#the novel is actually alright but its also in spanish so it just takes more energy

[ifeelfreewithoutmyshoes]

I have no self control and I would like to go back to my history courses soon please and thank you

[headheartbellarke]

JEALOUS | Luke Patterson

Requested by anon: “5 times Luke gets jealous and one time he doesn’t have too. Luke x reader?”

PAIRING(s): Mercer!fem reader x Luke Patterson WARNING(s): angst, fluff WORDS: 2.3k SUMMARY: Five times Luke Patterson gets jealous and one time he doesn’t have to.

A/N: hi! sorry this took so long, lol. school sucks. :/ i promise im gonna be posting more frequently from now onwards! anyway, decided to make y/n alex’ sister, bc i’ve been wanting to try it for a while. hope u like it!! <3 also, song used is carry me by kygo ft. julia michaels.

1.

The first time that Luke Patterson feels that scorching, smoldering rage in the pit of his stomach is when he notices Y/N Mercer stare at his bandmate, Bobby Wilson, for the entirety of their hour-long Literature class.

At first, he doesn’t understand why he feels this way: Y/N’s just as much Bobby’s friend as she is his. Well, not really – Luke likes to believe that he is the one that she is closest to in the band, other than her brother, Alex, of course. Sure, Bobby and Y/N are friends – they say ‘hi’ when they pass by each other in the hallway, she helps him out with his Physics homework when he asks, and he asks her how her day’s been – that sort of friends. They’ve never really interacted more than it was required, and Luke knows that if Bobby wasn’t a part of their band, Sunset Curve, or if Y/N wasn’t their drummer’s sister, those two wouldn’t be friends.

Anyway, he thinks that maybe it’s because they are supposed to be partners, working on their assignment together – and instead, she is choosing to abandon him and stare at one of his best mates, instead. He thinks that maybe he’s mad because she promised him that she would help him out with this assignment, which is particularly hard, and now, it feels like he’s ditching her.

Instead of thinking about why he is so bothered at the fact that Y/N is staring at Bobby, Luke chooses to elbow her instead.

“What?” She whispers, a blush covering her cheeks.

“Can you focus?” He snaps as she rolls her eyes and opens their textbook.

“You’re annoying.”

2.

“Alex, Alex, Alex!”

“Luke, I’m sitting right beside you – you don’t need to yell.”

“There’s something that you should know.” Luke whispers, conspiratorially. Alex, who’s sitting beside him on the couch in the garage where they rehearse, leans forward, intrigued. “What?”

He points at Y/N, who’s sitting in front of Reggie in the opposite side of the room, strumming a guitar – Reggie’s teaching her how to play. Unlike her twin brother, she’s not naturally gifted in music, which is pretty evident from her occasional frustrated huffs, and the obviously off-key tune. Rather, science is her talent, and has always been. The top spot in their class has been permanently occupied by her ever since their first exam as freshmen.

“She!” Luke whispers. Alex furrows his brows. “Yes, I know that she has no musical talent whatsoever –”

“No, no, no. I mean, yes, she doesn’t have that – but you wanna know what she does?”

“I have a feeling that you’re gonna tell me even if I don’t wanna know.” Alex mutters.

“She has a crush on Bobby!” Luke scrunches his face, a disgusted look taking over.

The drummer raises his brows and bursts out laughing. “Really, dude?”

“No, no, no, I’m not lying, okay! I’ve seen her stare at him!”

He raises his brows. “So? She stares at a lot of people.”  

“It wasn’t that way, okay? Last week, in class, she was ignoring me and staring at him. Plus, yesterday, when you were god knows where, she and Bobby were having a conversation. An actual conversation! I’ve never seen them talk that much. They were nerding out over Star Wars!”

“Dude, are you…” Alex pauses, looking around, “… jealous?” A smile spreads over his features.

Luke’s eyes widen, and he looks horrified. “What? Me? Jealous? Huh? Me? How?”

Inside, he is panicking. He hadn’t considered this possibility. Is he jealous? No, that can’t be. Y/N – he’s known her forever, and he is supposed to think of her as his sister. He does think so. He’s sure. He can’t – he doesn’t like her. She’s just… Y/N. Sure, he’s always thought that she’s beautiful. And smart. And so, so kind. He’s always admired her. OK, he might have had a little crush on her. But, in a totally harmless, admiring way! (In the way everyone seems to like Winona Ryder these days. Nothing more than that. Absolutely.)

She’s just Y/N.

Y/N, who’s always there for him after he has a bad day. Y/N, who’s the first person he hugs after playing an intense show. Y/N, who’s the only person who can understand his silence. Y/N, who makes sure that he knows that she appreciates him. Y/N, who he knows like the back of his hand.

Before Luke can panic any further, Bobby enters the garage, and Luke notices her attention immediately shift toward him. They exchange a smile, and Luke feels that rage, yet again.

He falls back on the couch, locking eyes with Alex, who is silently watching with a soft smile on his face.

“I’m not jealous.” He says weakly, and Alex nods – but he knows that it doesn’t convince either of them. His friend lays a hand on his shoulder, whispering, “It’s okay.”

3.

By the time the next month rolls around, Luke is positive that he’s jealous: so, he’s resorted to not thinking about it, her or even interacting with her – which is hard considering that she’s always around.

Now, he feels like shit. For their junior year, they are supposed to do a report on a Victorian era novel of their choice, with a partner. He and Y/N were supposed to partners – they had decided months ago and have also done previous assignments together. But now, since he hasn’t even dared to look at her in a month, she’s now doing the report with Bobby, of all people.

As he watches Bobby and Y/N sit next to each other with their arms brushing, he feels that rage again, and curses himself. Could he not have behaved like a normal person? He knows that she is confused as to why he’s suddenly ignoring and avoiding her – she has even asked her brother about it. But Luke had threatened Alex that he would tell everyone about his crush on Reggie if he even said a single syllable.

(Although Luke knows that he would never.)

He sighs, dramatically, and searches for someone else to pair up with, ignoring the way his heart clenches at the realization that he may be losing her.

4.

“Luke?”

He looks up and feels a rush in his veins.

“Are you… mad at me?” Y/N asks tentatively, standing at the door to his bedroom. Her eyes keep flitting between his face and around his bedroom, and he hates the fact that there seems to be an ocean between them.

“Uh…” He scratches the back of his neck, not knowing what to respond. She looks down at her feet, biting her lip and Luke feels a tug on his heartstrings at that. It’s been so, so long and he has so, so much to tell her, but he doesn’t know how to bridge the gap that he created.

He builds up his courage and says, “Yeah. I was kinda mad at you.”

Her eyebrows furrow, and panic flows into her e/c eyes. “What – what’d I do?”

Luke inhales sharply and wonders what he’s gonna say. It’s not like he can say that he was jealous of the fact that she liked Bobby, nor could he say that in the past month he has realized the fact that he may have a tiny, little crush on her and had to avoid her at all costs because she will never like him back and it’s too embarrassing?

He clears his throat. “Uh. It’s because you promised that you would do the English project with me but you’re doing it with Bobby.”

“But I’m only doing it with him because you won’t even look at me! Why won’t you?”

“I… You also ignored me for Bobby the other day?”

She throws her hands up. “What other day?”

“When we were working on the Shakespeare thingy!”

“I was not – now you’re making –”

“Forget it. Just go home, Y/N.”

A look of hurt flashes over her eyes, but she quickly clenches her jaw, and stands straighter, masking her emotions. “Asshole.”

She walks out his door, slamming the door shut behind her.

For the rest of the day, Luke lies on his bed and stares at his ceiling, and when Reggie comes over, he tells him that he’s ruined everything. Reggie lies beside him and asks softly, “You okay?”

“I think I like Y/N.” He whispers.

“We know.”

His lips part and he says in disbelief, “Alex told you?!”

Reggie shrugs. “He didn’t need to. Everyone can see the way that you look at her.”

Luke sighs, too tired to argue.

“Hey. It’s just a date, alright? It’s not like they’re getting married.”

Luke props himself on his elbow. “What?”

“Y’know, Y/N’s really picky –”

“What date?”

Reggie’s eyes widen. “Y-You didn’t know?”

Luke raises his brows, urging his friend to continue. He purses his lips and says, “Y/N and Bobby are on a date right now.”

Instantly, Luke feels as if his world has drained of every colour. Reggie looks uncomfortable, and whispers, “I thought you knew.”

“I, uh, I didn’t. Obviously.” He whispers, falling back on the bed again. His heart physically hurts, and he can feel tears prick at the back of his eyes. Mostly, he feels anger – at himself, and regret.

