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re1d · 4 years

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different lifetime | spencer reid

→ summary: “only in the agony of parting do we look into the depths of love.” - george elio → warnings: maeve’s death, graphic descriptions of murder, mentions of depression and drug use, basically major angst but a fluff ending → word count: 4.4k (ouchie mama she’s a slow burn) → a/n: based on no.74 from the prompt list ; “let go.” “i can’t.” // cassandra stop making spencer cry in her stories challenge : FAILED // also this is my first time using time skips n i kinda dont like it :[[ i hope u guys enjoy it tho !!

Books are ripped from his shelves, and Spencer can’t see straight. Papers fly around him as he relishes in the feeling of the pages cutting into the skin of his fingers. Blood forms and begins to drip, but he can’t bring himself to clean it up. His mom would’ve chastized him in that moment for damaging the worlds with his reckless touch. However, his whole world had just been destroyed as well. Pictures of Maeve traipse through his brain at an agonizingly slow pace; they mock him and wait for him to snap. And, he feels as though it’s finally time to do so.

Spencer screeches into the silence of his apartment, undoubtedly waking up his neighbors and possibly even alerting the police. He tears through his hair with bloodcrusted hands and debates on wrenching it out from the roots. Sitting on the floor in a puddle of sorrow and anguish, Spencer sobs. It’s the first time in his life that he’s been so consumed with grief and guilt that he can’t even muster the strength to stand. He merely clutches The Narritive of John Smith to his chest and continues to fall apart.

As tears run down his cheeks, he denies everything that happened in the last few hours. Maeve is still going to meet him after work next Wednesday.You didn’t cover him with your FBI jacket after she was shot. The blood that poured from the gunshot wound in her head was fake. It was a joke—a painful, stupid, not-at-all funny joke. Tomorrow, he would enter the office, ride the elevator up, and make casual conversation with all of his work friends. Thoughts race through his mind, and he finds himself laughing. Laughing. A voice in the back of his head tells him that he’s in shock, that he’s not well. Another voice tells him that he’ll never be well.

He doesn’t know who to believe.

A rhythmic knock on his door sounds, and Spencer pretends not to hear it. He knows it’s you. Part of him is screaming to let you in, telling him to accept the comfort you’ve come to give him. But, he decides he isn’t ready. Not yet. So, you decide to wait. For Spencer, you’d wait until time itself no longer existed.

Night approaches faster than you think. The sun is a paintbrush as it dips into the horizon and paints one of the most beautiful sunsets you’ve ever seen. It’s merely a passing thought, but you hope Spencer wills himself to see the pleasant combination of warm oranges and deep reds that are smoothed across the dusk sky. Glancing down at your watch, you read the tiny numbers with tired eyes—8:02PM—and, that’s when you realize you’ve been sitting for so long that your butt has gone numb. You register the pins and needles beginning to poke at your backside, but you make no move to stand or to leave. All you do is lean back, your head thumping gently against Spencer’s door while closing your eyes.

Spencer has no knowledge of the countless baskets of goodies from Garcia or the small notes that JJ has left behind after her short visits come to a close. He doesn’t even know that you’re still outside of his apartment. He knows nothing but the monotonous whir of his air conditioning and the smell of Thai food coming from his living room. Spencer tries to focus on anything but Maeve, but his mind is scattered, fragmented. He grows frustrated at the fact that his thoughts are moving too fast to collect. Blood. Bodies. Sweat. Tears. The feeling of your hands on his shoulders. Normally, Spencer is excellent at compartmentalizing trauma, but not this time. Not when his first true love had been so unfairly stolen from him.

Rage simmers inside of him as the clock strikes twelve. He clenches his fists, resisting the overwhelming urge to scream once more. Instead, he palms for the book nearest to him. With his original, hard cover, full-Russian version of War and Peace in his hand, he swings his arm as hard as he can at his door. Specks of dust fall from the frame at the impact, and a chip is now visible in both the book and the wood. Spencer hears a small yelp from the other side, and finally, something other than grief overtakes him. Confusion and anxiety course through him as he forces himself to stand, grabbing a kitchen knife before launching his door open.

You topple over, crushing his toes under the full weight of your upper body. Profanities are exchanged as your stare flicks nervously between his face and the butcher knife in his grasp.

“[Y/N]?! What are you still doing here?!” He means to sound angry, but the rasp in his voice does the emotion no justice. The weakness in his words is easily detected, and you find yourself studying his features from the ground. You’re profiling him, but you can’t help it. His shoulders are hunched, his five o’clock shadow has turned to six, and his eyes dart cautiously around your face. It’s as if he’s making sure you don’t see the torture his own mind is subjecting his body to.

“Well,” you begin, tone gentle, “I came to see you, but you didn’t open the door. So, I thought that I would wait you out, you know? Just to make sure that if you needed someone to talk to, that I would be there—ready to listen.”

Spencer’s expression is blank, his eyes having stopped their search a long time ago. “How would you have stayed? You have work, [Y/N]. Work that we both know doesn’t stop for time to mourn.” There’s bitter vitriol in his words; he can’t bring himself to care about how they effect you for the time being. But, you don’t mind. It’s only natural. Finally pushing yourself up from the floor, you stare through him and have to fight the need to place a hand on his shoulder, to try to connect with him. The two of you are still separated by the threshold of his door, but it feels as though the Grand Canyon itself is in between.

“Spencer, I can’t even begin to fathom what you’re going through, but—.”

“No,” his retort is clipped, “you can’t. Goodbye, [Y/N].” The door is slammed once again, leaving you stunned to to silence. Sure, you had expected Spencer to be different, but nothing like that. Torrents of rain pound against the roof of his building as dread flows steadily through you at the thought of having to step into it. Nonetheless, you collect your things and head into the office hoping to distract yourself until you’re really supposed to be in for work. The time is 12:54AM, and as you attempt to hail a taxi in the storm, a chill travels down your spine. It’s hard to tell what caused it—the thought of leaving Spencer alone or the copious amounts of coffee you will inevitably be consuming later today.

────

Eight o’clock rolls around quicker than you hope. From the corner of your eye, you spot Penelope and JJ walking in together, their normally bright faces marred with concern. Eventually, the clicking of their heels comes to a halt in front of your desk. JJ takes a seat on top of the files you’re working, moving your recently emptied mug out of the way with a tight smile. Garcia’s crosses her arms with a hmph as she stares down at you. Neither of the women are hostile—it’s moreso agressive curiosity.

“So, [Y/N] ...” JJ’s voice trails off a bit, “You saw Spence?” The nature of the question is pure. Worry is evident in her words, but as you try to answer, nothing comes from your mouth.

Garcia cups your face in her hands, squeezing your cheeks to the point of discomfort. “[Y/N]. All we wanna know is that he’s okay?” She declares, “If you perhaps could comfirm if he has gotten my muffin basket, that would also be nice—but, Boy Wonder’s safety is always first!” The chipper mask she uses to hide the pain is crumbling away, and it’s easy to see.

“Honestly, guys ... He doesn’t look good. Spencer—he, uh, his apartment is a mess, like, books everywhere, three day old Thai food in the living room. I’m worried about him—and, Garcia, he hasn’t touched anything outside his door. It’s kinda like he’s trying to fight reality.” Your explanation is obviously hard for the two women to listen to. JJ’s face is turned down, her bottom lip tucked in between her teeth. Penelope’s colorful appearance seems to dim as words continue to fall from your mouth. She gapes, evidently trying to come up with something to say, but her phone chimes.

“Jeez,” Penelope drags in a sharp intake of air, “this is a bad one. Hotch wants us in the conference room ASAP.”

Sitting around the round table, you take in the information about the case. Two people, a man and a woman, bore holes in the insides of their thighs, exsanguinated. But, there is no other chatter, no normal banter, no tossing around ideas. Only silence, and you feel as though you’re falling. Once you stand, your knees wobble and your hands shoot out to grab JJ’s shoulders. Her presence itself is an ocean of calm as she works to steady you.

“[Y/N] ... maybe you should stay with Garcia on this one? I’m sure she could use the company.” Although not forceful, JJ’s words are more of a command than anything, but you make the executive decision to dismiss them with a shake of your head. As you walk up the stairs leading to the jet, your stomach churns with the intensity of a thousand tigers.

The absolute quietude on the plane is staggering, and until Garcia’s digitalized face appears on the screen, no one dares to say a word. She briefs everyone that another body has been discovered, and Hotch moves directly onto assignments. “[Y/N] and Morgan, go to the ME and see if the blood results have come back, yet. Blake and Dave, head to the newest crime scene. JJ and I will start working with the local PD.”

As you stare out at the clouds, you wish so desperately to be one of them. Oh, to be a big ball of water and ice crystals and not have a care in the world. The sun reflects off of the white, and when you turn away from the window, you can just barely see Morgan’s form sitting in the leather seat across from you. A pensive frown is present on his lips, his eyes tracing your body, looking for something to tip him off as to what you’re feeling.

Eventually, he finds that he can’t pick you apart. It seems as though each layer he tears through, another is waiting to conceal the truth. “Alright, kid,” he starts, a light air of humor in his voice, “I’ll bite. What’re you thinkin’ about so hard over here?” To be completely honest, you’re positive that he already knows the answer.

“Spence.”

“Ah.”

“Yeah.”

Morgan crosses his arms in front of his chest. It’s a tic; he does it when he’s upset. You watch him as he racks his brain for something to change the subject to, but the sigh he omits is a signal that he’s going to try to talk to you about him. Alarm bells shriek in your head, and the sound is deafening. You force yourself to resist the urge to cover your ears, knowing that it wouldn’t do anything.

“So, kid. Even though you’re pretty good at hiding it, you need to tell me what you’re really thinking, okay? I know you saw Reid, but that’s not what I wanna know about. Something else is buggin’ you—I can tell.” He’s beating you up with each word. A punch to the gut, a kick to the face, an elbow to the side—it’s relentless. He knows something is wrong, but you can’t tell him that you’ve been in love Spencer since the third month working at the BAU. It’ll ruin you—not your reputation or your future—it’ll ruin you. Your mind, your body, your heart. Even though you ache to tell just one person, your mouth won’t let you. But, your heart seems to win the fight.

“Derek, I—,” you pause, your voice giving out, “I’m in love with him. I’ve been in love with him. And now, I don’t know what to do.” Your colleague searches for words, but he can’t bring himself to say anything. He merely stares, his mouth a thin line. Discomfort settles in the space between the two of you, its thickness is probably felt by the rest of the team on the plane. You catch JJ’s glances at the both of you, but they go unacknowledged.

────

Spencer goes through the third stage of grief alone. Bargaining. The stage where he’s in grave need to talk to someone, he is only himself. His hands shake as he pours a cup of coffee, attempting to use the caffeine to stay awake. As the sun rises, a thought in the back of his mind sounds. It tells him that he’s been wearing the same clothes for the past four days. His sweat, blood, and tears have collected on the fabric, and even still, he doesn’t care.

The only thing he’s aware of is the fact that if he wouldn’t have tried to meet Maeve, she would still be alive. He curses Blake and his innate curiosity, and he curses the fact that his first words to her were, “I don’t love you. Sorry.” He curses the feeling of your jacket over his shoulders and the immense okayness that it brought to him, even while staring at Maeve’s body splayed in front of him.

Looking around at each book on the floor of his apartment, they somehow remind him of her. Some made him want to remember her happily, others made him want to vomit up his heart and cut it into a thousand pieces. If he had only said the right thing, maybe she would still be alive. Maybe they would’ve held each other tight and moved on. Maybe they would’ve gone out for three or four years, and then maybe she would’ve gotten pregnant. Maybe there would’ve been a miniature version of him with Maeve’s smile and his eyes. Maybe he would’ve been happy.

Spencer spits up bile into his kitchen sink. Happy? He’s not even sure he knows the meaning of the word anymore. Grabbing the handle of his coffee pot, he pours and pours until the scalding hot liquid burns through his mismatched socks. Wordlessly, tears brim in his eyes. Reaching down, he plucks off the soaked fabric and merely stands at the counter, staring down into the seemingly endless mug.

His phone chirps and effectively pulls him from his trance. Although there’s plenty of time to walk over and answer it, Spencer just reads Morgan’s caller ID and lets it ring. It goes to voicemail and immediately Morgan’s words fill the empty air.

“Hey, Reid, it's Derek. Listen, I got a work question for you. The unsub's exsanguinating victims and removing their eyelids antemortem. Does that mean anything to you? Hit me back.”

Ideas are weaving in and out of the genius’ head. Trudging over to his couch, he presses the call button and waits for Morgan to pick up. It takes less than two rings before the line clicks and he’s in the presence of someone else for a change. Spencer sits in silence, not speaking until spoken to. He feels like a kid, but truthfully, he doesn’t have enough energy to say more than he needs to.

“Hey kid, you’ve got me and [Y/N].”

“Hi, Spencer.”

The sound of your voice is a drive taken at the dead of night where all you can hear is nature. It’s a thousand waves of calm. Instead of giving you both an answer, Spencer revels in the small greeting. Maybe if things were different, he would’ve fallen in love with you first.

He opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out at first. He debates on slamming the phone back into the receiver, but decides against it. “Have the cornea or pupils been harmed in any way?” Morgan says no. “If he's taking care not to damage the eyes, then line of sight is probably what's important to him.”

“So this guy wants them to see what he’s doing.” Morgan pauses and the whole line goes quiet. Spencer yearns to hear your voice just once more before he hangs up. And, by the grace of a seemingly wrathful God, he does. But, it’s not exactly a question he’s prepared to answer.

“Hey, Spencer ...” You trail off. It appears as though you’re thinking through your next words, but you settle on a simple inquiry. “How are you?”

“I gotta go,” Spencer replies.

The line goes dead.

────

The case ends up being solved with the help of your Boy Wonder. However, as you board the plane alongside him, it’s obvious that he doesn’t feel very wondrous. Plopping down into the seat across from him—similar to what Derek had done—you shoot him a tender grin. JJ’s shoulder rests above your head, and Morgan stands, taking up the whole aisle.

“So,” JJ begins, “I counted—what—five baskets?”

“Seven, but I think Ms. Cavanaugh next door may have taken a couple.” Her laughter mixes with yours in a melody that brightens the atmosphere in the jet. Morgan snickers in the background, but all Spencer is focused on is your smile. A pang of warmth spreads through him for the first time in a long time, even though a frown is turning his lips down. JJ and Morgan eventually migrate to their respective spots—JJ on the couch ans Morgan with his head against the wall and his earbuds plugged into his ears.

You pick up on the scowl on his features and pat the table to attract his attention. He meets your gentle gaze with hesitant eyes. “Why the long face, Doc?” It’s supposed to be a joke, but he can’t even force out a laugh. Spencer succumbs to the monster that guilt presents itself as, cupping his cheeks and pulling down on his face. He tries to rid himself of the grime, the dirt, he feels on his body, but he doesn’t think it’ll ever go away.

“I dunno,” he slurs through exhaustion, “I was just thinking about how I acted when you came over, and I-I guess ... I just wanted to apolog—.”

“Spencer.” The severity in your tone shakes him to the core. His eyes widen as his mouth comes to a close. “Don’t apologize to me. You’re grieving, it’s only natural that you’d be angry. It was forgotten after it happened, okay? I promise you—we’re good.” There’s something you want to add, and Spencer can practically feel the words itching to come out. “And, Spence? If you need anything—anything at all—please, just ask. Please.”

His mind wanders back to his messy apartment, and he ponders the thought of asking you to help him clean. His mouth moves on autopilot, speaking before he even knew what to say. “Actually, if you don’t mind, I could use some help with something.”

“Of course. Name it, Spencer.”

When the wheels hit the ground, you and Spencer sit and wait for everyone else to clear out of the jet. Morgan and JJ squeeze his shoulder on the way out, and Blake shoots him a motherly smile. The sorrow in her eyes is blatant, but it travels to the back of your mind as soon as she passes. Standing up, you gesture in front of you, allowing Spencer an exit before you head down the stairs. He offers you a ghost of a grin, and it makes your heart bound in your chest. You didn’t remember signing up to run a marathon after this case.

The short stroll to Spencer’s Volvo in spent in a surprisingly comfortable silence. It is full of shy glances and small smiles, and you can practically feel yourself falling for him all over again. Climbing into his car, you turn on the radio to a classical station. Chopin’s Nocturne in E Flat Major plays at a low volume, causing you to close your eyes and lean back against the headrest. The old car hums to life, igniting a sense of nostalgia deep in your soul. The drive to his apartment passes by in what feels like seconds, and he takes the keys and moves to open your door.

Giggling, you step out of his antique. The gravel crunches against the bottoms of your boots as you walk next to him up to his door. “So, this is the elusive Dr. Spencer Reid’s humble abode?” There’s a lighthearted teasing in your voice, “It’s cute. I like it. What d’you need me to do?” He cocks an eyebrow, looking around at the books scattered across his floor and he wonders how someone could find beauty in this. And then, he realizes that he’s standing next to you—Penelope Garcia’s closest confidant—and another question replaces it. Was there anything you couldn’t find beauty in?

“Well .... we should probably start with the books, and then, we can move on to the Thai food.” A grimace appears on his face and you laugh at the way it scrunches, “And, after that, we can talk.” The statement is more of a question, but it still makes you unbelievably jittery.

With a nod, you bend down to pick up story after story, every so often becoming enchanted by the bindings that surrounded the little worlds. Spencer crouches and pulls out a vinyl, placing it on the record player and lowering the needle. Once more, Chopin’s Nocturne in E Flat Major fills the air, the static of the record scratching every once in a while. “I noticed that you liked it in the car,” he murmurs, “I’m more of a Waltz in A Minor type of guy, but Nocturne in E Flat Major Op. 9 No. 2 is always a good pick.”

“I just love Chopin, to be honest,” you say, picking up the copy of War and Peace sitting at the threshold of his door, “his pieces are all good, really. They’re all great creating pieces, you know? Like, I could just sit, listen to them, and make up stories in my head for days.”

You’re making up one right now. It’s a sunny day, as opposed to the inky blackness outside his apartment window, and you and Spencer are walking down an ambiguous dirt path. Woods surround you as well as sounds of nature, birds sing and branches snap under your feet. There is no air of danger, and all you can feel is the warm pressure of Spencer’s hand in yours. A cool breeze kisses your cheeks, forcing you to stop and take it in. Spencer comes to a halt, his gaze shifting to you. Smiling, you both move towards each other like plants to the sun. Captivation, charm, magnetism. It’s inevitable, like the meteor that destroyed the first inhabitants of earth so long ago. You move closer and closer to one another; it feels as though you’re floating, you’re gravitating towards him—.

“You know, if you’re that fascinated by East of Eden, you could borrow it,” Spencer’s weak teasing breaks you from your reverie, and you realize you’ve been staring at the front cover for over five minutes.

“Ah, uh, no thanks. Reading Of Mice and Men in high school was enough John Steinbeck for me. Personally, I think he drones on and on about things for too long,” you grin while shelving the book. He hums an acknowledgement and picks up a paper container full of week old pad thai, the smell forcing his head in the other direction.

