child-room

The Ones Who Walk Away From Omelas

From The Wind’s Twelve Quarters: Short Stories by Ursula Le Guin


With a clamor of bells that set the swallows soaring, the Festival of Summer came to the city Omelas, bright-towered by the sea. The rigging of the boats in harbor sparkled with flags. In the streets between houses with red roofs and painted walls, between old moss-grown gardens and under avenues of trees, past great parks and public buildings, processions moved. Some were decorous: old people in long stiff robes of mauve and grey, grave master workmen, quiet, merry women carrying their babies and chatting as they walked. In other streets the music beat faster, a shimmering of gong and tambourine, and the people went dancing, the procession was a dance. Children dodged in and out, their high calls rising like the swallows’ crossing flights, over the music and the singing. All the processions wound towards the north side of the city, where on the great water-meadow called the Green’ Fields boys and girls, naked in the bright air, with mudstained feet and ankles and long, lithe arms, exercised their restive horses before the race. The horses wore no gear at all but a halter without bit. Their manes were braided with streamers of silver, gold, and green. They flared their nostrils and pranced and boasted to one another; they were vastly excited, the horse being the only animal who has adopted our ceremonies as his own. Far off to the north and west the mountains stood up half encircling Omelas on her bay. The air of morning was so clear that the snow still crowning the Eighteen Peaks burned with white-gold fire across the miles of sunlit air, under the dark blue of the sky. There was just enough wind to make the banners that marked the racecourse snap and flutter now and then. In the silence of the broad green meadows one could hear the music winding through the city streets, farther and nearer and ever approaching, a cheerful faint sweetness of the air that from time to time trembled and gathered together and broke out into the great joyous clanging of the bells.

full text below  

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anonymous asked:

Not a writing question but I was wondering what your opinions on the organization Autism Speaks were.

Ah, thank you for offering us an opportunity to share something very important to us. For those who aren’t aware, there is an organization in the US called “Autism Speaks” which claims to be a charity working to help autistic people. They are not a charity. They are a hate group.

Autism Speaks is not run with the help of any autistic people. It’s run by allistic people who think of autism as a horrible disease that needs to be eradicated. They run propaganda ads talking about autism like a plague which is destroying lives. They compare it to cancer. One of their propaganda videos famously shows a member of their board talking about contemplating killing her autistic child - while the child is in the room listening to her. Their goal is to “cure” autism - to wipe it off the face of the planet. They don’t see autistic people as people, but as tragic burdens to those around them. They want to take care of all the poor moms and dads whose lives were so tragically ruined when they found out their child was autistic. And they support organizations that torture autistic people and call it “therapy”, like the Judge Rotenberg Center.

This is not a charity. They think of us as broken, inhuman monsters who should be expunged from society. They are not helping us - they’re trying to exterminate us.

Their propaganda is a big part of why there is so much misinformation out there about autism and autistic people. The average person is likely to believe their claims that autism is a horrible disease, that the best way to help the people who have it is to cure them and make them “normal”. Especially the parents of autistic children might like the idea of “fixing” their kid.

News flash: We’re not sick. Autism is not a disease. At worst, it can be considered a disorder or disability, depending on your definition of such, but the vast majority of autistic people are perfectly happy being who we are. Our biggest hurdle isn’t some terrible defect in ourselves - it’s the negative attitudes and lack of understanding in those around us, and the expectation that our primary goal in life should be to act less like ourselves and more like the “normal” people who make up the majority (pro tip: there’s really no such thing as normal). Autism cannot be cured, because it’s not an illness. Our brains are hardwired differently than others, and that is a fundamental part of who we are. If you asked me if I would like a cure, I would look at you the same way as if you asked me if I would like to remove the color from my pizza, because it makes the same amount of logical sense.

Imagine if someone asked you if you would like to stop being (insert your nationality here). Like, just completely remove it from yourself. What would that even mean? Removing all your memories and experiences from that country? Erasing your native language and replacing it with another one? How would that even work? That’s the kind of thing that’s being proposed here.

What autistic people need is awareness, education, and sometimes assistance, depending on our individual needs. We dream of a world where seeing a person rocking back and forth gently and not making much eye contact isn’t met with indignation, disgust, or pity, and where our strengths are valued (and we have many!).

It should be noted that recently, Autism Speaks has changed their official platform slightly, supposedly focusing less on a “cure”, but I’m afraid I don’t buy it for a second. Anyone whose goal includes a “cure” at all is not advocating for our rights, and even if they did have a different mission now, the damage is long since done. Many of us may struggle, and many of us may wish there were certain problems we could do away with, but a “cure” is not possible and our goal should not be to eliminate autistic people from the world, especially given how much we contribute to society. Very few autistic people would actually desire a “cure”, even if one were possible.

So what does this have to do with writing? If you’re writing an autistic character who gets help from a charitable organization, do NOT make it Autism Speaks. That’s not what they do. If your character has any interactions with Autism Speaks, it will be more along the lines of being told they are broken and must be fixed, having the people in their lives treat them as less than human (or as deformed or defective) because they have believed the propaganda, being told they have no right to speak for themselves, and possibly suffering abuse and even torture at the hands of those who think they are “helping”.

