#We say we’re not going to fight capitalism with black capitalism but we’re going to fight it with socialism

[delfiore]

heaven knows i’m miserable now

synopsis: robin buckley x fem!reader

synopsis: you haven’t seen robin since sophomore year when you broke her heart. now, with supernatural forces terrorizing the town, you get a second chance at making amends when you get wrapped up in the fight against vecna.

word count: 2.6k

warnings: homophobia

a/n: robin my smolest tiniest bby :3

now playing:

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You snuck a glance across the basement of the library, to where she was sitting. The immeasurable distance she put between you two didn’t go unnoticed by you. Instead, she spent her time conversing with Nancy Wheeler, who clearly seemed irritated by her constant rambling. You found it adorable, of course, just as you found anything she did just lovable.

Nancy was the one in charge of this whole operation, breaking away from the rest of the group to look into Victor Creel. When Robin volunteered to accompany her, you thought it only fitting that you should too. You would follow Robin anywhere.

Sadly, you fucked it all up before it even truly began.

She didn’t talk to you at all since you split from the group. She didn’t like to talk to you at all, really.

You took this time to actually look through files and newspaper archives as you were supposed to, to distract yourself from your current, miserable predicament. After all, you still needed to find out what happened to your best friend Chrissy. The gruesome nature of her death was enough to convince you that it couldn't have been the deed of a human.

Meanwhile, Robin was trying her best not to talk Nancy’s ear off. She used to do that with you, but obviously, couldn't and will not anymore.

“Just so you know. I mean Steve’s like, a total dingus, but a fun dingus, you know? We share a lot of laughs, but we’re totally friends. Platonic, with a capital P.”

“Got it.” Nancy grimaced. “Why do you care so much what I think about you and Steve? I mean—Don’t you have your own thing to worry about?”

“W-What do you mean?” Robin stammered.

Nancy didn’t reply, and only pointed her head towards where you were standing at the far side of the room, rummaging through papers.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Robin.” The brunette laughed quietly. “I’ve seen the way she looks at you, and the way you look at her when you think she doesn’t notice. What happened between you two?”

Robin swallowed a lump in her throat. “Nothing. Nothing, okay? Let’s just . . . keep looking.”

“Hey, guys?” You called, eyebrows furrowed. “I think I found something.”

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

You broke the surface, and were met with pitch black.

You dove into darkness, and were kicking and kicking, only hoping to find a portal like the rest of the group predicted. You didn’t even know what to expect, all you knew was that you wanted to keep Robin safe, even if it meant diving headfirst into the lake, not knowing what you’d find at the bottom.

The realm they called the Upside Down was nothing short of terrifying. An exact replica of your own, but plagued in darkness, parasitic vines, and demonic bats, all connected to this Vecna.

This was your chance, you thought, on the way to the Wheelers’ house, or at least a version of it in this hellhole.

You jogged to where Robin was walking alongside Nancy. As you thought of something to say, a branch caught on Robin’s foot. Instinctively, you extended your arms and caught her just in time before she face-planted.

“Careful.” You said, smiling softly.

“I’m fine.” Robin grumbled, and pushed herself off of you.

You took that as a warning. No touching it was.

“So,” you breathed out slowly, “I heard you got the highest grade in Hauser’s class last year. I mean, it’s not surprising. You’re you, after all.”

“Thanks.” Robin replied halfheartedly, avoiding your gaze.

“You know, I started reading more after you showed me the books that you liked, and I’m sure Hauser was glad that I did. My English grades were not good.” You chuckled quietly. Silence. “I read Dune. Maybe when all of this blows over, we can talk about it sometimes?”

“Look, I know what you’re trying to do, okay? But it’s not gonna work.” She snapped, stopping in her tracks. “I’m not gonna fall for this again.”

“Robin, I just wanted to—“

“Forget it, just forget it, Y/N.” She kept walking. “Please don’t talk to me anymore.”

Steve and Nancy shared a look.

You only watched as Robin continued her strides, ignoring the pang in your heart.

“Hey,” Steve said softly, “don’t be discouraged. You know Robin isn’t one to admit her feelings right away.”

“She hates me, Steve.” You said, attempting to swallow your tears. “I’ll never get the chance again.”

Up ahead, Robin was kicking the soil under her feet, as she swallowed her frustration. Who did you think you were? She just got so angry at you that she made a scene in front of everyone. Stupid, stupid, stupid . . .

“Hey there, Buckley.”

Robin did a double-take. Ever since this started, she hasn’t talked to Eddie at all, at least not one-on-one. Yet, here he was, stealing glances back at you as he walked beside her.

“Hey, Eddie.” She mumbled.

“Sounded pretty intense back there.”

“It’s fine,” she sighed. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Y/L/N struck a nerve of yours? These popular kids, they really do know how to get under your skin, don’t they? Except . . . Y/N isn't like the other popular kids though, is she?"

Robin furrowed her eyebrows. "What?"

"Did you two fall out? Y/L/N ditched you for the meatheads?"

Robin sighed. Eddie's nosiness felt very familiar, and the fact that he felt so comfortable with her to be this nosy was surprising. Maybe this was what Nancy felt too. "Yeah," she said, "something like that."

"She was ready to dive in headfirst after you."

"Y/N has a weird hero complex. She would dove in for anyone."

"Y/N Y/L/N? Star of the Tigers cheer squad? Hawkins' resident heartbreaker? Nah, I don't think so." Eddie shook his head. “Look, I don’t mean to pry. It’s just . . . kinda weird between you two. With Vecna running around preying on trauma-ridden teenagers, you don’t want to be holding grudges.”

Robin knew he was right. But it wasn’t her that needed to repent, it was you.

She thought about what song would be the one that saves her. Would her friends know her enough to pick one that would rescue her from Vecna’s grasp? Would you know?

“Hey, uh, if I start floating or whatever, anything by Fleetwood Mac would work fine.” She said to the group, half-joking.

“Motley Crüe for me, or Black Sabbath.” Eddie added.

“I—uh, pfft. Guess I’m a goner.” Steve blew raspberry.

“Y/N. Y/N?” You turned to Nancy, who pointed her flashlight at your shoes. “Let’s go.”

You didn’t realize you were staring off into the distance. Why were there grandfather clock chimes in the middle of the woods?

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

Dustin, the genius child, connected the dots that led you and the group here, to Eddie’s trailer where Chrissy was killed to return back to the normal world. One by one, you climbed through the portal, the laws of physics completely thrown out the window as you watched Robin, Eddie, then Nancy climb up, and fall onto the mattress.

It was your turn. You jumped onto the makeshift ladder made from Eddie’s bedsheets as Steve held it steady, and pushed yourself up. Up, up, until you felt the force of gravity pull you toward the ground.

But you kept falling and falling and falling, until you landed with a thud on hard concrete. You were on school grounds, in front of the main entrance, where two years ago, you blew your secret.

“Y/N.” A low, gutteral voice sounded.

Blood ran cold along your neck.

You were its next victim.

“Do you blame yourself, Y/N? Heartbreaker. Was the popularity contest worth it?”

“No.” You whispered to yourself, and shook your head frantically.

It wasn’t. It wasn’t worth it when you took up on that bet that Jason made with you.

“C’mon, Y/N. It shouldn’t be that hard, should it? Buckley’s a little band nerd, and a queer.” You remembered Jason’s sneering laughter. “You’re not queer too, are you?”

“You played with someone’s heart to keep your place among the cool kids. Was it worth it, Y/N?”

Robin paid you no mind when you first approach her, almost like she believed herself that someone liked you had no time for someone like her. It took you a while for her to finally ask you out, almost exceeding the three months Jason initially bet on you.

It wasn’t worth it, you knew that, because you started to like it when you press your body against hers, feeling her protective arms wrap around yourself, feeling the softness of her lips brush against your own.

It wasn’t worth it when you said those three words, which was a part of your ploy, except you meant every word, and your heart felt like it would explode hearing her say them back to you.

It wasn’t worth it, at all, because you fell in love with Robin Buckley.

And when you saw the tears streaming down her cheeks with the most pained look of betrayal on her face in the pouring rain, you knew for sure. It was not worth it.

Not one single bit.

“Y/N! Y/N!! FUCK!” Robin shouted. “Shit! Shit! Shit! What do we do?”

“What’s her favorite song?” Nancy yelled back.

“What?”

“Her favorite song, Robin! You’re the only one here that knows her!”

“I—uh . . .” Robin stammered, trying her hardest to calm her racing brain to think.

What was your favorite song? She had spent almost a year and a half trying to forget every little detail about you, after having memorized them every single day. Your favorite song . . . It’s been years. Would it even work?

“U-Uh, Psychedelic Furs! Play Psychedelic Furs!”

“I-I don’t have that!” Dustin stammered, his voice cracking, as he looked through his tapes.

“God damn it! Play—“

She remembered. On a hot July afternoon, in her room, you sat between her legs, head rested against her chest, as you giggled excitedly watching her listen to a song you showed her.

“I didn’t think you’d like this kind of music.”

“Why? Because I’m a cheerleader, I’m not allowed to like The Smiths?” You teased.

“N-No, i-it’s just—“ Robin chuckled. “I’m surprised, that’s all. I guess there’s still a lot I don’t know about you.”

“Well then, you better get to it, Buckley, because I’m a very impatient girl.” You smirked, drawing her closer by the cord of the headphones.

“Don’t mind if I do.” She leaned down to you for a firm kiss.

“‘Heaven Knows I’m Miserable Now’, The Smiths!” As soon as the words left her mouth, Dustin sorted through his tapes, and before long he had placed the headphones around your ears and blasted the song.

When you regained consciousness, Robin was all you could see, hear, and touch. You tightened your grip around her, choked sobs in between incessant ‘I’m sorry’s escaped your mouth like a broken record.

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

The only time you finally got a moment’s peace was late at night, when everyone became exhausted and fell asleep. Free of their interrogation as to what you saw in your waking nightmare—much of which you lied about, they didn’t need to know the exact details—you wrapped a blanket around yourself and leaned back against the couch in the Wheelers’ basement.

The stillness of the room gave some for your own thoughts to arise. Then it sudden hit you; you almost died, and it would have been a painful death, a torment both on your mental state as well as your physical. You didn’t want to go like that, and looking around the room, you felt so lucky that these people were there to prevent you from dying. You needed better friends, and you could only hope they accept you after all this is over.

A glass of water was placed in front of you on the table, and you turned to look to realize it was Robin. She retracted her hand and sat next to you.

“Thank you.” You croaked, and reached for the glass.

Gulp. The silence was deafening. It was making you nervous.

“Thank you,” you said finally, “for saving me back there.”

“I was just guessing.” Robin shrugged, fumbling with her fingers. “I didn’t think it would work. It’s been . . .”

“Yeah. Been quite a while. But it’s still my favorite song, because . . .” you drew a breath before continuing, “because it made me realize that I was in love with you.”

Robin clenched her jaw. “Y/N . . .”

“Please let me finish, and then after this, you won’t ever have to talk to me again if you don’t want to, I promise.” You said a bit louder, then stopped when you saw Lucas turning in his sleep.

“All my life, I’ve felt this pressure sitting on my chest, like a devil, just holding my head underwater. Everyone just had these expectations they held of me, and I was scared of what would happen if I failed them. And then . . .”you laughed quietly, “then you came along, and you treated me like I wasn’t Y/N Y/L/N, like I was just a normal, stinking girl you liked to hang out with.

“I can’t change my past actions, and I know I hurt you. Believe me, I know.”You whispered, wiping tears away. “But I will not give up on you because our relationship is the most meaningful thing I’ve had in my 18 years of life, even if it was based on a lie.”

You brought your hands to your face. The cries that clawed at your throat escaped in choked sobs through the gaps of your fingers.

Robin sat there dumbfounded. All this time she thought she was just one of your toys, that she gave you her heart and you would mercilessly stomp on it and toss it away to find a new one to torment. She was at her lowest when she learned that you only went out with her because of a bet you made with the popular kids, and it made her feel stupid and small. But she also loved you fiercely—as fiercely as her naive, little 16-year-old self could have loved—and it pained her to admit that she would have done anything for you.

Robin grasped your hands slowly, setting them down on your lap, before bringing up her own to gently wipe away the tears that have wet your cheeks.

“You’re still pretty even when you cry.” She mumbled to herself, but she was sure you heard.

“You wanna come over to mine next weekend and watch Dune? You said you read the book.” She asked. “If we’re not all dead, I mean.”

The look of surprise and bewilderment on your face was so adorable, she only wanted to kiss you. “I want to go slow. I still have a lot of unresolved angst and heartbreak that shaped my late teen years from you.”

“Y-Yeah. I mean, yes.” You said, and sniffled, a smile cracked on your lips. “I’ll come over.”

She nodded, still fumbling with her fingers. Then in one quick motion, swiped across your face with a quick kiss.

You sunk back into the couch with a lovesick grin, heat crawling up your neck.

On the other side of the table, Steve lay facing away, but he was grinning like an idiot.

“Steve, you can drop the act now. We know you’re not asleep.”

#robin buckley x reader #robin buckley imagine #robin buckley imagines #robin buckley x you #robin buckley angst #maya hawke x reader

[workingclasshistory]

On this day, 30 August 1948, leading Black Panther activist Fred Hampton was born in Summit, Illinois. Hampton was instrumental in forming links between the Panthers and organisations of working class Chinese people, whites, Puerto Ricans and Mexicans in what he dubbed the Rainbow Coalition. A revolutionary internationalist, he explained: "We're going to fight racism not with racism, but we're going to fight with solidarity. We say we're not going to fight capitalism with Black capitalism, but we're going to fight it with socialism." Hampton was a central target of the FBI's COINTELPRO programme, which resulted in him being drugged by an FBI operative, then shot in the shoulder while he was asleep, then shot twice more in the head at point-blank range by Chicago police during an FBI raid in 1969. He was only 21 years old. Learn more about the Panthers in these books by former members: https://shop.workingclasshistory.com/collections/all/black-panthers https://www.facebook.com/workingclasshistory/photos/a.1819457841572691/2069959446522528/?type=3

[mors-mvrdre]

randomly generated incorrect quotes (ft. the extended Weasley Fam)

[not-so-slight NSFW warning, proceed at your own risk lol]

Harry: [gets a text] Oh! It’s Luna.

