#atlanta writes

[atlantablack]

your smile, my ghost

Eddie hates Tuesdays. Nothing good has ever happened on a Tuesday.

It’d been a Tuesday when he’d ran away from home the first time, a Tuesday when he’d run away from home the third time (and the fourth and finally, the last time, the fifth). It’d been a Tuesday the first time he’d gotten shoved into a locker, the first time someone had loudly and publicly pointed out the worn state of his clothes. And, case in point, just last Tuesday he’d found out he’s currently failing English. No surprise there really, but it still proves his point. 

Tuesday’s unequivocally suck. 

But it’s a Tuesday when Harrington, Wheeler, and Byers walk through the school doors together, heads bent close as if the entire school body hasn’t just frozen in place to watch this fever dream of a trio walk through the doors. 

Eddie’s guilty of freezing as well, despite how hard he tries to not care about any of the stupid school politics. His hand’s suspended in mid-air where he was reaching for….reaching for something. He doesn’t fucking know. 

The fever dream trio are still walking up the hall, whispering to each other so low Eddie can’t hear them despite how quiet it’s gotten. In fact, they’re doing such a good job of pretending to not notice the stares that they almost convince him they haven’t noticed at all. Such a fantastic fucking job that he almost misses the tension sitting tight in Harrington’s shoulders, the white knuckled grip Wheeler has on the strap of her bag, the anxious creases around Byers eyes as he presses against Wheeler’s side. They’re all painfully aware of the staring, they’re just doing a remarkably good job of ignoring it. 

Or at least they are, until Harrington glances around, real casual like, and ends up making direct eye contact with Eddie.

If you asked him later what he’d thought was going to happen, he’d have told you nothing, nothing at fucking all. Because Steve Harrington was a bully but he didn’t bother singling people out, that was a job delegated to good ‘ole Tommy & Carol. But this version of King fucking Steve, a boy who’s never paid a lick of fucking attention to Eddie past the dismissive glances he’s swept across everyone who was beneath him, this fucking version of Harrington goes bone white, flinching sideways into Wheeler, eyes wide with something Eddie doesn’t have the brain capacity to decipher at the moment. 

Eddie, Harrington mouths, silent and yet somehow louder than any shout. Eddie stares back, blank and uncomprehending (and something, he doesn’t know what, but something in Harrington’s eyes shatters). Wheeler grabs his arm, trying to pull him along, eyes darting to Eddie and away like she’s scared to let her eyes linger for too long. 

“You know we can’t, Steve,” she hisses, they’re close enough for him to hear this time. “Let’s go.”

Byers moves to Harrington’s other side and gently ushers him along, his gaze sweeping the length of Eddie —his falling apart shoes, the frayed ends of his jeans, the pins on his vests, his frizzy curls — eyes curious as he takes him in. He doesn’t know what Byers sees but his eyes go a little sad right before he turns away. 

He wants to call it pity but he knows the Byers are nearly as hard off as he and Wayne. So really, he’s still just as lost as he was five minutes ago. He’s just lost. He fucking hates feeling lost.

Eddie stays standing in front of his locker until the first bell rings, blankly staring at the spot where Harrington’s mouth had shaped his name like a prayer he’d forgotten the words to. It’s a Tuesday and that means math and English questions he doesn’t understand and history quizzes and PE and running which he hates. 

It’s a fucking Tuesday and the most interesting thing to happen in Hawkins in years somehow involves him and it doesn’t make any fucking sense.

Wheeler is a priss. She’s a straight-A student, on track to be valedictorian. A straight-laced girl who should fit into all the neatly labeled boxes Eddie had mentally placed her in years ago. But her voice as she’d hissed at Harrington had been tired and full of iron. 

Byers is a loner, an outcast just like Eddie. He’s always been alone though. No hellfire, no makeshift friend group that could fall apart at a moment's notice. But he’d been leaning into Wheeler like she was his last stand, the hill he would die on given half a chance and a sword sharp enough. 

And Harrington. Steve fucking Harrington. Well, he makes the least sense of all. If you’d asked Eddie yesterday if Harrington would be caught dead hanging out with Byers he’d have said not a chance in hell. 

But clearly, hell is high school and Steve Harrington is alive just to piss Eddie off. Because Harrington’s arm had been flung around Wheeler’s shoulder, loose and unassuming, his body language open and inviting except for the tension hiding in his shoulders. He’d smiled at Byers with teeth, bright and happy, right before he’d turned and seen—

Before he’d turned and looked at Eddie like he was seeing a ghost or an angel like the ones the preachers forgot Revelations described. He’d mouthed Eddie’s name like it was something that belonged in his mouth. Like he had some divine right to it when Eddie had never made him a prophet, had never made him anything at all.

Eddie doesn’t understand what’s going on but he’s never been one to let sleeping dogs lie. Far be it for him to start now. 

I've no idea if I'll ever finish tbh but I'm so in love with this first part and I just feel like it's a crime that I haven't shared it and maybe sharing this part will give me some kind of motivation to freaking finish it

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #time travel #pre-season one #atlanta writes #atlantablack #fic: time #fic: your smile my ghost

[thoughtportal]

Stop Cop City

https://stopcopcity.net/

#tiktok #stop cop city #cop city atlanta #cop city #collective action #letter writing campaign

[writergeekrhw]

Hi! Thanks for asking my questions a while back, but I was rewatching and had another one. I think you said some specific writer who wasn’t you mostly wrote the Sisko baseball stuff, so I was curious: what were the team loyalties for people writing that, if you remember? My mom thought it must be a National League team because in the scene where they’re on their first date, Sisko seems to approve of Kasidy’s brother’s league not having a designated hitter. (We’re an AL family — Tigers and Orioles — so she was pretty salty about that, haha.)

