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even-after-a-millennia · 3 years

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look out with me at this beauty

For @nilefreemanweek2021 and the prompt Childhood. While protesting a pipeline, Nile sees something in the distance that reminds her of a family vacation she took as a child. You can read it below or over on my ao3 account here. Gen | Rated G | 1.7k

“You would think,” Nile said in disgust, “that after how many times these things have broken, we wouldn’t have to be right here, protesting them making yet another pipeline.”

“Profits before the people,” Andy said drily from where she was standing next to Nile.

“Ughhhhhhhh,” Nile groaned.

Nicky and Joe returned from giving out water and food to the other protestors and handed over the remaining bottles and granola bars. Nile ripped one open and tore a bite off viciously.

She looked out, past the line of police officers that were attempting to intimidate her and the other protestors standing in the path of the pipeline. In the distance, she could see a piece of higher land going up into the sky. She squinted, but it didn’t become any clearer.

“Hey, guys, what’s that?” she asked, pointing at it.

Andy looked over. “Oh. I remember that place. We were here in the… uh, late 1800s? Trying to push back the expansion of settlers onto the native people’s land. The tribes in the area had many names for it, but the one I remember is Bear Mountain.”

“Bear Mountain…” Nile muttered, pulling out her phone. She typed “Bear Mountain South Dakota” into the search bar and started reading the results. “Oh,” she said quietly.

“What is it, Nile?” Nicky asked.

“It’s also called Bear Butte.”

She swallowed, then said, “My family and I went there when I was a kid.”

“Would you like to tell us about it?” Nicky asked. He kept one eye on the police, but turned most of his attention to Nile.

The others did the same, settling in for the long haul.

_____________________________________

The field of sunflowers whipped past Nile’s window and to her ten-year-old brain, they seemed to go on forever. Jordan was kicking the back of her mom’s seat and she turned to look at him and said, “Child, if you don’t want to walk there, you will stop that right now.”

He stopped, pouting.

“I’m bored,” he said.

“Look outside, Jordan! You can see forever!” Nile said, trying to distract him.

It worked for a few minutes, but then he was kicking again. Nile’s mom looked at the ceiling of the van, and Nile knew that her patience was being tested.

“Hey Jordan, I spy with my little eye, something that starts with the letter S,” Nile said.

Nile’s mom sent her a smile, which Nile returned.

He looked around, taking in the options. “Sky?” he asked.

“Nope!”

“Street?”

“This is a highway, dummy.”

He frowned and opened his mouth to retaliate, but she just said, “C’mon, you can get it! It starts with S!”

Jordan looked out the window and brightened. “SUNFLOWERS!” he shouted at the top of his lungs.

Nile nodded as her parents took deep breaths, then let them out.

“Your turn!” she said.

Their game lasted another hour, then they stopped at a rest area to go to the bathroom. Jordan climbed on the playground while Nile swung on a swing in the kid’s area, as their parents watched from one of the nearby park benches.

They had been driving since early that morning, but her parents had warned that they wouldn’t arrive at the hotel until late.

“So no swimming?” Nile had asked, trying not to pout.

Her dad had laughed. “Maybe not the first night, but I promise we will swim before we come home.”

She nodded, satisfied.

They were going to Bear Butte in South Dakota. Jordan had giggled when he had seen how close butte was to butt. That had started a conversation about how this was a sacred place for the Native Americans in the area, and while the Freeman’s were there, they were to treat the place with respect.

“Dad, if it’s for Native Americans, why are we going there?” Nile had asked, brow furrowed.

“A few guys in my division went there when they were in Sturgis for a big motorcycle rally. Said that it was a beautiful area and that you could feel the history and spirit of the place in the air. I want to see it for myself,” he explained.

Nile didn’t really get it, but she nodded anyway.

Luckily, Jordan had tired himself out on the playground, so he crashed for a while after they got back in the van. Nile pulled out Maniac Magee, the book one of her teachers had recommended at the end of the school year, and began to lose herself in between its pages.

They stopped for food somewhere in South Dakota, but still had a few hours to go. It was getting dark, the sun setting over the fields as they flashed by, and Nile was entranced by the colors streaking across the sky. She pulled out her folder of paper and tried to recreate it with her colored pencils, but the road was bumpy and the colors didn’t do it justice.

Her dad insisted on putting it on the dash anyway.

“Anyone looking at this vehicle will know that there is an artist on board,” he said, smiling at her.

Even Nile was dozing by the time that they pulled into the hotel parking lot. She dragged Jordan behind her, holding onto his hand, until they could get up in the room.

“Whoa…” she said, looking around.

There were two queen sized beds, a giant tv, a microwave, and a fridge in the room. She went to get on the bed, but her mom said, “Wait a minute.”

She took the covers off and put them to the side.

“Alright, now you can get on. But no jumping. There are people below us,” she said.

Nile frowned. Well, that stopped what she was going to do.

Jordan and Nile got one bed and her mom and dad took the other. They had waffles for breakfast and Jordan thought the machine that made them was the coolest thing. Her dad had actually made the waffles, but he had let Jordan flip the griddle, which he did with glee.

They drove a little bit out of town and parked. Nile’s dad shouldered the backpack that Nile’s mom had packed full of water, sunscreen, and snacks.

“Remember, you two, do not touch the pieces of cloth on the trees. They are prayer cloths and they are not to be disturbed. Do not go off the path. And try to be respectful and quiet. Okay?” their dad said.

They nodded, and set off.

It was a gentle slope upwards at first, and then they were pushing themselves up the hills. There were a lot of trees right by the trail, and Nile watched as the pieces of fabric tied to the trees swayed in the breeze. They were pretty.

Then they reached a flatter area with a wooden railing and looked out to see down the hill and out into the fields beyond.

“Cool…” Nile breathed, taking it all in.

They kept going, and Nile eventually stopped looking ahead and just kept looking around, taking in all the trees and grass and fields around her. They crested a hill and Nile looked down the hill and suddenly stopped.

“Dad, why do the trees look like that?” she asked.

There were many trees that were on their sides, barkless and white against the grass.

“There was a fire here in the late 90’s that burnt up a lot of the trees. The grass has grown back, but the trees couldn’t be saved,” he explained.

“Oh,” she said, feeling a sadness she couldn’t really explain. This was all so beautiful. It hurt to see the remnants of destruction here.

“Hey,” he said gently, kneeling beside her. “Look at it this way. All of this,” he said, gesturing to all the nature around them, “went through something terrible, and it managed to come back from that. I think that’s inspiring more than anything. What do you think?”

Nile thought about it, then nodded.

“Good,” he said. “C’mon, Nile. I hear the view from the top is incredible.”

It took a long time for them to get there. They had to stop for water breaks a bunch and a snack break too. But then they finally took the steps to the wooden platform at the top of the Butte and Nile and Jordan ran to the railing to look out over everything.

“Whoa…”

Nile had thought that she could see for miles before. But it was nothing compared to how far she could see now! She and Jordan ran from one side of the platform to the next, looking out at the different angles and what they could see from each.

Eventually, the novelty wore off, and they settled on one of the benches for a few more snacks and some water.

Nile’s dad was still standing at the railing, and Nile joined him after she finished eating.

They didn’t say anything for a while, just looked out together as the wind rushed over them. She leaned into his side and his arm came around her, holding her there. Any chill she would have felt from the breeze was lost in the warmth from her dad’s body.

“This is the kind of thing that I fight to protect,” he said softly.

If Nile wasn’t so close to him, she might not have heard him.

“It’s really pretty,” she agreed.

He blinked, and looked down at her. “I fight to protect you too, my little river,” he said, pulling one of her braids lightly.

They grinned at one another, the moment broken, then left the railing and its beautiful view behind them.

__________________________________

They had done more on the trip, had even gone swimming in the pool at the hotel. But that first day was the thing that stuck most in Nile’s brain, years later.

“Turns out, that was the last time my dad was home before he was killed in action,” Nile finished. “So I’m glad we got to have that time.”

“I am glad we are here,” Nicky said thoughtfully. “Protecting this view the two of you looked out on.”

Nile’s heart clenched, but she nodded.

“He died fighting for places like this,” she said. She turned to the police officers who were closing in. “Let’s make sure none of these people do the same.”

#nile freeman #nileweek2021 #andromache the scythian #andy #yusuf al kaysani #aka joe #nicolò di genova #aka nicky #childhood #family vacation #fanfic #my fic

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zertzertzhang · 4 years

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Stand and Deliver: My Life Turned Upside Down CH.2

A/N: This is my first time writing on Tumblr, so please bear with me! I am usually active on FFNet and AO3, but since this fandom is basically nonexistent except for here, I thought maybe I could post my works for this movie here. The story is a fanfic based on the 1988 movie ‘Stand and Deliver’ starring Edward James Olmos, and taking a deeper look into the lives of the impoverished students in East LA.

Eventual Angel/OC, and warnings of racial slurs with some physical violence.

First chapter link here > https://zertzertzhang.tumblr.com/post/627185848305270784/stand-and-deliver-my-life-turned-upside-down

Chapter Two: Circus

The second Vianne stepped out of the car, she realized her mistake. The school wasn’t what she expected at all. Garfield High broke the scale...in a bad way. Chipped walls decorated the main hall, flooded with overflowing trash bins and rusty pipelines. It had to have been decades since the last renovation, with the building looking like something she saw from abandoned prefectures.

Like all other complexes she’d seen around there, the place was standing on its last two feet. This was supposed to be the best building around.

Her white Giuseppe sneakers stepped on something sticky, and it was a challenge to hold in a disgusted snort. There was dried gum everywhere on the sidewalk, making Vianne wonder why they even bothered with trash cans in the first place. She winced when it was clear that her shoes would be torn to shreds by the end of the day.

Then came the worst part of her arrival; people stared. And it wasn’t some half-assed look you gave to a passersby on the streets. Students were either throwing her a look-over or straight on gaping. It could’ve been the way she was dressed, or the fact that she was probably the only Asian mingling in the midst of Latinos and very few Caucasians. Most likely both.

Ironed blouses and slim denim were not in fashion around here. Among the rest of the population with oversized shirts and baggy mom jeans, Vianne was the runt of the litter. She wanted to jump back into the car, go home, and put on an invisibility coat. The dirty look she saw from some of the girls did nothing to calm the queasy storm in her stomach.

“-That fresh meat?”

“It’s a fuckin’ chink. What’re they doin’ here?”

“Heh, looks like a lost puppy.”

The boys were doing a terrible job at whispering. Vianne wasn’t sure if it was an attempt at passive aggression or just plain stupidity. She glared in their direction, lips pulled into a slight frown as she entered the building. A cold sweat broke through her back, stretching its spindly fingers around her body in a tight cocoon.

Ignore them and get on with it.

Her mind screamed at her to keep walking, and she obliged. Repeating the mental mantra, Vianne soon found her way into the main office with her slip in hand. A handful of police officers crowded in one tiny space, speaking in rapid Spanish. Order did not exist in this school; the secretary was talking to five people at once, without the time to think about the things she said. Voices filled with agitation hung in the air.

Vianne was this close to thinking she had entered the wrong room when a small figure spotted her from behind.

“Miss? Can I help you?” A small tap on her shoulders sent her whirling around in alarm. Her little outburst startled the short woman behind her as well. When Vienne finally registered the lack of threat in front of her, her cheeks flushed bright red.

“Sorry! I’m looking for Racquel Ortega. It’s my first day and I was told to come here to get my finalized schedule.” The young woman spoke so fast she swore her lips would fall off.

The curly-haired woman in the maxi dress looked surprised. “Ah, that would be me. Are you Vianne Yang.”

Vianne nodded. “I was supposed to meet my TA instructor for math. It’s my first period.”

Ortega smiled warmly. “Yes. Welcome to Garfield High. Please follow me.” She held out a hand, and Vianne shook them without hesitation.

The duo weaved back and forth in the crowds, desperate to dodge the flying paper balls. Ortega would yell once in a while at a group of boys before pointing to the office behind her. The way her docile demeanor went from zero to a hundred freaked the young woman a bit. But Vianne couldn’t blame her. Had she been in her shoes, she would’ve quit before she even started.

As it turned out, her instructor was a retired engineer. Of all places, Vianne didn’t expect that to come from a high school teacher, particularly in this neighborhood. Ortega did an excellent job at filling in the details. It would seem that Jaime Escalante needed a breath of fresh air from the corporate environment.

Vianne almost felt sorry for him. There was no relaxation here; she’d be surprised if the teachers weren’t dropping dead from exhaustion because of the students. Garfield, from what she’d seen so far, could drive a devout nun to insanity.

The increasing voices of everyone around spiked her anxiety to new levels. She was doing her utmost best to not break down and cling onto the older woman for dear life. The mass of bodies was like an unforgiving current, threatening to wash her away if she slipped up.

They reached a door with the sign ‘Math 1A’ scribbled on the whiteboard next to it. Someone had decided that a drawing of a dick was appropriate to be placed right under the description. The person even added a smiley face onto the artwork, showcasing their enthusiasm. Real classy.

“Racquel please come to the front desk. Racquel please come to the front desk.” Ortega’s walkie-talkie crinkled pitifully, before choking out a command. The math advisor sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. She nudged Vianne closer to the door.

“Here’s the classroom. Mr. Escalante should be there already. Good luck with your school year.” A tight smile appeared on Ortega’s face, and within seconds, she was making a mad dash back to the main hall. All alone, Vianne was left standing there feeling like a complete fool. She blinked at where Ortega was previously, and the sense of dread overwhelmed her. On cue, the bell rang its warning. Everyone groaned in unison like a chorus before the wave of students began flowing into the classrooms.

Lucky for her, she had no need to run to class. Grabbing the nob with renewed strength, Vianne pulled herself into the room. There was one person at the front desk; a middle-aged man nearing his sixties stood near the chalkboard, hand moving furiously as he wrote down an equation. She prayed that this was going to be the right person.

“Mr. Escalante?” Vianne cringed at her pronunciation of his name. She herself knew what it was like when people screwed up hers in the past. But this man had an entirely different level of difficulty. Ortega’s way of saying it felt so natural compared to hers, which sounded like an insecure toddler butchering their first word.

The man turned his head to face Vianne, eyes widening a fraction. His oversized glasses gave him a sage-like appearance despite the head, or half-head, of dark hair. The bald spot in addition to his very casual attire made her think of a grandpa who was likely to yell at the kids across the lawn.

At the sight of her dumbstruck state, he quirked his lips. “Yes, how may I help you?”

The slight South American accent trailed after his speech, giving away his ethnicity. Vianne felt her mouth open and close, but the nervousness took the words from her mouth. She stuck out her hand that held the transfer letter. Escalante better have known about this, or she’ll flip a lid.

“I’m Vianne,” she explained. “Your TA. I think Mrs. Ortega already told you about me?”

Escalante’s brows rose to new heights, his amused smile broadening. “Yes! Miss Yang, is it? Welcome to my class!” The elongated hiss in his way of speech, coupled with the wild gesture of his arms painted the picture of a mad scientist in her head. It was nearly endearing.

“I’m afraid there’s not enough chairs for an extra student,” Escalante said. “Please stand here and wait for everyone to arrive so I can take a headcount for the others.”

Vianne obeyed without a word and flattened herself against the wall next to him. In response, the door was barged open, and the group of students flooded the room like a swarm of wasps entering their hive. Restless chatter buzzed her ears as she took note of everyone that rounded the class. It was hard to catch what most of them were saying; Spanish wasn’t the language requirement she took back in Napa.

Knowing French wasn’t the best course to help her in this situation. And even then, she only took it up to level two. The people before her all wore the same dazed expression, jeering in loud volumes and hooting on the sides.

Someone shot a rubber band across the room, hitting one of the boys square in the face. Angry shouts erupted from both sides as the rest of them began to laugh at the brawling duo. More paper balls were thrown, and Vianne could hear some of them yelling ‘bitch’ to one another.

It was a fucking joke. The whole class was a joke––scratch that––the whole school was a joke. And Vianne was the poor audience that bought the overpriced ticket to the hellhole circus. There was not a word that could describe the boiling feeling in her gut. She couldn’t believe it; this was the place she had to deal with for another year.

There was no way the teachers here could’ve survived each day without going into a catatonic state before school ended. Vianne drummed her fingers against her books without mercy. A panic attack was just inches away from happening if the class refused to settle down. And from the look on Escalante’s face, it would appear that they shared the same sentiment.

A scowl donned his face, creasing the heavy lines on his forehead. If it weren’t for Vianne’s distracted state, she would’ve been frightened by those narrowed eyes.

“Come now!” Escalante’s voice boomed throughout the small room. “You don’t want no mama’s chancla when you get home, no? I’d love to see you fight with your parents around.”

The overt threat was not lost among the students, with some of them slinking away in defeat. Others ‘booed’ at the command, but made no extra attempts to disrupt the already late start of the lecture. It took about five minutes to get their total attention to the board, and that alone fried Vianne’s brain.

“Orale!” Escalante’s mood quickly brightened at the cooperating mass, his smile twinkling with interest. “Allow me to introduce my new TA. She will be your lovely assistant for the rest of the school year. Any extra questions, she will answer for you.”

His hands gestured to her like a magician preparing his new subject for a spin. But only in this state, nothing was magical. It became clear that Escalante was waiting for her to present herself; the man eyed her expectantly, his grin not budging an inch.

Vianne felt her cheeks flush so hot that it put the musty LA weather to shame. Clearing her throat, she stepped forward. “Hi, uh, I’m Vianne. It’s a pleasure to meet you all...uh, hope I could be of some help.”

An urge to facepalm was strong. Had her grades been irrelevant to her stay in Math 1A, she would’ve made a beeline for the door. The reception after her introduction was a nightmare, because everyone began jabbering all at once.

“The fuck?!” A young man with a messy afro glared at her. His buddies around him sniggered in agreement.

In the front, a chubby male with curly hair snorted. “Booooring!” His female friends rolled their eyes and swatted him on the shoulders. But their giggles weren’t held in for long.

Vianne wanted to find the nearest cliff and throw herself from it. If she converted to Buddihsm now, maybe she’ll even have a decent shot at getting a nice reincarnation.

“First you, now the chink?! This is messed up man!” A few more hostile tones rose from the back.

Her eyes flared. Vianne changed her mind; she didn’t want to throw herself off a cliff anymore, she wanted to throw them. Her body trembled with brewing rage under her skin. The nerve of the scoundrels! As if she wanted to be here! If it were up to her, she wouldn’t even spare them the time of day. Like an uncontrollable tick, her temper fired in sparks. A snide retort was about to make its way to the public when Escalante’s hands came up in a flash.

“Silence!” The tone of his command left no room for arguments. “Another remark as such, and all of you will be spending Saturday school for a month!”

The teacher was practically bristling from head to toe. His friendly disposition came and went at a dizzying speed, tugging Vianne onto an emotional roller-coaster. However, she was nonetheless grateful for the save. One thing was for sure, skin color was not up for debate in his classroom. At least she found an ally in desperate times.

At his outcry, the students grumbled amongst themselves and quieted down. She still received dirty looks from the girls, but they were mostly silent. One youngster in the front row with earrings gave her a lopsided grin and tutted with refined casualness.

“Yo ese! Does that mean if you assign sex homework I can ask her number?”

A few other boys cheered from the back, throwing their thumbs up as if they heard the best joke in record time. The girls cringed and sent disgusted scowls their way, with one of them commenting about how horny the bastards were. Only one person in the audience didn’t react. The girl with short, curly hair looked at Vianne, a pitying stare adorned her guise.

Humiliation wasn’t something Vianne dealt with on a daily basis. And the sudden onslaught nearly had her burst into a tearful temper tantrum. Glancing over to Escalante, she could see the patience waning from him as well. The class was saved from another wrath from either of them when the bell rang again.

Without a second thought, everyone except for the girl with short hair bolted for the door. The insult Vianne had prepared was lodged in her throat, unable to make their move. Was this a mistake? She was sure that it wasn’t even halfway through the first period, they still had more than an hour left. Time was a foreign concept to her in this town, and she figured her mind must’ve been playing tricks on her.

“Um, is class over?” It was a rhetorical question. But what answered her caught her off guard.

“Give it a minute,” the girl said. Her pencil tapped with a delicate rhythm against the desk as she wore a tired expression. Vianne stared at her with disbelief before turning her head to the instructor. Like the girl, Escalante showed no interest in leaving, instead opting to go towards the window.

Curiosity got the best of her, and she soon joined him by the blinds. “What’s going on?”

“They rigged the bell again.” From Escalante’s frown, she reckoned that this was a common occurrence. Following his gaze, her eyes landed on a group of young men congregated before the main school alarm. All of them were donned in dark clothing, wearing baggy jeans and beanies. The distance made it hard to see their faces, but Vianne thought she caught sight of a tall figure moving amongst them. He was laughing obnoxiously, while engaging in a bro-shake with a shorter male.

None of that was relevant, though, because the bell rang again, this time from the superintendent. His red face deepened to a shade of purple as he and the principal began their rounding of the rioting teens. The mob of students were herded back to their respective classrooms, all groaning and whining at the ‘unfair treatment’ of their lunch break.

“Lunch isn’t for another two periods!” Principal Molina shouted. “Get back to class!” His finger pointed to the doors, and his eyes bulged like an angry bull’s.

“Shut the fuck up!” A few students jeered. More paper balls were thrown, but there wasn’t anything Molina could do about it.

All the while, Vianne and the girl sat dumbstruck as they stared at the whirlwind of people coming back to their seats. Vianne swore that if this was how it was going to be for the rest of the day, then she’ll gladly accept them leaving on their own accord.

After another ten minutes wasted on trying to get her classmates to settle down, Escalante wiped his brow with a handkerchief. The toll of the students had taken its effect on him as well. But the sly grin never left his face, unbreakable like hardtack.

“I told you it was futile to escape,” he taunted softly. “There’s always a bigger fish in the pond.”

Vianne sent him a disbelieving look. Was the man not afraid of backlash? But the rest of the class only ignored him and glared, defeated. The class TA let out a breath of relief, for a moment she feared that it’ll lead to another brawl, this time at the instructor.

“Turn to page fifteen! And I want all of your homework turned in to Vianne right here. Once you’ve done that, work on problems one through ten on the multiplication of fractions.” The command was calm and precise, not a word stuttered. Escalante corrected the glasses on his nose and squinted at the chalkboard, not giving a fuck about the moaning teens.

It was Vianne’s cue to get to work. She didn’t hesitate, and began roaming around the room collecting wrinkled papers. With time, she learned that the girl who stayed behind was Ana, the frizzy-haired girl behind her was Claudia, and next to Claudia was the redheaded Lupe. Neither of the two gave Vianne much of a glance, preferring to ignore her existence as she took their homework.

Not bothering to tell them about the mutual disdain, Vianne clicked away happily. She soon found out that the man who kept asking for sex was Tito, his lopsided smile broadening when she came to take his paper.

“How ‘bout we do a trade,” Tito suggested, licking his lips. “My work for your number.”

Vianne wished very much to flip him off and top it with a whack on his head. But she chose to snatch the homework from his hands without a word. A snort escaped her as she turned around.

The boy next to him, Frank ‘Pancho’ Garcia, hooted. “Rejected!”

Tito scoffed. “Tsk, tsk. Playin’ hard to get I see.” He waved a casual hand and went back to his workbook. “It’s her loss.”

That’s what every virgin says. Vianne rolled her eyes at the added comment. The stack of writings were presented to Escalante, who took it with a gracious ‘thank you’. His lack of reaction to the jeers made her question just how much he was going to take because of his job. The probability of him being numb to the antics was high.

Just when Vianne thought her task was done for the time being, the door creaked open. She raised a brow; there were three more seats left in the corner, so it made sense that there were more people coming in. Facing the entrance, Vianne tried to get a better look than using the corners of her eyes.

Her stomach lurched at the sight, and she had to bite her lips to keep from hyperventilating. If her memory served her right, then those were the exact same boys she saw loitering around the alarm. The shortest one with a bandana stalked up to the front, head bobbing with self-assured arrogance. His hollow eyes stared at her with mild interest before they hardened when Escalante came into his view.

“Kimo,” he drawled. “Who’s the freshie?” The languid demeanor gave away his stoned state. Vianne made a subconscious step away from him and his pals, eyeing them warily through her glasses. He smirked, showing off a row of white teeth, seemingly glad at her reaction.

“You’re late, Chuco.” To her side, Escalante came into the conversation. “Vianne’s your new TA and I need you to sit your ass on a seat.”

Chuco gave a slighted look her way before he sauntered past her to the back, followed by his buddies. Vianne didn’t realize how tall the teen she saw through the window was until she was mere inches away from him. Dressed in an oversized bomber jacket and jeans too big for his waist, the towering youth could easily pass as a man in his twenties. A good feet taller than her would be a low estimation.

What on earth are his parents feeding him?!

Vianne stared straight on, refusing to give him the satisfaction of knowing her discomfort. Like Chuco, he also paid her no attention as he strolled next to the ‘leader’, plopping down on the desk in a bored manner.

It made sense that Escalante would want their homework as well, so she made a begrudging advance in their direction. Her feet padded across the room, drilling needles of dread into her legs with each stride.

“I need your homework, please.” Vianne tried to sound as polite as possible. But the grinding of teeth made it hard to sound sweet.

Chuco leered. “Ain’t got no homework, chica. Do the problems in ma head.”

One didn’t need a degree in astrophysics to know he was messing with her. Vianne grinned a little too forcefully and sighed. “Fine. Please turn to page fifteen and work on problems one through ten.”

