#i was thinking about how often andrew gets violent with her and realized she gets violent with him an equal amount

[coffincestuous]

ashley graves, the most normal girl in the world

#tcoaal #the coffin of andy and leyley #ashley graves #andrew graves #tcoaal screencaps #coffin.txt #she has problems disorder but it’s okay #i was thinking about how often andrew gets violent with her and realized she gets violent with him an equal amount #‘very not good’ indeed

[ceydsmelayne]

Who is She.

Mother: (self-definition): Protector

Arizona. Michael's mom, brother and other family live there. We travelled for 3 days maybe 4. We had 2 cats with us, Gemini and Romeo; I forget how we acquired him. He was a sweet orange kitty and loved to roam the neighborhood. Somewhere between moving from Illinois, visiting Iowa for my birthday and moving to Arizona, we stopped for ice cream and I let him try it... then I couldn't get him to stop eating it. I remember watching a home video, we're at a park, sister and I out of the car and parents in the car. She aims the camera at me asking me what happened, and the look of disappointment on my face as I look down at my ice cream, which I barely had taken a lick of. We couldn't help but laugh.

Family of 4 packed with 2 cats, tailer in tow. I think it was a 96 ford escort. Missouri, Kansas, Oklahoma, Texas, New Mexico. Arizona. We stopped in Texas to see some of Michael's old friends. This is when my love for a Great Dane started. They had 2, I think, probably such a big dog in a small house, it seemed like it was 2. He had his own couch and lived like a king. I remember he didn't like the video camera. She found that out. On the road again. One of the cats pooped in the car, I laughed and sister cried, it was on her blanket. We stopped in Albuquerque. So incredibly cool that we passed through as the Hot Air Balloon Fest was happening. I loved to see them in all sorts of shapes and characters and colors! Just wow. We stayed at a hotel once or twice. One of the nights we stayed at a hotel, a fight broke out between my parents. I couldn't sleep, the TV on, apparently Michael couldn't sleep either. He put on the porn channel and was playing with himself. He didn't know I was awake, I didn't know what to do, I was kind of frozen. If I moved, I feared he'd know I was awake, Id get in trouble. He started to play with her too. They fucked while we were in the same room. I mean.. that's weird right? I was 7, sister 5. If they were in the bathroom together or something, not that it would make it better, but at least we wouldn't be in the same room, 3 feet away. I think she realized I was awake. Michael punched the wall, they were screaming at each other, I don't remember words, just the energy. Violent. I felt like it was my fault. I remember looking at him like I was supposed to say I'm sorry. Sorry for what? Being a kid. existing? I don't think anything was ever mentioned of that again. Back on the road.

We moved in with Grandma J, Michael's mom, and Jeremy, her roommate. She was so excited to see him after so many years. Hearing her yell his name and run to him with open arms. That's a sweet core memory. I think he had been in Arkansas for a while, maybe he lived with his dad at some point and learned he wasn't what he thought? I have a feeling their relationship has always been a bit strained. My parents had the master bed with the bathroom. It was definitely a small house, there was a huge back yard though. I guess this is when my story gets more messy. She learns an awful lot about Michael and his vices. Their drinking didn't get better and it seem that meth was still making a monster of them. I remember her tweaking out that a cop lived across the street. She peeked through the blinds often, thinking someone is watching the house. Was Grandma J in on their addiction too? Jeremy?

The neighborhood kids were cool! Alvey and his brothers Sampson and Zane, Lacey and her brother Andrew, Chelsea and her brother Jake, LeTizia and her brother Emelio, Natalie was an only child brat, there were some girls who lived on the end of the street, I forget their name. I got caught stealing my parents lighters to pretend to smoke weed under her back porch; rolled up leaves in a play-doh pipe, man did that shit burn! Daniel, and his brothers. I was in love with Daniel, I suppose he was my first kiss! Mike and Marc McCoy, twins, all the girls swooned. We were the cool kids. We built ramps out of cinder blocks and ply wood for our bikes. Had to see how many of us we could jump over, before the back tire hit someone. Many major bifs when the board snapped. How high of a jump could we make? 3,4 blocks high? 5? Letizia told the story of El Chupacabra, had me scared for months. We definitely tried. Chelsea "married" Emileo, he was 5 and she was 12, young love! We had balloons, food, cake, and gifts to celebrate the new couple. I have a photo album of that! Gem! Sister and Zane were on and off. When Daniel moved, I was in love with Alvey, but crushing hard on his older brother Sampson. So many cool forts were built! Tarps, 2X4's, nails and cinder blocks. Why there was a pleather of cinderblocks, I do not know.

Uncle Richard got a new 4 wheeler and had to bring it over to play. That's the cool thing about Arizona, trails everywhere. Empty lots had dirt bike jumps, don't wreck, you'll fall into the cactus. Michael took me for a long ride, I sat in front of him so I could drive once we got on the trail. It was so cool! Wide open on the throttle, doing donuts. I loved it! When we got home, though, she was freaking out. They had a HUGE fight, I remember. I had gone to the bathroom, and she rushed in and asked me what was in my urine. How was I supposed to know what was going on. I responded confused, "I don't know.. bubbles?'. On the ride, Michael had taken over the throttle on the 4 wheeler, I remember his hand being wet. She thought he touched me or raped me or something, she was pissed. I don't remember what gave her that impression that had happened. I never was able to understand the why or what was so sexual about the drive. I still don't. This was the first incident of many.

#storytime #lifestory #moving #growth #spirtualjourney #healing #mental abuse #child abuse #journal #journey #childhood trauma #inner child #childhood memory #core memory

[devilwomcn]

REINA THANE + @paiintedinflames​​ LOCATION: Rhea and Cronus’s Home

Somehow, Jason’s wake is even worse than the funeral had been. At least there she’d been able to sit silently and play the part of grieving widow, a phony tear or two rolling down her cheek as a few friends, Rhea, and even Cronus managed to muster up some tribute about her husband that felt incredibly off-putting. His parents displayed him as a saint and his loyal followers spoke of him like he was Jesus Christ himself, dead too soon but soon to be resurrected to save them from their sins. Reina couldn’t think of a worse nightmare than her husband coming back to life just to kill her for her own sins against him. But they’d buried him after, she watched as his body lowered in the casket six feet underground and took comfort in the fact that if by some grace of God he was still alive, there’s no way out of the grave they put him in.

Now, at the wake, more is expected of her. She’s spent the majority of it fielding sincere condolences from older club members and people who didn’t really know her late husband, and anyone who did has still looked at her with pity or placed a hand on her shoulder that’s supposed to be comforting. It’s enough to make Reina sick. These people don’t realize what a relief it is to be rid of him, even those who know of his violent tendencies don’t know how often she’d been the one to endure them — they all must be thinking that poor woman, left alone with three young children and no husband to take care of her. And by what has to be the hundredth sorry for your loss of the evening, Reina’s had more than enough and steals away to the kitchen under the guise of helping Rhea put another pot of coffee on.

Andrew’s presence in the kitchen is a welcome one, her shoulders releasing the slightest amount of tension. He may be Jason’s brother by blood but the two of them know the man and his true colors maybe better than anyone else save for Rick, and she knows Andy is just as relieved as she is to see him gone. They haven’t spoken much since Rick had called him to help clean up the scene of the crime — to make it look like nothing more than the product of a decades long war started by none other than their own father — and Reina has never been great at expressing gratitude, but she’s more than thankful for Andrew and his help in this. For now, all she can offer him is a shot of tequila to express her thanks. “Cheers,” she speaks up, pouring a finger of liquor in two glasses already sitting out before she slides one in her brother in law’s direction. “I know this day can’t be much easier for you than it is for me. We may as well get a little drunk.”

#rt. #v. last of my kind. #lomk. andrew.

[nataliesnews]

A good year to all..  One can dream.Myself and my friend Shosh at Stella Maris in Haifa where I spent a good weekend relaxing .....I do eat in between demonstrations. It was a very pleasant place and what I appreciated the most was that the music was quiet so that you could chat.  It was very pleasant to be with them again. I saw the kids growing up and now there they are with their children....so old I am! As I grow older one of the problems is that so many old friends move away to be closer to their children. And as Jerusalem becomes more and more religious one can also understand those who move away. The monster, the slide, next to me looks like Mea Shearim. And I think to myself that we are supporting all of them....of course there are those who do  work but many of them, if they do so, do it on the black market. I have to keep reminding myself of the good people  I know. 

And what has been so disgusting is that the ultra orthodox are getting more and more moneys and the Holocaust survivors, the old and handicapped less and less

This is the second time that I am asking but does anyone recognize this picture

realized that for all the impact she has made on English literature she

only wrote six books.I just realized that there is one short one which I never knew about but it is on audible and for free. It is so amazing how she portrays her characters just through their speech. Reading Northanger Abbey the anti-heroine is so conniving and manipulative and  specious when it comes to what she wants to do as opposed to the other person….she immediately brought to mind someone I had some dealings with lately. Then I have been reading a second book in a South African series about Tant Marta b y Sally Andrew…..very South African though the woman must weigh a ton as she always seems to be hungry and is making all sorts of mossbolletjies . She actually makes me very hungry with all her different South African foods of which I have never heard. Add to that a murder and other violent attacks not necessarily in SA together with rather weird gatherings and people coming from other countries where they experienced.  Very weird but also gave me a taste of all parts of South Africa. Not an author I would bother to buy another book from but a South African experience. She also gives people advice about their love life telling them what recipes to make for them. Makes me want to lick my lips and meet her. I love the kudu which wanders around. I wish I had one in the wadi.

Netanyahu has really made a fool of himself running all over to meet with a man who I believe is the richest man in the world and also sounds very dangerous. He went half across America to meet  Musk whereas the latter bestirred himself to meet Erdogan in Washington and took his son with him. I bet Yaier Netanyahu cringed with jealousy. And then Biden is to meet him in Washington and then  will go back to the White House to meet another leader....whereas Netanyahu is persona non grata. Now Netanyahu  in first for sitting PM, Netanyahu expected to skip Rabin memorial at Mount Herzl

Unnamed sources close to premier call ceremony increasingly 'political'; event has become battlefield between Netanyahu and Rabin family

In the meantime Israel is becoming more and more    as if the government is trying to pull an iron curtain down.   There is the threat of  the facial recognition cameras in public spaces....from what I understand, if a minor policeman wants to check up on his wife he will be able to do so. The police are confiscating school books of children which have the Palestinian flag on them and stopping them on their way to school to open their school bags to check!!! It is said that Israeli reporters are more and more censoring themselves. Beside the fact that one Palestinian report was shot and killed and others are often wounded. A friend from the UN says that they are having more and more difficulty getting visas to enter Israel.

My computer went mad again and I don't know how to fix the lines. 

#Rosh Hashanah 2023

[bytheangell]

I Don’t Want to Say I (I Want to Say We)

( @shadowhunterbingo​ square: Arranged Marriage) (Read on AO3)

“What do you mean we don’t count?” Alec demands, voice rising to a near shout. Andrew keeps his expression as professionally neutral as possible at the outburst. It’s a closed meeting, and outside of the two Council members who requested it, the only person besides Alec is Andrew. This isn’t uncommon for them - Alec often brings someone else to meetings that could just as easily be entirely private, if only so he has a friendly face in his corner when dealing with some of the more antagonistic Council members. Andrew has been that ‘someone else’ for quite a few meetings that Izzy or Jace couldn’t make it to.

“Your marriage is hardly a sacrifice made in good faith,” Blackridge points out. “The warlocks feel the same. With how quickly - and willingly - Bane left with you for Alicante, they aren’t positive he won’t side more with you than his own people. He’s done it before. And so have you for him.”

“Everyone knows your allegiance is more to each other than each other’s people,” Lydia Branwell reluctantly adds. Andrew can tell that she doesn’t want to be here, and probably is only because the Council thought the news coming from her might soften the blow, given her history and connection with Alec. “Both sides want a newly arranged marriage to seal the agreement. Something purely symbolic.”

Andrew watches Alec silently struggle to keep his expression impassive, but he knows Alec well enough to catch the way his hands clench into fists at his side, nails digging into his palms as he considers the orders he’s being given. Andrew is impressed to hear Alec’s voice is almost even when he finally speaks.

“I can’t ask anyone to do that,” Alec says finally, shaking his head.

“You won’t be asking them, you’ll be ordering them. This isn’t a debate, Lightwood,” Blackridge tells him, with a smirk. “Trust me, I doubt Rey is any happier about being on the other end of this.”

Andrew, who’s remained otherwise silent this entire meeting, can’t help but react now. His eyes widen for a moment in surprise, gaze flicking from Alec to Blackridge in an immediate shift of interest. “Lo-- Mr. Rey is choosing the warlock?”

Blackridge laughs. “No, Mr. Rey is the warlock. The warlock council from the Spiral Labyrinth is likely informing him as we speak.”

Andrew’s blood turns cold. Lorenzo. Lorenzo is the other end of the arranged marriage.

A lot of thoughts go through Andrew’s head at that moment, but he can’t say any of them because no one knows about the relationship he’s had with Lorenzo for the past six months. A relationship Andrew almost could’ve pretended wasn’t that big of a deal if it wasn’t for the violent churn in his stomach at the thought of seeing Lorenzo with anyone else, or the sinking weight in his chest at the idea of losing him now, even if it was over something entirely out of their control.

No, that somehow only makes it worse.

“If you can’t do it, someone else will do it for you,” Blackridge adds to Alec, entirely unaware of the internal crisis Andrew’s having, suddenly realizing that Alec being in control of this situation is the only way Andrew has a chance of coming out of this with his heart intact.

“He can do it,” Andrew says suddenly, drawing three sets of surprised eyes in his direction.

“Andrew, I can’t-”

“You can do it,” Andrew repeats pointedly, hoping his tone and the pleading look in his eyes are enough to convey to Alec that he’s not just spouting generic ‘you got this, buddy!’ reassurances.

Alec looks him over curiously, but Andrew doesn’t risk being more insistent than he already was, not wanting to look suspicious.

“Alright. I’ll choose someone,” Alec agrees slowly. Andrew feels his shoulders sag in visible relief.

“You have three days, Lightwood. Or we’re stepping in,” Blackridge says, and a minute later he and Lydia are gone from the room.

Once they’re definitely alone again, Alec turns to Andrew.

“You gonna tell me what that was about?” Alec asks him.

Andrew hesitates. What is his plan? To stall in the hopes of Lorenzo refusing on his end? To make sure he can at least get a say in who is about to step in and ruin the best thing that’s happened to him in years? Or to be bold enough to put himself in a position he isn’t sure he’s ready for, in a declaration he is equally unsure Lorenzo will appreciate, or even agree to?

“I volunteer,” Andrew says before he can change his mind.

“You what?” Alec nearly chokes on the words.

“I volunteer. I’ll marry Lorenzo,” Andrew repeats.

“No. You don’t deserve that - no one deserves this,” Alec shakes his head. “I didn’t walk out of my own political marriage just to force one on someone else.”

“You aren’t forcing me. It’s fine, Alec. I’ll do it.” Andrew, Raziel help him, still can’t bring himself to admit why. He isn’t sure if it’s to protect Lorenzo and honor their agreement to not let anyone find out about their secret relationship, or because he’s afraid that admitting it wouldn’t be a true ‘sacrifice’ would force Alec to choose someone else. No matter the reason, he hesitates, guarding the truth even now.

Alec looks him over closely.

“You keep calling him Lorenzo,” Alec observes cautiously. “Are the two of you…?”

“Quite close already, Sir. Yes,” Andrew confirms without saying the word boyfriend. He knows he can trust Alec, but he also knows that Alec is bound, to a certain extent, to following orders. The less he knows the more plausible deniability he has later if questioned on his choice.

If he chooses Andrew at all.

“I see,” Alec’s expression softens.

“I can’t let it be anyone else. Please, Alec, let me do this,” Andrew says, openly pleading now.

“I still don’t like it. Give me those three days to see what I can do. But if it has to be someone… you’re certain you want it to be you?”

Andrew nods. “Yes.”

Alec sighs. “Alright. Thank you, Andrew.”

It isn’t until they’re both back at the Institute and Andrew receives a ‘We need to talk’ text from Lorenzo that a thought occurs to him for the first time:

What if Lorenzo doesn’t want to marry him?

They’re dating, sure, and Andrew would like to think that there’s something there between them… but dating and marriage are two very different things. What if Lorenzo would prefer someone else? What if he liked Andrew for now but had no intention of keeping him around forever? They’re doing fine now, but what if this offer is too much? What if this breaks them?

Andrew is a mess of nerves the rest of the day, barely able to fill out basic reports without his mind wandering until his shift is finally over and he immediately makes his way to Lorenzo’s. He walks, hoping the fresh air will calm him and clear his head, but it does neither.

The anxiety must be written all over his face, because the moment he steps through the door Lorenzo takes one look at him and says, “You already know.”

Andrew nods.

“It’s ridiculous!” Lorenzo exclaims. “Do you know they had the audacity to tell me it wasn’t even a sacrifice for me!? ‘What’s a couple of decades?’, they said! As if-” he words break off then, surprisingly emotional. “As if losing the time I’d have with you wouldn’t be a sacrifice.”

Lorenzo thought he was losing him. Of course he did, Andrew realizes. Because he expects that the Shadowhunter chosen would be forced into it, the same as him. And maybe if anyone other than Alec were in charge, that would be the case.

“You don’t have to lose me, Ren,” Andrew starts, but Lorenzo cuts him off before he can finish.

“Damn right I don’t, because I’m not doing it. They can find another High Warlock if they have to.”

“Well,” Andrew says. “That would make the fact that I volunteered to be the Shadowhunter in the arrangement a bit awkward, then.”

Lorenzo, who’d been pacing back and forth in his barely contained frustration and anger, stops dead in his tracks. “What?”

“I was with Alec when they told him what was happening, and I… I volunteered. I couldn’t exactly stand there and listen to them discuss my boyfriend marrying someone else.”

“Andrew, I…” Lorenzo starts, but his words trail off. The silence that follows while Lorenzo processes the new information puts Andrew back on edge.

“If you don’t want to, that’s… well, I suppose it isn’t fine, but I’ll understand,” Andrew’s voice is quiet but at least it fills the silence. “We hadn’t really discussed our future that far before.”

“I don’t want you to marry me out of obligation,” Lorenzo points out.

“I’m not. For me, at least, it’s… well, if things kept going well that was always the endgame, wasn’t it? We’re just accelerating the timeline.”

Andrew can feel his heartbeat in his chest, the pulse points in his neck and wrists seeming to quicken with every passing second that he waits for Lorenzo to say something, anything, about whether or not he wants to marry him.

“You would really want to marry a warlock?” Lorenzo asks him, and the hint of disbelief behind the words guts Andrew. Lorenzo puts on a front so often that sometimes even he forgets how vulnerable his boyfriend can actually be.

“I would really want to marry you, Lorenzo,” Andrew corrects, taking a step toward Lorenzo to reach out his hands. He doesn’t take Lorenzo’s, however. Not yet. Andrew stops halfway to his boyfriend and waits.

For a moment he’s afraid Lorenzo isn’t going to move, but then he’s closing the space between them, ignoring Andrew’s outstretched hands to wrap his arms around Andrew’s waist and pull him flush against his body, lips meeting in a deep, emotional kiss.

When they finally part for air Andrew looks into Lorenzo’s eyes to see the faint shimmer of unshed tears there before he blinks them away, smiling.

“Is that a yes?” Andrew asks, not wanting to leave anything up to assumptions at this point.

“Yes,” Lorenzo confirms, nodding. “I want to marry you, too.”

Andrew beams. “This isn’t exactly how I imagined proposing. I don’t even have a ring,” he laughs.

Lorenzo smirks. “I could do something about that,” he says coyly. There’s a wave of golden yellow magic, and then two beautiful golden bands rest in his open palm.

“Of course you would have engagement bands just sitting around for anyone,” Andrew laughs.

“Not just anyone,” Lorenzo admits.

Oh. “Oh, Ren…”

“You weren’t the only one hoping maybe someday…” Lorenzo’s words trail off as he looks up at Andrew with a soft smile. “I just didn’t expect to need them so soon.”

With any last lingering doubts or hesitations gone from his mind, it’s Andrew who closes the space between them this time, knowing they’re going to be just fine.

#reyhill #andrew underhill #lorenzo rey #alec lightwood #shadowhunters #ShadowhunterBingo #hmdiscord #it's been a hot second since I wrote Reyhill and I still love them #elle writes a few deadbeat lines #long post

[cherubcow]

“Invincible”, Season 1 (2021) Review

Somehow both very cool and very fucking stupid :D

About Created and written primarily by Robert Kirkman (principle writer for The Walking Dead comic and TV show), this Young Adult cartoon basically synthesizes a number of comic book characters (e.g., Superman, Batman, Green Lantern, Hellboy, Wonder Woman, Gambit) and tries to balance their heroism with cynical twists and dark realities. It's an exercise like Brightburn (2019) in that it mirrors existing comic writing all too closely in order to make violent twists. The cool stuff arrives pretty much immediately. You can tell right away that the physics have some level of realism, and it quickly gets serious because of this. The easy comparison would be to The Boys (also by Amazon, also about violent heroes, and also very well-produced). So, if you like The Boys (2019–), you'll probably like Invincible only a little less.

(( Some spoilers but nothing too specific ))

Wrong Focus But, the stupid stuff comes from the same error that the Kick-Ass movie (2010) made: it focuses on the wrong person(s). In Kick-Ass, the error was focusing on.. well.. "Kick-Ass", an irredeemable loser and waste of screen time. Invincible makes the same mistake, focusing on.. well.. "Invincible", a (so far) irredeemable loser and waste of screen time. So, despite its virtues, this show cannot escape that it made the decision to go for the Young Adult viewing demographic. It reminds me of Alita: Battle Angel (2019) in that way too: some very cool adult concepts ruined by the dramatic devices of unrepentant teenage stupidity and irrelevance. I didn't even like that stuff when I was a teenager, though Jordan Catalano gets a pass.

