a world that has moved beyond these hateful voices. one day, you will wake up in a world that sees you, that values you, where you don’t have to fight just to exist. you deserve to live in it, to walk in the sunlight without fear, without shame. they don’t get to take that from you. they don’t get to erase you. they don’t get to win.

this moment is hard. it’s beyond hard. but you, every single one of you, are worth it. you are not alone in this fight. you are surrounded by countless others who feel this too, who know this pain, who are holding on right alongside you.

so please, hold on. you belong, and nothing they do can change that. they cannot snuff out your light. they cannot erase your legacy. they cannot undo the love you were born to spread.

stay. fight like hell. be louder, be prouder, be everything they tell you not to be. because you are worth every ounce of this battle. and we will see the day they’re gone. we will make it through.

we too shall rise from the ashes.

to my queer family, my phoenix.

[planetpedri]

idk if you’re hispanic/latino buttttt i NEED a pedri fic based off the song la santa by bad bunny (if you don’t know spanish you can just translate it and it’ll work jst fine) tyyyy i loveee ur work 🫶🫶

La santa — Pedri Gonzalez.

Pairing: Pedri Gonzalez x Fem!Reader

Summary: You weren’t supposed to fall in love with Pedri, but it happened nonetheless. You knew what you were getting into when it all started and you both knew despite nothing ever going further than casual, you would always come running back.

Word count: 710

Disclaimer/s: Slightly Suggestive (?) , angst

A/N: OOOOH this song is lowk girl i’m nodding my head thank yew. i also really had no clue how to go about this .. i actually hate it so much sorry this was so bummy

Pedri was dressing quickly. Too quickly. You knew you shouldn’t have even proposed the idea of taking the relationship or… whatever you could call it, further. He always got jumpy when you’d ask for him to stay even a few extra minutes.

You leaned back against the headboard, a frown planted tightly against your lips as you watched him zip up his jeans. “Jesus christ, Pedri. It was a simple suggestion! You’re acting like I told you I was pregnant.”

The mans eyes widen as they shoot in your direction, “you aren’t.. pregnant. Right?” That elicited a loud groan from your lips.

“Oh lord.” You rub your temples before looking back to him. He still wore the same expression, nearly making you laugh as you shake your head. “No! I am not.”

“Thank God.” He huffs, reaching for his t-shirt.

You chew on your bottom lip, suddenly annoyed. “You know what? This has to stop. For good.” He continued dressing like you weren’t even speaking, so you add, “I’m serious.”

Pedri sighs, tugging the shirt over his head. “You said that last week, last month, and matter of fact, two days ago. You know damn well it’s not stopping.” His lip twitches at the corners, a smug grin forming ever so slowly.

That just furthered your annoyance because, unfortunately, it was the truth. It also pissed you off because if he’d just take you seriously and stayed away, you wouldn’t crawl back to him every time.

You’d tried to stop sending him that text or responding to his, but you were weak. Your resistance only lasted about five minutes before you caved. You simply couldn’t stay away from Pedri.

“It’s different this time, and you know it! I can’t wait around for you to feel—“

“Woah!” His hands shoot up, stopping you mid sentence. “Don’t finish that sentence.”

Your lips clamp shut and your arms cross over your chest. “Well—“

“Cariño, you know it’ll never be reciprocated. You knew this the second we started the whole thing! Cut the lovey dovey act, I don’t need you doing that because I don’t know how to reciprocate it.” He finishes his rant, running a hand over his face as if the whole conversation was one big inconvenience.

Pedri leaned against the wall a few feet from your bedroom door, antsy for an escape yet also not wanting to leave you pissed off at him.

“This was only meant to be a fun thing.” He adds once the silence became deafening.

Pulling your knees to your chest, you frown. “Why though? Why is it such a terrible concept? You care about a lot of things, a lot of people, why would it be so different?”

His eyes dart to the door, he really needed to get out of here. “You know why. Just.. let’s keep this going and you’ll get over it, no? Why are you trying to mess with something thats fine just as it is?”

You were desperately trying to ignore the way your stomach churned at his words. The more he talked, the more you felt your heart sink. You knew damn well there was no changing Pedri and you most definitely knew better than to even have a sliver of hope.

“You’re right.” You finally force out, “no, yeah. I’m sorry I even thought about it.”

The hurt in your voice was unmistakable. Pedri heard it loud and clear and he almost felt guilty. Almost. But at the end of the day, he’d told you how he felt about relationships at the beginning of it all. He knew and you knew, exactly where he stood.

“I’ll see you when I get back from Sevilla, okay?” Pedri sighs, pushing himself off the wall.

Not daring to look at him, you stay quiet for a moment. A weak attempt at pushing him away, but you were just that. Weak.

“Yeah.” You huff, “make sure you lock the door on the way out.”

Pedri lifts one hand as a parting gesture, but you don’t return it and he leaves anyways. He leaves you feeling like an absolute idiot because you know when you get the text that he’s back in town, you’ll be waiting right where he left you.

likes , comments , and reblog’s are all appreciated. lmk if you’d like to be tagged in any of my fics, specific or all.

DTS , @halfwayhearted , @spidybaby , @gadriezmannsgirl !

[sublightdrive]

I say this a lot but I am constantly amazed at how the complex numbers aren't a convenient or useful extension that we stuck "on top" of real numbers, but rather it would be better to call real numbers a flat shadow cast by the more "real" structure of the complex numbers. Long example of what I mean by this under the break:

For an example of what I mean by this, we can consider the Taylor series expansion for the function

Now the whole idea of a Taylor series is kind of preposterous, this notion that certain functions can not only be approximated with an polynomial, but that if we allow that polynomial to have infinite terms that the two functions are actually the same function... so long as we stay inside a certain interval.

And it's that "inside a certain interval" that's the kicker, here. Because we're dealing with The Infinite, a tempestuous beast to wrangle on the best of days, and we have to be careful where and when we let it off the leash. The series expansion above is only true when you plug in x values between -1 and 1.

Inside that range, each additional term of the polynomial you calculate gets you values closer and closer to the original function. Pick an x value outside that range, and instead of each term getting you closer to the original function's value, they get you further away.

Which, okay sure. But why?

Well, if we take look at the very similar (but not quite the same) function

then that question has a more obvious answer. For this function, the series expansion diverges at 1 and -1... because the function itself does. Plugging in either -1 or 1 forces g(x) to divide by zero, exploding its output up to infinity. The series expansion does the same thing for a different reason, since when x is small, each subsequent term is getting smaller as you go down the polynomial, but if you pick a larger x-value the terms get bigger and bigger.