She walked over to his tall companion, prepared for another unpleasant conversation. “Homework, please.”

The young man proceeded to pull his beanie lower over his ears. At that, Vianne was millimeters away from flipping her shit. Did the blockhead not comprehend? Or was he messing with her, too? Her father did say that certain people around the area couldn’t speak English, so she tried to push the excuse in a better light. Maybe he really didn’t understand her.

“Give me your tarea, por favor?” She tried to remember the basic Spanish from her previous encounters. But her knowledge decided to ditch her last minute. “Uh, Speak Ingles?”

He looked at her, eyes wide with what she hoped was understanding, and his lips twitched. Then his brows joined in, before he busted out laughing. Chuco howled along with him, slapping him on the shoulders with glee.

“Sometimes,” the tall youth answered. He smirked, tilting his head in her direction. Vianne balled her hands into fists as she watched on. The tips of her ears burned with a passion.

“Orale Angel!” Chuco high-fived him hard. “Nice one!” The duo continued their chorus of laughter, completely oblivious to the subject of their jest.

Vianne wished that turning invisible was a possible feat. It was adamantly clear that this was going to be a long year. The storm inside her grew, barely holding the thunders at bay.

A/N: As per usual, shoutout to @classic80sand90smovieloves2 for encouraging and helping me get over writers block and whatnot ;)

#stand and deliver #angel guzman #angel guzman imagine #80s movies #fanfiction #fanfic #80s movie imagines #lou diamond phillips #edward james olmos #jaime escalante #stand and deliver headcanon

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mirkwoodshewolf · 5 years

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You’re not him; Jack Kline x reader

*Author’s note*

Okay so SPOILER ALERT!!!! IF YOU HAVEN’T WATCHED THE PREMIERE EPISODE OF SPN THEN STOP RIGHT HERE AND GO WATCH IT BEFORE READING THIS FIC!!! If you have seen the episode then you can stay, so if you don’t want to be spoiled PLEASE. LEAVE. NOW!!

So warning wise it’s the typical SPN warning; swearing, violence, zombies, ghosts, and there is a scene with kissing w/o consent (ALWAYS ASK BEFORE KISSING OR TOUCHING SOMEONE. CONSENT IS POWER!!) other than that, not really anything else. Hope you all enjoy this fic :)

Taglist:

@psychosupernatural

@plethora-of-things

@ixchel-9275

@waddles03

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Well we were screwed….no I don’t even think screwed is even the right word I would use right now. Here we are trapped like rats in a crypt with a bunch of possessed zombies trying to break down the door. As my brothers and Cas were trying to figure a way out of this place or how to stop those—things outside, I was on the ground touching Jack’s cheek.

Thanks to the bastard Chuck, Jack’s forever gone. His eyes burned out and I knew that there was no coming back from that. This was all too much for me. Jack didn’t deserve something like this, no one did. Not Pamela, not Kevin, and certainly not Jack.

“Jack—” I muttered as I leaned my forehead against his chest. Why must everything bad happen to those we care about? Just shortly before Lucifer stole Jack’s grace, the two of us admitted to each other while we were stuck in Apocalypse world with Mary that we started developing feelings for each other.

While he was fully human, I taught him the basic necessities on how to stay alive. And from there we just—kinda grew closer to each other. Even when he burned out his soul, he somehow made me still believe that he was in love with me.

Now he’s gone.

Suddenly I began to hear something. Something from within the walls. As my brothers kept arguing with each other, I pressed my ear to the wall.

“(Y/n)? (N/n).” Dean said.

“Guys I—I think there’s a pipeline in here.”

“Probably a sewage line.” Both Sam and Dean came up and Sam helped me stand back up while both he and Dean removed the concrete slab to reveal the brick structure underneath. Using the iron pick they chipped away at the brick wall but suddenly coming out was a possessed corpse.

I jumped back screaming. God I hate it when those things do that. Cas then picked up the concrete slab and slammed it right on top of the corpse which killed it but the ghost that had it possessed took off flying.

“God I hate it when that happens!”

“You’ve been doing this since you were ten, how does that still scare you?” asked Dean.

“Hey give me a wendigo, vamp, werewolf, leviathan, whatever any day. But having something that just pops out, especially when they look like they’re from the Thriller music video, forget it!”

“Well so much for your pipe theory, now what do we do?”

“Hello.” No. It—it can’t be. We all turned around and there stood Jack alive!

My heart stopped and I froze like a deer in headlight.

“Jack? You’re alive?” Sam asked in disbelief. It can’t be, it just can’t be. Please anyone but god tell me this is a joke.

“That’s not Jack. It’s a demon.” Cas said. At that point, I was enraged. Okay making my older brother into one, and forcing my big brother into being the vessel of the devil himself is one thing, but no I repeat no demon should ever, ever possess Jack’s body.

“What?”

“Yeah.” The demon said using Jack’s voice. “Sorry about that.” he shrugged nonchalantly.

“How in the hell—”

“Look I just got here and I needed a body so—”

“So you are a demon.” Sam asked to confirm this was a demon and not one of those spirits that came out of hell.

“Yeah. I would do the whole eyes thing but—no eyes.” He then walked over towards my bag and pulled out the sunglasses he and I once bought for him when he and I had some downtime together a few months back before we hung out with those teens we saved from the psycho serial killer clown.

“Put those down!” I snapped. Of course he ignored me and put the shades over his eyes and he said.

“Sorry but I gotta blend in.”

“Get out of him!” Cas sneered.

“Look I know it’s weird. Okay where do I start? Like the first day of school. Hi, uhh my name’s Belphegor I—” I snapped as I trudged up towards him, gripped him by the throat and pinned him against the wall holding my demon blade.

“Get. Out of him!”

“Ooo wow kitty’s got claws. I like that in a woman. I would wink but like I said—no eyes.”

“I’m not gonna ask you again you son of a bitch!”

“Look, hey I can get you out of here. I can help.”

“(Y/n).” Dean said to me trying to get me to get off this demon possessing my boyfriend’s corpse.

“No, I’m with (y/n) on this. He’s an abomination!” Cas said as he came up over my shoulder.

“You’re an abomination with that stupid, dumb trench coat.” I pressed the blade closer to the demon’s neck and I snarled at him.

“You don’t get to talk to him!”

“(Y/n) hey, hey okay back off! Back up!” Dean said as he came up and forced me off the demon.

“He’s defiling his corpse Dean! And you’re acting like you don’t even give a shit! What if this were Mary, huh?!”

“Hey listen to me She-wolf. Jack’s gone! Okay I know you don’t want to admit it yet but your boyfriend’s gone! Now I say we just listen to what he has to say, and if we don’t like it. Then you and Cas can stab him.”

“(Y/n),” Sam’s voice spoke up softly. I turned towards him and he agreed with Dean. “He’s right. We need to get out of here.” I forced myself out of Dean’s grip and walked away and faced the wall.

“Whew, feisty. She available?”

“Hey focus back to right here!” Dean snapped.

“Right. Look I’m not a crossroads demon or one of those black eyed ones that ooze slime to take out virgins or puppies or—virgin puppies. I like my job, I check in a soul, torment it. Repeat. Simple basic eternity to eternity job. You want all those bad guys back where they came from right? Me too. I mean—we’re like twinses guys.”

“We are not twinses!” Cas snarled.

“Can you fix this?” asked Sam gesturing towards outside.

“Umm no. but I can get you out of here.”

“How?” asked Dean.

“A little spell. You know nothing major.” God he was such a pain in the ass with his cycling of nonchalant teasing. “See a little graveyard dirt, and some uhh angel blood.”

“Cas.” I turned and watched as Cas reluctantly cut his palm with his angel blade and allowed some blood to flow into the demon’s hand.

“Oh wait, one more thing; I also need a lock of hair from a beautiful girl.” Oh hell no!

“You’re making that part up.” Cas stated.

“Actually I’m not. I need the hair otherwise it won’t work.” I walked up to him and Cas said.

“(Y/n) wait, you don’t have to do it. You know he’s lying.”

“Cas I don’t like it as much as you do but—what if he is telling the truth?” he and I looked at each other before I walked right up to the demon possessing my boyfriend’s body. He gave me Jack’s famed grin that once made me flutter and go weak at the knees.

“Well beautiful?” I took out my pocketknife and picked up a strand of my long hair. Then I cut a strand from underneath so that way no one would notice an uneven strand of hair.

I held the hair in my hands and hesitantly held it over Jack’s hand before finally placing it on top of the dirt and Cas’ blood. Just before I could remove my hand from his palm, his hand closed over mine and he hummed.

“Mm, so soft. Fierce and calloused but very soft at the same time. Been awhile since I held a girl’s hand.” I quickly took back my hand and held it over my chest and turned away getting creeped out. Cas protectively wrapped his arm around me as the demon then just held his arms out like he was about to do a chant.

But all he did next was clap his hands, the soil, blood and my hair fell to the ground. At first I thought it did nothing, that was until I heard nothing but silence outside.

“Huh.” He bragged. I was the first to race outside and all there were around were dead corpses no longer possessed.

“Holy shit.” I muttered.

“Didn’t I tell you? It worked. High five.” Belphegor said.

“The spirits have been destroyed.” Cas said as he walked ahead.

“No, I just blasted them out of those bodies. Yeah.”

“So where the hell are they now?” asked Dean.

We were now in the car driving on home hoping to figure out a plan. Thankfully Cas sat between me and the demon possessing Jack because all the while through the drive, I could feel his—well metaphorically speaking his eyes were on me.

“You know—you’ve got some good style taste there doll. I like ‘em.”

“Don’t call me doll.” I lowly muttered.

“Alright Romeo enough with the flirting back there. That’s our sister and I wouldn’t press her if I were you. You think we’re bad, she’s worse than us.” Dean spoke.

“Empty threats. Not to say that you’re not strong there doll. I mean—every female demons has envied you for the way you’ve been known to torture us. In fact some learn from you.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere with me.”

“On that note explain to me this, how many souls are we talking about specifically?” asked Sam trying to drive the conversation away.

“What you mean in hell?” asked Belphegor as Sam nodded.

“Oh I don’t know 2-3 billion.” Great.

“Okay for now we just stick to the plan. We head back to the bunker. Figure a way to close the riff.” Dean said as he kept driving.

“If you can.” Said Belphegor.

“You got any better ideas?”

“I do not. But if you wanna buy some time, you could just—contain the ghosts.”

“How?” I asked.

“Magic.” He stated with a shrug.

“And you just happen to know the right spell?” asked Cas skeptically.

“Lucky you.”

“What do you mean by contain them?” questioned Dean.

“Magical circle about a mile wide. No ghosts get in, no ghost get out.”

“Yeah, great, great.”

“But Sam we can’t. Harland, Kansas is less than a mile from the cemetery. What are we gonna do about the people there?”

“We get them out.” Dean stated.

“How?” asked Cas.

“We lie.”

As we drove on we soon found an abandoned car still running up ahead with its lights on.

“Whoa, whoa pull over for a second Dean.” Dean did as Sam suggested and we parked right behind the abandoned car. My brothers and I got out of Baby and we shined out flashlights on the car.

The first thing I noticed was the blood along the window, the radio was still playing but there was no body so this wasn’t your typical murder. Yet for some reason this scene was very familiar to me.

“This look so familiar to you guys?” asked Dean.

“Looks like a—woman in white.” Said Sam.

“Exactly.” I remembered back on the first case after we got Sam out of Stanford of the woman in white.

“Guys….I think this is our woman in white.”

“No way we sent her to hell years ago.” Dean said.

“No think about it. God opens up the doorway to hell, every soul to ever go down there escapes. Including our woman in white.” I explained.

“But then that means if she’s back—” Sam stated off before Dean finished his brother’s thought.

“Then every last one we ever killed and sent down there is back.” Well that’s just great.

By morning, donning on our fake FBI uniforms, we headed for Harland and began to evacuate the city.

“Alright look (y/n). Sam and I got the evacuation part down, so why don’t you and Cas take Crowley Jr. and get him the things he needs.”

“Are you serious Dean?” I snapped. “Dean you—you really don’t care how this is making me feel do you? I—I can’t even look at him. I just—I just can’t…..” I took off down the street and he called out to me.

I sat down on a nearby bench and pressed my face into hands trying to contain my sobs but I could feel tears in my eyes.

“(Y/n).” I looked up to see Cas standing over me. He sat down beside me and I said to him.

“If you’re—trying to make me go back there and make amends with Dean then uhh—” I looked around and found an abandoned half eaten peanut butter and jelly sandwich. “I’m about to hit you in the head with a PB&J sandwich.”

“No, no I—I get why you walked away from him. I—can’t even look at….you know. So I can’t imagine how it must be for you. After all you and Jack….”

“It may have seemed difficult to decipher our relationship especially when his soul completely burned out. But—somehow even in that soulless way, he still made me believe he was in love with me. I have no idea how but—he did. I just….feel like this is all my fault.”

“It wasn’t. The only person to blame for Jack’s death is God. All this time following his orders and commands, and this is how I’m repaid.”

“To be fair we did kinda make you turn against your traditionalist ways. I mean remember how you were back then.”

“Yeah I guess I did have a stick up my butt.”

“Not even a stick is big enough Cas to describe how stuck-up you were.” I teased which caused the two of us for the first time to actually laugh. It was small but still a laugh. “I just wish he was still here. Like here here, not some demon possessing him using his voice and doing those little quirks he did.”

“I know. So do I.” he wrapped his arm around my shoulder and hugged me close to him. “So do I. I promised his mom I would take care of him, now I feel like I let her down. Again.”

Eventually I went with Cas and Sam to do some evacuations. I went to one house just three blocks from where Cas went. Holding my shotgun close and ready to fire in case any ghosts came up, I called out.

“Hello? Anybody here?” I cautiously walked along the hallways leading towards the upstairs bedrooms. But when I opened the door, I held in my puke for right there before me were two teenage girls around my age covered in blood, however most of the blood came from their eyes and I knew only one legend that ever made that happen.

Bloody Mary.

I quickly raced to find a nearby mirror. It worked on her once before and it should work on her again. But just as I went to grab the mirror that hung in the hallway, she suddenly appeared before me in my reflection then turned into me.

Blood started tearing down my face as I couldn’t look away now. She had me.

“Been a long time Winchester sister. And in all that time you’ve become a killer, just like your brothers. All those people you’ve helped kill, Kevin, Charlie, Bobby, but worst of all precious Jack. It’s your fault all this happened to him. If he hadn’t liked you, he’d still have his grace.”

“Shut up……shut up!” I soon felt this agonizing pain as I collapsed into the table and she soon came out of the mirror repeating over and over that it was my fault, my fault, my fault.

“Hey.” Oh shit it—it couldn’t be him. I looked up and through the blood that had dripped down from my eyes, I could see Jack’s body standing before us. Bloody Mary turned into Jack and said.

“You’re a true monster. Killing Sam and Dean Winchester’s mother. Releasing the archangel Michael, it’s all your fault.”

“Yeah sorry there Mary but,” he lifted his shades revealing the burnt out holes in them. “Plus I’m not this guy uhh—Jack. So you might as well hit the road bitch cause honestly out of all the legends you were the worst, and as a demon I don’t mean in the good way.” Mary phased back into herself and launched at the demon but he held up a mirror before her.

And just like last time, her reflection spoke back to her which killed her right then and there. The mirror shattered and the demon shook the glass off of him.

“That bitch is gonna have it in for me when I get back. Lucky for her, I’ve got something up my sleeve for her for leaving hell in the first place.” Slowly I got up and wiped the blood out of my eyes. “Red looks good on you.” I growled and steadied myself up along the wall. “What? No thank you for saving your ass?”

“Not from you. Had it been Cas or Sam I would thank them. But not to creeps like you.”

“Aww c’mon babe after all the fun we had last night?”

“That was for the spell only and you know it! Now did you find your ingredients for the spell? Does Dean even know you left him?”

“Technically no. See for whatever reason I found myself here and I could hear you screaming….well bloody Mary up here so I figured might as well save one Winchester, maybe their cute sister and maybe get on a better side with you and the others.”

“Saving my life doesn’t atone for what you are.” I said as I cleaned my face up in the bathroom.

“Why so stuck on me? It’s not like I had a choice. This body was the nearest one I could find. I would’ve found another back at the cemetery but those meat suits were well you know. Wormy. Difficult to blend. I sorta got an answer from your brother but I wanna hear your side now. Who was he to you?”

I turned the tap off and stared at him through the mirror. I dabbed my eyes with a towel and muttered.

“He was a friend.”

“Ahh there it is.”

“What’s there?” I demanded.

“See down there,” he pointed downward gesturing to hell. “You may be praised for your fighting skills and some torture methods. But you are laughed at for your lying skills. I mean I know there’s some truth to it, but I know there’s gotta be more.”

He then slowly walked closer towards me as he continued.

“So c’mon just between us. Was he—Your confidant? Your secret keeper?” he now stood almost chest to chest with me as he now had me up against the vanity counter. “Your boyfriend?” at that my breath hitched sharply. “Ahhh, ding-ding. Seems I’ve found a winner?”

“So what if he was? Just because you have his body and use his voice to talk, doesn’t mean that you’re him. So stop with the flirtation and just—” suddenly I felt his lips on mine.

I almost lashed out but I was suddenly hit back to the time Jack and I shared our first kiss in Apocalypse world. Jack had just performed another puppet show for the kids, we told them an epic tale of a young warrior searching across the galaxy to eventually become a great warrior (Star Wars).

After getting all the little ones to bed, Jack and I just stayed up and talked and that’s when I leaned in and kissed him. At first I regretted it because he just sat there in shock, but when he kissed me back I threw my regret out the window and just accepted the kiss. And ever since then, we’ve been a couple.

I felt Jack’s hands cup underneath my chin just as he always placed them whenever we kissed. I tried to resist but I guess this is what I needed for long. Ever since his soul got burned out, his kisses didn’t hold the same feeling of love as they had compared to our first kiss.

Wait—what the fuck are you doing (y/n)?! You’re kissing a demon! A bloody demon! I whined and pushed him away from me and I slapped him in the face.

“Never. Kiss me. Again!” I snarled.

“Oh yeah like I haven’t heard that before.” He teased.

“I’m serious. Whatever you think is happening between us, forget it! Now get your stuff for the spell and get out of my sight!”

“As you wish. My sapphire star.” My heart stopped as he actually used the nickname Jack gave me. I turned back around and saw that he was gone.

“(Y/n)! (Y/n)!” soon running up the stairs was Cas. “I heard you screaming as I got closer to the house, are you alright?”

“Yeah, yeah I’m fine. I’m fine.” He cupped my face before saying.

“Your eyes are bleeding.”

“Oh right I—I had a little reunion with bloody Mary. But I handled it.” It was best not to tell Cas about the demon coming to save me, since I really had no real father figure in my life Cas has kinda filled in that role after getting him to loosen up a bit and hanging around us humans for a while.

“Does anything else hurt?”

“Well I’ve got a splitting headache.”

“Here.” He placed his two fingers to the center of my forehead and I felt this warmth come over me.

“Thanks Cas.”

“No problem. Come on Sam might need us.” I nodded and the two of us headed outside.

After reuniting with my brother and saving a mother and daughter from the killer clown as well as some other ghosts that popped out. We saw this bright light suddenly rushing across the ground like the tide coming out.

“The spell.” I said. The ghosts all glared at us and took chase.

“Run! Run get them out of here!” Sam urged us. I picked up the kid and took off running down the street. Once we got to across a certain path of the road, the ghosts stopped and psycho clown couldn’t reach us with his knife. He growled before yelling at us before my brother finally told him to shut up.

“It’s done. They can’t get out now.” I said.

“C’mon we gotta get to the high school.” Sam said as we now walked calmly out of the neighborhood to meet up with Dean and Balthagar.

After getting the mom and daughter to the high school five miles away, I was leaning against the wall of the high school when I felt two familiar hands cover my eyes.

“Guess who?”

“Enough.” I elbowed him in the chest.

“Ow! Hey I thought we had something back in the bathroom?”

“I already told you, you may wear Jack’s body but you aren’t him. You even touch me again, and I’ll let you see firsthand why demons down there probably talk about me.”

“Ohhh, kinky. I look forward to it.” He flirted. I glared at him and walked away from him. I came up to my brothers who were looking inside Baby’s trunk.

“Did he just cover your eyes playing the guess who game you and Jack used to do?” asked Dean.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” I told him bluntly. He looked towards Belphegor and he said.

“Listen, if he tries to flirt with you in anyway talk to us, okay. I—I had a talking to with Cas and he set me right. I should’ve been more understanding of what all this has meant to you (n/n) I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright. All of this really has gone to shit. I mean not just the souls of hell being free but God literally screwing us over. I mean—guys pardon my French but…..we are in some serious horse shit.”

“She’s right. I mean yeah we can keep up the lie for what 1 maybe 2 days before the real FBI shows.” Sam agreed with me. We already had two encounters with law enforcement we don’t need a third strike.

“Yeah I figured. But right now we need to get you fixed up.” Dean said gesturing to Sam’s shoulder. Of course stubborn as an ox Sam Winchester refused but with Dean’s persuasion he managed to talk Sam into showing him the bullet wound he telepathically got after shooting God.

It wound itself looked like it was about to close up but when Dean said there was no exit wound, I got a little worried.

“Hey you remember when you were little, and how I used to always distract you? You know when it involved a band-aid or something like that?” Dean asked as he got the rubbing alcohol out and poured it onto a cotton patch.

“Yeah you—used to tell some stupid joke. You even did it for the munchkin there.”

“Don’t go there green giant.” I mocked.

“Knock, knock.” Sam at first turned away like it was a joke. “Come on knock, knock.”

“Who’s—” before he could say there, Dean placed the patch on his bullet wound.

“Still got it.” Dean praised himself with a grin. I shook my head and I said nervously.

“Hey guys,” they turned towards me and I continued, “So—when Chuck said welcome to the end…..do you think he meant this? I mean by like—ending the entire human race with ghosts, demons, and all that?”

“Baby girl you know as well as I do he’s been playing us the entire time. So screw him.” Dean said.

“I know but….think about it. If one of us dies, that’s it. We’ve been lucky in the past but now that he’s pissed at us. He’s gonna ensure that no one or nothing brings us back. No resurrections this time. I may not look it but—I’m terrified guys.” Sam being the caring brother that he is, wrapped his arms around me in a big bear hug and I continued. “We’re nothing but rats to him. And now that he’s had his fun, he’s gonna ensure that we end up in the pathway with furious cats ready to devour us. While he just sits back and watches us being ripped apart.”

“Yeah nothing but rats in a maze. Sure we could go left, sure we could go right. But we were stuck in the damn maze. It makes you think—what did all of it mean?” Dean said agreeing with me.

“It meant a lot.” Sam answered. “We still saved people, saved you kiddo.” Sam said looking down at me.

“But what for?” I asked. He stroked down my hair. “He just throws us one end of the world after another and sits back just to make us do all the hard work.”

“Yeah. That’s what he does. He gets bored and-and-and-and pulls the rip-chord. That’s what he did with Apocalypse world, and probably….. with all of them. He moves on and starts another story. And you know what—good. Because if he bailed it’s just us. For the first time; it’s just us.”

“You forgot the 3 billion ghosts there Sammy.” I said.

“Yeah well what’s one more apocalypse right?” I softly laughed and shook my head. Sam patted my back comfortingly as he separated from me. “But seriously. If we win—when we win this. God’s gone. There’s no one to screw with us, there’s no more maze, it’s just us. Then we’re free.”

“So you, me and (n/n) versus every soul in hell……I like those odds.”

“Yeah. Me too.” The boys looked at me and Dean asked me.

“(N/n)?” I looked at them. I sighed deeply before saying.

“Well….I guess you know what this means, right boys?” they softly grinned at me and we turned towards Baby’s trunk as Sam said.

“We’ve got work to do.” Before closing it up.

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pinnithin-writes · 3 years

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Good Jokes

Chapter 4

Later that day, Tommy did two things to make Gordon’s life a little easier.

Item one: he did end up trapping Benrey under a fire door. It was an accident. Totally. Tommy knew it wasn’t a permanent fix, but it would at least get the entity out of their hair for a few hours while he regenerated a body. In the meantime, they could make their way through the facility much quicker.

Item two: he stopped calling Gordon by his first name.

Dr. Coomer had been firing off a cheerful, “Hello, Gordon!” every few minutes and it was driving the new guy nuts. He was sick to death of his own name. Tommy realized he had subconsciously discarded the word ‘Gordon’ to spare his sanity and now found himself casting around for a replacement.

‘Freeman’ felt blasé. Lazy. Like something Benrey would call him, if he ever bothered to call anyone anything. ‘Dr. Freeman’ made Tommy feel the same way ‘Dr. Coolatta’ did. It was ostentatious. Distinguished. Not at all a fit for Gordon - Tommy had a feeling he knew how to misbehave.

...Mister? Mr. Freeman? That made him sound like a high school history teacher. It was… hilarious, honestly. He couldn’t picture this maniac with a crowbar lecturing at the front of a classroom if he tried. And Gordon didn’t strike Tommy as someone pretentious enough to correct him on the title. He was sharp enough to appreciate the joke. Provided he wasn’t too stressed out to catch it.

The first time he called him that, Gordon accepted it without comment, did a double take, and gave Tommy a questioning, brows-raised look. Mister? He mouthed. But, as predicted, he didn’t correct him. Tommy could not keep the shit-eating grin off his face. The name stuck.

