i could never have been prepared for this

tttickingcrocodile  asked:

The foxes find out that Neil actually killed people while on the run.

Looks like tonight is jut a writing night for me lmao I’m not complaining. 

Even in hindsight Neil could never have seen this coming. He’ll look back on it later and still have trouble untangling the series of events that, over the last few weeks, had led him here. 

First, Riko’s “suicide.” When the news struck Neil was prepared, and he’d only been able to tell Andrew on the roof, torn between relief at Riko being gone and unease at the cold, cruel nature of the execution. 

Which is exactly what it was. An execution. 

He should have expected how fast news spread but it still knocked the wind out of him when Nicky came through the main hallway screeching like a bat out of hell to get all the Foxes to come out. He read the news article with a frantic speed, but his precise enunciation leaving no doubt about his words. Riko, the King, the Number One, had killed himself. 

Kevin’s knees go out from under him and the Foxes seem to collapse in on themselves, folding like wet paper dolls. It seems wrong to celebrate, especially with Kevin making pathetic gasping noises on the floor. But what else are they supposed to do when confronted with the death of the man who, for a year, had made their lives a living hell? Who’d made other Raven’s lives a living hell for longer? For, collectively, more years than he’d been alive?

Next had been Kevin’s consequent breakdown. They joked about Kevin getting alcohol poisoning constantly but it had actually happened and of course Andrew had been the one to find him. He’d been the one to take Kevin to the hospital, tell Neil who on command told everyone else, and the one to drag Kevin back to Fox Tower by the hair to let Wymack verbally flay him alive. And when Andrew had found Coach to be too sympathetic he’d interrupted and delivered his own stripping words that could be summarized as “Get your head out of your ass,” “you will be taking drinking lessons from Renee,” and the ever pleasant, “you have appointments with Betsy booked until you graduate.” By the end of it Kevin looked even worse, but some small spark of life in his eye said some part of him recognized this as Andrew caring. 

Thing began to get messy from there, moving over Kevin’s slippery slope to sobriety, the consequential decrease of over all alcohol consumed, and the subsequent replacement of drinking with other activities. Many things were suggested, most of them shot down by Andrew or Aaron, but the surviving options were (somehow) movie night, non-alcoholic game night, and bowling. Andrew had tried to shoot those down too but Neil had simply said in ever-improving Russian, “We need to do something, we can’t tell him not to drink to save his life and then bore him to death anyway.” Amazingly that had made Andrew let those options stand. 

Watching the Foxes go from throwing a small ball with a raquet to rolling a large ball with their hands is, needless to say, entertaining. He observes them now, of blacklight night, Matt’s teeth glowing faintly in a grin as he pulls ahead on points. Kevin hasn’t gotten over sulking and rolling the ball between his ankles yet, but with Renee cheerful by his side he can’t sneak anywhere to get alcohol. It just makes him sulkier. 

“Damn Neil, all that time on the road and you’re telling me you never once stopped at a bowling alley?” Nicky says, shaking his head and walking up to the front of their lane in his rented shoes. Neil rolls his eyes and shakes his head, leaning farther into Andrew. Andrew’s arm stays loose and heavy over his shoulders. 

“I don’t know why any of you are surprised by anything I say anymore,” he grumbles loudly enough for Nicky and the Foxes to hear him. 

“You know how it was,” he says to them with a shrug. Nicky hoots as he almost gets a strike and comes over to sit as Dan stands to take her turn. 

“I mean I guess,” Nicky pries, “but even though I know it wasn’t all action movie-esque I still picture it that way.” He snorts. 

“Of course the heroes always kill villains along the way in action movies so I guess that isn’t a very good way to think of it either.”

Andrew goes even stiller than normal when he feels Neil tense, and looks at him when he feels Neil purposefully roll his shoulders to calm himself. Kevin, on Andrew’s other side, feels he cushion shift with Andrew and looks at him, then Neil. Kevin doesn’t say anything but Allison’s attention is caught. 

“Don’t tell me you actually ki-” She starts in a harsh whisper and Dan, walking back over, swats her. 

“Allison,” she hisses and Matt gets up to take his turn but is obviously still listening. Neil shifts uncomfortably.

“We are not talking about this here,” Aaron suddenly snaps with a pointed look around, to the family on their right and the birthday party full of young children on their left. Everyone’s mouths snap shut but their eyes blaze with curiosity for the rest of the night. 

They don’t register who won and Neil hasn’t felt this cornered in a long time as they filter into Fox Tower. He’s stopped by a hand on his arm and jumps away from Allison and right into Andrew’s chest. 

“Back off,” he snarls over Neil’s shoulder and Allison scowls. 

“Fuck off monster,” she snaps at him and Neil glares at her, stepping away from Andrew and scowling. 

“Don’t call him that,” he snaps and hands come between them, Dan pushing him and Allison apart. 

“This is not the way to talk to each other,” she says with authority and both Neil and Allison pull farther from each other. 

“Good,” Dan says and turns her head to address Allison, but Neil beats her to it. 

“What do you want?” He says snappishly, tiredly, and Allison grinds her teeth.

 “You said you killed someone-” she starts but Nicky steps in, “he never said anything-”

“It was insinuated through body language,” Allison snaps and looks at Neil. Neil stares her down. 

“So what?” Neil asks, “is that what it’s going to take for you to take back what you all said after Baltimore? For me to not be a Fox anymore? Because it’s true,” he says icily and the word ‘true’ falls to the floor with a crash like a lead weight. 

“We were on the road for years. More than once we were cornered, or came back to hotel rooms or wherever we were sleeping to find my father’s men, and I didn’t have a choice dammit,” he snarls, reaching up to tug at his hair. 

“She made sure I could protect myself, and sometimes I had to, and sometimes people died but-” he says and he doesn’t realize he’s breathing too fast until there’s a hand on the back of his neck bending him over and squeezing. 

“Breathe,” Andrew snap at him and he gulps in air as Andrew pulls him standing straight again. 

“Neil we’re not going to abandon you for doing what you had to do,” Matt says firmly. Renee and Dan nod. 

