#the sun and global warming can go fuck themselves

[returntosaturn271995]

January 7th: Spinning Round

Every day Earth goes 1/365th around the sun, tilted on it’s axis, also spinning from day to night. After enough times, you notice.

Lately, it has been hard not to see everything as a little, “Here we go again”. Wild weekends with drinks and hot guys has become an algorithm as much as brunch with the girls or my morning coffee or my nightly book/news routine. 

Not that routine isn’t nice. Or good for you. It's preferable to chaos and it's how we build up skills. The problem is, if I’m trying to make every day count and not wish away time like a depressed person, (Or wish time would end like an even more depressed person) then how do I know if I’m staying the course or spinning my wheels?

In a lot of ways people have to make adventure for themselves, instead of waiting for life to happen to them. Write when you don’t feel like writing, go on a date when you have high standards. 

High Standards: in that instead of being on Hinge right now I’d rather be stoned. 

Sigh. Still. I pulled myself out of bed and got to work in this heat wave. A thin sheen of sweat covers my hands as I type this out, the late afternoon sun has been following my typing as I cast for a JCPenney Halloween Campaign (God, I miss working for Lancome and YSL. The influencers were so fun and edgy. Now I’m stuck on Pinterest pages the flavor of domestic forced fun. The only laps these people sit on are Santa’s.)

But that’s the thing about committing to any kind of routine. It will get a little boring from time to time- but you also get better at it. The next interview I walk in to will be with a legit resume and actual skills (and a couple of lies about how much I was paid because I’m still about that paper.) I can do an easier NYT crossword puzzle in under 18 min. I’ve got the legs of someone who runs every day. I’m praying meditation builds up as a skill for me and I want to be the kind of person who looks puts actual effort in to their appearance every day (instead of randomly looking hot once a month and then becoming a hermit.)

I’m sick of dating and apps and drinks and “How many siblings?”. But there's also no other way to do it. Not really. So sometimes you have to forge ahead until you find someone worth loving. 

And eventually get bored of them too. If familiarity breeds contempt then stability breeds taking things for granted.

Because nothing is forever you silly bitch. And if today was my last day in this exact world and this exact routine? I would miss it. 

I’m not finished just yet. Tomorrow I have therapy and I’m also shaking things up by diving head first in to the ocean because holy fuck this heat wave. 

Goddamn, global warming. This town will be underwater soon anyways. 

[otherpeoplesheartachept-2]

TRANQUILITY BASE

Here’s my @coexchange piece for @that-bi-bliophile! 

I hope it’s okay I stretched your prompt to fit an entire album. I listen to the album Tranquility Base Hotel and Casino by the Arctic Monkey a lot and it’s inspired countless daydreams so I figured I’d fit a Snowbaz bullet point fic into this universe. If you don’t want to listen to an entire new album (which is understandable) but want a feel for the album and the vibe I’m going for, I’d suggest listening to the songs Star Treatment, American Sports, and/or Four Stars out of Five.

For some background, in this AU Tranquility is an out of date game from an out of date console made as promotion for the real and still existing hotel on the moon. Simon lives on earth, which is currently a weird mix of waste land and advanced technology. Basically global warming isn’t fixed, all rich people just moved to the moon and left everyone else on earth to do the jobs they don’t want. Baz is the child of some of those rich moon people. They’re both like 18 when they “meet” for the first time.

Tranquility The Game is Simon’s way of escaping the reality of his shitty father and taxing job. The old gaming system is one of the few things he has that matters to him. He’s build up his own imaginary life in this digital hotel, where he’s a successful musician with a band, rich enough to afford stays in fancy moon hotels.

Baz’s dad, head of Grimm Co. is the new owner of the real TBHC. Baz goes to the hotel for a business meeting because Malcolm wants to teach him how to run the company. Baz is bored and finds an old copy of the game and console in some storage closet. He takes it home and boots it up.

He’s surprised to find it works, and even more surprised to find someone else already in the game.

Simon is confused and furious that someone else is in HIS game. He immediately shoves virtual Baz against a wall and demands he leave the game.

Baz is like “what the fuck how does anyone even still play this” but he’s intrigued by the attractive angry game boy so he insults him and keeps coming back to the game.

The relationship is hostile at first (because Simon doesn’t want Baz ruining his virtual world and Baz looks down on Simon for living on earth) but Baz, despite himself, is desperate to get to know Simon, this weird kid clinging to an out of date, boring videogame. And Simon secretly likes having someone to share this game world with, even if he “hates” him.

They get into petty fights a lot and call each other names that are supposed to be insults but are really just thinly veiled pet names. Baz’s favorites are “earthling” and “freckles boy” Simon’s are “fucking posh space boy” and “bastard”.

Baz tries to goad more information about Simon out of him but Simon is very committed to holding on to the fantasy life he’s made up for himself, he won’t even tell Baz his last name.

Despite all their “fighting” they start to warm up to each other.

One day Simon gives Baz a tour of the virtual hotel and Baz explains how different everything is in the real hotel. Throughout the tour Simon starts to open up about his father and his friend Shepard and the crumbling state of planet Earth. (Cue discussion about capitalism and class and how fucked up it is that billionaires just left the Earth and all the poor people to die.)

Baz talks about his life and how isolated he feels because his father and all his “friends” are very emotionally closed off. Simon sympathizes but teases him a little.

Simon: Like you’d rather be anything but a posh moon business man.

Baz: I would. If I could be anyone I’d be an astrologist. What about you, Earthing? Who would you be, if you could be anyone in the universe?

Simon, suddenly somber: My father says dreaming isn’t for folks people like me.

Baz shows up in the game one day to find Simon playing a guitar, he’s quite good at it.

Simon learns Baz can cook after Baz asks if there’s a way to get in to the game hotel’s kitchen (there isn’t). Simon likes Baz about ten times more when he explains how to make the perfect shepherd’s pie. Baz realized he might be in love when Simon starts explaining how good sour cherry scones are and how they should be their own food group.

They go star gazing together on the roof of the hotel. Baz knows a lot about constellations and explains them to Simon.

Baz: You know that isn’t how they look tonight?”

Simon: No?

Baz: No. it takes the light ages to get to us, so what we’re seeing is years behind. Like, look at that star there, it’s been dead for twenty years.

Simon, pointing up: There?

Baz: No, *takes Simon’s hand to readjust it* there.

Simon: Oh… yeah.

Neither of them are looking at the stars at this point. Cue gay thoughts about Simon’s freckles being constellations and some EXTREME pining.

Baz learns they can write in the notepads left in each virtual hotel room. They start leaving notes and little drawings for each other in game when they play and the other isn’t there. Sometimes Simon leaves chords to songs he’s writing. Baz will add lyrics to the songs sometimes. Baz will also flirt in the notes but Simon can never tell if he’s serious or if it’s just Baz being sarcastic and dramatic.

One day Simon’s playing guitar and invites Baz to sing with him. Baz is nervous about exposing his feelings for Simon with the romantic lyrics. Simon gets so wrapped up in listening to and watching Baz sing that he stops playing before the song is finished. They do the classic routine of staring until the other person stares back then quickly looking away and blushing. Again, Major Pining.

At this point they both think the other might be interested romantically, but they’re too nervous to take the next step into actually talking about romance.

One day Baz insists on teaching Simon to dance. They move some furniture in the hotel lounge and figure out how to use the futuristic jukebox in the corner of the room. Simon is clumsy but happy to follow Baz’s lead. (It helps that he can’t physically step on Baz’s toes. However, a few times he does bash into furniture in his real life bedroom). Baz���s hair is loose and falling in his face. Simon can’t stop smiling. Baz is still pretending like this is purely a teaching moment but he can’t hide the faint blush on his cheeks. The music shifts to a slow song. They lock eyes. Simon reaches for a phantom cheek. Baz leans into the imagined warmth of a digital palm. All they hear is their shared breathing and heartbeats until someone speaks.

Simon: If I could be anyone, I’d be someone who kissed you right now.

They can’t really kiss, it’s a videogame. But they finally admit they have feelings for each other.

They daydream about meeting somehow. Simon sneaking onto a cargo ship to travel to the moon. Inventing a way to fully convert themselves into part of the game so the never have to leave. The two of them hijacking a spaceship and enough rations to last years, then flying out somewhere in the Milky Way to live out the rest of their lives together. But they know these are just fantasies. They won’t say it out loud, and sometimes, when staring into pixelated eyes and making elaborate plots they forget the impossibility of it all, but they know they can never make these dreams reality.

Any spare time they have is spent in the digital hotel with each other. Simon starts carrying the game console around with him everywhere, even when he knows he can’t play. Baz has stopped showing up for anything he’s supposed to in the evenings, he just locks himself in his bedroom with the game.

“What would you do if I was really there?” becomes a common question.

“It’s a crisp evening here, so I’d pull you in close, keep you warm. Kiss you underneath the sliver of moon.”

“I’d hold your hand. Kiss every freckle I can find on it until I have to push up your sleeve to find more.”

“I’d mess up your hair. It looks better messy.”

“I would punch that stupid look off your face. You can’t seriously think the sun used to revolve around the Earth, that’s fucking insane!”

“I’d tell you… I- I, I never want you to leave.”

Are some of the answers.

One night they’re in the game and Simon’s struggling to stay awake. It’s adorable but Baz tells him he should go to sleep. Simon says he wants to spend more time with Baz. He asks Baz to tell him about space so he’ll stay awake. Baz knows that will put Simon to sleep rather than keep him awake, but he does it anyway. Simon fights as long as he can but falls asleep “next to” Baz within minutes. Baz realizes he’s sleeping but keeps talking about black holes while stroking the digital version of his boyfriend’s hair. And when he’s sure Simon isn’t going to wake up, Baz whispers about how much he loves him before falling asleep as well.

The next morning Simon wakes up alone in the game. Baz wakes up to the sound of his headset cracking under the weight of his skull.

Frantically he tries to turn on the console, reattach a piece of electronics that came off the headset, plead with a god he doesn’t believe in. Nothing works.

He searches for replacement pieces, a new headset, ways to convert the Tranquility game to newer systems, but there’s nothing. It’s a shitty game on an outdated console that no one cared about. He’s heartbroken.

Simon doesn’t realize anything’s wrong at first. He thinks Baz is just really busy for the first few weeks. Then he worries he did something to hurt him. Then he’s angry Baz never bothers to talk to him about why he left. Then he’s scared something happened to Baz.

For a few years he returns whenever he has the time, searches for Baz, or clues that Baz was there while he was away. But he’s never there, and there’s never any notes revealing he just missed Baz. Eventually he can’t stand to keep coming back to the deserted hotel. Whatever happened to Baz happened, deep down they both knew they couldn’t live this fantasy life in an old game forever.

Baz continues searching everywhere in real life and online for a way to get back to the game hotel, to Simon, but all he can find are parts he already has, or headsets that don’t work anymore like his.

Soon enough Simon can’t stand to even look at the gaming console. And he could use the extra money, so he decides to sell it. A local pawn shop takes it for less than Simon was hoping to get, but they said the name scratched into the side really devalues the piece.

After years of searching, Baz finds a full working console with headset for sale online, from an Earth seller. The interplanetary shipping is expensive, but worth it. When the console arrives Baz finds “SIMON SNOW” carved into the plastic exterior. He cries for days.

He boots up Tranquility The Game but he knows he’ll be the only one there. The hotel looks the same as it was the last time he played. He finds a note from Simon addressed to him, angrily asking why he left without a word, then another apologizing, saying he was just hurt but he knows things had to end at some point. Those were three years old. Simon never left anything else.

Baz decides to leave a note of his own: “Simon Snow. I wish I could tease you for carving your name into an electronic device; it’s extremely childish, and probably quite unsafe. Still, in a way I’m glad you did it. If you even found your way back here I’d hate for you to know the depth of my feelings, even after these long years. But I doubt you will. Knowing that is bittersweet. I will admit sometimes I still fantasize about you, about impossible ways we could still be friends, more than friends, anything other than ghosts haunting each other’s memories. Simon Snow, I loved you.”

#I hope you enjoyed this! #apologies for the sad ending if you don't like those I just felt like it made more sense #I may turn this into a full fledged fic eventually but idk i may be too attached to the idea to ever actually write it #sometimes things are better off just daydreams ya know? #no one cares anyway #carry on exchange #carry on fanfic #the simon snow series #snowbaz fanfic #snowbaz #snowbaz au #tranquility base hotel and casino au #simon snow #baz pitch #tyrannus basilton grimm pitch #very brief mention of #shepard from omaha #space au #snowbaz fanfiction #co/ws/awtwb #co/ws #snowbaz headcanon #bullet point fic #snowbaz in space #carry on #carry on fandom #corascrap

[artificialqueens]

Summer Lovin'  8/? (Multiship) - Pinkgrapefruit

Chapters 1-7 rewritten on AO3

[ day six. a sense of impending chaos ]

“Shit,” Katya whispers under her breath, and Brooke elbows her halfheartedly, eyes fixated on the woman walking through the Villa like she owns it. God knows she could.

Michelle claps and everyone sits up straighter. “Come along girls,” she tells them with a smile. “Let’s do this.”

*

A/N - look. it’s been a while. i’d apologise but i don’t want to. in quick rundown of the last four months - global pandemic, ocd, chronic joint pain, alevel maths. all caught up? let’s do this! let me know what you all think (and who you think will turn up next!)

[lesbian love island]

*

Katya is the first one out of bed, rolling out from under the covers she shares with Scarlet and stretching her arms up when her feet hit the ground. She does one energetic lap in front of all the beds before heading outside, leaving twelve sleepy women in her wake.

She ties her hair into a messy bun using the red velvet scrunchie she keeps on her water bottle and spends an embarrassing amount of time trying to volley bread into the toaster before giving up and filling the two six-slicers with bread for anyone who wants it. She sets the tea kettle up full and then starts to work on the french press for all the coffee drinkers. Switching the oven onto low heat, she sticks as many ceramic mugs in there as she can fit and calmly leans against the counter watching as people funnel out into the garden.

She sets up mugs of coffee with cream, green tea, honey and lemon, and a couple of standard mugs of tea with a smile.

*

“I like to be helpful. It’s my love language or whatever - acts of service.”

*

Katya drops a coffee and a cup of honey and lemon off with A’keria and Silky in the dressing room. They seem tense, but they’re still passing hair tools between themselves with ease.

“I want to do it,” A’keria mutters under her breath as she combs through her eyebrows, eyes never leaving the mirror. Silky pauses in sipping her coffee.

“That’s why it hurts,” she eventually states; it’s cold at first but if you really listen, you can hear the fragility in her tone. A’keria finally looks up and sighs.

“I know. But you’re my best friend. Can you just be happy for me? Please?”

Silky takes another sip of her drink, but she doesn’t answer.

*

“It’s really hard, ‘cause as much as I love Silk and want her to stay, I also have to do what’s best for me, and I think that’s Yvie.”

*

Willam and Courtney remain in the beds, Willam laying with her head on a pillow, Courtney’s head in her lap, fingers playing with Willam’s own. They’re engrossed in quiet conversation, but unlike Silky and A’keria’s, it’s positive and happy. They’re downright adorable, Katya thinks, as she delivers a green tea for Courtney and a black coffee for Willam. They take them gratefully, Courtney making grabby hands as Katya approaches.

“Thanks, hun,” calls Willam after she takes a sip, and Katya just rolls her eyes at her friend, smiling.

*

Brooke sits on a daybed with her legs spread, Vanessa sits in between them as Brooke methodically braids her hair into two dutch braids.

“Delivery of coffee and green tea for my favourite couple,” Katya announces with a smirk as she watches the scene in front of her. It’s vastly different from the past two days, but she’s glad Vanessa finally let Brooke within two feet of her again - the brunette forcing her lover to sleep on the daybed for two nights after their fight.

“Oh, thank Mary, Joseph, and Jesus,” Vanessa shrieks, “Brookie’s so cranky on a mornin’.”

“Brookie?” Katya mouths at Brooke as Vanessa sips her tea.

“Shut up,” Brooke mouths back, although by the monkey dancing Katya does behind them, the blonde should be worried.

“Thank ya, Kat!”

*

“So I’ve decided to forgive miss Brooke Lynn for being an emotionally stunted engineer and let her back into my bed, because, despite her problems, I do quite like her. Now, if she’ll stop being a jealous hoe - we’ll be fine.”

*

Asia and Nina receive green teas as they sit in their usual spot and look over the Spanish valleys surrounding the Villa.

“Does it bother you that we haven’t kissed?” Nina asks, somewhat hiding behind the mug - eyes reflecting back a raw vulnerability. Asia smiles, bumping their shoulders.

“God, no,” she murmurs, lips still on the rim of the mug. “I like you. I can do this at your pace.” Nina closes her eyes slowly, savouring it. “Plus, I knew your kiss from the line up.” She winks, and Nina snorts out green tea - thrashing one arm in Asia’s direction for making a quip while she had a mouthful.

“I hate you,” she croaks, still swiping droplets of tea from her upper lip.

“Sure,” Asia responds with a grin.

*

Yvie hand delivers Scarlet a smoothie as the latter is sat on the edge of the pool, playing noughts and crosses on a rock with Bianca. They’re passing a bent hair pin between themselves as Bianca sips at the black coffee delivered by Katya earlier. The sun is warm on their skin, but Scarlet is still wrapped in a chunky knit cardigan that looks about three sizes too big for her. She looks cosy.

Yvie thinks it’s cute.