Main Cast and Characters The supporting characters were also very stupid. The most annoying was definitely Amber Bennett (voiced by the otherwise cool Zazie Beetz from Deadpool 2 (2018) and Joker (2019)), 

who is supposed to be attractive somehow to Mark Grayson ("Invincible", voiced by Steven Yeun, who played Glenn on The Walking Dead) 

despite the fact that she constantly judges him, fails to understand him, often fails to give him any kind of benefit of the doubt, and continues to scowl at him and be hurtful towards him even when she has information that should change her outlook towards him. And because she is part of the love triangle shared between herself, Invincible/Mark, and "Atom Eve"/Samantha (voiced by the awesome Gillian Jacobs from Community (2009–2014)), 

audiences simply have to bear with it that Amber's annoying character will be present and wasting time until Mark can realize that Amber is in fact toxic and that Eve actually understands him and can improve him in more positive directions. That love triangle should have been a 20-minute distraction, but I'm guessing that it will eat up a season or two more, especially if the writers become cowardly and fail to change things for fear of messing up a perceived "winning" formula. In my ideal story line, they would skip ahead 10 years, drop the teen drama, the love triangle, and the stupid jokes and have Invincible and Eve paired in defense of Earth, with the main tension being from their worry that the other would be horribly gored in front of them during lethal fights against cosmic enemies ;)

Aside, I am aware of Amber’s motivation for being a bad person, I just think her justification is not based in understanding, empathy, and a regard for the gravity of Invincible’s situation. In a strict political sense, Invincible should not commit a lie of omission by keeping her in the dark about his identity — even if for the “noble lie” reason of protecting her — but in a real sense, he is a fucking teenager who just developed his super powers. For her to pretend that he should reveal his entire identity to her — a potentially transformative and even dangerous decision — after a few months of teenage romance paints an absurd portrait of her mind. It does, however, align her with Omni-Man, because where Omni-Man forces Invincible to become an adult in the fighting sense (pushing with full force early on), Amber forces Invincible to become an emotional adult by getting him to understand that toxic people such as herself need to be given boundaries — and he needs to learn to clearly delineate and communicate his real desires. By knowing that he does not want Amber, people who regiment his free time, or people who do not suit him, for instance, he can realize why Eve was an obvious decision: Eve understands, can make time when they have time, and will let him find his decisions. Part of a coming-of-age story tends to be realizing what one actually wants, and Invincible’s hesitation in telling Amber his identity shows that he does not truly want her. This separates Invincible from, say, Spider-Man, who avoided telling Mary Jane his identity not because he did not want her but because he wanted at all costs to protect her.

The next most annoying character has to be Debbie Grayson (voiced by TV-cancer Sandra Oh and who luckily was not animated to look like the real Sandra Oh and who should have been voiced instead by Bobby Lee due to Lee's successful MadTV parody of Sandra Oh). 

Debbie basically fills the role of Skyler in Breaking Bad, except that Debbie's character tends to be slightly more understanding before her inevitable and toxic Skyler-resentment and undermining behavior. Despite having an 8-episode arc of change, Debbie's character flips too quickly and lacks the empathy and Omni-Man motive-justifying that would make her interesting (the comic's development may vary). For instance, if she refused to believe that Omni-Man meant his own words, that would make her empathetic and perhaps virtuous even if misled, but instead she dropped their "20 years" of understanding after viewing Omni-Man in action, which makes her appear shallow, easily manipulated, and unsympathetic. That was a definite "Young Adult" genre move because it shows immaturity by the writers to break apart a bond of 20 years so quickly. Mediocre teens might accept such a fissure because their lives have not yet seen or may not comprehend that level of time, but adults know that even long-standing and problematic relationships (which, beyond the lie, Omni-Man's and Debbie's was not shown to be) take a lot of time to break — even with lies exposed.

Omni-Man The biggest show strength for me was of course Omni-Man, who in a success of casting was voiced by J.K. Simmons in a kind of reprisal of Simmons' role as Fletcher from Whiplash (2014). 

The Fletcher/Omni-Man parallel shows through their being incredibly harsh but extremely disciplined and principled, forcing people to become beyond even their own ideal selves (this via Omni-Man's tough-love teaching of Invincible — comically, Omni-Man was actually psychologically easier on Invincible than Fletcher was on Whiplash's Andrew character). Despite the show's attempts to villainize Omni-Man, he, like Fletcher and also like Breaking Bad's Walter White, becomes progressively more awesome, eventually representing a Spartan will, an unconquerable drive, and a realistic and martial understanding of a hero's role.

To the show's credit, while it wrote Omni-Man to be outright genocidal and from a culture of eugenicists (again, Spartan), they could not help but admire him and his "violence" and "naked force" (for a Starship Troopers reference), giving him a path to redemption. That redemption comes in part because — despite the show's attempt to be often realistic and violent — its decision to be directed at young adults via dumb jokes, petty relationship drama, the characters’ reckless lack of anonymity and security in their neighborhood (loudly taking off and landing right at the doorstep), and light indy music also made the portrayed violence far less literal. With a less literal violence, the real statement becomes not that Omni-Man really did kill so many people (though he certainly did kill those people within the show's plot) but that he was symbolically capable of terrible violence but could be reformed for good. That's the shortcoming with putting violence under demographic limitations. If it's a PG-13 Godzilla knocking down cities, the deaths in the many fallen skyscrapers don't matter so much (the audience will even forgive Godzilla for mass death if it happens mostly in removed spectacle), whereas if it's Cormac McCarthy envisioning a very realistic fiction, every death rides the edge of true trauma.

By showing light between the real and the symbolic, it is much easier to identify and agree with Omni-Man. For instance, when Robot (voiced by Zachary Quinto of Heroes and the newer Star Trek movies) 

shows too much empathy for the revealed weakness of "Monster Girl" (voiced by Grey Griffin), the audience may have thought, "Pathetic," even before Omni-Man himself said it. And this because Omni-Man knows that true and powerful enemies (including himself) will not hesitate to use ultra-violence against these avenues of weakness. "Invincible" can make his Spider-Man quips while in lethal battles, but he does so while riding the edge of death — something that Omni-Man has to teach Invincible by riding him to the brink of his own.

Other Cast/Characters and Amazon's Hidden Budget It was impressive how many big-name actors were thrown into this — a true hemorrhage of producer funding. Amazon has so far hidden the budget numbers, perhaps because they don't want people to know that the show (like many of its shows) represents a kind of loss-leader to jump-start its entertainment brand.

Aside from those already mentioned, the show borrows a number of actors from The Walking Dead (WD), including.. • Chad L. Coleman ("Martian Man"; "Tyreese" on WD),

• Khary Payton ("Black Samson"; "Ezekiel" on WD),

• Ross Marquand (several characters; "Aaron" on WD)

• Lauren Cohan ("War Woman"; "Maggie" on WD)

• Michael Cudlitz ("Red Rush"; "Abraham" on WD)

• Lennie James ("Darkwing"; "Morgan" on WD)

• Sonequa Martin-Green ("Green Ghost"; "Sasha" on WD) 

There were also connections to Rick and Morty and Community, not just with Gillian Jacobs but also with... • Justin Roiland ("Doug Cheston"), who voices both Rick and Morty in Rick and Morty,

• Jason Mantzoukas ("Rex"),

• Walton Goggins ("Cecil"),

• Chris Diamantopoulos (several characters),

• Clancy Brown ("Damien Darkblood"),

• Kevin Michael Richardson ("Mauler Twins"), and

• Ryan Ridley (writing)

That's a lot of overlap. They even had Michael Dorn from Star Trek: TNG (1987–1994) (there he played Worf) and Reginald VelJohnson from Family Matters (1989–1998) and Die Hard (1988), and even Mark Hamill. Pretty much everyone in the voice cast was significant and known. Maybe Amazon got a discount for COVID since the actors could all do voice-work from home? ;)

Overall Bad that it was for the Young Adult target demo but good for the infrequent adult themes and ultra-violence. Very high production value and a good watch for those who like dark superhero stories. I have heard that the comic gets progressively darker, which fits for Robert Kirkman, so it will likely be worth keeping up with this show.

#invincible #tv review #robert kirkman #invincible tv series #invincible tv show

[angelisverba]

no need to be sorry

in which y/n realizes she loves Jason, and he can’t touch himself to the thought of her because it makes him feel guilty

word count: 12.8k

pairing: y/n and her brother’s best friend, jason

warning: strong mentions of sexual trauma and abuse. please read at your own caution if you are not comfortable with that .

author’s note: originally this was supposed to be a super long piece (and the last one) but i wanted to put something else to make the last part even longer :) THIS IS NOT EDITED, sorry not sorry hehe

March is a very confusing month. 

For y/n, it meant SAT cramming and intensive camps for the retake in may. A maxed out speed on her brain as to keep up her grades (and even improve them because God knows her math grade needs urgent care) and constantly keep her nose in her books because finals were approaching soon. 

For Jason, and the entire senior class for that matter, it meant renting out tuxedos and making appointments at the beauty salon in preparation for prom, buying tickets for prom, finding a prom date, asking out said date in a cutesy way that was memorable for both parties.

It meant asking y/n to be his prom date, but not drag her away from her studies because that just wouldn’t be fair.

Hell, Jason still hadn’t taken his girl out on a second date because she was such a busy bee, and had to settle for ‘study dates’. Really it was just him watching her chew on her bottom lip as she transferred notes from her chemistry textbook to her notebook, his own work splayed out in front of him, meaning to be completed but his attention diverted elsewhere. She’d glance up with burning cheeks to tell him that his glasses were sliding down his nose, and Jason— quite nearly in a hypnotic daze— would smile dopily at her and say ‘you’re so pretty’. She would shush him and tell him to get to work, or sometime ask for his help, and Jason would use that as an excuse to wrap his arm around her waist telling her ‘gotta whisper love, come close’ and proceed to explain how the law of gas, ideal gas, and Dalton’s Law of partial pressure differentiated from each other. 

He didn’t mind this. Any time he got with her he treasured, but god did he want to keep her tucked at his side at all times to show him off. It was selfish of him to be jealous that she wasn’t spending time with him when all she wanted to do was study for her future; for college. Selfish because Jason already had everything worked out. He’d gotten a scholarship to his dream school via football and his good-ish grades. Dorming and transportation was all set-up; he was 100% ready to go. 

But y/n? She’d confessed to Jason that she had no idea what she was doing with her life. That she was studying and doing all these things to look good for her college application, but her biggest fear was that they still wouldn’t accept her and she’d wind up going to community college. There were times where her bouncing leg would violently shake their table in the library so much, Jason would drag her out of the chair and take her on a short walk around the library (if her eyes were teary he’d sneak her into a corner and peck at her eyelids softly until she giggled). An effective strategy that resulted in a noticeable tent at his crotch, and a dreamy-eyed y/n that peeked up at him through her lashes with heated cheeks. 

He’d say, “Are you relaxed now? Or should we go home?” 

Home was his house. Y/n had her home, and Jason had his- respectively- but he referred to his place as ‘home’ and she never bothered to correct him.  More often than not (once it got to this point) y/n would nod and they’d head over to his place. 

And, well, who was she to pass up that opportunity? 

Y/n enjoyed reading her dog-eared SAT book on Jason’s bed and falling asleep on her crossed arms. Only because she would wake up an hour or so later, glued next to his side, with him also napping, lips puffy and hair extra fluffy. His hair, how a complete chocolate brown color, closely cropped since he’d cut off all the blond, fanned on the pillow and curled around the frames of his tortoise-shell glasses that he never remembered to take off. 

She’d always take them off for him, and the movement would startle him awake, his green eyes fluttering awake, eyebrows furrowed in a confusion that disappeared when he realized that it was just her. His sweet y/n with sleepy eyes who took his glasses off ever so gently, and reached over him to place them on his bedside.

They were wrapped up in their own little personal heaven when they were together, alone, and it was only disrupted when it was time for Jason to take y/n home. Grabby hands and kissy faces consumed them when she received a questioning text from her parents or brother, and the whole ‘do you really have to go’ ordeal took its course. And maybe- just maybe- Jason enjoyed the goodbyes because y/n always put extra effort into her goodbye kiss, leaning and pressing up against his mouth so their noses were squished against each other, her hand at the collar of his shirt to pull him even closer, communicating to him how much… how much she would miss him. 

She knew that Jason understood, and when they broke apart with a wet suction noise, and her eyes fluttered open to meet his, Jason knew that she knew that he knew what she was trying to say. It was a slight moment of vulnerability on her part, because it was the closest they’d get to admitting/discussing the sexual parts of their relationship. Or rather, the lack of.

But never mind that, it didn’t matter to any of them. They could be intimate without having sex. 

Right?

*                                                      *                                  *

Jason was confused. 

As silly as it was, prom was a big deal. It signified the closing of an era in a teenager’s life; the end of high school. A party to honor their struggles and begin a transition to a period of more struggles. 

Traditionally, you attend a dance with a date. A girlfriend, a crush, a last resort. One could go with friends but, Jason has a girlfriend now and he’d be damned if he didn’t take his pretty girl and show off that he was the one that got her in the end.  

The only issue was: the prom-posal.

He knew that y/n and him didn’t hang in the same crowd, and while they were both mellow, y/n held a little more reserve to public announcements.

She was shy. 

Needless to say, Jason had a very big quest on his shoulders; to find a way to ask y/n out to prom in a way that was memorable and attune to her likings. He thinks he doesn’t think he'd be able to get over it if he messed this up. 

“Jason? Bro are you even listening?” Andrew asked from across the lunch table. Kent stuffed french fries into his mouth, and glanced from both his friends. 

“Sorry, man. What was that?” Jason presses the lock button on his phone, and places it down on the table. 

“I was talking about the rager at Greg’s, is everything alright? You’ve been distant for a few days now, not having issues with y/n are you?” Andrew’s facial features darkened slightly, the deep concerns for his sister shining through his demeanor. Kent picked on the change of atmosphere, and his chewing stops. 

Jason sighed, his shoulders slanting downwards and the fabric of his letter-man jacket coming to a close at his chest. His heart-shaped lips come to a pensive pucker, debating if he should tell his best friend what was on his mind. 

At the troubled look on his face, Kent smiles encouragingly, and says, “You know you can tell us anything, J.” Andrew turns to look at his Kent while he’s speaking, and when he turns back to Jason, he nods, a knowing glimmer in his eyes. 

“What’s up?” His girlfriend’s brother leans forward, prepared to listen.

“I don’t know how to ask y/n to go to prom with me.” 

Andrew and Kent’s facial expression drop to a deadpan, and Jason’s eyebrows furrow in response, confused at their reaction. 

“What?” He looked back and forth between his two unimpressed friends, who suddenly burst into laughter; snickering and pointing fingers at him through wheezed words. 

“You’re fucking whipped,” Kent said, slapping a hand on Andrew’s shoulder and doubling forward.

“My sister,” their laughter calms down momentarily, “has you this upset?” And at his comment, the boys start laughing again, loud enough that it drags the attention of nearby tables. 

“Guys,” the corner of Jason’s lips struggle to stay down. “It’s not funny.” 

“Yeah, it is. Your panties are in a twist because of y/n,” Kent said, “Where is she?” He stands up from the bench and glances around the cafeteria, looking for her. 

Jason’s eyes widen, and his jaw drops, amazed at his friend’s response. “Dicks,” he mutters. “She’s with her English teacher, preparing for an exam.” 

Andrew’s chuckles die down again, and he shakes his head while rubbing his fingers on his forehead, grinning. “Deadass?”

“Yes!” Jason juts his head forward, nodding wildly. “Help me!”

Kent sits again, and places his chin on his palm. “Just go with what she likes, man.”

“Gee, thanks so much.” The stressed boy looks away, defeated.

Perhaps, it was a mistake bringing it up. Instead of receiving help, they were taking the piss out of him. He thought that maybe, because Andrew was related to the girl he was dating, he’d be a bit of hel-

“She keeps bugging me to take her to the aquarium.” 

Jason whips his head around to look at his friend, crossing his arms on the table and leaning with interest. 

“The aquarium?” He asks, eyebrows raising.

“Yeah, they remodeled a few exhibits and she’s been wanting to see them. Sent me a text about it a few days ago,” Andrew reached back to pull out his phone from his back pocket, unlocking it and pulling up a thread of texts from his sister. “Look.” 

The boy takes the phone from his friend’s hand. Y/n had sent her brother a link to the aquarium’s announcement of a reopening that occurred a few weeks before, along with ‘pleeease can we go? pleeease?’ and a puppy-eyed emoji. Andrew had only sent a curt ‘we’ll see’ to which the girl responded with screenshots of seals and penguins. 

A pang hit him straight in the heart, and he was saddened that she hadn’t asked him, given that he had refrained from taking her out in fear of distracting her from her studies. Yet, here she was asking to be taken to the aquarium, and Andrew showed no interest.  

“Take her. Ask her there. The only reason why I haven’t taken her is because she’ll ask for something from the gift shop and they’re expensive as fuck.” Andrew shrugged.

Bingo. 

With a composed look, he clicked off the phone and slid it back. On the inside, he was hopping up and down, pumping his arms with joy because everything had clicked, and he knew exactly what to do.

*                                                      *                                  *

Y/n still felt butterflies every time Jason looked at her.

Every girl wanted to be looked at by someone the way he looked at her.

A soft, dreamy daze that took over his face, eyes shining with an enamored gleam. Lashes fluttering adoringly, and lips coming together in a smirk, like he held all kinds of secrets and wanted to share them with her. His look alone said it all. I want you and only you.

It was overwhelmingly passionate. So intimate; an open admission with no shame. 

“You’re not even paying attention to me,” she whined, flopping over onto her back and throwing an arm over her head. 

They were- as usual- laying on Jason’s bed, with one of y/n’s textbooks spread open in front of them. 

“Can’t help myself,” he pushed up his glasses and raked his hair back. “You’re so pretty it’s distracting.” 

At that, y/n turned herself over so she laid next to Jason again, but her face was still nestled in the crook of her arm where her cheeks flamed. “Stop it,” she said, words muffled. 

“I’m serious.” She felt his weight dip on the bed, his hand coming to brush away hair that blocked the side of her face, and then puffs of air on her arm. Tilting her head so her eye peeked out, she saw that Jason’s mouth was hovering millimeters away from her skin, and when her eyes glanced up, an intense emerald gaze fixed on hers. “Like an angel, you are.”

Fire, heat, tingles littered the areas where his lips pressed against a trail into his skin. A blossoming feeling of affection imprinted onto her arm, and up to her cheek, where his lips lingered right underneath her lashes.

It became too much for her to handle, her heart and mind becoming muddled and confused through the overwhelming sensations that traveled throughout her nerves. Her cognitive senses seemed to refuse to acknowledge the difference between welcomed attention and… unwanted but forced attention. And, in efforts to prevent a hysteric scene or breakdown, she sprung up from her position, pressing a quick kiss into Jason’s cheek so he wouldn’t suspect anything, and sitting so she was almost completely off the bed. 

Jason watched her with… rejection. But, she wouldn’t know that because she refused to meet his eyes. Instead she said, “Have you got marshmallows in the cupboard?” 

“Uhh,” Jason cleared his throat, standing up and heading out of his room. “Yeah, I think so.”

She followed after him, shoulders hunched; ashamed. Mentally, she was pushing away repressed trauma from what seemed like yesterday. A haunting memory that refused to leave like paranoia. 

“Tiny ones or…?” He heads straight for the silver door knob next to the fridge, stepping in to squat at the lower shelves. Y/n stands in the doorway, hands awkwardly at her sides. 

“The big ones, please.” She doesn’t look up when he extends his hand to give her the fluffy white bag, and he doesn’t ask what's wrong.

Silently, y/n walks over to the kitchen island to pluck a skewer out of the drawer, and pops her hip to shut it. Jason lifts himself to sit on the countertop, his white shirt lifting to expose the pale sliver of skin that escaped from his grey sweatpants. Out the corner of her eye, she could see the enticing movement, and it caused her hands to shake, but she hid it in the twisting wrist movement of turning on the stove. 

A tearing noise comes from behind her, blending in with the clicking noises of the stove turning on. Jumping at the startling disruption, she turns to see Jason with an Oreo midway to his mouth. He gives her an open lipped smile, eyes wide as if shocked, and it makes her burst into a chuckle. 

“Can I get one?” She asked.

Wordlessly, he passed her a cookie. She took it, and it seemed that he purposely grazed his fingers over her palm. 

Y/n yanked her hand away like he’d burned her. 

Alarmed, Jason hops off the counter and moves to stand next to her.

“Y/n, is everything al-”

“Do you want a marshmallow?” She interrupted him, her breaths tense. 

“Uh, no.” He said, his head slightly shaking in disbelief at her actions. Had he done something wrong?

The girl stabbed the skewer through the white candy, and twirled it over the flames, the edges quickly turning a golden color. 

“Baby, what’s wr-” 

It catches fire, and her lips blow them off before it turns completely black, the fuh noise that escapes overpowering Jason’s gentle words. She was scared of breaking in front of him. She was scared to show him how much she was holding in.

“Can you hold this?” Voice small and squeaky.

He took the skewer out of her hands, holding it while she opened the oreo cookie. Knowing what she was gonna do, he gingerly placed the melted marshmallow on top of the frosting covered cookie, and pulled away when she sandwiched the top cookie on top.

Y/n takes a bite out of the treat, and relishes in the slightly burnt, woodsy taste of the white taffy and how it melts on her tongue and slides with ease down her throat. So much so, that a small noise of appreciation comes from the depths of her chest.

“S’good?” Jason asked, a breathy-uneasy- laugh whooshing through his nose.

She’s nodding before she looks up at him, and her head stills when she locks eyes with him. 

It’s the same, intense, focused look from before.

The one that promised so much. And it just- god she was so confused. 

So confused that she leaned forward to kiss him, disregarding the fact that- in that moment- she didn’t want affection. She needed a bit of distance and time to process her emotions.

 And instead of doing so, she lunged and connected herself to him in a smoldering embrace of their mouths. A sudden flood of inexplicable physical impressions, claiming, pleading.

Jason didn’t hesitate to respond, his hands appearing to cup at her cheeks, thumbs gingerly rubbing on the apples of her cheeks. He breathes deeply; a sharp inhale into her mouth that pulled his frame taught against hers. The forgotten treat pressed up against the divot of his pectoral muscles. 

The instant his tongue snaked into her mouth, he was bombarded with the warm and sweet taste of her mouth. Marshmallows and just her essence crowding over his taste buds; his nose also breathing in the fruity scent of her hair and woodsy burnt candy. Urgently, his lips suckled on her lower lip, y/n gasping at the sudden, ardent actions. 