“We didn’t mean to push,” Nicky says, even though it was Allison who did the pushing. Because of this Neil looks at her and her eyes are unreadable. 

“I’m not going to apologize,” she says, and of course she isn’t, “but I will say this doesn’t change anything. You are a Fox.” Neil nods slowly and the hand on his neck tugs him back to follow Andrew as he leaves and they retreat to the roof. 

“You’re going to tell me what went on those years,” Andrew comments. He’s not saying now, he’s not demanding, it’s a statement it’s a certainty. Neil knows he’ll tell him- 

“Eventually,” Neil admits and almost as a reward Andrew hands him a lit cigarette. 

New Year’s Eve

Summary: It’s New Year’s Eve, and Tony Stark is hosting another one of his extravagant parties. The reader, however, is hiding somewhere in the tower, not fond of parties and preferring to be alone.

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Words: 1034 

Warnings: FLUFF. I mean that’s not really a warning but you might die of cuteness.

A/N: So here’s a New Year’s drabble oneshot for you all to hold you off until I have a whole week to work on “Made For You”! Prepare for Bucky cuteness. Kbye. also I didn’t proofread this because I wanted to post it before midnight so if you see any errors please let me know

Originally posted by mylastlove-mylastsong

The balcony you sat on was fairly quiet, sans the normal sounds of Manhattan at night. However, tonight, you could hear music playing everywhere, especially from Tony’s party downstairs. It was New Year’s Eve, and you preferred to be alone. It had been this way since you were little, never knowing who your parents were, so you were used to it. You never were very talkative, either, and that in itself was a bit of a problem; despite being with the Avengers for a year now, you never really made a connection with any of your teammates. You showed up when they needed you, and promptly went back to minding your own business when you were done.

You sighed, leaning on the railing of the balcony, looking out from the tower. It was bitterly cold outside, but the lights of the city were too pretty to not look at. It helped keep your mind off your loneliness. You could see all the way across Manhattan, the Christmas lights from the week before still hung up on every building, looking like tiny stars that fell to Earth.

Keep reading

Because you were foolish enough to love one place,
now you are homeless, an orphan
in a succession of shelters.
You did not prepare yourself sufficiently.
Before your eyes, two people were becoming old;
I could have told you two deaths were coming.
There has never been a parent
kept alive by a child’s love.

Now, of course, it’s too late –
you were trapped in the romance of fidelity.
You kept going back, clinging
to two people you hardly recognized
after what they’d endured.

If once you could have saved yourself,
now that time’s past: you were obstinate, pathetically
blind to change. Now you have nothing:
for you, home is a cemetery.
I’ve seen you press your face against the granite markers –
you are the lichen, trying to grow there.
But you will not grow,
you will not let yourself
obliterate anything.

— Louise Glück, Adult Grief


As I sit here with my hands hovering above my keyboard, I’m realizing that I’m not entirely sure what I should say.
I’m honestly not certain that I could say anything that would adequately summarize what this surgery has been like for me.
I can, however, state (with some certainty) that one can never be fully prepared for this sort of thing.
Regardless of whether or not you want it to occur, genital reconstruction and surgical castration are both immensely difficult things to cope with.
Giving up any chance of having your own biological children can be devastating even if you don’t foresee it in your future. Surgery doesn’t fix the problems you experience in your day to day life, nor should you expect it to, and in a strange sense, I have found that surgery can feel an awful lot like trading one set of insecurities for another.
This isn’t to say that surgery hasn’t been a positive experience. I have always personally considered bottom surgery to be the “ending point” of my transition, and thus I have found peace in feeling as though I finally get to move forward with my life. Oddly enough I find myself leaping eagerly toward the option of a life of “normality”.
When I first came out, my goal wasn’t to live a life surrounded by the transgender community and it’s media.
I never really wanted to live my life with the added label of being transgender, I simply wanted the world to see me as I saw myself.
Now more than ever I feel as though I get to live the life I always wanted. I feel as though a tremendous weight has been lifted and I know I am incredibly fortunate to have reached this point.

Sometimes making the right choice and making the hard choice are one in the same. I have never felt more validated in my life, but I have also never experienced anything nearly as painful.

“The city had heard the fire was coming closer, but it was more a hassle than a threat. People would only complain about the smoke and ash. When it hit [a community on the outskirts], you could tell the attitude had changed. People were scouring the city for evacuation kits. The morning of the evacuation the sky was blue and calm. I just forgot about the imminent danger. The headlines from the emergency update seemed to say things were under control. We went about our lives. Around noon, the sky was filled with thick black smoke. I was rushing around to collect what I valued most. Shortly after, the first notice to be prepared to evacuate had been called. Maybe half an hour later the Emergency Alerts were blasting our radios. I have never seen more traffic in my life. We passed hundreds of cars abandoned, people parked on the side of the road expecting for this all to be called off. Campers were set up on the side of the highway. This drive should have taken an hour and a half on a normal day. We left at 3:30 [p.m.], and arrived at the [evacuation] camp shortly before [midnight].”

Unless you’re the sort of person who keeps stacks of chlorine pills in a backyard bunker, you’re probably not truly prepared for an emergency. Oh, you can have supplies and a plan. But emotionally, the idea of your home catching fire will never quite be real until it’s right in front of you. Once that happens, it’s chaos, as Derek explained:

“The radio stations continued to play music and made short announcements about evacuations. It got to the point where one of the hosts lost his nerve and just left. He started to panic and just wanted to get out. I don’t blame him. Downtown looked like a ghost town. All the trees looked like burnt match sticks. My phone was flooded with text messages and voicemails yet I couldn’t respond to any. Any out-going calls or messages failed. All I could do was listen to satellite radio and try and keep my mind off everything.”