She turns back around to see Scarlet with the metal straw in her mouth, whining at Bianca’s inevitable win. The older woman softens slightly at Scarlet’s dejected pout, but she maintains her snarky bragging just to watch Scarlet squirm.

*

Alaska is leaning her forearms on the counter-top as she watches Yvie make scrambled eggs. She took the taller girl up on her offer of food immediately and doesn’t regret it as her portion is scraped on top of her toast. She bites into it and sighs. It’s warm and good.

“You’re a better kitchen mate than Kiki,” Yvie quips, biting into her own toast after scraping it through the ketchup.

“I don’t think that’s hard,” Alaska volleys back once she’s swallowed. “I’ve watched her think she’s burned water.”

Yvie cackles at Alaska’s anecdote, and the messy blonde wonders what could have happened if she’d met this Yvie on the date. Yvie with less walls. Yvie in a blue crocheted bikini top and a pair of grey basketball shorts.

She smiles and her eyes twinkle. What if…

*

Katya’s phone buzzes from her back pocket and she stands up, waving her free arm wildly. “I got a text!” She screams, and everyone turns to face her. She looks a little winded from the excitement, but everyone else’s faces hold trepidation.

“Islanders,

Tonight there will be a recoupling. Asia and Yvie will go first. The girl not picked to be in a couple will be dumped from the Iisland. Choose wisely.

#getpickedorgetpacking”

*

“I’m fucked, ain’t I? Kiki’s gone and found herself another lover and I’m stuck. Shit.”

*

Yvie collapses onto the daybed and allows A’keria to lean into her, their lips meeting briefly, more for comfort than passion.

“I’d pick you,” A’keria tells her, swallowing hard as she tears her eyes away from Silky by the pool. “If it was up to me, I’d pick you.”

Yvie draws patterns on the bed sheet next to her, fingers twirling in the fabric as she considers the other woman’s words. They don’t change her choice, but they change the way she sees it. She feels less selfish picking A’keria with her expressed consent - knowing it will most likely cost Silky a place.

“Okay,” she responds, hand running over her buzzed hair. Her voice is measured. “Okay, let’s do this.”

She jumps up off the daybed onto the wooden decking, pulling A’keria up with her until they’re holding hands and jumping, just to keep their restlessness at bay.

“What the fuck are you doing?” calls Willam from the other daybed, and A’keria just giggles.

“Who the fuck knows?”

*

Vanessa walks into the bedroom to find Brooke napping on their bed. She stares at the blonde, the way her legs are lean and muscular and her stomach toned… Vanessa shakes her head to snap herself out of it, but walks towards the bed, sitting down on the edge of the mattress. Brooke must feel the way it dips under Vanessa’s weight and sleepily sits up, back leant against the headrest.

She pats her legs gingerly, and Vanessa leans back so her head is cradled in Brooke’s lap. She hums in contentment before looking up at her with a scowl. “I’m still mad,.” She tells her pointedly, and Brooke just shrugs tiredly.

“Okay, honey,” she tells her, and it makes Vanessa scowl even more - she still ends up smiling though as Brooke combs through her hair with her fingers.

“I’m really sorry,” Brooke adds, tentative. “I know I need to work on communication.”

Vanessa grumbles to herself, but her eyes twinkle. “I know I coulda been better too,” she admits, eyes closing in response to the ministrations on her scalp.

“We have time,” Brooke tells her. “We have time.”

*

“She’s got work to do. But I’m okay with her. She doesn’t need to know that, but I am.”

*

Silky approaches Asia, wringing her hands in front of her. Asia waves her over, patting the hot marble next to her and then pulling a towel onto it when she finds it too hot to touch.

“Hey!” She calls, and Silky falls down next to her, sighing when her legs hit the cold water.

“It’s too hot,” she whines, and Asia just kicks some water at her, splattering it up her leg.

“What’s up?” Asia cuts in, sipping water from her bottle as she gives Silky a once over.

Silky shifts on the towel, biding time by adjusting her swimsuit and fiddling with her glasses until Asia elbows her gently.

“I was wonderin’ how you’d feel ‘bout couplin’ up?”

There’s a strangled snorting sound and it takes Asia a second to realise it came from her. She slaps a hand over her face, and Silky just raises her eyebrow.

“I’m so sorry,” Asia tells her, trying to sound sincere and not at all like she’s just laughed at her, “but I think I’ve got something good going with Nina.”

Silky looks down into the water dejectedly, hands running down her swimsuit.

“I figured,” she says, moving to stand up until Asia grabs her hand and squeezes it tightly.

“I love you, bitch,” Asia tells her sincerely, and Silky gives a weak smile.

“I know.”

*

Nina looks pensive when Asia finds her on the swing seats, but as she sits down next to the girl, she sees a little more. She looks anxious, picking at the edges of her fingers, leg bouncing restlessly. Asia places a hand on her bare thigh to steady her, and it seems to calm the brunette.

“Hey,” she says, soft and calm. Nina looks at her and her eyes seem torn.

“Hey,” she replies, but it lacks the smoothness.

“What’s up?” Asia asks, leading. Nina sighs and rubs a hand on the thigh not covered by Asia’s warm palm.

“I feel guilty,” she states with a huff of breath, “that Silky doesn’t get the chance of staying.” Asia has to hide her chuckle at Nina’s empathy - even though she knows it’s causing her pain.

“Baby,” she tries to assuage, “Silky didn’t find a connection. And, hey, we don’t know exactly what’s going to happen, you cannot feel guilty for your success.”

Nina lets out a steady stream of breath through her nose and rests her head on Asia’s shoulder, the darker haired girl running her hand up and down her leg.

“I know you started together and it sucks. But it’s not your problem.”

“I know,” Nina exhales.

*

“I’m too empathetic. I feel too much. Everything hurts. This is going to hurt. But I want Asia - I want her to choose me.”

*

“How would you feel if I chose you?” Asia asks, cautious, as if trying to approach an easily spooked cat. She smiles, trying to be reassuring, but it comes out as a wince.

Nina rubs a hand up and down Asia’s suncream-tacky arm and rolls her eyes.

“I’d be honoured,” she tells her, mock bowing. “If you want to pick me I would be honoured.” She crawls a little closer and places a kiss on Asia’s cheek causing the usually loud woman to shrink a tad, blushing.

“Sounds like a plan.”

*

“I would pick Nina, yeah. Not like Brooke would let me pick Vanessa a second time - I’m kidding, don’t worry. I have nothing but pure intentions towards Nina.”

*

Brooke walks over to where Vanessa is sat, legs dangling in the pool.

“We’re okay?” She asks tentatively, still unsure as to where she stands after the tumultuous few days they’ve had.

Vanessa smiles quietly - it’s the most peaceful the blonde has seen her - hazel eyes reflecting the serenity of the water. Vanessa interlaces their fingers on the edge of the pool.

“I want us to be okay,” the brunette agrees - nodding slowly. “We’re okay.”

Suddenly and with no warning, Vanessa slides into the pool, pulling Brooke with her. Luckily for production, they’re at the shallow end and both of them can easily stand without their microphones ending up in the water - their swimsuits finally used for a practical purpose. *

Willam and Courtney watch the madness from their daybed, snuggled together like cats in the sun.

“Isn’t it nice,” Courtney poses with her fingers trailing along Willam’s mostly bare skin, “to feel so safe?”

Willam snorts out a laugh, leaning into Courtney’s body heat even in the warm summer afternoon. “They say smug isn’t a good look, but you’re sexy when you’re confident,” she jibes, eyes bright and smiling. There is indeed a sense of security to their coupling. No one is going to try and break them - it would be madness.

Courtney flutters her eyes and leans down, catching the blondes lips in a comfortable kiss. When Willam breaks it, she leans back and smiles softly.

“You don’t know how nice it is to be able to do that,” she whispers softly, intertwining their fingers.

“We should get ready. There’s a sense of impending chaos,” Courtney voices reasonably, and Willam scowls. The blonde tries to leave the bed, but she is tackled onto the covers, and they end up making out until Katya wolf whistles at them, Courtney dragging Willam by the straps of her one piece into the Villa.

*

They get ready in tense silence - intermittent chatter coming and going as they choose what to wear and how big to curl their hair. Alaska holds up Nina’s options, so she can pick, and A’keria brushes Vanessa’s hair.

*

“I’m terrified. What’s gonna happen? Who the fuck knows.”

*

They girls all sit around, sipping champagne in the dusk light. They’re dressed up in a way that doesn’t roast them in the mild evening heat.

Above the quiet chatter comes the muffled slamming of a door and then the precise click of heels on a linoleum floor.

Michelle comes through to the turning off heads.

“Shit,” Katya whispers under her breath, and Brooke elbows her halfheartedly, eyes fixated on the woman walking through the Villa like she owns it. God knows she could.

Michelle claps and everyone sits up straighter. “Come along girls,” she tells them with a smile. “Let’s do this.”

*

There’s a dramatic pan out over the fire-pit as everyone sits around it. Michelle stands directly in front of them all, smiling calmly at their anxious faces. I can’t wait for this!

*

“All right, ladies, since this is an all women’s game we’re gonna have to play it a little differently,” Michelle calls out, eyes flicking from the group of nervous women to her cards and back up again. “This is how it’s gonna work. Asia and Yvie, you’re new, so you’re up first. As I call your name, you’ll come and stand next to me and then you’ll pick. Once you’ve coupled up, move to the other side of the firepit and sit with your couple. Sounds good so far?”

There’s a mumbled chorus of ‘Yeah’s and ‘Uhuh’s’ before she continues.

“Willam and Courtney, you’re safe together, so you can move to the other side guys.”

They squeeze each other’s hands and sit down on the less crowded side of the sofa, Willam’s head dropping onto Courtney’s shoulder as the blonde whispers something unintelligible that makes her smile.

“Once we’ve got the newbies done I’m just going to be calling people up from my list.” She waves her card vaguely. “All ready? Let’s do this.”

*

“First up then, Asia.”

Asia stands up, smoothing out the red silk dress and pulling her neatly curled hair over one shoulder as she walks to stand next to Michelle. The older woman gives her a smile and a nod as if to say ‘take it away’.

“I want to couple up with this girl because…” Asia starts with a small smile, although her hands are knotted together in front of her. “Because she’s sweet and kind and one of the nicest people I’ve ever met. In the short time I’ve known her, I think we’ve really clicked, and I really can’t wait to watch more sunrises and sunsets with her and a mug of green tea. Also, she’s fucking gorgeous.” This earns chuckles from the rest of the group. Nina smiles at her lap.

“So the girl I want to couple up with, is Nina.”

Everyone whoops and cheers as Nina stands up and walks over to Asia. Her black crop top and white skater skirt complement Asia’s outfit, and they make a striking couple as the dark-haired girl loops her arm around her waist and places a chaste kiss on her cheek. They sit together on the sofa, and Asia visibly relaxes as Nina strokes a finger along her exposed forearm.

“You did great.”

*

“Yvie,” Michelle calls, and the tall woman moves to the front of the sofa, shifting in her heels as she bites the inside of her lip. She’s nervous, disarmed.

“I want to couple up with this girl because I think we’re both here for the same reason. We both want something real that’s not a friendship.” She purposely avoids looking towards A’keria or Silky as she says that. “I’ve got to go with my gut instinct. I came to find a connection and that’s what I’m going to do. So the girl I want to couple up with is… A’keria.”

The group claps, except Silky who sits scowling until Bianca nudges her hard.

A’keria and Yvie kiss, and A’keria does not look back, face buried in Yvie’s shoulder.

*

Next up is Vanessa. She was originally coupled up with Brooke, but caught Asia’s eye causing her to be sleeping alone for two nights. It’s a difficult choice… What will she do?

*

“Alright, Vanessa.”

As Vanessa stands next to Michelle, she scans the remaining girls. She’s not really mad anymore, just a little regretful maybe. She’s lost two nights of cuddles and she wants to take that back. She pulls her high waisted shorts up a little higher before she starts to talk.

“So, I wanna couple up with this girl because I feel like we have a real and genuine connection. Um,” she shifts on her feet, looking Brooke dead in the eyes, “she has me in hysterics twenty-four-seven and I’ve missed cuddles more than she knows, which are two things I really want in a girl. I’m excited to see how things progress in the future. So the girl I would like to couple up with is-”

“-Miss Brooke Lynn, come here, boo.”

*

Okay, Alaska’s up next. She has an agreement with Katya, but will she stick to it?

*

Alaska struts up, legs bowing, and examines the four girls. She’s not really making a choice, but she feels like she should probably at least look like she’s a bit torn. She squints and clears her throat, hands twisted together in front of her.

“I want to couple up with this girl because I feel she’s a valued member of ths group, she’s really cherished by blessing us with her pearls of wisdom in times of need and-” she lets out a big exhale. “I just feel like she’s really loved in our group. So the girl I want to couple up with is… Katya.”

Kaya mocks letting out a huge breath and moves forward to hug the taller girl, leaving a big, red lipstick kiss on her cheek. Alaska rolls her eyes and smiles as Michelle calls Bianca up.

*

Finally, Bianca gets to choose. Will she pick her history with Scarlet or a clean slate with Silky?

*

Bianca sighs, eyebrows furrowed as she flits between the two girls left. She figured it would get to this - it’s not surprising to her, nor anyone left in the Villa, but she still wishes it wasn’t her choice to make.

“I am choosing this girl,” she starts hesitantly, “because she makes me seem quiet. She’s loud, fun, and she’s got a charming personality. Not to mention she’s not bad on the eyes. I want to give her more of a chance in this Villa even if we’re not a match. So, the girl I want to couple up with is…” She looks at them both again and realises what she’s saying stands for both of them.

She has to tear her eyes away as she makes her choice.

“Scarlet.”

*

“Alright, Ladies,” calls Michelle, still smiling even as tears fall from a couple of girls’ eyes. “Silky, you have been dumped from the Island, you have thirty minutes to pack up and say your goodbyes.”

Michelle stalks out of the Villa in much the same way she walked in, and it’s just as unsettling to watch her leave. It’s like the rest of the Villa is stuck on pause until suddenly everyone crowds Silky.

A’keria detaches herself from Yvie’s arm and runs in her heels, barrelling towards the bigger girl until they’re locked in an embrace.

“I hope I didn’t ruin our friendship,” she whispers, and Silky chuckles wetly.

“You didn’t,” she replies and she turns to Vanessa, hugging her too. They all follow her through the Villa, helping her pack, and eventually walking her to the door where she is hugged by everyone once again. She waves at the crowd of women and walks out.

*

“I didn’t find what I wanted here, but, hey. There’s gotta be someone who’ll love all of me. And I can’t wait to find them. I’m coming for you, lesbians!”

*

The Villa is quiet as they get ready for bed, sliding into their new and old couples easily.

Brooke and Vanessa relish in their newfound solidity and pull the duvet over their heads before the lights even go out. Willam and Courtney have just enough decorum to wait.

Alaska and Katya, and Bianca and Scarlet, settle in as friendship couples, though it doesn’t stop Katya’s need to spoon anything and everything warm.

Nt Asia and Nina fall asleep either side of the invisible wall Asia’s set up for Nina’s comfort, although a hand reaches through it at some point, Nina’s palm on Asia’s hip.

A’keria and Yvie waste no time.

*

NEXT TIME:

TWO NEW GIRLS CAUSE TROUBLE.

#rpdr fanfiction #summer lovin #pinkgrapefruit #lesbian love island #branjie #brooke lynn hytes #vanessa vanjie mateo #witney #willam belli #courtney act #bianca del rio #nina west #alaska thunderfuck #katya zamolodchikova #scarlet envy #silky nutmeg ganache #akeria davenport #yvie oddly #asia o'hara #fluff #angst #slow burn #lesbian au #currently some other random ships too #she’s back although noone asked for it #just here to annoy v with how i’m writing courtney #(no complaints today pumpkin! -v) #my autocorrect cannot handle drag names #concrit welcome

[writethehousedown]

We've Got Time To Kill, Baby (Kyara) - Zyan

A/N: day two is here! And I decided to go to the Hurt/Comfort route. Don’t worry, it does have a happy ending. Ish. Sideblog is @dollalpaca !

Summary: With their senior year comes the typical question of ‘what are you doing to study afterwards?’ and Kiara is starting to feel stressed out as months pass and she doesn’t have an answer.

TW - anxiety and general self loathing.

When she was in fifth year, Kiara rarely saw the seniors stay through the entire evening, or just appear sometimes - legend had it not even the teachers cared whether you came or not, and sometimes not even them bothered to give classes, unless they were the assigned tutors for the internships.

She hoped and prayed that would be their case, not only because she wanted to spend more time with her friends outside school hours and live her last year to the fullest, but due to the fact that Kiara had no clue whatsoever of what to study after High School, and it was starting to stress her out. Everyone else seemed to have their shit figured out; Priyanka was going to be a primary school teacher, Tynomi would study law, Juice had already begun training for the physical education admission exam, and of course Kyne would go on to be a mechanical engineer - she had the brains for that, she’d be great at it.

As far as options went, Kiara was completely blank - she had no drive for anything, well, she did have a couple hobbies, but none of them were carreers she could pursue in college and excel at. And it’s not like she could take a year off to find out what she could do, in this time and economy? That wasn’t an option. She had to study something, even if it was just a teaching career, she couldn’t waste her time.

Her anxiety looms at the back of her mind everytime another teacher asks what are they going to follow once class ends, sometimes reminiscing when they were barely twelve, trying to get used to High School life, running around the hallways and playing football and voleyball, sometimes breaking windows and fluorescent lights with their games.

