#like my civs never end up awful

[y-ddraig]

List 5 things that make you happy, then send this to the askbox of the last 10 people who liked or reblogged something from you! Get to know your mutuals and followers!

I ended up writing a lot I think, so I'm putting a brake!

1. Doctor Who. It's a very fun show I've been watching since I was pre-memory forming baby. I popped out the womb and my mother throwed me at a TV screen showing DW. I'm currently going through old who, which is either extremely boring or genuinely amazing. It is never mid, only bad or good. I recommend if you enjoy women googling Leela, as she is very pretty and gets some fun outfits.

2. Drawing sometimes. When I'm actually doing it I generally find it enjoyable but that can fall apart if something isn't working or I can't come up with anything to draw. I do sketches daily in bed for about an hour, which is nice and hopefully will allow me to improve.

3. I really love strategy games. Like paradox map games or civ. They're like fun keys to jangle in front of my brain. I'm currently playing quite a bit of Victoria 3, as the new DLC comes out very soon. I'm currently in the middle of a run trying to see if I can form Germany from Luxembourg, which is very interesting. I also love to use them as jumping off points to learn more about history. Like how a unified Germany and Italy are both younger than the US but never get shit for it! (Largely because they're continuations of other states but still)

4. I really love musicals. They're really nice to listen to. I've been listening to Bring it on a lot recently, which is fun. I really like Eva in it, she's truly awful in numerous ways which I find very funny. She also gets a song called "killer instinct" where she goes an unhinged rant about all the things she did to become cheer captain and compares herself to Genghis Khan.

5. Tumblr is very fun! I've never really been that into fandom stuff but through it I've been able to make mutuals and friends which I've never really done before. It's cool! It's very nice seeing someone like a post and being like "I know that person!" Or seeing their tags on various posts.

[evverest]

my partner and i playing civ6 together is really a gem because he is so fucking meticulous, micromanaging every city, spending time on even the smallest of decisions while i blaze through every turn with blind confidence that everything will turn out okay eventually. i misclick constantly, i forget things, i click things off spur of the moment appeal, i refuse to check any menu or plan or think about decisions for longer than 10 seconds tops. most civs i make are memeing the entire time. i think every click i make pains him physically. he constantly tries to coax me into learning more abt the game, thinking criticially, understanding mechanics, and i am obstinate and unwilling at every turn. we could not play the game any differently and we have played So Much of it

[snippy-tano]

hey i really love your writing! i check your blog pretty often, it makes me smile :) since requests are open i was wondering if you’d be down to write something about cody and a reader who has trust issues from a pretty recent past relationship, and getting reader to open up and trust him? LMAO may or may not be cathartic for me rn. Ty <3

First of all, I am so sorry it’s taken me so long to get to this. Things have been weirdly crazy and stressful for me lately and I just haven’t been in the right headspace to tackle any of the asks in my box. But, that being said, I’m determined to get out of my funk and this ask I think was the one to finally do it!

I really hope you like this and it helps you! I know it’s always cathartic for me to write this and I hope it translates and helps you with whatever it is you’re going through.

Just know I’m rooting for you bb. I love you. 

Tagging: @pro-fangirls-unsocial-life, @marvel-starwars-nerd, @mackstrut, & @dissapointingpancake

(Let me know if you want to be added to my taglist! You can find it here!)

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

Trust

The moment you laid eyes on Marshal Commander Cody, you knew you were in trouble.

With his easy but rare smile, kind eyes, and wicked sense of humor, it was easy to imagine yourself falling for him. Words were easy to find when you were with him and no one else had made you feel so at ease. He never pushed, but was a steady calming presence you had been missing, especially when you were fighting a war. 

But your walls were high and sturdy. A lifetime of failed relationships always hung over your head like a curse, darkening every bright light you ever saw. It settled on your shoulders and dragged you down further and further with every passing day. 

Ever since your last chance at a relationship ended, things seemed hopeless. They’d broken your trust and faith in a way that shattered your dreams of ever finding someone who would cherish you in mind and body. 

After that, it was easier for you to accept you’d never experience what you so desperately wanted to feel. 

Things were easier that way. Your fragile heart needed a life to recover and you decided it was easier to see the rest of your years pass you by than to subject yourself to another heartbreak. 

But then along came Cody. 

It was subtle at first. 

In some of the very few moments you caught sight of him without his helmet, you would notice his eyes on you. But he’d always look away just quickly. It happened enough that you noticed and found yourself doing the same, wishing for even the smallest glimpse at the highest ranking clone in the GAR. 

Then one day you quite literally bumped into him while leaving a briefing, causing your flimsy cup of awful caf to drop to the floor. The moment his hands gripped your arms to steady you as you stumbled, eyes searching your face for any issues as he apologized.

You didn’t know it at the time, but he’d managed to find a crack in your walls, slipping his fingers inside and slowly working his way inside. It was the start of something you never saw coming. 

After a few awkward mutterings from the both of you, he had stepped back, lifting his hands away while his head ducked down. He once again apologized and you returned the sentiment. A quick word from General Kenobi seemingly broke the spell, but before you could retreat back into your comfort zone, Cody offered to make it up to you with a cup of non-GAR issued caf. 

Without thinking, you had said yes.

You walked away from him with a smile tugging at the corner of your mouth.

For the next few weeks, you began to spend more time with him. You did end up getting caf together the next time you were on a short leave on Coruscant and it was easier than you expected. Cody never expected you to have all the answers, but the gentle questions never stopped. 

It was effortless to open up to him, to laugh for the first time in a long time at a ridiculous story from before you joined the 212th as a civilian. The way his face had softened and his eyes had sparkled when you laughed was enough to stop your heart from beating. 

No one had ever looked at you like that. It made your impossible dream seem a little more possible.

But still it was hard. 

You’d been hurt one too many times, one of which was recent enough that you were still recovering. Your past was always not far behind you, chasing you through your days and your nights, refusing to yield. It was exhausting. You were so tired of running, but still you kept going. 

Sitting across from Cody in that small diner on Coruscant made you wonder what it would be like to finally stop running from your past, to imagine the life you could have. 

From that point on, Cody always made an effort to visit with you or spend more time with you when he had the time. And even when he didn’t have the time, he made sure to make time. You’d lost track of the times he’d dropped by your tiny closet of an office with some smuggled in sweets he’d confiscated from Waxer and Boil on a day you needed it most. It was like he knew when you needed the pick-me-up. 

The first time you’d hugged him, you had been convinced he’d been killed. 

They’d lost contact with him on a mission and instantly you could feel the panic seizing in your chest. It was hard to breathe and you couldn’t stop the tears from forming in your eyes.

The moment you saw him walking across the tarmac, armor dirty and scuffed, with his helmet tucked under his arm but looking relatively uninjured, you couldn’t stop yourself. You were sprinting across the pavement before you realized what you were doing. 

His eyes fixed on you almost instantly and you saw the wave of relief wash across his entire body. His bucket hit the ground seconds before you hit Cody. You threw yourself into his arms and he’d stumbled in surprise, but didn’t let you falter. 

You held on with everything you had, burying your face in his neck as you just held him as tightly as you could. Cody had done the same, arms locked around you as his gloved fingers wove snuggly into your hair.

He was fine. 

You were fine. 

After that, it was like something shifted.

Every chance the both of you had, you were placing a hand on his arm, or his shoulder, or intertwining your pinky with his. Cody seemed to have the same idea because he never left your presence without giving your elbow a squeeze or trailing his fingers along the back of your hand. 

The first time the pair of you kissed, it was you who made the first move.

You’d been sitting in a quiet hallway aboard the Negotiator. More confiscated candy sat between the two of you as you looked out at the clear, empty space around you. It was late and nearly everyone was already asleep, but neither of you seemed in any rush to go to bed, so you found a quiet corner and decided to just enjoy each other’s company. 

As you looked out into the darkness, you didn’t feel afraid. 

Before, you’d always been a little uneasy looking out into space like this. You weren’t sure what it was, but it unnerved you. But as you sat there beside Cody who was more relaxed than you had ever seen him, eating sweets you would have never thought he would like.

That’s when you realized you weren’t as afraid because Cody showed you that you didn’t have to be afraid. 

You had turned to him, eyes scanning his face as he looked out, chewing on a piece of candy. The sharp lines of his face had softened and he seemed at peace. Warmth spread through your chest and you could feel the darkness you’d been carrying for years slowly melt away, leaving nothing but a warmness you never wanted to fade.

Cody had noticed your gaze because he turned to you, eyebrows furrowed and concern flashing in his eyes.

It was in that moment that you realized what you’d done without even trying. 

You’d fallen for him. And it was the easiest thing you’ve ever done. And it didn’t scare you.

Despite your tendency to overthink and overanalyze things, you found yourself not thinking when you pushed yourself forward, knocking over the bag of candy to press your lips against Cody’s. He made it easy to not think, to just feel.

Cody had seemed surprised at first if his sharp inhale told you anything, but he relaxed almost immediately, his gloveless hands coming up to gently cradle your head. 

It wasn’t the first time you’d ever kissed someone before, but it was the first time your stomach flipped and your entire body practically melted. It set every single one of your nerve endings on fire and you had no desire to put them out, in fact, you wanted them to keep burning, stoking the fire for the rest of your life.

It took your breath away.

Which is why you did eventually have to pull away even though you never wanted to ever stop. You opened your eyes, chewing on your lip as you looked at a face you saw every day in a million others, but there was only one you cared about. 

There was only one you loved.

Cody’s eyes opened and you were fixed with the most intense stare from the golden eyes you saw the stars in. He let out a soft chuckle when an unrestrained smile broke across his face. 

You’d do anything to see that smile over and over again for the rest of your lives. 

Trust has always been hard for you.

But with Cody it was easy.

And because it was easy, you stopped worrying and leaned forward again, capturing his lips again as he smiled against you.

You’d never flown higher than when the walls around you came tumbling down. Cody had given you a reason to trust again. To love again. 

It would always be an uphill battle for you, but Cody would never let you fall.

Never.

[themoonandotherslikeit]

Holding on and Letting go - Chapter Three

The sequel to The Hand That Reaches for God

Emerson was always told that time heals all wounds, but whoever said that must’ve not lived in the world that she lived in. They must’ve lived in the time before, when the world its self wasn’t this bleeding, throbbing wound, and that time did nothing but drag out the never ending pain.

The Maklen sisters and the Winchester brothers were inseparable, their whole lives, and when the world turned red they did the one thing they knew how to do– be together. But now, the same world that pulled them together, seemed destined to rip them apart again and shatter something that was so fragile in the first place.

Chapter Three

“I will not have you without the darkness that hides within you. I will not let you have me without the madness that makes me. If our demons cannot dance, neither can we.” - Nikita Gill

-8 Years Before-

“Happy birthday dear OpheliaandEmersonnnnn happy birthday to you!”

Ophelia leaned down and blew out the candles on their cake. That was always her job, and Emerson didn’t care, not really. She wasn’t the kind that made wishes on candles or stars. She just hoped that Pheli wished enough for both of them.

Sam invaded their space and wrapped his arms around Pheli’s waist and placed a big kiss on her cheek. “Happy birthday, baby!”

“Aw! He’s sweet. Isn’t he sweet?”

“The sweetest,” Em said tightly. She walked to the table to help her mom cut the cake, since it was pretty clear that her sister wasn’t going to.

“Are you having fun, honey?” Jana asked, kissing her daughter’s temple.

“Yeah. Thanks, Mom.”

“You can sit down. I can get it,” she insisted. “Let your mother take care of you on your birthday.”

“She’s right, you know.”

Emerson would recognize that voice anywhere. Dean. She just couldn’t get rid of him, could she? “What’re you doing here?”

“It’s a party,” Dean said with a shrug.

“I know. It’s my party.” She wasn’t sure if she even believed that. Her eyes met his green ones and a chill ran down her spine. He had this way of getting under her skin that she couldn’t shake no matter how hard she tried.

“Wanna take a walk?”

“Okay.”

She avoided the quirked eyebrow and smirk of her mother and followed Dean through her house to the front door. They pushed through and walked down the sidewalk. It was awkward at first, quiet. She questioned immediately why she went with him. What the fuck was she thinking? She ditched her own birthday party for Dean Winchester. Pheli was going to give her so much shit for this.

They followed the sidewalk to the pier and down to the water. There was something about the ocean that always had a draw for Emerson. It didn’t matter how long she lived near it, she always felt a lot calmer when she could smell the salt. The air was cold, and the sand was hard and frozen. The whistle of the wind over the sea was haunting, like a set of old wind chimes. She stopped walking and turned to him. She worried if they kept walking they would reach the end of the earth and fall off the edge. “Why did you ask me out here, Dean?”

Dean's hands were in his pockets, and he looked out to the sea, dark and churning. He turned to glance at her and dug in the pocket of his coat and held out his fist. “I got you something.”

She raised an eyebrow curiously. “Why?”

“It’s your birthday. That’s what people do.”

Right.

Emerson held out her hand for him and he dropped something into it. She pulled her hand back and stared at the necklace resting in her palm. “You got me jewelry.”

“Don’t make it weird.”

“It is weird,” she said with a snort before holding it up. It was a dainty, gold chain with a small golden bear on it. She ran her finger along the hunched back of the bear and frowned. “What is…”

“Bears are supposed to symbolize strength. I just… You’re strong, Em. Sometimes I feel like you forget that.”

She curled her fingers around the necklace, her chest tugging herself towards him a bit, and she swallowed hard. How was it that this man knew her so deeply? He seemed to know exactly what she needed to hear, and the way to say it that made all of the difference. They were toeing a line. He was too old for her, and she had no interest in falling in love, but yet. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He turned away from her, looking back out. “I don’t think you get enough attention. Everyone is always focused on Ophelia. She’s great, don’t get me wrong, it’s just… you’re great, too. Don’t think anyone tells you enough.”

“I don’t need that much validation.”

“Maybe not, but I’m still gonna tell you.”

And he did.

-3 Years after-

Dean Winchester spent a lot of time looking at Emerson Maklen, especially after everything that happened. It felt like he had to walk on eggshells with her and Sammy. Sometimes it was too damn much, but he had to pick his battles. He had to appreciate what he had left.

It was her birthday, and he wanted to do something special for her, but he knew better. She wouldn’t want to celebrate without Pheli, and he couldn’t blame her for that.

Out of all of the ways he thought they would end up, this wasn’t even an option. Not by a long shot. She was trying, and he could appreciate that. They all were, but sometimes trying wasn’t enough. He could hear her crying at night even though she tried to hide it, and it broke him. There was nothing worse than seeing the person he loved most in the world hurt so deeply. He felt like no matter how close he got to her, he would never be close enough to pull her out of the darkness.

He’d been thinking about his deployment a lot lately. The heat of the desert was on his mind. The sweat and the sand. The blood and bombs. It felt like a different life, like some kind of god awful dream. That’s how The After felt. That's what they’d dubbed the apocalypse. It had a sort of a ring to it, well it sounded better than ‘the end of the fucking world’, even though that was pretty accurate.

He spent so much of his deployment thinking about Emerson. He thought about her and all of the letters she probably hadn’t opened. He thought about how he would win her back. He thought about a lot of things. One night he laid on his back in a truck bed as Charlie drove, yammering on about something, but his eyes didn’t leave the sky. He could say a lot about Afghanistan, but fuck, the sky was clear. He could see a million stars, but really all he saw was Emerson.

All he ever saw was Emerson.

-2 Years before-

“Alright, men,” Dean began, shifting uncomfortably in his Civ’s.

Charlie cleared her throat and shot him daggers at men.

“Alright, gang?”

She nodded in approval, and Dean shook his head with a snort. Charlie reminded him of her sometimes. She was so fucking strong willed that it gave him a headache. He missed her more than he could ever imagine. If Dean Winchester could list his biggest mistakes on a sheet of paper, it would just have the date that he crawled out of Emerson Maklen’s window, leaving her naked and alone, in big Roman numerals. What the fuck was he thinking?

Well, he knew exactly what he was thinking. He wasn’t good enough.

“Alright, gang. We have the evening free. Novak did us a solid, so don’t fuck it up. Ya hear me? Don’t go getting any locals pregnant, or getting too shitfaced that you can’t report in the morning. He will have my ass, and I frankly like my ass.”

The men snickered in response. Such fucking children. Dean shook his head, but couldn’t help but smile. He needed this as badly as they did.

They all climbed into the Humvee to head toward the closest town, their pockets full of bills and big painted smiles. Benny pulled out his guitar on his knee and started to strum as Dean drove. He glanced back at his friend in the rear view mirror. “Say you're leavin' on a seven thirty train and that you're headin' out to Hollywood. Girl, you been givin' me that line so many times it kinda gets like feelin' bad looks good, yeah.”

They howled in response, like wolves at the moon, all leaning into Charlie. She shook her head and punched Garth in the shoulder in response. She was nobody’s baby, but the men knew that. They loved her and respected her, probably more than they respected Dean. He was fine with that.

