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ell0ra-br3kk3r-writes · 1 year

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The Phoenix and the Crow

part five

pairing: (in the making) kaz brekker x fem!reader

genre: neutural

el's thoughts: this one has a lot of action haha and was a bit harder to get through, but here it is! hope y'all like it! please remember to reblog and comment :)

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The inferni rushed over to the brunette and wrapped her in a tight hug, “Oh, I’ve missed you!” Nina gasped in surprise, “Y/N! What in Saint’s sake are you doing here of all places?” Y/N chuckled, “I thought I needed a vacation. Look where and with who I’ve ended up.”

Kaz looked between the two grisha. “And how do you two know each other?”

“The little palace.” They replied together.

Wylan shuffled his feet once the silence settled in the workshop. “Can I get anyone some tea?”

Kaz rolled his eyes at Wylan and turned back to Nina, “You worked with Arken.”

“It was more of a limited partnership.” Nina shrugged while she kept an arm wrapped around Y/N’s shoulders.

“Did you trust him?” Kaz was expecting a certain answer.

Nina scoffed, “That turncoat? Not on your life. He was shadier than an oak at three bells.”

Kaz looked satisfied, “What’s your price?”

“I’ve expended the legal avenues on my problem. Every clerk in the city says the same thing. ‘The judge will see you in six months.’” Nina’s voice grew frustrated at the reminder of being turned down and away time and time again.

“And so you’re looking for the not-so-legal route on… What, exactly?”

“I’m told you could free someone from Hellgate.”

Kaz looked towards Inej and she stood there unmoving, both their eyes were calculating, but one pair was colder than the other.

“Hellgate? Who do you need from Hellgate?” Y/N asked.

“Someone, I say as if he’s anyone, and in truth, he’s the love of my life,” Nina spoke while looking between Y/N and Kaz. The inferni smiled with pride at the thought of her good friend finding love. Kaz on the other hand pursed his lips in thought and tilted his head, “I can’t get you a release from Hellgate.” Nina nodded in acceptance before he spoke up again, “But I can get you a visit. In exchange for your services.”

“What do you need me for?”

“The aftermath.”

Everyone stared at him as he walked up the steps, “Follow me.” Y/N and Nina stood in place for a moment before Inej spoke up. “He does this.” She turned to follow the others as the two grisha women shared a look, “Does he?”

The group of six walked up and out onto the roof now having a great view of the city. Continuing to follow him, they all lined up beside each other waiting expectantly for Kaz to say something. “Brick by brick.”

Inej looked up at Jesper beside her with furrowed eyebrows seconds before an explosion went off. The large puff of fire and smoke seemed almost unreal as the screams of citizens could barely be heard over the distance.

“What was that?” Jesper’s voice was shaken as he spoke.

“The Crow Club.”

The zemini turned to Wylan, “Was that yours?” The brown-haired boy didn’t respond but looked down in guilt as he realized what he’d helped Kaz do.

Y/N spoke, starting hesitantly, “I take it we’re now in the aftermath?”

“This doesn’t help us clear our name, Kaz. This is war with Pekka Rollins, the King of the Barrel.”

Kaz’s face had no emotion written across it, he held his composer well. “The Barrel doesn’t belong to kings.” He turned on his heel and walked back to the door they came from, “It belongs to bastards.”

Crows symbolize prophecy, transformation, change, and freedom. They also remember faces, the people who’ve wronged them, and the people who’ve shown them kindness. ‘It makes sense.’ Y/N thought to herself. Revenge was something that seemed to plague Kaz’s mind, while that alone would be pure danger in a shot glass… He had Inej and Jesper to balance him out. Together they’re still dangerous but more sensible if only Kaz was able to sit and hear his crew out. Their feelings and thoughts, if everything was on the table and sorted properly, would be a well-shaken cocktail.

Y/N walked through the door of the restaurant and quickly found the table her group was seated at. Nina, Wylan, and Inej sat on one side of the booth while Jesper and Kaz sat on the other. “Sorry, I’m late. I got distracted.” She looked at Kaz expectantly, waiting for him to stand or slide into the booth to make room for her. He scowled before he stood up and let her slide in next to Jesper.

“Move closer,” Jesper muttered in her ear causing her to glance at him confused but she moved either way, leaving more space for Kaz.

“Back to topic. If you hate him so much, why not just hire me to kill him?” Nina asked, “Or why hire me at all? Your sharpshooter or your Wraith could take him out, easy.”

“It’s not enough to kill him.” Kaz’s voice was rough as if it was difficult to speak.

Inej and Jesper shared a look while Nina and Y/N did the same.

“Killing him doesn’t help clear our names. That’s why I need all of you, so I can hang everything back on him.”

Y/N hummed as Inej responded. “And we are the pawns who enact your personal vendetta?”

“The three of us are under equal jeopardy. And if they catch us, we can’t protect you.” His coffee-brown eyes bore into Wylan before he shifted his gaze to Nina. “And you’ll have to turn to Pekka to see your man. No doubt with some very unappealing conditions attached.”

“All of that in mind,” Jesper spoke. “I mean, Inej and I need to know the plan.”

Wylan nodded, “Um, yes, I… I, too, would like to know the plan.” He crossed his arms over his chest after speaking. The inferni and bastard’s eyes moved in sync down to his crossed arms and back to his face. One pair was filled with amusement and endearment while the other was filled with the exact opposite.

Kaz scanned the restaurant quickly before shifting his body to the side, “To get leverage on him, I need to know the scope of his business, inside-out. There are two easy to learn this. This first is by following his private driver, and tracking his schedule. Second, his accountant, Henrik Van Poel. If I get access to Pekka’s books, it’ll tell me everything I need to know. So, we need to get into that building.”

Inej pulled the small curtain open and everyone turned to look at the building across the street.

“It’s where his accountant works. Although, there’s no way of knowing which office.” Nina stood from the table, took the menu, and walked away. Kaz paid no mind and continued, “That’s the mission. It looks like a typical office building, but it has a number of subtle features.”

Y/N zoned out of the conversation. ‘How’d I get from being a soldier to being a thief?’ Nina came back and sat down with a waffle on her plate. Kaz stared at her in disbelief, “I need you with me while I copy Henrik’s books.” He turned to face the girl beside him, “You as well. Gunfire will only draw attention, but a Heartrender-”

“Has many skills. Yes, like this.” Nina finished swallowing her bite of waffle. “Second floor, second-last door on the left.” Everyone stared at her in confusion.

After a moment Kaz asked, “What?”

“Henrik's office.” She replied in an obvious tone and turned to Inej, “Do you mind?” She nodded at the empty glass and pitcher of water. “How do you know this?” Inej asked as she passed the water. “I asked the waitress.”

“How did she know?” Jesper asked in utter shock.

“People who work in places like that, they eat in places like this. And sometimes they get meals delivered.” Y/N spoke up this time.

Nina nodded, “Yes, exactly. So I said, ‘Um, excuse me, but I have a delivery and I can’t read the directions.’ Ta-da.”

Jesper chuckled, “I like having her around.”

“And I like truth. You said you’d get me in to see Matthias.”

Kaz nodded his head slowly, clearly impressed with her skills. “You’ll get your visit to Hellgate.”

Y/N climbed up the stairs to the roof where Jesper said Kaz was waiting. She had gone with Inej to scope out the building so they have a basic idea of what they were getting themselves into.

“What did you find?”

His voice startled her a bit since his back was facing her. “There’s a doorman even after hours, and a pair of roving guards in the halls. But Inej can get you in through a window as long as Nina and myself watch the front.”

“If this goes sideways, tell the others to regroup at the Black Veil. Get the Heartrender. We leave in ten.”

She hesitated and sighed, “Her name is Nina.” She walked closer to him, “Does your crew know what happened between you and Rollins?” She didn’t quite know his full story, but she did know that the two had a history. That was what was fueling his thirst for revenge.

He looked back at her, “All they need to know is that I have a reason. And you need to know even less.”

She rolled her eyes, “There’s enough secrecy in the crew as is, Brekker.”

“Secrecy is the only way to survive the Barrel, Y/L/N.” His voice was harsh, getting on her last nerve.

“So keeping us, keeping your friends in the dark is about survival?”

“Now you’re getting it.”

She hummed, “Their survival or yours?” She received only silence as an answer. “Trust is the other side of secrecy, Kaz. I know I’ve done nothing to earn your trust, but they do. Especially Inej and Jesper, but you’ve instilled such fear into them that they can’t even talk to you about it.” She quickly reined in her tone and temper, “It’d do you good to remember that.” She quickly turned back to the door and walked back down the stairs.

Nina leaned against the wall as Y/N looked around her up and down the street. “Clear.” The pair walked slowly across the street. “Why must I be the drunk one?” Y/N whined quietly.

“‘Cause I’m the one who’s gonna knock him out.”

“Doesn’t explain why-”

Nina yanked the inferni’s arm over her shoulder and kicked her leg out just a little so she was leaning into her side. They made it to the front steps when the doorman stopped in front of them.

“Ooh. Closed up for the night.”

Nina chuckled, “Uh, We’ll just be a minute. I, uh, need to use the loo.”

“You can go down the street to Manny’s pub. They’re open.” He pointed to a building down the road where the lights shined brighter.

“They won’t let us back in there… Not since we drank the barkeep under the table.” She chuckled as Y/N giggled and let a hiccup slip through her lips.

The doorman laughed and looked the Heartrender up and down, “I do like a woman who can hold her liquor.”

“Oh, well, I, uh, can’t hold it everywhere.” She said in a sing-song voice. Y/N giggled again and started humming. “So, do you mind?” She finished.

He cleared his throat, “Not tonight. Sorry, love.”

Nina rolled her eyes and threw up her hands, quickly slowing his heart down. Y/N stood up as the man fell forward onto Nina. “Oof, okay.” She placed him down on the steps.

“Sorry, love.” The inferni mocked as the pair walked to the door and slipped through.

They made it to the second floor in a hurry, their heels causing a slight echo in the otherwise silent halls. “I thought there were guards in the halls,” Nina asked. Y/N nodded, “There were supposed to be.” The brunette shrugged, “Down that side.” Y/N walked to the office door and pushed it open slowly finding the room empty for just a moment before Kaz appeared in the window.

They were silently sorted through files and heavy books when a heavily accented voice spoke from behind them.

“Fine night, ain’t it, Brekker?”

Kaz slowly looked up as Pekka Rollins turned on an oil lamp on the desk. Guards stood on the other side of the door. ‘We’re trapped.’ “Burning the midnight oil, are we?” Kaz asked.

“I thought I’d cut to the chase.” Pekka ignored Y/N entirely, keeping his attention solely on Kaz. “You can’t show your faces at my clubs and my brothels to pull threads on me, so where would you go?” Kaz stayed silent. “Step away from the desk.”

“Why?”

“I don’t want blood on my furniture. My numbers man’ll bill me for it, and, well, you’ve already cost me enough money by blowing up my club.”

Kaz’s fist clenched as he leaned forward, “My club.”

Pekka hummed in amusement, “Before I kill you, I want you to know that I brought in a madman to capture your Wraith. Sorry. My Wraith.”

Both Y/N and Kaz turned to the window and saw a man in a fur mask climb up the rope that lead to Inej. A low groan was heard from the back of her throat.

“I fixed up the cellar at the Menagerie, got the best shackles that money can buy.”

Kaz’s face dropped as anger boiled in the pit of Y/N’s stomach.

“Oh, and I got my man to lay a trap for your gunslinger.”

‘He was outnumbered and outsmarted… Again.’

Kaz only clenched his fist and tightened his grip on his cane.

“Clean sweep, Brekker. All that will be left will be my little spider, back in her cage. Ooh, I’m going to sleep well.”

The door was pushed open and Y/N saw Nina down the hall. Pekka saw her through the glass on the door. “Heartrender!”

“Meet the newest member of my crew.” Kaz held the door still so Nina could see Pekka clearly through the glass as well. The guard on the floor gathered enough strength when Rollins fell to the floor to raise his arm and fire at Nina. She fell backward when the bullet hit her arm. Kaz dived behind the desk and Y/N fell down beside him when gunshots were fired at them.

“Kaz, let me-”

“No.”

The gunshots didn’t let up as grunts were barely heard from the hall. “It’s over, Brekker!” Pekka shouted over the gunfire. Kaz pulled out two small bombs from his pocket and a lighter. He tried to start the lighter but no flicker of fire came from it. He cursed under his breath before Y/N scoffed, “Oh, hand it over.” She pulled the bombs from his hands, snapped her fingers, and lit the fuses before throwing them over to the other side of the desk. Kaz stared at her as she brought her hands over her ears. “Ears!” She shouted at him and he quickly covered his ears right before the bombs went off.

“Black Veil is a cemetery?”

No one answered Y/N’s question as they kept walking, crossing paths with Jesper and Wylan.

“Assuming you got ambushed too?” Jesper asked.