There are plenty of good charitable organizations to help autistic people with what we actually need. If you want your character to support an organization in your story (or support the organization yourself by giving them positive exposure in your story), try one of these (and a little Google-fu can help you find a local one for you if you don’t live in the US or UK - search terms like “autism advocacy” and make sure it’s run by actual autistic people). We strongly recommend contacting them, letting them know what you’re writing, and asking how you can include them in your story and represent their work accurately:

Autistic Self-Advocacy Network (ASAN)

Autism Women’s Network

Autistic Rights Movement UK 

-Mod Aira

Snape: is a terrorist, verbally abuses kids, abuses his position as a teacher, led to the death of two if not more people, ruined someone’s career by outing them as a werewolf, physically threw a child out of the room, was a kids biggest fear (the same kid whose parents were tortured into insanity), called his only friend a racial slur after she attempted to help him, literally didn’t find anything wrong with voldemort’s political position and only the fact that he wanted to kill his obsession, was fine with dumbledore saving lily but not james or harry suggesting snape didn’t give two craps about lily’s happiness and only cared for him being the rebound.
james: a fifteen year old who bullied (let this be clear that i highly doubt snape didn’t retaliate) who grew up from that and stopped, saved his enemies life, became animagi with two others to help his other best friend each month, was unapologetically a blood traitor, helped sirius escape from his family, fostered sirius, offered all his friends money if they needed it, joined an anti-terrorist organisation at the peak of the war when voldemort looked like he might win (and james was 17/18 when he did this), gave up everything he had known to go into hiding and protect his son and wife, LITERALLY DIED WANDLESS KNOWING HE WOULDNT SURVIVE BUT HOPING HE WOULD BE ABLE TO STALL ENOUGH TIME SO HIS WIFE AND SON COULD ESCAPE !!! AND THE FANDOM WORSHIPS SNAPE OVER JAMES??????? ALL BECAUSE SNAPE WAS FRIENDZONED ARE YOU KIDDING ME THIS SPEAKS VOLUMES ABOUT OUR SOCIETY

Susan Pevensie

Susan Pevensie was short skirts, unevenly chopped hair, scarlet lipstick like a blood smear.

She was sharp eyeliner, fights in the halls, and lipstick stains on the inside of a collar.

She was quiet looks of ice, headphones in her ears blaring, a wink from across the room.

Wild child, some said.

Orphan.

Ice queen. (Susan heard that one once. Memories, like a dream within a dream)

Sinner.

They saw her the way they wanted. She didn’t care.

They threw around me he words ice cold stare not knowing that her soul was ice now, that she numbed it to ease a pain deeper than anything they could understand.

(She was still haunted, at night. She was haunted by the images of rows of bodies covered in sheets. Of the police asking her to make sure that this was her mother. Her brothers.)

(She didn’t cry until Lucy. She gripped her hand and it was limp and she cried over the body that was not her sister because Lucy was so full of life and this couldn’t be her.)

She didn’t care what they thought of her.

Susan Pevensie was crying herself to sleep every night.

She was spitting at God then sneaking into church at midnight to fall to her knees in front of the altar, begging to be forgiven so she could join them.

She was kissing boys and girls in equal fervor knowing they were exactly the type Peter would have hated and trying to ignore the feeling of his eyes watching her, disapproving.

She was looking at her bleeding knuckles and feeling pain that had nothing to do with them because she remembered a time when Edmund’s hands bled and she’d had to patch them up.

She was crying, wailing, screaming, rocking back and forth on her knees in front of the dirt that held the pale remnants of what was once her family, smearing it on her face because this was all she had left.

Susan Pevensie was the beautiful tragedy, because she survived.

She survived and they were gone, taking her soul with them.

2

Image courtesy of of Distillery Cats/Julia Kuo

Inviting a cat to live in a distillery is like offering a child free room and board at a Disney World theme park. In a distillery, there are tall stacks of shipping pallets to climb, oak barrels to jump on, pipes to nimbly tightrope-walk across and — of course — a steady supply of rodents to hunt.

Distillery Cats, a new book by Brad Thomas Parsons, is based on his popular Instagram chronicle of these mousers. Read more here.

– Petra (meeeow!)

Serpent Girl (Jughead x Reader)

“Could you write one where the reader and jughead used to be best friends but he left her for Betty and the scene where jughead gets the serpent jacket he notices the reader smirking among at him with her own jacket and he smirks back putting the jacket on please??xxx” –Anonymous

Imagine: Your childhood best friend, Jughead Jones has always vowed to be there for you. When he falls in love and leaves you behind, you finally decide it’s time to join the pack. Surprisingly, Jughead tags along.

A/N: I have hella other requests before this but I thought this idea was absolutely inspired, and it basically wrote itself! Hope you enjoy!


“I think something weird is happening between me and Betty,” Jughead stammered in confusion, pacing the room. “I dunno, ever since we’ve been working on this investigation thing she’s been really sweet to me and I think she’s been relying on me for emotional support ever since the stuff with her sister and–”

“Jughead, you like her,” you insisted, feeling your heart crack inside your chest. You said it to clarify his worries, but also remind yourself of this slowly worsening reality. It would be a lie to say you didn’t fall in love with Jughead through the years of nighttime talks, him sneaking into your room every weekend. You had hoped, just barely, that he felt the same.

He paused. “I… I do?”

Jughead was so dumb sometimes. So, so dumb. “Of course you do.” You smirked to hide your pain. “Now what are you gonna do about it?”

Jughead sat next to you, staring into your eyes sincerely. “What do I do?”

You cursed whatever God or higher power had fated you to setting up the love of your life with another girl. “Well, you’ve gotta sneak into her house like you do at my house. Don’t be weird about it though. Maybe say something cheesy you would say like ‘hey there Juliet’.”

Jughead chuckled. “Okay.”

“Then, you just have to do it. It has to seem spontaneous and passionate. You’ve gotta lean in like this,” You leaned in, Jughead mirroring you. “And then kiss her.” Your voice came out in a whisper, your lips centimeters apart. You could see his constellation of freckles and his stormy blue eyes and you wished so badly that things could be different.

“Okay.” Jughead said, leaning back and grinning in understanding. “Thanks, (Y/N).”

You smiled sadly. “If you and Betty start going out, you’ll still come see me, right?”

Jughead pulled you into a hug. “Always.”


This had happened before.

