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parkhyunwriter · 4 years ago

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Setting Your Story, The Basics.

Setting your story is an important part of any piece of writing. Establishing your stories world settings and "rules" is a crucial element to beginning your writing. Often, writers pay lots of attention to their stories characters, arcs, dilemmas, etc. but many forget how important properly setting your story is.

Writing the first draft doesn't usually require you to figure out your story worlds settings, so writing the first draft without any of your settings figured out yet is completely fine. You just need to understand that before you start your good copy, as well as your plot and characters' backstories, the setting must always be established beforehand.

Why is it important to establish a proper or basic world setting before continuing my writing?

Well, think of it this way, can your characters backstory, arcs, traits, etc. be affected or influenced by your story world's setting? The answer is yes. Can your stories world be affected by its societies settings and rules? Again, the answer is yes. Your story worlds settings can and will always affect your story's plot, characters, society, etc. So understanding how to properly establish a setting before continuing to write is extremely important.

What are the basic elements to establishing a setting?

Location: where is your story set? is it in a country where the cultures are vastly different from your own? is it in outer space? is it in another universe? is it in a little cabin in the forest? Before anything, you must establish a (or multiple) set places where your story will begin/end. The location of your setting can be a familiar place for your characters, it could be a completely different world than what your characters have experienced. When doing this, you must always remember, do your research!! I cannot stress this enough, if you're setting your stories location in a completely different country that you've never been to, you're going to need to do research, you must at least understand the basic concepts of the culture you're setting your story in. For example, if you are setting the location in Japan, you should at least understand the basics of how one wouldl acceptably act in public in Japan.

Population: this element is one of the more important ones to consider when coming up with your story setting. The population of the location your characters reside in or where many of your scenes take place need to be considered when you're writing certain parts of your story. For example, a densely populated area in your story might lead to a group of your characters continuously bumping into other people on the sidewalk (somewhere like NYC) or a much smaller, calmer town that may make one your characters feel lonely. Both the population and location of your stories setting are extremely important as they are outside factors that can influence the plot/character/arc easily.

Year: setting your stories timeline is extremely important! if the story is set in the 1800s but your characters use slang from the 20th century (when they've never been to that century), then your story won't make sense. You need to establish what year(s) your story will be happening in, if the plot is set in the future (i.e; 2045) then you have complete creative control in making up how people/society in that era would act. But if your story is set in the 20th century, then you'll need to at least follow the basic concepts of that era (slang, clothing, society, stereotypes, etc.)

Time skips/Elapsed time: showing/describing how your stories timeline has progressed and how much time has passed is extremely important. When the reader can follow along with the plot and still understand how many mins, days, hours, months, etc. have passed in your storyline then you can be considered successful. When a reader can't understand, for example, that months have passed since two characters last spoke and you're writing the scene with the description that the two characters have missed each other dearly, then the reader is going to be confused. You need to establish the passing of time in a storyline, whether it be through simply writing '6 years later' or by describing how long its been through character dialogue, you must make sure the reader can follow along.

Atmosphere and Climate: your characters and scene can be influenced by their surroundings as well. Weather/temperature, lighting, geography, climate, all these outside factors can have an effect on what actions your characters may take (i.e; rainy weather makes your character run through the rain to get home). You need to make sure the world around your character makes sense and affects the stories setting in a reasonable manner.

Man-made surroundings: our world is both influenced by natural and man-made geography. Things like streetlamps, damns, sidewalks, well-kept bushes, etc. are all different examples of small things that show proof of humankind along with the world's natural geography. When setting your stories world, especially if it's a completely new world you've built that's not similar to our Earth, you need to make sure you show proof of existence in your stories world geography. By doing this you're showing proof of a species' existence and its influences on the world around it.

History/Eras: things like important events throughout history and how different eras influenced the future is very important in your stories setting. This doesn't necessarily have to include our histories events, they can even be made up events and wars that took place in the history of your stories world. This element is not the MOST important when you're creating a story setting but it definitely one that should be considered and properly constructed if used.

Social/Cultural environment: this is the last but one of the most important elements to consider in a story setting. Your settings social and cultural environment will and can greatly affect your plot, this is because the social environment of a story influences character values, social roles, sensibilities, stereotypes, etc. and these concepts may have different impacts on both the plot and how different characters may act. For example, if there was a harmful stereotype that affected your character's values and beliefs in your setting how could this influence your character throughout their life? Would they educate themself on these negative beliefs? Would they harm others because of these values?

These elements are only the main basic concepts that should be considered when you're worldbuilding/coming up with a story setting. There are many other elements that can influence your storyline and writing out there.

Asks/submissions are open!

-parkhyun

#writing #writing tips #writing help #writing advice #creative writing #parkhyunwriter #writing resources #how to write

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mycatshuman · 4 years ago

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Fright Night But Make it Gay

Chapter 2 : Human Is Too Pretty It's Illegal

First/Previous | Next | More

Pairings: Prinxiety, Intrological, Moceit

Warnings: panic attacks, let me know if I missed any

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Virgil had existed for a long time. Existed. Not lived. He wasn't alive. But he also wasn't necessarily dead either. He just kind of was. And his being had been in existence for a while. So there really wasn't a lot that surprised him anymore. He had been all around the world. More than twice. He had experienced nearly everything the world had to offer. It's cultures, environments, it's people. He had a few lovers and acquaintances here and there, but for the most part, he was alone. All on his own.

Along with being not quite dead or alive, Virgil was also immortal. Humans called what he was many things, the most simple definition was a vampire. Because of this, he had to move often to keep suspicion off of him. He didn't want any unwanted attention. He just wasn't that kind of person.

Luckily, as the world progressed into the 21st Century and touch screen phones came into existence, people became more eqngrossed in their phones and less and less concerned themselves with the business of their neighbors. It made it a lot easier for Virgil to live in a place without people noticing his lack of aging. Of course there was the occasional Karen who couldn't learn how to mind their own business but for the most part, Virgil was able to live comfortably in one place for more than five years. Lessing moving was good for him. He wasn't all too comfortable with things changing all the time.

As of late, existence for Virgil had become kind of boring. Things didn't really cchange.it was too much of the same things day in and day out. Sure there were small differences from day to day but things had become kind of dull. He had been alone for a while, deciding to take a break from people and isolate himself for a few years on top of a mountain. But now, Virgil actually found himself missing a little adventure. Interacting with people online was nice but sometimes he craved a cuddle. Was that too much to ask?

So, he decided it was time to enter the physical human world again. Virgil could never have guessed that the adventure he was so craving would come in the form of a hot as hell theater human living next door to his newest house.

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Virgil randomly picked an area on the globe for him to move to before picking another random area on a map of that area. He repeated these steps until he had a nice little college town. After that, he worked on renting some storage and a hotel room in the town until he was able to find a suitable home in the market. He almost considered going through college again until deciding it was not for him. He was only just starting to fully immerse himself on the public again, he needed time to readjust. Maybe in a year or so he would be ready.

Surprisingly, it didn't take Virgil long to find a suitable house that he could move into. It was a nice old Victorian house. And it was relatively close to the college so if he did ultimately decide that he would go in for another degree, it wouldn't be a long commute for him. He quickly purchased the house and set up a date for the move.

Virgil moved into his new home on a stormy weekend in early September. It was in a relatively small neighborhood near the college he had been looking at. He had played for a moving company to move his things from the storage unit he had rented and into his new house. He did feel a little bad for making the movers work in rain for the better part of the day but he knew that if he moved on a sunny day, he would forget to reapply sunscreen every hour and he didn't know how to explain to people he was supervising that he was a vampire and burned easily. He also wasn't really in the mood to get a severe sunburn anytime soon. But he had paid them fairly well and bought them pizza for their drive, so he only hoped that made up for moving things in the rain.

As they drove away, he was able to truly appreciate his new home. I think I'm going to like it here.

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It had only been a few days since he moved into his home. Unlike normal people, he didn't spend any time unpacking anything aside from the essentials. He just sat. Moving took a lot out of him. Even if he wasn't the one moving everything, it still took its toll on him. Talking to strangers, having them move his things, the anxiety with just that alone would wear out his social battery for a day. But the worst part of the entire moving process was the adjustment. Virgil had to take two whole days just getting used to the noises and movements of his new home and neighbors. He had to actively adjust to the new environment otherwise he would be woken up because of some noise that scared the hell out of him and threw him into a panic attack only to find out that it was just somebody opening their mailbox or something. (Virgil had learned his lesson from the last time it happened.)

But by the end of the first two days, Virgil was comfortable enough to begin unpacking and organizing. And by the time a week had passed, Virgil could say he had settled into the environment nicely. He was comfortable and things seemed to be going well, no one had come to bother him. There wasn't a mob outside gunning for his head. Things were good.

Then it happened.

Virgil was just bringing in some blood bags from the vamp market, minding his own business when he suddenly heard someone screaming about a vampire next door. Immediately, Virgil dropped his cargo and slammed his backdoor shut before pushing himself flat against the wall. He froze in fear as he heard the yelling again. It sounded from behind him. Oh my Selene! Did they see me?!?! Did they see the bags?!?! Are they coming for me?! No! No! No!

Whoever had yelled, however, did not come banging on his door with a torch and pitchfork. Virgil listened intently and picked up on faint, tired sounding voices as someone told whoever had yelled that it was just a dream and to go to sleep.

Virgil let out a sigh. He wasn't completely in the clear. He still didn't know if they actually saw him or not. But he also wasn't in immediate danger either. He leaned down slowly to pick up his box of blood bags so he could put them away. He would be on high alert for the next month. At least until he was sure that it was indeed just a dream. Although, he had to recognize that the supposed dream was oddly specific. He couldn't just blame it on coincidence. That could cost him greatly.

He also couldn't help but wonder how his neighbor would react if they found out he was an actual vampire. The thought terrified him. Images of horrible deaths that could be inflicted on him flashed rapidly through his head. If only he knew how opposite the reaction would be to what his anxiety riddled brain told him would happen.

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The next morning, Virgil went about his business while keeping an ear on his neighbors house. He faintly heard them talking about vampires again. Most of them didn't believe the other guy. (Thankfully) But then Virgil heard the guy say that the vampire was going to bite him and then they were going to get married. Virgil froze. What the fuck?

Virgil got lost in his thoughts after that only to startled out of it when he heard a knock at the door. Virgil frowned and moved to the door and peeked out only to nearly have a heart attack. Oh no! He's hot! Slowly, he worked up an ounce of courage and opened the door. "Yes?" He asked quietly.

"Um, Hello. I'm Roman Belmonte and I just wanted to welcome you to the neighborhood with some homemade cookies."

Virgil eyed Roman suspiciously. "Mm." Roman learned forward a little and Virgil shrunk back a little.

"Oh, who am I kidding," Roman exclaimed. "These aren't homemade cookies, they're just store-bought." A chuckle. "I was just trying to impress you, I caught a glimpse of you when you moved in and well, what can i say, you're gorgeous." And then he had the audacity to flash Virgil a flirtatious smile.

On the inside, Virgil was shouting "No! Stop! I'm already gay!" But on the outside, Virgil somehow kept his composure. He snorted. "I don't know, I mean you're hot as hell but then I found out that you didn't even make me homemade cookies and I don't know if I'm willing to date a guy who won't even put in the effort to make homemade cookies. What, are your kisses gonna be store bought too?" Virgil opened the door more and motioned for Roman to come in.

Roman's jaw dropped. Score one for Virgil! Then he licked his lips. "A date? I don't remember mentioning anything about a date...but if you're offering."

Screw you and your handsome face! Virgil snorted. "Princey, Princey, Princey, so naive," He said, in an effort to keep his composure. "You're going to have to do more than flirt with me to get a date with me."

Roman raised an eyebrow. "Is that a challenge?"

Virgil grinned. "Sure, pretty boy."

"Be prepared to go on a date with me," Roman said with a grin. Virgil rolled his eyes as Roman handed him the cookies. "I know they're just store bought but they're still good."

Virgil watched as the other turned to leave and frowned. "Wait." He waited until Roman was facing him again. "You don't even want to know my name?" He asked. "That's going into the cons." He was only teasing. And the flush that spread across Roman's face was worth it.

"I-well-uh, what's your name?"

Virgil smirked. "Virgil. Good luck in that challenge, Princey." He watched Roman leave with a smirk before closing the door and burying his face in the cookies and let out a high pitched squeal. "Oh my Selene! How did I do that?!?!?"

Virgil leaned back and slid down the back of his front door. He sighed somewhat dreamily. "I have never, in all my years upon this earth, been flirted with like that." Virgil stared at the boxes scattered around the foyer. "Wow," he breathed. Long had he forgotten about the fact that his next door neighbor suspected he was a vampire. He was too busy in his gay panic. He had been flirted with. It was going to take him a bit to recover from that being the gay mess that he is. Little did he know the other was in the same boat.

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Virgil stared at his phone in utter horror. "What…Roman are you there?" He already knew he wasn't. He had heard the line go dead. What's going on? What is Roman's family doing? It took Virgil a few more seconds for things to fully register. What if they had found out what Virgil was!?!? Virgil jumped up and quickly tried to figure out where Roman was. As soon as he figured out, he was out the door.

Only to come back in and get his car keys. It was daylight out and he couldn't very well run without risking getting spotted. Plus, he was too worried about his boyfriend to put sunscreen on. Virgil quickly climbed into his car, a nice '67 Chevy Impala, and started the engine and set his GPS to Roman's location. He was really lucky that Remus had forgotten to check to see if Roman's location was on.

"Don't worry, Ro. I'm coming. I'm your Prince Charming this time."

🎃🕸👻💀🕷🎃🕸👻💀🕷🎃🕸👻💀🕷🎃🕸👻

FNBMIG: @lehuka123

Everything: @misery-killed-me @superwholocked-for-life @mirror2thespirit @aroundofapplesauce @lyditist @little-euro-girl @unicornofdarknessstuff @maryann-draws @odette-ssbu

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smokeybrandreviews · 3 years ago

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Smokey brand Retrospective: Red Pill Me

Cinemacon has passed and there has been a lot of awesome sh*t revealed. On the top of that list, obviously, Spider-Man: Far From Home has me geeked to high heaven but there were a ton of other noteworthy reveals. There was some Batman reveals, a few Mission Impossible 7 and Top Gun 2 trailers, plus audiences ever got a surprise screening of Ghostbusters: Afterlife. Now, that would be great on it's own but cats even got a little sizzle real for Matrix Resurrections: The long gestating fourth Matrix film. Apparently, this thing is releasing in December. I am lukewarm at best. I have fond memories of the Matrix trilogy as a whole but, since it’s final release some twenty years ago, the Wachowskis have been revealed to be one trick ponies. They kind of suck at film making. I mean, i liked Speed Racer but i just generally enjoy Speed Racer. It helped tremendously that Christina Ricci was Trixie, too, but everything after that was kind of balls. I also really like V for Vendetta but that’s not real their movie, they just adapted it. I guess you can say that about Speed Racer, too. Anyway, in light of there near Shyamalan-esque track record with their films, i wanted to revisit the first three Matrix films and see if they hold up, to try and muster some sense of excitement for what comes next.

The Matrix

Of the trilogy, this is easily the best film. Everything about it is exceptional. The Matrix was a whole ass shift in the cultural zeitgeist. It was a lot of people’s first experience with accessible cyberpunk and I'll always love it for that. I’ll also love it for normalizing Hong Kong style action sequences and giving us the most breathtaking application of Bullet Time I've seen to date. The Matrix s why the theater exists. If you’ve never seen this thing on the big screen, you missed out on something very special. I had just just turned thirteen when it released and checked it out at the dollar theater. I had only ever seen anything like this, in anime. Seeing all of my favorite Eighties OVAs filtered through the big budget Hollywood lens was incredible. I even like the rather pedestrian narrative. I think the story worked for what the movie was trying to do. It’s a shame the Wachowskis have tried to rewrite history about the narrative as of late. I understand the underlying themes of identity and sexuality but come on? That’s some college film theory bullsh*t that got tacked on after the fact. Now, if the original script is to be believed, then, yes, all of that, but what we got is not so profound. This is a basic Chosen One narrative with Dope ass effects that were ahead of it’s time.

A fr as the cast, what can i say? These motherf*ckers were perfect. Keanu Reeves as Neo was inspired. It’s wild to say that because dude is a plank but it works. He’s the POV character, he’s who you see that world through. Making him a blank slate so to speak, helps with immersion and that is a world you definitely wan to be immersed within. This was my first experience with Carrie-Ann Moss and I've loved her ever since. Her Trinity fast became one of my favorite characters and I'm actually pretty excited to see where she is in the new film. Lawrence Fishburne as Morpheus was an interesting choice. I wasn’t mad and it worked perfectly but it was weird seeing him in such an active, action oriented, role. That said, for me, this movie is made by Hugo Weaving. He is absolutely monstrous as Agent Smith. He’s got this scene chewing energy that mirrors Christoph Waltz’s Hans Landa and we all know how much i love that Nazi f*ck so that’s really high praise. To this day, I've got his Humanity is a Virus speech memorized. It was just that f*cking good! The Matrix is an exquisite watch and it is absolutely mandatory viewing if you consider yourself a fan of cinema.

The Matrix Reloaded

Whoo, boy, talk about a drop in quality. Reloaded released four years later in 2003 and it screams Studio Mandate. I was a sprightly eighteen years old when this thing dropped and made it a point to see it opening day. I really enjoyed the first outing so i figured this one would be just as amazing. Indeed, i remember leaving the theater thinking to myself how decent of a sequel it turned out to be. It wasn’t better than the first but it didn’t sh*t the bed like most follow-ups do. Fast forward to present day and, after watching this thing again for the first time in probably fifteen years, it’s kind of f*cking bad. Like, as a cinematic experience, it’s pretty tight Everything is amped up. Tons more action, way more bombastic set pieces, stakes have been raised considerably; The Matrix Reloaded is everything you want in a summer blockbuster sequel. However, that’s it. Everything else is worse. The acting has become way too hammy and the new cast members fit into this narrative like a square peg in a round hole. Why is f*cking Niobe even in this thing? Who even is the Merovingian? Why is Mouse? The pacing is all over the place, too. Like, this thing stops dead in it’s tracks on several occasions but that’s not the worst of it.

The worst thing is the narrative. What the f*ck even is the story trying to be told in this movie? It doesn’t make any f*cking sense. The Matrix was, very obviously, a standalone film. That was a closed narrative. Neo’s story had been told. Everything after that is unnecessary. This movie is an exercise in the unnecessary. I appreciate all of how unchained and manic Smith is in this but, outside of that, what the f*ck was the point of this whole narrative? It’s filler. This movie is filler and it feels like it. The returning cast is serviceable and seeing Zion was interesting. I like how all the survivors are just sweaty black people. I literally hated everyone added to the cast though. Well, that’s not quite true. I rather enjoyed Collin Chou as Seraph. Dude was inconsequential but i love seeing Asian martial artists not name Li or Chan getting some shine. Also, Monica Bellucci is in this and i kind of just love her in general. Her Persephone is absolutely disposable but she looks damn fine in that plastic wrapped dress of hers. I literally can’t be bothered mentioning anyone else. They are that forgettable. This movie is that forgettable. And it’s arguably the best of the two sequels.

The Matrix Revolutions

Talk about going out with a thud. Man, i saw this with my best friend, rest in peace B, and we both hated it. He was an even bigger fan of The Matrix than i was so his disappointment was palpable. I’ll never forget his visceral reaction when that rainbow spread across the super happy Hollywood ending. Dude was hot and he had every right to be. The first Matrix set up this intriguing, immersive, world full of fanatic visuals, great piratical stunts, and a very through provoking premise. The second Matrix was your basic Hollywood sequel; More shine, less substance. But Revolutions? Man this is peak Wachowski fail. You saw hints of this messiah sh*t in the first, it’s literally a Chosen One narrative, but thy went all in on that sh*t in Reloaded. By the time Revolutions finished, this whole narrative was so far up it’s own ass, it didn’t know which way was up. It just f*cking ends. Everyone is dead and it’s over. The Wachowskis went heavy on the Jesus imagery, they were not subtle, and the f*cking conflict just ends. Robot don’t stop using people as batteries. Flesh and blood Humans still have to live in Zion. The only thing that’s changed is Neo’s dead and Agent Smith has been deleted. That’s it. The Matrix still exists, people are still trapped in it, and everything that happened in these films doesn’t f*cking matter. Literally right back at the start of the whole goddamn conflict. Revolutions is so f*cking disappointing, dude, by every measure of that metric.

Hugh Weaving is still pretty good as Smith and Keanu does his best imitation of white bread as Neo but, like, everything else is just so pedestrian. Plus, this thing is long. Like, unreasonably so. Why the f*ck is this movie two hours? The entire trilogy is kind of like that but it’s most egregious in this one. This story could be told in ninety minutes, just like Reloaded. Why the f*ck do i have an extra half hour of bullsh*t in this? Like, that whole “Neo Lost” arc was unnecessary, in both sequels. F*cking why? I don’t hate Revolutions. It’s not a “bad” film per say, it’s just disappointing. It’s the poster child for the law of diminishing returns. The Matrix Revolutions is the what happens when you let creatives with fresh egos, run amok with one hundred and fifty million f*cking dollars. So much spectacle but even less substance that Reloaded and that motherf*cker was a hollow mess. Still, The Matrix Revolutions is better than anything Michael Bay or Zack Snyder has ever made so i guess it’s got that going for it.

