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ladypogue · 4 years

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Used to This (part 3)

Summary: Ella starts her first shift at the Wreck. While working a certain blue eyed boy comes in looking for Kie but stays with Ella. The pair hangs out during and after her shift. This is the start of something new.

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: the slightest little bit of swearing at the end. but other than that none :)

A/N: hello all! I am still eternally grateful for you if you are reading this story. Sorry for the late update, I’ve been having migraines recently so its been hard to stare at a screen but I’m feeling better so I hope to be back on a normal update schedule again. Also would you guys be interested if I started writing imagines, one shots, blurbs, etc? If so lmk and send requests! I have a few ideas....as always feedback is greatly appreciated. love y’all! :)

Series Masterlist

Part 3

Ella woke up excited for the day, today was her first day working at the Wreck as a waitress. Heading downstairs to start on her breakfast, she pulled out her phone to see if JJ had texted her. Slightly disappointed that she didn’t have a text from the boy, she shook off the feeling and carried on with her morning; scrolling through her phone, taking her breakfast upstairs to start getting ready, not wanting to be late for her first day.

Making her way down to the restaurant popular with tourists, 15 minutes early for her shift, she walked through the doors looking for either Kiara or her dad, not quite sure what she was supposed to be doing today. One of the other waitresses showed Ella where she could put her things and gave her an apron, telling her to sit at the bar and Kiara would be out to show her the ropes.

Kie came out from the kitchen greeting Ella and giving her a brief run-down of what her days will look like. Kie then continued to explain that for the day she would just be working register in order to get her used to the computer system. Completely fine with that, Ella smiled and watched intently as Kie showed her how to ring people up and how to open the register drawer when it got stuck, it was old, so the drawer was sometimes sticky. Excited to officially start her day, Ella took her place behind the register while Kiara went back into the kitchen to help her dad. She was prepared for whatever the day may bring, though she was hoping that it would be an easy first day.

The sun shining brightly through the windows of the chateau is what woke JJ as he had passed out on the pull out couch the night before. Pulling the pillow over his head, JJ groaned and rolled back over after checking the time, relieved to realize that he didn’t have to get up for school, not that he went that often anyways. Sleeping in for another few hours, he re-awoke and made his way to the bathroom to get ready for the day. JJ practically lived with John B at the chateau, especially since Big John went missing. He’ll tell anybody that asks that it’s because he doesn’t want John B to get lonely and that his friend shouldn’t have to go through this alone. And while all of that was true, JJ would never admit out loud that it was also because he was avoiding his own problems at home. John B knew about JJ’s homelife, so he graciously accepts the company that his best friend since third grade offers him. It’s nice to know he’s not alone in that house, but also because he knows JJ is safe if he stays with him. Ready to start his day, JJ laced up his boots, grabbed his phone and went outside to wait for Pope so they can go to the Wreck to get food. Looking at his phone he suddenly remembered the girl from last night, Ella. Just thinking about her put a smile on JJ’s face. He opened his contacts, shooting her a quick message.

To Ella: Hey! It’s JJ. Sry I didn’t txt you last night, after cleaning up I went straight to sleep. I wanted to say it was nice meeting u and I hope to see u again. :)

Pressing send, JJ laid back on the hammock letting his mind wander about the girl. What was she like? Did she have any pets? JJ hoped she had a dog. What were her likes and dislikes? Was she single, and if she was would she even go for a guy like JJ? He couldn’t help but imagine her as a part of his life. He pictured them spending the day together at the beach, him teaching her how to surf and her not being good at it so they give up and just swim in the ocean, his arms wrapped around her waist and hers around his neck. Eventually he would get the courage to pull her in for a sweet kiss, imagining how she tastes. He imagines she would taste sweet, her lips soft and her tongue warm.

JJ’s daydream was cut short by the sound of footsteps approaching. He looked up and locked eyes with Pope. Swinging his legs over the edge and standing up, he rubbed his hands together walking towards his friend, “Ready to go?” JJ questioned.

“Yeah, but I told my pops we’d help him with a delivery before we go.” Pope told him while walking away from the chateau. JJ just groaned, wanting to go see Kie and get some food. Checking his phone once more before putting it in his pocket, JJ sighed seeing no response from Ella. It was stupid of him to get his hopes up, a beautiful girl like that giving him the time of day, as if. Shrugging it off, not letting it affect his mood, JJ picked up his pace and caught up with Pope, jumping into conversation, letting the boy’s rambling distract him from the small twinge in his heart at the thought of being rejected.

Back at the Wreck, Ella’s first day was going smooth. She had a few mishaps here and there but that was to be expected and Kiara was always right there to help her. Throughout the lulls in customers, Kiara and Ella got to talking. Having essentially known each other their whole lives, it was amazing how little they knew about each other. However, the conversation flowed seamlessly between the two, and they both could tell that they would end up being good friends.

The two girls were stood at the counter, giggling with each other, when they heard the bell above the door chime, signaling that it was time to go back to work. Kie grabbed a cloth and went to wipe down tables, preparing for whoever it was that walked in the door. Ella turned ready to great her new customers, when she froze, breath caught in her throat at the sight of JJ Maybank. He had yet to see her as his was searching the floor for Kie, ready to beg her for food. As he scanned the restaurant, his eyes skimmed past the girl standing behind the counter, having to do a double take JJ broke out into a grin once he realized who it was. Ella made eye contact with the blonde, timidly smiling, feeling a blush creep up on her cheeks. She was definitely more nervous, not only over the fact that he was even more attractive in the daylight, but she didn’t have any alcohol in her system to calm her and give her a confidence boost. JJ sauntered over to the counter to talk to the girl who’d been running through his mind while Pope made his way over to the table Kie was currently wiping down.

JJ couldn’t help but admire her natural beauty as she stood there in her uniform with her hair tied up in a messy ponytail, small pieces of her hair framing her face. She wore light makeup, only concealer under her eyes and mascara, but JJ still thought she was beautiful. He didn’t know she worked here, especially since they spent a lot of time at the Wreck as a group, he was sure he would have noticed her, and Kie didn’t mention any new hires. Sitting down in front of her, JJ felt his confidence waiver. She hadn’t responded to his text, so maybe she didn’t want to see him.

“Hi JJ.” She smiled at him lightly, tucking a loose piece of hair behind her ear, his confidence slowly rising.

“Hey.” He replied simply, “I didn’t know you worked here.”

“Today’s my first day.”

“Ahh, well congrats on your first day, I think you’ll like it here.”

“I already do, everyone is super friendly and made me feel welcomed.”

“Well that’s great!”

A silence fell over the two, it wasn’t awkward, but it wasn’t comfortable either. Ella was debating if she should bring up the fact that JJ never texted her. She didn’t want to seem desperate, but she was also playing into what her friends had planted in her mind, that JJ was only going to use her. She didn’t want to believe her friends, but she kept the wall up around her just in case, not wanting to get hurt. Meanwhile, sitting across from her, JJ’s brain was turning a mile a minute. He was trying to get a read on the girl, but to no avail. She kept herself heavily guarded and only let JJ see what she wanted him to see. It was frustrating. How was he supposed to get to know her if he couldn’t even pick up on subtle things?

“Are you gonna order anything or are you just gonna sit there?” Ella asked curiously, not trying to be rude but also not wanting to get in trouble with Mr. Carrera.

“That all depends, what time do you get off?”

Taken aback by his question, Ella shook her head lightly, “What does that have to do with if you’re going to order or not?”

“Well, if you work for a couple more hours, I’ll order so I’m not sitting here starving.” JJ said, even though he had every intention of just getting the food from Kie, knowing she would bring food out soon enough for the boys.

“I get off in 2 hours.” Ella stated simply, looking back down at her receipts making sure everything is in order.

Just as he was about to reply, Kiara came back over to the pair, ready to scold JJ for undoubtedly flirting with Ella. “JJ Maybank, you better not be harassing my newest employee, we need the help and I don’t need you scaring her off.” Kie half joked but was also half serious, she knew his tendencies and Ella was nice girl who didn’t need corrupted by her flirtatious friend. JJ put his hands up in surrender, “I wasn’t flirting, I promise.” At this Ella felt her heart break a little, of course he wasn’t flirting with her. She was just caught up in her crush, so she was seeing and hearing what she wanted to. Shaking her head and smiling at the two, Ella walked away, going to find anything to keep her busy and away from JJ.

JJ shot Kie a confused look, to which she just shrugged her shoulders. The boy went after Ella, wanting to continue to hang out with her and wanting to make sure they were still good. As he got up, Kie shot him a warning look, reminding him that she was there to work and not hang out. As Ella’s shift starts to wind down, she continues to entertain JJ’s antics while keeping focused on her work. While JJ continues to follow her around like a puppy, Pope and Kie sit in the back at a table just watching the two, bemused. It was weird for them to see JJ act this way, but it warmed their hearts that maybe JJ had a shot at love. They would have to tease him about it later.

Taking her place behind the counter one last time, with JJ sat in front of her on a bar stool, Ella started finishing up her tasks, ready to leave for the night.

“What are you doing after this?” JJ asked, noticing her finishing up and not ready to part ways.

“I was planning on going home and watching Netflix.”

“Would you maybe want to hang out more? I want to continue to get to know you.”

Ella felt her cheeks and neck heat up, agreeing, happy to spend time with the boy not during her work shift.

Clocking out and grabbing her stuff, she waved bye to Kie and Pope. Ella follows closely behind JJ, not sure what he had planned, if anything. JJ leads the two of them down to the beach, kicking off their shoes they start to walk along the warm sand. Falling into conversation easily, the two found a spot and sat down, sitting closer than necessary. In her head, Ella said that it was because it was a starting to get chilly with the breeze and the lack of sun, but really, she knew it was because she wanted to feel his skin on hers.

“So, am I not good enough to receive a text from the notorious JJ Maybank?” Ella joked, nudging her shoulder with JJ’s.

“I did text you. Because you are far more than good enough. You just never responded.” JJ looked at her confusedly, shrugging his shoulders trying to seem unbothered.

Pulling out her phone and going to her messages, she sees a message from an unknown number. Guilt washed through her and she smiled sheepishly at JJ as she added him to her contacts.

“I was at work already so I must not have seen it. And then you showed up, so I didn’t have to wonder if you texted me.”

JJ chuckled, teasing her lightly, “you were looking for my text?”

“I wouldn’t say looking so to say, but I wouldn’t have been upset at seeing your name on my screen.”

Slinging his arm around her shoulder and pulling her closer, he felt his insides warm at the thought of her wanting JJ to text her.

“I was nervous when you didn’t reply that maybe you didn’t want be friends.” JJ replied, mumbling under his breath hoping she didn't hear him.

She had heard him loud and clear. “Of course, I wanna be friends JJ” she smiled up at him, resting her head on his shoulder.

JJ smiled back down at her, happy she wanted to have him as a part of her life. The two continued to get to know each other, telling stories from their past, both cracking up at what the other would share. Neither was sure how things felt so easy, but they weren’t complaining. They were just soaking in everything about each other. Checking the time, Ella realized she had to get home as it was almost midnight and her shift ended almost 4 hours ago. JJ offered to walk her home, stopping outside her front door, he awkwardly shuffled back and forth with his hands in his pockets.

“I guess I’ll see you later then?” JJ asked, hoping that the girl would want to hang out again. Maybe he could bring her around the pogues.

“Sure. Text me when you get home, so I know you’re safe.” Ella said with a soft smile coating her face. JJ returned her smile with an “of course” before he turned around and started his commute back to the chateau.

Ella made her way into her house and up to her room, tip toeing, not wanting to wake her parents. Quietly making her way into her bathroom and taking a shower, Ella couldn’t help but smile to herself as she recounted her evening with the Maybank boy. She wished she could have taken a picture to remember how he looked in the moonlight as they sat by the water. She relinquished in the feeling of his arm around her, wishing it never had to have ended. All Ella wanted to do was text Sophia and Grace and tell them about her date, could she call it date? She didn’t even know; all she knew was she wanted to tell someone about what had happened. Instead she settled for squealing into her pillow and flopping on her bed. Shooting her friends, a text about how her first day went, leaving out the parts about JJ, not ready for them to remind her that he wasn’t good for her. She opened their text thread and sent him a message;

To JJ: Had a really nice time tonight. Thank you for making my first day at work one to remember :)

Pressing send, Ella turned over and fell asleep, hoping to dream about the boy with ocean blue eyes.

JJ walked into the chateau and was greeted by John B sitting on the couch watching some reality show on the TV. Nodding to his friend, he went to the kitchen to grab himself a beer and joined John B on the couch. Upon sitting down, John B smirked at him, just waiting for him to notice. Feeling his gaze, JJ looked over, confused at the look on his face as he brought his beer bottle up to his lips.

“What?” JJ asked incredulously.

“Nothing. Nothing. Just Kie and Pope stopped by, said you went off with the girl from the kegger. Ella was it?” he continued to smirk when he noticed JJ start to blush.

“Shut up. We’re just getting to know each other.”

“Uh huh, ‘getting to know each other’. JJ you have never gotten to know a girl, you’ve always been a love ‘em and leave ‘em type”

“I don’t know man. Somethings just different with her. When she bumped into me, I just felt this almost instant connection with her. Like she was meant to bump into me. I can’t explain, all I know is I enjoy her company.”

John B smiled at his friend, seeing how much Ella already meant to the boy even though they really just met.

“Bring her around some time. If she means that much to you already then I’m sure she’ll mean a lot to us as well.”

“I will. For sure. Just maybe not yet, I don’t even know if she likes me and I don’t need you guys fucking this up for me, at least not more than I’m bound to.” JJ didn’t want to think about his destructive tendencies when it came to relationships. He wasn’t ready to let this one go.

“I’m offended that you think we would fuck this up for you, but I get it. I really do.” John B knew how his friend could get, so he would do everything in his power to make sure that this worked out in his favor, even if that meant postponing meeting the girl that seemed to have captured JJ's heart. He wanted nothing than to see his friend be happy.

“Yeah, yeah. You know I love you guys. I’m gonna go to bed, I’ll see you in the morning” JJ stated before making his way into the guest room before collapsing on the bed. Shooting Ella a text, seeing she already texted him, he grinned to himself.

To Ella: Had a really nice time 2night too :) I got back safe, maybe we could hang tmrw if ur not busy? Just lmk! Good night Ella :)

JJ expected that the girl was probably already in bed so he turned off his light, crawling under the covers, falling asleep while scrolling through his phone, looking forward to the days to come.

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cinaja · 4 years

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Before the Wall Part 3

For the entire series and the summary, click here

Is anyone reading this? If so, please give me a sign! This is my first time posting a story and I'd love some feedback

Disclaimer: characters, world etc. belong to Sarah j. Maas

----

There is another desert. Great. Simply great. Sometimes, Miryam wonders if fate hates her.

But in a small town on the edge of the sand, a Fae female with a bad cough that she is treating tells her about the human rebels who have set up their camp just on the other side of the sand. The female means it as a warning, but Miryam has to lower her head to hide her smile.

"I mean it", the female insists, "You may be part human, but you are also half Fae and these people won't like that."

This worries Miryam more than she wants to admit. But she swore a vow to save her people and another one to be kind, to help others - and for both, she needs the rebellion.

So she spends her last coins on a camel and sets off.