You and Jughead grew up together, your fathers partners in the Serpent business. In fact, it was your father who offered FP Jones a higher position upon his firing from Andrews Construction. When your mothers would work the graveyard shift, your dad and FP would leave you in a meticulously child-safe’d room in the Serpent headquarters, leaving you with nothing to do but torment and entertain each other until your relationship became something remotely resembling that of friends. Even best friends.

Eventually, FP worked out the logistics to transfer Jughead to the Northern Riverdale School District, leaving you in the South Side.

“Will you come back?” Ten year-old you, asked, eyes watering.

“Of course I will, (Y/N)! I’m gonna tell you all about it.” Ten year-old Jughead vowed. “Then I’ll come back and rescue you forreal.” He whispered. Your favorite play-pretend game was fairytales. Naturally, you were the princess and he was your gallant knight who always rescued you.


Unlike before, missed visits grew and grew, each with its own unique excuse. Some relating to Betty, some not. One thing was for sure, you weren’t getting “rescued forreal” any time soon.

You approached your father in the kitchen, ready to take on his invitation to join the family business.


One month later…

“You’re one of us, now,” the Serpent said, handing Jughead a brand new leather jacket embroidered with the South Side Serpent Sigil.

“…Juggie?” Betty peered out of the trailer, voice shaking.

Jughead looked back to her, and back to the gang of bikers who he had once called his family. All like fathers, or uncles to him…

He noticed a girl in the group. Familiar, but colder. More mature. Your eyes darkened with makeup and hair windswept by the motorcycle ride. You sported a Serpent jacket of your own, helmet in one arm. You smirked at the poor boy who used to be the love of your life.

Jughead glanced back at Betty Cooper, and he swallowed hard. Looking back at you, he shrugged on the jacket, the Serpent’s image tightening around the muscles on his back. He smirked back.

He began to walk towards the man who addressed him, but not before stepping near you, long enough to be acknowledged.

You stared down your former friend. “So much for ‘rescuing me forreal’.” You muttered, your childishness getting the best of you.

Jughead then leaned in, so close you could feel his breath warming your neck in the nighttime chill.

“Watch me,” he said.

About a Girl [1]

Originally posted by itsrapmonster

Namjoon: dad!au & CEO!au

Meet the new nanny.


You stared up from the slip of paper that you held in your hand, an address scribbled on it. This was it. This was the building that your newest employer resided in. You took a deep breath before pushing into the buildings revolving door. 

Upon entering you noticed a security guard at a desk a few feet away. Whoever had hired you sure lived in a nice place to warrant security in the building. The man gave you a slight smile, “Can I help you ma’am?”

You nodded, “Yes please. I’m here for Kim Namjoon. He lives in apartment 441.”

The man grabbed a clipboard, flipping through a couple pages. “Could you tell me your name?”

“Y/FN/LN.”

“Ah, yes. Miss Y/LN.” He put down the clipboard as his smile became a little more sincere. “You’re the new nanny to little miss Jangmi I hear. She’s a good girl, I can’t imagine she will give you much trouble. It’s her father you’ll wanna watch out for.”

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things I associate with the types
  • ESTP: the earth beneath your fingernails after a long day, waking up feeling full of light and ready to get up, summer evenings, the press of a friend’s hand into yours, tan lines that pop on your skin, the chill of rainwater as it slides through your hair, feet sticking out of car windows, running around backyards as the sunlight fades
  • ESTJ: the jarring echo of a microphone when bumped, mowed grass, a newly immaculate room with everything accessible, the fresh smell of rental cars, neat calendars pinned above desks, new school supplies stacked up in your room, monopoly games, sliding into a perfectly made bed at the end of a long day, unpacking in a hotel room, taking yourself out for dinner
  • ESFP: throwing your arm around a friend, gaudy beaded bracelets put together by your little cousin, the quick pant of an excited dog, the smell of campfires, paint stuck in the crevices of your hand, taking neat notes for the kid who’s absent, an instagram full of pictures of you and your friends, screaming the lyrics to songs as you ride down the highway
  • ESFJ: staying after school to help a teacher clean up, biting your tongue to try to stop laughing during class, a sticky kiss from a child, kindergarten art rooms, listening patiently to stories you’ve heard before, staggering around in your mom’s high heels as a kid, walking around town with ice cream and friends, squeezing lemon juice into your hair
  • ENTP: having to do a group project by yourself, walking back and forth to calm your excitement, desks cluttered with papers, the sound of quick typing, the rush of relief after walking out of uncomfortable situations, lying to get a reaction out of someone, the sting of tears brought on by anger, the perfect comeback, mascara smeared down your face
  • ENTJ: protest signs, pinning magazine cut outs to your wall, walking to the front of a room to give a presentation, the click of high heels, tilting your chair back and crossing your arms to show your disapproval, the smell of paint, friendly debates with loud words and wide gestures, losing track of time and blinking tiredly at the clock, perfectly tailored suits left wrinkled on bedroom floors
  • ENFP: bulletin boards with inspiring quotes, humming along off-key beneath your breath, bare feet on hot sand, pinterest projects, curling ribbon with scissors, sewing your own clothes, improvised road trips, bubblegum pink lipstick, convincing a friend to buy themself that new outfit, silly nicknames, candy wrappers littered on the floor, compliments from strangers in public restrooms, good morning texts
  • ENFJ: cute notes left in people’s lockers, talking a friend through their self confidence issues, cleaning your room at two in the morning, dark thoughts that only slip into your mind late at night, the press of a kiss to your forehead, picking out your clothes the night before, convincing a friend to come dance with you, the hand on your shoulder
  • ISTP: taking apart pens and examining the individual parts, spilling out emotions that you’ve kept tightly wound inside, the smell of rubber tires on pavement, writing down your thoughts to better understand them, clenched fists, research papers laid out across a table, jumping off a rock wall and letting the cord catch you, polaroid cameras
  • ISTJ: setting yourself deadlines, slipping candy to a worried friend, puns, stretching after a long day, downing too much coffee so you can stay up to work, drawing tablets, buying Christmas gifts a month in advance, the smell of grass after a rain, sitting in comfortable silence with a good friend, before and after pictures, old family trinkets
  • ISFP: petitions passed around classrooms, a friend’s artwork hanging on your wall, the weight of a child on your hip, getting up early to see the sunrise, interior design, vinyl albums, sitting on rooftops with friends, detailed journals from years back stacked in your closet, the warmth of a cat curled up on your lap, sleepy kisses goodnight, the walk up on stage to collect an award
  • ISFJ: buying friends gifts for no occasion, old photo albums lining bookshelves, waking up knowing that today is not yesterday, holding a bun up with just a pencil, splattered paint on brick walls, doing homework on the way to school, bitten lips rather than angry words, tentative hugs, the smell of vanilla, hair falling in front of your face when you duck your head
  • INTP: dead languages, long winded speeches that change topics multiple times, sweater vests, chalk boards covered with writing, lost glasses that are on top of your head, botanical gardens, finals week, bouncing up and down on the balls on your feet as you rant, unbrushed hair, library fines, the glow of a laptop late at night
  • INTJ: packing for college, perfectly winged eyeliner, beakers overflowing with bubbles, schedule overloads, chess games that last until late into the night, the feeling of silk on bare skin, locking your door while working, texting while walking, leaning forwards into discussions with your elbows on the table, rapid-fire conversations, makeup lined up along the sink
  • INFP: community gardens, braiding flowers into a friend’s hair, giggles, playing guitar to an empty room, yellow daisies, sudden anger, reading by candlelight, unexpected hugs, empty forest paths, make believe, whispers that you know no one can hear, understanding nods during rants, lifting someone up and spinning them around, the smell of new paper, forgotten tea that’s turned cool
  • INFJ: hanging lightbulbs, thick books where the spine curls inwards, shoulders shaking forwards when you won’t let yourself cry, absent kisses laid on top of heads, lying beside a friend in bed and talking to the ceiling, dessert left at a friend’s door, watching the people below from city windows, little notes from friends kept for years, the key to your childhood diary
Meet The Lowmans

