#but in some more close knit communities i imagine it can be really difficult to try to reconnect when you arent close/dont know your family

[bucephaly]

Hello ! I am not from the US, so forgive my bad English . I am wondering if you could help me understand something . In my country (France) a show I like has a character who is Oglala Dakota - and Native fans in the US do not like two things about her . One, they do not like that she is not voiced by a Native woman in the English dub . Two, they do not like that she is adopted by a white woman . The first thing I understand completely, it is simple . The second, I do not understand as much . Do white people in the US still not treat Native children well ? I do not understand - if you have adopted someone then they are family and must be loved, that is how families work . But I understand from reading your blog that I don't know much about the history of how the US treats Native people and I must keep reading and learning from Natives about this . So I was hoping you could explain what the problem is with this ? I do not want to ignore problems and go, "oh this show is French, I am French so I will defend it" because that is wrong . I will listen to Native voices . I just need someone to explain why it is wrong beyond "it is" as I do not know enough history to understand it right now . Sorry again for my English .

Hey! So the problem isn't just that the white family won't love them, it's more involved with the history of Turtle Island and the Native culture.

The US and Canada have been trying to destroy native community and culture for centuries now. It's important for a child to grow up within their community in order to learn their culture from a young age, create those ties to their families and community, hear the language, etc. Speaking as someone who is disconnect and didn't grow up around the native community, it's much harder to reconnect later in life.

One way the US and Canada has been trying to undermine native culture is by taking native babies away from their families and adopting them out to white families. This was a big problem around the 60s in Canada, it's called the 60s Scoop. These babies were raised away from their cultures as part of an attempt to destroy the cultures and communities. This is still an issue today, just in the past year or so the US tried to overturn ICWA, the Indian Child Welfare Act, which requires native children to be kept within their communities. They wanted to get rid of that and allow native kids to be given to white families again. It's a serious threat to our culture and sovereignty

I hope that helps! Im not an expert on this so if anyone has any more info / sees something i got wrong, feel free to add.

[your-subby-creature]

Could you tell me more about your research in history? I’m doing a really difficult world history class for bonus credits so it’s all ive really been talking about, “oh and the mongols unified Eurasia by blahblahblah” but I would love to hear about your research into all of it! :D

Oo yes!! Okay so preface: I am not a historian, and my field is actually gender studies rather than pure history! History is one of my interests, and I'd consider queer history to be a special interest of mine, so that's what much of the research I'm working on focuses on.

With that out of the way, what I'm specifically looking into is the history of funerals for trans people in the United States and the way that this reflects shifting sources of community for trans people over time. While this is a continuing project and I don't want to come to an overarching conclusion yet, the two papers I've written so far, and the digging around I've done for them have given me some insight.

First: trans people as a whole have never been treated with the respect and dignity in death we deserve by the media and broader American society. This ranges from fairly benign and irritating sensationalism, to cases where to repeat the language used would probably get me banned from this website. It's...bleak, but not entirely unsurprising, and also fairly nonlinear, as most of queer history tends to be. Things haven't gotten either better or worse, they've just gotten different.

Second: while the broader society and the media have never truly honored our deaths, we've always had community. At first, especially in the earlier cases from the 1890s to the early 1900s, these communities were the local, tight-knit groups you might imagine. Geographical closeness and the communication of the time meant that we both had to and were able to be in community with our villages, towns, and neighbors. Note that this does not apply universally, and only applies to cases of trans people who were "stealth" until their time of death, which are often the only historical records we have to go on. As the 20th century moved on, however, a rise in the visibility of transness (and queerness in general) as something sensational, exotic, and deviant, *especially* after Christine Jorgensen's public transition, led trans people to be distanced from their local community's respect in death. Always a double-edged sword, visibility also gave rise to the first homophile organizations and queer communities, who increasingly became the ones to show trans people dignity after death. Note that this, as most things in queer history, does not apply universally; some trans people, especially BIPOC trans people living in closer-knit communities, received regard from their geographic community and not from broader, predominantly white, gay groups of the time. As with everything, it's complicated.

Third: *many* *many* of the issues faced by trans people in receiving postmortem dignity carry through until today. Postmortem detransition, especially for transfeminine people and young people, is devastatingly high. The funeral industry is incredibly uneducated and unequipped to work with trans bodies and memories. The state of death records for trans people and the large-scale erasure of trans identity through them is a massive fucking problem that makes me tear up just thinking about it. Trans people receive little to no assistance in preserving our memories and selves, and the process of doing so is difficult, especially when people are so reluctant to talk about their wishes for burial and remembrance.

In all my research is...depressing, and complicated, and far less nuanced and intersectional than I'd like it to be due to a dearth of records. The best solutions I've found are as follows: get legally binding advance directives and designate a funeral agent. Talk about and plan your postmortem wishes- yes it can be awkward, but it's nowhere near as devastating as the alternative. (I, personally, have someone designated to tell even my tumblr mutuals in the event of my untimely demise, but that may be overkill.)

The most important thing is to know what your wishes are, and ensure that you have a community that will honor them. Whether that's geographic, familial, or a queer community, find people and take the social and legal steps necessary to be sure you'll be given dignity after death.

This is a gross oversimplification of everything I've looked into, but this ask is getting dangerously long, so I'll leave it with that. If anyone has any questions, don't hesitate to ask, and I'll leave some links to further non-academic resources if any of my trans followers want to learn more about preserving our identities in death.

[deepperplexity]

Golden Light

Title: Golden Light

Request: hi! could you write some sev x reader where they get into a really bad argument and the reader is very hurt and needs to take some time alone and then severus tries to make everything right again? angst with a happy ending please my heart can’t take heartbreak //Nonny

A/N: Gosh, thank you Nonny for this request! This was both difficult and fun to write. I hope you all will enjoy it! <3 I miss my Snape-boi so it was nice to take a small break from Turpin and write this one ^^  

Pairing: Snape x Reader

Setting: Spinner’s End, 1997 

Word Count: 2911

Warnings: Angst, Emotional H/C, Fluff, HEA, Trust Issues

Masterlist page // Masterlist post // AO3

“You never listen!” you shrieked as you glared at him. He had the nerve to look unruffled by your high tone and accusation.

“I do-”

“No! No, you don’t! You don’t listen Severus and that’s the problem!” You wanted to lunge at the brooding man clad in his billowing travel cloak. He was leaving, again, to attend some secret meeting in some distant location with Merlin knew who and you were so sick and tired of it. You wanted to chain him to the house until he talked with you, and listened to what you had to say. For once. 

“Darling, I assure you-”

“Don’t you dare!” you pointed your finger at him, furious. He did this every time. He talked you down, tried to make you see it differently, tried to keep you quiet and happy with whatever he gave you. Not this time. All you wanted was to be close to him, know him, know what was going on in his life as you were in it all the way. Yet that didn’t mean you got a lot of his time or him. Barely any in fact. He was always away. At Hogwarts, meetings, missions - not that you cared what was said or done during the meetings. Or even who was there. That’s not what you wanted to know or hear about. 

“I just want to know you-”

“I can not tell you, love. You know I can not. For your safety.” You wiped at the tears that were falling out of anger and rolled down your cheeks before they dripped from your chin. He looked unfaced. The mask of a double spy already in place as he prepared to leave you once more without hearing you.

“I don’t care about my damn safety when I can’t have you, be with you!” you screamed as your hands fisted by your sides. His shoulders sunk a tad and he looked hurt. I’m fucking hurt!

“You never talk to me! I don’t know anything about you, Severus! You always shut me out even though you want me to tell you about every single little thing! It’s not fair!” Your voice was broken, sobs escaped you and it was hard to breathe as he just looked at you without any inclination of wanting to speak with you. Ease your pain. 

Severus sighed but didn’t move more than grabbing at his arm as his face hardened. The Dark Lord was calling for him and you knew he would walk out that door no matter what you said or did. Your heart hurt, your stomach was in knots with worry over him but also worry over your relationship. Where were you heading if there was no time, communication or trust? 

“Darling, I have to…” His dark voice was a rumble that made you shiver, just as it had done for the past years, since the first time you heard it. He always made you weak with want.

“Just, go. I, need time.” He stiffened at your words as you broke eye contact with him. You didn’t want him to see the pure pain that slashed in you over his indifference. His reluctance to let you in. Was it really too much to ask to know the man you loved, who claimed he loved you beyond everything else? No, it wasn’t. It wasn’t too much to ask but if he could not give himself to you, what were you to do? Leave him? You couldn’t. You’d always be his yet this had to stop. One way or another. 

His cold hand stroked with gentle fingers down your cheek to wipe away the tears that lingered there. You turned your head away as you hugged yourself through a shaky breath.

“Go,” you squeezed out, “I need time to, figure this shit out. I’ll go to my mother’s.” He sighed again, deeply.

“Love, please,” he growled in a low tone and you knew his arm was aching as his hand were fisting and unfisting in your peripheral.

“Don’t come after me.” You turned and left him in the hallway. You stopped right inside of the doorway to the kitchen, you fought with all your strength to not break down and cry. The moment the door closed in the hallway and he was gone again your knees buckled and you crumbled to the floor with a wailing, shattering sound that vibrated from the depths of your chest through the entire house. 

After a few long moments when you had cried and sobbed, hugged yourself and allowed the tears to stream freely you went upstairs and started to pack your bag. You had no idea how long you would be gone but you knew you needed to get away from him and have some space to figure it all out. He needed the space too. He needed to realise that a relationship took trust, even if that was a hard thing for him to give. You knew that, understood that to some degree even if he hadn’t let you in and explained why. But, nonetheless, you were not like everyone else. You truly loved him, deeply and passionately, you wanted his trust and you wanted to give him your full trust continuously. It was just not that simple, apparently. And that hurt, fiercely.  

…Three days later… 

“Sweetheart, he adores you, he loves you. It will be okay.” You smiled at your mother as you were snuggled up on the little wooden bench on the back porch with a blanket wrapped around your shoulders. Your mother had been understanding and caring, but still gave you space to figure things out and think. The time moved so slow and every second was painful as you were separated from Severus. You wanted to yield and just be with him, that little piece he gave you of himself. You loved him and you knew that, truly. But you were tired of getting your heart broken over and over and over. It hurt too much. 

“I just don’t know if I can, if I can deal with what little he gives me.” You glanced at your mother who sat crosslegged on the edge of the bench by your curled up feet.

“Sweetheart, have you turned it around?” You knitted your brows at her words.

“What?”

“Turn it around. Think about what he has given to you, what he has sacrificed to be with you and have you in his life. What he goes through every single day to have your love.” You both were quiet for a little moment as you thought about it. Your mother wasn’t wrong but that was still not enough. You needed more, more of him. 

“I do not claim to know Severus, I don’t really,” your mother continued, “But let me just say, he loves you madly. Just as you love him madly. You have given me very little information, I know it’s for my safety and his, but from what you have told me about secret meetings that are dangerous and even possibly lethal he must carry quite a weight over his shoulders with concern for your safety.” you knitted you brows at him and she continued, “If I were him, if I put the one I love in mortal danger each and every day just by being with them I think I would have left. To make it easier and safer. But his love, it’s so strong and deep that he hasn’t done that. Despite it all, he is with you in theses dark and dangerous times. He’s with you, as much as he can. Do you see what I mean?” Your mother spoke with a gentle smile aimed at you and you couldn’t help the silent tears that flowed again. You simply nodded, because you knew, you understood what she was getting at now. It hurt to think about the pain you caused him by just loving him. 

Your mother left you to your own thoughts as the tears dried up and left you with red and swollen eyes. You wanted to go to him, be with him, be held by him and apologies for the way you had acted. But, you also knew that nothing had changed. It still killed you, shattered you, to not know him and not have him in a way that mattered more to you than his physical presence. He was a mere whisper to you out of the full song you knew was him. You wanted the song, with all the complicated lyrics and high notes mixed with the low ones. You needed more and rightly so. He had more of you, he had more and it pained you that you did not have that of him. 

You shuddered as dusk settled and the evening chill strode in. The blanket wasn’t quite enough to keep you warm yet you couldn’t seem to move from the bench as a numbness had started to fill your heart. Is this is? Is this all I will ever have of him? It’s not enough. It’s not enough, I want more, I need more. I can’t live like this. The thoughts made you sigh as you looked out over the back garden that was being consumed by darkness as night came. 

A small swoosh was heard and there he was. Severus. He was stood at the end of the garden like a dark cloud of warmth. You jolted ever so slightly and blinked, confused. Were you imagining him?

“Love,” he whispered in that thunderous voice of his that reach all the way to you and your heart leapt. In an instant, you had abandoned the bench and the blanket, your feet lead you down the stairs and he met you halfway through the garden in a strong embrace as new tears welled up and you sobbed into his chest as his arms crushed you to him.

“Love, I’m sorry, I can not stay away any longer. Please,” he breathed into your hair as he held you as close as could be.

“Sev…” 

You stood there for a long moment, held by each other as you both took comfort from the closeness. But you could not allow him to sweep you off your feet again. So after another moment you stepped back and he reluctantly let you out of his embrace but his hands remained on your hips as yours were placed on his chest where you could feel his breaths and the beating of his wonderful heart. The heart you wanted access to, completely. 

“I am sorry,” he whispered as one hand rose to your chin and he tilted your head back. You were nearly lost in the swirling depths of his onyx eyes that appeared black in the darkness. His hair was greasier than you had seen it in a long while, his skin as pale as ever and he looked as if he were in immense pain.

“Severus, that’s not enough,” you whispered back as you had resolved yourself to not giving in yet again. You deserved more than scraps of the man you loved so dearly and he deserved to feel cared for even after someone knew his dark secrets. Knew his emotions and thoughts that he guarded like Cerberus guarded the underworld if you listened to muggles in Greece.  

He sighed as his dark eyes searched yours. You let him. You kept eye contact and didn’t shy away as your emotions were laid bare in your own eyes. He shuddered and you shivered as a tear rolled down his cheek silently.

“I can not tell you, darling, I can not do such a thing with a good conscience.” You sighed at his refusal and that void that had been growing in your heart expanded.

“If you know... Love, if you know what goes on in those meetings, during my mission, if you know these things-”

“Wait, no, I don’t care about that stuff.” You knitted your brows as his rose ever so slightly.

“Then why are we arguing?” He sounded confused and pondering. You groaned.

“Because you. don’t. listen.,” you gritted out as your hands hardened against his chest. 

He had truly not been hearing you at all. You had told him time and time again what you wanted to know. You had asked him time and time again how he was feeling, what he was thinking, what he felt about an endless array of things. Never had you asked to know what happened at the meetings, what he did during his missions or who he met - not once. You sighed and stepped forward so you could lean your forehead against his shoulder. He took the opportunity to wrap his arms around you again. 

“I’m, confused,” he muttered and you chuckled.

“Tell me, Sev, what have I asked you?”

“I-, well you have asked me a lot of things, love.” You sighed on another chuckle. He had no clue what you had been asking because he had not been actively listening, he had just tried to shut you down and assumed you wanted to know information rather than emotions and feelings; thoughts.

“I have asked you to share yourself with me, Severus. I have asked for you, for your emotions and thoughts. Nothing else.” He sighed and kissed the side of your head.

“I am a fool,” he muttered a moment later and you chuckled for the third time as you quite frankly agreed with him at that moment. 

…Back at Spinner’s End… 

You both sat down on the couch after having returned home and taken a shower together, in silence. He had asked you to give him a chance, back at your mother’s house, to understand and try again. It had taken a little convincing because you wanted to make sure he was not simply trying to get you back home with him (even if, honestly, that was all you wanted after having been separated for three days by a stupid argument that hurt so badly). You had agreed on the premises that he talked with you and listened to you so he could stop being a fool. He had agreed to that in return. 

He moved closer to your end of the couch and pulled you into his side. He cradled you against his chest and you were quite content with being there. You wanted to just enjoy him again and be blissfully happy at the moment - but you knew you couldn’t allow that. So you took a breath and he stiffened.

“Sev,” you said as your hand rested gently on his thigh, “tell me how you feel.”

“You want to know how I feel?”

“Yes, how you feel, what you’re thinking, experiencing, where you are emotionally. I want to know you,” you stated with sincerity. He adjusted his position so he could pull you even closer. You waited. 

“This is what I need to do to keep you in my life? Talk about what I feel?” he asked on a low rumble, you nodded, “You just want to know me?” You nodded again.

“That’s all, I want to know the man I love. Not what he does, hears or where he goes. I just want to know you.” Please just let me know you, Sev…

“I, think I can do that.” You smiled at his hesitant words and understood that he would be struggling for a long time to put words on things he felt more often as he never did so before. But perhaps, you would at least get a glimpse this evening.

Severus always kept to himself, the dark and brooding type with secrets. Deep, dark, horrible secrets that were edged with pain or danger. Memories that he had hidden and kept hidden for years. That was the man you had fallen in love with but that was not the man you would stay in love for. That man was starting to show through. You listened intently as he softly and carefully began to talk about trivial emotions, small things really. But it was a start. 

So you leaned into him, relaxed and allowed him to stroke your arm, kiss the top of your head and lean his cheek against it after as his other hand grabbed onto the one you had had resting on his thigh. As the night drew on and you were closing in on dawn his grip on you tightened gradually, as if he was afraid you would leave as he let you hear about his dark secrets and tiny joyful moments. His past, his present, his hope for the future. A future he wanted to spend with you. 

Your hand held onto his a little tighter at that point.

“Severus, honey, there is no way I will let you have a future that I’m not in. I’m with you forever and always. As long as you let me be with you and love you, I will.” Your words made him shake with withheld emotions as he buried his hooked nose in your neck and inhaled a shaky breath that was strangled by a low sob.

“I love you, (y/n).” His breath warmed your skin before he kissed you gently at the junction of your neck and shoulder.

“And I love you, forever, Severus.” You held onto him as the first light of day shined in through the dirty windows and graced your tangled bodies with a golden light of hope. 

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[Feb:2021]

[arknights-imagines]

GOD that mostima post had me FEELING things. I'm glad I'm not the only one who appreciates mostima a lot wahhh ; v ; i was wondering if maybe you could do a mostima/doctor after their established relationship when one of them has got injured or smth? :o I feel like with her belief that she can't hold warmth having to provide it in a dire situation would be an interesting challenge for mostima, and likewise being on the receiving end of it in a situation like that too for her!!

(It's good to be back!!! 😭🥳)

Aaaa tysm anon! 😭🥺 I'm glad you like my stuff on Mostima haha 👉👈 tbh she's grown a lot on me since I've started this blog!! 💕 She's very underappreciated 🥺 Anywho, thanks for the request and I hope I did Mostima justice here~ 🌸

--------------------

Easing Worry

Imagine format; no fixed perspective!