But what's the deal with our original function? It hasn't got any infinite spikes to speak of. If we plot it, it turns out to have a quite reasonable little graph that's nearly flat besides a pleasant little bump around x=0:

In fact, there's nothing notable at all about our points x=-1 and x=1. No asymptotes, weird wiggles, inflection points, nothing.

To see where the issue is, we need to step up into the complex plane. When we allow our choice of values to include imaginary components, then it becomes clear where the issue lies:

We have an asymptote (or, since we're in the complexes now, it would be more appropriate to call it a singularity) at x=i and x=-i. When we plot those points on the complex plane we get a hint toward what's going on:

The singularities at ±i define the radius of a circle that lines up perfectly with the range of divergence we originally saw that went from -1 to 1.

And as it turns out the range of values within which any function's series expansion works like it should depends entirely on how away we are from the nearest singularity on the complex plane, even when the original function was entirely real-valued.

When we look at functions purely as they behave over the real numbers, all we're seeing is the surface level behavior of a much greater and complicated structure, which exists in a more complete capacity in the complex realm. Under most circumstances that structure doesn't "interfere" with what we're trying to do, so it's not obvious that it's there. But it is always there, dictating the way real valued functions behave.

I picked up this specific example from Tristan Needham's Visual Complex Analysis, which really opened my eyes to how a lot of the (seemingly) arbitrary "rules" of complex analysis can be seen as the straightforward consequences of what he calls the "amplitwist". I highly recommend it to anyone who, like me, loves pictures and visual thinking to make sense of bigger ideas.

where are my maths enjoyers i need some maths positivity on the dash please

no hate allowed on this post btw go make your own post this is for maths enjoyers only

please tell me your favourite maths topic ill go first i love algebra :]

[mustainegf]

lingerie shopping w james 🤭 he picks out cute little outfits for you. could be any era but maybe like 99, 03 or current james ?

THIS IS AN AMAZING IDEA????? AND SOOOOO JAMES HOLY SHIT

𝐒𝐊𝐈𝐍 & 𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐄 ¹⁹⁹⁹

A soft jingle sounded from the bell above the door as we stepped into the small lingerie shop tucked into a corner of the strip mall. It wasn't a place I'd imagined us going, but James was in one of those playful moods all day, and there was no saying no to him when he flashed that mischievous grin. He had this knack for pulling me out of my shell and making me feel bold and sexy when I didn't even know I could feel that way.

The shop smelled of faint perfume and new fabric, the racks of lace and satin lining the walls. It was cozy, quiet, and we were the only ones there, which felt both exciting and a little awkward. But James didn't seem to care, he never did. He strode in like he owned the place, as he did with most places, eyes scanning the room for the perfect pieces, turning back to me with a gleam in his eyes.

"How about this one, baby?" He leaned and picked up a sheer red set, holding it up for me to see. "I bet you'd look hot in this." His voice dropped lower, a playful smirk on his lips. "Or out of it."

I rolled my eyes, trying to keep the flush from creeping up my neck. "You're crazy."

He laughed deep and rich, a set to our little adventure. "Come on," he urged, handing me the set. "Go try it on. Let's have some fun." There was just no arguing with James when he got this way. He wasn't overbearing, just… assured, in that confident way that he always had.

I took the lingerie and moved towards the dressing rooms, giving him a look over. Already he was eyeing up something else on the racks, his face assuming that look of concentration adopted by people who believed this was some serious mission.

I slipped on the red set in the dressing room. Soft fabric caressed my skin, hugging in all the right places. I looked into the mirror, feeling my stomach churning with shyness and somehow some excitement. It's not always that comfortable for me to be this daring, but since James had been waiting outside just to see me, it made me smile.

"You gonna let me see, or do I have to come in there?" His voice came through the curtain all teasing like usual.

I pulled back the curtain slightly and leaned my head out. "You're not supposed to be in here, you know."

James raised an eyebrow, leaning casually against the wall. "Since when have I followed rules?"

I let him in with a sigh that turned into a laugh, shutting the curtain behind him. His eyes roamed over me and I could tell he liked what he saw. He reached out, tracing the lace along my hips, his fingers leaving goosebumps in their wake.

"Fuck, you look good," he murmured, his voice taking on that husky tonethat he knew drove me crazy.

I shook my head but couldn't help smiling. "Oh, hush."

His eyes met mine, serious for a moment. "No, I mean it. You're beautiful." He slid his hand down my arm, fingers brushing my waist. "I love when you let go like this."

He kissed me then, so soft and slow at first, before it deepened, and for a moment, we forgot we were standing in the middle of a small lingerie shop.

When he pulled back, his eyes glittered with that same light. "You're getting this one," he said, almost as an order. "But let's see what else we can find."

I changed back into my clothes while he roamed the store, picking out pieces and holding them up for me to see. A black corset, some lacy panties, even a soft, baby blue set that made me giggle when he held it out like it was the most serious thing in the world.

"This one's cute," he said, giving me a sideways grin. "For when you're feeling sweet."

I raised an eyebrow. "And when am I ever feeling sweet?"

He laughed again, reaching for my hand and pulling me toward the dressing room. "Guess we'll find out."

We had spent the next hour trying things on, and he would never take his eyes off me, always managing to say something flirtatious or giving a low whistle.

At one point, he pulled out an emerald green set complete with garter and stocking that he held up with one eyebrow raised, his gaze was locked on the crotch of the g string... or lack thereof... It was obvious what they were meant for. "This one," he said, his voice lowering. "You gotta try this one."

I wavered for a second, biting at my lip. A little more daring than I was used to. Then I caught the look in his eyes, full of heat, but also something else. He wanted me to feel sexy.

I took it from him as I headed back into the dressing room. When I came out, James looked like he creamed his pants on the spot.

"Damn," he muttered stepping closer, his hands sliding around my waist. "We're gettin' this one."

By the time we finally came out of that shop, I had a whole bunch of lingerie clutched in my bag and a whole warm heart out of it. James held me at the door and swung his arm around my shoulder.

I already knew what was in store tonight...