Ginny, excitedly: Did they get me the stuff?

Harry: Yeah, she says they got you the clown costume, the power drill, and 12 gallons of blood.

Ginny: Where’d they find 12 gallons of fake blood?

Harry: You wanted fake blood?

Ginny:

Harry: I’ll go call Luna.

Fleur: Everything will be ok. You can not stop it.

Fleur: Everything will be fine. You have no choice.

Bill: What the fuck kind of pep talk is that?

Fleur: Ominous positivity.

Computer: Please enter a password.

Oliver: *types in Angelina*

Computer: Your password is too weak.

Oliver: How fucking DARE YOU-

Angelina: You don't think I can fight because of my gender!

George: I don't think you can fight because you're in a wedding dress. For what it's worth, I don't think Harry could fight in that dress either.

Harry: Perhaps not, but I would make a radiant bride.

George & Charlie in the back of Percy's car: MCDONALDS! MCDONALDS! MCDONALDS!

Bill: We have food at home.

Percy: *pulls into the McDonald's drivethrough*

George & Charlie: YAYYYYYY!

Percy: *orders two black coffees and leaves*

Ron: Change is inedible.

Hermione: Don’t you mean inevitable?

Ron, spitting out a bunch of pennies: No, I really didn’t.

Hermione & Percy: Fuck capitalism. It's a rigged system that keeps us poor and it isn't fair. You shouldn't need to work three jobs to afford basic necessities.

Hermione & Percy playing Monopoly: Sorry, if you wanted to win you should have tried not being poor.

Harry: Hey, pal, if you have a problem, say it to my face.

Ron, getting really close to Harry: I'm two months behind on my rent.

Oliver: What have you been doing with all that time to yourself lately?

Percy: Suffering, mostly.

Percy: The clock is ticking! We don't have time for this asinine tomfoolery!

Bill: This unmitigated poppycock?

George: Extravagant hogwash!

Percy: Okay, stop.

Fleur: Arson? Oh, you mean "crime brûlée".

Ron: Pizza should have poison in the sauce and the antidote is in the crust to kill off all the weak people who don't eat the crust.

Ginny: What the actual fuck is wrong with you?

Hermione: Have you ever ate a date?

Ginny: Like ate their ass?

Hermione: ...It's a fruit.

Fleur: What I MEANT to say was "Oh crap, I left my phone in my car," but what I ALMOST said was "Oh no, I left my cone in my phar," and damn, wouldn't that have been embarrassing, but I caught myself, and what I ACTUALLY said was

Fleur: "Ah, my fart cone."

Bill:

Fleur: So, anyway...

Angelina: Define “dream”.

Percy: Dream - the first thing people abandon when they learn how the world works.

Hermione: Percy! Teddy's right here!

Oliver: *gAsP*

Ron: wHAT??

Oliver: What if soy milk is just milk introducing itself in Spanish?

Ron: *inhales*

Percy, in another room with Harry: Why can I hear screeching?

[setting up the annual family game]

Oliver: Alright, listen up you little shits.

Oliver: Not you, Luna. You’re an angel and we’re thrilled you’re here.

Luna: What’s your biggest fear?

Percy: That I’ll never be good enough for anyone.

Ron: Everyone hates me and talks about me behind my back.

Oliver: Zombies.

Percy: ...

Ron: ...

Oliver: BUT they can open doors.

Luna: *nods sagely*

Ginny: If you ever feel embarrassed just remember that in 4th Year I tried to convince myself that I wasn't gay by making a compromise to myself to "only be gay at night."

Hermione: I'm not doing to well.

Luna: What's wrong?

Hermione: I have this headache that comes and goes.

*George enters the room*

Hermione: There it is again.

Ginny: I came out here to attack people and I'm honestly having such a good time right now.

Percy: Are you tall enough to play basketball though?

Oliver: Are you calling me short?

Percy: I'm calling you vertically challenged.

Oliver: A pessimist sees a dark tunnel.

Harry: An optimist sees light at the end of the tunnel.

Hermione: A realist sees a freight train.

Percy: The train driver sees three idiots standing on the tracks.

Angelina: Oh, here’s my award for the most rules broken!

Ginny: That’s not an award, it’s an angry letter from our coach.

Angelina, hanging it on their wall: Well, it has the word ‘most’ in it, so I’m calling it an award!

Ron: *pitches an idea*

George, impressed: Huh, there might be something here!

Percy, under his breath: Yeah, a lawsuit.

Luna: Pokemon is trying to slowly convince us Pikachu was always fluffy and I for one accept this future.

Charlie: Did you think the mouse was just smooth and had yellow skin like a little simpsons demon??

Luna:

Luna: Maybe.

Ron: Ginny isn’t answering my messages.

Hermione: Allow me.

Ron: I tried 6 times, what makes you thi-

Ginny: *replying to message* Hello.

Ginny: Welcome to Fucking Applebees, do you want apples or bees?

Harry: Bees?

Ginny: THEY HAVE SELECTED THE BEES!

Harry: Wait-

*Bill approaches, shaking a jar of bees menacingly*

Ginny, at the slightest provocation: I came into this earth screaming and covered in someone else's blood and and I'm not afraid to leave the same way.

Charlie, opening a Capri Sun: Guess I'll drink my sorrows away.

Oliver: It’s Christmas! Are you all in a Christmas mood?!

Percy: Merry crisis.

Ginny: Jingle bells, jingle bells, single all the way.

George: Hoe hoe hoe.

Oliver: Guys, please.

Percy: I’m telling you, my team is competent.

Charlie, rushing in: Percy! Bill tried to make pasta in the coffee pot and now it's broken!

George: Hey, you want a tarot reading?

Percy: Those are Pokemon cards.

George: You got a magikarp.

Percy: ...

George: It means 'fuck you'.

Angelina: What the fuck.

Angelina: ESPN is showing 2003 national jump rope championship.

Angelina: Who the hell watches jump rope competiti- ooh bouncy.

George, skipping rocks on a lake with Angelina: It’s such a beautiful evening.

Angelina: Yeah, it is.

Angelina: *whispering* Take that you fucking lake.

Ginny, narrating: Percy and Luna scare us a lot because they walk very softly and nobody hears them enter rooms, so sometimes we turn around and they're just kind of there.

Percy: ...

Luna: Their fear fuels me.

Hermione: I don't want to have kids after 40.

Ron with a mouthful of soup: Yeah, forty is already plenty.

Luna: Everyone knows that Santa is an invention designed by the big five corporations to sell tinsel and video games to an unsuspecting public.

Angelina: The whole “childhood wonder” stage just blew right past you, didn’t it?

Percy: What is your costume?

Fleur: A harp.

Percy: Your costume is too small to be a harp...

Fleur: Are you calling me a lyre?

Oliver: A mosquito tried to bite me and I slapped it and killed it.

Oliver: And I started thinking.

Oliver: Like, it was just trying to get food.

Oliver: What if I went to the fridge and it just slammed the door shut and snapped my neck?

Percy, hesitantly: ...Are you ok?

Percy, writing overseas: Ginny got into a fight.

Bill & Charlie: That’s bad.

Bill & Charlie:

Bill & Charlie: Did she win?

Goerge: Am I right, Percy?

Percy: I’m almost certain you’re not, but to be fair, I wasn’t listening.

Fleur: Truth or dare?

George: Truth.

Fleur: How many hours have you slept this week?

George:

George: Dare.

Fleur: Go to sleep.

George: I don't like this game.

George: We can bake these cookies at 400 degrees for 10 minutes or 4,000 degrees for 1 minute.

Percy: No, that's not how you make cookies.

Fred: FLOOR IT!!

Ginny: How about 4,000,000 degrees for 1 second?!?

Percy: yOU'RE GONNA BURN THE HOUSE DOWN-

George: WE'RE GONNA HARNESS THE POWER OF THE FUCKING SUN TO MAKE COOKIES!

Ron: DO IT!

Percy: NO-

Teacher: Your child was in a fight.

Percy: Oh no, that’s terrible!

Oliver: Did they win?

Percy: This is horrible! This is the most humiliating thing to ever happen to me!

Ginny: Oh-? Even more humiliating than that time I walked in on-

Percy: We are not doing this!

[ this has gone on long enough, I'll make a part two sometime aksjakdkskdkks see y'all ]

#weasley family #hp incorrect quotes #harry potter #incorrect hp quotes #weasley siblings #weasley family dynamics #golden trio era #the burrow

[ar-agon]

Strangers to Friends?

Note: So, I haven’t posted a fic in a long time and I kind of went a little overboard with this one but I hope y’all like it -Ar

Summary: Your friends decided to leave you to cause trouble. Left alone on a bench Dwayne decides to keep you company and maybe a little more?

Length: 2830

Pair: Dwayne X reader (Neutral)

The sun sank below the horizon, casting an eerie glow over the boardwalk of Santa Carla, the murder capital of the world. Dwayne, a punk biker with jet-black hair and an air of danger, leaned against his motorcycle, watching the people pass by. Suddenly, he caught sight of you, a captivating beauty and sparkles of laughter in her eyes. You seemed to float gracefully along the crowded boardwalk, capturing Dwayne's attention. He felt an inexplicable pull towards you, as though you held the key to his innermost desires. As you drew nearer, he noticed your eyes and perfect complexion. His thoughts were interrupted by your sweet, musical voice.

"You can't be serious," you laughed at one of your friends, who walked beside you. "You can't go into that bar without me."

"Come on, we're here in Santa Carla to have a good time. It's not like anyone will care," your friend replied with a playful grin.

"I'm not going to look for trouble just because you want a little fun," you said.

"Oh, come on. You know I'll be careful. We can meet up again later," your friend promised as you parted ways.

Dwayne watched as you and your friends go your separate ways. It was obvious that your friends wanted to start causing some sort of trouble and you were very much against it. So, you moved to sit down on a bench waiting for your friends to come back.

You sighed and looked around. A strange, black shadow seemed to be following you around. You hadn't felt so alone before. Now that your friends were gone you felt your eyes tear up. You bit your lip and took a deep breath. You just wanted to have a good time tonight.

"That was some quite a show, princess" Dwayne walked over to where you sat on the bench.

"What?" You look up at him, "Oh, my friends? Yeah, they can't be a bit much."

"What's your name?" He asked, taking a seat beside you.

You give him your name softly.

"Dwayne. You don't seem like you belong here," he said.

"Probably not," you agreed. "I'm just trying to have some fun."

"Do you ever get in trouble?" He asked.

"I try not to," you said, "but my friends seem to want to all the time."

"It's their loss then," Dwayne said.

You smiled at him and you noticed his eyes. They were black and cold, like two pieces of ice. You were a bit frightened at first but his presence made you feel safer. It was a weird feeling to have for a stranger.

"They're not all bad," you assured him as he sat down next to you.

"Yet they leave you all alone?" He asked.

"Only when they want to cause trouble," you say softly, "they know I won't join them."

"Causing trouble isn't always that bad," he points out.

"I know, but they take it too far sometimes. They can get reckless.", you added.

"I see. But you don't strike me as the kind of person who is afraid to live a little." Dwayne said with a wry smile.

"I'm not, but I don't think a night out on the town should end in a fight," you replied.

"Fair enough.", Dwayne agreed. "So what kind of trouble are your friends up to tonight?"

"They're trying to sneak into a bar that's notorious for being rowdy. It's just a little... risky," you explained.

"Do they always do that? Sneak into bars?" Dwayne asked.

"They do it all the time. They always find the most dangerous places to go," you replied. "They're always out looking for trouble and I'm tired of trying to stop them. Sometimes you just have to let your friends be who they are."

"So, you sit here alone?" He questioned.

"Basically," you shrug, "it doesn't happen every night. Just most of them."

"You shouldn't waste them out here all alone," Dwayne said, turning to face you. "There's a world out there full of excitement and adventure waiting for you."

"But they're my friends," you said, looking down at the ground.

"Friends who leave you here alone with nothing to do." He replied, "Maybe you should find some friends who care more about you than their own fun"

"Maybe," she nods, "I just don't want to lose them."

"But that's part of growing up," Dwayne said gently. "Old friendships don't always hold up forever. Sometimes people change and you don't always grow in the same direction. It's not easy, but it's part of life."

"So, what you're saying is that I should hang out with you?" You joke.

Dwayne grinned, "Only if you want to." He said, "I know a place where we can have a great night with lots of fun and adventure. You don't have to sit here alone all the time, you know?"

You look at Dwayne for a moment. He seems to genuinely care for you, not like your other friends. They've always been selfish and reckless, with no concern for anyone's safety or well-being. Dwayne, on the other hand, seems to value your friendship and wants the best for you. It's a refreshing change of pace from the usual chaos of your life.

You decide to take a risk and trust Dwayne. He may be a stranger, but you feel an inexplicable connection with him. You know he will keep you safe and help you experience life in ways you never imagined possible.

"So, where are you going to take me anyway?" You asked.

"This way, come on," he said with a smile, leading you down a dark alleyway. You were a little nervous at first, but his presence made you feel safe and protected as you followed him. You were eager to see what he had planned, and you couldn't wait to find out what was in store for the night. As you continued walking, you felt his hand on your back, reassuringly guiding you along. You let out a sigh of relief, glad to be in his company but also a bit nervous about what was in store. He was leading you to his bike that was leaning against a few feet away from the entrance of the boardwalk.

"Your bike? We're going on your bike?" you asked, surprised. You'd never been on a motorcycle before and the thought of riding one made your heart race with excitement. He nodded, his face lit up with a bright smile. You couldn't help but smile back, feeling excited for the adventure ahead.

