#where are my prison break girlies RISE UP!!!

[aestheticallyavery]

[dreaming-roses]

°˖✧ prisoner ✧˖°

Dom!Childe x fem!Reader (NSFW) - Request

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!

SUMMARY: Childe decides to break the mind of his prisoner.

WARNING(S): Assault, slight non-con, kidnapping, name-calling, mentions of death, degrading, mind-breaking, manipulation, tentacles, orgasm denial, monsterfucking, size kink, electricity, overstim

CHARACTER(S): Childe

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I-I... might have gone all-out here... heh...

"Hey, girlie," Childe purred as he opened the door. "Have you been good today? Were the men nice to you?" He set down his bow on the table.

You glared at him, not giving him the satisfaction of an answer. You were huddled in a corner of the room, your knees tucked to your chest so nobody could see that your clothes did very little in the way of covering you up.

That had been Childe's intention, of course. You were wearing a skimpy little outfit that exposed your chest, ass, and front. Basically everything.

"Come here, girlie," Childe crooned, sitting down in a chair and spreading his arms. "Come on, (y/n). Or do I have to make you?"

You stayed where you were, refusing to move despite a wave of fear at the veiled threat in Childe's singsong voice. You knew what Childe could do—would do—to the people that displeased him. Oh, you knew.

Once, one of Childe's subordinates had burst into your room and groped you. You had stayed silent out of fear, knowing that a shout could bring half a dozen men with equally awful intentions running to you. Childe obviously hadn't been around at the time; if he had, the man wouldn't have dared to enter your room.

At least he didn't live long. Childe made sure of that.

"Girlie, you know I'm saving you," Childe said playfully, pouting. "Or do you want to be thrown in the real Fatui prisons?" He stood and walked over, hauling you to your feet and pressing you against the wall.

"Mmm..." Childe murmured as he began to squeeze your tits, his fingers gently circling your buds. You closed your eyes, hating and loving how heat was rising in your body at even this slight touch. Childe leaned forward, gently kissing and sucking your neck in a way that made your knees shudder. "Good girl."

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to imagine yourself anywhere else as Childe gently wrapped his arms around your thighs, stroking the sensitive skin.

You mind went to the day you had been captured. It had been a beautiful day, perfect for a stroll in the countryside. You had the irrational feeling you were bring followed, but you rarely got a day off from work. You wanted to enjoy the day outside.

That had been a terrible idea. Now you would never escape. Childe tugged at you gently, and you gave up, slumping to the floor.

"There's a good girl," Childe said, lifting you up and wrapping your legs around his waist. You could feel his hard cock straining through the fabric of his pants. He held you easily with one hand as if you were a baby. "You can't just leave me like this, girlie. I could hardly focus on my missions." You heard the sound of a bottle popping open.

"Nnngh—" you gasped as Childe brushed his fingers, slick with lube, against your entrance. Your body throbbed with lust. "Mmm—ah—"

"Good girl." Childe's thumb found your clit, and you whined, wrapping your trembling arms around him. He pushed a finger inside you, your walls giving way as he explored your cunt. You buried your face in his shoulder, wanting him and hating him at the same time.

"N-Nnnngh—" you moaned softly as Childe pushed a second finger in, curling them right into your sweet spot. His thumb made lazy circles on your clit, light touches that did nothing to soothe your raging desire. "Childe..."

"Yes, dear?" Childe asked, idly brushing your clit as his fingers pumped inside you. You could feel your own wetness seeping onto him. "Is something the matter, girlie?" His fingers pressed into your sweet spot, making you gasp and arch your back.

This was all part of the game; he wanted you to submit to him. It wasn't because he cared about you. He simply enjoyed the thrill of victory.

And you didn't care anymore.

"Childe—p-please..." You looked up at him. "F-Fill me up..." Your cunt ached with desire, your body begging for more.

"Okay, girlie." Childe's eyes glinted like a wolf's. He swiftly carried you over to the chair, sitting down and positioning you in his lap. He undid his pants, his cock hard and ready. His hands settled on your waist, guiding you so his cock brushed your folds. You looked at his face, his eyes wild with ecstasy as he slammed your hips down, sheathing himself in one go.

"MMMM—ah—YES—" you screamed as Childe bounced you on his cock, hitting your sweet spot again and again. Your body grew as limp as a rag doll as Childe fucked you. You leaned against his chest, gripping his shoulders as he pounded you. The sound of skin slapping wetly against skin filled the room.

You felt something wet slide up your folds and settle on your clit. You recognized the smooth texture of one of Childe's hydro tentacles. "H-hah...?"

"You seem to like these," Childe whispered. "I've been perfecting them for you, you needy little slut." The tentacle found your clit, stroking it and sending pleasure radiating through your body with every movement.

"Mmm—no—not there—" you gasped, feeling your climax build, the familiar knot of tension growing in your stomach. The tentacle on your clit, the way Childe was fucking you, it was too much, too much, yet so good...

"Fuck—fuck—fuck—" you babbled, your eyes rolling back in your head, your whole body jolting with every thrust. "Ahfuckfuckfuck—"

Childe's breathing quickened. The tentacle suddenly tugged on your clit, wrapping itself around its tiny base and pumping. "AH—gonna cum—gonna cum—" you moaned. The tentacle squirmed, stimulating your clit all over as Childe pounded your cunt hard enough to make your legs jolt.

"CUMMING—" you screamed as your orgasm erupted, pleasure surging through your body. You creamed around Childe's cock, your walls tightening around his length. He growled as he came, slamming all the way inside. You felt his hot cum filling you up, your cunt shuddering. "A-Ah..."

The tentacle slipped off your clit as Childe pulled out, admiring how your hole was gaping slightly. The tentacle grew in size and stuffed itself in, plugging up your hole. You gasped, your body still twitching from your high. You felt the tentacle expand inside you, molding against your hot, slick walls.

"Don't spill any of it, girlie." Childe playfully flicked your throbbing clit, making you cry out, as he pulled up his pants. "I'll be back later. Be a good girl while I'm gone, okay? No having fun without me." Your fucked-out mind barely registered the words.

After a while, the world came back into focus. You sat up, your mind still reeling from the sheer pleasure of your orgasm. "Ugh..."

The tentacle seemed to have swollen in size; you could feel a slight, but not painful, stretch. You patted its base, trying to feel how big the blue tentacle was, your eyes widening as you realized it was... quite sizable.

You squirmed, suddenly turned on by the thought. But as you reached for your clit, the end of the tentacle suddenly extended, forming a hollow dome over your clit and folds. You poked at it, but it didn't budge. "Hey—!" you whined, squirming with desire. You remembered what Childe had said before he left. "That's not fair..."

You were having a wrestling match with a shockingly stubborn tentacle when Childe suddenly entered the room. You froze. "Ah..."

"Oh my, playing without me? How selfish, girlie." Childe pouted. "Well, bad girls need to be punished, and I have just the thing in mind..."

He arched his back, slowly rising into the air. Bright purple sparks flew and curled around his limbs. You threw your arms over your head as electricity shot out of his body in all directions. "Wha—"

"You can look now, (y/n)," Childe rumbled. His voice was deeper, more guttural. "Come on."

You slowly lowered your arms, staring at Childe's Foul Legacy form in awe and terror. Your eyes widened as you saw his cock, a mix of horror and fascination stirring in your stomach.

You swallowed. "U-Um..." That... couldn't possibly fit, could it? Could it?

"I've been stretching you with the tentacle for a while. You should be fine," Childe growled. He walked over to you, bending down to lift you effortlessly in his powerful arms. You got a close-up view of his throbbing cock.

It was enormous, covered with ridges and bumps. Only the tip was made of smooth, glistening skin. He grabbed the little bottle, which looked comical in his oversized hands, and practically emptied it over his cock. He reached for you, his claws gently wrapping around your waist.

You gulped as Childe carefully positioned you over him, the tentacle popping out of your cunt. "Deep breath, girlie." He began to push down.

"Mmm... nnngh..." you whimpered as Childe slowly lowered you onto his cock. "Nnngh..." The stretch was there, but bearable, and the ridges felt even better than you had imagined. You gasped as his tip pressed against your sweet spot, your cunt clenching around him. Stars fluttered in your vision as Childe finally bottomed out.

Childe let out a rumble of approval as he pressed his palm against your stomach, feeling his cock inside you. You whimpered as a fat hydro tentacle attached itself to your throbbing, needy clit. Two more stuck themselves to your tits.

"C-Childe...?" you whispered. "What are you doing?"

"Hold on, girlie. This is going to be a good ride."

With that, Childe began to pound into you. His thick, hard cock mercilessly abused your cunt, your legs spasming with every thrust as he fucked you. "Oooh—oh fu—ck—ah—MORE—MORE—CHILDE—" His cock was amazing, better than anything you had ever felt.

You screamed as the tentacles began to suck on your clit and tits, the combined pleasure driving you insane. Your clit throbbed, the tentacle tightening around the little bud as Childe's cock reduced you to a sobbing, screaming, begging mess.

"OH—AH—AH—" You shrieked as the tentacles sparked with purple, electricity zipping through your clit. "YES—YES—AHHHH—GONNA CUMMM—"

"You know they can all hear you, right?" Childe rasped in your ear, slowing down as he spoke and purposely missing your sweet spot as you danced on the edge of bliss.

"Shut—up—and—fuck—me—" you gasped, writhing on his cock.

Childe chuckled. "Your impudence will not go unpunished." He picked up his pace again, slamming into your sweet spot as your clit hummed under the tentacle.

You screamed as you came, your back arching, your limbs spasming. Childe fucked you through your orgasm, his grip tightening on you. "Don't even dream of escaping this, girlie."

"No—I—no—" you wailed as the pleasure gave way to overstimulation. You thrashed, trying to throw off the tentacle squeezing your clit. It held on, sucking harder. "No—not again—"

"Shut up and fuck me, I think you said," Childe hissed in your ear, abusing your core. The tentacle pinched your clit, clamping down on it. Electricity surged through the tentacle. "We're not stopping 'til I say so, you hear?" You moaned in response, your body shaking as Childe thrust inside you.

You howled as you came again, creaming all over Childe. "No—no more—please—" Your cunt spasmed, your body helpless as Childe stimulated you again and again. The tentacle wrapped itself around the base of your clit, rubbing every part of it.

You came two more times before Childe suddenly grunted and sped up, his thrusts growing frantic. You babbled incoherently, your mind lost in the grip of another orgasm.

"Hnngh—" Childe snarled as he slammed inside you, your walls shuddering around his length as you came again. You felt his climax exploding inside you, thick, hot cum coating your insides.

The tentacles stopped, slipping off your tired, worn-out, trembling body. He slowly pulled out of your used hole, angling you so that nothing could dribble out of you. Childe smiled, admiring your gaping entrance.

The thick tentacle from before shoved in again, plugging you up. Childe gently laid you on the floor, your legs spasming. He flicked your clit, making your body jolt.

"I think you've finally gotten used to the idea of being my prisoner," he remarked, watching you whimper.

[cloudyfm]

ok yes i’m here with lilia’s info ur resident demon have fun pals<3

family background - yes this is copy pasted myob<3

ya’ll ever read one of those drug ring ao3 fanfics where y/n is dating the sexy drug cartel leader? well that’s their family!

generational family blood money because that’s how cartels work i think. started running + dealing three generations back with their great-grandparents in order for them to make a living. it wasn’t until the so-called business was handed down to their grandparents that they wanted to expand and generate more money. the big pharma cover was created in order for them to manufacture, distribute, and supply at a larger scale. present day, their family name has notoriety with other cartel and mafia families.

basically avery was supposed to take over because he was the oldest right, but lilia did not want that at all. their parents started favoring avery and schmoozing up to him a little bit to get him to say yes (even though avery was fully prepared to give lilia the position) and lilia was like! what the fuck! so she told their parents about this one time that avery accidentally blabbed the family secret to a stranger at a party which broke their one rule of keeping it a secret. their parents wanted nothing to do with him anymore and completely cut avery off and kicked him out of the family.

everyone knows that avery and lilia are siblings, even though they don’t really know the actual details about their past together because avery doesn’t say anything about his family and the cartel is a secret. now that they are both at yale and in the elites together they are just kinda like haha awkward <3 they basically would just tell everyone that they grew apart if other characters tried to pry but also lilia is now telling people that avery fucked up a business decision which is why he left the family and avery is like alright but good luck trying to get other info out of them! xo, the jeongs

personal background

a legacy and a member of the yale's elite, they're twenty-one and a junior undergrad student majoring in pharmacology. they are as zealous as they are vain.

blackmails: and yes ik we only needed 2 i got pressed and stubborn (drugs tw):

blackmailing vanity fair to keep them from speaking negatively about her and her family by dealing to their reporters. she’s more so doing this to protect herself and her brother than her parents.

is aware of annie and violet’s work arrangements with her family’s drug business. she refuses to involve herself by mentioning that the family they work for is hers and is currently turning a blind eye to the questionable tasks that are asked of them.

purposely sent an ex boyfriend to prison when she was 18 due to her being tired of being in a consistently toxic relationship. she set him up to be found with various bags of illicit drugs (of which were owned by her family) and framed him with possession with intent to distribute and supply to garner a felony charge as an adult.

ok moving to present day stuff<3

ever since avery left the family, her parents have basically put immense pressure on her to fill his spot - the spot she wanted, and since her loyalty is with them and herself, she accepted it and did whatever had to be done. she was 16 when it became her job to take over, so whatever parts of her childhood she had left kind of just left when they began to prime her.

at 18, her mom finally revealed to her that avery had the intentions to give her control of the family when she came of age - something that she didn’t know until 2 years after she fucked up ! her guilt eats her alive to this day, but rather than mending her relationship with him personally, she sends him money anonymously through shorting her parents. 

she actually loves being in the elites ... it gives her such a sense of importance whether or not she is considered a legacy. was kind of excited to join actually and frankly that bit her in the ass with the blackmailer out here but its fine.

her college years have frankly been quiet like .. she’s studious to the point she needs to be but she really is not a partier, doesn’t do drugs because she’s seen first hand the shit that her parents are involved in, and barely drinks. when she does she literally doesn’t know how to handle it and fears losing control. literally if you wanna manipulate her this is how u do it lmao.

this is mentioned in the personality section but yes she is in the classics book club at yale ... she loves her classics</3

she’s actually easy to get along with ok just don’t cross her i promise my god im going to lose it

i don’t know im blanking so bad and this is alrdy almost 1500 words i cant do this anymore. UGHGHH more of her personal stuff is in the personality section im heaving

personality

ridiculously cut throat and has no issues stepping on people to get to where she needs to be. like if it came down to saving herself or saving someone else who she doesn’t have a close connection to? she will always pick herself. 

makes a game out of other people one - upping her<3 if she knows she can win, and sometimes even when she can’t, she will purposely cause a problem just to see them fall and grow her own ego.

also will start problems casually and then just sit back and watch them unfold while drinking wine out a mug.

literally ... and i mean literally obsessed with being perceived as beautiful and pretty. she’s so mf vain that it’s actually a problem, and i can promise you if you call her ugly miss girl will cry. this mostly has to do with her self esteem issues and the pressure put onto her by her parents after avery left. yes she did this to herself dni.

loyal only to those who she cares about otherwise they can frankly rot<3 and there are times where she will break that loyalty if it benefits her.

ik this may not be believable but she actually is extremely insecure and anxious deep down lmao like she has such an obsession with proving that she’s the best to her peers and her family that it flat out consumes her consistently. this is what causes her to act out most of the time and if someone was to become close to her it would be plainly evident. yes - she can be soft.

has an overt persona of positivity and carries herself as someone who doesn’t have negative intentions and sometimes makes it hard to believe that she’s actually capable of doing the things that people accuse her of.

yes she is calculating and manipulative and miss girly will look for faults only to make them worse.

she literally wasn’t always like this but when her and avery’s relationship started to fracture, she kind of let her own selfishness consume her.

she plays stupid a lot KLNDFKNDLKFSD  will pretend to be interested in random men in her classes so they will baby her and do shit for her that she could have easily done herself. it’s not that she’s lazy but she’s only studying pharma because of her family. she has an obsession with classical lit and would have rather majored in that if given the chance. 

has a fear of emotional intimacy </3 went through a really toxic relationship from the ages of 16-18 that was basically more done to bring her family and another together for a business deal and it just ... did not end well for her and basically she was treated like shit. literally the only way she could get out of it was to frame him and then bribe people to make sure the felony charge wasn’t dropped. her family doesn’t know she did this so<33333 

statistics

full name: lilia iris jung.

nicknames: lili or lia.

age: 21.

date of birth: august 02, 1999.

siblings: avery ( older brother ).

birthplace: new york city, new york, united states.

current location: new haven, connecticut, united states.

astrological sign: leo sun / capricorn moon / virgo rising.

gender: cis female.

pronouns: she / her / hers.

height: 5′1″.

sexuality: bisexual.

religion: atheist.

piercings: double lobe on her right ear, triple lobe on her left ear, tragus on her right ear, and a helix on both her left and right and ears.

tattoos: this on her inner, right bicep, and this behind her left ear.

haircolor: brunette.

literally for wanted connections i want 2 things: (1) someone to rock her shit bc that is deserved, and (2) idk she’s wearing a mask like 80% of the time so someone who she is close enough to actual b real with :\ if this doesn’t make sense myob im taking a nap

[brightershadows]

Euphorically Honest-- Euphoria, Teenagers, and the Realities in Hardship

OVERVIEW

Euphoria is brutally honest about the hardships of life. Focusing on the stories of a group of teenagers in modern-day California, it navigates through issues of drug addiction, sexuality, masculinity and femininity, violence, and depression. It can be tragic and liberating. But it is honest. Created by Sam Levinson, a screenwriter for Assassination Nation and The Wizard of Lies,  the story reflects on his own experience with drug addiction as a teenager, as well as having a loose basis in an Israeli show of the same name (Stack, 2019). The story follows a group of young people of varying genders, ethnicities, classes, and sexualities, including the drug-addicted narrator Rue, new-to-the-suburbs Jules, Cassie, beautiful but easily manipulated, her kind and easy-going sister Lexi, Kat, who embraces her body type as she gains confidence through sex, Nate, a manipulative and dominating male with control issues, and his girlfriend, Maddy, who battles her self-identity and her reliance on Nate (Levinson, 2019). Euphoria can be seen as overly graphic, or critiqued as too sexual, but its mature nature allows it to unearth the ugly truths about life, living, and loving, and the beauty behind the hardships too. 

EPISODE TWO REVIEW

In “Stuntin Like My Daddy,” Nate discovers his father’s sex tape collection at a very young age, videos of his father having sex with several people. This is where Nate’s disdain male sexual anatomy stems from. Nate quickly becomes infatuated with Maddy. Whether disturbing or romantic, he fantasizes about hurting or killing the person who dares harms her. A series of flashbacks from Rue’s summer shows her consuming various drugs and getting high, fighting with her mom, waking up in the hospital, and singing in the car with her mom and sister, highlighting what she has gone through as well as her relationship with her family. On several occasions, Rue relapses. Reluctantly and unable to say no, she takes a dose of fentanyl. Unaware of the consequences, Jules is called to take care of Rue. Their friendship further develops. Kat learns that an explicit video of her has been posted to a porn website. When the video’s view count continues to grow, Kat is intrigued and signs for a web cam streaming account. Obsessed with Maddy, Nate begins stalking Tyler, Maddy’s most recent hookup. Maddy, still wanting to get back together with Nate, tells him that she was blacked out and did not mean to do what she did. This causes Nate to believe that Tyler had raped Maddy. Furious, Nate breaks into Tyler’s apartment and beats him half to death. At the end of the episode, we learn that the guy Jules has been texting is named Tyler but it actually turns out to be Nate.

