#been waiting for the support of two people for months and they are OBTUSE with their answers

[ideks-on-mars]

Half-Brothers?

The Taichi-Naoyasu Situation

Taichi and Naoyasu are half-brothers and here's how lol

Taichi's mother and father had both met in their birth country of Germany. However, his grandparents on his mother's side hadn't approved of his father. The two had then decided to study a good amount of Japanese before saving up for plane tickets and running off to Japan. They changed their last names and had a completely fresh start. The two were madly in love, or at least that's what Taichi's mother thought. She had figured out she was pregnant, with who we know as Taichi, and she was ecstatic. She quickly told Taichi's father and his reaction was the exact opposite of what she expected. The man was furious and didn't want anything to do with the woman or baby. After hours of begging and yelling the man had left the German woman to fend for herself and her unborn baby. She picked up a few different jobs at small stores, extra shifts and she would make good friends that were more than happy to help her, two of those friends being the Shirabu's who also had a baby on the way. Her life in Japan was getting better. And on April 15, 1995, her baby Taichi, was born. She had changed her name after the "Love of her life" had left. Her last name was Kawanishi. And now, all she had was her, her friends, and her beloved baby.

Meanwhile, almost exactly 4 months before Taichi was born. A small, fragile, pale woman, had been another victim of the man. She had found out she was pregnant by him during January 1996. The woman was, just like the last, left soon after. The woman was young and hadn't even been in Japan for too long. She had came to Japan from her home country of Finland due to that fact that it had always been a dream of hers to move in with her grandmother, who moved to Japan when she was two. She was intelligent though, and knew languages like Finnish, Slovak, German, and Japanese. She could also keep up a normal conversation in English and Danish. She was confident in her ability to take care of a baby and she studied extra hard, wanting to be able to get a decent job for her and her baby.

After graduating from college, she was now about seven months pregnant. She lived with her grandma and she was working as a translator for people visiting Japan. She had, who we know as, Naoyasu Kuguri, not long after. However, the older he had gotten, his mother had taught him more Finnish, Slovak, and German than Japanese. He knew some Japanese, of course, they lived in Japan. However his mother thought that all he needed was her and the only person he should feel the absolute need to talk to was her.

TIME SKIP

Multiple years later and Taichi is now seventeen with Naoyasu being sixteen. STZ was having a practice match against Nohebi and they were having a small break between the first and second set.

"Kawanishi-Kun~...doesn't number twelve over there remind you of yourself~ hehe~"

Kawanishi turned to the place his upperclassmen, Tendō Satori, was pointing towards, curious as to what he was talking about.

Taichi scanned the other team until his eyes landed on number twelve. The boy had a lean, yet muscular build, his height similar to Semi's. He had a bored expression on his face and a water bottle in hand. His eyes were pointed at the end, very similar to Taichi's. The only difference was that number twelve's eyes rounded into the point. Taichi's were more of a obtuse angle that lead to the point. Their eyelids were both very pointy. His eyebrows were thicker than Taichi's and his pupils were a lot bigger and more circle shaped, compared to Taichi's oval shaped pupils. Taichi's eyes were silver gray, number twelve's eyes seemed to be green with a hint of grey. Taichi's hair was a darker ginger, thick, and messy. Yet number twelve's hair was...interesting. His hair was a blonde mixed with brunette, leaving him with a very light brown bedhead. However his eyebrows were darker.

"He does look...kind of like me..."

"Kind of", was a bit of an understatement, Taichi could go around telling his team that they were related and they'd most likely believe it, except for Kenjirō of course, who knew the whole situation with Taichi's family.

"You should talk to him! You two seem equally as uninterested."

Some of his teammates laughed at Yamagata's joke but Taichi, for once in his life, actually considered going up to the boy and talking to him.

As if God himself had granted him an opportunity, Nohebi's captain walked up to the team, his hand placed on the back of the stoic winged spiker.

"Hey, sorry if I'm interrupting anything, but would any of you mind helping Kuguri-Kun here find the restroom?"

The captain, who they knew was called Daishō, patted the boy's, now known as Kuguri, back twice. Kuguri didn't react though, he stood there beside his captain quietly, slouched and staring at the ground blankly, his hands stuffed into his volleyball jacket pockets. Before anyone could speak, Tendō, not surprisingly, did.

"Oh! Well our dear Kawanishi-Kun would love to escort Kuguri-Kun! Right Kiwi?"

Kawanishi looked at Tendō with an expression that said "are you serious?" but Taichi wasn't one to go against an upperclassmen's wishes, especially Tendō's. Taichi sighed.

"Yes, Tendō-San."

Daishō smiled a snake-like smile, however Taichi didn't think he could help it, and walked away leaving his teammate with the monsters known as Shiratorizawa. Taichi could tell he was uncomfortable so he quickly walked past him towards the exit.

"C'mon, Kuguri-Kun."

He said, his German accent slipping a little. He glanced behind him and saw that Kuguri was sauntering behind him. Taichi stopped, waiting for the slightly shorter male to catch up with him and began to walk at the other's pace.

Taichi got to the door first and held it open for the brunette. He glanced up at Taichi and nodded. However Taichi could've swore he saw the other's eyes widen for point two seconds before he looked back down and walked through the door way. Taichi, even though it was barely audible, heard Kuguri speak.

"Thank you, Kawanishi-San."

The thick, obviously European, accent was clear in his words. Taichi could tell that it was slightly German, but it just had to be another Northern European accent. Taichi quickly shook it off and nodded. They silently headed down the hall, the occasional Shiratorizawa student walking past them. Suddenly, and surprisingly, Kuguri spoke.

"So...where are you from?"

Taichi was taken aback, the other's accent was thicker now. Taichi seemed confused but figured the the other thought he was from somewhere else due to his accent.

"Oh, um, I'm from Japan. It's just that my mother is German and...I knew how to speak German before Japanese."

Kuguri nodded.

"Oh. I was just asking. I spoke Finnish, Slovak and German before I spoke Japanese. I'm still not as good as I should be at it."

Taichi understood. Japanese was no joke, and neither was Finnish, Slovak, and German.

"Well, if speaking in German makes it easier for you, then I don't mind."

(Bold + Red = Speaking in German)

Kuguri smiled happily. It wasn't the biggest smile, more of just the sides of his lips curling upward, but still, a smile.

"Thank you...Naoyasu Kuguri."

Taichi smiled back, a similar smile to the one Naoyasu had shown him before.

"Nice to meet you...I'm Taichi Kawanishi."

The two smiled, happy that they had someone that they could relate to.

"Anyways, I didn't see you on Nohebi last year, are you new?"

"Yeah, I'm a first year..."

TIME SKIP

It was now the end of the match and Nohebi was about to get on their long trip back to Tokyo.

(I looked it up and from Miyagi to Tokyo is 4-6 hours 👀)

The two teams thanked each other for the practice game, all waving as they piled into the bus. Naoyasu was the last one to get on. He turned around and waved at Taichi one more time. Taichi waved back and watched happily as his new friend had drove off. He was glad they had exchanged numbers.

"So you really did make friends with him?"

Taichi looked over at his teammates.

"Yeah. He was pretty chill."

They nodded.

"Did you catch his name?"

"Yeah. Naoyasu Kuguri."

TIME SKIP

The two boys ended up being good friends. They didn't get to hang out as much as they wanted but it was good enough for them due to the fact that they weren't very social people anyway. Though, when they found out that they both got to go to the same training camp, they were excited. In the training camp you actually got time to lay back and chat with people from other teams, giving them the chance to hangout with each other.

The thing was, at this training camp they allowed parents and/or siblings to come. The parents would come watch their children play, help with lunch and dinner, and help with other fun drills and activities, and if they had younger children they were allowed to bring them. That's how a lot of the parents and siblings made good friends with the others. Taichi's mom, Annike, had always come, due to the fact that, 1) she loves and wants to support her son, and 2) she was great friends with most of the moms of his teammates and other teams. She would always bring Taichi's little six-year-old half sister, Takara, who enjoyed playing with the other little ones. She was the result of of Taichi's old stepfather. He was a cool guy and him and his mom were on good terms. Taichi never really gave him a chance though. However, Taichi would never deny the fact that he adored his little sister.

Once they arrived, Taichi quickly scoped out his teammates and joined them whilst his mother conversated with the other parents.

The coaches informed everyone that they would take the first day to let everyone get settled in, eat, and conversate.

Earlier into the day, Taichi heard his name being called.

"Kawanishi-San. Hello."

Taichi turned around, already having an idea of who it was.

"Hi Kuguri-Kun, how've you been?"

"Alright. You?"

"Fine, thanks."

"Naoyasu! Don't run off like that."

(Bold + Blue = Speaking in Finnish)

"Sorry ma."

Taichi looked a little behind Naoyasu and saw a short, pale woman with blonde hair that fell beautifully over her shoulders, he could've swore she was made of glass. She had on light blue jeans and a grey shirt on. Her eyes were the same color as Naoyasu's.

"Who's this?"

Taichi had no clue what she was saying, considering she was speaking in Finnish. Suddenly Naoyasu moved to the side, so that he wasn't between the two and they could meet eyes and Taichi didn't only see one half of her.

"Ma, this is Taichi Kawanishi, a friend of mine. Kawanishi-San, this is my mother."

Taichi remembered that Naoyasu only had his mother and knew that she knew and taught him German, plus Naoyase was just speaking to her in German so he responded in German.

"It's nice to meet you Kuguri-San. I'm good friends with Naoyasu-Kun."

Taichi stuck his hand out. The woman grabbed it, firmly shaking his hand.

"Nice to meet you Taichi-Kun. You can call me Aino."

"Taichi!"

Taichi looked behind him to see that his mother had come up behind him. She walked up beside him, a smile on her face, Takara beside her. Taichi's mom had curly, long, ginger hair that was pulled into a ponytail. She had on jeans and a t-shirt just like Miss Aino. She turned over to Aino and now the womans' jaws dropped.

Taichi and Naoyasu looked confused while Takara didn't seem to care all the much, only hugging her big brother's leg. Taichi patted her head, still not taking his eyes off of the two women.

"Aino?"

"Annike?"

Now the boys were beyond confused. They knew each other. Both the women nodded to each other and began to walk away. Taichi tried to call out to his mother.

"Mom-"

"Watch your sister Taichi. I'll be back soon."

Naoyasu tried too.

"Mom where are you-"

"Stay with Taichi, help watch the girl."

"Hi!"

Taichi and Naoyasu both looked at each other, shrugged, and looked down at the little girl, who was now looking up at Naoyasu.

WITH THE WOMEN

The two were behind the building now, staring at each other.

"It's been a while."

"It has."

They both were quiet for a few seconds.

"Is that...his son?"

Aino nodded.

"Yeah...it is. Naoyasu is his. I'm sure Taichi is his, correct?"

"Yeah, he is."

The two women chuckled.

"They're half-brothers."

"Yeah they are. They deserve to know."

Annike nodded in agreement.

"Yeah, I can't lie to Taichi any longer."

The two talked more. Catching up with each other and talking about their respective sons. They were nervous to tell their sons, yet excited and happy that they at least had met and are good friends.

AFTER THEY HAD SAT THE TWO BOYS DOWN

Both Taichi and Naoyasu were now sat down on the curb of the parking lot near the building where the training camp was being held. The women were leaning against the Kawanishi's car, both smoking a cigarette. Takara was being watched by some of the Shiratorizawa moms.

Annike dropped the cigarette onto the asphalt and stepped on it, putting it out.

"We have to tell you something important."

The two boys nodded.

"I don't think you both realize how much this will affect you both. This will shock you both tremendously."

The two were hesitant, but nodded. The two women looked at each other and Aino gestured for the other to go ahead and tell the two.

"You two are half-brothers."

The two brothers paused completely. That was until Taichi slapped his thigh and stood up.

"I knew we looked alike!"

He didn't say it in German, causing some other people to look at the usually quiet boy out of curiosity. Taichi bowed towards them apologetically before returning to the situation at hand.

