#wid talks books

[notanactressyay]

— ༉‧₊˚. 𝐚 𝐩𝐞𝐞𝐤 𝐨𝐟 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐢𝐝𝐞

— ₊⊹ 𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 . Natasha Romanoff x reader

— ₊⊹ 𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚 . Natasha always patched herself up. she never even allowed anyone near when she's hurt. you, on the other hand, made her a bandage and even discovered a little more about who she was.

— ₊⊹ 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 . implied violence, bullet wounds, blood, bruises, talks of the red room, cursing, emotional moments, caring for baby Natasha.

— ₊⊹ 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒔 . finishing that a year later. yup, that's me. but that's just too special for me to drop it.

fic started: july, 08, 2023, 1:06pm. | finished: june, 23, 2024, 9:29pm.

dividers belong to: @saradika-graphics — ₊⊹

you're at home, reading a book as you usually did. the day was calm, tranquil, and it didn't seem like anything bad would happen. the sun rays came in from the gap between the curtains and shone right onto your face.

little did you know what was going on out there. the avengers were looking for the Winter Soldier, and well, the search wasn't going really good. cars crashing, civilians injured. and the target out there, no signs of him.

your best friend, the Black Wid— Natasha, had been as reckless as she always was, and attempting to protect a citizen, she took a bullet on the shoulder. and instead of getting immediate medical attention, she used her bleeding arm to fire a shotgun and throw a few more punches here and there.

Steve wanted to get her to a SHIELD facility, but she knew their usual procedure — they'd have her arm cut open to remove the bullet, stitch her up, and keep her in observation. she didn't want any of that. too much physical contact for her liking.

so she thought of the only smart way she could make this play. she couldn't simply go to her house with a criminal running around, in the middle of a mission. and her team would go looking for her there. not a smart choice. so she went to you.

not that she wanted to be taken care of. not that she needed to be taken care of, due the intense amount of pain going through her system. she'd just go to your house to hide, yeah.

the knocks on your door sounded heavy and urgent. you placed the book down, walking to the entrance and looking through the peephole — finding yourself in front of a bleeding, broken Natasha Romanoff. the door almost flies open, and she doesn't give you time to ask questions, stumbling inside and kicking the door shut.

"shh, keep your voice down." the redhead whispers weakly. regardless of the pain, she tries to be sarcastic. "don't be too loud or they might find me."

"your arm!" you whisper-yell, ignoring everything she had said. you ran to grab a cloth, pressing it against the wound. Natasha hissed loudly. just then you realized it was a bullet. "holy shit, i'm so sorry."

"i'm good." she weakly reassures, grabbing the cloth from your hand, taking a step back. she applied pressure to stop the bleeding — but she was barely standing. "just a tiny scratch,"

"shut it." you shake your head and carefully lead her to the nearest couch, helping her to sit down. by now, you'd have already called an ambo. but like she said, she was being chased. "spit it out, c'mon."

"mission went wrong." she sighs, allowing her eyes to close for a moment, then opening them again. when she feels you sitting down next to her, she instinctively scoots over, as if to create some distance. "the most of it is classified. but it went wrong. that's all i can tell you,"

"alright, Natasha. but you got to go and see a doctor." you chuckle humorlessly, pointing out the obvious.

the redhead was sweating, expression showing clear pain. even if the bleeding on her shoulder had stopped, she was still weak. it didn't matter she was trained for that. she was still a person.

"i can handle it." she tries to smile, but feels the uneasiness again. her eyes feel heavy, and she wants to close them. but she knew that meant passing out, going to the hospital. "just get me a first aid kit and i'll be okay."

"god, you're stubborn." you murmur. you'd probably give her a speech, but not now. "hang in there, i'll be right back."

you quickly went to the bathroom and grabbed the first aid kit from the cabinet, placing it on the living room's coffee table. you also grabbed a water bottle and a bag of cookies you had, in case she wanted to eat later.

you just didn't expect her to push you back when you reached out to touch her arm.

"just give it to me," she extends her hand towards the kit box, coaxing a small, incredulous laugh out of you.

"you expect me to let you do it yourself? in that state?" you ask, genuinely concerned now. you sit down by her side once again, slowly. she gulps.

Natasha was your elusive superhero friend, so you never really had that much of physical contact before. you didn't know about her past, either. you didn't know her fear of people touching her. her fear of being vulnerable. because back then, she wasn't allowed to be vulnerable.

widows never failed. widows never got sick. if a widow had an injury, that meant victory. she'd have to heal herself and focus back on the mission. so simply putting, Natasha didn't know what it was to allow someone to care for her.

but now... she was almost passing out. really. she also knew damn well you had no intentions of hurting her, nor reasons to do so. or else, she'd have distanced herself a long time ago. so she sighs in defeat.

"... just make it quick, okay?" she shifts, allowing you in her personal space.

you sigh as well in relief, opening the first-aid kit box and grabbing a wipe, putting some hydrogen peroxide on it. the blood under the cloth had long dried. you carefully unwrapped it from her arm, setting it aside. you examined the wound closely. the bullet went through, it was good, somehow. you wouldn't have to magically learn how to make a surgery.

Natasha's eyes followed your hand, as it wiped away the blood covering her arm. she was so tense at the beginning. but time went by, and her brain slowly registered the fact she didn't have a reason to be tense. her shoulders visibly eased up.

"the bullet's not here," you whisper, throwing the dirty wipes away and grabbing the ointment, the antiseptic, and the bandages. "i'll patch you up for now, but Nat, you seriously need some stitches."

she's relieved. the pain is still strong, but she's relieved, with you. only if you knew how bad she was trying not to cry right now. her voice quivers, as she points to something inside the box. "i-is that aspirin?"

you frown, stopping the movements. "it is. do you want some?"

"mhm." the russian hums, unable to stop the little tear from rolling down her cheek. with your help, she takes a couple of pills and swallows it with the water you grabbed earlier. "thank you,"

"you're welcome." you murmur back, softly smiling at the sight of Natasha's tender side starting to show up. you continue, applying the ointment on her skin and carefully spreading it.

"i never had this before," Natasha says, almost inaudibly. her head lowers itself to your shoulder, surprising you. "did you know that? because back then, getting hurt was a good thing. they made us believe that, i mean."

you listen to her soft rambling, humming to let her know you heard. you finish wrapping the bandages around her arm and shoulder, and put some band-aids to keep it secure. in response to her leaning against you, you carefully, gently wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her closer.

"i'm glad you know that's not true anymore." you comment, and she nods. her lips quiver more. my, she looks so.. broken. and you'd do anything to fix her. at least try. "you can cry, Nat. let your pain out."

she sniffles, her one good arm circling you as she weakly buried her face on your shoulder, allowing the tears to flow freely. her body trembles, so you hold her closer, tighter. your body heat comforts her.

after a while, she certainly doesn't want to talk. her sobs quiet down, and she tries to cuddle up against you. " 'm tired, wanna sleep."

"i know." you say, pressing the back of your hand against her forehead. she surely had a fever. but the aspirin she took before would help, in a few hours. "you can take your rest now."

Natasha whimpers quietly — which was supposed to be a yawn — and allow her eyelids to finally shut. she clings to you tightly, as if genuinely scared you would disappear if she let you go. but you never would.

not after seeing such a thing. she did something major today. and you treasured it with your whole heart. you pressed a kiss on the top of her head and held her — having no idea if the SHIELD spies would come after you. nah, probably not. Natasha knew what she was doing.

[serenefreakgeekao3]

Apricity

[Table of Contents]

CHAPTER ELEVEN, Arrival

Day 34, Monday

"And you said it's called the Flare?" Newt murmurs thoughtfully, his chin in a hand as he thinks over everything you had just explained. The world practically ending, the virus that spread throughout the world and destroyed any semblance of hope. What Wicked was aiming to do, and the reason they had put all of them into the maze to begin with. And, of course, that Thomas' blood held the key to the cure that Wicked knew nothing about.

"Why me?" Thomas mutters under his shaky breath, and you suddenly can't stand the distance anymore. You stood finally, though neither boy turned to watch as you did so, and you made your way over to sit next to Thomas. You raise an arm to rub his back, leaning into his side as you do so to try and provide any sort of comfort you can.

"We don't know it is you," Newt mutters under his breath, before sighing with defeat. "A lot has changed- practically everything has changed from that book that [Y/N] is talking about. This world might've once been based on that, but it's pretty evident that it's not the exact same." You look up quickly toward Newt, your eyes widening in horror. He was right. There was no way to know that anything besides the people and the place were the same in this world. Maybe the reason Thomas never got them out was because he wasn't actually the cure?

"Well, we won't know until we test it," Thomas mutters, his voice resigned. You look back at him in confusion, wondering why he sounds so defeated- almost like he knows what he has to do. Your question is answered pretty quickly as he speaks up once again, "Which means we have to leave the maze and get captured by Wicked again." He hesitates, his brows furrowed in confusion before he huffs, "I mean, for the first time?"

"You're right," Newt mutters, dropping his head into his hands, and leaning forward with his elbows on his knees once again. "I don't think we have a choice in the matter anymore. We have to get out of here."

"You always have a choice," You inject quickly, shaking your head. Newt lifts his head, and both boys look at you with a look of confusion, but also slight pity. "You don't have to do anything with this information. I-" You huff, hesitating and stuttering, "I went into the maze because I wanted you all to have the option to leave if you wanted to. But the world out there- I mean, there's practically not one. It's all horrible," You shake your head quickly, willing them to understand. "It's death, and destruction, and dehydration. Manipulation, and- and desperation." You're breathing heavily by the end of this, picturing them in those horrible scenarios once again. It wasn't just entertainment anymore, you were here, living in it all. "Here- I mean, you have everything you could need! Fresh food, and water, and- and-"

"We're trapped here, [Y/N]." Newt's voice is calm but steady and sure. It calms your racing heart and your anxieties that were popping up without truly realizing it. Before you know it, Thomas is rubbing your back instead of you rubbing his, and he's comforting you, trying to calm you down. You slowly steady your breathing, refusing to break the locked gaze you have with Newt. "If there was ever a choice, we wouldn't be here."

"But," Thomas interjects with a small smile, glancing at Newt before looking back at you. "With you, we have a chance to stay one step ahead." He nods, and you stare into his darkened brown eyes in this lighting, comfort bleeding through his every pore and gesture and word. You couldn't help but relax into his arm. He looks back to Newt, pulling you in even tighter. "You're right, this world might not be exactly the same. But it's the same enough, I'd like to think. Maybe we don't walk out of here, cocky like we know everything that will happen. But we can keep it all in mind, everything." Newt started to nod halfway through Thomas' speech, a smile slowly growing on his face.

