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cevansbrat0007 · 1 year

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Twin Flames: Part One

Summary: When firefighter Curtis Everett suspects that he's found his twin flame, he plans to slowly ease her into his lifestyle of dominance and submission. Until one night when it all goes up in smoke. Firefighter!Curtis Everett x OFC

Warnings: Angst, Mentions of Death, House Fires, Mention of Exes, Mentions of D/s Lifestyle, Mentions of Daddy Kink, Alcohol Consumption, Eventual Smut, Cursing, Minors DNI

A/N: Dedicated to @curls-and-eyeliner for helping me flesh this out. This installment is part of my ongoing Trio Series. There will be a second part to this, detailing Curtis and Ruby's actual first meeting the night of the play party. All mistakes are my own. Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated and encouraged.

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As a firefighter, Curtis Everett has seen some terrible things in his line of work as a first responder. He's lost people on the job more than once. But the first time it happened…

The memory of that night still follows him. The things he witnessed, the smell of charred flesh. That’s the kind of shit that changes a person, it leaves behind a lasting mark.

The first person he ever lost while out on a call – it wrecked him. And in the aftermath Curtis was left to deal with it all on his own because Serena, his girlfriend of several years, was too busy partying to pick up the phone when he needed her. She had swiped his credit card so that she could show her friends a good time, which also included half the bar.

After all, it wasn’t like it was her money. And although they ended things soon after, that woman wasn’t prepared to go quietly. She felt that she’d put up with a lot from him, especially whenever she reluctantly allowed him to indulge in some of his darker fantasies.

In her mind, he owed her. And in time, she would collect.

But Curtis would eventually recover from that loss and move on, because that’s kind of one of the requirements of the job. After that horrible night, he vowed to do better. He became laser focused, determined to push himself to the limit. And it worked, at least for a while. But sometimes life is rather unpredictable.

Just like the flames.

The next time he lost someone on his watch, it threatened to take him his fucking knees. Because that day – that day the victim was a little girl. Iris Caldwell, who was barely five-years-old. Her weeping mother had kept repeating over and over again that she’d just had a birthday two days prior.

And they had plans to celebrate that weekend. But the flames…they’d gotten to her first. And her tiny lungs had been no match for the heat and the smoke.

Curtis had been the one to carry out her small, lifeless body - tears clouding his vision through the cover of his mask. He handed her off to an EMT and then stood motionless several yards away as chaos surged around him. His eyes were trained on the child, his frozen gaze never leaving her fallen form as the crew desperately tried to resuscitate her. However, when their efforts proved to be unsuccessful he placed the weight of that blame squarely upon his own shoulders.

He’d been the one who failed poor Iris. And then the endless loop of “what-ifs” began.

What if they’d arrived at the scene a few moments sooner? What if he’d been just a fraction of a second quicker as he was making his way into the house, trying to navigate a path through the blaze? What if he hadn’t struggled to break down the heavy oak door that had kept them from Iris, leaving her trapped to contend with the flames alone before she eventually succumbed to her injuries?

Later that night, someone showed him her picture, one of his teammates that had been with him on the call. In the photo, Iris had been wearing a sparkly pink crown, looking every inch the princess she was pretending to be. But it was her eyes that struck him – those big, beautiful eyes that reminded him so much of someone else he’d encountered not too long ago. A person that he’d met at one of the parties he liked to frequent as of late in his search to find the right woman.

The type of woman who enjoyed the same games he liked to play. The type of woman who could manage him, who could accept him for the man that he was and would always be. A woman who was not only capable of understanding his dominant nature, but of embracing it.

He’d met a woman who’s spirit called to his own – so much so that when she abruptly left, he chased her down. Curtis had felt compelled to know her, to gentle the young woman who’s inner fire seemed to burn so bright, he couldn’t bear to watch it be so clumsily extinguished by someone else. By a lesser man who wouldn’t understand, nor appreciate, the gift that would be her eventual submission.

Rubeena Maxwell. That had been her name. And what they’d shared the night at Club Domino after he’d chased her down had been amazing. But he hadn’t pursued her after that, wanting to court her right. To show her that he could be the man he knew she deserved. And in order to do that he had to be on top of his game.

As a man. As a Dominant. And as a Daddy.

But the night he and his team had lost that child, deep down he knew that he couldn’t go through this alone. Well, he could, but he didn’t want to – even as he tried to drink it all away.

That night he tried to bury himself so deep in the bottom of a bottle that it – along with everything else – would all fade away. Wanted to get so drunk off his ass that he wouldn’t have to feel a damn thing until after morning light. However, when that proves to be damn near impossible he leaves the bar in search of another form of solace.

He knew that he needed something more. He needed her.

Ruby.

They weren’t together, at least not yet. They’d only been out a few times, enough for her to realize that there was more to Curtis than he initially let on. There was pain, there was baggage, as well as the ghost of an ex-girlfriend who was still taking up so much space that it left virtually no room for a third person.

For Ruby to stake her claim on this man’s heart.

So she tried to put the brakes on things, effectively ending their relationship before it had truly ever begun. Because in truth, she had her own issues to contend with. And none of them involved a charming six-foot-something firefighter sporting a chiseled jaw and tempting blue eyes.

However, when he showed up on her doorstep two weeks after their very first meeting, looking every bit as lost as confused she felt, she had no choice but to let him in. Especially since the gorgeous first responder appeared to be so drunk he could barely stand, let alone talk.

The moment she opened her door, Curtis pulled her into his arms, whispering into her curls over and over again about how sorry he was – for everything. For not being enough. For not getting there in time. Followed by a litany of nonsensical rambles about Ruby’s eyes, and how there was so much life in them.

And how he never wanted to be the reason that it disappeared.

Curtis just wanted to tell her – someone, anyone, really – that he had tried that day. That he had resolved himself to do better. And then he broke, right there on her front porch as she wrapped her arms around his big body as his powerful shoulders shook with the force of his tortured sobs.

And whether she knew it or not, that was the night Rubeena Maxwell opened her heart to the beautifully damaged man who would become her lover, her partner, and the most dominant force in her life.

That was the night she and Curtis Everett became a team. And this right here is just the beginning of their story before they would eventually become part of The Trio.

Next part coming soon...

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fragmcntdstars · 14 days

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@araneorum ( jillian caldwell ) sent " I need to rest "

it wasn't common for nica to be at the hospital the same time as jill , so she knew that her day was going to be better . thanks to the treatments , nica had regained some feeling in her legs . she still needed to use a wheelchair if she was going to be on her feet all day , but she could use a walker for short distances . she could stand without assistance && she maybe did it more than she should have , but it gave her a nice taste of freedom . currently , she's sitting in a fairly uncomfortable chair , but as she sees jill approaching , nica unfolds the walker and stands with ( very ) practiced ease . she makes her way over to the fairly plus bench against the closest wall of the waiting area , leaning against the armrest as she sat . jill approached her , the other young woman wearing a tired expression . nica didn't really blame her , but she tried to get jill to smile as she sat next to her on the bench . staying silent , nica gently rests a hand on jill's shoulder before giving it a soft squeeze.

resting her jacket in her lap , nica rests her arm on the armrest before putting the other on the back of the couch . a few moments past before she felt a nice pressure on her lap , the sensation causing her heart to skip a beat . she almost liked being able to feel more things , even the smallest touch , but she was happy to see that jill was resting her head in her lap . nica gently runs her fingers through jill's hair before she starts humming a song . it wasn't a song she'd heard in a while , but it was one that her sister had liked to sing when they were younger . nica shifts her thoughts away from barb before tucking a strand of hair behing jill's ear . " did they change your meds again ? "

#araneorum #v; tbd #fragmented queue #𝔞𝔩𝔬𝔫𝔤 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔯𝔦𝔡𝔢 // nica p.

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recentlyheardcom · 6 months

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Toyota’s chairman and former CEO, Akio Toyoda, has long been a skeptic of the electric vehicle hype train—it was a big reason he stepped down from the top job at the Japanese carmaker earlier this year. Now, he can finally say, “I told you so.” With Elon Musk’s Tesla reporting disastrous third-quarter earnings last week, investors are realizing that EVs are no silver bullet for profit. “People are finally seeing reality,” Toyoda said on Wednesday.Toyoda has long denied that electric vehicles are the only way for the automotive industry to achieve carbon neutrality, saying, “There are many ways to climb the mountain.” Other major automakers are also slowing their EV rollouts. Lucid has slowed production by 30% while GM has delayed the introduction of the Chevy Silverado EV by a whole year.President Joe Biden has spent much of his time in office aggressively betting on electric vehicles as part of his ambitious agenda to reduce U.S. carbon emissions and fight climate change. But the EV market is wobbling as high interest rates dampen customer demand for electric and other vehicles. That’s “preventing a lot of people from even getting into the market,” Jessica Caldwell, head of insights at Edmunds, told Fortune.Though EV sales are still growing, the pace has slowed. In the first half of 2023, EV sales rose 49% from one year before, a slower rate than the 63% increase last year, the Wall Street Journal reported.EV ‘growing pains’“We’re transitioning to a brand new technology. It’s expensive. It requires people to have a different relationship with their vehicle that has been largely unchanged for decades,” Caldwell said. “So to think that everything was going to roll out smoothly and we follow this nice adoption curve, it was a bit unrealistic.”Not to mention, Musk—Tesla CEO, owner of the social media platform X, and purportedly the world’s wealthiest man—just took a $30 billion beating to his net worth. EV champion Tesla posted its lowest quarterly earnings per share (EPS) in two years, coming in 10% lower than already-negative analyst forecasts. The stock market acted accordingly, as Tesla’s shares immediately dropped over 17% and the company’s market capitalization fell by $138 billion in just over two trading days.Story continues“This is going to be a large speed bump in the road for automakers that I’m sure that they saw coming,” Caldwell said.Toyota’s chairman says he saw it coming. Toyoda has long advised the industry to hedge its bets on EVs by continuing to invest in hybrids, hydrogen-powered cars, and other alternative eco-friendly vehicles.Ford, too, has been slow to put all of its eggs in the EV basket, announcing it would slow production of its F-150 Lightning pickup. Bill Ford, the great-grandson of the automaker’s founder Henry Ford, has described the rhetoric surrounding EVs as “heavily politicized.”“Blue states say EVs are great and we need to adopt them as soon as possible for climate reasons,” Ford told the New York Times. “Some of the red states say this is just like the vaccine, and it’s being shoved down our throat by the government, and we don’t want it.”General Motors similarly announced it would slow down EV production after making bullish commitments to completely phase out gas- and diesel-powered vehicles by 2035. The company blamed drops in demand for EVs and pressures from the auto strike.But this blip is only “growing pains” for the inevitable dominance of EVs in the auto industry, Caldwell said.“The industry is moving towards EVs—to deny that would probably be unwise,” Caldwell said. “It’s what that path looks like—that’s what’s undefined and is causing more confusion.”This story was originally featured on Fortune.com