Nate Jacobs is the typical football jock, yet he exhibits anger, aggression, and sociopathic behavior. Rue Bennett struggles with her own psyche as she suffers from ADHD, bipolar, general anxiety, BPD (borderline personality disorder), and drug addiction. Jules Vaughan is unapologetically herself, although she seems to seek attention, approval, and sexual relationships from men who are undeserving of her. Maddy Perez is the popular cheerleader who knows she is attractive and she goes after what she wants. She stands up to everybody else except Nate. Kat Hernandez may seem like a side character, the fat best friend, at first, but she finds her confidence grows as an individual. Fez/Fezco is Rue’s main drug dealer. Although he supplies her, he also cares for Rue and does want her to get mixed up with a worst crowd.

Although there are people of color in the show, there could always be more representation of race. Rue and her sister, Gia, are mixed, with a Black mom and a white dad. Maddy is Latina as both of her parents are Latino. Kat Hernandez is also of Latin descent but we do not see much of her parents or family. Every other (main) character in this episode is white, this includes Nate, Jules, and Tyler. This show, and episode, is not particularly making any waves or strides with their representation of race. And with the representation of race that they do have, there is no portrayal of racial identity, culture, or heritage. Jules definitely stands out as she is a transgender woman. She is currently taking hormones and her father and closest friends accept her for who she is. Jules goes on to have sexual encounters with older men as well budding romances with boys her age. Nate is a stark contrast to Jules, with him being set in his heteronormative, gender binary ways. Most, if not all of the characters identify with the gender that they present. The males, Nate and Fez identity as male. The females, Rue, Kat, Jules, and Maddy identify as female. The main characters mainly fall into one of the two binary genders. All of the romantic or sexual relationship aspects in episode 2 revolve around a male and a female, such as Nate and Maddy, or Maddy and Tyler, or even Jules and her mysterious texter (a man). To my knowledge, there is no presence of a non-binary or agender character. Jules, a transgender woman, challenges Nate’s notion of the strict gender binary system.

Euphoria definitely relies on stereotypes because the writers of this show intend on having the characters break said stereotypes. Kat is initially insecure and self-conscious. After she has sex for the first time and the video of the act gets leaked, she redefines herself. Her sexuality blossoms throughout this show as she also begins to have casual sex which normalizing women having and enjoying sex. Kat becomes comfortable with herself by wearing clothes that are considered more edgy, outfits that she would have never worn before. Kat’s character breaks the sexuality stereotype because the media hardly ever sees a plus-sized woman be expressed in a sexually positive light, even though it may not have started out that way. Nate’s character is embodiment of the toxic, cis-gendered white masculinity. He describes the perfect girl as dressing more feminine, acting like a “proper lady,” and overall more “girly” as opposed to “tomboy.” Because he is so uncomfortable with the male sexual anatomy, and even disturbed by how comfortable others are, he may have some issues regarding internal homophobia. Nate does not really defy this stereotype, his character is the epitome of this stereotype. Maddy, a cisgender, heterosexual female, understands the delicate nature of the gender constructed society. She has prioritized Nate and his needs sexually by watching porn in order to mimic what the porn actress does so that she can please Nate. Her sexuality is rarely mentioned, it only rises in conjunction with other boys. Jules’ character as a transgender person challenges the conventional gender roles and constructs. Jules is very comfortable with herself and her sexuality and is proud of who she is.The concept of a non-binary gender system perplexes many people. With the current administration, transgender rights are not protected. In fact, transgender people are continued to be discriminated against. The Trump administration has played a major role in “withdrawing regulatory protections for transgender children in schools, fought recognition of transgender people under federal employment laws, banned transgender people from serving in the military, rolled back protections for transgender people in prisons, and threatened to cut off funding to schools that let transgender girls participate in sports” (Thoreson). Although Jules is able to be who she want to be and live the life that she wants, this may not be the case for many transgender people in the real world outside of the show.

Today people are often quick to criminalize or shun drug users and addicts. They are quick to judge and want the most severe punishment to be given. But medical professionals know that addiction is a very serious disease, one that requires “treatment, compassion, and support” (Siegel). Euphoria attempts to destigmatize and humanize addiction. The legal system should not be punishing people who have abused drugs by putting them into a jail cell where they are isolated from society, instead these people need real help through rehab and various treatments. Due to the fact that Rue had several relapses once she completed her rehab program, one may say that these programs do not work; however there is no singular timeline to get better. It may take weeks, months, or years, and the journey is difficult. But society cannot give up. Social and political reforms concerning drug use/abuse and addiction is very much needed. 

EPISODE THREE REVIEW

In ' Made You Look,' Nate meets Jules on a gay dating app disguised as Shyguy118. Although Nate doesn't identify as gay, Jules reveals being transexual and quickly falls in love with Shyguy118, oblivious to his true identity as a classmate at the same school. Maddy becomes skeptical of Nate and searches through his phone and, in shock, learns of Nate's involvement with a gay dating app and nude sending with Jules. Jules's heightened obsession over the mysterious Shyguy118 leads Jules to agree to meet Nate for the first time in person near a lake at night. While all of this unfolds, Rue, who is Jules's supportive best friend, at first, entertains Jules's fantasies by helping Jules send pornographic images to Nate. However, tension arises when Rue exposes her worries for her best friend and undeniable attraction for her as more than just friends. Unfortunately, Jules did not reciprocate the kiss they shared. This sent Rue spiraling into a frenzy and falling back into the addictive habit of taking pills and getting high, undoing Rue's 60-day clean streak. Embarrassed, Rue runs straight back to Fezco, her drug dealer, in hopes to illegally obtain more drugs to numb the humiliation she felt. Fortunately, Fezco doesn't give in to Rue and shuts the door on her, leaving Rue to look toward Ali, an omniscient man she met at a therapy gathering for drug users to seek guidance.

Kat, a Tumblr fanfiction queen, masks herself while exploring her curiosity for explicit content and webcam streaming. She exposes herself to lingerie and twerking on her account; she agrees to perform a private camera meet with a man who falls in love with Kat's powerful and sexual dominatrix persona. Originally insecure with her weight, Kat eventually learns to embrace her curves and dives into a new and unusual world of femdom. This episode also introduces Cassie. She displays as a bold, open-minded party girl that isn't phased by frat party endeavors. McKay, Cassie's crush, invites her to his frat-hazing event, and they both fall deeply in love with each other, foreshadowing potential problems to come from concupiscence for one another.

This episode involves various races but is primarily white-dominant. Cassie is blonde and white, represented as audacious and open-minded. Maddy is a cis-gender Latina and, in this episode, victimized by Nate, a white playboy who cheats on Maddy. Rue and her sister are a mix from a black mom and a white dad. Despite various races represented, this episode minimally illustrates heritage background and racial and cultural distinctiveness. There are very minimal cultural representations and race diversity besides the racially represented individuals such as Rue, Maddy, Kat, Ali, and Fezco. Although the film is predominantly white race influenced, there is still a general race narration awareness displayed in the show.  

Sexuality representation is a flourishing topic within each episode in Euphoria. Arguably one of the most influential characters in this episode, Rue, a lesbian half black teenager, finds herself falling in love with her openly transgender best friend. This tricky love triangle is demonstrated between Rue caring for Jules while she cares for Nate. Jules is head over heels for her classmate, Nate, who hasn't announced is gay but is chatting with Jules on a gay dating site. Moreover, Nate's girlfriend in this episode, Maddy, is only now beginning to question if Nate is straight like he demands he is.This episode centers around redirecting the audience's view of how a character's sexuality is initially perceived to how each character's sexuality is either nonchanging or questioned and altered due to more self-awareness. For example, Jules, from the beginning, identified as transgender and unchanging while Rue begins to question her sexuality and feelings for her friend after kissing her. Male, female, and non-binary characters speak and act quite differently in Euphoria. Male actors such as Nate, Ali, and Fezco are very much dominant and slightly manipulative in this episode. Nate is a controlling and manipulative character fueled by curiosity and confusion. Ali is a mysterious, omniscient figure who sees past Rue's addiction. Lastly, Fezco shuts Rue out when she almost dies from the drugs he gave her. The females include Maddy, Rue, Jules, Kat, and Cassie. Non-binary characters were not present in this episode; however, Nate being on a gay dating site and taking an interest in Jules knowing her being transgender urges the question of what Nate's sexuality may be. 

Cassie, in this episode, played an essential role in breaking gender profiling stereotypes. When Cassie was at the weekend frat-hazing party with McKay, she stood up to the guys at the party and took a shot of water with a live goldfish in it without hesitation, while McKay was hesitant and wanted to reject the challenge. Cassie taking that shot was significant because she didn't abide by her gender role limitations. Instead, she proved that she could equally compete alongside the frat boys at the party.

Illegal drug use for underage teenagers is very much a political issue. The creator of Euphoria, Sam Levinson, opens up about his struggles with addiction growing up. He talks about how his personal history of drug use as a teenager animated Rue's similar struggles in Euphoria. It's essential to recognize that Rue was not using drugs because of peer pressure but because she was struggling with "obsessive-compulsive disorder (OCD), attention deficit disorder (ADD), general anxiety disorder, and even bipolar disorder" (Health, 2020). Many teens go undiagnosed with disorders like these and spend their teenage years fighting addiction and going to rehab centers, sometimes more than once in hopes of ending the addiction. There are other situations where undiagnosed individuals who don't fall victim to drug addiction still live a life of struggle with their mental illness. Euphoria sheds light on addiction and mental health and de-stigmatizes mental illness, a topic that should be further normalized and empathized with. 

EPISODE SEVEN REVIEW

“The Trials and Tribulations of Trying to Pee While Depressed” tackles a lot of issues. In many ways, this episode is openly candid about the hardships of life and the modern influences of distraction and avoidance. The candor of this episode is heartbreaking, revelating, and so, so real. The episode before the season finale follows multiple characters, including Jules, a trans woman battling confusion about her relationship with her best friend and her changing life; Cassie, a beautiful blonde teenager facing an unplanned pregnancy; and Rue, a drug addicted teenager battling a major low in her depression (Levinson 2019). This episode follows many differing plots that do not intersect in its time; however, at the root of the 59 minutes is the juxtaposition of two teenagers, the structures of family, and the deconstruction of femininity. 

As a whole, this show is unapologetically divergent from the stereotypes of society. It does not hesitate to tackle hard issues, easily addresses controversial issues regarding race, sexuality, and gender, without negating their seriousness. It makes normal the darkness we all battle in our private lives, especially in this episode. In it, characters from all walks of life get a say in the plot. Not only is the narrator and main character a gay Black women in love with her best friend, we also follow the story of Jules, a trans women, and hear from Cassie, a straight cisgender blonde girl who falls victim to the confines of the patriarchy, allowing herself to be sexualized and invalidated as a possession by the men in her life (Johnson, 2014). My only criticisms regarding this episode’s diversity is that there is little male influence or perspective on the storyline, and further, that there is little diversity outside of “black and white.” That is to say, while there are many Black characters given voice to this episode (and, by default many white characters as well), there is little representation of other ethnicities. We do not hear, for example, from the perspective of an Asian-American. That, to some extent, is an area that can be improved as the show continues. 

Earlier I mentioned the juxtaposition at the core of this episode, and I want to dive a little deeper into that. Cassie and Rue are, in many regards, polar opposites. Rue is Black, gay, struggles with drug addiction and is a social outcast. Cassie, in comparison, is blonde and blue eyed, gorgeous, and popular. Rue is an older sister; Cassie is the younger in her family. But this juxtaposition highlights the conditions of the patriarchy that define familial dynamics, such as sisterhood and motherhood, both amplifying and deconstructing those norms. For example, at the end of the episode, Rue and Cassie both go to their moms, the caretakers, for help when they reach rock bottom. Those mothers show up, and they do their job: care. However, at the same time, these mothers have taken up the role of being the breadwinner for the family as well, defying the stereotype of reliance on the male for prosperity and survival. Rue’s mom, however, is portrayed as more successful and put-together than Cassie’s mother, whom we see to be an alcoholic and basically a hot mess. This is contrary to racial stereotypes that typically portray the black community as one falling apart and the white suburban mom as picture-perfect. The gender and racial norms that society and time have produced throughout our history in America are blurred as these two realities are expressed in this show (Scott, 1986).

This episode also attacks femininity. Speaking with her friends from the city, Jules, says, “In my head, it’s like if I can conquer men, I can conquer femininity” (Levinson, 2019). This conquering, or, as Jules later says, obliteration of femininity is addressed throughout the episode. Cassie, conforming to societal expectations, allows herself to be objectified and sexualized by all the men in her life, using that perception of beauty to define her over the course of her life. Rue, on the other hand, does not conform to femininity at all, as we see in the way she dresses, and even the persona of the masculine “detective” she took on in a manic state. These three approaches to femininity contrast each other, as each one represents a different sector of diversity: race, sexuality, and gender identity. 

Euphoria is inherently political. It brings to light the reasons why the personal is political, especially in the midst of an election cycle where the rights of those who don’t conform to societal norms are under threat. This show creates an avenue for those rights and the real people behind those laws to speak and tell their own stories. Not only that, it represents mental illness and drug abuse, revealing the realities of living with these issues and bringing to light the struggles of the individual and their community through addiction and mental health crises. The show helps create empathy; empathy creates connection.  And connection, more than anything else, is something we deeply need right now. 

CITATIONS

Euphoria creator Sam Levinson on his controversial show: 'I hope it opens up a dialogue' [Interview by T. Stack]. (2019, June 16). Entertainment Weekly. Retrieved 2020, from https://ew.com/tv/2019/06/16/euphoria-creator-sam-levinson/.

Health, A. (2020). How HBO’s ‘Euphoria’ Depicts Teenage Drug Addiction Accurately. Retrieved 14 November 2020, from https://amhealth.com/2019/09/25/how-hbos-euphoria-depicts-teenage-drug-addiction-accurately/

Johnson, A. G. (2020). Patriarchy, the System: An It, Not a He, a Them, or an Us. In 1046495481 799935172 G. Kirk & 1046495482 799935172 M. Okazawa-Rey (Authors), Gendered Lives: Intersectional Perspectives (Seventh ed., pp. 62-70). New York, New York: Oxford University Press. (The Gender Knot: Unraveling Our Patriarchal Legacy, (2014))

Levinson, S. (Writer). (2019). Euphoria [Television series]. HBO.

Levinson, S. (Writer). (2019, June 23). Stuntin’ Like My Daddy [Television series episode] In Euphoria. HBO.

Levinson, S. (Writer). (2019, July 28). The Trials and Tribulations of Trying to Pee While Depressed [Television series episode]. In Euphoria. HBO.

Scott, J. (1986). Gender: A Useful Category of Historical Analysis. The American Historical Review. doi:10.1086/ahr/91.5.1053

Siegel, Z. (2019, August 06). Euphoria Doesn't Have a Drug Problem. Retrieved November 12, 2020, from https://www.vulture.com/2019/08/euphoria-hbo-drug-addiction-overdose.html

[neonsentient]

Haikyuu! Rise Above

A ragtag group of students from a school for troubled teenagers forms an unconventional co-ed volleyball team in hopes of proving to themselves that they're more than what people make them to be. With the help of a few loopholes in the rulebook, they'll have the chance to win the gold for what might possibly be the last time in their lives.

Think of it as a spin-off, the Karasuno's first years are now second years, but I will focus on this paticular team.

Warnings: Mentions of drug abuse, underage drinking, self harm, eating disorders, depression, suicide, racial and homophobic slurs. Not all at the same time though.  

Chapter 1: Promising Young People

Amara leaned closer to the toilet as she gagged, throwing up her measly breakfast of tea and apple slices, the only things she could stomach that morning. In an unusual lucky strike, the bathroom she was currently in puking her guts out was empty.  It probably had something to do with the fact that she decided to arrive at the school building an hour earlier, otherwise she would’ve had an audience.

She rose from the floor, wobbling like a newborn fawn, and went to check herself in the bathroom mirror. Her russet skin had an unhealthy pallor to it, her waist-length crow black braids were loose and poorly made and the bags under her eyes could’ve been easily mistaken for bruises. That morning she didn’t even bother to look for her makeup bag in her suitcase.

“First impressions matter, you know?” Her parents would’ve told her. “It’s not every day you get to make them.”

“But I already made mine.” Amara thought bitterly.

She splashed cold water on her face and rinsed her mouth as best as she could.  Now she was regretting not bringing at least some concealer or even chapstick.

“As if that were to make things any better.” A voice hissed from the back of her head. “As if that would…..”

Amara shook her head, bringing herself back as she checked her wrist watch. She was supposed to meet her guide at the entrance. In a normal scenario, she would’ve already known by now where everything in the school was, her classes, the gym, the best spots for a smoke break……

But despite being her second year of high school, it was her first year at Ōkamiyama Alternative Academy. In fact, since most of her education consisted of homeschooling, it was her first time back at school since she was in elementary, period. And unlike many other students who had arrived at least a week earlier, Amara’s messy flight schedule made her arrive only a day before the school started.

One look at the main building and it was clear that the school had a thing for a certain color scheme, or lack thereof, rather, since Amara noticed that all the buildings were either black, white or gray. That and the uniforms, a dreadful combination of a prison concrete gray blazer and pants or skirt with a white shirt and black tie. Luckily, the school didn’t seem to be too strict on the dress code, since she saw several students with all sorts of accessories, shoes and even altered pieces of the uniform.

She decided to play it safe by wearing it plain with a pair of rather sad looking black loafers that had seen better days - an emergency purchase at Target after her suede Jimmy Choo boots fell victim to an unexpected downpour-, and a gray Casio. It's not like she was expecting the sailor tops and blue skirts she saw on TV, but the overall look did leave Amara incredibly disappointed.  

Her guide was a girl called Emine Narisawa, also a second year and in the same class as her. Other than that she didn’t knew anything else. It was still a bit early, so she sat at a bench near the entrance, and to no surprise, it didn’t took long for the stares and whispers to start.

“That’s her, right?”

“Oh, so it was for real?”

“Is it just me, or did she looked taller on TV?

Amara’s vision turned blurry, her eyes curdling with tears. She quickly dug into her bag, pulled out her IPod nano (one of the few devices that the school allowed) and headphones and pressed shuffle, not even paying attention to the song that was playing as she took several deep breaths.

She tried her best to distract herself with anything, yet not even a second later, Amara felt a light tapping on her shoulder. She jolted on her seat, took off her headphones and turned to face the person behind her.

“Ups! Sorry!” A cheery voice apologized. “You’re Amara Murakami, right?

The girl was tall, not as much as Amara, but still taller than the average second year girl, and model-thin, with long hair the dark red of rose petals tied in a high ponytail. A ridiculously big, silvery gray bow sat atop her head. Amara immediately noticed her uniform, or “uniform”; the blazer had been turned into a button vest, the gray skirt was embezzled with black and white rhinestones and she sported a pair of white Adidas sneakers. Amara had bought the same ones just two months ago. A thin, white gold anklet with pea-sized bubblegum-pink sapphires was clasped at her slim ankle.

