#Criminal Minds Beyond Borders One Shot

[addictiedtocrimedrama]

The heck is going on with chatgptdemo.net and giving the characters of FBI unneeded trauma, the wrong position/title, and other suff about them wrong

So I went to find a free version of Chat GPT because I'm not downloading the app which I found in ChatGPT VN (chatgptdemo.net) and me and my friend (we were on a vid call with each other) decided to ask if a few questions about science and Philippine history where we were satisfied with the answers.

So we ended the vid call and I made a new chat for just crime drama shit (because why not) and I asked a question about my fav tv show of all time aka Criminal Minds: Beyond Borders (idc what others think it's a good show in my opinion) and another one about the 7th season of CSI: NY and the response was questionable since included stuff from earlier and later seasons (ie the f***ing blond b***h getting kidnaped, Mac proposing to said blond b***h [I'm a hardcore JAC shipper okay], Danny and Lindsay having Lucy, and etc.) which I just brushed off but oh was I wrong.

I then asked it about the characters of FBI and oh my gulay it did then s**t with departure episodes, cause of departure, positions/titles, and what they did before they joined the FBI all wrong and with a case where they gave the wrong name, another with the wrong actor, and one with a completely made up episode title and plot (the last two are from the same character). Character names will be found below the cut along with screen shots of the question I asked with the answer and my response to the answers they gave.

First "victim" was Dana Mosier

Right position/title, right episode right episode of departure, but wrong reason. This feels like they changed the plot of the season 1 finale and changed it to what I could only explain as a mash up between the basis of the episode "Scorched Earth" and a horrible fanfiction idea where Dana dies instead of retiring.

But Dana's not the only one they f***ed up on; they f***ed up on all the main characters plus Nina, Mona, and Rina who are only included because why not and also out of curiosity.

Second "victim" was Ellen Solberg (aka the one episode/day SAC)

They not only did they get her position/title wrong, but they also got her episode of departure and reason for departure wrong. First, she's also an SAC, second, she was ONLY in the pilot episode, and third she was only temporarily assigned there (or was she on a temporary assignment idk but I'm pretty sure it's the former).

Third "victim" was Rina Trenholm (aka the FBI's version of Linda Barnes)

They got her position/title and episode of departure wrong but surprisingly they got the reason for departure right aka she got killed got though the cause of death is wrong. Rina was not a forensic analyst she was instead the ADIC which is a big difference that I will not go into. She also didn't exit the show during the episode "Legacy" (or the 15th ep in the 2nd if you need to know the season/ep it was) and mind you Rina wasn't even introduced in the show yet. her actual episode of departure was in the episode "Unfinished Business" though technically it was announced she died in the next episode "Fostered". Lastly her cause of death wasn't that a group on nationalists murdered her (though the murder part was correct) she was actually, and I quote her wiki page 'killed on order of Antonio Vargas'.

Fourth "victim" was Kristen Chazal.

They got her position/title right (to some extent) though the season and reason for departure is wrong. Kristen was a FBI Special Agent in the second season though she was an analyst in the first. She also didn't leave in the second season but in between the second and third season and she didn't leave to take a job in the private sector but instead she transferred to the Dalas field office.

Fifth "victim" was Jubal Valentine

Technically they got his position/title right though everything else is wrong. They're right to say he's an Agent though if we are to dive into the specifics he's an Assistant Special Agent in Charge or ASAC for short. They got the (ex) wife and kids' part though instead of a car accident that impacted him and his family it was him and Sam (his [ex] wife) got divorced and I'm 85% sure that at some point during the third season it was the fact that Tyler (one of his kids) had cancer (leukemia specifically) that was the 'problem'.

Sixth "victim" was Maggie Bell

Yes, I specifically made the question about the serin gas incident. Everything about the first two 'paragraphs' where wrong. First the serin gas incident happened during the fourth season during the episode "Fear Nothing" and not in the first season during the episode "Exposed". Next the said incident didn't happen in the NYC subway station but in a lab of some sorts (didn't actually see the ep I only saw the trailer, okay?!). The third part though is most definitely correct since Maggie was able to make a full recovery and rejoin the team in the episode "Ready or Not".

Seventh "victim" was Mona Narari who is only on this list because I was curious

They sure as heck got her position/title wrong since she's not even an analyst but is a US Attorney in the show. Her last/latest episode is also wrong along with why she 'left' the show. Her last/latest ep was not "Invisible" (she wasn't even introduced yet) but was actually "Charlotte's Web" and she hasn't been seen on the show since then. Either because she and OA (who's up next) broke up or something else though I'm pretty sure it's the latter.

Eighth "victim" was Omar Adom "OA" Zidan (and yes I just used his whole name because why not)

I just asked who OA was in general since I couldn't think of anything that happened to his (probably because I'm very forgetful). They got his position/title right but the whole 'former US Marshal' this is completely cap... well at least the US Marshal part since he was a Army Ranger before he joined the FBI. Everything else seams to check out which means that so far his "bio" is the closest to canon.

Ninth "victim" was Nina Chase

Before anyone kills me, what happened to Nina during the triple crossover event just popped into my head. Anyways they got her position/title, her surname, what happened to her, and the show that were part of the triple crossover wrong. For those who don't know Nina is a FBI Agent not an Analyst and her surname's not Garcia (that's the surname for three of my OCs) it's Chase. And before we address what happened to her during the triple crossover event, we need to address the fact that Law & Order: Special Victims Unit was NOT the third show in the crossover event but was actually FBI: International. With that out of the way we need to address what actually happened to Nina during the crossover the "answer" they gave me said she was abducted which didn't happen instead she was shot (which is kinda better but also worse at the same time).

Tenth "victim" was Stuart Scola

They didn't even get his f***ing name since they basically took the name of another character and added his surname unto that name and (for some reason) made him a former Army Ranger and not a Wall Streeter (that's from his wiki page not me) but hey at least they got the FBI Special Agent part. Everything else seems right though.

Elevent "victim" was Tiffany Walace

Got the name and position/title right but that's it. Tiff wasn't played by Kellan Lutz (he [yes they even got the gender of the 'actress' wrong] play Kenny Crosby in FBI: Most Wanted) but is played by Katherine Rineé Turner and she wasn't a former Army Intelligence officer (if that was the case then she and OA might have know each other) but a former NYPD officer instead.

Twelfth and final "victim" was Isobel Castille

Before anyone asks yes, I specifically did that episode because I was curious. In the first pic where I used the ep title they got the season and plot wrong. It says second season and not fourth and it should have said something along the lines of a guy kill women in a position of power. In the second pic where this time I used the specific season and episode number they got the episode name wrong since they said the ep title is "All In" which doesn't even exist anywhere on the FBI/One Chicago wiki and the plot also seems to be non-existent on the FBI/One Chicago wiki as well. The last thing I want to say about Isobel is that can the woman get a break she's been through way too much pressure and stress.

[blog-of-a-multitude-of-fandoms]

Daughter- Matthew Simmons (3)

Pairing: Matthew Simmons x Reader

Characters: Matthew Simmons

Warnings: N/A

Request: Wattpad- Hi can you do a Matt Simmons one where the reader was his girlfriend they brokeup she had his baby after the break-up and meet after few years about a case and finds out about the kid they'll confront each other

Word Count: 419

Author: Charlotte

Soon after Matt had to leave the room to talk to his boss, but within a couple of hours you were being discharged from the hospital. You were told that he would be taking you home and Emily, his boss would be joining you as although she knew about the situation and knows now is a hard time, she doesn’t want Matt’s feelings to affect his professional life.

The two of them drove you to your quaint home. Emily agreed to stay in your living room whilst Matt followed you into Anna’s bedroom.

“You have a nice home,” he said awkwardly standing in the doorway as you made your way over to your daughters’ crib.

You reached in and scooped up the teddy bear that you’d given her at birth to hold it tight.

“Is that the bear I got you on our first date?” He asked.

You nodded your head, turning back to him.

“You couldn’t be there for her, but I wanted some element of you here. She was so young, she rarely asked questions about her dad. I told her you were busy saving princesses from dragons, but I had no idea what I was going to tell her when she got older,” you sighed.

“Maybe you won’t have to tell her anything,” he said softly.

You cocked an eyebrow at him. “What?”

“We are going to find her Y/N,” he smiled. “And I know I can’t fix everything, we didn’t end on the best of terms but if you wanted me to, and believe me I want to… I’d like to be part of her life. She’s my daughter, and I’ve missed out on so much… I don’t blame you for that of course, but I would really like to be her dad.”

It had been so long since you convinced yourself that you hated him, that it had faded. You didn’t hate him, and you had always dreamed one day he could be in her life, and you certainly wasn’t going to get in the way of him being there for his daughter.

“Of course, Matt, I would never stop you from being in her life. But please get our little girl back,” you smiled weakly. “Please.”

Tears begun to fall again as you thought of what would happen if you never saw her again. Matt wrapped his arms around you, holding you closer than you had been held in a very long time.

“I will do everything I can to get her back.”

[noladyme]

La Cuervo - Chapter 23

She is used to the biker-life, having grown into a woman in the familiar embrace of SAMCRO. A bad decision and a gun-shot later, she gets whisked off to Santo Padre, and put under the protection of another club. What is supposed to be a short stint in the Mayan headquarters just north of the border to Mexico, turns into something more; when la quervo begins to develop feelings for el angel - and he seems to return them in kind...

TW: violence, blood, drug use, alcohol, smut, fluff, angst

In the spirit of "The Crown Princess of Charming", this is a story about O.C. Nina and Angel Reyes. It is obviously non-canon, as characters who have passed on, on Mayans M.C., are present in it, and others have been excluded completely. Nina is written as a cis-female, but I have tried to keep her race and looks as ambiguous as possible. Should you find any of this story offensive, please let me know.

23.

Nina struggled to keep her breath even, and her face calm, as she stepped back into the clubhouse. She handed Creeper the phone, and tried for a congenial smile. “Everything ok? What did he want?”, the Mayan asked. “He was just… worried about us”, Nina said. “He should have just… Fuck it. Never mind”, Creeper growled. “Don’t be hard on him. What he told you… He was taking a big risk”. “He should have said something sooner. We might not have been in this mess”.

Nina wanted to argue Taza’s case further, but needed to keep her mind on her task. “Who’s at the gate right now?”, she asked. “That guy, Rat”, Creeper said. Nina sighed in relief. Leaving the yard would be easier than she thought. “What? You feel safer with a Son on watch than a Mayan?”, Creeper grunted, having misunderstood her expression. “No, I was just… You can’t blame me for being happy that I have both my families protecting me”, Nina said, trying to deescalate the tension. Creeper sighed. “I’m sorry, Nina. I’m just reeling. My brothers are out there risking their lives, and there’s nothing I can do about it”. Nina put her arms around the biker, and gave him a warm hug. “We wouldn’t feel safe if you weren’t here”, she said. “Look, your shift is over. Rest… I think Gaby fixed a plate for you”. Creeper smiled slightly, and headed towards the now sprawling buffet of food.

Hobbling over to the bar, Nina smiled at the girl standing there. “Creeper needs a little extra tlc… Grab him a shot of tequila; would you?”. “But you said not to drink…”, the girl frowned. “He’ll be fine”, Nina smiled, and took down the bottle of tequila from the shelf. “Give him two… He’s earned it”. The girl shrugged, and sauntered over to climb onto Creeper’s lap. The Mayan’s face instantly lit up, and before long, he let himself disappear into a haze of boobs and alcohol.

Nina limped over to Felipe. He had Letty and Gaby enraptured in the story of how he’d met Marisol; and both girls were exclaiming aaww’s at the sweetness of the tale. “I think I left my extra inhaler in your truck the other day”, Nina said, trying for an embarrassed expression. “Could I borrow your keys?”. “The truck is unlocked”, Felipe said. Nina cursed internally. “Ok… I’ll just go grab it”, she said. Felipe looked down at her wounded leg. “Let me get it for you, mijita…”. “No! I’ll get it”, Nina enthused. “I need to get this leg moving… The doc said something about physical therapy”. “Ok…”, Felipe shrugged; and Nina gave him a bright smile, before moving towards the door. When no one was watching, she grabbed Jackson’s helmet.

The two Sons from Berdoo were just outside, obviously getting ready to go take over watch. “Why don’t you go grab a bite to eat, before you go take over from Rat?”, Nina smiled. “He can wait fifteen minutes”. “You sure?”, one of them said. “Packer said…”. “That you should go hungry?”, Nina chuckled. “Look, if he gives you trouble when he comes back, tell him to take it up with me”. “You?”, the other biker said. “Yeah… He’s afraid of me”, Nina grinned. They both laughed at this, and went into the clubhouse.

Once the door was closed behind them, Nina quickly hobbled over to Felipe’s truck. She opened the door, and threw her crutches on the floor; while setting down the helmet more gently next to them. “Please, please, please…”, she whispered to herself, as she got behind the wheel, and looked down at the ignition. The key was gone. She frantically searched behind the sun visors and in the glove compartment, but came up short. “Fuck!”, she exclaimed, and slammed her fist into the seat. Something got loose from where it had been wedged under the padding; rattling as it hit the floor. “Yes!”, Nina sighed in relief, and grabbed the key; quickly starting the truck.

She drove as calmly as she could towards the gate going out to the scrap-yard proper. It had been left open by Creeper as he came back from watch. Swerving through the narrow roads between the piles of old cars and broken dishwashers, she made it to the large gate to the street beyond. Rat looked confusedly at the truck as she approached him. He walked up to the window, and Nina took a deep breath, before rolling it down. “Hi, Georgie…”, she smiled. Rat narrowed his eyes at her. “You only call me that when you want something”, he muttered. “We’re out of coffee”, Nina pouted. “You know how I get…”. “You shouldn’t go out”, Rat said. “Please! I need my caffeine, Rat!”, Nina pleaded. “Nina… No”, Rat said. “I can’t let you out”. “But…”. “No!”, Rat said; his voice harder than she’d ever heard it before. “Your leg is fucked; you shouldn’t even be driving”.

Quickly needing to think up a solution, Nina kicked her crutches out of view, under the seat. “You’re right…”, she said, and turned off the engine. “I forgot my crutches in the clubhouse. Could you go get them, so I can walk back?”. Rat sighed and nodded. “Don’t move. I’ll be right back”, he muttered; and began jogging back in the direction of the clubhouse. Nina prayed to every deity in existence, that his IQ wouldn’t suddenly surge; and make him realize he could have just driven her back in the truck. Giving the biker exactly 20 seconds to disappear from view, Nina got out of the truck, and limped as fast as she could, over to the large gate. She ignored the reappearing pain in her leg, and put her weight in to pulling it open.

Quickly getting behind the wheel again, Nina drove out of the gate. Once on the street, she put the petal to the metal, and raced towards her rendezvous point.

---

As she was still unfamiliar with the streets of Santo Padre, Nina and Taza had agreed to meet at Felipe’s shop; as it was the closest of the places Nina knew how to get to, to the clubhouse.

The Mayan stood leaning against his bike when she parked by the storefront. “Are you ready for this?”, Taza asked, as she got out of the truck. “I have to be, right?”, Nina said. “I can’t deal with any more people getting hurt or killed… But are you sure Palo will go for it?”. “He wants you… That’s his only reason for this war”, Taza said. “But he’s not unreasonable… He has to see how this is the better way for all our clubs”. “Yeah, but will the rest of them?”, Nina asked. “We can’t just show up with Palo in the clubhouse, and claim that we’re all the best of friends all of a sudden… Do they even trust you at this point?”. “They’ll trust you”, Taza said. “You brought Sons of Anarchy and Mayans closer than ever, just by being who you are… Vatos Malditos can be a part of that”. Nina sighed, and Taza stepped over to her; taking her hand. “If you don’t want to do this, I’ll understand. You can get back in that truck right now, and go back to the clubhouse”. Nina shook her head. “No… This is the way it has to be”, she said. “I told you all yesterday, I wanted to go talk to Palo… If they’d just listened, we wouldn’t have to go behind their backs”. Leaving the crutches in the truck, Nina grabbed the helmet, and put it on. As Taza started his bike, she climbed on behind him; wincing slightly as the vibrations of the engine reached her pained leg. “You ok?”, Taza asked over his shoulder. “Let’s just do this”, Nina said.

Riding out of Santo Padre, Nina looked around. Though still unable to tell all the streets apart, she’d grown fond of the rustic houses and people residing in them. When she’d arrived in San Pad the first time, she’d taken the expressions of the people looking at her and the Mayans, as standoffish and aloof. Now, she was beginning to understand how it was more about them being protective of their culture and families, in the face of criminals. She was a criminal; that was a fact that couldn’t be disputed. She knew of and had done things, that could get her in serious trouble with the law; and if she was a normal person, just walking down the sidewalk, and was confronted with patched 1% bikers, she’d probably feel less than happy about that as well.

Nina was beginning to feel fiercely protective of Santo Padre, just as she felt of Charming. The people here didn’t deserve their streets to flow with blood, and if Vatos Malditos had their way, the heroin trade would be running rampant, out in the open. The choice she’d made to go with Taza’s plan, was her chance to make sure none of that would happen. The people of the town might not like her, or like the way she led her life. At the end of the day, she wasn’t one of the good guys – not really, anyway. This way, at least she’d done what she could to keep the good guys safe.

As they took to the highway for a few miles, Nina began thinking back at that day Jax had carved his initials into the gun currently wedged into her waistband.

… “Goddammit Jax! We lost 10.000 dollars’ worth of product back there!”, Clay growled, as he got off his bike. Jax lit a cigarette, and shrugged. “Yeah, but I couldn’t just leave him hanging”, he said. “We’d lose all future business with those guys”. Taking a break from Hamlet, Nina closed her book, and looked curiously at the interaction. “This was supposed to be a one-time deal”, Clay said. “We didn’t need him”. “Maybe I just didn’t want someone to die, that didn’t need to”, Jax said. Clay clenched his jaw, and stomped away. He gave Nina a short nod, before walking into the clubhouse. “Your bleeding heart will get you killed, brother”, Opie muttered, as he, Filip and Jax approached the table Nina was seated on, nursing a mug of Chucky’s tar-like coffee. He reached into his cut pocket, and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. Nina smiled sweetly at him, and the tall biker chuckled, before lighting a smoke, and handing it to her. “What happened?”, she asked, and took a huff of the cigarette. “The deal went south”, Jax said. “Mayans showed up; began shooting… I keep telling Clay; if we just worked out a cease-fire, we could maybe strike a deal with them. I’m sick of the fighting”. “You know I want peace too”, Filip said. “But it’s still not you sitting at the head of the table, Jackie…”. Nina raised her brows at the three bikers. “Peace with Mayans?”, she chuckled. “I thought you said they were hotheaded cholas, with dicks for brains”. “I said their brains were in their dicks”, Jax grinned. “Does that mean their dicks are big?”, Nina smirked. “’Cuz in that case, I’m all in for peace with them. I’m thinking club party… Maybe a little tequila, and…”. “You’re not shacking up with a Mayan. I’ll kick his ass first!”, Jackson laughed. Nina rolled her eyes. “Whatever… So, you messed up Clay’s plan?”. “We lost a van full of merchandise, because Jax decided to save some Mexican guy’s ass in stead of protecting it”, Opie grunted. “The Mayans had him trapped… I made a call”, Jackson said. “And it was a bad call?”, Nina asked, and put her book on the table. Jax picked it up, and tapped the top of her head with it. “There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so”, he said, and nabbed her cigarette; taking a huff from it. “Get back to your homework”…

---

Taza moved down an exit, and they took to smaller roads. “It’s right up here”, he said over his shoulder. Nina felt a shudder go down her spine, and braced herself. Arriving at a small house, she was confused to see two bikes there, in stead of just Palo's. Taza pulled up next to the two vehicles, and held her hand as she got off his bike; her legs shaking both from fear and pain. “I thought it was just going to be him…”, Nina said. “Me too…”, Taza muttered. He didn’t look pleased at the situation. “Come on”.