[tehriz]

it wasn’t over by the time i went to bed but i set my alarm earlier anyway because i had a feeling. i woke up and checked the news to be sure. and then i got up and took one of my siddurs down and prayed shacharit, because i am grateful for every new day despite everything and i need to remind myself of that sometimes. i said prayers of gratitude and prayers for protection, and prayers for me and prayers for all of you.

and then i took a shower, and i work from home on wednesdays but i put on a bra and my favorite dress and my favorite necklace and a nice headband anyway. i signed on for work and made coffee and had a real breakfast. i put something on on my phone so i wouldn’t be tempted to doomscroll with it. i focused on my job that means a lot to me and does a little good in the world.

i made plans to go to shabbat services with a friend on friday. they asked to bring a friend too and i said hell yeah, the more the merrier. i made plans with my sibs to schedule a fun thing we’ve been vaguely saying we’ll do “soon.” i signed up for an event at my synagogue i’d been thinking about. for a bookstore event i’d asked another friend if they wanted to go to. for a leyning class i’ve been thinking about taking. i texted a friend.

i took time to make and eat a real lunch, a sandwich and a salad and chips instead of just a jerky stick and an orange. i picked up some work from a coworker who’s been sick. i got a nice email from a client thanking me for taking an extra step to help them. my boss sent us some great pictures of the haunted house she put together last week.

i made dinner with my roommates. i called my mom because it’s her birthday and watched her open her present on facetime. last week i was talking to one of my roommates about queer life at our alma mater when i was there, about dyke ball and BDOC and reclaiming words like dyke and queer, and i said “we can’t let the bastards win” and i kept thinking about that today. after 2016 i learned that being with people mattered, and taking care of myself even when i didn’t want to mattered, and spending each day doing only as much as i can do mattered. i’m going to wake up tomorrow and try my hardest to be with people and keep taking care of myself and do only as much as i can. blessed is the One who renews the act of creation daily. that’s all we can do.

[jacksonleavesthe0nly138472]

Silly Fiddles

POV: Fiddleford

Tonight was the night when I quit the project, couldn't take it anymore even being outside of Fords house was a nightmare. Luckily I have a solution to all my problems, forgetting Stanford Pines.

The memory gun was always in my pocket, so I got the gun out my pocket and started to write Stanford pines in the machine. Put the gun up to my head then suddenly I get a touch on my shoulder, instinctly I point the gun on the guy or thing who touched my shoulder and fired.

Finally I get to see the guy who was behind me, it was Stanford himself which surprised me, why was he out here? Wasn't he trying to "changed the world" with the stupid machine we made. Wait oh no, I realised that I wiped Stanford entire mind, I only fired the gun because people aren't supposed to know about the memory gun, unless I tell them. This is so dumb now I have to help him again, I hate this man so much but I don't hate him enough to leave him confused and lost.

He looks at me confused just standing here, then he asked "who am I, who are you, where am I?" This gave me a brilliant idea, I can just get Stanford my to do my bidding and destroy the portal. I giggled a bit "well look who's silly, your Stanford Pines and you must of hit your head, when you were trying to take down the portal?"

Stanford looked more confused "What portal? Are you a friend of mine?" I couldn't contain my laugher "of course I'm your friend, it’s Fiddleford, you like to call me Fidds" mmmm maybe I shouldn't of told him my nickname. "Now let's get you back in my house and check for any head injuries" oh gosh I'm so hilarious, pretending his house is my house "Fidds your such a good friend, I'm so lucky to have a friend like you" okay that does make feel guilty, I shouldn't of lied than but it's too late now, why is he being so gullible, was he always gullible and I didn't notice?

We had back to the house, I got Stanford in the bathroom, got a dim towel and pretend to clean off his fake head wound. He was blushing for some reason and I was too, what the hay is going on, why am I feel warm in the head. "Um once I bandage your injury and turn off the portal, we will head to bed eeeerrrrr Okay" Ford looks up at me all bright eyes, gosh I never notice how beautiful Ford's eyes were. "Oh that's an excellent idea, your so amazing and smart"

Wait why is Stanford being so nice to me, I know he's memory isn't here, but when ever I did patch him up he would usually just look at the floor than leave when done, usually when he does say nice things about me he doesn't tell me, he would just write in down. "Um thanks, well now I got your taken care of"

[brummiereader]

@mischievouslittlecreature what's that sound? Ah yes, it's the sound of Luca seething about his stupid mistakes...it's bliss😌🥰.

I was there enjoying Luca getting told of by his mum for the billionth time 😂. I loved the scene you set with the descriptions of him sat chewing his tooth pick among the destruction he'd caused.

We’ll get her back.” “No, you won’t. Thomas isn’t going to let her out of his sight now.”But why is he still not listening? Hasn't he learnt his lesson yet? Listen to ya mama you fool! He's so smug to think he'll ever get that chance again. Mrs Changretta was right, if he wanted to cause unimaginable pain to Tommy, he should have taken Lucy out straight away. Good thing he's an idiot and didn't listen, because I can't have Lucy leaving Tommy alone in the world. I don't even want to imagine the depths of despair he'd reach if that ever happened 😭.

Ok, my weakness will always be seeing Tommy completely broken, but it's also animals. Asher's reaction to seeing Lucy was...💔. The fur baby just wanted to cuddle up to his mum and make her feel better, but I fear that even his body against hers would be enough to cause poor Lucy excruciating pain.

You really captured Tommy's heartache during this scene we've these little lines... Ada rested a hand on his upper arm while he bowed his head. “I don’t know what kind of permanent damage that might’ve done.”-"she looked at his hand still clasped tightly in Lucy’s. It's like the life's being sucked out of him as he watches Lucy sleep, he can't bare it 😔.

“I can’t stay here.” I can’t watch you love someone else. Oh Lizzie, would you please shut the fuck up. I don't care if she didn't say it, she thought it. Which means, she still doesn't give a shit about everything that's happend and is STILL thinking about herself. Please, can she stay in that little house so we never have to deal with her snotty remarks again??

I don't think I was quite prepared to see Lucy so weak, so fragile and scared in the next scene. I've seen glimpses of her doubtung herself, battling with her lack in confidence, but the following scenes were she's zoning in and out, thrashing half asleep during her nightmares was unbearable to see 😔.

“What use am I to you now?” she forced herself to ask in a hoarse whisper. Tommy’s eyes widened, scooting closer to her. I'm seriously so dumb that I didn't realise how being in that position for multiple days on end would effect the nerves in your arms. This honestly scared me for Lucy, not because I don't think she'll be able to maybe recover but because of what it will do to her already fragile mind. She's always someone that needs to have something to do, and this is only going to create more unease in her that she's no longer useful to Tommy, no matter what he says.

But he's right, she's more than an assassin. She has an incredibly sharp mind. I think it will take her time to realise that she might not be able to do the things she once could if it comes to that.

The part where she had her nightmare and how Tommy grounded her was so powerful to read, I loved every second of it. It's a tip I've used during my own panic attacks, I wouldn't be surprised if it's something Tommy has learnt to do over the years when his own anxiety and PTSD takes a turn.

You’re a good nurse.”- His chest buzzed pleasantly against her ear with a quiet chuckle. “You’re high as a kite, love.” He kissed the top of her head. “Go back to sleep.” ❤️ aww, I couldn't help but smile at this little part. Even though she may have been up with the fairies, I really think Tommy needed that playful normality from her before he too lost it to the horrors of Lucy's physical and mental state.