Had she been any other girl, that would have been the night she finally let herself have sex with Jason. 

The mood was right; they were both bleeding mad for each other. 

But, y/n was y/n and that’s not how she was wired to go. Her mind began again with the confusion, her heart rate picking up double the rates from both the proximity of the boy and what was going to happen if the kiss continued. Did she want this? Fuck, of course she wanted this! Why was she…

“She’s not gonna do it because she’s a prude!” said one of the girls in the room. 

“No, I’m n-”

“Yeah, you are y/n. You’re a virgin. Probably wouldn’t even know what to do,” said the same girl.

Y/n had been invited to a party that the cheerleaders in her class were throwing, and boys from rival school had been invited to. They were all sitting in a circle- enough people to fill up the living room of a rich man’s house- playing a game of truth or dare, and they’d just gotten to y/n. 

She’d gotten dared to give one of the football players of the opposing school a blowjob… in the middle of the living room, with everyone watching. When they all saw her face fall, redden, and then pale,  no one wasted time to verbally pounce on her hesitance.

“Look at her! She’d pathetic Marcy, she’s not gonna do it.” The girl who invited her, Marcy, looked at her with a smirk. 

Embarrassed, and just numb to everything that was going on around her as well as what may come depending on her decisions. All she knew is that she needed to do this because she’d look bad if she didn’t. She didn’t want to be known as a prude. Even if she was a virgin. She didn’t want to be thought of badly. 

“Yes, I will.” Her meek reply had silenced the whole room.

“Come over here, and blow me.” Chris was a sophomore that was known for his promiscuous ways, and the fact that he had a big… that was evident when y/n came to kneel in front of him. 

Shaking, she sat in front of him with wide eyes, her back burning with stares and her heart pounding so hard she could feel it in her hands. 

Throughout it all, she felt disgusting. Ashamed. And unable to breathe because the guy wasn’t letting her come off, holding her down with a strong grip in her hair. Tears burned on her lashes and down her cheeks, partly from being unable to breathe, and the other because she was scared. 

God, she was so scared. What would happen to her when this got out? What then? When everyone knew what she’d done? There were more than enough witnesses present to attest that she’d given head to a guy she didn’t even know.

She’d felt a hand on her breast, and her eyes snapped open from their painful clench; alarmed. The guy sitting next to Chris had leaned over to touch her, and at her scared look he only laughed and continued to do it. His hand trailed lower and lower, and eventually she felt something hot spill down her aching throat. Her ears were ringing, her eyes bleary. 

Much of how she escaped had been... blurred through her panic.

But the feeling… that dreadful, terrorized feeling. It was what deer felt moments before being impacted by a car. 

She’d never forget it.

It was the same feeling creeping up on her then. The niggling, freezing, ambushed fear. It’s the reason why she pulled away from him, and said in a wet whisper, “I can’t.”

She hugs her arms across her chest, oreo still in hand, and turns away with her eyes dropped to the floor.  Y/n’s mind is reeling, utterly confused and just so scared scared scared.

“Did I do something wrong?” Jason asked, trailing after her to place a comforting hand on her shoulder. His lips are a dark shade of pink, the skin of his cheeks a flushed color; if one were to look down, they’d see the heather grey color of his sweatpants was slightly lifted. But his arousal was pushed aside by his concern towards the small girl, who shivered when his fingers grazed her shoulder. He could see her eyes were shut closed, but a tear escaped to roll down her cheeks, and at that the thick hairs of his brows dipped to crinkle on his forehead. “Y/n?”

“I’m sorry.” She sighed, her words hitching and cracking. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry-”

Jason pulled her into his chest, his head shaking no no no to her apologies. “There’s no need to be sorry, dovie. It’s okay. You’re alright.” 

“But I am! I so sorry, Jason. I-” Her words died on her tongue, collapsed by a series of sobs that ruptured out of her lips. She was guilty. So so guilty. She felt like she was lying to him by not telling him of what had… occurred. 

“Baby, baby, hey. Y/n,” He pulled back to cup her face with his hands again, forcing her to gaze into his calm, forest eyes. “Listen to me. Deep breaths,” he began to inhale, his chest expanding with the intake of air. “You’re okay. I’m not mad at you for anything, dove.” 

“You don’t know what I’ve done,” Y/n sets the cookie on the counter, and goes to wipe at her eyes roughly, Jason tugging at her wrists and doing it himself, shushing her as he does. 

“Well I can’t be mad if I don’t know, yeah?” He gives her a small smile. “Do you wanna talk about it?” 

“N-no,” she shakes her head. “No, I don’t.”

“Okay.” He nods, still smiling. “That’s okay. I’m here to listen whenever you’re ready.”

Y/n just nodded and gave him a sad attempt to seem happy, but her chin began to tremble, crinkles appearing underneath her lip, and she rushed to dig her nose in the crook of Jason’s neck. 

“Oh, sweetheart, I wish you’d tell me what’s got you so upset.” He murmured into her hair, his arms wrapping around her. 

“Please, Jason. I don’t wanna,” She sniffled. “Don’t wanna talk about it.”

“Alright. I’ll stop asking. Don’t wanna stress you out anymore, dovie. You need a break as it is.” Jason rubs a warm hand up and down her back soothingly when he feels her nose dip into his collarbone. 

She sniffles some more, a slight hiccup in her breaths, and Jason continues, “speaking of breaks,” this catches her attention, and y/n tilts her head so she’s able to rest it in his shoulder and look up at his side profile. “Would you like to go to the aquarium with me next week?” 

At this, her head springs up so she’s eye level with Jason, her wet eyes gleaming as a surprised smile plays on her mouth. “The aquarium?” 

“Yes, the aquarium.” Jason laughed at her response, his eyes flitting between hers. The skin of his chin crinkled because he was looking down at her, and y/n wondered how he still managed to look so good with a double chin. “A little birdy told me you’ve been wanting to go.” 

Squealing, she said, “Oh my gosh, Jason please! Can we?!” 

Jason pressed a small kiss to her nose, “Of course, silly. It’s why I asked.”

“I’ve been asking Andrew but he….” she trails off, and her eyes become squinty, “heeey, did he tell you?” 

“Mayb-” She jumped suddenly at the feeling of her phone vibrating in her back pocket. The Simpsons theme song blaring through the quiet kitchen, and letting her know her brother was calling. Most likely to tell her it was time to come home. 

“I’ll go get your stuff,” Jason mumbled, separating himself with a wistful look in his eye. 

Y/n mumbled a ‘thank you’ and fished her phone out of her back pocket, pressing the green call button and holding it up to her ear.

“Hey, lover girl. Mom says it’s time to come home. See ya,” and he hangs up before y/n can even respond. 

Rolling her eyes, y/n heads upstairs to help Jason pack her stuff with all her troubles plaguing her heart like weeds.

*                                                      *                                  *

Y/n had eased up a little on her avid studying habits because the SAT had passed, and she studied hard enough that she wasn’t planning on re-taking the exam-- no matter the score. In addition to that, there was enough to place on her shelf to make her look… well, better than good. Years worth of community service work, volunteering, participating in and starting clubs, all about to finally pay off. It was surreal. Kinda stressful, too, but now that she had time off she wanted to decompress. Enjoy herself some. 

To begin with, much of it was taking time off with herself. Meaning, no Jason, or Andrew, or her parents. Just her. She didn’t even have to explain to Jason that she wanted to be alone because after her initial comment of taking time off alone, he’d kissed her palm and murmured about how proud he was against her skin. No bitterness or spite attached. He’d even made a joke about ‘bro time with Andrew’. 

The gym nearest to her house was offering a free month trial-- which just so happened to be the amount of time she was planning on taking to relax before starting to study for finals again-- and she took it up instantly when she found out that they offered yoga and guided meditation classes. It was most likely the best thing she’d ever done.

Apart from getting an hour of physical exercise a day (because yoga is harder than it looks) she was the most relaxed ever. Her sleep was the best it’s been in so long, and her body felt so light. Time to reflect, she’d decided, was very important.

 Plus, her self-esteem had gone up knowing she was doing something to better herself for* herself. 

For the most part, that was how most of her days went.

Go to school, sometimes she’d eat lunch with Jason, get a ride home from him (the goodbye kisses ignited her), head to the gym, come back home and fall right asleep. She took advantage of the first three periods to finish any work that she had to turn in.

It’s only logical that she’d be nervous the day of her date with Jason, since it hadn’t been on her mind at all, and she hadn’t been spending time with the boy so his presence has not consoled her. An anxious fervor had plotted itself in the depths of her belly, goading her like a devil on her shoulder. Better watch how you act, it said, or you’ll fuck this all up.

Jason was the same way. 

The poor boy had also taken to working out to release his...stress. Sleepless nights were spent with the weight-rack in his father’s home gym- arms aching from the strain of bench pressing. Shirtless torso draped in a sheen of sweat, flushed a pink color and littered with prominent veins as he pulled his body upwards, jaw clenched and mind focused, having already reached the point where he listens to his body’s begs for mercy. Rhythmic release of tense breaths escaped through the hard line of his lips, muscles defined under a glint of perspiration beneath the lights of the room, shorts low on his hips. His curls dripped salty beads down the line of his nose, and matted on his forehead. 

He lost himself in the repetitive movements, body going numb until his brain turned off. 

It was almost better than sex. Hell he did it to forget about sex.  

He swears his body chose to betray him every time he was getting ready to fall asleep, projecting filthy images of a girl so sweet, he felt guilty just humoring them. Swollen red lips, hot mouths, soft hands, perky breasts blotchy with his marks. These pictures were so explicit and vivid in his brain about y/n, who was nothing but sweet and kind, and had never come close to even insinuating the things he imagined. 

Hell on earth-- torture is what it felt like, having to ignore sticking a hand down his pants and pulling at himself until he found relief with such an innocent girl on his mind. It made him feel icky and gross because she was so pure. Jason preferred to turn to exhaustion of his body rather than pleasure. And, more often that not he greeted his father’s gym with a scowl and determination to distract himself, pushing himself until he was nothing but a breathless, strained heap laying all tired-out on the bench, salty beads running a path down his forehead and dripping down his neck where his shoulders drooped-- defeated.  

Waking up the next day was a burning adventure; muscles feeling as if they’d been shot through and pricked with needles over and over again.  

But, his dignity was still intact and he was able to look y/n in the eyes with no remorse. The one time he’d jerked off to her, he was a sweating, burning mess as he made his way up to her in the halls.

He’d learned his lesson then.

His nerves didn’t run as deep as y/n’s, but he did second guess himself the more intricate his plan got. Take a certain route, be there at a certain time so there wouldn’t be so full, alert the personnel of his presence. 

Jason had approached his mother, Anne, the night that she had come home, and questioned her about her friend’s sister that worked as a zookeeper, to see if she had connections to the aquarium. Turns out, she did and-and, 

“Honey, what’s the sudden interest in Penny’s sister?” She looked up at her son while chopping green onions. 

Stammering, he rubbed his neck and said, “I was kinda… wondering- maybe, uhm… you could call in a favor for-for me…”

“What for?” 

“I wanted to ask… y/n to prom at the uhm.. The aquarium,” his cheeks go pink and he can’t keep steady eye-contact with his mother. She’s smiling at him knowingly, smiling at him from underneath the lip of the wine-glass she holds up to her mouth. 

She smacks her lip, “Y/n? The prom? When did this happen?” Anne smirked at him, scraping the onions off the cutting board with a knife onto the pan. 

This would be the moment where the distraught teenage boy goes off on his mom for being absent and not knowing a single thing about him. Slam his firsts against the counter-top while sneering. 

But Jason loved his mother and they maintained good communication, so there would be none of that. “Start of February…” He bites his thumb.

The sound of sizzling onions is what fills in the silence of their gazes. His mother slowly nodded her head, and Jason blushing. 

“I knew it.” 

Jason furrowed his eyebrows at his mother’s statement. “What?” 

“I knew this would happen. I knew it the day she first came in with Andrew. The instant you said her name, I knew.” 

Jason furrowed his eyebrows at his mother’s statement. “What?” 

“I knew this would happen. I knew it the day she first came in with Andrew. The instant you said her name, and that look in your eye…” She gleamed at her son. “You love her, don’t you?” 

The boy gaped at his mother. Had he really been that transparent from the beginning? So much so that not even he had noticed his feelings? “You knew?” 

“Course I did. Pushed you out of me didn’t I? Know you like the back of my hand.” His mother set the glass down and continued cutting vegetables. “It’s a mother’s instinct to know when her boy has been swept off his feet.” A soft pat on the cheek meets a dazed Jason. “Now, what’s this favor you wanted?” 

*                                                      *                                  *

Y/n was scared to admit how deep her feelings were for Jason.

Scared to admit that the usual fluttering gnaw at her ribs had developed into an inferno that took over her entire body, centering at her heart and spreading through her nervous system, leaving her skin a tingling network of her emotions.

Basically, take puppy love, and remove ‘puppy’. She loved him. With her entire being and more she loved him. She could see her life with him more secure than anything in her life, which was a big admission because the poor girl was all about security. And Jason made her feel more comfortable than anything in her life at that moment; he made her forget about anything that wasn’t them together in that moment. 

The morning of their date was like one of those scenes in movies where the character just has that really big realization, and all her feelings hit her at once. Y/n pieced it all together in a few seconds. How much he meant to her, how she loved him* and how scary it would be if she were to admit her feelings and receive nothing in return. 

It was at cause of these thoughts that her nerves revved up to their max, mind overthinking different ways that her feelings might cause this date to go wrong. Like something might slip from her lips; a rushed, urgent proclamation of her devotion full of jumbled stutters and met with a stunned look and a freshly single boyfriend.

“Honey, Jason’s here!” Called her mother at the base of the stairs. 

Y/n watched herself grow pale in her reflection, teeth sinking in her bottom lip. No turning back now. 

“Coming!” She took one last look at herself, pulling on the sleeves of the cardigan she layered over the long, white-eyelet dress she was saving for an occasion like this. It was a light, summer material with white embroidered flowers and a nice frilly detain around the waist. The creme cardigan served no purpose other than the fact that she was nervous, and covering up calmed her down. There wasn’t much to cover, but bare shoulders made her heart want to start a riot, screaming at her that people were looking and it was time to get anxious about whether she looked good or not. 

She forced herself to tear her eyes away from the dewy makeup on her face, drawing her mind away from picking at it until it was perfect because it would never be that and it’s okay. Instead, she focused on what lay ahead of her for the day— and maybe that was a tad bit worse but that didn’t matter because she was already in the witch’s pot and the brew was boiling— her date with Jason looming with possibility. Not to mention, she’d finally be getting to see the newly added exhibits she was longing to see. 

Cute baby sea lions, penguins and jellyfish that quickly outweighed all the disastrous scenarios filling her mind. 

Skipping down the steps with an eager smile on her lips, y/n struggled to hold in all her happy squeaks because downstairs Jason was waiting for her and-

“There she is!” Her mother greeted her at the base of the stairs, and winked at her daughter with a smile, a cheeky expression displayed upon the fact that what was happening was a surprising event. Her little y/n going out on a date with none other than her favorite out of Andrew’s friends, Jason.

This would have been the moment in the movies where everything freezes and everyone else disappears. The camera comes to a zoom in on Jason and y/n’s faces, the screen split in half but it the same, dreamy, loved-up expression on both their faces. Y/n’s cheeks warmed with a soft flush and a cheek splitting grin on her mouth, lips that shined with the gloss she had put on them, and eyes that shined under the kitchen lights with an extra sparkle that had floated up from her chest that had become the cavern where she shoved all her emotions.

Jason is equally stunned, unsure of how his girlfriend could get any more beautiful. Bunny teeth on full display, hands in the pockets of his blue jeans. He wore a satin bomber jacket with a tiger on the lower right side of his abdomen that was perched on snow-capped mountains that stretched up to his chest, a swooping eagle on his left breast. Two buttons were left unclasped, the collar of a white under-shirt peeking out, and the dip of his breast-bone on display, highlighted by the glint of the golden cross necklace his grandmother had given him when he was eight.

Meanwhile he took in the sight of her, y/n did the same as well, eyes roaming all over his figure and settling on the eyes that were already set on hers. He loved how she turned a pretty bothered color when they locked dreamy gazes. How her demeanor changes to shy glances when he smiles at her all toothy- his dimples prominent on his cheeks. The boy straightened, looking proud to be able to take her on a date. 

“Well are you guys gonna stare at each other all day, or go to the aquarium?” Andrew asked. He was standing at the kitchen entrance, a bag of Cheetos in his arm, and one cheek bulging with chips. 

“Andrew!” His mother playfully swatted his bicep. “Be nice! You’ll be the same, just wait.”

“Ready to go?” Jason asked, giving a sluggish nod towards the door, his being still transfixed in y/n, who nodded equally as slow even though her heart raced a mile a minute. “Alright, let’s go then. I’ll bring her home before 10, Mrs. Y/L/N.” Y/n walked towards the hand that Jason stretched out for her to grab, her hand swimming in his. It suddenly made sense why he was able to launch a football 400 meters. His hands were big, with a wide palm and nimble fingers that wrapped around hers, the top of it striped with the pleasing ridged of his veins. 

“Bye, hunnies! Have fun…. But not too much fun!” The mother clutched at her chest, her eyes soft at the sight of Jason opening the door for her daughter. 

“Ew, mom!” Andrew said, crumbling the bag to a close and retreating up the stairs, presumably to his room. He stopped at the base, and turned to say, “And I’ll be here, the brother forgotten by this best friend, woe is me!” 

His friend twisted around with a hand on the doorknob, “You know I love you, babe!” 

Andrew said something stupid along the lines of ‘show me, ya stud!’ before his mother shushed him up and waved at the couple that it was okay to leave, approaching the doorway to lock up.

Y/n peeked sideways at Jason, finding him already looking at her with a cheeky smirk. 

“Caughtcha looking,” He said, taking hold of her hand again and giving it a mall squeeze, leaning over to peck her cheek. “Missed you, y/n.”

She wanted to stop and pull him in by both sides of his face to smash their lips together, but she knew that her mom was probably watching through the window. “Wanna kiss you good so bad, but my mom’s probably watching through the window and I don’t wanna hear about it later.” 

“It’s okay, baby, I know. Wanted to ravish you when I saw you coming down the stairs, but that’s not the most appropriate thing to do when my girlfriend’s mom is present, is it?” They reached his car, and he sped up slightly to open the door for her, placing a hand on the small of her back. The grip on her phone increased at the sudden warmth on her body, her mind jumping to dirty assumptions on where this could lead to. 

She got in the car with a quiver in her belly, and it jolted away when Jason shut the door behind her. What was she thinking? Their relationship was built upon glances and sly touches, and how she was flustered in a non-sexual way over him? Strongly?

“Did you wanna get food anywhere before?” He said when he opened the door to his side, leg hiking up and to the side to take a seat. “Dunno ‘bout you, but I’m really really craving those chicken-avocado paninis from that one little coffee shop, and I know you really like their milk tea, what do you say?”

“I say that’s a really good idea.” Y/n said, nodding with a pinch on one side of her face, her true feeling hidden. Eyes trained at the way he held the steering wheel; one hand at 12 while he turned the key into the ignition. Maybe he would hold her neck while the other rubbed at her…

What the fuck? She needs to cut it out. 

Clearing her throat and looking out the window she said, “I could definitely go for a milk tea right now…”

“Yeah? Are you excited for today?” He twists to check behind him before pulling out of his parallel position to the curb, and y/n uses that moment to glance at the smooth skin of his neck, imagining how it would feel underneath her fingertips… her mouth…

“Yes,” She chokes, saliva collecting at the back of her tongue and slipping through. There’s a small pause where she coughs, and Jason plucks a bottle of water from the glove compartment, the back of his hand grazing her knees and the tops of her thighs, which only makes her cough harder. 

“Are you okay, my love? Here,” using the flat of his wrist to take hold on the steering wheel while he opened the bottle, “drink some. I don’t want you to die before you’ve seen the jellyfish.” 

A feeble ‘thank you*’ left her lips before the water bottle occupied it. The liquid washed out anything that had agitated her, and she drank extra to fill the time for at least a few more seconds. She was terrified of doing something wrong. 

The car was pulling up the parking lot of their local cafe when she placed the bottle in the cup holder between them. Jason didn’t have a clue what was going through her head, or the fact that he should be concerned because her thoughts had traveled to him fingering her while she made a mess of his seat. He was simply so grateful to be spending time with the girl who he loved. 

Who he loved.

The boy had realized the extremities of his regards after his mother had spoken them aloud. 

You love her don’t you?

Yes, yes he did. He had known that it was there. The guzzling, spritzy feeling he felt over his chest- like when a sip of a freshly opened can of Sprite goes down your throat- when he saw her, felt her touch, thought about her, had always been there. Always. It was there the day he bumped into her outside of the locker room, her tiny frame going unnoticed when he rounded the corner of the locker room where she was waiting for her brother because he was busy texting some girl, but the moment he heard a squeaky ‘oh, I’m so sorry!’, it was there. 

In some aspects, Jason was a bit dense, and this was one of them. He didn’t act when he should’ve. Or at least recognized what was going on in that broad chest of his-- he doesn’t think he would’ve acted because Andrew wouldn’t have held back. They hadn’t developed such a strong bond to come to the understanding that they did (Jason had made a really bold statement about life long partners and Andrew had been too blown away to stay mad). 

Jason loved y/n, and he always would; that was just facts.

“Wanna stay in here or go inside with me?” He asked her, taking the key out and placing a hand on the door. 

She was lightning quick to say “With you!” a bashful look overcoming her when he looked at her all knowingly, like he could see right through her. “I’ll go with you so you don’t have to carry everything,”  y/n blubbered in efforts to reclaim her dignity, and stepped out of the car. 

He feigned being hurt, “Owie, that stung. Are you saying I’m not strong?” Jason followed after her, a playful pout in his lips, “Tell you what,” he placed an arm around her neck, tugging her close to him and putting his lips by her ear, “I can carry you and the food, at the same time.”

Tables with umbrellas were located at the front of the cafe, people sitting with their computers open or having a chat with friends. Some looked up, some didn’t, but the stares of those who did made y/n feel thousands of times shyer than what she felt. 

The girl couldn’t help but squeeze the fabric of her sweater around herself, her thoughts getting the best of her, the feeling of his lips an enticing action that drove her mad…

He knew it too, chuckling to himself as he opened the door. 