Evacuating A Modern City: 5 Realities In A Real Apocalypse

Wedding Night

In honor of @yeahiliketheredleatherjacket ‘s birthday, I wrote something tiny! Here’s a little fluff from the Unbreakable realm, Happy Birthday, hun!!! <3

Emma sits down on the beach and stares out into the ocean. Everyone in her house is finally asleep so she could sneak out. She knew sleep wasn’t going to come easy, it’s the first night in almost three years her and Killian have spent the night away from each other, so she was prepared. Regina suggested making a sleeping tea for her, but she refused.

You never know with her.

She hears steps behind her and her lips tug up, without looking, she knows who it is.

“Isn’t it bad luck to see the bride before the wedding?”

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Left Hand

request; hi! my name is layla and i was wondering if you could write a bucky imagine with #39? thank you!!

prompt; 39. “Hey, have you seen the..? Oh.”

a/n; guys!! i finally wrote a request, sorry for the long wait, and i’ll have the rest up eventually. just been in a bit of a writing-rut lately.. i hope this is good!! :-) {slightly changed the request a lil bit}

warnings; allusions to nightmares, like one swear.. think thats it

Bucky never used his left hand.

She noticed this, watching him walking around the kitchen of the compound. She watched him prepare himself a sandwich, using his right hand to open the fridge, grab something from the fridge, and use his right elbow to nudge it closed. His left arm laid limp by his side, only moving with a slight sway as he maneuvered around the kitchen. Layla wanted to question him, but the two weren’t exactly on that stage of their friendship. She took a sip from her coffee mug, her eyebrows furrowed in concern at this sight, opting to question him on a later date.

The next time she noticed this was at pool party Tony held, the group gathering at the huge inground pool he had installed. The boys found an old soccer ball from inside, opting to a game of soccer as most of the girls sat by the pool. Layla found herself sitting on the “sidelines” of the match, Buck sat in goal on one side, Scott in the other. She watched as the game started, the first goal flying to Bucky’s left side, seeing him desperately try to grab for it with his right, but missing by inches.

“Oh, c’mon, frosty! Pick up the pace!” Tony shouted, rolling his eyes as the other team celebrated their goal, causing for Bucky to roll his eyes. Layla rolled her bottom lip between her teeth, seeing a split second of sadness on Bucky’s face before getting into position. She noticed his eyes flicker to her, noticing the furrow of her eyebrows, before quickly turning back to the field in front of him.

At this point, she questioned if she had ever seen him use his left hand. As she noticed the pattern, she couldn’t remember a time that she had seen him use it. Until, she found herself fighting by his side in a mission.

“On your left!” She shouted to Bucky, watching as a quick elbow jab with his left arm sent the man to the ground. Her eyes widened as she continue to fight, his eyes falling on the shocked expression on Layla’s face. He elected to ignore this, snapping his hair back to rid the hair from his face. They cleared their area, a small frown on Layla’s lips as shock still wired through her body. 

Layla woke one night, a shutter falling through her body at the cold temperature in the air. She tried pulling her duvet closer to her body, but it didn’t completely eliminate the cold temperature from prickling at her skin. Layla let out a groan, pulling her robe around her body, the thumping of her feet against the hardwood filling her ears as she walked to the closest thermostat.

“Jesus,” she muttered, her teeth chattered as she saw it was set to 55 degrees. “Who the hell-” she stopped her sentence, hearing snoring coming from the kitchen. She turned the thermostat up, then walked into the kitchen, seeing a figure slumped over the island, small snores falling from the presence. Layla recognized it as Bucky, seeing his hair pulled into a bun at the nape of his neck. Layla noticed his plaid pajama bottoms, matched with a black sleeveless shirt.  She frowned slightly, seeing his left arm slung by his side as his head rested in his right. Layla looked over him for a minute before taking a few steps to stand next to him, hesitantly placing her hand on his back.

“Bucky,” Layla muttered, her hand gliding from his back to his right arm, squeezing it slightly. His head snapped up suddenly, Layla jumping slightly, their eyes meeting as she realized just how tired she looked. “Hey,” she spoke softly, a small smile on her face as Bucky’s eyes darted over her face, as if he was trying to figure out where he was.

“What are you doing up?” he asked, coming to his senses within seconds. Layla’s hand still laid on his arm, concern masking her features as she shrugged, pulling the hand from his upper arm and running it through her hair.

“Someone decided to set the thermostat to 55 degrees-” she stopped herself from continuing, a bashful look falling upon his face as she smiled slightly, realizing it was him who had done so. “Why so cold?” She asked, sitting in the stool diagonal from him. She and him weren’t close, barely speaking unless they were on missions. It’s not that they didn’t like each other, but that they just didn’t think of going out of their ways to talk to the other.

“I uh, I woke up and I was really hot,” he explained and Layla knew he wasn’t telling the truth, watching the way he avoided her gaze. Layla pursed her lips slightly, standing and filling the tea kettle with water. “What are you doing?” She noticed how he sat slightly uncomfortable, not being completely comfortable with her yet.

“I’m making us some tea, it always helps me sleep,” she explained, her back to him as she reached for the box of tea above her, pulling a few bags out of the container. She turned to him, placing her palms against the granite countertop. “So, tell me the real reason why you woke up, and maybe I can talk you through it.”

The rest of the night, the two sat; sipping their tea and speaking of their dreams.

“Hey, have you seen Buck- Oh,” Steve began to question before spotting him and Layla on the couch, her head on his lap, and the fingers of his left hand entangled in her hair. A small smile etched on Steve’s face at the sight, Bucky never used his left hand.

“You know exactly what I mean. Your foolish brother who will be studying here in Paris! Apparantly his letter arrived late as of this morning and he is here by today. How could you not know? The staff won’t have much time to prepare for his arrival. I’m not pleased, Louise.” You could see the mispleased expression on Charles’ face. It had never been a secret that the judge wasn’t very fond of his brother in law.

“Levi doesn’t care about anyone”

okay, so, please explain this

and this

and what about

I mean look at his facial expression, does he look happy to you?