Soon enough, there are only four, thick novels left, and you two are standing side by side at the bookshelf. You gawk at the number of collections and volumes that reside on the freshly dusted wooden panels, eyes wide. Spencer has one hard cover in his hands. It’s in pristine condition, the white of the jacket glaring at you with a vindictiveness that only the dead can muster. Maeve’s memory is held in between his palms, and it becomes hard to watch him struggle with the thought of having to put it away.

“Spencer ...” Your voice is feathery as it rides on the heavy air, “Let go.”

The words are broken as they fall from his mouth. Tears drip gently onto the glossy cover, and it seems as though The Narritive of John Smith is crying along with him. “I can’t.” A sharp pain pierces your entire being. Seeing him so vulnerable, so fractured, is agonizing. He cries over the story, repeating the tale of his whirlwind romance over and over again in his head. Reaching out, you urge his hands towards the only remaining space on the shelf. The book slips in effortlessly, and Spencer collapses to his knees in front of it. His hands are limp by his sides and his head hangs low between his rounded shoulders.

You lower yourself to meet his figure on the ground. He doesn’t move, his spirit completely dulled. As you ghost your hands over his back, he leans into your touch. After depriving himself of physical contact for so long, he wallows in the feeling of your fingers rubbing soft patterns into his skin. Spencer allows himself to sink into your embrace, inhaling the sweet combination of vanilla and jasmine.

For some time, Spencer cries into your chest. He apologizes through his sobs for the darkening spot on your work shirt, but you quiet him each time with a shake of your head. The atmosphere in his apartment lightens to the point of comfort as you do nothing but hold him. It’s poetic, really—something that you’d listen to a Chopin piece to.

“In a different lifetime,” Spencer’s hoarse whisper is barely audible over the quiet buzz of his air conditioning, “I would’ve fallen in love with you first.”

You contemplate his statement, mulling it over in your mind with a giddy optimism not quite suitable for the situation. He can tell you’re thinking over his words, but he doesn’t comment on the length of time you spend with them. A significant amount of time passes before you offer him a small nod that he feels when your chin collides with the top of his head. Smoothing a hand down his curls that are already slicked with grease, you open your mouth to speak.

“It’s okay, Spencer,” you murmur, hugging him closer, “I’ll be waiting. Always.”

#mine #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid angst #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction

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seblos · 3 years

Text

i really wanna kiss you (and i think i might)

words: 1,325

series: snippets

read on ao3

“Did you know Carlos was the one when you two first kissed?”

Seb blinks. “Uh, what?”

“I tried to ask Ricky earlier but he was wildly unhelpful and then Ashlyn joined the call and it- it’s a long story,” Big Red sighs. He had jumped the gun the moment the call connected, and Seb was still processing. When he and Carlos first what?

Red shakes his head, continuing from his tangent. “Anyway, how did you know?”

“Know what?”

“That you wanted to be with him.”

Seb coughs. “I mean, uh, I think I would actually have to be with him to know.”

He can see Red tilting his head on screen. “Wait, you guys aren’t together?” “No,” Seb blushes. “Not yet, at least.

“You guys kissed though, right?”

He rubs the back of his neck. “Uh, does a kiss on the cheek count?”

Red shakes his head again. “Okay, apparently whatever you two have going on is a lot more complicated than what I have. You should figure that out.”

“Yeah,” Seb laughs quietly. “I probably should.”

They catch up a little more, Big Red fully explaining what happened with Ashlyn the night of the show (he heard a little bit about it from Carlos, who had gotten Ashlyn’s side of the story from the cast party after watching the two dance around each other for weeks leading up the show. Slightly ironic, considering that’s exactly what Seb and Carlos were doing as well.)

Eventually, Red hangs up. The call disappears, bringing Seb back to his call screen. For a moment, hovering over Carlos’s contact (he took up half of Seb’s recent calls sections) and debating for a moment if he should call him.

What they were exactly, Seb couldn’t quite explain. Every perfect fictional romance was so straightforward: two people like each other, they eventually kiss, and boom, relationship.

Apparently, nobody bothered to mention to him that if you throw in a year of being friends, early morning dance lessons that turned into dancing at homecoming, comforting the other when they’re stressed, random jealousy when another boy caresses Carlos’s cheek the same way Seb has been wanting to do for months, and the occasional handhold or cheek kiss things get very complicated. For them both being the full rainbow of gay, the gray area was very apparent.

Sure, simple communication would probably fix all of this, but Seb’s not very good at not flipping out when it comes to flirting with Carlos or being around Carlos in general. Everything about him is so existent to him. Carlos encapsulates him, and he can’t seem to ever get him to leave his mind for hours, sometimes days afterward (not that he necessarily wants him to.)

The idea of even talking to Carlos about all of this makes his heart skip a beat, and in his panic, he presses the call button. Before Seb can even think to pick up, calling Carlos Rodriguez... changes to connecting... on his phone screen.

Well, no going back now.

“Hey, Seb,” Carlos greets excitedly, smile stretched wide and genuine. “I was actually just about to call you funnily enough! I have this concept for ‘Be Our Guest’ and assuming you’ll be Lumiere in the show, I’m sure you could-”

“Did you want to kiss me?” Seb blurts out before he can stop himself, immediately feeling his entire body heat up. Any moment and he’ll probably start literally shaking.

Carlos is also flushed, although his smile never drops. He sounds both nervous and excited when he asks, “What?”

Seb chews on his lip, looking anywhere but at Carlos. “The night of the show, when you kissed me on the cheek right before ‘Bop to the Top,’ did you want to kiss me?”

“I mean, yeah,” Carlos coughs, blushing hard, and Seb can feel his heart racing. “But uh, Seb. I’ve been wanting to kiss you since, like, way before then.”

Now it’s Seb’s turn to question. “What? When?”

Carlos lifts his arms, closing his eyes as he places his hand under his cheeks, smile still not leaving his face. “I mean, like, every day since freshman year honestly, but y’know. Homecoming, when I asked you that morning, and then at the dance. Kourtney’s car when she was driving us home from Big Red’s that night when we wrote ‘Truth, Justice, and Songs in our Key’. Uh, Ashlyn’s house at Thanksgiving. At the El Ray. In the hall before the show. After the cast party,” he rattles off, then looks at the camera. “And, um, right now.”

Seb’s entire body is on fire. The butterflies in his stomach are like a swarm, and his legs are practically vibrating considering how hard they’re shaking right now as he scrunches himself into a ball, never tearing his eyes from his phone. This conversation is hilariously awkward and intimate in the best way possible, and the only thing he’s thinking about is there’s no way this is his real life.

“So, uh,” Seb laughs quietly. “So say next time we hang out. If there was a moment… would you let me?”

Carlos quirks an eyebrow. “Seb Matthew-Smith, are you trying to plan a kiss with me?”

“Well, I never told you when! I said if there was a moment,” Seb clarifies, then buries his head in one of his arms, the other still holding his phone out. “But, um, maybe. If you’re okay with that.”

“I’m more than okay with that,” he says quietly, voice catching at the very ending, and oh man does Seb wish he was there right now.

“Cool,” Seb says.

It’s quiet. Not uncomfortably so, just in a way that they keep looking at each other, heads tilting, smiles and growing, and every once in a while one of them will scrunch up their face or hide it in their sleeve when the eye contact becomes too much.

There’s a question posing at the back of Seb’s throat, still, and he thinks if they’ve gotten this far, he might as well suck it up and ask.

“So, if we are doing this-”

“Which it sounds like we are,” Carlos shrugs easily, although his face is still bright red.

“Yeah, so would that, um,” his voice drops a bit, although he doesn’t lose the little bit of confidence he has at this moment. “Would that mean we're dating?”

Carlos shrugs. “I mean, depends. A kiss doesn’t mean we're dating.”

“Right.”

“But,” he tilts his head. “If you- if you wanted to be…” Carlos trails off.

“I mean… what do you want?”

“What do you want, Seb? I asked first.”

He laughs at Carlos, letting his head fall into his arms once again.

“I do. Want that,” he mumbles, praying they’re on the same page.

When he looks up again, Carlos has his hands over his mouth again, but Seb can tell he’s still smiling.

“Cool,” his voice catches again, and it takes Seb a moment to realize that he’s the one making Carlos flustered like this. It’s all he needs for confirmation that Carlos wants this too before he speaks again.

“Because I want that too.”

“So,” he lays his head down on his arm, this time not hiding his face. “That’s it? Were dating?”

Carlos mocks his movement. “I think we are.”

“This seems so much easier in all the movies,” Seb laughs.

“It really does.”

He’s quiet for a moment. Then, “I wish I was there right now so I could kiss you.”

It’s barely a whisper, but Carlos’s face heats up all the same.

“I wish you were too,” he mumbles. “Guess I’ll just have to wait. Are you free tomorrow?”

“For you? Always.”

“Cool.”

“Cool,” he says back, then, “so tell me about this choreo idea you had.”

And if Seb texts Big Red the next day after getting home from Carlos’s house that he can finally get back to him about that question, then who’s to say.

#seblos #seb matthew smith #carlos rodriguez #hsmtmts #high school musical the muiscal the series #lol tease ending my bad im tired #snippets #my writing

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shemakesmusic-uk · 4 years

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Jorja Smith has unveiled a standout new video for latest track ‘By Any Means’. The powerful video (directed by Otis Dominique and Ellington Hammond) shines a spotlight on communities across the UK, complimenting the track’s vital message around social issues and the civil rights movement. As noted by Jorja about the track: "The inspiration behind 'By Any Means' really came from going to the Black Lives Matter protest and leaving thinking, what can I do to keep this conversation going? It’s not just a post on social media, it's life.” ‘By Any Means’ is the first track to be unveiled from a new project titled ‘Reprise’, curated by the team at Roc Nation with the sole aim of bringing awareness to social justice issues. A portion of proceeds will go to funding organisations that support victims of police brutality, hate crimes, and other violations of civil rights. [via Dork]

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Madison, WI-bred and Chicago-based band Slow Pulp recently announced Moveys, their self-produced debut album, and shared its first single 'Idaho.' Now the band shares another song off of the forthcoming record, entitled 'Falling Apart.' The track, featuring Alex G collaborator Molly Gemer on violin, is accompanied by a fantastical music video about feeling lost in a familiar landscape. Director Jake Lazovick, places Emily in a transient world, surrounded by flying objects and missing pieces. The clip features nostalgic animations, body doubles for social distancing purposes, and an homage to Massey's background as a ballet dancer. Read more about the song from Massey below: "As we were finishing up writing the album my parents got into a serious car accident and I came back home to help take care of them. A couple of weeks later COVID-19 started getting worse in the US, and quarantine began. Life felt completely surreal, everything had drastically changed and at such a rapid pace. It was especially strange because everyone was experiencing the same thing at the same time, but couldn’t be physically with each other to support each other. I felt like I couldn’t process any emotions I had about the whole ordeal because I had to keep it together to take care of my family. It became easier to stay numb, and create a facade that I was doing ok, than it was to release any type of healthy emotion for a long time. Luckily I did allow myself to have a full on breakdown induced by a stubbed toe and confusion over taxes, sometimes it’s the littlest things that finally get you."

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Soap Detox met a party, and somehow their friendship sustained during the lengthy hangover that followed. A frisky Swedish three-piece with a lust for melody and good times, their raucous garage-pop is already making waves in their homeland. A full EP is incoming, with Soap Detox trailing this with their irresistible new single 'Give Me Gore'. A three minute fuzz pop wonder, it's a clanking, cheeky, subversive statement from a group who thrive on such things. The video features their shorn-headed lead singer in full form, accompanied by her band mates. Directed by Evelyn Del Carmen and Ebba Sylvan, you can check it out above. [via Clash]

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It’s been a decade since we’ve heard from multi-hyphenate musician and producer The Angel, who last made a splash as a musician in 2009 with her single 'Ultra Light,' which featured the singer/producer Jhelisa on vocals. Focusing more on her career in film/TV composition and music production in recent years, she’s planning to return to recording her own music later this year with a new LP entitled Xtra Sensory Goodness. Now we’re getting the first taste of this project, which is yet another collaboration with the vocalist Jhelisa. “Jhelisa and I have become close friends over the years,” she explains. “There’s a lot of sisterly love and mutual respect between us, so Jhelisa already understood the mournful weight of the track before I asked to feature her. I’m always grateful that she’s willing to experiment with me because it’s not something she does lightly. Jhelisa beautifully channels the essence of whatever emotion needs to come through in the most evocative and visceral way.” The song arrives beautifully packaged with an entrancing video directed by none other than Mark Pellington (along with co-directors Sergio Pinheiro and Sweeten), known for his concert docs for Pearl Jam, INXS, and The Flaming Lips, as well as an extensive music-videography including iconic visuals for Public Enemy, Nine Inch Nails, and plenty more artists. “I wanted the song to sound like a memory, like you’ve entered someone else’s dream space,” The Angel continues, noting how the video perfectly syncs to the song’s mood. “The emotion is contained, very internal, so I juxtaposed a vocal vulnerability against a driving, incessant rhythm, where you can feel the underlying tension at the same time as experiencing the gentle plea, ‘Where’s my shelter…?’” [via Flood]

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A few weeks ago, Ciara gave birth to her son Win. Last night, she shared a video that she evidently recorded while she was very, very pregnant. Ciara’s new song 'Rooted' is a statement of Black pride, a clear statement of solidarity with the protest movement that’s swept across America and the rest of the world these past few months. It’s a hard, kinetic track with vocals from the songwriter Esther Dean. But the song, at least right now, feels more like a vehicle for the video. Like a lot of Ciara videos, the 'Rooted'” clip is built around bodies dancing. In this one, though, one of those bodies belongs to Ciara, who dances with her belly exposed and who looks like she’s about to give birth any second. To watch someone dance this hard while that pregnant is an actual marvel, a near-superhuman feat. The 'Rooted' video is full of Black iconography, and it features the faces of George Floyd and Breonna Taylor. All throughout, Ciara presents an image of motherly strength. Annie Bercy directs. [via Stereogum]

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Hazel English releases the new video for her single ‘Five And Dime’ taken from her debut album Wake UP! which is out now on Marathon Artists. ‘Five and Dime’ is a woozy, idyllic view into Hazel’s world, which is built on timeless-sounding melodies, retro-tinged soundscapes and a knack for resonant lyrics. The mid-tempo number is reminiscent of the playful love songs of ’60s pop, as Hazel frustratedly muses on a love interest who is consuming her thoughts and detracting from her focus, “Gotta get away cause you’re taking up all of my time / You know I need my space so I’m heading to the Five and Dime.” Speaking about the new video, Hazel says: “'Five and Dime' is about longing for escape and freedom so I thought it would be fun to create an idyllic beach vacation, constructed from a set with cardboard cut out waves and fake palm trees. The idea behind it is that while I'm fantasizing about escaping to a tropical place, it's clear I'm just kind of stuck in this pretend version of it. I wanted to evoke the nostalgia of Hollywood musicals from the '50s and '60s, complete with dance choreography and bright colourful costumes.”

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Katy Perry has released her second video for 'Smile,' featuring the pop star playing a video game version of herself as she battles giant spiders, circus trapeze acts and more while dressed as a clown. Much of the video is in CGI, with a live-action Perry playing the video game in her house (while also dressed as a clown). [via Rolling Stone]

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Global superstar, Miley Cyrus has unveiled 'Midnight Sky,' a track that showcases a new direction for the always evolving artist. The song, which was inspired by the past year of her life, is accompanied by a video that Miley self-directed. In creating the song and video, Miley drew from strong female musical icons, like Stevie Nicks, Joan Jett, and Debbie Harry, who have always been so generous, and have been her greatest allies and inspiration. The video showcases Miley as her true self: unapologetic, diverse, sexy, confident, experimental, and strong. The video takes viewers through Miley’s creative vision which displays her complete control of the narrative often told through the mouths of the media. Miley is at peace with who she is and has nothing to prove. As a musician she continues to push boundaries and experiment with her sound and look. Miley has proven to be many things, but boring is not one of them.

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Chelsea Collins is nonconformist pop singer with a vision. For the captivating new 'Water Run Dry,' a collaboration with rapper, singer and fellow Bay Area-native 24kGoldn, Collins's infectious pop melodies glide over a hypnotic beat. Relatable lyrics about a faltering relationship reveal a depth of experience for the 21-year-old, with a wistful chorus lamenting, "there's no good in goodbye." The Roxana Baldovin-directed visuals for the track are an eyeful — Collins and 24kGoldn play house in an oversized, colorful California dollhouse, interspersed with images of a little girl playing with literal Barbies. The message? "I wanted this song and video to execute the world that's inside of my head — somewhat similar to a weird vintage rom com where at first the drama of love is so toxic, passionate and thrilling but eventually my lover and I have a happy ending," Collins tells NYLON. "Unfortunately reality isn't as fun and it kinda feels like some cranky dude is controlling your path, who's lowkey salty whenever something feels too amazing," she continues. "My intuition will tell me to run, but I'm notorious for acting like a Stepford wife, trying to recreate my past feelings yet they're all super robotic. Maybe one day I'll get lucky and love won't have to be so bittersweet, but until then I'll learn to smile even when things blow up in my face." [via NYLON]

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Kali Uchis shared the visuals for her latest single 'Aquí Yo Mando' on Monday. Featuring a verse in Spanglish by Rico Nasty, the single is Kali's first release since her TO FEEL ALIVE EP from earlier this year. The Phillipa Price-directed clip finds the pair on a weapons-filled rampage, dropping bodies in underground parking lots and filming each other along the way. With co-production by reggaeton hitmaker Tainy, the booming track sees Uchis assertively laying some ground rules over trappy 808s. "Haces todo lo que diga (You do everything that I say)," she raps. “Si estás conmigo solo mando yo (If you’re with me, only I call the shots).” [via The FADER]

#videos of the week #jorja smith #slow pulp #soap detox #the angel #jhelisa #ciara #hazel english #katy perry #miley cyrus #chelsea collins #kali uchis #rico nasty

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starstruckteacup · 4 years

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Cottagecore Films (pt. 7)

Kiki’s Delivery Service (1989)

starring Takayama Minami, Sakuma Rei, Yamaguchi Kappei, Toda Keiko

Upon turning 13 years old, young witch Kiki leaves home to begin her independent training year, a longstanding tradition for witches. She journeys with her black cat, Jiji, to a large seaside town and befriends a pregnant baker, Osono, and her husband. Soon after settling in with the bakers, Kiki begins operating her own delivery service from the bakery. She befriends many of the local residents, including a young aviator named Tombo, an elderly grandmother who goes by Madame and her living partner Barsa, and a teenage painter named Ursula. Despite her successes, Kiki finds herself struggling with her identity, and begins to lose her magical powers. When a crisis strikes the town in the form of a severe windstorm, Kiki realizes that she must overcome her self-doubt in order to regain her powers and save her friend.