On the first day, she runs into a pack of Martax and almost gets eaten (again). On the second day, there is a stabbing pain in her lower body. Closer inspection reveals that she is, apparently, on her period. (Of course. Of course she gets her first bleeding while stuck in the middle of a desert. It`s just typical.)

On the third day, she runs out of water. She was supposed to reach an oasis that day, but it is dried out. She guesses it is a side effect of thirst (or maybe of the heat) when she starts seeing strings of light, running through the air and over the ground. She blinks and they are gone.

On the fourth day, she falls asleep in the shadow of a sand dune and wakes up in a small cabin. Miryam jumps to her feet - and slams into a wall of hard air. Around her, there is are symbols drawn on the wooden panels. Forming a perfect circle and trapping her within.

Miryam has seen those symbols before. For a moment, she thinks that she`s still asleep and this is another nightmare. But something tells her this is very real.

"You know", a voice drawls behind her, "this would have been much easier for you if you had stayed unconscious.

Miryam spins around and comes face to face with a High Fae female. In her hands, she holds an ancient-looking book bound in black leather.

The female is a witch

Fear shoots through Miryam. This can't be happening. Not when she was so close to reaching the rebellion. For a moment, Miryam thinks that she sees the strings of light again, wrapping around the witch, running through the air. But they vanish as quickly as they appeared

The witch raises her hands and smiles at Miryam. "You should consider it an honour, girl. Your life will be used for something greater."

Miryam doesn't beg for mercy. She knows there won't be any and spent her entire life on her knees - she won't die that way, too.

The witch begins chanting

Miryam can feel the magic, wrapping around her body. Burning, searing. (This is what her mother must have felt in her last moments). She raises her hands, like she might ward of the looming death.

The lights are back. Strings of light, wrapping around her. Miryam pushes against them and something inside her rises up, up, up.

Burning pain.

Her body is on fire. It hurts. Hurts so badly she thinks she may be dying. She leans to the sides and retches up blood.

Somehow, she manages to sit up.

Around her, the house is reduced to cinders. Where the witch stood, there is nothing but a pile of ashes on the ground. The book is still there, untouched, but everything else is destroyed. But the strings of light are still there, fainter but clearly visible.

It is impossible. Miryam should be dead - worse than dead.

She wants to laugh, but she only manages a broken sob. She knows enough about witches from her time in Ravenia's court to understand what it means that the female is dead and she is still alive. What those strings of light mean and why they appeared just when she bled for the first time.

Miryam is a witch.

It has to be some kind of sick joke by whoever decides these things - maybe the Cauldron. She has seen such unspeakable horrors inflicted by witches and witchers - on humans, on her people - and she...

Stumbling, Miryam gets to her feet. She doesn’t know why, but she takes the book when she staggers outside. (Maybe she knows it is too dangerous to just be left lying around. Or maybe some small part of her understands that she will still need it.)

Through some stroke of luck, the stable is still standing and inside, she finds her camel standing next to two horses. The animals look up when she enters. They stand frozen, staring at her.

She puts the book into the saddle bag next to the one on healing. It feels wrong, death and life together. The animals still watch at her, without an inch of fear. It`s not natural. But Miryam once heard that witches can talk to animals. Maybe it is true, after all. She unties the horses.

"Go north", she tells them, "that's the way out of the desert." Then, she climbs into her camel's saddle.

She decides right then and there that those powers might be evil, but she is not. And she won't use them. Not now and not ever. So she locks them away, right alongside all that pain and the memories she cannot face, the past she chose to leave behind

(Years later, Miryam will look back and wonder what would have happened if she had chosen differently. If it would have saved her all the pain that later came with realising that there is no way to lock away parts of yourself forever - or if it would have broken her to face these things right there.)

During the following days, she begins to understand that choosing that she doesn't want to be a witch doesn't mean that she stops being one. The strings are everywhere. She doesn't understand what they mean, but they. Drive. Her. Crazy. Then, there are the animals. Snakes, hares, even bugs - all of them suddenly approach her without an inch of fear.

"Go away!", Miryam yells at them, "I don't want this!" But if they do understand, they certainly don't listen.

Finally, burning sand gives way to soft grass and trees. Miryam ties her camel to a tree and runs her fingers through the grass. She smiles. Now, she just has to find the rebellion, then everything will be fine.

She takes the rest of her food out of the saddle bag and sits down, back leaning against a boulder. Just as she is about to take a bite of the hard cheese, the forest around her goes silent. Miryam is on her feet, knife in her hand, in a second. Quickly, she climbs onto the boulder.

Three Naga burst into the clearing. There is a dark shimmer around them, like an aura. The first Naga takes a step forward - and collapses, the tip of an arrow pointing out of his throat. An Ash arrow.

Another arrow goes flying and hits a second Naga in the shoulder. The faeries whirl, snarling, just as three people appear out of the bushes. Two men, one woman.

And all of them human.

The Naga, surprisingly, don't stand a chance. A few seconds and they are all dead. One of the human men, old enough that his blond hair is already streaked with gray, is down as well with a nasty slice over his stomach. His companion, brown-haired and handsome, kneels next to him, while the woman now has an arrow pointed at Miryam

"What is a pretty little faerie like you doing here?", she asks sharply.

But the brown-haired man looks up. His eyes slide from Miryam's face to her arm, where here sleeve slid up to reveal the brand on her arm. His eyes widen slightly, but his tone is light as he says: "You know, Tia, sometimes you can be shockingly blind. Can't you see that she is partially human?"

He stands up und jerks his head at the woman - Tia - who lowers her bow and takes his place at the injured man's side.

"Are you going to come down from that rock, or do you need me to help you?", he asks mockingly.

Miryam scowls at him and clims down. Her camel is pulling at its rope, but as soon as she puts a hand on its side, it calms down.

"Thank you. For your help", she says.

"You`re welcome. Although I do wonder what you are doing here. This isn't the safest region." He is younger than Miryam thought at first, five years older than her at most

"I survived worse”, she says.

The man glances at the brand on her arm again. "I can imagine."

But Miryam's attention goes to the injured man, who is now groaning in pain. "Someone needs to take care of that wound or he won't live another hour”, she says and starts searching her saddle back for her supplies

"You know anything of it?", Tia asks, but her eyes are full of hope

Miryam nods and kneels next to the injured, inspecting the wound. "I need some water", she says and Tia goes running

"I was looking for the rebellion", Miryam adds, in answer to the man's earlier question, "You wouldn't know anything about it, would you?"

He laughs softly. "Oh, I most certainly do. I just happen to be the leader of this particular group." He sketches a mocking bow. "Jurian, at your service."

----

Note: Like I said, more action this time. Miryam being a witch (or having any power at all) is not canon, but this headcanon is a particular favourite of mine and it doesn't contradict any of the information we have on her. Actually, there are some hints about her having certain abilities that I might just do a post on later

The next part will be about the beginnings of the War in other places: In the Night Court, Rhysand's father visits his son in the Illyrian camps for the first time in centuries and on the Continent, tensins are running high while Prince Drakon tries to deal with the fallout of his broken engagement

Edit: It just occurred to me that I don't think I ever specify Jurian's age later on (kind of forgot, oops), so I just wanted to make it clear here that he is NOT actually five years older than Miryam. I thought they'd have an age gap of 1.5-2 years, no more.

#miryam #drakon #jurian #morrigan #mor #before the wall #the war

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larkiwrites · 4 years

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“Redemption” Chapter 14

AU: Supernatural Title: Redemption Chapter: Fourteen Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Reader Word Count: 2,278 Pairing: Getting There…. Warnings: Mentions of being restrained, being undressed/re-clothed while unconscious. Violence and swearing. A/N: This chapter flips between (Y/N)’s POV and more of Dean’s POV. Feel free to provide feedback / comments / suggestions / etc. Thanks for sticking around.

Chapter 13 | Chapter 15 | Masterlist

The muscles in your arms and upper back screamed at you in pain as you hung from the metal shackles still binding your wrists. The man you had stumbled into had drug you by the restraints back to the cavern’s entrance, allowing the rocks and branches on the forest floor to scrape at the underside of your legs and back. You had tried to escape but he was larger and stronger than you and had effortlessly knocked you off of your feet. Several other men came to assist him when he arrived at the cave with you in tow. He barked orders at the group and they scurried to follow them, taking you from the man and carrying you, kicking and screaming, to a nearby river. A large tree stood at its bank, a sturdy branch extending over the coursing waters. It was from this branch that you now hung; your shackles having been connected to a chain that acted as a pulley. At first you tried to hold tightly to the chain, to keep pressure off of your skin and wrists, but before long you had lost all stamina and now hung limply.

The darkness in the forest had begun to retreat as the twilight just before dawn arrived. You were fucked, and you knew it. There was no escape at this point and while a small portion of you was afraid of dying, the majority just wanted to be done. You were tired. Your life was an utter shit-show from the moment you awoke in that hospital room however many months ago. Hell, as far as you know, it was a shit-show before then, too. At least you could say you tried to get away. You fought every inch of the way, clear up until there was no fight left to give. You could be proud of yourself with that knowledge and hopefully when your body gave out you could move on to whatever comes after this life.

“(Y/N), (Y/N), (Y/N),” the man that had caught you earlier tutted, shaking his head. You raised your head ever so slightly, just enough to meet his eyes. You returned his stare as confidently as you could. You weren’t afraid of him and even if you didn’t look forward to whatever he had planned, you weren’t going to show him any weakness if you could help it.

“Giving up so soon?” He asked, as if reading your earlier thoughts, “as a companion of the Winchesters, I thought you would be stronger than you are.”

You cocked an eyebrow questioningly before retorting hoarsely, “Yeah, well, I thought you would be taller.”

The man chuckled as he leaned against the tree. He blinked once as you stared him down. A gasp escaped you, before you could try to stop it, when he opened his eyes once more. Fear rushed over you as you found that they had been encompassed in an inky pitch-black color, devoid of any human qualities.

“What, you don’t know what I am?” his voice was icy cold and sent a chill down your spine. You couldn’t respond, still in shock at what stood before you. “How is that possible, hmm? (Y/N), your cohorts are the Winchesters, are they not?”

Your eyes flitted back and forth between his. You still did not answer, not trusting your voice and not wanting to show him just how much the change had affected you. Instead you forced yourself to roll your eyes and look back down to the water beneath you. You wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing that he finally did instill fear in you.

“How odd,” he mused, folding his arms over his chest as he continued, “The Winchesters certainly know of my kind. They would recognize me instantly, in fact. It is peculiar that you travel with them yet have no knowledge of us.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you lifted your head to meet his gaze once more, “Save it, princess. Go tell your story to someone that gives a shit.”

“Oh, but you do, (Y/N). You see,” he began as he edged ever closer to you, until the river’s current lapped at the toes of his boots, “It was a dear friend of mine that had borrowed you. It was the lovely Winchesters that forced my friend to give you up, and then like salt to a wound- they forced her back to hell, (Y/N). As you can guess, I’m not the biggest fan of the Winchester brothers, and frankly, if my friend can’t occupy you, then we may as well make your meatsuit worth something, shan’t we?”

“Listen, coocoo-for-crazy-puffs, I think perhaps you should take your daily medication and leave me the hell out of it,” Your mind raced at his words. His friend had ‘borrowed’ you and ‘occupied’ you? What the fuck did that even mean?

“Do you really not remember the wonderful times we have had together, (Y/N)? You and I have travelled this country twice over, at least,” he paused to take in your expression. Satisfied with the perplexed look you held, he went on “It started over a year ago, my dear girl. You were waiting for the subway in Chicago.”

Images flooded your mind at the name of the city. Immense buildings, harsh weather, gritty neighborhoods, seas of strangers continually boarding and disembarking the underground rail system. Your eyes widened as he continued.

“You were in tears, you poor thing. I think, if I recall, your significant other had just broken things off with you. This was ideal for my friend, you see. Being emotionally distraught leaves you wide open for possession my dear,” he chuckled as he watched the emotions that crossed your face; confusion, fear, anger. “Do you remember now, (Y/N)?”

It was as if a floodgate had opened. An onslaught of memories came pouring out, threatening to drown you. They weren’t all in order, nor were they coherent, but you remembered the black-eyed man that stood before you. You remembered him standing before you in that subway station so long ago, it seemed like another lifetime. He had acted afraid, had claimed his friend was injured and he needed your help. You had rushed with him to the side of an immobilized human lying on the platform opposite of you. Blood spilled from them freely and you were certain they would die, you weren’t a nurse or a doctor, you had no knowledge on saving someone in their situation. As you had stripped from your jacket, hoping to somehow use it to stop the bleeding, the person had smiled. The smile was unnerving, just as the man before you had smiled when he caught you running in the woods. He hadn’t even tried to help you with his so-called friend, he had stood back and watched, waiting patiently. Within moments black smoke exited the broken body in front of you and before you could put words to what you were seeing, it entered you. You were pushed down and locked away in your own psyche as it took over.

“Fuck you,” you hissed.

“Been there, done that,” he sniggered at you.

Screams erupted from near the cave, drawing the man’s attention away from you. He was gone in an instant and you were left hanging, alone with your thoughts. Whatever had caused an alarm was behind you and you couldn’t turn to see it. Instead you hung limply, remembering the distorted images from the subway. The human died before your eyes as something else inhabited you, took charge of your limbs and forced you to turn and walk away from the scene. Your feet led you, and the black-eyed man from before, to your parent’s home on the outskirts of Chicago. Your hands stole the life out of your mother while your father was at work. Your body was used to attack and kill him next, when he returned home that evening. You and the black-eyed man dragged their lifeless bodies to the basement and just left them there to rot. Tears streamed down your face as your mind recalled the details.

“(Y/N)!” a deep voice called your name as you cried. You couldn’t bring yourself to look, you didn’t care who it was now. It could be the black-eyed man or any of his cronies and it wouldn’t matter. You just wanted them to put you out of your misery, you wanted to be done.

You felt your body being lowered toward the water. So, it will be by drowning, you thought to yourself. I deserve it after what I did, what I’ve done. Your thoughts trailed off as your bare feet entered the frigid river. You hadn’t expected it to be quite so cold, but you supposed it made sense with autumn well under way. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself as the cold water rose to your knees.

Someone worked at the chains holding you. You wondered why they wouldn’t simply lower you into the river further? Maybe they were going to tie you to something heavy…something that would drag you down beneath the surface. That would make sense.

“Fuck, (Y/N), sweetheart, I need you to work with me here.”

Your eyes flew open at the sound of the familiar voice. You were seeing things, you must be. There was no way he could have found you, how would he have known where to even begin looking? Fresh tears rolled down your cheeks as your feet sought the rocky bed of the river, seeking out some sort of leverage. You found a rock and were able to tip-toe onto it, using it to push the shackles and chains upward.

“Yes, perfect, almost,” he spoke as the oversized hook that clung to the chains between your wrists was pulled away, letting your arms fall. You fell with them, no longer having the strength to hold yourself up. The man caught you before you could hit the water, easily lifting you in his arms. He climbed from the river and sat you on the soft mossy bank, his left arm still under your neck as his right arm inspected the gouge in your side.

“Dean?” you whimpered; not sure you could believe your eyes. His green orbs came back to yours quickly, his expression full of concern.

“Yeah, sweetheart, it’s me. I’ve got you.”

“S-sam?” you stuttered, a chill running through you. Between the skimpy clothing and the icy water you had been in, you had begun to freeze.

