#Langston Jackson

[redcarpetview]

Recording Academy's Black Music Collective and Amazon Music Select "Your Future Is Now" Scholarship Recipients

      The Recording Academy®'s Black Music Collective (BMC) and Amazon Music selected Joseph Michael Abiakam (Norfolk State University), Langston Jackson (Hampton University), Kennedi Amari Johnson (Clark Atlanta University), Courtney Roberts (Texas Southern University), and Caleb Wilkerson (Florida A&M University), as the recipients of the "Your Future Is Now" scholarship, aimed for students at Historically Black Colleges and Universities (HBCUs) with the opportunity to learn and explore all facets of the music industry.

         The returning scholarship, first launched in February 2021, offers students the chance to receive $10,000 for the 2023/2024 school year and the opportunity to be part of an immersive rotation program with Amazon Music and Recording Academy department leads, providing each student a detailed look at their particular field of work within the music industry. To coincide with these scholarships, the BMC and Amazon Music will also award two HBCUs a $10,000 grant each for equipment for their music programs to be announced later this summer.

           This diverse group of students represents five schools, across various stages and areas of focus in their higher education journey. Abiakam is a graduate student at Norfolk State University, interested in piano performance and music production; Jackson is a sophomore at Hampton University, interested in music marketing and audio production; Johnson is a sophomore at Clark Atlanta University, interested in A&R and marketing; Roberts is a freshman at Texas Southern University, interested in A&R and marketing; and Wilkerson is a junior at Florida A&M University, interested in music marketing. Headshots for the recipients are available here.

        "We are immensely proud to collaborate with Amazon Music in renewing this exceptional scholarship program for the third consecutive year," emphasized Ryan Butler, Vice President of Diversity, Equity and Inclusion at the Recording Academy. "The imperative of Black representation in the music industry cannot be overstated, and this scholarship is a tangible manifestation of our unwavering commitment to promoting the aspirations of future Black music leaders. We are delighted to provide Joseph, Langston, Kennedi, Courtney, and Caleb with this life-changing opportunity as they pursue their ambitions and contribute to the advancement of Black music."

        "The 'Your Future Is Now' scholarship was created to foster an inclusive environment where Black creators can realize their career objectives. Since its launch in 2021, the program has grown to become a cornerstone of Amazon Music and the Black Music Collective's work supporting students at HBCUs," said Phylicia Fant, Head of Music Industry and Culture Collaborations at Amazon Music. "This year's class of students represents the next generation of Black musicians and executives, and it's an honor to play a part in their development as individuals and future leaders."

        In addition, as part of "Your Future Is Now," Amazon Music, The Same House and the Recording Academy are coming together to host the "Your Future is Now" Business Development Seminar for select members of the 2023 graduating class of Morris Brown College. Revealed this past weekend at Morris Brown's commencement by the Recording Academy's Chief DEI Officer, Zing Shaw, this new, half-day music business seminar taking place on June 17 will offer professional development expertise in music business, publishing and music production. Facilitators at the event will include Recording Academy Atlanta Chapter President Justin Henderson and Frankie Yaptinchay of Amazon Music.

        Following the music business seminar, graduates will be treated to a suite experience at State Farm Arena for the annual ATL Birthday Bash Concert where they will have the opportunity to network with representatives from the Recording Academy and Amazon Music, as well as other key music industry executives.

     For more information on the Black Music Collective and the "Your Future Is Now" scholarship, visit here.

                                                                                                         # # #

[saydesole]

Happy Black History 🫶🏽

Couldn't forget our Beautiful Black Men

Their Names are presented below, In chronological order from top to bottom.

Martin Luther King ( Minister & Activist)

Malcolm X ( Minister & Activist)

James Baldwin ( Writer & Activist)

Langston Hughes ( Poet & Activist)

Thurgood Marshall ( Lawyer & Jurist)

Jackie Robinson ( Baseball player)

Jessie Jackson ( Minister & Activist)

W.E.B Dubois ( Activist, Author, & Historian)

Frederick Douglas (Writer)

Little Richard ( Singer & Pianist)

[froppy-butterflyfan2000]

After 4 years, 2 months and I do not know how many days of writing, editing and re-editing, revamping, and checking for mistakes. I finish the one-shot that I want to finish so badly.

Buster Shot, a story mainly focus on the relationship between the wizard, Janaya and his guitar-playing imagomancer godsister, Corral Lynn-Foster, and how Corral play a role in some of the people from Townsville in Janaya’s life. Along the way, two more certain people Janaya and Corral known from Echo Creek are mentioned in the story.

Warning: The present in the story is before summer break ever started, so it this one-shot is a prequel to the main storyline, The Neighbours. However, the epilogue contain major spoilers of after Volume 1 of Neighbours. Please be advised.

Sienna Grey (AJ x Mee Mee), Candy Nguyen (Omi x OC), Sunny & Bryce Langston (Hugh Langston x Bubbles Utonium), and Naseem Chan (Dennis Chan x Sanjay) [all mentioned] belong to @cooltmoney95

Nebula Butterfly Lucitor (Tom Lucitor x Star Butterfly), Antoine Diaz (Kelly x Marco Diaz), Tamara Jackson (Punching Judy x Rudolph Jackson), Raymond Pedrosa (Ashley/Katnappé x Raimudo Pedrosa), Ethan Corduroy (Wendy Corduroy x Eddie Brock), Kristen and Wendy Beatles (Kuki Sanban x Wally Beatles), and Bradley McPherson (Buttercup Utonium x Dexter) [all mentioned, except for Nebula and Antoine] belong to @ej-cappy-universe

Corral Lynn-Foster (Jackie Lynn-Thomas x Frankie Foster) and Winnie Beatles (Kuki Sanban x Wally Beatles - mentioned) belong to @beanielune

Janaya A. Bloodworth-Thomason (Kyle Bloodworth-Thomason x Janna Ordonia), Holly Test (Brain Freezer x Mary Test - mentioned), Beppi Creecher (Creepie Creecher x Tarantula Boy), Mirage B. Fagry (Patrick Fagry x Stocking Anarchy), Clarence King (son of Mouscedes King x OC), and Niko Corduroy (Ethan’s little sister) belong to me

Corey Junior (Jackie Lynn-Thomas x Corey Griffin) and Luna (Oskar Greason x Yumi Yoshimura) belong to @coreyriffinbeastxmode

[whencartoonsruletheworld]

Hey so like many of you, I saw that article about how people are going into college having read no classic books. And believe it or not, I've been pissed about this for years. Like the article revealed, a good chunk of American Schools don't require students to actually read books, rather they just give them an excerpt and tell them how to feel about it. Which is bullshit.

So like. As a positivity post, let's use this time to recommend actually good classic books that you've actually enjoyed reading! I know that Dracula Daily and Epic the Musical have wonderfully tricked y'all into reading Dracula and The Odyssey, and I've seen a resurgence of Picture of Dorian Gray readership out of spite for N-tflix, so let's keep the ball rolling!

My absolute favorite books of all time are The Haunting of Hill House and We Have Always Lived in the Castle by Shirley Jackson. Classic psychological horror books about unhinged women.

I adore The Bad Seed by William March. It's widely considered to be the first "creepy child" book in American literature, so reading it now you're like "wow that's kinda cliche- oh my god this is what started it. This was ground zero."

I remember the feelings of validation I got when people realized Dracula wasn't actually a love story. For further feelings of validation, please read Frankenstein by Mary Shelley and The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde by Robert Louis Stevenson. There's a lot the more popular adaptations missed out on.

Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier is an absolute gem of a book. It's a slow-build psychological study so it may not be for everyone, but damn do the plot twists hit. It's a really good book to go into blind, but I will say that its handling of abuse victims is actually insanely good for the time period it was written in.

Moving on from horror, you know people who say "I loved this book so much I couldn't put it down"? That was me as a kid reading A Little Princess by Frances Hodgson Burnett. Picked it up while bored at the library and was glued to it until I finished it.

Peter Pan and Wendy by JM Barrie was also a childhood favorite of mine. Next time someone bitches about Woke Casting, tell them that the original 1911 Peter Pan novel had canon nonbinary fairies.

Watership Down by Richard Adams is my sister Cori's favorite book period. If you were a Warrior Cats, Guardians of Ga'Hoole or Wings of Fire kid, you owe a metric fuckton to Watership Down and its "little animals on a big adventure" setup.

A Raisin in the Sun by Lorraine Hansberry was a play and not a book first, but damn if it isn't a good fucking read. It was also named after a Langston Hughes poem, who's also an absolutely incredible author.

Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury is a book I absolutely adore and will defend until the day I die. It's so friggin good, y'all, I love it more than anything. You like people breaking out of fascist brainwashing? You like reading and value knowledge? You wanna see a guy basically predict the future of television back in 1953? Read Fahrenheit.

Huckleberry Finn by Mark Twain and To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee are considered required reading for a reason: they're both really good books about young white children unlearning the racial biases of their time. Huck Finn specifically has the main character being told that he will go to hell if he frees a slave, and deciding eternal damnation would be worth it.

As a sidenote, another Mark Twain book I was obsessed with as a kid was A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court. Exactly what it says on the tin, incredibly insane read.

If Beale Street Could Talk by James Baldwin is a heartbreaking but powerful book and a look at the racism of the time while still centering the love the two black protagonists feel for each other. Giovanni's Room by the same author is one that focuses on a MLM man struggling with his sexuality, and it's really important to see from the perspective of a queer man living in the 50s– as well as Baldwin's autobiographical novel, Go Tell it on the Mountain.

Agatha Christie mysteries are all still absolutely iconic, but Murder on the Orient Express is such a good read whether or not you know the end twist.