Contains: Mostima, reader as the Doctor, gender neutral Doctor/no gender mentioned, established relationship, a few background characters, very brief mentions of an explosions and injuries, fluff with the tiniest bit of angst, Mostima having to deal with her emotions 👉👈

Word count: just over 2k!

--------------------

“Mostima, come in! Mostima!!”

Static was all that came in reply despite the amount of times you called out into the communications link. Frustrated, you sighed sharply and watched the blink of the Caster’s tracker on the map of the ruins displayed on the screen before yourself, Amiya and Texas.

Mostima had been dispatched on an Operation to some old city ruins in Kazedel for a Mission; Unfortunately, you couldn’t accompany the Squad she was sent out with, and thanks to her lone wolf nature the Caster strayed from the other Operators who were with her. She must’ve run into trouble soon after, because when you had tried advising her to return to her Squad members through the comms-link, all that came in reply was a commotion and then silence.

“...That’s not good.” Texas’ tone wasn't very telling, but her furrowed brows and tight jaw read unease. From beside you, Amiya spoke up, “Doctor, what would you like to do?”

Mostima’s tracker was still active, which meant she must’ve been alive - still, the pit of worry in your stomach didn't fade in the slightest. When you didn't reply, Amiya decided to take the lead, “We should wait a little while longer. Maybe Ms. Mostima will get back to us…”

You had your rapt attention on the screen before you, and so when no protest from you came, everyone did as Amiya said. Even after some time passed, the tracker didn't move and nothing came through the communications link.

From her spot at another console nearby, Closure huffed loudly, “...our drones can't find her.” When you turned to look at her, she went on, “Doctor, Mostima is definitely alive down there but… we can't see her from up here, and I have no idea what happened.”

Your stomach dropped to the floor and you fell silent; within seconds the worry began eating at your insides, soon creating a suffocating tension around your heart. The thought of something happening to Mostima made you feel ill - more ill than any sickness had ever made you feel.

Amiya spoke in your place again, “P-Perhaps we should send someone. I’ll call one of our other Operators and we can create a plan-” “No, I’ll go.” Everyone's heads snapped to you right away, their faces filled with consternation and slight surprise. As was expected, Amiya shook her head right away, “Doctor, it isn't safe down there-” Though difficult, you shook your head and replied as calmly as you can manage; if it wasn't safe for you, then Mostima was in grave danger and needed to be extracted right away.

Amiya seemed conflicted - however, everyone was well aware of how much Mostima meant to you, and how much you meant to her. Your relationship was common knowledge around Rhodes Island by that point. And so, though she was worried for your safety, the Chimera nodded and stepped in front of the map displayed on the screen to take your place, “Alright, got it. I trust you, Doctor - bring Ms. Mostima back safe and sound!”

Not wishing to waste any time, you began heading straight towards the door of the aircraft; your heart pounded almost deafeningly in your ears as you outfitted yourself with proper protective care and a parachute. Closure opened the aircraft door, and you stepped close to the edge with one thought in your mind;

‘Please be okay, Mostima.’

…

The expanse of ruined land was silent; the heavy scent of sulfur and ash was carried in the air, and the dust from the building collapse was only just settling. Convinced that they had successfully killed any threat, the Reunion soldiers took their leave - the aircraft that was hovering over them couldn't mean good news on their end.

Unable to move, Mostima groaned quietly - she had only just regained consciousness, what happened? She didn't quite remember right then. Some sort of heavy weight is putting pressure on her whole body, especially her legs and chest. As she attempted to open her eyes, pain spread throughout her skull like a flood and forced her to screw them shut again. Somewhat paralyzed under whatever was holding her down, the Caster stayed lying on the ground, taking in shallow breaths.

When her ears began to stop ringing, the sound of footsteps followed by a voice calling her name caused Mostima to snap back into reality once more. ‘....Doctor?’; That was right, she was on an Operation you assigned her to, but something had gone wrong along the way. Had you come looking for her?

Finally, she found her strength; it wasn't much, however. Wincing as she moved her body, the Caster lifted her arms and began forcing up the rubble that was pinning her form down as best she could. Your voice tore through the air again - “Mostima!” - and your quickened footsteps neared her. You assisted her in lifting the remnants of the exploded building off her body, insisting that she tried to move as little as possible as you removed the rest of the rubble from her body.

Moaning a little in pain, Mostima shakily shifted her body until she was sat with her back against one of the pieces of debris you had helped lift off her. With the adrenaline now gone, pain began filling her body in so many places that even breathing began to sting; and yet, when you had given your attention to her, her usual soft smile played on the Caster’s lips.

You knelt beside her right away, hands hovering over her form, “Mostima, are you okay?” Grinning still, she managed a nod, “Doctor, hello to you too…” Though she tried, she was unable to bite back the pained wince she made as she lifted her arm to wave at you. Your eyebrows knitted together and your face twisted in a frown - and yet Mostima was smiling at you still.

“What happened?” Your hand had come to cup her cheek, but she shook her head before her fingers could rest on her skin; no matter how much time you two spent together, it seemed her instinct was still to reject any affection you wished to give her. Avoiding your gaze, she began to explain, “During the Operation, the Squad got ambushed. Hm, our guys were actually doing well, we had almost taken care of all of them.” A small sigh bridged her sentences, “But just as things were wrapping up, I saw a few of the Reunion trying to make an escape. I figured that was no good, so I went after them...haha, I guess I walked right into their trap, because the next thing I knew I was under all that rubble.”

While she had been talking, your hands were pressing and running over parts of her body checking for injuries; something seemed to be impeding your thoughts, however, because though you were supposed to be scanning for wounds, your eyes were staring at the ground. Were you upset?

Hoping to lighten the mood, Mostima spoke once again, This time a strained laugh left her, “Ahaha...sorry, I still really don’t get this whole ‘teamwork’ thing.” Immediately, you shook your head, “No… don’t worry, I’m not mad.” She lifted a bow at you.

Your eyes finally looked up from the ground and you reached into the bag you were carrying, unearthing bandages and a clean cloth. The Caster fell quiet as she allowed you to cover the scrapes and cuts on her arms - your touch was so gentle, you touched her as if she was made of precious glass. You took the cloth in your hand then lifted it to her face; this time, however, Mostima didn't shake you off or pull away. Instead, she met your gaze - and what she saw caused her heart to ache.

Your face was riven with worry, only some relief was on your features - probably due to the fact that she was still alive. Mostima’s calm grin faltered, “Doctor….” In all honesty, seeing you so worried over her caused the Caster more pain than any of her injuries did; this wasn't her intention, she didn't mean to panic you to the point that you came down to look for her.

She wasn't used to this, you were both acutely aware of that. Mostima worked alone, Mostima dealt with things alone; before you, every person she held dear was someone she also ended up pushing away. Close bonds - she didn't need them, the Caster told herself, there was no need for them in her line of work. And so she was never raring to work with others, and people she had relationships with barely ever saw her anymore.

But with you, her usual method of pushing away until the other person gave up didn't work. And soon, thanks to your persistence, warmth began blooming in her heart - and she was helpless to stop it.

Unfortunately, Mostima was just as helpless when it came to expressing all the warmth she held for you in her heart. You caused emotions she contended with, and so her first instinct was to pull away or push you back; and that usually just left both of you feeling hurt. The Caster didn't believe in her capacity to encompass love or warmth - but you did.

Finally, Mostima found her voice once more, “Doctor...angel.” She corrected herself, instead using the nickname you rarely ever heard from her. It was mushy, cheesy - and yet butterflies filled your stomach every time she used it. Once she was sure she had your attention, the Caster spoke, trying her absolute best and allowing all of her words to come from her heart, “I’m sorry, I know I must’ve scared you really bad. I didn't mean...to worry you.”

Your face softened at her words; placing the cloth down, your hand found its way to hers. When she interlaced her fingers with your own, you smiled gently. Relieved to see you more at ease, Mostima squeezed your hand as best she could considering her loss of strength before continuing, “Unfortunately - in case you haven't noticed - I’m terrible at this. Haha…you’re really unlucky to have fallen in love with someone like me. I push people away, I push everyone away.” Her smile had gone, and now her face was filled with serious, genuine sincerity. “But I don’t want you to go away, you’re the first person in a long time who I’ve wanted to stay with. And I know I’m not good at showing it…”

Gathering some of her strength, the Caster shut her eyes as she lifted your hand to her lips and placed a gentle kiss on your fingers. “But my dear Doctor, my sweet angel - I care so much about you. Actually, scratch that... I love you, I love you so much.” And she trailed off, relaxing with her lips on your hand and losing herself in the moment for just a second or two.

It felt indescribably warm to just shut her eyes and pretend it was just you and her in the entirety of Terra. While it was hard to take down all her walls, it was so much better than deflecting your affections and was worth it for the way her heart grew in her chest as she allowed herself and you to be compassionate towards one another.

When your hand moved to cup her cheek, Mostima leaned into your touch rather than pulling away. When her eyes fluttered open, her gaze fell upon your effusive smile; “I love you too, Mostima. I promise I’m not going anywhere, no matter what.” Your words prompted her to chime with a light laugh, “Hehe, I guess there’s no getting rid of you, huh~?” You shook your head in reply - when your grin widened, she couldn't help but mirror the expression.

Facial features softening and becoming sincere, she left another kiss on the inside of your palm, “I’ve never had anyone like you...Sorry if I’m not always cooperative. Thanks for looking after me, Doctor.” A warm, passionate grin came to your face as you replied, “Always, Mostima.”

The area that surrounded the two of you was in a ruinous state, that same heavy scent still hung in the air and injuries were still littered all over Mostima’s body. And yet; upon seeing your smile, her body filled with a heartened feeling.

[autumnslance]

I've got a writing question that's been on my mind for a while: how do you keep your OCs from becoming self inserts? Every time I think of developing an OC I realize that it's attributes that I

Oops, you got cut off! But in general: all your OCs are going to have traits of yours; it’s inevitable. Sometimes big things, sometimes small things. It’s how we relate to them, and also just natural, I promise. We write what we know, and we know how we interact with ourselves and the world.

But there is a difference between sharing some traits with a character and making them a self-insert. It’s letting their life, their community and culture, their experiences, also influence their traits and thinking, in ways that might be different from how you would respond in a similar situation. Even if you share those attributes.

This is me so let’s go behind a cut shall we?

Dark Autumn is as introverted and solitary by nature as I am; she can and does interact in professional and friendly ways with people (as I try to do), but needs alone time to recharge. However, Dark also has a very different outlook and relationship with her family than I, since her family is large and supportive, very close knit. If family is a lottery, I got the $50 scratch off prize while she hit the Mega-Millions. So I take that into account when thinking of her relationships not just with family, but with friends and potential romantic interests; Dark sees things through a lens of positive, low-drama familial relationships that I can barely fathom. This also means she has a support network and resources myself and other characters don’t, so gets some wish fulfillment of working through issues with care and grace instead of remaining in unhealthy places. She is my “comfort OC” so gets a lot of good things I wish I had—which shapes how she responds to others, like taking care of a FCmate and becoming something of a big sister figure for him, or the responsible older sister figure of my group of OCs. Which is me, really, idealizing my own older sister tendencies into this giant woman who’s better at it.

Aeryn was written to be on the ace scale; not my first character to be so, but the first written that way as I began to realize where my own orientations lie and wanting to examine that through fiction. That she fell for a certain rogue in the process of playing through MSQ again was not at all intentional. I like Thancred as a character—he hits a lot of tropes I enjoy—but in my own mindset, he’s a frustrating younger brother. I didn’t think I’d do NPC x WoL shipping. But there it is, because in determining Aeryn’s own experiences and how those shaped her, it ended up working out that way (and I spent the better part of 2 years writing the characters separately to figure that out and if it could work before writing them together because it’s not something that comes naturally to me).

Aeryn’s internal anger is something I have a difficult time with; it’s outside my own nature to carry things like that. I have my angers, certainly, but they are different from hers. I tend to need a lot to set me off and then it burns out hot and quick. Aeryn’s more of a long boil she keeps bottled up. I’ve gotten a few things through various fics, I think, but it’s why I do things like reference arguments but rarely depict them. Being non-confrontational myself (I’m meek and have hangups thanks to my own life) it’s a challenge. Aeryn responded to childhood traumas (that I never dealt with), bullying (that I did), losses (that I haven’t yet), and the responsibility she’s been given (thank goodness I don’t) far differently than I. Maybe I’d be more volatile, too, if I had her life. But I understand where her anger comes from sharing some of the reasons, I just shape it differently than my own.

There’s a lot of things about Dark and Aeryn that are accidentally similar, just due to the timing of their character generation and other RP OCs made for other games along the way; “Oh I haven’t done X or Y in a character in awhile” sort of thing, but how each approaches those similarities and why—their quietness, their issues with using magic, their tendency to “adopt” others as family—all come from different places and resolve differently, too.

C’oretta comes from a part of me that doesn’t quite want to grow up. That wishes I had been more of the peppy, active, cheerful, risk-taking, live it up stereotypical party kid, that “popular girl” archetype I felt so often on the outside looking in about. As my second character, I wanted her to be different from Dark Autumn—visually, emotionally, mentally. Where Dark is steady, C’oretta is flighty. While Dark is people oriented, C’oretta’s a bit selfish (like I often feel). Dark’s introverted, C’oretta’s extroverted. Much of C’oretta’s attitude is a deflection against the hurts in her life, a way to fight back against some terrible things. It’s a way I could never react. But I also can’t get away from a character who loves to learn and wants to try new things—but where other characters gain the ability to stick with and see them through, C’oretta gets my easy frustration and boredom, and then the “ooh shiny” of a new interest. There’s a history of ADHD (or whatever the acronyms are now) and even autism and learning issues in my family; it’s possible I have some undiagnosed ND stuff going on, and people have noted these things in C’oretta that I’ve based on my own experiences and those of people very close to me.

Many of my characters have traits I wish I had, or were better at; patience, kindness, consideration, convictions, courage, thoughtfulness, and so on and etc. They’re good at skills I haven’t the knowledge in, or the ability to do. They’re certainly more active than I am, or could be! Because I can take the time to think and plan and research and write those things out better, and just maybe along the way not only learn something myself, but try to practice it better myself. I can even sometimes let them teach me what I can possibly do or be, not just imagine it as an ideal that’s out of reach.

I try to let my characters make mistakes I wouldn’t—or in some cases, have in my past, and that’s OK. Especially if I learned from them, but maybe the character does not. Maybe they do but it takes awhile, or repeated instances until it sinks in. Maybe I let them make errors I still make, as a way to puzzle out better solutions I should probably entertain for myself.

Character voice is something I’ve felt I struggled with in keeping my OCs distinct. Do characters ‘sound’ alike, in dialogue and prose? Having distinct ways of speaking helps; C’oretta’s breathless chatty run-ons are certainly different from Dark and Aeryn’s quieter tendencies. I have to remember to trim down Aeryn’s dialogue more often, say less aloud, add more gestures and facial expressions. I tend to be a talker, an over-explainer (if you can’t tell), while the only times she gets like that are specific. Dark’s somewhere in the middle of those two, like I am. A lot of the reason I like writing NPCs and try to keep them close to my interpretation of canon is to practice distinct character voice to get better at it in my OCs, so they don’t sound like me!

And something I’ve never admitted to before is that I think for me, it helps that from the time I was a kid watching various series of Star Trek, I always have had an in-my-own-head-only self-insert. She’s always a support character (that’s what I’m best at). She has cool and unusual abilities to help the actual heroes, cuz heck it’s my internal fantasy and that’s fun. She has traits I want to be better at or wish I had, developed over time with more energy and focus than I can actually muster in reality. As time’s gone on, she’s become more of a mentor and Mom Friend as I’m now older and see a lot of protagonist characters as “my kids” now. She appears in nearly every story I’ve loved over time, in one iteration or another. And because I have a headspace character where I can say “this is what I, ideally, would say and do and be capable of in this situation…” My other characters that I actually write about can vary between doing something similar (if it suits them) to doing something completely different (cuz darn kids never listen) as I can compare them to the self-insert and decide where to diverge.

So it’s a mix of myself and my traits and knowledge, but taking into account how each character would respond and use those same attributes differently than I do or would. Write what you know, write who you are—and then add in some wish fulfillment, some what ifs, some bad choices, some good choices, and shake things up. Give the characters tics and tricks different from yourself and let that shape them, too, by remembering to take those things into account (even if you have to tape a note to your monitor).

And finally, don’t be ashamed of your self-inserts; I’ve known some great characters that started as self-inserts and grew, through their experiences, into wholly different people than their writers over time. Heck, the epic romance my original WoW priest was part of was with a character that started as a self-insert; his player began the game knowing nothing of the lore or roleplaying, but as he learned the story and how to RP, and determined how his character fit into the world and how that shaped him, the character diverged over time, while still sharing some key traits (some endearing, some frustrating, as people are and all part of that friend). It’s not a bad starting point at all. The rest can come over time and practice, especially if you make a lot of OCs and try to make them different from each other while also being aspects of yourself.

[firstginger]

Hey there it’s me again :) 💕I think I forgot to put the hearts I said I was on one of the posts so hopefully it was recognized haha. I found a few more forms from the infj list that fit! Saint Bernard (except that I am not super communicative but with closer people yes), Clumber spaniel, whippet (except I am not super active but I try haha), rock ringtail possum (except paranoid), and spiny dormouse (except I am not a perfectionist all the time). I hope this helps! Can’t wait to see the result!

hey!! i've been digging through daemon forms and i have a few options based on which ones you thought fit and how you describe yourself. first the ones that don't seem to fit as much:

- i don't think you're a small rodent soul, you don't sound high energy, high anxiety, and hardworking/competitive enough. there are some exception forms, but overall these people are going to be very attentive towards hierarchies and where they stand, to have an anxious streak and plan ahead, and get very obsessive in their activities.