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cyarskj1899 · 7 months

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Black Twitter reacts to Jack Harlow finding out Brandy and Ray J are siblings in wild Hot 97 interview

Jack Harlow might want to log off from social media for a few days and listen to some 90s R&B.

Black Twitter is not happy with Jack Harlow right now. Today (May 11), jaws were dropped when the “First Class” rapper discovered the Vocal Bible Brandy and entertainment mogul Ray J were siblings.

While visiting New York’s Hot 97 radio station, radio host Ebro Darden and crew challenged Harlow to a little game of guess that song.

As Darden cues up Brandy’s 1998 hit, “Angel in Disguise,” most figured it would be an easy win for the 24-year-old. They were wrong. Very wrong.

Darden and his co-hosts are seen nodding their heads to the tune as they give Harlow a chance to play the game.

“Oh, uh, Aaliyah?” Harlow asks.

“Nope!” the hosts yell after Harlow confuses the two very different artists.

“Stay with it, stay with it,” they urge him while giving the young rapper another shot. Some sing along while waiting for his answer.

The intro to the song is almost over and Harlow still can’t name the artist or track. One of the hosts asks, “Do you want me to give him a hint?”

“She had a TV show. She starred in a TV show,” Laura Stylez tells him.

“Tell me another hint,” Harlow says. Rosenberg chimes in with, “Her brother is the reason a lot of people are famous.”

With no response from Harlow, Ebro adds, “Her brother had an amazing sex tape.”

After several seconds go by, the “What’s Poppin” rapper asks, “Who’s Ray J’s sister?”

The hosts are shocked. While some throw their heads back with laughter, another can be heard saying, “Yo, he’s serious.” One host comes to his defense reminding listeners that Harlow is only 24.

“Brandy and Ray J are siblings?” Harlow asks as those in the room yell “Yes” in unison.

“Nobody’s ever told me that in my life,” the rapper responds.

Once Twitter got wind of the interview, they were flabbergasted. Most users seemed to feel that Harlow not recognizing the song was absurd.

“Not recognizing Brandy’s voice is why he shouldn’t be doing black music,” one person tweeted. Another added, “Brandy had one of the most recognizable voices. Ugh these generations of rappers.”

Others went a bit easier on the rapper. “Y’all are doing a LOT about Jack Harlow not knowing Brandy and Ray J. As if we don’t see young Black people ‘discover’ new things daily. Hell y’all find out Bobby Caldwell is white every three months.”

Take a look at what Black Twitter is saying about the revelation.

Not recognizing Brandy’s voice is why he shouldn’t be doing black music. — Critical Grace Theory (@Peaceful_Rule) May 11, 2022

Jack Harlow not knowing Brandy got y’all blaming Gen Z when ALL of us know her and that she’s related to Ray J… That’s a JACK HARLOW PROBLEM! — WILD ebony. (@BEYMANll) May 11, 2022

I'm furious!!! Brandy is very important to me. This is the turning point for me with Jack Harlow. 😟 — Petty Betty (@addicted2mess) May 11, 2022

jack harlow just finding out that brandy & ray j are siblings is exactly why y’all need to stop letting #them people capitalize off of our shit. — ☆ (@ALCHEMYSTlC) May 11, 2022

What’s the difference between Jack Harlow not knowing Brandy & Ray J were siblings, and Ella Mai not being able to name 3 Aretha Franklin songs? pic.twitter.com/D1QG8SXRgV — k a r y. (@itsKARY_) May 11, 2022

jack harlow is WHITE! him being 24 don't got nothing to do w him not knowing brandy and ray j are related, i'm 19 and i know that. as much as he tries to infiltrate black culture or whatever y'all can't forget that he is white at the end of the day — 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐞 𝐍𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐬𝐭 🧙🏾‍♀️ (@theenarcissist) May 11, 2022

He wants to be performing Black music and hanging out in Black spaces, and doesn't know who Brandy is or what her voice sounds like? Stupsee — Carolyn Hinds – Pettite Possee🇧🇧 (@CarrieCnh12) May 11, 2022

Jack Harlow is a 12 year old white boy so him not knowing who brandy is isnt crazy. But do artists not….study music??? — jennysayQuan (@notKissmequan) May 11, 2022

Y’all are doing a LOT about Jack Harlow not knowing Brandy and Ray J. As if we don’t see young Black people “discover” new things daily. Hell y’all find out Bobby Caldwell is white every three months. — Shut up already, damn! (@onlychyld) May 11, 2022

For Jack Harlow to not know Brandy is one of the whitest things ever. This man gets to frolic like an elf with absolutely no devotion to the genre or craft. — Queer Latifah 🥭 (@TheAfrocentricI) May 11, 2022

Brandy had one of the most recognizable voices. Ugh these generations of rappers🙄 — Freakboi (@Freakboi14) May 11, 2022

first of all, how do you confuse brandy for aaliyah, that’s means he doesn’t know aaliyah songs either but this is who a lot of you simp over and let make hip hop music.. pic.twitter.com/ZW2to66OIG — chu (@chuuzus) May 11, 2022

Went from: "Wait a minute ain't that Brandy's brother?"🎶 -Lil Kim To: "Brandy is Ray J's sister?" – Jack Harlow Ain't no way.🤦🏿‍♂️ — Dr. Will, LCSW 👑 (@WCoombsDSW) May 11, 2022

Brandy needs to drop a diss track on Jack Harlow.. we saw Queens- she can out spit him ANY DAY OF THE WEEK and ALL WKND pic.twitter.com/1VUQIZ7xG8 — p@ncho’s 🍑✍🏾📝🍓🎞🎬 🥑🍍 (@bici_IV_vente) May 11, 2022

Sent from my iPhone

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f1 · 2 years

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McLaren and Alpine are just too fast for us Gasly | RaceFans Round-up

In brief AlphaTauri struggling in midfield – Gasly Gasly started from the pit lane in Hungary due to a power unit change. He recovered to finish 12th, but admitted the team is still lacking performance. “The last few weekends obviously have been quite difficult and starting from the pit lane now we decided to revert on a couple of the things we did, try to get back to what we did earlier this season. I think there were actually a lot of interesting things. “In terms of performance I think we showed a slightly better pace than we used to do on Friday and we showed in the last couple of of weekends. So definitely some interesting data. “From the pit lane I’m pretty pleased to make it back to P12. At the moment McLaren and Alpine are just too fast for us and Aston on race day seem to pick up quite a bit of pace as well. Still I would say a positive Sunday even though we are quite far from the position we’d like.” Teams stay in Hungary to test More laps of the Hungaroring for Aston Martin Mercedes and Aston Martin weren’t in a hurry to depart the Hungaroring. The two teams will test prototype slick tyres for Pirelli on Tuesday and Wednesday. Bird scores points with broken hand Sam Bird broke his hand on the first lap of the London Eprix, yet finished the race and scored points. The Jaguar driver did not attend media duties after the race. His team confirmed that, on medical advice, he had gone for precautionary hospital checks on a hand injury. He was involved in several bumping incidents during the first lap. Formula E drivers unimpressed with multiple first-lap retirements Jean-Eric Vergne, Oliver Rowland, Dan Ticktum and Nick Cassidy retired on the first lap of the second London EPrix. Oliver Askew also retired later after being involved in the incidents. Cassidy was seen slowing behind the safety car after Rowland and Ticktum’s retirements called it out. He blamed his early exit from the race on Maximilian Günther. “The first seven corners, I was hit seven times by Günther,” said Cassidy. “Fair play for persistence, he obviously keeps at it, doesn’t give up. Fair play.” Rowland’s retirement came after going semi-airborne, his car lifting between Askew’s and the wall on the ramp section. However, he said that the worse damage was when he landed and then subsequently hit Vergne, who was crawling back to the pits with a radiator problem. “When you’re sitting in the seat you just see the sky and think ‘hmm, where’s this going’ but no, I was fine, it wasn’t too big an impact to be honest,” said Rowland. “I came out of turn five and he already squeezed me a bit into the wall and as he was [alongside me] he kind of picked up the front, so I was going towards the wall and then the wall picked me up in the air. “So it wasn’t 10-out-of-10 bad on his side, it was all just a bit unfortunate, just tops off the weekend really,” Rowland concluded. Nissany could become third F2 driver to get ban Nissany, who has driven in F1 practice for Williams, is near a ban Formula 2 is close to banning a third driver for reaching 12 penalty points in a season. Yesterday Oliver Caldwell became the second driver to reach a ban and will sit out the next round at Spa-Francorchamps. Amaury Cordeel was previously banned from the Silverstone round. Now Williams junior driver Roy Nissany has reached 11 penalty points, meaning he will earn an automatic ban if he collects one more. He received two after yesterday’s feature race at the Hungaroring when the stewards judged him entirely responsible for a collision with Roberto Merhi. “The stewards determined that car 16 [Nissany] made an inside pass attempt at the entrance of turn one,” they explained. “The brakes locked briefly and car 16 [Merhi] made contact with car 15 hard enough that the right rear suspension was damaged. Car 15 is judged wholly responsible for the collision.” via RaceFans - Independent Motorsport Coverage https://www.racefans.net

#F1 #“McLaren and Alpine are just too fast for us” – Gasly | RaceFans Round-up #Formula 1

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strelitzien-gewaechs · 4 years

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Thiala, man

(also i watched the Terran's Journal Livestream and HAD to do this, so blame Caldwell)

#naddpod #thiala #not an other dnd podcast #i am sorry #but caldwell is still to blame #2020 strel art #strels art

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carewyncromwell · 3 years

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[HPHL] Dark!Jackson Knightly AU Moodboard

--Inspired by @cursebreakerfarrier’s Dark!Teddy Ellison AU--

“I've been broken by the Devil...