"You're right." Newt shares a wide, happy grin with Thomas before directing his attention back to you. He pushes himself to stand, wandering over to your other side and sitting down next to you. He takes your hand, pulling it over to his lap so he can hold your one with both of his. "You're the key, [Y/N]." He laughs, breathless and with a tinge of disbelief. "This whole time, you thought you had to go out there, risk your life to kill a bloody Griever to get their stinger- you've been the key this whole time."

You blink a few times, trying to process what he's saying. Logically, you knew he was exaggerating. Obviously, you needed the stinger, the door wouldn't open without it. But you tried to truly understand what he was saying. You had knowledge none of them did; you not only knew how to get out of the maze but also how to get away from Wicked. You knew to head to the mountains, you knew how to get to the Safe Haven- kind of. Not the exact path, but you knew about the cruise ship, and about the Right Arm. In a weird sort of way, he was right.

"I," You stutter, shaking your head, feeling yourself already begin to panic with the weight of their expectations on you, "I don't want you to think I know everything. I've read the books once or twice, sure. But I didn't memorize them. I'll try my best to remember, but-"

"You've already remembered more than enough," Thomas mumbles down into your hair, pressing his face in close to you and wrapping his other arm around you. "Even if you didn't know anything that happened outside of this maze- what you've given us is so much more than we could've expected." You stare into Newt's warm gaze, feeling Thomas above and all around you, and you take in a deep breath. Your voice is quiet, shaky when you finally manage to speak.

"You both believe me?" Newt sighs out a small laugh, leaning in closer.

"We told you we would, didn't we?"

You were getting tired, and the boys could tell, you were sure. After you had gone over everything again that you remembered about how to get out of the maze, the boys had given each other a certain look that you still couldn't read- shuck it all- and both looked at you to say they were ready for bed. As if saying they wanted to sleep was the only way they could get you to lie down as well. They were right, of course, but you didn't want to admit that to them, or yourself.

By the time the three of you were standing to leave, you felt your bones creaking and popping from being in one position for much too long. However, you weren't exactly going to pull away from Thomas' embrace when he was finally wrapping his arms around you like he never wanted to let go. You wordlessly took the job of blowing out the lantern, waiting for one of the other two to open the doors and let in some light so you wouldn't be blinded by darkness. Glancing over to check their progress, you can see them with their heads bent together close to the door. It looks intimate, close like you just were with Thomas. Except, Newt was looking into his eyes, and glancing down at his lips, and you could swear you saw the intention of planting a kiss on him right there.

But then Thomas turns away, unaware, and Newt stares after him with longing, as if losing an opportunity. You felt bad for him, wanting them to find the comfort in each other that they so desperately needed. As Thomas pushes open the doors, the room is flooded with orange morning light, and you sigh before turning back toward the lantern, blowing the small flame out.

Newt was waiting for you, halfway between you and Thomas, who waited at the top of the stairs as he held the door open for you both. Newt lets you walk up first, taking the rear and checking behind himself to make sure nothing is amiss. As you climb out of the hole, you raise a hand to your face to block the bright light. It was only morning- sunrise, at best- but the light was still much brighter than that of the small cellar you were just in. By the time your eyes adjusted, you immediately began to look around and scan for that blinking red light. Seeing none, you turn back to watch Thomas close the door as quietly as he could. Newt was staring at you, then glancing around curiously as if wondering what you had been looking for. You made a mental note to inform Newt about the little recording bugs that Wicked has set up.

The three of you are quiet as you make your way back to the Medjack hut, however the Glade was not so much. As you break through the edge of the Deadheads, Alby comes storming out of the Medjack hut with a murderous look, standing and scanning the entire Glade with his eyes. You hear a muttered, 'Uh oh,' from Newt right before Alby locks eyes with your group. It feels as though he's staring directly at you, into your soul, but you're sure that he's just focused on your whole group that suddenly went missing in the middle of the night. He begins to walk in your direction, closing the distance even faster than you would've from walking there yourselves.

"What the shucking-" Alby stops himself, pinching his lips together and huffing out a disapproving sigh, closing the distance even further before attempting to speak again. "Why are you not in bed?" He finally looks away from you, glaring at Thomas and Newt over each of your shoulders. "You both should know better than to let them wander around-"

"Alby," Newt interrupts, and he brushes your arm as he passes you, jogging unsteadily to be ahead of you and meet with Alby before you or Thomas do. "I know what this looks like, but there are so many more important things you need to start worrying about." Alby looks confused, and still rather pissed off, as all four of you finally come to a stop near the middle of the Glade.

"Newt," He scoffs, crossing his arms, the muscles straining as if he's holding himself back, "Let me put this in a way you might understand. What the bloody hell is going on around here?"

"We really need to talk, Alby. All of us, the leaders. Somewhere private." Newt glances around warily, and you decide to copy the move. You see them instantly, a red blinking light in a tree, one sitting atop a fence post and another whirring through the air as if trying to find another decent angle to watch this interaction from. You weren't even the one to have to point it out, though, as Thomas' voice speaks up.

"Newt, I don't know if here is the place-"

"Yeah, I know," Newt mutters, keeping his eyes locked on Alby. "Get the rest of them. Ask Gally to bring you to his-" Newt stops himself, likely before he could say 'his secret project' since he knew Wicked was listening, "To his home away from home. We can talk there."

Whiiiiirrrrr-EEEEEEE

Everyone jumps in fright as the sound of a siren begins blazing through the courtyard, every head but yours turning in the same direction. You follow their eyes, every single Glader that you could see all looking toward the very epicenter of the Glade. Lights were flashing, spinning in circles, and the sounds of metal upon metal screeching and clashing and cracking against each other rang out into the air.

"It's not the first-" Alby begins, but he's interrupted once Newt pushes past him suddenly, sprinting unsteadily toward the elevator. Thomas is only a second behind, but he's a much faster runner at this point, and he makes it there before the sounds of the elevator rushing upward have even stopped. You're staring at Alby, wide-eyed and afraid, and you can see the confusion and anger in his eyes for not understanding what is happening and why. He finally turns away from you, taking a jog over toward the rest of the gathering Gladers.

You know what's happening. It's her.

You walk slowly, taking your time to get there. You can hear Newt trying to disperse everyone before the doors are even opened, and watch as Thomas and Gally get on either side of them, reaching for one door each. Newt's commands only half-work, some beginning to walk away and get on with their chores, however, the oddity of this happening when it was so unexpected keeps the other half from listening or comprehending what he's trying to say. By the time your feet make it over to the crowd, you hear the groan of the doors opening, and the clunk of the elevator coming to rest. You push past Glader after Glader, weaving your way through the crowd to look upon what you knew you were about to see.

You break through the front of them, glancing at and locking eyes with Newt before you both turn away from each other, looking down at who Gally and Thomas, and even Alby are already looking at. And there she is, lying there unconscious against the metal grate, with no other grain bag or chicken cage in sight.

Teresa Agnes.

You look away from her before anyone else, scanning the skies once again. They were watching, you knew it. At this point, you also knew they were curious about you. It wasn't a far shot to believe that they were watching for your reaction to these events. What exactly did you want to portray? That you were clueless, didn't know what was going on? That you knew exactly who she was and what they were about to do? You keep your expression neutral, looking over toward Newt and waiting for him to look your way. You're unshocked to see, instead, him staring at Thomas.

Thomas, himself, was still stuck staring into the elevator. You could practically see the gears turning in his mind- he knew what this meant. You'd just told him what this meant. So what was he going to do about it?

Newt is the first to move, jumping down into the box and approaching the unconscious girl. He pushes her hair aside, getting a good look at her face before finally glancing down at her fist. He leans down, pulling a slip of paper out and reading it before looking back up to the rest of us. He shields his eyes with one hand, a funny expression on his face like he's trying to act like he doesn't know what this means.

"It says 'She's the last one. Ever.'"

Just then, like clockwork, Teresa sits up, gasping for air. She looks straight up, out of the box. "Thomas," She gasps out, before falling backwards once again, going just as limp as she was a few moments ago. You look around and watch everyone turn their attention to Thomas, who only sighs and jumps into the box. Newt and Thomas lock eyes, and it's as if some plan you were unaware of is activated. Newt jumps out of the box, helping Thomas pull Teresa up and out. Alby and Gally are already at the top, shooing away the rest of the Gladers while your boys struggle to get the unconscious body up and out.

Then they go their separate ways. Newt approaches Alby, leaning in close and whispering fiercely while Thomas carries Teresa over to the Medjack hut, likely to lay her on a cot and watch over her. You hadn't had enough time to explain to him that she was likely to betray him- you only hoped that he would realize as much after telling him that Wicked sent her up here for a reason. You turn away from Thomas- not exactly wanting to be near Teresa to find out how Wicked really feels about you- and approach Newt and Alby. Alby's sharp gaze turns toward you, but he finally turns and begins to walk away from Newt before you get close enough to hear any words exchanged. Newt looks over at you as you stop next to him, nodding slowly.

"This is an unprecedented time. We're having that meeting I was calling right before she came up." You nod, biting your lip as you look between the Medjack hut and Newt. He seems to sense your hesitation, raising a hand to place on your arm. "You can go wherever you choose. If you want to stay with Tommy, feel free." You suck in a panicked breath, shaking your head minutely without even realizing it.

"I'd rather go to the meeting. I just- am I allowed?" Newt's face softens, and he takes a step closer, lowering his voice.

"Of course you are. They'll have to go through me to kick you out of there."

Everyone was talking over each other, and it was starting to give you a headache. You sat on the box you had just occupied with Thomas not too long ago, although you adopted the same stance that Newt had when you were explaining your story to him: leaned over, elbows on your knees, head in your hands. You rub at your temples, willing the headache to go away at least enough that you can think straight. However, with the ruckus around you, you were unsure you would've been able to think straight regardless.

"Alright, enough." Alby's voice pushes through the din of voices surrounding you, prompting a quick quieting of voices until none remain. When you feel you can finally take a non-suffocating breath, you raise your head up and drop your hands down in front of you, though remaining in your leaned-over position.