- you don't sound like a rabbit either, which is also going to have the high anxiety, high work ethic, and the sense of walking on eggshells with how observant they are.

so that being said, here's what i think might fit the best!

the lemur-like ringtail possum (or lemuroid ringtail possum) has two forms: the typical brown with cream underbelly form, and a rarer white form. my hangup is that these guys might be a little too comfort-seeking and low energy for you, though as a modern human it's difficult to avoid hard work and sudden change in our lives, so i would consider whether you have a drive to work hard or if you do it to maintain stability or for other people, and whether you'd prefer to stick to your routine and get stressed by change. otherwise the lemur-like ringtail possum fits your social criteria by be rather avoidant to strangers, but extremely loyal and attached to their loved ones. they value a sense of peace and stability, especially when it comes to maintaining their close bonds with others and they're very willing to cooperate. they're less independent and value social support. they work the best when they have very clear guidelines and accomplish tasks when they don't have too much going on at once as they get overwhelmed and stressed easily, but they're also highly dutiful and don't like letting others down.

the chartreux and the havana brown are two cat breeds that tend to be more reserved. before you investigate these, consider whether a domestic cat form is right for you. people with domestic cat daemons are absolutely more independent and private and value that sense of control in their lives. they're also exceptionally observant and intuitive. they are defensive if provoked and will stand up for their boundaries, but ultimately they're very conflict-avoidant people and want a sense of calm and stability. as a domestic species, all of these forms are going to be communicative, even if it's just with their loved ones. they're also particular and don't prefer change, but their sense of adaptability and curiosity helps them roll with the punches if need be.

if that sounds like you, definitely consider either of these breeds, or the russian blue is also fitting (it's one of the three domestic cat analyses that TDF has up so it gets selected a lot -- just wanted to give you some variety!). the chartreux is very even-tempered and gentle, but maintains a private inner world and only shares their feelings with those who have earned their trust. they have a strong sense of imagination and prefer to work alone and stay within their own head. the havana brown is more lively, very shrewd and intelligent and driven by curiosity. they cultivate a tight knit group of friends they enjoy being around and are openly affectionate, though they enjoy indulging their own creativity and love to understand how things work.

the clumber spaniel and whippet are two more reserved, lower energy dog breeds again before you investigate these, consider whether a domestic dog form is right for you. people with domestic dog forms are highly security-seeking, empathetic, and close-bonding. they do well with change so long as they have a sense of social support and stability throughout it. they're extremely loyal individuals who naturally support and give to their loved ones. they tend to suffer from insecurity when alone, though some breeds express this through anxiety and sensitivity, while others will become more assertive and defensive. overall they're less guarded towards strangers like the above forms are.

if that sounds like you, these two breeds are a great place to start. you've already looked at the clumber spaniel, who is very calm and easy-going in all situations and extremely tolerant of others. they really blossom when they're around their loved ones and have a playful and excitable streak when they're socially comfortable. they do have a good work ethic because of their strong sense of duty and will push through things until they're complete, but like the possum get overwhelmed when too much is on their plate. they're pretty sensitive and struggle to hide it as they naturally wear their heart on their sleeve. for the whippet, don't consider energy to necessarily mean running around. this form is actually pretty low energy most of the time, but they come alive when something interests them and get extremely motivated and excitable. they're very intelligent people who put their all into things when inspired, definitely more driven than the clumber spaniel. their sociability is more reserved and they're very shy and withdrawn in social situations, but they're also conflict-avoidant and sensitive so will tend to go with the flow. they get overwhelmed easily as well and really value an environment where they can feel like themselves and pursue what they love without any pressure.

hope this helps!!

[jimlingss]

The Colour of Our Voices [17]

Chapter 16 - Chapter 17 - Chapter 17.5 OR Chapter 18 [Finale]

➜ Words: 2.6k

➜ Genres: 98% Fluff, 2% Angst, Slice of Life, Broadway!AU

➜ Summary: He wasn’t supposed to hear. He wasn't supposed to know. But the instant Jimin came into your life and pulled the curtains back, you couldn't hide backstage anymore. You were no longer merely a phantom of the opera.

cr.

Taehyung shifts uncomfortably.   For how much he talked badly about the man to you, he didn’t expect Jimin to be in this state.   In Taehyung’s mind, Jimin would be like all the guys he’s ever known post-break up — enjoying life, going out to meet girls, arrogantly basking in his single status only to realize weeks later what he’s done and regret it once you’ve already moved on. Taehyung most certainly didn’t expect Jimin to look so worn down — arguably more than you. Unshaven, unshowered, dark circles, rugged and visibly exhausted.   It doesn’t seem like Jimin’s had a rebound or even considered it. And he doesn’t hide how hurt he is because of some wrong sense of masculinity where he feels a need to put up an iron barrier between him and his emotions. Jimin’s fully basking in his heartbreak and it’s brutal.   “Look, Taehyung.” The brunette starts slowly, hands in his lap. He never once touches the hot cup of coffee Taehyung bought for him. “I really appreciate the offer, but I don’t think it’s a good idea.”   “Why not?”   “There’s just...too much history between us to be working together. I don’t think it’ll be good for either of us. We’re at a point in our lives…..where it would just be awkward. I don’t want to put her through that.”   “Hey, man. If it helps, she said it was fine by her,” Taehyung counters in an attempt to persuade him. “Y/N said she can be a professional about it and put all of your...issues to the side.”   Taehyung’s become the middleman of your communication line — trying his best to deliver what you’ve conveyed to him, trying to smooth it over, tell Jimin that it’s okay. But he doesn’t buy it.   Jimin fiddles with his finger with a downcast head. “I don’t think I can be professional.” He meets the man’s eyes timidly. “I think it’s best if you find someone else.”   There’s silence.   Taehyung releases a frustrated sigh. “You’re an absolute idiot, you know that?”   Jimin stares blankly at him, not once flinching from the insult. Taehyung stands up from his spot in the corner of the coffee shop. “And I don’t want an idiot like that on my team. It was nice seeing you, Jimin.” Taehyung grabs his coat from the back of the chair and snatches his coffee cup before angrily stomping out, leaving Jimin to bite the dust.   But as the bell of the cozy shop rings to signal his exit, and he’s met with the noise of New York’s traffic, the aspiring producer and director instantly regrets it.

“He really said that?”   “Yeah,” Taehyung sighs. “I told him that you didn’t care, but it didn’t change his mind.”   You fidget restlessly underneath the table, tugging the hem of your sleeves to go over your fingers. In the meanwhile, he leans back into the booth seat, sinking further in. He runs a hand over his face. “Every time I close my eyes, I envision you two and it’s driving me crazy. This is my first production ever and I want everything to be absolutely perfect. I want to follow my vision.”   “Yeah, I get it.” You give a sympathetic smile, shoulders slightly shrugging.   Suddenly Taehyung’s eyes glimmer. He leans forward, resting his arms on the table and even moves his drink aside. The way he’s intently staring at you makes you nervous. “Can you please talk to him, Y/N?”   “Pardon?”   “I can’t ask him again,” he says, “Jimin’s surprisingly stubborn and I told him he was an idiot like an idiot.” Taehyung adds in a whisper, “I know he would listen to you.”   There’s a held silence as you mull over the idea of confronting Jimin. And it makes you overwhelmingly uncomfortable. You haven’t spoken to him at all since your last argument, the one that ended your relationship, and you’re frankly not good with confrontation either.   It’s not a shocker that you immediately shy away at the idea. “Does it really have to be Jimin, Taehyung? You can’t imagine casting anyone else?”   “Yes,” he answers firmly. “I’ve thought about it and of course, I don’t want either of you to be uncomfortable. But I also want it to be perfect and frankly—” Taehyung tenderly smiles. “—nothing beats you and Jimin together. You’re the ultimate pair.”   You nibble on the bottom of your lip, hiding your trembling hands.   You want to fulfill Taehyung’s dream — you know he’s adamant for a reason. He even told you that he was able to finish his script because the pair of you were his inspiration, and you’re aware of how much it means to him. A big part of you longs to see Jimin too. You yearn to talk to him at least one last time and get some closure on your relationship together….   You just don’t know how to do it. You’re at a loss.   “Please,” he pleads, knowing this is full well a favour and he’ll owe you.   You shift uncomfortably. “How did he….look?”   You’re not sure what the sudden question means. It means too much — was Jimin happy about the offer? Did he find the idea of working with you disgusting? Did talking about you make him frown? Did he seem like he didn’t care at all? Or was he unwell? You wonder so much about him.   Taehyung smiles warmly. “He still loves you, if that’s what you’re asking.”

You heave a deep breath, standing isolated in the corridor, hand hovering against his door.   Your fingers are curled together, fist formed with your knuckles ready to knock. But you hesitate. This didn't used to be so hard. You could still envision it — the door swinging open, your eyes that would lift to meet his, the soft smile would spread into his cheeks.   Your arm lowers.   You’re overwhelmed with a sense of dejection, knowing that it's not what you'll see. Jimin's probably not even home. You don't know why you think he'll be here and not in some girl's bed.   You sigh, eyes stinging painfully, and you walk away, returning back into your apartment. You can’t talk to Jimin like you promised Taehyung — it’s too difficult.   There’s a sudden need for fresh air that captures you whole. A need to breathe properly. To gasp for air. You swore that you wouldn’t cry anymore, so in an attempt to compose yourself and fill your ears with sounds other than the white noise of your empty home, you stagger across your living room and slide open the balcony doors.    You step out onto the chilly balcony and grasp the railing as you watch the distant lights of the city, the mosaic colours that seem to blur together. The street near you is lit with dim post lamps while the ones farther away blur. You listen to the sound of cars rushing past in the far-off roads. It’s not so noisy as it is soft background noise.    This is the city that never sleeps, that seems to come alive at night. It’s a city that you’ve grown to both love and hate. But it’s missing someone’s company to make the view all the better.   As if you’ve just called the devil inside your mind, you’re suddenly interrupted by the sound of hinges sliding. You turn to your right. Your breath hitches. Your heart stutters in your chest. You’re frozen in your movements. You meet wide eyes in the hue of deep honey.   “I....”   “Um....”   The brunette boy that you've been yearning to see, materializing in front of you like a mere mirage. But he's real. “S-Sorry.” He turns his body, hitching his thumb awkwardly over his shoulder. “I didn't know you were out here.”   “O-oh. It's okay,” you call out quickly before he can step back inside his apartment and vanish again. Jimin shifts to look at you, and you divert your vision elsewhere, beginning to sweat, palms becoming clammy. “You can stay. If you want. I...don't mind.”   “Oh, okay.” Jimin clears his throat and steps forward to lean on the railing of his own balcony, hands clasped together loosely, eyes on the horizon. He goes quiet, mesmerized by the city lights, but he can’t enjoy it when the silence is so stiff.    You can’t help staring at him from the corner of your eye.   You muster your courage. “The…”   “Pardon?” Jimin swivels his head over.   “The weather's nice tonight, huh?!” you say louder, straining your throat so you can be heard, nearly shouting. You offer a smile but it comes out too tense and unfamiliar.   Yet, a rush of air leaves his nose in a subtle snort. Jimin looks forward at the night city and blackened sky that shows no stars with a more genuine smile, cheeks rosy. You can see it from the warm lights that pour out from inside his home, the dim yellow luminescence that sheds through the glass window doors from his kitchen. “Yeah, it's nice.”   You can't help staring at his profile, how his brows knit together. He doesn't look like he's been eating well or taking care of himself. “I'm surprised to see you.” Your eyes soften as they meet his again. “I just thought...you were living somewhere else now.”   “No,” he whispers. “I've always been here.”   “Oh.”   “Where else am I supposed to go?” Jimin gives a tender smile that’s saddened at the corners.   “I don't know,” you murmur.   “I heard you got into Taehyung's production,” Jimin mentions and your face heats with the way he gazes at you. “Congratulations, Y/N.”   The way he calls your name — how the syllables roll off his tongue — the way his plush mouth forms — it sounds so melodic. You missed it dearly. You missed him.   “Thank you.” You stay polite, trying to conceal just how much you’ve longed for this moment, to see and speak to him again. “Taehyung wants to apologize, by the way. He wanted me to tell you that he was sorry. And he still wants you to be the main lead.”   Jimin fiddles with his fingers. “I...don't think that's a good idea, considering our history. And now you're with Taehyung. I just don't think it'll be....the best environment for me to work in. I'm sorry, Y/N.”   “Wait.” You turn to him fully. The two of you are across from each other on your balconies but it still feels like too much distance. “What do you mean?”   “I don't think it'll be a good idea for either of us if we—”   “I'm not with Taehyung,” you interrupt, smiling at him.    The boy’s mouth draws into an ‘o’. “Oh.”   You grin at him, laughing — it unintentionally bubbles out of you, natural like there was no separation between you and Jimin, like there’s no need for this self-imposed awkwardness. “I haven't been with anyone since....”   Jimin matches your grin, finding it too infectious to resist. “Same here.”   It’s your turn to be surprised. “Really?”   “Yeah, why?” Jimin scoffs mischievously. “Did you expect me to get busy already?”   You shrug. “I expected you to have a long line up of girls. You're practically Casanova.”   He bursts out laughing. “Since when?”    “Well it's no secret you're popular with girls, Park,” you playfully tease. “You're likable and charming. Everyone and their mothers like you.”   “Yeah, but none of them are you.”   Jimin says it so forthrightly. Bold. He didn't need to think about it. To him, it was factual.   And it makes your heart stutter in your chest.   “You....shouldn't say that.”   “Why not?” Jimin gazes at you and cocks his head to the side, the corners of his mouth lifting gingerly. “It's true, isn't it?”   It goes quiet again with you unsure of how to respond, of what to say. Slowly, you slowly gain the bravery to meet his eyes again to discover that Jimin’s been smiling tenderly. His lips part to ask—    “Is it bad that I'm still in love with you?”   “It isn't,” you reply to him earnestly, and inhale and exhale a staggering breath. “Is....it a bad thing that I'm still in love in with you?”   There’s a beat of silence.   Then, Jimin crumbles. His civil exterior breaks down. His eyes become glossy, shoulders slumped with a downcast head. That knot that you hate forms between his brows again.    “I'm sorry.”   “Hey…”   “I'm sorry,” he repeats like it’s never enough no matter how many times he says it. “I know it means nothing now, but I'm an idiot. Taehyung's right. I'm an idiot.”   “Hey, it's not your fault,” you interject in the middle of his apologies. “You know that. It was because our schedules didn't work and we were stressed and things...just happened.”   If the both of you have to play the blame game then you're equally responsible for letting your relationship turn to shambles. You should've asked about him more, comforted him more, talked to him. You didn't know he felt so guilty about doing the things he wanted to while compromising you. It takes two, and somewhere along the way, you relied too much on him and his promises.   “I made the mistake of taking you for granted.”   “You don't take me for granted, Jimin.” You smile at him, knowing him well after spending nearly a year together now. He’s always thinking about you — if he didn't, he would've never felt bad or guilty.   “When I asked you what's the point of us......I didn't mean to make it seem like I was going to break up with you. I've never even thought about that. Not once. I want to be with you, Y/N. Forever, if you'll let me.”   You smile gently.   There’s no need for him to explain every single thing he said, to scrutinize every detail spoken in the heat of the moment that he's been thinking about for the past month and regrets. The pair of you know that the other person's already sorry for their part in the ruin of the relationship. He doesn't need to make it so painful, so tell him that it's okay and you say it as many times as he needs it.   You’ve already forgiven him thirty minutes after you told him to get out of the apartment, and all you've longed for in the past weeks was to talk to him again. “It was just bad timing, Jimin.”   Jimin goes quiet, staring off at the skyline with you.   “Is the timing good now?” he asks, sincerely, searching your expression.   You smile at him, murmuring above the lull of the city, “I think so. Do you?”   “Yeah....I do.” He’s enchanted, staring at you, but after a moment, he focuses again. Jimin clears his throat. “There's this movie, in, uh, the theater near us, you know the one down the block? I've been meaning to watch it — it's a romance action, didn't get great reviews online, but it looked promising to me, um, who knows, really, I have bad taste in movies, you know that. But if you aren’t busy tonight, I know this is r-really abrupt, so it's fine if you don't want to but, um, uh, would you like to go—?”   “I'd love to, Jimin.” You laugh warmly, dissipating his nervousness.   Jimin grins — it’s a date, an attempt for the two of you starting afresh together.

[gosagacious]

HAWK fails at a postapocalyptic future

I’m waiting for my copy of HAWK from the library, but from what I’ve heard from other readers, it sounds like it hasn’t changed much since the ARC. That’s frustrating. Partly because there were so many plot holes.

In Maximum Ride Forever, the world has been hit by a meteor, and then gone through not only that fallout but numerous weapons like a lab-created plague and nuclear bombs. Major cities are flooded, or cratered, or experiencing nuclear fallout. A significant part of the population is dead. We meet only a handful of adults. The vast majority of survivors who we see are children, and quite a few of those are mutants. The ending features a battle between child armies. 

In MRF, we are given to believe that these are the people on whom the rebuilt future rests. 

In HAWK, we get a completely different fallout.

Take all of that stuff from MRF and add in a four-year-long nuclear winter. The surviving child soldiers do have resources and can work on planning, but all the characters we know of go into underground bunkers to survive.

Eleven years after that – sixteen years total since the extinction-level event - there are multiple cities full of people of all ages. These cities feature skyscrapers, massive drug labs, evil science facilities, tanks, cars, guns with government chips in them, paved streets, plumbing. Film studios, movie cameras, animated cartoons! There is a hidden canyon city with houses carved into the walls, which one imagines would have taken a very long time, but which is apparently quite well-established. There are doctors and nurses. Where did they get their degrees? Are they all in their thirties and younger, or were they adults who we didn’t meet in MRF? 

It’s difficult to tell the ratio of mutants to humans, but from what we see, mutants are occasional but rare. (So much for Itex’s plan to have their mutants rule the world.)

On to the social status quo. Now, bear in mind that Hawk never got an education and has lived in one place for as long as she can remember. Okay: Hawk does not know what the ocean is. She does not know what a squirrel is. She believes that horses and pandas are mythical creatures, and she talks about “Crismins” instead of Christmas.

More widely, everyone, including Americans, has adopted the metric system, people talk about the “gods” and some worship statues. Okay. Fine, I guess. I can even sort of take Max’s inspirational speech reminding the citizens that they deserve to be treated like human beings.

But it’s difficult to tell how much of this is Hawk being clueless and growing up in a hellhole of a city, and how much is meant to be genuine worldbuilding of “See! See how different this dark, gritty future is! See how much has been forgotten! Our main character has heard only a garbled version of the word ‘Christmas!’”

Except that it has been only sixteen years since the world ended. It has only been eleven years since they really had the chance to start rebuilding.  I know we only see two cities and one prison island, and it’s hinted there’s more of a connection to the previous world in the free city of Tetra, but this is ridiculous.

Technology, infrastructure and population should be low. Connection to the previous world’s pop culture and society should be high. There are adults running around for whom sixteen years is only a fraction of their lives. There would still be teenagers who would have been born before the apocalypse.

Instead, the book treats things as if it has been much longer. High population, infrastructure and technology. Low connection to the previous world. 

After sixteen years, things have changed so much that a girl born at the pivotal point does not know the word Christmas. She does not know what the ocean is; she has never heard anyone talk about islands, or cruises, or going to the beach. In a world where TV is a constant presence, she thinks horses are made up. But Christmas is what really gets me. Look at how much Christmas takes over stores and media around December. Are you telling me that in under two decades, people forgot the word Christmas?! They have TV and cartoons, and in the past decade and a half, nobody has ever cranked up some old carols?? 

After all this, I want to try a quick worldbuilding of what the Maximum Ride future might look like. This is just spitballing; there are any number of directions it could go.