He had hardly left her side for the last week. Even getting him to let her use to loo on her own had taken a significant amount of convincing. Stop 😭! I knew he'd be velcroed to her 🥰.

Tommy's care and affection towards her is top tier right now👌🏼. He's so mindful about everything ❤️. But this scene is at the boxing match....which means, shits about to hit the fan...again 😳😬. And it also means that Tommy's attentions are gonna be drawn to Arthur and what's about to happen to him. She better not be left alone, not for one second!

Excited to see what happens, and see how Lucy continues to recover from everything. Eek 😍!

Part 21: The Shadow of the Abattoir

Fandom: Peaky Blinders

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x OC

Summary: Lucy begins the long recovery from what Luca did to her, while the Shelbys prepare for Bonnie's boxing match.

Word Count: 5,254

Notes: Warnings for depictions of PTSD, injuries, chronic pain, and references to torture.

Previous Chapter • Series • Fic • Next Chapter

Chapter 26: Lost Forever

Audrey entered Luca’s room to find it in complete disarray. The papers that he kept spread across his desk were all over the floor, chairs and tables overturned in the sitting room, a lamp smashed on the thin rug, along with the shattered remains of crystal glasses and a decanter filled with amber liquid.  

Her eyes swept over the scene of destruction, lips pursing. 

When Matteo came to her lodgings, eyes wide and begging her to please come at once, she had almost sent him away. She probably would have, had it been anyone else asking for her help. She was the matriarch of the Changretta family, and she answered the summons of no one. 

“Luca,” she said, stepping deeper into the room, towards where he was seated on the couch, staring straight ahead, gnawing so hard on the toothpick wedged between his teeth that she thought he might splinter it in half. Glass crunched under her heels.

She lowered herself into the seat beside him, keeping her back straight, watching her son scrutinizingly. 

“What happened?”

He didn’t answer her, and Audrey bristled. 

“When your mother asks a question, you answer it, Luca.”

“She got away,” he growled, eyes still staring straight ahead. “She fucking got away.”

“Who?”

“The Red Demon. Lucy Winters.”

Audrey felt her stomach fall into her toes, though she did not let it show on her face. “How?”

Luca shook his head. “Shelby found her, we think. The fucking gardener was found this morning, laid out on the doorstep of one of our old businesses, with his throat cut and his eyes torn out.”

“The gardener talked? But I thought you had men protecting him…”

“Yeah. Two men who we can’t locate. They were last seen at a pub with Smith. They were probably drunk when the Peakys arrived. Didn’t stand a fucking chance. Not that anyone who was at the pub that night will tell us anything.”

Audrey cursed in Italian under her breath. “But you left guards with Winters.”

“They’re all dead.”

“All of them?”

“Yes. Shelby must have killed them all.”

“Or she did.”

Luca finally looked at her. “She was barely able to stay conscious when I left her. She’s cut up and beaten within an inch of her life. There’s no way that she–”

“How many times do I have to tell you to stop underestimating her before you listen to me!?” With a sharp, controlled movement, she cuffed him around the back of the head like she used to when he was small. “If any of your men gave her so much as a sliver of an opportunity, I promise you that she took it.”

“And killed all of them?”

She looked around the room, a casualty of Luca’s wrath undoubtedly after he learned the news of Winters’s escape. Her mind wound back to when Lucy Winters first arrived in Small Heath. The stories that had soon began to follow her. “She’s done it before.” She turned her gaze back onto her son. “You should have just killed her when you had the chance.”

“We’ll get her back.”

“No, you won’t. Thomas isn’t going to let her out of his sight now.” Frustration mounted in her veins, making itself known through a venomous look thrown Luca’s way, shaking her head. “You had the opportunity of a lifetime. You had her in your clutches. Do you understand how profound of an effect her death would have had on Thomas? They say he went half mad with grief over his wife’s death. What do you think killing Winters would have done to him? It would have crippled him. Or we could have used her as a bargaining tool. Or bait. Something.” She stood, towering over him, her disappointment mounting with every passing moment. How could he have been so stupid!? “And you just wanted to play out some silly little revenge fantasy. Instead of actually using your victory to your advantage. Your father and I taught you better than that.”

“Isn’t that what this all is? Revenge, mother? I was paying her back for all the pain she’s caused. She was there when they tortured my father. She’s already killed more than a handful of our men. She deserved to know what it felt like. Besides, she’s not going to be much use to Shelby at all with how badly injured she is.”

Audrey shook her head. No use. He really thought that the woman who likely kept Thomas Shelby standing upright with her mere presence was of no use to him. “You have not listened to a single word that I’ve said, have you?”

Luca looked up at her, hurt cracking across his eyes. “I’ve done everything that you’ve told me to do.”

Head shaking back and forth, she went to the door.

“There’s the boxing match next week. We’ll strike a blow, then,” Luca called after her. 

“Better pray it’s a big one, then. Because you’re running out of time.”

∗ ∗ ∗

Lizzie pushed the door to the bedroom open with her fingertips, peering in to find Lucy asleep, curled on her side in bed, a quilt pulled up over her chest, bandages wrapped around what looked to be most of her body. Tommy was hunched over in a chair at her bedside, Lucy’s hand in his. Ada was standing next to him, her hand on his shoulder while she looked down at Lucy’s sleeping figure. 

“How is she?” she asked. Tommy cleared his throat, wetting his lips. 

“Her back is…shredded. He whipped her,” Lizzie saw his hand tighten where it rested against his knee. “He reopened all her scars from…” he paused as if unable to bring himself to actually say it out loud, “from what happened to her in London before she came to us.”

“Jesus,” Ada breathed, a hand going to her lips. 

“She took a bullet to her shoulder. I removed it. Cleaned and stitched her up. Gave her something for the pain and to help her sleep.” He rubbed a hand down his face. “She said that he bound her from the ceiling so that she was dangling with her arms above her head for days. I don’t…” he had to pause to get his voice under control. Ada rested a hand on his upper arm while he bowed his head. “I don’t know what kind of permanent damage that might’ve done.” 

“But she’s alive.”

“Yes,” he agreed, though there was something in his voice that seemed to indicate that he wasn’t wholly confident in that statement. 

“I’ll take Charlie for a few nights. He shouldn’t see her like this.”

“Thank you.” 

“And Polly and Arthur will deal with everything else for the time being. You don’t need to worry about it. There’s still Bonnie’s boxing match with Alfie’s boy, but…”

“Someone needs to call Alfie and tell him we found her.”

“Already done. He said to tell you that he’ll deal with the last few arrangements that need to be made for the fight.”

