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fvrxdrm · 3 years

Text

City of the Living Dead

Chapter 6

"September 28, 2:30 am... It's down to just me and 3 others. No weapons...no ammo...and too many skirmishes have drained us mentally and physically. We're not gonna make it... Officer Phillips once suggested we escape through the sewers. Apparently, there's a secret tunnel under this place left over from its museum days. I brushed her idea off before, but now, it's not sounding all that bad. Yeah, there's no proof there's even a tunnel or that the sewers aren't infested with zombies, but I don't wanna sit here and wait to die, either. It's a long shot, but I'm gonna try to find out what I can about that tunnel... Elliot Edward," you read, "Shit. Rest in peace, buddy." You placed the transcript back to where you found it and proceeded in scanning the room you and Leon were in.

It was an office of some sort with mahogany desks occupying the center, swivel chairs pointing towards every direction, some paperworks piled in a stack and some (or rather most) cluttered all over the tables and floor. It looked like a hurricane together with an earthquake and a tsunami clashed and crashed in the area.

"Leon, w-" your head twisted and turned as you looked for best friend and even called out to him when you found him just staring at something on the ceiling, his trembling lips pinned in between pearly-white teeth, eyebrows furrowed upwards, and eyes looking like a dam was about to breakdown because of too much pressure. You went towards where he was standing and followed his gaze. You gasped. He was looking at stringed triangle banners with letters printed out on each of them

WEL COME LEON

Your face began to mirror Leon's but a pained smile differentiated yours from his as a sudden rush of memory enlightened your brain. "Hey, look, the design's the same as the banner I surprised you with when we were 15," you said, raising an arm to point at the triangular flags.

Leon chuckled softly at what you said and nodded while a sneaky tear flowed down his cheek in a tiny stream. "Yeah."

"Come on, Leon! I worked hard for this." You hauled on your friend's wrist and led him towards his room with a strain as Leon's languor held him back.

"This better be good, Y/N. You fucking woke me up and I'm really close to fucking strangling you." His voice was a little hoarse from having just woken up right before you pulled him off of the couch and he was still lowkey tired because of the three-hour rest he had last night, but as much as he wanted to throw you out of his house and fall into a well-deserved slumber again, he was into surprises and was curious as to what you had in store. So, he went along with it even though he was pretty much a sloth still.

"I promise you'll love it." You chortled.

Leon sighed in defeat before loosening up and letting you pull him towards where you wanted to take him for this so-called surprise with a rub of his crusty eyes.

When a familiar door came into view in front of you, you covered Leon's eyes with one of your hands and twisted the door knob, revealing a bedroom with a banner hovering over Leon's messy bed, before lightly pushing him inside.

"All right, here we are," you spoke as you removed your hand from your face, moving right beside him to watch Leon's face as it shifted from being enraptured to crestfallen real quick. You guffawed in a boisterous way at his reaction and plummeted down to the ground whilst clutching your stomach in a joyful pain.

YOU SUCK LEON

"Really, Y/N? This-this is what you wanted to show me?"

"It's true though, you actually suck!"

"Come on, you know you only won in Street Fighter because I let you," he whined. You stood up from being laid on the floor before clutching onto Leon's shoulder for dear life.

"For 20 times? Really?" You laughed again, "nah, you just suck, bro."

Leon narrowed his eyes at you with lips pressing tightly in a thin line and turned towards you, his feet moving slowly in tandem as he approach you with a spurious anger, his hands closing into fists.

"What?" You asked with a nervous chuckle and feet backing up in rhythm with his laggard advances.

"You think I suck?" His voice imitated a dark tone. Had you not been slightly scared - which you hated to admit - you would've busted a gut at how ridiculous it sounded.

"I mean, yeah, it's already said in the banner, dimwitt."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Hell yeah!"

"Well, let's see who sucks now!"

Welp, that's my cue!

You dodged Leon's attack by the skin of your teeth, stumbling on a stupid pencil for a bit, before proceeding to run around the house to avoid Leon's "spider fingers" as you call it and making a tiny bit of a mess. However, your luck has gone away and he eventually caught you when you accidentally tripped over the leg of a chair, throwing you into his bed and tickling each spot that would make you squirm and and laugh.

"I still suck, huh?"

"N-no, fine...y-you don't...s-suck," you cried in between heavy breaths and hysterics. Satisfied with your remark, Leon stopped his fingers from moving and plopped down beside you, taking a moment to catch his breath before he pulled you closer to his body and spooned you. "You still couldn't win yesterday though."

"Yeah, well, I know a million ways to win your heart though."

"Fuck off, Le-le." Leon tsked at the nickname.

"Y/N, that sounds awful as fuck."

"Whatever." You felt his lashes kiss the nape of your neck as he closed his eyes to give them another four hours of rest, your own following afterwards when you heard Leon's muffled voice vibrate against your shirt.

"Hey, you wanna be my date for homecoming?"

"I thought you already asked Lexee to be your date."

"Dante already asked her out, so..."

"Okay, fine, I'll be your date." You squeezed his hand before intertwining your fingers with his and smiling when you felt him kiss your hair.

"Thanks, Y/N. Good night."

"It's 10 in the morning, dumba-"

"Shh... Rock-a-bye baby..."

"You do suck though." You light-heartedly nudged Leon's side and wrinkled your eyes in a grin, chuckling when he returned the gesture with a titter.

"I really don't," he retorted back.

"Sure." You took his hand in yours and gently squeezed it in a comforting way to ease the two of you before placing a feather's kiss on the back of it. "Come on, we still have a job to do."

*****

Leon S. Kennedy, we're putting you on a very special case for your first assignment. Your mission is...to unlock your desk! The key to your success is in the initials of our first names. Input the letters in order of our desks. There are 2 locks- 1 on each side of your desk. Make sure you get them both. Basically, your first task is to remember your fellow officers' names, but you figured that much out, right? Good luck, Leon. By the way, it might take a little work to get Scott to give you a straight answer.

Lieutenant Branagh

Scrawled in a corner between drops of blood on the paper was an additional note the lieutenant had written while he and his fellow officers were isolated and trapped, and it read:

Be glad you're not here, rookie.

"Remember your fellow officers' names..."

"I think that means the initials of my supposedly co-workers' names should be the password to open these locks on my desk." Leon stood up from where he was knelt down on the floor and casted around from desk to desk, unlocking the padlocks on his table and claiming the prize after accomplishing his "first assignment" - a magazine for his beloved Matilda.

You smiled when Leon pulled out the gun he's had since the beginning of his adult years, another retention reminding you of the peaceful days you once had before you started walking right into confusion.

Matilda was a gift Leon's father had given him on his 18th birthday, a few months before he died of cancer. He was happy about it, and knowing how his family had supported his decision on him becoming a cop, his heart fluttered inside and he couldn't be more grateful about it. Leon held onto it everyday, even becoming a bit hesitant about leaving it behind whenever he went to school. And when his father passed away because of said illness, he grasped onto the weapon the same way he did when his dad was still alive, if not more.

"Happy birthday, Leon. Happy birthday, Leon. Happy birthday, happy birthday... Happy birthday, Leon... HAPPY BIRTHDAY, LEON!"

Leon's cheeks stretched in an almost painful way as everyone erupted into cheers and confetti fell from the ceiling. Each person was wearing cone-shaped hats and the living room was decorated with different ornaments colored in his favorite hues. His family was there and so were his friends, and oh, how could he almost forget...

It was his 18th birthday!

"So, what do you think?" You spoke from behind him. He turned around to see you smiling like an idiot and tugging on the string of a party you picked up from the floor.

"This," he began. "This is amazing! Wh-"

"Well, son, the candle's almost melting. Wanna make a wish?" Leon's dad emerged from behind the small crowd with a three-layered cake balanced on top of his palms. The icing of the pastry was blue, edible police-related finishing touches garnished it with such perfection he almost didn't want to eat it for the sake of admiring and staring at the cake, and a single candle formed into the number 18 as an emphasis to his recent age was placed on top with a tiny flame dancing around in the air. Leon closed his eyes and wished for the best before blowing the candle, watching as the fire disappeared into a swirling smoke. Everyone rejoiced once again.

When voices had began dying down one by one, Leon's father called his name and picked up a box from underneath the table after placing the cake down where it wouldn't fall down.

"Leon, you're going to be attending the police academy soon and in the next few years you'll be the cop you always wanted. So, as a gift, I give you this gun." He opened the rectangular cardboard box where a gun laid and presented it to his child, Leon's eyes sparkling in delight at his very own weapon. "I know you'll be taking good care of Matilda."

"Matilda?" Leon asked in confusion.

"You know, like, Mathilda from Leon: The Professional," his dad replied. Leon chuckled in response before he carefully took the gun out of its container, still a bit iffy about touching it.

"I'll be taking good care of this, dad."

"I know you will."

"You still have that gun?" You spoke as you gestured towards his firearm.

"Yep, she still looks good as new. I didn't want to break my promise," Leon responded. He turned his gun around to show you just how much he kept it safe like a mother would to a child. Your E/C orbs twinkled in admiration, a feeling in your heart you had kept for a very long time flittering in a joyous manner for the first time since you last saw him.

"Nothing's really changed, huh?"

"I don't want to change anything for now...especially now that you're back here with me."

*****

So, I found this image on google and an idea suddenly popped into my head lmao.

Anyway, WE'RE BACK! I was busy in school blah blah blah. I think yall know that already.

#leonkennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy imagines #leon s kennedy x reader #leonxreader #leon kennedy x you #resident evil #residentevil2 #resident evil fanfic #leon kennedy #leon kennedy fanfic

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ionlycareaboutyou · 4 years

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prompt: kind of a niche ship but could you write some richie n seth fluff pls? i love your fics!!✨

omg i love this ship. i’ve written them vaguely (richie/seth/stefon threesome fic) but never on their own? so this was a v fun challenge for me. i hope u like it, u’ve inspired me to write more for them!

cw for this being set in IT ch 2 canon, so eddie is like. dead and gone for good, unfortunately, and it is discussed. i picture this fic being set around 2017. i promise this fic isn’t just richie angst, there’s fluff! just gotta get through some sad parts first.

When he moved back to New York City, Richie felt like his 29-year-old self again. He still does sometimes. The NYC comedy scene and the LA one are distinctly different, despite all the NYC expats who move to LA to star in films or do voice acting or settle down and have a few kids. It didn’t feel right to go back, though. LA was all shine and sun, several layers of sky blue paint over decades worth of grime. At least NYC was honest in its grime for the most part. At least New Yorkers were able to joke about their greasy ass pizza and subway rats instead of all trying to be Instagram influencers.

The real truth was that Richie had friends in NYC. In LA, he had none. And what he needed was friends.

The funny thing about reconnecting with an old friend is that sometimes, even though it seems like a lot has changed, they’re still the same person, deep down.

Seth is still a workaholic--the same workaholic who Richie met back when he hosted SNL for the first time. He still stays up til 4 AM sometimes, drinking dark, bitter coffee for the caffeine rather than the taste, darting in and out of cubicles, asking if anything new has cropped up in the past few hours that’s monologue worthy. He still wears those ratty sweatshirts during the day and changes into suits for the evening. He does shave more consistently, Richie will give him that. He still laughs high pitched and loud when a joke really gets him, and he still laughs at his own jokes, even, stumbling through them sometimes with tears welling up in his eyes. He still loves to drink tequila and whiskey and anything really that brings heat to his cheeks and more of that laughter bubbling out of his chest, though he tells Richie he doesn’t drink as much as he used to--he’s far too old for it now, and the hangovers are intense.

(“I do wanna do a day drinking segment with Rihanna, though,” he confides in him once over lunch. They’re eating greasy pizza, and Richie feels like he’s in heaven, because the shit in LA doesn’t even begin to measure up.

“Rihanna? Do you have, like, connections to her or something?”

“No! I wish,” Seth frowns at his slice of pepperoni. “Do you?”

Richie hoots out a laugh. “Dude, you are severely overestimating me if you think I know Rihanna. Good luck on your quest, though.”

“Hey, maybe Rihanna’s got a thing for raunchy comedians who wear the same shirt three days in a row and own like, two pairs of sneakers and refuse to buy new ones. I don’t know her personally, either.”

Richie flicks a piece of mushroom right at Seth’s face. He laughs in that way he does, and Richie’s chest flutters.)

And maybe it’s the fact that Seth is still Seth--still blue-eyed, New Hampshire, toothy grin Seth--that makes Richie fall for him. And he’s not even surprised by it. He thinks he’s always sort of had a piece of his heart reserved for Seth, even when he moved to LA. He was the first one to send him a congratulatory text when the news broke that he got Late Night, and he was always happy to wander around his too-empty LA apartment and shoot the shit with him for hours long phone calls about everything and anything and nothing at all. Seth was the first to welcome Richie with open arms back to NYC. They were the sort of friends that never truly fell apart, even when they went a while without speaking to each other.

It all comes tumbling out eventually, why Richie is back in NYC. Seth never really poses the question, but when Richie calls him one Tuesday night at 3 AM, eyes unfocused and hot with tears and chest heaving with hyperventilating sobs, the answer becomes clear to him.

He’s still awake, of course, sitting in his office and staring at the writers’ Slack chat when the phone rings. “Are you awake, man? I’m sorry if I woke you,” Richie says into the phone, warbly.

Seth manages to talk him down from it when Richie admits he had a pretty vivid nightmare. He doesn’t judge him for a second or wonder why a 40-year-old man is so shook up by one. He simply talks slow and soft into the phone, telling him it’s okay and grounding him as best as he can. “You can tell me anything, Rich, you know that, right?” His voice is so goddamn sweet Richie wants to sob all over again.

So he tells him everything--well, rather, a condensed version of everything. He tells him he had friends as a kid back in Maine, really close friends, and they met up again after drifting apart, and he tells him that he saw his best friend in the world die right in front of his eyes. He’s careful with his words, but something tells him that even if he did explain all the clown shit, Seth would listen and comfort him all the same, even if he was confused by it. “I feel so bad for dumping this shit on you, dude,” Richie says, fighting back the tears that he’s finally managed to quell. “It’s just--”

“Shh, hey, it’s okay,” Seth assures him, “I can’t fucking imagine. I’m so sorry. I know that sounds really lame, to say I’m sorry. I know it doesn’t really fix anything.”

“It’s okay. I haven’t--no one really knows. I mean, my friends know, they were there, too, but...God, it’s so fucking complicated.” He lays his head back down on his pillow and exhales a shaky sigh, feeling mostly back down to earth. “I guess I just. I picked up my phone and dialed you because I needed to know everything was...you were okay and I wasn’t still in that fucking dream.”

“I get it. You don’t have to worry about that. You know I keep crazy hours anyway.” They manage to get a chuckle out of that. “I hope this doesn’t sound insensitive, but I’m glad you were with him in his final moments, I’m sure he was very glad to have you there.”

Richie swallows the baseball-sized lump in his throat. “God, I sure fucking hope so. He was…” he stops himself. He hadn’t told the other Losers what he wanted to say about Eddie and how he felt about him, but he was certain they knew. Seth is completely detached from this whole situation, but maybe putting out what he’s been harboring in his chest for so long will take some weight off it. “He was the first person I really fell in love with.”

“Oh, Rich.” Seth’s voice is soft and sad.

“I know that’s a lot to tell you, and like, I haven’t even really told you, or anyone that I’m gay, but I guess here it is, this is so damn...ungraceful,” he rambles with a shaky little laugh, “But I guess I’m not really graceful anyway.”

“It’s okay. You know it doesn’t bother me at all, right? God, I sound like--every straight dude in the world right now. I’m totally cool with gays!”