Justice is a waste of time!

I won't get to heaven...

Why not raise a little Hell?”

~“Raise a Little Hell,” from Bonnie and Clyde the musical

x~x~x~x

In an ideal world, the son of seedy Muggle conman John Eglinton and naive witch Cassandra Knightly was able to escape the control of his father with the support of his first friend, Adelia Selwyn @that-ravenpuff-witch, and return to his mother in Britain, where he could then attend Hogwarts, make more wonderful friends like Orla Atkinson @hphm-brooke and Hirtia Caldwell @cursed-ice-spirits, fall head over heels in love, and over time grow into a man both charismatic enough for and worthy of the title of British Minister for Magic.

But in a world far less just, John Eglinton took the extra step to poison his wife in her sleep before taking Jackson away. The vicious murder made Jackson all the more hostile toward his father, which in turn prompted John Eglinton to keep his son on an even tighter leash. Without Adelia there to help rescue him as a boy, Jackson stayed under his father’s thumb for the whole of his childhood, until the 18-year-old wizard eventually mastered his magic enough on his own that he was able to magically tear a chandelier off the ceiling right down onto his father, skewering him with a thousand shards of piercing sharp glass.

With his father dead, Jackson -- now calling himself “Jack Knightly,” so as to distance himself from his father completely, tried to make his way in the world. The Wizarding World in America, however, is even more “underground” than in Great Britain, and Jack, since he never got a proper education in magic, soon ended up getting in trouble with the MACUSA for his often violent magical outbursts. Jack was sent to prison multiple times over the years, which only hardened him further. Eventually it got to the point that the now fully adult Jack made a vow to himself that he would never be locked up again -- and so he rose to the top of the magical bootlegging business in New York City, wining and dining the most powerful MACUSA officials he could to keep his establishment open and himself out of prison.

It was not long after then, in the early 1920′s, that some supporters of Gellert Grindelwald, fresh off the boat from Bulgaria, popped up in New York with the goal of creating an organization in America that could help their leader spread his influence across the Atlantic. They called that organization “the Hallowed Society,” after the Deathly Hallows symbol Grindelwald had usurped as his own. When the organization’s founders tried to recruit Jack, however, the devilishly handsome wizard laughed in their faces.

“Did you hear that, Ike, my slippery friend? They wish to recruit me.”

All of the wizards and witches at the bar -- all “business associates” of Jack’s -- started to snigger and share smirks among themselves too.

“I must say...you’re quite the comedian, Mr. Burke. You request an audience with the most powerful man in New York City, and you think to tempt me with a lackey position in your little boy’s club? You think that you’re someone who can lord over me? You, a wizard who’s still resigned to playing around with your cute little stick?”

His eyes flashing a dangerous electric blue, Jack Knightly broke Mr. Burke’s wand with an unpleasant snap with a mere flick of his head.

“Let me make one thing very clear, Mr. Burke -- I am closer a match to Gellert Grindelwald than you could ever be, not just in magical prowess but in bringing people into the fold of my enterprise. And when I meet your master with the army I shall ensemble for the cause of taking this world back from the filthy Muggles who force us underground, I’m sure he’ll be pleased to know that he can do better than a pathetic creature like you -- a disgrace to the pure Wizarding blood your name boasts.”

Sure enough, when Jack Knightly arrived in France and met Gellert Grindelwald with his gang from the Cottonmouth Club (named after Jack’s Animagus form, the Cottonmouth, which is the most poisonous snake in North America), the Bulgarian wizard was very pleased. This American could indeed be useful -- quite useful.

#cursebreakerfarrier encouraged me!! blame her!!#honestly though I love the thought of dark!jackson meeting dark!monty in france when he goes to see grindelwald #but yeah basically I took inspiration from both gangsters like clyde barrow and john dillenger #and fritz kuhn who founded the first successful (and american-founded) neo-nazi party in the u.s.#geezus am I glad jackie boy didn't go down this road!#thank god for adelia!!#that being said he is still a bad-ass XD #hphl #hogwarts legacy #dark au #au #aesthetic #moodboard #jackson knightly #adelia selwyn #gellert grindelwald #hirtia caldwell #orla atkinson #yes I do see my version of grindelwald being a bit different than the one in the movies #no offense to johnny depp but he wasn't what I pictured and crimes of grindelwald overall I really didn't like as a movie

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yvesdot · 2 years

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The Vampire As Liberation: Original Essay

In celebration of the BLOOD&BREATH vampire zine getting over 100 orders (THANK YOU!!!) I am releasing, as promised, my original "vampire as liberation" essay (though you may have seen similar thoughts expressed in this post).

I originally wrote this for a vampire film class at my university, for which I received an A+! This was the final paper, so I didn't get a grade on it specifically, but I think I did pretty well. Take a look:

There is always some kind of ‘high society.’ Whether it appears in the classroom, workplace, or social circle, there is always something to strive for. Particularly in Western society, there will always be the concept of one highest individual in this high society—the richest, the best connected, the one with the most power. And, conveniently, it can be quite difficult to locate who this is, which leaves everyone scrambling to secure the top spot. The vampire is a final reprieve from this society.

One’s schedule changes: in Dracula’s Daughter (Universal 1936), the titular character, Countess Marya Zaleska, must take her visitors only by night (00:33:10). Son of Dracula’s (Universal 1943) Kay Caldwell and her husband, Count Alucard, make the same request of their potential guests (00:39:00). Dracula himself, in his eponymous film (Universal 1931), sleeps in a coffin by day (00:46:22). There is hardly any way to connect with this daytime society when one is only awake at night.

One becomes a criminal: in all three of the above mentioned films, the vampires must feed on humans to stay alive. They become fugitives by default; murderers. They must devise schemes to either lure a victim to their home (as in Dracula’s Daughter, when Countess Marya uses Sandor to acquire Lili [0:34:10]) or else take care of them swiftly in the street (as in Son of Dracula, when Alucard preys upon a small boy later brought to Dr. Brewster [00:53:20].)

And one becomes undeniably, immediately, irreversibly Other.

In Dracula, Rensfield goes from respectable businessman to raving lunatic in his service to Count Dracula. The viewer might not be blamed for not recognizing the laughing, incomprehensible madman in the ship’s hold as the gentleman who dined so cautiously at Dracula’s table (00:20:23). He poses himself as an educated man, at first; he doesn’t believe in superstitions (00:04:00). All this silly vampire stuff. But just a few minutes pass on screen, and he is transformed into a man who will never again connect with what human society believes is real. He does not have to believe in the Other because he is the Other. He cannot deny the Other that lives within him. And—crucially—he does not seem to care to. Despite his help to those still embroiled in London’s upper class, he does not focus extensively on his own condition. After all, there’s nothing to be done.

Lucy’s brief appearance in Dracula mirrors this attitude, though it may not seem so upon first glance. She always desires Dracula; she imagines a life with him in his exotic, mysterious castle (00:26:32). She knows that her place is here, in England, with an average fiancee who will support her with his typical job, but she does not want it. Had she never met Dracula, undoubtedly Lucy would have met that boring fate, and whyever not? One must aspire to what society promotes. But Dracula, by inviting her to experience this heterosexual marriage with him, however subtly, cracks the glass of the supposed normal life she would otherwise live. She is already ever so slightly outside the normal, with Dracula as a supposed ‘exotic’ human man, and so the leap to vampire is not quite so hard to make. And though we don’t see her much longer throughout the film, she doesn’t seem to regret her decision, either. She doesn’t seem to even consider another life.

But it is Mina, undoubtedly, who makes this point the strongest. She does not particularly like Dracula at first, and even mocks Lucy for her interest. She has her fiance, whom (despite his total lack of apparent personality) she seems quite happy with. She is part of this high society, and she seems quite at home there. Furthermore, she’s distressed by all signs of vampirism—these dreams she can’t understand, these marks she’s ashamed of (00:38:07). And yet, in one moment, her attitude completely changes.

Once Mina is a vampire, she cannot imagine returning to her human ways, with much the same intensity as her prior disbelief that a life of Other could possibly be better. She is now out of the society, and out seemingly forever. And how freeing is it, suddenly? To wear a tight-fitting gown (01:01:21). To show such open affection to her fiance, to initiate these affections—and then reject, totally, the male lover assigned to her. To be loud and take up space. To act strange, to put men off. Her purpose is no longer to rise in some petty human pecking order. She can never return to the untainted virgin that she used to be; she is Dracula’s vixen. And isn’t it wonderful to be free, to be free from what she would have otherwise been.