Oh, and let’s not forget about

and to those who say he’s a heartless son of a bitch,

in your face

And don’t even get me started on “Levi is so ruthless” because

I am prepared, motherfucker


No one gets left behind if there’s a chance to save their life

and why does no one talk about how he puts his life in Erwin’s hands

He’s always portrayed as the lone wolf but i’ve never seen anyone pointing out how he trusts someone

ah, and for those of your who call Levi an “abusive asshole”, look what I’ve got here:

What if he hadn’t beaten Eren up in front of the judge? The kid would’ve been shot in the head. Levi saved his fucking life

but I guess you already knew that, because you’re such an expert on the “abusive Levi”, right?


I KNOW THAT THE LEVI HATERS “do NOT SEE” THIS ON THEIR DASH haha YEAH I know that u r reading this u lil bitch

have a nice day

Holidays & #Aspergers #Autism:  Surviving That One Relative

Holidays are stressful enough but many of us on the #Autism spectrum have at least one family member who is bitterly disappointed with us. I have one. My best friend has one.  And they’re nearly impossible to please - nothing you do ever seems to be good enough.  If you have a job, it’s not a good enough job.  If you live in an apartment, it’s not a house.  (And heaven forbid if you don’t have a job or a house!)  There are times you suspect you could have a mansion and a BMW and they’d just complain that you don’t have a Porsche.

They always seem to pick on us during dinner, when we feel trapped and they have an audience.  What have you been doing lately?  It’s almost always a challenge, never a question delivered in genuine curiosity.

A lot of us prepare for this ahead of time by creating a list that I cheekily called the “Sod-Off” list.  This was a list of everything I’d accomplished in the past year.  It doesn’t have to be a big accomplishment, just something you’re proud of.  Did you finish a knitting project?  Finish a NaNoWriMo?  Start a NaNoWriMo?  Win a battle with a government agency?  Take a course?  Sure, there are “big” things like buying cars and earning degrees, but make no mistake, those “little” accomplishments count.

Here’s the thing:  The Sod-Off list is not for them - it’s for you.  If we try to list these accomplishments, they’ll just challenge their validity, tell us why they’re not satisfactory, and strip away everything that made us feel good.  No, this list is for you to keep in your mind, when you’re put under the spotlight.  It’s to remind you of when you felt proud of yourself, so that when that person asks you “What have you been doing lately,” you can shrug and say “A bunch of things here and there,” then turn to someone else and ask them, “What about you, what’ve you been up to?”  You might add “I’ve heard you’ve been doing X, what got you interested in that?”  This deflects attention away from you without sending the ball back to the challenging person.

The list is also for friends and family members who are genuinely curious about our activities and aren’t out to find reasons to be disappointed with us.  If possible, try to converse when the challenging relative isn’t around, so they aren’t tempted to interrupt with disparaging comments.

If possible, try to buddy up with a sympathetic relative or friend.  I have an aunt and a cousin whom I buddy up with.  My aunt is also trying to avoid our challenging relative, so whenever one of us sees that person trying to move in, we glide in and lead each other away with a “hey, come try some of this” or “hey come look at this game” or a “let’s go to the corner store, I’m craving buttertarts.”  We even have a text code for ‘challenging relative alert, come get me.’

That’s another thing, try to arrange an escape so you don’t have to spend a lot of time at the function.  Whether it’s going out with friends, an appointment in the morning, work in the morning, whatever gives you the excuse to leave.  We know that the challenging relative doesn’t give up easily, they’ll keep trying to corner us so they can grill us.  They seem to delight in being disappointed with us, so escaping the situation is our best defence.  If you have to live with the challenging relative, then it’s a temporary escape, but that can be enough to give your self-esteem a breather.  Look at your Sod-Off list and remember when you felt proud of yourself.  Because you deserve to.

You’re going to push her away.

If you want to talk it out, but she’s already made her decision.
You’re going to have to prepare to lose her, if she fell out.
“Friends” maybe in a different universe.
Because the door swings both ways.

You have to accept that you’ll never know what we would’ve been.
And I wish I could say what I mean.
And I wish I could say that was me.

You’re going to push her away.

I was always stuck between missin’ you and lettin’ you go.
And from experience, tellin’ you how I felt, fumblin’ through my fear, stumblin’ through my words.
It all didn’t matter.

You’re all I see in my dreams.
And I would’ve gave you 100%.
I would’ve caught you if you fell.
I would’ve shown you the light when it was dark.
When the storm was brewing in the ocean I would’ve been your lighthouse.

You’re going to push her away.

You can’t force her to feel what you feel.
No matter if you think you didn’t deserve it.
And you can write about her everyday.
Hoping that your pen will create a map to a new beginning.

Letting go wasn’t easy, giving up was harder.
I haven’t seen you in a while, but that doesn’t mean you’re not on my mind.
And I know I pushed you away.

—  S.S
I’m Gonna Need Your Loving

Karolina’s Playlist (1k Followers Celebration Challenge)

Prompt: Whole Lotta Love – Led Zeppelin

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Summary: You’re alone at the bunker one night, so you decide to have some fun until an unexpected guest decides to show up.

Word Count: 1841

Warning: fluffy fluff, implied smut, sickness (nothing graphic), very little angst if you squint, Dean being sexy (you need to be prepared for that shit)

A/N: (Y/N/N) = Your Nickname, (Y/F/B) = Your favorite books, Italics = Thoughts, Bold = Lyrics, I do not own Supernatural or the song.

P.S. I had a lot of fun with this challenge. Thanks for letting me take part Kari. I had a lot of fun spending my birthday writing. Hope y’all enjoy <3

Originally posted by dean-sam-winchesterbros

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Heaven only knows what goes on behind closed doors

A/N: OH WOW IT’S BEEN SO LONG HASN’T IT?? i’ve decided to write it in taron’s POV and I’m telling you this one here is gonna be full of sex. A tiny bit of fluff on the side, it’s hardly noticeable but it will still lead you to sex haha and it contains a slash smut, not going into details so prepare your bibles because it’s about to get dirty

Taron’s POV

Y/N has been acting immensely weird lately. I don’t understand why. She was so clingy the past days, demanding to come with me wherever I go like on sets, on my interviews, promotions or wherever I have to be. Not that I’m complaining though, but she never leaves my side and she’ll freak out everytime I leave her sight.

