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mariamariquinha · 4 months

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Versos de Placer (Colonel Carrillo x f!reader) - Fourteen

Summary: A letter for you.

Word count: 5.3k

Warnings: Bad words, slight violence, more daddy issues, fluff, mention of sickness, some angst and... did I say fluffl?

Author’s Note: Oof, I really thought about how would I say goodbye to this story. There's so much I want to say, but for now I hope the words I wrote here makes some difference in what we build as a small community of mutual interest in writing and appreciating what we had of Carrillo.

Quite a journey to get here, right? And I should thank everyone for each conversation, each comment and appreciation towards this. As a non-English speaker, bring all of this here had been a challenge, but one I accepted with love.

As always, I hope I could give a good end for this love story. See ya!

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Join my taglist! Don’t forget to reblog, comment and like! As always, I would love to know what you’re all thinking! ❤

******

I wish I had done it differently, yes, but I don't think you should forgive me anyway. You don't know me and, by extension, you have every right to doubt my nature. Honestly, I recognize that that letter changed my life, as it reaffirmed that even though I’m in front of bullets or knives or big violent men every day, I’m still my father's daughter, which makes me a coward.

The Sun was burning your scalp a little, so you scratched the top of your head now and again because the heat was bothering you. From afar, you saw the small commotion in front of the building: people going out and about, fuzzing over each other. He didn’t exactly tell you where he was staying (you didn’t ask either), but the badge could do some convincing, such as your name. At least you hoped so.

You looked at both sides of the street before crossing and, when you did, you ended up bumping into a girl – you apologized, even if a little bewildered, and she said everything was fine with a smile that you hadn't seen in those surroundings for a long time. That caught you a little by surprise, so you watched her go with a dumb expression in the middle of the sidewalk.

“Permiso,” Excuse me, You said, approaching the doorman who was sitting in the empty lobby with his arms crossed.

He was cooperative and friendly, but said he wasn't sure if there would be anyone with that name there because the Americans were already leaving. Still, he called the hamal in apartment 15 (you saw him do it over his shoulder) and, shortly after, said that you were lucky and could come up.

Your father was already at the door when the elevator arrived and, for a moment, the two of you stood there for almost a minute just staring at each other without saying anything, as if you were meeting for the first time. He knew there was something you wanted to say that was unconventional, at least by the way he looked you up and down suspiciously, but he didn't give in to asking the question. With a gesture of his head, your father suggested (not offered, suggested) for you to come closer and you did so, just like when you were a child and had to ask permission to sit at the dinner table to eat.

The apartment itself was already empty, except for a few pieces of furniture that were still scattered around and would probably be collected later. The floor creaked a little because it was made of parquet and the walls were obviously old – weird for someone with so much 'caliber', but you understood that maybe it was just a disguise for the neighbors.

“I still have a bottle of whiskey around here somewhere,” He said, even if not moving a muscle to reach for the said thing.

“I’m good,” You shook your head, in time to see him agreeing silently.

An awkward silence followed the decline. With that, you gave yourself another chance to look around and find something to comment on before going straight to the point.

“When is your flight?”

“In about three hours,” He shrugged. “I believe that the Embassy didn’t ask you to give me a ride like the first time.”

“You would know if they did,” You smile didn’t quite reach your eyes. He saw that and responded the same way, even pulling a chair out of the small table in the living room to make himself comfortable for a confrontation.

“What is it then? Did I forget to file some paperwork or something? Because if that's the case, I have to let you know that I-”

“Were you the one who killed Juan Marcos?”

The question caught him off guard, but not in a harsh way – he probably felt more outrage for the fact that you interrupted him, something he never took quite well. For a moment, then, your father just stared back at you, then scoffed as if you were stupid.

“Thinking about leaving flowers on his grave before you leave?”

“I don't think your moral compass is adjusted enough for you to remember which ditch you used to dispose of his body,” You crossed your arms over your chest, not failing for a moment to spit out your thoughts.

“Don't be moralistic.”

“Don’t worry about it. We’ve just been in this hell for so long, right? Catching criminals, doing the dirty work… that’s enough for you to give me some answers.”

Again, a bit of quietness, but a contemplative one. He had that easy expression on his face, as if you two were discussing the weather, one that always put you on the edge of pure rage. You waited patiently, tho.

“... I did.”

“How.”

“You saw him, you know how.”

“Is this the kind of thing you would do for a daughter?”

“It is, because I did,” He said calmly. “Is this some kind of intervention? This is what you want? Resolve all the frustrations you have with me now, hours before I, what’s that you said? Disappear from your life?”

You looked at him with pursed lips, feet tapping on that stupid floor to prevent any more unwanted feelings. It felt like the Sun was burning your scalp again, so you unconsciously scratched that area again before rolling your shoulders and staring at him with a stone cold expression – one you certainly got from his side of the family. The question was there, burning in your lungs and throat, ready to leave your mouth and make him lose that sarcastic smile on his face.

“... Would you do that for a son?”

The decline in his comfort was gradual, progressive, millimetric. The corners of his mouth lowered into a straight line, his jaw tightened, and his eyes darkened intensely. You flexed your fingers discreetly, trying to hide your defensive posture with the possibility of another aggressive approach on his part, but all he did was access you cautiously while looking for the justification for your question in the way you stood there, in front of him.

“What did you do?” He frowned, probably not sure of the end of that topic.

“Me? Nothing,” You shrugged, head shaking. “Your son did.”

Your father rose from his seat with a harsh scrape of the chair but you kept still, glaring back at him. He could come closer, could do what he did in the office; it wouldn’t happen, though. You both knew, somehow, that someone was his weak point, the thing that couldn’t make him have good nights of sleeping for a reason you’ll never understand.

That made you scoff a laugh before averting your gaze.

“Now you know how it is.”

“Oh, so that’s what it is? Revenge?” His voice was so harsh, so taken by reticence and rage, that it made him static in a certain type of fury.

“I think my best revenge was knowing that you got what you wanted most and he was nothing like what you expected,” You took one step closer, then another, and you two stood there, eye to eye. “Can you imagine? Being your son and having decency?”

“You better-”

“I better what? What, dad? Shut my mouth? Stop talking about Jorge? Or should I wait until you give me the first blow?”

Nothing. He stood there like a bull, fuming and grinding his teeth – no hand raised, no closed fists.

“You asked what I want with all this, with this drama… I never expected anything I discovered about your life to be ethical or clean. You do whatever you want,” You shrugged again, this time going full exaggerated with a fake coy expression. “What I want is for you to take that plane, go back to the States and spend the rest of your days thinking of how your beloved son couldn’t be any more different than you in anything, better than you in anything and a man you’ll never be even closer to be. All that while being raised by a whore.”

The slap was a familiar feeling, like that specific side of your face had a shape to fit his open hand like a glove. Even the movement of your head, the mixing of your insides, it had a natural way to flow, to go this way or another. Still, you’d been caught by surprise, so next thing you knew, your gum was bleeding – you could taste blood on the tip of your tongue, see it on the tip of your fingers when you assessed the small damage. It had the sting, the sharp pain, but that didn’t get a rise out of you.

“That’s what you told him? That I’m your bad father who didn't beat you enough to give you good manners?”

“... Why would I need good manners? I’m a whore, right? Good manners wouldn’t make me fuck Carrillo like I wanted to and you couldn’t do shit to stop it,” That came out with such a force. “In all my life, nothing made me more happy than to trespass your limits as much as I could, to make you show your true colors and still put that scary expression on your face.”

With this, you took a few steps back, adjusting your clothes and smiling, the inside of your mouth and your teeth probably red from the blood.

“Take that plane, go back home. I know that you’ll lie in your bed tonight knowing that you’ll have the same future as that damned Juan Marcos, alone in a grave that no one’ll visit.”

It was as if thousands of years and hurt had finally created the courage to leave your shoulders, as if all the suffering he put your mother through had transformed into a controlled and punctual fury in your heart. A return. An end. And you left there knowing that, with that, you closed a cycle that gave you a happiness more sincere than Escobar's dead body on that roof.

******

Two days before…

You weren’t with your work clothes, so the heat was more bearable with the tank top. The worn out jeans were still there, just as the old boots, and just as the gun and badge. Habits. Carrillo looked at you beside him in the car, arms crossed with the stance of that old self, full Colonel mood of his.