But then, just as quickly, she turns around again. Harker comes for her, in the abbey, and Van Helsing puts a stake through Dracula’s heart, ostensibly curing Mina (01:12:26). This scene provides a wealth of readings via Mina’s wide eyes, chest-clutching, and labored breathing. She could seem terrified or delighted, in the throes of death or orgasm, and remains silent right up until the moment the camera leaves her. Then she screams. I have always read this moment as much more ambiguous than the casual reading—that Mina is cured, human again, and back to society unchanged. Back to demure, submissive heterosexual marriage with the man of society’s choice. How certain are we that she has been ‘cured’? That her ultimate recollection of that moment was pleasure and not pain? How do we know that her scream was real; that her fluttering confessions to Harker are true? And so Mina rises alongside him on the stairs to the tune of ringing wedding bells, leaving the audience only with her word as to whether she has remained the feral vampire, or has reverted to a proper young maiden once again.

Women do not get very much agency in early vampire films. Their roles are largely defined by which men they would like to be married to. Each major female character in these three classic vampire films—Mina, Lucy, Kay, and Marya—is defined largely by her relationship to and desire for different major men. Unfortunately this leaves the viewer with a rather unsatisfying look at the vampire as liberation, for women are only given the choice of a proper man or an ‘improper’ man—never really anything that might be too shocking (no man? or God forbid—a woman?), despite Dracula’s Daughter’s minor lesbian-tinged vampire attack. Even Marya, apparently attracted enough to women to seek one out to bite, does not spend more than one scene interested in Lili, and in fact ultimately only uses her and other women as a way to get closer to Dr. Garth, who represents the primary object of her desire.

Despite the material, even in these later films there is still an obvious connection between vampires and the Other, between humanity and the proper. In Son of Dracula, for example, Kay Caldwell provides our opening introduction to Alucard. She has a fiance—your typical gentleman, kind to her but otherwise unremarkable—in whom she seems vaguely interested, despite his retorts to her conversation on the occult (00:09:07). Kay spends much of her time with him not only discussing the occult but specifically Alucard; though she likes Frank, she is not satisfied enough to keep her mind from straying.

The film’s plot winds around several strange twistings of its events—first that Kay has left Frank for Alucard, and that she has married him, and then of course that she has become a vampire, and then that she only did it for Frank after all, so that they could be together. It is hard to really trust Kay—she seems always to have someone to lie to, and desires within her that go unexpressed. Is she freed by her relationship with Alucard? Perhaps to be immortal, but not to be in love. In her human relationship with Frank, she seems happy but unfulfilled. Kay defies Mina and Lucy’s prior simple desires for either one or the other by complicating what makes up ‘human society’. She doesn’t care for the social events or gatherings, even for the worries of her own human sister, but she wants Frank. She wants Frank, whom she has been offered, but she does not want him as he has been offered. Kay will only take Frank changed, Othered—and then she wants him forever.

Countess Marya forms a counterpoint to all of the above examples by lamenting her vampirism. She does not want to be a vampire—she loathes her urges and seeks out Dr. Garth originally to cure them with his hypnotism. She plays piano (00:15:06), she attends parties (00:23:30), she mingles with the social elite, but still she knows she is not like them. A vampire can mix with humans as much as she likes, but she is still not human. She is still Other. And in this way, with her lust for the proper and for this unattainable normality, she turns her vampirism into a tragedy. She seeks out Garth, but how can she have him? Once he knows what she is, he displays the same disgust as Frank. No proper human man will take an Other woman. In fact, Son of Dracula and Dracula’s Daughter share the same inherent tragedy in their romance—that despite the vampire woman’s devotion, her human man seeks only to end her. No matter how beautiful she may be.

And yet despite Countess Marya’s self-loathing, there is still an undercurrent of liberation, of power. When she understands she cannot change herself, she embraces her figure—the Other, the vampire, the murderess, the embodiment of evil. She kidnaps the woman closest to Garth and threatens to kill her (01:04:21). She sends away Sandor, rebuffing him when he requests immortality (01:04:46). In finally understanding her irreparable separation from society, she becomes truly herself in a way that she never could have been before. She owns herself, and she chooses for herself. What is not given, she takes. No gentle young woman could do this—and perhaps that is the real secret of the vampire. That once you understand you will never get what you used to want, you learn to take what you need.

Whether desirable or detestable, this Other presented by classic vampire films is clear and consistent. The vampire, in particular the female vampire (sorry, Renfield), is a figure totally outside of usual high society. She travels alone and lives in far-off retreats with her chosen lover, and perhaps a few choice other creatures of the night. She uses others for her gain; she rises in a glamour unmatched by the shallow victories of human social domination. She transcends this rough plane of humanity into a never-ending power fantasy in the dark.

And so the ultimate charm, perhaps, of the vampire is that it is always possible—that anyone can become a vampire, can liberate themself. This is what these classic vampire films offer us: Do you want to be freed? What would you do if not for these petty constraints?

And if we come tonight, to turn you, will you be waiting?

Final notes: We didn't have to quote things directly, just cite the timestamps and otherwise assume awareness from the reader, so if you don't get a film reference, my apologies-- and go watch it!! These were all worth at least one watch, and I'd definitely watch Son of Dracula again more than once. Hope you enjoyed!

ko-fi | Patreon | all writing | book

#txt #important writing updates #Are people super into academic writing? I could go look through other things I wrote but I feel as though this is kind of the peak.#vampires #monsters #writeblr #litblr #studyblr #filmblr #yves talks books #blood&breath #blood & breath

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pterobat · 3 years

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I'm glad Noah Caldwell-Gervais gave a shout-out to RE2Makes' new characterization of Annette Birkin in his video so's I can post what I've been sitting on.

My favorite thing about Resident Evil is the Birkin Family shitshow, and there was a good 'un.

I mean, applying "realism" to Resident Evil by deleting the giant plant and animal enemies is pretty wrong-headed, but aiming for emotional realism via having better voice acting and trying to make the characters sound more like actual human beings--we're down.

Discourse is likely going to come for mad scientists sooner or later, but screw that: no I don't think Annette was absolved of anything; her attack of conscience serves to enliven the character, not redeem her, and that's more than good enough.

I love that even with regrets, Annette lacks empathy and decisiveness, when she leaves Sherry literally in the garbage to be confined while she mutates, but also flip-flops, giving Claire the clue to the lab but refusing to watch further. It's a very human reaction, to waffle and dither.

But Annette can't quite let the mad science go, as she gets wrapped up in studying the aftermath of G2 in the underground, in a very convincing portrayal of the fixated.

Annette being so weary, so caustic makes her also fun to watch in Leon's scenario. She's not a perfect supervillain, but has one nerve left and you're getting on it.

Annette's also terrible at lying ("Everything is under control"), which is another fun flaw and the reason I'm not fussed about her saying that she and William were more more married to their work than each other. The writing is too improved to make me think the Birkins were actually more close in 1.0. They probably didn't have a perfect relationship, but Annette's so obviously trying to deflect the blame for letting William live instead of behaving 100% objectively.

I only miss the severe bob, now exchanged for on-the-nose Dead Anime Mom Hair, but, damn, Annette is so much fun.

I also love (implausible) body horror and The Thing, so G-Birkin was always a great design. The way that he not just gradually grows more inhuman--but is being consumed by The Meat, overtaken by it, puppeted by it--that's cool! I miss the animalistic look of G4 but everything else is great.

None of the other final bosses have a compelling reason to become monsters, or any real emotional fallout from it--Birkin does, because he's petty, dying, and obsessed. Almost relatable, but he destroys town and family alike because of it, in a horrific, tidy melodrama.

The remake reduces the explicitness of William's need to facehugger his daughter...the original has a scene where he approaches Sherry's unconscious body, while still having his human head. It fades to black with a slithery gurgle, and later the pixellated appendage crawls away. Not to mention Annette 1.0 gives us a long speech about it.

The remake leaves you to put the pieces together, and suggests it wasn't until G2, when his monstrous head sprouted, that Birkin actually did it. Maybe it's not *better* but the realistic animation would have made it harder to digest.

Birkin had the chance while G1 to attack Sherry when rescuing her from Irons, and it's possible he did, just like it's possible he only killed Mr. X because he was trying to get past him to attack Sherry. But I dig the potential symbolism of William not fully going after Sherry until he loses his "head" and the potential that some remnant of him was protecting her instead.

It's not an over-sentimental, newbish, naive take, because there's still more than enough terror and death to spread around, and the Birkins' crimes are still legendary.

It's true that everythin about the G-Virus is tremendously inefficient, but horror is not about what "makes sense" but what scares the audience.

youtube

#re2make #re2 #resident evil 2 #william birkin #annette birkin #annie is not okay #monsters #creatures #Youtube

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queenmevesknickers · 3 years

Link

ICYMI: this week I’ve started a new discord sever for Witcherverse fan fic writers! We’ve started a weekly writing challenge to work on our writing skills - here’s my work for this week’s prompt: ‘It could be worse’.

Please feel free to drop into The Void and join us!

---

‘It could be worse’.

Gascon sighed as Reynard snatched the spyglass off him again. “Would it kill you to say ‘please’ every once in a while?”

Reynard made no reply, already focussed intently on the imposing outline of Tuzla Castle in the distance. “Th’ western wall…” he murmured. “They’d do well to set th’ catapults towards it…sling a few boulders…”

“You might wish to speak up, friend – not sure darling Meve can hear you all th’ way back here.”