Team loyalties of DS9 writers (the ones I remember):

Michael Piller - Creator, main baseball guy - Dodgers - BOOOO!

Ira Behr - Showrunner S3-7 - Yankees - BOOOO!

Ron Moore - Giants - YAY!

Rene Echavarria - Braves I think? He didn't grow up with the Marlins - Shrug

Me - Giants - YAY!

Hans Beimler - Pumas UNAM (Didn't care about baseball, I decided to root for Club América just to be contrary)

Draw your own conclusions!

#ask me anything #tv writing #ds9 #ask me stuff #star trek #star trek ds9 #deep space nine #star trek deep space nine #deep space 9 #star trek deep space 9 #Go Giants! #SFGiants #sf giants #los angeles dodgers #brooklyn dodgers #new york yankees #atlanta braves #pumas unam

[strangefable]

thank you for the many, many tags over the past... let's not count the time. but thank you to everyone who's continued to tag me for wips <3 most recently @inafieldofdaisies, @direwombat, @adelaidedrubman, @cassietrn, @socially-awkward-skeleton, @trench-rot, and many many more, thanks so much to everyone who thinks of me <3

today, i have a little bit of the opening chapter of the atlanta prequel to share:

Micah slowed her bike. Wouldn't do to get pulled over for speeding. Not with what sat strapped to the bike behind her. She felt the hard, sharp edges even through the leather of her jacket. She could almost hear ticking in the back of her mind; that thing may as well have been a bomb.

Hell, a bomb would’ve been less unnerving.

She followed the monotone, mechanical voice in her ear as it directed her to the appointed address. She felt a twinge in her neck as she tried to look up to the top of the building. Dark, ominous, sharp. It was a vague shape in the dark night sky, but it still felt foreboding as she gazed upward.

She pulled her helmet off and shook her head, releasing her hair as well as the chill along her spine. She was just a mechanic, but she was not going to get intimidated by some slick, rich asshole too impatient for his coke to wait for a regular mule.

As she entered the lobby, she saw the sleek marble floors, the stark modern architecture. There were heavy plaques on the wall with mysterious names. An office. A swanky, high tower one. Ballsy place to take in a delivery like the one she carried.

A man behind the security desk eyed her suspiciously. She offered him her sweetest, doe-eyed smile. “Hi, I have a delivery for…” she glanced down at her phone, “Mr. Duncan.” She looked back up at the security guard, still smiling warmly.

He grunted, waved his hand toward the metal detector. “Of course he’s still here,” he muttered to himself, before meeting her gaze.” 38, top floor.”

She hesitated as she stared at the metal detector’s arch. She took a few slow steps toward it, wondering how sensitive it was. At least she didn’t have to explain a gun, since hers was locked safely at home.

The detector went off as soon as she stepped through. She winced and stepped back.

The guard gave her a knowing look. “What’re you carrying?”

She attempted another smile. “Just a knife. It—”

He smirked and waved a hand. “Yeah, you’re not the first. Most of the couriers have some kind of protection these days. Can’t be too careful.” He nodded her through, ignoring the alarm as it went off again.

She nodded and smiled. “Yeah. Thanks.” His casual attitude about the whole thing surprised her, but she wasn’t about to argue. She wanted to get this over with and get the fuck out of here.

The whole place reeked of wealth and prestige and it made her skin crawl. So much metal and isolation from a single natural thing. So cold and uniform. She hated shit like this. Not that she’d admit it aloud, but it made her ache for home.

The elevator stopped at the top floor, and Micah ducked out swiftly, grateful to escape the grating music that jangled her nerves even more. Why did the wealthy always have such bland taste in everything?

She entered another lobby, but straight ahead was a formidable wall with a list of large, brass-lettered names behind a block of marble that must’ve been a reception desk. The woman seated there had a strained look on her features as she glanced over at Micah. Instead of a greeting, she only offered a stony, questioning stare.

Micah made a small sound in her throat. “Uhm. I…I have a delivery for Mr. Duncan. Urgent, I was told.”

The woman’s eyes went glassy at the name, and her expression seemed to grow even tighter. “Of course. Down the hall, Fourth door on your left.” She pointed to a hallway to her right.

Micah nodded and followed the directions. The lighting was low everywhere, probably dimmed to save cost outside of normal business hours. She wondered what kind of business it was they did here, then she stopped herself. She didn’t want any details at all. “I’m just a mechanic, that’s all.” She mumbled softly as she came to a stop outside the large, solid wood door.

It was floor to ceiling and she felt a sudden urge to run anywhere else. Instead, she lifted her hand and rapped her knuckles against the wood.

“Yes?” The voice was smooth and sure, the barest edge of a threat beneath the word. Why did the image of a shark swerving beneath the water flash into her mind? She shook her head and pushed open the door.

“Delivery for Mr. Duncan.” It felt so stupid to say, but what the fuck else could she say? This was not her job. She would not let this become her job. She didn’t want the heat of being a mule; she’d made that abundantly fucking clear.

Yet here she stood.

“Come in.” The voice was clipped and cool, all business, but with an attempt at warmth. A small measure to pretend at civility, she supposed. She opened the door.

To her surprise, this room was not all sharp, sleek steel and concrete. It was lined everywhere with deep, rich wood. The scent of it filled her lungs, soothing, familiar. She blinked as her eyes took in the shelves lined with thick, heavy looking tomes. There was a wet bar taking up a whole wall, and it was where most of the room’s light came from.

That and the Tiffany lamp sitting on the gargantuan desk in the middle of the room.

