wantonreader

[wantonreader]

Random things. What happens when you protest in Russia? You are immediately arrested. It’s not a game of chance, it’s a guarantee. All protests are forbidden. We are not allowed to call the war – the war, you’ll be fined at best, arrested at worst if you do. In fact, as of today, if you’re caught at an anti-war protest, you’re considered a member of a radical extremist group and are facing 6 years in jail. People “detained” for protesting are invariably beaten. Concussions, contusions, broken bones. Men more so than women, though women can’t rely on it. You can be asked to strip since they “need” to check your underwear. You’ll be verbally abused and threatened the entire time. And yes, of course, it doesn’t stop there, since they now know you and your family and where you all work and live. In this country, there is nothing truly independent, there never was. If the words “1937” mean nothing to you, you are very, very fortunate. For us, it’s this again, only a thousand times worse because now it’s empowered by technology.

The other day they arrested a bunch of kids. Literally kids, four of them, aged seven to eleven. They, along with their mothers were carrying flowers to the Ukrainian embassy and a small simple poster “No to War”. They were all detained and immediately separated, kept locked up for the night. We don’t know how the kids were treated. Mothers had their possessions confiscated, not allowed to call anyone, stripped, yelled at, threatened. The harshest threat was to be stripped of parental rights on the spot, never see their kids again. The kids were released closer to morning when a lawyer from a group that helps people in these situations arrived. I have no idea how these lawyers are still allowed to function. Small mercies. (Support them here: https://donate.ovdinfo.org/)

But it’s not just the pain of punishment or jail sentence. It’s the utter uselessness of it all. He won’t care if half the population comes out to say “No to War”. He won’t care if it’s all of us.

A few days ago, every school in the country received instructions to hold special classes to explain to kids why “the liberating military operation” was necessary and what happens now. The teachers have been given manuals on what to say and how to answer the kids’ questions. Some of the answers include: “Don’t worry if you hear that some countries don’t want to be friends with us anymore. There are other countries who do, and besides, Russia is a very big country, so we have everything you can possibly need right here.” By “other countries”, my guess is, they mean North Korea. After the class, the kids are supposed to take a test. It’s electronic, entered through a QR code, and the answers are automatically logged in. Questions include: “Explain why the liberating military operation was necessary” and “Expand on what the Russian government is doing to help people of Lugansk and Donetsk.” The results of the test are tallied, and if some kid doesn’t give the right ones, their parents are called in for “a talk”.

We will either end up with a bunch of really smart kids or another generation of completely deluded people. The last time something like this had happened was in 1991, when the Soviet Union was falling, and my classmates and I were asked to make a choice of do we want to pledge allegiance to the communist party or not. I was ten. My class, as I remember, was split roughly in two. The kids who voted “yes” looked at the rest of us with teary eyes and whispered “our parents told us to do it, they are too afraid.” And we got it. We all got it. Nobody hated anybody for the choice, because we all knew that fear and we all knew what it was like, to be hostage of the regime. We who voted “no” knew what we were risking. At ten years old, we were more politically savvy than a lot of full-grown adults across the ocean. It’s not a good thing.

For roughly twenty-something years, we lived in the illusion that we were out of that prison. Sure, our democracy was not perfect, but whose is? It was maybe incredibly naïve of us, but can you blame us that we wanted to believe it? That we still desperately want to, which is why there are a lot of really confused people in the country right now who still can’t grasp that their leadership has betrayed them?They will, in fact, believe anything but this. They will sooner believe him and ignore the facts, because a) they’re not getting the facts, and b) the truth is terrifying.

Nothing has changed. We’re still in the USSR. Yesterday, in Nalchik, students of the local university were ordered to go out and express their support for the president. They had no warning. At some point the university staff members entered their classrooms, handed out banners and t-shirts, and ordered them to go outside “to stand in solidarity” with the president. Refusal was not an option on pain of expulsion. Among other statements, they were made to hold up banners saying #wearenotashamed which should tell you everything you need to know about how the Russian people really feel.

I’m not going to talk about the independent media, because the last survivors of this extremely rare breed are being shut down as we speak. Meduza is still holding up by some miracle, but their turn can be any hour. They have been declared “a foreign agent” some years back, which means that they can no longer be properly financed and have to preface every single post and article with a huge all-caps statement that this information was created by a foreign agent, presumably to turn “loyal citizens” away. They have been subsiding on crowd-funding this whole time, can’t imagine how, since all transactions are now traceable and giving them money is not without consequences. (Support them here: https://support.meduza.io/)

The world has turned away from us, and I get it, but they don’t understand what they’re doing. Or maybe they do but don’t care. I don’t mean this on an emotional level, but purely practical. The more they punish the Russian people, the more, unfortunately but sadly naturally, the Russian people will unite in their support of He Who Must Not Be Named. He will feel even more legitimate in his actions and he won’t stop. Not that I can imagine anything that could make him stop now but… It’s not helping. It might make a lot of people out there feel better about themselves, but it’s not helping.