Originally posted by imagine-ortiz

Originally posted by thatgrungebitch69

Request: Imagine being Happys wife that the club doesn’t know about, until they need somewhere to stay.

I hope this is okay, the idea came to me and I wrote it out in twenty minutes. I dunno what happened to the spacing, I’m sorry. 🙄

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


“Unser called. County’s issued warrants for me, Chibs and Tig. Murder of Veronica Pope and Leroys guy. APBs going wide.” Jax said.
He sat around his dining table, Bobby and Gemma on his right and Tara on his left.
Chibs was pacing the living room, his burner to his ear as he talked to Clay and Happy stood in the corner of the room next to Juice, listening as Jax spoke.
“This guy bought those witnesses.”
“I’ll call Lowen. If Pope got these people to lie we can prove that.” Tara said.
“You cant turn yourselves in,” Gemma interrupted.
“Pope did this to get you inside.” Bobby turned to Jax. “Black nation offs us in county, the kill never gets put on him.”
Jax nodded, pondering Bobbys words and Chibs approached the table, having just got off the phone with Clay.
“Jackie, sheriffs are at the clubhouse looking for us. Next stop is here.”
“You’ve got to go, Jax.” Gemma said firmly.
“No, you cant run thats insane!” Tara argued.
“And getting chivved to death isn’t?”
“Hes not gonna end up a fugitive, I’m sorry-“
“Hes not going to jail.”
“We have two small boys!-”
“Thats exactly the point and why he-“
“Stop!” Jax yelled.
Tara and Gemma turned away from each other and looked at Jax.
“You make sure you’re protected.” Gemma told her son.
“Shes right.” Bobby said.
Jax looked at him and they exchanged a a silent conversation while Jax pondered his options.
“I know where you can go.” Happy spoke, interrupting the tension filled silence.
Tara turned to him, her eyes filled with anger but Happy ignored her, looking only at his brothers.
“You’ll be safe.”
Jax glanced at Chibs before sliding back his chair.
“Alright.” He said as he stood.
“Dont do this.” Tara pleaded. “Jax, please.”
He walked towards her and cupped her face in his hands, pulling her into a kiss.
Bobby and Chibs eyed Happy suspiciously while Gemma stood with smug look on her face.
“We’re dead if we go inside now. Stay here, take care of our boys. I’ll call you when I have a plan.”
Tara sighed and Jax kissed her forehead before signalling to his brothers.
“Lets go.”
They all walked past Tara and Bobby threw her an apologetic look.
Gemma followed them out of the house and Happy led the way to the bikes.
One by one they all sat on their bikes and Happy took off first, leading the way to his safehouse.

The bikes pulled into a quiet street in the suburbs and Chibs, Juice, Jax and Bobby followed as Happy slowed his bike and pulled into a driveway.
The house was a small cottage, the garden lined with rows of roses and a paved path set in the grass leading to a gate that opened to the backyard.
A white picket fence bordered the neatly cut lawn of the front yard and red roses stood in contrast against the white fence.
Jax sat on his bike and kicked out his kickstand, pulling off his gloves as he looked around the property.
“Wait here.” Happy told his brothers.
Jax nodded and turned to look at Chibs who looked just as confused as Jax. When Happy had said he had somewhere for them to hide out, no one had thought it would be.. well this. Who one earth did the Tacoma Killer know in the suburbs?!