Maybe-controversial-maybe-not take: Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov is a good book if you have reading comprehension. No, you're not supposed to like the main character. He pretty much spells that out for you at the end ffs.

Animal Farm by George Orwell was another favorite of mine; it was written as an obvious metaphor for the rise of fascism in Russia at the time and boy does it hit even now.

And finally, please read Shakespeare plays. As soon as you get used to their way of talking, they're not as hard to understand as people will lead you to believe. My absolute favorite is Twelfth Night- crossdressing, bisexual love triangles, yellow stockings... it's all a joy.

and those are just the ones i thought of off the top of my head! What're your guys' favorite classic books? Let's make everyone a reading list!

[skbeaumont]

Honey and Whisky | Joel x F!reader oneshot

Summary: You've been watching him for months, orbiting each other as you both try to deal with the demons you should have left behind when you arrived in Jackson. It's only when you see Joel with another woman that the tension between you finally grows into something palpable.

Tags/warnings: smut, explicit content, MDNI, resolved sexual tension, PIV, oral (m receiving), fingering, dirty talk, a little bit of angst but mostly filth, mentions of trauma but nothing explicit, Jackson!Joel, F!reader, reader is not explicitly described, no use of Y/N

Word count: 3.6k

You’ve been watching him for months.

His broad back ahead of you in the queue for work duties; the side of his face in the canteen, strong jaw casting shadows on the tanned expanse of his neck under his open-collared shirt; dark eyes passing over yours as you both line up for the cinema, his kid at his side. He never seems to pay you much attention – never seems to pay anyone much attention – but you’re sure you’ve seen a hint of recognition in his expression each time you cross paths, a sort of unspoken “you again” that passes between you.

You never hold his gaze for long, never make conversation or attempt to get to know him, because you’re sure he’d brush you off. It's not that he’s unfriendly, exactly. He’s gruff and intimidating and more than a little rude sometimes, but he’s also eager to help anyone who needs it, chipping in with repair work and patrols without complaint. He never smiles or passes false niceties like most other folk do, preferring instead to offer terse, grumbled words of advice. He shows the Langstones how to properly repoint the grouting on the damaged side of their house, his shirt sleeves rolled up, the hot summer sun causing sweat to bead in the spaces between the curls on his forehead. He helps old Mrs Lopez with her hanging baskets, carefully raising them into position as she stands below and calls out instructions to him. When he stretches up to secure the last basket his shirt pulls up, revealing a strip of tanned skin and dark hair dipping beneath the band of his jeans.

So, yeah, you watch him. You watch him because he carries tension in his shoulders, unspoken fear in his eyes. There is something cold about him, something that suggests he’s trying hard to leave the man he was on the outside behind but hasn’t quite managed it. It’s a feeling that’s familiar to you, too. Five years on the road hardened you into something you don’t quite recognise in the mirror, the kind of person who flinches if someone gets too close, who can’t stand to have strangers approach from behind even on the safe streets of Jackson. It’s a deep-seated fear that has settled in your bones and seems unwilling to leave. Joel Miller is a man whose ghosts seem to mirror your own, and that makes him hard to look away from.

*****

By late March the snow has finally started to thaw and that’s enough to warrant a gathering in the Tipsy Bison. It’s unofficial, a quickly thrown together occasion that’s passed round by word of mouth that afternoon, but it still seems like everyone in the town is packed into the small tap room. There’s hardly room to navigate your way to the bar, elbows pressing into your sides, shoulders rubbing against your own. The early spring evening light is waning, soft dapples of sunlight casting pretty patterns on the table tops and worn leather seating.

He's at the bar. You don’t see him at first, too lost in your own thoughts, your head filled with the afternoon’s work, hands still sore from the handles of the buckets. But there he is, one elbow propped on the countertop, hip popped out, knee bent. He looks relaxed, for once. There’s an easy smile on his face, his lip curved up to meet the dimple of one cheek, and he’s talking to a blonde woman. Something like jealously flares up in your chest, hot and uninvited.

She’s pretty. Long, sleek hair tied up behind her neck, plump lips, a delicate, pointed nose. You know who she is, vaguely. Rose or Rosa or something, a woman who’s been in Jackson since the start, her eyes unplagued by visions of what you and Joel have both seen on the outside. She lives next door to Joel, a street away from you, though you can see her garden from your bedroom window. She and Joel are talking quietly, their voices lost in the hubbub of the bar, but you still see when she throws her head back and laughs, hand reaching out to clutch at Joel’s shirtsleeve, catching the bulk of his forearm with her slender fingers. His eyes trace the long expanse of her neck, pupils wide despite the bright light of the bar and you know he’s thinking about fucking her, thinking about how she’d look spread out underneath him in his bed, propped up against his pillows.

Then his eyes leave hers and catch yours, and there’s that familiar swoop in the pit of your stomach, that passing glance between you and Joel that always seems to linger. “You again,” it says, sending sparks between the twin points of your pupils, disrupting the reverie of Joel and Rose, pulling him suddenly and violently away from his fantasy.

You look away and hear him clear his throat, feel rather than see him shift where he's stood, imagine the frown that crosses his forehead as he continues to watch you. By the time you’ve got a drink from the bartender – a young guy who can only be a few years older than your sister, maybe twenty-three or twenty-four – Joel’s eyes have left your face and he’s chatting to Rose again, or at least letting her talk at him. Her voice is sweet, like honey and sugar and iced tea, and you almost don’t blame him for wanting to sleep with her, almost understand why he’d let himself be seduced by her niceties, her innocence.

Then you take the first sip of your whisky, feel the harsh, grating pull of it against your tongue, and think no. She’s honey and he’s whisky, and there’s no way you can stand here, in this crowded bar and let her have him when what he needs is the recognition of your own haunted eyes. So you throw back the rest of the bitter drink and slam the glass onto the bar. It startles Joel, despite the busyness and the loud chatter all around, but Rose doesn’t even flinch. Why would she? She doesn’t know that a slammed glass against warped wood sounds the same as the snap of a rifle, that the friction of the contact through your fist against the countertop makes you and Joel both think of the kickback a pistol will give if you don’t hold it square enough.

Rose giggles with something like nerves, all light and high-pitched, her hand smoothing the wood beneath her hand, but Joel’s looking at you again, pressing himself further into the bar top so that he can keep his gaze on your face when Rose leans forwards. And you let yourself turn to him, let the side of your mouth lift up into something like a smile.

Rose’s eyes flick anxiously from Joel’s face to yours. She thinks you’re about to have an argument, you realise, and that makes you smile for real, laughter almost bubbling up in your throat. There’s heat between you and him, and she’s caught between it, feeling the licking flames that in her innocence, her wholeness, she’s misinterpreting as conflict. But Joel’s pupils are blown wide where they hold yours, and he swallows, tongue dipping out from between his lips to wet them. He’s thinking about you, now. You, in his bed, pressed against his pillows, and while the image isn’t as clear as the one he had of Rose, it’s settling deep in his gut in a way that she hasn’t, sending hot coils of pleasure blossoming out to the tips of his fingers.

He’s a lost cause, he thinks. Damaged goods, probably, from the soles of his weary, blistered feet to the ends of his greying hair, but so are you. So it’s easy to push himself away from the bar without a word to Rose, easy to force himself through the throngs of writhing bodies, his broad shoulders turning this way and that to ease his path. It’s easy to pretend he isn’t aware of you following him, that he can’t feel the heat of your eyes on his narrow waist, watching every movement of his hips as you both leave the crowded bar, Rose forgotten behind you.

Outside, the cold is still enough to catch in your throat, but by the time you reach the alleyway that runs between the bar and the first row of houses Joel is crowding you against the wall, pressing himself to you like a man possessed. You let him, fist your hands in the thick expanse of his coat, trying to feel the solid mass of him beneath it. One large hand comes up to your jaw and he tips it to the side, presses his nose into the gap between the hollow of your throat and your jacket and inhales deeply, pulling the smell of whisky from your neck.

“Have me,” you say into the quiet of the alley, and he pulls his head back, looks at you hard, questioning.

“Have me,” you repeat, adding, “not her.”

“You jealous?” He asks, his voice gravelly. He lets his hand follow the curve of your neck into your hair, his calloused fingertips rough against your scalp.

“No,” you lie, “but she should be.”

He chuckles at this, a huffed breath of a laugh that in the cold sends a plume of hazy condensation into the narrow slice of air between the two of you.

“Okay.” He says then, his mouth curving into a grin that he presses against your own lips.

The kiss is rough, needy from the first point of contact. But then he opens up to you, groans into your mouth when you pull his tongue into the wet heat of yours. He brings his other hand up to cup your jaw, huge hand spanning the full length of your face. The air around you is still cold but there’s a fire somewhere deep in your belly, Joel’s chapped lips moving against yours, his broad body pressing you into the rough brick. You jolt against him when he shifts, a thick thigh moving to slide between your own legs. The friction then is delicious, tensing muscle pressing to the centre of you, slick pooling on rough denim. 

It’s a shock as he pulls himself away suddenly, cold air swooping in to replace the heat of his body.

“C’mon,” he says, “my place is closest.”

And then he’s striding away, not waiting for you to follow because he’s so confident you will, disappearing around the corner of the street. You stumble after him, legs weak.

The streets are empty, and that’s probably the only reason he wraps an arm around your waist when you catch up with him. He holds you to him, hard, fingertips digging into the flesh of your hip like he’s trying to mark you. Your thighs bump together, his so much larger than yours, coiled strength wrapped up in corded muscle. The walk is only short, and neither of you speak, too set on reaching your destination.

Up the steps, his arm leaving your waist to rummage in the pocket of his jeans and pull out a key tied on a worn piece of string. The lights are all off – his kid is obviously out somewhere – but he pulls you inside without turning them on, the darkness of the evening now fully settled over the town.

