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unknown-songs · 5 years ago

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BLACK LIVES MATTER

A list with black artists who have a song in the Unknown Songs That Should Be Known-playlist (Can be a black artist in a band or just solo-artist) (no specific genre)

Bull’s Eye - Blacknuss, Prince Prime - Funk Aftershow - Joe Fox - Alternative Hip-hop Strangers in the Night - Ben L’Oncle Soul - Soul Explore - Mack Wilds - R&B Something To Do - IGBO - Funk

Down With The Trumpets - Rizzle Kicks - Pop Dans ta ville - Dub Inc. - Reggae Dance or Die - Brooklyn Funk Essentials - Funk FACELESS - The PLAYlist, Glenn Lewis - R&B Tell Me Father - Jeangu Macrooy - Soul

Southern Boy - John The Conquerer - Blues Hard Rock Savannah Grass - Kes - Dancehall Dr. Funk - The Main Squeeze - Funk Seems I’m Never Tired of Loving You - Lizz Wright - Jazz Out of My Hands - TheColorGrey, Oddisee - Hip-Hop/Pop

Raised Up in Arkansas - Michael Burks - Blues Black Times - Sean Kuti, Egypt 80, Carlos Santana - Afrobeat Cornerstone - Benjamin Clementine - Indie Shine On - R.I.O., Madcon - Electronic Pop Bass On The Line - Bernie Worrell - Funk

When We Love - Jhené Aiko - R&B Need Your Love - Curtis Harding - Soul Too Dry to Cry - Willis Earl Beal - Folk Your House - Steel Pulse - Reggae Power - Moon Boots, Black Gatsby - Deep House

Vinyl Is My Bible - Brother Strut - Funk Diamond - Izzy Biu - R&B Elusive - blackwave., David Ngyah - Hip-hop Don’t Ever Let Nobody Drag Your Spirit Down - Heritage Blues Orchestra - Blues Sastanàqqàm - Tinariwen - Psychedelic Rock

Disco To Go - Brides of Funkenstein - Funk/Soul Circles - Durand Jones & The Indications - Retro Pop Cheesin’ - Cautious Clay, Remi Wolf, sophie meiers - R&B Changes - Charles Bradley - Soul The Sweetest Sin - RAEVE - House

Gyae Su - Pat Thomas, Kwashibu Area Band - Funk What Am I to Do - Ezra Collective, Loyle Carner - Hip-hop Get Your Groove On - Cedric Burnside - Blues Old Enough To Know Better - Steffen Morrisson - Soul Wassiye - Habib Koité - Khassonke musique

Dance Floor - Zapp - Funk Wake Up - Brass Against, Sophia Urista - Brass Hard-Rock BIG LOVE - Black Eyed Peas - Pop The Greatest - Raleigh Ritchie - R&B DYSFUNCTIONAL - KAYTRANADA, VanJess - Soul

See You Leave - RJD2, STS, Khari Mateen - Hip-hop Sing A Simple Song - Maceo Parker - Jazz/Funk Have Mercy - Eryn Allen Kane - Soul Homenage - Brownout - Latin Funk Can’t Sleep - Gary Clark Jr. - Blues Rock

Toast - Koffee - Dancehall Freedom - Ester Dean - R&B Iskaba - Wande Coal, DJ Tunez - Afropop High Road - Anthony Riley - Alternative Christian Sunny Days - Sabrina Starke - Soul

The Talking Fish - Ibibio Sound Machine - Funk Paralyzed - KWAYE - Indie Purple Heart Blvd - Sebastian Kole - Pop WORSHIP - The Knocks, MNEK - Deep House BMO - Ari Lennox - R&B

Promises - Myles Sanko - Soul .img - Brother Theodore - Funk Singing the Blues - Ruthie Foster, Meshell Ndegeocello - Blues Nobody Like You - Amartey, SBMG, The Livingtons - Hip-hop Starship - Afriquoi, Shabaka Hutchings, Moussa Dembele - Deep House

Lay My Troubles Down - Aaron Taylor - Funk Bloodstream - Tokio Myers - Classic Sticky - Ravyn Lenae - R&B Why I Try - Jalen N’Gonda - Soul Motivation - Benjamin Booker - Folk

quand c’est - Stromae - Pop Let Me Down (Shy FX Remix) - Jorja Smith, Stormzy, SHY FX - Reggae Funny - Gerald Levert - R&B Salt in my Wounds - Shemekia Copeland - Blues Our Love - Samm Henshaw - Soul

Make You Feel That Way - Blackalicious - Jazz Hip-hop Knock Me Out - Vintage Trouble - Funk Take the Time - Ronald Bruner, Jr., Thundercat - Alternative Thru The Night - Phonte, Eric Roberson - R&B Keep Marchin’ - Raphael Saadiq - Soul

Shake Me In Your Arms - Taj Mahal, Keb’ Mo’ - Blues Meet Me In The Middle - Jodie Abascus - Pop Raise Hell - Sir the Baptist, ChurchPpl - Gospel Pop Mogoya - Oumou Sangaré - Wassoulou Where’s Yesterday - Slakah The Beatchild - Hip-hop

Lose My Cool - Amber Mark - R&B New Funk - Big Sam’s Funky Nation - Funk I Got Love - Nate Dogg - Hip-hop Nothing’s Real But Love - Rebecca Ferguson - Soul Crazy Race - The RH Factor - Jazz

Spies Are Watching Me - Voilaaa, Sir Jean - Funk The Leaders - Boka de Banjul - Afrobeat Fast Lane - Rationale - House Conundrum - Hak Baker - Folk Don’t Make It Harder On Me - Chloe x Halle - R&B

Plastic Hamburgers - Fantastic Negrito - Hardrock Beyond - Leon Bridges - Pop God Knows - Dornik - Soul Soleil de volt - Baloji - Afrofunk Do You Remember - Darryl Williams, Michael Lington - Jazz Get Back - McClenney - Alternative Three Words - Aaron Marcellus - Soul

Spotify playlist

In memory of:

Aaron Bailey Adam Addie Mae Collins Ahmaud Arbery Aiyana Stanley Jones Akai Gurley Alberta Odell Jones Alexia Christian Alfonso Ferguson Alteria Woods Alton Sterling Amadou Diallo Amos Miller Anarcha Westcott Anton de Kom Anthony Hill Antonio Martin Antronie Scott Antwon Rose Jr. Arthur St. Clair Atatiana Jefferson Aubrey Pollard Aura Rosser Bennie Simons Berry Washington Bert Dennis Bettie Jones Betsey Billy Ray Davis Bobby Russ Botham Jean Brandon Jones Breffu Brendon Glenn Breonna Taylor Bud Johnson Bussa

Calin Roquemore Calvin McDowell Calvin Mike and his family Carl Cooper Carlos Carson Carlotta Lucumi Carol Denise McNair Carol Jenkins Carole Robertson Charles Curry Charles Ferguson Charles Lewis Charles Wright Charly Leundeu Keunang Chime Riley Christian Taylor Christopher Sheels Claude Neal Clementa Pickney Clifford Glover Clifton Walker Clinton Briggs Clinton R. Allen Cordella Stevenson Corey Carter Corey Jones Cynthia Marie Graham Hurd Cynthia Wesley

Daniel L. Simmons Danny Bryant Darius Randell Robinson Darius Tarver Darrien Hunt Darrius Stewart David Felix David Joseph David McAtee David Walker and his family Deandre Brunston Deborah Danner Delano Herman Middleton Demarcus Semer Demetrius DuBose Depayne Middleton-Doctor Dion Johnson Dominique Clayton Dontre Hamilton Dred Scott

Edmund Scott Ejaz Choudry Elbert Williams Eleanor Bumpurs Elias Clayton Elijah McClain Eliza Woods Elizabeth Lawrence Elliot Brooks Ellis Hudson Elmer Jackson Elmore Bolling Emantic Fitzgerald Bradford Jr. Emmett Till Eric Garner Eric Harris Eric Reason Ernest Lacy Ernest Thomas Ervin Jones Eugene Rice Eugene Williams Ethel Lee Lance Ezell Ford

Felix Kumi Frank Livingston Frank Morris Frank Smart Frazier B. Baker Fred Hampton Fred Rochelle Fred Temple Freddie Carlos Gray Jr.

George Floyd George Grant George Junius Stinney Jr. George Meadows George Waddell George Washington Lee Gregory Gunn

Harriette Vyda Simms Moore Harry Tyson Moore Hazel “Hayes” Turner Henry Ezekial Smith Henry Lowery Henry Ruffin Henry Scott Hosea W. Allen

India Kager Isaac McGhie Isadore Banks Italia Marie Kelly

Jack Turner Jamar Clark Jamel Floyd James Byrd Jr. James Craig Anderson James Earl Chaney James Powell James Ramseur James Tolliver James T. Scott Janet Wilson Jason Harrison Javier Ambler J.C. Farmer Jemel Roberson Jerame Reid Jesse Thornton Jessie Jefferson Jim Eastman Joe Nathan Roberts John Cecil Jones John Crawford III John J. Gilbert John Ruffin John Taylor Johnny Robinson Jonathan Ferrell Jonathan Sanders Jordan Edwards Joseph Mann Julia Baker Julius Jones July Perry Junior Prosper

Kalief Browder Karvas Gamble Jr. Keith Childress, Jr. Kelly Gist Kelso Benjamin Cochrane Kendrick Johnson Kenneth Chamberlain Sr. Kenny Long Kevin Hicks Kevin Matthews Kiwane Albert Carrington

Lacy Mitchell Lamar Smith Laquan McDonald Laura Nelson Laura Wood L.B. Reed L.D. Nelson Lemuel Penn Lemuel Walters Leonard Deadwyler Leroy Foley Levi Harrington Lila Bella Carter Lloyd Clay Louis Allen Lucy

M.A. Santa Cruz Maceo Snipes Malcom X Malice Green Malissa Williams Manuel Ellis Marcus Deon Smith Marcus Foster Marielle Franco Mark Clark Maria Martin Lee Anderson Martin Luther King Jr. Matthew Avery Mary Dennis Mary Turner Matthew Ajibade May Noyes Mckenzie Adams Medgar Wiley Evers Michael Brown Michael Donald Michael Griffith Michael Lee Marshall Michael Lorenzo Dean Michael Noel Michael Sabbie Michael Stewart Michelle Cusseaux Miles Hall Moses Green Mya Hall Myra Thompson

Nathaniel Harris Pickett Jr. Natasha McKenna Nicey Brown Nicholas Heyward Jr.

O’Day Short family Orion Anderson Oscar Grant III Otis Newsom

Pamela Turner Paterson Brown Jr. Patrick Dorismond Philando Castile Phillip Pannell Phillip White Phinizee Summerour

Quaco

Ramarley Graham Randy Nelson Raymond Couser Raymond Gunn Regis Korchinski-Paquet Rekia Boyd Renisha McBride Riah Milton Robert Hicks Robert Mallard Robert Truett Rodney King Roe Nathan Roberts Roger Malcolm and his wife Roger Owensby Jr. Ronell Foster Roy Cyril Brooks Rumain Brisbon Ryan Matthew Smith

Sam Carter Sam McFadden Samuel DuBose Samuel Ephesians Hammond Jr. Samuel Hammond Jr. Samuel Leamon Younge Jr. Sandra Bland Sean Bell Shali Tilson Sharonda Coleman-Singleton Shukri Abdi Simon Schuman Slab Pitts Stella Young Stephon Clark Susie Jackson

T.A. Allen Tamir Rice Tamla Horsford Tanisha Anderson Timothy Caughman Timothy Hood Timothy Russell Timothy Stansbury Jr. Timothy Thomas Terrence Crutcher Terrill Thomas Tom Jones Tom Moss Tony McDade Tony Terrell Robinson Jr. Trayvon Martin Troy Hodge Troy Robinson Tula Tyler Gerth Tyre King Tywanza Sanders

Victor Duffy Jr. Victor White III

Walter Lamar Scott Wayne Arnold Jones Wesley Thomas Wilbert Cohen Wilbur Bundley Will Brown Will Head Will Stanley Will Stewart Will Thompson Willie James Howard Willie Johnson Willie McCoy Willie Palmer Willie Turks William Brooks William Butler William Daniels William Fambro William Green William L. Chapman II William Miller William Pittman Wyatt Outlaw

Yusef Kirriem Hawkins

The victims of LaLaurie (1830s) The black victims of the Opelousas massacre (1868) The black victims of the Thibodaux massacre (1887) The black victims of the Wilmington insurrection (1898) The black victims of the Johnson-Jeffries riots (1910) The black victims of the Red summer (1919) The black victims of the Elaine massacre (1919) The black victims of the Ocoee massacre (1920) The victims of the MOVE bombing (1985)

All the people who died during the Atlantic slave trade, be it due to abuse or disease.