A large, sleek, black, leather chairback greeted her. “You’re late.” The chair swiveled suddenly but soundlessly. A man with piercing blue eyes and a firm mouth stared at her. He peeked his fingers together in front of his face. One eyebrow lifted slightly as he took in the sight of her. “And you’re new.” A glint flashed in his eyes.

She narrowed her own. “No, I’m not. I’m doing a one time favor. Because, I’m told, you were very… insistent.”

His lips curved into a mirthless half smile. “Oh, is that how they phrased it?”

She snorted. “I could read between the lines. Not exactly anyone’s first choice to send a mechanic, but no one else was aw—available.” Her eyes darted away from his. “Mierda.” The whisper escaped her lips before she could stop herself. Shit. SHIT. She was saying too much.

She felt his eyes as he trailed them down her body. She felt them lingering around her curves, so easily displayed by her tight leathers. She shifted her weight and clutched her helmet closer to her body, as though it were a shield. A poor one, but what else did she have?

When she looked up again, she found his eyes staring directly into hers. His expression was unreadable as he forced his gaze on hers. She resisted the urge to clear her throat or look away. Something in his eyes reminded her of the predators she’d faced in the backcountry. You don’t look away from a predator when it’s sizing you up, so she steeled her nerves and met his gaze, her lips pressed thin and straight.

He smiled. Tight. Sharp. Too feline to be real, despite the straight, glaring whiteness of his teeth. It was a smile meant to disarm, but she knew better. “They have been rather… less than satisfactory of late. I’ve been considering exploring other avenues.” His eyes looked her up and down once more. “However, I might be amenable to changing my opinion.” As his eyes met hers again, the weight of his meaning settled heavy on her shoulders.

She shrugged slightly. “That’s above my pay grade. I’m just here to give you what you ordered.”

He ignored the package she held out to him. “You’re not curious?” He took a step toward her. His hand lifted, but instead of the package, he slipped his fingers around her wrist.

She shook her head. “They don’t pay me for that.”

“What do they pay you for?” Another step closer. His fingers tightened. His other hand rose to rest lightly against her waist.

tagging onwards (no pressure at all ever <3) @ivymarquis, @v0idbuggy, @derelictheretic, @henbased, @redreart, @wrathfulrook, @confidentandgood, @damejudyhench, @florbelles, @jillvalentinesday, @marivenah, @harmonyowl, @unholymilf, @shallow-gravy, @g0dspeeed, @strafethesesinners, @fourlittleseedlings, @voidika, @foibles-fables, @chazz-anova, @josephseedismyfather, @turbo-virgins, @roofgeese, @i-am-the-balancing-point, @poisonedtruth, @simplegenius042, @incognito-insomniac, @dumbassdep, @theelderhazelnut, @legally-a-bastard, @aceghosts and anyone i still have managed to miss in this list. (also if you don't want me tagging you, drop me an ask or a dm and no questions will be asked <3) edit: trying to fix tags.

#it is always so hard to know which pieces to share and where to cut into the full story #i had forgotten how difficult those choices are to make agh #anyway here is part of the beginnings of what happened in atlanta and how john and micah first met #i am loving writing this story again #hopefully that is enough tags to keep me out of any sitewide searches now #micah hale #ship: our sins make you mine #fablemade #strangefable writes #wip wednesday #if that doesn't work and this still just... i will delete everything #possibly my whole blog idk #not feeling great any more tonight

[autisticlancemcclain]

i know it’s a stupid thing to whine about and i’m sorry but the low engagement in my fics lately is super bumming me out, plus the wildfires means there’s no sunlight rn and that uh. is generally bad. for my brain. so i’m going to take a break for a bit?? for at least tonight. i need to sort my shit out and do some writing practice to figure out what i’m doing wrong. FRF is definitely still on and queued for tomorrow, and i haven’t decided about wip wednesday yet (not even sure if i’m continuing that bc so far that’s been a flop) so i’ll let y’all know :) be safe and stay healthy everyone i’ll be back soon

#i feel so bad guys i’m sorry #but lately every time i post i feel like i’m failing the peer review and since i am among the most sensitive it bitches you will ever meet #that is going unwell for me #u know that scene in inside. where bo is like yeah so my mental health is kind of at an atl #not atlanta #but all time low? #that’s me rn. #lol #anyways. i’m still going to be writing lots bc writing still makes me feel good #it’s just the posting that makes me want to cry #so. #anyways sorry this is cringe and embarrassing and emotional #i’ll be back either tomorrow or with further information tomorrow #depends on if my seasonal depressed ass sees the sun or not lol you’d be shocked at how fast i spiral #lmao #personal #announcement #?

[skymaiden32]

Bad News

AO3 link here

Fandom: Thunderbirds, Stingray

Tagging: @dragonoffantasyandreality @thundergeek59 @janetm74 @katblu42 @liseylou @amistrio @uniwolfcorn @idontknowreallywhy (Please ask if you would like to get alerts when I update or post new stories.)

Continuity: TOS

Last chapter, here we go!

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

Gordon learns who Trench really is.

------

The walk along the beach was surprisingly peaceful, and Gordon found himself relaxing a little, although he knew there was no way he could fully let his guard down. 

Trench broke the ice. “So, you must have questions. What do you want to know?” He asked in that tinny voice of his.

“Okay, that one’s easy enough.” He chuckled without any humour. “Who the hell are you?”

Trench paused. “Oh, right. Thanks for reminding me.” The mask was off before Gordon could even blink. He held back a gasp when he saw who it was. “It’s been too long since I felt the crisp sea air on my face. Can’t take the mask off in front of the Aquaphibians. I’d be dead in two seconds flat.”

