#FRAMES IT AND PLACES IT ABOVE A PICTURE OF MY VERY LOVING FAMILY
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all is calm, all is bright
dad!Eddie Munson x mom!Reader
Your baby’s first Christmas, a silent moment in the festive glow.
Word count: 1.2k
Content/Warnings: Pure fluff. Short and sweet. Eddie and Reader are parents. Childbirth mention. Reader referred to as 'Mama'. No physical description of Reader - insert yourself, my loves!
Author’s note: Something small and seasonal as I try to get back into some sort of creative flow again. Much grá to you all, my lovelies ❤️
Dividers by @saradika-graphics
Cherry Lane glowed in the dusky winter light that fell over Hawkins. The entire town dazzled with a warm holiday glow from Christmas lights and the bright excitement of the littlest townsfolk all riled up for a visit from the Big Man later that night.
Your little home was no different - in fact, it might have been the cosiest home in the whole county. Coloured lights twinkled around the window frames, a handmade wreath hung on the door, and plastic candy canes diligently lined the snow-dusted path to guide Santa’s sleigh. It was a picture-perfect holiday card, inside and out.
Maeve Munson was too young to comprehend the very concept of Christmas, or Santa Claus for that matter. Too shiny and new to recognise the stocking with her name on it hanging above the small fireplace, or the presents wrapped in glossy printed paper beneath the tree.
Just a few weeks old, she arrived as an early gift for you and Eddie. The best one you had ever received. In true Munson fashion, her entrance to the world had been a little dramatic, but Eddie had held your hand and let you squeeze as hard as you needed until Maeve made her debut with a head of dark hair and a loud set of lungs.
From your cosy nesting place on the sofa, you watch her big brown eyes gazing at the twinkling coloured lights and baubles on the tree. With her cheek resting against her father’s shoulder, Maeve blinks, slow and sleepy, as she listens to his voice.
“I know you’re really into the boob right now, kid, but you’re going to love Christmas dinner once you’re big enough.” Eddie’s voice is a low murmur as he rocks slowly from side to side, chest to chest with his daughter.
His hand looks huge on her back, patting a slow and gentle rhythm that just exists for the two of them.
You can’t take your eyes off of them, despite how tired you feel. It would be so easy to just close them, a quick few minutes rest, but you would miss them too much.
You wish that your camera was closer so you could snap and savour this moment as one you can hold in your hands.
It is peaceful bliss bathed in colourful light; you soak it in, savour it.
There have been no tears for an hour, though you feel like you are right on the precipice of breaking that streak with how much love and joy you feel, swelling like pride in your chest.
The house is warm, the old window frames are fixed with double-glazed glass that keeps the chilly winter air out. It’s rough around the edges, but there is food in the fridge and the cupboards are full. There’s a tree and lights, a few presents beneath it.
It’s not much but it’s enough. All you need is right in front of you.
Eddie catches you watching them, smiles as he nuzzles against chestnut brown hair that will curl and coil like his own in time.
He pauses his murmured monologue, his waxing lyrical about everything he will pile on his plate tomorrow. Everyone’s bringing something to family Christmas at Harrington’s - you managed to make two desserts while Eddie introduced Maeve to A Charlie Brown Christmas, one eye on you the whole time to make sure you weren’t doing too much. Bringing the Littlest Party Member is the real treat for your friends and family, who will take turns holding her and squabble when one of them hogs the baby for too long.
“Hi Mama,” he says, his voice so soft as he crosses the room slowly on socked feet.
“Hi,” you whisper back, the thick feeling in your throat stalling you from speaking any louder. Part of it is fear, fear that you will undo Eddie’s magic touch at lulling Maeve to sleep. Her eyes are almost closed, almost.
Slowly, so slowly, he lowers down to sit by you. His gentle sway keeps up, like a lazy metronome, as he takes a load off. His sigh is carried from the tips of his toes, feeling like an almost burnt-out bulb.
“You’re really good at that,” you murmur, smiling through the tiredness.
“Hmm? Don’t count on it, she’s going to be wide awake again in a sec when she realises we’re not standing up.”
“Mm, maybe. This whole Dad thing suits you, Munson.”
When he smiles, you can still see the shadows beneath his eyes - you have a set to match, his and hers. There’s spit-up on his sleeve and his hair needs a wash. But he is beautiful.
Being parents wasn’t easy, you didn’t think it would be but some days you didn’t think it would be so hard either. You think that maybe if Eddie let his eyes slip closed, he would fall asleep too from his own gentle rocking rhythm.
“I can take a turn,” you say, bringing your hand to rub his back in wide smooth circles, mirroring him and Maeve.
You know his scowl is coming, and still, it makes you smile.
“Mm-mm, my turn,” he said, brows pulled in as his mouth pouts prettily. Much like your friends, it was easy to fall into a parental squabble of taking turns for the shitty nappies and the baby cuddles.
“Baby hogger,” you whisper without malice, pushing yourself closer to kiss his stubbly cheek.
“Yep, my baby now. You get to cuddle her all day when m’workin’.”
Eddie turns his head, lets his nose bump yours. His chin juts forward just a little to beg a kiss. You don’t even need to think about it, loving him is as easy as breathing.
There’s a pause, like bracing for impact, when Maeve makes a noise against his shoulder. The pause in his swaying did not go unnoticed.
“Can’t get anything past her, huh?” you murmur, leaving one last smiley kiss to his full lower lip.
“Nah, m’done for with you two.” His face cracks into a smile, he wouldn’t want it any other way.
You watch as he sits back a little, resting his head against the back of the second-hand sofa. You peel yourself up just enough to drag the coffee table close enough so he can put his feet up.
“Only ‘coz it’s Christmas,” you murmur, seeing his grin.
“You spoil me, baby.”
You spoil him more by dragging your blanket over his lap, sharing its fleecy warmth as Maeve slowly, so slowly, drifts off.
There are still gifts to wrap for Wayne and for your friends, laundry to be tossed in the dryer, but for now, you sit together as your baby sleeps, basking in the glow of Christmas.
Maeve’s breath is deep and steady; she makes these tiny noises that have brought tears to your eyes and Eddie’s on more than one occasion. Partly because she is finally asleep, but mostly because they are the sweetest thing you have ever heard.
Scooting closer, you press another kiss to Eddie’s cheek and close your eyes for just a moment, breathing in his warm spice, a hint of tobacco from his one cigarette - he wants to be around for Maeve, for you.
“Merry Christmas, Eddie.”
Your voice is just above a whisper, just loud enough for Eddie to hear. Your words warm him, settle deep in his bones and set his heart aglow.
“Merry Christmas, sweetheart.”
His lips press yours in a single kiss, sweeter than any hot cocoa, any candy cane.
Thank you for reading! Reblogs, likes and comments are absolutely adored and cherished ❤️
#dad!eddie munson#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x you#eddie munson x female reader#eddie munson x y/n#eddie munson fluff#dad!eddie munson x mom!reader#eddie munson#eddie stranger things#eddie munson fanfic#stranger things#bangaveragefics
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Hi!! Can i request a hurt/comfort hotch x reader?
Reader is starting to feel lonely in the relationship cause for the past 2 months hotch has only been home for a week total and she really misses him. They haven’t had time to themselves cause even when hotch is in virginia he’s in the office and him getting called out on a case during his day off happens more often than the both of them want to. and even when they text and call it’s not the same.
anyway hotch comes home in the middle of the night after a case and he just finds reader on the sofa crying cause she just really misses her boyfriend and the two of them finally talk about it.
You have permission to break my heart with the angst and put it back together. I know its long and i have no clue if it made sense so im sorry😭😭 enjoy your day💕
༉‧₊˚. 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐟𝐭 || 𝐚𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐧𝐞𝐫
― pairing: aaron hotchner x plus size!reader
― summary: you knew that being with aaron meant that his job came first, you just hadn't realized how badly it would actually affect you. now, your life and love is on the line.
― warnings: ANGST ANGST ANGST!!! you have been warned!, thoughts of breaking up, established relationship, hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending, hints of depression.
― wc: 905
⋆ a/n: my first long fic back being angst LMAOOOO. i'm not going to lie, writing this kind of bummed me out a bit but that's how i knew it was going to be good LOL. but never fear, i got a few smutty things in the works, so keep a silly little eye out for that!! i love you guys so so much and thank you for your request!
masterlist | AO3
The room felt melancholic. Empty.
The sounds of laughter that had once bounced off of the walls of your home now rang silently, one of the only people that knew of the joy that once made your house a home was long gone on a case right now.
You don’t know what to do. How could you last like this? How could your relationship? How could Jack?
Jack, the precious little boy that you had taken under your wing even before you and Aaron had ever made it official. You knew he missed his father dearly, but with every large life milestone the boy had completed, Aaron had missed out on. It had gotten to the point where Jack doesn’t bother to ask you if he could call his dad to tell him about it, because nine times out of ten, he knew that Aaron wouldn’t answer.
So now as you sit here on the couch in the dark with your head in your hands, you can’t help but think that maybe this was it, that it was time to consider the very dreaded other option.
You tried your best to make your relationship with Aaron work, God did you try, but having to sit there and endure weeks of radio silence, of not knowing whether or not he was alive was excruciating. When he did have time to text or call you, every conversation was more and more distant.
Hot tears rolled down your cheeks, and your bottom lip trembled. You crossed your arms and placed them on your knees where you leaned on them, staring out into the abyss of your dimly lit living room. You had just put Jack to sleep, and you didn’t want to risk waking him up.
Your eyes solemnly scaled the walls where the pictures of your little family hung, frames upon frames of happy smiling faces.
What happened?
It was the fact you were absolutely drowning in your thoughts that you didn’t hear your front door unlock – something that your boyfriend would deeply frown upon.
Aaron wasn’t surprised to find the apartment quiet, what he was surprised to find was your silhouette illuminated by a single lamp. What really set off the alarms in his brain was your shivering shoulders, which could only mean one thing.
“Sweetheart?” His deep voice pierced the thin air hovering above you. You just shook your head, any happiness that would have left your mouth died in your throat, the words leaving you was, “We have to talk.”
You hated doing this, but who’s to say he won’t get called in tomorrow? No, you had to do this now.
Aaron felt his heart fall into his stomach as he made his way over towards you, gently sitting down on the cushion next to yours, almost as if he was afraid to scare you.
“Of course. Are you okay?” He inquired in concern. You just shook your head again. “This isn’t working, Aaron.” The pain lacing your voice was unmissable. “What?” He’s completely caught off guard, because this was the last thing he’d expected to come home to.
“I can’t do this anymore… unless – unless we can figure something out but even then I-” He rushes to grab your hand, and it lays limp and cold in his warm and calloused one. “Honey please, what’s wrong? Tell me what I can do.” Holy shit, he’s panicking.
“You’re never here anymore! I - I can’t remember the last time in the past two months that we’ve been able to have any alone time together! Most of the time you’re either gone in a whole different state or stuck in the office!” You couldn’t stop the word vomit from leaving, all kinds of emotions that had been kept dormant finally coming up to the surface.
You heaved out a deep breath, your body slumping in defeat. “Did you know that Jack learned how to ride a bike today?” You asked quietly. “No.” Aaron gulped, “I didn’t.”
A heavy silence settled between the two of you.
“What do you need me to do?” Finally, you looked at him.
There were unshed tears in your eyes, “What I want you to do, you can’t make it happen.” His eyebrows furrowed. “You want me to quit my job?”
“No,” You said with a disbelieving laugh. “I just want you to be there.”
“Who says I can’t do that?” His head tilts, his eyes boring into yours, desperately trying to read you. It was like his profiler skills didn’t exist. “Every time you’ve had a day off you’ve been called into the office one way or another.” Your tone is hopeless, like your situation can’t be helped.
With a harsh squeeze of your eyelids, the tears began to fall, but Aaron was quick to swipe them away.
“Honey, look at me,” He cups the side of your cheek, his thumb brushing away the liquid. Hesitantly you did, and you instantly fell victim to the warmness of his irises. “I will fix this, because I am not losing you. My behavior has been completely unacceptable, and I swear that I will be here for you and Jack more consistently, I promise.”
“How do I know if this won’t happen again?
“I’ll make sure of it.”
It was the finality in his voice that fizzled out the anxiety in your gut, setting your nerves at ease.
“Don’t make me regret this, Hotchner.”