“Well, maybe a little,” Richie says, unable to not give him a little shit, and he’s happy to hear Seth laugh on the other end. “But thanks. I’m glad you were the first person I told.”

“Well, when I tell you about the dudes I hooked up with in college, I know you’ll be chill about it, too.” Seth says, then adds, “Oh, guess I just did.”

“You what? Seth middle-name Meyers.”

“It’s Adam.”

“Not the point. You what?”

“Dude, haven’t I told you like a million times about my crush on James Spader? Do you know how many times I’ve watched Pretty in Pink? Too many times. That’s not even the best Hughes film.”

“I thought that was like--a joke! You always said you wanted to grow your hair out like that!” He’s smiling against the phone, really truly grinning at this whole mutual coming out situation, and he’s so happy to be smiling again.

“Well, yeah, I do, but also, like, he was hot, okay? Him being bald now is the greatest tragedy of my life.” Seth says, laughing even more.

“You know, I haven’t gone bald yet. I’ve got plenty of hair. It’s unwashed right now, but feel free to run your hands through it. We can roleplay. I’ll be...fuck, what was his name? The Pretty in Pink guy?” Richie hasn’t seen that movie since it came out.

Seth answers very quickly. “Steff.”

“That’s it! I’ll be Steff, and you can be...Andie! That’s her name.”

“Steff wasn’t the love interest, though, remember? He was the love interest’s asshole friend.”

Richie hums. “I’m kind of an asshole. Not as pretty of an asshole as Spader, though.”

“I think you’re perfectly pretty.”

“Thanks,” he smiles again. His stomach knots itself up, then un-knots. Seth Meyers, the man who’s all blue eyes, New Hampshire, and salt-and-pepper hair is calling him pretty. What a world.

After he hangs up and manages to catch a few hours of sleep, he’s not surprised when he gets a call from Seth a few days later asking if he wants to grab a drink, and there’s a different tone to his voice. He can’t quite place it, but it almost sounds nervous, like he doesn’t want to screw this up. He doesn’t screw anything up, though, and when they make their way back to Seth’s apartment, pleasantly buzzed, and end up on his couch, lips on lips, Richie isn’t really surprised, either. He smiles into each one.

They seem to divide their time in between either apartment, not quite ready to have the “hey, let’s move in together” conversation. It’s only been a few months, and they’re taking their time. Richie’s never let himself take his time before.

Most nights, they’re tangled up in whatever bed they’ve fallen into--tonight, it’s Seth’s, and Richie has managed to get him home at a reasonable time, around midnight, even though the show filmed several hours before. (“The news and the president don’t stop,” Seth has explained to him before, “But God, I wish they would.”) He’s running his fingers through Seth’s hair, which is surprisingly soft once all the product is washed out. Richie never gets tired of touching it. “You’re halfway to Spader, I think.”

“Yeah? I’ll see if makeup and wardrobe approve of me growing it out any longer, or if they’ll force me to cut it.” Seth sounds sleepy, but even in the dark Richie can tell he’s smiling.

“I’d like it,” he says, and presses a kiss to the line of Seth’s jaw. “Isn’t that enough?”

“For me? More than enough.” Seth brings him in for a proper kiss, long and deep and warm, hands wandering and stroking skin, unhurried and sweet.

When they pull apart, it comes tumbling out, as things seem to do. “I love you.” It’s the first time Richie has said it. He’s known it, without a shadow of a doubt, for a while now. And he thinks Seth knew it, too, even if it went unsaid. He understood that Richie was working up to this sort of thing, to opening himself up and allowing himself to cry and feel and say things like that. Like I love you. And now it’s come out, like it was always bound to, and Richie feels Seth smile against his temple.

“I love you, too.”

“More than James Spader?”

Seth laughs. “Much more.” He pulls him in for another kiss, and they say “I love you” many more times that night, and almost every night afterward.

#my writing #thank you so much for this prompt! i went a little wild #i kind of woobified richie a bit but what i can i say i love to project #and the james spader thing is the result of seth always talking abt him in monologues and ACNs #he wants to 'grow his hair out that long'#but he needs that 'spader confidence'#lmao #Anonymous

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the-digimon-tamer · 4 years

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Chapter 41 - Compromised is out now on FanFiction.Net and ArchiveOfOurOwn! Check them out with the links or find it after the break!

Title: The Tamer v2.0 - In HIs Name

Fandom: Digimon

Rating: T

Synopsis: In the next adventure of the Digimon Tamer, the lives of Juri, Rika, and Henry change forever when digimon begin crossing over into the human world. But it’s all just a story, right? Just a book series by an author no one has seen in a long time. Why are they here and can they save their world before something worse follows the digimon?

Ken Ichijouji, Wormmon, Davis Motomiya, Veemon, Tamer, and Guilmon landed in the Digital World - outside the familiar ruins of the Hallowed Bastion. The terrifying castle that they had come to so long ago as kids still stood as a decrepit reminder of what was and the terrible things of the past. Ken in particular was uncomfortable at the sight of it but Tamer hurried them inside. And all the better for it too because they could hear the chaos the Digital World descended to around them.

The Digital World was burning to the ground all around them - its skies darkened by more digimon than could be counted fighting for their lives. And they needed to hurry if they were going to put an end to this before any lives ended.

As Tamer led them inside, Ken couldn’t help but reminded of his own past here and the things he had done because of it. The thoughts still haunted him as the memories came back with every echoing step in the empty halls. He shook his head to pull himself out of it and asked a question to break the silence, “Where exactly are we going?”

“To find a computer. We get one of those and we can connect it to your digivices. Then you guys just have to do your thing,” he answered quickly, leading them further into its darkest depths. He and Davis exchanged anxious looks, both men thinking the same thing. It had been a long time since either of them had any kind of adventure in the Digital World. And despite all the terrible things going on, it was good to be back in the Digital World again. Even better, it was good to see their partners again after not having seen them in so long.

“You’ve cut your hair, Ken,” Wormmon said from behind him. Ken snorted, “The hair was getting in my eye during work. It was kind of a problem.”

“Oh? You’re still a detective, right?” Wormmon asked quietly. Ken nodded, “That’s right. But I’ve gone private now. Still working around the clock for anyone who’ll hire me. The last case I was working was finding Takeru and you guys actually. We were all worried sick. Yamato was the worst of all of us - guy was paranoid something happened.”

“That’sh nothing. You should’ve sheen the way TK wash acting! He wouldn’t let ush leave the houshe unlessh he wash there with ush,” Veemon pointed out. Davis laughed at his partner’s words, “You guys are safe and we’re back together. That’s all that matters. By the way, you’ve gotta meet my son. You’ll love him.”

“Shon? Did you and Kari finally tie the knot?” Veemon asked. Davis waved him off, “No, it didn’t work out. You were there, remember?”

Veemon shrugged it off and shook his head, “I alwaysh figured you two would get back together. You two were alwaysh sho happy together. It’sh a shame.”

Davis crossed his arms and growled, “Hey! Don’t you talk about my wife that way. She’s the greatest person I’ve ever met! Especially when she does this thing with her mou- I mean, um...never mind!”

Ken rolled his eyes, unsurprised that Davis almost made the conversation so inappropriate. He could tell from the quizzical look Veemon was giving him that the digimon didn’t quite understand what he was about to say. At least, that’s what Ken thought until Veemon said, “Do you mean mouth? You mean eating your food? You always were a really good cook! I bet she eats a lot of your food every day!”

That was almost worst - Ken couldn’t quite tell if Veemon was teasing his partner or not. And he could tell even Davis was stumped by his response, “Eh…something like that.”

“Are you talking about food?” Guilmon stopped in his tracks, sniffing the air around him, “I don’t smell anything. Is there food? I’m really hungry.”

Davis gave the digimon a big thumbs up and smiled for the red dinosaur, “Well, I’ll whip us up a big celebratory dinner after all this is over. You guys can all come over to my ramen shop and we’ll eat a big meal to celebrate! All of us!”

“Can you even afford to feed all of us? More specifically, can your business survive feeding all of them?” Ken asked, gesturing towards the three digimon present. Davis simply laughed it off, “Don't get too high and mighty there, mister detective. It’s not like you’ve ever really looked at my business.”

“I have,” he admitted, “I keep tabs on everyone I know. Mind if I ask what you did with twenty million yen?”

“One word!” Davis’ smile widened, reminding Ken of the fact that this guy was more than capable of pulling the wool over his eyes and surprising him if he wanted to, “Franchising!”

Yep. There it was. The surprise he didn’t see coming. He smiled as he realized this meant still able to surprise him - even with all his investigative skills and intelligence, his best friend of years was still able to do something surprising. Franchising. He laughed at the idea that he might become the richest member of the digidestined.

“We’re here!” Tamer announced to their surprise, stopping in front of an innocuous door. Nothing in particular about this door stood out. It was so ordinary, he didn’t even realize it was there until Tamer stopped in front of it. Tamer pushed it open without a second thought and called for them to come inside, “Come on. We’ve got work to do.”

“Okay, what is this place? I don’t think we’ve ever seen this room,” Davis stated as he went in next. Veemon hopped along just behind them, Ken pausing to glance at his partner. His partner was just as anxious as he was, he knew just from the look on his face. And the little digimon could sense he was just as uncomfortable, “It’s okay, Ken. I’m right here. We’ll be going in together.”

“I know Wormmon. I just need a moment,” he replied. Wormmon touched his partner and replied, “It’ll be alright Ken. Take your time.”

“Thanks Wormmon,” he nodded grimly, taking a moment to steady his nerves and calm down before heading inside. Within was a plain room - probably no bigger than a student’s bed room with a desk in one corner and a bed in the other. On the desk was a small data chip covered in a fine layer of dust that Tamer blew off and picked up, “Perfect. Let’s see if this still fires up.”

He pressed a button on it and tucked it just behind his ear - where a small screen appeared in his field of view just in front of him. Davis whistled, “Whoa, cool. What is it?”

“It’s a computer. A student’s computer so it’s mostly for reading and watching movies. But it’ll do for now,” Tamer answered matter of factly, “Come on. Let’s get to the armory and get you guys some scanners and communicators!”

“Scanners?” Davis repeated stupidly, “I thought we were using our digivices?”

Takato snapped his fingers, “You are. But I’ll need those scanners to act as access points so that this computer receives the data. That’s the only way this plan will-”

Ken heard a beep from his D-Terminal and retrieved it from his coat pocket, “Sorry.”

“I hope you’re not too busy to help save the world,” Tamer crossed his arms with an annoyed tone. Guilmon whined, “I’m too hungry to save the world.”

“We haven’t even done anything yet!” Veemon pointed out to him. Tamer tapped his foot impatiently, “He’s always like that. It’s a miracle when he’s not hungry.”

Ken read the message and realized urgency was a factor. He shouted to get their attention, “Guys! It’s from Izzy and Mimi’s daughter. She says the thing is on to the plan.”

“What?” Tamer hurried to look at the screen himself in disbelief, “But that’s not possible. It shouldn’t have any idea what we’re doing. How...no, never mind. We need to hurry. Time moves faster on this side of the world. We still have time to counter it. We have time to think this through. First, carry on with the plan on this side. Let’s get going.”

His pace hurried and they struggled to keep up with him - trying their best to sprint after him as Tamer hurried along at what must’ve been a break neck pace. His years as a detective gave him a bit of an edge when it came to keeping up, however it was Davis’ willingness to keep going that had him surprised even when he was out of breath. Ken smirked back at the chef, “Out of shape?”

Davis smiled back at him and grunted, “You wish. You think I’d be able to run a restaurant without the stamina to keep up? Besides, your breathing is getting heavier.”

“I’m not sweating,” Ken fired back. Wormmon and Veemon laughed, the little worm digimon remarking, “It’s so good to see you two getting along so well after all this time. Although I would’ve thought your competitive streak would’ve died by now.”

“As long as I’m alive, I’ll always be showing the world that I’m just as good as Ken Ichijouji!” Davis said with a thumbs up. Ken sighed, “I haven’t been a child genius in years and you know it. Hell, I’m not even great at soccer any more.”

Davis slapped him on the back, “You better believe I’m not going to let my rival fall behind me even an inch.”

“If you two are done, I need your help opening this door! I don’t have the codes to get it open,” Tamer announced as he slid to a stop in front of another door. Another door in another section of the castle Ken didn’t recognize. Davis looked down at his partner, “Go for it, Veemon!”

“V-HEADBU- OW!” Veemon’s cry of attack turned into a cry of pain as he slammed into the metallic door and tumbled back onto the ground, “Bad idea, my mishtake. What givesh? Why didn’t it work?”

“The Guardians wouldn’t make a door that could be knocked over by a rookie level digimon. I think they’d be insulted by that,” Tamer put a hand to his hips and turned back to the door, “We’ll need to pry it open. It should still slide at least. Here!”

He grabbed onto the crack of the door and started pulling from one side. Ken raised an eyebrow at Tamer’s antics, “Can’t you just hack it? I mean, the Ancients-”

“Guardians,” Tamer corrected.

“The Assholes created a door that couldn’t be blasted open but anyone who wanted to could just pry it open?” Ken asked with crossed arms. Tamer looked back at him, “Do you want to save the world or do you want to just stand there nitpicking?”

Each of them took an end of the door and pulled it open as hard as they could to get it to slide apart. With a little give, they finally for the door open and Tamer rushed in. The rest of them stared in awe at the racks and shelves containing nothing but what appeared to be rifles, spears, and all manner of advanced gadgets that made their jaws fall open. Davis commented, “Man, those Ancients sure did love making doom weapons, huh? Digivices, Digieggs...next you’ll tell me these are Digispears and digiguns!”

“Disintegration Blaster, actually,” Tamer replied as he made his way past the shelves of weapons.

“I don’t get it. Why aren’t we using this?” Ken asked in a surprised matter of fact tone as he looked out upon these various weapons. Tamer started moving things around in search of what he needed and finally retrieved what looked like radios from the shelf, “Here we are!”

“Tamer!” Ken scolded, annoyed that he was being ignored. Tamer sighed, “No, we’re not using any of these. If the weapons worked, that thing wouldn’t be there. It would’ve been dead forever ago when the Guardians found it the first time. The Guardians threw an army at it and it ate them. If anything, showing up with these weapons might help it figure out what it’s up against. Now here!”

He tossed the radios to them, both adults fumbling the devices in their hands before managing to get a good grip on it. Tamer scolded again, “Careful! Don’t break it!”

“You’re the one who threw it!” Ken pointed out. Tamer shrugged, “Semantics. Now let’s find some communicators!”

...

Yamaki stared in disbelief as the birds started lining the windows of the building. All the scientists and engineers moved away in a panic, while security teams drew their weapons at the birds staring at them. To his astonishment, the digimon still in the room leapt forward to fight - the brown bunny thing, the flying pink seal, and the rest all leapt forward. Before anyone could do anything, Yamaki raised his hand, “Stop! Hold your fire!”

“Sir, they’re gathering at the windows!” Riley said from behind him.

“Right now, those windows are the only things keeping them out and they’re not attacking,” he pointed out, “They’re planning something. What are they up to?”

“Do you really think glass is going to keep them out!?” one of the monster makers stated. Yamaki raised an eyebrow at her, “You think a government agency would use regular glass on a window this high up? A government agency whose operatives are likely to get shot at?”

To prove his point, one of the birds slammed into the window with all its might. It bounced off the window and took a moment to correct itself in the air - as if trying to understand what happened. He smirked as the shatter resistant glass was holding. And it widened as the bird things started slamming into it. Again and again, each trying to break through the barrier keeping them out. His smile disappeared when he watched one finally hit the glass hard enough to make it crack - leaving a shatter pattern across its frame. Then another appeared.

And another.