Naoyasu was in shock. Half-brothers? He was just being told now? He assumed that they had the same dad. He wasn't stupid. He put two and two together.

Naoyasu stood up beside Taichi. The two looked at each other not exactly knowing what to do. However, Taichi, who was already a big brother, now of two, had his instincts kick in. Whenever his little sister was confused and was completely lost on what to do, he comforted her, so that's what he did to his new, well new in his life, little brother.

Taichi wrapped his arms around Naoyasu tightly. Naoyasu seemed genuinely scared at first but calmed down quickly. He hesitantly wrapped his arms around Taichi, resting his head on Taichi's shoulder.

The two women smiled gently at their sons, both extremely pleased that the two seemed happy. Taichi pulled away and patted both Naoyasu's shoulders.

"Let's go introduce you to your new little sister too."

Naoyasu looked confused.

"But...I'm not related to her."

"You're part of the family now. No escaping."

Taichi and Naoyasu both laughed and began to make their way to the little girl. The moms watched before Annike started walking too. She noticed that Aino wasn't following her and turned around.

"You too, Aino. You're part of the family too."

Aino couldn't even fight the smile creeping onto her face and dropped her cigarette, stepping on it. Annike reached her hand out and Aino grabbed it.

They both rounded the corner and smiled widely when they saw Takara walking between her two big brothers, holding both theirs hands and talking about something with a big smile on her face.

[winifredsandersonsbitch]

“Why Not Me?”

Spike x Summers!Reader, BTVS

Warnings: angst, character death, cursing, some sexual content

Description: The reader is struggling with their sister’s death and needs a helping hand. Set between the end of S5 and the beginning of S6.

This has been sitting in my drafts for a hot minute while I’ve been working on other stuff. It’s actually one of the first Spike pieces I wrote 🙈 I’m not in love with it, but I’ve been busy with other things lately and I wanted to release some new content, so here you go! I’m currently working on figuring out how to put together a masterlist and link my stories with the read more thing that I see on other fic writers’ pages so things are a little more organized.

Also (last thing, promise), I just wanted to say how much I appreciate the likes and comments you guys leave! @kind-wolf especially has helped motivate me so much in releasing new work, even if I feel it’s not my best ❤️

The first few days are hard. You wouldn’t be able to get yourself out of bed if not for Dawn. Everyone keeps peeking glances at you like you’re broken, like after your mother died but worse.

Infinitely worse, because Buffy and Dawn are your responsibility. You’re the oldest. You’re meant to protect them, to shield them. But all you’ve ever done is watch as your sister saved the world. And now even that has been taken from you.

You keep busy. You can only take so many days off work, trade so many shifts. Soon you have to go back and Dawn has to go to school, unless you want her to be taken from you, too.

Spike watches her for you while you’re at the diner. You’ve shortened your hours so you can sometimes be there with her before she goes to bed, but you’ve still got bills to pay. And you can’t bring up downsizing like you once meant to. Not when the house is the last thing linking the formerly whole Summers family together.

Willow does her best to play therapist, considering how you can’t go to a real one. First of all, they’d probably commit you for telling them your story. Second, you don’t have the strength to let anyone else in. Expanding your world to include more people only means that you have more of them to lose.

You made some mistakes in the first few weeks. You’re not proud of them by any means, but you’re doing your best to own them.

The worst one involved Spike.

One night (or, rather, morning) after your shift was over, you had come home and showered. As usual, you cried for as long as you could justify letting the water run. Then you stepped out and wrapped yourself in a fluffy towel that you almost dropped when you saw him waiting in your room.

“I think we need to have a chat, Summers.”

He patted the bed next to him, just like he had when he tagged along for the first time to your diner shift all those months ago. The gesture made you want to cry again.

“Let me get dressed,” you mumbled. You rummaged through your dresser for a tank top and sweatpants, the only types of clothing besides your uniform that you had been using since the funeral. Then you locked yourself in the bathroom.

You strongly considered crawling out the window, but you were too loud when you tried to pry it open and Spike rapped loudly on the door.

“Don’t even try it, love.”

Resigned, you came out to sprawl on your bed and wait for the lecture.

Spike started in as usual by saying that you weren’t taking care of yourself. Once again, you reminded him that you were a perfectly capable adult who was keeping an entire household running and that you didn’t need him or anyone else questioning you.

“I know you’re capable, that’s not the point—”

“Then what is the point? What right do you have—”

“I’ve been right here beside you the whole time! I’m allowed to have some input—”

“I’m sorry, is your name Spike Summers? No? Then get off my ass about—”

You could see in his eyes that he wanted to shake some sense into you. He thought you were the one being obtuse. But all you were doing, all you had ever tried to do, was to hold everything together.

“Summers,” he growled. The two of you had been inching closer together during your heated argument, your voices raised dangerously, considering Dawn was still asleep. For a moment, you saw a flicker of his other face. Even knowing he wouldn’t hurt you, you gulped. “Stop being so bloody thick about everything. You’re working yourself to death, and who’s going to be here for Dawn if you’re carted off to the hospital?”

Normally, this was the point where the tears would flow against your will, but you only felt frustrated. Then Spike tucked a piece of hair behind your ear and it boiled over.

“Let me take care of you,” he said, and you still don’t know why you did what you did next. Maybe you wanted to push him away like you had been doing with everyone else. Maybe you wanted a distraction. Or maybe you just wanted him.

You kissed him.

It was an automatic reaction, but if you had to guess, you’d say it was probably because you needed to show him that you were fine at taking care of yourself. You were still an independent agent, making your own decisions, however poor they might be. But you didn’t think that was the message he got at all, because it turned needy real quick.

His hand came to the back of your head as he wove his fingers through your hair in a tender gesture, but you didn’t want tender. You wanted the pain to be blocked out. You tried to seal yourself to him, pulling yourself into his lap. You ran your nails over his jaw, his neck, and then his chest, clawing at his shirt. He lifted it halfway, enough for you to see the defined abs that waited beneath, before he pulled away abruptly and dumped you onto the bed.

“We can’t,” he said, panting. “You’re grieving.”

“I’m fine.”

You crawled over to him and slipped off the edge of the bed to press him against the wall, but he held you back.

“You’re sick. It would be taking advantage.”

He knew before the words left his mouth that it was the wrong thing to say.

Your eyes widened and you wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, suddenly wanting every trace of him off you. You stepped toward the door backwards, almost tripping over your backpack.

“No, my mom was sick,” you said with your hand on the knob. Then, whipping back around, your face contorted like a Fury: “You’re sick, you know that? You chase after me for months, following me to work, to school, telling me you don’t want to see me hurt myself. You hold me while I’m sleeping and touch me when you think no one’s watching and joke in front of the others about how you’d like to see me naked and then I give you the chance to and what? Has mourning made me so awful to you?”

Spike couldn’t have been more shocked if you slapped him. He kept waiting for your knees to buckle, for you to break down, but you never did. Not in front of the others, not in front of him. Anyone would think you were the goddamn Energizer Bunny, if not for how exhausted you looked.

“Love—”

“Don’t fucking call me that,” you said. “If you aren’t willing to ‘take advantage,’ I’ll find someone who is.”

You didn’t slam the door. Even now, you were mindful of Dawn, of how early it was. Instead, you grabbed your keys from the kitchen countertop and made it as far as the front porch before you folded in on yourself.

Not now, you pleaded, praying to a God you weren’t sure existed. Please, let me get somewhere else first.

But you couldn’t move. You kept seeing Buffy fall over and over again, tearing through the inter-dimensional portal like a silk screen, hitting the concrete hard.

You couldn’t breathe.

It was like you could see her and Dawn up top, before Buffy dived down like some kind of fucking Olympic swimmer. You had been on the ground with the others, but you could see them in that moment. Buffy taking Dawn’s face in her hands as she cried. Playing the hero. Telling your sister how she had to do this and to remember how much she loved you both.

You didn’t see or hear Spike come out on the patio or notice when he pried the keys from your hands. You were too busy sobbing silently to the point where he was worried you might pass out.

“It should have been me,” you said, not to him or yourself, but to whatever God had taken Buffy. Glory, maybe. Someone with more power than you. “I’m the oldest. I should have been there. Bring her back and take me.”

“She was the Slayer,” Spike said softly. He didn’t touch you, just sat a fair distance away and ached. “It had to be her.”

In your crazed state, you thought God was talking back, and he happened to have a British accent. You tried to reason with him.

“No, it wasn’t about that. It was about Summers blood. It could have been me, if I had gotten there in time. If—”

“You wouldn’t have made it up the steps past Glory, past the demon. You didn’t have a chance.”

“But it should have been me!” The words came out as more of a wheeze than anything else. You weren’t taking in enough oxygen to support your crying jag. “I should have been the Slayer. I’m the oldest. Why did you choose her? Was I not strong enough?”

You couldn’t open your eyes fully through all the tears. They swam in front of your vision like you were underwater, turning your car into a coral reef, the grass of the front yard into seaweed.

“Or if I couldn’t be the Slayer or the Key, then I should have been the one to jump. You know it’s true,” you pleaded. “Summers blood. It’s all the same.”

But it wasn’t. Because whatever blood was in Dawn and Buffy contained courage.

Spike didn’t know who you thought you were talking to, but he was worried you were going to knock yourself out on the steps and split your head open, with the way you were wavering back and forth, leaning forward to weep and then throwing your head back to ask why, why, why it hadn’t been you.

Finally, he had to restrain you, scooping you up into his lap and holding you tight to keep you from getting any ideas about taking a dive of your own off the porch. At first, you fought against him, thrashing like a wildcat, but you were too tired to keep it up for long.

“Why not me?” you asked him again. Your voice was muffled against his chest, but he heard you loud and clear. How could he not?

“Because you’re needed here. You’re the only thing keeping everyone sane, lo—” He cut himself off, barely remembering how much the word had upset you earlier. “You protected Buffy as best you could your whole life. And now you need to be here for Dawn.”

“No,” you said, wrestling out of his grip enough to face him. “I mean, why don’t you want me?”

Your eyes were swollen and you had just gotten snot all over his shirt, but in that moment he was so grateful that you were alive that his heart would’ve skipped a beat if it could have. He pulled you close and kissed your forehead, breathing in the smell of your shampoo, reminding himself that you were flesh and blood right before him. You were still here.

“Any other time, sweetheart, it would’ve been you,” he whispered against your cheek. You were going slack in his arms, relaxing like a kitten, unable to keep yourself upright and rigid when you were so completely spent. He could taste your tears. “I always want you. But not like this.”

“What do you—hic—mean?”

This was alright. You were a little out of it still, but you were coherent, and you weren’t trying to hurt yourself anymore. Spike resisted the urge to pull you closer, to feel your heart beat against his chest like it was his own, just to confirm you were here, solid, breathing.

“I want you when I can tell it’s real. That you don’t need someone to take your pain away and that’s it, even though I’d strip right now, right here on the porch, if I thought it would help.”

Spike thought he might get a laugh out of you there, but your eyes were unfocused. Frightening. He lifted you up like you weighed nothing, which wasn’t far from the truth now that you’d all but stopped eating, and carried you back into the house and up the stairs to your bedroom.

“I want you so much it hurts,” he promised you as he peeled back the covers to tuck you in. “Like when I’m starving for blood and there’s no one around.”

He checked your face quickly, thinking his metaphor might’ve been less-than-helpful, but when it remained blank he continued.

“I need you. That means I have to do what’s best for you, and right now that’s not sex.”

He started across the room, but you called out.

“Spike?” You sounded uncertain, fragile. “Will you stay with me? Not for... not for sex.”

“Of course I will, lo— Summers.”

He shed his t-shirt and slipped into the fuzzy bottoms you’d gotten him a few months ago, when things were not quite good but getting back to normal, and cradled you.

He gave it a couple minutes before he tried again. “Summers, you know, if you do want sex in the future and you’re not on the verge of a breakdown, I’m your guy.”

But you were already asleep.