As jealousy claws its way to the surface, Luke mutters, “I hate Bobby.”

5.

Luke sits cross legged on the floor of the garage, with a Spanish guitar perched on his lap. His hands dance over the strings, trying to find the perfect melody for the song he just wrote.

Writing songs has always been his way of dealing with his emotions, especially when they got too intense. Right now, the situation with Y/N is exactly that.

His eyes dance over the notebook in front of him, and he closes his eyes, trying to forget everything that’s happened in the past couple of days.

“Cause I don't know how we How we got so far, you and me Almost like there's oceans between us, us So I need to know Could you carry me? Back into your heart again Could you carry me? Right into your distant hands Could you carry me? Right back to where we started from Could you carry me?”

“That’s beautiful.”

Luke’s head turns sharply to the side, and of course, it’s her. He clenches his jaws, and says, “What are you doing here?” He hates the fact that she looks so pretty, wearing a beautiful red sundress.

She bites her lower lip, and says, “We should talk, Luke.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

She giggles. “You’ve always been the jealous type.”

He raises his brows, opening his mouth to deny whatever she was about to say next, but she raises a hand to stop him. “Alex and Reg told me. They said that they’re tired of seeing you mope every day.”

“I –”

“Hold on. So, for the past month, you’ve been mad at me because you thought I like Bobby?”

Luke lowers his head, choosing to stare at his open palm instead.

“You ignored one of your best friends for more than a month because you were jealous, and you were too much of an idiot to tell her the truth?”

“Well, you don’t gotta be so mean about it.”

She laughs. “Luke. Bobby and I – we’re just friends, okay? I was staring at him because I really liked his hair. And you have to admit it – it’s nice. I actually asked him for his shampoo, too. But, well, you and him both thought that I liked him. That’s why he asked me out to the movies last day. But... uh, well, it didn’t work out.”

His heart races at the last sentence. “Why?”

“Because I like you, Luke. I always have. I thought I could like Bobby, I really did – but all I could think about last night was you.” She shrugs, and Luke feels like he’s falling. He thinks that the universe is playing a prank on him, but when he sees her crimson tinged face, the vulnerability in her eyes and her fiddling with her hands, he allows himself to feel the slightest amount of hope.

She looks down, continuing, “I, uh, I always thought that you only saw me as your best friend’s little sister. I didn’t ever think that, you know, that there could be something more. So, I kept it to myself and only Alex knew. But, last night, Reg came over and they were screaming for a while, about you and me, so I went to find out what happened, and they told me that you, uh, liked me too.”

Reggie. He must have told Alex that Luke was ugly crying on his shoulder.

“Please say something, Luke.”

He releases the breath he didn’t know he was holding. “I – I feel like you’re pranking me.”

She grins. “No. No, definitely not.”

“Y/N, god, you have no idea how difficult this past month has been for me. I mean, I never realized that I liked you that much until I saw you with him, you know? I always thought that I had a tiny, little crush on you but I never… and I thought that Alex would kill me if I did anything, but he’s been oddly… nice about all this.”

“He’s just tired of hearing me talk about you.”

“Probably. But yeah. I think you’re brilliant, Mercer. And I really, really, really like you.”

She jumps a little, and whispers, “I really, really, really like you too.”

“Do you maybe wanna go to the movies with me?” His wide grin matches hers.

“Only if we watch part two of Father of The Bride.”

“Deal.”

+1.

Luke watches Bobby smile at Y/N, looking at her as if she’s put the moon in the sky. Although, this time, he doesn’t feel the rage. He doesn’t need to, really, with Y/N’s hand wrapped in his, and the ghost of her lips still lingering on his.

 requests open! as always, feedback is highly appreciated <33

[gaylotusthatexists]

By The Sea

Virgil's life may be going downhill, but at least he still has his island and he still has the sea. However, when he meets a certain writer staying in the hotel he works at, it appears that something more important has arrived.

Roman's life seems to be going great, but he knows that soon all that may change. He has travelled to this island, along with this two best friends, to focus on his work, but when he meets a certain guy that he's sure he recognises, how can he focus on anything else?

And with only twelve days on the island together, will they be able to make it work?

Pairings: Prinxiety, Logicality, Remile

Word Count: 24160

This was written for the @ts-storytime, and boi did it take a while so I hope that y'all enjoy this. The full fic has been posted onto my ao3 here. You can read the first chapter below but I’m not planning on posting the rest on Tumblr, unless any of y’all really want me too. 

@justisaisfine made some beautiful pieces of artwork for this fic which you can find here, seriously guys go follow them, their art is amazing.

As far as I'm aware, there isn't anything in this that would be particularly triggering, but if y'all spot anything please let me know and I'll put up a warning. At the very worst there is some negative thinking and crying, but it's mostly fluff honestly. It also contains Deceit, who could be viewed as sympathetic or morally-grey, honestly idk. 

There are some bits that are in Spanish and I would like to apologise in advance for the terrible Spanish, I used Google Translate which I don't really trust but I also don't speak Spanish so y'know. If any of y'all are Spanish-speaking and know a better translation, please let me know, I'd really appreciate it.

Anyway, I think that's all I have to say? Hope y'all enjoy it! I certainly enjoyed writing it, haha

<3

DAY ONE

00:09

The sea shimmered in the moonlight, thousands of stars reflecting off its gentle waves. Pulling his hoodie tighter around his body, the boy exhaled. This was his home, his true home - the sky and the ocean and the island. Sat here by the sea, he could feel the wind brushing past his cheeks and the water washing over his feet. He could have stayed there, in that single moment, forever and ever, and he'd never grow tired of the feeling.

But it was late and he had to get back to the apartment. He couldn't stay out here all night, not when he had to be up so early for work in the morning. Sure, the chances of him actually sleeping were slim, but it was better resting inside that out. And he needed rest to be ready for tomorrow.

Glancing up to the sky for one last look before returning to reality, he saw a flashing light moving across the black. All he could do was sigh. That would be a plane, filled with visitors. People who come to the island to catch sun or whatever they do. People who Virgil would have to deal with for a couple weeks before they exit stage left. People who probably won't even notice that Virgil had a life of his own.

But hey, they're also the people who pay the bills, so could Virgil really complain?

This was his life. He had to deal with idiots like that for a while, but at least he had this. He had his island, and he had the sea.

Virgil stood up and started the journey into his future.

6:00

A blaring alarm jolted Roman out of bed and, for a moment, all he wanted in life was death - not specifically his own.

"Who the hell set an alarm?" he groaned, sitting up and rubbing his forehead. The horrendous sound still rung out through the room, hammering into his skull, until it was finally cut off and Roman was able to breath.

"That would be me," Logan said, casually. He was already out of bed and heading into the bathroom. "We've got to get on if we want to get breakfast."

Roman sighed, closing his eyes again. "Logan. We're on holiday. We're supposed to be relaxing. Not getting up at six am."

Logan poked his head out the door. "The restaurant opens at seven, Roman."

"That doesn't mean we have to be there at seven," Roman argued, lying back down and pulling the sheets over his head.

"If we get there first, we're more likely to receive better food, and as you know, breakfast is the most-"

"Yeah, yeah, most important meal, you say this every day," Roman said. "Can't we just, like, grab a quick brunch later on?"

Logan sighed. "No, Roman. That is not how any of this works." He slammed the door shut.

A few moments, maybe minutes, later, Roman peeked out from under the blankets. "Pat?" he whispered.

No response. Patton must have still been asleep. Of course Patton would be the one who got to sleep through the alarm and the argument.

Roman turned onto his back and stared up at the ceiling. It seemed as though he wouldn't be getting back to sleep anytime soon. All whilst Patton was laid there still sound asleep. That was so, so unfair.

He couldn't really do anything, though. Patton has always been a heavy sleeper, unlike Roman. And he supposed that Logan had a point - getting up early would certainly help with this work, since they hadn't just come here for a vacation. Whilst the promise of sun had been one of the deciding factors, the actual reason that the three boys had travelled to the island was to get away from city life and focus on their work - Logan was studying some science mumbo-jumbo that Roman didn't understand, Patton was hoping to work on his photography, and Roman needed to get this goddamn novel finished. A quiet, whilst kind of touristy, place like that seemed like the best place for them to focus, and in the case of the other two actually added to their work.

That didn't mean Roman was okay with getting up so early, though. Not after he spent God-knows-how-long travelling and then only getting around three hours of sleep. Maybe the next day it would've been fine, but he seriously doubted he would be able to focus at all today.