“He’s not far, we’ve got you, you’re ok,” Dean swiftly shed his leather coat from his torso and instead wrapped it about you. “I’m going to pick you up now, ok?”

You nodded in response, trying to hold his coat tightly about you with what little strength you had left in your fingers. The smell of the leather overwhelmed your senses, bringing with it a sudden and immense feeling of comfort and relief. Within moments you succumbed to darkness.

---

*Dean’s POV

Dean held you tightly to him as he stood. Exhaustion had taken you and you now rested unconsciously in his arms. Fire lit up the forest near the cave and screams could be heard in the distance, most of the townspeople having fled the moment the spark had been lit. Dean adjusted you in his grip and began down the riverbank, moving as quickly and steadily as he could.

You were already hanging above the water by the time he and Sam had found you. Anger had rushed over him at the site of your bruised and torn body. With limited options, he had handed his car keys and his lighter to his brother and urged the younger Winchester to go. Sam had snuck up to the hill above the cave’s entrance and had begun setting small fires as quickly as he could. The plan was for him to light up the hillside and then get the hell out of here, back to the motel and the car. He was to pack up whatever he could and bring the car up to the edge of the cornfield, ready and waiting for Dean and (Y/N).

The older hunter silently watched and listened as the demon trudged up your memories, unable to intervene. He couldn’t take a demon on his own and, as much as he wanted to kill that son of a bitch, you and your safety were more important. All hell broke loose, no pun intended, as soon as the flames were spotted by guards near the cave. The demon took off toward the fire and Dean swooped in.

The adrenaline that coursed through Dean’s veins caused the trek down through the woods and cornfield to pass in the blink of an eye. As quickly and gently as he could, he slid you and himself into the back of the Impala, imploring Sam to drive. Sam’s long legs had no problem flooring the pedal and they took off, putting the horrendous town in the rearview mirror as quickly as they could.

“Does she need a hospital?” the younger Winchester asked, glancing back at his brother.

“I’m not sure, Sammy. Her pulse is strong, but she is freezing and seems to have bled quite a bit…” he trailed off as he moved his coat away from (Y/N)’s figure and inspected her wounds. Sam slipped out of his jacket as he drove and handed it over the seat to his brother. Dean took it and wrapped it around (Y/N)’s bare legs, hoping that would be enough for now.

“Bobby’s?” Sam asked as he navigated the car on the open road.

“Yeah, Bobby’s…”

----

-Next Chapter-

#supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fanfic #supernatural fic #spn fanfiction #spn fanfic #spn fic #spn #dean winchester #sam winchester #y/n #reader pov #reader insert #larki writes #larkiwrites #larkiwrites redemption #eventual dean x reader #slow burn

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queenmylovely · 5 years

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Day One

Summary: Joe mazzello x fem!reader. We shot Live Aid day one.

Word Count: 1.3k

Warnings: little bit of awkwardness, but just a meet-cute really

A/N: A little oneshot/meet-cute for a request I got! I was a dresser for a Midsummer at my uni last spring, so here’s me projecting lol. I tried to channel a shy person, lol jk it’s just how my awkward self would be. I hope you like what I wrote, and any feedback including likes, replies, and reblog are greatly appreciated!

Request: Happy Sunday! Can I please get something where joe meets a shy reader?

Perfect Performance, Masterlist

gif by @ohaladdins

🎥🎥🎥

It’s assumed that everyone in the entertainment industry must be outgoing and very extroverted. But, as a seamstress and assistant to a costume designer, you luckily didn’t have to be as you were generally very shy.

When your boss, Julian, was chosen as the costume designer for the Queen biopic, Bohemian Rhapsody, you were super excited. Growing up, you had loved Queen and working in any sort of proximity to them would be a dream. Not to mention that most of your fashion sense revolved around the ‘70s and ‘80s in general. It was a perfect fit.

Julian started working on drafts and sketches as soon as he was hired and instructed you to shop for fabrics at antique stores and hole in the wall sewing shops. You gladly went about your tasks, buying things for the movie and maybe picking up some stuff for clothes you would make yourself, on your own dime of course.

Production started soon after, and you were making and tweaking racks and racks of original pieces, replicas, and antique finds. One day, you and the rest of the costume crew moved everything from Julian’s shop to the movie studio, and you knew that you were going to start fittings soon.

First up was the Live Aid scene, and you started dressing and doing fittings of extras. You had a short break while the 50 or so extras that your team had dressed were being blocked. Next, each of your team would be doing the first fitting for one of the actors that played the band members. You had been assigned to the one that was playing the bass player, an actor named Joe Mazzello.

While you were part of the industry, and certainly watched a lot of movies, you had never heard of any of the actors except for Rami Malek. And you only knew him from his parts in the Night at the Museum movies. You actually considered this a perk, since it meant you probably wouldn’t get starstruck while dressing them.

As you were re-tagging and hanging up some pieces that hadn’t been used, you heard footsteps walking into your work area. You turned around and saw a guy standing somewhat hesitantly at the edge, looking in. He was medium height with brownish-red hair, and green eyes with a slight glint in them.

“Oh, are you an extra? Am I early?” the guy asked you as he took in your appearance. You were wearing high-waisted light wash jean shorts with a red and white ringer shirt tucked into them. Looking down as he did, you smiled slightly to yourself. You supposed you did look like a lot of the extras you had dressed.

“No, um, I’m Y/N, your costume fitter. You’re right on time,” you reassured him, and he sighed in relief and came the rest of the way into your space.

“That’s good. I’m always worried I’m going to be late, so I end up being really early to things and sometimes that causes a problem,” he explained to you. You nodded back.

Walking over to the rack, you read the signs until you found the one that was labeled “Mazzello, J.” Pushing the other clothes aside, you grabbed his first outfit. It was a pink button down shirt with a wild pattern on it and light wash blue jeans. To be honest, it was something you definitely would pick out for yourself to wear. You handed them to him and pointed to the little changing area that had a curtain.

“You can change in there. Do you have an undershirt on?” you asked since he was wearing a sweater and you couldn’t tell.

“Yeah,” he replied, lifting the hem of his sweater slightly so you could see. It lifted his shirt with it and you caught a small glimpse of his stomach. You turned quickly to find your binder with your notes, trying to hide the blush that had instantly heated your cheeks.

“Okay, um, you should take that off too. John Deacon wasn’t wearing one during the show,” you told him as you checked your notes. You heard the scrape of the rings of the curtain on the rail and turned back around to wait. After a minute, he came back out. He was wearing the shirt buttoned to the top and tucked in tightly. You walked over to the shoe rack and grabbed the correct pair, handing them to him. As he pulled them on, you scrutinized the outfit to make sure everything was correct.

“So, do I look like him?” Joe said with a smile and quirked eyebrow.

“Very close,” you responded, turning back to your binder. You flipped to another page that had a picture of John Deacon in the same outfit and looked at the differences between Joe and John. Noticing what you were doing, Joe moved so that both he and the picture would be in you line of sight easily.

After seeing the main differences, you stepped over to Joe and began fixing them. As a seamstress and someone that had dressed many actors of all genders, one thing you weren’t afraid of doing was fixing someone’s clothes. You always made sure that the actors were comfortable, though, so you said a quiet “May I?” and waited for Joe to nod before you started.

First, you undid the very top button of the shirt and pulled the collar to open the shirt more. Next, you grabbed onto either side of the shirt next to Joe’s ribs and pulled up slightly so it would be a more loose and baggy tuck. Next, you knelt down to fix his shoes.

Out of habit, you assumed, Joe had pulled the pant legs down so they covered the top couple inches of the high-topped shoes. To fix this, you pulled up the pant legs so they bunched around the top of the shoe instead.

You stepped back and looked between him and the photo again and realized what you had forgotten. You reached into his ditty bag and pulled out a white belt. Joe took it from your outstretched hand with a smile and pulled it on.

Although you were used to helping people get dressed, him pulling on a belt was a strangely intimate moment that made heat flush your cheeks yet again. Since you were avoiding looking at his face, you missed the same heat color his cheeks a bright pink.

Once he was done, you took another look and said, almost to yourself, “Perfect.”

“I’m glad you think so,” he said and you looked up, not thinking he would reply. You made eye contact timidly, but he was smiling at you and that glint in his eyes was brighter than ever.

“They did a very good job when they casted you,” you told him quietly while averting your eyes, and he had to lean forward slightly to catch your words.

“Well, that’s mostly yet to be seen. Starting with Live Aid is the real test,” he joked, but he also seemed genuinely kind of nervous.

“I bet you’ll do great. They wouldn’t have cast you if they didn’t think you were up to the job. Plus, you’re practically a spitting image of him. Just on looks alone, you’re already doing a great job,” you told him, meeting his eyes with more confidence and offering a small smile.

Joe grinned back at you, glad for your words of encouragement, but waited to see if you wanted to continue the conversation since he could tell you were a little shy.

Just as you were working up the nerve to ask him a question, a PA stuck their head into your workspace to let Joe know that he was needed on set.

“I’d better be going. I’ll see you later; you’re my costume fitter all shoot, right?” he asked as he headed towards the exit.

You nodded in reply. He stopped in the doorway, giving you an infectious smile that you returned after a second.

“Good, I’m looking forward to being dressed by your capable hands,” he said with a wink before heading to set, leaving you with wide eyes, but a smile still on your face and a burst of giggles rising in your throat. This was going to be a wild ride.

🎥🎥🎥

Taglist: @somekindof-cheese @gwilyoubemine@deacytits @supersonicfreddie @siriuslovesmarlene @bowiequeen @acdeaky @deakysgirl @sunflower-borhap-boys @deakyfordays @queensilveryrog @happy-at-home @ceruleanrainblues @briarrose26

I just kinda created this taglist so if you would like to be taken off or added, just send me a message or ask!

Reminder that my requests are open! If you would like something in a sort of one shot format/length or blurb, etc. send it in! I’ll write for any of the Borhap or Queen boys (Freddie only platonically), Lucy, Patrick Murray, Gardner Langway and adult!Tim Murphy or possibly any of the other characters these people have played if I know enough about them!

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spnfanficpond · 5 years

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Survey results and responses

A couple of weeks ago, we put out a survey to get a feel for some things, and we got over a dozen responses! Thanks to everyone who responded and told us what you’re looking for!

There were some responses that we would like to get some clarification on, and some responses that requested things we’ve already got out there. Below the cut is a rundown of some of the questions and responses, along with links to things that already exist and plans to enact some of the things you’ve suggested.

If you responded to the survey, please read below! We need your input!

1. What things related to posting your works on Tumblr or other sites would you like to learn more about? For example, Keep Reading cuts, finding gifs, giving credit to gif and edit creators, etc.

A tutorial for adding Keep Reading to fics, both on a computer and on the app, would be helpful.

How far down should I put a keep reading?

Anything related to gifs

Best apps or sites to use for making gifs.

Finding gifs and giving credit to creators

when should I give someone credit for being a beta (for example: I bounced ideas with someone for a minute or two but they didn't technically beta read it; I can't decide between X and Y (with no context), pick one)

linking posts to blog bios

The facts on the search issues (re: links, tags, and anything else that keeps a fic from being "searchable") - I see people saying various things, so sourced facts would be nice, if possible

These are great requests, and we’ll do our best to address them in the next LiveChat Event!! There were some requests that we’ve already addressed, so here’s some links to those:

What should I be including for reader info, eg: Warnings? Word Count? Summary? Characters...? - Suggested Format for Fics

Feedback - December 2018 LiveChat Recap (Feedback and Beta Reading)

Building an audience/gaining exposure - November 2018 LiveChat Recap (Reader involvement)

There was one request for “troubleshooting”, but we’re not sure exactly what’s meant by that, so if you requested this, please send us an ask or an IM and clarify what kind of troubleshooting you’re curious about!

2. What tags would you like to see our "#writer resources" tag broken down into? For example, grammar, publishing, etc. (Currently, we only have a couple of tags that are used consistently to tag posts that are reblogged from other blogs, like writing prompts and reference posts we think might be useful for our members. We would like to make finding information easier by refining our tags so posts about grammar aren't mixed in with posts about publishing, for example.) Please list below any tags that you think would be helpful for us to use to make these posts easier to find when you're looking for them.

Word choice/vocabulary

Grammar

Synonyms

Spelling

Punctuation

Editing

Tutorials

Challenges

Tips

Inspiration

Publishing

Plot

Characterization/character development

World building

Genre tags like romance, action, horror, etc.

Dialogue

All of these are great! We’ve got some questions about some of the others that were suggested, though. If you can send us an ask or an IM and clarify about these, we’d love to hear from you!

Writing Prompts - This tag is already in use.

How to format - How to format what? Need some clarification on this.

Getting started - With what? Is this like inspiration or something different?

Brainstorming - What kinds of posts would be under this tag?

Comments - What kinds of posts would be under this tag?

Awards - We already have a tag for the AFA’s, so is this for something different?

We’d love your feedback on these ones we’re unsure of, so let us know!

3. Is there anything you wish was easier to find on the blog?

Maybe a list of frequently used tags on the FAQ page so I'm not blindly trying tags when I try to search for something.

Once we get a set list of tags we’ll be using, there will be a post or page listing them with links. First step is setting up the list, which is why we asked question #2. We’re on the right track!

New pond member stories.

By stories, do you mean fics they’ve written, or info about who they are? We post a list of new Pond members with links to their work every month. You can check them out here. If this isn’t what you’re looking for, please send us an ask with some examples!

The submit box!

Are you on desktop, mobile, or the app? Please send an IM to @mrswhozeewhatsis or @manawhaat about this so we can help you and figure out why it’s not easily accessible for you!

I wish ships and pairings were tagged so I can easily filter and find fics submitted to the pond.

This is something we’ve considered, but it’s been on the back burner while we focus on other issues. Someday, we would like to be a blog for readers, not just writers, and instituting a tagging system for fics would be part of that. Setting that up, though, will be a big project, since there are so many ships and tags to consider. How to do it without making the submit page four miles long with tag options is another hurdle. This is on our radar, but it might be a while.

I wish some things like pond members, tag list, and writing resources were easier to find on mobile./ Links are difficult to find on mobile.

The problem with the member lists is that they are pages, not posts, because pages are easier to manage than posts. Posts are slippery things that can be lost if we’re not careful, whereas pages are rooted in the blog where we can’t lose them. Sadly, the app can’t read pages, for some reason.

Another problem is that the app can’t handle a navigation block. Short of filling the bio with a ton of links, which gets very messy and hard to read, there’s no way to make these links available on the app.

That being said, if you access Tumblr via a browser app like Chrome on your phone, all of these links are available at the top of the blog! Not only are they available, the member rolls and everything you can’t see on the app are completely accessible!

Mobile friendly versions of beta and tag lists? The spreadsheets are awesome, but a little hard to read.

Spreadsheets are the only way we know to allow users to filter, which is a major part of the functionality of both lists. If you’ve got suggestions for how to do this, we’re open to them!

4. Is there anything you'd like to see more or less of on the blog?

More thesaurus/synonym like posts. For those that struggle to use other words for_____ and want to.

Interesting! We don’t see many posts like that out there, so this might be content we’d have to create. Perhaps we could solicit words from our members and create posts like this based on those suggestions? What do you think?

I think it would be good to expand the tags for submissions to include more info, like more specific other trigger categories, things that are typically taboo that a reader should know about, if the story is smut/angst/fluff, etc.