He held out his hand to help you on the back of it. "You ready?" He asked, looking over his shoulder at you.

"Sure," you said with a smile, taking his hand and climbing onto the back of the bike. You held on tight as he started up the engine and began to drive. The wind whipped around your hair and the speed of the ride made your heart race with excitement. You felt alive and exhilarated, and you couldn't help but let out a whoop of joy. This was going to be an incredible night, you could tell. Soon, the bike goes off the road and through the forest. Until you end up on the bluff.

"The bluff? But isn't that dangerous?" you asked, starting to feel a bit nervous. 

He looked back at you, flashing you a reassuring smile as he kept driving. "Don't worry, I know what I'm doing. Just trust me." You took a deep breath, feeling your nerves settle as you leaned into him. You had faith in his ability to keep you safe and you were ready for the adventure ahead. He parked his bike and helped you off, "Come on," he said as he grabbed your hand and led you down a rickety set of stairs down to a closed out cave.

"Cave? We're going to a cave?" you asked as you stumbled down the rickety stairs, trying to keep up with him. The floor was uneven and the darkness made it difficult to see where you were going. You started to wonder if this had been a good idea, but you couldn't help but feel a sense of curiosity and excitement about what was in store for you here. "What's in the cave?" you finally asked.

"It's my home," he tells you easily. As you make it into the cave you see a rather decorated entrance. Dream catchers, posters, and paintings decorated the walls. There were beds in the corner and a fountain in the middle, "my brothers live with me here of course."

"Wow, this is incredible," you said, taking in the room with wide eyes. You had never seen anything like it, and you couldn't help but feel in awe of its beauty and creativity. "This is your home?" you asked, your voice full of amazement. "It's so cool." You looked around, taking in all the details of the space. You felt a sense of wonder and fascination, your curiosity piqued as you wanted to know more.

"Thanks. It took us a while to make it feel like a home," he tells you as he walks further into the cave before sitting down on a couch.

"Well, you've done a great job," you say, taking a seat beside him. "It definitely feels like a home to me." You look around at the various decorations, feeling a sense of comfort and relaxation as you take in the atmosphere of the space. "My home isn't quite as cool as this," you admit. "It's, well, it's pretty boring. I'm jealous of your home." You laugh a bit at your own admission, feeling a bit embarrassed. "But it's really amazing, I can't tell you how impressed I am."

"You can join us here you know," he offered easily, "I mean I doubt my brothers would mind having you around."

"Really?" you asked, surprised by his offer. You had never expected to be asked to join him and his brothers at their home, but you were intrigued by the idea. It was a chance to see a new side of him and get to know his family. Your curiosity was piqued, and you didn't hesitate to agree. "Yes, I would love to join you here," you said excitedly. "That would be amazing."

"Yeah," he nods looking at you, "we do get into trouble sometimes. I know you don't really enjoy that but I'm sure you can find some peace here and friends as well."

"I think I'd like that," you said with a smile. "I could use a change of scenery for a bit. And getting to know your family sounds fun." You were starting to feel more and more excited about the offer, and you were eager to see what the future held for you. "I feel like this could be the start of something new for me," you said, "a new adventure and a new beginning." You looked over at him, smiling brightly as a sense of optimism and hope rose within you.

"Well then," he smiled as he wrapped his arm around your shoulder, "welcome to the family." He leans just a bit and holds up a wine bottle. A very exquisite looking bottle. "Let's drink." He holds out the wine bottle for you to take.

You smiled widely at his welcoming words, filled with gratitude and excitement for the new path that was ahead of you. You took the bottle from his hand, feeling the cold glass under your palm and smelling the aroma of the wine. You took a deep, soothing breath, feeling your nerves start to settle as you prepared for the drink ahead. "To new beginnings," you said, raising the bottle in a toast before taking a drink. The taste of the wine was smooth and fragrant, and it filled you with a sense of warmth and comfort as you drank it down. Dwayne watched you as you drank. A warm fuzzy feeling washed over you as you drank. The wine appeared to have a sort of metallic aftertaste as you swallowed.

You felt a bit weird after drinking the wine, but you dismissed it as just the effect of the alcohol. You were starting to feel a bit light-headed, but it wasn't anything you couldn't handle. You looked over at Dwayne, feeling a sense of affection and gratitude towards him. He had been so welcoming and generous, and you were glad to have met him. You took a deep breath, taking in the atmosphere of the cave before looking back at him. "Where did you find this place?" you asked, your voice full of curiosity about his home. "It's so cool."

"It used to be a hotel until an earthquake hit," he explains. Dwayne ran his hand through your hair as you leaned into his touch.

You felt a tingle at his touch, your breath starting to quicken as he ran his hand through your hair. You were starting to feel a bit warm, and you enjoyed the sense of intimacy that you felt with him. You continued to listen to his story about the cave, listening intently as he shared the history of the place. "I can't believe you built all this after the earthquake", you said, "it's incredible. You guys are so talented." You looked around at the decor of the space once more, taking it all in with a sense of admiration.

"You'll start making your own mark on this place as well," he tells you softly, "you just have to turn first. You just have to join us."

"Join you?" you asked, wondering what he meant by his words. You had already accepted his offer to stay with him and his family, but his words made you wonder if there was something else he was suggesting. "What do you mean, join you? Join you how?" you asked, your voice full of curiosity. You wanted to know more about his family and what he had in mind for you here.

"You're already halfway there," he looked over at the wine bottle you had taken a drink from.

You followed his gaze to the wine bottle, your mind racing as you realized his words. You felt a sense of fear rising within you as you realized what he was suggesting. "There's something in the wine, isn't there?" you asked softly. You felt a sense of panic rising within you, feeling your heart race with fear as you realized what was happening. "What did you do to me?" you asked, your voice starting to shake with fear and anxiety.

He shushed you, running his hand through your hair again, "I've made you immortal, princess," he tells her, "all you have to do is take a human life, and you will be one of us."

You continued to look up at him, feeling stunned and speechless. You couldn't believe what was happening. A few moments earlier, you were just enjoying a night out with a new friend, and now you were confronted with a terrible fate. You felt a sense of shame and guilt washing over you as you considered the ramifications of his words. What have you done? What had he done to you? You wanted to scream with anger and frustration, but you were too shocked to even make a sound. You were silent, filled with a sense of despair and grief as you struggled to accept what was happening.

"You're a vampire now," he tells you as the silence stretches for too long, "well, a half, but you won't stay like that for too long."

You felt a sense of disbelief and horror wash over you, your mind racing as you tried to make sense of what was happening. You were a vampire? But how could it be? You were only human just a few moments ago, enjoying a simple night out with a new friend. Now, you were confronted with the reality that your life had changed forever. You felt a sense of despair and grief wash over you, your mind reeling from the implications. What would your life be like from now on? How would you ever be able to live with your new reality?

"We will help you," Dwayne stated like he had heard your thoughts, "you will not be alone in this."

You looked up at him, feeling a sense of relief wash over you as you heard his reassuring words. You were still reeling from the shock and horror of your new reality, but his words helped to bring you some sense of comfort and reassurance. You appreciated his offer to help you through this, and you were grateful to have someone to turn to in this difficult time. You felt a sense of gratitude and relief wash over you as you continued to look up at him, feeling a bit overwhelmed still but slightly more hopeful for the future. Maybe being a vampire wouldn’t be so bad.

#dwayne the lost boys #the lost boys imagine #the lost boys 1987 #the lost boys #the lost boys fanfiction #dwayne lost boys imagine

[chubbymuffinclub]

big_thick_energy_

In 2024, stay fat. Let’s stop trying to change ourselves and dig deeper to change the world. Let’s not spend another penny on industries that profit from disempowerment, trying to colonize our minds with the lie that we are not good enough as we are. That our differences aren’t our strengths. That change isn’t part of life. That we have to earn our value. All that nonsense keeps us busy and quiet.

In 2024 let’s spend our precious time and energy pursuing joy, strengthening connections, making art, laughing until we cry, caring for each other, trying wild ideas, eating nachos, falling in love, stretching our minds, dancing, and playing. Let’s equip ourselves to be better activists, each in our own way. Let’s bring our unique gifts to the table. Let’s figure out what bullshit to let go of so we can rest more. So that we have energy to connect. So we can imagine better ways of doing things.

When I say “stay fat” I mean it. Stay everything that you are. Be everything that you’ve been told to change about yourself. Do what you desire in the body you have now. Wear your differences as a badge of pride- of your refusal to buy what they’re selling.

It’s easier said than done, for some more than others. But you are lovable fat. You are lovable skinny, short, tall, Brown, Black, Queer, weird, Disabled.

Your dimples and scars, your cellulite and rolls are lovable - and anyone who tells you differently is struggling to understand that they are lovable, too.

We don’t have time to waste fighting against ourselves. We have bigger things to fight. The path out of the dumpster fire of capitalism and towards collective liberation will not be found while we’re cutting carbs or counting calories.

In 2024 let’s just do our best to stay fed, rested, and connected. New year, new world order. Don’t diet, RIOT. Stay Fat. Free Palestine. Photos by @isohella

#stayfat #happynewyear #newyearnewworldorder #decolonizeyourmind #imnotbuyingit #notbuyingit #newyearsameyou #newyearnewworld #antidiet #riotsnotdiets

[extasiswings]

You Don’t Find It, You Make It: A Buddie Breakdown Hours Essay

On one hand, we’ve all talked to death the fact that Buddie exemplifies you don’t find it, you make it but on the other, I never get tired of it and writing it all out in black and white when I can feel in my bones how close we are to something major on that front seemed like the best way of dealing with my feelings about it.  So, here we are.  The essay on how you don’t find it, you make it is the Buddie love story thesis statement and one of the most brilliant examples of deliberate longform “show-don’t-tell” writing that I have ever watched on television.

“You don’t find it, you make it.”  Wise words on love even out of context, but in context even more powerful.  Advice delivered by an elderly man who has lived a long, full life, and who has shared that life with a truly great love—a love that happens to be with another man. And I would say it’s that aspect that turns this particular statement from something that’s broadly applicable to all 911 romance to something that is specifically queer.  Because while Madney and Bathena are both couples that had varying foundations of friendship before they started dating, Bathena still came as a surprise in the S1 finale and the bulk of the work building that relationship is something we get to see after they’re together.  With Madney, there’s more work put in on the front end before they get together because of everything with Doug, but they also start off with a certain amount of instant attraction—they get to be casually flirty and acknowledge that there’s something there, they get to be obvious enough that other characters tease them and try to push them to just date already.  In many ways, Bathena and Madney “found it and then made it” and it isn’t that surprising that Buck hasn’t been able to wrap his head around why that approach keeps not working for him. 

But there is an added layer of intentionality to queer love from the outset.  You can’t just find queer love because truly allowing love into your life requires so many more choices and actions at the end of the day—the act of being able to see what you want and who you are, the choice to accept yourself fully and live as your whole and true authentic self, the choice to seek and accept love even if that love might be deemed unacceptable by society.

Anyway, I said this was the Buddie thesis so let’s talk about the roadmap.  In my view, they started writing Buddie as a romance in S3 with you don’t find it, you make it as the guiding principle, recognizing that they were writing a queer romance in a way no mainstream show had really done before, and doing it for a primarily straight general audience. And it’s the “frog in boiling water” approach—turn up the heat so slowly and carefully that by the time it’s made explicit, there can’t be a real question that what they have is capital L Love.  So they started with Christopher. 

Yes, Buck and Christopher had some level of relationship in S2—we had little Buckley-Diaz family moments at the end of the earthquake, in Stuck, and of course with the Elf—but as far as we can tell from what little we’re shown, when Eddie let Shannon back into Christopher’s life, that was it.  But S3 came out swinging from the first, with Buck and Christopher at Buck’s party, with Eddie getting Buck out of bed by leaving Christopher with him, and with the tsunami arc in which Buck was intended to respond like a parent and which culminated in Eddie saying there’s no one in the world I trust with my son more than you.  And there was no turning back—that was a sea change.  I know we joke about the “divorced dads” vibes of the grocery store fight during the lawsuit arc, but it’s true—”Do you even know how much Christopher misses you? How could you—you’re not around,” was the extremely effective blow that it was because it wasn’t about the family that is the 118, it was about their family unit as the three of them.  

And it kept going that way for the rest of the season—Christmas Spirit with Christopher asking Buck to spend Christmas with him and Buck arranging a whole party at the station so that Eddie and Christopher could be together for the holiday, Fools with the skateboard and Buck and Eddie talking through Eddie’s parenting challenges and ultimately finding a solution together and building a skateboard for their son together, Eddie Begins with the montage that included a pointed amount of the three of them together, Eddie’s invitation for Buck to come over and help him chaperone Christopher’s sleepover in 3x16, the everything of Helicopter Parent Buck and summer camp in 3x18…all of that was very carefully composed as a flashing neon sign telling us that by the end of S3, the three of them were a family.

I didn’t forget the Kitchen Scene.  I think it deserves to be noted separately from the “Buckley-Diaz Family” of S3 because of its purpose in the arc. Because the Kitchen Scene is very specifically Not About Christopher, although he was there in the background and the whole thing ended in a family moment with the three of them on the couch.  The Kitchen Scene is the “what if” and the “almost” and the “not yet.”  The Kitchen Scene is there, in all of its extremely fucking queer glory, to say that yes, the three of them may be a family, but Buck and Eddie aren’t just totally platonic besties either.  The Kitchen Scene is there to lay some breadcrumbs for the willfully obtuse and beg the question—what if Christopher hadn’t been in the next room?

Eddie Begins and the Buck screaming and clawing at the ground of it all is similar, another trail of breadcrumbs that’s for the two of them alone.  We’re meant to see it, and to clock the rest of the firefam handling Buck with spouse gloves while Eddie is trapped in the well, just as much as Eddie is meant to not know about it. 