“Are you sure the info is relatable? Safe?”

“I am. Do you want me to bring all of the Colombian Army to this when you all should be celebrating something out there?” You turned to him with a teasing smile, seeing the frown on his face getting even more deeper. “Horacio-”

“Some of them are still out there. You should at least let Trujillo do a-”

“You’re already here with me, Horacio, and this is already too much. There’s people who need you right now.”

Instead of answering, he let you hold his toned arms, then both sides of his neck to melt some of his stubbornness in avert your gaze. Not getting a reaction, you tilted your head to get a better look of his face, jaw tightening in insistence, which made you sigh and let him go.

“You don’t know him,” He said.

“I’m aware.”

“And we’ve been through enough to be suspicious.”

“I’m aware,” You insisted, brows raised. “To be honest, I don’t know if I wanna do this but… If it’s him, if… I need to be sure.”

“Why?”

For a moment you just stared at his confused expression, not knowing the right answer to that – not sure if you had one. Then you pursed your lips, shook your head and averted his eyes to look through the window, where you could see the small house from afar.

“... When my father left, my mother kind of disappeared. Mentally. It was as if the lights were on but no one was home,” Your tone was recoiled, way too low for someone so confident about their decisions. “He said some things to her, said this country was hell but even some cheap pussy could give him what he wanted. I honestly didn’t even know why he needed so much to have a son.”

You could feel Carrillo watching you carefully while you used that false calmness to explain what you wanted to say clearly.

“This made me spend time with my paternal grandparents because she couldn't bear to see me. I was a very complicated, restless child, so when my grandfather started using the old methods he used with my father and uncles when I messed up, I understood why he wanted a boy.”

You felt a weight on your chest, one that almost made you cry.

“At least I think I understand. He wanted to take out the frustrations of what he went through on someone and I was a girl, so naturally I couldn't handle punishment or fits of rage. I would have marks like my mother had and that would make things more complicated for his conscience. A boy could be molded to be strong, resilient. I was always too emotional for him.”

Like the perpetuation of the species to whom he could transfer descendants or something like that. Bullshit.

“I understand. Well, at least I think I would be that kind of person if things weren't different.”

“I don't think it's the same thing,” You shook your head. “You're here, that's more than he's ever done.”

“Because I love you.”

“And if you had children, you would love them too.”

Carrillo didn’t say anything. The idea of children only crossed his mind when he was younger, as soon as he married Juliana, and it seemed so distant that he forgot what it would be like to imagine a life with children. You didn't want that, that's for sure; Given the life you two had, it would even be selfish to bring a child into the world. And even if the car was so quiet, so… calm, Carrilo always had the feeling that someone was lurking, and he felt bad for thinking that, in another time, he would be the same type of father as your father was.

You could feel, little by little, how his hand sneaked closer to yours, the tip of his fingers carefully passing through your knuckles before going up to your wrist. It was so soft, the way he touched you to test the water, to not invade your space, that when his hand reached for your forearm, pulling you just enough to make you turn to him, nothing could stop you from hugging him as if your life depended on it, pressing against his body fiercely.

He didn't say anything because he didn't know how to say anything, because it wasn't like hearing the news that your father was coming to Colombia. Horacio was never good with soothing words. He knew how to act, that's for sure; in that case, if it were possible, if that sliver of humanity were to come away from him once and for all, your father would become a ghost like everyone else.

Well, but you already knew that – he had told you that when he recovered you from another low blow from your father. Selfishly, Horacio would always do his best to create miles of distance between the things he truly loved and those who risked any trace of peace he had achieved. And maybe you didn't know this, but he had made this promise to himself.

I'm not going to lose anymore, Horacio pressed you tighter against him, staring at the wall with the coldness of his decision. I don’t accept that.

“Let’s do this.”

******

I imagine to this day that you would never like Horacio. You always seemed too ‘communist’, progressive enough, but you would laugh until your stomach hurt at how stubborn he was. Still, I don't want to convince you to like him; I just want to tell you that it wasn't him who told me to leave before I could see you that day. You were fine, you were beautiful (I still know you are) and you were holding a baby in your lap, which I later realized was that of one of the patients you saved during an emergency birth. I was only there for 30 minutes and I heard people say more good things about you than they could ever say about me in my entire life. That's when I knew I had to leave you alone.

I cried in his arms later; I would cry a lot more in the years that followed, but I reserved every minute of my future life, the life I never planned for myself, to gather all the memories of what I could tell you one day. No, I'm not dying, at least not from my health, because you know that everyone dies one day, but I've been writing to you because I want you to know that you don't deserve the family you have because you're too good for us.

I want to tell you about Horacio. I want to tell you what we did and how I miss some things in life. I want to tell you this because I know he could be a solid bridge between the two of us, the person who would interpret you for me and interpret me for you. My mother would never be able to do it because of resentment, our father because of disregard and we because of ignorance.

Horacio, however, was my surprise during the time I spent in Medellín. If I want you to know me, I want to be able to reveal my best side, what I truly achieved when I decided I would love him.

******

It was strange not having plans, but you got on the plane alone. Horacio couldn't go with you, not at that moment; there was love between you, yes, but there was also responsibility, and he would never leave his own country behind. You understood. During the time you spent in Bogotá (not in Medellín), the two of you did things together: went out to dinner, visited places, had sex… Things that couples did. When you got on the plane, it was with the uncertainty that things would one day be okay, and that you would be able to reconcile life in Los Angeles with what had happened to the two of you in Colombia.

This was our father's fault and I'm completely sure of that. I was disallowed from having any further contact with the case, which I understood as private revenge for what I did, as if he wanted to take away more of the happiness you could have had if you were to work with Peña and Horacio later. I always resented him for that, I still do. Maybe it wasn't the worst thing he had done and today I know it wasn't, but it was as if every minute of my life, he took away a little of my happiness.

The letters you exchanged were always long, which went quite against his personality. It was as if, finally, he said in words everything he thought, did and gave his opinion. On your part, there were important descriptions, such as how much your mother was fond of him and the cases you worked on at the DEA. He, on the other hand, mentioned the well-known day to day life with Peña, what they worked on and how he missed you, above all, which hurt your heart.

“God, you have to put an end to this. I want to see you happy again, my daughter, and I want to meet him.”

In one of them, which was a call, he told you something that he kept so deeply within himself that he was certain that, one day, he would come back to you for good and that there would be no turning back.

“I want to marry you. I see no other choice and I have no other way out. I need to assure myself that I’ll no longer have to tolerate this ordeal without knowing that I’ll come home and find you.”

“Don't be so dramatic... I know people who would find our obstacles small compared to what they go through. I’ll wait for you, no matter how long it takes.”

“So wait. The next time we see each other, I'll have a ring to put on your finger.”

You know, I always thought he was a brute, but Horacio never failed to keep his promises. In fact, he came back with a ring, and we actually got married, which was a simple thing that meant enough to both of us. We moved to El Paso. It was close to Peña, in fact, and sometimes we spent holidays together, which I never thought would happen. Maybe, thinking about it now, it's those moments that I miss most.

“Is that white hair?”

“Fuck off, we both know we’re getting old,” You elbowed Javier in the guts, puffing smoke in the Texan hot air. “By the way, you’re getting a belly down there. Don’t come at me.”

“What I gained, you lost. Have you been eating?”

No was the proper answer. He knew it was, and that was why he asked. Still, you shrugged, taking another drag.

“... Yes.”

“Hey-”

“I am, Javi, I promise. It's just been different.”

“I hope so. One of you needs to remain standing.”

It was around the time our father passed away. Well, I can't say for sure if it was too close or too far, especially since he fulfilled his own mission of dying alone. I didn't have the opportunity to talk after he got sick; I didn't even know if he had someone. Today I'm almost the same age as he was when I was in Medellín and I can't see him in myself, while I don't know if I would live my life differently if he asked me for forgiveness. Below I leave exactly where he is buried and, if you want, you can visit him. If you're the praying type, decide if it makes sense to give him the privilege of prayer; God knows I'd like that too.

******

At that point of things, you made fun of Horacio for not actually marrying you like the tradition said, just giving you the ring he promised he would, but you understood that the world didn't survive on big events like that.