What HAWK could look like if the future followed a sensible pattern:

To begin: after natural disasters, plague, nuclear bombings, and a four-year nuclear winter, you’d have a vastly shrunken population. Most of the characters seen in Maximum Ride Forever are orphaned children. There will be huge gaps in the age population. I’ll hypothesize that most adults died in the plague. By the time of HAWK, you probably don’t see anyone over 65, and even that might be pushing it.

On the other hand, I expect there will be a huge emphasis on repopulating the planet. The survival of the human race is still in question. Let’s say there was a baby boom right after the nuclear winter ended and people started leaving their bunkers. You see a lot of kids around 10-11 years old. Hawk will hardly ever meet anyone her age; she was born in a patch of time when pretty much nobody was having babies. There are no abusive orphanages. Children are far too treasured. Even if death rates are high and orphans are common, there will be people anxiously collecting up those orphans and raising them in a safe place. Hawk’s orphanage could still be a weird place, but the kids wouldn’t be disappearing or taken off to evil laboratories. Although—more on that in a minute.

By the time of HAWK, the Apocalypse’s shadow still looms; anyone 20 or older can remember where they were and what they were doing That Day. They reminisce to each other or to their children about the old days. Hawk can be skeptical, as in canon, that some of these stories are true. Enough people that the world was struggling with overpopulation? How is that possible?

The survivors are people who went down into bunkers. Let’s say there were bunkers scattered all over the world. You’ll get a lot of wacky survivalist types, and also probably some of those scientists and major businessmen who were talking about the end of the world in the older MR books, and who could afford to build bunkers. Speaking of which: Himmel! This was the main villain’s bunker that the Flock and their army of child soldiers ended up moving into. Chock-full of advanced technology.

The groups in these bunkers would have lived together for four years in close quarters, relying on each other to survive (or maybe fighting to the death, I don’t know). Groups like the one in Himmel will probably be incredibly close-knit. Even after the nuclear winter is over, it will make sense for people to use those bunkers as bases. Towns, and one day cities, will grow up around them. Some people may still live primarily in underground apartments.

Maybe (I could be pushing it here) there are some people who stayed out of the bunkers and ended up in a hunter-gatherer caveman-type existence. If they survived, this could be an important allyship or a source of tension with the bunker-dwellers. Do they join up? Do they keep their distance?

Major cities do not exist (so no “City of the Dead”). The older cities are uninhabitable and being reclaimed by nature, long stripped of resources even if they aren’t just piles of rubble. Most people are not concerned about rebuilding them right now, and there probably aren’t even enough surviving workers with the right knowledge; a lot of professions will have to be re-developed from the ground up. Suffice to say there are no new skyscrapers going up.

The immediate concern will be food. Agriculture will have suffered from the nuclear winter. Some people are working on traditional farms, but we do have that advanced technology from Himmel, and the surviving scientists will be in high demand for developing new food sources.

I’m thinking of lots of farming communities centered around the safety of the bunkers. They will spread outwards only gradually. And there was a large population of mutant “Aquatics”, so new towns may not necessarily be built on land. We could have towns built on or under the water, and farms focused on fish and seaweed.

Mutants make up a major percentage of the surviving population. There’s no more of scientists coming after mutants and picking them off. Mutants are the scientists now, in many cases; the mutant kids growing up in Himmel would have been studying the resources there and learning to build things necessary for the new world.

However, there’s a possibility of prejudice against mutants. Perhaps some of the human survivors, particularly from other bunkers, resent the mutants or see them as tied to the Apocalypse. The question of reproduction and having the human race survive? Maybe some people want humanity to be “pure.” They don’t want bird or fish DNA floating around in there. 

There will likely be a problem of ruffian bands who try to raid these settlements for food. Sometimes settlements raid each other. There may also be corrupt administrations, or gangs who offer “protection.”

There isn’t the same kind of worldwide connection. Although they certainly have the technology for long-distance communication, it will take a long time to rebuild the infrastructure and carry it all over the world. The postal system is gone. The transportation system is gone. Instead of booking a flight at the airport, you ask your buddy Susan if she can give you a ride in her crop duster to the next settlement. 

There are no huge, high-tech prisons, either. Nobody’s got the time or resources to devote to that, and there simply aren’t enough prisoners to fill up something like that. Prisons in this world? I’m picturing big old pits like in The Dark Knight Rises.

So here’s a shot at reworking the beginning of HAWK: Hawk’s parents leave her with a babysitter in a farming community, but while they’re away, it’s hit by raiders. In the destruction, along with food, the raiders also take kids to sell them. Hawk ends up in a weird orphanage obsessed with raising the new generation of the world and ensuring humanity’s survival. However, one of the administrators is bigoted against mutants, and when it’s discovered that Hawk is a mutant, she’s put aside with the other "non-ideal” kids, who are treated like servants. The orphanage might be under the “protection” of a gang - the Paters. Pietro can even still be around—except please less boring and maybe with a name that doesn’t sound like a tongue twister—and he might be a rare kid born around the same time as Hawk, maybe a year older, whose parents made it through the Apocalypse and kept their infant son alive because of their wealth.

That’s something I could have accepted. I can’t accept smacking Hawk in the middle of a generic dystopian city that seems a century or further into the future, when it should be only sixteen.

[theradioghost]

some recs for my podcast mutuals who are burnt out on horror & sad plot stuff

aka I’ve been seeing a few flavors of people exhausted by several of the most popular podcasts around here being pretty dark right now & I have attempted to put together a tasting menu of some stuff I think might help alleviate that burnout (& which also deserves some more love)

1. I'm okay with stuff that’s still on the dark or macabre side, I'd just like something that isn’t 100% characters I care about suffering horribly all the time, maybe some laughs in there

The Beef and Dairy Network: Like a seriously disturbing body horror podcast, except British satirical comedy! About cows! You kind of have to listen to it to get what’s going on tbqh it’s nearly impossible to explain but if you like horror and are just tired of being depressed about it maybe try this one. NOT for the easily nauseated.

Wooden Overcoats: black comedy sitcom about two rival funeral homes on a small island, one run by The Most Perfect Man On Earth (tm) and the other run by two misanthropic twins with a knack for disaster (and their hypercompetent assistant (and a mouse who wants to be an author)). this one is about watching the protagonist suffer horribly all the time but like, this time it’s usually a lot funnier and honestly he deserves it

Death by Dying: (so far very short) dark comedy about the resident obituary writer of idyllic Crestfall, Idaho, who sets out to tell the stories of how the town’s residents died and ends up uncovering a lot of other things, like conspiracies, and man-eating cats, and a poet’s vanishing childhood home, and what his friend the Angel of Death isn’t telling him about what’s in the dark woods. has very strong ASOUE or Pushing Daisies vibes, that sort of dark whimsy and really distinct narrative voice

Arden: “true crime” comedy-ish mystery podcast feat. two of the best bickering hosts anywhere and a whole third host called homoerotic tension, trying to solve a decade-old Hollywood mystery. secretly a shakespeare adaptation. one of the hosts is michelle agresti. an airline run by killer robots is involved, somehow. it’s a perfect storm

2. I’m good with some plot and higher stakes, but I need something more kind and hopeful right now:

Middle:Below: 10-minute episodes about a man who travels between the worlds of the living and the dead to solve the problems of restless ghosts, and the three friends he does it with -- a ghost, a cat, and a writer. their tagline is “remember: bad things will happen.” this is basically a lie, this show is extremely sweet

Alba Salix: high fantasy medical workplace comedy about hospital staff in a fairytale-ish kingdom, namely one grouchy witch, one distracted fairy, and one extremely disgruntled teenager sentenced to community service. also comes with the miniseries The Axe And Crown, which is about a gay troll bartender, his clueless landlord, and his bombastic niece, and also is one of the most heartfelt touching pieces of audio fiction I’ve ever heard?

Dark Ages: also a high fantasy workplace comedy, but in this one the dysfunctional cast work at a magical natural history museum, which thanks to recent events is now hosting the mythical Dark Lord on top of all the usual problems caused by their complete incompetency.

Solutions to Problems: a sci-fi relationship advice show feat. human host Janet and alien host Loaf. also feat. banter, illegal time travel, what to do when the AI that controls the air you breathe is your on-again-off-again girlfriend, and how to avoid your many spouses when they insist you need to come back to the homeworld and spend some time with your spawn.

Victoriocity: steampunk buddy-comedy mystery show, in which misanthropic detective Archibald Fleet (aka Tom Crowley but he’s grouchy this time) and intrepid newbie journalist Clara Entwhistle (aka an absolute ray of sunshine) uncover some Secret Plots within the government of a very different victorian london. if you like the “opposing personalities come to care deeply about one another as friends” trope this one is for you

Inn Between: not an actual play, but a show about the developing relationships of a party of RPG-esque adventurers as they rest at the inn between campaigns. you don’t see the adventures, just the crew growing closer and learning about one another in their moments of peace.

The Strange Case of Starship Iris: sci-fi adventure about a stranded biologist and a ragtag crew of smugglers who set out to resist an authoritarian government, solve a mystery, and prevent a second human-alien war. as far as I can tell their plan for accomplishing this is to be as funny, gay, and adorable as possible, and to dismantle oppressive systems via the power of found family tropes. also via the power of linguistics.

3. just give me the fluffiest, funniest, sweetest, most relaxed, lowest-stakes thing you have:

Everything is Alive: meditative, deeply touching show where Guy From Public Radio holds interviews with inanimate objects. the interviews are super genuine and beautiful and I think they’re improvised, or at least they sound very natural? for people who want to be profoundly moved by a can of generic brand cola (you may not know but you are one of those people)

Standard Docking Procedure: a self-described “hopepunk” scifi sitcom about a group of employees on a space station, dealing with the little daily misadventures of difficult tourists, traffic control disasters, nonexistent love lives, and each other. Has an explicitly stated purpose of staying happy, lighthearted, and comforting.

Love and Luck: tied for absolute most heartwarming audio drama in existence. the story of the relationship between two Australian men, told through voicemail messages, as they fall in love, start a cafe, build a supportive and loving local queer community of close-knit friends and chosen family who help one another through thick and thin, and also find out that they can do magic apparently (IMPORTANT NOTE: there are some darker events and themes tackled in the plot starting around the latter half of the first season, but the focus of the story itself is always on how people support and help one another through trauma and difficulty, and the explicitly stated core premise of the show is that every character will have a happy ending and be okay.)

Quid Pro Euro: Look Around You-esque satire of old 80s and 90s instructional tapes where Felix Trench tells you what the European Union will look like in the far-off year of 2000. I don’t know anything about the European Union but I cackle like a witch when I listen to this

The Cryptonaturalist: I know you’ve seen his tweets. well it’s that but a podcast. just a man with an extremely nice voice talking about fantastical creatures like salamanders that swim through parking lot asphalt or foxes that roam the shelves of libraries at night. in between he reads poetry and generally talks about nature in the most beautiful way you could imagine. this show feels like a peaceful walk in the woods.

The Hidden Almanac: a podcast made 90% out of gentle fantasy worldbuilding, as a somewhat grumpy man in a plague doctor mask tells you about the history of his world and distributes gardening advice. has an immense archive of four-minute long episodes. it’s best to listen in order, because there is continuity, and be aware that about the first year or so has dropped off most feeds. written and performed by much-loved fantasy writer and artist Ursula Vernon and her husband Kevin.

Startripper!!: the other forerunner for most heartwarming audio drama in existence. seriously, you cannot imagine how much joy Startripper!! will bring into your life. it’s just the travelogue of one little alien with a heart full of enthusiasm and love setting out to see the universe and making friends along the way with just about everyone he meets, including his extremely loveable spaceship AI. I really mean it. listen to this show if you listen to nothing else.

Cabin Pressure: BBC radio workplace comedy about the dysfunctional crew of the world’s smallest airline. not only utterly hilarious but will tug on your heartstrings more than you could possibly imagine (this does not look at first like a found family story but it so very much is). warning for bendytoots cucumberpatch but like, in the one and only valid role he’s ever played. you definitely cannot find this show by searching its name on the Internet Archive.

[sheabutterskyes]

The Mask of White Waters

XLVI | Bridges Burned –

After a careful reassurance that they were fine, and that the broken horn was from long ago, Isla still had tears in her eyes. It was difficult to wait for her emotions to settle after what had just happened. It was difficult to feel the ghosts of pain she had felt that morning and know that they had caused it.

It was also difficult to comprehend the way she had looked at them.

They tried not to think about it.

“Was it the warden?”

Caia looked to Isla; she was, at the moment, relatively calm, waving the end of a small stick into the fire.

“Yes.”

She glanced up at them, “I came across him in the last village.”

“And that woman.”

She dropped the stick into the fire.

“What is it you’ve done to lead her this far to find you?”

They moved to sit across from her, the warmth of the fire gentle and welcoming to their still-healing body. They wore their mask once more, though there was still a weariness lingering along with a few wounds.

“I did some terrible things.” She finally said.

Somehow, Caia was unable to imagine her doing terrible things. Mistakes, perhaps, but nothing intentionally terrible.

“But I think it’s especially terrible that I don’t regret doing any of it.”

She glanced at them, a familiar look on her face – she was attempting to read Caia and decide if they wanted her to say more or be quiet.

“Then you must have had a very compelling reason,” they answered evenly.

“I was angry,” she said quietly.

That, they could understand.

“What is it that created that anger?”

Isla looked at them again, her small smile honest. They returned the smile, even though she could not see it. They wanted to hear her story. They wanted to forget how late it was getting and feel the warmth of the fire and listen to her voice.

There was a long silence before Isla spoke again. And when she did, her voice had become solemn.

“My family was part of a very close-knit community. A community that was considered an extension of your family, a means to further keep you safe from the ‘outside world’. The nice ladies in the markets, the quiet butchers, the children that played in the streets and went to school, the dancers and musicians…” Isla splayed her hands out towards the fire, her golden rings sparkling. “I grew up being steered away from questioning anything beyond our community. I was told that doing so would lead me to a miserable, poorly life.”

“But one day it wasn’t enough to simply live by the standards our community had. I was expected to actively go against beliefs that did not align with ours. The nice ladies in the markets, the quiet butchers, the children that played in the streets and went to school, the dancers and musicians… they were no longer just outsiders, but enemies.”

Her narrative sounded familiar. Humans so often had such a predictable pattern and insatiable hunger for control.

“I didn’t understand why. And I was too afraid to ask. I was too afraid to do anything other than what they told me to do.”

Until…?

She glanced around, picking up a new stick to keep her hands busy.

“Until the murders happened.”

“From those within the Paragon of Stonefail,” Caia said.

Isla perked at that, “Yes… I didn’t know you knew.”

“I do not know much,” they admitted.

“Ah,” she nodded at that. “Well… it was my own two brothers planned it, and it was carried out by many others, including my parents.” Isla threw her stick into the fire and rested her head on her hand, “There had been a newly created council that had formed in the area – perceived to be a threat to our way of life.”

Caia nodded to her when she glanced over at them.

“I remember waking up to a fire,” she swallowed, her voice wavering. “And when a Stonefail officer came to help-,” she swallowed again. “They cut him down with the axe my family had outside. And all I could do was stand there.”

Isla fell into silence again, and Caia tended to the fire before settling back down, this time beside her.

She was looking at them, though they looked only at the fire.

“I don’t think I’ve ever really said that out loud before.”

“You can,” they assured.

Caia could feel some of her anxiety fade away with a heavy sigh. She leaned forwards to feel the warmth of the fire and smiled at them when they offered her a glance.

“Did you leave after the fire?” they asked her.

“No. I felt… trapped,” she sighed again, and then yawned. “I remember wishing Stonefail officers would storm into our homes and declare our way of life was over. Even if it meant I would be punished alongside them. But they never came back.”

“Hope was with me more and more as the Paragon began to keep us from so much as being seen by outsiders. That was when I learned that she was just as afraid as I was. Just as confused. We talked about what our life might be like as outsiders – began to dream about it.”

Isla leaned back, “And one morning… I snapped.”

Caia assumed this was where her so-called terrible actions came into play.

“I started a fire… I set animals loose… and I got out. I went straight to the Stonefail officers and told them the names of those responsible for the murders. I gave them the names of my brothers, my parents. I told them and wrote in ink anything I could think of that would condemn them all. And then I ran.”

She laughed, “You would have thought I’d leave the Stonefail region – run farther away. But I didn’t. And becoming a Shaubriand dancer was the best thing that could have happened to me. I made it in a world I had been made to believe was set-up to destroy me.”

“My brothers, and eventually my father was taken by Stonefail officers. Then several other Paragon members. But they still lived their lives every day. And every night I thought about Hope. I thought about her every night until I decided I needed to go back for her.”

“And you did.”

“I did,” she nodded. “And I will do it again... We will.”

We.

Caia was unsure if she had used that word regarding them before now; and her words had been dripping with intention.

And beyond her words, they could see from the corner of their vision the look she was giving them. The same look she had given them while they had been without their mask.

It made them freeze.

“Robin is the woman who has been around,” Isla said after a few moments. “She has come to collect me so that I can be punished for my wrong-doings.”

Caia stared at the ground, “And what if she does collect you and bring you back?”

“Then that’s it,” she said softly.

They did not need to ask for clarification.

It was not anger they felt from her this night, nor was it even fear. It was a sort of bleak honesty that settled heavily around her. It settled heavily around them as well when they realized they would do whatever it took to ensure Isla was not touched by the poisonous grasp of the Paragon of Stonefail ever again.

- - - - - -

TG -> @alwolfe​

[peace-coast-island]

Diary of a Junebug

An egg-cellent day for an adventure

It's another fun filled day of baking sweet treats at the camp as we've got a surplus of eggs to use up. Good thing Emilia decided to drop by along with her daughter Michele Toni for a well deserved mother-daughter weekend. I was hoping for the day when Emilia would stop by for a visit and now she's here!

(Psstt... Andrea, Selene, Paget, Lena, Rini, Malka, Kate, Annie, and Luciana- camp's open all year round for visitors so if you can, come on over!)

Along with collecting eggs scattered across the camp and making baked goods, Emilia's also filming a travel-style vlog for her channel Emilia Eats. She mainly does recipe videos with an occasional vlog, something she's been doing for about ten years now. Along with making videos Emilia runs a local catering company of the same name.

I've always loved Emilia's cooking and baking - it's one of the many things I look forward to when I visit home - second to my mom's, of course. Also I love her videos as she's got a sweet personality that makes me feel enthusiastic about baking. I've saved a lot of her recipes for reference and sometimes I just like watching her videos just to see old friends like Serena, Tony, and Michele.

I'm glad to see Emilia in a much better place. We caught up a bit at the wedding, where I got to know Michele Toni a bit more as well as catch up with her dad. The past few years have been rough on them but now it looks like things are finally settling down for Emilia and Mr. Phillips.