“Yeah, you drive me crazy, crazy, crazy for you baby…” They sang out in unison, and Dean laughed, joining in, because why not? Sammy wasn’t there. The people in the back of the Humvee were his family. They were branded by war, by blood, dirt, sweat, and fucking tears. No one talked about how Garth cried at night, how Benny stayed up late to write letters to his niece, or how Dean scribed letters to a girl that would never write him back. He half expected to get a package of returned mail, but they never came.

He rubbed the place above the inside pocket of his jacket where Ophelia’s letter was zipped up tightly inside. He received it on his last day of Basic. He had read it about a thousand times, and the edges were worn and soft. He had to assume that it meant that Emerson had kept his letter. She hadn’t trashed it, at least.

Em didn’t share with me the letter you sent to her, and I think it’s because she’s scared.

Scared. He could’ve laughed, but it all hurt way too damn much. He assumed, since Ophelia Maklen was vouching for him that she didn’t know what he did. If she did, she would be marching right into the shit to punch him in the teeth. He deserved it.

He just hoped Emerson did think that it was all about sex. It wasn’t. He didn’t plan on going there and sleeping with her. It was just a happy accident.

“You good?” Kevin asked, raising an eyebrow. He sat in the passenger seat, and he was staring at Dean. “You’re gripping the steering wheel really tight.”

Dean loosened his grip, his fingers white from the pressure. “Yeah, I’m good,” he responded with a grunt.

They didn’t do the soft thing. They didn’t open up or hug, which was fine by him. He worried if he started that he’d never be able to stop. He hadn’t relaxed for a second since his deployment started.

“Part of me thinks I’m gonna die out there.”

“Well can you do me a favor, and I don’t know, not die?”

“Aw, Em, your heart is showing.”

Things never quite went the way that he expected them to. If he knew that she would want him, he would’ve never enlisted. Fuck his father, what did John Winchester ever do to deserve a breath from Dean’s body? Emerson, on the other hand, deserved the world.

Maybe it was a blessing in disguise, or whatever. She most certainly deserved better than him.

“You look like you’re going to hurl,” Kevin commented.

“Christ, Tran, can you mind your own dick?”

Kevin frowned, his body deflating, and Dean immediately felt guilty. Wasn’t the kids fault that he was so messed up.

He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose and glanced at Kevin. “Just thinking about what I left behind is all. Not much I can do about it now.”

Kevin nodded quickly. “I understand that. I think about my mom all the time. I think about how proud she was. I don’t want to let her down.”

“You won’t,” Dean assured him.

“Whatever you’re worried about, Dean, it will work out.”

“Oh yeah? You got some crystal ball I don’t know about?”

Kevin snorted in response, shaking his head. “No. I just… I know, I guess. I don’t get the impression that you let things go easily.”

He was on the nose about that one. “You’re quiet, Tran.”

“That means I am pretty observant.”

“Apparently.” He turned back to the road, tapping his fingers to whatever song Benny was strumming. “Thanks, kid.”

Kevin shrugged. “You do it for the guys all the time. It’s the least I can do.”

“Hey, Tran?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you think that there are some things that can never be forgiven?”

“What do you mean?” He asked, his eyebrows furrowed. “I think we see shit in war all the time that can’t be forgiven.”

“I meant more… personally.”

“Ah,” Kevin nodded swiftly. “Whatever it is, Dean, an apology goes a long way.”

“I did,” he grunted. “She didn’t write back.”

“Hm. I’ll pray for you, buddy.”

“You really think that helps?”

“Well,” Kevin began with an ornery smile. “Couldn’t hurt, right?”

-3 Years after-

Today was a win, at least in Dean’s mind. They found an abandoned motel, which sort of felt a little pointless to call it that- everything was abandoned unless it was full of Rogues. The motel had a backup generator that hadn’t been on this whole time. It worked, which meant lights and running water. The lobby even had some old DVD’s, which meant movies. Dean couldn’t remember the last time he watched a movie. Maybe he would get to celebrate Em’s birthday after all.

Sam insisted on his own room, which didn’t bother Dean much at all, because he had plans for his room that didn’t include his brother’s wandering eyes. They agreed on joint rooms in case of trouble. They never could justify being too far apart.  

After digging around in the dusty kitchen of the motel, he managed to find some non-perishables. A few cans of ravioli, which was honestly really unappetizing, but if he was being honest, nothing was really appetizing anymore. He was most excited, though, about the single birthday candle he found. Combined with the lighter that he still carried in his pocket would allow for Emerson to make a birthday wish. It was the least she deserved.

He gathered up armfuls of movies and opened the door to their room. The lights were off apart from the lamp between the two beds, and the shower was running. Heat rose up his neck at the thought of her naked behind the door. Even after all of the time, he was still completely dazzled by her. He didn’t expect that to change anytime soon.

He dropped everything on the dust-covered dresser. “Em?” He opened the bathroom door slowly, allowing the anticipation to build in his gut.

“Dean… don’t,” she murmured, gasping a bit from behind the shower curtain.

“What’s wrong?” He asked immediately, walking to the shower without thinking. He pulled back the curtain to find her crumbled at the floor of the shower completely clothed. Her knees were pressed to her chest, her hair soaked and matted down against her face and neck. He wondered how long she had been there. “Em.”

“I don’t need the pity, Dean. Just… give me a minute, okay?”

“No,” he said quietly, his heart breaking for her. He climbed in the shower across from her, his legs going to either side of her, water rushing down his face and back. His eyes stung and his throat burned as he watched the strongest person he’d ever known crack like glass.

“Damn it, just leave me alone,” she gasped, a sob escaping her lips. She buried her face in her hands, and he pulled her against his chest. She curled her hands into fists and pounded them half-heartedly onto his chest. “Leave me alone!”

“No,” he whispered against her wet hair, allowing her to hit him over and over again until her arms fell between them.

Pain knew no gender, race, age, status… In the end they were all the same. The thing that was ripping Emerson apart had come for him already. He’d lived in the trenches longer than he cared to admit. It was all darkness and dirt, like being buried alive. He was choking, drowning in it, but she pulled him out. So there was no way in Hell that he was going to let her be overcome by pain, not alone.

“I love you. I’ve got you, Em.”

“Things are so fucked up,” she sobbed, her broken voice cutting into him. He held her tighter, with stronger arms.

“I know.”

“I don’t think you do. You still have Sam.”

He winced at that. She’d never thrown Sam in his face before like that. It had always been a good thing that Sam was still with him. She was trying to hurt him, and she was right. He had no idea how she felt. How could he?

“I just keep thinking about when we were twelve and Pheli wanted to do another princess birthday. I couldn’t stand it anymore. I told her I didn’t want to share a birthday with her. I just wanted to go to the movies. I didn’t want to have a whole thing with crowns and dresses.”

“Em, you can’t beat yourself up for something that happened over a decade ago…”

“Yeah, Dean, I can. I didn’t appreciate her the way I should have. I should’ve never left her alone… then I wouldn’t be having another birthday without her. It’s not fucking fair! She should be here.”

“You’re right,” he said. He held her arms and looked into her eyes. “It’s not fair. It’s fucked up. It’s wrong, but just because Phel can’t be here doesn’t mean that you shouldn’t live, Em. I feel like I’m watching you die with every breath you take.”

He thought about the pink candle on top of the can of ravioli on the dresser, and how the flame would never be lit. It felt unbelievably lonely.

“It’s devastating having to watch someone that you love disappear and not be able to do anything to stop it, isn’t it?” She asked, coldly. Her fingers twisted in his shirt. “I was so fucking focused on you, Dean, that I wasn’t watching out for my sister. I’m trying so hard to not hate you for that, to not make this all for nothing… but sometimes it hurts so bad to look at you. So please leave me alone. You want to do something for me for my birthday? Just go.”

-106 Days after-

Everything was red.

Sam was on his back, flat on the ground. Blood pooled from a wound on his shoulder. He had been shot. His face was pale, and he was blinking a lot, like he was trying to see something that wasn’t there. His long, pale fingers were stretched outward, reaching. He was muttering something that Dean couldn’t quite understand when they approached. “Take care of Sammy.” He had failed. “Hey, Sammy I’ve got you,” he said, crouching down immediately to take his brother in his arms. He put pressure on the wound, blood seeping through his fingers, flashes of bloody limbs in the dirt of Afghanistan edged its way into his vision. He willed it away. His past demons had no place in his present nightmare. “It ain’t that bad.”

Some moments are small. The smile on Emerson’s face when he said her name, the way she mumbled in her sleep, the frequency that Ophelia ended up cuddled next to Emerson, leaving Sam alone in bed. Those moments were small breaths of bliss.

Some moments were huge, astronomical, devastating, ineffable.

He had been so focused on his brother’s wound that he hadn’t even heard Emerson screaming, not until she fell on her knees next to Sam, shouting, wailing something unintelligible.

All he could hear was the woosh of his blood pounding in his ears. The sound of his heartbeat, and the word gone.

—–

Chapter four

Catch up on Part One Here

Tag List:

@hanaissupergirl

@deans-baby-momma

@cpag7

@tftumblin

@squirrelnotsam

@formulafun

@thatgirl1456

@wildfirekitten

@ceisbill

[greenninjagal-blog]

Even If it Kills Us (but it wont hopefully) pt8

hey, Hey, HEy, HEY! Sanders Sides mafia au! That erased itself four times and made me cry twice. :) Sorry for the long wait, I rage quit for a few weeks.

Part Seven is here for those who need a refresher (aka me) and Part One is here for anyone new around! Summary: Virgil is a normal college student, who is also the heir to a mafia he didn’t know existed, and he’s currently being arrested for it. At least he knows to wear a seat belt.

TW: knives, tasers, poisons, 

Quick Taglist: @a-she-monster @average--human @calvindientesblancos @crysthefangirl4ever @deathshadowrules @dierotenixe @drmephistofaust  @emo-nithtmare @enderperson43 @fandomobsessed-nerd @fireflysinmystomach @ilovemygaydad @iolanomsgranola @itsrandompostime @jadeace115  @just-another-rainbowblog  @kindly-falling  @laragazzadellluna @lefaystrent @levy-the-b00kw0rm @logicality-vs-prinxiety @meep-by-boredom @mirror2thespirit @my-analogical-romance @ninja-wizard101 @oodlemydoodle @pattons-cookies @punsterterry  @reeama-the-slytherin @sanders-sides-rebloger @seaspider10 @skittlesun  @skullfire2004 @spookilyfingergunsoutofexistence @superwholocked-for-life @sylveon-lover-crazyfangirl1415 @that-ghost-in-the-corner @the-anti-virgil @the-parentheticals  @theradicalrainbow @chelsvans @felicianoromano @jemthebookworm @holliberries @stricken-with-clairvoyancy @treasureofpriam

(lmk if you want to be added!)

“I am Logan Ackroyd, Undercover FBI,” Logan says, one hand-- his non shot hand-- casually fixing his tie, “And I’ll be taking these two into custody.”

Virgil thinks of all the times he’s previously been arrested.

There are none.

Instead he’s stuck with all his limbs unresponsive like a computer that’s been disconnected, his head worrying with a faint buzzing from where he’d head hit the ground after Logan shoved him away (hand on Virgil’s bare collarbone, cold and heavy slipped past his shirt collar and his jacket), and his mouth overwhelmingly tasting like burnt popcorn.

Virgil’s knowledge of police procedures come completely from the stolen few minutes of Criminal Minds he caught on TV occasionally as a child 

(before his mother caught him, before she yelled and tore at his hair and told him never to let the police get near him)

And really, what more had he needed to know? 

Don’t do illegal things! That was easy enough!

Virgil thinks, as his rights are read to him, and his hands are cuffed behind his back, and he’s loaded into the back of a police car in front of a crowd of bypassers coming to the diner for a midday brunch, he failed, majorly.

He doesn’t even know what crime he was being arrested for.

Was it the suspicious activity of people shooting at him in the movie theater? Was it the reckless speeding through town that he had been a passenger in? Was it the murder of two assumed police officers in the diner five minutes ago?

All three?

None?

��Wow, the real deal!” A local police officer says from somewhere Virgil can’t see

(which is pretty much everywhere, considering the only thing he can see is a black ant scuttling through the grass inches from his nose and getting closer)

“Hey, Wally, check these guys out! They’re real FBI!” The officer says again.

“Wouldja look at that! A real FBI badge!”

Virgil wonders if they knew the difference between a real one and a fake one. He has his doubts concerning the two officers who tried to apprehend them inside the dinner.

“Yes,” Logan’s voice says coolly, coldly, icily, “I am a real FBI agent with real paperwork to complete and this mess to take care of.” 

Virgil is really not a fan of how he says “mess”. 

Like Virgil is month old take out that started to reproduce, like the sticky mess of spilled energy drinks that Virgil carelessly left across his desk which ended up gluing the entire back cover of his Western Civ textbook to the wooden surface, like the aftermath of an execution and the blood had spilled into the grout.

“Remus,” Logan’s voice calls out, “Time to go.”

Then someone picks up Virgil by his shoulder and another by his feet and all Virgil can think is people touching him, hands on his body, and he cant move. 

He wants to scream, but the effects of the taser are long lasting (apparently) and he can’t even get his tongue to unstick from the top of his mouth, much less open his jaw at all. 

The idea of forcing air out of his already uncomfortably compressed lungs?

forget it.

He’s vaguely aware that on other side of him, Dee was carefully loaded in, completely useless, completely unconscious.

Virgil gets the feeling he’s just a passenger in his own body. Part of him wants to feel humiliated by the way the he’d been manhandled into a police car in front of a dozen families and two news crews.

Part of him wants to revoke Dee’s kneecap privileges for being so fucking dense that he hadn’t even noticed anything was weird about the dinning experience.

Part of him wants to lunge forward and wrap his arms around Logan’s throat, and strangle him between the links of his handcuffs and the headrest. (not that Virgil would act on that one; there’s clearly a metal mesh between the backseat and where Logan has slipped into the driver’s seat to prevent that exact scenario from occurring)

Because really, he was FBI?! He was undercover?! He had been playing each of them in oh so many ways-- How long had he been fooling Roman? What had he done to Roman and Patton when Virgil had left? What was his actual goal here?

And did it involve Virgil being alive at the end of it?

(Virgil wants to think so. Logan wouldn’t have gone to all this trouble to keep him alive just to kill him--)

Logan’s partner slaps a hand on the window, inches from where Virgil’s head had fallen, and grins at him as he opens his own door and slips into the seat in front of Virgil.

The look Virgil gets is brief.

And also terrifying.

Virgil knows that face.

Knows that face as well as he can, the partial of it seared into his brain as the moment Virgil’s life ended and this twisted nightmare began.

Its the face of the gunman that had tried to shoot him in the face at the movies, the gunman who Logan had tackled to first save his life, the gunman who Virgil hadn’t spared a second thought about because since his appearance, it had been run and duck and please don’t let me die. 

“Oh! He’s pretty cute back there!” The partner says, “I love when they’re all tied up like cute little piggies!”

Logan’s head shakes in a way that suggests he’s rolling his eyes.

The car hums to life, and Logan breezes by the crowd the second the police line widens enough for them to escape. Once they leave the public eye, Logan’s partner’s seatbelt comes off and his feet go up on the dashboard with something dancing between his fingers causally.

“FBI!” The partner laughs, “I can’t believe they really bought those fake badges of yours!”

“Remus, seatbelt.” Logan says without looking away from the road. “And they are real.”

Remus laughs. He makes no move to reattach the belt.

Virgil’s eyes flick to the side mirror in front of them, just in time to catch sight of the butterfly knife the man is expertly twisting around his index and middle finger. Remus catches his gaze in the mirror and blows him a kiss with a wink.

Virgil wishes he was in control of his body, enough to shudder, enough to snarl, enough to throw himself from the car and the oncoming traffic hits him just right--

“What a kid,” Remus sighs, perhaps dreamily, “Do you think I can keep his head for my mantle?”

“You don’t have a mantle.” Logan says, “You don’t have a house.”

“Yeah,” Remus agrees. “But also he’s a kid.”

Logan uses turn signals, Virgil notices, faintly. He feels very faint.

Like a balloon that’s floating away.  And one day he’ll reach the upper atmospheres where the decreasing air pressure will cause his insides to expand until he explodes into a 

“mess” 

that Logan will have to clean up.

The air in the car is tense. Virgil can’t breathe

It might also have to do with the fact he can’t move and there’s a murderer in front of him talking about killing him and-- and--

“Interesting,” Logan says, using one of his turn signals to switch lanes, “I wasn’t aware you got metaphoric cold feet over assassinations.”

The knife flips in the air. Virgil squeezes his eyes closed, forcing his chest to move. 

“You’re telling me you don’t have any qualms about killing a college brat? Any at all, Mr. Undercover FBI?”

