#those plays had an incredible impact on me and stand as some of the finest single dramas ever produced in the UK. all concerning schooling

[louisupdates]

MY FOOTBALL

The One Direction star has two principal loves: Ronaldinho and James Coppinger

FOUR FOUR TWO, MARCH 2023 (by PAUL WILKES)

Which was the first match that you ever went to?

I actually got into football quite late, when I started playing at around 11. There were a few Manchester United fans in the family, so the first match I ever went to was an unbelievable first game: the FA Cup fifth round tie against Arsenal in February 2003 - the match when Sir Alex Ferguson kicked the boot and hit David Beckham! My best memories come from Doncaster, who are the only club I support now. We had a fantastic League Cup run in 2005 - we beat Manchester City on penalties, then beat Aston Villa 3-0 and lost to Arsenal on penalties in the quarter-finals. That was my first real low as a football fan. I can remember walking back home absolutely gutted.

Who was your childhood hero and did you ever meet them?

James Coppinger is my club hero - he played at every level and really played for the badge. Everyone in Donny loves him and he’s a great bloke too. After I got into One Direction, I was lucky to meet him and played alongside him a couple of times in charity games. As a fan growing up watching him, that was amazing l. The best person I’ve ever met in football was Pele. I met him about four or five years ago and it was incredible - he had all these stories and we spoke for ages. He was lovely.

What has been your finest moment playing football?

I played in Soccer Aid and Ronaldinho tried to nutmeg me. I was all over his shirt, giving him no respect, and I just managed to nick the ball off him! There's a sick picture that I've seen of it.

The other moment was when I was about 15. I started as a centre-back, but didn’t grow any taller so moved across to right-back, and scored the only Sunday League goal I ever scored. I’ll never forget it.

What do you like most about going to the match?

The whole atmosphere, that magic. When you have those experiences as a young lad, there’s an element of nostalgia each time you go into a football stadium.

Which players do you admire even though they’ve never played for your club?

As some of my family supported Manchester United, I was never allowed to like Thierry Henry, but those grudge matches against Arsenal were amazing. He was a serious player.

Where’s the best place you’ve ever watched a game?

The Bernabeu - it was Neymar’s first ever Clasico for Barcelona against Real Madrid, which is pretty special. It’s one of the bucket list fixtures to go to. When I was young, Doncaster signed me as a reserve player and I went to a pre-season training camp in Portugal. As a supporter of the club, that’s not something you’re normally privy to, so watching how the squad trained and prepared was fascinating.

A few years ago, you filmed a music video with Bebe Rexha on the pitch at Keepmoat Stadium. What was that like?

It was really important for me and my career. The reason I’m sat here today is because of Doncaster - it’s played a huge role. It’s who I am as a person and it’s what I write songs about. The fact that we were able to film the video at the Keepmoat, where I’ve spent many days and evenings, made it so special. It felt appropriate.

What’s your favourite football book?

It’s not a book, but FourFourTwo! I used to subscribe when I was younger. I’m not a big reader otherwise. I should be, but I’m not.

What’s been your worst experience at a game?

I was playing in a charity match at Celtic Park. I got the ball and turned to my right, then Gobby Agbonkhor come through the back of me and I tore my medial ligament. A combination of the impact and me being very unfit meant I ended up throwing up all over Celtic's stodium, which I know will please a lot of Rangers supporters.

Have any footballers been to a gig?

Paul Pogba came to a One Direction show once, that's the one that stands out - he was really sound. I won’t lie, I don’t think many footballers listen to One Direction songs.

What’s the strangest place you’ve ever met a footballer?

I was in this bar in South America and, purely by chance, Bryan Robson was there with a few friends. He was a bit drunk. We went straight over and he was nice, but it was one of those times where you think, “What is he doing here?!” [Laughs]

What’s the greatest goal you’ve ever seen live?

I was at Zlatan Ibrahimovic's debut for the LA Galaxy, because I spend some time over in Los Angeles. The LAFC keeper launched the ball upfield and it was cleared back to Zlatan about forty yards out. He watched it bounce and then smashed it over the keeper’s head - an unbelievable goal. I love him - I like a bit of s**thousery in my footballers, and he's always had that.

Who’s your current favourite player?

The obvious answer is Erling Haaland, because any fan seeing him rack up the goals this season has been totally in awe. Even if you support Manchester United, you watch him and think he's superb. But for me, Jude Bellingham. I’m so excited by Jude - he's been in brilliant form this season, even before the World Cup.

If you could drop yourself into your all-time five-a-side team, who would you be playing next to?

Well, I play at the back, so I want me and Rio Ferdinand. I'd pick Edwin van der Sar, he was a top keeper in his day, then in midfield I'd have Ronaldinho - I grew up loving his football. Up front, I'll go for Cristiano Ronaldo.

What’s the most important piece of memorabilia that you have?

I had a Doncaster home shirt as a kid that I associate with growing up. A few years ago, I bought the same shirt in my current size - it's special to me, and when I met Pele I asked him to sign it. That was the pinnacle.

[Thanks to TeamLouisMedia for the HD photo.]

links to fourfourtwouk’s posts about Louis on Twitter and Instagram

#four four two #louis tomlinson #louis press #fourfourtwo #transcript #transcription #2 february 2023

[dreamings-free]

interview with Louis in the March issue of FourFourTwo magazine 2/2/23

full text under the cut..

by Paul Wilkes

Which was the first match that you ever went to?

I actually got into football quite late, when I started playing at around 11. There were a few Manchester United fans in the family, so the first match I ever went to was an unbelievable first game: the FA Cup fifth round tie against Arsenal in February 2003 – the match when Sir Alex Ferguson kicked the boot and hit David Beckham! My best memories come from Doncaster, who are the only club I support now. We had a fantastic League Cup run in 2005 – we beat Manchester City on penalties, then beat Aston Villa 3-0 and lost to Arsenal on penalties in the quarter-finals. That was my first real low as a football fan. I can remember walking back home absolutely gutted.

Who was your childhood hero and did you ever meet them?

James Coppinger is my club hero – he played at every level and really played for the badge. Everyone in Donny loves him and he’s a great bloke, too. After I got into One Direction, I was lucky to meet him and play alongside him a couple of times in charity games. As a fan growing up watching him, that was amazing. The best person I’ve ever met in football was Pele. I met him about four or five years ago and it was incredible – he had all these stories and we spoke for ages. He was lovely.

What’s been your finest moment playing football?

I played in Soccer Aid and Ronaldinho tried to nutmeg me. I was all over his shirt, giving him no respect, and I just managed to nick the ball off him! There’s a sick picture that I’ve seen of it [right]. The other moment was when I was about 15. I started as a centre-back, but didn’t grow any taller so moved across to right-back and scored the only Sunday League goal I ever scored. I’ll never forget it.

What do you like most about going to the match?

The whole atmosphere, that magic. When you have those experiences as a young lad, there’s an element of nostalgia each time you go inside a football stadium.

Which player do you admire even though they’ve never played for your club?

As some of my family supported Manchester United, I was never allowed to like Thierry Henry, but those grudge matches against Arsenal were amazing. He was a serious player.

Where’s the best place you’ve ever watched a game?

The Bernabeu – it was Neymar’s first ever Clasico for Barcelona against Real Madrid, which was pretty special. It’s one of the bucket list fixtures to go to. When I was young, Doncaster signed me as a reserve player and I went to a pre-season training camp in Portugal. As a supporter of the club, that’s not something you’re normally privy to, so watching how the squad trained and prepared was fascinating.

A few years ago, you filmed a music video with Bebe Rexha on the pitch at the Keepmoat Stadium. What was that like?

It was really important for me in my career. The reason I’m sat here today is because of Doncaster – it’s played a huge role. It’s who I am as a person and it’s what I write songs about. The fact we were able to film the video at the Keepmoat, where I’ve spent many days and evenings, made it so special. It felt appropriate.

What’s your favourite football book?

It’s not a book, but Fourfourtwo! I used to subscribe when I was younger. I’m not a big reader otherwise. I should be, but I’m not.

What’s been your worst experience at a game?

I was playing in a charity match at Celtic Park. I got the ball and turned to my right, then Gabby Agbonlahor came through the back of me and I tore my medial ligament. A combination of the impact and me being very unfit meant I ended up throwing up all over Celtic’s stadium, which I know will please a lot of Rangers supporters.

Have any footballers been to a gig?

Paul Pogba came to a One Direction show once, that’s the one that stands out – he was really sound. I won’t lie, I don’t think many footballers listen to One Direction songs.

Where’s the strangest place you’ve ever met a footballer?

I was in this bar somewhere in South America and, purely by chance, Bryan Robson was there with a few friends. He was a bit drunk. We went straight over and he was nice, but it was one of those times where you think, ‘What is he doing here?!’ [Laughs]

What’s the greatest goal you’ve ever seen live?

I was at Zlatan Ibrahimovic’s debut for LA Galaxy, because I spend some time over in Los Angeles. The LAFC keeper launched the ball upfield and it was cleared back to Zlatan about 40 yards out. He watched it bounce and then smashed it over the keeper’s head, an unbelievable goal. I love him – I like a bit of s**thousery in my footballers, and he’s always had that.

Who’s your current favourite player?

The obvious answer is Erling Haaland, because any fan seeing him rack up the goals this season has been totally in awe. Even if you support Manchester United, you watch him and think he’s superb. But for me, Jude Bellingham. I’m so excited by Jude – he’s been in brilliant form this season, even before the World Cup.

If you could drop yourself into your all-time five-a-side team, who would you be playing next to?

Well, I play at the back, so I want me and Rio Ferdinand. I’d pick Edwin van der Sar, he was a top keeper in his day, then in midfield I’d have Ronaldinho – I grew up loving his football. Up front, I’ll go for Cristiano Ronaldo.

What’s the most important piece of memorabilia that you have?

I had a Doncaster home shirt as a kid that I associate with growing up. A few years ago, I bought the same shirt in my current size – it’s special to me, and when I met Pele I asked him to sign it. That was the pinnacle.

Louis Tomlinson’s solo album, ‘Faith In The Future’, is available to buy now.

#louis #interview #fourfourtwo #published: #02.02.23 #football louis #donny boy #doncaster rovers #press #mine #m

[wordsablaze]

11. tell me love

your beauty hides the pain Lost on the mountain, Jaskier accidentally angers a mage who decides to curse Yennefer with his company and for once, it might actually be a blessing in disguise…

A/N: it’s been a while but hi again !! @random-nerd-3 @surreal-static @10moonymhrivertam @bicount-de-lettenhove @i-need-blog-ideas

previous chapter

-

Vengerberg smells strange.

For some reason, Jaskier had been under the impression that it would smell like Yennefer, like flowers and power and bittersweet memories and something distinctly purple.

He must make his confusion obvious because Yennefer takes one look at him and laughs, letting go of his hand and striding ahead. “Catch up, bard, unless your delicate perspective of the world can’t handle it.”

Jaskier scoffs. “What, you think witchers have any idea what classes as a good bed and not just something that isn’t the ground?”

Yennefer hums in a way that suggests she’d never bothered to find out but doesn’t stop walking, somehow speeding up despite the length of her dress - most women he’s met prefer not to go too fast when wearing long flowing fabrics but then again, she’s far from most women he’s met.

“So, uh, will we be gracing your ancestral home? Your childhood haven? Your adolescent getaway?” he asks as he falls into step beside her.

“We’re only here to find the mage who cursed you,” Yennefer replies eventually.

Jaskier shakes his head. “Well, actually, she very specifically went to the trouble of cursing us, dear witch, and that means she’s just as invested in your matters as she is in mine.”

He’s far too focused on watching for her reaction to notice the woman walking past them who had very clearly expected him to move out of the way, leading to them colliding rather awkwardly.

“You moron! That was my finest batch of apples this week!” she yells, gesturing to the apples that’d toppled from her basket to the ground and are now definitely not her finest batch anymore.

Jaskier curses before reaching down to pick some of them up. “My sincere apologies, I truly meant you no harm. If you’d like, I’ll be happy to offer my assistance with anything you require to-”

“Get your hands off my fruit!” the woman snaps before chucking one of the apples at him with startling speed.

Despite years of practice ducking away from things being thrown at him, the only thing he can think to do in time is close his eyes and hope the apple isn’t hard enough to bruise. Surprisingly, though, he doesn’t even feel its impact, which is odd because last time he checked, fruit is almost always solid enough to hurt.

When the other woman gasps, he risks opening his eyes.

Yennefer’s hand is curled around the apple, less than an inch away from his face.

Oh gods, his heart can’t handle this.

“I would advise you to take your anger elsewhere before I make sure you can only ever produce rotten apples for the rest of your life,” Yennefer says coldly.

The woman mumbles something unintelligible before offering Yennefer a curtsy - an actual, genuine curtsy - and all but running away from them.

“Did you forget how to use your jaw?” Yennefer asks him after a moment, one of her eyebrows raised.

Jaskier blinks, pointedly closes his mouth, and then grins at her. “That was quite possibly the scariest thing I’ve seen in my entire life! Could you really make sure all her apples turn out rotten?”

Yennefer only smirks.

She tosses him the apple before carrying on walking as if she hasn’t just firmly established herself as his new muse, not that he’s currently willing to risk revealing that in fear of losing his chance to witness such inspiration unfold.

“You know, there’s something incredibly poetic about the colour of your lips matching the colour of her, well, attempt at a weapon… the fruits of her anger and the fruits of your power, both fruits that you wouldn’t want to cross paths with... the innocence of fresh apples having been corrupted by emotion, her sweet anger and your sweet, uh, kiss...”

Yennefer hadn’t paid him much attention as he’d been thinking aloud but she stops at that, frowning at him. “And since when is kissing an emotion?”

Jaskier all but jumps, really not having expected her to be listening, and shrugs. “A kiss could imply many an emotion.”

His gaze travels to the perfect red of her lips without him meaning for it to, but all he can think about is how that shade is actually more akin to blood than apples. Or perhaps a morning sky like the beautiful sunrise they’d watched back at the temple. He’s forced out of his thoughts when he feels her presence in his mind, to which he shakes his head and tries his best to glare at her. “Hey, it is hardly polite to keep intruding like that!”

She shrugs just as he had done, a small smile playing at her lips. “And it is hardly polite to keep staring like that.”

Jaskier flushes, fiddling with the strap of his lute. “Yes, well, in my defence, I hadn’t entirely intended to keep staring. I was only thinking and-”

“Quiet,” Yennefer interrupts, then swears almost inaudibly.

He has no idea why he follows that order so quickly but he instantly bites his tongue and waits for her to elaborate. Except she doesn’t elaborate, she only grabs his wrist and pulls him sideways, leading him along several twists and turns before he can even attempt to understand what’s happening.

He stumbles over something but she keeps going and he finds himself toppling forwards, only for her fingers to interlock between his and tug him back upright. She says nothing, still guiding them along, and he takes the opportunity to smile widely at her, which he knows she wouldn’t necessarily allow if she could see him. The oddly soft comfort of her hand in his is probably the only thing that keeps him going until she eventually slows to a stop.

“You couldn’t have… warned me?” he mutters once he catches his breath, resting his free hand on his knee and pretending he’s not still panting between each word.

She sighs, waiting until she’s caught her breath and yet again looks perfectly composed before even trying to explain. “The mage. She knew we’d come looking for her. We set her wards off, I could feel it.”

He nods, but that still doesn’t entirely make sense. “And we ran here, wherever here is, because...?”

Yennefer sighs, letting go of his hand - which he most certainly doesn’t mourn - so she can pinch the bridge of her nose. “Ordinarily, I’d say too much time has passed since I left for you to see my, as you put it, childhood haven, but it seems that this town is stubborn about even the worst of its architecture.”

Jaskier frowns. He can see a few houses further along the road but they’re currently standing in front of a random, slightly dilapidated shed and he has no idea why they’d paused to rest here if their actual destination was further along.

“So, which one is it? Did you stop us here just to warn me of that? Because I assure you, I will be as respectful as physically possible towards whichever of those lovely establishments is-”

“Jaskier.”

He blinks.

She rarely uses his name so he knows she’s being serious. He bites his lip, once again waiting for her to carry on and hoping she doesn’t try to kill him. After a moment, she gestures to the shed and raises an eyebrow with something that, if he didn’t know better, he’d say looks like nervousness in her expression.

He frowns again. “Are you telling me this is…?”

"My rotten haven, yes,” Yennefer sighs.

She starts walking again before any of his previous assumptions about her childhood have time to catch up. And as they do, he wants nothing more than to give her space and put some distance between them because he feels as though he’s just insulted her, but unless he wants both of them to be in pain, he can’t; reluctantly, he follows her inside.

-

this was meant to be longer to make up for taking ages to update but i wrote the other half at like 2am and can’t find it so it’ll have to do...

-

thanks for reading! | masterlist | witcher blog: @itsjaskier | next chapter

#yennskier #yennefer of vengerberg #jaskier #yennefer x jaskier #the witcher #fanfic #getting together #hurt jaskier #protective yennefer #yennefer: *does anything scary* #jaskier: *heart eyes* #and also #jaskier: *gets intro trouble* #yennefer: *ready to kill someone* #we love that for them #angst #my writing #ybhtp

[rpmemesbyarat]

RP meme from Tori Amos quotes

- Healing takes courage, and we all have courage, even if we have to dig a little to find it.

- I think that people who can't believe in fairies aren't worth knowing.

- I know I'm an acquired taste - I'm anchovies. And not everybody wants those hairy little things.

- Some of the most wonderful people are the ones who don't fit into boxes.

- I have so many different personalities in me and I still feel lonely.

- The violence between women is unbelievable.

- I'm too wacky for most weirdos. Who am I to judge?

- If they keep crashing stuff into the moon, the moon's gonna get pissed off, and the tides'll change, and all the women'll start PMS-ing together. Then you guys are going to fucking regret it.

- If you really want a challenge, just deal with yourself.

- I don't see myself as weird, I just see myself as honest.

- I see the dream and I see the nightmare, and I believe you can't have the dream without the nightmare.

- Some people are afraid of what they might find if they try to analyze themselves too much.

- Once the bleeding starts, the cleansing can begin.

- On some of my darkest days, Lucifer's the one who comes and gives me an ice cream.

- Most people would rather be sheep than stand on their own with antlers on.

- The sense of loss is such a tricky one, because we always feel like our worth is tied up into stuff that we have, not that our worth can grow with things we are willing to lose.

- When you've got the virgin and the whore sitting next to each other, they're likely to judge each other harshly.

- I think you have to know who you are.

- Get to know the monster that lives in your soul.

- Dive deep into your soul and explore it.

- I don’t want to renounce my dark side.

- The truth has always held an enormous interest for me.

- Healing for me is being able to sit next to the butcher and say 'Yes, I’m sitting next to the butcher now,' instead of saying 'there is no butcher'.

- This is very simple in the world of chicks; some are hoochies, some are not, and some should never try to be.

- We don't often see our own stories. Good artists are the ones that whisper our own stories back to us.

- Music is about all of your senses, not just hearing.

- Again, we go back to the power of words and how they can make you feel. They bring liberation or stagnation, they're chains.

- You don't have to apologize for growing and learning and changing your mind.

- Music has an alchemical quality.

- Certain relationships can just wear you down.

- Containment of your opinion is a must if you are going to nurture an artist's development.

- It's a good thing I'm curious, because sometimes I just research how a soccer player kicks a ball and the impact it has on his foot. I haven't used this yet, but I might.

- But over the years you can cultivate hate for the art you love.

- I don’t believe anyone’s story is boring. Every story has value because it belongs only to you.

- Sometimes I fantasize backstage about how people do their laundry. Woolite? Mixed-color loads? Do they fold? Do they press? Do they Shout it out? And the thing that kills me—do their whites come out dingy?

- Our generation has an incredible amount of realism, yet at the same time it loves to complain and not really change.

- We like our pain. And we’re packaging it, and we’re selling it.

- Festivals or radio shows can be the heavyweight championships of arrogantly detached clusterfucks.

- People who are addicted to power can live on the same street or attend the same school as us or even play on the world stage.

- None of us are this light and dark fantasy. What's dark to you may be light to me and vice versa.

- I don't think that many performers necessarily want to see their audience empowered. I think a lot of performers, no different from priests, need the hierarchy.

- Modern, celebrity-driven entertainment turns the stage into an altar, and so many celebrities refuse to be removed from those altars once they manage to ascend.

- All storytellers, all troubadours worth their salt knew their myths.

- The Sídh's historical myth is the source of the bastardized concept of a fairy—as if anyone gives a rat's ass.

- The problem with Christianity is, they think everything is about outside forces, good and evil. There's not a lot of inner work encouraged.

- Over the last few hours I've allowed myself to feel defeated, and just like she said if you allow yourself to feel the way you really feel, maybe you won't be afraid of that feeling anymore.

- I'm the queen of the nerds.

- Don't give up. Don't listen to these foolish critics that are so small minded they don't get it tonight.

- Sometimes listening to music can motivate you.

- I think even in a good marriage, especially if you stay together long enough, there are going to be events that happen.

- An ounce of breast milk is even more potent than the finest tequila.

- Music is always a reflection of what's going on in the hearts and minds of the culture.

- Many people lock a part of themselves away. It's a bit sacred.

- I've always seen the songs as having a consciousness.

- Our world is a huge mess right now, and not big enough for masses of intolerant people.

- We are all fairies living underneath a leaf of a lily pad.

- That is some funky-fresh, pop lockin' shit.