Little Michele Toni's so cute, she's almost like a mini-me of Emilia. Hard to believe she's a toddler now and it's so cute seeing her take an interest in baking! I always love seeing her "cooking" alongside her mom in various videos.

Around the time before Michele Toni was born, Emilia was going through a rough time. Up until then, the Phillips-Conrad family were a happy bunch. The family had a bit of unwanted publicity as Mr. Phillips was, and still is, a big name in town, so the fact that he, a white man, adopted two young black girls was something the media wanted to dig up dirt on. Truth is, there was nothing to stir up - Emilia and Michele's mom and Mr. Phillips were good friends and he was always like a father figure to the girls. Both didn't have much living family so they assigned each other as godparents to their kids.

For years they were a happy family - Emilia, Tony, and Michele. Tony was the one who helped Emilia get started with her channel, teaching her how to film and edit videos as well as get more views. Michele was the one who helped Emilia come up with recipe ideas and in the videos where she's featured, the two would often talk about their mom. Emilia always spoke fondly of her as did Tony while Michele would listen intently when the two told stories of the past. Those videos are always bittersweet to watch, especially now that Tony and Michele are gone.

Things changed when Tony went off to college, traveling abroad and rarely coming home. Michele also went abroad and later got caught up in a hectic, stressful lifestyle, leaving Emilia in Rosevine balancing her life as a baker and a Galaxy Fighter. We all had a feeling that Tony and Michele were going to leave while Emilia stayed so it was expected that the three would go their separate ways. They were still a close knit family though - none of us suspected that something was wrong.

The deaths of Tony and Michele were a huge shock to the community. Both were struggling with alcoholism and drug addiction as their lives took a toll on them. Tony died from a drug overdose and Michele drove off a bridge, both were at their lowest point due to unlucky breaks. Then months later Serena died in the Crystal Shadow War so in that time span Emilia lost her siblings and best friend.

It was a difficult time for everyone. I was also going through some rough patches myself so you can imagine how bad it was. Pretty much everyone I knew from home was going through a terrible time because the universe somehow decided to be a dick and throw all these tragedies at us.

Thankfully, those days are behind us. Months later I opened the camp, Emilia and the other Galaxy Fighters had their spirit revived thanks to a band of adventurers - I guess you can say the darkest hour is just before dawn. Not everything's perfect right now, but we're all doing a lot better, and that's what matters.

Along with some new friends sort of turning Rosevine upside down, Emilia was in for another unexpected turn. Not too long after Serena's death, Emilia started seeing some guy who wasn't good for her. Then Michele Toni was born and she was probably the best thing to ever happen for her mom and grandpa in light of the tragedies that plagued them. It wasn't until last year when Michele Toni made appearances on Emilia's channel and stole the show. Seeing the two of them bake together makes me so happy - and I'm glad that Emilia finally feels comfortable embracing her role as a mom.

Michele Toni had a lot of fun bringing us eggs she found while exploring the camp, her favorite place being the beach. Emilia says her favorite hangout spot is Sunburst Island because it reminds her of her family's summer home in Watercolor Vineyards. I've never been there but from how she, Tony, and Michele described it, the island sounds beautiful!

While sightseeing and scavenging for eggs, Emilia filmed for her vlog and caught me and Daisy Jane  up on everything that's been going on at home. Selene, Arianne, and Vitoria are up to the usual, their latest adventure happened to be with Team Magic involving smoke screens, zombies, and frozen tidal waves. Kate's got a big tennis match coming up while Malka has a concert in a couple weeks. Rini and her grandma are doing well, running the shrine as usual and planning for their yearly spring trip to Tranquility Falls. Lena and Annie are busy at the hospital saving lives and helping others. Paget's doing all right, holding her own, taking it one day at a time. Andrea and Robin are doing their best too, keeping up with Selene and the others. Luciana's checking in on everyone as usual, coming to the rescue in the nick of time.

Hunting for eggs was a lot of fun! Emilia showed off her powers a little for the campers. As a Galaxy Fighter, she's Guardian Cyclone and her powers involve manipulating air into wind, creating powerful blasts that can be as strong as a hurricane. Since a good batch of the eggs are in hard to reach places (Why, Zipper, why?), it's a good thing we have Emilia here to help her out because she's currently the tallest person here right now, she's an agile climber, and can use her powers to drop eggs that are impossible to reach. In a stroke of luck, not a single egg was broken - and we were kinda rough with them.

Once we were satisfied with the amount of eggs we collected (maybe not satisfied but you can only collect so many eggs before you get annoyed by them popping up everywhere you go), it's time to get cooking! For savory dishes we made a bunch of quiches to put many of the eggs to good use and so we can freeze them for later. We made a bunch of different kinds - spinach and feta, four cheese, kimchi, salmon and cream cheese, shakshouka, garden veggies, sausage - it's a good thing we labeled everything! Of course, we used Emilia's trusty old recipe for a buttery, flaky crust that's not only delicious, but easy to make and freezes well.

The desserts was where we went all out. I happened to score a nice bargain with a barrel full of perfect peaches so we made a lovely pie with those. Daisy Jane taught us how to make egg tarts, a sweet treat I haven't had in forever. Coco made carrot cake cheesecake bars, Claude baked a giant quadruple chocolate mousse cake, and Dora made a lovely assortment of digestive biscuits to go with freshly brewed tea. Emilia made up a recipe on the spot - lemon vanilla cardamon bars - which turned out really good.

Since the lemon vanilla cardamon bars were such a hit, Emilia's gonna make a recipe video of it - at the camp. I still can't believe that Daisy Jane and I are gonna be on Emilia Eats - first for the vlog, now a recipe video! It's taken her years but Emilia plans to get most, if not all, her friends to appear on her channel. She plans to get Team Magic on next as she's planning a video with Mariposa and Skully, developing a recipe with Angie, figuring out what she wants to do with Luna that won't blow up the kitchen, and waiting on Pippa and Willow.

I can't wait to see what Emilia Eats has in store because Emilia's been knocking it out of the park lately! Her videos have always been consistently good but in the past few months she's been putting a lot more heart into it. Even when times were tough, Emilia always managed to put on a brave face. I remember watching her videos during those times, how despite everything that was going on, Emilia continued making recipes. We all have our different ways of coping with grief and hers was to continue with business as usual, which can be a good and bad thing.

Hanging out with her and watching her play with Michele Toni, I know for sure that Emilia's going to be all right. We can't undo the past and bring back lost loved ones, but we can carry on. Maybe it's just wishful thinking, but I think I see a little bit of Michele Toni's aunt and uncle in her. She's definitely got her mom's heart and spirit.

After a fun day of collecting eggs and baking, it's time for a well deserved bonfire dinner of quiches, seafood chowder, and freshly baked sourdough bread. Then tomorrow will be more egg hunting, baking, filming, and good old camping fun!

[harryimaginedstories]

the vanishing of us

 This one is based (partly) on a true story. And on the song “inevitable” by Orla Gartland. Enjoy! Genre: angst.  Words: 6K.

The house was eerie quiet. No floorboards creaked, no stairs groaned. With shaking hands Y/N lifted a cup filled with her favourite tea to her lips, hoping the warmth of the drink would help calm her. Yet as she swallowed the soothing liquid her tears wouldn’t cease. Instead she choked on a sob, coughed and spat most of the drink right back out. “Shit.”

Crying freely she wiped the spit off the counter. Accepting that calmness wouldn’t come to her anytime soon, she opened the dishwasher to put the mug away. It was then that she noticed that it was empty. In fact, even though it was close to seven pm, there were no dishes in the sink, no crumbs of food on the counter, and no forgotten glass left on the table. The house was so clean and tidy, it might as well had nobody living in it for weeks. Y/N realized sadly, that this might have been just the case. Everything looked untouched. With a heavy breath Y/N closed the machine. In the hallway she was met with her suitcase and heavy bag, luggage she had yet to bring herself to unpack. Y/N had struggled to get the heavy bags up the stairs to their home by herself. Even getting them out of the back of her cab had been a difficult. Y/N decided to spare herself and not carry them up to their bedroom. With tired steps she walked up the stairs and to her room. Here, too, everything looked lonely and untouched. The bed was made, the pillows arranged. More tears fell and she wiped them off her cheek forcefully. Why did it not look slept in at all? Climbing onto the cold mattress, curling up around a cold pillow and falling asleep by herself, was certainly not how she’d imagined spending her first night back home. 

Where was Harry?

She had called him seven times. Had sent him ten messages. But nothing had come of it. Knowing him, it wasn’t unlikely that he’d turned off his phone. He liked doing that to keep his attention solely on his work, however why would he do that today? Out of all times? He must have done it for different reasons, meaning that he was most likely purposely ignoring her approaches. The only thing she couldn’t wrap her head around was why, especially not when she couldn’t have done anything to upset him. She’d been absent for three weeks, and during that time they’d had plenty of phone calls and messages proclaiming how much they were missing each other. It certainly hadn’t sounded like he wanted distance. Every night, he’d told her over and over how relieved he was that he wouldn’t have to sleep alone much longer. He’d sounded so happy and excited, it had made her feel so appreciated and loved. And on the day she was coming back, their home was empty and her lover gone.

Y/N pulled the sleeves of her shirt over her knuckles and cuddled herself into the material. A blanket rested on her body and two pillows shielder her form the cold coming from the window, and yet she shivered. The salty taste of crying gathered on her lips. She didn’t bother wiping the tears off anymore. Instead she shut her eyes and hoped for sleep to come and bring her the relief of unconsciousness. Wherever Harry was, Y/N hoped that he was sleeping okay.

. . .

She sat crossed legged on their grey couch, coffee in one hand, phone in the other. The name of Y/N’s friend Kelsea flashed over the screen as she set put the call on speaker.

“So he’s just not been home all day yesterday, and didn’t come home tonight either? He didn’t sleep at home with you?”

“No, he didn’t.” 

“Where the hell is he then?”

“That’s what I’m telling you, I have no idea,” Y/N replied, “At first I thought maybe the studio, but I called there and was told that they hadn’t seen him in a week. I’m staring to get really worried, Kels.” 

A loud hiss came through Y/N’s speakerphone. 

“Worry? Fuck that. He’s a dickhead for being MIA on the day you come home! And then throughout the night, too? He left you alone in a huge house! Over night!”

“Yep.” 

“You can’t tell me you weren’t creeped out by that,” Kelsea hissed angrily, hitting the nail right on the head.

Y/N felt herself cringe at the mention of last night. Of course she’d been creeped out. Scared even. She had never liked sleeping on her own, once she had discovered what it was like to sleep in the same bed as the person she loved. And to sleep on your own, in a massive house and as a young woman... Well, Y/N doubted that would never not feel uncomfortable. As seldom as break-ins into the houses of a gated community happened, it wasn’t impossible. Had anything happened, she would’ve been alone. Had anyone come in or already been inside her property, she would’ve had to face them by herself. Y/N quickly tried to shake the uncomfortable thoughts. They had kept her awake for a good part of the night already.

“I thought maybe he’s with his friends but according to their Instagram-stories they were all busy individually, without him.”

“Okay, but even if. You, his girlfriend, were gone for three weeks! If he needed time to do shit with his mates he’s had plenty of that. Definitely not on the day you’re coming home.”

“Right? And he’s been saying how glad he was that I’d be back soon just two days ago.”

“And when you do, he has deserted.”

Kelsea hissed and Y/N bit back a smile at her friend’s reaction. It gave her some reassurance that the anger and sadness that still clouded her mood were both justified. Kelsea also helped shrink the little part of Y/N’s brain that was reserved for worrying about Harry.

“You don’t think that he’s in trouble, do you?”

“Harry? No. No, no, no. He’s acting like a dumbass, but he’s a smart guy. I can’t imagine him getting into any kind of trouble. Trust me, him being missing has a much simpler reason, which will probably lead to an epic argument between you two, once he shows up.”

“I thought I was being a bit dramatic for feeling so down about it,” Y/N admitted. 

“Are you kidding? I’d be furious!” 

“I’m more sad than angry, if I’m honest.”

Moving in with Harry, living together and sharing the same home was nice. But Y/N liked having the house to herself sometimes. It was nice to have some quiet and be on her own. If she arrived home before him, Y/N would put on the music he didn’t like too much or catch up on TV shows Harry didn’t watch. Neither of them were uncomfortable with being alone in their house, but of course it felt different when she had the house to herself because Harry had disappeared. It was uncomfortable to be alone without a deadline to it.

“I miss him,” Y/N murmured, “I’ve missed him like crazy for weeks and now that I’m surrounded by his things but he’s not here, it’s even worse. I wasn’t prepared to go another few days without him, Kels. I thought we’d be back to being practically attached by the hip again like we always are! Instead I can’t reach him, don’t know where he is and don’t know if I should send one angry text after the other or just cry my eyes out.”

“It won’t be another few days without him, sweetie,” Kelsea tried to promise, her voice softer than before, “The whole thing is out of character enough, Y/N. He wouldn’t disappear on you for days.”

The two women fell silent, neither of them quite buying into Kelsea’s words. Y/N tried to decide what she would do next, Kelsea desperately searched her brain for any advice.

“Do you want to come over? We can hang out. So you’re not alone.”

Y/N didn’t need to think about the offer twice. “Yes, please.”

. . . 

Two glasses of wine later, Y/N reached forward to hand the cab driver his money, before stepping out and onto the pavement in front of her house. Her head was a little heavy and her feet slow, alcohol still travelling through her veins. She didn’t feel quite as miserable anymore as she had since the moment she’d arrived to an empty home, thanks to Kelsea letting her rant and then drink. Now, numbed by the distinct taste of liquor on her tongue, she felt almost good. However all tension returned when she noticed the light coming from the kitchen window, one she clearly remembered not having switched on that day. 

Harry was home.

For a good five seconds, Y/N debated if she should run and go back to Kelsea, but she knew that a conversation with him was inevitable. Whatever it had been that had made him disappear on her, avoiding him would only pour fuel into the fire. So, hesitant and slow for a new reason, Y/N walked up to the door and opened it. As quietly as she could, she slipped off her jacket and shoes, hoping to not make him aware of her presence yet. No matter how much she prepared with Kelsea, Y/N couldn’t remember any of the speeches she had rehearsed. Harry sat on the couch, phone in hand and frown deeply written onto his face. He’d heard the door open and close quietly, noticed the uncertain steps of socked feet walking down the hallway. And in that moment he realized that he’d messed up.  Upon coming home, he hadn’t noticed anything, still too far stuck in his own head. But once he heard her, Harry noticed all of her things back where they were supposed to be. Her charger was plugged in next to their lamp, her laptop was on the coffee table right in front of him and her freshly washed clothes were drying by the heater.  Shit. Harry pulled out his phone, opened his emails and there they were. He only had to scroll past three other notifications before he found Y/N’s flight details and with them the proof that he’d let her down. 

Y/N stood in the doorway, watching him. She noticed his deep frown, the gap between his lips as his mouth fell open. He looked calm and soft, dressed in a knitted jumper despite the warm weather. Not at all ready for the storm that was awaiting him, and briefly Y/N felt bad. That was until she noticed how tears were making her vision blur. She’d missed him. So badly. If only their situation were different, then she could give in to the pull tugging at her heart and allow her body to fall into his embrace.  Their eyes met. Both of their breathing halted.

Harry smiled sadly and raised his phone, showing her the screen. “Got your flight information here.”

A little too late. Y/N nodded. “I sent them to you. Two days ago.”

"Three actually.” His gaze first fell to the date at the bottom of the email, then to the floor and his feet, before he reluctantly met her eyes again. Shame was written all over his face. “I’m so sorry.”

Y/N crossed her arms and rested her back against the wall. It didn’t go unnoticed to him that she was keeping as much distance as possible without leaving the room. She didn’t want to be too close to the boy who held her heart, not after he had so selfishly toyed with it.

“You forgot I was coming home?” 

“Yes.” 

He saw no point in lying. What else could’ve possibly happened that would’ve explained him not picking her up? Or him not being home? Hell, the very least he should’ve and would’ve done is notifying her of his absence. The bitter taste of disappointment gathered in both of their mouths. Y/N felt tears fall from her eyes, the crushing weight of hurt coming to rest on her shoulders with all its force. He’d forgotten.

“How?” she whimpered.

Harry’s eyes mirrored her pain. She wore a look of pure disappointment and betrayal, which had his heart break into two. He threw the phone onto the pillows next to him where it landed with a soft thud. He raised to his feet, slowly and with every intention to reach her and apologize further, though he didn’t dare moving closer once he noticed her body tense. 

“I... I don’t know how I forgot. I just... I just did.”

“You had me come home to an empty house. After three weeks I return to a home, that looks like it’s been deserted! But the proper shitty things is that I don’t know where you were, what for or why! I was disappointed for less than ten seconds, before I started to worry about you so much it made me crazy! You have been unreachable for over 24 hours, Harry! Do you have any idea what that did to me?” Y/N’s voice quivered and she hated how frantic her shaking hands made her appear, wiping away the salty drops landing on her cheeks. 

Though she hadn’t intended to say exactly that, after talking to Kelsea she now knew where her true anger was coming from. He’d abandoned her. Had left her to worry about him, feel guilty and close to terrified.

“Okay! I get it,” Harry’s voice quivered, too, “I’m sorry.”

“I waited for you! I called you! Texted! And then when you stayed out all night and didn’t show I thought- I thought something had happened to you! You were so fucking inconsiderate!” 

“I know that and I said I’m sorry! I messed up!” 

Harry’s voice seldom raised when in an argument, whether if it was with her or with anyone else. Harry, who had a raspy and deep sounding voice as it was, knew that when raised it sounded far more intimidating than he intended. Consequently, Y/N had rarely heard him shout. In the few situation in which she had, she had flinched, making him stop and apologize to her immediately. However tonight she was too outraged to feel threatened.

Y/N raised her brows and gave a mocking chuckle. “You sure did. You messed up bad.”

Harry sighed, his chest and shoulders slumping under the weight of his guilt. Y/N wiped her eyes one last time before straightening up her posture. All of a sudden it seemed as though her anger had freed her head. Finally, she could see clearly.

“Look, I really don’t want to hear it tonight. Whatever it was that was so... important. This whole thing is big enough for me to not want to be near you right now.”

“Y/N, I swear you don’t-”

“What you did is so unfair, Harry. I understand that you will spend more than half of your life being incredibly busy. And sometimes too busy for the people around you. Accepting and accommodating to that is what I signed up for when I fell in love with you. I respect that you need distance sometimes, I support it when you have to leave. I even go on holiday without you, because I wouldn’t ever ask you to put aside work just because my schedule allows me to do so myself. But I won’t tolerate any of those things if it makes you forget that I exist.”

