#two very traumatised friends have recently told me i am traumatised

[dorianbrightmusic]

hey uh having a bit of a hot minute here. might’ve had a bit of an ‘oh, i guess these are symptoms of traumatisation’ moment. small problem: i don’t think i have capital-T Trauma, and really really don’t wanna mention another issue to my psychologist (i feel like i already make too much of a big deal of the depression and audhd). What the hell am i supposed to do

[amysgoblinhorde]

The Anti-JK Rowling: Praise for TJ Klune

I am going to overshare. I do not apologise for this.

Way back in the mid 1990s, I was I young girl in school and I was badly suffering the years of harassment and abuse by my peers and also by the grown ups who should have cared for me. I was told I brought it on myself by being weird, I was told I was an attention seeker (yes, and can't you hear me cry for help?) and it was actually the lip curling disdain of the teachers that broke me the most.

I began to feel like maybe I did deserve it. I must have been so unpleasant, so hideous a person that others could see me for what I was and the universe itself was punishing me. I developed Body Dysmorphic Disorder, I kept checking mirrors to see if I could glimpse the monster, mocking myself whenever I thought I looked normal.

Anyway. It all came to a head in my third year, when I became admittedly a bit of an edgelord. I sucked in the darkness and screamed it out.

I was sent to a hospital school. This was a little tiny class of mixed ages for children who needed extra help. It was better here, I made friends - but I also learned a dark lesson here that no child should have to -

There is an appropriate face for trauma.

And I didn't have it. I was not the cute cancer kid. I was not the brave smiling little trooper. I was told by some of the staff in the hospital school that I didn't really belong there, I should consider myself lucky. One teacher said that those of us who were there for mental health issues were weak, we had failed. If we were braver we would be in a normal school.

I would have been 11 when the first Harry Potter book came out, though I didn't read any until sixth form college. I wanted to know what the fuss was about, a movie was being made.

I thought they were fun, as many did. But I can't pretend it didn't hammer an extra nail into my heart as it yet again told me that there was an acceptable face for trauma and it was not mine.

Harry Potter. He was written to be a good looking lad, sporty. Tragically dead parents that he didn't remember anything about. Suffered abuse, but it didn't break him in any inconvenient way. He was a tragically brave little hero with his friends the impossibly clever poster girl (who incidentally was very pretty when she wanted to be) and the token dweeb who appears to have mostly be written to prop up the other two.

Then we have Neville. His story was genuinely heartbreaking and yes it was addressed, but not really. His horrors are not something we talk about. Let's not go there, let's treat it like a dark embarrassing secret. But what a brave lad he is, standing up to his friends! Not for, you know, visiting his brain damaged parents and living with his abusive grandmother. No, no, it's the friends he stands up to. Brave silly Neville. Not the hero, of course. But isn't he brave?

And at last we come to TJ Klune. I read The House in the Cerulean Sea only recently. And wow. I laughed and cried in equal measure.

As with Harry Potter, we have a collection of magical youths, learning to navigate their powers as they grow. But the differences are diamond sharp, the focus instead on all the right things while still being joyful, fantastic and often hilarious.

How can this brilliant man get it so right in such a simple way? It's obvious, when you think about it.

All traumatised children matter.

There is no right face of trauma, least of all on a child, but hey let's not leave out the grown ups. At 40 years of age I thought I knew this, but I must have kept my younger self in a little cell in my mind (ahhh but she's different, she was a monster. We don't talk about her ...).

I was David. And I was Lucy. Why is it so much easier to forgive myself when I see myself as a yeti?

Children will lash out. Forgive yourself that. Children can be little weirdos, little balls of chaos and anger. That's okay. And no child's suffering should be ignored in favour of another, no matter what they look like or what they have done.

No child should be expected to be a poster boy hero, and no child should be chastised if they do not perform trauma right.

So yeah ... Thanks for reading until the end. And thanks to TJ Klune for making a 40 year old woman feel so many things, the strangest of all being forgiveness and acceptance of her 13 year old self.

Also, Chauncey is handsome as crap.

[lesbeanbag01]

Thanks for tagging me @chikooritajjk ☺️

Name: My name is Céline but my friend calls me a variety of other names such as George, Da Vinci, babe, bestie, etc.

Sign: I am a Capricorn, more specifically I’m a Capricorn sun Taurus moon. I relate to this. But honestly otherwise I don’t know much about astrology, however, being friends with a lot of other queer women I hear about it lol.

Time: It’s 10:45am here. But by the time I post this that won’t be accurate anymore ;) So let’s just say early lunch.

Birthday: I’m born on Jan 6th 2001 in Hong Kong.

Height: I’m a whole 165cm tall. Funny story, I’ve been saying that I’m 167cm but when I measured myself with a robot at the pharmacy recently I was apparently 165cm. However, unless my posture has worsened (impossible😨) and I’ve shrunk 2cm I still think I’m 167cm because that’s what the doctors said.

Favorite band/artist: My favorite band/artist is BTS. However, I also like other artists a few of which are Queen, Fleetwood Mac, Blondie, Kate Bush (she blew up again thanks to ST it’s crazy), Frank Ocean, DKZ, King Princess, and Kehlani.

Last movie: To be honest I don’t watch that many movies anymore, I used to love them but rn I prefer shows. So I really had to think about this one but I think the last movie I watched is Crush.

Last show: The last shows I watched was Extraordinary Attorney Woo and Chernobyl.

Instruments: I can’t play any instruments very well atm, but when I was younger I took piano lessons. But let me tell you that after that I was traumatised because Chinese piano teachers are.. interesting people. ”Céline why you no practice?!” and ”Lazy”. I’m teaching myself to play guitar sometimes tho. Otherwise the only sport I do is boxing.

When you created this blog: I can’t even remember, it was years ago.

What you post: BTS and jikook. Occasionally something else as well.

Other blogs: I used to have a blog when I was about 10 years old that was dedicated to posting about my dumb thoughts. The reason I started that blog was because my friend did one about books she read and sims.

Followers: Don’t know don’t care lol.

Average hours of sleep: 8 hours. I need the sleep to be able to focus on my uni lectures. I used to be a bit sleep deprived and it made me feel sick/nauseous.

What I’m wearing: Don’t want to tell.

Dream job: Songwriter, authour. I’m probably going to work with psychology tho since that’s what I’m studying, although I’m optimistic and think I might be able to do the other two as well.

Dream trip: First of all I’d like to travel to SK. My dad (bleh🤮) used to travel there a lot for work and my mom would sometimes accompany him so she’s told me a bit about it but I would like to go for myself. Second I’d like to go back to Hainan. I remember going when I was little and I really liked it but I’d like to go back. Then I’d also like to go to Italy, Iceland, and Tokyo.

Favorite song: I really cannot answer that. So I’ll change the question to what am I listening to rn.

Stay gay y’all. I don’t know who to tag… I feel embarrassed, you have to understand my social anxiety here. 💫@sweetjikook💫

[writer-monster]

Picking Up The Pieces - Chapter 1

Sambucky. Slow burn. Friends to lovers. Longfic.

03/05

Sam sits in the van with Bucky and Steve. It’s quiet, now. It never used to be quiet like this. Not until “Bucky” joined the team.

Sam bites his lip. As bad as it sounds, he really wishes Barnes weren’t a part of their team at this particular moment. Because if it were just him and Steve, they would be laughing and talking and having fun and taking their mind off of the fact that they’re about to be risking their lives in battle.

But now… it’s hard to think about anything but that. The fighting, the danger, the death. How every adrenaline fuelled heartbeat could be their last. And Barnes just sits there, looking like death (only slightly) warmed up.

Sam has seen plenty of soldiers who've been traumatised, in fact he's helped many of them deal with their trauma. He’s seen coldness, anger and apathy. But he’s never met a guy like this. And it’s hard to explain, but James Barnes bothers him, in a way that no one else has ever bothered him before.

Which is a particularly weird way to feel about a guy who is your closest friend’s other closest friend, and your co-worker. It isn’t hate… but maybe it’s close to it.

Barnes clears his throat and frowns over at Sam, his long hair swinging over his face.

“What?” Sam asks.

“You’re looking at me.” Barnes says.

“I’m not allowed to look at you, now?” Sam asks.

“Could you guys please stop it?” Steve interrupts. “I get that Bucky’s a new face, and that you both need some time to adjust, but…”

Barnes looks down at his own shoes through hooded eyes, his expression blank. And Sam wishes he could know what he was thinking right at this moment.

Then Barnes snorts gently to himself. He looks back up at both of them, with something that’s almost a smile inching its way onto his face. “Heh. New face.”

Sam and Steve exchange a look of mutual confusion, and Steve shrugs.

Bucky’s smile fades almost instantly. “Because I’m very old.” He says, avoiding Sam’s gaze.

“Oh.” Steve says, putting on a fake, watery smile. “That’s funny, yeah.”

His voice doesn’t sound at all convincing.

When they’re out in the field, however, everything changes.

Bucky and Sam work together like they were made for this. Their eyes meet across the battlefield and it’s like an instant connection. Barnes actually grins, and Sam grins back. Sam kicks a guy in the chest and Barnes catches the flailing bad guy, and knocks him out with one punch.

“Thanks for the assist.” Sam says, landing smoothly next to Bucky, his wings still outstretched.

But Barnes turns away again just a moment after their eyes meet, his long hair hiding his face from Sam’s view. He doesn’t say anything at all.

“You’re welcome, Sam. Is the polite thing to say.” Sam says snarkily, before punching another AIM soldier in the face.

“What’s your problem?” Bucky asks, barely dodging the next soldier’s blow, and wavering a little on his feet.

“My problem? What’s your problem?” Sam asks, grabbing the soldier that almost hit Barnes and kicking him in the back of the knees, with one hand still tight around his arm. The AIM soldier falls to his knees, struggling to get his arm back from Sam’s grip so he can turn around and fight back.

“I haven’t got one.” Bucky punches the struggling AIM soldier in the gut.

“I haven’t got one either.” Sam lets the guy go, where he falls to the ground clutching at his stomach.

“So then why are we fighting?” Barnes asks. He takes a step back.

“Sounds like you two… need couple’s therapy.” The AIM soldier wheezes from the ground. “My wife and I used to fight like this all the time… before we went.”

Barnes glares at the AIM soldier like he very much wants to punch him again.

Sam raises his eyebrows. “Oh, you’re good. You should quit the whole AIM terrorism business and join a comedy club.” He says dryly.

The AIM soldier looks nervously at Barnes (who is still glaring daggers at him), then turns to Sam. “Could you tell Scary over there that I’m down for the count, already? Please?”

Sam grins. “Hey Scary! He’s down for the count, already.” He says cheekily to Barnes, who glares even more fiercely, now at the both of them, before turning on his heel and stalking away.

“Hey Scary!” Sam calls out as Barnes walks away. But Barnes doesn’t turn around. What he does do is give Sam the finger.

“Oooh.” Sam says softly.

“I wasn’t joking about the couple’s therapy.” The AIM soldier says.

“We’re really not a couple, dude.” Sam says. “I don’t even like the guy.”

The AIM soldier chuckles. “That’s exactly how I felt about my wife when I first met her. I remember at the time thinking that her theories were derivative and that she was a total stuck-up… well, B-word, really. We spent months just tolerating each other’s constant presence. Until one day I saw her in the lab when she wasn’t supposed to be there. It was two AM, you see. And I was just there to fetch some notes that I forgot. Her hair was in a messy bun, and her eyes were all pink from crying. I didn’t say a word, I just held her in my arms and kissed her, and told her everything would be alright. And that was that. I knew in that moment that I loved her.”

Sam gives the AIM soldier an odd look. “Yeah, well… Somehow, I don’t really think that’s going to happen in this case.” “Sorry to burst your bubble.” He adds sarcastically.

“Hey.” Barnes says as Sam joins him in the van, ready to go back to base. “You’re welcome.”

Sam turns to stare at Barnes in disbelief. “Seriously, go fuck yourself.” He mutters. “Stuck up asshole.”

“No, really, Sam. You’re welcome.” Barnes says teasingly. “Isn’t that what I’m supposed to say?”

Steve finally gets into the van and joins them.

“Steve, are you sure I can’t punch the new guy?” Sam asks, just begging Steve to say yes.

“I think you know.” Steve said, before turning to Barnes. “And what did you do?”

“He keeps saying you’re welcome.” Sam says.

“That’s all?” Steve asks, wrinkling his nose.

“But you haven’t heard the way he says it.”

“Can you guys please just get along? Please? For my sake?” Steve asks, pinching the bridge of his nose with his fingers and wrinkling his forehead. “I can’t keep doing this. It’s ridiculous. You guys need to get along.”

Sam sighs. “Fine. I’ll try.” He says.

Steve smiles happily. “Fantastic. Bucky?”

Bucky stares at his own hands, clenched together in his lap.

“Ok.”

“Good.” Steve says.

03/22

It’s three weeks later, and Steve has sat them down and made them make that same promise to get along exactly forty-seven times since then.

Sam’s been counting.

Sam’s been counting so that he can bring it up to annoy Barnes. He's thinking of waiting until Steve lectures them both for the fiftieth time, and throwing a little anniversary celebration in honour of the momentous occasion. Just to piss him off, and he knew it would.

And Barnes deserves it too. He’d gained confidence since he’d joined the team, but that had only led to him blossoming into the most annoying little shit on the face of the earth.

Recently Barnes had taken to making bad bird puns. If Sam showed off with an aerial stunt in the middle of battle, Barnes would accuse him of ‘peacocking around’, and then just make the most unbearable smirk imaginable.

If he was the first to spot something in any given scenario, be it a signpost or a bad guy, Barnes would almost certainly comment on how he was ‘eagle eyed’.

Once Sam had been tired on a mission, and Barnes had called him a ‘night owl’.

It was on.

03/23

He doesn’t have to wait long for fifty times either. As it happens the very next day at Steve’s apartment, and Sam is ready.

As Steve lectures them both, looking considerably more exhausted and downright cranky than Sam has ever seen him before, Sam pulls a carefully wrapped package out of one of the pouches at his belt.

“Hey, Scary. Over here.” Sam says, tossing Bucky the present.

“What the hell is this?” Bucky asks.

Sam gestures at Steve. “It is officially the fiftieth anniversary of you annoying me. Steve here’s been kind enough to keep count of all the times and mark the occasions for us. Haven’t you, Steve?”

Steve glares at Sam. Actually glares at him. Although to be fair, he glares at Bucky too. “I’m seriously starting to reconsider being friends with either of you, anymore.” He grumbles. “I’m going to go take some Tylenol.”

Steve leaves them alone as Barnes unwraps his present suspiciously.

It’s a book entitled ‘How Not to Be a Dick: An Everyday Etiquette Guide’.

Barnes starts shaking. For just a moment Sam is worried that perhaps he might have taken it too far.

Until he realises that Barnes is laughing.

“I think we might need to share it.” Barnes says, covering his mouth. But Sam can tell he’s grinning behind his hand.

“Maybe we do.” Sam admits, smiling to himself as well.

“Steve’s missing a very special moment.” Barnes says.

“Yeah, he is. What’s wrong with him?” Sam jokes.

Barnes looks pensive for a moment. “He actually has been getting a lot of headaches lately. Is that normal?”

Sam dismisses his concerns with a shake of his head. “He’s exaggerating, he’s not really got a headache. He’s just sick of having to deal with us.”

“No. He’s not exaggerating. That wrinkle across his brow, it’s the same one he always used to get whenever he got a migraine, back before the Super-Soldier Program.” Barnes insists.

Sam frowns. “I didn’t know. But he doesn't normally get headaches. Not since I’ve known him.”

Bucky and Sam exchange a quick look.

“Well, I’m sure he’s alright.” Barnes eventually says. “He would have told us if he was really unwell, since he’d be putting us in danger anyways, fighting alongside us if he was.”

“Yeah.” Sam says. “You’re right.”

Barnes turns the book around and reads the back with a half-smile.

“You’re a good friend to him.” He says.

“So are you.”

Barnes shakes his head. “Not me. I’m a bit of a wreck. I’m not sure I’m even capable of being anyone’s friend.”

“Then what are we?” Sam asks. His voice wavers a little. He almost can’t believe he said that, because of course they’re not friends, they’re-

Bucky considers this for a bit, like he kind of wants to go back and admit that he’s wrong but is desperately trying to think of another option out of sheer stubbornness. “Soulmates, I guess.” He eventually says with a shrug.

“Ok, what the hell?” Sam asks, in pure surprise (and a little bit of horror). “We are definitely not soulmates.”

“No, it’s not soulmates like ‘people who like each other’.” Bucky says. “I just meant… That we’re very similar in some ways. Like we kinda think the same. I don’t know, like we’re on the same wavelength, maybe?”

“Not similar, no. We are… very different people. But I do kind of get what you mean about being on the same wavelength. It’s kind of like I know you. Even though I’ve only known you for three weeks it’s like I know you.” Sam admits.