Inside, only a single person made up the line for ordering, and she was already in the process of giving the man her card to pay. Jason and y/n stood side by side, looking up at the menus as if they were thinking over their choices, but really just thinking about each other. 

“Nex- Well, well, well.”

Y/n doesn’t think she had ever forgotten that voice. And hearing it ten, with Jason at her side, brought back the fear she hadn’t even begun to overcome. Her face went white, her lungs freezing, and her feet glued to the ground. 

Shock, was the medical term for it. 

When your body is submerged into temperatures it can’t handle, it goes through a series of procedures to attempt survival. It begins to slow down to conserve energy, shutting down to keep in heat, or await help. Hearts slow, lungs slow, and in extreme, abrupt situations, a person can faint. 

At the appearance of Chris after nearly an entire year, y/n wanted to faint. She wished she had, that way she wouldn’t have to endure Jason’s confused glances, and Chris’s malicious, salacious smirk. 

“Y/n, long time no see, baby.” He said, a piece of gum that he had hidden in his cheek appearing as he started to chew, leaning forward on the counter and giving Jason a once over. “Who’s that?” 

Jason’s eyebrows furrowed at the audacity this guy had, calling his girl ‘baby’. Y/n wasn’t looking at him, she couldn’t- she wasn’t aware of what was happening anymore, retreated into deep parts of her brain- but had she, she would’ve seen a bone-chilling, intimidating look of dominance in his usually kind green eyes. “I’m her boyfriend, who are you?” He said, stepping forward so his thighs were flush with the edge of the counter. His body was pulled tight like the strings on a violin, one pluck away from releasing a disastrous melody. 

Y/n’s eyes began to tear from not blinking them, her heart going from beating normal to beating so hard she could feel it in her fingertips, her stomach dropping like it had been ripped to her feet. 

“Who am I?” Chris licked the inside of his cheek, and y/n gagged. Repulsed, her feet tripped over themselves in attempts to get to the trashcan by the pickup site. “There wasn't even anything in your mouth, babe! Guess that thing they say about muscle memory is true, huh?”

Jason didn’t pay attention to the last thing that he said because he ran over to hold his girlfriend’s hair, rubbing her back and whispering that ‘it’s okay, my love, take deep breaths’. Her body started to tremble when nothing came out, her eyes emitting actual tears now, feeling undeserving of Jason’s affection because of what she’d done.

“I’m so-rry,” she whispered, her face a splotchy, red color that made him panic on the inside at what could plague her. “Can we go?” 

“Yeah,” He nodded quickly, no questions asked.”Yeah, let’s go.” 

Y/n shot up then, practically running out of the store while Chris laughed a belly-clenching laugh that pushed her out further. Jason looked back at him once, anger on clear display because whatever the guy had done, it was bad if it made her this upset.

When he turned around, y/n’s figure was disappearing  through the view of the store’s window, arms clutching herself as she ran to the parking lot. There were more stares than when they first arrived when he ran out after her with a call of her name. 

“Y/n!” He turned the corner to see her yanking violently at his door handle, tears streaming continuously down her cheeks now. Her shoulder jerked back and pushed forward until her knuckles collided on the material of the car. She was hurting herself. “Hey!” He yelled, yanking her back and wrapping his arms around her torso to restrict her movements. 

She thrashed for a few seconds, sobs leaving her until she went limp, which was when he let her go. His eyes were wide with concern, not being able to believe what had just happened. 

“Dovie? Look at me, dovie,” With a curled finger, he gently encouraged her to look at him. Irritated, doe eyes blinked with...  fear. 

“Do you want me?” Were the words that left her mouth in a breathy tremble. 

“I always want you,” Jason said, not hesitating to respond to her abrupt inquiry. His thick brown eyebrows were still knitted, however, and she knew that she owed him answers. As much as she couldn’t bring herself to give them up, y/n said,

“Would you want me even if I was used?” She shut her eyes tight, not being able to bear looking at him. It felt as if she were the one using him then, comforted by his presence, but lying to him as well. 

He scoffed, head shaking. “Yes. Even then I’d still love you.” Jason’s composure remains the same,neither alarmed or shocked that he had let it ‘slip’ past his lips because he hadn’t. He loved her and he told her. 

Y/n, on the other hand, burst into tears and dropped her head, her forehead on his chest, chanting a pathetic, “I don’t deserve you. I don’t deserve you.”

“Y/n, I need you to tell me what just happened,” He crooned into her ear, his lips kissing her head in attempts to show his affection to comfort her, “Let me help you.” 

She shook her head, and the gold zipper of his sweater scratched her forehead when she did. “No. No, I’m sorry.” She looked up at him, her voice pleading, “I don’t want to ruin our date. Can I tell you after?” Jason looked at her with lips pressed into a firm line. “Please.” She begged.

“Not gonna ruin our date, dovie,” He kissed her right cheek, and her eyelid, the bridge of her nose, and nudged his forehead against hers, “Spent so much time waiting for you, that I’m not gonna let a silly thing break us apart. I’m willing to fight, y/n. I already have.” He fumbled behind her, unlocking the door and propping it open before he pressed a kiss to her lips. A deep press that conveyed everything he just said. I love you.

A shaky, relieved breath left her when they parted, her eyes still shut when he said, “Get in the car, my love,” with another, plushy kiss to her lips before he stepped back to see her get in the car. Her eyes opened slowly to see him smiling at her, no trace of anything strange in his eyes- like he had forgotten everything that happened in the past 10 minutes. 

Y/n mumbled an ‘okay’ and got inside, putting on his seat belt as he closed the door and walked over to his side. She wondered if this was it, if this was her messing up and at the end of the day she would be crying into her pillow because he’d broken up with her. If e was just playing nice because that was just Jason, his MO.

Lost in her own thoughts, she didn’t notice that he had turned on the radio until he started singing along to it. An oldies station that he always had on if there wasn’t any music coming from his phone. It was in the middle of Prince’s Nothing Compares 2 U to which Jason didn’t hesitate to start singing. 

“I went to the doctor’s and guess what he told me, guess what he told me,” he looked over at her while he was singing, a playful look in his eyes, and he shimmied his shoulders. It was a classic ‘sing to your girlfriend so she’ll never forget this song and always associate this song with you’ moment. 

“I went to the doctor’s and guess what he told me, guess what he told me,” he looked over at her while he was singing, a playful look in his eyes, and he shimmied his shoulders. It was a classic ‘sing to your girlfriend so she’ll never forget this song and always associate this song with you’ moment. 

“He said girl you better try to have fun no matter what you do,” his singing voice was a direct reflection on his character, smooth like honey, but deep and slightly scratchy like the comfort of burning wood, “but he’s a fool.” 

Just then, his voice gets a little louder, “Cause nothing compares to you.” He placed a hand on her knee, his lips forming an exaggerated ‘o’ shape on the ‘you’. Jason was clearly singing to her, his eyes flickering from the road to her as a sweet gesture to direct his words to her. 

Y/n sniffled and laughed, using her finger to trace the veins on the back of Jason’s hands, looking up at him while he sang to her. She had the sudden urge to reiterate what he had confessed in the parking lot. How it swelled in her chest, and consumed her. 

But she couldn’t. It was hard and she didn’t know why. Maybe it was because he didn’t know the whole truth about her. Instead she wrote it on his hand. Her caresses going from random to spelling out letters on his knuckles. He noticed this. How the movements were calculated now, and the singing stopped. Green eyes went from the road to her eyes, to the road to their hands.

I love you, too.

She wiped her hand over his when she finished, and didn’t dare look up at him, so she looked out the window but left her hand in his hold. He brought it up to his lips, and kissed her knuckles, rubbing his lips over them repeatedly.

*                                                      *                                  * 

Jason stepped out of the car, and took long, quick strides over to her door, y/n admiring how long and muscular his legs looked in his jeans. He pulled the door open, leaning back so the door could swing past his torso, but staying relatively close to the car, giving her just enough space to get out. Y/n didn’t think anything of it, until she stood, and was face to face with his face, her nose swamped with the toned down scent of fresh, spring scented body wash merged with the soft smell of his skin. 

Given how close she was, she could see the lines on his cupid's bow where his skin color changed from a golden tint to the strawberry of his lips. 

“Can you kiss me properly now, baby?” He said, voice low and raspy. Hands came to flatten on the hood of his Prius, caging her in so she was close to his torso. A blush formed from the way he stared at her mouth like he was starved. 

“P-properly?” She muttered, her hands taking purchase on his hips, and smoothing up his sides, the material cool under her hands. 

“Yeah,” He licked the inside of his cheek, his head tilting, “Like this.”

Jason pushed forward until her back hit the car, and their hips were flush, y/n’s hands stuck between them, but she maneuvered them to she could palm at his chest, her nails digging in like cat’s claws when his lips found their way together, pillowed between each other in a passionate embrace that warmed her to her toes. 

“Mmph, baby ‘ya marking me with your fingers,” He spoke in a sotto voice, heavy breaths and wet noises of their smacking lips resonating through their ears.

It took everything in her not to moan, and she knew that if they kept going it would be inevitable, so she unclenched her hands with a reluctant squeak, and ducked her head into his neck. Breath hot on his neck, “I’m sorry.”

“No, no, no, no. I… uhm, I liked it, my love. You didn’t do anything wrong, don’t be shy.” He flexed his jaw, his eyes rolling at the back of his head at recalling the feeling of her hands- dainty and small, and sweet,, and god* it was just her*- clawing at his chest. Jason dipped forward, and kissed her neck. His lips staining her skin with scorching heat, the soft skin creating a magnetic force between them. 

She moaned at that, her teeth scratching at his neck tentatively.  “Stop it,” Her head felt floaty, her limbs soft, “Wanna see the fishies and the way that you’re…” “The way that I’m what, dovie?” He’s stunned by her moan, his brain haywire. “Tell me.”

“The way you’re talking is gonna me make me wanna stay here, and I really wanna see the fishies. Please?” She’s whining; voice an embarrassingly high pitched tone. Her hands gripped the collar of his sweater for stability because her knees were shaking. 

“Alright. Alright, let’s go see the fishies, baby.” Jason pecks her one last time at the juncture of her neck, and takes a step back to grab her hand. “Come on.”

*                                                      *                                  * 

 “So, they’ve got McDonald’s, Tam’s Burgers, Ruby’s Diner, and Sushi.” Jason holds a tri-fold directory of the aquarium in one hand, and y/n’s hand in the other. 

“Sushi? At an aquarium?” She skews half her face to the side like she tasted something sour. 

“I know right?” He copies her face, “The irony. Up for burgers? It’s all they’ve got.” 

Y/n’s stomach grumbled at the mention of food, and she giggled when Jason noticed and laughed at her. “Burgers sound good,” she said, rubbing her stomach comically.  Although she was still heated by their earlier interaction, both were pretending like nothing happened, and like they didn’t have a big thing waiting for them at the end of the day.

Like she wasn’t going to reveal how sh-

“Anything for you, baby.” Jason Jason held up the tri-fold again and blew out of his lips as he made out the route to Tam’s burgers. 

When they both got there, they ordered the same thing: one cheeseburger with a vanilla milkshake. Oh, and they were sharing chili cheese fries.

It was the epitome of a perfect date for a young couple in love. They chose to sit on the same side of the booth because they were greedy to get everything they could from each other. Unnecessary touches were made more than the amount of things they said to each other. Him brushing hair behind her each, hand on her thigh, rubbing her cheeks, feeding her, wiping her mouth, her arm hooked through his, pecking his cheek after a sip of her milkshake, nudging his feet with hers, caressing his thigh. It was on the rubbing his thigh part where things would get slightly heated, and Jason would stop to kiss her, licking into her mouth to taste the vanilla that was also on his tongue.

Jason paid for their meal, much to y/n’s begging, and then walked her over to the penguin exhibit.

“Heard one of their eggs just hatched, and I want you to see it.” He said, swinging their hands between them.

“Really?” She asked, her features lifted with excitement. “Well then let’s go!” Y/n ran ahead of him, looking back at him and pulling at his arm. Laughing, they swerved around people and ran past the large tank that represented the reef ecosystem, blue light from the sun that streamed through the top of the tank dancing on their skin like shadows. It was a magical moment, even though they looked like weirdos. In their head they were in their own movie, their own world.

 “Jason, honey? Is that you?” A woman in green cargo shorts and the customary blue shirts with the aquarium’s logo on the left breast called from the inside of the penguin expedition. She had raven black hair in a low bun, and red lipstick paired with a bright smile. She was feeding the animals from  two buckets on the edge of the pool where they were jumping in. 

“Hey, Janet!” Jason called out, waving from behind the glass barrier. “Long time no see, have you gotten younger?” 

She laughed and turned around, walking through an archway and disappearing from view. A male walked out, and smiled towards the couple, nodding once and turned his attention towards the penguins. He whistled once, and they all came to him, huddling around him expectantly.

Then he bent downwards and placed the back of his hand on the penguins tummy, pressing back and they waddled backwards. He did the same to four others, pressing them so they were in a straight line, and they stayed where he placed them. Janet came out then, with black objects in her arms. 

“What are they….” Y/n asked, confused as to what was going on because she had been to this aquarium several times and had never seen such things. “... doing?” 

Janet removed one of the items from her chest, and y/n could see that they were large letters. A ‘P’ which she placed at the feet of the first penguin. ‘R’ on the one following. They rested against their bellies, and after an initial peck at it, they left it alone and watched their keepers expectantly, presumably for food. ‘O’ followed, then ‘M’. And as the question mark was being laid on the last penguin, Jason turned to watch his girlfriend’s face, waiting for the realization to hit. It didn’t take very long.

“Oh my gosh, Jason, look! Look it spells prom!” She pointed at it excitedly, a smile from ear to ear as she looked on at the animals, amused by their antics. She looked over at him to share her glee, and found him watching her with a dreamy smirk. “Look at the animals! Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Will you go to prom with me?” 

Y/n’s jaw dropped, the full realization hitting her. This had been planned, more specifically, Jason had planned this. “You did this?” She asked. Looking back and then at him again as he nodded slowly, still waiting for an answer. She stood there for a moment, stunned, and after a blink she jumped into his arms. “Yes! Yes! Yes, I want to go to prom with you!” 

He didn’t waste any time in wrapping his hands around her waist and twirling her around, laughing. Kissing her cheek, he set her to her feet and she was watching him with bleary eyes, a pout on her lips. “You did this for me?” 

“Technically, my mom did, but yes. Had her call in for me. Did you like it?” He put his hands in the pocket of his bomber jacket, his lips puckered as he tried to conceal a proud smile. 

“I love it, so much, Jason I-” She’s left speechless, and she glances up at the animals again, where Janet and the other keep were throwing fish at them. “Thank you.” The tips of her fingers came to cover her mouth, tears of joy threatening to slip. 

“Don’t cry, dovie. You weren’t supposed to cry,” he cooed, slipping his hands out again to wipe at the tears that fell down her cheeks.

“Shut up and kiss me,” Leaning up on her tip-toes, y/n abruptly yanked at his jacket, and crushed their lips together. 

“There we go! Your mother would love this!” Janet whooped, and her cheers caused the couple to split from each other with red faces, laughs covering their embarrassment. 

“Hush up, and let me kiss my girl will ya?” Jason pointed a finger at her and pretended to scowl. “We’re leaving to somewhere where we can smooch in peace!” Nearby people laughed at his jokes.

“Bye, sweetie! Tell your mother I said hello!” She waved goodbye, and returned her attention to the penguins at her feet. 

Y/n waved a goodbye along with Jason, yelling a ‘thank you’ as she walked away. Her brain was still trying to process what had happened when they turned the corner and walked into the new exhibit of the darker layers of the ocean. A long, winding hallway where the only light was the glow coming from the bio-luminescence animals in the water. 

An influx of serotonin swimming through her veins, squeals leaving her where she noticed where they were. 

“The jellyfish!” She left Jason’s side to stand in front of the large glass. An abundant amount of jellyfish bobbed up and around each other at slow, hypnotizing speeds. Glowing, long tentacles swaying in their trail; networks of veiny light streams present in each of them. The blue hue reflecting off of her skin, and onto the pane where it showed her amazed reflection.

“They’re beautiful,” she mumbled. Jason caught up, and stood besides her, his figure also appearing on the glass pane that held the jellyfish. “I could watch them all day.” 

His eyes drifted from the jellyfish to her side profile, admiring how ethereal she looked in that moment. Her face was soft with curiosity and wonder. “Me too.”

“You’re not even looking at them.” She gives him a side-eye glance. 

“I know.” He turned so his feet pointed to her, and combed his hair back because a few curls were tickling his forehead. “Can’t believe I’m gonna have the prettiest girl as my prom date.” 

Y/n’s nostrils flared and she sucked in her lips to suppress a smile. “Stop it.”

“S’true. Everyone’s gonna be so jealous of me.” He sucked in a breath, “Gonna have to hold on to you so no one steals you from me.” 

She knows he means every word that leaves his lips. And that the words are meant to tickle her heart with their honesty. While they do so, they also break it. Y/n thinks she’s living a lie. Not her relationship with him, but the way she acts and portrays herself. So much of herself, she kept hidden. It hurt knowing that he was being so genuine, and she wasn’t. It hurt more than knowing he could break up with her if he knew the truth. 

So, she decided to come clean. Even though they decided on the end of the day, her conscience wasn’t letting her live. 

“Jason, I have something to tell you.” She said, her throat closing up on the second syllable of his name, and crying by the end of her sentence. 

The boy brings his palm to her lower back, and moves his thumb up and down comfortingly. “Deep breaths, y/n. I’m listening.” 

“That boy?” She tilts her chin so she’s looking at him, and he nods when they make eye contact. “From the cafe? I knew him from a party.” Deep breath. “We were playing truth or-” a sob leaves her, shoulders sagging as her composure breaks. 

Jason raises his hand from her back to her shoulder, and steps closer so she’s pressed against his chest. “It’s okay. I’m right here, baby. I’m not leaving you. Take your time.” 

It would’ve been a lot more embarrassing if people were passing, but they were the only ones there. Had there been someone, they would’ve seen a terribly emotional y/n and a very concerned Jason. 

A creeping feel of panic like the one from that night teased her toes, anxiety of her confession crawling up her spine. But she had to push through. She needed to get this off her chest. 

“We were playing truth or dare, and… and I got dared t-to suck him off in front of everyone else,” another hiccup interrupts her words, and she had to stop to take a deep breath like Jason said, giving him an ashamed, fleeting glance.  Not long enough to see that his eyes were wide with astonishment, eyebrows furrowed with bubbling rage.

“What?” He said, more on the rhetorical side to encourage her to keep talking. His mind kept jumping back to the guy at the cafe and the way he said ‘there wasn’t anything in your mouth, babe’ with a knowing look in his eyes. How he practically violated her with his eyes. Rage filled him; all he wanted to do was punch the guy in the face. 

Anger made itself present in his stunned comment, and y/n took it as a disgusted comment. She jumped to explain herself, “I didn’t want to do it! I swear I didn’t put they started calling me names, a-and I didn’t want them to be upset with me so I-” another collapse of her words, chest rising and falling with desperate breaths. The panis increased, rising up to her chest and gripping like a boa. 

Jason knew that she needed reassurance on that moment and said, “Sh, sh Dovie, deep breaths. It’s alright, I know you didn’t, my dove. That’s called peer pressure.” 

It was clear that this was something she struggled with for a long time, and it hurt him so much inside that he had so blindly lived in the presence of her pain. Held her, touched her, and never noticed that she was so deeply in pain. The anger in him became a mix of bitter remorse at the fact that he had done nothing to push at her, or present himself in a way that showed she could trust him. He was unaware he was crying too until his own vision became blurry with moisture. 

“I left right after he… after he…. Because the other boys started touching me, too. That was when you found me under that tree. Remember?” Shiny doe eyes glimmered with the light that came off the jellyfish at him. They seemed to beg him for forgiveness, for understanding that she was sorry.

“Yes, sweetheart I remember.” Soft fingers crawl up her cheek, caressing like silk at the tears that still fell. Kisses were littered in her temple with strong pressure, a display of his comfort. “Oh, I’m so sorry that you had to go through that, baby. It’s not your fault.” 

“I should have said no. I should’ve l-left or something…”

“No. No, y/n this wasn’t your fault. This wasn’t on you. You were under pressure, and they were bullying you as well… Oh my god, baby, this- You don’t want to tell authorities?” 

“No! No, no, Jason I can’t l-let anyone find out I did…” Her eyes shut with distaste, “That. Please, don’t tell anyone.” 

“Yeah, yeah, okay.” He nods.

“Do you still want me?” Her cross, and her nails dig into her arms. Y/n bowed her head and sniffled. Jason took note of this, and pried her hands off so she wouldn’t bleed. His heart clenched at the tone of desperation in her voice. It hurt him to even think that he’d leave her so easily, and his words came out more emotionally tainted than he would’ve wanted.

“Y/n look at me.” His hand cupped her cheek, and the other held both of her wrists. She wrapped her hands around his wrists and squeezed him tightly. “I’m not leaving you. Can’t you understand that I love you, baby? I’m not leaving you, not now.”

“God, Jason. I don’t deserve you.” Y/n leans into his touch, sniffling.

“No, dovie. You’ve got that all twisted. It’s me who doesn’t deserve you.  You’re so good to me, so kind, and sweet,and I’m so so sorry thing happened to you. But it’s gonna be okay, yeah? We can work through this, I’ll be there by our side. I won’t leave.” The boy followed after her eyes, wanting to maintain eye contact with her, but she was shifty with her gaze. He wanted to be able for her to see-- in his eyes-- that he meant every word.

“I love you.” Y/n jumped into his chest and wrapped her hands around his neck, happy to be free of guilt, and blissfully happy that she had Jason. That he loved her, and she was able to tell him that she loved him.

After a moment of just standing in each other’s arms, head’s buried in each other’s neck with Jason muttering into her ear just how much she meant to him, they stepped back  to look at the other, and y/n laughed halfheartedly, wiping at her eyes and underneath her nose. Quiet ‘thank you’s were exchanged and they took one last good look at the jellyfish in silence. Y/n suggested they go home, and Jason said he wanted to stop by the gift shop first. Something about how how he needed a polar bear to hold onto at night.