All the unnamed victims of mass-incarceration, who were put into jail without the committing of a crime and died while in jail or died after due to mental illness.

All the unnamed victims of racial violence and discrimination.

...

My apologies for all the people missing on this list. Feel free to add more names and stories.

Listen, learn and read about discrimination, racism and black history: (feel free to add more) Documentaries: 13th (Netflix) The Innocence Files (Netflix) Who Killed Malcolm X? (Netflix) Time: The Kalief Browder Story (Netflix) I Am Not Your Negro

YouTube videos: We Cannot Stay Silent about George Floyd Waarom ook Nederlanders de straat op gaan tegen racisme (Dutch) Wit is ook een kleur (Dutch) (documentaire)

Books: Biased by Jennifer Eberhardt Don’t Touch My Hair by Emma Dabiri Freedom Is A Constant Struggle by Angela Davis How To Be An Anti-Racist by Ibram X. Kendi I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings by Maya Angelou Me and White Supremacy by Layla Saad So You Want To Talk About Race by Ijeoma Oluo They Can’t Kill Us All by Wesley Lowery White Fragility by Robin Deangelo Why I’m No Longer Talking To White People About Race by Reni Eddo-Lodge Woman, Race and Class by Angela Davis

Websites: https://lynchinginamerica.eji.org/report/ https://museumandmemorial.eji.org/ https://archive.org/details/thirtyyearsoflyn00nati/page/n11/mode/2up https://lab.nos.nl/projects/slavernij/index-english.html https://blacklivesmatter.com/ https://www.zinnedproject.org/

#black lives matter #blm #racism #george floyd #breonna taylor #mlk #black history

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youvebeenlivingfictional · 4 years ago

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I Could Be Your Sometimes Part Seven

Previous Part | Next Part | Masterlist Rating: Explicit - 18+ Only Notes: Welcome back to this week's episode of Andy Barber Has Lead Me To Write Questionable Things! Set before the series. This chapter is a l o n g one, guys. Sorry bout that. Thank you to everyone that’s liked and read this!! Pairing: Andy Barber x Reader Warnings: Infidelity and sexual content. If you dislike this, please don’t read. Thank you. Chapter-specific warnings: Cursing, alcohol consumption Summary: I’d heard from Neal a couple of times since the seminar. I’d gotten a formal email thanking me for ‘sharing my expertise’ with the office, and then a less formal email asking my opinion on a particular strategy (which had struck me as odd, and something he really ought to go to a coworker about).

My interactions with Neal and Andy had led me to the conclusion that I wouldn’t be so stupidly interested in (or incredibly irritated by) Andy if I properly had my eye on someone else. Despite the fact that Neal had seemed interested, he worked with Andy, and that was way too close for comfort. I hadn’t bothered with online dating for a couple of years, and I hadn’t been in a serious relationship since my junior year of college. Though, after nearly a whole half hour of swiping through Tinder, I was already losing hope. Nora had mentioned a few other apps for me to sign up for, but I’d just wanted to start with one and work my way up. I stopped on one profile, considering. He was cute.... Looked a bit like Neal. I sighed, swiping right before moving on. I’d heard from Neal a couple of times since the seminar. I’d gotten a formal email thanking me for ‘sharing my expertise’ with the team, and then a less formal email asking my opinion on a particular strategy (which had struck me as odd, and something he really ought to go to a coworker about). I had replied with an honest and business-minded email, which had surprisingly kicked off a back-and-forth. The content mostly steered toward work -- he’d asked if the Christmas season made me work schedule better or worse; I asked him if judges disapproved of ugly sweaters, and if so, were they worth risking it on the off-chance it endeared you to the jury. I frowned when my phone screen switched to a phone call, displaying the name ‘Laurie Barber’. I got off of my couch and and headed into the kitchen, wine glass in hand. I drained it before hitting the ‘accept’ button.