Letting Nina use his arm for support, Taza led her to the front door. He knocked on it three times, and it opened; revealing a smirking Sala. “Usted vino”, he said. “As agreed… At least I did as was agreed”, Taza said. Leading Nina inside, he nodded at Palo, who was seated in a chair, holding a gun in his hands. “Bienvenidos”, he said. “You were supposed to come alone”, Taza said. “With both of you gone, Bishop and the club will know something is up”. “Don’t worry about Obispo and the rest. My men are keeping them busy”, Palo said. “I see you kept your part of the deal”. Nina swallowed thickly, terrified to meet Palo’s eyes. “About that… You know they’re not alone. They’ve got the Sons of Anarchy with them”, Taza said. Nina noticed him shooting a look at his watch, and she frowned slightly in confusion.

Palo nodded solemnly, before looking at Nina. “You know, people call me a psychopath, but I have… emotions. Especially regarding the fact that SOA have become part of this”, he said. “I have history with the Sons; that was why I wanted to do business with them. I knew them to be trustworthy, but it looks like that trust belongs to the Mayans now… That actually came as a bit of a surprise”. “You don’t have to explain yourself to this puta, jefe”, Sala grunted. Palo looked coldly at his enforcer. “Unlike you, I see women as equals to men”, he growled. “Which is why I’m still unhappy with how you handled the situation with our friend Camilla…”. “Camille…”, Nina croaked. “Her name was Camille”. In spite of how things had ended with the red-headed snitch, Nina’s heart still broke over how she’d been treated by VM. “Camille…”, Palo nodded. “My men were supposed to teach her a lesson. I told them to handle her like they would any other traitor. A good old-fashioned beating… Not rape!”. Sala looked down at the floor; his expression that of someone who had been chastised more than once over his actions.

Palo got to his feet, and moved the chair back against the wall. “Set it up”, he grunted, and Sala disappeared into another room for a few moments. There were sounds of things being moved around; and Nina thought she could hear a muttering, before something fell onto the floor. Sala returned with a large plastic sheet, and Nina felt her knees beginning to buckle. Taza grabbed her arm. “Sala, you don’t have to do that”, he said. Sala ignored him, and rolled out the sheet on the floor. “This is his abuela’s house”, Palo said. “You’ll understand why he doesn’t want to get blood on the floor”. “Let’s just talk about this”, Taza said. At this point he was holding on fiercely to Nina, almost supporting her weight fully, as she was heaving for breath.

Palo raised a gun at Taza to keep him in place, while Sala stepped over, and grabbed Nina’s free arm; tearing her away from the Mayan. She stumbled after him, and onto the middle of the plastic sheet; where he forced her onto her knees. “Taza…”, she croaked. “Palo, please don’t…”. Sala backhanded her across the face, so hard that her ears began ringing; before beginning to pat her down. Finding the gun in her waistband, he pulled it out, and went to stand next to Palo. Taza took a step towards Nina, and Palo cocked the hammer of his gun, to keep him in place. “Palo, stop!”, Taza growled. “This was our agreement”, Palo said. Nina felt tears beginning to spill from her eyes. This wasn’t how Taza had told her his plan would go; and her breathing became even more troubled. Reaching in to her pocket, she took out her inhaler, and took a hit from it. Palo looked at her with amused eyes. “A bit redundant, isn’t it?”, he said. “Did you forget to tell her why she’s here, Che?”. “No, I didn’t”, Taza replied. “You’re the one who has the wrong idea. No one has to die here today”.

Palo quickly turned his eyes to Taza. “What are you talking about? We made a deal. Her life, for peace”. “Counter offer”, Taza said. “Our secret, Palo. If you kill her, everyone will know about Davíd. I’ve made arrangements already”, Taza said. “What secret?”, Sala asked. Palo gave his enforcer a death glare, before turning back to Taza. “Then why bring her?”, he asked, his voice colder than ice. “Because maybe there’s just a little bit of your brother in you. The part that knows kindness and mercy. I wanted you to look in to this woman’s eyes, and see what I see. Peace and cooperation between two clubs. Love”. “All I see is a killer… She murdered Gael. He was going to be my next in line!”, Palo said. Sala looked confusedly at Palo. “Gael wasn’t a Vato yet… He wasn’t even a prospect”. “Cállate”, Palo growled. “You promised me…”. “Sala! Not now…”. Sala clenched his jaw, and took a few steps back.

Taza gazed down at his watch again, and frowned slightly; before looking intently at Palo. “You could walk away right now, your secret safe; as long as you agree to never move against Nina or any Mayan again”, he said. “You wouldn’t do that”, Palo said. “You’ve got as much to lose as me by coming forward”. “Only my life. My club and the people I care about; they live on”, Taza replied. “I’m done hiding”. Palo narrowed his eyes at Taza. “What’s in it for VM?”, he asked. “Our clubs could work together, instead of against each other”, Taza said. “Prove to the Mayans that you’re willing to let bygones be bygones, and that we can all trust each other. Help each other build our businesses, and let our clubs grow”. Palo seemed to ponder Taza’s words for a moment, before gazing down at Nina “No”, he declared. “She killed my primo. Now I’m gonna kill her with her own gun”.

He put his own gun in his waistband, and took the gun Filip had given to Nina from Sala. As he stepped towards Nina, she began shaking violently. Palo raised the gun to aim at her head, when he looked down at it; examining the handle. “Where did you get this?”, he grunted. Nina let out a short gasp, almost unable to speak. “Tell me!”, Palo demanded. “My brother… It was my brother’s”, she croaked. “You’re Jackson Teller’s sister?”, Palo asked. “Yes…”.

Palo looked at her for a long moment - his expression unreadable - before lowering the gun. “No puedo hacer esto…”, he muttered, making Nina let out an audible gasp of relief. Sala looked at him with a flabbergasted expression. “Qué quieres decir?, he asked. “You got her right here. Just kill her!”. “I owe her brother…”, Palo said. “He saved my life once. Used that gun…”. Nina gasped. Palo was the man Jax had saved from the Mayans, years ago. “What the fuck is wrong with you today?”, Sala growled. “You said you wanted revenge… Letting her go; that isn’t you!”. Palo looked coldly at Nina. “You’re right. I want my pound of flesh”, he said, and turned to Sala. “Bring him out”. Sala’s face lit up, and he left the room.

Palo pulled Nina to her feet, and held her back against his chest. There were sounds of struggling, and Sala came back from the other room; pushing Angel in front of him. Sala was aiming his gun at him. “Oh, god…”, Nina rasped. Angel hadn’t noticed she was in the room yet; too preoccupied with the barrel currently pressed against the back of his head. “Get off me, motherfucker!”, he growled, and stumbled forwards, as Sala gave him a hard shove between his shoulder blades. As his foot got caught in the plastic sheet on the floor, Angel fell to one knee and looked up; meeting Nina’s fear-stricken eyes. He looked back to the plastic sheet, and then up at Taza. “No, man… What is this? What did you do, Taza?”.

Taza was frozen in place. He looked like he’d lost complete control of the situation; which, it seemed in fact, that he very much had. “Palo, no. This is not the way to start a new relationship with the Mayans…” “I’ll deal with that, once this is over”, Palo said. “I can’t kill her, but I can make her feel my pain, when she loses the one she loves”.

His words struck Nina; leaving her heart in actual pain. “No! Take me… I was the one who killed Gael. Shoot me. Please!”. “Don’t shoot any of them!”, Taza growled. “Stop this, Palo…”. Sala punched Taza hard in the gut. “Shut the fuck up!”, he growled, as Taza doubled over in pain. “You’ve misunderstood me. I won’t be doing the shooting”, Palo replied. “You’ve killed before… I’m sure you can do it again”. He pushed her forwards, making her stand on the plastic sheet in front of the now fully kneeling Angel. “Take the gun”, Palo said, and pressed Jackson’s gun into her hand. “What?”, Nina croaked. “No, man… Fuck no. Don’t make her do this!”, Angel pleaded. Nina wanted to throw herself in front of Angel, to take any bullet coming his way. “Palo…”, Taza rasped. “This isn’t how this was supposed to go…”, Taxa rasped, and received another kick to his ribs from Sala. He looked at Nina, his eyes pained and regretful. “I’m so sorry…”, he breathed.

Palo gave Nina a light push in the back with the gun, to make her step even closer to Angel. “I can’t...”. “Sure you can”, Palo said. He got up close behind her, and leaned in close to her hear. His breath down her neck made Nina shudder. “Do it yourself, you fucking coward!”, Angel roared. “Don’t put her through this”. “You kill him, and this war ends right now. No one else has to die´”, Palo said. “I’ll pull my men back, and we’ll never cross into Mayan or even Sons of Anarchy territory again. They can continue their business as they always have”. Nina felt tears beginning to run down her cheeks. Palo put his hands on her shoulders, almost as if massaging them. “If you don’t, we’ll kill all three of you anyway. Then it will be the rest of them. Mayans and SOA… Within a week, there won’t be a clubhouse or a patch left standing”. “Don’t…”, Nina whispered. “Come on, man…”, Angel begged. “You want me dead; go ahead. Kill me…”. “After they’re gone, we’re going after their families…”, Palo continued, ignoring Angel. “Women and children; it doesn’t matter. We will find them all”.

Nina’s heart fell deeper into her stomach. Abel and Thomas; Palo would find them. She closed her eyes, and saw their small faces in front of her. When she looked again, she saw Angel; his expression agonized. Palo ran his hands down Nina’s arms, and made her hands fold around the handle; pulling the hammer for her. “I don’t want you to think I’m enjoying this. But I need you to feel the pain of losing someone important; just like I have. You killed Gael. Now you will kill this man…”.

Nina could hardly see through her tears. She sobbed loudly, before hearing Palo sigh behind her. He stepped up next to her, and pulled the hammer of his own gun; aiming it at her head. “No! No, stop!”, Angel yelled. “Nina, look at me… Look at me!”. Nina met his eyes. They were deeper than ever, and so filled with love and fear – not for himself, but for her. “Listen… You’re gonna do this, ok…? You can do this. End all of this, right now. Just shoot me". “No…”, Nina sobbed. Palo’s gun brushed against her temple, and he took a step closer. “You have to”, Angel said. “For our families… for Abel and Thomas, ok? For your brother… Do it for them". Palo was looking at the both of them with nothing but contempt.

Her whole body was shaking, and Nina’s leg finally gave in. She fell to her knees in front of Angel. “I love you…”, she whimpered. Angel smiled warmly. “I love you so much… It’s ok. You gotta live for me". He took her hands in his, and raised them, so the gun was pointed at his head. Using his thumb, he pressed Nina’s index finger against the trigger. “No no no no…”, she chanted in a raspy voice. “Please…”. “Te amo, cuervo…”.

The sound of Nina’s scream mixed with the sound of a gunshot.

---

tags: @cole-winchester @doloreschanal

[ellestra]

Just cause is not enough

The Madripoor at night was basically Ghost in the Shell/Blade Runner/every cyberpunk story from the last several decades back on screen. The colours, the clothes, even the rain. But I did get a kick of that lighted up face mask.

It’s pretty clear Sharon didn’t tell them the whole truth. Her finding them seemed to convenient. Her whole new life completely unlike the character we saw before.

And sure she didn’t get much character development. And it’s been years since her story was dropped. She wasn’t on the run with Steve and Sam and Natasha and Wanda. It looks like she was out of contact all that time. She could’ve changed. Maybe, she came she came to Madripoor long before she was Snapped and it changed her. And sure, when she came back and it turned out Steve was gone before she found her bearing so he couldn’t push for her rehabilitation as everyone who fought Thanos got it soured her even more. The one who believed so much in Captain America turned cynic about all what he represented. She almost like Zemo in her disdain.

But it doesn’t seem like she tried to contact anyone else really. I’m sure someone with her money and skills could’ve contacted her family. Add to that her complete turn and it all just felt wrong. I just couldn’t buy this is all Sharon is now - stolen art dealer who doesn’t care. And that last moment made me even more convinced me think she is working undercover there trying to find out who Power Broker is. Probably using Bucky and Sam and Zemo’s created carnage to flush him out.

As Karli says he has to react now that Flag Smashers have the only serum left.

It didn’t take long for the new Captain America to start representing all the wrong sides of American “help”. Walking justification of all the doubts everyone has voiced about  - especially one so nationalistically themed as this one. But he isn’t stupid. He knows Bucky and Sam freed Zemo. Well, Bucky did but Sam went with it.

And then Walker decides to go off book to get them. Like a “fuck you” to them for saying he can’t. But it hits so differently when he does it, doesn’t it? It hits differently when someone in power doesn’t follow the rules. When all the abuses of that power they do to get results can be just swiped under the rug.

I knew they would need to break Zemo out when his name was mentioned but I didn’t expect that Bucky came in knowing it too. And that he already put the plan in motion even before he set up the visit. But for all the jokes about Sam not knowing enough about how the Madripoor or the big time criminal underworld functions or even that Zemo was rich and a baron he wasn’t wrong about Wakandans not being happy about Zemo being free. Of course, Bucky was prepared for that too.

And I bet that it’s one of the reason’s Zemo didn’t ditch them - either after escape or later. Sure, they do have the same goal of finding out the super serum and stopping it but Bucky is also only one who can keep Dora Milaje at bay. Still, the other reason is probably planning to kill Bucky too. It’s his whole thing. How they didn’t see he would kill that scientist when they know this is the reason he came along is beyond me. I only wondered how he would do it.

At first I even suspected he was behind the one who shot Selby. And the show makes sure we don’t get to comfortable with him helping. There is certain tendency for people to overlook the bad parts for cool villains that are being useful. The whole Loki-like arc that glosses over the victims and the dead (so for Loki it added mind control too for justification but we all know most viewers didn’t even think of that when they forgave him). For Zemo shows keeps throwing his privilege in our faces, it has him constantly torture James with his past as Winter Soldier and it reminds us of all he did - like killing king T’Chaka.

And yet even the bad guys’ grievances can be real. They can be a real issues that one has right to be angry about. The Avengers are responsible for destruction of Sokovia. And not just the whole Ultron thing. The changing borders from that GRC adds apparently include Sokovia being partitioned and disappearing from map. As person whose country went through that I can feel his anger - that feeling of injustice, of being wronged, of feeling like you lost everything  - and it’s made even worse that the people seem to neither care or notice.

It’s why he is being listed as one of the few villains MCU got right. His motives were clear and understandable. It was his methods that made him a villain. And we are seeing this repeated in Karli.

That shiny add of bright future of post-Blip utopia by GRC followed by the dark reality of the raid was so heavy handed as it was effective. It’s hard not to feel for the Flag Smasher cause when you see the raids GRC sponsors when someone opposes them. With their own branded police. With their unused stores of food and medicine when people died from lack of resources in refugee camps.

It’s not only the returned who have no place any more. Many of those who lived were kicked out of their houses when the people who used to own them came back. Hulk bringing back half of the world’s people made them loose everything. And no one seemed to cared. And there wasn’t much they could do about it. Until they got some super powers of their own.

But like with Zemo the moment Karli went from well intentioned extremist and folk hero to the villain of this story was the methods. When you lose so much and “them” seem to neither notice or care the need to make them suffer as much as you do to understand can lead to dark places. For Karli it was moving from stealing to murder. The hope for her not going bad blew up with that building and people in it.

And this is why Sam needs to be Captain America. Yes, we see all the ways such symbols can go wrong in Walker and all the mistakes that Avengers (especially Tony made) and all that Sharon mentions. But symbols do matter even if what they represent is flawed. They matter because they can represent a better version of that thing. They can remind us to try to achieve that better version.

And people who represent those symbols matter. Especially when you can feel they can understand that hopeless feeling of being wronged and ignored. They can show you someone gets it and will stand up for you. Someone who can show you the way to the goal and never tire of fighting for it all the while being able to avoid the temptation, we all get, of just going for revenge of it. Steve was great at personifying that but he was the WWII era personification. I like how the show is trying to show Sam he can be that for the modern MCU. And maybe for us too. At least a little.

[raichijin]

⋆͛♡⋆͛ the hangover; mirio edition.  ❥ a one-shot.

━━━━━ 𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐉𝐈𝐍 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓. (tba)

preface; writing this was honestly so painful. a testatment to why i should never 1.) do collabs ever 2.) write long things. i am drained.

word count; 5k words.

starring; mirio, mina, shinsou, denki, unnamed boyfriend.

summary; after your boyfriend forgets about your anniversary, you spend some time with friends to forgive and forget about what happened. then it gets worse.

warnings; reader gets called some nasty names towards the end of the fic. watch out for that.

you were supposed to be spending this weekend with your boyfriend. at a resort, poolside, on vacation, or on a beach, or where ever he’d fancy peeling off the nice (read: expensive) swimsuit he’d gotten you for your five year anniversary.

he was kind, is kind, but not as committed to your relationship as he was to his job. not even a call as the clock struck midnight, almost an hour past your reservation, but a text the morning after with a short apology, and the sudden announcement that he’d be working late. again. you didn’t cry. wouldn’t, because shedding tears would cause a mess and a headache, and self-doubt is what’s tucking you in at night, telling you that maybe for tonight, tomorrow and the day after your feelings don’t matter.

cause his job is the one keeping you afloat. (your interest in the arts is cute, to him; like a hobby. nothing you could stay afloat with. it’s too risky, he insists, so to you, it became nothing. to others? it became offhand remarks at his high-end office parties. a joke to your in-laws. a breathed sigh of relief from your parents.) so more time is what’s best for the both of you.

that has to be it.

your friends figure out something might be wrong when you go ghost for days, bordering on a week.

you mention how it’s easy to lose track of time when you’re by yourself as you are, but they don’t buy it. say you need to loosen up, take a vacation of your own even when you say you don’t need it because you’re not working, give you sharp glares whenever you object. you don’t know why you thought you had a choice in the matter — especially when mina’s sugar mommy gives her enough money to afford 2 full suites at one of the most expensive hotels in the area.

denki also tags along, just cause, and brings his boyfriend; shinsou, with him.

if they know what’s going on, they never mention it. 

and it’s a little easier to cope that way.

you dip your toes, ease yourself into the night, before you’re being pulled into the deep end and your mind’s been left at the door, but your body is having a field day.

you should’ve blacked out two margaritas ago.

you think you did.

you’re too drunk to recall all of the rash decisions you made, or whether or not you maxed your credit card, but you’ve must’ve gotten separated from your friends somewhere along the way, because when you wake up, you are distinctly not in your bed, not in a tastefully decorated room, not in a hotel.

and mina, shinsou, denki? unless they’re in the adjacent room, they’re not here with you either. you’re still in your clothes from last night. your shirt is missing a button and you don’t have your shoes on, but beyond that, you’re perfectly fine.

a scraggly bed head lies next to you, who is, notably, more nude than you are.

he has no shirt. no shoes. no pants. his blonde hair is unruly and you’re so shocked you actually start to wake up. your eyes widen and you’re sitting up so fast you’re a bit dizzy from the sudden motion.

the room is spinning and you feel sick, the headache behind your eyes making you want to grind your molars into dust. and just as quickly as you sat up, you lay back down; shaking the bed with the force. the guy next to you isn’t as heavy of a sleeper as you hoped, though. he blinks open tired eyes, showing you the most exquisite navy blue, and the little bit of drool dripping down his chin might’ve been cute if he wasn’t a complete stranger.

though you can’t stave off the creeping anxiety, the silence as he comes to his senses doesn’t feel wrong, and you’re more confused than scared.

he rubs his eyes with the heel of his palm, and gives you a criminally bright smile, and though his voice is wrecked when he says “...g’morning, sunshine.”, you doubt yours sounds much better. 

the nickname makes you feel fuzzy, if only for a second.