This was mentioned and addressed above, so we won’t repeat it all here.

I'd like to see more writing prompts.

More than just what’s in the #writing prompt tag? We’ll need more clarification on this one!

More things about the community like fic recs, nominations, maybe get-to-know pond member posts.

Since we’ve already got the Angel Fish Awards and the monthly New Members posts, which both include fic recs, we’ll need some clarification on what you’re looking for there. As for posts about getting to know individual pond members, this sounds like a great idea! We’re open to suggestions on how to choose what members get chosen!! Send us an ask with your ideas!!

I wish there were more active big fish in the pond.

Being a Big Fish is a big responsibility, and we understand that not everyone is up to it. We ask that our Big Fish be consistently kind and generous with other members, spend some time every month in the chat room so Guppies and Jellies can ask them for help, signal boost posts when asked, assist with Pond projects when requested, be involved with the Angel Fish Awards, and like/reblog fics by other Pond members. Doing all of that AND having a life outside of Tumblr can be a lot.

Because of all of that, we don’t usually approach Jellies and ask them if they’d be interested. We wait for Jellies to come to us. It’s a big thing, and we don’t want to pressure folks. If someone is interested, they should read this post about how Big Fish are chosen, and let us know that they are interested!

5. What kinds of prizes would you like to see more of in the monthly Angel Fish raffle?

Not sure what's currently being given away.

It changes slightly every month, and we make a post with the list of prizes. The post for June hasn’t gone up, yet, so keep an eye out on the blog!

I think it would be fun to incorporate Pond members that create stuff (like that have etsy shops or stuff like that) into the raffle.

If members would like to donate things from their shops as prizes, we would welcome them!

Hmm maybe a fic commission from a big fish? (If they’re open. Or anyone the winner might want to commission, not just big fish. Also specifically one where the writer’d still get paid in lieu of buying another physical prize lol.)

This is an interesting idea, and we’re considering it from a few different angles!

6. Are there any topics you would like to see discussed in the monthly LiveChat events?

There was only one response to this one that we need some clarification on:

Outlining series, how to give feedback, how to make your fanfics flow

We talked about Planning vs. Pantsing back in March, so check that out, and if it doesn’t give you what you’re looking for about outlining, let us know! As for feedback, we talked about Feedback and Beta Reading in December. Your last suggestion sounds interesting, but we need maybe an example of what you’re talking about to be sure we know what you’re looking for. Send us an ask and tell us more about your flow questions!

7. Is there anything else you'd like to tell us? Suggestions for improvement? Let us know here!

I love the Pond and I love the community that has been built from SPN. I feel like Big Fish are active (which they should be) and then a handful of people (category unknown, but I suspect they are Guppies) seem to be kind of active, but based on the descriptions Jellyfish seem like they should have a role as well. Could we do something with Live Chat where a Jellyfish helps answer questions or host with a BF maybe? JF should be approachable too but if we don't know them then it's hard to ask them anything and they seem just as intimidating as a BF. (BF are less intimidating to me because they interact with everyone more often actually). *shrugs* I don't know, maybe that's just me.

This is a tough one. Jelly Fish are basically Big Fish without the responsibility. (See above about Big Fish and our expectations of them.) We’ve focused on Big Fish with the LiveChats, but we aren’t against the idea of having Jelly Fish chat with us, too. (In fact, three of our events have featured Jellies.) This will take some thought to find ways to encourage Jelly Fish interaction. All suggestions are welcome!

I feel like a quarterly raffle would give more people time to vote/enter. Doing it every month feels a bit over saturated. Unrelated, but a Discord server would be nice. In my experience, those feel more open to community than a Skype chat bc there are different chats that people can interact in and it’s easier to moderate.

A quarterly raffle is totally doable, though the AFA’s will remain monthly. Would that still sound good?

Michelle has had learning Discord and setting up a server as the next thing on her to do list for three months, but just hasn’t had the time to sit down and learn (you know, when normal people are available to teach her, not the crazy hours she keeps). Kale is on Discord for other things, but is also just a beginner. We’re working on it! Discord is coming!!

If answering questions from surveys or comments or submissions in the live chat (or even interesting questions) could you post the question and answer on the blog for those that miss the chat and don’t want to/can’t scroll through it all to read everything.

You mean like the Recaps to the Monthly LiveChat Events?

I think it's great you put out these surveys. Maybe a designated suggestion option? You have the list for betas, how about a list of those that create aesthetics or art for fics?

These are awesome ideas!! Putting them on the to-do list!!

I think the Pond is really good, I just wish I knew/interacted with more people who are in it.

Tell us what would better enable you to interact, and we’ll see what we can do!

I'd suggest something to motivate people to take the time to submit to the pond? I feel like nobody hardly does it anymore, including myself, because it feels like nobody really interacts through the pond anymore.

The admins have discussed some ideas about this, but haven’t found a solution they can all agree on, yet. One admin suggested limiting Angel Fish nominations to fics that were submitted to the blog. Don’t submit, you can’t be nominated. One of the other admins hated the idea, and the third abstained. The only other suggestion has been to increase readers of the blog so writers have more incentive to submit to reach a larger audience. As mentioned above, we’re working on ideas towards that goal. What suggestions might you guys have? Another raffle for prizes?

Just maybe add a few more big fish? If that's possible? Maybe more interaction with everyone to make them feel like a part of the pond.

See above about adding more Big Fish. We need volunteers who are willing and able to keep up! Beyond trying to keep the chat room active, we could use some suggestions about how to increase interaction! Give us your ideas!!

That’s a lot to read, and kudos to you if you made it this far!! Thanks to everyone who responded to the survey, and we look forward to hearing more from you all!!

#Pond business #We welcome your feedback #Let us know how we're doing #please let us know if you have any questions that the faq page doesn't answer

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paige-in-a-story · 6 years

Text

Messy.

Disclaimer: This gif is not mine and all credit is due to the amazing creator!

Pairing: Dean x reader

Rating: PG

A/N: This was a one shot I had posted before I had to delete my blog. I am re-posting it on here because I am going to make it a part one for a little Dean series.

Warnings: minor language, angst, fluffy ending, etc.

Feedback and constructive criticism is always welcomed!

Tag: @angelkurenai @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @torn-and-frayed @winchester-writes @becs-bunker @blacktithe7 @sis-tafics@sincerelysaraahh @faith-in-dean @supernatural-jackles @mysupernaturalfics

Life is messy. Life can especially be messy when you hunt monsters and creatures that wouldn't even be fathomed in nightmares. Then again, you had a choice to get out. You had a window of opportunity but at the time, you knew where you needed most. You were even willing to lay down your life alongside them. Your family was John Winchester's boys. But, if you had to be honest you had a really good relationship with the eldest brother.

Dean Winchester.

Ah, good old Dean.

You've been through a lot together. And when you say a lot, you mean a lot. You still don't know how you have survived most of them. For instance, how many times have the Winchesters have had to clean up behind themselves and save the world from the end. As physically, psychologically, mentally, draining hunting is, you wouldn't have wanted it any other way because you would have been unable to have met and known some of the greatest people in your book to walk the earth.

Bobby Singer, Charlie Bradbury, just to name a few. There were so many amazing hunters, who you hate to have think have since passed. At least you three, Sam, Dean, and yourself still had each other. But there was something about the elder Winchester that excited you. Whether you liked to admit it or not, you probably had a crush on him when you were younger when you first met.

You still kinda had a crush on him.

Dean was hard to tell. You knew he cared about you like a sister, but you weren't exactly sure if he could like you that way. But when you would muster up the courage, you would talk yourself out of it, denying you and Dean ever the chance of having a relationship. Which wasn't fair to either of you. You weren't afraid of saying it.

You love Dean Winchester.

It wasn't as hard as you thought to say it. You have loved Dean for a long time, you just weren't aware of it yourself.

You didn't know where this was going but, you just have to clear up one thing. This story does have a happy ending.

But before you can get there, there is something else.

You and Dean both had to overcome fears in order to accept your relationship. You and Him had survived the thick and thin. You were there for each other when the other needed it. You were best friends, you would do anything for each other. The good and the ugly. Trust me when you read this, it has gotten ugly before. But no matter what it was, you would manage to escape and would have another glory story to share.

You distinctly remember, not too long ago, when you thought it was certainly the end for you and Dean you said to him in a hoarse voice, which was barely audible to the naked ear.

"How do we keep getting ourselves into these situations?"

And Dean replied with this.

"Eleven years of friendship and I still don't know."

And for the first time in that situation, you smiled because even though your chances were looking pretty bleak, Dean never failed. Dean never gave up. Dean wasn't going to let you down.

Dean wasn't going to let you down. So, you promised yourself not to give up either. And like all of the other situations, you were able to escape the beasts with your lives.

But after that, you noticed something was off with Dean. He looked at you differently. He treated you differently. You were worried that you did something to set him off. You worried it was something you did or said. But you couldn't figure it out. And after one week, you couldn't take it anymore.

Sam was out, and Dean sat in the kitchen with a beer, that wouldn't be his last. His cell phone rested beside him on top of the table. You poked your head around, and saw Dean. You knew that this would be your chance. You inhaled and entered the kitchen casually. Dean barely gave you a second glance.

"H-hey Dean." You muttered, your nerves getting the best of you.

"Oh hey Y/N," Dean said, gulping down his can of beer.

"There is something I need to ask you. What is wrong with you? Ever since our last hunt together you've been kinda of distant." You shrugged, crossing your fingers Dean was wearing his heart on his sleeve.

"I don't know what you are talking about, Y/N. It's not like we're in a relationship. So leave me alone." Dean huffed, moving pass you frustrated. Tears stung in your eyes after you knew for sure Dean was gone. You were worried about him and he rolled up your feelings flung back at you. Your sadness quickly turned into your anger.

You decided you weren't going to bother helping Dean anymore, you were going to just like he said. Leave him alone. You chided yourself. You needed to stop caring so much.

Later that same evening...

There you were, sitting on your bed studying a book from the lore. You figured more you could learn about monsters the better. It was a good distraction to deviate your mind from you weren't even going to say his name.

Screw him. He didn't seem to care about you. But it didn't last. You shut the book and threw it across your bed. What was the use? You read the book a million times already. Then, a little voice in the back of your head nagged at you, saying maybe you should forgive Dean and forget about earlier and try talking to him.

You couldn't let one little fight ruin a friendship that has been going on for more than ten years. So you pushed yourself out of your bed, and when you went to turn the knob, your door was opened.

"Dean...?" You wondered out aloud, at the man who stood in the door frame.

"Hey I uh came to apologize about earlier. I don't know what got into me, but I hoped I didn't hurt your feelings..." You were going to let Dean ramble on all night. You shut him up with a kiss.

You and Dean pulled away, Dean looked down at you and begged the question what was that for. "You don't know how long I have wanted to do that." Was all you said.

"Can we do it again?" Dean asked, with a smug smirk tugging on his lips.

"Hell yeah."

You muttered before Dean's lips attacked yours.

The End!

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twistedrunes · 6 years

Text

George - Chapter 24

A Peaky Blinders Fanfiction

This is a series. If you’re new here welcome! I would recommend you start at the beginning: Chapter One More chapters of George are available on the Masterlist Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. All characters, settings etc. are the property of their respective owners. All original work is my own.

Hello Friends!

Well, it’s finally done! Chapter 24. Thank you all for the encouragement, support and love and sorry it has taken so long. With a particular shout out to @prettieparker86, @pure-bastard-extract and @blinder-secrets who put up with my incessant moaning and for their feedback and help with story development.

This chapter contains events from Season 4, but do not occur as per canon (i.e. out of order).

Until next time - Twistedrunes xox

Chapter Twenty-four: The End is Nigh

Warnings: language, angst, smut, violence, discussion regarding canon character death, racial slurs.

“You ready to head back?” Johnny Dogs asks as he closes the door on the gun vault in the cellars of Alea House.

You turn the key, and tug the handle to make sure the door is secure, then drop the key in your pocket. Your heart leaps as it clunks against the jewellery box still there from earlier. “No thanks, Johnny. I’m staying here during all of this.” You reply, working hard to keep your voice even and level.

“An’ Tommy knows ya staying ‘ere does ‘e?” Johnny asks cautiously.

“Yes Johnny, he knows.” You assure him with a smile and a pat on the shoulder “I’m not a Shelby or even related to a Shelby, I’m safe. Those Mafia boys aren’t interested in me.”

Johnny regards you sceptically, but gives a small nod in acknowledgement “Right then, as long as ‘e knows.”

You smile and walk Johnny to the back door, waving him goodbye before heading back inside. Making your way slowly through each floor and room of Alea House. Checking in with each of the staff, telling them where you will be if there are any problems. Finally, you make your way towards your office.

Isaiah and Peggy are at reception when you arrive. Peggy’s eyes are puffy and red. She runs towards you and throws her arms around you, quickly breaking down into tears again. You share a drink with her and Isaiah exchanging news before you are alone in your office. You pour another drink and sit at your desk, pulling the jewellery box, ticket and key from your pocket. You set them on the desk and close your eyes. In the quiet your brain immediately travels back over the past two days, spending the night at Tommy’s, the attack on Michael and John, Alfie, Changretta. All swirling in your head. You’d known as soon as you heard of the shooting that the current plan for New Year’s Eve could no longer go ahead. You pour another large drink and pick up the phone.

“Good afternoon, The Barbican Hotel” A bright voice answers.

You shake your head, it was afternoon already. “Good afternoon. I’d like to speak to one of your guests.”

“Of course ma’am who would you like to speak to?”

“Monsieur Pas.”

“And your name?”

“Hunter. Miss Hunter.” You drum your nails on the desk while you wait for the call to connect.

“I’m sorry Miss Hunter, it seems Monsieur Pas isn’t available at the moment. May I take a message?”

“Um,” you pause, trying to word a message he would understand. “Yes, please. Could you please tell him that Miss Hunter called from Alea House. Unfortunately, due to a bereavement, we are cancelling the fireworks at our New Year’s celebrations, and I was calling to see if he would like me to organise some other form of entertainment for his guests. Thank you.”

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

It’s late, Peggy and Isaiah long gone, when there is a light knock at your door. You’re fatigued and looking forward to a few hours’ sleep tonight before the funeral tomorrow. You curse internally, no-one would knock if there wasn’t a problem. “Abraham?” You call. Alfie’s men’s had assumed all security positions at Alea House after the shooting when all the Blinders were called back to Small Heath. Alfie had assigned Abraham to you personally. Abraham had been one of Goliath’s sparring partners and close friend, and while it pained you to see him, he was kind and good at his job and was smart enough to let you do yours un-hindered. He wasn’t quite as big as Goliath but was still a formidable presence.

“There’s a Monsieur Pas here to see you,” Abraham says.

Fuck.

“Yeah, bring him up, please.” You say trying to keep your voice even. Heart pounding, mind suddenly intensely focused and muscles primed you stand. You move quickly to the coat rack, pulling on your holster and a jacket to cover it. You check the gun is loaded before checking your appearance and refreshing your lipstick.

There is another single knock on the door. You open it with a fake smile frozen on your face. “Monsieur Pas, what a pleasant surprise.” You say holding out your hand to Changretta. He takes your hand in his and turns it so he can kiss the back of it.

“A pleasure.” He drawls.