[teacherunicorn]

Delores Theadosia Hargreeves

Chapter Fifteen

Italics = memories

@tomisbaeholland

A/N: I am aware of Elliot Page coming out as transgender and am fully supportive of it. With the future of his character still in the wind however, I will be using she/her pronouns for Vanya for my writings at least for the time being. If rumors are true and the character will be transitioning as well, I will wrap it into my story accordingly. For now, I'm just following the plot of season one.

Diego was one of two Hargreeves children left in the city, and was the first to arrive back at the manor. The place had always been too big for comfort, but it still seemed strange seeing it so empty.

Not for the first time, he wondered what Delores' life here had been like before they'd come into it.

Traditionally, boxing was a more serious sport. The kind that attracted harsher people, under the counter bets and the like. Then again, Delores Theadoisa Hargreeves had never been traditional.

She stood just outside the fighting ring jumping up and down, and waving a handmade sign over her head. "Go Diego! Boo everyone else!"

Diego's opponent of the night; a burly man with full sleeve tattoos, looked between him and the tiny blonde.

"Your girl's got a lotta faith in ya."

Diego smiled but didn't drop his guard. "Wouldn't wanna disappoint." he said before throwing a heavy right hook into the man's jaw.

“Diego my boy.” Pogo’s voice broke him from his memories. “Good to see you.”

“Hey Pogo.” Diego smiled and hugged the chimp. “Anyone else turn up yet?”

“You are the first, but I expect your siblings shall be along shortly.”

“Delores?”

“The news got to her rather late, but she assured me she’d be on the first available plane.” Pogo informed. “Till then, she’s tasked me with keeping the rest of you in line.”

Number Two laughed. “Yeah, good luck.”

******

Next to arrive was Alison. Getting the news about Reginald’s death via paparazzi hadn’t been pretty, and frankly if it hadn’t gone down that way she probably wouldn’t have come. She had enough of her plate as it was.

“Onward to desert!” Delores ran across the large backyard, a then one year old Claire ridding piggyback. Patrick, who had been manning the grill for the barbecue, laughed and held the package of oreos over their heads. He was taller than Delores, so even with Claire on her back they couldn’t reach them.

Things had been a lot simpler when ‘Gammy Lori’ could be called any hour of the day. Having raised seven kids, Delores was much more capable of dealing with Claire than Alison was. It was hard sometimes not to take advantage of that.

It was even harder to stand by the lessons Delores had taught her and not take the easy way out.

“I want Gammy Lori!” a three year old Claire whined.

“Gammy Lori is working sweetie. She’s in Pennsylvania.”

“Where’s that?”

“A really long way away.”

“Can we go get her?”

“No, we can’t.”

“Why?”

“Because she’s busy.”

“Why?”

“Because she’s very smart and works with smart people.”

“Why?”

“I heard a rumor that you stopped whining.”

******

Klaus tumbled in through one of the back doors and was immediately skimming the place for valuables.

"Really?" Ben's spirit said over his shoulder. "Didn't you tell Dede you'd keep at least a two month period between troubles with the law?"

"Hey, it's not like the old man is around to report anything stolen anymore. "God knows DT isn't gonna miss any of it; she hates this gaudy shit."

Every remaining member of the Umbrella Academy had a key to Delores' condo in the city. As such, it wasn't uncommon for her to come home to find one of them on her couch.

It was usually Klaus.

Number Four groaned as he blinked back to consciousness. His blurry vision focused in on the figure sitting on the coffee table. "Oh, hey DT. How long have you been here?"

"Couple hours. I came to check if you were alive again. You've been kinda in and out." While she didn't approve of Klaus' drug habits, Delores was the only one -- apart from Ben -- who understood why he had them.

"I didn't say anything stupid, did I?"

"You don't need drugs for that, Klausy."

"She's right, you know." Ben chimed from where he leaned against the couch's armrest.

Klaus threw a glare at the spirit over his shoulder before turning back to his caretaker. "Sorry, shady asshole must've mixed something in with the product. It's usually not that heavy...."

"Haven't I told you stay away from those types?"

"Com'on DT, I am one of those types!"

"Those are the rock bottom types that end up in a ditch somewhere." Delores flicked him in the head, making him wince as she rattled his hangover.

"Thank you!" Ben exclaimed.

"The type that don't have their big sister to push them into rehab. Speaking of, didn't you just get out of it like a week ago?" She continued, unaware that Number Six was even there.

"Maybe...." Klaus muttered. "But I'm not really the cold turkey type; you know that."

"There has to be something better." Delores sighed. "If you would stick around for more than a few days sleeping off a bender, you and I could figure it out! I've been riddling out your powers since you were born."

"No." Klaus said firmly. "Alright, I may be a deadbeat addict, but you are the one person who I refuse to mooch off of."

"Klausy --"

"Klaus --"

"Non!" He cut off both of them. "It took you way to long to get out from under dad's ass. You've finally got a life for yourself! Majority rules; you were out voted. No more mother henning!"

*******

Having the furthest to travel, it wasn't surprising that Luther arrived late to the mansion.

He had been the last of the Umbrella Academy, chasing the heroics dream Reginald kept feeding him. He and Delores had gotten into more than one argument regarding this, but she had always been there when he really needed her, wether she was angry with him or not.

Unfortunately, he had been out voted and she had left too.

Logically he knew it was good for her. She sounded so much happier on the phone than she had living here. The stubborn part of him that believed in the Academy's roles however knew her place was with them, even if they weren't kids anymore.

Delores hadn't been informed of his mission gone awry; his near death experience, what had brought him back, and the side effects of it. Reginald had done something or another to keep that out of the media, and Luther himself certainly wasn't looking to tell her.

The real kicker had been the moon mission. Reginald had sprung it on him so suddenly that he hadn't had the chance to call Delores beforehand.

He stood hunched in the doorway of her old room, eyes drifting over the relics she had left behind. Since Delores traveled so much, she hadn't taken everything with her when she first left. The majority of her things were now in her condo in the city, but there were still a few dusty pictures on the walls.

Moving forward caused his fingers to brush against the scritches on the doorway. Carved into the wood with one of Diego's knives were a series of dashes and dates marking the life of the Umbrella Academy.

Luther strained to stretch as straight as he could, resisting the urge to get on his tiptoes. He'd tried sneaking that past Delores and she'd smacked his head with the ruler.

The flat of a blade cut into the wood behind him and he immediately jumped forward to see her scratching the day's date next to it with a practiced hand.

"So?" He asked eagerly.

"Hmm." Delores held the ruler between an older mark and the mark she'd just made. "One and a half inches."

"Yes! I'm still the tallest!"

"Second tallest." Delores said, leaning her elbow atop his head.

"I told you to stop doing that!" He swatted at her, taking a step back to be out of reach.

"But you make such a good armrest!"

"Just you wait Dee; some day I'm gonna be even taller than you and you'll be the armrest!"

"Whatever you say squirt."

*******

Hesitant to come at all, Vanya was the last of the siblings to walk through the front door.

Ever quiet as a mouse, she stepped into the entry hall in near silence. Her sister was less so however.

"Vanya." Alison said in surprise as she came through the doorway of the living room. "You came."

"Hey Allison." Vanya smiled and accepted the hug offered to her.

Her flicker of confidence evaporated when Diego walked through the room and glared at her. "What's she doing here? You don't belong here, not after what you did."

"Diego now is not the time for fighting. And way to dress for the occasion by the way!" Alison called to his retreating back.

"At least I'm wearing black!"

"H-He's right, I shouldn't be here..." Vanya shook her head, wondering why she'd bothered. It wasn't like Delores would leave the country again without coming to see her -- she was the only family member who was still talking to her after all.

"No, hey." Alison cut her off. "I want you here."

The smile Vanya gave her sister was small and somewhat forced. The sentiment was kind, but patronizing. Everyone had been mad at her after her book had been published; even Delores.

Vanya unlocked her apartment door and jumped out of her skin at the sight of Delores sitting on her couch. She shouldn't be surprised at this point really, the older woman had mad it a habit since she'd been given a key.

"You should have locks on your windows." the caretaker commented idly.

"I live on the second floor."

"Rapist can climb."

"You are so weird." Vanya shook her head as she locked the door behind her.

"Oh now that's a simpleton word. You got much more creative as I recall. What was it? Apathetic, obtuse, and desperate to keep control?"

"M-my editor didn't like me making you a good guy when everyone else --"

"Oh will get to everyone else; you had no right to say what you did about them either. Airing out the dirty laundry for all to see....I'm really disappointed in you, Vanya."

*******

Vanya was the last of the Hargreeves siblings to walk through the front door, but certainly not the last to arrive.

After a very tense conversation about their father's death -- Luther was convinced it was murder, and while he didn't accuse anyone outright it was clear he didn't put it past them.

Everyone had split off to different areas of the house, and Luther thumbed through the records on the shelf in his room. The group really didn't do well as a group without Delores, but maybe he could at least minimize the hostility while they waited for her.

Finding the one he was looking for, he set it onto the player and turned the volume up as high as it would go. Soon enough, Delores' favorite song was echoing through the manor halls.

I think we're alone now

There doesn't seem to be anyone around

I think we're alone now

Alone now

The beating of our hearts is the onl-

The music was cut off rather abruptly as the walls and floor began to shake. Everything metallic went flying, and a large wave of something was glowing a familiar blue color in the backyard.

Next

[ill-will-editions]

THE FUNERAL OF SALVATORE RICCIARDI: Celebrating a friend and comrade, while taking over public space again

WU MING

A final farewell to Salvo, to the songs of Su, communists of the capital! "This rebellious city, never tamed by ruins and bombings…"

Of all the measures taken during this emergency, the ban on funeral services is among the most dehumanizing.

In the name of what idea of "life" have these measures been taken? In the prevailing rhetoric of these past few weeks, life has been reduced almost entirely to the survival of the body, to the detriment of any other dimension of it. In this there is a very strong thanatophobic connotation (from the Greek Thanatos, or death), a morbid fear of dying.

Thanatophobia has permeated our society for decades. Already in 1975, the historian Philippe Ariès, in his landmark History of Death in the West, noted that death, in capitalist societies, had been "domesticated", bureaucratized, partly deritualized and separated as much as possible from the living, in order to "spare  [...] society the disturbance and too strong emotion" of dying, and maintain the idea that life "is always happy, or at least must always look like it”.

To this end, he continues, it was strategic "to shift the site where we die. We no longer die at home, among family members, we die at the hospital, alone [...] because it has become inconvenient to die at home". Society, he said, must "realize as little as possible that death has occurred". This is why many rituals related to dying are now considered embarrassing and in a phase of disuse.

Even before the state of emergency we are experiencing, the rituality of dying had been reduced to a minimum. That is why we have always been so impressed by the manifestations of its re-emergence. Think of the worldwide success of a film like The Barbarian Invasions by Denys Arcand.

Forty-five years ago, Ariès wrote: "no one has the strength or patience to wait for weeks for a moment [death, Editor's note] that has lost its meaning". And what does the 2003 Canadian film depict if not a group of people waiting for weeks - in a context of conviviality and re-emerging secular rituality - the passing of a friend?

Eight years ago we undertook, together with many others, to set up an environment of conviviality and secular rituality around a dear friend and companion, Stefano Tassinari, in the weeks leading up to his death and in the ceremonies that followed. Much of our questioning on this subject dates back to that time.

If the rituality linked to dying was already reduced to a minimum, the ban on attending the funeral of a loved one had finally annihilated it.

Back on March 25th we shared a beautiful letter from a parish priest from Reggio, Don Paolo Tondelli, who was dismayed at the scenes he had to witness:

"And so I find myself standing in front of the cemetery, with three children of a widowed mother who died alone at the hospital because the present situation does not allow for the assistance of the sick. They cannot enter the cemetery, the measures adopted do not allow it. So they cry: they couldn't say goodbye to their mother when she gave up living, they can't say goodbye to her even now while she is being buried. We stop at the cemetery gate, in the street, I am bitter and angry inside, I have a strong thought: even a dog is not taken to the grave like this. I think we have exaggerated for a moment in applying the rules in this way, we are witnessing a dehumanization of essential moments in the life of every person; as a Christian, as a citizen I cannot remain silent [...] I say to myself: we are trying to defend life, but we are running the risk of not conserving the mystery that is so closely linked to it".