“i, uh … good morning?” you sound awkward, but the guy manages to find humor in your predicament when he chuckles gently, sitting up without so much as a second thought. you can see more of his body when he does so, and when his hand comes up to ruffle his hair, you can catch the glint of a silver band, resting on his ring finger. 

then everything clicks into place.

did you cheat? was he cheating?

all of the things you’d been beating yourself up over settle thick over top like smoke clouds and a raging fire. you feel like you’re suffocating, and don’t realize you’re freaking out until a strong hand is wrapping around yours, which, in your panic, you squeeze.

you spot a matching ring on your hand, that you know for a fact wasn’t there before,

and you think that’s when you pass out.

you wake up (again) to a room with tacky but charming decor, the smell of breakfast, and considerably less of a headache than what you started with. now more lucid, with the strength in your body to walk and think, your first priority is finding your phone. you tap your pockets, check the bedside drawer and tables, under your pillow, in the cracks of the bed, under the bed.

no cigar. you’re digging through miscellaneous memorabilia, trinkets and clothes that aren’t yours for at least a minute before the guy you were laid up in bed with comes back to just to see you picking through the corners of his bedroom, banana in hand.

he stands in the doorway and clears his throat. he has clothes on this time, pants. “you’re awake? are you feeling any better?”

you startle, straighten your back and stand upright, your arms falling to your sides. “um, kind of. i — have you seen my phone?”

he shakes his head, offers you the banana. “you should have this though! it’ll fix that hangover, i think.”

“i … thanks.” standing and eating a banana in someone else’s bedroom is certainly … a time.

“i made some breakfast,” he says when you’re halfway finished, “if you want some.” he ends with a smile, and you feel those 3 shots of serotonin go straight to your brain.

granted, you shouldn’t be that happy.

he takes the lead and turns around, leading you down a narrow hallway into a quaint kitchenette with a lovely beach view and all the good summer vibes condensed into a single, small room. it makes your heart hurt even more when you realize you have someone home, someone expecting you to come back.

to a hollow apartment, a cold bed, a lukewarm welcome.

you have to force your brain to be quiet to even hear a fraction of what blondie is saying.

“alcohol basically just dehydrates you. the potassium stops that, gets you all your minerals and stuff back. i heard it works with beer, so i was thinking it works for other stuff too!” he sounds so chipper that it brings your mood up just to hear his voice.

so bold and sure, warm and kind.

“but if it doesn’t clear up in 30 minutes, i have some advil i can give you! don’t want you having a headache all day now.” he’s sitting you down at his small table and sliding some pancakes in front of you, some orange juice. eating feels like a chore, but you know you have to, or that you should try at least.

while you push around your food, blondie chatters away, and even if you just met, he has you entranced by the way he speaks. smooth like the butter on his toast as his stories flow effortlessly into one another, how easily he can chat you up is amazing; getting you from gentle chuckles to full blown belly laughter before you can get your first bite in.

there’s lulls in the conversation if you count the moments he takes to actually eat, but he keeps you on your toes with his personal anecdotes, and questions about yourself, forcing you out of your shell, little by little.

the thought of your boyfriend pushed back into the depths of your mind.

until you broach the topic of your friends.

you learn quickly that he’s a good listener, completely silent unless prompted, asking questions or making jokes only when you’re finished speaking. when he asks, you tell him about the ones that got you here, shinsou, denki and mina.

his eyes flash momentarily, a look of recognition, or maybe understanding, passing over him. he hums gently, head swaying as he does so.

“they’re a little rough around the edges but they’re like family, you know?”

“i get what you mean. they were very nice when i met them. especially at our wedding!” he sips his coffee.

“i — are you alright? you’re choking!” that you are. the guilt you felt when you first woke up and the rising panic ram into your gut like a freight train, and suddenly, you don’t want to eat anymore.

"what do you mean we're married?" you rub small circles into your forehead as this idyllic morning goes right back to being cruel hell. 

"yesterday, at the chapel," he twists his wedding ring with warm familiarity that makes your stomach churn. "i can't really believe it myself, like maybe we were meant to be? i know the universe works in strange ways like that."

you're sorry to burst his bubble, but you save the happily ever afters for fairy tales, not real life.

you pinch your forehead and heave an exasperated sigh.

"i have a boyfriend." you wrap your arms around yourself, trying to seek lost comfort. "and we don't know each other to begin with. can't even remember your name, i was so drunk."

you cradle your face in your palms, feel his stare bore into the top of your head.

"togata." you perk up.

“what?”

“my name. it’s togata. mirio togata.” 

“oh.” you rub your cheeks, pull them back with the heels of your palms.

“that’s a nice name.” an uncomfortable silence washes over you both before someone speaks up. mirio.

“so what do you want to do?”

you answer a little bit too fast in response. “i don’t know. i … i should call my friends. i still need to find my phone—” you stand up, ignore the onslaught of nausea, and look around the kitchen.

“help me look? and then … and then we can figure out all the other details later.” mirio carries both your plates to the sink, and busies himself with dishes for a brief moment, allowing you to find the bathroom nook and reorient yourself. you fix yourself up a bit, straighten out your shirt and fix your hair up. no time to take a shower.

you cup a hand in front of your mouth, breathe and sniff. eugh. 

“hey, uh, togata; got an extra toothbrush?” his heart might’ve lept when you called him by his given name.

“um! yeah!” rushing water obscures his voice a bit, but if he shouts he’s loud enough to hear. “check under the sink? i should have some there.”

“thanks.”

you rummage around in his cabinets, and in that time he’s managed to clean up the leftover food and put a shirt on. 

your phone having gotten lost or being stolen becomes more of a possibility the longer you think about it. you doubt you came back to his house to do anything but sleep. how many places could you have dropped it? you come out of the bathroom to mirio sitting back at the kitchenette table, holding his phone in his hand.

“hey togata … do you think you can call me?”

“i mean, sure, but i don’t know if i have your number...”

your anxiety makes you a bit snippy even when you don’t mean to be rude, but you can apologize when you get your phone back.  ”just give it to me then. i’ll do it.”

it rings a few times before someone picks up, which is a step up from going to voicemail, and the situation goes from okay to great when the croaky voice of shinsou answers, worn out and tired, but awake enough to make a greeting.

he says you’re not here to pick up the phone right now, you interrupt and say that this is you, and that you just borrowed togata’s phone to figure out where yours was.

“togata? who?” 

“my, my um. husband.�� gingerly said, you can see mirio tense up in the corner of your eye.

“oh,” someone’s snickering away from the mic. denki probably. you can’t help but roll your eyes. “mirio?” you’re upset that he can remember his name but you couldn’t. “how is he?” you shoot mirio a look, he gives you a thumbs up.

“good. so, uh, where are you guys?”

two hours away. they’re two hours away by car and mirio’s pickup truck is exactly what you’d expect from him. it’s big, beat up, it’s blue, and it’s his pride and joy, even if it’s slow to start up. if anything, it feels a bit humbling to hear the low hum of the buzzing engine. brings you back down to reality, out of the lap of luxury.

reminds you of the way mirio laughs with his whole chest. that gentle, rumbling purr.

you’re sinking into the crunchy leather seat with a groan, then a laugh from togata; to which you swat at him. you give him the address so he can set it up with his gps, and get going. he messes it up a bit and then it’s your turn to laugh, much to his displeasure. he blushes from the embarrassment, and you pat his shoulder, still chuckling. it feels natural. waking up together. having breakfast together. unofficial road trip to meet back up with your friends because you got blackout drunk and are 100 miles away.

oh, right. you sigh softly and mirio looks over, thinking to comfort you by turning on the radio, greeted by soft pop and slow guitars.

the silence carries.

fifteen minutes into the drive, he thinks to ask about your boyfriend.

“what’s he like?” togata drums his fingers on the wheel with an air of anxiety almost, though you can’t imagine why he would be — unless he thinks you won’t react well to his question. you don’t mind however, and sate his curiosity without as much as a glance.

“oh, he’s nice,” your statement lacks the enthusiasm you’d expect when someone talks about their significant other. it seems sincere, yet exhausted.

“buys me whatever i want, when i want it, loves his job to death, and … we were supposed to be celebrating our anniversary this week.” dejection is visible in the way you slouch your shoulders, interest waning. mirio can’t help but exercise a little concern, filling in the gaps while he’s at it..

“and you couldn’t, because you came here?” you shake your head.

“what? no. i came here because he was too busy, and my friends thought i could still have some fun on my own. his job is important to him.”

“and your relationship isn’t?” your eyes narrow, glaring at him from the passenger's seat.

“the fuck’s that supposed to mean mirio?” 

“well, an anniversary is supposed to be more important than some job— don’t you think he should just take a day off? it wouldn’t hurt.” you lean against the car door, shoulder propping your head up as you peer out the window.

“i mean, i guess. but he’s keeping us afloat, so i can’t really complain.” togata’s eyebrows shoot up.

his tone is incredulous. “what, you don’t work?”

seeing you cringe away out of the corner of his eye is what makes him back track almost immediately.

“i’m so sorry! i’m — wow, that was completely out of line,” your embarrassment lessens when he apologizes, and you inhale sharply. 

“don’t worry. it’s, it’s fine.” you can’t help the way your fingers dig into the flesh of your arm, gnawing the inside of your cheeks, afraid of getting laughed at. mirio wouldn’t laugh at you, would he? 

“i, i used to make music. i was in a band in highschool, actually.” though mirio’s forced to keep his eyes on the road lest you two crash, you can see the way his smile reaches his ears, the silent ‘wow’ of awe making your cheeks heat up. high brow company doesn’t have much use for your talents unless it’s the violin, or something else that fits their lame-ass agenda. your bass chills in the back of your closet, a relic of the past, but a neat decoration.

you shake your head, too caught up in your own train of thought that you didn’t realize togata was speaking.

“i’m sorry, what’d you say?”

“oh! i was just curious, i asked if you sing?” you snort, then full on laugh, though mirio doesn’t seem to get the joke.

“oh, hell no. i don’t have the voice for it, nor the patience to do vocal training. i just played bass! thought it was easier than guitar because it only had 4 strings. i was wrong. maybe i could … show you sometime? i mean, it’s been a while, but i think i remember a few songs: have you heard of seven nation army?”

you talk with mirio about music at length, and learn that he’s a pretty big enthusiast himself and while he’s never played an instrument, he’s been interested in learning guitar. he brings up your band, and the memories of your senior year come flooding back; mina and denki convincing you to audition, your stage fright, recruitment later in spite of it. 

mirio can see the stars in your eyes when you speak, speaking so animatedly with clear adoration at the topic at hand, and he starts getting a creeping suspicion that back where you’re from, you don’t get to talk about this as nearly as much as you like. he realizes in the same breath that he doesn’t mind indulging you. he participates enough so you don’t feel like you’re chatting his ear off, but quiet enough to hear you fill in the empty space.

the way your hands move as you tell stories is adorable and so is your enthusiasm, he could hear you ramble for hours and never get bored. and he nearly does, it’s been an hour and you’re still talking — but then you take a breath, and apologize for no good reason.

he squints at you, confused.

“what’re you apologizing for?”

“i’ve been talking waaaaay too much. i’ve barely heard a word out of you for the last thirty minutes!”

“i thought you were having fun! i know i liked listening. besides, it looks like that you don’t get to talk enough about the stuff you enjoy. i’m willing to listen, so talk all you want!” the assumption makes you furrow your brow, and you hate that you feel like he’s right. 

your boyfriend either talks about his job, your friends, his parents, or nothing at all. no interest in music. no time for it. your friends enjoy reminiscing on occasion, but you don’t speak enough to them to get all nostalgic.

it’s … nice that he takes your feelings into consideration. you smile to yourself, saying nothing in response.

“we’re getting closer to the hotel — it’s 30 minutes away now.” it gets quiet again, before all the sounds you hear are the other cards and the slow hum of low volume music you’d forgotten about, coming from the radio. you turn towards the window to take in the scenery while mirio catches glimpses of you in his periphery, surprised at how adorable you look, doing even the most mundane of things.

mirio couldn’t remember much from the night before, well, can’t remember anything that wasn’t you. you weren’t completely out of it when you met him, but he could’ve misjudged, considering he wasn’t quite in his right mind either. didn’t know if it was the alcohol that made you so bold, but everything about you was so charming. 

from something as simple as your smile to how easily you chatted him up, despite his tendency to be a tad overbearing, you would take him and his attitude in stride. running around town, dipping in and out of nightclubs with your friends close behind, getting kicked out of said clubs, dancing and laughing together in another—

he huffs, pouting to himself. your boyfriend was so damn lucky.

he steps on the gas and starts going a little faster. you don’t seem to mind.

the rest of the trip was silence, and it wasn’t until he parked and stepped out of the car and said something.

“wow.” he whistles, low and long, until you pinch his arm to stop from attract the stares of passerby. “you guys could afford this? gosh. that’s like, three of my paychecks, maybe.” you chortled as he helped you out, quick to clear up any confusion.

“not me,” you walked in the lobby with him, going straight to the elevators after checking in with the front desk. “i could barely afford it! mina’s … uhm, girlfriend, paid for a room for all of us.” he arches a brow at the emphasis on girlfriend, but if he has any objections, he holds his peace.

“mmh. wonder what it’s like to be rich.” 

you laugh as you’re carried up a few floors, specifically to the more expensive suites, at least 12 floors up. “me too dude! mina is lucky.”

you’re barely knocking on the room door before denki is throwing it open and screeching, ushering you both in. they remember mirio from last night, which is upsetting, considering they don’t remember anything else: not how you got to mirio’s house, not how they got back home. not how they found your phone in the bathroom either, apparently.

“speaking of bathrooms, i’m gonna take a shower. keep mirio company, i guess." 

you have to look through your luggage for a change of clothes, and find your phone on your bed in your room, charging and you don’t think about going through it until after you’re clean.

coming back to nearly forty notifications from your boyfriend wasn’t on the agenda, and quite frankly, might’ve been a sign. some were calls but most were all lower case texts, each more foreboding than the last. holding your towel up with one hand, you scroll through your messages with the other.

 what the fuck is wrong with you?

 who the hell is this guy?

beneath it, a video of you and togata. your pupils dilate, and a deeply rooted sense of dread clutches your heart. it looks like a screen recording off of denki’s instagram account, of you two dancing. not overtly scandalous, but too close for comfort.

have you been cheating on me? 

for how long

how desperate are you? i say i have a business trip and you take it as an excuse to slut it up somewhere else?

you’re fucking pathetic.

heart slowly sinking, threatening to beat out of your chest, you can’t find it in you to scroll through the rest. you barely have pants on before you’re calling him up, frenzied and feeling out of breath. the phone barely rings twice before you’re going to voicemail and hearing the beeping tone. 

fuck. fuck fuck fuck.

you hang up, and try again.

this time, he picks up on the first dial tone.

“baby?” you nearly yell into the microphone, while the other end remains silent.

“what is it.” his voice is hollow, not even asking a question; rather making a statement. you choke on your words, are quiet for a few seconds at most before he’s barking at you. “i don’t have all day. i’m busy.”

“t-that video. it wasn’t, it wasn’t anything—” something slams in the background that makes you flinch, and he takes it as a good opportunity to cut you off.

“so the wedding wasn’t shit either? the way he was holding you, looking at you like that, like some lovesick fucking puppy?”

“w-what? what’re you talking about honey? it’s nothing like that—”

“don’t get fucking cute with me. i’ve seen the photos. that girl mina doesn’t know how to not publicize your life.” you feel like dying. 

“i knew i should’ve never settled for you.”

“you don’t mean that—”

“shut the fuck up.” there’s more shuffling on his end, a deep sigh. you’re too shaken to speak. “i wasted so much on you. gave you a house, a home, just for you to repay the favor by being a two-bit whore, sit on your ass all day and complain, and waste my time with those stupid fucking hobbies of yours.” what’s more terrifying is that his voice doesn’t wane or waver. he means it.

“... honey, please. please just let me explain!” you hadn’t even noticed the tears until you’re wiping them off your cheeks, your sniffling getting louder until you’re full on sobbing.

“there’s nothing left to explain. get your shit out by tuesday. we’re done.”

the line goes dead after that.

you don’t realize how much time has passed since you went to go shower initially, only that it’s been a while, considering how urgently mina starts knocking on the door.

“baby, are you alright? you’ve been in there for half an hour!” you can’t find it in you to respond. all it results in is choking on your own words, coughing and sobbing and tears and this fucking headache.

you don’t want to be seen.

mina announces that she’s coming in, and conversation behind the door quiets down until you can’t hear it anymore. just your own thoughts. she opens it and finds you in the corner, your knees to your chest while you’re just barely dressed, hair soaking wet. crying feebly until she rushes over and asks what happened.

you show her your phone. the texts.

she wraps her arm around your back and helps you up. hands you a towel so you can finish drying yourself off, and picks out some clothes for you to wear. when she turns around, she’s greeted by the concerned faces of your friends. mirio.

her face morphs from a look of concern to pure rage.

“what the fuck!?” she all but snatches your phone away from you, to which you pull your hands back and cradle you legs again. “who the fuck does this asshole think he is?” she looks down at you just then, and sees the red in your eyes, the tear tracks that stain your cheeks and a few drops dripping off your chin. you need your help more than you need her rage and half hearted insults. 

“you yelled.” shinsou states plainly. “is everything alright?” mina approaches them and ushers everyone out, closing the door, presumably to give you some privacy.

you dress slowly, the few minutes feeling like an eternity before you’re reaching for the door handle, clean and feeling like shit, for different reasons other than a hangover.

when you emerge from your room, mirio gives you a hug.

a hug that you melt into. one that you weren’t expecting but squeeze him back just as hard, tears that didn’t quite make it out seeping into the spot where you press into his shirt. his arms are comforting and strong, rubbing and patting your back gently, until the room is silent beyond your heartbeat and your sniffles, your friends milling about in the background.

“he said i have to move out.” your fingers dig into togata’s shirt. “pack up all my stuff and leave but i don’t know where i’m supposed to go—”

there’s a smaller hand patting your back when mina speaks up.