The military showed up, with their artillery and their uniforms and their brief stint of hope, but they were just as bloodthirsty as the aliens, gunning the researchers in Black Mesa down like prey animals. Were these three men he ran with the only people Tommy could trust? No, not even that, the only people who didn’t outright want him dead? It sure was starting to seem like that. He steeled his nerves for further violence as they pushed on.

Reaching the surface was a short-lived victory. Tommy caught a fleeting glimpse of the red canyon walls, the searing blue sky, before government ordered ammunition rained down on them and forced them below ground again like rats. His heart ached. He wanted to taste the sun on his face. Feel the desert sand radiating its latent heat. Following his team into the cold metal belly of Black Mesa once more was probably the hardest thing he’d done that day.

Benrey didn’t stay gone for long, materializing in the form of a skeleton while his flesh was piecing itself together particle by particle in another dimension. He was practically haunting the group, revealing himself only to Gordon and slowly driving him insane. Tommy could see him, as well, but he ignored the entity. If he was this desperate for attention, he would have to try a little harder to gain any from him.

He later got the attention he craved via dozens of slugs of lead. Bubby and Coomer quickly took out the skeleton as soon as it visibly approached them, and Gordon had promptly passed out seconds later. Tommy rested his hands on his waist, surveying the mess and shaking his head. They were too close to the military threat right now to justify resting here.

God, he was bone tired, though. They had been running hard for at least a day now. It was honestly a miracle Gordon hadn’t lost consciousness sooner. He drew in a deep breath, casting a cursory look at his remaining companions.

“Do you think we can get him out of here?” he asked.

Bubby wiped a spatter of blood from his jaw and shrugged. “I’m not carrying him,” he grumbled.

“We could roll him like a barrel,” Dr. Coomer suggested blithely.

As funny as that would be, it was probably best not to give Gordon any more blunt force trauma than he had already taken today. Falling down a staircase because your coworkers pushed you would be a pretty idiotic way to die, especially after everything Gordon had survived already. Tommy removed his lab coat and passed it off to Bubby, who passed it off to Coomer.

After he neatly rolled up his sleeves, picking up Gordon wasn’t hard for Tommy to do. It was just a matter of nudging the rules of weight and mass a little to his advantage. Tommy never broke reality; he just leaned on it occasionally until it gave enough ground for him to do what he wanted. Gordon’s limp head lolled against his chest as he hefted him in his arms. He did his best not to pay attention to that.

“Fine lifting, Tommy!” Dr. Coomer exclaimed.

Tommy nodded in thanks, grateful that the old boxer didn’t get hung up on the details of the implausible. Bubby, however, had a question on his face, studying Tommy carefully as he stood there carrying a man who had fifty pounds on him, at least. But he didn’t ask, so Tommy didn’t answer.

He cast one last look at the pile of Benrey bones on the floor. He’d catch up later.

“Let’s go,” he said.

They pressed on wearily in search of a sheltered place. Tommy carried Gordon like the precious cargo he was, fully appreciating that the other man wasn’t conscious for this. Otherwise he’d surely hear how loudly his heart was pounding against his ribs.

I’ve got you, Tommy thought. You’re safe.

---

A new sense of normalcy elbowed into their lives. The following day, the team worked its way in a wide arc through an unexplored section of Black Mesa, dodging aliens and soldiers alike as they went. It had only taken 24 hours for the reality of fighting for their lives to settle in, and while they were all still pretty haggard from the previous day’s events, everyone seemed to be handling themselves a little better after a night’s rest and some time to process.

Gordon had improved more than anyone. After dealing with the shock of the Resonance Cascade and watching his world turn on its ear, he had concluded that the only way out was through, and he would be the one to get them there. His words were still a rapid-fire tangle of his unfiltered thoughts, but Tommy could see his decisions growing more critical, his actions more confident as they worked their way toward freedom.

Good thing, too. Tommy was beginning to sense a strangeness in the air the deeper they explored Black Mesa. A warping of the space around them, a stretching of the threads of time. Someone, somewhere, had grabbed a towline and yanked, and Tommy could sense it yanking him, too. It felt…bad. It felt wrong.

He tried to explain as much to the team, now that their soundness of mind was relatively more stable than it was yesterday. But it was hard to verbalize the concept of reality shifting like a tectonic plate to people whose top priorities were not getting eaten or shot. “I think time might be expanding and contracting,” was what Tommy said. “I think you might be having a caffeine overdose,” was Gordon’s troubled reply.

Alright. If nobody wanted to believe him, Tommy wasn’t going to waste his energy making them. He trailed behind the group, as was his habit, and quietly did his best to keep his companions alive.

On the upside, with Gordon feeling more normal, Tommy’s jokes were starting to land again. As they uncovered more and more horrifying secrets hidden in the intestines of Black Mesa, Tommy could feel his own sarcasm reaching astronomical levels just to cope.

What the hell were they doing down here? Tommy had been aware of the planar research the facility was conducting, but seriously? A freezer full of human flesh? Ethically questionable cybernetic experiments? Vats of toxic waste, just out there in the open? The absurdity of it all would almost strike him as funny if their circumstances weren’t so dire.

Bubby met it all with grim acceptance and Dr. Coomer seemed wholly oblivious. Only Gordon was reeling with the same amount of consternation that Tommy was experiencing, exchanging glances with him that asked, What the fuck? What the actual fuck?

Dr. Coomer, who was rapidly gaining Tommy’s respect by going toe to toe with their enemies boxing style, kept worrying about his ‘green goop’ allergy anytime they were near the nuclear waste. Tommy honestly wasn’t sure if he was serious or not, and he fought down a snicker whenever it was mentioned. In a way, everyone was allergic to nuclear waste. If you really thought about it.

Gordon eventually raised a concern about their exposure to radiation. Little late there, bud, Tommy wanted to say, but Bubby beat him to the punch with an acidic, “It’s just brain cancer, you can live with that.”

“I don’t thi - hm,” Gordon said.

“I don’t think you can live with that,” Coomer agreed.

Gordon paused, then reconsidered. “I mean, you guys have shown me you - your superhuman potential, so maybe you can,” he said. “Maybe you can. I’m willing to believe… quite about anything right now, so.”

Tommy rolled his eyes as he hopped easily up to the pipeline they had been following. Anything except time being altered, apparently. He tried not to hold it against him. Baby steps. Tommy gazed down at Gordon and jerked his chin for him to follow.

“The cybernetics department was very well funded, Gordon,” Dr. Coomer informed him brightly as he clambered up the pipe.

Well funded? Tommy couldn’t keep the snark out of his voice. “Yeah,” he agreed dryly, “they even gave us these flashlights.”

Gordon, after clearing a gap, turned to give Tommy a puzzled look.

He smirked and indicated his perfectly ordinary flashlight. “They’re Weather Channel brand, you just kinda turn a crank and they go.”

Gordon’s laugh, genuine and sweet, rang through the chamber, and Tommy was surprised at the relief that washed over him when he heard it. If Gordon was feeling well enough to take a joke, they were on the right track. They were doing okay. He smiled and kept moving forward, hope fluttering in his chest.

The nuclear reactor that was actively leaking waste was so mind-numbingly ridiculous, so pointlessly and blatantly dangerous, that Tommy barked out a short “ha!” of a laugh when he rounded the corner. The sheer amount of radiation exposure this facility possessed was unheard of. It was a miracle they didn’t all have massive brain damage. Okay, well. Maybe that was up for debate.

“This place is huge,” Gordon remarked.

“Yup!” Tommy proclaimed, eyeing the acid green sludge with a mystified grin. “And it’s all built to code. The U.S. lets us do this. This is all to regulation.” He raised his arm in a dramatic, sweeping gesture, unable to contain his mirth. “Everything.”

Gordon began chuckling. “I mean, I’m not too worried about the government right now,” he reasoned, before his attention was stolen away by the animals that were swimming in the murk. He popped a few rounds off with his handgun, marveling at the beasts’ ability to survive in such a toxic environment.

Tommy was too pleased with himself to even bother acting like they were a threat. “Those creatures aren’t from the - from the incident,” he continued. “Those were here. That’s also to regulation. You’re allowed… five percent.”

He was barely keeping his tone even and Gordon was doing an amused little exhale through his nose as he tried to hold in his laughter.

“We’ve been breeding them for twenty years to eat radioactive waste,” Dr. Coomer added, eyes twinkling with mischief as he played along.

Tommy had never wanted to high five another person so badly in his life.

Dr. Coomer didn’t even manage to ruin the mood by dying, twice, in rapid succession. He miraculously reappeared only seconds later, when they had all regrouped on a catwalk about three stories above the pit of waste. Tommy arched a quizzical eyebrow at the old man. Coomer simply shrugged. Huh. He sure wasn’t kidding about the cybernetics department being well funded.

Gordon, who was already questioning his own sanity, didn’t even ask about it. Benrey was back, of course. Hovering around the group like the disembodied fuck he was. Tommy let his gaze slide away from him like water anytime he was in his line of sight, but Gordon couldn’t shake the spectre from his mind as it floated only paces behind them. He had been doing a well enough job of pretending the entity wasn’t there until Benrey fired a nine millimeter round at him.

“Okay,” Gordon declared, finally snapping. “There is something fucked up going on.” He cast a nervous eye in the skeleton’s direction.

Bubby and Coomer looked perplexed, while Tommy just folded his arms. He was ignoring Benrey for everyone’s sake - the more attention he got the more powerful he became - but a small part of him was just being petty. Oh, Gordon wanted everyone to believe something unlikely was happening? But nobody took his word for it? Wonder what that felt like.

Gordon kept talking as he pointed at Benrey. “There is an invisible assailant. I want you guys to believe me - I need you guys to believe me.” His tone took on a pleading edge, and it was too much for Tommy to leave him hanging anymore. “There’s - okay - th-”

“I mean, aside from the extra creatures,” Tommy interrupted him, “I’m just seeing normal nuclear power plant stuff, Mr. Freeman. You’re starting to concern me.”

Gordon’s nervous words stuttered into a chuckle. While he turned aside to contain himself, Tommy sliced a chilly stare toward the simpering skull a few yards away. Shoot at him again and see what happens.

Benrey’s returning gaze was icy. But he hung back.

The group assured Gordon that he was not, in fact, losing his mind (“Could just be the radiation,” Bubby offered), and kept going until they reached a door with a label so weathered it was almost unreadable. Gordon, with newfound confidence, gave Tommy a roguish grin as soon as he saw it.

“What does this say?” He asked, even teeth flashing prettily. “This is another one of those fucked up things like the break room. I can't read this.”

Tommy let out a quiet, surprised breath. The fact that Gordon was referencing the moment they met at a time like this made him feel amused and touched in equal measure. Heat rose from his collarbones to his cheeks as he returned his smile. Wait, he had asked him a question, hadn’t he? He squinted at the door and realized he could actually decipher it.

“This says-”

“Prolapse?” Gordon guessed cheekily, and Tommy almost choked on his own laughter.

“Pro Lab Engine Testing,” he managed to gasp out, right before the door opened and a ghoulish creature lunged at them.

Dr. Coomer was on the thing in a blink, knocking it out with a heavy-knuckled blow to the cranium before it could even touch anyone. They all gave the old scientist an impressed look before stepping around the corpse and through the entrance.

“I’ve never been in here,” Tommy commented as he ducked under the doorway. “They only let me into the Scrub Lab.”

Gordon laughed like a bell tower. It rang straight through his heart.

Tommy was never one for drugs, but Gordon Freeman’s sunshine smile made him understand why some people were. Every time he saw it he wanted more, and hearing Gordon’s laughter was quickly becoming addicting.

Awfully inconvenient of Armageddon to happen right when he was getting to know the guy. He should be asking him for his number, not checking to see how many bullets he’d taken. Well, Tommy thought with resolve, all the more reason to get him out of here alive.

Chapter 3 <-----> Chapter 5

#ink #fanfiction #good jokes #part of my endeavor to relocate all my ao3 work #guns #violence #hlvrai

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afrobeatsindacity · 4 years

Text

AFROBEATS CITY MEETS DOCTA DEE

No stranger to the music scene and especially the UK Afrobeats scene, Docta Dee has been blessing us with nothing but hits since he first entered the music scene in 2012.

Afrobeats City caught up with Docta Dee to find out about his new mixtape The Antidote, how he stayed positive during lockdown and more.

Who is Docta Dee and how did you get into music?

Docta Dee is a songwriter who grew up in the church and grew up around music. Everyone calls me Docta Dee, it is a nickname I grew up with in my area. I originally grew up in Blackheath but moved to Kent.

Docta Dee also comes from my Dad being a Pastor with a Doctorate and the nickname stuck with me for the rest of my life. It has been hard to shake off but it has served its purpose in terms of helping people and trying to provide a solution to my music.

In 5 words how would you describe your musical style?

Good vibes, positive, reflective, fun, and vibrant

You recently released your new album “The Antidote”, how did you come up with the name for the album and what was the creative process behind the album?

The Antidote is a very special project for me because during this time of COVID and the pandemic, I thought about me being Docta Dee what can I do for my people. So many people lost their jobs or are going through a lot of things with their family, what can I do to try and lift their spirits and provide hope so that is what The Antidote is, it’s reminding people that the solution comes from within themselves. I put a bit of my story and pain so that I can try to influence and have an impact on someone else’s life.

My favourite song off the album is “For A Bit”, what is your favourite song off the album?

“For A Bit” for me is a banger, I like it because it’s different, it’s trap. It was actually a freestyle I was messing around with so I’m glad you said that.

My Personal favourite is “Smile”, it hits home and touches the surface of what I have been through during this lockdown as well. I also sampled an old school church song in there “This Little Light Of Mine”. Stuff like that makes me want to listen to the song every single day.

Do you think growing up in the church influences you in terms of music, I know you don’t do gospel music but in terms of the way you incorporate your faith into your music?

Yes big time, my faith is very much my everyday life and struggles. All the pros and cons that comes with living, I try to reflect that in my music, even though I do not solely do gospel music, I just try to uplift people through my music. I know my parents would love me to do gospel and my dad will promote me widely, but I am just trying to find my own feet and take it as it comes.

Your new single “Sidekick” featuring Ka’Reema gained over 50k views in the first week of its release which is amazing, was you expecting that sort of reaction to the song?

I was and I was not because I knew that I was going to release it on my own channel and push it myself. I tried to use all the resources possible so when I released the first video “Payroll”, I kind of engaged that people were not expecting me to fire them with visuals. I went abroad to shot the video and two weeks late I dropped “Sidekick” and I knew that song was that radio, Afroswing type of song that is strong at the moment.

Ka’Reema is an amazing artist who added that extra vibe and we have just been pushing it and pushing it and thankfully I’m seeing good views on my own channel and I am going to keep pushing it until everyone is playing it. I am happy that we can pat ourselves on the back, but the work continues.

Did the recent lockdown affect your music plans for 2020 or do you feel that you were able to still achieve your plans?

It affected my plans in a good way, I normally release one single a year traditionally or like a major video. I pushed an EP at the start of the year called The Life Of The Party and then I thought I was done but being on lockdown and losing my job, I was able to make the best out of the situation. I went to the studio, I was able to song write and then I produced the video for, “For A Bit”, “Payroll” and “Sidekick” so in all there are about 4-5 visuals that have been out since January. I saw myself being more pro-active and hungry. All my friends in the music business are doing their things and it inspired and encouraged me to do it at my pace. I realised I was doing it at my pace but putting in a lot of work as well.

Due to lockdown rules you currently can’t do any live shows but have you done any instalives or online shows?

I have done a few lives called The Consultation in the theme of going to your GP or Doctor and the response and feedback was real good so I am going to keep doing that. I would love to throw a little live party once we get all clear in terms of the lockdown. I might do a few intimate live shows and put it out there, they are some ideas that I have in the pipeline.

What is something you learnt early on in your career that has helped shape your career?

“Don’t Wait For Nobody, Don’t Sit Around”. Do not expect anything and have a clean heart. You might do something for someone they might not do it for you but it doesn’t mean there is beef or no love. I know I have been designed and created in a special way to always go over and beyond for people and it may not be returned but just have a good heart and wish everyone well.

Understand your audience but give them what they want. I love R&B but when I asked the question on my Instastories a lot of my followers love the Afroswing stuff, I have to find the balance. For The Antidote, I made sure there was a balance of R&B, Afro-fusion, Trap and Drill. I was able to give them a dose in that project.

What is one message you would give to your fans?

A message that has saved my life is “Learn To Dance In The Rain”. No matter what you’re going through just find the positive and appreciate what you have, dance in the rain. If you can dance in the storm with the cloud over, then you will celebrate in the sunshine when the rain goes out. I try to stay happy and smiling especially during this time.

What is next for Docta Dee?

I have a single outside of the project, it should have been on the project but I wanted to take my time so it should be out in a few weeks. Visuals to follow as well.

I have also been writing for other people so their stuff is coming out and then I have another project at the end of the year. I thought 2020 was cancelled but God has other plans for me, so I’m going to keep working and keep going at my own place

Just for fun, fill in the blanks…

Without music, I would be…Stuck in finance or have my own business

My current favourite song is…Docta Dee – Smile

My favourite song to perform is… Flex N Finesse ft AdeJosh

My dream artist(s) to collaborate with is…Konan - his amazing on hooks and an ear for melodies. But I work with so many artists that I work with and respect. AdeJosh is one of my favourite artists of all times. That’s my bro

Support Afrobeats because… Its authentic, it’s raw, energetic and it’s home. That is why it’s key to support it especially being from the UK but know your roots, it’s so important. I’m happy that we have the UK Afrobeats chart and there are so many opportunities and so many people that are pioneering the movement. So as an African, Nigerian in the UK especially with a lot of Caribbean friends I have never been so proud of our music, the quality of the visuals, the sound even from Nigerian artists and artists here. The progression since 2012/2013 has been massive and to be a part of that I am so proud.

Follow @Officialdoctadee on Instagram | @DoctaDee on Twitter

This interview was conducted by Shade A (@shardeya) / Afrobeats City doesn’t own the rights to the image used.

#Afrobeats #Afrobeats City #Docta Dee #Afrobeats City meets #Afrobeats Interview #Africa #African music #Afrobeats UK #Nigeria #Nigerian music #Music Interview #Adejosh #Konan #Docta Dee Smile #The Antidote #Docta Dee The Antidote #Music #UK Afrobeats #London

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takingcourage · 5 years

Text

Flat

Pairing: Jaime x MC

Word Count: 1,750

Summary: A blown tire leaves Arden stranded on the side of the road. Will she allow Jaime to help, or will her stubbornness get the better of her?

Note: My sincere apologies for failing to update Additions last week. School was all consuming and the time I meant to spend editing part 5 went to grading instead. Life should settle down soon, but in the meantime, here’s a quick little story that started as a drabble and got out of hand.

Thanks, @krishu213 for requesting #2 from the 45 OTP Prompt list! : ) The prompt itself is in bold.

Kicking the driver’s door shut behind her, Arden sidestepped to the back of her car. She swung the trunk open with one hand, using the other to raise her cell phone to her ear. The tinny speaker rang twice before Jaime picked up.

“Hello?”

“Hey, babe,” she started casually. With her free hand, she rummaged through a mess of papers and her spare umbrella, tossing them to one side of the spacious trunk. “I’m just calling to let you know that I’ll be a few minutes late tonight. Nothing to worry about. I’m fine.”

There was a pause before his response. “Are you on the highway?”

Arden winced at the realization that he could hear the speeding traffic from the other end of the phone. “Uh…”

She couldn’t lie.

They didn’t lie to each other. Especially not after that disastrous second interview with Carmichael a year ago. Resigned, she sped over the response to his question. “Yeah, changing the tire real quick.”

“Arden…” He wasn’t upset, per se, but the resignation in his tone still stung.

“I know how to do it,” she protested, wedging the phone between her cheek and shoulder. As she listened to his tentative breath across the line, she tossed an empty suitcase to the side of the road. “Jaime, even if you hadn’t taught me how to do this, there are Wiki-hows and tutorials all over Youtube. I’ve got this covered.”

With a grimace, she recalled the fact that she’d barely been able to get the lug nuts off when they’d practiced in their driveway.

“I taught you in case of emergencies. This isn’t an emergency.”

Arden soldiered on petulantly, ignoring the sheen of sweat that was breaking over her forehead. With a quiet grunt, she yanked up the floor of the trunk to expose the donut and jack.

“Babe, get back in the car,” his tone was gentle, but commanding. “Turn up the AC and hang out for a few minutes. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

As much as she wanted to argue, just the sight of the pitiful replacement tire was enough to stir up a sense of dread in the pit of her stomach. With only a moment’s consideration, she dropped the flap back down and returned to the driver’s seat. “Okay.”

“Thank you. And thanks for calling me. I know you didn’t want to.”

“You’re welcome,” she mumbled. With an extended sigh, she started the car and watched the traffic through her rearview mirror. There were still a lot of sunlight hours left, but she couldn’t wait for the day to be over.

A key interview had fallen through this afternoon at the last minute. She and Ellen had been this close to completing their one-year retrospective on the state of Oak Hills, and today’s interview was supposed to be the finishing touch for the entire project. If they didn’t find someone else to fill the gap, the final third of the article would no longer fit the way they’d intended.

Arden leaned into the vent, trying to keep her burning eyes from breaking into tears. Such disappointments were inevitable in her line of work, but the stakes felt especially high with this story. She knew those farmers personally. She and Jaime had helped in the efforts to clean up the damage that the oil pipeline left behind. Better than anyone, she knew the work that still needed to be done in the months and years to come. Letting their story go forgotten was intolerable.

Jaime’s engine revved on the other side of the line.

Leaning back into her seat, she reached for her briefcase. “I should probably let you focus on driving,” she offered as she slipped the laptop from its sleeve.

He was quiet for several moments. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

Biting her tongue to draw out the sting of disappointment, she pressed her face into the flow of air a second time. “It’s just been a long day,” she told him finally. “I’m ready for it to be over so I can come home.”

“Okay. I’m coming as fast as I can.”

“Thanks. I’ll see you soon.”

“See you. Wait, Arden?” It sounded like an afterthought. “Please stay in the car. I want you safe.”

She smiled despite herself, giggling softly at his unnecessary worry. “It’s the back passenger tire. I could get out and fix it without ever being on the side of traffic.”

“No...”

It was impossible not to challenge him when she heard the unease in his tone. “I’m serious! I could head out there and start loosening things up for you.”

“No.”

“Are you sure? I’ll bet I could have the lug nuts off by the time you get here.”

She could just hear his chuckle over the line as he realized she was joking. “I’m sure you’d threaten them into submission. All hundred and five pounds of you...” he added under his breath. “Just hang tight. I’ll be there in less than fifteen minutes.”

“See you soon,” she agreed, feeling more at ease than she had in hours.

True to his word, he arrived some thirteen minutes later. In the meantime, she’d started outlining potential changes to the article’s organization. It hadn’t been much, but the work she’d done was enough to persuade her that there was still hope of finishing the story well, with or without the interview.

Arden closed the computer as his familiar truck slowed and came to a stop on the shoulder behind. Both exiting carefully, they met one another on the stretch of pavement between vehicles.

She flashed a shy smile, unable to keep her eyes from drifting over the sorry scene she’d caused. From the wilted tire to the contents of her trunk that were strewn along the shoulder, it wasn’t a pretty sight. Jaime’s gaze remained trained on her.

“You look like you need a hug.” He was inches away, the mingled scent of his deodorant and aftershave heady in the summer heat.

“It’s hot and sticky,” she protested weakly. Even as she did so, she dropped both hands to her sides and fell into his broad chest.

He pulled her close, enveloping her every sense. “We’ll be home showering soon.”

Arden’s lips tickled with the sigh she exhaled against the soft cotton of his T-shirt. “Good. I’m so done with today.” No matter how wonderful he felt, the evening sun was quickly making their hug unbearable. She stepped back and straightened the hem of her blouse.

Jaime hiked a hand through his hair before turning his attention to her flat. “Wanna tell me about it while I get this tire straightened out?”

“Not yet.” She circled the car with him, propping a hip against the passenger side door. “I’m still trying to figure out how to solve it at the moment. But I’ll fill you in once I do.”

“Deal.”

She watched as he returned to the open trunk, noticing the skeptical look he’d cast over the belongings she’d tossed to the side of the road.

Although he said nothing, she hoped he didn’t notice the way the tags on her suitcase fluttered under the pressure of speeding traffic. Or the tear in the plastic wrapping of her value-pack of toilet paper. Or the fact that her twelve-pack of ginger ale was being exposed to extreme temperatures while sitting out on the asphalt.

“I know, I know. My car’s a mess.”

He met her eyes with a lopsided grin. “You’ve just gotta stop using your trunk as a catch-all for things you don’t feel like carrying into the house.”

“But it’s such a good place for storage!”

Jaime rolled his eyes and lifted out the donut for inspection. “There are shelves in our pantry for all of that stuff.”

Pursing her lips, she reluctantly acknowledged that he was right. “I’ll empty it when we get home.”

Shaking his head, he knelt to begin removing the busted tire. Arden held out a hand to take the lug nuts, one by one.

“I’m glad you called me. These were stuck on pretty tight.”

“I would have gotten them eventually.”

His arm paused as he squinted up at her. “I know. But you don’t have to wait for eventually. I can have you out of here as soon as possible.”

A flare of jealousy turned her appreciation into anger. She knew he didn’t mean anything by it, but the implication reminded her of the afternoon’s previous failure. Faced with the memory of something she couldn’t do on her own, it was difficult to swallow the pride he took in his own abilities.