“It’s not bullet proof, sir. It’s bullet resistant. I don’t think it’s designed to take this many hits in a row,” one of the agents pointed out. Yamaki clicked his tongue angrily, “I noticed! Lock down the building!”

“Way ahead of you,” Riley said from across the room, pulling on one of the alarms. Not a fire alarm, a security alarm. As soon as she hit it, metal panels lowered from above the windows to seal the creatures out. But that only angered them and made them strike the windows harder in protest. Yamaki finally felt his nerve give out and drew his own gun, praying that he wouldn’t have to fire until the panels finally closed on the window.

Five seconds never felt longer as the glass continued to give under the constant attacks of the alien creatures. Just as the metallic panels closed, they watched a large golden insect appear from the side and slam into them at full force. The room was dark now, but they could still hear the muffled sounds of fighting just beyond the metal panels.

Then a loud bang echoed against the metal panel and the room filled with screams. It stopped shortly after and all that was left was silence. Whatever was going on out there, it seemed the creatures were still trying to get in. Then they heard banging from outside. Dolphin asked, “How long will those things hold?”

“No idea. That makes it all the more important to get the Juggernaut back online as quickly as possible,” Yamaki holstered his gun and turned back to the rest of the staff, “Let’s get back to work. Security personnel, inspect the perimeter and keep those things out. If an area is breached, we’re sealing it off. IT and Engineering staff, get back to work on the machines. The sooner we get Juggernaut back up, the better shape we’ll be in.”

“Why were they attacking us?” Zhenyu’s wife asked nervously. Before he could answer, there was a banging at the door beside them and the weapons were drawn again. Another loud banging came from the door and one of the civilian parents shouted, “Oh god, they’re inside.”

“Calm down. The whole’s building locked down now. There’s no way in or out. Whoever is on the other side of that door was already in the building,” Yamaki barked, walking over to the door with a hand on his weapon. He really hoped he was right about this. He turned the handle and threw the door open to find Izumi and his wife there.

“IZUMI! What the hell are you two doing in the stairs? Security never said you were here,” Yamaki practically shouted, surprised to see them just coming inside. Izumi wheeled his chair in while his wife took a seat on one of the chairs. Without missing a beat, the wheel chair bound scientist stated, “We were trying to warn you about those things when the whole building went dark. Looks like you initiated the lock down.”

Yamaki nodded, making his way to their handicapped member, “How did you even get in the building? The whole place is locked down!”

Izumi pointed upstairs, “We came in the roof. It’s hard to take stairs in a wheel chair. Are you okay Mimi?”

“I’m fine!” his wife said, waving him off despite struggling to catch her breath, “Don’t worry about me! Get to the important part!”

Izumi nodded and went on, “That thing knows. The D-Reaper knows about the plan. At least, it knows you guys have a plan to stop it and it’s trying to get in to stop you!”

“Oh that’s just great. How did it find out?” Curly asked.

Izumi’s wife answered, “It overheard us when we were talking with our daughter. She’s out there right now fighting those things with our digimon.”

“She is? Well screw that! I’m not sitting around in here while she’s fighting out there! Come on Guardromon!” Kazu declared to his partner. He and the giant robot made their way to the door, just as he was grabbed by his father, “Oh no you don’t! You’re running out there just to go get yourself killed!”

“But dad-” Kazu began to protest, however Yamaki cut him off before he could say anymore, “Don’t even bother, kid. The whole building is locked down. No one, and I mean no one, is getting in or out of this building.”

“They got in!” Kazu protested.

“We were already in when the lockdown activated,” Izumi responded.

“Then lift the lock down!” he complained, but Yamaki rolled his eyes, “Not when there’s an army of those things trying to get into this building! Face it kid, you’re stuck here with us. Now sit down before you hurt yourself.”

…

Impmon had to admit that he was enjoying himself for the first time in a long time. Both Ai and Mako appeared to be on their best behavior. But he had been down this road before and it ended in disappointment. And he was not going to be another rope in their tug of war game. There was no way in hell he’d allow himself to be put in that position again. And yet, he had to admit that he was happy in a way he hadn’t been in a long time.

It helped that they seemed to genuinely be trying to be on their best behavior now. Which was a nice difference from where things had been before. But it was soured by the images flying through his mind - the faces of the dying, the screams of those meeting their doom, the terror of knowing there was no hope of survival. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t convince himself these images were anything more than delusions.

They were so clear, so vibrant. They were memories, and he was glad it was in the past. And they put a lot of Ai and Mako’s behaviors into context. It made his departure of their home seem petty and childish; as petty and childish as their fighting. But they were kids. That seemed to be the takeaway - they didn’t know any better and they were learning.

“So where have you been all this time Impmon?” Ai asked, “You weren’t cold, were you? Or scared? We were so worried.”

“I was...fine,” he answered sheepishly, quietly eating into the snacks. Mako looked out the window, “Mommy and daddy have been putting a lot of our stuff in the car. They say we need to leave the city. Everyone seems super scared about something.”

“Yeah,” Impmon answered, glancing out the window. So Ai and Mako were at least aware that something was going on. They were just too naive to understand what. It troubled him to know that even that one guy’s little sister had a better grasp on the situation than either of them did. He took another bite of the cookie when he felt a strong unease - the kind of instinctual anxiety that became a sixth sense for danger. And no sooner than it went off, he felt the ground shake and everyone fall over.

“AAH!”

“EARTHQUAKE!”

Ai and Mako screamed and they heard the door slam open. It was their parents calling out to them, “Ai! Mako! Are you okay!”

“MOMMY!”

“DADDY!”

Both parents came around the corner and saw Impmon lying on the floor. The parents panicked at the sight of him, “Impmon!? What are you doing here?”

“Fuggedaboutit! What’s goin’ on out theres?” he asked, scrambling up to his feet. The parents cried out, “It’s those things! They’re out there! And there’s more of them!”

“What?” Impmon had an idea of what they were talking about and was afraid of the answer. He should just run! Get as far away from this place as he could! But if he did that, then what would happen to Ai and Mako? Their parents couldn’t protect them. Not from that. He clicked his tongue angrily at the realization of what he had to do. And he really wished he wasn’t going out to do it.

He hurried past the parents, out the door and onto the familiar street where he watched a large, unfamiliar metal work digimon being swarmed by countless bird creatures. It was the wolf’s thrashing on the cramped street causing all the shaking as it tried to hurt the bird creature. And without warning, the wings on its back kicked up like jet engines and it took off for the sky. Some of the bird creatures chased after it. But others hung back and scattered across the neighborhood. One in particular took a long look at Impmon before charging forward. Impmon leapt back and raised up a gloved hand, “Oh no you don’t! BADABOOM!”

He chucked the fireball right at its face but the creature simply leapt out of harm’s way before the blast could strike it. He threw another at it but the bird thing just moved too fast for him to get a head on it. He tried aiming ahead of it but it was too agile and quick for him. It was infuriating. But he couldn’t cut and run now. He couldn't leave them to this thing.

“Impmon!” he heard Mako cry out behind him. Impmon cursed his luck and the timing of this horrible situation. Why did this have to happen to him? He cursed his luck and threw himself in front of the small boy, “What’re ya doin, kid? Get back inside!”

“But you’re out here!” he argued back. Impmon groaned, “I can tak-”

He felt his heart stop when he saw one of the bird creatures position itself behind Mako. The kid probably didn’t even realize how much danger he was in. Impmon couldn’t just let it happen though - without thinking he dashed towards Mako and conjured a fireball in his hand, “GET DOWN! BADABOOM!”

But the boy wouldn’t put his head down. He continued to stare at Impmon in confusion. He really was just oblivious to his surroundings, wasn’t he? The bird thing was just inches behind him and he didn’t even seem to register it was there. Impmon called out, “Mako! For crying out loud! Get down!”

“MAKO!” Ai cried out in terror from the door. Of course the problems were just piling up. Ai had come out now, and she was shaking from the door frame at the sight of the door. Mako finally thought to move and turn around, coming face to face with the creature just behind him. There was only one thing to do now. He would have to throw the fireball in his hand straight at the bird. But to avoid Mako, he’d have to be between them.

Which meant a punch.

The things he did for these kids and they didn’t even seem to appreciate it. Was this his punishment? His atonement for all he had done? He didn’t like it. Even now, the images were flashing through his mind. The memories of that weird not human kid and his stupid idiot of a digimon partner. He couldn’t let that happen for real. He wouldn’t. Acting purely on reflex and instinct, Impmon leapt between Mako and the bird thing. They were so close that Impmon could practically see his own reflection in the massive eyes on its wings, “BADABOOM!”

He punched the ball of fire as hard as he could into the bird creature and the heat of the flames practically burned his hand. But the bird didn’t react to it all, instead rising up into the air and taking him with it as if it were mocking him. He hated this. Was all his effort for nothing? Was there where his life was going to end? Getting killed trying to protect the annoying kids he’d abandoned because of a good hearted whim?

Not a bad way to go out after all he’d been through, huh? It was better than what he deserved. He knew that much.

“IMPMON!” Mako cried out in a panic.

“NO!” Ai shouted.

Raising their voices. That really was all they were good for, huh? Dang kids, He wished he had appreciated them more and spent more time with them. He really was a disappointment in that regard - forcing not one, not two, but three separate kids watch their digimon partner die. They really did care, huh?

They really did care.

That thought hung in Impmon’s head longer than it should’ve. And it hurt. It filled him with pain that felt like it was going to explode from his chest, “IMPMON! WARP DIGIVOLVE TO! BEELZEMON!”

The bird sagged and dropped him. Or more accurately, it lowered him to the ground because it couldn’t hold his weight while also trying to fly. However, his hand was now wrapped firmly around its neck and it flailed to get free. He wasn’t about to give it the option though. Not when he saw the danger it posed to both Mako and Ai.

He threw it to the ground so hard that it flailed, then stepped on it with his foot to keep it there. Then he took a moment to take in what happened. He couldn’t quite believe it. He’d digivolved. His partners had helped him digivolve. It was ironic - he’d scorned the others for relying on the humans to digivolve. But here he was digivolving because of the humans. And he could see the amazement on those kids eyes - Ai and Mako were wide eyed with disbelief, “Are you two okay?”

Both children nodded sheepishly, Mako’s mouth hanging open, “IMpmon? Did you get all grown up?”

Of course, these kids had no idea was digivolution was. He smirked, “Something like that.”

“Ai! Mako!” both parents called as they finally rushed outside to get their kids. And both adults stopped at the entrance in terror once they laid eyes on Beelzemon. Their father shouted, “Ai! Mako! Get away from that thing?”

“Mommy! Daddy! It’s Impmon!” Ai tried explaining to them. That wasn’t quite right. He was Beelzemon now. Why bother explaining? They were too young to understand and their parents were to freaked out to listen anyway. He waved at the two parents awkwardly, realizing how terrifying it must’ve been for them to see him standing there with the bird monster under foot. He pressed down hard as he could on it until he stopped moving and growled, “Don’t you dare come near Ai and Mako again!”

He continued to press his foot down upon it, the bird continuing to flail and writhe as if it were in true pain. Finally, he pressed his foot down hard upon it and crushed it. The creature stopped moving, then burst into a cloud of data. They may have been really hard to put down, but it still died like any other digimon. Beelzemon normally enjoyed the thrill of the fight and wanted to savor his victory. But this was different. He didn’t feel like savoring anything. He just felt relief - relief it was over. Relief that Ai and Mako were safe. At least, until he saw more of those bird things gathering around him. Each of them keeping their eyes on him.

“Ai. Mako. Get inside,” Beelzemon said calmly, “Don’t come out until I say so. Understand?”

“You’re not leaving again, are you?” Ai asked sheepishly. They were scared. They should be. But their fear stemmed from the terror of losing him again - of finding he was gone. He nodded, “I have to. There are more of these things out there.”

“Where are you going?” Mako asked him sheepishly. Beelzemon cocked his shotgun to get the empty shell out and answered, “To keep you guys safe.”

It was a funny feeling to fight for someone else. But it felt so right. So this is what it was like to fight for someone else. It would’ve been sweet if Mako didn’t remark, “I asked where you were going. Not why.”

“Okay, you got me there,” Beelzemon answered with a half smile. Then Mako did the stupidest thing. He ran out holding their digivice and a toy space gun in his hand, “If you’re going to go out, then take this!”

“A toy?” Beelzemon raised an eyebrow in surprise. It made sense that Mako wanted to help, but even he had to understand that his toys weren’t going to do much good. This wasn’t a play game of pretend. It was real. Mako offered it up with both hands anyway, “It’s not a toy! It’s a super special weapon that can destroy anything! As long as you use it for good, it’ll never fail and you’ll kick all the bad guy butt!”

Use it for good? Beelzemon didn’t really feel like anything but a bad guy. After what he did, there was no doubt about it. Still, he took the toy from Mako to indulge the boy. Besides, the sooner he took the toy, the faster the boy would hurry inside, “Thanks, kid. Now get inside.”

“Okay! Come back safe, Impmon!” Mako said, running back to his little sister and parents. As soon as the door was close and locked, Beelzemon turned to face the birds and raised up his shotgun, “Okay you damn rats with wings! Come and get me!”

…

The images continued to flash by and Juri continued to identify them - because the alternative was to revisit those awful memories. And she didn’t want to do that. She didn’t want to dwell on the past. So she just continued listing off everything she saw as the images came by, “A car. A dog. A cat. A soldier. A gun? I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know.”

“Juri, those are four items you have failed to identify,” her mechanical voice echoed, “Please elaborate to why.”

“I don’t know what they are,” she explained to the voice who seemed unconvinced, “And?”

“I’m ten. How would I know what any of that is?” she added, hoping that it would get across to this thing that she had no idea what everything was. The voice echoed, “Very well. We shall proceed. Please identify the following.”

“A car. A SUV. That’s just a sakura tree. A bowl of ramen. A-” she paused as the next image came across her mind. Beelzemon. He was alive. He was here. In the Human World. In some neighborhood. And he was shooting. Was he hurting people? Were they in danger? Why was he doing this? He had killed Leomon before just to prove how strong he was. Was he going after humans now? Or was he after her? No. It couldn’t be. It couldn’t be true. Why here? Why now!? Why couldn’t he just go away!?

“Juri. Your mental state has become disturbed. Identify the last image. Assess. Assess.”

Assess? No, there was no time for that. He had to be stopped. He had to be destroyed before he hurt her. Before he hurt anyone else. He’d fought the others and they could barely stop him. This thing was too dangerous.

“Threat level assessed. Taking necessary counter measures. Protect the organic.”

Organic? Did it mean her? Was this thing going to protect her? She just didn’t understand any more. What did it want? What was it after? As the panic spread through her mind, she recalled images of death she’d seen - cartoon images of ghosts, skeletons wearing robes wielding scythes, spirits wearing funeral garb armed with sickles and katanas. Death. Beelzemon had to die! He needed to die! He needed to go away!

#The Digimon Tamer v2 - In His name #Digimon Tamers #Fanfiction #takato matsuda #The Tamer

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oberitsu · 5 years

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tagged by @shadows-in-the-light-of-day. i don’t usually do these but, why not?

Rules: Name ten favorite characters from ten different things (books, tv, film, etc.) then tag ten people.

In no particular order!!

1. Allen Avadonia (Evillious Chronicles)

To the surprise of absolutely no one, I love Allen so much. He was a huge comfort for me in high school and still is to this day. I don’t know what to say about him that I haven’t said a million times before. He’s snarky but has good intentions, he loves his family despite how chaotic and hard everything gets, and he just wants what’s best for everyone. The self-sacrificing nature is also a bit close to home for me. Maybe not to the point of dying but definitely to the point of my own deteriorating wellbeing... whoops.