“d-don’t worry.” you can feel her hugging you too, a special warmth blooming in your chest. 

“we’ll figure something out.”

while you’re leaving the hotel, mina makes a call to her girlfriend camie to explain the situation, and by the time you’re back in mirio’s pick up, she said that camie offered to rent you an apartment in her name. the earliest she can get it was by monday, so she offered to let you spend the night for a couple days as well. denki says that he and shinsou could help you with things around the house: shopping, redecorating, etc.

togata is the one who offers to help you get your stuff. you arrange the date for monday, actually exchange phone numbers, and meet up at 8.

it makes sense; his car has enough space in the back, you don’t have much of your own stuff, but you nearly regret accepting the offer in the first place. something about moving out with your … husband in tow doesn’t sit well with you. almost seems like it’s too soon. 

but mirio’s charming enough to make the whole ordeal seem less like a fever dream. you’re beaming at him by the time you’re all done, laughing and smiling and so infectiously happy. by the time you both wind down you’re out of breath, wheezing in the front seats of the car.

he smiles fondly at you.

you can feel your cheeks heat as you return the sentiment.

then both of you are back on the road. the musics louder this time, and you get to show him how shitty you sing; which he insists isn’t so bad after all. it’s after twenty minutes of this that you’re suddenly struck by the irony of it all. 

“i can’t believe our first date with you was me moving out of my exes apartment.” mirio chokes on his spit, cheeks bleeding red as he does a double take, eyes flitting from the road, back to you, back to the road.

“wait.”

“that was our date?”

𝔱 𝔞 𝔤 𝔩 𝔦 𝔰 𝔱 ;  @mitsusuri​ @okayshin​ @tamasoft

[autolenaphilia]

Part 2: Universal’s Frankenstein series (1931-1942)

Frankenstein (1931)

Like Dracula this film has some justly well-remembered and iconic imagery. Jack Pierce’s make-up job for the monster is very well-done and the scene of Frankenstein bringing his creation to life is exciting and memorable. James Whale’s direction brings life to the procedings Just in how it looks, this is a well-made and enjoyable film.

The problem is that it is adapted from a book that is anything but a dumb monster book but an intelligent and well-written novel with some philosophical depth to it. And almost none of that makes it into the film. It is not that the monster played by Boris Karloff is unsympathetic. Yet the reason for our sympathy is so different from that of the novel. Karloff’s monster is sympathetic because he is mistreated and while he is superstrong and kills people, he seems to have the mind of a small child. The scene where the monster plays with a little girl is probably the film’s highlight, foreshadowing the greater exploration the film will get in its sequel.

The novel’s monster is sympathetic because it has the mind of a highly intelligent and emotionally sensitive romantic man, yet was born into an unnatural existence rejected by all of humanity including his creator. It is a philosophical angst that anticipates the existentialists. And none of that is in the 1931 film.

In fact, the movie outright contradicts the novel’s themes by appropriating the eugenical ideology of the early 30s by talking about “normal” brains and “abnormal, criminal” brains. And the film implies the monster’s violence is due to having been given a criminal brain. This directly contradicts the novel, where the monster is not born evil but is made so by his ill-treatment. It also ruins any message of “meddling in god’s domain” the film is going for (which is outright stated in Edward Van Sloan’s introduction). The implication is that things only went wrong because of the mistake made by Fritz the assistant that gave the creature a criminal brain.

All of this doesn’t jump rob the monster of complexity, it also robs the Frankenstein character of any tragedy he had in Shelley’s novel. His missteps are far less serious and he seems completely redeemed in the end. Colin Clive doesn’t really have much to work with.

Ultimately this movie is a reflection of its monster. Well-made and its appearance are iconic, but ultimately a shambling and unintelligent mess.

Bride of Frankenstein (1935)

This film is a massive improvement on the original, in every way.  This film takes the Universal Frankenstein movies a large step closer to the thematic wealth of its source material. It isn’t as clever as the book, or very faithful to it, but it is far more so than the original film. And it makes a far more convincing argument for being considered as a good film solely on its own merits.

It even feels faithful to the original film, taking off where it ended, with the same director James Whale and with Boris Karloff and Colin Clive reprising their roles as the monster and his creator respectively. It feels like a natural follow-up, yet it goes beyond the original into more interesting territory.

This film explores the monster’s condition deeper than the original did. Here the monster’s loneliness and tragic existence is a central theme. He does commit acts of violence, but the focus is on how humanity persecutes him. There is even a scene where he is tied to a pole and a shot clearly invokes Christ on the cross.

He isn’t the eloquent philosopher of the novel, but he does learn to speak in a limited way from a kindly old blind man. The scenes of the monster meeting the blind man and making friends with him is probably the highlight of the film, and are quite touching. The monster experiences for a short while happiness and companionship. It is however ruined when people searching for the monster break into the monster and the blind hermit’s idyll, and quite literally destroys it by burning down their cottage.

This leads the monster into the hands of the villain Dr Pretorius. Pretorius is Frankenstein’s mentor and wants to convince Frankenstein to resume his experiments, and decides to use the monster as leverage.

Pretorius is a great villain, played with great energy and charisma by Ernest Thesiger. He drives the plot, which goes in strange directions. In a very entertaining and well-made (the special effects are still impressive) but utterly bizarre scene, Pretorius shows off tiny people who he has created and who live in jars.

There is a camp quality to the film, which doesn’t preclude it from exploring deeper themes. This camp quality has given impetus to a number of queer readings of “Bride of Frankenstein”. Director James Whale was more or less openly gay, and there is some evidence of Colin Clive and Ernest Thesiger were bi or gay too. Pretorius is perhaps queercoded, with his effeminate and theatrical mannerisms, and his influence on Frankenstein can be read as homoerotic. The relationship between the monster and the blind hermit has been read as a queer marriage, and the monster’s persecution as an analogy for homophobia.

Pretorius’s goals is to work with Frankenstein to create a female monster, and the monster like in the novel wants this to happen so that he can have a companion.

Unlike in the novel however, the female monster is actually brought to life. She is the “bride of Frankenstein” of the title, and dubbed so by Pretorius.

Yet she has her own mind and rejects the very idea of becoming the monster’s bride. In other words, A female monster rejecting her male creator’s expectations that she’ll become the wife of her male counterpart. The feminist and queer interpretation is obvious: it is a rejection of the heteronormative standards pushed on women by men.

It is a fascinating film that is open to various interesting thematic interpretations. It is also a very well-made film that is very fun to watch.

It even improves on the aesthetic merits of the original film. Jack Pierce’s monster make-up is just as good in this film, and it even subtly changes through the film, because the monster gets injures and slowly heals. The monster coming alive in the first film was very impressive, yet the scene of Frankenstein and Pretorius bringing the bride to life outdoes it in every sense. And The bride herself is another iconic creation.

This is among the very best of Universal’s horror films.

Son of Frankenstein (1939)

This is not as good as Bride of Frankenstein, but is still an extremely well-made film and very enjoyable.

The film with begins with the title character Wolf Von Frankenstein returning to the castle of his ancestors. There he meets Ygor, his father’s old assistant. Ygor was hanged for his graverobbing, but miraculously survived. Ygor has found the monster, who is alive but in bad shape. And he convinces Frankenstein to revive the monster in the hope that it might restore his father’s reputation. Yet Ygor intends to use the monster to get revenge on the men who hanged him. And Wolf is under suspicion from the stalwart Inspector Krogh, who suspects Wolf of committing the same mistakes as his father.

What makes this plot work is foremost the quality of the acting. The film benefits from three highly skilled actors in the lead roles. Basil Rathbone plays the title role, Ygor is played by Bela Lugosi (probably my favourite Lugosi role) and Lionel Atwill plays Krogh, Frankenstein’s heroic antagonist.

The plot is thematically not that interesting, but the three main characters all have clear motivations that bring them in conflict with each other as the film develops. The script by Wyllis Cooper (otherwise most well known for his pioneering radio work) is at least strong on character writing and dialogue, and the three actors make the most of it in their performances. It is just plain fun to see these characters face off with each other thanks to the acting.

It is also fun to see Karloff as the monster again, even if he is out of focus here. He only really gets one scene where he gets to properly act, the scene where the revived monster confronts Frankenstein for the first time. It’s a fine bit of silent acting for what it is.

This film had quite a high budget for a horror film, and it shows in the quality of execution. The story gets more room to breathe thanks to a longer runtime than most horror films of the era, with almost 100 minutes. The set design in these movies is generally excellent, but here it is especially spectacular.

This film is a bit of a step-down from “Bride of Frankenstein”, as it doesn’t have that film’s thematic depth. Yet it is still an enjoyable and extremely well-made film in its own right.

The Ghost of Frankenstein (1942)

The title character, I’m not kidding

The Frankenstein series had been extremely lucky with its sequels to this point, with both of them actually surpassing the first film in quality. And while “Bride” is better than “Son”, both are well-made films that found new things to do with the series.

The Ghost of Frankenstein however is exactly what you expect a horror movie sequel to be.

The story borders on absolute nonsense. Ygor has somehow survived being shot multiple times by Wolf von Frankenstein, and the monster has also survived being dropped into sulphur. The film then outright repeats the previous film in that Ygor contacts yet another son of Frankenstein in order to do further work on the monster.  The new Frankenstein son is Ludwig, who is apparently the brother of Wolf from the previous film, and he dutifully repeats his brother’s character arc of repeating his father’s mistakes under the influence of Ygor. There is even a sympathetic yet suspicious policeman to investigate Ludwig, just as Krogh did in “Son Of Frankenstein”.

It is certainly fun to see Bela Lugosi reprise his role as Ygor and a good actor like Cedric Hardwicke play Ludwig Frankenstein, yet the repetition of plot points from the previous movie is obvious.

There is a new idea however: brain transplants. This means a return to the nonsense from the first film about the monster being bad because he has a “criminal brain”. Ygor’s plan in this movie is to have his brain removed from his weakened body and placed into the strong body of the monster

As you can tell from this plot summary, “The Ghost of Frankenstein” is pure b-movie camp. There is even a literal ghost of (father) Frankenstein in one scene, seemingly only to justify the title (“The Other Son of Frankenstein” would have been more accurate).

It is well-acted certainly, with a wealth of charismatic and talented actors. Cedric Hardwicke as Ludwig, Bela Lugosi reprising his Ygor, Evelyn Ankers as Ludwig’s daughter Elsa and Lionel Atwill as Ludwig’s easily manipulated sidekick Dr Bohmer. Lon Chaney Jr does a decent Karloff impression as the monster. They are all fun to watch, doing well with what they have been given. Yet unlike with Son of Frankenstein the script does not give the characters enough depth and conflict to make the acting really soar like it did in the previous film.

It is certainly enjoyable, don’t get me wrong. If you want to see a fun horror movie “The Ghost of Frankenstein” certainly will fulfil your desire.  But it is a disappointment coming after such good films like “Bride of Frankenstein” and “Son of Frankenstein”.

[asgardian--angels]

Recommend some good folk metal music please

:D i never thought i’d see the day when someone actually wants to know more about the music i listen to *cracks knuckles* my time has come

I apologize in advance for this novel. Feel free to skip to the recommended tracks lol.

Most folk metal comes out of northern Europe (Finland, heavily) though you can find it all over the world (Hu Band comes to mind but I mean, it’s on every continent). I am one of those people with like, a small handful of favorite bands that I listen to mercilessly so I am sure that I am only representing a miniscule percentage of what’s available out there. What’s great is that folk metal is much more versatile than many other genres in its sound; the essence of folk metal is simply to 1) utilize traditional (or rather, in the sense of a metal band, non-traditional) instruments such as violin, accordion, brass ensemble, bagpipes, what have you, and 2) have lyrical themes which revolve around regional folklore, mythology, cultural heritage, or place (what I particularly like is a frequent reverence and respect for nature). Other genres of metal (death, black) have the second element but not the first, and tend to incorporate darker overall tones and consistently harsher or lo-fi vocal styles and sounds. Folk metal can be a gateway genre into metal and can often be quite hopepunk (if you will). Because of these criteria, the actual sound of folk metal can range from sea shanties to ‘spooky walk in the midnight woods’ to scathing social commentary to SHOTS SHOTS SHOTS SHOTS SH

Basically you can find a range of styles within the genre that fit what you’re looking for, from those that have an orchestral, ballad feel, to things that border on death metal but have a hurdy-gurdy in there. There’s also a much higher percentage of female-led folk metal bands than other metal genres.

I’ll go through my top picks.

Turisas. These motherfuckers. My boys.

Turisas is based in Finland, but sing primarily in English (with occasional Finnish, a smidge of Greek and Swedish too). Four albums out to date, fifth in progress. Sound is absolutely fucking bonkers god tier shit, if I may say so myself. Every single song sounds like you’ve been transported into an Iliad metal musical. Heavy use of a full orchestra and choir, along with sick violin and accordion solos. Their lyrical themes focus heavily on ancient Greco-Roman and Viking military history - but before you raise any red flags, rest assured they’re liberal as fuck and trust me the tea is scalding when Mathias feels like making a Point about Then and Now. No seriously, I don’t know how to express the beauty and depth of his songwriting - Mathias Nygård is an incredibly talented composer, musician, and songwriter (nay, POET), and an extremely intelligent and down to earth guy. There are plenty of bands that are happy to write Viking songs about pillaging and glorious death in battle and all that (Alestorm comes to mind), those are a dime a dozen. Turisas makes history come to life in a way that transports you back in time and thrusts you into the living breathing world of the past. They deal with the horrors and tragedy of war from both sides, consequences and motivations, fears and pride and loss, home and family, despair and hope. They write songs about people, big and small, and their role in weaving the great tapestry of history. And the best part is that it’s informed - Mathias does his damn research and the tales he tells are rooted in fact. He brings them to life so we can experience what it must have been like for those real living people, with the goal of forcing us to confront our own selves in them. He’s a modern Homer, I shit you not. 

Did I mention there’s a song about pirates that’s actually really complex and nuanced, about how the hypocrisy and vile colonialist deeds of emperors makes them no different than the criminals they persecute?

Or that they do a badass cover of Rasputin?? yeah?????

Anyway enough gushing. Their second and third albums (The Varangian Way, Stand Up And Fight) are consecutive concept albums that follow the story of the Varangian Guard (the legendary Viking battalion that defended Alexander the Great) so the songs are actually chronologically linked to tell this epic tale. It’s a fucking listen, lads. The Varangian Way is probably my favorite album. But all their albums are top notch. 

My favorite songs: End of An Empire (this one comes for 2020 hard), Piece by Piece (AKA die fascists 2k20), Cursed Be Iron, Among Ancestors, Greek Fire, Miklagard Overture (you gotta earn this song tho, it’s the finale)

Good first listen picks/hits: Battle Metal, To Holmgard and Beyond, March of the Varangian Guard, Ten More Miles, One More

Finntroll. These other motherfuckers. My other boys.

Another big name in the Finnish folk metal scene. As you can see, their band revolves both aesthetically and musically around Scandinavian troll folklore. Yall weird elf-fuckers who like the really big ears? Here you go. Look at those ears. They’re good friends with Turisas. Both love their facepaint.

Musical style leans much more towards black and death metal influenced, with a heavier, fuller sound and growling vocals. But it’s an incredibly rich and creative aural tapestry, with layers of masterfully executed sound that’s a real delight to lose yourself in. Use of fiddle, brass, keyboard, accordion, and banjo, and strong folk melodies make their sound unmistakable and unique. They are known for their ‘black humppa’ beat, which basically gives the effect of feeling the primal need to stomp around loudly to their music. It’s great cardio. They also utilize orchestra in some great intro tracks. They know their stuff.

The majority of their songs are sung in Swedish (they do some English cover songs which are FANTASTIC holy SHIT), but don’t let that stop you. The mood and power and emotion of their music transcend language, and you can be sure the lyrics are about either trolls, witches, the dark woods, spirits, or something of that ilk. I think Swedish as a language works very well with this kind of music, and honestly having it in English would lose something. 

They have been around a long time and so have many albums, but I personally have only listened to the last three which feature their current singer, Mathias Lillmåns, whom I adore. Those albums are Nifelvind, Blodsvept, and their recent release Vredesvävd (that i’ve had on repeat since I got it three weeks ago). I’m sure their other ones are great too, I just can’t make a personal recommendation since I haven’t heard them. 

My favorite songs: Galgasång, Tiden Utan Tid, Ylaren, Skogsdotter, Två Ormar, Ett Norrskensdåd, Skövlarens Död

Good first listen picks/hits: Forsen, Under Bergets Rot, Häxbrygd, Trollhammaren (older song), Solsagan

I’ll go through these other ones a little faster, I haven’t heard quite as much from them but I do love them.

Korpiklaani. 

Great, full folk sound, utilizes a lot of folk instruments including some less commonly seen ones like hurdy gurdy. Songs are mostly in Finnish but plenty in English too. Jonne Järvelä has a really unique voice that grows on you, but it’s not for everyone. The band started as Sami folk, and Jonne is trained in Sami yoik singing, which makes an appearance in a few songs. I prefer the Finnish tracks, as a lot of the English ones are drinking songs lmao. But again, really well-executed music with layers of sound that keeps you hooked. I haven’t heard enough of their discography to really recommend enough to cover everything. 

Song picks: Minä Näin Vedessä Neidon, Metsälle, Ämmänhauta, Lempo

Moonsorrow.

Definitely a darker, black-folk band. Probably not a great pick if you aren’t accustomed to black metal - very long tracks (8-15 mins is standard), growling/shrieking vocals, a ‘thinner’ but encompassing wall of sound usual of black metal, but with the benefit of wonderfully entrancing dark folk elements and chants. It’s done really really well. Sung almost entirely in Finnish (apart from cover tracks). Lyrically, focuses on themes of Norse mythology, man vs nature and similar elements. Definitely one of those bands whose music gets you into a zone. I can lose serious time just putting a whole album on and letting my mind wander elsewhere. My favorite album is Jumalten Aika. 

Song picks: Ruttolehto Sis. Päivättömän Päivän Kansa (my fucking FAVORITE), Suden Tunti (well known hit), and also uhh check out their cover of Non Serviam cause it’s a fucking banger

Other bands that I like what I’ve heard but really can’t say much about them, whoops - Tyr (from the Faroe Islands, great stuff, Faroese is a baller language), Ensiferum, Nightwish (female-led).... I’m open to suggestions. Like I said, there are folk metal bands all over the world, and each is intrinsically linked to a sense of place and cultural identity that makes them unique. I’d love to hear about more tbh. 

[moonkissed-ares]

Of course the old gods aren’t dead...

Zeus has heard the call many times in his divine life. 

Immortality is tiresome and days stretch far beyond comprehension.

How can he die however, when there is no justice to this world. 

He has worked hard, 

Put forth many trials and passed enough sentences to qualify him for retirement.

But there are those elude him, those that keep him awake. 

Rapists and murderers, war criminals under the guise of politicians and humanitarians. 

How is a god…

How is a father…

Supposed to die when his children cry for him each night?

The rest she needs even death cannot give her. 

Hera refuses to close her eyes when there are so many families apart and caged. 

Queen Goddess will not have this. 

She refuses to die until there are no children crying.

Hera has the rage of a mother in her heart,

But what use is it if she cannot save every child. 