Though Kiara remembers those times with fondness, she’d rather not be reminded of it shortly after almost snapping at her own teacher because she has no idea what she’ll do and she’d prefer if he just did his job and taught them about geography.

The bell echoes through the hallways, indicating the start of their second recess and the end of another dreadful class of Spanish. Kiara somehow managed to not bang her head open against the desk everytime the teacher spoke - it’s not that the class it’s boring, it’s just so that she’s painfully mysoginistic and thinks she’s funny when she’s not.

“What did she say about an essay? I zoned out,” Kiara asks, turning to see Rita, who, unsusprisingly so, has all the class written down in her agenda. Rita cocks a brow, and without saying anything lets Kiara take a photo of everything she wrote down. “Thanks, love,” she says, blowing a kiss on her direction.

“Sometimes I think you befriended me just because I let you copy my homework without saying anything,” Rita teases, packing her stuff back into her bag. Kiara gasps, faux offended.

“Hey! You’re more than just an escape goat for when I don’t do homework,” Kiara protests, “with that reasoning, I’m only dating Kyne because she does my math tests for free.”

“The fuck you mean free? I’ve been telling you since last year to pay me in cash or I’ll break up with you,” Kyne butts in the conversation, perching herself against Kiara and Rita’s shared desk with a brow cocked. Kiara rolls her eyes with a sly smile.

“If I take you out for dinner on Friday instead of having you come over and order take out like we always do, will you forget my debts?” She inquires, fluttering her eyelashes and giving her a sneaky smile, knowing fully well she can get away with anything when she looks at Kyne like this. And sure enough, Kyne’s annoyed expression soon is replaced with a grin, accepting the proposal - only if she gets to choose where they’re going.

Rita, knowing she’s third-wheeling, rises from her seat and goes up to Scarlett - who, despite being well over 30°C, brought their set of mate - and strikes up a conversation with them and Priyanka.

Kyne quickly sits where Rita was just moments ago, scooting the chair closer and easily lacing her fingers with Kiara’s, but before they can continue their conversation, Boa and Starzy burst into the room with huge smiles, annoucing loudly that their biology teacher isn’t coming, so they can go home early. There’s a collective sigh of relief, because they had a presentation today and no one actually finished their presentations - well, except for the know-it-alls of the class, that is.

“Anyone wanna go to the park and drink mate?” Scarlett exclaims as they’re leaving, their pink flask poking out from their backpack as she trottes up to meet the girls. It takes about a second for everyone to agree, and even less time to convince the doorman to let them go.

It’s as easy as that - no one cares about what they do anymore, if admittedly half of them are eighteen already, they should know how to take care of themselves. That’s a lie as big as a house, but hey, they get to leave and come to school whenever they feel like it, so they’re not complaining.

It’s barely 5 p.m., and the sun is still shining up in the sky. April is suppossed to be the start of Autumn, but when has Autumn ever existed in the north of Argentina? Perhaps it’s global warming, perhaps it’s that Pachamama just doesn’t want them to get a break from the heat - whatever it is, they find themselves sitting on the grass under a large tree, and sooner than later they sent off the boys to buy something to drink (either alcohol or juice, they’re not complaining) because they’ll be damned if all they have to drink is Scarlett’s scorching hot mates.

“You all are just fucking cowards,” Scarlett says, pulling out their set and preparing themselves another mate.

“Just because you’ve burnt your tongue so many times you’ve lost all ability to feel anything, doesn’t mean we wanna go that same route,” Ilona deadpans, though just a minute later she’s asking Scarlett to prepare her one too.

The conversation flows easily between them, and from time to time they cheer the boys on their improvised game of football (though they do wonder where did they get the ball from on the first place) before laughing when one of them falls to the ground - which is fairly often.

“Sometimes I find it hard to believe that one of these airheads is applying for med school along with me,” Rita comments, sipping on the mate when it’s her turn.

“Wait, what?” Kiara says, turning to look at Rita. “Which one of these dumbasses is applying to med school with you?” She asks, baffled, and Rita proceeds to explain how Samuel had approached her during summer to ask where is she applying for med school, and when he found out they were aiming for the same college, he had decided they had to study together once the applications opened.

Kiara blinks repeatedly, once, twice, until she’s just blankly staring at Rita for a second longer than intended. Before it gets uncomfortable, she makes a quirky joke about being sorry for whoever ends up being Samuel’s patient if he manages to get into med school, and she sighs in relief when they giggle and move on.

It’s not that she doesn’t trust them enough to tell them about the anxiety that bubbles up in her stomach when she thinks about the future, the fear and guilt that consumes her at the thought of being a burden to her parents while she figures out what to do with her life, being one more mouth to feed in such difficult times — it’s just that, she doesn’t want to bother anyone with her feelings, so she keeps it all in, hoping it’ll eventually go away.

They spend almost all evening long together, and Kiara is thankful that they don’t bring up the future again.

***

The sun is setting when they say goodbye, and Kyne insists to walk her home - it’s not unusual for her to do so, if she practically lives in her house, anyway, but as they walk with their hands intertwined, Kiara feels a different air surrounding them. Like a heavy tension.

“Kiki?”

“Hm?”

Kyne comes to a stop, inevitably stopping Kiara too, and gives her a look Kiara is all too familiar with, making her shiver immediately - oh no.

“You’ve been acting weird lately, is everything okay?” She asks softly, tentatively, and Kiara’s heart sinks. Oh no. This isn’t happening.

She knows that technically she can confide Kyne with everything, that she’ll help her as much as she can with anything she needs, because that’s what couples do. But Kyne has always known how her future will be, at which college she’ll go and all she has to do to achieve her dreams. Between the two of them, she’s the one with more clarity, so getting her to understand her problems would take a lot of words and emotions Kiara isn’t quite ready to unveil.

So she plasters on a smile and nods curtly.

“Everything’s great. I’m good,” she lies through gritted teeth, but Kyne can clearly see through her facade, cocking a skeptical brow as soon as the words leave Kiara’s mouth.

Kyne squeezes her hand, coming closer to her. “You’re a terrible liar,” she says, smiling gently. “If we buy bizcochos on our way to your house, and we eat them on your garden, would that cheer you up?” She offers, making Kiara smile. It’s such a silly, tiny thing, but Kyne knows it always cheers her up, so she accepts, and they roam around the town to get to the only bakery that bakes tasty bizcochos, in Kiara’s opinion.

They barely speak, because Kyne knows to not push Kiara to speak when she doesn’t want to, and right now there’s not much Kiara can say without getting choked up.

It’s significantly darker when they arrive to Kiara’s house, and, naturally, her parents haven’t arrived yet from their jobs, and her little siblings are fighting for the remote - Kyne says hi to Marisa and Alan before they sneak off to Kiara’s room to get changed from their sweaty uniforms.

They settle on Kiara’s little garden, her mother’s pride and joy when Kiara was a child, when life was easier and she wasn’t so self-conscious about the economical crisis going on and money wasn’t as tight. Sometimes, just sitting there and eating any type of snack brings her memories of planting all kinds of flowers with her mother once spring arrived - carrying with it warmer days, flowers in bloom and the need to use mosquito repelent almost all day long.

She’d do everything to go back to those days.

It seems that her yearning shows through her expression, because Kyne silently takes her hand again, stroking the back as she nibbles on her bizcocho, her gaze absent-mindlessly wandering around. Kiara gives a heavy sigh before she speaks.

“I have no idea what I’ll do with my life,” she admits in a whisper, Kyne turns to see her almost immediately, giving her hand another squeeze, prompting her to go on. “Everyone has their shit figured out when it comes to their future, and I just— I don’t know yet. I don’t know what I’ll study, if I’ll study, if I’m just going to get a dead-end retail job to independize myself; I don’t know. I don’t know if I’ll ever know. And it’s starting to stress me out.” Kiara rubs her eyelids with her free hand, sighing in exasperation.

“Not everyone has their shit figured out, Kiki, that’s not true,” Kyne says after a moment of silence, and Kiara rolls her eyes slightly, but Kyne continues before she can say anything. “Really, who has anything figured out? We’re seventeen, living in a thirld world country with an economical crisis that never really leaves. It’s a lot of pressure.”

Kiara lets a half-hearted laugh at Kyne’s comment; of course she always knows what to say, how to read her between the lines.

“But you do have your shit figured out, you’ve said you’ll be an engineer since we were thirteen. Haven’t you already applied for the scholarship at UNSTA?” She asks, trying to prove a point, but Kyne chews on her lower lip and looks away briefly.

“No, not really. I don’t even know if I’ll be an engineer anymore.”

Oh.

Kiara frowns slightly, tilting her head to give Kyne a better look. “You don’t?” She says softly, wondering if she heard wrong. But Kyne nods slowly, much to Kiara’s surprise.

“I just… I don’t feel like my heart’s in it, you know? And my dad always says I shouldn’t study something that doesn’t make me happy, because I’ll either do nothing with it or end up dropping out,” she explains, and now it’s Kiara the one that squeezes her hand as a comforting gesture.

“Why didn’t you tell me? I could’ve—” she stops mid-sentence when Kyne turns to look at her, a brow slightly cocked. “Oh,” she muses when it hits her why she kept this to herself. She didn’t want to bother anyone.

Just like Kiara didn’t want to bother anyone with her own feelings.

She blinks repeatedly, before she manages to say something. “I guess we’re on the same boat.”

“Yeah.” Kyne shifts slightly, until she’s facing Kiara. “And, y’know, we could, like, work together to get on a different boat. A nicer one,” she proposes, smiling gently. Kiara returns the smile, breathing in deeply.

“I think we can, yeah,” she breathes out, fidgetting with Kyne’s fingers, chuckling bitterly. “God, we’re seventeen, we should be worrying about what party are we gonna crash this weekend, not— not what if we fail in life once High School is over,” Kiara grumbles, and Kyne giggles shortly. “We’re such idiots, too - I should’ve probably told you sooner, it would’ve made things easier.”

Kyne clicks her tongue, scooting herself closer and planting a chaste kiss on Kiara’s lips.

“Yes, probably, but you know us; we’re the bests at being uncapable to talk about emotions and keeping things a secret. No wonder why it took so long forus to get actually together,” she jokes, making Kiara laugh shortly. Her gaze becomes softer, lacing her fingers with Kiara’s as she sighs. “I still want you to promise me you’ll tell me when something is bothering you, yeah? You can always tell me anything,” Kyne says earnestly, and Kiara wonders what did she do to deserve such an amazing girlfriend.

“I promise,” she says, “For example, now I feel like these are enough feelings for one day, and I’ll much rather prefer if we went back to eating bizcochos before I cry.” Her upbeat tone makes Kyne laugh, but she still pulls her closer and steals a quick kiss from her, resting her arms on her waist.

“Whatever you say, babe.”

tags: argentina hs au, hurt/comfort

#rpdr fanfiction #kyara #kyne #kiara #rita baga #scarlett bobo #ilona verley #we've got time to kill baby #zyan #argentina hs au #hurt/comfort #back to school 2020 #day 2: desk #submission

[legolaslovely]

Pretend

Written for gatheringfiki ‘s Winter FRE 2020. Prompt 104: Fili, a NASA scientist, and Kili, an artist 

Pairing: Fili/Kili - Modern AU, Fili and Kili are not related

Warnings/Ratings: Teen, language warning

A/N: They’re such dorks, that’s all I have to say.

Summary: Fili is a data scientist at NASA and Kili is an artist who was hired to paint a mural on the overpass bridge outside the NASA facility. Staring through the window of Fili’s office may or may not go on.

Thank you so much @lakritzwolf​ for this beautiful photoset made as a prize for Winter FRE! Link Here!

There had been a lot of deception going on in the NASA parking lot this week. Deception, pretending, acting, bluffing, masquerading- however you wanted to put it, it was happening. Nothing was exactly malicious, but the two men involved were definitely not being truthful with themselves, each other or anyone around them.

Fili spent his days at his desk by the window, pretending not to notice the dark, lean artist on the boom lift outside. Fili was a diligent employee- he kept his eyes on his work and not on the over sized jeans Killian “Kili” Durin was wearing that had rags stuffed in the back pocket and splashes of finger tipped color all over the hips and thighs. He did not stare and most definitely did not groan aloud when the man he had never spoken to raised his arms to work on the lining overhead, leaving his shirt to ride up and reveal light skin, dark curls, and hip bones- all not delicious in the slightest. Nope.

Most importantly, Fili’s blood wasn’t boiling from the women in his office ogling and drooling over the artist that he didn’t know or care about. He was simply frustrated by his research and the most recent data supporting the terrifying and increasing existence of global warming, despite the constant twitter rantings of one idiotic, moronic, clueless, elementary president. 

“Artists are good in bed, you know. They live by different rules than the rest of society.”

“No one should be allowed to be that handsome.”

Fili’s keyboard clicked louder than usual as his fingers slammed the buttons. Fucking useless president should look at this report about the melting ice caps and then tell me global warming is a conspiracy theory, Fili thought.

“I bet he’s good with his hands-”

“Can you ladies please take this conversation somewhere else?” Fili said with raised brows.

The three of them nodded, “Sorry, sir,” and left.

Fili did not peek outside to see dexterous fingers and veined hands create long blue lines- perfect, precise and flowing under the overpass bridge they were hired to work on. He did not think of other things those hands could do. That would be inappropriate. He was at work. 

Similarly, Kili, outside, sweating despite working under the shade of the bridge, pretended not to notice the handsome NASA scientist who barely looked up from his research and sat just through the window. Kili did not chose his schedule to match the blond’s and he would never purposefully set the boom lift at a height that allowed him to see the other man perfectly any time he turned his head just right. To get the sun out of his eyes. That’s all. 

He was painting with golds and blues because he was hired to paint the sun, not because this man warped his mind to see blond hair and blue eyes wherever he went. That would be ridiculous. Kili was a professional. He would never waste his time combing this particular branch’s website to understand the exact duties of this “Phillip” man who went by Fili- he had more important things to do with his time.

Above all else, if Kili happened to glance to the parking lot below at 6:10 pm every afternoon, it was not because he knew the scientists on the day shift got out at 5:30 and the blond data researcher always stayed to finish extra work before he left for the day. He didn’t wait religiously for Fili to wave goodbye to the security guard at the door before he crossed the lot, fishing his red NASA key chain out of his pocket. And he surely did not wait for this man- this stranger- to nod at him with a small smile that was the sun itself, no. No. 

While Kili was busy not painting golden waves and sky blue irises, Fili was too preoccupied with anything but warm, calloused hands to notice one of the human resources secretaries come up to his desk with a stack of papers. 

“These were just faxed over from headquarters for you,” Dawn said. “He never takes a break, does he?”

“Who?” Fili asked, not quite listening.

“The artist,” she said, finally giving Fili a valid excuse to stare at the painted hand prints on the back pocket of Kili’s worn jeans. “He’s been out there every day. Gets here before I do and doesn’t leave until it’s too dark for him to work. I’ve never seen him take a break- similar to someone I know.”

Fili rolled his eyes. “I take breaks.”

“Replying to emails on the toilet doesn’t count as a break.”

He scoffed. “How about you take a break from monitoring my breaks?”

“Ah, but there are no breaks to monitor and I’m sick of saying this word, so why don’t you just go take a you know what?”

After another glance out the window, Fili pushed back his rolling chair and stood. “I think I will.” He chuckled at Dawn’s dropped jaw and stalked past her, downstairs to the cafe.

Kili didn’t mind working in the rain. He was sheltered by his own work, the waves and shapes and colors he’d finished in the days before. The rain was warm and made the ground around him soft and fresh smelling. The sound was a personal soundtrack for his art and his distracted, ever present thoughts he pretended not to have about Fili, the beautiful, blond scientist. So when he heard a smooth voice from below and saw the aforementioned beautiful, blond scientist, Kili thought he was imagining it at first. 

“What did you say?”

Fili held a wrapped sandwich high in the air. “Do you like chicken salad?”

“Love it,” Kili called down. More pretending. “Watch out, I-I’m coming down.” The lift chugged to life with a pull of the lever and Kili slowly descended to the ground, but it didn’t give him enough time to think of something intelligent to say. So he stuck out his hand, saw it was covered in paint, and sucked it back into his body again. “I’m Kili,” he said, grabbing the rag from his pocket. 

“Phillip. Or Fili.” He handed Kili the offending sandwich. 

Kili jumped to the ground and ran a hand through his thick, dark hair. “You wanna sit?” he asked, pointing to the lift. “Well, actually, it’s raining, so maybe not-”

“I don’t mind the rain,” Fili said. He moved to sit and almost leapt out of his skin when large, warm hands caught his waist. 

“Wait- wait a second,” Kili said. “It’s dirty.” He couldn’t even pretend he didn’t get lost in those wide blue eyes before he remembered how to move his feet to retrieve a clean tarp from his gear. He laid it out on the lift and sat, unwrapping his sandwich that he would force himself to eat because this gorgeous man bought it for him.

A few bites went by in agonizing silence- Fili trying not to stare at the hands he’d been thinking of for days straight and Kili secretly taking mental screenshots of deep dimples that would star in his sketches later. Then finally, Fili spoke.

“I’ve enjoyed watching your mural grow. It’s- it brightens the whole office, really. It’s very... dynamic.” Really? he thought. Fili was an avid art collector, but Kili would never know that based on the line he just used. He wanted to ride the lift to its greatest height and throw himself off of it. But his thoughts stopped completely at Kili’s bright, toothy grin. 