“Exactly!” Barnes says. “Yes! It’s weird!”

“You’ve got a kusare-en, dummies. That’s an undesirable but unavoidable relationship.” Clint Barton says from the corner, where he’s chewing on a sandwich made from ingredients raided from Steve’s fridge.

Sam and Barnes both jump in surprise. They hadn’t even noticed that he was there.

Sam goes wide eyed when Barnes suddenly lunges towards Clint with his metal arm drawn back for a heavy punch. Without thinking, Sam grabs Barnes by the shoulder.

Barnes actually stops. He stops dead, still and silent.

“What were you thinking, sneaking up on Barnes?” Sam hisses in exasperation.

Clint just shrugs. He hadn’t even looked concerned when Barnes was charging him.

“You okay… Bucky?” Sam asks. And it’s the first time he ever called him anything but Barnes.

Bucky turns around. He’s stiff as a board and something about his eyes doesn’t look right, like they aren’t focused properly, Sam thinks.

He nods once, then brushes Sam’s hand off his shoulder and slips from the room. A part of Sam wonders if he’s going to see Steve. They seem to have an especially close relationship at times like this one.

And when Barnes is having a particularly bad day, it isn’t that unusual for him and Steve to sleep in the same bed, huddled together with their arms around each other. Sam had walked in on them like that before, been completely shocked, but both of them had assured him that they weren’t actually together and that it really wasn’t sexual.

Sam still isn’t sure that he believes them about that. Because he’s had girlfriends that he hasn’t been that intimate with.

“Kusare-en.” Sam mutters. “Sounds about right.”

He almost waits for a response, until he realises that Clint is gone.

03/29

Sam wakes up. He clutches at his head. He feels… oddly hung over. But not sore, just sluggish. And the only thing that he can remember from last night is laughing with a girl who seemed really, really into him.

But there’s no way he was drinking last night. Absolutely no way. He didn’t drink. Ever. And today he was supposed to have a mission, a really important mission. And he would never-

He looks at the clock. It’s ten-thirty already. Sam scrambles to his feet and rushes to get dressed, stumbling from his apartment in a desperate daze. Can he still make it there in time?

As he races to his meeting he rushes past a television store where a small crowd of people are watching the news. “I told you.” He hears someone whisper. “There’s no such thing as a hero. They’re all just freaks in costume.”

He keeps running. He takes the first stairway down into the subway, and hops on a train. He’d normally drive, but there's something kind of off about his co-ordination and he doesn’t trust himself to. He clutches at his head in confusion. He doesn’t drink. So how is this possible? Is he having a stroke or something?

He looks briefly up at the wall of the train, where a tiny screen shows their progress through the stations. The newsreels scroll down the bottom of the screen. The one that’s currently scrolling says, ‘AIM Scientist killed by-‘

Sam rubs his eyes. He’s got a few more stops to go, and then a light 1k jog over to the building. Normally that would be a breeze, but today he’s got to psyche himself up for it or he may just puke his guts out.

He thinks carefully about what could have happened last night. How could he have possibly lost control of himself? He tried to remember the girl, tried to picture her face. She had dark hair, he remembers that. She had… come up and introduced herself to him? At the supermarket, maybe? But he can’t remember a name.

Sam worries gently at the inside of his cheek with his tongue. He remembers her silver rings, the shine of them in pale light. The way she laughed and whispered in his ear… ‘Hail Hydra’.

Sam draws in a sharp breath, his eyes widen, and he suddenly feels more awake than ever. She said… Hail Hydra?

He swallows and stands up. This… this is his stop. He’s gotta go. He’s got to make this mission. But something inside of him begs him not to go, for fear of what he may find when he arrives.

Nevertheless he steps out of the train. He walks, quickly and purposefully towards the building where he’s supposed to meet them. He doesn’t want to think about last night. This mission is really important and people are relying on him. He can’t let them down. He knows he isn’t brainwashed, because he remembers Barnes telling him that the brainwashing always gives you a headache. And he hasn’t got a headache.

He stops when he feels something cold on his neck. A SHIELD tactical squad surround him. Sam feels his heart sink into the ground at his feet.

“You’re under arrest.”

“For what?” Sam asks, as his hands are tied roughly behind his back.

“For murder.”

Sam is taken to a small room on the SHIELD base. It feels wrong to be on this side of that door. He lifts his head as Steve bursts into the room.

“Sam!” Steve wraps him up in a tight hug. “Don’t think for one second that I believe them! Not for one single second!”

Sam hugs Steve back without a word.

“Someone must have stolen your wingsuit. That’s the only explanation.” Steve says.

Sam nods. Although no one’s told him exactly what happened yet. All he’s sure of is that it wasn’t him.

“What about your alibi? Have you got one for last night? You must have one. You’ve got to be prepared.” Steve says worriedly, clutching Sam even tighter.

“Steve.” Sam says. “Last night… something happened. I don’t know. It was Hydra. Hydra did something… but… I can’t remember, Steve!”

Steve stiffens. “What did they do?”

“I don’t remember!” Sam insists. “But I think they drugged me!”

The look on Steve’s face is pained. He swallows and nods. Then he steps back. Sam starts to panic. Steve’s leaving already?

“Bucky wants to talk to you.” Steve says, and Sam looks at him in confusion. Barnes wants to talk to him? Barnes? Why would he?

“It’ll be ok, Sam.” Steve says, already backing away. “I promise, it’ll be okay.”

He shuts the door. And a few minutes later, Barnes opens it.

Sam stares at Barnes in confusion. To his frank relief Barnes doesn’t hug him like Steve. Instead he strides up to him and grabs him by the cheeks, first lifting up one eyelid, and then the other.

Sam struggles out of Barnes’ grip. “What’s that for.”

“I’m checking to see if they brainwashed you.” Barnes says. “And they didn’t.”

“Steve told you?” Sam asks. “About Hydra?”

Barnes frowns. “No. What about Hydra?”

“Something happened last night, and Hydra were involved. And I just… can’t…”

“Remember.” Barnes says.

“Yes.”

Barnes looks thoughtful.

“I’m going to say things now. Either nod or shake your head, for yes or no. If you don’t know, it’s no. Nod if you’re ready.”

Sam nods.

“Elizabeth.”

Sam shakes his head.

“Red.”

Sam shakes his head again.

“Silver.”

Sam nods. Barnes has no reaction.

“Pain.”

Sam shakes his head.

“Drugged?”

Sam nods.

Barnes bites his lip.

“You didn’t do it.” He says.

“I didn’t do it!” Sam repeats. He’s getting emotional, even though he’s trying very hard not to.

And all of a sudden, Barnes hugs him.

Sam’s thoughts become a confused whirlwind, as Barnes presses his lips to Sam’s ear.

“Tonight at one. I’ll be here. You be ready.” Barnes whispers. “You got that?”

Sam clutches Barnes back a little tighter in response.

“Good.” Barnes says, before pulling away.

03/30

The clock strikes one. Sam waits with bated breath for Barnes to walk through that door. And at one-twelve the door opens.

“Sorry I’m late.” Barnes grumbles. “Come on, quickly. Come with me.”

Sam follows him. “Where are we going?”

“We’re going to run.” Barnes says, as they make their way through the familiar corridors of the SHIELD base.

Sam stops short. “Maybe I should go back. Maybe I shouldn’t run. This’ll just make things worse.”

Barnes turns around. “Hydra did this, Sam. And Hydra don’t leave loose ends. They don’t fight fair either, which means we can’t afford to do this on their terms.”

Something in Barnes’ eyes is deeply genuine, and Sam feels shocked to realise just how much he trusts him.

Soon, they pass a pair of passed out SHIELD agents as they go through a doorway.

“I’ve seen it before.” Barnes says quietly, as if he’s explaining himself for the knocked out SHIELD agents. “I’ve seen this before, and it never ends well. Hydra’s loose ends tend to end up dead.”

The drive is silent. And awkward. And not for the reasons Sam’s used to.

“Where’s Steve?” Sam asks.

Barnes tightens his hands on the steering wheel. “He’s not coming.” Then there’s a little pause. “It’s just me.”

There’s a burning question in the back of Sam’s mind. Why exactly is Barnes helping him?

Instead, he keeps his head down, and tries to focus on remembering. If he can remember exactly what happened to him, then maybe he’ll remember something important. Something worth remembering, maybe something that can clear his name. Or at least give him an idea of why this is happening.

“Do you know what happened? Why they brought you in?” Barnes asks.

“No.”

Barnes takes a breath. “There was a scientist amongst the AIM personnel we brought in, who claimed he had information that could bring Hydra to its knees. He was being transported to the Helicarrier for questioning when he and the agents moving him were attacked and killed by someone wearing your wingsuit. But obviously not you.”

Barnes taps a finger against the wheel.

“It was under cover of night and there were no survivors. The whole thing was filmed on a cell phone from a distance, and the face of the attacker was never visible at any time.”

“You’re sure it was my wingsuit? And if so, how could they have gotten ahold of it?”

“Yeah. I checked and it is gone.” Barnes says. “But that’s the problem. It could only be accessed by members of our team, plus Director Fury, Maria Hill and a few other high level agents, right? Unless someone got the codes some other way.”

“My biggest question in all of this, is why you?” Barnes says, his jaw tense. “I know Hydra. Actually better than I know myself. They could have picked a patsy that’d draw less attention. Someone lower down in SHIELD. Someone who isn’t as much in the public eye.”

“I don’t know.” Sam says. “I have no idea.”

Barnes nods. “Don’t rush yourself. Don’t try to remember all at once, or push yourself to think of a reason why. Just keep it in mind. It’ll come to you, eventually.”

Sam takes a deep breath and nods.

Barnes drives straight ahead. And Sam tries his best to fall asleep. He’d probably have to take over later, drive in shifts, so they can keep moving.

It occurs to Sam, as he’s drifting off, that this makes Barnes a fugitive too. That he’d just gone and given up everything, in the blink of an eye. They’d known each other a month and he’d given up everything.

Barnes had even left behind Steve. And Sam knew how close they were. Whatever they were to each other, be it lovers or something else, Barnes had just left it all behind for Sam. And Sam doesn’t know how to feel about that.

Sam finally falls into a restless sleep as Bucky drives along the highway. Bucky doesn’t notice. His eyes scan the road ahead carefully, watching out for suspicious vehicles. His gaze flickers to the dashboard clock and he bites his lip. He does a mental check of his weapons. One metal arm. Check. (Because it counts.) Three hidden-carry handguns. Check. Four machine guns in the trunk. Check. Knives strapped to his right arm, right shin, left thigh, right shoulder and lower back. Check. That last one in particular felt deeply uncomfortable against the car seat. He’d carried extra weapons into the SHIELD facility just in case he got caught, and so that he could hand those extras over to Sam once they were out of there.

He breathes in and breathes out again. He can do this. He knows he can do this. He can keep him safe. Those Hydra bastards will not touch his… his friend. Sam Wilson is his friend.

He counts one more. Not a weapon. His book, the one Sam had given him. It’d been brought with him and tossed into the glove box without giving it a thought. It was the only thing he’d brought with him that wasn’t either dangerous or food.

Bucky remembers the title and stifles a smile.

He’s helping a good man. And for once in the Winter Soldier’s life, he’s saving someone’s life instead of taking it away. More than that, he’s helping a friend.

Steve, he’s sure, would be proud.

Read the next chapter here:

[colour-anon]

Why I love the Henry Stickmin Collection

WARNING: I mention mental illness, implied suicidal tendencies, death, and a few other sensitive topics.

Also this is long.

 So I was thinking about the Henry Stickmin Collection, as you do, when I remembered why I got into the Flash games all those years ago, and why I latched onto the collection when it came out. I’m posting it because it’s a story I almost forgot once, but I never want to forget. I want to be able to look back on this post later and smile. It’s probably not an interesting story, and people most likely aren’t going to read it, but I don’t care.

Soon after Stealing the Diamond came out, I stumbled across it on some website (pretty sure they didn’t have permission to have it on their website, but I’m not sure). I played it for like three choices, then quit.

Then in about 2014, my brother asked if I had played Henry Stickmin. I didn’t remember it, so I said no. We then spent several hours playing the games together and getting as many endings and fails as possible. I remember playing Stealing the Diamond a while ago, and wondered how I had dismissed it. I was having so much fun with my brother! We had no idea what order the games were supposed to go in, so we were kinda confused, but it was still fun.

Two years later, I came across the games yet again while browsing the internet on the computer at my grandmother’s house. I played through them all (Fleeing the Complex had been released a little while prior, but I wanted to play the others again too). I did, and I was so excited when I saw Ellie. Now I’m nonbinary, but I’m biologically female (I’m not out to my family, so I’m still a female to them but that’s besides the point). At that time, I still identified as female. I was sick if girly stereotypes, so an awesome, feisty, red-headed criminal in a series I already admired was just what I needed.

I never drew any Henry Stickmin art (until recently), but the series still kickstarted my festive journey. At some point in this whole thing (I think when playing with my brother), I remember thinking to myself how much I loved the art despite it being simple. I figured I could do it, too. Come 2020, and I see MatPat and Steph playing it on GT Live. Seeing GT Live in my recommended already hit me with a nostalgia blast (I remember watching them several years prior that felt like a lifetime), but Henry Stickmin, too? Dang.

So I watched it, then released they weren’t playing the Flash game I knew and loved. Oh no, it was new, bigger and better. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted a game more.

I hate spending money for myself, though. It makes me feel terrible and guilty.  Even 15 dollars felt like too much for me. But my brother heard me raving about it, and the next thing I knew I was given 15 dollars that I was only allowed to spend on THSC because no, sis, you are not spending that on more art supplies just to make gifts for other people because you feel like they won’t lie, you otherwise. You’re getting the game, got it?

And got it I did, both the point and the game. I played it to 100% completion (endings, fails, achievements, bios, the whole shebang) in two days. I had a great time. 

With most games, that would be it. I completed it, nothing more to do. Not Henry Stickmin though. Now what I didn’t mention in the above stories, is during this all, is I developed depression. It started around the time I rediscovered the games on my grandma’s computer. Soon after playing the games, her husband, the only one of my two grandpas who didn’t die before I wa shorn, died. That didn’t help my depression in the slightest. Whenever I talked to my grandpa about being sad I didn’t get to meet my other grandpa, he would say “well, twice as nice pays the price!” But now they were both dead, and no one could be extra nice to console me. 

Then my grandma died just over a year later. At that point, I was already in a very, very dark place. Her death crushed me. I kept smiling though it all. I’m fact, no one knew I had depression until this year I kept it hidden so well (my dads a psychologist and taught me all about mental health, so I knew I had bad depression, I just wasn’t formally diagnosed because I didn’t want anyone to know). My mom told me that me staying strong made her happy, so I felt pressure to hide how devastated I was. For her sake. That’s a toxic mentality, and that’s not what my mom wanted to encourage. She couldn’t possibly have known how damaging that would be to me.  Around the same time, things got tense at home. It wouldn’t be appropriate for me to go into it, but I will give you the vague gist: things would get tense in my family sometimes and would result in things being broken and angers exploding   Things happened, and I further retreated into my mentality that I shouldn’t make things worse by adding my emotions into the mix. I also was traumatised by this experience, and still am. I also grew to somewhat resent my brother.

This continued for several years, and then 2020. We all know so much happens in 2020. My mental health which  has been garbage since literally birth was it’s being pounded over, and over, and over again. Then THSC, and GT Live.  It reminded me of playing the game on my grandma’s computer, which reminded me of all the other computer games and various activities we work.s so together.  It reminded me of being besties with my brother, no trauma whatsoever, and playing THSC with him.  It made me so happy. I kept the game to myself, not playing it with my brother. I  wanted to cherish the memories, not confront the still-healing wounds left by all of the recent events around me.  It became, and still is my comfort.  I met friends online because of it.  The characters’ stories inspired me to keep living my life, write y story, and not cut I short like I was so close to doing, and still consider at times.  I owe this game so much. 