They watched as Happy walked to a door on the side of the house and entered.
A light turned on inside and the guys all looked.
Through the window they could see the insides of the house, neatly decorated and they saw Happy walk into what looked to be the living room.
A woman appeared in a doorway of the room. She held a child on her hip, no older than two and rubbed her heavily pregnant belly. Another child appeared beside her, a girl who looked aged around five and she hugged into her mothers waist.
“What the fuck?” Juice whispered.
Jax frowned as he watched the woman and her children standing in the doorway.
Happy walked through the room towards her and through the window his brothers watched as he placed his hands on the curves of her bump, and kissed her lips.
They guys all exchanged a look, confusion on all their faces.
Happy spoke to the woman and leant over the child in her arms and pressed a kiss to its forehead before kneeling to the ground. The girl threw her arms around Happys neck and he lifted her, holding her tightly in his arms.
One more child entered the room, a boy who looked slightly older than the girl and he stood nervously next to his mother.
She ruffled his hair and he looked at Happy.
Happy gave the girl he held one more kiss on the cheek before lowering her to the ground. He turned towards the boy and bent over, He reached his hand out and pinched the boys cheek, making him giggle and Happy ruffled his hair.

It was a contrast. This woman, clad in a night gown and surrounded by children and then Happy Lowman, standing in leather and his band of bikers waiting outside.
The woman spoke to the children and both of them turned and left the room.
Happy turned to her and she nodded.
He walked to the side of the room where he had entered and the side door opened.
“Come in.” Happy called.
The boys slid off their bikes and walked towards Happy, exchanging confused looks as they walked to the door.
“Take your shoes off.” Happy ordered.
They all kicked off their boots and stepped inside.
The house was warm and the smell of freshly baked cookies filled the air. It was spotlessly clean, all white walls and soft carpet and the decor was homely.

The woman they had seen through the window stood nervously in the corner, her arms wrapped protectively around the baby in her arms.
She was beautiful, her eyes sparkling warmly despite her obvious nervousness and her hair was pulled back into a bun with loose strands hanging around her face. She had a light gown wrapped around her and she rubbed her belly instinctively.
Happy closed the door and walked to stand by her side, his arm wrapping around her shoulder.
“This is (y/n). My wife.”

~

“Can I get you guys a drink? Coffee, tea, beer?”
“We’re fine, darlin.” Jax smiled at you.
You nodded and smiled back warmly, placing the plate of cookies on the coffee table. Juice reached for them immediately and gave you a sheepish grin.

Happy patted his thigh and you walked towards him, where he sat in the armchair.

You sat on his lap and he draped an arm around your waist.
You looked down at him and he smiled up at you and pulled you into a kiss.
A blush rose to your cheeks and you cleared your throat, feeling the eyes in the room staring at you.
“So your married?” Jax asked, interrupting the silence that had fallen.
“Well, not legally.” You explained. “Happy didn’t want any trace on paper. Marriage license or birth certificates.”
“Its to protect you.”
“I know,” You rolled your eyes, smiling warmly. “But one day we’ll make it official.”

“She’s got my crow, and my ring. Just not my last name.”

You showed off your hand with the ring on your finger.

The boys shook their head in both shock and amazement.
“They’re all your kids?” Bobby asked Happy.
Happy smiled and ran a hand over your bulging belly.
“Yup.” You felt your baby kick and Happys face lit up and you knew he had felt it too.
“They don’t have my last name, but they’re all mine.”

”I didn’t want anyone to use my family as leverage. Didn’t want my family getting hurt cause of what we do.Its better this way.”

The men nodded, slowly coming to terms with Happys decisions.
“Daddy?”
You all turned towards the small voice and you smiled when you saw your daughter.
She hid behind the wall, just her head poking out into the room.
“Come here, baby.” Happy called.
She smiled and stepped into the room.
She glanced at the bikers sitting in the living room, unsure of what to make of so many unfamiliar faces.
But Happy opened her arms and she grinned and ran across the room, crawling into Happys lap.
You rolled your eyes and shifted, making room for your daughter next to you but there was a smile on your face.
“Couldnt sleep?” You asked her.
She shook her head.
Her hands wrapped around Happys neck and he pecked the tip of her nose, making her giggle.

”You should be asleep, baby.” Happy growled, but there was no anger in his voice. Only love.
The boys were still in shock and you hopped out of Happys lap.
He lifted your daughter and gave you a kiss on the lips before carrying out of the room and taking her back to bed.
You sat in his empty armchair.
The men stared at you and you laughed at the stunned expressions on their faces
“Why does he keep you a secret?” Jax asked you.
You shrugged.
“He just wants to protect me. Us.”
“It doesn’t bother ye?” The Scotsman asked.
You shook your head. “I know what he does for the Club. For you. I know why he keeps us a secret and I understand it. It comes from a good place.”
“Yer a good lass.”
You beamed at the Scot.
“Im glad we got to meet you, sweetheart.” Bobby said.
“Me too.” You smiled. “You’re all welcome to stay as long as you need.”
“Thank you, darlin.”
Happy walked back into the room and smiled at you as you talked with his brothers.
He walked into the room and sat on the edge of your armchair, his arm draped over you and he ran his fingers along your pregnant belly, smiling widely to you.
Juice sat in the corner of the room, watching the sight before him and shaking his head in amazement.
“This is some Hannah Montana shit.”

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@i-want-to-be-watered-by-roger @danleto97 @ichimaruai @hellsmurf96 @xsvanjasx

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Natsume Yuujinchou AU where Shigeru goes to the funeral of a distant relative, and instead of a junior high schooler, he sees a nine-year-old - all ratty old clothes, and fragile little shoulders curled tightly into himself, trembling lips, and wide grey eyes darting this way and that.

He looks absolutely terrified, and when Shigeru registers the words of the adults standing a few feet away, ugly insults pouring out of sneering lips, he feels white-hot fury crash through his being, so ferocious it’s almost blinding.

Between one heartbeat and the next, his decision is made.

And he knows he should discuss this with his wife first. He knows they need to have a good, long talk about this, about whether they’re ready to make such an enormous commitment.