“My name’s Emine Narisawa, but everyone calls me Emi! Wow, you’re taller than I imagined.” The girl chirped. Her voice had a slight hoarse edge to it, which combined with her super girly perfume, an overly sweet combination of flowers and strawberry, made Amara suspect that she was a smoker and that she probably had a cigarette before the tour. “Welcome to The Den!”

Amara could only raise her eyebrows.

“Get it? Cuss we’re wolves!” The girl pointed at the welcoming banner hanging in the entrance, where a menacing looking gray wolf was painted.

“Right.” Amara nodded, not knowing what else to say. "Umm, thanks?"

The redhead caught her hand in an overly enthusiastic handshake. She had a pretty face, although her cheeks looked a tad bit gaunt, and she wore silver eyeshadow with glitter all over her face and hair. Her tanned skin, a shade lighter than Amara’s, was completely covered with freckles, and her lips were painted a shimmering soft pink.

“Wow, your eyes look super cool!” She said, inspecting Amara’s face. “You’re from America, right? Is one of your parents Japanese?”

“So she hasn’t heard of me.” Amara thought with relief. She then noticed that Emine was waiting for an answer.

“Y-yeah I’m from Massachusetts.” She answered. “Umm, my dad’s Japanese and m-my mom’s Nipmuc.”

The redhead cocked her head in confusion.

“Native American.” Amara explained.

Emine’s licorice black eyes lit up.  

“Cool! So you guys are the ones that make, like, dreamcatchers and stuff?” She asked. There wasn’t a single hint of malice in her voice, just genuine curiosity, but still, it made Amara feel annoyed.  

“Ummm…”

“My Nine was from Turkey,” Emine said. “And they have these Nazar amulets to ward off the evil eye or something. Is it the same thing?”

“I don’t…”

“Anyways, you’ll love it here. It never gets boring!” Emine explained as she leaned uncomfortably close, linking her arm with Amara’s. “Follow me, I’ll take you to our classroom.”

The girls made their way inside the building and all the way through Emine "discreetly" pointed out rooms and people, giving Amara a crash course on the school, the students and teachers.

By the time they reached their classroom, Amara had learned that the captain of the baseball team had just began dating the president of the Student Council, crop tops were back in style, the back of the football field was the best place to smoke and that the guys from the Shōgi club sold the best ketamine during midterms.

"Don't they do drug tests all the time?" Amara asked. She herself had an appointment in the nurse’s office later that night for one.

Emine nodded.

"Yup, but it's a six panel."

It was Amara's turn to be confused once again. She had drug tests done before but she only...provided the sample, she never bothered to ask about the details.

"Weed, coke, speed, benzos, angel dust and opiates. All the mainstream stuff," Emine explained. "Ketamine doesn't show."

“Oh.” Amara said. “I thought there weren’t a lot of drug users in Japan.”

“Oh there are,” Emine said, occasionally waving to the people in the hallway. “And here are some of the ones that got caught.”  

“Good to know?”

Amara thought that drugs were a rare commodity in Japan, but then she remembered where she was….

“So…” The redhead began, pulling Amara out of her thoughts. “How are you liking the dorms so far?”

“They’re cool.” Amara replied in a monotone voice. “My roommate hasn’t showed up yet, though.”

“Oh yeah, I heard she’s busy with some family stuff.” Emine pointed out.

“So you know her?” Amara inquired. “What’s she like? I mean, personality wise.”

Emine scrunched up her face, trying to find the right words.

“Well, she’s a bit of a…..

“Bitch!” A voice yelled from the other side of the hallway.

A girl walked towards them with a rhythmic and intense stride that made Amara think she was going to do a handspring or cartwheel at any second. She was gorgeous, what people would call a “Bombshell”, with sun tanned skin as if she had spent an entire summer at the beach, and a long mane of sandy blonde waves styled in the same way as Emine; a high ponytail with a bow on top, though hers was black. Her dark teal eyes had a gleam that Amara could only describe as “keen”.

The girl faced directly at the redhead with a quasi indignant look. Amara noticed that her look was very similar to Emine's; the embezzled skirt and altered blazer, shimmery eyeshadow and glitter sprinkled all over her face and hair.

"I can take a couple missed calls but ignoring me the whole summer was just mean!" She said, giving the redhead an angry look.

Emine looked saddened.

"I'm sor…..”

Before the redhead could finish the blonde interrupted her with a big hug.

"I've been worried sick! Even a "Don't text me" would've been enough!" She cried, clinging to Emine's neck. "Never do that again, got it?"

Emine's expression eased as she returned the hug.

"Never again."

If there was something worse than being a third wheel Amara sure was being just that at the moment.

The girls broke their hug and a pair of teal eyes immediately fell on Amara. They weren't menacing, just, observing her. The blonde was significantly shorter than Amara and Emine, but her presence felt more….. imposing. Even with the uniform, Amara could see the outline of muscle on her legs and arms.

"Oh!" Emine exclaimed, as if she had just remembered that Amara was there, and gestured towards the blonde. "Amara, this is Erika Sawai, captain of the cheer squad.

“Now it makes sense,” Amara connected the dots as she looked at both Emine and the blonde. The perky attitude, the lithe build, and even the bows. “They’re cheerleaders.”

“And Erika, this is….."

"Amara Murakami," Erika said, capturing Amara's hand in a firm handshake. "Rumour mill went that you were gonna end up here. But for future reference, I wouldn't trust anything they say around here. It tends to be a little….unreliable."

"Umm, sure" Amara said. She wasn't sure how to react to that. "I-I'll keep that in mind."

“My, my,” Erika leaned a bit closer. Amara caught the scent of the blonde's peach blossom perfume.  “What pretty eyes you have.”

“Uh, thanks.” Amara muttered.

"Oh, I know!" Emine perked up with an “Eureka!” type of expression. “Since I can’t join you guys for lunch why don’t you go with Amara to the cafeteria, Erika?”

Amara felt incredibly awkward. Day one and she was already being ditched by the one person that was supposed to be with her.

“Sure.” Erika shrugged, a smirk appearing on her face. “I love fresh meat.”

Amara gulped. Why did spending a couple hours with a cheerleader, a really pretty one to boot, made her more nervous than stepping into a court filled with professional players?

Then the bell pulled her out of her thoughts.

“Come on, Amara!” Urged Emine. The redhead turned quickly and gave Erika one last hug before entering the classroom. “And see you later Erika!”

Erika waved them goodbye before making her way to her classroom.

Their first classes; English, Math, Japanese literature and Science seeped through Amara’s brain like water on a strainer. Luckily none of her teachers made her introduce herself to the class so far.

But on the other hand, she couldn’t help but notice the “subtle” whispers and looks from her classmates.

A few minutes after the bell rang they found Erika already outside. Emine apologized to Amara, promising to be back as soon as lunch was over and making quick plans with Erika to catch up later in the day before she made her way into an unknown destination. Amara was tempted to ask, but at the same time she told herself that she knew better than prying on someone else’s business.

She exited the classroom and was immediately greeted by Erika’s sly smile.

“Long time no see, Sugar.”

Amara gave her a tight smile as they walked towards their destination.

_________________________________________________________________________

The principal was a firm believer that a healthy diet was key to a healthy mind, therefore, the school’s vending machines only offered water, organic soy milk, sugar-free drinks, fruit and protein bars.

There were two cafeterias, but Amara was told upon arrival that she only had access to one of them. There, most of the menu items were either boiled, steamed or baked and it also had an all-you-can-eat salad bar and a drink station where one could get teas, coffees, smoothies or juices. Amara thought it was a sharp, yet nice, contrast with her old elementary school’s cafeteria choices of cardboardy pizza, dry meatloaf and congealed mac 'n' cheese.  

Amara silently wondered what was the deal with the other cafeteria as she took a spoonful of miso soup.

“Liking the food so far?” Erika asked, placing her tray opposite to Amara's. She had a bowl brimming with a colorful salad of greens, pecans, apples and fennels, a plate of spiced tofu and two cups; one filled with a pale orange drink and the other with a beige colored liquid. She handed the beige one to Amara. " Here, try this."

She had told Erika that her stomach was feeling a little odd (yet not the reason as to why), so Amara trusted that anything she had given her wouldn't kill her on the spot. She took a sip and despite the unappetizing color the flavour was delicious; sweet, creamy yet not too heavy, and with the aftertaste of almonds. It felt nice on her tender stomach.

"Wow," Amara said, pleasantly surprised. "What's this?"

Erika winked and smiled. For a second, it reminded Amaran of someone else's smile.

"My Mama calls it the Jitter Killer." She explained, her voice emitting a hint of nostalgia. "She's been making them for me ever since I started competing. But once I got here I had to start making them myself."

"It's really good!" Amara complimented, taking another sip. She then thanked her, wholeheartedly. Gestures like those literally made her day a thousand times less shitty.

"Any time, Sugarcube." She chuckled, and then leaned towards her with a curious expression. "But do tell. How is a first day of school more intimidating than stepping into a court filled with three meter sized Amazonians?"

Amara lowered her face and blushed. She only told her that she wasn’t feeling good, she never told her the reason.

"Is it really that obvious?"

"You look exactly how I did on the day of my first competition." Erika recalled. "I believe I was around six?"

"What?" Amara said. "Do cheerleaders really start that young?"

"Yup." Erika nodded. "Especially in the States. They love their cheers there, let me tell ya."

"You're from there too?"

"Mama's from Texas" The blonde said. "So it’s always been half and half until now. We still go for the holidays though, they’re much more fun there."

"Sounds cool. I'm from Massachusetts, and I've only been in Japan like twice….until now."

The atmosphere suddenly became grim, and Amara felt her breath hitch. Erika's hand reached for hers.

"Hey." Emiki said, her voice serious. "I know you probably heard this enough but...I'm really sorry for your loss."

Amara's eyes began to curdle with tears.

"You're actually one of the only ones to tell me that."

Then she broke into sobs.

"S-sorry." Amara tried to apologize. Last night she had cried herself to sleep in her dorm, clutching a pair of worn out volleyball shoes, not even bothering to unpack, she just wasn’t in the mood for anything but crying. And there she thought that she had cried everything last night…...

Erika bolted from her seat and to her side, placing her hands on Amara's shoulder in a comforting manner.

"Oh, Honey Bee." She said. "Don't you dare apologize for your feelings ever again. You better promise me that"

Amara sniffed and nodded.

"You wanna talk about it?" Erika asked, the way a mother would when trying to comfort her child.

"I….

"There you are!" A voice interrupted. "We've been looking for you everywhere, morra!"  

Amara and Erika both turned and looked. There were three girls, each one different from the other. They were around the same height but that was where the similarities ended. One had brown skin, long glossy black hair in a single thick braid tied with a gray bow and umber brown eyes traced with glittery makeup. A gold stud glinted in her nose. The other had bronze skin, waist-length chocolate colored hair with a gray bow atop and eyes like two yellow tourmalines. On her face was a red lipped, wicked dimpled smile, like a kid who’d just finished pulling up a prank. The third one was a bit meek looking, with rosy white skin, a cloud of short strawberry blonde hair with a white bow on top and soft green eyes. She fidgeted with her hands and seemed ready to throw up at any second. Amara immediately felt a bout of compassion towards her.

“It’s lunch time, where else would I be?” Erika asked with a confused expression.

“Good point.” The brown haired girl said. She took a sip from the giant coffee cup in her hand. “Can we join you?”

Erika gestured at the empty seats.

The black haired girl looked at Amara up and down, from her messy braids and puffy red eyes to the plain black loafers.

“First time here?” She asked her as she sat.

Amara nodded and noticed their outfits; skirts embroidered with flowers and crystals, Miu Miu sneakers and Birkin bags. How she wished she had her new Air Jordans with her….

“Aww! I remember my first day as if it was yesterday.” The brown haired girl sighed.

The black haired girl furrowed her brow.

“Didn’t you threw up from withdrawal?”

“It was from a hangover, not withdrawal! They’re like two different things!” The brown haired girl corrected, indignant.

Erika cleared her throat, making the three girls turn their heads at her.

“Amara, these are my friends and members of the cheer squad.” Erika explained.

She pointed at the black haired girl.

“This is Kumari Hanan, our best flyer.”

Kumari gave Amara a small nod.

“This is Ximena Otakara, our dance expert and choreographer.”

“And future celebrity, don’t forget that.” The brown haired girl added with a wink.

Erika rolled her eyes and then pointed at the strawberry blonde girl.

“And this is our newest addition to the team, Kara Tamada”

Kara gave Amara a timid smile and wave.  

“Kumari is a third year like me, Ximena’s a second year like you, and Kara is a freshman.” Erika explained and then gestured at Amara. “Girls, this is Amara Murakami, please don’t torture her.”  

“A la madre! ” Ximena looked at her, surprised. “Wicked eyes, girl!”

Amara lowered her gaze and mumbled an empty thanks. If there was something she was used to at that point in her life, was of people making comments about her eyes.

"Sectoral heterochromia." Were the doctor's oficial words.

"Stained glass eyes." Her friends often called them.

"Woodland eyes." Her grandfather had called them. "Brown for the soil, black for the stone and green for the life."

"You carry your land within your eyes, Amara." He told her once. "You will never be lost."

“If only that were true.” Amara couldn’t help but think.

But then she saw Ximena’s eyes squinting in concentration.

“No mames, I’ve seen you before!” She said, proud of her discovery. “You’re that volleyball chick!”

“Holy shit, you’re right.” Kumari joined.

Amara’s stomach plummeted and her face paled, which Erika noticed.

“Damn it you two, what did I just say!?” The blonde scolded. Her tone was the same one Amara’s mom used when reprimanding her. “Hope you’re in the mood for running suicides today!”

"What? Why?" Ximena and Kumari cried.

"That's okay, Erika." Amara reassured her. "It's not like it's a secret, anyway."

“See? We have the Ok.” Ximena said, earning a murderous gaze from Erika.

Then an awkward silence filled the table.

“So…” Kumari began, taking a sip of her purple smoothie. “You’re joining the volleyball team?”

In Ōkamiyama, all students were required to join a school club or association, and from looking at the list that came with the welcoming pamflet, there seemed to be quite a lot, from embroidery and cooking to horse riding and rock climbing. There were even some odd ones like “The Cheese Connoisseurs Association” and “Apocalypse Survival Prepping Club”. And there were also the typical sports clubs like baseball, basketball, football* and of course, volleyball.

She didn’t wanted to give up volleyball, but the wound was still so fresh it still bled…...

“I-I don’t know.” She mumbled. “I’m still not sure. I have a week, don’t I?

“Yeah, of course.” Erika reassured her. “And if you need more time, you can ask the therapist for an extension.”

Amara had completely forgot about the therapist.

In a normal school, a counselor was usually available for students if they wished so, but here it was mandatory to have individual one hour weekly therapy sessions,and once she joined a club, group therapy would also become obligatory. Amara’s first session was scheduled for Sunday.

“Yeah, don't sweat it!” Ximena said.

“Isn't Emi also joining the volleyball team?” Kumari inquired.

Amara raised an eyebrow.

“I thought she was a cheerleader.” She asked, looking at Erika.

“Emphasis on was.” Ximena sighed.

“And not just that, she was...is...the best tumbler in the prefecture.” Kara explained in a soft voice.

“Really?” Amara asked, she knew from somewhere that tumbler meant acrobat, basically a gymnast with a mini skirt instead of a leotard. “Then why did she quit?”

Ximena, Kumari and Erika looked at each other.

“She didn’t told you?” Kumari asked.

“Tell me what?” Amara looked at Erika for guidance.

“Okay that’s enough.” The blonde’s face had a not so subtle hint of worry. “That’s not for us to talk about, I’m sure that in time Emi will tell you all about it.”

Amara certainly felt a bit pained for being left out, but it was someone whom she literally just met, so she concluded that she had no right to be upset either.  

Kara must’ve sensed the tense atmosphere and quickly asked some questions about the cheer squad. There were many terms that Amara did not understood, but she soon became fascinated. The cheerleaders at the games Amara played in danced around and cheered (duh!) but the way Erika and the others talked about the work plan for their squad it was clear that they did more than that.

“Hey, why don’t you join the squad?” Erika suggested.

“We do need more tumblers.” Kumari pointed out.

“Yeah.” Ximena agreed. “How are your back handsprings?”

“Ummm...nonexistent?”  Amara admitted, although the idea did sound nice. “I do have a mean cartwheel, though.”

The girls chuckled.

“Okay, maybe we can help you find another club if volleyball and cheerleading won’t do it for ya.” Erika smiled and stood, walking towards a notice board and taking a poster version of the clubs and associations list.

“Let’s see then.”

They tried to summarize each club as best as they could, counting the pros and cons and telling her about the people in them.

“What’s the Wolf Kingdom Club?” Amara asked, slightly amused by the odd names.

Everyone grunted, which Amara took as a bad sign.

“That’s the historical reenactment club.” Erika said. “They do everything medieval, and I mean everything.”

“Except dying from the plague.” Kumari muttered.

“So that’s a no?” Amara inquired.

“Depends.” Ximena said. “Do you like dancing with seven layers of clothing on and churning your own butter?”

“Pass.” Amara said.  

And so they spent the rest of the lunch break going over the list in hopes of finding something for Amara, but nothing seemed to catch her attention. Kara spoke on occasions whenever she felt in danger of being forgotten.

By the time the bell rung, they’ve managed to narrow it down to the basketball team and the basket weaving club. She had the height and the jump for the first one and the skills for the last one.

“If you change your mind, you should go with Emi to the tryouts after school.” Erika reminded her as they walked towards Amara’s classroom.

She nodded weakly, lost in thought.

Erika sighed and tapped her shoulder, making their eyes meet.

“Look, I don’t know a lot about volleyball, but I do know that it shares something in common with cheerleading.”

Amara arched an eyebrow. Then, Erika grabbed her hands, the blonde's lightly tanned skin clashing with Amara's russet complexion. Their eyes met, and Erika’s had one of the most serious expressions Amara had ever seen.

“Jumps are the most thrilling part, as well as the hardest.” She said. “When we jump, we don’t take steps back, not even to gain momentum. It’s always forwards, full force.”

Amara had so many questions about those words, yet she didn’t ask. Was it fear or confusion that stopped her? She didn’t knew. But for a moment she was sure the girl was saying that there was only one way to go.

Forward.

[probably-not-star-lord]

How to Get the Girl (Peter Quill x reader x Thor)

A/N: I received this request a really long time ago so I would like to emphasize that this is going to take place before Infinity War and NOT after Endgame. This fic will not be the same as the scene from Infinity War but it will be pretty similar. Also, I’m sorry if you’re a hardcore Thor stan, but the reader is going to pick my boy Peter Quill over Thor.

Request: i want an avengers imagine where Star-Lord and Thor are both fighting over the reader and they keep flirting with her and she’s torn between them, constantly going to rocket to talk to him about all of it ? Just tons of fluff!! Thanks girly!! ❤️❤️

(I lowkey changed this request up a bit because I made it more angsty than fluffy so I apologize for that but I hope you like it anyway)

Summary: Two men in your life seem to be fighting over you. One of them is Peter Quill, your best friend in the whole world and the other is Thor, a man who randomly crashed onto your spaceship. So, will you choose legendary outlaw Star-Lord or the God of Thunder?