[selfcareparker]

okay fghsgdj yes you can say girl ! my pronouns are she/her :) okay but fr pause, i read this like 3 minutes after you posted it (or at least my notif said 3mins lmao) bUT IM IN BED AND I USUALLY HAVE MY COMPUTER OPEN WITH YOUR RESPONSE SO I MAKE SURE I ADDRESS EVERYTHING AND THEN SEND IN THE ASK ON MY PHONE HDGSJSH anyway, time to get my ass up 😔 but wait i find you so funny like honestly, reading that cracked me all the way up. and i feel the “lol” thing so hard!!!! idk why i do it all the time (i’m tryna stop) but i’ll say something with lol at the beginning and lol at the end... it might be a defense mechanism at this point lol (😔) AND (i need to stop with the uppercase too it’s not funny anymore) I DONT KNOW WHY I LAUGHED SO HARD JDHSK WHEN YOU SAID ALSO AGAIN HAHAHAH LIKE UR HAHHAH also my sleep schedule is not pretty either lmao but i’m homeschooled so i never have to get up for anything? hhdhsis idk but i’m glad you slept!! you need sleep!!

also (pls no i cannot) why did i not know what ykwim meant until i reread this?? like it makes so much sense- anyway! i think it’s so cool that you’re excited for university! idk why but i do lol like you’re getting ready for the future (masters degree and all that) & you’re (maybe) going to england anyway so that’s cool haha (hopefully when you go you can see your relatives 🤞🏾)

the fact that you get happy seeing my asks i- 💓💓

you make me wanna go to London & England so bad urghhhh like i’ve only been out of the country once (to Canada for a family reunion) but it sounds so prettyyyyy & i’m so sorry that cov*d is messing everything up and i hope you can see your relatives soon :(

now to address the whole english speaking/writing: I FIND THAT SO WEIRD DUHSKSJ i don’t know how an english speaking person could say that if you don’t write it 100% grammatically correct.... that it’s wrong? when literally, over here at least, WE’RE SO GRAMMATICALLY INCORRECT HAHHAAH in both the way we talk and write!! and lol you’re welcome,, AND THE PARAGRAPH DID MAKE SENSE HDHSJSH & your rant is fine because... that is actually a bit ??? bc no one writes with 100% grammar lol

OH MY GOSH (see this uppercase thing is addictive) YOU STUDIED LATIN FOR 6 YEARS??? that’s really cool 🥺 the way that you know/speak 3+ languages i- NOT EVEN 3+ LIKE 6+ (german, english, latin, french, serbian, italian, and everything that comes with latin lmao) even if it’s just a tiny bit like wowee. it is really fascinating!!! i had the opportunity to take latin and i... didnt. i took art instead BUT ONLY CUZ MY FRIENDS WERE IN THAT CLASS AND ART LOOKED FUN IM SORRY

PLEASE WHY DO YOU KNOW EVERYONE?? that sounds so fricking cool tell your mom (mum or mama it’s really fine lol) that she sounds awesome. i think Jamaica would be fun either way!! i mean it looks pretty from pictures? i was a baby so i honestly have no recollection hahaha

LMAOO NOT U SAYING THIS IS LONGER THAN SOME OF MY FICS- PLEASE GIRL IM TELLING YOU I VERBALLY LAUGHED HAHAHAHAHAH but yea you really don’t need to apologize i like reading everything you say 🥺 HDKSHS AND UR FINE WE WERE JUST TALKING ABOUT ME BEFORE uhhh hmm uhh lemme think i, well, i saw chaos walking yesterday (big tom holland fan over here) and it was alright.. my mom acted a fool at all the jump scares LMAO but it was funny... since i’m talking about movies (this is hella random i know) but i like shark movies HDKJSSJ my favorite is the meg (it’s so good ohmigosh) and the 47 meters down movies aren’t bad either... i have two younger brothers... iiiii AM IN LOVE WITH MUSIC PHEW anddd i’m homeschooled (i think i mentioned that lol) i think that’s a good amount ahahaha AND IM HUNGRY RN JDHSJ

now. please. let me address the edit. i just want you to know that.. when i talk about your fics and i finish them and everything i’m not looking for more? like obviously if you’re writing i’m gonna read it but you don’t need to feel pressured or anything (idk if you do) to put more fics out lol like they’re great and i’m just sending the praise bc i love the ones that are there :’) but i’m so happy you’re working through your writers block!!! yay so so happy for you!!! and PUHLEASE anything you write is fantastic, i feel the exact same way when i write but girl. you’re fine. it’s gonna be great. (idk if this made any sense but... okay)

(and my cousin calls her mom mama so it’s really okay hahah i even call my mom mama sometimes) (and where you got the number “16 sentences” beats me but i still cracked up) (is this me pretending i had tags? maybe) HAHAHAHA OK BYE ❤️❤️ why did this take me so long to send i have no clue, AND WHY AM I OVERTHINKING EVERYTHING I SAID SHAJSHSJ ANYWAY BYE btw i love us too... like iconic // lovely anon 💓

me reading this:

also the dedication you put into sending me stuff— like with the laptop and phone and ahsksk 🥺🥺🥺

i’ll update you when i’ve started uni btw, i’m getting more and more excited every single day haha but i still have 3 weeks until it starts and even then I’ll obviously have to get used to it and everything, but you’re making me even more excited about it sksjshsg

yeah i wanna go to england too dkshsh let’s be sad together over the fact the we can’t travel eksjsh😔😭 but hopefully the wait will make it even better in the end <33 also i talk to loads of relatives over the phone at least once a week so it’s not too bad for me! but i miss their house 😭lmao

and i knowww snshsh so many native english speakers just make so many mistakes— and obviously i get that some things are slang but some things are simply wrong ajsh, the thing is no one has ever told me that my english is bad (i know it’s not bad anyway, but i’m still insecure) or no one has ever pointed out any mistakes, but yeah it’s mostly just insecurity dkshsg but yes thanks for saying what you said (previously as well as in this ask)😌🥰

Okay now for latin— girlll i don’t blame u for choosing art over latin esp. when all of your friends are doing art as well!! I’d choose art over latin as well lol skshsg but in year 6 we had to choose between latin and french, and at the time i didn’t like french? which was dumb of me and now i wanna learn french ekdhs but i don’t regret choosing latin at all bc if i properly learn french one day then i’ll already know understand loads of stuff (or at least some stuff lol) just thanks to latin 😌😌 but still, art>>>latin skskshshgs

I wanna watch chaos walking too!!! But i don’t get when/where/how it’s out lmao, cinemas are still closed here so i’ll either have to wait or find it somewhere online... il*egally 🥰 i don’t have high expectations at all btw but i like daisy and tom and the dog🥺 so i think i’ll enjoy it

GIRL SHARK FILMS SHARK FOLMS SKSJSHSHS okay so there are a few classics i haven’t watched yet, and also a few new ones that i haven’t seen yet BUT I LOVE SHARK FILMS SO MUCH SKSHSGSGSKK the first like proper shark film i ever watched was the shallows (which i like but my brain is still too small to comprehend what happened at the end (i mean i get it but i just can’t imagine it— idek if you’ve seen the film but skshhs)) and after watching it three times it does get a bit boring (but now whenever i see pictures or videos of big waves i’m just waiting for a shark to show up like come ON SKSJSG

^^^that pic/scene really traumatised me sksjsh but i still like the film

I only watched jaws like a few months ago, and i get that it’s a classic and also that it’s old and they just didn’t have the best.. equipment or special effects or whatever but i mean... look at meg and then look at jaws.... no disrespect to jaws at ALL but the meg is so much cooler. (That one scene on the boat where the shark just JUMPS OUT OF THE WATER AND SKSJSHHSUSJHA i get such a shock every time it’s so good (and the dog aww aksjshssli 🥺🥺🥰 and the boy with the ice cream lmao he’s iconic)

47 metres down, wow, i liked that film too. (i’ve only watched the original/first one i think) i mean that is such a fucking nightmare scenario like ALSJDHSNEMSKDJSHSJSKWBALSODUEWBSLDKHDJSNSKSKSHSGEBWKAISGSHEKEKSKLDJDJDHDHSHAGGA (that’s the best way i can express my feelings about that scenario lmao)

oh and i’ve recently been watching more horror films but i don’t know if they’re for me... I like the thrill and whatever but i just end up being scared for my life when i have to go to the bathroom at night or when i’m trying to sleep bc suddenly my mind is flooded with all the scary shit from the films 💀💀💀

and music i mean... you know those people who just don’t listen to music? WHAT IS WRONG WITH THEM???? i honestly like all genres especially in the last year, i am IN LOVE with Nicki Minaj + Megan andddd Stormzy and i like Harry Styles but i prefer his first solo album (and obviously one direction has bangers i have a throwback 1D session at least once a month), I also love MGK especially his new stuff and otherwise i mostly listen to german artists lmao. So who do you like?💖 (WHY DO I FEEL LIKE YOURE GONNA SAY SOMETHING COMPLETELY DIFFERENT SKAHAGUS IF YOU LISTEN TO COMPLETELY DIFFERENT MUSIC DONT JUDGE ME AJSHDJS) (i know you’re not gonna judge me but)

++ @ the thing you said about writing, don’t worry, i don’t feel pressured at all!!! (not by you and not by anybody else.. except myself sometimes lol) and i’m just very happy that you liked my fics 🥰🥰🥰 and if i start telling people that i’m writing a fic then sometimes it puts a bit of (healthy) pressure on me. like yes sometimes it really is writer’s block, but sometimes i really am just lazy ddkshhd so now that i’ve told you i’m writing a fic i might get my ass up quicker than i would if i hadn’t told anyone 😌😌😌

[carlyraejepstein]

potentially upsetting topics: sui, gender dysphoria, abuse and parents, sex

Elliot Page’s coming out rescued an awful day. Its wording is unbelievably powerful, a comment I have made once before and will continue to do so. In it, he so strongly encompasses the fears, the sorrow, the rage, but most importantly the determination and the defiance of not only him but every trans person. I hesitate to use the word “community” because it implies a certain connection that might just not be there; I play a bit of Counter-Strike but I don’t consider myself part of the Counter-Strike community; yet when I read Elliot’s words I feel solidarity, I feel a pull to the trans community that I often don’t feel I pay my dues to, and it feels good, really good. Like I said on Twitter once, other trans people being, existing, living, is just rad. Inspiring, even, despite how that word has been worn out by cis people.

However, there’s a certain something that Elliot didn’t write, for Elliot never wrote “I am a man”; only his name, and pronouns, how he wishes to be referred to. Of course, we cannot possibly know what this omission means or does not mean to Elliot, but it’s something that concurred with a shift in how I perceive my own gender.

I remember first properly ruminating on gender in 2012 or 2013. My understanding was primitive, coming from Wikipedia. Once I knew what transgender or, given the time period, transsexual, the curiosity never really went away. I knew at this point about transition, and I knew about deed polls because of my resentment of my parents, I knew about HRT and I even knew about the GICs. I felt compelled to be an ally in that turbulent period in both my life and in the online culture I immersed myself in from around 2015 to 2017. At this time a friend was going through their own transition and seeing them gave me pause for thought; partly pride, partly worry but a small kernel of imagination, wondering if that could ever be me. It was when I went to sixth form, with its environment permitting greater yet still constrained self expression, that I felt gender dysphoria hit me with its full weight. Thinking, wondering, worrying about being transgender has been the central dialogue of my internal and external monologue ever since. Not a day passes where I don’t think about the dysphoria I feel over my continued closet-dwelling and the malignantly gendered properties of my body. On a January morning in 2019, at my very lowest point, motionless under the covers, I gave myself a choice between transition and death, and I chose transition.

It’s been a complex journey. When I was 13 I shortened my gender neutral name to make it more masc (which I have now happily embraced as my middle name). I leant into the deepening of my voice because I thought it gave me authority, conditioned through the harsh words of people from public Team Fortress 2 servers. I’ve done almost everything under the sun that gets people to say “I’d never have known!” when you come out to them; I worry that I still do and that nothing has changed. I’ve gone and cross-dressed when my parents were out, and I’ve been traumatised by Susan’s Place. I am autistic, no one who has met me can escape that fact; not that I would want to, and as a consequence I am so much more confident in my presence on the internet than I ever have been in the flesh, despite me still not knowing how to make friends; hence I’ve ended up trying to piece my transition together through 4chan (I know, bad) and Reddit and Twitter.

Perhaps the biggest reason I am not out is the time when I decided I would come out to my mother as trans. When we were in Munich we had walked past a pride parade, and when we got back to the apartment I revealed off hand that I was bi. My mother chided me for not telling them before hand since it was “polite” to do so, as if it were not my choice to make because, as I still believe to this day, it’s not a big deal and it’s none of their business. But I decided this time it was important, and that I could trust her. It turns out that just like every other time, trusting my mother is a bad idea that is guaranteed to cause me pain every time I make that mistake. She told me that because she “knows more about [me] than [I] do”, that she thought that I was just straight up wrong, couched it in rhetoric about how she thought that I was too weak to be trans, and quoted the shockingly offensive “autism is extreme male brain” theory to me. It was really devastating at the time and I think it still affects me to this day, especially as she constantly tries to worm her tendrils back into my life after I moved out.

But enough about my mother; she is a fucking flat out abuser. She has emotionally abused me, and undoubtedly my brother, all our lives. I was relieved that my dad chose not to react aggressively as she did, but with a modicum of respect and agreement not to make such a big deal out of it, something I would never expect my mother to match. In the middle of writing this piece I had to decide that I could not do it any longer, and I would never let her back into my life again.

Where that conversation in late 2018 relates to Elliot Page’s statement is my mother’s purported belief that “you don’t have to define yourself as a man or a woman”. Going past the fact that she is lying, since her tolerance for all trans people is thinner than the grey hairs on her head going on the basis that she couldn’t bring herself to say one positive thing to her own daughter that afternoon, it struck me recently that I can more eloquently describe my gender through elimination rather than a label. I am happy to call myself a woman, a trans woman, and I don’t feel as if I really am wavering in or around the binary. But what I can say for definite is that while I have been a boy for almost all my life, and am holding onto that, I am not, and never will be, a man.

Where that leaves me is that I am not a man, but must I be a woman? If I am perhaps not a woman, am I non-binary? No; it doesn’t feel right. However, if I attach just a convenience to the label woman, I can give myself that flexibility in how I feel and how I present myself, and perhaps the biggest example of that is how in recent months I have made peace with my voice. It is not really a femme voice; I hit vocal fry just speaking normally. But I know how to be expressive with it; it is my voice that I have honed over 19 years after all. One day I want to find someone who will help me upgrade my voice (and yes, upgrade) but keeping it means I fulfil one cool thing about being trans, and that is saying fuck you to the very existence of the gender binary. I keep this voice out of necessity, but I’m still trans femme, I am still a woman and I still want my facial hair zapped off.

As well, I reserve the right to say I used to be a boy. Not a man, but a boy. That’s why they call it boymoding, right? How else can I describe the first 17 years of my life? I can be a boy all the same now, although I may be pushing it aged 20, and at the point at which I am really stretching that concept which at this point I am adhering to solely for my safety and comfort, I shouldn’t need to use it anymore. Wishful thinking, of course.

I think we should consider why we use “man” and “woman” in the first place. From my perspective they are simply words to describe people with two different sets of primary and secondary sexual characteristics, convenient because, well, being cis is unavoidably common. But they are not discrete, as we so often have to reiterate using intersex people as an unwilling crutch, where one does not occur in the other they are so often analogous and often they overlap! Supposedly 60% of teenage boys develop further breast tissue, and 40% of women have some form of facial hair. Thinking that the two are discrete gives rise to the idea of “biological sex”, a concept developed by cis people either to misgender trans people in a way they think is philosophically rigorous, or to reconcile their tenuous support for trans people with a continuing belief in the gender binary. Personally I would like to smash the concept of biological sex to bits because it is not useful to us. At the very least it may describe one’s primary sexual characteristics but bottom surgery exists, and I don’t happen to think that it is “mutilation”. I don’t need to argue that “biological sex can be changed”; they are not discrete categories, and I don’t need to move between them, or seek validation for having moved between them. It is not a helpful generalisation for bodies, diverse as they are.

I must add that as a trans woman the fact that I may have a penis doesn’t mean that I use it in the same way as a man. I use mine to pee, primarily, and it’s definitely not going inside anyone except myself any time soon; a whole zine was written about how trans women fuck and use their bits to fuck, so I definitely don’t need to anyway.

Another bullshit concept is “biological destiny” or “biological reality”, although I will give less breath to this one because at it’s core it is fundamentally misogynistic, and it so often is divorced from any sensible definition of reality. It’s like if I had to have my arm amputated and then someone came up to me and said “you’ll always have two arms, you were born with them and you’ll die with them”.

I’ve heard and thought a lot about gender abolition but it seems to me that its proponents expect that like the state, gendered differences will just disappear over time. But I don’t want that to happen. If the binary is done away with I don’t want gender to disappear I want it to flourish! Because gender is beautiful, men are beautiful, women are beautiful, and everyone in between or outwith are beautiful. On the other hand, me and you don’t need to be men, or women, or call ourselves non-binary to be beautiful. Being trans is about cultivating your own beauty and your own identity. When cissiety demands that the only identity and presentation we’re allowed is one that corresponds to what they decided was between our legs when we were born, why give ourselves only one other choice?

I don’t really know how to end this piece because I wrote one half of it one day and the other half a couple of weeks later. At the very least I’m glad I can attribute my peace with not necessarily being a woman but a femme to Elliot Page, and not my rotten bastard mother.