- If I saw someone destroy a piano I'd fuckin' kill 'em. Wouldn't think twice.

- I experiment with things that are usually an internal experience, because that's just what excites me. And yes, it does sometimes give me visions.

- Some of those trips were eighteen hours long and I'll never forget, once I ended up sitting by the bush trying to ask the flowers why they didn't like me. It's like, Why can't I be your friend?

- You might not like my story because I'm not gonna tell you how it ends yet, and you need to travel it with me.

- I just imagined a huge juicy vagina coming out of the sky, raining blood over all those racist, misogynist fuckers.

- You can't control your popularity

- If you can't create physical life, you find a life force. If that's in music, that's in music.

- I started to find this deep, primitive rhythm, and I started to move to it.

-I held hands with sorrow, and I danced with her, and we giggled a bit

- I usually get myself into situations that cause sparks.

- I love feeling alive, I love walking out in the cold in my bare feet and feeling the ice on my toes.

- For the most part, pianos are female to me.

- Anger is natural. It's part of the force. You just have to learn to hang out with it.

- In our minds, love and lust are really separated.

- I think all the boys that write the screaming stuff would write the best love songs

- When you stop putting yourself on the line, and you don't touch your own heart, how do you expect to touch other people?

- Guys would sleep with a bicycle if it had the right color lip gloss on. They have no shame. They're like bull elks in a field.

- Your worst enemies are made when you ignore people.

- It's as if the horses have come to take us back, to descend, to find the dark side. By dark I mean what's hidden, not necessarily satanic.

- There's room for everybody on the planet to be creative and conscious if you are your own person. If you're trying to be like somebody else, then there is isn't.

- Sometimes you have to do what you don't like to get to where you want to be.

- You know that saying, bad things don't happen to good people? That's a lie.

- I'm not a habit, I'm a lifestyle.

- There are a lot of hidden nerds.

- People who become the front runners often used to be outcasts or loners.

- Um, don't get me wrong because I love boys, it's just that sometimes we don't need you.

- There are only ten ideas under the sun. What makes the difference is how you spice them.

- So I'm in Virginia, and I had crabs--I keep saying that! I had crab sickness, I had eaten bad crabs in Maryland!

- I'm a winter girl; I like coming out when things are desolate and everybody's ready to slit their wrists.

- You can only be you. A lot of times it's never enough for people.

- I've never played the guitar, except throwing it against the wall cause it was pissed off I couldn't play it.

- Truly, I was a sweetheart when I was little, like the Honeysuckle Faery. Sweet-pea. But sweet-peas are not popular after second grade. Sweet-peas become nerds really fast.

- I really enjoy having a giggle with a friend, but then someone crosses my line, then I don't really take it lightly.

- I sometimes forget I'm not 7'2" and a Viking.

- A boundary was crossed. And maybe I drew a boundary, consciously.

- It was a bit violent, a bit sexual.

- When nothing makes sense, music seems to come and bring me a margarita and sit down with me.

- You don't have to justify everything. Being pissed off is just absolutely okay.

- There is a level of the vampire in me, which is OK.

- It hurts me when a woman doesn't come through for me, more than a man.

- I'm a grown woman. I've earned my experiences, my scars.

- What is an angel but a ghost in drag?

- I'm beginning to accept and love the parts of me, of women that I was trained to hate all my life.

- People can be so vicious toward the imaginary world and it saddens me. You kill a lot of little people's dreams that way.

- Even if you don't read history or you aren't interested in anything that happened before the '60s, there are reasons why we think the way we do.

- That's how the story goes but I don't believe the story.

- I would find myself either the lovey-doveyest-woviest sweet pea, or a mad-woman.

- I believe in eating.

- You can't change what happened. And nobody's asking you to forgive.

- Why be afraid of these cuddly, soft, adorable things?

- I have good days. Like if I get really good coffee ice cream with just the right amount of chocolate syrup.

- A lot of people see themselves as victims, even when you have to stand in line for ice cream.

- It's so difficult to be critical of children because they need to discover themselves. We're always telling them, "No, the tree has green leaves!"

- I'm tired of being a rebel. Now I just want to be me.

- When things get really empty for me, empty in my outer life, in my inner life, the music world, the songs come across galaxies to find me.

- Do you know what it's like to be a girl and have blood running down your legs and think that you're dying, just because no one's told you that's what happens? It's horrible.

- An angel's face is tricky to wear constantly.

- Mess with me and you will not survive.

- I think that happiness is when you can let yourself feel every emotion you want at any time instead of being a lying little fuck.

- I'm not into this dieting thing.

- The cross has been used as a weapon, as it has been used against all women throughout the ages. And that's the greatest evil of all.

- I think you've got to find a giggle somewhere in stuff that would scare the poop outta ya.

- A cornflake girl is Wonderbread whereas a raisin girl is whole wheat bread.

- I would like to think I'm a raisin girl, because in my mind they're more open minded. Cornflake girls are totally self centered, don't care about anything or anybody.

- I like butter and the people who like butter."

- I'm known as that girl who has tea with the Devil.

- I'm not afraid of sadness.

- Everybody has creativity and each person has it in a different way. Some people aren't musical, some musicians can't even think about painting or gardening. There's so many different ways to be creative.

- I wanna be burned, definitely burned, like the witches.

- Give the kids tools, so they can go build their own houses; not the blueprint of what the houses should be.

- Look at me now. I'm breast feeding pigs.

- I wish I had more of a sense of humor.

- I can be so hard on people.

- If somebody's being a jerk, I would like to go wee on their head. And then I do that, mentally.

- The people on the internet know more about what I am doing than I do. Like, they will say that I am going to be in this mall on this day, and sure enough, I am there!

- I'm like a lioness who kills her own prey and no one else has to kill for her. But if some other lioness comes to me and says "I just got a good prey, do you want a piece?" I can say "of course" - and the other way around.

- There are things that I would disagree with Jesus about, and I feel really good about that.

- History has recorded some pretty nasty things that have happened to people. I think we remember. I think it's in our cells and I think it can still hurt sometimes."

- I don't believe in the saying that it all happens for the best, it's just not appropriate.

- Of course I believe in past lives, I mean, three quarters of the human race believes this, it's not like a great new thought here.

- I use innocence in my demeanor like a Venus flytrap.

- I do like to talk about things no one wants to hear at the dinner table.

- I'm not interested in being a really nice person; I want to be a creative, responsible person that's balanced.

- Boys are cute but food is cuter

- Do any of you dream about crocodiles?

-I know I dream about crocodiles. I'm obsessed with them.

- If people can't see things from the other side that's not my problem, it's theirs.

- I think I give equal time in my hatred, right?

- Sometimes I'm mad at some guy, sometimes I'm mad at some girl, and sometimes I'm totally loving some guy, so and sometimes I'm loving some girl.

_ Well, Pele is the volcano goddess and I thought of like, um, sacrificing some of the boys in my life to her but then I decided that that wasn't really a very good idea.

- Anger originates from envy and outrage, not being seen, not being heard.

- We don't know where souls go when they die. We don't know a lot of things. We didn't create the planets. We didn't do this all by ourselves. So, therefore, why wouldn't there be a creative force if it can create humans and planets?

- I've been hanging out with some of the Hell's Angels in England. They're some of the sweetest people I've ever met.

- Real friends have to be understanding of each other, and their faults.

- I think I'm really hard to get to know on a personal level.

- Thailand is calling me.

- People I see laughing all the time, check for razor blades in their anal-force underwear, because it's just a little lie.

- I'm not interested in taking drugs. I do hallucinogens once in a while for journey experiences.

- I hear the wine. It's like a structure. I see it as a piece. I hear it before I taste it. It's calling me. And then I start to hear it when I'm tasting it.

- Not that I use crystal suppositories, I'm not New Age.

- A peach tree says, 'Some of me will be juicy and some of me will be dry I'm not growing for you; I grow because that's what I do.' You always hear some person complain about how dry their peach is and the peach says, 'It's not our fault you have no understanding on the proper use for dry peaches.'

- My theory is that women were the Mona Lisas for a long time and now men are Mona Lisas with little goatees. They are our muses.

- If you're gonna tell a story, you have to grow into the head of the rapist as well as the raped.

- He was a lite sneeze, and not the flu. Most boys would like to think they're the flu, wouldn't they? But they're really just a achoo.

- If you call me an airy-fairy new age hippy waif, I will cut your penis off.

- It's a double-edged sword and if you pretend you don't want it you're a liar and that is going to rip your soul to pieces.

- I'm always dreaming that these bulls are chasing me. Half the time I don't get away - I almost get over the fence, and then they gore me.

- I believe in energy, everything is energy. And therefore sometimes magic can be created if somebody is open to letting energy do what it does, instead of being so cynical, that you miss magic happening.

- I feel like a work really has many sides to it when people have such extreme reactions. When a work is greeted with just, 'Oh, you know, it's nice', then it's not affecting people. So love it or hate it, that's okay.

- I am a real believer in looking at pain and taking it out shopping.

- The music is the magic carpet that other things take naps on.

- I just try to strip myself, peel myself like an onion. At different layers I discover stuff.

- Why is the world where it is? It's so deep-rooted, if we really start looking, and we might not like what we find. But I think we have to, we have to ask the questions.

- I'm beyond the fury of youth.

- I love young women who are angry. They're wild mustangs.

- I didn't want her looking and hearing me and thinking, "Oh my God, that's a scary lady!"

- They felt that it was detrimental material for their children and that it was blasphemous.

- They've decided they kinda' have you figured out.

- My nightmares are so bad, that I mostly reject it when my friends want to take me to a cinema to watch a horror movie. Then I say, "No, thank you. I will dream in a few hours."

- I don't know of anybody who's gonna be fulfilled if they get hit by a bus. You have to surrender to that eternal need to be fulfilled.

- How do you know I'm not having a margarita with Jesus tonight at 10 o'clock?

- Let's be honest, religion has not supported women and men exploring all sorts of their sides, their unconscious. It has not been supportive of, you know, go into the places without shame, without blame, without judgment, and just let yourself really see what's cooking in there.

- I think human beings are so much more capable of what they told us we're capable of.

- Anyone can attend yoga, kabbalah classes, church, lectures by the 'Dalai Lama', yada, yada, yada - but can you be present for your life, and live with the way you treat other people?

- Only a few people should have a "greatest hits". I'm not one of those people.

- I feel like our leaders have hijacked America's personality, and taken her to personality plastic surgery school. And they decided this is who she is.

- The playground is the biggest war-zone in the world.

- You have to read visionaries to have visions.

- They squash the baby bird because their bird got squashed.

- I love reading. I'll read the first sentence and if it makes sense to me I pick it up.

- It's ridiculous saying there's only one true faith, it's like saying there's only one map to get you up the mountain. I want to see those other maps, man.

- I kinda have all the aspects of my personality round one table for spaghetti.

- If it's too loud, turn it up.

- I was doing drugs with a South American shaman, and I really did visit the devil and, well, I had a journey.

- There is no passion without broken crockery.

- You have to ask, how could a nation nearly vote in somebody who isn't qualified for the job?

- We're living in a frightening time and I wish people would wake up and realise they're surrendering their civil liberties.

- Who wouldn't want to shag a queen?

#rp meme #rp memes #rp starters #roleplay memes #roleplay meme #roleplay starters #tori amos #tori amos quotes

[k7l4d4]

Midnight Striga: Fairy Tail/Owl House Cross Fic Episode 3 Part 3

And once again, I arrive with another piece of Midnight Striga!! Everybody Clap Your Hands!!!

With a sigh, Amity plopped herself down in her seat, her Abomination prepped and ready for deployment next to her. Panning her gaze across the classroom, her eyes zeroed in on an empty desk; Willow’s desk. ‘She probably choked and designed to take a zero.’ Amity mused, carefully ignoring the sinking feeling that always tugged at her chest whenever she was around, or thought of, Willow. A Blight had no use for thinking of ‘what if’s, when they could instead focus on their present and their future.

Any further musings were cut off as Willow hurriedly rushed into the room, her Abomination pot trudging along behind her. Amity almost snorted. Was she really going to present that shoddy thing? It was her funeral. Still, Amity was a bit perplexed at the sight of Willow’s beaming grin.

“Alright, are you all prepared for today’s inspection?” Their instructor announced imperiously, not even bothering to walk as his Abomination served as his vehicle; Amity had little respect for the man, but she gave him the diligence his position was due, both for how it impacted her future, and her observations of his skills at the art of Abominations himself. As their teacher scanned the displayed works, he called out criticisms at every turn, “Too many eyes, too many toes, toes in the WRONG places, bah! The only real Abominations in this classroom are you all!” His disdainful shout caused many of the students to wilt in their seats, all but Amity of course and, to her surprise, Willow, who leaned forward eagerly.

The teacher huffed, before giving a familiar ultimatum. “If the next Abomination I see disappoints me, it will mean extra homework for everyone, for a MONTH!”

Amity internally rolled her eyes, tuning out the myriad groans of her classmates. Still, there was no reason for them to suffer because of how strict their teacher was. With a wave, Amity rose to her feet. “Allow me to present next, professor!” With a graceful twirl, her Abomination, utterly without flaw or defect, rose gracefully from its confines.

He chuckled. “Oh no, Miss Blight, you know I always save the best for last!” While the stroke to her ego wasn’t unwelcome, it meant she would most likely have to endure him singling out someone as an example, just to make a point. How petty. “How about… Miss Park.” Of course. Amity leaned forward, morbidly invested in what she was certain was going to be a trainwreck.

Willow carefully hid at the despairing calls and groans of her classmates. They’d all get to finally see what she could really do, and she couldn’t wait for their reactions! “It would be my pleasure sir!” She said with a sunny grin, throwing all but the teacher, who cocked an eyebrow, and Amity, who was certain it was a bluff, for a loop. How could she be so calm?

“Okay, if you’re gonna do this, you’ve gotta keep that image of a plant in mind.”

“I don’t know, will this really work?”

In, and out. Willow slowly drew a circle, intently focusing on the image held within her heart. The class murmured around her as long, ropy vines of Abomination goop coiled out of her pot.

“I mean, you know how plants grow, right?”

“Of course I do! I just don’t get how that’ll help.”

“Well, you know about climbing plants, I assume.”

“Plants that scale a surface as they grow long vines across it? Yeah, but what does that have- Oh!”

“Now you’re getting it.”

Willow bit her lip, watching as the ropes slowly built upon themselves, clinging to one another, a torso slowly being sculpted from the mass of ooze before her. As the vines clung to each other and multiplied, the image of arms and legs took shape, the overall image having a solid, sculpted quality that even some of the finest Abominations lacked. As the tendrils wove tighter, the definition grew, to the point where it almost looked as if a skinless hulk of well-honed muscle stood before them. If they hadn’t seen it being built, everyone present could’ve sworn it had been carved from stone, it was so detailed. The teacher stood atop his Abomination, mouth agape, almost pitching forward as his eyes hungrily rove across the magnificent specimen before him. To think, Willow had the skill to create something so glorious!

As the classroom burst into roaring cheers at her display, Willow allowed a pleased grin to stretch across her face. Everyone celebrated; everyone, that is, except Amity. She couldn’t believe it. Moreover, she WOULDN’T believe it. There was no possible way Willow could’ve salvaged that… mess from before in time, much less make something like this in comparison to her previous efforts. Amity’s nail bit into the wood of her desk, her teeth grinding. She would DEFINITELY get to the bottom of this.

Pulling himself together, the teacher allowed a wide grin to crawl across his face. “Oh well done, Miss Park, well done! Who knew you had been hiding such talent?”

Willow sheepishly chuckled, feeling embarrassed. “I just got some good advice on how to move forward, and, well, I took it. It really helped me in how I approached this.” She gestured to her Abomination.

Amity silently growled to herself. ‘Advice. Yeah, right.’

“I must say, Miss Park, this Abomination you divized is simply marvelous!” The teacher exclaimed, attempting to clamber onto its arm. He was slightly surprised, however, when his legs sunk into the apparent Masterpiece’s arm. “Uh, Miss Park?”

Willow flushed, feeling sheepish. “Yeah, I haven’t perfected it yet, so it’s a little unstable right now. My apologies.”

The teacher waved it off. “Oh nonsense, while I admit that is a tad disappointing, you still have shown an incredible degree of improvement! In fact…” he gained a slightly mischievous grin. “In light of this development, I believe that I shall grant you the position of Top Student!”

“”What!?”” The twin shouts, both of surprise, one more of astonishment, the other of incredulity, rang through the classroom.

The teacher nodded. “Indeed.” With a twirl of his finger, the badge that embodied the title shifted from Amity’s uniform onto Willow’s, much to the former’s fury, and the latter’s embarrassment. “Ah, but don’t worry. This is temporary, just until the end of the day.” That statement mollified the two students, if only slightly. “Now then, I believe that it is time to release you all.”

And with that, the bell screamed, signalling all students to leave their classrooms. Willow was relieved, eager to meet back up with Luz and share the great news; her advice had worked even better than they had hoped! For another student, dread and anger burned in their heart. Amity had no idea how Willow had gotten access to that Abomination, but the fact that she was granted such a prestigious honor over it, one that Amity herself had worked to the bone to obtain? Amity was going to get answers, one way or another.

Boscha whistled to herself, casually strolling through the halls. The students she passed gave her a wide berth, even wider than usual. It seems rumors of her changed behavior had spread. Not that it bothered her. Not much bothered her at the moment really. If anything, she felt what could almost be considered relief, she mused to herself, oblivious to the vicious blow she sent to a passing Demon, sending them flying into the lockers, a thin line of blood dripping from their lips. A blank smile played across Boscha’s face, dull and lifeless. Just like she felt. What use was pride and social standing when you were weak? And she was. Weak.

She had made it abundantly clear. That power, that energy, the sheer visceral passion she had felt that night. She wanted to feel it again. Boscha’s free hand slipped into her pocket, mindlessly gripping the jewel she had found after that brawl between that Puppeteer freak and her.

Kill...Rip...Slaughter...Burn...Them...All…

Boscha snorted to herself as she gazed over the milling crowd. Acting as if they meant anything, as if anything in this trap meant anything. Her senses had sharpened after that night, to the point where she could feel the power flowing through each and every Witch and Demon she encountered. Her eyes narrowed at the thought of Demons; she had never really cared much about them before. But after that night, when she saw a taste of what they were capable of? The sheer weakness they carried around as they acted as if they were no different from Witches disgusted her on a visceral level.

Forcing her mind off of the dark train of thought, Boscha recalled what she felt when her heightened senses encountered Half-A-Witch; power. A wellspring of power was coiled in that body, but the feeling it gave, of roots burrowing and breaking through even the hardest of rock, of plants reaching from the lowest point to the heavens, of a world bursting with life, didn’t line up with what her senses gave her when it came to Abominations. In other words, she was mismatched. A pity. Still, that feeling from before, when her sense suddenly SCREAMED at her to turn and look… if only she could recall just what she had felt. In the back of her mind, she almost could say what she knew deep down was true; she was here.

“So, Miss Noceda, I believe you mentioned that you were interested in touring our grounds?” Hieronymus Bump, Principal of Hexside, and survivor of Eda Clawthorne’s reign of terror over the school during her younger years, mused as he overlooked the intriguing puzzle before him. A human, here on the Isles, something unheard of for generations! And, more than that, one who could use Magic, magic of a kind unlike any he had seen before.

“Indeed sir,” Luz respectfully replied. She was being genuine too. This guy just gave off those vibes to her, the feeling of someone who genuinely wanted to help, and was willing to put in the effort needed because of it. After she had demonstrated her magic earlier when she had ran into the man, and his subsequent attempt to apprehend her for trespassing, they had managed to reach an understanding. “It’s been a while since I finished my own official education, so seeing how Witches go about theirs is a treat.”

Bump blinked, wondering if he had heard that right. “I’m sorry, but did you say you had finished your Magical Education?” Was she some manner of prodigy?

Luz grinned, pleased at his reaction. “Yup. I am a fully accredited mage!” She flashed out the certificate her teacher had insisted she go in to get, oh so glad she had managed to hang onto it after all this time. As Bump marveled over her document, she continued. “While mages are trained differently than Witches seem to be,” she stated, looking over the numerous classrooms and varied subjects, “We are still trained to a standard where we can use our skills to maintain a financially stable lifestyle. And I, personally-”

“Are a qualified teacher, I believe you were going to say?” Bump interjected, bemused at the information the girl’s document had revealed. He internally chuckled at the girl’s visible deflation. Accredited teacher or not, she was still a youth of comparable age to some of his students. “Still, I must say, with your display earlier, and this here, I find myself a tad perplexed at your interest with our facilities.”

As the girl’s eyes sharpened, Bump’s internal alarm started ringing. “While coming here, I encountered one of your school’s students. Frankly, her talents were being wasted to an almost horrifying extent in her current classes.”

Bump raised an eyebrow, interested. “Oh?”

Luz nodded, solemn. “Yup. Her potential for Plant Magic was something I’ve never seen the like of before, and her power was on another level compared to the other kids her age I saw around town. The fact that she was doing Abominations, and utterly failing, was baffling to me.” She turned her gaze up to him. “Just how difficult is it to transfer to another Track here, sir?” She asked.

As Bump mulled over the information she had given him, he answered. “Not exceedingly. While it is irregular, students who show dissatisfaction with their current Track, and some measure of skill or talent in the Track they wish to transfer to, are allowed to switch. But, as I said, it is irregular.” He shrugged, feeling sad at his own statement. “I must ask, but is this student truly struggling so fiercely?”