There was no harm in trying, though. If all else failed, he could always take a nap later on. But for now, he had to focus on his plan. He was in for the adventure of a lifetime, and he wasn't going to waste it.

8:09

Virgil stumbled into the kitchen and grabbed his coffee mug, chugging the entire thing in one go. This morning he would be working on pure caffeine and spite, which perhaps wasn't the best idea when he was supposed to look happy for the 'guests', but if it got him through the day then so be it. Upon realising that his cup was empty, he grabbed the one next to it, not bothering to check who's it was, and chugged that too.

"Remy isn't going to appreciate you drinking his coffee," one of Virgil's roommates said, from the other side of the kitchen.

Virgil put the cup back down and looked over at Emile, who was sat crosslegged on top of the counter sipping his cup of hot chocolate. "What a shame." He began pouring out another cup of coffee.

"Are you doing okay, buddy?" Emile asked, jumping down from the counter and stepping towards him. "'Cause, uh, that's an awful lot of coffee."

"If I don't drink this, I'll end up punching a dude, and then I'll lose my job again. Which I can't afford to do."

Before Virgil could drink a third cup, Emile gently pulled it out of his hand. "Virgil, you're going to end up killing yourself."

"Oh no," Virgil said in monotone, trying to get his coffee back but being unable too as Emile held it out of his reach.

A third person came strutting into the room and snatched the coffee out Emile's hand. "Was Virgil trying to steal my coffee again?" he asked.

Emile smirked. "He did steal your coffee. And then made another one."

Remy faked annoyance. "How dare he."

Virgil just sighed.

"Well," Emile said, "I should get off. I've got a client at ten."

Remy smiled and planted a small kiss on Emile's forehead. "Good luck, Em."

"Ew," Virgil said.

"This is our apartment, I'm allowed to kiss my boyfriend," Remy said, as Emile moved away towards the front door.

"I also live here," Virgil reminded him.

"Only because your poor," Remy countered.

"I make more than you."

"And Emile makes more than both of us combined."

Virgil considered that for a moment. "I mean, yeah, I guess."

"When you get yourself a rich significant other, then you can move out and you won't have to watch us be gay." Before Virgil could reply, Remy left the kitchen.

Shaking his head but allowing a small smile to creep out, Virgil grabbed his backpack and left the apartment.

9:32

"Why are we up so early?" Patton moaned, as the three of them walked out of the hotel.

"We've gone over this, Patton," Logan said. "We have to make the most of our time here."

"We have almost two weeks, Logan, surely we can spare a day to rest," Patton argued.

"You're not allowed to complain," Roman chimed in. "Since, y'know, you got an extra hour of sleep."

"Speaking of," Logan continued, "I set an alarm for a reason. It would be great if, in the future, you both got up at the designated time."

Patton sighed. "Alright, Logan."

Logan smiled. "Thank you for understanding, Patton."

9:35

Virgil glanced at a group of three boys making their way out of the hotel as he made his way in. He could tell they were new arrivals from their pale complexity - and from the fact he hadn't seen them around yet. They might have been on last nights plane. But if that were the case, why were they up so early?

Maybe they were the type to get out and do things. Which was good for Virgil, because that just meant less people to slave after. Although, they did seemed to be the loud type, judging by the fact that he could hear their conversation perfectly, which he did not care for at all. Perhaps they would be a problem later on.

Not that any of that mattered. It wasn't as if any of them would talk to him. Properly, he meant. They weren't going to walk up to him and willingly start a conversation. No one ever did. They would just get what they need off him and then leave him be.

"You're late," someone said, as soon as Virgil stepped foot into the lobby.

He sighed. "My shift doesn't even start until ten." He walked up to the counter and leant his arm on the side, looking up to the person who had spoke, the manager. He was wearing a black and yellow suit, with a waistcoat, a bowler hat and a bowtie - over the top, really, for a less-than-fancy hotel in middle of nowhere. Down one side of his face, he had a scar surrounded by burn marks, from some mysterious tragedy he refused to talk about. Virgil had met him a couple years after said tragedy, and had been somewhat-friends with him for some time. Of course, that didn't mean he wasn't still a harsh boss.

The manager - Declan - smiled. "You're meant to arrive at half nine."

"I know, I know." Virgil shrugged. "But five minutes doesn't hurt."

"Sure," Declan dragged out.

"So, what's the deal?" He leant back. "Who we got this week?"

"Not a lot of visitors," Declan admitted. "Mostly people on business."

"Cool." Virgil breathed out. "I'll go get changed."

"Why don't you ever get changed at home?" Declan wondered.

Virgil shrugged. "You have a changing room here. Might as well make use of it."

"Is it because you don't like walking here in uniform?" Declan guessed, sensing that Virgil was lying.

"You got me." Virgil smiled. "See you in twenty."

"It doesn't take that long to-"

Virgil had already left the room before he could hear Declan finish.

19:26

"Can I take your order?"

Roman looked up at the waiter and all words fled from his mind. The man was perfect. His soft, dyed purple hair swooped in front of his deep brown eyes, which were outlined by a thick layer of black eyeshadow, kind of smudged after the long day. He had dark, smooth skin, but chapped lips, and he looked like a mess, actually, but for some reason Roman was drawn to him and only him. Everything else seemed to fade away. It was just him.

Logan nudged Roman.

Roman continued staring.

The man walked away.

Roman's world came back.

"Roman?"

His head shot to the source of the voice - Patton. "Huh?"

"You alright?" Patton asked.

Roman blinked. "Uh, yeah, I'm fine, why?"

"You didn't speak when he asked for your order," Logan said.

Roman frowned. "I..."

He breathed in. He had never felt that before. Never lost control over his words.

But... maybe that wasn't bad. Maybe something great was about to happen.

He had to see that man again.

CONTINUE READING HERE

[gustafsson06gustafsson-blog]

Games Archives.

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[strangerstuffandthingsimagines]

Pretty When You Cry Pt.2 (Steve Harrington x Reader)

Part 1

Warnings: Implied racial prejudice

Tags: @sarcasticvodka

A/N: Hey! sorry if this jumps around a bit, I didn’t want to make it too slow paced. Also I HAVE 167 FOLLOWERS AHHH I’m so excited!! I’m like falling in love with this pairing, like I’ve become attached. ALSO if the Spanish translations aren’t accurate I’m very sorry and would love to correct them if someone were to let me know.

The house was quiet, other than the soft whistle coming from the kitchen, where your dad worked on dinner. You sat in the bay window that faced the front of the house, studiously working on your essay for english.

You had to write an essay comparing yourself to one of the main characters in George Orwell’s “1984”, which wasn’t too hard considering you liked the novel a fair amount.

You flipped the page of your book as you searched for a quote you had remembered but forgot to jot down. A small piece of paper slid out from your book.

The sound of tires against the pavement pulled you away from the note, just for a moment, as you gave a quick smile and wave to your mother as she pulled into the drive way.

Your attention returned to the small folded piece of paper, your fingers working to unfold it. Written in a messy blue ink, you saw a number jotted down, smiling to yourself as you remembered when Steve had written it down for you.

Steve was adamant on making you feel welcomed, especially after your first day which left you rather shaken. You closed your book and tucked the note in your jean pocket.

“I’m home” your mother announced as she walked through threshold of the house.

You gave her a quick hug and muttered a Hello before jogging up the stairs.

“Where are you off to so quickly?” She laughed, bending over to take off her boots.

“I’ve got to give someone a call...from school.” You added grabbing the dial up phone and carefully brining it into your room, adjusting the chord so it would fit under the crack of your closed door.

You climbed onto your bed, setting the phone down in front of you, twisting the dial to match the number scribbled down.

By the second ring Steve had answered, you smiled to yourself.

“Hello?” He asked sounding as if he had just woken up.

“Hey Steve...this is Uh Y/N, from school?” You said, feeling slightly self conscious, fearing he had forgotten you already.

“Oh!” He exclaimed, it sounded as if he were tripping over something. “Hey! Hi, sorry I just woke up.”

You raised an eyebrow, amused by this as it was almost 4 in the afternoon.

“Steve it’s nearly 4 in the afternoon.” You said as you laughed, you could just imagine what his hair must have looked like. “What time did you go to bed last night?”

“Uhh, shit I don’t remember actually.” He admitted. “They were marathoning the Bionic Woman on tv, I got kind of carried away with it.”