[poppyluxe]

i wanted to talk about my own experience with toni / taylor / swiftofrph / margotofrph / admin baby / quinn etc. around the time of 2013 - 2016 ( phew plz be patient with me as i’m not great w/ writing things out so i’ll try make it as clear as possible ! )

i must admit that taylor and i had a friendship that for a while i really appreciated. i cared about her a lot, which is exactly why her behaviour was so triggering and somewhat traumatising towards the end of our friendship. however, i have made a few friends through this experience that i am so fucking grateful for. i just wanted to put this out there for those who run groups and/or those who are joining groups, who want to know what kind of person she is/was, and to be wary, lest she proves that she can change her behaviour. 

( tw; writing adult content with minors )  -  i met taylor in a smut roleplay group when i was sixteen, so it would’ve been 2013 i think ?? there were no age restrictions in this group, as i was sixteen at the time, and my best friend, who was fourteen, was also in the group. taylor was a legal adult at the time, yet interacted with the both of us, and often pushed me to complete her ships and write heterosexual smut - mostly haylor - with her despite the fact it made me uncomfortable. i was young, anxious and eager to please, so i’d give her the ships she wanted, so that she’d give me the ones i liked in return. ( i was wrong to have been in that group but at the time i wasn’t aware of how dangerous it actually was. i was very naive at this point in my life, and due to trauma i wasn’t very good at noticing red flags. )  i don’t think i really realised until recently that she was one of the many people in the rpc who would roleplay sexual content with me being a minor, and with my characters being minors too. ( i don’t have any reason to believe that she would do such a thing now, but the fact that she didn’t find it questionable then is very strange to me. the second i turned 18, i instinctively knew that it was fucking creepy to smut with anyone younger than myself at that time. )

she’s proved herself to be incredibly ignorant over the years i knew her. at some point she was suggesting latinx names for my white characters, and pushing me to join roleplay groups that ‘would be okay with lesbian characters’. the wording of this threw me off, because even then i was under the impression that every group should be okay with LGBTQ+ characters. she also allowed a straight, cis female character into a sapphic-centric group so long as the character pretended to be gay.

she dismissed my mental illnesses, and implied that i ‘drove people away’ with the way i worded things in the ooc. she knew me for years, and knew about my intense anxiety and the social awkwardness that came along with it. ( i’ll admit i’m a little at fault here, but as an admin she should have tried to be a little more understanding, especially as someone who suffered from anxiety herself. )  

she allowed bubble roleplaying and didn’t make an effort to resolve the issue. there were several times i was excluded from her group i was a part of and she did nothing to prompt people to reply to my posts or interact with me. it was very cliquey at the time, and when i brought up these issues she called me impatient and told me to ‘wait for people to reply’. the issue wasn’t people taking days to respond, it was that people weren’t replying. period. she made me feel guilty about wanting to drop my characters due to lack of interaction. 

SHE ALLOWED CONSTANT HARRASSMENT + BULLYING FROM OTHER GROUP MEMBERS. this was what caused me to end the friendship with taylor.  taylor had a friend join the group not long after myself who went by the name heaven. i’d plotted with heaven, and after two dead threads, i didn’t interact with them again because i was socially awkward and figured i’d annoyed them. until they interacted with a starter of mine, in which their character made an advance on mine, which mine reciprocated. days later, without having interacted with heaven again, their character was accusing mine of sexually assaulting them. from this point onward, the gossip blog was full of hate towards my character that was all very obviously from the person who went by heaven - though it wouldn’t surprise me if taylor was involved in this too. i told taylor and the other admin about this multiple times. the other admin wasn’t much help but she was definitely more sympathetic than taylor. taylor didn’t even give heaven so much as a warning, and they were allowed to continue their harassment for weeks until they got bored of bullying me and left. it didn’t last long, however. taylor then allowed this same friend to come back under a new alias. it wasn’t hard to figure out it was them, since their writing style was the same, and the second they joined the group, their character was harassing mine, and once again the gossip blog filled with hate for my character. a good deal of the messages were also subtle digs at me as a person also, which was devastating.   taylor allowed this to happen. and basically implied that it was my own fault because my character had a mental illness, and it made her unlikeable. she once again let this harassment continue for weeks, maybe even months. from this point onwards, i tried to avoid dealing with taylor. 

THIS WAS A TERRIBLY HORRIFYING AND TRAUMATISING ORDEAL. i have an array of mental illnesses, and she essentially allowed people to push me to a breaking point. even though she didn’t directly harm me, she was actively participating in it by allowing it to happen in a group that she was in control of.

i was so anxious to be on tumblr that making an indie was incredibly difficult for me. i was constantly worried about taylor making an indie under a different alias, and risking the chance of having to interact with her again. 

while i can’t speak on her behaviour now, i can definitely speak on how she’s behaved in the past. i believe that people can change, but it certainly doesn’t seem like she’s made much of an effort to. i can only hope she learns from this experience, educates herself and treats people with a little more kindness. 

[teeforhee]

Fuck, I'm not sure I'll ever get over how much CAMHS (child and adolescent mental health service, it's the under-18s mental health service in Scotland) let me down as a kid.

It's like this. You're 11 and you're traumatised but you're scared of using that word, you don't know if you're allowed it, but you are traumatised. And you're so anxious you can't breathe most of the time, you can't sit down and speak to any of your friends, you can do your school work but you keep falling apart and everything feels like it's getting worse all the time. You don't fit in, you're weird and awkward but your schoolwork is good so you aren't worrying about your grades, you're not even sure why you feel this way (it's unprocessed trauma, but again, you don't feel like you're allowed that word). You're s/hing and struggling with suicidal ideation, and you're lucky enough to still trust authority figures, so you do what everyone says you should. You trust an adult. And she calls your GP, who is another adult you choose to trust, who you bare your heart to with all of these symptoms that make your feel sick to even acknowledge, and then they make you an appointment with CAMHS. You came in asking for treatment. They referred you to CAMHS. They did not explain what CAMHS was other than what the letters stood for. That's okay - it's treatment, right? They're gonna help. You can talk this through and they'll help- just gotta be careful you don't get institutionalised. You don't want that, yet.

You talk to a CAMHS worker. She's a psychologist. She says it's very likely you have autism to your mother after your first session. Your mother broaches the topic gently. You are overjoyed: there's an answer! oh fuck, this explains so much! but it's not treatment. It's a word. The psychologist puts you on a waiting list and you have 22 sessions of CBT with her, trying to unpack your trauma and trying to build up coping skills. So many of them feel like just denying the truth, so many of them feed into your magical thinking ("the one thing you can control is your thoughts, you must always control your thoughts, good things will happen when you control your thoughts and stop thinking the bad thoughts"), but it's treatment, mostly. You stop seeing her twice- once because you are trying to develop an eating disorder and having a mental health professional who wants to hear how you're doing is totally cramping your style (I wasn't actually trying to develop an ED really, I was trying to cope in ways other than s/h, in ways that felt honest to the situation and real and gave me a sense of control that "controling my thoughts" just wasn't doing). You come back for recovery. You tell her you want an eating plan. By the time she even considers an appointment with a nutritionist, you've moved past that stage in your recovery on your own. You stop seeing her again because you get into an abusive relationship who doesn't really like you having contact with people who aren't him, and he super super doesn't like you not being able to talk to him for a whole hour every week. That part isn't their fault: no one could be gotten me out of that until I decided to; believe me, everyone around me tried, and it didn't work until I wanted I to, the third time.

But I left, again, I was without support for 6 months, and when I came back it was after my father (the earliest source of my trauma) had died. They take 4 sessions compiling evidence as to what treatment i needed going forward, without telling me that was what they were doing (I was trying to build trust with an adult again after 6 months of constant reinforcing that I couldn't trust anyone but my abuser), and then an appointment with a psychiatrist and your mother and a new psychologist. They dismiss and justify the symptoms that most worry me, they have at this point turned down my request to be institutionalised multiple times (including after an aborted suicide attempt, I presume they thought that was fine because made it clear that I did want to live), and they say at the end of the meeting that they are going to give me an official diagnosis of autism and that after that CAMHS has nothing more to offer me.

They say that if after 22 sessions with a psychologist I am still struggling so much (bear in mind that probably close to half of those sessions I was concealing factors that were actively making my mental health worse and which were traumatising me) I clearly can't gain anything more from their service, and anyway, autism isn't a mental illness and CAMHS as a service can only help while waiting for/trying to get a diagnosis, or if you have a diagnosis or a disorder for which they could provide specialist treatment. My very obvious PTSD? nah, no big-T Traumas, and c-ptsd is way too hard to diagnose. I receive a hilarious letter detailing all of the evidence (I mean genuinely insightful but also fucking hilarious and I do want to note down funniest bits and post them hear at some point, stuff like "unusual speech was noted, (exclamations of 'wacky!' while describing his symptoms)") and then they refer me to a charity which, at time of writing, I have had 1 assessment phone call with, and am waiting for a call back for my next and first proper appointment.

They did not inform me when I was first referred that CAMHS is a diagnostic and specialist treatment service and if they did (this was well over two years ago now, I don't remember word-for-word what my GP told me), they did not tell me that meant that they would kick me out to a charity once they figured they couldn't label me with anything requiring specialist treatment. During our last sessions they were unyeildingly focussed on the trauma of my father dying and of the "shock" of my diagnosis (that I had been waiting for for 2 years. yes, very shocking/s) when those were not my biggest problems. My relationship with my father is complex and I won't get into it here, but suffice it to say that his death was the last step on a very, very long journey, and honestly one of the least traumatising.

I let them keep the focus there because I desperately hate talking about the actual, recent, debilitating trauma of being in lockdown with an abusive partner for 6 months. That shit hurts, I can't even say his name, but that is the thing that I need to unpack if I'm ever going to be able to go outside in the sun again.

Repeatedly ignoring the requests I made for specific treatment until past the point where I needed it anymore, not informing me how the service I was going to be working with for 2 years even worked in something so basic as "what is this for? what will happen to me if I get a diagnosis they can't give me specialised care for?", telling an 11 year old child that suicidal ideation is "not that serious", a fundamental misunderstanding of what I needed and wanted to hear ('normal' is not a helpful word. 'normal' tells me 'suck it up, everyone experiences this and they're all fine, you're normal, just think better' why are they all so adamant that I am normal? Not even considering my mental health I am an autistic bisexual gnc trans guy, we went past whatever 'normal' means a long time ago, fucking listen to me), at every single step of the way this system has left me in the same state I was before, the only improvement being through support from my friends, fucking Childline (gd fucking bless Childline volunteers, but still, I shouldn't have been getting so little support that that felt like my only option), mental health masterposts on Tumblr, chats with my (luckily) very nice guidance counselor (they're called pastoral teachers here but I know most folks reading this are American or are most familiar with the American school system) and what amounts to gritting my teeth and getting through it.

It was worth it, of course my life was worth it, of course I say the same thing every person who's attempted suicide says, I'm more grateful than words could possibly express that I survived, that I get to go home in a few minutes and feed my kitten and write and message my friends, but for fucks sake it didn't need to be this hard. And it doesn't need to be this hard. I'm not out of the woods yet, I'm still waiting on that second appointment with this charity, I'm still 3+ months behind at school, and I'm one of the lucky ones. My boyfriend has been hurt worse by CAMHS, left even more isolated than I was, even more traumatised by the way he was treated, and every single person I know who's been in this system agrees that it's deeply, deeply flawed.

I don't want people to have competitions over who's medical experiences are worse, who's country has the worst mental health system, who's been the most traumatised by their psychiatrists or lack thereof, please. Please don't make this the suffering Olympics. I'm just making this post cause I know, I know that other people have had similar experiences, whether with CAMHS or whatever their equivalent is. Mental health services need serious reform that puts patients first, listens to their needs and requests, that is well funded and well staffed by people who care about their patients wellbeing more than they care about controling other people's lives.

Austerity in the UK is a huge reason why this happened the way it did- my first psychologist left the service to go work somewhere that pays better, leaving just one newly-graduated psychologist that clearly had no idea what she was doing and didn't care to sympathise or show compassion for me.

This shit needs to change, because kids need help, and this is not good enough.

[taniuchiha]

I don’t think anyone should die. But they can fuck off to nowhere and don’t ever talk to me again. They are voting for a guy who rather goes and hide in a bunker than stand with poc and protect them. They are voting for a guy who makes it’s own country pay for an unnecessary wall instead of putting that money into healthcare so that people would not have to pay for ambulances. They are voting for a guy who puts young easily traumatised children in cages without their parents anywhere near because they stepped foot in the country he leads. They are voting for a guy they believe will help the economy but has declared bankrupcy 6 times and has done the worst out of all countries during Covid-19. They are voting for a guy who spent money helping Jeffery Epstein’s child trafficking. Don’t get me started on what easy shit he won’t even try to do for LGBTQ+ rights. And women, who he sees as nothing more than sex objects he is allowed to touch without their consent.

Any and every Trump supporter is a selfish human being who believe every word he says despite being proven wrong and wrong again. You just need 5 minutes on social media to see thousands of reasons he is an unfit president.

Imagine putting your country in the hands of someone with so little brains that he is now questioning why he isn’t getting a lot of votes by mailed-in ballots when he told his audience not to do that for months.

But yes, let’s vote for him because he lowered some taxes you are spending on a FREAKING PIECE OF BRICK. Instead of healthcare which is needed way more.

A woman who voted for Trump actually said she voted because he treats everyone the same shitty way... she thought that was equality.

He’s also a guy who wanted to stop the counting of votes even though EVERY vote should count. He is trying to make your country in a dictatorship. He was/is working on changing the rules so that he would stay in house after 2024. He is trying to kill democracy.

And that great economy trump supporters like to use as a ‘valid’ reason consists of yes, having a lot of people keep their job, if only these jobs weren’t for fucking companies that are destroying and hurting the environment.

You are asking for people not to say that they hope Trump supporters will die, when voting for Trump is hurting a lot more people than some speech on the internet.

First off, You are valid in your opinion and are very much allowed to feel the way that you do.

I want to address some of the points that were made.

1. What do mean be he was hiding in his bunker? What was the issue you were citing because I'm not with it today 😅 work frazzles me.

2. The issue with the border wall and the cages are complicated because of the gang related activity involved. Ms13, cartel, and other bad individuals bring drugs and humans over the border to sell and traffic. Many of those "families" may not even be families. It could be a man bringing a child to traffic in the us. Those men are called "coyotes" I do think a wall is a bit crazy, but necesary against something of this magnitude.

3. And as a Trump supporter, I do not believe every word he says. I'm not completely blind to his faults. He said he wasn't touching social security and then I read a couple articles of which SS is on the budget of things to cut. So I get it, but like I said, with what research we do, we do like the things that he promises that he does keep to. Like providing more jobs and helping our economy. And yes, I agree that his Twitter posts can be crass. A lot. I feel that he's a very crass, but we have to remember that he wasn't a politician, he was an business man and an entertainer. He likes attention, which is what he gets by making those tweets. I think when he actually tries, which he was very successful at the last debate, he can be a better president.

4. The bankruptcy and the Epstein situation, I'm with you. He said that he distanced himself from Epstein a long time ago and judging by there weren't any recent pictures of the two, I believe it, but the fact that they were friends in the first place makes me feel sick.

5. And yes, the mail in votes were expected to be mostly Democrat because yes, trump did in fact tell his voters to vote in person, which if you heard there were issues with the in person polling booths. People saying that they weren't working and to leave them with pollers. People didn't trust that and stayed in line and suddenly it working after several hours. That sounds just a little sus to me.

In my opinion, yes, every counts, but if you are mailing in your vote, you should plan to send it early so that it makes it in time. If it doesn't make it by Nov 3, than it shouldn't count.

And if we are talking little brains, Joe Biden is not the best comparison. Considering that he thought he was running for Senate, waved to an empty field, said "hello Minnesota" when he was in Florida and played despacito in his phone.

6. Concerning covid, I don't think joe Biden would have done much better. Not a lot of evidence shows that he would have.

We can't just lock everybody down, that's impossible. People have bills, and jobs that need to be done. Suicide rates jumped, depression jumped. For the economies sake, we needed to open. Yes people died, and i really am sympathic. But it didn't help that Cuomos idea of trying to help was putting covid patients in nursing homes, which infected and killed many elderly people and actively refusing to wear masks even under threat of fines which probably doesn't bother him one bit. There are mistakes in both parties concerning this matter.

7. Trump isn't trying to kill democracy. I haven't seen anything about him killing democracy, however, I did see on kamala Harris's Twitter her outright supporting communism! Which I am completely against! The video she posted equity is not equality. Watch it and it is pretty much the definition of communism which sounds good on paper but never in execution.

8. There are plenty of other positions in gov that have done the same thing in keeping life positions. I do not agree with this and believe that it should be limited to terms.

And I don't believe his next four years would hurt as many people as you say that it would. 8 years of the Obama presidency probably hurt people more than trumps 4 years. That's just my stance on it from my perspective. I remember the government shutting down constantly, 5$ a gallon gas, the bombing in foreign countries and also his influence on racial tensions.