“Troy Tempest…?”

The man in front of him bowed. “The one and only.”

Gordon frowned, trying his best to regain his composure. “You’re the last person I’d expect…” Shore hadn’t been kidding at all, had he? This was bad. This was really bad. “You and Titan hate each other.”

Troy hummed. “That was before he… shall we say… opened my mind to Marineville’s faults.”

More like brainwashed, Gordon thought, but didn’t say aloud. “What about Atlanta? Phones? Fisher? All the people you left behind? I’m sure they all miss you.” When Troy didn’t answer, Gordon changed tactics. “Okay, then what about me? I know you’ve met Scott and Virgil before, so that explains how you knew we were siblings, but it doesn’t explain how you knew I was IR.”

Troy smiled. “X20. He was on a routine mission to Marineville and overheard your little conversation with Shore. Which he then reported back to me.” They approached a large rock, and Troy gestured for Gordon to sit next to him. Gordon glared at him in reply, but eventually complied, fearing what might happen to his brothers if he didn't. “It was simple to set up a disaster that would be too hard for International Rescue to ignore.”

“So it was you who attacked the USS Rodgers.”

“I would’ve thought that would be obvious. It was my tracker that allowed me and my men to follow you here.” The other man hummed. “The plan originally was to follow you to your base and seize your technology. Well, that was Titan’s at least.” Gordon raised an eyebrow. “My plan was to just talk to you. I’m glad you found the tracker. Makes my task of explaining our failure to the King easier.”

The aquanaut froze. “Wait, just making sure I’m understanding. You were never going to attack our base? You really were just going to talk?”

Troy grinned. “I may not be on the surface dwellers side anymore, but I still consider you a friend. And Titanica has no pre-existing quarrel with International Rescue. Attacking you would be unwise.”

“You’ve changed your tune.” Gordon hissed, not falling for any of it. “You were taking my brothers prisoner less than ten minutes ago, and now you’re saying that ‘attacking us would be unwise’. I see right through you, Tempest.” He frowned. “Or should I be calling you Trench now?”

Captain Tempest, Captain Trench, whoever it was in front of him, sighed. “Look. I meant what I said. No harm will come to them. As a matter of fact, if the Aquaphibians hurt them, I’ll end them myself.”

“Bet Titan won’t be happy about that.” Gordon scoffed. 

“I learned he doesn’t care a long time ago. So long as someone does the work and the work is done.” Troy retaliated. “And I learned that when I was in WASP.”

“I see.” An uneasy silence followed. Gordon had just one question to ask. “Okay, I’ll bite. Why talk to me in the first place? Why not just disappear?”

More silence. For a minute, Gordon didn’t think Troy would answer him. But eventually, he did. “To say sorry.” He said in a low voice. “Sorry I didn’t manage to say goodbye.”

Gordon’s eyes widened in realisation. It had been too quick, leaving WASP after his accident. He hadn’t been able to stay at Marineville General for long. His injuries had needed to be specially treated. And since he’d already been honourably discharged following the whole mess, he’d never gotten a chance to wave farewell to the group of aquanauts who had taught him so much, who’d done their best to steady him and be a secondary family. He’d never gotten that closure. But then of course, neither had they.

“I’m sorry too. Sorry that I lost touch with all of you. Sorry we’re on opposite sides now…” For the first time since Troy had made his presence known, Gordon looked at him. Really looked. “You look exhausted, Tempest.” He said honestly, and was surprised at his own concern. “How hard is Titan working you?”

“Oh, it’s not that bad.”

Gordon gave him a look, channelling his best Scott impression. “Troy.”

“The undersea races don’t need as much sleep as humans do.”

The look hardened. “Troy. How much sleep do they get?”

Troy winced. “Four hours? At most?”

“And Titanica is the better option over Marineville?”

The other aquanaut huffed. “I’m not going back there.”

“Then leave Titanica at the very least. You don’t have to work for WASP. Just…” Gordon paused. “Just come back to the surface. You said yourself, you haven’t felt the air on the surface for ages.”

Troy sighed, looking out to the sea. “I can’t do that. The ocean is my home now…” He frowned. “Plus, I’d be in for one hell of a Court Marshal. They’d track me down, make me pay for leaving WASP, and then I’d be stuck in a prison cell.” He laughed dryly. “What sea air would I feel then, Gordon?”

“That’s what you think, Troy, but the truth of it is that WASP will defend you. And that’s because you didn’t leave. You were taken.” Gordon frowned when Troy froze, confirming his worst thoughts. “I’ve got it, don’t I? Titan abducted you. He moulded you into someone you’re not, and then he forced you to fight your friends.” Troy’s continued silence was damning. “Tell me I’m wrong!”

“How dare you speak of Titan in that way? He saved me from that life.” Troy’s voice was barely above a whisper, and Gordon immediately knew he’d pushed too far. He couldn’t stop himself from looking down. He knew though, he was right about what Titan had done. The tyrant couldn’t kill his worst enemy, so instead he shaped Troy and his mind as he saw fit. “I will not return to life on the surface.” 

Out the corner of his eye, Gordon noticed the mask slip back on. He supposed Trench was fully back. A crunch was heard as he crushed something in his hand. Gordon recognised the tracker that had let the Aquaphibians follow them here in the first place. “I will not tell His Majesty about this conversation we had, but I believe that conversation is over.” He pressed something on his collar, and began speaking in the Aquaphibian language. Gordon could only barely make it out with the little he’d been taught at WASP. His brothers were being released. “As promised, your brothers are unharmed. I strongly advise that the three of you leave. The rest of your family must be worried.” He gestured in the direction of the Thunderbirds, letting Gordon lead the way there. 