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hi! was looking for park chan yeong, and saw your post 🤩 are your requests still open? Could you write something about chan yeong getting really hurt 😭 and then fem!reader taking care of him 🥺? Please 🙏 (english is not my first language, sorry for any mistake and if my ask is not very much to understand)
Chan Yeong X fem reader
Genre: idk honestly 😭
Small summary : After cleaning your small room/living space that you had in the survivors shelter/camp as you decided to read a book as you waited for your boyfriend Park Chan Yeong to arrive
(This one might be short I want to try to get 2 done before taking a nap since I’m not feeling well☹️)
It was some time after noon as you finished rearranging your book shelf, as it was filled with all kinds of books since Park Chan Yeong always make it his priority to bring back at least two books for me to try out
Letting out a soft sigh as you stood to your feet , stretching you arms as you felt your muscles become relaxed , once you got a good stretch
Your eyes quickly scan the small room , there wasn’t much , on the right side of the room , you had a bookshelf that have three shelves full of books , a old broken down dresser that was still useful for your clothes
Looking to the left side of the room , which contained your full sized bed , a small nightstand that had a small lap that lift up the left side of the room
Min the middle there was a small table , which you had your remaining makeup , bottles of water , sketches that you drew out of boredom , pencils that were scattered over the table and a framed photo of you and Chan Yeong
Walking towards the small table that sat in the middle of the room as you pick up the small framed photo , as the corner of your lips start to form in to a small smile
The picture was taken a month before the apocalypse started , you were facing the camera , with a huge smile while you eyes looked as if they sparked through the photo
As Cha Yeong had his arms wrapped around your waist , head hiding in your neck.. you couldn’t tell in the picture but he was also holding a huge smile almost as big as yours , while you held your small poodle in your arms
It was a happy family photo is what you always thought to yourself , slightly smiling as you sit the picture frame back on in its place on the small table
Letting out a small yawn as you head for your bed , heading back for your book shelve , quickly choosing a book as you head for your full sized bed
Climbing in bed as you wrap the warm comforter around your body , quickly opening your book where you last left off as you start to read in silence , ignoring out any noises that came from the hallways
As you were so invested in your book that you didn’t notice the bed room door slowly creek open , as the unknown figure slowly walks into the room , not looking up until you heard some one let out groan a of pain
Quickly sitting your book next to you on the bed as you turn to see a cut and bruised Park Chan Yeong , standing to your feet as you rush to Yeong in a hurry , carefully grabbing both sides of his cheeks in your hands as you turn his head left and right quietly examining Chan Yeong’s face not noticing as he loves at you with love
Grabbing a hold of his arm as you quickly pull him towards the bed giving him a slight push as he falls to a seating position, eyes watching as you head for the dresser , taking out a first ad kit from the very top drawer , quickly heading for Chan Yeong as you sit on his lap carefully as you place each leg at his side coming face to face with Chan Yeong
Silently looking down as you open the first ad kit , grabbing a cotton ball as you pour a good amount of disinfectant, carefully taking the cotton ball as you softly dab the cut that was at the right corner o his lip
Taking a new cotton ball as you do the same with the disinfectant now cleaning the cut above his eyes which seemed to lose lots of blood
Once you were finished you take a bit of ointment to put over the now clean cuts , as tears starts to build in your eyes , also why falling down your checks as you think of something bad happening to Cha Yeong that would leave you all alone
As if sensing your thoughts Chan Yeong slowly raise his right hand as he softly wipes away your tears
“I’m okay..don’t cry” Chan Yeong says as he gives your check as soft kiss , softly pulling you into his in-brace as he lays back on the bed not letting you go once as your softly cry yourself to sleep knowing that he was now safe with you
#black reader#fem reader#female reader#smut#sweet home#sweet home 2#sweet home imagines#x reader#Chanyeong#sweethomefanfic#sweet home fanfic#sweet home x reader
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sunday mornings - [husband!miguel x blackwife!reader]
synopsis: just a domesticated miguel's sunday routine with his gorgeous black wife.
contents: sfw, suggestive theme, brief sex part but it is not graphically written, just fluffy stuff
notes: some use of spanish is used in this. my spanish is not very good, so if there is any grammatical errors please let me know. i wrote this bc i saw a lot of miguel x black reader fics that have smut in them, and rarely did i see some domestic or fluff with miguel and a black reader. miguel is not spiderman in this, he does not have any mutated abilities or powers. miguel is in his early 30s and reader is in their late 20s.
The weekends are always an anticipated time for Miguel. During the weekdays he would be working diligently in the confines of a cold laboratory. He worked the typical 8 to 5 as a bioengineer, pulling in money to support him and his lovely wife. On Saturdays, Miguel would spend them freely doing whatever errands or activities he couldn't do over the weekday. However on Sundays, there was a routine that him and his wife set in stone for them.
It starts off with Miguel waking up to the aromatic sweet smell of pancakes and a California king-sized bed with an empty spot beside him. The curtains and blinds in their bedroom are closed, yet the tell-tell signs of sunlight is evident from the peeks of rays. His sleepy brown eyes look at the wall clock and reads the time as five past 8 in the morning. Which was normal for his wife to be cooking their breakfast at a time like this on Sunday.
The man lifts himself out of bed, and doesn't leave the bedroom till after he's fixed up the bedsheets and laid the pillows back into place in a neat order. As he crosses the threshold of the door he shuts off the ceiling fan with a flick of his fingers flipping the switch down. Miguel runs his thick long fingers through his dark brown bed head hair as he walked through the hallway. The walls were decorated with family pictures, their wedding ceremony, and paintings of abstract African art.
As he got closer to the kitchen, he could hear the faint sound of the R&B song "Weak" by SWV playing from the bluetooth speaker. Accompanied by that was the sizzling of bacon cooking on the stove and the smell of that lingering in the air. Miguel came upon the kitchen entryway and he stood there leaning against the frame just to observe you preparing breakfast.
You were standing at the flat ceramic-top stove, flipping pancakes on a pan while keeping a watchful eye on your bacon. Your husband eyes your attire: a cream satin robe that ended above your knees and a matching color bonnet on your head. Your face free of any makeup, and you were just in your natural state. You looked beautiful as the day he first met you.
Miguel leans off of the frame and makes his way over to you. While you were in the midst of cooking, you felt strong arms and a firm chest press against your back. Large hands wrapped around your stomach, intertwining their fingers in a way to prevent from you escaping. As if you would ever do that. His supple lips attached themselves to the junction of your neck and collarbone just as a content sigh emit from him. A gentle and heart-warming kiss is what left goosebumps on your brown skin. A genuine, happy smile followed.
"Hmm... buenos días mi corazón." He whispers to you, and rests his chin on your shoulder to watch you cook. "Qué tenemos para breakfast?"
You daintily flip over a pancake while responding to him, "You are having oatmeal with apples, cinnamon, and honey. I am going to have pancakes, bacon and scrambled eggs."
Miguel pouts at the meal he was going to be eating, "Do I have to eat that mi corazón? It's so bland."
"Hey, the doctor said your cholesterol levels were high Miguel and that you need to cut back on sodium. You wanna have a heart attack or do you wanna live to see 60?"
He rolled his eyes, but he couldn't argue with your factual rebuttal. "Okay, I get it." His lips kiss your cheek before he lets you go and takes a seat at the dining table. Your gentle voice calls from the kitchen, "I love you Miguel."
"Te quiero tambien, Y/N."
Once you were finished cooking breakfast for you and your husband you set out the plates. First you placed your plate of scrambled eggs, two pancakes, and three strips of bacon onto the tablemat. Then you served Miguel with his bowl of oatmeal coupled with four boiled eggs and his orange juice. You let out an amused chuckle when you saw the pout on his lips upon seeing his meal. Your lips kiss his temple before you go over to sit at your designated seat.
"It's only for a month, papi, don't worry too much."
Together you both ate breakfast and discussed over plans for your Sunday. You told Miguel that after church services you were to be a teacher's substitute for the children so you wouldn't make it home until a little after 12. Miguel said he was fine with that since he would be helping out one of your elderly neighbors with mowing his lawn today due to the guy's back being hurt. You also mentioned to him that you needed to do chores around the house. He reminded you that you were to have Sunday dinner with his parents tonight at their place.
"As long as you're not going to be drunk with your dad then we can do that." You say to him.
"I won't drink with my father, cariño." He promises.
After breakfast was over the two of you started to get dressed for church. You did your makeup in your shared bathroom, going for a soft glam look. You took off your bonnet and fixed up the Senegalese twists you had in your head. You laid down your baby hairs, massaged oil onto your scalp and conditioned your hair. When you were finished doing that you went on to get dressed. Out from your private closet you pulled out a long sleeve mustard yellow maxi dress and slid on sandals. Then you accessorized with gold bracelet, gold heart necklace and gold diamond tear-drop earrings.
You came out of your bedroom and walked into the foyer where Miguel was standing there waiting for you. He was wearing the dark brown two piece suit you had picked out from him the night before. A mustard yellow tie and handkerchief stood out. Your husband cleaned up nice.
His eyes met yours when he heard you walking down the hall and smiled lovingly at you. "Dios mío... Te ves hermosa en ese vestido mami." He gently grabbed a hold of your hand and spun you around just to get a glimpse of your butt. "I don't think I wanna go to church today now."
You giggle and swat him in the chest playfully. "Damn Miguel, you horny dog, we're not skipping out on church again for that. Maybe when we get home this afternoon..." You trailed off letting him know that you were insinuating it could happen.
After Miguel gave you another twirl then a slap on the ass you two set off for church. There the two of you sat in the middle section of the chapel. Some folks came up to you greeting you both, and conversated about what the preacher was going to say today. You both got many compliments on your matching outfits. Which to you wasn't a surprise as you both wore matching outfits on Sunday mornings with similar colors. You remember from last year how the two of you wore red, white and green colors in celebration of Christmas during a service.
The service held felt long despite it lasting an hour and a few minutes over time. You and Miguel did your donations to the church. You both separately put in $50 into the hat that went around the congregation. You sang the songs that the choir was singing and praised every time the preacher talked about the Lord. By the time it was time to leave you looked at Miguel and told him to not pick you up since you had a ride back home after the class with the Sunday school children. You gave him a kiss good-bye then went on about your day teaching.
Miguel went home and changed out from his church clothes to a loose grey tank top, khaki cargo shorts and sneakers. He went over to the neighbor's home and let them know that he was going to mow their lawn for them before doing it. The old man neighbor was thankful for Miguel, even offered him money, but your husband politely refused. To him kind acts of service shouldn't be paid for with money but with kindness in return.
At around 12 you were just arriving home from church and Miguel had just finished up with mowing the neighbor's grass. He greeted you at the door kissing your lips tenderly and his hands caressing your hips. You inwardly laughed as you weren't even a minute into being home when your husband started kissing you and feeling you up in the foyer.
"Papi, I haven't been home for five minutes!" You squealed when he carried you up off the ground and pressed your back against the wall.
Your husband smirks on your lips and replies, "You're the one who said we could do it after church."
He was right you did say that to him this morning. You threaded your manicured fingers through his hair, a soft moan slipping past your glossed lips and into his own.
"Hmm, Miguel, if you really want it we gotta go to the room." You say breathlessly in between the passionate kisses he was giving you.
Miguel carries you into the bedroom and lays you on the bed gracefully. Once you two have rid each other of one another's clothes and jewelry pieces you both engage in steamy coitus. Hands caressing bodies, lips sucking on flesh, and sweat sticking to skin. A song of low grunts, shrill pleased moans, and heavy rushed pants resonated in the bedroom. The loud pounding of skin sounded like a drum in the background and creaking of the bed frame. It all escalated into an unsteady rhythm then came to an abrupt halt once you both met your ending.
The two of you laid in the rumpled bedsheets just holding each other in the aftermath. Basking in one another's glow. You tilt your head up to look at your husband and then kiss the underside of his sharp jawbone.
"We can't stay in bed too long, papi. I still got chores to do and we have dinner with your family tonight."
Miguel let out a tired sigh, "Just five more minutes cariño."
You move to get out of the bed, "Uh-uh, Miguel we gotta get moving, come on now." You pull yourself out of the bed and turn to your naked husband still laying on the bed. You wave your hand, "Come on, get the bed sheets changed and let's take a shower."
"I love you."
You pause when he says those words, but your face softens when you feel butterflies in your stomach. The words, "I love you too." fall out of your mouth when you respond. After saying that you walk out of the bedroom and into the bathroom, Miguel could hear your voice shouting, "You better be getting out of that bed and changing them sheets!"
Miguel shakes his head followed by a roll of his eyes. Though he does as he is told. He changes the messed up bedsheets, putting the old one into the laundry room and then replacing it with clean fresh ones. As soon as he was done he met with you in the shower and you both washed together.
Yes this was Miguel's Sunday routine. Going to church with his gorgeous wife, helping out with the chores, and attending Sunday family dinners with her family or his family once a week. It was the one day of the 7-day week that Miguel looked forward to. And he wouldn't trade it for anything else in the world.
notes: slowly trying to get out of my writer's block slump. current fixation is fucking miguel o'hara. god knew not to make that man real bc he will have everybody and their mama on his dick. anyways lmk what you think of this fluffy piece! (つ ͡ꈍ ͜ʖ̫ ͡ꈍ )
© 2023 demiesworld please do not repost on any other website without permission. do not plagiarize. any similarities in this fic is purely coincidental.
#miguel o'hara x black!reader#miguel o'hara#spiderman 2099#miguel ohara#astv miguel#marvel#marvel comics#miguel x black reader#miguel o'hara x black reader
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My Hero Academia, Chapter 370 Thoughts.
Admittedly, I was very confused by Shoji’s response to the PLF members legitimate complaints about the discriminations that heteromorphs have suffered with a question that is off topic and tone deaf at the best, and deliberately undermining the legitimate suffering that heteromorphs have endured at the worst.
But let’s give Shoji the benefit of the doubt as we discuss his argument and point of view underneath the cut.
However, Shoji’s response reminded me of one of my favorite posts observations made by another tumblr user. @yugiohz on this panel featuring Shigaraki and Deku from the war arc.
“I love this paneling because it shows the contrast of the character’s world view, deku thinks this conflict only happens on a personal level when shigarki is aware that it’s a systemic one.”
Shoji’s arguments seem arguably tone deaf and oblivious to both the bigger picture that the PLF commander is getting at. The existence of entities like the creature rejection clan, and the atrocities committed against heteromorphs which is apparently, still so prevelant an issue that fifteen thousand people showed up to the riots. So this issue is not only still relevant, but wide affecting.
So to respond to all of those legitimate questions with the question of why didn’t thiey think of evacuating the hospital first like the heroes did, and the implication that if they didn’t, they are just as bad as the people they are protesting against is just a little bit ignorant. Or maybe a lot of bit.
In all fairness, of course even in a war it’s considered a crime a target full of innocent people uninvolved with the conflict as a part of your battle strategy. From Shoji’s perspective, these people are attacking a hospital full of sick people unable to defend themselves which are unrelated to their grievances against society at large. Even in war times it’s considered taboo to attack people who didn’t sign up for the conflict and are also unable to defend themselves, civilians, sick people, the wounded, children.
t’s fair to point out that it’s wrong to target people who aren’t combatants who signed up for the fight, but at the same time if you point that out it’s also fair to point out it’s the heroes who decided to shelter Kurogiri in the first place. The mob isn’t attacking the hospital of a whim, they’re trying to seize an objective to win a battle against the society they think wronged them, and the heroes are the one who decided in the first place to hide Kurogiri in a hospital full of innocent civliians. It’s the heroes who knew that this hospital would be attacked hence why they posted guards there, but apparently didn’t evaucate the hospital. So, if we’re splitting hairs here, the split hairs still don’t come out in favor of the heroes.