Now, you are entitled to feel however you want to feel. That's the beauty of America. In another country, these criticisms in our conversation wouldn't be tolerated. I do believe wholeheartedly that we should protect that with everything we have. And that's why I love these conversations.

I get to hear what you have to say and how you feel, and i can also express to you the same. If there are problems, we can try to find a way to fix them. Stay strong, peacefully and work together to make it fair.

But I think a lot of the problem is the anger or hate, as it comes of as. The aggression, be senseless violence... It doesn't make people want to support that cause! I believe that black lives matter. I believe that lgbtq lives matter. They all matter so much, but this violence, this damage is not getting the message across. It's scaring people. It's chaotic.

Sorry I'm rambling in again 😅 this is already long enough and sorry for the late response. Work has been a little rough.

[skinfeeler]

between good posts, miscellaneous aesthetic content, and astounding selfies, sometimes the mask slips and it becomes obvious that i am an extraordinarily troubled person. why? well, there are many reasons. but i can give you a microcosm from the sort of things that are done to me to make me this way, even by other trans women.

this is a vaguepost about me with zero notes. let’s break it down! but before we break it down, let’s take it at face value. the kind of picture she’s painting here insinuates that perhaps i horribly mistreated her and then, in HAL fashion, made sure she was exiled from all the communities we shared using vague accusations and extremely loaded language. something like that.

factually, the opposite happened. we’re all familiar with reversal of accusations done by people who hold power over these they hurt, aren’t we? so here are the disturbing and crude circumstances from which this disgusting screed emerged:

we initially shared an online space together. at some point we started conversing privately. as almost the first thing she said to me, she confided to me that she used to hate women like me: brash. assertive. confident. self-loving. not afraid to take up space or to refuse to put up with mistreatment. the product of a ceaseless struggle against conditioning to let people exploit me, abuse me. one of two directions each trans woman can take, the other one to become fragile and let oneself stay fragile.

she said that once she met me and got to know me, she dropped this worldview and seemed embarrassed she ever held it. in response, i, simply grateful to not have someone reject me for being the wrong kind of trans woman — an etymological baeddel, if you will — told her that i understood, since i know people like me aren’t allowed to exist. i wish i hadn’t.

because she didn’t drop it forever. she only dropped it conditionally.

we had a dalliance of sorts, and eventually it turned out to be deeply unhealthy for both of us, so i broke it off for both our sakes. i told her that it was probably for the best that we ‘stopped talking’, by which i meant to not contact me individually and to refrain from using group environments specifically to solicit me. i hoped that this reduction of contact, while making room to share the same spaces, would be better for both of us than our unhealthy and mutually damaging association.

then soon after day her girlfriend who shared the same space and who i still spoke to told me — as part of a larger diatribe concerning a reciprocally harmful situation — the following.“It’s ridiculous - it’s a completely irresponsible way to handle a sitution with someone you're supposed to share a community with. You completely disposed of her. You forced her out.”

alongside this, a series of quotes from hot allostatic load on her blog, very clearly meant for me.

apparently respect for the dignity of trans women like me ceased the moment i denied someone access to me— respect from her, and the people i thought were close to me but who were apparently still quite willing to suddenly assume the worst when i was simply trying to set boundaries. i wasn’t setting boundaries as a real trans woman may be entitled to, i was forcing people out, i was made the aggressor simply for daring to set boundaries based on a prior judgement that was made the moment people met me and the way i talk, the particular trauma responses i have. what might be praised in a more feminine and mild-mannered (trans) woman was in me, proof of guilt and evil.

it didn’t matter what actually happened, what exactly both of us respectively did to each other. what mattered is how she felt. how she felt aggressed against by the wrong kind of trans women daring to deny her access to her body and person.

other people got involved and other conflicts got aggravated. she kept stoking the fires— other situations, if they were resolvable beforehand, weren’t because of the poison she put in people’s heads about me. through all of this, neither she nor her girlfriend were ever in the slightest genuinely repentant for the way they made it difficult for me to set boundaries.

all of this happened in the acute aftermath of me being raped in an alleyway — an event they had knowledge of — during the few months after. i was so, so carefully trying out if it was even possible for me to be intimate with others. it was, briefly, until i pulled out, until i told people that i felt violated by things that happened.

and all of that, all of my attempts to set boundaries and to protest against violations committed, were not even met with direct answers or where not possible, dignified resignations to that fact and attempts to atone. instead, what happened is that they leveled narratives at their friends and girlfriends until they felt so overwhelmed that people refused to sincerely listen to my side of things and i was put in a position where all i was to do to make amends for my own actions, with everyone else completely protected. i was told people are very upset, that i had made them feel very bad, and this hurt is what ended up mattering, not what they did to me.

it broke me, for some time. i behaved disrespectfully and harmfully to a number of people in the months after. i was in such an aggravated state of trauma from having it be repeatedly proven to me that my body is fair game for anyone’s carnal drives that i was oblivious to the ways that i was exhausting people by trying to play politics in a vain attempt to get some recognition for what happened to me and how it was enabled, facilitated by both perpetrators and others in that space.

and then, eventually, after months of building tension and stress which nobody felt able to resolve, nothing could have happened but that i was forced out of the one space where i was told that the bad kind of trans woman could belong and be treated well, too.

that we could ‘build alternatives’ to the traumatic things that are done to us and then do to ‘each other’ (although really, just to those among us who aren’t deemed worthy of protection).

---

i do not believe she is actually a predator— i am not from an english-speaking country, and my throwaway post in which i said “no sympathy for sex pests who got rejected months ago and still whine about it” was based on an understanding that it meant someone who harmed others in the context of sexual interactions, but not necessarily an actual ‘predator’, insofar that essentialist, individual, reactionary idea of one who does harm actually holds meaning to me. certainly she is not as bad as actual literal alleyway rapists, not that it is fair or reasonable to have it fall to me to reassure anyone of that.

however, she is oblivious to the fact that reacting to people setting boundaries in this way and that projecting transmisogyny on them along the lines she did damages their ability to set boundaries in the future, especially since i was recently raped, which she and everyone else involved knew about. she’s not a predator, but her behavior chipped away at my ability to set boundaries and is completely irreverent of them regardless of context or intent. most consent guides have vile things to say about those who hear that they hurt others, freak out in an emotionally incontinent way and make it everyone else’s problem instead of working towards taking responsibility. unfortunately, she made it so that this behavior ended up being enabled and rewarded, simply because the way in which she was violent is not seen as violence by many in our circles.

i stopped taking progesterone. i refused to be intimate with people. i wanted to be sexless and recoiled at all expressions of attraction from others, experiencing them as a prelude to violation since i couldn’t conceive of people being into me and acting on that in a way that wouldn’t end up humiliating, traumatising, heartbreaking. i didn’t feel like i could exist with other people anymore, and believed that never, ever would i be treated in an equitable way where my hurt matters just as much as theirs.

i don’t want to be sanctified over my own mistakes i just want to get treated as all the other people who made awful, horrible ones— i wasn’t, people refused to level with me about it until they had already made up their minds about me and cut me off first individually, then collectively. i was treated as a perpetrator by default.

even with what i did and my role in all of this, i did not deserve to be treated this way.

---

i didn’t make any actual threats. what i did was the following.

if i don’t stop it from happening, a payload of information about the actions and identities of people who violated my boundaries will be released, with the understanding that this only happens if i don’t periodically reset a timer when it will be uploaded, with the understanding that this will only happen if i die. this gives me some sort of comfort that if i kill myself, i’ll at least get to finally have the voice which people with immense amounts of social capital are preventing me from having, inadvertently or on purpose. if all of this kills me, does she really believe she deserves to get away with it, my voice forever lost?

i also made a post that next time someone forces me into something i don’t want, i won’t freeze up— if it is a physical situation, i know i will fight back and win against someone literally sexually assaulting me, that is what the post was about! that’s not even something she wants (presumably). so to make this out as some threat against her is frankly preposterous, and i can’t really find any way to take it as another cynical attempt to portray me as the wrong kind of tranny: the one without a lithe body and who doesn’t perform a fetishisation of her own (pretended) lack of power over others well enough, with the wrong set of traumatic personality alterations.

---

allow me to end with a few choice screenshots from this person’s blog, and an ask she sent me to circumvent my block on discord.

what’s the deal with people who have a certain access to feminine fragility (cis women, certain kinds of trans women) and comparing people to their abusive fathers?

stop postmodernising about my boundaries. please.

what’s worse? ending something awful for both of us as well within my entitlements, or circumventing a block in order to chastise me for it as a prelude to unleashing the full power of the whisper network? i guess all things are fine when the first is done by a trans woman who can deadlift 1.5x her bodyweight and the second is done by a trans woman who prides herself on being sensitive and who is just so easy to hurt— not like she has plenty of means to passively aggress or cut trans women like me off from their support networks, murder them in a thousand ways which our community sanctifies, which is exactly what she did, both while we knew each other and after.

this, for months and months and months. making me wonder what the next way she will hurt me is going to be.

---

it is a genuine relief to hear that this person never wanted to see me again. because of her behavior, i was under the distinct impression she wanted me back in some sense. you may see why when you look at all these strange attempts to undermine the boundaries she knows i struggle to maintain.

all this talk invoking the concept of radical transformative justice after she did her best to escalate situations to get me exiled simply because i didn’t want to have a personal, individual association with her. it’s not enough for her that she managed to get rid of me, me daring to feel hurt by it is another violation of the values that were supposed to prevent what happened to me from happening, in fact, me feeling hurt is portrayed as worse as what she did to hurt me, and as invalidating any demand i have at all to be treated with any dignity or receive any defense or protection from anyone at all, simply because of the way it made her feel that i dared to be hurt by what she did.

what matters is what happened. what matters is what people did. what matters is what factually happened, not transmisogynistic interpretations of it, forgotten at convenience by the people who were there. what matters is who is decided to be worthy or unworthy of protection, who is actually capable of being hurt instead of considered unrapeable, unviolable, invulnerable and dangerous for it, which frankly, seems what patterns of ‘disposability’ always seem to revolve around. it is disturbing that this language was invoked to ironically, argue the status of my body as public property at pain of isolation.

what matters is power, and statements like “i don’t hate you” are cheap from those who will always have the social capital to hurt me like this so long as the gendered heuristics of the circles we share remain hegemonic.

[moon-beam95]

Numb

By:Moon-Beam95

Fandom: The Umbrella Academy

Pairing: Ben Hargreeves x Reader

You and Ben had been together since you were mere teens. You lived on the same street, next door in fact and it was everything a teen romance should be. Well, almost everything. The moves don't usually have the love of one's life meeting a violent end. But, then again, not everyone's love interest used to be a superhero. That's right, you heard me, Ben was one of 6, cough *7* cough, students of The Umbrella Academy, a crime fighting squad with powers. And your Ben had the strangest of all, a monster hidden within that he could summon anytime and manifest tentacles via his chest cavity.

The first time you saw his power in action you were sat in your room watching as he paced nervously. It was terrifying, not his powers but him, his face scrunched up, body coiled, knuckles turning white from shear force and he began to sweat profusely. He looked like he was in immeasurable pain and that to you was far more important than any extra appendages. So when you flung your arms around him, mindful of his tentacles, and told him this the look you received in return was one of intense wonderment. And, when you interacted with them it began to border on awe, it was that night you had your first kiss.

Now normally you'd scoff at girls who were swept away by romance, whose relationship progressed far too fast, but when it was you in that position it seemed natural. It wasn't forced, you'd been friends since childhood and your love for him had just been a foregone conclusion, from that of a friend to that of a romantic partner. You cannot pinpoint when it happened, it simply just was.

When he died everything felt wrong. You found yourself waiting by the window where he would sneak through every night. Or catch yourself turning to speak to him and breakdown in realisation. But, you had Klaus, sweet lonely Klaus, who pushed his grief aside to help you, a boy who was probably far more heartbroken at his brothers passing and far more traumatised due to being there when it happened. He was a far better friend than you deserved and it was these moments sat helping and sharing that you saw what Ben had seen. Klaus’s heart, his potential.

It took a long time but you began to move on, grow up. You had too, but nothing felt completely right again. You did what was expected of you, you went to school, attempted date set-ups. You smiled and laughed in all the right places all the while wondering why these people who claimed to love you could not see that you were drowning. Screaming out into a world that did not give a shit.

You and Klaus continued to be close friends, a friendship born from a desperate attempt to keep Ben close. You both however, came to care dearly for each other, and when you sat huddled in the dark neither had to pretend. You spoke of your emptiness, a feeling of disconnect with the rest of the world, as if you were an outsider watching a series of events. And when Klaus confessed his powers, what his dad did to him and the need of drugs to make it all go away, you sat and held him raging internally at the man who moved his children like pawns.

It was this bond that you shared that led to him calming you, grounding you when the dissonance you felt became too much, when you felt like a passenger in your own body. To you cleaning him up after a drug filled binge, desperately trying to help. But, you both knew the real reason neither of you reached out for help. A lack of motivation. What reason other than each other did you have to get better? Who would actually help, when others told you in your moment of grief that you needed to smile more and for god-sakes can't you just be happy? Or, Klaus, who actually managed to work up the courage to enter rehab only to be treated like just another body, no one actually showing him the tools to cope.

You were sat one night at your cluttered desk mindlessly reading sheet after sheet. Homework was a bitch. You'd think that the older you got the less you have but no, even as a PhD student you still had fuck tons. It was here, rereading yet again about Medieval Poets that you felt a tell tale breeze followed your window creaking open and a lithe figure clambered through.

Swirling on your chair, internally cheering at the distraction, you surveyed him and gave a small sigh of relief. He looked better than last time, when he was covered in blood smelling of sweat and grime muttering about Dave. Don't get me wrong he looked far from ok but you'd take what you could get. As the saying goes, slow and steady wins the race.

Dropping your pencil you asked, “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

Nervousness bloomed in the recess of your mind as he didn't give his usual snarky reply but instead perched himself on the end of your bed and stared at you rather seriously face  laden with guilt.

“Klaus,” you began tentatively, “what’s wrong?”

He took a steadying breath, hand clutching the bed. “My powers have err somewhat grown recently.”

Your mouth dropped open, this could either be very good or very bad. You knew how Klaus felt about his powers, the toll they took. “Ok?”

“The ghosts,” he started, “I can touch them, make them real.”

You squeal, “That’s brilliant.”

“Yeah,” he said, “Brilliant.”

You quirk a brow but he doesn't answer, his body goes taught, face one of extreme concentration and you gasp in surprise as a figure fades into existence.

You raise a hand to cover your mouth, eyes unable to take in what they were seeing. You became dimly aware that you had reached out a shaking hand, flinching as the figure took it before letting out a sob as he pressed it against his chest, breathing out a broken -

“Ben.”

He gives a sad smile and walked closer, slowly so as not to spook, never dropping your hand.

“Y/N.”

Tears poured down your face, how many times had you dreamt this? He was here, you could literally reach out and touch him. Your mind whirled, when something occurred to you.

“How, how long has Klaus been able to see you?”

“Since the day I died.”

You whip round betrayal evident in your expression. “And you didn't think to say anything?”

He doesn't answer but Ben does, he places his hand, oh god, on your shoulders drawing you back to him. “I asked him not to.”

“Why?”

“You were already struggling, it would have killed you. Killed me, to see you, not being able to talk to you, touch you, kiss you.”

“And now, cos from the sounds of it this” you say gesturing between the two of you “Isn't a permanent thing.”

He brushed a piece of your hair behind your ear. “I guess for once I wanted to be selfish, I had to take this. I love you.”

You hiccup, “love you.”

H smirks, shrugging a shoulder, “I am pretty loveable.”

You let out wet sob, you've missed this and whack his chest.

“Yikes, violent woman.”

He reaches a hand to caress your face before leaning in to place a kiss to your lips. Just as his lips brush yours he fades and you stumble forwards landing on you knees. Tears runs down you face, as you let out a keening wail, fisting the carpet below.

Ben

Klaus gives a tired groan and slides off the bed to kneel beside your trembling form.

“I’m sorry, that's all I could do”

You stop him from apologising, none of this was his fault and give him a watery smile, he’d given you a great gift the least you could do was put him at ease. So pushing aside the numbness that was creeping alarmingly fast through you body you tell him -

“Thank you.”

His phone rings and he reluctantly leaves, throwing a paring glance your way. You follow him to the window, leaning out watching him sprint down the alley between your houses, eyes staring blankly ahead.

Goodbye Ben.

[blitheringmcgonagall]

Chapters: 32/? Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: James Potter/Lily Evans Potter, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin

Warning: mention of parental physical abuse

Notes:

Happy Birthday Remus J Lupin!! It's mentioned in this chapter. He’s such a fucking brilliant 

              Chapter 32: The Centre Cannot Hold

“Look at this, Moony!” said Peter. “It’s unbelievable! The lies they’ve printed about James!”

Peter always loved gossip, to the point where he seemed to enjoy other people’s misfortunes, and seeing as they were talking about one of their best friends, his eager tone of voice was infuriating Remus.