She will try however, 

She will come for every child even if it's to hold them as they die. 

To let them know the warmth of a mother for one last time. 

Poseidon is raging like a disaster waiting to happen. 

He has been restless ever since the slave ships. 

No rest for him when his land has been made a graveyard.

He tried so hard not to drown them, to guide them ashore but there was nothing…

No life in either land.

Poseidon’s been raging ever since then. 

Helplessness is poison to gods and some days he wishes he could drown them all. 

And some days he wishes he was the one that was drowning. 

He knows there are no more slave ships 

But things haven’t gotten much better since… 

There are still children drowning in him. 

Demeter protects the sacred law but knows nothing is sacred anymore. 

Her lands have become mass graves. 

She carries children within herself. 

Growing flowers where they have died had never been enough. 

She yearns to harvest the heads of the murderers. 

They are out of her reach…

Loved by the public, adored and adorned…

So she shakes the earth in the hopes that they’ll fall loose. 

How is she supposed to die when she is made to another graveyard. 

For Athena death was never an option. 

She is a woman of war and she knows she can not die. 

It is not hubris to know she will survive. 

Look at her eyes, her bronze skin impenetrable by the guns of mere mortals. 

Of course Athena can not die. 

Deathless as she might be she has never been to abandon. 

Each day at the border

Each night at the camps. 

Her shield, her sword, and her mind…

Even she can not find a way out. 

Many poems end in sorrow but Apollo knows this will not be one. 

He sings lullabies to children and war songs to the protestors. 

He has seen it all but never this. 

Perhaps the fates refused to show him, 

Knowing it would drive him mad. 

Each night he closes his eyes, a song dies on his lips. 

A whisper of hope in his mind. 

As seasons change and the wheels of fate turn, this too shall…

He is a man of healing though, 

And he knows it will be years before the world heals. 

He sees the nightmares of each children. 

He feels them shiver in the cold, no blanket on sight. 

Cure for the cold given to them long ago but there is no cure for a lack of heart. 

Not one he can give. 

Children were not fated to die and neither were gods. 

So Apollo lives as does the gods. 

Goddess of the hunt has not know rest for a while. 

There are those who call themselves hunters at the borders. 

She will not have that. 

She will not let them hunt people for pleasure under the guise of protection.

 Artemis is she who protects, she who hunts. 

Her name won’t be sullied by the likes of him. 

Mankind shall not make her into an excuse to act out their sickness. 

No. 

No. 

Artemis makes sure their bullets strays. 

She makes sure they drink way too much and pass out on the way to their sick hunt. 

She confuses them. 

She scares them. 

Goddess of the hunt is after them and eventually she will catch up to them all. 

No one knows war as intimately as Ares does. 

He has seen the aftermath of wars. 

He has comforted mothers, and widows, and orphans. 

No one is attuned to the heartbeat of a scared child as he. 

He has carried bombs on his shoulders. 

His arms has held terrible things. 

His heart has acted out bloodshed as easily as a kiss. 

There once was a time war made sense to them all. 

Some honour to be found. 

Nothing made sense anymore. 

Nothing but the victims. 

So those are the ones he fights for. 

He rebels with them against those that would subdue them. 

He rages with the might of a war god, his voice now belongs to children. 

Children who are angry enough to go in front of the congress. 

Children angry at the world that is trying to kill them. 

Children on tv begging not to be shot. 

His voice is theirs 

His shield is theirs

His sword belongs to them now. 

As tired as he might be of war, he loves his children and he will not die until they all get to live. 

People forget Aphrodite is a war goddess too.

They forget she has taken war as her lover, that she has bore him children…

Everyone thinks that Aphrodite loves all with no conditions attached

But she cannot love all, she cannot welcome all. 

She cannot claim to love the children while embracing their killers. 

That is beyond her. 

However she is ready to heal with her love when called upon. 

She believes in change,

She believes in love.

This is not the first time love has changed actions and she hopes…

She goes to the children at night.

She talks to the little girls who are no longer little…

She does her best to save them

They are too young to be mothers after all. 

Love is a goddess that shall never die. 

Hephaestus once forged the best weapons of war

Now he forges a path free of fire so that children can escape. 

He knows the pain of being discarded,

He refuses to sit and watch as the same happens. 

The fire inside of him belongs to a god. 

It is infinitely stronger than those that would snuff out lives. 

He forges weapons for her warrior siblings

He forges shields for all the children his eyes can see. 

He is the fire underneath the earth waiting for a chance to burn them all to the ground… 

Hermes knows nothing of diplomacy anymore. 

Borders are lines with the dead.

He carries the cries of mothers to Zeus, and he too begs for some form of justice. 

He plays pranks for the children to draw out a smile from them. 

He brings down compounds to the heads of their would be killers. 

He carries messages of hope from one rebellion to the other. 

Children may be small but they are more resilient than gods some days. 

Hermes wants to cry…

He has always loved humans far too much. 

He was a child himself not long ago,  one of the youngest in Olympus. 

Hermes guides the refugees at night, 

Makes sure their paths are safe to cross. 

He tells stories to children at night.

Each of them are too afraid to close their eyes. 

Even gods cannot bring them comfort tonight… 

Hades has seen his share of disasters, mass groups arriving at the gates but this…

Children lined up in front of him waiting. 

He cries each night in Persephone’s arms. 

He knows death and it does not suit the tiny bodies of children. 

Beings full of joy and life, yet in front of him they seem ever so small. 

Persephone is furious, but she cannot give in to it. 

She has many children to care now. 

She will not let them see her cry, she will not remind them of pain nor sorrow. 

Persephone brings spring to the hearts of the children. 

Hades welcomes them to his arms. 

He had always been impartial, his domain demanded it so but no longer. 

Hades loves his children. 

He would defy the laws if he could. 

He would close the gates if he had the power. 

King and Queen eternal with their eternally young children. 

No one is dead. 

Not really. 

Neither gods nor the children. 

[nightglider124]

A Present For Dar - 2020 <3

Eyyyyy so in a way, time zones are like sorta working with me for once. Technically, in your zone, your day of birth has passed but in my zone, tis still going so... I’m counting it as on time ahsbsafadlg...

Anywho... HAPPY BIRTHDAY @dar-draws - ONE OF MY BESTEST PALS AND FAVOURITE LIL GREMLINS IN THE WHOLE WIDE WORLD! I hope you had a truly kickass day because you deserve it, you perfectly perfect gardening tool. I have been basically dead for a while now, I know. But I wanted to resurrect to ensure I gifted you with some wholesome famjam fluff from our favourite pair of disgusting individuals. 

I hope you like it and forgive me; it is not properly edited yet but ima do it. XD

I love you gurl and a very hip hop happy birthday <3 <3 <3

____________________________

Sunshine

The glass of the apartment windows rattled under the sheer force of wind that spiked outside, throwing all of its weight against the sides of the building, as if trying to break through. It squirmed and thrashed, almost like it was being restrained from wreaking the havoc and damage it was truly capable of. 

It howled and whined as it whistled between the clusters of charcoal clouds that still clung to the bleak night sky which formed the Earth’s backdrop, just until the break of dawn made itself known as it did with every new morning that came. 

Rain drops continued to splatter against the window panes, without a single sign of stopping any time soon. The heavens had well and truly opened as the downpour covered the sidewalks in water, rippling puddles lining the paths for those who dared to still be out in the storm that raged on through the night. 

The pitter-patter sound of the rain as it impacted the glass was deafening, a truly frightening level of volume as the city continued to endure one of the worst storms it had had in a long time. 

A clap of thunder had been faintly heard in the distance not so long ago and it was now a burning curiosity for anyone still awake at such a ghastly hour, to know just when the lightning would be accompanying its natural companion. 

And yet, despite the violent performance from Mother Nature, there was one particular man who had voluntarily gone out into it, just as he always did. It was his duty; a vow to the city he lived within, made many years ago that he would protect it, wherever possible.

Such a vow could not be broken, even when the wind and rain tried so desperately to hold him back from what he silently promised the citizens of Bludhaven. 

It made his job more difficult at times and of course, he was putting himself in harm’s way more. He knew that he could slip and fall from an outrageous height when the weather was like this; he knew he could be hurled into dangerous territory by the powerful winds but, he also knew that if he skipped a night of watching the city like a mysterious guardian, it could mean an innocent’s death at the hands of a criminal.

He decided that fact alone meant he would face obscene weather patterns, no matter the danger, each and every time if he had to. 

There was, however, an upside to the state of the elements when it worsened like it had. Criminals and levels of crime in general tended to decrease, especially when it finally reached 3am. 

Nightwing stifled a yawn as he swung through the gaps between tall buildings, being careful to maintain his grip on the handle of his grappling hook. He propelled himself forward, glimpsing at the few stars painted across the sky, ever so slightly hidden by the rain tinted veil beyond his mask. 

He aligned his arms to collect speed and momentum as he tumbled towards the empty streets below, his soaked ebony locks whipping around his face, only serving to get his skin wetter than before. 

The colors and lights of nearby structures passed his line of sight in a hazy blur as he hurtled towards the ground, smirking and opening his eyes just in time.

He shot his hook upwards, an audible zipping sound coming from the device as it locked onto the stone railing of a nearby pizza parlor. He swept over the ground, narrowly missing its touch by a single breath. 

Flying through the air, he felt alive; his heart buzzing and soaring like he was. He had felt flight in many ways and despite the love he had for his own way, he preferred another’s much more.

He envisioned her; the carefree way she spun and dove through the clouds, her scarlet hair coming to him in bright flashes and the way her emerald eyes sparkled as if basking in a secret shared that only the two of them knew about. 

He smiled and finally saw the location he desired; suddenly clamoring over rooftops and railings to reach it in haste. 

Once his final leap was complete and he was glued to the side of the building, he fiddled with the latch of one of the windows, attempting to ignore the way the rain beat down on him and trickled down the back of his neck and beneath his uniform. 

He clenched his jaw, unable to wait for the satisfying warmth that would soon cocoon him. 

When the window opened, he slid inside without delay and closed it again, locking it tight behind him. Nightwing released the breath he had been holding inside his chest and strolled towards one of the closest apartments in the hallway, disregarding all the other doors that lined the corridor of the floor he was on. 

There was only one that was on his mind and he felt his fluttering in his stomach beginning to stir at the thought of being inside. 

As he approached the dark stained entrance, he peered at the silver reflection of the door number before reaching into one of the back compartments of his belt and fishing out his keys. 

Slotting it into the groove of the lock, he gave it a few gentle twists as to not alert nor wake anyone within. Biting his lip, he grasped the handle and opened the door.

He pulled the key back and paused, noticing that the lights were all on from where he was stood, all the way into the lounge area. His dark brows furrowed in confusion but he avoided calling out any names, just in case. 

It was only after depositing his set of keys in the ceramic bowl that sat atop the oak console table, just to the right of the front door, did he hear it.

His interest and curiosity piqued with the faint sound of music, drifting from the living room and calling to him around the edge of the hallway. 

Slipping his mask from his face and stashing it on the table top, Dick silently crept along the border of the corridor, practically plastering himself to the wall as to not be detected.

He ran his gloved fingers against the peach stained walls, a warmth blossoming inside of him as he neared closer to the source of the upbeat music that filled his ears.

It was light and happy, a familiar tune that he heard often playing from the record player but it couldn’t be. She wouldn’t still be up at this hour, surely. 

Just as he drew close to the end of the hallway, more noises carried themselves through the air. 

Dick could hear the honey laced humming that was so akin to vocal ambrosia and so very familiar to his senses. It was such a relaxing sound that he melted against the wall for a long moment, simply becoming lost in the depth of her tone. 

He could hear gentle movement, back and forth and across the floor. Her feet were brushing against the carpet and what weight she owned shifted from floorboard to floorboard.

Dick’s grin only grew wider as he remained rooted to the spot, a hand pressed to the wall as he reveled in the homely sound of her voice. 

His brows hit his hairline when he heard a tiny giggle bubble up from another just beyond the bend of the wall. He knew that flourish of laughter as well; all too well. 

Unable to resist taking a peek, Dick moved a little more so that he could watch the scene before him. His heart constricted and he sucked in a breath, powerless to stop the serene smile that formed upon his lips. His cerulean gaze became a half lidded one as he soon started to lose himself in the trance of what stood before him.

Her long hair swayed around her hips like a waterfall of rubies, following the line of her body however she moved; a soft ribbon alive with the melodic tune that was coming from the turntable in the far corner of the living room. 

Her back was facing him before she spun and twirled around, her toes just about touching the floor as she danced to the music. Her golden skin was glowing in the dim light but her face was one of calm and peace, green eyes hidden for the time being as she enveloped herself in this moment, truly absorbing it like she would never have another.

She had yet to notice him but he could tell she was in her own little world as she continued to hum along to the song echoing and ricocheting off the walls. 

His smile grew at the little one in her arms; their first child of love and bundle of joy. Her disheveled locks of fluffy black hair framed her chubby face as she stared up at Kory with a glazed expression, her big jade orbs focused on nothing else besides her mother; almost as if nothing else even existed beside her beacon of light.

Her lips were upturned into an almost vacant smile; a few giggles escaping her whenever Kory leaned down and absently brushed her nose against her daughter’s button one. 

Dick leaned against the corner, his arms crossed over his chest as he simply watched them, his heart threatening to explode out of pure love and adoration for the woman and little girl in front of him. 

It was impossible to look away from them; his emotions catching in his throat at how at ease he felt, knowing this was his family. Despite the things he would see on patrol or the things he would have to fight out there, it was always a comfort to know this is what he would be coming back to.

When the day was over and the work was done, this little household was what held him together; no matter what kind of stress life threw in his direction. Everything was worth it because he had this. It was the only constant in his life and god, he wouldn’t swap it for anything else in the entire world. 

“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine… you make me happy when skies are grey…” Kory whispered to her daughter, who was now pressing her tiny fingers to the soft skin of her mother’s cheek,

Dick felt his heart flip at how much love was injected into the quiet singing of his wife; a known fact that Mar’i was everything to her and to him, but it made him shiver to hear the way she sang to their child. He’d always known she would suit motherhood like no other on this Earth.

“You'll never know dear, how much I love you…” Kory paused and rested her forehead against her baby’s, “Please don’t take my sunshine away…”

Her tone was hushed and there was something so gentle in the air that Dick was petrified he would shatter by making his presence known.

“I love you, mama…” Mar’i whispered, her little arms gripping ever tighter around her mother’s neck. 

Kory smiled and exhaled quietly, pressing several kisses to her face, earning an uproar of laughter as she shifted her around in her arms, attacking her with affection whilst Mar’i continued to squeal with joy. 

Dick must have only moved a centimeter but it was enough to earn his wife’s attention. Her head turned towards his direction and her eyes snapped open, softening immensely when she saw who it was.

He smirked and gave her a muted wave in greeting.

Kory sighed in what appeared to be relief before she twisted Mar’i in her arms so she could also see who was home for the night, “Mar’i… look…”

His daughter’s reaction made his knees buckle a fraction and his heart melted from the thousand watt smile that lit up her entire face,

“Daddy!” She squealed, immediately squirming to get to him. 

Kory laughed and released her, watching as she padded across the space between in her purple, star covered pajamas, arms outstretched and desperate for cuddles from her father.

Dick was just as fast, scooping her straight up and lifting her high above his head before he pulled her close and cuddle her to his chest, pressing several kisses to her mess of dark hair. 

“Hi there, Starshine…” He murmured, stroking her back.

Mar’i pulled back with a frown, “Daddy is all wet!” 

He chuckled and leaned in, rubbing his damp cheek against hers, eliciting a loud bubble of laughter from the tiny toddler. She shook her head and wriggled away, all the while, a smile on her face.

“We can blame all the rain for that, honey.” 

Mar’i pouted and turned her nose upwards, “Bad rain!” 

Kory shook her head and drifted closer to the two of them, retrieving Mar’i back from him to ensure she didn’t get soaked through her warm pajamas, “Greetings, my love…”

Dick failed to stop the dopey grin that lit up his expression as he touched her waist and leaned close, “Hey…”

He captured her lips with his own, the frozen bite of his becoming soothed and rectified by the heat emanating from his beloved wife. Her skin was like fire; a calming heat amidst the treacherous weather outside. He always felt so much better within proximity of her, her surge of warmth lighting a room better than any kind of other device. 

She made a small sound at the back of her throat when he slipped his tongue against her bottom lip as he sought permission to deepen their gesture of love. Kory was about to oblige him before they were split apart by the dramatic retching sound of their 2 year old daughter.

When they pulled away, they both glanced at her as she pulled multiple expressions of disgust, 

“Blech!” She droned, grinning when they both issued her with a raised brow,

“I have a question for you, Starshine. What are you doing up? It’s way past your bedtime, isn’t it?”

Mar’i shrank a little against Kory’s shoulder, idly playing with the strands of her mother’s ember filled locks, 

“Mama said it was okay…” She mumbled, not wanting to get into trouble,

Dick blinked and turned his gaze to his wife who was passively staring back at him before she rubbed Mar’i’s back, “She couldn’t sleep… she was worried about daddy being out in the storm all alone.”

He visibly softened and smiled sympathetically at their child; a very deep thinker despite her youth, “So… I said we would wait up for you together.”

Kory tilted her head at him and waited for him to speak and when he did, it was nothing short of what she imagined him saying,

“Now that I’m home, Mar’i… how about I read you a bedtime story? Hm?” He murmured, tucking some of her black curls behind her ear,

Mar’i sat up straight and beamed at her father, “Story!” 

Dick chuckled and gave her cheek a kiss, “That’s right. Story with daddy and then sleepy byes, okay?”

She rapidly nodded, excited for the offer of a story before succumbing to slumber, as most children desired. 

Kory ran her fingers through her baby’s hair, marveling at the thickness of it all, “Do you want to pick out the story daddy reads to you?”

“Uh huh!” Mar’i approved, steeling herself as Kory lowered her to the floor. Mar’i shuffled along the carpet, her little legs carrying her as she scurried towards her bedroom, decorated with stars and splashes of violet and plum.

“Pick a good one, Mar’i and I’ll be there in a minute…” Dick called, already sensing his wife’s touch as her fingertips grazed his chest,

He turned back towards her, grinning at how close she was now, “Hello again, Kor…” 

She leaned towards him, barely whispering, “Hello…” before she pressed her cupid bow lips against his, her fingers sliding up from the front of his uniform to the line of his jaw, cupping his handsome face to hold him still as she snuck in some kisses.

Dick’s eyes closed on their own accord, falling deeper into the bliss that was his wonderful wife. He could feel the metal of her wedding ring against the skin of his cheek and he felt electric shoot through him; a reminder that she was his and he was hers, now and forever.

Sometimes, he found himself dwelling on just how lucky he’d been to have found her and how utterly thankful he was to have her in his life; to have her as his wife and to have her as the mother of his child. 

He could think of no better person to stand at his side for eternity and as he slipped his cold hands beneath the old t-shirt of his that clung to her torso, he smirked.

She gasped and pulled back, breathless, “That was not very nice.”

He brushed his nose against hers, his breath full of husk, “If I let you kiss me any longer, then we’d probably be on the floor and scarring Mar’i for life.”

Kory rolled her forest green eyes at him and gently smacked his arm, “You make it sound as if I have no self control around you.”