When he found out what the diagnosis was, you went straight to the computer and did your research. It wasn't that you didn't believe the doctors, but the first step to acceptance was denial, and you knew how to do that very well. At the time, you had just been promoted to an important position in Mexico. You found a good doctor there who could treat him, and the offer didn't get as much back-up as you thought it would – it was like he thought he was going to die.

It was a very different change than it had been when you went to Colombia years before. There was no urgency, no hustle, just the tranquility of a bureaucratic job with a good house, space for a yard and a good salary.

“It's in the early stages, so it's a relatively simple treatment. The change in routine and habits will be more severe, so I would be more attentive to that.”

You decided to stop smoking along with him because of this and, deep down, Horacio was a little upset at having to stop this habit.

“I don't know, I just feel embarrassed,” He said one night, you two sitting on the porch because he wanted to take a look at the street. “I didn't imagine that my life would end without emotion.”

“You won't die like this, stop being an idiot.”

“How can you know?”

“Well, because I just know.”

Not every day was easy and, honestly, coming to Mexico was the acid test for many things in my life. Interestingly, I never thought about giving up Horacio, and if I was honest with myself, I also thought that one day I would die from a gunshot or something that would make newspaper headlines. He would never admit it, and neither would I, because it seemed inconceivable, but having that life made us feel grateful and, most of all, lucky.

It was also at this time that I decided to get back in touch with you. He made a promise that if he was cured of cancer, he would include forgiveness for his own past, so we started slowly. I met Juliana (and the three children she had), and I started visiting our father almost religiously every year. We went back to Texas to see Javi, and sometimes we went to Miami to visit Steve. Horacio had reservations about my country, but he could appreciate some things that I think you might like too.

Jorge, I know that our life could have been different and I, as an older sister, feel responsible for being able to give you some glimpses of life with a family up here that loves you, because I would like that too. Along with these letters, I also send tickets to the capital, for you and your husband, if you want to visit us. Horacio is a great tour guide and I, interestingly enough, learned to be a great hostess.

I apologize for having done all this so late. Well, apologies are never enough, but I feel that this phase of my life, the phase of gray hair and wrinkles on my face, terribly nicknamed 'better years', is the right time for the two of us to reconcile for someone who left us behind.

I miss what we didn't have. Even if you don't want to, which I understand, know that my life is only complete because I know that a part of me is also in you.

******

“Appealing to nostalgia?”

Horacio barely raised his head from where he was staring at a box full of old trinkets. Through the mess of the office, he went straight to the memories of Medellín, rooting around and reliving the years in the dust, and he seemed focused enough to barely pay attention to you.

You could say that the guests were already arriving, that he should take a shower soon to welcome them, but the scene seemed so peaceful that you were afraid to interrupt and decided to participate.

“You have that perfume again,” He murmured right when you touched a framed picture of him and Trujillo alongside other stuff.

“Does that bother you?” You eyed him over your eyeglass lenses, to which he tsked and shook his head.

“You’re also appealing to nostalgia.”

“Huh, I remember that was the first thing you noticed about me when we met.”

Horacio then looked back at you and, seeing your mischievous smile, smiled back, leaning back on the chair to give you full attention.

“You drove me crazy, that's what.”

“I didn't know that was the effect it had on you. In fact, I was sure you hated me.”

“Because I couldn't want you and I wanted you.”

You left the frame in the box and walked over to him, walking around the table to sit on his lap, which he gladly accepted. For a few moments, you stood there, motionless, staring at his face, not knowing exactly what to say, just… admiring him, the grays on his hair and the lazy grin splattered there.

“What are you thinking?” He asked then, always eager to get inside your head.

“I always imagine that we wouldn't be here if we didn't live what we lived there,” You pondered, a hand massaging the side of his neck. “And it's weird because people have lost so much. Do you think we deserve it?”

“Is this part of your reconciliation process?”

“Yeah, I guess. I've been thinking about some things... I'm writing you a letter, even.”

“But I'm not going anywhere.”

“I know,” You pecked his lips softly. “Who knows, maybe I can express it with words instead of hiding it on paper.”

Horacio stared at you for a bit, his brow furrowed and the mechanisms moving in his head. You thought it was strange.

“What?”

“I want to read you something.”

You got up so he could look for what he was finding, and when he did, he took a notebook out of a box, accompanied by yellowed sheets of paper.

“I wrote these things while we were in Colombia.”

“And what exactly is it?”

“In the beginning, it was a diary of missions and operations that we carried out. The day you arrived, I ended up writing 'perfume' instead of 'precision', which made me realize that the feeling wouldn't leave my head. I didn't stop thinking about you after that, so I started… I don't know, writing down things about you, what you did, what irritated me and what I liked.”

There was no way to react, more out of shock than offense at him having kept it in for so long. You imagined a Carrillo from the past, a thousand times more stubborn and stubborn, taking the time to write about a woman he couldn't stand. Maybe sitting alone at night in the office, cigarette in one hand and whiskey in the other, mumbling swear words while saying he liked something about you, disbelieving his own feelings.

Then he took that photo that Steve had taken, which he stole and caused temporary chaos with your colleagues. You, younger, tired but with a spark of life, an eagerness to do the right things.

You watched him as he looked at the photo and felt a warm feeling in your heart that seemed more frequent since you started having more moments together.

When he started reading what he wanted, you could barely move.

“I don't know what this woman did to me and I try hard every day not to ruin everything because I think about her so much. The perfume drives me crazy, the defiant eyes impress me and, oh my, lately I've noticed how incredibly mind-blowing those jeans make her. I have no one to express these feelings to, perhaps because I can't say in words what I imagine when I think of her.”

“Today she told me to go fuck myself. I had to suppress my satisfying smile when I saw that fire in her eyes when she spat those words in my face, because I purposely provoked her into being angry with me, thinking I wanted a reason to get her away from me. In the end, I know that that exact reaction was what I wanted, that she will never give up because she is too stubborn to do so. She goes to the end. She is true to what she believes. I'm sure I'm in love.”

“If nothing were as it were, I would ask her to dinner. I would see her eyes light up in the candlelight, I would make all the romantic moves and show a side of me that no one knows. I want to see her confused, I want to surprise her, and then I want to kiss her, make love to her, and feel every inch of that sweaty skin beneath my fingers while I see her sigh with the pleasure I'm going to offer. I want her, I want her so much, and I feel bad for every kind of thought I might have about her.”

“I call these verses, then. Versos de Placer, in my mother tongue, one that she knows how to say and that is even more beautiful when it comes out of her mouth. Verses that I will never be able to recite out loud, not to her, but I will be able to remember as the spark of a good memory of the complicated days we spent hating ourselves because the world we are in is destroying us. Always her, and never anyone who isn't her or who even looks like her.”

“Always her and her perfume and her accent and her presence. Always.”

******

No pressure tags:

@cheesybadgers

@thesandbeneathmytoes

@616wilsons

@nessamc

@thoroughlymodernminutia

@padbrookcottage

@seaweeden

#horacio carrillo #colonel carrillo #horacio carrillo x reader #colonel carrillo x reader #narcos #narcos fic #narcos fandom #maurice compte #female reader

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homestuckreplay · 4 months

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Prankster's Gambit: Alien Edition

Well, there was no Homestuck update yesterday, but I did watch Mac and Me, so that was basically a double hit of bad things. This movie sucks ass. If you are looking for a bad movie to watch with friends and make fun of, I would recommend it, but there is literally no other reason to watch this movie.

Unless you are John Egbert, I guess - and I would LOVE to hear what he likes about this movie. My guess is that 1) he really wants to meet a friendly alien, and 2) he respects that this specific alien has the prankster’s gambit. Similar to Ghostbusters, where John loves the ghost who just eats food and hangs out with humans, John can totally imagine himself in Eric’s shoes - hanging out with Mac and befriending him even when other people are scared of him.

I also wonder if John wishes he had a sibling. As a kid in the 2000s, other kids in his neighborhood probably don’t play outside. The idea of sharing his house with someone who’s more on his level, where they can mutually prank each other and share solidarity against his dad must be really appealing to him. (On p.92, we learn that ‘DAD will enjoy the prankster's gambit on that exchange, as is usually the case.’ John would love a more even stakes, equal opportunity prankster’s gambit with a sibling and/or alien).