Repressing the desire to shudder, you look over his head. Abraham meets your gaze waiting for your instruction spoken or otherwise, you give a small shake of your head and look from one of Changretta’s goons to the other. Abraham nods in understanding, assuming an ‘at ease’ stance with his arms folded over his chest. Changretta straightens, and you stand aside and motion him into the room. Changretta steps forwards and his two guards go to follow. “Sorry boys, only room for two. Pop down to the bar, and the girls will look after you. Abraham will show you.” You say nodding your head in the direction of the bar.

The goons look past you to Changretta. He nods and gives them instruction in Italian. The men remain where they are but turn their backs to the door. Abraham stands facing them, staring through them as if they were part of the wallpaper. Satisfied you close the door and return to your side of the desk. “Drink?” You ask holding up a decanter of gin.

“Anything but that shit,” Changretta says. You set the decanter down with a shrug. “Compliments of the season. I see you received my gift.”

You set the glass of whiskey in front of Changretta. “Fortunately, it was me that found it and not the houseful of Blinders I had this morning.” You say evenly, pushing them across the table. “I can’t accept.”

“No, I insist,” Changretta says pushing the items back towards you. “You would do well in New York, you should consider it. And, of course, you would be well looked after.” He adds tipping his glass towards you before taking a sip.

Folding your hands in front of you, you ignore the gifts. “I don’t need looking after Mr Changretta. Now I’m sure you didn’t come here just to check on your gifts, what can I do to help you this evening?”

“I got your message. I have to say I’m disappointed.” Luca’s drawls.

“Disappointed? What did you expect?” You exclaim, unable to hold your tongue.

“I expected that I would have the pleasure of killing the Shelby’s myself,” Luca replies coldly.

“Then you should have gone to John’s yourself instead of sending your goons.” You shoot back.

“It wasn’t you?” Changretta asks, forehead furrowing as he lets the surprise show.

“If it were me they’d both be dead.” You respond icily. “Michael was very clear, Italians.” You jab your finger into the blotter for emphasis.

“Cazzo!” Changretta spits as he leaps to his feet. You bring your hand to your gun. He turns on his heel and opens the door. Rapid instructions fire from his tongue. One of the guards replies before he nods once and leaves his post.

Changretta returns to his seat, and you regard him with an arched brow. “You assured Mr Solomons’ and myself professionalism Mr Changretta. You told us you belong to an organisation of a different dimension. Now I see, perhaps, you mislead us.” You mimic his pattern of speech.

“The order did not come from me,” Changretta says leaning back in his chair with an air of confidence.

“That doesn’t reassure me.” You reply flatly. “A lack of discipline on the part of your men endangers me. I am deep in the hornets’ nest if there is even a whisper of my disloyalty I will be dead. No warning, no black hand, just the honour of a bullet in the back of my head.”

“They were not my men,” Changretta says removing the toothpick from his mouth and pointing it at you.

“They were Italians.” You shrug, “I suggest you find out who’s actually giving the orders here Mr Changretta before it ruins our plans.” You stand. “You need to resolve the issue and come up with a new plan.”

Changretta stands, gaze icy, “I would be cautious if I were you. A woman, such as yourself, in a business such as this, times like these, accidents happen.” He traces a line down from his eye to his cheek, “Who would cry for you?”

You smirk, tracing your finger along the scar on your cheek. “No one Mr Changretta. I have no one to avenge me. But I warn you, that means I have to avenge myself. Something I’ve been doing for a while now, my father, the men who took me as payment for my father’s debts, Sabini. All of them, what is it your people say? Sleeping with the fishes?”

Changretta sucks his teeth and tilts his head at you “Maybe the Jew is correct,”

“Speaking of the Jew.” you cut off whatever insult he was brewing up, “Next time you come through him,” Changretta mutters under his breath and rolls his toothpick across his lips again before turning and opening the door. “Mr Changretta.” You say lowly. Changretta turns to face you. “The Shelby’s, they have eye’s everywhere. Fucking come here again, and I will shoot you on sight. So go back to London, sort out your shit and have Alfie call me with the new plan.” You conclude.

Changretta mutters again and spits in your general direction. In a heartbeat, Abraham has knocked Changretta’s remaining guard out and has his gun pressed to Changretta’s temple. You hold your hand up, and Abraham removes the gun but doesn’t re-holster it. “It’s alright Abraham, Monsieur Pas is just leaving, would you be as kind as to help his men to their car?” Abraham spreads an enormous hand over Changretta’s man’s back fisting his clothing and lifts his head from the floor and before dragging him towards the stairs. He waves his gun towards Changretta indicating he should follow.

“I’ll be seeing you soon doll,” Changretta says pressing a kiss into the tips of his index and middle fingers.

“I look forward to it.” You say after him. You watch until a group of Alfie’s men join Abraham at the top of the stairs. Back in the office, you sit heavily in your chair, snatching your drink from where it lay untouched you knock it back in one mouthful. Standing again your eyes fall on the gifts Changretta had left. You snatch them up and throw them in your top drawer.

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

Running as hard as you can you try to maintain the distance between you and the Thing behind you. Black and formless and emitting a high pitched squeal, all you know is you need to get away. There had been a clear path moments ago, now there was nothing, just a wall of dead and dying vegetation. The screeching gets louder, rattling in your brain and confusing your senses. You plunge forwards, headlong into the branches that tear at your clothes and scratch your skin. Lifting your arms to protect your face you stumble onwards.

Suddenly you are free. Dropping your arms you look around trying to orientate yourself, a barren field lays before you. The ground has been farrowed and crows circle overhead. You can feel the Thing behind you, again you run. The noise reaching deep into your guts and twisting them. Looking over your shoulder to gauge the distance between you, you trip. Flying forward before ploughing your face into the friable earth. Your mouth fills with it, choking you push yourself up.

All around you, the earth is moving, like a pot of simmering water, seething just below the surface. You watch with growing horror as hands push-up through the soil. Stained red and black they emerge grasping around them for something to latch onto. You scream as fingers scrabble against your legs, clawing at your flesh and pulling you down.

“Fuck!” you gasp as you sit bolt upright in bed. On your side table, both the alarm and phone are ringing. It’s almost deafening. You lift the receiver from the phone as you bash the alarm. You take a deep breath in the following moment of silence before lifting the receiver to your ear and speaking into the mouthpiece. “Hello?”

“Anna!!” Alfie’s voice booms down the line. “I thought I must have missed you.”

“No, I just woke up. What time is it?” You ask, still trying to get your brain to function.

“Ten thirty. You ‘right love?” All the verbosity is gone from Alfie’s voice, and you can almost feel his warm hand on your back.

“Fuck.” You choke, fighting back the tears.

“Anna?”

“I’m fine Alfie, I just overslept.” You attempt to placate him.

“Yeah, don’t fuckin’ bullshit me ‘right.”

You sigh “I’m just tired, I had a late night and then a nightmare. Plus I need to get ready for the funeral.”

“It’ll be over soon sweetie. How about you come up to London for a day or two yeah?” Alfie offers. You are about to decline when Alfie continues. “You can stay at the house, see your niece, catch-up with old friends.” Suddenly it’s clear, he’s spoken to Changretta, and you need to meet.

“That sounds good Alfie. I’ve got the funeral today and then a meeting in Small Heath tomorrow. I should be up there tomorrow evening sometime. I’ll call from the station before I get on the train.”

“Perfect. See you then.” Alfie agrees.

You hesitate before you ring off, “Alfie?”

“Mm?”

“Hannah’s not my niece, you don’t have to do that.”

“Fuck off. She is if I say she is, right, plus Selene agrees. You’ll not get away from us that easily love. Part of the family aren’t ya?”

Your throat tightens, and you close your eyes. “See you soon Alfie.”

“Ta-ra Aunty Anna. Keep your head down love, stay safe ‘ey.”

“Bye.” You say before you hang up. You lay back in bed for a moment, blinking the tears away. It will be over soon you remind yourself as your feet hit the floor.

“Good morning Anna.” Peggy greets you as you enter the reception area, she has a brave smile fixed in place, but it does little to hide the red-rims of her eyes.

“Morning Peggy.” You say your gaze falling on the floral wreath on the counter.

“It just arrived,” Peggy says noticing the direction of your gaze. “It must be for John’s funeral, but it was delivered here. The boy insisted he was told to deliver it here, to you, and not Small Heath.”

“What did the card say?” You ask.

“What card?” Peggy replies.

You pluck the small envelope from amongst the white roses and open it. ‘St Marks. 11:30 am.’ There is nothing else. You resist the temptation to swear. “I’ll take it with me.” You tell Peggy lightly. “I’ll be in Small Heath today and tomorrow, and then I’m going to London overnight. Abraham will stay here with you, not safe for a stranger like him in Small Heath at the moment, he’ll look after you.”

Peggy opens her mouth to argue, but seeing the look on your face, she thinks better of it. “See you soon.”

“Call the betting shop or Alfie’s if you need me. They’ll be able to reach me.” You say picking up the wreath and turning to leave.

Peggy’s hand grasps as your arm preventing you from leaving. You turn back to face her. “Everything’s going to be okay, isn’t it?” Peggy implores you, her face is simultaneously filled with fear and hope.

Placing your hand over hers, you squeeze it gently. “It will all be over soon.” You assure her.

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

The church is quiet and still. Christmas decorations, holly and candles, are still present throughout the hall. However, there is not a soul to be seen. As you entered the church, you had caught sight of a flurry of robes disappearing out the back door. You check your watch and finger the handgun in your pocket, your eyes sweeping the room. Taking a deep breath, you remind yourself to stay calm. You glance at your watch, eleven-thirty on the dot. The sound of footsteps come from the back of the church.

A large man, in a double-breasted suit and a trilby hat, walks towards you. You can’t help but smirk as you recognise him. The handsie oaf from your meeting with Alfie and Changretta, you drop your eyes to his neck and curl your lip into a cruel smile at the pink raised flesh where you had cut him during your last encounter.

“Hey, doll! Miss me?” You greet him cheerfully, your voice sounding far too loud in the reverent silence. The oaf says nothing, settling on glaring menacingly. You hold your arm out in front of you, index finger raised. “That’s close enough, you won’t be touching me today.” The goon continues towards you. “Uh-uh, Mr Solomons’ is not here to protect you today.” You say. He grunts, stops and unconsciously rubs his neck. “I’m armed, and I’m not giving it up.” You say clearly, removing your hand from your pocket and showing him the gun.

He shakes his head with another grunt and steps closer. You lift your arm and aim the gun at the middle of his forehead. He pulls his gun on you. You glare at each other silently until another set of footsteps echo through the church. Fast and light the steps are definitely female.

A small woman, with a dark lace scarf over her head, pauses at the altar, genuflects and crosses herself. She hisses at the goon, and he lowers his gun. “Let the whore keep her gun.”

The woman meets your gaze with an arched eyebrow, you lower your gun, but don’t put it away. “And who are you to call me a whore?” You challenge.

“I am Mrs Changretta, Luca’s mother.” She says haughtily, “and you are the Shelby whore.” She concludes with venom.

You smirk and shrug “Your son is the only one paying me for services rendered Mrs Changretta.”

Mrs Changretta’s eyes blaze “Best you keep that in mind, you are nothing more than hired help. No matter what trinkets he dazzles you with.”

“Mrs Changretta, I can assure you I’m not easily dazzled.” you cut her off bluntly. “I have a busy day, as I’m sure you are aware, so would appreciate you being brief and to the point. What do you want?”

She pauses, eyes roving over you seemingly sizing you up. “When this is done, and my son leaves for New York, lose your ticket.” She says coldly.

You look at the goon over the top of Mrs Changretta’s head wondering to which Changretta his loyalty lay. He was from New York, so you suspected Luca, but you couldn’t be sure. Dropping your eyes back to Mrs Changretta’s you lick your lips before replying. “And what if I feel like a trip to New York?”

“These nighttime visit’s he makes to you, leaving once the deed is done, you are a fool to think you will ever be anything but a whore to him. I have organised a bride for him upon his return. She is a good Italian girl, from the old country. I will bless the union, the Don will bless the union. It is done.”

You laugh coldly, wondering if it is worth correcting her or if her mistake can be used to your advantage.

Mrs Changretta scowls at you before opening her purse and removing a large envelope. “Ten thousand pounds to stay away from my son. We have important work to do when we return to New York.”

Taking the envelope from her hand, you place it in your coat pocket before ducking your head and whispering so the goon cannot hear. “Just between you and me, I never have nor do I intend to fuck your son. Our arrangement is simple, the Shelby’s die and I get Alea House. I will not be going to New York.” You straighten grinning and patting the pocket with the envelope in it.

A begrudging smile forms on Mrs Changretta’s lips. “You know, the men, they call you Ira di Dio. The wrath of God.”

“So I’m told.” You reply disinterestedly.

Mrs Changretta fixes you with her steely gaze. “Funny isn’t it how men mistake the traits they admire in other men as supernatural when they see them in a woman.” She pauses, and you shrug again. She steps closer. “But really women are more suited to wrath, to vengeance. Men tend to be more, sentimental.”

As you watch her, a coldness grips your stomach. Whispering again so the goon can’t hear you, you move your mouth next to her ear. You can smell her perfume. “It was you. You ordered the hit on John.” You pull back to look at her face to gauge her reaction. She shrugs the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth as she steps closer again and you lift your gun to her side, pressing it against her ribs. “Because you thought Luca would hesitate? That he might spare John like John spared you?” You hold her eye, not looking up when you hear the click of the goon’s gun being cocked behind her.

She smiles and runs her gloved finger along your jaw, her face twisted in a cruel smile. “It’s why we have you. You will do what needs to be done to avenge your love, and Thomas will pause. Not for long I’m sure, but long enough.”

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

You walk as quickly as you can in heels across the field to the caravan, noting the firewood and branches packed around it. You glance at it for only a moment as you reach the edge of the group of mourners. You duck your head in silent greeting as you pass Tommy, Arthur and Reverend Jesus. You notice Arthur’s hands are stained red, his eyes slightly wild. You look to Tommy to try and work out what has happened. Tommy’s tongue slides between his lips, pulling the bottom one between his teeth as his eyes meet yours. Your stomach jolts under his gaze as he searches your face. His hand moves slightly from his side, reaching towards you.

“Tommy, can I have a word?” Johnny Dogs says from behind you.

Tommy’s fist clenches for a moment as he kisses his teeth. Looking past you to Johnny he dismisses him. “Later Johnny, ‘ey?” Then turns his back on both of you and tells the Reverend to begin.

You find a place between Finn and Polly, Daisy and the baby aren’t there. Finn notices you looking around “Better they stay home, too cold for the baby.” He says simply. You nod and squeeze his hand gently. Finn holds onto your hand and turns slightly to face you. “It’s going to be alright, isn’t it? Tommy has a plan?” He asks quietly, his face a mirror for Peggy’s.

“It will all be over soon.” You tell him.

“Brothers and sisters,” The Reverend says, bringing silence to the congregation.

Finn nods, smiles weakly and retakes his place beside you. He doesn’t release your hand.

The Reverend begins a hymn, his deep rich tone joined quickly with Polly’s clear voice, Linda and Arthur join soon after, Finn too. Not knowing the hymn or the words you remain mute. As the song concludes and the melody is snatched away by the wind, the Reverend begins the service in earnest.