In reality, he bought her the sea otter she wouldn’t stop petting, and a key chain with the date engraved on it. He didn’t give these to her until they were in front of her house, and he reached into the bag behind her seat.

“These are for you.” He said, placing the stuffy on her lap, and the key chain on her open palm. “A memoir. The first time we said I love you... among other things.” 

His tone was serious, mouth set in a grim line, but y/n was smiling.

“I knew something was up when you told me to wait outside. Thank you.” Leaning over the console, they both met each other halfway, and kissed each other goodbye. At the first taste of her lips, he removed his hands from the steering wheel in favor of having them on her face, holding her too him a few seconds longer than she usually would have let herself stay kissing.

“You’re welcome, dovie. I love you.” He said, pecking her lips once more, and then her nose, making her laugh through her nose. “I’ll see you tomorrow, but I’ll call you tonight. Yeah?”

“Yeah. I love you, too.” She opened the door, and waved once more at her boyfriend who smiled at her from inside the car.

Y/n was slightly upset over he fact that he hadn’t gotten out to walk her up the steps, and in any other situation, he would’ve. But out of his eagerness, Jason waited until she was inside, and lifted his hips to get his phone out of his pocket, calling the one person he knew would have his back if he wanted to set things straight.

It rang three times before he picked up.

“Andrew. It’s an emergency. Come over to my house tonight. Don’t let anyone see you leave.”

#IM SUCH A SOFTIE FOR JASON IM SORRY #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fic #harry styles one shot #harry styles smut #harry styles blurbs #harry styles fluff #harry styles fluff oneshot #fratboy harry styles

[bryte-eyed-athena]

Nnedi Okorafor and Africanfuturism

Nnedi Okorafor is a multi-talented and highly awarded Nigerian American author. She writes for both children and adults and is best known for her novels. Nnedi also coined the term “Africanfuturism” which she defines as distinct to Afro-futurism. On her personal blog she writes that she felt the need to coin the term because she thought that Afrofuturism had various definitions that did not fully fit her oeuvre of work. She also thought that this term was being assigned to her incorrectly and she wanted to regain control over how others defined her.

As Nnedi writes, “Africanfuturism is a sub-category of science fiction.” She also introduces the term Africanjujuism as a subcategory of fantasy that “respectfully acknowledges the seamless blend of true existing African spiritualities and cosmologies with the imaginative.”

Africanfuturism is similar to Afro-futurism in the sense that they both center black experiences and themes of science fiction. However, it is different in the sense that it takes place outside of the western perspective. African culture, history, and mythology are all salient in Africanfuturism. It’s vision of the future is also more interested in tech and is much more optimistic since it is focused more on the endless possibilities of the future. Themes of “what could have been” are a major part of Afrofuturism since there is a sense of stolen culture and identity for many African American people. Africanfuturism on the other hand acknowledges and accepts “what has been” and is more concerned with actively envisioning and shaping a better future.

In this piece I want to analyze Nnedi Okorafor’s short story “Spider the Artist'' and the way Africanfuturism makes the story distinct.

[Spoilers below the cut]

illustrations from the Finnish translation “Spider the Artist" published in the sf mag Tähtivaeltaja.

The story takes place in an alternate Nigeria where the country is being continuously depleted of its resources and the people are suffering as a direct result. Already we know this is an Africanfuturist story since it is set in Africa and is informed by Nigerian politics and legends. In this story, huge oil pipelines divide the land and they are guarded by dangerous android spiders referred to as “zombies.” They violently attack anyone who even comes in contact with the pipes. Eme lives here with her abusive husband with only her guitar as solace for her soul.

One day, as she is depressed and throwing caution to the wind, she sits near one of the pipes in her backyard and plays her guitar. The music draws a zombie to her who listens as she plays, initially with fear. The zombie does not harm her and often comes back to hear her play guitar. It even weaves its own instrument and plays along with her. Eme decides to name the zombie Udide Okwanka which means “Spider the artist.” The name comes from a Nigerian legend about the Supreme Artist, Udide, who takes fragments of things and transforms them into something new. As they bond over their shared love of music, Eme’s home life gets moderately better since her husband no longer beats her as a result of listening to the sweet music.

This small peace is disrupted when an oil pipeline bursts near the elementary school. It is an opportunity for the community to gather free fuel, especially since the zombies had yet to show up to repair the pipe. Eme’s husband rushes out to tell her the news and that is when he discovers her with Udide. He views this as her fraternizing with the enemy and leaves in disgust. Eme fears that the pipeline burst is a trap and goes to warn her husband. Dozens of people have gathered by the fountain of fuel and are taking as much fuel as they can when the zombies arrive. Eme tries to find Udide among them and she notices that two zombies are about to emit a spark to ignite the fuel. Eme is the sole survivor of the fire because Udide shielded her inside its force field. The story ends with Eme contemplating how she, Udide and her unborn daughter are now caught in the middle of a war between humans and zombies, and their only hope is that the zombies never learn how to cross oceans.

Even though the story is short it is packed with multiple themes to analyze. Right off the bat the audience is presented with domestic abuse and corruption of the Nigerian government. Okorafor made it a point to establish that the current resource crisis is a direct result of the government selling their oil to the big fuel companies like Shell and Chevron. They are responsible for the depletion of the forests and the pollution of their waterways as well as the creation of the zombies. These companies needed some way to protect their precious pipes from the people that they had impoverished. As a result, they created killing machines because they valued property and profit over human life. The response to this was a revolutionary movement called the Niger Delta People’s Movement, of which Eme’s husband is a member. They cut through the pipes and steal fuel as well as protest even though the government and companies are openly killing them off. These conditions are probably what lead Andrew, Eme’s husband, to abuse her. Domestic abuse happens to many different kinds of people in many different scenarios. A lot of the time abusers do not need a reason to be abusive, but the stressful environment depicted here is certainly not helping to make things better. It is shown that domestic abuse rises during times of great strain and it seems like in this community it is just a fact of life since Eme is not the only woman going through this.

In this environment of exploitation, of the land and the people, there are also moments of human connection. Eme recalls memories of her father who was able to unite people with his guitar playing and distract them momentarily from their plight. He taught her how to play guitar and she eventually surpassed his skills. The sharing of music created a bond between father and daughter as well as a healing salve to the rest of the community. When Eme plays the guitar her father gave her she feels herself start to heal. It is also this guitar that connects her to the zombie she later names Udide. Zombies seem to be sentient and they hate humans, but Udide can’t help but to be drawn to the music Eme creates. While the rest of Nigeria is engulfed in a Humans vs. Technology conflict, Eme and Udide are able to connect with each other due to their love of music. Udide’s relationship to Eme reminds me of Eme’s relationship to her father since they both found solace in the guitar and they were both able to surpass the skills of the person who introduced them to music. Here, music is portrayed as an escape either from a hatred of humans or from a bleak and draining existence. Music has the power to both heal and unite.

I think that is why I don’t think the ending is a tragic one even though it is a dramatic one. Okorafor leaves things open ended, but she doesn’t remove the possibility of hope. Udide was able to break away from the hatred of humans that was programmed into them thanks to its sentience and I think this provides hope that the conflict between humans and zombies could end. The zombies eventually collectively broke away from the purpose they were programmed with and stopped protecting the pipelines. If the zombies and humans realized they were both being exploited they could turn their efforts against their common enemy; the companies and government. Music was the bridge that united Eme and Udide. It formed a protective bond between them which means that it has the capacity to do the same for all the other zombies and humans. They have the ability to tug at the heartstrings of humans and zombies the same way they pluck their guitar strings. Even in the darkest of times people can always stop and listen to the music.

#afrofuturism #africanfuturism #nnedi okorafor #spider the artist #tw: domestic abuse mention

[cherry3point14]

Stranger Than Fanfiction: Ch 7

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Dean x Reader   Warnings: Not much except for a badly brewed cup of tea. Word count: 3,000.  Chapter Summary: A quick trip to finish with your job puts you on a path to see a certain Winchester again. A/N: After the shock of the last chapter I thought we could all do with a little Dean.

Ao3 if you prefer

Margaret Hall, formerly Margaret White, was a dreamer. That is until she met her late husband. Before meeting Andy she had dreamt of being an actress, perhaps, or a dancer. Moreover, she had dreamt of the world and any career that would allow her to see every corner of it. Teenage dreams are often far-reaching and difficult to attain, not that Maggie gave up or settled in any way. She understood that dreams change and hers evolved into a romance with her high school sweetheart. His father owned a restaurant and wanted Andy to follow in the family business. Maggie wanted to follow Andy, whether that was to the furthest reaches of the Middle East or the eastern end of Peach Street. He loved her as much as she loved him, so he’d resisted and tried to send her away after her dreams. Luckily Maggie was a lick smarter than her husband and saw straight through his stupidity.

They tried to start a family but after years of failed attempts they found out it was impossible, the Hall family genetics skipped Andy’s generation. Maggie didn’t care as much as she thought she would. They could adopt or foster, or they could live renound as the local childless couple with too much disposable income. It might even be enough to travel the world one day. Not that it mattered if they did see the world she had dreamt of as a child. As long as Maggie had Andy, then she had all the family and adventure she’d ever need.

Her last memory of Andy is the ghostly shade of grey his skin held when she had to identify his body. Murdered felt like the wrong description for what happened to him, he was stolen from her.

Of course, seeing him on that cold, metal table wasn’t Maggie’s hardest day. She thought it had been at the time but since then her life had gotten so much worse, so very quickly.

You swallow thickly as you turn onto Peach Street. You have the file, again, in your bag and you hope it’s the last time you’ll ever hold that manilla nightmare. Then the voice in your head, the writer, started talking about Maggie and you almost consider going home again.

It was only one signature that you’d forgotten to get. Everything was done, claim processed, entered in the system. This was literally dotting the ‘i’, assuming that she signed her name Maggie and not Margaret.

The voice talking about Maggie is what makes you doubt being here at all. You didn’t want to be her worst day. Not that you think you are but what if you were part of it? All the preparation and niceties in the world wouldn’t make this easier. This wasn’t a loss you could compartmentalize away like you usually do with clients since you’d  just  heard the abridged version. You could be as sympathetic as you are with any other spouse in mourning, nothing would change the fact that your heart had broken for Maggie about twenty seconds ago.

You don’t stop, can’t. Not for your own selfish reasons, although you won’t deny you’re a little selfish; you keep going for Maggie. This thing you need her to do is a few blinks from her entire life and then it will be done. No more people coming into her home reminding her of her dead husband. Andy. She’d said Andrew when you’d visited the first time. You’d written down Andrew but he was an Andy.

You shake your head, you need to be stronger than this, focused. As much as you wanted to sympathize with Maggie Hall it may not even be Maggie that you are going to see.

No matter what the voice says there was always the possibility that you were about to meet a shifter. How you  were supposed  to tell the difference you had no idea since you had no silver stashed away ready to  subtly  hand over. That was probably a good thing. If you showed up with silver and the shifter realized you knew what they were? Well, that thought terrified you. Imminent death or not you didn’t want to go looking for danger. You were happy to leave the monster to the experts, all you needed was a signature. If you could do it on the doorstep you would, but two minutes inside would be an acceptable compromise. In and out. Done and dusted.

You’d convinced yourself this would be fine, that you didn’t need backup or support. Finding yourself on the doorstep of 75 Peach Street is a completely different matter.

Y/N knocked commandingly on the door. She heard the sound echo as if the inside was a cavernous space waiting to engulf her. A stark contrast to her previous visit when she’d found two burly men filling up the whole space and pretending to know her. She might have been convinced nobody was home, there wasn’t so much as a rustle for the longest period. Y/N began to wonder if she should walk away and make a return journey another time. That is until the lock of the door clicked  slowly, fearfully, with none of the confidence of a woman who so bluntly referred to her dead husband before.

You’d noticed how slowly the door opened obviously, still, it was the voice who put a name to what you see in Maggie. Fear. The door only opens ajar, a chain across the gap stopping pushy intruders. Your own concern melts away at the sight of scared Maggie Hall peering out of the darkness of her own home.

She could comment on the time of day and question the darkness within but it would be a pointless question. That much was already explained by the closed curtains and shuttered blinds visible from every outside window. Y/N is not one to point out the obvious unless she is clarifying a fact for her records. She could also argue that the brightness in which Maggie Hall chooses to live was not her concern.

Y/N did none of these things and only endeavored to get what she needed  quickly and precisely, having no idea that this meeting was another thing on a long list of things. Things such as she had no idea how important they were.

“Mrs. Hall?” you ever so slightly lean in, all the better to see her face and still failing.

You expect the correction insisting that you call her Maggie, instead, she stutters out an affirmation, “y-yes ?”

You only pause for a moment, “Mrs. Hall, do you remember me? Y/N Y/L/N from First National?”

“The insurance company?”

“Yes, the insurance company. I was missing a signature on the paperwork and I was hoping I could get you to sign it. I promise it’ll only be a second and it’s the last thing we need.”

While she waited for Maggie to make a decision Y/N was struck by a conflicting myriad of memories. The woman she had met had been not only more confident and straight forward, but she’d shown no feelings about the insurance claim at all. Mrs. Hall had been rather blase about the money she would be receiving, hardly remembering the account details it was to  be paid  into. Now the woman before Y/N sprung back in horror. She slammed the door closed only to throw it wide open again seconds later, no security chain and fervent horror adorning her features.

“There’s a problem with the insurance?!” She shouts at you. Almost. The emotion is there, not the volume. As if shouting has been trained out of her.

You’re quick to stop her panicking, you didn’t do well with other people panicking, “no, no. It’s fine, everything is fine, everything is processed. I just need a signature to officially close the claim but really, it’s all done.”

She inhales like it hurts her throat and exhales as violently. Although she does, at least, appear to be breathing again.

“Mrs. Hall, Maggie, are you sure you’re ok? You seem upset.”

Where you hope to calm her down enough to stop her breaking apart, instead you set her off.

“Of course I’m upset. My husband is dead!”

This was going to take longer than two minutes.

“Thank you, Mrs. Hall.” You’re not stupid enough to wish her well as you leave.

Y/N fell from the step outside of Maggie Hall’s home much like a dazed and confused newborn giraffe trying to take its first steps atop uncertain legs. Maggie had kept the lights low, had led her to the lounge, and only turned on a single lamp to see the line where her John Hancock was required. She had signed her name Maggie and dotted the ‘i’ with a shaky strike, rather than a neat jab. Still, it wasn’t the shocking change from night to day that had Y/N wobbling unpredictability to the pavement. The woman seemed to have no recollection of the Winchesters, whom Y/N had completely,  accidentally mentioned.

The fact that Dean himself was taking large strides across the street to meet her was merely a coincidence after she brought them up. Y/N was not aware of any hidden powers she possessed to wish for things and have them appear. However, intended or not the older Winchester was here all the same.

You’re looking back towards the door you’d just left with disbelief. Which is why Dean has to catch you with his hands wrapped around your shoulders to stop you bumping into him or consequently walking into the road. “Hey, hey. Wanna watch where you’re going, honey? Good thing I was already keeping an eye on things here, huh?”

He probably thinks he's being funny about you nearly walking into the street but you don't laugh.“She had no idea who I am.”

“What?”

When she whips her head to him it turns out to be, very unfortunately, the first time she’s seen Dean Winchester bathed in sunshine. Not under fluorescents or in darkness. Absolutely drenched in the sun's warm glow, highlighting the forest green of his eyes enough to pull a silent ‘wow’ from her lips. It’s uncontrollable then when she slips into her imagination, where his strong hands are holding her still as he leans into her. His tongue rolling over his bottom lip before he slots his mouth over hers. The pad of his thumb tracing the curve of her neck as he swallows the air from her lungs.

Crap. This again. You can’t deny it’s a very pleasant mental detour but now you feel like you might fall down if he wasn’t holding you up, and moments ago you’d had other interests.

“Sweetheart? You ok?” His voice sounds worried if you’re inclined to believe it.

“Yeah-yes. I’m fine. I’m-she didn’t remember you.”

“So? I was there for five minutes, a week ago, before you kicked us out.” His lip twitches when he mentions you kicking him out and he decides that you’re steady enough to let go of, as his arms drop.

Before you can reply he starts patting his pockets for his phone, which has coincidently started to ring. He only fleetingly scowls at the name on the screen and then his face smooths out. He holds a finger up, “give me a second.”

Dean took two steps away to speak into his phone, which seemed to be enough distance for Y/N to clear her head completely of her intoxication. He was becoming more of a constant in her life than the questionable sounds that came from her car engine. It had to be more than a simple coincidence that she once again found herself with him. This time without the distraction of Sam or the inherent urge to argue with him.

How much the voice encouraged you to think about Dean was becoming borderline embarrassing.

“You’re not understanding me.” You emphasize by tipping your head forward and raising your eyebrows when he ends his call, not wasting a second. “She didn’t know me as if we’ve never met and I spent over an hour with her last week.”

His eyes flash in recognition, although it doesn’t seem to change whatever decision he’s already made, “coffee?”

Dean seems at home in the diner that you weren’t even aware of on the other side of town. The place smells of bacon and coffee with a side of Americana. Somewhere in the deepest recesses, you recall a thousand instances in the books of Sam and Dean solving things over breakfast. You don’t mention that to him. Understandably he doesn’t seem to appreciate his claim to fame. Besides, you very recently understand what it feels like to be a subject other people are reading about.

The waitress walks over with a pad and what she thinks is a smile, “what can I getcha?”

Dean, in his natural habitat, is confident, “two coffees and a slice of pie please, sweetheart.”

Y/N huffed, only slightly. If asked she could claim it’s due to him ordering her a drink and the wrong drink at that. Dean's order was certainly not the reason for the huff or the crease between her brows. She didn’t want to admit the actual reason. She had too many other pressing matters in her life. Too many to admit that him calling the waitress 'sweetheart' had felt seven shades of uncomfortable.

She knew the other matters had to come first, not to mention she was being irrational. Logic didn't stop the absurd thought that she has to chase away. It also doesn't stop the small curve of her lips when he looks at her expectantly, waiting for her with silent eye contact to add to the order. Unfortunately for Y/N, she was coming to realize that her feelings went beyond simply not wanting to kill him anymore. Beyond a distracting physical attraction even. In another timeline, another story, she might even find herself using that elusive cure-all verb—like. She liked him.

You soften your face for the waitress, ignoring everything you’d heard and felt as best you can. You needed to ignore it. “Can you change one of those coffees for a tea please and double the pie.”

The waitress purses her lips, “tea?”

“Any tea you have will be fine.”

She taps her pen against the pad and you wouldn’t be surprised if she’s written some sort of insult on the paper. She walks away without anything said out loud, which could be considered a kindness.

“Tea?” Dean repeats but with amusement in his voice compared to the waitress's judgment.

“Tea,” you confirm smiling wider, shrugging one shoulder. “You didn’t bring me here and buy me a slice of pie to debate tea versus coffee though, did you, Dean?”

He raises his finger again, “well, you never need an excuse for pie.”

It’s funny you guess. In the Supernatural books, Dean’s love of pie was a fun quirk that showed up at inopportune moments. The boys might be stranded in a hideout or undercover and Dean would always step out for pie. It’s the punchline to a joke. Whereas sitting here with him illustrates the nuances of real-life compared to pulpy fiction. Dean talks about pie in front of you and there’s something childlike in the crinkles of his eyes, a quirk you can't get from literature.

“Sure. Still, there’s something you want to tell me?”

He sighs, it weighs him down like it could drown him. “That was Sam on the phone, leads have been drying up for a week now and we’re kinda spinning our wheels.”

She felt like she had been on the receiving end of this conversation before. Past boyfriends telling her that it wasn’t her, it was them. Even when she suspected it might indeed be her. The déjà vu was unnerving. Dean was not tied to her by the title boyfriend, unfortunately, which meant that his ‘dear John’ conversation was not his way of breaking up with her, thankfully. This only begged the question, if it wasn’t her he was leaving, what else was he trying to let her down easy over?

“Not for nothing I think you’re right too. The widow she’s not a shifter, at least not anymore.”

It all clicks into place. He’s not leaving you, he's leaving the case, which by extension still means he's leaving you.

“You think the shifter moved on?” Even you can hear the panic in your own voice, it's not panic over a shapeshifter anymore at least.

“One coffee and one tea.” Your bubbly waitress interrupts with two drinks and you find yourself looking at a sad cup of half brewed leaf water. She’s gone before you can complain.

Dean doesn’t see his coffee while he tries to calm you down. “We’ll stick around a few more days, I’m not just leaving. We gotta make sure it’s really gone.”

You’re still not fine with monsters and you’re still not looking for danger, the words come rushing out of your mouth anyway. “What if I had an idea to flush it out?”

He cocks his head like you're adorable for trying to play with the grown-ups, “you have an idea?”

“It’s about the money, right? The insurance money. So, let’s-let’s stop the money. Yeah… I can go to the bank and stop the transfer. Then it’s gotta come out of hiding?”

Dean sips his coffee. Slow and savoring. His whole hand wrapped around the small cup. The china clangs as he puts it back down. It’s an agonizing sixty seconds until he opens his mouth again.

“Solid plan, sweetheart. Ain’t no way you’re doing it.”

“It has to be me. I’ve done this before, the bank knows me and this is the sort of thing that needs approval.”

He clicks his teeth, “let me rephrase that, ain’t no way you’re doing it alone.”

Continue to Chapter 8.

5eva tags: @divadinag​ @darthdeziewok @fluentinfiction @witch-of-letters @supernatural-teamfreewill-blog @magnitude101999 @alexwinchester23 @jesseswartzwelder  Dean babes: @thewinchesterchronicles @akshi8278 @bloodydaydreamer StrangerThanFiction tags: @jaylarkson @starsandmidnightblue

#dean x reader #supernatural fanfiction #spn x reader #dean winchester x reader #spn fanfiction #supernatural #spn #spn fanfic #supernatural fanfic #dean winchester #dean winchester x you #dean x you #dean x y/n #dean dean the soft lil bean

[fics-not-tragedies]

In a Week: Chapter 6 🌲

I could quote half of Hozier’s songs right now and it would fit as a brief description for this piece of fanfiction. Oh, how I love their story!

Words:  3778; Warnings: none, unless you want a warning for smoking, then you have it; Summary: Both being absolutely hungover Andrew and Flo eat a breakfast together.