"Can someone please explain what the hell is going on around here?" Winston asks loudly in the ensuing silence, and you take in a deep breath, your eyes scanning over the Keepers who've assembled. It looked like everyone was here, even some Keepers who hardly ever attend such meetings, like Frypan himself.

"Yeah, what's the big deal? I was in the middle of making lunch."

"Yeah, like," Zart begins with a scoff, crossing his arms, "So shucking what some girl shows up when it's not the first of the month. It's not like the world is ending."

"Except it is," Newt interrupts. Alby had been raising a hand, mouth open to say something or calm everyone down, but Newt's voice cut through the din of murmuring before it had properly begun to fill the silence again. Everyone's eyes turn to him, confusion- and possibly even anger- written across their faces.

"Mind catching us up, Newt?" Gally asks, his brow furrowed further than normal, his arms crossed and tensed. You swallow roughly, bringing your hands together to wring them anxiously. You were curious what he was about to say as well.

"Sure." Newt takes a step forward, past Alby, into the center of the room. "For reasons that I can't share at this time, a few of us have reasons to believe that our time in the Glade is over."

"What do you mean, over?"

"How could you possibly know that-"

"What the shuck-"

"Everyone," Gally booms out, turning to glare at everyone in turn, his eyes skipping over you as if you aren't even there. "Shut the shuck up, and listen." He turns back to Newt, waving a hand as if to 'go on.' Newt nods his thanks, taking a deep breath.

"Teresa coming up- I don't know. The Creators might have noticed something was off and sent someone up to spy on us since it was so out of the blue. But we can't let ourselves get distracted by that." Newt glances at you with an apologetic expression, quick as a flash before it's gone, and he's looking around at everyone once again. "But [Y/N] here figured something out."

"I thought they were just here so we could figure out the punishment for them?" Winston asked suddenly, and everyone turned to look at him in confusion. "You know, for running into the maze?"

"What are we supposed to do about that?" Zart asks sarcastically, huffing out a sigh, "Send them right back in?"

"Guys," Newt calls, raising his hands in a calming gesture. "They figured something out before going into the maze. That's why they did it." He shrugs, his throat bobbing as he swallows roughly. "Plus, they saved Chuck's life, so I think we drop the punishment."

"Yeah, but his life wouldn't have been in danger if they hadn't run into the maze to begin with," Clint announces, his voice hardened. You chance a glance over to him, and he is resolutely looking away, but he has a hard mask over his face that you can't seem to pierce through. Was he truly mad at you?

"Look," Newt sighs, running a hand through his hair and placing a hand on his hip. "There's a lot-" He sighs again, the hand that went through his hair rubbing down his face now. "[Y/N] found the way out."

Now that silenced everyone.

Newt takes in another deep breath before nodding. "They remembered something, somehow. And they didn't want to risk anyone else's necks, so they went into the maze themself. It was stupid, and reckless, yes. But they did it for the good of the Glade." He glances at you, a sharp look mixed with something softer, and you can tell he's trying to tell them just enough without fully explaining how you know. You're just grateful no one is asking questions yet, as they all continue to stare at Newt, dumbfounded. "They killed a Griever, lured it into a trap. Yanked the stinger out and brought it back here. Apparently it- it's some sort of key."

"It is, I think," Minho agrees suddenly. He was sitting all the way across from you, on the other side of the crowd. The only other person to be sitting, you notice, and because of that he'd practically blended into the background. He had something large and dark in between his hands, and it took a moment for you to realize he was holding the stinger in his hands, rolling it back and forth. "I checked over my notes. This here has a number, and I think it corresponds to one of the numbered gates on the edge of the maze. If we can bring it there, we should be able to get out."

Everyone is quiet still, their faces varying from shock to awe, to relief and fear. It was a strange mix of emotions across a strange mix of people, and you swallow hard as your eyes trail over to Alby. He never made it out in the books. Was it possible, perhaps, for him to make it out now? For more of the Gladers to make it out than they had last time?

"Now, I know that [Y/N] broke the code of the Glade, sure. But I don't think that code really matters that much anymore- at this moment, anyway." Newt continues, raising a hand as if trying to console everyone. No one even seems to take in his sentence, as if too perturbed or distracted by the thought of escape. Even Alby walks forward, placing a hand on Newt's shoulder.

"How do we do it? When?" Newt swallows, glancing around at everyone individually before nodding.

"Right. I'd like to leave tonight because the arrival of Teresa can't be a coincidence. However, there's just too many people in the Glade and not enough time to prepare." Gally begins nodding and finally speaks up amongst the crowd.

"I have a strange feeling those doors aren't going to close tonight." Newt and Gally lock eyes, and you feel yourself tensing in your spot. Somehow, Gally understood the danger without either you or Newt having to say or hint at it. That would help, certainly, but as Gally's eyes flicker over to you and lock onto you, there's a feeling in your gut growing that Gally might need more than just reassurances later. Newt takes a loud, deep breath, and everyone looks back over to him.

"I'm of the same mind."

"So here's what we do," Alby states, taking a step past Newt and into center stage. He was still the leader here, after all. He glances over everyone, his eyes skipping over you as if you were inconsequential as if you shouldn't have been there in the first place. It was true, he didn't know you very well. Out of everyone in this room, you've probably spent the least amount of time with him. "Everyone go to your workers. Tell them there's no work to be done today. Fry, you grab however many Gladers you need and start packing any food that will last. Gally, you're in charge of water. No jugs, we need things that everyone can carry individually. We need to start moving people and supplies down into this cellar. We'll divide everything up once everyone and everything is down here. If anyone asks what's going on, just tell them something is happening, and it'll be explained later. Clint, do your best to make sure Chuck can stand and walk. Possibly even run, if it comes to it." Everyone is nodding, taking in the words of their leader. You take a look around the massive room, realizing with a start that you're finally going to see it filled.

"These boxes are mostly empty," Gally states, wandering over to one and lifting the lid to reveal what you assume is a void of emptiness, according to what he'd said- though you'd sitting and too far away to tell from your vantage point. "I mainly moved them in here to act as seats, or to get them out of the way after they started to pile up. But we can start to fill them with as many supplies as we can. Food, water, clothes, shoes, weapons. Whatever we'll need."

"Weapons?" Zart asks unsteadily, shifting on his feet. "You think we'll need weapons?"

"We can't guarantee the Creators will want us to leave. They'll likely send Grievers after us." It's Newt's voice that answers, nodding along with Gally's lead.

"You all are smart, capable people. I trust that you know what to and what not to bring down here from your own sections. But make sure everyone is down here before the sun sets, preferably sooner. If Gally and Newt's suspicions are correct, we'll want to have this door locked as securely as possible, otherwise we're all just sitting ducks." Alby nods to each person, clapping his hands at the end of his speech. "Let's hop to it."

Alby turns and begins making his way back up the stairs, prompting everyone to start following. Newt stands still as others pass, and you both can hear little mumbled sayings along the lines of, 'I can't believe it's finally happening,' and, 'What are we going to do?' Gally glances meaningfully between Newt and you, his arms crossed before he finally takes a step to leave, the last one out of the cellar aside from you and Newt.

Newt finally sighs, the tension in his shoulders slowly easing away as he walks over, plopping himself down right next to you. You reach a hand up and around, rubbing his back in much the same way you did Thomas earlier that day. Not too long ago, actually. "Thank you," You whisper toward him, and he raises his gaze from his hands to your eyes, his eyebrows raising in surprise.

"For what?" You shrug. You meant for not giving away your secret, or for trying to save your hide when everyone wanted you punished for running into the maze. But there was more than that, there was so much more.

"For everything," You whisper back, smiling softly as you gaze into his eyes. He softens even more, somehow, and leans forward toward you. He rests his forehead against your own, closing his eyes as if to take in the closeness. You let your eyes fall closed as well.

"You don't need to thank me, [Y/N]. I'd do anything for you."

The Glade was a flurry of movement by the time you and Newt made your way back to the surface, to the Glade proper. Everyone was packing, and talking- confused but doing as they were told. You and Newt, without having to even speak about it, knew where you were going. You let Newt push inside first, following into the Med-Jack hut after him. Clint was in the corner, raising a gaze to glance at the two of you before lowering it once again, helping Chuck to stand and speaking quietly with him. Jeff and Hannah were here as well, packing up everything from the cabinets into multiple different bags. Newt walks past them all toward Thomas, who stands off to the side of one particular cot, the curtains drawn on all sides but his.

"Has she woken up at all?"

"No," Thomas whispers, still staring down at her face. Newt finally gets within reach of him and uses that reach to raise a hand to his arm, touching him gently. Thomas finally turns, flashing a tired smile at Newt before his eyes skip over his shoulder, locking with you. It's the same tired smile as he looks between you and Newt now, then it falls away as he looks back down at Teresa. "I've been waiting, but nothing yet."

"Hopefully she'll wake sometime soon. Everyone is gathering in the cellar." Thomas blinks a few times before looking up at him, a furrow in his brow.

"Everyone?" Newt nods in affirmation, and you take another step forward.

"There's just too many people to expect-"

"Yeah," Thomas interrupts, nodding quickly, his gaze falling back to the bed once more. "I understand."

You bite your lip, and as Newt glances over his shoulder at you, you wince slightly, reaching past him to take hold of Thomas' strong arm. "Tommy, I think we should talk. Somewhere, privately." He laughs humourlessly, shrugging, but not moving away from your touch.

"I think that ship has sailed, [Y/N]. Our 'private' is not so private anymore, is it?" You wince, nodding slowly.

"Sure, but it's important." Thomas swallows roughly, sighing as if he already suspects.

"Everything going on right now is important."

"Tommy," You whisper, and Newt interrupts, leaning in close to Thomas' side.

"I'll watch over her. Go take a walk, Tommy." Thomas sighs, as if defeated with the both of you whispering in his ear, and turns to look at you both in turn. He nods, stepping aside to let Newt take his place, and walks ahead of you toward the exit. As he steps outside into the sun, glancing around before turning right, he begins to speak to you.

"I know what you're going to-" His speech is short-lived as you grab his arm and yank, pulling him into the bushes that run beside the MedJack hut. He shouts out in surprise, hissing in pain as you drag him through the thicket and the bramble, pushing as far as you can into the brush until you push out the other side, nothing around the two of you besides the back wall to the MedJack hut, and the large, imposing stone wall of the Maze. As you turn back to Thomas, his eyes are wide with surprise, and perhaps even fright, and he shakes his head quickly. "What was that for?"