However, as tone deaf as Shoji’s question comes across, it also resembles a lot of responses his fellow hero students have had whenever they’re face to face with the villains trying to explain how they’ve suffered against hero society.
When Toga tries to explain herself to Uraraka she’s immediately shut down with this argument. That if she chooses to live as she pleases and threatens with people, then there’s also consequences to that.
As referenced above, when Deku says that he won’t ever forgive Shigaraki, Shigaraki replies with I won’t forgive any of you people. When Dabi tells Shoto about how he tried to come home, but in the end was shown that his family just moved on without him and that he had no replace to return to Shoto responded with this.
It’s three flavors of the same response. It frames Toya, Toga, Shigaraki, and Spinner + the Mob’s Choices as a whole like they woke up and one day decided to be a villain.
LIke, do Toga and the rest have agency and responsibility to their actions? Yes. THey chose to become violent. They chose to fight. They are still people making choices no matter how driven by their own trauma and they are responsible for those choices. However, there’s a difference between an influenced choice, and a choice made entirely of their own free will.
Here, let me demonstrate. Absoluetly nothing forced Enji to abuse his own family. Enji decided on his own to place his career as a hero above everything else, he decided to arrange a marriage with Rei for the entire purpose of giving birth to a child with a hybrid ice and fire quirk and also ignore his children who didn’t suit that need.
However, Toya had no agency in this choice. He was born into these circumstances. Through no choice of his own, he was born to a father who ignored him the moment his quirk started failing, and a mother who blamed him for the discord of his household for not simply giving up on his quirk training and his attempts to earn his fathers love because she was too afraid to conront her husband. Toya was a helpless child when this happened to him, he’s a fully grown adult now, but when the inciting incident of his trauma happened to him he was as those innocent as those imaginary innocent people that heroes keep parading about as a reason tto not sympathize with the villains.
Rei had no choice but to marry Enji because her parents pressured her into it, she became a victim of his abuse, but you know who was even more of a victim? The twelve year old helpless child who was born into these circumstances, who was also completely defenseless at the time. Who’s father ignored him, and mother wasn’t strong enough to protect him, whatever Rei suffered, Toya suffered more and at a much younger age.
Basically every argument the villains make is dismissed with “cool motive, still murder”, which is a completely ignorant argument to make when these villains only started choosing violence as an absolute last resort in the first place. Toga did her absolute best to fit despite her parent’s abuse. Toya tried over and over again to please his father, only to be told to shut up by his family. Tenko wanted to be a hero originally, and was beaten by his father, for having the same dream as Deku. Tenko spent days wandering the streets waiting for just one hero to help him after he lost his family. Spinner locked himself up in his room and just wanted to believe he could become someone important like Stain and make a positive change in the world rather than wasting his life.
These arguments are in bad faith, because they’re taking a false equivalence. The villains arguments about how hero society is wrong, because they too, are hurting people in their attempts to change hero society. The thing is twice already completely dismantled the argument that the heroes use to shut down the villains.
The heroes only care about saving the kind of completely innocent victim who cowers in the face of danger and waits to be saved, if they think of fighting back against their circumstances, or *gasp* lash out in pain like some kind of imperfect victim then the heroes give up on trying to save them. It’s important that Jin brings up Toga’s kindness to him, because Toga is one of the people that Hawks wrote off as someone who can’t be saved, while at the same time trying to save Twice because he considered him “A good person.”
The thing is the moment you start dividing people into categories of who is worthy of being saved, and who isn’t, people are already going to be lost. If the function of heroes are to save people, and they’re not saving a goood chunk of people then they’re not doing their job. Rather than addressing this fact and striving to say more, they just create arguments that are these false equivolencies. Well, this person chose to become violent, so obviously they’re just as bad as their abusers. Well, Dabi chose to kill people in his attempt to discredit Endeavor and expose him as an abuser, so obviously he’s just as bad or even worse.
There’s a difference betweeen saying “I understand your argument but I believe there are better more peaceful ways of solving this issue” and just shutting down the argument, which is what the hero kids are doing over and over again. And this is a common theme in MHA. THat the light of heroes, and the flawless image of heroes is being used over and over again to hide the corruption in society. Nagant brings it up, Shigaraki brings it up, that over and over again the public only sees the good side of heroes while the corruption of society is ignored.
Yes, it’s bad to hurt innocent people even if you’re trying to use your violence for a good cause to make a better world. People who have nothing to do with it don’t deserve to get dragged into a conflict. However, there’s also this continued pattern of heroes just dismissing the legitimate criticisms of villains outright, because of the faceless imaginary people that are also being caught up in their rebellion against society.
This is why Hawks killed Twice. Hawks had to kill Twice, because of the imaginary body count of innocent people who might have been hurt with his quirk. The heroes continually have to put down the heroes in favor of there imaginary innocent people that they might be hurting, Uraraka even says that she has to look at the destruction wrought by the league of villains to stop herself from sympathizing with Toga.
But once again, this innocent / guilty dichotomy is a made up false dichotomy. When exactly does a person stop being innocent? What actions do they have to perform where they are no longer worthy of sympathy? Quantify it. What is the point of no return? At what exact moment do they stop being a victim and become a villain instead?
Think of the people who joined Spinner’s mob in support of Heteromorph discrimmination? They were innocent victims of what is a thinly veiled allegory for racism. They did absolutely nothing to earn the ire of the people around them. Are they now guilty because they decided to fight back against it? Is their action to riot against the issue, to try to draw attention to their suffering what makes them now guilty? Is the only way to remain innocent to just shut up and endure it, and never fight back no matter what happens to you?
To return to the argument made at the start, it really does seem like that kids are equating what is a personal conflict with what is happening on a societal wide scale. The perspective of the hero kids is almost like, even in the middle of what is called the first and second war arc, where they are fighting a battle over the way society should be run, that somehow this is just standard hero vs. villain in the conflict. That the good guys are infallible and the bad guys are always violent and they are because they decide to be. However, the villains are fighting back against a society that has wronged them. It’s a difference in perspective that damns any attempts for heroes and villains to understand each other.
The kids aren’t facing the injustice of society, the kids aren’t fighting for survival, for them this is another hero vs. villain battle. They defeat the bad guys, and the good guys win.
It’s a conflict fought between two sides who are occupying completely differnt positions of power and privileges'. It’s a personal conflict for the kids, they are fighting against villains who have personally hurt them and all of their friends, SHigaraki is someone who maimed Grant Torino in front of Deku, and led attacks on his friends several times. However, at the same time Shigaraki was wronged by hero society several times, an argument that Deku pretty conveniently ignores because he’s never lived that experience or been subjected to it. He’s allowed to keep it a personal conflict, because he’s not subject to societal rejection the way Shigaraki is.
Even if the kids think that human life is so sacred that no matter what you can’t take a life, even if you have a legitimate cause like fighting for a better society, the kids refuse to apply their rules fairly. Shoji yells at the crowd for attacking a hospital full of innocents, but what about the death of Twice? If villains are bad and beyond redemption because they have killed, then why is Hawks still allowed to be a hero? If the villains have to think about the people they hurt as a part of their conflict, then why hasn’t a single hero kid even mentioned twice?
This is what I mean by injustice. It’s okay to be disgusted by murder, human life is sacred and should always be protected, murder is a serious crime, but these rules aren’t being applied fairly. Hawks can commit the same murder and compeltely get away with it, because he’s considered one of the good guys.
The kids aren’t so digusted by any murder that they can’t tolerate any injustice, they’re just repeated the same values that they’ve always been taught, heroes good and villains bad. They are drawing the same line on who is worthy of saving and who is not worthy.
Which is why this chapter is so sad, it illsutrates that Shoji and Spinner have suffered the same way as being prejdugiced against by hero society, and forced to hide because they are heteromorphs. So, why are they fighting in the first place? If they are both vicrtimized why does one of them have to be the good cictim and the bad victim? If they are both suffering similarily can’t they come to some understanding and work together, rather than fighting against each other? Isn’t it tremednously sad that Shoji had to fight against several heteromorphs who have suffered the same as he as, and defend the society that has outcast him and fored him to wear a mask his entire. Shouldn’t there be a better way then just Shoji putting down the rebellion of fellow heteormoprhs and then society continuing on the same way as it always has? Couldn’t they work together?
I don’t really have an ending to this post, so I’m going to close out with a quote from Frankenstein which I believe is relevant to this topic at large.
“You, who call Frankenstein your friend, seem to have a knowledge of my crimes and his misfortunes. But in the detail which he gave you of them he could not sum up the hours and months of misery which I endured wasting in impotent passions. For while I destroyed his hopes, I did not satisfy my own desires. They were for ever ardent and craving; still I desired love and fellowship, and I was still spurned. Was there no injustice in this? Am I to be thought the only criminal, when all humankind sinned against me? Why do you not hate Felix, who drove his friend from his door with contumely? Why do you not execrate the rustic who sought to destroy the saviour of his child? Nay, these are virtuous and immaculate beings! I, the miserable and the abandoned, am an abortion, to be spurned at, and kicked, and trampled on. Even now my blood boils at the recollection of this injustice.”
#mha meta#mha 370 spoilers#bnha 370 spoilers#bnha spoilers#mha spoilers#mha 370#bnha 370#spinner#shuichi iguchi#mezou shouji#mezo shoji#plf#heteromorph discrimmination#plf meta#mla meta
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Forever I'm Yours, Forever I Do
Always calling each other cute pet names very casually and quite often but because of that you can tell when they are being serious because they address you by your name.
part of my Valentine's Day prompts
requested by anon | word count: 0.9k | warnings: none!
Throughout your entire life, summer was always filled great memories and long-standing traditions. One of the most recent traditions being the annual family summer vacation that you and Tyson took.
The walls of the lakeside cabin were full of mementos from the previous three summers you spent there. This was the place Tyson first introduced you to his family and they welcomed you with open arms. It was where Tyson told you that he loved you.
This trip reminded you of everything that you loved about summer and your boyfriend Tyson, all rolled into one.
You sigh, looking out over the lake from the back porch of the cabin, a cup of coffee in your hand and blanket around your shoulders as you watch the sun rise. Being in this beautiful oasis, surrounded by your family and Tyson’s always made you happy. The smile on your face only grows when you feel Tyson’s arms wrap around your waist, his chin coming to rest on your shoulder.
“Mornin’ sweetheart,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss on your cheek.
“Hey, Tys,” you respond, leaning back into him. “What are the plans for today?”
“Nothing crazy. Maybe a hike, swimming in the lake, stuff like that.”
“Oh, so the usual.”
“Exactly.”
“Should I get ready?”
“If you want to, sweetheart,” Tyson says. “It’s all up to you.”
He gives you one final kiss before his arms fall from your frame, retreating back into the house. You finish up your coffee and return to the bedroom, completing your morning routine.
The rest of the day goes exactly as planned: hiking through the forest, stopping at some nearby rivers, laughing with Kacey and Tyson, walking back to the lake house, and spending the rest of the day lounging by the lake, the sun warm on your skin. All throughout the day, Tyson was looking after you. He was always attentive, but today, he seemed even more attuned to your needs.
Sweetheart, careful on the rocks.
Here, take my hand, let me help you, sweetheart.
You look beautiful today.
Do you need any sunscreen, sweetheart?
I love you.
The dinner with your shared families is wonderful, filled with laughter and joy. Tyson’s hand is constantly on your thigh, giving you gentle squeezes from underneath the table. After dinner, you stay at the table, chatting with Kacey as Tyson disappears from the kitchen. Once dinner was completely cleared, Tyson reappears next to your chair, extending his hand to you.
“Do you want to walk down by the lakeside with me, sweetheart?”
“I would love to, Tys,” you reply, giggling as you take his hand.
You let him guide you outside, the gravel of the pathway crunching beneath your feet as the two of you make your way to the dock. You smile, your body leaning against Tyson as you step onto the wooden deck, the string lights bright above you two.
Your eyes take in the pinks, oranges, and blues of the sunset, your lungs filling with the cool breeze blowing in from the lake. You can feel Tyson’s hand fall from yours but you don’t mind, assuming that he is taking his phone out from his pocket to take a picture. The evening air is filled with the sound of nature and you sigh, your eyes closing as you take in the moment.
Tyson’s voice cuts through the quiet with a soft call of your name. Your full name. Something that he has only addressed you by a maximum of three times in your entire relationship.
You turn to face him and you have to adjust your gaze downwards, Tyson now kneeling on the hardwood dock, a small ring box in his grasp. Your hands fly immediately to your face, an involuntary reaction to the sight of him in front of you.
“Ever since I met you four years ago, I knew I loved you,” he says, his bright eyes staring up to meet yours. “Even before we spoke those three words to each other, I just knew. Loving you wasn’t a possibility, it was an eventuality,” Tyson says, the practiced speech flowing from his lips.
“Tys,” you whisper, the tears already forming in your eyes.
“I love you, more than anything in the world,” he continues. “You’re my best friend and I can’t imagine life without you. Seeing you every day is the best part of waking up in the morning, and hearing your laugh is music to my ears. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. So, sweetheart, will you make me the happiest man alive, and marry me?”
“Yes!” you exclaim, a joyous laugh falling from your lips. “Yes, of course I will!”
You don’t wait for him to rise up, choosing instead to drop to your knees to meet him. Your hands cup his face, pulling him close to press your lips against his. Tyson’s arms wrap around your waist as he deepens the kiss, your body leaning backwards.
The two of you break apart and both of you look down to box in his hands. Tyson pulls the ring from the cushion, his hand slightly shaking as he slides piece of jewelry onto your finger. You smile grows as you look back at Tyson, before leaning in to kiss him again. A chorus of cheers break through the evening air, coming from the direction of the cabin. You look over to see your combined families celebrating from the back deck of the lake house, having watched the whole thing unfold.