2. Rouge (Witch’s Heart)

First of all, Aesthetic. Second of all, I love her personality so fucking much and her role in the story. I’m gonna stay vague for the sake of not spoiling but she really is the most interesting demon to me despite having the least screentime. She’s got layers to her personality if you dig deep and I can’t wait to see what else IZ will do with her.

3. Ryuunosuke Akutagawa (Bungo Stray Dogs)

What’s this?! A character that’s not a blond snarky babie? I know, I’m shocked too! Akutagawa is a ruthless mafioso who needs to take a goddamned chill pill... and also an abused young adult whose mental heatlh needs some serious help and care. He’s not 100% evil either (though, yes, yes, murder is wrong, I know, but this is a series where they try to make the Best Character a morally gray ex-mafioso who is the one who abused Akutagawa. So I Mean.) and I hope he gets some good character development in season 4 (or past season 3 of the manga, I’m not caught up on it sorry ^^; )

also he’s voiced by Kensho Ono and I Stan A Legend

4. Tenn Kujou (IDOLiSH7)

aaaand we’re back to the snarky blonds (well, he’s more albino, I guess?). Tenn falls under that umbrella of “My Type”s known as Family Matters -- he loves and cares for Riku so much, he’s just... terrible at showing it due to his personality and how Kujou-papa raised him. His sense of humor is right up my alley as well, and his singing is angelic (cough cough). I will admit I’m not caught up on IDOLiSH7′s story so I don’t know if he’s doing better or worse with regards to how he’s treating Riku but I hope it’s better. I want it to be better. They’re such good bros c’mon just tell Kujou-papa to piss off you can do it

5. Yuuri/Joeri (Yu-Gi-Oh! ARC-V)

My Bastard Baby Boy. Sakurabrows. Cabbage Kid. No joke I only got interested in him because some of my best friends assigned him to me in a group chat and I was just like “ok sure I like his color scheme” and had no clue he was going to be a shithead gremlin villain. He’s my favorite Yu-Gi-Oh! character ever. Whoops. I predicted a lot about his character development and personality when I got into the series (intentionally or not, he’s ADHD coded, his backstory is what I expected, and “Yuugou-kun” as a nickname he gives Yuugo became canon on my goddamned birthday). He’s not a perfect character - being gaycoded and without a proper redemption arc is disappointing - but he’s dear to my heart due to how relatable and funny he is. also i built a predaplants deck IRL and i actually hate the aesthetic of predaplants a lot but I learned the deck just because of my best fuckin boi. fight me.

6. Shuuya Kano (Kagerou Project/Mekakucity Actors)

what can i say i have a Type Okay but real talk Kano just makes me Sad. He’s so much smarter than anyone ever catches on to, his backstory is just heartwrenching, and he does his best to make people happy even when he’s miserable. Holy shit what is it with light-haired boys in Japanese fiction hitting all my weakpoints. His character song is also a bop and his voice actor is super great as well.

7. Nico Yazawa (Love Live! School Idol Project)

Nico Nico Nii~! Honestly she was like, bottom tier for me at first, but then she grew on me somehow. I don’t even know how. She’s super cute and her voice actor is super talented, even if her squeakiness can be a little grating to some people. Honestly there’s not much else to say. She’s just... Adorable.

8. Xion (Kingdom Hearts)

hello first female crush when i was like 12! Identity crisis, wanting what’s best for others while struggling to figure out what she wants, etc? Sign Me The Hell Up, Literally Just Target My Middle School Angsty Ass, Why Don’t You. Kingdom Hearts III might not have handled her perfectly but I’m glad she wasn’t completely forgotten about period.

9. Mae (Fire Emblem Echoes: Shadows of Valentia)

Kliff fits my type that I’ve put on this list a bunch, but that’s enough blond snarky bois! Now for a pink spunky girl! Mae was easily the highlight of Celica’s path in Echoes, her sense of humor and bright attitude despite the odds was just, a spot of sunlight. Honestly, lots of characters in Fire Emblem are great, but Cherami Leigh’s delivery just sends her up to the top for me, alongside Celica, Leon, Kliff, Boey, Mathilda, like the entirety of Fire Emblem Awakening............. yeah.

10. v flower (VOCALOID)

does vocaloid count? i’m gonna say it counts. v flower is an aesthetic and their voice is super great, they get lots of good original songs by Kairiki Bear and GHOST and probably others i haven’t heard of!! v flower’s aesthetic is also A+++ and they’re fun to doodle. i love them. alongside Nekomura Iroha and VY2, they’re among my favorite vocaloids to listen to without giving preference to a certain producer or tuner.

tagging: anyone! i don’t care. i did this for fun i don’t usually do tag games

#long post #personal #also like half of these are my kintypes bonus points if ppl can guess //HIT

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bangtan · 7 years

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[Article] Meet BTS, the K-Pop phenomenon breaking world records

We speak to rapper RM of BTS, the seven-member boy group whose ultra-dedicated fanbase have made them the most prominent South Korean act to break the west

The phone line crackles out of Seoul where it’s nearly midnight, and where RM, the leader of seven member South Korean group BTS, is looking back at a crazy month in which they broke records – some their own, some they never even thought they’d achieve – one after the other in a relentless wave.

“I feel like we’re a balloon…,” RM says, surmising the time period, and there’s a tinge of disbelief in his voice. That’s unsurprising given their latest mini-album Love Yourself: Her is the biggest selling K-Pop album in pre-orders ever (over a million in domestic alone), and with the lead single “DNA”, they’re now the fastest K-Pop group to hit 10 million, 20 million, then 100 million YouTube views. Then there are those killer chart standings – #14 on the UK album chart, top 10 on the US Billboard 200 album chart – while DNA not only reigned over worldwide iTunes charts but rose to #67 on the Billboard Hot 100, the highest position ever for a Korean group.

Expectations had, naturally, run high for their comeback; BTS (rappers RM, J-Hope, Suga, and vocalists Jimin, Jin, V and Jungkook) reached ‘phenomenon’ level last year with their second studio album WINGS and moombahton-style single Blood Sweat & Tears, yet 2017 has already provided an almost unbelievable new layer of success. Every day now brings another milestone, another article or another Western radio station playing the frisky, echoing electro-pop of “DNA”, adding to the feverish atmosphere around them. If their powerhouse fandom, known as A.R.M.Y, even felt momentarily overwhelmed by it all, then they’re not alone.

“Everything is going so fast,” RM adds with a small laugh. Intriguing and charismatic in conversation, he’s a rapid-fire lateral thinker who can whisk you on the mental equivalent of a gigantic wood-track rollercoaster. “We don’t know where that balloon is going but I’m just trying to enjoy it because there was so much suffering before. I’m trying not to lose (sight of) what we’re doing.”

Over the weeks since its mid-September release, pre-empted by a series of trailers bridging from the previous concept for the The Most Beautiful Moment In Life double album, Love Yourself: Her became trickier the more time you spent with it. Saturated in double entendre (both an exploration of love and a direct letter to their fans), its sound, for the most part, strides in a confident, glossy groove, yet peel back its shimmery surface and bruises and scratches lie along its limbs, even on the sweetest of tracks such as “Serendipity”.

While it’s not often that you get to step into an album’s lifecycle where hindsight begins to glimmer and perhaps shape an artist’s next phase, it’s a curious, illuminating and slightly vulnerable experience. But, without a trace of hesitation, we dive into Love Yourself: Her to explore the parts instantly indoctrinated into BTS lore, its impact, shadows and the wider reaching effect on its owners.

On release you called Love Yourself: Her a ‘turning point’ and BTS’s ‘chapter two’, pointing at the music as the primary cause. Have further reasons for these descriptors emerged over the past month?

RM: The concept of The Most Beautiful Moment in Life, that was chapter one for us, it feels like that because we were starting from the bottom but on this concept, Love Yourself, we started to talk about some brighter things, like the real things in life. Professionally, we got on the Billboard and UK charts, and our stadiums are getting bigger… so both inside and outside, it’s a turning point for BTS. I’d like to say we’re just in a different universe now, I think, like a crab, we got a new shell.

Two of the album’s most emotional moments are the hidden tracks, the spoken word ‘Skit: Hesitation & Fear’ and ‘Sea’. They both deal with struggles in your early days as well as current concerns about fame and success. Why was it important to have them on the same album?

RM: We add hidden tracks when we want to add details, right? ‘Skit’ was necessary for ‘Sea’ to be explained. I think they’re reacting to each other. I actually first talked about those fears, happiness, the sea and the desert on our first album (2 Cool 4 Skool), they were the hidden tracks – a skit called ‘On The Start Line’ and a track called ‘Path’. Four years has passed and I’m talking about how we dealt with it, what is the sea and desert inside of us and what’s the future.

You’ve come full circle and, damn, I didn’t realise. So over those four years, using this latest concept, what have you had to accept or learn to love about yourself that you didn’t like back then?

RM: Ummm, I’ve had to accept that that everyone cannot love me. Because when there’s love there’s hate, when there’s light there’s dark. But it was really hard to accept as an artist that there’s a lot of people that hate me but, on the other side, there are many more people who love me. I think everyone goes through that.

Do you recall when you were able to say, ok, I can deal with this?

RM: Actually I’m still on the way (laughs). I don’t really feel like I’m really out of it, but I’m getting used to it. I’m like a surfer, first you just paddle and fall off the board but as time goes by you can stand up on the bigger waves (laughs).

Themes of fate and destiny run through this album. Have you always believed you have a set path?

RM: Nietzsche… one of his famous phrases was amor fati, or ‘love your fate’. Let’s say, me who is born in Korea, and you, Taylor who is born Australia, we can’t change that, we cannot have the same life. Amor fati isn’t just saying leave everything to fate, but to first accept things we can’t change. Love our fate, and our environment, then (think) we could do something with fate and turn directions. We’re on some path that’s set since we’re born, but I still believe we can change some things. So I believe in my faith but I still don’t believe in my fate (laughs).

The huge success you’ve experienced off this album, how is that impacting your creativity? Can you think ‘I’m gonna write a song and see how it goes’, or it is ‘I have to write a song and it can’t be anything less than amazing’?

RM: That is a pressure actually, I can’t say I don’t feel it. What’s happening is so much for me, and everything around BTS moves so fast, like making ten songs in half a year. Sometimes (it’s) too much, but I always remind myself of things back in 2007, I started this because I wanted to say something. There was a message inside me and I wanted to spread it as music, so when I’m in my studio writing I try to take it slow. I’m trying to take a deeper look, like what am I really trying to say?

Except with people knocking on the door going, are you done yet, have you got a song for me?

RM: (laughs) Ah yeah, that’s why people call it a deadline, cos you feel like you’re dead.

‘Mic Drop’, both song and performance, is already classic BTS. ‘My bag’s filled with trophies… / Haters are already giving up / My success is already so golden… / You’re rushing to run away.’ BTS have always stood up for themselves but what’s made this track integral to your new chapter?

RM: Hitman Bang (the group’s CEO/producer) wanted us to let out anger and pain on this track but it was hard ’cos there isn’t any anger or jealousy left inside, I’m satisfied right now (laughs). I love our fans, so many miracles are happening every day. I have no time for the haters. I think this goes with why Her is a turning point for BTS and ‘Mic Drop’ (helps) say that – we drop the mic and chapter one is over. It’s a lot of fun.

How many mics has Suga broken by throwing them down at the end of each performance?

RM: (laughs) Oh, no not (the good ones) yet, we buy cheap ones from the market, karaoke ones that cost like $30.

You’re clearly enjoying life right now but there’s darker emotions lurking on this album, so might we see more of those on the next one?

RM: Those (emotions) are still inside, they’re not going away but they’re now a different shape. I think love isn’t just made up of happiness and compliments and light. Love includes scars, a little bit of hate and some dirty things inside us.

And I guess no one is ever 100% happy 24/7, even when everything is going well…

RM: We do have darker emotions and sometimes we feel so heavy with these records and the articles and people going ‘Oh, you’re representing Korea, you’re, like, making Korea famous!!’, and every second we’re like ‘Thank you so much’, but, you know, I’m still just here in my small studio and I try to write some lyrics and that’s all I do. I’m still trying to deal with it.

So what, outside of BTS, makes you happy?

RM: Thank you for this question, not many people ask it! (long pause) I have no driver’s license, so I ride a bicycle beside the Han River. That’s what I really love because no one gives a damn about me for that moment. I feel so free. I also love to collect figures and watch a midnight movie ’cos I can watch it all alone and in the best seat.

Do you have to wear hat, sunglasses, and a face mask to avoid being recognised?

RM: I don’t wear a face mask, I just wear a hat because my hair is too colourful, it’s too shiny (laughs).

Critics had a conversation online that centred around the possibility of BTS being nominated for a Grammy. It didn’t happen this year, but next year… you never know! How does that make you feel?

RM: I’ve heard people are talking about it, I try to not think about it. If I start to expect something, I get disappointed. A Grammy is a whole other level, it’s a whole other world for us!

If you guys won, you’d have to wear seriously waterproof makeup.

RM: Of course. Everyone would cry. I think we’d have to prepare a waterproof suit as well.

Maybe just wear plastic from head to toe.

RM: (laughs) Yeah, we’d have wear a spacesuit or something.

You’ve had a gruelling month’s schedule in Korea, plus two concerts in Japan for 80,000 fans – what’s still the hardest thing during that, and who keeps you sane?

RM: Sleeping. No sleep makes a human into another human (laughs). Culturally, Koreans are used it, but still it’s really hard. We get used to but we can’t ever get used to it. J-Hope always tries to cheer us up and I’m so grateful. Actually I like to call him a new leader for the group.

After being together for years, who in BTS can still surprise you?

RM: V. His words are crazy and his English is crazy too. He makes new words and new grammar and he always surprises me. I feel like he’s quite good at English too because he can speak to everyone, he’s got confidence, he’s got the guts.

They say when you learn a new language you can’t be afraid of making mistakes.

RM: (sighs) I’m always afraid of making mistakes. I think I was born with that.

I’ve always wondered what BTS do before an album drops, is there a ritual?

RM: We gather in our living room, have a little drink and talk about how we should deal with the schedules and how we’re doing. It’s really nothing but it makes us feel different, it keeps us running and it keeps our attitude because we always remember when we were sad and poor (laughs). Popularity is a bubble. It’s a mountain, you can go up really hard but walk down really fast.

Okay, last thing… you are the king of high fives and handshakes that go slightly wrong.

RM: (laughs) Yeah, that’s what fans from Europe and America say! But they love those moments, right! It’s a cultural thing? I don’t know why, but no one pays attention to my handshakes and high fives. My hands are really big and I’m like six foot, so they can see me really easily. It’s very sad, isn’t it (laughs).

Source.

#bangtan #rm #t:interview #171025 #bts

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sassysavagesanha · 6 years

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Get to know me tag????

Tagged by @blueberrybins sorry this took ten million years I had it started as a draft right when you tagged me I just never got around to finishing it bc life got busy but its done now!

1) 5 favorite groups? why must you hurt me this way??

Astro

Seventeen

Day6

B1A4

Nine Percent/UNB/Weki Meki/a billion others don’t make me choose

2) Top 5 on your bias list? (no particular order)

Jeonghan

Dowoon

Sanha

Chen Linong

Sandeul

3) Ult Bias group and why you love them?

Astro!

These dorks will always have a special place in my heart because they were the first kpop group I ever got into. They pulled me in with their lovely voices, chipper songs, awkward acting (tbc anyone?), and lovable personalities. Honestly they are all such hardworking people and they put everything they have into creating content for their fans and thinking about us everyday. I guess the main thing I love about them is how genuine they are in everything that they do. Also they are huge memes

4) Ult Bias and why you love them?