"Privacy," You whisper, glancing around quickly for those blinking bugs. Seeing none, you feel your own tension melt away just slightly, your shoulders lowering down. You meet his eyes again, taking a step closer into his personal space. "Tommy, I'm sorry but Teresa isn't who you remember." His face falls once more, and he looks away from you as best he can with you standing directly in front of him.

"I-I know. I knew you were going to-"

"She works for Wicked."

"I know-"

"She's going to-"

"I know!" Thomas shouts finally, and startled you can't help but take a step back. He takes in a large gulp of air, squeezing his eyes shut and shaking his head. "I know, that's what I've been trying to tell you. I know, she works for Wicked. I know because I worked for Wicked."

"But, Tommy," You begin, raising a hand, and he lets out a sharp, humourless laugh. The gaze he shoots at you pulses a cold pain through your chest.

"Stop calling me that." You swallow roughly, dropping your hand and taking a step back. It hurts, but you have to say it anyway.

"She might seem like she can change, Thomas." You watch him wince, but you continue anyway, "Just like how you changed. But she can't. No- she can. But she won't. She'll pretend up until you think you've won, and then she'll turn on us. She'll betray us, Thomas."

"Don't you think I know that?" Thomas yells- still yelling, even though you haven't raised your voice once. He almost seems startled by the sound of his voice so loud, and he clears his throat and shakes his head. "I know- I-" He huffs again, his eyes falling away from you to the ground. "Shuck it all, I know." He sniffs, raising a hand to wipe his arm across his nose, his eyes shining with tears, and the pain in your stomach twists even more. You want to reach out and comfort, but you're not sure you're allowed to anymore. "After everything you said, the different challenges and difficulties we'll face. I can imagine-" He huffs, lifting his gaze finally to your own. "[Y/N], I'm-"

CRACK, CRASH

The sound of glass breaking, tinkling into a million pieces pulls both of your attentions- toward the back wall of the MedJack hut. You both look back at each other with wide eyes before Thomas springs into action, pushing his way back through the thicket and brush to get back to the front of the hut. You're following right after, hissing with pain as one sharp branch swings backwards and scratches across your cheek. You jerk your head away instinctively but keep pace with Thomas as he finally pushes through, darting left and inside the hut.

"Get away from me!" A female voice is heard yelling, and another crash as something else is thrown before you manage to get inside. You take a few steps into the hut, blinking your eyes to quickly adjust to the darkness, and watch as everyone is pressed against various walls, as far away from Teresa as they can get. Except Thomas, who approaches slowly with his hands up, murmuring something to her quietly. Something about how everything is okay, and that she's safe. You swallow roughly and turn to look at Newt, who is backed up against the wall next to the door, right next to where a gathering of shattered glass littered the floor. He meets your gaze, and immediate concern flashes across his face. He carefully steps his way past the glass, closing in on you.

"Are you okay?" You whisper up at him, scanning along any available piece of skin you can see- face, neck, arms- but you don't see any cuts or blood. That is, until he reaches up, rubbing a thumb across your cheek and pulling back. Red is streaked across his thumb, and you reach that the blood is your own. You huff a laugh, shaking your head gently.

"I should be asking you that."

"Just from a bush, it's fine." His brow furrows in concern, but takes it in stride, nodding. He wipes his hand on a cloth from a nearby counter, staying nearby but turning to watch Thomas try to calm Teresa down like she's some wild animal.

"Did you get to talk to him?" You huff a sigh, shaking your head just barely.

"Not enough," You whisper back, watching Thomas grasp the bars on the end of her bed, talking to her gently. Teresa still looked scared, but she was calming slowly. Hannah and Jeff turn around, resuming their packing- if a bit faster than before. You turn to look toward Clint and Chuck, catching Chuck's eye. He smirks and sends a little wave, and you smile back, nodding toward him. "We need to do everything perfectly here," You mumbled, mostly to yourself, but you hear Newt hum in response. You feel a weight settle onto your shoulders as Newt wraps an arm around you, pulling you in close.

"We'll do the best we can."

[superm4ks]

https://twitter.com/SCUDERIAFEMBOY/status/1807432876402651271?t=zV8VmYFyZj_RxA5tCYpNxQ&s=19

Just like a general f1 question, what do they mean with moving under braking? Is it literally moving while in braking in the car like I'm understanding from what max is saying? I also hear people talking about 'moving in the braking zone' which would imply that there's just an area around a corner that is considered the braking zone in which u can't move? Also, is what max is saying legit lol?

'Braking zone' just the parts of the track where drivers have to slow down to take a corner. So 'moving under braking' refers to suddenly changing ur line after u already started braking. Its seen as something that falls under 'erratic driving'. Like for instance u leave space in the zone, the car behind goes for the overtake and u just suddenly steer to make them yield that corner. Now whats the difference between that and defending ur corner? Good question. Well stewards claim to look to the original line taken by the 2 cars, and whether or not the attacking car was along side the one defending when they moved. If it seems ambiguous thats because it is.

Personally, and mind u this is my opinion, 'moving under braking' is one of those early Verstappen inspired muzzles where u get to throw the book at a driver for hard racing. Its as subjective and reactionary as it gets and usually theres no consensus because the point isnt to have consensus, its to put the penalty over their heads and make the driver in front more inclined to let the other car pass.

The way I c it Lando's attempts to overtake were mostly clumsy and half committed from the middle of the corner and all Max did was either go straight or follow the line he'd already been taking. Thats anything but erratic. About the t3 touch, Max got ten seconds on his head and two penalty points for it. Lando wasnt even penalized for track limits until after he retired and they considered it served. Lando is walking from this wid nothing because he cud not get past Max wid fresher rubber. Thats it. If he wants to put that on Max and act like he was just robbed of something he was entitled to, then perhaps he misunderstood Max as a driver. And f1 as motorsport

[hotluncheddie]

🍞

Rated: E | tags: objectification, dehumanisation, chubby Eddie Munson, funnel feeding, they’re in love

( This is very self indulgent & inspired by lovely talks with @scoops-aboy86 ;3c )

//

Eddie lays on their big kitchen island - Italian marble counters or whatever it was Steve and Robin decided would be best to furnish their LA home. Which Eddie bought for them after his third album went platinum and he decided he wanted a break from touring, and from being in the public eye so much.

Steve needed it for cooking, which he’s always been good at but his now endless time, a calm mind and a preference for cooking classes along with his yoga means that he’s Michelin grade for all Eddie can tell.

And taste, because everything Steve makes for him tastes amazing and Eddie, if he can, and especially if he’s told to, always eats all of it. And some.

So he’s laying on his back, on the kitchen island, and is considering how much longer until they can’t do this anymore, or can’t do it in this position, because his stomach is starting to encroach on his breathing, laying prone like he is. Maybe he could lay on his side, or they could do it on the couch so he can be propped up. Although, that might ruin the whole, vibe.

Eddie’s stomach rumbles gently as he lets his mind slowly filter away anything that isn’t Steve or Steve’s food. Which he gets to do because he’s good, and he earned it. So he knows he’ll get Steve’s food, because he always does, but he also gets extra special treatment because he’s good.

He gets to be Steve’s thing for the evening, which is why he’s on the kitchen island.

‘Dough always needs kneading until it’s smooth.’ Steve mutters, sinking his fingers into Eddie flesh, a small frown between his eyebrows.

There’s an apron tied around Steve’s slim waist, his sweater rolled up his forearms. His fingers dipping into soft flesh and Eddie watched through fuzzy eyes as the muscles in Steve’s arms flex when he manoeuvres chubby arms and legs this way and that. Squishing and squeezing Eddie’s rolls as and when he pleases. Making little grumbling noises as if it isn’t quite right yet.

Eddie’s wholes body is slack, and he’s panting slightly.

Eventually Steve must decide Eddie is properly kneaded and he turns to wash his hands in the sink. This sends a shiver down Eddie’s spine.

‘Oil and leave a warm dry place, let the dough rise until it’s around twice the size it was originally.’ Steve recites, pouring oil over his fingers and letting it dribble across Eddie’s skin.

Steve’s wide palms smooth across the pale expanse, over his tattoos, faded scars and stretch marks, some old and silvery, others pink and fresh with new growth.

His eyelashes flutter as Steve massages him, brain empty to anything other than the feel of his weight being moved. Tended to like the lump that he is, something to work, to help grow.

‘20 minutes should do it.’ Steve mumbles, draping a towel over Eddies torso. It covers him from neck to bellybutton, a thin cotton more like a kitchen towel than bathroom one. It used to cover him to the top of his thighs, but, with Steve here to knead him and prove him and nurture him in that kind way he treats his things, Eddie’s grown so much.

He revels in this as Steve leaves him, shuffling over to the kitchen table to read his book. Eddie left to do his only job, which is lay here until Steve deems him ready for more.

Eventually Steve returns, his slippers padding across the tile and rousing Eddie from his floaty daydreams; fuzzy pictures of Steve using him like as a cup holder or pillow or coatrack. Nice things, warm and pleasant. Taking off parts of him to tuck away in the wardrobe or between the linens. Leaving him in the draw with the cutlery for a while. ‘Think it needs a little longer.’ Steve says, and Eddie cracks an eye open.

The funnel they bought attaches to a stand they had to get custom made so it could be easily wheeled and taken apart. Stainless steel and lightweight, but sturdy for the wide black funnel and attached pipe.

Steve takes something out of the fridge and sets it on the counter with a thud. Then the pipes nozzle is placed gently but firmly between Eddie’s lips.

He blinks slow, tilting his head back and focusing on Steve’s face.

‘The best dough doubles in size after proving.’ He whispers, eyes soft. He checks the placement of the nozzle again and strokes the tips of his fingers feather light across Eddie’s cheek.

Eddie nods.

Cool thick shake hits his tongue and he breaths deep through his nose as his senses light up.

Swallowing slowly and methodically Eddie drinks the shake as it comes, as Steve gives it. He’s just starting to feel the cool liquid lining all four corners of his stomach when Steve pauses, returning the jug to the counter and lifting the towel, poking a finger into Eddie’s belly.

His finger must sink in more than he wants because no sooner had he stopped does the feeding continue.

It goes like that for Eddie doesn’t know how long. All he knows is swallow what Steve gives and keep breathing slow. But once the second jug taken from the fridge is nearing its end, breathing slow becomes more of a challenge, and he can feel how little Steve finger is able to press in. Can feel how the towel has ridden up and is fighting to stay put on the crest of his belly, gathering slightly at his chubby neck.