“Thanks. It will take a few more days to finish, but so far it’s been going as planned. You won’t be going on any space expeditions any time soon, right?”

Fili couldn’t help but chuckle at the drastic change of subject that Kili himself could barely seem to keep up with. “No. I like to leave that to the astronauts. Why?”

“Would you want to eat- a sandwich here? Again? Same time tomorrow?”

Fili nodded, dimples now permanent fixtures in his cheeks. “Yeah.”

#WinterFRE2020 #fiki

[joshlwtf]

hi everyone ! i’m ali ( she/her ) and i’m super excited to write with everyone!!! [[HERE]] is a little pinterest thingy for this dude, you can also find a other muse posts on [[THIS]] and a stats page [[HERE]]. under the read more you’ll find a bit more of info on this dood. here we go !

*°:⋆ₓₒ [ AVAN JOGIA, CIS MALE, HE/HIM ] hey, look!  [ JOSHIL RAWAL ] aka [ @atmidnight ] is online and ready to write another anonymous post on the broken hearts club. rumor has it they’re here because [ HE FOUND OUT HIS EX WAS MARRIED AND HAD A FAMILY ].  out in the real world he is a [ ILLUSTRATOR ]. the [ TWENTY FIVE ] year old is known for being  [ INSECURE + TIMID  ] but make up for it by being  [ EVEN-TEMPERED + GREGARIOUS ]  if they were to describe themselves they’d say they’re [ DOODLES ON EVERY PAPER, FORGETTING TO CHARGE YOUR PHONE, SMUDGED PAINT ON YOUR FINGERS, BLACK COFFEE ] & their favorite song is [ FALLOUT BY CATFISH AND THE BOTTLEMEN ]

ok so josh (im pretty sure only his parents call him joshil) was born in canada and is an only child from v cool parents. none of them actually were canadian;; his mother is a v white english lady and his father, a gujarati first gen american, but they were living in vancouver because of their job (dad was a uni professor and mom was a high school teacher). he did pick up some french at school but they moved to england when he was twelve and that’s basically where he remembers his childhood from

josh wasn’t raised privileged (quite the opposite to be real), his family had a v simple lifestyle that he still practises til this day, like minimalism and vegetarianism,,, he had a nice time in england but high school was not a nice period. is high school good... like ever?! nope. he got a scholarship at a private conservative school his mom taught at so of course,,. he was the art kid who was p much forced to adjust to the most “normal” ways of expression and who believed because he was shit at maths he wasn’t going to amount to something--- but he still managed to graduate but got his ass out of there the second he could....

off he went to illinois, managing to get a scholarship at university of chicago.... there was something about turning written words and stories into some sort of visual explanation, being also kind of an interpretation, so he specialised in illustration and landed a gig right after graduation thanK SHIVA which meant yo boi wasn’t gonna be homeless and all alone in america like his parents thought. they worried a lot about him yes but he understood it was from a place of love, and who was he kiddin. he wasn’t gonna get rich from his art and thankfully he wasn’t doin it for the money

he sketches mostly but he also paints. there’s something about the smell of the paint and the brushes against a canvas that gets him... josh has a v carefree way of working where he just goes with the flow and however he’s feeling. he wishes he can gather good enough work to maybe organize an exhibition eventually.. that would be sick

so yeah. dude’s always drawing everywhere if he has a pencil or a pen in hand. has paint smudges on his shirts and on his fingers.. if he’s ever late to meeting u he’s most likely sitting down somewhere sketching the sun set before rushing to find you... personality wise he’s kinda timid so he listens way more than he speaks, but if they’re close, he loves chatting about the most random topics like.... cats or dogs? ok but why? why not a chinchilla ???

it takes FOREVER to get him angry and even then he works out his negative emotions v internally so for most people he’s v chill and kinda naive ? he’s got this romantic and positive side to him that sees the good in everyone and everything, being thankful for the lessons or whatever...,,, he’s got screwed over by a ex tho, they dated for a year and he found out the other guy was married and had a family in other state. so now he’s kinda in this spot where he can’t see one single positive of this shit show he’s been through, fucking heartbreak over someone so dishonest and basically not being able to go through with this “everything has a positive side” shit. so now he’s in this sort of dichotomy where he’s doubting a lot of things about himself and his own personality and beliefs......

shit what do a heartbreak do to u

but ok this was too long alread ? he chill he probably had loads of friends bc he talks to literally everyone on the damn dumbway or in the coffee shop about euthanasia being justified or how global warming is some fucked up stuff,... lmao i also have a little [[connection]] page with a few plots here and there but pls im v v open to brainstorming or any other idea that you’d see fitting !!

#hearts:intro #this is sHIT pls lets plot anyway

[tarithenurse]

Agent of Hope - 27

Your world falls into ruin together with the Strategic Homeland Intervention Enforcements Logistics Division when you find out that your boyfriend isn’t one of the good guys. Pairing: Brock Rumlow x fem!reader, Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader Contents: Errors (trying to stay awake to switch to night shifts), pain, detailed violence, quite nasty hints, angst, fluff, sadness, basically everything horrible you can imagine. A/N: You’ll find the previous chapters through my masterlist. Lots of love for liking and reblogging!!

27 - Kick Ass and chew Bubble Gum

It’s a tension at the back of your knees. It’s muscles itching to work overtime – fight or flight. It’s a sour taste at the back of your mouth at the point where no amount of water can wash it away. Still it doesn’t matter because what you’re doing, your mission of sorts, is going to be worth everything.

It’s taken much too long to get to this point where your walking up the dusty lane towards an inconspicuous house in the outskirt of…where’s this again? Somewhere in Sierra Leone. You had known, memorized the town’s name as well as anything else. Memorized the plan. Now, however, it’s replaced by a memory of something that hasn’t even happened yet, making your skin crawl as cold shivers run down the spine. Red sand clings to the boots (much too warm for the temperature). Like blood.

“Something nice…” you mumble, grasping at a flicker spark of joy before it’s swallowed, “…something nice…”

Red like fiery hair. And suddenly, it’s possible to recognize the blue of the sky in the teasing sparkle of a pair of grey eyes capable of looking into your very soul, making you feel safe and at home. The churning lead in your guts lessens. Now you can let the shoulders sink and even look up towards the goal: a heavy door painted green behind which Rumlow waits.

 …   Rumlow   …

Every single note and stick-figure drawing Brock has received from [Y/N] is kept in a tin as evidence. At first her replies had been brief, hesitant in the wording and quite confrontational…but that was to be expected. She has still to admit her feelings for him, but it’s obvious as the communication extends how she recognizes the true nature of the Avengers. Why spend resources on catching someone, when they are willing to come on their own.

Brock isn’t a fool. Far from. There’s always the risk of a double-cross, his own plan mirrored to out him or more of Hydra. And regardless of the reasoning for [Y/N] to come today, she will have to be processed and vetted before he will allow himself to trust her. But it will be much easier this time.

Watching the screen, the ex boyfriend sees the hesitation melt away from the figure to be replaced with resolution. Come to me, baby. All the other screens show…nothing. No, would-be heroes. No pesky Mister Rogers with a shield and the American flag so far up his ass that he can’t relax. No red-head traitor. All alone? It’s hard to believe, so Brock doesn’t, flicking a switch instead that light a tiny, orange diode in the two free-rooms, as the team have started calling the scan-blocking basement sections. On your marks.

There’s a muted sound of footsteps outside preceding the knocking on the door. Twice, a pause, and once. Good girl.

He’s smiling as he unlocks and pulls the door aside just a crack to see the nervousness on [Y/N]’s face, but it’s not enough to drown the stubborn set of the jaw or the air of…excitement? Eager to come home?

“What’s a girl like ya doin’ in a place like this…?” Such a cliché, but it rolls off Brock’s tongue with a neat drawl.

The hint of an eyeroll also hints at times passed. “Girl’s just wanna have fun. Nice decoy to free me up from ‘em.”

Them. Not Natasha or Steve or whatever. “Only the best for ya, as always.” She has said the password but hesitates to enter when Brock opens the door fully. “C’m’on in, babe.”

“How long we got?”

“They’re smart, but th’ain’t that smart…I’ll guess an hour.” There’s a tickle of something he can’t place in the woman’s smile. “The cool air’s escaping, get it.”

Like in a dream, she really does step over the threshold, carefully keeping a bit of distance between them. I should’ve expected that. It still gnaws inside Brock, tugs at the side of him that needs the bitch to understand, to accept her place. But he bites it back. All the anger and possessiveness is shoved deep down somewhere dark because he knows he’ll bring her to her senses. Soon.

Brock casts a brief glance to a screen out of the girl’s view showing a mix of live feeds from local and global news stations, a few of them covering the draught and the lack of safe drinking water while the majority heralds the wedding of some celebrity. No breaking news. It’s not typical of the Avengers to work quietly, especially not if the glorified tin can is flying around blasting rock music. Well…at least one of those idiots has style. Haven’t they taken the bait?

“All alone?” There’s an air of something studied mixing with the playful tone. “I’d half begun to think I was –“

“Shut up.” Thankfully, [Y/N] does as told, body ripe with fear to the point where he almost can smell it. “Why’re ya here? Really?”

“Really?” Perfect confusion. Innocence. “’Cause we’re not over yet, Brock.”

Something beeps from the console of screens and the hydra agent is about to turn to see what has caused the alarm to go off when [Y/N] reaches for him. Such a simple gesture, still it sparks an old habit in the man and he takes the hand in his for a long second – one he would wish could last forever. But he has to let go, hand slightly sticky from her sweaty touch. Another alarm begins, and he can hear the sound of the agents in the free-rooms banging on the doors though an oceans rush in his head. The world sways, unfocused. What the fuck? Oh, yeah, there comes the sea sickness even if he hasn’t felt it since he was a kid.

“You know,” [Y/N] softly whispers from far away into his ear, “when I said we’re not over…” She has a stronger grip than expect on his arm and shoulder, somehow forcing him on his knees. “I should’ve said I’m not done with you, Rumlow.”

The world might be reduced to a stormy sea, but he can still feel the nauseating pain as the shoulder dislocates. I’ve had…worse. That much is true. It’s not even the pain, really, making him sick to the stomach, rather the knowledge of what [Y/N] wants to get even for.

“[Y/N],” he slurs, the tongue too thick in the mouth, “I-I-I…lllo’ ya…” That lands his face pressed onto the dirty floor at an uncomfortable angle. She’s…holding my ass…

“No, Rumlow, you don’t love.” There’s a sound of metal against metal. “Let me demonstrate what you do.”

 …   Romanoff   …

“Damn, sweetie…”

Even Nat is impressed, and slightly grossed out, at the creativity her girlfriend has shown. So much so, she almost feels sorry for Rumlow who’s passed out on the floor in a sticky pool of almost every bodily liquid of his own. Well if almost means not at all.

Sam had taken one look and then gone outside to hurl, and even Thor looks shocked. “My lady, your enemies will surely know not to stir your wrath from this day forth.”

“My track record with coping mechanisms isn’t great…so…” Tony can’t look at it either, but at least he hasn’t lost the bad humour. “Let me know if’t works, ‘kay?”

“Oh, it feels very…cathartic…” [Y/N] looks at the guy with a distanced calmed.

Too calm. Cathartic or not, this will undoubtedly have consequences both legally and emotionally for Rumlow’s former prisoner. None of it can be explained away as self defense. It can’t be by the time the person is face down, ass up, and the metal sheathed where the sun don’t shine.

“I’m gonna take her to the quinjet, you guys stabilize him and see if he can talk…ever…”

And so Natasha leaves the men behind, steering a dazed woman by the arm across the uneven terrain through a patch of dried out shrubs behind which the plane is waiting.

Once onboard, she observes the mechanic reactions as [Y/N] complies with every order without uttering a single word. Come back to me, baby. The former assassin can only hope that the words reach far enough, somehow breaking through the shell her girlfriend’s mind has build in record time to prevent any of the grotesque happenings from settling. Eventually the good advice of reason are spent, leaving nothing behind but an insufferable ache.

You were doing so well, why did I let you go? “I’m sorry, love,” Nat whispers hoarsely, fingers stroking the blank face, “I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have been here. It’s my fault, please come back. You can get through this too, alright?”

On and on, the pleas dripple out similar to a hushed prayer that knows no end. The tears falling aren’t [Y/N]’s this time because for once Natasha can’t be the strong one. Kneeling before [Y/N], she wraps her arms around the living statue’s waist and buries the face in the heat of the soft breasts where she can hear the heartbeat. Slow and steady as opposed to Nat’s own that beats so frantically, she couldn’t hold her hands still if she tried.

Some things change the very foundation of a person.

In the Red Room, the girls were taught not to show mercy, to follow orders unblinkingly even if it meant the death of an other. Though the first fatalities weren’t at the students’ own hands, they knew what the consequences were once they forced another child to give up or be flunked. The changed had already started. By the time a girl graduated, became an adult though never a woman, the transformation was completed. It was expected. A flinch. A faint taste of regret in the dark of night. Nothing more.

Outside the Red Room, for people growing up in normal lives, only a low percentage of people are prepared for the Graduation, and most of those never have to complete the change themselves. For the lucky ones, violence and unnatural death will not become a habit of theirs.

[Y/N] had been one of the lucky ones until the day Hydra captured her, placing her at the mercy of Rumlow. Her change had been forced upon her, nearly killing her in the process. Perhaps Natasha, the team, even the victim herself had been fools for thinking she would be alright and the metamorphosis never would be complete. My fault. Today had been Graduation, and the ex-Russian brought the student to the test.

“Shhh,” gentle and soothing against red hair, “It’s okay, Tash, I’m here…it’ll be okay.” Gentle fingers cart through the fiery strands, nails scraping against the scalp in a calm rhythm. “I know what I did…I’ll never do it again.”

They’re both crying as they lock gazes.

“Do you know that?” Be honest. “Have you seen it?”

“This is the first time you ask me what I’ve seen.” The smile is gentle and almost reaches the [Y/E/C] eyes. “I have to continue therapy, but yeah…never again.” Soft lips kiss the salty water away from the upturned face. “I’m all yours now.”

 …   Reader   …

Of course the clock isn’t ticking. After ages of therapy, you should be used to that…instead it makes the silence way heavier than strictly necessary. Or maybe it’s because this session is so important? Double session, actually. Pinching your brows, you manage to divert the attention from the missing tick-tock to the bit of dirt under a nail as you wait for the team consisting of a psychiatrist and a psychologist to ask the question they want to. It’s silly really. Anyone can rehearse an answer fitting with the “need”.

“So, how are you feeling, [Y/N]?” one of them final begins, glasses dangling from between to fingers and a pen in the other hand.

You take a moment, do a mini body scan. “Right now I’m nervous…” They both nod at your answer. “Generally speaking…pretty good. Still get the odd nightmare where it’s like I’m back.”

“Back?”

“M-hm.”

They want you to define the term, but it’s fun to see them try to be correct and direct at the same time. “To when Rumlow first held you against your will or…?”

“Or when I took revenge? Both.” You give them time to scribble ferociously before continuing, “I don’t think there’s some specific reason it’s one situation instead of the other…not always at least. And the technique to guide myself away from the nightmare is beginning to work a bit.”

The glasses are pulled down again, so the Psychologist can look at you directly. “Is there a difference in the intensity?”

“No. Both…events were horrible. For different reasons, sure, but horrible. What I did…” Both doctors hold their breaths as you ponder your words. “There’s an explanation for it…but no excuse. I know that.”

With all the nodding they’re doing, it seems only fair if they get a kink in the neck eventually. Sometimes the bobble-heads ask more questions, about the house arrest in the tower or your relationship with the Avengers. They never once get into specific about Natasha and you, although it’s there like some elephant in the room. Even professionals can have issues.

By the time the two hours are up, you’ve got them smiling genuinely. Perhaps, maybe, if you’re lucky…will they clear you?

…

“Who sends letters nowadays?” Tony scoffs, dumping a big, brown envelope on the newspaper you’re reading.

Justice Department! It’s damn near impossible to tear open the thick paper because your hands a shaking so much, and when you finally do, the words barely make any sense, so you don’t protest when the genius billionaire snags it out of your hands.

It feels like forever, longer than the months you’ve waited to hear what the psychiatrist’s and psychologist’s decision is, before Tony finally looks up. “Jarvis!”

“Yes, sir.”

You can’t read his face, allowing the nerves to run amok. “Call the team, Pepper, and Happy.”

“May I inquire as to the occasion?”

“Yeah.” Finally, his face splits into a huge smile. “We’re gonna celebrate.”

#Agent of hope mcu fanfiction #natasha romanoff #Natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x you #Natalia romanova #natalia romanova x you #natalia romanova x reader #Black Widow #Black widow x reader #Black widow x you #Former Brock Rumlow x you #Former Brock Rumlow x reader #Brock Rumlow #Crossbones #Mcu #mcu fanfiction #marvel cinematic universe #Avengers #Avenger tower #Iron Man #tony stark #pepper potts #happy hogan #sam wilson #falcon #Steve Rogers #captain america #angst #violence #revenge

[j--meat-hook--j]

Taiyuu round 3: Villains aftermath

Zeke was sitting on the sidelines cheering on the rest of 1A when the birds went silent. 

Thinking back on it, Zeke thought there were an unreasonable amount of birds at Taiyuu.

BOOOOOM

The PE facility went up in flames.

BOOOOM

1A’s classroom collapsed into a pile of rubble.