All three of John’s movies so far have dealt really heavily with family, but this is the first that’s about siblings. John’s mom has never been mentioned, and I’d guess she hasn’t been around since John was really young, and that’s why John doesn’t have any siblings (at least not that live with him, depending on what happened to his mom). His dad either doesn’t want to remarry, is too busy clowning, or wants to focus on spending time with his son instead of going out on dates.

There’s also 3) Mac is the character John relates to. Mac is an alien kid who finds himself dropped in a suburban neighborhood and has to learn the ‘rules’ of living in it, despite being wanted by the government. I don’t think John is literally an alien or wanted by the government, but I can see how he’d relate if he feels like he’s struggling to fit into ‘normal’ life, and is scared of the consequences if he fails to do so. The movie ends with Mac and his family just becoming a very normal American family, driving a car and drinking Cokes, seemingly accepted by everyone else as part of the neighborhood. John wishes it would be so easy to fit in.

SPEAKING OF THE COKES. These aliens are constantly drinking Coke, and I know it’s product placement, but I was so worried about them the whole way through. That cannot be good for them. They must have completely different digestive systems and sustenance needs than humans do! When Mac ‘didn’t feel so good’ I was like, yeah, all you put in your body is Coke! These aliens need a doctor, or a nutritionist, or some sort of…. ectoBiologist?

Final thoughts: I think John’s dad also showed him E.T., and John’s review was ‘this isn’t as good as Mac and Me’.

MOVIES WATCHED: 3/11

MOST RECENT MOVIE: Mac and Me (1988) - Rating 2/10

#homestuck #john's movies #this is fun im excited to get into the more apocalyptic/large scale movies that might be more different from john's current life #chrono

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escapingpurgatory · 5 months

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Preacher's Daughter Review

I relistened to this album a week or so ago and became inspired to write a review of each song as well as the album as a whole. I wrote this in my notebook, but I wanted to type it out and post it here! I'm gonna do this song by song, then an overall review and rating of the album. Let's begin!

Family Tree (Intro)

A very beautiful and mellow start to the album. I find the lyrics most beautiful, as well as hard hitting. At the beginning of the album, Ethel's father, a preacher, dies. This helps set up the majority of the album. One lyric I love is when Ethel is talking about her father saying "You know I raised you better than this." My rating for the track is an 8/10.

American Teenager

God, I love this song... My favorite part about the track is the guitar parts. That shit sends me FLYING. I love when she says "It's just not my year." Multiple times throughout the song. The whole chorus in general is just so gooddd... Every part of the track is truly perfect, I also love, love, LOVE the ending. When she repeats "For me" multiple times, it's so perfect, it just draws you in. This track is a solid 10/10.

A House In Nebraska

This song is absolutely SOUL CRUSHING. Like, holy shit... This song represents how Ethel was so in love with Will, and was devastated when he left her. She repeatedly talks about loneliness throughout the track, really proving the point I made previously. My favorite line from this song is "Your mama calls me sometimes to see if I'm doing well, and I lie to her and say that I'm doing fine, when really I'd kill myself to hold you one more time." Aside from the lyrics, the actual music is so fuckin' breathtaking. Another perfect 10/10 track.

Western Nights

This song is really interesting, and I sometimes feel like people overlook it. Ethel falls in love with a man named Logan, who uses crime to support himself and Ethel. I find the trope of love and crime to be really cool, and very in place in the album. The whole "bad boy" shtick is fitting for Ethel's rebellious treck away from home starting in the sixth track. My favorite line from this one is "I'd hold the gun if you asked me to, but if you love me like you say you do, would you ask me to?" This one is a good 7.5/10 from me.

Family Tree

Meant to reflect on Ethel's relationship with Logan after is death in a shootout, this track is very beautiful. She ultimately finds similarities with loving such a violent man to her relationship with her family. Along with being in love with the entire chorus, my favorite line is "I've killed before and I'll kill again, take the noose off, wrap it tight around my hand." Back to the chorus, I find it so hauntingly beautiful. I love this track, 9/10.

Hard Times

Yet another devastating track from the album. This song is about the molestation of Ethel from a young age by her father, Joseph. As we know, he died at the beginning of the album. He began doing this when Ethel was 9, up until the time of his death when Ethel is 20. The idea that a "man of god" could commit such vile, disgusting acts should be eye-opening for some people. My favorite line from this track happens to be from the final verse of the song, "I'm tired of you, still tied to me, too tired to move, too tired to leave." This song marks the beginning of Ethel going on the run. Beautiful and disturbing, 8.5/10.

Thoroughfare

One of my favorite tracks on the album, it documents Ethel meeting Isaiah in Texas and travelling west to California with him. On the way there, Ethel and Isaiah develop a mutual attraction. As soon as they reach the coast, they start a relationship. Ethel was kidnapped, but since she had seemed to have developed Stockholm syndrome, she didn't see it as such. This song has a very country feel, but I absolutely love it nonetheless. This was actually the first song of Hayden's that I'd heard. The lyrics are beautiful and represent blossoming love, but it quicky turns sinister. I can't even choose my favorite line because I love every single part of it! This is a 100/10.

Gibson Girl

After Isaiah and Ethel have been out west together for a while, the relationship turns abusive. They both fall into drug addiction which leads to Isaiah convincing Ethel to become a prostitute to help pay for more drugs. She begins to see her mental health deteriorate, along with her sense of who she is. Ethel talks about her struggles with her mental health and the prostitution throughout the song. My favorite line from this song is "Obsession with the money, addicted to the drugs, says he's in love with my body, that's why he's fucking it up." It's sad hearing and thinking about how pieces of who she was fading away. Solid 8/10.

Ptolamaea

Wow. This song is phenomenal... It represents a hallucination Ethel has while on drugs. She envisions Isaiah as a demon which represents her finally realizing the kind of man he is, as well as his intentions. She has this hallucination after Isaiah uses physical violence towards her. This song is so haunting, when the climax of the song hits, it's like my soul leaves my body. That being said, my favorite "line" of the song is the scream itself. It's the perfect representation of feeling trapped and wanting to be released. This is another fuckin' 100/10, hands down.

August Underground

The first of the two back-to-back instrumental tracks on the album, August Underground represents Isaiah taking Ethel to a house in northern California and ultimately murdering her. Another beautiful track off the album, but in a melancholy way. 9.5/10. This track leads to...

PART 2 ⬇️

#Spotify #ethel cain #mother cain #indie #hayden anhedönia #music reviews #album reviews #preacher's daughter #preachers daughter #southern gothic

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goldendaydna · 1 year

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Omg can I hear more about your Scooby Doo AU if you're comfortable sharing? I loved your tags on that post!!

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! BRUH YES AND ALWAYS

Ok ok, so I'm bringing my friend @the-vegetarian-artist into this

So I guess the best place to start is the medium and rating.

It would be an animated series with a hmmmm, semi realistic style?

The rating would also be about maybe TV-14 with teens and young adults as the main "demographic" but we would like for it to be enjoyed by all, and I mean all kinds of families and friends. Vegg and I are not fans of teen sexualization so that is something we don't really want in there.

Plot wise we want an overarching mystery with a few stand-alone mysteries and some that surprisingly connect to the main one.

The mystery Inc gang will be the main characters obviously, but we also want to give side characters who have been previously used in the franchise some time to shine. Ya know, male the world really feel alive. This includes characters like Scrappy Doo, Red Herring, Googie, Flim Flam (Who will undergo a name change among other things), etc.

One of the decisions we made was to include magic in this world. We wanted to really play around with the mysteries and have different members of the gang play a role when it came to things of not only scientific but also magical origins. Part of this is from a desire to not have the bad guys be only bad people in costumes but for the monsters to be real. Plus we have this mutual headcanon of Shaggy being able to use magic since previous incarnations of the franchise. With Scooby Doo as his familiar.

This is sadly a controversial topic but this is our AU, and we are two people on the internet. Anyways we also changed the race and ethnicity of the characters. We want our story to speak to all kinds of people. So it was just natural for us to.

Fred is Vietnamese American

Shaggy is Native American (Lakota specifically)

Velma is Mexican American

Daphne is Irish American (PS she is per Vegg's brilliant mind at work, transfem using she/her pronouns)

Age wise they are around 16-17. There's still some stuff we need to work on

When it comes to their dynamic we wanted the gang to have known each other since elementary school, but they drifted apart, all with their own reasons. They all get together again but it's more gradual and not all at the same time.