Harry’s beautiful green eyes, a safe haven for Y/N on any other occasion, were swimming in a pool of regret and guilt. Was this how she had been feeling? Had he really let their relationship become so much work on her part?

“I have been driving myself crazy, trying to figure out why you would avoid me or what reasons you could have to be angry enough to leave! I wondered if I’d forgotten some important even of yours. If I’d done something to upset you. You just... simply forgetting didn’t even cross my mind as a possibility!” 

Y/N shook her head at her own disbelief. Never, ever would she forget her soulmate. How had he so easily?

“I thought you meant it when you told me over and over, every night, that you missed me! That you had been serious when you complained about not being able to join me on my vacation! And now... all this worry and insane guilt I have been battling with since coming home, was for nothing. That you simply forgot, I-” Y/N huffed, chest rising and sinking in a fast pace, “I can’t even find the words to express how sad I am by all of this.”

“Y/N,” he murmured, voice thin and strained, “I’ve missed you like crazy. You know that I meant that.”

She shook her head. “I don’t. How would I? You have been all I could think about, Harry. Every day I was gone I thought of you and being with you! I craved you so much.”

“So did I, I swear-”

“Clearly you didn’t!” Y/N shouted, making her boyfriend flinch, for he, too, wasn’t used to hearing her voice raise, “That’s why you weren’t here, was it? Because you weren’t thinking of me at all! You didn’t care! Just... spare me for tonight, will you? I’ll be upstairs, and I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t join me.”

. . .

It didn’t happen often that Harry didn’t know what to do. Admittedly, more often than not, he had somebody else giving him exact instructions. However most other times he didn’t struggle either. He had a strong sense of what was right, and trusted the feeling he got in his stomach whenever he was faced with making a decision. Tonight, that certainty let him down. His stomach fluttered and ached with guilt, while his head was so full of worries, he couldn’t grasp a proper thought. 

How shitty of a boyfriend have I always been? Will she keep putting up with my absence? She’s going to leave me. 

The last of the one of the three thoughts his brain tormented him with stood out most. It was where his true fear hid, where it cut deep. What would he possibly do, if Y/N decided to leave him for good?

Hesitant and afraid of the answer, Harry unlocked his phone. The first app he went to was their texts. He tried to ignore the burning pain in his heart when he scrolled past all her unanswered texts, begging him to tell her where he was, and up to their last conversation. She’d sent him a photo of a stray cat she’d seen on the unfamiliar streets abroad she’d explored without him. The cat looked thin and neglected, but with Y/N scratching it gently behind its ears, the animal purred. He’d joked about how she was too good of a person, and that she should bring the feline home with her. They’d ended the short exchange with their usual i love you x. His message had been sent seven minutes after hers, even though he hadn’t put his phone down once.

That couldn’t be their last conversation. Harry remembered giving her texts only half of his attention, since he’d been in the middle of a spontaneous meeting when she’d sent the photo. That couldn’t be it. Their last text conversation should be full of love and appreciation. Not a final attempt of Y/N to share some of her holidays with her boyfriend. After that, Harry went to look at his photos. They upset him further, for he noticed that he barely had any new pictures of her. In the last months, all he’d taken photos of was inspirations for songs, his friends at the studio or screenshots of important emails. If someone were to look at his folders, it would seem like he wasn’t in a relationship. 

In his guilt, Harry began to wonder if he knew how to be a boyfriend at all. He wasn’t home when he needed to be, he didn’t text back when he should have, and he didn’t treasure his girlfriend by keeping their memories saved.  He remembered doing all those things right in the beginning. In the first months of dating, he had made sure he was showing his adoration for Y/N every moment they were together. No text went unanswered, not a single missed call wasn’t returned. Why had he stopped? When had he decided that he was done cherishing her? How had he only been who she deserved him to be, before he’d officially asked her to be his girlfriend?

”I have been so unfair,” Harry whispered, choking when more tears fell from his sore eyes. 

Maybe if she left him, at the very least Y/N would find someone who would do better. Someone who made her his priority. The thought nearly killed him, robbed Harry of his breath. Was her leaving him, that ultimate worst case scenario, as unrealistic now, as it had been two months ago? Harry highly doubted it.

. . .

Hearing Harry cry tore at Y/N’s heart. It came close to ripping apart with every choke and sob coming from his throat. Though she’d locked the bedroom door behind her, the walls were thin. They didn’t prevent her from hearing her lover’s despair.  Truth was, Y/N didn’t know how she felt anymore. Looking into Harry’s eyes while throwing all of her accusations at his head, made her heart crack. But didn’t he deserve it? Wasn’t it necessary for both of them to understand where they were? Slowly but surely, Y/N could feel herself grow resentment towards their situation. She didn’t want to make him feel guilty for the demands of his work, she didn’t ever want to stand in his way. But did that mean she would forever be doomed to blindly accept what little time and attention he could spare her with? Would she always have to adapt, accept and be grateful? No. That was not a life she would live.

Though it was really hard not to, Y/N decided not to go back downstairs. She hated knowing she’d upset him so much, but if a night of sharing her pain was what he needed to understand, then she believed it to be fair. Like she had the night before, Y/N pulled her knees up to her chest, making her body smaller. It looked almost sad, compared to how large their mattress was. But sleeping yet another night without her Harry by her side, small and sad was exactly how she felt.

. . .

Y/N hadn’t had much expectations for the next morning. However waking up to the house being, yet again, completely empty, was not it. Briefly she panicked, but then she noticed a small note, one he had romantically left for her to find on the counter of their kitchen.

I love you with all that I am.  I’ve gone to speak to Jeff, though by the time that you read this, I’ll be at the bakery in Notting Hill you like so much, then I’ll be on my way home. Please wait for me, one last time. I promise.  I love you. So much. H. 

The note crumbled lightly as Y/N reread it for the fourth time. She sighed bitterly and tried to ignore the unwilling clench and flutter her heart gave.

“I love that man more than what is good for me.”

She blinked away a fresh wave of tears and brewed herself some coffee. As she opened the fridge, she was surprised with a bowl of fruit and granola, topped with her favourite yoghurt and some honey. Now she had to fight against a smile.  The first night she’d stayed over, right after having slept with him for the first time, Harry had gone down to the kitchen and made her a similar meal. What had then served as their midnight snack had become their usual breakfast. Something they took turns in making for the other in the morning, a lovely ritual for the beginning of their relationship. However now it had been months since she’d last had a breakfast that hadn’t been rushed and made with her own hands.

Just like Harry, Y/N hadn’t noticed how downhill their relationship had gone. Until now, she hadn’t counted the amount of evenings she had spent alone, only to briefly wake up to him climbing into bed beside her. It hadn’t occurred to her before, that she actually couldn’t remember the last time they had gone out together, simply because they had wanted to. Only now, looking at their old and missed tradition, all of the disappointments came to her attention. How could she have missed out on the vanishing of her own relationship?

A sickening feeling at the bottom of her tummy kept her from eating more than a couple spoonfuls. Y/N tried to make sense of her thoughts. She had said most of what she wanted to say last night. Harry had been the one forced to listen then, and Y/N knew that those roles would be reversed today. She wasn’t quite sure if she was ready for that. Though she finally did want to know what had kept him busy and unreachable for 24 hours, Y/N didn’t think she could tolerate another “got caught up writing”-excuse. 

Y/N sat down at their kitchen table, and stayed seated there until the front door opened and Harry returned. She didn’t go up to greet him. She didn’t answer his hesitant shout of hello. Y/N waited for him to see her, and released a sigh when he entered the kitchen, too. Silently, Harry began to cook some water, filled two mugs and added their favourite tea. He didn’t ask and didn’t offer, but simply placed the mug in front of his girlfriend’s hands, before sitting down as well. Between them he placed a paper bag with the name of the bakery he’d mentioned. Neither opened it or paid it much attention, for their eyes had locked and refused to let go.

They studied each other, growing sadder when they noticed the marks their argument had left. Harry, as beautiful as he was, resembled a mess. His hair looked unwashed and tousled, his eyes were red and swollen. The shade of his bottom lip was darker, a sign of his teeth pulling it frequently.  Y/N looked twice as tired as she felt. Her body was tense and smaller, as if the weight of her hurt had shrunk it.

“I’ve got some things to say.” 

Harry’s voice was hoarse. He observed her closely, reading her reaction. After realizing what a letdown he had been, Harry now instinctively traded lighter. If he read any sign in her eyes, he’d sworn to himself to stop his explaining and resume to give her as much space as she needed.

“I’m listening.”

His hands knotted around his mug. When he spoke next, he did so slowly. His brows were pulled together, and Y/N could tell that he concentrated on finding the right words.

“I know that I have been a terrible boyfriend to you. I sent you out to do things on your own, left you and excluded you from my life. Not because I knew you’d be alright by yourself, but because I simply expected you to take what little I gave. I have let the both of us down when I started to be selfish, more often than not.”

He swallowed hard and coughed.

“You have been let down the moment I stopped being your partner. What you said last night, was true. I do expect distance and the freedom to follow my work. But that can’t mean that I do all of that at your expense. It shouldn’t mean that you come second.”

Harry wiped at his eyes. Y/N sniffled herself. Their hands itched to reach out and touch each other, but neither of them allowed it.

“You are the most important person in my life. I have never before c-cared as much about someone that I... And to know that,” he coughed again, this time on a sob, “to know that I failed you is breaking my heart.”

“Harry-”

“No. No, I don’t want your comfort. I don’t deserve it, yet. Not until I tell you that the night you came home, I was with my mom.”

Y/N’s breathing hitched. Harry nodded at her clear surprise. 

“Yeah, I went home to her.. needed to talk. I honestly had the dates all mixed up and didn’t remember that you were coming home that weekend. I thought- I was just going mad, you know? So I went to mom for a couple days. Figured I’d kill the time there until you came back to me. But the fool I am I stayed longer and forgot the days and I’m so, so fucking sorry, Y/N. It was the last straw of a series of fuck ups that I’ve put you through.”

Y/N nodded slowly. Her head spun, but she felt some of the tension leave her shoulders at his honesty. Hearing that he hadn’t forgotten her over his work, but because he’d gone to visit his mother, was some relief. But one thing didn’t add up.

“You texted me that you were excited for me to come home, Harry,” Y/N murmured.

“Because I thought that today was your arrival date. Got it mixed up.”

She wiped her palms across her cheeks. Harry did the same, before hesitantly offering his hand to her. Y/N briefly didn’t know if she wanted to hold it or not, but finally interlaced their fingers together. Their hands felt damp from wiping away tears. 

“Harry, you know that I love you. So much. But I just.. I thought about it and I... I f-fear that we’ve become two people that I don’t want us to b-be.”

“Me, too.”

“I don’t want to feel like I’m second best anymore, you know?” Y/N began to sob, the wall she’d built finally breaking, “I put you first all the time, and you don’t do the same! I don’t expect you to always have time for me but... yesterday it felt like I was finally confronted with a long existing truth I just hadn’t seen before.”

“That we’re not really in a relationship anymore?”

Y/N nodded. “Y-Yes.”

“I get that,” Harry tried to blink away his own tears but failed, “Somewhere along the lines I- I let us lose each other. Feels like we’ve been living beside each other, not with each other.”

“Yeah, kinda.”

“Which is so strange, given how enamoured we are. Reckon it happened shortly after moving in together. Which is why I went to talk to Jeff and he said-”

“I don’t want you to go live with him, Harry,” Y/N interrupted. Cold fear ran through her veins and more tears leaked. Did he want to move out? Leave her? 

Harry managed a small smile. “S’not what I’m proposing. I went to tell him to lay off a little. Pushed the release date of my album back, cancelled some appearances, photo shootings and that interview I had planned with-”

“Harry!”

“We’re not going to continue shooting the music video until next month-”

“Harry, you-”

“Because I have been so fucking stressed and busy. All the damn time, I’m so fucking busy. I haven’t had a moment of peace for weeks, Y/N. It drove me to missing out on a vacation with my girlfriend. I had to go to my mom to have her comfort me like she did when I was a child! And I fucking forgot when my girlfriend came home, even though it’s all I’ve been waiting for since the moment she left! I may have known how to cope with so much stress when I was new to it, but right now I’m so.. overwhelmed. And the people I love most suffer with me. I make my loved ones hurt.”

A strong squeeze of his fingers let him fall silent. Y/N’s thumb drew over his knuckles, feeling their roughness. 

“You’re the kindest man. My entire heart.”

Harry gave a grateful smile. It didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“You set yourself up to be overwhelmed. You with your incapability of saying no,” Y/N laughed lightly, “I need to learn when to say no, myself. Until now I never told you how let down I felt.”

“But you shouldn’t have to. I should have some mind of myself... I won’t keep asking the world of you, I swear it. From now on, you will never feel second best, ever again. Because you never were, you were always the force that drove me to be the best person I can be... even when I’ve been a failure lately. But it ends right now and I’ll be better. You’re my heart, you’re my love. I want to show that to you, Y/N... that is, if you aren’t fed up with me yet.”

“Never,” Y/N whispered, the word holding all of the certainty she’d feared she’d lost, “I could never give up on you, Harry. You’re most important to me, you’ve always been.”

His fingers tightened around hers. Her words filled him with so much joy. Then guilt, for he hadn’t sat down to be the one who was comforted. 

“Your generosity and love is more than I deserve,” he said lowly, “and I can’t put into words how grateful I am. Always have been, even when I’m shit at showing it... You are more than I ever hoped for myself to find in a person.”

More tears fell from his eyes. Hers, too. He hesitated, but the look on her face encouraged him and so het got up, walked around the table and wrapped his lover into his embrace. Y/N fisted his hair with one hand, the other held onto his shirt. Wet tears stained his neck.

“I will never let myself disappoint you again, Y/N,” Harry attempted to shush her sobs, “I love you. I’m so, so scared of ever losing you.”

“I’m a-afraid of that, too. Got pretty d-damn close, didn’t w-we?”

He nodded and pushed his face closer into her shoulder. “M’so stupid.”

Y/N breathed in his scent and basked in the feeling of his skin against hers. She’d missed him. She’d missed him while away, and far more during those dreadful past hours of uncertainty.

“If you promise,” she began, her voice quivering, “that this was the final and last time that you.. let me d-down...then-”

“It was.”

Y/N laughed weakly, “Then we’ll find a way to be okay. I’ll be alright.”

Harry cried harder and hoisted Y/N up to hold her tighter against his body. “Yeah? You can forgive m-me?”

“If you swear to me, that this was the last time that you left me feeling alone,” she said quietly against the shell of his ear, “If this never happens again. E-ever-”

“I swear it,” he cried, his smile pressing against her cheek, “I swear it on everything I have.”

“Then I can begin to forgive y-you, Harry.”

Y/N felt as relieved by her own words as he did. She hadn’t been sure if she could say and truly mean them. But she did. To her relief, promising him a second chance felt right. With a fluttering heart, she slung both arms around his neck and smiled when his lips searched her face. They brushed her cheek, her chin and finally found her own. Harry kissed them gently, hesitant and grateful, for he had feared he wouldn’t be allowed to kiss her, ever again. All night he had cried with dread and fear, as the thought of her leaving him had clouded his mind. He had believed them to be lost, not more than an hour ago. Now he had Y/N in his arms and her mouth kissing him back, with more certainty and love than he deserved.  Upon pulling apart, Harry brushed the remaining tears off her cheeks. He leaned in and rubbed their noses together, delighted to hear her melodic giggle. 

“Change starts r-right n-now,” he whispered, mouth meeting hers another time. Then he reached behind her and for the paper bag. Y/N’s eyes light up. 

“We used to get each other little treats like these all the time,” he said, voice laced with sadness as he recalled how long ago that was, “and I thought it’s been a while.”

“Harry, oh love,” she sighed, stood on her toes and kissed his cheek. 

And when he kissed her again, before letting go to prepare a plate for the little cakes he’d bought, Y/N released a happy sigh. Her chest was so full, and she couldn’t help reach out and touch his back. Harry groaned, Y/N giggled again. Buying the tiny treats was a small gesture, but it reminded her of a better time. She felt silly and happy, because the small pastries gave her hope that those good times would return.  

. . .

my stories

[chxnyeol]

Bittersweet (Johnny Imagine)

Pairing: Reader x Johnny

Genre: Angst? It’s sad.

Summary: Johnny facetimes you the night of episode 10 of Johnny’s Communication Center, after everyone has gone to sleep. He tells you that he’s tired from showing Doyoung and Mark around his hometown; but, you know something else is going on, He takes you for a trip down his memories with him, sharing a vulnerable moment with you and causing your heart to ache for him.

Word Count: 1.8k

A/N: This has been sitting in my unfinished folder ever since that episode of JCC was posted- honestly, I love Johnny so much and, while it was a really fun episode to watch, I found it a little difficult to watch, too. The reality of his career and how it’s kept him away from his family, who you can tell loves him very much, really hits in that episode. As someone who’s been away from my family for a long time, too, and doesn’t get a chance to see them very often at all (it’s literally been years since I’ve seen my mother and brother and I’ve gone years without seeing my dad until recently), his mannerisms and expressions at certain times really struck a relatable chord with me. I felt for my bb. Knowing that you’ll, eventually, have to say goodbye is the hardest part of finally getting to see the people you miss again, and it can make special or happy moments with them a little bittersweet. It’s easy to get caught up in those feelings in the slow moments and it hurts, ya’know? Of course, I don’t know Johnny personally and I only have an outsider’s perspective looking in- but, I dunno, I just found solidarity with him in the moments he shared with us. I hope that, in the future, he gets to go home more often and be happy around his family more. Boy is sunshine and only deserves sunshine in his life. Anyway, onto the sad! Hope you guys enjoy.

  “Look- here are a wild Mark and Doyoung sleeping,” the image on your phone screen faltered for a second and then blurred, changing from the face of the man that had occupied it to the dark, blanketed forms on the ground. You cooed softly at the sight of your sleeping friends. “We were supposed to stay up, but they couldn’t hang,” the whispered voice crooned softly, a soft chuckle and tap tap sounding before Johnny’s face showed up again, illuminated by the backlight of his screen. You smiled softly at him and he smiled tiredly back, though his smile was small and strained. You both gazed at each other in silence for a long while before he sighed, reaching up to brush a finger along the side of his phone, as if brushing your hair behind your ear like he loved to do. “I miss you.”

“I miss you, too.” Though it was daytime where you were, you still spoke softly, matching the tone of his nighttime there in the States. “Do you want to tell me what’s wrong?” With the question, you tilted you head at him, and he looked away for a moment, focusing instead on the form of his sleeping friends. He was sitting up in his childhood bed, dark except for the light from his phone as he facetimed you, and he had been going on and on about how excited he was to be able to go back home, back to Chicago, during the leg of their North American tour- what he couldn’t wait to see again, what he was excited to show the rest of the boys with him, how he missed his mom’s cooking. Each time he brought it up, it ended up with you both grinning broadly- him due to his expectations and you out of admiration for him, his infectious giddiness easily spreading to you. Now, however, he seemed.. off. Drained. Melancholy. Unlike him.