“Hello?” I asked. “Hi!” Laurie was bright on the other end. “Hey,” I greeted, “What’s up?” “I wanted to invite you to our Christmas party!” I cringed, setting my wine glass on the counter and stepping over to my fridge to retrieve what was left of the rosé. I’d been avoiding Laurie’s invitations for a few week’s now -- to the Thanksgiving Turkey Trot marathon fundraiser for Jacob’s school, to the Newton town tree lighting, to spiked hot chocolate night with her and Toby (because apparently I’d managed to make a good impression on Toby at brunch). Laurie would’ve been running at the Turkey Trot, but she’d told me I could “hang out with Andy at the water station for the participants” while she was running; she’d helped organize the tree lighting, and would’ve been busy, but “don’t worry, Andy’ll be there!”; spiked hot chocolate night would’ve been at the Barber residence. God knows if he would’ve been around. But a Christmas party? “It’ll be tons of fun-- caroling, s’mores, and-- an ugly sweater contest, that was Jacob’s idea, he saw some really fun ones on the internet,” Laurie was going on as I poured myself another glass of wine. I considered this as I put the bottle down. It was a party. There was be scads of people there, Andy would be co-hosting. There was virtually no chance I would be alone with him under any circumstances. Besides, I’d turned down so many of Laurie’s invitations that I was starting to feel bad. "Sounds like fun! Can I bring anything?” I asked. -- The fear that Andy and I might wind up alone somehow was further assuaged the second I stepped into the Barber household. It looked like half of the Newton Bar Association had been invited, as well as the PTA of Jacob’s school, a third of the student body, and the board of the Children’s Cottage. I located Laurie quickly enough, smiling at the blinking Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer sweater that was too cute to constitute as an ugly one. She drew me into a warm hug, grinning. “I’m so glad you made it!” She said, steering me into the kitchen and taking the bottle of wine I’d brought from me. “No ugly sweater, huh?” Toby was leaning against the counter in the kitchen, pink-cheeked and wearing a Where’s Waldo Christmas sweater. She held her hand up, gesturing for me to give her a twirl. I chuckled, holding my hands up in surrender and doing a small spin in place, the skirt of my dress flaring out a bit with the movement. “I had a Christmas party at work and I didn’t have a chance to change before I came. Besides, I knew I’d never top what you two would be wearing,” I said. Toby hummed, nodding. “You’re excused,” She said. I smiled, leaning against the counter beside her. “That dress is darling, though,” Laurie complimented. I smiled, smoothing my hands over the red velvet fabric. “Thank you! It has pockets,” I said, tucking my hands into them. Laurie and Toby ‘Ooo’d before we all descended into giggles. “Can I get you something to drink? Wine or eggnog or anything?” Laurie asked, turning toward where the drinks were laid out on the counter. “Oh-- Do you have white wine?” I asked. “Yep, we have riesling, and chardonnay, and sauvignon blanc.” “Chardonnay please,” I said, pulling my phone out as it buzzed in my pocket. ‘You got a new match! 😍😍😍’ I had a racked up a few of the notifications in the last few hours, but I tended not to check Tinder while I was at work. I glanced at Toby and Laurie and, finding them both occupied, I opened the app. I looked through the new matches, a few of whom had already messaged me. I answered a couple before I tucked my phone away again, accepting the glass Laurie held out to me. “Cheers,” I said brightly. -- “Of course, you really want to invest now-- In a few years, the value of gold is going to skyrocket.” Gary Lanzman was, quite possibly, the most boring man I had ever had the misfortune to wind up in a conversation with. “I did not know that,” I said, shaking my head a little bit (I still didn’t know that, I hadn’t processed anything he’d said since ‘hi, I’m Gary’). I frowned as my phone buzzed repeatedly in my pocket. “Oh-- I’m sorry,” I reached into my pocket, pulling it out and looking at the number, “It’s a client, excuse me,” I said, shooting him and Toby an apologetic smile as I excused myself. I answered the call, muttering, “Hi! Give me one second, I’m just trying to get to a quiet place.” There were no quiet places fucking anywhere; the Barber house was packed to the rafters with respectable but noisy people. I wasn’t even going to try upstairs; it would be a fight to get to where my coat had been flung over the back of the couch and I wouldn’t go out without it, it was freezing outside. I spotted the door to Andy’s office and frowned. I had gone in once or twice back when I babysat Jacob, but I’d never spent much time in there. I squeezed past a couple of people before I tried the handle. The door was unlocked. I opened the door, peering inside. The room was dark, and blessedly quiet. I relaxed, shutting the door behind myself and hurrying over to flick on the lamp on Andy’s desk. “Hi! I’m so sorry about that,” I said quickly. -- “Right... Absolutely, and that is why Nora and I are keeping such a close eye on this,” I said. I had been on the phone for nearly half an hour. In that time I’d kicked off my heels, paced around Andy’s office, and finally taken up residence on the edge of his desk, swinging my feet back and forth as I worked to assuage my client’s worries. I jumped at the sound of the door opening, hand coming up to my chest when I saw Neal poke his head in. I sighed silently, signalling to him that I was on the phone. He nodded, and I figured that that would be that, but instead he stepped inside, shutting the door behind himself with a smile. I raised a brow as he wandered around, looking at the books on Andy’s shelf, trailing his fingers along the spines. I had the feeling Andy wouldn’t like that. “Mhm... I completely understand. Tell you what, I can send you an email tomorrow morning that outlines everything that we talked about. If you like, we can schedule a call with Nora on Monday and just make sure we’re all on the same page... Well of course, Millie, that’s what I’m here for... Yes, you, too. Have a great weekend...Okay...Okay...Thanks. Bye.” I pulled the phone away from my ear, shaking my head a little as I hung up. “Everything alright?” Neal asked. “Yeah, just uh,” I swept my hand through my hair, “A heavy-handed client.” “Did I hear you say you’d be sending her an email in the morning?” Neal asked, leaning against the bookshelf across from me. I nodded. “I was planning on going in anyway, this is just getting added to the list,” I admitted. I slid off of the desk, toeing into my shoes and picking up my glass of wine from where I’d left it on Andy’s desk. “Yikes,” Neal commented. I smiled. “It’s not that bad.” “I think you might work more than I do.” We were quiet for a moment; Neal wasted no time in looking me over, and didn’t bother to be subtle about it. I quirked a brow as he met my eye again. “No ugly sweater?” I asked. Neal smiled. “Not quite my thing,” He said. “Why not?” “Just...Not my style.” “I’m sure you could’ve found one that looked like a suit and tie.” Neal laughed, pushing off of the bookshelf and ambling closer to me. “Maybe,” he conceded. He stopped within inches of me, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from him. “What are you doing in here?” I asked. “Would you believe me if I said I was looking for the bathroom and got lost?” He asked. “Not for a second.” Neal’s smile widened, and he nodded before he turned and fiddled with a paperweight on Andy’s desk. “I saw you duck in here and I didn’t see you come out.” “Well, that would be because I’m still in here,” I teased before striding away from the desk. I retraced his steps, looking over a few of Andy’s books. I could feel Neal watching me as I pulled one out, skimming the back cover. “Hey,” Neal said softly, coming up behind me, “I’ve been meaning to ask you--” Whatever it was was cut short by the door opening to reveal a moderately irritated looking Andy. “There you are, Loguidice,” He said, leaning against the now-open door. He kept one hand on the door knob and tucked the other tucked in his pocket as he stared Neal down, “Your date’s looking for you.” My brows rose. I glanced back at Neal, whose jaw had gone tight with irritation. “Thanks,” He said stiffly before glancing back down at me. “I’ll see you out there,” He added lightly, smiling before he left the study, brushing past Andy. I turned back to the book, wiggling it back into its place. I froze as I heard the click of the door close and Andy say, “She’s not that cute.” “Hm?” I tipped my head in his direction without turning to look at him. “His date.” “I don’t see what that has to do with anything,” I said. “Well, it explains why he’s more interested in being alone with you.” I took a sip of my wine, hoping it would dampen the butterflies in my stomach and explain the redness taking over my ears. I plucked another book off of the shelf, looking it over. “I see you chose professional over personal,” I said, thinking back to the conversation we’d about Neal weeks before. I understood what Andy had meant now; Neal was very outwardly ambitious, and Andy keeping him close by could signal to Lynn that she was on her way to being ousted, even if it wasn’t true. “You think I made the wrong choice?” His voice was closer now, but I didn’t turn to see just how close. I was a little afraid to find out. I tucked the book away again before I turned, walking back over to Andy’s desk and looking over the stack of books there. “I couldn’t say. You know your own situation better than I ever could.” “You’d know it better if you weren’t avoiding me.” “I’m not avoiding you.” “No?” Andy asked. “Nope.” I set my glass of wine on the desk, reaching into my pocket as my phone buzzed. It was a Tinder notification. “You need to get that?” Andy asked. I shook my head, turning and leaning back against the desk, dropping my phone back in my pocket. When I looked up, I found Andy just a few feet away, leaning against his bookshelf as I had been before. It was clear he’d been a late arrival to the party - he’d only stripped out of his suit jacket, had loosened his tie and unbuttoned the top couple of buttons. “I hope I didn’t interrupt anything,” Andy said. “I just said I didn’t need to get it.” “I meant between you and Neal.” My brow furrowed as I considered his question. “What could you have possibly interrupted?” I asked. “You tell me,” He said, folding his arms over his chest. “We were just talking.” “About what?” “Work.” “Whose, yours or his?” “Mine, but we had talked about his, too.” “What about yours?” “I had to step in here to take a call from a client. He commented that I work a lot.” “Do you think he was trying to suss out availability for some kind of one-on-one time?” “Objection. Leading the witness,” I teased. Andy laughed, shaking his head. When he looked at me again, it was from under his lashes, this warm, disarming smile on his lips. “C’mon,” He said softly, in a way that told me he thought I was being naïve. I rolled my eyes. “What does it matter what Neal and I were talking about?” Andy straightened from his lean, hands still tucked in his pockets as he drifted closer to me. I watched him warily, heart rabbiting in my chest as he got closer. Was it stuffy in that room? It had to be-- I was boiling. What the hell did they keep their thermostat set to, anyway? “Maybe I don’t want you talking to him,” Andy said. He was close enough to touch, close enough to speak so low without having to raise his voice, close enough that I could see the chain peeking out from underneath his collar. It was a struggle to keep my eyes locked with his, not to let them greedily wander over his lips and neck like I wanted to. “You have no say in who I talk to, Barber,” I pointed out. Andy frowned a little at that, head tipping to the side. “Why do you call me that?” He asked. “What?” “You never use my name.” “Barber is your name.” “You know what I mean.” Andy crowded closer, hands resting on the desk behind me and caging me in. I was sure he could hear my heart pounding, or at least feel where our chests were brushing together. He looked down at me, eyes dark with something I couldn’t place. “Say my name,” he murmured. It was a simple request, so why the hell did it feel so goddamn salacious? I swallowed thickly, throat suddenly dry. “...Why?” I asked. “Because I want to hear it,” Andy reasoned. “You afraid I don’t know it?” I sassed, trying to regain some composure, some semblance of the upper hand. Andy wasn’t having it, though; the attempt made his lips twitch with amusement before his head dipped closer. My eyelids fluttered as his lips skimmed over my jaw. “Barber--” I mumbled, raising my hands with the intention of pushing him away. Instead, they curled in the fabric of his shirt, the traitors, savoring in the crinkling of the crisp fabric in my grip, in the press of muscle that I feel under the layers of cloth. Andy tutted against my skin before he lifted his lips to my ear. “Doesn’t have to be loud,” he murmured, “Say it.” I shivered at the puff of his breath against my ear, the light scrape of his beard against my cheek. I shouldn’t have touched him. I had to let go. I had to let go, and push him away, and laugh. This was a joke, this was all an awful, awful joke. It had to be. Even my hottest dreams hadn’t felt this good-- And we were barely doing anything. “Andy,” I mumbled. I squeezed my eyes shut as I did, heat flooding my face. I felt ridiculous, exposed; I wanted to curl myself into his chest as if I could hide from him there. Andy hummed in approval, the sound vibrating against the hinge of my jaw as his hands lifted from their post on the desk, skimming over the curve of my thigs and sliding up. They gathered in the fabric, bunching it up a bit. I squirmed against him, breath coming out in short pants as I squeezed my thighs together. Andy’s hands settled on my waist, thumbs rubbing soothingly over the fabric, like he could still me that way, as if I could be calm. “Say it again.” I didn’t think I could. I shook my head a little bit. Andy’s thumbs pressed a little harder into me. “C’mon, sweetheart,” He soothed, “I know you know it.” I sucked in a sharp breath at that, unable to help myself. “Andy,” I exhaled. I bit my lip as Andy began to press kisses along the line of my jaw. One of my hands uncurled from his shirt, lifting and hovering over at the side of his neck, unsure. “It’s okay,” he murmured against my cheek, “You can touch me. I want you to.” I turned my head a little to meet his eye, shy in my curiosity before I let my hand settle against his skin, faintly registering the ridges of his chain under my palm. Andy nudged his nose against my cheek, dropping another kiss against to my jaw, then my chin. He went still for a moment, watching me before he brushed a tender kiss to corner of my mouth. I let my hand slide up his neck, grasping at the hair at his nape. I more felt than heard the approving rumble he made before his lips were at the corner of mine again, pressing another kiss to the same spot, lingering, soft, warm. It would be so easy to turn my head and catch his lips with mine-- Or to slide my hand up into his hair and pull like I wanted to. If I just leaned back on the desk a little more, spread my legs, Andy would have plenty of room to-- I jerked back from Andy as I heard the doorknob jiggle. We were still pressed close together as Andy turned to look at the sound; his hands didn’t fall away from me as they should’ve. “Andy--” I hissed, pushing at his chest and sending him a couple of steps back. He frowned down at me, affronted. “Hey, Andy, have you seen-- Oh, there you are!” Toby said brightly, cheeks flushed, “Come on, you haven’t even tried to find Waldo on my sweater yet!” She said, holding her hand out to me. She was tipsier, saw nothing off about my own flushed appearance or slight dishevelment. I didn’t shoot Andy a second glance or reach for my glass where I’d left it on Andy’s desk. I took hold of Toby’s hand and let her pull me back out into the throng of party-goers. I lingered for five more minutes, told Laurie I’d have to work early in the morning, and managed to leave without seeing Andy again. Nothing I did could get rid of the thought of him, though -- of his hot breath on my skin, or his hands on my thighs, or his lips on the corner of mine. I got a text from a number I didn’t know as I pulled into a parking space at my apartment building. (8:24 PM) Nightcap? (8:25PM) Who is this? (8:25 PM) Neal. I got your number from Laurie. I looked down at my phone, leg bouncing restlessly. There was no way I’d be able to go upstairs and face the rest of the evening alone. I needed to get out of my own head for a while. (8:26 PM) Your date won’t miss you? (8:26 PM) She’s not a date, just a friend. That was good to hear. I’d already gotten in the middle of one too many couples that evening. I pushed that thought down with a shake of my head, texting Neal my address. (8:27 PM) My place is a lot more fun than a packed bar. (8:27 PM) Be there in twenty.

Tag list: @fanficadddddict69 ; @nina-sj; @rosalynshields

#I Could Be Your Sometimes #andy barber #andy barber x you #andy barber imagine #andy barber x reader

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hellitwasyoufirstsergeant · 4 years ago

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Irene Bullock, Joe Bradley and Longfellow Deeds?

Anon you know me well! I love all three of them 🤍

(I won’t add pictures or the post will be too long)

Irene Bullock

favourite thing about them: the has a good heart, after all the hole plot of the movie is her wanting to help someone homeless

least favorite thing about them: Her tendency to hysteria 😂

favourite line: “I wish I had a sense of humor, but I can never think of the right thing to say until everybody's gone home”

brOTP: Irene and Molly, the maid

OTP: Irene x Godfrey ofc!

nOTP: Irene and that guy she’s engaged to for like two minutes 😂

random headcanon: this movie is one of my all time favourites and I love Irene and Godfrey, but tbh I think they’d have divorced. Maybe William and Carole’s real marriage have biased my opinion lol

unpopular opinion: Carole Lombard’s performance is really underrated

song i associate with them: primadonna by marina

Joe Bradley

favourite thing about them: his sense of humour

least favorite thing about them: he let Ann go! Why, Joe, W H Y

favourite line: “I haven’t worn a nightgown in years”

brOTP: Joe and Irving!

OTP: Joe x Anne 🥰

nOTP: idek

random headcanon: I think he’d have stayed in Rome for many years at least, not wanting to let it go because of all his memories with Ann

unpopular opinion: again related to the acting as opposed to the character, but Gregory’s performance was just as incredible as Audrey’s

song i associate with them: on top of the world by imagine dragons

Longfellow Deeds

favourite thing about them: his faith in humanity and the essential goodness of people. It’s something I wish I could have

least favorite thing about them: his naivety

favourite line: the poem he writes for Babe 😭 makes me cry every time lol

brOTP: Longfellow and Cobb

OTP: Longfellow and Babe ofc!

nOTP: John and his wife 🤮

random headcanon: I bet after the movie events he went back to Mandrake Falls to work on the new fire truck

unpopular opinion: more related to the movie generally rather than the character, but I think Jean Arthur’s performance was just as good as Gary Cooper’s

song i associate with them: for he’s a jolly good fellow

#ask game #roman holiday #my man godfrey #mr deeds goes to town

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septembersghost · 4 years ago

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what are dream Taylor collabs? (besides Harry and Niall, obviously the world needs those!) 😏💗

Harry and Niall are literally top two, and it’s fun because it seems absolutely impossible on the one hand, but also maybe isn’t on the other? maybe this is wishful thinking, probably mindless dreaming... rumor has it that Niall and Taylor already almost collaborated on something (me, staring at the unspeakable remix of Lover: Niall was right there...), and then it didn’t happen for whatever reason, but it’s certainly not that far-fetched. (Niall on Red, please). with Harry, it’s likely less fathomable, except we do have on the record Jacknife Lee (who co-wrote/produced The Last Time with Taylor and Gary Lightbody for Red, and then he and Gary co-wrote/produced Something Great with Harry for Midnight Memories), saying:

Taylor was nice and very professional. She knew what she wanted and there was no f***ing about. She was seeing Harry Styles at the time, so he came to Topanga on her recommendation. She wrote a few songs with him, and it was the same thing – quick. But this time it was more directed by the management and label. They were after something specific. I wanted more acoustic and gentle, almost Americana, and they wanted bombast. They got what they wanted, and that was the extent of my foray into teen-pop territory. It was fun. (x)

so those songs they wrote exist, somewhere! (in Taylor’s vault perhaps?) they would also be Red-era, but could still potentially fall into 1989 territory. all I know is it would be everything.