At some point Daphne and Shaggy start to hang out again. All I will say is that these two have known each other since before elementary school, we have our reasons for this, we just don’t want to reveal too much.

Then there's Fred and Velma. The dynamic between these two when they start hanging out again is very interesting as well. Same as before we don’t want to reveal too much and we also have our reasons for this. We want to solidify why all these characters are friends and that means exploring dynamics that while they are touched on in previous iterations of the franchise, we think there needs to be more of, it’s also because of how our AU flows, we think it’s only natural and convincing for these characters to “meet” each other the way they do.

#Scooby Doo #personal scooby doo iteration #scooby doo au #me and my friends stuff

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noahsbookhoard · 27 days

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📚January 2024 Book Review📚

I'm trying to come back to all the books I've read this year but going individually through the 80+ book is daunting so let's start with month by month!

January hasn't been very productive : I had just moved to a new city and didn't know where the public library was. I also was just setting up my e-reader so I was reading Farenheit 451 on pdf on my phone, it wasn't comfortable. Nonetheless my new year resolution of reading more consistently was holding so I was thrilled!

Gideon the Ninth (The Locked Tomb #1) by Tamsyn Muir

Gideon Nav is bored of the Ninth House, an almost dead planet in which she lives with some skeletons, some people so old as to almost be skeleton themselves and Harrowark Nonagesimus, Reverent Daughter and future leader of the Ninth. She was ready to escape when came the order: Gideon has to accompany Harrow as her Cavalier to the First House and help her to take up the challenges to become a Lictor, God's right hand. There's one problem, Harrow hates Gideon's guts and the feeling is mutual.

The Locked Tomb saga was everywhere on Tumblr so I caved and started it. Boy am I glad I did! Gideon the Ninth was an instant favorite that kept on confirming its status.

The plot swept me away, I was so engrossed in the tasks and tests I saw nothing coming! The end had everything I love in novels (epic battles, badass speeches, maybe a bit of romance and more than a bit of angst) and it took all my strength not to open Harrow the Ninth straight after finishing Gideon.

The wolrdbuilding is confusing at first but the confusion is a feature not a bug and quickly I was shrugging with Gideon every time a necromancer said something that made sense for them only. But what we get to see is original and full of details. I loved that in this universe bone magic is the norm instead of being Bad Guy MagicTM as is often is in fantasy.

Gideon is such a good character, funny, quick witted, horny as hell. Harrow too is endearing in her very very different way, mainly to me because we see her through Gideon's eye as the cavalier warms up to her necromancer (enemies to lover done right!) Her duo with Harrow is my second favorite only because nothing will ever top CamPal in my heart.

No need to say I fell hard for that saga and had since read the two following books, I'll come back to them in due time.

Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury

In this dystopic future of America, the firefighters don't extinguish fires anymore: they start them, especially when it comes to burning books. Guy Montag is one of them and never doubted the institution until ome day, during an intervention he meets a woman hiding books and "accidentally" steals one. From there starts a chain of events in which Montag will question what he really does, but it's dangerous game.

Having been to school in France mean I haven't read a lot of american classics and I wanted to remedy this in 2024. I'll be honest my choice fell on this one specifically because of one MDZS fanfiction which is peperred with quotes from Fahrenheit 451 among others, so Bradbury it is!

This is fascinating to see both how far and how close science fiction and dystopic novels can fall to reality:

Books are not banned at a global level but book banning in the US is a frightening reality, expecially book by authors of color or lgbtq+ authors or anything that is a bit too critical of the government. I think Fahrenheit 451 is actually on the US banned book list which could be hilarious if it wasn't so sad.

And turning an institution that should be dedicated to public service in a tool for the government to maintain status quo, completely reversing its original purpose if necessary sounds rather familiar...

Rooms with full screen walls are not here but it hits really close to Virtual Reality and ever bigger flatscreen that we have today, virtual meetings too, especially since Covid. Could it escalate to everyone staying home and communicating with frieds and family exclusively through screens? Maybe! I don't know!

And police robot dog are very much here, although they can't euthanize people (yet).

It is also unsettling to compare it with the decline of literacy and critical thinking skills in both adults and school level children. Also maybe of our memory capacity: the omnipresence of video as a news and information format and devices that can remind us of everything everywhere all the time means we rarely have to remember anything by heart today, no phone numbers, adresses, schedules, let alone entire books! If tomorrow it was all we could do to preserve knowledge would we be able to learn it by heart? I had to learn one every weeks in primary school, do kids still do this today?

Doesn't sounds like it from this review but I really enjoyed this book! Montag is deeply interesting and I was really hoping he escapes both the system and the manhunt. It's one of those book that never ages.

La cicatrice by Bruce Lowery

Jeff, 13, and his family just moved in a new place. Jeff would like nothing more but to make friends and blend in but he has a scar "a small cleft lip" which makes him a laughing-stock. By trying to blend in and swallowing up the pain Jeff slowly becomes sadder and more withdrawn, suffering and making those he loves suffer in turn.

Fun fact : Bruce Lowery is American but he writes in French! Yes I needed to put a fun fact here because that summary is bleak and so is the book.

I remember reading La cicatrice (the Scar in french) when I was around 7 or 8 and really liking it (there is one scene in a church which stayed with me even as a teen and I pretty much copied it in a story I wrote at 15). In the years since I had forgotten how sad it was. It wasn't a really fun rereading but it still shook me so that's how good the book is.

Jeff is so 13 year old it physically hurt : the awkwardness, the need to blend in, the pain of not getting the jokes or not being picked up for games, the secrecy with his parents, the closeness with his little brother Bobby. You want to appear bigger than you are and not play with your 7 year old brother, even though you love him so much, because that's for babies. But at the same time you want your mother to hug you and tell you that everything will be alright so hard!

And he does. Everything. Wrong. Or so it seems to 25-year-old-me gritting my teeth through the second hand embarrassment and saying "no Jeff please don't do that" every 5 pages. Everything he does is stupid-kid-who-wants-to-have-friends-so-bad stuff but it's also some stuff I remember doing when I too was the lonely kid trying to make friends. It just turned out very very bad for him.

I still recommend it (I'm not sure if an English translation is available somewhere) with TW for school bullying and child death. It left its mark on me when I was young and still today it hits close to home. Just be warned that's it's a sad story.

Us by Sara Soler

Us is a comic book memoir which tells the love story of Diana and Sara as well as the story of Diana's transition and their exploration of both their sexual orientation.

A teeny tiny bit of levity and a change in color palette! I love the use of blue and pink almost exclusively in this book.

Well, not all of this memoir is levity but this is a really heartwarming story and I really loved it.

It is both funny, tender, hard also sometimes because there are transphobic and biphobic jerks everywhere. Nonetheless as a trans person it is so nice to have someone sharing her story and telling people that it exists, it's possible and if you want it, it can be yours too.

It's also interesting to see how the dynamic shift in the couple with all the changes a trans coming out brings. There's enough story of couple breaking up after a coming out as it is, it's important to see that some people will change for you too.

I admit I haven't read many trans memoir so I have very few reference to compare it with but go and read it, all trans voices matter and it's always nice to have a hopeful queer story at the ready!