Season 4 brought in a new phase.  In S4, the three of them were already firmly established as a family, but the Buddie of it all was still an open question—they’re best friends, sure, but what else?  And the writers turned back to their thesis statement—you don’t find it, you make it.  Because okay, these boys made it, but they (especially Eddie) had been using Christopher as a proxy for their feelings.  They weren’t in a position yet where they were able to acknowledge what they had done and what they had together.  So, what did they do?  Both of them started trying to find it.  By looking in all the wrong places (just like Bobby said in Jinx).  The universe was screaming, but they couldn’t hear it because they were convinced the universe didn’t scream.  Their lives were full of meaningful relationships, but it didn’t feel like the same thing. Buck was confused by the unwritten rules of male friendship (god, S4 was so LOUD).

But the EA and BT of it all was always necessary.  Because the writers have been showing, not telling.  They’ve been showing what happens when you miss what’s right in front of you, what happens when you avoid the hard work and self-discovery and authenticity required by real love.  They showed Eddie turn into a pod person with Ana and the way Buck fell into bad habits with Taylor despite all his work in therapy.  But unlike in S2 when Shannon came back, the narrative didn’t try to convince us that these women belonged.  We got I know there’s been no one in Christopher’s life since his mother followed by Eddie coming home to Buck having put Christopher to bed, followed by Christopher running away to Buck when upset with Eddie.  We got Eddie being snarky about Taylor at every turn and Buck choosing Eddie over her even before the shooting.

And then there was Suspicion.  Suspicion and Ana being introduced to someone important in Eddie and Christopher’s lives for the first time only to be proven to be an outsider.  Suspicion and make sure you’re following your heart, not Christopher’s with the heavy implication that Eddie’s heart already wanted someone else, someone specific—and if not Ana, then?

Suspicion, which followed that up with the shooting.  The shooting that was just the two of them, Buck and Eddie alone, no Christopher anywhere to be found.  On an open street in broad daylight.  It was only them.  And why?

Because when you think you’re dying, it makes things clear.  Make sure you’re following your heart, not Christopher’s.  And in that moment, when Christopher wasn’t in the picture and Eddie thought he was dying, he reached for Buck.

That couldn’t be the end of the story though, because S4 was about trying to find it in the wrong places (when you’ve already made it with someone else), and even though Eddie had whatever realization he had on the street, Buck hadn’t gotten there yet.  Which is why BT got together then, but also why everything about BT was overshadowed by Buck and Christopher and Buck and Eddie.  He’s got the harder job tonight and the will conversation and you act like you’re expendable, but you’re wrong.  It was all about screaming to the rooftops the fact that they had already made a life together, built a love together, but that last piece—the piece that was just them—was something only one of them (only Eddie) had been shaken by, and only for that moment on the street. Which brought us to:

Season 5.  Act 3.  After two seasons of it being hammered home time and again that Buck, Eddie, and Christopher are a family, Eddie started the season still with Ana (having panic attacks over the thought of being a family with her lmao) and Buck…well.  Bless his heart (pun intended).  You have to admire the writers for their commitment to good storytelling because watching Buck be as fucking miserable as he has been with Taylor because he’s trying to make it work not realizing that it never could have because his heart has always been with Eddie…yeah…I can’t.  But, anyway, S5 is about the realization and the active choice.

S3 was the season where they made it as a family.  S4 was trying to find love in the wrong places.  And S5 has been Buck still trying to find love in the wrong places, but Eddie finally being able to open his eyes, see what they’ve made, and choose to go after it. And even more than that, S5 is the two of them building something without Christopher.  There was a reason we didn’t get to see Buck and Christopher together throughout almost all of 5A despite the various references to their relationship—because this season is about not hiding anymore.  About not hiding who you are, not hiding what you want, not hiding how you feel.  And Eddie and Buck have always hidden behind Christopher in their own ways.  So this is the season about them tearing down walls and building up love and acknowledging that love as partners, as lovers, not just as friends, not just as co-parents.  It is the season about hearts and following your heart and broken hearts being healed.  It is the season in which the writers called back to you don’t find it, you make it to point out that Buck literally misunderstood the assignment of his own heart and that’s why he’s trying to stay with Taylor even while he has chosen Eddie and Christopher over her at every opportunity. 

But this season started with a blackout and all of these characters were left shrouded in darkness long after the lights came back on.  The finale is where they all get to start over and step back into the light.  The finale is where they get to choose love.  The finale is where Eddie is going to get to turn to Buck and say look what we made, look what we have, I want that, I love you because they haven’t found it, they made it.

And I fully expect them to still need more time, for Buck especially to need more time.  But they’ll be starting over together in the light with full awareness of the love they share and the life they’ve built and that the options are on the table as soon as they’re ready to take those steps together.  

Queer love, y’all.  They made it.  What a ride.  

#chapel for ts #chapel talks #buddie #I can't believe I just sat here writing this whole thing #it's buddie breakdown hours

[demonspawnshell]

The Evil Goobers Quotes

Alex and Phillip come from @alice-angel12x

—————————

Phillip, walking in with blueprints:Hey Boss I got a new— WHAT THE HELL?!

Alex, casually sitting on Phobus’ lap as Phobus sleeps: What? He said he couldn’t sleep alone.

He has no idea how it can be interpreted.

—————————

Phillip: So, what, now I’m just supposed to do anything that Phobus does? I mean, what if they jumped off a cliff?

Alex: If Phobus were to jump off a cliff, they would’ve done their due diligence regarding the height of the cliff, the depth of the water, and the angle of entry, so yes. If you see Phobus jump off a cliff, by all means, jump off a cliff.

Phillip:You jump off a cliff!

Alex: Gladly. Provided Phobus did first.

—————————

Phillip, walks into the kitchen to see Phobus: Phobus, it's 3 in the morning! Why on earth are you making chocolate pudding?

Phobus: Because I've lost control of my life...

—————————

Phobus: Get in, loser, we’re committing vehicular manslaughter!

—————————

Phobus: How do you want your coffee?

Phillip: Black, like my soul.

Phobus:...

Phillip:...

Phobus: Phillip, your soul is a latte.

—————————

Phillip: I know one person who finds me funny!

Alex: Okay, who?... and you can't say yourself!

Phillip: Okay then I'm out.

—————————

Phillip: Capitalizing every word in a sentence is vomit inducing.

Phobus: Enjoy Your Trip To Puke Land, Boy!

—————————

Phillip: CHARACTER. FLAWS. ARE. FUCKING. IMPORTANT.

Phobus: Me when someone tells me to stop eating mayo packets like they’re gogurt tubes.

—————————

Phobus: Do you want to play 20 Questions?

Alex: Sure!

Alex: Whats your favorite color?

Phobus, laser fucking focused: Triangle. Do you like men?

—————————

Phobus: You’re overthinking this.

Alex: You don’t know the appropriate level of thinking, Phobus. What if I’m underthinking?

—————————

Phillip: I have a bad feeling about this...

Alex: What do you mean?

Phillip: Don't you ever get that little voice in your head that tells you if you're going to get into trouble?

Alex: No?

Phobus: That actually explains so much

—————————

Phillip: Alex said its my turn with the brain cell.

Phobus: Square up.

—————————

Phillip: I feel like I can be myself around you.

Alex: You’re weird and quiet around me.

Phillip: Yes.

—————————

Phillip: Astrology is fun because i can pretend that all of my behaviors are just a result of being a Gemini and not symptoms of mental illness.

Phobus: Being a Gemini is a mental illness. That’s not hate it’s just a fact.

—————————

Phobus: I’m really glad “fight me” has replaced “sue me” in the common vernacular because I don’t have money, but I do have fists and I am always angry.

—————————

Phillip: Oh, here’s my award for the most rules broken!

Phobus: That’s not an award, it’s an angry letter from our boss.

Phillip, hanging it on their wall: Well, it has the word ‘most’ in it, so I’m calling it an award!

—————————

Phobus: When I said bring me something back from the beach I meant like a conch shell!

Alex: *Struggling to hold a seagull* Fucking say that next time

—————————

Phillip: Well, needless to say. Uh-oh Spaghetti-os.

—————————

Phillip: Look, Phobus! It's the good Kush!

Phobus: It's the dollar store, how good can it be?

—————————

Phillip: You look like a corpse that was just pulled out of the river.

Phobus: Wrong. I look like a cool rock star who just OD'd in their own pool. Big difference.

—————————

Alex: I hope you have an explanation for this.

Phillip: We have three, actually!

Phobus: Pick your favorite.

—————————

Alex: I like to play this game called nap roulette. I take a nap and don’t set an alarm. Will it be 20 min or 4 hours? Nobody knows. It’s risky and I like it.

—————————

Alex: If I die, my funeral will be the biggest party ever and you're all invited.

Phillip: "If"

Phobus: Great, the only party I'm ever invited to and they might not even die.

(Foreshadowing :0)

—————————

TBA; Most quotes came from

Others are from me :]

[amywritesthings]

SAME OLD MISTAKES: ACT II

THE FAMOUS LAST WORDS SERIES

gif credit: pedrorascal

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x F!Reader

Rating: E Word Count: 3.6K Summary: Late night hosts, and the world, think you and Dieter are secretly dating. You swear you’re not. Is Dieter on the same page?

Warnings: Smut, Porn with Plot, Enemies to Worse Enemies Lovers, Angst, Verbal fights, Car sex, Unprotected Sex, Dirty talk, Masturbation (F), Riding with Feelies, Submissive!Dieter

A/N: We continue the prequel to Just Old Habits. You still hate Dieter. And Dieter is still constantly horny for you.

Previous Chapter. / Next Chapter. | Series Masterlist.

PREVIEW:

“Did you come all this way so I could fuck you?”

The vulgarity of your question has him pausing in his seat, heat rising up his neck with aroused apprehension. 

It’s like an on switch — Dieter is obsessed with getting bossed around. That machismo effort is only done for the sake of playing Richie.

Everyone thinks it’s just Dieter. It’s not, and you know damn well what happens when you talk like that.

“So the sequel to Faith of Eternity — it’s juicy. I’ve seen it. I’ve seen it twice actually—”

“Oh, wow, have you really?” 

How much higher can your tone of feigned interest go?

“Yes, and I can guarantee the folks in this audience that Lost in Eternity is Spicy with a Capital S.”

That’s what the critics are calling this sequel. Spicy.

(Like if 50 Shades of Grey had any merit beyond outright spectacle.)

Not your quote. Cheryl Dinter, the late night host sitting across from you, is to thank for that sound bite. Her number-one show in the country is the reason people are comparing the two trilogies at all.

You would argue the alleged similarities alone ruin the integrity of reprising the role of Ramona. In the final moments of Faith of Eternity, Ramona finally puts a stop to seeing Richie and demands he becomes better — leaving the relationship open-ended with the dimming possibility for change.

(It eerily echoed what your outside world became after shooting the first movie.)

Now Cheryl Dinter has reduced the nuance of the sequel to tabloid whispers.

The cast and crew deserve better than the media circus Lost in Eternity is receiving.

“Would you agree?” she asks, and you’re painfully aware of the camera in your face.

“It’s… spicy, sure, but Richie and Ramona have so much to talk about in this film. I would say it’s more artistically melancholy than—”

“Melancholy? The photo we have does not look melancholy. Take a look at this,” Cheryl offers to her audience, gesturing at the screens above your heads. 

For the broadcast, she displays a still from the second act of the new movie: Dieter and yourself embrace in various stages of undress in a rainstorm, his large hand cradling the back of your head with fervor. You’re in a brassiere, eyes closed and jaw dropped. His black dress shirt is a crumpled mess, bunched off one of his shoulders.

He looks positively smitten, something the late night host is eager to point out.

You don’t have to see it a second time to remember.

The pocket of your dress buzzes. You ignore it.

Cheryl wants to discuss one thing and one thing only, that much you are certain of. It’s in the way she looks at you, sighing wistfully with a purpose. 

(She wants to catch you off guard. She wants that exclusive reaction.)

“That’s very generous of you,” you pipe up, entwining your fingers together against your lap. “I think I can speak for our entire cast and crew when I say we’re proud that we were able to bring the sequel book to life. I mean, I never expected Faith of Eternity to turn out the way it did.”

“Oh, it’s my husband’s favorite movie.”

“Is it really?”

Cheryl grins, shameless. “He’s a massive Dieter Bravo fan.”

There it is. The name she’s been wanting to drop since minute fucking one. 

All you can do is smile, closed-mouth and tight, and nod.

Your phone buzzes again. 

(You should have put that fucking thing on Do Not Disturb.)

Cheryl leans in closer like she’s ready to divulge a secret. Your stomach flip-flops, but your shoulders remain squared and unassuming.

“He won an Oscar for his portrayal of Richie Alzone.”

God, not this story.

“He did,” you neutrally respond.

“You know, a lot of people say you got snubbed for your impeccable performance,” she continues, shifting in her chair. “In fact, your co-star Dieter Bravo was pretty vocal about his distaste for your lack of nomination through his own campaign. Is that right?”

Not pretty.

Extremely vocal.

Your expression stays calm despite the burn in the base of your skull at the memory: that stupid Twitter rant, stuck on an incessant loop, set to haunt your career forever. The re-tweets. The memes. Your phone nearly crashed from the overload of DMs.

(Everything started falling apart then and there.)

There is no need to actually dwell on the past, however, when the supers on the television screens bring up the tweets in question for the present.

.

@ DIETERBRAVO: Thnx for the nomination, Academy, but how are u going to only nominate me when she did equal, if not more, work? @ DIETERBRAVO: There is no Richie w/o Ramona @ DIETERBRAVO: #FckTheOscars

.

There’s more she’s showing, you’re sure, but you refuse to re-read them. His impulsive decision to go to war with the Academy like you’re his Helen of Troy could be seen as chivalrous, but you it’s never looked that way to you.

It’s embarrassing, in every sense of the word.

He nearly blew his own Academy Award for nothing — for ego to prove himself to you as a co-star who cares. 

Except it has nothing to do with being your co-star. You knew that. He knew that. Dieter allowed the rest of the world to know it, too.