This beautiful lakeside retreat held so many memories. And you knew that this moment – kneeling on the dock with Tyson’s arms around you, an engagement ring on your finger, and your family looking on – was going to be your favorite of them all.
#nicole writes#tyson jost blurb#tyson jost fluff#buffalo sabres blurb#nhl blurb#hockey blurb#valentine blurbs 2k24
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Since "Palestine Speaks: Narratives of Life Under Occupation" is suspiciously not available in the US in the form of an e-book, I purchased a physical copy and wanted to share it here for anyone else also unable to get access.
EBTIHAJ BE'ERAT
Homemaker, 52
Born in Kafr Malek, West Bank
Interviewed in Kafr Malek, West Bank
We first visit Ebtihaj Be'erat at her house in the hilltop village of Kafr Malek in 2010. Her house is easy to find: a giant banner in honor of her son, Abdal Aziz, hangs against a whitewashed wall above red geraniums. Two years before our visit, just up the road from the house, Abdal Aziz was shot and killed by Israeli soldiers. Inside the house, there is a room devoted to him, with pictures and plaques on the walls and more pictures piled on the floor.
Ebtihaj is a warm woman with oval frame glasses, a gold heart necklace, and deep dimples that appear when she smiles. Her name, in fact, means "joy." Yet, the death of her son is clearly still part of her everyday life. As we ask her about her childhood in Kafr Malek, her experiences during the First Intifada, and her family tree, her answers circle back again and again to the loss of her son and the day he was shot. Still, evidence of her five other children also covers the walls, including photos of them dancing in a well-known dance troupe, framed university degrees, and various awards. Throughout our interview, her house is bustling with family members and neighbors coming and going. And although she downplays her skill as a host, she offers us an impressive spread of food, including homemade bread, jam, pickles, as well as local eggs and herbs.
When we come back to the house two years later, the banner honoring Abdal Aziz has been moved further up the street to the place where he died. Ebtihaj is now able to tell the story of his death without being completely overcome with grief, and she's more willing to talk about the life that continues in his absence. Besides telling us of her son, Ebtihaj shares stories about the changes she remembers in her home village since the Six-Day War in 1967, a conflict that led to Israel's occupation of the West Bank. Though Ebtihaj and her family had the opportunity to join the hundreds of thousands of Palestinians who emigrated from the West Bank following the Six-Day War, she decided to stay in Kafr Malek and raise her children in a Palestinian community.
OUR WEDDING PARTIES ARE THE MOST BEAUTIFUL
My name is Ebtihaj, and I'm from Kafr Malek, which is a very social village where everyone knows everyone else.¹ I was born in the spring of 1962.
All my family is from the village. My grandfather and my great-grandfather were born here. The people of this village have always been known for their hospitality, and anyone who comes to Kafr Malek loves it here. It's beautiful. We receive visitors with hospitality, male or female. We're more moderate than some nearby villages. We're more civilized. We're not like the other villages where a man can't enter a woman's house when she's alone. Our wedding parties are the most beautiful in the area because all of us wear traditional dresses, even the small girls. Also, many people in our village have lived in the United States or Latin America,
they can speak English or Spanish. I don't know the exact numbers, but approximately 20 to 40 percent of the people born in this village are living abroad at the moment, mostly in the U.S., but also in Colombia and Brazil. A number of families emigrated during the First Intifada, but they come back for visits.²
I was the sixth of seven children. I have four sisters and two brothers. My father worked for the post office in the village. It was his job to go to Ramallah and pick up the mail, and then to deliver it to everyone in Kafr Malek. He also had a second job as a butcher in the market. When I was a young child, Kafr Malek was surrounded by farms. Many villagers had farms on top of Al-Asur Hill behind the village, and many farmers grew grapes.
Then in 1967, Israeli soldiers invaded the village.³ I remember fleeing with all the other villagers to a grove of almond trees. Some villagers fled to their fields. My family lived under almond trees for two weeks while the war was going on, and I remember we each had just enough food and water rations to last two weeks.
Later that year, the Israeli military moved in and built a base on top of the hill. They cleared a lot of the farms on the hill and demolished the homes of some farmers as well. We got used to seeing soldiers in the village. There weren't any Jordanian policeman anymore, just Israeli soldiers. We got used to hearing about homes being raided as well. Soldiers would take men and boys in the middle of the night, from young children to the oldest men.
I met my husband when I was very young, when I was fifteen years old and he was twenty. He fell in love with me. He's my cousin, a relative from my mother's side.⁴ We were engaged that same year we met, and we married when I was seventeen. Nowadays, it doesn't happen like that. Mostly now, women wait until they finish university and then they get married. I was sad because I wanted to finish my studies. But my father told me, "No, you have to get married." I didn't even finish high school.
I moved into my in-laws' home right after our marriage in 1979. Before the war in 1967, my husband's family had farmed at the top of Al-Asur Hill. After the war, soldiers ordered his family out of their home and blew it up, so they moved to another house in the village. When I married my husband, he was still a farmer and also worked as a stone cutter.
In 1980 we had our first child, my daughter Maysa, when I was eighteen. By then I'd settled into my husband's home as a housewife. I did the housework along with my mother- and sisters-in-law, I cooked, and if any visitors came, I welcomed them. Over the next few years I had two more daughters and a son—Haifa, Rafa, and Fadi. Every day I would cook lunch for my children and for my husband. I'd buy my own groceries. And I'd tend the garden—we planted wheat and olives. During Eid, I'd make cookies, you know, ma'amoul.⁵ Everyone would ask for them.
During this time, in the early eighties, many villagers were leaving to live abroad. I had two older brothers and an older sister get visas to work in the United States, and my brothers encouraged our family to fill out the paperwork to do the same. There was more opportunity to work there, and more freedom. In the U.S. we wouldn't have to worry about soldiers coming to our house. So we filled out the paperwork and applied,and when we didn't get a visa the first year, we kept reapplying every year.
Finally, in 1986, my family was granted visas to live in the United States. But by this time, I had three daughters, and I wasn't sure I wanted to raise them in America. My sister had brought two daughters to the U.S., and they had ended up marrying foreigners. I wanted my daughters to grow up and marry Palestinians—hopefully, young men from the village. So we reconsidered it and decided to stay. My husband found work as a taxi driver in Ramallah, so he was able to support our family.
THE SOLDIERS FORBADE US TO LIGHT CANDLES
I gave birth to my middle son, Abdal Aziz, on December 5, 1987, in Ramallah, when the First Intifada had just broken out.⁶ He was born nine pounds, blond, and with green eyes. The nurse who was on shift, she held him and said to everyone, "Come and see the child from Kafr Malek. He is so beautiful." I named him Abdal Aziz after his grandfather—his father's father.
When I got out of the hospital, Israeli soldiers were closing the shops because they said that the Intifada was moving from Gaza to the West Bank. I couldn't even find a pharmacy to buy vitamins or a bottle, the basic things we needed with a new baby in the house. The soldiers imposed a curfew, and it was forbidden for anyone to be outside, even in our own yards, for over a month. We had to stay inside our houses, and we couldn't open a window to look outside. The soldiers even forbade us to light candles. If they saw the light of a candle in a house,they would come and break the windows. During this time we ate mostly bread, olive oil, and za'atar.⁷ When we were able to find other kinds of food, my mother-in-law would have to hide it well in the house, because if soldiers searched our home, they would know we had broken curfew if we had fresh food.
Sometimes they'd arrest someone every month or two, sometimes it seemed like every night. Checkpoints were set up, so we couldn't travel to the top of the hill anymore, where the base was, and there was only one entrance into and out of the village. Sometimes, depending on what was happening during the Intifada, they would set up a checkpoint at the main entrance of the village, and they wouldn't allow anyone to enter or leave except to go to neighboring villages. Even when someone was sick, or even if a pregnant woman was having a baby, they'd go to Taybeh, the next village, instead of to the hospital in Ramallah because when the soldiers set up the checkpoint, they wouldn't allow anyone to leave.⁸
All the men in the village had left their houses, because if the soldiers came in and saw a man in the house, they would sometimes beat him so badly. So all the men stayed in the fields, and they would go to Ramallah to look for food. During the night, they'd sneak home with food and basic supplies like sugar, and then go back to the fields.
My house is in the center of the city, so the soldiers would come often. Once, when my Abdal Aziz was two months old, I was sitting outside with him because I was cleaning the bread oven. My mother-in-law was at a neighbor's house and my husband was in the fields. A few soldiers saw me from the street, and they chased me into my house. I ran into the kitchen where the rest of my children were at the time—I was holding Abdal Aziz in my arms. The soldiers had these batons, and one soldier tried to hit me with one. I moved my head just in time to avoid the blow, and he struck the refrigerator instead. But he was aiming for my head. All my kids were screaming and crying, including Abdal Aziz in my arms. I think that made the soldiers back off. My children protected me.
Then the soldiers closed the kitchen door on me and locked me inside with my kids. They left the key on the outside of the door, and we were locked in the kitchen for around two hours until my mother-in-law came back. At that time, there weren't any mobile phones like today, not even house phones. If my mother-in-law hadn't been at the neighbor's house, she would have been with me inside, and who knows how long it would have been before someone unlocked the door. When she returned and let me out of the kitchen, I just collapsed. I was so scared, I fainted. She didn't know what to do, and there wasn't any way to call a doctor or nurse. So she got the idea of throwing open all the windows and turning on a lamp in the window. It attracted the attention of the soldiers, and when more came to see what was going on, she begged them to get me a nurse or doctor. That was the only way she had to get me medical attention.
I believe Abdal Aziz always remembered that day. He had an image of it burned in his mind. At two months, he was too young to form memories. But the memory was like an inspiration from God, at least that's what I think.
WHAT HE FELT THROUGH THE STONE
As a child, Abdal Aziz was unique. There wasn't anyone like him. He was kind and beautiful. Abdal Aziz had a lot of friends, and he was a leader among them from a young age. Part of it was that he was just so affectionate and generous. I remember he us to come up to me when was washing dishes or something and give me a big hug. He was the same way with his friends. If one of his friends mentioned that he saw a shirt in the market that he wanted, Abdal Aziz would save his money until he could buy the shirt for his friend. I had another child, Muhammed, in 1990, and Muhammed always looked up to Abdal Aziz. Abdal Aziz was thirteen at the start of the Second Intifada in 2000.
During the Second Intifada, the Israeli military closed the village for a month, and we couldn't leave our homes. They even cut the electricity and water for a month. When the soldiers came, we'd close everything, all the windows, and we'd stay inside. I can remember two occasions when we forgot to close a window, and teargas got inside the home. We felt like we were suffocating.
Abdal Aziz was born when the First Intifada started, so it was in his blood to be active.⁹ But Abdal Aziz wasn't affiliated with any political party. He wore one bracelet that said "Fatah," another one that said "PFLP," and another one that said "Hamas," all together on one hand.¹⁰ I used to ask him, "Which one are you?" He'd say, "I'm Palestinian." That's another reason why everyone loved him.
Ever since he was a kid, he always talked about how much he wanted to throw stones at the jeeps and tanks when they passed our house, to drive them away. The kids don't have any weapons to defend their country, they only have stones—a stone versus a tank. I knew my son loved to throw stones at soldiers when they came at night, and I knew that he was in danger. The soldiers arrested so many teenagers and they injured others. My cousin is now spending twenty-five years in jail for throwing stones, and another one was put in jail for fifteen years. One of my neighbors has been in jail for eighteen years now, just for throwing stones at the soldiers.
The soldiers usually come into the village at two or three a.m. That is their normal time. Every time they enter the village, the youth have an agreement to start whistling to let everyone know. It's a signal for others when they are on the streets to go back home so the soldiers don't catch them and beat them. I'm always so afraid whenever I start to hear whistling.
There were many nights when I would hear whistling, wake up, and put on my clothes to go out and search for Abdal Aziz. I would go to his friends and ask them where he was. When Abdal Aziz came home in the early morning, I'd go hug him as soon as I saw him on the stairs outside of the house and tell him, "Thank God, you're okay and nothing has happened to you." I would make him sit and talk to me because he wouldn't listen. I used to tell him, "When the soldiers come, they have armor, they have weapons, and they are much stronger than us." I asked him if throwing stones would make them leave the village. He always said, "This is our village. Why did they come to our village?" I would ask him, "Can you forbid the soldiers or the tanks from coming into the village?" I would tell him that if they killed him, I would go crazy. He would say that if a patrol came into the village and he didn't throw a stone at it, it would hurt his conscience. He wanted to protect his country. He wanted to express what he felt through the stone, that this is our country and not theirs. I was angry with him because I knew that something bad would happen to him.
Once, I left the house and all my neighbors were asking me, "Where are you going? The patrol is near." And I told them, "Let them shoot me. I want to go find Abdal Aziz." He was at the neighbor's house. I stood in the street and called to him, and I told him, "If you don't come to the house now, I will go to the patrol and make them shoot me." If they saw anyone at night in the village, there was a chance they would shoot.
It didn't matter whether it was a woman or a man. He told me, "I'm coming, I'm coming," and he came back with me. We snuck home safely. He came back with me, but when I went to sleep, he snuck out again.
WHY DO YOU THINK EVERYONE WANTS PALESTINE?
It was difficult living in Kafr Malek during the Second Intifada. I was so worried about my children. But still, I wasn't tempted to move.
In the summer of 2002, I visited my older brothers, who were still in the United States. They'd been there since the early 1980s and were living in Chicago, I loved America, I loved the people there. I liked how organized everything was in the city. In general, the people were welcoming to me. My brothers' neighbors were very nice. And people are free there. You don't have soldiers coming into your house at two a.m. and ordering you out into the streets.
But Palestine is so beautiful—why do you think everyone wants Palestine? When I was in Chicago, I remember telling my brother, "I like America, but I haven't seen anything in the U.S. that I like as much as sitting on the front steps of my own home when there's a breeze, or being able to go into the yard and pick fresh grapes and figs." So my brother went out and bought me some grapes and figs, all the things I had named. But they didn't taste the same to me. I didn't like the grapes at all! Everything was imported, nothing fresh. I was supposed to stay in Chicago for four months, but I could only make it for a month and a half. I was homesick. Also, it was so hot!