This "mystery" is not the exclusive prerogative of the Christian faith nor of those possessing a religious sensibility, since it does not necessarily coincide with the belief in the immortal soul or anything else, but something that we all ask ourselves, when we ask, 'what does it mean to live?' 'What distinguishes living from merely moving on or simply not dying?

That said, those who are believers and observers have experienced the suspension of ritual ceremonies - including funeral masses - as an attack on their form of life. It is no coincidence that among the examples of clandestine organization that we have heard about these days, there is the catacombal continuation of Christian public life.

We have direct evidence that in many parishes the faithful continued to attend mass, despite the signs on the doors saying they were suspended. One finds the "hard core" of the parishioners in the refectory of the convent, or in the rectory, or in the sacristy and in some cases in the church. Twenty, thirty people, summoned by word of mouth. In particular last Thursday, for the Missa in coena Domini.

The same can be said of funerals. In this case as well we have direct testimonies of priests who officiated small rites, with close family members, without publicity.

In the past few days, we have identified three types of disobedience to some of the stupidest and most inhumane features of the lock-down.

Individual disobedience

The individual gesture is often invisible but occasionally it is showy, as in the case of that runner on the deserted beach of Pescara, hunted by security guards for no reason that has any epidemiological basis. The video went viral, and had the effect of demonstrating the absurdity of certain rules and their obtuse application.

Continuing to run was, objectively and in its outcome, a very effective performance, an action of resistance and "conflictual theatre". Continuing to run distinguishes qualitatively that episode from the many others which offer "only" further evidence of repression. As Luigi Chiarella "Yamunin" wrote, the video brings to mind,

"a passage from Crowds and Power by Elias Canetti on grasping, which is indeed a gesture of the hand but also and above all is 'the decisive act of power where it manifests itself in the most evident way, from the most remote times, among animals and among men'. Later, he adds - and here comes the part pertinent to the episode of the runner - that 'there is nevertheless a second powerful gesture, certainly no less essential even if not so radiant. Sometimes one forgets, under the grandiose impression aroused by grasping, the existence of a parallel and almost equally important action: not letting oneself be grasped". The video [...] reminded me how powerful and liberating it is not to let yourself be caught. Then I don't forget that if you run away you do it to come back with new weapons, but in the meantime you must not let yourself be grabbed."

Clandestine group disobedience

These are the practices of the parishioners who organize themselves to go to mass on the sly, of the family members of a dearly departed person who agree with the parish priest to officiate a funeral rite... but also of the groups who continue in one way or another to hold meetings, of the bands who continue to rehearse, and of the parents who organize themselves together with a teacher to retrieve their children's school books. It's an episode that happened in a city in Emilia, which we recounted a few days ago.

In order to retrieve the books from a first grade school that had been left at school for the last month, a teacher came to the school, took the books out hidden in a shopping cart, and entrusted them to two parents who live near a baker and a convenience store respectively, so that the other parents could go and pick them up with the "cover" of buying groceries, avoiding possible fines. The books were given to the individual parents by lowering them with a rope from a small balcony and stuffed into shopping bags or between loaves of bread, as if they were hand grenades for the Resistance. In this way those children will at least be able to follow the program on the book with the teacher in tele-education, and the parents will be able to have support for the inevitable homeschooling.

After a phase of shock in which unconditional obedience and mutual guilt prevailed, sectors of civil society - and even "interzone" between institutions and civil society - are reorganizing themselves "in hiding". In this reorganization it is implicit that certain restrictions are considered incongruous, irrational, indiscriminately punitive.

Furthermore: at the beginning of the emergency, parental chats were, in general, among the worst hotbeds of panic, culture of suspicion, toxic voice messages, calls for denunciation. The fact that now some of them are also being used to circumvent delusional prohibitions - why shouldn't a teacher be able to retrieve the textbooks left in the classroom? why should a dad or a mom have to resort to subterfuge, self-certification, etc. to retrieve those books? - is yet another proof that the "mood" has changed.

Provocative group disobedience

The performance of the trio from Rimini - a man and two women - who had sex in public places and put the videos online, accompanied with insults hurled at the police, is part of this rarefied case history.

The police have since held a grudge against the case, as exemplified by their official social channels.

The only thing missing from this catalog of disobedience is, of course...

Claimed group disobedience

Here we have in mind visible, and no longer merely clandestine collective disobedience.

For a moment we feared that the fascists would be the first to bring it into play. Forza Nuova attempted to leverage the dismay of believers in the prospect of an Easter “behind closed doors,” and without the Via Crucis. However, when leaflets circulated calling for a procession to St. Peter's Basilica tomorrow (Sunday 4.12), accompanied by mottos such as "In hoc signo vinces" and "Rome will not know an Easter without Christ", they were dismayed to find that it wasn't the Fascists who were behind them. Instead, it was our comrades and friends from Radio Onda Rossa and the Roman liberatory movement who, this morning, in S. Lorenzo, greeted Salvatore Ricciardi with what in effect became the first political demonstration in the streets since the beginning of the emergency. 

Salvatore Ricciardi, 80 years old, was a pillar of the Roman antagonist left. A former political prisoner, for many years he was involved in fights inside prisons and against prison conditions. He did so in a number of books and countless broadcasts on Radio Onda Rossa, which yesterday dedicated a moving four-hour live special to him. He continued to do so until even a few days ago, on his blog Contromaelstrom, writing about imprisonment and coronavirus. 

Headlines about this morning's events can already be read in the mainstream press. A precise chronicle, accompanied by some valuable remarks, can be heard in this phone call from an editor of Radio Onda Rossa [here]. Among other things, our comrade points out: "here there are rows of people standing in front of the butchers shop for days and days, yet we cannot even bid farewell to the dead? [...] We're in the open air, while in Rome there's not even a requirement to wear a mask and yet many people had masks, and there were only a few people anyway"...Yet the police still threatened to use a water cannon to disperse a funeral ritual. The part of the district where the seditious gathering took place was closed and those present were detained by police.

During this emergency, we’ve seen so many surreal scenes - today, to offer just one example, a helicopter took to the sky, wasting palates of public money, in pursuit of a single citizen walking on a Sicilian beach - and even still, this morning's apex had not yet been reached.

For our part, we say kudos and solidarity to those who run, and are out running great risks to claim their right to live together - in public space that they have always crossed with their bodies and filled with their lives - out of pain and mourning for the loss of Salvo, but also out of happiness for having had him as a friend and companion.

"Because the bodies will return to occupy the streets. Because without the bodies there is no Liberation."

That's what we were writing yesterday, taking up the “Song of el-'Aqila Camp”. We reaffirm our belief that it will happen. And the government fears it too: is it by chance that just today Minister Lamorgese warned against "hotbeds of extremist speech"? 

In her telephone interview, the Radio Onda Rossa editor says that the current situation, in essence, could last a year and a half. Those in power would like it to be a year and a half without the possibility of protest. They are prepared to use health regulations to prevent collective protests and struggles. Managing the recession with sub iudice civil rights is ideal for those in power.

It is right to disobey absurd rules

We should point out once again that, whilst keeping a population under house arrest, while prohibiting funerals, and de jure or de facto preventing anyone from taking a breath of fresh air - which is almost a unique phenomenon in the West, since only Spain follows us on this - and while shaming individual conduct like jogging, going out "for no reason", or shopping "too many times"...while this whole little spectacle is going on, Italy remains the European country with the highest  COVID-19 mortality rate. Good peace of mind for those who spoke of an "Italian model" to be imitated by other countries.

Who is responsible for such a debacle? It is not a hard question to answer: it was the people who did not establish a medical cordon around Alzano and Nembro in time, because the owner asked them not to; it was those who spread infection in hospitals through an impressive series of negligent decisions; those who turned RSAs and nursing homes into places of mass coronavirus death; and lastly, those who, while all this was happening, diverted public attention toward nonsense and harmless behavior, while pointing the finger at scapegoats. This was blameworthy, even criminal behavior.

Everywhere in the world the coronavirus emergency has presented a golden opportunity to restrict the spaces of freedom, settle accounts with unwelcome social movements, profit from the behavior to which the population is forced, and restructure to the detriment of the weakest.

Italy adds to all this its standard surfeit of irrational ravings. The exceptionality of our "model" of emergency management lies in its complete overturning of scientific logic. For it is one thing to impose - for good (Sweden) or for bad (another country at random) - physical distancing as a necessary measure to reduce the possibility of contagion; it is quite another to lock the population in their homes and prevent them from leaving except for reasons verified by police authorities. The jump from one to the other imposed itself alongside the idea - also unfounded - that one is safe from the virus while "indoors", whereas "outdoors" one is in danger.

Everything we know about this virus tells us exactly the opposite, namely that the chances of contracting it in the open air are lower, and if you keep your distance even almost zero, compared to indoors. On the basis of this self-evidence, the vast majority of countries affected by the pandemic not only did not consider it necessary to prevent people from going out into the open air generally, as they did in France, but in some cases even advised against it.

In Italy, this radius is, at best, two hundred meters from home, but there are municipalities and regions that have reduced it to zero meters. For those who live in the city, such a radius is easily equivalent to half a block of asphalt roads, which are much more crowded than in the open space outside the city, if it could be reached. For those who live in the countryside, however, or in sparsely populated areas, a radius of two hundred meters is equally absurd, since the probability of meeting someone and having to approach them is infinitely lower than in an urban center.

Not only that: we have seen that very few countries have introduced the obligation to justify their presence outdoors by authorizations, certificates, and receipts, even calculating the distance from home using Google Maps. This is also an important step: it means putting citizens at the mercy of law enforcement agencies.

We have recorded cases of hypertensive people, with a medical prescription recommending daily exercise for health reasons, fined €500; or people fined because they were walking with their pregnant partner, to whom the doctor had recommended walking. The list of abuses and idiocies would be long, and one may consult our website for further examples.

Legal uncertainty, the arbitrariness of police forces, the illogical limitation of behavior that presents no danger to anyone, are all essential elements of the police state.

Having to respect an illogical, irrational norm is the exercise of obedience and submission par excellence.

It will never be "too soon" to rebel against such obligations.

It must be done, before it’s too late.

Translated by Ill Will Editions

[amandajeanwrites]

A Love Letter to Knives Out

As my husband says, Rian Johnson’s Knives Out has been out for a long time now (aka two months, which I guess is a long time in Hollywood), but we just went to see it (took him long enough to take me!!!) and I can’t not talk about it.

For those of you who don’t know, Knives Out is the ultimate manor-house, family-values, murder mystery. One week after thriller novelist, Harlan Thrombey, commits suicide, the world renowned private investigator, Benoit Blanc, receives a wad of cash in the mail and a request to investigate the mysteries surrounding Thrombey’s demise. Thrombey’s family of white socialites are asked to return to the manor for further questioning in which you learn about the happenings on Harlan’s 85th birthday the night before he died. 

The film is a mash-up of perfectly timed flash backs, done in the hilarious point-of-view of the most recent character in question, but most of the film is seen through the stunning green gold eyes of Thrombey’s nurse, Marta Cabrera, who was the last person to see him alive. It’s an exciting who-done-it jampacked with family drama, white privelege, and sour (not to mention famous) faces, and I enjoyed every last morsel.

I’ll try not to get into spoiler land too much here, as I mainly just need to talk about how much this film inspired me. As a writer, specifically one who’s been struggling through writing mystery and thrillers myself, I was enthralled with every tiny decision Rian Johnson made, both with the screenwriting and direction. He knew the formula perfectly, implanting props and clues at the beginning that would definitely come to life later. 