“Her Abomination was literally just a head,” Luz bluntly stated. “And she was my age. She should’ve been much more skilled if she had even a slight level of talent for the Track.” Luz crossed her arms, sighing. “When I got an idea of what her core difficulties were, I gave her a mental trick to help her out. It should’ve given her enough of an edge to eek out a solid grade. But the trick has limits; it lets her get around some of her issues with making Abominations, but it won’t be able to take her very far, at most it gets her on level with the practical basics.”

“Hmm. That is worrying.” Bump pondered. “Tell you what, we shall meet with this student, and I’ll see what I can do.”

Luz smiled, glad it had gone well. “Why thank you, Principal Bump, sir.” The two shook hands.

#the owl house #fairy tail #owl house au #fairy tail au #owl house crossover #fairy tail crossover #luz noceda #willow park #amity blight #hieronymus bump #boscha the owl house #magic

[neighborhoodmoonchild]

ᾰ̓γᾰ́πη - Pt. II

Pairing(s): Cursed!Seokjin x Reader

Genre(s): Fantasy Au, Fluff, Soulmate Au

Summary: “There’s a story whispered around here. One surrounding the beautifully carved statue of a man at the center of the town. Legend says that when the hand of his true love graces his palm, he shall wake from his cursed marbled slumber. It’s always been a silly old wives tale, until you give in to a friend’s dare.” (prompt idea from writing-prompt-s)

Warning(s): mild language

Word Count: 2.8k

Part I, Part 2, Part 3, ...

taglist: @best-space-boy​ @maryelixabeth @mochimaw​ @yeontanismypresident​ @hannahantonette17​ @ign-is​ @fanfuckingfic​ @koala-wonderland​ @suchgayaesthetic​ @dulcaet​

~ if you want to be added to the tag list for this fic, feel free to send me an ask! thank you💜

For the record, you’d never once been so thoroughly stupefied by anything the entirety of your existence. Not that much has ever happened before this...debacle, but still.

Lying on the ground, however, draped with a recently statue-turned-man as the faces of every person who’d openly mocked your beliefs sit painted with the same concoction of horrified wonder, it was safe to say, this was definitely a first.

It was like your mind was awake while your body lay paralyzed. Thought after thought, albeit incoherent, made rounds throughout your consciousness. Limbs splayed across the dirt, useless, like those of a rag doll.

Perhaps part of the initial stun could be blamed by the impact with which the body crashed into yours, as well as the force of hitting the ground.

Maybe, in your likely now-concussed state, you were not actually under a man who a mere moment ago was marble. It’s believable that this was all just some brain-trauma induced hallucination. You probably just tripped on your way to the statue and hit your head. Really, really hard.

That scenario could have very much been the one you decided to go with, that is, until the man started to lift himself up, just enough to look down at you.

Even if you didn’t want to lock eyes with the, admittedly, incredibly handsome man you found yourself in such a precarious situation with, it wasn’t like you had any other choice.

Space only big enough for a single breathe lay between you.

His eyes, a lovely dark, warm brown shade that gave you such an odd sense of security, studied your own.

This close, every detail of his face was on HD display for you, from the length of his lashes, the slope of his nose, to the curve and plushness of his lips. Horrifyingly enough for you, that meant every one of your flaws must be painfully on display for him as well. Look at you now, suddenly worried about how you looked to a once-inanimate object.

It was an oddly intimate moment, one that you weren’t quite sure you wanted to end before it had begun, or to continue forever, until the sun set and the stars shone and everything in-between. The way your head swam, thoughts torn between two opposing sides, a regular Capulet-Montague affair within, it was like losing sense of yourself.

There was no way this was really happening; that this man has come to life at your hand. However, you couldn’t deny the tangible evidence that is the vessel hovering over you now. Oh yeah, there’s a strange man on top of you...and everyone is watching.

Like a cadaver reanimated by a bolt of lightning, you shot away from the man, pushing yourself back on your butt and scooching like a child until you were satisfied with the distance between. Skin painfully alight with the burn of embarrassment, you didn’t dare look back into the eyes of your ‘soulmate’ just yet.

‘Soulmate,’ it’s like that very word incited an allergic reaction in which your body suddenly had the urge to convulse until whatever contents remained in your stomach were one with the earth.

Trying merely to catch your breathe, you almost didn’t register the warmth of a hand pressing firmly to your back.

“I, um, think we should take this somewhere more...private, perhaps?”

That voice, the slightly monotone, yet strangely comforting voice of the girl you both tolerated and treasured. The only one that treated you as an equal; an actual human being.

“Mira...” It sounded choked, weak, like saying her name was a laboring task you weren’t sure you could handle. Turning back to look at her, you could tell how horrified you must have looked based on her own expression.

If anyone knew what to do in this insane situation, it’d be her.

Rising to her feet, Mira took in the way your body curled in on itself, to shield you from the alarming situation of which you had no control over and no clue how to precede. It stung at a piece of her that had been buried deep down inside for a long time.

Strange, was all she could pen it as, but you are her companion here, and it was her duty to aid you in this, especially considering the circumstances.

———

The walk home was quiet. One on the outside might almost call it peaceful, tranquil, but it was none of the above.

After suggesting to take this to her home, Mira helped you and the stranger to your feet and broke up the little side-show that had gathered. The townspeople were a mixture of curious, horrified, and smug; seeing the girl they taunted get stuck in this situation was irony at its finest.

While there were plenty of broken hearts staggering their way back to their homes with heavy souls, no one could deny that this was fate, and whether they agreed with the outcome or not, it was not their place to question.

Many, however, did get a good laugh in when you had paced frantically around the circle created around you, practically begging people to take the man instead. It was pathetic, sad, pitiful, and it left all with a disturbing sense of pride.

‘Serves her right,’ they all thought, only speaking it aloud once they were sheltered within their own walls.

They weren’t wrong though, you did look and feel wholly pathetic. On the verge of tears, begging people you loathed to help you, and right in front of the poor, confused man who was at no more fault than you. It wasn’t your best moment.

Thus, the journey to Mira’s was awkward if anything. You strode a few paces ahead, mind foggy and emotions scattered like confetti. Mira made a comfortable wall between you and the man, who brought up the rear, taking in his surroundings with curiosity and a weird sense of familiarity.

Nobody dared say anything, not that there was much to talk about at the moment. Tensions were running high, and a calm, quiet, middle ground was needed before any successful conversations were to be had.

You couldn’t help the slight tears pricking at your lash line, threatening to spill over any second. It made you feel dumb, crying over something as if you were a child who didn’t get their way.

But the thought of spending the rest of your life otherworldly attached to a person you’ve never met before was terrifying. It has always been you on your own. You have enough struggles as it is. Oh, how mother will get a kick out of this.

Your mind wondered if she would even understand what was going on. She’d been in the home on the east side for a few years now, after the dementia got to be too much for you to deal with alone. She’s doing better there anyways, and it wasn’t like you weren’t unaccustomed to going it solo anyways.

Your head slowly swiveled back to catch a quick glimpse of the man behind you. He was swinging his head side to side, back and forth, taking in everything like a puppy. His clothes, now that you were looking, were very outdated, things you’d never seen before except in history books or century dramas on Netflix. He didn’t look real. Another irony, you guess.

Before you could turn back and focus on the road ahead of you, his eyes shot down to catch yours. He didn’t seem scared, upset, or even worried. In fact, he looked almost sympathetic. It probably had to do with the terrified expression you had a hard time fighting every time he caught your gaze. The heat crept up your neck quickly and you shot your head forward to get away from his stare.

Before you knew it, you were standing shoulder to shoulder with the man as Mira unlocked and swung her front door open. The porch creaked under your weight as you shifted to gain some space, the nervousness making you antsy and unable to stand still. He didn’t seem to notice you move away from him, but you weren’t about to look at him and check.

Once inside, you placed yourself in one of the large wicker dining chairs you occupied often during long debates with Mira over the years. Her house was quaint and quite charming. A decent size, especially for her living alone, and giving off a rustic, bohemian air that made it feel homey to even the most distant of strangers.

Speaking of strangers, it was an odd sight to say the least, watching the tall man cross the room stiffly, dropping down onto the velvet couch with a sigh. The humanness he possessed after being rock only a few hours ago was unsettling. You don’t know what you expected him to act like, but then again, any expectations were out the window and 100 miles downwind by now.

Considering how off-put you are by the whole thing, it both amazed and scared you how easy it was for your gaze to linger over him. What it was that pulled you to him, you couldn’t put your finger on- no, you didn’t want to put your finger on in fear of the implications. The longer you were in his presence, though, the more curious you became. And we all know how curiosity plays out, just ask the cat.

Again, as if you both really were connected in some fantastical way, his eyes instantly found yours. This time, however, the nervous heat that usually accompanied it vanished. Instead, locking eyes almost brought an innate sense of peace within you; comfort.

“So, would either of you like some tea?” Mira’s way of easing the awkward air quickly broke the two of you from...whatever that was, and it immediately threw you back on edge. Grabbing the edge of the chair till your knuckles paled, your voice took on a defensive tone.

“ I’d like to know what the hell is going on.” Laced with a sharp venom you weren’t even aware you were capable of, the statement immediately caught all attentions, air increasing in its thickness instead of dissipating like Mira had hoped.

You couldn’t bring yourself to look back at the man, so instead you focused all of your negative energy, unfairly, on Mira. Her face twisted into an uncomfortable grimace as she thought of the best way to talk you down from your growing agitation, but before she could speak, a light chuckle wafted through the tiny room.

That snapped both of your heads towards Mr. post-statue.

Even with both of your uncomfortable gazes, he didn’t seem affected. It wasn’t like he couldn’t read the room, or understand the gravity of the situation. It was more like he had this innate sense of optimism; that everything was going to work out and he just didn’t see the point in getting so serious.

“I think it’s pretty obvious what’s going on.” You wouldn’t say you were surprised by the soft, honey-tone of his voice, or that you were entranced by it, but if you were to deny, you’d be utterly lying to yourself.

Maybe there was more to this soulmate thing than just waking him up and living ‘happily ever after’. Was it possible there were physical and psychological changes that came along with it? It doesn’t seem too far fetched considering the events that have taken place today. At this point, anything could happen and you wouldn’t be any more surprised. Maybe it’s the shock talking.

“What?” Once you said it, you want to take it back. God, could you sound any dumber? The first thing you say directly to him, and it’s an idiotic reiteration that makes you sound like you can’t infer from context clues and common-freaking-sense what he means.

A quick urge to bury yourself somewhere far away from here shoots through your being, but it’s not a look of disdain that you are met with, but a sweet, soft, smile. It’s not that he seems to pity you in any way, but that somehow knows exactly what you’re feeling without you having to say it. Although, now that you’ve realized it, that small sense of fright wiggles in the back of your mind. A stranger should not be able to read you as easily as he is.

“If I’m awake, it means the spell is broken.”

You stare at him as his face lights up, as if remembering something wonderful; a long lost memory just now recalled.

Suddenly, he bolts up, coming straight for you. Despite your heart protesting, your body starts, pushing yourself as far against the chair and curling tight to protect yourself. As you flinch, your eyes shut and you suck a quick breath in. Like being charged by a fearsome beast, you react in such a way that you don’t even have to open your eyes to know the affect.

The footsteps stop instantly, and when you do open your eyes, you see the man frozen in place, face paled and arms limp at his sides. He was only a few feet away, but even when he shortened the distance between you, he suddenly felt further away now than before.

The guilt of reacting in such a way was a feeling you weren’t accustomed to, and you couldn’t lie that you felt worse after seeing the pained expression on his face.

He slowly backed his way back to the couch, lowering down onto it while avoiding your gaze. Strange how quickly it went from you avoiding his, to him avoiding yours.

“I’m sorry...I know...I know how scary this must be, and I shouldn’t have gotten so excited,” he started, voice low and cautious, like he was afraid to scare you again. Seeing the hurt in his eyes and hearing the strain in his voice affected you more than it should.

Carefully, your body returned to its original position, unfurling to show him that you weren’t afraid of him. You don’t know why it was suddenly so important for you to assure him but it was a natural reaction you didn’t think twice about.

Brown eyes once again catching your own, you tried your best to give him an apathetic smile, something to rid his beautiful features of that sorrow you inadvertently caused. When his eyes shone with a newly-gained light as the corner of his mouth upturned the slightest bit to return your gesture, you knew that no matter the insanity of this situation, you’d probably do just about anything to keep that smile on his face.

“I just never thought this would happen.” A slight pink hue rises to the apples of his cheeks and it takes a strong part of you to hold yourself together and not swoon at how adorable he looked.

“That what would happen?” Mira speaks up and reminds you that you are, in fact, not alone and you recompose yourself.

The man clears his throat and despite the increasing blush on his cheeks, he manages to look from Mira back to you, bringing his hand up to scratch the back of his neck.

“That my soulmate would find me.” This time it’s you whose blushing, the heat creeping up and spreading to every part of your body. The implications of being a soulmate, let alone to someone you don’t know, made the uneasiness resurface. Even though you felt a growing warmth for this random man, you weren’t about to throw your inhibitions out the window all for the sake of being ‘soulmates.’

As cliché-fairy-tale-garbage as this whole thing seems, you weren’t some dim-witted damsel who’d fall for a man she just met.

“Maybe you should start with introductions, stave off the soulmate thing for a moment.” Mira sends you an understanding smile, knowing that you’d lack the frame of mind to conduct this conversation without her assistance.

A breath you hadn’t known you’d been holding escapes your lips in a relieved sigh. Turning back to the man, you muster up enough courage to rise from your seat, cross the wooden floor, and stop before him. Shaking slightly, your right hand reaches out to rest midair in front of him, fingers open and waiting.

“I’m Y/N.”

He looks at your fingers, then up at you, then fingers again. Slowly, his hand approaches yours, gliding softly against the pads of your fingertips before lightly grasping your hand in his. Before you can signal your arm to start a shaking motion, he brings your hand towards him and delicately places a soft kiss to the skin of your knuckles. You can feel his lips curl into a smile against your skin, and suddenly it feels like the Sahara desert in the sweltering summer months.

“My name is Seokjin. It’s nice to finally meet you, Y/N.”

To Be Continued...

_________________________________________________________________

A.N., 

 This part is more-so an establishing piece. I know not much goes on plot-wise, but I needed to develop the dynamic before any of the juicy bits can happen. I hope you all understand and like this newest edition to the story. I originally planned this to be a 3 part series, but there will definitely be more than 3 parts, oops. I hope you all stick around for the ride, and thank you for all the love and support!💜

-Moonie🌙

#ᾰ̓γᾰ́πη #bts #bts x reader #bts au #bts scenarios #bts fluff #bts angst #bts imagines #bts fantasy au #bts drabble #bts fanfic #bts fantasy #bts prompts #bts kim seokjin #kim seokjin #seokjin x reader #cursed!seokjin #fantasy au #bts short stories #bts short story #kpop au #kpop drabbles #jin fluff #seokjin fluff #jin x reader #seokjin angst #seokjin drabble #bts fic #seokjin fic #jin au

[jane-fucking-seymour]

Legend of the Six has now been updated!

Chapter 23: Daughter of Shadow

Words: 5032 

AO3 Link

When we are little, we are taught that the darkness is scary.

Children hide from it under the comforts of pillows and blankets, men shield themselves from it with torches and lanterns, and the general public escape it through dreams and sleep. From the day we are born to the day we die, we are told to fear the Dark, and the creatures that live amongst it. It’s personified as the unknown, as the wicked, as the evil. The Dark, many claim, cannot be trusted, nor can it be utilized without misfortune.

The many, to Anne Boleyn, are considered fools.

Ever since she was a little girl - even with the scary stories of the Darkness being evil and Light being good - Anne Boleyn constantly sought for a second opinion. It’s not that she didn’t trust the stories; far from it, as she had seen what the dark could do. But she’s also seen it do wonders: it hides her from an ambush when she’s younger, it reveals foolish enemies positions that don’t know how to control their shadows, and it is a comfort, still, when late at night. After all, Anne argues, the darkness is the reason why we are in awe of the stars. That’s got to count for something, right?

As she continued down this path of Darkness, she came to befriend it in a unique way. Shadows would race to her to say hello, like old friends. The Darkness often wrapped around her like a cloak, a better shield than the ones the finest blacksmiths of the Realm could make. She extended a hand to the dark and found that it not only accepted, but embraced her as their own. And she was happier for it.

Of course, her friendship didn’t go unnoticed; it’s what started the rumors in court to begin with. Many in the court would talk ill of her friends, of the comforts she held that were so unique and against the grain that people thought it scary. She was shunned by many in the courts - all afraid of this girl that could control the darkness, calling her a Servant to it, a thrall. To many, Anne was cursed, and her regency should never had seen the light of day.

Unluckily for them (and, eventually, for her), Henry wasn’t afraid of the dark either.

Anne came to understand this as she was on the run from a particularly unyielding suitor. She hid in the shadows, in the garden, waiting for the man to pass. He hadn’t seen her, and in his drunken stupor, had started calling for her quite loudly. This resulted in unwanted attention. Anne had chuckled as the man was immediately yelled at by the King himself, thoroughly embarrassed and berated in the middle of the night by such an important figure in the Realm. She expected the guy to turn tail and run, which he did.

What she DIDNT expect was for the King himself to suddenly turn and face her. Her, hidden by the darkness that she knew so well.

He looked curious, as if struggling to see her, but seeing her all the same. He called for her to appear, to not be afraid. He wasn’t afraid of the dark either, he said. He knew she wasn’t either. Perhaps they could make a habit of finding each other in the shadows in the night, perhaps they could chat about their experiences with the Dark, perhaps they could be friends.

It didn’t take too long for Anne to realize he meant something a little more than just friends.

The marriage between Catherine of Aragon and Henry VIII was going rather swimmingly, at least according to anyone that looked: Catherine had just saved the world from evildoers in the South, and Henry had applauded his wife’s work. The Realm rejoiced in such a decisive victory over the enemy that day, and had even strengthened their allyship with Holbein in the process; a two for one victory that the history books were to celebrate for centuries, if all had gone to plan.

But, as Anne would later find out in their midnight rendezvous, he thought he could do more. His wife was, of course, a formidable person in battle, but the Darkness isn’t that scary. It got a bad reputation because of the Blessed that defeated the enemies in the South, he said. Why couldn’t his wife see that the darkness wasn’t something to banish, but to wield? 

To Anne, this made perfect sense because of the darkness that she knew, the darkness she assumed they were talking about. It resulted in resentment towards the (at the time, current) queen, especially when Henry finally gave her the chance to be the Blessed Aragon’s lady in waiting not too long afterwards. Anne didn’t see then that it was a way to groom her for the throne; instead, she simply thought he wanted someone in his corner, someone that understood the Dark for what it really was.

And she played right into his hands perfectly.

At least, for a while.

It was later, when Catherine was “killed,” when she saw Jane Seymour enter the picture, that Anne realized that maybe he wasn’t a friend of the dark like she thought he was.

For one, he never was able to hide well, not from anyone. The darkness that was easy to sink into when she was alone or with Maggie or even with Catherine and Maria was not as such when he was around; it was like the Darkness rebuked him, didn’t want him near it. Didn’t claim him as their own the way that they had claimed Anne all those years ago. In her want to be queen and in her want to have someone that understood her, she ignored it; there was just something about Henry that made her want to ignore what she thought she knew. He had that way about him, a way that made her want to believe in what he said.

So when he told her to go on the road that fateful day, she had no idea what was coming.

Maria hadn’t been acting any different than usual, for example, and it was in the middle of the day when it happened. Anne was completely unsuspecting until just before the ambush occurred; at that point, her shadow gave her away. For a while, it was the shadows that was her most trusted ally as she hid, refusing to be found until she absolutely had to. 

She survived because of the Shadows. They had given her so much. But now, it seems, they were asking something of her.

Who was she to refuse?

So she sits, in front of the woman, head bowed respectfully. The woman smiles softly at the girl in front of her, as if greeting an old friend. Anne suspects she knows more about Anne than she lets on, but it’s disrespectful to ask.

“I see that you’re ready now,” she says. “To become my champion.” She nods, standing up. “It’ll be a tough road ahead of you, if you choose to embrace my gifts.”

“You have given me so much, my lady,” Anne says quietly, respectfully. “I am but an agent of your will.”

The woman looks over at Maggie, who is still bowing with her head down. She gently lifts the girl’s head up with a soft grin.

“You won’t be needed here,” the woman says, “but I won’t deny you the opportunity to observe the trial. No, you’ve done just as much as her, and I like you almost as much, but she is the Champion for a reason.”

Maggie doesnt dare look the woman in the eye, instead nodding respectfully. “I am in awe of your graciousness, my lady,” she says, a bit of a tremble in her voice. She’s a bit nervous. 

The woman smiles and offers Maggie her hand. Maggie takes it. “You may look me in the eye, you know,” the woman says. “We’re all friends here.”

Maggie does so after a moment, and she’s a bit calmer now. This doesn’t feel as formal as she thought it was going to be, but then again, the Shadows have always been somewhat misleading. 

The woman turns back to Anne, who hasn’t moved from her spot. “My Champion,” she says, sitting down in front of Anne. “You will start your Trial immediately. Should you pass, you shall become my Keeper. Should you fail… well, the outcome depends on how you do that.” She shrugs, a hand wistfully circling in the air, forming some sort of bowl with smoking black substance in it. “Drink. And you shall begin.”

Anne nods, looking back at Maggie with a smile. “I’ll be back.”