“Oh, yeah, so many of them, I lost count,” Nina said, slightly out of breath.

“I got what I needed, and Wylan’s bombs took take of the rest.”

Y/N scoffed at him as they followed and waited while he pushed open a large tomb, Inej was leaning on her heavily. “Get her inside,” Kaz instructed. Nina followed the other two girls inside without question. The clicking of the crow cane was familiar at this point and brought a weird sense of peace to Y/N as she lead the group blindly through the tomb.

~*~*~*~

taglist: @rachelcarroll1819 @xcharlottemikaelsonx @khaleesihavilliard @simrah1012 @foulkryptonitepeanut @astridyoo15 @queenofshinigamis @peakyispunk @jahayla-parker @maliciousbrekker @writingmysanity @brekkershadowsinger @winstonthecow22 @lee-says-things

#kaz brekker #kaz brekker x reader #kaz brekker x you #kaz brekker x y/n #six of crows #six of crows x reader #six of crows imagines #shadow and bone #shadow and bone x reader #shadow and bone imagines #ellora.writes

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hazelnut-u-out · 1 year

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My "Morty Deserves More Relevance" rant:

My main criticism of S6 of “Rick and Morty” so far is that Morty hasn’t had nearly enough relevance to the season on any front for one of the two main protagonists.

I could probably excuse this if the show had been rather Rick-focused for the majority of its run, but the show has been about BOTH of these characters since the get-go.

I’m not someone that generally tries to hide my Morty bias. I relate to Morty in a lot of ways, and I don’t think that’s uncommon.

I think that the writers currently have more of a Rick bias (or, at least, find it more important to tell his story or show things more in terms of how they effect him).

I want to preface this by saying that I DO believe that Rick has a right to heal, grow, and get better. I guess I’m just saying that it’s not on us to forgive him.

I think that the writers kind of needed to put Morty to the side for a bit– to have him pushed into the background in favor of Rick– because it’s really difficult to begin to empathize with/feel bad for an abuser when the impact of their behavior on their victim is staring you right in the face.

(I rewatched the series to make this post, and GOD is some of Rick's behavior downright sickening and inexcusable in seasons 1-4...)

I don’t think that anyone else can forgive Rick for what he’s done to Morty. Only Morty can do that.

Again, I’m not saying that Rick doesn’t deserve the right to heal, but I don’t think that he should get to dictate the pace of the healing in their dynamic. I think this is why I have a hard time feeling bad for Rick in terms of Morty developing agency.

Rick most definitely deserves sympathy and support for what happened to him before he came into Morty’s life, but I have to say that I find Morty’s story a lot more tragic than Rick’s. Morty’s story is one about child abuse– about becoming a victim and having your identity swallowed alive as it’s dictated by the actions of an abuser.

Take the events of “Forgetting Sarick Mortshall,” for example. I think this is one of the episodes that really puts into perspective the extent of Morty’s trauma bond with Rick, and how that can manifest in a victim. When you’re a victim of an abuser, one of the only avenues of control you have is deciding whether to stay in the situation or leave. That is literally all Morty has. He tries to put his foot down only for Rick to “cold shoulder” him, which is ultimately just another manipulation tactic. He wanted Morty to be afraid of losing the only real connection he has left. That’s how narcissistic abuse works: they isolate you from every other reliable relationship in your life so that you are entirely dependent upon their approval. When Rick drops the bombshell at the end of the episode that he’s going to be leaving with the crows, that literally strips Morty of any control he had at all. Morty is left with absolutely NO choice anymore- not even to cooperate with Rick or not.

When something like that happens to a victim– when an abuser decides that they are the one who gets to dictate healing and growth– it’s technically within their rights to leave, grow, and heal, but it strips the victim of the only sense of autonomy that was left intact for them. It’s like one last vengeful powerplay, and we can see that play out in Morty’s decisions thereafter.

We see him desperately grasp for any control of the situation back, because he (the VICTIM) wasn’t ready for this to happen, yet.

I’m not saying that Morty isn’t a flawed character, but I think that a lot of people tend to forget about the fact that he is a CHILD, who wouldn’t otherwise be involved in the morally gray situations he’s in if he hadn’t been consistently neglected, used, and abused.

Every fucked up thing that Morty has done has been as a child who, truthfully, doesn’t know better because of the way his worldview has been consistently skewed. He’s put in these situations time and time again that force him to stray from his own moral compass. Rick even goes out of his way (like in “The Vat of Acid Episode”) to intentionally manipulate Morty into thinking that anything he wants to do that would stray from what Rick thinks is best will only result in more harm to other people.

There are other episodes that enforce this kind of philosophy (straying from Rick’s corrupt set of rules and regulations must be the only way to prevent death and destruction– even though that often means actively choosing death and destruction at face value), such as “Mortynight Run,” “Auto Erotic Assimilation,” etc.

Rick, on the other hand, is the adult in the situation. Everything fucked up Rick has done throughout the course of the show was done as an adult, who most definitely DID know better.

The core of this show is literally a “hardened adult meets naive child” trope, and I think that a lot of people have lost sight of the reason that Rick’s healing should feel so satisfying in the long run. The whole point of rooting for Rick’s healing in the first place is set up to be about giving Morty the grandpa he deserves. Morty basically has no one in his corner other than Rick, and Rick is riddled with an inky sickness that bleeds and infects Morty with every movement of his character that is too quick or abrasive. It’s important to give Morty the chance to view the world as an actual child might while he still has a bit of that innocence left inside of him– in the same way it’s important to give Rick the opportunity to foster that innocence instead of crush it for once.

I think that a lot of people (writers included) have started to view Rick’s “Crybaby Backstory” as an excuse for his shitty behavior over the first 5 seasons, when there really aren’t any valid excuses for what he’s put Morty through. There are only reasons that he did what he did, not excuses. Viewing these reasons as excuses for child abuse means that some people inevitably view the situation as not requiring communication, confessions, and apologies in order to right Rick’s wrongs with Morty– but those things are NEEDED in order for this to feel EARNED. Changing and growing without acknowledging the effort and will to change with the needs, wants, and feelings of the victim taken into account isn’t really conducive to change or growth in ANY character.

99.9% of abusers exist within a cycle of trauma, and this plays a huge reason in why I have such a difficult time letting Rick’s trauma serve as a satisfying excuse for his actions towards Morty.

I feel like a lot of the same people who allow Rick’s past to serve as an excuse are the same people who tend to hold Morty 100% accountable, but I would go out on the line to say that Morty’s actions are almost always more excusable than Rick’s. While being an adult who was traumatized but knew better isn’t a reasonable excuse, it IS a reasonable excuse to be a traumatized child who doesn’t know any better.

A good example of this would be in “Solaricks” when Cronenberg Jerry calls Morty out for leaving them and talking about them like they weren’t people. It’s pretty obvious that the audience is supposed to agree with Jerry here, but it falls flat for me. Nothing about that situation was actually Morty’s fault, ESPECIALLY the initial leaving of the Prime Dimension in “Rick Potion No. 9.” Rick was the adult in that situation, and Morty couldn’t have known better if he’d wanted to.

Morty is an insert character for anyone who has ever been abused/manipulated as a child, and I think that it’s not only a disservice to Morty, but also all of those people who connected with his journey, to essentially erase any relevance his feelings had to the plot of the show. I think that completely setting his relevance to the show aside was a real mishandle of his character by the writers. I understand that it would have made an exploration of Rick’s character progression feel less linear and clean cut, but I can’t say that I wouldn’t want to see Morty gain some agency in his relationship with Rick. I genuinely don’t care that Morty’s character progression has pushed him to be less compliant and more stand-offish with Rick, even if Rick is actively changing. Morty deserves to be angry. That would have felt earned– and it would have made Rick’s development towards being a more soft/docile familial figure and someone who cares about doing the right/noble thing a lot more earned, too.

Sometimes, growth is hard. Getting better is hard. It’s so challenging to move on from being an abuser because it’s one of the most difficult things in the world to look at the carnage you’ve left in your wake and actively pick up the pieces of the people you’ve broken. It sucks to have to face your actions and realize that no one is obligated to forgive you, and that you don’t get to spend an indefinite amount of time being an abuser and then expect to dictate when people feel bad for you. That’s ultimately what’s fair, though, because you aren’t the victim.

It’s unfair for Morty to not get to share his opinion on the matter all that much when the audience’s opinion of Rick shifts to something more positive and soft. We should at least get to see some of how this has effected Morty in the present.

Morty deserves his own “Morty goes to therapy” episode. Morty deserves his own solo scenes where he lumbers off to his room and breaks down. Morty deserves to be sad and broken and irreparably damaged in the eyes of the audience as much as Rick does. I love Rick– I really, really do– but I think that part of loving Rick is rooting for his relationship with Morty to get better, too– and the reality of how all of this is effecting Morty as an equal has been a bit lost this season.

I hope that we get a more Morty-centric season next season, or at least a good handful of Morty-centric episodes that push Rick to the background in favor of Morty’s perspective to balance everything out.

#rick and morty #rick sanchez #morty smith #blurb

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relatableblorbopoll · 5 months

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Preliminaries

Here's how it will work:

The first round will consist of 18 polls of 6 participants each, the first two places get a place on the bracket

For the second round, there will be 12 polls of 6 participants each, the first two places get a place on the bracket

The third round will consist of 4 polls of 12 participants each where there will be a (metaphorical) knife battle to the death where only one character from each poll will get in the bracket

All pairings of groups are randomly generated

Check after the read more for the full list of participants and for the groups of the first round of preliminaries

Group 1 poll

Nimona (Nimona)

Twelfth Doctor (Doctor Who)

Blue/Green Oak (Pokémon Green/Blue/Red)

Jack Reacher (Reacher Series)

Tsubakura Enraku (Len'en Project)

Albedo (Genshin Impact)

Group 2 poll

Jessica Day (New Girl)

Daniel LaRusso (Karate Kid)

Omota Uramichi (Life Lessons with Uramichi Oniisan)

Jack Spicer (Xiaolin Showdown)

Hatsune Miku (Vocaloid)

Eichi Tenshouin (Ensemble Stars)

Group 3 poll

Conner Bailey (The Land of Stories)

Lucy Honeychurch (A Room With A View)

Greg Heffley (Diary of a Wimpy Kid)

Gideon Nav (The Locked Tomb)

Akaashi Keiji (Haikyuu!!)

Burgerpants (Undertale)

Group 4 poll

Legosi (Beastars)

Stephen Stills (Scott Pilgrim comics)

Sunny (Omori)

Tony Stark (Marvel Avengers)

Rookie (Club Penguin)

Charlie Morningstar (Hazbin Hotel)

Grupo 5 poll

Melissa Chase (Milo Murphy’s Law)

Candace Flynn (Phineas and Ferb)

V-Flower (Vocaloid)

Ciaphas Cain (Warhammer 40k)

Percy Jackson (Percy Jackson series)

MK (Lego Monkie Kid)

Group 6 poll

Jesper Fahey (Six of Crows)

Crowley (Good Omens)

Dave Strider (Homestuck)

Junior (Total Drama Presents: The Ridonculous Race)

Kim Dokja (Omnicient Reader's Viewpoint)

Donutella (Tokidoki)

Group 7 poll

Rigby (Regular Show)

Angua (Discworld)

Cao Weining (Word of Honor)

Aang (Avatar: The Last Air Bender)

Okuyasu Nijimura (Jojo's Bizarre Adventure)

Shin Tsukimi (Your Turn to Die)

Group 8 poll

Stanford Pines (Gravity Falls)

Miles "Tails" Prower (Sonic The Hedgehog Franchise)

Jonathan Sims (The Magnus Archives)

Ford Prefect (The Hitchhiker’s guide to the Galaxy)

Shaun Murphy (The Good Doctor)

Sonic (Sonic The Hedgehog Franchise)

Group 9 poll

Overlord (Bad End Theater)

Denji (Chainsaw Man)

Abed Nadir (NBC Community)

Entrapta (She-Ra and the Princesses of Power)

Gren (The Dragon Prince)

Ocean O'Connell Rosenberg (Ride The Cyclone)

Group 10 poll

Nagisa Ran (Ensemble Stars)

Waver Velvet (Fate series /The Case Files of Lord El-Melloi II)

Shuichi Saihara (Danganronpa V3)

Opossums (real life)

Midori Takamine (Ensemble Stars!! Music)

Seven of nine (Star Trek)

Group 11 poll

Mae Borowski (Night in the Woods)

Shigeo Kageyama / Mob (Mob Psycho 100)

Barry the Quokka (The Murder of Sonic the Hedgehog)

Kaveh (Genshin Impact)

Yusuke Kitagawa (Persona 5)

Nanami Kento (Jujutsu Kaisen)

Group 12 poll

Rod (Avenue Q)

Missi (Vampair Series)

Lia (The Music Freaks)

Sand (Only Friends)

Pa Jindapat (Bad Buddy)

Sara Murphy (Milo Murphy’s Law)