I’m also curious whether she has plans to re-record I Don’t Wanna Live Forever with Zayn, I wouldn’t have expected her to do that with soundtrack songs, but Today was a Fairytale showing up on Fearless has me second-guessing that. (this extends to Eyes Open and especially my beloved Safe and Sound, since The Civil Wars aren’t together anymore).

I’d love for her to officially collab with FOB (or Patrick, generally? those voices?!), which, before you say that sounds mad, 1. we got Brendon on a pop song!, 2. this happened, 3. “Pete Wentz is probably… if I had to pick a favorite lyricist, it’d be a tie between him and Lana Del Rey. ‘Blank Space’ is a song that’s just zingers, one after another after another, which I definitely learned from listening to Fall Out Boy. (x)” p l e a s e

if we’re talking dream lists, it’d be so cool to see her collab with any of the legends that have influenced her - Paul McCartney, Carole King, Stevie Nicks, James Taylor (we’ve had interactions/performances between her and each of them, but I’d love an actual recording, you know?).

I have a long list of women I’d love for her to work with, but I think (and this is totally fine and I don’t have an issue with it) Taylor’s a little more into duets with men that can be like a back and forth conversation? still, Lorde. Lady Gaga. (I KNOW, but, as a fan of both of them, and apparently one of the few people in the world who cherishes Joanne - listen to the piano version of Joanne, the song - plus my favorite songs she’s ever done being in A Star is Born, they absolutely could mix if they met in the middle of their pop/rock/country infused styles. if queens Barbra Streisand and Donna Summer could do this iconic duet in 1979, then there is no reason why we can’t have Taylor/Gaga in 2021). Beyonce too, for that matter. Hayley Williams. this could go on...

I saw someone mention The Lumineers for Speak Now/Red and that would be cool. Hozier for reputation. a very out there one for me is Leslie Odom Jr., because if Leslie could remix a song of his to include Sia, why NOT Taylor?! this partially stems from my not-so-secret desire to know what it would be like if the incomparable songwriting prowess of Taylor and LMM could be combined to take the world by storm (especially given some of the parallels between folklore/evermore and lyrics of Eliza’s, the particulars of Burn - you built me palaces out of paragraphs - even Breathe from In the Heights, are so reminiscent of the way Taylor paints her musical language and emotive expression).

there are just so many! and of course I’m biased towards my other faves (which is why H and N are at the top...shh).

who knows what she might have up her magical sleeves?! 💖

#whatever she does it will be a gift we know that much #taylor swift #anonymous #letterbox

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thephantomofthe-internet · 5 years ago

Text

Problem Solver

Steve Harrington x Reader

Word Count: 5,668

Warnings: Swearing, Angst, Abortion

Author’s Note: Hey guys! Lemme know if you want a sequel to this one, I’d love to explore this concept further!

Tag List: @hotstuffhargrove @moonstruckhargrove @mickmoon @alex--awesome--22 @hawkeyeharrington @songforhema @carolimedanvers @thechickvic @lilmissperfectlyimperfect @sunflowercandie @kaliforniacoastalteens @spidey-pal @buckybarneshairpullingkink @marvelismylifffe

The tile of your bathroom floor was freezing on your bare feet, your fleece pyjama pants around your ankles. It was four in the morning, way too early to be awake on any day, especially not a Saturday. But you needed space to do this. You had to be careful.

The pregnancy test was on the counter, the egg timer ticking down slowly. You had never been more anxious before in your life. You crushed the box tightly in your fist, stolen from the pharmacy; you were too anxious to actually pay for it. You couldn’t let the cashier tell your mother about it or even let her see the receipt.

You needed to not be pregnant. Desperately. You couldn’t be pregnant. You were too young, too scared to be a single mother. It had to be a false alarm.

You felt stupid. You should’ve been careful; you should’ve said something when he didn’t have a condom. You should’ve stopped. But you didn’t.

As the timer got closer and closer to the zero, you grabbed it, forcing it to stop before the trilling ring came out, waking up your whole house.

You took a shaking breath, eyes rolling to the water marked ceiling as your clammy hands reached out for the test, tapping lightly on the counter until you hit the plastic test, pulling it over to you. You eyes fluttered shut as you levelled your head again, crossing your fingers in a silent prayer before opening your eyes.

The pink plus sign was clear as day.

Pregnant.

“Fuck…” you muttered, letting your head drop into your hands. You were so screwed.

All you could do was go back to bed, hiding the test in your dresser, climbing up the heap of blankets, begging the universe to let you sleep and to wake up and for everything to be fine again. But you knew that the universe didn’t work that way; you had to face the problem head on. You let hot, fat tears slip down your face, silent sobs wracking through your gut and chest, your throat tightening into a Gordian knot.

At seven o’clock, you forced yourself out of bed and into clean clothes. You forced yourself to the kitchen and forced a spoon of peanut butter into your mouth, the only thing you thought you could keep down, too upset to eat. You grabbed the yellow phone book off the counter, marked up with sticky notes for important numbers. You carried it to your room, grabbing the canary yellow rotary phone off the hall table, drawing the long cord down the hall and into your room, shutting the door and sitting down in front of it, pressing your back against the pressboard door.

You put the phone by your feet, flipping open the phonebook to the list of medical numbers, scrolling through to find a number for a woman’s health centre. There was a Planned Parenthood in Chicago, a three hour drive away, which felt like a risk, but you called anyway.

You could tell that the receptionist on the other end, who introduced herself as Amy, was trying to be nice to you, but it felt forced and harsh, sympathy training gone wrong. She warned you that you’d need parental consent if you were under eighteen before anything could be performed and it would cost $150.00. You told her that you understood and made the appointment for the next weekend.

You decided not to tell the father, he didn’t need to be involved. In fact, you decided not to tell anyone. You took off work the Saturday of your appointment, but you worked all that week, trying to flush your bank account with enough money to pay for the procedure.

If anyone asked you what happened that school week, you wouldn’t have had an answer. Your mind was on other things, on the drive to Chicago and the appointment itself. You just wanted to be done with that week, but Friday night proved to be the longest one yet.

Sitting at dinner with your parents, you pushed peas around your plate, eyes trailing the clock. “Hey ma? I was wondering if I could have the car tomorrow. I’m supposed to go to the mall in Greenville with Vicki and I thought I’d offer to drive us, since she usually gets Tommy to drive us and that means we have to invite Carol and it’s a whole thing.” You rambled, hoping that the influx of information would confuse your mother enough to give you the answer you wanted just to shut you up.

“Sweetheart, you know that your father and I are going to visit Aunt Shelley in Gary this weekend, we need the car. I’m sorry but you’re just going to have to deal with Tommy and Carol.” Your mother replied, reaching over to cut up your little sister’s chicken, smiling easily, as though she couldn’t feel the walls around you closing in.

“Unless of course you want to come along, I’m sure Aunt Shelley and Uncle Marvin would love to see you.” Your father added, but you weren’t listening, anymore. You pushed your plate away from you, tossing your napkin on the table top.

“May I be excused?” you asked. Your mother opened her mouth to answer you, but you were already turning on your heel and heading out of the dining room and upstairs. You had to be alone again. You needed a new plan.

Alone in your room, you forced your window open, your whole body trembling. Your lungs were on fire, eyes stung with tears. All week you’d been emotional, ready to cry at the drop of a hat, and this little change in the plan was the icing on the cake. You stuck your head out the window, forcing cold evening air into your lungs, trying to catch your breath and lessen the lump in your throat. You needed to calm down; you needed to be rational again.

Looking out at the dark street, streetlights like spotlights over the road, you watched as a car pulled into the driveway adjacent to yours, the only car at the house. You watched as a boy with a careful constructed coif and toned shoulders and arms stepped out, tossing what looked to be keys up and down, his entire body screaming ease and comfort.

Steve Harrington.

You and Steve were sort of friends. Key word sort of. He and you ran in similar circles but you’d never had to be close to get through parties at Tina’s and smoking at Tommy’s. But there were times that you were; first in sixth grade when Macy had convinced you that he was in love with you and you developed a tiny crush on him and then in freshman year when he had an actual crush on you and you had assumed he was just trying to be your friend. Both times had ended in awkward heart break for one party and awkward parties for awhile after until one of you moved on. You got your heart broken when you caught him in the closet at Carol’s making out with Mackenzie Fisher, his first ever girlfriend. And Steve got his broken when he asked you out and you laughed in his face, assuming it to be a joke. Since then, things were a bit tense and awkward, though it lessened when he started dating Nancy Wheeler. You always felt like you were skating on thin ice with him, like any second you could mess up and crash through the ice, even with Nancy around cutting the tension and the power of sticky weed and cheap liquor breaking down the walls of your social hierarchy.

But in that, with your head stuck pathetically out the window, his car was more appealing than even before.

Your fingers flew over the rotary dial, the number still engrained in your mind and fingers. You wondered if his mother was home, his father seemingly always gone on business. But when the phone was picked up on the first ring, you knew he was alone, his mother always took four rings to pick up the phone, not allowing anyone else to pick up the phone out of fear of seeming desperate.

“This is the casa de Harrington, Steve here.” Steve greeted, his tone jovial and relaxed. You could practically see him flopped on the overstuffed brown leather couch in their living room, a hand running through his long tresses.

“Hey Steve it’s…uh it’s Y/N.” you said, curling the yellow coiled cord around your finger.

“Oh hey Y/N, what’s up?”

You sighed “Look, um this is weird but…I was wondering if you could drive me into Chicago tomorrow…I’d do it myself but my parents are driving out to Gary and I have an appointment out there. If you can’t help me it’s totally fine, I get it, it’s a weird request.” You sputtered, closing your eyes tight.

Steve was quiet for a long time, at a loss for words. Your stomach dropped, practically hearing the ice crack under your feet. You backtracked quickly “Look, I’m sorry this was stupid, I shouldn’t have bothered you, sorry.” You went to hang up the receiver, but a voice rang out from the other end.

“Y/N, wait.” Tentatively, you pushed the receiver back to you ear, unsure what to say “I can drive you, it’s not a big deal. Just tell me what time we have to leave.” He said, his soft an octave softer, clearly concerned.

“My appointments at ten o’clock, so we have to be out early. I can chip in for gas or we can drive it in shifts if you want, or I can find my own way back if you need-” he cut you off.

“Y/N. It’s not a big deal, I’ll pick you up at seven thirty, okay? If you wanna help, you can bring me a coffee, okay?” he replied easily. Steve was being too giving, too genuine, and it made your skin crawl, like he was watching you.

But you nodded, you got him to spill how he liked his coffee, you held back your giggles when he admitted just how much cream and sugar he needed to make the stuff drinkable, you said polite goodbyes and you thanked him again. Then you went to bed, not bothering to wish your parents a good night. Your body felt impossibly tired, a week of anxiety crashing through your body and pushing into dreamland.

Your alarm rang out a six o’clock the next morning, pushing your groggy body out of bed and into the shower, finally finding the energy to wash your greasy hair, eyes closed so you wouldn’t look at your stomach, which you swore was getting bigger every time you looked at it. You dressed cautiously, pulling on the thick knit skirt your mother had insisted you’d need for something, wondering to yourself if this was what she meant. You pulled on warm layers and tied your hair into a thick black scrunchie at the top of your head, messy and tangled and wet but away from your neck.