“Right.”

“Doctor Evans will be here within an hour.”

“Good.” Lizzie wondered if the doctor was going to be in for a good scolding for not coming right as soon as he was called.

There was the clack of nails against the hardwood floor in the hallway, and then Asher was squeezing around Lizzie’s legs, nosing open the slightly ajar door to wander into the bedroom. Bypassing both Tommy and Ada, he raised his head to sniff at Lucy’s face. His tail drooped, ears falling downwards as a small whine left his throat. Tommy reached out to stroke the dog’s back. 

“I know, boy. I know. She’s okay.”

Asher looked back at him, then to Lucy, whining again. Tommy drew him away gently.

“Let her sleep, Ash.”

The black shepherd let out another soft whine, laying down next to the bed with his head on his paws, his dark brown eyes fixed dutifully on Lucy, watching over her protectively.

“Do you need anything else?” Ada asked, hand smoothing up and down Tommy’s back.

“No.”

“Call me if you do. I’ll gather up Charlie and head home. I think Polly was planning on sleeping over in one of the spare rooms.” She stood. 

“Ada,” he called, mindful to still keep his voice quiet enough that he would not wake Lucy. She turned back to him. “Thank you.”

She gave him a tiny small and a quick nod, before going to the door. Her grave gaze met Lizzie’s, reaching out only to give her a squeeze to the arm before heading to the stairs, leaving her standing in the doorway alone. 

Hands ringing together, Lizzie turned back to the bedroom, taking a cautious step forward into the room. 

“Tommy?”

He started at the sound of her voice, head raising. His eyes looked red rimmed and tired. “What?”

She ignored the bite of hurt at his sharp tone, reminding herself that he’d had more than a trying couple of days. “I’m going to go home.” 

His gaze sharpened. “Luca knows where you live.”

“I know, but I don’t think he’ll come after me right now. And…” she looked at his hand still clasped tightly in Lucy’s. Her heart twisted and fractured in her chest. “I can’t stay here.” I can’t watch you love someone else.

Tommy’s eyes searched hers, and she swore that she saw a spark of guilt as he read what was likely obvious in her gaze. “Does your house have a spare room?”

Her annoyance flared. “You’d know if you actually came to visit.”

Tommy looked away, jaw tightening. She took a deep breath.

“Yes, it does.” Her voice was softer.

“Skudboat will be sleeping there until the vendetta is over. And I’ll have multiple armed guards watching the house at all times. Isiah will be re-vetting all of your staff too, before they come back to work.”

“Fine.”

“All right, then.”

That was clearly her cue to leave, but she hesitated, gaze shifting to the tiny figure curled up on the bed. “Is she going to be okay?” she asked, voice hardly a whisper. Tommy’s shoulders heaved, and for a second she thought that he wouldn’t answer. 

“No. No, she won’t.” His voice was low and mournful, as if she had died and was gone forever rather than asleep right in front of him. A shiver went down Lizzie’s spine, looking in slight alarm at the woman who’d caused her so much emotional turmoil. 

Three days of brutal torture. That was enough to leave anyone scarred in and out for life. She wondered in what ways Lucy would be changed after this.

Chilled by the thought, Lizzie quickly made for the door.

∗ ∗ ∗

“Lucy.”

She sat on the edge of the bed, hands resting on the mattress on either side of her, eyes staring blankly at a spot on the floor. Tommy pushed the bedroom door closed with a click behind Doctor Evans, leaving Polly to escort him out while he came to sit down beside her. 

“Sweetheart?”

A choked off sob left her lips, hand flying to her mouth a second too late to try to contain it. 

“Hey,” he wrapped his arm around her carefully, pulling her into his side. “It’s okay.”

She shook her head furiously from side to side, turning her face to bury in his shoulder.

“It’s gonna be okay, baby. Doctor Evans said that all those cuts will heal…”

Yes, to leave disgusting, raised scars in their wake. 

But that wasn’t even what was really bothering her. 

“My-my shoulders…” she managed to whimper out, and she felt Tommy tense a little against her. 

“He said with time and the right exercises, you might be able to minimize the long-term damage done to them…”

She shook her head. She’d seen the look in Doctor Evans’s eyes, same as he had. That much time spent with her arms positioned over her head, with her entire body weight dangling from them, had likely done catastrophic damage to the nerves. And yes, he may have given her a set of exercises and stretches to do once the inflammation went down and her cuts healed enough that she wouldn’t risk reopening them, but she had seen it in his face. It would never be the same again. Her range of motion in them would be permanently impacted, and she’d likely have pains in them for the remainder of her life. 

“I can’t…I might not be able to…” Why couldn’t she just get the bloody words out? Was she really so useless now that she couldn’t even speak? “What use am I to you now?” she forced herself to ask in a hoarse whisper. Tommy’s eyes widened, scooting closer to her.

“What do you mean?”

Her mind tumbled over itself with all the potential implications that her injuries could have. “What if I can’t fight anymore? Or the pain gets so bad I can barely function? What if I can’t do my job? Or…or…or…” her chest started to spasm, cinching hard and closing off her ability to speak, sobs and harsh gasps rattling in her lungs. 

“Lucy, Lucy, Lucy…” Tommy gathered her up in her arms, pulling her in close to his chest. “Shh,” he started to rock her from side to side, hand cradling the back of her skull protectively. “It’s okay. It’ll be okay.” There was so much confidence in his voice that she was in danger of actually believing him. “I’ll take care of you. If you need physical accommodations for anything, we’ll sort them out, all right?”

“But–”

“Love, you’re useful for far more than just swinging fists.” Tommy tried to reassure, leaning back to smooth away her tears with his thumbs, cradling her face in his big palms. “Don’t worry about any of that right now. There’s nothing that could ever make me toss you aside, okay?” His lips brushed against her forehead. “All you need to focus on is healing and resting, eh?”

She swallowed, nodding shakily, taking a deep breath to try to steady herself. Gaze fixing with Tommy’s, she let the deep blue of his eyes ground her, reminding her that she was safe and looked after. Tommy gave her a small, reassuring smile. 

“Good girl. C’mere.” He guided her gently into laying back down on the bed on her side, and she felt a pulse of fondness at the way he immediately began fussing over her. Fluffing her pillow and pulling the blankets up to her chin. “What do you need? Are you hungry? I think Ada or Polly made soup, if you want some.” He stood at her bedside, ready to jump at any request she might give him. 

“Could you just come lay with me for a bit?”

His eyes softened, nodding and climbing in under the blankets next to her. He rested his arm lightly around her waist, taking care not to touch her back or jostle her bandages.

“I’m sorry,” she rasped, cheeks warming at her little meltdown and how frantic and irrational she probably had seemed.