“I’m not paid to have morals, Remus.”

Logan sounds cold, colder than ice. The vibrations of his tone wash over Virgil like a ocean, and suddenly he’s drowning.

He’s drowning on dry land and Remus is laughing.

“Surely if you want to-- how they say, “flake out”, you’re welcome to open your door and take a walk.” 

Virgil’s pretty sure Logan speeds up as he talks; the white line on the edge of the road blurs, Virgil’s head’s rumbles against the window until he’s sure he’ll never be able to see straight again.

“Aw Specs!” Remus laughs. Logan’s head twitches at the nickname, the same nickname that Roman had called him oh-so-long ago. “No way I’m gonna let you handle all the juicy stuff yourself! You already got all the credit for Roman Prince’s!”

All the energy in the car turns to white noise.

Virgil’s chest,

halts,

in the middle of a breath.

and he can’t think

because that’s not right

can’t be right.

Roman-- Roman trusted Logan.

Logan had taken a bullet for him.

why did--

how did--

Logan fixes his rear view mirror with his non shot hand. Perfectly fluid.

Virgil can see it in his mind’s eye suddenly: the memory of Logan throwing himself into Roman and taking that bullet and bleeding and getting close to Roman, being right next to Roman, demanding that Roman equip him with another gun despite his dominant hand being out of commission. 

He can see it suddenly: the second that Virgil had stormed out, Logan had put two in Roman’s distracted gut. While Virgil had been racing the in the purple car, Roman had been bleeding out on his own kitchen floor, and Patton must have joined him. While Virgil was arguing with Dee, Logan was getting paid for the murder of two people who trusted him.

Logan was ambidextrous.

Virgil doesn’t know where the strength comes from.

All he knows is he threw himself forward battering against the metal mesh with an angry ferocity that made Logan’s injured hand lose hold of the steering wheel. The whole car shakes as Logan swaps hands and curses.

“Why?”

It’s barely a breathe between his tense jaw and his thick tongue and numb lips. The word itself feels like a dagger in his own chest just to say.

“Interesting,” Logan says again, this time with his eyes in the rear view, and they stare directly at Virgil. A scientist’s gaze. “The box jellyfish poison should have shut down most bodily functions but it appears that it is wearing off faster than I anticipated.”

(Hand on Virgil’s bare collarbone, cold and heavy, slipped past his shirt collar, and leaving the skin numbed. The poison sinking into Virgil’s skin while the taser had him immobile)

“It’s a good question!” Remus!! Says!! excitedly!! He turns in his seat, flipping the knife close with one hand and wiggling his fingers through the mesh with the other, like a taunt. 

“Pardon?”

“Why did the straight and narrow, hard working FBI agent Logan Ackroyd, decided to throw it all away so suddenly?” Remus sings. Virgil can see something left in his mustache, a something red like jam.

Logan switches lanes again.

“If you must know,” He says his fingers curling on the top of the steering wheel. “The pay is more suitable to my tastes.” 

Which is a fancy way of saying Logan had managed to put a price tag on people.

That Logan looked at Roman and actively thought, “I could kill this annoying man for X amount of dollars in cash”

That Logan looked at Virgil and saw dollar signs rather than the terrified kid he was.

“Oh, you nerdy little dork!” Remus hums, “You’re speaking my language now!”

“Of course I am. English is both our first--”

“Dork means whale penis. Basically, I called you a whale penis!”

Virgil wonders if Logan was being paid enough for this; by the way the car speeds up, he doubts it.

Virgil clings to the anger in his chest. He squeezes his eyes closed, thinking of the past twenty four hours, of Roman in his house, of Roman talking about his cars, of Roman speeding down the street and laughing, with those stupid sunglasses in his glossy mused hair. He thinks of the feel the gravel under his knees, of the sound of his best friends voice, of Patton’s elbow on his hooked and swinging and even if it was all a lie and Virgil was just an assignment Patton had completed--

Virgil thinks of the boy he was closest too, and thinks of how the feel of his broken glasses under Virgil’s knuckles and the look of shock on his freckled face. 

And of the hollowed hours since where Virgil swore to himself he didn’t want Patton by his side.

Where Virgil lied because he wants Patton here very badly even if hes mad even if they’re fighting even if he can’t ever forgive Patton.

Where Virgil was busy being angry and upset and his best friend was being killed by the cold hearted, side switching, asshole in the seat in front of him without a seconds hesitation.

 Virgil clings to that, clings to the anger that explodes in his chest, and the thudding of his heart that breaks his own ear drums. He reaches out of his limbs--

Because he was not going to just sit here and let that bastard take kill him for money, kill his friends for paper and coins and get away with it.

For once, Virgil breathes a thanks to his mother for telling him all the ways to kill a person, a bedtime story that Virgil felt for the first time he was willing to actually implement. 

And if he can get angry enough, his limbs will move, because that’s what always happens in those movies.

He thinks his heavy numb fingers manage to twitch when Remus speaks again.

“I don’t know if I’m alright with the split we agreed on.”

Logan’s head tilts ever-so-much. The car pulls on to a single lane road. The trees come next, covering them in the flickers of shadow and sun.

“Elaborate.”

“I want seventy percent.”

Logan scoffs.

“It just seems that I deserve more than you!” Remus says, “In fact, I think I’ll take it all.”

Virgil blinks and the butterfly knife is at Logan’s throat.

“Let’s talk math, kid genius.”

the car swerves as Logan’s eyes leave the road for a second to look at the death at his throat. Virgil feels as his foot comes off the pedal, slowing down in the middle of a forest that looks like private property.

“Keep driving.” Remus hisses delightedly.

Logan presses down the gas pedal and the trees begin to blur by. Virgil has a hard time watching.

It has nothing to do with the stirring that suddenly comes to his attention next to him.

“Isn’t this fun?” Remus asks, “You’re going to drive to the clearing and park the car. I’m going to kill you, and the little emo in the backseat--”

“You said we were going to talk.” Logan says indifferently, “I’m afraid I have some bad news in regards to that course of action.” 

“Remus?” A voice speaks up groggily. 

“Oh hey, Dee!” 

“Wha--” Virgil thinks its a weird to see the other heir so disorientated, and he’s only known the other heir for a maximum of three hours.”What are you doing--?”

“Me and Logan were having a chat about how we’re going to divide the reward for the death of Virgil Sanders!”

“Yes, and unfortunately, Roman Prince informs me I’m a terrible conversationalist.” Logan says, and then slams on the breaks of the car and sends seat-beltless Remus straight through the front windshield.

Part Nine

[joecial-distancing]

2019 in review in review:

A few years ago I started tracking yearly goals, books read, movies watched etc in a year, along with overview blurbs, in private posts. End of 2019/beginning of 2020 I was really frazzled/burned out about a lot of stuff and just never finished up making the thing. 8 months later, got the urge to read back what I’d got done, then figured I’d maybe go ahead and see about finishing. 

Media tracking below the break. thoughts/blurbs written in 2020 italicized, 2019 not.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~_____________________________~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Didn’t do so hot on explicit personal goals, but had a lot of stuff go ok around them this year.

School’s been fine/better than fine.

Job’s probably the biggest failing. Still with same job, haven’t made the firm moves to jump off, dragging my feet too much on exploring stuff w/ Columbia/NASA GISS.

Did not get better with covid, lol

Dating life still non-existent, but I’ve registered on apps, gotten more comfortable with selfies, improved general social life dramatically, been flirted with, updated my wardrobe, and generally started to get comfortable accepting that I’m a hot person.

Somehow got extremely better during covid.

Books

Grant (finished)

We stan a taurus legend

Guy was good at exactly one job, and was fortunate enough to have been in the right place/right time to get to do it.

Mort (discworld)

Definitely best discworld I’ve gotten to so far.

Don Quixote p. II

Really entertaining in a way that part 1 wasn’t; I was shocked how much the meta element landed for me.

Consider the Lobster (DFW collection)

had zero context on who DFW is/was when I read, and still don’t exactly tbh. Wanted to wait for a pause in The Discourse before diving into more of him, but dunno if I’m ever going to get that.

Crime and Punishment (revisited)

Weirdly didn’t get much more out of this than I did the first time I’d read it

Better Than Sex (HST Gonzo papers)

Xerox/widespread fax accessibility opening citizen access to mass media in a manner really reminiscent of what social media would go on to do at a much larger scale. Has a much more deliberate narrative arc than the other gonzo papers collections, also has that excellent HST richard nixon eulogy

The Brothers Karamazov

SPQR

Slouching Towards Bethlehem (Didion collection)

Pet Sematary

Not my favorite King, but not bad

Sourcery (discworld)

still funny/charming, but Mort really made clear/reminded me how much the hapless sadsack Rincewind mold of protagonist wears on me after a while.

The Devil's Teeth

My Year of Rest and Relaxation

Liked it a lot more once I realized it was doing a Fear and Loathing thing.

Homage to Catalonia

This should be the Orwell that gets taught in schools. Make it a followup to All Quiet on the Western Front or something, jeez.

Lyndon Johnson I

Having now finished all of them, this one’s probably the least-interesting but sets up a bunch of important context that the others still then feel the need to retread.

The Razor's Edge

Recommended to me as a “white guy discovers eastern mysticism” book, but also is more interesting in its treatment of that than I’d expected (helps it was written in the 40s). 

Cat's Cradle

There’s a part in this where Vonnegut’s making fun of people who try to bond with strangers over being Hoosiers, and my dumbass immediate thought was “ooh, Vonnegut’s a hoosier? Me too!”

Lyndon Johnson II

Robert Caro felt compelled to apologize for spending so much words lionizing Coke Stevens, segregationist opponent to Johnson’s senate run. His goal was pretty clearly to show lbj’s lack of campaign charisma by contrast, definitely definitely overcommitted in his own narrativising.

Libra

I want to go back to this after reading some more De Lillo.

Gravity's Rainbow

This book absolutely kicked my ass

Overstuffed and referential in a specific way that really keeps me hooked in instead of put off. When I learn about some piece of cultural context that I retroactively recognize as being referenced in this, I want to go back and reread the entire thing.

From Caligari to Hitler

Kind of fails both as film criticism and cultural analysis, but absolutely made me want to run for the hills when considering current relationship between mainstream movies and demands of pop culture.

I took a class on Weimar cinema in undergrad that I now realize was probably biting pretty heavily from this and never once referenced it.

Movies

Venom

Movie itself is not as fun as the Tom Hardy hype coverage. PG13 was the absolute worst space to aim for, PG- or R- versions of this could have been a blast.

Harryhauser Argonauts

Was tripping when I put this on, and it was all kinds of fun.

2001: a Space Oddyssey

First time seeing this, all-time classic for a reason!

A Good American (the NSA doc)

Dr. Strangelove

Mel Brooks History of the World p. I

Not my favorite Brooks, best joke was at the beginning.

In Bruges

Had been a while since I saw a proper dark comedy.

Spiderverse

Fukkin awesome!

Visually great, and extremely better than usual superhero stuff for being aimed at PG instead of PG-13.

You Only Live Twice

Highlander (Revisited)

I watched The Old Guard on netflix recently and it mostly just made me wish I was watching Highlander instead, because at least Highlander knows exactly how goofy it is

Moonraker

The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly

Much like The Shining, I though this would have been 100% spoiled for me by cultural osmosis, but turns out it wasn’t, and even the scenes I had seen *totally landed* in-context still.

Kung Fu Hustle

Ichi the Killer

Really gross, really fun

Matrix Reloaded (watched thru highway scene) (Revisited)

The highway scene was not nearly as cool as I remembered it being.

John Wick 3*

Probably dumbest plot of all of them, best choreography. I like how every single fight had its own distinct flavor. “Knife museum fight” “horse fight” “halle berry dogs fight” 

Akira

A classic

Pet Sematary * (ugh, bad)

Why can’t john lithgow be in good movies anymore

The Revenant

MCU Spiderman

Fuck this was awful.

MCU Spiderman 2*

Really weird, complete Rorschach Test of a movie: it’d be totally valid to read into this that global warming is Fake News, for instance.

Lmao this was completely awful

Rites

Dredd (non-stallone)

oh hey Lena Headey’s in this

For All Mankind!

Watched in honor of moon landing anniversary

Lion King *

Watched it way too stoned, was like dark side of the moon + wizard of oz except instead it’s a lion king script reading + nature footage edited for lip syncing.

Once Upon a Time in Hollywood *

Many scenes of very long setups for really stupid shaggy dog jokes, which sometimes worked and sometimes didn’t. I do kinda want to rewatch now knowing more about manson, which I knew pretty much nothing about beforehand

Blowout

A good john lithgow movie

also I think I like travolta in things.

Lord of War

A Good cage movie

I like when Eamon Walker shows up in stuff.

Taxi Driver

A classic

Snowpiercer

Watched in a bar with only one speaker working, which is the correct way to watch. Weirder and funnier than I thought it was going to be, which still doesn’t make it good, but,

dbz big green dub

Exorcist III

Brad Dourif just tearing it apart

Deep Red (argento)

Suspiria (1977)

Watched the remake in 2020, which was ok, but nothing tops the Goblin score.

Elf Bowling

Thanks, Gnome

Parasite *

Interesting to me that this one seems poised to hang around people’s good esteem for a while

TV

FMA: B

Rick & Morty

Saw some episodes, generally pretty funny, some misanthropy that’s probably appealing to a certain type of teen al a something like House, but ultimately I don’t totally Get the intensity of discourse about it.

Leterkenny

Mob Psycho 100

One Punch Man

Deadwood

Watchmen

Only watched like half of it. Was playing around with a lot of hefty imagery/thematics, but didn’t really seem ready to rise above playing (tho also I feel like it’s weird on some level to *expect* them to rise above that in the first place)

Music

New Avantasia

HEALTH/ show

lol remember concerts

King Gizzard and the Lizard Wizard/ show

Just learned about King Gizz in 2019 and got completely obsessed with them. I don’t tend to expand my music selection very readily, and a lot of what I currently *do* know is old/inactive stuff, so it was/is incredibly exciting to have an active group with good momentum just immediately win me over like that.

Mistimed the edibles and ended up with a really good finale and a really long subway ride home.

New Yeasayer

Sad they split up

Steve Wilson Tull remixes

Aqualung’s a good album and the sound mixing’s kinda bad, so I liked this project.

Stonefield

Opened for Gizzard. Really good as studying music

Video Games

Civ VI: Gathering Storm

Hades

Turns out Supergiant’s design proclivities all work *extremely well* on a roguelike

Baba is You

Untitled Goose Game

Cute, if maybe a bit overhyped

finally fucking finished Pillars of Eternity

Had fun with it, but too long, and really dour for how long it is.

Pillars II

Kinda drifted off it eventually, but I do genuinely like that the flavor of the fantasy is colonial era rather than medieval.

There’s a Balancing Bastard Factions element where it’s like the writers are just being smartasses after a while. Having to go extremely out of their way to make siding with colonizers seem like a competitive option.

Pokemon shield

Cuphead

pisses me off, which was a nice outlet when I was stranded by flight cancellations during thanksgiving

Celeste

Also very difficult, but really easy to stay patient with, which is nice.

Disco Elysium

None of the discourse made me want to play this, but people talking about the mechanical stuff it did got me extremely interested. Mostly Delivered IMO.

Breath of the Wild

You can approach the nodes of the main quest in the order you choose, and the second one I chose made ninjas start fucking spawning everywhere when I’m just trying to explore, and there’s no way to make it stop. May go back to it one day.

Podcasts

Relentless Picnic Patreon feed

The treats really helped me start distinguishing individual personalities, compared to the regular eps.

Picnic Discord!

<3

FatT Counterweight

Fun, but also I think Mechs are not my shit.

FatT Spring in Hieron/ end of that particular world

8 months since I’ve last tuned into FatT. ah well.

Law School

He’s in everythiiiing!

You Must Remember This: Manson family

*There’s* the context

Misc.