Your parents were still asleep, they wouldn’t leave for Gary till later that morning, giving you plenty of time to get in and get out without question. You tip toed down the stairs, stepping over the well known squeaky step and into the kitchen. You pulled out a paper coffee filter and dropped it into the top of the machine, filling it with grounds and flicking on the power button, the sound of the water boiling filling your senses. You remembered that you couldn’t have caffeine before the procedure, so you pulled out the electric kettle, boiling a separate pot for you as you dug through the various teas your mother bought on various whims, trying to find something without caffeine that wouldn’t taste like absolute crap. You finally decided on just have honey and lemon, pretending that you were sick made the whole trip feel more normal to you.

You pour the hot drinks into two Styrofoam cup, pouring honey and dropping sliced lemon into yours and enough sugar and cream into the other to make nearly white. You kept your eyes on the Harrington house, hoping that Steve remembered his promise to you.

You scrawled a note to your parents on a scrap piece of paper which you pinned to the refrigerator door.

“Mom and dad,

Me and Vicki decided to go for breakfast before driving into Greenville, say hi to Aunt Shelly and Uncle Marvin for me, I’ll call there when I get home. See you on Sunday!

~Y/N”

You heard a horn honk outside the house, your eyes snapped up to see Steve waving at you from his driveway, his eyes sleepy and his smile wide and soft. You waved tentatively back, pulling your purse onto your shoulders, popping plastic lids on the cups and marching towards the door, forcing a bright smile on your face as you crossed the street to meet him.

“You ready to go?” Steve asked, taking the cup from you with nod of thanks.

You nodded “Yeah, let’s do this.” Steve chuckled, popping the passenger seat door open for you, letting you in with a silly sweep of the hand, earning a little giggle from you. It was going to be a long drive.

Despite music playing from Steve’s stereo, the silence in the car was unbearable. You’d run out of things to talk about fairly quickly, Steve avoided the topic of your appointment out of politeness, but as Chicago grew closer, he needed to know where he was going.

And he worried about you. Ever since middle school when he broke your heart, he’d kept his eye on you, trying to ensure that you were happy and secure in your life. At first he felt like it was an obligation, a way of apologizing to you beyond words, but it became second nature to him, watching out for you as though you were one of his own, a prototype to the way he’d come to watch the middle schoolers he’d adopted. He’d punched out your first boyfriend, a squirmy boy named Brian, after he’d told their entire gym class how bad you were in bed. Did he have a good excuse? No, but listening to some kid treat you so terribly behind your back made his blood boil, igniting a fire behind his eyes and tightening his core. Driving you to Chicago felt like another obligation in watching you, making sure that you were still okay. But it bothered him to watch you twitch in the seat next to him.

“So,” he broached the silence with a brave, easy smile, “Where’re we going here?” he asked, the sign signalling Chicago was only five miles away.

You had been tearing the edges of the map in your lap, trying to calm your twitching hands and racing heart. You reached into your bag, pulling out the yellow legal pad you’d written the directions on, scanning the chicken scrawl for a sign of legible instructions.

“We’re looking for North Humberland Court.” You read, eyes locked on the page. You refused to admit where you were actually going, to admit that it would make it real and you refused to believe that it actually was. You weren’t going to a clinic to have an abortion with Steve Harrington.

“Alright…” he muttered, scanning signs for the street you’d named. The fact that you were so quiet made him nervous. Something was wrong, even he could sense it. “So why couldn’t your parents drive you out here? To the doctor I mean.”

“Like I told you, they’re going to visit some family today, they needed the car. I’m old enough to handle this stuff without them anyway…” you replied quickly.

“Why schedule an appointment if they knew they wouldn’t be in town?” he asked. God, sometimes you wondered if Steve Harrington had any sort of deduction skill. In this case, it worked in your favour.

“It was a mistake, they told me to cancel but it was hard to get and I wasn’t gonna wait around for another chance.” You told him, finding a relaxed smile, leaning back in the chair for the first time in the entire drive.

Steve hummed “Right…” he looked at you for just a second, catching the look of anxious fear in your eyes that made his heart lurch and made him drive faster. You looked almost scary-the smile looked so natural, but your eyes were so far from matching, you almost looked like a psychopath.

“They don’t know that you’re out here, do you?” he said, a smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth. Your head snapped to look at him, shocked that he’d figured it out, which felt silly in retrospect-Steve wasn’t stupid, he just had no forethought when he spoke, making him seem dumber than he actually was.

You opened your mouth to retort, but you had nothing. Instead, you sighed, looking away. “Look, it’s just one of those things.” You said.

“I need to know where we’re going here, Y/N, like are we actually even going to the doctor at all?” he pressed.

“We are going to the doctor, I didn’t lie about that.” You replied. Steve watched you for a second, looking for more cracks in your façade. But your smile had dropped, your face finally expressing what your eyes had been screaming the whole ride. He nodded, turning down the long street you had requested.

“Just tell me where to turn.” He muttered and you nodded, muttering back “Stay in the left lane…”

North Humberland was a longer street than you’d expected, but halfway down in a small, unassuming building, was the Planned Parenthood. You nodded for Steve to turn, watching him for a sign of something, anything. You wanted to know if he judged you, if he was scared or hurt or disgusted-if everyone saw you the way you saw yourself. But he didn’t look like he felt any of those things, he looked eerily calm and comfortable with this scenario, as though he’d been there before. Maybe he had, you realized in that moment how little you knew about him.

There were a few sparse protestors outside, all in pink shirts with Bristol board signs, declaring that you were a baby killer and that abortion is murder. You hadn’t thought much about what you were doing, it just felt like a chore to you like an annual check up or a teeth cleaning. You hadn’t even realized what was inside you was technically a life to these people, a baby to these hallowed few. Watching them and their signs walk their picket line, their glares and scowls targeting your car as you pulled in. They had their teeth bared and their fists clenched tightly around their signs like weapons.

You looked to Steve, in almost the same way you’d look to your parents as a small child, for guidance and support. He sent you a small smile and nodded towards the front door, waiting for you to make the first move. You let out a sigh, pulling your bag off the floor and popping open the side door, dropping your feet onto the pavement. Steve stuck close to you, his hand pressed into the small of your back, pushing you past the screaming hoard who called you a murderer and a sinner.

The girl who answered your call, Amy, was at the desk, her false smile and terrible phone voice matched her face; she looked like the head cheerleader forced to be nice to everyone. She handed you your paperwork and verified your I.D, both of you knowing that it was fake but neither saying anything. You took a seat in the plastic chair, propping the clipboard on your knee. Steve sat next to you, you hadn’t realized that he had taken your hand while you were handling receptionist Amy until he let you go, and you oddly missed it when he let go.

“I wish you’d told me…” Steve whispered, slouching down in his chair to whisper into your ear, arms crossed over his chest.

You rolled your eyes “What was I supposed to say, Steve? Hey, I know we’re not really friends but I need an abortion, wanna come with? Yeah, I’m sure you’d love that call, totally would’ve gotten me a ride here…” you shot back, crossing your arms defiantly over your chest. You felt younger than you actually were, like an angry preteen rather than the girl about the head to college in just a few months.

“Would’ve been better than lying to me...” Steve seemed hurt by your small lie, in a way you didn’t quite understand. You’d done nothing to hurt him; nothing about this situation even truly involved him. It made your blood boil-for once, something wasn’t about him and he had to get his emotions all in it.

“I didn’t lie!” you snapped “I told you I have an appointment in Chicago and I do, it just so happens to be the appointment.”

Steely silence covered you like a blanket. Steve knew you were right, he knew he was in the wrong here. But he couldn’t look at you, it hurt too bad. If he had chosen to stick around, to be genuinely be your friend and not creep around in the shadows of your life. He was sure he could’ve stopped this, he could’ve stopped whatever the hell happened here.

“You don’t have to sit here with me, you know, you can go, like I said I can find my own way back.” You said softly, not bothering to look at him. You couldn’t bring yourself to.

“No, no I’m-I’m not abandoning you in Chicago.” Steve replied “Jesus, Y/N, what kind of person would I be if I just left you here?” it was a rhetorical question, but you thought long about an answer, and not just some snarky comeback, but an actual argument.

You couldn’t think of one. So, instead, you focused on the forms in hand, filling out your health information and signing on the dotted and solid lines. Steve watched you, taking in your little moments of thought and annoyance, the little huffs and the way you chewed on the end of the pen, tapping your fingers on the clipboard in a rapid, uneven pace.

��Y/N?” he asked quietly, his voice almost childlike, like a toddler about to ask his mother an innocent, wide eyed question, tiny hands gripping long skirts.

“What?” you replied, not looking up from the page, trying to remember if you were allergic to any medications, your mother always filling out these forms for you at your family doctor’s office.

“What happened?” he asked, intentionally vague. You both knew what he was asking and the question upset you. Maybe it was just because you were ashamed and embarrassed, but you felt deeply angered by the question.

“Are you trying to ask how I got pregnant? Come on Steve, you know how this shit works.” You replied, chuckling bitterly.

Steve rolled his eyes, his cheeks turning the slightly pink shade. “You know what I mean…” he

“I made a stupid mistake, Steve, it happens. Won’t let it happen again...” You told him, standing up to return the clipboard to bitchy Amy, who smacked her blue bubblegum at you, ushering in the heavily pregnant woman with the green hair and her spiky looking boyfriend.

“Where’s the guy who made the mistake?” Steve asked when you returned. You cocked your eyebrow, urging him to elaborate. “Unless you’re the Virgin Mary, there had to be a guy to help with this problem, where is he? Who is he?”

You smirked “No, no you guessed right. I’m carrying the next saviour and, unlike her, I want out.”

Steve shook his head “Y/N…” he pressed.

You sighed “Look the guy isn’t here because I didn’t tell him, which is for the best seeing as how it was a stupid one night stand and he wouldn’t give a shit about it.” You said, balling your hands into fists, focusing on the white plastic bin of condoms on the front desk, rainbow coloured and screaming ‘You’re sexually active and we want the world to know!’

“What a shit head…” Steve muttered.

You laughed “Yeah, you’d think that...” you brushed a loose strand of hair out of your eyes “You’d probably kill him anyway, or try.”

“Oh yeah? How do you know? I don’t try to fight everyone.” Steve looked you over, leaning his elbow on the arm of the stiff chair, turning his whole body towards you.

You looked him over. He looked far too relaxed to be in a sex clinic, it was both calming and infuriating. “Oh you would...you’re always looking for an excuse to fight with Hargrove...” you grinned, matching his body language, your faces only inches from one another.

Steve’s jaw dropped to the floor and he fell back in his chair, earning a loud laugh from you. He looked so offended, so surprised by the news, like he hadn’t heard every rumour about your indiscretions since freshman year. You stood your ground as Hawkins’s whore of Babylon, leading on the youth of Hawkins to sin as you had, although you didn’t see it as a sin to fool around.

“Oh come on, Stevie, you heard about Lizzie Bishop’s party. Everyone was at that one! I swear even you made a cameo.” You continued, nudging him with your elbow.

“You…you let Billy Hargrove knock you up?” he asked, watching you with wide eyes.

Your good mood dropped away immediately, replaced with annoyance and anger. “I wasn’t trying to get pregnant, Steve, I’ve been on the pill since I was twelve. It just happened. I’m not pretending that it wasn’t stupid.”

“I just…it’s Billy! The guy is a walking advertisement for plan B!” he cried, slapping his knee.

A heavy blush grew up your neck and over your cheeks “Look…you’re right. He’s awful!” you laughed awkwardly, dropping your head into your hands, more embarrassed than amused.

“He’s such a dick!” Steve laughed loudly, but stopped when he looked over at you. You’d finally broken, a small sob wracking through your body. He quickly wrapped an arm around you, rubbing your shoulders. “Y/N...Y/N I’m sorry I shouldn’t have-”

“He’s awful!” you moaned, lifting your head to reveal the tears streaming down your face, your eyes red and shining with tears. “And-and you know what? You wanna know the saddest part?” you stuttered, trying to catch your breath in between words “He’s not even good in bed.”