BOOOOOMM

The Dorms were reduced to ash.

BOOOOOOOOOM

The Makeshift buildings that Laccadaisy had made, burst into dust. At the exact places Zeke felt the buzz of an unknown electronic device. 

The rest of the day was a blur. Aurora and Buckskin escorted Zeke and the other students to safety, telling them that everything would be alright. But Zeke knew better, he knew he could have stopped this. Every explosion, every pile of rubble, every gust of ash started from a Buzz, a buzz of electricity Zeke could have stopped. 

Zeke couldn’t remember how long he walked for, the only sounds being footsteps and distant explosions. The destruction of Taiyuu sparked the greatest fear Zeke had, the fear of nothing.

Rather the fear of not existing to be precise.

Oceans, Mountains, even planets, they all come and go in the mere blink of an eye. Even if we as a species manage to survive the combined threats of global warming, internal cooling, a dwindling magnetic field, asteroids, solar flares, rogue black holes. Nothing changes the fact that our sun is on a constant countdown to death. Even if we did manage to flee to distant stars they’re all equally marching towards their own annihilation. Time and events work to destroy all we have ever comprehended, the decay of all matter as we know it, the decay of all life as we know it. 

One really has to wonder what is the point of anything? Why continue? Why progress? Life even at its most advanced is still doomed to nonexistence! Why? Why go on?

And Spiders, Zeke had just finished checking the dorms for them. 

Replaying the last week in his head over and over, looking for somewhere to change. Somewhere and somehow he could have stopped the destruction of Taiyuu. Zeke especially focused on the past day when he came across something. 

Illusions can’t conduct electricity. 

“Hey Zako?” Zeke asked his much shorter friend. “What’s up Zeke?” Sako responded. “Do you really create illuzionz?”.

“Course I do.” Sako was stone faced.

“But, illuzionz don’t conduct electrizity.” Zeke was starting to doubt his feathery friend “I was wondering how long it would take.” Sako finally cracked a smile. 

“You vere lying to me thiz entire time!”

“No, no, no, no, ok yes but, please, do you know anyone elses Quirks?”

“Of courze I do! I know Amekoz, Zpellmansz yourz and Yuu’z. I’m not an idiot.”

“Ok, what’s Amekos?” “Well now I’m embarrazzed to zay.”

“C’mooonnnn. I won’t judge too badly.” “Fine, Amekoz Quirk is Human Form. Sche can take on zhe form of a Human.” “Hmm, yes, of course, of course, but here’s the question, what is she actually?” “A Kangaroo.”

“Ahem.” Sako coughed into his fist. “Yeah, you’ve figured it out. Ameko is a Kangaroo with the Human Form Quirk.” Sako confirmed.

“I knew it.”

The two went on discussing their fellow students. Just some basic stuff, Yuu is a bat, Shou is related to Spellman, Ameko and Buckskin are related, Ozen is part building, Hirakus covered in mouths. 

“So what do you think about the new girl? Take a guess at that.” Sako put forward.

“Ok, this one I know for schure. You zee sche looks just like zomeone back home in Germany. That girlz Quirk is either a Mizty or a Clone Quirk. Sche looks just like someone wis a clone Quirk back home but she’s all floaty and...” Zeke lost his train of thought.

“Misty?” Sako answered questionably

“Yez!” 

“You’re right, she reminds me of a foggy day..” 

The new familiar-looking girl tensed up and seemed to lose a bit of her cheer. She sped up her pace to distance themselves from Zeke. 

“...”

“...”

Without the lighthearted banter between the two silence, like a cancer, grew. Tired of the sound of explosions and frustrated at his own inability to act, Zeke had an idea. Heroes aren’t just about fighting villains, heroes are about keeping people safe and happy. A True Hero makes everything ok even after a disaster. 

Turning to no one in particular, Zeke decided to use his loud mouth for something useful. 

“Hakuna. Matata.”

He got some odd looks.

“Hakuna Matata, vhat a wunderbar vhrase.”

Silence.

“Hakuna Matata, ain’t no pazzing craze! It means no worriez for the rezt of your dayz.”

Yuu started to mutter along. It wasn’t much, but it was someone. 

“It’s our problem-free, philosophy. Hakuna Matata.” Koatsu, the Green Guy Zeke had previously tased, joined in and he was singing louder. Was this a challenge?

Zeke pointed far in front of him, to Wolfsboon.

“Vhy, vhen he vas a young varthog!”

A slight humming from Ameko, better than nothing. Doing his best Wolfsboon impression Zeke pulled out all the stops.

“Vhen I was a young Varthoooooog.” 

Some irritated looks from people, and a great harmony on Koatsus part. 

“He found hiz aroma lacked a Schertain appeal. He could clear the Zavannah after every meal.”

Whack.

“Shut up!”

Zeke felt a stinging pain in his cheek, recoiling from the hit. Zeke saw that is was a girl from 1A, best known for her attitude Kuta, Kata, Katou, Takamakalaksaka? Something like that. 

“Ow.” 

“Stop, he isn’t hurting anyone!” Ameko interjected.

At least Ame’s talking. 

“Vould you prefer the zilence then, cuz I don’t think anyone elze here doez.”

“Keep that mouth shut unless you want another one.” Takamakalalaparatou was stanced up and ready for a fight. 

“Kutou!” Ameko was angry. Was that possible? “You’re just making everything harder, hasn’t everyone been through enough?”

Ozen, the local giant, got between Zeke and Takamalakealatou and placed a hand on her shoulder.

‘Try getting through that building you jerk!’

“I’m a sensitive soul, though I seem thick-skinned.” A new guy continued. It was Hiraku! The Mouth Man. Takakalakamaktou attempted to lunge towards Hiraku but was stopped by Ozen’s building like body. 

“Oh for fucks sake.” A 1B girl said. Zeke had seen her around before, she reminded him of the circus. 

“And it hurt that my friends never stood.” Koatsu joined again, emboldened by Takamakahoouzous restraint.

“DOWNWIIIND!” All three sang together.

“And oh, the schame.” Zeke followed through. “He was ashamed.” Hiraku continued.

“Thought of changing my name.” Koatsu followed.

“Oh, what’s in a name.” Hiraku perked in again.

“And I got downhearted!” It was  Zekes turn. Some frowns were disappearing.

“How did you feel?” Hiraku, playing the supporting voice.

“Every time that I-” Koatsu, adding some depth.

“Pumbaa! Not in front of zhe kids!” Zeke and Hiraku sang together.

“Hakuna Matata. What a wonderful phrase.” The three joined together

Now Zoe was starting to hum along. 

“Hakuna Matata! Ain’t no passing craze.” They continued, bolstering each other along. 

“It means no worries for the rest of your days. It’s our problem-free philosophy. Hakuna Matata” The Fire, Electricity and Wind kids finished.

“Oh thank fuck.” Popi said relieved. None of the singers was satisfied. 

The Band of Merry Men all looked to each other, took a deep breath. “I can show you the Woooorld!”

“God Dammit!” Even Popi’s mind was off the destruction of Taiyuu. 

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

After who knows how long of walking and songs, the group finally reached the bus. Every student feeling the exhaustion, some feeling it way more than the others. Sako, Senshii-none and Tamashi seemingly the worst off. Spellman was in literal shambles, she just barely had the basic limbs. She assured everyone she would be ok. 

One sleepy bus ride later and the Taiyuu Team arrived at their destination, UA high. Zeke, like his other students, was whelmed by the whole thing. 

There was a general sense of alarm when Senshii-none passed out. After the routine checks on everyone, mainly Senshii-none, Taiyuu was shown “Gym Gamma” an indestructible gym meant to contain even “The Hell Class”. Had demons gone to UA?

Finally, the thing Zeke had been waiting for all year. He could finally embrace his truest self, he could finally wear that cool-ass mask he designed. And also the rest of the hero costume but whatever. The metallic mesh was cool but The Mask took the cake. 

“Get in your pairs, stay on your mats and don’t kill anyone.” Eraserhead announced to both classes. Zeke was paired up with Ningyo Mya, he’d never met her before so it’s going to be an interesting… oh, oh no. Ningyo Mya looked like a doll from a horror movie, she looks terrifying. 

“G-Good to meet you I’m Needlepoint, what’s your name?” She seemed nervous but it was better than the dead scared everyone was back in the tunnel.

“I’m Zeke, nice to meetcha.”

“No, I, I meant your hero name.” “Oh, uh, I dunno yet.”

Seems like a nice enough girl. 

“3!”

Zeke started doing a little jump on the spot. 

“2!” 

Zeke spread his arms wide.

“1!”

Zeke opened his electrosense, let everything flow in. All the lights, the wiring, the electrical sockets, the batteries in Hero Costumes, the fire alarm, the smoke detectors, the alarms and bells. 

“Begin!”

Zeke used it all, pulling as much as he could out. Rage at the villains, anger at his family, grief at the loss of Taiyuu. Anger at himself, sick of his own inaction, frustration at his laziness, hate at his cowardice. He pulled it all out.

CRAAAAASHHHHH. 

KZZZZZTTT.

Silence. 

Every light inside the gym had exploded, all the electricity inside crashing outwards like a wave of bright anger. All unfairly directed at Mya. When all of a sudden, everything stopped. He couldn’t feel the buzzes of electricity anymore. The electricity had nothing to guide it and so it harmlessly fizzled out. 

“Purple Girl, you lose.” Eraserhead pointed at Mya.

“And you! Next time I see your ass pull something like that again, you’re out.” Eraserhead then pointed at Zeke

‘This Eraserhead guy was scary.’ 

#taiyuu oct #Zeke Funkee #ningyo mya #my hero academia

[tessacxstello]

hello im (F, 24) an idiot and forgot to post tessa’s (F, 22, fictional) intro!

pls bare in mind most of this was written 5+ years ago n i haven’t written tessa since 2015...... but lets get this show (LOCKWOODRP) on the road (DASHBOARD). 

tw school shooting, tw bipolar disorder

art hoe. always covered in paint. why?? she bad at painting

the mark rothko jackson pollock kind of bad tho wher people are like.... omg.... revolutionary..... its a badly drawn vagina

fuckin loves astrology, but cant take it that seriously bcos one of her bfs was a gemini so there’s some lenience there. but she WILL blame her hormones and mood swings on the positon of mars

embodies pure sunshine. 

one of those really annoying people that can go through the most traumatic shit and still find a positive spin. 

cares so much for others but does not really care for herself n it’s meant she just bottles up all this shit n when someone asks her how her day has gone she just falls on the ground like tht bit in midsommar when florence does that loud wheezy noise and sits down 

has never really had much money at all. learns to make-do with what she has. loves upcycling!! her bookshelf is made from cardboard which she’s reinforced by pappering it over with pages ripped out of thrifted books. her sofa is an old car boot which she’s repainted, put on wheels and stuffed w cushions so that it’s actually bearable to sit on.

her knitted cardigan? its made out of wife material.

knits all the time. will crochet you a christmas scarf. if ur lucky you might get a knitted jumper with a penis in a santa hat

still sleeps with cuddly toys n then wonders why ppl dont think she’s mature enough for a serious relationship

very passionate about Sister Doing It For THemselves!! raised by a single mom who worked her ass off so that tessa could do fun activities after school, have lelli kelly shoes, and go to college (not necessarily in tht order of importance)

tessa was born out of wedlock as the result of an affair between her mom (a journalism intern in her early 20s) and a new york times editor. 

the editor offered to pay tessa’s mom off to have an abortion, but she was like fuck u and told the papers he’d done that and used the money to cover the cost of her internship which they refused to pay her for

and because of the scandal, he ended up going through a pretty messy divorce with his wife, and losing custody of his kids. so as a child  tessa was seen as the cause of a divorce and received mutliple letters from the editors wife (to tessa personally!) and his kids saying how she had ruined everything, but her mom moved them to another town so tessa didn’t have to deal with that crap. 

her mom worked 3 jobs to put her through school, so in return tessa pushes herself incredibly hard to succeed. needs a break and a hug and to get laid to be honest. 

an old soul. likes old films, old music, old people. only recently got an iphone 5s so not really with this century yet

very sweet and soft and kind but also a fucking mess and won’t listen to anyone else’s opinion. she’ll take comfort, but not advice. 

feminist buddhist bisexual vegetarian for human rights and animal welfare. standing on a soapbox shouting about the climate in the quad, shoving flyers into your hands. flyers everwhere. she turns up at your grandmas funeral and shoves one into her mouth. she’s stolen the mic from the vicar to talk about pandas.

says “mother of pearl” and “heavens to betsy”.

had an affair with her married piano teacher and he’s now facing a custody battle and his wife is leaving him and tessa has completely internalised that guilt despite her being the victim in the scenario

aesthetics: paint splattered jeans, loose curls spilling from a scrunchie, thrifted blouses in bright yellow, guzzling coffee in the library at three am when a term paper’s due, shoddily illustrated campaign posters to save endangered species, polaroids plastered to your bedroom walls with scribbled dates on the frames, jumping into a stack of autumn leaves, jumping off piers in the summer months and stripping off your wet clothes on the beach, digging your thumbs into peaches to leave a bruise, smoking with the extractor fan on to hide the smell, bath bombs, letting the girls at lush rub samples all over your skin, cacti with knitted bobble hats, decorative pillows and sun and moon blanket throws, basic bitch fairy lights hanging from every single window, painting the name of the boys you’ve loved inside your wardrobe door.

studies fine art and philosophy, and wants to become either a lecturer or the first woman president. vibe wise, very similar to leslie knope, missy from big mouth, and basically the naive everygirl with a high opinion of themselves trope

gets drunk off like one double vodka lemonade because she’s small and she’s a pretty messy wild drunk. it’s when slutty tessa comes out, and the next day she’ll thoroughly regret every choice made and decide she’s never drinking again and cutting out all men and starting daily sudoko

on the cheerleading team and is a flyer, which she sees as a HUGE responsibility and she works really hard to make sure she’s on it for her team. one of those get up at 7am and go to the gym before school types its sickening

she had a really traumatic time at high school because there was a shooting in her school. she was in the next classroom when it happened, and she lost one of her friends in the shooting. she had to take two months off school, was diagnosed with depression and put on anti-depressants because of it. in her 2nd year of uni she was rediagnosed with bipolar disorder and anxiety, which she’s now on medication for. she can be really good for several months at a time and feel super creative and determined (she actually finds manic periods helpful for her creativity n art, n sadly sometimes doesn’t take her meds in these periods to push herself more which is obvs super bad.....). but when the bad periods come they can also last months n she had to take a semester out of school last year because of her mood, so she should be a senior by now but she’s retaking junior year

she attends weekly stress-management sessions prescribed by her doctor which she finds pointless.

very childish in the sense that she can only see her own point of view and kind of views herself as the “protagonist” and thinks her ideas are super important and life changing and she IS Destined for Greatness! despite being pretty much average af

pinterest board.

STATS

age: 22

height: 5'2"

positive traits: kind-hearted, gregarious, selfless, philosophical, open minded, idealistic, courageous, feisty, charismatic, loyal, adventurous.

negative traits: stubborn, hot-headed, reticent, escapist, self-destructive, easily led, naive, troubled, complicated, stepford smiler, envious, overdramatic, explosive.

distinguishing Marks: heart-shaped birthmark on the right of her chest, splattering of freckles across the cheeks during summer months, full lips, large eyes, porcelain features, long wavy hair, tattoo of a bird and a cage on her ankles and a basic bitch arrow tat on her wrist (srry to anyone with an arrow tat).

skills: jack-of-all-trades, talented pianist, perceptive, knows the correct way to throw a punch, good survival instinct, is able to remain calm in stressful situations, endures, artistic, excels in academic studies, hard-working and self-motivated, expert liar and talented actress.

likes: wolves, vintage thrift store fashion, old leather-bound books, left-wing democratic politics, cigarettes, poetry, John Hughes movies, cold coffee, hot tea, the sound of laughter, staying up til 4am having deep conversations, Tchaikovsky, having deep conversations about life, stationary, DC Comics, horoscopes, winged eyeliner, cats, knee-high socks, house music, abandoned buildings, studio ghibli, the smell of the earth after rain, Wes Anderson films, herbal tea, old people, solitude, esoteric things, the smell of freshly baked bread, Charles Bukowski, the moon.

fears: death, oblivion, global warming, losing those she loves, isolation, clowns, guns, enclosed spaces.

nicknames: Tess, T-Dog, Tessie, Socrates, Princess, Sunshine Girl, Florence Nightingale.

alignment: Neutral Good

MBTI type: INFP

BIOGRAPHY

tw school shooting

Her story begins with Cordelia Costello, a twenty-three year old college drop-out, turned beautician, turned columnist, turned intern at a local publishing company. She was a youthful, beautiful, siren of a women, always surrounded by an aura of enigma and an entourage of men. It was no surprise to the gossips in the office that within six months working at the company, Cordelia had added to her list another title – mistress to Franklin Hozier, the Editor of the New York Times. After two blissful months and three hundred and twenty seven orgasms, Cordelia decided she wanted a baby. Franklin laughed in her face. Feeling isolated and used, Cordelia continued her affair with her boss’ boss for another month, before deciding to take matters into her own hands.

It started with a turkey baster.