A few years later, in 2006, my husband ended up going to the States to work with some family and neighbors who had a store in Miami. My husband would ask a lot about Abdal Aziz when he called home. He didn't ask about the other sons as much as he asked about Abdal Aziz.He was worried. When he talked to Abdal Aziz on the phone, my husband would preach to him, "Calm down, don't throw stones."
It was hard to be alone with my children, but by that time my sons were all grown-ups and they were working. Only Abdal Aziz and Muhammed, the youngest, were still at school. My three daughters were already married. Abdal Aziz finished high school in 2007, did the tawjihi exams,¹¹ and wanted to apply for Al-Quds Open University,¹² He didn't like school so much, but he liked everything else: soccer, dabka,¹³ and all his other after-school activities. After the tawjihi, he spent one year not studying, but he wanted to eventually study business I have a cousin who runs a supermarket, and Abdal Aziz spent a lot of afternoons helping him out there, learning about how to run a small business.
I FELT I WOULD LOSE HIM SOMEDAY
Abdal Aziz was a soccer player, and he was the goalkeeper for the Al-Bireh Institute team in Ramallah. He was also a coach in Kafr Malek for younger boys. In early October 2008, he was twenty years old and getting his passport ready, because his team had an opportunity to go play in Europe.
During that time, Abdal Aziz was still going out every night to be with his friends. On the night of October 16, I went to sleep at around eleven-thirty. Abdal Aziz called at one a.m. He had a habit of asking me when I answered the phone, "How are you, Ma?"
I told him, "I'm going to sleep now. Do you need anything?" He told me, "I'm coming with friends, so please make us some dinner to eat?" I told him, "I don't sleep very well because of you, and you want me to prepare dinner for you now?" So he asked me to speak with Muhammed, and he told his younger brother to prepare dinner for him, all his favorite things. My room is just beside the kitchen, so when Abdal Aziz came back with his friends, he'd close the door so they wouldn't bother me, and they'd sit outside to eat dinner.
Still, that night I heard him come in with his friends, so I got up and put on my dress. I looked at him through the door eating dinner with his friends outside. I looked at my watch, and it was around three a.m. I thought, It's late. Abdal Aziz won't go out again. His friends will leave, and he'll go to sleep in his room. And because I was comfortable that Abdal Aziz was at home, I went back to bed.
Not long afterward, I woke up again and opened the window. Although it was October, it was still hot. When I opened the window, I realized my son Muhammed was outside, crying and calling for a car. He told me that there had been a shooting. I went to Abdal Aziz's room and saw that he wasn't there. I put on my clothes and started screaming that Abdal Aziz had died. I knew then. I felt it immediately that he was dead. My heart dropped.
I went to our neighbors' house. I told Abu Adel, our neighbor, that Abdal Aziz died. He told me no, but I insisted that he was the one that had been shot. I told my neighbor's son to take me to the hospital because he had a car, but he reassured me that it wasn't Abdal Aziz who was injured. But I insisted. I wanted to be with my son. That was that. My son Fadi showed up at the house, and he and Muhammed tried to comfort me and told me it wasn't Abdal Aziz. I told them, "No, it is your brother. It is Abdal Aziz." They told me that Abdal Aziz was with his friends, and I told them that if that was so, to bring him to me. Then some of Abdal Aziz's friends came and told me that he'd run away with some of the others. I asked if there were any more soldiers in the village, and they told me there was a patrol nearby. And so I asked them, "Why did Abdal Aziz run away? Abdal Aziz doesn't run away if there's a soldier in the village, so I don't believe you."
When my three daughters heard that someone had been killed, they came running to my house with their husbands, asking, "Where is he?" They too felt that it was Abdal Aziz who had been killed. The women from our neighborhood came to my house for an hour and tried to calm me down, to tell me that it wasn't Abdal Aziz, or that he was just injured. I told them, "No, it Abdal Aziz. I know that he is dead." Then finally someone else from the village came to the house and told me, "The thing that you've suspected is true." She had witnessed the scene.
In a few moments, a huge crowd showed up at the house, and they were all crying because they loved Abdal Aziz, and he was not there anymore. No one would take me to see him at the hospital because they felt would be a shock for me. Finally, at around ten a.m., the Red Crescent ambulance brought his body back to the house.¹⁴
I learned the story from Abdal Aziz's friends who had been with him that night. They said that after I went to sleep, Abdal Aziz got a phone call from a friend who told him that a patrol of soldiers was coming. Abdal Aziz used to stand on a particular roof and throw stones from there, so that's where they both went to wait for the soldiers. But on this night, the soldiers were down below in the garden hiding between the trees, waiting for him. He was with his friend on the roof, and when they threw the first stone, the soldiers opened fire on them. His friend was shot in the shoulder, and Abdal Aziz was shot in the leg.
Abdal Aziz's friend told him, "We're being ambushed! Let's hand ourselves over to the soldiers." Abdal Aziz's reply was, "I would rather die than hand myself over." Because Abdal Aziz was injured in his leg, he couldn't run, but his friend was able to run away. He wanted to help Abdal Aziz, but he couldn't. According to my son's friends, when the soldiers came up to the roof and saw that it was Abdal Aziz, they kept him there. The bullet had entered the back of his left leg and come out the front. They left him to bleed, and they wouldn't allow a doctor to see him. They surrounded the area, and only after he died did they let the Red Crescent ambulance come and take him. The neighbors all came outside to check on him, to help him, but the soldiers told them, "If you come near us, we will shoot you, too."
He didn't die among his family or his friends. That's what hurts me the most. That's the most painful thing. The soldiers handed him over to the ambulance with the cuffs on his hands.
The day after Abdal Aziz died, my husband was in a café in Miami, playing cards. A relative had gone there to tell him the news, but before he even said anything, my husband saw the look in his eyes and told him, "Stop. I know Abdal Aziz just died." He came back to Palestine as soon as he could—he was home within two weeks. For two days after he returned, I couldn't speak to my husband. He did all the talking. And then he decided to stay in Kafr Malek.
The boy who was with Abdal Aziz survived. He's married now, his wife is pregnant. That night he ran away, he was treated for his injury, and he was arrested and put in jail for two years. Many of my son's other friends have been arrested since. They were brought to trial on so made-up charges and all sentenced to five and a half years. I wish they some had arrested Abdal Aziz and not killed him.
It was what God wanted. I always advised my son to stay at home, not to endanger himself. I would tell him that I felt I would lose him someday. Two weeks before his death, Abdal Aziz was with his friends in a car and he was hanging out the window. It was the night of Eid.¹⁵ And the guys told him, "Come inside, you don't want to get killed on a holy night." He told them, "I won't be killed. I won't die like this. I will die a martyr." He knew.
I'VE DECIDED TO LIVE
If you ask anyone in the village, they can tell you about Abdal Aziz. The day he died, seven satellite channels came to the village here to document what was going on. When they brought him in the hearse, there were hundreds of cars following behind. His funeral was so big. I didn't expect so many people.
After a death, we have three days for people to come and pay their respects, but for Abdal Aziz it took three weeks. His friends from all over came to the house and called me to go outside. We have a tradition where you kiss a person's hand and hold it to your own forehead as a sign of respect. One by one, they all kissed my hand, held it to their foreheads, and told me they were my sons now instead of Abdal Aziz. Even now, they always come visit me, and I go visit them. There was also a bus of girls who were friends of Abdal Aziz from the dabka team, and they came crying and searching for Abdal Aziz's mother.
They even put a tent near the hall in the village center, and thousands of people came. The student senate at Birzeit University suspended classes because of Abdal Aziz's death.¹⁶ Usually they don't suspend classes if someone dies, not even a student at the university. Even though he wasn't a student, everyone knew Abdal Aziz, even the teachers, and they put upposters with his photo inside the university. One year after his death, one of his friends had to present his graduation thesis, and he invited me to come. I went to the university and everyone, all the students were saying, "That's Abdal Aziz's mother. That's Abdal Aziz's mother." I didn't know what to do—to cry, or to feel proud, or to smile.
When someone loses a son, what do you expect? I raised him for twenty-one years, and I used to look at him when he went out and think to myself, Is it possible that this is my son? And I lost him overnight. And he was so beautiful, my son. He is now with his God in heaven. Whenever I go outside now, there's a banner with his photo on it hanging in the place where he died. Whenever I see it, I feel guilty because I couldn't hold him and hug him during the last minutes before he died.
After he died, life was complicated. For one whole year, I didn't sleep at night. I drove everyone crazy after his death, especially at two or three a.m. It's the time when Abdal Aziz died, and I would always be awake then. I'd wake up and feel like I needed to leave the house. I either went to one of my daughters' houses or even my cousins. I was so tired, and my daughters were so worried about me.
I went to the doctor, and he found my blood pressure to be at very dangerous levels. He told me, "You will have a heart attack if you continue living like this." It was so scary. For three whole years, they gave me sedative shots, sometimes every day and sometimes twice a week.
Since Abdal Aziz died, I stopped doing embroidery. I used to make traditional dresses, but now I've stopped. I don't see 100 percent, and I need good vision to embroider. I used to sell the dresses to help my husband, as our financial situation now is very hard. My younger son, Mohammad, studies journalism at Birzeit University. He wants to continue and get his master's, and Birzeit University is more expensive than the other universities. My husband only works as a taxi driver. Even the taxi that he drives belongs to someone else. He only covers the university tuition and Muhammed's daily expenses. I can't ask my other son for help because he wants to build his future. My oldest son is a teacher. Now he should start building a new house, but there are no good jobs. He wants to get married, but it all depends on the money.
My second daughter once came and told me that Abdal Aziz is alive. In Islam, in our religion, we consider martyrs to be alive in heaven. She told me, "You are crying every day for Abdal Aziz, and he's only one person, and he's alive with God." She told me that there are fifteen people in our family, including the cousins and the grandchildren. She asked, "Do you want to die and leave us all too?" Since then, I've decided to live my life for my daughters and sons who are still alive, and my grief is only in my heart now.
Sometimes one of my daughters comes and sees my eyes are red and asks me if I was crying, and I deny it and say, "No, why would I cry?" I do it to make them feel stronger because they were affected by the death of their brother also. It's been four years now, and I feel every day that it was like yesterday, and I always see him and always remember him. In Palestine, we often say that problems that start so heavy begin to disappear with time. But this weight stays. It's not fading. I am honored that my son is a hero who defended his land. He defended his country and his village. But I don't want my other sons to get killed. Abdal Aziz is enough.
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Footnotes
¹ Kafr Malek is a village of about 3,000 people located nine miles northeast of Ramallah.
² The First Intifada was an uprising throughout the West Bank and Gaza against Israeli military occupation. It began in December 1987 and lasted until 1993. Intifada in Arabic means "to shake off."
³ 1967 was the year of the Six-Day War that culminated in Israel occupying the West Bank.
⁴ Marriage between cousins was once considered an ideal match in Palestine and throughout the Middle East, especially in rural areas.
⁵ Ma'amoul are shortbread pastries filled with dates or nuts and pressed in a wooden mold with an intricate design, and are commonly made during Eid Al-Fitr and Eid Al-Adha, the major Muslim holidays. Palestinian Christians also make them for Easter.
⁶ The protests, clashes with Israeli military, boycotts, and other acts of civil disobedience that marked the beginning of the First Intifada started in December 1987. Most of the organized action began on December 9, two days after Abdal Aziz's birth.
⁷ Za'atar is the name of both a spice similar to thyme that grows wild in Palestine and a blend of spices. Za'atar is a staple of local cooking in Palestine and much of the Middle East.
⁸ Taybeh is a neighboring Christian village of 1,500 people about one mile away from Kafr Malek. It's locally famous for a brewery that makes Palestine's only beer.
⁹ In Palestine, saying someone is "active" is shorthand for saying the person is involved in protests, to throwing stones, to more militant activity.
¹⁰ Farah, PFLP, and Hamas are political parties within Palestine.
¹¹ An exit exam for high school.
¹² Al-Quds Open University is a mixed on-site and distance-learning university system with campuses in the West Bank, Gaza, Saudi Arabia, and the United Arab Emirates. There is also a separate university system in the West Bank called Al-Quds University, which isn't affiliated with Al-Quds Open University.
¹³ Dabka is a traditional Palestinian dance.
¹⁴ From the glossary -
International Red Cross and Red Crescent Movement: A group of international humanitarian organizations founded in 1863 with the purpose of assisting victims of disasters and providing developmental aid to strengthen communities in crisis. The movement is made up of three distinct organizations: the International Committee of the Red Cross (ICRC), which safeguards human rights in conflict zones; the International Federation of the Red Cross and Red Crescent (IFRC) which coordinates relief assistance missions around the globe; and National Red Cross and Red Crescent Societies, which address humanitarian needs and are organized on the national level. The Palestine Red Crescent Society is one of the National Red Cross and Red Crescent Societies. It was formed in 1968 and has over 4,000 employees and 20,000 volunteers. Because the Palestinian Authority administers only a patchwork of territory within the West Bank, the Palestine Red Crescent Society provides some essential services to Palestinian citizens, including ambulance service and some medical care.
¹⁵ Eid Al-Fitr is a major feast that marks the end of the month of Ramadan.
¹⁶ Birzeit University is one of the most prestigious universities in Palestine. It's located just outside Ramallah, not far from Kafr Malek.