Crowded against the front door, you fist your hands into his hair, relish the soft thickness of his curls, the way they glide through your fingertips, his mouth seeking yours out, lips barely skimming your own before pulling back, making you chase him.

“Didn’t think you were interested,” he says into the narrow gap between you, “always avoiding me, seems like.”

“I’ve wanted you since I first saw you,” you tell him, pulling him to you by the nape of his neck, fitting your lips together so that your teeth clash, mouths colliding messily.

He groans into you, pulls away again, asks, “what do you want, pretty girl?”

The nickname shouldn’t make you grin against his lips, shouldn’t send a somersault of ecstasy through you, but it does. You’re not pretty, you know. You’re damaged and rough and so fucking needy. Needy for his hands and his mouth and his lips, that he leans down to press against the column of your throat,  teeth just grazing the skin there.

“Hmm?” he mutters against you, “tell me what you want.”

“You,” You tell him, nails scratching into the delicate skin just above his ears.

When he lifts you, hands gripping the meat of your thighs and pulling you up to rest against his chest you gasp, shifting your hands to link your fingers behind his neck. He carries you up the stairs like that. It’s a little uncoordinated and messy, his hip bumping the banister, your foot catching on the door frame, but then he drops you onto his bed and covers your body with his own, his hands seeking out the flesh of your breasts. He pushes the hem of your top up, kneads at the soft skin there with a practised hand, forefinger and thumb pinching your nipple in a way that has you arching up off the bed.

“This okay?” he asks, voice gravelly and rough, and you nod, but he tsks from between his teeth, “gonna need words, baby,” he says.

“Yes, Joel, please,”

He pushes your jumper the rest of the way up and off, does the same to your t-shirt so that you’re half-naked and writhing under his hands. The sudden hot heat of his mouth over your peaked nipple makes you hiss out a breath, and he chuckles from somewhere deep in his chest, using his teeth to bite down against your skin. Then his hands are pulling at the button of your worn jeans, dragging them and your underwear down off your thighs. He lets them fall onto the rug-covered floor of his bedroom and then his fingers are moving to where you’re wet and needy for him.

The pleasure of his fingers sliding against you is overwhelming and all-consuming, so much so that you hardly notice the way he’s grinding his hips against you, pressing his covered cock into your thigh, chasing friction. You feel him twitch against you as he presses two fingers into the tight heat of you, lips settling at your pulse point, teeth grazing the delicate skin there. It’s enough to tip you over the edge and you come hard, stars blossoming across your vision, limbs shaking with the exertion of it.

“Look so good like this, baby,” Joel says into the side of your neck, “spread out against my sheets like a fucking angel.”

He pulls his fingers from you, drags them up through your folds and then into the heat of his mouth, groaning around them as he sucks your juices from his own skin. Something snaps in you and suddenly you’re pushing him off you, onto his back, straddling his denim-clad thighs and tugging at the buttons of his shirt. The fastenings open easily, buttons worn and shiny with age, revealing a broad chest and softer stomach, a light trail of hair disappearing under the waistband of his dark jeans, the scene illuminated by the orange glow of the streetlight outside the window.

He's big; you can see the contour of him against the denim, a solid, thick line that twitches against your palm when you press it into him. You pop the button on his jeans, unsurprised to find he’s not wearing underwear. The jeans join yours on the floor and his cock bobs before you against his stomach, head dark and shiny in the low light, a bead of precum that you kitten lick from him. The movement has Joel bucking his hips, a deep groan rumbling through his chest. When you take him into your mouth he threads his hands into your hair and grips, not pushing you down but just holding you there, grounding himself with his fingers against your scalp. You work your tongue over him, using your hand to cover the part of him that you can’t fit into your mouth and he moans and curses above you.

“Fuck, darlin’, m’not gonna last if you keep going,” he tells you, voice cracking with the effort of it, and you pull away regretfully, moving yourself up to straddle his thighs.

Joel’s hands find your hips and drag you up, up, up so that the head of his cock catches against your clit, slick pooling on his belly as you rock against him. It’s messy and filthy and goddamn incredible, the solid ridge of him pulling against you just right, pleasure building up and up and up so that your thighs tense around him and you’re coming again, Joel’s fingertips digging hard into the flesh of your hips, pain dulled by the pleasure of it.

As you come down he takes the opportunity to roll you both over, slotting himself between your thighs and pressing the blunt head of his cock to your entrance, not pushing in yet, just holding you there, pinned beneath him, dark eyes seeking yours in the relative darkness.

“Please, Joel,” you keen, fingernails scratching a path down the broad expanse of his back.

The kiss he gives you then is soft, almost gentle, but you chase his lips, drag the bottom one between your teeth and bite down hard. He growls as he sinks himself into you, a choked-out moan painting hot air across your cheeks. You’re both lost then, gripping onto each other as heat and pleasure lick a steady flame through you.

The only sounds in the dimly lit room are the hot pant of Joel’s breath and your own breathy sighs. His silhouette is like a marble statue above you, holding himself still on two propped elbows, hard-set jaw working with the effort of keeping himself from thrusting into you carelessly.

“Fuck- Joel, please, fuck me,” you say into the stillness and he dips his head, buries his neck in the space between your shoulder and jaw, rough stubble licking at the skin there.

“Okay, baby,” He whispers, and then he pulls himself out and surges forward again, stretching you around his cock, reaching deeper this time than before.

He sets a punishing pace, one fist gripping the hair at the base of your neck, the other holding himself up so that he can watch where you’re joined. You think about Rose then, wonder if he’d have fucked her like this, fast and hard and needily – no, he wouldn’t have, you decide. This is something that only you and he have a need for, something dark and unrepentant and all-consuming. There’s nothing else in the universe in this moment but Joel’s thick, strong body above yours and the delicious stretch of his cock inside you.

“You feel so fuckin’ good, darlin’,” he tells you, “wanna pin you down and keep you here forever.”

He adjusts the angle, shifts his hips so that his cock hits the spongy spot inside you that sends pleasure shooting up your spine and you can’t help the whimper that escapes your lips.

“Bet you’d let me, too, wouldn’t you?” Joel says, voice hard, hips dragging as he slows his thrusts to press his pelvis against yours, “Let me do whatever the fuck I wanted with you and you’d thank me for it, huh?”

“Yes, God, yes,” Your voice sounds pathetic even to your own ears, high-pitched and breathless.

Joel chuckles darkly, wraps a broad hand around the base of your neck and holds it there, not squeezing but just keeping you in place.

It’s warm in the small bedroom and you watch sweat bead in the creases of Joel’s neck, on the tips of his curls where they rest on the side of his face and forehead. His eyebrows are furrowed, face contorted with pleasure and concentration and when he flicks his eyes up to catch yours there’s that familiar electricity between you. “You,” it says, “it’s always you.” It’s enough to tip you both over the edge. You come hard, cunt clenching and fluttered around Joel’s cock and he lets out a rumbling groan as his hips stutter, his rhythm lost. He slams his hips to yours one last time and then you feel him twitching inside you, painting you with ropes of come. He curses through it, little half-choked mutters of Jesus Christ baby, fuckin’ tight, perfect cunt and then he collapses against you, his sweat-slicked chest hot against yours, both of your gasping in desperate breaths. Joel rolls off of you but pulls you tight to him, arm wrapped possessively around you waist, hand firm on the tender flesh of your hip.

In the aftermath, the orange glow of the streetlight looks like fire against Joel’s white bedsheets. The flames of it lick up the breadth of his chest to his collarbone and you think of a different fire, the one that burned down the last haven you found, over five years ago. You think of the death and destruction of that night, squeezing your eyes tight shut to try to block it out. When you open them Joel’s looking at you, dark eyes holding yours, but his expression is a little distant. The crease between his eyebrows is deepened by the way he’s frowning and you’re sure he’s thinking of his own fire-struck night, his mind perhaps decades away. The sex-sweet haze is already slipping away, but he’s a firm presence beside you and when you take a shaky breath, trying to slow your hammering heart, his arm around you tightens reassuringly.  

Maybe the ghosts can be kept at bay for a while, at least.

[lazzarella]

Top 10 Things

For some reason, I've decided to compile lists of my various top ten things, a completely pointless venture because I highly doubt anyone will read it, and I already know what they are, but I'm doing it anyway! lol

(I've included: bands; solo artists; albums; books; poems; graphic novels/comics; tv shows; BL series; murder mystery shows; movies; actors; actresses; directors; musicals)

BANDS

The Beatles

ABBA

Belle and Sebastian

Led Zeppelin

The Raveonettes

The Decemberists

Ramones

Blondie

Sparks

Judas Priest

SOLO ARTISTS

John Grant

Rufus Wainwright

Connie Francis

Kylie Minogue

Angel Olsen

Prince

Sufjan Stevens

Kate Bush

David Bowie

Keaton Henson

ALBUMS

Queen of Denmark by John Grant

69 Love Songs by The Magnetic Fields

In the Aeroplane Over the Sea by Neutral Milk Hotel

Rubber Soul by The Beatles

Picaresque by The Decemberists

Houses of the Holy by Led Zeppelin

You Could Have It So Much Better by Franz Ferdinand

Purple Rain by Prince

Transformer by Lou Reed

If You're Feeling Sinister by Belle and Sebastian

BOOKS

The Haunting of Hill House by Shirley Jackson

Grief is the Thing With Feathers by Max Porter

Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier

The Blind Assassin by Margaret Atwood

Sharp Objects by Gillian Flynn

The Murder of Roger Ackroyd by Agatha Christie

The Hobbit by JRR Tolkien

The Bloody Chamber and Other Stories by Angela Carter

The Charioteer by Mary Renault

The Big Sleep by Raymond Chandler

POEMS

Having a Coke With You by Frank O'Hara

Every poem in Crush by Richard Siken

The Second Coming by WB Yeats (alternatively, The Mermaid)