#book review #books #bookblr #gideon the ninth #tamsyn muir #the locked tomb #fahrenheit 451 #ray bradbury #la cicatrice #bruce lowery #us sara soler #sara soler

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losersroom · 4 months

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Can I ask your option on ships with like coaches I know there were a lot with Evason

the dean ships i'm familiar with are with hartzy and kirill so i'll just talk about those, if you've got a different one (freddy???? idk who else), whoops.

first of all. i miss deano So Much. his crazy eyes. his habit of punching darby constantly. his HAIR. i'm not smart enough to evaluate how good a coach he was but i do know that hynes makes so many decisions that infuriate me on the regular that i feel like even if he wins us a cup i'll still be like. okay go off but fire him immediately. john hynes has no personality and the personality he Does have is boring and bad. i want to study his brain in a laboratory so i can figure out why he thinks it's a good idea to constantly shuffle every line and defensive partnership except the ones that arent working. what's going on in that bald head.

sorry this was not an ask about john hynes i'll get back on track now

i'm gonna be real i don't pay a lot of attention to coaches in a like. fandom sense. to me the vibe of a coach is like, this is a guy who's here to support the team but isn't really part of it in the same way, you know. the guys have a different inherent dynamic with a coach than they do with each other even though the bond can also be very strong. like with dean/hartzy there's the thing of, say, ryan being grateful that the team and this coach took a chance on him and have faith in him in a way that no one did before, and that sense of mutual loyalty is compelling, for sure for sure. but it's just kind of a different energy than what usually gets to me personally about Team Sports rpf. on the other hand, coach ships probably are very good for daddy kink! which sure is a sentence i couldnt have imagined myself typing in all seriousness a year ago

i do also have a quiet fondness in my heart for dean/kirill (once again: everyone can fuck kirill) based on how thrilled dean seemed to be to have a real superstar to work with. the thing of like. meeting kirill at the airport and immediately offering to let him drive his car. dude he doesnt even have an american license yet calm DOWN

#this is more thoughts on this subject than i thought i had. Okay.#sorry to hynes enjoyers but actually no im not

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intercoursefluids · 8 months

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Where Do I Belong Chapter 9

Alya cursed, pointing at Nino before spinning around and marching into the bathroom.

Nino immediately got the hint, turning to face the guy and explain their side.

“Okay, so Alya is going to calm down and then come back, I’ll be telling you what we know for now, is that cool, dude?” He asked, fanning himself with his hat.

Nino waited until he nodded before speaking, wanting to make sure he was good to keep going.

“I’m Nino by the way, Alya is my girlfriend and Marinette is one of our best friends. Adrien is another one of our friends but you’ll have to meet him later, he kinda went missing just recently.” Nino said, shaking hands with the guy.

“It seems a lot has happened recently, I am Damian, Jon is my best friend and, to our understanding your friend’s long-lost sibling.” Damian told him, properly introducing the two boys now that it was a little calmer.

Nino nodded, agreeing with Damian’s assessment as he slouched in his chair.

“You have no idea, dude. Anyway, Mari’s parents, Tom and Sabine, got in a really bad crash a couple weeks ago. They were doing a catering order for the bakery when they were involved in a hit and run, they didn’t make it out unfortunately.” He started.

Nino told him everything, how Marinette had come to live with her grandfather, how Adrien and the woman who took care of him had disappeared without a trace, how there had been some school drama to solve.

How strong Marinette had tried to be throughout all of it.

Both boys compared their sides of what had happened and came to the mutual conclusion that Marinette’s Grandpa Rolland was a massive asshole.

Alya had still been in the bathroom by the time he had finished his side of the story, so they switched topics.

Nino told Damian all about Hawkmoth, what he did to people, when he started doing it, and what it was like living with his influence surrounding the city.

Damian shared his experiences with similar issues in Gotham, explaining what it was like in his city and how he could understand what it was like living with a villain like that to some extent.

Although it was comforting to know that Marinette would at least have someone nearby who could understand what it was like, Nino was a little nervous about possibly sending Marinette to such a dangerous city, which he told Damian.

“Don’t worry, Marinette will not be living in Gotham. Jon and his family live in Metropolis, though Metropolis is very close to Gotham, it is entirely different from my city.” Damian tried to reassure him.

“Okay, but isn’t Metropolis like, 20 minutes away? I know that isn’t far for Americans, how different could it be?” Nino asked, eyes shooting to the bed as Marinette rolled over, flinging her arm our and hitting her brother in the face.

He didn’t so much as flinch.

“The leading consensus is that Gotham is cursed.” Damian said, drawing Nino’s attention back to him.

Nino blinked a few times, trying to gauge whether he was serious or not.

“Gotham is-?”

“Cursed? Yes.”

“The whole-?”

“Yes, the entire city as a whole.”

“Why do you still live there?!” Nino asked incredulously.

“We are too stubborn to move. It’s a cursed city but it is our cursed city.” Damian offered as an explanation.

Nino went to open his mouth but shut it, remembering how often he had had this same argument with his cousins about Paris.

“Y’know what? That’s fair.” He settled on, nodding to Alya as she finally walked out the bathroom. Her hair and the collar of her shirt was wet, like she had been splashing water on her face to calm down.

Alya took a seat just as someone knocked on the door.

“Oh, is that your dad?” Nino asked, looking to Damian.

Damian nodded in affirmation, standing up to answer the door.

Two men walked inside, carrying bags of take out with them.

“Damian?” One of the men asked, setting the bags on the table and turning to face him.

“They’re asleep at the moment, Jon fell asleep after we got here and Marinette fainted, from what I understand however, she should be completely fine after some rest.” He told them, gesturing to the bed.

“Oh, well that’s a relief. At least they are getting some sleep.” One of them men said, setting down the bags he had been carrying.

The same man stepped forward, holding out his hand first to Nino, then to Alya.

“Hello, sorry that we had to meet under these circumstances, I’m Clark.” He said smiling at the two.

“Alya, this is my boyfriend Nino. We’re Marinette’s friends.” Alya explained, taking the initiative now that she had calmed down some.

Clark nodded, his smile faltering for a second as he cast a glance towards the bed.

“So… Her name is Marinette?” He asked, no longer looking at the two teens before him.

“Yeah, it is. Are you her bio-dad?” Nino asked, casting a glance to the two passed out together on the bed.

The man nodded, pursing his lips before walking over to the chest at the end of the bed.

He opened it, pulling out a blanket and setting it on top of the bed.

He moved up to the two, peeling Jon out of his hoodie and taking off his shoes before moving onto Marinette.

He hesitated at first, almost deciding against it before he carefully did the same for her. Gently taking off her coat and shoes, setting them alongside Jon’s and laying the spare blanket over the both of them.

Marinette groaned, causing him to freeze, worried that he had woken her up. She shifted a little, kicking one leg out of the blanket before settling again, causing Clark to heave a sigh of relief.

Alya had been watching the entire time, sure they may seem like good people, but she knew that looks could be deceiving. Alya didn’t look away until he had moved away from her friend, making sure to keep her friend safe from any danger that these strangers could bring.

Speaking of which…

“Well, we know Jon and Damian’s names and who they are, sorta,” She started, turning to face the other man in the room. “-And Clark just introduced himself, but who are you?”

The man looked up from where he had been setting out the food, walking over and holding his hand out for a handshake.

“I apologize, my name is Bruce Wayne, I am Damian’s father and Clark’s friend.” He said, shaking her hand.

Alya’s mouth fell open, just now recognizing him for who he was.

“Bruce Wayne?!”

Tag List: @Toodaloo-kangaroo @Ev-cupcake @Vroomtaka @animegirlweeb @rosesandsailboats @depressed-bitchy-demon

Come Find Me On Discord!<3

#maribat #ml x dc #dc x mlb #mlb x dc #marinette x damian #maridami #siblings jonette

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thehiccupingbanana · 5 months

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Banging on the Wall

PAIRING(S)/FANDOM: Nicholas "Nick" Nelson/Charles "Charlie" Spring, Michael Holden & Victoria "Tori" Spring (Heartstopper) GENRE: fluff, crack WORD COUNT: 1,010 RATING: Teen+ WARNINGS: sexual references SUMMARY: "When Nick and Charlie are here, it starts the same every time: Charlie's bedroom door closes, there’s a loud thump with some giggles, and Micheal and I make the mutual decision to go downstairs to play tractors with Olly." or Tori is tired of having her daily routine messed with when Charlie and Nick are home after school with their own routine. Tori has a bad day and Michael has an idea to help Tori's day get better and put a stop to her routine disruptions. ADDITIONAL TAGS: Crack Treated Seriously, POV Victoria "Tori" Spring, author is american, i wrote this in 1.5 hrs when my afternoon meeting was cancelled, I didn't edit this, Fluff and Crack, time: after solitare before nick goes to uni

[READ ON AO3]

Michael and I have a new routine after school. I don’t like my parents, but Michael really doesn’t like his parents, so we go to my house. Sometimes we do homework and other times we just do our own thing; I just enjoy spending time with him. Not that I would tell him or anyone that.