But he also knows that he’ll never be able to forgive himself if he turns his back on this little lost spirit right now.

So he walks up the child’s current guardian, the one with poison still spewing from his lips.

And within minutes, arrangements have been made.

Without another look back at the vile excuse for a human being he is forced to call his blood, he approaches the child, slow and gentle, as if he were dealing with a frightened animal.

He smiles softly and introduces himself as his new guardian.

The child, Natsume Takashi, doesn’t even blink, as if he’s used to this - being passed around families at the drop of a hat.

Without a word, he takes Shigeru’s outstretched hand, and follows him wordlessly away from the gathering, without so much as a goodbye for the family he’d been staying with until then.

(Shigeru will go back for Takashi’s belongings later, by himself. For now, he just needs to get the child somewhere safe and warm.)

The train ride back home is mostly silent. Takashi looks out the windows with disturbingly blank eyes, and Shigeru worries silently over him. What must a child go through, to end up so timid, so aged beyond his years?

When they finally get off the train, Takashi obediently takes Shigeru’s hand, and walks quietly alongside him. Their house is admittedly a bit far from the train station, but Takashi doesn’t complain once the entire way there.

He smiles politely while Shigeru exchanges pleasantries with one of the neighbours he bumps into outside the gate, and expertly ignores the man’s curious, darting glances every few seconds.

They’ve only taken two steps into the house, when Touko comes bustling out of the kitchen to greet her husband, only to draw up short when she sees the child clinging to Shigeru’s pant leg, looking up at her with soulful silver eyes.

Shigeru can tell immediately how entirely besotted she is.

She doesn’t ask any questions just then, just nudges the child towards the dining room, cooing gently over him.

She coaxes answers out of the boy around his mouthfuls of food, expertly unravelling the tension in his shoulders and teasing the faintest of smiles out of him. And when he sits staring hungrily at his empty plate, not daring to ask for more, she reaches out and heaps another helping of rice into his bowl as naturally as if she’d been feeding him all his life.

Later that night, when Takashi is tucked safe and warm into a futon in Shigeru and Touko’s room, his hair still just the slightest bit damp from his bath, the couple discusses him in hushed tones in the living room.

They discuss many things that night, but never once do they question whether he’ll be staying with them.

The Signs as Middle-Aged White Moms

Aries: Jennifer // Super aggressive soccer-mom who always wears neon-colored tracksuites // Tries super hard to be the mom everybody likes // “That bitch Carol thinks her snicker-doodles are the best? Well she’s got another thing coming

Taurus: Barbara // All her instagram posts involve her watching Real Housewives with a glass of wine // Does not know how to properly use emojis and abbrevations when they text // “I’m not saying I’m always right, but you sure as hell aren’t either, Courtney" 

 Gemini: Bridgette // Won prom-queen when she was in highschool and won’t let anyone forget it // Really surprised and dismayed her sugar daddy 90-y/o husband hasn’t died yet // "I could buy all the counterfeit bags on the streets of New York and they still wouldn’t be as fake as you are, Jennifer”

Cancer: Beatrice // Cries after every time she watches Dirty Dancing // Attempts offering her new neighbors shitty homemade cookies // “Oh son, don’t hang out with Barbara’s kids you’ll end up a druggy”

Leo: Patricia // Sour as hell since 6th grade when she got 2nd place to Bridgette in a beauty pageant // Will walk into a Spanish restaurant and say “Bonjour, Bitches” // “Listen up honey, you better step up your dick game or I’m cheating on you with Veronica’s husband, Chad”

Virgo: Alice // Hosts ‘Vegan Wednesdays’ in her house // Has a ‘world’s best mom’ bumper sticker on her mini-van // “Oh hey Kids!  You know I’m the HIP mom who whips fleeks with the nae naes :)”

Libra:  Stephanie // Calls for her child from her room to fetch her something that’s literally right next to her // Hot Single mom who has like 12 sugar daddies on speed dial // “It’s Stephanie, pronounced as in Gwen Stefani”

Scorpio: Veronica // Forces their child to start playing the piano or violin by 3 // Has an emotional breakdown, absolutely confused as to why their child doesn’t tell them anything (when every time they do, she lectures them) // “I just don’t understand where i went wrong, how could his GPA sink from a 4.6 to a 4.57?”

Sagittarius: Caitlyn // Constantly reminds people that it’s “Caitlyn with a C” // Constantly wears Prada and Dolce & Gabbana to remind everyone she has more money than them // “I don’t give a fuck about what Alice thinks, she probably hasn’t had sex in such a long time cobwebs have formed in her vagina”

Capricorn: Courtney // The one who, instead of naming her child “Michaela”, names her “Michkaeighlaugh” instead // Adamantly believes that weed is still a drug // “I don’t care what Caitlyn is saying!  More than a ½ teaspoon of salt and this chicken will just be too spicy”

Aquarius:  Vicky // For some odd reason stopped aging after 25 // Super into witchcraft and tarot reading and astrology, uses it as a way to justify everything // “Wow my child’s being such an ass because apparently I’m ‘relating everything to astrology’.  Typical Capricorn Moon in 27 degrees to be a skeptic” 

Pisces: Tiffany // Impulse buyer and big spender, will “accidentally” spend 500$ in a single sitting // has a “Treat Yo-Self” day for doing the absolute bare minimum // “I only have money for either buying food for my kids or this really cute jacket … it’s ok they can starve for the week”

Richie Tozier || Too Soon pt. 2

A/N: I hope you guys enjoy the second part to Too Soon, it has been highly requested so I hope it turned out as well as part one!

Nothing changed, since Richie and yourself moved away from Derry, not one single thing had changed. Your stomach churned as your nerves were on edge, your anxiety was through the roof. Richie’s fingers laced with yours and he gave you a reassuring squeeze, you shifted your gaze to meet his and his face showed just how worried he was. Worried about his friends. Worried about you. Worried about your baby.