“Honey, I don’t think you do… that’s how we ended up with our little baby in there.” He replied, jerking his head in the direction of Mar’i’s room,

His Princess snorted and folded her arms over her chest, “Oh? I seem to forget… please… remind me who started talk about having a child?”

Dick chuckled and squeezed her hips, “Alright, ya got me…” 

Kory matched the serene smile that appeared on his face and ran her feathery touch along his chin, staring into his ocean eyes, “I am glad you are safe… I worry when you are patrolling in weather like this…”

His smile faltered a little, “I know… sorry I took longer… I ran into a drug deal going south and… I had to deal with it. They had someone hostage if this group didn’t deliver.”

Kory pecked the corner of his mouth, “I know… it is okay. All that matters is that you are home.” She paused, “Are you hungry?”

Dick grinned, “Famished…”

“Cereal or… leftover pizza?” 

“Hm… decisions, decisions.” 

She giggled and shook her head, opening her mouth to respond when they heard the rapidly approaching sound of tiny feet on wooden flooring,

“Daddy! Ready!” Mar’i squeaked, holding the picture book she wanted read to her, high above her head,

Dick glanced over his shoulder and lifted an eyebrow, “The Gruffalo, again?” 

Mar’i pouted, “It’s my favorite!”

He laughed and gently let go of his wife, “Alright, alright, c’mon. Get snuggled under the covers, then.”

Their daughter beamed at him before she spun and headed back into her room to do just that.

Dick smiled and looked back at Kory, “Duty calls… I’ll be back soon.” 

Kory sighed in content as he pressed a quick kiss to the palm of her hand before letting it go entirely. 

“Hurry… or I may just eat both of your snacking options.” She murmured, turning and wandering into the kitchen, winking at him over her shoulder.

Dick smirked and shook his head as he ambled towards Mar’i’s room, grateful to have all of this; always ready and always waiting for him after the longest of nights.

[lyselkatzfandomluvs]

My edits - Masterpost

Making a MASTERLIST for my edits because I’m losing track of what’s done and what’s in my to-do folders.

EDIT: looks like the links aren’t working on mobile anymore. They point to results on the whole tumblr instead of just on my blog. I don’t kow how to fix this so I’m afraid the only solution is to seach for the film title on my blog. 

Band of Brothers cast

They are under the tag #My BoB cast edits (outsourced content and reblogs from other content creators, mostly for those with wider fan-base, are tagged #BoB cast) and with the actor’s name or the serie/movie title.

Feel free to send me an ask if there’s anything you’d like to see from BoB and its cast

Ensemble

Band of Brothers (obviously 😝)

Ron Livingston's bootcamp video diary

Wales Comic Con 2020 twitch panel

We happy few 506 zoom panels

Doug Allen

Sherlock (BBC)

Jamie Bamber

A Christmas in New York

Hornblower

Eion Bailey

Center stage

Covert affairs

Dawson's creek

Deliver by Christmas

FBI

Fight Club

Life of the party

Mindhunters

Nightmares and Dreamscapes

Stalker

Switched for Christmas

Philip Barantini

Ned Kelly

Ben Caplan

Leap year

New blood

The coroner

The lost honour of Christopher Jefferies

Whitechapel

Michael Cudlitz

21 Jump street

A river runs through it

Dark tourist

Dragon : The Bruce Lee story

Kings of con

SouthLAnd

Standoff

Dale Dye

44 minutes: The North Hollywood Shoot-Out

Michael Fassbender

Gunpowder, treason & plot

Dexter Fletcher

Below

Bugsy Malone

Caravaggio

Dramarama

Gentlemen in squalor

Hotel Babylon

Lock, stock and two smoking barrels

The Rachel papers

Music video - Kylie Minogue "Some kind of bliss"

Stephen Graham

Boardwalk empire

Ezra Godden

Dagon

Quarantine "Isolation" videos

Rick Gomez

Applebox

Daily Rick’s tips

Hawaii five-0

Law and order

Leave

The adventures of Pete & Pete

The millionaire Tour

The week

Three to tango

Interview - Your story interview with Christine Schneider

Scott Grimes

Critters

Colin Hanks

Parkland

Tom Hardy

Colditz

Nolan Hemmings

Black Book

Colour me Kubrick

Dive to the Bermuda Triangle

Heartbeat

Pump up the volume

Sharpe’s eagle

The Aryan couple

The Mahabharata

Frank John Hughes

Applebox

Blue lagoon: the awakening

Cover Me: Based on the True Life of an FBI Family

Homicide: Life on the streets

Leave

Legends

NCIS

Players

Righteous kill

The Funeral

The Guardian

The week

Viper

Lucie Jeanne

Central nuit

Joséphine ange gardien

L’été rouge

Relic hunter

Robin Laing

Beautiful creatures

Dive to the Bermuda Triangle

Doors open

Murder room

Taggart

The coroner

The lakes

The slab boys

Waking the dead

Matthew Leitch

AKA

Below

Mile high

Renford rejects

Strike back

Damian Lewis

Alex Rider: Operation Stormbreaker

A touch of Frost

Colditz

Life

The baker

Ron Livingston

44 minutes: The North Hollywood Shoot-Out

Addicted to Fresno

American crude

Applebox

Beat

Boardwalk empire

Body shots

Buying the cow

Defying gravity

Dice

Digging for fire

Dinner for schmucks

Nightmares and Dreamscapes

Drinking buddies

Fort bliss

Going the distance

James White

King of the ants

Kings of con

Leave

Little black book

Loudermilk

Music within

Office Space

Parkland

Players

Queens of country (trailer)

Relative strangers

Saints and strangers

Sex and the city

Shangri-La suite

Shimmer lake

Standoff

Straight talk

Swinger

The 5th Wave

The conjuring

The cooler

The long dumb road

The Man Who Killed Hitler and Then The Bigfoot

The Romanoffs

The sidekick

Timecop

Touchy feely

Tully

Interview - Off camera with Sam Jones

Interview - Alexander Valley Film Society

Misc - Keyboard cat

James Madio

Applebox

Hook

Leave

The week

Tim Matthews

Five children and It

Heartbeat

Judge John Deed

Music video - "Taking chances”

Ross McCall

A Christmas in New York

A country Christmas story

Crash

CSI: New York

Ghost whisperer

Hex

It’s not you, it’s me

Lucifer

Nature unleashed: Fire

Pie in the sky

Quarantine : Rome

Rome in love

Snake man/The snake king

Submerged

The beautiful ones

Waterland

White collar

Neal McDonough

Boomtown

Quantum leap

Jason O'Mara

Sons of liberty

The Agency

Peter O'Meara

Leap year

Strike back

Bart Ruspoli

Devil’s playground

David Schwimmer

Uprising

Matthew Settle

Beneath

Blue smoke

Criminal minds- Beyond borders

Divine secrets of the Ya-Ya sisterhood

I still know what you did last summer

Love, sick love

Marshall’s miracle

Ouija

So undercover

The Celestine prophecy

The in crowd

The mystery of Natalie Wood

U-571

Valentine

Douglas Spain

44 minutes: The North Hollywood Shoot-Out

Richard Speight Jr

3 Blind saints

American crude

Applebox

Driven

J.A.G.

Jericho

Kings of con

Life

Matlock

The agency

The sidekick

The week

Shane Taylor

Agriculture

Aura/The exorcism of Karen Walker

Devil’s playground

Hunter killer

Quirke

Sons of liberty

Strike Back

The day of the Triffids

Walking with the enemy

Music video - Stalker Miller "Jenny"

Donnie Wahlberg

Boomtown

Dead silence

Righteous kill

The sixth sense

Rick Warden

Shackleton

Marc Warren

Colour me Kubrick

Peter Youngblood Hills

AKA

Michel Vaillant

Submerged

The beach

The marksman

********

MISC EDITS

James Badge Dale

Parkland

Scott Bakula

Quantum leap

Rob Benedict

Kings of con

The sidekick

Misha Collins

24

Dave Franco

interview GQ 2014

Misc - LG, It's all possible

Lena Headey

Waterland

Ilia Kulik

Center stage

Alessandra Mastronardi

Quarantine : Rome

Helen McCrory

Life

Ewan McGregor

Alex Rider: Operation Stormbreaker

Joe Mazzello

Wooly boys

Piper Perabo

Covert affairs

Norman Reduus

Beat

Zoe Saldana

Center stage

Michael Sheen

Music within

Brian J. Smith

World on Fire (BBC)

Sebastian Stan

Misc - Save with stories

Tom Wisdom

Mile high

[addictiedtocrimedrama]

Had this idea in my head for a while.

[blog-of-a-multitude-of-fandoms]

Daughter- Matthew Simmons (4)

Pairing: Matthew Simmons x Reader

Characters: Matthew Simmons, Jennifer Jareau

Warnings: N/A

Request: Wattpad- Hi can you do a Matt Simmons one where the reader was his girlfriend they brokeup she had his baby after the break-up and meet after few years about a case and finds out about the kid they'll confront each other

Word Count: 555

Author: Charlotte

Five hours later you were in the police station holding your little girl again. You were told she wasn’t hurt and she had slept through a lot of it so would likely be fine, she was just happy to be back with her mother. Once you were told you could leave, you looked for Matt but couldn’t find it, so you turned to his colleague.

“Agent Jareau,” you smiled softly, still holding your daughter.

“Hi,” she smiled in return before reaching out a hand to wave at your daughter. “Hello there.”

“Hi,” your daughter whispered, curling into your neck.

“How can I help you?” She asked.

“Have you seen Agent Simmons?”

She looked around but shook her head. “He left I think.” She stated. “He told me about the two of you, he’ll come back. He might have gone to talk to Agent Prentiss about getting time off, he said he wants to stay around here for a bit to get to know you again.”

You nodded your head solemnly. Maybe he just left and had changed his mind about you and Anna. Maybe he didn’t want anything to do with either of you and would never come back. You thanked her for her help before heading out to your car to drive her home.

After such an ordeal, you were surprised about how normal everything seemed. As soon as you got home, it felt as though it was a normal day. Anna asked to play, so you let her loose on the toys she had in the living room before deciding to order in dinner as a special treat. You played with the toys along with Anna until you heard the door go.

You expected the food delivery person to be there when you opened the door but it wasn’t.

“Matt?” You couldn’t help but smile.

He held two large bags in his hands.

“Can I come in?” He asked.

You gestured for him to come into the house.

“I’m sorry for leaving the station earlier. I panicked, and I wanted to get something for Anna but then I realised I don’t know what she liked so I bought most of the shop,” he shrugged.

A laugh escaped you. Years ago, the two of you were so excited to start a family and here you were now with a two-year-old daughter who didn’t know her father.

“I’m sure she’ll love what ever you got her,” you smiled. “Anna.”

Your daughter ran over to you, instantly wanting to be picked up.

“Anna, honey, this is someone very special, he’s your dad,” you smiled softly. “He’s saved all the princesses he needs to for now.”

She grinned reaching out to be held by Matt.

“Hello,” he said softly. “I’m sorry for not being here but I will be around now.”

Anna smiled hugging him tightly as he turned his attention back to you.

“My boss has given me a week off. I’m going to find somewhere to stay near here if that’s okay. I want to be in both of your lives.”

“We want you in our lives too. And if you wanted, we have a spare bedroom,” you smiled gently.

He nodded, “Thank you Y/N. I hope we can work something out. Even if we can’t work out, we can figure out something for her.”

[screamingatanemptyroom]

I Can’t Eat Love pt 33

Next part is the last part. 

Master post linked here

Enjoy. 

__________________________

Sister?

I stared up at Edith, a little dazed, my mind racing as I tried to put the pieces together. My silence didn’t frustrate her, however. It seemed to amuse her as she watched me, her smile growing wider.

“Let me tell you a story.” She called out, and an expressionless man dressed as a bandit brought over a chair for her to sit on. She was so close that our knees were almost touching. It made me want to kick out, to hurt her, but my legs were too tightly bound to do more than shift the chair. 

“There once was a handsome young man, the only son of a Duke. He was smart and hard-working, caring deeply about those around him. His father, the Duke viewed him with great pride, thinking how his legacy would continue to grow under such a capable son.” She continued to smile, but her gaze was cold as she studied me slowly. “The young man fell in love, with a girl who grew up by his side. Her status was a little low, but she was beautiful and kind, and he loved her deeply. Even his parents could not object to their engagement. Everything was perfect.”

She stood up suddenly, the sound of the chair scraping against the floor grating on my ears. “But one day, startling news arrived. The crown prince had broken his engagement with the daughter of one of the larger duchies, to marry a foreign princess. The woman was reportedly heartbroken.” Edith sneered at the last sentence, her eyes on me growing more hostile. “She didn’t mourn for long, however. She insisted she be married to the highest ranked noble in the kingdom. And who could that be other than the young handsome man?”

My hands clenched into fists, the nails digging into my palms. I discretely tried to continue pulling at the ropes, but all I managed to do was tear the skin at my wrists, the warm blood soaking the bonds.

“He protested of course. As did his precious little sweetheart.” She laughed bitterly. “But none of that meant anything to that cold hearted woman. Her family forced the marriage, and the lovers were separated… at least officially.”

Edith had wandered towards the back of the room, beyond the candlelight. Slowly she returned, but this time something was clutched in her hand, causing me to freeze with fear.

A knife.

 “They still saw each other… for a time. Until the childhood sweetheart learned she was pregnant.” She gently touched the tip of the knife, as if testing it. “Perhaps he could have divorced the scheming woman who forced him into marriage, but not too long after, it was revealed that she was pregnant as well.”

I stared at Edith and the knife in her hand, almost hypnotized as she turned it over and over in her hands. I didn’t speak, I didn’t know what to say.

“A pregnant wife with a legal child, and a pregnant mistress with a bastard. Who do you think won?” She laughed again, but the sound was painful. “The sweetheart married a count, and passed the daughter born as his own, only revealing the truth to the daughter when she grew older.”

I stared down at the floor, thinking of the beautiful smiling woman I had known as the Countess of Erand and tried to reconcile that image with the bitter betrayed woman Edith described, unable to. I thought of  my mother’s accusations and coldness, my father’s guilt. What was it that he had said to me during our last conversation?

“We all have our sins, Lenora. Some of us are just still waiting to pay the price for them.”

“You’re my father’s daughter.” I studied her curiously, her delicate features greatly resembled her mother, we looked nothing alike.

Edith stood up straight. “I am the Duke’s eldest child.” Her eyes were disdainful as she looked back at me. “You are nothing. A thief. A fraud. Just like your mother, who stole father from us.” 

“I hate you.” She whispered crouching down, the knife in her hand pointing towards my face. “I’ve always hated you! Everything you have should have been mine!! Your home! Your title! Your dresses and jewelry! They all were meant to be in my hands!”

The knife crept closer, and her face distorted as she continued. “The Queen should have loved me! The engagement should always have been mine! I WAS MEANT TO BE THE FUTURE QUEEN!”

“But you have the engagement.” I answered softly. “You will be queen.”

She hesitated at that. “I thought so too.. I thought everything was going well! But then Ronan started talking about making me the MISTRESS!!!!” She was screaming now, the knife only a short distance away from my neck shaking back and forth. “I would be the mistress and YOU would be Queen! WHY? Just because you were born to the right woman?! HOW DARE THEY?!”

Edith shook her head slowly. “But then, just as I was giving up hope… you gave him to me. Arranged for us to be engaged.” She smiled. “I always thought I would be happy on the day I took him from you completely, but I found out that the opposite was true.”

The tip of the knife dug slightly into the skin of my throat, only the slightest increase in pressure needed to break the skin. “I didn’t want him. I wanted what you had. I wanted to TAKE it from you!”

Her hand reached out, finding the necklace I almost always wore under my clothes, the present from the Queen. The golden chain and blue amulet shined in the candlelight as she pulled it out. With a sharp tug the chain broke and the necklace fell to the floor.

“To watch you scream and cry and beg for mercy as I stole back everything that was mine! I wanted you on the streets begging, starving for scraps, staring up at me who had gained everything you lost!”

She had done that, though… at least in a previous life. I looked at the necklace on the ground, my heart cold.

“So you followed me to Tilendria. But it didn’t work out.”

Edith paused. “That was… a miscalculation. But when I heard that you were happy there... I just couldn’t stay away.”

“Who told you I was happy?”

She ignored me, continuing to talk. “When I failed, I knew I needed to work harder. To completely crush every one of your dreams and kill you with my own hands.” She laughed, her eyes wild. “I hired bandits to attack the Tilendrian border to lure out that useless prince, and then tried to find a way to get you here. But then the easiest way unexpectedly fell into my lap...”

She pulled the knife away, letting me breathe a sigh of relief, and motioned to something beyond the room. Two men dressed as bandits walked in, carrying an unconscious woman. She was bruised, her clothes dirty, one eye swelled shut, but the face was still recognizable.

Angela.

“What did you…?” I started to ask, but Edith interrupted, laughing.

“Not me, but you! I caught the little traitor trying to send you a warning about my plans.” She shook her head sadly. “Good help is very hard to find. I don’t know how you convinced her to switch sides, obviously it didn’t work out well for her. But it worked in my favor in the end. A simple change to the message, and here you ran. Straight into my trap.”

I ignored Edith for a moment, watching Angela closely. Finally, I let out a relieved sigh, having saw that she was still breathing. She was injured but alive. I needed to get her to help, but i wasn’t even certain of my own fate right now. As i thought this over, Edith spoke up again, recapturing my attention.

“I’ve got your little spy, my bandits will take out your foolish prince. And now?” She bent down again, one hand grasping my chin and pulling it up. Her fingernails dug into the skin of my face, a small piercing pain. “I’m going to cut your throat, and watch you die.”

The knife was at my neck again, the pressure slowly increasing. She whispered again, directly into my ear.

“I can’t wait to see the life fade from your eyes. Do you think father recognize me as his true daughter then?”

I looked up at the ceiling thinking over her words. And slowly I laughed.

“WHY ARE YOU LAUGHING?!” The sound of her shouting nearly deafened me. The knife pricked the skin at my throat, a thin trail of blood running down and soaking my collar. 

“Do you really think you hired bandits?” I asked, “Are you really that stupid?”

She paused, pulling back enough to look into my eyes. “I did hire bandits! They’re here! And a whole group at the border to attack your prince!” 

I smiled, ignoring the pain from her grip, from her knife. “They’re Reterland’s secret force, directly from the king. He’s using you.”

“What? You’re lying!” She looked around the room, and then glared at me.

“They really are.” I laughed again, until tears ran down my face. “You thought you were so clever, but he’s played you like a child! If you kill the prince, he blames you. If you kill me, he blames you. He would love to see both of us dead, and to use someone else to do it. But in the end, even if you fail he’ll still have accomplished one of his goals:”

I leaned forward just a tiny bit, ignoring the increasing pain at the knifepoint. “He’ll have branded you as a criminal and will break the engagement with Ronan.”

“NO! That’s not true! No one knows what I’ve done! Except…” She stared uncertainly off to the side, where the men who had brought Angela had disappeared.

“Except for the men you thought were bandits, but actually work for the king.” I sighed. “A great chance for him, kill two of his enemies and get rid of a burden all with one shot.”