The aquanaut breathed a sigh of relief when he saw them standing there in front of Thunderbird 2. He broke off in a run, just wanting to stick to them like glue now. When they saw the look on his face, they frowned. Scott glared in Trench’s direction. “He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

“No! Absolutely not. Just…” He looked back at Captain Trench and his Aquaphibian men. He didn’t like what he saw in his old friend, now a new enemy. “I just want to get home.”

His two brothers nodded, clearly agreeing with his decision. It had been a difficult day. And as Thunderbirds 1 and 2 both lifted into the air, Gordon processed everything that had just happened. It took a while. All throughout the journey home and the debrief, where Scott had the unfortunate task of telling their father what had just happened. Jeff Tracy was out for blood now, and Alan had looked mortified. . 

Gordon took his secret to bed with him, locking the door for as much privacy as he could get with three brothers in the house and one able to get in contact from space at any given moment. He turned on his video-call, taking a deep breath as he typed in the familiar number. His heart beat in his chest as it rang. Finally, the person he was calling answered. 

“Hello?” Voice only. Dang it. Oh well, it was better than nothing. 

Swallowing down his nerves, he continued what he’d started. “Hi Atlanta. You probably don’t remember me, but I’m Gordon Tracy. I used to work with you at WASP.”

The woman on the other end gasped. “Of course, Lieutenant Tracy! It would be difficult to forget you.” Gordon smirked. His reputation still preceded him, then. “Father said he’d contacted you about temporarily replacing a crew member. Have you changed your mind?”

He shook his head. “I’m afraid not. I called to talk to you about something else.”

“Oh?”

“I, umm…” He hesitated. This wasn’t going to be easy to tell her. “I… saw Troy earlier today.”

“Oh.” Atlanta’s voice wilted. “So you know then.” It wasn’t a question. “He tracked you down.”

“Yeah, and…” Gordon sighed. “I just wanna talk to someone about what he said. Someone who’d know…”

“You don’t have to finish that sentence, Gordon. I understand. Do you want to talk now?”

“Yeah, I would.” 

So that’s just what they did together. They shared what had happened among themselves. The conversations they’d had with Troy since his turn and how they felt. And Gordon felt so much lighter, to know he wasn’t alone in this feeling.

#thunderbirds #thunderbirds 1965 #thunderbirds fanfiction #stingray 1964 #stingray fanfiction #thunderfam #gordon tracy #captain trench #troy tempest #scott tracy #virgil tracy #atlanta shore #sky writes stuff

[angelblueprint]

my beautiful life nothing is wrong w me

#me #in atlanta!! #for a writing conference:)

[my-chemical-ratz]

btw heres a zine i made to hand out in my town (i need to print more but im lazy lmao maybe i will once im on break)

#my post #art #stop cop city #zine #punk zine #acab #defend the atlanta forest #also ignore the shitty print handwriting i never write in print so its awful #i just wanted it to be legible

[garadinervi]

Glenn Ligon, Untitled (Well, I am one who doesn't believe in deluding myself. [Malcolm X]), (oil stick, acrylic paint, and pencil on paper ), 1989 [MoMA, New York, NY. © Glenn Ligon]

Malcolm X, The Ballot or the Bullet, [Cleveland, OH, April 3], 1964 [Bibl.: Malcolm X Speaks. Selected speeches and statements, (1965, 1989-1990), Edited with prefatory notes by George Breitman, Pathfinder, New York, NY, 1989, pp. 23-44] [Audio: Malcolm X, The Ballot or the Bullet. Detroit, MI, April 12, 1964. Atlanta University Center – Robert W. Woodruff Library, Atlanta, GA]

#art #mixed media #visual writing #speech #audio #glenn ligon #malcolm x #george breitman #moma #the museum of modern art #pathfinder #atlanta university center robert w. woodruff library #1960s #1980s #1990s

[atlantablack]

love you to the moon and to Saturn

Also on Ao3

Sometimes, when Robin thinks of Starcourt, she thinks that the excruciatingly long silence between Steve saying, but Tammy Thompson’s a girl, and him steamrolling his way into being her friend, was the most terrifying part.

She can still vividly, painfully remember the taste of bile still sour on the back of her tongue, her skin sweaty and sticking to the cool tile. Remembers Steve's face mottled and bruised, the sick fear that had still been settled in her bones because she'd thought he was going to die strapped to a chair. She’d thought there was a dead boy in the making pressed against her back and she'd been so fucking scared.

Sometimes, she blames the fear for the way she’d sat in that bathroom and thought, god, I wish I could, I wish I could like you the way you want me to, I wish. Other times she just calls it what it was — the undying wish of a child who couldn't understand why she couldn't just be normal.

The silence had been the worst part though. His eyes a thousand miles away as he worked through whatever he was working through. She’d never asked and he’d never said. Just as he’d never brought up his crush again and she’d never been able to bring herself to ask if it had really been that easy.

But she still thinks about the silence and the way he’d said oh, like there was some kind of holiness hiding in the bathroom with them.

She spends a lot of time, too much time really, thinking about what would have happened if she'd said nothing at all. Telling him had worked out in her favor, it had, and she can't regret it, not when she knows what their blood looks like mingled together. She never regrets him. But she wonders sometimes…

It was a foolish thing to do. She'd known it then and she knows it now. And the truth of it all, irony intended, is that by that point the drugs hadn't been strong enough to make her answer anything. She'd answered because she'd wanted to. Because she'd thought they were genuinely going to die under the fucking mall far too many times that day and she was scared and just wanted to put it out there. Just wanted someone to know.

She needed, someone, to know.