Warnings: swearing, fluff, angst

-

Thor landed on the Milano only mere moments ago and it is already like he is making himself at home. After crashing into the ship and making brief introductions, he gets right to work. The brawny man sifts through most of the belongings that the rest of the Guardians own and begins searching vigorously for something to eat. He mumbles to himself about his home or a hammer or something while the team just gives him dumbfounded looks. You aren’t used to random visitors like this.

“What do you think of this guy?” Peter leans over and asks you. His arms are crossed over his chest and he nods towards Thor with an eye roll.

You shrug. “He seems okay, I guess.”

“Okay? He seems okay?” Peter scoffs. “Y/N, he is going through our stuff and insulting us.”

“Do not doubt the beautiful, muscular man, Quill,” Drax states.

Rocket waltzes between the two of you and kicks Peter in the shin. He winces slightly at the pain. “Show him some respect!” 

“First of all, OW,” Peter says. “Second of all, he doesn’t deserve any respect if he thinks he can just come in here and steal our shit without listening to us. This dude is essentially saying ‘fuck you’ to my leadership over the team.”

“I don’t mind him being here,” Rocket declares. “And since when are you our leader?”

“Since always!” He shouts, his annoyance growing by the second. “This is my ship in case you forgot. You’re supposed to be listening to me.”

Rocket laughs an obviously fake laugh. “That’s a joke. If anyone is the leader of this ship it’s gotta be me.”

Gamora rolls her eyes at the two idiots and steps forward to get a closer look at Thor, who continues to rummage through cabinets and drawers. “Can both of you please stop? I’m more concerned over the fact that we have a stranger on our ship than who is the one giving orders on it.”

“She’s referring to me,” Peter mumbles under his breath angrily.

Rocket snickers. “I think you mean that she is referring to me.”

“Shut up!” You yell. Both of them remain silent. “Gamora is right. We need to deal with the man on our ship instead of having the same fucking argument over and over again.”

“You’re right, Y/N. I was thinking exactly that,” Peter agrees, approaching you. “We should-”

“This one shows promise,” Thor interrupts. You turn around to notice he is standing right behind you, his large figure towering over your body. “If there is anyone on this ship that demonstrates leadership, it is this fine, young lady here.”

You blush. “Well, thank you, Thor.”

“You do not need to show your gratitude, Lady Y/N, as I was only speaking the truth. Everyone else on this ship appears to be a moron, except for you and your green friend.” He smiles brightly at Gamora.

“Hey, let’s get one thing straight,” Peter scolds. “There ain’t nobody on this ship that’s a moron.”

“That’s right,” Rocket defends, smirking triumphantly.

Thor studies Rocket for a moment and then grins. “My apologies, morons, the rabbit also demonstrates intelligence.”

“Rabbit?” Peter questions.

Rocket hollers in celebration, ignoring the rabbit comment. “Now you’re starting to make sense.”

“What exactly are you doing here, Thor?” You inquire.

“I have just come from Earth where I was fighting off large armies of intruders in order to save that planet from destruction for what was most likely the hundredth time. My work colleagues down there often need my help because nothing they can do can compare to being the God of Thunder,” Thor brags.

“You’re the God of Thunder?” Rocket repeats it to the group more than asking it as a question.

“Yes and I need to return to Asgard, which is where I’m from, but my friend Heimdall did not open the Bifrost for me. I found that rather odd so I decided to fly up to space using this..” He holds out his hand and a large hammer attracts to it. Thor grips the hammer and spins it around in his grasp a few times with a cocky grin. “...and now I am wandering space hoping to catch a ride home.”

“Uh, does anybody have any idea what this guy just said?” Peter asks.

“Thor needs to get back to his home planet, Asgard, and he is wondering if we will give him a ride,” Gamora explains.

“No, absolutely not,” Peter insists. “He ain’t staying.”

Rocket rolls his eyes at Peter. “All of those in favor of giving Thor, the fucking God of Thunder, a ride to the ass planet he’s from, raise your hand.”

Your gaze falls upon the rest of the Guardians as you watch most of them raise a hand. Rocket, Drax, and Gamora all raise a hand. To your surprise, Mantis does not raise a hand, most likely because she doesn’t understand or she’s not paying attention. Obviously, Peter doesn’t even flinch as he stands completely still. All of their eyes land on you. You’re the tiebreaker.

“Lady Y/N, I must say that I have been to numerous worlds and you are by far the most gorgeous woman I have seen in all of the realms.” Thor flirts, causing a smile to rise to your lips. Peter looks to you and shakes his head, but you ignore him.

Slowly, you raise your hand. The team cheers and Rocket mentions he can fly the ship to Asgard if Thor gives him general direction. All of them run off to the flight deck to learn more about Thor as you hear him began to share extravagant stories about Asgard and fighting on Earth. He has to explain at first that Earth is what all of you know as Terra. Everyone admires Thor as he goes on and on about his life. The only people left in the hallway are you and Peter.

“You really want that dude to stay here? On our ship?”

Your gaze falls to the floor. “He doesn’t seem so bad. I like him.”

Peter furrows his eyebrows and stares you down. “What you like is his stupid, blonde hair and his unreasonably big muscles.”

“What are you, jealous?”

“So what if I am?” Peter shouts. “Thor just waltzes into the Milano one day and all of a sudden the whole fucking team is in love with him. All of you sided with him over me, who is your commander despite what Rocket says, and I’m not allowed to be upset about it?”

“No, Peter, I mean are you jealous that he was flirting with me?”

“Maybe,” he mutters. “I don’t get how that’s relevant to this conversation.”

“It’s fucking relevant because the only reason you don’t want to help out Thor is that you’re worried I’ll like him more than you,” you argue.

“You think I care if you fall for that guy instead of me?” Peter gestures to the flight deck angrily. “I don’t give a shit who you want to fuck, even if it’s a random stranger that’s been on the ship for two fucking seconds.”

“Listen to you! Now you’re putting words into my mouth!” You scream. “Why are we even fighting over this in the first place? Thor is going to be gone soon after we take him back to his home.”

“We’re fighting over this because you sided with Thor over me when I’m your best friend who has always been there for you. You sided with a stranger just because he’s hot and flirted with you!”

“I sided with Thor because you’re acting like a jealous idiot!” You spit. “Thor is being nice to me and he obviously means well. He deserves to get back to Asgard and it doesn’t matter that we’re helping him get there. So, sorry that I sided with Thor because-”

“Because why?” Peter pushes. “Because he complimented you? Because he flattered you into letting him stay?”

“No, that’s not-”

“Newsflash, Y/N, not everyone needs to be the fucking God of Thunder in order to know that you’re the greatest girl in the entire galaxy.” Peter snarls and then storms off to his sleeping quarters, slamming the door behind him. 

After he walks away, you feel a pang of guilt. He was right, Peter has been your loyal, best friend ever since the Guardians were formed. He’s always been there for you and sided with you no matter what. Over the past few years, you’ve developed feelings for him. The rest of the team knows and you’re almost certain Peter knows as well. He often flirts with you which leads you to believe that the two of you could be more than friends, but you also are aware of the fact that Peter Quill is a known flirt. Now that he practically just confessed to feeling the same way, all of it became much more confusing and you can’t help but regret not having his back this time.

Peter protected you during the prison break when the Guardians first met.

Peter saved your life when you fought Ronan.

Peter chose life with you over life being a God with his father.

Peter stood up for you in every argument the Guardians have had.

Peter helped you escape from unwanted men at bars numerous times.

Peter is your best friend and no one can compare to him. Especially not a random Asgardian crashing on the Milano.

You start to head towards Peter’s quarters when someone stops you. Unsurprisingly, it’s Thor. “Lady Y/N, may I have a word with you?”

“Of course,” you respond with a smile.

Thor pulls you aside and leads you to the table in the main area of the ship. It is almost as if he doesn’t know you live here, walking you to the spot and pulling your chair out for you. The two of you take a seat and Thor leans over the table with his elbows propped up on the surface. He is awfully close to you and you’re unsure how that makes you feel. You study his face. Thor has such gorgeous, chiseled features and bright, blue eyes that you could get lost in. He’s tall, muscular, and attractive. The man is a God, but does he compare to Peter in your eyes?

“I want you to know that what I said earlier was not just to sway you into allowing me to stay,” he says. “I truly find you to be wonderful.”

You smile weakly. “I appreciate that Thor, but I-”

“Forgive me, I know we only just met and I am being rather forward but I know I won’t be staying long on your ship.” You lean in closer to Thor and listen to what he has to say. “I felt connected to you the moment I first laid eyes on your beautiful face and I believe something brought me to this specific ship. I think that something is you.”

“Thor...”

“I want you to come back to Asgard with me,” he blurts. “It would only be for a short while in order for us to get to know one another better, but if you happen to fall for me, we could certainly make arrangements for you to stay in my kingdom indefinitely.”

“Kingdom?” Your eyes nearly bulge out of your head at his statement.

“Oh, I must have forgotten to mention that I am also the King of Asgard.”

You laugh at his statement and Thor chuckles as well. He really does have it all and you admire his perseverance with you, but he’s not Peter. “I think you’re great, Thor, I really do. It’s just that I’m kind of with someone else, sort of.”

“I understand. You’re in love with the moron who believes he rules over this ship, aren’t you?”

“I am,” you state. “You’re absolutely right that he’s a total moron, but I can’t help how I feel, you know?”

Thor tucks a strand of hair behind your ear as his blue eyes bore into yours deeply. “Believe me, Lady Y/N, I know.”

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” Peter interjects, his face red with frustration.

“There’s the moron now!” Thor chants.

“Peter, it’s not what it looks like.”

“She’s right, we were actually talking about you.”

Peter groans and puts a hand up to Thor. “Save it, God of nobody gives a shit.”

“Peter, be nice, Thor is just trying to help,” you defend. “I don’t give a fuck what Thor is doing especially now that I know it’s you that he’d like to be doing,” he says. “I actually came out here to apologize and to you tell you how fucking in love with you I am, but I see you that you wouldn’t want to hear it.”

Peter storms back off to his room as you sit at the table with your eyes filling with tears. You clearly hurt Peter and that is the last thing you would ever want to do. Thor places a comforting hand on your shoulder as he lets you cry it out for a couple of minutes. Some time passes before he eventually speaks up.

“I sincerely apologize, Y/N. I never meant to come between you and your love.”

You pat Thor’s arm. “It’s all right, Thor, it wasn’t you. Peter and I have never been very honest about how we feel and it was only a matter of time before one of us got so jealous that we got hurt.”

“I am almost certain that the two of you will work it out,” Thor reassures. “He seems to love you an awful lot. I am sure he will understand.”

“Thank you, Thor. I’m sorry about everything you had to put up with today. I bet there are plenty of women dying to be with the God of Thunder. You’ll meet someone new on Asgard way better than me.”

Thor brushes it off. “Of course, Lady Y/N. I should have known there was already a man madly in love with you. Now, go get him.”

Thanking Thor one last time, you head toward Peter’s quarters. You’re about to knock but you hesitate at the door. You decide to give him some more time to cool off, knowing Peter is so stubborn he won’t believe you or listen to you right away anyway. Retreating to your own room, you fall onto your bed and sleep the day off. Meeting Thor and arguing with Peter was extremely stressful and resting for a while is exactly what you need to recover from the annoyance of having too many men on the ship trying to get with you.

Sleeping is only a luxury for so long, however, as Rocket comes barging into your room only a few hours after you drift off. You groggily whine to him about how he’s an asshole for disturbing you from your sleep, but he ignores your remarks.

“What the hell is going on with you and Quill?”

You raise an eyebrow. “You know about that?”

“We all know about that, Y/N, you’re not exactly great at hiding your feelings for the jerk,” he laughs. “Besides, I saw the two of you being dramatic and I told him to get his fucking act together. I said if he wants the girl he’s gotta go after her. He listened to me, but he still seemed pissy. So, what happened today?”

“Well, Thor being here and flirting with me made Peter kind of jealous so we got into a big fight. Then Thor basically asked me to move to Asgard with him so-”

“Wait, wait, wait!” Rocket stops you. It feels like you’ve been interrupted every time you’ve tried to speak today. “Thor wanted you to go back to Asgard with him?”

“Yeah.” Rocket cackles at your statement. He can barely breathe he is laughing so hard. “Is that so hard to believe?”

“Yes,” he answers. “You and Quill have been wanting to fuck each other since the beginning of time and then all of a sudden a random God wants to be with you? And you’re still in love with the idiot in the next room?”

You glare at the raccoon. “Can you take this seriously, please? I need your help with this.”

“Y/N, I’ve known you and Quill for a few years now. No matter how annoying he is and no matter how much better than him you are, the two of you belong together,” he says sincerely. “It’s just fucking science or fate or whatever it’s called.”

“Thanks, Rocket.” You mess with the fur on the top of his head. “I was really torn there for a while. I’m glad you helped me figure out what to do.”

“No problem, it’s what I do.” Rocket jumps off of your bed and heads out the door. He shakes his head and mumbles to himself on the way out. “Torn between Quill and a God.”

“Hey!” You hear a familiar voice bellow down the hall. “You’re forgetting that I’m part God too.”

“You wish you were still part God!” Rocket retaliates.

Peter enters your room and quietly shuts the door behind him. “Can you believe that raccoon? What a dick.” Both of you laugh as he takes a seat on your bed beside you. “Hey, I’m really sorry about earlier.”

“It’s okay,” you tell him. He places one of his large, warm hands on top of yours.

“But, it’s not okay, Y/N,” Peter continues. “I was totally out of line and I let my jealousy get the best of me. If you want to be with Thor and go back to ass world with him then you should do that.”

“Asgard,” you correct with a chuckle.

“Whatever, I don’t care,” Peter snickers with you. “The only thing I care about is if you’re happy.”

You place a hand on the back of his neck, your fingers creeping up into his light brown locks. Pulling his face forward, you smash your lips onto his. He gives into the kiss immediately. The kiss is passionate and sweet, making up for the silly argument the two of you had earlier. Reluctantly pulling away, you press your forehead against his. “Peter, you make me happy.”

He smiles, his green eyes looking into yours with such kindness. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too, Peter Quill.”

“It’s about damn time!” Rocket yells. “I told you that you’d get her, Quill.”

The next morning you and the rest of the Guardians arrive on Asgard. Thor collects his belongings, along with some of the things he stole from the Milano and gets ready to depart. He comes up to you and grins widely. “It was lovely to meet you, Lady Y/N.”

“And you as well, Thor.” Peter places an arm around you, showing Thor his place. It’s nice knowing that after all these years of misunderstood feelings and bickering about jealousy, you are finally Peter Quill’s girl.

“Yeah, hopefully, we’ll see you around,” Peter states. Thor walks over to Rocket and Peter chuckles. “Not,” he whispers in your ear. You lightly hit him in the stomach for being rude. His response is to plant a sloppy kiss on your cheek. 

“I get that the two of you are finally happy but I hate that you’re going to be together as a couple now,” Rocket says. “It’s disgusting.”

“I think it’s quite nice,” Thor beams, patting Rocket on the head. “Maybe we will meet again, rabbit.”

“Maybe,” he agrees happily.

“Farewell, morons.”

permanent taglist: @lolabean1998 @thisismysecrethappyplace  @crazystarlady @gloomybisexualemo @yougottalovefandoms

marvel taglist: @verkyun

peter quill taglist: @quillxgrady

[gracevilliers]

Blood of my blood, Part 2 || Grace & Yamina

Yamina woke up first, if only because she was attuned to this. As a human she always woke up when dawn broke; as a vampire she habitually woke at dusk. She opened her eyes to find the Huntress - the Huntress no more still cradled against her chest. The blonde creature looked pale, paler than usual when she'd been mortal. A pang of sorrow and grief shot through Yamina's tired frame as she stroked her fledgling. All the pain and grief she'd felt losing her other children now poured directly into this one. Her new child. And Yamina realized then as she touched the golden hair that Grace Villiers was not just her only child now, but she would be her last. No more progeny after this one. Yamina would dedicate the rest of her immortal life doting on Grace and Grace alone.

Yamina In one way it was still partly revenge. To give this ex-Hunter everything a vampire had to offer as her Sire. To treat her with the utmost attention and groom her to become a perfect specimen of vampirism. To make her Hunter family and everyone who knew Grace for her vampire-slaughtering skills and tracking abilities, feel grief and mourning. Because in their human eyes, Grace Villiers the proud Hunter, was now an abomination. A beast who needed to be put down. Nothing more than the monsters she took pride in killing. Now she was the one they had to kill. Yamina hoped it would shatter their miserable, wretched beating hearts.

There was a knock on the bedroom door and a skinny old man entered, pausing in shock at the damage in the bedroom, at Yamina out of her coffin and holding an Englishwoman. "Mistress, is everything alright?" the thrall asked, bowing and servile in his concern. Yamina nodded. "Yes boy," she replied, although the man was almost 65. "Did you bring food?" The old man nodded and dry-washed his hands, scampering back out and returning with three different people, all tied and blindfolded and scared. One was a young woman from the Far East; the other a teenaged boy; the third was a burly pale red-headed man. Yamina looked at them and the pointed one finger towards the adult man. "Him. Is he from one of the prison ships?" The thrall nodded proudly, knowing he'd chosen well when Yamina smiled. "Leave him and return the others. My child will be waking up soon."

It felt like awakening from a dream. Slow and groggy, the world coming into view around Grace with a dim greyness. Her body ached, though in her barely conscious state, she couldn't consciously understand the reasons for it just yet. Half from the battle, and half from her transition. She was heavy-eyed and heavy-souled, as if her body carried the weight of what had been done to her before her mind could piece it together. Grace awoke, limbs languid and stiff, but immediately taut and tense when she realized someone was holding her. How ironic that such gentle and loving hands should have done such violence to her. She struggled, pulling away and scrambling to her feet. The room stank, she realized, her enhanced, starving senses picking him out. Like human. "What the bloody hell did you do to me?" Grace spat, knowing the answer before the words had even left her lips.

Yamina rose gracefully and seemingly with a lack of effort (although it did take some effort). "I think you know, Grace," Yamina replied. She straightened her gown and went to pick up her coat, pulling it on as if to shield herself from the mortal environment around her. "You're weak, my dear, but I admire your strength nonetheless. Are you hungry?" Yamina was sure Grace was starving. As a fledgling, hunger was a sensation that usually overtook everything else, consumed a vampire until they learned to control those baser instincts. With a good Sire of course, someone who could teach them to temper those uncontrollable impulses. "Do you smell him? Not the stink of his skin, but the blood underneath. Can you hear his heart?" She motioned languidly to the burly man, who was trying to break out of his bonds. "Wot's that then? Just a couple of whores trying to scare me then? I'll give ye something to be scared of, girls," the man growled, neck flexing.

Grace had never felt so many sensations before. The very air around her seemed to be a living thing. She could hear every movement, every rustling piece of fabric on the wind outside, every voice from surrounding patrons of the nearby marketplace, the rustling of coin in someone's pocket, and yes, the heartbeat, so loud that it overtook almost everything else. Where were her weapons? She glanced around for them, but the vampire must have disposed of them before Grace had collapsed. "I... I'm going to be sick," she answered, her physical hunger, her desperation, her need for blood, all at war with everything she had ever been taught, with her own disgust. "I'll kill you for this."