Kindle train guy

Times Square sleeping guy + kids taking selfies w/ him

toddler singing along after Psycho killer (a, ya, ya ya, ya)

drunk and dragged to a drag show

Central park football family

Soft Steel Drum Subway Busker

Weird old lady going to grand central for oysters

2018 in review (cards):

MySelf (CC)

Self: Tower

Blocked: 10 Cups

Ethereal/subconscious: 8 Swords

Material: 3 Swords

Past: Justice

Future: Page Wands

Attitude: Sun

External: King Swords

Hopes/Fears: 5 Coins

Trajectory: High Priestess

Also Self:

Hierophant

7 Cups

7 Coins

Blind Spot:

(self & others): 5 cups    ||    (others not self): High Priestess

(self not others): Moon   ||    (nobody): 3 Cups

[orgasmiccontagion]

In light of recent events and the pouring out of despair that I’ve seen on here among the various anarchist/insurrectionists/anti-civ individuals for the inevitably reformist recuperation of the uprisings in response to police brutality and white supremacy in America, I want to highlight a passage that I read in ‘ Critique of Chrisso and Odeteo’s Barbarians” by Frére Dupont, one of the authors responsible for writing “Nihilist Communism”. It may not be something we want to hear right now in response to what is transpiring, but there are some crucial points of critique being expounded here: “On what level does the militancy that C+O (Chrisso and Odeteo) validate signify to the self yes, we feel good to come off best after an encounter with the authorities, but to the authorities themselves and beyond them, to the existing structure, what value does any instance have? A burnt-out bank is a boon for builders, cleaning companies, cops, security advisers, property developers. A riot, like a forest fire, is good for business, cleans out the old, shock and awe. Capitalism makes capital out of conflict and disaster. Rioters and insurrectionists are not the most resistant elements in society, they are perhaps the most conscious, the most confrontational but they are also the most spectacular, the most self-conscious, the most prey to delusions of ‘people power.’ The insurrectionist is fine in his moment, and so many of them fall away exhausted, but they act only for themselves, they are not creating a better world, they are not at the front. They act for themselves, the extreme acts of a few will never be a substitute for the small acts of becoming human of the many. to acknowledge this, to accept the essentially selfish and subjective nature of the ‘black block’ is not to say we must not resist. On the contrary, we must continue. It is only to say, that there is no necessary connection with the outside through our desire for it. It is likely that our resistance, in the end counts in favor of existing authority and against the possibility for revolution. All we can say with certainty is that we can recognize what is not outside.” At a first glance of course we could dismiss this as counter-insurgency misrepresentation of insurrectionist action that has no purpose but to undermine the efforts made by the anarchists really out there throwing down. However, I think what Dupont is doing here is highlighting the burnout that anarchists feel time and time again is due to their failure to acknowledge that a few intensely radical individuals simply cannot through their own will annihilate a system as all encompassing as capitalism (and by extension the state and civilization) without acknowledging the efforts needed from those who are not already radicalized. Throughout my time spent on here the last couple of weeks I see pro-insurrectionist anarchists (myself included) giddy with excitement that because of riots/looting/precincts being burned down that we were on the cusp of a true apeshit moment in America. Unfortunately, within just over a week corporations, media, and the innumerable activist/careerist/opportunist rackets captured the virulent rage spreading throughout the metropolitan areas of America and beyond in order to reform us back in line once again. Due to the fact that (as is all too obvious) the vast majority of people do not have any ideas of a world “outside” the one which has ensconced all life within its totality (insert discussions on domestication, spectacles, the hyperreal, desire etc etc), the reformists are gaining the upper hand and the radical potentials are fizzling out due to counter-insurgency propaganda and worries among leftists and centrists of “de-legitimizing the movement”. However, getting excited about violent rebellion is one thing, but the subsequent crash into the reformist rackets shouldn’t lead anarchists into disappointment and defeatism, but rather revaluating and transparent criticism. Hence, this is why I want to launch deeper into what’s being said here. For one, the beginning of the passage discusses the emotional high radicals get off of clashes directly with the state and the institutions that protect them. Of course, this is a predictable reaction and one that should inspire more and more people to embrace their rage against the state. However, if the only places where these actions take place is in a few dozen large urban territories around the country, and if only an isolated number of businesses/police stations/institutions are attacked, how can we expect that this wound sundered in the death machines of capital will not close up in the blink of an eye? @corvid420​ pointed out that cops that are resigning from large city police forces (NYPD for example) will likely move into the suburbs or smaller districts and be hired as cops there, suburbs which house the petit-bourgeois/bourgeois sectors of society (not to mention majorly white). These places have seen far less action in comparison but still encompass many of the characteristics as the big cities (shopping malls, police stations, jails, courthouses), and while these spaces of society still remain untouched there will not be any significant strides in working towards an abolition of capital.

To build off the previous point, insurrectionists run the risk of spectaclizing their efforts as we have already seen the media continue to use the rioting/looting argument to discredit the most angry portions of the revolt. The ontological problem of “becoming-imperceptible” in an age of smart phones, mass surveillance and police helicopters continues to pose an immense obstacle in struggles such as these. Isolated incidents of a burned AutoZone or shoe stores being looted in New York make it easy to highlight and demonize a subset of “unlawful individuals” who are “not paying honor to the legacy” of the state sanctioned murders of black people in America. More importantly, due to the ways in which people in capitalist society create identities based on brands and commodities, they will empathize with business that have suffered from the riots and looting first. They will mostly ignore the economic crisis brought on by COVID-19 that is influencing a lot of this action in the first place (and even if this devastating crisis wasn’t occurring, why should we care if we deny the surplus value from corporations and engage in our own excess?). Insurrection needs to be treated as an all or nothing affair, otherwise its integration into the spectacle is only a matter of time. Of course, as Dupont points out later in this passage, he doesn’t want the banks to stop burning, but rather wishes to point out that smaller actions against the logic of capital by the majority will do far more than a few insurrectionists trashing a Target (or other similar large displays of disobedience). Fortunately, I have seen more and more anarchists highlighting the importance of this lately on here as of late, although at times like these those suggestions get buried under the desire to go out and break shit (I’m guilty of this as well).

Finally, and perhaps the most controversial portion of this excerpt, is Dupont’s discussion on the insurrectionist’s position in the overall revolutionary potential against capitalism. They highlight the individualistic nature of insurrectionists, and how in the moment they act mostly for their own desires. They are not, as Dupont argues, the “most resistance group” among those that suffer under capitalism, but rather the “most conscious”. This consciousness is perhaps the greatest strength insurrectionists have, in that these anarchists will embrace the most violent and extreme measures to go to in order for the current order to collapse. However, it is what also leads anarchists to feeling burnout when revolts and protests continue to get recuperated. This is where I agree the most with Dupont and see this passage as mostly coming across from a point of empathy rather than contempt. However, wanting to attack the state/capitalism/civilization from an individualist perspective is a necessary means to act within the context of the current struggle. This I think is a misunderstanding on Dupont’s part. The individualist tendencies of insurrectionary anarchists does not stop at the singular level but creates trajectories toward molecular forms. Through individuals enunciating their own struggles in the various spaces of the capitalist world, we can found relationships unmediated by the haunting specters of civilized life and use each other to the advantage of all. However, to the credit of Dupont, the desires of most people do not align with a revolutionary trajectory and therefore those individualistic tendencies can come across as impotent and ineffective. This of course is where future struggles and crises will have to compound on each other in order to make a push toward a different direction. The sobering observation of the crisis still being out of sight for most of those around us does not mean it can always be pushed to the periphery forever. Insurrectionists cannot be at a “front” because simply put there is nothing to be in front of, and they cannot create a better world because it isn’t up to them alone to create it. This is the real struggle not just for anarchists but anyone who rejects the current state of things. It is the struggle to form a movement, a revolutionary trajectory, when at the present there is hardly anything to mobilize. 

Overall, I find Dupont’s insights to be valuable at a time like this, despite some of the points I found a bit off. Using this passage as a way to focus on the response to not only what’s going on now but the inevitable crises of tomorrow will allow some necessary reflections on how things went down undesirably. I welcome any positive or negative feedback/commentary to this response and how it fits with the unrest going on currently in the United States and abroad. I do not wish to speak on behalf of anyone else, only from my own perspective and how I see the current movement unfolding and how other anarchists around me (who have much more experience in this than I) are reacting.

[axther]

Hey hello 🌸!! Can i get a bnha matchup??? I go by Rai and I’m nonbinary pansexual so my pronouns are they/them. I’m infp and really optimistic but I also got depressiooon. Clumsy and confused are my things, also got that crackhead energy. Catpurrson to the end of the line. I do theater and like antique history so Greek, Roman and Egypt. 80’s vibes are on;love the music and the aesthetic. And I like feeling small(I’m 5’4 so pretty average). + I love my friends more than life itself. Thanks 💕

Me, shaking violently, trying not to burst from all of the ancient civ facts i have built up over the course of my life?? More likely than you think 

Also i suppose a bit of a NSFW warning bc Rocky Horror Picture Show is mentioned and it can’t be mentioned without something being NSFW, nothing crazy though. 

#1 is...Kirishima! 

Optimistic but depressed?? 

He’s got nothing pure respect for you 

There’s an element of him trying to lowkey tip-toe around you 

Someone says something like ‘i’m so depressed I’ve got so much homework’ or smth then he’ll ask them to be more sensitive! 

That doesn’t mean you’re sensitive to people exaggerating 

It’s just his way of showing support 

And not trying to glamourise depression! 

But he gets it if you want him to stop 

To be honest he probably doesn’t look a whole lot into theatre but knows the basics

 Like he can do the line of ‘the phannnntom of the opperaaa is therreeee...inside my minnnndddd…’ but that’s it 

So he is more than ready to be indoctrinated into The Theatre Kids 

If you start him off with Rock Horror he will not only trip out but get super into it 

Like, when the time comes and he gets into a virgin auction or Let’s Have An Orgasm he will 200% excel 

Is he sold for a ridiculously high RHPS price while grinning the entire time? Yes

Is his orgasm impression on the spot? Also yes 

It leaves several questions 

If you want them answered, though, you have to play the waiting game 

But anyway 

He’ll get awe-inspiringly into it and will say lines on command 

“Antici-” 

Kirishima, at the top of his lungs with a bright red feather boa, clearly having the time of his life: “SAY IT!!” 

“-Pation!” 

Any other RHPS virgins that come through can and will be told of the legendary Red Riot that came in and completely blended in 

(if you ask nicely enough he might show up in his hero costume 👀) 

Thinks you being clumsy is cute as hell 

Try to tell me otherwise (you can’t) 

Whenever he sees you trip or otherwise get hurt in a preventable situation he will swoop in!! 

If you get hurt and have to go to Recovery Girl then he’ll carry you regardless of the injury 

‘Eiji all i did was cut my hand I can walk’

‘Let me take care of you, cutie!’ 

Gets very, very giddy if you call him your hero 

A big ol shark tooth grin and a blush stick with him all day after that  

#2 is...Denki!

Best hope you don’t already have a fave 

Because he’ll just walk up and be like 

‘Hiii I’m denki, I’m finna steal Rai, ahaha. Be ready. Imma yoink them. Gimmie gimmie’ 

Not gonna lie he would do that stupid eboy thing with his chin, and rubbing it weird? 

It’s purely for jokes though

Bc you would probably be his ideal s/o 👀

Crackhead who knows how to live laugh love but also gets that he doesn’t always feel 100% and just needs a hug? And some compliments? 

And also can name Alexander the Great’s horse? 

A solid ten in his book 

Don’t get him wrong!! 

While he does need comfort, he is more than ready to bust down your dorm door and give you some stellar hugs!! He has snacks and would bring blankets and charge your phone so you don’t have to move it across the room. 

Can and will lay in bed with you all day just talking about the stuff that he loves about you 

He gets really soft really easily around you 

Like, his good title of a playboy/prankster hybrid is being sullied whenever you're around!! 

All of 1-A sees him with a little smile!! 

How dare you make his heart flutter!! 

If you could stop being so damn cute!! 

But he could never get angry at you for being cute

If anything, he becomes a sort of instagram husband; fawning over you, posting pictures of you 

Please just give him a hug he loves you a lot

#3 is...Tsuyu!

You two could put your froggy chairs together 

There are just so many absolute upsides to dating Tsu 

First off she’s blunt, so if she needs to tell you something she won’t try to sugarcoat it 

Not only that but she’s ridiculously pretty 

Not to mention that if you have a bad day one of her tongue bleps will fix it

She’s rational and calm

So let’s say you’re playing a really hard, really soul crushing game 

Let’s call it Dark Souls 

If you start raging, she’ll remind you not to throw the remote and that it’s just a game. 

The second time around she’ll remind you again but with more force

The third time she just takes the remote 

No more games for you 😤 not until you calm down 

Sometimes 

Rarely 

But sometimes 

If you’re doing something in the common room in the middle of winter and you’re just vibing 

You’ll hear a really quiet kero before Tsu shows up and decides your lap is a good place to hibernate 

It’s adorable, except that she will not move until her nap is done. If you’re sprawled out on the couch then all the other students are going to have to just...not use it. Not want to use it

No one moves Tsu when she’s napping with her s/o 😤

[adpranepnai1979-blog]

Your body does the same thing with almost everything you encounter. Even an apple. It's also where allergic reactions come from.. So it sounds to me like maybe MIL is a narcissistic parents who favoured your husband and SIL is the scapegoat? If that the case then it makes sense why your husband might b acting this way. Often a narcissistic parent who treats one child as a scapegoat convinces the other one (or others plural) that the scapegoat somehow deserves it, one way or another. I know it sounds absurd but they do it in such a way that the other children often don even notice.. And before you think about movement tells to prepare, in a large fight you don have that. For instane, my eyes straight up hurt in some zerg fights, so I can only target the boss, look at the target info on my HUD and my skills and hope that I don get nuked by something. Again, I have a lot of experience and can manage more difficult content, but I get handicapped by the nature of zerg fights, and I would bet that I not alone.. I have to disagree with the Electric Picnic show. I seen Ben every time he played Ireland, and the EP set was by far the worst. His and the band performance was great, but the crowd were awful. But the king checked her and made her understand, with a polite phrase or two, that this was none of her business. The bugles rang again; and we separated and rode to the ends of the lists, and took position. Now old Merlin stepped into view and cast a dainty web of gossamer threads over Sir Sagramor which turned him into Hamlet's ghost; the king made a sign, the bugles blew, Sir Sagramor laid his great lance in rest, and the next moment here he came thundering down 이천출장샵 the course with his veil flying out behind, and I went whistling through the air like an arrow to meet him cocking my ear the while, as if noting the invisible knight's position and progress by hearing, not sight. Sugar babies get to experience a luxurious lifestyle, and meet wealthy people on a regular basis, it says.Sugar daddies, meanwhile, are men and women who know what they want driven, and enjoy attractive company by their side. Money isn an issue, thus they are generous when it comes to supporting a sugar baby. Babies are expected to keep the flings private as sugar daddies are often community figures in high places that have other existing demands a sugar relationship could be harmful to their career and personal life, prospective sugar babies are warned. However the level of appreciation and protection for western civilization values (and in particular the elements/flavor of them that are somewhat idiosyncratic to the US) is masochistically/self destructively low.Diversity and inclusivity are admirable goals but they should rank lower in priority against preserving the values of western civ not out of jingoistic pride of the achievements of ancestors we never knew but out of appreciation of amazing gift we were given and our fortune in being born in such a society.In practical terms the most significant 이천출장샵 change might be re introducing the more positive way western civ used to be taught in schools before extreme cynics like Howard Zinn began writing the text books. The IARC has been criticized for its assessment methodology by failing to consider the broad literature and only assessing hazard rather than risk.But dont let that stop your scare mongering.I dont think people have changed. I think people have always held extremist beliefs because its the more natural state.

[dippedanddripped]

In the wake of the murder of George Floyd and the ensuing protest, the racial biases that still plague countless industries have come to light, and skateboarding is no exception. Last week, Na-Kel Smith took to Instagram with fellow skaters Kevin White and Mikey Alfred to open up about his personal experiences of racism within the industry. Now, brands are stepping up with Palace pledging $1 million to Black Lives Matter and the Stephen Lawrence Charitable Trust, and Supreme pledging $500,000 between a number of charities.

Given skateboarding’s countercultural roots, brotherly spirit, and general hatred towards cops, it may come as a surprise that racism is still a serious issue. But, the sport has yet to shake the systemic biases that stem from its origins in ’60s surfer culture in California, when it was an activity practiced almost exclusively by white male Californians. It was only in the early ’90s, when vert skating declined due to lack of investment in parks and competitions, that people took to the streets and a new wave of skating surfaced. Street skating was accessible to anyone, and with it came an upward curve in the number of black participants, diluting the skater archetype of the white male antihero.

Although the participant demographic has changed significantly, the professional industry itself remains largely white. That’s not to say there hasn’t been positive change. The last 10 years have seen a significant increase in the number of brands and media owned by and created for skaters of all backgrounds, genders, and race, and even the launch of a Pushing Boarders, an annual conference focused on addressing the social and structural issues in skateboarding. In spite of this democratization, those pulling the (purse) strings remain mostly white and the comradely nature of skating serves, too often, as a veneer for harmful biases and behavior beneath.

Following the protests and spurred on by pro skater Na-Kel Smith’s honest recount, lifetime skater Patrick Kigongo was inspired to put together the Black List, a crowd-sourced database of black-owned skate organizations, brands, and media. Kigongo grew up in suburban New York, moving to Washington D.C. to study international affairs, and went on to work in the NGO sector. All the while, he maintained an active part in the independent music and skate scenes, playing in bands, shooting videos, and working as a writer for a number of online publications, including the early arts and fashion platform Brightest Young Things. He’s now based in LA, where he works as a digital product manager and continues to write on race, foreign policy, pop culture, and skateboarding. We caught up with Kigongo to talk about the list and the state of racism in the industry today.