I feel like before I even get into the writing though, I need to discuss production and set design, as the Thrombey family home completely blew me away. The outside of the house, besides being perfect for the kind of Clue-esque murder mystery novel, was merely unremarkable compared to the props and set dressing that was done inside. Before bed, I read every article I could interviewing the set decorator, David Schlesinger. I just had to know what informed all of the tiny details in this over-the-top, ornate home.

He said he based every single prop off of a novel that Harlan Thrombey would have written over the past sixty years. From there, he sourced the majority of antiques locally in the Boston area as the character would have done. I caught only a handful of odds and ends in the background, as the plot and characters keep sucking your focus back, but I can’t wait to see it again to see what else I can catch.

Okay, back to the writing. Rian Johnson’s attention to detail wasn’t the only thing I pulled inspiration from. The man clearly loves murder mysteries, as this story was reminiscent of all of those classics we all know and love, but he took so many major spins on those tropes, so nothing felt predictable. You really had no idea who to blame until the very last few minutes of the film. Every single character has a motive and not a one has an air-tight alibi. 

One of the ways he brilliantly diverts expectations is in the use of a main character. Marta Cabrera, played by Ana de Armas, the nurse, is the daughter of an immigrant woman, working hard to keep her family afloat and safe. She’s great at her job, forming a close bond with Harlan and his family. She seems to have a heart of gold. (She has a literal disorder where lying makes her vomit.)

She’s refreshing. I guess that’s what I’m getting at. Typically in these scenarios, we’re seeing everything through the eyes of the madcap detective (we’ll get to him in a moment), a strong-jawed, handsome gentleman who is seeing everything for the first time and is just learning the personalities of the characters through their faults and guilt. Through Marta, we’ve seen it before. We know them. We know how disgustingly obtuse the family is. We know they don’t care about her or where she’s from. We see the guilt before it’s ascertained. It’s just a beautiful twist. 

Also, someone pointed out on Tumblr that Marta’s character is refreshing, as woman, because she isn’t sexualized AT ALL. In the entire movie, never once do we see her in a revealing outfit. She’s often dressed as an innocent, middle class working woman, in normal, comfortable clothing. Not once do we see her snuggled up against the incredible sexy bad boy of the family, Ransom, an obvious pick for a love interest. She’s just a girl observing the family do horrible things, and not once is she sexually harassed for it. It’s incredible. This is what we want more of, Hollywood! (Louder for the people in the back!!!)

Going back to the point, however, that every character has a motive, Marta isn’t as innocent as she seems, and it makes for some incredibly poignant and emotional scenes which shockingly moved me to well up. That’s another part of the genius of this film, the emotions. One minute, you could be cackling out loud about a ridiculous comment made by the Alt-Right grandson, and the next minute you could be sympathizing for the characters who lost the patriarch of the family. 

It filled me with nostalgia, not only for other murder mysteries of this caliber, but because at one point, I leaned over to my husband and said “Oh my God, these are like my family get-togethers.” The family argued politics. They laughed and danced and partied. They told eat other to “eat shit” and got in fist fights. They cried, holding each other in apologies.

Aside from the family, comedic relief also came in the form of the aforementioned madcap detective, Benoit Blanc, played by Daniel Craig. Blanc, a detective straight from Civil War era Georgia, comes into the family with new eyes but old wisdom through experience. He figures everything out within the first fifteen minutes but struggles through the details for the rest of the film in waxing monologues about baked goods that will have you rolling. He teams up with Marta, “Watson” as he calls her, to unsheathe the dagger completely, so to speak. Their chemistry together truly makes the film.

I could go on and on about the rest of the characters and their perfect imperfections, but I have to go on to why I wanted to write this post in the first place. If you want to talk characters and actors (Toni Collette though!?!?), hit me up on Instagram @amandajeanwrites and I will discuss it with you for DAYS. (Shameless plug.)

So the point, of all of this, was how I left the theatre feeling insurmountably inspired. Not only was the writing impeccable, full of details and heart and soul and emotion, rounded characters, a set beginning middle and end, but at the heart of it all was a man successful for writing dozens of mystery and thriller novels. I know that sounds wild, that I was most inspired by the character who dies at the beginning, but truly I was. 

Harlan Thrombey is everything a writer aspires to. He has amazing success. He lives in the dream home. He has a mostly healthy (although ridiculous) family who loves him very much. He took them all under his wings to support them financially because his success gives him the means to help. He takes Marta in, although as his nurse at first, and befriends her and takes care of her and her family as well. And he’s able to do all of this because of his imagination.

Throughout the film, one of the police officers on the case is geeking out about the various set pieces because he’s a huge fan of Harlan’s work. I think every author wants that sort of fandom. Someday, I’d love a mansion full of brats and a stranger to come in and tell me how proud he is of my work and how honored he is to be in my home. 

I don’t know, I guess that aspect of it just really filled me with joy, and it pushed me to keep moving forward. I will have that house someday. I could, you know, go without the murder part of it. Let’s leave those for the novels.

TL;DR, Knives Out was an incredible representation of the murder mystery genre, and it’s going up on my list of favorite films of all time. Rian Johnson deserves all of the awards this season, as do his cast and crew. Bravo to all. 

Oh, also, thanks as always, for reading xo

Let me know in the comments if there’s a particular film that inspires you to keep pursuing your passions. 

[migleefulmoments]

Abby has a 'CC 2017 A Year in Review' post. It's fascinating. Totally convinced me they are 100000000% correct. Darren and Chris were both at 2 events. Darren wore his God Save the Queer shirt. TLOS is definitely a representation of CC.Oh, there are pictures of them in similar poses!!! They tweeted on the same day!! Darren sang songs from Glee. I'm convinced. She really knows her shit. #sarcasm is dripping off this message, btw. She's a certifiable nutcase. Go read for yourself. its Hilarious!

I cracked up when she said they were both at the LA Women’s March with the several million other people who went. How is that different from “they both live in LA”?  

The God Save the Queer T-shirt is her most treasured post-Glee “proof”. She is sure that he wears that because he is saying ‘I’m queer’.  It isn’t simply that  he is wearing a LGBTQ-positive shirt to an LGBTQ events. Darren and Mia’s entire group carried pro-LGBTQ and women’s signs at the women’s march.

They also both went to a huge Adam Lambert concert thousands of their friends.  The man was on Glee and Darren never misses a music event... of course they went.  One rando posted a Tweet claiming that Darren and Chris were talking and Abby buys it.  His 27 likes and 4 retweets is proof enough for me!  It’s cclove. 

Darren and Chris both went to spirit day- a LGBTQ support event.  That’s huge...why would both men attend an LGBTQ-positive hosted by their friend Justin Trantor if they weren’t together? It makes NOOOO sense.  THEY WORE MATCHING OUTFITS, FFS!!!! Jeans, a Jean jacket and a t-shirt is not a common outfit for a 30-ish yo man at a causal event so IT’S PROOF.  History is not wrong!

We cannot forget TLOS 6: A Love Letter to Darren Criss by Chris Colfer.   Darren released a song called Lost Boys Life written by his brother that is clearly about a man on the road missing his love. But ccers immediately declared that Darren actually wrote it -plausible deniability-because it “reeks of CC”. That along with it’s Peter Pan reference and Chris’s dedication  “Let’s never grow old together” is PROOF PROOF PROOF PROOF OMG ITS PROOF.  And O.M.G. Froggy is on the cover in the Mirror that MorInA put him in and Chris is a petty dick so we know that is about Darren.  He also called MorInA a goat - he’s such a misogynistic dick and I LOVE IT. 

“And this amazing quote that speaks for itself:“Only idiots listen with their eyes” she said. “if people don’t hear your words, that shout them. If people silence you, then write your message with fire. Demanding respect is never easy but if something you love is at stake, then i’d say it’s worth the price”.   (Ok, I gotta be honest, all sarcasm aside, how the fuck does she not see this is what she is doing and realize he was calling out people like her?  How does she believe this was something cc positive? Also all the STFF stuff...how is she so obtuse?).

Oh I forgot they both posted childhood photos on the same TBT -nobody else did that...nope never.  

Chris denied he watched AVPM -not because it’s been a decade and he forgot-or it doesn’t really mean anything to him but   because CC IS SO ON. “Denial of AVPMI know for a fact this was not a planned question. He was caught by surprise and instead of answering truthfully, Chris got flustered and denied seeing AVPM when it has been documented countless times that not only has he seen it, he was a huge fanboy.” 

Also these two nonsense statements “That time when Chris was asked if he kept in touch with D and he said “Kind of Sort of”The Promo Interview right before TLOS was released on the SocialIf it’s on social media, you’re not happenin’. I try to keep my personal life personal, and not mix the two. It’s hard to do, but I try.” All CC positive moments in 2017. 

I’m just going to leave this one without sarcastic comment because it speaks for itself: 

A Doll’s House Part 2.  

“A show chris saw when promoting TLOS and that months later we discover Darren saw as well yet not one photo or tweet placing him there unlike the myriad of other shows he sees where there are copious pics and accounts. Both loved it.” (Ok, I give it a Huh? Darren goes out all the time and we don’t know most of the time. He has said so but of course he didn’t say so with a social media post so ccers don’t count it).  

Chris wore his “cc” scarf in London...yes a scarf he wore in an actual picture of Chris and Darren from an early event is somehow a cc scarf.  Oi vey.  

and Darren’s ccfamous tweet where he used a Batman gif saying “I don’t want this” is ccproof becuase he was telling us he doesn’t want his life but he’s in too deep to get out now

When will this end? 

This was followed by Chris’ Epic Snap Chat, Don’t you wish your bunny was cute like me that can be found here (x)” in which Chris posted a filter of a bunny on his face and voice singing “don’t you wish your bunny was hot like me’ I would imagine that Mia must have used a similar filter somewhere int he last 6 months prior to this “so much shade” from Chris. Again he’s a dick.   

And there was the time Darren waited over a week to respond to a tweet, a tweet posted on May 27.  It should be noted he chose his tweet to respond of the likely thousands he was tagged in as i was right after the selfie and the CG show. Further, he replied right after Chris posted his Peru pic where he claims to have spent his birthday. (In other words I”m really grasping here) 

I Don’t Mind” a song that is so clearly about Chris even though he has since mentioned he wrote it during his teenage years in San Fransisco. Her 2017 proof isn’t that he wrote the song about Chris but that he didn’t play it in 2017 even though it was on two playlists and he made a big to do about no playing it at Elsie Fest. 

“Remember that Variety Article, an Exclusive About Indigo that originally contained this quote:Colfer’s news comes a day after his former on-screen love interest Darren Criss reunited with Murphy with a starring role on season three of anthology American Crime Story. So mysterious how it was edited out almost immediately”. 

TLOS movie and ACS Versace moving to season 2 happened on the same day- I believe that movie news is in Variety on the same day hence it gets out to press on the same day.  

Then we come to more mirror imagine photos -years apart 

Darren sang Glee songs which means he loves Chris- Hopelessly Devoted 

“The Day the Dance is Over  The video from the first time we heard this beautiful and incredibe love song about a dedicated love full of obstacles (and every version since as continued to amaze)” Another song that plausible deniability was written by Darren not Chuck.  

“And Critical to Remember, 2017, the year both C&D made a deal with Fox. This is going to majorly contribute to 2018″

(X)

[ofstagdreams]

flicker of the heart [4/?]

an part 4 is here!! previous parts can be found in the tag flickeroftheheartfic or on AO3 I’m so glad everyone is enjoying this so much and this is just a reminder that my inbox is also open for requests so please send some in! Yes, Hosea and Dutch have open relationships and no you cannot change my mind.

Tagging @myfavmarvel hope you enjoy!! 

The rain lashes down heavy that night, battering against the window of the abandoned cottage that Dutch had led all of you to until the storm eases up.

You glare at the dim fire in front of you, throwing in another log as Copper lets out another whine as the wind howls through the gaps in the old building. It was a surprise that the dog was sitting next to you, it was so rare that he ever left Arthur’s side – but you wouldn’t want to be near Arthur either, not with the mood that he’s in.