Jeonghan!

I debated a lot about my answer to this (some may even say I debated too much) but I eventually came to the realization, that while I still love Sanha with my whole heart, I don’t have quiet the same attraction to him that I do to Jeonghan. Sanha is like my child and I want to love, protect, and see him grow into a wonderful young man, but Jeonghan is already a grown adult.

But enough about Sanha this is about Jeonghan. Honestly where do I begin? I’ll be honest but what first drew me to Jeonghan was his hair. It was an eye catching look and really made him stand out in a group full of talented people. That said, I’m still really happy with his short hair and I am convinced that he can not have a bad hair style because everything looks good on him. But he is more than just his hair. He is an incredibly smart and innovative person when he wants to be and I just love that the majority of when he wants to act on those traits is to mess with his members. Its the way he shows he cares about them and its so cool that he wants to share his love by making people smile. This is gonna get too long so I’m gonna stop, but just know that I also love his voice, style, and that he is a deeply layered person.

5) Favorite Kpop Meme

6) Favorite pic of your ult? (I dare you to only pick one)

I really like this picture becasue this was one of my favorite hair styles, Pretty U is my favorite Seventeen song, and I just really like this shot with the umbrella

7) Favorite Kpop MVs

Spring Day - BTS

Only One - UNB

Hi, Hello/I’m Serious - Day6 (just all of every day6 tbh)

What’s Happening? - B1A4

Rain - KNK

Flame of Love - Taemin

8) 10 Favorite Kpop songs? ( no particular order because that is ha r d )

Pretty U - Seventeen

Lie - Astro

Goodbye - 2NE1

Wind - FT Island

Re-bye - AKMU

Beautiful Target - B1A4

I Need Someone - Day6

My I - Jun & The8

Sorry - The Rose

Hot Potato - N.Flying

9) Favorite Kpop crack video?

Either https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DxL0gDskL84 or https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mV6KKnJ8jTs because both of them never fail to make me laugh

10) Favorite content creator(s) within the fandom?

tbh i’ve been absent from tumblr for so long idk who even does what anymore so @snibnoom @jinwoostro @vonseal I guess? You all make content right?

11) What fandoms would you say you’re an active member of?

Pretty active member of Aroha, but I’ve been hyping up Nine Percent and UNB a lot lately too...

12) Take your top 3 biases- fmk

....I hate this

F - Dowoon

M- Jeonghan

K- Sanha

I really want to marry Jeonghan, and I don’t want to do the sex with Sanha (or any of them really) so I married Jeonghan and killed Sanha and Dowoon got fuck by default

13) If you could be best friends with any idol, who would you choose?

So many to choose from! Tbh I’d have to go with Sei or Sandeul for very different reasons. I choose Sei because Sei and I share a similar personality and she is someone that I could see sharing a quiet moment with but also having fun when we felt like it. I choose Sandeul because it would never be a dull moment with him and I would love to hear him sing in person.

14) If you could date any idol, who?

Tbh I don’t really look at an idol and go “wow I would date them!” most of the time I just don’t see us working out or I would much rather be friends than have any personal relationship with them. That said, essentially the only person in all of kpop that I can see myself having even a slightly successful relationship with is Joshua.

15) What’s one Kpop album you think everyone should have listened to?

Sunrise and Moonrise both by Day6 because Day6 can’t make a bad song and I can’t choose between those two albums.

16) Are you a soft or a hard stan?

I am the softest stan. Just give me soft couch cuddles and butterfly kisses and leave the hard stuff to other people.

17) An idol that makes you go into soft mode?

DOWOON, Kijoong, Sanha, NONGNONG, Guanlin

18) An idol that makes you want to smash the empire state building with one single punch?

Jun (Svt) becasue that boi is rude and soft at the same time and I can’t handle it

19) Favorite vocalist?

SANDEUL I mean have you heard him sing?????

20) Favorite Rapper?

Most of my favorite songs are ballads or lack in significant rap portions so I’m just gonna say Young K just for his rap in Hunt because I don’t really have a strong opinion

21) Favorite dancer?

Euijin or Feeldog all of performance unit

22) Things you have in common with your ult?

We both tease the people we love as a sign of affection and we both like to sleep

23) The most beautiful trait any idol can have?

A thoughtful personality with a dash of playfulness

24) Songs that will always make you jam along?

Voodoo Doll - Vixx

Damdadi - Golden Child

I.P.U - Wanna One

Just Do It - BSS

Mind Control - Top Secret

Jelly - Hotshot

Hero - Monsta X

Ei Ei - Idol Producer

What’s Happening? - B1A4

O Sole Mio - SF9

Don’t Tease Me! - SPEED

Black Suit - Super Junior

How People Move - AKMU

I Don’t Like Your Girlfriend - Weki Meki

I’m just gonna stop myself here, but just know that there’s about ten million more I didn’t mention

25) Your worst wrecker?

JUN

26) Any kpop concerts you’ve been to?

I wish fam

27) Favorite choreo?

No F.U.N - Seventeen because umbrellas and suits and kingsman

28) Favorite live performance?

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9KiW1Xuxa7k or https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FEE0pPXoSdQ because the duality

29) Favorite debut mv?

Feeling/Sense - UNB

30) Recommend a rookie group

UNB PLEASE GIVE THEM LOVE AND SUPPORT AND STAN ALL THE GROUPS THEY COME FROM

31.) A kpop song you could listen to every day for the rest of your life?

Solo Day - B1A4

32) Tag some cute mutuals you’d like to get to know better (and to do this challenge)!

@mingews @parkminhyuk @jinjinxed @binnieheart @assstro @sanhatation tbh i’m just tagging random usernames at this point so hi! do this if you want to or don’t ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

#tag #hecken long i'm sorry

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iamthefandomnerd · 6 years

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Another Universe.

Hello! I’m so excited! This is my first time putting my writing on Tumblr and I can’t wait to hopefully put more but to be honest I am pretty nervous to do this as well. I wrote this not very long ago and this is a novel I’ve been thinking about writing for quite some time. I’m not entirely sure if this will be an X reader or with the character I made for this specifically, but otherwise, I hope you enjoy this and I take constructive criticism too, but I ask that you please be nice about it and I also don’t mind suggestions on where to take this story. Thanks!

By the way, might turn into a Kylo ren/Ben Solo story to???? And my writing tends to be on the darker side of things. Just as a warning this prologue contains some depressing themes and the main character having self-esteem issues.

I also recommend playing this in a loop if you can/want while reading this: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aQ3poU70uIE

I hope you enjoy!

Prologue

My eyes glossed over with a layer of fresh new tears. The little droplets threatening to fall from the corners of, my eyes. I took my sleeve and roughly wiped them away, but to no avail, they just kept returning. Each time more and more escaped the fabric of my sleeve and trickled down my ivory cheeks. The pressure building up in my chest was almost too much to handle. It made me want to rip out my heart and curse why we were given the ability to feel emotions.

I choked back a scream of agony and gripped the spot where my heart was. Why must we go through this much suffering? If there really is someone up above why would they throw me into this madness and chaos? It was so unexpected and something that should’ve never been possible. I took in a deep breath to try and calm myself. Hiccuping and stuttering in the process. I regret everything. Everything up to the arguments I had with my mom, my jealousy, me not putting myself out there and actually trying to have the confidence to overcome my fear. I was wrong. So very wrong. I should’ve accepted my normal boring life and just gone along with it like everyone else.

Be careful what you wish for.

The screaming and shouting from outside the door made me want to curl up into a ball and disappear forever. I shoved my hands into the ground, my fingers gripping the floor the best I could making my knuckles turn white. I’m a coward. All that I can do is run and hide. I have all my life. Nothings changed. If I go out there I will die. I can’t save those people out there. To fragile as they put it. I’ve never been able to prove them wrong as I’ve always seen myself exactly how they have always seen me. A little girl who is lost with no where to go, a little girl who is a damsel in distress and can’t defend herself because she is too sensitive, a little girl who no matter what can’t find her place in all of this madness and has messed up to the point of no return and at the end of that has cost the lives of so many great people. It’s a wonder how I’m even still here.

The banging and loud shouts of orders finally reached the metal door in front of me. The troopers weapons pounded on the door as I braced myself. Maybe this is finally it. Maybe after this, I won’t have to worry anymore. I won’t be a nuisance or an embarrassment. I’ll just be gone. An unneeded flame in this place snuffed out. Gone as fast as the snap of someone’s fingers. I laugh a little finally giving into my tears. Maybe dying here will actually send me back home. Little wisps of my dark hair fall on my face. The banging is louder now. Each hit on the door more ferocious than the first.

I watch the door as dents form in it. It’ll give away at any time. I raise my head and stare at the door intently any traces of the small laugh or sad smile are gone and are replaced with fear, nervousness, but also acceptance. I guess I’m really doing this. Never in my life would I have thought my death would be at the hands of the First Order. Let alone a fictional universe that I had always wished was real. That millions upon millions of people got excited for when a new movie comes out or gushes about it with friends and random people they meet who also loves the franchise. I was the same way and deep down still am, but after going to hell and back while being in this place I wonder what people would really think of it if they were in my shoes. Would they still see it as the same beloved Star Wars they love? Or would they see it like I see it now? A war zone where there is no mercy to be seen, no happiness, just chaos, and destruction.

A bright light hits my eyes for a second and I shield them with my arms. They’ve broken the door. Everything seems to go by in slow motion. I can’t hear anything anymore, everything’s a blur. The smell of things burning, buildings, planes, people is overpowering. I feel the pain of hands gripping my upper arms and the barrel of a blaster against my mid back. Its almost like I’m not in control of my body. I’m looking through my own eyes, but I can’t move. I can’t do anything. I feel myself being dragged out of the small room inside of the main building. All I see is hell. People fighting, screaming, escaping while they can. The fire has consumed the place while TIE fighters and X-wings take out one another. Blasters are being fired as people are struck down. A once beautiful lush green environment overflowing with a luxurious and peaceful atmosphere has now been demolished and reduced to rubble and a wasteland. How can people be so cruel as to destroy such a wonderful place? What could someone want so badly that they have to destroy places like this?

My shock starts to disappear as I keep examining my surroundings. Is this really what I want? Do I really want to leave these people, who are fighting for the galaxy to die while I sit here and actually wish and wait for the bullet to end my life? I really am pitiful. My fist comes into contact with the stormtrooper on my rights helmet as I start to thrash around and scream. He momentarily let’s go which gives me enough time to raise my right leg and kick him In the groin. I yank my left arm free from the stormtrooper on my left and kick him in the chest sending him stumbling to the ground. I pause not knowing where exactly to go until I feel something nudging me on my left calf. I look behind me to see the little droid I’ve come to know and love. BB-8. He beeps at me and zooms past me towards one of the X-wing fighters.

I dart pass the stormtroopers on the ground who are slowly comprehending what just happened to them following the little droid. To be honest I never thought the resistance could be overrun like this. While I knew it could happen I figured they would have some type of plan to put into action with an attack like this, but this was so sudden. No one was expecting it and now we’re paying the price. A blast from one of the TIE fighters hits a nearby X-wing sending me skidding across the cement. I winced in pain and from the ringing in my ears and attempted to prop myself up with my elbows. The ringing in my ears slowly died down as my bright blue eyes trailed over to where BB-8 was. The droid was coming over to me as fast as he could and was beeping urgently. I cocked my head to the side and pushed myself onto my hands and knees. All of a sudden I felt it. The blunt force of the butt of a blaster hitting the back of my head, the frantic beeping from BB-8, the pain, and dizziness as I fell back onto the ground. Black dots covered my vision and I started breathing hard. I couldn’t make out what the trooper was saying as I slowly was losing consciousness. At least I tried and had the confidence for once in my life I thought to myself smiling a little as I fully succumbed to the darkness.

All I could do now was have hope.

#star wars #kylo ren #story #gif #resistance #first order #ben solo #bb-8 #new to writing #writing #kylo x reader #stormtrooper #ihopethisgood

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impossiblerebelblaze · 6 years

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1) Which videos do you always go back to? 2) Your first impressions of Jack and why you subscribed? 3) Funniest videos? 4) show me a fave photo 5) If you could write a letter to Santa/God/the Universe on Jack's behalf, what would you wish for him? 6) Fave JSE meme? 7) fave ego and why? 8) Photo of fave hair shade 9) fave collab video? 10) video you'd suggest as an intro to JSE.

1- Which videos do you always go back to? Any of the ego appearances, especially Anti. Layers of Fear, The Last Guardian, his “challenge videos”. 2- your first impression of Jack and why you subscribed?I found him like 4 or 5 years ago, when I was in grade 9. He was loud but he played the horror games that my friend and I were into. Cut to the 13 million milestone when I finally subscribed because I actually made an account to do so. I subscribed because, at that point, I had fallen in love with him and his videos. 3- funniest videos?I gotta go with his collab videos. Either that or beanboozled4- show me a fave photoI can’t tack photos into asks on mobile so I’ll reblog this with a photo once I finish!!5- if you could write a letter to Santa/God/the Universe on behalf of Jack, what would you wish for him?Oh goodness. He’s done so much good in the world that nothing I could “give” him would ever break that debt. I’d simply wish for the love of his friends, happiness and joy, and that, when he needs it, he has that extra hour or two of time. 6- fave JSE meme?Ooooooo tricky question......... probably the fucking (grass, circles, etc.) But /zoom is pretty funny right now.......... I can’t choose they’re all so good7- fave ego and why?Aaaaaaaagh probably a tie between Chase and Anti. Chase because he’s oddly relatable to me,, but also he’s just such a good bean!! Sometimes he comes into my askbox and sends me nice things or fun questions. I hope he’s doing good right nowAnti because, well, he’s just so damn interesting. Why else would I stitch together my own version of him with bits and pieces and theories that I liked so much? I’ve created my own version of him, one that’s practically come to life in my mind. 8- photo of fave hair shadeAgain, I’ll reblog this with the photo when I’m done!!9- fave collab video?Agh!! He and Robin compliment one another really well in Human Fall Flat, but Jack and Ethan are a vicious cycle of feeding off eachother’s energy and excitement in the Blood Party (?) game. Both. Both are good. 10- video you’d recommend as an intro to JSE. probably one of his longer let’s plays, because those are where his personality really shines through. So probably one like The Last Guardian, Undertale, or Shadow of the Colossus. Mind you, my first video from him was this: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8DXbomfD3Ko

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eldritchsurveys · 4 years

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877.

5k Survey V

201. Put these creatures in order from what you would least like to be reincarnated as, to what you would most like to be reincarnated as assuming reincarnation ended up existing AND you were given a choice. Female human, male human, dolphin, house dog, caterpillar, manta ray, wild dog, vulture, oak tree, rock. >> No. I only know what it’s like to be a human, so of course I have no way of telling what other creature I would most want to be. I wouldn’t even have the same level of consciousness, so how would I even... know that’s what I was... this question is too many levels of “???” for me, I’m moving on. 202. What do you feel unworthy of? >> I feel unworthy of a lot of things. I’m not going to delve into that here, right now, thanks. 203. Would you rather be remembered for having done something for humanity or being a really nice person? >> I don’t care, dude. 204. Which do you value more: science or intuition? >> Why... would I value one over the other... this isn’t even a dichotomy, ugh. 205. Your best friend and your significant other are in the hospital at the same time with the same ailment. Who do you visit first? >> Oh, man, I’d wondered how long it would take for this survey to get to the kinds of questions that make me want to tear my hair out.