Keep reading


From his mouth, my body encumbered by passion supped and slurped of his strained nourishment until I had just about rung him whole. What did it mean to him, to have his fine lips adhere its seal upon the damp redolent slits I splayed? What could it have meant that he fit inside me as if he or I had been cut away long ago from each other’s main organs and made complete upon union?

I cannot say. I never will know. Often, how one loves, though an outward expression prepared for display; often becomes a private irksome reconciliation or war within the soul.

Time is procedural. Love is a must circumstance. Life is a process and I am its slave.

As I bent before him, with my ass softly peeled apart by my eager fingers; did he think he was biting more than what he could chew—Or was it his soul I felt drape as a piano sonata upon my tingling spine; leading me to believe within him, he saw himself being home?

His body laden with arduous strength should have felt heavier, but contrary to expectation, he felt as a scarlet velvet robe upon my sunken back. Perfect. It was perfect.

Together, we were warm waters giggling and gushing—laps of salt water splashing between thighs, a hung sack and dew drop breasts.

I cannot say and never will know of him or his actual candor. Often, one grasps mindlessly at the fragile and the vulnerable without much appreciated awareness. We all believe ourselves to be stronger or weaker than we are, and when we encounter the tab left behind by a disappointment we engender; we clamor as small things in a burrow and wish to fall asleep to the world.

Could he have known even prior to inserting his beautiful thickly veined venom deep within my quavering walls that he was jeopardizing the health of the sanctum I was providing, by already barring me entry into his truth before I even poised questions? When did he fall asleep and why was it I never woke up?

Is it possible, when he thrust madly into me from behind that he gained insight as to how nascent vulnerability builds on passion; deriving forth a rigid monument that begs to be squeezed and tempted by the petals of loves nest—Did he not guess that in order for these fires felt to rage on, we needed more openness, not less?

Did he not want the animal in us to rise with a terrifying growl at the behest of the neck of freedom? Could he not have guessed that I would adore him feral like; religious like; eternally as he desired or did he feel a shock of pain strike his arteries as lightning cracking apart the sky when I said, I cannot do this?

When did it fall apart for him?

I cannot say and I will never know. We all love differently and in degrees of shades; and sometimes the difference in increments is as devastating as the earth rumbling and burying the house of love.

[monologue ends]




We love all of you, seriously. Ok. I don’t really know what to say. We started this blog a month ago, because we wanted something Hamilton-related where we could just show our love for the show. I would’ve never imagined that we would become so successful in such a short amount of time.

We love and care all of you, and for the past few weeks, we have been preparing a bunch of series for you!

Just you wait, chapter I of mine will drop soon!

I would like to thank the Amazing @plamspringsdancingontables for being my sister and my partner in crime in this madness. She is my right hand gal. Thank you Ham, I love you.

I would like to thank @its-the-hamfam and everyone who’s part of it for their support. I love you guys, you are the best, I feel so loved and being part of it is just great!

I am really thankful for you guys, who read and like our stories, it supports our dream of feeling Writers.

Sorry if it takes long to publish a part, but writing is a long process and sometimes the inspiration doesn’t arrive.

We are thankful of you and we love all of you equally, yes, even you that sent us hate.

Have a great day!

-J. Laur

Originally posted by hamiltonmemes

P.S.: you get this because you are all super sweet and I love you all so much it is insane thank you aaaaaah

I’ll shut up now,


Shadowhunters Review: Season Two (ep.5) ‘Dust and Shadows’

Wow. The show is certainly coming into its own! For the past few weeks I’ve been preparing myself for the foreseeable divorce between The Mortal Instruments and Shadowhunters. ‘Dust and Shadows’ took the books and blew them apart like clouds in a gale. What I’m particularly impressed by is how they retained the essence of the source material. It feels like the world so many people love but it’s definitely telling its own story and I couldn’t be more excited!

I can get lost in the vision of what a story could’ve been. It’s why I’ve never quite let TMI go (actually, it’s Magnus. Have I mentioned how I love Magnus?). The world Clare invented was rich, but the narrative was rife with missed opportunity and partially realised implications. The Infernal Devices had fewer problems and is likely why they’re the favourite of many readers. TID also delved into the involved and thorny relationship between Downworlders and Shadowhunters.

I’m familiar with Christian, Greek, and Roman mythology; I’ve read Ovid’s ‘Metamorphosis’ and Milton’s ‘Paradise Lost.’ I understand where Clare was getting her motifs and don’t see it as plagiarism. Plagiarism is the direct misappropriation of someone else’s work. It’s the difference between using only a few sources— sporadically ripping direct passages without attribution— and reading many sources, turning those ideas into your own. When you study English Literature you realise there are rarely new ideas, mostly new ways of framing old ones. Many of Clare’s fantasy tropes have been written to death. If any one writer should be angry at reoccurring parallels its J.K. Rowling, but Rowling also ripped ideas from other authors. Actually, modern fantasy should thank J.R.R. Tolkien and be done with it. The romance genre should do the same with Georgette Heyer and Jane Austen. I love fantasy and romance, I recognise the tropes, and TMI is a fairly standard realising of those tropes. It has a few cool original ideas and a Magnus Bane. Magnus Bane makes up for a lot.

The Shadowhunters in TMI were sanctimonious and supercilious. They made a sport out of tormenting the different and the imperfect. It’s why I didn’t mind Clary as a problematic hero but became uncomfortable when she was written as genuinely heroic. Especially since Downworlders were emerging as a race allegory. The white saviour trope should kick the bucket for many academic and emotional reasons that would take its own essay to explain. Lets for now say that Clary barely understood her new and politically fragile world enough to be sensitive to Downworlder oppression. However, the biggest problematic moment in the books was the legitimising all the biases around demon blood when Sebastian was cured of his psychopathic predisposition. It was the most careless moment in the series.