"You may," Yamina replied with a sad smile as she watched Grace with calm for careful eyes. She couldn't help the smile turning a little piqued at Grace completely ignoring the human. No concern for the man just yet, not while she was fully consumed in her own throes of agony and dilemma. "Or you may learn to accept it. Only the weak-willed cannot handle this gift. Only the weak-willed throw this gift away, like an unthinking fool. I do not think you are foolish, my child." The blindfolded man was clearly agitated by being completely ignored despite his leers and threats and he managed to shift his blindfold up past one eye, to see the two women. "Ey girlie," he tried to cajole Grace. "Why don't you get of yer lil negress servant here and let's you and me have some real fun, ey?"

Grace was even more annoyed by the vampire's calm and careful tone, the way she addressed Grace so simply and plainly, not even rising to agitation. She could at least have fought with her, argued with her, instead of simply reasoning with her like a sensible human. For a sensible human she was not. "Shut up, shut up," she hissed, repeating the words, trying to ignore her pounding senses, the sickening desire in her to feed. "I'm neither weak nor a fool, but I won't be a monster, either!" The ugly man was addressing her with ugly words. Grace scoffed. The more he spoke, the harder it was for her to ignore the pounding of his heart, the warm red liquid that flowed through his body. Did he really think she was in the mood to be flirted with? "Shut. Up." She repeated, snarling almost in spite of herself, grabbing him by the throat and squeezing.

"No, you are not a monster. You are so much more than that," Yamina said, all low and honeyed words. She was hungry herself, but like all good mothers she wanted her child to eat first before she'd take a single sip. "I understand what it must be like, to be trained as a Hunter. Born into it, told over and over that your cause was right, and your enemy was wrong. No questions meant no faltering. You were righteous; after all, your elders taught you this. Why should you ever wonder if your actions were wrong?" Yamina crossed to the other side of the room, giving Grace a wide berth to explore her own overload of senses and emotions freely. "That is not true strength, my dear. That is zealotry hiding behind violence." Yamina raised her chin, eyes flaring in some contained excitement as Grace turned on the man finally and acknowledged his presence with a threat of her own. The man looked confused and surprised. "A criminal, scum no doubt." Yamina came closer, turned the man's head to look at her. The vampire's eyes turned golden, mesmerizing. "Tell me boy - what was your crime?" Compelled to answer, the man replied, "I - I killed me wife. And me little girl. The screamin'...the screamin'...I liked it." Yamina stared coldly at him and then at Grace. "And this is what you used to protect? From me?"

Grace squeezed her eyes closed. She knew it was dark, and yet it didn't feel dark to her, an enhanced nocturnal vision disorientating her. She felt like she could no longer tell night from day. She shook her head. The words falling from her sire's lips were the words of the devil, she told herself. "Liar," she hissed. "You feed and you kill and you want me to do the same." But she wanted it too. The warmth of his skin was too much for her to handle. Grace wet her lips with her tongue. Her fingertips buried in his skin made her all the more conscious of his flesh, his blood. "You're disgusting," she said, unsure whether she was talking to him, the vampire, or herself. Perhaps it was all three. He was a killer. So why shouldn't she just sink her teeth into him? The very thought itself was the only encouragement she needed, and she slammed him against one of the very walls she had been thrown against just hours before, sinking her teeth into him and devouring him.

Yamina had nothing to say as Grace refuted her, tried desperately to hold on to that morality of the Hunters. Their code and their scripture and their belief, it was strong. It was admirable, really, if Yamina hadn't just had her children slaughtered by them like cattle. The man's way to handle this would be to break Grace down and build her back up, but Yamina Moire had rejected man's methods a long time ago. It was what made her so strong in the Vampire Councils across the continent - yet at the same time, it had made her vulnerable to the other vampire's fears and jealousy. Like scrabbling rats, just as Hunters described them. Just because she believed in the old ways did not mean she would adhere to the methodologies of men. Grace was her baby - and compassion for her children was always Yamina's way. Even if she'd hated Grace as a human, she felt that intrinsic Progeny-Sire bond forming between them now. Now, as Grace slammed the human filth against the wall and sank her teeth into his neck. "One bite now," Yamina coaxed her. "Try to get one good bite, and the blood will flow." As Grace drank though, Yamina picked up the man's wrist and bit into it as well. For as much as she loved her newborn daughter, the elder vampire knew she couldn't stay weak while Grace grew strong. To make that mistake would spell her doom. She fully believed Grace would attack her next.

Grace felt a wave of relief wash over her new body as the blood flowed into her. Her brain was less foggy, her muscles less achy, her skin clearer. The smell was intoxicating. She drank and drank and drank, listening to the soothing sounds of her sire's encouragement and for a moment, not even able to be angry about it or disgusted by it. She simply drank until the blood flowed no more and the man fell dead to the ground, like the wife and daughter he had put there. Yamina had been drinking too. She looked almost proud. Something in Grace was happy about that, their instinsic fond forming in spite of Grace's prior feelings. The contradictions melded together. "....What do you do with the body?" Grace wondered out loud.

Yamina gave a languid flick of her hand. "I have thralls to take care of that, they're very useful. Humans who want to be in the presence of vampires, entranced by is, by our beauty...." She came closer, motioned to a standing mirror so Grace could see herself. She was always stately and beautiful but now as a vampire and just fed, she was practically glowing, a preturnatural beauty. "It's a low-level compelling that keeps them loyal, all of it agreed upon. Some people are made to serve. Others, to enjoy the fruits of their labour." It was a very old-fashioned concept, that only recently in history was being questioned in the name of civility. But Yamina was old-fashioned in her ways. "My dear I must say, you aren't just my progeny, but you're also a prodigy. I've never had a child so controlled, so self-disciplined." Yamina supposed it was all that Hunter training.

Grace furrowed her brow. Thralls. The thought left distaste in her mouth. Too bad that distaste was overpowered by blood. She'd never drank something so delicious in all her life. And she hated herself for it. She'd just killed someone. She'd killed a killer. Why was it so different now? She told herself she killed murderers every time she went hunting. "You call this control?" She scoffed, regarding the body on the floor and gesturing to it. "He's dead. If that's what passes for discipline to you, I'd hate to see chaos."

"You would hate to see the chaos. Don't be a prude, child. Somehow I don't buy it. You've seen far too much to pretend you don't understand chaos, haven't stared it down and refused to accept it. I see it now, in the way you feed." Because Yamina had seen worse, far worse. Fledglings that were little more than rabid animals, tearing into flesh and soaking themselves in blood. Yamina loved all her children yes of course; but the animalistic ones always disappointed her a little. Not Grace though. "Come out into the night with me, see what new joy this world has to offer you in the moonlight. Unless you're still intent on murdering me?"

"Don't call me 'child'," Grace hissed through gritted teeth still coated in the man's blood. The fangs felt as if they took up too much room in her mouth. She had to focus to retract them. "I've seen chaos. When your kind drink the streets dry and leave bodies ripped open in the gutter. I kill your kind to stop that from happening, not be part of it." And yet, as angry as she had been when she had first awoken, she couldn't claim to want to kill the other woman. Sire bond, or something else, Grace wasn't sure, but it was infuriating. "I want to go home." She had only just asked to not be called child, only to sound like one. "But that will never happen, thanks to you. If you think we're going to be friends..."

"Did you kill his kind too?" Yamina asked, motioning to the dead criminal. "Why stop with vampires? If you believe so strongly that you have justice and righteousness on your side, why not kill anyone who disturbs your idea of 'peace'? You have the ability. Pray tell my dear - what do you do with vampires bodies, once you've destroyed their immortal life? Don't be so sanctimonious," she spat, unable to stop herself from getting a little worked up about it. "Humans are just as terrible if not worse. Oh, you have your laws and courts - but who do those rules truly benefit? His wife and child? He was still alive, he still got to sruvive. Until you made use of him. And such a good use too, because you deserve to be fed by his blood. Because you'll survive, even if you murder me. I don't believe you will never kill yourself, even now. Stick to your morals if you prefer. Kill only those who you deem to be killed, in all your worthiness. But make no mistake, my child - you have always been a killer. A killer of both innocents and murderers alike. That has not changed."

"Because vampires aren't human. There's a difference. Humans get hanged. They don't hang vampires at the Old Bailey because they don't know they exist. That only leaves us." She still spoke about them like they were separate, as if she wasn't one of them now, as if she was still a hunter. Grace stared at her sire through eyes damp with a mix of anger, hurt and frustration. She should have killed her. She should have been better. But she had failed. This was the price she would pay. Whether she would have the courage to kill herself in the sunlight, Grace wasn't sure, but she knew she couldn't stay here. "I will never be your child," she said, pushing open the doors to the balcony and dropping from the first storey with newfound strength and agility, heading out into the night.

[tf2ships-theewrites]

(Guess this is an AU of TF2 Comics, cause I decided that for this, it was Scout and Pauling that went to Australia to pick up the Sniper! Hope you enjoy!)

(Urgh, If I had the drawing talent, this would’ve been a comic... Oh well! Hope the written version is good enough!)

Scout was debating whether or not to either just park the car like Pauling said, or drive it through Snipers front window. Either option had pros and cons, but both were still worth serious debate.

Grey Mann fired them about six months ago, after taking control of MannCo. Six months, Scout had been in prison for breaking into a bank with spy, long story. And six months was the last time he’d spoken to his... pal, Sniper. ‘Boyfriend it too strong to use for the prick who returns your letters and doesn’t pick up the phone,’ Scout thought bitterly, going for another casual donut-circle in Snipers front lawn.

When Pauling informed the recently rebanded mercs that they needed to find Sniper, Scout hadn’t hesitated and demanded to go with her to pick him his pal. Only about an hour away from the Australians house, did Scout realize how fucking nerve wracking this really was.

He finally turned the ignition off and sputtered to a stop, glaring at the house. Ten minutes had gone by, and no Pauling and no tall Australian had come out yet...

Which means it was time for the Bostonian to go in.

Scout hopped out and jogged in. Like a dummy he was, he decided to leave his baseball bat, and strode up the creaky porch steps to his pal’s home. He hesitated at the door, before narrowing his eyes when he realized it was slightly ajar. Throwing caution to the wind and his irritation rising, Scout barged into the home. “YO! Sommebody bettah have a DAMN good reason to waste my time!” He snapped, then blinked as he looked around the interior of the home. “Damn...”

It was dark, dusty and Miss Pauling was unconscious and tied up in the living ro-

...

“Oh SHIT.” Scout whispered-yelped, lunging over and shaking the woman. “Pauling, PAULING! Ah, c’mon...” He glanced around for a knife or something, strings of violent curses poring out of his mouth. He stood and ducked around the hallway, trying on the light switch for what he hoped was the kitchen.

Flicking the switch didn’t work, so he held his arms out, hoping to run into a counter or something as he squinted in the sunset-dimly lighted room. “C’mon, c’mon...” Scout muttered, praying to run into something.

Instead, something ran into him from behind, wrapping its long, strong arms around his chest and neck, yanking him back. The Bostonian cried out, nails snapping to the arm around his neck, digging into the skin. “H-hey, HEY!! Lettme go you f*cker!”

“’right, Alright, girlie..” The gruff, thick accented voice behind him muttered, and Scout felt the cold press of a needle tip against his neck. “Let’s go for a lil’ dirt na-” Scout decided no to that, and bit down on the man’s arm with his buckteeth.

“ARGH, Dammit!” The man shoved him away, and Scout swung around to kick the guy’s ass to the ruins of Atlantis... Then he saw the familiar croc-tooth lined hat, crooked yellow aviator glasses and those stupid, clear blue eyes looking back at him...

“Oh my god. Ren?”

Lawrence Mundy blinked and straightened, still gripping his bitten arm. “Jerm?” The Australian sniper grinned, eyes lighting up for a moment. “Babe, wha... how...” His eyes widened and the the grin faded as Scout finally found the knife he was looking for. “Ah, sh*t.” Scout let out an enraged scream, launching himself at the taller Australian.

“Urgh, Babe, BABE! n-Now, lets just, CALM DOWN.”

“LIKE HELL YOU LIVING STICK! Imma shove this cleaver so far into ya, ya won’t be blinkin’ for the next century!”

“Oh, bloody hell...”

The aggressive wrestling went on for a few more minute, until Sniper wisened up and tackled his smaller boyfriend to the ground. “Alright, Babe, please!” He snapped, pinning the younger man down. “Can ya just listen for two seconds, ‘m askin’ ya nicely!” Scout snarled, trying to catch him with his cleaver -armed hand, but sniper snapped out to grab the offending arm and pin it down, though he was fighting for control. “Nah, ya don’ get to explain sh*t! Where have ya BEEN?!” Sniper blinked, then frowned. “Well... been here.”

Scout snarled, making another lunge at him, “Nuh-uh, explain the letters sent back, explain the frickin’ phone calls! Ya got a lot of explainin’ ta do, Ren, now start talkin’!” Sniper exhaled deeply, before nodding. “If ya stop calm the hell down, the yes.” Scout glared, and the two looked at each other for a long moment, before he finally released his knife, raising his brow in expectation.

“My parents... passed on a few months ago.” Sniper starts and Scout scoffs, “Tragic, I was in jail with Spy.” He snapped, not caring about how insensitive he sounded. Sniper rolled his eyes, what else was he expecting. “Well, turns out I... I wasn’t their son.” At this, the Bostonian actually blinked in surprise, and Sniper took that as a go-ahead. “Been tryin’ to find my birth parents, figure out... who I am.” Scout gave a small smile, “So some self-discovery crap?” Sniper chuckled, and some of the tension eased. “Yeah, somethin’ like that...”

“Still doesn’t explain ignorin’ me.” Scout said gloomily, and Sniper winced. “Guess I just... got caught up.” He said lamely, and Scout rolled his eyes, avoiding his apologetic grin. It dropped slightly, before the Australian ducked down, lightly kissing the Bostonian on the nose.

“‘m sorry.’

“Hmph.”

Another between his brows. “’m sorry.”

“This ain’t workin’ for me.”

“’m sorry.” 

“... Nope. Nothin’.”

Forehead was next, then his cheek, then the other one...

Sniper continued this charade for a moment, before leaning over the blonde, breath ghosting above his lips. “’m sorry.” He muttered, and Scout was stone faced for a minute... Before sighing. “Dammit, that’s cheatin’.” He whined, and Sniper only grinned in triumph, sealing their lips in a long awaited kiss.

Sniper hummed agaisnt the man, almost melting back into the familer act. Then, he happened to remember the tied up woman he had to question before burying in a shallow grave. Withan almost mournful grumble, he pulled back and jabbed his boyfriend in the neck with a moonshine filled syringe.

Scout snapped his eyes open, and Sniper only grinned slightly. “Sorry love, don’ want ya up and about for what ‘m gonna do. We’ll catch up later.” He promised, sealing one last kiss as Scout struggled to keep his eyes open, before the sudden overwhelming alcohol count filling his system sent him into probably one of the quietest drunken slumbers in his life.

‘Stupid Aussie,’ Scout thought, and though he swore to kick Mundy to the next century, he couldn’t help but feel happy to be back around his... Pal.

[autisticblueteam]

Different People (Carolina/Girlie)

Chapter 2 / 4: Waiting

[AO3] [Ko-Fi in Bio]

Rating: Teen

Warnings: Canon-typical violence, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Canonical Character Death, Drowning, Paralysis [other tags on AO3]

Girlie survived Longshore.

The sole survivor of her team, she found herself thrown out into the world with nowhere to go and nothing to cling to except the burning resentment she held towards the Freelancers. After years of aimlessness, when presented with an opportunity for revenge she snaps it up without hesitation.

But reality is never as simple as fantasy. People aren’t always what you imagined them to be.

Chapter Word Count: 4397

Notes: Writing from Girlie’s perspective here is interesting because it’s making me write opinions of characters that are basically the exact opposite of my own, since she’s so negatively biased.

The conviction was nothing if not swift. Girlie barely had time to register her actual charges before she was pushed through the system and thrown into a prison on some obscure inner colony, but they weren’t hard to guess. Insurrectionist activity, especially this deep into the war, could come with a hefty sentence.

With her history it wasn’t even a wrongful conviction. It may have been years since their cell had disbanded and they’d signed up to the UNSC, but their time in the military and working for Charon didn’t erase the plethora of evidence against her. All Charon had to do was plant a little more evidence to fill in the gaps and ONI ate it up.

Didn’t need the lone member of your questionably legal private security force getting in the way of your rising political power. UNSC Oversight Subcommittee her ass. The shit they’d done for Charon was exactly the kind of shit he was now in charge of investigating.

Funny how that worked.

Prison wasn’t kind. The newfound support of her armour had been stripped away from her so swiftly that it left a sour taste in her mouth. Sure, she could move short distances without it, even train for short times, but she relied on her wheelchair for anything substantial. And prisons? Turns out that in practice, they’re just not that accessible.

Especially not when the wheelchair provided wasn’t designed for self-propelling and any requests for an exchange were ignored. Insurrectionists lay low on the hierarchy there, always had; since the war started it had only gotten worse.

It took a long time and a willingness to sacrifice luxuries to get on her cellmate’s good side, get her to push her as far as the prison’s gym. Keeping up with her exercises helped, fought away some of the hopelessness and restlessness that plagued her, but it wasn’t a fix-all. Most of her days were spent wasting away in her cell, with too too little to do and too much time to think.

“You got any Innie buddies waiting for you on the outside, blondie?” her cellmate, Cass, asked after another long, long day of sitting around doing nothing. She was still trying to decide if it was better or worse than the hospital.

“Nah. No one left to wait for me,” Girlie said, laid back staring at the ceiling.

(Sharkface’s heart monitor flatlining. Snipes, pierced by the same bullet over and over and falling dead on their face.)

There was a pause. “Aliens or humans?”

(Sleeves, his neck snapped by the sheer force of one punch. Demo, blown up and thrown into the water. The Chain Twins, crushed by a fucking crate.)

Girlie chuckled dryly. “We’re Innies. Take a guess.”

(Her back snapping on impact with the concrete platform, water in her lungs and the desperate fight to survive.)

“Damn. That’s rough. Least I can blame the aliens for my lack of welcoming party instead of— y’know, myself.” Girlie raised a brow at her. “You are an Innie. What’d you think was gonna happen?”

“I don’t blame myself,” Girlie said, rolling onto her side. And she didn’t, she never had. This wasn’t her fault, no; she knew who she had to blame and they wore white and aqua armour. Cass mimicked her raised brow and, in turn, Girlie mocked: “You did murder a UNSC official, what’d you think was gonna happen?”

“…touché.”

Huffing, Girlie rolled restlessly to her other side. “All we want is some fucking freedom and the right to self-determination, but nah, that’s enough to warrant killing us. I’ve never blamed myself or any of us when we lose people. Isn’t on us.”

“Shit, girl, sorry I asked,” Cass said, raising her hands defensively.

It had been years since she’d been able to think like that, been able to talk like that—but hey, if she was going to be treated like she was an active Insurrectionist again, then she may as well act like it.

