#there was like 800 fucking comments on that thread how

[nokillbananashelter]

Thread/comment derailment, by social space:

Facebook: comment is a brick of personal opinion from some guy you barely remember, that is only kind of on target with the OP, that’s 13 paragraphs of justification for being like “I don’t care about this and I don’t intend on changing and maybe you should feel bad for making me have awareness of it for one millisecond ”, it has 50 reply flame war under it and will be deleted in an hour. Or it’s your grandma asking how you’re doing

Reddit: some low effort joke comment with 800 REPLIES that’s now the top comment, pushes the interesting comments to the bottom of a pit, has nothing to do with anything, and is just full of more low effort jokes and people sayin shit like “BINGO you hit the nail on the head right there” or “this guy gets it”

Twitter: some feral rando with an anime girl profile pic replying “I can’t believe you want to watch babies die, what a piece of SHIT” under your tweet that’s like “I love egg, egg is my boy”, you later find out that person is a slumlord

Slack: lmao nobody uses the fucking thread function in slack

Discord, similarly: please use the “unofficial official fartbutt goat camp 2” channel to shitpost I am begging you we’ve made 10 of them already

Signal: Can We Fit a Whole Forum For One Friend Group in One Continuous Feed? Find Out in 458 Messages 30 Minutes From Now, When Your Question About Whose Going to The Thing Now Requires Skimming a Novella With Tie Ins to Several Other Novellas Being Written as We Speak

Tumblr: The most interesting and deep tangent you’ve ever seen about the history of some fundamental but mundane thing, that expands your world view and flips it upside down, just absolutely life changing, what the fuck, what the fucking fuck, then someone comes in 2 years later and body slams it with the funniest fuckin shitpost you’ve ever seen, which then goes into its own deeply interesting tangent, fanfic is made, fan art is made, a whole aesthetic is fleshed out, there’s suddenly entire groups of people whose whole tumblr is about the thing, there’s controversy, people are crying, you find out that the person who made the shitpost pretended to be a famous author once, and is now mysteriously missing but there are people claiming to be them, the post goes away for 2 more years until someone goes “huh, neat” and an entire digital archeological dig site is laid bare, which leads to the most interesting tangent you’ve ever seen,

[0ffbeatt]

real photo of me after Emily Axford liked my drawing on Twitter and Murph answered my question on Hearthside Chat

#NADDPOD #not another d&d podcast #brian murphy #emily axford #I can't believe this shit this is crazy #there was like 800 fucking comments on that thread how #I have never related to that rusty car more in my life

[everyhowlmarksthedead]

ALEXANDER ‘TIG’ TRAGER x READER ⨟ PROMPT

@lucillewinchester asked: Hi! My name is Carmen. I'm new to tumblr. I recently discovered your stories and I love it. I love sons of anarchy. Could you write an imagine about Chibs Telford or Tig Trager with numbers 87 and 42? Although the truth has been difficult for me to decide, almost all of them seemed very interesting to me. P.D: English is not my first language, sorry if there is an error :)

Prompts:

42. “I can’t watch you with another man/woman”.

87. “Put on my kutte”.

WARNINGS: NSFW, SMUT

Word Count: 1.6k

Thanks to my lovely beta reader @chibsytelford ✨

Author comments: I hope you all enjoy. Gif isn't mine, credits to the author.

Tag list: @starrynite7114 ​ @chibsytelford ​ @dazzledamazon ​ @mara-mpou ​ @sammskellington ​ @gemini0410 ​ @1-800-imagines ​ @briana-mishell24 ​@sassymox @whyisgmora @aquamento @sadeyesgf @viviansafizada @samcrobae @jade770 @witchy-wish @rebel-without-cause-x @xx--day-dreamer--xx @spiced-reads @tita127 @ifoundmyhappythought @enamouravecleslivresetlechocolat @angelxshiba @destynelseclipsa @sheeshgivemeabreak @abbiesthings @knowles-morgan @lady-pswrld @minnicelli @marquelapage @ottosuricato @agirllovespasta ✨ (if you wanna be tagged, send me a message!)