#The Matrix #The Matrix Reloaded #The Matrix Revolutions #The Matrix Trilogy #Smokey brand Retrospective #Keeanu Reeves #Carrie-Anne Moss #Hugo Weaving #Lawrence Fishburne

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sallytheseamstress · 4 years ago

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HAPPIESTPLACEHQ Task 2 - Sally Finkelstein

Playlist you feel best describes your character

Touch In Mine (fingers) - Esperanza Spalding “Touching surfaces every day Feeling no spark of tenderness within” Sally is a very sensitive person, both physically and emotionally: loud sounds, bright lights, strong smells can overwhelm her easily, as well as angry words and open displays of aggression. That is partly why she keeps to herself, to her routines, to her little comfortable bubble; but as she has become older, Sally finds that this existence is now wearing her down, and has come to realize that, even with the friendship of Jack (who is so often locked up in his own world as well) and Zero (who, much like her, keeps to himself), she craves affection and love that, so far, hasn’t experienced neither from family nor friends.

Like Someone In Love - Björk “Each time I look at you, I'm limp as a glove And feeling like someone in love” Just a little love song that very accurately depicts Sally’s sort of clumsiness towards her own feelings, and how she feels she could express them towards a loved one. It is a beautiful, if rather awkward, way to feel for her, one that sticks to her mind and heart and colors her world, filling her with conflicting emotions -giddiness of being lovestruck, fear of being found out, sadness at the inevitability of vulnerability, hopefulness at the chance of being requited.

Your Woman - White Town “Now I know your heart, I know your mind You don't even know you're being unkind So much for all your highbrow Marxist ways Just use me up and then you walk away Boy, you can't play me that way” Even though this is a break up song between a romantic couple, this could very well reflect Sally and her father’s codependent relationship. With no family beyond him, no other place to go and with her low-paying job, Sally is basically dependent on her father for everything; and, similarly, her father, being in a wheelchair and stubbornly determined on never leaving Redwood Hollow, depends on Sally for everything he cannot do himself. Sally does recognize her father’s brilliant mind, his cultured thoughts, his well-read expertise and knowledge, but even though he spouts a philosophy of mutual aid, of small-town solidarity and community that he passed down to his daughter, Sally knows deep down this is pure bull -when he himself seems to regard her as a slave, something he owns and is in his right to mistreat, withholding any sort of affection or praise or kindness, treating her more like a robot than as a child.

Glory Box - Portishead “Sow a little tenderness No matter if you cry Give me a reason to love you Give me a reason to be a woman I just wanna be a woman” Going back to the first song, what Sally wants most is affection, and that means vulnerability both from her part and from whom the affection comes from. Since she was very little she has learned to keep her emotions in check, not asking for much, never be a nuisance. This has also led to her feeling somehow disconnected from her own self, from her gender and age, as well as from society at large. Now that she has arrived to her thirties, Sally feels like she needs to break out of this subservient position she has been chained to, and that means, in part, reclaiming her own self as a person with autonomy, as someone capable of and deserving of love, and as a woman with the capacity to socialize with others, to be nurturing, to be affectionate; and, as well, partly resenting her status as a woman as someone who needs to fulfill that nurturing role, to provide for her father, to cook and clean and do the domestic chores.

Sounds Of Blue - Morcheeba “A sort of stoned silence Sat on that boat floating out The waters left me open All my emotions fog my lenses” Despite acknowledging her own sensitiveness, Sally isn’t very good with emotions; she knows the basics of comforting, to leave her shoulder free for someone else to cry on, to be available and listen to someone in need; but she is awful at managing her own frustrations and despair, choosing instead to bottle it all. Sometimes, it can feel almost asphyxiating, to be so full with words she can’t pronounce, with nowhere to pour them. This often makes Sally feel even more alone, like a boat in the middle of the ocean. As she grows older, though, she has begun to try her best and be mindful of what she feels; instead of simply allowing the emotions to overwhelm her, Sally tries to question them, to dive deeper and find the root cause, even if that means giving in and having to have a good long cry about it.

Walking In The Rain - The Ronettes “When he's near me, I'll kiss him And when he leaves me, woah, oh, oh, I'll miss him Though sometimes we'll fight, I won't really care And I'll know it's gonna be alright 'cause we've got so much we share” Sally would like to think of herself as the practical sort; but, of course, this doesn’t mean she has a romantic side as well. Being raised by her father, homeschooled, with no distraction beyond books and constantly monitored TV watching, she grew up during her teens with a strong idea of what true love is like: it is instant, it is irresistible, it is everlasting, it is passionate, it is destined... As an adult, she knows this isn’t realistic at all (especially having witnessed, from a distance, the romantic troubles of the rest of the town); but a part of her still wishes she could be whisked away by a prince, somewhere far away, to an idyllic world of tenderness and freedom.

Good Morning Heartache - Billie Holiday “Stop haunting me now Can't shake you, no how Just leave me alone I've got those Monday blues Straight through Sunday blues” Kind of a byproduct of her buried-deep-down idealizations of love, and her repressed emotions and expectations, the weight of Sally’s loneliness can sometimes pull her down to periods of depression. As a full-time worker, both as her father’s caretaker and in her work at Jack’s Attic and in the Community Events Committee, Sally often has to put on a happy face to deal with the daily grind; but, once she has some time alone, she either tries to keep herself distracted, or gives in to that despair for as long as she can allow herself to.

Les Fleurs - Minnie Riperton “For all of these simple things and much more, a flower was born It blooms to spread love and joy, faith and hope to people forlorn” Most of all, Sally feels most comfortable in nature: as at home as she is in her own house, it also feels, increasingly so, as a place of repression, lack of change, and constant surveillance. Nature, especially Redwood Park and the surrounding woodland, feels to Sally as the place where change is required, where it is most clear, where it is most, well, natural. Whether it is a rainy day with the air thick with humidity and the tension of a coming thunderstorm, a sunny afternoon having a small picnic at the shade of a tree in full bloom, or a lovely, glittering snow morning, snowflakes falling quietly and magically from a cotton-clouded sky, Sally loves it when she can be outside, forget about her responsabilities and duties, and focus on the sensation of the world, the real world, around her.

Day Dreaming - Aretha Franklin “He's the kind of guy that would say Hey, baby, let's get away Let's go some place, huh Where I don't care” This is also a continuation of her own ongoing matureness and acknowledging of how she tends to idealize the idea of love. Sally tries her best to reject her old teenage conception of a prince coming to sweep her off her feet, but at the same time, especially when she can allow herself some time to doze off and daydream, she still nurses that little hope that, whoever it is that will come along and give her the affection she wants so bad, will wish, just as she does, to explore the world beyond Redwood -it doesn’t matter where, since they would be together, mutually helping each other in their struggles, loving and trusting each other, and that would be everything they would need.

Please Don’t Make Me Cry - Lianne La Havas “I'll try to let it go, my fingers are crossed I show you my pretty scars, they make us whatever we are” Sally knows fully well that she comes with a good deal of issues, and that’s what scares her most when considering pursuing a romantic relationship. She is, however, aware enough of her traumas that she feels she could be honest about it -of course, as long as she manages to not let herself be drowned by them. Honesty is a very important quality for her. The only problem, then, is that while Sally truly wants to confess just how much she feels what has happened to her, she is still afraid to intimidate someone else, to be seen as “high-maintenance”, as someone hard to love. Once more, while love is her goal, vulnerability is her greatest fear.

#sally finkelstein #happiestplacetask #happiestplacetask2 #. HEADCANONS { try as i may it doesn’t last }#. TUNES { i sense there’s something in the wind }

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achaoticeternal · 4 years ago

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BACK TO YOU

PETER PARKER X POC!READER masterlist // taglist

Request: anon - “76 and 80 with Peter Parker and T’challa Sister Reader”

Summary: When you look back on it, life before the Snap was simpler and nearly perfect. You had family, purpose, and a sense of home. Now you have to search for that purpose and home again. Word Count: 1.8k A/N: This is my first work where the reader is explicitly intended to be POC/ BIPOC. I thoroughly enjoyed writing this and I hope that I did the reader proper justice. I researched to make sure I avoided anything sensitive or touchy. If I have missed something or need to further look into something, please correct me and let me know. Warnings: Angst, Death, Loss

You remember life before the Snap all too well. The prosperity of Wakanda, exploring the outside world, meeting people from all walks of life - it was simply astonishing.

You remembered sitting with the tribal council to talk about starting the Outreach Program. Wakanda would continue to disguise itself as a third-world country that refused aid from the Western cultures, while also reaching out to the nations in need throughout Africa. The hopes of welcoming in the rest of the world sat not only of your shoulders but T’Challa’s and Shuri’s as well. That hope had existed in your father too, until the bombing of the UN Meeting.

You remember traveling with your siblings to America to visit the Avenger’s Compound. While Shuri was excited to see what science America and Tony Stark offered, you were just excited to meet people from all walks of life. You had read and watched so much from your research about the States, but now you could finally experience it.

As a guest of Tony Stark, your stay was just as lavish as your life at home. You didn’t know where to start with your exploration and studies that you needed to gather in order to consult with the Council upon your return to Wakanda. Yet, that’s when you met him. Peter Parker - a regular boy from New York City who also happened to be an Avenger. He was your sister’s age and just as creative and inventive as Shuri. The pair of them became friends easily. But Peter was also a kind soul, who wanted to make sure that everyone felt welcomed when they were around him.

It was easy to befriend Peter. He was goofy, always lightened the mood, and constantly put others before himself. You remember the first night that the pair of you accidentally stayed up all night while asking each other questions about all matters of life. As time went on; Peter, Shuri, and yourself became a trio that caused quite a ruckus in the compound.

But you’d never forget one night when you were chatting about the differences between adolecense in America versus Wakanda. Peter told you about high school, Prom, American football, and the awkwardness of the talking phase.

“Are you in the friendzone with somebody?” You asked, wondering if he;d be honest.

“I definitely have been. This one girl, she was super cool, but her dad literally tried to kill me. And now he’s in jail, and she’s across the country... so I guess I’m technically in the friendzone anymore,” He laughed awkwardly.

“Sorry... that sounds weird.”

“It was, but that doesn’t happen like... with everyone. Just superheros, I guess,” the two of you laughed together.

“Even though Wakanda is an advanced nation, we still treasure some of our traditions and custom. Not dowries and arranged marriages, but the idea of courting is widely popular.”

“Well, is someone courting you?”

“Me?” You laughed, not at him, but just the thought, “No, I don’t have anyone that is trying to, nor am I looking for someone right now. It’s not the priority for the women in my country. We always serve Wakanda before any man. Okoye serves to protect and lead the warriors of Wakanda, Nakia serves our country by helping others, Shuri serves by offering new science and knowledge”

“And you?”

“I serve my country by seeking allies outside of borders, by offering harmony, and by seeking no only what Wakanda can offer the world- but what the world can offer Wakanda. Even though I want to open our nation to the world, I will not let those in who seek to exploit it.”

“Wow, I- that’s just amazing. It puts my life into perspective. Your life constantly seems to have a purpose and a reason”

“Yeah,” you smiled, “well, we also make sure to keep life fun, and simple”

“Can I just say something? Even if I sound dumb and goofy...”

“Of course, Peter. I would consider us friends so go ahead,” You responded, shifting yourself around in order to pull your legs up onto the couch.

“Well, you’re just so interesting and fascinating. You’re so knowledgeable about the world around you and also extremely sincere about everything you say or do,” his cheeks tinted a light pink as he spoke.

His words came as a pleasant surprise and a fuzzy warmth settled in your heart, “I- Peter?”

“Yes?”

“There’s one thing I’m not very familiar with, but I’m hoping you can teach me,” you said while leaning towards him.

Instinctively, Peter also leaned into you, “What can I teach you?”

“Will you teach me how to kiss?”

It’s been five years and four months since that night. You hadn’t seen Peter in five years and two months. Because that’s when he arrived and took everything away.

When Steve Rogers and the Black Widow had contacted Wakanda in an emergency, you knew something was wrong. T’Challa and you had seen the spacecraft that had landed in New York along with various pictures from news outlets and social media that showed Iron Man, Doctor Strange, and Spider-Man all protecting the city. Yet, apparently they ended up in the ship on it’s way out of orbit.

You hoped it wasn’t true. So you called Peter. If he picked up, you knew he wasn’t lost in space. You dialed his number and let if ring. There was no answer. Maybe he was changing back into civilian clothing. You dialed again - voicemail. Again - voicemail. Again - voicemail. You dialed and listened to his voicemail continually.

“Hi! This is Peter Parker and I’m super sorry I missed your call. Leave me a voicemail and try again later!”

You kept trying to call him, tears streaming down your face. You called, listened to the ringing followed by his voicemail until your phone died. Peter was gone, lost in the void of space, and for the first time in a long time, you were scared.

But then Thanos�� army arrived in Wakanda. Shuri was working to get the Infinity Stone out of Vision’s head while T’Challa helped Captain Rogers lead what was left of the Avengers and Wakanda’s armies. You assisted by offering air support from the lab Shuri was in - simultaneously protecting the skies and your sister.

When Thor arrived, hope filled your heart. Until an alien attacked the lab, your sister, and Vision. You tried to fight it off and keep it out of the lab, but it hit you upside the head with it’s staff. You only woke up when Shuri grabbed your shoulders and shook you into consciousness.

“Sister, sister - the borders have fallen and now Thanos has arrived. Okoye and T’Challa are fighting in the forested areas. The armies remain battalking on the plains, but all the support we can offer is gone. Vision is gone. I’m afraid, we have lost.”

The pair of you scrambled onto your feet and ran towards the window when the sky and land seemed to flash white. Out on the fields, ash appeared to be rising into the air. But it wasn’t thick and smokey like ash from a fire. You didn’t realize what the ash was until it was drifting in the air above your face.

“Sister,” you turned towards Shuri as her right arm slowly became transparent. But she seemed to be fixating on your arms. Then your eyes met as you realized what was happening.

You stumbled into each other’s arms, tears escaping your eyes, “Shuri?”

“Yes, my sister,” you could feel her hold on you fading.

“I’m scared”

For five long years, you were trapped in the soul stone. Alone, surrounded by a white void. Time didn’t seem to exist. Nothing seemed to exist. You sat there. You could never tell if you were asleep, dreaming, or wide awake. Honestly, you didn’t want to know.

It stayed like this until one day, a visitor appeared. The small blazing orange circle presented itself to you first, but then grew to reveal a hand. Then a body and then a face. The face of Doctor Strange, and their behind him - T’Challa and Shuri.

The Doctor stepped aside and allowed your siblings to step forward. T’Challa’s hand extended out to you, “Come, little sister. It’s time to return home to Earth.”

When you left the soul stone and returned back to the Earth, a war presented itself. The final battle of the Avengers against Thanos’ army. The battle for the universe to return to it’s former self.

When Thanos fell, you also felt the sadness the spread across the battlefield. But you also heard Peter. So you ran to him, as fast as your legs would let your grieving body. You were a few steps away when you realized the scene taking place in front of you.

Tony Stark, the only human to wield the power of all six Infinity Stones, was dying. Rhodey, Pepper, and Peter were all gathered around him. You ran up next to Peter, taking his hand into your own to show him you were there while the grief began to hit him.

“Mr. Stark - hey. Mr. Stark, it’s Peter,” Peter stumbled over to his mentor, his only father-figure left. You squatted slightly behind him as he said his goodbye, “hey, we won, Mr. Stark. We won, you did it, sir, you did it.”

Tony’s eyes flashed over to you and you nodded to show your appreciation and gratitude towards the man. In his eyes, you could tell he was trying to tell you something. ‘Take care of Peter.’

His eyes turned back to Peter as Rhodey approached you both from behind, “I’m sorry, Tony.”

You helped Peter stand and Pepper took her place with her husband, saying goodbye to the man she had loved for so long.

In the end, the Avengers were able to defeat Thanos and his army. But not without a great price to pay. Not only were the original Avengers no longer together, but Iron Man and Black Widow had died in order to save the Earth and the surrounding Universe.

Peter and you mourned the death of Tony with the others at Tony’s funeral. You hadn’t left his side since the battle and you would remain by him not only to offer him unconditional support and love, but to fulfill your promise to Tony. You watched the video Tony left to his close family with Pepper, Morgan, Rhodey, Steve, Happy, and Peter.

Before the processional began, the pair of you stepped into another room so that Peter could dry his tears, “(Y/N)...”

“Yes, Peter. Even though, I thought I had died in space, lost you to Thanos, and now- Tony being gone,” he took in a shaky breath, and you squeezed both his hands tightly, “I am happy about one thing.”

“And what is that, Peter?”

“We found each other. That’s all that matters.”

SPIDER-MAN TAGLIST: @underratedmisfit @inactivewhore

ALL MARVEL TAGLIST:

@underratedmisfit

In order to join a taglist, click the link at the top of this post.

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twentiethcenturymoviesandtv · 4 years ago

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The Wizard of Oz: A Product of the Times

1939 was a tough year.

America was in the middle of the Great Depression, and spirits (and funds) were low. World War II was on the horizon, with news every month about frightening developments in Europe. The movies were full of Sharp-Dressed Men, Simple, yet Opulent costumes, Screwball Comedies and Slapstick. Smoking was Glamorous, Shirley Temple was popular, and swashbuckling stories of action heroes used swords in Errol Flynn-esque fight scenes.

In short, the movies were glamour and glitz, used to forget about how hard life was at the time. People didn’t need another reminder about how dark life could be, they had to live with it every day. They were scared and uneasy, and the movies were full of optimistic, carefree noise to make up for it.

Now, you may be wondering why I’m telling you all this.

The answer is simple: to help us understand and contextualize The Wizard of Oz.

See, no film is an island. Every movie ever made exists as the product of the people who created it, all with different experiences and ways of thinking that are all influenced by one thing: the culture. Every movie, every book, tv show and song, is a product of people living in the times, therefore, a product of the times itself, even a so-called ‘timeless’ classic like The Wizard of Oz.

Every movie, no matter how far removed from the culture by location or time, carries the ideas, designs, acting style, archetypes, stories and special effects of the time of its creation. Whether it’s the screwball comedies of the ‘30s, the spy movies of the ‘60s, or the crime and drama films of the ‘90s. Some things hold up, and stand the test of time reasonably well, and some don’t, and today, we’re seeing which category The Wizard of Oz lands in.

It’s clear to see in the film itself where The Wizard of Oz shows its age. The acting comes across as somewhat stilted to modern viewers, the jokes a little lame, and the backgrounds and special effects necessary for a fantasy-land definitely remind us that it’s an old movie. Some comments made within the film can sound a little odd to modern ears as well, such as Glinda’s line: ‘only bad witches are ugly!’. Even the film’s central message, ‘there’s no place like home’, has long fell out of fashion in the movies, with more and more ‘coming of age’ stories dedicated to moving out on one’s own.

On top of that, elements were changed from the source itself to make it more palatable to the audiences of the time. Besides adding the ‘dream ending’ due to the unheard-of idea of a fantasy movie, the executives were worried that the Wicked Witch of the West would be too frightening, and cut down the scare factor of their main antagonist. (For example, the original message in the sky: Surrender Dorothy or Die being cut down to simply Surrender Dorothy) The action is far more PG on screen than it was even in the fairytale children’s book, and the film in general can come across as a cheesy old movie.

Despite this, there are several elements in The Wizard of Oz that speak to how progressive it was. The production of a fantasy movie in the 1930s was automatically considered doomed to failure, and as stated above, executives insisted on the ‘dream’ ending’ due to fears that the audience wouldn’t take a ‘fantasy world’ seriously, something that later films would have no problem doing. In another bold move, all three main characters, hero, villain and mentor, are all women, something that is never pointed out or treated as different within the narrative. These components might have been considered a little odd at the time, but fit in with modern tastes and sensibilities.

So here’s the inquiry of the day: Is The Wizard of Oz heavily dated, or is it timeless?

Interesting question. To answer it, let’s look at the definition of both of those words.

The word ‘timeless’ is described as ‘not affected by the passage of time or changes in fashion’. This word carries the implication that, applied to film, a ‘timeless’ movie would be one totally understandable and relatable years after the culture has changed. Carried further, the ideal ‘timeless’ movie would be one with no cultural identity of its own.

By contrast, the word ‘dated’ is ‘marked with a date’, or ‘old-fashioned’. This word’s connotation is that, (once again, applied to film) a ‘dated’ film is one that is discernably set in a certain time, and less understandable by those looking from outside that particular culture. This would be a film that hasn’t ‘aged well’, and the criteria could be anything from hairstyles to slang of the era.

So, now that we’ve got our definitions, what’s the decision?

Here’s the thing: it’s more complicated than a simple yes-or-no.

Being one of the first of fantasy on film, The Wizard of Oz didn’t have to portray a lot of 1930s culture, which gave it a little more leeway with plot and characters that could afford to be less grounded in the times. It pioneered a genre with a fun and innovative way of telling a story, it created plenty of memorable scenes and lines, and it gave us timeless characters that we can enjoy years after, yet The Wizard of Oz remains very much a product of 1939.

I’d say we were at a draw, if I didn’t have a Theory.

My thought? Being ‘old’ (and discernably so) doesn’t make a movie dated.

It doesn’t matter if Luke Skywalker has ‘70s hair. It doesn’t have anything to do with the plot itself that E.T. is set in the ‘80s. Does the fact that Psycho is in black-and-white or contain styles of the ‘60s change anything about the story? No.

So what does matter?

My theory is this: By the dictionary definition, its connotation that is often used in the world of film debate, no film is truly timeless. Like I said previously, every single film is a product of the times. The spaceship sequences of The Last Starfighter look like they’re from the ‘80s because they are. The hair and clothes of Charlie’s Angels looks like the ‘70s because it is. The performances on Star Trek seem very much like the ‘60s because that’s when the show was made. These are all products of the times they are from, but they are not defined by them.

To me, a film is not ‘dated’ by using the methods of filmmaking (special effects, acting, costuming and beyond) of the time. A film is not ‘dated’ (not in the negative sense) because a movie is discernably from a certain era. Like I said: we consider a film ‘dated’ if it is less understandable looking back on it. We can easily look past special effects, costumes, and acting.

So what does date a movie?

Ideas.

In my opinion, the ideas of a film, the themes of it, how certain issues or character types are viewed, is what truly dates it, more than any outdated slang term or hairstyle.