“NO! SHUT UP!” She tightened her grip on the knife, her face drawing back into a snarl. “I’ve WON! You’re the one at my mercy! Nothing you say will change that.” Her gaze sharpened. “Now it’s time for you to die.”

“STAY AWAY FROM MY DAUGHTER!” 

A figure rushed out, tackling Edith, knocking the knife from her hands. Behind her a group of armed men both personal armed guards of the Queen and guardsmen from the duchy of Armeny followed inside, securing the screaming girl and tying her up.

“NO! I WON! I WON! YOU CAN’T DO THIS!” Edith screamed, struggling. “I’M THE DAUGHTER OF A DUKE! YOU CAN’T TOUCH ME.”

“Gag her.” A woman’s voice coldly ordered, and the men quickly carried it out. Before I could truly register what was happening, the figure bent down and embraced me tightly.

“Lenora! You’re okay!”

I was shocked. It was the Queen. “Your Ma-“ I paused, correcting. “Mother?”

She leaned back, her face tired and drawn but happy. “I found you!”

__________________________

“Your Majesty.” One of the guards called out, his face stern. “You promised that if we brought you along you would only come in at the end, after it was safe!” 

The Queen snorted. “That means nothing, my daughter was in danger. Now help me cut her bonds.”

They cut me loose, another taking Angela’s unconscious form and bringing her out to be treated. I reached out, hugging the Queen tightly. “How…?”

“Hallers.” She answered my unfinished question. “They had left him for dead, but he survived  their attack and came straight to the palace. Your… spy network…” She grinned at me. “Had found a secret home bought by that wretched girl, and so we came here first.”

“Thank you for the rescue!” I smiled back, but her expression was already serious. Her hand reached out, gently touching the wound on my neck.

“Sorry we were late.”

I spread my arms. “I’m still in one piece! All thanks to you and Hallers.” I looked around. “Where is he?”

“He was injured.” The Queen shook her head. “We told him to stay behind.”

“MMMMIIIIISSSS!”

 A long shout echoed in the dark room as a man jumped out to tightly hug me. To my shock it was a bloody and disheveled Hallers, who was sobbing uncontrollably.

“How dare you get into danger!  You’re never going out without ten… no a hundred guards! How could they do this?!!!!” 

I reached out, patting him gently on the back. “Thank you, Hallers.”

At my soft words he started, staring at me in shock, before clearing his throat and standing up, the perfect picture of a butler despite his torn, bloody clothes and tear-stained face. “As long you are safe now.”

I reached out and hugged him again, and slowly, his façade crumbled again, and he just silently held on, a trembling hand patting my head.

After a while, I turned to the Queen, who was smiling at the two of us, tears in her eyes as well. “Mother… I think we need to talk.”

She nodded slowly. “But let’s leave here first and get you checked by a doctor. As for Edith…” She paused, “Throw her in the dungeon.”

I reached down, picking up the broken necklace on the floor. She saw my expression, and reached out, touching my hand with a smile. “It can be fixed.” 

I studied it closely, tucking it away in my pockets. I had lost it in my first life, sold it for bread. As a precious gift from my mother, I wanted to hold onto it in this life.

We left the dark room, and headed for one of the Queen’s rooms.

__________________________

After bullying Hallers into going into a room from treatment, and getting my own small wound bandaged, the Queen and I sat down for tea.

“What do you need to tell me?” She asked calmly, although her hands trembled slightly as she lifted the cup to her lips.

I looked at her, at the woman I had claimed as my mother, silently for a few moments. She had always loved me, in this life and the last… and I loved her too.

I needed to tell her the truth.

“It’s a long story, and a strange one.” Seeing her encouraging smile, I took a deep breath and I began to talk.

And I told her everything. Edith and her true origins. The King’s schemes.

My past life.

Tears silently spilled down as I described how I lost hope in my last lifetime. How, believing she had hated me, I had died alone and friendless. I explained how I had worked to change the future in this lifetime, unintentionally still almost bringing about my death at the hands of my half-sister.

By the end, my voice was hoarse, and I was so tired I could barely lift the cup in my hand. But still I felt nervous, staring at the now silent Queen.

“Do you believe me?” I whispered, unable to look at her for fear of what I would see on her face.

“My dear girl.” A hand reached out, touching my head. “My darling daughter. You’ve suffered.”

She pulled me into a hug, tears soaking my hair as her head rested on mine. “I’m so sorry.”

“You didn’t do…”

“No, but you’ve lived all these years thinking I didn’t care for you.” Her arms tightened. “How much pain you’ve endured… I can’t imagine it.”

“…” I didn’t reply. I didn’t want to make her feel worse.

 “I love you.” When she spoke again, the words were simple, but they caught at my heart.

“I love you too, Mother.”

__________________________

After a while our conversation turned to what would happen next.

“The King won’t just let you go.” Her face was worried as she thought. “We need to settle this, so that you can be free.” 

“Don’t worry.” 

I sighed, calling in Rig’s second in command. “I need the ‘Final Measure.’” 

His eyes widened briefly, before his face resumed its former calm. “Yes, Miss.”

The Queen stared after his retreating back, obviously confused. “What is that?” 

I smiled. “I made a plan, in case he went too far and left me no choice.” Shaking my head, I continued. “With the last attempt on my life, and this using Edith… I have to do this, but…” I looked up at her. “I’ll have to leave Reterand. I won’t be able to come back if I do this.”

She nodded gravely. “I understand. As long as you’re safe.” Standing up, she pulled a letter out of a drawer, handing it to me. “I would recommend Tilendria, if you’re thinking of somewhere to live long-term. I received this earlier today. I think you should see it.”

I looked down, reading the letter with a silly grin.

__________________________

To Queen Amerande.

I have been called to the border to fight bandits, leaving our precious person behind. I have taken every precaution and hope to return safely. But no one can no the future, and so I wish to say this:

I love your daughter very much. If I return I will gather my courage and ask her to marry me.

She may refuse me. She has been hurt, and closed her heart to love. I am not so arrogant as to think that my feelings can heal that.

Either way, my heart will not change. If she says yes, I will happily become your son-in-law and invite you to live with us. If she says no, then I will continue to help her with all my strength, and ask that you help her to live a happy life as I love her from afar. 

I’m more terrified of this than of fighting bandits. What does this say about me?

Best regards, 

Nathaniel

__________________________

“How can he always confess his feelings about me so clearly only to other people?” I grumbled, looking up at the Queen while she laughed.

I paused, studying the letter again. “I hope he’s safe.” I thought of Edith’s words, of the group of armed men at the border, and felt a pain in my chest. What if he was hurt? Or...

She reached out and held my hand. “Trust him. He’s capable. He’ll do his best to get back safely to you. But when he does...” She hesitated.

“Do you love him?” Her question was simple, so much so that I couldn’t help but answer honestly.

“Yes.”

“That’s good then.” She grinned. “Don’t think you’ll be rid of me after you get married.” 

“Didn’t you read it?” I shook the paper slightly. “You’re living with us!”

 “If only it were that easy…” Her sad words were interrupted by an annoying shout.

“MOTHER!” 

Both of us sighed, as the footsteps grew closer. “WHY did you imprison Ed…” Ronan paused, staring in horror at me. “YOU! THIS IS YOUR FAULT!”

I laughed. “Yes, how dare I survive a kidnapping and murder attempt? All my fault.” 

“If you weren’t so terrible how else would my lovely Edith…” He shook his head. “You set her up!”

I looked over at the Queen who was staring at her son with a disappointed expression Standing up, I walked closer, startling Ronan who took a few steps back, but not quickly enough.

BAM!

I punched him in the face, watching in satisfaction as he fell to the floor.

He held his cheek, his eyes filled with shock.

“You are a worthless coward. That’s for trying to drug me at the Queen’s party as well as all your other insults over the years. You and Edith deserve each other. But... just so you know…” I leaned forward, whispering with a smile. “She never loved you. You were only ever a tool to hurt me.”

“No! You’re lying.”

I smiled.  “If you don’t believe me, ask someone from the Tilendria court how she acted there. You’ll get your answer there.”

I waved, walking on before pausing and looking at the Queen. “I will take care of everything, Mother. Just pack your bags and wait for me.”

I left smiling.

After so long of working stealthily against each other in the shadows, it was time to directly confront the King head on. He thought he knew the enemy he had made. I was about to show him the reality of his mistakes.

It was time to move forward.

[rt8815]

OC Ask Game

I was tagged by the amazing @illegalcerebral

I put a Keep Reading link because this is looong.

1) Name (and why you chose it if you like) McKinley Campbell Durand. I named her after McKinley Morganfield, better known as Muddy Waters. However, the “in universe?” reason that will be given - which I haven’t written yet - is that McKinley and Campbell are family names from a few generations back.

Campbell comes from the Gaelic words for ‘crooked’ and ‘mouth.’ I just like the name. Here’s a post (that I had to rewrite because Tumblr’s a dick and wouldn’t let me edit the typos in the original. The rewrite had typos too! Blargh!) that discusses her first and last names. I thought it would be funny for her full name to consist solely of last names.

2) Fandom and how they fit into the story Criminal Minds. She works at a D.C. museum practically around the corner from the J. Edgar Hoover building (as indicated in “Let It Bleed”). That’s a tiny hint that it’s the National Museum of African American History & Culture, but I don’t think I’ll mention it very often, if for no other reason than I’ve never been to the NMAAHC and don’t want to describe it inaccurately.

The official story is that Spencer and McKinley met at the museum (again, in “Let It Bleed,” which is probably the least favorite thing of mine that I’ve written). However, they’d met once before, and texted a few times after that. Because my brain is all over the place, and because I’m telling the story in non-chronological order, I haven’t written their first meeting yet. The only details I’ve revealed thus far are that it was nighttime in a park, McKinley caught Spencer off guard and made him fall to the ground, and whatever they talked about set Spencer straight and lifted his spirits. Also, a swingset was involved. Beyond that, I’ve inserted McKinley into the plotlines and events of the show, with necessary alterations, and there’s a ton of domestic Spencer and off-duty team stuffs.

3) Do they have any family? Biological family: daughter Sophie and son Jason; her Mom (no name yet); maternal grandparents, uncles, aunts, and cousins; and her estranged father (no name yet). Chosen/found family: husband Spencer; the BAU.

4) As a child, what did they want to be when they grew up? When she was a toddler, McKinley wanted to be a pediatrician (a doctor just for kids?! Cool!) or an ophthalmologist (she’s worn glasses practically her whole life). As an older child she aspired to be an entomologist or herpetologist. In her teenage years she considered a career in forensic pathology or criminal psychology. While earning her BA in English, she discovered that Public History was her true calling.

5) Their greatest dream To be a good Mom. To inspire learning in others.

6) Their worst nightmare Losing her family; having to see her father again.

7) Strengths Empathy, insight/self awareness, forgiving nature but knowing when to cut her losses

8) Weaknesses McKinley struggles with imposter syndrome.

She can be very mean. I mean, downright nasty cruel, verbally. This is rare though because, and I’m paraphrasing a future bit of dialogue here, anyone whose behavior could arguably warrant such a response is beneath her notice and not worth the effort. She’s more likely to close the door on someone. When she’s removed a person from her life, she is done. They become literally nothing to her. McKinley will rightly claim that this is about self-preservation and boundaries, but she really takes it to the next level.

9) What would they chose between: morning and night, sweet and savoury, beaches or meadows, cities or countryside, winter or summer, Christmas or Halloween (sorry, Spencer!), movies or TV shows, action or rom-com, clowns or vampires, stars or the moon (both!), cocktails or pints [Neither. McKinley doesn’t care for cocktails or beer. Scotch, brandy, rum, and dry wines are her poisons. She’s been known to add Kahlúah to vanilla ice cream, Baileys Irish Cream to coffee (she wants to try Drambuie next), or make hot toddies when she has a cold (obviously not mixing any alcohol with any medicine)]

10) How do they relax? Reading, or having Spencer read to her; knitting; listening to her records or playing her guitar; exercising with Boogie so she’s exhausted enough to sleep that night; baking and cooking

11) What makes them angry? Injustice, apathy/indifference, ableism, willful ignorance

12) What makes them afraid? The awful things she’d possibly do under duress; her family getting hurt or worse; spiders and other bugs that bite and/or sting

13) What is a moment from their childhood that has shaped who they are? It’s not a single event, but growing up with an abusive parent has certainly had a lifelong impact on McKinley. You’ve heard the expression “once bitten, twice shy?” She’s “once bitten, there’s no twice because you no longer exist.” She’s working on that. It’s also cultivated empathy, though, and is part of the reason she volunteers in the hospital’s rehab wing.

14) Do they have a sense of humour? Intellectual humor, pop culture references, puns/Dad jokes, science jokes. Sometimes morbid.

15) What do they value in their friends/loved ones? Honesty and empathy

16) Do they have any pets? An Aussie Collie/Border Aussie named Boogie-Woogie. He’s her first child.

17) Worst memory? Probably the day Meadows shot her and she thought she’d never see Spencer and Penny again.

18) Best memory? The days Sophie and Jason were born. Minus, y’know, the agonizing pain of labor and delivery.

19) Do they have any tattoos? (If no would they get one?) Nope and nope

20) If you could write them into another fandom, which one would you choose? If I knew the MCU better, I’d love to write her in as a Stark Tower employee! She’d be an anthropologist and would study alien societies the Avengers and S.H.I.E.L.D. have encountered. She’d naturally be drawn to Loki, initially in a professional capacity (they quickly discover they relate to each other on a personal level as well).

He’d first find her annoying: “Why are you pestering me, Mortal? Surely you’d rather interview my oaf of a brother?”

“No, not even remotely. He only ever wants to discuss battles he’s won. There’s so much more to Asgard and the other realms than that. I want - I need - to learn your literature, your science, your culture and history. You’re well versed in all of these subjects and you’re an excellent teacher.”

He stares at her impassively over his mug of tea, but his heart - that Judas of an organ - flutters slightly at the compliment. And how can he say no to a fellow scholar?

“I prefer your company to Thor’s too. You have this calming presence. Thor’s sweet but he’s also obnoxiously loud and brash and he always hugs me even though I keep telling him I don’t like it. And he’s constantly swinging his hammer around, which makes me think he’s overcompensating for something.”

Loki nearly chokes on his tea. Yes, this mortal is considerably more tolerable than others.

“Very well. Friday evenings at 6:00, my chambers. Arrive late and suffer my wrath.”

From that day forward, whenever Thor tries to hug her, he gets mildly electrocuted.

Did I accidentally sorta kinda write a drabble? Would anyone be interested in making this a collab? That’s what they’re called, right? (Can you tell I’ve given this some thought? Haha! I have even more details in my head.)

21) Do they like their job? (What else would they do if they could?) She loves it! Hmmm, what else…? A librarian maybe. Or animate and produce an educational cartoon series.

22) What is their sexuality? Demisexual

23) Do they believe in love at first sight? Soulmates? One true love? McKinley believes in “seeing the potential for a good relationship at first conversation.”

Yes, although she feels that term has become overused and poorly redefined.

People can find love again after it’s been lost.

24) What music do they listen to? Has that changed over time? I actually recently answered an ask about this. Yes, she grew up on what passed for country in the ‘90s. God help her, she had a boyband phase in junior high.

25) Can they cook? What food do they love? McKinley does pretty well in the kitchen. She loves a wide variety of food. She grew up in the south, so tons of carbs/comfort foods. She loves Thai, Japanese, and Indian food. She cooks up Middle Earth-inspired dishes (ha! nerd). She’s especially proud of a seed cake she bakes.

26) What are their hopes for the future? For her family to be healthy, safe and happy. To be debt free.

27) How do they react to being threatened? It’s a coin flip. McKinley might curl up like an armadillo and hope the predator gets bored and leaves, or she might kick the stool out from under them and cause their chin to slam into the bar and crack several teeth.

28) What is their love language? McKinley and Spencer both exhibit the Acts of Service love language, because just saying “I love you” isn’t enough. You ought to show it. She’ll randomly bake doughnuts for Spencer or play guitar for him in bed, and he’ll take care of laundry, dishes, and any other chores he sees need doing.

Quality Time is important for them too. Once a month, Luke and Penny babysit so Spencer and McKinley have a day alone together. It doesn’t really matter what they do. The point is it’s just them.

It caught McKinley by surprise how much she enjoys physical affection, given that she can be touch averse but holy moly she was more touch starved than she realized. She lives for snuggles and makeout sessions and playing with each others’ hair. When one of them doesn’t want to be touched, they hook their pinkies together.

29) What do they find most challenging in relationships? At work? In general? At work she struggles to gain her colleagues’ respect (think “Boy Genius” treatment except she has lady bits). In general, she struggles with trusting people.

30) What do you as a creator love best about writing this character? Giving her everything I wish I had but don’t.

Bonus: Include a link to your favourite work with this OC or write a small drabble.

October 12, 2021

Warm sunlight filtered through the curtains, gently rousing Spencer from a pleasant sleep. Just when he’d decided to get up, he felt the mattress dip behind him and his wife’s breath fanning over his ear.

“Who’s the birthday boy?” whispered McKinley.

Spencer smiled softly but feigned being asleep.

“Who’s the birthdaaay boooy?” she repeated, bouncing slightly.

“The good-looking guy to your left?”

“Happy Birthday!” she laughed, pressing kisses along his neck, suddenly shifting the mood from playful to sexy.

“Would the birthday boy like his birthday present?” she asked as she lifted the covers.

“Well, look at that - it’s already unwrapped!”

[youcancallmecirce]

Imaari

Finally going to play actual D&D, and of course, had to write a thing for my druid’s backstory.  Imaari is mine, of course, and Hardwin is actually my husband’s character.  Thoughts?

“Let me guess,” Andeana said dryly from the doorway.  “They started it.”

“Andeana!” Startled, Imaari spun to face her, guiltily hiding the bloodied cloth behind her back as though her bloodied face wouldn’t give her away.  When she realized this, Imaari dropped her hands to her sides and lifted her chin.  She was no child to be scolded, and would not apologize for defending herself.  Even if fighting back makes life harder for everyone in the Enclave? her conscience prodded her.  She ignored it.  “Yes,” she said, responding to Andeana’s question.  “They did.”

“Imaari,” she sighed, having taken in the younger woman’s disheveled belligerence with a shake of her head.  Imaari didn’t blame her.  The confrontation with the other elven youths had left one eye swollen nearly shut, her tunic spattered with drying blood from both a split brow and cut lip, and as she stood there, she felt fresh blood beginning to trickle from her nose.  Again.  Andeana strode forward to take the rag from Imaari’s hand with a sound of exasperation.  

“At least there’s nothing broken this time,” Imaari offered, her voice muffled by the cloth as Andeana dabbed at the fresh blood.

“At least,” Andeana agreed, inspecting Imaari’s face more carefully.  “I doubt Rathil would be willing to heal you again, so soon after the last time.”

Imaari scoffed and dropped inelegantly onto her narrow bed, her back propped against the wall and one leg stretched out on the mattress. Rathil, who was ancient even by elven standards, was the best healer in the Rallathian Enclave.  He also happened to think that Imaari ought to simply accept her lot in life without complaint so as not to strain the relationship between the Enclave and the larger community of Tessington.  Given that ‘accepting her lot’ meant tolerating a great deal of abuse from that community, Imaari flatly refused to do so and Rathil was rarely inclined to help her.  “No, he wouldn’t.  I still have plenty of salve, though, and that’s all I’ll need this time.”