206. Does the universe revolve around human beings? >> It legitimately baffles me to think that some people could answer “yes” to this and not think that was weird. I am rabidly curious to know what leads someone to believe that. 207. If you are no longer a virgin, do you wish you still were? >> I literally do not care. 208. Who is your favorite poet of those who are alive right now? >> I don’t have one. 209. What is your favorite song from the 90’s? >> I like a lot of songs that were released in the nineties... 210. If you were in alphabet soup what letter would you be? >> I wouldn’t be a letter. Because I’m a person, you see. 211. Do you believe in fairies, ghosts, aliens, angels, dwarves, elves, etc.? >> Out of this list, I think my favourite stories are those about faeries and those about aliens. There have been some interesting angel ones too, and I definitely enjoy a good Tolkien-style fantasy (particularly of the video game variety). Aside from that, I know a few people who might describe themselves using some of these words, and I am willing to also think of them in those terms. 212. What makes you want to be someone’s friend? >> I don’t know, I rarely think about it. Mostly because I’m not sure how friendship even works. 213. Do you troll around the Internet harassing people anonymously for fun? >> No, that doesn’t interest me. 214. Have you ever seen the movie A Man Who Fell to Earth? >> Oh, I love that movie. Bowie is so young and tempestuous and otherworldly (I mean, obviously, huh) in it! 215. What is your favorite line from a movie? >> I don’t know. 216. What’s your favorite video game? >> I don’t have one, I play a lot of video games. 217. Have you ever taken something that wasn’t yours? >> I used to shoplift, so, yes. Also, one time I stole a Watchmen comic from someone’s house. *shrug* Don’t ask, all I have is the memory of the event, not any of the emotion or reasoning behind it. 218. What is one phrase people say that irritates you? >> Just one??? --Actually, I can’t think of any off the top of my head, I just know that there are plenty. 219. You allow strangers to read your diary, but would you let your parents read it? >> --- 220. Hot steamy bubble bath or quick in and out shower? >> Quick in and out shower. 221. Are you allergic to anything? >> No. 222. What is your favorite Terminator movie? >> I haven’t seen any of them. 223. What is your favorite fast food? >> --- 224. What would someone have to do to get you to never speak to him or her again? >> I don’t know. 225. Would (or have) you ever whip someone or be whipped by someone in bed? >> I’m pretty sure I’ve done it before (my memory is flaky on it but I know I’ve been to a lot of kink events and I’ve held a lot of floggers, so at some point one thing had to lead to the other), and I certainly wouldn’t pass up the opportunity to do it again. 226. Have you ever said ‘I hate everyone’ and really meant it literally? >> Of course not. (I mean, I’ve said it. Of course I didn’t mean it.) 227. Why do some people want to get more money than they could ever spend? >> Because their society has taught them from a very early age to value money and the acquisition of wealth as the highest of all virtues, and that their self-worth is directly tied into how much capital they can control and how many people they can subjugate in the service of money. 228. Have you ever won a carnival fish? >> No. 229. Did it live more than a week? >> --- 230. What’s the best sounding accent a person can have? >> --- 231. What’s the most boring thing you’ve ever read? >> I’ve read a lot of boring things... 232. Do you prefer buttons or touch screens? >> Touchscreens have been a part of my life for long enough that I’m largely used to them, but when it comes to doing anything involving the intensive use of a keyboard, I will always prefer physical buttons (and a full computer keyboard most of all). 233. Do you think there is a lot of similarity between the Harry Potter books and the Lord of the Rings series? >> A lot? Not really. They’re both fantasy series, and of course they share a few common fantasy and “Hero’s Journey” type tropes. But to me, that’s where the similarities end. 234. Would you consider yourself to be naive? >> Not particularly. 235. Which of your friends is most likely to go to jail? >> --- 236. What is the smallest amount of money that could be in a public toilet that would make you reach in and grab it? >> I would not do that. Ever. The very suggestion makes my insides shrivel and my skin itch. 237. Would you ever wear real fur? >> Probably not. I’m just not terribly interested in fur clothing, and the only reason I could see to wear it is if I lived in the Arctic or somewhere like that. 238. Arachnophobia or Eight Legged Freaks? >> I’ve not seen either one of those. They sound like very similar movies, though... 239. What are your feelings about police officers? >> My feelings are largely negative. 240. what is your favorite line from a song? >> --- 241. Is fifty dollars a lot of money? >> That depends on context. Several layers of context, even. 242. Do you like the band Front 242 (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Front_242)? >> I don’t remember what they sound like, it’s been a while since I listened to that kind of industrial. Always reminds me of the Cybertron parties that VF put on. 243. Would you rather have fame, money, or self-satisfaction? >> Having enough money leads to a feeling of stability, which makes the attaining of self-satisfaction more likely. I hear some guy named Maslow made a diagram about this. 244. What’s your middle name? >> Shadow. 245. What is the absolute limit, the craziest thing you would do for a million dollars? >> I wouldn’t do any crazy thing for a million dollars. 246. Are you good, evil or neutral? >> I’m unaligned and unalignable. 247. Should ebonics (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ebonics) be considered a language? >> AAVE is considered a dialect, which is what it is. God, I haven’t seen the word “Ebonics” in years and I was very happy about that... 248. What color is your bedroom? >> The walls are off-white. What color would you like it to be? >> I don’t care, dude, it’s an apartment. I’m not going to be living here for the rest of my life.

249. When are you planning to move to a new home? >> We’re not planning for that right now. 250. If you added up the cost of everything in the room with you, approximately what would it come out to be? >> I don’t fuckin know, man.

#surveys #survey #5000 question survey

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The Detroit race riot of 1943

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The Detroit race riot of 1943

1943 - A race riot there will be

The summer of 1943 found the United States embroiled in the worst war in world history and the industrial might of Detroit was playing an integral part in winning it. Common during times of war, domestic hatreds and tensions grip entire communities, bringing out the best and worst even among allies. At a time when Americans were pulling together to defeat its enemies, societal problems of long standing chose a bad time to rear its ugly head in Detroit. In June of 1943 Detroit suffered one of the worst race riots in the country’s history, forcing America to take a long, hard introspective look at itself. Analysts concluded there was no one specific cause to the disorder but rather a multitude of causes that had been a long time in the making. It was, if viewed on the whole, just pieces of a puzzle.

"Because we got Henry!" In the early 1900s, Detroit civic leader Homer Warren, who was renowned for his silk tongued sales pitches that he often lobbed at prospective out of town investors, routinely centered his arguments on Detroit’s most famous face. “Detroit is going to grow and grow. We’re going to have a million people within a few years. And do you know why? Because we got Henry Ford. He’s figured out a new manufacturing method – the assembly line. He’s gonna standardize and mass produce his car faster and cheaper than any of his competitors. There’s going to be the biggest damn explosion of heavy manufacturing this country has ever known and Detroit’s going to be right in the middle of it. And do you know why? Because we got Henry!” Henry was the first to employ thousands of blacks when everyone else was reluctant to hire even one. His $5 day would also be the catalyst for the largest demographic change in American history. Ford taught successive generations the time-honored American principles of perseverance and sacrifice. The road to success meant outworking the other fellow and paying your dues. Henry reveled in sending shock waves through the corporate world. Endowed with only a fourth grade education, Henry felt ill at ease around the Ivy League blue bloods of industry and no doubt took great satisfaction in showing them up, a feat which he accomplished with regularity. As an innovator Henry stood alone amidst the world’s best. Ford’s perfection of the assembly line would revolutionize the industry. His five dollar day, double the industry rate, was scoffed at by the titans of industry who viewed him as unwittingly reckless. On the contrary, Henry Ford knew people. Unlike the entrenched aristocracy whose riches blinded them to the true pulse of America, Ford came up from the bottom and thus was afforded the unique opportunity of witnessing all the layers of society along the way. By 1915 Henry was the most famous man in the world. Henry Ford, more than any other man, shaped the face of Detroit for generations to come. The Great Black Migration 1910 - 1930 With the final withdrawal of Union troops in 1877, Reconstruction had come to an abrupt end, as did the hopes and aspirations of free Southern blacks. The Democratic Party, in those days referred to as the party of white supremacy, slowly returned to power throughout the South. The ghostly apparition of the Old Confederacy had re-appeared and with it the continuation of the black agony. The term Jim Crow originally referred to a character from an old minstrel show dating back to pre Civil War days. It was a white man dressed in blackface performing a mocking rendition about black life. It proved immensely popular with whites. In post Civil War days Jim Crow came to refer to local laws and customs designed to enforce segregation and prevent blacks from gaining any political, social or economic power. While the North made some inroads towards desegregation, the Jim Crow mentality persevered throughout the country. Its hotbed of course, was the South. This concept was further buttressed by the 1896 Supreme Court decision of Plessy v Ferguson which declared that separate but equal facilities were constitutional. Referred to as Jim Crow laws, they were enforced until President Lyndon Johnson ended the indignity by signing the Civil Rights Acts of 1964 and 1965. Jumpin Jim Crow lyrics Come listen all you galls and boys I's jist from Tuckyhoe, I'm going to sing a little song, my name's Jim Crow, Weel about and turn about and do jis so, Eb'ry time I weel about and jump Jim Crow. Oh I'm a roarer on de fiddle, and down in old Virginny, They say I play de skyentific like Massa Pagannini. Weel about and turn about and do jis so, Eb'ry time I weel about and jump Jim Crow.

The Old South had changed little since the Civil War. Reconstruction, despite some noble efforts by the Radical Republicans to rectify inequities, proved to be a myth. While the legal act of slavery could be eliminated, the mentality could not, especially when civic leaders chose not to enforce the law. Even well into the 1960s blacks were terrified of white reprisal if they tried to register to vote. But it was more the everyday affronts of being treated like a second class citizen that inflicted the most egregious of injuries. By the early 1900s, Jim Crow had grown to monstrous proportions. The dehumanizing “Colored Only” and “Whites Only” signs began to appear on the scene. With each passing generation the indignities built up until a cement-like hatred permeated society. Because Reconstruction was such an abysmal failure, we would have to do it all over again in the 1950s and ‘60s. As the post Civil War dreams of prosperity withered away for Southern blacks, one former slave lamented, “We have very dark days here. The rebels boast that the Negroes shall not have as much liberty now as After General Sherman’s March to the Sea was concluded, he solicited the advice of former slaves on how best to facilitate them in the postwar South. A black preacher advised him to give each free slave “40 acres and a mule.” Acting upon this, Sherman began granting ex-slaves abandoned plantation lands. President Andrew Johnson later nullified this and ordered the lands returned to their former owners. Johnson’s version of Reconstruction was much different than Lincoln’s. Johnson saw it strictly as a reunification of North and South, not helping ex-slaves get started on a new life. As time went on it became more and more apparent that there was little opportunity to be found in the South for blacks and that their newfound freedom was mostly illusionary. Since blacks owned no land, did not control government or provide jobs, they wound up working for the very people who once owned them. As sharecroppers, they earned a mere pittance and were essentially nothing more than freed slaves. Older blacks tended to take it in stride; the agricultural life was all they knew. Young blacks, however, yearned for something better and believed the seeds of opportunity would germinate for them in the North. Reasons for migrating North Southern blacks who eventually migrated north during the 1900s wished to leave the misery they experienced in the South behind for good. It was this same misery that brought about the formation of the blues which became the subject of many of their songs. The blues were a combination of dreams unfulfilled, biblical belief, spiritual ebullition and present/past agonies and aspirations. Whether it be prisoners on the chain gang or prisoners to the cotton field, the blues helped express pent-up feelings and vent a multitude of hostile frustrations to help discouraged blacks make it through yet another day. Blues legend John Lee Hooker originally hailed from the cotton fields of Mississippi. Like many southern blacks, he made his way to Detroit during WWII. Hooker had joined the army during the war but was let go when it was discovered he was underage. Adrift in Detroit, the veteran bluesmen found a new home in the Hastings Street clubs where his southern blues music struck a cord. His eerie Mississippi moans and throaty wails simply couldn’t be duplicated. Hooker would call Detroit his home for the next 27 years, witnessing dramatic social changes first hand. "I was happy in Detroit because I loved the music. John Lee Hooker

1917 - 2001 Southern blacks entering Detroit found a city totally unprepared to accommodate them. The most immediate problem, one that would haunt the city indefinitely, was housing. The housing shortage was acute before the Great Migration and would get worse for decades thereafter. Blacks were caught in the cross-hairs of redlining, a practice of bankers and real estate agencies who would draw a red line around areas on the local map where they refused to allow blacks in. This left Black Bottom, an enclave of dilapidated wooden houses that should have been torn down before they fell down. Unable to buy, blacks were forced to rent from slum lords. Because the rent was two or three times higher than normal they were forced to take on boarders to make ends meet, creating terrible overcrowding. There were some niceties associated with working in the auto factories. There was little wage discrimination between blacks and whites. The difference came in job stature and promotion. Blacks were given the most dangerous and health hazardous jobs such as iron pouring, furnace tending or spraying paint. While it is true whites often did the same work, they were frequently promoted despite having considerably less time in. This mentality was confirmed by a plant manager, “Negroes can’t work on the presses. We brought the Negro to this plant to do the dirty, hard unskilled work. If we let him rise, all of them will want better jobs.” To his credit the manager admitted this was unfair, “But we can’t try any experiments here. We are competing with other automobile firms and we’ve got to keep our men satisfied to keep up the competitive pace. Personally I’d like to help them, but what can I do?” “When I die, bury me in Detroit” Southern blacks had long considered Detroit the Promised Land and Henry Ford a Moses type character who led them out of bondage. As far back as the Civil War, Detroit was a major terminal of the fabled Underground Railroad. In the 1910s, Ford’s $5 day and the U.S. entry into WWI proved to be the parting of the Red Sea and at the end of it was the salvation of Detroit. Southern blacks held an indelible scorn for the Deep South and the Jim Crow mentality that prevailed and humiliated. Detroit represented a cultural rebirth. No longer would they have to remove their cap when talking to a white person. No longer would they have to step off the sidewalk to allow a white to pass by unimpeded. The euphoric liberation that the North provided invoked a common request, “When I die, bury me in Detroit.” “I’m goin to get me a job, up there in Mr. Ford’s place, Blacks earned more money than they had ever dreamed of in Detroit’s auto industry, but was it worth the price? Young men grew old long before their time because of the physical toll and hazards they encountered at work. Southern blacks were not the only entity envious of a high paying blue-collar job. A veritable tidal wave of white Southerners also flooded into Detroit. Over 500,000 migrants arrived between June of 1940 and June of 1943 alone. Approximately 50,000 were black. The rest were a hodgepodge of poor white Appalachians, unsuccessful farmers, Baptists, Methodists and others. It was Detroit’s version of The Grapes of Wrath. Detroit had run the economic gamut over the decades. From a buzzing metropolis of the WWI era flaunting its automotive prominence, to an anemic invalid of the Great Depression in the 1930s, and then back again to a bee hive of activity which WWII dictated. With well-paying jobs in excess, the Motor City offered unheard of opportunities. This point resonated throughout the South where poor sharecropping blacks were becoming expendable due to modern advances in farm machinery and the ravages of the boll weevil. Northern whites also grew indignant about their new neighbors. They did not want to live near blacks nor did they want the labor competition which would certainly appear after WWII ended and the multitude of military production jobs began to dry up. Even before the arrival of the southern migrants, Detroit was a checkerboard of ethnicities which included Germans, Irish, Italians, Maltese and various Slavs (a very large Polish contingent), all of whom gravitated toward their own sections of the city. Few people really considered themselves Detroiters; ethnicity dictated who you were and where you lived. Detroit had not yet learned how to be a city. Add to the influx of Southerners a few demagogic and communist agitators and you have the most heterogeneous cast of characters in the country. Even as Detroit basked in the light of prosperity and national adulation for leading the way in beating fascism, sinister forces were at work which would bring the city down. Detroit was saturated with characters that had an axe to grind. This volatile mix would put Detroit on a war footing of its own. Wartime Detroit was awash with good paying jobs, as this puzzled shop keeper on the left attests to. It was also saturated with a host of dysfunctional groups, many far from home, all antagonistic towards each other. Detroit was bearing the brunt of the war production for the country, cranking out a staggering 1/3 of the military equipment being used to fight the fight. But it came at a price. Detroiters, worn and frazzled from endless production work, were at the breaking point. Detroit’s racial situation had become so precarious and so pronounced that in August of 1942, ten months before the notorious riot, LIFE magazine wrote a caustic article entitled “Detroit is Dynamite” admonishing the city at length for its poisonous racial atmosphere and predicting the city would riot: Few people doubt Detroit can do this colossal job. It has the machines, the factories, the know-how as no other city in the world has them. If machines could win the war, Detroit would have nothing to worry about. But it takes people to run machines and too many of the people of Detroit are confused, embittered and distracted by factional groups that are fighting each other harder that they are willing to fight Hitler. Detroit can either blow up Hitler or it can blow up the U.S. From the ashes of the Confederate army came this social club that began terrorizing blacks to keep them from exercising their new constitutional rights. Their overwhelming success caught the eye of the federal government which repeatedly attempted to squash them, thus causing a cyclical existence. By the turn of the century the KKK virtually ceased to exist, only to rekindle in the 1920s to the tune of four million members. It was at this time that they added to their list of adversaries Jews, Catholics, foreigners and organized labor. By the time of the Great Depression they faded away again, only to reemerge one last time during the civil rights heyday of the 1960s. The magazine New Republic estimated that Michigan held as many as 875,000 Klan members, more than any other state. Black Legion - Born out of the decomposition of the KKK, Detroit had become the stronghold for a shadowy fascist group of night riders known as the Black Legion. Originally formed to procure jobs for southern whites during the chaotic years of the Depression, their hit list included but was not limited to Blacks, Jews, Catholics and unions. Although somewhat comical in appearance, the Black Legion was every bit as vicious as the KKK and even more feared. It was publicly known they had penetrated the ranks of big business and government. As a result few people dared testify against the Legion for fear of their transparent agents. Their secretive nature was reinforced by a code, “to be torn limb from limb and scattered to the carrion” if they betrayed any secrets. This is the group that allegedly murdered Baptist minister Earl Little, the father of Malcolm X, in East Lansing in 1931.