Maggie nods, still a bit nervous. “I know you will.”

And with that, Anne takes the bowl and drinks it down.

It doesn’t taste like a lot of anything, but the texture of it is vile to say the least; it feels like something is fighting to go down into her stomach, as if it had a mind of its own. She winces at the feeling, squeezing her eyes shut as the bowl, too, dissolves into the substance and enters her.

She steadies herself, feeling how the substance affects her. Her hands, now empty, fall to her sides, and she focuses. She can feel everything else falling away, can feel herself sinking deeper and deeper and deeper…

… until she’s nowhere at all.

She’s floating in nothing.

It’s dark, and it’s comfortable. She opens her eyes and sees nothing. She floats aimlessly, like in a calm river of sorts, and smiles softly; this was nice. Not really what she expected, if she was being honest, but she’ll take what she can get.

Just as she thinks that, however, she immediately feels herself drop. Now, she’s freefalling into nothing. It’s nothing too terrible, but there seems to be something… darker… just below her now. She yelps, tenses, gets ready for the impact-

-but it never comes. Instead, she’s standing still, on the darker darkness.

She looks around, curious about what’s  happening.

“Hello?” she asks. She doesn’t hear anything - no echo, no voice returning her call. It’s getting a bit cold, too, as she walks further and further into this new darkness. The shadows from before, when she was floating, were what she was comfortable with. This… was not.

Not bad, just different, and incredibly unsettling when she wasn’t used to it. 

She continues through, unseeing, and she wonders if she’s missed something, if she’s already lost the trial. There’s no real purpose to this at the moment, she realizes, and she thinks maybe she needs to do something. Maybe she’s waiting on herself.

With a deep breath, she stops walking, extending a hand above her. She closes her eyes, takes another big breath, and summons the darkness she knows so well.

Usually, it would result in the room getting darker… but that’s not the case. Not now. Her darkness is brighter than this darkness, and the comfort she’s felt for over two decades returns to her. And now, with a smile, she listens to her goddess:

“Your trial begins now, oh contested Champion. I hope you are prepared.”

Anne nods, feeling herself being tugged away and pulled impossibly fast to an impossibly far distance in the shadows - lightyears away from where she was, but also right next door. She eventually stops where she is, and her eyes adjust to the light in front of her.

She’s got solid ground below her. She’s in a hallway. It’s dark and cold and wet. It’s clear that the only light in this area has been the blue torches that dimly illuminate the area. She’s not sure where she is, but she knows she needs to continue. 

She moves forward steadily, but as she does, she starts to hear things - a voice?

“Hello?”

Not her goddess’, either.

Her hand goes to her side, where her trusted daggers would be, but they are not there now. She instead moves to the side, using her shadows to protect and cloak herself as she pushes forward. She hears the voice again, this time coming from the end of the hallway.

Someone’s here. Someone that’s definitely real.

She turns into the room, warily at first, but then she realizes who it is and raises and eyebrow.

“Catherine?!?”

Catherine is indeed there, looking around, very confused. When she spots Anne, though, she instantly rushes over to her.

“What’s going on?” Catherine asks, frowning. “I was just headed into the town we were headed into before you left and… and now I’m here.”

“You were Claimed for a time,” says a voice, one that isn’t either of theirs. “You have been Unclaimed. But now you’re Claimed again.”

Catherine seems to recognize the voice, narrowing her eyes suspiciously. “In what way?”

“The Light knows what is happening,” says the voice, reassuring in tone. “And they know why you’re here. They know I won’t keep you any longer than necessary, and they know you won’t be harmed.”

Catherine seems to relax a bit then, but she’s still a bit confused. “I don’t know why I’m here, though.”

“You’re… well, I can’t believe I’m about to say this,” Anne mumbles, a bit embarrassed. “But you’re my guide.”

Catherine blinks. “Your what?”

“In the Trials of the Shadows,” Anne explains, “we get a person that can’t be seen by the Trial, but the Chosen can see and interact with them. Someone that we have a strong connection with. Someone that’s important in our life story. Someone that the Woman chooses.”

“And… she chose me?” Catherine asks, tilting her head.

“We both did, it’s kind of a mutual agreement decision sort of thing,” Anne replies. “Well, most of the time. It’s my soul choosing who it is, and the Woman consenting to manifest it- it’s a long story. Not enough time, if we want to get out of here before the Festival in a few weeks.” Anne sighs, a hand running through her hair. “What you need to know is that I need someone to guide me, to help me through the tough road ahead.” She doesn’t dare look Catherine in the eye for the next part. “It seems that both myself and my mistress are in agreement that if anyone can get me through this, it’s you.”

Catherine smiles. “Well, seeing as I’ve nothing better to do-”

But the jokes stop, suddenly, as the room around them changes.

They’re suddenly in a chamber, one that’s familiar and not at the same time. It’s clearly night, but the moon is not the moon; it’s moreso a ball of energy, as if it was made of arcanic magick rather than a celestial body.

Anne moves into the room a bit more, observing quietly.

“Isn’t this the castle?” Catherine asks quietly, looking out the nearby window. It’s a town made of shadows, but a familiar town nonetheless. “This is Henry’s castle in the Capitol… but I don’t know this room.”

Anne frowns. “Me either, at least, not yet,” she looks around and tilts her head, looking down at the nearby desk. She looks at the papers, picking some up and looking through them, just in time for Catherine to meet her there.

“Anything?” Catherine asks, tilting her head.

“Just notes about certain military movements and plans,” Anne says, continuing to look through. “These look to be from my time as queen, or at least near that time-”

They both look up, however, when they hear someone unlocking the door.

“They can’t see me, but-” Catherine starts, though Anne is already ahead of her. She instantly moves to the shadows, hiding herself. Catherine simply watches as the door opens. She cringes a bit - the person is covered with shadow, their true form unable to be seen. 

They walk towards the desk, looking through papers before eventually picking up a blank one and writing on it. They continue to write, and Anne gets a better look at the paper. She narrows her eyes and, while avoiding detection, moves towards the back of the room, farthest from the door. 

Just as she does, another person enters the room - this time, Catherine gasps.

“Maria!”

Maria can’t hear her, of course, and the scene continues without interruption. 

Maria stands in front of the shadowed figure, bowing slightly.

Both Anne and Catherine wince when the shadowed figure starts talking - their voice is cloaked in a thousand others, distorted and underwater and barely even hearable yet blaring all at once. 

Maria, however, doesn’t seem to have an issue hearing them, resulting in a one-way conversation that Catherine and Anne can hear.

“Of course, I understand,” Maria says with a nod. She looks down at the paper that is handed to her, studying it carefully. Maria sets her jaw a bit before she nods slowly. There’s a moment before she tenses, looking up at the shadowy figure, clearly angry.

“I have not forgotten the promise I made,” Maria growls. “Not to her. Catherine shall not have died in vain.”

The confliction on Maria’s face makes Catherine’s heart break. 

Maria nods, salutes, and leaves the room. As soon as the door closes, the shadowy figure suddenly snaps their attention straight to Anne.

Anne’s gasp is only for a moment, as the figure rushes her, and suddenly she’s consumed by it.

“Anne!” Catherine yells, but the world is turning again, and despite her concern, another scene is playing out.

Anne, barely on her feet, moves to hide again, but… something’s changed. Something’s starting. Anne is more tense as the next scene happens, this time with the shadowy figure and a eerie green light.

Another person arrives - a magick practitioner in the castle, Catherine assumes - and speaks:

“Once we have someone to accept the terms, necromancy will be firmly in our war arsenal,” he says, looking down at a paper. “We’ve managed to connect the dots on this fairly quickly, thanks to the research at the Heart. And because of that, we may be able to control corrupted Light and Shadows easily enough in a few years.”

“They what-?” Catherine asks, but suddenly Anne is once again attacked by a shadow, once again forced to absorb it. “Anne!” Catherine yells, moving over to the girl as she falls to her knees.

Anne is gasping for air, but is clearly furious. “I can feel it,” she growls out. “The frustration, the anger, the power… it’s all here.” She holds up her hand. “This is how it would feel. To go unchecked. To be consumed… by the rage… of the past…”

Catherine frowns. “But that’s not what the Darkness is, is it? It’s not rage, it’s not power. It’s something else, isn’t it?” It’s something Catherine doesn’t totally understand, but she gets this much; it’s very similar to her own understanding of the Light.

Anne growls out, looking down at her hands as they burn with darkness. She feels it crawling around her skin, no longer the comfortable calm that she’s used to, but with newfound purpose. Anger. Betrayal. All of it. It’s feeding into her emotions, into her magicks.

Catherine sees the trial for what it really is, just in time for the scene to change again.

They’re in a room, and now Maria is back. Catherine ignores her feelings for the time being as she hears the conversation.

“It’s done,” Maria says bitterly. “She’s dead.”

The shadowed figure turns around, says things they don’t understand, and Maria nods.

“I’ll be sure to keep this in mind,” she says quietly. “For the Realm.”

Again, the shadow figure snaps her attention to Anne… but this time, Catherine steps in, quickly shielding Anne from the figure.

Catherine yelps as she absorbs it instead… but now, her Light seems to overpower it.

For now.

“Anne,” Catherine says, a bit winded by the event. Anne, for her part, is glaring at Maria, but Catherine breaks the line of sight. “Anne. Remember. This is a trial. What are all of these things doing to you?”

“They’re…” Anne growls a bit. “They’re making me angry. Angrier than I’ve ever felt.”

“Okay, and why would they want to do that? What is happening with the Darkness you’re feeling?”

Anne focuses on it, only for a moment, before her thoughts immediately go to the Maria in front of her. She’s right there, for the taking, easily killed at this angle…

“Anne, answer me.”

She looks back at Catherine. “It’s not actually Darkness,” Anne growls out. “It’s not comforting. This energy, it enhances your darkest thoughts. Your fears. Your anger-”

Anne tries to pulse towards Maria, but Catherine quickly stops it.

“Anne, focus.” Catherine says. “You can’t let this overtake you. Focus on me: why are they showing you these things? What’s the goal?”

“To make me angry,” Anne growls, struggling in Catherine’s grasp. Maria’s so close, she could almost touch her.

“Is that all?” Catherine asks, raising an eyebrow. She’s struggling to keep Anne at bay, but she’ll do it for as long as it takes to help her.

“What the fuck do you mean, is that all, it’s-!” she starts, but then her eyes go wide. “Oh. Oh, shit, oh-”

“What?” Catherine asks, clearly confused, but then the shadowed figure appears again. Anne immediately turns her attention to it, quick to suddenly pull Catherine behind her with some unseen shadows, and instantly moves to grab the shadowed figure.

Anne narrows her eyes as the shadowed figure whips their head around to face Anne, but Anne shakes her head.

“Not this time,” she says, smirking. “It was a distraction. You were always good at those. And you’re here, because you’re my weakness. You’re the reason I can’t move on, you’re the reason I can’t grow. You, and what you stand for to me.”

She grabs a torch nearby, and this time throws it at the shadowed figure.

The shadows retreated from the form, and the true terror appeared. 

Her hair as blonde as before, blue piercing eyes now tinted with green energy as the new staff she wielded resulted in a pulsing energy that made Anne want to run. She looks on with wide eyes as the woman, over and over again, summons monstrosities, clearly attempting to overrun Anne right then and there.

Anne practically growls.

“Jane fucking Seymour.”

The figure in question certainly looked like the Keeper of Necromancy, but with one distinct difference - her eyes were not normal, but instead pulsing with darkness, with eerie energy that Anne had to look away from at the moment. She shivers at the coldness that’s so apparent she can feel it, but then a warm hand holds on her shoulder and she looks up at Catherine.

“This is the trial, then.” Catherine says, so matter-of-factly that it helps calm Anne somewhat. Anne looks up, managing to overcome her own fear of the corruption before her, and nods. Catherine nods back. “Go on, then.”

Anne moves away, towards the corruption, taking a deep breath as she does so. She suddenly pulses forward, moving past the shadowy monstrosities and immediately to Jane, but the girl dodges so fast that Anne can’t react to the counterattack. Suddenly, Anne has a knife through her stomach, though it quickly dissolves into shadows as she’s released. She falls to the floor, huffing in pain, as she practically growls at Jane, who backs up and readies herself for another onslaught.

“Direct attacks won’t work,” Catherine says.

“You think I don’t know that?” Anne asks, right as she pulses forward again. This time, instead of straight on attack Jane, she uses the shadows to dissolve into cover…

… or at least, she thought she did, right before Jane plucks her out of the darkness and once again stabs her with a dagger that fades into shadows.

Anne yelps again, and this time, she falls to her knees. She holds her abdomen, coughing up blood, before she looks down at the wound. It’s festering with corrupted darkness.

And that gives her an idea.

“What else do you have?” Catherine asks, at the woman’s side as Anne shakily stands up. Anne seems to be focused, so Catherine steps aside. “I hope you know what you’re doing. I don’t think you can take another one of those stabs.”

“Don’t worry,” Anne says. “I won’t need another chance.”

She pulses forward, straight on. Catherine’s heart drops; did Anne suddenly forget this was what she did at first?

Jane readies her dagger, and just as she thrusts it into Anne… it suddenly stops. It all stops. All the monsters, all the magicks Jane conjured. They all just… stop.

Catherine looks over to find that Anne’s eyes are not her own - they’re filled with darkness. At first, Catherine thought the girl had lost, that she was corrupted like Jane’s magicks, but when Anne suddenly thrust her hand into the sky and Jane immediately did the same thing, Catherine realized what was happening.

Of course, Catherine thought, feeling a little stupid for not realizing it before. She can control shadows!

Indeed, Anne was now controlling Jane’s movements, Jane’s actions, all of it. The darkness around them was no long being passive in the fight; Anne was forcing it to move with her, at her command, and Jane was powerless to stop it.

This, Catherine realized, was the true power of a Keeper of the Shadows. This was the potential of the Queen of Shadows.

Anne immediately pulses backwards, but Jane still can’t move. Anne lifts her hands - Jane doesn't follow this time, Anne’s holding her in place - and Anne suddenly has chains connected to Jane’s wrists. The end of the chains are in Anne’s hands, and she smirks as she suddenly slams them into the ground, making Jane fall as well. Keeping the chains in one hand, Anne uses her other one to command the shadows to clear out the monsters around them, wiping them into oblivion, before focusing back on the Jane in front of her.

With a final wince, Anne takes the energy that she could feel around the wound and harnesses it herself. Instead of it infecting her body, she now controlled it as she formed it into a spear and threw it back at Jane, cracking her heart and thrusting them all into pale moonlight that blinded the area for a second.

The corrupted dark gives way to pale moonlight, and that Jane is on her knees. She looks up and her eyes are her own. 

Anne’s blade pulses with the warm type of darkness that Anne is familiar with.

Anne looks down at the girl, and Jane looks up. She’s crying, eyes wide at the blade. She doesn’t say anything, however, as she bows her head.

“What is this?” Anne asks, but she keeps her gaze on Jane.

Catherine looks around. “Looks like the forests near the castle in the Capitol, honestly,” Catherine says. “I recognize this clearing. The bridge to the courtyard is only a few yards away.”

“And why is she giving herself over to me?” Anne asks, her hand tightening on her blade as her body stiffens.

Silence. Then, Catherine:

“I think you’ve a choice to make, Keeper of the Shadows.”

Anne continues her focus on the neck. She continues to remember. She continues to feel.

And she raises the blade and thrusts it down, hitting her mark. 

Instead of a scream, or a head rolling, the figure immediately bursts into darkness, fading into the darkness around it. There’s suddenly a stronger darkness - a Void of sorts - and Catherine and Anne are pulled into it. The darkness is suffocating for Catherine, whose light suddenly is snuffed out, but Anne seems to revel in it, like it’s a cool refreshing drink. 

When she opens her eyes again, however, she finds the Woman and Maggie standing over her.

Maggie smiles, but she’s clearly scared. “Annie?”

Anne takes a deep breath, then smiles. “I’m ok. We’re all ok.” She looks up at the Woman. “Was that satisfactory, my lady?”

“Just about what I expected,” the Woman replies. “But I think you’re ready regardless.”

Anne stands and, just as she goes to bow again, the Woman puts her hand on Anne’s heart and mind. Suddenly, Anne can feel a cool yet warm sensation coming from the hands that pressed against her, and her eyes faded into darkness for a moment before they returned to normal. She takes a deep breath and, suddenly, she feels more alive than ever.

When the Woman steps back, Anne instinctually puts a hand on her heart and head, just before she summons a shadow dagger in her hands.

“Oh, that’s cool,” Anne says. She then takes a deep breath and focuses on the energy; it forms into a darkened fireball of sorts, then a gauntlet, then an arrow. She smirks as she then puts the energy into her other hand, back into the dagger, and takes a step back into the shadows. She completely disappears then; not even Maggie could sense her.

She ends up behind the Woman, who doesn’t seem surprised to see her, but smiles. “I trust your new arsenal is to your satisfaction, my champion and my Keeper of Shadows?”

Anne’s eyes go wide at the title and she smiles widely, but she immediately shows respect, bowing deeply. “Thank you, Mistress.”

The Woman nods. “Pray you continue to do my will, though you are not bound to it. That’s not how I operate, unlike some others.”

That got Anne thinking. “Where did Catherine go?”

“The Blessed? She’s back in her body. She had some issues with a Fae, but I saved her.” The Woman smiles. “She helped my Champion in her trial, I saved her from being stolen away by the Fae. I consider us even - well, myself and her Goddess.”

Anne nods. “I’ll be sure to tell them to be careful moving forward. Thank you, my Mistress.” She looks back over at Maggie, who nods. “We need to go. The place where they are, it’s a Fae Lands. They’re going to need all the help they can get.”

Maggie nods. “After you.”

They rush off.

#six the musical #six the musical fanfiction #six fanfic #six ff #sixff #sixfiction #sixfanfic #sixfanfiction #six the musical fanfic

[letterboxd]

Truffle Hunter.

As Pig snuffles its way up Letterboxd’s best of 2021 ranks, Mitchell Beaupre hunts down writer-director Michael Sarnoski for a chat about some of the finer creative points of his Nicolas Cage-starring meditation on cookery and grief.

In a time when audiences know too many specific plot details of films months before they’re even released, the idea of a surprise sensation feels like a fleeting memory. Yet that’s exactly how one could describe Pig, the debut feature from director Michael Sarnoski. With minimal pre-release buzz and no flashy festival premiere, Pig is a film whose status has been created through sheer quality alone.

This is a true word-of-mouth smash, hailed by critics as one of the best films of the year, as well as quickly earning itself a high placement on our Top 50 of 2021. Jacob Knight praises the film as “an existential rumination regarding how people find meaning in a mostly meaningless world”, while Muriel declares it “the most unexpectedly wholesome movie I’ve seen in forever”. Not bad for a first feature.

Written by Sarnoski, from a story he developed with co-producer Vanessa Block, Pig opens on Rob (Nicolas Cage), a loner isolated in the woods with his truffle pig. Rob makes his living selling truffles to the eager and ambitious Amir (Alex Wolff), but when two people break into Rob’s home and steal his animal companion, he must do whatever it takes to be reunited with his only friend.

A rough day deserves a decent vin rouge.

While that setup led many to give Sarnoski’s film the moniker “John Wick with a pig” when the trailer dropped, the story ends up charting a course away from genre thrills and towards something else entirely. Pig is an exploration of grief, loneliness and compassion, featuring one of the finest performances of Nicolas Cage’s illustrious career.

Raised in Milwaukee, Sarnoski and co-producer Block met in college before working together on the documentary short The Testimony, which focused on the largest rape tribunal in the history of the Democratic Republic of the Congo. That film made it onto the shortlist for the 2016 Oscars, putting the two of them on a path that would lead to their breakthrough opportunity with Pig.

Sarnoski spoke with us about the origins of Pig, the long-term impacts of loss in his own life, the joy of hand-cranked pasta and Bruce Springsteen.

Congratulations on the film! How has it felt seeing this outpouring of love coming for your first feature? Michael Sarnoski: It’s been amazing. Everyone who made this movie felt for themselves that it was special, and we all put a lot of care into it. We also knew that it was a risk, a strange film we figured would hit right for some people, but then plenty of others would think it was boring and weird. We’ve been very pleasantly surprised that it’s a small minority of people who feel that way.

What was the seed of the story that would eventually sprout to become Pig? I had this image in my head of an old man in the woods with his truffle pig. There was something sweet and tragic about that. Then I began asking questions about who this guy is and why he’s out there alone in the woods. What’s his backstory? It all evolved from there.

While the first act inhabits that “John Wick with a pig” space that people were perhaps expecting from the trailer, the story then takes a swerve and becomes a somber, thoughtful character study. Could you speak about navigating that unique arc with your storytelling? We never set out to try and subvert that John Wick sort of genre. We knew that we were playing with that lone-cowboy idea of a film and some of those tropes, but we never wanted to poke fun at that or switch people’s expectations in some sense by choosing Nic to star. We never wanted to “surprise” people by making a quiet Nic Cage movie. It was always just about these characters, what this story is, what we’re trying to explore. I think if we had tried to be subversive it would have come off as hokey.

Silence plays a key part in the film, as so much is being said in those spaces between the dialogue and action. How did you want to utilize the impact of saying more with silence? From early on, we always knew it was going to be a very silent film, and that followed all the way through the edit. Some of us wanted that opening to start out the way it’s done in the movie, where it’s totally silent and the music only comes in at the very end, while others were worried that people would get bored with it. The argument against that was that if they’re going to get bored with that, then they’re going to get bored with the rest of the movie. So, we might as well just lean into it, and let them know what it’s going to be.