For years, that pretty much summed up her prison experience: being stuck in her room with cellmates that were various levels of shitty; wheelchairs that didn’t suit her needs in prisons that were too big for her to walk; prison guards that didn’t care at best and were outright abusive at worst; long, uninterrupted hours of nothingness. No matter how many times she was transferred—and oh, she was transferred a lot—it was the same. Every prison, every cellmate, every year.

Eventually she came to the conclusion that it was worse than the hospital, much worse. In hospital, there weren’t multiple dangerous pricks in the building that could decide she was the next target at any time. In hospital, there was a modicum of freedom. In hospital, she had a goal.

Locked away in prison with no exit in sight, her anger felt more like a trap than a motivation. All of that rage she’d allowed to fester and target itself at the Freelancers had no outlet—but at the same time, it wasn’t something she could just let go of. More than just a driving force, it came from a place of genuine hatred and resentment towards those fucking Freelancers, from a place of consuming grief that never quite faded.

Just as that resentment and grief wouldn’t fade, neither would the anger that sprung from them. As the years went by it only had longer to simmer, to gnaw away at her.

Everything that had happened since Longshore was their fault—that was a fact to her just as much as it was a fact that you need air to breathe. Agent Carolina and Agent Maine and their team had taken everything from her. Because of them, she’d almost died. Because of them, her family was gone. Because of them, Charon had no use for her. Because of them, she was in prison.

It was all. Their. Fault.

And for all her anger, all she could do was hope that somewhere, out there, they were going through as much hell as she was.

Nothing was unusual about her move to the prison ship, Tartarus. Not only was it far from the first time she’d been stuck on a prison ship for transfer, but it wasn’t even her first long-haul trip with no clear timescale. The ship was filled with a co-ed selection of the UNSC’s least desirable prisoners—people like her, who they simply didn’t care about. People with quite the variety of convictions, from what she heard through the bars.

She’d always hated long-haul transfers. Prison ships meant even shittier cellmates and no time out of their cells. Sure, the cells were a little more spacious to make up for it—she was able to work out, thank god—but there was only so many hours you could share a room with someone without a break before you wanted to add murder to your list.

Weeks went by and nothing happened that challenged the monotony of the journey. The skeleton crew wandered the levels every few hours just to give themselves something to do. Prisoners yelled crude and violent things, but even those began to get repetitive after a while. Stassney did some dumbass shit at least once a cycle. Weeks and weeks of the same shit, of the same routine—it was driving her up the fucking wall, but it wasn’t anything new.

Honestly, the ship getting invaded was the most interesting thing that had happened to her in years.

One minute Stassney was walking past talking about ‘hitch-hiking cheerleaders’—Girlie rolled her eyes so far back she could see herself think—and the next he was returning with a shady looking asshole in full power armour. The way he tilted his head was subtle, but Girlie had years of reading helmets under her belt.

He was scanning the cells.

They disappeared up into the staff areas and the chatter quickly focused on the new arrival. They had to be in the middle of utterly empty, open space right now—where the hell had this guy come from?

Girlie sat on the end of her bed, leaning her elbows against her knees. Even on a full tank and emergency reserves, a Pelican couldn’t get out here on its own and they certainly weren’t staffed by one guy, power armour or not.

Something wasn’t right.

Her suspicions were confirmed less than an hour later when some big fucker strolled through with at least five people in black armour and killed the straggling guards.

It probably said something about her mental state that her only reaction was a dull, “Huh. Figured.”

Yelling filled the air, a cacophony of indistinguishable noise that only fell silent when a deep, commanding voice came over the intercoms with one simple order—

“Quiet.”

Absolute silence fell over the room.

“As of this moment, we are the new crew of this ship.”

Someone a few cells down from her yelled out, “Well who the hell are you?!” and there was a pause, just for a moment, before she saw the taller of the two take a step back and the original guy take the microphone.

He started talking and admittedly, she was only half-listening until she heard the word ‘Freelancers’ in the midst of some verbose speech about needing people for some war, or something. But she didn’t care about that, no.

Freelancers. Fucking Freelancers.

She was listening after that.

“…now, if this totally awesome idea doesn’t sound like your kind of job, we’ll let you off the ship. But if you’re willing to fight for your freedom, then please firmly grasp the bars of your cell in a sign of solidarity.”

Let them off the ship, huh? Nah, no way that was as innocent as it sounded; there was only one way off of this ship when they were out in open space. And she didn’t plan on dying today—especially not without finding out what the Freelancers had to do with this.

So she got up, grabbed the cell bars. All around her she heard the sounds of hands slapping against bars, of indistinct mumbling. Some people sat back down, paced their cells with dismissive waves of their hands. Their funeral, she guessed.

Weakened as her legs were, her upper body had remained strong and when the purge activated, she had all the motivation she needed to hold on tight. The sharp, gut-punch of a tug tore her breath away and filled her with a genuine fear for her life that she hadn’t felt in years—

And then it was over. Purge doors slammed shut and the screaming all but stopped. Girlie collapsed to the floor, waiting for her cybernetics to recover after the sudden jerk.

But she was alive.

And they’d mentioned Freelancers.

Now all she had to do was wait and see what the fuck was going on.

As it turned out she didn’t have to wait that long at all. Not even another hour passed before heavy footsteps approached her cell and she was confronted by both the leaders of this little invasion and another prisoner. A man with deep brown skin and a pair of dark eyes that glinted with something inscrutable.

She’d never seen him before in her life, but that look in his eyes told her one thing: he definitely knew her.

“Arianna Leoraine,” the tall, awkward one said, “we’ve been informed—” his helmet tilted towards the prisoner, “—that you have history with the Freelancer agents we’re up against. Is that true?”

Huh, just like she thought. Somehow, this random guy who just so happened to be on the same prison ship as her knew her and not only that, knew her history. There were only a couple of reasons she could think of that would explain that: either he used to work for Charon—unlikely, her team was known of by only a select few—or he used to work for Freelancer.

And oh, wasn’t that possibility interesting.

“Maybe. What’s it to you?” she said, even as she stood up. Folding her arms under her chest she tilted her head. “Gonna let me at them?”

“Maybe,” the small, talkative one said, one hand on his hip as the other gesticulated vaguely. “Depends on a few things, like if you can hold your own in a fight… if you know how to follow orders… that sort of thing. Boring stuff, but necessary. Can’t have someone causing us more trouble than we already have, now can we?”

Rolling her eyes, Girlie tilted her head forward and set him with a firm stare. “Look, you point me in the direction of one of those assholes? I’ll do whatever you need me to do. No questions asked. I’ve been waiting for a chance like this for years, I’m not going to mess that up.”

“Well then,” he shared a look with his partner, that tall, quiet one whose helmet gave away nothing, “I think we have some talking to do, don’t you?”

“Yeah, I do. But if you want that talk happening up on the bridge? You’re either gonna have to bring me some armour or send one of your guys to grab a wheelchair from storage,” she said, folding her arms tighter and standing her ground. Her legs still felt shaky after the pull of the purge.

The tall one nodded towards a couple of their men that were standing by and soon, they returned with a chair.

Alright, that was a decent start.

Their names were Felix and Locus. They were some mercenaries working out here in the middle of bumfuck nowhere on some backwater planet named Chorus. Somehow the locals had gotten the help of a couple of Freelancers and their friends. All the mercenaries wanted was some manpower to help them clear out the resistance and to get rid of the Freelancers.

Couldn’t say she agreed with the principle of the thing, but she had fallen far beyond principles. Years of boredom and building resentment had left no room for that, not right now. Not when she was faced with the chance to get revenge.

There were only two of them, apparently. Two survivors out of the ten colourful suits of armour she could never forget. At first they didn’t mention names—she couldn’t tell if that was deliberate or not—but eventually, her prodding got an answer.

Agent Carolina and Agent Washington.

The assholes who fought Sharkface (the entire left side of his face crushed and scarred, his eye gone, the bone implants he needed to survive—) two of the assholes that dropped that fucking building on him and Demo (his arm, gone, absolutely mangled, the missing chunk of his torso—) that fucking aqua armoured fuck who stabbed her, who helped that big brute kill Demo and tried to kill her (her back snapping, so much water between her and the surface—)

Turned out the big guy had been dead a while.

She didn’t know quite how she felt about that, not getting the chance to take them out herself, but…

One was better than none.

“Seems like our goals line up perfectly,” Girlie said, sat in her chair. The helmets were still on, but she met Felix’s gaze through his visor. “I want the Freelancers dead, you want the Freelancers out of the way.”

“Exactly,” Felix said, gesturing his pointer finger vaguely in her direction. “A nice neat little arrangement. You get your revenge and we get those pesky Freelancers off our asses so we can finish what we came here to do.”

“You will be provided with armour and equipment,” Locus said, still unreadable behind that helmet. “You will work more closely with us and you will be guided by the Counselor.”

The Counselor hovered silently off to the side. She felt the weight of his gaze on her, observing, analysing. That look in his eye made sense when she realised he must have been some Freelancer psychologist or something, with a name like ‘the Counselor’.

Didn’t surprise her that they wanted to keep an eye on her, but it wasn’t like she really cared. So long as he didn’t get in her way, there was no reason for her to risk objecting.

But only so long as he didn’t get in her way.

“Alright,” she said, shrugging. “That armour better be the good shit. Oh, and I work best with knives.”

With a hand over his chestplate and mock reverence, Felix said, “A woman after my very own heart. Don’t you worry, Leoraine, you’ll be supplied with the very best equipment we have to offer. Just make it worth it.”

“Don’t you worry,” she retorted, “because making it worth it won’t be an issue. Also— I’d prefer if you called me Girlie. Not Leoraine, or even Arianna.”

Even with his helmet blocking her view, Girlie could practically see the quick blinks of his double-take. “Girlie. What kind of— seriously? That’s a little on the nose, don’t you think?”

Maybe. These days she barely even remembered the origin of the nickname—it wasn’t that she was the only girl in the group, after all—but that had always been the point of their nicknames, they were ridiculously, ridiculously ‘on the nose’. They were stupid, but they used them more than they ever used their real names.

She needed that back now, more than ever.

“Oh right, okay, says the guy who’s partner goes by the name of their helmet,” she said, raising a brow. Catching the slight tensing of Locus’ shoulders, she added, “Not being a dick, just making a point.”

“…touché. Alright, Girlie, congratulations, you’ve got yourself a job.”

No, she’d gotten a little more than that.

True to their word they got her kitted up and they didn’t skimp out on her, either. The armour was top quality and it felt good to be able to stand without pain again, without feeling like her legs were going to give out under her at any minute. All black and standard issue, it was nothing special, but it was more than functional.

Somehow, an off-hand comment to the Counselor about how she preferred her old helmet even swung her an old ODST model from somewhere. He was trying to make her ‘comfortable’, get her to open up or some shit—definitely a psychologist. For now, she let him believe it was working.

It had been days since the invasion of the ship and days since she’d been promised her chance at the Freelancers, but so far there had been no opportunity to act. Being stuck up here on the ship felt annoyingly like nothing had changed, but she held on to the fact that as soon as there was news, she’d be shipped out.

Hopefully.

Until then she was subjected to daily sessions with the Counselor. He was good at acting like he gave a shit, she’d give him that, but she wasn’t here to be psychoanalyzed. She gave him just enough to keep him satisfied without ever really revealing anything he didn’t clearly already know—even when he pretended he knew nothing. Offering up little bits about her teammates’ deaths and her need for revenge even got her some information in return, information outside of what he needed to tell her.

Agent Maine, the big guy, had finally been killed by drowning.

She’d be lying if she said that didn’t give her some kind of sick catharsis. Nothing could have been more fitting.

Days passed by and she found it harder to suppress the frustration. Sessions with the Counselor were tedious and she had to watch her words closely. Any time that wasn’t spent with him was spent training, running drills to get her strength back.

After almost a week of nothing, the Counselor brought her another ‘gift’: red spray paint.

At first, she side-eyed it, wondered what she’d said that made him bring it, but finding no point in letting the offering go to waste she picked it up; it would make it easier for Carolina to recognise who she was.

For once the Counselor sat mostly silently as she worked, using the tools he provided her with to mark up her lipstick print and heart—once on the helmet, once on the chestplate—but it didn’t last forever. Eventually, he opened his mouth.

“That symbol… I take it that it’s important to you,” he said, nodding towards both the work she did and the matching tattoo that was visible on the back of her shoulder. There was another one much lower down, but he wasn’t ever going to be privy to that.

“Suppose so.” Finishing taping it off, she threw her hair back into a messy bun and grabbed a face mask.

“Do you find it representative of yourself?”

“I find it representative of me being a gigantic lesbian, sure,” she said, finding herself holding back an eye roll and not for the first time. Fucking psychologists. “Look, we all had a symbol; Snipes had a crosshair, Boss had a pill, the twins had their smileys, Sharkface had his fucking shark teeth, so on and so on. It’s just a thing. It’s not deep.”

“Alright,” the Counselor said, in that tone that meant he really did think it was deep. “Have you chosen to recreate the symbol to honour your fallen teammates?”

God this man was insufferable. Like fuck she was going to tell him that. “No. I’ve chosen to recreate it because one, I like it and two, I want Agent Carolina to recognise me.” She started shaking her spray can. “Simple as that.”

“So you want her to be aware of who’s killing her and why.”

“No shit. Doesn’t take a degree to figure that one out. Yeah, I want the asshole who nearly killed me and did kill my friends to know who the fuck’s killing her.”

“I see,” he said, with that same tone; he really thought he had her on lock, didn’t he?

She was starting to rethink the idea that killing him wasn’t worth the trouble.

Opting to ignore him instead, she finished shaking her can and started spraying out the design on her helmet. The shade of red wasn’t quite the same but it looked good enough. Bright and distinctive against the black. There’d be no question of Carolina noticing the symbols.

Setting the helmet down to dry, she moved onto the chestplate. There was silence, for a while; the Counselor slipped back into that observant quiet, ever analysing eyes set on her.

She’d moved onto adding other red details by the time he spoke again.

“Once Locus and Felix have finished their work at the newest location of interest, you’ll be sent down to monitor the location for the Freelancer’s arrival,” he said out of nowhere. Forced her to restrain the burst of what was almost excitement in her chest, tense up to stop herself reacting too strongly. “I trust you’ve reviewed the files on Agent Washington and Carolina?”

“Of course I have. And no, I don’t have any questions.” Agent Washington was stubborn and survivable, but he was better with a weapon in his hand than he was at hand-to-hand. Agent Carolina was competitive and highly skilled in multiple ways; she worked with an aging AI called Epsilon and had units at her disposal. Nothing she hadn’t seen before. “No, actually, I do, but not about them. What kind of location?”

“An ancient temple of alien origin. There are several on Chorus, this particular one having been newly revealed. It’s a point of interest for both sides of the conflict, at least one of the Freelancers will certainly arrive.”

“Alright.” Alien temples. What kind of planet was this? “I can work with that.”

Stopping the spray, she took a moment to admire her work.

Striking red, unmissable and unmistakable.

Agent Carolina would definitely know what hit her.

The strange mix of anxiety, excitement and rage that filled her on the Pelican ride down to Chorus was… indescribable. A combination unlike anything she’d ever felt before. Years waiting for this opportunity, hanging onto the idea of revenge with a somehow resigned desperation. She didn’t know if she’d ever believed she’d get the chance, not after Charon turned her in.

But here she was.

They arrived on-location a little while after Locus and Felix had moved on, heading to some big confrontation out at one of the radio towers. Girlie only had time for a cursory glance at the temple itself and the strange bright light shooting out of it before she and her back-up had to duck into a hidden area, overlooking the central zone. Wait.

As the sound of Warthogs and voices approached the temple.

A voice that Girlie hadn’t heard in years, but would recognise anywhere, among them.

It took all of her willpower not to blow their cover then and there, to gather information first like she’d been told to. She had to stand there, gripping her knives tight to ground herself as she took in everything that was said—most of it was irrelevant, but once that alien AI appeared… well, she figured the mercenaries would like the information that followed.

The Purge. Any other day she might have felt some kind of hesitance in passing that information on, but as she typed and sent the communication she found she felt no such thing. Not with Carolina a mere hundred metres away.

Not when the mention of the multiple maps finally gave them a chance to act.

“Carolina!”

Four of the ‘space pirates’—really, what kind of title—jumped out from their hiding position, rifles drawn, firing—

And just like she’d expected, the bubble shield appeared. (The thing that had killed Snipes, the death trap that ricocheted bullets endlessly, shooting them over and over with the same fucking bullet—)

Like she’d ever have let the pirates have first shot if she thought it’d work.

“And that was close.”

“Affirmative.”

“Charon’s here?!”

“Urgh, they've been here the whole time.”

“That’s right.” Her heart pounded in her chest as she strode forward, out into the open. Looked down at them, at that aqua coloured armour that had haunted her for years. Rage, bubbling up in her chest—

Carolina looked at her. Girlie saw the intake of breath. Smirked.

“Well hello. What a pleasure to see you again.”

[peach-bottom]

Peach Bottom - Chapter Five

<-ch4-  -ch6->

The Schuylkill river ran directly through what had once been central Philadelphia, before the war, before the bombs, before the river swelled up. Before towers connected by high-rises, accessed primarily by hovercraft, so distant from the perils of the ground that the rising water was a crystaline dream. These days, the river was slightly South of what was considered ‘Center City’ by official standards.

Despite the fact that it was deemed a flood zone and the homes there weren’t registered, there were homes - some folks squatted in the partially demolished buildings, ones that used to be considered ‘skyscrapers’ before the scraper communities. The old Peco building was a popular squat, and the barren, partially collapsed art museum was still a grounder Philly tourist attraction, in its own way.

The primary attraction, however, was the house boats. Docks had been shoddily created and connected, homes that could survive the encroaching flood flocked together and pinned down. This is what was called the Schuylkill, maybe even more than the river.

There were many ways down into that shifting maze of color and bleached wood, but to Martha, there was a familiar rope ladder beside an ancient, crumbled bridge, down into the quickly filling concrete revine, and then the docks, solid and worn beneath her sandals. All of this connected by more ropes, the whole thing moving just slightly, dizzily, around her.

This was where Martha had been born.

That baby’s parents hadn’t named her ‘Martha,’ though, and as she stood before her aunt’s flaking pepto-bismo pink houseboat, this is what she was thinking of. Her name - her real name, Martha, perfectly plucked from a proud branch of her family tree and affixed where it had always been meant to sit, before her: Martha.

It was important. She didn’t even care much, most of the time - let the waitress say ‘sir,’ and greeted an ‘oops, I mean miss’ as if it was some welcome kiss smacked wetly on her cheek, just a plucky forgiving trans girl, friend of the cis! But her name. Her name.

Martha Ortiz the first had been a soldier, gone awol, gone activist, gone prisoner, gone writer. She was a legend, and had had soft warm hands and flowers on her houseboat.

She’d died when Martha was four, but she liked to think-

Martha took a deep breath and knocked. No point delaying it.

There was a shuffle from inside, a dainty cough, and then silence. Martha could feel an eye peeking at her through the window, but she didn’t glance over until the silence stretched long enough that she began to wonder, the thought sudden and prickly, if she was going to be let in at all. Then there was a click and the door swung open and her aunt Claudia was there, arms open. “Mi amor! Bienvenio, oh, I was so worried!”