#palestine speaks#palestinian voices#book exerpt#palestine#strike for palestine#part 7 of 16#i couldn't find a picture of ebtihaj or abdal aziz
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boy (2010) is not a horror movie. i feel like this shouldn’t need to be said, but i’m responding to this post:
specifically, this addition:
okay. what op is describing as “the narrative arc of a horror movie beat-for-beat” is rising tension in the conflict of the movie (boy’s fantasies about his dad vs. the actual reality) coming to a head before the climax. that’s literally it. their perception of boy as a horror movie is driven by the last addition. i saw the first part of the post a while ago and disagreed but didn’t feel the need to respond until the last part, because i just had no idea how anyone could read boy as a horror movie.
the last addition cleared that up. first of all, it’s distasteful to describe anyone’s actual lived experience as something out of a horror movie. second of all, you’re giving away your class upbringing, because anyone from a working class or impoverished family would never have seen this:
and been horrified. because children doing the dishes and helping each other around the house isn’t fucking abuse or neglect and it’s not “fucked,” it’s teamwork. it’s normal. what exactly is so horrifying about rocky drying off the dishes? why does the child putting silverware away in the drawer bother you? how old were YOU when you learned how to do the dishes? because personally, this could be a picture from my own childhood! as soon as my siblings and i could walk, my mom had us put our dishes in the sink or the dishwasher, then we learned to handwash as soon as we could, because my mom was constantly working to be able to support us on her own on a teacher’s salary.
“toddlers and preteens making meals for themselves and tucking the younger ones into bed” isn’t a horror scenario, i’m sorry. and it’s incredibly disrespectful and out of touch to claim that it is. if it was intended to be horrifying, the film would have framed it that way. but they framed it as the benign and normal thing that it is.
growing up impoverished, you kind of get used to some common discrepancies between lower class culture and upper class culture. one major discrepancy is the upper class belief that kids doing chores or helping around the house or being home alone while their guardians are at work is weird or abusive or out of line, and that line of argumentation has been used in the past to justify targeting specifically indigenous families with the court system to remove children from those families. obviously that wasn’t what op was going for, but the argument they’re making is intrinsically connected to that fact.
from a purely film analysis perspective, calling boy a horror movie is a misreading of the film that has no support within the text. all aspects of film language point to the above shot being a happy one: the frame is primarily pastel colors, they’re working together while watching a TV program they all enjoy, it’s very harmonious. earlier when boy was serving the food and kelly said “crayfish again?” in complaint, the joke was that crayfish is a delicacy in most places. when boy tells rocky they’ll swim in swimming pools all the time after they find the treasure, rocky says “i’ll just swim in the sea,” pointing out again that the life they have their is not only fine, but unique and nice.
this is a film telling an incredibly personal story on taika’s part. it’s a love letter to his upbringing and his home, as well as a dissection of it. it’s not a fucking horror movie.
#sorry if this came off as rude but op's post was lowkey insulting as hell#Anyway.#ignore this if you want idc#boy (2010) discussion group#cricket chirps#taika waititi#i honestly wouldn't have responded if the post didn't have a bunch of people in the notes agreeing#like come ON are you kidding me
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Top 10 Reasons It's Better to DIY Baskets for ANY Occasion
1- You're gifting people stuff they actually LIKE. There's no gambling, no fear of food allergies, no awkwardness about getting something yucky and no disappointed children. Just the good stuff.
2- Most of it actually stuff you can eat (or use if you're including toys or non-edible goodies). Nobody likes getting a gift full of tissue paper, packing peanuts or straw. Not to mention it's a total waste.
3- Which brings me to my next point: they're more eco-friendly. If the basket consists of stuff you're actually using, nothing gets thrown away. In fact, the container itself can be made of something reusable like plastic or metal (it's what I do) or if it is paper, simply recycle it.
4- It's inexpensive. A bought pre-made basket can cost up to $100 and have all the flaws listed above. Meanwhile, if you DIY yours, it will probably cost you less than half that especially if you are putting in homemade cookies, cake or fun sized chocolates which people love better than fancy stuff anyway.
5- You're less likely to give away something broken. It is very embarrassing to give someone a gift basket and for it to be broken. When it comes DIY, you have control of how you package it, so you're more sure that everything is going to be intact.
6- It is more personal. A gift with thought behind it will put a bigger smile on someone's face than something generic. Sure, surprises are nice, but taking time to remember your friend's favourite treat is even better.
7- It is fun and a great way to bond. At least in my family, my son and I have fun putting together gift baskets and choosing what to give each family.
8- You don't need to go to fifty different places just to find a basket. When you make one yourself, you have at most two places to go to. Maybe three if you're also filling it with toys, crayons, soaps, etc.
9- You're not limited to what the contents can be. Not everyone likes chocolate or candy for that matter. I have a relative who doesn't, so I fill his basket with a variety pack of Doritos, pretzels and crackers. Heck, you can do variety pack of mustards, tea, coffee, alcohol bath soaps (my grandmother liked those because she wasn't a snacker) or other. There's no law stating it has to be sweets.
10- Deep down... NOBODY likes fancy chocolate. Sure the boxes are pretty and the chocolates look pretty, but how many of them are flavors we actually like? And if I had the choice between that or a Dairy Milk bar, I would choose option B. Even for Valentine's Day. If I want decoration, I'll get a lamp or a new frame for a picture.
#chocolate#easter basket#christmas basket#valentine's day#chocolate cookies#cookies#cake#pie#chips#toys#crayons#tea#coffee#soaps
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re: Izzy brain mazes, I adore the interlude where Izzy manages to talk Lucius around to going out in his tank top and is revealed to have been angling for a nude photoshoot. I'd love to read more about how Izzy thinks about Lucius's body - particularly that duality of Izzy being so utility-oriented by nature but exploring a visually artistic hobby like photography.
(ooooh anon I am not quite spicy tonight, but I am listing to starboard and just clear enough for coherency... probably. So away we go. The photo session here is too late in the timeline to be the one discussed in that ficlet, but allow me a little timey-wimey so Lucius can have his tat.)
Izzy chose photography because it seemed easy and adjacent enough to Lucius' interests to be a good strategic move. He could half-heartedly snap photos on his phone and let Lucius talk about artistic merit and that was fine.
Except, just like with Lucius himself, Izzy found himself unexpectedly seduced. To look through the world, a step removed, through glass, had given him the distance to find beauty in the horrid place. Laying on his back, phone in hand, waiting for some asshole, he saw a bird jet above him and it was easy as anything to press a button. To capture the movement of wings against the grey sky.
When Lucius talked him into buying a camera, a bulky monster with it's thick manual, it felt far more real. A thick bulky machine that fit perfectly in his hands and gave him all the excuse he needed to step back from conversation, from life itself and frame it the way he wanted.
When people started to wander into his frame, he figured that out more slowly. People were tricky, full of unexpected movement and unanticipated planes. Once he's successfully taken Teal's photos though, the flood gates opened. There were photoshoots at the Revenge itself, family pictures for Delly every year on Pickle's birthday, drag queens he'd never met emailed him now and again and sometimes he even took those jobs.
All that felt a little like a warmup for this. Nowhere exotic. Just his own bed, in his own place. His own lover spread across the sheets.
"Could you just stay like that for a second?" He asked.
"Mm?" Lucius blinked lazily at him.
"Just...stay."
"M'kay."
Izzy got his camera and kneeled on the mattress beside him.
"Right now?" Lucius' eyes snapped open. "Wait, I can-"
"Stay," Izzy said softly. "Please. You can close your eyes if you want."
"Thought you'd want me to pose or something," Lucius watched him warily, but didn't move.
"I want this. If I ask you to pose, you'll get all stiff and weird."
"Can't even see my dick," Lucius pointed out. "With the sheet and all."
"You're cock isn't the only thing that turns me on, even if that was what this was about," Izzy said absently, adjusting a few things on the camera.
"What is it about?"
"Can't explain it. You'll see."
It was definitely the first time Izzy had taken a picture while he was naked, let alone the subject, but it was hard to be uncomfortable all things considered. He chose carefully, framed each shot, took them as if he had precious film instead of a memory card. Eventually, Lucius started to drift again, probably despite himself.
They had woken up very early, a convenience in circadian rhythms that led to a sleepy rutting. Lucius had come home in the wee hours, tumbling into bed with a grunt, so it wasn't surprising that he was ready for round two of sleep.
His hair was mussed, flattened a bit on one side. His lips were parted ever so slightly. The way his head tilted showed off the long line of his neck and the curve of one shoulder. One hand rested on the sheet as if just about to shove it down or pry it up and over. Fabric gathered by his hip, just covering his modesty by the barest amount.
The cool early light of dawn painted shadows in interesting places as it sucked away the sharpness of color. It wouldn't look quiet black and white, but nor would it give the full story of the pale pink of his lips.
His other arm was extended towards Izzy's side of the bed. The hand open as if waiting to be filled. The dark stain of his tattoo was turned up to the hungry light.
The photos are easy enough to upload and edit, but Izzy leaves it for days. He wants time, wants to sit quietly with them and be alone in case they aren't what he expected.
He's hard on his own work, but he how can he be critical and the upturn of Lucius' wrist? The light dusting of hair on his chest? The sweep of his lashes against his cheek? This was not art that Izzy had made.
Camera is just an eye, he'd told Lucius once, and I'm always looking at you.
He chose his favorite, took care to balance the tone and the color. Left just the barest hint of it behind, enough so the subject didn't look carved from marble, but warm and alive against washed out sheets.
It was a little like a sketch with a soft pink blossom of a bite mark left on the shoulder.
He printed it out and left it on Lucius' pillow on the bed for him to discover that night.
"Heya, goblin!" Lucius called as he came in the door. Izzy looked up from his book as if he could just barely pull his attention away.
"Hey, pup."
"I'm going to get changed and then we can head out," Lucius swept by him, dropping down for a kiss then made his way way to the bedroom. "We shouldn't be late."
"Mm," Izzy agreed vaguely, listening closely.
He heard the second Lucius saw the picture, the sharp inhalation. Then the bedsprings as he sat down. Izzy waited. He couldn't bear to watch in case it wasn't good.
"This?" Lucius came back in the room a few minutes later, still in the clothes he'd come in with. And holding the photo. Very gingerly.
"Yeah," Izzy tossed the book aside.
"I thought you'd want a full on pinup situation," Lucius sat down beside him. Close enough for their thighs to touch. So not mad. Not even annoyed.
"We can do that too," Izzy shrugged. "But I just wanted...guess for you to see you like I see you. Like you do for me when you sketch me. Hell, when you sketch anyone. You make people look loved."
"I do?" Lucius asked, tentative and soft.
"You do," Izzy sighed. "You know you do. Not like I came up with that. That's what that reviewer said ages ago."
"No, I know, but it's different coming from you." Lucius stared down at himself. "I don't know how I look. It's hard to see the forest from the trees."
"Show it to Pete," Izzy suggested. "See what he thinks, huh?"
He'd meant later, but Lucius took out his phone right then and took a picture of the photo, sending it on.
"It would've been easier if you just wanted dick pics," Lucius muttered.
"Those I've got," Izzy reminded him.
"But I'm not a photographer," Lucius said wryly.
His phone pinged. He glanced down and then smiled. Tilted the message to Izzy.
Pete: ❤️❤️❤️ that's my husband. Wanna put that in my wallet.
"Might not shrink down that well," Izzy said amused. (Though later, he will carefully crop the photo down to just the beseeching hand, raise the contrast so the ring will shine golden, the fingers curved as if to keep it closer. That he will send to Pete without words in the email and he will, in fact, see it later in Pete's wallet).
"Maybe I should sketch you again," Lucius set the picture down carefully on the coffee table then turning to Izzy with a crooked grin.
"Any time, pup," Izzy slid a hand around his waist. "But I get a photo for every picture now."
"Oh do you?" Lucius raised his eyebrows.
"Mm. I do. Don't I?"
Lucius studied him for a moment, then nodded, "You do."
They make quite an album together as it turned out. But not just then. They were too busy being late to Frenchie's birthday party for that.
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a comprehensive list of songs im annoyed they never used in criminal minds because their emotional impact might have killed me and/or songs and the scenes i wish we’d had pt 1:
*yes i’m aware some of these songs have since been released since cm finished filming (perhaps they’ll use them in s16+ but im not betting on it. i don’t care.
1. Knocking on Heaven’s Door by Raign.
mama take this badge from me, i can’t use it anymore...
mama put my guns in the ground, i can’t shoot them anymore...
feels like i’m knocking on heavens door.
Think around season 13. I see this as a team scene, perhaps when someone (preferrably JJ or Emily let’s be honest) has been captured/taken hostage/kidnapped, and they’re close to death after being beaten. The vibe is very 200. It’s a slow motion scene, when the music quietens and slows, when we see the team barge in, in the background. The captured character, lets say JJ, is close to unconsciousness and in focus in the frame, while everyone else is blurred in the background. We see, but don’t hear, Emily scream for medical as Reid kneels at JJ’s side. Luke checks her over, then scoops her up in his arms. She’s hurt, weak, but safe. This is my favourite one.
2. Youth by Daughter.
most of us are breathing through corrupted lungs...
setting fire to our insides for fun...
one day we’ll reveal the truth, that one will die before he gets there...
it was a flood that wrecked this home...
It could be anywhere in the middle of the series, but the scene takes place in the BAU. A scene like the one in Mosley Lane, where the children are reunited with their families. The camera pans from one team member to the next as we see their reactions; they’re happy, but heavy. They know that, for every day like this one, there are ten that don’t end well. Emily and Morgan exchange glances with each other, knowing that nobody quite understands the way the rest of the team does. JJ passes them, folder in hand, on her way to Hotch’s office. They have more work to do. The rest of the team follow her up the stairs and into the round table room, as we see the reunited families hugging their loved ones.
3. Neverland by Zendaya
we can sail away tonight on a sea of pure moonlight...
we'll be young, that's how we'll stay...
picture a land you'll never have seen where life is eternal and evergreen
future of happiness all in your hands, all in this place I created that I call Neverland
Not a happy ending, like the one above. The team at a funeral, I see it as the funeral of a little girl they couldn’t save, perhaps. They’re there to pay their respects. Of course, it’s a voice over scene, probably Hotch speaking. The camera pans across them, standing in a line, perhaps back from the rest of the congregation. All of them in black, all of them in sunglasses. I’m picturing Reid with his crutches, so somewhere at the beginning of s5.