Hozier tag list:

@letoursilencebreaktonight​​​​​​​​​​​; @angelpeachamber​​​​​​​​​​​; @sgt-morgan​​​​​​​​​​​; @julessbrown​​​​​​​​​​​;

Monday, 9am

Flo woke up feeling like she was run over by a huge truck, that then had reversed back over her just to be sure. It wasn’t the kind of morning which you embrace slowly, the light drifting around you until your eyelids gradually fall open and you see the whole world in all of its grace. Instead - she was asleep and then she wasn’t and it felt truly horrible.

The curtains were wide open, but the light cascading over the bed was more of a disturbance than a joyful moment. She had no memory of the view from her hotel room. She had the sense she was dreaming of something important, but it was too hard to hold onto and just like that - the dream was gone. Flo rolled to the side of her bed away from the brightness, her mouth hanging open in a groan and scrambled for her phone to check the time. She had to squint a little at the screen, her head pounding incessantly as she tried to puzzle together what she was doing the night before.

Her mind was still foggy thanks to the alcohol which taste was still in her mouth, but as she blinked through it, the night came back to her in moments, snapshots and each one was bright and vivid, images she would never let herself forget.

Malibus. A well lit bar. The warmth. The patterned corridor carpet. The stars. Shake It Out. No underwear on. A baby grand piano. Painful heeled boots. The reflection of the moon on the water surface.

And just when Flo began to retrace her steps fully, put the remaining events into order, she realized that she’d missed one crucial part out.

Andrew, Andy, Hozier. “You can call me any name that you think suits me.”

The memory of him hit her harder than she braced herself for and she rolled onto her back, staring at the ceiling as she tried to remember him exactly, knowing somehow that her mind could never replicate him in a way she’d be satisfied with. If she focused just long enough she could remember tiny pieces of him - the fluffiness of his slightly unkempt beard, his pointy nose, the way his eyes shone under any light - but it was never a complete picture, never enough for her.

Andrew was unexpected and complicated. He had pushed her further out of her comfort zone than she has ever been. And if Flo was honest with herself, last night she just completely lost herself in the idea of him. It was exciting and vulnerable in a way she couldn’t put her finger on. And she knew it was all that when she looked into those sparkling eyes, when she was pressed so close to his body in the creek, when she watched his fingers dance over the keys of the piano - she’d have done anything for him. She was wrapped so tightly around his little finger and she knew it.

Flo felt a nervousness, a maddening insecurity building inside her. She reminded herself that she didn’t have his number, knew such little about him and that they both were drunk enough last night not to care at all about each other now that it was light outside.

“...I think that you’re too worried about the future…”

In an attempt to shove the obnoxious self-consciousness down, Flo flipped herself over and screamed into her pillow like a teenager, giggling like a little idiot she was, at the situation she found herself in.

At last, with a mighty sigh, she dragged herself to the bathroom to stand in front of the mirror. She combed her matted hair uselessly with her hands then resorted to standing under the shower until she felt somewhat new again, the steam energizing her in ways that she couldn’t quite understand, but was thankful for that nonetheless.

After drying her hair and applying the most natural makeup she could find just in case she bumped into the perfect stranger from last night, Flo dressed herself in a hurry fueled partly by hunger. She pulled on a pair of blue jeans over her black underwear, thanking her past self for grabbing a pair that actually fit her well, rummaging through her clothes to find something that would make her feel comfortable. Settling on a much oversized gray jumper which covered her comfortingly, Flo grabbed her room key, leaving her phone behind again, praying that the day would have more than enough to keep her occupied without it.

Monday, 9:10am

Having made her way downstairs, Flo ordered her breakfast at the bar, asking for pretty much everything she could because everything smelt so good. She subconsciously checked for Andrew, but knew that she’d sense and see him straight away if he was here, the man being like a tall roman column. A little disappointed, she took the same seat by the window she had chosen last night, and eyed every plate that drifted past her, hoping it was hers. The restaurant was emptier than she actually expected, but still somehow noisy enough to annoy her and she wondered if she was the only person with a raging hangover this morning.

Monday, 9:15am

Andrew woke up alone, of course, but the thought of Flo was there with him, keeping him inexplicably warm in the first cringe of morning. Rubbing his eyes and blinking away the immediate sleepiness to sit up in bed, he decided confidently that she probably looked gorgeous when she woke up, her  soft skin and rosy cheeks making frequent appearances in his mind since he left her on the hallway by her room. He rubbed his nose and cursed himself audibly for not making a solid plan with her today or asking for her number at least.

He didn’t want to admit it, but he was paranoid this morning and combined with his throbbing head, he knew he was in for a rough start. Andrew had an enormous fear that she already found out who he was somehow and that she’d think differently about him now, change her mind for the worse. Being an international star wouldn’t work its usual tricks on her and Andy told himself that she was sure to run in the other direction. It didn’t help that they both were quite drunk, both been lonely and he knew there was a part of him that knew he was just simply void filler to her.

His mouth felt dry, the summer sun was too bright and everything seemed to ache. Andrew was feeling simply dreadful and his tendency to over analyze wasn’t helping, but he wouldn’t allow himself to sit on that feeling for too long, fueled ultimately by the thought of seeing her again. He followed the usual routine that he usually did after night of heavy drinking - have a smoke, take a cold shower and have a smoke.

The first cigarette was to wake him up, ironically get his body working again and he stood on the balcony taking long and desperate drags in nothing but his pants in which he fell asleep. He coughed a little, telling himself that perhaps it was the final time to give up smoking. Andrew knew it’d probably be good for him if he could quit and that it’d slow down his ageing but he also knew that he didn’t possess the self-control needed to give up nicotine for good. Plus, smoking made him look cooler than he felt and he needed that sometimes. He stubbed it and yawned on his way back inside.

Then, though he decided he didn’t smell as bad as he’d imagined he would, he took a cold shower and raked expensive smelling shampoo through his hair, enjoying the sting of the water. He dressed, picking another flannel shirt from his wardrobe, pairing it with really old and worn out jeans he loved too much. His hair was fluffy and unmanageable and it took longer than he liked to tame all of that frizz. His second cigarette was to calm him down, turn his nerves off so that he could focus on just surviving his hangover. He finished it quickly, shoved a pair of sunglasses onto his nose to cover how dreadful he looked and headed down to breakfast, another yawn violently ripping through his body.

Monday, 9:25am

He was real, he hadn’t been a dream. And he looked fucking good.

Flo watched Andrew enter the room dazed and she tried to meet his eye as he ordered his breakfast, all the while struggling not to act too eager. He requested coffee, lots of coffee with toast and though she couldn’t quite hear his voice, she could certainly read the languid movements of his lips. But he hadn’t noticed her. He took a seat across the room, drumming his fingers on the table. His hair was still slightly damp, insanely curly just as they were last night. His outfit was like the last night’s, a flannel shirt and some jeans. She was annoyed at him for wearing glasses, black-toned ones - not only because he was indoors and somehow still managed to pull it off, but because she couldn’t see his eyes and she didn’t care how tired or hungover he was, she simply missed the muddy shade of them. He looked so deep in thought.

Monday, 9:30am

Andrew was far away, had zoned out somewhere else in both time and space like he often did when he was alone and it needed the arrival of his waiter with the coffee he requested, so he could to come back to life. He poured himself a large steaming mug, black, and drank it before the man even had a chance to offer the milk. The waiter moved away to the next table and that’s when he saw her at last - her hair all shiny and slick, face glowing like an angel, those emerald eyes just killing him.

It was like looking at a different girl from the night before, a much softer version of the one who had walked into this very room and had commanded his undivided attention and he struggled to think of anything but how happy he was to see her. Of course she still looked fucking exquisite covered up completely in a pair of jeans and a knitted jumper and Andrew was only a little aggravated by not being able to see what was underneath. Even with all the clothes on in the world, everything left to the imagination, he was aware of how ridiculously attracted to her he was and he knew that he would take any opportunity he had to be with her in the ways he dreamt of last night.

Now she was looking at him too, that wild, bright blush creeping over her cheeks and he wanted to kiss them both, press his lips to every inch of her face until she knew how wonderful she was. He raised an eyebrow at her and she did the same back, failing to replicate the seriousness of his gaze and she erupted into laughter. Strangers from nearby tables were turning to look at her, but Flo didn’t even notice. Andrew found her giggle so pure and unfiltered that he just wanted to make her laugh that way again for the entire day, over and over. That was his new mission. He felt the entire room fall away from him. He could smell coffee, make out the material of the linen tablecloth under his calloused fingertips and then it was just her, only her. But before he could process everything that was bubbling under the surface, she had stood and was walking towards him, her hips swaying naturally, her chin held high.

“Are you expecting someone’s company?” she asked, stopping behind the empty chair just as he had, badly mimicking his voice and first question from the night before. Andrew looked up and shoved the glasses up into his hair to see her better, his lips quivering as he spoke.

“Only you, my love” he replied. His eyes were blinking in a sleepy manner and he tried to keep his focus as she beamed at him, her smile quite literally making his day. Until this point he was  pretty sure how he felt about this one, wanting to be certain before he did anything stupid, but that’s when he was able to confirm it.

Fuck.

She was so far from being just another drunk, pretty girl at the bar and he had fallen for her completely. It didn’t matter if he was drunk or sober, if it was the morning or late at night, if he was feeling his best or his absolute worst - Flo Hayes had him so good, even if she hadn’t been trying.

Monday, 9:35am

She sat, not needing to be prompted twice and they began eating instantly, as if they ate breakfast together every morning without fail. She was hit with a wave of his cigarette smoke and could tell he recently went outside, probably not his first of the day, but there was still something so homely and musky underneath. As they both ate, Flo noticed that something about him was slower this morning, blunter, less alert and she tried to learn his new movements. Andrew chewed on his toast and struggled to think of something to say, his confidence severely knocked now that he was sober.

“Did you sleep well? Beds are, em, quite comfy.”

“Yes, yes” she replied quickly, thankful he figured out an ice breaker after the uncomfortable silence, “I didn’t woke up once” Andrew nodded, carefully dissecting her every word, “And you?” She added in haste before shoveling a forkful of scrambled egg into her mouth.

“Yeah, I slept like a really tall baby.”

Flo giggled again, a lower sound only held back by her own sensitivity to noise. He blinked repetitively back at her, the muddy greens of his round eyes more prominent whilst the longing for sleep had him engulfed. He spoke much more softly, was so much tamer than he had been last night and it felt like an honor to see this Andrew. She watched as he hummed to himself quietly, a tune he often found bouncing in his head recently, but one that hadn’t quite made it’s way out yet. She wondered how many people had seen this version of him and then realized that she knew nothing about him - nothing about him except what he carefully chosen to show her. He was a complete mystery and she was too curious, wanted to know more of this man.

“Andy?”

“Mhm?” He mumbled, picking up another slice of toast, his voice barely audible.

“Why are you here?” Andrew stopped chewing, afraid to look her in the eyes because of what they’d do to him. Though he could barely focus on anything, he was alarmed by the inevitable questions coming, the very thing he was terrified of the whole morning. He tried to brush it off at first, pretend he was clueless.

“At breakfast?”

“In the hotel” Flo pushed quietly, his plan not fooling her for a second. Andrew toyed with his answer in his mind. The truth was fairly simple, that he was off tour and needed to relax, regenerate, sort through some stuff before he had to come home. But he was still wary of admitting who he was to her and that’s what telling the truth would mean. He knew the questions wouldn’t stop because Flo was too easily intrigued to only ask one. It wasn’t because he didn’t trust her, because he somehow did and it wasn’t that he was ashamed as such of his career, it was just that he didn’t want to taint the week already, didn’t want the anxious man he in fact was to show up and spoil it all for him.

“I just, em, needed some time all by myself” he uttered, his voice low and quiet.

“But why here?” She sighed at his impossibility.

“It’s, em, a cool place” he squinted between phrases, his head throbbing and the nerves begging to build, “I just simply, em, like how it looks.”

“Are you from here?” Flo asked as soon as she digested his vague answer, relentlessly trying to know him.

“You ask if I’m Irish? Yes I am, ma’am” there was an awkward pause as Andrew scratched his nose. Flo could sense the tension, not immediately clear where it came from, but wishing they could retrace their steps, “What’s with, em, all of those questions? It feels, em, like some sort of, em, interview…”

“I’m just trying to get to know you, Andy” she mumbled, embarrassed now. He looked at her long and hard for a moment, his fingers tapping nervously on the edge of his plate with the same tune that had been in his head moments ago and then he sighed, a long and frustrated noise escaping from between his lips.

She furrowed her brow, lost in the rawness of seeing each other again this morning and he hated seeing her this way. The tension in her shoulders that he worked so hard last night to ease was back again. Andrew untangled his sunglasses from his hair and stuck them into his flanel pocket.

“I’m sorry, Flo” he said softly, dabbing at his mouth with a napkin. Flo watched him carefully, as he reached to comfort her with his free hand, mesmerized by the way his lips moved and she felt instantly at ease again, the loveliness of him just melting her. He didn’t move his hand much once he felt her soft skin relax over his, but she had met him halfway and it was important nonetheless. This was the first time he touched her after what had felt like forever and he almost forgot to breathe - she quite literally took his breath away.

“It’s alright…” she replied, trying to keep her focus, “I’m being a nightmare this morning.”

“What do you want to know then?”

“Anything really” she said, pushing forward on her elbows to be somewhat closer to him as he let go of her hand, “What shampoo do you use, favorite TV show, do you sleep in socks?”

“Herbal Essence, Peaky Blinders, no I don’t sleep in socks” Andrew replied, quick fire, a small smile back on his face. The silence wasn’t awful this time because they were both sort of thankful for the it now, “Sorry, love, it kinda, em, hurts to think this morning” he rasped, lolling his forehead onto his palm and squeezing his eyes shut as he spoke.

“Oh me too” she sighed, relieved he was feeling just as foggy as she was. She clutched her head in a similar way as she washed the last of her breakfast down with apple juice. He cupped his coffee with two hands, steam rising from the top and took another big gulp, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed.

“Are you, em, having any plans for today?” He asked quietly, his half-lidded eyes equally adorable and frustrating.

“Haven’t figured it out yet” she announced at an equal volume, finishing her mouthful, “Was gonna head to the woods, have a walk and pick up what’s left of my stuff that’s still left there.”

“Ahhhh, okay.”

“You’re welcome to join me” Flo added quickly, her smile part of the offer, “I need a guide and it feels like you’re the man of the woods.”

Andrew looked up at her again to make sure that he heard her offer correctly. From the way she could barely look at him, he guessed that she was thinking of the exact same thing he was. He knew he ought to say something, respond somehow to her words, but his mind was beginning to spiral down the rabbit hole of lustful thoughts, his eyes groping at any inch of her skin they could stumble upon. He wanted her, she seemed like the perfect hangover cure. He cleared his throat, louder than he actually intended to.

“Well, we need to get your shoes anyway” they both exhaled.

“Right” she nodded, burying her embarrassment in her drink, stifling a small laugh.

Monday, 9:55am

As guests and staff moved around them, the world moving at an alarmingly scary pace, Andy and Flo enjoyed the simple company of each other for a while. There was no rush this morning, they had nowhere to be and it was blissful. Flo went for pushing the alcohol out of her system with enormous amounts of apple juice and Andrew drank more coffee, feeling his moodiness slip away with each sip.

Flo laughed every time Andrew flinched at loud noises, her own hangover fading much quicker than his was. She we amazed by how picturesque he was. His face was sculpted so carefully and though she was more than sure her drinking had exaggerated his handsomeness she realized now that he was just as gorgeous in the headache inducing brightness of morning. He was so alive, so vivid even when he was at his worst - the creases around his eyes and nose flickering each time the corners of his lips pulled upwards. He radiated the kind of warmth of a sunset that couldn’t be captured on a camera.

Andrew grinned every time Flo spoke and even though he felt like living death and knew he probably looked like it too, he kept his sunglasses out of his face just so he could see her better. He watched her pick at her nail varnish, watched her fiddle with her hair, watched her pretty lips as she chewed and desperately held himself back from saying something stupid, something he’d regret. Every thought that came to his mind when she looked at him was too inappropriate, too forward, too much for right now. He just hoped he’d get to tell her soon.

They had both worried that last night was the end of their story together, frightened that their reunion would be cold and difficult, unsure what a new dawn would bring. Would it change things? Had the alcohol merely enhanced their infatuation for each other? Had it all been rushed for the idea of a perfect adventure?

But being together now, neither of them could deny that there was still an immediate longing to be close to each other, to learn each other. Yes, the spark was still there, maybe even greater than before, which had to mean something given their current state. And now there really was no rush, the unspoken promise of last night’s sequel hanging in the air.

#In a Week #hozier fanfiction #hozier fanfic #hozier fic #hozier series #hozier chaptered fic #andrew hozier byrne fanfiction #andrew hozier byrne fanfic #andrew hozier byrne fic #andrew hozier byrne series #andrew hozier byrne chaptered fic #fanfiction #fanfic #fic #series #chaptered fic #hozier/flo #hozier x flo #andrew hozier byrne/flo #andrew hozier byrne x flo #ahb:chaptered_fic

[dustedmagazine]

Dusted Mid-Year Exchange, Part 2: Positive No to Yves Tumour

Six Organs got a lot of mid-year love this time

Welcome back to part two of the Dusted Mid-Year Exchange, in which we tackle the second half of the alphabet. If you missed part one, with its lengthy description of what we’re doing here, you can read it here. Or just muddle through. Cheers.  

Positive No — Kyanite (Little Black Cloud)

Kyanite by Positive No

Who recommended it? Tobias Carroll

Did we review it? No.

Tim Clarke’s take:

Positive No braid tight bursts of guitars, bass and drums into upbeat yet agitated shapes. There’s a touch of Blonde Redhead’s Kazu Makino in Tracy Wilson’s vocal delivery, or My Bloody Valentine’s Belinda Butcher, especially on expansive opener “Elevator Up.” At just under half an hour, the urgent economy of Kyanite’s songwriting makes all the more sense when you learn that it’s the band’s final album, released on Valentine’s Day this year. As their parting gesture, nothing is wasted, everything invested. As one of the song titles says, “Get In, Get Out. Don’t Linger. Go On.”

 Raspberry Bulbs — Before the Age of Mirrors

Before The Age Of Mirrors by Raspberry Bulbs

Who picked it? Jonathan Shaw

Did we review it? Yes, Jonathan said, “Even in its heaviest metal moments, on ‘Reclaimed Church’ and excellent closing track ‘Given Over to History,’ the record’s punk vibe cuts and grins. It insists on a deadly aesthetic seriousness, and at the same time, it’s tugging the rug out from under its own feet.”

Jennifer Kelly’s take:

Raspberry Bulbs splices punk’s antic venom with metal’s storm and roar, shifting from one mode to the other inside individual tracks, sometimes measure to measure. Consider “Doggerel” which kicks off in a pogo-ing furor, rattling violently over rapid oi band rhythms, everything clipped and percussive, even the vocals, though hoarse and splintered. Midway through, a sirening guitar riff intercedes and the singing turns ominous and measured; all the sudden it’s metal. “Midnight Line” pulls the opposite trick, beginning in clanging, feedback-morphing guitar and larynx shredding howl, then introducing a punk rock palm-muted chug and anthemry. It’s a volatile mix, at times nearly playful, at others agonizingly heavy, at still others (the “Intervals” mostly) surprisingly lyrical.  I lean towards the punk-er tracks—"They’re After Me” and “Doggerel”— metal fans may feel otherwise.

 Stephen Riley — Friday the 13th (Steeplechase)

Who recommended it? Derek Taylor

Did we review it? Yes. Derek said, “Knuffke and Riley are a directly collaborative pairing now and their partnership politely demands many more dates like this one.”

Justin Cober-Lake's take:

Saxophonist Stephen Riley has put together a quartet with a singular idea of playing these classic tunes on Friday the 13th in relatively straightforward and spacious renditions. Their take on Eddie Vinson's “Four” has Riley and cornetist Kirk Knuffke trading long solos. The rhythm section does its job, but it's a horn players' record. The album comes alive most when Knuffke and Riley interact more immediately. On Oliver Nelson's “Hoe Down,” they reveal how great a partnership they have, initially matching each other on the main melody before spiraling off. “Round Midnight” could have been too obvious a choice, but the combo's personalized take on the standard works out. Everyone sounds at ease enough within the song that they take a few more risks, and the horn players supplement each other nicely with more harmonic considerations. The album ends with a trio of spirited numbers, and in each case Riley and Knuffke play off each other's solos with a sharpness that by now makes sense. Riley's listening to Monk and playing like Rollins (hence the title track) as he and his group find ways to make old bop sound new.

  Gil Scott-Heron and Makaya McCraven—We’re New Again, A Reimagining (XL Recordings)

Who recommended it? Jenny Kelly.

Did we review it? Yes. Arthur Krumins notes, “McCraven lays down a lush musical backdrop that allows Scott-Heron’s words to have emotional impact.”

Jonathan Shaw’s take:

The word “reimagine” has a sexy resonance, and for that reason, it’s often too casually used. But in the case of We’re New Again, the word is warranted. Drummer and producer Makaya McCraven doesn’t just remix Gil Scott-Heron’s final record, I’m New Here (2010); McCraven shuffles the track list, adds some relevant recordings of Scott-Heron’s voice, and creates entirely new arrangements, moods, and musical accompaniment for the earlier album’s songs. It’s ballsy — I’m New Here is justly recognized as a masterpiece, and it’s marked by a stylistic austerity. On that record, Scott-Heron sang and spoke and recited his poetry over minimalist beats, a strummed guitar, or his own piano playing. McCraven attentively reimagines the tunes, working with polyphonic, post-Bop ensembles; busy hip-hop soundscapes; gospel and funk quotations. Remarkably, none of the richness of Scott-Heron’s vocals and none of the complexity of his poetry get obscured. More often, McCraven inventively intensifies the impact of Scott-Heron’s songs. And the reordering and recontextualizing of the tracks reveals a different narrative, grounded in the resilience and the suffering of Scott-Heron’s upbringing and too-short life. You listen and you feel it. It’s a terrific record.

Six Organs of Admittance — Companion Rises (Drag City)

Companion Rises by Six Organs of Admittance

Who recommended it? Jennifer Kelly

Did we review it? Yes. Jenny said it’s “straight-down-the-middle Six Organs, not as loud and abrasive as the first Hexadic disc, not as reticently wisp-y as the older folk-derived records.”