Finally though, the jug is set aside and Eddie opens his sleepy eyes again. Steve taking the nozel from his mouth and wiping his chin clean.

Slowly the towel is removed and Steve smiles down at Eddie, stroking his hair, and all over Eddie feels sun warmed and sanctified.

‘A perfect rise.’ He whispers and Eddie beams from deep in his chest.

His mind is a gooey expanse, moving slow as warm honey. But he manages to wiggle his fingers and toes just to check they’re still there. His stomach is a dull ache of imense fullness and he registers for the first time his hard cock leaking hot and heavy against his thigh.

‘Now we bake.’

Steve squeezes Eddie’s fingers, moving down the counter and out of sight. He feels hot wet lips kiss his cock head and shudders all over.

Buried deep in Steve’s throat Eddie keens, unable to see him over the rise of his full belly. Eddie lays still because he’s good, only moving his hands in order to grip his own soft sides.

He cums with a whimper and a sigh, everything easy and slow under Steve’s watchful care.

Then Steve is lifting himself onto the counter and straddling one thick thigh. Grinding his exposed cock against Eddie’s underbelly. Hips moving steady and deep, using the soft body that he built. Steve’s eyes are blown and half lidded, Eddie can’t help but stare at the pretty pink of his tongue where it sits over his bottom row of teeth. Steve’s lips parted and panting.

And as Steve spills over, as he groans his release across soft rolls, Eddie’s chest swells. He feels so useful. So needed and good. He got Steve there, to the hight of pleasure, simply by being Steve’s. By letting Steve make him perfect.

‘Fresh bread, my favourite.’ Steve smiles, leaning his chin between Eddies soft pecs and tracing the pink stretch marks on his inner arm.

Eddie giggles. Steve sucks a nipple into his mouth and bites gently.

He sighs, he loves being Steve’s favourite thing.

//

Wg tag list: @wheneverfeasible @victorclays @cheesedoctor

[cartermagazine]

Today We Honor Oluale Kossola, Renamed Cudjo Lewis

Zora Neale Hurston tells the story of Cudjo Lewis, who was born Oluale Kossola in what is now the West African country of Benin in her book “Barracoon: The Story of the Last “Black Cargo.”

A member of the Yoruba people, he was only 19 years old when members of the neighboring Dahomian tribe invaded his village, captured him along with others, and marched them to the coast.

There, he and about 120 others were sold into slavery, after the “Act Prohibiting the Importation of Slaves" took effect in 1808 slavery was abolished, and crammed onto the Clotilda, the “last” slave ship to reach the continental United States.

The Clotilda brought its captives to Alabama in 1860, just a year before the outbreak of the Civil War. Even though slavery was legal at that time in the U.S., the international slave trade was not, and hadn’t been for over 50 years. Along with many European nations, the U.S. had outlawed the practice in 1808.

After being abducted from his home, Lewis was forced onto a ship with strangers. The abductees spent several months together during the treacherous passage to the United States, but were then separated in Alabama to go to different owners.

“We very sorry to be parted from one ’nother,” Lewis told Hurston. “We seventy days cross de water from de Affica soil, and now dey part us from one ’nother.”

“Derefore we cry. Our grief so heavy look lak we cain stand it. I think maybe I die in my sleep when I dream about my mama.”

“We doan know why we be bring ’way from our country to work lak dis,” he told Hurston. “Everybody lookee at us strange. We want to talk wid de udder colored folkses but dey doan know whut we say.”

Confederate General Robert E. Lee surrendered in April 1865, Lewis says that a group of Union soldiers stopped by a boat on which he and other enslaved people were working and told them they were free.

He and a group of 31 other freepeople saved up money to buy land near Mobile, which they called Africatown.

CARTER™️ Magazine

[listen-to-the-inner-walrus]

so benjamin zephhaniah passed away yesterday.

though id reckon more people might recognise him as jeremiah jesus in peaky blinders, he was also a writer and a dub poet, and he was unquestionably one of the best british poets ever.

i dont want to write like a whole biography for him in this post because other people have done that much better than i can, but instead i just want to recommend his work. he has countless books, plays, poetry collections, albums, etc.

one of my favourite things about his poetry is how accessible it is and how he writes poems the way he speaks them, and in regard to that, i just want to share one of my favourite poems of his, Dis Poetry:

Dis poetry is like a riddim dat drops De tongue fires a riddim dat shoots like shots Dis poetry is designed fe rantin Dance hall style, big mouth chanting, Dis poetry nar put yu to sleep Preaching follow me Like yu is blind sheep, Dis poetry is not Party Political Not designed fe dose who are critical. Dis poetry is wid me when I gu to me bed It gets into me dreadlocks It lingers around me head Dis poetry goes wid me as I pedal me bike I've tried Shakespeare, respect due dere But did is de stuff I like. Dis poetry is not afraid of going ina book Still dis poetry need ears fe hear an eyes fe hav a look Dis poetry is Verbal Riddim, no big words involved An if I hav a problem de riddim gets it solved, I've tried to be more romantic, it does nu good for me So I tek a Reggae Riddim an build me poetry, I could try be more personal But you've heard it all before, Pages of written words not needed Brain has many words in store, Yu could call dis poetry Dub Ranting De tongue plays a beat De body starts skanking, Dis poetry is quick an childish Dis poetry is fe de wise an foolish, Anybody can do it fe free, Dis poetry is fe yu an me, Don't stretch yu imagination Dis poetry is fe de good of de Nation, Chant, In de morning I chant In de night I chant In de darkness An under de spotlight, I pass thru University I pass thru Sociology An den I got a dread degree In Dreadfull Ghettology. Dis poetry stays wid me when I run or walk An when I am talking to meself in poetry I talk, Dis poetry is wid me, Below me an above, Dis poetry's from inside me It goes to yu WID LUV.

[sneverussape]

walpurgis

another one that's been in my drafts for a while. it's just a lil ficlet so don't expect much hehe

@greens-your-color prompt # 25: DEATH EATER (scenario 1)

summary: a group is taking over the Wizarding World's news by storm and severus is naturally curious

--

“Lily?”

“Yeah?”

“Have you heard of these? These Knights of Walpurgis?”

Lily turned to look at Severus only to give him a disdainful eyeroll. “What do you want to know about them for?”

“Well, who are they even?” Severus was more than a little curious, but he was also apprehensive.

“Nobody special. They’re just a bunch of people who believe in a load of malarkey.”

Severus frowned. That certainly wasn’t the description he expected. “Malarkey? Like what?”

This time, Lily granted him a heavy sigh from behind the heavy tome she was reading. “Honestly, Severus, you shouldn’t believe everything you read on the Prophet. They’re just a group acting grand. Rich tossers who have too much time on their hands.”

“But is it true though, that they have access to hidden magics and things?” Severus felt his fingers itch at the notion. He was already taking advanced lessons in both Potions and Transfiguration, with both Lucius and Andi’s support and none of McGonagall’s and Dumbledore’s knowledge, and he was eager to learn beyond what books held, although he was careful to never share the reason. The few people who mattered would figure it out soon enough, but he avoided voicing it out loud to avoid any pretenses of hope. He was convinced mixing modern medicine and magic was the key to managing or even completely curing his condition altogether. Very few wizards in the past had already done so but they were all at least a century old. He had vowed to himself that he would engage in the same practice to figure out a cure, or at the very least die in the attempt. But he wasn’t going to tell Lily that, of course.

He asked her instead, “Do they know things beyond the books and the stuff they teach us? Like deeper magics? Blood magic?”

“Who told you that?” Lily looked at him this time, a frown twisting her features.

“Lucius,” Severus said before he could even stop himself. When he saw Lily’s expression darken, he caught himself and backtracked. “Not that it means anything, he was just talking shop…keeping me interested throughout lessons. Oh, don't make that face, Lily!”

“You’re fourteen and not living in the Wizarding World, he shouldn’t be telling you that.” Lily had snapped her book shut and was already making her way out of the plush armchair she had settled in. “I’m telling Mum and Dad—”

“No—!” Severus blocked his sister before she could make her way out of their father’s study. This conversation certainly wasn’t going the way he wanted. He had thought it was a simple enough question. “You don’t have to tell them, Lils, c’mon, I was just curious…”

Lily had grown an odd shade of red, as though she was angry. But why? Severus didn’t understand.

“The Knights of Walpurgis,” she spat the name as though it left a bad taste on her tongue, and her voice had dropped down to a hiss, “is a dangerous group, Severus, and you shouldn’t discuss them so casually.”

This time, it was Severus’ turn to frown. He could feel his dreams crumbling to dust before his very eyes. “I thought you said they were just a bunch of tossers. Why are you making it sound like they’re more than that?”

Lily shook her head vehemently. “Forget I said it. Don’t talk about them, Sev. I mean it. Lucius should not be talking about them to you.”

“Why shouldn’t he?” Defiance surged within him; Severus had never really liked being told what to do, especially by his sisters. It just wasn’t in his nature. “He’s my tutor, it’s his job to tell me things.”

“Not about this he isn’t! You wouldn’t understand…”

He caught her insinuation immediately and felt his face grow hot. “Because I’m not at Hogwarts, you mean? Or in the Wizarding World? I’m as much a wizard as any of you lot!”

Lily looked as though she had been struck. Her eyes widened comically wide. “That’s not what I meant!” she said, although her expression said otherwise. Lily had always been a terrible liar.

“That’s what you wanted to say,” Severus said, unable to control the bitterness in his tone. “Out with it then, Lils. You probably don’t even see me as one of you, because I don’t go to school in a magical castle and learn amongst giants and goblins and pixies. I probably don't even hold a wand right in your eyes.”

This time, tears welled in Lily’s eyes, crystal against vibrant green. “That’s not true, stop it, Severus! I have never thought that, and I never will!”

His chest had grown tight and Severus felt like crying himself. He knew Lily wasn’t trying to be mean, but somehow he also couldn’t help but feel the stab of self-pity that came at his own accusation. If his own sister thought he was beneath knowing something that was apparently commonplace news in the Wizarding World, what did the other kids think? Did they think he was some sort of…some sort of second-rate freak? Did Lily?

Severus tilted his chin up as he sniffed. He looked down at Lily with what he hoped was an imperious glare as he said, “Forget I asked. I shan’t bother you about it again.”