4. Already Gone by Sleeping at Last
all our memories, they’re haunted...
we were always meant to say goodbye...
looking at you makes it harder, but i know that you’ll find another...
started with the perfect kiss, then we could feel the poison set in....
One for my shipper heart. Could be Jemily, Hotchniss, anyone. But it doesn’t work out. If Criminal Minds were Grey’s is the vibe of this one.
Alternatively, could have been used either when JJ left the team, or when they thought Emily was ‘dead’.
5. Girls by Cardi B, etc.
you know i tamed it, and then I named it. i put the lion in the cage and then i laid with her all night...
red wine, I just wanna kiss girls....
Totally self indulgent, I just wanna see a team night out where this song happens to be playing while the girls are on the dance floor. No further comment, your honour.
#im gonna make this a series. its fun#song list#criminal minds#incorrect criminal minds quotes#criminal minds gone wrong#emily prentiss#aaron hotchner#jennifer jareau#spencer reid#derek morgan#penelope garcia#luke alvez#david rossi
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2, 6, 19, 24, 34, & 43 for the ask game? and good luck with nano! you've got this!!! -megs 💙
@igarbagecannoteven hi megs! thanks for stopping by! good luck to you as well!!!
2. What are you obsessed with right now? okay so i talked about cobra kai for taylor here and that's honestly the Big Obsession right now, but i'm always obsessed with the found family trope <3 also i'm still thinking of the production of romeo and juliet that i saw in the woods in august where my friend played juliet and most of the cast was trans and i think there was only one cishet person in the cast and romeo and juliet survived at the end. possibly one of my favorite theatrical productions i've ever seen and it was performed outside with three set pieces (a bench a ladder and a picture frame) for an at-will donation. i love live theater so much i love the human need to tell stories and imagination and things that make me cry!!!!
6. Describe your dream home. I also answered this one for taylor! copy/paste: "ooooo i’ve been thinking about this a lot because i’m trying my best to save for one but i fear it will never ever happen. anyway my friend and i are going to buy a house together when she moves here and we’ve been talking a bit but a big thing is that we need at least three bedrooms (one for me, one for her, one for a possible future foster child). we would also like a guest bedroom or a finished basement so we can host friends!!! in an ideal world, i would want a sun room, and i want either a large front room or a specific music room so i can have a grand piano!!!! yknow. if i ever win the lottery or get stupid rich and can afford one. the main bathroom should be blue. the kitchen should be yellow. in general, i don’t want white walls anywhere. actually if my friend lets me paint the kitchen cabinets i’m considering copying a different van gogh painting onto each of them because my friend also loves van gogh and that would make the kitchen very fun and unique. i am fully willing to go wild with the paint and some basic carpentry to make this house personalized to the both of us. i would also like a fenced-in back yard so that we can have a dog, and i would like a piece of stained glass somewhere (doesn’t need to be a full window, i know lots of houses do little stained glass pieces above the front door or something like that). mostly though i want the house to be full of love <3"
another thing to note! in an ideal world, the outside of the house would be yellow as well, and i would love a large garden but i am not a very garden-y person so that will be difficult to maintain
19. If you could change your name, would you? What would you change it to? nope! i really like my given name (although tbh i don't like that it's been gaining popularity in america in recent years lol i like being unique) and hazel suits me well enough for this fandom!
24. What are three places you want to travel? Venice, Italy!!!! that's the big one. my family read the thief lord when i was little and i've wanted to go ever since. I would also really like to return to Vienna, Austria!!! i absolutely fell in love when i went for a may term during college. i would've moved there if i spoke German. and i would also like to visit Boston, simply because it's a plan that me and my two friends have had for a while and i want to make those memories with them
34. What’s your coffee order? i do not drink coffee! if i'm at a coffee shop, i'll order either a hot chocolate, a smoothie, or (if at starbucks) whichever frappuccino has a lot of chocolate instead of coffee in it
43. What’s your guilty pleasure? i would say a lot of cringe media. i do get genuinely embarrassed about enjoying objectively bad shows/movies, even though i try not to and some of them aren't even bad i'm just scared of people judging me so i preemptively insult them. anyway this is specifically about the young and the restless, hsmtmts, cobra kai, and the disney's zombies movies. disney's zombies is probably the biggest one that would fit the "guilty pleasure" label i absolutely LOVE that franchise everyone commits so hard and the dancing is great and it's so fun but i always listen to the songs on youtube because i don't want anyone to judge me for listening to them on spotify lol
#ask#megs#igarbagecannoteven#remember when a disney+ movie had protagonists singing a song about murdering aliens? it slapped#i like that they let the werewolves still be a little vicious
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[letter for Femslashex 2022]
Thanks for considering making something for me! Feel free to mix and match my prompt ideas or take inspiration from something else on my art/fic likes list if you want: https://thereinafter.tumblr.com/exchange-likes. I’m flexible and happy with any rating of thing you’re inclined to make for these requests.
Dragon Age
Leliana/Cassandra: I’m perpetually fascinated with their history together before DAI and how they might have started working together/learned each other’s capabilities. Or, could they have run into each other at some point in Val Royeaux while Leliana was working for Marjolaine? Or, I’m always here for them finding moments of solace or fun or escape together during the timeline of DAI, or mutually pining while being highly competent and busy with serious things. (For art, also always here for leaning into the left hand/right hand or bard/knight aspects of them.)
Cassandra/Inquisitor: Whichever Inquisitor you care to write/draw, I am always into them finding their way into love with each other, ways to be together, mutual discoveries. Whether that’s awkward flirting or dramatic saving each other from deadly peril or having cute slice of life experiences together or more sexy discoveries or literally anything on my likes list, it is good. (for art, similarly, I will never say no to Cassandra doing knightly things or receiving romantic gestures.)
Leliana/Cassandra/Josephine, Leliana/Cassandra/Vivienne, Leliana/Cassandra/Inquisitor: A lot of what I said above could also work here: Josie also has a past with Leliana at least, it’s possible Vivienne could have met them both, and the Inquisitor could fall for them together. Or this is also making me think about scenarios where two team up to comfort or rescue the other and there are feelings (huddling for warmth after Haven? sandstorm in the desert? someone gets captured or lost? someone out of her depth in Val Royeaux society? Cassandra dealing with her family? the Inquisitor losing her hand? or someone just having a bad day and the other two improving it).
I'm fine with however you want to picture/characterize the Inquisitor if you include her; also fine with whatever world state and time frame in Thedas you want. Random bonus prompt: I also find the Deep Roads, Adamant, the Fade, Nevarra, Serault, and the abandoned chateaux in the Emerald Graves particularly interesting, if you feel inspired to stick these pairings/trios into one of those places somehow.
DNW: noncon, hatesex, daddy/mommy kink, pregnancy, setting AUs for fic, permanent death of requested characters
Star Wars (Obi-Wan Kenobi)
I was very fond of Tala and wish there was so much more of her, especially in an f/f context (whether that’s fic, or art, or if you’re inspired to make a vid, that would be cool as well). And if you feel like including NED-B and/or her platonic relationship with Leia somehow, I also loved their interactions.
Reva Sevander/Tala Durith
So, they’re both secretly working against the Empire for kind of opposite reasons, and they had some tension in that scene where they meet on the base, and I’d like something exploring that or where they interact more (have they run into each other previously? if Tala doesn’t die in the explosion might she find Reva after Vader stabs her? might their paths cross in the future post-show? might she help Reva turn away from the dark side?)
Tala Durith/OFC
Alternatively, I’d like to see Tala get to be happy with someone, whether that’s sometime pre-canon (someone else she helped on the Path? someone from further in her past? someone who left NED-B with her?) or in a fix-it situation where she gets to carry on her resistance work instead of sacrificing herself.
DNW: noncon, hatesex (Reva/Tala angry or emotionally complicated sex is okay, but I like rivals/enemies to also have some kind of mutual respect and appreciation), pregnancy, setting AUs, permanent death of requested characters
Doctor Who (Torchwood)
Suzie Costello/Alex (Moving Target)
Moving Target is a Big Finish audio drama set pre-Torchwood where all of Earth is frozen in time except Suzie and this other woman Alex, who is the random target of a group of alien sport hunters, and Suzie ends up helping her fight them off one at a time for an indefinite period while the world stays frozen and a robot referee taunts them. It can be found here: https://www.bigfinish.com/releases/v/torchwood-moving-target-1392
I was delighted by how the premise combines a bunch of tropes I’m into (forced circumstantial intimacy, grumpy one/cheerful one, bodyguarding, weird timey-wimey shit, postapocalyptic-ish survival), and it had Suzie trying to be a hero for a while, and this all had me shipping them, up until the ending, at which I was very “nooo!”
Therefore, I would love some fic where they get together (at some point during this or instead of the canon ending?) and either things get resolved another way, or it’s suggested they might find another way out.
DNW: noncon, hatesex, setting AUs, permanent death of requested characters
Original Work
Village Witch/Neighboring Village Witch She’s Heard Talk About for Years
Unlucky Knight/Oracle Who Dispenses Quests
Retired Bodyguard Carrying a Torch/Lady She Once Served in Trouble
Virginal Queen/Loyal Guardswoman who has long longed to make love to her
Repressed Queen/Pining Knight/Sympathetic Arranged Bride
Artist/Longtime Collaborator/Rakish New Patroness
Absent-Minded Curator/Museum Ghost with a Crush
Water Witch/Woman Who Enjoys Baths
Spirit in a Bottle/Woman Who Releases Her
Fairy Queen Undercover in Real World/Her Human Bodyguard
I’m interested in however you want to interpret any of these as fic or art. Also, while most of them could obviously be fantasy, SF or modern/urban fantasy or historical settings would be interesting as well.
DNW: noncon, hatesex, underage sex, pregnancy of requested characters, daddy/mommy kink, incest, permanent death of requested characters aside from the ghost
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Ughh, Annalise looks really off with blonde hair, it doesn't fit her at all, LOL. I hold my stance in Robin's case though, on the "looks-can-be-deceiving" ground: he may look like a "frat" (I don't think so), but he is anything but. Underestimation and/or bad first impression usually adds another layer to one's character. Just an opinion, but had to elaborate. Anyway, my next question: how did Robin's siblings die? Are all of them dead? If eg. Annalise was alive, the heir would be still Robin.
LMAO yeaaaah, none of the Darkest kids look good with their dad's blonde hair. Except for Robin, apparently 😂 but thank you for your thoughts! It's true that Robin's character has a lot of "looks can be deceiving" themes floating around, especially since he has a very mean face and thin frame but is actually very kind and Very Strong. I love mentioning that he's a damage dealer, because he just doesn't look like one. (Also, Howard would have totally been less of an assbutt to Robin had he looked more like his dad. But 0x0 is still 0 lol)
As for the siblings, all of them are very dead, yes. More under the cut as usual babayyyy
Robin was the one who did the deed, but by accident. Or was it? See inside he held a loooot of hatred for his brothers for their treatment of him and basically having been robbed of the normal family experience he always wanted. But the other half of him believes that there was always a chance they could change, and a love for them that he never really got to express, which saddened him deeply.
So the night the Letter was delivered to the cliff house by the Caretaker, (the first time the Darkest kids have seen the guy in like uhhhh. Let's say seven years) All the boys are sitting around the table, Annalise in another room because let's be real she had no chance of claiming the estate. (This would also be Robin's origin comic if I were to ever make a mod of him hehe) So Ed reads the thing out loud, everyone's really on edge, they each want to win. So they all lunge for the letter totally intent on killing the other guys if they need to, and without being able to control it Robin goes full tentacle and just. Splashes these guys across the room. Like lord above it's a mess. He's covered in viscera, trembling hands holding the bloodied letter and he's throwing his head back laughing in a moment of affliction because he won, for the first time in his life. And that's when the door creaks open, he's shocked into movement and it's too late to even see that it was Anna before she was silently skewered through the chest, not even a drop of blood out of place.
That's when he gets catatonic for a bit. Even if neither we nor him ever know if he truly wanted to hurt his brothers and if that was a moment of violent retribution or the Heart acting out as a way to eliminate his competition and achieve the ending it wants, he never ever wanted to hurt Anna. He pretty much raised her himself. And that's when he gets dragged off by the Caretaker for super fun family friendly times in his childhood home :)
And yes, if Annalise lived, Robin would still be the heir. She's a liiiittle too young to lead. Although I have entertained the idea of her growing up and then becoming the heir, after her brothers' deaths and Robin being out of the picture for whatever reason, lmao. Maybe he got eaten by the Heart early, and she's returning to the Hamlet to find the only person who ever cared for her and discover what happened to him. Or something LOLLL
#anonymous#my poor boy nrnnnfnbg nothing says happy early birthday then accidentally murdering your remaining family
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What May Be The Average Associated With A Renovation? - Nurse's Guide
Halong Bay travel guide will a person a quantity of places to go to when you might be touring Vietnam. Don't forget toiletries various other hygiene necessities as now.
I love being here, it's very much like being a kid. Work doesn't even act like work, we've got so thrilling here. There exists so much freedom here, you don't have any four walls around both you and people are equally so friendly. I am learning so way. I am learning about the white water, how study the river and I am picking increase the basics of river rafting and windsurfing. One day I might need to become a river cause. I'd definitely like to come back next year after my ESL theme.
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Bad Travel Guide Category One is usually quite a glossy affair, something that's been released by one of the major publishing houses. Less costly . shiny pages, loads of colorful maps and pictures and appears eager to cover all the bases. Its authors - because a true normally two - have compiled these guides diligently and dutifully. Perhaps a touch too much your assumption that their readers would approach the foreign city or country they are writing about with sneakers frame of mind. These books are believed to be based on top of the conviction people don't travel for fun but from the a experience of solemn levy.
We consider the opulent Regent Hotel of usual Seasons. I'm given a suite and swear this wins the award for the most gracious staff on the world. We've arrived at a best time with the "Great Shopping Festival" on. There's nothing like some retail therapy to soothe our jet lag. Orchard Road, becoming tree lined Fifth Avenue is a block away and center of all life. Shopping is the national obsession and bargain hunting can are a blood sport here.