Kiki’s is easily my favorite Ghibli film. This sweet story of self-discovery tackles several difficult aspects of growing up in a kind, supportive, and positive way. When Kiki struggles to understand why she’s losing her powers, Ursula describes it as “sometimes you can, and sometimes you can’t” and encourages Kiki to rest and give herself the space to figure herself out, which is a message young people are constantly deprived of. The atmosphere of the film was absolutely delightful as well. Ghibli scenery never fails to ignite the deepest parts of the heart. The town felt huge and overwhelming at the beginning, but Kiki conquered it without hesitation; through her confidence, the town quickly began to feel like home, like somewhere we as the audience would love to spend our days. It has a lovely small-town ambiance that feels real to those watching it, as though we could step into the screen and not feel out of place for a moment. The simple routines of people are perfectly encapsulated in this film, but with the inclusion of a little magic and the naivety of our young protagonist, it still feels like an adventure. 10/10

Anna Karenina (2012)

starring Keira Knightley, Aaron-Taylor Johnson, Jude Law, Matthew Macfayden, Domhnall Gleeson, Alicia Vikander

Inspired by the classic novel by Leo Tolstoy, Anna Karenina finds herself swept from her diplomatic and passionless marriage by the charming Count Vrosky. Meanwhile, a farmer by the name of Levin--a close friend of Anna’s brother--pursues his love for a young woman named Kitty, who initially spurns him in favor of Vrosky, until she herself is cast aside for Anna. The affair catches Anna and Vrosky in a whirlwind of passion and scandal, but regardless of the intensity of their affections, they are subsequently shunned by proper society and those closest to them. In the end, Anna must choose between her love for Vrosky and her duty to her husband, but the choice may be too much for her.

I found the aesthetic of this film to be very unique: much of it was portrayed as though on a stage, a hurricane of activity and set changes on multiple levels. I’m not entirely sure what the purpose of transferring between a stage and real life locations was, and it made the aesthetic feel inconsistent. As nice as the stage idea was, the film would have been more comprehensible if it was set in a distinct universe, not constantly transferring between multiple ones. The beginning was also kind of awkward in that it engaged some highly enticing music that had me wondering if there would be a song to follow, but then never did. It kind of just looked away from the music and shoved into a new scene without really making sense of it. That said, I thought the acting was fantastic overall. Knightley portrayed Anna’s throes of passion very well, really honing in on the complete irrationality of it all, and Anna’s complete ignorance to it. Johnson aptly conveyed Vrosky’s youth and naivety, his complete disregard for what is socially expected and accepted; his expressions detailed the youthful mind behind the character, and complemented Knightley’s performance well. I wouldn’t say they had much chemistry, but they made up for it with strong emotional performances. I would even say it emphasized the ridiculousness of the affair. Law, as always, impressed me greatly with his performance; his stoic character constantly refused to be affected by emotional reactions, focusing instead on dignity and duty, but Law portrayed every emotion Karenin was hiding with just his eyes and microexpressions. A stellar performance from all of the actors, even though this rendition lacked depth in favor of aesthetic much of the time. 6/10

All the Bright Places (2020)

TW: suicide (offscreen), attempted suicide (mentioned in conversation), mental illness, death of loved ones

starring Elle Fanning, Justice Smith, Alexandra Shipp, Keegan-Michael Key, Luke Wilson

Based on a young adult novel by Jennifer Niven, Violet Markey struggles to come to terms with her sister’s death, but when she meets the enthusiastically kind Theodore Finch, her outlook on life begins to change for the better. The two visit a variety of places in their home state of Indiana for a school project, but every one of these seemingly insignificant places contributes to a deeper experience of growth and love for both of them as they seek to understand themselves and each other. However, life isn’t always happy for either of them, as they struggle to come to terms with their own emotional and psychological struggles, and both come to very different conclusions on how to handle them.

This was a very dear but realistic film that portrayed a lot of serious mental health problems experienced by young people in a relatable, understandable, honest way. Violet and Finch were characters that I saw myself in, and expect many audience members could as well. Their relationship was genuine and heartfelt, and the actors played off of each other very well. I can’t laud Fanning and Smith enough for their incredibly emotional performances. They hit home hard, and you could feel their happiness and their pain deeply within your own soul. The story was also very well written, with the greatest respect for mental illness. It was not caricatured or mishandled at any point in the film. Every aspect was taken seriously and carried with great care by all involved. I greatly appreciated how the characters couldn’t define how they felt, which is so often the case for people struggling as they did, but the actors still conveyed it so strongly that you felt exactly what they were going through without putting a name to it. This film also had countless sweet, tender, and loving moments, not only between lovers, but between friends and family as well. These relationships are so critical to focus on because that’s what life really is. I think there are moments when traumatic experiences could have been conveyed a little better, but it still felt realistic. This movie will probably make you cry a little, but it is well worth the watch. 8/10

Part One // Part Two // Part Three // Part Four // Part Five // Part Six

#cottagecore #farmcore #cozycore #gardencore #grandmacore #period drama #studio ghibli #young adult #film #film review #movie review #movies #activities #mine

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somethingmorecreative1 · 4 years

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Renegade Dawn [klance fic]

also known as, the klance pacific rim au

Here’s the link on AO3, if you’d rather read there: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23379301/chapters/56020756

;;

Chapter 1

January 2021—Year 14 of the Kaiju War

Lance joins the military because of a vendetta against the Kaiju and a dream to save the world by becoming a Jaeger pilot.

It’s been his dream since he was ten. He’s wanted this more than he’s ever wanted anything else. His whole life has been driven by this goal, and the day after he graduates high school, he goes down to the military’s office in his hometown and signs up. Two weeks later, he’s shipped out to the Garrison Base in the middle of the desert to go through basic training.

“You don’t have to do this, mijo,” his mother tells him when they’re standing in front of the car that’s taking him to the airport. She’s holding his hand, and his younger brother and sister are standing behind them.

Lance thinks about his dad and his older sister. He thinks about the day that the Kaiju, Hammerjaw, destroyed L.A. and tormented them. He thinks about being at his dad’s restaurant with his sister when it all happened, how they were hunted down, cornered in an alleyway. He remembers his dad, gripping him and his sister by their shoulders, hunkering down in the rubble and singing to them softly in Spanish.

“It’s all going to be okay. I love you,” he had murmured, right before Hammerjaw roared and took both of them away from Lance forever.

Now, he blinks his tears back and reaches out to hug his mom one more time. He murmurs, “Yeah, I do.”

Life at the Garrison isn’t what Lance had expected, but he adapts quickly. He thought it would be a few weeks of training, then straight to a Jaeger base where he could meet a co-pilot and start fighting in the war. He thought that the military would be pushing out pilots faster than ever since Kaiju activity had skyrocketed from 2018. He thought it would be quick training and an even quicker placement.

He’s wrong. The Garrison puts him and all the other young recruits through the wringer. The training is harder than anything he’s ever done in his life, and the classes that he and the other cadets take test him just as much as well. It’s hell, but Lance keeps his eyes on the prize and works his ass off. He keeps a picture of his dad and sister taped to his wall beside the rest of his family, and every morning before training and class, he touches it and thinks about the day he will step into a Jaeger to finally right some wrongs and get justice for his family and the rest of the world.

At the Garrison, he makes the best friend he’s ever had in his life. His name is Hunk, and he’s from the Samoan Islands. He’s the same age as Lance, but he’s in the engineering class instead of fighter pilot. When they first meet, Lance tells Hunk of his dreams to pilot a Jaeger, and Hunk grins at him wide and says, “That’s so cool! I want to build them.”

Lance and Hunk make it through three years of basic and advanced training when the Garrison begins initiating the test for drift ability. Once the possible candidates for the Jaeger program are singled out, they get placed into a different training program at a base, one of the Shatterdomes, on the Pacific rim.

The morning that Lance has his test is bright. The desert is warm and cold at the same time in January, and Lance is more nervous and excited than he’s been since he signed up for the military.

Because his nerves are so unsteady, Hunk walks him down to the testing arena. It’s a quick test, one that only takes a few minutes. The simplicity of the test scares a lot of people; you can either drift or not. It’s that easy.

Lance is terrified and confident at the same time. This is his dream. This is everything he’s ever wanted all wrapped up in ten minutes.

“You’re going to do great,” Hunk tells him, all smiles. “We’ll celebrate when you finish, okay?”

Lance takes a deep breath, “Okay, dude. Thanks.”

Hunk leaves him just outside of the testing center, where one of the instructors signs him in and tells him to wait until the previous cadet is finished with his test.

And when that cadet comes out, Lance should have really known who it was going to be.

Keith fucking Kogane has been a pain in his ass ever since he got to the Garrison. Keith is an unruly, arrogant, prickly bastard. He’s always one step ahead of Lance in everything that they ever do, and he makes sure that Lance knows it. Not to mention that he has the ugliest mullet in the history of hair.

It doesn’t help that when Lance tried to make friends with Keith one of the first days they were here, Keith blew him off and acted like he didn’t exist.

Keith Kogane walks out of the training center and glances at Lance. His dark eyes don’t reveal anything, and he keeps walking as if nothing’s happened. He can’t help but wonder how Keith’s test went.

“Sanchez,” one of the officers calls. Lance jerks up from his chair. “Let’s go.”

They lead him into the room and sit him down in a chair. He doesn’t let his nerves show. Two of the officers place a metal ring riddled with sensors on his head, then they add sensors to his skin down his arms and under his shirt.

“You’re going to feel a slight prick,” one of the officers says. Her face is serious. “You’ll know if it works.”

They hook something into the headband that he can’t see, and then, there’s a sharp pinch and Lance gasps as he’s thrown into his memories.

It’s almost too fast for him to watch. He sees his family, his mom and siblings, L.A., driving his first car, working his first job, his first kiss, his dad and his sister. His memories darken; he remembers watching the news, the destruction of the coastal cities along the Pacific Ocean, feeling so enraged and helpless that the only thing he could think about was piloting a Jaeger. The Kaiju, up close, him screaming, his dad and sister—

Lance comes out of his memories with another gasp and lurches forward.

It takes him a few seconds to catch his breath, but when he does, he sees his superior officer, Iverson, in the corner of the room, nodding at a screen in approval. He glances over to Lance and nods as well, “Congratulations, cadet. Looks like you have drift ability.”

He sighs in relief and feels something inside him slot into place. The other officers unhook him and help him to his feet, and Lance is so relieved that he salutes Iverson and leaves without saying anything at all.

Hunk catches him coming out of the room and asks excitedly, “How did it go?”

Lance bursts into tears and drops his head to Hunk’s shoulder, overwhelmed and inexplicably sad because of the memories he’s seen. It was like being there all over again. Over his tears, he says, “It was awesome. I have drift ability.”

;;

The next day, Lance gets pulled out of his mechanics class by one of the senior officers. They take him to the training deck, where there is a line of other cadets. Lance knows most of them from his other classes, recognizes them in the sense that he’s seen them around but doesn’t talk to them often. There are seven of them including—

Keith Kogane.

Lance blanches. Keith Kogane has drift ability? Of fucking course he does. There isn’t a universe or reality that exists where he’s better than Keith at something.

Keith either doesn’t notice him or doesn’t care that he’s got drift ability too. He doesn’t look over at Lance, staring straight ahead at Iverson pacing in front of the line.

Lance joins the rest of the cadets in line and waits. Other than the seven cadets and Keith, there are a few more officers in the room, along with a man that Lance doesn’t recognize. He’s wearing a pair of military blue pants with a matching sweater, and he has a pair of dog tags around his neck. His hair is orange, and his huge mustache and eyebrows match the color perfectly.

“Thanks for finally joining us, Sanchez,” Iverson remarks, and for however proud of Lance he had been yesterday, he’s back to his usual angry and snide remarks. Lance snaps his attention back to his commanding officer.

“Alright, cadets,” Iverson begins, voice echoing across the training deck. “Out of everyone we tested yesterday, the seven of you have the ability to drift. Congratulations. From here, we’re releasing five of you to different Jaeger programs around the world where you will begin your pilot training. Smith, Kelley, Robins, Johnson, and Rodriguez, we’re awaiting your placement and should have the results within the week. Dismissed.”

Lance feels his heart sink. Iverson didn’t call his name. What the hell does that mean? But, he didn’t call Keith’s either. What’s going on?

The other cadets file out of the room, and Lance automatically takes two steps to his right, forming the line again. He feels Keith do the same, but he doesn’t look over at him.

“Kogane, Sanchez,” Iverson starts, stopping in front of the two of them. Lance’s heart is beating too fast in his chest. “You may have noticed I didn’t call either of your names.”

“Yes, sir,” they say at the exact same time.

“Well, let me introduce you two to Professor Coran,” he continues, gesturing to the man in the corner of the room with the mustache. “He’s the lead researcher and recruiter for the International Jaeger Program with the Pan Pacific Defense Corps.”

The man, Professor Coran, steps forward. He has a heavy Australian accent when he starts speaking, “Nice to meet you, boys. I’m here because of your percentages on the Drift Ability tests you were given yesterday.”

Lance frowns and opens his mouth—

Keith beats him to it, like always, and there’s that same pinch of jealousy in Lance. Keith asks, “What about them?”

Iverson frowns at Keith, but Professor Coran brightens and continues, voice even louder and accent even thicker, “I’m glad you asked! You see, you and your fellow cadet’s percentages on the Drift Ability tests were higher than any numbers we’ve ever seen from candidates your age! It’s quite amazing, actually. When your commanding officers sent the Marshall the reports, I flew directly out here to see it myself.”

There’s a second of silence, and Lance looks over at Keith, who thankfully looks just as confused as he feels. He says, “Um, sir, what do you mean? Why does it matter if our scores were higher?”

“High scores reflect higher probability of immediate success in the Jaeger program,” Professor Coran exclaims. “Candidates that have high scores on the Drift Ability tests are often the most successful in Jaegers fighting the Kaiju. When we come across scores such as these, we prefer to fast track the candidates to one of the more active Shatterdomes in the world.”

Lance looks over to Keith again, and his expression is full of surprise too. Lance doesn’t… he doesn’t know how this is possible. It feels like all of his dreams just came true in one go. He’s going to be placed in a Shatterdome. One day, he’s going to pilot a motherfucking Jaeger.

“However,” Professor Coran says, and Lance hesitates, “there was also some other, more interesting data when we compared both of your scores. It seems that the both of you tested so high and so comparably that we have no other choice but to wonder if the two of you perhaps have drift compatibility.”

Lance jerks back like he’s been burned because honestly, what the fuck? There’s no way in hell that he would ever, ever, ever be drift compatible with Keith fucking Kogane.

“So,” the Aussie continues, oblivious to Lance’s inner turmoil, “your superior officers have agreed to allow me and my team to run a drift test on you. It won’t be in a real Jaeger, of course, just in a simulator. Assuming our data and predictions are correct and the two of you are in fact drift compatible, we’ll move both of you to start co-pilot training.”

Lance doesn’t understand. He feels like this is all a joke. Surely, one of the officers in the room will start laughing and someone will yell gotcha! and they’ll all laugh about how ridiculous this sounds. There’s no way that the two of them could be drift compatible. No fucking way.

“We’ll start the simulation this afternoon,” Professor Coran finishes. “Rest up; this won’t be easy.”

With that, he files out of the room, followed by Iverson and the other officers, which leaves Lance and Keith standing in the room alone.

Keith clears his throat and turns to look at him, and Lance feels his face heat up for no reason at all. Keith is just—he’s so infuriating.

“Um,” Keith stammers a little before holding his hand out for a handshake. “I’m Keith.”

Lance stares at him, annoyed that Keith is actually introducing himself right now as if he has no fucking clue who Lance is. He sneers, “I know who you are, Keith. We’ve had classes together for three years.”

Keith frowns too and drops his hand, “Okay.”

Yeah. There’s no way he’s drift compatible with him.

It gets worse when Keith asks, “What’s your name?”

Lance actually sees red before he answers, “Uh, the name’s Lance. We’ve been in the same fucking classes.”

“Really? Are you an engineer?”

“No, I’m a pilot! We’re like rivals. You know, Lance and Keith, neck and neck?”

Keith looks at him blankly, and Lance turns away from him and throws his hands up into the air, frustrated that he’s even having this conversation. He hates Keith more now that the stupid bastard doesn’t even know his name. They’ve been competing for the same, top spot in their classes since they started training, and Keith never even bothered with learning his name.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Keith says, a few seconds later. “We’re not rivals. We have to do this simulation together in a few hours.”

There’s something about the way that Keith says it that makes Lance even angrier. He turns and walks toward the door, “Yeah, well, my score on the Drift Ability test was just as high as yours, so don’t get a big head about it, mullet.”

“I didn’t. I don’t—fuck, you’re such an idiot!”

Lance flips him off and stalks out of the room.

;;

“And so apparently our Drift Ability results were so similar that they think Keith and I might be drift compatible.”

“What?” Hunk exclaims. They’re sitting in their barracks, and Lance is leaning against Hunk’s shoulder while the other boy does his engineering assignment. It’s only a few more hours until he has to report back for the simulation. “That’s amazing! Drift compatibility isn’t supposed to even be possible until you finish training in a full Jaeger program.”

Lance sighs, “It’s not amazing, Hunk. Keith is so… There’s no way we could ever be compatible with each other. He didn’t even know my fucking name.”

“Yeah, but… Lance, if both of your scores were the highest scores on the record for Drift Ability and the two of you were drift compatible, you and Keith might be the strongest Jaeger pilots in the world,” Hunk explains, all patience and excitement.

It should make Lance excited too. That would be… He’s dreamed of piloting a Jaeger since he was eight years old, but the thought of piloting with Keith, of allowing Keith into his head and expecting him to accept Lance for everything is terrifying to him. He doesn’t know if he could do it.

But Hunk is staring at him now and he’s been such a good friend that Lance just sighs and mumbles, “I’ll do my best.”

;;

Lance promises that he does try his best. It’s not his fault that they fail epically and spectacularly. It’s all Keith’s fault.

The simulation starts out simple enough. Lance does his best to avoid looking at Keith while Professor Coran and the rest of his team dress them in black bodysuits. From the looks of them, they look like incomplete drivesuits that real Jaeger pilots use. Even though he’s pissed as hell that he’s having to do this with Keith, it makes him really excited about the future.

The team guides him and Keith over to a station a few feet away. It looks like what Lance imagines the inside of the cockpit of a Jaeger looks like, incomplete of course. There are pedals where the pilot’s feet go, an overhanging communication system, and a dash and control panel filled with different weapon options and controls.

One of the officers grips Lance’s shoulders while he steps onto the pedals, and his feet slide into place and stay there because of the magnets in his suit. It’s weird, and Lance breathes out a small laugh at the feeling.

“Alright, boys,” Professor Coran starts, “we’re going to finish setting up the simulator, and then, we’ll begin the test. You haven’t had any training whatsoever, so we’re not expecting a miracle from you. Whatever the results may be, both of you will still be placed in a Jaeger program to begin your pilot training, understood?”