Group 13 poll

Cecil Gershwin Palmer (Welcome to Night Vale)

Noah (Total Drama Series)

Basil (Omori)

Stanley Pines (Gravity Falls)

Wen Ning (Mo Dao Zu Shi/The Untamed)

Nick (Only Friends)

Group 14 poll

Oz Vessalius (Pandora Hearts)

Sound (My School President)

Luz Noceda (The Owl House)

Gundham Tanaka (Super Danganronpa 2)

Saiki Kusuo (Saiki Kusuo no Psi Nan/The Disastrous Life of Saiki K)

Drew (The Music Freaks)

Group 15 poll

Wen Kexing (Tian Ya Ke / Faraway Wanderers)

Homura Akemi (Puella Magi Madoka Magica)

Nico di Angelo (Percy Jackson Series)

Heinz Doofenshmirtz (Phineas and Ferb)

Reki Kyan (Sk8 the Infinity)

q!Quackity (QSMP)

Group 16 poll

Parker (Leverage)

Gudetama (Sanrio)

Finn the Human (Adventure Time)

Rain O'Fire Frazier (Worm)

Piper Mclean (Heroes of the Olympus)

Norma Khan (Dead End Paranormal Park)

Group 17 poll

Berdly (Deltarune)

Hamlet (Hamlet)

Squidward Tentacles (Spongebob)

Hunter (The Owl House)

Szeth-son-son-Vallano (The Stormlight Archive)

Nami (One Piece)

Group 18 poll

Tobias (Animorphs)

Isaac O'Connor (Paranatural)

Trisana Chandler / Tris (Emelan book series)

Sokka (Avatar: The Last Air Bender)

Haruhi Fujioka (Ouran Highschool Hostclub)

Shinji Ikari (Evangelion)

#relatable blorbo poll #tumblr tournament #tumblr tourney #tumblr polls #preliminaries #character bracket

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carlsdarling · 8 months

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Playlist

Ok this is probably the weirdest combination of songs you’ve ever seen… there is a reason none of my friends wants to listen to any music with me. But it’s what I listen to when I write and I get a lot of inspiration from it… (yes a lot of 80’s, I just love the spirit of 80’s music a lot, and also some German bands)

Tags: @enid-rhees @wh0reishslxtsstuff

Ease My Mind - The Faim Scorpions – Send Me An Angel Don Henley – The Boys Of Summer The Hunna – Flickin‘ your hair Nightwish – Bless the child Nightwish – End Of All Hope Sirenia – The Path to Decay Sirenia – Lost In Life Blue Oyster Cult – Don’t Fear The Reaper America – The Last Unicorn U96 – Love Sees No Colour Alter Bridge – This Is War Alter Bridge – Open Your Eyes Seether feat. Amy Lee– Broken Pharao – There Is A Star Republica – Out Of The Darkness Bryan Adams – Summer of 69 Thirty Seconds To Mars – This Is War Genesis – In Too Deep Blackmore’s Night – World Of Stone The Cranberries – Zombie Good Charlotte – Life Changes The Killers – Run For Cover The Killers – When You Were Young Biffy Clyro – Black Chandelier Low Shoulder – Through The Trees Madonna – Live To Tell Whitesnake – Is This Love Ronan Keating – Iris Papa Roach – Feel Like Home Guano Apes – Living In A Lie Johnny Cash – Hurt Def Leppard – Hysteria The Naked And Famous – Young Blood The Naked And Famous – Rolling Waves The Naked And Famous – Punching In A Dream Breaking Benjamin – Diary Of Jane Fury In The Slaughterhouse – I won’t forget these days Prime Circle – Ghosts Ed Sheeran – Castle On The Hill My Chemical Romance – Helena Sunrise Avenue – Little Bit Love Rea Garvey – Can’t Say No Kings Of Leon– This Sex Is On Fire Steven Tyler, Red, White And You Churches – Leave A Trace Eddie Money – Take Me Home Tonight ASP – Ungeschickte Liebesbriefe RIVO DREI – Wie Flugzeuge Max Giesinger – Legenden Silbermond - Symphonie Oomph – Augen Auf Eisblume – Eisblumen Echt – Du trägst keine Liebe in dir Unheilig – Geboren, um zu leben Avril Lavigne -Losing Grip White Lies – Bigger Than Us Mumford & Sons – Ditmas Bryan Adams – Run To You U2 – City Of Blinding Lights Red Jumpsuit Apparatus – Face Down The Fray – You Found Me Lifehouse – Hanging By A Moment Lifehouse – Everything Lifehouse - Broken Kim Petras – Can’t Do Better Placebo – Every you, every me Counting Crows – Colorblind Puddle of Mudd – Blurry HIM – Heartache Every Moment HIM – Venus Doom HIM – Behind The Crimson Door HIM – Poison Girl Creed – Higher Sum 41 – Fat Lip Lee Ann Womack – I Hope You Dance Angels And Airwaves – Surrender Staind – Outside Staind – So Far Away Whitney Houston – It’s Not Right But It’s Ok (Thunderpuss Mix) Incubus – Wish You Were Here Disturbed – Prayer Blink-182 – What’s my age again

#music #my playlist #soundtrack to write #music inspiration #carlsdarling playlist #TWD playlist

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power-chords · 1 year

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There were a bunch of crows making a fuss by the train station on my way home from work, and it's pretty unusual to see them there, so I assumed there must be trouble afoot. I looked around, and sure enough, the culprit was perched in a tree opposite Ferris Avenue. Another massive red-tail! There must be a few nesting pairs in the Bronx River Parkway Reservation because I feel like I spot one every time I take a few minutes to inspect the tree line.

There was also a dead crow lying right in the middle of the sidewalk in front of the Gateway Building but I think these events were unrelated. Upon inspecting the carcass it looked like it was probably illness or impact trauma. Red-tails tend to leave horrible gory messes at mealtime, and they'd prefer to eat away from human foot traffic.

Which reminds me: when I was running my senior thesis trials years ago in Van Cortlandt Park there was a juvenile red-tail that made a couple klutzy attempts on the flock I was working with, and a Cooper's hawk that actually succeeded. Very annoying* because if you have a bunch of pigeons in your lap and like two dozen other birds within three feet of you, you DO get hit in the face when a hawk makes a go for one of them. Zero warning. All of a sudden it's a bomb of flapping wings going off and a face-full of panicked city pigeon.

And when the Cooper's hawk got one of them and carried it away to eat in a nearby tree, I was quite upset. Not for very long (Circle of Life, hawk's gotta eat, too), but the bastard killed one of my birds! I was standing at the base of the tree fuming and cursing at it while a flurry of downy feathers rained down from above.

*NOT AS ANNOYING AS THE SQUIRRELS but that's another story.

#it may actually have been a sharp-shinned hawk and not a cooper's hawk. I can't tell them apart lmao #pigeons

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critical-quoter · 5 months

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September Books

(We're just going to continue this set up of my books read. It's so much easier and I'm so lazy.)

Read Me - Lauren Connolly ⭐⭐⭐⭐ The Ex I'd Love to Hate - Nadia Lee ⭐⭐⭐⭐ Distance - Luna Mason ⭐⭐⭐ Detonate - Luna Mason ⭐⭐ The Court the Fae Forgot - Eden Beck ⭐⭐⭐⭐ The Heir the Fae Forgot - Eden Beck ⭐⭐ Psycho Shifters - Jasmine Mas ⭐⭐⭐ The Viridian Priestess - Katarina Calandra ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ Ruin and Roses - Deanna Ortega ⭐⭐ Burn for Jack - Aiden Pierce ⭐⭐⭐⭐ Nora's Kraken - Leigh Miller ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ The Never King - Nikki St. Crowe ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ The Dark One - Nikki St. Crowe ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ Their Vicious Darling - Nikki St. Crowe ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ The Fae Princes - Nikki St. Crowe ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ The Brightest Light of Sunshine - Lisina Coney ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ Finding You - Lena Hendrix ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ The Book of G - Lily Archer ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ River of Shadows - Karina Halle ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ Crown of Crimson - Karina Halle ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ Disgrace - Brittainy C. Cherry ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ City of Thorns - C. N. Crawford ⭐⭐⭐ The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue - V. E. Schwab ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ Thieves and Monsters - Clio Evans ⭐⭐⭐ No Saint - Ria Wilde ⭐⭐⭐⭐ Furbidden Attraction - R. O'Leary ⭐⭐⭐⭐ Between Commitment and Betrayal - Shain Rose ⭐⭐⭐⭐ Cold-Hearted King - L. M. Dalgleish ⭐⭐⭐⭐ Shattered Vows - Shain Rose ⭐⭐⭐ Power of Five - Alex Lidell ⭐⭐ The Unwanted Marriage - Catharina Maura ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ Irreplaceable - Jenna Hartley ⭐⭐⭐⭐ Captive of Wolves - Eva Chase ⭐⭐ The Darkest Note - Nelia Alarcon ⭐ Rouge - Greer Rivers ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ Divine Rivals - Rebecca Ross ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ My True Love - Melissa Foster ⭐⭐⭐⭐ You Only Love Once - Emily James ⭐ Captured - Rosa Lee ⭐ Contempt - A. Zavarelli ⭐⭐⭐⭐ Nights of Iron and Ink - Shannon Durey ⭐⭐⭐⭐ Contractually Yours - Nadia Lee ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ Long Live - V. B. Lacey ⭐⭐⭐⭐ Owned by the Italian Mafia Don - Rosalie Rose ⭐⭐⭐⭐ Fifth Avenue Fling - Rosa Lucas ⭐⭐⭐ When She Falls - Gabrielle Sands ⭐⭐⭐⭐ Luck - Daisy Allen ⭐⭐⭐⭐ Limits - Susie Tate ⭐⭐⭐ Inevitable - Kelly Kelsey ⭐⭐ Loner - Harloe Rae ⭐⭐⭐⭐ The Taste of Revenge - Veronica Lancet ⭐⭐⭐ The Foiled Plan - Veronica Lancet ⭐⭐⭐ Nomad's Bride - Rachel Cade ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ Forever After All - Catharina Maura ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ The Devil's Bargain - Carin Hart ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ Dirty Truths - Brittanee Nicole ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ Extra Dirty - Brittanee Nicole ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ An Inconvenient Marriage - A. K. MacBride ⭐⭐⭐ Unperfect - Susie Tate ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ Unworthy - Susie Tate ⭐⭐⭐ And Then Came You - M. L. Broome ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ Flawless - Elsie Silver ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ Heartless - Elsie Silver ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ Powerless - Elsie Silver ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ Wicked Beautiful Lies - L. A. Ferro ⭐⭐⭐ Fractured Freedom - Shain Rose ⭐⭐⭐⭐

66 total books read for September 2023

#book #books #booklr #book lover #book quotes #reading #quote #lit #literature #novel #september reads #september 2023

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bored-libra · 1 year

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2022 in books

january:

the architecture of happiness by alain de bottom

an american marriage by tayari jones

filter house by nisi shawl

february:

the metamorphosis by franz kafka

the worst best man by mia sosa

the hating game by sally throne

utopia avenue by david mitchell

march:

people we meet on vacation by emily henry

it happened one summer by tessa bailey

hook, line, and sinker by tessa bailey

the unhoneymooners by christina lauren

the spanish love deception by elena armas

minor detail by adania shibli

get a life, chloe brown by talia hibbert

take a hint, dani brown by talia hibbert

act your age, eve brown by talia hibbert

born to run by bruce springsteen

homesick for another world by ottessa moshfegh

the kiss quotient by helen hoang

the love hypothesis by ali hazelwood

boy parts by eliza clark

fix her up by tessa bailey

before the coffee gets cold by toshikazu kawaguchi

april:

tools of engagement by tessa bailey

nausea by jean-paul sartre

the fine print by lauren asher

the brothers karamazov by fyodor dostoevsky

happy hour by marlowe granados

love and other words by christine lauren

may:

fear and loathing in las vegas by hunter s. thompson

lolita by vladimir nabokov

june:

atonement by ian mcewan

an enchantment of ravens by margaret rogerson

six of crows by leigh bardugo

house of earth and blood by sarah j. maas

house of sky and breath by sarah j. maas

breakfast at tiffany’s & other voices, other rooms: two novels by truman capote

bunny by mona awad

when he was wicked by julia quinn

rebecca by daphne du maurier

fight club by chuck palahtniuk

july:

yolk by mary h.k. choi

milk fed by melissa broder

junky by william s. burroughs

in the dream house by carmen maria machado

august:

breakfast of champions by kurt vonnegut jr

animal by lisa taddeo

one last stop by casey mcquiston

the antichrist by friedrich nietzsche

shop girl by steve martin

a room with a view by e.m. forster

a court of thorns and roses by sarah j. maas

a court of mist and fury by sarah j. maas

a court of wings and ruin by sarah j. maas

september:

orlando by virginia woolf

coraline by neil gaiman

book lovers by emily henry

october:

almond by sohn won-pyung

l.a. woman by eve babitz

catch-22 by joseph heller

exciting times by naoise dolan

november:

tender is the flesh by augstina bazterrica

a grief observed by c.s. lewis

little birds by anaïs nin

cultish: the language of fanaticism by amanda montell

december:

role models by john waters

the hobbit by j.r.r. tolkien

the seven husbands of evelyn hugo by taylor jenkins reid

the awakening by kate chopin

reel to real: race, sex, and class at the movies by bell hooks

tales from the cafe by toshikazu kawaguchi

#list of books i finished this year!!!#g talks #books #favs are bolded #but really there’s only a few i wouldn’t recommend

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mimssides · 2 years

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Life on Crow Avenue : Part 30

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The lighter clicked on and immersed Patton’s hand in orange light. Quickly he held the cigarette to the flame, put the lighter back in his jacket and brought the cigarette to his lips. He inhaled deeply and closed his eyes. Lazily he let the cigarette sit between his pointer and index finger by his side as he watched the wet concrete on Crow Avenue. Raindrops fell on his umbrella and the cold night air was slowly penetrating through his clothes.