“Bionic woman? Huh, didn’t peg you for that kind of guy.” You said. “Your full of surprises Steve, full of surprises.”

You heard him laugh lightly on the other end, probably pulling a shirt over his head.

“Did you want to come over or something?” He asked, causing you to straighten up in surprise.

“Now?” You choked out. “Um sure, yeah.”

Your eyes squeezed shut, eyebrows furrowed in frustration now remembering you promised you father you’d help set up the restaurant.

“Wait!” You said correcting yourself. “I’m sorry, I completely forgot I’m suppose to help with my dads restaurant.”

“Your Dad had a restaurant? That’s pretty cool, what’s it called? He asked, genuinely interested. “Wait let me grab a paper and pen.”

You heard shuffling around as Steve rifled through his desk drawer, looking for a working pen.

“Alright, shoot.” He exclaimed, phone placed between his ear and shoulder.

You scratched the back of your neck, feeling embarrassed to say the name as it was in Spanish.

“It’s in Spanish, it’s- its kind of embarrassing to say.” You said shyly, toying the chord around your finger.

“What?” Steve said almost shocked. “Don’t be embarrassed, I think it’s beautiful when you...speak in Spanish.”

Steve mentally face palmed as his attempt at flirting was more awkward than romantic.

You smiled at his words, the apples of your cheeks becoming a deep shade of red.

“La cocina de la abuela” You finally said, giving into Steve’s words. “It’s at the corner of Jefferson and third.”

The front window of your fathers store had been completely shattered, shards of glass collecting on the sidewalk. Your father stood in horror as he took in the entirety of the scene before him. He put a lot of money into this restaurant, saving every penny he had now wasted.

“I’m so sorry Dad.” Was all you could say, knowing nothing you could say would make this better.

He knelt down, picking up a shard and rotating it in his hands. His face was worn, no longer wearing a smile, the mask he wore for his family. He muttered something you weren’t able to understand, whipping the glass to the ground.

“Papa, we should call the police.” You said, cautiously stepping toward your father.

He faced you now, anger and sadness morphing his features into a man you weren’t able to recognize. You saw the face of a man whose spirit broke, and laid in a million pieces at his feet.

“And what?” He yelled, not caring who heard. “What do you think they will do? They will do what everyone else does, they will laugh at my accent, they will treat us like the scum on their shoes, they hate us for no other reason then the colour of our skin.”

You bit down on your lip, not knowing what to say or to even think. You watched as your father turned away from you, not wanting his daughter to see him cry.

“I’m going to go out for a bit.” His voice low and jaw clenched between words. “Go home Mija, tell your mother she was right.”

Your heart broke at his words, remembering your mother warning him that things wouldn’t be the same as they were in your old neighbourhood. He kicked at the mess on the ground before getting into his car and driving off.

You stood in front of the restaurant, an ache in your stomach from the stress and anguish of the situation. You looked around, half expecting your neighbours and friends to be standing there ready to help, but you were alone.

Carefully, you stepped through the broken window avoiding the sharp edges that nearly nicked you. You walked into the back room and grabbed a broom and dust pan, having about and hour or two before it got dark.

“What happened?” Steve asked, voice filled with concern. “Who did this?”

You weren’t expecting him to show up, although you’d be lying if you said you weren’t happy to see him.

“I don’t know, we found it like this when we got here.” You explained, about to step through the window to go back outside, Steve grabbing your arm to help you.

“Holy shit.” He said his voice trailing off as he took in the fill damage that had been dealt to the store front. His fingers slowly trailed off of your arm, now placing his hands on his hips. “Do you think it was-“

“Tommy and Carol?” You finished his sentence for him. “Probably.”

You ran your fingers through your hair, clearly frustrated, Steve wrapped a comforting arm around your shoulder.

“What do I do?” You sighed.

After the two of you had cleaned up the broken glass and boarded up the window, Steve drove you home. Your fathers car still wasn’t in the driveway, which worries you.

“I’m sure he’s just driving around, he’ll come home soon.” Steve reassured you, you nodded as you stared at the empty drive way.

“Thank you so much, Steve.” You said, turning toward him swiftly, taken aback slightly as he had leaned in closer. “You...really didn’t...” you trailed off as your lips inching closer toward his.

He murmured something, his hand brushing against your cheek, guiding you closer to him.

His lips were soft, his kisses tender. You shyly brought your own hand up. Clinging onto the nape of his neck, deepening the kiss.

Once you parted, you looked down hiding your face in embarrassment.

“Hey,” He said, his fingers lifting your chin upward. “You’re beautiful, you don’t need to hide your face.”

The corners of your mouth lifted into a small smile, feeling bashful as ever.

“You’re relentless.” You laughed at all the compliments he had been giving you. Steve admiring you whilst you did so, he loved to see you smile... to be happy.

“And you’re absolutely stunning.” He replied, amused by how flustered you would get by his words.

You looked down at the watch on your wrist, realizing the time.

“It’s already 8? Did you want to come in and have something to eat? My moms probably made a feast in there, you leave her alone for a few hours and she’ll cook for the whole town.” You laughed, hoping Steve would accept your offer.

“Yeah, sounds good.” He smiled.

As you opened the threshold of your home, you practically melted at the savoury smell radiating from the kitchen.

“Hey Mija!” Your mother called to you as she made her way out into the hall. “Oh! Hello, you must be...Steve?”

She brushed her hands against her apron, before extending her hand out to Steve.

“Hello Mrs. L/N, you have a lovely house.” He complimented, already winning over your mother with his charm.

“That’s very kind of you, your parents raised you well I can see.” She beamed, Steve letting out a nervous laugh.

“I guess, I don’t see them much though.” He said with a sense of lonliness in his voice.

Your mothers smile dropped and her eyebrows furrowed.

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that...well your always welcome here.” She said with a reassuring nod. “Come, lets eat!”

She clapped excitedly, ushering the two of you into the dining room.

There was a platter of black bean chicken and a bowl of rice to go along with it. Your mother brought in a pot, carefully placing it onto the wooden trivet.

“I also made menudo, your papa’s favourite. Figures, he decides to call saying he won’t be home till late.” She explained, annoyance apparent in her voice.

You bit your lip and looked down at your plate, you figured you father hadn’t told her why he was coming home late.

“He must be going to the town over to get some more things for the restaurant.” You lied.

Your mother had a good heart but her words could often be harsh, your father was a dreamer whilst she was a realist. She was offered an office job back home, it had the potential to make a lot of money for your family.

Your father had dreamed about opening his own restaurant since he was a little boy, he learned to cook from his mother who had raised him off her back. He managed to convince your mom that they could have a successful business if they moved to Hawkins, the rent was cheap and he believed it had a lot of character.

Your mother, on the other hand, was not ignorant to the prejudice a Mexican American family would face in a predominantly white town. The jump from a neighbourhood filled with fellow Mexican Americans and other Latin cultures to a midwestern nowhere would present quite the shock, but she was never successful in convincing him otherwise.

She let out a sigh, her hands working to slice the chicken and placing pieces onto your plates.

“That father of yours.” She muttered, now scooping rice. “I don’t know what I’m going to do with him.”

The three of you ate in silence for a few minutes before Steve piped up.

“This food is amazing, nothing like I’ve ever had before.” He said, chewing away happily.

Your mom smiled with joy at his words, your father was the chef of the house and to hear that was quite the compliment.

“Oh you are too kind.” She blushed. “I like this boy Y/N, very respectful.”

She gave a wink which prompted an eye roll from you and a smirk from Steve.

The evening ended with you walking Steve to his car, sharing a quick kiss.

You woke up to a light tap at your bedroom window, you groaned as you looked at the time on the alarm clock.

You rolled out of your bed, your hair flailing around dramatically as you stumbled toward your window.

“Steve?” You asked, peeling back the curtains. “It’s 4 in the morning, what are you doing here.”

He held up a finger to his lips, telling you to stay quiet.

“I need you to come with me.” He whispered. “Please?”

You squinted your eyes, trying to wake up a bit.

“Okay let me just-just grab a sweater and throw on some jeans.” You yawned.

Steve pulled up to the boarded up restaurant, helping you out of the passengers seat as you were half awake.

“What are we going here?” You asked, cracking your back while you followed after Steve.

“My Dad owns a bunch of hardware stores.” He explained as he dug around in his trunk for tools. “I picked up some window panes, and some of this putty...stuff.” He said handing you a few things.

You wrapped your arms around him from the side, hugging him.

“Thanks Steve.” You murmured tiredly. “I owe you.”