“Yes, sir,” Lance and Keith speak at the same time again. The officers at their sides continue to hook up different lines and cables to their suits.

Professor Coran nods, “Good. Now, you both know about the drift. It’s a neural connection between two pilots that allow them to pilot a Jaeger together. When you drift with someone, you learn everything about them and them to you. I won’t lie, it is one of the most intense sensations in the world. There is a reason that only a select few have the ability to drift; finding someone that you’re drift compatible with is integrally important to the Jaeger Program. The strongest pilots and Jaegers are always drift compatible.”

Lance doesn’t really have anything to ask at that. He understands how important this is. He knows that the literal safety of the world depends on the Jaeger pilots defending Earth from the Kaiju. It just—he’s excited about maybe being drift compatible with someone, but he doesn’t think that someone can be Keith Kogane.

“Initializing simulation,” an officer says from where he is standing behind a control panel on the opposite end of the room. Professor Coran moves over to the monitors as well. The officer on Lance’s side crosses the room too, leaving him and Keith alone, hooked to a simulator that will be used to give Keith access to his mind.

Fuck, Keith is going to see everything. All of Lance’s memories, all of his thoughts and feelings and—he’s going to be able to read Lance’s mind.

And then Lance is going to have to deal with that for the rest of his life. Keith Kogane, the incarnation of perfection, is going to see every single flaw that Lance has. He’s going to see everything that terrifies Lance and all of his weaknesses. He’s going to—

“Initiating neural handshake,” the officer at the control panel says, and Lance gasps as he feels a sharp pinch somewhere deep in his mind.

The simulation room is ripped away and replaced with a series of black and white scenes, and it takes Lance a few seconds to realize that they’re memories. They come so quickly and are replaced so often that it almost makes Lance sick. He sees his mom and siblings, the streets in his neighborhood—

Figures that he doesn’t recognize. Two adults looming over him, too skewed in shadows to see their faces. Then, there’s a horse with a soft pelt when Lance brushes his fingers through it.

Lance’s first car; his first girlfriend smiling at him over the console.

He’s in a library that he doesn’t recognize, running his fingers over the shelves, grabbing mystery novels from the stacks. Outside in a parking lot, a fist flying toward his face, a group of boys crowded around him.

“You don’t have to do this, mijo,” his mother says, crying outside of their house.

“Congratulations, Keith! You got accepted!” The man with a scar over his nose smiles.

Empty streets, destroyed buildings. The angry roar of a Kaiju. Screaming. There’s so much screaming.

A woman looks at him and brushes his hair off his head. The language she speaks doesn’t make sense to him, but somehow he knows she’s saying Be brave, my love.

Lance’s dad. “It’s all going to be okay. I love you.”

The image of his dad forces Lance back to his senses. Holy shit. He’s—they’re. This is real! They’re connected. They’re drifting. Fuck, he and Keith are—

Holy fuck, Keith.

Lance puts the metaphorical brakes onto this car. He can’t have Keith seeing everything in his head. He just—they only need to stay connected enough for them to realize that they aren’t drift compatible. Besides, they can work with each other without knowing everything. Keith doesn’t need to know what happened to his dad. He doesn’t need to know how terrified he is of this.

He pulls up walls around himself. He visualizes a brick wall and pulls it up around everything that’s too important and special for Keith to know. He takes the image of his dad and his older sister and tucks it right into the middle in his walls.

After, when he tentatively reaches out, he can feel Keith. It’s so weird and awesome and amazing that it makes him shiver.

There’s a rough push, and Lance realizes that Keith is shoving him back. It’s almost like they’re playing tug-of-war, except they’re shoving one another farther away instead of pulling each other closer.

“Stop fucking around in my head,” Keith growls. “Take your stupid walls down.”

Lance shoves back against him just because he can. “Let’s just do this.”

“We are doing this. Take the walls down, dumbass.”

He feels Keith coming closer through the connection, crossing over into what Lance would assume is his side of their bridge. He stomps around, right up to where Lance has his walls high up and reaches into it to tear it down.

“Stop!” Lance snaps.

“You have to cooperate, you asshole. You think Jaeger pilots do this in the drift? No! They trust their fucking co-pilot!” Keith snarls, hammering at the walls that Lance has created around the most important parts of himself.

Lance shoves Keith back and reaches forward for him, and there’s a distinct flash of panic from Keith when he gets closer to Keith’s own memories and Lance thinks Ha! before diving forward.

Keith pushes back, and they wrestle against the other, trying to gain the upper hand. There are so many thoughts, feelings, memories flowing between them and around them that Lance has a hard time trying to distinguish what’s his and what’s Keith’s.

“We have to work together,” Keith spits, all kinds of angry.

“I can literally feel how much you don’t want to work with me, idiot!”

The connection between them trembles as they each try and gain more control. Keith wants to destroy all the barriers between them so they can work together; Lance wants to work with him without everything they have being lost to each other. They don’t have a common ground. There’s no way that they’re ever going to be drift compatible, Lance knew it—

“We might be!” Keith shouts, reading Lance’s thoughts like they’re his own.

“We’re not!” Lance screams right back.

The tension is heavy, it’s so tight that everything feels too hot, like he’s burning and—

Everything shatters, splinters, falls to pieces.

Lance physically jerks back, and when he blinks, he’s back in the simulation room, staring at the floor where the pedals and the magnetized drivesuit are holding him to the ground. He’s panting, trying to catch his breath, and his vision is swimming a little. He feels like he needs to sit down.

When he reaches out with his mind, he’s relieved to find that the space where Keith had been earlier is completely empty, only retaining leftover memories and feelings from the neural connection.

He risks a glance over at Keith, who looks to be in about the same state as he is. Keith is fighting to get his breath back as well, and he’s shaking a little—

And there’s blood dripping from his nose.

Lance reaches up to touch his own face, slightly horrified when he pulls his hand away to see blood on his fingertips.

“Simulation failed,” the officer speaks suddenly, and the voice forces Lance even more firmly into reality. “Neural connection terminated.”

“Get them to the infirmary and do a full physical,” Professor Coran orders in his heavy accent. The officers step forward and start unhooking them from the simulator. Out of the corner of his eye, he watches Keith stumble as he takes a step forward, and despite himself, Lance does the same when he steps off the pedals.

Lance clutches the forearms of the officer and walks forward, following the other officer and Keith to the infirmary. Professor Coran continues speaking as they leave the room, but Lance’s head is still spinning. He needs all of his focus to keep his legs under him, so he doesn’t hear whatever is happening as they leave.

;;

Lance passes his physical, as usual, and he assumes Keith does the same because after they’re finished, the officers lead them into another bare room and sit them down on the same cot, leaving them with a bottle of water each.

Subtly, Lance edges away from Keith. Neither of them says anything.

A few minutes later, Professor Coran, Iverson, and a few other superior officers file into the room. Lance knows that his nose isn’t bleeding anymore, but he reaches up to swipe at his face anyway.

He’s nervous. He doesn’t know what they’re going to say. It’s pretty clear that he and Keith failed spectacularly at the simulation.

Iverson gets right to the point, “Well, boys, looks like you two failed the simulation. Congrats, you’re not drift compatible.”

Something inside Lance breaks. He was expecting to feel relieved, and while he is, he can’t help but also feel like they could have done something differently. Like maybe if they had been at a different time or place, he and Keith could have made this work. He feels like they’re failing someone, possibly the world, maybe just the two of them. He isn’t sure what he feels.

Lance forces himself not to look over at Keith.

“If it’s any consolation, it was a beautiful first drift attempt, I must say,” Professor Coran says. “The connection and the drift were both strong, despite your incompatibility. My team and I are confident that both of you will succeed in a Jaeger Program.”

“But not as co-pilots,” Keith says, and his voice is so dry that Lance can’t figure out if he’s relieved or not.

Professor Coran shakes his head, “Not as co-pilots. You two almost destroyed each other. It was quite impressive. I’ve never seen that kind of control and strength from young candidates such as yourself. After you complete your training, I’m sure you will both be wonderful pilots.”

Iverson clears his throat forcibly and says, “As promised, the two of you will receive your placement at a Shatterdome within the week. You are to continue your training with Garrison compliance up until that point. Understood?”

Lance nods. He sees Keith nod as well.

“Good luck to both of you,” Professor Coran says, biding them farewell. “I’m sure we’ll meet again in the future.”

Iverson, Professor Coran, and the other officers leave the room, and Lance sighs loudly, rubbing his hand against his temples. His head is aching.

Keith edges off the cot and drops to the ground. He takes a few steps toward the door and hesitates, like he has something to say but doesn’t know how to say it. Lance thinks about the drift and how he had just been feeling everything that Keith had felt. It’s an odd thing to think about.

He says it for them, “Don’t bother, Keith.”

Keith doesn’t turn around to look at him. Instead, he nods and walks out of the room.

Lance doesn’t let it hurt. He doesn’t need Keith to be a successful Jaeger pilot. He has drift ability. Just because he wasn’t drift compatible with Keith, it doesn’t mean that he won’t be drift compatible with someone else. Someone who is better for him. Someone he can trust.

Lance doesn’t need Keith to be able to achieve his dreams. The first step is finished. He has drift ability. He even has one of the highest scores for drift ability.

In a few months, Lance will be piloting a motherfucking Jaeger with an amazing co-pilot, saving and protecting the world from the Kaiju. He doesn’t need anyone to tell him that he can do it.

He gets up from the cot and starts walking toward his future.

#rachel writes stuff #rachel writes klance #klance #voltron #klance pacific rim au #renegade dawn #what even are tags anymore tbh

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frayed-at-the-seams · 5 years

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Hands up! 2/2

Jack/ZhaoZi soulmate au

Everyone had soulmate words tattooed somewhere on their body. They were the first words that you would ever hear your soulmate say. Due to this, they were beheld with a certain degree of importance. Society loved the idea of soulmates, frowning on those who rejected or ignored their soulmate marks. Those who were born without marks were often outcasted, viewed as unloveable.

Zhao Zi always trusted his grandma. She had said that his soulmate would be someone who could care and provide for him. Because of this he paid no real attention to his words, preferring to judge his soulmate by their character than by their first words like the romantic he is. This was regarded as unusual. Words were so attached to emotion that Zhao Zi’s indifference often shocked people.

“Why should I pay so much attention to my words?” He had asked when one of his coworkers pointed to the neat letters across his collar bones. “I’m going to meet them wether I like it or not. It’s not like our first exchange is going to determine the whole relationship”. His wisdom made sense and after that people stopped asking.

It was perhaps lucky that he didn’t take his words seriously. Who would have the words “Can I have a bite?” tattooed on their person. Zhao Zi just assumed that his soulmate was a foodie like him. Besides, he could have gotten worse. His best friend, Shao Fei had the word “No” stamped on the back of his neck. It had been the warning of a bad relationship which had lasted for four years before Shaofei and Tangyi got their act together and confessed.

The whole thing had given Zhao Zi way too many heart attacks and emotions. And whilst their relationship was finally healthy with Tang Yi out of prison, they were so lovey dovey that even Zhao zi felt awkward. He genuinely considered himself a happy go lucky type of guy, trying not to let himself get down too often. When his parents left, he was okay because he had his wonderful grandmother. But when his grandmother died, it was Shao Fei who had kept him together. Although he was happy for his friend, he couldn’t help but feel an increasing sense of loneliness and disillusion with the world. His boss’s and AZi’s betrayal had been the icing on the cake.

More and more Zhao zi had found himself alone in his little house eating the type of unhealthy dinners that his grandmother would have hated. It seemed that with every passing day, his house only seemed to get bigger in its emptiness. Not that he let it show. At work he was as cheerful as ever, ignoring the new boss’s scoldings and the comments from the international division. No one noticed if he wasn’t eating as much as usual, or doing any more random acrobatics. He was fine.

So why was he stuck doing another weird undercover?

“Why do I have to be the stripper?” He complained, more like whined, to Shao Fei. They were back stage of the dingy strip club called the blue rose, the floor sticking to their shoes as they blinked in the terrible lighting. ZhaoZi was wearing knee length shorts with a see through white shirt and a stupid police hat. Shao Fei was dressed in a bright pink jacket on top of casual clothes. ZhaoZi had never wanted to swap clothes more.

“Because you’re the only one who can do anything acrobatic”, Shao Fei responded. “And the target likes boys like you anyway. We’ve been trying to get this guy for months Zhao Zi. Please? I’ll owe you”. Zhao zi sighed. He was too nice.

“You’re mean ah Fei”, he pouted, tugging the police cap lower over his hair. Shao Fei grinned, the cute act never worked on him anymore. “Yeah yeah”, he replied. “I’ll have Tang Yi make you some home cooked food. Now I’ve got to go, wait for your signal”. He patted Zhao Zi on the shoulder before disappearing out on to the club floor, leaving Zhao Zi alone backstage.

Trying to quell his nerves, Zhao Zi went over the case in his mind. They had several leads from a murder of a prostitute pointing towards the known gangster and sex trafficker John Smith. It was not his real name of course, but it was what he was known by. The guy had so far evaded them but a source had placed him in the club on routine occasions. Zhao zi just had to get him to lower his guard.

After a while, Shao Fei’s voice came across coms, alerting Zhao Zi of his cue. Gathering his courage, he ducked out on stage. He was glad of the lighting, obscuring most of the watchers from view. The target was visible in the corner, watching him. Zhao Zi shivered and bent forward into a front flip. Grasping the pole with his legs, he pulled himself upwards. Ignoring his surroundings, he concentrated on his dance, spinning around the pole with his body contorted in different ways.

When the que came for them to surround the target, Zhao Zi felt a flood of relief to be away from the blinding lights. He could feel his shirt sticking to him under the heat of the lamps and practically hopped off stage. Trying to keep up his cover, he strutted across the disgustingly stricken floor towards where the target was sat leering at him as the rest of his squad slowly surrounded him.

He didn’t notice the man on the table next to the target until he leant forwards and grabbed Zhao Zi’s wrist. Surprised, he turned to be greeted by dark red hair and a Cheshire Cat grin. The man’s eyes glittered at him as his lips stretched wider. “Can I have a bite?” He asked and instantly Zhao Zi could feel his words heat up across his collarbones. Deciding to deal with the target first, he shook off the hand and held out his badge. “Hands up! You’re under arrest!”

Luckily none of the men resisted and they had them out of the club and into the police van easily. Deciding to let Shao Fei and the others deal with the formalities, Zhao Zi hung back, now nicely wrapped up in his coat. Footsteps alerted him to an approach and he glanced up to face the red haired guy from the club. The lighting hadn’t done him justice. Now, in the light of a nearby street lamp, the guy was handsome and lean. Zhao zi couldn’t help Looking the guy over. Wow! His muscles!

The guy grinned and held out a gloved hand. “Nice to meet you. I’m Jack”. Zhao Zi returned his grin and shook his hand. “Oh you’re my soulmate. Hi! I’m Zhao Li An But everyone calls me ZhaoZi”. The guy’s hand was nice and warm through the glove.

Jack’s grin morphed into a smirk as he looked Zhao Zi slowly over, from his head to his toes then back up to his eyes. “So, can I have a bite?” ZhaoZi frowned in confusion. “Are you hungry? I wasn’t able to grab lunch and I’m starving but all the shops are shut now”, he saddened at the thought of his pitifully empty stomach.

“You got any food at your place? I can cook for you if you want”, Jack offered. ZhaoZi beamed, grabbing Jack’s hand excitedly. His grandma was right! He couldn’t be more in love. “Really? Then I want egg, and ham, and noodles with chicken broth and orange juice...” listing off all the food he had been craving, ZhaoZi couldn’t help but bounce a little on his feet. “Well I’ll cook for you. Come on”, Jack said as they began walking down the street. Calling a quick bye to Shao Fei, Zhao Zi turned his attention to his soulmate.

“Grandma said you would be a good cook”, he remarked as they turned a corner. “She said that my soulmate would be able to cook and provide for me”. He watched Jack grin. “That I can do”, he stated.

““My grandma also said that you will stay”. Zhao Zi looked up at Jack, face anxious but hopeful. He didn’t want to lose anyone else. “Will you stay?”

He watched as Jack’s face lost its grin, becoming honest. “If shorty asks then I will stay”, he promised as he wrapped around Zhao Zi shoulders. Relaxing into Jack’s warmth, Zhao Zi felt a bit of his loneliness disapate. It would take time, but jack would stay. Maybe he wouldn’t feel lonely anymore.

#history 3: 圈套 #history 3: trapped #jack x zhao zi #zhaozi #jack #soulmate au

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simplylove101 · 4 years

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“I wasn't worried about what would happen if I lived. I was worried about what would happen if I didn't.”

2020 New-to-Me Movie Challenge | [16/?]

All the Bright Places (2020)

Plot: After meeting each other, Violet & Finch struggle with the emotional and physical scars of their past. They discover that even the smallest moments can mean something.

Starring: Elle Fanning, Justice Smith, Alexandra Shipp, Kelli O'Hara, Lamar Johnson, Virginia Gardner, Felix Mallard, Sofia Hasmik, Keegan-Michael Key & Luke Wilson

So... I actually watched this one a few days ago and totally forgot to make a post about it. lol Guess that could be telling of how I felt about it. As someone who hasn’t read the book and didn’t know much about the story ahead of time, I wanted to be open to it since I have enjoyed some of Netflix’s previous romances. That said, this one was disappointing for me. It doesn’t feel like they got the casting right because while the actors are okay, I wasn’t completely invested either. Elle Fanning is one of Hollywood’s big indie girl crushes so I do get why she was chosen just cuz yeah, whatever. Now, Justice I rather liked in the Detective Pickachu movie so once I recognized him that was cool, but I don’t know if he & Elle vibed as much as they could have and that’s only part of the problem. It also doesn’t feel like they gave Finch enough focus because you can tell there’s a more interesting story that they could have told with his mental health but ofc they didn’t, so for me, narratively it feels like what was the point. Sidenote: it was nice to see Ginny Gardner from Runaways in her 5 minutes of screentime. lol Idk, I expected to end this movie with my heartbroken, but instead I finished it feeling frustrated. It could have definitely been better.

#all the bright places #2020 movie challenge

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thedancingsoldier · 4 years

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My Top Song for The Second Half of 2019

⚠️Warning Long Post⚠️

Sam Smith: How Do You Sleep?= Lies, LIES. Lying out your teeth. The question is how do you sleep when you lie to me? This song is addictive to me. Sam Smith speaks in this song wondering how does this person sleep with all the lies that he’s been told? Sam Smith regrets staying in the relationship with this person as long as he did because he also couldn’t stay away from this person. But now he realizes he has to leave and he hopes that the love that he left, keeps this person up at night. Because he’s done. It doesn’t help that the beat is infectious and Sam Smiths voice just floats. I literally just melt into this song, and I lose myself.

Charlie Puth: I Warned Myself= This song sounds like a hook-up that went terribly wrong. In this song Charlie Puth explains how he met this person who was in a relationship with somebody else oversees. Charlie actually liked this person, so with him being skeptical, he went along with the shenanigans anyway. Later this person threatened to kill him, if he told anybody about what they did together. With that being said, Charlie regrets going about the whole thing, and blames himself and this person for messing with his heart.