Worst of all, we can’t help Ukraine. So much as saying that we’re fighting a war or that we are losing that war can earn you up to 15 years in prison for “spreading misinformation.” It’s impossible to send over money, and as for supplies we can only gather those for the refugees that are fleeing to Russia. Our economy is on the brink of collapse, and the people that are running from the war and come here will have to share it with us. We’re doing what we can for them. It’s not enough.

And personally… My mornings these days start like this. I wake up. I don’t want to get up. I do eventually. Splash water on my face etc. Take my heart medication. Wait for it to take effect. Then I open Telegram and see if Meduza is still broadcasting. Read the overnight update. Learn that the horror continues in a multitude of fresh new horrifying ways. Remind myself that I have no right to sympathy or feeling sorry for myself or any of that. I was not the one who spent the night in a bomb shelter. I was not the one whose house was destroyed. I wish I was but I’m not. I’m just a useless spectator who’s too chickenshit to even go get beaten up and who rationalizes her cowardice any way she knows how. I want you to know this about me before you decide to continue knowing me. I am unaccountably grateful having known all of you.

I don’t know what else to say except maybe this. Lord, make me an instrument of thy peace.

[wantonreader]

Sorry you're feeling rubbish – I really hope you're okay and that you feel better soon. Here are a few drabble prompt ideas - drarry or any other pairing, no obligation at all to write any of them: - Lazy morning in bed with loud rain outside - Sharing a shower (can be sexy or silly!) - Character A tries to teach Character B the impossibly convoluted game that is Gobstones (bonus points for ridiculous rules)

Hello! Thank you so much for the ask and prompts! I’m indeed better, thank you <3

OK so I wanted to write the ‘lazy morning in bed’ scenario and set in the universe of one of my drabbles where Draco is mute. It’s here: Finding The Words

But what happened was that I ended up with one thousand words that only include a fleeting mention of staying in bed. I do quite like the result, though; I hope you do too.

1050 words, Teen-rated, prequel to Finding The Words , no warnings I can think of.

***

The first time Harry stays over, they have a fight.

It starts as nothing serious: a playful disagreement about Quidditch teams over dinner. Draco signs slowly, his heart warm at the sight of Harry’s concentrated expression: his dedication to learning sign language just for Draco. They’ve been seeing each other for just under month by then, and Draco feels more smitten than he’d thought possible.

The disagreement leads to a less playful dispute over the skills of Muggleborn players when they retire to the living room with a tumbler of whisky, when Draco has switched to the ‘words in the air’ spell. He casts with jerky movements, flinging the glowing words in the dim living room, just as Harry’s counterarguments spill out of him faster. The whisky burns Draco’s throat but doesn’t melt the stiffness in his spine. His fingers on the cut-glass tumbler are like claws.

And then, somehow, inexplicably, in that weird, twisted way that no one can account for, the argument moves to a topic that has nothing to do with Quidditch or Muggleborns: Draco hasn’t told his friends about them. He’s keeping their relationship a secret.

‘It’s been a month,’ Harry states, bitterness creeping in his voice. Draco wants to correct him: their one-month anniversary is on Tuesday, he’s made plans, it’ll be a surprise— But he offers nothing, because Harry’s right.

Harry gets up and stalks to the art-deco trolley that serves as Draco’s bar, pours himself a second, generous measure of whisky. He remains facing the wall and says, voice low, ‘We meet in bars that none of our friends go to. You dropped my hand when we ran into Zabini the other day on the street. You invite me to stay the one night your housemates are out of town. It’s like you’re—you’re ashamed of me.’

NO! Draco spells, the letters trembling with the force of his casting.

Harry turns and looks at the word, hovering golden in the firelight. ‘No? Then, why?’

Draco stands up. He signs, too fast, and Harry can’t make it out. Draco shuts his eyes briefly, takes a deep breath. He casts the spell again: I’m afraid that the more people know about us, the more they’ll jinx it.