It wasn’t helping. He didn’t feel better or worse. Sighing deeply, he crouched down and put his umbrella handle between his shoulder and his neck. He closed his eyes and listened to the rain fall. Listened to the droplets on the ground, the water flowing down the pipes, and the subtle sound of the water flowing down the streets. His knees were a little wet. He opened his eyes and looked at the little water spots on them. With his free hand, he rubbed over his right one.

A door opened on the other side of the street. Patton looked. A dark figure in a thick raincoat, sweatpants, slippers, and a yellow umbrella stood on the sideway and looked down the block. Patton grinned. He almost hadn’t recognised Janus, hadn’t it been for the black bowler hat. He followed his gaze and made out Virgil’s tall silhouette jogging through the rain. The man truly didn’t know any weather when it came to his runs. Patton chuckled lowly to himself, put the cigarette between his lips and stood up. His knees ached and he puffed out a bit of air and smoke as he cracked back into an upright position.

And somehow that was loud enough to garner Janus and Virgil’s attention. They looked over the street and a weak grin fought its way onto Patton’s lips. Awkwardly he waved at them and hoped that would be it. But it wasn’t. Janus and Virgil waved back, and Janus mumbled something. Virgil answered, also too lowly for Patton to hear. And then the younger man looked at both sides of the street and jogged over to him. Patton’s heartbeat picked up. The smile on his lips grew wider.

“Hey Pat,” Virgil greeted quietly with another hesitant wave.

Patton almost answered but then remembered the cigarette, took it out, exhaled the smoke to the side, so he wouldn’t directly breathe it into Virgil’s face and finally said: “Hey kiddo. It’s already getting a little late for your evening jog, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

Virgil looked back to the other side of the road, where he saw Janus slowly walking in their direction as well. Quick he focused back on Patton.

“You’re out late too. Well, 9 isn’t really late but with the rain and stuff, it’s dark and... yeah. Anyway, is there a reason you’re out smoking? I don’t think I’ve seen you smoke before, actually? What’s up?”

Virgil watched Patton flounder at his question. Sheepishly the man looked down at his boots and fumbled with the umbrella with his free hand. Patton tended to move around quite a bit, but he wasn’t usually so skittish and didn’t break eye contact as he had just now. Virgil didn’t like it at all.

“Good evening, Patton,” Janus intervened before Virgil got to ask Patton what that look was for. “I see, you are enjoying this magnificent weather we’re having this evening.”

Patton twirled his umbrella in his hands and shrugged with a meek smile. Then Virgil observed how Janus shifted the weight off his left leg and tilted his head to the side. His eyes flickered over Patton’s features and Virgil could almost see the gears in his head turning. Then his uncle handed him his yellow umbrella with a pointed look.

Quickly, Janus approached Patton, slipped under the umbrella next to Patton, his shoulder brushing against Patton’s chest, and said to him: "Grant me some shelter from these heavy rainfalls, dear. I can’t risk my hair getting ruined by these rude clouds."

Patton’s lips curled slightly into a smile, and he let Janus proceed with no resistance. Uncle and nephew shared a short glance. Yeah, something was definitely wrong. Not quite subtly Janus laid his arm around Patton’s shoulder. He noted how a shiver ran through Patton and tutted slightly at the motion.

“Am I overstepping?”

The tone was light, but Patton could sense the heaviness behind them and immediately shook his head. He didn’t want Janus to think that he had made him uncomfortable. Janus had never made him uncomfortable even though it had broken his heart to hear him call them off before they got a chance to start. But it was fine. He would respect his boundaries too.

“You’re fine Jan. I’m just-” Patton sighed and looked down the street to his block - “I’ve been doing better.”

“Mhm?” Janus mused with raised eyebrows.

Patton shuffled to his feet and looked once more up the street. He probably should get back. The others had been doing too much anyway. He shouldn’t make them work for him so much.

“I should get going. Maybe I can give the others a helping hand or something. Yeah, uh, it’s been nice to talk with you, but I don’t wanna keep you outside. It’s getting late and you must be cold Virgil, so-”

“Patton.”

Patton grew quiet and looked down at Janus. He hated how hard it was to get a good read on him. Usually, Patton just knew what was going on in someone else’s mind but with Janus, he simply couldn’t tell. Something kept him from looking through those dark eyes and vigilant smirk.

“Who do you have over and with what are they helping you, if I might ask?"

Hastily he went through his options. He didn’t know if he could tell Janus and Virgil what was going on. Not because he didn’t want them to know. He probably couldn’t get through the explanation without crying, and he didn’t feel like crying anymore. But he also didn’t want to leave them hanging. Maybe he could hint at it well enough, so they understood but he didn’t have to cry? That might be worth a shot.

“Uh,” Patton started smartly, “Lo and the twins are – They came over. Logan was probably worried and got them, I think? I didn’t really ask. And then they found me and-”

Patton stopped and inspected the glow of his cigarette. That with not crying didn’t work out. At least he wasn’t sobbing, he thought and rubbed the tears off his cheeks. Janus had moved his arm to his right shoulder and Virgil was fidgeting. He needed to get through this quickly, so they could leave.

“I kinda neglected my flat lately because my mother’s death anniversary is today, and I got in a funk. They’re helping now with cleaning. So, I better get back to help them.”

As he looked up uncle and nephew watched him in distress. This time Patton could really see the family resemblance in their eyes and tried to step away. Janus held onto him opened his mouth but closed it speechlessly. If Patton hadn’t known better, he would have claimed to see unshed tears in the corner of Janus’s eyes.

“Oh fuck, Pat,” Virgil dismayed and shook his head. “I’m so fucking sorry for your loss. Like. Oh, man. That must suck so hard. I – Shit I wouldn’t know what to do if mom or dad would be gone. Like. Fuck. Man. I’m so sorry.”

“Thank you. It’s not your fault though. It’s been ten years and-”

“Ten years?! Patton! What have you been doing on your own on her anniversary?” Janus said and shook his head in deep concern.

Baffled Patton looked at him. Janus took this as an invitation to manhandle him and took Patton by the hand and ushered him and Virgil back to Patton’s block.

“In the name of the Lord, doesn’t anybody around here understand how to take care of themselves? Morons through and through! I have to do everything myself,” he grumbled under his breath and pulled Patton into the entrance out of the rain.

He gave him a stern look before he softened slightly and gently rubbed his arm. Patton looked so lost at him. So confused.

“Do not shut us out, Patton. You were the one to insist on including me and the twins. Don’t you dare to make yourself a stranger in our midst,” Janus scolded gently and let Patton settle on the second-lowest step of the stairs.

Patton’s lips wobbled and he blurted out: “My dad couldn’t come because of work, and I called Sergio, even though I don’t think I like him anymore and he left when I wouldn’t- wouldn’t-”

And there were again sobs. Janus told Virgil to go upstairs. He would handle Patton on his own; the others would most likely overwhelm him. So, Virgil left, and Janus slowly made his way next to Patton and sat down on the step beside him. He paced his hand on his back and just rubbed it silently.

For a while Janus just let Patton cry and calm down. Now that he knew what had happened, he noted the redness around his eyes and the puffy skin. The man must have bawled his eyes out from all the grief.

“You’re doing pretty good, Pat. I think I’ll be a much bigger mess after my mother’s death,” Janus said quietly.

A sad laugh tumbled out of Patton’s mouth, and he told Janus while shaking his head: “I was much, much worse after her death than I am now, Janus. And I wouldn’t let you fall like that. None of us would.”

Janus rose his brows in question. Dodging the look, Patton turned his head away and let one of his hands fall on top of his thighs. After a moment, the movement registered in Janus’s head and he stared at the hand with a frown. It connected. Janus’s heart grew heavy, and he sucked in a deep breath. He remembered the marks and pulled his hand away from Patton’s back.

A minute or two passed. The rain splattered on the concrete. Janus shivered quietly but didn’t make a move to get up and go back inside. He just stayed beside Patton quietly offering him his presence as a comfort. He didn’t know if it was any good, but it was all that he could offer.

“Who knows besides me?”

“Remus knows. I didn’t tell Logan but I’m sure that he’s figured it out as well at this point.”

“You never told Logan?”

There was surprise in Janus’s voice. Patton ignored it and took another puff.

“No, I didn’t need to,” he said and exhaled the smoke away from Janus. “When we met again, he knew that something must have happened. I didn’t want to explain it really.”

“And I knew that something had happened with him too, so we were even,” Patton added in thought but didn’t move.

“I also never told you. But you know. I probably should think better about who I sleep with. I don’t need all of these people to know that I cut. It’s rather idiotic, isn’t it?”

The rain muffled the harshness of his words. Janus mused at the gentle sounds of the droplets.

“I don’t think so. What you wish is understandable. I do believe that one shouldn’t have to stop doing the things one loves, because of any mental or physical afflictions. There shouldn’t be any prejudices around these things,” Janus said slowly, tapping his left knee softly. “But there are. And some of us hide because they can, want or have to. Others can’t. We aren’t built the same way, our pain isn’t the same, our suffering incomparable.”

A long pause sat between the two of them. The rain did nothing to fill the empty space.

“I won’t blame you if you want to hide. I would if I could.”

“I’m-”

“Don’t dare to apologize. I don’t want your pity. I will take accommodations and thoughtfulness, but I will not take pity.”

Patton was quiet. He gulped and then looked at Janus. To his surprise, he met his gaze. There wasn’t any leftover agitation in his eyes anymore but something deeper and far more subtle. Not too subtle to understand, no Patton could read it flawlessly, but subtle enough to be overlooked in the shadows of the night.

“The difference between pity and compassion is a thin line, Janus,” Patton said with a tired grin and slipped his jacket off. “And while pity sounds pathetic and sometimes is used to take away the agency of the “victims”, it also acknowledges that something shouldn’t have happened to a person. Compassion is there without judgement and with the will to help and yet- Sometimes I think that pity is not the wrong thing to feel.”

He put his jacket over Janus’s shoulder and met his eyes again. They were still there, the doubt and sadness Janus guarded every day as if his life depended on it. It was there in the open, free for Patton to look at and easy to hurt. The Janus Jones from two years ago wouldn’t have shown so much if his life had depended on it.

Nonchalantly Patton tilted his head and added softly: “I won’t pity you if you don’t feel like you need it. But I will say that it would be nice for you to be able to hide it as well as I could. Not that you should hide it, but that you should be able to hide it. It would be fair.”

“Nothing is fair in life.”

“No, nothing is. Maybe that’s a fairness in itself. Who knows?”

“Indeed, who does.”

They sat there a little longer, Patton smoking his cigarette and Janus clutching his jacket close over his shoulders and chest. Eventually, Patton’s cigarette was mostly ash, and he pressed the butt out on the concrete next to him. With a huff, he stood up and held his hand out to Janus to take it. Wordlessly, he accepted the help and the two went inside. Patton took the steps slowly and Janus managed to keep pace easily. When they stood in front of Patton’s door on the 3rd floor Patton hesitated for a second before he opened the door to his home and invited Janus inside.

“Hey! I’m back! ‘s Virgil with you?” Patton called and stalked a few more steps inside his flat until he could catch a glimpse of someone.

The lucky someone he saw, was Logan who was carrying his clothing hamper around and was picking up any clothing item in his vicinity. Now that he was listening closely, he heard his washing machine. Laundry. Apparently, the twins and Logan had decided that postponing laundry day for two weeks wouldn’t do.

“Welcome back!” Roman greeted as he appeared in the doorway from the living room with a wide wave. “Virgil’s in the kitchen cleaning your oven. I told him that he didn’t need to but- Oh, love! Are you cold? And you don’t look warm either, Patton! Remus!”

And with that Patton was instructed to take off his shoes and got gently coerced by Remus, who had suddenly appeared out of nowhere, to sit down on his couch. Janus suffered the same fate and was sat down next to him by Roman who then softly informed Patton what they had been up to, as Remus went into the kitchen to make some tea.