Patrick Masterson’s take:

Back when Dusted was still a dot-com, we talked about making a site-specific canon for our 10th anniversary, a kind of “Dusted 500” field guide. There was a shared spreadsheet and talk of a benefit show and a mixtape comp and so on that never amounted to anything for myriad reasons, but I can promise you Ben Chasny would’ve figured into it somehow — and nearly a decade on from that, my promise stands. The latest (30th? Let’s call it 30th) Six Organs of Admittance record is a beautiful slow burner that shows why, all astral spirits and slow-rolling starlight guitar plucks that is, as Jenny rightly notes, a Six Organs line drive. My belief after numerous spins since early February — mostly in the mornings, for which this music also seems suitable accompaniment — is that, like the rest of Chasny’s oeuvre, it will appeal to anyone who likes guitars or reads this. On the off chance you stumbled in here or haven’t heard this record yet: Welcome. It’s always been this way.

Patrick Masterson

 Spanish Love Songs — Brave Faces Everyone (Pure Noise)

Brave Faces Everyone by Spanish Love Songs

Who recommended it? Ian Mathers

Did we review it? Yes. Ian said, “it’s more a record of solidarity and mutual support than it is anything more prescriptive.”

Patrick Masterson’s take:

L.A. quintet Spanish Love Songs occupy a very specific point on what I like to think of as the Bar Band Spectrum, where one end is a bottom-rung covers-only collective found in just about any weeknight dive pre-COVID playing for beer money out of boredom and modest ambition… and the other end is Bruce Springsteen. This band isn’t as ramshackle as, say, Ladyhawk, nor have they yet hit a glass ceiling à la the Constantines; they sound to me more like Beach Fossils or Single Mothers, where everything from their songwriting to their slightly glossy production suggests they’re as ready as they’ll ever be for arena life. And what a record to make the case, too: Brave Faces Everyone is the sound of Run for Covers Records growing up or early onset Gen Z realizing a glass of wine after everything is, in fact, a coping mechanism for adulthood in a profoundly uncaring world. It’s got a big, young heart to match its big, old sound. It says, loudly, that in the increasingly untethered reality of 2020, we are all losers forever — but there’s still a “best of it” to be made if you wanna and the bravest face is an optimistic one. I’ll rock with that (from the quarantined confines of home and the other side of another lousy livestream, of course).

Patrick Masterson

Squirrel Flower — I Was Born Swimming (Polyvinyl)

I Was Born Swimming by Squirrel Flower

Who picked it? Patrick Masterson

Did we review it? Nope.

Arthur Krumins’ take:

Making the most of a dour mood, Squirrel Flower squeezes disaffection from her vocal delivery. The instrumentation is reminiscent of a less noisy Built to Spill, or maybe Julie Doiron, and is effectively now a retro indie rock sound originally from the late 90s or early 2000s. The jamminess of some of the drawn out riffs feel both pretty and sad, and could be a good soundtrack to a rainy drive. The heaviness is well developed without being bogged down. The lyrics catch your attention with their plainspoken narration of conflict (“You slap me, I’ll slap you right back” she repeats in “Slapback”). A fitting album for looking your troubles head on while still being totally surrounded by them.

 Waterless Hills — The Great Mountain (Cardinal Fuzz)

Waterless Hills - 'The Great Mountain' by Waterless Hills

Who picked it? Bill Meyer

Did we review it? No.

Arthur Krumins’ take:

A dissonant flow that steadily increases in intensity starts this record, which is a live recorded improvisation. The combination of aching, modal violin by dbh with slightly overdriven cascading electric guitar by C Joynes makes for a feel reminiscent of “Venus in Furs” by the Velvet Underground. The percussion by Andrew Cheetham, a drum kit plug some extras like a hung Chinese gong, creates texture and mood. Sometimes there’s just a steady counting of time in the background, at other moments waves of cymbals crash and make a cacophonous emphasis as the music rises and falls. The overall effect of the jams is hypnotic, like getting absorbed in a swirling light show. The players’ sensitivity to the musical interplay of their instruments, combined with a masterful looseness, makes it a trip worth taking.

Well Yells — We Mirror the Dead (Self-released)

Who recommended it? Ian Mathers.

Did we review it? Yes. Ian Mathers notes, “tipping towards the slightly industrial/EBM side of the genre, We Mirror the Dead gains a kind of gloomy propulsion without losing any of the atmosphere or intensity of [the band’s] prior work.”

Jonathan Shaw’s take:

The Gothic is not famous for stylistic restraint, and neither are the various contemporary subgenres that have inherited goth music’s romance of dark interiors, painfully fraught feeling and highly stylized self-fashioning. A few recent acts have cut against the grain of those established maximalist textures: see the grim industrial rancor of Street Sects, and the more experimental, sample-based austerities of Wreck and Reference. Well Yells’ music feels similarly stripped down to a pulsing electronic essence. But the record is more interested in the strobing spaces of Clubland than in decrepit factory ruins, and the darkwave gloss of We Mirror the Dead presents a more conventional relation to goth’s sensations. At its best—as on album opener “Kill the King”—the music of Patrick Holbrook, sole member of Well Yells, snaps and glimmers with compelling dread and arch sophistication. Holbrook’s breathy tenor is a useful counterpoint; his vocals are vaguely reminiscent of the best of those other habitués of Clubland, the British New Romantics (remember Bronski Beat?). It’s good stuff, somehow simultaneously polished and dirty.

  Lucinda Williams—Good Souls Better Angels (Thirty Tigers/Highway 20 Records)

Who recommended it? Justin Cober-Lake

Did we review it? No.

Bill Meyer’s take: I haven’t listened much to Lucinda Williams; the one record I have by her, Sweet Old World, is 28 years old. The first thing that hit me when I listened to Good Souls Better Angels is what’s changed. Williams’ voice is much rougher, and she’s adjusted the music correspondingly, adding Hendrixian guitar flourishes to “Bone of Contention” and coarsening the domestic violence scenario “Wakin’ Up” with bad-trip electronics. The next is how pissed she sounds. Violent boyfriends are bad enough, but having a charmless sociopath for president is even worse. Fortunately, bile hasn’t overwhelmed her writing chops. Big-sounding roots rock isn’t really my thing these days, but if I feel the need to change that, Good Souls Better Angels is a good place to start.  

  Wire — Mind Hive (Pink Flag)

Who picked it? Andrew Forell

Did we review it? Yes, Andrew said, “Mind Hive is concise yet full of restless intelligence, musical ideas and willingness to push boundaries.”  

Derek Taylor’s take:

I tapped Wire late and left early. That truncated exposure lends a narrow vocabulary in describing their music contextually, pre- and post-reunions. This latest missive sounds alternately like what I remember and at least several zip codes removed with a heavy lean into synths. “Be Like Them” and “Primed and Ready” fall in the former category, while “Off the Beach” trades gangly ennui and menace for what almost resembles instrumental optimism until the lyrics stack dutifully into another ode to the disaffected and disconnected. “Oklahoma” feels inscrutably weird. “Hung” drops as the album’s extended, incremental, post-industrial dirge. There’s additional insulation sheathing this Wire, an inevitable adjunct of ascendancy to elder status, but the current foursome is still dependably conducting current.

 Yves Tumour — Heaven to a Tortured Mind (Warp)

Who recommend it? Patrick Masterson

Did we review it? No.

Ian Mathers’ take:

Listen to music for long enough and you might realize that most of the time when you hope any artist goes in any particular direction with their work, you’re bound to be disappointed. But every so often, maybe after a promising album that you just didn’t fully click with, an artist does exactly what you were hoping for and fully manifests all the potential promise you thought you glimpsed. Yves Tumor’s 2018 album Safe in the Hands of Love was admirable in many ways, but it was really only on crucial single “Noid” that all the combustible elements were really brought together into something that properly bangs. Well, Heaven to a Tortured Mind might not have as many showcases for the ambient/noise chops that Tumor definitely has, but it does consistently bang for 36 minutes of should-be alternate universe pop hits, from the brassy “Gospel for a New Century” to the floaty duet “Kerosene!” For anyone who loved “Noid” and then found more to respect than the viscerally love on Tumor’s last record, this is the record you were waiting for, and it is magnificent and ferocious.

#dusted magazine #midyear #positive no #tobias carroll #tim clarke #raspberry bulbs #jonathan shaw #jennifer kelly #stephen riley #derek taylor #justin-cober lake #gil scott-heron #makaya mccraven #arthur krumins #six organs of admittance #patrick masterson #spanish love songs #ian mathers #squirrel flower #waterless hills #bill meyer #well yells #lucinda williams #andrew forell #wire #yves tumour

[stillebesat]

i was rereading your stork au (bc i Love It and im so soft for baby logan) and i was kinda wondering how the legal bits work in that universe? like do the storks tell whoever (idk the right government people lol) that ‘x has a kid now’ or do the new parents have to like,, go register or something? idk its just a thought that came to mind after reading

(So happy you love the STORK AU! ^^;; It’s been a favorite of mine to write)

Short Answer: MAGIC!! It fixes everything! ^^;; lol For the most part the STORK’s magic makes pretty much all the necessary changes to all documentation instantaneous as soon as the new parent(s) accept their child. 

Longer Answer below the cut: 

The nice thing about STORKS is that they do have their own brand of magic that helps to facilitate the child’s move to a better family.

Their main magic is used for the changing/erasing of the original parent(s)/guardian(s) memories so that they won’t go looking for the child and to ensure that the child doesn’t have to worry about running into them again. 

But this magic also is used to alter official records that the government (and medical, educational, etc places) keep. Basically if a government person just happened to be looking at the child’s name on their birth certificate when they’re taken by the STORKS and accepted by their new family it would be like a ‘blink and you miss’ it sort of change. One second the name may say Joe Johnson and the next it would be Joe Anderson. (The person may not realize that the name changed or think they misread the name, it’s so quick)-And if the child doesn’t want to keep their name that their original parents gave them, then the paperwork could change to say Andrew Anderson or even Jennifer Anderson depending on what the child wants to be called. Etc. 

-The changes are also very very easy to make for those government systems who have digitized their information. As basically just blip and the necessary information is altered and no one is the wiser. 

The good thing about the government though is that there are billions of people living on the planet and keeping track of every single form for every individual is such a momentous task that unless the person in the government is involved directly with the STORKs (aka they accepted a child from a STORK) it’s unlikely anyone will notice any changes to documents that contain the child’s name. 

The only major difference to most governments is that since most of the time the original parent(s)/guardian(s) believe that their child was killed, there needs to be a paper trail there just in case one is needed. (aka death certificates and insurance claims filed and processed)

-If there is insurance on the child, then there’s the added complication of ensuring that the money was processed and placed in the right accounts so the original parent(s)/guardian(s) aren’t like “Where’s my money?” 

Also what all needs to be changed in the paper trail of the child often depends on the situation that they come from and their age. 

It’s a lot easier on the STORKS when the child hasn’t yet entered school as there are less official records (mostly like a Birth Certificate, Social Security Number, and maybe a couple of medical records.) that need to be altered.

It’s also the reason why most of the STORKs work with babies and toddlers. (And how they got their reputation for carrying babies to parents in the stories) There’s less that needs to be altered to ensure that the child can seamlessly enter into their new family’s lives. 

But if the child is older and in school then there’s more complications and potentially more legwork (including physical visits to differing locations) that the STORK has to complete after uniting the child with their new parents in order to ensure that the no one goes “Oh hey wait what happened to Jimmy who was in class last week?” When the original parents think that the child ‘died’ three years ago.

-Basically if a person was closer to the parents, their memories will shift so that they too think the child is dead.

-If the person was closer to the child, they will forget who the child’s original parents were and remember only the new parents and in most cases will think that left because they moved away. 

But yah. Schools complicate everything because there’s such a paper trail in those buildings. Assignments, Tests, Scores, Assessments, Nurses Visits, etc etc. (again yay for digital stuff as computer records are quite easy to alter for the STORKS.) 

It’s even more complicated in the rarer cases where the ‘child’ is at that near adult stage of 15-17 years old where they may have a job (and all those certifications/background checks, etc) or have received their learner’s permit/driver’s license. 

Because Remy usually deals with infants and toddlers his job isn’t as complicated as other more experienced STORKS who take on the older children in need. 

And because Virgil is Logan’s original Dad, his case is different than most as he can keep his original name as his birth certificate was filed using Virgil’s last name as Logan’s last name and named him as father. 

The main complication is that the Mom is still alive and now believes that Logan is dead. 

-With Remy’s magic she believes that he died in the boating accident along with Virgil because Virgil’s Grandfather told her that Virgil was dead. Now the memories shift to include Logan in that.

So there’s a tricky bit of magic there where you could call it…a mirage. If she were to happen to look at Logan’s birth certificate she would see Logan’s name with her Maiden Name (though since she and Virgil weren’t yet officially married, she never took his last name and hasn’t yet been married to anyone else.) But if Virgil were to look at that exact same certificate, he would see his last name as Logan’s last name.

There will also be a Death Certificate found in the state of Florida that has Logan’s name with his Mother’s Maiden Name on it if the Mom were to need it. 

In very very rare cases. A STORK is unable to properly change memories/paperworkforms because they have to act in the spur of the moment and take the child before a new family can be found for them. In these sort of cases it’s like…’the strings of fate’ -or in this case the ties of family- are violently snapped leaving the child(ren) adrift with no connections to anyone (records vanished, memories people have of the completely gone from their minds leaving holes in memories) until the STORK can get them out of imminent danger and realign them with a better family. 

This happens to Remy when Logan is 14 years old when he rescues nearly 16 year old Roman and Remus from a cousin they lived with who was deadset on killing them. 

Remy basically yanked the twins off the street as they ran by, shielded them with his wings from their cousin’s view and promptly used his magic to ‘break’ every single thread connecting them to their old life because he had no time to be ‘delicate’ when their lives were literally on the line. 

As to the new parent(s), mostly what they have to worry about is what they’re going to tell people when they’re like “Hey…who is this?” The STORK’s magic, however, ensures that whatever story the new parent(s) decide to tell, it will be believed so that the child can be better accepted into their new life. (Though there’s almost always that one distant relative that disproves of everything no matter what you tell them. “Can they even afford to have another child?!” “Adoption?! Why in the world would you subject yourself to that?!”)  

Again with Babies it’s rather easy if there’s a parent involved who can bear children as they will often use the story of “I didn’t know I was pregnant!” With older children the reason can be slightly more complicated and parent(s) have told very simple stories of “we decided we wanted to adopt this little angel” to more complex stories of “So apparently I actually had twins in the hospital but they told me one died but only now through Ancestry.com did I discover my child had actually survived and after a lot of searching we found each other.” (The STORKS have to shake their heads at some of the stories they’ve heard the parent(s) tell to explain why they suddenly have another child) 

Paperwork wise the parent(s) usually find all the necessary documentation for the child in the mail within the week (after the haze of ‘we have a new child!’ has faded a bit) to ensure that there won’t be difficulties in their future (drivers licenses, passports, job applications, college applications, medical history, etc). 

Again with Virgil and Logan it’s easier in some ways and difficult in others since Logan is Virgil’s biological child. So he can rightfully claim that Logan is his son. 

But it does take Virgil a good two or three days before he feels like he can leave the building with Logan and tell people the story he’s comfortable telling.

Because like….how do you explain to people that your Grandfather didn’t want your fiance to marry you and so he set up the boat explosion to kill them, but somehow they survived, but then he convinced the Mom to fake being dead and then lied to Virgil about the her and Logan’s survival only Virgil discovered years later that they could potentially still be alive and when he ‘found’ them (Virgil never sees the Mom again, Remy is the one who took action to find them before Virgil could get a chance to) and Logan’s Mom could no longer care for him (otherwise Remy wouldn’t have been able to take Logan from his mother) and ‘wanted’ (since she’s not alive) nothing to do with Virgil and so Virgil took Logan back home to live with him and raise.

Yah…Virgil doesn’t tell that story to more than a handful of people. He mostly sticks to “His Mother took him from me, but now can no longer care for him and so I took my son back.” And if they know his situation with his ex-fiance will also state that she ‘faked their deaths and I just discovered they were still alive.”  

But yah, paperwork wise, not much needed to be changed for Logan as he was too young to be in school (at almost five) and his Mom hadn’t enrolled him in preschool and had stopped taking him to daycare a good year before when she realized he could take care of himself well enough that she could leave him home while she was at work and not worry about him burning down the house (and save $$$ in the process) so no one would question why he no longer was coming. 

Hope that answers your questions! Let me know if you have any more. :D

#STORK AU #neglectful parents tw #death talk tw #attempted murder tw

[impalementation]

of all the random things to wish season 7 had included (and i actually like season 7, for the record), i wish that they had managed to include, if not cordelia herself since she was off having some apparently terrible storyline, at least some sort of avatar of the southern california mean girl.

i say that because i read season 7 as buffy making peace with her shadow selves. and cordelia was buffy’s very first shadow. in season 3, her shadow-self was faith. faith was, more or less, the temptation to use power selfishly or irresponsibly. so the fact that buffy entrusts faith with power by the end of season 7 (handing over the scythe, etc) is a sign that she has resolved much of her own fear of power.

in season 6, her shadow-self was spike. spike was something like her yearning for escape and self-destruction. the temptation to check out of life. the isolation of keeping your problems secret. i see the fact that buffy forgives and speaks up for spike in season 7 as her forgiving herself by proxy, the exact flip-side of the way she used spike to punish herself the season before.

i don’t think it’s a coincidence that the first so often appears in buffy’s image. in some sense, she is fighting herself. and buffy isn’t the only one resolving issues with her shadow, all of the other characters are too. willow most obviously, as she tries to re-integrate magic into her life, and confronts the image of warren in the killer in me. spike of course as well. it makes a lot of thematic sense for him to spend the season afraid of spontaneously becoming a mindlessly violent demon. 

i wish we’d gotten even more of that with all of the other characters. i wish that we’d gotten to see xander confront, say, his fears of uselessness or becoming like his family. an update on the zeppo. though there’s a bit of that in potential. same deal with giles. i wish he’d had some character focus prior to lies my parents told me, so him wrestling with ineffectuality or ruthless consequentialism would have hit harder. 

but given that this is buffy’s show, i’m most interested in her arc. because of that, i can’t help but think it would have been cool to see explicit resolution with the parts of herself that are cliquish or self-oriented. obviously, buffy is a very selfless character. but she wasn’t always that way. in season 1, cordelia represented the temptation to only care about oneself and one’s problems, and the way that sort of self-obsession means that you don’t take the way you hurt other people seriously. given that buffy has struggled the whole show with when she should selfishly care about her own pain versus when she shouldn’t, it would have been really nice for buffy to have a moment of triumphant selfishness. as funny as that might sound. or at least for her to make peace with the idea of caring about her own personal well-being.

the season almost gets there. i think it would be fair to read the chosen spell as a moment of triumphant selfishness on buffy’s part, given that more slayers in the world means that she won’t be suffering in isolation anymore. and the season does remind us a lot about how much buffy’s isolation hurts her. but it would have been cool for example, if her realizing that the chosen spell was an option was related to her realizing that it was not just possible, but okay to not suffer. because for all that she tells giles she hates suffering in season 6, and for all that she tells spike she’s moved beyond hating, ie punishing, herself in season 7, and for all that she is clearly not lying about either, the tension about how much she’s really allowed to suffer or put herself first is still central to the season. cf, her conversations with dead people scenes, and all the talk of the mission mattering more than anything else.

(i would have liked, for example, if buffy’s get it done cruelty or the empty places blow-up had been more clearly about how buffy has learned the lesson of selflessness too well. ironically, because she’s too preoccupied with her own personal experience. she tries to demand that others use her emotional toolkit, because she’s freaked that everyone is going to die, but doesn’t have the perspective to see that that toolkit is a product of a fucked up situation. that she’s perpetuating isolation instead of looking for something else. i think this is basically what the show was going for. it’s actually one of the reasons i like the season. but again, not clear.)

anya would probably have been the best character to play this symbolic role, and the season does sort of use her that way. she has a whole episode called selfless, after all. but she pretty much just finishes the show as yet another reformed villain. her honesty and frank interest in things like sex and money never get a chance to be framed as something valuable. i can’t help but think the season would have been much thematically stronger if that had happened. similar to the way that andrew’s flaw (narrativization) gets to be used in a positive way at the very end, when he describes anya’s death as heroic.

#btvs #season 7 apologist blogging #this is so rambly but whatever #s7

[kaypeace21]

Okay but if Will does get taken by the government with El because Joyce signed a dodgy document before s2 then we're probably gonna get 3 awful things that WILL kill me: 1) Her screaming and being physically restrained from going to him, directly paralleling when Bob died, 2) Hopper also gave information on his child to the government before he adopted her, so both will have much guilt, ow, 3) Brenner's emotional manipulation AF like 'your parents practically gave you away' I am not ready

1) Oh. Interesting- but do you know what would be sadder that might be the actual callback they do. The scene in s1, when everyone thought Will was dead “gone”. Aka mothers hugging their sons.

Jonathan and his mom (after Will’s ‘death’)

Mike and his mom (after Will’s ‘death’)

so… Yeah, Will & his mom hugging may be brought back as a visual cue…of that loss and dispair

2) Hopper’s probably going to die, unfortunately.  Theory here. Brenner is trying to kidnap children with the least amount of backlash- in a ‘legal’ way. In the prequel novel ‘Suspicious Minds’ Hawkins lab made the adult subjects also sign non-disclosure agreements however they didn’t read the fine print either. So when Dr Brenner, finds out that Alice (an adult) has powers, this is when the he essentially legally kidnaps her as her ‘psychiatrist’.

- “We’re here for Alice Johnson. I have paperwork that authorizes us to take her into the custody of Hawkins National Laboratory. Commitment paperwork”

-Commitment paperwork- a legal process through which an individual who is deemed by a qualified agent ( Dr. Brenner, the psychiatrist) to have symptoms of a severe mental disorder and is ordered by a court into treatment in a psychiatric hospital  or in the community.

So essentially Joyce signed paperwork, that the second it’s verified he has powers, under the law there is nothing she could do to get him back – she inadvertently gave custody of her son to a monster. And everyone would buy the story, his own school knows he goes to monthly psychiatry appointments- he’s had meltdowns in public (like on Halloween).And his mother has been rumored to have psychiatric problems herself. He’s an evil genius!