Soon the infant cries of a baby girl graced the world, her wrinkled skin puckered and pink as her mother held her in her arms, glancing upon the most beautiful thing in her life. Once Tessa, named after Cordelia’s favourite literary heroine, entered the world, Franklin left her life and things took a turn for the better. Despite living in a rented one-bedroom apartment in Staten Island, on what little money Cordelia had saved, Tessa’s childhood years were filled with nothing but the happiest of memories. Times were tough, but what they lacked in money, the Costello’s made up in love. While Tessa was at school, Cordelia did odd jobs cleaning, child-minding, working in local nurseries, in order to save up enough money to give her daughter the best start in life.

Despite what she had been led to believe by television shows and teen movies, the first few years of High School were some of the best years of her life. Tessa threw herself into a multitude of activities that High School offered her, including the drama club, the orchestra, choir, badminton and the school newspaper. While she certainly wasn’t considered ‘popular’ at school, Tess had a wide circle of friends and acquaintances. In fact, High School was a place where she made some of the greatest memories of her life, but come her final year, it was also a place where she was haunted by some of her worst.

On the January 17th of Tessa’s senior year of high school, a shooting took place in Westville High School. For two hours Tessa locked herself in a supply cupboard, her head between her knees as she tried to stay silent despite the screams of horror from the corridor. Eighteen students were caught in the crossfire, two of which were Tessa’s best friends. Bouquets of flowers, laminated photographs, Teddy Bears in cling-film bags attached to balloons littered the streets as families and friends came to pay tribute to the eighteen students withered before they had a chance to bloom.

It took two months of therapy before Tessa could return to school. Some of the survivors could never return due to the horrors that their eyes had laid witness to. Sometimes Tessa felt like a part of her had died with the friends that were stolen from her too soon, but one thought kept her going through: she had survived, she was alive and breathing, and she could not afford to loose a second of the precious time she had been granted on this earth. Despite the nightmares that continued to haunt her each night, Tessa found in the aftermath of the disaster a new sense of motivation. She began applying for scholarships for colleges without her mother’s knowledge, in the hope that her academic success would be enough to carry her through further education. Thankfully, it was, and after three torturous months of waiting Tess was offered an arts scholarship to her dream school, Lockwood University, where she hoped she could finally start to rebuild her life.

THE PRESENT:

Life at university was like a separate world. Students came and went like moths among the whisperings and the tequila and the stars. In this new world, Tessa was exposed for the first time in her life to alcohol, drugs, and the sexual appetites of other students her age – though she politely declined all three. Instead, Tessa threw herself into the vast array of activities in the hope that by distracting herself she could escape the terrible flashbacks that continued to haunt her. Tessa joined the lacrosse team, despite never having played before, and took up cheerleading discovering a new talent; she joined the musical theatre group, and the film club, and even set up her own acapella singing society. But despite how much she tried to throw herself into student life, her past hung around her like a bad smell, and with the added pressure of the Sinking Ships zine, Tess began to feel the weight of her secret tying her down like a pair of shackles around her wrists.

PERSONALITY:

If someone was to describe Tessa in a single word, it would most likely be ‘bubbly’, ‘open-minded’ or ‘sweet’. But they would be wrong – Tessa is not bubbly, or sweet, or stubborn, or hotheaded, or fiesty, or infectious, or any of the things the world see her as, but merely a numb and lonely echo of the gregarious, halcyon girl she once was. Tessa Costello was one of life’s enigmas. No one knew who she was, for to each person she met she wore a different mask – she dripped confidence, or was painfully shy; she was an exhibitionist, or a brooding wallflower; she took things too seriously, or not seriously at all. She was an actress and the world was her stage, each person she met a different member of the audience in the performance of her life. In truth, Tessa no longer even recognised herself. Insecure, and self-destructive, she tried to hang on to the extroverted, mischievous pieces of herself that everyone had once loved, but day by day it got harder to know what lay in the vacant holes blown through her mind. While she was stubborn and hot-headed, Tessa always saw the best in people, which meant that she was easily led astray. While she had grown up learning to be street smart and astute, she was idealistic and allowed silly fantasies to cloud her mind. By nature, she was passionate, which lead her to misimagine and romanticise those she met. Despite the hell she had witnessed, and the anxiety that feasted upon her, she believed that people were innately good and that to have courage and be kind could cure anyone of their sadness – yet she was unable to cure herself.

TWITTER:

@500daysoftessa: i blame disney films and musicals for my high expectations of men

@500daysoftessa: i am in love with the boy who works at starbucks. today i asked for a double latte and he gave me a tripple, which i think is proof that my love is requited. our children will be smart and talented and beautiful.

@500daysoftessa: little known historical fact: pharaohs were burried with their hands crossed over their chests because it was a popular belief there would be countless water slides in the after life.

#huntingtonintro #pounce on me for plots #tw school shooting #tw bipolar disorder #tw depression

[mspaleoart]

Lystrosaurus – Late Permian-Early Triassic (255-250 Ma)

I’m back! I was sort of at a loss of what animal to talk about when I came back from my hiatus in earnest, but during the spotty downtime I had last week, I read When Life Nearly Died by Michael Benton, and that pointed me in the direction of this chubby little gentleman, whose name is Lystrosaurus. Lystrosaurus is one of the (very very VERY) few animals to survive the Permian-Triassic Extinction event, and we’re gonna take a look at why exactly that is.

Lystrosaurus is yet another synapsid, or proto-mammal. This guy was a member of the second wave of Paleozoic synapsid radiation, a member of the order Therapsida, which were characterized by being more similar to true mammals than the first group, the pelycosaurs. Edaphosaurus and Cotylorhynchus were both pelycosaurs, and were a bit more basal. Lystrosaurus shows a few of those therapsid traits, most importantly the shape of its skull and its semi-sprawling gait. On the less mammalian side of things, it probably had a beak made of horn for shearing vegetation. It had the characteristic deep body cavity for digesting all the tough plants it ate. It also had no teeth except for a pair of enlarged canines, which it probably used to uproot its food. The most common species was about the size of a schnauzer, although a much rarer species grew a bit larger. All-in-all, it wasn’t really anything special compared to its contemporaries.

Despite being tiny and rather typical of an animal from its time period, Lystrosaurus is an important animal for a few reasons. Even though plate tectonics are common knowledge and accepted as fact now, it took a long time for it to gain any serious traction. Alfred Wegener was pretty much laughed off when he first suggested the continents move in 1915. As a part of this theory, Wegener also suggested the continents had been united at some point into a supercontinent he called Pangea. His contemporaries heard the idea and basically said, “Okay but continents don’t move, obviously. Have you ever seen a continent move?” To their credit, the evidence at the time was, more or less, Africa and South America fitting together and other such things. Which, yeah, we know were right now, but back then it wasn’t so obvious. The next several decades were a slow march to acceptance of the theory of continental drift. Lystrosaurus figures into this by having been found in Asia, Africa, Europe, and even Antarctica by the 70s. At that point, even the most hardened skeptics shrugged and said, “Okay, yeah, fine.”

Lystrosaurus is known from an absolutely stupid number of fossils. The Great Karoo Basin in South Africa has an unreasonable amount of Lystrosaurus remains. They make up 95% of the animals found there, and they’re so abundant that paleontologists pull their hair out trying to find literally anything else. The most studied parts of the Karoo Basin span the late Permian and Early Triassic, and once you get into the Triassic rocks, it’s pretty much Lystrosaurus all the way down. Why is that?

Because nothing else survived the Permian Extinction.

There are five major mass extinctions in the Phanerozoic Eon. I’ve talked about two of them on this blog so far. I talked about the End-Ordovician extinction event when I covered Endoceras, and the End-Triassic extinction with Effigia. And I’m here to say that those events were fucking peanuts compared to this one. This was the single greatest crisis for life on earth, to the point that it’s often called The Great Dying. This was the destruction of about 90% of all species on earth at the time, and for a while we weren’t even really sure what was causing everything to fucking die. The most accepted theory nowadays is the series of eruptions of the Siberian Traps at the end of the Permian period. Basically, most of what we now call Siberia turned into a volcanic wasteland and exploded every so often, anywhere from every few thousand years to every few months.

These were more than volcanic eruptions. This was fire and brimstone, magma punching massive holes in the earth and launching toxic gasses and solid ejecta into the atmosphere. Anything remotely nearby suffocated or was struck by fiery debris. This wasn’t the most severe killing agent, though, not at all. The Great Dying earned its name because of the secondary effects. The gasses spewing into the atmosphere blocked out the sun and caused flash-freezing, followed by periods of global warming. Glaciers melted and released even more toxic gasses trapped beneath them, poisoning the seas and killing anything unadapted to anoxic conditions. It’s pretty telling that the majority of the marine animals that survived into the early Triassic were clearly adapted to life without plentiful oxygen. Plants on land were suffocated or frozen to death, and the ecosystems collapsed from there. The earth was a frigid, barren landscape. The seas and land alike would be littered with corpses of animals and plants. The earth has mechanisms to balance these influxes of toxic chemicals, but the problem was that by the time those mechanisms could get started, Siberia would erupt again and start the process all over again. If you were to walk around Pangea during the peak of this crisis, 1) It would fucking suck, and 2) You’d probably come across a very distressed Lystrosaurus before finding any other animal.

Why in the goddamn hell did Lystrosaurus survive when so many other animals didn’t? It’s a complicated question, because it’s important to ask another question first: What animals are vulnerable to extinction events? There are a couple of broad categories of vulnerable animals during mass extinctions:

Large animals: Large animals are especially vulnerable because they need more energy to keep themselves going, and almost always have small populations and slow reproductive cycles. This goes for predator and prey alike. When plants start dying, herbivores can’t feed themselves, and the large carnivores that prey on them don’t have anything substantial to eat. This is the reason animals like elephants and rhinos have such a hard time bouncing back after we nearly hunted them all to extinction.

Specialized animals: Specialized animals are almost always doomed in big extinctions. If an animal is really, really good at functioning in a specific environment, it’s going to bite it as soon as that environment gets thrown off-kilter. Animals that specialize in eating a specific plant or hunting in a specific environment don’t usually survive when everything gets hit.

So, the animals who are most likely to survive a mass extinction are the small generalists, who can thrive pretty much anywhere. Lystrosaurus fits this description, but forget all of that for the purpose of this conversation, because the Great Dying decimated life of all sorts. Generalists were more or less just as likely to die off as the specialized animals or the big guys. So, we ask again, why did Lystrosaurus survive when so many other animals, even those similar to it, didn’t?

There isn’t really an answer to that question. Scientists have puzzled over the remains of Lystrosaurus and asked over and over again, “Why this little bastard?” and they’ve come up with nothing substantial. It was luck that a little beaked herbivore was one of the lucky few. There’s no adaptation that made it particularly hardy in the face of total metazoan annihilation. There’s no reason it survived the act break between the Paleozoic and Mesozoic eras. It just did because it happened to survive. This isn’t a parable of survival as much as it is one of dumb luck. One of the characteristics of a mass extinction is that it is essentially indiscriminate. Lystrosaurus had every reason to perish like its relatives, but it just didn’t. Being the generalist that it was, it wasn’t hard for it to recover when the Siberian Traps died down and life finally gained a foothold. It multiplied at an absurd rate and covered the earth. The early Triassic was unequivocally dominated by waddling herds of Lystrosaurus. An argument could be made that it’s the single most successful genus of synapsid in history, although Mus and Rattus would probably argue that point.

Whew. That was a lot. I hope it serves as a fitting return! Lystrosaurus was an animal I’d been meaning to cover for a long time, but only now felt like I was able to do it any justice. There’s so much to say about Lystrosaurus, to the point I could write a book about it. The cover would probably look something like this:

I’ll see you next time!

******************************************************************************

Buy me a Coffee, if you’d like!

#lystrosaurus #therapsids #synapsids #proto-mammals #permian #triassic #paleozoic #palaeozoic #mesozoic #paleoart #palaeoart #paleoblr #palaeoblr #paleontology #palaeontology #prehistoric

[buko-pandan]

Taron Egerton, Golden Boy

by: Matt Genefaas

Action, explosions and impeccable tailoring, the new Kingsman film has it all. Following the worldwide success of the first film of the franchise, Kingsman: The Golden Circle is set to hit the big screens this September and packs a star-studded cast. Taron Egerton talks about the excitement of returning to the role of Eggsy for the sequel, his on-screen love interest and what to expect for the highly anticipated release.

Where is Eggsy when we pick up with him?

We meet Eggsy an undisclosed amount of time after the first [film]. But you can see in his mews house that there are three additional Sun headlines on the wall, indicating that he’s done a handful of missions on his own. And he is now going steady, to use a very 1950s term, with – shock horror – the Swedish princess from the first movie. Love blossomed in an unusual place. He’s trying to juggle the lifestyle of being a Kingsman and a full-time spy with also trying to nurture a blossoming relationship with a person who he really loves. He’s basically the same guy, just with a really important job.

He still has those rough edges?

Oh, the rough edges haven’t been sanded off. Eggsy still fucks up. That’s essential for the audience to have a window into the movie, to experience it through his eyes. He still has to escape through a sewer and emerge covered in shit. That’s not Harry Hart. That’s Eggsy. If we’d started the movie with Eggsy being Harry Hart, he wouldn’t have anywhere to go. He’s the rough-around-the-edges lad. We even see him return to an adidas hoodie – that’s who he is on his downtime.

This is your third film now with Matthew Vaughn, who also produced Eddie The Eagle. You clearly work well together – were you in contact with him as he pulled the movie together?

For the whole time he was writing, he always calls and says ideas. There is a real big kid in Matthew. When he has an idea he’s excited about he wants to share it. Just when you think you have a handle on Matthew, who he is and how his creative brain works, he comes in with something else which is really fucking clever. On a daily basis, it’s something I could never have thought of.

The first movie was your first time on a movie set. Did it feel easier this time?

On the first one I thought Matthew could fire me at any moment. I was a bit more tight-lipped and reverential. Now I give as good as I get. It felt easier in that I’ve spent far more time on film sets, and felt more certain of myself and how I function within a film set and this world I now occupy. In other senses, Matthew kept calling it the tough second album, and it is. People shout ‘Eggsy!’ at me in the street sometimes, and that’s quite a thing to reconcile yourself with, that you’re coming back and playing the same role again, and people have a level of expectation from you. They want the same thing again, but they also want it to be new and exciting. Kingsman has totally changed my life, so coming back, the overriding emotion was excitement, and real anticipation. The script was great, and it’s a really great story. I was so excited, and to be doing a sequel to your first film within four years of coming out of drama school, I am the luckiest man on the planet.

Have you changed your approach to the character?

On the first, I was constantly thinking about the accent and it doesn’t cross my mind now. He’s very much a part of me. I don’t think about it for a second now. I’ve played this character from his inception and I feel secure.

The best-kept secret in movies – that Colin Firth is back as Harry Hart – is now out. So what can you say about Eggsy’s relationship with Harry in this movie?

Well… we were on the same set, and we are friends and I love his company, and it was really nice to revisit a job well done. There were a lot of ways Matthew could have gone with the sequel, but in my mind, there was no doubt. I’m not sure how far the movie goes without that Harry and Eggsy relationship. That dynamic, and riffing on that dynamic, is the beating heart of the movie.

Has the relationship changed?

When they are reunited, it’s lovely. It’s very affecting and they’re pleased to see each other. But for undisclosed reasons, a tension grows in their relationship. That’s enormously fun and an interesting dynamic. When Harry and Eggsy’s relationship came to its untimely end in the first one, they weren’t on good terms. It’s quite sad. Eggsy hasn’t dealt with the situation particularly well. So in this movie you expect a reconciliation and you get it, but because of other facts it’s not always harmonious. Matthew knows that’s the key. You’ve got all the guns and fighting and that makes it brilliant, but for me it’s about Harry and Eggsy.

Early in the film, an attack on Kingsman has huge ramifications for Eggsy. What are those ramifications?

What it means for Eggsy is he was disenfranchised at the start of the first one, and aimless and not content. This wacky world he becomes involved with gives him direction and purpose, so to dash it to smithereens at the top end of this second episode is mad. Eggsy doesn’t really know what the hell to do. Sometimes sequels don’t work. This works because we get a reset. Everything was OK, and now it’s not again.

The big new additions to the film are the Statesmen, the American equivalent of Kingsmen, who Eggsy and Merlin discover in the wake of the attack on their own organisation. What can you say about these new arrivals?

The Kingsmen make their money through tailoring and that’s their front, but it’s more limited in terms of reward and finances than selling booze. The Statesmen are a level up. We thought our jet was good, but theirs is a fucking jet. You can see Eggsy being wide-eyed with wonder again.

The cast Vaughn has assembled for this movie is astonishing.

It’s amazing. One minute you’re working in Peacocks and then all of a sudden you’re sat at a table with Jeff Bridges, Colin Firth, Channing Tatum and Halle Berry! It’s a weird thing to be part of. They’re such great characters and so animated and larger than life and played by such great performers.

What’s the relationship like between Eggsy and the Statesmen?

I think to begin with it’s one of mistrust. These organisations aren’t aware of each other. They’re only supposed to become aware of each other in the event of a serious disaster. Eggsy and Merlin find themselves face to face with Agent Tequila, and have a fight… I don’t recommend fighting Channing Tatum. He’s a dancer, but that guy is like an ox. I had a few sore fingers after that.

Talk us through the Statesmen.