For me, the story felt like it belonged with Magnus and Alec— with a Shadowhunter learning to love an amazing Downworlder who’d been so hurt by life and regime. The story should’ve been about overcoming prejudice and the protagonist’s collaboration in Downworlder empowerment. Instead of following two hyper-powered Shadowhunters, decisions being made on the barely there Downworlders behalf. The race allegory was utilized better eventually but TMI itself didn’t question Shadowhunter superiority— it often legitimised it. ‘Shadowhunters’ is going down an interesting divergent path with its meaningful incorporation of Shadowhunter and Downworlder complexities. That’s why I couldn’t be more excited!


Kat was again exceptional! Kat and Dom have improved enormously since the first season. Am I allowed to be proud? Because I’m incredibly proud of them! When Clary choked on Jocelyn’s name it was a punch to the gut and my emotions made their escape through my tear ducts. A special thanks to Salli Whitfield for pushing the actors, they were on top form. Clary’s recklessness was downright purposeful and I couldn’t stop thinking how she’d see Jocelyn’s death as her fault. Going through all the decisions made in the past few weeks, wishing she could go back and make better ones. Maybe not though, Clary determinedly made more hasty choices this episode. Iris Rouse is a fascinating contribution to Shadowhunter cannon. Surely Iris must’ve known that attempting to demonically impregnate a Shadowhunter would not have ended well for her? I liked how she didn’t seem to care when she was caught however. Iris was merely annoyed at the interruption. Did anyone else get a batman villian vibe from her? An arkham asylum deal? (Side thoughts: I’ve always believed actors make fantastic directors; they understand the emotional flow of a scene intimately. ‘Dust and Shadows’ cements this generalisation further. Iris’s mission and amorality interest me. How will Magnus respond to this new warlock development? The contortionist playing daddy Demon was terrifying— that scene was a good introduction to Clary’s power, the stakes were high. Poor Clary!!!)


With guilt swamping his insides I wasn’t surprised at the strong Alec angst in ‘Dust and Shadows,’ the tears during Jocelyn’s funeral were particularly heart bruising. For someone whose feelings are as unyielding and powerful as his principles, this is a tough arc to go through. I wasn’t surprised at his immediate and unquestioning jump into action when Clary needed something from him, and I’m glad he was there to protect her. Alec was the hardest for me to write about this week and I think it was the teasing from the writer’s room. Alec and abandoned warlock babies… I can’t, it’s too big and Madzie was too cute. I don’t want it to happen yet because I want Alec and Magnus to explore their budding relationship without parental responsibilities. At the same time, discarded Downworlder and Shadowhunter children could ask for no greater Pa-champions than Magnus and Alec Lightwood-Bane. Madzie stole my soul a little and I hope she finds her perfect home, with Alec if need be. (Side thoughts: Alec will forever feel beholden to Clary and I can’t see him being unpleasant to her again. The implication Alec physically punishes himself was ongoing, but I didn’t anticipate Alec’s self flagellation to bleed in actuality, my poor darling.)




My heart’s not ready for Simon’s rejection. I could be wrong. His mother could go the way of a Pleasantville acceptance of his vampirism, but I doubt it. Simon’s family, not unlike Raphael’s family, are deeply religious. When Simon comes out as a vampire his mother starts mourning her dead son in front of him. She sees Simon as nothing more than a monster, a reoccurring theme for the male characters in TMI apparently. She drives Simon away and never accepts him. It’s a huge source of Simon’s pain and if the narrative does follow such a route I’m glad Magnus is there as a foundation for Simon to stand on. Magnus is good at helping the lost and broken, particularly if he’s emotionally invested in their wellbeing. Perhaps that’s the foreshadowing and the why for Simon and Magnus having been developed together this season. Simon was such a gorgeous friend to Clary in ‘Dust and Shadows’— so pure and kind. May I have a Simon in my life? (Side thought: Simon didn’t think his ‘I’ll move back home’ plan through, did he? Becky and his mum under reacted but I think this was purposeful. Also, cool throw to Simon’s City of Bones rat. I adore hypochondriac Simon, he’s adorable, and good job with the Hebrew Alberto!)


Jace was one of the support characters in ‘Dust and Shadows,’ often sounding like the calm voice of reason. There’s a sad and heavy sensibleness to him that didn’t exist before. Jace’s touching support of Alec, his gentle tempering of Clary, is in stark contrast to how he’d have dealt with these situations last season. Perhaps it’s what he’s gone through; Jace has always been instinctively perceptive and he strikes me as a character that learns from his mistakes. Therefore, I more than understand his unwillingness to get caught up in Clary’s unrestrained recklessness, but was surprised at the lack of anger. Clary basically bulldozed his former life, now she’s making more poor decisions— about dark magic no less. He knows Clary by now and should’ve understood she wouldn’t simply let her plans go with one firm conversation. (Side thoughts: Alec chose to talk with Magnus over Jace, interesting. New-Jace is a phoenix with strong warrior game. Jace and Izzy’s fight scene was magnificently impressive, one of the best scenes! Clary and Jace continue to move me. I only ever cared for Magnus and Alec’s relationship in the books but I care for all the relationships in the show.)


Magnus was barely in ‘Dust and Shadows’ (I hope Harry had a nice break!). He had two scenes where he’s emotionally assisting his favourite Shadowhunters, and I’m happy that both scenes were beautiful and illuminating. His advice and gift to Clary spoke of his wisdom and emotional intelligence. His reveal about his mother was unexpected, exposing, and affecting. My heart ached for Magnus, as did Simon’s if ‘the look’ was any indication. Alec and Magnus’s scene was stunningly communicated. Magnus is approaching their relationship so healthily! Honestly, they feel like the Magnus and Alec at the end of City of Heavenly Fire— with Magnus opening up and Alec communicating. I wonder at what the writers have planned for their development? I love the maturity and it truly feels like an adult relationship, I do not want that to change at all, but I’d also like the epic love story. Love stories develop. (Side thoughts: Magnus having the keris on display is now exceptionally morbid. It’s also rather saddening that the keris has such a negative association for Magnus— I wonder if it’s full of discord and dark magic? Or perhaps it holds his mother’s spirit? I don’t know, can I hug Magnus please?)