Why did you create the Black List?

After that first weekend of protests here in LA, I really started to ask myself, “What more can I do?” Then Na-Kel Smith jumped on Instagram Live giving what was a foundational speech with Mikey from Illegal Civ and Kevin White. What that conversation really did was touch upon something that every black skater — whether you are just a fan like me or a sponsored skater — has experienced. We’ve all experienced microaggressions. We’ve all experienced being targeted by the police. He is coming to this understanding as a young man, that a lot of this is not okay. Being in a van with somebody who ironically or un-ironically listens to Screwdriver, riding for companies that may or may not sponsor people who have white nationalist ties. He opened the door for a pretty serious conversation that has been on the sidelines in skating but has never been thrust into the spotlight. And that really got me thinking.

The skateboarding industry is very small. There’s really only a handful of factories that make decks or wheels, and there are only a few foundries that make trucks. None of those major manufacturing plants are black-owned. But there are a handful of black-owned companies. All these folks on social media were sharing black-owned bookstores, restaurants, and clothing companies, so I figured, why not do it for skating and see how many black-owned companies I could find via crowd-sourcing? And, more importantly, reflect this back out to the world to show these companies that not only are they not producing their goods in a vacuum, but also that this could actually be a potential foundation for consolidating some sort of political power.

How has the response been?

Overwhelming. It’s been very positive, people have been overwhelmingly kind. I even got to speak with a couple of legends who’ve reached out to say thank you. And more importantly, it’s been very humbling. It really shows how far skating has come.

Talking about Na-Kel’s speech, what do you think prevented him and other skaters that may have had similar experiences raising them earlier?

I think it’s two things. Number one, not having the vocabulary to describe what’s happening to you, and number two, the fear of consequences and repercussions within the industry. A lot of young skaters may only have a high school diploma and they’ve never held down any other type of job, so this is really the only thing they’ve got going for them. There is a fear that you will be blackballed, or that folks will look at you and say, “Oh, come on, man. He was just kidding. I’ve got lots of black friends. I thought we were bros.” There’s that real fear, that people won’t take you seriously.

Then there are black skaters who feel as though, “I’m just trying to do me, and work my way through this.” They just don’t know how many other black folks are working in the industry. They don’t know that they actually have power, and a voice, and also a huge audience. But now you’re starting to see the gears turning in a lot of these young people’s heads.

You’ve been skating for many years — how have you seen the skater demographic change?

I started skating the summer of 1994/95. This was a period where you had this twin explosion in skating and streetwear culture. You had this sudden wave of young black skaters in the videos and turning pro. For young people like me who grew up skating in crews where I was the only black kid, it was amazing watching videos like World [Industries], Blind, and 101’s 20 shot sequences, or any of the first Girl and Chocolate videos, and seeing a lot of black and brown faces. That was incredibly empowering.

But there were still only a couple of black-owned companies. And even if they were black-owned, the distributors who are getting those boards and clothes into shops all over the world were still white, and the shops were still mostly white-owned. It wasn’t until the early aughts where people stopped saying skateboarding was a white boy thing. You can really thank, first of all, Tony Hawk, pro-skater, for putting guys like Kareem Campbell on it, and also people with crossover appeal, like Stevie Williams. If you fast forward to 2011 with the rise of Odd Future, all of a sudden you saw a whole new generation of young, black kids, who were completely unbound by hip-hop or traditional skateboard culture.

Now, we’re really seeing that skating has smashed through a lot of those racial barriers, at least in terms of sponsorship and in terms of visibility. Not only are there black skaters all over the country, but we’re also all over the world. In Kampala, Uganda, a bunch of kids built a DIY park. When I was a kid when we would go to visit relatives, I couldn’t bring my skateboard. Where was I going to go? The streets were in awful condition, the war had only ended in 1986. It’s still a very poor country, but our kids, because of smartphones and the internet, have been exposed to skating. And this is not just in Uganda, it’s in Ethiopia, it’s in Eritrea, it’s in Ghana, it’s in South Africa, Morocco, Algeria. It’s all over the world. That’s a very, very humbling thing, to see how far skating has come.

What do you think are the main barriers preventing more people of color working in the skate industry?

Firstly, there’s no formal network of transition out of being a sponsored skater, so we don’t have a system for people to ease out of being a pro skater, into being a designer, becoming a sales rep, becoming a distributor. The best you can hope for is maybe getting a job in the warehouse.

Secondly, I think for some people it just comes down to racism. I don’t think that it’s nearly as frequent [in skating] as in other walks of American life, but there are racists everywhere, so I’m going to assume that there are some people in distro companies and work for certain board or shoe companies who are racist and say, “They don’t really fit our image.”

Thirdly, I think it’s difficult to create a sense of real, actionable solidarity within skating. In the 1990s, there was some discussion about creating some sort of a skaters union, off the model of the NBA player’s union, something to get people health insurance, to negotiate fair wages, and maybe even normalize the funding for contests. And it didn’t go over so well. There was an incredible amount of opposition, because again, skating has deep roots in libertarian, right-wing California. And it’s very, very difficult to shake that.

And if it stays that way, the white-dominated industry will see no change.

Mmm-hmm. I’m 100 percent sure it is very similar in streetwear. One of the real difficulties in effecting any sort of change in skateboarding is that there’s no oversight and there’s no accountability within the industry. They’re so used to being able to operate in a way in which there’s not much public scrutiny. For this debate all of a sudden to not only be public but be keyed into what’s happening on the streets right now is a mindfuck. Especially compared to where skating was in the early to mid-’90s, when it was thoroughly a real subculture. But skateboarding is about to go into the Olympics. These guys are no longer going to be able to operate in a vacuum somewhere.

The conversation around skateboarding becoming more mainstream often focuses on the negatives, but the positives are that it is becoming more inclusive and diverse.

Right. All you have to do is go to any skate park in LA. What a radical shift to see lots of brown and black kids, lots of women, even non-binary people. Skating has shed a lot of its mean guy culture, and it will always retain a certain sense of camaraderie. Now, you roll up at a skate spot and it’s like, “Hey, what’s up? Good morning. Where you from, man?” You’re just saying, “Hey, I’m a human being. That’s a human being.” It’s beautiful. What’s really powerful is that in terms of getting into skating, anybody can do it. That’s why a lot of the non-profits like Skateistan or SkatePal in Palestine are becoming more successful, because there are no rules. Skating is really positive for kids because it normalizes failure. How many people who are pushing 40 are regularly trying to go out there and fail? It really humbles you.

I think it’s worth accepting what’s happening right now in terms of discussion about skating and race, and also skating and gender, as part of growing pains. We are being dragged kicking and screaming into the 21st century. And that’s a really, really good thing. You don’t want skating to become viewed as this macho artifact, because then it just becomes embarrassing.

What would you like the knock-on effects from the conversations happening now to be, and more specifically, The Black List?

In the immediate short-term, I want some of these brothers and sisters to get paid. Start supporting these companies. Buy a shirt, buy a board, buy some hardware, buy something. If you’re a store owner, get them into your shop. The list continues to grow, which is a very, very beautiful thing.

In terms of what I hope happens next, I really hope that we can have a skate culture where people will not immediately shirk away from having small P political discussions, and that skaters in the skate industry will embrace one of the most important tenants of punk rock and hardcore, which is that the personal is political. How and where you spend your dollars is an inherently political act, and one of the most empowering and important decisions that you make every single day. And so that, instead of people saying “Oh, I’m not really political.” That they will understand off the rip that they as a consumer, they as a skater, have a certain amount of power.

I also want there to be more shine for skaters of color. Black History Month this year came and went, and although there’s actually a rack of skate podcasts now, where was the Black History episode? Where were the episodes with Lavar McBride or Kareem Campbell? I want that celebration. I want that feeling like this is something that’s super important. And I’m not just talking about an Instagram post. You want the skate media to actually be able to grapple with these kinds of questions.

What else do you think will facilitate these changes?

I think more things like Pushing Boarders. We need more spaces for these conversations to happen in a formalized space within the industry. That’s important. Going forward, you want to make it so that skating can enjoy the same bloom that basketball continues to have as it grows bigger around the world. Something where everybody can get into it, everybody loves it, and everybody is proud of it. Being an NBA fan, you compare players now to the late ’90s, early aughts, where you still have fights, you still had the commissioner beefing with players about, like, “I don’t want you guys to dress like thugs.” To see now, most ballers are serious, they’re investors, they’re part of the community, they’re speaking out on issues such as Black Lives Matter. You’re really proud.

Because the bad boy stuff was fun, but those stories always ended up the same with, “I spent all my money,” or “I burned so many bridges that I have no friends left in the game.” And now, you watch your team, you watch your favorite players, you’re really proud of them. I want skaters to be really, really proud of its subculture. I still want it to be rebellious — skating will always be inherently rebellious because street skating is all about challenging norms between your individual self and private property/public property. But I really want it to be something that’s inclusive, that people can look at and be like, “Why can’t you all be like them skateboarders, man?,” and that doesn’t have a toxic culture. I don’t use that term lightly, but in some ways, back in the day, it was toxic. You were constantly being policed by other people and it was cliquish and judgmental. It’s a lot more open now and I want it to continue to build on that openness, and remind people that this is a subculture, yes, but it is something that is open, and it is inclusive, and everybody has a home here. Except for racists, and hateful people in general.

[lattefics]

strangled silence

Summary: Vex was not a victim. She did not suffer. Yet still the memories rattle her to the core. 

Pairings: None

Warnings: implied abuse/emotional manipulation

She had never said no.

In the days, weeks, months that it happened, when Vex wanted nothing more than to claw her way out, run for the hills and never look back, she didn’t. She didn’t tell anyone, not him, nor Vax or Trinket or anyone else, how much her stomach dropped and her heart fluttered in trapped fear every time it happened, every time she had to slink over to his room and undress and lay down and pretend she enjoyed it. 

There wasn’t even any money. She walked away with nothing, less than nothing after another shred of her pride and dignity had been torn away from her, buttoning her shirt quickly because looking at her own naked skin made her sick.

She had been young, and foolish, and desperate, and maybe that was reason enough but it had never made sense to her, and made even less sense to feel this awful and disgusted and filthy when she had never said no.

Which was why, when sharing a girl’s night with Keyleth and Pike at a bar in Whitestone, and they asked what each other’s worst sexual encounter was, Vex was both horrified and furious with herself for thinking of those days, for thinking of him. 

“I’ve never been with anyone but Vax,” Keyleth said, clutching her drink, a severe blush burning under her freckles. “I guess– our first time wasn’t amazing, um. I really liked it. But since then we’ve… gotten a lot better.” She tucked her drink closer, biting her bottom lip so hard it looked like she might break the skin.

Pike laughed and patted Keyleth’s back, thankfully divested of her gauntlets for the night. “That’s okay, Keyleth! Thanks for being honest.” She grinned conspiratorially. “Was it Vax’s first time too?”

Keyleth laughed nervously and took a long, slow sip of her drink.

“Well then.” Pike turned to Vax. “You’re going to have to tell us more about your brother, but first, spill. What was your worst time with someone?”

Vex’s shoulders tensed, her mind flashing back to when she’d been nineteen, young and stupid and still naive to the world despite having run away from home and living alone in the woods with her brother and her pet.

They’d gotten so tired of living out there, of always running, of being afraid someone would see them and have a friend of a friend who knew their father who would drag them back to Syngorn kicking and screaming. Even then, years later, they were paranoid. And if they’d stayed a few days at an inn to take some baths and be around other people, if one of the bar patrons had noticed Vex and convinced her to stay for a few drinks, well, who could blame her? He’d been human, too, something she’d known would piss her father off were he to ever find out.

He’d smiled and told her that she was gorgeous, something Vex had rarely heard from the elves in Syngorn. It had felt… nice.

“Vex?”

She jolted out of her thoughts. “Um. That’s.” She coughed and sipped her drink, wishing belatedly that she’d ordered something stronger. “It’s a long story.” 

Pike frowned. “Is it?” 

She’d never said no, because she was young and pretty and the man had called to her so mournfully when she’d talked about going back to her room, to her brother, insisted she stay longer and talk because he wanted to hear all about her life as a half-elf. And she’d stayed; his touch was warm and the inn’s food was good and it had felt nice when he put his arms around her shoulders and whispered in her ear about wanting to spend a long night with a lovely lady.

Maybe she’d led him on. She certainly hadn’t stopped anything. The first time had been exhilarating, letting herself go and throwing caution to the wind. And when Vax had wanted to move on and she’d instead insisted on staying awhile, seeing the town, the human man she’d met had asked for another night with her. And another, and another. And she had never said no.

Vex wasn’t sure how long she’d sat there, sipping the drink, silent. “You don’t want to hear it,” she said quietly.

Pike and Keyleth stared at her for a long moment, and Pike said, “Okay, ummm, I’ll tell you about my worst time.” She paused, glancing at Vex, and continued, “There was this gnome girl I had a crush on when I was little, and, you know, Wilhand took me in after a while, but when I got older I met another girl who looked a lot like that first one…”

Vex tried to listen to the story, she really did. Pike’s face was lit up with emotion as she talked about the gnome girl who knew nothing about actually pleasing someone, but Vex drifted in and out, her mind hinged on memories she’d tried to bury ages ago.

She could remember the way he would tuck his face against her neck, breathing in her scent after they’d had sex. He would talk about how much he enjoyed the smell of her, so much cleaner than the human girls with poor breeding he would take to bed. It had been delightful the first few times, to think even after living in the woods that she was so appealing, that a bath at the inn was all she needed to look beautiful again. 

He’d told her that the elf boys didn’t appreciate her enough. And it was true, so she’d believed it. 

As Pike’s story ended and she finished off with a laugh and another swallow of her drink, her cheeks flushing red with her growing inebriation, Vex pushed her own cup aside and stood from the table. “I think I’m going to go home,” she said, picking up her coin purse and digging around until she found enough gold to cover their meal and a handsome tip, leaving it next to her half-empty drink.

“Already?” Keyleth asked. She’d forgotten her own embarrassment after Pike’s story and was happily drinking a second beer. “We’ve only been here for, like, an hour.” 

“I know, and I love you both, and we’ll need another evening like this soon, but I’m– I’m tired.” She brushed some of her hair out of her eyes and smiled sheepishly. “Sorry for ducking out so fast.” 

“Vex,” Pike said gently, reaching to grab her hand and squeeze. “If this is because we asked about your sex life, then–”

“Darling,” Vex cut in with a laugh, returning Pike’s thoughtful squeeze. “You know I’m not shy about sex in the least. My worst time wasn’t worth explaining. Don’t worry.” She swallowed and pulled her hand away, walking around their table. “I’ll see you tomorrow!” she called over her shoulder, hurrying out of the bar before either of them could stop her.

The sun had just been setting when they’d gone out, and now it was dark, a thick blanket of quiet covering Whitestone’s streets. There were lights from the buildings and if Vex listened she would have been able to hear muffled conversations inside, people out drinking or at home with their families, but she walked too fast to catch anything. 

She stepped with a quick clack clack of her boots on the paved cobblestone, both arms wrapped around herself, but she couldn’t walk fast enough to forget the way his hands had felt on her, the way he’d gripped her wrists and begged when she tried to leave. He’d spoken often of how special she was, of how no other woman made him feel the way he did, and would she stay in town just one more week, promise? And despite Vax’s complaints and Trinket’s depression at her constant absence, she’d agreed, and let those hands wander to places that made Vex want to curl up and cry out with how much she did not want them there.

But she’d never said no. 

And so she had no right to whine about a few bad memories and the occasional nightmares that creeped into her mind when there was nothing else to fill it. She wasn’t traumatized, she was more open about sex than anyone else in Vox Machina, and even thinking of the word trauma filled her with shame and horror. She wasn’t helpless, had never been helpless. If she’d wanted to she could have shot an arrow through the man’s neck and been done with him for good.

Vex tried not to think about why she never had.

Even at her pace, walking all the way to the castle took a good hour, and she was sweating under her shirt by the time she arrived. She stopped in the front hall, breathing hard, hands shaking. She needed– she needed a drink, something without alcohol, something to calm her nerves. Her first instinct was coffee, but…

He’d always asked the innkeeper to bring them coffee afterward, hadn’t he?

She growled at herself and darted down one hall, toward the kitchens. She wasn’t going to do this, not now, not tonight, not ever and she was damned if she’d let it control her. 

The kitchen doors burst open with the might of Vex’s intrusion, slamming against the stone, and Vex made it two steps inside before she stopped.

Cassandra was there, standing over a silver tray laid out with a teapot and cookies. She startled and had a hand halfway to her hip, where a shortsword hung on her belt, until she noticed who it was. “Vex?” Her stance didn’t relax and she gripped the hilt of her sword. “Is something wrong? Did someone attack you?”