It'd still been foolish. She could have asked Steve a different question, one that didn't lead to an inevitability she saw coming. And later he would have brought up the crush and she would have let him down as easy as she could and they would have both gone their separate ways.

That would have been the smart choice. But it's also the choice that leaves her feeling sick and like at any moment she'll throw up, start sobbing like someone she loves has died. She hasn't sobbed since she was seven years old, not in a way that counts, not in a way that you can feel through to your bones. But the idea of walking away from this friendship makes her want to throw herself onto the floor and just sob until someone knocks her out. And then she’s back to the tunnels, to the gleaming white walls, the silence, and the pliers and the needles.

It's all just fucking terrifying is what it is.

But, it's like, so many people say they'd die for their friends. So many. It's like, the staple of friendships all over the world, it's in movies, in books — and everyone just believes it because, of course, you never really want to find out if it's true.

Robin knows that it's true. Knows that if it came down to it she'd do the exact same fucking thing. Knows that there's an entire miniature community strung through Hawkins (and a few in California now too) that would die for each other. She hasn't spoken a word to Nancy Wheeler since Starcourt, but she knows that if the monsters came back tomorrow Nancy would be there to fight them too.

But for Steve, for Robin, it hadn't been monsters at first. It'd just been humans torturing them for information they didn't have. Dustin and Erica had needed time and they'd provided it. Steve would have provided it on his own if Robin had left him to hold the door alone. She hadn’t, but she could have. She never forgets that she could have.

She’s sure Steve’s already erased that particular fact from his memory. He never holds the things he should against her. She’s grateful for it and furious about it all in the same breath.

Listen, just, the point is… the point is, Robin loves Steve so much it scares her. She didn't know you could love someone this much.

Because, when Robin thinks of Starcourt, yes, she thinks of the silence, but she also thinks of the laughter, and really, isn't that what matters? In the end, isn't it the laughter, the joy, that persists?

Isn’t it Steve scoffing at a joke in the car while he drives her to school, rolling his eyes when Tammy Thompson walks into the auditorium, laughing until he chokes when Robin recounts a story to him as they shelve videos — isn’t that what’s going to persist? The joy of it all.

Robin smiles, dramatically flings herself off of Steve’s couch just to watch him crack up, and thinks, rest of my life, you and me, hell or high water, this, this joy, this love, is always going to last.

#robin buckley #steve harrington #robin & steve #stranger things #atlanta writes

[practically-an-x-man]

From the fic title game, I gotta know what's going on with the one named "Atlanta." Who's going to Atlanta??

Haha nobody's going to Atlanta (well, except for the Corinthian in the Cereal Convention, but that's not what we're talking about here), it's actually a character named Atlanta!

That one is my yet-to-be-written fic in the Deadpool universe! I have no idea how much detail you actually want on this one, and I'm struggling to summarize it well, but... I'll do my best.

It starts out a few years before the events of the movie, a bit of a prequel slash angsty corruption arc (you'll see). The main character, Atlanta Santiago, is a historian who specializes in Greco-Roman myth systems. Her favorite myth is, of course, the myth of Atalanta, and she frequently jokes about missing an A (and yes, there will be a running bit of symbolism with the myth of Atalanta too, I can't help myself). She's also a part-time boxer with ties to a few other New York vigilantes, if you know what I mean...

She's in a bar when she encounters Francis Freeman - before he works in the mutant warehouse, before he's a mutate at all, he's just a charming phlebotomist living in NYC. They hit it off and end up dating for a few years, he's a gentle and caring partner, things are lovely, life is good.

And then he starts to go downhill: confusion, memory issues, a developing tremor in his hands. It turns out to be early-onset Huntington's disease, and a severe case at that. There's no known cure, he'll just keep deteriorating until he's gone. He has to quit his job, since his hands shake too much to insert an IV and he can't reliably make the calculations anyway. For a few months, things are rough.

Agent Smith appears in his apartment one day while Atlanta's out, and offers him the same chance at recovery he'll later give Wade: a treatment at the mutant warehouse, it'll save his life.. At first Francis refuses, but finally agrees to go to the warehouse. He leaves Atlanta a note, promising he'll return when things are better... but he never does. She, along with everyone else, assume he's just left to go discreetly end his life, and he left the note so she wouldn't have to discover it.

Fast forward two years. The warehouse needs more victims, and they end up kidnapping Atlanta for a treatment of her own. She runs into Francis... nothing like the man she used to know, now he's cruel and uncaring, doing exactly the sort of thing he abhorred in his prior life. He tries to sort things out and smooth things over, and explains that he couldn't let her know he was still alive because he didn't want the higher-ups at the warehouse to use her as leverage (because how else do you threaten a man who can't feel pain?). Atlanta is, justifiably, shocked and upset, torn between being grateful that he's still alive and being disgusted at the person he's become.

There's more to this, of course, but I don't want to give up all my secrets ;)

#my friends!!! #answered asks #my writing #my ocs #atlanta santiago

[spaceshipsoutthepool]

Update!

Barry nodded, still cuddled up to her. He was very quiet for a long moment again. So much so she thought he’d finally fallen asleep. Atlanta had to admit it, she was pretty tired out too..