“I’m not helpless,” she mumbled, not intending the words for anyone but herself.

Jaime dropped the tire iron with a clatter and stood to his feet. He kept his dirty hands far away from her clothes, but brushed a knuckle along the back of her wrist. “Arden, look at me.”

She obeyed, cheeks throbbing red from the heat of her frustration. Her husband was as calm and collected as ever, his own muscles relaxed even as she tightened her grip on the small metal circles in her palm.

“Babe, you are absolutely the furthest thing from helpless. I hope that never changes. But it doesn’t mean you can’t let others help you from time to time.”

“I just hate being needy.” She glanced back toward the battered tire between them.

“Two things.” He made sure that he had her eyes again before continuing on. “You aren’t needy, and I really enjoy helping you. I have for a long time.”

The corners of her mouth curved up, leaving brighter thoughts behind. “You really are Mr. Fix-it, aren’t you?”

His face quirked with a dubious slant before settling into a smile. “For you? Happily.”

Arden swept up the tire iron and handed it back to him with an affectionate grin, her lungs inflating with a new sense of purpose. “Then let’s finish up here and go home.”

“Wanna go for a swim when we get back?”

Feeling the burdens of the afternoon lift from her shoulders, she threw her head back with a laugh. “Yes, please.”

“But Arden?” He wrenched the final nut loose and handed it to her with a flourish.

“Hmm?”

“We’re emptying that trunk first.”

She giggled as she caught his sidelong glance. Suddenly, the rest of the day didn’t seem so bad after all.

#playchoices #playchoices fanfiction #wishful thinking #jaime lewis #jaime x mc

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doubledeaky · 5 years

Text

No Sleep Tonight

Brian May x Female!Reader

A/N: Hey, babes! This is dedicated to all my fellow kids who grew up with strict parents, even though this is a little dramatic. This is my first Brian smut so I hope it’s halfway decent cuz I’m super proud of it. I have a Rami request coming down the pipeline soon, stay tuned! As always, feedback is very much appreciated! Much love! -m:)

Summary: Brian is never one to encourage disobedience towards your parents, but when it comes to you, he’ll make an exception.

Word Count: 5,835 words

Warnings: cursing, smut (18+ please!), oral sex (female and male receiving)

To say your parents were strict would be an understatement. As far back as you can recall, your mother and father were what most would call “helicopter parents.” Both constantly swirling your perimeter, never keeping their watchful eyes away from you for long. It made more sense then, you were a child and required supervision. Now, at eighteen years of age and just two months away from your first semester of university, it seemed cruel. Their unyielding attitudes an ever-present reminder of the tight leash they could keep around your throat as long as they were paying your way. For the better part of your short existence, you’d accepted it, obeying their rules and never straying from the narrow path set for you since birth. However, this changed when you met Brian. He was like you, a people pleaser and respect for authority was something he was taught to cherish, a virtue that should never slip from his subconscious. You related to him and bonded over the restricting barriers the two of you faced every day.

Senior year of high school had certainly been a time of great change, you’d met Brian and became a legal adult, but little changed. Your parents were still insufferably authoritative, and your frustration was only made worse when you watched helplessly from the side lines as all of your friends were cut loose, even Brian. You were gob smacked when, seemingly overnight, Brian’s parents had forgone all previous guidelines once he’d turned eighteen. Everyone was moving on and you were stagnant, glued by your feet to the same space you’d been stuck for years.

Brian comforted you when your parents were unwilling to lift your curfew on your eighteenth birthday, and he let you cry into his shoulder when you weren’t allowed to go to your own graduation after party with the rest of your classmates. That night, which was meant to be special, he watched with sullen eyes and a frown as you wept softly into the material of his graduation gown. You remember the clinking of his numerous academic metals against his bony sternum and the breeze of early May cooling your angry, heated face.

“Don’t worry, love. Uni’s right there, freedom’s just around the corner.” He said, gesturing animatedly to the space before him in an attempt to comfort you.

You smiled half-heartedly, shifting uncomfortably on the concrete steps leading to the entrance of the gymnasium, where your classmates were celebrating; living lives you’d never gotten a taste of, but ones you so craved. You sniffled, sitting up and wiping your tears with the sleeve of your silky, black gown.

“I know, Bri.”

You looked up, your parents were impatiently stood in front of the family car, your mother tapping her foot against the pavement. You sighed in what felt like familiar defeat and turned to Brian.

“I should go.” You whispered, holding your arms open to invite him into your embrace. He grinned and hugged you tightly, his curls tickling the skin of your neck. He pulled away, grabbing your face in both hands.

“Three months.” He whispered, giving you a genuine smile, a glint of childlike mischief in his bright eyes.

“Three months.” You repeated, placing your hands over his and giving him a sweet giggle. You nodded quickly and stood; he followed, giving you one last long hug and a wave as you scurried off, bunching your gown in your hands to keep it from scraping against the pavement. Brian watched as your parents silently scolded you, chastising you for being a normal teenager, and waited until the taillights of the minivan disappeared into the darkness before joining his classmates in celebration without you, the one person he really wished was there.

That was nearly a month ago and even the biggest declaration of coming adult hood, graduation, did little to change your parents’ no-nonsense ways. Your summer as of now was spent working the occasional shift at the library, cherished but always short visits with friends, and enjoying the sunshine of late-June. What made this particular summer miles more bearable was your daily interactions with Brian, either in person or over the phone. His seemingly respectable and gentle nature had won over your parents’ trust and even they enjoyed his company when he stopped by. He lived close by, usually walking the short distance or hopping into his birthday present, a used but very loved station wagon. His presence was always the highlight of your day. Summer afternoons were usually spent in the cool grass of your backyard, listening to music that encourage rebellion or cooped up in your room, doing the same. Conversation was easy, and Brian pulled laughs from you with skill and practiced grace, never failing to bring a smile to your occasionally sullen face. Today was no different, Brian’s sweet voice over the phone placed a wicked grin on your face without fail.

“How long has it been since I’ve seen you?” He asked, you could see his brows drawing together in thought through the phone.

“Just two days, Bri.” You laughed, twirling the phone’s cord idly between nimble fingers.

“Well, we can’t have that. Come over.” He said simply, and you could hear him shifting his position on the creaky bed he was sat on.

“Are you mad? It’s past curfew.” You laughed incredulously, eyebrows raising in disbelief.

“It’s past curfew for you. I don’t have one of those.” He said, grin evident in his voice.

“Wish it worked like that, Bri.” You sighed into the phone, turning your head momentarily to look at the open magazine sat beside you.

“What are your folks gonna do, hm? You’re eighteen, they can’t keep doing this to you.” He huffed, falling back into the pillows behind him.

“They can if they pay for me to live.” You reply in an attempt to jog his memory, turning the page of your magazine absentmindedly.

“Still.” He whines, running a hand through his mop of brunette curls.

“Still nothing, Bri. I’m not risking it. I’m so close to ditching this joint and I’m not jeopardizing my freedom because you’re bored.” You chided, throwing your magazine to the floor before crossing your arms over your chest.

“Well I’ve already got shoes on and my car keys are looking mighty tempting.” He says, and you can hear a smirk in his voice.

“Brian May, I swear on my- “

The phone goes dead. You scoff as you pull it from your ear and stare into it. You groan and stand from your bed, trying to devise a logical plan of action. After minutes of pacing the length of your tiny bedroom, you gave up; huffing loudly as you fell backwards onto your bed, running a shaky hand over your face. Fuck it.

You slip on a pair of worn, trusted shoes and looked in the mirror at your appearance. Your skin was aglow with the mark of the summertime sun, your hair wild and mussed, lips pulled into a wide smile and heart pounding. Despite everything your parents had drilled into your head from the day you could comprehend complete thoughts, you’d never been more inclined to throw it all to the wayside in this very moment.

A soft knock sounded against your fogged window and you looked up, nerves sizzling with a mixture of fear and pure adrenaline. You stood and glanced at the clock, past midnight, your parents no doubt asleep in their seemingly sound proof master bedroom. You took a deep breath and made the leap of faith, opening your window and peering down at a smiling Brian before hopping out, the short distance knocking you off balance momentarily. Brian caught you, his laughs stifled through clenched teeth. You shut the window tight with shaky hands and turned to Brian, eyes wide in shock.

“You did it.” He whisper-yelled, gripping your shoulders and shaking you with excitement. You laughed, giggle laced with a nervous energy. Brian pulled his keys from his pocket, dangling them before your face, the brass shining under the bright glow of the moon.

“Let’s go.” He whispered, taking your hand in his and pulling you towards his car, parked a cautionary block and a half away. No turning back now.

***

“Brian, my heart’s pressing against my ribs.” You groan, clutching the rough polyester shirt covering your sternum.

“Oh stop, you know you’re loving this.” He quips, eyes never leaving the road but a bright smile on his face nevertheless.

He was right, you were loving this, every moment of it. The feeling of freedom, completely careless as you let the summer air wash over your face and through your hair, with your best friend by your side. It’s a sensation like no other and you never want to feel anything less thrilling than this. It’s like getting a present when it’s not your birthday, like diving into the silky-smooth water of a backyard swimming pool, like running through the crowded streets on the 4th of July with a sparkler in hand, its fiery stars glowing in your wake. Letting go completely without worrying about being reprimanded or punished for being human, for wanting to feel, to live. It’s intoxicating and the energy within you has your limbs buzzing, your entire body shaking with pure glee. You let your arm hang loosely outside of the car window, face blissed out and heart fuzzy. Brian glances out of his peripheral, smiling at your content state. He averts his eyes back to the street before him, making sure he’s headed in the right direction.

“Told you.” He smirks, still focusing on the fluorescent traffic lights above him. You roll your eyes, bringing your arm back into the car and searching for a familiar sight down this unfamiliar street.

“Where are we going exactly?” You ask, voice noticeably uneasy.

“It’s a surprise.” He mumbles, smile teasing. You roll your eyes again, shaking your head incredulously. The car suddenly lurches forward and takes a hard left. You brace yourself against the dashboard and look to Brian with wide eyes.

“We’re here.” He says with a grin, yanking the keys from the ignition and stepping out of the car without another word. You take a deep breath, still dazed from the near car accident. He knocks on your window, gesturing for you to get out and follow him. You exhale and momentarily regret every action that had led you to this point before hopping out of the car and following Brian, his curls shining under the flickering orange street light. You put in a great deal of effort to catch up to him, his long legs easily carrying his weight in long strides.

“Slow down, tall ass.” You call out from a few feet behind him.

“Speed up, short ass.” He responds, turning around to meet your flustered gaze. He stops, allowing you to catch up and jerks his thumb to the right.

“This is it.” He says, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, awaiting your response. You move your body to look behind him and raise a questioning brow.

“A park?” You ask, a bemused expression painting your face.

“Yes, a park. It’s really nice at night and it’s always empty around this hour. I come here when I need to get away, and it wouldn’t be a stretch to say you need the same.” He explains, grabbing your hand and leading you through the gated entrance, which is open after midnight for some ungodly reason.

“Yeah, yeah.” You mumble, letting him lead you to the destination he has in mind with little resistant.

“Do you ever look at the stars?” He asks quietly, stopping and sitting down on a particularly lush area of grass and clovers.

“Um, not often. But I’ve seen them, yes” You giggle, sitting down next to him, your knee pressing against his bony one. He laughs, laying back with his hands behind his head, gesturing for you to do the same. You do, mimicking his actions and looking forward to what he has in store. Brian’s a simple man, but he’s clever and uses that to his advantage.

“Well, you should make it routine. Good for the soul.” He explains, green eyes admiring the speckled sky above him.

“Maybe I will, Mr. Astrophysicist.” You quip, giggling as you try to take his suggestion seriously.

“I mean it. Takes you away for a minute. Reminds you that there’s more. That you’re not so alone here.” He whispers, eyes catching the reflections of the glowing orbs looming above you both.

You’re quiet for a moment, taken aback, then hum in acknowledgement, trying to take in the night sky in a way similar to him. He’s quiet for a moment, then inhales rather sharply before breathing out, as if he’s nervous to speak.

“Why do you think your parents are the way there are?” He asks, quietly and cautiously, afraid you may take offense. You suck your lower lip between your teeth, eyebrows drawn in thought.

“I dunno. Could be a lot of things. I’m their only kid. Maybe they don’t want to lose me. Maybe they just need something to control. If I knew why, I think I’d know true peace.” You laugh dryly, eyes downcast and mouth drawn in a tight line. He nods, eyes still averted towards the stars.

“I think it’s the control thing. They feel so out of control when it comes to everything else and you’re an easy target, considering you’re their kid and all.” He says, still gazing up at the expanse of the dark sky, eyes visibly darting in all directions. You hum, closing your eyes and breathing in.

“I just wish it was different. I feel so disconnected from them. They’re both like teachers or coaches, not parents. Everything’s so dull. I just wish they could let go for a bit, just to see what it’s like.” You say, expressing feelings you’ve harbored for much longer than you care to admit.

“Yeah.” He mumbles, removing a hand from under his head and gripping the one you have lain across your stomach. You squeeze back, grinning slightly.

“It’s gonna be okay. You’re gonna be okay.” He mumbles, bringing your hand up to kiss the knuckles. You nod, feeling warmth return to your chest and a familiar flutter in your gut.

***

“Where to next?” Brian asks as he folds his long legs in order to fit into the car, turning to you expectantly once he’s comfortable. You raise your brows and let out a breathy laugh.

“Thought you had that covered, May?” You say, leaning back in your seat.

“I did, up until the park. Your turn.” He smiles, jamming the keys into the ignition and twisting, the car spitting momentarily before revving to life.

“Anywhere but my house.”

“On it.”

***

You recognize the route Brian is taking in only a few minutes, smiling to yourself at how transparent he could be at times.

“Your house, really? Are you trying to make your parents punish you?” You ask, laughing as you study your watch, nearly two o’clock in the morning at this point.

“They’re not home. I wouldn’t consciously bring a friend over this late. I’m not stupid.” He mocks, sticking his tongue at you. You sneer playfully, pushing his shoulder lightly, the protruding bone sharp against your palm.

“What’s so interesting at your house that it’s the only place you thought to go?” You giggle, cocking your head to the side in question.

“Told you I didn’t plan too far ahead.” He huffs, giving you an exaggerated frown. “Besides, it’s much better than your house.” He chuckles, pointing a long finger at you.

“Touché.”

***

You run before Brian, beating him to the door and letting yourself in. He shakes his head, locking his car and following you.

“Where is she?” You ask, poking your head around the cozy living room.

“And who may you be referring to?” He questions, tossing his keys onto the glass coffee table and plopping down onto the couch.

“Oh, don’t play dumb. The cat.” You huff, still searching diligently for Brian’s fiery red kitten.

“I dunno. She’s gotten really good at hiding.” He shrugs, smile playing at his lips as he watches you flip over throw pillows and look behind furniture too heavy to move. A small meow steals your and Brian’s attention and you squeal in delight, immediately scooping up the ten-week-old kitten and placing a loving kiss to her head. She purrs, perching herself upright in your arms to look around from the new angle.

“Still no name?” You question, noticing her green nameplate still blank.

“No, can’t think of a good one.” He answers, hands toying absentmindedly with frayed threads of a nearby blanket.

“Well, let’s go up to your room and put on some records. Sometimes I get inspired by a good song.” You smile, already climbing the stairs, the kitten still wrapped in your warm embrace. Brian chuckles, standing up and following you hastily.

“How bout this one?” You ask, already arms deep in Brian’s vast vinyl collection.

“Looks good.” He mumbles, not really hearing you, much too focused on your form sitting idly on his carpeted floor; eyes bright and excited, a new energy to your movements, a new light that Brian hopes never dulls. You smile, placing the record clumsily onto the turntable and flicking the needle down; climbing up onto Brian’s bed, cat in your arms.

“Alright.” You breathe, laying down onto the plush comforter beneath you, Brian following suit. You hum quietly to the song’s lyrics, fingers running lightly through the cat’s orange fur.

“Anything?” He asks, smiling as he crosses one long leg over the other.

“No.” You huff, closing your eyes before allowing a smile to overtake your features.

“S’alright, maybe we’ll just call her Kitty.” He mumbles, reaching over the pet the kitten’s head.

You hum, looking down lovingly at the small animal in your arms, purring softly as she drifts off into a peaceful cat nap. You look up at Brian, who’s still focused on the kitten perched atop your chest. You pick her up gingerly, placing her sleeping form onto the carpet, where she promptly wakes up and scurries quickly out of the room. He furrows his brows, eyeing you carefully as you sit up and cross your legs.

“Bri?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you, for doing this. I really needed it.” You say, smiling wide and reaching to grip his hand tight.

He returns your gaze, bringing your knuckles to his lips for the second time within the span of a few hours. You breathe in sharply, the contact still foreign.

“Of course. I like you this way.” He hums, his fingers fiddling with the rings wrapped around yours. You purse your lips and furrow your brows in question.

“What’d ya mean?” You laugh, confused by his statement.

“Ya know, like this. Careless, not worried about your parents. Nothing holding you back. It’s you, and I only ever want to see you like this. You’re so beautiful like this.” Brian mumbles, eyes widening minutely when he registers the words that tumbled from his mouth. You choke, eyes wide in shock.

“Beautiful?”

Brian doesn’t hesitate to nod, sitting up and grabbing both your hands in his.

“Yeah, beautiful. So bright and so happy. Your eyes are different, they aren’t scared or hesitant. They’re bright. This is the person you’re meant to be. You’ve got so much to give and so much to do, so much ahead of you. Being able to see you like this, for the first time, makes me love you more than I ever thought I could. It was always there, you just had to let go.” He breaths, cheeks red and eyes glossy. You can’t speak, completely stunned by his words.

It’s what you’ve always wanted, to be seen as careless and free, beautiful in your natural state of humanity. Hearing that you’ve got it, you’ve finally done it, is overwhelming and you bite your lip with enough force to draw blood.

“Thank you, Brian. For being so good to me. For showing me how good life is. I didn’t think it could be this nice, that I could be this happy. Just…thank you. I love you, and I don’t want to be afraid anymore. Don’t wanna be afraid of anything.” You smile, voice watery and filled with a loving fondness.

Brian’s chest feels full and fuzzy, his heart hammering wildly in his chest. He feels grateful, happy he met you, happy you’re here now, sat with him on his twin bed, surrounding by the scratchy melodies playing from the corner. With no hesitation, Brian grabs your face and presses his parted lips to yours. Your hands immediately grip his shirt, afraid if you let go, you’ll float away. His hands move from your cheeks and card through your hair, moving it from your face, wanting nothing to bar him from you. You pull away, sucking in a sharp breath and smiling like a fool.

“Fuck.” He breathes, pulling you closer by your hips. You nod, skin hot, the metal of your necklaces cooling you. He kisses you again, gripping your hips desperately, wanting to feel all of you. He pulls away and you boldly climb into his open lap, lacing your legs around his waist. His eyes go wide, an anxious innocence glazing over them.

“I’m not afraid of anything anymore, remember?” You smile, thumbs brushing over his swollen lower lip. He nods, smiling before wrapping his long, delicate arms around you.

“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to kiss these lips.” He whispers, running two fingers over them to emphasize his pure want for you.

“I could venture a guess.” You quip, voice cracking as he nips at the skin of your neck, the sensation sending heat straight to your lower stomach. You bury your hands in his hair, gripping softly at the roots; the groan that leaves his lips encouraging you to move against him. He pulls away, satisfied with his work; running a ringed hand over your neck and clavicle in admiration.

“So fuckin’ pretty.” He whispers, toying with the first button of your shirt. You brush his hand away, quickly making work of the baby blue buttons and tossing the blouse aside. Brian’s eyes widen, and his pupils visibly dilate, mouth suddenly growing dry at the sight of your near naked chest.

“Touch me, Bri.” You beg, eyes closed in concentration as you continue to move against him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders in an attempt to pull him closer. He obeys, hands immediately running over the material of your bra, admiring the faint rise and fall of your chest, the occasionally freckle or mark painting your skin, the curve of your breasts; all these factors establishing you in his mind as a goddess among men.

“God, fuck.” He curses, feeling himself grow painfully hard under your ministrations, your hands gripping the hair at the nape of his neck is also no help. You’re panting desperately, silently begging Brian to continue. He must read you well because he quickly removed his shirt and reaches around to fiddle with the clasp of your bra. Much to your surprise, it snaps open with little trouble and if it were possible, Brian’s pupils dilate further at the sight of your bare chest. His hands are trembling as they slide up your sides, cupping your breasts before he slowly brings his mouth to your right nipple, circling the tip of his tongue around your it before taking it in his mouth, nipping then soothing the skin with his cool saliva.

“God, Brian.” You moan, hands gripping his bare shoulders for leverage. He places open mouthed kisses around your chest, giving each breast ample attention before pulling back, a smug grin on his face.

“Making me feel so good, baby.” He groans, hands guiding your movements over his clothed cock.

“Let me taste you.” You whimper, hands grabbing at the material of his trousers.

He leans back on his hands, allowing you to climb off of his lap and crawl over him, stopping just above his hips. You carefully, run your hand over the bulge, curious as to what his reaction will be. He hisses, hips shifting impatiently. Your thighs clench together involuntary watching the boy below you react to your touch and your touch alone. You grip the zip of his trousers with your thumb and forefinger, pulling it down at an agonizing pace, sultry eyes never leaving his wild ones. His jaw sets painfully, sweat beading then falling from his temple. He has to bite back a soft whimper when you pull his trousers down, then all the way off.

He feels vulnerable, but he isn’t afraid. He’s happy that you’re seeing him this way and he’s happy he gets to see you this way. You look back to him after flinging his pants to the side, eyes hooded, and plush lips parted. He nearly groans at the sight of you so beautiful above him, confident and undeniably sexy, if not painfully so. You remove your own shorts, only two layers separating you two now.

You run your hand slowly over his clothed length, taking note of the precum state visible at the tip. You toy with the waistband and he whines impatiently, bucking his hips in search of friction. You tut, bringing your face closer to his crotch and hooking two fingers under the hem of his boxers. You’re still surprised by your confidence throughout this entire situation. You pull them down and immediately your heart falls to your stomach. He’s big, and your nervous for the first time in the last half hour. He notices this, sitting up to place a sweet kiss on your lips, hand brushing hair delicately from your sweaty face.

“We don’t have to.” He whispers, lips millimeters from yours; so close you can taste him, sweet like cherries and lemonade, like summertime.

“I want to.” You respond, pressing your lips to his feverishly, gripping his cock softly in your hand and biting his lower lip as you pull away, lowering your face slowly.

“Fuck.” He breaths, watching you intently as you give his cock an experimental lick, hand still pumping him.

“Please.” He whimpers, hands trembling as they grip the sheets with all the strength they’re capable of. You comply, closing your lips around him, placing one hand on his thigh, the other around what you can’t fit in your mouth. Your studying his face through your thick lashes, searching for his reactions to your movements, noting what he likes and doesn’t. You hollow your cheeks and he lets out a long moan, brushing hair from your face and keeping his hand there to guide you.

“So good, baby. Fuck.” He pants, grip tightening in your hair. His words give you a boost of confidence, pride blooming in your chest as your speed up your movements, head bobbing in tandem with the movement of your hand. Brian groans, his head lolling to the side and eyes rolling back in ecstasy. You hollow your cheeks again and Brian unexpectedly pulls your mouth from him, chest heaving and sheathed in a light layer of sweat. You look to him, confused, lips wet and swollen, more beautiful than you’ve ever been. He kisses you, pulling you back into his lap, fingers burying themselves below the hem of your underwear.

“Sorry, hun. Don’t wanna cum until I feel you.” He breaths, flipping you over onto your back, drawing an airy giggle from you. Brian’s cock twitches at the sight of you beneath him; eyes hooded, lips swollen and parted, arms stretched above your head, and body willing, begging for only him.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful.” He groans, kissing down the length of your body, stopping abruptly above where you need him most. You moan at the sight of him between your legs, lazy smirk and hands gripping your thighs with a bruising strength. He presses a chaste kiss just above the hem, studying the way you squirm and write beneath him, desperate and needy.

“Can I taste?” He asks, fingers already tugging at the flimsy material.

“God, yes. Please.” You whimper, your hips bucking involuntarily under his hold. He smiles, hooking two fingers under the elastic before pulling them down slowly, eyes never leaving your writhing form. He brings himself back up, groaning as he dips his fingers into your heat, absolutely soaked.

“Such a pretty pussy.” He breaths, kissing your pubic bone as his lithe fingers continue to glide through your folds, reveling in the feeling of how wet you are for him. You moan, an unbelievable pressure building steadily in your abdomen.

“Please, Brian. Do something.” You whine, gripping his hair in an attempt to coax him towards your aching clit.

“What do you want me to do, baby?” He coos, fingers swirling around your clit, the pressure sending a shock all the way up your spine and back down again.

“Use your mouth, please.”

He doesn’t hesitate, delving between your folds, lapping at your clit like a man starved. You’re trembling beneath him, hands gripping anything in your near vicinity and hips grinding against Brian’s mouth. The feeling of his lips, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your thigh, his curls tickling your lower tummy; It’s divine, a pleasure like no other and you clench around nothing, so close to climaxing.

“So close, Bri.” You moan, mind too foggy to register when he pulls his mouth from you. You look up, huffing at the loss of contact as you watch him slip a condom over his painfully hard length.