What happened to Luke? Where is Luke? Is Luke okay? (Side thoughts: Luke’s naked in the woods… That’s fine. Concept: a warlock has an unreasonable fear of cloth and all the characters lose their clothes in a magical fire.)

In summation,

‘Dust and Shadows’ was an emotional eddy. Well acted, directed, written, and deeply upsetting. I loved it.



Can an essay capture an event so completely life-changing? Probably not. Where to begin? What clumsy collection of words would ever suffice?

Still, if this can convey even an echo of what I have witnessed, it will be worth it. Otherwise, you might never know.

It came at a time when I had resigned myself to never seeing Hamilton. At some point, the odds become too steep and you convince yourself that it wasn’t meant to be. I could survive without it; I would have to.

But one morning there it lay on my doorstep, a rolled-up parchment tied with pale lavender ribbon. My lottery number had been chosen. The committee had reviewed my essay, the first check in the payment plan had cleared. I was going.

In the weeks that followed, I took time to prepare. I scheduled hearing and vision exams and began meditating to ensure my attention span was in top condition. I read the book, of course. In retrospect, nothing would have prepared me for what was ahead.

The day arrived. I called my parents in the morning and told them I loved them. My wife accompanied me to the theater and hugged me goodbye as I passed from her arms into the lobby. My paperwork was approved and I was shown to my seat. All around me sat celebrities, foreign dignitaries, high-ranking military personnel. No attention was given to them: we were in the presence of something greater.

There was a brief pre-show announcement. I couldn’t afford to take chances: I wrapped my phone in a scarf and crushed it. The glass shattered in my hand with a satisfying muffled crunch. Everyone else had done the same and ushers moved through the aisles holding wastepaper baskets to collect the debris.

The lights dimmed and a great hush fell over the crowd.

The curtain slowly rose to reveal the entire cast, all of them looking towards a single figure downstage center. It was him: Lin-Manuel Miranda. It hurt to look directly at him; The air around him was blurry with waves of humble creative genius. While the overture played, he scribbled in a notebook and jotted down lyrics for three songs in his next project.

Finally he tossed the notebook aside and spoke.

The words. The words were everywhere, Lin-Manuel’s genius words. They filled the theater, they ignited my time-dulled sense of what was possible on Broadway. The words caressed my brain and flowed over my face like hot, relevant syrup. Subtle changes in tempo gave us words slow and sensual, words urgent and unstoppable, all filtered through the amplifying prism of America. The crowd was mesmerized. Rhymes came with such speed and dexterity that I can only describe it as being spanked raw with a dictionary. My previous understanding of cadence and sentence structure were gone, replaced with Lin’s truth. All language was one, all things had become possible. Lin rhymed ‘Constitution’ with 'door’ and we cheered.

[For the record, I’m not some mindless sheep jumping onto the hip-hop train along with public opinion. I saw Into The Heights.]

Intermission arrived. We all sat stunned in our seats, unable to move, unable to leave the temple that this theater had become. Many were rocking and weeping; others soiled themselves. I tried to recall the details of my life before this moment, but nothing came: All I was, all I ever would be, was a person seeing Hamilton.

The second act roared to life and made a mockery of all we had seen before. Miranda was using words that didn’t exist; He was rewriting the rules of the spoken word before our eyes and we loved him for it. At one point he sang:



I wrenched my eyes from the mesmerizing action to consider the set itself, made entirely of Tony awards. Thousands of them, glued together to form chairs, pubs, an island in the Caribbean, the White House. The reflected light was nearly blinding, but not as blinding as the words rawdogging my brain at every turn.

The show rocketed towards its conclusion and employed every possible theatrical device, boldly reimagined. Lyrics spoken faster than the human brain could comprehend. A flurry of costume changes for both cast and audience. Fireworks shot from the mouths of enormous papier-mâché founding fathers. A storm of eagles circled overhead and a cyclone made of tattered American flags lifted Lin-Manuel, chanting the alphabet, into the air before us. With the vocal power of an army of angels, the entire 500-person cast sang with one voice:



A blinding light, a roaring wind, and then darkness.

The audience exploded into applause. We were screaming. We were crying. I was spent; It was like America had taken physical form and made three hours of crazed, carefully-researched love to me. The stage lights returned for the cast to take their bows, shiny with sweat and the sheen of revolutionary theater. People applauded until their hands were bloody and ruined; I saw bone poking through the palms of the older woman next to me.

The last bow came from Lin-Manuel himself, exhausted and radiant. People threw flowers, gold, undergarments, infants. He caught them all, freestyling about each as it flew towards him.

Long wooden tables were brought onstage and all were invited to sit. A colonial-style feast was served while Lin-Manuel led a discussion of the greater lessons and themes of the show. A bonfire was built in one corner; We were encouraged to add the soundtracks of other, lesser shows, rendered irrelevant. I tossed in Company. I hated it now.

As we finished the last of our tankards of ale, the house lights came on. Lin-Manuel hugged each of us and thanked us for bearing witness to his work. Grief counselors waited in the lobby to assist those grappling with the reality that nothing after tonight would hold any significance.

I stood before the theater a long time, then began the journey home.

I approached my house. I could see my wife’s familiar silhouette in the window, waiting. But that woman was a stranger. She hadn’t seen Hamilton. I walked away.

I roam the earth now, reflecting on what I’ve experienced. Yes, I miss the cast of my former life. I hope to see them again someday and find some common ground, especially if tickets open up in 2017 or the national tour begins.

Until then, there is only the rare glimpse of a familiar face within the crowd. Were they a few aisles back? In the balcony? It doesn’t matter. We approach each other and share a smile or a firm hand on the shoulder. We flash our torn ticket stubs, quietly nod, and walk away.


My Nan

6/2/17. A date I’ll never forget. Yesterday morning at 11:30 am, my nan passed away. Nothing could have prepared me for how broken I felt when I was told she had passed 20 minutes after mum and I had gone to get lunch.