You were in quite the mood yourself. You had been looking forward to spending more time with George, but you had been dragged up here the moment you had stepped foot into camp, tents already folded up by Grimshaw and everything neatly stacked into the remaining wagons. In a small cramped cabin like this, there was no way you would be able to sneak out for a few hours to see George.

Another part of your foul mood was Arthur, he had not spoken to you the whole ride back to camp nor had he spoken on the journey to the cabin. You couldn’t figure it out, you refused to believe it was jealousy – it just sounded so ridiculous that you had dismissed the thought almost as quickly as it came. You were frustrated because it made no sense why he was acting like this, you had been supportive throughout his relationship with Mary, so you couldn’t wrap your head around his mood swings.

You had thought it might be some sort of brotherly concern, but then you thought that John would share those same concerns and while he was wary of George – for good reason, people like you always have to be wary around new people – he was never outright rude to the man like Arthur had been.

You were going to have to talk to him – as pissed off as you were – because you weren’t sure how much time you would have left with George before you all moved camp again and you didn’t want Arthur to ruin what little time you had left with him.

It shouldn’t be too hard to speak to him, considering that the two of you had ended up with cots on opposite sides of the same room. Dutch, Hosea and their partners had taken the big room upstairs for reasons you thought were better left unheard, the other big room had gone to Ms Grimshaw and Uncle, the latter of whom had seemingly appeared out of nowhere the last few months and had taken up camp with the gang. The downstairs region consisted of two rooms, one of which was taken by the two new boys, Mac and Davey Calendar, whom Dutch had picked up from one of the towns near here. John had taken one look at both you and Arthur and had decided that he didn’t want to put up with either of your sour moods for the night and opted to share with the brothers.

You were currently waiting for him to return with Hosea, they had gone out to get more firewood before the rain got too bad but from the looks of things, they would be returning shortly. Bessie was handing out blankets to everyone and came to sit next to you, giving Copper’s head a scratch as she did so.

“They should be back soon,” she laments as she continues to pet Copper, her fingers carding through his ginger fur. You simply hum in agreement, eyes still focused on the fire. You could feel Bessie staring at you, but you chose to ignore it, not quite willing to explain things you didn’t rightly understand yourself.

“You and Arthur are both in some moods today, anything to do with the new man you’ve been seeing?” That catches your attention, you whip around to face her, eyes wide with surprise as Bessie laughs at you gently. “Don’t worry dear, Dutch and Hosea are none the wiser – which is probably a good thing, poor boy wouldn’t stand a chance if they found out he’d had his hands on you. But you don’t think I’m as obtuse as those two when it comes to your coming and goings in camp, do you?”

You blink at her dumbly once more, before letting out a quiet chuckle and shaking your head, “I guess not.”

“Care to explain?” She gently probed, eyes curious. You huffed, knowing Bessie that look meant that she wasn’t leaving until she had some sort of information out of you – she’d been with Hosea too long, you thought, starting to pick up on some of his dirty tricks.

“I’m not sure I can,” you huff leaning back on your elbows, “not rightly sure what happened. But Arthur was rude, and I can’t figure out why he’d be like that.”

“Maybe he was jealous.”

You huff out a laugh at that, “Arthur doesn’t see me like that and that’s a fact I know good and well.”

Bessie’s eyebrows perk as she spares you another glance, “sometimes it takes seeing someone with another person to make them realise what’s been right in front of them.”

You frown, the meaning of her statement going over your head. You’re about to question what she means when the door swings open and the chill of the wind sweeps through the small room, sending shivers up your spine as Arthur and Hosea drag in the wood they found. The door swings shut with a loud bang as Hosea makes his way towards the fire for warmth. Arthur catches sight of you sitting by it and decides to keep himself stationed by the door.

You roll your eyes at his antics and move over to your cot, flopping yourself down on it. As you predicted Arthur moves towards the fire as soon as you move away from it, shrugging off his soaked jacket in the process. It seemed that you were going to have to be the one to start the conversation.

Hosea looks as if he was about to say something, but a look from Bessie and he seemed to think better of it. He looks between the two of you and sighs, probably having picked up on something from being out with Arthur, he stands, stretching his limbs before extending a hand to his wife. Copper lift his head and trots off somewhere, probably to see if he can get any treats from John.

“Well, we’re off upstairs before the other two start missing us. Good night kids,” he said with a nod at both of you before they both made themselves scarce. You always knew Dutch and Hosea had something between them but you never quite figured out how the women fitted into it, everyone seemed happy though and by those standards, you were fine with it.

Though your anger somewhat disappeared in the time Arthur had been out, watch him sit by the fire not even looking at you made it fester back up. You had understood him being upset at spending time away from him, but you had apologised and promised to make up for it – so it couldn’t be anything to do with that. He had no right to be angry at you for trying to be happy, all you had done for all these years was try and help him find his happiness, why couldn’t he do the same for you?

“You going tell me what I’ve done wrong or are you going to sit there and sulk all night?” You snap, sitting upright in your cot as you wait for his answer. He turns to you ever so slightly and you can see the tension in his jaw, but he still says nothing.

You wait some more, wondering if he was going to defend his mood or just leave you there wondering. It’s infuriating, the one time you try to move on from him and he goes and turns it all to shit. Typical.

“Well?” You question but are yet again met with more silence. Your anger increases, you cross the room until you are standing in front of him, hands on your hips as he finally glances up to look at you. His blue eyes are like steel, unreadable as he lets out a long breath and pinches the bridge of his nose. You’re desperate to know what the hell he’s thinking.

“I didn’t like it,” he confesses, eyes cast back down to his feet. You blink once, twice and wonder what the hell kind of response that was.

“You didn’t like it,” you repeat, trying not to get angry again because at least he was finally saying something. Your nose scrunches up as you glance back down at him, still seated on the bench in front of the fire.  “Why?”

At first, he only shrugs, but a quick glance up at you tells you that a shrug isn’t the answer you were looking for. He sighs and shifts his feet, “I didn’t like seeing you with someone else. I –“ he frowns, as if searching for the right thing to say, “I didn’t like him.”

You move away from in front of him, he was so frustrating – only giving half answers that you couldn’t make sense of. “You don’t even know him,” you are desperate to yell but too keenly aware of the small cabin and the nosy people who live in it. “You didn’t even give him a chance, you just took one look at him and decided you didn’t like him – “

In a flash, Arthur is in front of you, nostrils flaring, and it takes you back to realise he’s angry, what on earth did he have to be angry about?

“Yes!” He also keeps his voice low, but his whisper comes through gritted teeth, “one look at him with his arms around you and I wanted to rip his goddamn head off.”

The words don’t process for you, because you cannot, will not, believe that Arthur felt any kind of jealousy towards you and George without hearing the words with your own ears. You’ve spent too long getting your hopes up only to have them crushed again. You refuse to believe it. He’s standing close, so close that you can feel his warm breath fan across your face when he speaks.

You tilt your head up, your own eyes meeting with his. They are no longer steel, they now are the ocean, waves crashing violently against the sand as his chest heaves with his own anger.

“What are you trying to say, Arthur?”

Thunder crashes outside the window, illuminating the room with its bright light. At the same time, Arthur crashes his lips onto yours.

[voightsgirl]

tag game!

tagged by @chloeswans thank you my love 💛💛

rules: answer these 85 statements about yourself, then tag 20 people (sorry i don’t have that many friends rip)

I tag: @writteninthestarsandthesky @chillmydude @riverdaleangels @sophiaxjesse @halsteadpd @e11evenseggos @caffeinatedkafreen @erinllindsays and yo anyone else if you see this and wanna join in i tag you

last

1. drink - water

2. phone call - my friend we were working on an english presentation

3. text message - i texted my friend to arrange to meet her for lunch earlier today

4. song you listened to - currently listening to waterloo by abba because i am cOoL

5. time you cried - had a total meltdown on thursday rip it’s been a really tough week

6. dated someone twice - lOl i’ve barely dated someone once

7. kissed someone & regretted it - nope

8. been cheated on - i mean,,,,,,,..,,,,,,,,,.........not exactly

9. lost someone special - yes

10. been depressed - yes

11. gotten drunk & thrown up - nope

fave colours

12. red

13. yellow

14. black

the last year have you…

15. made new friends - yes and i am so grateful for them 💛

16. fallen out of love - with a friend aye

17. laughed until you cried - oh my days too many times (usually in english class, which freaks out my teacher)

18. found out someone was talking about you - lol remember that time i overheard people proper biTCHING about me and i was like...........?? (it was lowkey funny tho because i am a NICE person and people know that and they came and apologised lul)

19. met someone who changed you - yes, actually in the last year i’ve met a few people who have had such a massive impact on me it’s unreal

20. found out who your friends are - omg too much

21. kissed someone on your facebook friends list - hA no

general

22. how many of your facebook friends do you know in irl - all of them

23. do you have any pets - two cats sparky and olive and a doggo called lizzie

24. do you want to change your name - no although i am slowly implementing the nickname meg as opposed to megan bc it’s shorter and i like it

25. what did you do for your last birthday - uh idk i don’t remember,,,,,,,,,? it was easter sunday i’m p sure (or maybe that was the year before) idk i probably went to a movie or soemthing? maybe? i literally have no recollection of my last birthday is that bad

26. what time did you wake up today - 9:30

27. what were you doing at midnight last night - lying in bed trying to sleep (rip i actually need to sort my shit out i’ve been running on about 3-4 hours of sleep every day and i can’t deal)

28. what is something you can’t wait for - i’m going to austria tomorrow to ski and i am SO EXCITED even though i have to leave home at 5am

29. what are you listening to right now - there she goes by the las because bOP

30. have you ever talked to a person named tom - my history teacher is called tom does that count??? oh wait no yes i know loads of toms

31. something that’s getting on your nerves - the fact that i have to write an entire fuckin 5000 word dissertation by next week but i am so crazy busy and i am never ever gonna get it done

32. most visited website - no joke either thesaurus.com or wordreference (a level english and french be like)

33. hair colour - brown

34. long or short hair - shoulder length

35. do you have a crush on someone - literally so many people tho

36. what do you like about yourself - i was gonna say that i always put 100% into everything but then i realised that i literally hate that about myself because it means i am exhausted all of the damn time so i’m gonna say i’m good at giving people emotional support. like i’m not great at giving people solutions to problems but if they want a shoulder i’m good at just being there

37. want any pericings? - i really want a nose stud but i have a tiny ass nose and idk if i could pull it off rip

38. blood type - no clue 

39. nicknames - meg

40. relationship status - single pringle

41. zodiac - aries

42. pronouns - she/her

43. fave tv shows - chicago fire/pd/med, castle, one tree hill, gilmore girls, brooklyn 99, line of duty, absentia, how to get away with murder, probably more that i can’t think of rn

44. tattoos - i want a cross on my inner wrist and also a bible verse (either philippians 4:13 or romans 8:1 i’m not sure yet). also maybe some flowers i love flowers

45. right or left handed - right

46. ever had surgery - nope

47. piercings - just ear lobes

48. sport - i go to the gym a lot i like doing push ups and trx and spin and that kind of thing but i suck at team games

49. vacation - where i’ve been? gah idk lets see.....france, spain, italy, switzerland, germany, portugal, netherlands, all the countries in the uk, sweden, denmark, hong kong, usa, australia, turks & caicos islands.....going to austria tomorrow and hungary in the summer (and hk again to visit family!!) and i would love love love to go to india and lebanon and canada and iceland and norway

50. trainers - what ones i have?? currently mine are chewed up messes by my pup soooo none??

more general

51. eating - i just had a weird leftover meal of rice and couscous and curry sauce and beef stew rip to clear the cupboards before tomorrow

52. drinking - fizzy water

53. I’m about to watch - nothin i need to get to bed its 10pm but i need sleep

54. waiting for - myself to get my shit together and sort out my head

55. want - to get my shit together

56. get married - yeah one day 

57. career - i want to be an english teacher yeet

which is better

58. hugs or kisses - hugs

59. lips or eyes - eyes

60. shorter or taller - i mean if anyone is shorter than me they’re quite substantially below average so imma go taller

61. older or younger - don’t care aha

62. nice arms or stomach - arms

63. hookup or relationship - uh at the moment? i don’t even think about that kind of thing because dude i don’t even have time to breathe or think about myself soooo imma pass on this question cause i honestly don’t know

64. troublemaker or hesitant - both

have you ever

65. kissed a stranger - no

66. drank hard liquor - of course

67. lost glasses - sunglasses yes but i guard my prescriptions with my life

68. turned someone down - yes

69. sex on the first date - nope

70. broken someones’s heart - i’m not sure??? i mean i broke up with someone but like,,,,,,,they deserved it?