“Sorry, love. Want you to come on my cock.” He breaths, pressing his lips to your sin a needy, sloppy kiss; his hands placing your legs over his hips before settling between them. He locks eyes with you, suddenly very serious.

“You sure?” He asks, brushing a strand of hair from your face, an act of pure love. You nod, wrapping your arms around his neck, taking in his sloped, elegant features before answering.

“Never wanted anything more.” You smile, bringing your lips to his in a kiss conveying something along the lines of pure want and pure love.

He nods, suddenly very nervous as he lines his cock up with your entrance and slips in slowly. The stretch is uncomfortable but not particularly painful and you remind yourself to breath as he continues. You gasp at the hallway point, gripping his shoulders and throwing your head back. He stalls, afraid he’s hurt you. It’s taking everything in him to hold back, the feel of your walls wrapped around his cock bringing him to the edge faster than he’d like. You moan, digging your heels into the skin of his lower back, begging him to continue.

“Don’t stop, feels good.” You breathe, lifting your hips in an attempt to meet his. He nods, and continues, gripping the sheets around your head to ground himself. He bottoms out, the two of you releasing a broken moan in tandem. Your breathing is labored, walls fluttering around his cock without restraint.

“Fuck, I’m not gonna last long if you keep doing that.” He groans, his head falling into the crook of your neck.

“Move, Bri.” You whine, swirling your hips.

He does, bringing his cock all the way out before pushing back in. You both watch the space at which your bodies connect in awe. The only sounds are your mixed, tangled breathing and broken moans. The sound of skin against skin, and a rock album spinning idly in the corner. Brian soon adopts a brutal pace, his cock brushing all four walls, hitting a spot that has you crying out, moaning loudly.

“Fuck, Bri. I’m close.” You whimper, holding him tight. He grips your left leg, bringing it from his hip to rest against your abdomen, spreading you wider and allowing him to reach an entirely new angle within you. You nearly scream, mouth agape in a silent moan. You’re panting, struggling to catch your breath as Brian pounds into you.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum.” You whisper, all air choked from your lungs.

“Cum for me, babe. Cum on my cock.” He growls, bringing his hand to rub frantic circles over your clit. You moan, long and fractured, your walls clenching around Brian with a vice-like grip. He groans, thrusts growing sloppy as he chases his high, you still reeling from your orgasm.

“Fuck, I’m close.” He groans, leaning back and pushing both your legs up, watching how he disappears inside of you.

“Come on, Bri. Let me feel you.”

His hips stutter and his movements still, groaning as he spills inside of the condom. Moving his hips in small, languid motions for a just a moment after. He pulls out slowly and you whimper at the loss. You both remain still, taking a moment to regain control of your breathing. You’re smiling up at him and he’s smiling down at you, both of you glowing under a post-coital sheen. Brian sighs, moving to discard the spent condom and rejoining you on the bed. He wraps his long, strong arms around you and lays his head against your naked chest. You sigh contentedly, running a hand through his sweaty curls.

“You think your mom will be mad to see you’re not in your bed when she goes to wake you up?” He asks, smiling against your skin.

“That’s a problem for the morning.” You breathe, chest rumbling with soft laughter.

“It is morning.” He says, smiling as he points to the clock hung over his dresser, which reads six a.m. You groan, laying your head back and rubbing your tired eyes with your thumb and forefinger.

“Well, that’s a problem for later. Just wanna lay with you right now.” You sigh, snuggling into his side, pressing soft kisses to his neck and chest.

“Want you to lay here too.” He mumbles, throwing a blanket over your naked bodies and pulling you as close as humanly possible, breathing you in, wanting to remember every minute detail when he’s without your presence.

“Autumn.” You suddenly mumble, voice muffled in his chest, and he raises his heavy head in question.

“What?” He asks, squinting his eyes and chuckling at your seemingly sleeping state.

“Think you should name the kitten Autumn.” You whisper, half asleep, eyes closed delicately.

“I think I just might.” He answers, settling back into his previous position. You hum, a lazy smile on your face as you give in to a much-needed rest. The room is heavy with love, the thick fog permeating throughout, evidence of what you both cherish so much.

The orange sun is close to breaking the horizon and for the first time in maybe your entire life, you don’t really care about how your parents will react to your disobedience come morning.

- read my other fics here!

#brian may #brian may imagine #brian may x you #brian may x reader #brian may smut #queen #queen smut #queen imagines #queen band #smut

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uzumaki-rebellion · 5 years

Text

“Black Boys Bloom Thorns First: Volume 2, Chp. 23″

Summary: Erik makes a discovery that changes the course of his family forever...

NSFW. Mature Audience. Smut.

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"Every once and awhile

I find myself going through a transition

Packing up, flying away again

Never knowing how or which way is up

Turning, Spinning high

Welcome to changes

No time to spare

Might as well get used to it

Welcome to changes

Blow with the air…"

Carleen Anderson – "Welcome to Changes"

Califia had known Dr. Barbara Davis since she was a child.

Therapy was something her grandmother insisted on after her father was arrested and sent to prison. Nana Jean understood that her granddaughter was traumatized and needed the professional help her mother couldn't give her.

Califia was grateful for the intervention and grateful to have used Dr. Davis services when she had a brutal fight with N'Jobu when they were in their twenties. It was the only time in their relationship where N'Jobu had laid hands on her. He was defending himself from her attack after he accused her of being a cheating slut. He claimed much later that he had been holding back, but she remembers him using ulwa on her without hesitation. Perhaps it was ingrained in him to protect himself with full force no matter who it was who attacked him.

Califia allowed the fingers of her left hand to fuss with the leather button on the couch she sat on in Dr. Davis's comfortable and welcoming office. Soft browns and mauves surrounded them with splashes of pink. Soothing colors in all the décor. Hanging plants with long green tendrils giving the space a safe feel.

Erik sat beside her, quiet, his hands in his lap as he waited for their session to begin.

N'Jobu had been home for months and their family had maintained a stable home life since his return. Califia had returned to work but she made sure she and Erik saw Dr. Davis twice a week.

"How are things going for you at school, Erik?"

Dr. Davis's kind eyes peered at him from her horn-rimmed glasses, a sweet smile on her lips as she looked at the boy. Erik's body shifted in his seat.

"Good," he said, "…better actually."

"How so?"

"I sleep better at home, so I'm…calmer…um, yeah…calmer at school. No more nightmares."

"That's good to hear. And you, Califia?"

Califia's eyes left Erik's face as she gazed at the therapist.

"I still get bad dreams…sometimes. Not of the attack, but just weird stuff that I can't remember when I wake up."

Dr. Davis scribbled some things down on a yellow notepad.

"What about N'Jobu? How has he been?"

"Good. He and Erik are going camping this weekend with Erik's friend Walter."

"We went to Disneyland a few weeks ago," Erik said. His face lit up at the memory.

Dr. Davis went over some new breathing techniques with them and showed them how to quickly assess their anxiety levels with each other. It hurt Califia so much that Erik suffered from some of the same problems that she grappled with as a child. Intergenerational trauma was no joke, and she worried that she had passed down so much of her pain to her son. Erik had always been a joy to raise, a sensitive little one who felt deeply, but Lia's assassination had opened a wound that accelerated anxiety in him. He was also showing signs of obsessive-compulsive behavior. She could see the stress in him as he tried in his own way to still process and live with what he witnessed.

Their fifty-minute session went by quickly and while Dr. Davis put away her notes, Califia felt her heart- rate go up.

"Erik, do me a favor, could you wait out in the next room. I want to schedule some things with your mother real quick," Dr. Davis said.

Erik nodded, hopped off the couch, and disappeared into the waiting room.

"Califia…what is it?"

Califia finally allowed her tears to flow freely. She kept them in so Erik wouldn't see them, struggling to look normal for him as he left the space.

"I'm messing him up," she said, her voice shuddering from suppressing her emotions from Erik.

"What makes you say that?"

Dr. Davis handed Califia a tissue to wipe her eyes.

"My entire life has been nothing but pain and struggle and mental health issues. I see what it's doing to him. I'm setting my baby up for failure. He's become so rigid about things and he treats me like I'm the child sometimes. He always checks to make sure I'm okay. I'm supposed to be doing that for him!"

She threw her hands over her face unable to stop herself from weeping. "I've fucked up my son—"

"No…you haven't done that—"

"You see how he is—"

Dr. Davis pulled Califia's hands from her face.

"Let me tell you about your son. Erik witnessed a horrific event. But he is resilient. He has an absolute innate sense of justice. He believes strongly in fairness. He has a protective nature about him. His heart is so big and loving that he wants to make sure his Mommy is okay too."

Califia sat back on the couch still clutching the tissue in her hand.

"Parents can pass down anxiety—"

"That can happen. Erik has been displaying symptoms of an overactive brain, but it's nothing we can't work to improve. He's a brilliant child with big thoughts and ideas going on. He's learning to focus in much calmer ways so don't get yourself so worked up. Your coming here with him is the best thing you are doing to help him and yourself. His coping behaviors are simply coping behaviors. He could outgrow them over time—"

"What if he doesn't?"

"Let's focus on right now. Stressing over the future or the past is what keeps you stuck Califia. We work on that with you, and Erik will be fine. The fact that he sees you here doing your best to get well mentally only encourages him to do the same. You have to stay focused on the present with him now. Be mindful of the progress you both have made. Think of all the support you have from your family. Especially N'Jobu."

"Erik…he's my best thing, y'know?"

"I know."

"I worry so much about him. Parents are supposed to protect their children—"

"We live in the real world, Califia. You can't shield Erik from everything that happens, but you can be a pillar of strength and unconditional love for him. He can face anything when you and N'Jobu give him that."

Dr. Davis handed her another tissue and Califia tried to fix her face before going out to Erik.

Her son's eyes sought out hers the moment she walked out and he saw that they were pink from crying.

"You okay, Mom?"

"I am. Ready to go?"

"Yes."

She was mentally drained from the session and drove herself and Erik to visit N'Jobu at the shop. He was managing two new locations and they caught him as he returned to the original Drizzy's Kuts.

N'Jobu's eyes always lit up when he saw them and the moment they stepped into the shop, his arms were around her waist in greeting and he was touching Erik's hair.

"Hey, wasn't expecting you two to pop in," he said.

Califia sat in an open booth chair as Erik greeted three of the other barbers working on customers.

"Can I leave Erik here with you while I run over to see Rolita?"

"Sure. Is everything okay?"

"I got a text from her about meeting at her place with some of the women from Rise Up. Shouldn't take that long. An hour or two."

"Dinner at Nana's still?"

"Yeah."

She kissed his cheek and waved to Erik as she left. Needing Erik to be with the stronger parent right at the moment was important. She needed time with Rolita to lift herself up away from Erik. It was almost like he had extrasensory empath powers, able to read emotions and feelings from people just by looking in their eyes and taking on their weight. It was scary sometimes.

Rolita greeted her at her home with four other women from Rise Up and two men from a local Black activist group. There were snacks laid out in the living room and Califia ate chips from a paper plate with salsa. The mood in the room was solemn.

One of the men pulled out a laptop and showed the women a web page with a list of photos and names. Rolita sat next to Califia and took a deep breath.

"Activists are being murdered," Rolita said.

Califia felt the tension in the room rise.

"Misha Browning was found two hours ago," Rolita said and there was a gasp in the room from everyone.

Califia closed her eyes and steeled her nerves. Misha was a woman Califia had only known and interacted with online in cyber activist spaces. They had coordinated national action plans on police brutality and domestic terrorist attacks on immigrants and mutant humans. She had gone missing a few days previous and word spread by the police was that she had a domestic dispute with a boyfriend and disappeared soon after. But her boyfriend, a man Califia had met in person at a climate change conference in Fresno after she graduated university, was staying on a Scottish Island for a fellowship prior to Misha's disappearance.

There was a pattern.

Up until that moment, ten activists that Califia interacted with personally or knew of through online spaces nationally were dead. Seven of the dead were reported to have committed suicide. Four Black men and two Black women, and two Native women from the Pine Ridge Nation active with pipeline and environmental protests and civil disobedience. Three of them were said to have been murdered under suspicious circumstances. Their mental health was scrutinized and most of the newsfeed on them was swept away. Prominent and vocal activists. Killing themselves?

And now Misha. Found face down under Ohio river debris fifty miles away from her home.

Califia could only think of Lia and then her own self. Rolita too. They were mothers with young children. They were mothers trying to make the world safe for their babies. Could they be targeted next? Could they show up dead and the world told that they committed suicide? It wasn't unthinkable that an activist could kill themselves. Mental health was something they all grappled with and sometimes the world beat them down until killing oneself seemed like a good option. But ten people? Now eleven? Within two years?

Califia sat back in her seat. The rest of her time there long. And painful.

###

N'Jobu sat with Erik at his great-grandmother's kitchen table as he watched his son disassemble yet another one of his robotic toys. Erik had figured out a way to hack into the software of the original robotic programming and rebuild a new larger robot combining four different toys and the pieces of scrap metal his grandfather found for him. He placed the final pieces of the disassembled robot onto the final product.

Erik routed power to his new creation with a handheld and tried to get the strange-looking franken-robot to pick up a mug filled with tea and raise it up to N'Jobu's mouth. A set of spoons and a fork sat on the dining table waiting to be used by the robot to lift up a scoop of fruit loops and pick up sliced mango pieces.

"Be still, Baba." Erik said moving the levers in his hand.

N'Jobu sat still, but the tea mug didn't seem secure in the robot hand as small drops of the liquid spilled from the cup.

"I'm still, Son," he said trying not to laugh as the robot hand grew more unsteady.

"Stop laughing at it, you'll hurt the Daka 3000's feelings," Erik said.

"Oh, you changed its name again. Won't your mother be upset? The Cali 3000 was a nice-sounding name."

"Inventors name things after themselves."

"Why not JaJa 3000?"

"Too soft-sounding. The Daka in my middle name sounds hardcore…Baba, c'mon, be still!"

N'Jobu was leaning back in his seat, his hands up to catch the mug if it dropped.

"I have to perfect this by next week to be ready."

"Is Walter entering the science fair?"

"Yeah, he's working on something."

"You're not going to tell me about it?"

"It's boring."

"Don't say that about your friend."

"It is!"

"Tell me about it."

The robotic arm made it up to the front of N'Jobu's face with the mug. Erik did his best to ease it closer, but it was too jerky. He took a pause and stared at N'Jobu.

"He's making a display of fabrics that can be used to make flak jackets. Bulletproof—"

"So military science—"

"No, clothes for kids. So they won't be shot dead in school."

Whoa.

N'Jobu stared at Erik.

"He's really doing that?"

"Yeah. Lame."

"I don't think it's lame…just…that's pretty hardcore, Son."

"Compared to this? I'm creating a robot that can help the elderly in their homes. Open their pill bottles when they can't, feed them, and help put things away…but Walter's anti-kill clothes is hardcore. Serious Baba?"

"You both have created hardcore things."

"Kids shouldn't have to make clothes like that."

"I agree—"

"Like, make clothes that can let you fly or something…"

Frustrated, Erik snatched the mug from the robot's hand.

"I can't get this to move smoother. I'll have to take it apart. Wish I could get some nanobots for this…"

"Do you want to try the spoon or fork again? That did really well."

"Nah. Thanks for being my experimental human."

"Glad to be of help. Do me a favor though."

"Yeah?"

"Be supportive of Walter. He's trying to make something to help other children. Grown-ups are the blame for that, and it's a shame that a child his age wants to make something like that because we suck, but he is doing something he thinks is a good thing. Support that."

Erik stared at him and nodded his head.

"Who knows, maybe you both will make it to the Stark Expo. That would be exciting."

Erik grinned.

He was so determined to make his robot work. Not just for the Expo.

For Nana Jean.

His son's great-grandmother was ailing. Today she was having a good day and strong enough to make a Friday night fish fry. Relatives were coming over, and everyone was determined to make it a joyous evening of good food and family fun.

N'Jobu could see that the older woman was having a hard time with her health. Her once vibrant face was appearing a bit dull the last few months, and her already thin frame was looking gaunter. She was experiencing bouts of anger when she couldn't do a lot of things by herself like she used to. Like driving. She was having trouble with her hands, periodic shakiness and pain making it difficult for her on some days. But not today. Today she was cooking with the assistance of Erik and N'Jobu.

Erik picked up the tools he used to tweak the wires on his robot when he suddenly reached out and tapped on N'Jobu's kimoyo beads.

"It's lighting up, Baba!"

N'Jobu saw the emergency silver lighting on his beads. They warmed up his wrist.

"I've never seen that color before," Erik said, his eyes glued to his wrist.

The past three years he had told his son his beads were like mood rings and could change colors at will. But he was right. Silver was a new color. Silver was a signal from his fellow rogue War Dogs. Something was wrong.

"Clean this up, and we'll start making the batter for the fish and shrimp," he said.

Pushing back from the table, N'Jobu headed to a guest bedroom, Junie's old room, and locked the door.

"D'Beke," N'Jobu said, watching the man's shape hover over his wrist.

"We have found Klaue. He is ready to move into Wakanda. The time has come your Highness."

N'Jobu shut his eyes and sat on the guest bed.

"Send out a code three, and make sure all cells are on code. No more communications until you all hear from me. Understand? Send me Klaue's contact. We have to be…we have to be…D'Beke if anyone acts suspicious…end them."

"Yes, Prince N'Jobu."

D'Beke winked out and N'Jobu felt his body tremble with excitement and nervous energy.

The time had come to act. No more planning. Action.

"Wakanda Forever," he whispered.

###

Califia felt beyond stuffed. She rubbed her belly from all the shrimp she consumed. Hot, juicy, greasy, salty-sweet delicious shellfish fresh from the skillet. N'Jobu rubbed his belly and Califia watched Erik help Nana Jean fry up more shrimp in cornmeal batter this round.

"Nana. I can't eat anymore," she said.

Nana dropped shrimp into a fry strainer and Erik lowered it and stood back when the grease popped. Nana dropped more shrimp into the bowl filled with the batter.

"Someone will," Nana said, her frame so much smaller from how Califia always saw her as a little girl. She felt it deep down. No one else in the family wanted to say it outright, and Nana Jean was not forthcoming with her health, but Califia knew. Her great-grandmother was battling something and trying so hard to stay on the earth for Erik. That was her child. He may have come out of Califia's body, but Erik was her baby

Erik's mind was set on going to the Stark Expo in New York. He had come so close last year, making it to a semi-final status and receiving a signed certificate from Tony Stark himself. She and N'Jobu had to nurse him through a mini-temper tantrum when he didn't get to be a finalist. He pouted for weeks and wouldn't even hang up his certificate in his room that Nana Jean had framed for him. N'Jobu had to have a sit down with him and remind him of how many people, children, and adults had submitted projects and didn't even make it to the quarter-finals. She remembered the title of his abstract too, "Novel Subtle Acoustic Communication: Successful Elucidation of the Cryptic Ecology of Runner Plant Bugs with Emphasis on Their Stridulatory Mechanisms". He spent three months capturing the faint sound of bugs. Bugs that he had crawling all over his bedroom when a few escaped by accident. She shivered at the memory.

Califia had to chime in and show him the certificate.

"Tony Stark really signed this. A busy man like him took the time to sign something acknowledging your hard work. You should be proud of yourself."

It wasn't until Erik went online to see how many people had entered projects did his own parent's words kick in. There were only twenty-five semi-finalists for his category and his face beamed when he announced, "Just over half a million people entered globally."

For the new year, he switched from acoustics to robotics hoping to be a finalist. And he focused on something more personal, and close to home: Nana Jean.

That big ole heart of his wanted to make his Nana as self-sufficient for as long as possible with a personal elder care robot.

N'Jobu watched her closely after she rubbed her belly and caught his eye. Her mood hadn't been the best when she arrived at the house. The meeting at Rolita's was tough on her psyche and she almost opted to go home and sleep until her grandmother called Rolita reminding her to bring her daughter Neveah.

Erik's cousins and Neveah ran around the front room while Erik cooked at the stove.

"JaJa, go be with the other kids, I'll help Nana."

Erik nodded and she watched her grandmother pat his head.

"Nana, for reals, I don't think anyone else can eat more. Take a break and spend time out front too."

"Dayclean is still eating," she said.

"I am done, Nana. Go relax, we'll take care of all of this."

N'Jobu stood up and cleared the dishes left on the table as a few of Califia's Uncles cleaned up after themselves before heading to the den to watch TV.

"You good?" N'Jobu asked.

"Better."

"Erik told me you looked upset leaving your session today. Want to talk about it?"

"It was nothing serious…really. I was just feeling a way. Venting."

"Did it help?"

"I think so."

He rinsed dishes and stacked them in the new dishwasher they bought for Nana three years ago once they saw she had trouble with her hands.

She finished putting leftovers in the fridge and when she looked at N'Jobu again, his gentle eyes broke her down.

"Let's go in the back," he said when he saw her eyes well up with water.

The house was busy and no one paid them any mind going to the back guestroom. It was quiet back there. N'Jobu locked the door and they both sat on the bed.

Califia wiped her eyes.

"He is too much like me. And I am afraid for him."

"Califia—"

She touched his hand.

"His quick temper. His anxiety. His need to be in control…this compulsion to make things perfect…it's not healthy…and living here, and seeing Lia…I have damaged him."

N'Jobu stayed quiet and she was grateful. Over the years he had to learn how to let her talk things out and not try to offer immediate solutions as he was want to do all the time. She just needed to be heard. Just wanted to let her words linger openly so she could work through her pain.

"I worry about how he will deal with the trauma later in life. Kids bounce back. I know this. Better than adults. But he…you know this about him…he feels too deeply. This world will break his heart N'Jobu. People like that suffer more than most."

N'Jobu continued to listen as he held her hand.

"I worry about him. I told Dr. Davis this. I worry that he has inherited my pain. I pray and pray that he can be more like you, like…if I could take the worst aspects of myself and remove that from his DNA—"

"Stop."

N'Jobu's eyes were watery. He stroked her face.

"I don't want you thinking like this. I don't want you to carry this in your heart. Take parts of you out of him? He wouldn't be who he is without those parts of you. I know I'm supposed to let you feel what you feel, but my son…our son? He is perfect. He is his own person. That is an Udaku Prince out there and you make him perfect. Understand?"

"I want to believe you, I might believe you if…."

"If what?"

"If you would take us to Wakanda. It has to be safer and better there. You heard what Rolita told you at dinner. It's bad out here. You heard about Walter's science project. Fuck is that? Fuck kind of world are we living in. How can we protect Erik? What if something happens to him? What if something happens to us? Who would take care of him? Who would be capable of caring for a child like ours? Huh? Tell me."

"Babe—"

"Why won't you take us away from here? My baby is a Prince. He deserves to live in a world without fear, or where his best friend doesn't make bulletproof t-shirts for his peers. Don't you want him to have the life you had growing up?"

N'Jobu pulled her in with a tight hug when the tears really started flowing down her face. She was so tired.

"My love, don't cry, please…don't cry…"

It was the same quiet fight they had over the years. His refusal to take them home.

They weren't welcome. She knew this. Deep down they were not wanted in his world, and yet it was the only one that could save them. And she didn't understand why he prevented them from contact. Not even a visit. Their son was learning Wakandan. Memorized their alphabet. Practiced writing his name, even practiced a little speech he wanted to give in front of his royal grandparents when they would meet. Even had a gift he made for his cousin Prince T'Challa, a little necklace that would hold secret-coded messages between them.

And yet…

Here they sat with her crying about it once more.

They left the bedroom and joined the rest of the family to eat pound cake and watch Wheel of Fortune, everyone shouting at the tv their guess's at the puzzles. Neveah and Erik giggled like crazy whenever her father Dante guessed words that clearly were made up to make them laugh.

Once they returned home, Erik put away his robot, and she and N'Jobu dressed for bed. They allowed Erik to lounge in bed with them until it became way past his bedtime. She caught that mood from N'Jobu that he wanted to make love, but Erik kept prolonging his stay in their bed by negotiating for extra time with them. They allowed him to watch another half hour of the SyFy channel until he was knocked out and snoring with his head resting on Califia's stomach.

"Hey, buddy, time to wake up," N'Jobu said nudging Eric gently on the shoulder.

"Thirty more minutes," Erik whispered, his eyes wide as if he hadn't been snoring a minute ago.

"So you can sleep again? Go to sleep in your room. I need some Mommy time," N'Jobu said. He started pushing Erik away from Califia.

"Mom!" Erik whined pushing N'Jobu's hands away and trying to stay on her stomach.

"It's two in the morning, JaJa," Califia said stroking his braids.

"Then I should be able to stay since the sun will be up in five hours."

"If you don't get," N'Jobu said pulling on one of Erik's braids.

"Ow, Baba! I know why you really want me gone…you wanna kiss Mom and do the nasty!"

"Boy!" Califia said, a shocked expression on her face as she play slapped his arm.

"Yes, now get," N'Jobu said.

"I can't believe that came out of your mouth," Califia said.

"Why are you being embarrassed?" Erik teased.

"Time for you to get out of grown folks business," Califia said lifting him off of her stomach.

Erik finally rolled over and stood from their bed.

"Y'all some haters, man, for real," he said.

His dimples melted her.

"Who is this child? Where is my sweet JaJa?" she said.

Erik leaned back over the bed and kissed her cheek.

"Night Mom," he said.

"Night, Baby. Sleep well," she answered.

Erik gave his father a sly look as he sauntered out of their room backward.

"I'll just close this so I can get some rest," he said as he grabbed their doorknob and shut it behind him.