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Anh Sang alley's Hue traditional noodle is also a must every and every traveler. Cost you is around 15,000 VND per sink. Quite cheap again, it's really? Don't forget to use a sumptuous Vietnamese snack called "banh beo" for less than 10,000 VND per assisting. The place is usually crowded with guests making it advisable to buy everything market or topic . at shortly after. Here in Da Lat they refer to it as "banh beo" number 4 of Microsoft. Huong because it lies at number 4 at the intersection of la Son Phu Tu and Hai Ba Trung block. The place is closed during vegetarian days on 14th, 15th, 30th, 1st of monthly (Lunar calendar).
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Written By Author in topninhbinhaz.com: Phạm Văn Linh - Pham Van Linh
Written By Author in topninhbinhaz.com: Nguyễn Việt Long - Nguyen Viet Long
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Oliver's Travel's.
Thirteen year old Ollie Wrigley likes playing footy and cricket with his mates going to the movies but most of all Ollie likes to read.
Ollie like all teenagers has acne all over his face, feet that grow so fast he goes through three pair a year, hair under his arms and above his willy and a voice out of tune with his small frame.
After school he plays with his friends until the sun goes down than he goes home has something to eat a warm bath than he rushes upstairs to devour another book.
Ollie will read books and magazines of any genre but his favorite is murder mysteries, thrillers and true crime magazines.
Thrillers are his favorite to read because he can open a bag of crisps and escape to a life full of danger and intrigue also Ollie like to pretend to be a policeman and solve the crime before he gets to the last page.
The year is 1996 and Ollie is lucky to have two parents who love him very much, for his last birthday they gave him a complete set of Funk & Wagnell encyclopedia's that should only take him about five years to read.
Tonight Olie is reading Cujo' by Stephen King the master of horror a genre that Ollie hasn't read before.
When he gets to Chapter Four Ollie's skin become clammy and his heart beats a little faster 'Jesus I can almost hear the screams and smell the blood dripping down the walls.'As he continues to read Ollie sneaks a look over to his bedroom window to make sure that it closed but than he gets out of bed and locks the window.
At 9 o'clock Ollie's mum Jean pokes her head in and reminds Ollie that it is a school night 'Ten more minutes young man than it is lights out.'
'Okay mum but can you please knock before you come in I am thirteen now not seven.'
Jean rolls her eyes before closing the door and going back down the stairs.
Ollie finishes Chapter Ten than he suddenly remembers the magazine that he has stashed under the mattress
A week before one of his mates Simon had given him a magazine that he said he stole from his big brother.
Ollie turns off the bedroom lights grabs the magazine and a torch him the bedstand than he starts to read or I should say look at the pictures in the old Hustler magazine.
Again his skin becomes clammy and the torch keeps slipping from his grip but Olie doesn't seem to mind his hand is gripped tightly around his growing willy.
'Go to sleep Ollie' Jeans calls from downstairs.
'God how does she always know that I am doing something I shouldn't be doing, maybe she is a witch or a gypsy?'
Just before Ollie turned sixteen his parents sat him down and told him they were moving north on the coast near the Scottish border.
'But why I like it here and all of my mates are here so why move?'
'Well son' his father Kenneth answers 'As you know I lost my job last week but i have been offered a job in Hartlepool that is a great opportunity for us as a family.'
Ollie isn't happy but what can he do so he just nods and go up to his room to mope.
A month later a removalist truck arrives at the family home in east London and after the truck is loaded with their possessions it starts the drive up north with Kenneth at the wheel of his trusty Volvo following close behind.
After leaving the capitol the drive along the motorway is smooth sailing and 4 hours later they pull outside of their new home.
'Is this it? Ollie enquires 'It looks like a hovel from a Charles Dickens novel.'
'Don't worry son Jean responds 'It is only temporary, once we are settled in and Ken's job works out we will find a new permanent home.'
Just then the removalists arrive and begin unloading the truck, Jean takes charge telling the men what goes where.
Ollie asks where his room is and Jean walks up a flight of stairs off the kitchen that leads up to a dusty attic. 'I know that it is small and a bit shabby but just remember that it will only be a few months, Kens new employers organized this place for us so lets be grateful for small mercy's and move on.'
'Fine' Ollie says' I noticed a MacDonalds just down the road I will go there while the truck is getting unloaded and come back later.'
Jean and Kenneth watch their son walk away unconcerned knowing that he will soon come around.
Two hours later Ollie goes back home and walks up the stairs to his room and is surprised to see that the attic space isn't as small as he first thought so he happily unpacks the boxes of his stuff and puts socks and underpants in the chest of drawers, hangs up shirts and pants in the wardrobe and an hour later he has his room to his liking.
He immediately picks up reading 'Cujo' and within seconds Ollie is totally engrossed in the story until his mum calls him downstairs 'Honey we are going grocery shopping do you want to come along it will give you a chance to check out Hartlepool.'
Ollie is about to say no thanks when he thinks this will be a good opportunity to see if there are any book shops in town.
They soon arrive at a Costco and Ollie tells his parents that he is just going to walk along the main street to see if he can find a book store.
'Okay Ollie but don't be too long.'
'I won't ma only be fifteen minutes or so.'
After walking along the main street for a few minutes Ollie is starting to get discouraged when down a narrow lane he notices what he at first thinks is a barber shop but when he walks closer Ollie can see that it is indeed a book shop and by the looks of it the store was built by the romans.
The shop is called 'Hartlepool New & Used Books' not very inspiring but Ollie walks in and immediately stops in his tracks because before him are over one hundred shelves of books plus the smell of old books brings comfort to Ollie so he wanders over to a shelf and begins to browse
'Can I help you young man?' Ollie turns around to see an old man standing there 'No thank you me and my family have just moved up here from London and well I have a thing for books so I came in to have a look.'
The man who to Ollie looks a lot like Basil Rathbone returns to the front counter and Ollie wanders around touching the spines of the old books but when he does a microscopic bookworm would wriggle onto his finger and begin to climb.
After five minutes Ollie still hasn't spotted anything of interest and starts to walk out 'Excuse me young man' the old man says pointing to the counter 'Are you a collector of Edgar Alan Poe or other 19th century authors? Ollie nods his head and picks up the book that Basil had pointed at.
When Ollie sees the 5000 pound price tag the immediately puts it back down. 'sorry but my family isn't rich'
'Have another look Ollie I am sure it now has a price to suit.'
Again Ollie picks up a first edition of Tale's of Mystery & Madness and the price tag now reads 50p 'What how can that be ? A minute ago the price was' the old man silences Ollie with a wave of his hand 'A bargain is yours for the taking Ollie do you want it wrapped?'
Ollie nods his head and waits while Basil wraps the book 'There you go Ollie a pleasure doing business with you, see you tomorrow and by the way my name isn't Basil Rathbone it is Cecil Hawthorne seller of books weaver of dreams'.
Ollie walks outside not quite believing what just happened first the old man seemed to know my name than knew that I was calling him Bruce plus how the price changed right before his eyes.
Ollie meets his parents at Costco and they notice that something has upset their boy 'What is the matter Ollie you look like you have seen a ghost.'
'It is nothing mum um I wasn't looking an almost got hit by a car but I am fine now.
'Oh Ollie please be careful in the future and look where you are going.'
Ollie feels bad because he has never lied to his parents before 'I will mum I promise.'
Back at home Ollie eats a meal of roast chicken peas and sauteed potatoes and normally he would demolish the food in a matter of minutes but tonight he only pushes the food around the plate.
'I'm not very hungry mum can I go up to my room and eat later?'
'Of course son just don't forget to eat because it is your first day at your new school tomorrow.'
Up in the attic Ollie changes into his pyjamas gets into bed and turns to page one of the Edgar Alan Poe masterpiece.
As he begins to read the bookworms that have slowly been wriggling up his body for the last few hours now sit on begin to weave their magic.
The attic swirls and dances taking Ollie on a ride back to the 19th century where now Ollie finds himself sitting up in a huge straw bed reading under a gas lamp.
His bedroom is a big with walls made from stone and brick with a ceiling of thatch.
As he reads a lady wearing a white apron enters the room carrying a tray of biscuits and a wooden tumbler of milk 'Would master Oliver like me to fetch him some rice pudding or will the biscuits and milk suffice?'
'Thank you um erf sorry but I seem to have forgotten your name'.
'Are you feeling well master? It is I miss Mary your personal maid.'
Mary quickly rushes to his side and puts a hand to his forehead 'You haven't got a fever master Oliver so I am sure that it isn't the plague that ails you'.
'Plague' Ollie splutters 'Yes master the plague sickness spread through the masquerade ball last night, surely you remember sir?'
'That is why you are isolated up here with nothing but books to keep you company.'
'Do you wish me to seek the doctor?'
'No Mary leave me now I need to rest.'
Ollie has one last look around the old fashioned bedroom than he makes a wish hoping that when he closes the book he will return to the attic and get ready for school tomorrow.
'One two three Ollie opens his eyes and is happy to find himself back in familiar surroundings.
He is sitting up in bed holding the book in his lap with one hand and the other holding the tumbler of milk and when he looks further Ollie discovers that he is still wearing the long white gown that were worn back in Edgar Alan Poe's day.
The bookworms nestle in his ear to rest while they wait for the next adventure to begin.
Ollie Puts the Poe book in his book case not daring to open it again until he finds out from Mister fricking Cecil Hawthorne what the hell is going on but first he needs to clean up before going to sleep for the night.
It is only 8.30 but he wants to make a good impression on his first day at his new school so he wanders downstairs towards the bathroom for a quick hot shower but he has forgotten that he is still wearing the white gown plus he still has the wooden tumbler of milk in his hand.
'Ollie is that you? and what in the hell are you wearing?'
'Of course it is me mum who were you expecting Prince Charles?'
'Don't take that tone with me Ollie where did you find that garb and what is that you are holding?'
Before Ollie can react his mother grabs the tumbler and gives it a whiff. 'Smells like milk but why is it yellow and not white? this isn't the same milk that I bought today Ollie, where did it come from?'
'I don't know mum but I found these old clothes in a chest up in the attic so i put them on while I was reading an old 19th century novel".
'Don't lie to me Ollie I completely cleaned your room today and there was no chest up there, now lets go up and take a look shall we.'
Ollie hangs his head knowing that he has been caught out, all he can do now is follow her upstairs and try to figure out an answer.
Entering Ollie's room Jean suddenly stops 'Well I'll be fucked there is a chest.'
Ollie looks around his mum and sees a big mahogany chest sitting at the end of Ollie's bed and on top of the chest is a tankard of milk.'
'Sorry for doubting you son but I could have sworn that the chest wasn't here this afternoon.'
'That's OK Mum I want tell Dad about you saying the F word if you keep quite about the chest, Deal?'
Mother and son shake hands and both of them keep the promise.
The following morning Ollie is a bit nervous when he walks into Hartlepool High School but soon two kids in his first introduce themselves as Timohty Smith a tall ginger haired boy and a girl Sally Lightfoot who is around the same height as Ollie only she long black hair and a nice smile.
The three teenagers become fast friends and attend all of the classes and have lunch together.
At the end of the day they leave school and walk down the main street because Tim and Sally want to go to the chippy and get a battered sav each to eat on their walk home plus Ollie needs to talk to Cecil Hawthorne 'I will see guys tomorrow morning I am going to check out the bookstore I saw down the lane that I noticed yesterday.
'What bookstore Ollie?' Sally asks 'That crumbling old building down has been condemned for years.'
Ollie doesn't tell them that he talked to an old man inside yesterday but the three of them walk towards the lane and sure the ancient stone building is barricaded and looks like it has been for a long time.
Tim and Sally wave goodbye than walk away eating their after school snack leaving their bamboozled friend behind.
Ollie takes a seat on a bench for a few minutes than walks towards the lane again and sure enough the book shop is lit up like a Christmas tree.'
On entering a tiny bell announces his presence and Mister Hawthorne comes from behind a curtain at the back of the store.' Ah if it isn't Master Oliver himself, did you enjoy your little adventure yesterday? Sorry about not letting your friends on our secret but it is for the best.'
'That is alright because I don't think Tim and Sally are ready for what is happening and come to think of it I don't think I am as well but thank you for having the wooden chest magically appear in my room yesterday, you saved me from a difficult situation.'
Cecil Hawthorne bows his head in acknowledgement ''No trouble Master Oliver I'll wash your back if you wash mine.'
Ollie is a little creeped out by those words but asks 'Why me? There are a millions of other people you could have chosen from.'
'That is correct but you are perfect for the adventures Oliver because you love books and having fun and there is no need to be worried because when you go on a ride and start to feel a little uneasy all you have to do is close the book and you will return home safe and sound but remember to always open the book in your room and no where else.'
Ollie wants to tell Hawthorne that he didn't really answer his question but he stays silent.
'Also Master Oliver I must tell you that when you entered my premises yesterday a trillion tiny bookworms read your brainwaves while you had a look around just to make sure that you are the right young man to undertake the travels and please don't be alarmed but 100 of those worms jump aboard and are now part of your being.'
'These bookworms are for your safety Master Oliver they will guide you along the way and keep you on the right road.'
Ollie for some reason doesn't say a word but he desperately wants to run at the door as fast as he can but his feet refuse to move so he just in place awaiting the details of his next adventure .
On the counter sits a first edition of 'Huckleberry Finn by Mark Twain, the book shimmers beneath the fluorescent lights and Ollie picks it up and holds it close to his chest. 'Good choice Master Oliver, now go and when you are ready open the book and begin to read and you will travel to the deep south of America for another adventure.
'Safe travels but remember to open the book in your room only if you open it in a public place well you might not make it back.
Cecil Hawthorne watches his obedient underling walk from the store in a slow shuffle than he goes back behind the curtain and walks way beneath the earth's surface into the cauldron of hell.
THE END.
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