#stingray 1964 #thunderfam #atlanta shore #my fic writing #barry

[writingstylez]

#atlanta #poetry #spilled ink #creative writing #atl #tattoos #art #breakfast #poem #original poem #poems on tumblr #poems and poetry #love poem #my quotes #my work #my life #short story #spilled writing #writing #intimate #intimacy #brunch #food #tasty #treat #spilled poetry #poet #poetic #poets on tumblr #poets corner

[missdcalls]

hiking his bag over his shoulder, jack runs after his step-brother into the locker room. it's the last day of practice before the big game as the new team. it felt weird, not being with his usual teammates - but he had a feeling that they were going to be the best in the league yet. he was no allstar, but having both joey and sean st. juste alone guaranteed them a good season. "hey, slow down, won't you?" jack calls out to the other, scrambling to keep up. as they enter, the guys that were already in there look over. there's a big grin on his face as he holds up a hand, waving to the others. "what's up, fellas?"

being on the same team as jack felt like a nightmare - except this wasn't one he'd ever wake up from, unless they decided to trade him or he quit the nhl all together. how he ended up in this position, joey had no idea. one day, he was laughing and chilling with his buddies and the next, he was on a plane to atlanta.

he ignores the younger male as makes his way into the locker room. jack had been following him around like some kind of puppy. the coach had even made a joke that he was his shadow. joseph had rolled his eyes. setting his bag down, he lets out a grunt as a hello to the kid next to him. he thinks his name is robin or something. sean's twin.

"you guys ready for tomorrow or what?" jack is questioning anyone who bothers to listen. unfortunately, sean was the nearest one to him - so he turns and looks at him, waiting for a response. "chill the fuck out, castillo." a reminder that they weren't related by blood, simply by marriage. he was still pissed at his mom for it. // @someotherdog

#hi. it's too early to go to bed so i'm writing this for you instead. #feel free to ignore <3 #joseph delima / threads. #jack castillo / threads. #joseph / sean. #joseph / robin. #jack / sean. #jack / robin. #someotherdog #atlanta screech owls / au. #figured they had already met and mingled and stuff but like ... it's the day or something before their first game

[de-belivers01]

#writing #web series #science #believe #belivers #belief in jesus #big belies #positivity #producer #productive #choose wisely #will the wise #wisdom #heaven official's blessing #new blessings #count your blessings #atlanta braves #brave #politics #photography #parenting

[skymaiden32]

Mariana Trench

Read on AO3 here

Fandom: Stingray

Tagging: @dragonoffantasyandreality @thundergeek59 @janetm74 @katblu42 @liseylou @amistrio @uniwolfcorn @idontknowreallywhy (Please ask if you would like to get alerts when I update or post new stories.)

Happy New Year! ^^

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10: Discussions

------

Titan’s study seemed to be darker than it had ever been before, the King’s mood leaking into the surrounding environment. Trench’s unease was well hidden on his face, but it was still there, and he exchanged a worried look with X20 as Titan sat in front of them with his eyes closed, chin on his clasped hands as he mulled over their failures of the day.

Finally, his eyes opened, and he regarded them both with a disappointed stare. “X20. You should be glad that you removed any and all information about the plan from Lemoy. That is your only saving grace. How could they have escaped, you idiot?” Titan hissed, expecting an answer.

“W-Well, I…” When X20 couldn’t answer, Titan regarded him with a cold look. His attention was on his once arch-enemy in a second.

“And you.” He began. Troy had to hide the shivers that went up his spine. “I gave you a chance to make things right. And yet, even after how she betrayed you when you needed her, you hesitated,” he mentally counted how many times his Captain failed to land the final strike, “five times.” Titan huffed. “That’s five times too many, Tempest.”

X20 blanched at the use of the Captain’s real name, looking over at the human, shame at having forgotten to take out that stupid key forgotten. He watched Troy with concealed sympathy. Troy frowned, but seemed to take it in his stride. “Sire, all I can do is apologise. I thought I was ready to face her in battle, and I wasn’t…”

Titan huffed after a while, standing up. “I understand the land-dwellers were once your friends, but they are now your enemies. I expect you to treat them as such.” He folded his arms behind his back as he circled the two of them. X20 was instantly reminded of a barracuda circling its prey. “If either of you fail me again, you will pay for it. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sire.”

“Yes, O Titan.”

“Good. Now get out of my sight…” Neither of them needed telling twice. They were out of there in a shot.

------

Atlanta placed her dinner next to where Phones and Fisher were sitting in the cafeteria with a sigh. It had been a week since the Battle of Pacifica, and they’d heard nothing from Titanica. Phones gave her a look as he chewed. He swallowed his mouthful, hoping to strike up a conversation with her. “Hey Atlanta.” He started.

“Hey.” She replied halfheartedly.

“How’s your day been so far?” Atlanta grimaced. “That frantic, huh?”

His friend let out a snort of amusement. “No, not like that. If anything it’s been the opposite.”

Fisher poked at his food. “Quiet, huh?”

“Too quiet…” Atlanta agreed, picking up her fork as Marina sat opposite the human trio. “Especially after what happened in Pacifica.” She sighed. “I don’t like how uneventful things have been.”

Fisher shrugged. “Well, they lost, which I doubt was the plan. Bet they weren’t banking on Marina being so hardcore.” The young Lieutenant gave the mermaid a grin, and she blushed a light green at the praise. “They’re gonna have to adjust for it.”

“I suppose…” Atlanta smiled softly in Fisher’s direction. He had a point. Marina’s hand signals caught her eye. “What’s up Mari?”

The mermaid made a series of gestures, asking for a time to talk to Commander Shore.

“Of course I can get Dad to talk to you. He’d never say no to you… But,” Atlanta raised an eyebrow, “what is this about?”

Marina made more hand signals. Phones eyes widened.

“It’s about your fight with Troy?” Marina nodded at the question. Phones hummed. “Okay. The Commander will wanna hear it, and so will we.”