He stood and turned to stomp out of the room, tuning out Lily calling out to him. He shouldn’t have asked her. He shouldn’t have asked any of them. He should have just asked Lucius. Lucius would know. Lucius always answered his questions. Lucius wouldn’t think he was a freak.

As he walked away, Severus unconsciously scrubbed at the tears that were gathering at the corners of his eyes with his sleeve.

[bbbben10]

Dis Poetry

Dis poetry is like a riddim dat drops De tongue fires a riddim dat shoots like shots Dis poetry is designed fe rantin Dance hall style, big mouth chanting, Dis poetry nar put yu to sleep Preaching follow me Like yu is blind sheep, Dis poetry is not Party Political Not designed fe dose who are critical. Dis poetry is wid me when I gu to me bed It gets into me dreadlocks It lingers around me head Dis poetry goes wid me as I pedal me bike IÕve tried Shakespeare, respect due dere But did is de stuff I like.

Dis poetry is not afraid of going ina book Still dis poetry need ears fe hear an eyes fe hav a look Dis poetry is Verbal Riddim, no big words involved An if I hav a problem de riddim gets it solved, IÕve tried to be more romantic, it does nu good for me So I tek a Reggae Riddim an build me poetry, I could try be more personal But youÕve heard it all before, Pages of written words not needed Brain has many words in store, Yu could call dis poetry Dub Ranting De tongue plays a beat De body starts skanking, Dis poetry is quick an childish Dis poetry is fe de wise an foolish, Anybody can do it fe free, Dis poetry is fe yu an me, DonÕt stretch yu imagination Dis poetry is fe de good of de Nation, Chant, In de morning I chant In de night I chant In de darkness An under de spotlight, I pass thru University I pass thru Sociology An den I got a dread degree In Dreadfull Ghettology.

Dis poetry stays wid me when I run or walk An when I am talking to meself in poetry I talk, Dis poetry is wid me, Below me an above, Dis poetry's from inside me It goes to yu WID LUV.

[rael-f-wae]

This was ever Brutax’ problem: ere he chase murloc or goblin, the quickly creatures run away. Brutax isn't fast enough, or they are made of quicker stuff. "Still and still," Brutax nod -- "They leaved the place where they had trod -- now Brutax trod upon their sod." Their eggy eggs, or goblin nuts, Brutax entered and ate up. So, biteless, Brutax had orc's fill, and marched home, grim grum gruff and satisfied -- for eggless murlocs, woe betide -- thinked he, "Na busy laying -- na more good hogs will be taken." But saw he saw, a-coming back, an old strange shaman in his shack. "I hope he not much hungry, he -- not much in Brutax' shack there be." But he had come on stranger searching. He had tasteth eerie sign, and needed orc of constant mind, who disdained them fools full-pursed and had him ax of mighty girth. An orc, who honest watcher be, who could turn a watch with he, so neither would be sleeping never and a watch would keepeth ever -- long as it musteth be, long as he wid crack in earth or air, an all-removed something there, which itched his wid like nothing else. Such an orc -- so Brutax was -- He grabbed all three goodest axes, all his hogskins, and dried cactus in with fat of pork bepounded. He filled up his sixteen bladders with rooty cactus cider gruff, strapt ax-o-grim on adder belt, strapt rest of axes to hog-pack, which, made of quite colossal swine, even when well full of stone Brutax could well bear alone. Strapt him hobs on, him ruddy toughest, and his second in the pig stuft. Lastly in, his sharpening stone, with which Brutax always at home. Brutax a-cast a grimmer face, and casted sand on his hearth-place. Off in the night, the two were led by shaman's torch, a-burning red. "Mighty big day," Brutax said to me one day from on his mat. Brutax is not big for jawing but sometimes in his sleep be talking. So sometimes I do sit I there, see him dream of boar or bear, and listen for what he grumbleth out -- though that I could sleep, I do doubt -- that's how this book doth come about. Quickly through the dark did lead that shaman's torch that Brutax heed to where the shaman tied his steed, a boary boar-o-boar so big that never the like had Brutax wid. Brutax and boar eyed him each other -- Brutax a-grimmed, and that boar snuffed -- for both were gruff and grimsome creatures -- that grum shaman his old rod tapped -- that grim boar snuffed, quick-turned his back, stood gruffly snouty, in his pride, and Brutax, hesitant, did him bide, and grim-regard his scarry hide. Good he was tied far away from where his juicy cactus lay. That shaman tapped his rod again, and the boar sat down so that the shaman could grip upon his back. For one a good boar must strong hold -- Rushy creatures, good in tunnels, but best for those with good strong stomachs. The shaman must have a fine hair tugged, for off and off that boar did dust kick up and up from busted crust as zig-zag-yackward he did rush -- Brutax eyed the shaman's light, and it before too long stood still, far O far on yonder hill. Brutax well he knew the way -- it was straight across the clay -- thus far, thus far, anyway -- Brutax make yon hill by morning, but much further, he had not been.

[truelovez2]

Friendship SMS

If you are blessed with true buddies, it is always a great gesture to send them a cute Friendship SMS and let them know how special they are for you. We just love texting our friends about any quote or message that reminds both of them about any of their dear memories and captivate their bond. Nowadays there are ample lots of Friendship SMS which can be sent at any time of the day and is a simple yet lovely way to stay connected with your loved ones. For friends staying in far off places, at times it might be inconvenient to call so, this is the perfect day when you can send a sweet SMS and bring a smile on your friend’s face. 

Besides these messages will help you convey your feelings and friendly gestures to your buddy. It is a way of communicating without speaking to one another literally but connecting through the emotion and heart. We have managed a list of messages which comprises of Friendship Jokes, Friendship Quotes, poems, friendship Patch up messages etc. These emotional messages from your side will be cherished by your friend for life long.

Moreover it is fun to be in touch with your buddy through SMS. So read through some of the List of Friendship SMS given below.

List of Friendship SMS

Friendship SMS are used to make happy occasion more happy and content for the friends. It is the simplest way to stay connected with your friends.  Some of the popular and mostly used friendship SMS are

Funny Friendship SMS

A Dimple Is A Sign Of Pretty Face, A Smile Is A Sign Of Joy. A Hug Is A Sign Of Love & A Friend like ME In Your Life Well! That’s A Sign Of Ur Good Choice-)

Y Do We Need Close Frnz? -For Those Honest Opinionz. -To Pick Us From Railway Station @ 2am. -To Kick U @ Midnyt On Ur B’day. -To Make Fun Of Ur New Outfits. -To Get Latest Prints Of Movies. -To Call @ 3am Jst To Say Gud Nyt. -For D Endless Treats. -To Irritate Us Wid Missed Calls Wen V R Sleeping. -Sending Lot Of Msgs Though U Dnt Rply. -Or Maybe, Jst For A Beautiful Life.

Full Form Of FRIEND Few Relation In Earth Never Die That Is Friend.

“Life can give us a number of Beautiful Friends!” But.. “Only True Friends can give us a Beautiful Life…!!” One of my true friend is ‘U’

I always thought loving some1 was the greatest feeling, but I realised tat loving a friend is even better, we lose ppl we love but we never lose true friends.

Emotional Friendship SMS

Friendship is not a game to play, It is not a word to say, It doesn’t start on March and ends on May, It is tomorrow, yesterday, today and every day. Age appears to be best in some things. Old wood best to burn Old books best to read. Old rice best to eat and old friends’ best to keep

Sometimes the World Gives So Many Reason To Hate It.. But Whenever it Happens I Just Stop ‘n Think Of You ‘n Say How Can I Hate This World When You Are A Part Of It ..!

Friendship is not having a gang of people around u… it is best 2 have one heart which is true, thinking of u & always cares for u…

A real friend knows when to talk; When to listen; When to stop listening; When to stop talking; When to pour whisky; When to stop pouring & just pass the bottle.

Don’t place me in ur eyes I may fall as tear Place me in ur Heart So that every heart beat reminds u that this friend is always there for U

“FEELiNG”is a painting never spoil it “FACE”is a book try to read it “LOVE” is precious be ready to sacrifice for it “FRiENDSHiP” is a mirror never”break” it.

DuRiNg OuR FrIeNdShIp, ThErE wIlL B TiMeS U wOn’t SeE Me BeSiDe U, DuN ThInK I LeFt U BeHiNd, I JuSt ChOsE To WaLk BeHiNd U So I CaN CaTcH U WhEn U Fall… After all day’s work, its usually the bed time when we text our friends. Some of the best goodnight friendship SMS are-

Life’s lyk a novel. Mani chapters read and forgotten. But’s there’s one i wont 4get.. Its de chapters i met u and we became friends.. Take care..

My happiest time, meeting you My greatest memory, your SMSs! My biggest sadness, the distance! My strongest hope, seeing you soon! My heart’s prayer, Our relation continue 4ever…!

[royalcaredisabilitiesservices]

The Benefits of NDIS Community Support

The National Disability Insurance Scheme (NDIS) offers participants a variety of community access activities to help them build relationships and increase their confidence. These activities are also a great way to get involved in recreational and social events.

NDIS community participation supports can be included in your Core Support budget or as a capacity building support. They can be used to pay for activities that help you learn new skills.

Increased social and community participation

Community participation in NDIS services can help participants build trust and a sense of belonging. These activities promote social interaction and offer a variety of benefits, including increased self-confidence and improved health outcomes. They also help people develop more meaningful relationships with their family members and peers. This is especially true if families are involved in the process of planning and implementation. Moreover, they can share their thoughts and opinions with other stakeholders.

The NDIS offers many different support items to help with increasing community participation, including Core Supports and Capacity Building. These supports can be used to pay for a range of activities, such as art classes, sports coaching, and vacation activities. However, it is important to note that the activities must be reasonable and necessary, and must align with your NDIS plan goals.

Choosing the right community participation services is crucial for your well-being and quality of life. If you are unsure what is covered under your NDIS plan, talk to your local area coordinator (LAC), NDIS planner, or psychosocial recovery coach for more information.

Person-centered planning

Person-centered planning through NDIS community support involves exploring the unique goals and interests of participants. This can help them develop a positive vision for the future and identify their strengths and preferences. It can also encourage the development of social networks and relationships. This approach is a crucial part of ensuring that NDIS services meet the individual’s needs.

During the process, participants should involve their family members and friends in person-centered planning, even if they are not legally authorized to make decisions for them. The NDIS should also provide training and resources for family members and carers to help them navigate the complex process.