You have a goofy smile installed on your lips, crossing the crowded yard to the clubhouse. All that you can see are Sons of Anarchy everywhere, and even if you see them like your family, you're going right to the SOA meeting room where the boys must be to talk to them about your date night. It was really amazing. You met John at the hospital, when he came with an allergic reaction to peanuts, and after all he asked you for a dinner. The restaurant was on point, as your outfit and your companion. And you can't wait to tell it to Jax, Chibs and Tig.

But when you enter into the club, you didn't expect that scene. The inside is fully empty. There are broken stools all around, alcohol of all kinds spilled on the ground, as if a battle had happened there. Jax comes out from the hallway to the dorms, snorting with a cigar in his lips.

“Hey… Wha—”.

“You should go to talk with Tig. I beg you, (Y/N)”.

You don't say anything else, nodding just one time biting your lip ashamed for something you don't even understand. The president takes your jacket and your bag, before continuing your steps to the specific bedroom. Knocking it, you enter without waiting for an answer, finding Tig sitting in a corner with his knees curled against his chest and a bottle of whisky in his bloody left hand.

You don't doubt, running towards him and squatting to have the bottle and put it away, so damn worried that you can barely breathe. Pulling down your long hair behind your ears, you cup his cheeks in your hands.

“Hey, hey, Tig. Look at me… What happened?”

The man raises his face covered too by his own blood, mixed with the tears falling down of his eyes. He shakes his head, freeing himself from your grip, crying as a scared child.

“Tig, please… Talk to me…” Begging him and narrowing his knees, you try to call his attention too desperate.

“I… I just… Please, leave”.

“No, I'm not leaving, Alexander”. You say firmly, forcing him to look at you again. “What happened, my tiger?”

“I can't watch… you with another man”. He finally says, after some long second in holy silence.

You swallow hard, licking your lower lip, understanding why he has been so distant with you the last week, and why he's suffering like that.

“I love you… I didn' want to see it, but I really do”.

“Why you… Didn't want to?”

“'Cause I'm a fucking pariah. I can't offer you anything good. And that… fucking ‘Johnny boy’ can give you the world”.

Stretching his hand, he grabs back the bottle to have a long drink, until the whisky rips his throat making him cough. Drowning with his own cry, you sigh, taking it off again, getting up to step out of the room without any words pronounced. Chibs intercepts you as soon as you close the door, knowing that you probably would like to fix up that silly man.

“Call me if ya need halp'”.

“I don't want anyone jumping around here”.

“At your command, lass”. He replies back, offering you the medical kit, at the exact moment you hear a big glass colliding to the door at your back. Probably, the bottle. “Go'head, tiga' tamer”.

Rolling your eyes, you don't say anything because you know this is kinda your fault. Turning over your sneakers you come in again. Tig looks at you somewhat confused, getting up with some difficulties and having to support a hand on the wooden wall. You leave your eyes fall to your feet, lifting up one a little to find the glass pieces on the floor. Taking a deep breath, expelling it by your nose, you close the door pointing to the bed to make him know that you want him to sit on it. He does without complaining, resting his forearms on his lap.

Opening his legs, you place your body kneeling among them. You wet a piece of cotton in peroxide to clean the blood on his face, looking for the wounds. One under his left eye, on the cheek. And another cutting his upper lip by a side.

“I'm sorry… I didn' want to ruin your night, my sunshine”

“You didn't, Tig. And don't move”. You demand rolling your eyes, grabbing the stitches to cover the gaps.

“But…”

“No, Alexander”. You growl, supporting your arms on his leg to get up. “Who the fuck said I want the world? 'Cause no one asked me”.