From there we gauged how we wanted to approach the silence throughout. There’s some beautiful music in the film that Alexis Grapsas and Philip Klein did an incredible job with that allowed us to bring this beauty and splendor into the scenes. But there were also a lot of really quiet moments where we wanted the audience to be focused on the faces of the characters, and really be feeling the space and letting the sounds of the forest, or wherever we were, come across.

Nicolas Cage, his knife skills, and cinematographer Patrick Scola.

Along with the faces, you focus a lot on hands in the film. Whether it’s in scenes of violence or making food, there’s a real emphasis on what hands are capable of. Where did the inspiration for that come from? Nic was very into the idea of conveying artistry through your hands. He spent a lot of time with local chefs to try and get the vibe of how they moved and how they worked. He was always practicing knife skills in his room. I was constantly waiting for the AD to come up and tell me that we can’t use Nic today because he cut off a finger, but thankfully that never happened. Nic really sold that emphasis on the hands. Those shots could have felt empty if it wasn’t for him. I still am surprised watching some of the little hand choices he made.

I remember there was one shot where we didn’t get it on the day. So, we set it up with his stand-in, and just had him wearing his gloves. We all watched it, and it just wasn’t the same. Nic agreed, and so we reset the entire thing just to get that one shot with his hands in there instead. It was totally worth it. He’s an incredible actor, and it comes through every part of him.

Cage is an actor with an almost otherworldly mythos about him, which allows people to sometimes forget what a tremendous performer he’s always been. What was your experience in building a relationship with him, not just as an actor, but also as a human being? I only have positive things to say. That’s not just a gimmick. From the moment he read the script, he was interested, and he really responded to the character. He was committed to bringing the script to life, and was extremely respectful towards everyone on set. He had no reason to respect me. I’m a first-time director. He could have been a total diva. He could have been whatever he wanted to be, and we still would have paid him and been happy with his performance.

He was very kind, and maybe some of this came from the character, but he was also kind of somber and quiet in general on set. At the same time, he can also be very playful and sweet, even though he was trying to remain in the mood of the character. He set the tone, in a way, for the whole crew. A crew could easily look at a first time director and decide to just slack off and scrape by, because I wouldn’t have even known the difference. The fact that Nic treated me and the material with such respect really trickled down, and was so valuable to the film.

We shot the whole thing in twenty days, so if there had been any weak link with someone not doing their job or not being totally on top of it, we would have been screwed. I credit a lot of that to Nic, and him treating this with an incredible amount of professionalism. I think that’s where a big part of his long career comes from. He’s an incredible actor, but he also takes the art form seriously, treating it as both an artist and as this being his job, knowing that you have to do both in order to get what you need across.

Do you have a favorite Nicolas Cage performance? Other than Pig, of course. There are so many incredible ones. I really love Moonstruck. I saw that a couple of years ago, right before we officially cast him, when I was going through some of his ones that I hadn’t seen. Part of it I think is because I’m half-Italian, and I felt like it was showing me a side of my life that I never realized because my Italian family is on the east coast, and we moved out to Wisconsin when I was very young. I never got to be a part of that kind of thick Italian family, and seeing that on screen gave me a taste of what that would have been like. I loved him in that role. He was the perfect balance of sincere and sentimental, and also over the top when he needed to be.

Grub’s up.

Speaking of being Italian, Pig gets deep into the transformative power of food, and of the right meal. Has food always been an important part of your life? Definitely. I’ve never worked in restaurants. The closest thing was when I worked at a snack bar at a summer camp, which was very fun and also kind of a nightmare in its own way. I think most of the importance of food for me came from when my grandma lived with us. It was after my dad passed away, when I was a little kid, and she became this sort of old Italian cook in the house who was using food as this language of love and also as a sort of control. It had a lot wrapped up in it, this sense that we’re going to have family dinners to prove that everything is fine.

I think any Italian family is that way, but especially in that situation, having that presence come into the house when I was a kid, it made food quite charged for me. It was both a form of bonding and love, but also that control. That was very important to me. As I got older she taught me how to cook some things, and I became interested in that. I had a lot of friends who were great cooks and taught me how to do different things. I’m not an amazing cook, but I love cooking.

I love that act of making something that’s about to disappear. I think if you can be okay with that, and put a lot of time and care into that, it’s kind of a therapeutic thing to do. Accepting transience is a big part of cooking.

What’s your favorite dish to cook? I would say over the pandemic I really got into making lasagne. I had my grandma’s old hand-crank pasta maker, so I was enjoying making my own pasta and lasagne with that. I don’t know if I could pick one favorite dish, but that is definitely one that contributed quite a bit to putting on the Covid pounds.

Rob (Cage) and Amir (Alex Wolff) discuss their business relationship.

There’s a scene in the film where Rob and Amir go to a restaurant and Rob has a conversation with the chef there, who used to work for him, about the idea of losing our sense of identity when we give up on our dreams in order to fill this role that society expects of us. Is that something that you personally connected with? Yeah, people ask me a lot about what I think of the high-end cuisine world, and I have to say that I wasn’t trying to solely express that this world is garbage and phony. I was looking at it as another kind of art form. Any time you have an art form that combines someone’s personal passion with some sort of economy there are going to be conflicts to navigate. Whether you’re a painter, director, writer, whatever, those are going to be things you have to juggle. How true to yourself are you going to stay?

For myself, I’ve definitely found that when I try to focus on doing something that I care about, that’s kind of all I have control over and that’s what I should focus on. Pig was that for me. This isn’t the kind of script that you write where you’re expecting a big payday. It’s this weird movie that for some reason really means something to me.

The scene climaxes with Rob saying the line, “We don’t get a lot of things to really care about”. What about this movie exemplifies the things that you really care about in your life? It’s so many things, and even more things came from going through the process of actually making it and falling in love with Portland. It’s become even more than what it was initially intended to be. I mentioned earlier that my dad passed away when I was a kid, and the most personal aspect of the film for me was exploring that idea of what grief does to us long-term.

As I’ve gotten older I’ve been watching how my family members changed the way they interact with the world and built their perception of the world around some aspect of grief. It’s not those immediate effects of shock or sadness. It’s how those things ingrain into your worldview. I became much more conscious of how I was doing that in my own life. That was the deepest, most general thing that I was bringing to it, and that I was exploring personally through the film.

As far as specific things that I care about, I think I have all the classic things. I care about my family, and my friends. I care about the world, which is why this year has been so devastating. I don’t have one single pig. I think we all have a few different pigs in our lives.

Director Michael Sarnoski on the set of ‘Pig’.

Another scene that really stands out is the one in which Rob returns to his old home and sits with this young boy, having a conversation about a persimmon tree that used to be there. Talk to me about the significance of that moment for Rob. One of the things I love about that scene is that it seems so simple, kind of quiet and basic, but it’s getting into a lot of different things. I will say one thing about that scene. That was the first scene that we shot on the first day of filming. That kid was great, but filming with a child on your first day of your first feature was very much a moment of wondering what I had gotten myself into.

That scene does a few things. I won’t get into spoiler territory, but for starters he’s going back to his old house, so it’s his first attempt to really look at his past in the face, and to acknowledge that. I like that in that moment this is also one of the first times that we hear him speak romantically of food, because those things are very tethered to each other.

We get both the sense that there was a past, a personal path that he left behind, but intricately involved in that was how he interacted with food and his art. It’s the first time that we hear him acknowledge who he was in a way that’s okay. He tells the kid his name, and he’s acknowledging his identity that he’s been trying to hide from or ignore. Through doing that, it’s engaging with his passions and how that tethers everything together. I also thought it was cute explaining what persimmons were to a little kid.

I’ve got to ask you about the use of Bruce Springsteen’s ‘I’m On Fire’ in a very meaningful moment. What made that the perfect song choice for that scene? Obviously, who’s singing it is very meaningful. I liked that song, though, because it’s different from the sappy direction we could have gone with that moment. There’s something very passionate about ‘I’m On Fire’, of course, and it’s a pretty sexual song. It’s really charged, but it also has this kind of ethereal quality to it that’s seductive in a non-sexual way. It washes over you, and it feels very mystical. This sounds so “film talk”-y, but I liked that meeting of that transcendent, abstract feeling with that immediate sense of passion and love and obsession.

Finally, what’s the film that made you want to become a filmmaker? Probably Sam Raimi, his first Spider-Man movie. That was the first time I realized what directors do. I had a very strong association with Spider-Man growing up as a comic-book fan, and I was seeing how someone was filtering their own understanding of this character. Raimi coming from his horror background and being into the nitty gritty filmmaking with practical effects and everything, I got this understanding of how a director touches a film and shapes it.

Related content

Steve’s list of pigs in film

Melissa’s list of films featuring food, chefs, bakers, restaurants, cooking, hospitality, hotels, wineries, grocers

Rachel West discovers Nicolas Cage is her most-watched actor of all time

Letterboxd’s Official Top 50 of 2021—Jack Moulton’s list

Follow Mitchell on Letterboxd

‘Pig’ is currently in US cinemas via NEON, and available to buy/rent on digital.

#nicolas cage #pig #pig film #neon #neonrated #neon rated #nic cage #cooking films #cookery film #films about chefs #truffles #truffle pig #truffle hunter #letterboxd #filmmaker

[madamslayyy]

Log Cabin and A Brewing Fire (Trevante Rhodes x Reader)

Pairing: Nebraska Williams (Trevante Rhodes) x Reader.

Warning: Suicide mention, Dark Themes, Depression Themes, Angst

A/N: Hey y’all, so I don’t know if y’all remember Trevante’s character in that dumbass Predator movie but he play Ex-Commanding officer Gaylord ‘Nebraska’ Williams. If you haven’t seen the movie I won’t spoil it for you but I took that character and his back story and kind of twisted it for the purpose of this story (ps there are no aliens or anything here, the events of the movie never happened, i just used his character and backstory). THIS IS SLOW BURN!!! I plan for it to have a couple more chapters, at least 3 more and maybe a little epilogue. Not gonna drag it out like my Untitled Series (lol remember that fossil 🤣🤣) but it’s gonna have some build up. Really sad themes in here so please be cautious. Also let me know what you guys think and if y’all would like to see more of it ! Anyway i hope y’all enjoy it🥰🥰🥰

Well today was the day. You were getting a roommate. A real roommate. But not by choice.

Your Uncle and last close relative you had left, was an army general, and his Lieutenant, his number two, the young man he’d always seen as something akin to a son... put a bullet in his brain.

It tore your Uncle apart. Your Aunt was barren and the two never looked into alternative methods to have a child.

By protocol, the Lieutenant was supposed to be dishonorably discharged from service but your uncle had managed to pull a few strings and get the boy a temporary leave of absence. And that’s where you came in.

Mental health was something you’d struggled with your whole life. Finally, on the verge of a mental breakdown, you left the city, opting to move into a cozy small cabin on the edge of a little New England town. You had a job at the local museum by day and that helped cover most of your bills, your Incle quietly taking care of the rest. You were happy here. And healthy. It finally put you in a place to heal without the expectations and constant showboating of modern society. You’d found your peace at last.

And your Uncle knew it. And he hoped it would do the same for his favorite soldier as well.

You’d been nervous at first, having never had an actual roommate before, let alone a suicidal, male ex-soldier with PTSD that could probably snap your neck like a twig given the slightest inclination. All concerns you’d brought to your Uncle who’d assured you “The kid wouldn’t hurt a fly, unless that fly was himself.”

So you’d trusted that. He was set to arrive today. You’d spent the entire weekend making sure your home was spotless and that his room would have everything a guest would possibly need. You knew how hard it was to bounce back from a dark place and environment was one of the greatest impacts.

At 13:00 sharp, your Uncle was pulling into your driveway, as punctual as ever. He exited the vehicle first, pulling you into a hug. You could see he’d aged considerably since the last time you saw him, his hair beginning to show small sprouts of grey on the sides.

“Uncle Raynard, long time now see,” you smiled. He and your Aunt lived nearly two states over so it was rare you’d go to visit, especially by yourself.

“Y/N, you’ve grown since the last time I saw you,” he chuckled, laughing as you rolled your eyes. You’d been the same short height since you were in middle school.

“Did you have a safe drive over?” You asked, watching as the other car door opened.

“Eh, we got a little rain once we hit the highwa-“ your uncles words began to fade into the background as you watched one of the finest men you’d ever laid eyes upon step out of the passengers side of the your uncles Cadillac.

Smooth, dark skin, full lips, incredible physic, thriving beard, and he was tall to top it all off. Your confusion was off the charts. This man looked like th poster child for Black Male self care and self love. For him to look like that and not want to live, you knew whatever was eating at him sure as hell couldn’t be skin deep.

“Ah, took you long enough. Y/N, I’d like to introduce you to Lieutenant Gaylord Williams, Williams this is my pride and joy, my niece Y/N.” The lieutenant dropped the suitcase he was holding in one hand and held it out to you, his other hand carrying an enormous duffle as if it was as light as a grocery bag.

“Most people just call me Nebraska,” he said shaking your hand. His voice matched his build and features perfectly: deep, sensual and sincere like his words were going straight through you.

“Ne-bras-ka,” you said in a bit of a daze as you shook his hand slowly. You could see the veins trailing up his arm.

“Thanks for uh... for having me,” he said with downcast eyes. You could see he was obviously a little uncomfortable with the whole thing.

“Of course, any thing for Uncle RayRay,” you said flashing a smile at your Uncle.

“Well I’d love to stay longer but the roads are supposed to ice over from that rain later tonight and I’m trying to get home before then. Anything you need before I take off?” Your Uncle said giving you one last hug.

“I’m think I’m good. Be careful on the roads. Gotta get back to Aunti Mae in one piece.”

“Course, nothing less.” He turned to Nebraska, “Anything you need before I go, Lieutenant Williams?”

“No sir,” he said raising his arm to salute your Uncle but Raynard pulled him into a hug instead.

“It’s gonna be alright, son. You’re gonna get through this.” He said to him, holding him tight. He tensed for a moment before hugging your uncle back. You smiled at the scene before you, seeing Black men openly support each other in cases such as these was a rarity. Mental health was a touchy subject to begin with and most opted to ignore it rather than combat it.

“You two be good and I’ll call when I make it back home,” and with that your Uncle drove off, leaving the two of you standing there awkwardly. You just realize how bitterly cold it was outside.

“Well you must be freezing, let’s get you inside,” you said holding the door open for him.

“Need any help with your bags?” He glanced over at you, purposely looking down as if to reference your short statue before continuing inside. Apparently he wasn’t much of a talker.

“So you’re room is going to be upstairs if you’ll follow me,” you led him to the room across the hall from your own. You’d been using it the last couple of months as sort of a green house where you grew all of your plants because it had an enormous window allowing for plenty of sunlight to stream through however you’d cleared them out and arranged them throughout the rest of your home so they’d still thrive outside of the room, only keeping a few in there that were especially sunlight dependent.

“Here we go. Need any help settling in?” He shook his head no looking around the room.

“Alrighty then. Anything I can get you? Coffee? Hot chocolate? Tea? Fresh-squeezed orang-“

“I’m good,” he said in a small voice. It almost sounded unnatural coming from him because his voice had such a deep timbre to it.

“Okay well I’ll let you settle in and come back to check on you later.” And with that you tiptoed out of the doorway

God he was so.... mysterious? Was that even a good word to use? It wasn’t really much of a mystery what he did, you knew and he knew you knew too, maybe that’s why it’s so awkward? Maybe he was just reserved? Shy? No, he’s in the army, they don’t get the luxury of being shy. Quiet? No they don’t get to be quiet either. Serious? Yes that’s it, he’s just a serious man and that’s what’s making everything so tense. Well that and the fact he put a bullet through his- okay no, nope we’re not gonna keep dwelling on that. He’s here now and he’s alive and that’s what matters. He’d probably rather forget that whole incident by now so you should go ahead and try to put it out of your mind as well.

Your mind was racing and you hadn’t even been paying attention to where you were going but had somehow ended up in the kitchen. You figured now was as great a time as any to start on a late lunch. But what should you cook for him? You couldn’t just make lunch for yourself, that’d be rude, especially on his first day. Maybe something Italian, everyone liked Pasta right? What if he didn’t eat meat? Or cheese? What if he was vegan? You knew some militants kept very strict diets and you’d hate to put him in such a compromising position. So you quickly decided to get to work and began cooking at once.

~*~

About an hour later you were almost done cooking when you realized you hadn’t heard a peep from Nebraska this entire time. The house was made of wood and would creak the second anyone put the slightest amount of weight on it, especially someone his size, yet you’d heard nothing.

You quickly ran upstairs, panic beginning to settle in as your thoughts took a turn for the worst. You swung the door open to see him on the bed fast asleep. He hadn’t changed clothes or even bothered to get under the covers. His bags were untouched in a neat corner of the room and he slept with his feet still firmly planted on the ground as if he had been sitting on the edge of the bed and simply laid back.

You didn’t mean to stare but this was the first time you got to actually appraise him without those intense brown orbs staring back into you. If you thought he was beautiful before at a glance then up close he was down right gorgeous. Even in his relaxed state, his arms rippled with veins, his swollen muscles making him look absolutely sculpted. You took note of his full lips, slightly parted in slumber. He was a silent sleeper, he didn’t snore or actually really move at all. It was almost as if he were.... dead.

The last thought seemed to bring you back to reality more as you remembered why you’d rushed up here in the first place. Now you were faced with the decision of waking him up from his nap or letting him sleep through to the evening.

You decided against the latter and moved towards him about to shake his shoulder when you paused. He was a military man, there was no telling what type of things he’d seen or reflexes he had. You decided to take a few steps back.

“Nebraskaaaa?” You cooed. He didn’t even twitch. You decided to grab one of the pillows off the bed and nudge him gently with that.

“Nebraskaaaa,” you cooed again, a little louder this time. His eyes fluttered open but he didn’t move. He simply stared at you, his eyes red from sleep.

“Heyyyyy....” you trailed off awkwardly, setting the pillow down, “lunch is um... lunch is ready.... if you’re hungry that is... or not.... either way it’s ready...”

“Yes ma’am,” he groaned, his voice thick from slumber. You could have fainted right there.

“Okay so I’ll see you down there then?” You realized how stupid that sounded the moment it left your mouth and mentally cringed. You couldn’t control your word vomit around him and that was presenting itself as a growing problem.

Luckily he didn’t seem to pay it any attention as he stood up, stopping at the doorway extending his arm in a swooping motion.

“Ladies first,” Okay maybe he was trying to kill you. Or maybe you were so accustomed to men having the manners of a bent spoon that you were just overthinking. Either way you had to get a grip on this or risk ruining all your best underwear.

“Thanks,” you said walking past him with your head down. Maybe if you ignore how fine he is, you’ll idle down until you’re used to it. That was going to be your plan. Just wait it out, eventually his looks won’t phase you. Or his voice. Or manners.

You made it downstairs and began to set the table. It took less than a minute because with only two people there wasn’t much to set. Nebraska stood staunchly at the doorway as if he were unsure what to do in this situation.

“You gonna sit down?” Wow that sounded rude. You couldn’t win for losing today, maybe it’d be best if you just didn’t say anything again ever.

He sat down without a word and you began sitting lunch on the table. Once everything was complete you stood proud of your creations.

“So I wasn’t sure if you had any dietary restrictions so I made Vegan Lasagna and Greek Salad hold the feta. Of course if you’d like feta I have that too, I just wanted to make sure I wasn’t overstepping. I kn-

“You didn’t have to do all this,” he said lowly causing you to falter in your rant.

“Oh... um..... I.... don’t mind. I cook for myself all the time anyway and there’s always extra so there’s really no change. Besides, I want you to feel at home here. And nothings says home like a home cooked meal.” You chuckled lightly. He said nothing. You were beginning to think maybe this stoic nature was his everyday personality and not just shyness.

The two of you ate in silence even though neither of you ate very much. You were to nervous to really eat and mostly picked at the food on your plate. He slowly ate his own portion, neither of you really putting a dent in anything.

When he finally finished, he rose from the table and headed towards the sink.

“Are you finished as well?” He asked reaching for your plate.

“Oh, yeah. Thanks,” you said handing it to him. He eyed the near full plate of food before dumping it in the trash and washing all the dishes. You began putting away the leftovers. When there was nothing left to do, you both kind of stood there in a thick silence.

“Thank you.... for the meal. And your hospitality,” Nebraska nodded towards you, before heading back upstairs towards his room.

You decided to do a bit of reading since you had time to pass this Sunday evening so you curled up on one of the plush chairs in your living room and started reading a new book by one of your favorite authors. It wasn’t newly published of course but it was new to you because you’d never read it.

You weren’t sure if it was the snow trinkling outside the window next to you, the comfortable silence in the house, or the exhaustion from preparing for a new guest but you’d fell asleep within ten minutes of sitting down, your book long forgotten.

When you woke up, it had to be late at night, the window beside you pitch black and covered in snow. You noticed the blanket you kept in a little basket in the corner of the living room was now draped across you. You knew you hadn’t grabbed it before you fell asleep so the only culprit had to be your new mysterious roommate.

You felt your stomach flutter at the sweet gesture. You silently scolded yourself about getting use to this type of thing. As soon as he got himself together and was army ready, he’d be gone and you’d never see him again. There was no use getting attached now if he was just going to leave.