Shamefully you aren’t able to concentrate on the proceedings, fatigue testing your resolve and apprehension tensing your muscles. As Tommy begins to speak, you feel a new wave of tension. He tells of a day in France, the day they were meant to die, talking about all that had come since. The second life. As he speaks, Johnny, Charlie and Curly touch torches to the kindling surrounding the caravan, as the blaze grows and the flames begin to catch on the caravan you close your eyes, trying not to think about John, wondering where Esme was now and how the children were adjusting.

The second life, is that what you were on now? Or was it your third, fourth? How many times had you slipped through death’s clutches since you’d woken on the floor of your childhood home, dragged yourself through the gutters and alleys, and scraped an existence in the ditches? How many times since you joined the Shelby’s? How many lives had you had? How many were left?

The sound of gunfire rips you back to the present, you duck down, dragging Polly and Finn down with you. Hissing at them to stay down, you draw your gun and begin crawling towards the gunfire. Tommy hasn’t moved or even ducked his head.

He takes a few steps towards you “It’s alright everyone, everything is under control.” He places his hand under your arm. “Just some local Italians chancing their luck. We knew they were coming, we have men handling it. Everyone is safe.” He concludes drawing you up to your feet. He doesn’t even glance at you before turning away.

The gathering disintegrates, Linda storms off and Ada chases after her. Tommy and Arthur are in huddled conversation. Polly spits curses at Tommy for dishonouring his brother’s funeral. Amongst the commotion you leave. You have a shipment of guns to look over before the meeting tomorrow. When you reach the car, you look back. You see Johnny Dogs approaching Tommy and being sent away again with a shake of Tommy’s head.

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

“Miss Hunter.” The Blinder whose name you can’t remember opens the door to the factory for you.

“Thank you. Do you have the key?” You ask.

The Blinder holds out a key. “Do you want me to come with you? Carry that?” He nods to the small suitcase you were carrying which contained your tools and some work clothes.

You shake your head, “No. You stay here. I need to change, I’ll use Tommy’s office. ”

“Miss.” The man nods.

--------

“Anna? You in here?” Curly’s gentle tone calls out across the room.

“I’m here, down the back.” You call back sticking your hand up over your head and waving it. It’s the first time you’ve looked up since you entered the workshop. The peace and quiet of the empty factory combined with the familiar rhythm of cleaning and checking the guns giving you a few hours peace.

“’Allo Anna.” Curly says as he picks his way through the crates. As you come into view, he pauses for a moment, looking you over from head to toe, jacket, shirt, pants and work boots. “George?”

“Either is fine Curly, but I’ll be George tomorrow for the meeting with the Golds, yeah?” You say kindly.

Curly simply nods.

“George.” Charlie greets you as he too comes into view. “What do you think?” He says nodding at the crates.

“Yeah, they seem fine. All clean, mechanisms are smooth.” You reply, and Charlie nods. “You taking these to the shop?”

“Hmm.” Charlie grunts affirmatively. “Got boys here to load the truck when you’re ready.”

“Yeah, just this box to go.” You say motioning to the crate on your workbench.

Charlie sticks his head out the door and shouts “Right boys! Come on now, get the lead out. Don’t want to be here all fuckin’ day!”

You return to your work, quickly finishing off the crate in time for it to be loaded with the last of the boxes. As the men load it, you lean back against the wall, exhaling slowly and allowing your eyes to close for a moment.

“You want me to take you somewhere?” Curly offers kindly.

“No, thank you. I have my car.” You reply.

“Right we’ll be off then. See you tomorrow, George.” Charlie says, ushering Curly from the room.

You wave goodbye from the factory door, before trudging upstairs.

Closing the door to Tommy’s office, you rub your hands over your face and cross the room to the desk to help yourself to a cigarette. Dragging deeply you pour yourself a whiskey and collapse onto the lounge, carefully avoiding your dress which was hanging over the arm. You hang your head back, eyes closing as you breathe deeply. The room smells of Tommy.

Feeling safe and surprisingly warm, the fire had been lit at sometime today and only required the addition of one piece of timber before the flames came to life again. You toy with the idea of just curling up for a nap. Mocking yourself for your weakness, you push the thought from your mind. Busying it instead with mentally checking and rechecking the plans for tomorrow. But fatigue has you firmly in her grasp, you seem unable to hold a thought for more than a moment at a time. Your mind begins to wander, back to the funeral. What would happen when you died? A funeral with friends and loved ones like Goliath or John? Not likely. A pauper’s grave with no mourners? Perhaps. A bullet in the back of your head and an unmarked grave? Probably.

Unexpectedly your eyes fill with tears, one escapes and races towards your hairline, you catch it with your index finger. With a shake of your head, you stand, crushing out the cigarette and placing the empty glass on the side table. You curse yourself for being sentimental. This was not the time nor the place. You wipe your face crossly before tossing your jacket on the table, adding the armbands on top and pushing your boots off with your toes. You hang your holster over the back of a chair, rolling your shoulders enjoying the relief from its weight before you make quick work of the buttons on your shirt.

The sound of heavy footsteps on the stairs make you freeze. No-one should be here, other than the Blinders on guard. With the blinds closed for privacy, you can’t see who it is. Heart in your throat you realise you didn’t lock the door. Recognising it’s too late, you pull your gun from your holster and step around the table positioning yourself and raising the gun at head height. The footsteps pause outside the door, the handle twisting slowly. The barrel of a gun pushes the door open. Your index finger moves from the guard to the trigger of your gun. The brim of a cap casts the face below it in shadow, your finger begins to flex. The brim lifts, the light from the office immediately revealing sharp cheekbones and sharp blue eyes.

“Fuck!” You huff in unison, both lowering your guns.

“What are you doing here?” Tommy asks, re-holstering his gun before he closes the door.

“The guns for tomorrow.” You say putting your gun on the table and self-consciously gripping the edges of the shirt together between your breasts.

“They finished?” Tommy says putting his cap on the hat rack by the door.

“Yeah. Curly and Charlie and some of the boys are taking them back to the betting shop for the morning.”

As you speak Tommy moves closer, until you’re standing toe to toe, Tommy’s finger stroking over an exposed patch of skin on your abdomen. “Why are you in here?” He asks quietly.

Your breath catches, “I needed to change. No ladies toilets.”

The corner of Tommy’s mouth twitches in amusement. You meet his gaze as his palm slides under the shirt and onto your waist. “Do you make a habit of greeting men with a gun and your shirt open, or just me?” He brings his other hand to your neck, running his fingers down the edge of the fabric, his hand closing over yours where it grips the fabric tightly. He pulls you closer, eyes searching your face. “You’ve been crying.” He says cupping your cheeks in his hands and brushing his thumbs over your cheekbones.

“Not really.” You reply.

“What’s wrong?” Tommy asks quietly as his hands glide down your neck to your shoulders.

“Just sentimental I guess.” You smile weakly.

“You sure that’s all?” He asks before he presses his lips to yours. The kiss is tender but brief. “Everything alright at Alea House? You only just made it to the funeral.” Tommy’s question is asked evenly and the comment made without rebuke. “I was worried,” Tommy concludes pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead.

You lift your face to watch his. “Why? What’s happened?”

Tommy sighs and lets you go, walking to his desk he removes his jacket and hangs on the back of the chair, he drops his collar and tie on the work surface as he lights a cigarette and takes the first few drags. While Tommy undresses, you do up the buttons on your shirt. He plucks a piece of tobacco from his lip and drops it in the ashtray before he speaks again. “Early this morning the Birmingham branch of the wire cutters union called a strike to protest the pay disparity between male workers here and female workers in one of our other factories.” Tommy pauses, as he pours a glass of whiskey and takes a sip before continuing. “While the factory was being emptied someone unlocked the back door.” Tommy takes another mouthful of his drink before taking his glass and the decanter to the lounge. “Entering through that door, two men employed by Mr Changretta, entered the factory and attempted to kill Arthur.” Tommy refills your glass as he speaks handing it to you and nodding towards the lounge indicating you should sit next to him. You move your dress to the table before you sit, Tommy carries on with the story. “While those men were attempting to kill Arthur a third party entered my office and removed all the bullets from my gun.”

“What? Why?” You manage to splutter.

“At 11:30 this morning I had a meeting with a Monsieur Pas from France.” Tommy says hanging his head back and looking at the ceiling. “Who is, in fact, a Mr Luca Changretta from New York.” Tommy finishes the sentence with a slight growl as he empties his lungs of smoke.

“Fuck,” You whisper your heart pounding.

Tommy’s head snaps up and turns to face you. “What?” He demands.

You take a sip of your drink and steal the cigarette from between Tommy’s fingers, taking a deep drag before handing it back. “Last night Luca Changretta came to Alea House to confront me about cancelling the plan for New Year’s Eve.” You pause, and Tommy nods for you to continue. “He accused me of organising the hit on John. I convinced him that it wasn’t me and told him that Michael had said it was Italians. He denies any knowledge.”

“And?” Tommy prompts when you pause.

“And, this morning before I left, a funeral wreath was delivered to Alea House, for me.” You feel Tommy stiffen next to you. “Attached was a card instructing me to be at St. Marks’ Church at eleven-thirty.”

“Tell me you didn’t go,” Tommy says quietly.

“I did.”

“Alone?”

“Yes.”

“What the fuck were you thinking?” Tommy explodes slamming his hand down on the arm of the lounge. He turns on you, and you find your voice is stuck in your throat. You shake your head desperately and slide away from him. Tommy’s eyes close for a moment before he speaks again, “Who did you meet?”

“Mrs Changretta.” You say quietly, your gaze fixed firmly on the glass you were resting on your knee.

“What did she want?” Tommy asks clearly trying to hold his temper.

“Well, now I would say she wanted to make sure I was nowhere near you or this factory. But at the she said she wanted me to refuse Changretta’s offer to take me to New York.”

Tommy tosses back the rest of his drink, standing and turning away from you to refill his glass. “New York?” He barely manages to get the word out.

“On Boxing Day when I went home to collect my weapons and clothes, there was a gift for me on my kitchen table. No card or note. Just a jewellery box with a tennis bracelet and a first class ticket to New York.”

Tommy turns and looks down on you, blue eyes clear and bright. “He wants you to be with him?” He asks simply.

You stand up and place your hand on Tommy’s chest “I don’t know.” You admit. “He wants to ruin you, to take everything you have.”

“I know, he told me,” Tommy says quietly.

“Maybe he thinks I’m part of that.” You offer. “I haven’t given him any reason to think I’m interested in him, I mean I haven’t,” You can’t say the words and can feel tears filling your eyes again.

Tommy’s eyes close as he meets yours, instantly reaching out and wrapping his arms around you. “Shush,” He assures you bringing his hand to the back of your head guiding your cheek to his chest before sliding his hand down your neck caressing it with his fingertips.

As you press against him, your fingers gripping tightly to the sides of his waistcoat, you whisper “He could have killed you, Tommy.”

Tommy kisses the top of your head. “No, you’re right, he wants me to suffer. We agreed, no children, no civilians. So Finn and Charlie and you are safe.”

“Safe?” You challenge, as you pull back and meet his eye unable to help a half smile. “I'm not a civilian. There's no such thing as safe for people like us Tommy. Ever. There’s only not in danger right now.” Tommy’s eye’s flash and he looks up at the ceiling, his jaw setting. You bring your hand to his cheek, bringing his eyes back to yours.

Tommy holds your gaze, arms wrapping around you tighter. You can see he wants to argue the point with you, to tell you, you’ll be safe. But he knows it’s a lie and can’t bring himself to do it.

“It was her.” You whisper into Tommy’s chest.

“What?” Tommy asks ducking his head to hear you.

“It was Mrs Changretta that ordered the hit on John on Christmas day. She thought Luca might spare him because he spared her. She said men tend to get sentimental. She said that’s why they have me because I’ll make you pause.”

You feel Tommy’s chest expand as he takes a deep breath, “I would.” He sighs into your hair. You clutch at him tighter, lifting yourself up to press your lips to his. “Stay with me tonight,” Tommy says as he breaks the kiss.

You shake your head, already pulling away slightly “I can’t Tommy. I need to be at the shop to look after the guns. It’s the easiest way for me to blend into the other Blinders in the morning. Leaving with all of them. Plus there’s no room for me, with Mary and Charlie it’s already full.”

“There’s room in my bed,” Tommy suggests, resting his forehead against yours.

“How would you know?” You ask taking his face in your hands, your thumbs brushing along his cheekbones, the pads caressing the dark circles under his eyes. “Have you slept?”

Tommy shrugs and shakes his head, as a soft, guilty smile forms on his lips “You?”

“Here and there. A few hours last night.” You assure him as you place your hands over his and unwrap his arms from you “You should rest now, here, I’ll keep watch.” You offer, guiding him back to the couch. As he sits you pour a glass of whiskey and light another cigarette, handing both to Tommy. Tommy attempts to catch your hand as you turn away, but you pull it free easily, looking back over your shoulder. “I need to change.”

Plucking your dress from the arm of the lounge you cross the room and hang it over the back of one of the chairs surrounding the table with your jacket on it. You undo your shirt buttons and the buttons on your pants and go to lower them, but pause looking back at Tommy again. Tommy nods and sinks down further in the chair taking a mouthful of whiskey. “Go on then.” He says huskily.

“Tommy.” You say in exasperation. “Can you close your eyes?”

A smirk forms around his cigarette as Tommy’s eyes close incredibly slowly. You roll your eyes at his games. But, assured he’s not watching you turn away and slide the pants off your hips. They crumple around your ankles, and you pause for a moment adjusting the garter belt, suspenders and stockings that you hadn’t bothered to remove when you changed before. Satisfied everything was correct you duck down to collect the pants. Looking behind you Tommy meets your eye. “Will you please stop looking?” You cry, using one hand to ensure the tail of your shirt is covering your behind and snatching the pants off the floor with the other. You toss the pants on the table before looking back towards Tommy crossly.

He’s no longer on the lounge but standing behind you. His hand sliding over your hip and pressing against your stomach before he pulls you against him. “I can, but I won’t.” His voice is deep and hungry, the growl reverberating through his chest into your back. You can feel his need pressing against your ass. His free hand lifts your chin and holds you in place while he lays claim to your mouth. Not loosening his grip until you relax against him. He presses kisses along your jaw, his breath is hot on your ear. “We can’t waste a moment.” He insists, kissing your neck as his hand slides from your stomach down over your underwear.

The warmth of his hand makes you shudder. His name falls from your lips, and he grinds against you. Your teeth press into your lower lip as you rock your hips. Tommy’s fingers glide against the gusset of your panties, the satin adding a delicacy to his demanding touch. You dig your fingers into his thigh as you try desperately to stay on your feet. “Tommy,” you gasp, managing, just barely, to step away, turning to face him. Tommy grabs your hips in his hands, fingers digging deeply into your ass, pulling you back against him harshly. You fall against him, unable to stay steady on your feet.

“Careful,” Tommy says softly guiding you back towards the lounge. As the backs of your legs press against the coolness of the leather, you push his holster from his shoulders. Tommy catches it as it falls down his arms and drops it on the side table. It is followed by a flurry of clothing, you sit on the lounge as Tommy slides the suspenders off his shoulders, and you quickly unbutton his trousers. Eagerly pushing both trousers and boxers to the floor while Tommy removes this shirt, undershirt, shoes and socks.