Steve leaned into you, unable to hug you back as his hands were full.

“I mean, you could let me take you on a date.” He smiled, giving you a cheeky look.

“Alright, deal.” You replied.

The two of you got to work on the window front, working all the way into the morning.

The two of you leaned against Steve’s car, admiring the great job you had done. The window looked better than before, Steve was pretty good at fixing things much to your surprise.

“We make a pretty good team.” You commented, not being humble at all.

“Yeah, I’d say the same.” He replied, his arm finding a spot around your waist. “We could be on like a tv show or something.”

“Yeah right, who would watch a show about renovations?” You laughed, shoving him slightly.

A gasp startled you both from your calm stance, you were both met by your father.

“You-You two did this?” He asked, looking at the fixed store front in awe. He stifled back a cry, his hand covering his mouth.

“It was Steve really, I just helped.” You said with a simper smile.

Steve detached from your side and excitedly shows your father the new addition he added in.

“We added a rolling gate that you can pull down when you close up, that way no one can vandalize it ever again.” He explained, pulling the grate down to show your father.

Your father engulfed Steve in a warm hug, practically cutting off his oxygen.

“Thank you.” He said patting Steve’s back. Steve was apprehensive at first, he couldn’t remember the last time his own father had held him like this.

You gave an encouraging nod accompanied with a smile, almost as if you were giving him permission into your world. He wrapped his arms around the nearly hysterical man, words could not express his gratitude for what he had done.

It was in that moment you realized you loved Steve. It was beyond romantic feelings, but rather knowing you would do anything for this boy, and that this boy would do anything to see you smile.

[janeaustentextposts]

What is your favorite non-Austen period novel? Movie?

Okay I’m gonna do a rundown of all my favourites because making me pick one is just mean. (Also at one point in my notes on the following books and films I just wrote “Bagels” and I can’t for the life of me think what I might have meant or autocorrected that from. Maybe a shopping list started to take form. I don’t know.)

(If the film Miss Austen Regrets and book Longbourn by Jo Baker count as non-Austen then include them.)

Films:

Lagaan: Once Upon a Time in India - 2001 (Sports! High stakes! Sticking it to the Colonial Man!)

Mozart’s Sister - 2010 (Beautiful music! Gorgeous androgyny! GIRLS CAST TO PLAY THEIR ACTUAL AGE AND NOT SOME 20-SOMETHING PRETENDING TO BE FOURTEEN!)

Possession - 2002 (I’ve tried the novel, and A.S. Byatt has some beautiful prose but her structures sometimes do my head in, so never finished it. Ignore Paltrow as best you can and enjoy lush Victorian Gothic mystery and the ending is one of the most poignant things I’ve ever been pleasantly surprised with on film, and it leaves you wondering about many, many things…)

Jodhaa Akbar - 2008 (You could put Hrithik Roshan and Aishwarya Rai in the worst commercial ever made and I would watch it. Costumes, scenery, and, as a friend once put it “I’m not sure how they did it, but they just had a sex scene without any sex.” Bravo.)

Water - 2005 (Deepa Mehta is such a fantastic filmmaker and I loved this whole trilogy but Water is my favourite.)

Elizabeth - 1998 & Elizabeth: The Golden Age - 2007 (The costumes! The caMERA ANGLES!!! The compli-fucking-cated mess that is Elizabeth I.)[Okay Tumblr won’t let me embed any more trailers, but those ones are easy to find, they’re out there.]Vatel - 2000 (Any foodie who is also a fan of The Sun King and his era will dig this one. A great score, baddie Tim Roth.)Alternatively, in the same era: A Little Chaos - 2015. Storyline is a little weak, but it’s so beautiful and the cast is great and the M U S I C. Kate Winslet. Alan Rickman. Helen McCrory. STANLEY TUCCI.)Also: they’re not films, but TV shows - honourable mentions to the Spanish series Gran Hotel. It’s like a good version of Downton Abbey, only sorta on crack and with a tonne more murder mysteries; and while I have some Issues with its so-called hero and some comparatively weirdo plot-points in S3, overall, it’s fantastic and I’m obssessed. Please don’t mix it up with the Italian re-make which looks horrible in every way. Like, main actors dressed in a poorly-sewn-table-cloth-bad.And shout-out to the new CBC/Netflix series Anne. I will defend this show to the DEATH, alright? They’ve gone bolder and fresher and have managed to involve period realism in a moving way while retaining the sunshine-and-pinafores element that so many people love about L.M. Montgomery’s work. There’s heaps of women with production credits, and I think it shows. Geraldine James is already my favourite Marilla after one episode, and I feel like R.H. Thompson (HEY JASPER DALE HEEEEY!) and Amybeth McNulty are likely going to become my favourite Matthew and Anne, too. People have complained about this series going off-book and in particular some have condemned it sight-unseen because the writers/directors are putting a feminist spin on it and OH GOD THEY SAID FEMINIST QUICK WE GOTTA SET EVERYTHING ON FIRE BECAUSE CHILDHOOD IS RUINED, but honestly it’s just perky and gorgeous and scrappy and nobody can tell me to my face that Kevin Sullivan didn’t go all the fucking way off-book from the very beginning so I am not gonna sit here and insist that the Megan Fallows Anne of Green Gables was perfection which could never be improved upon because that’s just a plain lie. It was nice and it has its place but it’s time for some new blood. (And NOT the telefilms they’ve also come out with recently with Martin Sheen, bless his heart, but they took a brunette child actor and dumped an atrociously stark box of red hair-dye on her before drawing on her freckles and then telling her to please play everything theatrically to the back of the house even though there is a camera ten inches from her face.) I am HERE FOR ANNE. RIDE OR DIE.

AND NOW, FOR BOOKS!

After that you might assume my L.M. Montgomery recommendation would be Anne of Green Gables and sure I won’t say DON’T read them, but for my money the Emily of New Moon trilogy is more my jam and I wish to God and Netflix in all my prayers that there might someday be a decent adaptation of them.I was really into Cassandra Clark’s Abbess of Meaux mystery series for a time, but then things went a bit pear-shaped in what I think was the fourth(?) book and everything was OOC and honestly I haven’t caught up on the later books after that and they seem to be self-published now but I am a sucker for nuns and mysteries so I’ll probably get back into it when I have time.

The Princess Priscilla’s Fortnight and The Solitary Summer by Elizabeth von Arnim. Vacation-reads! Beautiful prose, some wry wit, and fun hijinks. If you’ve ever wanted to run away and live in an isolated cottage in the wilderness for a little while, these are for you. [ETA: I recently got my hands on a copy of The Jasmine Farm so THANK YOU to one of you who recommended it I am loving it so far only I don’t see the appeal in Andrew so wtf Terry you can do better.]Edward Rutherfurd’s geographical history novels–Sarum is the classic to start with, but the others I’ve read are very good, too. (London, New York, and I’m now working my way through a first-edition of Russka.)Amy Levy. A M Y   L E V Y. Criminally under-recognized Jewish Victorian novelist and poet. Novellas Ruben Sachs and The Romance of a Shop. (RS a beautiful and bittersweet story about the conflicts between love, identity, and expectations, and some would say a response to George Eliot’s Daniel Deronda. TRoaS reading a bit like a less treacle-sweet variation on Little Women, where four sisters try to make their way in the world by setting up their own photography studio in late 19th century London.)The Making of a Marchioness by Frances Hodgkin Burnett. Colonialist racism appears in this one, so be warned. Still the book is a THOUSAND times better than the utterly dreadful adaptation known as The Making of a Lady. Jane is better, Emily is better, Walderhurst is better, pretty much EVERYONE IS BETTER. The pacing is better. The plotting and suspense make actual sense.

The Scarlet Pimpernel by Baroness Orczy. A classic, and the grand-daddy of every secret-identity superhero.

The Forsyte Saga by John Galsworthy. Like, it makes me MAD how good these books are.

And last but not least, a non-fiction selection in Vere Hodgson’s WWII diaries: Few Eggs and No Oranges. Nothing else has ever brought the experience of living (or trying to) under the shadow of the bombs and the threat of invasion quite like these diaries. Fascinating details, engagingly written, and at times a stark reminder that the Allied victory we take for granted in our history could by no means be counted on by the millions who dwelt in daily uncertainty.