~*~

A/N: So let me know what y’all think! I really did feel like Trevante Character in Predator was the only one actually fleshed out plus he was the only one who wasn’t just telling jokes and screaming. As always I’m tagging my usual Trevante gang, I’m so sorry if I forgot anybody, let me know and I’ll add ya to the list (best way is to let me know on my Trevante taglist post because I always check there first.)

Taglist: @chaneajoyyy @queen-of-the-jabari @queennanayaa @clydevevo @queennanayaa @chaneajoyyy @killmongerthiskoochie @theunsweetenedtruth @blackgirloneshots @blmforeal @erikkillmongerstan @jozigrrl @quietstorm-73 @sailorsenshi420 @wakandamama @mxearth h @chefjessypooh @macfizzle @chasingsunlight @dameshaemonique @rubiesandravens @raysunshine78 @melaninmarvel l @melanisticroyalty @softnani @vibranium-soul @itstaliaduh @cinki-the-black-goddess @thehomierobbstark @darkangelchronicles @bartierbakarimobisson @doublesidedscoobysnacks @blackpinup22 @tchokemedaddy @clydevevo @amirra88 @labelletemps @wawakanda-btch

#trevante rhodes #trevante rhodes imagine #trevante rhodes x you #trevante rhodes x reader #predator #predator 2018

[jaywhitecotton]

Fuck Elvis

I used to play this terrible game with some monstrous friends at karaoke shows. It was all based on how Michael Jackson died at the right time and if he molested just one more kid we’d be screwed out of decades of music and nostalgia.

We’d then apply other artists to this molestation scale. Like if MJ set the standard at say 7 known kids we’re pretty sure he finger banged, how many could say Aerosmith’s Steven Tyler get away with?

Turns out - it’s one. One for sure, but I’m pretty sure there would have to be at least three before we as a society are willing to let go of Dream On or Bruce Willis’s meteor sacrifice.

Bob Dylan? So hard. Old white NPR people would blame the motorcycle accident and give up everything after to protect his earlier legacy, but comparing Michael Jackson to Bob Dylan’s importance? He’s got to be able to molest as many - if not three more kids - than the King of Pop, right? I mean Jewish or not, he is still white so that has to give him the edge over Jacko in what he can get away with.

Anyhoo

Comics have been acting like comedy has been bringing “truth to power!” and patting themselves on the back, but thirty years of Michael Jackson jokes couldn’t do what one documentary has done.

Proving if you really want any justice these days, you need to first invest in some production value and an editor who knows how to make criminal acts look especially bad.

The reactions are pouring in and people are very conflicted. Many questioning whether or not it’s ok to like an artist because of their lurid personal life.

Look, can we come to a consensus on just one thing?

Human beings have been giant flesh bags of hot garbage since the very beginning of our upright existence. We started out so bad, we’re not even sure of what are real beginnings were actually like.

And its not even people that are the worst either. Look at life itself.

Nature is gruesome and horrifying! Every nature documentary is inherently a horror movie missing the scary cello mood music. If you knew how much ducks gang-raped in real life you would burn any remanence of all those duck-themed shows from the 90’s.

Even the creation of space and time was the result of a destructive explosion that shit us out into the nothingness of space.

Disagree? Thinks humans are great? Cool. Keep in mind a lot of people watched a movie about a guy who sexually abused children and their first thought was “Can I still grab my dick and effeminately scream ‘ohhhhh’ whenever it gets super windy? Because I don’t want to live in a world where I can’t do that!”

To me anytime a person does something exceptional - THAT should be the thing that is celebrated. Like “Wow, you overcame being a piece of shit and had a moment of triumph for our species, well done ya piece of shit!”

Thomas Jefferson and the Declaration of Independence, Gandhi and Civil Disobedience, Beethoven’s 9th have all stood the test of time and those acts are worthy of praise.

Are we going to really miss Ignition (remix)?

I’m not saying any of these people’s flaws should be ignored, but seriously - there were plenty of slave fuckers, wife abusers, and piss-on-tweeners out there who not only did that shit - but didn’t even have the decency to form an experimental democratic republic placing power in the hands of the people, much less write a catchy tune.

We have got to start holding a higher standard for what we consider legit and meaningful art.

Is Trapped in the Closet really an achievement for humanity? Is the cinematic legacy of Space Jam ruined by the tainting of I Believe I Can Fly?

Was American Beauty and House of Cards our civilization’s finest cinematic moments? Has there been nothing else to watch?

Can we no longer backwards slide dance at house parties because a guy who dressed like a sequined private eye slept with kids?

I’m not saying you can’t still enjoy those things, or even question your feelings about them. I’m saying don’t make those things more important than they actually are. You can both think an actor should be castrated and get lost in visualized fiction.

Just as easily as you can decide to never watch again. It’s all disposable.

To me the real crime is needing a movie like American Beauty to be the pinnacle of human achievement because you got your first handy in the theater when it came out or whatever.

Not that anyone is exactly saying that, but you big bad wolves get my straw house point.

What is the value of achievement? How do we measure what’s important? I’m not sure. Maybe it’s what the consensus decides should stay. Maybe it’s the individual.

Sometimes it feels like a lot of our general arguments are between the perspectives of group thinking socialists versus self-motivated libertarians. Maybe they’re both right, I guess it depends on the situation.

Personally I think most the arguments about entertainers matters most to the people who have a vested interest in brands and making it in the ‘look at me’ industry.

I don’t know if it’s because I’m in the thick of it having done music and standup most of my life and have the same guttural need for a stranger’s approval, but sometimes I feel surrounded by people who treat every moment of their lives like a biopic. Selling themselves on social media as if they’re the subject of their own Rolling Stone exposé.

People who define themselves by the most disposable of expressions and since trying to be good and known is so difficult, decided it’s easier to just simulate success instead of working harder on the mediums.

You know, frauds.

I’m surrounded by a generation of ‘fake it til you make it’ personalities who thrive on all the shit I find utterly useless, meaningless and the worst crime - boring.

Entrepreneurs in narcissism who communicate through gossip and trade in brand expression, littering the artistic landscape with recycled lateral thinking dog turds.

It’s exhausting,debilitating, and absolutely the future as AI replaces our normal careers, forcing all of us into becoming Instagram models and Influencers.

And everyday I have to have deep sobering introspection trying to figure out if I’m not equally culpable in this terrible trap of meaningless thinking.

Not that there’s anything wrong with meaningless. Not everything has to have as everlasting an impact as Ode to Joy.

I mean really, what actually matters if we all die and whatever impact we had becomes erased regardless of whether or not it takes years, months, days or even minutes after we are laid into the ground?

Most of everyone who has been born has meant nothing and left no trace or measurement that they even existed at all. Think of all the stillborn babies who didn’t even get the chance.

Nature the cold hearted bitch strikes again!

People call me jaded and bitter for these thoughts, but I promise you - I hold no anger or selfish need to compensate my own lacking by exclaiming ‘people are mostly shit and none of this will stand the test of time’. I’m very fun at parties.

It’s just the people desperate to matter that think reality is inherently mean.

Celebrate the achievement not the person, but also - let’s not over inflate the achievement to validate our own petty need for someone to hear our folk song about getting a handy while watching American Beauty or whatever.

A quick story.

One of the most talented people I ever met was a dude from Philly named Perone.

Perone played bass and was known across the city as being this incredible player who for some reason just never found a project he clicked with.

I met him when I was 18 and homeless, living in a 24 hour diner he waited tables at. Everyone loved this dude and for some reason he took care of me. Hooking up free salads, sodas, bread. He was the coolest dude I ever met.

I was learning guitar and we both loved 70’s soul and blues music so we’d jam together which in hindsight was wild.

I had no fucking idea what I was doing and yet here was this genius jamming patiently along.

Teaching me without putting in a show that he was actually teaching me, if that makes sense?

Was he perfect? No. Not at all. He was charismatic as fuck, but obviously weighted down with some demons.

The weirdest thing I could say about him - and I don’t know how to even properly frame this was - he used to draw on bed sheets.

For years he had a dream about a woman he never met and would paint her face on the bed sheets and attach lyrics to songs he was writing next to her face. These sheets hung all over his walls.

Keep in mind he was living with a girl at the time. He had a kid, yet here were all these sheets dedicated to a fictional white woman he was obsessed with, hung like championship banners across his entire two bedroom apartment.

My last conversation with Perone was perfect. I sat strumming his guitar while he smoked meth out of a can of Pepsi, telling me how Michael Jackson was the King.

Every click of the lighter, every inhale and exhale would punctuate just how much Michael Jackson meant to the world and music.

How Motown celebrated their 25th anniversary with a tv special and Michael Jackson came out and destroyed with the moonwalk.

“Dude, (click) black people loved Michael (inhale). White people loved Michael. (exhale)Young people loved Michael. (cough) Old people loved Michael. (click) None of this race or generation shit mattered. (inhale) It was because of the music and HE did that. (exhale) He bridged everything together in that one moment. (violent cough) Michael Jackson is and will always be the King. (click) Fuck Elvis.”

That was twenty years ago. I have no idea if he’s still alive, earned a living with his music or met the woman he’d dreamt and painted for years. Or if instead he succumbed to meth, took his own life and or manages an Olive Garden.

I don’t know and I don’t have to. I miss him and appreciate the things we shared that mattered and helped me grow as a person, but that’s all it ever will be.

Let justice be done and handled by those involved in their situation and value only the things and constructs that have some permanence or growth in your own life.

Either way you will still die, and wether it’s alone and forgotten or if it takes centuries for people to forget you were a miserable deaf cunt who wrote some sweet jams - you’ll eventually be nothing.

Fuck Elvis.

[onestowatch]

The Invisible Hands That Changed Pop Music Forever

A painting is a collaboration of three things: the canvas, the creators, and the acrylics. If the music industry is a painting, then Black musicians are all three. In honor of Black History Month, we are exploring the legacy of black ingenuity through the decades, highlighting four music pioneers: Mahalia Jackson, The Funk Brothers, Gamble and Huff, and Frankie Knuckles.

Everyone knows or has at least heard of The Beatles. By sewing in elements of rock and roll into their own brand of pop, the Liverpool quartet helped bridge the gap between ‘50s clean cut, highly manufactured pop and what we know as pop music, today. The band pioneered the British Invasion and its widespread dissemination, forever changing pop music. But there was another group with an equally massive impact on the music we listen to today, except, chances are, you've probably never heard of them.

Alongside the British Invasion was another mass musical movement that would forever impact the future of pop and the music industry: Motown. The movement was sparked by Berry Gordy Jr. who, with the encouragement of Smokey Robinson, created Motown Records—the label that crafted adored artists like Marvin Gaye and The Temptations. While these musicians were extremely talented, the music they performed would not have existed without a group of adept virtuosos known as The Funk Brothers. 

These 13 session musicians are collectively responsible for pioneering the sonic revolution of Motown. They played on more number one hits than The Beatles, Elvis Presley, The Rolling Stones and The Beach Boys, combined. They blended gospel, soul, and jazz with swing and pop to create catchy hooks and musical pockets that would forever change pop and eventually influence hip-hop and contemporary R&B.

1959 in Detroit is where it all began. By that point, the city had long been a musical epicenter, especially for jazz and blues, drawing in multiple talents throughout the 1930s and 40s, from Duke Ellington to Ella Fitzgerald. Upon creating Motown, Gordy recruited many of The Funk Brothers from different music clubs throughout Detroit. 

Because they long remained in the shadows, it is important to acknowledge each of the Funk Brothers. These 13 pioneers are made up of Benny Benjamin (drums), Eddie “Bongo” Brown (bongos), Joe Hunter, (keys and first band director), James Jamerson (bass), Uriel Jones (Drums), Joe Messina (guitar), Earl Van Dyke (keys), Robert White (guitar), Eddie Willis (guitar), Richard “Pistol” Allen (drums), Jack Ashford, (percussion), Bob Babbitt (bass after Jamerson), and Johnny Griffith (keys). 

These brothers were bound not by blood but by soul. And that is evident in the records they crafted together, fusing latin and afro-rhythmic beats with jazz and R&B to invent new, rich grooves with a punching yet melodic bass line, a four-beat drum pattern and clever drum fills that, alone, brilliantly set the scene. By 1972, Motown had released over 100 No. 1 R&B singles and 50 No. 1 Pop songs in the U.S, each of which involved some combination of The 13 Funk Brothers. As guitarist Joe Messina puts it, “I think the magic was, we listened to each other and we liked each other.”

Though there were R&B pioneers throughout 1940s and 50s, like Jackie Wilson, who paved the way for the Motown wave, the brothers certainly blazed the trails. Their contributions to American R&B spread to the British Invasion, as The Beatles, Rolling Stones, and Led Zeppelin covered Motown songs and no doubt let its influence bleed into their own music. The Beatles, for example, covered The Miracles’ “You’ve Really Got A Hold On Me” and the Rolling Stones covered The Temptations’ “Ain’t Too Proud to Beg,” among others. 

As the Motown Museum puts it, Motown married “the call-and-response patterns of black gospel music with the syncopation and improvisation of the bebop movement in jazz. Down in the so-called snake pit in Studio A, The Funk Brothers backed Motown’s finest artists at all hours of the day—and night.” Jack Ashford, who was in charge of vibes and tambourine for The Funk Brothers says in reference to Studio A, “I’d get this feeling, I could just touch it. It never left that room.”

The Funk Brothers were trailblazers both in and out of the studio. The weight of their musical impact afforded them the power to influence more than just music. Motown was more than a record label. It was a movement that, along with other labels like Stax Records, ultimately helped dismantle racial barriers and desegregate the music industry.

If this article is the first you are hearing of the Funk Brothers, you’re not alone. Not many people really knew about The Funk Brothers until 2002, when the award-winning documentary “Standing in the Shadows of Motown” detailed their experiences and industry-shaping impact.

Without The Funk Brothers, Motown arranger, writer, and producer Paul Rise says, “there really wouldn’t be a Motown.” As Otis Williams from The Temptations explains, “They were the groundwork, they were the thing that everything else was built on.” Producer and drummer Steve Jordan claims that anyone could have sang on those Motown songs and “it would’ve been a hit because the track was just so incredible, [the Funk Brothers] were musical entities on to themselves.” 

In 1988, Berry Gordy sold Motown Records. Nonetheless, the Motown flame remained bright, particularly in the late ‘80s and early ‘90s, during which the sampling of Motown songs laid the foundation for countless talents like Run DMC, Notorious B.I.G., and Mary J Blige, who looked to the spirit of The Funk Brothers to shape the heart of hip-hop and R&B. 

#the funk brothers #R&B #hip hop #soul #funk #black history month

[outta-the-junkyard-angel]

walt task 004 ;; interview with the player

Describe your character. How do you see your character in your own eyes and not based off the bio. How have you developed this character into your own?

I see Angel as a complex human being. There are so many sides to her, so many hidden traits that even after four years I still find myself learning new things about her. On one hand, she’s a street smart, independent woman who doesn’t need to rely on anybody else. She’ll figure things out on her own and isn’t afraid to defend herself however she has to.  She’s confident in her ability to provide for herself even if the means aren’t necessarily legal. She’s a firecracker. On the other hand, she’s got a lot of insecurities and fears. There are still times in her life when she feels like she’s easily replaceable and that those who claim to care are just a snarky come-back away from leaving for good. There are days when she doesn’t feel good enough. When she’s ashamed of her background despite how strong it made her because she doesn’t have the same advantages as some of her friends. Angel is a sweetheart to those who make it past her walls, to those who dare to see her as more than just a pretty face and she’s incredibly loyal. It’s hard for her to let go of people because she knows how it feels to be let go of.

What’s your favorite thing about your character? What’s your least favorite?

My favorite thing about Angel is definitely her vulnerability. She does her best to hide it and probably only a handful of people have ever seen that side of her but it’s so honest and pure when she lets her walls down completely and opens up to those around her. Those threads always put me on an emotional roller coaster. My least favorite thing about her is probably…how stubborn she is. She does not let go, even when she should. Example. Brett. She knew she should have left a long time ago but unwilling to lose another person in her life, she chose to stick around. Angel had this idea that she needed him, that maybe he could change and that this was where she was meant to be.

What are some of your favorite relationships your character has formed?

Favorite relationships wow wow wow. Okay. So Angel has had five million interactions (that may be a slight exaggeration) and quite a few relationships that I’ve absolutely fallen in love with. I’m gonna start with some characters who are no longer here or maybe are played by different people now. First, we’ll start with Anne’s Dodger. MY BROTP man. Danger was the ultimate reckless friendship but they supported each other through everything, even when they were breaking stuff with bats. He was there for her through her break up with Eric and supported her throughout all of it. Elise’s Dodger is another relationship that I loved. He quickly became one of her best friends and he was one of the few people that have seen her vulnerable side. After years of pining over Scott, she realized that she needed to move on and Dodger was the first person who made her heart skip a beat again, who made her feel safe. Let’s just take a second to talk about JAMES P. SULLIVAN okay? The big brother she always wanted and never had. Their threads gave me LIFE. He was so understanding of all the things she did, and was always there to help pick up the pieces when her life was a mess. Eric. Eric, Eric. Eric. This man. My first OTP at Walt. This relationship, even though I consider it AU now, will always hold such a special place in my heart. He didn’t care where she came from. He didn’t care that she had nothing. She didn’t care that he had money. They loved each other for who they were and we put them through a lot of shit they didn’t deserve…but it was fun. I honestly do love hateships, okay and Jafar was one of the finest. Angel has not gotten along with a single Jafar this RP has had. Not a damn one and I love it. Jafar has always been able to get under her skin and rile her up. It’s amazing. Jafar is amazing. Peter Pan...that little psycho. I loved the messed up relationship they had. Like...Bia...I miss Peter. Come back to us. Come love us. Let’s finish this horrible game.

And now for the current people in her life: Brett. @junkyard-buster Oh my goodness. Brett. Buster. This man. I waited ten million years for somebody to pick him up and I am so glad that Bre did. He was the first man she ever loved and I think part of her is always going to care about him. Even now when she hates his guts, she wants him to see that there is a part of him that’s worth loving. She’s seen it but at the end of the day she hated being treated like a trophy. Scott fucking Lazzari, @s-lazzari ladies and gentlemen. She is so heart-eyed over this boy and it’s funny because she tries to play it off like she’s not. Angel would die for this goofball. She’d stand between him and Brett any day of the week. His arms are home and if something ever happens in the normal verse where she loses him, I honestly don’t know if/how she’ll recover. Now for my girls. Okay, Angel loves the fuck out of Alice @aliddellmimsy and so do I. Their friendship brings me life and I love these sassy blondes. They’re a dynamic duo and one of my all time favorite brotps. Merida Dunbroch. @redwaywardarcher These two never fail to find something to do and I feel like it probably always ends up with somebody getting punched or them running from the cops? They’re reckless, they’re hellions and Angel would fight anyone for Merida. Daphne.  @d-blake Angel’s not into the whole clothing and make-up side of being a girl, but she thinks Daphne’s pretty cool. 

Has your character changed you in any way? Or do you yourself in yourself in your character?

TW: MENTIONS OF ABUSE/NEGLECT, DRUGS, ALCOHOLISM. Read this next section with caution if you are easily triggered by these.

Angel has definitely changed me. Honestly, out of all my characters, Angel is the one that I connect most too. I was never a foster child and I never ran away from home, but my parents were both drug addicts and alcoholics. I was neglected and emotionally abused. I was told that I would never amount to anything, that I would end up alone. I was told that I did an okay job but here’s all the things I messed up. Reading her bio...that broken part of me connected with the broken part of Angel and I knew that I needed to be the one to tell her story. Along the way, I’ve learned a lot about her and a lot about myself. We hold on to people longer than we should just because the thought of living without them leaves a pit in our stomach. We pretend everything is fine when everything has spiraled out of control. We love others too much and ourselves not enough. Angel has taught me to be strong...to find the people who actually care and won’t run whenever my darkest side shows. She’s helped me come to terms with the fact that family isn’t always blood. And most importantly, she’s helped me see that even when I’m afraid that I should never be afraid to love.

Do you think your character has had a big impact on Walt? Is it a good impact or bad?

I would like to say she’s had a good impact. To see that others view her as this strong, badass woman really means a lot to the both of us.

Favorite thing your character has done and worst?

My favorite thing would probably be standing up to Brett. It needed to be done because they both needed closure. She needed to close the chapter on that part of her life in order for her to move one. Least favorite thing...Probably letting Scott go for the “space” he claimed he needed. She didn’t fight hard enough.

What is some progress you hope to have with your character in the future?

I’d really like to see her forgive her parents. Like, she claims she doesn’t care but she holds a lot of resentment and I’d really like to see her move past that.

What is one thing you would tell your character?

You are worth it. You don’t see that sometimes. You see yourselves as a placeholder in people’s lives but you aren’t. You deserve to have friendships. You deserve to be loved and to be in love. You deserve to be happy.

What has been your favorite thing about Walt?

Honestly how long I’ve been able to call this place a home. Overall, this place has been a safe place for me and reignited the spark I had for writing.

Has your experience been a positive one?

For the most part...yes. This place has been such a big part of my life. I’ve met some incredible people, shared incredible adventures, laughed so hard that I cried, and cried over threads that held intense emotions. Walt has brought some wonderful friendship into my world and I am beyond thankful. There are times, even recently that I’ve felt on the outskirts but overall, I love all of you dearly.

Got a favorite memory? Share it!

Um...is it bad if I say Brett showing up again? Cause damn that was some good drama.