“What? No, I… oh.” Vex forced herself to stand up straight, pulling at her clothes to smooth any ruffles. “I suppose it must seem that way with me barging in. I was just– well– it’s a long story,” she said with a sigh.

Cassandra frowned and released her sword. “Does it concern your safety or the safety of anyone here?”

“No, it’s fine. There’s no danger, I promise. I was only being emotional.”

“Good, then.” She paused, and turned back to her tray, picking it up. “I was about to have some tea and retire for the evening.” She waited for Vex to respond, and when she didn’t, said, “Would you care to join me?”

Vex eyes widened. “You want me to?” 

Cassandra’s even expression revealed nothing. “Yes, if you like.” 

“I… okay.” Tea was as good as coffee. Better, possibly. Vex pushed away the quiet thought that tea had never been part of his rituals, because that was absolutely not a reason to favor one drink over another. “Let’s go,” she said weakly, turning and opening up the kitchen doors in a much more civil manner. 

Cassandra walked past her with an air of grace nigh impossible to anyone else carrying a tray full of food, and Vex followed. 

“I’m surprised you got that for yourself,” Vex said, hurrying a few steps to walk beside her. “I would think you’d have someone fetch it.” 

“It’s convenient when I’m busy,” Cassandra said without looking at her. “But I’ve finished my work and I wanted to stretch a bit. Besides, the cooks never make the tea precisely the way I prefer.” 

They walked until they reached Cassandra’s study and Vex opened the door for her. She suspected that Cassandra had wanted to retire to her room, and when she shut the door behind her she said, “Thank you again. I was feeling rather frazzled, as I’m sure you could guess. I think some tea and some quiet is what I need.” 

“Of course.” Cassandra set the tray on a table beside her desk, moving her chair closer to it and preparing a cup for herself. Vex found another chair nearby and dragged it over to sit across from Cassandra.

The tea was a warm brown, and the tray had containers for milk and sugar. Vex dumped more sugar than she probably needed into hers and stirred it thoughtfully, her eyes drifting between Cassandra and examining the room. She’d been in Cassandra’s study a few times but Cassandra didn’t like anyone to linger, and it was easier to relax while she looked around.

For a few minutes they were silent, drinking their tea, not looking directly at one another. Cassandra took a cookie, breaking it into fours and dipping each piece individually in her tea before eating it. 

“Aren’t you worried about crumbs in your tea?”

Cassandra raised an eyebrow. “I don’t mind it.”

“Oh, all right.” 

Again they were silent. Vex looked down into her cup, tilting it to watch the liquid swirl. 

“I’m not going to ask.”

Cassandra’s words pulled Vex from her thoughts and she looked up, meeting her gaze. “Pardon?” 

“I said, I won’t ask.” Cassandra ate another piece of cookie, chewing slowly and chasing it down with tea. “As long as whatever upset you isn’t an immediate danger to the city or to Percival, it’s not my business. So you can stop glancing at me and looking like a kicked puppy.”

Vex tensed. “I didn’t realize I looked that way.”

“If you wish to talk, feel free. I can’t guarantee any advice or help, and I won’t pry.”

“It’s fine, I… I don’t want to talk about it.” She licked her lips. “Is that why you invited me? Because of how upset I looked? If it was pity, then–”

“Nonsense.” Cassandra waved a hand dismissively. “I don’t have time to throw pity around. As you said, you looked in need of some tea. And quiet.”

There was something in Cassandra’s eyes, in the way she looked at Vex. She was right, it wasn’t pity. It looked more like… understanding. Sympathy? No, not even that. Cassandra had never been the sympathetic type. But it was more than someone offering tea to a frazzled friend, especially since Vex didn’t consider herself and Cassandra friends so much as colleagues. 

“In that case,” Vex said, reaching for one of the cookies, “I appreciate it. I don’t care to be pitied.”

“You’re too strong for that, besides.”

Vex paused with the cookie halfway to her lips. “I didn’t know you thought that.”

Cassandra only took another sip of her tea. 

Vex leaned back in her chair and took another look at the room. Like everywhere else, the walls were made of stone, a couple bookshelves no doubt filled with endless notes on Whitestone on one wall, the other wall taken up by an empty fireplace. There was one large window facing outside, where she could see the edges of the city below. The study was large, and open, and if Vex wanted to she could stand up and leave and never come back, and Cassandra wouldn’t care.

The tea was sweeter than coffee, almost painfully so, but when Vex drank it she let the taste wash over her and burn away the memories, burn away his touch and taste and smell and every single word he’d woven around her to hold her down.

She’d never said no. But in the end, she’d left, and that was what mattered. 

[fredd-weasley]

New Semester (1/?)

Part Two

Author’s Note: So the only other writing I’ve posted was my Logan fic (which I might continue I haven’t decided yet) so I wanted to post something else. Here’s an Avengers College AU, mainly because I love these and I’m really missing college at the moment. I know some of the depictions of college are different than others, I’m just gauging them with my experience (I had to look at my transcript at classes, I was on a small campus, I took a few art classes, etc.). I made the reader a history major because that was my major so it was easiest to write for and it kinda plays into the story pretty well. I have an idea of how I want this to go, but please send feedback and maybe some ideas for the future. I can’t promise I’ll update quickly, it just depends on when I’m inspired. Enjoy!

Pairing(s): Eventual Steve x Reader

Summary: You’re starting your junior year of college taking a general ed class not related to your major and it’s stressing you out, only to find a certain someone could be just the help you need to get through it.

Warning(s): None?

Word Count: 1,588

“I just don’t get why I have to take this class, Tash” you mumble, getting everything together for your first day of class after unpacking from moving back into the dorm. You had met Natasha your freshman year, you two both were random roommates but you just clicked the first time you met. You two were best friends and you told each other everything.

“I just don’t get why you didn’t take it last year, you barely did any of your core classes last year” she said, getting her stuff ready as well.

“Oh come on, excuse me for trying to get classes for my major finished up, unlike some people!”

“Shut up, I’m only one class behind!”

“Fine, but I still don’t get why I have to take an art class. I’m a history major, I have to start my thesis anyway!”

Natasha laughed, “Yeah? And what’s your thesis about again?”

“Uh, I mean, maybe I’d know that if I wasn’t taking an art class.”

“Hey, who knows. Maybe it’ll inspire you.”

“Ha! Alright we’ll see.” You say as you climb into the top bunk of the bed. Just because you and Natasha were juniors didn’t mean you had a great dorm room. It barely had enough room for the furniture that was provided for the two of you so you had to keep the beds bunked.

Natasha quietly climbs into her bed and says, “You know, Y/N, this might be actually be our year.”

You laugh, “Yeah stuck in our underclassman dorm.”

“I’m serious, this might just be the year we have the best time of our lives and hopefully meet someone, ya know?” she said as she bumped your mattress with her feet at the last part. You just laughed and said, “Yeah, hopefully it will be.”

You both fell asleep, getting up a little earlier than you should so you could get breakfast together. Once you got to the dining hall and got your food you started talking about your schedule and said hi to some of the people you hadn’t seen since summer began. It felt nice to be back on campus with everyone.

You and Nat were talking about you schedules, trying to plan lunch when you heard someone yell your name. You start to turn around to see who it is but your eyes immediately get covered. You laughed as you ask, “Who is it?!?”

The voice behind you says, “Aw come on, Y/N, you gotta guess! Have some fun!”

You take your time, acting like you’re thinking, “Hmmmm… it is… Sammy?!?!” as you rip the hands off your eyes as you get up to turn around and hug your friend. He laughs, “Well, it’s good to see you, too!”

You scoot your tray over so he has room to put his down, he grabs his tray from the table he set it down on and he sits at the table with you and Nat. You all had met freshman year, he was a history major, like you, so you both took just about every class together so you’d sit together during class and hang out after to study and write papers together. He’d end up in your room a lot so a friendship also grew between him and Nat, as well. The three of you would spend almost every day together and get at least one meal a day together and of course, Taco Bell at 2am when you’d have movie nights.

The three of you talked about your summer, what you did, where you worked, and vacations you took and then it was just about time for you to head to class. “Hey, Y/N, what classes do you have today?” Sam asked.

“Oh, God. Do not get her started, Sam.” Nat complained as she took the last couple bites of her breakfast.

He gave her a confused look but you spoke, “I have two history classes, Medieval Europe and Contemporary America, then a couple hours for lunch, then some stupid drawing class that I have to take for my aesthetic credit like I don’t even get why-”

“Okay, well, we have the first two classes together. So do you guys wanna get lunch?” Sam interrupted, not wanting to hear your rant and understanding what Nat meant.

“I told Wanda we’d get lunch with her, but we can do dinner?” Nat answered.

“Yeah, that sounds good. When you guys free?” Sam replied, trying to finalize the plans.

“Anytime” Nat said.

“Uh yeah my drawing class goes until 5:30 so…” You complained.

“Alright, so 6 it is! Don’t forget, ladies! Y/N, we better go or we’ll be late.” Sam said, as he was standing up and getting his bookbag. You followed suit and said bye to Nat and told her to have a good day and that you’d see her at lunch.

You and Sam made your walk to class, he kept trying to talk to you but you were so worried about your art class so you weren’t really focused. He stopped you when you were kinda close to the History building and said, “Hey, listen, the art class will be fine. Trust me. And if it’s not, I know a guy that’s probably in it so if you really need help, I got you.”

You smiled but then gave him a skeptical look, “Yeah and if it comes to that, what do I have to do for you in return?”

He smiled and said, “All you gotta do is help me get a date with the girl from our Civ class last semester, I found out she’s still single.”

You groaned loudly, he had talked about her every day as you two left class. He spent the semester staring at her but never got the courage to actually ask her out. “Fine. Only because I’m really going to need help in Drawing.”

Sam had a cocky grin as he put an arm around your shoulders as you finished your walk to the building, “There we go! Thank you.”

The rest of you day went by fast, since it was syllabus day. So you got to spend a little extra time at lunch with Natasha and Wanda. Then it was it. Time for the class you had been stressing about all day. Wanda and Natasha told you it would be fine but you were still worried. When you got to class you realized you were sharing the class with the art majors, but as the professor clarified, you wouldn’t be doing the same assignments as them, just meeting at the same time. The professor also mentioned that he didn’t expect the non-majors to turn in skilled drawings but he did expect you to try your best. When he was explaining the boring parts of the syllabus you scanned the room to see who the other students in the class were. You recognized a few people, the juniors and a few seniors, but you had no idea who any of the underclassmen were. Your eyes stopped when they landed on a blonde guy wearing a blue t-shirt. You didn’t know why your eyes landed on him but you couldn’t take them off. He noticed apparently and your eyes darted away. After a couple of minutes passed you started looking at him again, but only to find that he was already looking at you. Your eyes immediately darted away and you shifted in your seat. Luckily, the professor was just about to let everyone go since he was done explaining the syllabus.

“Don’t forget! For Wednesday you all need to have a sketchbook for class. You can get them in the bookstore if you don’t already have one.” You somewhat ignored his words since you already had one so you packed up your bookbag and started to leave after he dismissed everyone. As you were walking down the hall you heard someone come up next to you, “Hey” it was the cute guy you had been staring at. Great. You didn’t know what he was going to say, you immediately got nervous but he continued, “I know the professor said he doesn’t grade non-majors the same as us majors but I know he’s still grades kinda harsh so if you need any help, let me know. I just noticed at the beginning of class you seemed kinda nervous.”

You could see he was starting to get nervous, he rubbed the back of his neck while keeping pace with you. You smiled, “Thank you, I might actually need it. I haven’t taken an art class since junior year of high school so I’m a little rusty.”

He smiled back, “Okay, cool, just let me know! I’m Steve, by the way.”

You smiled and said, “I’m Y/N.”

He held the door open for you and when you both were outside you were still walking in pace with each other, but then he stopped, “Uh, I’m this way, but it was nice meeting you, and please, don’t hesitate to let me know if you need help.”

You smiled, “Yeah it was nice meeting you, too! And trust me, I’ll let you know!”

“Okay, have a good night!”

“You, too!”

As you were walking away you couldn’t get your mind off him. You had known this guy for five minutes why were you acting like this? You spent the rest of the walk to your dorm thinking about your interaction, suddenly thinking the drawing class might not be so bad.

[ellebeebee]

Seachange

Part Seven/Nine

Part One || Part Two || Part Three || Part Four || Part Five || Part Six

After the Archon’s ship, Mira declares a need for a break.  She and Liam go out on the town in Kadara Port, and later Liam bonds with her brother.

4283 words, Liam x f!Ryder, teen rating

AO3

-

After a week of Lexi regularly taking her aside for exams and searching questions, various crewmembers giving her the sad are-you-sure-you’re-okay eyes, and a generous helping of his own need to cling and reassure himself of her alright-ness– after a week of this treatment, and a week of her own nightly wrestling sessions with the covers and invisible dream world enemies, he shouldn’t have been much surprised when she marched into crew quarters and announced:

“I want to get wasted.”

Liam looked up from his backwards seat in the quarters desk chair, in mid-conversation with Jaal.

“Oh… kay?” he said.

The hatch hissed behind her. She dropped on one of the bottom bunks and slung her legs out. She didn’t exactly glare at them, but a low-set brow intensified a stubborn sort of burn gleaming in her eyes.

“You. Me. Tomorrow night, Kralla’s Song,” Mira told him.

“Sounds intense. Should I wear armor? Pack medigel?”

She wrinkled her nose at him. “C’mon. Please? You owe me a date.”

He coughed, heat rising along his neck. “I didn’t say no– I mean, yeah. Of course.”

His hands tapped at the back of the swivel chair he sat in, and his eyes skittered over the room’s contents. He’d been finding it increasingly difficult to, uh… deal? With her? Or not really “deal” with but, like, say no to her. Or really, not say “no” but like…

Shit, it was hard to explain.

He’d gotten pretty cozy in her quarters lately, claiming a spot for his pillow and his own side of the bed. She’d cleaned out one of her clothes drawers for him. His hair stuff was sitting on one of the tables by the couch, and on most hair-wash days he’d sit on the floor against her knees as she helped him detangle and treat his curls. They’d put something on the tv and maybe even get halfway over his scalp before he got bored and started poking and tickling her legs and feet. And maybe, just maybe, she’d even finish and get all the gel and creme off her fingers before his hands got bored of just teasing.

So they’d gotten cozy, yeah. But since the Archon’s ship he was afraid he was going overboard. He’d tried to make the joke at first, but he knew he’d said it with gritted teeth and a queasy stomach. He got sulky when she didn’t bring him planetside. Tried to do work onboard the ship and couldn’t focus. He wasn’t remembering it, but she’d said he’d been dreaming again, clutching her. Shaking and muttering.

He didn’t tease as much lately, found himself more concerned than anything, foisting those Lexi-esque questions on her himself. Handling her with kid gloves, reverting back to those days when he still called her “Pathfinder.”

No wonder she needed a break.

“You just gonna hang around Keema’s?” Mira said.

Leaning against the wall near the desk Liam sat at, Jaal shrugged. His shoulders went rigid and his brow-area lifted in the way that said he was struggling with disdain. He sniffed.

“Most likely.”

“You’re free to stay here.”

“No, I’ll–” Jaal inhaled, the perfect picture of benevolent tolerance. “I will go.”

Liam coughed to cover up a chuckle.

“So, Kralla’s Song? You picking me up, or am I coming by yours?” he said.

That knit in her brow relaxed, and a smile flitted over her face. His chest thumped.

“We’ll play it by ear,” she told him. “Make sure you come thirsty because I’m not letting you get away with any one and done crap.”

He smiled. “Whatever you want.”

She paused at that, refocusing on him. Her eyes darted away as she cleared her throat. Haha, he’d got her. It was stupid fun, all this going back and forth with the smiles and the hot skin and the shy eyes. Scary and exciting, addictive.

“Make sure you take sidearms,” Jaal warned them.

“Thanks, mum,” Liam said. “Will do.”

-

Not gonna lie; going out into Kadara Port without his armor and the greater part of his arms made him sweat a bit.

He had to watch himself so that he didn’t mutter about how he needed to relax ‘cause no one here would know he used to be a cop. Did his best to look comfortable in civs and with only a pistol on his hip. Things had somewhat settled down since Keema Dohrgun took over the port and made nice with the Initiative, but slap a paint job on a jalopy and you just get a nicer looking jalopy. Liam still didn’t like the den of scorpions. In contrast, Mira seemed much more relaxed out of armor, with good shoes on and a determination to drink.

He couldn’t tell if it was optimism or naivete or what. After Umi threw three whiskeys at them (one she downed right off and the other two they took to a table), he told her so.

She shrugged, stretching into her chair. “I dunno. It’s not much worse or anything than some hole in the wall in a lower ward. What sort of places did you go to in London?”

“Well, the team got around, right? There was this one time in Rio with this place where the dj and the dancers were all up on trapezes. The music: surprisingly awful.”