Your phone buzzes again.

This is the eleventh time your phone has buzzed in your pocket since the late-night taping began. It’s amazing the microphones haven’t picked up the constant notifications. 

“He’s pretty vocal about a lot of things,” you decide against your best interest. 

This causes Cheryl Dinter’s brows to slide high — like she nabbed you at the scene of the crime — as a hushed ‘oooh’ falls over the collective.

“Is that so? I have to say, some of those scenes feel real.”

“Which ones, the fight scenes?” you quip, offering a dazzling smile.

Cheryl turns to the audience, arm outstretched. “Those, too.”

“We’re great actors who respect our crafts. What else can I say?”

Yeah. Think again, fuck-o.

“And the… alleged dating rumors,” Cheryl finally gets to the point she’s been wanting to make all night, “are you saying they’re just—”

“Rumors,” you intercept before she can insinuate anything else. Firm, just in case she thinks of continuing the thought. “As romantic as it would be for co-stars to have a thing during an Academy-awarded run, Dieter Bravo and I are not dating. I know you were hoping he was single, Cheryl, so don’t worry: call him.”

To your relief, the audience bursts into laughter at the host’s expense. Cheryl, albeit not as pleased, laughs along with them.

Deflection, deflection, deflection — it’s all you’ve known since the Academy campaign. An A-List actor courageously defends the nomination snub of his up-and-coming co-star: the headline circled the press junket for weeks.

The hope of an on-set love story sold the movie worldwide.

The exposure flipped on its side and won him his Oscar.

And to make it worse, the studio demanded the two of you attend press junkets as dates to continue spurring the rumors into shooting the sequel. Photographers all across the world appeared enamored by the idea that romance on the silver screen could translate to the actors in real life.

By the night of the first Oscars run, most of Twitter swore he was in love with you.

Dieter Bravo was not — and is not — in love with you. A body to blow off steam, a fellow actor who gets too wrapped up in their own head, a confidante signed onto two more movies — that is what you are to him.

(He predicted two sequels. You wish he hadn’t been right.)

By the time the cameras stop rolling, Cheryl actually asks for Dieter’s number. Even if she’s married and publicly so, you see no reason why you can’t offer her the digits. It isn’t your business, and Dieter isn’t your boyfriend.

You read the number out loud, phone angled away from her prying eyes as she excitedly taps the ten digits into a new contact slot.

The number has completely taken over your lock screen. .

ASSHOLE: Hey!!!!! ASSHOLE: Oh fk is it Cheryl night? ASSHOLE: What did u wear, bet u looked smokin hot ASSHOLE: Nvm I see it, dig the blue ASSHOLE: Is this bc i said blue was my favorite color? ;) ;) ASSHOLE: Ooooooooo alleged dating rumors

 .

Before she can spy the messages herself, you excuse yourself to leave for your car. You quickly swipe the other eight messages without reading the rest, face growing hotter with every passing click of your heel down the studio hallway.

He saw the dress before the segment aired. It could have been a leaked photo from the dress rehearsal.

What could not be leaked, however, was the conversation Cheryl and yourself had. She doesn’t allow phones in her audience. Everything has to come straight from her.

Which means Dieter is here.

You pause at the door leading to the garage where your Range Rover is meant to be waiting for you.

Instead what greets you is a limo, sleek and black and straight-up obnoxious.

“Son of a fucking bitch,” you murmur under your breath, nostrils flaring.

When you rip the car door open, it’s a disheveled Dieter Bravo sitting in the back seat, sunglasses drooping down the bridge of his nose and smile spanning ear-to-ear. He’s wearing gray sweatpants and a clean white t-shirt — a stark contrast to what you’re wearing — with a five o’clock shadow salt and peppering his jawline.

“Hey, did you get my — ho-ly shit, that chair did not give this outfit justice.”

Dieter rips the glasses from his face, smile slacking as his eyes roam shamelessly down the front of you. You grip your phone tighter in your fist.

“Did I get what? All twenty texts?” you ask, devoid of amusement. “Yeah. I got them. Pretty fucking excessive if you ask me.”

“What can I say, babe, I was trying to save you up there. That chick was an ass.”

“I don’t need you to white-knight me, Bravo.”

“Oh, trust me, this isn’t for you,” he reassures, situating the glasses back over his eyes. “I saw the dress from some rando’s fan account on Instagram and thought I would run the fuck over here before you missed my chance.”

“A fan account?”

“What? I follow ‘em on my burner. They say nice things about me — and you, obviously.” He leans back. “You should get in the limo.”

“I’m not getting in the fucking limo.”

“The longer you stand out there, the quicker someone’s gonna notice we’re talking.” He pauses with a cheeky grin. “Just saying. Please get in the limo.”

You can’t fucking stand him.

Waving for him to scoot over, he obliges as you duck into the limo with him. You slam the door with purpose, nostrils flaring upon being hip-to-hip with your co-star.

“Dieter.”

“Yeah, babe?”

“Stop fucking texting me.”

“All I heard in that sentence was ‘fuck me’ and that’s so not like you to be polite.”

“I’m being serious."

“But why would I stop texting you?”

“You’re supposed to only text me when we’re working, which we currently are not," you growl.

“We kind of are,” he argues, nose scrunching.

“The movie is in post-production. Press tours, unless we're slated to be on the same interview, do not count. You don’t need to keep tabs on me like we’re—”

“How come you don’t want them to think we’re dating?” he asks instead, changing the subject at whiplash speed.

You open your mouth to fling a dozen insults, yet none arrive on time. You watch as his dopey smile leaves his face, glasses falling just enough that his eye catches yours.

“Because we’re not dating.”

“But we sure do fuck a lot.”

“Because we’re rehearsing.”

“At our big sequel age?” he challenges, vocal fry coy. “No, trequel?”

“Did you come all this way so I could fuck you?”

The vulgarity of your question has him pausing in his seat, heat rising up his neck with aroused apprehension. It’s like an on switch — Dieter is obsessed with getting bossed around. That machismo effort is only done for the sake of playing Richie.

Everyone thinks it’s just Dieter. It’s not, and you know damn well what happens when you talk like that. 

You also know you’re so sick of this press tour.

Escapism: that’s what Dieter can be in a pinch, and he’ll take the mile.

You slide closer to him, watching him swallow thick as he waits motionless in his seat. You hike the dress higher, over your knees, over your thighs, and his eyes practically roll into the back of his head at the sight of bare skin.

“Is that what you want, huh? For me to fuck you in this limo?”

He may have started this marathon, but you’ve taken the baton and run head-first without realizing the ramifications of what it may mean to regularly fuck your co-star. Between set changes, right before hair and makeup, after fourteen hours on call just to retire to your trailers — you’ve had Dieter in every inch of his trailer more than once.

Are you proud of it? No.

Are you addicted to it? Maybe.

Gliding your leg up and over his lap, his hands instinctively drop to your hips to steady the straddle. Dieter always looks best like this — puppy dog eyes, gleaming and hopeful, with a silent pouting lip. He doesn’t even realize your hand has snaked around his neck and up through his hair to tug his head back against the car seat.

Dieter outright groans, willingly exposing his neck to you. You lean down, lips hovering and never quite touching his skin, as your hot breath puffs against him.

“I can’t fucking stand you.”

“I know,” he whimpers, squeezing your hips.

“And I don’t need you to save me.”

Experimenting with your hips, you grind against him to chase some relief for yourself. He elicits a shameless moan to the ceiling, bucking up to meet you. 

“I know, babe, I know.”

“Do you like that I can’t stand you?”

“Think you—” Dieter swallows, thick, dragging his hands up your waist to run his palms over the fabric of your dress. “—can’t get enough of me. Just like how I — fuck — how I can’t get enough of you.”

You rise up to your knees to pull your dress hastily to your hips, letting go of his hair. He uses the opportunity to watch as you tug the pair of panties down your legs, knee lifting to hastily drop the fabric down and around your one heel.

When Dieter opens his mouth to speak, you push two fingers into his mouth to quell his comments. That makes him shudder with intoxicated anticipation beneath you.

With your free hand, you cup a breast through the fabric and sigh. Dieter doesn’t move, doesn’t even attempt, but his eyes glide further when your fingers turn downward and inch, sequin by sequin, until it disappears under the fabric of the dress and against your mound.

A tiny moan exits your mouth when you finally allow your fingers to circle your clit, happy for the thrumming buzz to take over your nerve endings. His hands squeeze your hips harder. He wants to help. He won't help.

He wouldn’t dare unless told to.

“Can’t get enough of me?” you ask, voice wavering.

Dieter nods without a sound, albeit barely. You move your fingers closer to your center, teasing your middle finger along the entrance.

It would feel better if it was him, but he’s helpless.

“Take off your pants, Bravo,” you demand above him. He makes a noise to respond, but you only press your fingers harder against his tongue to gag him.

It sends enough of a message.

And in this state, he’ll do whatever you say.

Dieter fumbles with the strings of his gray sweatpants, lifting his hips to drop his bare ass onto the leather seat beneath him. No boxers, no briefs — just free-balling like he knew you were going to be angry enough to fuck him in this stupid rented limbo.

You swear he riles you up on purpose.

When you remove your hand from his mouth, Dieter launches into babbles.

“Let me touch you,” he begs, cheeks heated and full of shameless need. “It’s a big limo, I could — be on my knees in a second if you let me. We can stay in here all night and I'll just eat you out, make you feel good. Please let me.”

He outright whines when you reach in the space between you to gently take hold of his cock. Smoothing your thumb in a circle along the tip of him, he twitches, bucks up, and shakily exhales from his nose.

“No,” you whisper back, leisurely pumping him from the base just to see his eyes flutter back.

“I’ll be so good for you, babe,” he promises, dropping his head on the headrest. Thick curls are splayed everywhere, enveloping him in a dark brown halo.

“Keep your hands on the seat,” you order, twisting your wrist at the head of his cock. 

Dieter jumps, moaning, but shivering hands eventually find their places against the leather. He mouths fuck to the ceiling, as if he’ll need immense concentration to keep himself in check.

“At least let me taste you,” he says in one final plea, and it’s nearly enough to demolish your resolve.

Slipping your hand from under your dress, you press two coated fingers back into his open, panting mouth. Keeping total eye contact on you, you can feel the way Dieter’s tongue laps around the underside of your fingers, shoulders slacking from relief.

You want this — maybe even need it.

Nothing compares to the way he lifts his chin when you line up the head of him to your entrance, sinking down just enough to feel the burn of stretch. You’ve learned he likes going slow, building the anticipation of feeling you around him. He likes the scent of your perfume on his face. He likes everything about seeing this, seeing you.

And as badly as you want to close your eyes when you finally sink down fully, you can’t. The whimper that involuntarily leaves your throat makes his knuckles go white against the leather.

Abruptly you pull your fingers from his mouth to find purchase on his shoulder, allowing you to raise on your knees and slide back down his length.

Of course, his mouth wastes not a single second.

“You look so fucking good right now,” he breathes once he’s found air in his lungs, and you set the slowed pace of your hips rolling. “God, fucking love watching you ride me. You’re so beautiful, I’m — fuck, babe, I’m yours.”

No.

He isn’t yours, just as you aren’t his.

Dieter and his goddamn lines.

Maybe it’s easy to forget how good this feels when you’re too busy hating him (you swear you still hate him) but it’s his voice that wrecks you every time. That baritone voice gets you going like nothing else.

“Please let me fuck you,” he murmurs, leaning in to ghost his lips along your bare collarbone. “Won’t touch, but I have to — I wanna feel you come. Let me feel you come around my cock.”

When he bucks up into you, you gasp loud and lose your pace. The hand on his shoulder stutters, pushing hard against the fogged glass of the rear window. You drop your chin back, whispering ‘yes’ to the question he’s ready to ask again.

Dieter takes the permission and runs with it. Mercilessly he fucks up into you as you grind against him, feeling the nearness run from the tip of your toes to the crown of your head. With every thrust he grunts, mumbling your name as if to say thank you.

Reaching between you once more, you roll the pads of your fingers in a circle along your clit to get you there closer. Dieter drops his forehead to your chest to look down, to watch you play with yourself, and outright groans at the sight.

The adoration of it makes you climax abruptly as your thighs squeeze against his, forehead dropping to shoulder in a broken moan. He continues to fuck you, but slower, as if timing it to your descent back to the car with him.

Then he stills, remaining inside you, as you catch your bearings. 

Finding your breath against his shoulder, you feel his hand against the seat cushion twitch without lifting — still playing by the rules you’ve set for tonight’s game. 

You wonder what it would feel like if he ran his hand through your hair, if he broke the arbitrary rule book you’ve carried along two full movies.

He won’t, he never will, but you wonder.

“We’re here.”

His voice, still lost somewhere in his throat, is dried from the playfulness from before. 

“What?”

“Here, at your place.”

Oh. 

You climb off of his cock, but remain sat on top of him. “But you didn’t—”

“Don’t worry about me,” he reassures. “This is all I wanted.”

Your chest tightens at his genuine, airy tone. When you don’t respond, he adds a joke to break the dead air.

“I, uh, I’m not moving because I didn’t think you’d want me to come up.”

You raise your chin at that, accidentally bumping noses from the proximity you set in the aftermath. 

You could invite him up. He could stay for a drink, maybe three, like the old days. You could sit on your couch with your legs draped over his, start the small fireplace, and talk. God, you could talk through the rest of the night. You could learn things about him that Google will never know, or look through those fan accounts he loves so much.

You could let him get to know you without the cameras, the crew, the sets.

(You could.)

“I don’t,” you lie, gathering your phone from the seat cushion before hoisting yourself off of his lap. Bending forward to grab the underwear still lying on the limousine floor, you pocket them in your dress and don’t look back when you leave the vehicle.

The door shuts behind you.

He doesn’t try to change your mind.

You walk up the stairs to your apartment alone.