The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock by T. S. Eliot

Dulce et Decorum Est by Wilfred Owen

Love Sonnet XI by Pablo Neruda

somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond by e.e. cummings

Wild Geese by Mary Oliver

Tired by Langston Hughes

Perhaps the World Ends Here by Joy Harjo

GRAPHIC NOVELS/COMICS

Paper Girls

Ghost World

Persepolis

Bandette series

Delilah Dirk and the Turkish Lieutenant + sequels

The Fade Out

The Case of the Missing Men

The Less Than Epic Adventures of TJ and Amal

It's a Good Life, If You Don't Weaken

Nimona

TV SHOWS (that are not BLs or murder mysteries XD)

Spaced

Supernatural

The Hour

Buffy

Life on Mars/Ashes to Ashes

This is England 86/88/90

I Love Lucy

Pushing Daisies

Dark

In the Flesh OR The Young Ones OR Xena (I was going to choose but meh)

(A full list of my favourite TV shows on Serializd)

BL SERIES (MASTERLIST HERE)

Moonlight Chicken

My Personal Weatherman

KinnPorsche

Cherry Magic (Thailand)

Century of Love

Wandee Goodday

Old Fashion Cupcake

A Tale of Thousand Stars

Only Friends

Jack O'Frost

(I have a feeling Kidnap is going to take the place of one of these though)

MURDER MYSTERY SHOWS

Poirot

Marple

Rosemary and Thyme

Twin Peaks (it counts XD)

Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries

Endeavour

Beyond Evil

Murder, She Wrote

Jonathan Creek

George Gently

MOVIES

(if I do subcategories for this, we'd be here all day! But ftr my favourite genres are film noir, musicals, rom-coms, horror—mostly slashers and gialli, 50s/60s sci-fi...)

The Rocky Horror Picture Show

Clue

Strictly Ballroom

Charade

Velvet Goldmine

Hedwig and the Angry Inch

Call Me By Your Name

God's Own Country

Secretary

That Thing You Do!

(A full list of my favourite films on Letterboxd)

ACTORS

Robert Redford

Colin Farrell

James Spader

Keanu Reeves

Danny Kaye

Humphrey Bogart

Dirk Bogarde

Frank Sinatra

Jack Lemmon

Ben Whishaw

ACTRESSES

(only separating by gender to get more in XD)

Doris Day

Audrey Hepburn

Amy Adams

Lucille Ball

Jane Fonda

Kirsten Dunst

Marilyn Monroe

Nicole Kidman

Michelle Williams

Cate Blanchett

DIRECTORS

Gregg Araki

Alfred Hitchcock

John Waters

Sofia Coppola

Agnès Varda

Wes Anderson

Billy Wilder

Pedro Almodóvar

Stanley Donen

Dario Argento

MUSICALS

(only counting ones I've seen productions of myself)

The Rocky Horror Show

Little Shop of Horrors

Aladdin

Matilda

Cats

Chicago

Hairspray

Wicked

Singin' in the Rain

9 to 5 tied with Priscilla: Queen of the Desert

[battleangel]

2 Shots In The Dark

I stand as a witness its time to fight back thats what Huey said, two shots in the dark and now Hueys dead.

How long shall they kill our prophets

While we stand aside and look?

Some say it's just a part of it

We've got to fulfill the book

Hes good and dead now.

After two gunshots were fired inside the room, the other officer said, "He's good and dead now."

It was later confirmed that Fred Hampton had never been fully conscious, had never left his bed, and “had been shot at close range, with two bullets to the head.”

Two bullets to the head and now Hamptons dead.

Breonna Taylor, eight shots, asleep in her bed.

Asleep, unconscious, unarmed.

Say her name!

Say their names.

Sandra Bland, rolling stop, red light, dead nigger, killed in custody.

Red light special.

Hands up, dont shoot!

Shot him anyway.

Its just a bag of Skittles officer, not a gun.

Taste the rainbow.

"Check with the landlord." Hes black, no way he owned his own home. I could just google it but I wont waste time on a dead black guy.

❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

I communicated with my ancestors, prophets & prophetesses today and received many downloads from them through time.

It is heavy to carry the weight that my ancestors have borne through colonization, segregation, genocides, apartheid, police brutality, mass incarceration, criminalizing and pathologizing normal behavior to create school to prison industrial complex and school to psychiatric industrial complex pipelines.

The blood of my ancestors called out to me, murdered in police custody, killed at stop signs, shot in their sleep, gunned down with their hands up.

The murdered prophets & prophetesses, priestesess, revolutionaries and love warriors cry out for freedom and justice.

It is heavy to bear their blood and pain and bear witness to the lynchings, beatings and burning crosses through the ages.

I stand as a witness to all they have been through and all they have suffered.

I spread my gold phoenix wings, as a dark phoenix I rise from the ashes, and I spread my golden glittering wings to avenge, for justice, for freedom.

I stand with the black revolutionaries and the vanguard throughout time:

❤️‍🔥Fred Hampton❤️‍🔥

❤️‍🔥Huey P. Newton❤️‍🔥

❤️‍🔥Assata Shakur❤️‍🔥

❤️‍🔥Tupac❤️‍🔥

❤️‍🔥Malcolm X❤️‍🔥

❤️‍🔥Michael Jackson❤️‍🔥

❤️‍🔥Marcus Garvey❤️‍🔥

❤️‍🔥Aaliyah❤️‍🔥

❤️‍🔥Langston Hughes❤️‍🔥

❤️‍🔥Sojourner Truth❤️‍🔥

❤️‍🔥Muhammad Ali❤️‍🔥

❤️‍🔥Toni Morrison❤️‍🔥

❤️‍🔥bell hooks❤️‍🔥

❤️‍🔥Palestinian brothers & sisters❤️‍🔥

❤️‍🔥Congolese brothers & sisters❤️‍🔥

❤️‍🔥My brothers & sisters in Tigray❤️‍🔥

❤️‍🔥My brothers & sisters unjustly locked up❤️‍🔥

How long will they kill our prophets?

❤️‍🔥My brothers & sisters murdered by the police❤️‍🔥

❤️‍🔥My brothers & sisters lynched❤️‍🔥

We've got to fulfill the book

❤️‍🔥My brother with a botched police case, autopsy and investigation❤️‍🔥

❤️‍🔥My brothers and sisters in mass unmarked graves❤️‍🔥

❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

How long will they kill our prophets?

We've got to fulfill the book

❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

[bracketsoffear]

Desolation Leitner Reading List

The full list of submissions for the Desolation Leitner bracket. Bold titles are ones which were accepted to appear in the bracket. Synopses and propaganda can be found below the cut. Be warned, however, that these may contain spoilers!

Akutagawa, Ryunosuke: Hell Screen Alighieri, Dante: The Divine Comedy Andersen, Hans Christian: The Little Matchgirl Andersen, Hans Christian: The Steadfast Tin Soldier

Basye, Dale E.: Heck Bradbury, Ray: Fahrenheit 451 Bradbury, Ray: Something Wicked This Way Comes Butler, Blake: Scorch Atlas

Castle, E.G.: The One Who Started Fires Colgan, Jenny T.:  Dark Horizons

Darnielle, John: Universal Harvester Dickens, Charles: Great Expectations Dumas, Alexandre: The Count of Monte Cristo

Ellison, Harlan: I Have No Mouth And I Must Scream Enríquez, Mariana: Las cosas que perdimos en el fuego (The things we lost in the fire)

Ford, Robert: Burner Frisch, Max: The Arsonists Frost, Robert: Fire And Ice Fujimoto, Tatsuki: Fire Punch

Hemans, Felicia: Casabianca Hill, Joe: The Fireman Hughes, Langston: A Dream Deferred/Harlem Hunter, Erin: Long Shadows

Jackson, Shirley: We Have Always Lived in the Castle Jacobs, W.W.: The Monkey's Paw Jenkins, Kenna: Burn the House Down: A Biography of America's First Woman President

King, Stephen: Carrie King, Stephen: Firestarter Kohn, Edward P.: Hot Time in the Old Town Koryta, Michael: Those Who Wish Me Dead Kuang, Rebecca F.:  The Poppy War

London, Jack: To Build a Fire

Morrell, David: Orange Is for Anguish, Blue for Insanity

Palahniuk, Chuck: Fight Club Pepys, Samuel: The Diary of Samuel Pepys Poe, Edgar Allan: Hop-Frog; Or, the Eight Chained Ourang-Outangs Pratchett, Terry: I Shall Wear Midnight

Shakespeare, William: Romeo & Juliet Shelley, Mary: Frankenstein Shusterman, Neal: Full Tilt Snicket, Lemony: A Series of Unfortunate Events Spark, Muriel: The Only Problem

Takami, Koushun: Battle Royale

Wells, H.G.: The War of the Worlds

Akutagawa, Ryunosuke: Hell Screen

The plot of "Hell Screen" centers on the artist Yoshihide. Yoshihide is considered “the greatest painter in the land”, and is often commissioned to create works for the Lord of Horikawa, who also employs Yoshihide's daughter in his mansion, and is rumoured to be taking her as his mistress. When Yoshihide is instructed to create a folding screen depicting the Buddhist hell, he proceeds to inflict tortures upon his apprentices, so he can see what he is trying to paint. Supernatural forces seem to be present; one time, Yoshihide speaks in a devilish voice. Throughout the story Yoshihide seeks to get his daughter back from his employer, but is refused. One night the servant is dragged by the monkey into a room where he finds the daughter recovering from what appears to be an attempted rape. The monkey thanks him for saving her with a servile gesture. She refuses to name her abuser. The story climaxes when Yoshihide asks the lord to burn a beautiful lady in a carriage so he can finish the screen, as he claims he can only paint what he has seen. The lord concedes, but, in a macabre twist, Yoshihide must watch as his daughter Yūzuki and her monkey who rushes to be with her are the ones who burn. The story ends with the magnificently horrible screen completed, and Yoshihide's suicide by hanging. Yoshihide believes he can take control of Hell, or the Desolation, and abuses his apprentices in pursuit of his art, but is instead tortured with the destruction of what he holds dear.