Keiynan Lonsdale: Rainbow Dragon= This song is a mix of everything, but it is ultimately a message of excelling for yourself, excelling for the world, getting back up from when you fell, and changing this world for the better. Keiynan delivers some shade to the politicians as well, which is always great. One line stuck out to me, “if I can slay, you can slay too b***h.” It’s simple but powerful in its own way.

Rat City: Deliriously Good= This song is a basic admiration for a girl that Rat City finds “deliriously good”. This song makes me smile every time I listen to it, or hear it in the distance even when the volume is too low for anyone else to hear it. The beat is so disco, so retro with that modern electronic dance flavor attached to it. I can’t get enough of this song. It’s doesn’t help that Rat City made a trilogy of videos not to match the lyrics of the songs but as a story with the songs just being background music. It’s good background music though. And good marketing and good production. So kudos to Rat City for that.

Jax Jones, Martin Solveig, Madison Beer & Europa: All Day All Night - Jax Jones & Martin Solveig Presents Europa= This song speaks about another toxic relationship. The singer Madison Beer speaks of getting no sleep because of this person she can’t stop thinking about, and that she fell in love with and that she’s tired of it. This person just left her out of the blue, and never came back. Jax Jones, Martin Solveig and Europa collaborated on this song, and they did it beautifully. It’s perfectly electronic dance music, with some tropical house influence. It’s perfect.

Camila Cabello: Shameless= This song can be interpreted in so many different ways. One way I interpreted this song was, it’s one person expressing their love for the other person. Going all out with it. The other side thanks to @camrencabregui on the comment section of genius.com. They see it as a lgbt relationship. Being all out with their love and shouting it from the rooftops, not caring what anyone thinks. Either way it’s needing someone more than you want them. It’s loving someone shamelessly and with pure love in your heart.

Bebe Rexha: You Can’t Stop The Girl (From Disney’s “Maleficent: Mistress of Evil”)= Side note, I’m so glad Bebe Rexha released this song. It reminds me of her earlier songs that she came out with. And the message is as powerful as ever. It’s so Disney and that’s what makes it great and so influential. It’s breaking that glass ceiling, that still not totally broken. It’s accomplishing your dreams, and not letting anyone stop you.

Charlie Puth: Cheating On You= With this song, Charlie Puth states, on the album cover for this single, “This song is not about a person, it’s about a feeling I’ve never had.” I love that he puts that out there. It’s a song anyone relate to. It’s about both parties of a relationship leaving each other. But, one person is still attached to the other. Even, when this person meets a different person, it doesn’t feel right. This person hasn’t moved on enough to feel love for another person, other than the person they fell in love with in the first place. This song is a masterpiece.

Zedd: Good Thing (with Kehlani)= This song is an introverts theme song. Honestly it is. It basically states that the alone time this person has is already serene and perfect. To broaden this persons horizons the other view that someone else shows them, has to be better than this persons world. And according to this person, everything, and everybody else has yet to excel against that.

Yuna: Forevermore= The Malaysian artist that broadened my horizons on music. Somehow, they managed to fuse Malaysian influences with modern influences and subtle funk influences as well. It’s truly spectacular. The song talks about reaching for the stars. Finding that strength and sticking with it no matter how scared you are or how scary it gets.

Labrinth & Zendaya: All For Us - from the HBO Original Series “Euphoria”= This song is based off of the show on HBO called Euphoria starring Zendaya and Storm Reid. It’s a also a remix from the original that’s on Labrinth’s 2019 album “Imagination & The Misfit Kid”. In the show (From Genius.com), the main character of the show is Rue (Zendaya), a 17-year-old recovering drug addict struggling to find her place in the world. While her father was in the hospital, she began taking his medication. To cope with his death, she started to abuse drugs and ultimately became an addict, realizing she can’t find happiness or love without the drugs. The song takes cues from a bunch of sources, from the subtle trap beat in the background, to the choir that slowly builds and barges in at the “climax” of the song. It’s a really great song.

Emeli Sandé: Honest= This song attacked me in a good way. And it kept attacking me. And it will probably attack you too. To be honest. It simply states, “stop acting as if you can’t be honest to yourself”. Live in the present. Dont live in the past so much that you forget what is happening now in the present. Emeli Sandé did what? THAT. Honestly explaining this song does not do it justice. You’ll have to listen to this song to get it. And once you’ve done that, listen to it again, and again.

Selena Gomez: Look At Her Now= Rising from the ashes. Being in a relationship that was bad for you, and coming out of it learning about yourself more and growing from that negative experience. That is what this song is talking about. Self-preservation & resilience. On top of a beat that’s infectious. And a voice that’s soothing to the ears.

James Arthur: Quite Miss Home= You know how some songs make you want to cry? This song did that. It’s about being away from those you love. Missing them while your away. It’s really self-explanatory. But it’s a beautiful song. My side of the story is too long to tell, but this song’s chorus basically covers that.

Panic! At The Disco: Into The Unknown - from “Frozen 2”= To get this song you will have to watch or go see Disney’s Frozen 2. But I will tell you this song is the ultimate challenge song if you want to try to hit any notes that seem impossible to hit. Brendon Urie goes higher than I’ve ever heard him. I’m pretty sure his fans have heard him hit these notes, but not me. It’s incredible.

Billie Eilish: everything i wanted= This one is about a dream that Billie had. According to Billie, in the dream she committed suicide and no one cared and everyone came out and said that they didn’t like her anyway. I love that this song about a dream she had. It’s different than anything I’ve heard this year. And the melody is so perfectly blended together with the vocals. It’s captivating, honestly. Billie also molds together her relationship with her brother and how close they are in this song. And how they have each others backs no matter what happens. Billie and her brother wrote this song. Another reason why i love this song.

Taylor Swift: Miss Americana & The Heartbreak Prince= After finally listening to Taylor Swift’s newest album, I found a couple of gems that I come back to jam to or meditate to. Miss Americana & The Heartbreak Prince is one of them that caught my attention. According to Taylor, “this song is about our disillusionment with our crazy world of politics and inequality, set in a metaphorical high school.” On the surface it’s about, finding someone who sees who you really are through all the noise that everyone else is spouting about you. I felt it was a very compelling and complex story to write. That’s why I love this song. I love a song that takes me a while to decipher. It makes me think. I love that!

Taylor Swift: Daylight= Chills. I get true chills when I listen to this song. Another song that I get lost in, and another song that caught my attention from Taylor’s album, because of how the melody and the lyrics and the meaning sucks me in. It’s the last song on her album “Lover”. And she did it so right. With this song it’s like she sees, like the title implies, daylight. Reading the lyrics of the song, it’s Taylor talking about herself, but also it can be a message to everyone else. Forgive yourself. Forgive yourself for your past mistakes, for past situations that may not have ended in the way you wanted or envisioned them to end. Look at the bright side, and see that you can grow from that, and from that, rebuild a better you.

Labrinth: Something’s Got To Give= Normally, when I hear a remix of a song. I tend to go with the remix rather than the original. But this song, I went with both. Because the beat got me, the message got me, and Labrinths masterful mixing and production got me as well. I love a song that, beat-wise, can take me on a rollercoaster. I love a song even better when there’s a great message tied to it. Labrinths talks of when going on faith and the going gets tough, you’ve got to give a little more. Going for your dreams and never giving up no matter how hard it gets. It’s bass heavy, it’s message heavy. It’s everything I hoped for in a song. And it’s something I think almost everyone will love as well.

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lethesomething · 5 years

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Campaign resources: Torotuga, the pirate den

After three days of sailing, land finally came into view. A large island, with a small fortified city on one end, cut off from the rest of the island by steep mountains and dense jungles. To my dismay, however, the captain curved away from that crest of civilization, turning the ship in a large arc towards the back of the island, where nothing but dense forests and swamp greeted us.

“Hoist the flag” the captain shouted, and one of the crew came out with a piece of black cloth, which he unfurled to show a white painted, rather crude depiction of a turtle. With that, a hush fell over the deck and the ship veered into a large mangrove forest, a maze of brakkish water, low fog and bleached trees. I swear I saw movement in those trees. Little flickers of light, be they lanterns or will o’ wisps, and the occasional glint of steel. It was clear to everyone traveling with me, that we were being watched. (from ‘The Sea-Faring Adventures of Milton Hornswaddle’)

Torotuga is your prototypical Pirate’s Den. It lies on the swampy half of Rhea Island, in the middle of a heavily contested region in the ocean. The island itself ‘belongs’ to the sea-faring and conquering nation of Pardoba, and it holds an outpost in the form of the military fort town of Santa Gasso. However, most of it is densely forested and if not unexplored, then at the least uncontrollable, blocked off as it is from the fort by a sheer mountain range and dense jungles. It is here, deep in a mangrove maze called the Forest of Skeleton Fingers, that you can find the bustling city of Torotuga.

The ship continued on through these treacherous waters, narrowly avoiding collisions with trees and rocks, until we finally reached what I had feared all along, a dead end. It was then that the captain came out and marched up to the bow. “Oy! Open the facking gate, ya crusty cumstain!” To my wonderment, I heard a voice coming from the nearby trees. “State your name and business, cuntwaddle” “Marston ya old pissdog, you know damn well who I am.” There was a moment of silence, and I held my breath at such signs of incivility, praying for the gods to save me from the arrows that were sure to befall us, when the ship’s captain sighed. “I am Captain Orsric Graverobber Bones, of the Drunken Elephant. Me and my crew kindly request entry,” he said, in a tone that suggested ennui to a point i would not be able to muster. “Good enough for ya, ya vomit covered sea slug?” And with a creaking sound, a wall that had appeared to only be dead trees blocking our path, was lifted, revealing a hitherto unseen waterway further into the forest. (from ‘The Sea-Faring Adventures of Milton Hornswaddle’)

A Safe Harbor

The town of Torotuga holds about 500 semi-permanent residents, a number that can be boosted up to 2.000 by visitors.

The populace holds a few notorious criminals that have settled down far away from the law, as well as travelers and actual colonists that have stuck around. About a third of the permanent residency, however, consists of escaped slaves, either native to neighboring islands or brought here from far-off places to work on the plantations and farms of Pardoba and a few other nations.

Trade

It is clear almost immediately to any somewhat intelligent adventurer, that the economy of Torotuga is mostly illicid, and largely circular. This is a trade hub and stock-up place for privateers and pirates, though adventuring parties, specialized traders and even certain military groups (of the underground variety) also frequent the place.

The largest trade here is ‘entertainment’. The economy of Torotuga consists for about 60 percent out of brothels and bars. Coming off a boat in the bustling harbor part of the town means weaving your way through runners and trade deals, to be met by a veritable row of… very friendly people. Men and women beckon you, wearing bright clothes, some quite revealing, and made up with red lips and dark eyes.

Another large trade here are pawn shops or, if they try to be fancy, ‘antiques stores’. On the outskirts of the town you’ll find fishermen and a few farming communities, eking out a living on the edges of the jungle.

Architecture and craft

Torotuga gets most of its supplies from passing ships, and it shows. Most of its buildings are made out of scavenged wood and smelted or otherwise repurposed parts. Newer buildings use a mixture of ancient techniques, such as woven vines, and parts made out of metal or imported bricks.

Everything about this town has a distinct improvisational feel. The furniture and decorations are either made out of barrels, stolen off of ships or built new, with themes that remind you of the cultures native to the islands here. The whole town is a mishmash of styles, techniques and bits and bobs. True master craftsmen, however, are few in number.

There are a few carpenters, mostly specialized in boats. Apart from that you can find some relatively skilled weavers, leather workers and woodworkers, as well as smiths. Any mastercraft weaponry or armor found here is probably found or plundered, though.

It is, however, important to know that you can find Anything here, if you search hard enough. The people of Torotuga are good at finding ways, certainly if there’s coin in it. If you let them know you need a seamstress, for instance, they will absolutely find someone, even if it is the cook’s old nan, to do your thing for a pretty price.

Safety

Torotuga runs on ‘pirate’s honor’, which is to say, controlled anarchy. The place does not have a single point of authority, but instead had several factions who look out for their own. Some of the most feared of these are the Whores Patrol, a group of vigilantes that see to it that the prostitutes of the island can do their jobs safely. The artisans also have a neighbourhood watch of sorts, which is Extremely Protective of its members and most shops and bars will employ a very ostentatious group of guards.

Since there is no justice system, those caught committing a crime against someone in Torotuga will need to appeal to one of the factions or lose their hand and/or life.

Food

Torotuga has a mixture of different cuisines from the islands, mixed with the kind of stuff the pirates would know from home, in so far as this can be found. The different inns and bars serve mostly beer, but will whip you up some soup or bread and cheese, or grilled meat, when asked. Notable delicacies can be found in The Temple Bar, which serves a special stew, made of rice, wheat, sharp spices and seafood. There’s a bunch of not particularly identifiable stuff in there, but it’s very tasty. From food stalls, you can buy a simple type of taco, made of flatbread folded around a mixture of meat or poulty, mixed with random vegetables and spices. Most of the best and cheapest food can be procured from the smaller sellers, such as The Baked Potato and Kulita’s.

Notable shops

The largest pawn shop in town is The Hoard, run by a steel dragonborn, Dimitri Helfdal and his mate, a sapphire dragonborn named Irin. This shop stands in the very center of town and has carved stone walls, seemingly built out of the ruins of some ancient structure that stood here before. It is a fairly large building, with a stone and wood front and a large shop sign bearing a carved wooden dragon head, apparently an old masthead. Inside is a quite literal hoard. Dimitri and Irin tend to get the pick of any treasure troves that come to Torotuga, so you can find the best and most expensive stuff here.

Sulejman Sirk runs the apothecary, the Glass Shoal. It’s meticulously clean and organized, seemingly made out of the hull of a downed ship that was outfitted with a brick and windowed front and plated with iron shales. The centerpiece in this store is a large chandelier, a mobile of glasswork fish surrounding a steel brazier that lights up the place. He has your basic health potions and a Very Expensive set of water breathing things (like, super overpriced, guys). Also stocks an impressive amount of poisons.

Davy Jones Locker is a thrift shop of sorts. The proprietor, Antanen ‘David’ Jonesin, is a halfling that collects the mundane and the useful. The interior of this classic brickwork building is made with a number of treasure chests that have been stacked and arranged along the floor and on tables and sideboards. These things are not what typical pirates care for, but he does good business because they do tend to be things sailors Need. His store has stuff like barrels of rope, caltrops, a few smoke bombs found on drowned assassins. He has oil skin bags to keep books and letters safe from the water, sealing wax, forgery and climbing kits, a few block and tackles, fire stones, that sort of thing. Nothing magical, nothing glamorous, but exactly the kind of thing you need to survive.

The Silt Reader is a very small book shop that specializes in literature and poetry. Mostly second hand, a lot of them waterlogged. This store is owned by a half-elven woman, Runa Pavalur, who keeps it very organized, with tomes neatly stacked on shelves and arranged by category. Each book has been outfitted with a bookmark made of thin rope, with a little card attached to it that gives a short summary of what the book is about. Most of the books in The Silt Reader are travel diaries and novels, a fair amount of those of a ‘popular’ variety. This is why, apart from categories like Studies, Travel, Political etc, the shop has shelves named things like the Rose section (hetero romance), the Heather section (mlm romance), the Calla section (wlw romance) and the Orchid section (straight up porn).

For maps, it is best to go is the Crow’s Nest Cartographer. This is a very small house that has one entire wall made up of shelves holding a large amount of rolled maps. It is owned by two gnomish brothers: Illilniss and Omulnis. They will also pay for coordinates of places that have been discovered, or were hitherto unknown.

Lavar’s Smelter: Lavar is a fire genasi, who isn’t too crafty, but is very good at, well, smelting. He’s the one that melts down all the anchors and random steel and iron that is hauled here, something that should not be possible with a smithy as small as his. Is smithy doubles as a blacksmith for basic tools. When asked, he can shoe a horse and provide stables overnight.

Shell and Shield: The only somewhat skilled smith in town. The Shell and Shield is owned by a tortle named Perrahar, whose main trade is tools. She sells non-magic weapons and some simple armor as well but mostly she’s very interested in learning new things. Bring her some new metal that she’s never seen before and she’ll happily craft new things out of it.

Other establishments

There is a church, The Temple Bar, dedicated to Dionysus, the god of wine. It’s not clear if this is a sanctioned church or not. Mostly it appears to be one of the largest bars in Torotuga. Its purveyor is a dwarf and beer connoisseur named Mazzoum Hornmail. The interior is decorated with fake grape vines and filled with assorted furniture. This one is fairly fancy, with a little orchestra playing, and a dance floor. The rooms upstairs can be rented by the hour. The bigger ones are outfitted as meeting rooms, serving the purpose of neutral ground for pirates to strike deals or talk strategy. The smaller ones tend to just have a bed and a washing tub.

Despite the name, The Baked Potato does not sell potatoes. It does sell yams and sweet potatoes, stuffed with a variety of fillings and baked in an oven.

Kulita’s sells a lot of fried things, including fried fish and fried chicken, combined with dumplings, corn bread and pickled vegetables or stewed beans

The local bath house is called the White Whale. It rents out large, round tubs in private rooms to interested parties. These are pretty nice and use, important, ground water, so any visitor can finally get all that salt out. Rooms are outfitted with scented oils and soaps and come with one complimentary towel. The rooms are priced fairly reasonably, but the rate goes up quite a bit if you opt for one of the companions or masseuses that are offered.

The Sickly Shrew: A Very Seedy bar and one of the cheaper establishments to acquire a room for the night. Also a great place to find, like, a specialist to kill someone for you.

The Foghorn Inn: The most boring and basic of inns that Torotuga has to offer, if you’re into that kinda thing.

Assorted locations

Thaba’s Hut

Take the road out of town, past the farm fields that have been planted here, and into the swamp. Follow the set of foot bridges and walkways, till you reach an island, a clearing in the dense foliage. Standing here is an ancient looking hut, built on stilts. It has a thatched roof and a porch, with stairs leading up. The railing of the porch and the stairs looks solid from afar, but upon closer inspection, they are laden with offerings of a sort. Little dolls hang from string tied to the wood, shells, glass vials, trinkets and shiny objects, all tied to the outside of this house. In front of the hut, a small crackling fire burns in a fire pit, tended to by a tall, broad-shouldered man. This is Thaba’s hut, and if you are in need of special magical services, this is where you go.