This time, Reynard turned to glare at him. “Is this but a jest to you? I suppose you think it’s all par th’ course to be cast out as a traitor – but I would never have been in this position if it weren’t for you –”

Gascon folded his arms. “Strange – I must've had a lapse of memory, for I really can’t recall compelling you to go behind Meve’s back and correspond with th’ enemy...seems to me you’ve no one to blame but yourself for your share in our predicament, Reynard.”

Reynard turned back to survey the field of battle once more, still scowling.

“Oh, come now – it could be worse.”

Reynard lowered the spyglass to stare at him incredulously. “Worse? Perhaps my powers of imagination are deficient, for I cannot conceive of any circumstances more dire than our own, at present – I beg you, please do enlighten me.”

“Our heads are still attached to our shoulders, aren’t they? I don’t know about you, but personally, I shan’t take it for granted – why, I don’t think I’d be half so handsome without mine.”

“I’m not sure I agree,” came the terse reply.

“– you wound me, Reynard, that really is striking a man when he’s down –”

“Not what I meant.”

Gascon raised his eyebrows. “You think you’d be better off dead? Gods, and to think I’m th’ one accused o’ doomsaying.”

“Ought I to believe otherwise? Disgraced in th’ eyes of my queen, cast out in this accursed land, behind enemy lines and yet powerless to strike at our foe, saddled with the company of th’ rogue who sought to sell us out –”

“Will no one appreciate the fact that I did no such thing in th’ end…” Gascon trailed off. “Say, is that someone at th’ tower window?” He snatched the glass off Reynard, ignoring the latter’s grumbles. “Bloody hell, it’s Caldwell –”

“What? Let me see –” Reynard made to grab it back off him but froze as they watched Caldwell’s portly figure plummet from the window.

“Well,” said Gascon quietly. “Can’t say I envy his fate. Still think I’m mistaken to believe things could be worse?”

Reynard opened his mouth to reply, then paused and frowned. “Do you…do you smell smoke?” He peered around the boulder they were sheltering behind. “Damn it...Caldwell’s men’ve burnt th’ bridge. They’re trapped – and so are we.”

Gascon blinked. “It’ll hold off those Blackclads on our heels, though – won’t it?”

Reynard shook his head slowly. “They’ll have a whole company of engineers, I don’t doubt it. To ford th’ river will be but half a day’s work, at most.”

Gascon turned his gaze back in the direction of Tuzla. “Then there’s nothin’ for it. On we must go.”

“Into Ysgith.” Reynard’s expression was grim.

Gascon shuddered – they’d already heard much of the swamps where even the most dauntless of the Angreni dared not tread.

Reynard sighed. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but – I must admit I’m glad not to be going there alone.”

He grinned. “Ah now, never dreamed I’d hear such tender words from you, Reynard. Well, as much as I should like to prolong this touching moment, I don’t fancy being interrupted by those Nilfgaardians. Shall we?”

#Thronebreaker #Reynard #Reynard Odo #Gascon #Gascon Brossard #fanfic #fan fic #my writing #the witcher fanfiction #vignette #the void writing challenge

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firstfrostfall · 3 years

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A Cold Lament - Chapter One

a tommy shelby fanfiction

In the winter of 1918, the Shelby brothers returned home from a war-torn France. In the winter of the following year, the middle brother, Tommy, recognizes an opportunity for his family to move up in the world, and it came in the shape of a misplaced crate of weapons.

In the meantime, per the request of his aunt, he gives a struggling young woman a job.

Little did he know, that like the smell of snow on the wind in late autumn, everything was going to change, and it wasn’t just because of some stolen guns.

Takes place during Season One.

“This is a story, told the way you say stories should be told: Somebody grew up, fell in love, and spent a winter with her lover in the country. This, of course, is the barest outline, and futile to discuss. It's as pointless as throwing birdseed on the ground while snow still falls fast. Who expects small things to survive when even the largest get lost? People forget years and remember moments. Seconds and symbols are left to sum things up: the black shroud over the pool. Love, in its shortest form, becomes a word. What I remember about all that time is one winter. The snow. Even now, saying ‘snow,’ my lips move so that they kiss the air.” - Ann Beattie, Snow

WINTER, 1918

Tommy returned from France in the afternoon, after days of riding in a cramped train. Before that, he was crammed in the back of a cattle truck, and before that, well, he was deep underground, caked in mud and blood, digging away in a French tunnel.

It was cold when he stepped off of the cart, shoulder-to-shoulder with his brothers and the hundreds of other men who piled onto the platform. Former soldiers, all of them. Former. What did that make them now?

The sky was a broad, gray hand, and the wind smelled like snow. It was that certain smell that came around when the trees were bare and noses were red. Clean and winter, wide open. Like the whole world was about to change.

For two weeks after returning home, Tommy filled his days with other people, so as to avoid the quiet. Work with Polly in the shop, cards with Arthur at the Garrison, guns, and horses with John, nights with the same pool of working girls over and over again. Without people, the emptiness that came along with the quiet consumed him. He tried to remember what he was like, before the war, but he soon learned that it was impossible to recall, because he was in the after now.

At night, he would lie awake in bed, smoking an endless chain of cigarettes to avoid sleep. Not that it came easy to him, anyway. But there were times, albeit few and far between, where he would fall asleep, and he would find the quiet. Or, rather, the quiet would find him.

The quiet parts were all nightmares, dark rivers of mud and lost souls. He could never tell whether they were souls he knew now, or if they were people from the past, soldiers, screaming in voices made of wire. He would wake with a start, panting and covered in sweat, followed by a sense of relief that it was over. It wasn’t real. Sometimes the dreams would follow him during the day, usually in the sounds of shovels scraping against his wall when it was just him, alone in his bedroom, and the only other noise was the heavy thumping of his heart.

When the dreams that chased him into the day became more frequent, the cigarettes in bed turned into a pipe of opium. It kept the quiet out.

There were few opportunities after the war. Most jobs were an exercise in shared misery, toiling away in a factory for 15 hours a day- at least. So, he took matters into his own hands. It started as glancing encounters with petty crimes. Little shipments of illegal goods, a fixed race or two, then a little more, and a little more… Instead of people, Tommy found a new way to keep the quiet at bay.

Organized crime was a lucrative business, after all. Under the umbrella of the Peaky Blinders, it gave his family name a new sense of meaning, a sense of power.

And then, as if by divine intervention, a crate of guns were dropped at his doorstep. From that moment on, just like the smell of snow, the whole world changed. His whole world changed.

THE BRINK OF WINTER, 1919

He was at The Garrison with his brothers, sipping whiskey and listening to the two of them argue. Cards were scattered across the table, each play held in place by half-empty pints of beer and overflowing ashtrays. Their shared cigarette smoke made the air in the tiny room hazy and thick, so much so that Tommy could feel his eyes stinging each time he blinked.

They were in the middle of a card game until Arthur was losing and subsequently blamed it on John for cheating. Arthur had put a heavy wager on himself winning, which was a poor move on his part- John always cheated at cards. Tommy shook his head, their bickering nothing but static in the back of his mind. Another way to keep out the quiet.

Their argument was interrupted by a knock on the window that separated their private room from the bar. Arthur’s words slurred together and bellowed something along the lines of “open up,” at whoever was knocking. The barkeep, Harry, poked his head through.

“Good, uh, morning,” He nodded to the three of them. “I’m sorry for interrupting, but, there’s a boy here asking for Mr. Shelby.”

“Which one?” John laughed, sipping his pint as he elbowed Arthur in the side.

Harry leaned away to shout a question at someone from across the bar, before turning back to them. “Thomas, he says.”

“The one who matters the most,” Tommy deadpanned, a slight smirk on his lips. He waved a hand at the barkeep. “Send him in.”

Harry muttered a quick “yes, sir” and promptly closed the window.

Arthur, who sat closest to the door, kicked it open. A young man, who really was more of a boy, after all, stood before them. Removing his cap and gripping it tightly in between his fingers, he took a few hesitant steps into the snug.

“Mrs. Gray says she needs you at the shop, Mr. Shelby,” He shifted from foot to foot. “At once, she said.”

“At once,” Arthur repeated with a grin, clapping Tommy on the shoulder. “What did you do now, eh?”

“Looks like I’m on my way to find out,” Tommy pushed himself up from the booth and finished the rest of his whiskey in one swig. “Tell Mrs. Gray I’ll be right there,” He nodded to the boy and flicked a spare coin from his waistcoat at him. “Go on now.”

Tommy shrugged on his cap and jacket and followed the boy out of the pub, a fresh cigarette perched between his lips. He walked through the streets of Small Heath with his hands shoved in his pockets, watching the boy’s pace hasten in front of him from under his cap. The sky was dark, a thick curtain of gray, save for the tiny bulb of sun that just barely broke through the clouds. It was ominous, no doubt threatening a chilling rainstorm later, or perhaps, snow.

It was almost winter again.

He tipped the brim of his cap to the nameless working men who flitted in and out of the betting shop, a cloud of breath escaping their lips with each hurried “G’day, Mr. Shelby” that they gave him in passing.

The shop was busy, filled with the chattering of hopefuls who placed bets, the sound of a man shouting names and scratching too little chalk across the green board. He noticed his aunt, Polly Gray, hunched over a desk, eyebrows knitted together in concentration. She fidgeted with a cigarette in between two fingers while she read over what he could only assume was a packet of ledgers.

He stopped short in front of her. “You needed me?”

“Oh, Thomas,” She flicked the ash from her cigarette and sat up, the legs of the chair scraping against the uneven floorboards. “What’s your schedule for tomorrow?”

“Not sure,” He replied, “Depends on who’s asking.”

Polly scoffed, beckoning him to follow with a flick of her wrist. “Your aunt’s asking, come with me.” She led him to their family’s parlor, allowing him to step ahead of her while she drew the curtains that separated them from the rest of the shop.