It does not change our enjoyment of Goldfinger (or any Connery Bond movie, for that matter) to note that spy movies were big in the ‘60s, or that everyone is driving ‘60s cars and wearing ‘60s clothes. What does change our enjoyment is the copious amount of disposable, objectified women, ethnic stereotypes, and…..aggressive courtship of many of the ‘Bond women’ of the times. Those things, while normal in Hollywood of the 1960s, are wildly out-of-date and problematic when looking back on them with modern sensibilities and understanding. The character and stories of James Bond are far more defined by the times and sensibilities than the examples above, and in that, they are dated.

Here’s another question: Is being ‘dated’ necessarily a bad thing?

If we are set in only watching what is new, what is contemporary, what is ‘not dated’, we reduce ourselves to consuming a very tiny slice of the culture, be it film, television, books, or music. We miss out on our society’s history as portrayed through media, and we don’t learn the sensitivities, the concerns, and the ways that people told stories and expressed their ideas.

We’re also missing out on several movies that are good except for certain problematic elements- lots of films that were ‘fair for its day’. Some things, especially sensibilities, can make us cringe looking back on it from a modern standpoint, but that does not make the film as a whole necessarily bad. I’d even argue that it’s important to watch older films so that we can understand where we’ve come from, and recognize the problem. (For me, the exception is films that are rooted in a problematic idea or concept, which is something we shall address in more depth in a later article. In fact, a lot of this will probably be addressed in more depth in later articles.)

Looking at the context in which a film was created can help us to appreciate it, and even enjoy it a little better. It can help us figure out why decisions were made, understand how the culture has changed. By looking at where we’ve been (culture-wise), we can understand better where we are now. We can look back at older films, and instead of judging them for being different than what we’ve come to expect now, we can recognize what doesn’t hold up and what is considerably Not Okay, without ignoring what does hold up.

Back to our original question: Is The Wizard of Oz timeless, or dated?

I’d have to say, based on my use of the word ‘dated’, it’s definitely timeless.

Don’t get me wrong, like I’ve said previously, it’s clearly a movie from the ‘30s. The Wizard of Oz comes across as old because, quite frankly, it is. Eighty years is a long time in this fast-moving and developing world that we have now, and it makes sense that looking back, we see how much things have changed, even in something such as how movies look to us now. But as I’ve said, there’s a difference between being deeply rooted in changing ideas, and simply showing its age.

Does showing its age make it bad? No.

The Wizard of Oz is a charming, heartwarming, somewhat cheesy story that has remained steadfast this long because people love the story and characters. In my opinion, a movie is timeless not based on whether or not you can tell what decade it was made in, but by how well it has endured, on how well people can enjoy the story and characters after the culture has changed. If you can watch this story and love Dorothy, or the Wicked Witch, or the Scarecrow, or even Toto, or just genuinely like the story that they’re telling you, it doesn’t matter that the backgrounds look fake, or that the jokes are Vaudeville material. What matters is that, made in 1939 or not, it is still a good film. A film’s quality, or enjoyability, has little to do with how easily we can tell what time the film was made in, and a lot to do with the story, characters, and ideas that the film is about.

The Wizard of Oz has lasted this long because no matter if its 1939, 1999, or even 2019, people will be able to understand it, enjoy it, and relate to the characters and themes. And that’s the reason it will continue to endure. Eighty years since its release, Dorothy Gale and her friends, and the message of the film, has been unchanged from what they originally were, just like it will be eighty years from now.

In short: The Wizard of Oz is very clearly a product of the times it was made in, but that makes it no less an enjoyable classic. It was influenced by the styles of film and filmmaking just as much as it would go on to influence, and this does not make it either a good or a bad movie in and of itself. It just goes to show us that filmmaking, just like society, is always changing.

In the 1930s, The Wizard of Oz was a cheerful, uplifting story with fun, memorable characters and visuals, exactly the same as it is today, and exactly the same as it will continue to be.

Thanks so much for reading! Don’t forget to use that ask box if you have your own ideas or thoughts that you’d like to share. Join us next week when we’ll be looking at something a little less difficult (or at least, more contained): the visual and audio storytelling of The Wizard of Oz. I hope to see you there!

#The Wizard of Oz #The Wizard of Oz 1939 #1939 #30s #Film #Movies #PG #Fantasy #Adventure #Judy Garland #Margaret Hamilton #Frank Morgan #Ray Bolger #Jack Haley #Bert Lahr #Billie Burke #Victor Fleming

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levelstory · 4 years ago

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Music Reflection II, Early 2000s' was a Trip

Well, it has been a hot minute since I wrote a music reflection post. Last time, I talked about various songs from my childhood from the likes of Britney Spears to Stevie Brock. Now I am back to tackle some more music from my most formative years that will make you question how my music taste ever escaped cringy pop music from the Top 40. Coincidentally, all of these tracks are from the early 2000s’ so no 90s’ music here today. Here we go…

Miracles Happen by Myra

This song is the anthem ofThe Princess Diaries. That movie was one of my most watched VHS tapes next to the first Harry Potter film. It is the movie that sparked my interest in film soundtracks, and one of the most recognizable and memorable songs from the album was easily Myra's Miracles Happen.

It can be easy to forget how much work was once put into acquiring music in an age where most music is available instantaneously. As a kid, my ear was always turned toward the music in any given film and when I got to an age (around 9-10) when I realized these tracks were sold in one package known as the film soundtrack, I made a point to get my hands on a copy. The Princess Diaries is the first soundtrack I remember owning outside of soundtracks from Disney films.

My most stark memories with this soundtrack are playing it in my bedroom at my old house. Toward the end of our time living there, my family painted my bedroom a light pink and I got a desk that had a CD rack built-in (this was a big feature at the time). My boombox sat on the large desktop against the wall and I can remember listening to The Princess Diaries soundtrack on repeat. There are a lot of great tracks on the album but Miracles Happen is the true star and the true representation of the movie.

Before I talk about the track further, I just want to point out that this movie is great. We could talk about its problems, which it has many, but it remains funny, heartwarming, and a joy to watch from start to finish. This movie introduced me to Anne Hathaway and she just shines. Plus, Julie Andrews is in the movie and she steals the show! I know my opinion is partially influenced by nostalgia goggles but hey...just let me have this!

Back to Miracles Happen. What is easily the strongest aspect of the song is the chorus. It is so catchy and fun to listen to. The verses are enjoyable enough, but they feel a bit detached from what makes the song so good. The bridge is pretty lackluster. As discussed a bit in my first reflection, way too many songs struggle with their bridges. Look, I get it...but still. The only shining light is that the bridge at least transitions into a tune that sounds similar to the chorus which is pretty great.

The lyrics are fairly generic which is par for the course. They say a bunch of random things like "we found the missing pieces" and "nothing should ever bring you down", lyrics that have little to no emotional attachment to anything beyond it is a thing people say in this context. But all things considered, it is still a really fun song to listen to.

It Happens Every Time by Dream Street

Dream Street is one of those boy bands that flew pretty far beneath the radar for most people. Their first album released in 2000 and I distinctly remember the marketing campaign on television playing over and over again so that they were drilled into our brains. I guess it worked because I really wanted this album as a ten-year-old.

My friends and I loved Dream Street. I had their poster hanging on my bedroom wall (their album booklet unfolded into the poster). We made up dance routines to their songs. We even blasted the music through my friend’s house and somehow her parents never became angry with us. My most shameful confession about Dream Street is that we used to try and find their phone numbers to call them. Unaware that phone books are limited to local numbers, we would call random numbers to see if Chris or Jesse were home to talk. They weren't, and people were annoyed by our calls.

One thing people probably don't know is that Jesse McCartney's music career began with Dream Street. I'm proud to say that he was my favorite from the group at the time, and vocally he is the strongest of the group. His voice had not matured yet so it is always fun listening to his performance with his young voice!

It Happens Every Time was their big single and the song most used in TV adverts, accompanied by the music video. What got me thinking about the song and the group recently is due to some unfortunate events. I learned back in July that one of the members, Chris, died in June due to complications with COVID-19. He would have been 35 this year. Chris was often looked at as the Justin Timberlake of Dream Street. He had the fancy frost tipped hair and swagger to him that the other members couldn't compete with. After the group disbanded, he never found success in the same way he did with Dream Street. He died too young and too soon. After his death, I started relistening to Dream Street and it was this relisten that encouraged me to write another Music Reflection.

As with Stevie Brock from the first installment of Music Reflections, Dream Street's songs mostly center on their lust for girls in a way that is pretty uncomfortable looking back. These boys range in age from 11-13 if I am not mistaken, and their songs deal with mature themes that predate their young years. Not to mention that society has young boys singing about these ideas that they can't help their actions when they lust for a girl or they can't control themselves because a girl has them wrapped around her finger. Our culture normalizes this idea that men are vulnerable to female woes and that they can't help themselves. It is always a bit gross hearing young boys sing about it, especially before they’ve even hit puberty (i.e. Justin Bieber).*

It Happens Every Time is a song about...a song. It follows a boy who hears a "silly little love song" every time he sees this girl or thinks of her. This plane of existence, a magic place where angels sing all around them, is known as Dream Street (name drop!). Admittedly, this song is probably the tamest when it comes to the themes I mentioned in the previous paragraph.

Now I won't lie, this song is a bop. I'm still unsure if that is the nostalgia talking or not...I will have to dig deeper some other time. But damn I'd be lying if I said I don't enjoy this song. It is so catchy. The boys sing really well for their age. I am a sucker for listening to little Jesse McCartney belt his heart out. Jesse is the highlight of this song, getting a nice solo line toward the end of the second chorus followed by the entire bridge and some overlapping vocals in the final chorus before ending the song. He just sounds so good and I will admit to feeling a small sense of pride listening to him. I was there before his solo career and entry into Radio Disney hits and commercials all over ABC Family. Sometimes it feels like Dream Street is still so unknown that I can keep my memories of them all to myself. Though their time was short-lived, they stayed with me and so has this song.

Ordinary Day by Vanessa Carlton

Earlier, I talked about how difficult it was to acquire music before the internet. In the case of a song in a movie, there was a good chance that the song you liked would be on the soundtrack, provided a soundtrack was even released. Songs on the radio were difficult because you had to buy an entire album when you just liked one song, or make sure you had a blank tape ready to record when the song came on. Then there were songs you heard while out and about with no context. Those were the worst because you had to try and memorize the song and hope you found it somewhere, someday. That was kind of what happened to me with Vanessa Carlton.

It was her song A Thousand Miles that really gripped me as a 12-year-old. I loved it so much and heard it everywhere I went but never knew who sang the song or where I could get a copy. Eventually, I heard the song on the radio and bought her album...and ended up only listening to the three tracks I liked. One of the tracks, and my favorite of those three, is Ordinary Day.

If my memory is correct, this song was never as popular as A Thousand Miles on the radio, but it was super popular on the internet. This album came out around the time I first started using the internet and discovered movie montages. I don't mean montages used in movies but montages made by fans on Windows Movie Maker, cut together with a somewhat fitting song. If you were a teenager obsessing over Disney or Harry Potter or...something, you know the songs that people generally gravitated towards with these videos (the band Trading Yesterday were a staple of these montages). Ordinary Day was a movie montage song (every time I listen to this song it reminds me of an Aladdin montage it played over (which I sadly can't find)).

I decided to watch the music video for this song as I was writing this and boy is it a product of the early 2000s. Can we all just agree that the early 2000s were equivalent to that awkward stage of everyone's lives that we try not to think about? This music video is so clumsy and confusing. There are so many close up shots on Carlton and strange shots of people making out. Who thought this was a good idea?

But back to the song. One thing I appreciate about this song is how it builds itself up. The beginning piano is very nice but then it builds up with orchestration and I love it. I'm sorry I can't talk about it more but I won't embarrass myself with lack of musical instrumental lingo and knowledge.

The lyrics of the song are...ehh? The song is basically about seeing more in the ordinary and how the narrator is shown from an "ordinary boy." It isn't terrible but like the music video, a product of the early 2000s.

I unapologetically love this song. Yes it is corny and it isn't as musically sophisticated as I would like, but it always makes me smile when I listen to it. I can remember listening to the song on my headphones on long car rides and with friends. It is just a song that makes me feel happy and gives me no reason to feel otherwise.

All I Can Do by Jump5

Well...I'm surprised it took me this long to arrive at Jump5. What is there to say about this Christian pop sensation? Quite a bit actually. I was only obsessed with them for a good chunk of my early teens. Reflecting on that time of my life is strange because in hindsight, it was such a short period but it always feels like it lasted much longer.

Everyone has that one band that they really connect with as a teenager that basically shapes their entire life and...well, yeah, that band for me is Jump5. I'm not kidding, I could write an entire book about how this band shaped my entire life (and believe me, I am working on it!). As much as I'd like to talk about all of that, we only have a short amount of time so let's talk about this song.

As with Ordinary Day, this song reeks of the early 2000s. However, unlike Ordinary Day, the music video is much more successful in its execution. I couldn't believe myself when rewatching it...it is actually pretty darn good as far as music videos tend to be.

Choosing what Jump5 song to talk about was pretty difficult because there are so many in their arsenal that I can talk about for long periods of time and connect to life experiences. But All I Can Do seems to be a special one because I'm almost certain it was the first track I ever heard from the group. As with Dream Street, Jump5 had a big TV marketing campaign for their second album, All the Time in the World (in which All I Can Do is the first track). It was their TV advert that put them on the radar for me. I vividly remember seeing the commercial at Christmas time. It was the first Christmas spent at our new house and I can remember watching the TV with my gifts and snow falling outside. At this point, seeing pop bands advertised on TV was nothing new. There were always new groups trying to make it big as other pop acts had before them. But other than my memory of seeing this commercial, it otherwise didn't leave a big impact on me. I wouldn't start listening to Jump5 until a few months later after getting into Radio Disney. And even after I got into Jump5, All I Can Do was never one of their songs that I gravitated towards.

I wanted to talk about this song because of how well it represents Jump5 as a group. All I Can Do is their quintessential track, packed with energy and fun lyrics. But the track is also a representation of the group's core aesthetic of disguising "Christian values" as a pop song about a crush. For anyone who grew up on a Christian media diet (as I did voluntarily as a teenager), this is nothing out of the ordinary for this type of entertainment. In fact, it is basically a meme at this point. All I Can Do may be the least overt example of this from Jump5's library, but it is still an example nonetheless.

“It's like I got nothing to do but think about you,” (you being God), "I've got all the time in the world," (implying that time does not matter because in God you have everlasting life), "if you look at my heart, you'll know from the start," (meaning God knows your true heart and He knows from the start). I could go on but I think you see my point. There isn't anything inherently bad about this example and it is fairly harmless, but this isn't always the case when it comes to Christian entertainment.

Another trend from the late 90s' and early 2000s' was a pop group being a mix of both guys and girls but the guys rarely sang (A*Teens is another example that might come to mind). This song is dominated by the girls who share most of the song equally. The guys are hardly ever heard at all except when Chris gets his time to shine echoing the song's title over and over. It is easy to forget about them but alas, they are there.

Jump5 were known for their dance routines that they performed alongside their songs. They would often do cartwheels, flips, and very technical dance routines that blew many other pop acts out of the water. They also performed these routines live on tour, not just in their music videos. This dance routine is a really memorable one, showing the group doing a train-like dance which I remember performing with a friend. It is a lot of fun and I won't let anyone tell me otherwise! It was a lot of fun revisiting this track.

Is It Saturday Yet? by Nick Carter

Well here we are, at the final song, and boy is this choice...let's go with interesting. Nick Carter, known for his Backstreet Boy fame, recorded his own solo album after the group disbanded. What we got was Now or Never which is only ever remembered by the song Help Me, and even that is pretty forgettable. All that said, I owned this album and listened to it quite a bit as a tween. My most specific memory with the album is listening to it on a long car ride to Myrtle Beach, South Carolina. Is It Saturday Yet? is the seventh track on the album and out of the five tracks I liked, this was probably at the bottom.

So why talk about it if it was my least favorite track? Well friends, this track is so bizarre that I question its existence on a frequent basis. It is insane how often this song gets stuck in my head and won't leave.

The song seems to be about a disengaged teenager being raised by Jerry Springer and video games (video games got a low blow for warping kids brains back in the day. They still get blamed today but it isn't to the same extent) who just can't wait for Saturday to come so he can be rid of his responsibilities. The lyrics are...dumb. They are clearly trying to make a point but the song is so ridiculous that it is white noise. And why is it that Nick and Aaron Carter always have to reference each other in their songs? It was cute at first when Aaron did it in his classic track Oh Aaron, but now it is just old.

"Is it Saturday yet? Cause I wanna get up. Is it Saturday yet? It just feels like a Saturday. Maybe it's a Saturday." Those are the lyrics in the chorus. It is a song so devoid of meaning and so lazy to its very core. It contains lazy rhymes and brutal instrumentals. This song is the reason so many people describe pop music as empty trash. Like, don't get me wrong, a lot of music on the radio is pop trash and is clearly put together by big corporate higher-ups to make a quick buck on teenage stars locked in a contract. But some of that music is meaningful and deserves to be recognized. This song, however, deserves to die a painful death. It is just terrible.

And yet, despite all of this, the song somehow still appeals to me. I still listen to it. I still find joy out of it even though it is just awful in every possible way. I think that speaks to the whole point of these reflections on the music I listened to when I was younger.

Is It Saturday Yet? may be the worst of the bunch, but a lot of music cranked out back in the day was mindless entertainment. As much as it bothers me, I won't lie and say there is no place for music like this because there is. Sometimes when I am driving, I get so sick of the music I normally listen to ("good" music) and I just want music from my childhood that won't make me think but will just allow me to bake in nostalgic goodness.

Revisiting these songs was fun, but I know there are more I want to talk about in the future! Stay tuned! What are some songs you listened to in the early 2000s’ that make you feel super nostalgic today? Let me know in the comments!

* It should also be noted that the band broke up because of a lawsuit in which the majority of the parents of the band alleged that the underage band members were "exposed to booze, women, and pornography."

#Jump5 #Vanessa Carlton #Dream Street #Chris Trousdale #Jesse McCartney #Myra #The Princess Diaires #Nick Carter

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goretzkastuff · 5 years ago

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11FREUNDE | Interview

Leon Goretzka, on Tuesday you play against your ex-club, the VfL Bochum, in the 2nd main round of the DFB Cup. How did you hear about the lot?

For years, I was hoping for that! This had already begun in Schalke times, but unfortunately God left a team early, so the chances were small. When the game Bochum was drawn against Bayern, my mobile immediately rang and did not stop for a day. Of course the game is something very special.

You have posted a photo with the sub-line #wokannichticketsbuy. How many have you got together by now?

I went to all the official channels to get some tickets. My father even called shortly after the draw at VfL Bochum and there you have completely resolved explained that I had already grazed everything. Fortunately, we were able to get some tickets, even if the requests of the family, friends and companions are of course many times higher.

Could you pass on your own season ticket? Are they still there?

Unfortunately, I do not have my own season ticket, it just was not worth it anymore. But my dad has one more. Even though he has now reached an age in which he likes to make himself comfortable in the box. You can treat him that.

Kick-off is at 20 o'clock. Floodlight anne Castroper - you can only congratulate, right?

Regardless of what this game means to me, it is a really nice lot. This is going to be an extraordinary atmosphere, a piece of first division football that returns to Castroper Street. And that is what people in the region yearn for.

How do you track VfL Bochum?

If I can, I watch every game. Being in the stadium has become logistically difficult, but sometimes I can do it. In the second league yes, unfortunately, many games take place on Fridays and Mondays - then it works out, at least for me.

You lived five minutes from the stadium. How much stadium atmosphere spilled over to your parents' house?

I must confess: The five minutes came about because we lived close to the highway and Dad drove mostly (laughs). So I could not see the floodlights from home. The house still exists and is my retreat whenever I am in Bochum.

You switched to VfL Bochum as a six-year-old. Do you still remember your first training?

At the age of three, I started playing in the F-junior of Werner SV. At that time there were still the F2 youth from VfL, against which we often played and I seem to have noticed. My dad blocked the switch for the first three years because he thought that was crazy. It was something totally special for me. I was a fan of VfL since I was in my first game. Just the moment when I received the original training clothes - that was overwhelming.

With whom you then appeared on the smaller sports fields and were admired by the opponents. Did you already feel like a star at the age of six?

We looked upwards. To Schalke, Dortmund, Bayer Leverkusen. They had even better clothes, because the chapel was even bigger. Because I have to feel at home, and was torn from a familiar environment, it was difficult for me in the first weeks at VfL. I missed the guys from the WSV. At the same time, that was the reason why I stayed with the VfL for so long.

Is there a person that you immediately connect to VfL Bochum?

The most intense time I had under Christian Britscho, who was my U17 coach. I was in the junior year and our troupe has played a great season. As a complete outsider we have become Westfalen Cup winner. That was the hottest year! Sebastian Brune, the goalkeeper and Tim Kosien, the right-back, are still among my best friends. I lived with Tim in a shared apartment in Bochum when my professional career began.

What are you looking forward to when you return?

On the people. On the stadium aisle. From the cabin, it goes through the catacombs to the square, just before separating the ways of the teams. You walk up the small narrow concrete steps on the left and right, you see the first people, as soon as you look up, you look into the bright floodlight and hear the warm-up music.

Small test. If we were singing - do not worry, we will not sing - but if we sing, "Deep in the west, where the sun is dusty ...". (buzzing) "Is it better, much better than you believe?" That's too easy! Bochum - Grönemeyer. The plate runs with me almost every day at home. (Laughs.)

Herbert Grönemeyer, who sings the text in the original, was recently attacked because he spoke at a concert against right-wing extremism.