You pay Thaba for entry, and for the privilege to see the wisewoman inside. Should you enter, you’ll find that the entire place is overstuffed with jars and more dolls and trinkets. A bunch of objects, too, are suspended from the ceiling, much like they were wrapped around the railings. Some tools hanging from twine off a crossbeam, glass and brass pitchers, something that you very much hope is a wig. There’s dried herbs, ham, but also bones, something that looks like a dead snake. There’s… a lot. The hut is where Iyabo, sitting in the middle of the floor in a magic circle, performs magical services. Most likely this will be along the lines of identifying items, removing or placing curses etc. Nahin’s fighting pit

Walking around town, you may hear a number of shouts and just general noise, originating to a dirt square just on the outskirts. Here, you’ll find a small mound of dirt that serves as a brawling ring. Two figures are squaring off here. One is an apparent halfling in monk clothes, fairly lean build, the other, on this day, is a goliath, a large, looming tank of a man, in somewhat soiled sailor’s clothing. They’ve drawn quite the crowd. On one end you see what seems to be the rest of the goliath’s crew, a number of sailors jeering and egging him on. On the side of the smaller figure are also supporters of a kind, albeit a bit more demure. You see a number of humanoids, all in fairly ratty clothing, most of them dark skinned and weathered looking. They’ll occasionally clap but they’re mostly looking. Bets are being made by the crowd, with bookies walking around trying to get any visitors to have a little go. But as soon as the fight starts, a heavy groan goes through the crowd and it becomes apparent just how skewed this match-up is. Within the first second, the goliath has already been kicked in the face. The smaller figure jumps up onto his chest, kicks him in the chin and backflips off, down to the ground. The goliath swings and the smaller figure leans back easily to avoid it, jumping up over a second swing, before turning in mid air and swiping at the shoulder, following that up with two swift kicks. This goes on for a little while, before the goliath says ‘You little shit’, and he pulls out a crossbow. The crowd starts booing. You hear the people behind the smaller figure yell ‘unarmed only!’ but the fighter themselves holds up their hand. “Learn’, they say, and sinks into a defensive stance. The goliath shoots once, twice, point blank, and you watch as the smaller fighter plucks both out of the air before they reach. As the goliath starts reloading, angry now, the other fighter moves. They jump up onto the crossbow and run up their opponent’s arm, before leaning down and kicking the goliath in the sternum. The giant goes rigid, for a moment, their eyes at this point confused and fearful, as the other fighter jumps down, dashes around and swipes at a spot right behind the knee. The goliath. Topples. The crowd erupts in shouts and you can see a well dressed man, apparently the goliath’s captain, walk up to the smaller figure and hand them a pouch. “Sorry about that,” he says. “Temper, that one. But you won fair and square.” The smaller figure bows and returns to their friends, as the crew, with some trouble, pull up the goliath and the crowd slowly disperses.

Kobinahin, or Nahin for short, is a higher level monk that fights for coin and has a little outdoor dojo going. Nahin is always itching to learn new tricks and will gladly match or teach adventurers.

Characters

Merchants and assorted service people

Thaba: A tall, broad-shouldered dark-skinned man, clean shaven and wearing modest but well-kept clothes. He has milky white eyes and a deep voice. He serves as a guardian or manager of sorts to Iyabo. He can usually be found sitting in front of the fire pit by his house.

Iyabo: This wise woman is a multiclass druid – bard with some wizard thrown in there. She is a tiny woman, potentially gnomish in nature, but it’s hard to tell. Her hair is quite a bit longer than her body, a mass of tiny braids, embellished with rope, ribbons, glass beads and brass rings that obscures her shape almost completely. From what you can tell, the hair may have been dark in color once, but it’s been painted with clay. Individual strands are red, ochre, green or a chalky white, the whole thing giving the impression of a gloomy, if colorful, bead curtain. The hair makes it almost impossible to see her face, but when her arms emerge from the curtain, her skin appears to be greyish blue, mostly because that, too, is rubbed with some kind of dust. Her hands are studded with different rings, her wrists covered in bracers and rows of bangles. Iyabo jingles when she walks, and you can discern the rustle of fabric, as well as the sound of many, many necklaces or chains clinking together. She doesn’t so much talk as whisper harshly , also with vague southern accent.

Dimitri Helfdal: A man of smallish stature, stocky and broad, with medium gray skin. Mid forties and fairly jovial, incredibly curious about new treasures and things. He wears a monocle and light linen, embroidered pants, with a sleeveless shirt. Dark grey scales line his shoulders, hands and head, glinting with a brushed steel look that makes him seem , in a weird way, armored. He does not have a tail.

Irin: A dragonborn woman of dark olive skin, fairly tall and with a long tail that whips back and forth between the folds of her long skirt. She wears a beautiful silk tunic, with cropped pants lines in copper thread and a long skirt consisting of four almost see-through loose panels. On her head, and down her back and tail are long crystalline dark blue spikes and the scales that adorn her skin are strangely see through, giving the impression of dark blue gems. It also seems like she has filed some of them to resemble jewelry, the ones around her throat and down her chest looking like a very elaborate necklace.

Sulejman Sirk: A black man in his late thirties, with corn rows tied into his hair, and a cropped full beard. He tends to smile widely and has a prominent gold tooth. He has several gold earrings in one ear and wears a dark grey v-neck kaftan of sorts, with embroidery on the shoulders.

Runa Pavalur: A red haired half-elven woman, fairly young looking, very pale with freckles. Basic hippie attitude, she wears what appear to be several crocheted tablecloths stitched together, and her hair falls down her back in two long braids. Speaks in a gentle, slow tone and has very obviously read every single book in the store.

Illilniss and Omulnis: Gnome brothers, both with heavy mustaches, kindof tanned skin and an almost inky blue hair. They finish each others sentences and then get grumpy about it.

Antanen ‘David’ Jonesin: An elderly halfling with salt-and-peper hair that poofs up around his head like a cotton ball. Wears tiny round glasses and looks rather clerical, but very businessy attitude. His voice is clear and fast, like an american radio dj.

Mazzoum Hornmail: A very serious dwarven man who looks jovial and fat and jolly. He gets quite stern when people don’t treat him with the right amount of respect. It is said Mazzoum has spent years sailing the oceans, and kinda just settled down here because he got tired of the floor moving.

Kobinahin: A dark skinned halfling monk of indeterminate gender. Dark, golden ochre skin, long black hair usually tied in a ponytail. Fairly elegant features. They wear a dark grey jumpsuit with cropped pants and sleeves tied with cloth strips. It is cinched in at the waist with a large strip of cloth. Kobinahin fights for coin and essentially teaches the prostitutes and the escaped slaves self-defense. It’s not clear why they left home to travel the world and fight. (the reason is this DM needed to introduce the Monk class). Speaks in serious, shortish sentences. Very no-nonsense.

Lavar: A fire genasi with tanned skin and flame red hair who serves as a smith. A practical sort who, despite his fiery nature, doesn’t really get upset easily. Always looking for find new ways to make coin.

Perrahar: A seemingly young tortle, though her shield is quite damaged with little black spots. Very curious in nature but extremely chill in attitude. Speaks Very Slowly and pretty damn deadpan. Very little gets to her.

Back-up NPC’s

Loughlin Nic Cadhla: An older woman, lots of scars, with frizzy brown curls in almost an afro, and pale freckles skin. Hard of hearing, from standing next to cannons most of her life. Retired pirate.

Tran Phu Nguyen: A forty-something man who is immaculately dressed and must have been utterly gorgeous when younger, still quite handsome. Ex-prostitute.

Hamisi: A slender, dark skinned man, bald with a short beard. He’s missing an eye and has some horrific scarring, mostly on his wrists that you can see. Missing two fingers on his left hand. Wearing a loose shirt and simple cropped pants, no shoes.

#oh look another one #i like world building ok #don't judge me #campaign resources #dnd #dungeons and dragons #dm stuff

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maximumsuckage · 6 years

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In the Beginning: Part 7

Part of @archangelgabriellives‘s collab

Last time on In the Beginning: “Everything was just perfect for him, until he met another deity. Kali.” (@callmemisshorizon 2018)

Word Count: 1937

Pairings: Gabriel/Kali

Warnings: nothing worse than reminders of awkward teenage days

Previous Parts: Masterlist, Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6

The blade was designed to mimic an angel blade, brought back by a Viking trader from one of his expeditions. It had exchanged hands a few times in the interim- the metal had been touched by souls in India, then Jerusalem, then Constantinople, before taking a straight shot northwards. If he closed his eyes and focused, he could follow the path, reading each soul that had left fingerprints on the blade in the past three years since its forging.

It had been offered up to him in sacrifice- the trader who had bought it had returned home only to find that his wife had died in childbirth and the baby was stricken with fever. It was a valuable weapon- the metal could only be found in India, and traveling there was a harrowing journey- but the man had declared that he would give up that and everything else if it meant his child would get better.

Gabriel had taken him at his word. The man, once so consumed with worldly possessions that he would leave his pregnant wife on a rumor of wealth, lost everything. His ship, safe in harbor, was wrecked in a freak storm that didn’t even touch the other boats. His servants abandoned him, carrying off his gold and expensive fabrics and jewelry. His large house, envy of all his neighbors, went up in flames.

Loki demanded sacrifice, after all. That was the pagan way.

The virus that had stricken the babe’s lungs vanished. She chortled at her father’s face, reaching up to tug on his hair, red as her own. She would grow up strong and healthy, never touched by sickness or injury.

And as soon as Gabriel had doled out the justice, he forgot the tiny family. He had only eyes for the weapon, because it had his name on it:

Saint Gabriel the Archangel.

That really wasn’t fair. He was doing a great job on Earth, and now some Christian was trying to drag him out of hiding by making pretty weapons with his name? He tossed it aside; it hit the stony ground with a clatter. “I bet you can collect the full set,” he grumbled, spreading his invisible wings. “Let’s get Michael and Raphael too- yay! Collectible weapons! Next they’ll be selling cards with our kill stats on them.” He pumped his wings against the air to launch himself into the ether between dimensions.

A second later, he set down near a forge in India.

He hadn’t realized how accustomed to the winter weather he’d became. Landing in India was like stepping into a sauna; immediately he began to shed layers, vanishing them one by one back to his home on the shore of the North Sea. Only when he was barefoot, wearing just his tunic and light pants, did he turn towards the man making the archangel-inspired weapons.

“Alright,” he called out, walking into the wide open door of the forge (and certainly not bothering to knock). It was like walking into a wall of heat, somehow even hotter than the tropical sun. “What’s this I hear about making archangel blades?”

The smith turned around, confused by the sudden entrance.

Gabriel opened his mouth to give him a good talking to- probably call it blasphemy, or something along those lines. It would be just enough to scare him into stopping his work, or at least, not putting Gabriel’s abandoned name and title everywhere. But he was distracted by a sudden presence outside, and he turned.

His breath caught.

Gabriel had seen beauty. He had seen the vastness of the cosmos, the galaxies that swirled in eternal dance. He had seen continents rise from the ocean, had seen the birth of plants and animals and birds and fish. He had seen angels and archangels, seraphs and cherubs, powers and dominions.

But in an instant, he forgot all of those. Behind him, the smith fell prostrate, but Gabriel only stepped forward as though in a daze, to stand in the yard and face her.

On the surface, she was no more than a pretty southern girl. Her patterned dress was cheerful and bright against the deep tan of her skin. She stood lightly on her toes, as though ready to dance, but she stood with the straight, strong posture of a queen.

In his angelic vision though, Gabriel saw a flash of the truth.

Eyes burning with mischief and chaos. Midnight blue skin freckled with stars. Fangs glinting between plump, slightly parted lips. Four arms- the hidden two were playing with a lotus flower. A sword hung at her hip, clinking against a skirt of bones. She was a monster. An absolutely stunning monster.

(But wasn’t he also a monster? His true form burnt people to dust, after all).

“Oh, uh, hi,” he said, and cursed himself, face flushing hot (it was probably just the heat of the forge behind him).

“Loki the Trickster.” The goddess’s hips swayed with each graceful step as she approached him. “What a surprise, finding another chaos god here.” She paused, and gestured around at the jungle. “A bit far south for an Asgardian, aren’t we?”

Gabriel forced his eyes to remain on her face, to not wander lower. Her human form was lovely, and her true form was toned and athletic, the skin raised here and there with scars from past battles. “Yeah, no, I mean- Just checking out this guy’s swords. Um- I found one. Up north. Back home, you know, so I wanted to figure it out- So, you got a name?”

You stupid idiot! He felt his blush deepen and he tried to focus on her thick black braid- there was nothing exciting about hair, right? It was just sleek and long with not a single strand out of place, and okay, maybe he liked good hair; was that so wrong? Seriously, what was wrong with him?

But the goddess only chuckled. “Kali the Destroyer. I’m sure you’ve heard of me?”

He gasped out loud- or more likely, choked on air. Kali the Destroyer? He had heard stories about her- vague rumors about a creature so powerful that she could stomp out the sea, who destroyed evil with a zest that terrified even her own pantheon. She was good, technically, but she was gleeful in her destruction. She had consumed demons and punished sinners and fought in battles that would have made Mars himself tremble.

And dear gods, she was beautiful.

“Yeah, uh, once or twice,” he choked out, gaze shifting down from her face. That was a mistake- now he was looking at her breathtakingly long legs, deep midnight blue skin dappled with sunlight shining through the trees surrounding the yard. Her feet were bare and muddy.

“Mmhmm.” Though it wasn’t even a word, it was the smuggest noise Gabriel had ever heard. He was struck dumb, and she knew it as she began to pace around him, like a lioness surveying an antelope. “Why are you here, Loki?”

Her forearm brushed Gabriel’s as she passed him. It sent a tingle down his skin, unlike anything he had ever felt in Heaven. He shivered, but not, he realized, in discomfort. He wanted to feel it again.

“Was this man giving you trouble?” She nodded at the smith, who was still laying with his face pressed into the dirty ground. He whimpered at being included in the conversation.

Gabriel had to lick his dry lips to talk. “No, no, nothing like that- just checking out his work, is all. Um…” He felt prickly all over. It was too hot here, and Kali was close- too close. He could sense her power, rolling around the clearing. It was near tangible- even the fire in the fire in the forge sprang higher, crackling in the quiet.

“Was his work satisfactory?” Kali picked up a blade from the outside display and tested the sharpness with her finger- a droplet of red appeared against the midnight blue of her skin. She licked it off, glancing over at Gabriel quizzically. Her tongue was blood red.

He swallowed hard. “Yeah, it was fine,” he said, voice coming out just a bit too high pitched to be natural.

“Pity. I was hoping for a kill.” She set the sword back and stepped towards the door. Gabriel wrenched his eyes upwards- in the humidity, her dress clung to every curve. He took a deep breath to try and compose himself.

“Although,” she mused, standing in the doorway and watching the smith breathe, “Before I caught wind of you, I found a man beating on his wife and son. Blood might still flow today.” She half turned, studying Gabriel with an unfathomable expression. “How would you deal with such a thing up north?”

He was being tested- he didn’t know what she wanted to hear, but he wanted to impress her. Needed to impress her. She still looked more amused than anything, like he was a curiosity giving her a modicum of entertainment. Gabriel’s muscles clenched uncomfortably at the thought of her growing bored and moving on.

“I would destroy him slowly,” Gabriel said. He swallowed hard, considering how he would do it. His mouth felt too dry to speak. “First, I would give his wife and child the money and means to run away. Then I would bring a plague of locusts on his fields.”

Kali nodded, crossing her arms as she listened. The lotus flower twirled between two fingers.

Gabriel tried not to think about his sweating palms and continued. He spoke slowly, carefully trying to think out the hypothetical course of action. “Once the harvest fails, I would turn his neighbors against him, one by one, so that nobody will allow him over for dinner in the wintertime. And then, when he goes out to chop wood, he’ll realize that the rats chewed a hole in his boots. So he’ll get frostbite and trip when the wolves go after him.”

He froze, considering. Kali raised an eyebrow.

“Wait- no.” He shook his head. “A lynx instead. She’ll play with him while he tries to run away. But the axe will have stuck in the tree he was trying to cut, so he won’t have any weapons. And then maybe he falls into an ice river and hallucinates his wife…”

Kali’s lips were quirked up in a smile. “You’re a sweetie,” she said with a little chuckle. “Going through all that trouble. Good work ethic.”

Gabriel blinked. “Work ethic?”

“To be frank, I would just stab him.” Kali reached out and patted his arm. “But your idea is good too, Loki.”

His breath hitched when she touched him- he hid it in an awkward cough. Somewhere outside the little forge, a hunting horn sounded, and Kali straightened. “Ah, my people. I’m off. Get out of here, Loki. Winter Viking god like you will pass out in this summer weather.” Stepping out into the yard, she smiled at the sun. “You have to enjoy these good days before the monsoons roll in. I’ll see you around, I’m sure.”

When she stepped past him, one of her true-form arms reached out and tucked the lotus flower into his pocket. Then she vanished like she had never been.

Gabriel pulled the flower out of his pocket with shaking fingers and sniffed. It smelled like ash and smoke.

“Oh brother,” the smith said, finally getting the nerve to lift his head off the ground. “Don’t fall for her, man. She’s crazy.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Gabriel murmured, smoothing his thumb over one of the petals.