[pixelatedlenses]

“You Can’t Have Black Faeries”: Black Magic, Representation, And Fantastical Reads and Writing , or How I Started Writing Black Characters on Tumblr and Never Looked Back

So I’m going to preface this with the fact that this is a veritable essay that kind of winds: it’s not really organized and would never be published on a formal news site. It’s just my story, all of what I remember, and clocks in around 6ish pages. It was important for me to write this during Black History Month because over the last year, I’ve undergone a lot of changes, and my writing has changed with it. I hope that you’ll read this and ask questions, and continue to support me as I change even more. I love my blackness, I love my writing, and I love sharing it with you all. I suppose here’s the roots of how I got to be Spencer Avery, my pen name that I use for my core writing, outside of beng Tomi for art and light novels. 

It’s my story, and is more stream of consciousness than anything else. Basically: enjoy, is what I’m trying to say. Also, this is, of course, one of the supplimental pieces I mentioned in my post about writing about BHM in Japan. I hope you come to understand another part of me, and see why my black is beautiful. .

I can honestly say that at 24, I love writing black characters.

I stick representations of myself –my culture, fat black folxs, nerdy black folxs, magical black folxs– into whatever I can, whether it’s a mundane romance tale set in a perfectly normal world or a princess stuck in a tower. It became important to me about… eh, three years ago that I start to normalize those kinds of worlds, that Black folxs were just as magic as a Tolkien elf or a Harry Potter wizard. We belonged in those worlds alongside European styled magics too.

But it wasn’t always like that.

I started writing fanfiction at age 13. I was confused about a lot of things: I felt wrong in my black skin, about liking girls over boys and flowers, felt at odds with the black girls that teased me and bullied me into buying them snacks. (And also called my mother fat to my face, which yeah, we both are, but you don’t get to call her that, you know? Geez.) Most of all, I think feeling a sense of nothingness prevailed: I was a black girl playing at being good enough to be white, playing at stepping outside my ethnic roots to somehow feel capital-N Normal.

Video games, thus, became a home for me: I found myself in Naruto, felt at home in the vast worlds of Kingdom Hearts, was brave and empowered in Pokemon was somebodies hero in the countless rpgs stacked next to my bed. I don’t think its an exaggeration to say that I spent more time connected to a set of double a’s or a charger than I did reflecting on myself. I think now, a lot of Blerds –black nerds – often do: we’re pushed out with anti-blackness from our own black folx, and left to imagine ourselves as meaningful in somebody else’s world. It’s quite sad, and perhaps why now, I write so much fantasy and fiction featuring a black character overcoming: it’s a message that still needs to be heard and echoed.

Nevertheless, I was a lonely kid. It was the height of MySpace, I was a digital roleplayer under the all too ridiculous name Naruko Fai Uzamachi –I literally just let out the most pitiful Regret Groan – and I was still on the hunt for that last, little taste of acceptance.

Hence writing.

I put up my first fic on Fanfiction.net sometime in 2007, most likely May. It was a hot mess, but I’m saying that millions of words later in 2017. At the time, it was a release: I was deep into the 801 –that’s Yaoi for the uninitiated, taking from the alternative pronunciations for 8, 0, and 1 in Japanese – community, having found a weird, hypersexualized acceptance amongst likeminded women who felt pushed to Western society’s fringes. I was everywhere I could on MySpace, Aarinfantasy, and any board I could find to somehow make my 14-year-old heart ache less. Fanfiction was there as another balm: I have memories of sneaking onto the computer at midnight, trying to turn the brightness down just so to not wake my mother, and clacking out my feelings about depression, hurt, growing up, and wanting desperately to belong to something.

(As I’m currently at work, I won’t like it: it’s explicit, and I don’t’ look at things like that on my on hours. I can tell you it’s called “Land and Sky” and was a SasuNaru fic, a hot pairing even in 2017.  You can look it up on my Fanfiction.net account, and for fun, do a live reading with your friends. I’ve tried to rewrite it multiple times, and may try this year as it’s the anniversary and my writing is hopefully better. I think perhaps that’s my penance for teenage me’s horribly written yaoi: rewrite a SasuNaru fic every ten years for the rest of my life. Of course, it’s funny now: at the time, I was Ride or Die about that fic.)

This led to me often seeking solace in Asian characters: they were the closes analog to me. Brown and black faces didn’t match me in terms of how I felt; they reminded me of the same mocking laughter, harsh hands, and hurtful words that were hurled at me daily. I didn’t want to like them, but perhaps a part of me also realized I needed something. Asian person –specifically Japanese character – offered that something. They were ethnic enough in my young eyes, and were close enough. Sometimes, characters were a tanned brown, many shades away from my dark skin, but felt cousin to my desire for acceptance.

(Now, of course, I realize that wasn’t the answer and that Japanese-Americans are often ridiculed for their own desire to enjoy their culture, while Westerners  –predominantly Americans of European descent – often police fan culture within Anime and Manga or general Japanese pop, and that has often led to exclusion. That’s not to say there aren’t black folxs out there policing Japanese-American consumption of their own culture too: there certainly are, and they’re just as wrong.)

Writing, thus, developed into a series of long worded fanfiction pieces that I posted all across the web, primarily on FF.net, which was my stomping ground for a very long time. I can still google my many pen names –Syrus Gardenia Fuze, which apparently I asked to be called, dozens of Japanese names with African-esque sounds, and eventually, Nagone, which I took kanji –immaturely and without any knowledge of the language, as I was studying Spanish and not even Chinese yet to understand characters and radicals– to mix together to form “a strong sounding name” which I still use today, but hope to change this year actually– and find my pieces. I get hits daily from kids going through the same growth I did: kids who message me asking questions about the fictional worlds I built, kids who express the same sadness, heartache, and loneliness of being classed as different. PoC kids who tell me that they’re looking for themselves and found it in my writing.

Growing up certainly hasn’t changed in a decade, you know?

However, by the time that college rolled around, fed-up, still black, now queer me was tired, and fanfiction wasn’t always doing the same things it had. I was sick of school, wanted desperately out and to move to Missouri for college, but was stuck in a mundane year. After a blow up at my bullies which resulted in me getting kicked out the band hall and nearly breaking a bass clarinet from dropping it on the ground, I stopped writing: I just flat out gave it up. It felt like it was putting away childish things, tucking away the past, and would let me move on.

Of course, at this point, you’re realizing that I didn’t stop as I’m talking about writing. Let’s continue.

I came back to it in college after my father died because I need Home again. I was still focused on Japan and Japanese media because Japan was cool: I hadn’t had the realization that Japan was a country, and hadn’t really delved into my studies that would lead me to a degree in History and Asian Studies focused on Japan and on showing a 360 view of the nation rather than “it’s got pop culture!” I was still hiding from being black: high school had brow beat me with “Why do we need Black History Month?” gorilla masks when Obama got into office –with friends remarking that I should be proud on of my people made if at 17 and 18– and general Southern Fried Racism that I was more than willing to reject being black. My pool of genuine black friends had grown from two to six: I added a few men into the mix -almost all are college friends I still love- and was steadily working towards some awareness that I was black and not secretly a white girl beneath.

Home was in writing more fics: still primarily yaoi, though I had dabbled in yuri and girl’s love with the arrival of my first partner. I was a bit more brazen and brave about what I wrote, and started showing PoC women together instead of solely Japanese men. It was a radical change, and made me feel a little bit better between regretting being queer and loving college. But there was still a stark absence of anyone black: in fact, I honestly can’t remember ever writing a black character for most of my early writing life.

So, I bet you’re wondering when that black part will come in?

Well, it starts probably in 2013ish when I made my writing Tumblr.

I’d heard about Tumblr through my fourth partner, an asexual with a penchant for wanting a mixed child because they were “cute” and wanting a boy despite being agender and stating that no one should choose gender.

(I should add that they often remarked they wanted to spin the sperm of their donor to increase the rate of a boy, and would be sad to not have their child come out how they wanted. It made me feel very gross, and I was not at all sad to break up with them. It was for the best, and I hope that they realize now that it’s kind of gross to want a mixed child for their aesthetic and not because you wouldn’t mind having a child with multiple cultures. They were a nice person, but it’s alright to accept that nice people -even me- have microaggresions that we must constnatly work at.)

I started with a cosplay tumblr: it was dedicated to my costuming which I did often enough, and was made with the mindset of being a black cosplayer. This was a huge change, and it came solely because of an event the year before: namely, the murder-death killing of Trayvon Martin, a boy who was sent to rest by a man who is, simply put, a racist and hated him for his skin.