The words came over Martha like a balm she hadn’t realized she’d been needing, the familiar Spanish placing her solidly in the world again, where things made the most sense and she could understand. She squeezed Auntie Claudia tightly, trying not to cry as she was hustled in and had a cup of tea handed to her before she could get so much as a ‘thank-you’ out.

Martha took a deep breath. The air here smelled musty, incense, and she could see a candle lit at Claudia’s alter with - and this went over Martha in a wave - a picture of her.

But.

There must’ve been a thousand pictures taken between then and now, and Martha knew her aunt had access - her parents sent out personalized cards for every holiday - a whole slew, just for her Quinceañera a few years back. But this picture was old. This picture was from before.

Martha looked away, quickly. She told herself the intentions were pure, even though they weren’t. She told herself it would be fine, and sat down on one of the squat cushy chairs her aunt had crammed into a corner of the only real room in the boat. A familiar collection of small figurines perched crowded on a side table, most all religious, beyond a one - a tiny, cheap looking porcelain boy with a soccer ball. Martha had gotten it for her as a child - because she liked these fragile little dolls, just like mama, and because it was a soccer boy! A soccer boy, like Martha!

Martha picked it up. It felt cool in her hand. She had an odd urge to put it in her mouth.

��Oh chico, you must tell me everything! Have you contacted your parents yet?”

Martha put down the figurine. “I - not yet, no, I was actually wondering if I could-”

“Ah yes, of course, of course! I got an email from your mother earlier, chico, she is so worried, I’ll get the tablet-”

“And Auntie?”

“Yes, love?”

“I don’t mean to - I mean. Uh, just. Can you please stop calling me chico?”

There was a hefty silence. Auntie Claudia was in her room, supposedly getting the laptop. She was barely five feet from Martha in the tiny houseboat, but when she responded, Martha couldn’t hear her - just an odd mumble.

“What was that?”

“Nothing, love, here, take the computer. And - you are staying here, of course. Until your parents get home”

Martha could’ve cried. “Thank-you, Auntie,” she mumbled, and  took the computer, grateful to her core, and quickly logged in. She had thirteen emails, almost all from her parents. They were on their way, they said, but travel into Philadelphia had become difficult. She responded to the last email, and then typed out a quick note to Tye, too, while she had access. Auntie Claudia, of course, had laid out around three meals worth of snacks at this point, and Martha devoured them hungrily - she hadn’t realized how starving she was.

“How did you get out, my love?” Auntie Claudia was still talking. She’d ranted nonstop about Martha’s parents gall, leaving their son alone like that, and Martha had gritted her teeth and typed through it, mumbling responses when necessary.

“I didn’t. They arrested me for a while, but a friend… well, she paid my bail.”

This got a response. Silent, but deadly. Martha quickly added, “I’m paying her back, though! I just needed to borrow money, it’s not - I mean, I’m paying her back.”

“Spanish, please, chico.” Auntie Claudia said.

Martha bit down hard on her tongue. It didn’t work, though. “Please stop calling me that.”

Claudia lowered her teacup from where she’d been holding it before her mouth, hiding her words like a secret - an intimate, funny kind of habit Martha recognized from her mother, Claudia’s sister.

“You would really punish your Auntie for using pet names?”

“That’s not what-”

“Carlos, your parents would be ashamed-”

“That’s not my name!”

Silence on the boat. Claudia took another sip, shaking her head like Martha was being childish again, telling a story rather than the truth. “I believe I remember your baptism better than you, Carlos. I know what name you were given before G-d.”

“Mama had a new ceremony for me! She knows my name, she-”

Auntie Claudia slammed her tea down; the cup cracked, the liquid spilled, she she hissed like a snake, lifting her hand, which was bloody.

Martha leapt upwards, dashing over to the sink to grab a towel - she wet it with warm water before returning to her aunt and, after a hesitant moment, handing her the cloth rather than cleaning the wound herself, as she might’ve done in another life.

Her aunt didn’t take the cloth, though. She was staring at her hand. Martha swallowed.

When she finally spoke, the words were hard, and plain. “In your own home, or in your mother’s home, you may live whatever sin you like. I worry for you, but I have no control. But in my house, Carlos, you will live as our heavenly father sees you,” she reached out suddenly and clutched at Martha’s hand, her eyes fever-bright, “may it give you the chance to atone-”

Martha jerked her hand back. She grabbed her things, not looking at her Aunt, who was quiet. Until she wasn’t, of course, because she couldn’t be - just as Martha was about to make her exit, she broke the silence with a low voice, dangerous in its meekness, its victimhood.

“You were always so… so manipulative. As a little boy. Turning on the doe eyes anytime someone might give you something, always managing to be the only one out of trouble, though I know, I know you lead my little ones astray every now and then. Never any malice, but - it was a game, you liked it, to play this game. Is that-”

Martha could hear each thumpthumpthump of her heart in her ears, steady as a drum. Could feel the hot bile of anger rising in her throat, her face was burning with rage-

“Don’t you dare-”

“Is that what this is? A way to get closer to girls? Break into their secret world, their bathrooms? I know you like the girls; remember I’m the one that caught you watching that girlie movie, I know you’re not a homosexual, even if you think this is-”

“I am, though! I am! I’m a fucking dyke, auntie, I -”

“You will not swear in my house! You will not sin in my house! You will-”

SLAM.

Martha stared down at the tiny porcelain figurine, cracked on the floor, a dent in the wall beside her aunt’s head. The tiny boy head had been decapitated from the tiny boy body. She looked at her hand. “I didn’t mean -” she started to lie, but when she met her aunt’s eyes, she gave up and allowed herself to burst into tears.

Her aunt picked up the pieces of the little figurine. She looked uncomfortable, but Martha knew she couldn’t ignore crying - never could.

“Oh, Carlos. Fetch me the glue. All he needs is glue - just a little fix. Chico, you must watch your temper,” and then she looked up, a smile like she’d won a tiny victory, “All the men in our family have this passion, though. That is what we’ve always said. You must figure out a way to use it righteously! Be a good man, like your grandfath- Carlos! Carlos, come back!”

On her way out, Martha blew out the candle. She didn’t touch the picture, though. It was from when she was nine - she was in her soccer uniform, a ball under one skinny arm and a toothy grin on her face. She might even have liked it, before this moment. It was still her, after all. It was a picture of a little girl doing something she loved. But it had been poisoned, now.

Martha’s self-righteous rage lasted until she’d climbed the ladder back onto solid ground again. Then, with the earth not moving beneath her, what had happened hit her full force.

She had nowhere to go.

Martha wandered a bit, but it was getting dark, and soon she found an old, overgrown park that felt like safety, felt like faeries, and Martha loved faeries. She curled up on a bench with her backpack under her head and cried, softly, until the shouts and sounds of a group of drunk men roused her and scared her into leaving, creeping by them not creepily enough, jeers and laughter following her down the street, though thankfully, they didn’t follow far.

The AedosDynamic tower caught her eye as she turned down a small alley. It was a shining beacon in the dark danger of the old city. She wished she could call it ugly, but none of the towers were - they were pillars of pure light, vegetation bursting from parks up high, the whole thing fractured in some kind of important architecture way that made it disappear sometimes, turn into just the sky behind it on a rainy day, make that bursting garden top look like it was floating.

There were stairs up to the first floor of the tower. And then, buttons besides.

Martha did the only thing she could think to do. The thing Tye had told her to do - and Tye was smart. Smart and hard and loving in a way Martha couldn’t be. So she could only trust Tye, really.

Lemon answered on the second ring. “Helllooooooo?” she said as her image clipped into view on the display screen. Her eyes widened at Martha, and Martha opened her mouth, ready to engage her prepared speech, but Lemon got in there before she could, “Sweet! I was wondering when you’d turn up, girlie. Come in - 744B. I ordered takeout.”

There was a long drone as the door unlocked, and Martha quickly ducked under the motion sensor and passed through.

A wave of air conditioning smacked her in the face.

She’d forgotten what that felt like.

Ignoring the odd looks from the receptionists, Martha made her way across the lobby, which was so posh it hurt to look at - plants everywhere, a fountain, a chandelier, dripping with crystals. Martha felt like a plain stone in a box of diamonds.

Lemon met her at the elevator though, cheesesteak in hand, and to Martha’s shock, she handed it over immediately. “I ate the other one. One and a half. Whatever. Anyway, sorry. You were late.”

Martha laughed, despite herself, and took the cheesesteak. It was heavy with grease and loaded down with fried onions and mushrooms. It felt like the first real thing in this sterile world of wealth. “I won’t stay long. I mean, my parents are-”

Lemon grabbed her bag for her and then strutted down the hallway on a mission, calling back, “Well then it’s time to get the party started! We gotta have some fun before they get here. Come on in, then, babe. Bet you can’t beat my deaths-per-game count in Overwatch.”

“What’s Overwatch?”

“Oh man, I am gonna love showing you, come on come on, let’s do this!”

Martha followed, an odd hope alighting in her chest.

She could do this. Alright. She could totally do this.

<-ch4-  -ch6->

[yasbxxgie]

Sadie Barnette Reclaims Her Father’s Black Panther FBI File As Art

Artist Sadie Barnette’s family tree includes a 500-page FBI file. In 1968, the United States government placed her father, Rodney Barnette, under surveillance. For decades, his every daily detail was logged and noted. Family members, employers, even his former high school teachers were interrogated. The reason for the target on his back: Rodney was a founding member of the Compton, California chapter of the Black Panther Party for Self Defense.

In an era where J. Edgar Hoover’s FBI sought to actively, though covertly, criminalize and destroy the Panthers—and arguably any prominent or rising Black political leader—the elder Barnette was of hundreds of activists subject to state-sanctioned harassment and intimidation, their organizations infiltrated and discredited. Other revolutionaries were incarcerated; some were assassinated.

Growing up, Sadie Barnette’s father’s history was never a secret. It seems almost inevitable that the young artist whose work is dedicated to excavating the constructs of identity would turn her gaze to his FBI file, newly available through a Freedom of Information Act request. For Do Not Destroy, her first solo exhibition in New York City, Barnette reframes the pages of the dossier as a father-daughter conversation. With the intervention of her own visual presence—through unapologetically girly embellishments and abstractions—she subverts the government’s narrative with her own. The spurts of hot pink spray paint on black-and-white pages restore a sense of sinew and blood, returning a dignity of wholeness to the life described therein. And so, it is from an inheritance of being targeted and surveilled, that Barnette has grown a garden of reclamation.

Mass Appeal sat down with the Oakland-born artist to learn more.

Mass Appeal: Your family knows what it is like to be targeted, to be painted as a “terrorist.” What are some of your thoughts on the current administration’s rhetoric and actions in dehumanizing and criminalizing believers of Islam, refugees and the undocumented?

Sadie Barnette: One of the things that was really striking about my dad’s file was that my dad was fired from his job at the Post Office because of his involvement with the Panthers. But, the law used to get him fired was something that President Truman had put on the books. It was an Executive Order that talked about behavior unbecoming to a government employee. That’s what they used to get my dad fired because he was cohabitating with a woman who he wasn’t married to… That was behavior that was unbecoming of a government employee. But, the reason that law was put on the books was to get gay people out of government jobs. So it’s another one of those examples where people think “Oh, this law doesn’t affect me. I’m not Muslim. I’m not an immigrant. I’m not trans. This has nothing to do with me.” But a similar law or laws can be used to target whoever the government is considering inconvenient at the time or whoever is questioning things or fighting for their rights. That’s definitely something that we have to keep in mind today.

Was activism and an awareness beyond self-interest part of your birthright or did you come into your own political awakening?

It was always something I held in my heart… I looked at situations with systemic analysis. If the police beat someone up or say if somebody in the family didn’t have access to something that they needed, I would always see it through a lens of systemic problems in our country. When I was in high school, I was very aware that students were being criminalized and were being shuttled along this school-to-prison pipeline. So those things were always on my mind. And growing up in the Bay area, there is a lot of activism and systemic analysis.

How did that activism and analysis start to factor in or feed your artistic growth?

I think they definitely go hand-in-hand. All art is political even when it’s not. Because it’s still a political choice if you are choosing to ignore politics. Often times, just the act of making art or changing the way people think even if its meant as an act of poetry is inherently political. People need escape and fantasy and fiction and need to feel beautiful and seen and heard. So for me even in my work that isn’t directly talking about the FBI file, it is still a commitment to… The act of making art is still a commitment to humanity.

What prompted your dad to want to look at your father’s file, and then what prompted you to want to work with the material?

My dad always wondered what experiences were tied to his FBI surveillance, harassment and intimidation. He wanted the file and so filed a Freedom of Information Act request to get it. It took about four years to get the file. I’m not sure what at that exact moment made him want to really face what a lot of people don’t want to look at. It can be too painful. But, he knows that it is bigger than himself. He also was very lucky that he wasn’t assassinated at the time or thrown in jail. He really is a strong person that survived a lot and still is able to see the value in sharing his experiences. I’ve always been interested in telling the story of my parents and also the activism and the cultural outpourings of that time period. This just seemed like the perfect way to do that—using this file for good and reclaiming it.

Did you wrestle with how much of the file you should work with or alter or how much you should let it speak for itself?

I definitely had to wrestle with it. The fact that the project’s first debut was at the Oakland Museum for the Black Panther exhibit, All Power to the People: Black Panthers at 50 really helped give me confidence that this could be framed and contextualized properly because the show is really dedicated to talking about the full complexities of the Black Panthers, not just like the cool image or that kind of thing. So being included in the Oakland Museum exhibition was what really made me excited about making the final decisions as to how to use this material.

I think it will be the type of project that’ll be ongoing. I’m not the kind of artist that thinks this is the like the ultimate or some kind of end. It’s no [laughs] magnum opus—it’s ongoing. One of the things I value about being an artist is that you can be unsure. You can question and try things. I’m sure I will work in many ways with this file. At some point, I’d like to make a book project with it. My intention often when I’m making art is not about making things; it’s about seeing things. So, the re-framing, the juxtaposing of these files and just a few gesture on my part was really what I wanted to do to allow the pages to speak for themselves and then for the viewer to bring something new to it.

The work also calls into the conversation the political activists that were murdered. Others were arrested and some still incarcerated to this day. Is it imperative to you as we celebrate the 50th Anniversary of the Panthers?

Absolutely. It is hugely important. And I think it is something that we still don’t know enough about. There are a ton of names of people in my dad’s file who he knew, who were his mentors who were killed. John Huggins. Bunchy Carter. They were murdered at UCLA. It is a double tragedy if their lives were not only stolen and taken away from their families but that they are also not remembered in the historical consciousness.

Have you become a student of the era as a result?

Definitely. I’ve been reading several books. One is called The Burglary by Betty Medsger. She basically was one of the reporters to receive the first batch of stolen FBI files around 1972 from this small FBI office in Pittsburgh. These anti-war activists realized that the movement was being surveilled so heavily that the only way to expose what the FBI was actually doing was to break into this office. I’ve been learning a ton about J. Edgar Hoover. It’s amazing to think that these activists were just regular, hard-working people. They weren’t criminals, they were actually repelled by [the thought of] breaking into this office, but they knew it would be worse to let Hoover run the FBI unchecked and run democracy into the ground. The other book is Black Against Empire: The History and Politics of The Black Panther Party by Joshua Bloom and Waldo E. Martin, Jr.

What did working with this file teach or surprise you about your dad or by extension about yourself?

Well, it’s hard to say. I’m pretty close to my dad so most of the things I knew already. I definitely learned more about our government than I did about my family. Questioning the government, dissent, is legal. It is written into the Constitution. If the government isn’t working properly, then the people are to change it. But people who are in power want to protect their power. As a descendent of slaves and Native Americans in this country, I have never felt like we are included when they say “We the People.” I’ve never felt like this country was mine. My ancestors built this country, but it was never for them either. I’ve always felt that if this country was actually going to be for everyone, then we would have to first really face some things that people don’t want to talk about.

Do Not Destroy is on view through Saturday, February 18, 2017 at Baxter St at Camera Club of New York (126 Baxter St, NY).

[totalfanfreak]

Just Another Dead Girl - 1

Just another Dead Girl

Chapter 1 – Blind to it All

The whole town was fuckin’ crazy. Those people were all lying to themselves and Daryl knew it. He was growing angrier at the fact that his own people were being slowly drawn into this as well. Was all a ruse, so Carol and Rick said. Gotta make nice with everyone so no one gets suspicious, going to get guns and take over if need be. It was probably bullshit. Let them all dress up in their new clothes, let them take the jobs they were told to do. He wasn’t doing a damn thing. He wasn’t part of this and he wouldn’t be, but he stayed, and he wasn’t sure why. He sat on the porch fixing his crossbow, subtly watching as people poured from their homes to enjoy the day. He sneered at that – walking dogs, fixing their yards and rocking on their porch swings like nothing bad had went on. As if they were safe from everything because of that thin wall around them. They were all stupid as shit.

He was forced out of his inward rant by footsteps coming on the porch, animal steps, looking from his bow he saw a golden retriever sitting at the steps looking at him. He stared it down, the mutt had seen better days, ear and back leg missing, tufts of fur gone, looked to be missing teeth too. He knew the thing was friendly though, and knew if the damn thing was here then his owner would be following.

You said there was a dog.

Maybe he’ll come back around. Come on.

He wanted to kick the thing off the porch then. He wanted to go out and kill that other fucking mutt too. Hearing heavier steps, he saw the girl going to the door without a glance in his direction. He smirked at that. Girl seemed to be the one of the few people here he could tolerate, that seemed to have a fucking notion of what was going on in the world. As well as the way she had stood up for Glenn when that one jackass kid had tried to swipe at punch at him. Girl had stood between them and waved her hands around. Fucker said something and when he went to hit Glenn she had grabbed him and threw him to the gravel. For her size and stature it was impressive.

But she didn’t seem to care for him at all. She had come storming over the day after they arrived, gesturing to her little board that she demanded her arrows back. She did that repeatedly the first few days not believing when he said he didn’t have the damn things. Which was a lie, he did, but he wasn’t going to give them back to her acting like that. And he hated to say it, but somewhere in him, he enjoyed pissing her off. That flicker of smoke building in what he had dubbed as creek bed eyes. Her face becoming the same shade as her hair until she started to come towards him usually stopped by Aaron or his partner. She stayed with them, both men were protective of her, Daryl didn’t have a clue how old she was but she couldn’t be that old.

Probably the same age as Beth.

He filtered that emotion with a long hiss through his nose, clearing his head and setting himself back to his crossbow.

“Oh, hi Ghost.”

Carol’s voice dripped with overripe sweetness, and he felt a scoff welling up in his throat on that. He could also feel the girl’s discomfort at such excessive affection. He kind of felt bad for her. Barely.

“This is just what we needed, thank you, you didn’t have to go through all the trouble though.”

He could feel the creak of the floorboards underneath him, and he knew the girl was trying to retreat the dog already bounding down the stairs for her. He felt a shift before something hit him in the face he was about to bound up but she was already gone and Carol was laughing.

“What she give you?”

Besides a good smack in his face? He found some small tubes next to him and read that they were rail and bowstring lube.

“Shit for a crossbow.”

“Oh, she likes you.”

He gave a sarcastic grunt.

“I’m serious. Everyone else has to ask her for things, but not you.”

“Yur actin’ like she comes and gives me shit all the time.”

“I know, I’m just making an out loud observance here.”