Alighieri, Dante: The Divine Comedy

Okay, well, it's mainly only the first section that qualifies, but the descriptions of the torments of Hell certainly qualify.

Andersen, Hans Christian: The Little Matchgirl

The story of a match-seller who lights her own matches to keep warm in the icy cold -- and in her matches sees images of warmth and plenty that she can never attain, that make the cold of winter all the more bitter.

Andersen, Hans Christian: The Steadfast Tin Soldier

This one isn't the most well-known of Andersen's tales, but it is one of the most depressing! The ending where the soldier and the ballerina are cast into the flames and turned to ash and a heart-shaped lump of tin is just tragic.

Basye, Dale E.: Heck

"WHEN MILTON AND Marlo Fauster die in a marshmallow bear explosion, they get sent straight to Heck, an otherworldly reform school. Milton can understand why his kleptomaniac sister is here, but Milton is—or was—a model citizen. Has a mistake been made? Not according to Bea 'Elsa' Bubb, the Principal of Darkness. She doesn't make mistakes. She personally sees to it that Heck—whether it be home-ec class with Lizzie Borden, ethics with Richard Nixon, or gym with Blackbeard the Pirate—is especially, well, heckish for the Fausters. Will Milton and Marlo find a way to escape? Or are they stuck here for all eternity, or until they turn 18, whichever comes first?"

Dante's Inferno, for kids!

Bradbury, Ray: Fahrenheit 451

Fahrenheit 451 tells the story of Guy Montag and his transformation from a book-burning fireman to a book-reading rebel. Montag lives in an oppressive society that attempts to eliminate all sources of complexity, contradiction, and confusion to ensure uncomplicated happiness for all its citizens

***

The book opens with, "It was a pleasure to burn." The story follows a man whose job is to enforce the mandates of a shallow, fascistic society by burning books.

***

Jude Perry would love living in this world.

***

I'm sure this one goes without saying.

Bradbury, Ray: Something Wicked This Way Comes

The carnival and its devilish master make promises of youth and freedom, but their only goal is to cause as much pain and suffering as possible.

Butler, Blake: Scorch Atlas

Scorch Atlas is a short story anthology concerning a number of grisly happenings in a world where mold and bugs crawl out of everything, children are parasites, houses spontaneously catch fire, and the sky rains glass, gravel, blood, manure, teeth, ink, glitter, TV static, and light.

But the most Desolation-y part of the book is the central gimmick— this book is meant to be destroyed. Being printed by Featherproof Books necessitates an unconventional design, and Scorch Atlas delivers in pre-blackened pages already marked by the rains of the world. People could order pre-destroyed copies, and there was a contest on who could best destroy their book— axe it, douse it in alcohol, light it on fire, play cricket, drop it in the bathtub, whatever— and the prize, awarded to only one person, is simply another fresh copy.

Castle, E.G.: The One Who Started Fires

The title character, a pyrokinetic young girl, sets hundreds of fires around town, apparently just for the enjoyment of it. The main character nearly burns alive, but the girl apparently was not immune to her own powers and immolated herself first.

Colgan, Jenny T.:  Dark Horizons

Synopsis: "Now, you may or may not have noticed, but we appear to be on fire..."

On a windswept Northern shore, at the very tip of what will one day become Scotland, the islanders believe the worst they have to fear is a Viking attack. Then the burning comes. They cannot run from it. Water will not stop it. It consumes everything in its path — yet the burned still speak.

The Doctor is just looking for a game on the famous Lewis chess set. Instead he encounters a people under attack from a power they cannot possibly understand. They have no weapons, no strategy and no protection against a fire sent to engulf them all.

Add in some marauding Vikings with very bad timing, a kidnapped princess with a secret of her own and a TARDIS that seems to have developed an inexplicable fear of water, and they all have a battle on their hands. The islanders must take on a ruthless alien force in a world without technology; without communications; without tea that isn't made out of bark. Still at least they have the Doctor on their side... Don't they?"

Why it's Desolation: Living fire that kills people to turn them into fire zombies! Illusions of their dead loved ones to lure them into the fire's embrace! PAIN!

Darnielle, John: Universal Harvester

Universal Harvester is perhaps best described as a thriller, a slow-burn manifestation of the Desolation. Jeremy (who has a dead mother) works at the local Video Hut when a customer comes in with the odd complaint, “There’s another movie on this tape.” Watching it later at home, he discovers a short clip on the film of a dark warehouse, with the sound of harsh breathing.

Eventually, after a nasty car crash, the culprit is revealed to be a half-orphan herself, who interviews Jeremy about his own loss.

Universal Harvester is a Desolation-Eye smoothie about the stories we construct out of trauma.

Dickens, Charles: Great Expectations

Mainly this concerns Miss Havisham, who works to build Pip's hopes and confidence enough that when her daughter breaks his heart, the pain will be all the keener. It's also about how Pip, in his rise to fortune, loses the bonds of family and friendship with those closest to him. It's also about the literal very large fire at the end.

Dumas, Alexandre: The Count of Monte Cristo

A man who has been betrayed and imprisoned under false pretenses escapes his prison to take his revenge on those who wronged him, slowly destroying everything they love and everything they are -- but he risks losing himself in the process.

***

Everything’s going great for Edmond Dantès! He’s getting a big promotion, he’s marrying the woman of his dreams, his whole life is ahead of him.

And then all of that gets ripped away from him in an instant. He is thrown into prison for years, and when he returns, he finds that his enemies who conspired to put him there are thriving.

So, he dedicates himself to getting even. Carefully and methodically, the Count of Monte Cristo goes about destroying the lives of those who took everything from him.

Ellison, Harlan: I Have No Mouth And I Must Scream

For the past 109 years, sadistic supercomputer AM has been torturing the last five humans on Earth in the depths of his complex. It is brilliantly intelligent and wields unimaginable power, but because from its very core it was designed as a tool for war and destruction, it is unable to use its enormous potential for anything constructive. AM is painfully aware of this, and it is an endless source of frustration, self-loathing and hatred towards humans for making him this way; he outright states that his utterly ballistic hatred for all human life is what allowed him to thrive in tormenting the protagonists for over a century, and the only thing he seems to enjoy is torture. All of AM's games are unwinnable by design, either because he's ensured that the scenario is tailored to the player's fatal flaw, or because he's given them almost nothing to work with. It lets them travel for thousands of miles to get to the ice caverns to obtain cans of food because AM keeps them at starvation point and only feeds them disgusting food…and it turns out there really are cans, but nothing to open them with, and the whole thing was just to fuck with them. After Ted kills the other humans, he becomes the sole target of AM’s torture; he is turned into an amorphous creature unable to harm itself, without a mouth, and has his perception of time continuously accelerated and decelerated, with his only hope for escape being when AM finally stops functioning, potentially thousands of years later.

Enríquez, Mariana: Las cosas que perdimos en el fuego (The things we lost in the fire)

Short story in which, to protest a viral form of domestic violence, a group of women set themselves on fire."

Ford, Robert: Burner

"IRIS It’s terrifying how quickly everything can be taken away from you. Iris learns this agonizing lesson in the blink of an eye. Her future dreams. Her past life. Everything gone in a storm of pain.But this pain is only the beginning.

AUDREY Audrey had the perfect life. Great husband, beautiful daughter, lots of money. Except her husband isn’t the man she thought he was. Her dead husband’s burner phone was bad. The Polaroids were worse. But the secrets she uncovers next set her entire world on fire.

BURNER Two women’s lives intersect because of one man’s actions. The transformation is pristine,and beautiful, and filled with pain. Sometimes the scars are on the inside."

Frisch, Max: The Arsonists

Frost, Robert: Fire And Ice

How will the world end? Ice or fire, fire or ice? Both are useful to the Desolation.

Source: https://www.poemhunter.com/poem/fire-and-ice/

Fujimoto, Tatsuki: Fire Punch

Hemans, Felicia: Casabianca

Link to poem: https://www.poetrybyheart.org.uk/poems/casabianca

Based on a supposed true story about the titular 13-year-old boy, the son of the admiral, who kept his post at the Battle of the Nile after his ship caught fire and all other survivors had fled. Casabianca died when the ship exploded.

Hill, Joe: The Fireman

A mysterious fungus has begun to infect the world's population, causing a condition popularly known as "Dragonscale." The illness manifests as a pattern of black and gold markings on an afflicted person's skin, eventually causing them to burst into flame and die. There is no known cure, and the fungal spores easily become airborne from the victims' ashes.

Hughes, Langston: A Dream Deferred/Harlem

Full text and analysis: https://owlcation.com/humanities/Analysis-of-Poem-Harlem-What-Happens-to-a-Dream-Deferred-by-Langston-Hughes

The short poem poses questions about the aspirations of a people and the consequences that might arise if those dreams and hopes don't come to fruition. The speaker is suggesting that this dream is already delayed and frustrated and that time is of the essence—this dream has to be fulfilled or else. The repeated food metaphors suggest that the dream is sustaining, but has diminished after so long waiting.

Hunter, Erin: Long Shadows

The Fire Scene…

Jackson, Shirley: We Have Always Lived in the Castle

* I feel that this strongly overlaps with The Lonely, but the home-destroying fire in the climax has me leaning towards The Desolation.