That changed my world: it was like I’d been literally seeing black and white, and suddenly, there was an entire spectrum of Brown that I fit into. I was a black person, ahd the potential to get killed for my skin, for not being submissive, for being a perceived threat, and that was scary. It was the kind of thing that, for months, kept me awake. I saw, for the first time, the ugly face of kind racism: I had white friends remark that President Obama wouldn’t know how it felt to lose a child like that because he was only half-black, and he was the President, one of the good ones. I saw that perhaps, I was perceived like that: that my intellect, my quiet nature, my bookish ways, and my gentleness were only Right because they were White, that a percentage of people around me where trading Me for being Good, and a Good Black.

(Insert another groan.)

So my writing changed with that: it became more active, more constant, and eventually in 2014, solidified into this blog with all the meager beginnings I could offer. I remember my first posts were from a roleplay senior year: they focused on the characters of our werewolf campaign. I think after that came some reposts from FictionPress  –I really want to start utilizing that again this year, alongside Wattpad and other sns for writing–  and then… well, then I started writing for myself. It started with fae –I’ve always like fae since I first read Holly Black’s Modern Fae series, specifically Valiant, sophomore year of high school– and so I started to transplant black features onto them. My fae ranged from sweet to scary, were villains, heroes, lovers, and friends. They were varied like I felt I was: black had stopped having a singular identity or word bubble of terms that were solely “ethnic” and was a mass of very difficult faces, all living very different lives. I mirrored that onto the supernatural, and it worked: I started to gain ground and felt that I was doing something right. It felt good, and that momentum carried into grad school, picking me up when I was down, giving me a place to escape, but also critically write about big feelings.

Simply put, writing was good.

(I also got into Legend of Korra heavy and started writing fic again. I’ve been on a two year fic break, but plan to pick it up soon, after I finish my current project which I still can’t talk about.)

You’d think that after nearly a decade of writing, I’d have written for myself, but I always think I was writing for others: it’s a habit I still struggle with because I’m a people pleaser and want to make folxs happy, but writing for myself was the most freeing thing I could ever reward myself with.

Now, I’d love to tell you I remember my first black girl, but the one I remember most –and the one that’s fairly well-known and recent– is Cobalt “Colby” Johnson, a college-aged, plump, chubby black girl from my novella Gelid. She’s from 2015, her story written in a month in a cast of all non-white characters. Colby is probably one of the dearest characters to my heart, and when I get a chance, I will rewrite her purposely quickly written story into something bigger, seal up her plot holes and give her more body.

Colby, as a character, was not originally meant to be an analog of me: I never set out thinking, “Yeah, this is me, but if I ended up in a crazy, month long adventure”. At the time, I was writing her as a challenge: finish one thing, and it would mean I could finish anything I set my mind to. Surprisingly, when I did finish, it gave me the strength to do just that: finish things, even if it took time.

Colby was the culmination of all the things I felt that big black girls needed: adventure, an acceptance of self. She was my swan song to the me that hated being fat, to the me that hated being fat and black, to the me that thought other black girls also wanted adventure. It was important to me that I give that adventure and have the black girl win: I gave her winnings in the form of a solid relationship with her mother that was genuinely healthy, a good friend, and the power of being a diety essentially. Certainly, thinking now about the story, there’s massive plot holes to how that all happened, but that wasn’t the point: it was getting that story out of me and out for people to engage with.

Regardless, Colby became me because writing is a part of me: every character takes from their owner, right? Colby was no different. But she was magical because she did something special to me, and made me crave writing again.

(Please search the Gelid tag on the blog. I really love this story because it changed me, and once I wrote it, I finally stopped looking back to my mistakes and started to change my writing to be more self-serving. And hey, if there’s enough interest, Gelid will receive a published rewrite and maybe even an ebook form like I had formerly planned.)

After that, a cork was popped, and I’ve been writing a lot more black girls since. Black folxs I should say as most range from AFAB persons to trans and genderqueer, genderfluid and fully other: dragons who take female form but are just them, otherworldly entities, fae who don’t need human gender roles. Honestly, I feel the momentum is still here even though I had to step back from writing to transition my life to Japan. I’m still writing black girls, though now, my life is influenced by half-Japanese and African-American folxs, writing for an often underserved part of Japanese society.

The fantastical is a powerful thing, you know, and when a pen is your sword, you can do a lot of great things. I wish that younger me had the ability to see that would be our reality one day: yet I’m glad I didn’t because realizing that was sweet, if not hard fought for, and makes writing even more valuable to me.

This year, of course, will bring more black girls, along with Japanese writing, largely because of my new environment. I have plans for many stories with all black fae communities, returns to old characters like Colby (Gelid) and Flavia and Sorrell (Polychromatic (18+), a piece from the wonderful SSBB, which was a dream come true!), a magical girl series called end game that contains black duotagonists, and lots of other stuff. I won’t reveal my entire hand: I want to keep some things close to my chest, but I can say that 2017 –and perhaps the rest of my life– will be the Year of Black Magic, of celebrating my skin through writing, of realizing worlds where real society is tossed out and equality, fairness, and mutuality reign.

I’m going to end this telling you that I’m still a work in progress: a decade of actualized self-hate is not cured by writing some pretty badass black folx overnight, or even in a few years. Loving my blackness, writing my blackness, and living both of those things are a daily effort, and sometimes, it gets beaten down and I feel worthless because ultimately I am a human. I’m not invincible. Yet I still find the ability, day by day, to rise up and be proud of me.

I’m but one of many black writers, but I’ll say that I’m proud: a decade of writing, a decade of The Struggle, and I’ve arrived. I love my life, and especially love my writing. I hope to share it for as long as I can on here, and everywhere for the rest of my life.

Say it loud: Spencer Avery’s Black and Proud!

tl;dr: I won’t ever have an all white story again, and honestly, probably never a story without 96% POC characters. It may be the case that I’m that one writer with the Token White Person in the future: I often wonder if that’ll be true. I don’t mean that in a negative way either: I love writing characters, but I also think it’s important that little black girls and black folxs can see themselves succeed not through strife, but through living in other worlds and engaging with life without having to always Overcome. Strife is not a Black Descriptor: it’s not all we are meant to do. Once I write black, I sure ain’t going back: ugh, that’s the wrong tense, but you get the point. I love writing representation for people who look like me, who are dark brown, darkly toasted, and proud. I don’t know if I ever could stop: the thought makes me rather sad. I hope that 14-year-old me who sought representation in tidbits, in girls like Tally Youngblood who I desperately hoped had an inkling of actual melanin, would be proud: that me would love to know that there are fae and witches, princesses in towers and deities that look like me: black, curled hair, big-brained, and adventurous in whatever they do.

[mrmichaelchadler]

Home Entertainment Consumer Guide: February 21, 2019

4 NEW TO NETFLIX

"The 40-Year-Old Virgin" "Little Women" "We the Animals" "Zodiac"

8 NEW TO BLU-RAY/DVD

"Audition"

There's a moment in Takashi Miike's masterful "Audition" that is forever burned in my mind. I remember it so vividly for two reasons. One, what it reveals is so stunningly terrifying that it's a jump scare that honestly earns its jump. Two, it's a beautiful example of Miike's visual ability, framing Asami in the center and what will then steal our focus in the background. "Audition" is one of Miike's best films, a movie that almost seems ahead of its time now in its dissection of the way in which a widower underestimates a young woman that he meets. Arrow, who have two in this week's column, opening and closing it, have restored Miike's great film and included a new commentary by Miike biographer Tom Mes, and a brand-new interview with film's hardest-working director. 

Buy it here 

Special Features Brand new 2K restoration of original vault elements Original 5.1 Dolby Surround Audio Optional English subtitles Audio commentary with director Takashi Miike and screenwriter Daisuke Tengan Brand new commentary by Miike biographer Tom Mes examining the film and its source novel Introduction by Miike Ties that Bind – A brand new interview with Takashi Miike Interviews with stars Ryo Ishibashi, Eihi Shiina, Renji Ishibashi and Ren Osugi Damaged Romance: An appreciation by Japanese cinema historian Tony Rayns Trailers Reversible sleeve featuring original and newly commissioned artwork by Matthew Griffin

"Berlin Alexanderplatz" (Criterion)

Rainer Werner Fassbinder made more films than he had years on this Earth. One can only imagine what he would have produced if he hadn't died so young, especially when one considers the breadth of genres and cinematic styles in the films he did produce. Fassbinder is an interesting filmmaker in that he's still relatively unknown to a lot of young movie lovers, especially in comparison to other German New Wave masters like Werner Herzog and Wim Wenders, but he's absolutely beloved by those who do know his work. His monumental achievement, the 15-hour mini-series based on the world-famous 1929 novel of the same name, has now been given the Criterion Blu-ray treatment. It may not get the same attention as their Ingmar Bergman set, but this is an essential release, the most ambitious work by one of film's most ambitious filmmakers.