The Fifth Column, a name given to enemy agents or disloyal persons working within their own country to undermine its will to resist an outside enemy. The United States, 25 percent of whose population traced ancestry back to Germany, was a tempting target for Nazi recruiters. Racist literature flooded Detroit, concentrating on the tender subjects of housing and employment. The National Workers League, a Nazi front group with large presence in Detroit, was heavily involved in agitating the Sojourner Truth riot in 1942. The Germans reasoned that they may not be able to defeat the U.S. militarily but if they could exploit what was obviously a volatile situation they could create internal havoc. Detroit was the greatest industrial city in the world and was producing the bulk of the U.S. military equipment. For the Axis powers to induce rioting in Detroit and thus disrupt production would be a victory. April 1941 - (Above, left) Thousands of southern blacks were employed at Ford’s River Rouge Complex. In 1941 the UAW waged a strike at the Rouge. Whites walked off the job but blacks stayed behind. Many blacks felt a loyalty to “Uncle Henry.” The two groups clashed on numerous occasions in barbaric fashion.(Above, right) Yet another subtle but telling reason leading to the riot was Detroit’s antiquated transportation system, once quantitatively compared to the caliber of a small New England town. Due to severe gas rationing during WWII, many depended on the trolleys to get them to work or recreation. With the arrival of several hundred thousand Southerners into the city in the space of a few years, the trolley system became terribly overburdened. Whites who had stood in shock and revulsion at the mere thought of blacks living near them now found themselves literally elbow to elbow with them on the cramped trolleys. Many fisticuffs resulted. Sojourner Truth - A Portent of things to come Round One The second “Great Migration” of Southern blacks which occurred during WWII caught Detroit badly off guard. Suddenly the city that could bury Hitler found it couldn’t adequately house its own people. The federal government, determined to keep Detroit’s indispensable industrial juggernaut rolling, came to the realization that additional black housing was badly needed. But where would the new black housing be accepted? The sight eventually chosen was located at Nevada & Fenelon, right next to a white neighborhood. There was only one black housing project in the city, the Brewster housing project and it was full. Southern whites were also vying for living space. Locals were under the impression the new housing project was intended for whites until it was given the name Sojourner Truth (after a Civil War slave and poet). Their protestations came swiftly. Strategies were initiated and congressmen were incited, successfully reversing Washington’s decision. Detroit Mayor Edward Jeffries was fully aware of not only the acute housing problem in his city but of the highly combustible atmosphere between the races. Siding with the blacks, Jeffries reeled off a scathing series of telegrams to Washington demanding they rescind their decision. Much to the vexation of the white community, Washington flip-flopped again and the housing project again was set for black occupancy. The move in date was to be February 27th, 1942. Round one went to the whites as over 1,200 well motivated protestors showed up on moving day, too much for the Detroit Police Department to control. The first black families who showed up at 9 a.m. thought the crowd too volatile and turned back. Later that day two black tenants ran their car through the picket line, starting off a melee. Detroit police used tear gas and shotguns to disperse the crowd but moving day had to be postponed indefinitely. (Above, left) Locals made their intentions eminently clear. (Above, right) Protestors pose with their “trophy.” April 28, 1942 – White protesters line up at the entrance to Sojourner Truth as round two prepares to get under way.Note the protester with the over sized chunk of wood in his hand and his completely unabashed demeanor as he stands in front of the police car. You could smell it in the air For the generations that grew up in the era of air conditioning, relief from the ravages of the sun is only a push button away. Such extravagances were not available during WWII. The most immediate respite in those days was the public beach. If you lived in Black Bottom, this meant Belle Isle. Sunday June 20, 1943 was a typical day downtown. The sun’s lustrous heat felt quite pleasant early in the morning but quickly spiraled to a challenging ninety-one degrees by the afternoon. Some 100,000 Detroiters decided to patronize Belle Isle that day; 75 percent were black. Belle Isle, the largest city-owned island park in the country, encompasses a spacious 985 acres, but it wasn’t big enough to prevent two volatile groups from avenging past grievances on this fateful day. The fury of the war had changed Detroit drastically. Because of the dense, interracial crowds that frequented Belle Isle, Detroit police came to believe that if trouble started, it would likely start here. Ku Klux Klan - The Invisable Empire The Black Legion fighting for ourselves."Despite the massive show of force by authorities, the white protesters showed an iron resolve. Again the two sides went at it and had to be forcefully broken up, but the black tenants were finally moved in. With forty people injured and over one hundred arrested, sentiments still ran high. One black tenant exclaimed, “The Army is going to take me to ‘fight for democracy,’ but I would just as soon fight for democracy right here. Here we are The inconclusive showdown that was Sojourner Truth simply escalated raw feelings between the races to a near riot status. Everyone seemed to know that somewhere in the future there would be a rematch to settle old scores once and for all. Sojourner Truth was a portent of things to come. This time Mayor Jeffries was better prepared. In tandem with 1,100 Detroit police officers, Jeffries requested and was granted 1,600 National Guardsmen to secure the route and site. Round two went to the black tenants. One step closer to judgment day - Thousands of white employees at Packard walk off the job to protest having to work with blacks. After the U.S. entry into WWII, the federal government took over all private industries capable of producing war material. This meant for the duration of the war no more cars would be produced. The world famous Packard Motor Car Company was humming 24/7 with the vital production of the giant Rolls-Royce aircraft engines and twelve cylinder Packard marine engines used to power PT boats. While the UAW hierarchy outwardly supported integration of its work force, its rank and file did not. Whites didn’t mind so much that blacks worked in the same plant, but they refused to work side by side with them. Three weeks before the riot, Packard promoted three blacks to work on the assembly line next to whites. The reaction was immediate and swift. A plant-wide hate strike resulted as 25,000 whites walked off the job, bringing critical war production to a screeching halt. A voice with a Southern accent barked over the loudspeaker, “I’d rather see Hitler and Hirohito win than work next to a Nigger.” Although the matter was rectified within a few days by relocating the black workers, the wheels were quickly coming off Mayor Jeffries’ wagon. Detroit was spinning out of control and on a collision course with disaster. Life magazine had based its article on the numerous major racial incidents in the months preceding the riot. Hot points included the Sojourner Truth housing project, Packard Motor Car Co & Eastwood Amusement Park. The Broadhead Naval Armory sat on the mainland next to the Belle Isle bridge. Fisticuffs between white sailors and black civilians had been occurring all summer long with increasing intensity. Black youths, seeking revenge for previous incidents, had been mugging whites on the island all day. About 10:00 that night, with a traffic jam the length of the bridge, hundreds of Detroiters were walking to the mainland. White sailors and the black youths finally caught up to each other and soon there was a racial donnybrook the length of the bridge. Detroit police came out in force, arresting dozens. Detroit police believed they had stopped the incident in its tracks but unbeknown to them, other parts of the city, feeding on false rumors and past hatreds, began to erupt. White rioters watch with delight as a car belonging to a black was rolled over and set ablaze. White rioters took their volcanic anger out on the first blacks they encountered. In the early hours of the riot many unsuspecting blacks found themselves on Woodward Ave. If you were black you did not want to be west of Woodward Ave. This was deep in 'enemy territory.' Black Bottom was east of Woodward and thus the only real safe confines. The Detroit riot of 1943, along with numerous other riots that occurred that same year, was known world wide. Nazi propaganda radio was having a field day explaining how the freedom loving Americans, who espoused that democracy was the answer, were now beating each other to death on the streets of Detroit. An embarrassed President Roosevelt had to divert U.S. Army troops that were on their way to fight Nazis in North Africa and instead send them to Detroit to keep Americans from killing Americans. Roosevelt found a legal loophole to keep from declaring martial law (a prerequisite for sending in federal troops) while giving the army carte blanche to apply as much force as necessary to quickly and quietly put down the riot. (Above & Below) Detroit police officers defend blacks from the white mob. Although the DPD was criticized for being indifferent to many of the brawls, surely these victims would have entered the long list of fatalities without them. (Above) Rioters began stopping trolley cars and abducting black patrons who were given a swift, unconditional beating. (Below) In every disaster there seems to emerge some sort of hero. Someone who takes great risk, not for the sake of their own personal aggrandizement but simply to quench a thirst for justice. As is often the case they remain forever anonymous. A white passenger attempts to sway a blood-thirsty mob that was determined to assault black passengers. Note how a number of rioters closest to the car ignore his plea and continue to search the car for potential victims. Army Colonel August Krech, the garrison commander at Fort Custer in Battle Creek, was the senior army officer in the area. He suspected there would be trouble in Detroit and if martial law were declared it would be his responsibility to quell the disturbance.Detroit police use Tommy guns and tear gas to halt a white mob trying to enter Black Bottom in search of potential victims. As such, Krech conducted two mock drills earlier in the summer to see how long it would take to get troops to Detroit and he assured Mayor Jeffries he could go from the staging area at Rouge Park to the streets of Detroit in 49 minutes. Krech was good to his word but the bureaucratic bungling of his superiors who misunderstood the prerequisites of declaring martial law would prevent him from stopping the disturbance in its tracks, allowing the riot to escalate. Edward Jeffries, mayor of Detroit from 1940 - 1948, was forced to deal with a explosive situation from the onset of his administration. Hundreds of thousands of migrants entering his city with no other purpose than to make money and thus had nothing to lose by venting their frustrations. Jeffries was livid about the Life Magazine article predicting Detroit would riot. Life is a "yellow magazine with just enough half truths to impress anyone who doesn't know the facts." Yet inwardly Jeffries knew the city was a powder keg. Police Commissioner Witherspoon was informing Jeffries daily of the growing number of incidents between blacks and whites, any one of which could erupt into a full scale riot. Many of the conditions, such as deplorable housing, could not be rectified in any reasonable time frame. Jeffries made a desperate plea on the radio during the riot "Our enemies could not have accomplished as much by a full-scale bombing raid. I appeal to the good citizens of Detroit to keep off the streets, keep in their homes or at their jobs." Harry Kelly was Republican governor of Michigan from 1943 - 1947. Kelly was no stranger to chaotic situations. In 1917, with the U.S. entry into WWI, Kelly quite law school to join the army. Severely injured at Chateau-Thierry where he lost his right leg and was awarded the Croix de guerre. After completing law school, he began a rise through the Michigan political arena, going on to become governor and Michigan Supreme Court judge. Kelly, like Jeffries, was fully aware of the turbulence in Detroit. The Detroit Police Department had only 3,400 men to deal with a hostile population of nearly 2 million. Kelly and Jeffries had met with local army commanders months before the riot to discuss possible army assistance and both were led to believe that only a phone call would be needed for the army to be dispatched to Detroit. This plan was to be known as "Emergency Plan White." Colonel August Krech General William Guthner Army General William Guthner was Colonel Krech's immediate superior. Guthner's superior was General Aurand. Both Guthner and Aurand were stationed at Camp McCoy in Wisconsin. When Governor Kelly's call for assistance came into Aurand's office at 11:00 a.m. Monday, his chief of staff Colonel Davis interpreted Kelly's desperate plea as a "possible" request for assistance. Thus began a number of gaffs by the army. As Aurand pondered prepatory ideas, he dispatched Guthner to Detroit to take charge. On the flight over, Guthner, like Aurand, began thumbing through the army manual pertaining to such situations. Guthner concluded he had no authority to send in troops, only the President himself could issue such a directive. As the hours ticked by, the riot grew in intensity. Army officials in Washington, apprised of the situation, drew up a presidential proclamation allowing the army to enter Detroit without declaring martial law. At 9:25 p.m. Monday, Guthner gave Krech the green light to clear the streets. "he went about doing good" - Acts 10:38 Dr. Joseph De Horatiis came to America with the fervent belief that all men are created equal and even the meekest of immigrants could excel. Amidst the chaos and tumult of the riot, Dr. De Horatiis received an emergency call which would take him through Paradise Valley, an all black section of Detroit. Stopped at a roadblock by a Detroit police officer, he was sternly warned about the potential ramifications. The doctor waved him off; he had a duty to perform. By the time he got to the intersection of Warren and Beaubien he was stopped by black rioters who beat him to death. Detroit police pull the battered and lifeless body of Dr. De Horatiis from his car which was found in Paradise Valley. Dr. De Horatiis' stubborn but professional insistence on carrying out his Hippocratic oath would ultimately cost him his life. At the funeral, Dr. De Horatiis’ lifelong friend, Father Hector Saulino, brought home the gravity of the riot. His emotion-choked eulogy ran on, reminding us that “Many times the good doctor refused to take money and often paid the bills of specialists he called into cases. Many times he loaned great sums of money without taking notes. After thirty-seven years of service he died poor, owed much of that money still. In his death Dr. De Horatiis offers a solution to all wars – Christian charity. When will the world learn that as long as men beat one another and strive greedily and selfishly against each other, peace cannot return to stay?” Dr. De Horatiis' bier Blessed Sacrament Cathedral Detroit A monument for Dr. De Horatiis off Gratiot serves as a poignant reminder of that shameful day long ago. The Final Agony With the riot now almost 24 hours old, white mobs attempted a final charge into the ghetto of Black Bottom. Beleaguered Detroit police, having anticipated as much, had erected barricades to prevent a certain slaughter. When shots rang out from the black occupied Frazer Hotel, the police found themselves in No-Mans land. Detroit police officer Lawrence Adams, having just answered the distress call over the radio, emerged from his police cruiser and was shot. Detroit police then unleashed a withering fire of over 1,000 rounds upon the rickety hotel, pock marking the entire face with rifle and even shot gun fire. Adams would later die of his wound, according to the Reverend Brestidge, "He was the victim of the hate of man, which has replaced the love of God in the hearts of too many of us." Detroit police officer Lawrence Adams. Wound proves fatal. The black occupied Frazer Hotel would host the finale of the riot. Detroit police would storm the bastion after receiving gun fire. Miraculously, after pumping over a thousand rounds into the structure, only one occupant was seriously hurt. The military police then marched down Vernor Highway and into the rebellious ghetto of Paradise Valley. This proved more challenging. It was here they found the feistiest part of the white mob trying to enter the ghetto and to rumble and burn their houses down. The DPD managed to keep them at bay temporarily but were badly in need of reinforcements. The army was greeted with curses, stones and an occasional gunshot to which they answered with bayonets and tear gas. By 11:00 p.m. Bloody Monday had drawn to a deadly close. The authorities had restored order but not peace. With the familiar balustrade of the Detroit Public Library (above) in the foreground, the U.S. Army heads for Woodward Avenue to break up the riotous mobs that seemed to be growing not only in size but in intensity. There they encountered between 10-15,000 whites, the "great mob" that Jeffries had seen roaming Woodward unabated and administering justice as they pleased. The sight of well armed soldiers, brandishing bayonets quickly brought them to their senses and caused them to scatter pell-mell. Krech ordered his men, "fix your bayonets, load your guns and don't take anything from anyone." Mayor Jeffries post riot critique regarding the city's state of readiness had an ominous ring to it, which would echo across the decades: "We were greenhorns in this area of race riots, but we are greenhorns no longer. We are veterans now. We will not make the same mistakes again." Dead - 34 Arrested - 1,895 Injured - 675 Damage - $2,000,000 ($35 million today) Man hours lost - 1 million Enemies in life but brothers in death, riot victims, both black and white, lay side by side in the Wayne County morgue. The U.S. Army, fully armed, attend a Tigers game at Briggs Stadium in the days following the riot at the behest of Mayor Jeffries. Needless to say, there were no incidents. Of the thirty-four confirmed dead, many were killed in the most sadistic fashion possible, that of blunt force trauma. Bludgeoning's and multiple stab wound victims inundated Detroit Receiving Hospital. While killing with a gun is certainly a violent crime, it is much less personal because there is no physical contact. Of course, the greater the distance the less personal the killing. But beating a person to death with a bat or stabbing a victim thirty or forty times indicates a volcanic personal hatred of pathological proportions. This is ultimately what defined the ‘43 riot. To E-mail me, type your message into the white form blank below and hit "Submit E-mail" button. If you want a response you must include your name and E-mail address in the body of the message. It proved to be an uneasy peace, however, and twenty-four years later the army would return, to a city under both different and yet hauntingly familiar circumstances. July 6th - With order now restored, the army musters out of Detroit, down Woodward Avenue and past the DIA reviewing stand which held their commanders, (above, left to right) General Guthner, Governor Kelly and General Aurand. Sunday June 20 3:30 p.m. - Little Willie and co. begin maruading rampage around Belle Isle. 4:00 - Patrol car 1 begins busy day investigating reports of black teenagers starting fights. 10:00 - As thousands of patrons begin to leave the island, fights erupt on the Belle Isle bridge. culminating in a donnebrook at the foot of the bridge on the mainland side, attracting the attention of white sailors from the adjacent naval armory who eagerly join in the fracus. 11:00 - Now some 5,000 (mostly white) at foot of bridge. Riot quickly spreads to nearby streets. 11:30 - Leo Tipton tells a black audiance at the Forest Club that whites have thrown a black women and her child off the Belle Isle bridge. This was a false rumor but blacks react by smashing windows of white owned