#dieter bravo #the bubble #pedro pascal #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo fanfiction

[winterpinetrees]

It is good? No. But it is. (the plot begins)

I have not written any fiction (barring school assignments) in four years. I do not remember how to format dialogue. This is some hybrid of Silmarillion-style summary and normal fiction writing. 

Someday I'll look back at this and cringe but that means that I'll have done something better by then. This is tumblr after all.

Anyway, here’s the start of The Gap Years.

June 7th, 2019

The Elf capital 

Marin Sondaica -the son of Apex Emer Sondaica- and a prince of the entire Elven World, leaves a note by his bed. It reads “To all it will concern. Like my mother before me, and our highest ancestor long before her, I will be spending some time in the Human World. I will be back in about a decade. Don’t look for me unless it’s an emergency.” Marin is a lean, athletic boy with mostly African features and dark brown hair styled into shoulder-length dreadlocks. He’s trying to dress like a normal American teen, which has led to a sweatshirt with the sleeves cut off, black elven boots, and cargo pants. He’s taking a gap year. Ten of them, actually. He picks up a messenger bag and casts an illusion to become invisible before walking to the ground floor. He leaves an emerald green silhouette for an instant after disappearing. Soon, he will be in the human world. 

Not even twenty-four hours later, as Marin wanders San Francisco, a Gens Mercuralis soldier stomps into his old room and finds the untouched note.

…………

The evening after the soldier finds the note, Ryn looks out at the night sky. He’s trying to look at the stars, but the city and the fireworks are throwing off too much light. He shouldn’t care. He just pulled off a coup, after all. Ryn is looking at stars he can barely see from a balcony of the palace, and he’s reached such heights without losing anyone that he really cares about. The next morning, as dictated by tradition, Ryn’s allies will announce the elves who died in the attacks. Ishtar will not be named, and neither will Arjuna, or any of his new council. or his children.  Everything is going great and he should not care about light pollution.

He hears Ishtar behind him. He’s never met an elf with louder footsteps, and her ancestral armor isn’t made for stealth. Blood drips off of it onto the balcony. Tradition dictates that she cannot remove her armor until the next morning. Ryn thinks that most noble traditions only exist to make everyone miserable. That being said, he is a noble too. Just one that swears on old astronauts instead of Lazarus and his void. Ishtar leans over the balcony and stares down at the water. Her eyes still glow like indigo embers hours after the end of the fighting. 

“We did it.” She says, exhausted. “I thought I would enjoy it more. Getting proper revenge? Doing what I was made for? I guess we gave up feeling that sort of good a while ago”. 

“We did do it.” It was an amazing thought. After decades of planning, they’d taken over the world. “And we decided a long time ago to forget what we were made for”. 

Fireworks burst over the harbor. This wasn’t just any coup. They had public support and an actual vision! This was uncharted territory. Ryn was the first Voyager in thousands of years to do anything new! He took Ishtar’s hand. It was bloody, but who cared. He’d planned half the scheme, might as well own it. 

“And Izzy, we have time to feel good. It’s over. The human world is going to be tedious -we’re going to be working on that for the rest of our lives- but we can't lose.” The hard part was over. She was the Apex now, and he was a Councillor. Another impossible height he’d reached.  “We have all the time in the worlds. Us and Arjuna and the kids in a universe that is going to be better, for once.”

She smiles faintly “Our kids are never going to feel like this”

…………

June 10th 2019

San Francisco, CA

Brian, Sierra, and Clay finish packing their heavily modified car and drive towards the center of the city. They’ve given their parents a similar message. “We’ll be back for the holidays. We’re not going to do anything that causes a scandal.” 

None of them, not even Sierra, know that their home is parallel to the capital of the elven world. None of them know that there has just been a coup, or that the prince of the elven world is now walking the city like a tourist. 

It’s foggy and cool, as San Francisco usually is. The rich kids sit down in some fancy coffee shop to decide their first moves. They know where they want to go eventually, but don’t have any sort of plan. A boy about their age with long dreadlocks and bright hazel eyes sits down next to them. They are all surprised, but happy to see him. Brian thinks he met the boy at a baseball tournament years ago. They laughed at some incompetent umpire and became instant friends the way that only ten year olds can be. Sierra thinks that she’s stood beside the boy in an engineering lab, and Clay is sure that there was a party (a boring one for adults, of course) where they ran away together from the flashing cameras and overbearing adults. 

None of them notice that his eyes flash green as he sits down. None of them notice that they’ve never met him in their lives. 

#by me #the gap years #my oc stuff #writing that *is* #The Road Trip #The High Council

[lyranova]

May I request a thought of mine I have that is what would happen if all of the black bulls and golden dawns time travel to the day of Yuno and Asta magic knight exam entrance exam but with a twist that is Yuno and Asta aren't the ones who time travel but Leo and Mimosa are the one who time travel instead of them. Thank you

Hiya! Of course you can, I apologize if there’s typo’s or if it’s worded weird or confusing. I’m having to use a computer right now due to my hands and I don’t normally use a computer. But I hope you all enjoy~!

Word Count: 887

Warnings: None

———

Leo and Mimosa didn’t know how they got here, but somehow they had time traveled to the past! They had gone on a joint mission together to check out a dungeon that supposedly contained some ancient artifact, and at first when they cleared it they hadn’t seen anything out of the ordinary. But when the two had suddenly walked out of the dungeon they had found themselves in the middle of the Capital. At first they had thought they had maybe been teleported back to the city, but upon closer inspection they realized they had in fact been teleported, but to a completely different time!

At first Mimosa had panicked while Leo had been excited, saying it wasn’t everyday you got to time travel! But eventually they were able to calm each other down to begin looking for a way to get back, even though they didn’t know where to start.

“ Maybe my big brother would know?” Leo had suggested and Mimosa agreed, it wouldn’t hurt to ask Fuegoleon for help.

So the two had begun to walk in the direction of the Crimson Lions base, but as they did they began to here people talking excitedly about the Magic Knights entrance exam that was going to be happening in a few minutes.

“ Should we go and check it out?” Leo had asked, and he pouted when Mimosa had firmly said ‘no’. “ But if the Entrance exam is today then that means that’s where my Big Brother is, doesn’t it?” Leo pointed out and Mimosa’s eyes widened in surprise.

“ So looks like we’re going to the Entrance exam!” Leo announced as he grabbed his cousins hand and began to drag her towards the Arena.

That was how they ended up in their current predicament.

Leo had gotten so excited about watching Asta and Yuno during the Entrance exam that he had accidentally blown their cover and now people were staring at the two in confusion, including Fuegoleon.

“ Mimosa, Leo, what are you two doing here? Weren’t you already accepted in your squads of choice?” He asked with a frown, causing the two to look at each other for a moment.

“ Well you see-.” Mimosa began but Leo cut her off.

“ I heard that a kid with no mana was taking the exam today, and I thought ‘How cool would it be to fight against that guy?’ so I decided to drop by and see if the rumors were true and maybe even fight against him!” Leo announced excitedly and Fuegoleon and Mimosa both raised their eyebrows.

“ What are you doing? We need to hurry up and find our way back home!” Mimosa whispered angrily at him, Leo just shrugged before he smiled at her.

“ We gotta keep up appearances too though, otherwise they’ll get even more suspicious.” Leo whispered back, causing Mimosa to roll her eyes. This was just an excuse to fight Asta and they both knew it.

“ Alright,, I accept your challenge! Let’s do this!” A voice suddenly shouted from the crowd, and when the cousins turned towards it they saw a much younger Asta walking towards them with a bright smile on his face.

“ Alright let’s do this! You’d better not hold back!” Leo said with a bright smile of his own as he hit his fist against the open palm of his other hand.

“ Wait Leo stop!” Mimosa called after him, but he ignored her and continued walking towards Asta.

“ Great we’re never going to get out of here!” Mimosa said with an exasperated sigh. She and the others moved away from the center of the arena and after a few minutes the two began to spar.

The match lasted quite a while. But eventually the match ended in a draw, much to everyone’s shock but to Leo and Asta’s dismay. Mimosa sighed in relief as she walked over to the two young men.

“ A man that was such a good fight, you’re definitely worthy of being my rival!” Leo said proudly as he smiled brightly at the past version of his friend.

“ ‘Your rival’? I already have a rival though,” Asta said as he turned to look at his childhood friend Yuno. “ But I guess it couldn’t hurt to have another rival! Especially one as strong as you!” Asta added brightly as he held out his hand, which Leo took gladly.

“ C’mon before you accidentally spoil the future!” Mimosa interrupted as Leo opened his mouth, she grabbed his arm and began to drag him away as Asta just stared at them in confusion.

“ ‘Spoil the future’? What did she mean by that?” Asta mused quietly to himself as they disappeared through a wooden door.

“ He’s always been great hasn’t he?” Leo asked quietly as he and Mimosa walked down the corridor. The woman nodded with a soft smile on her face.

“ He has. It just took everyone a while to realize it.” Mimosa said as she turned to look at Leo.

“ It didn’t take me long to realize it though!” He argued and she giggled at his outburst.

“ It didn’t take me long either. I meant it took everyone else a while to figure it out.” Mimosa clarified and Leo nodded in agreement.

Soon the two found Fuegoleon, explained the situation to him, and figured out a way to get back home.

———

Thank you all so much for reading and I hope you all have a good day~!

#asks #anaveragefan0411 #black clover #black clover fanfiction #black clover oneshot #leopold vermillion #mimosa vermillion #asta black clover #black clover asta #black clover mimosa #black clover leopold

[troutlawyer]

As a lifelong Floridian, I know that Florida has, for a very long time, been the only state in the Southeast where a majority of people living there support the right to abortion, and it is also has the third highest rate of abortions right behind New York and Illinois, DESPITE the Republican-dominated government. The reason this is is because many people seeking abortions, who reside in other, more strict states in the American South, travel to Florida to undergo the procedure. Florida was a haven for Southern people who needed abortions.

With Roe v. Wade overturned, that can change. Most of the Southern states are likely to fully ban abortions, without exemption for cases of rape, incest, or human trafficking. Florida legislators are considering this ban as well. I say legislators. The government. The people are different. They are ALWAYS different.

More than half of Americans, across the board, said that they do not want Roe v. Wade revisited. More than half also said they wanted abortion to remain legal. What is wrong with the US, especially the American South, is not its people, but the very structure of its government.

The US government have never truly represented their people. This is a country that favors capitalism and has a horrid history with racism/sexism. The rich, white men will always rise above the poor, the people of color, and the women, and the rich will typically be conservative.

But gold standard, non-partisan surveys have determined a majority of Americans are liberal in ideology. Despite a majorly white Republican government, especially in the Southern states, most of its population is Black. It is no wonder Southern states are poorest states in the US. The government sees their people as subhuman cash cows they can exploit for their own gain.

It is not an issue of poor education, and even if it is on an official level we are not cut off from the rest of the world. We are well aware of what we’re going through. We see how voting systems favor the rich, straight, white male voice. And many people, especially those in poverty, see the jagged lines of our districts. We are not stupid hicks who brought this upon ourselves. We are fighting an uphill battle. We are drowning. Something that is socially commonplace to a Northern city or state, such as a pride flag, an interracial marriage, or an abortion procedure, is just as common in the South, but their very existence is more dangerous.

What we need is the help of the rest of the US. What we need is for people to see us, to see our struggle, the risks we take, and fight alongside us. We need to protect abortion rights in Florida, a state that could swing right or left politically. We need to keep being a haven for abortion. We need the government to fear our repercussion, not the other way around.

When you think of the folks down South, do not think only of your racist uncle, your homophobic cousins, and stop there. Think of the trans teenager who runs their small town high school GSA. Think of the single Black mother who still finds time to volunteer at her church’s food pantry and belt with her gospel choir. The homeless man who feeds his dog before he feeds himself and plays the grooviest jazz you’ve ever heard. The punk rock chick who runs the sex stores you’ve seen advertised on the billboards during your road trips. They know what is going on all around them, they see the pain the government turns a blind eye on.

We are just like you. But we say “y’all”. We call every soda “coke”. Every house has an AC. And we are hidden behind a wall of suppression.

#i know a lot of shit is nuanced of course #i hope I got my point across well I have ADHD #reproductive rights #pro choice #the south is not a monolith #the south is not a lost cause #roe versus wade #the south #American south #Deep South #Florida #southern states

[hopeamarsu]

Whumptober Day 23: At The End of Their Rope

Whumptober masterlist

Will Miller x gn!reader

Rating: Mature

Word count: 1,3k

Warnings: Kidnapping, fights, blood, bruises, surveillance photos, blackmail, choking, forced to kneel, organized crime, mafia

Summary: Will finds himself in the clutches of a shadowed man and he has a request one cannot say no to.

Forced to Kneel | Tied to a table | “Hold them down.”Hall

Despite his split lip, Will grins viciously when they finally drag him to the abandoned cathedral. At least one of the men who jumped him is incapacitated, and the bruises spreading on the skin of one of the men who held him down confirm that Will went down fighting. 

“Tsk, tsk, Captain Miller. I don’t appreciate my men looking this black and blue.” 

The words come from the shadows, the backlight from the moon illuminating the shape of the person speaking but not their features. Will spits to the ground, the blood and saliva mixing into something disgusting, before he raises his chin. “I don’t appreciate getting kidnapped so I guess we’re even.” 

The voice laughs, the sound hoarse and smoky. Like it belongs to someone who smokes a carton a day and drinks whiskey on a regular basis. Will strains his ears, trying to figure out just who the person is, but the lack of details besides the general shape of them didn’t give him much to work on. 

“Why am I here?” There’s no need to beat around the bush, he wants answers. He’s aching, his muscles protesting and he’s pissed off. Will growls, trying to yank free one of his arms but the gorilla’s latched on only yank back, his shoulders protesting at the action. 

The voice in the dark laughs again, before their hands move and a flash of fire lights the end of a cigarette. The small orange embers shine shadow and light into the man’s crooked nose and sunken eyes. There is a scar running across his cheek from what Will can see, but still no bells ring in his mind. He has no idea who has him and that makes him both curious and a little worried. 