Here's the Wikipedia plot summary:

Mary Katherine "Merricat" Blackwood lives with her older sister Constance and their ailing Uncle Julian in a large house on extensive grounds, in isolation from the nearby village. Constance has not left their home in six years, going no farther than her large garden. Uncle Julian, who uses a wheelchair, obsessively writes and re-writes notes for his memoirs, while Constance takes care of him.

Six years prior, Constance and Merricat's parents John and Ellen, their aunt Dorothy, and their younger brother Thomas died after being poisoned with arsenic, which was mixed into the family's sugar bowl and sprinkled onto blackberries at dinner. Julian was also poisoned, but survived; Merricat was not present at the time, as she had been sent to bed without dinner as punishment. Constance, the only person at the table who didn't put sugar on her berries, was arrested and charged with murder, but was acquitted. The people of the village believe that Constance got away with murder, leading them to ostracize the family.

The three remaining Blackwoods have since grown accustomed to their isolation, leading a quiet, happy existence. Merricat is the family's sole contact with the outside world. She walks into the village twice a week and carries home groceries and library books; on these trips, she is faced directly with the hostility of the villagers, and often taunted by groups of children with an accusing rhyme about the poisoned sugar. Merricat is protective of her sister and practices sympathetic magic that maintains borders around the house.

Merricat feels that a dangerous change is approaching, but before she can warn Constance, their estranged cousin Charles appears for a visit and is welcomed into the home. Charles quickly begins to have a close relationship with Constance and gains her confidence. Charles is aware of Merricat's hostility and is increasingly rude to her and impatient of Julian's weaknesses. He makes many references to the money the sisters keep locked in their father's safe, and gradually forms something of an alliance with Constance, encouraging her to leave her home. Merricat perceives Charles as a threat and tries various magical and otherwise disruptive means to drive him from the house. Uncle Julian is increasingly disgusted by Charles and suspects that Charles came there for the Blackwoods' fortune.

One night before dinner, when Constance sends Merricat upstairs to wash her hands, Merricat, in a fit of anger, pushes Charles' smoking pipe into a wastebasket filled with newspapers. This soon causes a massive fire that consumes the family home. The villagers arrive and help put out the fire, but then finally unleash their long-repressed hostility toward the Blackwoods by vandalizing and ransacking the house. Driven outdoors, Merricat and Constance flee into the woods after being threatened by the villagers, while Julian dies of apparent heart failure during the fire and Charles attempts to take the family safe. While Merricat and Constance shelter for the night under a tree that Merricat has made into a hideaway, Constance confesses that she always knew that Merricat was the one who poisoned the family. Merricat readily admits to the deed, saying that she put the poison in the sugar bowl because she knew that Constance would not take sugar.

Upon returning to their ruined home, Constance and Merricat proceed to salvage what is left of their belongings, close off the rooms too damaged to use, and start their lives anew in the little space left to them. The house, now without a roof, resembles a castle "turreted and open to the sky." Constance and Merricat spend much of their time watching the outside world through peepholes hidden by vines that grow to cover the house. The villagers, feeling remorse at their actions, begin to leave food on their doorstep, while developing stories about the house akin to folklore. Charles returns once to try to renew his acquaintance with Constance, but she ignores him. The sisters choose to remain alone and unseen by the rest of the world.

Jacobs, W.W.: The Monkey's Paw

The Monkey's Paw is for sure a Desolation artifact, granting wishes only to hurt as many people as possible.

Jenkins, Kenna: Burn the House Down: A Biography of America's First Woman President

In 1935, Janine Moore was just another Congressman’s widow who ascended to his seat by promising to continue his legacy. Twelve years later, the White House burned, with President Janine Moore left standing in the ashes.

It’s been fifty years since Janine Moore was president. Few remember her “Accidental Presidency,” and even fewer know that it was no real accident. After half a century of the truth gathering dust, the story of the first female president finally spills from the lips and pens of the most important people in her life—a gripping tale of political intrigue, heedless ambition, desperate motherhood, and a sixty-year forbidden love affair that will shake everyone’s ideas of what truly went down in an administration destined to burn.

What lengths was a farmer’s daughter willing to go to in order to climb the stairs to the White House and break the greatest glass ceiling in the world? Why did her famously temperamental relationship with her second husband crash and burn? And most importantly, who burned down the White House that fateful night?

King, Stephen: Carrie

Man, I know it's a gimme nomination but come on.

King, Stephen: Firestarter

The Department of Scientific Intelligence (aka "The Shop") never anticipated that two participants in their research program would marry and have a child. Charlie McGee inherited pyrokinetic powers from her parents, who had been given a low-grade hallucinogen called "Lot Six" while at college. Now the government is trying to capture young Charlie and harness her powerful firestarting skills as a weapon.

Kohn, Edward P.: Hot Time in the Old Town

One of the worst natural disasters in American history, the 1896 New York heat wave killed almost 1,500 people in ten oppressively hot days. The heat coincided with a pitched presidential contest between William McKinley and the upstart Democrat William Jennings Bryan, who arrived in New York City at the height of the catastrophe. As historian Edward P. Kohn shows, Bryan's hopes for the presidency began to flag amidst the abhorrent heat just as a bright young police commissioner named Theodore Roosevelt was scrambling to mitigate the dangerously high temperatures by hosing down streets and handing out ice to the poor. A vivid narrative that captures the birth of the progressive era, Hot Time in the Old Town revives the forgotten disaster that almost destroyed a great American city.

In addition to the heat wave itself, elements of the Desolation contained in this account include the terrible, inhumane conditions of the New York City tenements and the abrupt decline of Bryant's presidential chances and political future.

Koryta, Michael: Those Who Wish Me Dead

When fourteen-year-old Jace Wilson witnesses a brutal murder, he's plunged into a new life, issued a false identity and hidden in a wilderness skills program for troubled teens. The plan is to get Jace off the grid while police find the two killers. The result is the start of a nightmare.

The killers, known as the Blackwell Brothers, are slaughtering anyone who gets in their way in a methodical quest to reach him. Now all that remains between them and the boy are Ethan and Allison Serbin, who run the wilderness survival program; Hannah Faber, who occupies a lonely fire lookout tower; and endless miles of desolate Montana mountains.

The clock is ticking, the mountains are burning, and those who wish Jace Wilson dead are no longer far behind.

Kuang, Rebecca F.:  The Poppy War

When Rin aced the Keju—the Empire-wide test to find the most talented youth to learn at the Academies(...) That she got into Sinegard—the most elite military school in Nikan—was even more surprising.(...) Rin discovers she possesses a lethal, unearthly power—an aptitude for the nearly-mythical art of shamanism. Exploring the depths of her gift with the help of a seemingly insane teacher and psychoactive substances, Rin learns that gods long thought dead are very much alive—and that mastering control over those powers could mean more than just surviving school.

For while the Nikara Empire is at peace, the Federation of Mugen still lurks across a narrow sea. The militarily advanced Federation occupied Nikan for decades after the First Poppy War, and only barely lost the continent in the Second. And while most of the people are complacent to go about their lives, a few are aware that a Third Poppy War is just a spark away . . .

Rin’s shamanic powers may be the only way to save her people. But as she finds out more about the god that has chosen her, the vengeful Phoenix, she fears that winning the war may cost her humanity . . . and that it may already be too late.

SPOILERS: In this book, the main character uses the powers of Phoenix which are activated by hate( a very Desolation emotion imo) to genocide the enemy nation. Phoenix who grants the Rin and another character (who is fueled by hate in his daily life) is a Desolation entity both capable of great destruction, which he loves, as well as fire-related.

London, Jack: To Build a Fire

This story is a mere 16 pages. It tells the story of a man freezing to death in the Yukon.

(check out Jacob Geller's "Fear of Cold" video essay on it or Google it, the entire story is online) While the Magnus Archives mainly associated the Desolation with fire, the pain and suffering is very appropriate for the Fear of the Cold.

Morrell, David: Orange Is for Anguish, Blue for Insanity

it is a short story about a man who watches his friend destroy his health, relationships and life in an attempt to uncover a secret contained in paintings of Van Dorn, a famous 19th century artist. the search leads him to a small village in france, where he suffers a breakdown and dies from suicide, like all the researchers before him. the protagonist flies to france to help orginise the return of his friend's body to usa, but becomes obsessed with the secret himself. he stays in the village and starts researching Van Dorn's paintings, depleting his savings and postponing his wedding. locals warn him to stop the research, but he ignores them and delves deeper into the mystery. it doesn't end well for him. he uncovers the secret, but becomes affected by terrible migraines, that caused every other researcher to blind themselves and ultimately commit suicide. the only thing that alleviates the pain is painting, and the protagonist intends to use up every sliver of this newfound drive to create art before he meets the fate of every researcher before him.

the paintings at the center of the narrative almost function like a leitner, consuming the victim and driving them to destroy their lives in pursuit of the secret.

Palahniuk, Chuck: Fight Club

The way Tyler acts and is very Desolation in my opinion just fights and destroys stuff. Also, the strong theme of capitalism and capitalism also has ties to Desolation.

Pepys, Samuel: The Diary of Samuel Pepys

A record of several personal and historical events which occurred throughout Pepys' lifetime, including a detailed description of the Great Fire of London and its effects.

Poe, Edgar Allan: Hop-Frog; Or, the Eight Chained Ourang-Outangs

The titular Hop-Frog gets revenge on the king and his ministers for the mistreatment of his lover by convincing them to dress up as orangutans and freak out their guests. Funny joke! He covers them in pitch and flax to mimic fur, he chains them together, and ushers them into the party. Then he sets them on fucking fire.