"Okay, maybe we should take some of your DNA out of him," N'Jobu said as he wiggled out of his pajama bottoms.

"That was all you, nigga," she said staring as he pulled his t-shirt over his head.

He tugged on her nightgown and she brushed his hands away.

"We can't do it now," she said glancing at the bedroom door.

"Why not?'

"Because he knows that's what we're doing—"

"I don't care, just put the pillow over your mouth," he said pulling the bed covers back and raising up her gown to her hips. She widened her legs and allowed him to lick her vulva slowly, but then she felt self-conscious. Kept glancing at their bedroom door making her stomach tense.

"I can't, not yet," she whispered.

"Babe, stop being silly. I want to make you feel good after a tough day…shit…pussy wet already."

His tongue rested just under her clit as her ring poked out from the engorgement of the slick bud. He gave light pulses there and her legs shot up, her thighs falling open.

"Get the lube," he said stroking his dick.

Reaching into her drawer she pulled out cherry flavored lube. She coated her vulva and opened her wet inner lips for him.

Tongue darting in and out and smearing his lips with her arousal, Califia held N'Jobu's head.

"Let's just do a quickie," she said.

"Quickie, longie, I just need to be in my pussy," he said shifting his body to line up with hers. He inserted his erection and she gasped out loud.

"I'm about to fuck you real good," he hissed in her ear.

Califia stuffed her left hand over her mouth as her right arm held his shoulder in a death grip.

"God, baybee—"

"Mmmmm—"

"Wait, not so hard, the headboard is banging against the wall—"

"Fuck that wall—"

"The noise—"

N'Jobu lifted up and watched his dick slide into her.

They had been working and caring for Nana Jean and Erik so much that it had been a couple of weeks since they had last had sex. And this quickie was just what they needed. If N'Jobu didn't waste any time kissing her, she knew he was desperate to get in her stuff. He couldn't go very long without some sexual contact with her.

"Look at your dick, Jobu," she encouraged, his face so intent on watching her pussy grip his length. His dick was shiny, his dark coloring magnificent. She felt sorry for people who couldn't have Black dick like this filling them up. He was ready to split her in two. She needed this. Needed him. Needed to get her mind off of her troubles.

He pulled out and positioned himself on his side behind her. His hands gripped her breasts but her gown kept slipping down.

"Take it off," he said and she removed it over her head and tossed it on the side.

White light under the door.

Erik was still up.

Califia dropped her head to one of her pillows and bit into it. She could hear how gushy her pussy was, could hear N'Jobu trying his best to keep his voice down but to no avail.

"Damn…damn…," N'Jobu grunted, his hands tightening around her breasts.

"Yes, baby."

"I missed this pussy, girl. We gotta stop playing and make time for us…oh shit…"

"Jobu—"

"Where you want it, baby? I'm ready to cum…oh…Califia…where you want this nut?"

"In my mouth," she said.

"Okay…okay….," he panted.

He kept stroking his dick in her pussy, hitting the side of her walls hard.

His pace picked up, and for a second she thought he would cum inside her because he didn't seem willing to leave her hot folds.

"Turn around!" he shouted.

Yanking out of her, he stroked his thickness as she turned around and lowered her face to his cock.

"Open your mouth…oh shit…baby open your mouth!"

Mouth Open. Tongue out.

N'Jobu slapped his dick on her tongue, his eyes swimming with an all-consuming carnality. Her own fingers plucked at her clit and when his release splashed all in her mouth, she gulped his cum down as her sugar walls clenched from an intense orgasm.

She swallowed everything he gave her, and he spent some time licking between her legs again and giving her another orgasm.

She was about to enjoy the third orgasm from his mouth when a brilliant blue light spilled under their bedroom door.

"N'Jobu!" she cried out.

He turned his head and saw the brilliant fluorescent blue. His eyes shifted in a way she had never seen before.

He leaped up and put on his pajama bottoms. She threw her gown back on and followed him out of their bedroom.

Erik's bedroom door was open, the dazzling blue array coming from there.

"Erik!" N'Jobu shouted.

Their son stood in the middle of his bedroom. N'Jobu's Wakandan beads were on his wrist, the blue light bleeding out from it.

"Baba!"

Erik tried pressing down on a bead.

"Don't do anything else!" N'Jobu said.

But it was too late.

Erik twisted one of the beads and the brilliant blue light filled the entire room and a large holographic image floated above Erik's wrist.

A street scene.

People walking on elevated sidewalks.

Space ships flying in the air.

Black people dressed in ways they had never seen before.

"N'Jobu, what is this? What is that?" she whispered with awe in her voice.

Erik's eyes studied the images and he took his free hand and stuck it inside the field of blue light. It expanded and different color-rich scenes played like a series of split screens spinning in a circle.

A cityscape.

And a futuristic structure that looked like a double palace…

"It's Wakanda," Erik said.

His fingers flicked an image up over his head. It looked like a billboard advertising a car they had never seen before in the world. The lettering was all Wakandan.

Erik's bright eyes stared at her.

"It's Baba's home!"

###

Chapter 24

Tag List”

@fd-writes @soufcakmistress @cherrystainedlipsbaby @tclaybon @thadelightfulone @allhailqueennel @bartierbakarimobisson @cpwtwot @shookmcgookqueen @yoyolovesbucky @raysunshine78 @the-illllest @terrablaze514 @l-auteuse @amirra88 @jimizwidow @janelledarling @chaneajoyyy @sweetestdream92 @purple-apricots @blackpinup22 @hennessystevens-udaku @scrumptiouslytenaciouscrusade @bugngiz @stariamrry @honeytoffee

#black boys bloom thorns first volume 2 #n'jobu #n'jadaka #erik stevens #black panther fanfiction #black panther smut #killmonger #when killmonger was a boy

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hippychick006 · 5 years

Text

15.01 Back and to the Future - Episode Recap/Review

Finally managed to find time to watch the episode all the way through. I miss the old days where nothing would have stopped me watching it as soon as it aired, but those days are long gone.

I’ve put the review under a cut to avoid triggering those that don’t like criticism of the show and think everyone who watches should only see the same rainbows, puppies and sunshine they appear to view when they watch it. If this is you, it’s easy to just scroll on by or block “spn critical”, but I personally won’t stop making posts that cover both things I love about the show and things that lead to eye twitching.

We open on the last ever road so far of the series (sniffles). As I’m useless as always with identifying music, Shazam advises me the montage was done to the music of Bob Segar and The Silver Bullet Band. “The Famous Final Scene”. Lyrics are worth noting here:

Think in terms of bridges burned Think of seasons that must end See the rivers rise and fall They will rise and fall again Everything must have an end Like an ocean to a shore Like a river to a stream Like a river to a stream It's the famous final scene

And how you tried to make it work Did you really think it could How you tried to make it last Did you really think it would Like a guest who stayed too long Now it's finally time to leave Yes, it's finally time to leave Take it calmly and serene It's the famous final scene

It's been coming on so long You were just the last to know It's been a long time since you've smiled Seems like oh so long ago Now the stage has all been set And the nights are growing cold Soon the winter will be here And there's no one warm to hold Now the lines have all been read And you knew them all by heart Now you move toward the door Here it comes the hardest part Try the handle of the road Feeling different feeling strange This can never be arranged As the light fades from the screen From the famous final scene

How dare they! I’m feeling feelings!

Kudos to shazam by the way for identifying the music, even over the dialogue. Impressive.

I like that we open through Jack’s burned out eyes to the fighting taking place and the final verse of the song continues during this scene. The boys are doing well, and Badass!Castiel has made an appearance. Hello and welcome to the only version of Castiel I can watch these days.

Great scene of the brothers fighting side by side as they escape through the graveyard, flying Sam and ninja kicking Dean, great to watch and what I’m here for.

I like the titles for this season, someone else did a great post on this (as long as you ignore the bi purple reference in their otherwise great analysis!). I personally associate pink/purple with endings and beginnings and I would suggest this is much more likely what the season is about than Dean wanting to get it on with a 2000 year old beam of light in a corpse, but you know, what do Jensen and I know about Dean’s sexuality, am I right?

As always, I like the scenery and lighting so far, the show always does a superb job with both of these and another reason I continue to watch.

However, I am gravely disappointed we didn’t get the demon/ghosts/zombies/what the fuck ever dancing to Thriller, possibly that will come on the gag reel. We can live in hope, because otherwise it’s a missed opportunity.

Sam and Dean standing in front of the door together. Love it. Any little brother moment makes me happy these days.

Poor Sam, he’s asked Castiel if he can heal Jack. ☹ Of course not, Sam, it’s only episode 15.01. Sheesh. We have 19 episodes to go. Pace yourself.

I think some of the dialogue in the mausoleum scene is the weakest in the episode and some of the delivery wasn’t great. I can’t think of a more boring storyline than manufactured drama between Castiel and Dean - yawn! I’m also long past Castiel’s not understanding references stick. “I wouldn’t starve” That would have been funny season 4/5. Now… not so much. Also, thanks to Dabb, I don’t have any characters that I’m worried about dying. I know Jack will be back and I have the opposite problem with Castiel. I didn’t feel any urgency in the whole opening scene. Just, meh.

I do like however that during Dean getting worked up over Chuck, we see Sam getting distracted in the background and he sneaks off and we know he’s looking for a solution to their current predicament.

Dean eventually notices his brother has wandered off and asks what Sam’s got. Sam suggests there might be a drainage pipe or something. Dean thinks they’re not that lucky and suggests sewer line. Oh boys.

Brothers working together to break through the brickwork is what I think most of us are here for.

RME at Sam and Dean stepping back from the zombie coming through the brickwork they’ve just opened up as if they’ve never hunted anything in their life. Either one (or both because that would have been cool) could have stuck the iron bars they were holding into the zombies head, but no, they needed the side character to rescue them. So Dabb’s still not averse to making his leads look dumb in order for his side characters to have a purpose. Awesome writing, said no critic of Dabb ever.

Having said that, I have a weakness for people protecting Sam “fucking” Winchester and we get that in the very next scene where Castiel and Dean are slightly in front of Sam when Jack makes an appearance.

Sam thinks Jack is alive. ☹

Immediately loving Demon B (can’t spell whatever his actual name is), love that Alex is getting the chance to do another character, and he’s killing it so far.

Dean and Castiel have an argument about whether to listen to the demon, which is settled by Sam saying quietly, “Cass… Dean’s right.” Castiel stops. Sastiel for the win y’all!

Lucky that spell was so easy, huh? Hmm, graveyard dirt and angel blood might come in handy this season. And if you were lucky enough to miss the Heller “Destiel is end game” meta on this spell, consider yourselves incredibly lucky and do not under any circumstances go looking for it.

Two teenage girls we don’t know are doing what I presume is teenage girl stuff (which I never did by the way, but I might be unusual in that respect). I fear they are the red shirts of this episode so are not long for this world. Those fears are confirmed when we see Bloody Mary in the mirror. I’m more than a little confused since nobody said, “Bloody Mary”, let alone 3 times, so how on earth is she doing her mojo? Anyway, spoiler alert, two girls we don’t care about die.

Meanwhile, back in the Impala, which has 2 humans, a moody angel and a demon in Jack’s body, we find out 2-3 billion souls might be able to get out of hell through the rift that opened up in the graveyard. Demon B says he knows a spell that will contain the current ones within a mile of the cemetery which might buy them some time. Castiel says there’s a town that’s within that distance which would be in danger, so they decide they need to evacuate it and then perform the spell. As they are talking about all of this, they come across an abandoned car. Another great brother scene here where Dean and Sam investigate the car together. Sam seems to flashback to the woman in white from the pilot.

Sam: This could be our woman in white”.

Dean: Dude, we sent her to hell years ago.

Sam: Yeah, she could be back.

Dean: Well, if she’s back, then they’re all back. Every last one that we ever killed.

The next scene shows a woman with a child running through a house and there’s blood everywhere. Again, I’ve got no emotional connection to them so this entire scene is meh for me, even with the child. Sorry. If I’m going to be perfectly honest, the mom is kind of annoying for me. Is it bad that I’m currently rooting for the ghosts?

Fast forward this scene, and it’s now daylight. How far did they drive? Like Jack was killed in daylight, then it got dark – but I think that was Chuck’s doing, and now it’s light again. I’m going to presume all of the graveyard stuff was 1 hour before dawn, otherwise the timing doesn’t make sense to me. Anyway, Sam gets out of the car, he’s posing as an FBI agent which gets the suspicion of the local sheriff because that is not regulation FBI hair Sam!

Meanwhile, Dean suggests Castiel go with “Crowley Junior” to get everything he needs for his spell. Castiel refuses, he can’t even look at the demon wearing Jack’s body. Suck it Castiel. You’re a few millennials old angel, just get the job done ffs and stop being a wuss. Sam and Dean lost Jack too and you don’t see either of them crying into their coco pops! Grrrr.

Due to Cass being a weenie, we get brother separation from about half-way through the episode. Sam with Castiel (Sastiel fans rejoice) and Dean with Demon B.

Castiel leaves the car and joins Sam who is still trying to convince the local sheriff to evacuate the town due to “the pipeline outside of town.” which Sam says has sprung a leak. Sheriff: What pipeline? Oh Sam. Sam handles it well though, he goes into annoyed mode, which seems to work as the sheriff agrees he can move the towns people up to the high school which he says is 5 miles away. I like Sam looking silently at Castiel here to check if that’s far enough, which Castiel confirms.

Meanwhile back at the car, Supernatural is as unsubtle as ever, we have a shot of Dean putting the god kiling gun/colt (not sure which) in the glove compartment. Hmm, idly wonders if Demon B is going to steal it at some point.

Demon B thinks Dean is gorgeous. Calm tf down hellers, Dean is uncomfortable because he considers the meat suit the demon is wearing to be “our son, kind of” (his words, not mine). Dean asks what Demon B needs to perform the spell and luckily it only requires a bag of salt… and a human heart.

Sam and Castiel are going house to house. I like the difference between the two, Sam is wandering through the house, gun aimed and ready. Castiel holds the gun loosely at his side. Oh Castiel. Castiel finds the two girls that were killed by bloody Mary. Sam finds the little girl and her mom from the earlier scene. Sam is so good with the little girl, but putting his weapon down is a great big anvil to what’s coming next, particularly when Sam says “Everything’s going to be fine”.

Hurt!Sam alert, but it comes with lame!ghost alert. I mean that ghost clown is bad. I’m not sure how I feel about Sam still being afraid of this loser, plus he got over clowns several seasons ago, so why have him acting afraid. Luckily, side character Castiel is here once again to be the hero of the show. Wait, what?

Back with Demon B and we find out he is a fanboy of torturer!Dean. We also learn that the cage door is open, which means our dimension Michael (and likely brother Adam) is loose.

Castiel heals Sam (and repairs his clothing – have we seen this skill before or is this another continuity error?). The mom is shocked and Castiel explains he’s an angel. She asks about the clown, which Sam says was a ghost. The woman asks about Sam and he says, he’s “just a guy” which is completely inaccurate, especially when his next sentence is “When I shot god…”

Castiel remembers that Sam’s injured and insists on seeing Sam’s shoulder wound and he’s not taking Sam’s bull “it’s nothing, it’s fine…” So much Sastiel, and I really wish I could get behind this ship, but I won’t ever forgive the panic room, blaming Sam for the apocalpyse, or the bringing down of Sam’s hell wall amongst many other betrayals. Love Sastiel shippers though and glad they are getting all the cookies.

Ok the vision scene, I’ve seen people thinking it’s Castiel that sees the vision, but it looks like it was Sam to me by the way he reacts, but it’s not 100% clear so it’ll be interesting how this progresses, particularly since the wound has an energy that Castiel’s never felt before. I also don’t think it’s a vision, but a glimpse of one of the alternate realities. Sam goes back to insisting he’s fine and luckily he gets a call from the sheriff so Castiel can’t call him out on it.

Guys, I’m getting a bad feeling that the sheriff isn’t going to be around much longer. A feeling that just grows when he comes across a lady wearing white and…

…what the hell? That isn’t our Constance! Great cheek bones though. I have chipmunk cheeks like Paul McCartney so always jealous of great cheekbones.

Demon B and Dean are struggling with the heart ingredient. Dean’s thinking morgue, Demon B is a little fussy and would prefer fresh…

… Wait a minute… was that a scream? How fortuitous that I think Demon B’s about to get his spell ingredient. Poor sheriff. Damn you show!

Uh, Castiel and Sam, I don’t want to teach you how to do your job, but one in front, one behind the survivors would have been the way I’d have done it. Horror movie survival 101. Just fyi. Plus your walk is not in sync.

See, I told you one of you should have walked behind! One of your survivors just wandered off and is now in danger and neither of you even noticed.

I’m getting whiplash again from the frequent scene changes during this entire segment, I hate when they do this. Back with Demon B and Dean who realises the air is cold.

Uh no Constance bitch, Dean did not take you home. Sam did, but what is canon on this show any longer? Anyway, Dean gets thrown and knocked out.

Back with Castiel and Sam, clown ghost appears. Castiel: “It’s just one ghost.”

They walk closer and two more ghosts appear, Castiel, “…just three…” Oh dear.

Sam and Castiel start shooting the ghosts. Sam accidentally shoots Castiel instead of Lizzie Borden (I think it’s her), but given it’s rock salt, Castiel is okay. While they have a “you shot me moment”, they take their eyes off the third ghost. I am not shocked at all that the third ghost takes advantage of their stupidity and tackles Sam to the ground.

Back with Demon B who is telling Constance she is a “Bad ghost. Bad!”

Sam is getting whaled on. Let’s put this down to his shoulder injury because otherwise Sam “fucking” Winchester has completely forgotten how to fight this episode.

Back with Demon B and Dean rescues him using iron to dispel Constance. Great job Dean! A+

Which gets reduced to a B- since the very next scene Dean throws his only weapon away. Dean come on! This is horror movie survival 101. I’m questioning your 30+ years of training at this point.

Back with Sam, little girl survivor is entranced by a pond, which suddenly has a woman appear in it. Sneak attack from Bloody Mary. If that face had appeared at night and the pond water had not had an anvil dropped on it several times over the last few minutes, I might have been a little scared, but nope.

Back with Dean and Demon B who start the spell. Going back and forth between this and Castiel and Sam who are still getting whaled on. Well actually, Sam is getting whaled on, Castiel is doing okay. Ooh, kick to the face shot on Sam. Hurry up Demon B. The pretty is getting hurt!

Lovely, Sam “fucking” Winchester gets rescued for the third time in a single episode. We may have to remove the middle name until Sam’s allowed to be a competent hunter again!

Demon B finishes the spell and it’s quite impressive, we see a light zoom towards Castiel and Sam that comes to an end a few hundred yards down the road - which means they are still in the same zone as the ghosts, which all appear again. This spell looks like a firewall and I’m wondering if my firewall theory might ye be a possibility.

Sam tells Castiel to get the others across the line. Castiel doesn’t want to agree but Sam insists. Sam stays behind to hold off the ghosts saying “bring it” and… his gun clicks empty. Oh Sam, this is a really bad day for you.

Sam gives his “look how cute I am smile” and starts running. I have absolutely no idea why the ghosts are running. They were able to appear a few seconds ago, I would think this would be faster.

We do really need someone to edit the Benny Hill Yackety Sax music into this chase scene because it isn’t the least bit scary. I’m sorry.

I like Sam protecting the little girl as he thinks he’s about to get stabbed, but in the first lucky moment of Sam’s really, terrible bad day, they made it just across the invisible barrier.

Lame Ghost!clown is a tad upset and whines. Sam tells him to “Shut up!” Yeah Sammy! With a final glare at the ghosts, Sam follows Castiel and the 2 survivors as they walk away.

They get back to Dean who drives them to the school. The impala is now even more full with 2 Winchesters, a still moody angel, demon B and 2 survivors.

Sam walks the survivors over to the school building and he’s just… sigh.

However, I quickly realise this means we’re going to get a Dean and Castiel scene and prepare to cringe. Dean asks Castiel: “You ok?” Castiel: “Yes, but…” Dean: “Good” and he walks away.

Okaaaay, that went better than I was anticipating. I do think Castiel was about to tell Dean about Sam’s shoulder injury though (because let’s face it, those two only talk about Sam or on rare occasions, Jack) so Dean not knowing about the “energy” Castiel felt might come back to bite later because Sam’s definitely not going to tell him about it.

Demon B thinks it was awkward, and I agree.

Okay, everyone shhhh! It’s the 20th last ever broment! Dean wants to take care of Sam’s injury. Sam’s “fine”. Dean’s not having any of it and insists. Dean distracts Sam with a story from their childhood and these are the moments I continue to watch the show for!

They talk about Chuck, Dean thinks they’ve had no free will, that they are just rats in a maze and he’s questioning what any of it ever meant. Sam ever the optimist believes they made a difference, that they saved people. He thinks Chuck’s gone and that means it’s just them.

Dean: and about 3 billion ghosts

Sam: Yeah, well, what’s one more apocalypse, right?... But seriously, if we win, when we win this, god’s gone. There’s no one to screw with us. There’s no more rats in a maze, it’s just us. And we’re free.

Dean: “So, you and me, verse every soul in hell…. I like those odds.”

Sam smiles: “Yeah, me too.”

Dean: “Well, you know what that means?”

Sam: “We’ve got work to do.” Sam closes the trunk and we flashback to pilot!Sam doing the same thing.

How dare you show. Now I obviously need to go do some dusting… as my house has suddenly become dusty or my spring allergies are playing up a couple of seasons early...

Other than some lame, eye rolling moments that I’ve covered throughout, I didn’t mind this episode, and I didn’t mind the separation. I’ve said before I don’t mind some brother separation, I like the different dynamics we get to see, but if we get a lot of brother separation again, I will not be such a happy bunny. Don't care about other people’s views on this, but that’s mine. I’m primarily watching for J2′s chemistry and you can’t get that if they aren’t on screen together.

I’m interested so far in where we’re headed which is good. The only thing I’m not interested in which I commented on earlier is the 😴 fest (imo) that appears to be the Dean and Cass falling out that’s still hovering since last season. My main concern right now is that Dean will be made to apologise at some point and placate the wooby angel’s hurt feelings with a soap opera esque dramatic scene (which Dabb will cry while he writes it and' I’ll cry for entirely different reasons while I endure it) . Dean will no doubt declare yet again that Castiel is “brother/family” which will be as meaningless as the other times he’s said it.

I’ve never been here for a storyline less than this one. And that includes Amelia that at least gave us great hair Sam, soft focus Sam, Sam with a dog and jealous!Dean.

I really hope I’m completely wrong and that Dabb won’t throw one of his lead characters under the bus in favour of a side character, but... then I remember it’s Dabb and he has thrown his lead characters under a bus for the sake of side characters.

All this is just my speculation. It may or may not come to pass, but I like to get my concerns down so I can work through them.

#spn critical #spn spoilers #dabbernatural #heavy sigh #i’m kidding about amelia #she is still my most hated storyline #but only just #15.01 #back and to the future #episode recap #episode review

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ftriver · 5 years

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hi beautiful people , i'll be going by tess ( she / her pronouns ) & tbh with you , i'm internally crying from excitement now that i've joined this #lit group . this is my cue to shut up & beg for plots for this headass by the name of river . honestly i'm open minded to anything n' everything involving MESS . please dab on that heart , & i'll for sure pester you in the ims !

⋆ ╰ another year at hollingsworth , another year of the big six rivalry . i hear that ALEXANDER RIVER O’CONNOR is ensuring PI KAPPA EPSILON gets a solid pledge class and stays at the top of the ranks . oh , you’re not familiar with HIM ? RIVER is the HARRY STYLES look alike from TAMPA , FLORIDA . apart of PC ‘16 , he is majoring in ECONOMICS and has plans to MAKE IT BIG IN THE NFL after undergrad . it makes sense they pledged their house , their CHARISMATIC & PERSPICACIOUS attributes make them perfect matches . however , their CHOLERIC & IMPRUDENT attributes keep their name alive on greek rank . if you don’t catch them dancing to HOW I COULD JUST KILL A MAN - RAGE AGAINST THE MACHINE at a fraternity band party this year , you’ll be sure to catch them nursing their morning hangover at PHI GAMMA IOTA . cheers to another wild semester ! trigger warning : alcoholism , drug mention , republicans .

𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐚𝐥 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞 : alexander river o’connor . 𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 : only goes by river . 𝐚𝐠𝐞 : twenty one years . 𝐛𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐝𝐚𝐲 & 𝐳𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐜 : leo sun , aquarius moon , gemini ascendant ! 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐨𝐰𝐧 : tampa , florida . 𝐬𝐞𝐱𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 : swings both ways ( family are unaware ) , & has only been in relationships with girls so far . 𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭𝐲 : painfully caucasian . 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐫𝐤𝐬 & 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐬 : obnoxious laughter , snapbacks , empty beer cans , protein shakes , dust-covered study books , two seasons into spongebob squarepants on netflix , unread message from father , bitten nails , overflown trash cans , used condoms , cupboard full of ramen pots . 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐒 : • the o’connor’s hail from an incredibly political background . river’s grandfather great grandfather were both former mayors , his father is a wealthy senator & his mother a news anchor . river was kind of raised in a family who hold strong christian , conservative values ( republicans , yuck ! ) though his father remarried two times before winding up with river’s mom . needless to say , this clueless boy stuck out like a sore thumb compared to the rest of his full & half - siblings ; who all had fixated dreams & plans from a young age , whether that was delving into medicine , business innovation and even the world of law . • in all honesty , though , let’s not get it twisted ! river was subject to a very privileged childhood . he had everything handed to him on a silver platter until the age of sixteen lmao & that’s when his father was tireless with his efforts to align his political aspirations with river’s future . he made sure that river was a hard working boy with several public sector jobs along with school ( though he really didn’t need the money , it was more-so about enhancing his life-long skills & brushing up on prowess ) , & all throughout high school he still maintained tip top grades . • during high school river was also an active member of his school council , debate team , played lacrosse & football but really fell in love with football more than anything . he dropped the rest of the extracurricular’s towards the end to focus on football , as his coach was a huge positive influence & encouraged him to pursue this lil’ ol ambition ! • so lets skip to college ! river knew by senior year he wanted to get away from his home town and embellish in new surroundings for his college years . as soon as he touched base in georgia he pledged for any fraternity house that would take him in ( pi kappa epsilon , in this case ) & immediately hurled himself into a wild partying lifestyle ( lets get reckless luv ) . alcohol , drugs , sex , you name it . & as of now he is currently playing for the college football team in the pipeline dream hopes of getting scouted lmao , but his father of course pushed him to take on a degree that could be utilised for a political future . he figured economics was perhaps the most ideal course of action to keep his family content . so yeah ! though he comes across really meathead - like & kind of ( ? ) a mess , back home river’s family are on the receiving end of a more polished , cultivated version of their son .

𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐀 :

• okay first thing’s first . river’s a huge shithead but the rare times get him in his philosophical spiels talking about the world’s political state , or rather , america’s political state , he’s far more woke than his family , & actually doesn’t believe in a lot of what his father spews . there have been far too many family dinners where there’s been heated debates between him & his relatives . • as i’ve mentioned before , he’s become a huge party boy , & with this , unfortunately , in the recent year there’s been a slight dependency for the bottle ( jsyk he’s not a raging alcoholic but im js nine times out of ten you’ll find homeboy buzzed ) . river doesn’t think he really has a problem though , & he especially doesn’t think he has a place to really scream “ woe is me “ , if that makes sense ? he’s aware of his privilege & most times when he feels the whole world is piling on top of him , it’s just easier to go out & turn up . he’s stressed a lot of the time , but again , it’s easier to bury this with the company of his friends on some #lets get wrecked boys lmao . also when he goes back home between semesters , he helps with his father’s campaign & the like . there’s responsibilities , he doesn’t get to go back home for a break . you’ll find that he’s a freak of routine & could be drinking and partying until six in the morning but will still wake up at nine to go for his morning run . • an attention - seeking fuckboy , he can very loud and vulgar but is here for a good time not a long time. most of his relationships have either been very on / off or flings that have fizzled out due to the fact he’s a leo & river is too invested in himself to ~ open up ~ emotionally . he’s an athlete so he is very competitive , a sore loser dfjndfj & can have a melodramatic temper both off and on the field !

#rank:intro

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whoacanada · 6 years

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Fic: The One Where Jack’s a Goalie - Part One

Summary: Jack Zimmermann comes out of rehab with a new lease on life and a desperate need to reconnect with the ice. However, he’s unwilling to place himself back in the spotlight so he decides to start his career over and retrain as a goaltender. With less judgment from his peers and little chance of going pro, Jack has a chance to be himself at Samwell, possibly for the first time in his entire life.

Pairing: Zimbits, references to past hookups

“You’re a goalie stuck in a forward’s body, Jack. I hope you never lose that spark.”

Jack remembers being fourteen and horribly offended. All he’d done was get a little excited about how the Royal Canadian Mounted Police transitioned into their modern incarnation. That’s it. He knows deep down his father meant it as a compliment but Jack knows goalies are quirky. Weird. They aren’t playmakers, they can’t be captains, they’re integral, necessary, but they aren’t stars. Jack’s supposed to be a star.

Jack says as much and his father stares him down with one brow arched playfully.

“You’re laying on stereotypes pretty thick, bud. You’re telling me Patrick Roy wasn’t a playmaker? Sawchuck? Hell, I should call Martin and have him come down here himself. Goalies are the glue that keeps a team together, the last line of defense and the most entertaining people you’ll ever meet. Or the biggest bastards. Either way, you remind me of some of the best boys I’ve ever known.”

Bad Bob has made his point but Jack holds fast on his opinion for a long time. Through the Q, even when he’s exhausted and strung out and hating everything around him. He resents goalies on principle: they’re his natural enemy, keeping him from playing his best game. Eventually, he takes that dislike all the way to rehab.

“The professional pipeline discourages individuality in players that are marked for great things,” his therapist prompts. “You aren’t allowed to be an individual. We’ve discussed this before but I don’t think you’ve really examined why you project these judgments. Is it that goalies are ‘weird’, or is it that you resent the fact they aren’t judged as harshly as you were?”

At a Junior World Cup game, an announcer called Jack ‘a hockey-playing robot’ and the nickname stuck. It wasn’t long before scouts, news article, and people on the street he didn’t even know started calling him a ‘robot’ like it was a compliment.

Goalies are weird. Quirky. Goalies can love history and old movies. Goalies can sing to Toto during timeouts. Goalies can be anxious. Goalies can have tantrums and yell and they don’t have to be perfect all the time. Goalies aren’t robots, they’re people.

Jack doesn’t cry during that particular session but it’s a near thing.

He comes home from therapy and starts researching how common it is to switch positions and still be a decent player. There isn’t much to work with but Jack has plenty of time and energy to spare. He isn’t planning on going pro, he just wants to play. He wants to have fun.

So, one night Bob makes him a dinner and Jack downs half a steak half before saying, “I think I want to be a goalie.”

Bob Zimmermann cuts an impressive figure, even sporting his ‘Check the Cook’ apron. He’s a little older, little grayer, more than a few of the lines around his eyes are Jack’s fault, but for all of Jack’s internalized fears of failure, perpetuated largely by growing up in the shadow of a legend, the man has always been a dedicated father. Jack’s overdose only proved it.

“You want to be a goalie?” Bob asks from across the kitchen, waving his spatula to mime what Jack thinks is supposed to be a mitt. “Goalie-goalie?”

“I think I’d like to play hockey again. Reset and start over. I can do that as a goalie. No pressure to be…well, me.”

His father contemplates him for a moment before grabbing an avocado from the bowl near the coffee machine and chucking it at Jack’s head; he barely dodges it when his mother yells, “Jesus, Bob!”

“I’m not a goalie yet,” Jack shouts, turning around to look at the dented avocado resting on the floor.

“Clearly,” Bob sighs and, to his credit, apologizes for throwing the fruit before asking, “You still want to learn to be a goalie?”

“If I say yes will you throw an orange at me?”

Jack fights the urge to retreat to his room when his father pulls out the chair beside him and sets a notepad down beside Jack’s half-finished plate, ‘To Do’ scrawled messily at the top, and directly below that, ‘new goalie pads’

“No, I was thinking about shooting some pucks at you, which might actually be worse. Let’s start with this.”

Like most things, it takes time. Jack starts developing a different set of muscles, does the same training exercises his pint-sized pee-wee goalies practice religiously. For months the Zimmermann’s entertain a steady stream of hockey legends bribed with beer and good company to help Jack practice his puck-stopping skills.

Never let it be said that Jack Zimmermann half asses anything.

He goes to therapy. Keeps a journal. Does breathing exercises and forces himself to be honest about the things he enjoys. When he wants to make a joke, he jokes. He chirps. With no chance of going pro, there’s no pressure to hide. Well, less pressure. He doesn’t want to accidentally out Kent, but if a cute boy smiles at him, he’s smiling right back.

Jack’s goalie pads might as well be a suit of armor. His pee-wee kids are in awe. His beer-league teammates are terrified. Eventually, his skill sets overlap and he’s not just a big fish in a small pond, he’s a shark; going crazy sitting around all day doing nothing but read and train. He needs something bigger, a challenge.

(His mother says he needs a boyfriend, but that’s debatable.)

When Jack decides he wants to go to school, Alicia’s alma mater of Samwell is a foregone conclusion. However, like most things regarding Jack, his reputation precedes him. When he goes to meet with the Dean regarding his slightly unorthodox admission, they find the head coach of the men’s hockey team has been invited to meet them as well.

“Jack’s not here to play hockey,” Bob says immediately, in lieu of a proper greeting, already tense. “He’s here to be a student.”

“Maybe not ‘normal’,” Jack amends, leaning against his mother’s side. She giggles behind her hand but composes herself quickly.

Hall, the newly appointed Men’s Hockey coach launches into his proposal emphatically, talking about the school’s repeated playoff berths and building the entire program around Jack. Bob is red-faced and looks like he’s about to flip a desk but Jack reaches over to rest a hand on his father’s arm to steady him.

“It’s okay. I think I’d like to do it,” Jack’s parents both turn to him in surprise. “Under one condition.”

“Anything you need,” Hall says quickly, unable to hide his excitement.

“I want to be brought in as a goalie.”

Hall’s smile falters.

“What?”

“I’m not a forward, anymore. I can understand if you aren’t looking for a —”

“No! No, um, we only have one goalie right now, I’m sure we can bring you in under Johnson until we see how you perform.”

A tentative verbal agreement is struck, hands are shaken, and Jack’s brimming with excitement he knows he can’t share just yet.

“Are you sure this is what you want?” His mother asks when they clear reception, wary of listening ears. “This wasn’t the plan, you don’t have to play if you don’t absolutely want to.”

Jack almost doesn’t answer, distracted by a flier tacked to a student notice board announcing an end of semester bonfire. He doesn’t miss the pride flag stamped in the corner and neither do his parents.

“One in four, maybe more,” Alicia teases softly, not for the first time since they’ve arrived.

“I know,” Jack glosses. “I still love hockey, if I’m terrible at it, no harm no foul.”

His father is less certain, a frown tugging at his lips as he guides them both toward the door.

“This is a Division 1 school, Jack. A degree is one thing, being a full-time college athlete is another. You’ll have eyes on you again.” Bob nods to the flier. “I just want to be sure you aren’t overextending yourself before you’ve even started.”

There are kids playing ultimate frisbee on the quad; beyond them, Jack can see a group of runners disappearing behind the science building. The sun is shining, the trees are in full bloom, and Jack desperately wants to be a part of something normal.

“If it’s too much, I’ll quit,” Jack promises, keeping stride with his parents as they head to the rental car. “Can’t hurt to try.”

(Two Years Later)

Johnson slaps Jack’s ass and says, “Look out, your timeline’s about to jack-knife.”

“You say that every week,” Jack settles into the crease and wiggles his hips, ready for the new frogs to show their stuff. “Still don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, bud.”

There’s a hell of a freshman class this year, a lot of potential, a lot of risk, and the A on Jack’s sweater means he gets a chance to help mold the team into something great. He’s excited. He’s nervous.

“Don’t need to be the best,”Jack whispers to himself, watching Holster razz a small winger. “Only good and kind.”

The first issue of the season presents almost immediately. The short frog can’t take a check and goes down so hard it’s painful to watch. Jack doesn’t leave the net, lets Johnson investigate since he’s closer, but he watches like a hawk, trying to figure out what the issue is without engaging.

Hall said the kid used to be a figure skater, so clearly he isn’t used to contact, but he’s made it this far so he has promise. Everyone has promise and Jack feels a weird camaraderie: change is hard, he should know.

Eventually, they slide the kid to Jack’s side of the rink and Jack finds himself staring down a set of bright brown eyes reddened by shame.

“Bittle. C’mere.”

“Jack, right?” His accent catches Jack off guard in the best way.

“So I’m told. Stand still,” Jack kicks off a little and slides into Bittle’s space at a glacial pace, slow enough Bittle has time to back up a few inches.

“What are you doing?”

“Checking you. You know ‘bunny slopes’, eh?” Jack realizes he needs to explain himself. He’s thinking about kids learning to ski on beginner courses and hooks his stick around Bittle’s leg to drag him forward so he bumps against Jack’s pads. “Bunny checks. Lapin check.”

“Are you making fun of me?” Bittle pushes back and frowns, hurt. “I know it’s stupid —”

“No, non,” Jack pushes his mask up and turns to set his stick up on the net. “Checking is hard, you need to start small.”

“Wait,” Bittle’s expression changes from wounded to confused. “You’re actually trying to help?”

From across the rink, Jack can see Murray watching them both with the same cautious optimism he showed after they awarded Jack the A.

“Hall said you used to figure skate,” Jack says, nudging Bittle’s skate with his stick. “It’s hard adjusting to a different playing style, don’t let it get you down.”

“I played hockey in high school,” Bittle defends lamely, letting Jack maneuver him toward the bench.

“So did I,” Jack jokes, though Bittle doesn’t seem to find the same humor.

“Zimmermann! Give us back the frog!”

“Take it easy,” Jack orders, patting Bittle’s helmet awkwardly. “Keep your head up.”

Bittle offers a wary ‘thanks’ and heads back to the frog huddle while Shitty whips around to steal Jack’s water bottle.

“Think you spooked him trying to be all maternal. Trying to make that frog your new pet project? Gonna fix him up nice and pretty for the ball? Rescue him from a tower?”

“Maybe. Stop mixing metaphors. No one that fast should seize up so quick.”

“Well someone needs to do something or he’s going to get bust down real fucking fast —” Shitty stops and gives Jack a hairy eye. “You got the look, brah. Crazy eyes. It’s too early in the season for that thousand-yard-stare.”

Jack smacks Shitty with his stick, mind already a million miles away. He needs to make a few calls, confer with his father, but he thinks he can sort Bittle out in a few weeks with some dedicated attention. He tells Hall and Murray as much.

“You’ve got more experience than anyone else on this team, if you think you can help, by all means,” Murray tells him, giving the program’s blessing.

It takes Jack half a day to plan out a schedule, a timeline of exercises before he realizes he hasn’t actually spoken to Bittle about the extra practices. Or anything at all beyond their initial interaction.

“Bro, you went crazy internal,” Ransom points out at dinner that evening. “Your psychology notes are a mess, looked like you were comparing stats.”

“I was…busy,” Jack defends, casually sliding a hand over his ‘notes’.

“Jackabelle, here,” Shitty slaps his tray down beside Jack and shakes him with a one-armed hug. “Is going to fix whatever’s fucking with Bittle. Operation: S.O.B.: Save-Our-Bittle.”

“Ha,” Jack scribbles a reminder to talk to Bittle in the morning. “Like Arrested Development.”

That night, Jack lies awake listening to the boys roughhouse upstairs, trying to figure out how he’ll broach the subject of extra training.

He can fix this. He can fix Bittle.

The next morning at team breakfast, Bittle settles in across from Jack, a little to the left of Jack’s empty coffee cup. His plate is loaded with breakfast potatoes, Texas toast, and a few scant pieces of turkey bacon. It’s unbalanced for a preseason meal, but nothing that can’t be remedied so Jack rolls two hard boiled eggs from his plate onto Bittle’s; the frog will need the energy if they’re going to train together.

“Bittle.”

The kid blinks up, surprised.

“You need to eat more protein.”

#zimbits #check please #omgcp #omgcheckplease #jack zimmermann #eric bittle #the one where Jack's a goalie #and since he's not planning on going pro #he's just going to live his life #and fall in love with cute boys #I know the formatting is jacked I can't fix it #it's fine on my blog #but not on the feed and I'm sorry #please be an april fools glitch #this is going to drive me insane #AND YEaH I STOLE THE GOOD AND KIND LINE FROM THE DOG CARTOON #FIGHT ME #my stuff #my fic

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frederator-studios · 6 years

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Amanda McCann: The Frederator Interview

You can tell by talking with her that Amanda McCann is good at her job. ‘Cause it feels good to talk with her! And in a big way, Amanda’s job involves a lot of making people feel good: about the work they’re doing; the show they're making; and themselves. As Line Producer on Costume Quest, Amanda is a leader among the unspoken heroes of any animated TV show: the production crew. She gives awesome insight here, for anyone interested in producing, voice acting, writing... actually, as it turns out, Amanda’s good at A LOT of jobs.

Did you always want to work in animation?

I wanted to be an actress! Starting in high school, I studied improv comedy at ComedySportz. I joined their college team and eventually their main stage. After graduating with a degree in Theater, I performed and taught high schoolers there. And I was working at a restaurant - as you do in LA. Finally I had a heart to heart with myself, like “Do I really want to act?” It’s so competitive, and like having a job interview every day. I had friends 10 years older still working it, working hard at it. And I didn’t know if it was for me, because I value stability - a paycheck, insurance, benefits. It was hard to picture myself not having that.

The grips of an existential crisis. What’d you do?

I asked myself, if not acting, what do I want to do? What makes me happy? And that’s cartoons! I’ve always loved cartoons. And yes, as an actor, ideally I wanted to do voice over. But I knew how competitive that was. I also had a writing background - I wrote for The Simpsons comic books for a while - but writing: same deal. So I was looking for the way that people got into animation when they weren’t artists and didn’t have an “in” as an actor or writer - and I discovered production. This whole other side to cartoon-making, and the path to producing. That’s where I wanted to be: making cartoons for a living.

That’s awesome. So you found a job in the industry?

Yup, about 9 years ago I put it out into the universe. I asked if anyone had a connection to an animation studio, and luckily a family friend did. I got a job as a receptionist at WildBrain; at the time they were moving studios from San Francisco to LA. Yo Gabba Gabba! for Nickelodeon was the big property they owned, and they were working on a number of projects for Mattel, as well as producing an animated podcast, The Ricky Gervais Show, for HBO. So I started there and made it very known that I was interested in moving up—I was a bit older than most receptionists (laughs). I put that out there, and within 2 months I was a PA on The Ricky Gervais Show. I’ve been bouncing from job to job in production ever since.

What a journey! And animation was the right fit like you thought?

It immediately felt like a good fit. Animation people are my people. The animation and comedy worlds are very similar and there’s a lot of crossover, so it was a natural transition for me. I love being on a crew. Working with people, and artists - I admire artists so much, because I’m not one, at least in terms of drawing. So people with artistic talents are incredible to me - they’re like unicorns. And actually, by way of working in production, I’ve gotten to live my other dreams! I’ve been doing professional voice-over, for Costume Quest, The Loud House and others. I was just forced to join SAG-AFTRA. I booked enough jobs that I became a ‘must-join’! And I’ve gotten to write for animation too; I wrote a few episodes of Monster High for Mattel and an episode of Ask the Storybots for Jib Jab and Netflix.

(Amanda and her pooch Dobby, by storyboard revisionist Serena Wu)

Wow - so ‘taking a day job’ brought you all these creative opportunities?

Yeah! Sort of through the backdoor, I was able to put it out there that I had these other talents, and get hired for them. I get to tackle it all, which I’ve always loved—being a renaissance woman. Especially since working in production is creative solutions, but it’s not exactly creative. It’s paperwork and hiring and pipelines and schedules and budgets. So being around the creative is really exciting for me, and then also being able to participate through VO and writing at certain points.

That’s amazing. So would your advice to people be, ‘just get in the door?’

Just be there! If you’re at the right place, you’re more likely to be there at the right time. To people looking to break into animation, I always say, “Take anything”. Any opportunity that comes your way, jump in and do your best. I was overqualified to be a receptionist, but I knew that was the step I had to take to launch my career in animation. I know people who started at Nickelodeon in the mailroom and became writers on Spongebob. Stuff like that happens all the time! It’s all about timing. But you also have to hustle in your own way. You have to make people aware of what your interests and goals are.

How do you recommend people put themselves out there? It’s really hard for a lot of people! Especially of the introverted variety.

It is! But I think just doing your best, working hard, and proving that you’re capable is huge. As well as treating everyone equally and with kindness, regardless of their position. You want to be the person that you would want to work with, and people will want to work with you! So start by focusing on the job at hand and executing it as well as you can. At the same time, be vocal about your goals. There’s a finesse to it. You don’t walk around with a sign around your neck that says, “I actually want to be a writer”. Just when an opportunity arises, put yourself up for it. And it’s okay to ask people in the job you want out to lunch or coffee, to pick their brains! I find that people are pretty receptive when you put yourself out there. The last thing that I always say: find your people. This is a big industry, and you can always find people you’ll gel with better. The people you gel with best will be the best advocates for you, propelling you forward. So if you feel unsupported where you are, then move, move on, keep going! I think people get stuck in a rut, or feel obligated to one place. But trust your instincts - if it doesn’t feel right then it’s not. If you move on, you might shine. I’ve seen that happen so many times, where someone makes a lateral move and finds their niche of support. When people become too complacent, I think it stifles them.

What was your path after WildBrain?

I’ve worked with 7 studios: WildBrain, Hasbro, Mattel, Oddbot, Jib Jab, Nickelodeon, and Frederator. Which is great because I have connections at all these places - and people move all the time, or companies get absorbed, so your connection at one studio might move to another. I’ve also been lucky to have pretty long stints at places - jobs that have lasted a lot longer than most production gigs do. Because being tied to a production, whenever the season ends, you’re done. The production crew, though, is the first on and the last off.

How about responsibilities in production - what’s different between being a line producer vs. a production manager, say?

It’s crazy, because every studio’s pipeline is different. Every production’s pipeline is different! But the biggest differences are in level of responsibility over the production overall. As a manager, you don’t have as much say over final decisions; whereas being a producer, you’re often giving the stamp of approval. I once had it broken down really well for me: PA is day to day; coordinator is week to week; manager is month to month; producer is year to year. And that’s how the tasks are viewed. PAs do a lot of daily tasks: copying, scanning, stamping, filing. Coordinators do a lot of shipments that are over a week. Managers look at schedules ahead of time to plan out needs along the way. And producers lay it out as a whole, to see where start to finish lies. The roles blend, a lot of the time, especially manager and producer. The production crew adapts to the needs of each show.

What are the most important qualities of those who do well in production?

Communication skills. That sounds basic, but really - if artists were able to organize all of their stuff and communicate effectively to everybody, we wouldn’t have jobs! Being personable - we’re the deadline keepers, the schedule pushers. It’s like trying to be the cool dungeon master. We have to pull things away from artists who just want to make them beautiful! So I like hiring people for production who have creative backgrounds, because I think they empathize better with artists. It is a lot to ask someone to produce something beautiful and artistic and creative within THIS strict timeline. Taking initiative; I’m not a micro-manager. If I hire you and tell you the things I want you to take care of, I won’t check up on you—I’ll assume you’re doing your job. On top of that, people who collaborate. Voice concerns; pitch me solutions to problems. I’m looking down the road, so I can’t see everything on the day to day. I need people who take the initiative and tell me what’s up. You have to be organized; basic, again, but crucial. We’re working on a bunch of episodes at all different stages: animatic, storyboard, designs, shipping. Your head will explode if you’re not a little OCD about how things are organized and prioritized - and labelled! Asking questions is important: I’d rather you ask me than do it wrong and make things harder for you. There’s no shame in getting help and being mentored! But there’s also no shame in failing. I learn so much from messing up, because it’s like, “Welp! I don’t want to do that ever again.” And coming from the comedy world, especially improv, you fail a ton. I grew up learning how to fail, and I think it’s been critical in letting me progress and grow as a leader and person.

Do you still do improv and comedy?

I do! I’m still with ComedySportz, but I’m not as active. Mostly, I’m applying those improv skills to voice over. I’m auditioning a bunch, and I did some voices on Costume Quest. I was production manager on an upcoming Nickelodeon show, Glitchtechs, and I also have a voice in that when it comes out!

(Denise, one of Amanda’s voices on Costume Quest!)

That’s so cool. What's your advice to people who want to get into VO?

Classes, classes, classes. You get to know your tool and what you’re capable of. There are resources online, some YouTube channels about VO. But classes are where you really grow, because like anything, it’s about repetition. It is very competitive, but I really believe that there’s a part for everyone.

What do you love most about Costume Quest?

I love the collaborative nature of this production. Frederator bought the series to make it, but its original visionary - Tasha Harris, who wrote the Double Fine game - isn’t involved. I’ve never worked on a show before where it wasn’t someone in particular’s baby. Instead, we’ve all adopted it as our baby. And really, we all get a say! As a line producer, generally I wouldn’t get to give comments on material: it’s all about paperwork, pipeline and budget. But the showrunners, Will McRobb, Bryan Caselli, and Nick Bachman have been so gracious in letting me give notes on storyboards and animatics. I go to every voice recording session and get to try my hand at that stuff. Partly because it’s a Frederator show - a little smaller crew, a more independent company - the show’s been able to give a lot of opportunities to talented, deserving people. For so many of the artists, this is their first show ever, and that’s just so cool. And the show looks incredible. We have an amazing voice cast. Some of the most talented people, between the four kids and all of the adults we’ve peppered in. Of course we’re biased here, but we do think it’s going to be something that kids really enjoy, and hopefully adults too. Plus: I’m a huge Halloween nerd. I always had homemade costumes as a kid because my dad is an artist. He would get really creative.

What was your favorite costume he made you?

One time I was Phantom of the Opera. None of the other kids knew who I was. But I knew.

Do you have a favorite character from Costume Quest?

They’re all really great. But of the four kids, I always go back to Reynold. He’s the voice of reason, and the scaredy cat, which I could relate to as a little kid. I was always the youngest cousin, the one who’d be like, “Maybe we shouldn’t throw rocks at this window? Maybe? No? Ok”. So his sweet-natured cautiousness I relate to. But it’s a package deal, and his sister Wren too… I relate a lot to her determinedness and her no-nonsense attitude. That’s something I admire.

What are your favorite cartoons?