His worried expression and his constant grasp on your hand was something you had grown used to over the last day and a half. When his hand was not on yours, it carefully caressed your slight growing bump. Within the next three weeks, you would definitely be showing in your pregnancy, even in your baggy shirts. For the most part, the flight back to Derry was silent since you slept most of the flight, Richie just silently watched over you. It coming back so soon was something that made his stomach churn with uneasiness.

The two of you stood outside of the restaurant everyone was supposed to meet up at. Richie shot you a quick look and he released a quick but shaky breath, “we don’t get involved.” Richie’s voice was quiet as he gave you a quick kiss on your cheek, you gave a nod, “promise.”

The two of you walked in and found the table that the others already sat at, “what’s up, assholes!” You rolled your eyes at that, “Richie, really?” All eyes were on you two and you were quickly pulled into a hug by Beverly.

Separate conversations quickly sparked up throughout the group, Richie’s hand was placed on your thigh comfortingly. Slowly, the conversation drifted to the reason you all were back.

“We… we have to kill it this time…” Bill’s words were strained, his stutter threatened to return, “for Georgie… for Betty… all the missing kids.”

The new tension eased away your comfort and your nerves returned as you gave a glance to Richie. He was already shaking his head, “Y/N and I will do what we can but… we aren’t going into those sewers, we are leaving tomorrow.”

“What?” Eddie’s voice was the loudest and all eyes were on you once again. You hesitantly grasped Richie’s hand, “you’re joking. He’s joking, right Y/N?” Stan’s voice cracked.

“No, he’s not. We just… we can’t do it.” Your voice was strained, it felt wrong to say to Stan since you knew he had such a hard time the first time, but you knew you had more than just yourself to think about.

“How could you two do this? Why would you even come if you weren’t going to help us against it?” Bill’s voice mirrored his angry expression.

Tears swelled in your eyes as you turned away, your eyes trained on your hand that Richie was holding, “it’s not what you guys-“

“You’re being cowards!”

“No, I’m doing what’s best for my family!” Richie pointed a finger at Bill, “trust me, I’d kill that fucking clown myself, but we have to think,” he paused, his eyes shot to yours as you gave him a nod to continue, “we have to think about our child.”

Silence filled the room and you felt as if you were going to be sick, “what?” Eddie’s voice was quiet.

“I’m pregnant.” The words escaped your lips for the first time and you let out a shaky breath.

Beverly was the first to give a reaction, the first to give any reaction to you saying you were pregnant, and it was shock “Oh, my God.” She quickly shook her head with a smile, “Oh, my God! Congratulations!”

She quickly got up and gave you a hug, you stood up and wrapped your arms around her.

“What the fuck, Richie?! How could you bring her!”

“What the fuck? Now you’re mad because we are here! Make up your mind, Eds!” Richie growled out as he shot Eddie a look, “she would have came either way, but that’s why she’s not stepping a centimeter in a fucking sewer.”

Eddie’s face set in a hard look before it eased, “don’t call me, Eds.”

Silence fell over the able for a minute. “Wow,” Mike finally spoke up, “Richie’s going to be a dad, how weird is that?”

Richie grinned, “really fucking weird huh?”

You gave a soft laugh as the tension vanished, you leaned on your elbow, “we are seriously going to have to work on your language.”

Richie shot you a smirk, but before he could say anything you lifted your hand to your lips, “oh, I’ll be… I’ll be right back. Bathroom.” You muttered quickly as Richie released your hand and gave your shoulder a comforting rub, “want me to come with you?”

“No,” you gave him a sweet smile, “I’ll be right back.”

You quickly made your way to the bathroom, you closed the door behind you and collapsed on the floor as you quickly heaved into the toilet, but nothing came out. You fell back against the wall, your slow, deep breaths turned into quick, panicked breaths as you fell forward with a pained groan. A sharp, gut wrenching pain shot through your abdomen and you grasped your stomach. Blood began to seep through your jeans and pooled beneath you as a panicked scream ripped from your throat, despite never having one before, you quickly recognized it as a contraction.

“No, no.” You sobbed as you reached forward to lifted yourself using the toilet, you closed your eyes. When you opened your eyes, the pain and blood were gone.

“W-what?”

“You’re starting to sound like Billy boy.” A sinister and chilling voice came from behind you, a sickeningly familiar voice. You quickly turned your head, a hand wrapped around your throat, It inhaled deeply, “there it is.” It’s eyes focused on your stomach before you lost consciousness.


Your screams that were mixed of panic and pain echoed throughout the restaurant, immediately alerting Richie. When he got the bathroom to find it empty, he punched the bathroom door, “son of a bitch!”

He stormed out of the restaurant, his eyes wild, “Richie! Richie!” He snapped his head to Bill, “what?!”

“Where are you going?”

“Where do you think? I’m going to Neibolt and I am going to fucking kill this clown!” Richie growled dangerously, “are you coming with me or not?”

The answer was clear as they quickly caught up with Richie.


The echo of water dripping woke up, you lifted your head and your breath caught in your throat. You felt sick to your stomach as you looked around at the lair, everything was decomposing. Your hand immediately went to hold your stomach and eased over your baby bump, your body clear of any blood. A relived sigh left your lips. Your eyes darted over to the exit, you knew you would not make it to it before It got you.

“Hm,” your head snapped behind you with wide eyes, “you’ve definitely grown, Y/N.” A satisfied grin crossed It’s face, “and you’ve brought my favorite meal.” His eyes shifted to your hand that protectively held your stomach.

“Don’t-“ you were cut off as your head slammed into the floor, “we’ll wait for your husband for the fun to begin.” His laughter echoed through the room as you passed out once more.