The man bow his head because of the truth in your words. Yes, John looks like a good guy. But he? He's all that you really want. Maybe he's not a very sane man, but what he does, he does it with passion. Sometimes he looks like the typical rider that the only things he cares about is to fuck, and to drink. But, even if people around you don't see it, he has a golden heart.

“What if I just want a mechanic? What if I want a… pariah to break into our house at three in the morning, with a bag full of… guns or whatever? Did you ask me?”

“No”. He replies confused, raising his eyes. “Do you love me?”

“That… wasn't the question I was waiting for”. You say upping both eyebrows, picking up the medical stuff to leave it on the desk. “But, yes. I do”.

You can't even finish to turn yourself, when he takes two strides to reach you, colliding your mouth with his in an awkward kiss. And the time looks like it goes so fast that you get somewhat dizzy. He undresses himself, as you're doing it, so desperate to feel your nudity against the other, pushing him to the bed.

“Put on my kutte, I wanna see you wearing it”. He asks you grabbing it from the floor.

And you do. You wear it, before Tig lifts you up in his arms laying you down on the bed. As soon as he's on top of you with a simple move of his pelvis, Alexander digs his hard cock inside you, making you moan loud and clear his name. He sinks his face in your neck growling because of the pleasure of your pussy narrowing his erection.

“God… It feels better than I've been dreaming, my sunshine”. He mutters with a weak thread of voice. “So warm, so wet…”.

“Only for you, my tiger”. You sigh, curling a leg around his lower back, pushing him deeper, taking your time to enjoy your tightness. “I want you to fuck me hard, please… I need you, Tig… You don't know how much”.

“As much as I do”. He cries out, thrusting you again losing his control.

His waist moves faster than you can handle with, pounding you once and again, drinking his shaky breathing with his mouth pressing yours. A constant push that makes you feel plenty full. Complaining when he goes back, and whimpering when he hits you again. And probably you won't last long, but enough for him to mark his territory on your body.

His tongue explores your neck with curiosity, finding the perfect place to draw a pinky bruise on. His lips suck gently your skin, contrary to the furious lunges that fill your wetted pussy with no regrets. You look so good in his kutte, knowing that you're really the one for him, too anxious to show you that fact.

“Fuck, my sunshine…” He grunts with closed eyes, supporting his hands on the headboard, pounding you harder as you turn your moans into screams begging him for being more rough. “You got it… baby, you got it…”

And when you think it's impossible, he starts to hit your soul, so hard that it almost hurts you. But the pleasure is so intense that you don't want him to stop, only to turn you, leaving you on top of his body. And now, you're riding him. You ride him as fast as you can, sobbing too pleased when Tig slaps your ass, with rings included. He's going to leave his mark all around your body and that only excites you more. One of his hands gets nailed on your ass, while he uses the thumb of the other to rub your clit, running you out of air about to fall because of the orgasm shaking your body.

“Shit, Alexander!” You moan arching your back and spreading your legs for him, going somewhat deeper.

“Don't stop, my sunshine… Don't stop”. He begs you slapping again your ass, raising his hand to your throat making you lean on him. “Make me cum, baby…”

You nod biting his lower lip, with your pelvis crashing against his, until his breathing becomes inconstant and hectic. He fills you, flooding the room with a throaty snarl, feeling the heat that emanates from his cock spilling inside you for some long seconds that make you touch the sky. You fall exhausted on his chest, chuckling because you're just two idiots that have been wasting a valued time being able to spend it like this.

“Call ‘Johnny boy’ and tell him to fuck off”. He laughs holding you between his arms, infecting you so easy. “My sunshine… I don' wanna live without you”.

“Look at that… I didn' know you could be this romantic, Trager…”

“Really?” He raises both eyebrows, before rolling his eyes. “You will see, baby… You will see”.