“Little brat’s probably tryin’ to butter me up so I’ll give her arrows back.”

From the sigh he knew that was the wrong thing to admit. “You said you didn’t have that poor girl’s arrows.”

“Poor girl my ass, she’d probably kick us all out if given the chance.”

“I don’t believe that. It’s funny, I truly don’t, and you haven’t seen her around Carl or Judith to see. She’s like us is all. The world’s made her like that.”

“Girl probably grew up in a place like this, don’t know nothing’ bout what’s out there or what’s goin’ on.”

“I think we both know that’s not true. And you’re a grown man taking things from a young girl.”

“Not that damn young, how old is she anyways?”

“Twenty, I think, I don’t know. You don’t need to be scaring people off; we’re trying to fit in here.”

“You are, I ain’t. All of ya can go run off with the rest of the loons here, not me.”

He knew her eyes were narrowed on him, he could feel the heat behind them. “Have you even bathed since we’ve been here?”

“The hell you need to know for?”

“I told you we need to keep an appearance here.”

“And mine’s been the same since we got here, there’s no point in it for me.”

“Go take a damn shower, I mean it, when I come back and you haven’t I’m taking a bucket of water and washing you down.”

He snorted. “Whatever.”

“I mean it, keep your dirty clothes if you want, but you better be clean.”

He watched her walk off towards the house with the food pantry, he knew she wasn’t lying, Carol had done that to him in the prison dumping a bucket of lukewarm water over him while he slept before throwing a rag and soap on him while he was still sputtering out the dregs that had gotten in his mouth. Fiddling with the bow for a few more minutes he decided it would be good, he could handle dirt he lived in it a majority of the time but it didn’t hurt to scrub down before the layers of grime took over. Add in to the facts that the last time he was rinsed off was during the storm at the barn and that since Carol was gone the house was empty, a first since they arrived.

Daryl didn’t like people around when he bathed, or changed, he never liked to take his shirt off or show his body. It was vulnerability, and it showed the times when he was the most vulnerable. He preferred to be clothed to be shielded. Maybe that was why he bathed so little, to not shed that protection. Even by himself he felt defenseless and shame as he took off his vest and shirt. He kept dodging the mirror not wanting to see the scars on his back. He watched the water run in the tub before discarding the rest of his clothes, watching how the crud from his feet came off and tinged the water brown before swirling down the drain.

He turned the shower head on, a sigh close to escaping him as the hot water scalded his scalp. Cracking open the shampoo and giving it a sniff to make sure it wasn’t too girly he lathered his hair making sure to rake his nails through it. It was one of the things he remembered his mama teaching him, an easy way to clean his nails. He felt the rills of water flow down the sides of his neck the suds getting caught on the sparse hairs on his chest before the water washed it away. He could get used to this, the steam breaking his airways, soothing him.

Then he heard something, the calm evaporating as his head jerked from the tiled wall. He could feel the shift in the air too, someone was in here, and jerking open the curtain he found he was alone, and in more ways than one, his crossbow missing from its place by the sink. There was a rumble inside him, anger surging throughout. Throwing on his clothes he all but stampeded out the house, looking up and down the street where he found Rick speaking to Aaron. His shoulders pulled back, ready for a fight when he approached them.

“One of your people took my shit.”

Aaron looked dumbfounded for a second. “What do you mean, Daryl?”

“My bow, gone, I want it back. Fuckin’ now.”

He felt Rick put a hand on his shoulder, easing him back. “Let’s calm down, this could all be a misunderstanding.”

He wrenched away from Rick. “I was takin’ a damn shower and someone came into the bathroom and stole what’s mine. What the hell am I misunderstanin’?”

They both turned to Aaron who held up his hands in a passive defense. “I’m not sure who would do something like this, but we will find out who did. I promise you, Daryl.”

Rick nodded. “Could’ve been one of the kids, they see you walking around with it all the time, might’ve wanted to see if they could play with it.”

“Ain’t a fuckin’ toy!”

“I know, Daryl, just spit balling ideas here.”

“Hey fellas.”

It was Eric, the jolly step halted when Daryl’s eyes focused on him.

“Am I interrupting something?”

“Someone took Daryl’s crossbow.”

Eric’s face fell, before his eyes darted to Aaron’s, whose brows furrowed in turn. Daryl saw the gesture pass between them, and he pushed the man to turn to him.

“You know somethin’ then you better be tellin’ us.”

His hands stroked his pants, wiping sweat off. “It was kind of why I was coming over.”

Rick’s gaze turned skeptical. “Which was why?”

“Was going to thank Daryl for being so nice, I ran into Ghost on her way out and she –“

“That little bitch stole my bow!”

Aaron became provoked then. “There’s no need for calling her that. She’s at fault and we’ll rectify it, but I’m sure she didn’t mean anything –“

“Sure there is, pissed because I kept her arrows.”

Aaron tilted his head. “And why would you keep her arrows?”

Daryl felt his rage diminishing being replaced with contrition. “I just felt like it. Girl thought she had every right to come charging over and demand shit, not how things work, so no, I wouldn’t fuckin’ hand them over to her.”

Aaron nodded. “We know where your bow is now, I don’t think Ghost would do anything with it. She possibly just wanted a rise out of you. Which she got, Eric, where’d you see her go?”

“Uhh, that’s the thing, when I ran into her she was telling me Daryl thought since she knew how to handle a bow she could use his crossbow and –“

“Where the hell is she?”

His mouth gaped at Daryl. “She went hunting, outside the fences.”

“I thought the three of us agreed she’d stay in here for a while?”

Eric shrugged. “You know she gets restless, and I assumed you knew.”

Daryl grunted. “You assumed wrong, where she usually go?”

“She’ll be back before –“

“I don’t give a shit I’m goin ta get a gun –“

Aaron was in front of him then. “There’s no need for violence in this.”

“Ain’t gonna get violent, I’m goin’ out there, getting my bow. She can do whatever the hell she wants after that. She ain’t keeping my shit.”

Rick cocked a brow, smirking. “Might want to give her back her shit when you get back.”

Daryl sneered, before Aaron told him where she usually went and turning around to the armory.

“And if you just sign this.”

“What for?”

The woman’s eyes went large, magnified by her glasses. “So we know that you’re the one who borrowed the pistol.”

“Fine.”

Scribbling his name down he picked the gun up, the weight nowhere near as comforting as his bow. He attached to the holster in his hip and tore through the town before getting out. It was actually good to be out of there. The build-up of staying inside for too long, of course it hadn’t even been a week, but cabin fever set in easily for him. There were animals about and if he had his damn crossbow he would’ve been glad to hunt, but he didn’t, a fuckin’ kid had it doing God knew what to it. His anger flared back up, keeping himself aware as he stormed through the trees. After a while of zipping through the woods and trying to find any clues of a track he was starting to think Aaron had been wrong.

Or he fuckin’ lied.

He could already tell from the minor interactions he’d seen that both men were protective of her, as she was with them. But hell, he wouldn’t hurt the girl. But he sure as hell was going to make sure she wouldn’t touch his shit ever again. Coming up close to a field, he tiptoed to the edge of it, trying not to make a sound in case anything was out in the clearing. Not seeing anything he was about to step out in the open when he felt something prod his back. Even with his vest on he could feel the point of the arrow. His fuckin’ arrow.

“What ya gonna shoot me girl?”

He felt the pressure retreat then, footsteps heading away. He turned seeing the bob of red leaving.

“Hey! You had yur fun, now you better be givin’ my bow back.”

She turned to him then, her eyes calm and calculating. He didn’t like looking in them too long, the color reminding him of the creek behind his childhood home, the top of the water clear and steady where at the bottom the green of the moss was amplified. The one him and Merle would fish in just to try and get something in their bellies.  His gaze shifted her hand stretching out as if expecting something.

He huffed. “I ain’t got yur damn arrows with me.”

She tilted her head, a small smirk on her face. It was almost a confession to her and he knew it.

“I’ll fuckin’ give ‘em back, you hand over my damn crossbow first.”

She hefted it in her arms, and he was again impressed on how she lifted it so easily. The weight usually bearing down on such small arms, she eyed the weapon before looking back at him. Then her hand started moving again and he snorted.

“I don’t understand any of that shit you’re doin’.”

Her lips pursed, close to angry before she gestured to her side. The place she usually had that board with her, now empty.

“Can’t help that I don’t know what yur sayin’.”

He saw her teeth clench, before relaxing. “Show me.”

He reared back, the voice muffled, but clear. “I ain’t showing ya nothing girl. You steal my shit and think I’m gonna teach ya something?”

She leaned back, her expression cooling again before starting to walk away.

“Hey!”

She walked a few feet ahead, catching up he gripped her elbow, pulling her back. She got a kick to his shin before falling to the ground. She looked up at him, an embarrassed anger on him.

“Just give it back, girl.”

Her slitted eyes widened, hauling up the bow and aiming at him.

Daryl took a step back. “The fuck –“

The arrow plunged behind him and he heard a thud. Damn walker had almost got right on them.

“This shit ain’t no game.”

She shook her head at him.

“I ain’t playin’ no more girl.”

She snorted, before heaving his bow across from him. “Doesn’t matter, been told only people with actual skill use compounds anyway.”

Picking up his bow, his head reared up at the statement. “Whoever told ya that’s full of shit.”

She rolled her eyes at him, getting up and walking away again.

“The hell you going?”

She didn’t answer him, moving out into the clearing and away from him. He looked behind him. He got his shit back, he could leave, he should leave. But seeing the girl by herself left him unsettled. Getting pissed at himself he started to jog after her, neither of them saying anything when he caught up.

[virtualbusinessventure]

Camp Gideon Revolutionaries

Liv 'in Extra Large in Charm City

Urban Cities and ghettos are in actuallity: FEMA entrapment prison camps Known to the occupants as, Section Eight.

Intro Scene:

Junior tells OG Pop that he and some of his anti-government crew, made half a million large the other night, grabs a bite to eat on his way out the door.

Cut to:

OG Pop has the 'what the fuck' look on his face; feels some type of way now. Because, no his son just didn't shoot through the crib, talking about he made half a million large couple of nights ago. Like he was wiping girly juice from off his boozack with a paper towel, on his way out after making a coupe of booty calls between hoodrat thot's, but it's OG whose feeling like a trick at the moment.

switch To: Frontal shot:

OG Pop:

"Junior!"

The original gansta can't get up from off the couch fast enough, because he just smoked a fat blunt of purple Indica Kush, and can't get to his feet fast enough to catch Junior.

Moving Shot:

"Junior!"

OG Pop stumbles a bit.

"What the fuck you say Nigga!

The oringial gansta Crip makes it out into the hall way to find himself being stared down by fellow high rise condo owners.

Reverse Angle:

"Kids, can't teach them noth 'in, can't abuse them, I ment, make use of them .. they're constantly runing the damn streets."

ovrthe Shoulder Shot:

OG Pop grins at the small gathering of neighbors, and quietly retreats back into his high rise condo.

https://www.reverbnation.com/smokdoutrecordz/song/29339480-hustlerz-get-da-dough-most-dangerous

the highway system is structured in and around America's urban cites and ghetto's, making these urban areas a huge maze, similar to what rats were subjected to in an 1950's experiment that helped design US ghetto's to concentrat the growing populations of people of color in. The maze rat trap experiment is a success, SGOPT scientist were most excited by the aspect of the rats turning on one another for survival, the effect on the primary targets will be one hundred times worse when humans are subjected to the rat race ghetto maze projects that are erected nationally in America. This process can be put in motion by simbly blocking all main enterences and exits to the highway system in a and around the urban areas, restricting everyone's movemen, trapping whole populations, instant federal concentration FEMA camps!

OG tells his wife while they conversate about politics, that his eyes are wide open while his peoples are wide shut. Later, during a couple of hours of hot passionate sex, Bonnie convinces OG to visit her little rural town she grew up in.

OG has no ideal that her hometown is also the birth place of the Imperial Knights of the round table: the pioneers of the Klu Klux Klan enforcers

OG and Bonnis brother bond

Tommy Boy is a high ranking member of the Knights and plans to do his best to protect OG, while the OG former Crip is in Red Mountain Alabama.

Tommy Boy's plans go to hell when Bonnie's childhood boyfriend attacks OG, not because OG is married to Bonnie, obvious, because OG is a Nigger! Knights rule one, all niggers must die!

Little Buck faces off with OG Pop, Little Buck makes his move.

https://www.reverbnation.com/smokdoutrecordz/song/29114468-merikkka-land-hate-keapernick-version

Tommy Boy:

"OG, don't!"

Cut to:

hours earlier that day:

Wide Shot:

Tommy Boy:

"OG, what are you trying to say?"

OG chuckles as he shakes his head.

"I'm say'in, my motherfucking eyes are wide open to the game."

Tommy Boy :

"What game OG?"

Bonnie responds:

"The whole game on racism babe."

Tommy Boy:

"What?"

OG responds:

"Okay, obviously I have to break it down for you, and yawl suppose to be the supreme race."

Tommy Boy:

"I having a hard time following you boy."

OG laughs before contiuning on

Bonnie gets impatient as she always does, and snaps at her husband.

Bonnie:

"Will you please get to the fucking point before Jesus comes back!"

OG:

"bet, for instants, I was put on to the bullshit race game by my mentors, telling me how yall made up the term white people, to instill pride in yawl's community, because yawl all are ashamed of who you really are."

Tommy Boy sits there like a deer staring into car high beam lights expression on her face at the moment.

Tommy Boy:

"Okay, I'm completely lost now."

OG:

Okay, peep this, white folk refer to us as colored people, right?"

Tommy Boy responds.

"True."

OG:

"That's because, truth be told, it's yawl who are ashamed of who yawl really are."

Tommy Boy take a swig of his bootleg liquor.

OG:

"Real talk, truth be told, why the fuck do yawl waste time tanning?

Tommy Boy takes another sip of his liquor before answering the former gang bangers question. But, before the Klansman can, he is interrupted by his sister's husband.

OG:

"I'll tell you why."

Tommy Boy:

Raises his half filled glass if liquor to OG's interruption.

Yawl white folks are ashamed of not having color, so yawl tan trying to get color, but yawl found out it's better to come up with a factious classification to fill the void of not having color, so the term white race was coined. "

Everyone is silent

Tommy Boy responds.

"Can you imagine watching the mother fucking news while the reporter asks a witness what he saw and that motherfucker says."

The Klansman leader takes another swig of liquor.

"I saw a non colored guy sticking up the liqure store."

Tommy Boy responds has a good buzz now, remains sitting shaking his head slowly.

Bonnie responds

"We rather be called white people, because it sounds more important than being called non colored."

Tommy Boy responds.

"You got that right Sissy, can you imagine the president of the United States gathering a crouwd together, and comes out his mouth, my fellow Non Colored Americans, lend me your ears."

Everyone laughs out loud together.

OG speaks:

"Yeah, but yawl been fucking up my peeps heads for centuries and shit. No wonder my peeps don't know who the fuck they are, only five percent of my peeps know who the fuck we really are."

OG is referring to the 'Five Percenters' a secret society organization, found in most inner city communities of color.

Tommy Boy:

"So, who the fuck are yawl?"

OG:

" We are Aborigines."

Tommy Boy:

"Well, why don't you broadcast this truth to the rest of the Nigeras?"

Both Bonnie and OG Pop just stare at her brother, because of his ignorant comment.

OG turns to Bonnie.

"And yawl have the nerve to call us the N word."

Bonnie laughs and gives her husband a passionate kiss on his dark brown cheek.

OG shakes his head before responding to his wife's brother.

https://www.reverbnation.com/smokdoutrecordz/song/29483855-call-2-da-girlz-u-can-roll-wit

OG explains why he won't put himself out there like that, because that's what got the Kennedy brothers, MLK, Malcomb X, Tupac, Biggie and most of all, 'Jesus' killed. That's why OG won't speak truth to power, plus his peeps rather believe a lie, than empower their communities'. That's what the damage effect of centauries of lies; false history, religion and politics can do to a people whose identity that has been whitewashed.

https://www.reverbnation.com/smokdoutrecordz/song/29114468-merikkka-land-hate-keapernick-version

https://twitter.com/420musicsound

Junior and Camp Revolutionary Militants

Junior-

Junior walks in on his crew, Camp Revolution, to find a few of his warrior's locked in a serious verbal altercation.

"What's this bitch sessission about?"

Crew Member-

"We got to do something bout this fucked up adminstration, that's what!"

Junior, being the the head rovolutionary with the cool head, slowly walks closer to the disgruntled militants before waying in.

"Did either one of you gung-ho motherfuckers bother to vote this past election?"

Crew Member-

"Of course the fuck no!"

"Then don't complain about your circumstances you didn't vote against, you stupid lazy marks."

Crew Member-

Say what?

Junior-

"I didn't studder, niether one of you bothered to vote. So, complaining about your circumstances you didn't bother to vote aganist is a waste of breath, that's what."

The two fustrated militants go on to pitch their grievance to Junior stating that Camp Revolution needs to take action against the current administrations terrorist policies being launched on the latino community, and do it now.

Junior-

"So, you two non voters are upset, because a white supremacist in running the country, right?"

Crew Member-

"Motherfucking right."

Junior-

"It's not called the white house for shits and giggles, all them honkies, including the dead presidents are, and were, white supremist. Even the black face one, you of all people, know you don't have to be a honkie to be a white supremacist."

"Our research proved that.

We uncovered the truth that the term white is a made up classification honkie falsely came up with to give their community a fake identity."

all militants listen intently to Junior.

"Thus the term white people was introduced to the world in an effort to falsely give honkies a fake supreme status over the true rulers of the universe."

Crew Members believe that the true rulers of the earth are the Jacob Israelites, which are the chosen people of the creator of the universe, Gaallutron.

"When in fact, we all know the term white, by definition means, inherently evil. Honky secretly tells the world who they truly are, inheriantely evil people. And every sinse, they have white washed our history of who we are for centuries.

Caracalla, a Black Roman Emperor, rules the first world from 211 to 217, where we civilized and liberated their fore fathers from their mountanious dwellings, and their less than human exsistance. A truth they have been bitter about til this day."

Militant-

"What about how this unjust govt is treating the Latino's?"

Junior-

"What about them?"

Militants-

"We need to bring some heat on this terrorist administration and make a statement that the mistreatment of people of color ain't going to be tolorated."

"That isn't going to happen brah."

Crew member-

"Why the fuck not, brah."

Junior-

"You want us to waste our time and energy to assist a community that begs for their rights instead of demanding them, that's a losing battle brah."

Camp Member-

"So we just turn a blind eye to their plight?"

"Where the fuck were the Latino's when the unjust terrorist cops were gunning our people down on sight in the fuck 'in streets."

All the militants stand in silence.

"I'll tell you where the latino's were, sucking up to the honkies, and now the same honkies want them out of the very land that is rightfully theirs."

All the militants that were ready to rush out to help the Latino community suddenly have a change of heart, now that their leader speaks truth to power.

"Sadly the Latino's are too busy begging this unjust govt to please have a heart and let them stay in a country that only wants them here to pick honkies fruit, clean honkies businesses and homes for little to no income."

Junior lights up a fat blunt filled with purple kush before dropping more knowledge on his crew.

"The same Latino's who have the nerve to look down on our people, because they fell for honkies bullshit propaganda, that blacks don't belong in America."