Navigating the sewers was pretty easy, for the most part, they remembered how to get through there. Richie found himself thankful for that, but even that was not enough to ease his nerves. Even when this all began ten years ago and all that happened, Richie never felt so scared his whole life.

When they entered the familiar room, Richie’s eyes immediately found yours, lifeless and your body covered in blood, your stomach ripped open. His eyes drifted next to your body and he felt like he was going to throw up as a clump of blood laid next to you, he knew what it was. “N-No, NO!” His sobs echoed as he ran forward, “Y/N!”

“Richie, wait!” Bill latched onto Richie’s arm, Richie turned and his fist connected with Bill’s cheek, “Let go of me!”

Bill pulled Richie to him, despite the stinging in his cheek, he placed a comforting hand on Richie’s shoulder, “Richie, whatever you see, it isn’t real… she’s knocked out, but she’s ok.”

Richie turned around to see Eddie by you, the blood was gone, your hand placed over your stomach protectively despite being unconscious, and Eddie was trying to waking you up. Richie muttered your name before he walked over to you, he collapsed to his knees and ignored the pain that shot through his legs. He shot Eddie a grateful smile and nod. His shaky hands gently pulled your head into his lap, his hands slowly ran through your hair, “Y/N,” he whimpered, “Y/N, you have to wake up.” He sobbed softly as he leaned over you, he placed a kiss against your lips, “please.” The others have never heard Richie sound so broken, but they understood.

A groan escaped your lips as your eyes slowly opened, your eyes focused on Richie’s your hand lifted to press against his cheek, “Richie.”

“Oh, thank God. I love you so much, Y/N. Oh, my God.” Richie’s voice broke as he kissed your lips repeatedly. “I’m ok.” You leaned up and looked over towards the well, “we have to kill It… It knows.” Richie’s grip on you tightened as he stood, his eyes glaring at the well.

“Come on out, fucking coward.” Richie yelled, his hand grabbed a metal pipe from the rubble. Beverly, Mike, Ben, and Eddie followed in behind him as Bill helped you up, your eyes darted to his swollen cheek, “Bill?”

He gave a soft smile, “it was Richie, but it’s alright… I know how he felt… whatever It showed him, it broke him.” Your heart dropped, you knew the feeling as well. What It showed you, the miscarriage. The pain was unbearable.

“Richie.” He did not hear you, his yells continued, “you took my wife, you threatened my child! I’ll fucking kill you!”

“Will you Richie? Will you kill me before I rip your unborn child from Y/N’s womb? I’ll kill every single one of you.” It appeared between Richie and the others, at It’s voice, Richie quickly swung the pipe and it connected with It’s face. The others jumped into action, hitting, stabbing, kicking, anything they could to get it down. Once It’s back was on the ground, fearfully looking up as they surrounded him. Richie let out an angry yell as he brought the pipe down on its face repeatedly, eventually smashing in its face.

“Richie, Richie stop!” Eddie grabbed him and pulled him back, “It… It’s dead.”

Bill slowly helped you up, his arms wrapped around you to steady you as you walked over to Richie as he panted. His eyes wide as they landed on you, his body immediately moved to wrap his arms around your shoulders and pulled you tightly to him. “I love you so much.” He kissed your head, “I love you both so much.” You could feel his tears landing in your hair as you felt the others wrap their arms around the two of you in a comforting manner. “We did it,” Eddie’s voice was quiet, “It’s over.”

anonymous asked:

Did Bucky really train Natasha as a child in the Red Room? Is their relationship bad because they were brainwashed and couldn't consent?

Short answer: No and no.

Long answer: In the comic books (also known as the MU or as Earth-616), Natasha was born in either 1927 or 1928, making her only 2-3 years younger than Bucky, who was born in 1925.

Black Widow: Deadly Origin #1

Captain America #50

So when they trained together in the Red Room in 1956/1957, Natasha was 29 years old. This is Natasha when they trained together - not a child, but a full-grown adult woman:

Captain America & Bucky #624

As to your second question, that has been a long-running lie turned fandom myth that is based on a deliberate and purposefully misreading of the text. Yes, Bucky and possibly Natasha had already undergone Comic Book Science™ brain tapering prior to the start of their unauthorized romantic relationship in the Red Room. 

But here’s the thing - they both knew that a romantic relationship would be unauthorized and forbidden by Department X and that if they were to engage in a romantic relationship with the other, they would both be severely punished for it. 

So despite knowing all of this, they both still decided it was worth risking it to be together:

Captain America #27

Captain America & Bucky #624

The Winter Soldier even went as far as lying to his handler when directly confronted about the relationship:

Captain America & Bucky #624

They both chose to be in that relationship. The concern trolls that try to claim otherwise do so by ignoring the fact that they both actively made a choice here and that choice was each other. And since most of those concern trolls care more about Bucky than Natasha, it should be noted that they are actually denying him the agency of the only real choice he made for himself as the Winter Soldier. 

In Today's(Yesterday's) Video

Logan acting as a babysitter for anxiety-less Thomas

Roman being a jerk still (I love him but I really thought he would have gotten over his closed-mindedness already)

Patton being pure and amazing and WAS THE ONLY ONE WHO THOUGHT ANXIETY NOT BEING THERE WAS WEIRD AT THE START

Vocab cards

Patton really puts the ILY back into Fam

Thomas is basically a child

Dad voice

The room headcannon is now cannon

A clock

And not anxiety

Owned - End

Originally posted by hopeatuuli

Now it was surreal. This was to be your child’s room. A child. His child.

You saw it in his eyes, how much he loved this baby already. The excitement in your heart seemed to explode every moment you met his eyes.

“I can’t.” You but your lips nervously, hand shaking and looking at him for help.

He smiled and it was perfect, that moment. He put his hand on the doorknob and slowly turned it, pushing the door open and watching for your reaction.

You gasped and felt speechless.

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