“Thanks for everything, guys. You really didn’t have to do that,” Patton said as Roman took a pause to breathe.

Remus and Virgil appeared from the kitchen, the former bringing them all tea and the latter sitting down next to his uncle.

“It’s the least we can do,” Remus insisted and sat down criss-cross on the floor.

Roman and Logan, who had followed Patton and Janus when they entered, nodded in agreement and Patton didn’t disagree with them. It wasn’t worth the hustle and they didn’t seem to be inconvenienced too much.

“Do you want a blanket, Jan? I’m sure I have one somewhere-”

“Here,” Logan said and handed Janus a blanket he had gotten out of the supply closet next to the bookcase.

Janus took it with a hesitant look and settled it down over his knees. Politely he nodded at Logan, who nodded back, crossed his arms over his chest and took a few steps back. They both turned to look at Patton. All of them were looking at him. Watching as he looked at his shaking hands with a sad smile. He didn’t try to hide his turmoil and grief now. It was there, vivid and heavy in his chest, buzz clouding all the sounds in his head.

Virgil was the first to avert his gaze from Patton and quietly leaned against Janus’s shoulder. Immediately, Janus put his arm around him and turned his head slightly to glance at him. They didn’t share a look. Janus didn’t need to see his nephew’s eyes to know how well or unwell he was. He could tell by the way he was leaning against him, that this was harder on him than he wanted to admit.

Gently he shot a look over to Roman. Surprisingly he was watching Logan with obvious dissatisfaction. Something must have happened to warrant such a displeased look from his love; Roman could pout and be a little petty but he didn’t hold grudges for too long. He would have to ask Roman about it in a calmer moment.

Though now, Roman’s expression softened, and he sat down on Patton's other side of the couch. As the cushion underneath Patton sank, he looked up to Roman and swallowed another cry.

“Somehow, I get the feeling that I’m not helping to calm you down right now, am I?"

“Sorry,” Patton mumbled and fumbled to push his glasses on top of his head. “I don’t even know what this is about... It’s – I’ve – I’ve had people around when I was having a bad time. I don’t know why it’s this bad now. Her anniversary isn’t even the worst usually – I – I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Missing people always make sense in my opinion. They were important to you at some point, and you can’t control your feelings about that. You only can learn to deal with your own reactions and even that can be limited on some days,” Roman said easily and shrugged.

The words stuck in Patton’s throat. There was this act of blind and unconditional kindness, not out of naivety but there despite knowing better. Gentleness despite being treated oh so cruelly by the world. He didn’t know what to do with that. He didn’t know what to do with the softness his mother used to offer to anyone around her who would ask for it.

Eventually he didn’t have to. Holidays In The Sun began to play. Shaking Patton fished his phone out of his shorts and hastily got up from the couch.

“Sorry,” Patton said already sounding watery again, “I have to take this. Uh, I’ll be back in a bit.”

With that Patton stood and hasted to his bedroom. Before he closed the door behind him, they heard him accept the call and mutter a weak "Hi dad" into the phone before everything went quiet.

At least momentarily. Logan shifted on his feet and a disgruntled sigh cut through the silence.

“Okay, what exactly did he do?” Janus finally asked Roman.

Disapprovingly Roman clacked his tongue. He didn’t break his glare at Logan who finally found the courage to meet his eyes.

Icily Roman said: “Well, you fucked up. Fucking bummer, isn’t it?”

“Roman-” Remus immediately tried to soothe but Roman kept going.

“Feel bad about it all you like but stop fucking sulking about it now. Mistakes are gonna happen and we’re gonna say stupid things and something shit can’t be bent back. Doesn’t mean you get to fucking give up now, though. Get your head out of your ass and talk to him!”

“About what?!” Logan hissed and defensively crossed his arms over his chest. “I obviously only caused him distress so far! I don’t know how to navigate his emotions and loss, as you have evidently seen!”

Roman threw his hands up in the air and pressed his lips into a thin line.

“Maybe not,” Roman relented without any sign of remorse, “but you know are the only person in this room who actually knew his mother.”

“What has that to do with anything?!”

“It has to do with everything! He misses her, he wants to feel connected with her. But he doesn’t say anything because we didn’t know her, because we won’t get it when he speaks of her. But you do! You’ve met him when his mother was still alive, did you not? So you can bring her up, anything about her and he’ll feel safe enough to bring her up and talk about whatever he needs.”

Scoffing Logan turned away from Roman. He couldn’t believe this.

“I’ve met Esther twice. I talked to her once. To say I know her is slander.”

Before Roman could shoot back, Logan turned around and flared up with a still level tone.

“I do not know what she was to him. I will never understand what importance his mother had to him, Roman. And I understand that no one will, but just because I have seen her when she was still alive, doesn’t mean I am better at this than you are. I am not an empathic person, I’m not good at comforting. I think I’ve done enough damage today and I would like to not make it worse.”

Without looking back Logan turned away from the other men. He couldn’t do this. He better had left all the talking to Roman or Remus. Either of them could have handled this situation better than he had. Or maybe he shouldn’t have meddled with it at all. Maybe Patton would have been better off alone.

Without thinking more about it, Logan stepped away. It was rude to just leave, certainly, but just a little more wouldn’t matter all that much anyway. He didn’t listen to Remus’s snapping at Roman or Virgil’s confused questions, he only had the door in mind.

A whirlwind of a neon green floral shirt stepped in front of him. Almost Logan snapped at him but stopped instantly as he saw the sadness and concern reflected in his eyes. His voice stuck in his throat and Remus awkwardly reached for his hand. He didn’t think and gave it to him.

“Her name was Esther?”

Logan suspected that Remus was trying to whisper but he had at best lowered his speaking voice a little. Still, the implied secrecy Remus tried to grant him meant more to Logan than he had expected.

He simply nodded and Remus weakly said: “He didn’t tell me. He’s mentioned her and said how amazing she was and that it, it obviously fucked him up when she died, and what he did because of it...”

Logan gulped. He looked over Remus’s shoulder to the other three. Virgil and Roman were arguing and Janus was eyeing him out of the corner of his eyes. He didn’t know how he felt about that. He focused back on Remus and met his eyes hesitantly.

“What are you insinuating? He didn’t share these things with me,” Logan retorted slowly.

Remus hinted a nod and said: “Exactly. He didn’t need to. Because he knew you knew.”

“But I don’t? He never told me, I just had to assume those things.”

“Well, he’s got a high opinion of you. He seems to believe that you just realized these things by having spent time with him. And he probably isn’t all wrong.”

“Nor is he right,” Logan huffed and ran his fingers through his hair.

A crooked smile spread on Remus’s lips, and he agreed: “Exactly, bicho. And right now, you’re the only one with enough balls to tell him that.”

“What?”

Remus broke eye contact and stared towards the door where Patton had disappeared. Logan could see the fondness and sorrow in his eyes.

“Pat is … difficult,” Remus began and wrung his hands together. “At first, I thought he just needed a gentle hand. Something like how Roman talks and how he interacts with him, I mean. And I think he does still. But he’s also not a child. We can’t handle him with kid gloves. We need him to realize what he’s doing. To himself and others. And you very effectively made him realize what he was actually doing. Sure, he started crying and shit but- Bones which grew back together wrong, need to be re-broken to be set right, after all.”

Logan gaped. He couldn’t be serious. He schooled his face back into a neutral expression and waited for Remus to meet his gaze again. When he didn’t say anything, Remus finally turned to look at him and Logan lifted his chin defiantly.

“I’m not here to break Patton. I’m not here to do the dirty work for him or you. I will not be the voice of reason just because none of you has figuratively enough balls to be frank and honest with him.”

“That’s not what I mean. I’m not saying you should-”

“Yes, Remus! This is exactly what you’re saying!” Logan hissed under his breath and grabbed him by the sleeve. “You are saying that he hasn’t correctly coped with the death of his mother and that I am supposed to help him do that! That I’m the fittest person in this room to do it because I have a lack of filter and emotional integrity. At least that is what you implied. And I’m not here for this. I’m not here to hurt my friend, my very dear friend, even more by making him face the reality that his grief and sadness have made him act stupidly and egoistically. I’m not here to tell him that on the day he lost the mother who made it possible for him to grow up safely as a gay boy and teen. I don’t want to see him cry anymore because of me because it hurts me too and I frankly don’t know what else I can take today.”

Quickly Logan pulled his hand away from Remus’s sleeve and took a step towards the door without looking away from him. His cheeks were flushed and his heartbeat fast. The others were now silent, and he felt like he had humiliated himself.

Then he got a glimpse of Janus’s unimpressed look. Those collected and expecting eyes, devoid of shock and disbelieve unlike those of the others. Filled with spite Logan took a deep breath and met Remus’s eyes again.

“As it now has become obvious,” Logan said and made a point to keep his voice even, “I have reached my daily limit of emotional sensibility. I apologize for being unnecessarily mean. That was unwarranted and rather pointless to my get my point across. Still, I will now leave and let you handle the situation, as you have objectively handled the situation quite skilfully. I trust you with his well-being. Good night.”

And with that Logan finally turned to leave. Someone behind him gaped but he didn’t care to look back. He simply walked to the door, picked his shoes up from the shoe racket and put them on. He was about to tie his right shoe when he noticed the sound of steps approaching him from behind. Slowly he turned his head to look over his shoulder.

First, he saw the pink slippers. Then his eyes darted up to his friend's face and he found himself looking into Patton’s big brown eyes. They were red again, but he wasn’t crying right now. No, he was just looking at Logan and Logan felt his heart sink.

“How much have you heard?” Logan asked shakily.

Patton cocked his head to the side and answered with a wobbly smile: “Enough.”

With a sigh, Logan got up and faced Patton with as much dignity he had left. He didn’t know how he should approach this and waited for his brain to finally give him some coherent thought again, as Patton stretched his arms out.

“Do I get a goodbye hug?”

Logan couldn’t utter a word. So, he didn’t. He nodded and made half a step towards Patton who already closed the rest of the distance and embraced him in a bear hug. Logan couldn’t breathe for a second. For one was that hug a little overwhelming and secondly Patton used enough force to slightly smother him. But after a few seconds, the force ebbed away, and Logan did his best to hug him back. Patton was hunched into him, his head buried against his neck and shoulder, the frames of their glasses clacked together when Logan tried to turn his head towards him. Quietly he mumbled an apology, which Patton immediately dismissed.

Logan was certain that a minute had already passed but didn’t dare to move. Usually, Patton wouldn’t hug him that long and right now he wasn’t sure how he had deserved that hug at all. The answer became clear to him when Patton almost inaudibly whispered into his ear: “I’m your dear friend?”

It cost everything in Logan’s body to not bite off his own tongue as he heard that. Instinctively he tried to hold Patton closer, squeezing him just enough so he would know that he was far more than a “dear friend” to him. Really, to all of them.

“I would have said “best”, but I wasn’t sure I deserved that title after my unfit behaviour today,” Logan whispered back just as quietly.

For a frightful second Logan thought he had said the wrong thing, as Patton began to tremble. Then a few relieved “Thank you”s were mumbled into his shirt and for the first time in the whole evening Logan felt himself relax a little. Patton was still happy to be his friend. Maybe he was mad, they probably needed to talk about this at some point, actually talk about it instead of just assuming the other knew what was up with the other but for now it was enough for him to know that Patton didn’t hate him and got enjoyment out of his presence.

In their hug the two forgot that there were still four other people in the room who now all were very much aware that they were still in the room. Awkwardly Virgil looked from Roman to Janus, neither of whom knew how to get out of here without disturbing Patton and Logan. Roman additionally was also worried about Remus, who still stood pretty close by them and hadn’t moved an inch since the moment Logan had bid them bitterly goodbye. The lack of a reaction was starting to truly unnerve him when Patton began to shake, and Remus still didn’t do anything. That reaction should have been enough for him to do something, but Remus kept just standing still.

After almost a minute, Remus suddenly flinched. Uncoordinated he took a step back and promptly walked into a few cardboard boxes behind him. Unceremoniously they fell with unspectacular “thuds” and Remus swore in Spanish.

Logan squeaked and Patton spun around to see what happened, Remus already raised his hands apologetically and tried to pick the boxes back up.

“Sorry! I-” Remus stammered and ran his fingers through his hair as the boxes slipped through his fingers - “I didn’t mean to interrupt. Just - Just ignore that and continue or something. Sor-”

Remus’s body froze. Wordlessly he stared at Patton’s hand on his. He hadn’t noticed that Patton had gotten closer nor that he had reached for him, and now he felt like the world was standing still while his thoughts ran a marathon.

“Are you okay? Did you hurt yourself?” Patton asked and looked over his arms and then the rest of his body.

Remus weakly shook his head, which finally made Patton lock eyes with him. Gently he let his hand fall into Remus’s, softly squeezing it in his grip. Instinctively, Remus squeezed back, and Patton’s shoulders fell with tension. He stepped a bit closer to him and gently laid his hand on his shoulder. He tilted his head a bit to the side and pressed his lips into a thin line.