The NDIS provides a range of community participation supports for people with disability, including physical spaces, cultural activities and digital platforms. These can promote inclusion and diversity in local communities. They can also boost confidence and build new skills. In addition, they can connect people with local communities and encourage them to explore their interests.

Access to community services

NDIS community support aims to help people with disability participate in activities in their local communities. This can range from recreational pursuits such as sports or art classes to social activities such as attending an event with friends. These activities can boost a participant’s self-esteem and improve their wellbeing.

Community participation support is currently provided through the NDIS’s Navigation

Function, but we have heard from participants and their families that this is inadequate for navigating complex service systems. NDIS’s local community engagement teams prioritize information sharing and active listening, with gathered feedback feeding into ongoing Scheme improvement projects.

It’s important to choose a community support provider that shares your interests and can connect you with others who share those same interests. This way, you can have fun and feel more connected with your community. To get started, check out Mable, where you can book a support worker who shares your passions. It’s also a great place to find someone who is reliable and can help you achieve your goals.

Support items

The NDIS funds a wide range of support items. These include daily living support, core supports, and capacity building supports. These support items can help participants navigate the NDIS system and develop their self-advocacy skills. This is important because the NDIS requires participants to be able to advocate for their own needs.

NDIS payments are made against a set of support item numbers, which can be found in the NDIS Pricing Arrangements and Price Limits and the NDIS Support Catalogue. Providers must claim payments against the correct item number, which accurately reflects the service they are providing. If a participant has their funding managed by a plan manager, they can assist with selecting the right line item, which aligns with their services and goals.

Support items with a Custom Price can be added to the NDIS Direct Client Funding record using the Add a new Support Item form. When this is done, the Custom Price will appear in the NDIS Support Allocations in Activities report for all future allocations of that Support Item.

[superm4ks]

~personally~ of course as someone who is very interested in 3344 i would love to hear from lewis what his perspective is on max, who is compared more to senna, who is lewis' hero within his senna stannie fan card. like if senna wrote the fucking book max wrote the smash remake. like obviously humans are messy and complicated but like in ur pysche if the guy you "hate" is cut from the exact same cloth (and even sharper!) than the guy you love hmmmm. there's a lot of things to be talked about when drivers talk about who they idolize and why (or don't idolize). but i also love what u posted form that 1991 article bc f1 has never not been messy and human and solely about "wheel" or whatever and that makes it more interesting.

This is such supermaks bait anyway lets TALK about it 🌷

Literally thats the whole thing wid Canada that really stuck wid me after Max broke Sennas most wins oat, like Lewis' lil selfie wid him and his 'this is a pretty iconic podium' and that whole sloppy toppy moment wid fellow old Dawg Nando ((yall remember Nando podiums . damn 🕊️)) like theres a certain gravitas here. Max ended the most dominant streak by an f1 driver in the most controversial, soul crushing devastating fashion and followed that shit wid his own brand of dominance. That is fucking brutal lmfao. U said it like this is thee smash f1 remake this is textbook Senna, we've seen the script, we know what kind of driver it takes to enact the script. Its not gonna be a nice lil driver, its gonna be somebody who has a deep cynicism for the whole thing while simultaneously being unable to not execute it to perfection. That is Senna. It is Lewis. And it is Max. Max is, by all measures, in his current form, wid this red bull team, driving this car, untouchable. Bro is the final dawg. And the way that he still drives bro, that aggressiveness he has, that unwillingness to give up the line, thats every ((good)) drivers' dream to face a driver like that and come out on top because, ironically, thats as close to racing as it gets and it is old school. It does emulate a different time, a time that Lewis not only grew up watching but contributed to himself. It is about 'wheel' in the end but theres also a person in that car that can break you, which is like an extraordinarily human thing.

I've always found Lewis' bias for Senna very interesting because I think prolly until he was 25, and mind u I havent watched every Hamilton title winning season only 2008 and then obvi 2020 was my first so like obvi really influences how I c him, but he had that same restless nature. The shouts Max was getting even in 2021, Lewis got them too, including being a risk to his own peers, being rash, arrogant, etc. But then Lewis moved past Senna, imo, and became ‘Hamilton’, took over his own narrative, his team, made his own legend, wid his own dominant cars, and like he was settling back into that. Max came in at a point where u thought a Senna-like figure had no more space in f1. But Max created room, literally by force, and is also slowly outgrowing that to become ‘Verstappen’. I think thats the thread that wont snap between them, the knowledge that they are the last true protagonists of their respective eras. I have in faith in sharl, I think sharl wid a competent car, a good team, can achieve history too, but I dont have faith in Ferrari. Ferrari cannot perform to that level rn. So u have this monster at 25 whos like alone in his greatness and refuses to act the part. I get why people who dont fw Max's achievements might not like it, but that doesnt keep him from being the racing driver he is. That has no bearing on it, on him. Its a complete fabrication from fans. That is why Max feels so inevitable, and like, genuinely upsets people who dislike him by saying or doing anything because he will always own up on track and like theres an almost existential horror u cause haters wid that type of aura. Lewis is that same breed of driver, so he recognizes it, he knows what it takes be f1's villain. U cant cast a shadow on something u dont stand over.

After Silverstone he said: 'for a long, long time we’ve had periods of dominance. I’m lucky to have had one with my team. Michael Schumacher had it, Sebastian Vettel had it, and now Max’s period has arrived.' Just now in Hungary right after taking pole he said some shit like 'Max was doing 'Max things' in quali' which is a lil crazy to me. 😐 when the fuck did u ever hear Lewis Hamilton refer to a 'Max thing' except when Max has his ((much beloved)) category 5 Jeddah moments or bullies him during fp1 because he liked dared to breathe in his direction. Like since when is 'Max thing' a compliment. Like something shifted here and part of that is Max's inevitability in this car but also like how Lewis perceives that inevitability. Yk personally I cud only ever measure myself thru the people who beat me. In sports truly competition is all that is, u find somebody better and u chase after them. That's what Max did. He's rewriting those same records, because he can. And everybody who was ever somebody in motorsport did the exact same thing, including Lewis. And Senna right up until he died, because of the way it happened too, unfortunately, changed not only how u saw motorsport but also how u saw the person inside the car.

sharl was recently asked about lewis and max and had a very Leclerc type answer that I found very interesting:

Q: You were able to beat both Verstappen and Hamilton, who is more difficult to deal with?

Charles: "Both of them, they have completely different driving styles. Max always goes to the limit, I like his approach. He is aggressive and creates spectacular fights. Lewis on the other hand is very clever. In the way he positions the car after a corner, for example. He is less aggressive but thinks more. If he doesn't overtake you in one place, it's because he's thinking of an easier one in which to attack!"

Like is this not the most senna prost shit you've ever read in your entire life 😭😭. I think it comes down to how u approach a race and what u do wid the machinery ur given and faced wid certain track-specific challenges. Like look at this Spa weekend and you'd think it's the opposite of what sharl described, but it isnt. Max and Lewis can both be very aggressive, they just came up in the sport differently and established themselves wid different cars. Also neither of them about to let checo catch a break djdkdkd. In CONCLUSION ‼��� motorsport in general is a narrative driven competition wid a mechanical element that can make or break anybody no matter how good they are. Max himself becoming part of the mechanical element is unique to him, tho. Its above and beyond. Trust that the driver who became synonym for dominance in f1 is definitely paying attention lmfao

[memurfevur-archive]

A text from Nix: "Hey Dez, I think there's some stuff that me, you, and Crimew need to probably talk about. Are you free?"

"OH ZHIT. OKAY DEZ, PLAY IT COOL."

NO. IM TOTALLY BOOKED, YA KNOW, WHAT WID LIVING INZIDE AN IZOLATED VOLCANO IN DE MIDDLE OF NO WHERE. MY BUZINEZZ IZ JUZT TOO HOT, NIX, GOTTA MAKE AN APPOINTMENT. >:P

[alwaysxinxtrouble]

Apparently, Remy had impeccable timing with Johnny Storm quietly slipping out of his apartment and ready to go with just a knock at the door. Clearly, he was going somewhere in a hurry but an appointment or meeting if he was inviting him to lunch. Either way, he wasn't being dismissed or told to fuck off so it was already a win in Remy's book. Not everyone was okay being around mutants, let alone talking with them. Maybe the walking fireball just hadn't noticed who was standing outside his door yet. The sunglasses were key to hiding what he really was. Black and red eyes were generally a dead giveaway that he wasn't exactly human.

"Flirtin' wid me before you even say hello. I like your style, hombe." Remy smiled, looking him up and down hungrily. While the Professor did send him on a mission, there was nothing ever said about not having a little fun. And besides, Johnny flirted first. It would be rude not to return such charm in his opinion. "A sandwich wouldn't be bad. Been travelin' for days and it would be nice ta sit and eat for a bit." He shoved his hands in his pockets and glanced down the hallway.

"Professor Charles Xavier of Charles Xavier's School for Gifted Children." The Professor's efforts to protect mutant children was well known, brought up by the government and making the news often enough. If someone paid attention to the debate about mutants, at least. "I can explain da rest once we're sitting down. Is dare a place you had in mind, mon ami? It's been a while since I was last in da city and don't know what's good around here."

With the group of astronauts returning from their mission being splashed all over the news and what happened during it, it had most certainly caught the Professor’s attention. At the time, it was merely something the Professor wanted to keep an eye on. Why was beyond the Cajun but he had no intention of questioning the wiser man. He simply stood next to him and watched the news report, a playing card flipping between his fingers.

A few weeks had passed and Johnnie Storm was in the news again, this time about having powers and how they were now the Fantastic Four��and the public loved them. A far different reaction than they had to mutants. Xavier had called Remy to his office to discuss his plans and as much as he didn’t like what he was being signed up for, he couldn’t say no to the Professor.

At least, this trip to New York City would get him out of the mansion for a while.

His things were packed, his long brown leather jacket slipped on, and Remy was off to head for the Big Apple. Having been there more times than he could count, he got around the city easily and made his way to Manhattan. Out of all of the Fantastic Four members to approach first, he chose Johnny Storm. With a little flattery, he was sure he would be able to get the man to listen to him for ten minutes. If that didn’t work, he would try Sue or Reed.