“What?” Steve asked, reaching over to wipe the tears off your face. The touch should’ve been intimate, it really was, but you were acting so strange; you seemed both deeply upset and a little humoured by the whole scenario.

“He’s a shit lay!” you cried. Steve snorted, he couldn’t help it. You looked so sad but the situation was so comical, he couldn’t hold back the laughter pooling in his stomach. His whole body curled inwards, shaking with suppressed giggles and snorts, his feet kicking in the air.

“I’m serious! He’s absolutely awful in bed!” you said seriously, a small smile coming to your lips, your face warm from the slight embarrassment on the conversation and the raw emotions still swirling around your head. “I don’t know how it’s possible I mean fuck! Brian Frey was better than him in bed and he was a damn virgin! I don’t think I’ve ever been further from an orgasm in my life!”

The whole scene was ridiculous-you and Steve looked like a pair of preteens, giggling over dirty words and sex jokes with an air of secrecy and innocence, hiding the dirty nature of the words like they’d be in trouble if anyone found out. In the context of the clinic, sterile waiting room, they look out of place and wrong, the other woman waiting quietly for her turn watching them with a look of shock and confusion, the joke lost on him.

You heard someone clear their throat and you looked up, wiping away tears with your knuckle. Amy was staring at you with an angry expression, she nodded to the doctor standing at the door, a kind looking woman with salt and pepper hair and pink scrubs. “Lydia Olsten?” she asked, looking up from the clipboard with a polite smile. It took you a second to remember your fake name, but when you caught it you nodded, standing up quickly, slinging your purse over your shoulder. Steve followed suit, wiping his palms on his jeans.

You looked to him quickly, shaking your head. You whispered “I gotta strip down in there, can you just wait out here?”

Steve nodded, deflating slightly “Right…” he murmured. You turned to follow the doctor, lost by the events of the day. It felt so normal for him to want to come in with you, like he was your boyfriend or your protector or something. Maybe it was normal. Either way, you were glad to have him waiting for you, to not be alone in the waiting room when it was done.

The procedure took longer than you expected, but the doctor was kind enough and the anaesthesia was heavy enough to not feel anything. After it was over, you were told to sit in the examination room for thirty minutes before leaving and to not drive yourself home. You assumed that Amy at the front desk parlayed this information to you, because he was allowed into the room soon after the thirty minutes had began.

“What’s up, kiddo? How’re you feeling?” Steve asked, sitting down on the edge of the examination table.

You scoffed, rolling your eyes “We’re the same age, weirdo...” you sighed “I’m fine, just tired, I think it’s from the anaesthetic.”

“Right...well, we can head out of here whenever you’re ready. I’ll just be in the waiting room, alright?” he said softly, taking your hand in his and squeezing it softly. You nodded, waving as he left the room again. You took your time getting up and getting dressed again. Your body felt strange and sore and you were dizzy from the painkillers in your system. It took you probably ten minutes to get out of the room, but Steve was still there when you got out of the room. It warmed your heart a little bit, even though you knew he’d still be there. It was nice to have someone still waiting for you. You were used to guys who didn’t stick around.

Steve helped you to the car, wrapping an arm protectively around your shoulders, ushering into the passenger seat and rushing out of the parking lot as the protestors continued their brigade of abuse towards the middling groups of girls entering the clinic.

The drive back to Hawkins was more comfortable than the way there. You didn’t feel the urge to keep quiet, it helped that you weren’t in the throes of deep anxiety and sadness. You felt more at ease with your surroundings and more comfortable talking and laughing with Steve, letting the open windows blast cool air through your hair and watching Steve laugh and grin with a certain sense of satisfaction, just because you were making him laugh and smile. It was nice, fun even. Steve was fun to be around, you’d forgotten that.

The drive was too short for your liking; you’d been having too much fun to notice the time pass by. Steve pulled into your cul-de-sac, parking in front of your house. His was just across the street, he could’ve parked in his own driveway, it would’ve been easier for him. Still, you didn’t complain, you popped open the door before Steve could pull the hero chivalry act again.

“Well...thanks for the help, Steve, I really owe you one.” You said with a small sigh, pulling the thick blue cardigan up onto your shoulder again.

“Don’t mention it.” Steve rubbed his arm awkwardly. You gave him a small wave and turned to head towards your house, but Steve grabbed your wrist and gently pulled you back “Wait!”

You turned, flashing him a bemused smile and raised eyebrow. “Listen...this is probably weird, but do you wanna maybe go out sometime?” he asked, looking down at his shoes.

Your smile dropped away and you looked towards the trees behind Steve’s house “I don’t know if I can really stomach dating right now...not after this whole thing...” you gestured towards your stomach quickly, uncomfortable with the saying the words too close to your parent’s house. They weren’t home yet, their car missing from the driveway, but you were still nervous.

Steve nodded, kicking at the pebbles near the curb. You squeezed your eyes shut “It’s not as if I wouldn’t, in any other context I’d say yes, but right now is...”

“Not the best time.” Steve finished, looking up to meet your eye again. He flashed you a lopsided grin “I get it. I’ll just wait for you.”

Your eyes widened slightly “Steve, you have to do that I mean I don’t know when I’m ever going to want to date again, I don’t want you to waste your time...” you said softly, wringing your hands.

Steve shook his head “I’m not worried.” He turned to climb back into his car, turning back to look at you with a smirk “I’m driving you to school tomorrow.”

“But-” you tried but Steve cut you off.

“This isn’t a debate; you’re not walking to school in the cold when I live literally across the street.” Steve chuckled, climbing into the driver’s seat.

You nodded, biting back a small smile “I’ll bring you another coffee then...” you said “See you around...” you turned on your heels heading inside.

You didn’t know what he was trying to do, but you weren’t mad about it.

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versdan · 5 years ago

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Smile (joker!Carol Danvers x Reader)

summary: You’re dating Carol who is now the infamous Joker. What will you do when she needs you by her side for the rest of her career?

A/N: OKAY! HEAR ! ME ! OUT ! I just saw the Joker and I wanna write for Arthur but then I thought of this concept and....I-I don’t know. I might make this a series but I’ll see from the feedback off this. This might flop lmao. I hope you guys enjoy & sorry for any typos! Requests are open!

pairings: Carol Danvers x F!Reader

*CONTAINS SPOILERS FROM THE MOVIE! And also kinda an alternate ending? (For those who have seen the movie)*

flashbacks are italics

———

Carol sat in a chair somewhere she didn’t even know, worried about you. She had just come home from the Murray Franklin show, coming off her high of adrenaline after the shot she gave him.

Running a hand down her face, sighing, her mind kept running about you and your whereabouts. You had told her you would be working late tonight before you had left the apartment. That’s one of the reasons she was freaking out.

“I’m gonna be late tonight babe so don’t be worried or anyth-“ you came into the room to see Carol painting on a clown face and had green hair. She looked at you through the mirror, smiling.

“What’s with the look, hun?” You said, coming up to stand behind her. She continued to look at you before going back to doing her makeup.

“Just prepping myself for the Murray show. Gotta show him I’m the real joker” she laughed, before looking back at you. You scrunched your eyebrows in confusion before smiling at her.

“Well, have fun tonight babe. Love you” you said, kissing the top of her head before heading out the room.

“Love you too” Carol screamed back, before hearing the door close. As you walked down the hallway to the elevator, you saw Randall and Gary walk out of the elevator.

“Hey guys” you smiled at them as they both looked at you with sad eyes.

“Is Carol in there?” Randall asked you while you pressed the button to the slow elevator.

“Yeah she’s in there, just knock. I’ll see you guys later” you spoke to them as the doors closed, little did you know that’d be the last time you’d see them.

Hell had broke loose tonight in Gotham and although it made Carol estatic, she couldn’t help but feel a void in her stomach. People had brought her to this building since the cops were looking for Carol so she was even unknown of where she was at.

Carol stood up and started pacing. Hitting her head with the palms of her hands while people around her stared. They were enamoured by the jokester but right now they were confused as to what she was doing.

On your end, you were hiding behind the counter of the diner you worked at while people threw things through the window, shouting and laughing.

You were holding onto your knees, closing your eyes hoping things would stop and if they don’t you’d wait till daylight to make a run for it.

Carol stopped pacing before remembering your stores phone number. She turned to the nearest guy who gulped when she looked at him straight on.

“You know where the nearest phone is?” She asked him, a small smile on her face as he nodded yes slowly. He walked her out of the building, checking the surroundings, seeing the block was empty before heading to the phone booth on the corner.

Carol rushed in while the guy stood outside as lookout. She punched in the numbers quickly as the phone started to ring.

Your diners phone started ringing loudly right when everything became silent. You rushed to pick up the phone, grabbing a hold of the entire phone and bringing it to the floor with you.

“H-Hello?” You breathed out, shaking. Carol sighed in relief to hear your voice.

“(Y/N)? It’s me” Carol spoke softly in the phone, her tenseness immediately softening.

“Carol? What did you do? What’s going on?” You spoke into the phone. You felt a sense of fear while being on the phone with her. Your boss had put on the Murray Franklin show and you felt at awe when Carol came out but it quickly changed when she killed Murray. You didn’t know what to think, the whole coffee pot you were holding shattered on the ground because of your shock.

“(Y/N), everything is fine. Don’t you hear it outside?” She laughed slightly, seeing fires run along the street and people running. “This is what I wanted, babe. Just how I imagined it!”

You let out a whimper. “Carol, this isn’t funny. Why would you kill Murray” you asked her, covering your mouth after you heard someone step into the diner and onto the glass on the floor.

“To make a statement! Don’t you get it (Y/N)? Gotham has lost it’s ways! We needed something to change the way we think, the way we act. It’s bliss, babe! And now I’m free!” She laughed loudly, booming through the phone that you moved it from your ear.

You saw a shadow from around the corner of the counter move closer but then run out of the diner when there was a cop car on fire rolling down the street.

“I don’t even know who you are, Carol” you spoke into the phone, voice cracking as a tear slipping down your cheek. Something in Carol turned when she heard your voice cracked.

“I’m the Joker now, baby. And I’m gonna need you by my side from now on. Im coming to get you, stay where you are” Carol spoke into the phone, before hanging up and knocking on the phone booth door for the guy.

She opened the door and grabbed his collar. “I need you and your men to go to Betsy’s Diner on 5th and get (Y/N). Nothing happens to her or your dead. Got it?” Carol looked in dead in the eye as he nodded fast. She let go of his collar as he put his mask back down, before running back into the building.

You put the phone back on the housing unit before placing your hands on your face. You felt as if your world was spinning. Things were only going downhill that you didn’t know when it was going to stop.

You sat there for a couple more minutes thinking about what your next move should be. Do you wait for Carol? Do you make a run for it? To go back home? No she’d probably be there.

You heard a car pull up and multiple footsteps step out and come into the diner which made you freeze in your position on the floor. You saw one guy peer over the counter and look at you before turning to look at all the other guys. They were wearing the clown masks that had made headlines recently.

Two guys jumped over the counter and came straight for you, grabbing your arms which forced you up. “LET ME GO!” You screamed at them, thrashing around in their grip as they walked around the counter, holding onto you.

“Can’t do that sweets. She wants to see you” one of them said as they threw you into the back seat of the car before climbing in behind you and shutting the door.

“She?” You asked, hoping they weren’t talking about Carol. You wanted more than anything to not see her as you didn’t know who she was.

“The Joker” The driver spoke, looking at you through the rear view mirror, a sinister smile growing on his face. “Don’t look so down, doll. Put a smile on that face or else she’ll give you one” he spoke again, laughing. You leaned back into your seat, looking out the window, a tear running down your face as you regretted not making a run for it.