She laughed and maybe it was a pity laugh, but it still made him feel good.

He grinned and nursed his drink. “The absolute worst, though, was this sulphur mining colony that spent their evening sitting around their warehouse– their sulphur warehouse that smelled of sulphur– passing around a medical-grade container of watered down ryncol.”

“Oh man. Once this place I went to had a Tuchanka night– yeah, I dunno either– and a special on these drinks: ‘Rite of Passage.’ Club soda, simple syrup, bitters, and a drop of ryncol. And mint. You’d be surprised how awful the mint ended up being. Never again, though.”

“The mint or the ryncol?”

“Whaaat? Excuse me, mojitos?”

He laughed. “Oh, please ask Umi for a mojito. Please. And let me record it.”

“No thanks,” she said, grinning and rotating her glass on the table. “I like my intestines not tied in knots from whatever she’d throw at me.”

“Fair enough,” he said. “Anyways. When we were home, we always stopped at Lady and Son’s.”

“I’m guessing this was a pub. Super English and all, right?”

“Of course! Only get entrance with a blood test to prove a proper percentage of tea in your veins.”

Their table overlooked the port’s docks, and the Tempest perched amid the deceptively dusty and battered transports and cargo ships, a silvery swan among swine. The sunset– although considerably less wild than before the vault’s activation– flooded the nearby scrubland and crags in pomegranate and neon orange and citrine. Fancy cocktail colors. The air hung heady with the sun’s glare, the residual heat of the day, and the savage scent of whiskey. The bar, already busy as it always seemed to be, was getting crowded.

Liam was telling her about his old haunts and the awkwardness of hanging around the same pubs his old precinct did, and how this one time his HUSTL captain got into a buzzed yelling match with his old sergeant and then the drinking match that followed– she was polishing off the second drink and smiling and hooking his calf with her foot under the table. And maybe it was all the giggling between them or maybe it was the story, but he was feeling lighter in a way he hadn’t realized he’d needed.

Damn, what was he doing? Not here, right now in this moment, because this was great. Really, really good, but not because he’d had any part in it. The mild disaster on Aya. The major disaster with Verand. If nothing else, he had a talent for completely dicking up situations. What in the world was he doing here, with her, having this good of a time?

What a fucking miracle. Seriously.

Mira didn’t have to prod him more than once to get him to leave Kralla’s Song for Tartarus. He wasn’t about to act as squeamish about Kadara as Jaal or anything, but honestly he was about as squeamish about Kadara as Jaal. But, well, like. You know. She had like, eyes and stuff.

Which she had roving over the density of dancers lit by strobe lights in pulsing rhythms, her hands fiddling with a glass. He nudged her thigh with his knee, sidling in and letting his arm rest against hers on the aluminum table top they stood at.

“C’mon,” he said. “Your turn.”

“Okay, okay,” she said, putting down her drink and calling his nudge with her own hip check. Heat raced along his side where they touched. “My friend and I used to do a thing. If someone asked us to dance, they had to do at least one song with the other. Aela was turian, so if the person was interested in either of us, chances were the other wasn’t their type. And they weren’t worth our time if they were too impatient for that.”

He snorted and took a sip from his drink. “I could see that.”

“What?” she said, a slow smile stretching across her face. “What?”

“Just wondering,” he said. “You ever think about what if we met before?”

“Maybe? I guess?”

“Like, I have a feeling you wouldn’t have given me the time of day,” he smiled.

He reached out to sweep a brown lock from her forehead. She tilted her face into his fingers.

“Hmm,” she hummed, like she was actually thinking. “And I have a feeling you’re digging for something.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Is that what’s happening?”

“Yeah, pretty sure,” she told him, that short nose and crazy perfect smile washed blue by sudden strobes. “I’m feeling generous, though–”

“I do like when you’re feeling generous.”

She flushed and dug her knuckles into his appendix area, the bite of the retaliation somewhat diminished by her fingers catching and lingering in his waistband loops.

“Maybe, just maybe, if we met before I would have given you a free pass past Aela.”

He laughed. “Didn’t realize that was an option.”

“Yeah, sometimes.”

“Sometimes, huh?”

She laughed, spiking his heart rate in the best way possible. And her fingers were still holding his belt loop, his hips getting tugged with every little movement. What was it about viscous and dark whiskey in the shadows of a club’s corner table with heavy music buffeting and drowning them– what was it about all that that made him sort of light and bodiless and mesmerized by all these little things. He was suddenly made of gauze with his head gone all swimmy, floating along a sea of small touches and words.

She looked up at him for a moment. Her smile shifted and her hand moved up to the small of his back as she leaned against him.

“Hey,” she said. “You okay?”

He blinked at her. “What?”

“Are you okay?”

Then he realized he hadn’t remembered the sight and sound of her hitting the deck of the Archon’s ship once since they’d left the Tempest. He swallowed. Was this a distraction for him? He didn’t think it was all him, but judging from the look in her face and the warmth between them it was enough of him to catch in his throat.

“I think,” he said, reaching out to boop her nose. “We came out here for you to get hammered. And you haven’t goosed me even once. No way we can call this a success yet.”

She laughed, and tossed back her current drink. She nudged him again.

“Okay, okay. I’m gonna need a couple more of these, sweetcheeks.”

“Holy shit. Sweetcheeks? Maybe I need to cut you off.”

“Nope.”

Several whiskeys and beers later, Mira completely lost any smidgen of ability to remain vertical. Liam called the outing a success, having not been mugged or anything once and her not forcing him to inflict the horribleness of his dancing on Kadara. He closed out their tab, hoisted a giggly and limb-flinging pathfinder on his back, and slogged out of Tartarus with Mira yelling into the void of over-bass’ed music, something about “peace” and “bitches.”

He ignored the reek and druggies of the slums in favor of the pleasant fuzz in his head and the feel of Mira’s weight on his back, her arms clutching his shoulders. Trotting around filthy puddles, he did his best not to jostle her too much. And not wipe out cartoon-style in oily mud; he wasn’t as far gone as her, but he’d been throwing them back, too.

“Hey, could you hold that!” Liam called as they got to the elevator with someone entering ahead of them.

The slightly rust-stained and bowed-in elevator doors whined as they remained open and they jogged in.

Liam exhaled, turning. “Thanks, man– oh. Vidal.”

“Hello, Kosta,” Reyes Vidal said without batting an eye. “Pathfinder.”

The smuggler slash Charlatan slash whatever looked immaculate and thoroughly sober, eyeing them with mild amusement as he pressed the elevator’s up button. The tiny steel can of a room was grated and smelled horribly of mystery dreadfullness, and it had a bit of an alarming vibration when it moved. Liam felt Mira shifting by his ear.

“Oh,” she said. “You.”

Reyes’s brow rose. Liam’s, too. She was usually so polite. Even to sketchy liar mcliarson sketch-sketchingtons like Vidal.

“You two seem to have had an adorable night,” Vidal chuckled.

“How would you know?” Mira said.

“This?” he said, gesturing up and down at them. “Very picture of adorable.”

Mira shifted again, making Liam grapple a bit with her legs. “Well, of cooourse. Ye-eaah.”

Liam snorted. She wiggled, the press of her weight nearly distracting him from suppressing his chuckles.

“What?” she demanded. Except she was hammered and not watching her voice like she normally did, her vowels undulating and petulant.

“You,” he laughed.

“What me?”

“You’re either the happiest or the whiniest drunk ever. You don’t ever have an inbetween.”

“That’s not true.”

(Except it was like: that’s not truuuUUuuue.)

“It is too!” Liam said. “You know what it is? You sound like one of those girls at bars that travelled in like, tiger packs and were super intimidating.”

“I don’t think tigers came in packs,” Vidal said.

They ignored him.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Mira stated, over-annunciating carefully.

Liam laughed again. “It’s true, isn’t it? You were one of those intimidating, bar-hopping, badass, like, bad girls.”

She was quiet for a long moment. Her warm alcohol-laden breath tickled the hairs on the nape of his neck. He got sort-of hyper aware of the hot patch where she clung to him, and the way the side of her face grazed his neck.

“So what are you gonna do,” she said, low and pretty clearly. “Take me upstairs and show me how to behave?”

Liam froze.

“O-kay!” he burst out, his voice breaking and pitching like it hadn’t in years. “Yep. You win. You, uh, you– you definitely win that one.”

He sounded like a salarian on helium. Does helium work the same way for them? Nevermind. Not important.

Vidal was mashing the elevator button rapidly. “Is this broken? Why is it not moving faster?”

Liam shifted, grappling with Mira’s legs. He shifted again, trying to simultaneously get a better grip on his turtle shell slash pathfinder and shuffle awkwardly up against the grated wall.

“Liam– what are you–” she started.

She squawked when he suddenly tilted forward, her tilting with him. He leaned against the railing and fumbled his hold on her.

“Liam–”

“I, uh,” he said. “Yeah, so I’m definitely popping a boner.”

Vidal’s button mashing sped up furiously. “This damn thing is broken. All the taxes I pay, and the damn elevator’s broken.”

“Liam.”

“What?  You-- You said the thing and just, y’know--”

“Wait,” Mira said. She sort of uprighted herself suddenly from the downward stoop Liam had them in. “Should I–”

Liam weirdly skipped. “No, don’t– The center of mass!”

She squawked again as she plummeted from Liam’s hands, and the rickety tin can elevator groaned as she thumped against the floor and wall.

“Awh, fuck!”

“Holy shit, Mira, are you okay?”

“No!” she said. She stared, eyes wide with horror, up at him in tangle of her own limbs, awkwardly wedged up in the corner with her hands at the back of her head. “No, I am not okay!”

“Oh god, holy shit, I am so sorry–”

“My head. My back. My ass!”

Wincing, she sort of bellowed and aargh’d as she scrabbled upright. Liam crouched with awkward hover-hands hover-handing around her.

“I’m really, really sorry–”

The elevator slung their stomachs as it finally halted, the doors screeching open. Vidal pretty much sprinted out the door.

“Well, that was an experience, Kosta, Pathfinder,” he said with a hasty wave. “Have some sort of an evening, farewell!”

After a generous helping of fussing and complaining, SAM coolly reassured them that Mira would have some bruises from the fall, but nothing serious. No need to tempt Lexi’s wrath by waking her with their drunk asses. Mira finally got tired of feeling pitiful on the floor of the Kadaran slums elevator, and Liam finally stopped apologizing for his very existence, so they were able to hobble together back on board the Tempest. She decided to quit in the storage bay, dropping onto a crate and cradling her head for a weirdly long moment. He managed to shuffle her into the storage room and onto the couch.

She stretched out on the sofa, grumbling quietly to herself as Liam carefully squeezed underneath her, letting her head rest across his lap. He exhaled and sank into the cushions for a moment. He closed his burning eyes against the dim shadows of the silent ship. Then, with his own quiet grumbles, he fumbled at the crate used as a side table for asprin and water, plying both himself and a sleepy Mira with them.

“Kosta,” SAM intoned.

He scrunched his nose, setting aside the asprin. “Yeah?”

“Ryder has an incoming call from the Hyperion. Her brother. Should I reject it?”

Liam exhaled. “No, nope. I can take it.”

Weeks earlier, when she said her brother was her best friend, she wasn’t kidding.

She didn’t quite take up all of the QE comm system’s processors, all day, every day– but it was a near thing. She spent a lot of time at the ops table, a connection to the Hyperion med bay running for hours as she fiddled with AVP or looked over reports from APEX. Forta making comments. Mostly unhelpful but generally funny. Generally.

“Hey, Forta,” Liam said.

“Hey!” Forta said, smiling from the storage room’s tv screen. “Liam! Annnd, Mira– Oh. Am I interrupting? I can–”

“No, nono,” Liam interrupted. “No, she’s drunk. We’re on Kadara right now.”

“Oh, good. ‘Cause I was wondering why you’d answer a call– I mean, I like you Liam, but, like, total judgment–”

“Good to know, Forta,” Liam said. “What’s up?”

“Oh, nothing much. I was just bored. Look, I’ve mistimed this– it’s morning here, and you look kinda pooped, so I’ll just–”

He actually didn’t feel all that tired anymore, with the call clearing some of the fog in his head. He kept Forta on the line, chatting for a while. Conversations with the Ryder brother usually involved a good portion of complaining about physical therapy and feeling like a limp noodle twenty-four seven. Then the surprisingly mild passive-aggressive comments about how jealous he was about the total four bars in Heleus he hadn’t been to (Carlyle had already had him barred [pun! yay!] from the Vortex before he’d even woke up).

While they talked, they turned on a video game. Also an excellent use of the QE comms. It was a dusty low-res remake of an already terrible early Blasto game, but their shared rage at the unfairness of the wonky controls and map design was made hilarious by the way they had to fury-whisper when Mira mumbled at them when they got loud.

Liam did his best to use his controller up at chest height, avoiding jostling her on his lap.

“Aaargh,” Forta fury-whispered after losing all his lives spontaneously for the sixth time. “Dammit damn, dammit–”

“I’m not doing that,” Liam fury-whispered-laughed. “Blasto’s moving, but my controller’s not responding. It’s a ghost, this game is haunted.”

“I know, it’s great!”

“Now he’s just doing tentacle donuts. Oh god, I’d pay good credits to see a real hanar do that.”

They giggled together for a good while, letting the game run and watching Blasto’s mysterious shenanigans. Until the night caught up with Liam, and he started popping his jaw with yawns.

“Think I’m tapping out, man,” Liam said.

“Okay,” Forta said, his voice only vaguely tinny over the room’s speakers. “Sweet dreams!”

“Happy physical training!”

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” Forta said. He paused, keeping the connection live. “Uh. Actually, uhm. Could we talk some more?”

“Sure?” Liam said, carefully stretching out to drop his controller on the crate beside the couch. Mira mumbled, so he smoothed a hand over her hair. “What’s up?”

“Uuuh, sooo,” Forta said, reminding Liam distinctly of his sister. “I guess, firstly, thanks for letting me complain all the time. And, uh. I gotta admit something. When we left the Milky Way, I knew, y’know, that Mira had some reservations about all this.”

Liam kept quiet, still brushing over her hair with his fingers. ‘All this’ was a mild phrasing for, you know, all this.

“I dunno,” Forta continued. “I mean, I feel bad. I knew about it, and I have to admit I didn’t do all that much to fix it. I was more worked up about all the adventure and whatever in Andromeda. I’m scared I kind of steamrolled her. Ironic, really, seeing as how it all ended up.”

He paused over the comm link, a shrug in his voice.

“I guess I feel bad about not feeling worse about it back then. And then–” Forta stopped, letting the silence and hesitation into his voice. They’d left the game going with Blasto still ramming himself mindlessly into walls. Neither of them went to turn it off and relink the vid transmission.

Forta continued. “And then Dad died. I couldn’t be there for her. I hate– I hate thinking she was alone out there, forced to take on all of Dad’s shit. I know she puts on a face for it, doesn’t let on. But I know her. I know none of this could have been easy. She’s not the type to take on all that. She didn’t even want to be here. Not really. And then Dad–”

He was getting a thickness in his voice, in the unsteady cadence of his uncertain words. Poor Forta. Liam knew he felt helpless and useless back on the Nexus. That he wanted all the responsibility and hard work. Even though he had enough on his plate, both emotionally and physically. And yet he was still worrying about his sister. Jeez, the Ryder twins. They were both so… amazing. Liam felt his own throat get all thick and scratchy.

“But like,” Forta said tightly. “I can tell, you know, since I woke up and she’s known you– I can tell she’s different. Like, before I just can’t imagine her getting called something like ‘Pathfinder’ and it fitting so well. She’s more confident, and, just, like–”

He choked and snuffled, very clearly beginning to cry. Liam brought a hand to his trembling lips and burning eyes.

“Oh, man,” Liam gasped. “Man, you can’t– You don’t how lucky I am–”

“No, no, man,” Forta whuffed. “I totally can tell. You’ve been good for her. Thank you for being so supportive–”

“Forta, no, really. I– I’m the one that really needed her support. I mean, you have no idea how much of a nut I’ve been, and she just–” His chest clenched sharply. “Shit, I just love her so much–”

“Oh, man, Liam– you– you…”

The room filled with the wet sniffling and pitiful exclamations of the pair of them. Lots of sobbed ‘Man, you’re the best’ and ‘No, you’re the best’ and such, going back and forth as the pixel-y figure of Blasto jerked about in a vaguely unsettling manner. After a while of this, they calmed down to tearful hiccups.

“By the way,” Forta sniffed. “You gotta come see me soon. I need a haircut, and I know you were doing it for me while I was in the coma. It was, like, perfect when I woke up, and now Mira leaves it too long–”

This set off Forta again, his hiccups going sob-y again. And subsequently Liam got started again, too.

“She wasn’t supposed to tell you that!”

He was so distracted with all the feelings that he nearly jumped out his skin when Mira jerked in his lap, a flailing arm striking up at his chest.