71. had your heart broken - i don’t know i mean i’m a fuckin mess but not because of boys

72. been arrested - no thank the lord

73. cried when someone died - see imma sound like a dick when i say no but honestly i’ve lost quite a few people who were close to me and i couldn’t cry for a good few months, even years, later (i am an expert at denial and repression apparently) so yes but not in the way you’d think

74. fallen for a friend - yes

do you believe in

75. yourself - hA

76. miracles - yeah

77. love at first sight - no

78. santa claus - haha no

79. kiss on a first date - yes

80. angles - oh yes i believe in those good old obtuse and acute angles (i assume this meant angels which, yes, i believe in)

other

81. best friend’s name - jenna

82. eye colour - blue

83. fave movie - ooOooOooOh idk probably dead poets society because that’s a masterpiece but i honestly am not a very movies person

84. fave actor - sophia bush 💛

[youngerdaniel]

Where the Fuck Have You Been, Youngo?

Well hey, hello, how are ya? It’s been a while. It’s been a long while. Like really, there’s been so much that’s happened since my last entry around here that my head gets a little spinny trying to find a place to start, or where I’d like to go from there. I guess I’ll just spitball.

School is, consistently, the coolest place on Earth. There are absolutely no things I can with good conscience complain about here, but shit... My conscience wears a leather jacket and drives a motorcycle, so I’ll start by saying.

BLOW THE FREEZE-DRIED POPE ON GOOD FRIDAY, I AM ALL MANNER OF FUCKING EXHAUSTED.

There, cool. It’s out there. I can let it go. The past two months have amounted to the mid-point of my year here at VFS, and it’s been fun. It’s been tough. It’s been full of work. It’s had highs, lows, and corkscrews. There have been fun nights of Vancouver exploration. Beaches were sat on. Forests hiked with the company of pot brownies and friends. There have also been all the trappings of jamming 20 people with creative minds who trade in emotions in one space. Which is to say, a sandwich of dick jokes, wordplay, and obtuse water cooler gossip... Which is weird, because we don’t actually have a water cooler.

The shorter way of putting that is life has happened. It’s the same here as it is anywhere, although things do take on a sort of heightened quality because... I don’t know? Following the dreams? Something... Definitely a thing.

In addition to a wondrous kaleidoscope of personal happenings, I’ve written a metric fuck-ton as well. Some things including:

Partners In Crime - a feature script centering on the romantic and professional rivalry between two thieves. A first draft and some great workshop notes have me bending the springboard toward a second, tighter script. 

Fuggles and Greyson/AKA the Magic Response Team - a pilot for an animated adventure comedy. Think C.S.I. meets Lord of the Rings. A wizard and a dragon solve magical crimes in a fantasy world that’s home to many familiar creatures.

RICK AND MORTY MOTHERFUCKERS! That’s right. One of my classes was to write a spec script for an existing TV show, which is more or less one of a writer’s calling cards when trying to break into the industry. I turned Morty into the Hulk and made Jerry into a giant robot, and yes, I made fun of the Avengers.

Control - Part of a ‘leet elective course that only a few of us writers are selected for each term. We work in pairs and team up with VFS’s Film Production program to create two episodes of a web series. This one is actually going to get made. You’ll find out more as the weeks go by, but the general plot follows a social outcast/college freshman who gets embroiled in a government conspiracy when a stranger gives her a device that allows her to control the actions and speech of others. Lots of long nights, lots of banging heads against walls, but I’ve got an awesome writing partner and we’ve come up with something that feels like an interesting start. 

Elsewhere on campus, we’ve continued to develop our pitch skills; read enough scripts to break a Xerox machine (but let’s get real, it was probably already broken); continuing work in script analysis, structure, and development. We’re learning how to propose rewrites as story editors, and a lot of us are finally coming into our own as writers. 

ENOUGH ABOUT WORK, DARLING.

As for me? I dunno. I can say with some degree of certainty that the year has changed me. My style as a writer is expanding to terrain I never thought I’d wander. I had a moment at the keys the other day while collaborating where I realized I was actually writing passively... Not in terms of the language I used, of course. But the actual act of immersing myself into a story has become so close to second-nature that I’ve lost the need to focus as intensely as I used to. It’s a weird thing to mark as progress, but that’s how it feels.

On the personal side? Yeah, yeah. I know. You’ve been rolling up your sleeves and waiting to hear about this, so I’ll just barf it out, now. Another death in the family back home (grandma) has tipped the balance of the home-base in less savory directions. I’m at turns happy to be away from it, and guilty as shit for not being around to give support. It’s weird. It’s tough. And most of all, as one of my lovely cousins on this side of the continent advised, “It’s life. Hashing out your own can sometimes mean you’re not around for the tough stuff.” ...I’m paraphrasing, and I don’t know exactly how I want to articulate this, but for the first time in my life, I’m going out of my way to do something for me. Sometimes that sucks, and sometimes it’s awesome. The little shriveled lump of coal in my chest feels a lot of pressure. Pressure to come home; pressure to support; in other areas of life, pressure to keep people happy or avoid hurting feelings; guilt for inevitably hurting feelings anyway, and frustration for sometimes feeling trapped by the wants and needs of others. 

A shorter way of putting this is... (You know, you know...) Life.

Life has happened.

And hopefully, it will continue to happen. 

It’s impossible to accurately track your growth when you’re still in the midst of experiencing it. That’s why when we’re kids we mark our heights on doorjambs. Personal growth doesn’t have doorjambs. It’s a trajectory, and you’re flung down it whether you like it or not. The best you can do is try to tilt your course in a direction you’d like to go, and while the past few months have been infinitely chaotic; and although there are moments where I feel like I’m an identity in complete flux with nothing to hold onto that’s familiar; despite the fact that I often wake up at three in the morning wondering if any of these efforts and investments will amount to anything... One thing remains steadfastly salient. The mannerisms, foibles, and strengths are fluid, but the spectrum they move within is a constant—and that part’s, y’know, me.

So I guess what I’m rambling around as a way to close here is this: 

Days could be at least 12 hours longer, but... I think I’m pretty happy. 

You’ll get more writing on here next term. In the meantime, I have to burn through a few scripts and do a couple of writeups before I can rest. Finally. 

Yes, I, workaholic Youngo, said that.

[emmaswanchoosesyou]

My sibling is besties with your sibling and even though we hate each other I guess we’ve got to start hanging out a little for Scarlet Beauty (we can make it Captain Swan being not besties but dating) I just really want where is Belle and Will despising each other at first!

Hey, @lenfaz– here this is, months later! I hope you enjoy these two and the disasters that they are. 

Unbeta’d, so all mistakes are mine. Rated T, for drinking and smut glitter. Around 2200 words of Scarlet Beauty, Captain Swan, and Captain Book siblings.

Also on Ao3.

something like hope

Okay, here’s the thing–Belle French isn’t entirely sure how she came to be making out with Will Scarlet on Valentine’s Day, because it sure as shit isn’t something she planned.

&&&

Four years ago

“Belle, I think I’ve met the perfect woman,” Killian says.

She smirks at her brother. “Haven’t you said that about at least three women you’ve taken home from the bar over the last year since Milah…?”

“Fuck you, this is different. I’d have thought my own sister would be more supportive.”

“Come now, Killy.”

“Not the nickname, for the love. I will dunk you into the harbor if I must. Pass me the syrup, please.”

Handing him the syrup, she looks over and sees how serious he is, in spite of the joking words. “Oh. Well, tell me about her.”

“Her name is Emma Swan, and yes, we did meet last night at the bar. But…” Killian prattles on, his enthusiasm making her think maybe he’s right about this one.

-

Killian is right, it turns out. Emma is nothing like Belle would have imagined for her friend, but they just work somehow.

They’ve been together two months when Killian drags Belle along to a party at Emma’s. It’s a way for their friend groups to meet, for them to emerge from their couply bubble and begin to interact with all their loved ones again.

It’s not that Belle doesn’t want to go, it’s just that she’s in the middle of a really good book.

Killian tells her she has to go though. “When is the last time you interacted with people who weren’t me or Merida?”

She looks at him blankly and shrugs. “But I have you two, I don’t need loads more people. And we had brunch with Emma just a few days ago.”

“That doesn’t count and you know it.”

“And why not?!”

“Because you wouldn’t have seen her or had brunch with her were I not, and I quote, ‘unable to be parted from the general vicinity of her v–’”

“I remember what I said,” she replies quickly, cutting him off before he can remind her of what she’d said in a particularly crass, drunken moment the previous week.

“Then you know my point remains.”

She scoffs.

“It’s just…you haven’t gotten out much since things ended with Gold, love. I worry.”

“Are you trying to say you liked things better then?!”

“Don’t be obtuse, you know I’m not. I just don’t want you to isolate yourself, especially when I’m not around as much as I was.”

“That sounds like it’s your problem.”

“Which is why I’m taking you with me to this party.”

“Fine. Fine,” she finally says.

-

It’s a nice party, and Belle is actually enjoying herself. Emma’s friends are all pretty cool people, from the kindhearted and lovey-dovey couple to her loud and strikingly gorgeous friend Ruby. (She tells herself not embarrass herself around the woman, but she’s drinking and can’t make any promises.)

All of them except for Will fucking Scarlet.

The man is obnoxious, to say the least. He’s loud, he’s uncouth, and she’s fairly sure he’s found himself on the wrong side of the law at least a couple times. (And she has no idea how that works, given that Emma is in bail bonds and David seems to be in law enforcement.)

But apparently he’s like a brother to Emma, the two having met in college and having been inseparable since, so she just grits her teeth and tries to bear it when he stares and makes an ass of himself with his idiotic words.

&&&

Present

He just feels so good against her, his lips trailing down her neck to suck a mark into her collarbone. On one hand, this is probably a bad idea. On the other, she can’t believe it’s taken her this long to do this.

&&&

3 years ago

Killian is moving out. He’s actually leaving.

Belle knows she shouldn’t be so surprised. After all, he and Emma have been together a little over a year at this point. They’re stupidly in love. It makes sense. And a part of her is really, really happy for them.

But it’s annoying, it’s inconvenient, and it hurts a little bit.

She’s apprehensive–she hasn’t lived on her own in five years, and she’s not really sure how to go about it anymore.

But going to the housewarming party at Emma’s and Killian’s new house is probably a good start.

-

The downside to this plan is that it comes with Will Scarlet. Over the last year, she’s seen him enough to know she doesn’t much like him. He’s rude, chaotic, and he drinks too much.

The icing on the cake had been when he broke into the library a few months before. She’d been shocked the next morning when she’d arrived at work to find him curled up on the ground, his empty bottle and a copy of Alice in Wonderland tucked in his arms.

(He hadn’t been thrilled to wake up to Belle hitting him repeatedly with a broom, either. Or with her call to Emma.)

So she’s less than thrilled when he opens the door to her. He just rolls his eyes and moves aside for her to come in, and she stomps past as quickly as possible.

She feels a little more kindly toward him a few hours later when their friends and families are celebrating, the two of them left behind by Emma’s and Killian’s burgeoning relationship. He’s out a roommate now too, and she knows how that feels.

While everyone else toasts, they meet eyes and nod at each other in a moment of understanding and kinship. Then they begrudgingly raise their glasses as well.

&&&

Present

She pulls him into her bedroom by his jacket. The jacket should probably go, actually. Maybe they shouldn’t be doing this, maybe she hasn’t planned it, but it’s probably not the worst idea she’s ever had.