They said in May, after racist incidents at the match in Wolfsburg, a sentence that was nominated for the Football Award of the Year. Shortly before I had to go to the press conference, I saw this video (this video is about, ed.). I was still sitting in my room and I was genuinely shocked. I'm usually not upset easily, but that hit me and I started thinking. When I came into contact with racism myself. How my teammate has to go. And so I came to the sentence.

They said: "I am a child of the Ruhr area. One answers to the question of nationality with Schalke, Dortmund or Bochum."

And I did not say that sentence to be nominated for a prize. I wanted to make clear what I expect from the people in Germany. In my everyday life, the coexistence of different cultures has always been in the foreground. At my school, the proportion of foreigners was 80 percent, but that was never an issue - and that was a good thing. Our question has always been: who are you a fan of?

How did the reactions within the team turn out?

After the press conference, I received many reactions. "Hats off!" Some people said. And especially Leroy, to whom I have a special relationship since Schalke, who went to the same school in Wattenscheid, was extremely pleased that I show clear edge. We have to be active, we must not keep away, we have to confront racists with what is said.

This clear edge let miss the crew nine months earlier at the World Cup and in the case of Mesut Özil. Do you have to be accused in retrospect?

Such a tournament is of course a special case. But it is perfectly right that we are talking about it now. We were not consistent enough. But you must not forget that we are first and foremost footballers. It is too much to expect any international to play the role of a politician. Of course, we have to live up to our role model. But we are primarily measured by whether we are successful on the pitch.

It is said that many players in the World Cup squad were unaware of the size of the topic during the tournament.

I mean that. In some cases, individuals were not clear enough how big topics are or can become in public. And yes, it is true, within the team the topic was not very present during the World Cup.

You once said, "Football is not a profession for me, it's passion." They played 42 games last season. For three years you play almost without a break. How do you keep your passion?

There is no more weekday on which no football is shown. And that has an impact: viewers are less emotional, do not go immediately. Football at 15.30 is therefore no longer the highlight that it should be. There are still these special moments, but unfortunately they have become rare.

They are considered extremely willing to learn. After a year at Bayern: In which areas have you improved?

What I was hoping for came true: I learn a lot during training. The daily level is higher and that was the main reason why I changed. Because the team makes me better again. I make a walk and my teammates recognize that and - and that's important! - can then play the necessary passport. After that, I was extremely desperate. For the fact that I played mainly as a defensive six, I was able to expand my Torgefahr. And that's just because at Bayern the last pass arrives above average.

From a personal point of view, you have experienced a terrific first year at Bayern. For the first time champion, for the first time cup winner. Nevertheless, there was a crisis mood after the season around the club. Niko Kovac was questioned. How did you experience this contrast?

At a club like FC Bayern everything and every day is questioned. It's part of the business and the maxim of getting as many titles as possible every year. It's a contrast to grow as a team if we get that mood right.

You did not disturb that?

I did not come straight from the quietest club in the Bundesliga. At Schalke, we felt that crisis talks were held every three months. When we had our weak phase here in Munich at the beginning of the season, I felt like I had a small advantage in this situation. The colleagues were spoiled (laughs).

Are you still glad that you are not alone at FC Bayern?

Not at all. I like to take on responsibility, that even distinguishes me.

Shortly before the cup match you are back in the squad. After two months injury time. How did your healing process go?

Pretty chaotic, to be honest. A strange story. I had played a really good preparation, felt physically great. And get a horse kiss before the final training of the opening game. When I came home, the thigh was inflated to an unimaginable extent. (Includes with both hands the thigh.) A really thick leg! We wanted to be conservative, I took a break for two weeks. Here at the Bayern all did an extremely good job.

That's why you were back in the squad and are...

...drove to the national team in September. After a relaxed session, it is re-inflated at night. Since it was clear that a vessel is injured and unfortunately it must be operated on.

How did you experience this time emotionally?

It was extremely annoying because there were ups and downs. I had already worked up again and then had to go under the knife. Especially the time after surgery is painful and tedious. I was just waiting for the leg to swell up. When the strings were pulled, it got better and better. Fortunately, I was able to train again with the ball relatively quickly. The moment when I was allowed to wear the football boots again was the best.

You are German champion, cup winner, Confed Cup winner. What is there still a game on Tuesday evening against the home club?

Everything. It was a huge wish of mine every time the draw came. When I started my career at VfL at the age of 17, I was tense before every game. Nervous. I was so busy with myself that I could not enjoy the atmosphere. When I came back as a spectator, I first realized how awesome it would be to run aground again in Bochum. After my move to Schalke, a friendly match was arranged as part of the transfer to fill the stadium. However, that day I was injured.

Now the starting situation seems similar.

And that's why I'm pretty sure I'll be perfectly fit for the day. (Grins.)

Translation by me. I tried my best.

#leon goretzka #bayern munich #goretzka #vfl bochum #dfb pokal

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crqstalite · 5 years ago

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Alone Together [Female SI/Koth Vortena]

mentions of chapter viii: taking flight of kotfe. mentions of stab wounds. possible trigger warning for blood and things of that nature.

Destiny is a very fickle thing, Koth Vortena discovers as he and HK finish off the last of skytroopers and Knights that had invaded their small holdout on Asylum. Some people believed that they existed outside of it's will, yet most of the time it reared it's ugly head in just the way they didn't want in the end. Destiny would be there, waiting for them if they really wanted to push it off for as long as they could. Lana could say all she wanted, but he would believe it until the end of his days. As long as the job got done, right?

Yet, sometimes there really were people that existed outside of fate's will.

The Sith 'Outlander' that they'd picked up a few months ago happened to be one of these. She didn't put it down, per se (that already put her a bit higher in his opinions than Lana already), but instead took it in stride, making her own verses to the songs that destiny had already written for her. There was nothing that she saw as off-limits, even going far enough to be the reason they found the Gravestone in the first place, all with a grin on her face. There was still so much she didn't understand about Zakuul, about everything. The questions she had were rudimentary at times, yet only curiousity remained instead of frustration when things couldn't be done the way she was used to. She didn't see herself above Zakuul, she saw it as a new world, a new culture. She was quite confused about the nature of most things, including even wiring electricity within the Gravestone (Koth had seen that as a rather basic thing, he couldn't figure why she wouldn't know how to even do that).

Yet she still went on about her business, the little things changing in her wake. He knew who they had spent all these years trying to save.

The woman could shoot lightning from her fingertips. Forget needing to wire anything properly or right for that matter, just a jolt of electricity emitted from her was enough to give him sufficient light to go about his repairs. Probably enough to power the ship for a period of time while she was at it.

It was...fascinating. Amazing even. Yes, Valkorion had been able to do the same at a much higher capacity, and Vaylin was proficient in it to the point of being the High Justice within Zakuulan society, but it was riveting to watch it so up close. It crackled louder than he'd expected, startling him the first time she'd done it. Yet she was unbothered, as if it was a normalcy in her part of the galaxy not simply limited to those at the top of her society. He'd bid her a nervous goodbye once she left, her hair fuzzing up at the ends but otherwise entirely fine.

His focus changed from saving the Outlander from her tomb to wanting to learn everything about the famed Outlander within the first couple of weeks. Or Corsha, as he learned she preferred instead of the title bestowed upon her by Arcann all those years ago. It was a name he'd never heard before anywhere in his home, but it was...nice he supposed. If names could be nice that was.

She was different. Not a bad different, of course. Just a very unexpected kind of different. He would've expected some barbarian to pop out of carbonite with a vibrorapier by the way Lana spoke of her offhandedly (headstrong, easy to anger, constantly on the move and rather ruthless), but with the proper context in place now, Corsha was all of those things. Lana had simply forgotten to note her humor, her quiet thinking, her little tics that made her...her, and how soft she could be, how patient she really was. The way she smiled, the way she laughed, the way she reasoned with just about everyone, forgetting entirely about her prejudice against Zakuul and it's people. The way she complimented his piloting skills and his ability to repair even the most basic of machines with those wide amber eyes. Sure, she was absolutely ruthless on skytroopers and Knights and whatever came her way in the Zakuulan swamps, but she had mercy on those who begged for it, those she deemed worthy. She was eager to learn the ins and outs of slicing, yet headstrong and stubborn while she was at it. Seeing someone who used lightning on the daily get electrified by a rogue fuse was worth concern, yet all she could do was pout with her arms crossed in a corner as Koth asked Lana whether she'd be okay. The only thing his friend had done was laugh herself and respond that the woman would be just fine, if not a little peeved for the rest of the day. Confused, he hadn't bothered to talk to her about it, yet she only brushed her hair out and continued working in slight annoyance. If he'd been electrocuted like that, surely he would've died then and there, destiny forgotten.

And there she was.

That wasn't the only odd experience they'd had in the six months they'd hidden out on Zakuul, but it was one of the most memorable and the first time that Koth had seen a different side of her. She'd at first been cold, and Koth had his doubts about being behind an Outlander who wanted to see Arcann die. She was angry, nearly inconsolable for the first few weeks after they'd found the Gravestone, after they'd found her. Anything that stood in her way would be cut down violently with a red lightsaber the color of blood. He was entirely ready to give up and hide in Breaktown if this didn't work out, whatever Lana said. He'd protect Zakuul first, and leaving her as it's sole defender or as who was supposed to take the throne somewhere down the road in her current state did not seem like a very good idea. It was safe to say that in that moment, he lost a little bit of that hope.

Then, he'd realized just how vulnerable she could be when he found her up in the middle of the night, datapad in hand with her feet up on the dashboard of the Gravestone in the cockpit. She'd been surely reading something, though frustrated with the tablet itself as he could hear her swear under her breath, possibly louder than she'd intended. At first she'd thought he was an intruder, as he'd flicked the lights on without a word and she'd gone for his throat with the Force. Thankfully the pain hadn't lasted long, once she realized it was him and immediately putting him down and leaping from her seat, the datapad clattering to the ground. The look of horror in her red-rimmed eyes would be one he'd never forget as she apologized again and again, a gentle touch on his jaw as he rubbed his neck in surprise. That had never happened to him before that day, but the way her golden eyes looked him over for injury first made him selfishly think he should surprise her a little more often, or at least startle her when she didn't expect it.

He'd shoved that thought away in the deepest corner of his mind, a little too much for him to deal with right then. This was their Outlander, not some woman he'd met in a market. She was probably someone who could kill him if he spoke wrong. His life probably would be in actual danger if he made this a habit. She'd sternly asked him why he was up so late after helping him up, wandering around the Gravestone like a lost ghost or Force spirit. He'd asked her the exact same thing a moment later. He didn't get an answer, not one he easily understood at least.

She'd been crying all by herself, in the cockpit no less, for some reason. He never did figure out why.

In the morning, he'd asked Lana just how old their famed Outlander was over breakfast. Lana had nonchalantly answered she had only been twenty three when she was put into carbonite -- nearly twenty four as if it were no big deal at all. Technically she was twenty eight, adding those five years of surely nothingness that had been hell on the galaxy, but with the mind of someone who was still just barely an adult, someone who missing a chunk of their life. It was enough to make Koth uneasy, knowing that their new savior was barely of legal age to drink on Zakuul (Lana had also mentioned rules were different in the Outlands and people tended to ignore them) -- much less lead an Empire. Not that she wasn't capable, of all the things she'd admitted to doing before Zakuul she was clearly some sort of highly powered individual. The way she'd dealt with the Knights alone, and had stood up to Heskal and his Scions recently in their adventures together definitely didn't make him see her as weak. The Order had never stood a chance either, as she finished them off in Breaktown, leaving not a single living soul in her wake.

Still, compared to Lana's thirty or his thirty-five, she was young. Very young.

Wouldn't mean he didn't respect her just because she was a decade younger than him. Just meant he had to be careful. Not that he wasn't, but that she had a patchwork of knowledge. She'd even admitted that it was anyone's guess on what she knew. Lightsaber techniques, yes. She could run circles around him when they trained together. Basic cooking, well apparently that wasn't taught as much at her Sith Academy or whatever.

He learned she was very much a cuddly kind of person about a month into their little excursion. Not a trait that she would admit it out loud, but whenever she'd work with anyone, Lana or him, there was always some element of touch. A gentle brush on their shoulder, a high five or two after a job well done. She'd even managed to get a hug out of Lana while they were still on a battle high, something Koth couldn't even imagine doing knowing the woman for as long as he had. He figured after so many years (that she was somewhat conscious for, as he learned) that all she could want would to be with someone else. She'd essentially been alone for as long as she could remember after Darth Marr's flagship had been brought down by Zakuul, no wonder she was so upset.

Then every single flirty line she'd dropped before they'd arrived on Asylum and even after. It seemed so natural for her, and it extended far past just normal concern for him. It wasn't shown to Senya or Lana, surely because she saw them differently than how she saw him. That was an issue he didn't talk about with Lana, in general concern for how the Sith would see him if she knew he was receptive to someone so much younger than the both of them. He did have morals, as unbelievable as that surely was to someone of her caliber. She was pretty, very pretty, and so much different from what he knew, it was impossible not to be attracted to her.

What if she had someone back home waiting for her, hoping she was still alive, concerned for her fate? He could only imagine what hunk of a man or beauty of a woman was pining after their long-assumed dead wife or girlfriend.

Sliding a hand down over his warming face, he sighs and adjusts his grip on his rifle as he peeks out from his cover spot, scanning the area for any further resistance from the landing party. Maybe he was overthinking this. These weren't things he should be concerned about, really.

He was definitely overthinking this. There were more important things to worry about than the touch starved woman from the Outlands. Like...oh he didn't know, the fact he'd nearly died at least three times today if not more. Who was counting, anyway?

Actually, he probably should be more worried about her, if anything. It had been a while since he'd seen her, and he wasn't sure how long it took to flip a few switches. Lana's com call had come in a while ago, so the docking system was down. He's getting a tad antsy, especially after HK had left to go and collect her so they could haul jets and get out of here, he figures that the situation as a whole warrants some concern. He'd been to Asylum plenty of times in the past, but he can't figure who might've been giving her a hard time.

He decides to follow her up. Technically he was supposed to hold position here, at least until she came back so that they could get back to the Gravestone together, no man left behind as Lana had advised with a stern tone, her eyes on him and Senya specifically. His heart rate picks up as his gaze darts to where he'd seen her last, had she been hurt? Who could be up there was anybody's guess, but something in his gut makes him abandon his post and hit the elevator's up button with more force that really necessary. Whatever he finds, he hopes it's not a dead body.

"My mother died from someone who was too crazed with the idea of power, Koth. If you think I'm going the same way, especially to someone not even that many years older than me, I suggest you get your head on straight." She'd once sarcastically told him, before slicing off at least four inches worth of hair off her head with a knife she'd found somewhere. Meeting his eyes as she brushes back what little is left on her head, she gives him what he's sure is supposed to a reassuring smile as she re sheathes the decorative knife on her hip, "I'm Sith, not a pushover, not to mention I'm your Outlander. Destiny said I'd save the galaxy, right? Don't worry about me, okay?"

A chill runs down his spine as he hears the telltale sound of a lightsaber clashing with something else, two in fact as he hurries down the hall just after the elevator docks with a shudder of duracrete against duracrete. His mind wanders to the darkest corners of his mind, afraid Corsha has done something horrid -- turned on them all or worse ending it all here with still so much of her young life to live. He doesn't hear HK's signature blaster rifle firing either, and trying his com, all he receives is little more than static. He can only imagine what lies she'd told them, to get them to believe in her. Why it was so easy to turn to what he shouldn't have been believing, he didn't know. Koth had no reason to doubt her, she'd give up her life to save both him and Lana more times than he could count. Nothing made him think that this would be the end of the line except pure unadulterated fear and adrenaline running through his veins.

A girl may have lost her life, and here he was assuming the worst. He shakes his head, pouring on the speed.

Just as he skids to the door, he catches a glimpse of both her crimson red saber and the ominous gold of Arcann's. Why the Emperor was here, stars he didn't know but he knows that she's fighting a losing battle. Lightning crackles at her fingertips again, but the man dodges with practiced ease before throwing her backwards with an unseen force. HK's smoldering corpse is by her feet as she hits the guardrail, still holding up her saber in defiance. Her scream is ear-shattering as she spins and even throws out a kick here and there, an attempt to knock him off his feet. She's wild, a hurricane of emotion, of speed as she fights for her life. She's powerful, and even he has to go on the defensive to keep her from getting a hit in. Her raw strength is best observed in awe from the sidelines, yet there she goes again, the sound of plasma hitting plasma loud in his ears as they duel. His first thought is to try and snipe Arcann from this distance, maybe just to get him off her case so they can get out of here.

Her gold eyes bore into him, a warm hand over where the skytrooper had gotten him on his face, a skid mark nearly with their blaster. The bloody mark had been dribbling down his face for hours now, dried once they'd returned to the Gravestone. It was painful, not just getting shot, but also whatever she'd done to close up the wound as it feels like being ripped in two and then put back together again. Gritting his teeth, he manages to sit through it until she's through. Relief was instantaneous as soon as she was done though. Odd, but welcome as he makes to touch it, figure if it's actually closed up or just a need trick of hers, but her gentle touch lingered as she brushed her thumb over his jaw, stilling his hand by his side.

She's quiet. Maybe she's forgotten why she's here, but Corsha doesn't say a word. Neither does he. Her scars are deep all over her face, a burn mark now evident near her right eye. Her hand moves to brush over other old scars on his face, and the faraway look in her eyes make him think she's trying to puzzle piece him together -- that she's not all there in the moment. Maybe his confusion is evident because then he can't help himself to ask, moving his hand to graze her's, "Did you just heal me?"

It breaks her spell as she regains her voice, standing from her bent over position and pulling her hand away immediately. Looking away from him, she crosses her arms with a look of near distaste, though there's an element of concern in her voice "I did. I apologize if I hurt you, but that is Sith healing for you. Get used to it."

"Yeah, thanks." He responds. He's sure she hasn't heard him as he picks himself up as she moves to help Lana, kneeling down to do the same to the blonde woman, surely. The cut had healed up, as if it were never there. There's no scar to be felt, nothing there to make him think he'd been shot in the first place as he runs a finger over where her warm hand had just been. Corsha was all that was beautiful in nature. She was a miracle.

And a tad terrifying if he was being honest.

A shout catches in his throat as Arcann yanks her forward, and she shrieks as he stabs her through with his lightsaber. Time stops in that moment, mission forgotten as all he can see is the woman fall to the ground in a heap, a hand going for her side. Arcann stands over her as she struggles to pick herself up again, falling flat on her front as he arm goes out from underneath her.

He's frozen. This was the same woman who'd just been joking with him earlier in the day, making plans for what she'd do when she got back to the Core Worlds. The smile that had lit a fire inside him, how she'd playfully taken his goggles before returning them to him with a good natured chuckle.

And yet here she was, at the mercy of the blasted Emperor as she bleeds out on the ground, a hand clutched over her side as she keeps him at bay with an outstretched hand and her Force abilities. Arcann doesn't realize he's here yet, and he can't just turn and run as much as he desperately wants to. Blazes he might be next if he doesn't get out of here, and unlike Corsha he's not sure he could take a lightsaber to the gut and even still be conscious.

Still, he's not leaving her. Destiny be damned, he wasn't that horrible of a person to run as soon as the going got tough.

Plus, Lana would kill him for getting the Outlander killed, or at least letting her die when he was perfectly capable of doing something -- anything to save her. He didn't leave the Zakuulan military to look out for his own skin. He was here to make a difference in the galaxy, and make a difference he would.

Scanning the room frantically, his eyes land on a loadbearing chunk of duracrete just above the two. This could work, maybe, and also probably get him killed if Arcann noticed too soon. Or Corsha, if he doesn't land this just right. Or both of them, and they could kill this notion of rebellion before they even got out of Zakuul airspace. Well, nothing was ever concrete. He'd already lived longer than he thought he would, so he lines up the shot, and fires. All that training wasn't for nothing, but his hands are still shaking. Even with his eyes off her, her limp body would haunt him for months, maybe years after all of this was over.

It comes down with a crash, Corsha moving just far enough so that it instead knocks Arcann off balance and into the void below them. Once it's clear he's down for the count (Koth doesn't have enough raw hope left to think they've killed him for good), he rushes over, not even sheathing his rifle before kneeling down next to her.

He sucks in a breath, it's bad. Really bad, and her eyes are barely flickering open to focus on him. Her teeth are gritting together as she has one hand over the bloodied spot of her armor, surely trying to heal herself. She coughs, shuddering with pain before pushing herself up on her side, "Koth?"

"I didn't run all the way back here to watch you die." Is all he can whisper, brushing a strand of hair out of her face. Maybe it's a little too familial, but Corsha gently leans into the touch, her eyes closing in the moment it takes to do so. He helps her up into a sitting position against a crate as her hand glows an ominious purple over her wound as she struggles to get up further before he holds her down, trying to keep her from hurting herself further.

She chuckles, moving her hands to snap off her respirator before she hisses in pain, dropping her hands back to her side. He isn't immediately sure how to do so, but he manages to find the clasps to pull it off her only a moment later. Corsha holds his hand in her's for a moment, letting him drop the mask onto the ground with a clatter. She's still warm, yet he feels something slip against the back of his hand. Surely her drying blood, "I wouldn't disappoint you with a sad ending."

She doesn't acknowledge just how surprised he must seem as she takes a few labored breaths with her gaze pinned on him, blood still wet on her gloves before she yanks him forward by the fabric of his tunic, slamming her lips onto his. It's forceful, yes, enough to knock the wind out of him nearly but her body screams passion at him. Whatever force presence or signature that she had that he couldn't make heads or tails of, he's sure it's doing whatever Lana says it does.

Corsha tastes of blood. Tastes of metal, and as much as he'd like to continue with this (he's way warmer than he should be right now, and that's making him way more uncomfortable than he wants to be, but it's not unwelcome), he also knows that she's living on borrowed time right now. He'd be an idiot to ignore what'd just happened, and even stupider to believe that she'd be fine the way she is. He pulls away from her, her eyes opening slower than he wouldn't wanted and groaning quietly. Maybe because she's unsatisfied, maybe because she has to shift to let him go and the blood stain is only growing worryingly larger through her armor's fabric, "Corsha..." He warns.