“Give it,” he said tersely, grabbing The Daily Prophet from Peter’s hands.

“We were all terrified of him – Our new investigative journalist Rita Skeeter takes an exclusive, no holds barred, look at Hogwarts’ Head Boy accused of murder.” screamed the headline.

“He was always a bully, right from the start of first year, we were all terrified of him. Potter and his gang were always hexing other students, nasty dark magic, especially towards Slytherin students, for no reason. We used to dread bumping into him in the corridors, especially if one of us was alone. It was like he was immune from trouble with the Professors. We guessed it was because of his parents being so filthy rich.” So says one of the Slytherin students in Seventh Year, who agrees to speak with me on condition he remain anonymous. He says it’s because of fear of retribution. “One of the boys in his gang would definitely come after me if I give you my name, and I wouldn’t be able to defend myself,” he says, peering around in obvious fear.

“I’m disgusted he was ever made Head Boy, makes me sick,” says another classmate from Slytherin. “He had a vicious streak, nearly got expelled in Fifth Year. Should have been. Yet, lo and behold, he’s Head Boy. Madness. Even the Head Girl hated him. She always stood up to him and hated him for years? Then suddenly I heard they were dating. Dating? I nearly choked. She was obviously too intimidated to say no to him any longer.  I don’t know how she put up with him. I’ve no doubt she extremely relieved to be rid of him and hoping he gets sent to Azkaban for good. Pretty much told me so herself, in as many words. Of course, she’ll deny it if you ask her, she’s terrified of him too, poor thing.” The student shakes his shoulder-length hair sadly and looks very emotional.

I ask the first student if that isn’t going a bit too far.

“I couldn’t agree more,” the first student insists. “I’m wondering if he used the Imperius Curse to force her into dating him, I wouldn’t put it past him. He’s got a bad reputation when it comes to women. I heard he treats her very badly, that he’s very controlling of her. I’m loathe to suggest such a vile thing about a fellow Pureblood wizard, but I think the Ministry should check his wand just to be sure.”

Both students look very depressed as they tell me about the low morale among students in Hogwarts. They don’t hold out much hope that the teachers can keep the student body safe.

“Potter and his friends nearly got me expelled over false allegations last year,” the first student adds, sniffing tearfully. “My parents were appalled. Thank Merlin Professor Dumbledore cleared me.”

I am shocked at the revelations I hear from these brave students. I approach other students to talk to me about James Potter, but they seem reluctant and gets very angry with me when I gently try to probe, as though afraid to be seen talking to me. The two students agree with my observations.

“His friends are very intimidating. Potter tried to kill me in Fifth Year. Potter’s family must have paid off some members of the Board of Management because nothing came of it. I was treated abominably,” says the thinner boy, who looks visibly shaken.

I ask the poor boy if he is still traumatised by what happened, and he nods.

“One of Potter’s friends was particularly nasty. I can’t say more, except that what he did to me was criminal, and shortly afterwards, he ran away from home and now lives with the Potters. His parents are devastated. They’ve never gotten over it, it’s shocking. Such a lovely family too.”

“He’s mentally unstable, threatened to come after his little brother to kill him,” interrupts the first student, looking very upset. “He hates his little brother so much, it’s truly tragic. He tried to attack his brother at home one day, I heard he tried to cast a Crucio on him, and they had to intervene. I’m surprised that he hasn’t been charged with attempted murder, I personally think his parents were too good to him. They had to ban their terrified younger son from seeing his brother, it’s horrid,” he concludes. “I have a feeling that the Potters were forced by their son to take in his delinquent friend. I’ve heard Potter is very nasty towards his parents. Bullies them mercilessly and demands money from them all the time. They live in fear of him. You’d have to feel sorry for them, poor things, they’re very elderly.”

Remus put down the paper. He couldn’t read any more of the article. His hands were shaking.

“Peter, I think I’ll be in detention for some time after today,” he said, standing up. “I’m sorry it means I won’t be able to tutor you in History of Magic.”

Remus looked cool and composed, but Peter knew him too well. The glint in his eyes was murderous. Peter gulped and nodded, glancing outside to make sure he wasn’t mixing up his lunar calendar.

“Okay… fuckety, fuckety, fuck!” he muttered to himself, nodding at Remus.

“Good,” said Remus curtly, picking up the paper again and walking towards the Slytherin table where Wilkes and Snape were sitting.

“Fuck!” groaned Peter, looking over at the Professors’ table and back at Remus, whose long strides had almost reached his target, vacillating between coming to Remus’ aid and screaming at the teachers.

Remus placed the newspaper down lightly on the table and stared at Snape and Wilkes.

“I suggest you retract those lies,” he said, his voice deadly calm.

Snape and Wilkes stared back. Wilkes looked slightly disconcerted, Snape positively scared.

“You might want to give it some thought,” Remus said, pointing his wand at Snape. “The way I’m feeling at the moment, you’re lucky I’m don’t do worse.”

“Bracas Igni*,” he intoned calmly.

“What the fuck are you playing at, Lupin?” hissed Snape, who had never heard of that spell before.

He felt an unusual heat in his trousers, and stood up quickly, just as Wilkes was also hit by Remus’s spell. He couldn’t see anything, but the sensation of his legs being on fire persisted painfully.

“Did you just set my trousers on fire, Lupin?” shouted Wilkes, wincing and jumping from foot to foot.

“Liar, liar,” replied Remus coldly. “Ask Snape, he’s half-muggle, he gets it.”

Snape and Wilkes yelped with pain and made to leave the Great Hall, cursing loudly.

“Detention, both of you, for three weeks,” the shaking voice behind Remus was Lily Evans’.

The two opened their mouths to protest but the pain in their legs was getting the better of them.

“Mr. Wilkes, Mr. Snape, my office, immediately!”

Remus had never seen Mc Gonagall look so angry in his entire life.

“Longum Nasum mendacibus!**” said Lily, ignoring the Head of Gryffindor, hitting them both with a multi-coloured spell in front of the terrifying Professor.

“Miss Evans! What do you think you’re doing?” cautioned Mc Gonagall sharply.

“They lied,” she shot defiantly. “Vicious, horrible lies.”

“No we didn’t!” said Wilkes heatedly. “Fucking Merlin, my legs are killing me! Lupin attacked me, Professor, it’s agony!”

Snape’s eyes grew wide as he watched Wilkes’ nose grow by three inches.

“Really, Wilkes? Not interested,” Lily said, folding her arms, her green eyes narrowing. “Snape?”

“Er, most of what I said was true,” Snape said, alarmed as his own nose shot forwards even longer.

“What in Morgana’s hell is happening?” yelled Wilkes, looking furious.

“Ask Snape, he’s half-muggle, he knows,” Lily replied, tucking her wand back inside her pocket. “You’re lucky Professor Mc Gonagall arrived when she did.”

Remus laughed aloud then, shaking his head lightly. The sound had more than a hint of a snarl about it.

“Well played, Evans,” he said.

All the muggleborn students and some of the half-blood students had started to clap, making Lily smile briefly.

“I’ll deal with you both later, Miss. Evans and Mr. Lupin,” said Mc Gonagall firmly. “You two, Wilkes and Snape, follow me, Professor Dumbledore wants to see you both immediately. You are a disgrace to this school.”

If only looks could kill, thought Remus.

“But my legs!” howled Wilkes. “Make it stop.”

“Professor Dumbledore may know the counter-spell,” said Minerva. “I can’t say I do.”

“Any word from Sirius?” asked Lily quietly as they watched the back of Mc Gonagall’s cloak swishing angrily.

Remus hesitated, recalling the most recent owl he had received from his boyfriend.

Dearest Moony,

I fucking miss you. A lot. I had no idea Mum and Dad were ill until I went home with Mc Gonagall. They’ve both had a relapse of Dragon Pox. It’s pretty bad at their age. They’re besides themselves worrying about Prongs. So am I. And about them as well.

They can’t get any decent Legal Counsellors to defend his case. I don’t know what to do. There’s only two weeks to go till the trial starts. I don’t know how this case skipped ahead of a list of other serious crimes, but I can take a wild guess. I’m accompanying them to meet Moody tomorrow to see if he can help. Dumbledore and the Professors can’t ‘cause they’ve being called as witnesses for the Prosecution. Fucking nightmare.

I swear to you, my family is behind this. I don’t know what to do. I’ll have to do something.

Please can you and Evans start trying to figure out what the fuck happened? I’m staying here with Mum and Dad, they need help and they won’t accept it from anyone else. Being here is helping them, so they say. I can’t leave them, what if something happened and I wasn’t here? I’ve asked Minnie and she’s sending me on all the notes I’m missing from classes. She’s a fucking angel. I’ve done more swotting in the past week than in all of Seventh Year. Mum is proud of me. At least it’s making her smile occasionally.

I’m playing Reg’s piece a bit, the piano helps.

I don’t know what to do. I’m so worried about Prongs.

Love to Wormy and Lily. Poor Lily, this shit on top of everything else… give her a big hug from me. Tell her I won’t let anything bad happen to her future husband.

I love you so much, it’s hard to put it into words. You’re what’s keeping me going.

Yours faithfully,

Sirius

Keep reading  Chapter 32: The Centre Cannot Hold

[dayna-scully]

Sucker

Set in the hiatus between s3 and s4.  

suggested listening: sucker / jonas brothers, 400 bones / frightened rabbit

AO3

     It wasn’t on purpose - he hadn’t planned any of this, not how he would have liked to. There were no romantic dinners, barely even anything that could be considered a date, and he definitely hadn’t meant to tell her he loved her. How had that slipped out?

     When Gibbs quit - retired - whatever, Tony had been promoted to team leader. From the outside, it may have seemed like a promotion, but it felt like being stranded on a desert island. McGee was little more than a probie, and Ziva had been stateside for all of two seconds. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust them - he just didn’t know that he would be able to wrangle them with the skill Gibbs always had.

     The first few cases were tough - no one was prepared to work without Gibbs, and Tony had the sneaking suspicion that Abby resented him for becoming team lead in Gibbs’ absence. After a while, Tony, Ziva, and McGee fell into a steady routine of campfires and case reports. Steady, but certainly not comfortable. His team members resisted Tony taking point, though not intentionally. With Gibbs, there was a flow, and Tony’s sudden promotion had interrupted that.

     Ziva could barely look him in the eye, and the drives to crime scenes were eerily silent. Tony couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something lurking just under the surface, something that wanted to be said - something that had been there since she had first caught him fantasizing about Kate. But now, without Gibbs’ presence, it lingered between them without a buffer. Tony felt out of control, and he didn’t like not being in control.  Ziva and Tim acted dutifully, participated in campfires, filled out their paperwork without (much) complaint, but it wasn’t quite right.  Tony had the job he always wanted, but nothing was right about this situation.

-

     The first night he showed up on her doorstep, he hadn’t planned any of it. He had intended on driving to the nearest bar and drowning his sorrows at the bottom of a glass of aged scotch. But, as if possessed, he had driven straight past the Red Feather, continuing west towards Ziva’s apartment. And then he was at her door, knocking, and she was there, answering.

     “Tony? Why are you here?” He struggled to respond, and Ziva noticed his hesitation. Laughing, she reached out to smooth the crease between his eyebrows. “Perhaps your brain has been baked by this case.” A small grin pulled at his lips, though he was surprised by the intimacy of her touch.

     “Fried, Ziva. You get baked when you, well…maybe we’ll try it sometime.” She rolled her eyes and Tony felt his stomach flip. He swallowed hard, trying to force the butterflies back into their dark, deep corner somewhere to the left of his liver.

     “Aren’t you gonna invite me in?”  She stepped back, pulling the door open enough for him to step through.  Ever the keen investigator, Tony tried to take in every possible detail of her apartment, from the surprisingly cluttered kitchen counter to her unsurprisingly bare walls.

     “Would you like a drink?”  He hadn’t noticed her cross the room, but there she was, head buried in the fridge.

     “Just a beer, thanks.  What were you up to before I unceremoniously interrupted your evening? Prepping for a hot date?”  Ziva snorted, emerging from the fridge with a beer in each hand.

     “Yes, a hot date with my book,” she said, handing Tony one of the bottles.  He twisted it open and tossed the cap into the sink, heading towards the couch.  Dropping himself onto the plush brown cushions, he picked up the book that had been left face down on the arm, leaving his finger on her page before flipping it over to check the front cover.

     “Ahh, The Da Vinci Code.  Very hip, Zee-vah.”

     “McGee recommended it.  Apparently, it is very interesting.”  Tony opened his mouth, inhaling deeply as if preparing to launch into a monologue.  “Do not – Tony, do not tell me what happens,” Ziva said, sitting down on the opposite end of the couch.  “I would like to find out for myself.”  He didn’t respond, watching her face soften as she took a sip from her bottle, then turned to him.  The twisty sensation returned in his stomach, a sensation he had realised was associated with her smile, her hair, her…her.  He cringed, breaking the eye contact and running a hand over his hair.  The blushing tween thing was so 1980.

     “Have you heard from Gibbs at all?”  Ziva took a much longer pull from the bottle before answering.

     “No, I have not.  I do not think he wants to speak to me, Tony.  Abby, perhaps, but not me.”  Tony reached out to brush away an errant strand of hair from her face, fingertips trailing down her cheek.

     “Are you ever going to tell me what happened? It must have been…important.”  She was preoccupied with the bottlecap in her hand, avoiding his gaze.  She hadn’t told him about Ari, or about the bond between them that had drawn Gibbs out of his amnesia.  Gibbs’ abandonment had pressed its fingers into a very sore, very much unhealed wound, and despite the connection she felt with Tony, she couldn’t bring herself to tell him any of it.

     “We don’t have to talk about it,” he said, sufficiently chastised by her uncomfortable silence. “I just thought…I thought maybe I could help.”  Help with what, he thought.  He knew something heavy had gone down between Gibbs and Ziva, something to do with Ari. He didn’t know what it had to do with Gibbs’ amnesia, or with his sudden Mexican sabbatical.  He also didn’t really know how he intended to help Ziva, but he was certainly willing to try.  Eager, even.

     “Good work on the case today, Boss,” Ziva said finally, smirking at him. She had shifted seamlessly into geniality, lightly shoving him when he failed to respond.  “You are blushing, Tony!  I thought you liked being the team leader.”  It was now Tony’s turn for an uncomfortable silence.

     “It feels…dirty.  It shouldn’t be mine, not this way,” he said, shaking his head.

     “Then how?  You did not fire Gibbs, or send him away.  He chose to leave.  You should be proud of how you are doing, Tony,” she said, leaning towards him. “I am proud of you.”  Okay, now he was really blushing.  She set her hand on his shoulder.  “Truly, Tony. Gibbs would be, too.”

     They held eye contact for a moment, neither willing to break the spell.  Slowly, Ziva moved closer, pressing her lips to his.  He leaned back, and she stared boldly at him while he floundered.

     “Ziva, I – we –” She kissed him again, and this time he knew not to pull away.

-

     And then it continued to happen. Night after night, Tony promised himself he wouldn’t find his way back to her apartment, back to her bed, and every night, that’s where he found himself. He wasn’t complaining, exactly, it just didn’t help his problem.

     It didn’t help him to feel in control when he knew he was falling for her, hard. It didn’t help that he also couldn’t tell if the feeling was mutual. She had, in true ninja fashion, the straightest of poker faces.

     By July, Tony had stopped pretending it had anything to do with “relieving tension,” as he had up to that point excused it. He hadn’t, however, stopped referring to it as, well, “it.” He didn’t know what he was supposed to call what they were doing - they weren’t dating, but whatever it was had an edge to it that friends with benefits wasn’t supposed to have. They didn’t talk about what they were doing, and Tony certainly hadn’t told anyone, but the long looks across the bullpen and silent-but-not-uncomfortably-so rides to crime scenes with McGee in the back seat had started to feel more and more obvious. Tony was getting antsy, about the job and about their extra-curricular activities.

     He began to suspect Lee knew what was going on between them.  She and Jimmy hadn’t been very good at hiding their own budding relationship, and he had the sense that she could feel the shift in his own with Ziva.  Calling it a relationship, though, felt more intimate than what was warranted.  At most, they shared a beer, or some wine, before she was stripping his shirt off and he was leading her to the bed.  He craved her all day long, every second he wasn’t beside her, every second his hands weren’t on her.  Tony was pretty sure the rest of the team could, at the very least, smell the longing oozing out of his pores, if they hadn’t already noticed his staring at Ziva.

     She couldn’t shake him, his eyes following her every movement at work and after.  Ziva knew that this couldn’t continue, that it had already gone on for too long.  Eli had beaten it into her – relationships were weaknesses that could, and would, be exploited. And she felt the weakness growing, could feel her softness for Tony swallowing her whole.  She couldn’t afford to let him in, for both of their sakes.