Unfortunately, Charlie and Nick have their own routine too. They usually go to Nick’s after school, but sometimes Mum demands for Charlie to come home straight after school. When they are here, it starts the same every time: his bedroom door closes, there’s a loud thump with some giggles, and Michael and I make the mutual decision to go downstairs to play tractors with Olly.

I know Charlie’s therapist tells him it’s good to have a routine, my therapist tells me the same. But does his routine have to be having sex with his boyfriend every day after school? In my opinion, it’s too much sex, there’s nothing special about sex anyways.

I am happy that Charlie is happy, but I would like for my routine to not be messed with on days Charlie is home. I quite like staying in my room, scrolling on Tumblr while Michael plays games on his phone or Switch.

Today was not a good day for me, therapy yesterday evening was hard for me, and I woke up this morning knowing it was going to be a bad day. Nothing bad happened, per se, but there is still time left in the day for the world to end. Michael bought me a lemonade at lunch today, so that helped a little bit; I didn’t have to tell him, I think he just knew.

Michael and I currently are laying on my bed, I’m scrolling on Tumblr on my laptop, with my headphones on, but music low enough to hear Michael’s argument on why it would be weirder to see a fairy in front of his door, instead of a walrus.

Then I hear it, the inevitable sound of Nick and Charlie about to start their routine. I don’t want to go downstairs and act happy for Olly’s sake today. No, today I am going to stay in my room, but first- “I’m going to tell them to stop.” I tell Michael, standing up to march out of my room.

Before I can make it two steps from my bed, Michael grabs my wrist, “Wait!”

I look at his hand on my wrist and back at his eyes, he must get the memo, because he drops my arm and mutters a ‘sorry’ before continuing. “Tori, do you trust me?”

I give him a look, of course I trust him, why else would I let him look at my Tumblr dashboard, not that I would tell him that out loud.

“Aww, you do trust me. That’s so cute.” Michael coos.

I give him another look to which he raises his hands in a mock surrender. “Okay, I get it. Follow my lead.”

Before I can respond Michael gets off the bed and squats at the foot of the bed, puts his hands on the footboard, and pushes the bed against the wall, hard.

The sounds next door stops for a moment before there’s another giggle and then the sounds continue.

Oh.

I sit on the edge of the bed and start to lightly bounce, just enough that the springs in the bed start to squeak, Michael still slamming my bed into the wall. Not for the first time today, I’m glad that my parents are at work and Olly decided he would rather play Mario Kart than tractors today.

“Harder.” Michael says in a voice slightly above his normal volume.

I stop bouncing and turn my body to look at him, and raise an eyebrow at him.

He shrugs in response, slamming the headboard against the wall again before saying, “Yes! Just like that!”.

I can feel my face break into a small smirk, and see Michael’s face light up with its own smile.

I continue bouncing while Michael is pushing the headboard against the wall.

“Ready?” Michael whispers to me, before groaning loudly, “Oh my god.”

Next door is completely quiet.

“Let’s go.” Michael whispers, standing up and beckoning me to follow him out of my room. He stops us in front of Charlie’s bedroom door.

“Nick, we should go.” I hear Charlie say in his room, “We can walk Nellie or something. Come on.”

The door opens abruptly to Charlie’s shocked face and then a squeaky, “Jesus, Tori.” and a yelp from Nick.

“Charles.” I greet him.

“How? What? Why?” Charlie huffs, holding a hand to his chest, “What?”

“You know we share a wall, right?” I ask Charlie, but glare at Nick as a blush rises on his face.

“Yeah guys, we can hear everything.” Michael chimes in.

I didn’t think it was possible, but Nick blushes harder, before walking up to hide his face in Charlie’s shoulder.

“We,” Charlie starts, gesturing between him and Nick, “are not that loud.”

“Sorry guys, but-” Michael cuts in.

“Sorry!” Nick lifts his head, “I can’t help it!”

Charlie quickly turns his head and looks at Nick before saying, “Nick!”

“Sorry Char. You’re just-” Nick starts.

“Nope.” Charlie chides, putting a hand over Nick’s mouth. “No more talking for you.”

The look Nick gives Charlie, makes me think my brother has told him that before in a different context, and I am horrified. I look at Michael and his face tells me that he caught that too.

“Glad we had this conversation.” Michael says, already walking back to my room, “Have a good evening, boys.”

I follow Michael ignoring the whine of “Char” from Nick and the “shhh” from my brother. I really don’t want to know.

I lay back on my bed next to Michael, seeing a post about a fairy sized walrus or a walrus sized fairy being weirder to see on my porch.