“I have a favor to ask,” She glanced at him from over her shoulder, balancing the cigarette between her lips while she tied the curtains together tightly. She let out an audible sigh and finally turned around to face him.

Tommy leaned against the wall, still tending to his own dwindling cigarette. “What’s the favor?”

“I need to hire someone.”

“Who?”

“A friend,” She replied. “Well, the niece of a friend.”

“Niece?”

“Are you a fucking parrot?” Polly snapped at him. Shaking her head, she leaned over the table to twist out the remaining stub of her cigarette into an ashtray. “I’d have already hired her myself, but since you’ve been back, I need to jump through a few more hoops before making any executive decisions.” She sighed, clearly bitter. “Nothing gets done without your knowledge.”

Tommy rolled his eyes. “Who is she?”

“I know her aunt from church, she asked me if I could get her a job.”

“You’re asking me for a favor? For another favor?” He clicked his tongue against his teeth. “Seems like a bad deal to me.”

“I didn’t ask if it was a bad deal or not, I asked if I could hire someone.”

He exhaled, bringing the cigarette to his lips and looking away from her. A headache started building up in the back of his skull. “Why here?”

“She trusts that I’ll look out for her niece,” Polly answered quickly, “She has many children of her own, she can’t afford another mouth to feed anymore. Her husband died in France,” Polly paused, taking a seat at the table. “The bottom line is, she thought to ask me for help, and that means something.”

“What’s the name?”

“Caldwell.”

Tommy remained silent for a long while.

“She’s having hard times, and doesn’t want to kick her own flesh and blood out onto the curb.”

“Aren’t we all having hard times?” He raised an eyebrow.

“She’s desperate. Will you help me, or not?”

“This isn't women’s business.”

Polly rolled her eyes. “Her aunt was good to me, while you boys were away at war, back when it was women’s business,” Polly rolled her eyes. “I’m just trying to pay that good nature forward.”

“Since when did you start paying things forward?”

“Since today,” She huffed, “I’ll ask again. Will you help me or not?”

“Why should I waste company resources on a girl we don’t know, for a job we don’t have. Have you met her before?”

Polly glanced away from him, purposefully silent while tucking a stray curl behind her ear. “Her aunt says she’s a good girl.”

“A good girl,” Tommy scoffed, dropping the stub of his cigarette into the ashtray at the center of the table. “Exactly what we need, a good girl . So you don’t know her?”

“Says she’s a hard worker too.”

“Do you even know her name?” He narrowed his eyes at her and then added. “Besides the surname.”

Polly avoided his gaze, instead fidgeting with the golden rings on her fingers.

“Would you just give this a chance?” She cleared her throat. “You don’t even have to hire her. But would you at least see her? Interview her?”

“What job am I supposed to interview her for?” He blankly stared at her. “What have you promised?”

“I haven’t promised anything.” Polly continued, “But I know she’s good with numbers. She’s got certifications.”

“Ah, certifications,” He rolled his eyes, sarcasm lacing his voice. “I’d reckon then that she could find a job, literally, anywhere else.”

“It’s not that easy, Thomas,” Polly shook her head, “If you don’t want her working in the shop, we can find something else for her to do. It’ll be my responsibility.” She paused, pursing her lips. “Her aunt trusts me, she knows I’ll look after her. This is important to me.”

He took a deep breath, shutting his eyes for a moment. The headache that started in the back of his skull had traveled all of the way to his forehead now. When he opened his eyes, he saw a worry wracking his aunt’s face. He began walking toward the curtains but stopped short.

“I’ll see her tomorrow,” Tommy turned on his heel to face her, emphasizing each word with a jab of his finger. “Three o’clock at The Garrison. But if she’s even a second late, it’s over.”

Polly smiled, clasping her hands together in front of her. “Thank you, Thomas.”

Tommy tossed a cigarette stub onto the sidewalk and twisted it into the cement with the heel of his shoe. He pulled his pocket watch from his waistcoat and peered at it, then glanced up at the gilded sign of The Garrison. It was almost three o’clock.

I’m asking as a favor, Thomas. Ridiculous. He was quickly learning that most favors were an additional headache for him.

The pub was empty, save for Harry who was wiping down the bar top. The barkeep caught his eye and tilted his head in the direction of a booth, where his aunt and another person sat. From where he stood, the other person was the back of a neat head of red hair. Polly didn’t notice him initially, seemingly engrossed in conversation, so he tipped his cap to Harry and made his way into the private room.

The window to the bar popped open, and the barkeep, ever-dutiful, appeared.

“Whiskey,” Tommy said, never looking directly at him. He took a seat at the booth and dropped his cap onto the empty space next to him. “And tell my aunt that I’ll be waiting in here, I’d like to speak with her first.”

Harry muttered a quick affirmation in response and disappeared from sight. By the time he returned with his drink in hand, there was a brisk knock at the main door to the room. Before Tommy could say anything, the door swung open, and it was Polly who stood there.

“You didn’t even say hello.”

“This is your favor,” He gave her a pointed nod. “Not mine.”

She rolled her eyes.

Tommy jerked his chin toward the pub. “You walked her here?”

“Keep your voice down, she’ll hear you,” Polly glanced behind her quickly and waved a hand at him. “Yes, I walked her here. I wanted to make a good impression.”

“A good impression, eh?” He motioned to her with the drink in his hand. “You’ve got an hour of my time. Bring her in.”

He didn’t have the slightest clue as to what job he was interviewing her for.

Polly couldn’t have left him anymore unprepared. He didn’t know anything about this girl, besides her surname, and perhaps that she could add a few numbers together, and her aunt was poor as the poorest. He vowed, at that very moment, that this would be the last time he would do a favor for anyone ever again.

He had better things to do. Better things that specifically involved a misplaced crate of guns that had fallen right into his lap a few days prior, and were currently gathering dust in Charlie Strong’s yard.

Polly left the door ajar. He turned to the frosted window that gave a blurry view of the streets beyond the pub. The sky was still overcast, just as it was the day before. The clouds were significantly darker, it looked like snow was more likely than rain. Then, an unfamiliar voice tore him from his musings. It was crisp and clear, with an accent that hinted at expensive schooling.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Shelby.”

When Tommy turned to look at her, he wondered if he’d managed at all to mask his surprise. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but it wasn’t… this. By the sound of her accent and smooth skin of her face, this girl, or woman, rather, in front of him couldn’t have been any older than twenty. Young, with fair skin, dressed sharply in a cream blouse and green skirt, not a wrinkle or crease in sight. In one hand, she held a folder, and with the other, she brushed a few auburn curls behind her ear. She looked at him expectantly, giving a flash of a smile framed in bright red lips.

Polly painted him a completely different picture. He assumed this girl would be showing up in moth-eaten clothes, raspy voice from working in a factory of some sort, gangly and thin. She was thin, yes, but didn’t look impoverished. She looked like a high society bitch, dropped in the middle of a dreary factory town. It was humorous, in a way.

He took a measured sip of his drink and motioned for her to take a seat.

“Miss Caldwell, was it?” His voice trailed off as he studied her, waiting for her to fill in the blanks.

“Anna,” She answered, smoothing out her skirt on her lap. “Anna Caldwell. Thank you for seeing me today, especially on such short notice.”

He could see why Polly walked her here, and it became quite clear to him that it wasn’t just to make a good impression. She, Anna , that was her name, didn’t fit in around Small Heath one bit. It was evident in the way she was dressed, and the way she spoke.

She looked greener than the fucking grass at Easter. Certainly didn’t fit in around Small Heath. Certainly not fit for waltzing around Small Heath.

“Yes, well,” He cleared his throat, “Polly spoke very highly of your aunt.”

“My aunt speaks highly of her,” She replied. “They got to know each other during the war, as I suppose many women did.”

Tommy nodded, reaching for his drink. For a while, he attempted to make small talk. It was like pulling fucking teeth. Eventually, he reached his breaking point and decided to cut to the chase. One could only talk about the weather for so long. An attractive woman, he supposed, made it easier, but he wasn’t here to make nice with her, he was fulfilling a favor for his aunt. It was a business transaction, as simple as that.

“Why do you need this job?”

“Well,” She opened her mouth slightly, and then closed it, clearly taken aback by the bluntness of the question. “My aunt is a busy woman. I’ve been staying with her for a while now, and I think it’s time that I start finding my own work, to support myself. To ease the burden on her.”

A politer explanation of the situation in comparison to what Polly told him. He suspected it was a half-truth, on Anna’s part.

“I see,” He extended an open hand to her. “You brought a resume?”

Anna nodded fiercely, carefully opening the folder and handing him a thick piece of paper. He took it from her and slowly began scanning each line. She didn’t have much experience, in, well, anything. There were a few CPA courses dated from a couple of years back, a reference or two. No example of any steady job. In fact, she had never worked at all.

“There’s been few opportunities after the war, finding work has been difficult.”

Few opportunities after the war, he hummed at that.

“Where are you from?”

“A little village far from here,” She answered, shaking her head ever so slightly, causing a few strands of hair to fall in her face. “I doubt you’ve heard of it.”

“Humor me.”

“Eastcliff, it’s far south of here.”

“Doesn’t ring a bell,” He turned the page over. “And you’re living in Birmingham now?”

“Yes,” Anna folded her hands on the table. “A few streets away from this place, actually.” She glanced around the room. “Although I haven’t come around here often.”

He fought a smirk from appearing on his lips. Of course, she’d never come around these parts.

“You took some CPA courses?” He raised an eyebrow, peering at her from over the paper.

She nodded, leaning close to him to point at something on the paper. As he laid her resume on the table, her fingertips brushed across his knuckles. His eyes flicked toward hers and held her gaze. He noticed her cheeks flush, if only slightly when he pulled his hand away. She cleared her throat and tapped a finger on a certain line.