#sons of anarchy x reader #sons of anarchy imagine #sons of anarchy #tig trager x reader #tig trager imagine #alexander tig trager #tig trager

[zukkas]

i just had a tiktok recommended to me where it was this obviously young person who wanted to lose 20kg by the beginning of the school year and everyone in the comments was giving them such horrible advice that would just make them yoyo, it's so fucking sad to see that this culture is STILL going strong even with all the progress we've made as a society debunking dieting and weight loss myths

i left a long thread of comments explaining that they can't lose all that weight healthily in two months, i hope they see it and follow it because some people were telling them stuff like, eat 800 calories a day, if you're hungry only eat cucumbers or watermelon, only do cardio, don't eat in the morning which is all such HORRIBLE advice i can't even begin, and they'd liked all of those comments

fuck this makes me so sad to see because ive been there and i know how they must feel, i really really hope they see my comments

#tw ed #tw weight loss #tw weight #uhh #tw eds #tw eating disorders #ik this is a heavy subject so i hope ive covered all the triggers

[1000-directions]

Fic Author Tag Game

tagged by @shatteredhourglass thank you ryan!!!

AO3 name: 1000_directions (underscore instead of hyphen, YES it makes me upset that they don’t match!!!!)

Fandoms: currently, just marvel (specifically mcu + matt fraction’s hawkeye). previously, one direction. previously previously, popslash. i was always very heavily into rpf before joining the marvel fandom, and i have really, really enjoyed getting to write about fictional characters.

Number of fics: 77 on ao3. 52 in mcu, 34 in 1d. (wait but that totals more than 77. oh sweet summer child, have you never heard of #ship 1d with superheroes 2k18?)

1. Fic you spent the most time on: i started writing lucky5 in november of 2018 and it is still extremely not done, so...that’s the one that’s been cooking away the longest, although i haven’t added anything to it in about a year. i spent about two months working on my winterhawk reverse big bang, see a little light, after i tossed out the original draft that i spent like a month working on. writing for the big bang was intense. i was so lucky to be paired up with cb, who was the most wonderful and encouraging ever, but it was still a slog the whole way through, even though i really love the story that came from it.

2. Fic you spent the least time on: i have a lot of one-night wonders, most of which took a few hours. i wrote middles, 800 words of endings beginnings fic, in about 45 minutes, but i’d spent days writing it in my head before that.

3. Longest fic: dust to dust, the third installment in the luckyverse, which is just 22k of bucky learning about self-care and going to the farmer’s market and dancing in his kitchen. i still really, really love that story.

4. Shortest fic: i have 6 little ficlets under 1000 words

5. Most hits: only you know me the way you know me, my one and only stucky fic, the most popular pairing i have ever attempted to write. if you like shifting power dynamics and small penises, i gotchu babe!

6. Most kudos: ever fallen in love with someone (winterhawk punks in love)

7. Most comment threads: same as above!

8. Fave fic you wrote: i’m really proud of (do you know who you are?), because it feels very different from anything else i’ve ever written. it has more plot (sort of), it’s not established relationship, it’s kind of angsty and fucked up in a way i don’t normally explore. it was fun to see that i was capable of stepping so far outside my comfort zone. i also really liked save your first and last chance for me because i think i played with the winterhawk relationship in a way i normally don’t. i normally keep things very soft and safe, but this is a little more dysfunctional and desperate. and on the other end of the spectrum, the one where clint fell into a pond is so filthy and i love how shameless and dirty it is.

9. Fic you want to rewrite/expand on: i don’t currently feel very compelled to expand on anything! right now, to the extent that i feel creative at all, i prefer a headspace where i am exploring something brand new instead of feeling beholden things that i’ve already done. i’m sure this will change!

10. Share a bit of your WIP or share a story idea that you’re planning:

“So, they’re definitely attached,” Bruce is saying. He’s referring to the three tentacles coming out of Bucky’s left shoulder socket. Clint knows that they’re technically octopus arms, not tentacles. He’s been corrected on this point enough times to know. But it’s still hard to look at that weird triplet undulation of flesh and think of it as an arm. They’re each about six feet long and white and almost elegant looking, and there are three of them where Bucky’s left arm used to be, and Clint feels sick just looking at the picture.