“I need to hire you for a job, Captain. I will admit,” The man moves a little closer, though he's still shrouded in shadows. “My means might be unconventional. But I needed you to be in the right place so we could talk in private.”

“I’m not up for hire,” Will states quickly, remembering the promise he gave both himself and you once he returned from Colombia. No more shady business, no more killing. And he plans to honor that promise until the end of his days. Besides, the man spells trouble with a capital T and Will has no interest in getting mixed up in anything bloody. 

The man chuckles, the tone condescending. “I thought you might say that. So I brought some incentive.” He flicks his wrist again and a large TV sprang to life on his side. If Will hadn’t been shocked by what he saw, the theatrics of this all might’ve made him laugh. 

There are photos running on the screen, showing Benny, Frankie and Santiago individually and together in various places. It’s clear that these photos were taken over a period of time and each man had someone who followed them around, stalked them to learn their habits. A few of the shots looked like they’d been taken with a tele-lense, suggesting something ominous. A sniper? Will shakes the thought away quickly, his jaw tightening. He can’t afford to go there. 

He rips his head away from the TV screen and glares at the man still cradled by the shadows. “What do you want?” He growles, yanking both his hands but to no avail. Each man holding to one of his arms holds on tight and fingers press painfully into his flesh. 

“I want to hire you.”

“For what?!”

“A job. I need the legendary Ironhead Miller to make one final comeback.” A tsunami of emotions washes over Will. 

He knows his reputation precedes him and make people fear him. That fear is warranted, he’s done horrible things and he’s earned that reputation, but Will has put that behind him. His gruesome past is just that. The past. He has no intention of bringing back the man that was more a killing machine than a living and breathing individual with his own mind and morals. 

His mind flashes to dark halls and high altitudes, the cock of a sniper rifle and the smoke that lingeres in the air once he takes a life. He shudderes inside, though his exterior remaines cool and cold towards the man. His lips are pressed into a tight line and his eyes blaze cold fury at the man.  

The shadow man takes his silence like it was meant to, a refusal and nods to someone deeper within the cathedral pews. 

“That’s unfortunate. But. I would be a sloppy planner if I hadn’t taken this into consideration. Let’s hope my final incentive will make you kneel and swear your loyalty to me.” 

Will draws a sharp breath when yet another bad guy comes into the light. The thug holds you in his clutches, one massive hand wrapped around your throat and holding you up so that your toes barely touch the granite floor. Your eyes are wild and furious and your fingers claw at the big forearms wrapped around your body. Unadulterated fear pours off you in waves and each one that hits Will is like a tsunami. He recoils under the relentless attack, swaying with the power of your terror that shines brighter than the moon outside the cathedral. 

Your eyes finally lock into Will’s and something fearful, something devastating flashes in your orbs. Your mouth moves, but the hand pressing down your windpipe cuts out all the sound trying to escape. Seeing your distress make Will struggle harder against his own captors but to no avail. He isn’t getting any closer to you.

“Let go!“ He yells but the man who has the bruised eyes just spats in his direction. The shadowed man shakes his head in mock disappointment. “It’s no use, Captain. Until you agree to my terms, neither of you will be let go.” 

“The terms?” Will barks, his blazing blue eyes glued to yours. The way they seemed to dim a little more with the prolonged lack of air in your lungs make him see red. He can feel his own lungs tighten at the image and Will swears to himself the man holding your life in his hands will be the first to go once he is free of his captors. He struggles again, the desperate need to save you coursing in his veins.  

“Kneel, Ironhead. Kneel in front of me and vow your loyalty to the Solntsevskaya Bratva and I will let your lover go.” The shadowed man tells him coldly.

“Wi…” You whisper, your fingers, no longer clawing at the hand gripping your throat, are slack, limp as you try to keep yourself conscious. Will feels his heart lurch at the vision of your eyelids drooping dangerously. 

“Fine! Fine. Get your paws off and I’ll do it.” He speaks quickly through clenched teeth and can feel more than see the shadowed man smile wide in victory. The man holding them all by the end of their ropes nods to the thug and he complies, letting go suddenly. 

You drop to the ground like a ragdoll, a heap of limbs and clothes. But the coughing that follows the dramatic drop comforts Will that you are still breathing. 

I’m sorry.

I love you.

Please forgive me, Will begs in his mind, all cells in his body screaming at him to go to you but he can’t. He tugs on his hands weakly, all fight gone from his body. 

He feels the men beside him relinquish their hold on him and gingerly Will drops to a kneeling position. The granite feels unforgiving and cold against his knees, but he will gladly take that and whatever the Bratva wants to throw at him if it means you are safe. His blonde head drops to a submissive nod as all the men around the cathedral laugh loudly, mocking him. 

#Mwhumptober #whumptober 2022 #whumptober2022 #will miller #will miller x reader #will ironhead miller #triple frontier fanfiction #nro.23 #forced to kneel #blackmail #stalking #surveillance photos #forced to comply #whump #fic #hopeamarsu

[the-baddest-of-batches]

Dar'Aliit: Chapter Eight - Aftermath (Sneak Peek)

20 BBY Capital City Manuk

“Kian, get over here!” Shave drags Mer’en’s limp body from the flames. I don’t remember if I blacked out or when I came to, but I’m up now, clutching the side of my helmet and looking up to where Shave appears like a ghost from mist.

I stumble forward and grab Mer’ens other arm. Turning, I can see the whole city. Shave was right.

It’s gone. Flames and smoke. It looks like parts of the walls were affected. Where we are, close to the back gate, we’ve been entirely cut off. It looks like one of the towers collapsed and formed a barrier across the city center. We could route it, but there’s destruction everywhere. I grip Mer’en’s arm. The sergeant groans.

“Aftermath? Bevik?” I pant.

“Here,” Aftermath’s voice comes weakly over the comms before they return to static. “My head hurts, though.”

“Get up, and get over here,” Shave demands.

Aftermath appears, limping. He looks around. “We’re cut off.”

“We have to get out of the city. This whole thing was rigged,” Shave says, his voice edging on snapping. “And we have to get the sergeant to safety.”

“Bevik?” I ask, a broken record at this point.

Aftermath looks around. Then he bursts forward and races toward the epicenter of the impact. Shave turns his head. “Aftermath, get back here!”

Aftermath charges without answering. I cling to Mer’en and try not to let my body collapse as badly as it wants to. My ribs are sore and my throat stings.

Moments later, Aftermath returns. All he carries is a helmet. He says nothing, but the helmet is clearly Bevik’s.

Was Bevik’s.

“Let’s go,” Shave says. “We need to make for the gate.”

“We have no cover there,” Aftermath says.

“The droids are gone.”

“Then who did this!”

Shave hefts Mer’en higher on his shoulder. “I told you, this was a trap. We need to move before it becomes our grave. Now head for the breach in the wall and follow me!”

I don’t dare argue. I agree with Aftermath, but also with Shave. There are no good options. So I limp along and help carry the sergeant to the breach in the wall where we carefully pull him over the debris and out into the open. Aftermath leaps over. He picks up a blaster along the way and keeps it trained on our surroundings as Shave settles Mer’en against the wall. He works the sergeant’s helmet off.

“You with me, sir?”

Mer’en’s eyes flicker. I crouch close and keep half an eye out as well. We can’t afford to become sitting targets.

“Right, well, halfway,” Shave mutters. He reaches back and hisses a curse. His medical pack is shattered. Shave stands up. “You two, stay right here. Protect him.”

I nod. Standing, I move beside Aftermath. I don’t have my gun anymore. Kriff it all. Aftermath glances back at me and my empty hands.

“Go grab one off the droids,” he says.

“There’s plenty around here.” He gestures to the graveyard from only a few hours earlier.

He’s right.

I jog out and pick up one of the better looking blasters. It’s still got a few rounds left. I sling it across my back and pick up a second before retreating. I can’t help from checking on the sergeant as I return. Mer’en has his eyes open but I’ve seen rookies who took a hit get the same dazed look as they fight off unconsciousness.

“Sir?” I take up position on the other side with my back to Mer’en. “You staying with us?”

Mer’en coughs. “I’m fine. Just keep a close eye out, we,” he breaks off, gasping. “Might. Not be alone.”

“Rest, sir,” Aftermath snaps. “Shave will be back.”

I scan the perimeter. The forest has about a one klick radius around the city, giving space for the road. I can’t see into the foliage, though. The purple and blue underbrush as well as the thick trunked trees obscure everything. So I listen to the chattering of alien birds and the rush of wind in branches.

I feel like I’ve been holding my breath ever since we landed. Something is waiting for us but I can’t see it, I can’t hear it, I don’t even know if it’s real.

Mer’en coughs loud. Aftermath retreats a step and is out of my peripheral. I see an incoming message. Private line. I accept the message on my HUD with a tap on my commlink and Aftermath’s voice comes through loud and clear.

“Shave might not get back in time.”

I won’t ask what he means because it’s blatantly and painfully obvious. “Do you have your medkit?”

“No, you?”

I check. Shave didn’t ask for either of ours and now I see why. It’s gone. There’s a scorch mark across my armor and I do feel bruised, but half my gear is missing. I put my hand back to my blaster and stiffen. “We’ll have to wait for him. I don’t think there’s much out here that’s bigger than us.”

“You sure about that?” Aftermath’s boots crunch back another step.

A screech echoes overhead and I look up. We didn’t get time to read up on this planet. There was barely enough time for Shave to pull me aside in the interim in order to get bacta on my face and remove some of my bandages.

But I don’t need a debriefing to know this creature looks and sounds mad. Wide see through wings spread overhead, a purple domed head with horns sticking up where ears should’ve been. It screams.

Mer’en gasps and I whirl around. He’s trying to get up. “Stay down, sir!” I hiss.

Mer’en grabs the rubble anyway. He sticks out his hand. “Give me the second blaster, Kian.”

“No, you’re injured!”

“Give it.” He insists with a simple outstretching of his hand.

Aftermath trains his blaster on the creature. “Kian we need to move out of here!”

“I know!” I look at Mer’en and then at the circling creature. Reminds me of a carrion bird circling the dead, except we aren’t dead. I look at the city, though. There’s more of them. I turn quickly and ignore Mer’en’s weak protest.

“Should be weak somewhere, right?” I ask Aftermath.

“We can’t waste shots.”

“Eyes then.”

He glances at me and then nods firmly. “Eyes.”

The creature has bulging white eyes. It moves erratically, darting in and out of my range. I track it as it circles, closer, closer, almost there, just a little closer.

“Shoot it!” Mer’en orders from behind me. I squeeze off the shot. Aftermath fires at the same time.

In a tangle of wings, smoke, and screaming, the beast recoils and falls. It crashes to the ground, still twitching.

“Take that!” Aftermath sinks several more bullets into its fleshy hide. It lays still.

“There will be more,” Mer’en breathes.

He’s on his feet, somehow, and gripping the rubble. “We need. Need to go.”

“Where?” Aftermath asks. “We don’t know where Shave is and we have no medical supplies.”

Mer’en staggers. He grabs Aftermath’s shoulder. “We have to regroup. Shave is. He’s smart. He’ll. Find us.”

Aftermath looks at me. I nod. The sergeant has a point and if we don’t move Shave might not find anything here but bones. The alien vultures have begun to circle the smoking city.

“Alright,” Aftermath sighs. He grabs Mer’en and drags the sergeant’s arm over his shoulder. “Kian, keep a look out for more of those nasty birds.”

“Got it.” I train my blaster skyward.

Aftermath taps his comm. “Shave if you can hear me, or if you can’t, we’re going to try and find somewhere to regroup. Meet us when you can.”

He cuts the comms and we limp off in the direction of the wall. Mer’en keeps up, somehow, though he’s panting. I keep my blaster trained, eyeing every vulture that takes too wide of a swing.

We aren’t dead yet, kriffing vermin.

We reach the corner and Mer’en is struggling. Aftermath slows and pokes his head around the corner. “I don’t see anyone,” he says. “I think–”

Mer’en coughs worse than before. I drop my blaster. “Sir–”

“You gotta sit,” Aftermath practically shoves Mer’en down. He kneels beside him and I assume we both try to ignore the blood running down the sergeant’s chin. I know I do. I don’t want to admit the truth as many times as I might be forced to.

Mer’en leans his head back. The exhaustion is clear on his wearied and worried brow. Aftermath kneels beside him.

“Can you make it, sir?”

“I just gotta,” Mer’en struggles, “rest.”

Aftermath looks at me. He shakes his head. I clutch the droid blaster to my chest and kneel beside him.

Mer’en’s eyelids droop as he coughs.

“So, what farm are you gonna buy me?” Aftermath asks, but his voice is quiet.

Mer’en just stares up at the sky.

I tap my fingers against the blaster and look around. Surely Shave should be back by now and looking for us. If he can just get here in time. I’m shaking my own head at myself and I hate myself for it.

But this is the truth I keep denying. We’re canon fodder. Expendable. We’re clones.

Every mission survived is one step closer to the grave. We’re all marching to our deaths.

Glancing back, I see that Aftermath has taken to staring at his boots. He’s never been quiet this long but I don’t feel like speaking either. There’s nothing to say.

Aftermath peeks up at me. I look back.

Mer’en’s eyes are unfocused but directed at the sky. The color has all left his face. I can see the red blip on my HUD telling me there’s not a vital sign left in him.

I’ve seen so many mangled and broken bodies of people I knew, with faces that looked identical to mine. So many that the peaceful look on Mer’en’s face leaves me cold.

Aftermath gets up. He takes Mer’en’s helmet and sets it beside the sergeant. Aftermath salutes. “So long, sir.”

I struggle up and stiffly salute. “See you on the other side.”

“Let's go,” Aftermath mutters. He pokes his head back around the corner and then looks up as a faint screech echoes closer. “We can’t stay here.”