Special thanks to @scrollingkingfisher for the grammar check

Author List: 1. @revwinchester 2.@ttttrickster 3.@phantomwarrior12 4.@anxiety-fuel 5. @sugar-high-viking 6.@callmemisshorizon 7.@maximumsuckage (meeee) 8.@tricksterxangel 9.@archangelgabriellives 10.@nobodys-baby-now 11.@thewhiterabbit42 12.@warlockwriter 13.@lastsavinggrace 14.@archangelsanonymous 15.@archangelashiah 16.@archangel-with-a-shotgun

#Gabriel's past writing challenge #gabriel #supernatural #canon compliant #fanfiction #my writing #Kali #gabriel/kali #spn fanfic #I definitely missed reblogging a bunch of these #but I couldn't remember which I'd reblogged or not #school man #and bad app lmao #but they're all heckin awesome #and I've read the whole thing like twice now #so go read the previous chapters

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ninjagoruinedmylife · 6 years

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Ninjago fantasy au: Prologue

Okay so uh i made?? Another au?? Bc i had an idea and then people on discord seemed to like it?? And i wrote a prologue?? And i hope you'll enjoy this?? (So basically in this au, Garmadons are royality and all em are nobilities, and there will be bruise and amberphoenix and pixane and one crack ship and very much angst and suffering) *** It was a strange feeling - having a father like this. He appeared to be ageless. Nobody remembered his name, so people called him The Old King. His powers frightened all: aristocrats, merchants, knights, craftmans, simple villagers... He could create, he could destroy, he could use all imaginable elements. But after all, he was the greatest and merciful ruler that Ninjago ever had. He fought off all the dangers that could possibly damage the kingdom. He took over the throne and wrote justice laws for everyone. After years of tyrany from hands of serpentines or noble families, there came peace. Everyone could feel safe, even if this feeling lasted only a moment. Wu noticed the change in state of his father before anyone could. While his brother Garmadon was learning all the things that next king should know under the eyes of two loyal noblemans, Chen and Clouse, younger prince had a lot of time to observe things. He knew everything that was going on in palace, from simple maids getting sick to planned marriages of the young aristocrats. He also carefully watched his father: The Old King, who only a few months ago started looking old. It happened after the battle with Overlord. His father was able to seal the soul of darkness in the Caves of Despair, but before that, his enemy shot something into his heart. Wu and Garmadon arrived when the monarch already passed out, so they quickly transported him to the nearest castle, which happened to be the one under the protection of Smith family, Wu's friends. Their medics did everything that they could to save The Old King, and after about five days, he finally opened his eyes. His older son already left; he came back to the capital city and took the role of ruler upon himself for a while. Wu was sitting next to the comfortable bed on which his father was laying. He was writing something down in his notebook, when he heard a weak voice. "Curse..." The Old King whispered and opened his eyes. "Your oldest son shall be cursed! I have to... I have..." "Father, please, calm down." Wu was already standing by his side and tried to keep a nervous male in his bed. "Do you want water? Food?" "No, we have... We have to warn Garmadon... He is in danger... Big danger... Curse..." The Old King mumbled, just like if he lost his mind. There was a craziness in his eyes, and he gave his son a kind of look that he will never forget. His ageless, powerful father was scared. After they returned to Ninjago City, everything appeared to be the same. Nobody seemed to notice that king wasn't there for few days, or even that he looked way more sick and old than before. Only Wu did. He shared his thoughts with the only person that would listen to him now, Misako. "Father's state is getting worse everyday." He told her once, when they were on a walk in palace garden. She looked at him with her big, beautiful, brown eyes, and for a moment he forgot about the whole world. "Really? Then why nobody is talking about this?" She asked and then frowned. "Those kind of informations usually go around the castle pretty quick." "Because he doesn't want to admit it!" Wu sighed deeply. "He acts like if everything is okay. He doesn't want to worry me, or Garm, or anyone..." His fiance grabed his hand tightly and stopped for a moment. "The Old King is very wise. He knows what he's doing." Misako assured him with a bright smile. "I think you should stop thinking about it all the time. Your brain will explode if you'll care about small things like that all the time." But he couldn't stop caring, no matter how much he wanted. And with a time, Misako had to admit he was right. The Old King started drowing in his madness. He stopped showing mercy to criminals, his decisions were immature and not understood by aristocrats, he yelled at anyone who got in his way... He even broke Wu and Misako's engagement and ordered Garmadon to take her as his wife, which tore apart his own family even more. If it wasn't neccesary, he didn't wanted to speak with anyone, he didn't wanted to hear anyone, he didn't wanted to see anyone. He caused all those unreasonable, bad things in the country until the day when he couldn't get out of bed. He called his two sons and started talking with his normal voice for the first time during those long, scary months. "There are many things that you still don't know. You have so much to learn. Your paths are still undefined. Sadly, I won't be there to help you anymore..." He started coughing, and brothers shared a worried look. "But I have to tell you one thing. It's hard to believe, but... In his last moments, Overlord cursed us." "In what way?" Garmadon interrupted him. His hair was messy and he had deep bags under his eyes. Wu was afraid that he didn't get enough rest for a long time. "He... He sent this sickness on me..." Their father had to take a long pause to breathe properly again. "And also... My dear son, Garmadon, I'm so sorry I couldn't protect you from this fate..." "From what fate?" Garmadon seemed frightened. "What fate, father?" "He said... That my oldest son will be his next body... And that one day, his own son will get so powerful that he might be able to kill him... And the same thing will happen to every single oldest man in our family..." After his death, everything changed. Garmadon and Misako had a beautiful wedding a few months later. He became a king, she became his queen. Wu knew he wasn't able of changing anything, but he just couldn't stop imagining himself in place of his brother. With no crowns on his and his bride's heads, but with happiness and love in their hearts. From that day, Misako didn't looked him in the face even once. Garmadon was a good king - not great, but good. To be honest, after the madness of his father, everyone were afraid that he would act like him, but he turned out to be a way better monarch than they thought. For a short period of time, he brought back the state of balance to the country. For about five years, all seemed to be fine. Then, war with Hands of Time started. It happened because of two noblemans from the same, powerful family - Time Lords Krux and Acronix - who were not particurally fond of Garmadon being the ruler of Ninjago. He took some land from them and gave it to the poorest, he stopped listening to them in terms of politics... With a help of few aristocrats who also viewed world in the same way, they wanted to take over the kingdom. War wasn't long, but for sure cruel. Many of the bravest warriors died in it - including wise Ice Lord Cato, graceful Water Lady Maya, strong Fire Lord Ray... And many, many others. Wu fought next to them, he saw them getting deadly wounds, he heard them screaming for help, he saw their bodies being dragged away by their enemies. And most of the times, he couldn't rescue them. Meanwhile, about half way through the bloody conflict, Garmadon and Misako's son was born. Wu met him when he was already three years old: a joyful, adorable boy with curled blonde hair and sparkling, green eyes. His parents gave him everything he wanted and spent as much time as they could with him. After this long suffering, he was kingdom's happiness. Everyone were talking about young prince who was a hope for the good future. Nobody knew about the curse. Even Garmadon seemed to forget. But this state didn't lasted long.

#my first time writing wu lmao #i hope i captured him good #and also this au is still in progress but.... i wanted to post this thanks #ninjago #ninjago fantasy au #ninjago au #ninjago fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic

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prismatic-bell · 6 years

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How-Tos of Protesting: Student Walkout Edition

Hey guys! So I’m going to do something I don’t normally do, and ask you guys to blow this up, blow it out of the water, destroy my notes. (If this succeeds, I’ll probably end up deleting the original post to save my own sanity. That’s okay.) Here’s why: I used to be a protester, and I still would be if I had the time/money/energy/a job that wasn’t shit. I’m not going to tell you not to protest or talk down to you--I’m going to share the tricks and tips I learned over three rather volatile years in the queer rights movement, and those I’ve picked up from other large protest movements. Please consider this a basic guidebook, a gift from your pissed-off Millennial aunt to you, to protest safely and effectively. This guide is aimed at the upcoming gun violence walkout protests, but feel free to adapt and use as necessary for other movements.

(Just in case this does blow up to every corner of the internet: you don’t need to credit me. This isn’t about me. This is about something much bigger than me, or you. Just help these kids do what they need to do.)

THE MONTH BEFORE THE PROTEST:

1) Ready yourself mentally. Even when you’re pissed and ready to go, standing up to speak very brutal truth to power can be intimidating. Do what you need to do to center yourself and be angry, but calm--write things down, make private Tumblr posts, take some photos or make some art that explains how you feel. NONE OF THIS NEEDS TO BE PUBLIC AND IN FACT ANY WRITTEN RECORD SHOULDN’T BE. The reason is simple: during and after the protest, the media will be looking for a way to discredit you. Don’t give it to them. This is your chance to get your head in the game.

2) Start assembling a protest kit. If you are a student or teacher, this should fit easily into your backpack or briefcase. You’ll want bandaids, neosporin or triple-bac, an Ace bandage, a liter of potable water, some light nonperishable foods (I recommend Belvita biscuits for nutrients-to-size ratio), about $20 in emergency funds, and a portable charger if you have it. DO NOT TAKE ANY MEDICATION. If you have any kind of disorder or illness that would require you to take medication during the day--even if it’s something as innocuous as a sugar pill--it’s better for you to either sit out the protest, or stay home. If the protest fails, or the administration allows it to proceed but insists on their own security measures, and you are found with medication on you (yes, even your own), you can be in a LOT of trouble. We’re talking expulsion, legal problems, and so on. The only exception to this is if you have school clearance already (for example, for an emergency inhaler), and you should take only the medications you have clearance for.

3) Choose a book to read, if you’re doing a sit-in/walk-out with sit-in, and put it in your protest kit. For this purpose I strongly recommend books like Battle Royale, Firestarter, and The Hunger Games, which contain the themes of “our children are forced to die because we’re too fucking power-hungry.” There’s a triple reason for this: one, if it’s a successful sit-in, you’re going to get bored. (Sit-ins are literally a lot of “hurry up and wait.”) Two, a group of students sitting around rebelliously READING? There’s not much the media can do with that, and for this reason I also recommend you leave your DS or other handheld video-game device at home. And three: a sea of books about rebellion seeking justice? That is pointed. That’s deliberate.

4) If you plan to have a sign or banner, start planning it now. Because the majority of protestors are going to be students, I strongly recommend you paint your sign on cloth, which can be folded or rolled up to carry in your backpack and also would be very difficult to miscontrue as a weapon. Please remember that while it is a very old and time-honored tradition to share the names of previous victims on your sign, it is considered to be in extremely bad taste to use their images; this decision should be reserved for siblings or parents only.

5) Select a “buddy network.” This doesn’t have to be composed of your closest friends, as long as the people in it get along tolerably well. The purpose of this group is to ensure that everyone within it stays calm and hydrated, and to watch each others’ backs in case of emergency. This means everyone in the group knows where everyone else is at all times, and is prepared to give pertinent information to emergency services if necessary. Which relates to my next month-out point . . . .

6) We’re going to get kind of somber now, sorry. As an adult, the first thing I thought when I heard about these mass protests was “fucking YES!” and the next was “Jesus. Oh, fuck. Sweet G-d anybody planning a shooting knows exactly when to plan it for now.” Ready yourself mentally for the fact that a shooting may happen at your protest, and make yourself a prep kit for this. Save an ICE (In Case of Emergency) number in your phone. Make a clean document that contains your full name, ICE number, parents’ names (and phone numbers, if they’re different from your ICE number), and pertinent medical information (including “NO BLOOD DONATION” if that applies), and the day before the protest, take a clear screenshot of this and make it your phone lockscreen. For example, mine would look like this (although I rather obviously changed my parents’ names for privacy reasons):

NINA LASTNAME EMERGENCY CONTACT JILL DIFFERENTNAME [My mother’s phone number] PARENTS JACK AND JILL DIFFERENTNAME BLOOD TYPE O+

I take citalopram 20mg and Zyrtec daily and routinely take Aleve for inflammation. I have a severe allergy to sulfa and sulfa-derivative drugs. I am positive for genetic blood clotting disorder Factor V Leiden. I suffer from blood sugar crashes, but have no formal diagnosis. I am autistic and may be nonverbal under severe stress.

In an emergency situation, this information can save your life. Have it on hand, and make your buddy network save this information as well. Hopefully, you won’t need it and at the end of the day you’ll feel it might have been silly--but if you need it, you have it, immediately.

THE WEEK BEFORE THE PROTEST:

1) Check in with your buddy group. Be sure everyone has their kit assembled, and choose a meetup place for when the protest begins. The ideal buddy group should be no more than eight people; above that, it starts getting muddled. If your group is larger than that, I recommend splitting in two, and being clear about who belongs to which group. I know high school is a time of cliques and fitting in, but make it clear this is NOT about who likes whom--it’s for the safety of everyone involved. A smaller group is easier to keep track of. Period. If you’re a main organizer at your school, that’s great! You’re the head of a much larger body--but that body needs to have tiny bodies within it. You can’t be expected to watch over a few hundred or thousand of your peers alone. That’s ludicrous.

2) Select the clothing you’re going to wear. I recommend you go with “comfortable, but also dress for the job you want to have in ten years.” You want to be a teacher? Wear dress slacks or a dress skirt and a button-down. You want to be a programmer? Neat and clean jeans or cargo pants are fine, but wear a polo or button-down, no tee-shirts. You’re going into business? Slacks, button-down, tie. Your life plan is to be an artist with their own pants-optional studio? Wear the clothing you’d wear for your first big gallery opening. You want to be a singer? Imagine you won American Idol or The Voice, and this is your first big post-show interview. Your dream job requires a very specific uniform, like “chef” or “beekeeper”? Go with a nice shirt or sweater and good pants--the kind of thing your parents will call “an interview outfit.” If your school has a uniform, make sure yours is ironed. Be sure your hair is neat and clean.

Homework time! I want you to read this article. Ladies, if you’re wearing skirts, aim for knee-length AT MINIMUM, and tea-length is better. This isn’t me trying to crimp your style--it’s that you will be sitting and walking a lot, and a longer skirt will be easier to sit on the ground in. Remember: you are the future. You are our lawmakers, politicians, teachers, doctors, innovators, artists. Dress so that the media is forced to show images of hundreds, thousands, of teens who look like they got up that morning ready to kick ass and take names on Wall Street. There’s nothing wrong with tee-shirts or ripped jeans on your day off or in the classroom, but you want to show the image of “we’re here, your bright young minds of the future. How many of us will be here next month? Next week? Tomorrow?” A lot of people, especially those interested in shutting you up, won’t be willing to look past your clothes. Force them. You wanna really go the extra mile? Dress up and take your homework. It says “I’d be happy to learn, if only the teachers could worry about my grades instead of my life.”

3) Do an overview of relevant court cases, in case your right to protest is challenged. Here is an ACLU page on student protest in general to get you started. Here is their page on Tinker vs. Des Moines, which is a case you will DEFINITELY want to read about (the specific case was about the Vietnam War, but it will apply to you). I’d recommend not involving an American flag in your protest because it stands to overshadow what you actually want to say, but if you choose to do so, you’ll want to read about Texas vs. Johnson. To be sure what you’re saying and doing stays within legal safety parameters, read up on Bethel vs. Fraser. And while it’s not directly in line with the exact topic at hand, it’s always worth a look at West Virginia State Board of Education vs. Barnette. KNOWING THIS STUFF IS IMPORTANT. I know it seems like boring makework, but seriously, being able to say “with all due respect, Mr. Smith, the Supreme Court decided in Tinker vs. Des Moines that you may take my protest sign only if it’s disruptive in class” is important. When I attended protests in the late 2000s my group actually made Tinker required reading. You need to know this stuff.

And to top it off: at the March for Marriage Equality in 2009, we literally used the second half of the First Amendment as a protest chant because there were groups that had tried to block our license for the march. You can find the full text of it here, with annotations explaining its meaning and court cases related. It’s a very dry read, but please at least take a look at “Speech Plus” and “Rights of Assembly and Petition.” There’s no test on this stuff, I’m not going to quiz you to see if you got it right, just kind of . . . skim. See the background. Better still, have it bookmarked on your phone so it’s readily available if needed.

4) In case your group is questioned by the media, decide who your spokesperson will be. This should be someone who can speak clearly, is confident looking into a camera, and who can give a brief prepared statement without stuttering or sounding scripted and stilted. Why prepare the statement? Because you can be sure you’re including all relevant information without getting flustered, circling back, or being unclear, as may happen when speaking off the cuff--imagine having to give an English presentation in front of your class with no notes and no chance to go over it in the bathroom mirror. A good statement should be something like “My name is Nina Lastname, I’m a senior here at General McLane and we walked out of class today in protest against unchecked gun violence nationwide. Today is the 19th anniversary of the Columbine massacre. This year alone there have been over two dozen mass shootings, but in 20 years not a single piece of logical and meaningful legislation to protect students, moviegoers, church worshippers, or simply unarmed people on the street. It’s time that changed." The average local news piece is 32 seconds long (yes, I’m serious). You need your soundbite to be 15 seconds or less if you want to avoid it being edited, and 10 seconds is better. If your school has had a mass shooting of any kind, address it in your statement: “I’m a senior here at General McLane, where we had a mass shooting 20 years ago.” (Yes, that really happened in my school.)

THE DAY OF THE PROTEST:

1) When the protest begins, proceed calmly to your meetup place. Your school may have additional security measures in place, because make no mistake, I will not be the only adult who recognized the danger inherent in a walkout. If this is the case, be patient and calm with the adults who are doing the screening, lockdown, etc.; it’s very likely that they’re doing the only things they can do to keep you safe. Do not proceed until everyone reaches your meetup place.

2) Exit calmly. Don’t yell, swear, make threats, etc.; basically, pretend you’re getting on an airplane. If you want to play or sing protest songs, go for it, but steer clear of anything with cursing or language that could be taken as violent. (My go-to when I want to get good and pissed off and ready to fight is “Uprising” by Muse, but I’d never sing it at a protest because of the line “it’s time the fat cats had a heart attack/their time is coming to an end”.) If your school is in the South, consider “We Shall Overcome,” which was a very prominent song in the civil rights movement of the 1960s. Singing it in the South today would be a very clear and pointed reference. Since I am An Old, I’ll direct you to some older songs you may find relevant or a useful starting point:

Pink feat. Dixie Chicks, “Dear Mr. President” Sam Cooke covering Otis Redding, “A Change Is Gonna Come” Willie Dixon covering an old folk song, “Down By The Riverside” Crosby, Stills, and Nash, “Ohio” (trigger warning: this song is about a school shooting, linked video contains disturbing images of Kent State shooting)

(Please take note that each of these was used predominantly by a different protest movement, and be respectful. Respectively: the anti-Iraq War movement, the Civil Rights Movement, the anti-Vietnam movement, and I’m sorry to say, the fucking “can we stop shooting our kids at school” movement but in the 1970s.)

3) Keep tabs on your group. Ensure everyone is hydrated, and, if necessary, fed. If someone needs medical attention for any non-emergency reason (e.g. mild allergic reaction, overheated/too cold but not yet hyper/hypothermic, panic attack), assign a group member to help them seek care; if someone needs medical attention for an emergency reason, assign two people in the group who will call 911. (Why two? Because if your designated caller is the one with an emergency and you don’t have a backup, people will panic.)

4) If the media seeks a statement from your group, have your spokesperson speak. If they request to hear from other members of the group, be sure you deliberately echo what your spokesperson said--so if they say you walked out to protest gun violence, you would say “we walked out to protest all of the shootings that are happening nationwide.” The reason for this is because it’ll be a lot harder to paint the group as confused if everybody knows what it’s about. The “divide and conquer” method was used very successfully on Occupy Wall Street--don’t let it be used to undermine you.

5) If anyone asks to join your buddy network and you don’t know them at least by face (”I have algebra with that kid”), be polite, but cautious. Don’t be paranoid, but if you don’t know them, you can’t be sure they’re not an agent provocateur. If they say things that strike you as more than just a little bit weird, be doubly cautious; if at any time they hint at or suggest violence toward administrators, police, or other students, politely but firmly say “we aren’t having that kind of talk. We’re here for a peaceful solution to a violent problem, not to add more violence.” If they persist or say something explicit (e.g. “yeah? Well what if I told you I had a gun with me right now?”), find a safe way to exit the group, like going to the bathroom. Call law enforcement immediately. (If your school is doing a sit-in rather than a walkout, call the front office.) “My name is Nina Lastname and I’m a protestor at General McLane. A student none of my friends know has joined my protest group and [is threatening staff, says he has a gun, etc.].” THE ABSOLUTE LAST THING YOU WANT is for that person to be serious and either talk your group into a violent action, or to take a violent action against you. I know the police are kind of shit on Tumblr right now, and I understand why, but please believe I do not make this recommendation lightly. You want to keep your protest peaceful and organized. If the police need to be in the loop, please put them in the loop. They’re not going to want the bad press involved with hurting you guys, especially given what you’re protesting. Let them do their jobs. (This serves a second purpose: if that weird student is an agent provocateur placed by law enforcement, this tells them you’re not playing their game.)