“How are they attached?” Tony asks tersely. “Are they sutured? Wired? Can they be removed?”

“They’ve fused with his body,” Bruce says. “I don’t know how. But there’s no obvious seam, no scarring. They look like they’ve always been there.”

“They haven’t always been there,” Steve says angrily. “They weren’t there.”

Clint truly doesn’t know how Steve can even bear it, sitting through these briefings while they debate the fate of his best friend, who was lost and tortured for decades while Steve never even knew he was still around. Clint doesn’t even know the guy, and he still feels a little ashamed of himself for not rescuing him sooner.

“They’re there now,” Bruce says, “and they’re not coming off easy. I mean, if he wants them off, we’ll figure it out, but it’s way too invasive to do without his consent.”

“That being said,” Tony says cooly, “he murdered my parents, so I don’t think vivisection is entirely off the table.”

tagging...... @tintedglasses @kangofu-cb @saysthemagpie @dearmrsawyer @flawedamythyst @captn-sara-holmes @queerindeed @ferryboatpeak@bigbrotherlouis @dinoflangellate SORRY if any of these are double-tags, y’all are hard to keep track of

#tag i'm it #me me me #winterhawk #buctopus #i'm writing a thing #tentacles #long post

[charmtion]

Tagged by: the lovely @esther-dot 🌻

Tagging: @sonderlust45 @sansaravenclaw @chocolateghost @woodswit + anyone who fancies a go!

Ao3 name: Charmtion.

Fandoms: ASOIAF/GoT + a dabble into the Punisher universe over on my pseud! 🐺💀

Number of fics: 55.

1. Fic you spent the most time on: Extra Credit. Posted it all within the space of about a month, but this fic (and the entire Querencia universe) took up my days, man! I was thinking it up constantly. For a long time. Tweaking it. My first proper modern au. Will always feel very special to me because of that. Plus! Professor Snow?? Need I say more?!

2. Fic you spent the least time on: Wolfsong. My third ever Jonsa fic  — and the first I’d written with a smutty smoky edge. Just a short little one-shot under a 1,000 words. Flowed right from my fingertips.

3. Longest fic: Flowers of Autumn [103,010 words]. Long before Jonsa took hold of me, I was (and still am) a Ned Stark fangirl through and through. This fic was the second in an au series where Ned isn’t quite honour incarnate — and therefore not as prone to fits of mercy-madness that saw him killed in-canon i.e. he has a badass (OC) lover called Nell don’t @ me she was my heart when I was writing this and still is.

4. Shortest fic: We are Lost, Together [800 words]. My very first Jonsa fic, aaaaah the beginning of it all... 

5. Most hits: Wild is the Wind [16,429 hits]. My first multi-chapter Jonsa fic. There’s an air to this work that I still love despite its imperfections  — probably because on a personal level at least, I can see and feel myself getting so much more familiar and comfortable in how to handle these characters and write them in a way that works for me.

6. Most kudos: Wild is the Wind [637 kudos]. Hey — it’s a big number for me! + I adore every single person that took the time to leave a little heart there, thank u honeys. 🥰

7. Most comment threads: Shelter As We Go [232 threads]. More on this below 👇

8. Fav fic you wrote: oh hi again Shelter As We Go 👋 This story is in my bones. Always, forever. It is so different to anything I’ve ever plotted or planned before; I genuinely feel as much on a journey writing it as the lovely people that read it.  Especially in times like these, I’m grateful to have a world to get lost in  — the SAWG verse is exactly that. As a lovely, lovely reader has so beautifully put it: this story is like having a warm cup of my favourite tea during a cold winter day – there’s nothing quite like it… for one that spoke to my frosty English heart on a spiritual level ☕🇬🇧 and also it’s just everything I ever hoped this fic would be: a safe, warm place where Sansa grows into herself: a fierce, fire-haired goddess ready to take back Winterfell with her wildling lover at her side, yaaas queen!