When Harry makes to talk, Draco stops him with a gesture and continues. Now that the floodgates are open, everything he’s been suppressing comes pouring out: I keep fearing one day you’ll leave and never come back. That this is going well because it’s just us and no one else. That things will change between us.  I’m afraid of so many things, but mostly of losing you. Because…

Harry’s speechless. The firelight glints off his glasses, keeping his eyes obscured. Draco spells his last few words, his hands trembling: Because I won’t be able to bear it.

He stops then, his arms dropping limp by his side, feeling flayed and naked and raw. He waits. Outside car tyres hiss along the wet streets. Inside, the fire crackles and Draco’s heart thumps hard. He gazes down at the ivy green carpet.

Harry sets his glass on the mantle and approaches Draco. He’s close enough that Draco can smell the woods and leather scent of him. ‘Draco…’ he starts and waits for a beat—a beat that stretches Draco’s nerves to breaking point.

‘I love you.’

Draco snaps his eyes up.

‘I love you,’ Harry says again. ‘I should’ve told you before. This—us—is serious for me. Sure, things will change—but there’s nothing we can’t face together, is there? Because I’m not going away, not as long as you’ll have me.’

His words fall on Draco like summer rain, melting away the ice that had gripped his heart, the stiffness in his bones. Draco feels a smile spreading on his face, warmth radiating from his chest. He signs, say it again.

‘I love you.’ Harry now has his arms around him, whispers the words in his ear.

Draco pulls back to sign: again.

Harry chuckles. ‘I love you, you mischievous tosser.’ He brushes his lips against Draco’s. ‘And I’ll tell you as often as you want.’

*

Draco keeps Harry there all night and the whole of Sunday. In the morning, Draco sits on the counter and munches on toast, Harry standing beside him, making tea. His kisses taste like strawberry jam. They make a half-hearted attempt to be productive, to read the paper in the living room or write letters, to listen to the news on the wireless, but they soon find their way upstairs again, sweating and moving together, a dance of naked skin. They spend the day in tangled sheets, in each other’s arms, in the first flush of love. Draco’s heart can’t possibly contain this happiness. Yesterday’s drizzle has turned into pouring rain; it lashes against the panes of the windows, the chilly wind rustling through the bare tree branches. But inside it’s warm.

When Draco wakes up, it’s evening, the room dark. The streetlight limns the silhouettes of furniture in yellow; the tree branches cast moving shadows on his bedroom wall. The bed is empty.

Wrapping himself in his thick, monogrammed dressing gown, barefoot, Draco pads downstairs. Voices float from the kitchen. He stops by the door.

Harry—wearing his jeans and a T-shirt of Draco’s—is chatting with Pansy and Daphne around the wooden table, all three holding mugs of tea. The girls’ luggage is on the floor, dusted with Floo powder.

‘Draco!’ Daphne spots him first. They both turn to him, expressions identical with fervent interest—and very eloquent. When Harry leaves, the expressions promise, they’ll sit Draco down and grill him for every single detail. Draco finds that the thought doesn’t bother him.

He smiles, signs hello. Sits down.

‘So,’ Pansy starts, voice inflected, ‘we met Harry.’ She gives Draco a significant look.

You know Harry from school, Draco signs.

Pansy narrows her eyes. ‘I meant we met him in our kitchen. We thought he was a burglar! We’d have Stunned him, but no burglars would be breaking in topless.’ Pansy says the word with relish and Harry, endearingly, blushes.

You’ll be seeing him a lot more from now on. Draco catches Harry’s eyes. He’s my boyfriend.

Daphne claps her hands, delighted, Pansy rolls her eyes in an affectionate omg-you’re-such-a-sop way, and Harry grins like it’s Christmas morning. Draco leans back, watching his friends chat with Harry, a fluttering new tendril rising inside him: hope.

It’ll be all right.

***

[wantonreader]

Dean Winchester + books

[wantonreader]

Polished Malachite Stalactite - Copper Crescent, Congo

[wantonreader]

SANTA CLARITA DIET IS IN DANGER OF GETTING CANCELLED! im gonna go fucken cry and put season 3 on repeat on netflix. 

[wantonreader]

Shows end, yet Fic is Forever

We all knew this day would come, but it doesn’t stop it from hurting. And although the show is ending with season 15, the creative works it has inspired will endure and continue. 

While each person will deal with the announcement of SPN’s ending differently, we would like to offer up some of our most popular rec lists. Many of the fics on these lists are our favorites and we hope that they offer some solace as we reflect on the impact this show and these characters have made. 