Andeana gave her an arch look as she rinsed the bloody rag in the washbasin and handed it back.  “We just made it last week.” 

“I like the way it smells,” Imaari said innocently, pressing the damp cloth to her face.  The cool water felt lovely on her abused skin, though the cuts stung a little.  She held it there for a few moments, then used it to gently wipe away what blood and dirt she could.  The rest, she knew, would have to wait for a proper wash.

“This isn’t going to stop, is it?” Andeana asked quietly when Imaari leaned forward and tossed the soiled rag back to the wash stand. 

Imaari’s gaze shot to her, but it wasn’t really a question and needed no answer.  Imaari had been telling her as much for years now.  Instead, she arched her brows as she sank slowly back against the wall, her regard steady on Andeana.  

“I know you want to leave,” Andeana went on, delving into their well-worn argument in spite of Imaari’s silence. “To go out and see if there is a place for you beyond Shindwaud, but the Humans may treat you no better.”

 “They’re unlikely to treat me any worse,” Imaari said, sighing.  Apparently, they were going to have the old argument after all.

“You don’t know that.”

“I know that it’s not going to get any better here.”

“Give it more time--”

“Twenty years,” Imaari interrupted.  “We have been having some version of this conversation for twenty years, ‘Deana, and nothing has changed.  Nothing. Humans are still hated, and I am still treated like a diseased criminal by all but you and the Elders. I will not waste my life waiting for what will never be.”

“The Elders are sympathetic, Imaari, if you will just be patient--” 

“I am done with being patient!” Imaari shouted, leaping to her feet.  Imaari’s loss of temper was nothing new, but never before had she turned it on her adoptive mother.  The uncharacteristic aggression shocked Andeana into wide-eyed silence.  Imaari modulated her volume but not her tone, and pressed her rare advantage.  “The Elders cannot compel trust or acceptance, Andeana.  The others will never accept me. You all but admitted as much just a few minutes ago.”

Andeana’s brows lowered, sadness completely overtaking her surprise.  “If you leave the Enclave--” 

“If I leave the Enclave, then I have at least  a chance at a real life.”

“If you leave this place, child, you give up the protection of the Enclave.  You will have no protection at all.”

“The border with Arch is not more than a few days’ travel from here, and the Sister Lakes settlement not far beyond that.  I can travel with the merchant train, take advantage of their numbers to stay safe.”  Imaari’s eyes narrowed as she went on.  “And I’m not a child, Andeana, especially not by Human standards.”

“You’re not a Human, Imaari!”

“I know,” she replied softly.  “But I’m not an Elf, either.”

Andeana flinched, but it was a truth she needed to face.  No matter how much they both wished that Imaari had been her natural daughter, she was not.  She was a half-Human orphan who’d been lucky enough to end up in an Enclave of aging druids rather than on the merciless streets. “Very well,” Andeana said at last.  Then she slipped from the room with no more than a sad smile, leaving Imaari off-balance.  

Imaari hadn’t at all expected her to capitulate so easily, and it made her wonder whether Andeana had accepted the necessity even before coming to check on her.  It was what she wanted, what she had wanted for a very long time, but her victory felt surprisingly hollow.

“He’s dead,” Imaari said blankly, drawing her fingers from the man’s throat and sitting back on her heels.

“I told you,” said a gruff voice above her.  “We need to go, now.”

Imaari looked up from the body stretched before her to stare at the broad Human man standing over it.  His scarred face was set in grim lines and impatience tightened his voice, but his eyes shone with...excitement? She blinked.  “Go?”

He gestured vaguely in the direction the other Humans had fled, and she followed the movement of his perfectly normal hand with bemusement.  He’d just used that hand to kill a man as easily as she might swat a fly, yet not a speck of blood stained it.  That seemed wrong, somehow.

“They’ll come back, with more men and the constabulary besides.  If we’re lucky, they’ll only want to arrest us.”

“Us?” Lothien echoed incredulously.  “You’re the one who killed him!”

“Doesn’t matter,” the man replied flatly, turning back towards his modest house and speaking over his shoulder.  “You’re Elves.  The folk around here wouldn’t think twice about killing you first and not bothering with the questions after.”

Lothien, the leader of the merchant band, stalked after the man in outrage.  In some part of her mind, Imaari thought that was rather foolhardy but Lothien didn’t seem to fear the scarred Human.  She stayed where she was and her eyes fell again to the dead man, which occupied the far greater portion of her mind. A quarter of an hour earlier that man had been hale and virile, a rural farmer in his prime.  Now he lay like a broken doll in a pool of his own blood.

The reality of her situation struck Imaari all at once. She stood suddenly and backed away from his body, her panicked brain trying to identify the moment that things had gone wrong.

Imaari had joined the merchant train just as she’d told Andeana she would, and until this morning, her journey had been utterly unremarkable.  She’d rebuffed a few unwanted attentions, pulled her own weight, and the sidelong looks she’d received had been more curious than hostile.  After two days of slow travel, they’d arrived at a campsite used regularly by Elven traders.  She’d heard the merchants’ guards discussing it the night before as they ate around their fire.

Apparently, the locals here were particularly distrustful of Elves and until a few years ago, it had been dangerous to travel directly through this area.  Then, for some reason, whoever owned this land had offered it as a place of safety to any Elves traveling legitimately in the region.  Since the traders no longer had to skirt the area, they were saved a full day of traveling through empty countryside to avoid conflict.  A few of the older guards who remembered what it was like to deal with the Humans around here were deeply skeptical about the safety of this place, but the younger guards had brushed off those concerns as the paranoia of old age.

Now, Imaari knew that those more experienced guards had been right to be wary.  Their whole camp had been roused just after dawn by nearly a dozen angry men, all brandishing farm tools like weapons and demanding that the elven group move on immediately.  Lothien had used every bit of charm he could muster, but it made no difference.  The bristling group became ever more aggressive.

Imaari had looked to the guards, waiting for them to step forward and do their jobs, but they had not.  The older ones had even restrained the two youths who had tried.  She hadn’t understood at the time, but she thought that perhaps she did now.

If she had not stepped forward so boldly to challenge the Humans, then Lothien might have been able to buy them enough time to pack their train and move on without more than a few bruises, but she had interfered.  The injustice of the Humans’ accusations had infuriated her.  This sort of prejudice was exactly the reason she left Tessignton, and she had done so with such hope that things could be better.  

That Humans would be better.

But, no.  Her first encounter with Humans had been defined by prejudice.  Their treatment of Lothien had echoed exactly the way the Elven youths of Tessignton had treated her, and it had been too much.  She had lost her temper, rushed in without thinking, and given the Humans exactly what they’d wanted: an excuse for violence. 

Their leader, a wiry young man wearing a stained jerkin, had backhanded her hard enough to knock her to the ground with ringing ears. Only then did she recognize the gleam in his eyes.  A quick glance around showed that same light in all of the eyes trained on her, and she had known then that they intended to make an example of her.  A glance over her shoulder showed that she would receive no help from the other Elves.  She saw regret in a few of their faces, but most of them actually looked relieved.  And why not?  She was only a half-Elf and not one of their company.  That she’d unwittingly offered herself as a sacrificial lamb meant that perhaps they could get away unscathed.

Part of her had wanted to give in to panic--she could hold her own against a few opponents, but not against ten-- but she was too angry and too stubborn.  She gripped her stout quarterstaff more tightly and planted her feet, glaring.  It was all the invitation those men had needed.

The sound of their fight had been enough to draw the scar-faced man from his dilapidated house, and it was a good thing.  The Humans had been playing with her, taking turns at fighting and jeering, but she was not the easy victim they’d assumed. It made them angrier. If the scarred man had not intervened, she’d be the one lying crumpled on the ground, beyond even Rathil’s ability to heal.  

But he had come, had placed himself between the Elves and the Humans, and tried to diffuse the situation.

“This is my land,” he said.  “These people have my permission to be here; you do not.”

“These Elves,” spat one of the younger men, the one in the dirty jerkin who had first backhanded her, “are not allowed anywhere near our village.  You don’t have the authority to say otherwise.  Go back to working your pathetic farm, old man, and let us deal with this infestation.”

“No,” Scars said flatly. 

“No?” scoffed Dirty Jerkin, and the other Humans laughed.  

Scars frowned.  “Leave.  Now.”

The others laughed again.  “We’re not leaving, old man.  You should go away, unless you want to throw your lot in with this whore Elf.” 

Scars said nothing.  He stared levelly at the other Humans, and for several long moments, no one said anything.  The smiles began to waver, and a few shifted uncomfortably under his scrutiny.  The change was not lost on Dirty Jerkin, and his eyes narrowed.

“Have it your way,” he said, and lunged.  Scars sidestepped him neatly, tripping him as he went by.  Dirty Jerkin stumbled, but managed to save himself from sprawling in the dust.  He turned with a growl and lunged again, was tripped again, but could not recover himself again.  A murmur went through the gathered crowd, among the Elves and the Humans alike, and Dirty Jerkin’s angry face flushed deeper in humiliation.

He stood, yanking a dagger from a boot sheath as he rose. He held murder in his eyes, and it seemed to trigger a change in Scars.  His languid calm fell away, his eyes sharpened, and his muscles tensed.  Imaari recognized it as the deadly focus of a predator preparing to strike, but everything was happening so quickly; she couldn’t process anything quickly enough to react.

Scars struck before Dirty Jerkin had taken more than a step.  His fist took the younger man in the gut, but rather than disengaging Scars allowed his momentum to carry him forward, following Dirty Jerkin to the ground.  Jerkin’s head struck the ground with a sickening thunk just before Scars landed atop him, plowing his other fist into the man’s face.  His head hit the ground again, paired this time with the awful sound of crunching bone. Scars froze, his fist raised to strike again, and the clearing went absolutely silent.

“Fuck,” he said, and all of that lethal intent was suddenly just...gone.  As one, the rest of us looked from him back down at Dirty Jerkin and saw what he’d seen: not only had his face been utterly ruined, but blood spread beneath his head in a growing circle.    

After that, it had taken only a look to send the rest of the men on their way.  Some had been angry, some had been afraid, but none of them had been willing to challenge the scarred man.  They could probably have overcome him, if they had all attacked at once, but at least a few of them would have joined their friend on the ground before it was done.

Rising voices and the stir of activity brought Imaari back to herself.  Dirty Jerkin still lay where he’d fallen, but all around her the merchant camp was packing up.  Suddenly afraid of being left behind, Imaari hurried to do the same as the arguing voices moved closer.  

“We didn’t do anything wrong,” Lothien was saying.  “We have no reason to abandon our goods and go haring off into the middle of nowhere when we have people waiting for us in Sister Lakes.”

“Suit yourself,” Scars replied.  “But they’re going to come after you.  You sure that your people in town will be willing to stick their necks out to keep yours out of a noose?”

Lothien did not answer immediately, and she suspected that idea of a noose had shaken him as badly as it had shaken her.  When his answer came, though, it was firm. “We are well-known, respected merchants.  We’ve been trading this route through Arch for years, and many of the nobles are quite dependent on our goods.”

Scars grunted indifferently, but Imaari went still. The constables would want to hold someone accountable for the murder, to appease the angry mob if nothing else.  The merchants might be safe, but what of her?  She had no connections in Arch, and no connection to anyone in the merchant train. If they were willing to let the mob have her, what would stop them from handing the half-breed outsider over as a scapegoat?

Nothing.  Nothing at all.  She could take her chances with them, and would likely make it as far as Sister Lakes with the group, but what then?  Stay and hope?  Slip away just outside the city and strike out on her own? Imaari was naive but not stupid; neither option was likely to go well for her.  

What if… Well, he had said “we” earlier, hadn’t he?  And from what she’d heard of his conversation with Lothien, he’d been trying to convince the Elven merchant to go with him rather than going on along their route as planned.  Would Scars, or whatever his name was, be willing to take just her?

And if he was, what assurance did she have that this option wouldn’t be as bad, or worse, than going with the Elves as planned?  Imaari bit her lip. Scars was an unknown quantity, but at least he had stepped in earlier, and kept those men from killing her.  It was more than the Elves had done, and it decided her.

Lothien sent the guard away with a flick of his fingers, then allowed himself a satisfied smile.  The troublesome half-breed had gone with that Human Hardwin fellow, just as he’d thought.  It wasn’t the simplest solution to his problem, but it did have a neat sort of symmetry.  Lothien liked symmetry.

Of course someone from that backwater village would come after them, but they would reach the city before that someone could catch up.  

Of course, that someone would go to the authorities in Sister Lakes, and of course those authorities would have to do something about it.  The war had not been so long ago, after all, and there were too many bad memories for them to let such an accusation against Elves go unpunished. 

But Lothien and his good people were just as appalled as anyone at the morning’s violence, so of course he will waste no time before reporting the incident to the authorities himself.  He will construct the narrative of events, and that narrative will be confirmed as fact when the villagers come looking for blood. 

It would have been simpler if he could hand the girl over to them himself, and he would have done exactly that if she’d chosen to stay with their group.  She was clever, though, that half-breed.  Lothien suspected that she had gone with the human because she knew what waited for her in Sister Lakes.  He might still have taken her with him if he hadn’t also suspected that Hardwin wouldn’t allow them to take her against her will.

More than suspected, really, and it was a shame.  That Hardwin had allowed them to use his land had cut a day from their travel time each way and thus increased their profits.  That option will be closed to them when the man is arrested and hung with the girl, if it had not already been.

And besides; the girl was the one who had sent things spinning out of control, and Hardwin was the one who’d done the killing.  It was only right that they be the ones punished for the crime.

[vanrambling]

Van Rambling Week of June 10, 2020

This is the third or fourth attempt at writing this. 

Last week I skipped my blogpost because of the #blackouttuesday. 

Trying to figure out what to say. 

I don’t consider myself black. I am Mexican. But I inherited  black traits from my great great grandparents. Black curly hair, darker skin. I may be considered Black, just not on Mexican standards. Over here I am “moreno”. 

But due to lack of representation, I have always looked up to black characters and celebrities, particularly ones that share similar skin tone or hair. Michael Jackson, Storm from the X-Men, FMA’s Scar (They only cosplay I’ve made), Samurai Champloo’s Mugen, Daveed Diggs’ Laffayette and Jefferson from Hamilton...

But it is quite different being darker skinned on this side of the river.

There certainly is racism over here, but classism is predominant... But guess which color are the people that are being classist. It’s always from lighter to darker. 

...A bit of Mexican history... 

Mexico has two advantages, the multiculturality that was produced on the 300 years of colonization, and the fact that when the country was born, slavery was abolished.

This was decreed in 1810 and ratified in 1821 when we officially became independent.

This was 40 years before the US. And 20 before Texas became independent.

Which was also one of the reasons for the Mexican-American war.

The American settlers in Texas were given free land, but had to agree to speak the language (Spanish), become Catholic, and free any slaves they brought.

It’s kind of ironic.

Many slaves fled to Mexico back then, when Texas was still part of Mexico, and many more after the war was over. 

But they weren’t the only ones migrating,after the Spaniards came the British, Austrians, French, Americans. Mostly white people, came here and married, inherited or bought land. And this people tried to instate a new kind of slavery. They brought the “tiendas de raya”, or company stores where they paid with the truck/scrip system, keeping workers and farmers indebted to the hacienda even generationally. 

The system, again, was outlawed first here in the 1910′s, but again, Americans didn’t like that, responding with a naval occupation. Among the reasons we didn’t go to full-on war for that, was because of the revolution, the first world war and Mexico promising to stay neutral, even with the Zimmerman telegram, in which Germany promised to return Texas, Arizona and New Mexico, if Mexico fought the US in case they joined the Allies. 

But I am getting sidetracked. 

From those times a particular set of mind has prevailed. 

People trying to marry lighter skinned people to “better the race”. 

Black Lives Matter. 

And some part of history is not told and keeps spreading violence even through borders. 

Mexico militarized their police under American pressure. We have fought their drug war killing thousands with weapons that are smuggled from the US. 

Violating human rights of refugees trying to escape their country. 

Even from government agencies are guilty of providing weapons to the cartels, most prominently the “failed” Operation Fast and Furious.

Now, why am I talking about this in my writing blog. 

I speak from my knowledge and personal experience. 

Being separated and made wait hours in customs, triple checking my passport. 

Being followed in department stores by security. 

Being afraid of being shot on the way to school or even within the school because of the ongoing drug war. 

My hometown becoming a battleground some years back. Uncles getting executed because they refused to sell to the drug cartels. A childhood friend missing. Death threats to the family. 

A cousin murdered by rich kids and all the evidence disappearing...

Being harassed by the police. 

It’s harder to find a well paid job with dark skin...

I could go on and on. I just wrote as it came to mind. 

I’ve some better experiences too. Like the only TSA agent that was kind to a confused teenager was a black man who was into videogames. 

I have American, French, Brittish and Australian friends. My writing group is international, with many writers that visit the city visting us when they hear there is an English speaking group in town, A greek friend that writes scripts and produces movies, a German young woman that wrote a beautiful essay about ultra marathons...

And just like anybody else I use what I know to write.

And I know history. 

But I write science fiction. 

So here is a bit of a spoiler. Remember Shots for Ganymede?

I explicitly wrote it like humanity, specifically Americans are the illegal immigrants. Smugglers of drugs Tequila for the people beyond the asteroid-border-wall.

Facing very aggressive custom agents and discrimination. 

Threats from powerful “aliens”.

“Aliens” that believe humans are either exotic or inferior. 

....

That’s not the only one. 

All of my writing there is one overarching theme. The immigrant. 

Homer and Virgil are refugees in London. They are POC. 

Homer is South American.  

Virgil is a brown skinned Mexi-Caribean.  (It’s something within the Universe, I will make a post about it later)

.....

In real life there are human trafficking rings and it’s more easily for a person of color to be trafficked than a white person...

While I love detective stories I don’t write Police stories. 

Non corrupt policemen are far and few, I knew 1 (one). And he is no longer a policeman. 

I have two detective stories searching for kidnapped women. 

One of a kid victim of human trafficking and one of a hitman who has a turn of heart and helps a kidnap victim. 

Because guess what. 

People get into crime not to harm people, but to escape poverty, to find a place to belong and escape violence. To help their families. To pay the bills. For protection. 

Guess which ones turn to policing. People who want power. Bullies. 

I’ve come across criminals that are gentler than most of the policemen I have encountered. 

I have a lot to write. 

Last weeks I closed with a kind message. With love and gentleness. 

Things are ugly over here too. And a bit more complicated. I support the protests but I can’t condone the behaviour in my country’s protests since it they’ve been misguided and misused by politicians and tactics that date from the 70′s. 

Infiltrators and instigators joining the protests that ended up with burning a policeman, a police truck and in the capital vandalizing the US embassy and vandalizing stores while parroting the message of hate from the President. 

This week I write from a place of anger and disappointment. 

Black Lives Matter. 

Keep writing. Keep fighting. 

Resist. 

V. 

P.D. If anyone wants to know more about anything or just want to talk just let me know. 

P.D.II. To my American followers, keep fighting for gun legislation over there, it will help reduce the weapons that are smuggled into my country and the violence they create.