No, that honor belongs to the day she finally decided Will isn’t so bad.

The day she got drunk and threw up in front of everyone she knew at Emma’s and her brother’s engagement party.

&&&

1.5 years ago

Living by herself works much better than she had thought it would, most of the time.

This is not one of those times.

For starters, there’s no one to remind her that this is an engagement, and even with their more casual crowd, it’s not the sort of event one pregames for. Then there’s the whole thing where she’s ashamed that she’s actually jealous that Killian and Emma have found each other.

Normally, it’s fine. Belle adores Emma, and they’ve gotten really close over the last two and a half years. Honestly, if she needs something or has an emergency, she’s probably a little more likely to call her than Killian. (She’s generally just a little cooler under pressure…unless it comes to emotions, romance, proposals–that’s where Killian shines.)

But she’s lonely. She’s tried the online dating thing, and that one guy, Gaston or Keith or whatever he had called himself–is more than enough to sour her on the experience.  Seriously, did she have to end up unintentionally going out with one of Emma’s bail skips?!

She has her fingers crossed that maybe Ruby will finally give her the time of day, though–oh, wait, no, she’s here with another someone. Blast. So Belle downs another glass of champagne.

Fast forward to a couple hours later–dinner is over, numerous toasts have been made to the happy couple and their love. She gets up to make her speech, teetering on her heels as she makes her way to the stage.

She faces the crowd, their faces swimming before her. Standing in front of the microphone, she says, “Thank you all for being here tonight! It’s been a fantastic night, and I’m just so happy for my brother and his new fiancee. I know–”

She cuts off, because that’s when it happens. She hurries to face away from the crowd as the drinking she’s been doing overwhelms her…and she vomits on the stage.

Everyone is looking at her, and she tamps down on the rising panic and tears. Killian looks alarmed and a little horrified, while Emma looks more amused, if a little concerned. Ruby and her date have that same concern, and Mary Margaret is already running to get things to help clean up.

Then she sees Will. The only thing in his face is compassion and kinship, and then he’s right next to her at the stage, wrapping an arm around her waist.

“Well, folks, there’s definitely just been an, uh, overflowing of joy for Emma and Killian, so let’s give them a round of applause,” Will says quickly, hauling her off the stage.

Once they’re in a private corridor, he asks her how she is, and pushes her hair out of her face. “Can I see you home, luv? I’ve been where you are, and I hate being alone when I’m ill.”

Belle just nods, a sob escaping her throat.

&&&

Present

She’s so grateful, she thinks, pulling him onto the bed on top of her. He grinds into her, and she lets out a moan. Belle smiles against his lips, remembering fondly how he’d sat next to in the cab, awkwardly and gently patting her shoulder. They’re inseparable these days, have been even since that night.

And now…they’re definitely taking it a step farther, if his arousal digging into her hip is any indication. It’s new for them, and she kind of loves it.

It’s been awhile since she realized she has feelings for him, four months of pining and angsting. Now that she knows he feels the same? Heaven, she thinks, pulling at his shirt and tossing it onto the floor.

&&&

4 months ago

Belle is sitting at her kitchen counter, the cartons of takeout tempting her with the scent of ma po tofu and almond chicken. Will’s late, later than his normal ten minutes or so past when they’re supposed to meet. It’s almost an hour later than they planned, and she doesn’t want the food to get cold.

It’s become their weekly ritual, getting together on Friday for takeout and beer or wine. They generally see each other a couple times during the week, but this is theirs. There’ve been so few interruptions in this over the last year and bit–Emma’s and Killian’s wedding festivities, and the time Will got horribly sick.

So his tardiness is…worrying. She’s texted him and gotten no response, and she’s this close to sending out a search party.

Then her door opens and Will bursts in, no knocking or by-your-leave. She opens her mouth to scold him when he throws his arms around her and mutters, “Jesus Christ, it’s been a day.”

“What, happened?” she asks, running a hand down his back. Her heart is beating far too fast and is somewhere around her stomach at the feel of his embrace

He pulls back and runs a hand over his face. God, he looks horrible. “Ana. Ana happened.”

Her heart plummets to her feet. “Ana? But I thought she–”

“She left me? Aye, a few years ago, just before I met you and Killian. It’s why I was such an ornery arsebadger when we met.”

“You were, but that’s not the point. What’s happened now?”

“I was at the pub having a pint before coming over, and she just slides onto the barstool next to me like it hasn’t been years since we’ve seen each other and like she didn’t break my heart. I don’t even know how she found me.”

“Oh my god.”

“She wants to get back together. Says she misses me.”

Belle feels something inside her break. Suddenly she realizes what she’s feeling and wants to curse herself for falling for him–from his moodiness to his kindness and compassion–at such an inconvenient time. “Oh. Well, what are you going to do?”

“Well, I just stared at her a good bit. Never been more flabbergasted. Then I started hysterically laughing.”

In spite of herself, she smiles a little. “You poor thing,” she says, brushing her hand over his arm.

He looks down at where she’s touching him and smiles back at her. “I just left, but I think I’m going to tell her to shove off.”

And then she feels something a lot like hope.

&&&

Present

They’re tangled together on her bed, sated and wrapped up in each other. He presses a kiss to her forehead, and she turns to beam up at him.

He lightly tugs on her hair. “This changes things, doesn’t it?”

She traces his cheekbone before pulling him in for a fierce kiss. “Yes. It-it’s been you, for months and months now.”

“Oh, thank god. I’ve been crazy about you for ages.”

“Really?! What about Ana?”

“I didn’t think you cared about me, and it was a shock to see her. But it wasn’t until that day I started to hope.”

“Oh.” A pause. “And then I kissed you today,” she says with a grin. She’s glad she did. Their usual Friday hangout had fallen on Valentine’s Day, and she…just hadn’t been able to resist today.

“Aye, and it was a glorious kiss.”

“I’m glad you think so, because I’m going to kiss you again.”

“Good.”

[daughterofdessalines]

Posted by Shaun King

(Most important thing I think I've ever written.)

The State of New York murdered Kalief Browder.

His death is on our hands. It was fully and completely preventable. It happened on our watch. We are all responsible. End of story.

It's not a conservative or liberal thing. It's not a Republican or Democrat thing. It's a New York thing.

Please hear my heart — I love New York. That's why I am calling us out right now. I've been all over the world, but New York City is my favorite city — hands down. I have wanted to live and work here my entire life. Moving to Brooklyn with my wife and five kids and working for the New York Daily News is truly a dream come true for me. I told myself, though, that if I moved here, I would not just do my work and keep my head down, but that I would do everything within my power to help make our city and our state the best it can possibly be.

We failed Kalief Browder and our failure cost this young man his life. We should all be ashamed and I sincerely think the only way we can even begin to atone for what our state did to Kalief is to make sure that we put the right policies and laws in place to absolutely guarantee it never happens again.

For those of you who don't know, Kalief was a kind, sweet soul of a 16-year-old kid. Believed to look like someone who stole a man's backpack, Kalief was arrested. At the time, he sincerely thought that once he told the police that it wasn't him, that he'd be released, they'd maybe apologize, and that that would be the end of the story. I wish that our justice system worked like that for black teens and young men. It doesn't.

They didn't release him. His family, like most families I know, didn't have the money to bail him out, so he was sent to Rikers Island — which is one of the most violent, corrupt, disturbing jails in America. Kalief was jailed alongside grown men and violent offenders and endured abuse from guards and inmates — some of which was captured on video. What Kalief thought would maybe be a day or two turned into weeks, which turned into months, which turned into years.

This young man, without ever being convicted of a crime, spent three painful, poisonous, destructive years in jail. He was beaten, ridiculed and broken down. His body, mind and soul were crushed in that hell hole of a place. Then, with no explanation, the charges were dropped.

Kalief struggled with depression following his release from Rikers. In June 2015, using bed sheets, Kalief hanged himself from the window of his mother's home. The pain was too much to bear. A year and a half later, his mother Venida Browder died "of a broken heart."

Maybe you hear that story and wonder, "how does that mean New York caused Kalief's death?"

Please allow me to explain.

Two states in the country automatically charge 16-year-olds as adults for all crimes, no matter the circumstance. One is North Carolina — which has become something like the Mississippi of our time — and the other is New York. North Carolina didn't surprise me at all, but New York? What an embarrassment.

That is why a coalition of nearly 100 organizations called Raise The Age New York was launched. It is why I am going to throw my whole life into backing them. It is why our governor has endorsed this policy and just made it a part of his official plan for 2017 in his annual State of the State address. We must raise the age of prosecution for crimes to 18 — like 48 other states. Exceptions, of course, could be made for the most violent offenses, but had New York already had this very simply policy in place, it would've likely changed the entire path it sent Kalief down.

That's one basic, reasonable, humane reform that we should all be able to agree on. What I know for sure is that not a single member of our state legislature would ever want to see what happened to Kalief happen to their own sons or daughters. New York — we must raise the age.

That's not all, though. At least two other safety nets should've been in place for Kalief. Even if our state had not yet done what was right and raised the age, New York currently has a speedy-trial crisis. Again, this is not a partisan problem. It's a constitutional problem. If anything, constitution-loving conservatives should be beating down the doors to fight for the fact that in this country the Sixth Amendment of the constitution guarantees us the right to a speedy trial. This is not what Kalief received. His constitutional rights were violated. Nobody, not a single person in this state, particularly not a 16-year-old boy accused of stealing a damn backpack, should spend three years in jail waiting to go to court.

As it turns out, it wasn't that Kalief fell through the cracks. He wasn't an anomaly. Our state has hundreds, maybe thousands of men, women, and children who've been waiting for years to go to trial. This is a full-fledged crisis. Our entire government should come to a halt to fix this problem. In essence, black and Latino New Yorkers, who are the primary people experiencing this injustice, are being treated as enemy combatants — and our jails, if people are not able to face a judge for years on end, are no better than Guantanamo Bay. Being innocent until proven guilty is supposed to be the bedrock of our justice system. It is a foundational principle. Being held for years on end without a conviction is just unacceptable and our state must put in place the policies, systems and staff to ensure this never happens to a single person again. It's an abomination.

But even if New York, for some reason, refused to raise the age, and refused to offer people their constitutional right to a speedy trial, at least one more safety net should've saved Kalief. It is fundamentally unethical that we basically have income requirements determining who stays in jail and who doesn't. We might as well check for credit scores. That Kalief, and tens of thousands of New Yorkers, end up going to jail, and costing our state hundreds of millions of dollars, simply because they could not afford the upfront costs of a fine, is outrageous. With the cost of living in New York City being what it is, and wages for working-class families meaning that folk can hardly get by, living paycheck to paycheck, what we have now is the reality that we have two justice systems — one for the wealthy and one for everyone else. If someone, particular people being arrested for petty or non-violent offenses, can prove that they do not have the funds to pay bail, the response should never be to then send them to Rikers. That's outrageous. Our system does not have to be so cruel and obtuse. Instead, people who cannot afford bail should be sent down a very different path with the appropriate legal aid to ensure they attend their court hearings and have a speedy trial.

Kalief was basically penalized because his family wasn't rich. This is not OK.

Right now, Gov. Cuomo has endorsed the 2017 Criminal Justice Reform Act. I support this bill. It's not perfect, but it's pretty doggone good. I want to see Rikers closed once and for all. This bill doesn't do that, but it includes all of the very reasonable reforms that would've saved Kalief from so much of the pain and misery he experienced. This is not a partisan bill. It is not a Black Lives Matter bill. It is not an anti-cop bill. This is a New York bill that, if anything, will help restore a little more faith and trust in our justice system. This bill makes our state better.

In the age of hyper-partisanship, I believe in my heart that this is one of those rare moments where people from both sides of the aisle can come together and do right by the family of a young man that should still be alive today. Let's do this for Kalief. Let's do this because it's the right thing to do.

http://www.nydailynews.com/…/king-time-new-york-kalief-brow