I was a Nickelodeon kid, so I grew up on all those series. Rocko’s Modern Life was one of my favorites. Also The Simpsons, The Critic, and Home Movies. For features, Little Mermaid was my jam - and Lilo & Stitch. And Ranma ½ is an anime that I love. Those are some favorites, but I have so many, it’s hard to keep track!

What are your biggest aspirations, or your biggest dream?

I would love to work in animation features someday. I have a ton of experience in TV, and just to see the other side of it - in voice over and producing - would be great. It’s not like a tomorrow thing, but if an opportunity came down the road, that’d be really cool.

Thanks for the interview Amanda! I’m so excited to see all of your creative paths unfurl. And can’t wait to hear your voice in the ‘toons! ❀

- Cooper

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rottenbrainstuff · 6 years

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I noticed in the tags for one of your posts that you said Canada is heading down the same kind of path the US is. Would you mind explaining that to me? I haven't heard about that kind of thing going on but as someone who's major life goal is to move to Canada to be with her lover this sounds pretty terrifying. No pressure if you don't want to discuss that kind of thing though, I generally use Tumblr as an escape for this kind of shit so I totally understand.

Sure I can explain what I mean.This is long, guys, and I'm on mobile, so I apologize.I mean. First of all. I think I might be exaggerating a bit, our politics are always less extreme than the USA and I think they always will be. Our government is organized differently. But a lot of people, Canadians included, have this idea that Canada is this magic land of polite people and free healthcare and we're so much better than the US, and that's just really honestly not true.And I am getting worried about our political situation.First of all, Canada is not and never has been a magic perfect land where there is no racism and everyone is lovely. Our government has a shameful history dealing with indigenous people. We took entire generations of children away from their families and put them in residential schools and beat their culture out of them. We stuck them onto reserves where the conditions were terrible. There's been a huge problem with native women going missing and the police don't care, they don't devote the resources to investigating. And google starlight tours. That's a fun little thing where cops would grab a drunk native, drive them way the hell out on the highway, and just dump them off in the middle of nowhere, at night, in the winter, to let them find their way back to town in the cold. People have died from that. They deal with a ton of social issues now and there's a lot of racist sentiment against natives and it makes me want to scream, like, do you not understand, we did this to them? We broke their culture and all this shit you're complaining about is the fallout from that.We had Japanese internment camps during WW2 just like the US. After 9/11 we had a sharp increase in anti-Muslim bullshit too. There's rural areas in southern Alberta with "a proudly pro life community" signs stuck along the highway. Our government does stupid shit too. Our education didn't get gutted as bad as in the US, but my province made deep cuts to education funding in the 80s and 90s and TO THIS DAY we're still recovering from that. I just want everyone to forget this notion that we're just so much better here and all this crap can't happen here, and honestly I think it's Canadians ourselves who are the worst for this, because i think it makes us stop examining ourselves and asking questions.Which brings me to...I don't like where I see things headed. Living right next to the US, it's inevitable that we are influenced by what goes on there. I think some Canadians are really shocked by what's happening down there and it's really solidified this sense of "well I don't want THAT to happen HERE!"....But there's other things going on as well. I definitely notice a lot more racist buzz. Familiar members of mine who were just annoyingly conservative before are now blatantly and offensively islamophobic. In my province we recently had someone set fire to a mosque during evening prayer. There's graffiti and hate crimes. I do notice it getting worse.Recently we had a bit of a political shakeup, in that we got rid of Stephen Harper, a conservative premier who had been in office for a while, and elected Trudeau, who is liberal, and... despite what you might think of him, is a charismatic leader. In my province, we've had a conservative provincial government for decades, and we got so sick of it that we voted NDP in the last election, which is a worker's party, essentially, and they raised our goddamned minimum wage.And just like in the US, when you elected Obama after all the grumbling there was about Bush and there was push-back against Obama, there seems to be a conservative push-back to all of this.In Ontario they recently elected an absolute buffoon as premier, Doug Ford, and to be honest he strikes me as Trump Lite. He is related to an absolute fuckhead who used to be a mayor, Rob Ford, and whose "antics" were so ridiculous it got us international attention. Anyway this asshole Doug, he wants to do fun stuff like limit access to abortion, and roll back the minimum wage, and other bullshit like that. I thought he was too ridiculous and extreme to get elected premier, and I was wrong.A year or two ago we had a municipal election in my city, and there was concern that there was a mysterious lobby group that no one knew anything about trying to influence the election. Municipal elections are municipal! There was a gross smear campaign and people even stooped to literally sweeping the city and removing all the signage placed out by one of the candidates. Luckily it turned out the campaign didn't work and the candidates that had been targeted mostly all still won, but like. It was just so chilling to me, in the context of everything else that's been happening lately. I'd never seen anything like that happen in my city before.I hear nothing but articles about what a shitty job Trudeau is doing, first it was he was fucking us over by not pushing through this stupid goddamned pipeline, then it was that he was a liar and a traitor by eventually signing the pipeline, he's corrupt, he's a liar, all this shit. My *liberal* friends are telling me all this stuff. I'm not saying he's perfect. He's not. But here's the thing.There's been reports of concerns of Russian and Chinese involvement with our elections. I take consumer response surveys to earn money. Sometimes the surveys ask about local politics or concerns. Suddenly in the last year, the political surveys are unprofessionally biased and asking me questions about conservative politics. A fun local paper we had was recently bought by someone else and now instead of fun local stories, it's all this urgent scaremongering. FLOOD SEASON! AIRLINE STRIKE DISASTER! CITY HOUSING CRISIS!And I think about how we had the facebook data mining, I think about the Russian Tumblr accounts spreading discord to demoralize left leaning voters, and I'm worried that I'm watching the start of that. It makes me feel extremely uneasy. I think there's something going on.The Conservative party is kind of fumbling around at the moment, and I'm worried there's going to be a massive reorganization, and come next election, we're going to be looking at a racist, religious conservative candidate who wants to privatize our healthcare, limit immigration, reduce abortion access, freeze minimum wages, let oil and gas do whatever the fuck they want, etc etc etc. I'm worried it'll be a scary candidate like we've never seen before.And I'm worried that our next election will be Trudeau VS Trump 2.0, and the left-leaning voters will be split between parties, because these shadowy groups have spent a few years making everyone disagree with each other, and it will be the same thing, the exact same goddamned thing that happened in the US. "But Trudeau is so corrupt...." they'll say, and they'll split the vote, and we'll have some awful, awful shit who wants to ruin everything.Now, that's a pretty alarmist attitude, perhaps. There's certain values and certain rights we have in Canada that we're pretty passionate about, and I don't think politicians would be able to get away with as much bullshit up here as they do down there. But I don't know what's happening any more. I'm not sure of anything. Every time I think "it would never get that bad" or "people would never let that happen" something happens that proves me wrong, so. I honestly don't know. I have a really bad feeling in my gut from the weird things I see happening, I've put two and two together, and I don't like what I see.So I mean. At the end of the day, I don't think things up here will ever be as crazy as things in the US. Our government is organized a little differently, we deal with issues a little differently. But I'm still concerned. I don't like what I see, and these last two years have taught me that human beings are fucking disappointing and we don't fucking learn, from anything.I think Canada is a good place to live, and I think it will probably continue to be a good place to live. (Maybe stay away from Ontario and the prairie provinces though)There's my extremely pessimistic point of view. Probably other Canadians wouldn't tell you this, so maybe take it with a grain of salt. Message me if you have any other questions, I would love to answer them.

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tealandrosegold · 2 years

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November 1, 2021

So I made my choice. I’m going to stay in Nebraska for at least two years while I get my resume built up after graduation. I turn 29 in two weeks and I figured that while life is short, sensibility is often over looked for dreams. I just don’t want to make the same mistakes I made last time. So I decided to move forward with Sherwin Williams. I’m not sure many other places will give me chances given my criminal history. So I’m really hoping to work somewhere other than Nelnet. I know the pipeline for things is usually to go to a big city after graduation but this is an opproutunity and I can’t think of anything else I can do especially since the other alternative is Panera Bread and I’m just trying to get in HR not so much store management. I know I should probably look at HR Assistant jobs but I think once I’m in school, I’ll have a better idea and then I can look elsewhere once I get my mba but Sherwin Williams is a good start.

I also realized that I shouldn’t look at other people’s lives. I know that social media is influencer but I never really thought it would influence me but it does, little by little. I want to go off the grid but everyone else especially Mama and Baba want me to stay connected which is just annoying. One thing I’m going to do after my birthday is set up a dating profile. I know it’s silly but I’ve been alone for so long and I’m stuck at a place where I feel so very vunerable but if I don’t try I can’t stay mad at myself for being single for so long. The hookups don’t last and they just make me think. I’m ready for a connection with someone but I can’t find that from Tinder or facebook dating. I guess it’s just the fact that I’m almost 30 and I still feel so lost like before. I just want to make smart descions and smart moves that way I can sleep at night. The beating of Chicago still rings in the back of my head and I run away to my divination almost always but the here and now is what I need in my life and not the maybes or could haves. I need to take the bull by the horns and just do it. Even if I’m scared. I’m still trying to decide where I want to live after my masters but there’s still some time. I need to figure out how I can live on my own first pay a few bills and then think about relocating. My dream city is Chicago but I have my eyes on California as well. I remember in the hospital I said that I wanted to live in Oregon and that’s still an option. Granted when we went to Washington, I wasn’t really in my right frame of mind. Now that things are on an even flow, I would rather make a smart move. I don’t think I’m going to apply to the NYU program just because I don’t see myself as a teacher. So MBA it is with the next two years and work on my resume. I ready to close all the chapters of the past now and move forward. It still makes me sad but I can’t keep on staying there. It’s too toxic and I can’t recreate my past life no matter how hard I try. It’s been a hell of ride though. I think if I make a few changes here and there I’ll be in a better position than I was when I thought my dreams would come true. Like I said, I can’t keep on coming back there because it’s not giving me anything. Especially since all those memories were warped by drugs and no one really was on my side. I’m ready to start my life again, for my sake.

Namaste

Nyameer

#11/1/21

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careerbitespod · 3 years

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Episode 8 Transcript: (DIGITAL ARTIST) Growing Into Your Career with Kenwood Huh

Rachael Barksdale: Welcome to Career Bites, where we make career exploration easy - and fun! My guest this week is Kenwood Huh, a technical artist at Infuse Medical, a digital production agency. Career-wise, Kenwood is a self-proclaimed generalist - and rightly so. He has experience as a concept artist, character artist - 2D, 3D, you name it he’s probably done it. But as talented and ambitious as he is, Kenwood is not a cutthroat kind of guy. His career journey is best described as organic - a term Kenwood uses to describe his artistic process as well. I think Kenwood’s story is a message of hope for those who feel lost, and for all those creatives looking to find their voice. Here’s Kenwood to share more about what he does.

Kenwood Huh: My job is to take the concept or the storyboard, and make it real. So, when I say make it real, I mean, this is going to be the end product. This is what you’re going to be seeing on the screen. Like for example, in the gaming industry, in the very beginning part of the pipeline you have the concept artists, or the storyboarders, or the writers. A concept artist is, like, a problem solver for the look and feel of the project, whose job is to make it as clear as possible for everyone else in the production pipeline. I mention problem solving as, like, a key phrase because I think a common misconception a lot of student have is that they just want to make things look pretty, but that’s not really the case. It’s like the concept artist’s job is to explore the possibilities that addresses the brief of the project, and ultimately creates a blueprint of the overall aesthetic of the project. A 3D artist will take that blueprint that the concept artist made, and they try to make the design come alive. And that ultimately becomes part of the end product, what you see on the screen. So this is basically what I do, mostly. In my experience I’ve been primarily a 3D artist.

Rachael: That sounds like the more fun part, to be honest.

Kenwood: Yes! Yeah, I think there’s a little bit less stress involved, I think, for 3D artists - in some ways. I think the concept artists, they have a bigger responsibility in some ways.

Rachael: Right, they set the tone for everything so they can’t mess it up.

Kenwood: Yeah, yeah, exactly.

Rachael: What are some of the software, or tools, or skills that you use to accomplish those tasks to bring the art to life?

Kenwood: A common software that we use is called Maya. Maya is a very...you can do a little bit of everything in Maya. It’s a tool where you can model as well as rig and animate. ZBrush is another software that I use. ZBrush is really useful for sculpting organic things, as well as actually hard surface kind of things as well. Those two are the main software that I would say I use on a day-to-day basis.

Rachael: What was that path like for you to become a 3D artist? I guess, kind of, walk us through a little bit about the thought process behind choosing this career path.

Kenwood: This actually happened very organically for me. I wasn’t, like, one of those kids that just grew up and just suddenly thought, “oh yeah, I want to work in animation or work in gaming”. I never thought that way. It just kind of happened through a series of decisions. So for example, I remember when I was, like, 10, my brother got a present from my dad - I think it was, like, a disposable camera. And he didn’t give me one, I don’t know why. But, anyways, I was kind of - I was a little bit envious of him. And I figured, you know what, I don’t have a camera, but I’m going to pretend that I have a camera. So I used to just, kind of, walk around with my hand and kind of pretend like I had this camera. And I would just look at things from, like, a different angle. So - I don’t know - I was probably, like, a crazy kid. Or somebody must have observed that and was like, “what are you doing?” But, I don’t know, I just thought everything had beauty. For some reason I was like, “oh, if I just lie down on the floor and look at this lamp it looks really cool. So I started to, kind of, form that habit of just observing things in general, and just seeing the beauty of everything. Eventually, I got myself a camera and I just started taking pictures of everything and anything. And I think that’s where it really started, where my passion for art really started. So I’m actually, kind of, grateful for that because it helped me to observe things - observe nature - before I just start create things. And I think that’s really important when you’re an artist. After doing that for years, I eventually had a little bit of a career as a photographer in a studio. So I just used to take photos of products and clothing, and things like that. Somewhere along the line I decided to just start drawing things as well. And because I had that background of just observing things and seeing things, it kind of helped me to naturally transition into the field that I am in today.

Rachael: Okay, listeners, so it’s at this point in the conversation that Kenwood and I start talking about his education and realize that the education section of his LinkedIn profile is very misleading. Hilarity ensued, but let’s skip all that and get to the good part. So let’s talk a little bit about some of these, like, education...detours. It seems like it’s a little bit of a windy path to get to that.

Kenwood: Yes.

Rachael: Do you want to just talk a little bit about how that was for you, and how you ultimately ended up with your animation degree?

Kenwood: When I first went into college, my parents were still somewhat hesitant about supporting my art passions, understandably. You know, a lot of people say, like, “you’re never going to get a job as an artist. You’re never going to make a living”. So they kind of wanted me to pursue something more in the science realm. So I ended up studying computer science at first. And I remember my first year, one of the first assignments that we had was to make a little Tetris game. I remember making it, but I also remember making it as pretty as possible. And I remember when the professors are, kind of, looking through all the assignments they were kind of surprised at what I had made because it was a little bit over the top. It was very pretty, very colorful, and I just tried to make it as cool as possible. I think someone mentioned something, that “hey, I think you’re more of an artist than a programmer”. And it resonated with me and I thought that was kind of true. So I decided “maybe - maybe computer science isn’t my thing, maybe I should do something else”. So that’s when I pursued fine arts. I studied fine arts for about two years. I applied for a somewhat prestigious art school. I believe they only picked - I think it was, like, 100 people a year, or something. But I attempted it. I gathered up, like, a portfolio. And at the time, the only real artistic thing that I knew how to do was photography. And I somehow got in. So that was a huge indicator to my parents, that, “ok, maybe this is the path that he should be taking”. And they supported me from that point onwards. Now, one thing that I didn’t really enjoy about being in the fine art field was that I thought it was...confusing. I feel like I might offend a lot of people by saying that about contemporary art. But I felt like whatever I made, it was very subjective. It - it just felt like it wasn’t my thing, for some reason. And I actually decided to drop out of college. Now I remember during my schooling, a - as a fine art student, I - I was very good at what I did. And the things that I tended to gravitate towards was - I used to make these interactive, kind of, installation art. For example I used to take old games - old RPG games or old Nintendo games - and I’ll, kind of, hack it and I’ll create an art piece out of it. And I really enjoyed seeing the audience’s reaction as they’re playing with these interactive toys that I had created. So I think there was something about that that I really enjoyed, something about me telling some sort of story, or me giving this experience, and then the audience suddenly being enlightened by it. They’re kind of feeling this sense of wonderment by it. That has always, kind of, stuck with me. I think that feeling of giving something to the world, and then having someone experience that and be transformed, I think that’s, like, really cool for me. And after I dropped out of college, I actually thought “maybe I try to just pursue this full time. Maybe I��ll just start creating these little toys”. And that was crazy. I don’t even know why I thought that would work, but, like, at the time, I made a crazy decision to drop everything I had and - in my life in New Zealand - and fly over to America with about 200 dollars in my pocket, and I decided to just do something, to pursue my dream or something. It was very ambiguous at the time.

Rachael: Oh my gosh - how old were you?

Kenwood: I think I was about 23. I think? 22 or 23.

Rachael: Oh my goodness, that was so brave. And so dumb!

Kenwood: It was really dumb! I had no money and I was like, “yeah, I’m going to live the American Dream with this little skill that I have now”. I think I spent another three, four years just being outside of college. Actually, like - ugh - a lot of unfortunate things happened during that time. We had some family-related issues. And it was really devastating, actually. So during that time I think I was very much lost in my direction, and I didn’t really know what I really wanted to do. After about three to four years of struggling like that, eventually there came a point where I had an opportunity to start living a normal life again. I had grown up a little bit, and I decided “let’s try this”. You know, I was playing with - before I left college, I remembered I was making those little toys that I made out of old video games. So I decided, “why don’t I try studying animation and game development?” So that’s what I did. I took a survey of animation class, which is basically, like, a filtering class. That’s where you get a little taste of what animation is like, but it’s also a class where they, kind of, filter people out. If you’re not good enough, you’re just not going to make it, you’re not going to get in. I remember taking that class and I was feeling quite overwhelmed, to be honest. Like I said, I never really had a dream to do that as a child. So I always felt like, when I was there, like everybody else was, kind of, ahead of me. And in a way, that was true because the first time I took that class, I actually didn’t get in. I thought “maybe - maybe this isn’t it”. But I didn’t really know what else to do, so I just tried it again next semester. And on - on the next semester, thankfully, I somehow was able to get in. After going through that program, I found out that there were some things that I was, kind of, naturally talented at. So I just kept pursuing those skills, and it’s paid off in the end.

Rachael: Well it - it looks like you won a college television emmy award?

Kenwood: Yes, that is true, yes.

Rachael: Oh, oh cool! For what kind of project?

Kenwood: It was for a final capstone animation project. It’s a short film that we do as a group. There’s a little story about that actually. Before I had applied to UVU, BYU had originally offered me a talent scholarship. But they ended up rejecting me. It was just something stupid to do with - I think because I was, like, a transfer student or something, and I had too many credits. So BYU’s kind of known for receiving a college emmy award every year. And that was, like, the first year that UVU had won something, and BYU didn’t win that award. So…

Rachael: Oh my goodness…

Kenwood: So it was kind of like, “okay, you guys rejected me, and look what happened”. But by the end of the day, that told me that it wasn’t the school - it’s not the school that does it, you know? It’s - it’s the individuals and the group that really creates the product.

Rachael: Well that’s an excellent point - I think a lot of people would look at BYU’s track record with that award and say “oh, well, they have an amazing program”, but I think it’s more “they know how to pick talent and they can attract talent”. Just like they wanted you to be at their school, but because of their - their red tape, or their guidelines, or whatever, they couldn’t technically bring you on, so…

Kenwood: Yeah.

Rachael: Sucks to be them!

Kenwood: Yep!

Rachael: I don’t remember if we recorded this part, when you talked about some of the projects that you worked on, but give us just a little bit of a history of what different projects and companies you’ve worked for - because you’ve, kind of, run the gambit of different types of animation. And then, maybe do you have a favorite one that you’ve done or are currently doing?

Kenwood: So I started my career as an intern at a local VFX company. They owned 50 percent of this one original Stan Lee I.P. They wanted to make, like, a video game for it. I worked on that as a concept artist as well as a 3D modeler. And eventually that VFX company partnered with this other company, and it was, like, a start-up animation company. And eventually I was brought on to that as an art director. Something that’s bound to happen sometimes for a lot of artists going into this field, is that sometimes projects don’t always turn out the way you want it. It could be due to reasons like funding, or just poor management, or something. Unfortunately for me, I kind of started my career that way. And e- even though it was a great experience - I got to work with a lot of big names like John Rhys Davies and Larry King, they were voice actors for the animation that we were doing - that project, unfortunately, never came to fruition. But I am still proud of the work that we did because I thought it was really great, really ambitious, and the environments and the characters that we had made was really amazing. And ultimately that helped me to build a portfolio to have other jobs as well. So I went from that to eventually working for WB Games at Warner Brothers. I worked there as a character artist and we worked on Hogwarts Legacy, which is yet to be out. And I am still very proud of that project, even though it’s not completely out yet, but I am still very proud of what we’ve been able to make so far.

Rachael: Talk to us a little bit about what you’re currently doing and the role of a technical artist.

Kenwood: You could also say that I’m a bit of a generalist, meaning that I do a little bit of everything in the pipeline. So working in the medical industry, right now, I wear a lot of hats. But the thing that I love about that is that I get a little bit more sense of ownership. For example, when I was working for a bigger company, like WB, you really just have one role as a character artist. And even as a character artist, your contribution is still somewhat limited because there’s multiple character artists, and everybody has, like, a set role. So, it’s cool to be part of, like, a big project like that. You know, you’re doing something that’s bigger than yourself. But I guess currently where I’m at I get to make pretty much everything from start to finish. So what you see on the screen - you know, all the animation, and the modeling, and the texture, and the lighting - you get to do all of that. So I think it’s a really great job to, kind of, make sure that you don’t go rusty, and you have a little bit more say, I guess.

Rachael: What would you say is probably the most difficult part about being an artist, and maybe the types of companies or projects that are the most demanding?

Kenwood: I think one of the biggest challenges comes down to communication, because, for example, as a concept artist you have to be very clear about your design, otherwise you have to keep going back and forth with the 3D artists. And I think it’s the same for the 3D artists and how we interpret a design as well. So sometimes that can be pretty challenging. And I think, also, another aspect that maybe people don’t touch on too much is making sure that you’re just not overdoing it. I think sometimes, as creatives, it is important to also do work that is outside of work to make sure that you’re keeping that passion alive. But sometimes, because it is in a work setting, you can let that stress ruin that passion if you’re not careful. So I think managing that stress is also pretty challenging.

Rachael: Right, you were saying 60, 70 hours work weeks when you were working at WB Games sometimes?

Kenwood: Yeah, right. When I was there, I went through several crunch times and, you know, you’re there pretty much all day until the job is done. These are the things that maybe a lot of students might not be aware of, but it does exist. Still, I wouldn’t let that ever be, like, an obstacle if that is your dream, you know? It’s still amazing to be part of something like that. And to me, working on the Harry Potter I.P. was a dream of mine. And that was a dream fulfilled, just being there, and I still enjoyed every moment of it. And I learned a lot from it too.

Rachael: Speaking of things that you enjoy, you mentioned that it’s important for artists to work on their own projects and keep the passion for what they do alive outside of work, so talk a little bit about what goals you have for your own personal artwork.

Kenwood: Like I said earlier on, I like to let things happen somewhat organically. I don’t like to force things to happen. And my entire journey as an artist has been that way. Like, I never chose to be in this field. I kind of did, but in a way I didn’t. Like, there was a lot of influences that, kind of, led me to those decisions. So I kind of apply the same concept to my own projects, that I do kind of like to let it happen organically. And in a way it’s like a reflection of who I am. I don’t always like to talk about it too much just because - maybe I’m a little bit weird but I treat it as, like, a sacred thing. It’s almost like a journal for me. And I think maybe one day I will, like, publish whatever it is that I’m working on. But, personally, like, I just try to use that to drive me to become a better artist.

Rachael: Okay, so for all of those young artists out there, what would be your one piece of advice for navigating the art world and just growing up in general?

Kenwood: What do you want to say? You know? What kind of legacy are you leaving? Like, is your art just pretty for the sake of being pretty, or is it saying more? I think everyone wants to say more. I feel like too many people just, kind of, go into this career thinking that you’ll have this title. It’s like, “oh, I’m a 3D artist” or “I’m a concept artist”. But I think that’s very shallow and it’s really meaningful in some ways. By the end of the day, I think, you study so hard, you work so hard to obtain those skills, and I think one of the most powerful things that you can do with those skills is to be yourself and express yourself. So I think that’s why I was saying that you’ve got to be careful of burnout, and that you should continue to keep that passion alive, because you went into this for a reason, and I think by the end of the day you want to tell a story. You want to say something. In turn, this can help people to be inspired. Or, you know, like when you watch a really good movie, or a really great story, it can transform you, you know? It can help you to have that sense of wonderment and it can help you to escape the craziness and the harshness of life. So I think art does a lot more than just entertain. It can also transform. So, you know, keep that in mind, I think, as you pursue this career. Keep in mind that you can do a lot more than just paint pretty pictures.

Rachael: That was Kenwood Huh, technical artist. Kenwood’s latest big-name project, WB Games’ Hogwarts Legacy, isn’t scheduled to debut until 2022, but check out the trailer by visiting our show notes. Subscribe to and rate Career Bites on your favorite listening platform. Follow us on Instagram and Facebook @careerbitespod. Join us next Monday as we sample another career with an everyday professional.

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