He looked at her hands while she spoke, her words melding together and becoming a lull in the back of his mind. Her hands were smooth, not a callus, or scar for that matter. Not the hands of a factory girl. He glanced up to her face next. Murky blue eyes, fair with a dusting of freckles across her nose, red curls framing her face. No work experience, few references, allegedly from a small village in fuck knows where. It was almost like she appeared out of thin air.

“Well, Miss Caldwell,” He finished the rest of his drink in a single swig. “I’ll speak to Mrs. Gray, and see what we can do.” He reached for her resume, “May I?”

He really had no intention of hiring her. There was no job available, especially since she barely had any experience in, well, anything. It would take a little more than a pretty face to change that. She would turn out to be a bad investment.

“Of course, please keep it.”

Tommy folded it into a small square and tucked it away in his jacket. Standing from the booth, he gestured to the door. “After you.”

“Thank you, Mr. Shelby,” Anna turned to him, smoothing all of her hair over one shoulder. It was long, he noticed, stopping just below her collarbone. “I appreciate the time you took to speak with me today.”

He shook his head. “It was no trouble.”

Polly approached them from the booth she was sitting at, placing an empty glass on the bartop in the process. “Anna, would you give me a moment with my nephew?”

“Of course,” She nodded, her heels clicking against the floor as she went to retrieve her coat from the booth she was sitting at earlier.

“So?” Polly asked him under her breath, eyes darting between him and Anna. “What did you think?”

Tommy leaned against the bar, watching as the girl bundled herself up in a wool coat and matching hat. “I don’t know what you expect me to do.”

“I expect you to do the right thing, and help someone out.”

He rolled his eyes, the right thing. “She doesn’t seem to be struggling,” Tommy jerked his chin to Anna. “Look, she has a nice coat.”

“Oh, please,” Polly hushed, nudging him in the side as she walked by.

“It was nice meeting you, Mr. Shelby.” Anna waved before stepping out of the pub. “Thank you again.”

“I’ll be right out,” Polly shouted to her when the front door closed with a jingle.

“I don’t know what to say, Pol,” He pulled his cigarette case from his waistcoat and placed it on the bar. “There aren’t any open positions at the shop,” He nodded to the door, “Especially not for a girl like her.”

“What do you mean? I’m sure she’d be a fine secretary.”

Tommy scoffed, perching a cigarette in between his lips. “What do we need a secretary for?”

“Having one would keep the shop running smoothly, we could always use the extra hands there. Doing the boring work you boys don’t like. There’s more to this business than just blood, you know.”

“I told you I’d interview her, and I did.” He cupped his hands around the lighter, waiting for it to catch. “She has barely any working experience on her resume besides a few courses. Hiring her would be a waste of time and resources. How old is she?”

“Twenty-three.”

“In that case, she could make some good money on her back,” He dragged the cigarette from his lips and exhaled a cloud of smoke.

“You’re despicable.”

“It’s an option.” He shrugged, glancing at his aunt from the corner of his eye. “I interviewed her. Favor fulfilled.”

“What am I supposed to do? Go out there and tell her there’s no job here for her?”

“This was your idea” Tommy deadpanned. “I already told you what she could do. Plenty of men around here would be willing to pay a pretty penny for a night with her.” He pointed to the door with his cigarette. “I’d bet, barely broken in.”

“Is this fun for you?” Polly snapped, jerking her head toward him.

He chose not to answer.

They stood in bitter silence, save for the sound of Polly incessantly tapping her foot on the ground. He glanced around the empty pub, dim light filtering in from the windows. In a few hours, the place would be booming with people, with just Harry managing the bar by himself. It was fine enough for him to do that during the war, there were barely any men around then, anyway. Nowadays? With the men back and in desperate need to drink away their sorrows, he was in over his head, each and every night.

Tommy grimaced. An idea trickled into his head. He peered at his aunt from the corner of his eye and cleared his throat.

“You’d be doing the girl and her aunt a favor if you just told them to pack off,” He reached for his cigarette case and shoved it haphazardly into his coat. “You had to walk her here, you say she’s good. Why would you even want her working with us in the first place?”

“Her aunt trusts me,” Polly sighed. “She knows I’ll keep an eye on her. Can’t say many other places offer that- peace of mind.”

Tommy hummed in response. He turned on his heel to face the bar and started banging his open palm against the bar top.

Polly raised an eyebrow at him.

Red-faced at the sudden noise, Harry came running from the back room.

“Another drink, Mr. Shelby?” He nodded his head toward Polly, tossing a stained cloth over his shoulder. “Mrs. Gray.”

“No, no drink,” Tommy spoke with a cigarette between his lips. “Are you still hiring?”

“Hiring? For the extra help around here?”

“Exactly that.”

Harry paused, glancing from Tommy to Polly then back again.

“Well, uh, yes. Yes, I am.”

Tommy tilted his head to Polly. “Would you look at that?”

Harry knelt behind the bar and began rifling through the shelves for something. Bottles and other miscellaneous items clattered together while he searched. “I put an advertisement in the paper,” He called from below. Eventually, he stood up and placed a crumpled newspaper in front of them. “Not many applicants, though.”

“You’re kidding, Thomas.” Polly took a step closer to the bar.

Tommy thumbed through the newspaper to the advertisement section. He scanned through each job posting line by line, until one, in particular, caught his eye.

“Here we are,” He folded the paper and handed it to Polly, tapping a specific headline with his finger. She snatched it from him and brought it close to her face, eyes narrowing at the fine print.

“She’s never done this kind of work before,” She muttered, never looking directly at him.

That was evidently clear to him. Her hands were a dead giveaway. He still wasn’t even sure if she had done any kind of work before. “You said she’s a hard worker, eh? There’s always time to learn.”

Polly didn’t reply, still clutching the newspaper tightly. She shook her head.

“You can go out there and tell her that it’s either this,” Tommy motioned to the pub around them. “Or on her back. It’s your choice.”

She glared at him, her lips forming a tight-line. Lifting her chin, she tucked the newspaper under her arm. “I’ll show her the advertisement.”

“She’ll be on the company payroll.” He raised his cigarette to her. “Favor fulfilled, Pol, and then some.”

Polly wordless turned on her heel and adjusted the velvet cap on her head. The door to the pub jingled as she stepped out.

“How about that drink?”

Tommy gave him a curt nod. He rested his elbows on the bartop, staring at the glossy wood.

“Huh, would you look at that,” Harry muttered as he uncorked a bottle. “It’s snowing. Early this year, isn’t it?”

Glancing out of The Garrison’s frosted windows, he saw that it had indeed started to snow. Tommy pulled the cigarette from his lips and sighed.

He swore that he had no intention of hiring her.

#tommy shelby x oc #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby fanfic #peaky blinders fanfic

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atlanticcanada · 2 years

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15 schools dismissing students due to power outages in Dartmouth, Cole Harbour areas

Fifteen schools in Dartmouth, Cole Harbour, Eastern Passage and surrounding communities are dismissing students this morning due to an ongoing power outage.

The Halifax Regional Centre for Education says the following schools will remain closed after students are dismissed Thursday:

Astral Drive Elementary

Astral Drive Junior High

Auburn Drive High

Bel Ayr Elementary

Bell Park Academic Centre

Caldwell Road Elementary

Colby Village Elementary

Cole Harbour District High

Colonel John Stuart Elementary

Eastern Passage Education Centre

Graham Creighton Junior High

Joseph Giles Elementary

Portland Estates Elementary

Robert Kemp Turner Elementary

Sir Robert Borden Junior High

The outage is affecting more than 21,000 Nova Scotia Power customers in Dartmouth, Eastern Passage, Cole Harbour, North Preston and surrounding areas.

According to Nova Scotia Power’s outage map, a “transmission interruption” is to blame for the outage, which started early Thursday morning. The estimated restoration time is 11 a.m.

The outage has turned many busy intersections into four-way stops, making for stop-and-go traffic during the morning commute.

Nova Scotia Health says community-based mental health and addictions offices are temporarily closed at Cole Harbour Place and the Dartmouth Community site on Portland Street. However, virtual services are still available.

from CTV News - Atlantic https://ift.tt/TvI1Djl3V

#new brunswick #prince edward island #nova scotia #news #politics #canada #CTVAtlantic

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whitepolaris · 3 years

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Witches’ Keyhole

The outdoor sign in front of Trinity United Methodist Church at 901 Seehorn Street in Lenoir, NC, has a curious feature. There is a keyhole shape made of dark brick embedded in the light-colored brick of the sign, which doubles as a planter. Nothing calls attention to its earlier use or explains what it is doing in front of a modern suburban church.

The keyhole, according to local stories, once provided an escape route for witches.

The details of the story are sketchy, but here’s what we’ve pieced together. George Powell’s first house was a log cabin, and when it burned, he blamed the figure on an accumulation of witches and evil spirits that had entered through the keyholes in the doors and then had been unable to dissipate into the surrounding spiritual ether. John Hawkins, director of the Caldwell Heritage Museum, says that when Powell built his second house, in 1818, he not only built it of brick to diminish the fire hazard, but also provided a keyhole-shaped opening near the eave so that any dangerous or malevolent spirits could be encouraged to escape and not burn down the new place.

According to the Autobiography of the blind preacher Brantley York, born in 1805 in Randolph County, NC, a witch could “creep through a keyhole, [and] by the magic of a certain bridle called the witch’s bridle-she could change any person on whom she could place it, into a horse; and then what is still more remarkable, both could come out through a keyhole, and, being mounted, she could ride this remarkable horse wherever she chose, nor could such an animal assume its identity till the bridle was removed.” It’s possible that George Powell made his keyhole oversized to avoid bumping his head or getting his sides scraped if some uninvited visitor turned him into a horse.