Buy it here 

Special Features High-definition digital restoration by the Rainer Werner Fassbinder Foundation and Bavaria Media, supervised and approved by director of photography Xaver Schwarzenberger, with DTS-HD Master Audio soundtrack Two documentaries by Rainer Werner Fassbinder Foundation president Juliane Lorenz: one from 2007 featuring interviews with the cast and crew, the other from 2006 on the restoration Hans-Dieter Hartl’s 1980 documentary Notes on the Making of “Berlin Alexanderplatz” Phil Jutzi’s 1931 feature-length film of Alfred Döblin’s novel, from a screenplay cowritten by Döblin himself Interview from 2007 with Peter Jelavich, author of “Berlin Alexanderplatz”: Radio, Film, and the Death of Weimar Culture PLUS: A book featuring an essay by filmmaker Tom Tykwer, reflections on the novel by Fassbinder and author Thomas Steinfeld, and an interview with Schwarzenberger

"Bohemian Rhapsody"

What more is there to say about the massively successful and critically controversial film that was kind of directed by Bryan Singer and will almost certainly win Rami Malek an Oscar on Sunday? The divide between critics and audiences on this one has been fascinating to watch. Most critics agree this is superficial, paint-by-numbers filmmaking. Most fans of Queen don't seem to care. For them, their love of the music transcends any sort of filmmaking flaws. It's fascinating to consider how this movie works that way. It can revise history and superficially consider Freddie Mercury, but it gets at what people like about Queen: The Music. My concern is that the massive success of "Bohemian Rhapsody" will almost certainly lead to more music movies like it: films that know that as long as they present an artist's greatest hits, then viewers won't care if they don't learn a single thing about the actual artist. 

Buy it here 

Special Features The Complete Live Aid Movie Performance Not Seen in Theaters Rami Malek: Becoming Freddie The Look and Sound of Queen Recreating Live Aid

"Death in Venice" (Criterion)

Luchino Visconti's most personal film is the fourth of the Italian filmmaker's inducted into the Criterion collection (after "Senso," "Le notti bianche," and "The Leopard"). When classic films are released by Criterion, it can be interesting to go back and look at a young Roger Ebert's writing about the film being released. In 1971, Ebert, then in his late twenties, was disappointed in "Death in Venice," and I have to say my response to the film now on Criterion is somewhat similar. Ebert's disappointment comes from how he felt Visconti altered the source material, a Thomas Mann novel that Ebert clearly loved. He argued that Visconti lost the "philosophical content" of the film, buried in "heavy-handed flashbacks." Interestingly, he still admires Visconti's work enough to give it 2.5 stars. 

Buy it here 

Special Features New 4K digital restoration, with uncompressed monaural soundtrack on the Blu-ray Luchino Visconti: Life as in a Novel, a 2008 documentary about the director, featur­ing Visconti; actors Burt Lancaster, Silvana Mangano, and Marcello Mastroianni; filmmakers Francesco Rosi and Franco Zeffirelli; and others Alla ricerca di Tadzio, a 1970 short film by Visconti about his efforts to cast the role of Tadzio New program featuring literature and cinema scholar Stefano Albertini Interview from 2006 with costume designer Piero Tosi Excerpt from a 1990 program about the music in Visconti’s films, featuring Bogarde and actor Marisa Berenson Interview with Visconti from 1971 Visconti’s Venice, a short 1970 behind-the-scenes documentary featuring Visconti and Bogarde Trailer PLUS: An essay by critic Dennis Lim

"La Verite" (Criterion)

I absolutely adore Henri-Georges Clouzot's "Diabolique" and "The Wages of Fear," and so I was eager to watch a courtroom thriller from the masterful filmmaker for the first time. And starring Brigitte Bardot? Sign me up. The truth is that "La Verite" is minor for both Clouzot and Bardot, a sometimes-fascinating but often dramatically flat story of a woman named Dominique who has basically been misunderstood by everyone around her. Dominique is gorgeous, and Clouzot certainly knew how to use Bardot's sexuality, but most people in her life refuse to look below the beauty and judge her morally for just being herself. Despite my issues with some of the pacing of the film, it's undeniably well-constructed and an interesting chapter in Bardot's career, especially with the controversy surrounding its release when Bardot attempted suicide. 

Buy it here

Special Features New 4K digital restoration, with uncompressed monaural soundtrack on the Blu-ray Le scandale Clouzot, a sixty-minute documentary from 2017 on director Henri-Georges Clouzot Interview from 1960 with Clouzot Interview with actor Brigitte Bardot from the 1982 documentary Brigitte Bardot telle qu’elle New English subtitle translation PLUS: An essay by film scholar Ginette Vincendeau

"Overlord"

Gritty and gory, "Overlord" may be the most video game-esque movie of 2018, a title that reminded this gamer of the "Resident Evil" and "Wolfenstein" franchises. So why isn't it more fun? I moderately enjoyed "Overlord" enough to include it in this week's column, especially if you need a break from Oscar bait and Criterion titles, but I'd be lying if I didn't wish it was a little more goofy. I wanted more early Peter Jackson or Sam Raimi, filmmakers who leaned into the ridiculousness of their concepts and elevated their films with ingenuity and wit. Those elements are lacking in "Overlord," a film that takes itself too seriously for a movie about Nazi zombies. Having said that, the best thing about "Overlord" may be how much I expect and hope that Wyatt Russell and Jovan Adepo are going to be stars. I also have to say that the sound mix on this Blu-ray is INSANE. All of the effects are turned up to 11, leading to the first movie in recent memory that my wife had to ask me to turn down. Of course, movies about Nazi zombies should be loud. 

Buy it here 

Special Features The Horrors of War - Featurettes Creation Death Above Death on the Ground Death Below Death No More Brothers in Arms

"A Star is Born"

Remember when it looked like "A Star is Born" was going to race through awards season like a wildfire? It didn't quite happen although one has to wonder if that's not a good thing for the movie's legacy. Bradley Cooper's very entertaining directorial debut still has legions of loyal fans who don't care if it ever won any awards. To be as cheesy as this movie can be, it won their hearts. The most disappointing thing is actually that this is such a lackluster Blu-ray in terms of special features, including some extended musical numbers and music videos, but not much else. Maybe there will be a special edition after it wins Best Picture. Yes, it's still possible. 

Buy it here 

Special Features Jam Sessions and Rarities "Baby What You Want Me To Do" "Midnight Special" "Is That Alright" The Road to Stardom: Making A Star is Born Music Videos "Shallow" "Always Remember Us This Way" "Look What I Found" "I'll Never Love Again" Optional English SDH, French, and Spanish subtitles for the main feature

"Waterworld"

God bless Arrow. God bless any company willing to devote so much time and effort to really provide something special to their customers, which is exactly what Arrow does with special editions like this insane, 3-disc package for a movie that time has generally forgotten. I'm old enough to remember when "Waterworld" was going to be the next big thing, the new franchise to end all franchises. It cost a fortune, starred an Oscar-winning household name, and featured a brave new vision. And then it came out. But this isn't about the actual movie "Waterworld" as much as this phenomenal release, which includes the theatrical cut, a 40-minute longer cut that aired on TV, and then an even-longer "Ulysses" cut which basically blends the first two so you get the longer version without the TV edits. And all of them look incredible, remastered in HD that makes the blue water pop. Not enough? There's also a feature-length documentary about the movie. God bless Arrow.

Buy it here 

Special Features Three cuts of the film newly restored from original film elements by Arrow Films Original 5.1 DTSHD Master Audio and 2.0 stereo audio options Optional English subtitles for the deaf and hard of hearing Six collector’s postcards Double-sided fold-out poster Limited edition 60-page perfect bound book featuring new writing on the film by David J. Moore and Daniel Griffith, and archival articles Reversible sleeve featuring original and newly commissioned artwork by Paul Shipper Maelstrom: The Odyssey of Waterworld, an all-new, feature-length making-of documentary including extensive cast and crew interviews and behind the scenes footage Dances With Waves, an original archival featurette capturing the film’s production Global Warnings, film critic Glenn Kenny explores the subgenre of ecologically themed end-of-the-world films Production and promotional stills gallery Visual effects stills gallery Original trailers and TV spots

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