Ginger (played by Halle Berry) is the equivalent of Merlin. She’s very clever and you might describe her as bookish, she’s a quieter character. And then there’s Channing Tatum, who has a bit of bravado and is butch and manly. He’s quite gung-ho. He likes his weekend parties. He ends up in stasis, having taken some sort of illicit substance. Jeff as Champagne is really cool. He’s an alcoholic who doesn’t drink, but is forever swilling and spitting whiskey, or he sniffs the whiskey as he’s talking and trying to figure [stuff] out. Then there’s Pedro Pascal, who plays agent Whiskey, and he is a kind of seasoned veteran, their top field agent, who takes me under his wing. For a little while, it begins to feel like he might be a new mentor figure for Eggsy in the absence of Harry Hart, who is not quite what he once was. But you also get the sense that Whiskey might be a little reckless, and a little cold.

And, of course, there’s Julianne Moore as the villain of the piece, Poppy.

She has a dastardly plot that’s every bit as chilling as Valentine’s plot from the first movie. That’s thematic of these two films. There’s a very cold world in which you get what Valentine was saying about global warming. You can also sort of see where Poppy is coming from, depending on how conservative you are. But Julianne is lovely. She’s a children’s author as well and heard that I had two young sisters and she sent some of her books. She’s really great in the movie, really disturbing and saccharine and rotten to the core. The smile never reaches the eyes.

The first film pushed the envelope with its R-rated tone, exploding heads and stylish violence. Does the second follow that up?

You’re not going to be leaving the cinema feeling like Matthew played it safe this time. It takes a character like Matthew’s to be as resolute and uncompromising as that, in the face of all the pressures that come when it’s a commercially viable property. If you call the first one provocative, you’d call this one a punch in the face.

So it’s a movie that may ruffle feathers.

I think it may ruffle feathers more than the first one ruffled feathers.

#taron egerton #this is the actual interview w him #kingsman #kingsman the golden circle #let me post up the pics too from this one

[megacircuit9universe]

The Commonwealth Party

SUN FEB 16 2020

Tonight I’m gonna run a thought experiment of sorts, and look at just what the political landscape would be in the aftermath of the scenario where Democratic Socialist Bernie Sanders, beats Trumpian Republican Trump on November 3rd 2020... step by step.

1) Trump would contest the results: The margin of victory for Bernie determines how effective this would be.  

a) If it’s a razor thin lead in one county in one state, like in 2000, then Trump takes it to the Supreme Court and wins.  End of story.

b) If Bernie only wins the electoral vote, but Trump wins the popular vote, Trump will scream that the election was rigged and refuse to step down... leading to a very tense, months long situation, that could get ugly.

c) If Bernie wins a decisive victory, but Trump still didn’t do too bad... he’ll still scream that the election was rigged and refuse to step down, but government and military support will immediately go to the President Elect, and it will be Trump and his goons in a bunker under the White House, against a Navy Seal team sent in to eject them.

d) If Bernie wins by a landslide... Trump will still scream bloody murder, but grudgingly leave the White House of his own free will... but refuse to attend the inaguration in protest.

e) No point talking about, “a,” because if it’s true, then the rest of this is moot. Option, “b,” is not happening, as Democrats never win by Electoral technical.  Option, “c,” however, is good enough to get Trump out, meaning that we don’t have to bother discussing, “d.”  Thus, in our first step, President Elect Sanders does indeed take office, and that’s all we care about.

2) Trump 2024: Grover Cleaveland already set the precedent for serving two nonconsecutive terms as President, so Trump will immediately vow to run again in 2024 and take back what was so unfairly taken from him.

His campaign rallies will continue every couple weeks like normal, and he’ll almost certainly begin appearing regularly on Fox, and other right wing shows and casts... and this will go on for many years.

a) He’ll remain the head of the Republican party, so the continued rallies and freedom to rant on right wing shows will solidify the Republican brand as being synonymous with Trump, and extreme right wing ideas such as white nationalism, climate denial... who knows... Flat Earther’s eventually?  Sure!

b) This  permanent rebranding of the Republican party, will force a similar rebranding of the Democratic party under Bernie, as the party of progressives and democratic socialists.

c) This dynamic will force right leaning Democrats, and left leaning Republicans to seek common ground, as centrists.

d) They will form a third party.

3) The Commonwealth Party:  The Commonwealth Party, consisting of hardcore centrists, with great appeal to protestants, upper middle class boomer types, and the idle rich, will be way more powerful than any other third party since the Republican party itself was formed in 1854... this time, because they’ll have a ton of money behind them.

4) The 2024 Race:  As incumbent, Bernie Sanders will run as the Democrat.  The Republican Party will nominate Trump, to have a re-match.  The Commonwealth Party, however, will run some high profile candidate of their own who is actually popular, as well as many down ballot challengers from Congress down to dog catcher.

a) Both the Commonwealth and the Republican parties will be running anti-Bernie campaigns... attacking him as a dangerous socialist... thereby splitting the anti-Bernie vote... and Sanders will be reelected.

b) The Commonwealth candidate, however will do better than Trump, and many of their down ballot candidates will win... in conservative states and districts, against Republicans... picking up House and Senate seats... maybe a governorship or two.

5) Beyond 2024: Within a decade, the Commonwealth Party will be the conservative counterpart to the Democratic Party, and both will at least agree on basic human rights... that xenophobia and sexism are bad... the rule of law means something... we need to support our allies... climate change must be dealt with immediately, and we must lead the world on it... lot’s of good, common ground.

Meanwhile, the Republican party... running under the steam of name recognition alone... scooping up everybody from the Libertarians to the Neo Nazis... will stick around for an annoyingly long number of decades, always being the party of total reactionary jerks, forever looking to debate you, only to freestyle a line of unrelated political buzz words, while working hard to make it sound like there was an intelligent sentence... because they know what intelligent sentences sound like... and they’re sure they can recreate that sound accurately.

6) RIP GOP: By the end of the 21st Century, the Republican Party will have gone the way of the Masons before them... not that the Masons were a political party, or that I’m trying to link the Masons to the GOP, I’m not.  

My metaphor, here, the old Masonic Temples that, today, are still all over the place, in every little town across the nation... but every last one of them is an abandoned white elephant.  

They built them huge, heavy, and strong... but impossible to re-purpose. They built them to look impressive on the street... which got them all declared landmarks, which meant they could not even be updated with air conditioning, or made handicapped accessible... another big reason they’re now abandoned.

But, in their architectural vision, they accidentally made them impossible for firefighters to save... because of so few windows... and the internal wood/steel structure, so easily compromised by fire.

All of these Masonic Temples are destroying themselves, despite the fact we’ve been trying to save them... because they were that poorly designed.

The party that Trump has already made of the GOP, will follow in the footsteps of the mighty Masons... once a very powerful fraternity, with a hold on every town in America... rich and bold enough to build grand temples to themselves in every one.

Yet they vanished into history... just a few super old farts with fez hats, speeding around in little four wheelers as part of the 4th of July parade.  And nobody... not one spectator on the street... knows what the fuck these crazy old fuckers are trying to say... or do?  What is this?  Where did this come from?

The Republicans will be the same... old men in racist hats doing whatever the fuck crazy shit they can to get your attention... for it’s own sake.  

I know I skipped over Medicare for all, and how that rolls out... and wins big because of coinciding with the cure for cancer just having been discovered, and being available to everybody for free... as a shot, like a flu shot!

And I skipped over how just by repairing normal alliances and relations with the rest of the world, getting back in to the Paris accord, and taking weather disasters seriously, and being proactive about global warming... his approval ratings will be through the roof.

And... I skipped over how legalizing weed by executive order on day one, and fighting to eliminate student debt, will solidify the 18 to 48 voter base as forever active Democrats.

Maybe another time.

But for this entry... it’s time for bed.

[pensarelvirus]

Rethinking the Apocalypse: An Indigenous Anti-Futurist Manifesto

The end is near. Or has it come and gone before? – An ancestor

Why can we imagine the ending of the world, yet not the ending of colonialism?

We live the future of a past that is not our own. It is a history of utopian fantasies and apocalyptic idealization. It is a pathogenic global social order of imagined futures, built upon genocide, enslavement, ecocide, and total ruination.

What conclusions are to be realized in a world constructed of bones and empty metaphors? A world of fetishized endings calculated amidst the collective fiction of virulent specters. From religious tomes to fictionalized scientific entertainment, each imagined timeline constructed so predictably; beginning, middle, and ultimately, The End. Inevitably in this narrative there’s a protagonist fighting an Enemy Other (a generic appropriation of African/Haitian spirituality, a “zombie”?), and spoiler alert: it’s not you or me. So many are eagerly ready to be the lone survivors of the “zombie apocalypse.” But these are interchangeable metaphors, this zombie/Other, this apocalypse. 

These empty metaphors, this linearity, only exist within the language of nightmares, they are at once part of the apocalyptic imagination and impulse.
This way of “living,” or “culture,” is one of domination that consumes all for it’s own benefit. It is an economic and political reordering to fit a reality resting on pillars of competition, ownership, and control in pursuit of profit and permanent exploitation. It professes “freedom” yet its foundation is set on lands stolen while its very structure is built by stolen lives.

It is this very “culture” that must always have an Enemy Other, to lay blame, to lay claim, to affront, enslave and murder. A subhuman enemy that any and all forms of extreme violence are not only permitted but expected to be put upon. If it doesn’t have an immediate Other, it meticulously constructs one. This Other is not made from fear but its destruction is compelled by it. This Other is constituted from apocalyptic axioms and permanent misery. This Othering, this weitko disease, is perhaps best symptomatized in its simplest stratagem, in that of our silenced remakening: They are dirty, They are unsuited for life, They are unable, They are incapable, They are disposable, They are non-believers, They are unworthy, They are made to benefit us, They hate our freedom, They are undocumented, They are queer, They are black, They are Indigenous, They are less than, They are against us, until finally, They are no more. In this constant mantra of violence reframed, it’s either You or it’s Them. It is the Other who is sacrificed for an immortal and cancerous continuity. It is the Other who is poisoned, who is bombed, who is left quietly beneath the rubble. This way of unbeing, which has infected all aspects of our lives, which is responsible for the annihilation of entire species, the toxification of oceans, air and earth, the clear-cutting and burning of whole forests, mass incarceration, the technological possibility of world ending warfare, and raising the temperatures on a global scale, this is the deadly politics of capitalism,  it’s pandemic.

An ending that has come before.

The physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual invasion of our lands, bodies, and minds to settle and to exploit, is colonialism. Ships sailed on poisoned winds and bloodied tides across oceans pushed with a shallow breath and impulse to bondage, millions upon millions of lives were quietly extinguished before they could name their enemy. 1492. 1918. 2020…

Biowarfare blankets, the slaughter of our relative the buffalo, the damming of lifegiving rivers, the scorching of untarnished earth, the forced marches, the treatied imprisonment, coercive education through abuse and violence. The day to day post-war, post-genocide, trading post-colonial humiliation of our slow mass suicide on the altar of capitalism; work, income, pay rent, drink, fuck, breed, retire, die. It’s on the roadside, it’s on sale at Indian markets, serving drinks at the casino, restocking Bashas, it’s nice Indians behind, you.

These are the gifts of infesting manifest destinies, this is that futured imaginary our captors would have us perpetuate and be a part. The merciless imposition of this dead world was driven by an idealized utopia as Charnel House, it was “for our own good” an act of “civilization.” Killing the “Indian”; killing our past and with it our future. “Saving the man”; imposing another past and with it another future.

These are the apocalyptic ideals of abusers, racists and hetero-patriarchs. The doctrinal blind faith of those who can only see life through a prism, a fractured kaleidoscope of an endless and total war.

Its an apocalyptic that colonizes our imaginations and destroys our past and future simultaneously. It is a struggle to dominate human meaning and all existence. This is the futurism of the colonizer, the capitalist. It is at once every future ever stolen by the plunderer, the warmonger and the rapist.

This has always been about existence and non-existence. It is apocalypse, actualized. And with the only certainty being a deathly end, colonialism is a plague.

Our ancestors understood that this way of being could not be reasoned or negotiated with. That it could not be mitigated or redeemed. They understood that the apocalyptic only exists in absolutes.

Our ancestors dreamt against the end of the world.

Many worlds have gone before this one. Our traditional histories are tightly woven with the fabric of the birthing and ending of worlds. Through these cataclysms we have gained many lessons that have shaped who we are and how we are to be with one another. Our ways of being are informed through finding harmony through and from the destruction of worlds. The Elliptic. Birth. Death. Rebirth.

We have an unknowing of histories upon histories of the world that is part of us. It is the language of the cosmos, it speaks in prophecies long carved in the scars where our ancestors dreamed. It is the ghostdance, the seven fires, the birth of the White Buffalo, the seventh generation, it is the five suns, it is written in stone near Oraibi, and beyond. These prophecies are not just predictive, they have also been diagnostic and instructive.

We are the dreamers dreamt by our ancestors. We have traversed all time between the breaths of our dreams. We exist at once with our ancestors and unbirthed generations. Our future is held in our hands. It is our mutuality and interdependence. It is our relative. It is in the creases of our memories, folded gently by our ancestors. It is our collective Dreamtime, and it is Now. Then. Tomorrow. Yesterday.

The anti-colonial imagination isn’t a subjective reaction to colonial futurisms, it is anti-settler future. Our life cycles are not linear, our future exists without time. It is a dream, uncolonized.

This is the Indigenous anti-future.

We are not concerned with how our enemies name their dead world or how they recognize or acknowledge us or these lands. We are not concerned with re-working their ways of managing control or honoring their dead agreements or treaties. They will not be compelled to end the destruction that their world is predicated upon. We do not plead with them to end global warming, as it is the conclusion of their apocalyptic imperative and their life is built upon the death of Mother Earth. 
We bury the right wing and the left wing together in the earth they are so hungry to consume. The conclusion of the ideological war of colonial politics is that Indigenous Peoples always lose, unless we lose ourselves.

 Capitalists and colonizers will not lead us out of their dead futures. Apocalyptic idealization is a self fulfilling prophecy. It is the linear world ending from within. Apocalyptic logic exists within a spiritual, mental, and emotional dead zone that also cannibalizes itself. It is the dead risen to consume all life.

Our world lives when their world ceases to exist.

As Indigenous anti-futurists, we are the consequence of the history of the colonizer’s future. We are the consequence of their war against Mother Earth. We will not allow the specter of the colonizer, the ghosts of the past to haunt the ruins of this world. We are the actualization of our prophecies. This is the re-emergence of the world of cycles. This is our ceremony. Between silent skies. The world breathes again and the fever subsides. The land is quiet. Waiting for us to listen.

When there are less distractions, we go to the place where our ancestors emerged.

And their/our voice.

There is a song older than worlds here, it heals deeper then the colonizer’s blade could ever cut.

And there, our voice. We were always healers. This is the first medicine.

Colonialism is a plague, capitalism is pandemic. These systems are anti-life, they will not be compelled to cure themselves. We will not allow these corrupted sickened systems to recuperate. We will spread.

We are the antibodies.

+ + + +

Addendum:
In our past/your future it was the unsystematic non-linear attacks on vulnerable critical infrastructure such as gas utilities, transportation corridors, power supplies, communications systems, and more, that made settler colonialism an impossibility on these lands.

Our organizing was cellular, it required no formal movements.

Ceremony was/is our liberation, our liberation was/is ceremony.

We honored our sacred teachings, our ancestors and coming generations.

We took credit for nothing. We issued no communiqués. Our actions were our propaganda.

We celebrated the death of leftist solidarity and it’s myopic apocalyptic romanticism.

We demanded nothing from capitalists/colonizers.

*

Fuente: http://www.indigenousaction.org/rethinking-the-apocalypse-an-indigenous-anti-futurist-manifesto/

[Publicado 19/marzo/2020]

#Rethinking the Apocalypse: An Indigenous Anti-Futurist Manifesto #Manifesto #manifiesto #covid-19 #coronavirus #crisis #indigenous action #action #society #sociedad #worldpolitics #reflexión #Repensar el apocalipsis

[biofunmy]

The Group That Brought London To A Standstill Is Now In 50 Counties

LONDON — Members of the group that helped win an unprecedented national declaration of a climate emergency have spent months putting their bodies on the line — laying down in front of cars, getting naked and gluing their bodies to windows — and, in the early days, asking people to think about the impending mass extinction of life on Earth as the moral equivalent of the Holocaust.

Extinction Rebellion — XR for short — first made major headlines in April by bringing London to a standstill for more than a week. Thousands of protesters occupied traffic points across the city, resulting in more than 1,000 arrests. Though the British government was on the edge of collapse over Brexit, the group dominated news coverage, staging mass “die-ins” at some of London’s most visited sites, and smashing glass doors on oil giant Shell’s London’s offices. Protesters stood on top of trains and barricaded the entrance to the London Stock Exchange. Members even managed to park a full-size pink boat emblazoned with the words “TELL THE TRUTH” in the middle of Oxford Circus, one of London’s busiest intersections.

“Tell the truth” is Extinction Rebellion’s first principle. The group believes it is time for lawmakers and the public to confront head-on that unless we stop emitting carbon dioxide within a few short years, hundreds of millions of people will die and we’ll risk sparking a catastrophic warming cycle that can’t easily be reversed. This is not just the group’s opinion — the planet’s warming and many of the likely effects form a consensus in the scientific community and the United Nations — but many world leaders have soft-pedaled or been accused of lying outright to avoid dealing with this terrifying reality.

The group’s second principle is “act as if the truth is real” — in other words, now that we know this catastrophe is around the corner, we must do everything possible to stop it. That’s why, as the group was ramping up last year, some leaders called on people to respond with the moral urgency with which the world responded to the Holocaust. One of the founders came to believe it was insensitive to use the Holocaust to make a rhetorical point, however, and posted an apology on YouTube.