Pratchett, Terry: I Shall Wear Midnight

It starts with whispers.

Then someone picks up a stone.

Finally, the fires begin.

When people turn on witches, the innocents suffer. . .

Tiffany Aching has spent years studying with senior witches, and now she is on her own. As the witch of the Chalk, she performs the bits of witchcraft that aren't sparkly, aren't fun, don't involve any kind of wand, and that people seldom ever hear about: She does the unglamorous work of caring for the needy.

But someone or something is igniting fear, inculcating dark thoughts and angry murmurs against witches. Aided by her tiny blue allies, the Wee Free Men, Tiffany must find the source of this unrest and defeat the evil at its root before it takes her life. Because if Tiffany falls, the whole Chalk falls with her.

Shakespeare, William: Romeo & Juliet

I personally think that all the pointless death and suffering in RaJ are work of Desolation. All possible things that could go wrong and result in death and destruction do.

Shelley, Mary: Frankenstein

Due to the Creature's repulsive appearance, he is denied any human kindness or connection. Even on the rare occasion when encounters someone who cannot see his hideousness, the people around him drive the Creature away. Embittered by this, he demands that his creator make him a partner. When Frankenstein refuses, the Creature responds by slowly destroying everyone he loves.

Shusterman, Neal: Full Tilt

Sixteen-year-old Blake and his younger brother, Quinn, are exact opposites. Blake is the responsible member of the family. He constantly has to keep an eye on the fearless Quinn, whose thrill-seeking sometimes goes too far. But the stakes get higher when Blake has to chase Quinn into a bizarre phantom carnival that traps its customers forever. In order to escape, Blake must survive seven deadly rides by dawn, each of which represents a deep, personal fear -- from a carousel of stampeding animals to a hall of mirrors that changes people into their deformed reflections. Blake ultimately has to face up to a horrible secret from his own past to save himself and his brother -- that is, if the carnival doesn't claim their souls first!

Snicket, Lemony: A Series of Unfortunate Events

Three kids lose their parents and home in a fire and get shuffled from horrible situation to horrible situation, suffering various misfortunes at the hands of arsonist villains and adults who, even at their most well-meaning, cannot or will not help them. They lose everyone and everything they care about except for each other, and ultimately are left to face the cruel world on their own.

Spark, Muriel: The Only Problem

So, in this novel, the main character, Harvey Gotham is a scholar focused on the titular Only Problem which is the problem of suffering. He studies the biblical story of Job to whom terrible needless suffering happened and in the course of the novel, Harvey's own life goes to shit. He becomes a Job-like figure to whom needless and pointless suffering is happening. To me, this sounds like Desolation's work needles suffering and pointless destruction of his peaceful life and people he loves separated from him and all this while he analyses the life of a different man who himself seems like a Desolation victim like a curse which is a Leitner's theme if I saw one.

Takami, Koushun: Battle Royale

Koushun Takami's notorious high-octane thriller is based on an irresistible premise: a class of junior high school students is taken to a deserted island where, as part of a ruthless authoritarian program, they are provided arms and forced to kill one another until only one survivor is left standing. Could be seen as Slaughter, but personally I think this pointless destruction of life involved in the plot works for Desolation as well.

Wells, H.G.: The War of the Worlds

earth is attacked by martians, who use highly advanced weapons - heat rays. here is a quote from the book:

"Then it was as if an invisible yet intensely heated finger were drawn through the heather between me and the Martians, and all along a curving line beyond the sand pits the dark ground smoked and crackled". and another one: "[the heat ray is] a generator of intense heat in a chamber of practically absolute non-conductivity. This intense heat they project in a parallel beam against any object they choose, by means of a polished parabolic mirror of unknown composition, much as the parabolic mirror of a lighthouse projects a beam of light."

the martians also capture people to drink their blood, and wreak all sorts of havoc on the local population

[hoursofreading]

In his first, jointly written article for the Crimson, Buttigieg urged his fellow students to view not only community service but also political engagement as a valuable form of extracurricular activity. Buttigieg himself had worked briefly in a shelter for battered women during the summer after his freshman year. But as was happening elsewhere, a rift was opening at Harvard between students committed to such work, or to tutoring students or volunteering at homeless shelters, on the one hand, and those committed to political action on the other. In the Crimson article Buttigieg expressed alarm at how few young people were voting, working in campaigns, or participating in demonstrations. “In a nation where a lifetime of honorable work in direct service could be wiped out by a single stroke of poor policy from an elected official or legislature, the absence of our generation’s voice from the political process is a hazardous reality for anyone committed to social progress, and a red flag for democracy itself.”

That commitment brought Buttigieg to my classes in his senior year. The course he took in the fall semester, Social Thought in Modern America, was described by the Crimson as “the toughest humanities class at the College, combining soul-crushingly dense and difficult material with a will-breaking workload.” In other words, it was a class for people like Pete, Previn Warren, their friend and fellow IOP stalwart Ilan Graff, and fifty-two other smart, intellectually ambitious students keen to study the relation between ideas and politics in post–Civil War U.S. history. Because the course involved a great deal of class discussion, and student demand exceeded the number of names I could learn—and I believe teachers should know their students—I limited enrollment. Instead of choosing the class by lottery, as many professors do in such circumstances, I preferred to decide who should enroll.

To inform my judgments, I required interested students to write an essay explaining why the course was important to their studies at Harvard and, if possible, to their plans afterward. I also required interested students to meet with me, after I had read their essays, to discuss their reasons in greater detail. Because the course involved three discussions a week—twice a week for half of the ninety-minute lecture meetings, and once in the smaller discussion sections run by graduate students—I wanted to know which students were willing to stay on top of the readings, write the required three essays, and prepare for midterm and final examinations that involved identifying passages from the readings as well as writing synthetic essays.

Tempting as it is to contest the Crimson’s characterization, the course was, and has remained, demanding. The readings in 2003, which averaged 250 pages a week, included works of philosophy, social and political theory, religion, literature, and cultural criticism. Writers included the usual suspects for a course in American intellectual history: William James, John Dewey, and W.E.B. Du Bois; William Graham Sumner, Edward Bellamy, and Louis Brandeis; Chief Joseph, Helen Hunt Jackson, and Black Elk; Elizabeth Cady Stanton, Charlotte Perkins Gilman, and Jane Addams; Gertrude Stein, T. S. Eliot, and Walter Lippmann; Reinhold Niebuhr, John Courtney Murray, and Martin Luther King, Jr.; Ralph Ellison, Langston Hughes, and Malcolm X; Clement Greenberg, Allen Ginsburg, and Betty Friedan; Samuel Huntington, Daniel Bell, and Irving Kristol; Judith Butler, Robert Putnam, and Kwame Anthony Appiah; and others. Students wrote essays on topics such as the impact of science on post–Civil War culture; the role of ethnic diversity and racial differences in shaping twentieth-century American politics and ideas; varieties of American feminist thought; and the relation between pragmatist philosophy and democracy. In short, the course was not intended for those who, in the words of New York Times columnist Ross Douthat (himself a survivor of the course), were looking to “skate through” Harvard.

[bellascarousel]

Let's play tag

Thanks @bridgerversemusings for tagging me. 😊

Last song: Too Young To Fall In Love by Motley Crue

I have a playlist I call "epic writing music" that also serves to help wake my ass up. It's a lot of 80's hair metal and things like it.

Fav colour: Purple or green.

Currently watching: Fellow Travelers, One Tree Hill, I've gotten addicted to the YouTube channel Lost In Adaptation

Last movie: Percy Jackson And The Lightning Thief. I had just finished reading the book and decided to rewatch the movie for... reasons...

Currently reading: Some Winter's Evening by Erin Langston.

If you haven't read either of Erin's books, and like Historical Romance (which, most of my followers are probably from Bridgerton, so...), I highly recommend them. I really do predict that she is going to be huge. I adore her writing and her characters so much.

Sweet/Savoury/Spicy: Depends on what we're talking about? All three for different things.

Relationship status: Divorced. Though, it's been so long it's almost ironic to even mention his existence anymore.

Current obsession: Fellow Travelers and Bridgerton

Last google: effects of caffeine, specifically why it is in Midol and Exedrine.

Currently working on: Finally getting back to writing Ruined after spending a long time concentrating on Let's Run Away Together. Trying to get my damn room cleaned and organized. Designing my own pages for a planner to try to get myself better organized. Separating out Bridgerton Season 2 into scenes so I can finally work on finishing the fanvid I started and work on the others I want to make.

Current game: Diggy's Adventure.

__________________________________________________

Tagging @elizmanderson @victoriacbooks And anyone else that wants to do it, because I am horrible at thinking of who to tag for these things.

[myriaed]

Emoji Starter Call

Comment with the corresponding emoji to get a starter from that muse! ( multi's please specify your muse too! )

CANON CHARACTERS (click to go to the muse page)

🐺 for a starter from JACKSON KENNER 🌙 for a starter from HAYLEY MARSHALL-KENNER 🌕 for a starter from CLAY DANVERS 🎧 for a starter from RHONDA HURLEY 🏈 for a starter from NOAH FLYNN 🤠 for a starter from GERI BROUSSARD ⛵ for a starter from FRANK ADLER 🩸 for a starter from ELIJAH MIKAELSON 🚬 for a starter from JAX TELLER 👼🏽 for a starter from HÊLÊL / HAEL MATTINO

ORIGINAL CHARACTERS (click to go to the muse page)

🌻 for a starter from AUSTYN LANE 🏄🏽‍♂️ for a starter from KAI HUDSON 🔆 for a starter from BEAU HUDSON 🍹 for a starter from CARMEN RIVERA 🎤 for a starter from CHEYENNE DUPONT 🍣 for a starter from ABEL RIGGINS 💠 for a starter from ZOE QUINN 🌊 for a starter from RUSH LANGSTON 👩🏼‍🌾 for a starter from EMBER FREEMAN 🎸 for a starter from KYLE SCOTT 👩🏻‍🏫 for a starter from GINA SILVA 📹 for a starter from JOHNNY GIORDANO 🔍 for a starter from SIMON COHEN 🏀 for a starter from OLIVER PORTER 🩺 for a starter from CELIA SANTOS

[ayshanagina]

Art and Poetry

Poetry and art, two seemingly distinct forms of expression, often intertwine in a mesmerizing dance of creativity. Each medium has its unique language, yet they share a common goal: to evoke emotion, provoke thought, and stir the soul. In this exploration, we delve into the harmonious relationship between poetry and art, uncovering the ways in which they complement and enrich each other.