Canon fic favs from Seasons 4-6 - for folks who drifted away from the show but still want to read some canon verse fic

Who Ya Gonna Call? - canon verse Fix it Fics for times when you think it could have gone better

Ten Years of Castiel - anniversary post with links to several Cas related rec lists

Recommended for younger readers - mostly T rated fic

Bisexual Dean - Bless

Transported to AU - Dean and Cas transported to another world or reality

Here Kitty Kitty and Witch!Cas - Witch/Familiar fics

I’m Your Huckleberry - Western AUs

PIE! - Chef/Baker fics

Pets and Vets - Pretty much what is on the label!

Tell Me Where It Hurts - Doctor!Cas

If you need happy fic, check out the following tags and posts:

Comfort Blanket - for times when you need happy fic

feelings recovery

fluff and sr: fluff

personal favs (some of these are angsty, be aware)

And finally, because sometimes you need to cry

Our picks for saddest fics 

Destiel Fanfic has been part of the Destiel community since 2012. If you are feeling nostalgic, take a look at these posts here and here reflecting on our time in this fandom. Or check out our Tags Page for more destiel fic goodies. Canon verse fics are under SU (supernatural universe) and sr: su tags (submitted recs: SU).

[wantonreader]

Happy Hanukkah, everyone, from these two jerks! I’m posting this a little early this year. Line art by the amazing Ro Stein & Ted Brandt, and colour art by @deecunniffe. 

I want to point out what a technical achievement this story is on the art side. There’s a real joy to creating a whole story in eight panels, but this? This is some magic. We introduce four new characters. In panel 5, SIX PEOPLE are talking. SIX. In the world of comics, that’s almost un-doable. 

Yet Ro and Ted arranged everything so the conversations flow and are sensibly grouped, all the “acting” is fantastic, and then Dee laid on top these beautiful, almost fairytale colours – look at the subtle work, the blush in Henry’s cheeks, Frank’s five o-clock shadow, the shine of the wine bottle’s glass surface, the light texturing in the backgrounds… and of course the snow! This is some first-class illustration work on an incredibly hard script. (I fear Ro and Ted always get me at my worst – my very formalist script for them in the 24 Panels anthology was no cakewalk either. (The problem is, they’re just so damn good at it… check out their work on the Image comic Crowded!)

As always, if you like what we do in Hells Kitchen Movie Club, consider donating a little to a veteran’s charity. 

(I also have a thriller novel I’m crowdfunding, please check it out, we are more than halfway there. The book is all written…)

Previously in Hell: cover image // 01 // 02 // 03 // Xmas // 04 // 05 // 06 // 07 // Hanukkah // That time the Punisher’s creator gave us a thumbs-up // twitter // insta

[wantonreader]

Hells Kitchen Movie Club #1: Origin Story

Here’s a reissue of HKMC #1 with @deecunniffe‘s gorgeous colours! Line art by @dave-acosta. Follow them! You can go read HKMC #2 right here. We’ll be doing about one of these a month, our schedules permitting – I’ve got about a dozen episodes written. Dave summed the strip up best: “sometimes it’s funny; sometimes it’s sad. It’s about coping, and finding a pack.” 

(I mean, it’s also about my terrible taste in movies and gratuitous synthwave references, too.)

Previously in Hell: cover image // 01 // 02 // 03 // Xmas // 04 // 05 // 06 // That time the Punisher’s creator gave us a thumbs-up // twitter // insta

[wantonreader]

[wantonreader]

fucking legend

[wantonreader]

#accurate

When you find that one perfect fic of OTP that's 200,000+ words with great plot, character development, and fluff/smut/angst in POV swap... and it's complete.

[wantonreader]

When you find that one perfect fic of OTP that's 200,000+ words with great plot, character development, and fluff/smut/angst in POV swap... and it's complete.

[wantonreader]

You're asexual? But...

“but sex is what makes us human!”

  in 1916 a French officer in his twenties writes his

doctoral dissertation under

heavy mortar fire.

he sends it by mail, a page

at a time, to his wife.

a week before he’s to step up to the podium and

defend his work rather than hiscountry

he is killed in action.

even as the bullets rip

through him he still wishes he could have become a professor

in French literature and

the university awards him a posthumous Ph.D.

sex is

  a woman breaks down in tears on the phone because

a week is not enough time to

get over a breakup.

her sister drives an hour across town,

comes up the front steps with

a gallon of ice cream and somebeer

and together they eat moose tracks and marathon

every

single

Godzilla movie

ever made.

  sex is

she’s late for work but her car isn’t

starting and even through her coat and hat she’s cold.

she knows she can’t be late again because she’s missed

one time too many already because her

father’s nurse was sick with the flu and someone

needed to help him bathe.