I know not many people will read this but I need to let it out how much she meant to me…

My 91 year old grandmother was the light of my life. I’ve been lucky enough to have been surrounded by strong, thoughtful and loving women in my life and my nan was the epitome of those things.

When I moved to Sydney, nan was always on the other end of the phone whenever I needed her, whether it be because of me going through anxiety or just a chat. Sometimes I’d just ring to hear her voice and hear her tell me what she’d done today. It was nice hearing the same answer. It helped to have a sense of consistency in my life. Every time I’d ring she greeted me with her “hello sweetie” as though it was the most exciting thing to hear from me. She’d tell me she hasn’t done much, “I got up, ate some breakfast/ lunch, watched some tv, played bridge and played some computer games.” I’d ask her how her teddy Jeremy is going and she’d say “going well, he keeps me company”. She’d give me just the advice I needed on any situation that arose.

My nan was the person who invited my dad around for Christmas in 2015, after barely seeing him for the past few years after mum and dad broke up, and our little family bonded tighter as a result of Nan’s thoughtfulness, thinking it would be good to have my dad there for Christmas. As mum and dad have said, they get along better now than when they were together. Yesterday as dad came to the hospital he broke down in tears and we all had a big family hug. My dad and nan would always pay each other out but they had such a closeness about them.

Tonight as I sat in my chair at nan’s kitchen table, I was just looking at Nan’s chair that she’d always sit in, I listened to an old voicemail from nan from last year. “So proud of my grandson, I’ve just heard the most beautiful music, have you got it on a cd? Love you”. And I made her a 23 track cd of me singing her favourite songs which I gave to her for Christmas.

Nan had bladder cancer but came out of hospital just before Christmas so I was able to give her this present.
She went back in at the end of 2016 and was moved to palliative care a week later.
As mum read the newspaper on the floor, Nan and I just held hands, mum said we were allowed to talk and we both just said that we were good. She was still her sassy self when I was with her then.
I told my nan that I loved her and she told me that she just wants me to be happy. She started coughing and she waved her arm for me to go as she didn’t want me to see her like that.

Last week I rang and text mum every day. On Thursday after being told from mum that nan asked where I was and mum said sydney, nan said I just wanted to hold his hand.
I rang dad and he said the nurses have said a few days.
I didn’t know what to do with uni, I went to my wonderful course coordinators who are like my second parents and just broke down. Jen said I have to go up and be with family.
I barely told anyone at uni, I’d kept to myself a bit the past couple of weeks as I didn’t know how to be myself. The people who noticed I let them know.
I flew into Coffs Harbour on Sunday and nan was still breathing but she hadn’t woken all day. I held her hand and said repeatedly that I loved her and thanked her.
I sung her a bit of ‘love is a many splendored thing’ which she has asked me to sing at the funeral.

On Monday morning mum and I went back in at 8:30am. After 2 hours of talking to nan and being with her, mum pulled out the portable CD player (Walkman) and put my cd on that I’d made for nan. We told her we’d be back we’re just going to get something to eat.
I had an amazing milkshake. They asked if mum would like the receipt, she took the receipt and glanced at the time on the receipt… 11:28am.

We arrived at the hospital 5 minutes later, I went in as mum went to park the car, I smiled at the nurses as I came up to Nan’s bedroom and asked how she’s doing. At first I thought they said no change.
Then heather said you didn’t get the call? We tried to call you… she’s passed.

I didn’t know what to do, I turned around and mum walked around the corner… she asked what was wrong and nurse heather relayed the news…

The nurses said she went very peacefully and wasn’t in pain and that she was listening to my singing on the cd as she left us.

She’s now with the love of her life Ridley, whom one of my middle names is after. I’m glad I was urged to come up by family and friends as I know that she wasn’t in pain.

I held her hand and hugged her, wishing that I could feel her arms wrap around me into one of her warm hugs.

The funeral is this Thursday, as I mentioned, I will be singing as requested my nan. And I’m going to sing like I’ve never sung before for her!

I honestly don’t know what I’m going to do without my beautiful Nan… she was an incredible woman and lived an amazingly full life. I’ll never forget our countless hours playing uno or skip bo. Or playing bowling on the computer. Or having adam and nan reading time in the lounge room. Or spending Christmas with you.

But the main thing is, I’ll never forget! The love that you gave me, helped me become the person I am today. Every song I sing will be for you. Every new adventure I embark on will be for you. Anytime I rise above my anxiety or depression will be for you my beautiful Nan. Thank you for everything you’ve done for me.
My love for you is everlasting!

If you have read this far, thank you! I appreciate whole-heartedly that you’ve read this. If you’re a fan of the web series, thank you for making me smile today as I read some posts and one of the cmk / nltsseries fics. Your support honestly means the world to me.

May you rest in peace Nan. 🌸Iris Wyner
Love always and forever,

I expected to return and find the house
collapsed on itself in my absence 
but I came back,
half as beaten down as before but still unwhole,
and found nothing changed,
all the way down to the dust bunnies
in the corner of the stairs.
I spent days and weeks before this bracing myself,
building up my walls
where they had started to crumble away.
I placed a bucket in my hand,
to bail myself back into the hole
I thought I created in my hurried exit
but found no such thing.
No building up could have prepared me
for the inaction needed.
I had prepared a grand re-entrance
and no one came.
I’ve never been good at adjusting
and readjusting,
the arranging
and rearranging.
—  rkg “i expected catastrophe”
Day 7 - A New World

game: Twilight Princess.

summary: He teaches her what joy is.

“Your Majesty,” Link began.

 “Zelda,” she corrected, barely glancing up from the papers strewn across her desk.

Link rolled his eyes in a way that would get any other member of her court executed.  “Are you really telling me you’ve never had a birthday party?”

Zelda sighed, putting down her quill to look up at him.  “I spent the first eighteen years of my life preparing for my coronation—I learned everything from foreign languages to court etiquette to diplomacy to finance.  Last year my kingdom was conquered and nearly vanquished; this year I have been working day and night to restore it.  There was never time.”

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