Before you can touch him, Tommy is lifting your feet onto the lounge and laying you back against the arm. You sit up slightly to remove your shirt. “Leave it on.” Tommy groans. Again you reach out for him desperate for contact. Tommy’s head drops back as your hand wraps around his shaft, cursing under his breath as you glide your hand along his length. After a moment, Tommy’s eyes open, surveying your body closely before he brushes his fingertips down your chest. You arch your back wantonly and feel a thrill as Tommy’s eyes dilate. His hand travels lower, your stomach twitching under the touch. “Remove your panties.” He instructs his voice deceptively calm. Releasing him you quickly undo the clips on your stockings and slip your fingers under the silk to roll them down. “No,” Tommy says, cupping you with his hand, “just the panties.” Your hips lift as if of their own accord desperate for more. Before you have the chance to do anything else Tommy grabs your panties and rips them down your legs, dropping them on top of the pile of clothing. His hand returning to cup you again before you fully realise what’s going on.

Squirming you take hold of his free hand, pulling him towards you. “Tommy,” you sigh.

Tommy hesitates; he wants this, needs it as badly as he once needed opium. For the same reason, to block out the pain of the world and to leave him warm, fuzzy and disconnected. But he also wants more, he wants the comfort of you with him, unlike the hangover of opium which drew him further into himself, made him believe there was no hope or reason to go on, you give him those things and more, peace, understanding and acceptance. "Mm," he hums.

“Tommy, please.” You whimper needing him close to you, wondering where he has gone in his head. Tommy places his hand above your head on the arm of the chair, growling approvingly as you open your legs to him. He positions himself between your thighs. You press back, whimpering as you feel his heat pressed against you. Tommy’s arms wrap around you as he kisses you again. His tongue breaches your mouth, and you moan with the feeling of him. “Tommy,” You mumble against his lips, fingers clutching at his ass and pulling him against you.

Tommy adjusts himself slightly, gliding into you, like a hand into a silk glove. Your foreheads come together, and your breath merges as your bodies do. Tommy’s mouth falls to your neck as your hands glide over his back. His hips roll slowly, the wave of pleasure driving your fingers into his hair, tugging on it as the sensations threaten to overwhelm you. “Is this what you needed?” Tommy’s voice is tight and airy against your ear, causing your body to clench around him. Tommy moans in response and increases his thrusts slightly.

The two of you melt into each other, breathing and moving as one. Both losing yourselves in the warm embrace of the other.

“Tommy!!” Arthur’s bark follows immediately after the sound of the door crashing open violently.

You reach up and pull the blanket down off the back of the lounge in a desperate attempt to try to cover you both.

“Fuck off Arthur!” Tommy yells back, looking over his shoulder at his brother.

“This is more important than you fucking some whore.” Arthur spits.

Tommy’s face darkens, and he stands, pausing to ensure the blanket is covering you. “She’s not a fucking whore,” Tommy says coldly.

Seeing your face, Arthur’s face crumples “No, no, no. Fucking no!” He moans turning away from you, as he turns back, he pulls his gun from its holster and points it at you. “No,” he repeats, his attention turning to Tommy “Fuckin’ why her? Of all the fuckin’ women you had to fuck her!”

“Arthur put the gun down,” Tommy says calmly taking a step towards him, either unaware or uncaring about the fact he is naked.

“Just fuckin’ listen to me, brother. For once just fuckin' listen.” Arthur begs, plunging his free hand into his coat pocket.

“Arthur,” Tommy says as calmly as he can, moving closer to Arthur and reaching for his arm carefully. “Arthur, look at me. Put the gun down and let’s talk about it.” Tommy nearly manages to take the gun, but Arthur snatches his arm away violently.

“No! Tommy! She’s fuckin’ betrayed us. She’s fucking sold us out to the Mafia! To Changretta!”

“No,” Tommy begins glancing over his shoulder at you.

“Johnny saw, Tommy.” Arthur continues “Fucking saw her meet Mrs Changretta at St Mark's before the funeral. Fucking found this,” He pulls a jewellers box and crumpled piece of paper from his pocket tossing them in your directions, “fucking ticket to New York Tommy. Fucking jewellery Tommy.”

Tommy reaches again for Arthur’s gun, and Arthur lashes out at him, sending Tommy stumbling backwards and landing heavily on his ass on the floor.

Arthur turns his full attention and the gun on you again. “Why?” He demands as tears begin to flow. “Why? Fuckin’ loved you like a sister, like a brother. A fuckin’ brother in arms, you were. Would have fuckin’ died for you. Why?” He wails, contorting himself as he tries to contain his agony.

He looks from his brother to you, pointing the gun at your head and straightening. His jaw set as he cocks the weapon.

“Arthur.” You begin finally being able to form a thought. You sit up slightly. “It’s not,”

Arthur cocks the gun, he hesitates for a moment. “No!” Arthur screams. The word is obliterated by the bang of the gun.

The ringing in your ears and the acrid smell of charred paper helps you realise you are not dead. The room is silent for a moment as you turn your head and look up at the smoking hole in the wall.

The sound of flesh striking flesh violently draws your attention back. You open your eyes and find Arthur on his back on the floor with Tommy straddling him. Punching him again and again and yelling incoherently. Arthur’s gun lays under the table, apparently lost in the initial onslaught. Arthur is trying his best to shield himself from the blows while sobbing, that he had to do it.

“Stop!” You yell at Tommy. He shows no sign he’s heard you or of stopping his onslaught of his brother. Wrapping the blanket around yourself, you hurry to where the men are on the floor. “Stop!” You cry again, but Tommy continues. Arthur’s bleeding from his nose and mouth, and he’s already getting a black eye. You launch yourself at Tommy, knocking him off Arthur and onto his back with you on top of him. “Tommy Stop!” Tommy quickly flips you on your back straddling you with his arm raised. You brace yourself for the strike, turning your head and closing your eyes.

The strike doesn’t come. Instead, Tommy begins clawing at the blanket checking you over. “Tommy stop.” You cry again. “I’m fine he missed.” Tommy sits back, looking at you for a moment before collapsing against you.

“No, Tommy.” Arthur sobs quietly.

Tommy’s face is buried in your chest, so you physically feel the force of his cry “She’s with us, you fucking idiot. She’s working for us, against Changretta.”

Arthur rolls onto his side, his arms wrapped around his head as he begins sobbing in earnest. Tommy's eyes close, and he presses his forehead against yours before sliding off you and reaching for his pants. He puts them on and stands, plucking yours from the table and handing them to you. You’re decent in seconds. As soon as you are you crawl towards Arthur and wrap your arms around him. “It’s going to be okay Arthur.” You assure him gently. “It will all be over soon.”

Chapter twenty-five - Before Dawn > > >

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lids-flutter-open · 5 years

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Content warning: some spoilers, reference to author’s weird obsession with young trans girls’ genitalia and to sexual assault committed against main character

Basic boring and bad things about this book include:

⁃ all dialogue scenes are long and bland; there is no banter that is funny

⁃ The same points are hammered on again and again for hundreds of pages : again, Lily’s dad thinks hormone blockers are too expensive and she should be a boy. Again, Dunkin is afraid of his mental health issues. Again, Lily is called a slur and is upset. Again, Dunkin wishes he were braver than he is. There isn’t a lot of dynamic action.

⁃ Lily gets deadnamed in the cover flap of the book and in the family tree in the front of the book

⁃ Parents are one dimensional, either harmful or benevolent

⁃ Tween children never have violent or angry thoughts unless they are bullies, and politely respect adult rules

⁃ There isn’t any payoff to Lily standing up for what she believes in re: her tree, not even solidarity from other activists, sending kids the message that it is meaningless to protest things that are wrong

⁃ Dare, Lily’s best friend, is one dimensional and never emerges as an independent character, which sucks more because Dare is black . Dare only acts as an emotional support for Lily. Her own motivations and passions never fully emerge. She uses spurts of AAVE once in a while but her lived experiences as a black kid in south Florida do not come up.

⁃ Something that annoys me all the time in melodramatic kids’ books like this is where characters say something and then repeat the same thing with more emphasis on a separate line in a punchier way, such as : “(line break)I don’t say anything. (Line break) I never say anything.” This happens what seems like once every two to four pages. It disrupts the flow of the narrative

⁃ Kids lack agency and their resolutions come from adults changing their behavior , which doesn’t leave young readers much to go on in dealing with similar struggles

Aside from all that :

There are many things about this book that do more harm than good in terms of impact to the groups the book is supposed to advocate for. These can be roughly sorted into Trans Stuff and Mental Health stuff. First, let me get into the trans stuff.

First , technically speaking: a thirteen year old seeking hormone blockers will typically need to suffer through several quite arduous conversations with parents and psychologists and psychiatrists before accessing them. With the dawn of informed consent practices, this has changed a little, but the questions that Lily’s kind psychologist ask her barely touch the basics of what trans kids typically are asked to talk about in therapy. Additionally, we never see Lily or her parents learning any more details about her hormone blockers at the endocrinologist—essential details, such as the fact that their effects are reversible, that their side effects aren’t known to be substantially negative , that there aren’t yet many studies on their long term use. Even if Lily didn’t understand all that info, as a trans kid she would absorb at least a little of it. Additionally, I feel like her parents would talk to her more about their understanding of what trans people are or go through, with articles about detransition, etc —and Lily would counter with her own knowledge. The absence of any of this simplifies trans experience down far beyond even the most basic Oprah special and makes accessing hormones and blockers seem both easier and less involved /reflective a process than it actually is.

Another really major issue I have with this novel about an eighth grader is that Gephart seems obsessed with Lily’s body and specifically her genitalia. I cannot even count how many times the word “penis” appears in this book in reference to Lily, in what is otherwise quite a G rated book. Cis adults often fixate constantly on trans kids and their bodies and genitals and fertility in a way I find really creepy, and Gephart has continued this trend with an exuberance that makes me want to keep all young trans girls faaaar away from her. The fact that she has Lily undergo a demeaning public sexual assault from bullies in her class in a way that doesn’t at all serve the plot underscores how much Gephart is obsessed with young trans women’s bodies. While Dunkin also has issues with puberty, experiencing insecurity about his height and weight and hairiness, his sexual privacy is respected and we get no hint he even has sexual organs at all—I assume the cis characters in Gephart’s other stories get the same treatment. Meanwhile, we hear over and over again about Lily’s pubic hair, genitals, and fears concerning what will happen to them if she doesn’t get on puberty blockers. It is her main personal arc (seeing as the save-the-tree arc doesn’t start until a good 100+ pages into the text). While real young trans girls have a number of fears and passions having to do with school, hobbies, friends, etc , lily is almost completely absorbed by the author’s fetish for her body. She talks constantly about her “stupid boy chest”, her narrow hips, and a range of other body parts she hates and wants to alter. In a cis girl puberty book, this would lead to a conclusion where Lily realizes she maybe looks kinda cool as is, in the liminal state that is adolescence, but not here. Which brings me to another point —most trans kids never go on hormone blockers. They’re really expensive ! Parents who support their kids can’t necessarily afford this care, and many trans kids also come out after their first puberty. This book communicates, via Lily’s attitude and her mom’s attitude and everyone’s panic about Lily’s body, that non-puberty-blocked trans kids will have transitioned “too late” and be forever marred by hair, height, bone structure, etc. This perspective is a really ugly cis-normative one. It is based in the idea that trans people and especially trans women must look as much like cis people as possible, must know their intent from childhood, and must commit themselves to expressing hatred of their bodies and (violent) intent to alter them into something more socially pretty and socially acceptable.

What really makes trans kids safe is acceptance and support and emotional connections regardless of appearance and hormone desire/hormone access. Hormone blockers are Not bad, and I support kids getting them, but neither are they universal or necessary to live as a happy trans person.

Lily never experiences anyone telling her that in this book, and doesn’t meet trans women older than her who have had different experiences with transition trajectory who could advocate for her while also clarifying that Lily’s path isn’t the only one. This book is a cis mom’s vision of perfect medical transition —syrupy and gender-conforming and girlie and with a stamp of medical approval that ignores and disdains the experiences of trans kids and adults unable or unwilling to access early medical transition. It’s unnecessary and directly harmful. Trans people usually experience dysphoria, but many of us learn through practice and community that the ways we are special and unique are beautiful, that our medically altered adult bodies are cool, and that we don’t need to obsessively conceal our differences in order to be gorgeous and lovable. Gephart is determined to undermine such efforts, which sucks for cis readers too. I think we should all realize by now that standards of bodily appearance that oppress trans people also oppress gender nonconforming cis women and girls and nonconforming boys (at one point lily thinks : “I am not a fag, I am a girl!” What does that say to gay boys and butch girls?)

Second : mental health stuff.

Just as Gephart wishes to do away with the complicated other-ness of being trans, she also skips over the factual realities of being a young teenager with bipolar disorder. For one, diagnosis of bipolar in a thirteen year old is pretty rare. Having bipolar that young is also usually traumatic, in addition to being precipitated by stressful events—such as a death. Dunkin’s freakouts are understandable, but the narrative treats them as a major problem without explaining why and treats Dunkin’s bipolar as a frightening and slowly encroaching monster rather than a set of symptoms rising out of genetic predisposition plus life circumstances and maladaptive coping mechanisms. It dehumanizes him to treat his bipolar like this. Dunkin naturally resists the heavy level of control exerted over him by doctors —scenes of him skipping medications out of a sense that they hold him back are among the most realistic in the book. Similarly, the lack of communication and punitive attitude of doctors is also something many teens encounter when seeking care for mental health issues. These things could be addressed in text by Dunkin having a conversation with his mom and seeking a psych that makes him feel more comfortable or working on his own level of trust in her and her affirmations of what reality is. But they don’t talk. Gephart would rather teens blithely submit to treatment from doctors who call them the wrong name and be adequately sedated for the comfort of the adults around them —even though many antipsychotics and mood stabilizers don’t work well or work long term for large portions of the population and can cause negative side effects, and finding the right drugs requires hearing feedback from patients and often several trials of different drugs plus behavioral therapy etc.

A major issue for me is that Dunkin’s father —a man who also has bipolar—is cast as almost wholly incompetent and crazy and Bad with a capital B as a parent. Likewise, Dunkin’s mental illness is treated like a dark mystery for most of the book, and its slow reveal becomes an exhibitionist sort of revelry in how crazy he is acting —which isn’t how books about bipolar teens should treat this issue. Mental illness being the bogeyman makes people more afraid to get diagnoses or deal with symptoms and makes it easier for people to deny that there is a problem if they have less extreme symptoms.

While bipolar and other illnesses can ruin lives and cause families to hurt, it sucks that Gephart chooses to frame mentally ill adults as both totally irresponsible and totally doomed with no nuance and frames the medical industrial complex as a stern but ultimately benevolent force in Dunkin’s life that protects him from himself. Psychiatrists can help people access needed care, but just like Dunkin’s psych, they can also alienate and scare people. Especially for teens, psych facilities can cause trauma on their own, especially for kids of color or kids dealing with other issues like grief. They are sometimes the least of all evils, but Gephart treats doctors like saviors. Kids growing up with bipolar need to know adults who struggle with the same symptoms and to practice self reflection and engagement with communities of mutual advocacy and need to understand the various factors that can exacerbate symptoms and interrupt their lives. They don’t need to be told to shut up and take the pills doctors give them and to trust people in high places. They get that from other people.

Basically, Gephart has stuck her nose into two issues that do need representation but which she doesn’t adequately understand, and the result is patronizing hogwash in book form . Skip !