-

           The heat of August settled over them slowly, softening their nights and making their days a blur of humidity and sunshine.  She was his, only his, her face softening when their eyes met, his fingers tangled in her hair.  He was everywhere in her apartment, inescapable, but she liked it – she wanted to drown herself in him.  Her sheets smelled of him, sweat and cologne and gun powder, his jacket hung over the back of her kitchen chair, more domestic than she could have imagined.  He was inside of her, all over her, never too far away, always willing to melt under her hands.

He felt her shift, felt her sigh against the crook of his neck.  Sometimes – rarely, but sometimes – she dozed off beside him and he let himself pretend that they were a thing, a proper couple who shared more than a bed. She was warm, tucked into his side, though the heat pressed itself against the windows.

-

     One final storm had broken the summer’s heat, the rain cooling the pavement and roofs as September inched towards them.  Their most recent case had been traumatising, even for them.  Too many close calls for everyone on the team had exhausted them, but Tony still appeared at her door.  Ziva was bruised, tired.  Her vest had kept her from being struck by a wildly-fired bullet, but it hadn’t protected her from the massive force behind the small ball of metal.  Tony had almost lost his mind when he saw it, and couldn’t get the memories of Kate in the same situation out of his head.  Last time, his partner hadn’t survived – but last time he hadn’t been sleeping with her, he thought.

     Ziva could feel the difference that night – he was gentler, but he held her tighter, breathing her in.  She had been scared, too – terrified that her luck and her training had finally failed her.  She had fought to keep her composure as Tony flung himself towards her, convinced she was injured.  It was a breach of their normal stoicism, and it unsettled her.  She knew she was in too deep.

     “Jesus, Ziva – love you.  Wanna get lost in you,” he mumbled into the side of her neck. She froze in his arms, body tense.

     “Tony, I can not - this is not-” Ziva was uncharacteristically inarticulate, the words catching in her throat. Her heart pounded, and she felt the room swimming as she shifted away from him. This was not what she had expected, not what she had intended to happen.

     Tony was pulled from the haze as he realized what he had said.

     Too good to be true ran through his mind, but he wasn’t sure where the good had been. It was just sex, had only ever been just sex, but his ears were ringing and hurt was pressing down on him, drowning him, as he struggled to reply.

     “Right, no, sorry. I just got…caught up in, in…the moment.” A stammering teenager, rejected by the girl he asked to prom. Way to go, DiNozzo. Very adult.  He disentangled himself from her, sliding out from under her sheets, and began gathering his clothes.

     She looked like a trapped animal, eyes searching for the easiest exit, though she sat on the bed, sheets wrapped around her.

    “I’m sorry, Ziva. I’ll…I’ll see myself out.” He left her, mouth agape, staring at her front door.

     He clenched his jaw as tight as possible, willing the tears and humiliation away. The streetlights blurred as the tears rose defiantly. He stumbled to his car, fumbling with his keys and the door handle.

     He had meant it, of course. Of course, of course, of course.

     Ziva still lay frozen, though the cool air was settling over her exposed skin and raising goosebumps in its wake. Her heart refused to slow, continuing to pound wildly in her chest. Everyone believed there were only two options when confronted with a stressor - fight or flight. Ziva had certainly been trained to fight wherever possible, but there was a third option - freeze. Tony had told her that.

-

     There was one final case before Tony’s flight to the security conference, one last set of uncomfortable car rides and a silent bullpen.

     Ziva felt an uncharacteristic blush rise in her cheeks as she sat in the passenger seat of the blue Charger, with Tony sitting less than a foot away. It had been a week since they had been together, a week since he had fled her apartment, since she had lain frozen for hours after he left.

     She saw his fingers tighten around the steering wheel, knuckles whitening from the tension. His jaw clenched as well, as if he were forcing himself not to speak.

     “You have something to say, Tony,” she stated. Her voice was uneven, almost trembling.  He was quiet still, his eyes on the road in front of them.  When he did speak, it was so soft she almost didn’t hear.

     “I meant it, Ziva.”  She turned away quickly, couldn’t bear to look at him.  He loved her, and it made her stomach twist and her heart pound, and she wasn’t sure what that meant.  She wasn’t supposed to get attached, but here she was, wondering if maybe she was in love with him, too.

     “Tony–”

     “No, just – just leave it.  Forget about it.  I’m senior field agent, it shouldn’t have happened.” I should have known, he thought.  All he could remember was the look on her face when he’d said it, stony, distant.  Afraid.  “I’ll go to this stupid conference and when I get back, we’ll be…normal, okay?  It didn’t happen.”

     Except it did, and he loved her, and it was all he could think about every second of every day, like she was the blood in his veins.  But she couldn’t look at him, wouldn’t look at him, and he knew that if he pressed the issue it would only make things worse.

     It was too much for her to process, not while she was still adjusting to a new country and a new job.  Loving Tony – loving anyone – felt so outside of her personal and professional boundaries, and she just…couldn’t.  Not right now.

     “Normal.  Okay,” she echoed.  Okay.

[redspiderling]

MCU Breakdown: The Avengers

I was actually working on a post for Iron Man 2, but my recent anon just made me think about the Avengers. A lot. So here’s a breakdown of the film that really got me hooked in the MCU, because of its well made inclusion of the Black Widow. I hope you’re patient, it’s very long.

This used to be my favourite Natasha. Yes, I like the Avengers Natasha more than the Winter Soldier Natasha, and that’s because this Natasha is really close to comic book Natasha, she’s a badass and she tells her own story. Winter Soldier Natasha is there to support Steve Rogers on his journey, and she didn’t punch Nick Fury in the face at the end of the film, but more on that when we get there.

This is how we meet Natasha in the Avengers movie:

It’s an illusion of course. I’ve talked about this extensively before, Black Widow is an excellent strategist and a brilliant intelligence operative, and is in control of pretty much any situation. But we don’t really know her yet (not if we haven’t seen Iron Man 2, and even there her character was really not fleshed out), and we, like the nameless goons of this scene, have probably already underestimated her. 

This scene gives us very specific information about Natasha:

a) Don’t underestimate her, because she can end you.

b) She -still- works for SHIELD as an intelligence operative.

c) She puts herself at risk for her mission. She will complain to her boss about messing with her work, but will drop said work without question for Clint. So, Natasha’s priorities look like this:

Friends> Mission> SHIELD> Personal safety/health

d) She is aware of her strengths and weaknesses, i.e. she knows Stark is still pissed off at her because of the whole Natalie thing, and she makes this face when she realises they ask her to go find the Hulk:

Very strong intro for a spectacular character. They knew it was good, which is why they put this scene right after the “prologue”. So far so good.

(note: I think one of the reasons Scarlett loves Natasha as much as she does, is because she probably constantly faces people who underestimate her. Who see a beautiful woman and nothing more, and she just wishes she could use the thighs of death on them. Or knock them out with a crowbar.)

We are now in India where Dr. Banner is hiding. This young girl has been sent to fetch him. Black Widow has a plan.

She knows Banner is... sensitive. She knows he might not react well to what she has to say, so:

First, she gets him to as much of a secluded place as possible, in order to avoid as many casualties as she can, in case things go south. She uses a young girl as her messenger to manipulate him for 2 reasons:

1) because she knew he would be unable to refuse to offer help to a child

2) because by comparing herself to a young helpless girl, wins her sympathy points with the doctor.

She also makes sure to assume the identity of an ordinary woman, and tries to make an intimate setting, to make him feel more at ease. She literally sets up a scene and all its pieces.

Her costume was also carefully chosen. Layered, so she can give him the illusion of sharing herself, of becoming more intimate. When she tells him she’s been a spy since childhood, and that they are there talking, just the 2 of them, she takes off the shawl. Notice of course again, how she tries to make him underestimate her, by sharing a part of her painful past. She doesn’t mind causing herself physical or psychological pain, to get to her goal.

She introduces herself with her real name, of course, and after explaining she works for SHIELD, she uses the word “we”. SHIELD is a faceless organisation, and she has now given it the face of a young, traumatised woman. 

When Banner asks “What if I say no?” she smiles, and replies “I’ll persuade you”. She wants to let him know, that she can exercise control over him. She knows he won’t mind now that they have gotten chummier.

When Banner asks “What if the other guy says no?” she replies “You’ve been more than a year without an incident, I don’t think you’d want to break that streak”. She puts him in control of the Hulk, and at the same time challenges him to keep his cool.

Don’t think this is not working, it’s working perfectly. Banner is now relaxed, and says “I don’t always get what I want”. He’s opening up. He thinks he’s sitting down with a friend and they’re having a conversation about their feelings.

But Natasha will have none of that. Remember, priorities. The moment she realises he’s lax, she latches on the reason she’s actually there for. Sorry doc, I’m not actually here to help you resolve your issues. She mentions the global catastrophe because if he doesn’t want to participate she’s going to guilt trip him into participating because, let’s face it doc, world safety> psychological issues.

Bruce is really not happy with the reason she’s actually there for. That’s when she mentions the science stuff, which she uses as the final hook, and of course, it works.

He is disbelieving of the fact that they need him, for him, which is sad for Bruce of course, because he’s a brilliant man who has beer worn down by his circumstances, and it is also very telling of his mistrust towards any kind of authority, which is why Natasha chooses to separate herself from said authority now. When he pressures her on her information, she passes the ball on to Fury. This way, any anger is directed at a person far away, and she can still keep herself in his good books, and the atmosphere can hopefully remain friendly.

Nonetheless, she can feel he’s angry. Or antsy. Or something. Which is why she leans over the table to reach for her phone, and when he bursts out, she’s at the perfect spot to pull out the gun she had hidden under the table.

Now, this is what I don’t like:

Bruce proclaims: “Stop lying to me!” Considering the fact that he actually believes her on the “the world is at risk, we need you” thing, and also on the fact that her knowledge of what exactly he will be asked to do for SHIELD, I am left to wonder, what is the lies she’s told him that upset him?

Natasha hasn’t lied to him. What she has done, is create the correct circumstances that would allow her to have a conversation with him. She has played on what information she has on his personality, to get him to relax. And that’s what he has a problem with. But really Bruce, she told you she works for SHIELD straight on, did you really think she was there so you two could talk about your feelings over a bottle of red? Were you really that insulted by the fact that she didn’t just walk up to you in the middle of the day and say “Hey bro, I’m with SHIELD”, but went through an elaborate plan like this to get you to talk with her?

His pride was hurt, because the pretty lady was actually there on business and the intimacy of the scene was an illusion. So he reacted as any male would. He wanted to prove that in the end, he has the upper hand. How does he have the upper hand? He can kill her if he wants. 

“I just wanted to see what you’d do” is bullshit talk for “are you afraid?”. 

High praises for the one and only Natasha Romanoff, who yes, is afraid, but is staring him down the barrel of her gun anyway. We love you Natasha!

On Bruce’s defence, he does recognise that it was a dick move and apologises. Not that I, or Natasha, forgive him. He thinks he calls it a truce when he says “I’ll keep the other guy in, you put the gun down”.

He also thinks he’s the injured party here, because there were armed men in the premises. Dude, you’re the Hulk.

Clearly Bruce has -a lot- of issues to work through, but that’s for one of his own fans to work on, I’m going to focus on our girl, who makes this face in reply to his sarcastic “just you and me?”:

which roughly translates to “are you for real?” But seriously. She’s trying to regain her composure after the doctor faked his rage. That disbelieving, horrified look, should have been there in AoU as well, but well.

Can I just also mention that it’s very telling of the Black Widows skills, that she goes after the Hulk, while Coulson gets Stark and Fury, Steve Rogers?

This is how it would go, if they had asked Natasha to take care of Stark: *Natasha calls Pepper, tells Pepper what’s down, Pepper takes care of Tony*

Or Steve Rogers: *Natasha walks up to him in the gym, offers him a better workout, and after a few rounds on the mat are over and pleasantries have been exchanged, Steve recognises her as a hard-as-shell brilliant fighter who, instead of pissing him off with plans of grandeur involving the tesseract like Fury did, simply tells him, hey Cap, this was fished out the water and stolen, sorry but you need to help us steal it back, and he does.*

Natasha is very casual and cool when she eventually meets Cap. Keeping in mind that he just spent an entire plane ride with his biggest fan, she tries not to make a big deal out of his arrival. Again, she wants him to feel at ease. She doesn’t dodge the subject of his continued existence but she does show kindness, and instead of rubbing salt in his wounds like Fury did, she makes jokes about Coulson: the Fanboy.

She also switches to SHIELD Agent mode when Banner gets there, and watches their reactions to the Helicarrier for her own personal amusement.

I resent the fact that Banner made such a big deal out of the theatrics put in place to get him to cooperate with Natasha, but thanks Fury for “asking nicely”. Men.

Let’s not forget why Natasha is here and not somewhere in Russia having fun with her playthings. 

I would also like to point out, that Fury is the one who, once again, makes Natasha, specifically, take Banner to the lab.

She’s not happy with that, because she didn’t look at either of them while she followed Fury’s orders. And if you think even for a moment, that Fury wasn’t deliberate, you’re mistaken. And if you think it’s weird, you’re right. And before anyone rushes off to name him matchmaker, trust me, he’s not. He just knows Bruce’s weakness and doesn’t give a shit about Natasha’s.

“Guy’s all over the place”, as in, he has a reindeer helmet, he’s a nut-job.

That smile goes to the fact that Stark is actually holding no ill feelings, and also, who better to deal with a highly intelligent nut-job with daddy issues, that another highly intelligent nut-job with daddy issues?

This scene shows another aspect of her character, that of the agent who can work from the sidelines offering support to a team (and report back to SHIELD). Natasha wasn’t there to fight, she was there to observe. Let’s not forget, she was the one who interviewed Stark for the Avengers, Fury trusts her to juggle the team dynamics, that was her role, to see how they worked together.

Natasha is there for Thor when he needs a reality check, and not-so-silently judges.

And now to my favourite bit :D

Loki smiles when he understands she’s there. He has considerable insight into her character, due to the fact that he had Clint under his control, and he knows she’s no walk in the park, so he doesn’t mind complementing her on the fact that she managed to sneak up on him.

Natasha also has prepared herself for battle, which is why she approaches him as the Black Widow.

Just look how the Black Widow dominates the scene. He’s in a prison cell, she looks down on him, she’s in complete control. From here on, whatever happens in that room, happens because she allowed it.

Loki on the other hand, quite idiotically misreads the information he has on her because of what? Her sex? He really thought a woman named Black Widow would act as a balm? Oh no my friend, you will need balms after she’s done with you. 

Natasha came in after Fury failed, to get the information they needed out of him. She is clearly the best operative he has, and he always hands her the most difficult parts of any situation that needs to be dealt with perfectly.

We can see by the film language alone, the difference in characters. Natasha stands in front of the cell, and still, we are made to see it as if she’s looking down on him from above. She’s at the centre of the frame and dominates the scene. Fury is standing back, and on the side of the frame while Loki is in the centre, his posture very relaxed.

In any case, Natasha uses a different approach to Loki. Instead of discussing the big issue, she makes this personal. She makes it seem as if she’s just here for Clint. She has caught on Loki’s perception of her as deadly but decidedly female, and works on it.

When they are finally on equal footing, it’s because she has allowed it to be so. Therefore, she still has the upper hand, but chooses to make it seem as if she doesn’t.

It’s ridiculous how easily Natasha handles the flow of their discussion. She mentions Clint, and Loki readily tries to mock her. Loki loves feeling empowered, and the fact that he might have something that is of value to this woman, makes him feel good about himself. 

He wants to taunt her, and flaunt his dominance. So Natasha lets him. He wants to play psychiatrist, he sits down, and Natasha follows suit, “opening up” to him, exposing what he has presumed to be her weakness.

I love the details of Scarlett’s performance here. She hesitates, before beginning telling her story, as if this is difficult for her, to share these details. We, watching this for the first time, expected to hear some exposition about the character. We didn’t know at the time that this was Black Widow playing with her food. We were Loki, in this scene.

“Before I worked for SHIELD I... well, I made a name for myself.”

I love her sly smile in that moment, and how she settles in the chair like a big cat. Black Widow has done some pretty horrible stuff, but in that moment, Natasha looks back on her life and relishes in the fact that all that pain has led her here, in a position to con the God of lies. And she likes that. 

I know later on Marvel likes to tell us about how far Natasha is willing to go for redemption, and how ashamed she is for what she has done, blah, blah, blah. But the truth is, she was brainwashed. I think it’s cool that now that she doesn’t work for the bad guys anymore, she should be able to enjoy being a super awesome mastermind, highly trained badass working for the good guys. She’s the Black Widow people, let her relish in the fact that she can manipulate evil men and bathe in their blood and tears.

Loki is so cocky, so sure of himself, it’s freakishly easy for Natasha to make him think he has the upper hand. 

He wants to hurt her, because she’s been here talking with him for this long, and not once has she mentioned his plans for Earth! It’s like she doesn’t even care (and at some point she calls on her Russian heritage for not giving a shit about rulers) so she should be made to suffer of course.