"I know, I know. I'm not looking as hot as I would've wanted to." She rolls her eyes as she sarcastically reminds him, grimacing as she tries to push herself up with one arm before visibly stifling a shriek and slipping back down to her sitting position, "Not the way I would've wanted to confess to you, y'know?"

"Yeah, I can second that." He responds, looking around to scan for anyone else who may have arrived while they were...distracted. His eyes land on HK, who still hasn't moved even though what internal systems he has left has cooled his body so that he's no longer on fire. The poor droid wouldn't be coming back with them, and he can safely assume that Arcann is the one to blame. The assassin droid had been his confidant for years, and there would never be another one like him.

"He died trying to save me." Corsha whispers, a frown on her face as her gaze follows his, "The docking system should be down. That much I got done."

"Thanks for that, really." He responds, softening his tone. Taking her in for a moment, he figures she can't be much weight if any. Limp, yes, but he should logically be able to get her back to the shuttle if he carries her back. And any adversaries were most likely dead, if all the metal corpses outside were anything to go by, "You think you can walk?"

"Doubt it." Her head lolls for a moment before she manages to pull herself back up again, which nearly makes him jump as he watches blood pool out of her mouth, a light cough making her entire body shake as she groans, "Koth, go. Get the Gravestone out of here."

"I'm not leaving you, Corsha." He responds firmly, but even watching every labored breath she takes makes his own chest heave. She was willing to leave herself behind in the wake of the attack on Asylum for the good of who, of them? Self sacrifice was one thing, but leaving behind someone who had so much hope for the future...

A tad frustrated, he slides his rifle back onto his back before picking up her lightsaber hilt and putting it in one of his pockets. He manages to get an arm around her after a moment of deliberation, to pull her up into his arms instead. Her face contorts into one of pain as she groans, the blood pooling on her abdomen and her hand goes there first, "Stars -- Koth you shouldn't have done that."

"I know. But I'm not leaving you behind, and I don't think you're in any condition to get out of here on your own." He reassures her, even with the confused and fearful look in her near dead eyes. She's dying, and she knows that. Blazes, he knows that as she doesn't try to fight him on it. Corsha weighs about nothing as he shifts her in his arms.

"I really should be dead, you know that right?" She asks, her voice weak as he picks up his pace, Tora's voice shouting at them both through the communicators, "No one gets stabbed with a lightsaber and lives...not usually."

"Then I guess you're about to make history." He responds, her eyes close on him just as they make it back to the elevator and his heart drops, "Corsha, stars stay with me!"

"I'm up!" She yells, before coughing up what he's sure is nearly an entire lung, blood spilling out her lips and onto her silver armor plates. Upon closer inspection, Arcann must've stabbed her much closer to her lungs than he'd thought at first, "For now."

"Yeah, not liking that for now bit." He responds, punching in the code to the shuttle and slipping her down into one of the passenger seats. Relief washes over her expression, her hand glowing again over the stab wound. He kneels down next to her, her lidded gaze looking down over him, "Bravery in the face of danger is only attractive when you survive."

"It's more romantic if I come back almost dead." She gives him a strained smile as he stands, in the last moment he gently kisses her. It feels wrong in a way, but if she's annoyed, she doesn't acknowledge it.

"Stay alive for a couple more minutes?" Koth asks, and she nods absentmindedly, maybe not actually hearing him. He doesn't know. For a moment, he wants to ask if Lana can come to get them, if not just so he can stay with her for only a few more minutes. What this was, he wasn't entirely sure yet, but the galaxy wouldn't lose her. Not today.

He hopes, as he starts the shuttle and pulls away from the station.

"Staying alive, that's all we can hope for, isn't it?" Corsha had asked him, Lana and Senya somewhere else in the ship. She laughs, brushing her hair back so that her eyes are on display, "My mom would second that, my father's probably pissed with Zakuul at the moment but I'm sure he's doing what he can to keep his life together without me."

"What was he like?" Koth questioned, curious but also not trying to push her much further than he already had. When her expression drops to one of sadness, he opens his mouth to take the words back -- to change the subject before she can do it.

"He wasn't your typical father. I only knew him for three years before all this, but he's still all I had. Maybe he didn't do everything that he could've or should've done, but he was always there for me, supporting me in everything I did." Corsha says sadly, before turning back to him, "He taught me how to shoot a blaster and how to cheat at sabaac, so that's definitely something."

"Sounds like a good man." He answers, "Can see where you might've gotten it from, you've got a good aim with a blaster."

"Thanks, Koth." She gets up from the co-pilot's chair before lazily walking over to him, "I'm sure I got my good looks from him too, don't you agree?"

She's baiting him, he knows that she is, but she's entirely right,"Yeah, sure."

The moment they hit the Gravestone, his concern is still on her. His mind wanders to her every few seconds even though they're trying to fight their way out a blockade, dodging shots and putting out fires left and right. Stars she's a distraction but he'd be lying if he said he didn't want to care about her.

The second they hit hyperspace can't come fast enough as the bright blue light fills his vision, the Eternal Fleet essentially forgotten for a moment as the rush of adrenaline peaks. The crew of the Gravestone is safe for the moment, and he's piloted them to relative safety. Not a bad job if he does say so himself.

Corsha collapses shortly after that, maybe only cortisol was holding her up too. At first he thinks she's dead, that he wasn't quick enough to get her back, that he let her die under his care. That she was about to become the latest addition to his list of lifetime regrets. Senya (oh Senya of all people) confirms after a moment that she's simply out -- passed out from loss of blood. It isn't a pretty picture, red dribbling out of her mouth and painting her like a horror holovid's protagonist. Yet she's still beautiful. She'd sacrificed her life for them, and he'd return the favor one day, he hopes.

He takes watch over her over the next two days, even though Lana says he really doesn't need to. She's in good hands, the force healing and bacta/kolto mix that Ralo had recommended is doing it's best to fix her. It doesn't close up the wound entirely, and she most likely would want corrective surgery to fix it, at least cosmetically with all the scarring and bruising present. He has more things to worry about, like piloting the Gravestone to Odessen (where that even is, he has no idea -- some place Lana found and didn't tell him about, not unusual but it isn't on any star maps), but his focus is on her. She seems more relaxed than she was when they first brought her aboard, and he can't keep himself from just gently rubbing over the back of her knuckles. Outlander or otherwise, she's still important to him. Now more than ever.

Corsha opens her eyes two days later, bleary and sore. Confused almost, as she has to shade her eyes from the sharp lights of the room. The entire time that he and Lana are speaking to her, her gaze is riveted to him. She considers all the things Lana says -- that she's running an Alliance as soon as they touch down on Odessen. That she's the hero this small rebellion of people from the Outlands want to follow.

But her entire focus, her entire world is him as soon as the blonde Sith leaves the medbay.

And for some reason, he's okay with that. Because he wants to be her entire world. As long as they're alone together in that little medbay with all the three minute intervals in the world, he's happy to leave the safety of the galaxy in her warm, callused hands.

Zakuul is his home, the planet he'd always fight for no matter what, no matter what anyone else could say. But Corsha Revel-Kallig has also made her mark on him, and maybe one day he'll have a home in her.

Because they're alone in this little galaxy -- but they're alone together.

#swtor #star wars the old republic #star wars #swtor oc #oc #original character #corsha revel #corsha revel-kallig #corsha/koth #koth vortena #female sith inquisitor #female sith inquisitor/koth vortena #swtor fanfiction #swtor fanfic #what we lost in the fire #ship: alone together #tw #trigger warning #tw for blood

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fanfic-ofbands · 5 years ago

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And One Thing Led To Another - Chapter 1

| Character Summary |

Banter To A Falter

GERARD gazed at his brother adoringly. Heck, he may be seventeen, but Mikey would always be Gerard’s baby brother. Said baby brother was currently deep in sleep, his mouth opened slightly as stifled snores escaped from time to time. He almost looked cute… almost.

Gerard smiled. He loved his brother, which was precisely why he needed to do this:

“Wake up fucker!” Gerard yelled as he launched himself onto his startled sibling. He landed right on top of Mikey, earning a furious gasp.

“What the fuck Gerard!” Mikey yelled.

“Good morning sunshine! Ya miss me?” Gerard asked, grinning broadly. He couldn’t help but laugh at Mikey’s unruly brown hair as he positioned himself so that he held most of his weight propped on his elbow while still draping over the now pissed Mikey.

“I did… right up until the moment you winded me you ass.” Mikey groaned, crossing his arms.

“Aw c’mon Mikes, don’t be that way. I only wanted to say hi.” Gerard pouted, earning an exasperated eye-roll from the younger Way.

“Is that so?” Mikey asked, rubbing his eyes and yawning.

“Yeah. Hi!” Gerard answered, flopping all his weight onto Mikey earning yet another groan.

“Gerard, fuck off. You’re making me cold.” Mikey whined.

“Hey, c’mon now. You know I can’t help it.” It was Gerard’s turn to cross his arms.

Mikey instantly regretted the complaint. It had been seven years since his older brother had been attacked and turned. You’d think he’d be used to the cold skin that came with the transformation, but alas, it was not something one could get used to quickly. Especially when exposed to it after being wrapped in his cozy confines of blankets.

“Sorry, Gee.” He offered a small, apologetic smile to the older of the two.

“Nah it’s all good. I’d be pissed too.” Gerard shrugged.

The two sat in silence for a while staring at the ceiling. The Way brothers had always been close, ever since they were toddlers. Practically inseparable. However, sharing their secret had made the bond even stronger which may come to a surprise to some people, but the Way brothers didn’t see any other outcome. They were too close.

But then again, not every sibling could say they got to keep such a large and dangerously precarious secret. How many kids had a vampire as an older brother?

No, Gerard wasn’t a ‘Dracula’ type vampire, an ‘Interview With A Vampire’ type, a ‘Vampire Diaries’ one, nor was he one of those weird ‘Twilight’ vamps. He was a real-life, un-living creature of the night… well, a creature in general. He could walk in sunlight perfectly fine; thank you very much. He was just incredibly susceptible to sunburn. His skin was incredibly pale – Mikey liked to call him Snow White because of the whole “skin as white as snow and hair as black as ebony” even if his hair was dyed at the moment – and exceptionally flammable. He’d found that out the hard way (smoking was now far too risky, unfortunately). Yes, his hearing and eyesight were incredible, even his strength and speed were supernatural, heck he was even allowed to age!

Ageing is a very complicated scenario actually. You see, vampires, real vampires, can… enforce ageing. No, they cannot die – they are still immortal to sense after all – but if vampires really want to, they can implement ageing. It’s incredibly useful when wanting to fit it or stay in place for long periods. All one must do is will it to happen. It’s hard to explain, but it’s almost as if there is a switch that causes the time lapse. To age, one must ‘flick the switch on’, if that makes sense of course. To revert to the age at which the vampire was turned, they ‘switch it off’. To retain an age, the ‘switch’ is ‘held in the middle’. Please keep in mind that these are strange and simplistic analogies that do not give the art justice.

It had taken four years for Gerard to become aware of such an ability, one which he used as soon as possible. So instead of looking seven years older than Mikey, he looked three. However, despite all the marvellous pros, there was one large con that outweighed them. His lust for blood.

Gerard craved the stuff. Blood fuelled his being now, and he hated it. Vampires, to stay reasonably healthy complexioned, comfortable and supernaturally advantaged to the utmost extent needed to feed every two to three days. Slight problem, Gerard despised feeding. Hated it. He loathed that he had to make human beings living blood bags for his own unnatural survival. He hadn’t chosen vampirism. Vampirism chose him.

It had found him in an alleyway at his lowest of lows, close to blackout drunk and incredibly high on a multitude of drugs. He was heartbroken and full of self-loathing merely looking for a way to forget for a night no matter the cost in the morning. Or so he had thought. Any amount of heartbreak was preferable to the self-loathing Gerard currently lived, no, existed with. Or maybe endured... either way, there weren’t many positives, in his own belief, to being a vampire.

“Gee? Gerard.” Mikey said, demanding his brother’s attention with a shove. A shove that shouldn’t have even budged the older brother what with the supernatural strength and all. But it did. And it caused Mikey to frown. Now that he thought about it, Gerard was colder than usual. Sure, being vampire had meant far lower temperatures, but Gerard was icy.

“Gerard,” Mikey said, a slight whine in his tone.

“Huh?” Gerard asked, unaware that he had been enraptured in his own thoughts yet again.

“I was asking how the cabin and the cycle went. How Frank is?” Mikey answered, annoyance obvious in his voice.

“Oh… Yeah, it was fine. Well, the usual anyway. Nothing abnormal. Frank, on the other hand, is currently passed out on the couch. We had to use the cellar this time. One of the neighbouring cabins was occupied, so he’s a little bruised up. But he’ll heal.” Gerard said, frowning a little.

To some, the conversation would be, to say the least, but to the way brothers, it was a part of their lives now.

To add onto what is already pretty unbelievable, Gerard was not only the supernatural but dated it too. Frank, a short, tattooed man with a slight case of hyperactivity, was a werewolf. Not a ‘Vampire Diaries’ werewolf, a ‘Teen Wolf’ type of a ‘Harry Potter’ breed, but a living, breathing werewolf.

Of course, lycanthropy is the typical trait of wolfmen. (They wouldn’t be a werewolf if they didn’t, now would they?) Of every lunar cycle – which lasts twenty-nine days – three nights are overshone with a full moon. This is the trigger. Something the many pieces of entertainment in our culture got correct. For these three nights, a werewolf will undergo their transformation: An excruciating experience for the poor soul who endures body is being recreated. Joints and bones are dislocated, muscles are transformed, and insides are relocated as a wolf form is taken. At the crack of dawn, the transformation is reversed, and the pain is experienced once more. For all werewolves, hormones are maxed and raging as their body prepares for the inevitable torment. Mood swings are prominent while specific needs make themselves known, all causing a very roller coaster-like-week for our werewolf Frank.

The reason he was “passed out on the couch” as because over those three days, sleep was not something he came by easily. The wolf form runs wild on those full-mooned nights. Hunting where it wants, running where it pleases but always returning to the old cabin outside New Jersey located in a national park. It was the closest thing the boys could get to seclusion. Unfortunately, this park was open for hunting every once and a while – mainly winter – making it an exceedingly exhausting and challenging time of year for Frank.

You’d think that running around as a wolf through the forest would be more tiring for the man; however, it hated being caged – the wolf that is – and it fought for escape from the confinement of the underground cellar of the cabin for hours without end throughout the night. Throwing itself against the cold and unforgiving reinforced steel door and barricade, trying in vain to dig at the concrete flooring and fight against the rock walls. So, after nights like the past few where Frank had to be locked up for the safety of a neighbouring family and camping hunters close to the cabin’s radius, Frank awoke to find himself bruised, swollen, bloodied and sometimes still broken.

One of the perks to Frank’s supernatural curse was his healing ability. Unlike Gerard, who could only be harmed by another vampire and otherwise comes out of a physical complication unscathed, Frank is injured just as easily as anyone else… he just heals much faster. A broken arm is perfectly fine after a few hours, a small cut in only seconds and bruises within minutes to half an hour. But this all depended on his condition. After three gruelling nights of physical agony and little to no sleep (even during the day he only slept a couple hours before the emotions and need to move became too much to handle), healing became a little more time-consuming. Bruises taking hours; cut's up to a day and breaks multiple.

“And, how are you?” Mikey asked Gerard, concern evident on his pointed features.

“I’m fine Mikes. It’s hard listening to it, but Frank is the concern here.” Gerard shrugged.

“That’s not what I’m talking about Gee,” Mikey sighed. Gerard knew what Mikey meant, he was just ignoring it. His brother was asking about his feeding schedule, but he could lie.

“I’m fine. It hasn’t been long.”

“You can’t lie to me, Gerard.” Shit. Well, there does that theory. “Now when was the last time you fed.” Mikey raised his eyebrows, not letting his brother getting out of it that easily.

“Not long,” Gerard replied quietly, looking anywhere but at Mikey.

“Bullshit Gee. You’ve got dark rings around your eyes, your pale… well paler and you are literally like ice. Now, when did you last feed?”

Damn, he’s good. Gerard thought before sighing.

“It’s probably been a good week? Week ‘n’ a half? I’m not too sure…” Gerard rubbed the back of his neck as Mikey scolded him. Not verbally, just with eye-contact. He was good at it.

“Gerard, you need to eat. You remember the last time you went too long without bl-“

“Yeah, yeah! I get it.” Gerard snapped, cutting Mikey off before he could finish the sentence, “It’s just hard y’know? Like, I shudder just thinking about it.” A very similar shudder ran up his spine.

“Gee, you’ve done it a hundred times before. You’ll be fine. You know they forget.” Mikey reasoned.

“Ugh, I know.”

Vampires were able to make their victims forget about the wound left after feeding and the very experience. It was like a venom that was injected through their fangs into the puncture wounds of the bite site, 'blissing out' the victim before they finished. The victim was left in a dazed state for a certain amount of time after the vampire has finished feeding, giving said attacker enough time to flee the scene. This of course only occurs when the victim is left alive.

“It’s just hard to find someone. And don’t you dare give me the whole, “It’s winter, Gerard. The marks are covered,” speech because that is only part of the difficulty.” Gerard retorted, becoming defensive.

“I don’t sound like that,” Mikey muttered, “and I know. You’ve explained this to me before. But it’s still easier. Just go into a bar, bite an alone, drunk stranger and leave. It’s that easy.” Mikey knew it wasn’t that easy, but he put on the low-difficulty mask for his brother. Gerard had always been the same. When he was little, he’d hated it when his mum had killed even the smallest of insects in the house, crying that they should be set free instead. Now that he was the potential killer, it was tormenting.

Gerard snorted. “’That easy’ my ass.”

“I’ve asked you before, and I’ll ask again; why don’t you just feed on me?”

“Because you’re my brother Mikey! I’m not turning you into a food source. We’ve been over this.”

“Gerard, please. You look like shit, and your hands are beginning to shake. Just this once, do it. It doesn’t have to be much, just enough to give you a clear mind for when you go and feed tonight.” Mikey pushed. A small, smug feeling began to harbour in his mind. He could see Gerard and his resolve wavering.

“C’mon, just a little. It can just be from my wrist. It’s no biggie, and you know you’d do the same for me.” Mikey knew he had one. Gerard was biting his lip and wringing his hands. It was his signs of defeat and self-beratement.

Gerard sighed heavily, “Fine. But as soon as you get weirded out, you tell me okay? And as soon as the venom starts kicking in you stop me.”

“Yeah, okay.” Mikey nodded.

They’d done this once before. Him, Mikey and their parents were on holiday at their great aunt’s and were rooming with a multitude of cousins. Gerard was four years into his new life and attending the first family gathering in three years.

He’d graduated, made do with the little knowledge he had of his new lifestyle and had just figured out how to start ageing again because despite being twenty-one, he still looked seventeen.

Mikey had just turned fifteen and knew about Gerard and his vampirism. He’d thought it was the coolest thing in the world when overlooking the actual use of people.

It was an extended stay. Five weeks at a private estate connected to a beach in a mansion type household. The boy’s mother had begged Gerard to come along, and he eventually agreed. What he hadn’t decided too, however, was one visit into town. Which meant he’d have to starve himself for far longer than usual. Once he had gotten through the first two weeks, and the signs were beginning to really show. Gerard played it off as a cold, but Mikey knew that his older brother hadn’t fed. He knew his brother would feed once a week – they had worked out time-frames together – and the end of the second week a lot closer than the start.

He’d found Gerard in the middle of the day laying on the shared bunk, shivering despite the forty-degree heat. He looked as if he hadn’t slept in days - which wasn’t far off the mark – and strangely gaunt. How the rest of the family didn’t notice was astounding, but then again, none of them really paid him much mind. It had always been the same once he’d gotten a little older than twelve. He started delving into the world of art, darker imagery and more intense self-representation. The family began to treat him as an outcast and still did even at twenty-one.

Mikey had asked Gerard what the problem was, and in a heartbeat, Gerard admitted the problem. He was hiding away from everyone, so he didn’t lose control. He needed blood and didn’t know how to get it without a problem. (He hadn’t been allowed to take his car, his parents insisting he go with them – and he’d caved to that too). Mikey offered that he feed off him and it hadn’t taken much convincing.

And here they were again, the brothers undergoing a sense of déjà vu. Mikey offered his wrist to his brother, clenching his fist as he waited for the sharp stinging pain that he knew would occur. As Gerard held Mikey’s arm gingerly, slowly lowering his head towards the boy’s exposed wrist, Mikey started to hold his breath. Not just because of the pain that would come, but because of the feeling of euphoria he felt after being fed on for a while.

“Mikes, how are you gonna hide it at school?” Gerard asked suddenly, pulling back but the boy’s arm still in a light grip.

“I’ll just wear that Adidas wrist thing you gave me. It’s fine.”

“Okay,” Gerard answered almost absentmindedly as he lowered his head once more. Closing his eyes, he opened his mouth and exposed his fangs to the soft skin on the inside of Mikey’s wrist. He sighed a shaky breath before biting down and piercing the surface, a small flow of blood meeting his tongue.

Mikey hissed slightly as he felt his skin being punctured and then sucked on. Sure, it was weird, but he knew Gerard would do the same for him. He watched as Gerard began to breathe a little harder in between swallowing the small mouthfuls which were steadily increasing along with the grip on Mikey’s arm.

Gerard was now enraptured with the taste that flooded his mouth and groaned in content. His supernatural instincts took over causing him to sink his fangs deeper into Mikey’s wrist, moaning as the flow increased.