“Oh, sweetheart, no. You don’t have to apologize for anything.”  

Resting her hand on his forearm, Lucy rubbed her thumb back and forth against the soft material of his undershirt. He had changed into just a white Henley identical to the one he gave her to pull over her bandages, and a pair of trousers.

“I’m so sorry that I didn’t find you sooner,” he said, thumb stroking her cheekbone. 

She shook her head. “I know that you did the best you could.” Adjusting herself, she stifled a wince at accidentally placing too much pressure on her bruised ribs. There wasn’t really any part of her that she could lay on without any discomfort, but being on her side was significantly better than being on her back. “How did you find me?”

“Our boys found Lizzie’s gardener who sold you out. His name was Paul Smith. Xavier Smith’s father. You remember Xavier Smith, right?”

Ah, that explained why the old man gave her up, then. “Yes.”

“I got him to talk.”

“How?”

He looked down. She inched her face closer to his in encouragement, until their noses almost brushed. 

“I pulled out both his eyes.” The way that he looked at her suggested that he expected her to recoil in horror, but she did no such thing, hardly even blinking at the revelation.  

“Is he still alive?”

A tiny, half sheepish smile crossed Tommy’s lips. “No. Not unless he can live with his head nearly sawed off.”

“You did that for me?” she asked, eyes wide.  

“Of course,” Tommy said, as if there had never been any question in his mind that he would. “I had to find you.”

She put her head on his chest, weak arms looping around his middle. He rested his palms on her gingerly, careful not to pull at her bandages when he held her.

“Try to get some more rest.”

“When’s the fight between Bonnie and Goliath?”

“In a week.”

“I want to come.”

He drew back to look at her worriedly. “Are you sure? I don’t want you to overdo it.”

“I’m sure. I…” biting her lip, she glanced towards the window, then back at him. “I don’t want to be alone right now.”

He looked her up and down. “Okay.”

“Thank you,” she put her head on his chest, blinking slowly as exhaustion took hold of her once more. Tommy’s hand continued to pet at her hair. 

“Get some sleep, love. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

And he was, when she woke but only a few short hours later, screaming. 

Her brain was fogged over with panic, hands scratching and scrabbling, legs kicking to try to fight off the monsters that moments ago she had been certain were surrounding her.

“Lucy! Lucy!” 

Her eyes darted around the room madly, searching for any signs of Luca looming in the dark corners, wicked grin pulling at the corners of his lips as he prepared to elicit more pain onto her.

“It’s okay. You’re safe.”

A hand rested lightly on her shoulder, and she thrashed violently, crying out, swatting with flailing hands. 

“Get off of me!” she screamed, trying to scramble away. He was here. He was here and he was going to hurt her again unless she managed to get away…

“Lucy.” Two strong arms wrapped around her waist, pinning her arms to her sides, keeping her from rolling away. She tried to kick out, one foot colliding hard with the wall to her left with a bang. “It’s me. It’s me. Come here. Come here.”

Her breaths were coming out in fast, frantic little bursts, eyes bulging in their sockets. 

“Deep breaths,” the voice behind her commanded, and she felt a stockily built chest rise as its owner’s lungs filled with oxygen, then slowly lower as he let the breath out. “Match my breathing, come on.”

Her mind finally managed to catch up with what was going on around her, or at least enough that she was able to recognize that the voice rumbling her ear very much was not the hissing murmur that belonged to Luca Changretta. 

Her lungs stuttered, then almost unconsciously started to match the deep rise and falls of Tommy’s chest against her. 

“That’s my girl,” he said, at her growing still. “Do you see the pictures on the wall?”

She had to squint to make them out in the darkness, but across from the bed she found the painting of a horse standing in a forest, the leaves changing colors with the seasons and fluttering to the grass that the mare was grazing upon in a layer of reds, oranges, and yellows.

Tommy’s cheek was resting against hers, his breath warm against her ear. She could feel the rumble of his voice in his chest when he spoke again. 

“The items on the nightstand?”

Her gaze cast over. To the little lamp. A half filled glass of whiskey. An ashtray dusted with black ash, with too many cigarette butts to count smashed in its center.

“Uh huh.”

“He doesn’t have you anymore.” She felt Tommy relax as he felt the tension in her start to slip away. “You’re safe,” his lips just barely ghosted across her temple. “You’re safe, Lucy. There you go.” 

Certain that she was actually lucid and calmed, he loosened his grip on her, pulling away slightly to flick on the lamp, washing the entire room in its dull, golden glow. Lucy cringed and squinted at the sudden change in brightness. 

Sinking down into the mattress, she drew her arms up to her chest, tremors starting to wrack through her body, eyes welling with tears. Her back connected with the bed, and she sharply jerked away from it with a yelp. 

Whether it was that action that caused the following hurricane of pain, or just what drew her mind’s attention to it, she wasn’t sure. It didn’t entirely matter, the result was the same. She was suddenly deeply aware of just how much everything hurt.                 

It was howling within her, her wounds screaming and muscles aching. Her back once more felt as though it had been set ablaze. Her split skin throbbed. Her shoulders hurt so badly it sent sparks of white flaring across her eyes. 

A sob left her lips, twitching as though she might be able to wriggle away from the pain. But moving only made everything worse. 

“Luce?” And then Tommy was there, leaning over her with wide, worried eyes. “Sweetheart, what is it?”

“H-hurts…” she barely could get the word out, but it was enough. Tommy shot up, reaching for the nightstand, pulling from the drawer the bottle of morphine that the doctor had left for her, along with a prescription for more if she needed it. He snatched up the glass of whiskey, downing the remaining of the amber liquid, then pouring a small amount of her medicine into the glass. 

“Drink this,” he held it to her lips. The morphine was cold as it touched her tongue and slid down her throat. “Come here,” setting the glass aside, he reached out for her, smoothing his hand along the side of her face. “Look at me. Focus on my voice. Just give it a few minutes love, hm? You’ll be okay.”

Just as he said, it took only a few minutes, and the pain was dulled, her eyes starting to feel heavy again. 

“Sorry,” she mumbled, sniffing. Tommy shook his head. 

“It’s okay.”

With a sigh, she let her head rest on his chest. “‘M a fucking mess,” she lamented sorrowfully. 

“No, honey. No, you’re not. You’re just recovering. It’s alright. I gotcha.” He put his arms around her. “Light on or off?”

“Off.” It was too bright with it on. She felt his muscles flex against her as he reached over to flick it off. “You’re a good nurse.”

His chest buzzed pleasantly against her ear with a quiet chuckle. “You’re high as a kite, love.” He kissed the top of her head. “Go back to sleep.”