———

feedback is appreciated!

okay I actually really like this omg it might flop tho?? Idk?? lmk what you think!

tag list: @vcdanvers

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violetwolfraven · 6 years ago

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26 days of gays

Starting June first, I will be posting something for an lgbt couple every day for 26 days. (At the very least, an incorrect quote) If I miss a day, I’ll just do it the next. Also, because I think it’ll be fun, I’m going to do them in alphabetical order. 🙃

Note: I don’t even ship all of these. I ran out of gay ships that fit with the letters I had left.

A is for Avalance (Ava/Sara)

B is for Bluepulse (Jaime/Bart)

C is for Constangreen (John/Gary)

D is for Dinahsiren (Dinah/Laurel)

E is for Erik x Charles

F is for Finnpoe (Finn/Poe)

G is for Geodeshipping (Cole/Jay)

H is for Harry x Ron

I is for Ivy x Harley

J is for Julerose (Juleka/Rose)

K is for Kalicia (Katie/Alicia)

L is for Lamilton (Laurens/Hamilton)

M is for Monora (Nora/Mona)

N is for Nate x Ray

O is for Okoye x Natasha

P is for Pavander (Lavender/Pavarti)

Q is for Quirrelmort (AVeryPotterMusical)

R is for Ramvers (Carol x Maria)

S is for Solangelo (Nico/Will)

T is for Terrificdog (Curtis/Rene)

U is for I got nothing. I can’t think of any ships that start with U.

V is for Vincent x Jerome (Gattaca)

W is for Wolfstar (Sirius/Remus)

X is for Xwitch (Nora/Joss)

Y is for also got nothing for Y.

Z is for Zarlie (Charlie/Zari)

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cantusecho-archive · 5 years ago

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(Good lord, episode 7.

Let me just say that it’s pretty crazy that we’re already half-way through the season now? It’s almost overrrrr.

But moving on from that, this episode starts out with Millaarc and Elsa forcing Elfnein to activate what they needed in terms of using Carol’s body.

I’m still really confused on what Millaarc’s ability does and it frustrates me because I feel stupid. Lol. I know it’s clearly mental and dealing with the mind, but it seems like it’s used in so many different ways now that I don’t even know how to explain it.

Regardless, she tries doing this again with Elfnein to destroy her mind. However, Carol literally bursts out of nowhere to stop her.

Now, I originally had a feeling that Carol would make an appearance not only because of where they were, but the summary itself, the top half of it specifically. The portion for the episode I mean is this:

If that which was sworn to be slain is put to words, erase them by plucking the strings from beyond zeros and ones. Discarded as unnecessary and unworthy, echoes of memories once lost linger here.

The “memory” mention is a pretty clear indicator to Carol, as they’re within the Chateau, Elfnein has been trying to reach back out to Carol now that they share the same body, and because Carol’s whole deal was dealing with memories. But what also stood out was the mention of “zeros and ones”.

Carol actually mentions “zeroes and ones” in her battle song (Senkin Dur da Bla) back in GX;

Nothingness is the only peaceful paradise What can I do but believe in that? I’ll expose and extol the providence of all creation With my music enshrined in 0s and 1s

So that just felt like a huge hint there too in that she’d make a reappearance somehow. I just wasn’t expecting it that early in the episode...nor did I expect the end, haha. I love Carol.

But regardless, this stops Millaarc immediately, and seems to end up hurting her briefly in the process.

Also, I was surprised that Miku wasn’t the cocoon thing. I thought she was, since that was what happened to Hibiki, but I guess the divine power didn’t actually go within Miku. Instead, it began to somehow manifest itself instead, thanks to her I suppose?

So, Tsubasa, Hibiki, Kirika and Shirabe go and engage in a fight with the strange deity with Chris and Maria trying to make their way there. But it’s a multi-dimensional being, just like the one in AXZ that I can never fully properly spell the name of.

And what stopped it last time was Hibiki and the so called “god-killer” ability, so that’s what she does. But the odd thing about it is that after Hibiki saves Kirika, she was caught in it. HQ says that it begins focusing energy on her instead, which I assume it was overloading her? But I’m not sure in which way.

Regardless, it’s enough to take Hibiki completely out of the fight, forcing Tsubasa to suggest they all retreat.

This thing looks so gross, haha. It’s like a giant, big headed...baby thing.

But anyway, they say Hibiki’s injuries are far more severe than they seem but no other details than that. Not sure how that is though but suppose we have to wait and see.

Also, Tsubasa’s smile was one of the preview pics for this episode and honestly, it was nice to see her smile...but I was worried about the context.

Something about her smile and comment just feels so off to me. Clearly she’s still not okay, and even Genjurou was surprised by her comment, so this doesn’t mean she’s better. No one knows that Tsubasa is dealing with that whole “seal” thing and we don’t even know how to break it so...I’m just not sure about it haha.

I talked to a friend saying that maybe she’s desperate for some good news or someone telling her she did a good deed? Or she’s trying to think of what Kanade would do? It’s hard for me to explain my feelings on this without making any sense.

After this, everyone on the bridge finally hears the ‘Apple’ song by rearranging the melody that Shem-Ha plays thanks to an idea that Maria had.

Maria makes reference to the Chernobyl disaster in Ukraine, as that’s where she and Serena are from, which happened in 1986. It’s been officially stated (or at least shown in the second episode of XV) that the show currently takes place in the year 2044. Maria is currently 22, so that makes her born in the year 2022.

So saying that her ancestors have a similar song can hint to a lot, just like how Tsubasa’s comment leads to. Maria (and Serena) very well may be a descendant of the Annunaki/Custodians, or has a connection with them somehow. Now it’s just speculation but still, it has to mean something. They’ve been alluding to Airgetlam and ‘Apple’ ever since the second episode (at least the song they have) so I mean...it’s slowly but surely getting there. Lol.

Plus it was a massive trigger to bring the world together in song way back in G for them to get enough phonic gain to achieve their X-Drives back then.

After this, Hibiki has a brief dream about the conversation her and Miku had in the first episode. I never did talk about the first episode but this conversation was just throwing a whole bunch of red flags from the get-go. Miku posing the question if she was a burden on someone else, would Hibiki stop her but then turns around and jokes saying that it was a hypothetical question.

Of course I still think she meant this as her fear of being a burden on Hibiki (aka Miku’s guilt) but again, this seems like a re-imagining of that conversation.

It’s different in the fact that Miku says that if she’s ever a burden, that she wants Hibiki to stop her, that she’s the only one who can. Hibiki, throughout this whole exchange, is actually really confused while Miku continues on saying that she’s the only one that she “trusts with all I have”. And it ends there. I can see this being a possible dream of Hibiki where she’s re-imagining the scene but replacing it with the details she knows now, or kind of like her fears slipping in?

But then I saw someone else pose a possible idea of her and Miku actually communicating through the same dream since they’re both knocked tf out right now. Not sure which one is true enough but it very well could be Hibiki having a dream.

Okay, this second half of the episode is just pure gold for Elfnein. It’s a lot of little things that stood out to me too, not even just the big reveal at the end. Here’s one:

Elfnein gaining self-worth in herself ever since the end of GX. Elfnein, in her own way, has gotten so much stronger over the seasons and this whole half showcases that I think. But she’s stuck between Vanessa and co. since they’re trying to kill her. But the second she calls out for help---

THE PREVIOUS AUTOSCORERS COME BACK. I swear, I didn’t see this coming. Like, at all. I actually really enjoyed them back in GX, I found them to be interesting, even with their limited time on screen. The OVAs build on them more but I still felt there was enough there for them to be interesting and for us to get a feel on their dynamics together.

The next thing that’s great for Elfnein:

Elfnein being assertive. She decides trying to fight back and rescue Miku instead. It was strong enough to surprise Genjurou so I mean lmao.

Then another thing for Elfnein as a character. Noble Red catches up to them, so Phara and Leiur stay behind to slow them down while Micha and Garie lead Elfnein away.

Instead of apologizing, she chooses to say thank you instead. It’s something simple like that that shows how much Elfnein has grown too.

The next one is a comment that Micha makes. In the OVAs, Micha makes a comment of how it’s hard for her to hold hands with people due to her claws. She speaks about how she’s the “ultimate autoscorer” but she needs the help of Garie to literally do everything for her; collecting memories, holding hands, and even tying her ribbon.

So she was slightly bummed that she couldn’t help escort Elfnein away like Garie could because her hands were too big.

But Elfnein tells her that she thinks her hands are “really cool” and she loves them. That gave Micha motivation to keep on fighting and made her happy. It was just something so simple and small that was really really sweet, especially knowing how Micha felt about her hands.

Noble Red catches up though, and defeats all of them easily. Garie was the last one to help Elfnein get away. And now that she’s alone, Elfnein is faced with the fact that everyone has helped her, but she wants to figure out a way to help them too.

She wants to repay everyone back for their help and kindness but didn’t know how. And so, faced with an incoming attack from Vanessa, she ends up doing this:

She freaking summons the relic Dur da Bla and basically...Carol comes back. AND has a new song. Song is called “Echo of Sforzato”.

I was over the moon when this happened, haha. I couldn’t believe they’d actually have Carol come back in such a way? Again, the beginning is the only think I thought we’d get. But this? Good lord. It’s hard to explain my emotions about this episode because it was sooooo good for Elfnein especially in terms of character, same for the autoscorers. It touched on previous things about them in the OVAs, and added more to it, even if they only had small and limited cameos.

Also, one neat thing about the transformation Carol/Elfnein has is that in her hat, it shows the reflections of Leiur, Phara, Garie and Micha. The colors represented them before but the thing about it is that if you freeze frame the scene, it shows them making poses exactly like their “enemies” GX CD covers.

Luckily someone made a picture of them all on twitter so I can paste them here haha.

There’s two because Micha is the only one that changes twice for both Shirabe and Kirika. This part isn’t even a second long, it zooms by SUPER fast, but the detail in it is amazing.

It’s just a REALLY nice callback that they probably didn’t even have to add in. Plus there’s some other cool “behind the scene” things they posted on twitter (official staff) that even other stuff they made was meant to reference past CD albums (Like Leiur and her “big sister” version of herself was to reference the GX concert cover with Maria and Tsubasa).

Regardless, yeah this episode was great with the callbacks and references. I enjoyed it and got emotional over it. It turned out to be a great episode for Elfnein as a character honestly, which isn’t what I expected but glad it happened. ♥)

#ooc #(pure madness; it's like my computer refuses to let me make these posts haha)#(replies tomorrow though! I'm sorry!)

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signalwave · 7 years ago

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a playlist of all my favorite indie/alternative releases of 2017.

1. mxms - carol of the bells / 2. pale waves - new year’s eve / 3. bastille - world gone mad / 4. weezer - happy hour / 5. walk the moon - surrender / 6. the front bottoms - peace sign / 7. arcade fire - everything now / 8. kasabian - you’re in love with a psycho / 9. japanese breakfast - road head / 10. wolf alice - don’t delete the kisses / 11. the war on drugs - holding on / 12. grizzly bear - mourning sound / 13. alex cameron - stranger’s kiss ft. angel olsen / 14. destroyer - tinseltown swimming in blood / 15. slowdive - sugar for the pill / 16. cold war kids - so tied up ft. bishop briggs / 17. beck - dear life / 18. the horrors - something to remember me by / 19. the xx - say something loving / 20. the drums - blood under my belt / 21. dashboard confessional - we fight / 22. the national - day i die / 23. vance joy - lay it on me / 24. bleachers - i miss those days / 25. moon taxi - two high / 26. arcade fire - creature comfort / 27. sir sly - &run / 28. gary clark jr and junkie xl - come together / 29. the neighbourhood - scary love / 30. the glorious sons - everything is alright / 31. the wombats - lemon to a knife fight / 32. neck deep - in bloom / 33. eden - crash / 34. paramore - pool / 35. x ambassadors - ahead of myself / 36. manchester orchestra - the gold / 37. khalid and imagine dragons - thunder \ young dumb and broke / 38. phoenix - j-boy / 39. spoon - can i sit next to you / 40. ed sheeran - perfect

listen to it on 8tracks / 2016 playlist / other playlists

#2017playlist #indie #pop punk #alternative #playlist #peachisty #userbailey #melqomene #olivekiddo #rosytea #catsatellite #babycowsoup #glowiebabe #oatbun #heyshelbeab #cafelite #partlypeachy #pressedfloral

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carolejury · 4 years ago

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justforbooks · 8 years ago

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Min Jin Lee on the Road to Free Food for Millionaires

I had already failed at two novel manuscripts. Publishers had rejected my first manuscript, and I rejected the second, because it was not good enough to send out. I was 32 years old and beginning my third novel.