#

Voices. I can hear voices. Aftermath and I are met with a wall of rubble, though. One of the walls collapsed outward after the explosion. The tower is behind us, though, and I can see a bit of a path through the city that routes inward around the rubble.

Aftermath looks back at me, and the gaping hole in the wall. “I think we ought to go through the city now.”

I look back. Still no sign of Shave.

“We need to be careful.”

The vultures overhead have so far left us alone, but I’ve heard blaster fire and seen a few more fall. I’ve already shot down two myself. I lift my blaster as Aftermath retreats beside me.

“We stick together,” he warns. I nod and we veer toward the rubble. It’s easy to climb inside. It’s still carnage. The smoke has been billowing overhead and grown darker, but the fires appear to be burning lower than they were earlier.

There’s bodies scattered as we pick along the edge of the town staying away from the worst of it.

A vulture sails past us, claws extended for the white armored body mangled on the ground.

“Get away!” I yell and jerk around, firing several successive shots. The vulture screams and spreads its flimsy wings. I sink two bolts through them. It sails off wounded.

I lower my blaster and jog toward the body just to see who it is.

“Kian!” Aftermath calls out, but he says nothing more after that. I ignore him and kneel. It’s horrifying. I roll the man onto his back, hopeful maybe to find a life sign, but my HUD is already telling me this guy is long gone. My eyes confirm the fact. His face is nothing but melted skin. The plastoid armor he wears is practically fused to the bodysuit. I can’t even recognize shared features with the amount of damage.

Aftermath walks up behind me. “C’mon,” he says.

I stand up and grip the borrowed blaster tight in my hands. I nod.

Aftermath shades his helmet visor. This time he pulls away from me and heads deeper into the city. I jerk to my senses and follow him.

Fire smolders on purple wood. I look around but I don’t see anything until Aftermath comes to a stop in the middle of a damaged roadway. It’s two bodies this time, but one of them is familiar.

Aftermath drops to one knee. “Shave,” he jerks the man onto his back.

His hissed curses are audible over the comm line. I creep up behind, glancing at the smoky sky before looking down.

“He’s gone,” Aftermath sighs. He slams his fist on the ground. “Kriff it all!”

Shave’s body is mangled worse than the last. I recognize the paint on his armor but beyond that it almost looks like something…ate the skin off, leaving muscle, sinew, and bone clinging to armor. The bodysuit is shredded. I’m not even sure I’d call his corpse human anymore. The body beside him is no better, missing whole limbs.

It’s clear Shave stopped to help and likely fell prey to the vultures. I swallow hard.

Aftermath curses a few more times and finally, stands up. I can’t keep looking so I train my eyes on the sky until I know he’s ready to leave.

“Can we at least bury the body?” I ask.

“No time,” Aftermath sighs. “I’m gonna shoot the next vulture I see right through the face.”

I nod. I don’t know if I’m finally numb to it by now, or if the helplessness has just set in, but I’m too disturbed to mourn.

We leave. Picking through rubble and bodies and shooting down the occasional vulture, we make our way toward another broken wall. I hear the voices again. Aftermath breaks into a run, and I follow him as he vaults over broken stone. Through it, through the smoke, I see the first good news of all afternoon: Living breathing clones.

“Sir!” Someone points us out. “More survivors.”

I land on the other side of the rubble and am almost overwhelmed by the others crowding in and grasping our shoulders, clapping our backs. We made it. I pant and finally loosen my grip on the blaster.

“Thank goodness,” I hear someone breathe. It sounds like General Kenobi. He stands off to the side near General Nidor, both of them dusted in smoke with scorched robes. It looks like the survivors have collected behind the bones of downed tanks now forming a barricade near the wall of the city. There aren’t many of us, but we’re alive.

“Listen up!” General Nidor’s voice booms across the yard. I turn. General Nidor stalks forward with his hands clasped behind his back.

“Our numbers may be thin, but I know of a small farming settlement forty clicks east. They were not evacuated because there was no time. If we can make it to the settlement we will restore communications with the Harbinger and send for aid.”

“The droids appear to have left,” Kenobi cuts in and bows his head to General Nidor. “If we can confirm this fact, I believe we can consider this a victory despite,” his brow furrows and his eyes are dark with sympathy, “our losses.”

“Let's go home,” calls out the Captain, who by some miracle appears to have survived.

Home. I look at Aftermath and he grabs my shoulder. I’m with him, we’re both ready to get off this forsaken rock.

part 2 coming tomorrow 4/28!

#part one #star wars #clone wars #clone trooper oc #tw war #dar'aliit fanfic #ao3 fanfic #fanfic #star wars fanfiction #cw death #general kenobi #commander cody #tragedy #injuries #chapter 8 #fight scene #reblog is appreciated #sneak preview

[breathjcink]

hello, everyone! ✨ today we’re back with another preview and this time you’re getting a peek at our member groups! in your intros, we asked what your favorite film genre was to hint at the fact that our member groups are based off of films! it’s a no-brainer that los angeles is the film capital of the world and we thought using films would be fun and also give us the flexibility to evolve and inherit new groups as we progress together on the site. our goal in the future is to have input from our members on which new groups they’d like to see! 

below the cut, you’ll find descriptions of our 7 standard groups that are free. the groups you choose for your characters are completely up to you. if the aesthetics we have listed don’t match your character’s persona, you can still choose a group based on the colors or even just because it’s a film you prefer. it really doesn’t matter so we don’t want anyone to feel limited in how they play their character because of the way a group is described. stay tuned because we’ll also be posting a preview tomorrow of some of our premium and exclusive groups that are more limited and must be purchased with tickets (points) or earned as incentives through challenges and events. 💗

CLUELESS — “UGH, YOU ARE A SNOB AND A HALF.”

sassy and classy. plaid patterns. easily influenced. reality tv contestant energy. always meeting new people. ditzy but has their wits about them. leaving red kisses and confusion everywhere you go. the clinking of champagne flutes. perfume clinging to silk sheets. never staying in one place for too long. looking within the mirror to find who you see.

FIGHT CLUB — “HOW MUCH CAN YOU KNOW ABOUT YOURSELF IF YOU'VE NEVER BEEN IN A FIGHT?”

never start what you can't finish with them. rings on every finger. up all night long. the fall from grace. energy drinks. if looks could kill. dark under eye circles. fanning the flames of violence. lurking patiently and jumping in for the kill. the jagged side of the cliff’s edge. disarming and alarming. sunglasses hiding that cunning glint in your eyes.

MOONLIGHT — “AT SOME POINT, YOU GOTTA DECIDE FOR YOURSELF WHO YOU GONNA BE.”

questioning things all the time. the sound of ocean waves. calm. the quiet introvert. lo-fi playlists. the gentle hum of a fan. rainy days. learning to forget. a pile of books with the edges folded over. swallowing down your stubborn pride. arms too small to hold all those you love close. all those who wander can never be lost.

SCREAM —“WHAT'S YOUR FAVORITE SCARY MOVIE?”

black coffee. always keeps a secret. true crime docs. the color black goes with everything. midnight strolls. knows how badly something will go, does it anyways. hands stained with blood and heart with tears. a lonely mansion on top of a hill. all you have is lies. falling just before the finish line.

SPIRITED AWAY — “ONCE YOU DO SOMETHING, YOU NEVER FORGET. EVEN IF YOU CAN'T REMEMBER.”

a cottage garden in full bloom. big doe eyes. faded floral sundresses. daydreaming. sunlight sneaking through the blinds. long lashes. finding constellations in the night sky. pinkie promises. tea and honey. striped t-shirts. curious yet cautious.

TWILIGHT — “DYING IN THE PLACE OF SOMEONE I LOVE SEEMS LIKE A GOOD WAY TO GO.”

unconditional love. raindrops pattering against a window. smudged eyeliner. finishing a book in a day. glowing skin. people watching. indecisive moments. melancholy thoughts. hates being the center of attention. thunderstorms. black doc martens. knows the answers to things without having to ask.

TURNING RED — “PEOPLE HAVE ALL KINDS OF SIDES TO THEM. AND SOME SIDES ARE MESSY.”

warm as the sun and burning bright as one. long eye rolls and raised middle fingers. the chaos of a lively city. saying "it's ok" when it really isn't ok. sunlight bursting from beneath your skin. laughter like soda pop. sharing an affection amongst friends. intense drumming beneath your skin. winning the battle before stepping into the fight. standing up for what they believe in. 

#tmbrp #member groups

[monstersummongenre]

I’ve seen that, at least in the past, some people have been a bit confused by Goh's hair so I thought I'd put what I remember learning about codominance in my 6th grade science class to use! (Even if no one is confused or really cares anymore lol)

Typically, when we discuss genes we go "they got that trait from parent a and this trait from parent b" because typically we mainly discuss dominant traits often shown through the use of Punnett squares or in case you don’t know or remember that term(I didn’t remember it) the capital letter, lowercase letter charts [TT Tt tt] that takes two sets of two letters, each representing a parent’s(or whatever is passing down genes)’s genes, and Punnett Squares find the different combinations of the letters to find how the traits might combine in the offspring. The dominant trait is treated as a capital letter, and the recessive trait as a lowercase letter. So someone with brown hair but with one of their parents having brown hair and the other having blonde, it means brown was the dominant trait. The brown hair gene on a Punnett Square would be represented with a capital B--most likely two capital Bs for the brunette parent---and the blond gene with a lowercase b---two lowercase bs for the blond parent. The offspring, being a brunette but with both parents’ genes, on a Punnett Square would represented but a set that has one capital B and one lowercase b. That’s the base understanding of genetics, when genes combine there’s a dominant trait and a recessive trait, and the dominant trait is the one that shows up in appearance.

Well there's also codominant traits which means that both traits want to come out on top so when the genes combine both are shown. In terms of Punnett Squares, they're two different capital letters. It happens frequently enough in nature. Like when certain white flowers and certain red flower cross pollinate and the flowers that bloom from that are white and red. In a Punnett Square the white flower would be represented by two capital W’s and the red would be two capital Rs. The flowers that are red and white would have a one of each (WR). And like I said, it happens frequently enough in nature.

Now if you look at Goh and his family, 

his dad has black hair, 

his mom has red hair, 

and he has both.

Meaning that his parents' hair colors are both the dominant trait. Though I do gotta say it’s a bit interesting that his black is darker that his dad’s and his red is lighter than his mom’s, it’s almost as if the values got a bit confused in the fight.  Still, they are codominant. 

I know that that red color is fighting for its life but it's still dominant enough that we can see it regularly and that Goh didn't just have a really, really dark red hair color(incomplete dominance). Besides sometimes it's just like that, take these speckled chicken for example:

From further away it’s harder to see that third(fourth if you count the red on it’s head) color, but it’s still there. The traits are still codominant.

And while we’re on the subject, the shape of Goh’ s hair is pretty codominant too.

His bangs swoop to the right, or I guess, his left, like his mom’s, plus they exist enough to do the little hair tuffs by his ears even if it’s a baby version of his mom’s bangs it’s still clearly influenced by it. Then, like his dad, his hair has a part that stands up in the front, and some that curves upwards in the back. I don’t know if that’s a styling choice on Goh’s part or if it just grow’s like that but I thought it was worth mentioning because he genuinely looks like his both his parents.

Anyway, in conclusion, Goh’s hair is both red and black because the color of his parents’ hair are both dominant making them appear as a codominance in Goh’s hair. 

Though, food for thought, how much red hair do you think is under the black layer? Just the few strands we saw in the bedhead shots or per chance more?

#pokemon #pokeani #pokemon journeys #pokemon Goh #Spark Speaks #pokemon analysis #analysis #is this analysis? idk it's a science lesson tho #should I have put a picture of a punnet square? Huh...

[americascomic]

The Boys and Neoliberalism.

This is wonky shit to say, but I think the big shift of neoliberal aesthetics from Obama to Trump is from this thing that hid in the background and as the "default" of culture to one that's in the foreground with the message "this is oppressive but you can't do anything about it" 

So, like in the Obama era you’d have pop culture stuff like Freakanomics and other pop economic stuff that worked off the assumption that neoliberalism isn’t a social construction, but this thing of “human nature” that we keep going back to.

In the Obama era, Recessions or gentrification are treated as this natural occurring event, like the tides of the ocean, and not the work of a handful of bad-faith actors and the systems of oppression they represent. And pop culture reinforced that idea.

I think that illusion of “naturalness” has been broken with Trump. Watching him ascend and the comet’s trail of hucksters after him demonstrates that what we’re looking at is a constructed system.

And how the cultural side of neoliberalism has reacted in these past couple of years is what feels like to say “well, this is wrong, we know it’s wrong, but you are incapable of changing this structure.”

So many tv shows, movies, commentators these days fully outloud say the problems of capitalism. But, especially, how things are presented on tv, they’re usually domination narratives; a character is alienated by capitalism or some allegory of capitalism, they attempt to fight it and are overwhelmed. I always think The Boys is a good example of this; the systemic powers are represented as Ubermenches and The People are incapable of standing up to these God-like figures. The “resistance” is a small group of weirdos who are an upside-down version of the Ubermenches, fronted by a CIA officer and in their ranks is one of the superheroes. There’s no Black Lives Matter movement, there’s no civil resistance or popular push-back, the only system that can save us is another group of Ubermenches.

The shift in particular is that neoliberalism can’t hide in the background anymore, so how it neoliberalism communicates itself is by saying “yes, things are bad, yes these systems of oppression DO exist, I finally admit it. But, unfortunately, you, the people, are incapable of doing anything about it and your only chance of survival is to hope for this natural shift to happen in politics to happen.”

And I think this has an opiate effect on the masses. It makes people hesitant of growing power, it makes people less inclined to build community (why would you?), and it inspires apathy and leftist infighting.

Neoliberalism, on a cultural scale has “listened” in the way that corporations have said they were “listening” after George Floyd. Which is to say they easily co-opted the language while not addressing the swaths of harm they have.

I think something I’m interested in doing is scratching to figure out how we got here, and how to circumnavigate these messages.

#neoliberalism #organizing #the boys