Today was not a good day, but I almost smiled, so it’s better now.

~~~

title by the most lovely @sleepywriter00 who always helps me with titles and i am the most greatful <3

as always, if i missed any cw/tw's or this is mis-rated, please let me know and i will fix it.

#i saw a poll a while ago that said that people still read fics on tumblr so #scheduling all my fics i have wrote and posted so far this year #narlie #nick x charlie #charlie x nick #nick nelson / charlie spring

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irradiate-space · 1 year

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Notes on Rebuilding Fandom

(a condensed write-up of my notes from a Pemmi-Con NASFiC panel)

The greying of fandom. Falling attendance. Conventions closing or going on "temporary" hiatus post-pandemic. This discussion tries to examine the issues and come up with some solutions. Should we even try and consider just bowing out gracefully?

I think the major irony of this session was where it was held. The 2023 Pemmi-Con North American Science Fiction Convention was, people tell me, quite poorly run. The panel discussion included many specific actions that other cons commonly do, which Pemmi-Con did not do.

(The question of whether it was this con specifically, or whether this con-running crew is competent to run any con, is a conversation that I'll leave to correspondents more embedded in the Canadian SFF fandom scene. I'm relatively new to the organized SFF fandom, and I'm lacking context.)

So let's talk about the state of the Speculative Fiction Fandom:

Fans today are more often interested in specific fandoms, not general-content or genre fandom

Fanzines are dying out; there's a history of bad-apple editors and editors who retire

Yet there are many conventions which are topical to Speculative Fiction, or topical to Fandom-writ-large, which are growing rapidly and drawing record crowds.

The question opening the panel was, "how can we get kids-these-days to be the sort of fans we were?" which I added 🤔😅🙃 to, and so did many members of the audience and panel.

The response question was, "how can we adapt organized fandom to meet kids-these-days where they are?" Many expressed the sentiment that fandom changes over time, so the organized fandom must change to adapt.

Also raised was the question of demographics. Yes, Fandom is greying. It will continue greying, one year per year, until we defeat death and become immortal. To keep the average age low, recruitment is necessary. But how do you recruit younguns to get interested in the Traditional Speculative Fiction Fandom events?

A number of strategies were identified in the panel:

Rebuild mutual support: It used to be the case that con-organizing organizations were many. Now they are few. With this dwindling in number has come a dwindling of mutual-support opportunities. It used to be the case that different orgs would help each other run events. This is a dwindling case. Someone has to offer first; let your org do it.

Make in-person events attractive: Before the Internet, it was harder to be a Fan. Without an established in-person fannish presence, you were a loner. Fandom conventions were the sole way to sate your urge for fannish socialization. Nowadays, Fandom is like any other niche social group: It's really easy to find compatriots from the comfort of your home, and you don't have to travel to have a meeting of the minds. Look at the successful in-person events to determine what draws people: novelty, merch sales and swaps, in-person competitions, event exclusives, photoshoots.

Outreach: You're running a generic con? Great! Find all the specific cons and specific fandom groups and ask them to panel and attend. If you're running a scifi con and haven't invited the local chapters of the 501st, the Rebel Legion, the 405th, the Royal Manticoran Navy, the 1701st, Mandalorian Mercs, cause-players, any local university clubs, and any local anime or furry conventions, then you're doing organizing wrong.

Advertise: This one is multifaceted, and had a lot of comments in response to Pemmi-Con. Notable points: Publish your schedule early enough that people can buy tickets and book a hotel room because they know there's a panel they want to attend. Publish your schedule early enough that your panelists know they're going to be paneling. Do badge swaps, table swaps, and pamphlet swaps with other cons, so that you can advertise at each other's con. Do this especially at cons local to your city, and at Big Cons. Continually expand your comms infrastructure until every attendee has a reasonable chance of seeing every important update.

Multimedia: If you're going to have hybrid panels, make sure that the remote panelists have good audio before the session starts. Provide slide deck editing services, to make sure that text can be read from the back of the room. Position your projectors so that the display is large enough and not canted.

Experiment with format: Not everyone wants to go to spend a weekend in panels getting lectured by grey-haired white people, or sing the same filk songs again. Mix it up. Pemmi-Con had a legitimately interesting innovation: a pinball tournament. One of the most-popular John Scalzi events at Chicon 8 was the dance he DJ'd. Anime con photoshoots are hugely attended. Board game conventions are similarly popular. Host an AMV contest. Run a room that's just a TV clip show. Have a library room, like the Carolina Manga Library. In addition to Masquerade, run a cosplay critique panel, and run it on multiple days so that people can bring different costumes to it. Do the fukcing Ribbon Game.

Look to the future: A lot of Traditional SFF Fandom is about the past. But some of the most-highly-attended panels at Anime and Games cons are about the future: things which are in the pipeline for next season or next year. Already-funded Kickstarters. Already-signed series. Do that at your Traditional SFF panels.

Train the next generation: Recruit volunteers, and when they tell you they have a better way to do things, don't turn them down immediately. If there's a reason, explain the reason. If their idea is good, adopt it. They're trying to make things better. If you drive out the next generation of con-runners, there won't be a next generation of cons.

#fandom #scifi #speculative fiction #conrunning #conventions #nasfic #pemmi-con #worldcon

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malewifemanhunter · 1 year

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(tag game i found bc i kinda miss them~)

15 questions for 15 mutuals

were you named after anyone?

one name is an old romanian name, and the other is supposed to mean "god is with us" in old hebrew lol

do you have kids?

god no shgashdgas

do you use sarcasm a lot?

i do, and it's real what they say, that men often can't tell when women joke bc jfc the number of times i had to explain to a dude that i was joking sfaghsd

what's the first thing you notice about people?

if it's just passing on the street, then clothes, bc more often than not, if they're dressed wacky or cool or idk, interesting, they're queer. and if it's someone i'm meeting then i guess their vibe, voice, like i'm trying to figure out if they like me or not lol

what's your eye color?

green

scary movies or happy endings?

happy ending all the ways. i'm a hurt/comfort kinda gal, and if the comfort is missing, my whole week is ruined

any special talents?

idk is creativity a talent? i think i'm pretty creative hgsdhagjsd

what are your hobbies?

i love drawing and writing, it's so fun to make old men yaoi art. also, i'm trying to get back into reading, i used to read so fucking much (i mean physical books, i read fanfiction on the daily sdagshdaghsd)

have any pets?

no but i want a cat so fucking bad

what sports do you play/have you played?

swimming. god i love swimming. it started with that swimming anime, Free!! but it's really so fun. plus i'm always faster than my brother and that's really fun bc he works out and it taller than me too

how tall are you?

175~ (5.7 for my americans gashdgas)

favorite subject in school?

i would say art, but we never really did that class. and the romanian class, i love chatting abt old authors and that kinda shit. philosophy too now that i think about it, it was really interesting

dream job?

i don't dream of labor <3

OK ok ok so if i tag u, you don't gotta participate of course, and if i don't tag you please feel free to still do it <;3 @officialbillhader @stglennfucker @headgehug @kod-lyoko @r0nnietherat @thetomboyeffect @ratcoffin69 @number-one-hog-hater @aanteater-nose @emodennis @nightcrawlerzincorporated uhhh idk i'm sure there's more ppl but i can't think of more usernames sorry my brain is fried hgshgashgdasdashgd

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anethara · 10 months

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i/p conflict. there is nothing coherent under this read-more. also a slur. and typos probably.

so. when i signed up to take this seminar about israel (ironically, about two weeks before 10/7), i did so thinking, "well, who knows. hopefully i will learn some new stuff and wrestle with this subject i have largely rejected whole cloth on account of annoyance." i expected to meet information i did not like or that made me uncomfortable. that's fine. that should be the drill, really, if you're jewish. "disturb us, Adonai, ruffle us from our complacency; make us dissatisfied" etc etc. and do you know what? it has changed my mind about some things - although, probably not the way the hartman institute imagined it would (the curriculum is a decade old). i'm not going to get into all that right now though.

no, i want to kvetch about something else that has happened in this class. i need to bitch and moan about the fact that almost no one else in the class seems to have come to the table with the same attitude. and i wonder: what the hell did you think we were going to discuss? we're talking about the challenge we face as reform jews in grappling with the israeli government's abject ideological failures. the whole program exists to resuscitate a conversation that had basically been abandoned by millennial jews because if our jewishness is in part defined by a commitment to social justice, we cannot feasibly support a state that flagrantly flouts those principles! so most of us threw our hands up on the subject of israel, and especially us american jewry - we said 'not my circus, not my monkeys.'

when all of this really popped off and suddenly every gentile could identify israel on a map, i was disgusted to realize something i've heard from basically every other jew ever, especially older folks: we will never really be assimilated, not truly. you're not nearly as american as you are jewish. this was logical knowledge, but until i experienced the ensuing tire spike of leftist antisemitism, it wasn't practical knowledge. it was like saying "yeah yeah i know how velocity works" and then getting into a neck-breaking car crash. because of this reaction, i did what a lot of us have done for the last few months: i retreated. i retreated because there has been no escape. in an age of surveillance normalcy and clickbait news, i cannot avoid incendiary headlines; goyim i haven't spoken to in months have flocked to my dm's (or invited me to dinner! without warning!) to ask me about my opinion on the war - a handful of these inquiries have been well-intentioned, if clumsy good-faith attempts, but most of them have the putrid aftertaste of "are you a good jew, or a bad jew?" lingering on them. even my beloved blue hellsite is not safe for me. and believe me, i have gotten very good at curating my dash over the years, but you people have found a way to fucking blast me with some of the most rancid, white supremacist tinfoil hat shit i've ever seen out in broad daylight, so to speak. i cannot tell you how many times in the last few months i've seen mutuals reblog something that made me think, damn just call me a kike and move on it will be better for both of us. so yeah, i've retreated. my non-jewish social circle shrunk exponentially within a matter of days. something i've had to repeat a lot is "i will have this conversation with other jews but i'm done having it with gentiles."

and now. and now. i cannot have this conversation with other jews!!!! at least, almost none who i see and interact with regularly. overnight, three fourths of my reform congregation turned to populist, nationalist rhetoric. people who months ago were championing reproductive freedom are now saying alarming things about the "duty" of jewish women to produce, and this is verbatim, "lots and lots of jewish babies!" today, in class, i had to fucking hand-hold someone through a reality check about the fact that hamas was not democratically elected so much as """democratically elected""" (read: at gunpoint) and you could see the gears turning, you could almost physically watch as this woman realized that if what i was telling her was true (which rabbi corroborated), that would logically terminate her justifications for violence against palestinians. "i just feel like if you support israel's military actions, there's no space for you in this conversation," she said, referring to the class. never mind that every fucking week we get derailed and the thing devolves into arguing about philosophical potholes and logical fallacies (which would be fine on saturday morning but this subject begs a slightly different tone imo). all we fucking do is hear out the pro-bibi spiel like patient parents and then gently try to offer facts and information only to be told we aren't 'making space' for the opinion that 'war crimes acceptable actually.'

anyway, all this to say that i am feeling deeply isolated and lonely right now. i don't want to talk to my remaining gentile friends about this. i can't talk with other jews about this, apparently. i haven't attended services in months (i'm usually there every week, fri-sun). i've been showing up to class via zoom (which i hate) so that i don't throw hands.

i gave rabbi a ride home the other night. she asked me, in the most earnest voice i have ever heard from another human being, "so. how are you doing?"

i do not know what compelled me to reveal this, especially to someone i have not had the easiest relationship with, but i said, "i'm sad. i'm lonely." she nodded. "hanukkah sucks this year. everyone who has ever conveniently forgotten about the maccabees for the last several decades - everyone who has celebrated a sanitized festival of lights so that we could compete with the christian slice of the hallmark card market - is suddenly trotting out the story of the revolt." she was still nodding. "and now, they've all gone and conveniently forgotten about how the hasmonean dynasty ended."

she seemed to chew on this for a moment. i like that about her. then she said, "if they ever even know about that part to begin with."

#original recipe #steam vent

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