Mikey was now beginning to feel a slight wave of euphoria trickle into his mind. He’d barely noticed his brothers' grip tightening further, possibly causing bruises. He knew he needed to stop his brother now.

“Okay, Gee. That’s enough.” Mikey said, shaking his head willing the fuzzy feeling in his brain to go away. Gerard didn’t stop though as his breathing deepened.

“Gee… C’mon, stop now,” Mikey said, his voice becoming firmer. Still no response.

“Gerard!” He yelled.

Gerard’s eyes snapped open, his hazel eyes tinted red – a side effect while feeding. With a sharp intake of breath, Gerard unlatched his mouth from his brother's arm and sprung off the bed, slamming into the wall across the room.

“Fuck,” Gerard said shakily, a line of blood trailing down the side of his chin.

“Fuck! Shit, Mikey, I’m sorry. Fucking shit.” He apologised in between shaky breath and wrangling of his hair.

“Gerard. Gerard hey! It’s okay. It was only a little longer, I’m fine. Seriously.” Mikey said hastily, pressing a discarded shirt to his wrist.

“Better a little more from me than too much from someone else right?”

Gerard shook his head, “I’m sorry,” he mumbled.

“Dude it’s all good. No, go clean yourself up, I need a lift to school.”

“Yeah… Yeah okay. Be ready in fifteen?”

“You got it,” Mikey replied. He was already walking to the bathroom, his clothes and wristbands in hand and a bandage in mind, oh and a coffee.

“Gerard, can you make me a coffee?!”

“Yeah. Yeah of course!” Gerard answered. He was still a little out of it, especially after licking the blood off his chin. He’d almost lost control, and yet Mikey was still able to reassure him.

He walked to the kitchen, bypassing the couch to see Frank snoring.

Gerard smiled. He had a gorgeous boyfriend and a brother who seemed to care about his wellbeing far too much. He wondered how he could even deserve such people in his life.

#and one thing led to another #mcr fanfiction #gerard way #vampire #frank iero #werewolf #mikey way #horror #body horror #blood #blood drinking #romance

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s4lticid · 6 years ago

Text

The Shady as all Hell Whistleblower: Or why we shouldn’t take Romelle at face value.

Some firsts:

First and foremost, my deep thanks to the wonderful family at the Lotura Discord Server. In the midst of dumping this stream of consciousness mess on you all, I may pull some ideas that were discussed there and are not original to me. Where possible I will try and credit individuals, but if I miss anyone my deepest apologies and know that everyone there has had a great deal of influence over my thought process. My love and thanks for all the great discussion and support – even the stuff I haven’t been present for!

Second, this and the stuff to come right after, was the work of lots of thought and research that started right after S6 dropped. That is a long time, and I wanted to get something out sooner but I have just been too swamped with RL, which has decided to become a giant, bloody, throbbing, pus-filled buboe blocking me from doing much of anything fun at all ever again. Thus you will be treated to a stream of as much shit as I can spit out at once in the time I have to get this down, and it may not be in the best format or particularly well written, but here goes… oh, and this is also another reason I may forget who said what in conversations exactly, because some of it happened nearly 2 months ago.

I am aware there have been a few metas written about Romelle. I haven’t actually read any of them at this point, except for Leaking Hate’s awesome meta here, because I didn’t want to get overly influenced by the ideas of others. As such I have been on reading and participating in fandom even less that RL gave me a chance to. So if you see something here that was said by someone outside of the Lotura Server and they are not credited, it is not me copying someone, I have just been holding on to it until I could post this.

That said, this builds off of some things LH posted in the above link, and I will do my best to credit those conversations I can remember reading and/or participating in within the Discord.

~oOo~

OKAY.

I’m going to come right out and say it:

Romelle is not who she says she is.

There are too many inconsistencies in her story. So, let’s start at the very beginning and begin poking the holes to prove my point:

1. Keith and Krolia find Romelle:

Keith and Krolia are in the Quantum Abyss riding a Space Whale and it brings them to a planet. Krolia takes a reading, and finds the same signal as the strange quintessence the Blade has been tracking on that planet.

Note: Krolia first sees the readings from space and tracks them to the planet. She doesn’t find any Quintessence signal anywhere else, she specifically states that it is strong and coming from exactly one place.

It is coming from here:

So, if there was a moon base absolutely full of Alteans being drained for their quintessence, as they were shown later, why ever did such a larger source not register first and foremost rather than that cute little dome Romelle is in?

Speaking of that Dome, it’s pretty small, isn’t it? It’s a bio-dome. Meant for a few inhabitants. Does this look like it could house a colony, or even a village realistically? No. It can handle a handful, maybe a dozen people. Probably, it was meant to house just one. But we’ll get to that later.

Keith and Krolia break in and find Romelle, alone and by a riverside. Washing clothes? Why do that in her only clean water source when she has technology all around her? And make no mistake here, she is alone and demands help.

~oOo~

Now I am going to digress here for a moment before I go on to point 2, so I can point out a parallel to the original show, Defender of the Universe (to be referred to from here on as DotU for brevity’s sake, and for my fingers).

There are a LOT of nods to the original shows, (GoLion too), throughout VLD. Some are flat out mirrors for the original, same plot ideas remade, lines taken and reused, Characters, Mechas, motives and situations, they’re all here, though sometimes reworked in very unexpected ways. It’s beautiful seeing them all.

Finding the pretty Damsel alone by a stream, helpless, perhaps even passed out, is one plot device DotU used a LOT.

For instance, when Allura’s Aunt Orla comes to visit, Haggar intercepts and captures her, and then takes her form and lies down to appear knocked out after an attack on her carriage. She is found lying by a stream. That was a plot to get to Allura:

Or how about the time Haggar herself was caught being pretty for a day – in apparently her original form – and cursed the person who saw her?

Again, found by a river.

Fine, you say. But this isn’t Haggar pretending to be Romelle. That didn’t happen, right?

Oh but it did. “It’ll Be a Cold Day”:

Ok, so she wasn’t found by a river this time. But two out of three combined with the VLD writers’ way of reworking things make this a nice little reference point for this original trope.

Something else to note here is there is always some part of Haggar that is a tell. Some part which she cannot disguise. I would posit that we have one with VLD Romelle too: Her clothes. As you go through this post, where you see images of other Alteans, please get a look at their garb. There are several styles that are re-used among each of the people shown. However not one of them wears the same cut we see Romelle wear. And yet someone does. Who? Haggar/Honerva.

No, I am not saying Romelle is actually Honerva/Haggar in disguise. But she could easily be in league with her, and at the very least she definitely is not the innocent she appears and claims to be. Not just because of these fun little references to the original, but they are nice signposts along the way.

~oOo~

2. Romelle’s Story: The Colony

Romelle starts her story to the Paladins by telling them she comes from a planet where there are thousands of Alteans.

This bears repeating: Thousands. Of living Alteans.

Not “were” thousands, but are.

Lotor apparently hunted down every Altean who had been off planet at the time Altea was destroyed, and their offspring, to bring them to the first Colony.

Here is an image of the beginnings of that colony:

Here’s another:

Green as far as the eye can see and a giant ship that, as Leaking Hate pointed out in her meta and on Discord, is easily the size of the dome we were shown above where Keith and Krolia first found Romelle.

That ship would never fit in the bio-dome. And as the upper picture of these two states in the subtitles, Lotor chose a remote planet beyond the Quantum Abyss, not in the Abyss. A planet with a sun such that plants could grow, not a pulsar.

This means it cannot same planet as Romelle was found on, because she states the colony planet is beyond the Abyss, so the Abyss and the Pulsar within it already existed back then. Neither could that ship ever hope to fit inside that dome, as is shown in her memory.

And that colony that was built, shown in the lower picture? Is easily twice as big, or more, as the one Romelle is found in.

3. Romelle’s Story: The Second Colony

Generations ago, once the Colony was very successful, Lotor began testing Alteans for special characteristics such that they could survive the journey to and live on a “Second Colony”. “To better our chances for survival”.

Let’s start with who was chosen.

Around Nine Thousand Five Hundred to Nine Thousand years ago – assuming time for Lotor to mature enough to do all this, knowing that he ages slowly thanks to the writers – Lotor would have started the first Colony. The last people brought might have been found within a couple of hundred years of that range, but probably less.

Think about how long a time that is.

Now, get a look at the faces that came in with some of the survivors found way back then:

Now look at who is being tested:

(Note: I circled a few faces, but if you really look you will see many of the same ones from the above pic)

And note two of the faces I circled.

We know Alteans have a long life span. Far longer than Humans. But we also know from Allura’s reaction that they shouldn’t be anything like at least Nine Thousand Years or more.

So how are First-comer Refugee Alteans alive and young at the same time – ‘Generations Later’ – as both Romelle and Bandor?

Let’s argue that they could be. Bandor and Romelle were just younger then and not chosen. So then Why have neither of them aged at all by the time Romelle related that eventually Bandor was old enough to be tested and passed?

And look, here are some of the first people chosen. Recognize at least one face and clothing? (Not including Petrulius who is a contemporary of Romelle’s as she identifies him on the Moon Facility)

Sure they could be chosen much later, but then why have they not aged at all?

So were Romelle and Bandor refugees? If so then why did Romelle say she was born onto that planet?

Were they born on the planet as she claims?

Did Lotor start testing for special Alteans earlier than she says? Or was it really later? If the latter then how are these original refugees still so young?

However you look at it, her timeline does not add up,

4. Romelle’s Story: The Monument

Thanks in advance to Trisha, Giobana, Crystal Rebellion, Leaking Hate and anyone else who contributed to the conversation that led to this one.

Romelle shows us in her memory that there was a memorial wall to those who went to the Second Colony. Whether she mentions it to the Paladins, I don’t know, but what is shown in the episode looks very much like a memorial to the Fallen.

The base of the Lotor’s statue is covered in names, and we see it cracked with age. People go there to pay respects and leave flowers – and not just any flowers, but pink flowers.

This kind of memorial is what you do for Fallen Soldiers and Fighters in a struggle, not people who are alive off somewhere on another colony and whom you hope to see again once the struggle is over. We even see this is a cross-cultural, cross-species, and intergalactic practice when we see the monument planet Pidge first traced Matt to.

And what do we know about Pink to Alteans? From Allura:

Fallen Warriors. Not people who have gone to a second colony in the hopes of keeping their people alive.

Actually, let’s look at that little tale there. Any colony, in order to be successful, requires a genetically diverse population, a breeding population. A handful of people at a time, because they test as special is not going to provide that. Particularly not in what has been portrayed as a potentially dangerous and harsh journey and place – that alone would be safer in numbers.

Add to that we clearly see that Lotor has separated breeding pairs – Couples – in the few images we see of those chosen. If he is trying to establish a new colony why would he logically do that? The Alteans are intelligent and have some technological expertise, at least some of them, how did no one question that?

I call Shenanigans.

Whatever was going on, it was not another colony and the Alteans all knew it.

This wall? Is a War Memorial honoring warriors who the Alteans think are probably dead.

5. Romelle’s Story: The Communicator

When Bandor is chosen, he is portrayed as giving Romelle a communicator to try and stay in touch with her.

This, despite his being portrayed by her as someone who deeply believed in the importance of not compromising the location of each colony through stray communications that could be picked up and tracked. He is portrayed as explaining to Romelle, in such a ways that impies he has explained it to her time and again, why it was so very important that there be no communication. He seems to understand and believe that it could be life and death. But he creates one anyway?

And then, he doesn’t think to give it to her until he is about to board the ship, in front of the guards:

Look at this picture above. If you zoom in, everyone is looking at them and watching.

This whole part of the story is flat out ridiculous, and makes zero sense. There is no logic to this chain of events or his giving her the thing only at that very moment and not before testing just in case or something.

It is a lie on the level a six year old might tell. It shouldn’t even be considered as more than that. And it is here, I think, that we fly into the realm of pure fantasy. Everything up till now was probably half-truths and misdirection. From here on out though, her story really starts to fall apart and it is very likely we are seeing total and full fabrication.

6. Romelle’s Story: The Dome

We know Romelle never gets chosen for the second Colony, or at least she never states that she does. Her never being chosen for the second colony wouldn’t be something to hide, it could totally benefit her story. It would also help to explain why they didn’t try to warn anyone or stop the testing once they found the moon base – a fact that no one questioned, which itself is suspicious. But she implies by her story that she remains at home, among her people, all alone and depressed because now she has no family.

So she is supposedly still at the original colony when Bandor finally does contact her. He has crashed by the woods. She goes to him and what does she see?

The roof of the Dome. Which we have already established does not exist on the First Colony. So, where is she? Why is she now in this Dome?

What happened in the intervening time that she is not telling us, and is this story about Bandor crashing and the communicator even true? Or are we now in fully manipulative fantasy?

There appear to be no other people in the Dome at all. At least neither Keith nor Krolia relate having seen even one single person to corroborate her story. No other Alteans on this original Colony she is supposed to still be on, which is where Keith and Krolia supposedly find her, and where she states very clearly in the beginning of her story that there are thousands of living, healthy Alteans.Why did Keith and Krolia not see one other person?

Why does Romelle know about a flight bay on the outside of the Dome such that she can take Keith and Krolia to it, but they are supposed to be on an open planet?

When Romelle shows them to said pod, she actually says that “No one else here would know how to fly them if they wanted to”. She represents in this line, once again, that this is the First Colony and there are other people here. So where are they?

7. The Moon Base

Let’s begin with a question I asked at the beginning.

Why, when they were coming in to the planet, did Krolia see

no quintessence signal at all

from that moon base?

These supposed people are supposedly being harvested – and Keith uses the active verb.

These people

Are. Not. Dead

The signal of Quintessence from a place so full of so many people, and the energy being harvested from them, not to mention the pods of Quintessence being harvested off in a storage room somewhere, being collected and stored for pickup, would have logically dwarfed the signal coming from Romelle and her little Dome. They would have ended up here first, not at the Dome.

Even when they finally get there, at first Krolia only says she sees something down on the moon, not that she is getting any kind of Quintessence signal there.

Why? Because there isn’t any.

The pods and the people are a mirage, created by them and for them; woven out of their own pre-existing prejudice and hate, and so very easy for them to believe.

Lotor never was portrayed as taking so very many people at once. For that many people to still be alive and being drained on that station, almost every single Altean would have to still be alive and being used.

A key thing Lotor has been portrayed as is not wasteful. Realistically, and if this were true, Alteans would have died of age. Some even may have died from the process itself.

Why would you keep a dead body in a pod like that for generations, and just build another?

You wouldn’t. You would dispose of the corpse and reuse the pod.

There wouldn’t be so very many of them if what Keith and Krolia saw was real, and was what they thought.

Let’s get a look at the pods, btw. They are very reminiscent of Earth Batteries or Quintessence Capsules themselves, aren’t they? Why do you think that is? Perhaps because they are being manufactured from the thoughts and imaginings of Keith and Krolia?

Here is what real Galra Pod Tech looks like – this is the most recent example, but we HAVE seen it before in earlier seasons. I am just too lazy to go and find it.

Lotor is a Prince, with access to resources and a scientist who designs and creates his own tech advances, ships and fleets. To top that he has access to all of the best and latest technology in the empire.

Does this really look anything like real, known and hi-tech Galra technology, except in a passing, functional way?

And why, after they have seen this and come to the conclusions they have, if the colony is right there and they have not only the proof but are themselves outsiders, giving them credibility…. WHY do Keith and Krolia – both Altruistic heroic do-gooders – not go and try to warn the rest of the Colony? Get them to stop participating or submitting to the tests?

Again, that makes no sense at all according to their personalities. Instead, they run headlong back to Allura to blow the whistle on evil, evil Lotor. No stops, no questions, no thought about the others still at risk.

Also, no proof aside from this one little girl and her story, which without other evidence amounts to nothing more than Heresay. No pictures, no video and no attempt to grab a jar of Quintessence to prove their case.

We find out in S7, that Keith at least sent a message to Kolivan and asked him to send a squad out there. But what did Kolivan’s team find?

Nothing. The place was empty. “Cleaned out”. And judging by the lighting when they got there, it was already probably empty and shut down. They just imagined the pods. How else would it be empty? It’s not like Lotor had any time to clear it. Neither did Honerva, if Kolivan acted right away – and honestly, Kolivan would have acted as fast as he could.

Speaking of Honerva:

8. On the Castle of Lions

Honerva is watching through Mommy Cam Kuron. Nowhere in this episode is she at all surprised or disturbed to see another living Altean.

We find out later when she speaks to Lotor that she is aware that he has continued her work and succeeded where she could not. That work was partly involving Alteans, but I will get to what that means later and probably in a different post.

So she is aware that Alteans exist, but she is still not at all surprised to see Romelle there in the castle. At all. As if it is part of her plan. Could Romelle be in league with Honerva? A part of a plan?

OR, thanks to the Blade being compromised by the alliance with Lotor – which Keith points out in S7 – Honerva found out about the investigation into the Quintessence early on into the new Alliance and traced the path herself. She has access to all databases and resources in the Empire, after all, and we do not know what she was doing for a looong time while a lot of other things were going down in S5 and S6.

Kolivan and the blade, despite their own resources, were having trouble tracing the source and route of the quintessence. Perhaps what they did find was carefully fed to them when Honerva was ready for them. When both she and Romelle were prepared.

And let’s talk a moment about how not one of the members of the team, including both Hunk and Kuron – both great voices of calm and reason for the team – questioned any of the discrepancies of the story I mentioned above, or Keith and Krolia’s actions, lack of corroboration and lack of trying to help the surviving colonists.

They have started to build a relationship with the Galra, learn their culture and working hard for peace for months and months. They were all starting to get to know and like Lotor even. They know the careful balance going on right now in the empire. And then one girl shows up with an MIA team member and has an uncorroborated story, and starts ordering people to shoot Lotor down, not caring that Allura is there too. Even after she is told that Allura is there she doesn’t care.

Her story starts preying on emotion and projecting her own obvious desire to see him dead. And the team members all get very emotional and ready for violence as well, as if the last several months never happened. Their reasoning starts to slip, they don’t question or think out what they’re being told, not even the ones that normally do that no matter what.

And then we have this foreshadowing from waaaay near the beginning of the show:

Keith is still a hothead in many ways. And he was too impatient to get Lotor to be focused against mind control.

He shows up on the Castle ready to rush into the rift and attack. Even after hearing that Allura would be caught in the crossfire he presses to try and do just that and has to be bitchslapped by Lance.

The sheer venom and anger in all of the Paladins’ responses once Romelle is done with her story is off the scale. Especially Hunk and Shiro. Shiro’s tone when he says once Lotor and Allura land they will separate them and “Take Lotor down!” is a tone I have never once heard from him in the entire series. It’s sheer rage fueled bloodlust. This is not any of them. This is them being manipulated.

A brief thought about S7… Never mind that Romelle’s Altean frankly sucks, and she seems able to read Hunk’s mind – convenient that. How about Romelle identifying Lotor’s fleet by sight? When did she ever see enough of that, while living isolated on the colony, to know his ships by sight?

SO. Who or what is Romelle?

Well, we have seen how characters are reworked from the original. And there is one major character from the original we still haven’t seen.

Merla.

It makes no sense to bring in a new character now. But merging her with another character already brought in, one who disliked and enjoyed thwarting Lotor as much as the original Romelle did? That is not only possible, it is plausible, considering many of the character merges and re-works the VLD Team has already done throughout the series.

Merla is telepathic, but more, she can control people. Partly via telepathy, but most often she uses the trope known as Emotion Bomb:

https://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/EmotionBomb

It is so much easier to control people through emotions and insecurities they already have. And by the behavior of the Paladins that day? That is exactly what was happening. Not one of them acted rationally or completely within the current development of their character to Romelle and her appearance/story. Not even Keith and Krolia did when they found her, as pointed out earlier.

They are all being manipulated and at least mostly, lied to. They are pawns and Romelle a tool to get Lotor out of their Alliance and out of his safe space with Voltron. This is why Honerva was not surprised about Romelle being there on the ship. This is how Honerva knew about the Alteans and the research when she finally got Lotor back onto her ship to try and talk to him.

Honerva is back to herself and she wants to get back to her people, probably to lead them. She wants her son back now that she has herself again too. To get even a chance at that she needs to get him away from his safe and stabilizing place with the Voltron Coalition. She wants his Sincline ship, so she wouldn’t need Voltron anymore. She certainly wouldn’t want him cozying up to Alfor’s Daughter.

Honerva has put a nice chess game onto the table, getting Romelle on her side, manipulating the Paladins, and forcing the breach in the budding New Empire and Alliance.

Romelle is pissed, perhaps understandably, and has a bone to pick. She may have been exiled to that planetoid by her people and Lotor, for starting shit on the Colony, and found there by Honerva, or she may have been set up there by Honerva. In the end the result is the same. Perfect tool.

Because Lotor had not been harvesting Alteans all this time. Romelle, as he said in the episode, was not telling the truth and did not know what she spoke of. What would be the point of that, there is no research in that, only death. No, he has been developing fighters like the one we saw in the end of S7. Fighters that fuse Altean Alchemic Magic and fighting skill from the pilot, allowing the pilot to see and experience straight through the ship’s sensors, and powering the ship through their own Quintessence – very like the Lions only more. (My thanks to Crystal Rebellion who helped me develop this base idea with this meta. There will be more to come on this.)

The special Alteans who went with him from the colony were test pilots, heroes to their people, to help ensure their survival. A new protective military force. .

Test pilots have a dangerous job, one that is known to lead to death. And who knows, maybe some Galra had snooped around at times. Regardless, that memorial to fallen warriors was just exactly that, and all the Altean people knew exactly what they were volunteering for.

Even Lotor said a few were martyred for an important cause to save the future for thousands. One cannot become a martyr unless everyone knows what they did and why.