Sunglasses covered his black and eyes and long brown leather jacket had two deck of playing cards hidden in the inside pockets, the Cajun made his way down the hallway towards the man’s apartment, stopping to know several times on the door before taking a step back. When the door finally opened, Remy flashed a charming smile.

“Hello hombre. Would you be up for a little chat? Da Professor sent me. Maybe you heard of him; Professor Charles Xavier.”

@torchedx

[catchmewiddershins]

ahh ok ok, it's good !! i'm only halfway thru but mAN, i'm hooked HAHA, and abt the type, mmm i don't really have a preference tbh, i just take a look at the blurb and if it's interesting to me, then i send a message to my mom n she decided whether to buy it or not

as for recs, i've only gotten into reading recently, but i have a few that i've been wanting to read

- agatha christie seems to be pretty popular, and i think she writes on horror, so i'll look into that

- there's also this guy, anthony horowitz, and i'm very interested in reading a book of his, the word is murder (it's out of stock on our local bookstore, so i'm just waiting on it)

- one of us is lying and one of us is next is popular with my friends and classmates, so i'm interested in it as well

but do you have any book recs? i'd like to get more into it, but i haven't been able to find a lot of good ones ; i dont mind the genre, i just get at what seems interesting to me, so feel free to drop your favorites :D

HMMMM IMMA CHECK THAT ONE OUT :DD

ok so what you got sounds good I'll give you some basic recs because I want to explore the genre a bit more myself lol (my sister also really wants to read One of us is Lying lol)

Classics (not old but like... famous):

- an Inspector Calls - a play that's quite famous, it's a script so it's all dialogue and the story is revealed through an interrogation it's a classic for a reason :) - An inspector comes to the house of a rich family in the (oh dear) like mid 1800s? Anyway he claims that they are all guilty of driving a working class woman to suicide and the whole story is slowly revealed it's so GOOD

- Oedipus Rex - ok this is an old classic but :)))) what can I say - it's another play and it's good! Technically it's a tragedy but the plot of the tragedy is Oedipus trying to solve a mystery - chances are you know the ending but that's the point, knowing the ending creates tension as he tries to figure it out and you wonder when the ball is going to drop

- Sherlock Holmes - I... I haven't actually read these but one of my best friends has and she KEEPS bugging me to read them so it's on the list because it's a classic and also my bestie likes them

- Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde - Pretty short! And so so good! You probably recognise the story and it has it's fame for a reason... t's written from the POV of this Judge? I think? I can't remember his career, anyway he becomes involved in these murders and he decides to find out who's doing it and then track the perpetrator down and it's also sci-fi and psychological I believe anyway definite recommendation

Lower level (so like ages 11 - 15? I mean that's the age I was when I read them so):

- The Mysterious Benedict Society series - honestly? I want to reread these because a television adaption is coming out and I'm mad about some of the cuts they made - it's about a group of children recruited to stop someone from brainwashing the world

- the Lady Grace mysteries - definitely around the 11/12 age when I read these so they're quite an easy read but what can I say I still like them and easy reads are good and fun - it's set in the late 1500s and the main character is Grace, goddaughter to Queen Elizabeth the first, and she becomes a private detective for the Queen for various murders happening around court while outwitting the official (male) detective who thinks that her observations are worth pretty much nothing - she also has to keep it a secret from the other Maids of Honour (like ladies in waiting but... nobles)

- Orphan Monster Spy - ok I loved this when I read it at... 13/14/15? Anyway it's about a Jewish girl in WW2 who goes undercover at a school for nazi's children to gather information it is very good

- The murder most unladylike series - OK this I read at 10/11/12 as well but just because books are for younger audiences doesn't mean they aren't gripping and they're often more creative! My sister is reading this atm and she loves it ehe - it's two girls at a boarding school that start solving mysteries together

Higher Level (so like... 15/16/17? When I read or have been recommended and all that jazz):

- Oryx and Crake - This is written by Margaret Atwood which means it's good. The woman is a legend! Handmaid's Tale COULD be considered thriller or smth like it's sci-fi but like... cmon so that's another rec by her. My English teacher and my mum keep recommending me this but I haven't started it yet... general consensus is it's good though!

- Jane Harper - She's an author who's mysteries are apparently pretty good? I have one and they all seem to be popular sooooo a recommendation :)

- The Declaration + sequels - These are written by Gemma Malley and ALL I CAN REMEMBER ABOUT HOW GOOD THEY ARE is that when I was taking my GCSE mocks (I was 15 half of us were 16) we had to do revision in an exam hall and um anyway I read this book and the Resistance instead and did not do any revision I was hooked - not really a mystery or crime technically I don't think but definitely that vibe - Basically it's a future world where children just aren't a thing? The government has designed drugs for longevity and kids born outside of the law become 'surplus' and are all housed together but this girl meets a boy from outside (I cannot for the life of me remember if they get together or not) and they escape and go to investigate the government and where these drugs are coming from

I'll add more if I read them... IDEA! This list will have a tag (#wid's book recs! and #wid's mystery recs!) so I'll add recs to it when I get them so it'll be constantly evolving and I'll do the same for other genres at some point! I had a few more that I wanted to add but I forgot and the cat is being clingy

[lgbtlunaverse]

I often get a little annoyed when I see posts that are something along the lines of "Y'all have GOT to learn to engage in media without shipping. Art is not just for shipping. If you get into art for shipping and nothing else that's bad and you have no media literacy why won't you care about THEMES?" because, yeah, they are technically correct. If you only egage with art in this one hyperspecific way you're going to miss out on a lot of good art and miss a lot of good things about the art you do like because you're only busy shipping.

But also... it is literally impossible to tell if someone is doing that based on a tumblr blog. "Everywhere I go I can only find people shipping why doesn't anyone care about anything else?!" A lot of them probably do, they're just not talking about it on their ship blogs.

This is a fanfic focused blog. Fic, and shipping by extension, are a very specific way of engaging with a work that I only use with a small amount of the art I experience. You know what my favorite book that I read this year was? Piranesi. Favorite movie? Everything everywhere all at once. Favorite series? Midnight mass.

And guess what? I'm not gonna write fanfic about ANY of those. And while I'll reblog posts about them that cross my dash I am also not going to seek out other fans on tumblr for these works specifically. And so, from looking at my blog, you'll have no idea that I read and loved these works, or that I spend a lot of my time thinking about them, their atmosphere, characters, and themes.

And that's just the narrative art I loved most. I've also gone to museums, and I'm definitely not writing any fanfiction about mondriaan's paintings.

You know what work I'm thinking about most these days? The book Flatland by Edwin Abott Abott. (Yes he is named Abott twice) a book about A Square (first name A last name Square) living in a two dimensional world being visited by a sphere from our three-dimenaional world. I read it several years ago, interested in the mathematical aspect, because by looking through A Square's perspective of meeting a creature from a world with a dimension he cannot fundamentally comprehend, we can imagine what the fourth dimension might look like to us.

I read it, loved the mindfuckery aspect of it, but was at various points annoyed at the horrible misogyny. The men in flatland are polygons with social status based on he number of sides and the widness of their angles, circles on top and triangles at the bottom. But the women are all simple line segments, automatically lower in society than even the lowest ranking men. A Square tells us women have to emit a "peace cry" when they walk, because walking into them (due to their sharp point) can be deadly, and if they don't do this they're executed. And women with any sickness that causes "involuntary motions" which can be as little as sneezing too hard, is instantly killed. He seems to think these are rational laws in the interest of public safety and also in the best interest of the women themselves. He also says that due to their lack of angles, women "are wholy devoid of of brainpower, and have neither reflection, judgement, nor forethought."

Yikes.

"I like it, but you can definitelly tell this was written by a man in 1884" I remember telling my mom.

Well guess what? This year I found out that flatland isn't just about having a low-level existential crisis at imagining the fourth dimension (beings from the 4th dimension would be able to directly see and touch our insides guys. Like. Just entirely bypass your skin and poke at your spleen) it is also a satire and social critique of victorian society. The misogyny is there to criticize victorian concept of gender roles! The bogus and violent laws that are shoddily justified to be for "public safety", the complete exclusion from women in the advancement and social class, the made up standard of angles and sides pretending to be biologically sound such as to "scientifically" justify their oppression. That's misogyny, baby! It's on purpose!

And it's a flawed attempt. A Square, as a man of his time, has no respect whatsoever for women and the few female characters the book has get barely any pagetime. This is accurate for the sexist pov the story is written from, and Edward Abott Abott, in a foreword of a revised edition, makes it clear that thay was exactly his intention. But it does mean that we never get to actually hear what any of the women of flatland think about living in this horribly misogynistic society. It's intended as a critique of misogyny, but any misogynist reading the book who doesn't find the sexism of flatland all that outlandish, can read the whole book with those assumptions going unchallenged. The satire only works if you already agree women are people.

But it's still good, insofar as portraying a ridiculously sexist society and the mind bogglingly stupid and arbitrary justifications mysoginists try to give for their bigotry, it is accurate. By removing it from our own world and putting it in flatland, we can more clearly see that connecting social status to wideness of angles is ridiculous, and the misogyny has no material basis. As a person who does agree that women are people, and is no longer under the impression that, because it was written in the 1880s, the misogny must be genuine, I can now, on a reread, appreciate the satire.

Prior to this post, looking at my blog, YOU WOULD NOT KNOW THIS. And I don't plan on posting many essays about flatland in the future. I read it because my mom recommended it to me, and so the way I discuss my thoughts on it is mostly with her, in real life. And I enjoy that more than I would posting about it here.

So yes, people SHOULD approach media from different lenses than shipping alone. Because shipping only works well for a subset of all art out there, and it is only one of the many ways to engage with it. But posts on tumblr are not solid proof of whether people are doing that or not.

It's also funny because a lot of the complaints of "why is everyone only interested in shipping for X" are about, like, adaptations of ya novels or comic books or god forbid shounen anime. You know, the shows with huge casts of usually likable, attractive and varied characters? Where a big part of the appeal is the entertaining dynamics those characters have which each other? Aka prime material for shipping?

Like, yeah, it can suck when it feels like the rest of the fandom is too busy smashing fictional barbie dolls together to have interesting conversations about the things you liked about the show. But please don't watch the Ship Show and then complain that everyone is shipping.

I wanted to end this post by telling you to go read flatland because there's no fanfiction of that but there are, in fact, over 40 works on ao3 for flatland by edwin abott abott and over half of them are gravity falls fics. It completely undermines my point but it's too funny to leave out.