And , if Hopper dies who will get custody of El? The united states government! And who works the united states government -that’s right Dr Brenner! You can read more about Will and El being kidnapped theory here.

3) Yes, he will 100% use this against them.  I briefly talked about the emotional manipulation Brenner would do to them in s4 here.

But to add more to that post.After reading ‘suspicious minds’ - it just reiterates the theme of ‘house of stairs’ (a novel referenced in the Will comic). Brenner’s plan will be condition the children to start subconciously doing small commands, and slowly escalating it to more significant commands, then bringing out their more violent tendencies so he can shape them into violent weapons who will only attack under his command. I’m still withholding a lot of plot points for my masterpost-theory for s4  but here’s a little taste… from the ST prequel novel…

Becoming Weapons

- “When it’s our government involved, I think you’ll find our rights are often to be determined.”

-“So…do you guys think it’s odd that the feds would be spending time on this with the war going on? Shouldn’t they be working on weapons or something instead?” Ken lowered his voice, even though they were alone. “Maybe they are.” Terry scoffed, “Is it me or Alice who’s the weapon? Or Gloria?”

-”then Terry’s boyfriend said that thing about weapons and she had realized maybe she was beginning to feel more like a weapon.” 

-He came to her side. “I’m going to need you to lay back for a few minutes while we add a new…treatment.” “You want to turn me into a machine,” Alice said. “But I already am one. We all are.”

Brenner (The psychiatrist)

- “I’d spoil the experiment if I told you. I’m going to need you to take my word for it that our work here it’s crucial to the safety of our nation. It can’t be disrupted for any reason.”

–“The hospital gowns they were forced to wear during the experiments were an affront to dignity. This was a fact, not just Gloria’s opinion. She could’ve done a double-blind peer-reviewed study to prove it.” (Gloria was studying biology in college, so she knew what she was talking about.)“

-Brenner took her arm and marched her back to her room, where he kept her awake for the next thirteen hours, refusing to let her sleep. ( common technique of mind control, and to get people to admit wrong doing, it’s considered a form of torture).”

- “We’ve given you a powerful hallucinogenic. We have evidence it can open the mind to suggestibility.”

- “make them suggestible and exert control…But we can’t get the results we want without the right people, period… It is nothing to manipulate a weak mind. We need those with potential.”

-”She’d feel much lighter. The first stage to creating a mind susceptible to greater manipulations.”

- “Dr. Martin Brenner wished he could see inside the minds of the subjects. No messy conversation to extract what they might or might not have seen, how effective the hypnotic techniques had been… “

-”Brenner didn’t understand children, because he didn’t feel like he’d ever been a child. He’d considered kicking Terry out. But he’d invested too much effort and already she seemed more malleable.”

- “But they’re experimenting with our memories, our minds —it makes sense they’d want to control us. If they could use regular people to do their dirty work…”

- “What transpires here will be a secret. You will maintain this knowledge and complete a task without discovery, but you will have no memory of me requesting it”

 -”Having powers put you in danger. Even being near people that had powers put you in danger. And being discovered by people who wanted to control those powers put you in even more. Of that she was certain.”

-”Men like Dr. Martin Brenner got you in their clutches and didn’t let you go, especially if you made enemies of them. They could fight him, and they would, but they might lose. She wanted to know how hard he’d work to keep them under his thumb.”

-”She already felt confident that Dr. Brenner was no Professor Xavier to mentor anyone.”

Will will be El’s greatest weakness- and Brenner will use this against her to keep her from rebelling

*Brenner’s conversations with or about Terry (El’s mom)

-“He’d underestimated her.He needed to get her back under control.The best way to do that was to distract her, give her bigger problems. He knew everything she cared about most, because she’d told him. The solution was obvious.”

-“Russians have developed a theory that mothers and their children have a mental link with each other…in different rooms they killed the babies to see if the mother felt it… killing rabbits, like keeping children prisoner for experiments.”

-”Brenner gazed at her steadily. “I bet you don’t know what you’d do without him. Say it. That you don’t know.” She couldn’t seem to stop herself. “I don’t know what I’d do without Andrew.”  He smiled at her. “Now, close your eyes and go deeper like a good girl. I’m done with you for today.” 

Forcing Will to do LSD to manipulate him and strengthen his powers

-”We have a few more young patients transferring here for a related program, but I’d like a range of ages. There is every reason to believe that a combination of chemical psychedelics and the right inducements can unlock the secrets we need.”

- “Then there was Brenner’s use of the word “cocktail.” What exactly was in the Hawkins special acid blend? “Who has the medical cocktail?”

-”She nodded and handed the glass back, smoothing soaked hair away from a cheek shiny with moisture. Tears and sweat both. Extremely susceptible to the drug cocktail.”

*cough* Will’s comic*

His name is Martin Brenner- the comic draws Will with a ‘cocktail’/martini… thanks I hate it -_-

Do you know what’s worse? The book ‘House of Stairs’  also has other darker elements, I didn’t even get into… like s4 is going to kill me. It will be waaaay worse for Will and El then s3 will be . I CAN’T! They’ll survive but-

#will byers #joyce byers #el hopper #stranger things theory #jane hopper

[androgyne-acolyte]

The Radical Queer Gospel

(My first try at a sermon, for Pride Sunday 2019. You can also listen on Soundcloud.)

Why do we need a Pride Sunday? Especially in June? [Note: our local Pride festival is held in July.]

Because there is still a great lie that queer people — LGBTQ+ people — and Christians can’t get along.

I’ve had people on the internet tell me that my decision to go into ministry as a genderqueer person is worthless, because “the belief system of some two-thousand-year-old desert tribe didn’t care about being nice to gay people”. We routinely get messages telling us our church sign is wrong.

Anyone can spout talking points about this; but wisdom is vindicated by her deeds. [cf. Matthew 11:19]

I’m going to tell you about Jesus today; how he lived, and what he taught. For me, there is something powerfully relatable about the shape of Jesus’ life; not just as a person of faith, but as a queer person. I want to talk about how Jesus’ story resembles, in many ways, nothing so much as a queer life — with all the upheaval, scandal, and confounding of expectations that implies.

I’m certainly not saying that Jesus was gay, or trans, or intersex. Queer is a more expansive term than that, and is a much more immediately transgressive term; it’s a term, quite honestly, that is still very much connected to its origins as a term of abuse. While it can refer to anyone who experiences homophobia or transphobia, it carries with it a connotation of a way of being that goes against the grain; a state of being not quite one thing and not quite another.

But, fair warning: its use is sometimes quite contentious, even discouraged, within the wider LGBTQ+ community, especially when used by people who would not consider themselves “queer”. I’m using it today, however, because I’m speaking from my own point of view.

Jesus is born as an ordinary peasant, the son of a teenage mother and a carpenter — you know the story. He lives under military occupation by the Roman Empire, which has annexed all the best land; demands punitive taxes to build palaces in fortified seaport towns; has taken over the Jerusalem Temple, hiring and firing high priests at will, and doesn’t hesitate to violently crush any sign of dissent.

But as Jesus grows up, he starts to realize that he is called to be something different, something that will disturb the very fabric of the society that he lives in. He finds community through John the Baptist, a strange, wild figure who has quite a following, mostly among the more downtrodden parts of society — and through John he gets initiated into a new kind of life, a new way of being.

Then, Jesus begins to get noticed. Imagine the young Jesus, certainly no older than I am now, speaking in the synagogues all across the countryside of Galilee. And when he gets to his hometown of Nazareth, he stands in front of all his family and friends and begins to read from the scroll of the prophet Isaiah:

“The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to bring good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives … to let the oppressed go free, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favour.” … The eyes of all in the synagogue were fixed on him. Then he began to say to them, “Today this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing.” (Luke 4:18-21)

This reads, to me, like a coming-out narrative. Because Jesus immediately follows up this seemingly empowering message with a bunch of uncomfortable truths that they don’t want to hear — namely, by citing the story of the prophet Elijah to make the point that God works from the margins of society, and plants the seeds of prophecy and change from the bottom up. “No prophet is accepted in their own country,” declares Jesus — and the congregation who had just minutes before said “Wow! This kid is going places! Joseph, isn’t this your son?” turn around and try to run him out of town.

There is something else here that the gospels aren’t quite obvious about. Jesus is giving up his place in the family structure that bound Judean culture together; striking out on his own, all the way to the raggedy edge — to share his message of healing and justice and resilience in the face of Roman occupation with those whom his people would have considered foreigners and outcasts.

It’s almost certain that Joseph assumed that Jesus would come of age and take on his father’s trade, inheriting his tools and going to work as a day labourer in Roman construction projects. All of a sudden, that’s not going to happen — because Jesus has fallen in with a very strange crowd; he’s been influenced by these people, and has come back home full of uncanny zeal and radical ideas.

I can imagine all too well the sight of Mary grieving for the image of the son she loved, who she assumed would grow up, settle down, and have children of his own — but all of a sudden he’s someone different; someone or something that can’t quite be contained. I can imagine this all too well because my own mother, my own father, have both gone through this.

But as it turns out, Jesus had discovered — he had understood, had even begun to embody — a kind of love that had never been thought possible; a kind of love that was so radical and so powerful that a lot of folks outright rejected it. The people in power certainly weren’t into it.

This is a kind of story that should absolutely resonate with queer folks like me, because we have a very similar experience — with and through each other. The dawning realization that we are meant for a different kind of life; something which not everyone can understand, but which we suddenly realize is beautiful. That moment when you see someone else, in person or in the media, who embodies an indescribable feeling that you have kept tucked away inside of you for your entire life.

Isn’t it possible that those ordinary semi-literate fishermen, Peter and Andrew and James and John, had a similar experience — seeing something in Jesus that was so powerful, so compelling, that they couldn’t help but respond when he said “follow me”?

We queer people know a kind of love that wrenches us out of the closet and into the sunlight; a kind of love that makes us feel beautiful and strong and valued in a way that no other love has before; a love that opens our hearts to weep at the injustices done to our queer siblings, our trans siblings, our Two-Spirit siblings throughout history;

A love that can make us fearless, so that no catcalling, no misgendering, no homophobic preaching, no gay-bashing, no parental rejection can dissuade us from living out the kind of love to which we are called; the ways of being that upset cultural assumptions and power structures that most of us take as fact.

The love that took root in Jesus’ movement was one that breached walls and broke down borders; that reached across ancient religious schisms — such as the one between the Judeans and the Samaritans, who wouldn’t even speak to each other; that uplifted and empowered women; that extended all the way to the Ethiopian eunuch in the book of Acts — who would have been considered not only foreign, but ritually unacceptable as a person! — to heal and unify and plant the seeds of distributive justice through small, beautiful, subversive actions. And it didn’t stop there.

Near the end of the Gospel of Matthew, some of the Roman-backed chief priests and elders come up to Jesus and start questioning him. But he takes the wind out of their sails by telling them a parable:

“What do you think? A man had two sons [keep in mind that in a lot of Bible stories, the second son is the underdog who comes out on top]; he went to the first and said, ‘Son, go and work in the vineyard today.’ He answered, ‘I will not’; but later he changed his mind and went. The father went to the second and said the same; and he answered, ‘I go, sir’; but he did not go. Which of the two did the will of his father?” They said, “The first.” Jesus said to them, “Truly I tell you, the tax collectors and the [sex workers] are going into the kingdom of God ahead of you.” (Matthew 21:28-31)

(Look at it this way; at least no one can accuse me of not being Bible-based.)

That passage is a proverbial smoking gun; of all the sayings in the Gospels, it’s the one that is still immediately subversive to us today. But it’s true, Jesus explains, because there’s one thing that the most stigmatized, most down-and-out people in society have that the respectable folks who actually obey the traffic laws and run the Temple don’t — and that is, a thirst for hope and meaning and healing, and a reason to imagine that another world is possible.

So, I’ll say it right now: I am not going into ministry to uphold the stability of the mainline church in its current form. I am going into ministry in the hope that I can help make the church into a refuge, where everyone has the opportunity and the tools to heal and thrive and care for one another; where this transformative divine love is as present and as accessible as the air we breathe.

I believe that I am called, among other things, to be a minister to and for my queer and trans siblings, for my radical siblings; to be an instrument of disorientation and reorientation and renewal and healing for the wounds that the church at large has inflicted by confusing white heteronormative Western social conventions with the actual, radical teachings of christianity.

Because how many queer and transgender children have been turned away, just like Jesus was run out of his hometown, by parents and communities and churches who don’t understand them?

I think what Jesus says to his own people later on in the Gospel of Matthew is something he might say to my radical queer siblings, and to the church that has historically rejected them, today:

“Jerusalem, Jerusalem, the city that kills the prophets and stones those who are sent to it! How often have I desired to gather your children [— your queer and trans and non-binary children —] together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, and you were not willing! See, your house is left to you, desolate.” (Matthew 23:37-38)

Because the great tragedy here is that that vital, transcendent love should have been the church’s stock in trade all along. We, the church, have the capacity and the knowledge to reach back to our radical, counter-cultural roots and throw people a lifeline of meaning and hope and healing in a tempest-tossed world — but in the eyes of far too many, we are still at best a bastion of the status quo.

I’ve connected with some wonderful radical theological people through the internet; one particular person, by the name of Jane Nichols — a remarkable lesbian trans woman who just completed her master’s degree in theology — says it better than I ever could:

[O]ur stance towards exclusionary theology should not be ‘well, actually, if we look in the Bible, we can see that it never actually forbids being gay,’ but instead, ‘how dare [we] presume to limit God’s love? What blasphemous arrogance could have possibly led [us] to where [we ended up]? When did [we] start worshipping [our] own image in place of the Divine?’ (Jane Nichols, Tumblr post, May 2019)

Wisdom is vindicated by her deeds.

Where I have found the Holy Spirit alive and well and pushing the envelope is on the margins of almost every sphere. Most immediately, I encounter it in the deep insight and vulnerability of the women clergy members in my life — and most recently, I have seen it spring to life in the passion and brilliance and vision of the lesbian and queer women clergy with whom I was privileged to commune on the sidelines of the former Maritime Conference.

By the way — Jesus’ story is hardly the only one that’s relatable to queer and trans people like us. The Bible is replete with stories of transformation, of coming into new identity and purpose, even gender-ambiguity, if you know where — and how — to look.

Yes, queer people — LGBTQ+ people — and Christians, followers of Jesus, can and should get along. Yes, queer people can be Christian, and Christians can be queer; and yes, we can and should learn from one another!

Because we have a remarkable common ground — a remarkable birthright:

We are called to go against the grain; to challenge the basic patterns in which our societies operate, and to embrace a new and powerful kind of love;

a love that reshapes the way we think about ourselves, a love that beckons us to healing and renewal, a love that calls us to take action and cry out for justice, a love that is itself a radical way of being; a love that is potentially more beautiful and more life-giving than the power structures of this world are ready to understand.

Amen.

June 2, 2019 — St. Andrew’s United Church, Halifax

#tamsin writes #tamsin sermonizes #queer christianity #transgender christians #anti-oppressive christianity #reclaiming christianity #rethinking theology #uccan #uccan pride #long post

[bountyofbeads]

https://www.washingtonpost.com/lifestyle/on-parenting/do-you-have-white-teenage-sons-listen-up-how-white-supremacists-are-recruiting-boys-online/2019/09/17/f081e806-d3d5-11e9-9343-40db57cf6abd_story.html?outputType=amp&__twitter_impression=true

This is a MUST READ for every parent of a white teenage son. Neo-Nazis, especially Andrew Anglin of the "Daily Stormer" Neo-Nazi website. Below is an article about how they are targeting young white males.

I also have a thread preceding the article from the Southern Poverty Law Center that tracks these hate groups and what you should be on look out for as a parent. (This article relates to the previous article I posted on a young woman who sued the Neo-Nazi Andrew Anglin for violating her civil-rights.)👇

"Neo-Nazi Andrew Anglin intentionally targets children — some as young as 11, the age of one of Joanna Schroeder’s sons when she learned he was looking at white supremacist propaganda on the internet."

"Targeting young, impressionable minds - he said on a podcast in 2018 - means skipping the often lengthy “redpilling process,” a euphemism on the far right for gradually brainwashing people to embrace increasingly radical, hateful ideas." https://t.co/Y3sVHcioOJ

"Hateful rhetoric online can turn into violence in real life. The gunmen involved in the white supremacist shootings in #Pittsburgh, #Christchurch, #Gilroy & #ElPaso were all active in online forums, where they shared hateful messages before the attacks."

“Social media platforms have a tremendous impact because of their ability to amplify extreme ideas from the fringes.” — SPLC’s Heidi Beirich

"That’s why we’re encouraging tech companies to #ChangeTheTerms in order to combat hate & extremism online." https://t.co/pUGfzl954y

Parents can help children learn to identify the hate they see online, like Joanna Schroeder did, by discussing it with them. “I told them, ‘They’re trying to get you to believe something that, if you think about it, you really don’t believe.’”

https://t.co/gnovx3kWCh

“All kids need positive mentoring, and if we fail on that, then there are people out there who are only too happy to mentor them into violence.” — Alice LoCicero, clinical psychologist, Society for Terrorism Research https://t.co/96uObPU4dV

‘Do you have white teenage sons? Listen up.’ How white supremacists are recruiting boys online.

By Caitlin Gibson  | Published September 17, 2019, 9:00 AM EDT | Washington Post | Posted September 21, 2019 2:35 PM ET |

At first, it wasn’t obvious that anything was amiss. Kids are naturally curious about the complicated world around them, so Joanna Schroeder wasn’t surprised when her 11- and 14-year-old boys recently started asking questions about timely topics such as cultural appropriation and transgender rights.

But she sensed something off about the way they framed their questions, she says — tinged with a bias that didn’t reflect their family’s progressive values. She heard one of her sons use the word “triggered” in a sarcastic, mocking tone. And there was the time Schroeder watched as her son scrolled through the “Explore” screen on his Instagram account and she caught a glimpse of a meme depicting Adolf Hitler.

Schroeder, a writer and editor in Southern California, started paying closer attention, talking to her boys about what they’d encountered online. Then, after her kids were in bed one night last month, she opened Twitter and began to type.

“Do you have white teenage sons?” she wrote. “Listen up.”

In a series of tweets, Schroeder described the onslaught of racist, sexist and homophobic memes that had inundated her kids’ social media accounts unbidden, and the way those memes — packaged as irreverent, “edgy” humor — can indoctrinate children into the world of alt-right extremism and white supremacy.

She didn’t know whether anyone would pay attention to her warning. But by the time she awoke the next morning, her thread had gone viral; as of Sept. 16, it had been retweeted more than 81,000 times and liked more than 180,000 times. Over the following days, Schroeder’s inbox filled with messages from other parents who were deeply concerned about what their own kids were seeing and sharing online.

“It just exploded, it hit a nerve,” she says of her message. “I realized, okay, there are other people who are also seeing this.”

Over recent years, white-supremacist and alt-right groups have steadily emerged from the shadows — marching with torches through the streets Charlottesville, clashing with counterprotesters in Portland, Ore., papering school campuses with racist fliers. In June, the Anti-Defamation League reported that white-supremacist recruitment efforts on college campuses had increased for the third straight year, with more than 313 cases of white-supremacist propaganda recorded between September 2018 and May 2019. This marked a 7 percent increase over the previous academic year, which saw 292 incidents of extremist propaganda, according to the ADL.

As extremist groups have grown increasingly visible in the physical world, their influence over malleable young minds in the digital realm has become a particularly urgent concern for parents. A barrage of recent reports has revealed how online platforms popular with kids (YouTube, iFunny, Instagram, Reddit and multiplayer video games, among others) are used as tools for extremists looking to recruit. Earlier this year, a viral essay in Washingtonian magazine — written by an anonymous mother who chronicled a harrowing, year-long struggle to reclaim her teenage son from the grips of alt-right extremists who had befriended him online — sparked a flurry of passionate discussions and debates among parents across social media.

Parents wanted to know: What was happening to their kids? Why was it happening, and how could it be stopped?

They were raised to be ‘colorblind’ — but now more white parents are learning to talk about race

For extremist groups, the goal is hardly a secret; the founder and editor of the neo-Nazi website Daily Stormer has openly declared that the site targets children as young as 11.

“This is a specific strategy of white nationalists and alt-right groups,” says Lindsay Schubiner, program director at the Western States Center, a nonprofit focused on social, economic, racial and environmental justice. Schubiner co-authored a tool kit published by the center this year that offers guidance to school officials and parents who are facing white-nationalist threats in their communities.

“White-nationalist and alt-right groups use jokes and memes as a way to normalize bigotry while still maintaining plausible deniability,” Schubiner says, “and it works very well as a recruitment strategy for young people.”

Schroeder saw this firsthand when she sat down with her kids to look at their Instagram accounts together.

“I saw the memes that came across my kids’ timelines, and once I started clicking on those and seeking this material out, then it became clear what was really happening,” she says. With each tap of a finger, the memes grew darker: Sexist and racist jokes (for instance, a looping video clip of a white boy demonstrating how to “get away with saying the n-word,” or memes referring to teen girls as “thots,” an acronym for “that ho over there”) led to more racist and dehumanizing propaganda, such as infographics falsely asserting that black people are inherently violent.

“The more I clicked, the more I started to see memes about white supremacy,” Schroeder says, “and that’s what was really scary.”

That pattern of escalation is familiar to Christian Picciolini, an author and former neo-Nazi who left the movement in 1996 and now runs the Free Radicals Project, which supports others who want to leave extremist movements.

“Youth have always been critical to the growth of extremist movements, since the beginning of time. Young people are idealistic, they’re driven, they are motivated, and they’re not afraid to be vocal. So if you can fool them into a certain narrative that seems to speak to them, then that’s the growth of your movement,” he says. “And I’ve never seen an extremist movement grow as fast as I have in the last 10 years.”

Most of the people who contact Picciolini looking for help — anywhere from 10 to 30 per week, he says — are “bystanders,” people who are scared that someone they know or love is a white supremacist. And most of those bystanders are parents of teens and young adults.

#education #parenting #mental health #white supermacists #white house #whitehouse #Neo-Nazi #hate groups #hate speech #hate crimes #politics and government #us politics #politics #u.s. news #trumpism #trump scandals #trump administration #president donald trump #impeach trump #republicans #republican politics #republican party