Lotor is their greatest Hero and Savior. And now his Mother is likely there – having forsaken the Druids – and has given the Colony a story of betrayal, and the Komar to perfect their fighters. Perhaps a wounded and/or Comatose Lotor is with her if she managed to pull him out of the rift first. But regardless, the Alteans are not friends to Allura, Voltron or the Coalition. They are going to see Allura and the Paladins as enemies, who betrayed and hurt their leader and protector.

That fighter was not a part of Sendak’s fleet, she was a forward thrust. A shot across the Paladin’s bow. The Alteans will be hunting Voltron.

I’ll leave you with a parting thought.

The writers also said in the end, we would look back and see that Lotor was never lying. And that he came from a genuine place, though he never had the tools and choices the rest of the Paladins were given in their upbringings and lives. And lastly, that his feelings for Allura were indeed genuine.

I am working on a meta for Lotor. I’ll get there soon.

My thanks again to everyone on the Lotura Discord. You are all amazing, wonderful people and I am lucky to have met you and to be able to discuss ideas with you.

Thanks to Crystal Rebellion for helping me last minute find links at 2 AM so I can get a bit of sleep before work

And thanks to the love of my life for putting up with me being tied up so late tonight.

Without your support I can do so little.

#lotura #@VLD #meta #Romelle is Shady #don't trust the bitch #Romerla

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hollowedrpg · 6 years ago

Photo

CONGRATULATIONS, ROMAN! — You’ve been accepted for the role of Xenophilius Lovegood, with a face claim change to Cody Fern. I was a little worried people would struggle with the vagueness of Xeno’s affliction and how he’s been affected since he was attacked during school, but you wrote it beautifully. I also really enjoyed reading your head canons about his relationship with Pandora, and everything else about Xeno. You really brought his character to life outside of the bio, which is exactly what I’m looking for in an application.

Thank you so much for applying. Please create your account and send in the link, track the right tags, and follow everyone on the follow list. Welcome to Hollowed Souls!

ooc.

name: Roman

age: 26

preferred pronouns: they/them

timezone: EST

activity: medium to high; I’m around to answer messages and plot every day, and am usually able to do at least some replies every other day or so depending on how work is going!

are you applying for more than one character?: not at this time!

how do you feel about your character dying?: I would be comfortable with it as long as it’s discussed and I’d have a chance to pick up another character! The possibility of the death is cool to think about; having a grand ending would be satisfying, especially if it was something that was a long time coming, and contributed to the plot in a big way, which I feel it actually could with Xeno. I’m a sucker for a good slow burn with some angst!

anything else?: (questions, concerns, etc.) I did some assuming on some bits about Pandora and Xeno’s relationship that I’m definitely open to changing or revising if accepted! Also, this has nothing to do with the app, but if missing characters make an appearance later on, I would love to express my enthusiastic interest in seeing Ted Tonks!! I wrote Ted in Port Montrose and I’d LOVE to see what he’s like in this other beautiful AU!!!

ic details.

(cw throughout for ableism, vague mental illness discussion)

full name: Xenophilius Prometheus Lovegood

Xenophilius: from the Greek xenos and philia, respectively meaning strange and love; together, the love of the strange. Klaus and Else Lovegood were never going to choose an average sort of name for their child. Believing in many old practices of the wixen world, upon learning they were pregnant, they sought out a Naming Seer to learn the future of their child, and, therefore, what sort of moniker they would fit. They used what little of their savings they had left from the move for the appointment, as it was an important tradition in Else’s family. The Naming Seer projected a strange life for the child, full of wonder and mysticism, a longing for knowledge and a mind open to the belief of the other that most would reject easily. The Naming Seer suggested Edmund, for the prosperity they saw the child could achieve if encouraged, through academic success. The two laughed, thanked them, and left to do their own research. They came across the word xenophile in one of their very old muggle books about cultures of the world and knew immediately that was the name for their child. If they were going to have an open mind, their name was going to let all who heard it know so.

Prometheus: Greek mythological figure, a titan known for creating man from clay, as well as stealing fire from the gods and gifting it to humanity, starting civilization. Xeno’s parents made this choice very soon after landing on his first name. Klaus had a certain fascination with mythology, and what better than to give her child a name to encourage intelligence and creation at any cost?

Lovegood: As it sounds, a combination of the two English words love and good. This was a surname of the Lovegoods’ own creation upon their immigration to the United Kingdom during the muggle’s World War II. They had no shame in their former surnames, but wanted a blank slate to start over with good fortune. They settled on something to show the simple and true quality of their affections, that their intentions, while some might find them strange, were always good.

date of birth: January 20, 1952

Capricorn-Aquarius cusp

The definition of this contrasting cusp, Xeno is a combination of both signs, hardworking and idealistic, with the ability to view the world in strange ways that few others can, and the intention of opening the minds of those around them. The mind is constantly working, creating brilliant, exciting thoughts and ideas, but the constant flow at times makes him come off as distant or uninterested in the ordinary people and things around him. Speaking with someone born on this cusp can be jarring and intimidating, although intriguing, always prepared to discuss the most outlandish of concepts, but rarely able to stop and process the more mundane, often times forgetting about thinking of what others are feeling.

former hogwarts house: Ravenclaw

There was a brief debate, as Xenophilius approached his eleventh birthday, of whether it would be best to send him to Durmstrang, as that was where both Else and Klaus went, and consequently met each other, but that thought was quickly silenced with a visit from Dumbledore himself, offering a place at Hogwarts for the young prodigy. Xeno researched the schools obsessively during the months this debate was going on, and insisted that he had to be at Hogwarts, because he was clearly a Ravenclaw student. Upon his entrance, the hat barely touched his little blonde head before shouting just that, a self-satisfied grin on the child’s face as he joined his new classmates.

sexuality: demisexual panromantic

For all of his youth, he was much too preoccupied with researching anything that was able to hold his attention for longer than a few minutes to worry about things such as dating and sex. People are not what he truly cares about, as harsh as that sounds, and it takes a great deal for him to feel that sort of attraction to someone. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he is fairly certain part of it has to do with what he saw his parents go through as a child. He can’t remember them ever truly seeming to love each other, despite the stories of their own youths they told him. All he remembers is the shouting and the pain they caused each other, all because of the most mundane problems, as if they had forgotten who they truly were once they had a family. That made him wary of that sort of very human connection, not wanting to lose himself more than he already had. Until things changed, of course…

gender/pronouns: agender + any pronouns (primarily he/him & they/them)

He has no great attachment to any gender at large, and therefore feels the label of something closer to nothing, defying any sort of binary or spectrum, fits him better than anything else could. His being feels unexplainable and it’s something he accepted from an early age. As such, though, he doesn’t truly care what anyone calls him. In fact, a lot of the time he’d rather people just wouldn’t refer to him at all, but that has very little to do with gender.

face claim change: Cody Fern, Jason Ralph, Boyd Holbrook (If for some reason, Cody Fern isn’t approved anymore and I get accepted, I’d love to brainstorm other alternatives with you before settling on one, as Cody is very much how I envision Xeno!)

more.

1. how do you interpret this character’s personality? how will you play them? include two weaknesses & two strengths.

+ determined, idealistic, brilliant

- aloof, selfish, erratic

Perhaps if life had treated him differently, Xenophilius would be considered one of the greatest minds of his time already. If life had not beaten him into the furthest recess of his mind from the moment he was old enough to understand and question what was going on around him, perhaps that person could have existed, already fully formed, by the ripe age of thirty. But life was not so kind, and even now he can say with certainty that it comes as no real surprise, having studied so much of the world obsessively, researching what he can get his hands on of every possibility that the human mind can dream up to understand the world at large.

At an early age, he retreated into his mind as a form of coping with the outside world, even as the thunderous voices, first of his parents, then of the bullies and naysayers at school, then of everyone, tried to infiltrate his thoughts. Single-minded to the core, focused and determined to solve any question proposed, any long lost mystery left unsolved, it is still so easy for him to fall into weeks at a time of researching furiously, even disappearing for days at a time on his quests for knowledge, once an idea comes to him. Because of this, he was never quite as adept as interpersonal relationships as he might’ve been otherwise, and this only worsened after his accident, when the sounds of the voices became nearly deafening in his mind.

He would much rather spend his time researching whatever concept has caught his interest than interact with his peers, causing him to come off as distant and aloof to many. When he does deign to talk to others for an extended period of time, though, his brilliance does become clear, although so does his erraticism. Enchanted with long lost mysteries, and ideas thought only to be legend and rumor, his speech rambles and raves through dozens of topics by the you’ve caught up with the first. If landing on something he truly does care about, he could speak for hours with supreme eloquence on the matter, although what he cares about and believes in rarely lines up with those around him, and thus is often dismissed as nonsense. He believes wholeheartedly, after all, that consciousness creates and therefore nothing the human mind is able to dream up should be ruled as wholly impossible.

People have always been cruel to him, and he has long ago accepted this as a fact of his life, even if he does do his best to spread good in the form of knowledge. When faced with the negativity, the cruelty, he used to do anything he could to defend himself, including the less refined solutions. He still possesses very little respect for traditional authority, but some of his light, some of the mischief has left him in the years since the fight that left him as he is. Now, it is often times easier to accept that others’ minds aren’t nearly as expanded as his, and they do not wish to be, than to try to argue his correctness. An unwilling audience will not learn, no matter how brilliant of a teacher he might be.

Do not mistake that for him thinking the worst of the world, though. Despite it all, he truly does believe in good, and hopes that one day he can bring the hope that he does feel to others as well by expanding their minds beyond the limitations of the mundane. But he’s convinced himself that he won’t be able to do so as he is now, broken and bent, a shadow of what he could be if not plagued with such a curse.

2. how has the war affected this character, emotionally and otherwise?

Upon waking up in the hospital wing all of those years ago, his mind had become a much darker place. The war was never his, never will be, at least fully, thanks in part to his own blood status, but mostly because of how he feels. It took a long, long time until he realized, truly, what was going on, and then it was only thanks to Pandora that he began to grasp the reality, the gravity of the situation surrounding them.

In the beginning, with only whispers and quiet fights taking place as two sides divided over beliefs, he was unaware, too completely wrapped up in his own quests to set them aside and worry about another battle to fight. After all, in the beginning, he was utterly devoted to finding his own cure, whatever it might take. In a way, Xeno’s selfishness kept him blinded to what was happening, or how he might’ve helped for far longer than it should have.

But then he truly met Pandora, and he fell in love as quickly as he had fallen in love with the pursuit of knowledge to calm his mind. Even without a cure, being with her cleared some of the noise, and he could begin to understand the gravity of what was going on around him. He saw how much the carnage of the war hurt her, saw how deeply and thoroughly she cared for all of these people she didn’t even know, and that is what made him begin thinking more deeply on things.

That is when it began to hurt.

The voices seemed only to grow in volume, overlapping each other, begging for his attention at every turn as he watched his wife become more and more entrenched in a fight that should not have been happening in the first place, in his mind. As the war ragged on, and things grew worse, so did his affliction, as if whatever it was that had caused this was somehow tied to the war itself. That explanation made it feel easier, for him, anyway, even if it made everyone believe he was that much further gone, tying himself to something of such importance.

He retreated further and further into himself, his research falling by the wayside, only Pandora allowed into the true depths of his madness, witnesses the oftentimes nonsensical spurts of morbid inspiration burst from the voices of war in his mind. Among it all, there was, and still is, the underlying desire to do what his wife does, to be able to care so deeply about so many others, but his mind makes it so difficult. He cares about Pandora’s safety above all others’, and those she loves, too, now, but widely is still more concerned about the personal matters first. Still, he tries to help her when he can, would do anything in the world for her if it meant she was happy and at peace, just as she tries to do for him. And perhaps, once he finds his cure, he can do the same for others.

But how could he help now, after all, when he’s so far from whole himself?

3. Where does this character currently stand? with those who wish to hide in godric’s hollow until the war ends, with those who wish to rebuild the order and continue fighting the war, or on neither side? why?

This, all of this, it was not a choice of his own.

He could feel Pandora’s desire to fight, even before the question of what came next was out in the world. And just as it came, so did offer of retreat, of refuge. It was never an offer they could have passed up, no matter how it was spun. Pandora wished to help, to do what she could for those suffering, and prevent any more death from blooming in their midst, and he has always wanted what she wants. His own involvement with the Order had been selfish from the start, anyway, and it was clear that retreating with the Order held the most potential for the expansion of knowledge, the potential of finding a cure, even after all of these years, or even just finding a moment of peace. Just as it was clear that the longer they spent out in the world, amongst the hatred and violence, the worse his condition became, descending further and further from reason.

And so it was not a choice in the first place, and now, here they are, without much choice again.

Stuck in a village full of the memory of death, without a say.

With no personal attachment to the war, and as only an affiliate of the Order, it is hard for him to form a true feeling on what is right for all of them. He has very little desire to stay here for an extended period of time, feels trapped and static without access to the world at large for his research, but the thought of rebuilding to fight is one he’s not certain of either, when the war was never his to start and he feels in no way ready to truly help yet.

When it comes down to it, he would do whatever it is that Pandora believes is for the best for both of them, trusting her more than anyone else in the world, especially as the voices become clearer and he feels himself slipping from sense, even if that meant staying until the war ends.

But he doesn’t feel good here.

It stinks of death, of vile hatred, of curses perhaps even worse than his own. And for the first time, he’s afraid.

It’s strange, in a way, that he hasn’t felt fear like this before, after the countless fights, after waking up and learning he was missing weeks of his life, after being changed beyond his own will because of some sinister magic. Not once before has he felt this fear, but it’s settled square between his shoulders now, twisting a terrible knot of tension, keeping him from finding any true peace here. He’s convinced there’s something here that he’s been searching for. But now that he’s closer, he’s terrified of what he might find, that the answer might be there will never be a cure. That maybe he is mad after all.

4. The voices in Xenophilius’ head have only gotten louder since the war began. How are they now that he’s in Godric’s Hollow? Has anything he heard made sense, or is it just a bunch of gibberish?

There were always voices in his mind, although he had never truly considered them anything to worry about until after the that fateful night when they changed. There were always whispers of unknown sources helping him along with his research, encouraging him to expand his thinking, search out new creatures and potions. Those voices helped create new spells, craft potions no one had dreamt up before, study beasts only thought of in fairy tales.

They’re different now, though, darker, jumbled. It’s rarer that there’s anything clear, so many different voices speaking at once, constantly, but when there is, it’s not as it was, inspiring thoughts and breakthroughs. And they’re all familiar; sometimes he’ll hear his parents, sometimes he’ll hear old schoolmates, Order members.

When he became truly aware of the war, something changed. The voices seemed louder, more persistent, as if determined to hold his attention because of what was going on in the world.

Coming to here, Xeno believed that perhaps being in a place of peace would change that, that it may quiet some of the voices, take the constant dull roar down to a whisper once again, allow him to feel more like himself, allow him to focus on searching for a cure. He was wrong, though.

The voices changed upon his entrance into Godric’s Hollow.

There’s something new there, in the corner of his mind, hidden amongst all of the confusion, the hundreds of voices mixed floating around his mind. It used to be so rare to have a moment of clarity, the voices only working to a crescendo so often. It happens often now, one thought or another winning out, coming to the forefront of his mind in complete clarity and bursting forth into a shock of inspiration.

These bursts of inspiration feel almost close to violent since coming to Godric’s Hollow, taking him over completely, frenzied. He finds himself scribbling in notebook upon notebook madly, frantically flipping through pages of the books they’d brought to their tent from home, muttering to himself as if he may lose the thread of inspiration if he cannot get it out into the world fast enough. It’s exhausting, feeling so much, feeling so out of his own control at times, and he’s certain it has to do with this place.

When they calm again, when he stops from exhaustion, quill drooping in hand, and glances at the pages and pages, it scares him even more. Rarely, now, does what he writes seem to be related to his own research. It seems to be what these voices want, the thoughts made concrete.

He hears them saying names, names of those lost, those gone forever. Hears them telling him to go, then another telling him he must stay, that he is oh, so close to what he needs. He tries his hardest to keep going, but it gets so hard when in the din of voices something so clear rings out, something that seems to mean more.

The most terrifying thing was the first moment he heard Pandora’s voice in his mind, clear as day, the familiar wavering whisper as beautiful as a bird’s song to his ears, one of the first days they had come to Godric’s Hollow. She told him to stay. It shook him to his core, but he hasn’t heard her since, hopes he doesn’t. He hates the thought of his curse touching the most pure thing in his life.

So Xenophilius searches for what they’re trying to lead him to, hoping it is what he needs, that the cure might be at his fingertips, if only he opens his eyes.

extra.

pinterest board!

character tag!

if i were…

if i were a season, i’d be autumn.

if i were a time of day, i’d be dusk.

if i were a place, i’d be a hidden library of forgotten knowledge.

if i were a type of weather, i’d be a thunderstorm.

if i were a scent, i’d be patchouli.

if i were a plant, i’d be a Dirigible plum.

if i were an element, i’d be water.

if i were a color, i’d be bright, warm yellow.

if i were a song, i’d be River by Joni Mitchell

if i were an item of clothing, it’d be a worn, grey duster.

if i were an object, i’d be a moleskin notebook.

if i were one of the seven deadly sins, i’d be pride.

if i were one of the seven heavenly virtues, i’d be diligence.

if i were a god/goddess, i’d be Athena.

on pandora:

He knew. The moment she first treated him in Mungo’s, he knew that he would follow her to the ends of the earth, if she would allow him. It was a strange feeling, not entirely a pleasant one when considering that all his life he had expected never to feel that way about another human being. He wonders how he had missed her at Hogwarts, but then, he had been so entangled in himself, so focused on collecting all the knowledge that he could, that he had hardly made any friends in his own house and year, yet alone others. What mattered is that he had found her now, just in time to keep him from giving up.

After truly meeting Pandora, his single-minded obsession became learning to sign as quickly and proficiently as he could. He wasn’t as fast as he wished he would’ve been, but he learned as best he could, and kept going back to Mungo’s as he learned, an excuse to see her again and talk to her more, especially as he realized that the other healers believed him mad.

She was the first person who truly believed him when he insisted it was the boys’ attack with the dark objects that had caused this, and not a dormant mental illness whose symptoms only appeared after the event. As such, his trust and belief in her was enormous from the beginning, and has not once faltered in the years since.

One of the initial reasons he was so attracted to her was for her pure dedication to a singular cause and the pursuit of knowledge, something he believes in himself. He could see how passionate she was about healing, and how willing she was to do anything to help her patients, not limited to the confines of average healing. He admires her determination and creativity greatly.

The way she cares for people stands in stark contrast to his own ability to do so, which is another reason he loves her so much. He can hardly imagine being so open in caring about others, but he likes to think that she has helped him grow in that regard even slightly. He hopes that she’ll help him grow in that even more, once they’ve found a cure.

If it were not for Pandora, Xeno wholeheartedly believes he would have given up hope of finding a cure, or even peace, years ago. She was able to show him the light in the darkness, and she continues to be that beam of sunlight coming through the clouds of a storm with each passing moment, reminding him that there’s always reason for hope left.

The only times he finds even brief moments of something close to silence is with her. Lying in bed together as they both try to drift into troubled sleep, listening to the steady sound of her breathing, feeling her heat pressed against his, it’s nearly enough to calm the war constantly raging in his mind.

His proposal to her was neither truly romantic or at all dramatic, instead a sort of passing question in the midst of the ever rambling road of his words, his fingers moving just as fast as his lips could, by that time. A question phrased in a way that made it seem more for practicality than it truly was, because he does love her, more greatly than he thought he could ever love one person. A simple it would be easier if we were married, and then the nonchalant production of a ring from his pocket, set on the table in front of her. An amethyst and celestite woven together within a bronze band, charmed to emit a sense of pease and focus, as well as ward off Wrackspurts.

details:

His parents met at Durmstang, and then moved to Berlin, Germany after graduating, working as researchers, of sorts, for a company of like-minded wizards interested in what many would call nontraditional magic. When things began to fall apart in the non-magical world, they made the decision to move to start a family of their own in safety. They settled in London, using up most of their savings to make it there and rent a small flat in Camden.

Despite being a pureblood, Xeno holds none of the beliefs of British pureblood society, in part thanks to be raised by non-British purebloods, but mostly because he can hardly fathom how it is possible to see other humans so darkly. He appreciates what muggles have accomplished without magic, and has even studied much of muggle science and technology out of interest, as well as being interested in proving for them the existence of several of their so-called cryptids.

He has never been able to hold a full time job for long, and stopped trying to do so after years spent in his early twenties trying unsuccessfully in various fields that didn’t truly keep his interest anyway. He would miss days of work without mentioning it, was perpetually late, and rarely actually helped customers with what they actually wanted when in customer service fields. Instead, he earned his money by penning essays and articles sold to various magazines and newspapers on his strange beliefs, as well as selling his research to those who would benefit from it. He dreams of starting his own magazine, if things ever return to normal, if heever finds a cure for his affliction, but right now that task feels impossible given how full his mind is.

He’s started a small garden of strange flora for his and Pandora’s use in Godric’s Hollow. Not much of it is useful to the more ordinary needs of the residents, unless they believe in the oftentimes wild properties Xeno attributes to many of the plants, but he and his wife use many of them for potions and infusions of their own needs, and gladly share if anyone has a desire.

Xenophilius is unable to produce a corporeal Patronus at this time, and has not been able to since waking up in the hospital wing those years ago. Before that, though, his Patronus was an eagle owl.

He didn’t actually seek any healing for what the other students had done to him outside of his own attempts at healing until he was well out of school. As confident as ever, he believed that he could find a cure and do so by himself. When it started interfering not only with his life, but his work, though, he sought out help at Mungo’s. Although most of the healers believed he had gone insane, and most people still do, it was the best decision he made, as it lead him to Pandora.

He hasn’t had any contact with his parents since he graduated from Hogwarts and isn’t certain where they are now, or even if they’re still living. It isn’t that he doesn’t love them, but the childhood that they gave him took too much from him even as they fought to offer him opportunity. He still hears their voices amongst all the others, hears them arguing, only now the anger feels directed at him, not each other.