“Thank you so much,” Patton said quietly but loud enough so Remus could still hear it. “I’m so grateful that you were here today. That you took care of me today. It helped me a lot. I’ll make it up to you on another day, I promise.”

With a slow nod Remus accepted. It was easier than fighting with Patton that he didn’t need to make it up to him. That him saving his life made up everything Remus could ever do for Patton.

Patton smiled at last at Remus and then turned once more to Logan. His eyes were filled with gratitude he scratched his nose before he said to him: “And the same goes for you. Thank you for coming by and checking on me and worrying. I know this isn’t easy and I appreciate it very much that you took on that effort for me. I’ll make sure to repay you for it one day. Promise.”

Quickly Logan glanced over Patton’s shoulder to Remus. In the fraction of a second, his eyes darted back on Patton and he bowed his head in acception. He understood that this meant a lot to Patton and he was not up to debating him on it. Not after this evening.

Visibly worn out Patton now decided it was time to address his other guests. He turned but paused, looking around himself, looking for where he stood right now. In his half-cleaned living room, between different piles of yet-to-be-sorted knick-knacks, several trash bags in the kitchen and a few boxes with things to be sorted out by Patton himself, his life seemed to be slipping out of his control. Again. He had hoped that he was through this. That this time he wouldn’t fall back into old patterns and that he would finally be able to get his life together like an adult he was and get over this.

Maybe he needed to accept that he couldn’t do it like he was supposed to. Maybe he needed to do it so it would work out for himself.

“Thank you all too for your help today,” Patton said sheepishly and looked then at one of the piles to his feet. “But it’s been a lot today and I - I think finishing this tonight is not going to get me in a better headspace.”

“We can help-” Roman began but stopped when Patton lifted his hand gently.

“I know. I know you do and you want to do that and all of that. But right now, I’d appreciate it much more if we could maybe just sit and watch a movie so I’m not alone quite yet. Of course, you can go home and get to sleep and all. I just appreciate your presence and if you can I’d like to have you here a little longer.”

It didn’t take more than that. They quietly freed a few paths in the living room so getting around was easily possible and Virgil got Patton’s laptop (Patton didn’t have an HDMI cable to connect the laptop to his tv so they made do with the small screen) where they streamed Dirty Dancing on a not quite legal streaming website.

Somehow they all managed to sit on the couch, Logan on the far right, beside him Patton who was flanked by Remus. Roman sat between his brother and Janus and Virgil sat on the most left armrest as the movie began to play. They were all partially covered in blankets and not even halfway into the movie Roman had fallen asleep and cuddled against Janus, who was now efficiently trapped in his spot. Seeing this Remus opened his mouth to joke about it, as Patton’s head fell against his shoulder.

Big-eyed he turned to see Patton’s sleeping form against his side. Virgil snickered and Logan quietly reassured him that that happens whenever they watched a movie together. He would wake up just in time for the finale. This time ended up being no different and after the movie ended and they had somehow managed to get Roman to wake up with much strain, they all bid Patton a good night and went home.

It wasn’t midnight yet, when Patton lay in his bed, wished his dad a good night over text and fell asleep for good for today.

___

@vexelore

@exhaustedfander

@alexisrealgay

@wolfs-feder

@just-a-neoclassical-painting

@winter-jay-official

@a-ghostlight-for-roman

@mychemically-imbalanced-romance

@whattheremus

@regalredrose

@spellingwillbethedeathofme

@sarenicide

LoCA

@arodynamic-enby

@espepspes

@bullet-tothefeels

@fukindork

@shadeofadye

@magic-but-its-green

@simonekkt

@tlhrfanfic

#Life on Crow Avenue #sandres sides #ts logan #ts patton #ts janus #ts remus #ts roman #ts virgil #romantic roceit #patton is having a rought time #be nice to him #and to me #eir writes #please reblog

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eirs-art · 2 years

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#sanders sides #life on crow avenue #ts remus

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crowraventhesis · 10 months

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I've been thinking a lot lately about therian/furry stuff. (Yes, I know they're not the same thing, but I don't think this personal discovery post is a relevant place to go into that discussion.)

I've never considered myself a furry, but it was because I always felt indifferent towards the culture. Never was one of those "ugh furry yuck" (at least not sincerely, I did play pretend a bit during my edgy teen phase. Everybody makes mistakes.) But I now realize it's because I was never into the animal *aesthetics*; turns out, I do love the whole animal identity bit.

Of course, this is deeply tied to my autism. I was late diagnosed, but even before diagnose, I was in love with the concept of "bird flirting" (I do that!), and I was in love with crows: they're the nerds of the sky and nobody can tell me otherwise. Indeed, I saw myself much more in crows than in people. I have been using crows in general and Murkrow in particular as my face for private accounts for a long time, because it just felt right.

Lately I have rediscovered diving. I have always loved diving, in fact, but interestingly, I also have always had difficulty *going* to any body of water, like the beach or the pool (and it's not because of extraneous things, like crowds, since I'm like that even if it's a private pool and/or I know I will be alone), but once you get me into the water, then the hard part is getting me out of it.

SoI have spent many long stretches of life not doing any diving. But some turns of life got me to sign up for a scuba diving course, and let me tell you, that experience was AMAZING for me. I'm also extremely short-sighted, so without my glasses I can't see shit underwater, which means 90% of my enjoyment was purely the feeling of being underwater. And the feeling of getting out of the water back into "landlobber existence" was equally excruciating.

So what am I, then? What is like crows, but lives underwater? Am I an octopus? Or am I like a diving bird, instead?

(this post has no conclusion, it just exists in case any part of my mental process is useful to anybody else or prompts them a new avenue of introversion)

#therian #furry #introversion

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wumblr · 1 year

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do you have any interest in seti-type stuff?

not really. sorry. BLC1 is interesting to me mostly from like, a signal/noise analysis perspective. parkes (source of BLC1) previously had a "SETI-like" detection that turned out to be occurring every time someone opened a microwave oven door before the timer finished. THAT sort of thing fascinates me, i love the holmdell horn pigeons and the LIGO crows. if they had bought a newer microwave more recently at parkes they would never have detected a false positive signal. it's camp!!

my take on the whole thing is that it's sort of a field fundamentally at odds with itself. like... you have to start from the assumption that alien life would be sufficiently similar to humans in order to emit any detectable broadcasts, right? so like right off the bat you're discarding everything dissimilar to life on earth because you wouldn't know how to search for it. it's like, the most finely honed example of anthropocentrism. astronomy in general casts a wider net without anthropocentric constraints, focusing on what can be detected instead of just what's similar to us

i'm a material instrumentalist, i focus on existing observational data and the equipment that can be used to probe it, so i tend to sort things into "fun to think about" vs "viable research avenues." i don't usually formulate a robust opinion on things outside of viable research avenues. life outside of earth is definitely fun to think about, but meanwhile, astronomy (or science in general) is drowning in so much data we don't know what to do with it all. almost every day a potentially interesting astronomical event is detected, which passes by largely unstudied, despite the presence of data

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tani-b-art · 2 years

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Whitney Elizabeth Houston — the Black American Princess

Whitney Houston.

The mention of her name evokes a smile. Saying her name makes you mentally walk down memory lane, tracing your steps back to the first time you ever saw her. Saying her name makes you think of her beauty. Say her name and you automatically think of that voice and the first time you ever heard her sing. That incomparable voice that she instantly made you fall in love with.

When one says her name, you instinctively think of the greatest singer of all time. A woman who did such wondrous and incredible things with her voice, that she was dubbed "The Voice". Her name is synonymous with song.

In the same breath, Whitney’s name is synonymous with America. She was America’s sweetheart. It’s darling. And most importantly, to us as Black Americans, she was our beloved gem. Our very own Black American Princess. A Black American, cultural icon. An American icon.

She was so quintessentially American!

But how? How did a little Black girl from Newark come to be known and defined as the Black American Princess? "The Voice"? How did she become who she became?

It seems impossible. Didn't it?

Whitney Houston was born on August 9, 1963 in Newark, New Jersey. A city, often called “New Jerusalem”, that became one of the many new destinations and homes for many Black Americans fleeing the white racism of the Jim Crow South during The Great Migration in hopes of better opportunities and a better life. With such promise, many continued to migrate there until it became one of the Blackest cities in the country! The nickname is fitting. It is a city known for producing Black talent! A place that gave birth to the likes of iconic and legendary Sarah Vaughan, Gloria Gaynor, Lauryn Hill and Queen Latifah (add Whitney of course). That Black presence in Newark is rich!

And in the same praise, the city was also becoming synonymous as a hotbed of political unrest. In a city known for the neglect placed upon it, it also adopted the moniker of “Brick City”. Derived from the many low- and high-rise government housing projects that were erected during a span of six decades. 60s Newark. The city was in the throes of uprisings and riots from its Black natives due to the object failure of its own nation to repair the damage of centuries of racism and oppression.

Birthed and growing up during and post the Civil Rights Movement, was a unique time Whitney was in. She directly witnessed the results of her community morphing into the enforced ghettos from the lack of reparative justice from its city leaders. As a response, her parents moved their family to East Orange to escape the tense and frustrating climate surrounding them.

The product of a 60s baby — an era in which Black Americans were in a continual intense and passionate pursuit for racial equity and equality. She was a sixties baby and a seventies kid on the heels of sit-ins, marches, boycotts, the assassinations of Black leaders and also great strides and victories politically and socially for Black people. She was birth in the Boomers generation, raised in the Gen X generation and provided to the Gen Y generation.

The next era felt anticipatory. It could offer a time of relief for Black Americans. Enter the 80s. This fresh era did provide that. It seemed to offer a way we could put the past behind us.

1980s America was some of the best times of expression for Black America. A decade known for its innovation, social climate and Black excellence! We started to have a little more control of our image through media. The 80s was our time to culturally express and celebrate ourselves socially, politically, romantically through our language, beliefs, fashion, dance and music. How we felt collectively and how we felt about ourselves came out through our music. Music has always been a channel that expressively gave us the avenue to do so. And our music was reflective of what was going on. It was a time of cultural shift.

On the contrary, 1980s America was also an abominable era for Black people. Through the same media via politics. Especially so for Black women. The anti-Black woman propaganda from the government, just less than ten years prior, mendaciously labeled Black women as everything but a child of God. And the administration was quick to maliciously label her progeny, who were 80s babies, as every vile thing too. An admin that explicitly fed the very poison they labeled her progeny as into Black communities creating a tragic epidemic and outright lied about the Black community to push a vilified narrative to criminalize its people. Two administrations, over decades, not only created a damaging, false and insidious image of Black women but they deliberately orchestrated and engineered a benign neglect that would permeate after. Black Americans have never fully recovered from the alleged war on drugs. Its lasting negative effects impacted and totally disrupted the nucleus of Black families through incarceration, addiction and it also took the lives of many in its whirlwind. Sadly, as hard as it is to say, Whitney was swept in this very same whirlwind. It's difficult to even write that.

Black American women and girls were up against a mighty, evil media machine controlled by white folk and the leader of the free world. Black America’s youth had the nation up against us. A nation that saw no good in our upbringing, our present or our future. The nation’s lack of regard towards Black youth was stacked against us making it just about impossible to be hopeful. We needed some corrective imagery.

“Here’s Whitney Houston!” An announcement heard on all our television screens in the late summer of 1983.

Could it be? Could it be that the impossible seemed to have taken a dramatic turn when we all saw this young, Black girl take to the stage on The Merv Griffin Show?

This lovely, sweet, charming, innocent looking girl descended to the mic. She looked so youthful and radiant. Her shyness and nervousness added to her mystery. The whispery way she sang the first line of the song added to her timidness.

When I think of home I think of a place where there’s Love overflowing; I wish I was home I wish I was back there With the things I’ve been knowing

Of all the song selections to choose from, she chose “Home”. I don’t think that was a coincidence. To me, it was deliberate and carefully selected to cover. The song is from the musical The Wiz — a reimagined Black version of the classic that eventually became a cult classic itself. A reimagined musical fantasy that many young Black kids found identity and representation in with it’s all Black cast (in both the Broadway and film productions). And it was even more influential that it had so many popular Black artists and movie stars! It was Stephanie Mills’ (who is a native of another Black Mecca; Bed-Sty, New York) incredible performance of the play’s main song, “Home”, that had many little Black girls singing along to! Mills’ rendition would be modeled and later used as many young Black girls’ auditions for singing competitions they would participate in. I’m certain it was no different for Whitney. The song had to have resonated with her and meant something for her to sing as her official, national tv debut. She sang this song to introduce herself to the nation. And in many ways, it was such a culturally conscious decision. If that was the thought or intent from Whitney to be so detailed in choosing this song as her breakout performance…I don’t know for sure, but for there to be so many parallels to identity can’t go unmentioned. I can’t help but notice all these identity marks. These signifiers so early in her budding career.