Also, Scarlett goes from this:

To this:

to this:

At that point, Natasha didn’t even have to do anything, once she got Loki going, she just pretty much let him tattle on his amazing plan. Because in trying to hurt her, like the sociopath that he is, he forgot himself and gave away too much. 

Sly victory smile!

Moving on from that awesome piece, I’m left wondering, does Marvel want me to dislike Bruce?

First, he was upset that Natasha wasn’t upfront with her approach of him in India. Then, he thanked Fury from approaching him with delicacy about this subject which, hey, it wasn’t his plan, it was Natasha’s. Then, he asks Natasha “did you know about this?!”, this being the weapons SHIELD designed that would work with energy from the tesseract, while Fury -who runs this organisation- was literally in the room. 

Is there a specific reason they wanted Bruce to be upset with Natasha? Is it because they wanted to add tension to the group? Does that make Bruce look like a jackass? Yes, to all of those.

Let me just say, that I love the fact that Natasha was allowed to call him out on his bullshit. “You didn’t come here because I bat my eyelashes at you”, i.e. you don’t get to be upset for the way you were approached, because you know it was the only way you would allow this communication to happen and somewhere deep down you’re a good person, who wouldn’t say no to saving the world. And that, is the actual reason all of them are there. Deep down, they are good people, trying to do the right thing.

This is the moment where I felt bad for Bruce:

He knew what was coming and he was powerless to stop it. Not that I completely understand the reasoning behind the Hulk zeroing in on Natasha like that.

Natasha was hunted down by the Hulk, barely survived, and currently suffers multiple injuries, not to mention psychological trauma and crippling fear. Yet, she pushes all that aside, for Clint. Priorities people.

Oh! By the way, in that physical and mental state, she kicked Clint’s ass, *ahem*, sorry, I meant, she re-calibrated his head.

Also, listen Clint, I love you darling, and I know you’ve been through a lot in the last few days, but how can you ask the Black Widow if she knows what it’s like to be unmade? It’s exposition, sure, but still, that killer glare was getting away with it, honestly.

Is anyone else’s heart broken by this smile? Does anyone else realise, this is the first original good smile we get out of Natasha for the entire film? And it’s because her friend thanked her for saving him? Do you realise, in this film, Clint had the role of the damsel in distress, and Natasha was the bold hero who did anything and everything to save him. I mean, yeah, they are platonic bros, and that makes it even cooler, but still, it’s pretty good to see something like this on a major production. 

They can write the characters well, they can make them versatile, original, strong, they just choose to be sloppy. Some times.

Natasha even tends to his emotional needs, and reminds him that he can’t blame himself for what happened while he was brainwashed.

They do read each other well. Clint points out that -normally- Natasha’s part in this fight should end here. Not only because this is not her scene, it’s not the way she operates, but also because her goal so far had been to get Clint back. So what is it, that keeps her going?

“I’ve been compromised. I’ve got red in my ledger, I’d like to wipe it out.”

To me, that means that Natasha feels the weight of her responsibility to the world. She can’t pretend to be uncaring to what’s going on around her. I can’t for the life of me, determine which was the turning point during the film for her character. Maybe the change occurred gradually but now, her and Clint are on the same page. They both have a responsibility to help fix this mess, and for quite similar reasons, even though neither of them was cut out for a fight of this nature. That’s the stuff heroes are made of.

Can a human being possibly express too much love for Steve Rogers? Probably not.

Perfect cinnamon roll Steve Rogers, after knowing Natasha for like, 2 whole hours, decided she’s coming to fight for the world. He’s not even asking, just “time to go.” 

And believe you me, it’s not because Stark had anything good to say about Natalie, it’s all about Steve’s perceptive nature. He even placed the trust of trusting Clint, a guy who up until 5 minutes ago was part of the enemy’s forces, on Natasha, by silently asking if he should come on board. And he never questions her. 

Even though he doesn’t entirely trust Fury, he recognises they have to put whatever issues they have aside, and he has seen enough of her to realise she’s a worthy ally, and because he is Cap, he chooses to trust her to do the right thing. That trust sets the foundation for their friendship, and it is rad af.

All I’m saying, is that Steve Rogers is a fantastic human being and we really don’t deserve him.

Natasha Romanoff: Sees alien army. Takes out her handguns, turns to Captain America and literally says “You can go, we’ll handle this” like it’s a stroll in the park. The way she kept her cool throughout the fight with the alien army is a testament to just how much crap she’s lived through. Clint too.

I know people talk about friendly neighbourhood Spider-man, but those two were killing aliens and at the same time helping kids and old ladies off busses and stuff in the battle of New York.

And fixing the arrow that was meant to kill Loki.

I’m gonna call that, her “It’s cool you’re finally here but you’re definitely not forgiven face.”

And seriously, when our very human spider willingly chose to fight this fight, Bruce needs to be reprimanded for having to be dragged into it kicking and screaming. You’re the Hulk man, get a grip, honestly.

I’d just like to add here, that Cap took excellent charge of the team, and had the perfect job for everyone BUT, it was Natasha who pointed out that there was no point fighting the aliens that came through the portal, and it was Natasha who took the initiative to find a way to shut down said portal.  And said solution had nothing to do with guns, and everything to do with brains. 

In case you didn’t notice:

In Iron Man 2: Natasha took down Vanko’s system and gave back the control of War Machine to Rhodey.

In Avengers: Natasha closed down the portal.

In Winter Soldier: Natasha made Hydra’s continued existence known to the world by releasing SHIELD’s files.

In Age of Ultron: Natasha stole Ultron’s body, destroying his plans and allowing Tony to create Vision.

In Civil War: Natasha allowing Cap to leave ended the fight.

I mean sure Cap, you’re good at strategic planning, but look what our girl can do!

I’m 99% sure the wordless communication between them is because they both do similarly crazy shit like this. Also, the look of wonder on Cap’s face after the jump: priceless. 

Ta daaaah!

To end this on a funny note: who do I need to pay to learn what kind of joke Natasha whispered in Clint’s ear? Was it dry and sarcastic? Evil? He seemed pretty happy about it so I’m guessing evil.

Anyway, thanks for sticking around, this was an extra long post. I was really happy to realise that -on the whole- the first Avengers film had actually treated Natasha pretty well, which is why it acted as a hook for most of us when it came to her character. I think I’ll probably end up doing Winter Soldier after this one so, stay tuned!

[tommyfrickingshelby]

In the blink of an eye

I loved writing this, although it does get pretty damn fluffy towards the end. But who doesn’t love a little bit of fluff every now and then...

Warnings: just swearing

Word count: 2,401

“Seriously Tommy,” you warned, beyond exasperated. “You’ve always tested my fucking patience, but right now I am this close to walking away.”

You motioned to him at just how short your fuse currently was and ran a hand over your face, eyeing Tommy through your fingers with your most menacing glare. All he could do in response was meet your scowl with his unresponsive expression, which only infuriated you more. He was smoking a cigarette, composed and serene whilst you could physically feel your blood boiling in your veins. He nonchalantly flicked the residue of ash at the end of his cigarette and watched with furrowed brows as it drifted to the damp paving below, before looking up into the bustling streets of London at the stream of motorcars and the constant torrent of people pushing past where you were both stood. It felt like an age before he finally looked back at you.

“I’m not sure what you want me to say, Y/N,” Tommy shrugged. He actually shrugged, as if you were overreacting.

“I want you to say that I mean more to you than a fuck every few nights when you need a release, and that all those nights we’ve spent sharing things meant something and weren’t just alcohol-infused mistakes,” you shouted. You were beyond caring that you were yelling in the street. You were at breaking point. “It might be nice if you actually introduced me to the people at the socialite parties you invite me along on your arm to and made me feel like I mattered to you in some way. It might be nice if you didn’t lie to people about who I am and where I’ve come from, as if you’re ashamed.”

 You came from humble beginnings; a poor family and a childhood spent cooped up in a tiny house with many siblings. Your relationship with Tommy had been fairly simple from day one. He had grown up with your brothers and spent a lot of time at your family home after school. As the years went on, you began to notice each other more. As teens, he’d sneak away from your brothers to come and find you and you’d steal first kisses in dark corners.  When you’d started frequenting the Garrison, experimental kisses turned into passionate embraces and hands hitching up skirts – and a lot of teasing from your brothers. When Tommy went off to war, you exchanged letters. You missed him, of course. He’d always been around, but nothing could prepare you for the intense feelings you felt when you saw him upon his return; weathered, traumatised but beautifully familiar. You felt as if a little tiny piece of you had been put back into place, that you never even realised you’d been without.

Since he had returned from the depths of war, Tommy had propelled himself and his family business to dizzy heights. His high-flying, business-driven life left little room for love, but Tommy would still pick you up and spend the night with you a few times a week, but something between you had been lost. The emotional connection you’d built up in your youth was dwindling and the Tommy you’d come to admire was morphing into Small Heath’s most prolific gangster.

To top it all off, he’d nothing short of embarrassed you at last night’s party. It wasn’t the first time that Tommy had bought you an expensive dress and invited you down to London with him to schmooze and mingle at high-society gatherings where free champagne was handed to you in endless quantities and delicate women fluttered past you draped in tassels and diamonds. The lavish scenes fascinated you, perhaps because they were worlds away from what you were used to in Small Heath. You had been working the room; people were interested in you and what you had to say. A wealthy looking club owner had asked you what you did for a living and before you could even answer for yourself, Tommy answered for you. And he lied. He told them you were a dress maker, leaving you to awkwardly spin falsehoods all evening about your fictional garments and make-believe clients.

The truth was that you’d been working as a pot washer in a respectable restaurant back in Birmingham. You enjoyed being busy with a job - the other workers in the kitchens had become your friends and the food the chef’s whipped up fascinated you. Tommy, however, had been encouraging you to leave and work for him almost as soon as you’d accepted the job. Now you knew, it’s because he looked down on your work. He was ashamed of you.

That on top of his recent distant behaviour was pushing you to your limits. You felt as if you were wasting your time trying to make something happen between the two of you.

 “You really have nothing to say?” you snapped, as Tommy refused to break his silence in retaliation. “You’re unbelievable, Tommy. Goodbye – don’t bother contacting me again.” With that, you turned on your heel and marched in the opposite direction. You needed to get away from Thomas Shelby and his bullshit as quickly as possible. All you wanted was to get on the next train home, close your eyes and –

 ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 The shrill shriek of a car horn and the grating crunch of brakes tore through the thick tension like a bullet in Tommy’s mind. As he turned towards the noise, his stomach dropped like a weight as he saw your delicate body tangled in the road against a motorcar. He swore under his breath, panic setting in and coursing through his veins like burning volts of electricity. A few people had reached you, but Tommy pushed them all away, dropping to his knees beside your head and taking it carefully in his hands. The intense crimson liquid was matted in your hair and stained on your forehead, seeping down onto your closed eyelids. He was used to the sight of blood, but the sight of it tainting the woman he cared about made him dizzy.

“Ambulance!” Tommy yelled, looking around him desperately at the dumfounded on-lookers, “Somebody call a fucking ambulance!”

He felt for your pulse and let out a long sigh of relief when he felt it against his finger, letting his forehead fall against yours and feeling the sticky blood against his skin. This was all his fault. If he hadn’t been so selfish and blind-sighted, you wouldn’t have stormed away from him in such a rage; too desperate to get away to even look where you were going. He regretted every second of the night before, as it was his actions and his actions only that had put you in this situation.

It’s funny how you don’t realise how much something means to you until it’s almost ripped away.

 The ambulance arrived, and they drove you to the nearest hospital. You remained unconscious, and Tommy never left your side. He was assured by the nurses that you would be ok. They treated your head wound and you were left to come around. Tommy sat by your side and dutifully waited, rehearsing the words he would say to you in a desperate attempt to win your forgiveness and most importantly, your heart.

He wanted to tell you how sorry he was for not appreciating you. You’d stood by him through thick and thin and you knew him better than most. He knew that he had been distant since his return from France and had been pushing you away, yet you’d remained dutifully by his side until now. Most importantly, you were different from the other girls. Tommy was no stranger to women throwing themselves at him at decadent parties and gatherings, all desperate for a dirty night with a gangster to go home and tell all their friends about. You, however, were honest and real. You were with him because you truly cared about him. You spent long nights with him because you wanted to please him, and you accompanied him to London because you wanted to be a part of his life. All he had given you in return were lies and disrespect and it had taken a car knocking you to the ground to make him realise.

The skin on your face had begun to faintly bruise, the mottled patches creeping into your perfect complexion like intruders in the night. Tommy felt his nerves pick up and his stomach turn at the thought of you waking. He was desperate to see your eyes again, but he knew he was the last person you’d want to see…

“Mr Shelby,” a nurse almost whispered from the doorway of the private room that Tommy had paid for you to be in. “You’ve been sat there for hours. How about you take a walk? We’ll have a nice pot of tea ready for when you get back.”

Tommy ran his hands over his head, nodded and stood to leave the room. He could do with some fresh air; he was going stir-crazy staring at your perfect face becoming more and more damaged by the second. It was a relentless reminder of his foolishness.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The world very gradually fluttered into perspective, white wall by white wall. You felt numb for a few seconds before your body began to throb. You moved your head to try and take in your surroundings, but a searing pain ripped through you as you did, making you hiss in agony.

“Miss Y/L/N? You’re awake!” a voice exclaimed from across the room. You turned your head again, slower this time and blinked until you could make out a figure of a woman walking towards you. She was wearing a nurse’s uniform and carrying a cup of water and as she sat by your side, she proceeded to carefully help you drink. “You’ve been out for the count for a good while now,” she explained, “We had to persuade your lovely young man to go and get some fresh air!”

“Young man?” you croaked in confusion, each word dragging from your dry throat.

“Yes,” the nurse smiled as she took a small concoction of tablets from a bottle and held them out to you in her hand to take. “He never left your side once. Been awfully worried, he has. He’ll be back before long.” You took the pills from her and put them in your mouth as the nurse once again guided you with the water before she stood and left the room.

Your head fell back against the pillow and you stared up at the ceiling. You felt exhausted, but your mind was humming. Tommy. She must have meant Tommy. Thinking of his face brought the events from earlier in the day flooding back to you, leaving you feeling nauseous.

The argument. Tommy’s nonchalance.

The car colliding with your body.

Footsteps pulled you out of your thoughts and you slowly turned your head towards the doorway once again where Tommy’s broad figure came into view.

“Shit,” he cursed, “You’re awake. Fuck. I should have been here. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Y/N.” He had sunk down into the chair at your bedside, grasping your hand tightly in both of his and pressing it to his forehead as he hung his head. He couldn’t even look at you.

You stared at him, guilt-ridden and almost shaking with regret. You were speechless; it was the most emotion he had displayed towards you in a long time. Just having his familiar energy near you gave you relief, as much as you wished it didn’t. You wanted to be angry with him again after how he’d made you feel the night before but having him by your side in this new and strange hospital ward in a city that wasn’t home felt so comforting.  

“This is all my fault,” he continued, mumbling against your hand with his eyes screwed shut, unable to meet your gaze. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry for everything.”

“Shh,” you cooed, trying your best to reach for Tommy with your free hand. “I’m okay, Tommy,” you reassured. You lightly touched your forehead where your skin felt sore and tight, and felt stiches. “I am okay, aren’t I?” You quickly realised that you needed reassurance. Your legs could be broken for all you knew. Tommy finally looked up to meet your gaze. His eyes were blood shot and filled with misery.

“You’re okay,” he nodded, brushing your hair from your head gently with his hand. It was the tender and kind version of Tommy that you thought had been left behind in the trenches of war. “You have a head wound and you’ll be sore for a few weeks. You were lucky not to break anything.”

You sighed in relief, closing your eyes for a moment as the painkillers kicked in and drowsiness began to float through your body.

“Y/N, I have a lot of apologising to do, okay?” Tommy began, “I haven’t been the man you deserve lately, I know. I put business first and I should have put you first. I was trying to make myself look good in front of all those toffs at the party and -”

“Since when does Thomas Shelby care what people think? Especially toffs at parties,” you cut in with a small smirk.

“Since I started trying to take over their city,” Tommy said, “But you’re worth more than that. More than all of them. I don’t give a shit if you want to wash pots for the rest of your life. I don’t give a shit as long as you stay with me. Please… I don’t want to lose you.”

You let a small smile grace your lips as you searched his eyes and saw nothing but desperation and adoration. You couldn’t fight it, and you couldn’t continue fighting him. It went against every fibre of your being.

“Okay, Tommy,” you whispered, squeezing his hands that still held yours, “Get me back to Small Heath in one piece and then we’ll talk.”

He smiled back at you, leaning forward to softly press a kiss to your lips, intensely aware of your fragile state to exhibit the passion for you that was coursing through him at that moment.

He settled for stroking your hair as you drifted into a pill-induced dreamland, promising to be right there upon your wake.