businesses along Hastings Street,eventually looting them. Whites retaliate by beating blacks along Woodward Avenue. White mob attempts to invade Black Bottom. (Bloody Monday) 12:00 a.m. Detroit police arrive en mass to break up melee on bridge. Police are unaware of Forest Club incident. 1:00 - Blacks in Paradise Valley, acting on Tipton rumor, begin assualting white motorists along Warren and Vernor. 2:00 Belle Isle brawl is disbanded. Twenty-eight blacks and nineteen whites are arrested. Detroit police believe incident is over. 4:00 - Whites begin stoning black motorists on Woodward and assualt black patrons as they leave Roxy theatre. 11:00 - White mobs begin reign of terro along Woodward Avenue. 4:00 p.m. - U.S. Army Brigadier General Guthner arrives from Wisconsin to meet with the mayor and governor. Guthner balks at prearranged plan to send in federal troops. Insists that martial law must first be declared and only President Roosevelt can do that. This would put Detroit under military rule. 6:00 - 9:00 Mayor Jeffries goes on radio appealing for sanity. Governor Kelly declares a State of Emergency, still unwilling to declare martial law. The bloodiest stretch of the riot ensues. Sixteen are already dead and ten more will die in these three hours. 9:25 p.m. Kelly speaks with General Aurand, Guthner's superior. A "qualified martial law" is imposed. President Roosevelt, at his home in Hyde Park, signs the hastily prepared document. Aurand orders Guthner to send in U.S. Army troops. Colonel Krech's M.P.'s break up mobs at bayonet point. Detroit police complete seige of Frazer Hotel in which an officer was shot and later dies. Riot begins to wind down. Charles "Little Willie" Lyons One week before the riot, Charles "Little Willie" Lyons was run out of Eastwood amusement park by a group of white teenagers. He vowed revenge. The following Sunday Lyons showed up at Belle Isle, recruited some friends and began a marauding rampage against unsuspecting whites, successfully eluding the police. At 10:00 that night, while crossing the bridge to go home, Lyons punched an unsuspecting white man. Witnessing the event, two white sailors caught up with "Little Willie" and started a riot that would be heard around the world. The Great Rebellion: A Socio-economic Analysis of the 1967 Detroit Riot. Source

#detroit #Race

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shawnmendesdream · 7 years

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Sick

Request: Can you write a Shawn imagine where he wakes you up in the middle of the night because he's got an upset stomach and isn't feeling good but doesn't want to disappoint the fans by missing anything the next day?? Thanks!

Masterlist

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- - - -

You remember falling asleep in Shawn’s arms. It was 10:32pm and you were both feeling pretty tired so you decided to get a reasonably early night. He didn’t look too good – exhausted would be the word you would use to describe him. No one worked as hard as Shawn. You constantly saw him awake in the early hours of the morning just trying to get this melody right, just trying to finish these lyrics, just trying to do a lot of things.

You had spent all day doing difficult and challenging school work, which really made your brain ache after long periods of time. Shawn had been in the studio all day working on his third album, and all day you had been receiving texts and calls from a very excited Shawn.

“Y/N, I’ve never been this happy and fulfilled with a song before! I can’t believe this is happening.” He laughed in disbelief down the phone to you, which instantly drew a smile on your face. You couldn’t see him, but you could vividly imagine what he was doing at that moment: pacing around the studio, wanting to tell everyone about his latest creation. However at the same time, he was also being told to hold back by the songwriters and producers around him. It was beautiful torture.

He held you close to his chest whilst he ran his fingers through your hair, and Shawn asked you to tell him about your day so you whispered stories to him. They weren’t interesting stories, and he knew that too, but sometimes it was important for you to tell stories like that to him so that he can have a bit of normality back. Before you knew it, you weren’t even aware of what you were saying anymore and you drifted off into a peaceful and well needed sleep.

Suddenly, it’s 3:47am, and you hear a small voice from behind you which says, “Y/N?” Confused, you slowly open your eyes and wait a fraction of a second for them to adjust to the dark room surrounding you.

“Shawn, is everything okay?” You ask him gently and roll over in bed to face him, only to realise that he is sat up and leaning against a pillow. He’s holding himself from what you can make out.

“I really don’t feel good, Y/N.” Shawn says and although you cannot see him clearly in the dark, you can feel his eyes on you and clinging to you. You reach over to your bedside table and turn the light on which blinds you for a second.

“Shawn, what’s happened?” You ask him with a frantic look on your face now. Seeing him in the light has shown you just how ill he looks. He’s covered in a thin, unwanted layer of sweat that has also left its mark on the bedsheets underneath him. His face is blotchy and his eyes look bloodshot. Maybe the late nights working on his songs are finally catching up on him.

He makes a sudden movement and swiftly leaps out of bed, leaving you feeling shocked and confused. He runs as fast as he can to the toilet, and locks the door which makes a loud bang that echoes around the room for what seems like an eternity afterwards. You feel helpless as you follow him to the door and knock repeating, “Shawn? Shawn, are you okay? Oh my God what do I do?” You panic as you don’t know how to handle the situation, as you’ve never had to look after an ill person before. A million thoughts run through your head at a hundred miles an hour.

After what seems like a year, Shawn slowly unlocks the door and peeps his head round the side. From what you can make out in the dimly lit room, he looks terrible; with dribble down his chin and a red helpless face. You reach out your hand and touch his cheek to discover that it is flaming hot. “What can I do, baby?” You ask him, and he gives you a look that you’ve never seen before. It’s hard to distinguish if he’s in pain, feeling sick, anxious or if he’s scared.

“Y/N…” Shawn says with a disappointed expression, “What am I going to do about tomorrow?” He slides down the wall until he reaches the floor and covers his face with his large veiny hands.

“It’s going to be okay! Your fans will understand, Shawn. They love you so much, and I do too. Okay? I’m going to take care of you, and you will recover quickly from whatever this is so you can perform for these fans sometime soon.” You tell him and smile softly to reassure him. You take the exact same route sliding down the wall he did seconds before, and sit next to him to give him company.

“I love you.” Shawn whispers.

“And I love you too.” You reply as you run your fingers through his hair.

A/N: Sorry for slacking on the writing guys, I’ve just been a busy bee lol:D You can send me requests here.

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yespoetry · 7 years

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Carla Carlson: Special Feature & Interview

THE GIFT OF SOUNDS

The way they sayeverything is within you now yet integrated—he plays his jazz. I just want birds, andinsects. Wince on and off. Lovely never works on fixing men though. She has no real qualms.

I’m of course busy for aset amount of time. It’s not my job to mistabout in nightgowns as perhaps it once was. All I must do is murmur positives. When I am good, it will sound like love.

AIRPLANES

We are all flyingdifferent places. I’m so happy I want tothank these girls beside me— they are clean. No I cannot handle emergencies. The pilot has a personality like college. I worry about the other’s whereabouts— my husband will stay underwater for a long time at the beach and get applause later on. One idea was to remain within the scenery. Last Sunday he listed fifty reasons for being angry. It took all morning. I said to myself: “be a cake.” Cakes are silent, wide-eyed, sweet, waiting for when the eater’s finally hungry. No one was crying the moment it all began. As usual the truth was buried. If I could, I’d scream myself to sleep like a terrible baby. What I love about planes though is people drinking Bloody Mary’s at eight am and talking like morning radio shows. No this is not exactly what I prefer. A little girl sings high notes. This is when all the people say Thank God. They want to capture her and keep her like a flower or grasshopper. He must know I’m lost without him.

MEMOIR

As a little girl, I disappeared from my mother’s gaze. She’d look away, mouthing phrases. I stared like a ghost. “Mom? Mom?” And so on.

I could be anything I wanted to be— I swam in races, tried dancing, played piano.

And yet, my mother thought something was wrong with me— I was so small at birth, she named me Carla, meaning strong. Still, I disappeared like a weed in her silence.

II.

Most of my life, when I wanted to say, “go away, I’m busy,” I said, “you’re sweet,” my smile tense and pretty.

III.

One grandmother was light, sent sparkle cards, the other dark. For this, we kept Mary out. I am the one who loved the light.

But after a while the light was hell. I craved the night. Like, I am angry for ten years. I shun cloying greeting cards

like the grandmother I hardly knew. She’s dead, and now, I dig in her icy grave, my claws breaking one by one.

IV.

Years ago, I sent Mary a picture of my baby girl. She wrote back, “the baby’s a dumpling.”

In pictures, Mary is a soft portrait. Her mouth, a thin line, her dress cut from a table cloth.

Long ago, we visited my mother’s childhood home where Mary set three cakes on the stove— one apple, the others a blur. But something went wrong with the adults.

We went away. So I never thanked her for the moon or the stars, or anything at all.

Q & A with Carla Carlson and editor Joanna C. Valente

JV: Talk to me about your line breaks. How do you determine them?

CC: Ending a line is very much a gut decision for me at this point; the line feels right, or it doesn’t– yet, in thinking further, I will say this: the decision is rarely based on a visual standard such as length, and it’s rarely based on a sound pattern. I believe each line should mean enough, ideally, such that the reader gets a real satisfaction, a full lick from the ice cream cone, or the eyes a cliff-side view to pause at, before traversing to the next section of line.

JV: What would you say is your obsession right now? As poets & artists, we are sometimes defined by these obsessions in our work.

CC: I am obsessed with- allowing what’s been unspoken to rise up in my poem, subtly, or maybe suddenly, yet ladylike. I wonder if this comes from being a female, ie., looking at any little girl, or lovely woman at any age, “people” have not expected to hear a full scope of emotion, in my personal history. They want to remain charmed. They are often surprised to find out what’s behind the lovely skin, hair, body. I’m obsessed with making these behavioral constraints conscious, and fiddling with them.

JV: How does New York’s landscape affect your poems?

CC: New York is of course a living embodiment of surrealism. Walking through neighborhoods, millions of moments are running into each other, and running into my ongoing story. I like to write what I see in the city, then break stories, and interchange fragments in ways that are somehow believable in my memoir. A horse, clopping sadly in Central Park becomes the man in my love poem.

JV: Who writes your poems—what part of you?

CC: I have at least two speakers within me. One of them is a proper woman who speaks in pert detail. She always dresses well. She can impose logic on herself, as well as offer herself choices in how to deal with quibbles, her way. Another speaker in me is an eight year old child who’s just a little too honest. The child, appearing innocent, can ask questions of the adult world; and remind us, at time bitterly, of our vulnerabilities, failures, and all we bury. It’s fair to say that these two speakers intersect, and also complicate each other’s clarity.

JV: I’ve always felt my poems come alive after they’ve been edited—as if I’m carving a poem, rather than writing it. Would you agree or disagree with this?

CC: My favorite part of writing a poem is collecting its pieces in the morning, like collecting colorful tiles to make a mosaic design, then playing with them for hours on the floor to see what may come. Editing can feel upsetting for me, in that, I feel as though I must decide the thing I want to say, thus much of the other good stuff has to be placed elsewhere. Still, when a clear poem finally surfaces, I’m pretty ecstatic for hours, and quickly heartless with the rest.

Editor's Note: These poems originally appeared on our old site.

Carla Carlson’s poetry is engaged with domestic concerns, with the emotional negotiations required by every marriage and long-term relationship, and with the bliss and sometimes painful solitude that accompanies these experiences. She tries to keep her work focused on everyday reality, images, and objects. Her poems are written in a style both open and layered, lyrical yet direct, and willing to experiment with a variety of poetic modes.

She is a graduate of Sarah Lawrence College’s MFA writing program. Her poems have appeared in print and online journals such as The Westchester Review, Chronogram Magazine,The Mom Egg, and Catch and Release -Columbia Journal. Her first chapbook is currently being published by Finishing Line Press, and will be released in 2015.

#Carla Carlson #special feature

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dancemovers · 5 years

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The Detroit race riot of 1943

Check this out on https://endsmedia.stream/detroit-race-riot-1943/

The Detroit race riot of 1943

1943 - A race riot there will be

#detroit #Race

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