What are you looking forward to in the future?

I want to see Walt thrive. I want to see it continue to grow and for each member to be welcomed with open arms. Zuley has put a lot of work into this place and so have I. I want Walt to be home for all those who apply.

Have you had a favorite event? Favorite plot?

This scream event omg. I also love Angel if future week.

Favorite Character that’s not your own and why?

I want to start this out by saying that everyone is going to get mentioned. I have seven characters and I split it up because I love all of y’all. So here we go.

@s-lazzari am I biased? Hell yes. But I love Scott with all my heart and SOUL. I love Lady & the Tramp 2. Scamp is one of my favorite characters. He wants to prove that he’s more than just a rich boy, that he’s tough even though underneath it he’s a goofball and a marshmallow. 

@junkyard-buster again...biased af. Listen. Brett is a great villain okay. He is calculating and he knows what he wants and he’s not afraid to go after it. I love the development we see him go through in the future thread with Angel.

@voodookingfacilier He’s just so well written. Like...every time I read his replies I get the creeps and I love spooky things so that’s a-okay with me.

@zer0-de-luca I just wanna hug him. Like...honestly. He’s a cutie.

Ideas, shoutouts, requests, dedications, questions?

Again, the love is split up among several characters, so your time is coming, buttercups.

Zulema, where do I even hecking start. Of course I had to put you with Angel’s task because I owe you so much. Angel’s bio brought me to this place but it’s people like you who have kept me here. You have been such a blessing. Thank you for allowing me to text you all in caps because I’m excited about Kentonie or Scangel. Or even just freaking out about something on the dash. You are an incredibly gifted writer and your dedication to those you care about is amazing.

Arlene, GIIIIRL. I absolutely adore you and I hope you remember that always. Writing with you is such a pleasure and shipping with you is always guaranteed to cause me a hurricane of emotion. Getting to know you has been one of the highlights of my time here at Walt. A million hugs to you, lovely!

Jill, loml. you are so freaking talented it kills me. Your responses are spot on. Your characters are flawless and so are you. I am so glad to have had the honor of writing with you and I can’t wait to see what the future holds for Max and Rita, Noelle and Elara , Atlas and Kailey, and Noelle and Henry. I love youuuu!

Bea, you also belong on Angel’s because Angric. You were the first person I had a ship with once I took up RP on Tumblr. Prior to that, I’d only written with people I’d known for a while but the chemistry Angric was was unbelievable. Thank you for suffering with me on the roller coaster of emotions, even though you inflicted most of it (; I’m glad you’re back, boo.

#i'm emotional #watask

[intoanotherether]

Autobiographical Accounts of the Misplacement of Coherent Reality

The color of the sun is green. It glitches out into pixels every few minutes due to the slow processing capabilities of the sky’s hardware. A Ford Escape drives beside me on the highway with two men in the front. The one in the passenger side wears a black shirt, no. A red shirt, no. A purple shirt. No, it’s a white shirt. Actually, let me start over. It’s not a shirt; it’s a suit. I watch him pull a piece of paper and a feather quill out. He dips the tip of the quill into a bottle of motor oil and begins to write, taking a sip from the bottle every few seconds. He packs it all away into a briefcase and leans forward, staring straight at me through the driver’s side window. In a matter of seconds, he vanishes into nothing. The man who is driving begins to apply makeup in the rearview mirror. I notice the back left wheel is missing. I continue to drive myself to the Olympics. Oh, Wait. The Olympics aren’t this year. Thinking hard about a new destination, I crash my car in a head on collision with a hearse. I black out, but wake up unscathed minutes later inside of my totaled car. In front of me, the hearse is running and appears not to have taken any damage from the accident I caused. A salary man in a suit carrying a briefcase climbs out of the backseat window of the hearse and onto the roof, where he begins to raise a family of four. I watch his eldest son graduate high school with honors, and the younger son end world hunger. His wife has no eyes, mouth, or nose. Her face is a smooth surface. I watch the salary man tie a noose around his neck and hang himself from a cloud. My car door has been impacted, and now has taken on the shape of a gate. I unhinge the gate and roll out into the rubble where I find his suicide note. It reads “I’m so sorry. I’m sorry for who you are.”

Something is off, and I feel different. But I cannot seem to place exactly what it is.  I blame the uneasiness on my lack of sleep due to a recent fear that was sparked by a terrifying documentary about aphids that I had watched last weekend. As a gardener, I was absolutely mortified. I donated some life savings to a charity foundation that seeks to promote the pesticide industry. The sun felt so much brighter after my donation. I’m still smiling.

I realize that I still need a new destination. I want to make friends, so I decide to walk to the police station. I greet the officer at the front gate, and start small talk about criminals. They’re all so pathetic, I say. Complete morons. Contribute nothing to society. Free loaders. I’ve only ever sworn once, I say. It was just a bad situation, I contest. It was on the day I lost my mind, but thank goodness that I found it under my right pointer’s fingernail. I must have left it there when I went grocery shopping last. I’m against using plastic bags, so I usually carry my groceries home under my fingernails. It’s so environmentally efficient.

After my confession, I am then immediately taken into custody. “That’s an act of sin,” the officer says. I am arrested for swearing. Inside the jail cell, I light a cigarette and put my phone on the charger. The cigarette is broken and a bright light is pouring out of the end as it burns. I don’t really smoke; I just enjoy the smell of what a fabulous Los Vegas nightlife might be like. In my heart, it’s what I really want. Sometimes when I’m alone, my mind wanders around the idea of flirting with suspicious men who are scared of commitment as I win big money on the penny slots on the strip, wearing sunglasses inside. This is my second biggest lustful thought, and I tend to repress it. My repressed thoughts usually manifest into anger. I become so angry that I yell at my garden. I’ll yell things like “squash, why is it that you never call me back!?” I just need something to yell about, even though I don’t really care too much. Squash is just very hard to stay in touch with sometimes. I always apologize after, and squash is so forgiving.

My cigarette goes out and I rip the filter in half to find Los Vegas. I shove the city into my pocket and make a mental note to dispose of it later. There is no trashcan in the jailcell, and I do not litter, never have. I throw away my dreams, just like any other respectable person would. Dreaming too much and suicide are very closely linked, and some even consider the idea that they may be completely the same thing. Everyone dreams though, as sad as that is. Sleep was invented so people could dream without it interfering with reality, and admittedly sometimes, I want to go to sleep early. Some want to sleep forever.

I am charged with two felonies at my hearing. What is the second one for? I ask. They say that I cut my bangs horribly, and will be forced to wear a plastic bag over my head. I insist for paper. I tell them to think about the environment. Global warming is a threat, endangering the lives of the glaciers enough already. Pedestrian litter like plastic bags could cause them to choke, and thus will affect the harvest of their meat for the ice industry. They agree. I use a 50% off coupon for my bail charge and I am sent home with a paper bag on my head. They say I must wear it for a total of twenty hours within the week. On the back of the bag printed in bold time new roman reads “We’re so sorry. We’re so sorry for who you are.”

There are no holes cut out on the bag for my eyes to see. As I put it on, I find a screen inside with a video on a constant loop. The loop playing is of a girl in my image wearing a white slip walking between the corners of a room with no windows or door in a 6x6 enclosure. I take the bag off so that I am able to watch a documentary about fiber optics installation. I put the bag back on and the loop has changed. The girl in my image is now laying down on the floor of the room, staring blank up at the ceiling. I find my physical body forced to the floor, unable sit back up. I say that I must water the garden. I manage to lift my arm so I can take the bag off. The zucchini is dying. I tend to the zucchini, nursing her with milk and sugar. I put the bag back on. The loop has changed again: the girl is now strapped down in a chair, and is having a knife pushed into her leg by an invisible force. I feel a sharp pain on the leg of my physical body, and I am deeply wounded. The wound heals at the beginning of each loop. As it plays over and over again, my body is in sync with every repeated puncture. I can’t take the pain, and shake my head until the bag falls off.  The bag hasn’t been on my head for even an hour.

I put the bag back on. The girl in my image is sitting in the 6x6 room dressed like an angel. She’s strapped tightly down into the chair from the previous loop. Her halo was only very recently spray painted gold; it’s still wet and dripping. There is a man behind her with a chainsaw. He is wearing a suit and has name tag on that reads “Hello, my name is Adam.” He runs the machine down on her shoulder, severing her arm. I panic, and shake my head so the bag falls off. My arm is on the other side of the room, and the man with the chainsaw is behind me. He switches the machine to “off” and pulls a briefcase out from the inside of his blazer. He opens it and retrieves a letter and reads what is written on it to me. I can’t understand what he is saying because his voice is censored. His mouth is moving but instead of speaking, different tones replace the fluctuation in his voice. In the middle of reading, he begins choking and falling to the ground slowly, his hand reaching into the back of his mouth as if something was lodged back there. He pulls a battery out and sets it on the counter. It’s a triple A battery, and it would just be a perfect replacement to the dead one in my sea salt heating lamp. If only this battery he pulled out wasn’t dead too. I was really close with my sea salt heating lamp, and we were even interested in each other at one point. All of a sudden, one day, it just wouldn’t turn on any more. I cried myself to sleep, thinking it was all my fault. I swear I never meant to take too much, and always gave back what I could in our relationship. And I could have bought a new battery for it, but even if it turned back on, I knew that it just wouldn’t be the same. What if one day it just so suddenly went out again, just like that? I wouldn’t be able to trust that it was going to stay lit for me. It is a painful thing to think about, but I did move on. I miss the gentle glow of its company on lonely nights. It’s been so much darker in my house since it died.

I stop reminiscing on those days and watch this man who is apparently named Adam begin to choke up gears and computer chips, making just the biggest mess. I run to the bathroom and dampen a towel, placing it on his forehead as he kneels over spitting up more wires and screws. As he recovers and stands up, he starts crying tears of oil. I fetch a bucket and start collecting them so that I am able to water my garden in the morning. He cleans up and takes a seat, where he pulls out a new arm from his pocket. There is a label above the elbow that reads “wash with like colors.” He motions me over, and glues it into my arm socket. It is fully functional, all except for the fact that I cannot hold my arm any higher than my head. He pulls out an electronic translator and shows it to me to read “will you please help me find a new battery?” Using the translator, I agree to help and in addition, invite him to a magic show happening inside of the five-star nuclear power plant a few blocks away from my apartment. He agrees and I show him to my car, a 2004 Dodge Neon. I’ve never really been on a date before, and never imaged that it would be with someone so incredibly handsome. I just can’t wait to sip on the finest nuclear waste as I watch a girl be sawed in half. The drinks are brewed right inside the very place itself, and served to you during shows. It’ll be just like the movies. I hope he doesn’t see me blushing.

After the wreck, my insurance company was happy to pay for all the damages. My car was delivered back to me in a package on my front step, and they had even filled the tank for me. Kind people work at my insurance company, and whenever I call, we have long conversations into the night. We often talk about unfulfilled fantasies, but sometimes we will have long drawn out arguments over how the weather really is. However, that’s rare, and we usually just agree to disagree. Clearly, it isn’t raining outside. I just can’t believe some people thrive off lies and deceit. I tell myself that I’m just too good for that, but then I remember that I have no one else that will care to listen to my lustful desire of someday becoming a grocery store clerk. It’s my number one most terrible thought. No one else knows how much I secretly love to run plastic bags through my fingers. It is such taboo, as I stand in solidarity with the glaciers. I try my hardest to keep true to my ethics, despite these forbidden, disgusting thoughts.

My car only has a driver side; there is only one row of seats, and can only fit two people. There are only two wheels, and the radio is only able to play static. I blast the static through the speakers on slow, quiet days. The trunk of my car is the size of a shoebox. In the trunk, I keep a gun loaded with my prescription sleeping pills. I shoot one into the back of my throat whenever I feel like dreaming.

We drive to the nearest drugstore for a new battery, which is located in the middle of a sulfur field off the side of the highway. It’s by where I had gotten into my crash. The hearse is still running where it was on the day of the accident. There is a small memorial on the roof for the salary man. His suit is folded up in front of the memorial on top of his briefcase, where I imagined he kept all of his most important documents. After observing the hearse situation, I see that the entire left side of the drug store is absent of a wall, and also functions as a drive-through window for those in a rush. The greeting card aisle is the first upon entry. I observe a middle aged man picking out an “I’m sorry” card. The man reaches his hand under his toupee, pulling out an ink pen to sign the card “To dearest Jeremy, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry for who you are. Sincerely, Jeremy.” The battery section shares an aisle with the stained-glass section. Although it is beautiful, I am reluctant to buy the stained-glass piece that depicts two salary men fighting over whether or not the next investment should be in rosemary or basil. Personally, I would pick rosemary, as the rosemary industry as of recently has been successful, as opposed to the basil industry. Every basil store that I have passed lately has been under foreclosure. I’m a gardener, so I must pay attention to this kind of thing. The man with me who wears the nametag that reads “Adam” stares into the glass-stained piece with lust and jumps into the picture. He wants to start a business venture with them. The subject matter in the stained-glass piece changes to an image of Adam in my garden with the salary men. They are offering him a share of stock in their enterprise, and he becomes ecstatic. I know in my heart that it is what he truly has always aspired for. It was the dream he could never live. He just couldn’t pass it up. If I had jumped in too, I would have picked the share of stock right out of their hands. I know I was told not to by an omnipresent force, but I like to break the rules sometimes. Now that Adam has transcended, I am left alone in the drugstore. I feel grief and heartbreak. “We could have been something, Adam! I never told you, but I was in love with you! I have never before been so attracted to a man’s voice. I wanted you to censor out everything that I didn’t want to hear! You used me, Adam!” I shout into the stained-glass. I pick it up and throw it to the ground in tears. The shatter catches the attention of the cashier, who is applying his makeup in a mirror behind the beauty counter. He drags me into the backroom: a 6x6 enclosure with no windows or door, where he straps me down into an electric chair. I admire the tattoo on his neck of the Los Vegas strip. He takes a chainsaw out from the locker behind him. He revs up the machine, and runs it along his tongue. He begins to bleed out light from his tongue; it’s a blinding bright light that falls from his mouth and quickly floods the room. “This is what heaven looks like. And you, you look like an angel. Your time is up.” He presses a button on the wall and I am shocked by the electric chair until I am pronounced dead. My vision is black, and there is nothing. I take the bag off my head.

I hold the bag in my hands in my living room, and turn on the television to Local News Channel 5. There is breaking news. Just wonderful! I’ve been so bored sitting alone with this bag on my head. The newscaster announces that my twenty hours of wearing the paper bag are up, and displays an image of my gravestone. Congratulations, he says. You’ve made it to heaven. I sigh heavily with relief and wait for my letter of discharge from life in the mail.

Three days later, I find an envelope in my mailbox. The return address cannot be displayed here for the all intended purpose of protecting the safety of the sender. I excitedly open it up and take out the contents; it’s a postcard with an image of my own apartment on the back. It reads: “We’re so sorry. We’re so sorry for who you are.” I pin the letter up on the north wall of my room. I notice my gun is missing. I fall into my bed and beg for a dream.

#writing #ink #spilled ink #modernism #literature #wr #jr

[deftbeck]

The Top Ten Eighties Songs

Now, when people think of the 1980s, they think about many things that aren't indeed characteristic of the era. We had Ronald Reagan, gel shoes, and New Coke. Let me dispel the nostalgia; we had Ronald Reagan back in the 50s; we had plastic covering our feet since we were unwrapped from the factory, and Coke hadn't been new since cocaine rickeys were invented.

Along these lines, there's a lot of good 80s songs that just don't get a lot of service-lipping along the lines of some of the bigger hits of the day. And so, to get rid some of that nasty atmosphere, here's my personal Top Ten. These are presented in no particular order because I am particularly lazy.

Centipede by Rebbie Jackson

Centipede has the special appeal of a Jackson song that just came off of the clearance rack at Goodwill. The up and coming Jackson sibling Michael produced this hit song and guest stars as accompanying vocals during the chorus. But the real star are the seagull cries of Rebbie Jackson, showcasing the start of her incredible momentum in her career afterward. With her ability to be a tiger, snake and a centipede with hundreds of sensual, hot legs, it's no secret as to why she became such a success. Shapeshifting remains an elusive skill among the pop elite.

Whip Appeal by Babyface

Babyface brings us a slow jam about what the women in his life do to him during their Castlevania roleplay sessions. Though he isn't always Dracula, he still lays on his satin sheets and revels in the pain that he ever so sensually delivers through this song. Whenever this song came on the radio in any part of the 80s, women would sensually moan and begin masturbating in their bathtubs in the dark. It caused such a social uproar that the song is officially banned from all radios worldwide. It's a shame, because the man with the face of a baby had a lot of appeal, whips nonwithstanding.

Caribbean Queen by Billy Ocean

Depending on who you ask, this song could be about an African or European queen. No matter which monarchy to which you are beheld, Billy Ocean is here to sing about it. This song is flush with the finest sound effects that the producer's library could offer, such as a roaring tiger and the sound of murmuring crowds. The composition is completely original and in no way resembles a song about jeans owned by Billy; any sonic resemblance is coincidental and not indiciative of any songs that may or may not have been released a year prior to this worldwide hit.

Torture by The Jacksons

If you couldn't get enough of Centipede then you'll love this package of pure sorrow and familial obligation. Featuring the vast talents of the Jacksons such as Tito and Jermaine, it's a driving rock song with the horsepower of a Geo. And we can't forget about the middle portion, where the lesser known Jackson, Michael, sings just before a twenty minute guitar solo that farts all over the last eighty minutes of the song. It's these kinds of brotherly collaborations that makes it clear why Michael wanted to branch out and make something of his life instead of clinging to the success of his brothers. And without him, we'd never have Zayn.

Two Occasions by The Deele

Babyface is technically on this list twice, but there's no rule saying that's not allowed. He's joined by two other people with much more mature faces than the one he possesses. While the parts where he sings are nice, the other two members of The Deele are the real stars of the track, with vocals so syrupy that they can be drizzled over my morning pancakes. The two occasions mentioned in the song are day and night, but it would have been especially sweet if they had mentioned that they thought of the lover addressed in the song when listening to other, inferior love songs. Because this song is for all occasions.

Smooth Operator by Sade

Smooth Operator is best known as the song that has been played in every single elevator in the entire world. It's the perfect song to listen to as you're going up to your hotel room for a night of hot room service and crying into your pillow. It's a little known fact that this song is a response song toward Pete Shelley, who was into Sade for her excellent telephone operating skills. No matter if it was a rotary phone or a push-button phone, she always ensured that she called the correct person. This was unlike Pete, who had the habit of calling Rebbie Jackson with his poor phone operation skills. No wonder his heart was so cold.

Buffalo Stance by Neneh Cherry No money man can win my love for this hip hop track. Not only is Ms. Cherry paying tribute to buffalos in this track, but she's also paying tribute to those who stand like them. In her native Sweden, Neneh used to observe young gentlemen and ladies standing like the fluffy grazers of yore, making sure that nobody gets in their way. This social phenomenon was so important that Ms. Cherry had to tell the world about it. Now, you can see everybody standing like buffalos when they want to look intimidating. I'm doing it right now! Don't you get fresh with me.

Pink Cadillac by Natalie Cole

If Nat King Cole was the king of jazz, then Natalie Cole was the queen. Yes, I know that they both performed in separate genres, it's a figure of speech. Anyway, this fusion of funk and synthpop is the stuff that you'd listen to as you're driving down the street, perhaps in an open-top car with a reddish hue. It doesn't even have to be yours, and it doesn't have to be your money, either. That's the free spirit that Natalie is promoting in this song. In all, it's a poppy jaunt with a lot of charm. I'm sure that NKC would have been proud, if he had been alive to listen to the song. Maybe one of these days I'll play it at his gravestone.

Tell Me Am I Dreaming by Jermaine Jackson

Jermaine continues to be the artist of the dreams he's presumably discussing in this song. Michael, ever the coattail-hanger, appears in this song, wondering if the romance in which he's engaging is the subject matter of his REM cycles or the harsh reality of not being as good as Jermaine. The lyrics from Michael are delivered so staccato that you swear that you're listening to a talentless robot than the angelic moaning of Jermaine. It's no mystery as to why he ended up as the most successful Jackson sibling and why Michael had such jealousy towards him. Well, with songs like this; it's no dream, it's real.

Mama Used To Say by Junior

Junior is best described as the lost Jackson sibling. While he isn't nearly as dazzling as Jermaine, Junior proves that he's more than competent enough to deliver his narrative of not trying to posture yourself to be older or younger than you currently appear to be. And with Junior appearing almost exactly the same as he did back in the 80s, it's safe to speculate that the power of the song's message has preserved his youth forevermore. So, godspeed, Junior, and make sure you follow your late mother's advice and live your everlasting life.

There you have it, all of the songs that were released in the 1980s that were important. From the talents of Jermaine Jackson to the horrifying mutant physiology of Rebbie Jackson, there was plenty of talent on display that wasn't always in the spotlight. I hope you've come to realize how important this era is to all aspects of music history going forward. Truly there hasn't been any other music made that has had such an impact.

#80s #music #deft beck #essay #80s music

[rebeccaheyman]

reading + listening 08.10.20

When I say that my book consumption this week swung from the best 2020 has to offer so far to the absolute worst, I am not exaggerating in the least. Another wild ride from start to finish...