the clock ticks past fifteen after and she hits

the wheel like it’s a heavy bag as though that will help

steps on the gas like the car will go

and wonders how she will pay rent

and how she will feed her father.

sex is

  it takes three people to hold the predator down because

even with the cover over his head

a bleeding eye and shattered wing

he is trying to hurt them.

none of them have seen this bird before in their lives but

they bandage his wing and head and give him a painkiller and

put him in a warm place to sleep and heal because

it is right.

at first he is paralyzed and cannot

fly but soon he is taking steps

and then fluttering, and then soaring, and

six months later he is whole and healed and hunting.

once he is gone they never see him again

which means they’ve done their jobs right.

sex is

  in 1969 a girl watches grey-and-white footage on her parents’ tiny television and

can’t quite believe that what she is seeing is not a movie set but

another planet.

the men on the screen look a little like

aliens with bulbous heads and no faces and fat

marshmallow arms

but they are still men.

her mother puffs on a cigarette behind her and declares that

this is progress

even if it was just a small step.

the girl grows up to be not an astronaut but a secretary

and her boss calls her ‘sweetheart’.

but sex is

  a boy is taught that real men don’t cry so

he doesn’t.

when his best friend dies from a self-inflicted

gunshot wound, he locks himself

in the shower every day and sobs under scalding

water until it runs cold

so nobody will see him grieving

so nobody will see that tears are just love that

has no place left to go.

he learns to dull love rather than suppress its expression and

soon the owner of the liquor store knows him by name.

three DUIs, two evictions, and twelve steps later,

he is feeding people at a homeless shelter,

and telling them it’s all right to cry.

Sex is

  the broken man tells the comedian

that he didn’t mean to step in front of the car but the rain

made it hard to see.

he seems okay but his leg

does not.

the comedian clutches a grubby receipt with the driver’s

plate number scrawled on the back

in pink pen, stands out in the rain so the broken man

can have his umbrella,

and gives him the comedy routine that ruined his career

so the man doesn’t think about the pain in his leg.

once he’s out of the hospital, the fixed man sends him a thank-you card

with kittens on it.

what makes us human

  yawning is contagious,

and there is a species of bird whose young we call “pufflings”.

melodic collections of sound, spaced by silence,

can move us to tears.

the tallest building in the world is

two-thousand seven-hundred and seventeen feet tall.

in less than eighty years we went from our first powered flight

to touching the moon,

and in one-hundred from the first phone call

to instantaneous connection between thinking machines of our own creation.

we make pies out of tree organs

and let cow’s milk ferment until it hardens and then

we put them together, because apple pie with cheddar cheese is delicious.

what makes us human is

the earliest fossils of anatomically modern humans are

two-hundred thousand years old .

we have had pet dogs

for sixteen-thousand of those years, longer

than corn

or the wheel.

the steps we take are part of

one of the most energy-efficient gaits the

animal kingdom has ever seen.

we invented the concepts of love

and hate

and justice, and mercy

and we invented the language to convey them.

we sharpened rocks, then metal, to convince other people

who don’t hold the same idea of those things as we do

because we think

it’s right.

we are two hundred millennia of love and disappointment and

sorrow and innovation and

mercy and kindness and dreams

and failure

and recovery.

but sex is what makes us human.

[wantonreader]

#lydia and danny scenes are gold

[wantonreader]

OTP??? Pffffft

Person: who's your OTP?

Me: ...From what fandom?

Person: ...

Me: ...Are you only expecting 1 answer? Or am I naming all 127 of them?

[wantonreader]

[wantonreader]

"Marry me." Derek says. "Come on, you stubborn asshole! Give me one good reason you shouldn't marry me."

Stiles is a transient single omega in times of political change and social upheaval. When new 'Omega Protection Laws' are passed Stiles is forced to choose between being mated or sent to government omega camps until he can be assigned a mate. Frightened, Stiles returns home after nine years of having no one and nothing to call his own where he reunites with his childhood best friend, alpha Derek Hale. Derek is now a pillar of the community and a wealthy land owner with a wife and a young daughter. With the passing of the new laws Derek offers to take Stiles as his second wife to save the omega from a life of uncertainty and danger. Stiles reluctantly agrees and now he must come to terms with his new place as the lesser wife of a powerful public figure, and all the unfinished business between him and his former best friend. All Derek knows is after years of confusing estrangement, Stiles is back and he doesn't want to ever loose him again. But can Derek keep Stiles when the omega knows deep down he'll always be second in Derek's life?