6) If law enforcement tells you to move, be polite, but know your rights. “I’ll comply with your request, Officer. I would like to know where I may exercise my First Amendment right without compromising public safety.” It’s super-tempting to sass back. Believe me--I’ve been spit on and called “an animal” and “one of the whores of hell.” I know how tempting it is to fight back. Don’t do it. The only reason, the only reason, you should be engaging in physical or verbal violence at the protest (and that includes posts you may make on social media before, during, or after) is if there is an active attacker situation, and you are attempting to disarm the attacker. Otherwise, be polite. If your group is heavily nonwhite and you are white, use your privilege to their advantage: “My friends and I will comply with your request, Officer, but we’d like to know where, etc.” This avoids further confrontation. Intersectional problems at a protest are always bad news--they turn into thinkpieces, and thinkpieces are why people think my generation is a bunch of whiny babies. Don’t become a thinkpiece.

7) When the protest is over, ensure everyone in your buddy network is able to leave safely. Be responsible about your protest--discard any water bottles, food wrappers, or other trash you may have generated during the protest, and offer to assist nearby groups in doing the same. This is part of respectability politics--it goes hand in hand with the whole “show up in your Sunday best” thing. Don’t skip it.

Be safe, you guys. I have nothing more substantial than this to offer you. I wish I did. All I can say is this:

If you’re making a list of victims, make sure you go back to 1966 and the Texas Tower massacre. You’ll find fourteen dead, and a similar number wounded. Had they all lived, many would probably be grandparents today.

It needs to fucking end.

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ours-is-feral-love · 6 years

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Find Me Far Away From Here

A/N: My next James x Alyssa story. I’ve been working hard on it. Hope it’s to your liking, and thanks so much for the love on the first one. This is a bit longer and it will be in two parts. Also, it’s unrelated to my previous story.

Part Two will be uploaded on Sunday around this time.

Summary: James is released from prison after four years for good behaviour. He is told by his parole officer, Jack, that he cannot leave the country. But he has to find her.

Part One

* * *

I can’t see you, but I hear your call/

baby, hold on now

* * *

Prison changes you. I know, because it changed me. Not dramatically like in the films. I hadn’t transformed into a hardened criminal. I hadn’t taken a strong disliking to the justice system; only a small one, and that was only because midway through my sentence they changed the meal plan in the cafeteria. I hated fish fingers, but every Friday was Fish Finger Friday.

Prison did change me. It made me human.

See, I had always thought of myself as being somewhere on the fringe of humanity. I wasn’t quite there, but I had one foot in the door. The psychologist they gave me said this had something to do with my mum killing herself in front of me. I was so young when it happened that I switched a piece of myself off in order to cope with all of the trauma. Instead of feeling too much, I subconsciously decided to not feel enough.

I didn’t know if that was true. If that was what caused my apathy and general desire to murder things. But he kept telling me it was true, and I eventually got too tired to argue with him.

The trouble is, I don’t remember a time before my mum died. I remember the actual day as if was yesterday. As if it was a dream I had just woken up from and could still vividly remember. But anything prior to her plunging into the lake with the car windows rolled down—I couldn’t unlock those days. In turn, I couldn’t say whether or not the psychologist was right, or if he was full of shit.

There were snippets. Brief moments—memories. I remembered watching her get ready one evening for a rare date night with my dad. She spritzed a flowery perfume on her wrists, and since the funeral I had wanted to vomit every time I smelt roses.

I’m not sure if the psychologist was right, but I did know that my shift, my step further into the realm of compassion and kindness and love began the day Alyssa came up to me during lunch. I hadn’t been aware of it at the time. It happened slowly, in small increments, and by the time I realised what she had done to me, I was lying on the ground bloodied and crying.

I didn’t like it at first. Imagine going more than half your life thinking you were a callous pre-murderer only to find out that you were actually a regular boy. The change was sudden, and it meant, for a while, I didn’t know who I was.

But, as I said, prison changed me. In my cell, I grew to understand the person I had become after Alyssa unlocked all of my secret doors. It went on even after she stopped coming to see me. Even after she stopped writing.

The day I was released on parole for good behaviour, I was more than ready to leave. Four years behind bars had me missing the home I had grown up in. Shockingly, I missed my dad. My bed. The comfort of not fearing for my life. Not that I feared for my life very often. Most of the other prisoners admired my story. I learned quickly that rapists were not liked, but people who killed rapists were.

I was ready to show off my newly acquired empathy. Dad would be proud.

They came to get me at lunchtime. Two armed guards, one comically short and the other comically tall, approached me as I sat not touching my fish fingers and told me it was time.

“Harry,” I said, turning in my chair to face my cellmate. He looked sad, so I held out my burned hand. “Goodbye.”

He took my proffered appendage and shook vigorously. His pale cheeks took on a slight pink colour. “Goodbye, James. An honour spending the last few years with you.”

I removed my hand from his harsh grip—my fingers pulsed, but I smiled at him and raised my eyebrows in farewell—and stood to join the guards. Harry was the one thing about prison I would find myself missing. He had been my cellmate for all four years of my sentence, and we had become what I would consider halfway friends. It was either that, or spend however many days hating each other.

Harry was in for life. He came home from work one night seven years ago and killed his girlfriend with a carving knife while she slept. She had been pregnant with their baby.

He was actually alright. Whenever there was someone new to the cell block who looked at me funny, Harry would teach them to be afraid.

I always had someone watching over me, even in a place filled with the worst kinds of people.

Harry said he didn’t remember the murder. That was a lie. I had heard him talking in his sleep. He dreamed a lot about that night. I looked past his tendency to tell false truths, though, because I liked being his friend. When I wasn’t worried about him murdering me as I slept on the bottom bunk, he was a lot of fun to be around.

The two guards walked either side of me out of the eating area. One of them handed me a bag and told me I had to change into the clothes I was brought in wearing. They let me go off to the private toilets, but I wasn’t allowed to lock the door. I dressed in my civilian clothes and the guards escorted me through the penitentiary one final time.

My trainers squeaked against the white floor. Someone got stabbed in this spot with the sharpened end of a toothbrush last night. Twelve hours ago these floors glistened red with Robert Roberts blood. The cleaners must have spent a long time polishing the area.

It was the middle of July and there I was, waiting for the man by the prisoner’s exit to give me the rest of my things, in a large, black sweater and long, black trousers. I had managed to run for longer than anything thought I would—longer than I thought I would. It was the early November when I got picked up.

“Bye, James. Don’t wanna see you back here, you hear?” one of the guard’s—Jerry; he was a prick—said as I exited the building.

I nodded back to him and turned to face the outside world. A long fenced-in area blocked me from true freedom, but I heard a buzz and a click and the metal door a couple of metres down the dirt path slid slowly open. The bright sun hurt my eyes. I could already feel the heat crawling underneath my clothes. I wanted to drop the box that I held in my arms and rip off the sweater.

I heard another buzz. A car horn.

Dad.

He pulled up in his new Mercedes. The colour was nice. Nicer than the old one. It was grey and shiny. He didn’t get out. Jails had always worried him. Whenever he would come to visit me, his eyes would dart left and right as if he was scared someone was either going to pounce on him, or put him in shackles. As I walked up to meet him I could see my reflection in the passenger side door.

Dad rolled the window down. He had dressed up to collect me. A thoughtful, if unnecessary, gesture. He smiled so wide I could count all 30 of his teeth. “She’s beautiful, isn’t she?”

He was referring to the car.

“Yeah,” I said looking it over.

I got inside. Dad immediately started talking. I had forgotten how much he loved to fill the quiet with meaningless noise.

“And she wasn’t expensive. And she’s an automatic. How handy is that? I kept putting my foot down for the clutch when I first got her . . .”

He went on about the car, never once mentioning anything about the fact that I had just been released from prison after being interned for murder, as he drove me to my parole officer’s building.

He had no idea I was going to steal it from him later. He never learned.

* * *

If you’re waiting all your life/

you won’t ever go

* * *

Jack Smith was a round, balding man. His entire office smelt of cigarettes.

In prison, cigarettes were used as currency. Because of their worth, I thought I should try them out. Build up an addiction. But one drag and I was sick. They reminded me too much of Alyssa. Of our time together.

I sat in front of Jack Smith holding my breath as he talked about the rules and regulations of being a man out on parole. There weren’t a lot. Don’t break the law was the big one Jack kept repeating in his harsh Geordie accent.

“You look like a good enough kid, James,” he said.

It irritated me. “I’m not a kid.”

Jack rolled his eyes and wrote something down on a sheet of paper I couldn’t see. “I said you look like one. You coerced a girl into running away with you and then killed someone. You’re obviously not that good.”

I didn’t like Jack.

“Speaking of the girl,” Jack said, and my ears strained instantly. He looked down at me, scratching his scruffy beard. “You’re not to see her.”

I felt sick. My chest hurt. My hands started to shake, so I stuffed them underneath my thighs. “I don’t even know where she is,” I said.

Jack didn’t look convinced. He nodded, but there was mistrust in his brown eyes. “Sure, Kid.” He liked calling me Kid. I think it was a purposeful decision. An attempt to undermine me. “Look, just . . . no causing trouble. No leaving the country. No late night parties. You’ll be coming to me every two weeks for the next five years, and if I smell even one drop of alcohol on your breath, you’re gonna be in big trouble.”

“Yeah. Of course.”

“It’s hard,” he said. He was like my dad. He loved talking just to save himself from the quiet. I had learned in prison to be okay with silence. “It’s hard to come out of there. Especially for someone as young as you, James. You’re gonna struggle to find yourself, but you’ll get there in the end. You have to. The only two other options are more jail time and death.”

Jack seemed like he was trapped between being my parole officer and being my therapist. I preferred the parole officer persona. Inspirational speeches tended to irk me slightly.

Besides, I didn’t find it hard to readjust to life as a free man. Going to jail had put my world on pause. Now that I was out, I could finally press play again. And Jack didn’t know what he was talking about. I had not lost myself. I knew exactly who I was.

“Get out of here, Kid.” Jack waved me off, telling me to be on time for our next meeting and warning me he might drop in unannounced at times to check up on me.

I hoped he wouldn’t come tonight.

I left Jack’s smoke-filled office still itching to take my sweater off. Dad was waiting outside in the car for me, blasting the AC and listening to the radio. We drove home. Dad commentated the entire time, running lines with the radio host. Was this what he had done while I was jail? Talk to people who couldn’t hear him?

When we arrived home, I was overcome by this strange feeling. It was as if I had been away on vacation for a really, really long time. The air outside of the car was warm and I looked at my house and I was . . . content. Almost happy. To be there. To be with my dad. To be away from the cold, pristine walls of the jailhouse. We went inside, me carrying the box, my dad carrying a smile and the keys to his car. He hadn’t stopped smiling since he collected me.

I felt guilty that I would again be responsible for wiping that smile off of his face as I watched him place the car keys in a small, ceramic bowl on the kitchen table.

Dad left me alone for a while so I could reacquaint myself with the place. Everything looked pretty much the same. It was all of the old things I had seen my whole life. All of the seventies-era wood panelling; the small, box telly; the ugly sofas upon which I sat plotting a wild assortment of different murders.

I trudged through the long halls and found my way upstairs. My room was untouched. The sheets looked washed and the floor looked hoovered, but other than that there were no changes.

Placing the cardboard box on the bed, I finally tore my sweater off and threw it into the empty bin by the door that lead the roof. Next went the trousers. The psychologist said at our last session that when I was released I should throw away as much as I could that reminded me of my crimes. Standing in just my pants, I lifted the lid of the box and stared inside. I knew exactly what was in there without needing to study each item. There were handfuls of letters. Over 400 with my name on them and a red lipstick print on the upper right hand corner.

I reached inside. I sensed the energy radiating off of the envelopes as my fingertips neared them.

I brushed against a stack and instantly retracted my hand as though I had been electrocuted.

I couldn’t do it. I quickly grabbed the lid and pressed it firmly over the box, blocking its contents from view. Half-naked, I sat on my bed, ignoring my dad’s call from downstairs that dinner was ready. It was unfair, but I needed him to think I had gone to sleep.

Hours went by before I heard the telly go quiet. Dad came up several minutes later. I listened carefully for the sound of his snores. They met my ears in less than half-an-hour.

I dressed quietly in a pair of dark jeans and a plain black t-shirt. From inside my neat closet, I pulled an old zip-up hoodie just in case I got cold on my journey and the grey suit I wore for my trial. I made my way to the door, stopping before I opened it to look back at the box on the bed.

I should have left them, but they called to me and I was their slave, so I snatched the box and opened the door one-handed.

Downstairs, in the kitchen, the keys were exactly where Dad had left them. Setting the note I had written for him on the table, I plucked the keys from the bowl and soundlessly crept out of the house. The car started with ease, and the engine was quiet, like it knew we were not meant to be doing this. Like it was on my side. And I drove away. Headlights shining, an old tape playing through the speakers.

I’ve gone to find her.

That was what the note said.

I’ve gone to find her.

#the end of the f***ing world #the end of the fucking world #my writing #fan fiction #james x alyssa #part one #the lyrics are vance joy's #enjoy guys

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thesagechronicles · 7 years

Text

On Bonnie Bennett and the Mistreatment of Beloved Characters of Color

I remember when the official trailer came out for The Vampire Diaries back in 2009. I was in the eighth grade, possibly sitting on my living room floor in front of the tv, distracted by my homework. When suddenly a Black girl crossed the screen. I did not have the vocabulary I did as a 12/13 yr old that I now have, but I knew desperately needed representation when I saw it. I was already interested in TVD because as I child, I was really into fantasy/sci fi genre. But seeing Bonnie Bennett, and then finding out she was a witch put the icing on the cake.

Miraculously, I watched TVD for eight straight years. Always telling myself that I would stop, but I kept hanging on. I don’t know exactly why, but I believe it had a lot to do with seeing the end to Bonnie’s story. And now that I have, I got A LOT of things to say.

Bonnie Bennett was originally Bonnie McCullough in the TVD book series written by L.J. Smith. She was white with bright red hair and hazel eyes. With the series being adapted into television, the writers and producers decided to bring diversity to the main cast and casted Kat Graham, a biracial Black woman. And you can guess how mad the book fandom was about that.

First, lets discuss black characters in TVD, because for the most part, besides Bonnie and her family members (all light skinned) who all die, with the exception of her mother who gets turned into a vampire and disappears, black characters are absent. There was Luca and Jonas. Two male warlocks who befriended Bonnie, only to use her. She got comfortable with them, finally being able to talk to someone about her abilities, and they turned out to be bad people, or at least that was how they were framed. Luca was killed by Damon. Jonas was killed by Katherine. When Jonas is murdered, Bonnie tells Katherine that she didn’t have to kill him. Katherine disagrees. They are disposable.

Remember Lucy Bennett? Another one of Katherine’s pawns who is killed off after serving her purpose? Or what about Qetsiyah? The baddest witch of them all who created an immortality elixir for her true love (Stefan’s doppleganger) and was later betrayed by that true love who gave her dosage to Amara (Elena’s doppleganger)? Or what about that time they made the literal devil a dark skinned Black man?!

As you can see there was no variety in the representation of Black characters. There were bad Black characters who were eventually killed off and then there was Bonnie. Nothing less and nothing more.

So what did they do with their only Black main character? They treated her like absolute shit and never gave her a story line of her own. Bonnie was a tool to help other characters through their plights while simultaneously enduring emotional turmoil.

There are so many times when Bonnie literally saved everyone in Mystic Falls, including people who scorned her like Damon and Stefan Salvatore. I can’t count on my two hands alone how many times Bonnie was superwoman. She was always willing to literally sacrifice herself for other characters. She was always too ready to submit to death if it meant saving those around her. Bonnie was never concerned with saving herself. She was overtly strong, even up to her very last epic scene, taking on hellfire on her own. She embodied the strong Black woman trope far too many times and was never allowed a day off. Someone somewhere always needed her to use her.

Who could forget the season when Bonnie was made into the anchor. We watched her go through physical pain, time and time again. We watched her die, multiple times. We even watched her lose her magic, an extremely crucial part of her identity. Bonnie often felt like a character who was floating from place to place in the background, only brought to the forefront when someone needed something fixed, or when someone needed to dump their pain and suffering onto her.

Now, let’s talk about Bonnie’s non existent love life. She fell in love with Jeremy Gilbert, Elena’s little brother, who never got over his exes, Vicky and Annabelle (another character of color killed off after a short life). I mean the dude quite literally cheated on her with their ghosts. Bonnie’s next “epic love” was Enzo, another generic male character (white passing) with a troubled past. But for some reason, people shipped Bamon for the LONGEST even though he used Bonnie and treated her like shit as well. Remember when Damon hesitated with the decision of killing Bonnie after Kai linked her with Elena? Remember how Damon decided not to kill Bonnie because of Elena and not because, well I don’t know, Bonnie is a person who deserves life? Remember when Bonnie was left behind in the prison world, fighting Kai while Damon, of all people, got to escape? And remember when people lost their shit at the idea of Bonnie choosing Enzo (and herself) over Damon?

Nonetheless, things were starting to look up for Bonnie with Enzo. He was going to take the cure, they were going to live a long happy life together. But then Stefan violently kills him and in the midst of her intense anguish and pain, Bonnie takes the cure she was going to use for Enzo and uses it on Stefan, saving him and Elena (who he was going to kill) once again. Even after what Stefan did, Caroline expected Bonnie to come to their wedding, celebrating Caroline’s fairytale with a person who destroyed hers.

I watched the series finale. I saw the end to every character I had grown to like and hate over the past eight years. Everyone got their happy ending, except Bonnie. Bonnie’s arch ends with her vowing to follow Enzo’s advice and travel the world and be happy. She doesn’t get the epic romance that is awarded to everyone else. And before you mention Stefan’s death, Caroline is not alone. Klaus, as he promised, will be her last love. Elena and Damon are together. Bonnie, however…again…is alone. However cliche it may be, we don’t get to see her walking towards the sunset with the love of her life. We don’t even get to see her following her dreams. We don’t know what Bonnie’s dreams are. We only know that she is still living for someone else.

I wanted so much for Bonnie Bennett. I wanted the world for her, as she often gave the world to so many others. But that wasn’t her case. The writers of TVD really failed her. She was treated as a good, loyal, pet, but was never allowed to shine in her own right.

But I’ve learned to stop putting so much expectations into characters of color written by white people. Eleven times out of ten, they never do our stories justice. But in a genre where Black girls rarely every see themselves, I can admit, I did expect so much more. I can also admit that the treatment of Bonnie’s character and other characters of color still hurts.

I expected more for Glenn, and Poussey, and Lincoln, and countless others. I am currently and nervously biting my nails for Raven Reyes from the 100 who seems to be becoming a martyr. I feel the same for Sasha from TWD after last Sundays episode.

With all that being said writers should know that we don’t want to see these characters persecuted. We don’t want them to become martyrs. We don’t want them to orbit other characters. We want them to be treated like the Sun.

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