9. Fic you want to rewrite/expand upon: Querencia universe always! No rewrites  — just additions. Professor Snow and Sansa fucking Stark. My dream-team always. I’ve lots planned for them!

10. Share a bit of your WIP or share a story-idea that you’re planning: Next chapter of Shelter As We Go. Grappling with plot-points a little at the moment, and trying to pinpoint exactly when I want to end up where if that makes sense. But it’s coming along. Dreams. Tormund being the best boi as always. Jonsa forehead kisses for life. Moving south toward the Wall  — and all the beasts and bastards who lurk behind it… aaaah! Till then, here’s a little excerpt:

Leans low. Chases his fingertip, his thumb away from her brow. Sets his lips there instead: the gentlest touch of his mouth to her skin before he presses his brow lightly to her own. Closes his eyes. Breathes her in. Feels her stir.

“Quiet now,” he rumbles. “I’m here.”

— that’s me done! I liked this. It was fun. I do enjoy a good ramble as is plain to see... always happy to chat/answer asks if ever the passing fancy takes you! Okay! I will stop now. Take care. Eat well. Focus on the tiny joys. Be kind. Love + light to you all. ❤️✨

#tag #tag game #jonsa #jonsa fanfiction #jonsa fam

[pennylanefics]

“i love you”

a/n: wrote this while feeling down and stressed out bc of college 🙃 really comforted me. also, taron was the only thing to make me smile all night. i love him ugh

•••

taron

- taron was currently traveling for a press tour of Kingsman: The Secret Service, and of course he asked you to come along with him, as this was his first huge press tour. on the very first day, he was already overwhelmed and exhausted.

so that night, you cuddled him in your arms, put on one of his favorite movies, and threaded your fingers through his hair, down his neck, and up and down his back. you could tell he was relaxing a lot, and your thoughts were answered when his breathing evened out and his body felt heavier.

when the movie ends, you turn the tv off, leaving the only source of light to be the lamp on the bedside table. as much as you didn’t want to move and wake taron, you wanted to sleep. so, you try and discreetly reach over, but unbeknownst to you, taron had been awake the entire time. and the words he spoke shocked you in many ways.

“i love you,” he whispers, voice hoarse with sleep. you pause and rest back into your spot, leaving the light on to have a good look at taron.

“what?” taron sits up from you and grabs your hands, looking into your eyes.

“i love you, (y/n). you are so supportive of me with this newfound fame and i can’t thank you enough for being there for me, leaving your life back at home to come and support me through my first press tour. you are so amazing and i am so glad that you’re in my life,” he explains softly, hand reaching up to cup your cheek.

“i love you too, taron. i’ll always be there for you when you need me, that’s what people do when they’re in love.”

dennis

- “den? is that you?” you called out to the person who opened the door to your flat. there wasn’t an answer, but dennis soon appeared in the doorway to your bedroom, shoulders slumped, looking exhausted.

“my dad showed up at the station. he’s out of jail,” dennis tells you. immediately, you are by his side and hugging him close to you.

“i’m so sorry, babe,” you whisper into his neck, pulling away to bring him to the bed. once again, you hold him in your arms, allowing him to talk about how he feels and explain what exactly happened. as much as you wanted dennis to forget it, you knew having him talk about it would make him feel better.

“and i just can’t have him back in my life! i’m finally happy and content, i have a good job, although the people may-” you cut his rambling off with a sweet kiss.

“i love you, dennis,” you whisper against his lips after you pull away. he backs up to look into your eyes, making sure you are being serious and not just saying it.

“you-you love me?” you nod, stroking his cheek with your fingertips.

“i do. so much, i hope you know that,” you smile, keeping your eyes on his.

“i think i love you too,” he replies, eyes softening and lips curling into a small grin.

eggsy

- “what the hell!” you scream out when your boyfriend walks through the door, limping, face covered in bruises and cuts. you had only known that he was a tailor, but after seeing him like this, you knew he was lying.