Love is a Rogue (Lenora Bell), ebook, ARC. Full review on NetGalley. LOVE IS A ROGUE was my first Lenora Bell book -- but clocking in at a solid B, it won't be my last. Beatrice is an able-enough heroine, distinguished by her love for etymology, books, and the etymological dictionary she's planning to write once she achieves full spinster status. All she needs to do is fail one more season with the ton to circumvent her mother's plan's to make an advantageous marriage. Ford, our dashing hero, enters the scene as a carpenter whose role overseeing the renovation of the duke's estate brings him into Beatrice's path. They collide with flirtatious results, and the fun continues when Beatrice hires Ford to renovate a bookshop she just-so-happens to have inherited from a dead aunt. Unbeknownst to Beatrice, the property brings Ford's past directly in-line with her present, and they unite to overcome the challenges posed by society, their personal demons, and Ford's dastardly grandfather. 

For me, Beatrice's status as the duke's sister undermined the urgency of her final season in society; she doesn't have to marry to save the family fortune or escape a cruel family situation, and in fact, Beatrice quickly decides to play along and appease her mother, all the while knowing she'll reject any proposals and retire to the country in due course. So the stakes are not especially high from a cultural perspective, which deflated the conflict somewhat. Likewise, Ford's inner demons don't hold the same power over him that might seriously impact his actions; he's set to return to the Royal Navy any day now, but decides with zero fanfare that actually no, he'll decline another tour and stay land-locked, tyvm. How realistic would it have been to back out of military service? I can't say -- but it seems like this would have been a serviceable point of separation for Ford and Beatrice, that would have prolonged the third act and provided valuable tension. Because it's the third act that keeps LOVE IS A ROGUE from ascending higher in my estimation. 

The Midnight Bargain (C.L. Polk), ebook, ARC. Full four-star review on NetGalley.

I unequivocally adored THE MIDNIGHT BARGAIN, the first I've read from author C.L. Polk. It's a little tricky to categorize this standalone fantasy romance, which takes place in a decidedly other world, but still calls on the culture of Regency-era England -- so to call it "historical" is misleading, but readers who enjoy historical romance will surely find the cultural mores in THE MIDNIGHT BARGAIN both familiar and compelling. Beatrice Clayborn is in town for her last Bargaining season -- a time for male sorcerers to find powerful wives whose magic will serve them once the marriage is sealed. Because in this world, women aren't allowed magic and marriage simultaneously; the danger of a spirit taking over an unborn child is too great, so women are collared, literally and figuratively, to keep this atrocity from happening. Beatrice has plans to study magic in secret and become a full-fledged Mage, which would render her ineligible for marriage and destroy her family's social and economic standing, but secure her rights to her own power and body for the rest of her life. All she needs are the secrets hidden in one particular grimoire -- that's stolen right from her hands by the Lavan siblings. Powerful, and with ambitions and secrets of their own, the Ianthe and Ysbeta and Ianthe complicate Beatrice's plans by drawing her into their lives; Ysbeta as accomplice, confidante and friend, and Ianthe as all those things plus potential lover and love.

Polk's writing is fluid and charming, with careful attention to detail. Her evocative world-building and subtle magic system is never forgotten, but it also never overwhelms the distinctly human motivations that move our characters through time and space. THE MIDNIGHT BARGAIN was compulsively readable, full of lovely language and delightfully unassuming turns of phrase. Beatrice is intrepid and brave; Ysbeta is fierce and loyal; Ianthe is the profoundly romantic, feminist hero we all need. A delight from the first page to the last, THE MIDNIGHT BARGAIN is a tightly-woven, beautifully-rendered fantasy romance that will make you a C.L. Polk fan if you aren't one already.

Midnight Sun (Stephanie Meyer). eBook + aBook. Perhaps like me, you thought a little nostalgia and escapism would revive the dregs of this terrible, pandemic summer. Maybe you thought a throwback to simpler times -- the year 2005 to be exact -- would make you feel young and carefree again. Bella and Edward’s angsty bullshit would be fun to revisit, and maybe Edward’s POV would reveal something interesting about a story we might not all have loved, but definitely loved to hate. Well, 2020 is here to set you straight again: this year absolutely blows, and no amount of sparkly vampires can save it. I can say with perfect clarity that MIDNIGHT SUN is the worst novel I (or anyone) will read this year. The degree to which MIDNIGHT SUN fails as a novel is so extreme, it’s actually hard to qualify which aspect of the book is worst: the writing, the narrative development, the unadulterated laziness of retelling a story from a POV that adds literally nothing to our understanding of that first narrative. Fail, fail, fail. In no particular order, here are my thoughts:

The writing is as bad as you think it’s going to be. I don’t know what Stephanie Meyer has been doing for the past 15 years, but it’s not working on her craft. Purple prose takes on newly virulent shades in this trash heap of lazy language. 

While I understand that the story itself was restricted by an established plot, there was an opportunity to leave behind some of the language that simply hasn’t aged well. “...[M]y own personal brand of heroine” was cringe-inducing the first time, and no effort was made to allay a scene that is frankly embarrassing to read. Perhaps worst of all, though, is that language on the same plane of egregiousness is introduced to the narrative with no precedent from the original text. Bella’s claim that she’s “so clumsy that I’m almost disabled” (245) doesn’t feel like something that should have passed muster in 2020. Did no one flag this for blatant insensitivity? Yeesh.

The original TWILIGHT was just shy of 500 pages. MIDNIGHT SUN is 675 pages. Six! Hundred! Seventy! Five! How does a story that was overlong at 500 pages stretch almost 200 MORE pages, you ask? Easy, when you commit to narrating every scene in painstakingly slow detail. The infamous baseball game you remember? It takes nearly fifty pages for it to unfold in Edward’s slow, tedious narration. At one point, when Ed & Co. are trying to throw James off Bella’s scent, Edward starts articulating individual footsteps. It’s... stunning, how god-awful boring this book is. 

Dear Reader, you know -- have always known -- that Edward is an obsessive sociopath with stalker tendencies and a serious control problem. Your conscious mind has elected to allay your concerns about the health of Bella and Edward’s relationship because it’s fun to watch two kids being dramatic and self-centered, yearning for each other with the kind of intensity that only comes with the blinders of young love. Dear Reader, you will STRUGGLE to maintain this elan for toxicity if you read MIDNIGHT SUN. Edward’s murder-fantasies, which extend to all the kids in Bella’s science class and later, to the school secretary too busy salivating over a child to recognize how unhinged he is, are difficult to stomach. The constant litany of “it hurts but I like it” is incredibly off-putting and, again, boring as dry toast. 

I can’t keep going. It was just so, so bad. It wasn’t fun or nostalgic or even funny. Just pathetic. I know this was a cash-cow slam-dunk for Meyer and her publisher, which is all the proof we’ll ever need that money is the root of all evil. Rarely have I ever felt this way but here it is: I wish this book didn’t exist. Don’t buy it. 

The Poet X (Elizabeth Acevedo), eBook. I admit, I started THE POET X months and months ago, and had 50 pages to finish that I just didn’t get to until this week. I was floundering after M*dnight S*n, and knew the only remedy short of bona fide brain bleach would be an infusion of thoughtful, beautiful, elegant language. Finishing this novel-in-verse started the process of reviving my faith in the written word. Acevedo never trades pathos for angst, and allows Xiomara’s complex emotions and experiences to shine with subtlety and heart. THE POET X occupies that top-tier of novels-in-verse that, for me, has since been limited to BLOOD WATER PAINT (Joy McCullough).

These Ghosts are Family (Maisy Card), aBook narrated by Karl O’Brian Williams. I love a multi-generational narrative, especially when a well-earned comp to one of my favorite novels, HOMEGOING (Gyasi), indicates a globe-spanning, culturally complex, deeply human story that hinges around one decision that ripples through time and space. When Abel Paisley assumes his dead friend’s identity, the consequences of his choice reverberate through the family he left behind in Jamaica and the one(s) he forms in New York. With Abel’s life fast coming to an end, his desire for closure brings the truth of his deception to light, and that decision, too, has far-reaching consequences. This is a beautiful debut from Card, and the narration from Williams is exemplary. If you read and adored ALL ADULTS HERE (Emma Straub), dive into THESE GHOSTS ARE FAMILY for an even more poignant family portrait that still capitalizes on a strongly-braided narrative and multiple POVs.

Migrations (Charlotte McConaghy), eBook. If M*dnight S*n is the worst book 2020 has to offer (and it is!), MIGRATIONS is undeniably the finest. I’m calling it right here: This is the best book you’ll read this year, full stop. As of this writing, on Monday morning, I’ve already gifted MIGRATIONS twice -- and I only started reading it on Saturday night. That’s how quickly it drew me in and wove itself around my heart. 

Franny Lynch is on a mission to follow the last of the world’s Arctic terns on their epic annual migration. For all that she’s following the birds, Franny is also running from her past, and speeding toward her own planned end. In a narrative that moves through time as fluidly as a dorsal fin cutting through the water, McConaghy slips in and out of the present to multiple eras of the past -- each as compelling as the next. How Franny came to be on her mission is a story of love and passion and wandering and heartbreak, and how a girl who has always belonged to the sea manages to make her way through the world on land. Like STATION ELEVEN (Emily St John Mandel), MIGRATIONS paints into being a future that is eerily possible and terrifyingly probable, but never sacrifices the propulsive character study at the center of the work in favor of grand-standing about issues. And the language... oh my soul, the language. I was spoiled for choice when it comes to excerpts, but here’s one that slayed me in Act III:

“And I am done with the universe between us. It is so perilous, this love, but he’s right, and I will have no cowardice in my life, not anymore, and I will be no small thing, and I will have no small life, and so I find his mouth with mine and we are awake at last, returned to a land long abandoned, the land of each other’s bodies.” (275)

Give yourself the gift of this novel, and then give the gift of this novel to someone you care about. Then find me on Twitter so we can talk endlessly about how wonderful it is.

Okay, on the docket this week:

The Ten Thousand Doors of January (Alix Harrow)

Sweet Sorrow (David Nicholls)

The Garden of Small Beginnings (Abbi Waxman)

Perfect Little World (Kevin Wilson)

The Vanishing Half (Brit Bennett)

#midnight sun #the midnight bargain #love is a rogue #these ghosts are family #migrations #the poet x #amreading

[entergamingxp]

A Guide to Getting Started with the Yakuza Series

March 4, 2020 3:30 PM EST

Want to get started with the Yakuza series, but not sure where you should start? Here’s a primer and a few options to ease you in.

The Yakuza Remastered Collection’s release marks an auspicious moment for the series. For the first time ever, you can now play the entire series from start to finish on the PS4. That alone is reason enough to grab a PS4 in my eyes, even as the console generation comes to a close. Western markets took a while to warm to the series, but increasingly more are starting to be drawn to these legendary games. There’s never been a better time to get started with the Yakuza franchise.

Personally, I arrived late to the Yakuza games, only getting started with the series about three years ago. It only took a small taste before the hunger set in, though, and I’ve since played through every mainline game to completion. Few series are as underrated as this one, even as those ratings continue to increase.

The question remains for those getting started with the Yakuza series, however: where should you begin? These are very story-driven games, featuring a continuing narrative and persistent character arcs. As such, the typical response of “start with the latest and see if you like it” won’t necessarily work here.

“This is not about if you should play the Yakuza games, because that answer is an instant, resounding, unflinching YES.”

This narrows down the answer to one of a few options. Let’s go over their pros and cons, and by the end, a newcomer to the series should be able to make an educated decision on where to start with the Yakuza games.

I must preface this with a disclaimer: all these statements are based on my experience with the PS4 releases. I can’t speak to the quality of the PC ports where applicable. If you plan to use a different platform, I’d encourage researching the condition of the port first to help figure out which platform is right for you.

Finally, this is about where to start. This is not about if you should play the Yakuza games, because that answer is an instant, resounding, unflinching YES. Even the weakest title in the franchise features a pretty good story, fun combat, and lots of entertaining gameplay to hook you in. If you’re still looking for specifics on “why,” allow me to direct you to the video that spurred me to keep going with the series.

Allow me to be your guide into this wild world, and I strongly suspect you’ll find yourself having a blast. I’ll include a TL;DR at the end for brevity’s sake, as well. Let’s begin!

Yakuza Kiwami (If You Want to Start From the Beginning)

Pros:

Starts you at the beginning

Great introduction to Kiryu’s story

Has the excellent combat system from Yakuza 0

Mostly faithful to the original game

Cons:

Some minor alterations to the plot are shoehorned in, as is a slightly goofier tone

Changes to combat systems from 0 hurt more than help

Adherence to the original is faithful to a fault for some boss fights

The hardest of the games listed

The remake of the first game is the obvious choice for beginning your Yakuza experience. Great pains were taken to match the story, cinematic direction, pacing and setpiece encounters of the original release. As such, it still feels very authentic when placed side-by-side its PS2 progenitor. Throw in the combat, mini-games, and general game design improvements from Yakuza 0 and beyond, and you’ve got a very good starting point. Kiwami is a fun game with a story that should be more than enough to draw you in to the rest of the series. Here’s our full review from when the game first launched in 2017.

This comes with caveats, however. Some boss encounters in the original suffered tremendously from frustrating enemies and patterns. It’s not particularly fun to have a room full of enemies shooting you or tossing grenades your way, especially at the climax of major story points. Despite the fact that encounter design in the series has improved drastically, Kiwami remains authentic, which means those rougher fights are preserved.

As for the story, I think it’s paced just a little off. There’s a lot of big twists and reveals in the latter quarter of the game compared to the rest. It was enough to keep me going, but I do think it could’ve been balanced better. The inclusion of the Majima Everywhere system, on the other hand, really breaks the existing story. Scenes featuring Majima from the original game are incredibly memorable, leading to why he became such a fan favorite in the first place. In order to make them line up more with Majima’s heavier activity in Kiwami, the development team had to shoehorn in a couple scenes that don’t really work that well, leaving the whole thing feeling weaker.

Despite these complaints, Yakuza Kiwami is still a solid place to start the series. If you aren’t completely sold on experiencing the series, some of the little irritants might dampen your drive to continue. But for those who have strong interest and some knowledge of Yakuza going in, this is a fine choice.

(Note: Kiwami means “Extreme” in Japanese)

Yakuza 0 (If You Want to Start With the Best)

Pros:

Easily one of the best games in the franchise

Great introduction to Majima, as well as establishing what makes Kiryu great later

Content-rich, even if it’s the only one you end up playing

Cons:

New players miss the interesting references to future games

Yakuza 0 is arguably one of (if not the) strongest titles in the franchise, and my personal favorite. I have very little to criticize here about the game itself, honestly. The combat is excellent, with a variety of styles across two very different playable characters. The writing is exceptional, the story is engaging and well-executed, the side stories are absolutely hilarious, and a wealth of content abounds for those willing to seek it out. It wouldn’t be a stretch to say that this is one of my favorite games of all time. But don’t just take my word for it.

So with that glowing praise out of the way, should you start playing the series with Yakuza 0? For the vast majority of people, I would absolutely say yes. Familiarity with the characters and world isn’t a requirement, as it’s a prequel to the original game. We learn what we need to immediately from the outset, with crucial backstory given as the game progresses. Kiryu and Majima spend the narrative growing as characters into what they would later become. Between that and the general quality of the game, it’s almost a no-brainer to suggest it as the starting point.

Here’s the caveat, then: Yakuza 0 is loaded with little nods, references, and easter eggs that call forward to what will happen in the later games. These largely make sense and work nicely in the moment, but a lot of the impact or recognition will be lost on those that are new to the series. This isn’t too much of an issue and doesn’t weaken the delivery of the story, so there’s no fear of that. Still, that emotional recognition and glimpses of what is to come — or what could have been, in at least one case — means that the game has that little extra punch for recurring Yakuza players. Even just playing through Kiwami will help the connection to a couple of core moments and characters in 0.

As such, my recommendation to start here is “Yes, but…”. If you are brand new to the series and don’t know what to expect, and want to start on the strongest footing? Play Yakuza 0 first. If you’re only looking for a single game to play without committing to the series? Play Yakuza 0 first. Even slightly unsure where you stand? Just play Yakuza 0 first.

But! If you are a little more familiar with the series or have dabbled in a later game and want to start fresh? Consider starting with Kiwami, and come back to 0 afterwards. If you’re already committed to playing the whole series and don’t mind dealing with a few irritants, start with Kiwami and come back to 0 afterwards.

Yakuza 0 is absolutely amazing, but it’s just that little bit more amazing if you come in armed with the foreknowledge to appreciate the nods it has to the series’ future.

Judgment (If You Want to Start With Something Different)

Pros:

Not actually a Yakuza game

A strong stand-alone story and game

Introduces the setting and gameplay systems of Yakuza without relying on previous knowledge

Cons:

Not actually a Yakuza game

Combat is a little weaker than the mainline games

It would be remiss of me to write this article without covering all the potential access points one might have to the Yakuza series, which happens to include Judgment (known as Judge Eyes in Japan). Since DualShockers gave Judgment our 2019 Game of the Year Award, those reading this may very well want to know where that factors in.

Judgment is an excellent game, and completely deserving of the accolades given to it (and I should know, since I pushed hard for it to win the staff vote). Most of what I said about the qualities of Yakuza 0 are echoed for Judgment. This is some of the Yakuza team’s finest writing, with excellent presentation and a wealth of content. It’s a fantastic, self-contained story set in the same general locale as the Yakuza titles. My only nitpick would be that I personally prefer the combat flow in 0 more. Your attacks in Judgment tend to have longer and stiffer animations and wind-up, even with attack speed upgrades. That among other things made me less enthused by the overall flow of combat. Still, that does not make Judgment a lackluster experience by any stretch.

“Many of the hallmarks in writing and characters exist in both [Judgment and Yakuza], but it’s not exactly a great primer to the series.”

So, why have I listed Judgment not being a Yakuza game as both a pro and con? Well, this article is about getting started with the Yakuza series, after all. Playing through Judgment in its entirety grants almost no knowledge of the Yakuza story, aside from a general sense of geography and a veiled reference or two. Many of the hallmarks in writing and characters exist in both, but it’s not exactly a great primer. If you’re still looking to get into Yakuza, Judgment isn’t truly helpful in that front regardless of if you play it first or not.

With that said, it isn’t completely useless, or I wouldn’t deign to include it here. Mechanically and in gameplay terms, Judgment plays very much like a Yakuza game. It has the same wealth and diversity of content or distractions. The same cinematic flair and detailing is retained. It has the same flashy and over the top brawler combat. Familiarity with Yakuza gameplay going into Judgment will help you feel right at home, and vice versa. There is definitely some merit to beginning your journey here, and Judgment is absolutely a game that you should play regardless. It’s also the only one with an English dub since the original release, which can make it a little more accessible for some.

To summarize, then: Judgment is a good primer for the gameplay mechanics of Yakuza. Should you want to play a solid standalone game to completion and test the waters on if the gameplay is right for you, Judgment fits the bill. But for starting with the Yakuza series explicitly, this is not the ideal choice.

Yakuza [PS2] (If You REALLY Want to Start from the Beginning)

Pros:

No better place to start than the truest beginning

Still holds up pretty well

Different enough in style and tone to not be made completely redundant by Kiwami

English dub with Mark Hamill as Majima

Cons:

Some irritating boss fights and encounter design

Older, clunkier, and harder to get into for those not dedicated

Only available on the PS2

English dub is pretty awful (aside from Mark Hamill as Majima)

It’d be remiss of me not to speak of the truest place to get started with Yakuza, which is the first game on PlayStation 2. This one is only for the dedicated, but it is still a completely valid choice. And hey, what better place is there to start than the very beginning in every sense of the word?

The original Yakuza is still a strong game, otherwise it wouldn’t have propelled the series as far as it did (even if Yakuza 2 did the real heavy lifting on that front). Concessions made for Kiwami aren’t present here, so the story remains unaltered and flows a little better. The original Yakuza has weathered the test of time decently, and is still quite playable for those with a PS2 to run it. It’s not a bad experience at all…but as your first Yakuza game in 2020? Well, we’ve come a long way in terms of game design and presentation.

Yakuza on the PS2 is the only game in the series to feature an English dub outside of Judgment. Now granted, it’s a pretty awful dub that completely misses the mark in tone for a lot of characters and moments. But it does feature Mark Hamill as Goro Majima, and he absolutely kills it in that role. If there’s anything that the original offers which the others don’t, it’s Hamill’s Majima scenes. For everything else? This is a negative point.

All those other negatives about design and boss fights that I brought up for Kiwami are obviously the case here. It’s rough, unpolished, and still finding its feet. But for all that…Yakuza remains pretty good. If you’re the kind of person who likes to dive deep into a series history and see where it all began, then you might even consider starting here.

TL;DR

To briefly summarize: if you’re going in blind to the series, start with Yakuza 0. If you only want to play a single Yakuza title at first, go for Yakuza 0. If you know a little bit about it or have dabbled in the series and want to start at the beginning, start with Yakuza Kiwami. If you’re just looking for an excellent stand-alone game to try series’ staples on for size, start with Judgment. But if you’re truly dedicated to the experience, try the PS2 Yakuza release to see just how far the series has come.

And that’s about it. Now get out there and play some Yakuza! Then you can join me in waiting impatiently for the English release of Yakuza 7…which, coincidentally, might be a good starting place also. I’ll be sure to let you know.

March 4, 2020 3:30 PM EST

from EnterGamingXP https://entergamingxp.com/2020/03/a-guide-to-getting-started-with-the-yakuza-series/?utm_source=rss&utm_medium=rss&utm_campaign=a-guide-to-getting-started-with-the-yakuza-series