That shyness she had all slowly dissipated as she continued to sing. Her voice was unlike any we had heard of at the time. So powerful and controlled and effortless. While she sang, didn’t she just beautifully transform into a full butterfly right before our very eyes? She took us on a musical journey as the song rose to its peak. By the end of it, every nerve she had washed away. She sang with all her heart and moved our souls. It is no doubt she touched our souls.

This young lady could sang! Yes sang!

Whitney grew up in church. Of course she could sang! Many young Black singers got their start in the church. Whitney was no exception. Growing up in a Black Baptist church gave her that distinct soulful-church inflection in her singing because of her upbringing. We love Whitney’s runs, riffs, vibrato, growls, lip quiver and Gospel jaw tremble for a reason! Whitney got her start there. It is where she first experienced what it means to be a singer. The Black Church, a place that has been a center for empowerment and refuge for Black Americans, is also a true assessor of who can really sing. And as it has been told, she had folk slain in the Spirit when she filled the place with her voice every Sunday morning. That is a testament to her true gift and calling. She loved God and always reminded us in every album, concert and interview by dedicating a record or segment to testify. Plus, I mean with a matriarchal lineage of stardom, being a Black young lady who can sang was just part of her DNA. Having a mother, Cissy Houston, known for laying down incomparable background vocals that changed the world of background singing; one cousin, Dionne Warwick, that was known as the pop diva; another cousin, Leontyne Price, the first Black American to gain international acclaim as a professional opera singer; and a godmother, Darlene Love, one of the greatest singers known for her lead and background vocals…sis was just destined to follow.

She burst onto the scene with such a presence that many hadn’t seen. An elegant, beautiful, gorgeous, dainty, bright young Black girl with an enormous, angelic voice! Clad in an off the shoulder purple top with an ankle-length Black skirt rockin’ her TWA! Making her introduction with her natural hair — and of all the styles, it was a curly Afro, a symbolic hairstyle signifying her Blackness. Whitney came at the right time. Her rising stardom came at the finest time.

“You won’t forget that name — Whitney Houston!” The show’s host was right. We wouldn’t forget that name and we never will!

The optics alone weren’t what many were used to at the time. That picture she painted by simply stepping on that stage was one of a different presentation. Whitney confounded those naysayers. How so? Because it was never meant for her. Someone who looked like her. There wasn’t supposed to be a lane for someone like her. Her presence — that delicateness, glamour, beauty, poise and intrigue were rehabilitating imagery to remedy and counter the damaging effects of the nation’s narrative put forth. She was resistance, the protagonist challenging and refuting all the stereotypes of America’s Black youth. The way she spoke and how she talked was almost a total contrast to what media was putting out about young Black girls all throughout the 1980s. Whitney offered a much-needed balance to a narrative determined to condemn and right-off those of her generation and the generation she wasn’t even a part of. Her presence disproved what was being told of and about a group that was according to them, throw away.

Whitney wasn’t an eighties baby or kid, but her unveiling came during the period of the era. She, unknowingly, was a political and social figure right then and there. A product of eras that had social engineering devised to wipe us (and her) out before we even had a chance. She was bound to the cultural politics of the 80s and onward.

What she did for the image of young Black America is probably bigger than she ever realized. I wonder if she ever knew her magnitude and impact? I hope she did.

Not only was she a singer but her previous, earlier profession was modeling. Gaining exposure to eventually become the first Black model to grace the covers of magazines that routinely didn’t feature an individual that looked like her — publications that never had a Black model on it (i.e., Seventeen). This meant so, so much to Black teenaged girls! This trailblazing would be a recurring theme for her much later into her entertainment career.

“Here I come with the right skin, the right voice, the right style, the right everything. A little girl makes the crossover, and vooom! It’s a little easier for the others,” Whitney said in 1987. Her success was predestined and meant for her.

Whitney was already breaking down barriers in her young life. Already a pioneer.

She defied every odd that was stacked to extinguish her. Us. She defied the unwarranted stereotypes of a young Black girl in America. She went beyond the limits placed on Black American youth to become the voice of a generation. One that has been unmatched since. She unintentionally changed the tide. She remarkably changed the narrative.

What’s even more remarkable is her degree of excellence in the music industry’s genre that was so white identified. The powerhouse of Janet and others were doing big things in the genre as well, but it was very few. She was really one of few. This genre was reserved for anyone else who didn’t look like the Janets and Whitneys. Whitney turned heads, demanded attention and dropped jaws!

“Who is this Afro-American kid coming in here and singing pop music…” An exact quote from her. She was well aware of the sentiment many had towards her as well as the force and impact she was making. Again, she wasn’t supposed to do this. Come into the industry by storm and take over. She definitely wasn’t supposed to be this great. Especially not in this genre exclusive to white folk. “They picked me apart ’cause I surpassed the so-called rules. I beat the Beatles and The Elvises.” She conquered and reclaimed a music genre that had been hijacked.

From a lineup of singers metaphorically as of marathoners and relay runners, Whitney took that baton from generations before her and broke down remaining barriers that were placed in their way. What Josephine Baker, Ella Fitzgerald, Lena Horne, Eartha Kitt, Mahalia Jackson, Marian Anderson, Sister Rosetta Tharpe, Billie Holiday, Nina Simone and Dorothy Dandridge accomplished, despite the racism they endured that restricted them, Whitney continued on and pushed forward. Busting down doors that were once bolted and sealed to keep Black female artists out. She led the way, as the groundbreakers prior to her, for Black women in the industry! In a sense she was the summation of the greats and legends that preceded and succeeded in ways to make room for her.

Appointed as the voice for Black America of her generation in a post-Civil Rights Movement nation. An appointee to be a representative from her own generation that was on the heels of all the works of Civil Rights leaders. Their very hopes, ideals of this country and promise of what was a new beginning for Black Americans and Black America manifested through her. She was of the next generation that was to benefit of the generation’s previous breakthroughs through hardships and major victories that opened the door for her. In a way, she was assigned as an example of the result of their undying determination for progress. That is a lot of pressure that she probably involuntarily yet passionately took on. She was a new artist and also a young adult but had the mind, presence and maturity well beyond her young years. She was a Cosby kid. Sondra Huxtable (a role she was planning to accept but instead opted for her singing career) but made real. Her Black middle-class roots made her a real-life Sondra.

Her very being gave hope and aspiration. Her gift opened the minds of young Black American girls and instilled in them determination. What she was and who she was provided a visual to the possibilities. A possibility made real that inspired the young, old and in-between. It is no wonder that little Black girls as young as five and older Black girls growing into adolescence saw themselves in her and were inspired. Even grown Black women felt a connection to her because they felt seen through her.

Tasked with being a voice for several different generations at that. The Boomer generation she belonged to, the following Generation X and then Millennials who were just born as she came into the spotlight. And she became the staple for Black people in this country. A young lady that Black mothers could favorably encourage their little young Black daughters to look up to. The same little girls wanted to be her. They’d pick up a hairbrush, broom or anything that resembled a mic and emulated her. They were motivated and inspired by her! Little Black girls and boys alike looked up to her. After the "Greatest Love of All" video, she made every little Black kid a Nippian! Certainly, little Black girls. Everyone, young and old, Black and white, wanted to be and sound like Whitney. She personified role model material. I mean how rare is it that a singer’s full catalogue could be enjoyed and liked by an entire household? Ranging from five to sixty-five. Songs a young teenager didn’t have to skip because they were in the presence of their grandmama and didn’t want to disrespect her. Your mama didn’t have to fuss you to “turn that down” on account they’d be embarrassed for you possibly hearing a too grown lyric that your young ears weren’t ready to hear just yet. That doesn’t happen often, but Whitney’s music was able to indulge those listening ears and interests of a wide spectrum. It was universal. Everyone could listen to her music and get out of it what they wanted and needed. She gave us pop dance hits, to RnB ballads and soulful-Gospel sounding yet classical infused tracks. You could hit the dance floor, cuddle up to your significant other, get spiritually fed and inspired all at the same time with a full listen of her albums. Every household member was a fan! 13 million American households to be exact.

As her debut rolled out, she topped the pop charts with her first album and made history by selling more than 13 million copies in the U.S. and 25 million worldwide. Eventually, her album became the best-selling debut in history by a female artist! And the record-breaking didn’t stop there. It was practically endless! By the time her sophomore album was released, she had made history once again with 7 consecutive #1 hits. Whitney beat records once held by acts that were male and white. What she achieved so early on gave immense access for those who would follow her.

Even going on to become one of the first Black female artists to desegregate MTV's 'whites only' styled televisual platform for music videos. She was one of the many original Black women artists to get significant airplay on channels dedicated to music videos that made it possible for her fellow peers to be able to do the same. As her career marched on, Whitney became one of the most decorated artists ever. Surpassing feats time after time. Much later into her transitioning career, she was the highest paid actress in the film industry. Dismantling color lines at every waking moment. The heroine tackled and conquered so much across the board.

While Whitney had an endless number of highlights, there were also some lows to accompany. Many. One major and what seemed to be an inevitable replaying battle, an impediment, was being questioned of her Blackness. Her identity. Being shaped and molded by her white record executive (Davis) to practically steer her far away from anything too Black sounding, she was stuck between her Black and white audience. It was almost like she was placed in an uncategorized category. Having to consciously navigate when all she wanted to do was just sing. She’s undoubtedly Black to us, but for many others, as it has been said, she was “raceless”. She didn’t resemble the typical RnB girl and she didn’t resemble what had become the typical pop girl. Aesthetically and sonically, she didn’t fit to some. So, this constant of having to appease and appeal both groups replayed for her whole existence as an artist and person. Egregiously so, one sole leader, from the Civil Rights Movement, the same movement that found her to be a representative of Black America, also ridiculed her based off the very thing she was championed to represent (Sharpton's Whitey Whitney campaign continues to baffle me). I assume some Black folk caught wind of her record exec's strategy and wanted to punish her on his behalf. Unfortunately, many from our (her) own community followed suit and participated in humiliating her publicly.

All I can say is that I kinda see it as an irrational protectiveness. “Sometimes it gets down to ‘You’re not Black enough for them. You’re not R&B enough. You’re very pop. The white audience has taken you away from them.’” She said this after being booed at the ’88 Soul Train Music Awards. With a statement like that, I can partially comprehend the feeling of fear that once again, we were fearful that we were losing yet another Black entertainer to the white audience. In no way am I condoning it because this singular incident really impacted her in the worst way. It was protective yet defensive and unrelenting and in the long run, hurt her. It is sorta how family does one another. She was like family. And family can be inadvertently cruel from fear when they feel someone is taking them away. It wasn’t right and we have had to learn a lot from it. Whitney faced the onslaught from the white media machine accusing her of so many things and we contributed too with this singular incident.

This unnecessarily strained relationship she had with Black folk speaks to how much we felt a bond with her. To mend this one-sided relationship, she set out to embrace the Black audience that felt alienated by the decisions of those directing her career at her label. Her third RnB infused album, I’m Your Baby Tonight fulfilled that for some of us. It was like those who took issue with her welcomed her all over again. After this album it was as if she proved that to those doubters. They finally understood. Finally appreciating all of her. Some of us had always did from the very beginning.

All of America was finally convinced.

“Whitney Houston is an American treasure…” You don’t just freely nor un-purposely get a title of ‘American (national) treasure’ without the trust of an entire nation. Nah, that’s merited. America entrusted her with such a high honor because she had proven to be just that. It got behind her and made her the emblematic spokesperson for the whole nation. And we believed in her! Her capabilities were proven fitting for that title with every performance, appearance and act! We knew that she had the awareness to represent it wholeheartedly. This colossal responsibility that was meritoriously placed on her and she took it on. Demonstrating her prowess time after time. And not only in her vast ability to sing and entertain but she also put on her philanthropic hat with her charitable deeds: establishing a foundation (the Whitney Houston Foundation For Children Inc.) for children, contributing to medical research facilities and hospitals for specific children's needs, investing in housing development in her city, raising funds for the United Negro College Fund, donating to HBCUs and earning an honorary doctorate degree from one (Grambling) and the list goes on for all her humanitarian work. Whitney was the first major artist to perform in a post-apartheid South Africa. When she was just a teen as a fashion model, she refused to work for any company that did business in the then-apartheid South Africa. Whitney's quiet activism, which is almost a given as a Black entertainer doesn't get talked about enough.

There was a sorta omnipresence about her that no one could deny. Here in America and abroad! An international megastar. Nowhere was she not known and everywhere was she known. Her popularity and nobility were staggering. So much so that unanimously she was just known as America’s first Black Princess!

Royal titles of this nature we don’t have in this country, but Whitney Elizabeth Houston made it a thing! As we know, traditionally, royals don’t even come from America, yet alone New Jersey and they have never been Black. But here she was…a peachy, brown-skinned girl hailing from Newark being called and thought of as a princess. And looking like one too! Always regal in her speech, walk, posture, gaze, mannerisms and that megawatt smile! She broke the custom and made it so!