“You don’t have to stay.” She desperately wanted him to, but she didn’t want him to feel like he had to continue to stick around and gather up the pieces every time she fell apart. There was no doubt in her mind that she’d be waking up screaming and thrashing from nightmares probably for the foreseeable future. He was probably exhausted. He needed to rest too. “I’ll probably keep waking you up…”

“Good.” His thumb stroked her cheek. “I want you to wake me up every time that you need something.”

Her lips pouted with the desire to cry again at how nice he was being towards her. She stroked her fingers lazily across his chest, feeling how warm and strong he was; reassuring herself that she was probably as safe as was realistically possible when in the circle of his arms. 

His fingers curled under her chin, tilting her face up to look into his. “I love you, Lucy,” he kissed her softly, lips soft as a pillow against hers. Tears filled her eyes.

“I love you too.”

He smiled at her gently, placing another kiss between her brows. “Sleep,” he said, and encouraged her to snuggle back down into his chest. 

∗ ∗ ∗

Lucy stared at her reflection in the mirror in the washroom, hands gripping either side of the sink’s basin, knuckles white, lip caught between her teeth. Glassy, dead green eyes looked back at her, their judgment harsh and sharp. 

God, she looked fucking awful.

The bruises on her face had faded into unflattering shades of purple, green, and yellow. Her skin was sickly, eyes bloodshot and surrounded by dark circles.

And that wasn’t even taking into account the rest of her. She looked like she had been patchworked back together, like a blanket with dozens of holes in it that had been mended with other various scraps of fabric. Or maybe like a crude attempt at dressing up like Frankenstein’s monster. 

She knew that the other women–Polly, Ada, Linda, and Lizzie–had all planned to get dolled up in elegant, beaded dresses and expensive jewels and furs for the occasion of Bonnie’s boxing match. There was no way that she could go out like that. The best she would be able to do was dress in layers that would prevent her bandages from getting disturbed too much, and hope that she could hide most of the bruises on her face with makeup. 

Tugging at the white button down and trousers she had already pulled on earlier with Tommy’s help, she frowned, pulling her belt a few notches tighter to cinch more securely around her waist. After three days of being fed only tiny scraps of bread, she had lost weight. Also probably not helped by the fact that she’d barely had the appetite to eat anything save for small servings of chicken noodle soup for most of the past week.  

Leaning closer to the mirror, she dabbed a little more makeup over a bruise on her cheekbone, trying hard not to wince at the way that the movement pulled tightly at her shoulders. 

She did not realize just how much she raised her arms up over her head until she was practically unable to. She couldn’t even grab her favorite mug from the cupboard because it was on a high shelf.                  

A soft knock sounded at the door. “You okay in there, love?” Tommy’s voice called. Lucy sighed, rubbing at her face.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Be out in a second.”

He had hardly left her side for the last week. Even getting him to let her use to loo on her own had taken a significant amount of convincing. But she appreciated the worry. Frankly the idea of not being close to him was enough to have her teetering on the edge of a panic attack. 

Wiping her hands on a towel, she looked herself up and down one last time in the mirror, sighing and determining that this was probably about as good as she was going to be able to manage at the moment. 

When she stepped out into the hall, it was to find Tommy leaning against the opposite wall, turning a cigarette over and over between his fingers anxiously. He straightened when he saw her, wedging the cigarette between his lips and holding out a hand to help usher her back into the bedroom. 

Her fingers fiddled together as she stepped towards the bed, picking up her waistcoat and shoving her arms through the holes, thankful that it buttoned in the front so she wouldn’t have to raise her arms to get it on. Tommy approached her, reaching out to do up the buttons for her, then helping her into her matching suit jacket and coat. 

It felt strange to be in her normal clothes after over a week spent in bed in little more than one of Tommy’s shirts. Not exactly a bad strange, though. It would probably do her good to return to a routine.

Tommy smiled down at her, brushing a fallen curl back behind her ear. “Ready?”

“I look like shit.”

His brows pulled together, thrusting out a hand for her to take so he could draw her closer to him, head angling down to kiss her. “You look beautiful. C’mon.”

His fingers squeezed around hers as he led the way down the stairs and to the door. The fresh air, no matter how smoky, felt good on her cheeks after so many days spent cooped up inside. 

“You know, you don’t have to come if you aren’t feeling up to it. I’m sure Ada would be happy to stay with you,” Tommy said as they walked. His gait was noticeably slower than usual, to make sure that she wouldn’t struggle to keep up. 

Lucy shook her head. The idea of not being with him left her feeling panicky. 

“I want to stay with you.”

“Okay,” he didn’t question her. “But you let me know if you’re in pain. Or if you need to go home.”

“Okay.”

Once they got to the boxing ring, she stood at his side, keeping her cap on despite them being indoors, her head angled down to let the shadows it cast partially hide the bruises on her face. Her arms looped through his, hoping that it looked more like she was just lingering close to him as she so often did, and not because she needed to lean on him for stability. The shouts of men and the crush of bodies crowded together seemed louder and more overwhelming than usual. But that may have been because she was pretty sure that if someone jostled into her too hard, she would tip over.

Just before the first round started, Tommy drew her away, his grip firm to help support her as they weaved through the tight maze of hallways that made up the backrooms.

“I thought it would be good for us to sit somewhere quiet for a minute,” he explained, guiding her to a bench in one of the locker rooms. “How are you doing?”

“Fine,” she took the cigarette that he offered her, leaning into his side when he sat down beside her. He gingerly wrapped his arm around her, resting the side of his head against her hair. 

Her physical ailments aside, what unnerved her the most was her mind. That feeling of numbness and desolation that had overtaken her the day that Tommy brought her home had not abated. Had not even eased at all, really. 

Was this what her mind was to be like, now? Aching and constantly overstimulated? Both simultaneously feeling everything and nothing? 

She did not want to live like that.

“Lucy?” Tommy asked, thumb stroking her shoulder through the material of her coat.

“Thank you for taking care of me,” she blurted out. It really meant a lot; she knew that she wasn’t particularly fun to be around right now, and with the thousands of other things he had to worry about, that he’d chosen to prioritize her was no small thing.

“Love, you don’t have to thank me for that. It’s what we do.”

She allowed herself a small smile at that, despite the unending anxiety that plagued her; that feeling that there was yet another piece of her that had died in that church. A part of her that was lost forever. 