At their core, both poetry and art are vehicles for storytelling. While poetry weaves narratives with words, art communicates through imagery, color, and form. Yet, when combined, they create a multi-dimensional experience that transcends the boundaries of language and perception.

Consider the works of renowned poets like William Blake and Sylvia Plath, whose words evoke vivid imagery and provoke profound emotional responses. Blake's illuminated manuscripts, adorned with his own illustrations, transform his poetry into visual masterpieces. Similarly, Plath's confessional poetry, coupled with her haunting sketches, offers a glimpse into the depths of her psyche, blurring the lines between word and image.

Likewise, visual artists often draw inspiration from poetry to inform their creative process. The Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood, for instance, sought to imbue their paintings with the lyrical qualities of poetry, embracing themes of love, nature, and spirituality. Through their intricate compositions and symbolic imagery, artists like Dante Gabriel Rossetti and John William Waterhouse brought to life the ethereal landscapes of Tennyson's "The Lady of Shalott" and Keats' "La Belle Dame sans Merci."

Beyond mere inspiration, poetry and art engage in a symbiotic dialogue, each influencing the other in profound ways. The abstract expressionists of the mid-20th century, such as Jackson Pollock and Willem de Kooning, drew upon the spontaneous rhythms and improvisational techniques of jazz poetry to inform their gestural painting styles. The result was a dynamic fusion of word and gesture, sound and color, creating a visceral experience for the viewer.

In the realm of ekphrastic poetry, writers respond to visual art with words, offering their own interpretations and insights. Through the poet's eyes, the static canvas comes alive with new meaning and narrative possibilities. Anne Sexton's "The Starry Night" and W.H. Auden's "Musée des Beaux Arts" are prime examples of how poetry breathes new life into iconic works of art, inviting readers to see them through a fresh lens.

Moreover, poetry and art serve as powerful tools for social commentary and cultural critique. From the protest poems of Langston Hughes to the politically charged canvases of Frida Kahlo, artists have long used their creative platforms to challenge the status quo and advocate for change. By blending word and image, poets and artists amplify their voices, sparking dialogue and fostering empathy in the face of injustice and oppression.

In essence, poetry and art are kindred spirits, bound by their shared quest for truth, beauty, and meaning. Whether separately or in tandem, they have the power to illuminate the human experience, transcending time and space to touch hearts and minds across generations. As we continue to explore the infinite possibilities of creative expression, let us celebrate the enduring legacy of poetry and art, forever entwined in the tapestry of human culture.

In the symphony of life, poetry and art are the melodies that echo through the corridors of our souls, resonating with the rhythm of our shared humanity.

And nothing unites art and poetry more than the mere feeling of melancholy, which is my most adored form of writing ;)

[aristocraticvision]

Chapter 321: In the Gardens (Pt. 1)

The afternoon sun shone brightly over Howerton House, where Weston’s upper class gathered each year for what had become one of the highlights of the social season.

Langston Crawford, the Tenth Earl of Howerton, stood next to his wife, Gabriella, as they chatted with their sovereign, Prince Stephen, and Princess Jessica.

“I wish my father could have been here today,” Langston said. “Our annual garden party was one of his favorite events, and I’m sure he would have been honored to have you here, your royal highness.”

“Nonsense,” Stephen replied. “The honor is mine. Your father was a dear friend and trusted advisor, and his passing was a blow to all of Weston. Not that you haven’t lived up to his standard, Langston – from what I hear, you have become a real force in the National Assembly, just as he was.”

“Thank you, your royal highness,” Langston replied, smiling. “I hope you and her highness enjoy yourselves this afternoon.”

Nearby, Michael and Ted stood with Fred and a nervous Brent, who impatiently waited for his girlfriend, Sarah Parker to arrive with her parents.

“Calm down, Brent,” Ted said. “Everything is going to be fine.”

Brent took a deep breath.

“I know,” he said. “I’m sorry. I’m just ready to get this over with.”

“You’re not the only one,” Freddy said, rolling his eyes.

“So what about you?” Brent asked Ted. “Is Jackson coming today?”

“No, we’re trying to keep a low profile,” Ted said. “His family isn’t as open minded as mine, so we have to be ….”

“There she is!” Brent exclaimed, launching himself toward Sarah and her parents as they stood chatting with the Howertons.

The others watched as he bowed formally to Edward Parker, the Viscount Finchley, and his wife, Lady Madeline, then kissed Sarah’s hand tenderly.

“You know, they really are a perfect match,” Fred said. “They’re both quintessential aristocrats when it comes down to it.”

“He definitely has the manners for it,” Ted said, grinning. “But I’m not going to complain. I’d never have made it through my first season without him.”

“True,” Michael said. “His knowledge of protocol is flawless, but … hold on, who is THAT?”

Ted and Fred followed Michael’s eyes to a striking young woman across the park.

“That, my friend, is Lady Helena Reynolds, the Baroness Wexton,” Fred said.

CHAPTER 1 | BEGINNING OF PART 4 | PREV | NEXT

Continent of Oceana | History of Weston | History of Corwyn | History of Torenth | History of Allycia

[spookykestrel]

hi ! i am. going to take a very long qhile answering your favourite poems ask :] but thank u !!!

what are yours, if you have any?

hopin yr week was lovely as well 🕷

Take as long as you need or don’t answer it at all if you don’t have the time too you just have good taste in poems :]

I have so many poems I liek with my favorite being the world is about to end and my grandparents are in love by kara jackson.

for sad/or more serious poems: poem by langston hughes is very good and important too. i recently found this poem called backwards by warsan shire it absolutely tears me to pieces. for henry, who has just gone is one i recently read on tumblr. what i got by silas denver melvin (@/sweatermuppet, also read on tumblr)

for happier poems: oranges by gary soto is a classic. fog by carl sanburg has held a spot in my heart for years it was the first poem i ever considered my favorite. happiness by raymond carver.

also if you haven't read anything by chen chen he has some wonderful poems and kara jackson is also a musician and you should check out some of her music :]

[flightypiscean]

(Continuation)

Someone said Dave East is the sexiest man alive. What!?!?! Don't get me wrong. He's not ugly, but sexiest!?!? I was immediately inspired to create MY list of 100 men who are just as sexy, if not sexier, than Dave East.

41.) Langston Kerman

42.) Y'lan Noel

43.) Mike Colter

44.) Duane Martin

45.) Mel Jackson

46.) Berto Colon

47.) Justin Marcel McManus

48.) Leon

49.) Lil Scrappy

50.) Stevie J

[stcascadia-rpg]

“Earlier today, St. Cascadia experienced abnormal weather phenomena that can be attributed to a potential earthquake. The severity and duration of such an event, if it is to come to fruition, is unknown as predicting earthquakes is not an exact science. For best measure, the Mayor is enacting an evacuation to various safe zones throughout the city.

I repeat.

The Mayor is enacting a city wide evacuation to the safe zones on the screen. In order to keep yourself and that of your loved ones safe, proceed to the safe zones as soon as pos—”

The screen fizzles out on the T.V. as it loses signal, you feel the slightest of rumbles underneath your feet. Taking note of the safe zones, you hastily make your way through the city to the closest one. As you get to safety, you feel it. A violent and abrupt shaking of the ground that seemed to last for ages, causing you and the others your safe zone to stumble; the dust from the room crumbling coating everyone and debris falling– sounds of screams and sirens can be heard. No inch of St. Cascadia was unaffected.

The safe zones seemed to keep you somewhat safe as the shaking stopped, only some people faced injuries... but it seemed there’s no leaving your zone until help arrives.

Who’s safer? Those outside the zones, or you with the people you’re trapped with?

Zone 1 (p; zone1): 

Austen Sommers

Charlotte Bell

Damien Cabello

Eleanor Cabello

Enzo Huxley

Harrison Beckett

Kayden Jackson

Marcus Gallagher

Matthew O’Connor

Ryan Vincent

Sebastian Ainsworth

Zone 2 (p; zone2):

Andromeda Cabello

Benji Evans

Delia Barnes

Drake Vincent

Everly Sommers

Hugo Diaz

Julian Reese

Juniper Tate

Natalia Flores

Peter Cabello

Sid Huxley

Zone 3 (p; zone3):

Carmen Mueller

Chandler Fitzgerald

Cora Gallagher

Eli Davidson

Flynn Halloway

Isla Harper

Judas Langley

Lola DeRavin

Simon Devereaux

Wyatt Langston

Zone 4 (p; zone4):

August Parsons

Derek Monaghan

Georgiana Devereaux

Hadley Granger

Leonardo Schuyler

Lux Gallagher

Morrigan Urie

Nicolas Cabello

Ramona Vincent

Rosie Harlow

Zone 5 (p; zone5):

Carter Cabello

Casey Reese

Deanna Mills

Fiora Diaz

Kendra Templeton

Madyson Beckett

Oliver Vincent

Pandora Harlow

Thomas Wright

~Good Luck...