As well as now being fluent in sign language, Xeno also speaks fluent German, although most of what comes to mind easily now has to do with the cursing that his parents used to do at each other during his childhood.

Not concerned with outward appearances, Xeno very often looks like he rolled directly out of bed and walked into public. While that isn’t usually the case, he could not care less if anyone thinks it is. If he owns a brush for his hair, it has long ago been lost, and many of his clothes are either entirely inappropriate for the occasion at hand, or completely mismatched. There is a method to some of what he wears, of course; the necklaces he always wears, one with a butterbeer cork dangling from it, the other with the symbol of the Deathly Hallows.

#hp rp #rp #marauders rp #lsrpg #roleplay #accepted

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pleasantlydecadentface-blog · 5 years ago

Text

JUlY 4, 2019

JULY 4 2019 3:04am

It’s currently 3am as I sit in bed scrolling through my phone. Shocked that I’m awake considering i worked 12 hours today, but wide awake nonetheless. It’s one of those, too excited to sleep, nights- by excited I mean I have the day off tomorrow so my brain figures, stay up late, sleep in.

As I write this I can hear fireworks already going off outside, and all I can think of is how much I love this time of year, because, fireworks are dope. But yeah, I love it, and I love my little fireworks show that has shockingly survived the last few grueling years of gentrification my neighborhood has gone through. I’ll miss that if it ever leaves. Fireworks, and the hallelujah man- but that’s another story for another day.

Anyway as I sit here, having this great moment of serenity, it dawns on me WHY I have the day off tomorrow. WHY I have a front row seat of fireworks and the lookouts on the roof right now. July 4th. Independence Day. The day to appreciate this beautiful land of the free. I think of the first time I lit sparklers in my grandpas back yard, of the fireworks I saw from the GWB with my dad one year, of Macy's giant firework spectacular (two day sale), and I realize- wow this is kind of fucked up! Should I celebrate this country right now? Should I ever have? Should I be cheering while its’ president, aka the physically manifested form of the Human Papillomavirus, is tweeting about the human beings he has locked up in cages & drinking out of toilets? And how if they’re SOOoOo mad about that maybe they shouldn’t have come here anyway? Should I be celebrating today, after learning about the 16th St. Baptist Church shooting just last night in a documentary (4 Little Girls)?

My great grandfather came over here from Scotland, his wife from Ireland. They came here, worked hard, had my grandpa etc. etc. My grandmothers are both Puerto Rican. My favorite Puerto Ricans to exist, in fact. Suffice to say my family didn’t come here on the Santa Maria. They came, they worked HARD, took care of their families, never mind how difficult it was at times. American dream come true right?? According to HPV, no, not right, WRONG! You cant come here. what hypocrisy that this man whose own grandfather scurried over here as a young man to avoid serving in the military in Germany and then in his later years had to beg america not to deport him, would say, nah, nope, you guys ruin this place, don’t come here.

So no, I decided. I’m not celebrating. I felt like I had made some huge revelation, like WOW this guy is the WORST and he is tainting this beautiful place with his twitter and existence. He’s creating this hate and he’s such a monster. Then I realized. I don’t think he did. The horrible headlines I see every now and then could easily have been pulled from a paper in the 60s. Here I was thinking, wow how awful trump must be to have ruined something so beautiful. But he didn’t start this. I often catch myself day dreaming about Obama and thinking that before DT we had it good. That were were in some golden age where we all loved each other and we got along and that he ruined that. The thing i realize now is- the hate has always been there. The same things that were happening 50+ years ago are happening today. There’s a sickness in this country and Trump was just the vessel for it. This isn’t something he created. Its something he fanned, and coddled, and fed with false dreams and wild rhetoric. This HATE is a plague. trump is the rat.

America leads the world in a few things. Military spending, arms exports, BILLIONAIRES, INCARCERATION, income inequality, and poverty. Not education. Not being "great". America has about 4.4% of the worlds population, and 22% of the worlds prisoners. And I don’t need to get into the racial statistics on that one. We should be angry.

How can we celebrate ANYTHING here without acknowledging it’s massive failures. Will we forget about the children in camps right now? The families that were ripped apart right here. We don’t talk about the past enough and how all of our mistakes as a country were covered up with pretty bandaids until new mistakes came along and the pain was so fresh we forgot about the old ones? How? Could it be because here in America, we only "achieve" anything if it affects affluent white men? When were we great? We exist as a country cause white dudes didn’t want to pay taxes.

We need to be angry and we need to realize that whenever this disgusting presidency ends- the hate isn’t going to go with it. We wont be able to breathe a sigh of relief. It cant be enough that we celebrate the freedom we have only because we fly under the radar. Why can I have clean water in a public water fountain in a city park when people in Flint don’t even have it in their homes? Why am I comfortable in a bed right now while kids are sleeping on concrete. Why am I not scared someone is going to knock on my door and tell me I need to leave. What right do I have to be happy about this? I cant remember a time where i was scared a cop might shoot me. ever. That is reality for like 25% of our population.

I don’t want to seem jaded, or to take away from the beauty I’ve been privileged enough to witness in my lifetime. I do celebrate the beautiful things about this country. The culture, the passion, the LOVE and ferocity with which we fight for all of that. The marches, the solidarity, the languages, the opportunities my family had when they weren’t turned away. I celebrate the stories I hear and see every day that might make me a published writer someday. I celebrate the warm feeling I get when I see vocal allies. I celebrate the rights i have as a woman, that women in other countries may never see. that is not lost to me. and i am grateful, and i celebrate. - but i do so with a bitter taste in my mouth. Because i realize that everything I am happy for here, had to be fought for, it was never given to me by any founders.

I hope one day I see and experience that unadulterated kind of celebration though. I firmly believe that we will.

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ayman-eckford · 6 years ago

Text

This is my very old post. I’m not a Muslim now, and I don’t identity myself as “lesbian” because I realized that I am a non-binary person. But everything else in this post is true. And I want to re-publish it without any changes.

________

[CN: Homophobia; Islamophobia; Ableism]

My name is Аyman. I am Autistic; I am a Muslim, and a lesbian. While I am Russian by birth, I do not belong to Russian culture. I don’t understand it although many people suggest that it is my culture. My perception of culture is reflected in little things; in that sort of stuff that seems irrelevant at the first sight, but it very clearly defines me as a “foreigner.”

My differences are almost invisible from the outside. People are not aware of my sexual orientation. I do not look like the stereotypical “butch” or “femme” lesbians that people expect me to be, or the “masculine women” that people of my mother’s generation imagine when they hear the word “lesbian”.

I was born into a conservative Russian Orthodox family. I suffered from serious psychological problems because of religion, and initially I was afraid even to think about leaving Christianity. Transitioning to Islam has influenced my worldview more than the way I look, dress or speak.

But I do not look like what people expect a typical Muslim to look like. I have light brown hair, light skin, and I speak with no accent. I do not act like a typical Muslim woman as the majority of people think she would. I listen to metal rock music. I talk a lot about politics and about human rights, and I wear European clothes most of the time.

My national identity is fairly American. I chose it myself, but at the same time, I didn’t.

I have never understood my family’s culture. Looking at my parents and other adults, I did not copy the norms of behaviour. If I didn’t understand the goals of such behaviour, then those norms were alien to me. You have probably witnessed little kittens imitating their mother’s behaviour or children copying their parents. Like many Autistic children, I have a badly developed mechanism of imitation.

The idea that people who I share my apartment with (even if they are my parents) should define the way I think seems like a meaningless abstraction – almost magic – to me.

That’s not the only example.

I didn’t notice the peculiarities of post-Soviet culture. At that time, I did not know why. However, the reason was that I did not recognise nonverbal signals and shades of meaning in other people’s talk. I could not “read” the culture of people who surrounded me. That was why I could not understand it.

I read books because they were easy to grasp. I watched movies. I researched information on the topics that interested me, and I formed my own culture based on what I could understand and what interested me. This culture originated from the culture of all humanity – from all the facts that I knew and which I could understand based on my knowledge. That culture had something that was missing in the Orthodox post-Soviet culture of my family, and my family considered that culture as wrong. It was something that we did not discuss at home; something that I learned from books and that I came up with on my own. I did not choose my culture, like you did not choose yours. It formed by itself. However, some elements of that culture were the result of deliberate choice.

Later, I started to realise that my culture is strangely similar to American culture. I can easily understand characteristics of American culture in books and in films, even those that seemed strange to the majority of my friends. It is easier for me to communicate with Americans rather than Russians. That is how I acquired some sort of a national identity.

I also have another identity that, perhaps, influenced everything else in my life. It is autism, which defines me almost entirely. I cannot separate my personal characteristics from autism, because it influences everything. It affects the way I communicate with people and how I perceive communication. Being autistic influences my attitude towards my interests and the effects that sounds and colours produce in me. It defines what helps me to relax and guides what interests me. That’s why the idea of “curing autism” seems brutal to me. If you take autism from me, what would be left of me? When I am told that autistic people would be happier without autism, I hear that they would have been happier if we didn’t exist.

Most often, I have heard this from people who know almost nothing about autism. These people base their judgments on what they think it means to be Autistic without even knowing how autism looks like. They often don’t even know why there are five times less girls diagnosed with autism than that of boys. We are rarely diagnosed because all of the first books about autism were based on observations of the control groups which included mostly boys, and in most cases autism in boys manifests itself differently than that of the majority of girls. My autism follows the “female pattern”, like in many Autistic girls. And it means that – again – I find myself invisible.

If you belong to several minorities, you cannot avoid wrong assumptions. Especially, if you are not a typical representative of these minorities.

Homosexuality was unthinkable in our family. My father called it “sodomy”. When the United States legalised same-sex marriage, he predicted a great economic crisis which would eventually destroy the U.S. economy. He spoke of Greece and Rome, which had “fallen because of gays”.

This conversation took place a few months before I finally accepted my homosexuality. I was afraid to talk about it to my parents. After coming out, I was afraid to go home. I did not know what consequences to expect. I was ready to end the relationship with my parents. However, everything went much more smoothly than I thought because it seemed as though my father didn’t take me seriously.

I should have expected this because I have faced similar situations all my life. Denial is one of the most common types of wrong assumptions. This was the first kind of wrong assumptions that I faced because it permeated my entire life with my family.

Looking at me, my parents saw a completely different child – the child who they wanted to see in front of them. They saw a Russian Orthodox girl – which I never was. More specifically, I was Orthodox for many years, but even though I was Russian by birth, I was never Russian in a cultural sense of this word. My parents, of course, did not notice. They talked about all sorts of things that were supposed to be clear and dear to me because I am “Russian”. I explained in vain that those things were alien to me, and that I understood different views and traditions better. They ignored my explanations.

They also ignored my autism. At school they told teachers that I was “an unusual child,” but at home they blamed me for everything. They scolded me for problems with communication that made me a target for bullying and made me want to die. When I did not do things on time, they accused me of having problems with planning. Because of that, I started to experience panic attacks. They did not believe that I could not hear their voices when there was noise around. I walked strangely. I did not look into their eyes, and I ran back and forth across the room in order to calm myself down. They explained that away as signs of my “immorality”. They often said that I was a weird kid, but they could not explain me what was wrong with me. I demanded accurate explanations, but I was never able to get them.

I received these explanations when I received my autism diagnosis. In the beginning, my parents also refused to believe that I am Autistic. It took for them several years and many articles read by my mother in order to accept it.

My parents could not support me because of their wrong assumptions about me. All these years, their misconceptions hurt me the most.

I often encountered them in my life. Usually people need a few minutes to conclude about my sexual orientation, neurotype, religion and cultural background based on my appearance. Most of the time their conclusions are wrong.

Like my parents, other people do not want to recognize their mistakes, even if I clearly point them out.

“You are too normal to be Autistic. Why do you invent all those diseases?”

They ask, even when I have already told them that I do not consider autism a disease. Usually I hear that from people who have never read the diagnostic criteria.

“You do not look like a lesbian”

They say, meaning that I am not “masculine” enough.

People who say that do not understand that a person’s gender expression does not define their sexual orientation.

“Of course, you belong to Soviet culture! We all belong to Soviet culture, because we have absorbed it, even from our cartoons. There are so many implicit “Soviet” themes and substance there!”

When people tell me that, they forget that as a child I didn’t know how to recognize those themes or substance.

For some reason, people think that they know who I am – better than I do. Wrong assumptions emerge because people do not want to listen.

Sometimes people deny my experience out of their best intentions.

Once a doctor told my mother that he had noticed “Autistic signs” in me (as in the USSR Asperger syndrome was often referred to), but he did not tell that to my face, so that I would not feel “abnormal”.

One of my close relatives tried to “comfort” me saying that I was still “able to understand my culture”. In addition, a stranger in the street advised me to “return to Russian roots”.

Many of my LGBT friends were advised to see a therapist in order to become “normal”. Some people are convinced that LGBT people suffer from their sexual orientation and gender identity. Even if LGBT people themselves told the opposite.

Some of my LGBT friends think that I would have felt better if I stopped believing in God.

Wrong assumptions arise because people think I would feel better if I become someone else. They arise from the fact that people think I suffer from being myself.

Some people in the LGBT community call Islam “the religion of the devil”. One of my LGBT friends told me this right to my face, not knowing that I was going to convert to Islam.

I have heard homophobic jokes from my former friends, and I heard their calls for “jailing all faggots”.

They did not even suspect that a lesbian was among them.

I have heard and read that people without disabilities are calling to take us all to “one large island and leave” us there because “nobody wants them, except for their parents”. I have heard and read that all Autistic people are considered to be unable to think, unable to feel, or unable to make their own decisions.

People who wrote and said it did not think that an Autistic might hear or read their words. Looking at me, they would never have thought that I was Autistic.

This is one of the main dangers of hate speech. People who would never say such a thing to the face of those whom they “do not like” say it unaware of who is present around them.

Perhaps that is why I feel an alien almost everywhere.

And perhaps that’s why so many people tend to hate – for them, people whom they hate are actually aliens. Not aliens from science fiction stories, but aliens from computer games that can only spoil everything, and whom they should kill. They do not think that we can be their friends, colleagues or comrades in activism.

Wrong assumptions arise because people think that they can learn everything from a person’s appearance. They arise because people start to hate those of whom they know nothing about.

You can read END of this post here, in my friend’s blog.

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nacsygen · 6 years ago

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here’s a fun fact i haven’t shared that’s been going on for a LONG time: at my work, for our logins, we have to change our alphanumeric passwords every quarter. after my first password, which i wasn’t thinking about beforehand so just used an old reliable of mine, i thought “hmm, well, this will be easier to remember if i have a system. hey...17 has thirteen members, and i know their age order, bc that’s how i learned their names to begin with. i can start with one based on seungcheol and go down the line, and if i get all the way to chan, well, i’ll know i’ve been at this job too fucking long.”

welp. i’m on minghao now.

however, with the way life is going, it’s looking like seungkwan’s gonna be my last Password Boy...bc YA BOI IS MOVING TO ATLANTA

probably. most likely. by early summer.

it occurs to me that while i often share anecdotes of the past, i don’t make many posts about my current circumstances. considering this is a new account, with far fewer followers and mostly mutuals, i think i’ll be making more blog-style posts here now.

for those who are newer or just haven’t seen me mention it, i’m currently a scribe, a transcriptionist/editor, working out of an almost call-center-like office in a florida college town. thankfully, having also done call center tech support work, the difference is we just process recordings. (dealing with tech support was so stressful, i got fucking scabies at 23 and missed a month of work, but that’s a story for another day). being a scribe is a phenomenally boring and isolating job, for the most part, and one i am very good at. it’s a very safe job for me, in a lot of ways. it sucks and i hate it, as one can find with basically all scribes throughout history, but it also takes a very particular set of skillsets, ones i happen to have, that make it easy as fuck. there’s good and bad. i set my own hours, within reason. there’s very little management meddling as long as i don’t fuck up. i can easily be a bit late and never have anyone talk to me about it as long as i get my hours done. however, it’s physically painful to sit and type for hours and hours, and psychically damaging, i’m sure, to spend hours a day wishing i was doing something else, to be paid a pittance (but it’s still above minimum wage so i guess i should be grateful?) as a skilled and experienced laborer to type all day about other people’s money, regularly including people who make as much in a month as i do in a year. on the other hand, my gods are some of the oldest and coolest (my favorites are seshat and nabu), and at this point, after almost 4,000 hours of doing this, i’d have to actively work to get fired. it’s safe. there’s no opportunity for advancement, there’s no sense of my time meaning something in the grand scheme of things, there is no meaning at all. i am grease in the wheels of capitalism. it robs me of the energy and prime writing hours to use my hands to put down my own words, not someone else’s. but it’s safe.

my apartment’s getting sold out from under me in a few months, and i was initially panicking, thinking about how i could find new roommates, where i could live that would be easily accessible to my work without a car, even looking up info about the apartment complex next door to it - which, between work, home, and publix, would limit most my external world to about a square mile.

then i was at work earlier this week and realized...why am i having so much anxiety about being able to keep a job i fucking hate?

change is terrifying to me. it’s part of my coping mechanisms with my untreated adhd, i’ve come to realize (with the help of friends who have diagnosed adult adhd and are like no, yeah, you absolutely have it). i have to keep a very regimented rhythm of life just to function at all, which took me way too far into my 20s to even figure out. i need to wake up around the same time every day, get dressed to leave at the same time every day, make sure my wallet is in the outside pocket of my bag, my key is in the front pocket, i’ve got my publix bag rolled up in my purse (and now that it’s winter a hat and gloves just in case), and my umbrella (also just in case), and my tablet that was a gift from my beau (loaded up with pages to read offline while waiting for and on the bus), and a paper book or two (in case for some reason i can’t read on the tablet), and a snack for mid-shift so my stomach won’t spend all day hating me. all of this i verify both before i leave my room and before i close the locked front door behind me, especially the wallet and key.

if this sounds dreadfully mundane, please understand, i had to learn to make this a regimented routine, every step of which i need to consciously account for even while half asleep, or else i will forget something. more than once this compulsive checking to make sure i have my wallet and my key a second time before locking the door has saved my entire day. all that before even leaving the house. i had to learn this on my own to quiet the constant racing anxiety that put me in the ER a couple years ago with an inability to even keep down food because i had no idea how to be a functioning independent person. and so much of that is mentally tied to this apartment, to this job, bc at 26 years old a couple years ago, after over a decade of battling depression and adhd and finally getting treatment for the first, at least, i was finally equipped to and also forced to become an independent human being in a capitalist society. and it was terrifying. but routine is safe, now. i do the same thing every day during the week, at the same times of day, and sleep in a bit on weekends and do nothing. time passes and passes. i invent games and new routines for the day, meaningful boxes to tick, just to establish meaning back into my life.

i’m getting too far off track. sorry, it’s the adhd.

the point is, change is terrifying. but my beau - sorry for the awkward term, but “beau” and “sweetheart” fit us better than bf and gf, especially considering gender and long-distance stuff - told me as soon as i told him the news about the apartment that i could always come to live with him. i dismissed it as last resort at first. like, we’ve known each other for almost 10 years, more couple-y than ever the last two, and he visits me when he can. we’ve never lived in the same city, but in a sense, we both were there to watch each other grew up, despite that we first started talking as friends when i was probably 19 or 20 and he was 31. now i’m 28 and he’s 40. he’s inspirational to me, because for a long time, he was living the kind of life i am now - working bullshit jobs that don’t mean anything, working and living to survive, scrounging meaning and joy in independent scholarship and pop culture. but somewhere in his mid-30s, he changed the whole direction of his life to throw himself into a career in film production. it takes an extraordinary amount of self-motivation, courage, fearlessness, energy, time, EVERYTHING to live the kind of life he does, living the freelance life, going from shoot to shoot all across the southeast, constantly on the hussle. but he has a career. he’s doing something amazing that he’s good at and he loves, and bc he’s about the most likable guy alive, he has contacts everywhere, through all levels of the industry. and he’s just about the most capable person i know.

so when i had my realization, why am i so worried about keeping this job i hate, i realized swiftly on its heels that i was just terrified of change. i wanted to keep things safe, even if it was a marginal existence - still, a safe one. but change can also bring opportunity. moving in with him wouldn’t just be an act of charity on his part, but helping the person he loves to make a meaningful change forward in life. Atlanta is the capitol of the South. i could get a job in publishing in atlanta. i could get a job in the film industry in atlanta (fun fact: georgia is now the center of film production on the east coast. he knows a ton of people that worked on stranger things!). i could write for a living in atlanta. i could be a script doctor like Carrie Fisher, i could edit for a living for more than some finance office’s memoranda ephemera, i could have a life where i was able to create, and not just in my spare time and for fun. i could live in atlanta, and not just survive. my beau, as mentioned, has contacts everywhere, and has already hooked me up with a couple writer-type-creators in the industry to mentor me. i can do it. i will do it. even my mom said i’ll do better there than in the waypoint city i’m in now (and also helpfully reminded me she rents uhauls now as part of her own self-owned business).

tl;dr either in april or june, depending on what i can convince my current fairly indulgent landlord on, i’ll be moving to Atlanta and starting a whole new life. my beau has a two-bedroom (thank god, bc if i’ve learned anything from long-term moved-in relationships is that i need my space, and he also agrees on that on his end) and his place is less than a mile away from a publix and also a main bus line and a MARTA station, so i could be easily independent as a non-driver (important not just from a relationship standpoint, but also bc realistically he’s only home about a week out of a month, cumulatively). also, he has a cat! a tabby boy named dalek! bc he’s a fucking nerd!

#t #don't reblog /#i figure i'll have to get resigned to the whole boyfriend/girlfriend thing as introduced to others #i don't super mind it it just doesn't feel...accurate #but if it's necessary to avoid awkward conversations and lend legitimacy in shorthand to how much we very much do love each other #then sure #long post

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