You’d thought the screen had frozen when a long moment passed without movement from his side; but, suddenly he shifted, quietly getting off of his bed and picking his way across his room. “Here, let me show you around,” he hummed, instead of answering your question. His voice was heavier than you’d ever heard it, in the three years you’d known each other and grown close; normally, it was lilted with a barely contained laugh, but tonight it was deep, introspective, serious. Though he said that he was just tired but unable to sleep earlier, you knew better than that. You knew him better than that. Generally light-hearted and silly, something was weighing at his mind, and it bothered you some that he didn’t want to talk about it, but you knew not to prod and that he’d come about it on his own- would talk to you about it if he needed. Still, you wished you could reach through the phone and draw him to you, hold him close and peek up at him with silly faces until he giggled like he liked to do to you when you were upset. Your chest was heavy for him.

He crept through the house on tip-toes, and you watched as the scenery behind him changed, as he closed his door quietly and picked his way down the hallway, avoiding the places where he knew the floor would creak. It was as if he never left, the ghosts of his memories leading his footfalls naturally. You watched as he ran his fingers along the walls, stopped at some of the pictures to rest his gaze on them for fleeting moments before continuing on, seeming to forget he was meant to be showing you about as he slowed his pace and took everything in for himself. You didn’t mind one bit. He was crossing past a doorway before he stopped suddenly, staring at the closed door with a faraway look in his eyes, and understanding began to dawn on you slowly. You didn’t disturb him as it did.

He was moving again and, finally, he seemed to reach his destination. You got to gaze at the ceiling as he set his phone down, something you would normally tease about, but decided not to with the atmosphere of his night, opting to remain a quiet spectator to his vigil. Muffled shuffling sounds traveling over to you as he moved some things around off-screen and, finally, he was back, his brows knitted together and a sad curve to his lips as he settled onto the sofa, then set up his phone so it stood up and you could see him clearly.

His broad shoulders seemed so heavy, and you wished you could place your hands on them, work out the tension, chase off his worries. As he settled himself comfortably on the sofa, crossing his legs up on the fabric and placing something down in his lap, you two continued to sit in silence. His gaze was trained on the object- a book, you thought, though you could just barely make it out because he hadn’t yet turned a light on. Moonlight spilled from the glass doors nearby, but they only barely illuminated his outline, making him look smaller, somehow, and casting shadows on his features that only made him seem all the more forlorn. Your brows began to furrow, wishing you could pull him back from whatever darkness was clearly grasping for him, but you found your throat dry and your tongue feeling heavy and clumsy- what was there to say, really? What solace could you give to comfort him in his homesickness? You felt troubled because you knew that he was, realized what the heaviness on his heart was, and that both of you were beyond control of really doing anything about it- it was unfair to him and, while not news by any means, seeing how it affected him so changed everything.

Finally, Johnny looked up and, seeing the frown on your features, he offered up one of his signature smiles, all of the gloominess that was there a moment ago melting off and disappearing as if it was never truly there. You realized another thing about him, in that moment- that he was amazing at doing that, hiding his pain, trained to call up a smile in order to prompt one to appear in earnest on another’s face. Though you didn’t like the sorrow he was feeling, thinking it was completely out of place for him, didn’t belong on his features, and that nobody so bright as him should ever seem to feel so dim and sullen; you shook your head at him, your frown only deepening. Finally, you broke the silence. “Don’t do that, Johnny,” you chastised, voice unusually soft, “you don’t have to pretend you aren’t upset for me. You’re leaving tomorrow, right? That’s what it is?” When he didn’t answer, his smile and gaze falling again, you felt your heart quiver for him once more. “It’s okay to miss your home and your family, silly. It’s okay to feel sad about it, and you need to allow yourself to do so.”

Again, you two fell into silence, and Johnny fiddled with the edge of the book in his lap, his gaze away from you once more as he concentrated on his task, keeping himself anchored. Again, you refused to interrupt him as you watched the thoughts and emotions flood over what parts of his face you could still see. You watched as his brows furrowed deeper than yours, his nose wrinkled, his lips slipped between his teeth for him to bite down on. Slowly, he began to lower his head down, bending until his forehead touched the book in his lap, and he remained like this, seemingly completely still, until you noticed the tremble of his shoulders, the gentle shake of his body. A single, muffled sob shattered the silence and your heart; and, suddenly, he shot back up, the smile back on his face, though his eyes were squeezed shut now, clearly willing his tears back.

He lifted the book from his lap and opened it up, turning it away from him so the pages could face you. After taking a moment to try and collect himself, Johnny leaned forward, opening his eyes now to look at you, then down at the first page he’d opened. With the close proximity, you could see there were tears threatening to brim over on his eyes, glistening under the moonlight, though his smile still remained; soft, melancholic, regretful. “Look. My mom made this for me. If I didn’t understand how much she loved me, I’d think she made it just to embarrass me in front of the guys.” His voice was laden with the sobs he refused to let out, sounding the most sorrowful you think you’d ever heard anyone sound, and you felt a sting begin to stir in your gaze as well, though you willed it away. This was not your moment- this was his moment to mourn, and you didn’t want him to worry about you. You nodded at him, just slightly, encouraging him to go on, and he let out a choked chuckle, before beginning to point from picture to picture in the photo album he held out, sharing each story behind them for you. He told you everything about them that made him feel good, the moments that he laughed and some that he hated. He sounded off the names of each person in each picture, how important they were to him and how much he missed them now- how he wished he’d appreciated the moments he’d had with them more, then, and how he ought to tell them so, now. His tears fell freely as he moved through his memories, sharing them with you delicately, releasing his nostalgia and homesickness for the moments, family, and home frozen in them.

[vhenadahls]

story time for hadas and zufit! :D

Thank you!

Hadas:

27. What’s their family like? Who’s in it? What’s their relationship with them?

My little quarian family! Hadas has two primary partners - Radha’Lemaas vas Neema nar Geyav and Karis’Hinat vas Neema nar Yudir - and one daughter, Zufit’Nereh nar Neema. They’re all very close, as quarian families tend to be. Hadas and Zufit haven’t always gotten along the best, because they’re very different people, but things have mellowed out more recently. 

I haven’t thought much about Hadas’s relationship with her own parents, but I imagine they also are/were pretty close. She’s very much a family person, even if sometimes also being a political person can eclipse that. 

28. Are they literate? Did they go to school? How long? What level? 

She is indeed highly literate, as quarians tend to be. I imagine quarians probably all have something like public education until the equivalent of community college? And then they go on Pilgrimage, and possibly those who are looking at specialized careers would have more schooling on their new ships. Hadas is a political science person, so that probably also included something like an internship with the ship’s council or the Conclave. So basically - education approximately equal to a bachelor’s or maybe master’s degree, I think. 

29. What was childhood like?

The main thing I know is that she and Han’Gerrel are from the same birth ship, so he’s been a thorn in her side literally her whole life. He’s loud and obnoxious and kind of steals the spotlight, and she’s an extroverted politicking type who wanted to be noticed. 

30. What was adolescence like?

She started realizing she’s polyamorous, and had a few short-term relationships and one or two primary partners. This is also when she decided that she wanted to be part of making big decisions, and started trying to cozy up to people who were on the Inbal’s council or knew people on the Conclave and the like. 

31. What’s their current main conflict?

Oh, this super depends on what part of her story I’m thinking about. When Karis passes away, it’s dealing with her own grief as well as Radha’s and Zufit’s, and learning how to not lash out because Zufit’s grief seems to push all her buttons. If it’s right when Zufit’s gone on Pilgrimage and Tali has returned, it’s worrying about Zufit being okay out in the big wide galaxy and also about being an effective mentor to Tali. If it’s during Tali’s trial, it’s dealing with knowing her mentee is falsely accused and no one’s listening to her (and also dealing with agreeing with Admiral Han’Gerrel for the first time in her life). 

Other times, it’s the general stress of being on the ship’s council, and of constantly butting heads with said Admiral. 

32. What steps have they taken to overcome this conflict?

The grief was mostly time, and accepting that not everyone was going to process things the same way she did (and also realizing that “throw yourself into work” is kinda also what Zufit did, it’s just very different work from Hadas’s). Worry about Zufit and Tali was also time. But Tali’s trial was definitely using her politicking skills to try and persuade the crowd to side with Tali, helping Shepard where she could, and swallowing her disdain for everything Han’Gerrel has ever said. 

33. How have they changed over time?

She’s kind of mellowed out a lot since having a family and really learning how to be good to them. She’s still a politician, but it doesn’t come home as often as it used to. Zufit being so different from her (on the surface) really pushed her to figure out how to put her own thoughts aside and really listen to what other people need. 

Zufit:

27. What’s their family like? Who’s in it? What’s their relationship with them?

Three parents (Hadas, Radha, and Karis), no siblings. She’s always been closest to Karis because she was like his mini-me, always interested in tinkering and engineering just like him. As she gets older she gets closer to Radha and then to Hadas as well, tightly knit little family. 

28. Are they literate? Did they go to school? How long? What level? 

Also highly literate, as quarians tend to be. Enjoys numbers more than words. Also had the standard quarian before-Pilgrimage education, and when I think about her life after Pilgrimage it will probably also include some more schooling because engineering. 

29. What was childhood like?

A very up-and-down sort of childhood. Her parents love her deeply and very much wanted what was best for her, and pushed for that always. But Zufit is pretty intense and sensitive, especially emotionally, and she didn’t always get along super well with other kids her age. She didn’t have many friends for a while, until they started finding better niches for her personality and skills and things got a little better. 

She’s also got some sensory sensitivities, and trying to learn how to best accommodate those in crowded quarian spaces was sometimes difficult. 

Her favorite thing to do as a kid was to take stuff around the apartment apart with Karis, which drove Hadas a little nuts. It tapered off as she got to do more exciting projects in school and wasn’t as bored. 

30. What was adolescence like?

The beginning of her adolescence was pretty similar to her childhood, with the addition of a few more friends. But then Karis passed away when she was the equivalent of 16 human years old, which was a huge shift for her. She really struggled to stay engaged with her moms once her dad was gone, and went back to dismantling a lot of stuff in the apartment because it reminded her of her dad. She and Hadas got in a lot of fights, until Radha finally intervened and tried to explain that their methods of grief just looked different. 

Once Hadas realized something needed to change, she and Radha both worked hard to make sure they were supporting Zufit the way she needed and such. Things have gotten a lot better for all of them, now. 

31. What’s their current main conflict?

Also depends on what I’m writing about :P definitely her dad’s death was a big one. At the time of the current story I’m working on, she’s on Pilgrimage on Illium, and she’s trying to navigate being alone without her parents for the first time and also navigating such a different place. 

32. What steps have they taken to overcome this conflict?

The grief was mostly time. Illium has been finding places that she feels more comfortable. I have thoughts about her taking part in an “exotic dance” show or something, because she loves to dance, so we’ll see where that goes. 

33. How have they changed over time?

Zufit’s gotten better at managing her own emotions and sensitivities, and at understanding what she’s actually looking for out of life. She’s still not great at it, because she’s in the equivalent of her early twenties, but still. Lots of her has remained fairly the same - still introverted, still a tinkerer, still easily overwhelmed, etc. 

[letterboxd]

The Last Artists.

“From the outside it seems like this dream scenario… but the truth is it took years working on drafts and wondering if anyone would ever read them.” —Joe Talbot on The Last Black Man in San Francisco.

A love story to San Francisco, to one grand Victorian house in particular, and to a life-long friendship, The Last Black Man in San Francisco was many years in the making. And it paid off: Joe Talbot picked up the Best Director prize at Sundance 2019 for his debut feature, a story drawn from the life of his best friend (and the film’s leading man), Jimmie Fails. A close-knit family of creatives grew around the project, and became a vital support system for Talbot when his father had a stroke just weeks before the shoot. Since January, critical accolades for the film have snowballed. Most recently, it appeared in our ten highest-rated features for the first half of 2019.

Letterboxd reporter Jack Moulton took the opportunity for a lengthy chat with Talbot about his remarkable debut feature. The interview contains a virtual masterclass in first-time feature film development (and the persistence required to see it through), along with some never-before-seen images shared exclusively with us by Joe. Also: some plot spoilers, which we’ve left until the very end.

Joe Talbot and Jimmie Fails in 2014, photographed by Talbot’s brother, Nat Talbot.

Thanks for agreeing to a good chat with us. Are you on Letterboxd? We have our suspicions that you might be. Joe Talbot: Yeah. I love it. I found Letterboxd before we shot the movie. I use it to save movies to watch for later and look up movies people recommend. Occasionally I read the reviews of films I’ve just watched, they’re often really thoughtful.

Can we share your username? You could be the next Sean Baker. The one I have right now is more of a lurking profile so it’s not very formal. I made one that’s a little more presentable for you under my name.

Are you in San Francisco right now? I am. If you can hear my heavy breathing, I’m actually walking up one of the steeper hills that Jimmie and Montgomery crest in the movie and see the skyline. That’s what I do for every interview, I like to walk up the hill to put me in the film. Just kidding, this is the first time I’ve done it. I’m just walking with a friend and we’re about two thirds of the way up. Woo!

We’ve just published our halfway top 10 of the year. The Last Black Man in San Francisco is in second place, between Avengers: Endgame and Booksmart. How does this make you feel, and how do you cope with reviews (whether they’re full of praise or criticism)? Wow, that means a lot. I find the reviews informative, though have to admit I don’t read too many of them. In general, it’s great to know that there are people that love movies enough to get into debates and write passionately, either about how much they loved them or didn’t like them at all. Having platforms like Letterboxd and finding those communities online can be really great, even if they’re not made up of people in your city.

Given that the film has relatively low stakes—it’s not life or death, it’s house or no-house—what gave you confidence that audiences would connect to Jimmie’s story? I don’t know if we were ever confident. You never fully know. You hope that if you share something that has meaning to you then it will have meaning to others. That was our guiding light.

We finished the movie four days before the Sundance screening, so that was the first time watching it with any audience. I looked over at [Plan B producer] Jeremy Kleiner when the movie ended; he said “the tweets are good”. I looked around and realized the whole audience were on their phone as soon as the credits rolled.

I only had a short film play at Sundance before [American Paradise in 2017, also starring Jimmie Fails] so I didn’t realize part of our culture now is the need to immediately respond to something—but luckily they were nice. It will be much more anxiety-inducing going into my next feature now that I know how all this works.

We wanted to make something that captured the San Francisco that we grew up in and feel very strongly about. We’ve travelled to Chicago, DC, New York, LA, and Atlanta with the film and I was surprised to see how much people were connecting to it. In a way, Jimmie and I say it is unfortunately universal because it means the same things are happening everywhere.

This idea has lived with you and Jimmie for a long time. Can you talk us through the journey of the film? We’ve been informally talking about it for at least seven years and it’s gone through so many incarnations. We always envisioned it as the first feature that Jimmie and I would make after many years of making short films together. This story felt big enough in scope and there was a lot that we wanted to cover.

We wanted to tell a story about Jimmie and this Victorian home he once lived in and make it a valentine to the San Francisco we grew up in, that we see as being lost. We also wanted to celebrate all the wonderful people who are here that make this city what it is. That’s a big part of what we are afraid of losing: the very people that make San Francisco ‘San Francisco’.

An alternative poster for the film, illustrated by Akiko Stehrenberger.

We both lived with my parents for five years—we ran our operation out of the living room there. The first thing we did was shoot a concept trailer for Vimeo. It was a five-minute piece of Jimmie skating through the city telling his grandfather’s story, much like the [feature’s] opening sequence, though I filmed it hanging out of the side of my brother’s car.

Afterwards we got emails from people saying they wanted to help; they would become our core collaborators on the film. Khaliah Neal, Rob Richert, Luis Alfonso de la Parra, Natalie Teter, Sydney Lowe, Prentice Sanders, Fritzi Adelman, Laila Bahman and Ryan Doubiago. They spent years with us, hashing out the script over my parents’ kitchen table and working with us to create a look-book, run an ambitious Kickstarter campaign, write grant proposals and so on.

We felt like these oddballs—the last artists in San Francisco. You get a lot of noes along the way, having never made a movie before, so it was the emotional support that helped us persist through the difficult times. We were excited to be learning together, as a group of mostly first-timers, and were constantly making things.

Our look-book was very elaborate, thanks to our stills photographer Laila Bahman. We built it as a website and staged the scenes as if we were filming the movie, with costumes and heavy art direction. We knew people we pitched were probably seeing materials from other filmmakers who were further in their careers and probably better writers than us. We knew we needed to show the world of the movie so that executives’ imaginations wouldn’t be running off with thoughts of Michael B. Jordan or Donald Glover; that this is Jimmie and this is the plaid shirt we want him in and this is his Victorian. It’s his story.

That helped us get into the Screenwriter’s Lab at Sundance, but I didn’t get into the Director’s Lab, which I was initially bummed about because I really needed that experience. Our Kickstarter was very successful and those backers created a grassroots ground-swelling around the movie that pushed it forward, even though it was difficult in pitch meetings as we weren’t the most bankable pair in such a risk-averse industry.

In a last-ditch effort, my crew and I decided to do our own Director’s Lab instead. We felt if it doesn’t work now then that might be it for Last Black Man. I’d never made a proper short with a budget before but a producer named Tamir Muhammad, who had a short-lived venture within Time Warner called OneFifty, gave us the money to make what would become American Paradise. It gave the crew a chance to get in the trenches together before moving on to a feature, and show the potential of what we could do.

The team who’d assembled from our concept trailer years before all worked on American Paradise, from Khaliah Neal, Rob Richert and Luis Alfonso down the line. We worked with production designer Jona Tochet and even the sound team of Sage and Corinne (who would all go on to work on Last Black Man). In a city increasingly devoid of artists, we felt we’d found our people.

The short was different from Last Black Man, but features Jimmie playing the same character. After it played in Sundance it got the attention of Plan B’s Christina Oh. They took a big leap of faith on us, only having ever made that short. There’s not a lot of people willing to do that.

Khaliah, Christina and Jeremy approached A24 and we were in production two months later. From the outside it seems like this dream scenario of having the incredible indie studios Plan B and A24 behind us, but the truth is it took years working on drafts and wondering if anyone would ever read them. I think the extra time we had helped, because if we had the chance to make it two or three years ago, I don’t think we would have been ready.