Her talent, her gift was that of Olympians representing our country to the rest of the world. Only the best is selected. They’re selected because they’ve been shown to be the best. They hone their natural aptitude and athletic abilities. And craft it. Perfect it. They train. They tirelessly practice. And when it comes down to it, they qualify time after time to be one chosen. Whitney did the same. Her voice was considered a part of the wonders of the world! The unofficial 8th one according to both Patti Labelle and Jenifer Lewis (I agree with them).

All across the world, she was the representation of America! For pop culture influence. Thee American star. She was that girl and all eyes were on Whitney Houston!

Her recognition and status were that of dignitaries. A royal. She was a royal. And she accepted that title of American treasure with a great deal of propriety that we all felt extremely proud of. Proud of her and proud to say she’s one of ours.

Such a monumental time came in 1991. Her American-ness was to be on full display at Super Bowl XXV when Whitney was asked to perform “The Star-Spangled Banner”. The year was an unsteady time for the country with the impending uncertainty of the outcome of war. Everyone was worried. Everyone had feelings of dubiety and panic and nonetheless hope. That very feeling of hope is what gave her conviction to sing the national anthem in the way that she did. Donned in her sporty white tracksuit with red and blue trimmings (she looked like she was part of a USA athletic team), with a matching headband and Nike Cortez, she stood on that dais in front of an orchestra before thousands in the stadium and across millions of households on their tv screens. Gleaming with joy and replete with glory, she sang the first word. And as she so beautifully sang each line of the song, a shift was happening. For the entire collective of the United States. Her own conviction convicted many other Americans. She sang it so triumphantly! So valiantly. So passionately. So emotionally that there weren’t many dry eyes all over the country. She sang it so patriotically.

But more specifically, she awakened something in her people and in her own admission, in herself as well. That climactic climb came to the mountaintop when she sang the word “free”. And it wasn’t just free, it was freeeee-eeee-eee-ee! With outstretched arms, she held onto that note for all eternity! It was as if this one word and the way she sang the note to it was an ode to our ancestors. Those who didn’t see freedom but knew their descendants would reap from an unseen reality that they sacrificed their blood, sweat, tears and very lives for. Her voice was an echo chamber to Black Americans past, present and to come. For many Black Americans, as she melodically belted out every single word, and especially the “free” and the remaining words to complete her majestic interpretation, we were given a new meaning to our country. Black Americans for the first time, felt our country’s anthem to heart. While it still remains an oppressive penned anthem against the descendants of America’s chattel slaves (of which she descends), the freedom and liberation the lyrics speak of for many finally held true. And we felt something. Even in the midst of having this complicated history to our country. We felt pride. Pride and a sense of connection. Of home. Identity. She so positively redefined a song meant to negatively define us, as Black Americans, forever in one night!

The songstress conveyed a message so powerful in ’91 that we still speak of her performance and rendition 30+ years later. She set the standard. Type “star spangled banner performance” in your search engine and guess whose name comes up with it? Whitney, personally felt more connected to her country after her epic performance! And after those two minutes and twenty+ seconds, she became a hero.

That moment, to me, reverberates to her television debut on The Merv Griffin Show. Where she sang ‘Home’ just eight years ago to that day. Her home. Here, this country. Her native land.

“There she stands, Miss Black America.” A liner like this in the 1987 Time magazine article speaks volumes to what she meant to Black America and America. A tie and link to her home country that was to be highlighted and showcased in the highest of ways. This is what she meant to Black America.

A child from the American soils of Newark becoming a global mega superstar. America’s first Black princess. She was our Black princess. Our very own Black American Princess. Such a precious jewel.

Her ancestral connection to America is indigenous and inherent. She became one of the most beloved Black American icons. A Black American legend.

Whitney, like those greats before her, is a thread woven together in the intricate tapestry that we know as the Black American cultural fabric. The historical context of her life and her career trace to her relationship to her country. This country. Our country. The significance of her ethnicity matters just as well as her nationality. The cultural value of both is important.

She was a product of America! A true textbook American story. Of one that journeys the climb to success with all its ups and downs, peaks and valleys, joy and pain. The definition of Americana. Embodying the American dream. An American historical figure. America is her legacy and her heritage. We witnessed her becoming. She brought us into her greatness as it materialized and manifested on a scale that no one could’ve ever imagined! Whitney is the lexicon of singing! Whitney is the lexicon of Black America! From "One Moment in Time" to "The Star-Spangled Banner" and her follow-up to the Super Bowl performance with her post-war Welcome Home Heroes benefit concert, this woman truly was the voice to America's soundtrack! All these events were Whitney’s way of giving a Black voice to the American landscape. Whitney is the lexicon of America! Period. Her American identity all throughout her career and personal life is very essential to who she was as a woman, as an artist and a person.

Whitney believed in you and me! She loved the kids! She told us from the start of her career, "I believe the children are our future. Teach them well and let them lead the way. Show them all the beauty they possess inside…" to later granting our wishes and dreams as our fairy godmother in Cinderella (which I think she was the first Black fairy godmother). Whitney gave us Black American girls a taste of royalty for the very first time! She blossomed and matured into a beautiful royal queen as we saw her till the end. She really was a once in a lifetime!

What Whitney Houston meant to me as a little Black American girl is hard to put into words. I wasn’t even in my double-digits of age yet when I remember seeing her for the first time. But I do know that when she came across my mamaw's old seventies tv screen as she happily watched The Bodyguard, for the 100th time, she left a deeply, imbedded imprint in my memory. I was mesmerized! My very young, child-like mind instantly felt a connection to her because she was Black, like me; she was brown-skinned, although a few shades lighter, like me; and the main quirky thing I felt connected to her was that she was skinny, like me! “She’s skinny just like me!” I can’t recall if I said this out loud or if it was an inward thought only, but that is what I felt seeing her. I was impressed! Equally impressed that this tiny, framed woman had a huge voice like that! As I got older and as she progressed in her career, I’d learn more about her. She talked like me, she acted like me. It was all so satisfying to see. She was bougie and prissy in her gowns and dresses and an around-the-way, silly and fun homegirl who preferred her jeans and tennis shoes who liked to do tomboy things (like jump off buildings onto a mattress — something I have definitely done too)! I just found so many connections with her. Whitney was a Jersey girl! Being raised in Newark shaped her. Now, I'm not a Jerseyan but I'm sure other young Black girls actually from Jersey can testify to how they felt (feel) this bond with her! Heck, I know how kindred it feels when a celebrity I admire comes from the same city/home state as I do! We instantly share something special — we vicariously become family (in my head) through that bond! She's an American girl! Whitney was one of us. She represented every little Black girl I grew up with in my neighborhood. She represented me too. I’m the 80s baby she provided a voice for!

So, with the announcement made some years back that there was an official biopic of the late singer in the works, I was pretty happy. Our leading lady Whitney for sure deserves a full-length feature film with major studio backing. And not long after, they had announced they found their Whitney for the upcoming bio. But when they shared the second announcement of who had been cast, it felt so crushing. So many of us, myself included, were so disappointed when it was revealed that a Black British actress was cast to portray her.

I just knew the casting director and her family who curate her estate would have had the integrity in mind to take heed to keep this integral part as authentic as possible. But they chose not to. (And to be perfectly honest, I didn't have high hopes to begin with. Whitney's legacy post-departure has been handled so questionably by those in charge of it).

It’s erasure to not cast a Black American actress to portray her in this official, upcoming biopic. Essentially, it’s another way to strip her of her identity. They stripped another part of her and that’s what is most hurtful. Whitney has had to constantly fight, even posthumously, for keeping her identity of the authenticity it so rightfully deserves. As much as it has always been such a confrontational aspect of Whitney’s career, this is yet another dart thrown at it. It’s yet another blow to who she is. The public made it an on-going struggle the entirety of her career to question her. Question if she's this or that or not enough of this and not enough of that. This biopic casting feels like a repeat of that. To separate her selfhood. It’s like telling her you still aren’t enough to a certain degree and capacity. What was already done enough too many times while she was alive. She experienced this anonymized, unidentifiable notion from non-Black and Black audiences enough. And now, it’s happening again posthumously in her very own biopic. It invalidates her identity. You cannot separate that she’s Black and American. They are mutual. It’s securely attached to her in a way that makes her such an icon and legend. Her American heritage is very specific to who she was. It is here in America where she was born, gained her success and went on to do amazing things, started her family, fought her battles and took her last breath. The inheritable link is here.

There’s something so ancestrally improper when casting like this is done. It’s unsettling. Disconcerting. To deny her nationality is offensive. It’s a cultural smudging. It’s as if the casting director, even her own estate, have said there remains something she has to prove. They abandoned accuracy and disregarded decency. They didn't even allow Whitney to be given the diplomacy to be portrayed in her own film by an American and they went with someone who doesn’t share that commonality. This casting is denying Whitney of her own story. Dismissing and ignoring her nationality is tone-deaf and shameful. It feels like an affront to her character. It is pretty insulting.

It can’t be stressed enough than it has been but there is an element of deep regard that when it comes to casting roles, especially roles of biopics, the actor be played by an actor who's ethnic as well as their national background match to that of the figure they are playing. “Actors bring more than their technique and charisma to the screen — they bring their very life with them, their experience, and this is something that no amount of craft or charm can override.” The intricacies of all that make up Whitney: growing up in a predominantly Black American city as Newark, a Black American middle-class family, growing up in a Black Baptist church and so on are all identity marks. That kind of heritage can’t be acted or learned. It is worth being conveyed by a woman who at least shares those experiences.

She's so American. Whitney is so Black American! All that she's done for America and all the social implications and realities she couldn't evade and the one's she attained of her being a Black American woman is paramount. Why would you not cast an American to play her? Why do this in casting to tell her life's story?

To flatten it to say that it doesn’t matter if the actor portraying a real historical figure doesn’t share the same nationality is undervaluing a component of what people share ethnographically. There is a such a thing as national characteristics. It’s unreasonable to say there isn’t. When we tell someone we don’t even know, “Oh you must be from up North," its because we can hear it in the way they speak, sound and even act because accents, speech patterns and dialect matter. That is a regional aspect to the larger national characteristic. It’s equivalent to a personality trait. It is a distinct trait in the ways Americans talk, walk and act. Especially Black American women—there are just gestures that are unequivocal to us. Those nuances matter -- and we have all grown to adore Whitney's Whitney-isms (shade and all)! The very definition of national characteristics refers to shared beliefs or perceptions of personality characteristics common to members of a particular nation held by the members of the nation or by any other group of people; the nations and ethnic groups, just like individuals, are often perceived to have a distinct character which can be described by a set of specific personality traits. Such shared beliefs of personality traits typical to people of a particular nation are called national character or national character stereotypes. A person's nationality brings a sense of particular identity and belonging. You can’t disconnect that.

Cultural characteristics are equally as important. It's undeniable. All of this is so important in biopic portrayal. I find it very disingenuous that the actress is pretending to have an American accent in her depiction of her. Of course accents can be manipulated and manufactured; one’s accent can be made and it can be taken away but why even have to detach the actress’ non-American accent when there could’ve just been someone who wouldn’t have had to do that. It just further contributes to the pain she faced of being accused of not being real for certain aspects of her life. It is almost a sinister circle. It's all so undermining. It’s authentically dishonest, diminishing and a disservice to Whitney.

How harmonious and noble would it have been to cast a Black American actress to portray another Black American? A Black American depicting another Black American. Especially because it is Whitney Elizabeth Houston! An actress who not only has the look—that delicate, trim, whimsical, demure yet striking, willowy kind of softness in her facial features, could embody Whitney but also has the diction and general understanding of the Black American culture because she is indigenous to the culture and shares that experience. How familiar, fulfilling and rewarding would it have felt for us Black American girls and women, the same little girls who grew up on her and are now grown women, all across the country to go on opening night to theaters, around the holidays to once again get a feel of the treasure and relive the spectacular rise of the dynamic Black American woman we know as Whitney Houston? It would have felt like home to many of us.

Like yours, like mine Like home Home

"…home is a moment, and then another building on each other to create a solid shelter that you take with you your entire life…We leave something of ourselves behind when we leave a place."

I know I feel at home whenever I think of her. She conveys that message to me every time. With each (re)listen of her music through every note sung, every (re)listen and (re)watch of her interviews, concerts & performances and her movies. She puts me in the spirit of what she's singing about. She makes me happy, cry and once again, smile! That is the memory I am keeping of her.

Those feelings of home she emits and instills, I’ll keep tucked in my heart. That’s everlasting.

She’s like home. Whitney Houston is home to me and I thank her so much.

#Whitney Houston #Whitney Elizabeth Houston #Black American woman #Black icon #Black legend #biopic #casting #biopic casting #Whitney Houston bio #Whitney Houston biopic #The Voice #Whitney Houston casting #Black American

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