I had been trying to get a novel published since 1995, the year I quit being a lawyer. Since high school, I’d had a chronic liver disease, and I couldn’t work the hours of a Manhattan law firm without getting ill, so I thought I’d write fiction. My husband Christopher had a steady job with health insurance, but we had gotten our apartment and mortgage with two incomes in mind. Money was tight. After a miscarriage and a difficult pregnancy, our son Sam was born, and that same year, we learned that beloved family members, who could no longer support themselves, were awash in catastrophic debt, and suddenly, we were responsible for another household.

It is never a financially prudent idea to be a fiction writer, but I had not anticipated running through my savings in a year, being unable to earn even a modest living, not being able to afford part-time childcare to write, having a debilitating liver disease, and taking on the debts of people I love.

I was ashamed. After six years, I had not yet written a published novel, and I was broke from the choices I had made. I wondered how we’d pay all these bills, send Sam to college, and save for retirement. When my friends asked me to lunch, I made excuses because I could not afford the luxury of eating out. I could not answer when they asked kindly when my book would be available to purchase. I hid my failure by staying home.

From the moment I quit lawyering, I tried to learn how to write good fiction. I had written and published personal essays in high school. I was a history major in college, but for pleasure, I’d taken three writing classes in the English department. To my surprise, in my junior and senior years, I won top writing prizes for nonfiction and fiction, respectively. It’s possible that the college prizes misled me to believe that I could publish a novel immediately after quitting the law. However, the more I studied fiction, the more I realized that writing novels required rigorous discipline and mastery, no different than the study of engineering or classical sculpture. I wanted to get formal training. Nevertheless, after having paid for law school, I could not hazard the cost of an MFA. So, I fumbled around and made up my own writing program.

Always a reader of the 19th-century greats, I read more widely. I read every fine novel and short story I could find, and I studied the ones that were truly exceptional. If I saw a beautifully wrought paragraph, say from Julia Glass’s Three Junes, I would transcribe it in a marble notebook. Then, I would sit and read her elegant sentences, seemingly pinned to my flimsy notebook like a rare butterfly on cheap muslin. Craft strengthened the feelings and thoughts of the writer. When I read and reread Junot Díaz’s stories in Drown, I was struck by his courage and genius. His perfect narrative voice matched the intricacy and greatness of his plot architecture. Great fiction required not just lovely words or fine feelings, it demanded emotion, structure, ideals, and bravery. Fine works of fiction made me feel glad, the way I feel glad when I see a painting by a master, an ocean at dusk, or the face of a child.

In New York, it is possible to study with great writers for very little money. If one can afford to live here, there is a shock of riches in culture, so much so that artists work for almost nothing. Once a week, when Christopher could watch Sam after work, I took a turkey sandwich in a baggie or a carton of hummus and went to my writing classes or met with my writers’ group. For less than $200, I was able to study for several weeks with Lan Samantha Chang, Rahna Reiko Rizzuto, and Jhumpa Lahiri at the Asian American Writers’ Workshop early on in their careers. I took a class at the Gotham Writers Workshop with Wesley Gibson. For about the same amount and for a season’s length of classes, I studied with Jonathan Levi, Joyce Johnson, Joseph Caldwell, Joan Silber, Shirley Hazzard, and Nahid Rachlin at the 92nd Street Y. The Y runs a famous preschool, and in the evenings, grown men and women sat in these preschool classrooms, smelling of tempera paints and box apple juice, anxious to know if their stories made any sense. Teachers generously encouraged me to continue, but privately, I wondered if I should quit. I was getting older, and I was afraid that I could not return to a steady profession.

The year after Sam was born, impulsively, I applied for a spot at the Sewanee Writers’ Conference and was accepted. The tuition was more money than we could spare, something like $1,000. However, I knew it was difficult to get a spot at all, and I felt I had to go. I had nursed Sam for a year, and I thought this might be a good reward for having given up my body—or so it seemed to me—for the pregnancies, the illnesses, and the breastfeeding. Christopher took time off from work and stayed with Sam, and I went to Tennessee. For nine days, I studied fiction with Alice McDermott and Rick Moody. Each day, after my class, I would go back to my dorm room and cry because I missed my baby.

At Sewanee, it felt like everyone had gone to prestigious MFA writing programs like Iowa and had book contracts. Back then, conference attendees wore name tags, and mine read just my name, indicating that I had not received any scholarship money to defray the cost of the conference tuition. One day, during lunch, I met a young woman whose name tag stated her name plus the name of her fellowship. She hadn’t paid any tuition because her publications had merited her a scholarship. There was a group of us at the table, most of whom had scholarships, and the young woman casually mocked the housewives who had paid full freight to attend the conference. I didn’t realize at first, but she was talking about me. That summer, I was 30 years old, a new mother, and I learned that a talented young woman artist held housewife writers in contempt. I couldn’t eat so I returned to my room. I avoided her for the rest of the conference, because I sensed she was right. It had been a mistake to come all this way to take a class. Then at the end of the conference, Alice McDermott nominated my workshop story for an anthology called Best New American Voices 2000, and though the editors didn’t take my piece, I thought that maybe I could keep trying.

Then something else good happened a few months later. I got an Artist Fellowship from the New York Foundation for the Arts in the category of fiction. It was for $7,000. I used some of that money to pay for a five-day writing class in California with the famous editor and writer Tom Jenks and the novelist Carol Edgarian. To improve my understanding of the sentence, I began to read poetry. I took a class at the Y with David Yezzi to learn prosody, and it changed the way I looked at every word. Whenever the poetry critic Helen Vendler came to the Y to give one of her seminars, I did whatever I could to attend.

There was so much to learn and practice, but I began to see the prose in verse and the verse in prose. Patterns surfaced in poems, stories, and plays. There was music in sentences and paragraphs. I could hear the silences in a sentence. All this schooling was like getting x-ray vision and animal-like hearing. I had no way to prove objectively the things I was learning, and I can’t tell you why I thought my self-curated education correct, but I followed the steps I could afford to take and somehow trusted that I would learn how to write something fine.

When I ran out of money for classes, I went to readings and bought hardcover books I could not afford. At the bookstore or library, I’d sit all the way in the back. If there was a Q&A, I would have half a dozen questions forming a lump in my throat, but I wouldn’t voice a word. I went to the readings of Herman Wouk, Marilynne Robinson, Junot Díaz, Joyce Carol Oates, Gary Shteyngart, Julian Barnes, Richard Ford, Jay McInerney, Chang-rae Lee, Veronica Chambers, Ian McEwan, Joan Didion, Susanna Moore, Shirley Hazzard, James Salter, Kazuo Ishiguro, Toni Morrison, Rick Moody, Susan Minot, and many more. I wanted to know: How did you do that? How did you send me into this whole other world of your creation? How did you make me feel these new and old feelings? How did you keep trusting that it was all worthwhile? And yet, I could barely form an audible sentence around them, but I suppose I didn’t have to, because I had their work, and their work spoke to me and stayed with me in a private way without me having to prove anything to them or them to me.

As a habit, I read on the subway. One day, I was finishing V.S. Naipaul’s A House for Mr. Biswas on the 2 train, and I burst into tears, amazed at the magnificence of Naipaul’s literary achievement. I knew of his politically controversial attitudes (e.g., he thought women writers were unimportant), and yet I understood that in this work, this man had done something extraordinary with fiction. Through characterization and sympathy, Naipaul had made me care deeply for a humble and curious character, who so clumsily yet so vitally struggled for his wishes. Later, I learned that Arwacas, the fictional setting of the novel, was based on Chaguanas, an immigrant town where East Indian-Trinidadians live and where Naipaul had grown up. Naipaul gave me permission to write about Elmhurst, my town in Queens.

After the classes, the readings, the discarded drafts, I started to research my novel like I was a journalist. When I wanted to learn more about my character Ted Kim, the investment banker, I interviewed several men who went to Harvard Business School. One of them told me that I should pretend to apply, because one had to see a school like that to believe it. So I did. I logged into the website, and I filled out a visitor’s form, and I was able to come in for a day.

I sat in on a class. There were maybe 25 students, and each person had a name card in front of him or her. It was impossible to hide in that room; however, what was clear to me was that no one was hiding. It wasn’t like any class I had ever attended in high school, college, or even law school. I don’t know if everyone in that room had done his homework or if she understood the lecture and the complicated spreadsheet on the whiteboard, but I learned something about these attractive young people. I surmise that what distinguishes a Harvard Business School student is his confidence in his abilities. I have never been in a building so filled with young people who look like they can do anything and want to solve very difficult problems. After a few hours, I started thinking that maybe I should apply for business school because the energy was so buoyant. If anyone was depressed or anxious or doubtful, I think he or she must have stayed home that day. No, I did not apply to HBS, but that day changed me, because I started to value research, not for the details or the velvet scraps of dialogue, but for the feelings that new information made me have. I felt confident just by being with other highly energetic people. I wondered what it would be like to have two years of that atmosphere when even I, an applicant pretender and a writer with no book, felt that positive after mere hours. So I took that feeling and gave it to Ted, a man who believes that he is right even when he is troubled or afraid. Ted’s convictions propel him to great economic success. However, even his convictions are weakened in the presence of sexual desire and a secret yearning for a kindred person. Ted is not good, but research allowed me to recognize his vulnerability, which allowed me to love Ted in his totality.

Then something wonderful happened. The Missouri Review published a story I’d rewritten 17 or 18 times. I had a Bankers Box filled with just drafts of that one story. Maybe that’s what it took.

Not much after that, my wrists began to hurt. I had trouble lifting a coffee cup. My son was in preschool then, and to drop him off and pick him up, I had to walk a few blocks, but it was painful. My ankles were swollen and holding hands with my son to cross the street was hard. I couldn’t turn round doorknobs or walk up stairs with ease. After several misdiagnoses, I was sent to a rheumatologist who guessed correctly that my liver disease was making me ill. I had developed liver cirrhosis, and I had never had a drop of wine.

There were a lot of doctors, and they wrote about my case to each other. A gastroenterologist wanted me to try a course of treatment with Interferon, because I was so young, and liver transplants were not so easy to be had. For three months, I gave myself a shot of this medicine in my thigh each day. My hair fell out in clumps in the shower. When I bent down to sweep the floor, blood vessels would break in my face to make bruises. I could not leave the house sometimes because I had diarrhea or because I could not stop vomiting. Each day, I had a few hours of energy, and I would store them up for Sam, my three-year-old. I wanted him to think that I was well.

When the treatment ended, my liver function tests improved markedly. My doctor was cautious, so he took more tests. I continued to work on Free Food for Millionaires, compelled to finish a first draft. A year after the treatment, the doctor told me that I was cured of my chronic liver disease. One in a million, he marveled. I went home that afternoon, and I lay down on my bed with my good news. This life was unexpected. I told myself that I could not be so afraid of judgment that I would hold back. And so I did not.

When I sold the manuscript in the summer of 2006, I counted 11 years as my apprenticeship. I was 37 years old.

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