Jimmie Fails and the creative team behind ‘The Last Black Man in San Francisco’ at the 2019 Sundance Film Festival. / Photo: Sue Peri

What was the first movie you made with Jimmie when you were teenagers? The first half-decent thing we made was a movie that my brother and I co-directed called Last Stop Livermore. I am actually in it alongside Jimmie and that was my first and only time in front of the camera. I learned my place pretty early on.

Didn’t you have a cameo in Last Black Man? I swear I saw you. I did have a cameo. As long as I’m not speaking, I’m okay. But even then when I just had to look at Jimmie once it was very difficult for me to do. I needed four takes for that shot, ha ha. I’m much more comfortable on the other side.

Jimmie, however, was really good in [Last Stop Livermore]. We made it while I was in high school before I dropped out, and it got into the San Francisco International Film Festival. Like everything we do, it’s based on something that happened in real life when a friend and I felt like we were fish out of water, going off to meet some girls in the suburbs.

That attention the film got, however minor, encouraged us because until that point only our family, friends and my high school teacher had seen our movies. Oh and Jimmie still had a flat-top—just thought I should add.

The film features the most important house of the year [Editor’s note: at least until the rest of the world sees the Parasite house, designed by the great Namgoong]. How did you find Jimmie’s house and what made it the house? It took us over a year and a half to find the house. We combed the streets with my co-producer Luis Alfonso de la Parra and production designer Jona Tochet and knocked on doors. In hindsight, a more efficient way would have been to use Google Maps but this way we could see inside the houses.

Unfortunately, the interiors would usually be gutted and have IKEA furniture and granite table tops. As a filmmaker, it was depressing, but as a native San Franciscan it was heartbreaking because the details inside all these beautiful houses were destroyed. It’s a thing that a lot of real estate agents do when they flip houses.

We ended up going back to a house that I had driven past as a kid on my way to elementary school. My mom, my brother and I would pick out our dream Victorian houses on our family car ride since we couldn't afford a proper one. I went back to one of the houses that had always stuck with me. After we found that house, it felt like we had cast a major character in the movie.

When we first knocked on the door of the house that would become Jimmie's home in the film, an older gentlemen greeted us and within seconds beckoned us inside. As we entered, we found a home that had not been gutted, but instead had been lovingly restored. Jim, the homeowner, much like Jimmie, the actor, had spent more than half of his life working on the house.

He carved the witch hat you see in the movie shingle by shingle and did the honor of putting it on the roof himself. He fixed the organs you see in the film and built Pope's hole in the library. In many ways, he felt like the spirit of San Francisco.

As a now elderly man, we would have understood him declining our wants to film there -- or charging a buttload to help him in his retirement. Instead he welcomed our big crew into his house and charged us next to nothing. I still don't fully know why, but I can imagine he saw shades of himself in Jimmie's love for this Victorian.

In the years we spent location scouting, we would also meet people on the street that we put in the movie. Dakecia Chappell was working at a Whole Foods in the confectionery section, near a ‘potential Jimmie’s house’ around the corner and she was just really charming, so I offered her the ‘Candy Lady’ part in the film. We met the mover who tells Jimmie the homeowners are moving out late one night at a taqueria on Mission Street. This extra time allowed us to capture the little details of what our San Francisco is like.

Even after your major backing from Plan B and A24, was there a point on set where it felt like everything was falling apart? I’m sure there are directors that aren’t plagued by the self-doubt I had. I didn’t go to film school and I felt isolated in San Francisco since a lot of the filmmakers have left for Los Angeles or New York. I was feeling this imposter syndrome. You’re both really joyous and grateful that you finally have a chance to make a movie, but also feel the weight of the city and wanting to honor what’s happening to people there. In every stage you have big and little freak-outs. The only thing that got me through it were the people around me. They bring perspective when you might not have it.

A couple of months before we shot the film my dad had a stroke. He survived, thankfully, and he would say half-jokingly “I survived to see the movie”. My parents struggled as artists themselves in their lives and yet they created this loving home that allowed us to make the movie. I look up to my Dad a lot, so when that happened that was really scary, and it happened during the height of the pandemonium of prep.

By that point our creative collaborators felt like family and they did everything for us. They came over to my house, brought us food, did as much as they could to take work off my plate so I could be with my own family. That always sticks with me when I remember tough times. You could say it’s just a job, but they treated it like so much more. So while it sounds corny, I think the spirit which comes with people being so loving and kind becomes imbued in the film.

Very glad to hear your dad is okay. The scenes with Jimmie’s parents are so powerful; you really get a greater sense of his isolation. It’s amazing his mom agreed to be in the film as a fictionalized version of herself. How did you and Jimmie sketch those scenes? The scene with his mom is loosely based on something that happened. Jimmie was raised mostly by his dad and he’s very close to his parents now in a way that’s very different from the relationship that he had with them growing up. He and his dad have worked through a lot.

Jimmie Fails as Jimmie. This and the header photo are by Laila Bahman.

It’s hard to pack in all the complex details that makes someone who they are because you don’t have enough screen time to do that sometimes. These elements were pulled from the walks we’d take during the earliest developments when the idea was more informal and we’d talk about Jimmie’s family.

One story that Jimmie always recalled both humorously but also quite painfully was about the guy who had driven off in the car that he and his dad were living in at the time. We thought it would be funny if there was a character who never acknowledged that he’d stolen the car but claimed that he was still borrowing it. We knew Mike Epps would be the perfect person for that. It was a story that came from a kernel of truth but took on a life of its own.

Why was Jimmie’s dad pirating The Patriot, of all movies? The tonal juxtaposition made us laugh. Ha ha, it was in the public domain.

We loved the score. What are some of the soundtracks that inspired you while making the film? The Last of the Mohicans, The Day of the Dolphin, The Claim, Batman (and also the animated TV show’s score actually rivals Elfman’s), and Far From the Madding Crowd.

You’ve spoken in another interview about how you and Jimmie fear friendships like yours aren’t possible with the type of gentrification that’s going on. However, nowadays you can meet some of the important people in your life over the internet. Could the bonds we make online compensate for what’s being lost on the streets? I think the internet is a double-edged sword. It both brings people together that you could never have met, such as how many of our closest collaborators first found our concept trailer online. But I do fear it also plays a part in people developing shallower, less intimate connections. I have friends who I love who will go to events seemingly just to get a good Instagram photo out of it. I’m sure I’ve suffered from similar instincts. That scares me.

Montgomery adds so much tenderness and insight to the film. Given he’s Jimmie’s best friend and he’s also an artist, is he your avatar in the movie? How did the casting of Jonathan Majors inform the development of his character? Montgomery is actually not based on me. Jimmie and I have a friend from the Bay named Prentice Sanders who is one of the more original people we’ve ever met. His spirit influenced the first shades of the character. When Jon came on he took those early sketchings to a whole new level, creating his own backstory, mannerisms, and interests.

On the vanity in his room, Jon decided to put up Tennessee Williams, August Wilson, Barbara Stanwyck, Canada Lee, Richard Wright and Ralph Ellison as inspiration. He had a hand in every little detail. In fact, Jon and Jimmie became very close in real life. They still talk nearly every day.

Warning: the last section of the interview contains spoilers, including for the endings of both ‘Last Black Man’ and ‘Ghost World’. This is your last chance to back out…

How do you direct Jimmie? I imagine you can read each other’s minds at this point. Yeah, there is a weird unspoken connection between us, as we grew up together. Knowing each other for so long allowed us to be vulnerable around each other. As a director, inevitably there are days on set that are stressful, scary, and tense, so being able to go for a walk around the block together to recalibrate and feel present was helpful.

This film asked something much different than anything we had done before. We’d never written a feature script and most of our shorts were ad-libbed. Honestly, everyone broke their backs to make this. Cinematographer Adam Newport-Berra was a hero. Nobody phoned it in.

But more than anybody, we asked the most of Jimmie. There’s a scene where he’s across from his real mother and the bravery from both of them to do that set a tone that everyone on set sought to honor.

Joe Talbot and Jimmie Fails on the set of ‘The Last Black Man in San Francisco’. Photo by the film’s cinematographer Adam Newport-Berra.

Your collaboration with Jimmie has been so strong for such a long time. Is it a relief for you or maybe a sadness that this phase with him is nearly over? It doesn’t feel like it’s over yet, but I’m sure when it does there will be a little bit of sadness. The movie continues to sell out theaters on a Wednesday afternoon in San Francisco and opened in the little neighborhood theaters that indies barely make it into and it's playing alongside Toy Story. There’s a feeling in the city now that’s hopeful.

It’s been wonderful to witness because I feel like we’ve been working through our feelings about San Francisco in making the movie, and in some ways Jimmie leaving at the end feels a bit like us, how perhaps we can’t be here anymore. I’ve only ever lived in San Francisco my entire life but maybe it is time to go somewhere else.

However, in putting the movie out there I’ve seen so many more natives that feel like people I grew up with 15-20 years ago. People who I thought had been lost but are still out there, fighting to exist somehow through all the changes. I feel like part of me is falling back in love with San Francisco again and I think that feeling is going to go on for a long time.

A lot of people are contacting us saying that they left the theater and they just started writing their own scripts, or writing poetry, or sending us paintings that were inspired by the movie. In a city that is increasingly difficult to exist in as an artist and not always inspiring, this always means something to us.

On the film’s ending: to you, where is Jimmie going? Jimmie is going to start his legacy somewhere else—to fully be himself and start anew, following the footsteps of his grandfather. And it’s more fun to shoot it that way than have him ride away on a BART train.

One interpretation of the ending we’ve heard is that it was all in Mont’s head, and in “reality” it ended on a more tragic note. So some viewers felt it as hopeless, but you in fact intended it to be more hopeful? I think we wanted to leave it open to interpretation. I talked to Thora Birch [who has a small role in Last Black Man] about the ending of Ghost World, because that always left an impression on me. I interpreted it as a suicide when I saw it as a teenager and she had told me that she felt that way about it too, but there are also people who thought she was going off to art school. I feel our ending works in the same way.

I don’t see any interpretation of it as invalid, but what your relationship is to your city affects what you bring to it. Either way it’s a bittersweet ending, because it is a loss for Jimmie and Mont’s friendship, and for the city. Like, San Francisco doesn’t deserve him anymore.

Discover the films that inspired the look and feel of ‘The Last Black Man in San Francisco’.

[neetu-uplifts]

Learning from Death

July hit my family like a storm. We experienced some highs and some major lows. We lost my Aunt in early July. She had been sick for a while, in and out of the hospital, but we were hopeful that she would recover. God however had other plans. Shortly after, my 105-year old Grandmother broke her pelvic bone and was hospitalized. Emotions were high as everyone prayed for her recovery - she is such a fighter (and thankfully returned home just yesterday). A few weeks later, we came together in strength and good spirits to celebrate a close family wedding. The wedding was the uplift our family needed but it didn’t last long. 10 days after the wedding, we lost my cousin. His death was completely unexpected and it shook us all to the core. He was young and had so much life to live. He was such a jolly, loving, hard working, honest and joy-filled member of our family. He had such a pure heart. It’s still so hard to believe that he’s actually gone. Nobody saw it coming. Hours before he left us, he was visiting with family members and chatting with neighbours - just being his lively, welcoming self. We are in a state of shock and dismay. His death came so suddenly, like waking up to an earthquake. It feels as though we are living in a mental blur, still trying to piece together what happened. 

Throughout this emotionally difficult time, I’ve been reflecting on life and death, perhaps as part of my own personal grieving process. I keep asking myself what I can learn from the tragic losses my family has recently faced. The thing is that death is guaranteed to become a reality for every single one of us. No one is protected from death - neither young nor old. We are powerless against it. Yet, we tend to forget this truth, as we get caught up in the many “distractions” of life, spending our living days without that ticking clock in mind. I’m not saying we should live every waking moment in constant fear and anticipation of death. It’s not about fear of death but rather, acceptance. If we deeply accept and internalize that our time will come and we have no control over when that day will be, perhaps that will ignite and awaken us to use the time we’ve been given towards the absolute best possibilities. As I reflect on the many thoughts and emotions running through me over the past several weeks, I think about the raw learnings that I have. I hope you too will sincerely contemplate what these learnings mean for you and how you’re approaching your life. No one has it all figured out. We are all works in progress, taking it one day at a time. But the more we keep this stuff top of mind, the better our chances are of living life fully, without regrets. 

We all have an expiry date

Just like a carton of milk, we all have an expiry date. Life is so short and temporary - this means 2 things:

1) Stop sweating the small stuff. Let things go. Don’t find reasons to complain about things that in the grand scheme don’t matter. Adopt a big picture mindset. When you find yourself getting upset about someone or something, try to pause, zoom out and ask yourself if this issue that is bothering you right now will even matter in a year, a month or a week from now. Chances are it won’t. Awareness of the ego mind (the thing that’s constantly on and causing all that noise in your head) and disidentifying from it will help with this. How? Because the things we stress about always stem from a place of ego. Ego being anything that isn’t your true self (you are an infinite soul - not a body/human). So anything that comes from a place of identification with or attachment to your body, the story of YOU or any material form = ego. When you find yourself getting upset ask who is upset - you (infinite soul) or that sensitive ego that constantly feels the need to protect/defend itself? Just smile, breathe, pause, surrender, laugh, accept, look for the silver lining - LET IT GO. Easier said than done, I know. But we need to keep working on this. Conquering the mind is the true purpose of life. But why should we care? Because the most tragic way to live (and then die) is lost in the confines of your ego-driven mind (negativity, drama, scarcity mindset, lost in materialism/attachments/superficial things, etc). If you operate from a place of higher consciousness (big picture mindset) with a perspective of oneness, abundance and connectedness with everyone around you, you align with the Universe, experiencing a state of bliss/joy/nirvana. In other words, the most beautiful life possible - peace of mind, inner contentment and joy - is within reach if you want it.

2) How you spend your time is super important. We all have an expiry date so that means our time is very limited and precious. Do you want to spend that time operating from a place of fear or a place of love? Something changes in us from childhood to adulthood. We put up our guards, parts of us harden into clay, we adopt the belief of “other-ness” and we all become extremely “busy”. How do we return to that child-like quality of being open, curious and loving towards one another? Think of a small child smiling at you with the most loving gaze. You used to be that child. What happened? Be kinder than is necessary. See the ONE in everyone. Bring love and positivity into every interaction, whether with a loved one or a complete stranger. How differently would you show up if every person you interact with today was going to die tomorrow? Seems morbid to think this way but it could be a reality, for them or for you. Don’t hold back on telling people you love them. Express it. Replace your ego with honesty. Much better to be overflowing with love and expression than pained with the regret of restrained and bottled emotions. Push thru the uncomfortableness. Think about the people in your life who you cannot imagine living without. Make an intentional decision to prioritize spending more quality time with them, especially your parents, siblings and grandparents. Everyone is too busy, pick up the phone, plan that potluck, take your Mom out for a nice meal or to see a movie, get the friends or fam together for a weekend getaway. Don’t wait for them to call or text you - take the initiative. Love only attracts love. Reach out and start a chain reaction. Just do it. You will not regret it. Again, you do not have infinite time. None of us do. At some point, time will be up.

Cherish your family

Growing up in a big, tight-knit, loving family has been one of my greatest joys in life. When I’m surrounded by my large and lively family, I feel like I’m home. This past month, I realized the power and strength of family to an extent I had not before experienced. The tragic losses we faced have reinforced our greatest blessing - each other. We are incredibly lucky to have a family that is so close and connected. Everyone has come together in such a loving way to give each other strength in these difficult times. Every obligation and priority was dropped to gather on a daily basis to spread love, run errands, make meals, grieve and reminisce, cry and laugh and instill faith and strength. We made sure that my cousin’s house was full of family, love and community - and we will continue to do that. I love that our idea of a low-key family dinner is 70 people (no joke) showing up to make a meal and eat together. My heart is so full just thinking about how much I love my family and how they have given me so many reasons to love deeper and to feel deeply loved throughout the past month. Perhaps that’s also why the loss of my Aunt and cousin has been so difficult for us because family truly is everything for us. Family is precious and you realize just how precious when you lose a family member. And family doesn’t have to be based on blood lines. Family is anyone who feels like home for you. Look out for one another. If you know someone is struggling, check in on them and remind them they are not alone. Hug and kiss your loved ones. Tell them you love them.  Even if that’s not something you grew up doing, start doing it. Even if it’s awkward or “corny” or not “macho” just do it. No harm was ever created through more love and affection.

Remember who you really are

Beyond the flesh, the body, the hair and the story of you, exists a content, infinite and powerful energy - your soul. That is who you are. We forget this once we adopt a body and personality, among other attachments and identifications. This is a core spiritual belief of mine but witnessing the lifeless body of my cousin made it all come home for me. As I stared through heavy tears at his body, and touched his ice cold forehead, I realized it looked like him but the thing that made him HIM, the thing that gave him life, and enabled him to see, talk, hear, touch, walk, love and laugh - that thing was gone - it had left the body. That “thing” is the soul - the infinite, energetic life force that “turns on the lights” inside our flesh and bone-filled bodies. The love and attachment we have with a loved one’s personality and character and all their quirks and “isms” are all powered by the soul, not the body. It’s interesting how once someone dies, everyone begins to refer to them as “the body” rather than by name. Because the name/personality/identity is gone. The body dies but the soul never dies. And yet, ironically, while we’re alive, we’re so attached to and identified and obsessed with the body - both ours and others. Looking at a dead body makes you realize how misguided we are. It’s the soul we should be connecting with. That’s the truth of who we are, not the body. So, when someone dies, where does the soul go? It just flows from one body/form (vehicle) to another or becomes liberated in the omnipresent source of all life. Knowing this gives me some internal peace. May my Aunt and my cousin’s souls rest in love, light and peace.

Respect and take care of your body. Enjoy it. It’s the only one you have for the duration of your human journey. But don’t just get lost in the toning and adornment of the body. Go deeper. Look inside yourself and connect with that energy that allows you to actually be alive, literally makes you alive. I strongly recommend reading A New Earth: Awakening to Your Life’s Purpose by Eckhart Tolle and Change Your Thoughts, Change Your Life by Wayne Dyer. These books have helped me connect more deeply with my soul. And it’s a commitment to stay connected because the world has many outward-driven distractions. Staying aware of the truth of ourselves will help us build a stronger and more loving relationship with ourselves and with others. And perhaps most importantly, it will give us a broader perspective on life and death, enabling us to develop acceptance (rather than fear) of our inevitable (unknown) expiry date.

In sum…..

Love deeper

Be kinder than is necessary

Live more fully - embrace adventure and spontaneity 

Stop taking everything so seriously - stop taking yourself so seriously 

Tell them you love them - push thru the hesitation

Intentionally make more time for family and friends 

Open your heart to seeing the best in others - drop the judgment

See the ONE in everyone

Work hard with passion, enthusiasm and gratitude 

Know your truth, connect with your soul - it will set you free

<3

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