The Keyhole House (which stood roughly where the church is now) was finally torn down, but the keyhole itself was saved and remounted intact. However, the opening in the hole seems to have been bricked up. We suppose that mean it’s up to the Methodists to drive out any evil spirits themselves now.

#weird carolinas #type read

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herobancroft · 3 years

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where: club verge

for who: @reputctions (rico)

it wasn’t a place hero would usually be caught in, the atmosphere too dim and the music too loud. but some might say she was on a mission, the abandoned suitcase in her bedroom a hint that someone important to her was back in the city. meeting in public was probably a risky call, the dozens of society members all cramming into one place making it harder to get within ten feet of rico, but she was just too eager and she knew it. so she was braving the crowds, weaving in and out of bodies and trying to avoid their prying gazes as she swept the area. compared to everyone else, hero was severely underdressed, glasses still perched on the bridge of her nose and footwear still ass casual as possible. there were plenty of factors working against seeing rico again after being apart, and as pathetic as she knew that made her sound, she was too preoccupied to care.

after what felt like an hour (though it was simply two minutes) of looking, hero finally broke into a clearing, separating the bar from the crowd of people. she recognized him immediately, blaming the two years she’d had to get familiar with him. but nothing had acquainted her with rico’s physical physique quite like the last three months had, her cheeks blooming in a bright pink at the thought. it seems as if she’d frozen for a second or two, her own shoulders falling into a more relaxed state as she dragged her feet forward, a sweet gaze flashing in the direction of the bartender before her backside found a stool that she could prop herself on. “mr. caldwell,” she greeted formally, using one finger to puh her glasses higher up on her nose. “it’s been a while. i’m shocked to see you around again.”

#c: rico #this is Not Good but it's something

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calvinmaxfield · 3 years

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( booboo stewart. twenty-four. he/him. ) i think i just saw CALVIN MAXFIELD ride by on a golf cart . at least i think it was them . after all , STRAIGHT TO HELL BY THE CLASH was blasting on the transistor radio . maybe they were on their way to work , i hear they’re a LINE COOK . but they totally could have been on their way to STEAL SHOOTERS FROM THE BEVERAGE CART . guess we’ll never know . you’ll definitely know its them when you see PATCHES ON A WORN JEAN JACKET , CIGARETTES FORGOTTEN IN THE WASHING MACHINE , & AN UNUSED MUSICAL THEATRE DEGREE around the country club . let’s just hope they stay off the green after hours or else they sprinklers will get them ! ( haley. twenty-two. est. she/her. )

𝑓𝑢𝑙𝑙 𝑛𝑎𝑚𝑒 : calvin antonio maxfield . 𝑛𝑖𝑐𝑘𝑛𝑎𝑚𝑒(𝑠) : cal , maxxie . 𝑎𝑔𝑒 : twenty - five . 𝑑𝑎𝑡𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑏𝑖𝑟𝑡ℎ : march 4th , 1996 . 𝑏𝑖𝑟𝑡ℎ 𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑟𝑡 : pisces sun , virgo moon , capricorn rising . ℎ𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑡𝑜𝑤𝑛 : north caldwell , new jersey . 𝑠𝑒𝑥𝑢𝑎𝑙 𝑜𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 : bisexual . 𝑜𝑐𝑐𝑢𝑝𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 : line cook begrudgingly . has bigger aspirations for himself but settles for an easy job over one he has to work for . aspiring in everything film whether it be acting , screenwriting , direction or anything in between . has also entertained stand-up comedy but had never taken the steps towards achieving that goal either .

ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑑 𝑐𝑎𝑛𝑛𝑜𝑛𝑠 : self proclaimed narcissist but is super self aware about his insecurities , is a whore lol , seems like he’d be the least judgmental person but is secretly super judgmental , will risk it all for a sexual connection possibly resulting in a romantic one , hasn’t cried in years , female manipulator music , thinks being called a theatre kid is a slur but was super well known for getting every lead role in high school and college , wants to be a stand up comedian or actor , could kill for a woman to braid his hair , will do anything for attention , noncommittal , the loudest person in a room but is insecure about his volume , the class clown , could be your friend for a lifetime and you still wouldn’t be sure if he likes you or not .

𝑓𝑎𝑐𝑒𝑐𝑙𝑎𝑖𝑚 : booboo stewart . ℎ𝑎𝑖𝑟 𝑐𝑜𝑙𝑜𝑟 : black . 𝑒𝑦𝑒 𝑐𝑜𝑙𝑜𝑟 : brown . ℎ𝑒𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡 : 5 ft 8 “ . 𝑡𝑎𝑡𝑡𝑜𝑜𝑠 : to be determined but a littered , jumbled sleeve of meaningless drunk tattoos mostly . 𝑐𝑙𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑠𝑡𝑦𝑙𝑒 : heavy punk rock . jean jackets plastered with patches , heavy boots , flannels tied at the waist line . heavy rings on slender fingers . a hair tie on each wrist . jeans or chef pants , no in between . fucks with an occasional open button down tee .

𝑚𝑦𝑒𝑟 - 𝑏𝑟𝑖𝑔𝑔𝑠 𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑠𝑜𝑛𝑎𝑙𝑖𝑡𝑦 𝑡𝑦𝑝𝑒 : the debater , entp . 𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑎𝑙 𝑎𝑙𝑖𝑔𝑛𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡 : chaotic good . 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒𝑠 : black cold brew with a cigarette , mindlessly rewatching taxi driver for comfort , quoting the sopranos , being right , comfortable silence , busy environments , making others smile . 𝑑𝑖𝑠𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒𝑠 : gossip , commitment , the transition from autumn to winter , cats , folding laundry , hungover anxiety.

𝑏𝑎𝑐𝑘𝑔𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑑 : ( drug tw , child neglect tw ) .

the class clown , the smart ass . these are just two of the labels that have been placed on calvin maxfield his whole life . he’s not even sure if he likes being called them , to know he’s being perceived by others is to know he’s truly alive . that he is seen . on one hand , he’d only ever wanted a disappearing act . one where he slips into the background with anyone truly noticing . a universe where he’s not putting on a face of clown make up to entertain . but on the other hand , he’s good at it . he’s good at entertaining and he likes seeing people smile . so why does calvin have so many qualms with being well liked ? it’s the expectations . an expectation to always be happy . no bad days , no turning off the constant sunshine smile . even if his mind is a storm far greater than he can conquer .

there’s nothing more freudian than blaming your short comings on your childhood . at least that’s what calvin will tell you anyways . but deep down , he knows it’s a mask . that his childhood fucked him up more than he has even begun to process . his therapist pries but he pays her no mind , wishing to be considered more of a strong silent type than one who speaks with loose lips . but his tendencies to make others happy lie within his greatest coping mechanism with is humor . one he developed during his childhood watching movies far too mature for his underdeveloped mind . robert dinero , al pacino , so many tough men who taught him how to be strong in the face of adversities . movie stars were his role models because dad was always too high to entertain the thought of his son , shooting up the day’s dose in front of him while the bills piled high on the kitchen table . calvin’s mother wondered if she’d ever see a day where the world wasn’t so bleak , where she could protect her son from the horrors of the world . but she couldn’t even protect him from the one inside her very home . not to mention it was hard to supervise when working more jobs than seemed possible .

but calvin grew up with thick skin and a cut throat attitude . he slept soundly knowing that his mother loved him and one day his father would see him succeed and kick himself in the ass for mistreating him . but calvin’s brilliance was never a revenge thing . he owed it to himself to be good at something . that something just so happened to be theatre . it was clear to the teachers that had maxxie the class clown sitting in their back row that he liked to perform so his drama teacher came an pursued him . at first hesitant , he remembered some of the greats . al , robert , and suddenly he was in . though he insisted on not being musically inclined , calvin quickly blossomed in the musicals and found his voice through his high school’s productions . he was finally receiving the validation he was deprived of his entire childhood . standing ovations , applause , genuine eye contact that came with compliments , loving hugs . he couldn’t get enough . so it only made sense that he pursued musical theatre in college .

college was when things took a turn for the worst . a slacker , calvin could no long get away with thing solely because his teachers liked him and enjoyed his performances . now everyone was just like him . a talented class clown who thrived on applause and validation from others . bad habits crept their way into his life at this time seeing as he was drinking and experimenting with drugs pretty heavily . what was a career for everyone else was quickly turning into a hobby for him as his poor coping mechanisms and social life hopped in the driver’s seat . this life in his life was all about self sabotage . missing classes to drink , going to acting workshops hungover , sleeping with friend’s girlfriends , doing things just because he could . it was mind blowing that he ever received a degree . but with college coming to an end , he addressed that his period of time with substance abuse were some of the worst years of his life and he wanted to tone back . focus on himself . but old habits die hard .

calvin doesn’t really know how he ended up in the highlands . maybe it was his lack of drive or washed up attitude , but it hard to give his life any real thought from behind the line in the kitchen. all he knows is he needs to get the fuck out .

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wanted connection:

ride or die ( f ) : ever since i created calvin as a muse i’ve wanted to him to have a girl best friend who literally completes him. calls him out on his bullshit , tell him when he’s being a dick but also helps him navigate through his life and feelings . bonus points if they’re a polar opposite of him like super feminine .

ex ( m/f/nb ) : calvin is toxic af so i’m down for plotting whatever honestly i just want him to have an ex

fwb ( m/f/nb ) : again , calvin is a bisexual and toxic whore so bring him all your muses to casually fuck

roommate ( m/f/nb )

coworkers

enemies ?? frenemies ?? frenemies with benefits ???

#highlandsintro #about #here's calvin :)

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