The good news, the members say, is that they have extensively studied the history of social change and believe they have a scientifically tested approach that enables just a small minority to bring the political system to its knees. This is nonviolent direct action, the same tactics used by the US civil rights movement, the women’s suffrage movement, and India’s push for independence from Great Britain.

Along with the school strike movement inspired by Sweden’s Greta Thunberg, Extinction Rebellion has given a voice to a growing despair about climate change in many corners of the world. Its members are channeling the same spirit as the Sunrise Movement in the US, which camped out in front of Democratic National Committee headquarters to demand the 2020 presidential candidates debate climate change. They are pushing the UK, which has already has a law committing to substantial reductions in carbon emissions, to move faster and become carbon neutral by 2025, a quarter-century ahead of the target set by the UN. A few weeks after their protest, the House of Commons adopted a climate emergency resolution that was mostly symbolic, but still set a precedent to demand more urgent action.

Globally, the drumbeat is growing. It now has affiliates in more than 50 countries, and there are smaller protests under the Extinction Rebellion banner being held nearly every day, like the one that went viral last month when Paris police were filmed spraying protesters with tear gas at point-blank range. An Extinction Rebellion group in New York City has called for a protest for this Saturday in Brooklyn’s Park Slope neighborhood; it is one of 38 local Extinction Rebellion groups that have already been established in the US. And this weekend, Extinction Rebellion will mount a “Summer Uprising” across five British cities in which, according to the group, 1,000 “rebels” have said they are willing to be arrested, and 500 have said they are ready to go to prison.

“It’s like the sun never sets on Extinction Rebellion,” said one of the group’s founders.

From the outside, Extinction Rebellion looks like a freewheeling movement fond of elaborate costumes and outlandish stunts. There is actually a deeply thought-out method beneath its madness, even as some of its stunts have caused internal tensions, and its message is deadly serious. And as much as it caught the political world by surprise, it didn’t just spontaneously erupt.

“Everyone goes, ‘[Extinction Rebellion] just came out of nowhere,’” said Clare Farrell, a sustainable fashion designer and one of the group’s founding members. “No, it didn’t — it came out of people touring the country and doing talks and asking them to go to the depth of their souls and what they’d do to stop this suicide mission we’re on.”

Lewis Pennock / PA Wire / Press Association via AP Images

Gail Bradbrook on Waterloo Bridge in London on April 18, 2019.

As Gail Bradbrook tells it, the path to creating Extinction Rebellion began when she flew to Costa Rica to spend two weeks doing psychedelic drugs.

Bradbrook grew up in northern England, and came of age during miners’ strikes that divided the country. She spent her life in animal rights and economic justice movements, but by 2016 felt like she had gotten lost in her efforts to promote social change. Bradbrook told BuzzFeed News that she decided to get back on track with a course of psychedelics used in traditional medicines around the world. She went, she said, to pray for the “codes for social change.”

When she returned to the UK, she met Roger Hallam, then a PhD student in his fifties at London’s prestigious King’s College, studying techniques to build successful social movements. Hallam, who sometimes speaks in a dry deadpan, was obsessed with using data to figure out the best ways to build social movements — putting food on the table at meetings made people feel more empowered, research showed, and having greeters approach newcomers would make them more likely to return to another meeting. Bradbrook and Hallam bonded over a four-hour discussion of research on what works in activism, and at the end, Hallam joked that he’d given her “the codes for social change.”

Chris King for BuzzFeed News

Roger Hallam, one of the founders of Extinction Rebellion, sits at his desk in the group’s new offices in Bethnal Green, London.

“It was very, very weird,” Bradbrook said. “We had a massive nerd bonding. … He was totally serious about strategy, being ambitious, taking [the] system on. … I was just absolutely fucking delighted.”

They believed that it was possible for a relatively small group to bend the system to its demands. This was based in part on the work of Erica Chenoweth, a political scientist at Harvard who conducted a sweeping review of hundreds of conflicts over the last century. In every case in which activists used nonviolent civil disobedience and mobilized at least 3.5% of the population, she found they were victorious, including revolutions that toppled dictators, from Brazil to the Philippines. Extinction Rebellion members sometimes refer to 3.5% as the “magic number.”

Nonviolent civil disobedience means going beyond marches and petitions, instead using radical but peaceful tactics to actively disrupt business as usual, and staging confrontations that force people to choose sides. When you block a road — as Extinction Rebellion eventually would — it makes your demands impossible to ignore, the strategy goes. And the police must decide whether to arrest protesters or let them get away with breaking the law.

Getty Images

Clockwise from top left: Extinction Rebellion environmental activists glue themselves to the main entrance of the London Stock Exchange; an activist in a hammock occupying Oxford Circus in the busy shopping district of central London; Extinction Rebellion choreographers attend the closing ceremony of the protest at Hyde Park, London, on April 25, 2019; a protester who glued his hand to a window halts a DLR train at Canary Wharf station in London.

This approach certainly pisses a lot of people off at times, but the goal is not to win majority support, but to get a large enough minority who would make the cost of doing nothing on climate change higher than taking action to address it. For that to work, those involved have to be willing to make major sacrifices — going to prison or losing their lives — in order to spark the moral outrage that can bring the rest of society to their cause. And it also means interrupting the daily lives of the public to show the urgency of the issue.

“Extinction Rebellion is set up by people who are quite peculiar because we were primarily interested in what works rather than what enables us to be liked,” Hallam said. “Those are two categorically different orientations when you’re dealing with the mass delusions of the trajectory of Western societies.”

By the spring of 2018, Hallam, Bradbrook, and a group of around 20 activists had honed their vision and decided they would launch a mass civil disobedience campaign in the fall to demand swift action against global warming. But first they had to get enough people ready to join their movement.

So over the following months, this core group held more than 120 small meetings in private homes and town halls across the UK, presenting what became known as “the Talk.” It made the case that nonviolent civil disobedience could make real change, but first it presented the climate science to hammer home just how bleak the situation is.

And the scientific truth is very, very scary. The UN climate arm issued a blockbuster report last October predicting deadly climate impacts will take place much sooner than previously thought. The report warned that if the Earth warms more than 1.5 degrees Celsius — 2.7 degrees Fahrenheit — we could cross a tipping point where the Earth could become so hot and so disaster-prone that many people could lose their homes and die. The UN said to avoid blowing past the 1.5 Celsius mark, we have to start slashing CO2 emissions now and stop increasing the amount of CO2 in the atmosphere altogether by 2050. Around 1 million animal and plant species are on the edge of vanishing forever, the highest extinction risk in human history, and dire projections of crop failures and declining nutritional value in certain crops threaten even the world’s wealthiest countries.

These talks, perhaps more than the flashy protests, may be the group’s most important tool, said Farrell. It was essential to talk to people offline, the founders believed, in part because the groupthink promoted by social media kept alive the “mass delusion” that business as usual can continue.

“It’s the number one mobilization method,” Farrell said.

They believed they had to shift the “Overton Window,” the range of ideas that are accepted in mainstream politics. There had been far too much talk, they believed, about electric cars, solar panels, and other steps that were far too slow and too small in the face of an existential threat. They pressed people to go through the stages of grief for what was being lost, and quickly get past denial into anger that would spur them into action.

Many environmentalists had long worried that making climate change sound too scary would make people tune out warnings, but Bradbrook said she’d read a paper by an Australian psychologist that showed people can respond to “emergency mode messaging” if they “are told change is possible and [asked] to step up.”

“We just have to face reality, folks,” said Bradbrook in a video of an early version of “the Talk,” which has been watched more than 100,000 times on YouTube. “At some point soon, maybe it’s already happened to us … we can’t reverse problems. … I think it’s a big thing to decide to face the grief of this and not turn away from it. It’s a courageous thing to do in itself. This is a big shift in our consciousness.”

Word of Extinction Rebellion spread fast, traveling through networks formed during the Occupy movement, older hippie circles, and lots of college students and people in their twenties who were just a little too old to join the schoolkids walking out of class. Extinction Rebellion also had excellent branding from the beginning, thanks in part to a small design firm called This Ain’t Rock ‘n’ Roll. Pastel colors and skull-and-bones imagery gave Extinction Rebellion a kind of cheery punk rock look, what designer Clive Russell described to BuzzFeed News as “angry and peaceful.” And it adopted a logo that was already road-tested to go viral — an hourglass in a circle that a street artist called ESP had been spraying across London since 2011.

Extinction Rebellion drew strength from a long history of localized direct action campaigns to stop specific environmental threats, like occupations to stop fracking in England’s south, coal mining in Germany, and the Dakota Access Pipeline in the US. It also drew many veteran environmental activists who were despairing that CO2 emissions were continuing to shoot up, even after world leaders were well aware of the threat global warming poses. Even their hardest-fought victories felt like too little, too late.

Chris King for BuzzFeed News

One of these was Farhana Yamin, an environmental lawyer who negotiated the Paris climate accords and other treaties on behalf of a coalition of small island nations that will soon disappear under rising seas. In other parts of the world, environmental activists were getting killed by standing up to governments and corporations while already facing the direst consequences of a warming planet. But the movements in countries like the UK were either using direct action in specific sites, or were doing diffuse advocacy on specific issues, like saving the oceans or forests.

“I felt like all these things were adding up to nothing,” Yamin said. “We as the movement had become too obsessed with elite advocacy, the insider game. … It was kind of like, truth would speak to power and it would fix it. Lots of articles in the [Financial Times] might fix it. Or if we got to the politicians they would fix it. Or we would get to the next election and they would fix it. That’s what’s broken — and that’s what’s really compelling about Extinction Rebellion.”

The first real test of its approach came on Halloween last year, when the group gathered outside the British Parliament to “declare rebellion.” It had 700 RSVPs before the event, but 1,500 people turned up, Hallam said. (This included Thunberg, who’s solitary school strike against climate change was then still little known outside Sweden.) Three weeks later, “rebels” shut down five bridges around London for a few hours. By the following spring, the group was able to organize enough people to shut down the city for 10 days, while quickly raising more than $1 million, mostly from small donations.

“We knew we had a movement on our hands,” Hallam said.

Chris King for BuzzFeed News

An organizer at an Extinction Rebellion group in North London shares information with new recruits at an induction meeting.

This weekend marks the start of Extinction Rebellion’s “Summer Uprising” in the UK, the largest action since April, featuring a week of protests across five cities. The group has also called for an “International Rebellion” to kick off October 7, just after a major climate meeting at the UN headquarters in New York.

Extinction Rebellion has experienced explosive growth since April. The group now has more than 300 cells worldwide in nearly 60 countries, including nearly 40 in the United States. When a new member orientation was held this week in the London borough of Islington, even the newbies could recite the group’s core principles even before they’d been explained by the facilitators.

John Sauven, the executive director of Greenpeace UK, said Extinction Rebellion had done an excellent job at tapping into the spirit of the moment with the April demonstration. Greenpeace, one of the most well-known environmental groups in the world, actually started out as an early protest target for Extinction Rebellion, when Hallam and a small group of others came to the Greenpeace UK office to stage a sit-in demanding the organization become more militant. But Greenpeace soon embraced Extinction Rebellion, contributing more than $10,000 toward the April protests and organizing other joint demonstrations alongside the group.

Sauven rejected the idea that Extinction Rebellion’s success shows that older environmental organizations had grown too complacent, noting that Greenpeace still engages in high-risk direct action campaigns around the world.

“As with all great campaigns, it’s all in the timing — you can be too early or too late,” Sauven said, and that Extinction Rebellion had managed to hit a “sweet spot” as a crescendo was already building in Europe for greater action on climate change. But it would be a mistake to believe Extinction Rebellion had cracked the code on organizing, Sauven said, laughing when asked about the group’s belief in the power of the 3.5%.

“You need to be careful not to get too empirical about this, as if this is somehow it’s a mathematical formula, that if somehow I get X number arrested, and Y go to prison, that equals the overthrow of the capitalist system or something,” Sauven said. And these days, he added, “the government and the state and the police are not that stupid. They’re kind of like, ‘I think I understand what your game is; maybe we won’t go along with your game in exactly the way you want us to.’”

On Thursday, Extinction Rebellion put out a press release proudly saying that London courts are gearing up to prosecute some of the hundreds arrested in April.

Members of an Extinction Rebellion group in Washington, DC, told BuzzFeed News they had plans to superglue their bodies inside the Capitol building earlier this week — a tactic used by Extinction Rebellion protesters in the UK — to call for the introduction of a climate emergency declaration. The group called the protest off when a group of lawmakers announced they were already introducing a bill. A spokesperson for Extinction Rebellion in DC told BuzzFeed News, however, that they promised “to be back in the event Congress fails to take the resolution seriously, which is our expectation.”

Europe, North America, and Australia have the largest numbers of Extinction Rebellion cells, but there are also active groups in countries like Ghana, Kenya, and India.

This growth, however, has brought some strain. Extinction Rebellion totally rejects formal hierarchies. Anyone who sees “the Talk,” goes through nonviolence training, and agrees to Extinction Rebellion’s core principles can start their own Extinction Rebellion cell. But this has led to some members feeling sidelined and concerned that there’s an informal inner circle making autocratic decisions that affect the whole group. The British organization also remains substantially white, and some involved in Extinction Rebellion’s international solidarity efforts say that many older Extinction Rebellion members regard these projects with a “colonial” attitude.

Chris King for BuzzFeed News

New recruits at the Islington Extinction Rebellion group induction meeting sign up for the working groups they would like to participate in.

“We did not want Extinction Rebellion to adopt the usual NGO approach to Africa where they just run around planting the Extinction Rebellion banner in a typical colonial manner,” said Kofi Klu, part of Extinction Rebellion’s international solidarity committee and an organizer with an African environmental coalition called Stop the Maangamizi. He and others are critical that Extinction Rebellion did not include among its core demands climate justice, asking rich countries with large carbon footprints to compensate poorer countries that suffer the worst environmental effects.

The group’s internal tensions in the UK have come to a head around a proposal to use drones to force a shutdown of London’s Heathrow Airport, Europe’s busiest airport and one of the UK’s biggest sources of carbon emissions. The proposal was explosive — it came less than a year after reports of a drone near another airport, London Gatwick, led to the cancellation of more than 1,000 flights just before Christmas and the deployment of the British military. The Gatwick incident was not the work of Extinction Rebellion — in fact, police never found the culprits, and one investigator questioned whether the drone reports were real. But the authorities took the threat of potential collisions between drones and planes extremely seriously, and anyone found guilty of flying a drone near an airport could face long prison sentences.

When the idea of an Extinction Rebellion drone action was proposed back in May, there was an outcry internally and some Extinction Rebellion groups publicly denounced the idea, worried that putting planes at risk of crashing would violate the group’s nonviolent principles and turn the public totally against the organization. The plan was put on hold, but last week, in the middle of a three-day summit of Extinction Rebellion activists in London to discuss communication and decision-making processes, a memo was leaked outlining detailed plans for another drone action, this time in September.

Simon Bramwell, one of Extinction Rebellion’s founding members, said that while he thought disrupting Heathrow could be useful at some point, he thought neither the public nor the group’s members were ready for such a polarizing protest.

“I think it’s a great action, but the sequencing causes me skepticism,” Bramwell said. “Elements within Extinction Rebellion are attempting to initiate state repression before the movement is ready. More importantly, the public still have no traction with much of our narrative.”

But Hallam is one of the drone action’s chief proponents, and he says the whole point is to polarize and to court harsh punishment. The movement needs a vanguard who will push the rest of the movement “into the space where it needs to be,” he said.

The challenge of convincing enough people to put their lives on the line so the system has no choice but to act, Hallam said, is “the central conundrum in the project to save humanity from extinction.”

It’s time for everyone to take sides, Hallam said, including the “liberal establishment,” in which he includes both Greenpeace and the Guardian, Britain’s major left-leaning newspaper that has made environmental coverage a signature issue.

Contacted by BuzzFeed News, a Guardian spokesperson said the newspaper was “leading the way in how news organisations cover the global climate crisis — we recently made a formal change to the language used in our environmental reporting to reflect the scientific precision and urgency of this issue.

“We have done more to cover Extinction Rebellion’s campaigning activities, and the global school student climate strikes, than almost any other major media outlet, with widespread reporting and a number of opinion pieces — including one from Roger Hallam himself.”

But Hallam said that no action within the existing system is enough.

Tolga Akmen / AFP / Getty Images

Demonstrators protest outside the French Embassy in London on July 5, 2019.

“The liberal establishment basically sucks up radical energy and directs it into ineffectual methods of change, such as … buying a T-shirt that says ‘resist’ on it and sending an email,” Hallam said. “So for us to become more effective at radical action, you have to challenge those liberal spaces to either move out of that space because they’re selling a bad set of goods … or to radicalize themselves.”

Hallam said he’d urged the Guardian’s editors to go on hunger strike, and he encouraged BuzzFeed News reporters to get arrested and write about it.

“It’ll do your career a lot of good,” he said.

In the end, he said, “If liberal and progressive journalists and lawyers and editors [don’t] stop pretending they don’t have to go into rebellion against the state, then they’re going to facilitate the end of their societies — those are the choices.

“Your primary duty … is to communicate to your audience that there is absolutely no chance that this catastrophe is not coming down the road … The only way we can minimize it now is by going into rebellion.” ●

CORRECTION

Jul. 12, 2019, at 23:15 PM

Clare Farrell’s name was misspelled in an earlier version of this post.

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