#book reviews #books #lily and dunkin #lgbt #trans #ya literature

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slrlounge1 · 5 years

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How Haters are Destroying the Photography Industry

Editor’s Note from Chris Lin: This article was originally published on May 10, 2012. When it was first released, it instantly became one of our top articles, garnering over half a million page views over its lifetime. It’s obvious that it struck a cord back then in the photography community, almost 6 years ago.

A lot has changed in the photography industry since we’ve seen: smaller and more powerful cameras, better technology, cloud everything, and much more. But sadly, there’s one thing that hasn’t really changed … the prevalence, the outspokenness, the cruelty of online haters.

As we were doing our regular website cleanup, I stumbled on this article and thought that it was worth re-sharing. What do you think? Have things gotten better in the last 5 years? Worse? Please let us know in the comments.

Original Article Below from 2012

There is a disturbing trend that is plaguing the photography industry. This phenomenon is the overall hating, disrespect and “trolling” behavior we are seeing in online educational communities and social networks (our own included). This behavior creates a negative environment where those with a genuine desire to learn and share become afraid to participate. After all, after seeing someone get torn apart without a shred of constructive critique, would you feel comfortable putting your ideas, images and questions up on the chopping block? We don’t expect this article to change the industry. But as SLR Lounge has grown (now surpassing over 160,000 monthly users) we want to make sure SLR Lounge remains a positive environment.

There are three factors contributing to this phenomenon:

1. Misdirected anger 2. The “elitist” mentality 3. Internet anonymity

1. Misdirected Anger

Many people feel that the photography industry is being destroyed by “weekend warriors, new photographers, low priced DSLRs, etc.” Some photographers blame their own failure or lack of success on outside factors, when in reality they can find their reason for failure simply with a little humble self-reflection and analysis.

I highly recommend an amazing book by Jim Collins called “Good to Great” where he analyzes the quality in the leadership of great companies. One of my favorite parts of that book is where Jim describes the “window and the mirror” effect. Basically it is to say, and I paraphrase, that “great leaders will look out the window with success, while looking in the mirror with failure.”

In every industry, over time the tools of production become more accessible as technology improves. While this forces us to adapt, it doesn’t change the overall need for photographers that can execute a vision, provide consistent professional quality work, communicate well, etc.

In fact, let’s try making some of these arguments in some other industries and see if they would fly:

“Inexpensive sports cars are destroying the careers of race car drivers, because now everyone can afford a cheap sports car to practice with.”

“Everyone is a professional basketball player these days, because everyone can play basketball anywhere.”

“Because everyone owns computers and laptops, we are all computer programmers.”

“I own a set of pots, pans and cooking utensils, therefore I am a professional chef.”

These arguments make no practical sense as there are not that many professional race car drivers, basketball players, programmers or chefs despite the fact that we all have access to these tools. The fact is that every industry goes through change as technology changes. For photographers, this means several things. Either your work needs to stand out, you need to be providing a better service, or you need to be the cheaper option. Whatever you choose, you need to have a competitive advantage to run a successful business; and how you sustain that competitive advantage is up to you.

I understand that running a business can be a very frustrating process, especially when you are not reaching your goals and dreams. But, you will never reach them by blaming others for your failure. Cameras and the overall tides of technological advancement will always continue to advance; pushing back is as futile as trying to stop a mighty river by standing in it. Instead, don’t fight it, move along with technology and find new ways you can utilize it to create a better and more differentiated product than your competitors.

2. Internet Anonymity

Another factor that contributes to all of this negativity is internet anonymity along with the lack of genuine social consequences. While walking along the street, you might see an image or piece of artwork and think it is complete garbage, but I don’t think anyone in their right minds would stop to tell the artist “your work sucks.” So why do we do it online?

Well, because of social anonymity, as well as the lack of genuine social consequences. In real life, such a statement could be followed by a vicious argument or even a fist fight. But, online you can mask your identity and make these statements behind the comfort of your LCD screen. Even on Facebook, where we see someone’s identity, there is still a lack of social consequence for being blatantly rude.

Imagine if every comment you made online required you to say the comment to the person face to face, would you still make the same comment? Would you find a more polite way to critique? Or would you just not say anything at all?

3. The Elitist Mentality

We define the “elitist” mentality as the thought that the only work worth merit is your own. While we all should have confidence in our work, there is difference in having confidence versus thinking everyone else’s work has no value or merit.

We shouldn’t overlook the value in other people’s work because of stylistic differences or simply because of our own pride. This is what we call the “elitist” mentality. The pitfall of this behavior is that it severely cripples one’s development and growth as a photographer because they refuse any outside influence or opinion which could greatly help one’s own growth. Each of the images shown above displays different types of photography, as well as different types of production styles. While you could say that you don’t stylistically agree with an image, or perhaps with the way it is produced, these are all very subjective statements and opinions. Each of the images above, and production styles will appeal to different people, but I guarantee that they will appeal to someone.

It is funny how many photographers absolutely abhor Instagram, but why? Obviously, there is a huge desire for this look as millions of people love and use the program on their images. We can lift our noses to the “toy camera effect” but doesn’t that just close us out from working with clients that want that “toy camera” look? I am definitely not saying that every image should have vintage toy camera filters applied to it; and if a client asked for that, I would say that it wouldn’t be a good idea as they might look back one day and regret it. We want to keep our images and effects non-dated and as timeless as possible. But, at the same time, I have seen a lot of images that work incredibly well with the vintage toy camera effect. Just because that effect has become “mainstream,” that doesn’t mean I should lift my nose to using it when a certain image or situation calls for it.

In general, if you don’t agree with someone’s work and if you can’t find a positive way to provide constructive criticism, then do as your mother would have told you and just “don’t say anything at all.” After all, what good does it do to attempt to tear someone else down without providing any sort of valuable feedback by just saying, “this is terrible,” or “that picture is crap.” These comments only serve to discourage the photographer, as well as alienate the commenter from the community as he/she is labeled a “troll” or “hater.”

Regardless of what type of photographer you are (landscape, wedding, sports, etc), you can draw inspiration and ideas from everyone and virtually anywhere. The sooner you can recognize the merit and value in other people’s work, the quicker you will grow yourself as a photographer.

Conclusion

This, unfortunately, is the current state of our industry. It is a state where our own images and style are the only ones that exist; a state where success is attributed to luck and the ease of purchasing a cheap DSLR; a state where failure is attributed to “weekend warriors destroying the industry”; a state where we can say anything we want to whomever we want online because there is no consequence for being unkind.

I am sad to say that this is the industry that I am a part of. It discourages me every time I attend trade shows like WPPI, PMA, etc. Because I see the look in people’s eyes as they look down upon other photographers who maybe shoot with different equipment, different styles, or belong in industries that some don’t consider to be “true photography.” Most of all, it saddens me because we are in an industry that would be so well served by each of us seeing the beauty in other people’s work; an industry where helping and lifting others would benefit others as well as ourselves in the long run by developing lasting relationships; an industry that could be so much more than it currently is.

I don’t expect this article to change the industry. In fact, I doubt that most of the offenders that I speak of would have even read or completed reading this article. But, I do intend on making a change here on SLR Lounge. Treat this article as a warning. The last thing we want is to moderate comments, and constructive criticism is always permitted and welcome on SLR Lounge. Comments like, “The skin tones in this image are terrible, I would have warmed it up, also watch out for those highlights!” is something we would consider a bit harsh, but overall constructive and is completely welcome. But, from here on out if we see comments or behavior that is not constructive or bears no use other than to just put others down such as “this image is garbage”, we will moderate and delete your comment. I can’t change the state of our sad industry, but I can make SLR Lounge a more open place for all of us to enjoy, inspire and educate one another.

Thank you!

from SLR Lounge https://www.slrlounge.com/how-haters-are-destroying-the-photography-industry/ via IFTTT

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theofficepolitics · 7 years

Text

Hacker News: As a New Employee of a Company, How Do You Assess Its Health?

As an employee of a company, how do you assess its health?

What indicators do you look at to determine whether the company is in good or bad health or trending in a direction?

Do you have anecdotes (or even more significant data!) about signs or events or shifts in culture that ended up foretelling a change to the company?

[Update(s)]

I mainly meant "startup" (i.e. not Fortune 500) when I said company. But I don't want to prevent discussions about larger entities, so perhaps we can preface comments with which type of company you're talking about if necessary. :)

tiredwired

corobo

I generally work for smaller companies, < 50 total staff. Most of my variables and data pieces others have said. My main "rats, sinking ship" is in regards to others working there;

Health note: Employee churn when churn is not the norm.

Health warning: Certain people leaving with enough business knowledge it's noticeable they're gone

Health crisis: Multiple health warnings in quick succession (within 2 years).

At warning level I make sure my CV is updated and start setting up job alerts. At crisis I'm actively applying for jobs to keep my options wide open.

Edit: Ooh reading another comment - I watch the public docs of the company I'm working for. It's a year or so out financials-wise but you can get some info from it.

31415

Treat it as a learning opportunity. Three buckets to triage employees into: (o) the oblivious employees, (i) employees who step up and show initiative, and (ii) employees who decide to goof off and do nothing since some of the management chain is likely missing and not being replaced.

Companies that are successful are often unwilling to risk any element of their success and can be rigid/inflexible.

wiz21c

marketing team slices its customers pool into : customer-we'll-soon-contact, potential customers, potential leads, short-list-customers, customers with who we have very good relationships, customers who'll introduces to even bigger customers. You get it, many types of customers except the paying-type...

erikb

Also relevant should be the question how to act in different phases. An unhealthy company is not necessarily dying. And even a dying company is not necessarily bad for you. It's like with real people. When someone dies some others start to check out the valuables to get the best for themselves. If you are working in a brilliant team inside a dying company, you may all get picked up, get a raise, and be welcomed into new arms. That's one way to get into Google for instance.

For figuring out the current health status, I'd check:

the product line - is it understandable? is it modern? is it efficient?

the customer base - do they have customers that wouldn't easily change to alternative options?

the management team - do they have visions? are they cooperating? are they lying psychopaths, ambitious inventors, calm survivors (thinking Merkel here), idiotic burocrats?

HR - HR is managements comm channel to the employees. Does the promo material look good? How close is the promo material to the actual day-to-day work?

People - are there smart people you like to work with? How many of them are currently joining? How many of them are currently leaving?

Hiring - you are either new and just got hired or there for a long time and probably at least hear things about the hiring process at the water cooler. how reasonable does it sound? does it filter out idiots? does it assess quality attributes like culture? Does the feedback from the interviewers have influence on the hiring decision (more often than you think they actually just hire anybody, if they are hiring at all).

angelofthe0dd

A key indicator I've seen in past companies was when "top skill" or "top manager" level people suddenly submit their resignation and then spend two weeks calmly walking around the office with an ear-to-ear grin. Not too long after that, whisperings of "Why?" start circulating. And shortly after that, I got an upbeat email from HR about "Exciting new company direction" and "Rethinking our core strategies for better customer alignment." In all seriousness, shake-ups and re-alignments are frightening and kill everyone's morale with fears of uncertainty.

ryankennedyio

This [1] is a handy pocket guide. Quite seriously, start looking around if your gut is telling you to.

http://wiki.c2.com/?WarningSignsOfCorporateDoom

booleandilemma

I've read that a good way to get an early indicator of future health is to pay attention to the spending on the small things.

Does your company have paid lunches?

Does it have a snack vending machine or something similar?

A coffee machine with k-cups?

Other little perks that seem insignificant but are nice to have.

If these things start to go away, the company is experiencing financial stress.

striking

Steve Blank does a good job summarizing this and other related phenomena:

https://steveblank.com/2009/12/21/the-elves-leave-middle-ear...

(and its corresponding HN thread: https://news.ycombinator.com/item?id=5751329)

draz

35 minutes ago

[-]

- Employee turnover: a large layoff - Retention: some many know something you don't, especially at the high levels. - Restructuring/reorging: there are companies that view this method as a panacea for all ailments (rather than treating the underlying issue(s)). - Projects funded: a concentrated focus on projects that "reduce cost" or "introduce efficiencies" rather than on growth and R&D may be indicative of either a contraction to make a company more palatable for a buy-out, or a simple general state of the money in the bank.

jermaustin1

16 minutes ago

[-]

I saw all of these in a single year in the IT department of a former client.

- A new CIO, - Then within his first week, a layoff of all the network engineers (except the manager) right before an all heads meeting - An all heads meeting where we were to provided an "accounting of our yearly hours" and it had to equal to 2080 and a reorganization of IT to be instead of a solutions provider to the company, a help desk. - Then over the course of the next three months, a lot of new projects that combined the various services we consumed (hr, payroll, etc) under one single product, beefed up helpdesk staff count (all temp/contract workers) and layoffs from various orgs in IT: security, development, and helpdesk (employees). - Then over the next two months, employee staff count dropped further bringing the total at the beginning from 60 heads to 12. And all the employees were replaced with contractors.

That said, the company gave out larger bonuses because the bonus pool had already been agreed to, and the employee count was almost non existent, so bigger bonuses spread around to the managers (since they were all that was left). Also the company is still growing elsewhere, just shrinking the places that are "cost centers".

blowski

25 minutes ago

[-]

It's a bit subjective, and the more general the statement, the less meaning it would have.

Say a company is becoming corporate and dull, but at the same time becoming more profitable. Are they in good or bad health? As a short-term shareholder you might see them in good health, but as an employee you might see them in bad health.

That said, my experience is to look at team meetings. If they are full of conflict that is resolved respectfully by the end of the meeting, that's usually a good sign. If the same person is dominating and everyone else is quiet, that's a bad sign. If the same arguments keep repeating themselves, that's a bad sign. If there is no conflict at all, and people just stare out of the window while others are talking, that's a bad sign.

At bad companies, everyone knows the real story, but nobody says it out loud. Good people leave, bad people stay, and the problem gets worse.

inthewoods

3 minutes ago

[-]

Status of accounts payable - is the company stretching out payments to vendors? Are vendors getting angry or lawyering up?

jasode

29 minutes ago

[-]

Availability of information to analyze will depend on whether it's a public vs private company.

If it's a public company, an employee can look at the health in many of the same ways that Warren Buffet would look at it. Look at it's profit & loss statements for the last few years. If it took on debt, try to find out what the debt was used for. Look at the credit agencies' bond rating for the company. If it's not AAA, research why. Look at the company's major customers. Is it a growing marketplace?

If it's a private company, intelligence gathering is going to be harder and you often won't have good info until you actually work there. You can try to synthesize information from glassdoor, Google News (e.g. lawsuits, settlements, etc), and other sources.

>I mainly meant "startup" (i.e. not Fortune 500)

In this case, I would ask the hiring manager (often the founder) if the company is cash-flow positive. If not, ask how much "runway" is left before the company runs out of money. Some founders may push back with "I can't disclose financials, yada yada" ... maybe because of his paranoia about competitor espionage. You then have to ask yourself if you're willing to join a company with limited information. You can join a not-yet-profitable company because sometimes, it all works out. That said, the idea of concrete financial dialogue is to make the risks transparent to the employee.

beaker52

19 minutes ago

[-]

I look at a few things. Company structure is quite telling. The relationship between teams, how teams work together. I usually get a good feel for any potential dysfunction in an organisation by this. The more splitting up and dividing there is going on, the more unhealthy it usually is. If the company is small enough, it should be self organising to some degree of success.