“Liam,” she groaned, eyed clenched. “Go back to sleep. Shit.”

She tossed about for a second before settling back down with her arms encircling his waist and squeezing tightly. Her face dug into his side, her breath warm over his shirt.  Fondness swept over him as he sat there, a little shuddery from post-crying hiccups.

Forta managed a good-bye, and the comm link went dark, Blasto’s inanity mercifully ended. Liam sat for a long time in the dark storage room, intruded upon only by the perpetual ambient lighting of cargo slipping through the door gaps and past the small window’s coverings. Tears drying on his cheeks, he caressed her hair with his heart thumping overloud and his chest tender with an abundance of warmth.

[lawschoolruinedme]

1L here. I caught mono early in the semester which pretty much wrecked me. I'm starting to get better now, but it's led me to dropping a class. So I now have Property, Civ Pro and my writing class. I'm really struggling to catch up to 7 weeks of info even if it's only 2 classes worth. Any tips for efficiently getting through backlog? I feel like I'm constantly swamped and I only seem to be able to focus on one thing at a time so all of the missed material is unfocusing me more. Any tips please?

Oh hun that is awful. Make sure you take it easy on yourself during recovery because mono has a history of flaring back up on you if you don’t allow yourself to ease back into things. 

Now for the fun part : How to Catch Up When You’re Behind (aka How LawSchoolRuinedMe passed law school): 

Start by setting yourself the goal of reading absolutely nothing from your syllabus prior to today’s date. 

Continue the readings for classes as you normally would. Make notes of words (particularly in civ pro) that you don’t understand, or legal tests you’ve never heard of (particularly in Property) 

Start prepping for your finals now. Like, actually now. 

But, wait,  you ask, how do I learn by writing my outlines? Shouldn’t I know this shit by now and before I start outlining? The answer is no. I always learned more by prepping my outlines then I did sitting in class and typing verbatim. Because doing my outlines, at my learning pace, allowed me to digest all the information

Go back to your syllabus, use the headers in their to map out your outline. Your teacher thinks this is how the work should get broken down to digestible chunks. Trust their judgment. 

Now fill in each of those “header” sections with whatever the teacher included in the slide shows / class outline 

Now add into those sections all the other necessary information from your lecture notes. If you missed some classes because of the mono, ask a friend for their lecture notes. 

Now, after having done all three of the above, if there are still sections where you look at the information and go “what the fuck does that mean” or there are words or tests from Step 2 above that you haven’t got an answer to, I want you to go back to your outline and look at that very specific piece of information you don’t know about it 

Read only that section of the textbook. Fill in your outline with the information accordingly 

When this outline is finished, ask some other 1L friends if they can set aside some time one afternoon so you can all study-sesh the shit out of some practice exams and the course outline. And, to help you get an idea of how to make this time most fruitful, here’s how my friends and I used to approach these study sessions:

Everyone brings their own already-prepared outlines to the session. Have coffee and snacks and get fucking comfortable because your asses are going to be there a while 

Go through your outlines in the order of the course syllabus. 

Talk about the important issues / decisions in cases and make sure everyone has highlighted the same issues and decisions. 

Ask questions when you don’t understand things. This helps not only you, who gets to hear it in language more accessible to you as it comes from a peer, but it helps your study partners because they have to explain legal concepts in accessible language which forces them to digest their understanding of it

Highlight where other people have made note of “professor said X thing was important” or “professor said this three times so it’s probably important” 

After you’ve gone through the entire syllabus (I told you your asses would be there for a while), take a shot take a break and then come back and issue spot practice exams together. Talk about what cases / law you would use to address these issues. 

The one beautiful thing about law school is it is cumulative. It’s not like taking high school science where you accidentally missed the entire chemistry section and now the class is into biology but at the end of the year you’re going to be tested on both. The stuff your class was taught at the beginning of the year was the principals upon which the stuff that’s being taught now is based upon. With a little sleuthing, active listening, and reading decisions where judges like to set out the entire history of law just for shits and giggles as a precursor to their decision, you can pick up a lot in these last few weeks. 

You got this. 

[monsteronfire]

A Dream (Request)

Group: Bangtan Sonyeondan

Member(s): Kim Namjoon, Min Yoongi, Kim Seokjin, Jung Hoseok, Park Jimin, Kim Taehyung, Jeon Jungkook

Style: Drabble

Prompt: Request: Bangtan scenario where they pulled a fan up on stage and it’s cute and 1000% fluff? Please and thank you. I love your writing so much.

Genre: Fluff, Slice of Life

Pairing(s): None really. Very, very, very slight Jimin/Reader if you squint, spin around three times and summon a demon of enhanced vision.

A/N: I’ve been playing Civ 6 for most of the day with my online buddies so it gave me the chance to write this out. It’s really short and there’s not a lot of dialogue in it, but I hope you all still enjoy it. I was going to have a situation where they just spot the OC/Reader and pull her up, but I wanted it to be a little more realistic so I went with this route. Thank you for requesting anon and, as always, if it’s not what you were looking for you can always let me know and I will try again. Please enjoy!

Dislcaimer: Gif isn’t mine.

                                       “Are you… having fun?”

———————————————————————————————————–

This was a dream. It had to be right? You’d bought the crazy expensive tickets with the mindset that you would simply be closer to the stage. You knew there was a chance to get chosen to go up there, but you never thought it would be you. You never won anything, so you’d naturally thought that this would be no different. Yet here you were being ushered to the front of the crowd and led to a small set of stairs that went onto the stage. You hesitated for a long moment, your nerves getting the better of you as the man that had led you to the stairs rushed off to find the next fan. You knew you looked like a fool just frozen there and you could hear the shouting of fans telling you to go and congratulations.

You nearly choked as one of the members came to the stairs, smiling sweetly at you and trying to encourage you onto the stage. Tae’s smile grew when you didn’t budge, ambling down the steps to reach you and shout a hello into your ear. His happiness was contagious, his adorable laugh pulling a grin onto your face as he wrapped an arm behind you to lead you up. You shouted a hello back to him and he quickly asked how you were doing before he brought you to the other members. Jimin met him half way and greeted you shyly, you returning the gesture much in the same fashion. Tae asked your name before repeating it several times to make sure he got it right before introducing you to Jungkook and Jin.

You smiled at them, your nerves giving way to excitement and awe. This was the first time you’d ever seen them live and you were practically dazed by their beauty and charisma. Jin immediately took to you, asking your name and if you were having fun at the concert. Jungkook stood shyly off to one side, watching you, but letting the others do all the talking. Tae asked you how old you were and when you revealed to them that you were even older than Jin they practically swarmed you. Jin finally pulled the attention of Namjoon, Yoongi and Hoseok who’d all been pouring over a piece of paper that likely explained the rules of the game you were all going to play. Namjoon was the first to step up and start speaking to you. He asked your name- Tae repeating it next to you when you told him- and how you were feeling. You told him you were nervous, but excited and happy to be there.

“Don’t be nervous, we’re all nervous too,” he said with a grin and a chuckle, making you laugh in return.

Taehyung was practically glued to your side, smiling brightly and clinging to your arm. Namjoon asked you a few more questions, who your favorite member was, what song you’d liked best so far, what you were looking forward to most later in the concert. It wasn’t until the other fans were on stage that they finally spread out more, all of you lining up and the members getting paired off with each fan. You got paired with Jimin, his shy smiles and quiet words making your heart race even more than it already was. He didn’t say much, obviously too uncertain in his language skills to attempt a conversation with you, but he called you noona a lot which had your cheeks heating every time.

“Are you… having fun?” He asked slowly as everyone got a moment of reprieve from the game. You smiled broadly at him, enjoying that he was finally speaking to you.

  “Yes! A lot of fun!”

He smiled shyly at you and nodded.

“Good.”

“Hyung,” Jungkook suddenly called leaning over to speak with Jimin while still sticking close to his fan. You smiled at each other while the boys said something in Korean, neither of you seeming to understand them. Jungkook took a quick glance at you, your lips stretching into a large smile as you looked at him. He’d been practically avoiding you this whole time. His eyes got wide for a moment, a blush blooming across his cheeks and up to the tips of his ears before he was smiling back unsurely and bowing a bit. You returned the gesture and laughed a bit to yourself when he quickly retreated back to his partner. Jimin giggled himself, leaning closer to you and pointing at the maknae.

“Shy.”

“He is,” you replied, chuckling back.

You suddenly heard Hobi screaming from behind you, desperately trying to dodge a rogue bug that had gotten in. He tried to use his partner as a meat shield, but they seemed just as afraid of it as him, screaming themselves and running to hide behind Yoongi. Trying to keep his eyes on the assailant, he reached blindly for his next protector, pulling you in front of him and slowly spinning you so that you were always between him and the bug. You were not fond of bugs, but you didn’t fear them the way you’d seen others fear them, so you just laughed and tried to shoo it away. Immediately Yoongi, Tae and Jimin came to your rescue, all of them yelling at Hobi for using you. As soon as the bug was gone Hobi apologized to you, pulling you in for a hug as you told him it was fine. He thanked you and bowed before he and his partner finally met up again. The other three fussed over you for a moment before Jimin was slipping his hand into yours and leading you back to you places.

The game proceeded and your team got into a heated rivalry with Tae’s. Taehyung and Jimin bickered back and forth until Tae finally just stole you away, claiming that you were now on his team as well and Jimin was left alone. When you attempted to return to your spot Tae only wrapped you up in his arms, squeezing you to him and giving Jimin a defiant pout. Jungkook came to your rescue, still avoiding your eyes, but slapping Taehyung until he released you and sent you back to Jimin.

Eventually the game ended, though and it was time for the concert to continue. Each fan got to hug all the members, Jimin and Tae holding you a beat longer than any others and Jungkook practically a stiff board when you hugged him. Hobi apologized again about the bug thing and Namjoon was practically as warm as the sun to you, giving you encouraging words and telling you he hoped you enjoyed the rest of the concert. Though you didn’t get to interact with him much Yoongi told you he enjoyed meeting you and hoped you enjoyed yourself. Jin made sure to treat you to a few more dad jokes (which Namjoon had to translate and explain to you), one of which he’d learned in your native language. You laughed at all of them. Once you’d said goodbye and thanked all of them Jimin took your hand again and led you all the way across the stage and half way down the steps back into the crowd, making sure you made it to the last step safely before he headed back up.

You made your way back to your seat quickly, sad that it was over, but glad for the experience. You had the rest of the concert to go through as well. You were also thankful for your close proximity to the stage. The boys all thanked the fans again and left the stage to get ready for the second half of the concert. After a time the music started up and the concert kicked off again. You enjoyed every second of it, reaching peak moments when members like Jimin or Hobi spotted you in the crowd and waved as they looked directly at you. Jimin smiled shyly every time. Even Jungkook would stare at you when he spotted you, only looking away when you smiled brightly at him and waved, his cheeks turning red as he moved to a new part of the stage.

It had to be a dream, you were sure of it… But if it was, you were happy

[lastexodusrp-blog]

OCTAVIAN VESTRI · 24 · COURTESAN AT SEVEN HAVENS · THE SIREN · TAKEN

"Look like the innocent flower, but be the serpent beneath it.” - LADY MACBETH

ORIGIN:

Rome, Italy

TRAITS:

+ Charismatic, Practical, Protective

- Conniving, Ruthless, Cynical

BIOGRAPHY:

THIS IS THE WAY THE WORLD ENDS;

Octavian was not always spiteful, but the way of the world found what small piece of resentment that he harboured and grew it until it consumed him. That small piece may have been born at the death of his mother and father when he was but 5 years old. Wide eyed he stood, with his tiny hand in that of his older sister’s, as they scattered their mother and father’s ashes across the Tiber and he listened to her curse the radiation that had slowly poisoned them until their bodies could no longer harbour it any longer. Octavian hadn’t quite understood what had happened to them, but it had been explained to him that they wouldn’t be coming back. The only parents he ever remembered, outside of the few photos they had of the real ones, were his sister Helene and her husband, who had no choice but to raise him as their own.

He loved them both completely, and grew up in awe of them. Helene was an esteemed researchers in the medical field, and her husband an astrophysicist. By the time Marco was 7, they were imported to Colorado by Valeris Corporation to work on the Civ-Belt. Without even a word of English bar ‘hello my name is Octavian,’ he was thrust into life amongst complete strangers. His caregivers were busy most of the time, and for weeks on end he would only see them as they returned home to sleep without uttering a word to him. He began to realise that he had become a burden, and then to realise that to Helene he had always been one.

That suited him just fine, if they did not want him, he did not want them. Fiercely independent, almost to a fault, Octavian took it upon himself to find new people who regarded him as something more than an inconvenience of fate. His English gradually became better, and though he was not scientifically minded like his guardians, he was certainly growing into an intelligent young man. Exploring Colorado Springs proper, he met a whole number of interesting people - soldiers, scientists, civilians, rebels - and became fixated on learning their stories. One boy in particular, he could have listened to for hours. His name was Jasper, and his father was one of the Civ-Belt-1’s chief benefactors.

Whether it was Jasper’s patience for his developing English, or the fact that he felt like an escape from being a burden, Octavian quickly found himself falling head over heels in love with this boy who felt sometimes as if he was from different world. Months went by where Octavian spent all his time holed up in his lover’s apartment pretending like the world and his family beyond the four walls did not exist. He was so enamoured with being someone’s priority that he often did not stop and think about what kind of person he had fallen for. Jasper had hard and fast beliefs about what sort of people, namely the elite, should be allowed on the Civ-Belt and about the rebels being akin to the worst kind of criminals. He promised a naive Octavian so many things - love, influence and most importantly a life beyond the trappings of the earth when the time came for departure. Scared of another rejection from those he loved, Octavian never questioned him or argued against, preferring the safety and security of apathy and agreement.

NOT WITH A BANG, BUT A WHIMPER.

As it had seemed too good to be true at the time, it would eventually turn out as such. The closer that time crawled towards the departure of the select few bound for the Civ-Belt-1, things began to fall apart for Octavian. His sister decided she had had enough of his constant evasion and spite directed towards her and cut him off from the space on the ship that their participation on the project has allowed him as family, as Octavian had suspected she had wanted to do ever since they had arrived in Colorado.

He was not overly devastated by this development, knowing that he would ascend the stars by Jasper’s side regardless. Though he now knows that he should not have been so naive to think that he would be dealt anything but a bad hand. All the talk, the years of Jasper telling him he could not even dream of leaving earth without him, proved false when time ran out. Octavian woke one morning to find the bed empty next to him, and Jasper’s apartment eerily empty. The one person who he had loved unconditionally had seemingly not spared him a thought when it came to his own survival. It took a few days for Octavian to admit to himself that he had been left - presumably Jasper’s parents’ rhetoric of elitism had finally gotten to him - and proceeded to destroy everything Jasper had owned in a hazy blur of anger, resentment and desperation. Once again, Octavian was alone. This time, he would make sure it was for good.

The concept of having to survive the rest of his life on earth was one he had never thought about. He managed to survive for a little while on his own, but he knew it was nothing he could maintain. He was on his own, unprepared for this life, and unable to move past the blows he had been dealt. Stealing became his only means of survival, and using the pickpocketing skills he had acquired as a child amongst the crowded streets of Rome and then again in the halls of NASA, he managed to keep himself alive. That was, until he stole from the wrong person - a man twice his size with a rusty blade that had caught him in the side as he attempted to make off with his wares. The offending merchant left him to die of the wound rather than exerting the effort it would take to pursue him as he ran. The wound quickly became septic; Octavian could barely move before too long, though through the knowledge of medicine he had picked up from his sister over the years, he knew what he needed to stop the spread of the infection. The only place he knew where to get such rarities was the one place he had resolved to stay away from at all costs.

The glint in Madame Sellgraves’ eyes when he had walked through her door would haunt Octavian for the rest of his life. He had been willing to do anything, to give anything, to not waste away at the hands of his own naivety, and the Madame had been more than willing to take. Calloused hands that reminded him of the claws of a vulture had taken hold of his chin, making his skin crawl as she as she tipped his face so she could regard him at every angle. The claws had even bunched his golden curls in order to tip his chin upwards. He hadn’t needed words from her lips to understand what the price for saving his life would be, and he had accepted the deal within seconds. The decision was easy when there were no other options.

Octavian was eventually cured of the infection thanks to the medicine he had sold his body to obtain, and with it, his naivety was cured to. The day he entered Sellgraves’ tent, he left whatever little softness was left in him at the door. To survive in the life he had signed himself into he knew he had to be ruthless, cunning and a nightmare so beautiful that his victims would never see what they had coming. He has been at the brothel for a long time now, and has his doubts that he would have survived anywhere else this long. Though the life he leads may seem nightmarish, he had resigned to maintain apathy about his situation. It is a small and humble place he has carved himself in the world, but a place nonetheless.

FACECLAIM:

Niels Schneider