------

The knock on the door was a surprise, his mask slipped on in a flash, even though he knew it could only really be one person. “Come in.” Sure enough, in stepped X20, carrying a brown paper bag in with him. “What brings you here, X20? Shouldn’t you be out gathering information in Marineville?” Troy took off the mask mid-sentence, eyebrow raised at his subordinate. If Titan ever found out the surface agent was here and not in the field-

“I returned here to report to his majesty about my mission’s progress in person. I’ve got a few marine hours before I’m due to leave Titanica.” X20 admitted in that nasally voice of his. Surprisingly, it didn’t annoy the former WASP as much as it used to. “Thought you might want some company while you’re working. I believe your kind call it ‘socialising’...” The surface agent frowned slightly, sceptical. Making friends had never been the Titanican way, so it didn’t come as naturally to X20 as it did Troy, but he was determined to make this work. He’d been so lonely even before serving Titan, and humans had always praised the benefits of calling someone a friend. Maybe, just maybe, he’d be able to experience that for once.

Troy hummed. “We do.” He looked at the overwhelming stack of reports he had to deal with. Having someone to talk to had always made work fly by for him. He missed that. He missed it a lot… “What harm could it do?” At his superior’s invitation, X20 sat down, pulling out a couple of items out of the bag. Troy’s eyes widened. “Where did you get these?”

X20 placed them in front of the Captain. “I heard they were your favourites back on the surface, before you joined us.” The soft drinks seemed to shine in the fading light of the office. Above the waves, X20 knew the sun was setting, signalling the end of the day. It wouldn’t be the end of it for King Titan’s right and left-hand men, however. “You must be pretty sick of seawater and algae by now. I’ve also heard getting gifts for someone is the best way to start a friendship, but I’m not sure what to do now…” The agent admitted.

Troy offered him a genuine smile, something he felt he hadn’t done in a long time. “Now…” Troy started, more than happy to give X20 some guidance here. “Now we talk about what we like, what we don’t like. We share funny stories from our past and what we want to do in the future. We-” He cut himself off as the images of Atlanta, and then Phones, flashed through his mind. Before X20 could say anything about his sudden silence, he pushed the thought of his former friend and girlfriend to the side. “We talk about fears and uncertainties. We get to really know the people we’re with, as if they’re our blood family.”

“I see.” X20 grinned in understanding. “So, where should we start?”

Troy rubbed his chin in thought. “Well, you already know what my favourite drink is,” he gestured to the cans on his desk, “so, what would you say your favourite is?”

In the end, they ended up talking for a couple of hours, only stopping when an aquaphibian interrupted them to find X20. Their time was up. It was time for the surface agent to return to his mission on the surface. Troy sighed when everyone was out of earshot, his thoughts drifting once more towards Atlanta. It had been surprisingly easy to talk to X20, but it had been even easier to talk to her. 

Throughout years of building up their relationship, of sharing everything, they’d finally gotten to a point where Troy couldn’t have imagined a life without her. He’d even gotten a ring for her to offer her. To ask her to spend the rest of her life with him. But Titan had taken him in before he could ask, and his love for her was called into question. Did he even still love her anymore? 

There was no way he’d give himself back to the WASPs. But was there a way to convince the woman he loved to join the Titanican cause? He shook his head almost as soon as the thought appeared. Atlanta’s feelings for him were strong, once upon a time, but her love for her father was most definitely stronger at the moment.

Defeated, he took one last look at the ocean out of the window, the vast waters beyond the city now completely black. He stood up, sliding his mask back on. He had a few checks to make before calling it a night.

------

Commander Shore was the first to speak. “Troy was hesitating?” The control room was silent upon Marina’s reveal. From the outside, it would’ve looked as if he just kept missing his mark, but the mermaid knew him too well than to believe that. “You’re certain?” Marina nodded, determined. 

“I knew it…” Phones muttered. “I knew there’d be a way to get through to him!”

Fisher grinned. “Yeah, he’d never want to hurt us, no matter what side he’s on.”

“Hold on.” Shore held up his hands, signalling a time-out. “I already know what you’re thinking, and it’s out of the question.” Phones froze. “You’re not going to Titanica to try and convince Troy to come home.” Shore frowned, offering the Lieutenant a sympathetic look. “I’m sorry. But it’s too dangerous.”

“But Commander,” Fisher began, “this may be our best chance. If Troy’s having doubts, he’s more likely to listen to us.”

The Commander sighed. “I’m well aware. But the Titanican attack on Pacifica was costly, even if we did win. Too many crews are gravely wounded.” His previously sharp gaze drooped as his mind drifted to the officers who had lost their lives that day. His companions were similarly subdued. “Or worse…” He locked eyes with Phones, who looked back at him sadly. “We’re weakened while they’re recovering. Stingray will remain on standby until then. That’s-”

“Sir, please don’t say it.” Fisher cut him off hurriedly. 

“That’s an order.” Everyone gave him a look. “Oh, don’t give me that.” He subtly rolled his eyes. He swore up and down he didn’t just have one child sometimes. “You all know I’m right. Now, you all better get to bed. It’s late.”

“Commander!” The frantic voice of one of the cadets floated through the doors. “News from Patrol Vessel Number 33!” Everyone looked at the young woman, curious. “They have captured a Titanican vessel just a few miles west of the beach. And they have a prisoner.”

Commander Shore raised an eyebrow. “I can tell there’s something particularly special about this prisoner…” He smirked when the cadet nodded. “Well, speak up soldier! Who’s the lone soul who’ll have to deal with WASP interrogation first thing tomorrow?”

“It’s Surface Agent X20, sir…”

#stingray #stingray 1964 #stingray fanfiction #troy tempest #captain trench #surface agent x20 #titan stingray #atlanta shore #lieutenant fisher #george lee 'phones' sheridan #marina of pacifica #commander shore #sky writes stuff