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[skitskatdacat63]

Fernando instinctively trying to protect his boyfriend Seb from the champagne spray

+

[james-spooky]

this is a test

[wellthatschaotic]

neurotypicals are so frustrating,, i keep forgetting that "can you do x" means "go do x"

[slippery-minghus]

hmm. had an actual conversation with nightmare coworker today that seemed mutually productive. she apologized for saying some bullshit that hurt my feelings and i clarified that my intentions are to help not to undermine her, and we both agreed that there's no competition against each other and that it's the lack of growth in our role that's the problem. it was...productive.

and further cementing for me that it is time to begin making my Exit. i will be sending out my resume to a few places this weekend.

i'm still processing the conversation, and am struggling to place myself in where i am responsible to better my behavior. because i genuinely don't want to be an ass, even though i really don't like this lady and will jump for joy the day i never have to see her again. she stated that she knows my intentions aren't to hurt her, and that she thinks i'm very kind. i apologized for if my behavior came off as undermining her, and said that my intentions are only to better my own growth—and that i know she's trying to succeed too. i validated her feelings, and complemented the effort she is putting in.

where i'm struggling with is: am i in the wrong/causing harm and needing to change if the issue is that her feelings are incongruent with what she knows of my intentions? her feelings are her responsibility (WOW i almost typed "her feelings are my responsibility". i feel like that's a freudian slip) and she states that she knows i don't mean to hurt her. i'm going to try to be more clear in wording my intentions with her (she feels like me trying to take work off her plate is to undermine her. when really, i'm caught up and see her getting overwhelmed, and i want to help and also have something to do since i'm bored).

but i'm really struggling to look at my role in this and pass judgement on myself. i can and want to do better, and i don't think i did anything wrong, but i'm always so hesitant to say it's not my fault or i didn't do something bad. like i can't trust my judgement on that. my intentions were good, her bad feelings are ones caused by her insecurities, which she more or less has expressed to be aware that they are not true—the hurtful thing she said to me, she acknowledged was said out of hurt and not what she actually thinks. so, is it fair to say i'm not the bad guy? i'm not in the wrong? i know good intentions that still result in harm don't absolve anyone, but when the things that are clashing are insufficient communication and reactive insecurities... i'm not a monster, am i?

[talon-dragonbeast]

i really dislike this take, for a couple of reasons. even though i agreed with the original post (hi Watcher o/), the additions are... well. i have Thoughts. and i was just going to add my two cents, i promise, but then the post kept getting longer and longer... and here we are now! so, buckle up.

first of all, no, non-alterhumans hating on us isnt anyones fault, and especially not the kid's. the community gaining visibility was inevitable, it was bound to happen eventually. blaming some kids for the hate we get isnt going to fix things, believe it or not.

and also, this is important. people were always going to hate us, no matter what. no matter how slow we were, how careful, how gentle, how watered down we made our experiences. that would never have worked, for a very simple reason: people fear what they dont understand. they hate the theriantok kids with the masks and the quadrobics, yes, but lets not forget that they also hated the tumblr fictionkin, the forum-dwelling elvinkind, the past life havers, the exclusively spiritual therians, the clinical zoanthropes. they think we're all the same.

But theriantok brought more harm than good, a lot of therians there bringing light to stereotypes [...]. Yeah, they didn't mean anything by it then, but they just gave away bullet points to haters to mock us. [...] I dunno man, it's like some creatures on the community just asked to be bullied (no hate on anyone, again), just misusing terms and bringing up stereotypes

i wanted to highlight this part because its the one that left the worst taste in my mouth. i know you meant well, Watcher, but you werent right here. what youre doing has a name, and its called respectability politics (with a little bit of victim-blaming thrown in for good measure), the process by which privileged members of marginalized groups comply with dominant social norms to advance their groups condition.

this is queer discourse all over again. "butch lesbians/feminine gay men are just stereotypes! real lesbians/gay men are just like straight women/men!" "nonbinary people must be androgynous and only use they/them pronouns, otherwise theyre just posers!" "neopronoun users are making a mockery of trans people! they make the community look bad!" "you need dysphoria to be trans! getting misgendered is your fault for not making the effort to pass" and so on and so forth...

we dont need to water down our experiences so people can accept us more easily. people just need to be more accepting of experiences they dont understand.

oh, one last thing. this one is for @maxxy-million, because your addition made me a bit mad ngl.

A lot of humans I encounter don’t seem to have the capacity to love. It’s a shame, really. We are all, at our core, held together by love. Whether we are human, wolf, coyote, cat, angel, eldritch being, fish, pony, elf, unicorn… all we really have in this broken world is love. And yet, humans always seem to choose hate when it’s not necessary, they treat any small divergence as if it were a crime. It sickens me to my very core.

first off, we're not all, as you say, "at our core, held together by love". this is called amatonormativity. not everyone (human or otherwise) experiences love, and that doesnt make them bad. and before you say "love doesnt have to be romantic! everyone experiences love in some way", no, sorry, thats amatonormativity again. some of us are aromantic, and while some aro people still experience platonic attraction, not all of us do. some people are aplatonic or afamilial, and some even identify as loveless, and its alright. love doesnt make us human, and its not a requirement to be worthy of respect.

and also, being alterhuman doesnt make us better than humans, what in the misanthropy? alterhumans can be hateful too, its not just a human thing. we all have the capacity to be good or bad; it is our choice to be either.

(by the way, this is not to shame you and i am not mad at either of you. whoever sends hate to Watcher or maxxy-million will be met with my fire, so be warned)

In one of my classes we're talking about respecting minorities, and my teacher listed some. We have lots of types of discrimination: Racial, homophobia and transphobia, against woman, against children, against poor people... Literally whatever you can think of.

It's kind of sad, that with all of the technological advances that we have today, how far we've come in terms of acceptance... People can't respect. It's a matter of literally not being a dick, not insult someone. It's literally just that. You can think whatever you want about anyone, of course, free speech and whatever... But if you know your opinions are going to harm someone, why share them?

For example, I don't like that most parents nowadays just shove a tablet in front of their children and call that parenting. I found that lazy, harmful. But I don't publicly shame those parents, because I don't know their struggles, their point of view on their situation. They may just need a break. Maybe they don't have time to spend time with their children. But at the end of the day is not my business, and is not my place to share MY opinions about THEIR situation. They didn't ask for it, don't need it. And I should learn to shut up about it.

That's kinda what I was able to teach to my roommates about therianthropy, why they accepted me: At the end of the day, it's my identity. I'm not harming anyone, I'm just being myself. They don't have a say in it, I know me better than anyone. It's not their business to shame me, because they are doing it with malicious intent, just to harm me.

I know it sounds difficult, but just ignore them. And most importantly, educate them. I'll say it now, I'll say it again and again: Education is the best tool to end discrimination and violence. Haters are just that, haters. They attack what's different, what they don't understand, because they are just trying to harm and divide us. We need to stick together, and advocate for what's right. That's the way to end it.

Run, howl, bite.

Watcher out