“you gonna tell me what exactly your job is yet?” you wonder, walking to the bathroom to get the first aid kit. he sighs and makes a quick phone call, apologizing to you before running off to the bedroom.

once he returns, you clean him up, the lingering question of his job still on your mind.

“alright, i can tell you. i had to call my boss and make sure i could.” he then proceeds to explain everything there is about Kingsman, his job, what exactly he does, answering anything you wanted to know. after he finishes, he expects you to get up and leave, but your comment surprises him.

“so, i’ve slept with spy? that’s so fuckin’ cool,” you reply, making eggsy burst into laughter, head thrown back.

“fuck, i love you so much,” he blurts, making both of you pause, taking in what just happened.

“you do?” you clarify.

“‘course i do. you’re fuckin’ amazing, supportive, and cheeky. what more could i ask for?”

dean

- you were dean’s first real relationship, and to say it scared him how fast he was falling for you would be an understatement. he was terrified that something was going to happen and you were going to leave him. little did he know, that wasn’t going to happen anytime soon.

on your sixth month anniversary, dean had taken you out to your favorite restaurant, of course allowing you to get anything you wanted.

after your plates were cleared and you were waiting for dessert, you told dean about one of your classes, explaining how perfect it is for your major and how amazing the professor is. but, you can’t help but notice that he is barely paying any attention.

“uh, dean? you alright?” you pause your story, waving your hand in front of his face jokingly. he shakes his head and sits back a little, nodding and looking as if he was going over some thoughts in his mind.

“um, i just. well, i don’t exactly know how to say this, but i think...i think i love you,” he mumbled, and even though the restaurant was booming with noise due to it being a saturday night, you still hear him.

a smile creeps up onto your features as you reach across the table and grab his hand.

“i love you too, dean. i have for a while, i just didn’t want to pressure you into saying it. i’m glad you’re allowing yourself to fall for someone and open up,” you tell him with a warm smile.

“you’re not just someone, you are so fucking special to me, sweetheart.”

eddie

- you had tagged along with eddie to germany to help support him in his training to become an Olympic ski jumper. your parents weren’t too happy, but you didn’t care, you wanted to be with him.

on the first official day you guys are there, eddie left early in the morning to get a head start on the slopes, leaving you to sleep in the little hotel you paid for. around eight in the morning, eddie stormed back into the room, eager to tell you that he landed the 15 meter jump on the first try. but, he paused in the doorway upon seeing you.

you were still huddled up under the covers, but he could tell you were wearing his yellow jumper. a small smile appeared on his face as he quietly shuts the door and slowly steps closer to the bed. once he reaches you, he kneels to the floor and just admires you. unfortunately, he had to wake you up because he wanted to tell you so bad.

“eddie? what time is it?” you groan, stretching a little bit and reaching for his hand, which he gladly accepts into his own. he stays quiet, still watching you. your eyebrows furrow in question at his extended gaze on you.

“i love you,” he admits, the smile still on his face.

robin

- in the beginning, you were not too happy to be betrothed to robin. but, as time went on and you got to know robin more, you slowly began to accept it and become excited.

one day, robin had taken you into the woods to teach you how to shoot an arrow, after you were curious as to how he does it. so, you found yourself holding a bow in the woods, with robin pressed up against you, his arms wrapped around you to help.

“alright. now, line it up, focus, and let go,” robin instructs, releasing you from his grip and letting you do your own thing. you do exactly as he says, but completely miss the entire target. a sigh leaves your lips as you pick up another bow, repeating the same process. robin stays quiet, allowing you to focus and hit the target right in the center. dropping the bow, you spin around to face robin and jump into his arms.

“good girl! you did it!” he congratulates you, twirling you around in his arms, both of your laughter filling the eerie stillness of the forest. when he sets you down, his eyes bore into yours, occasionally darting down to your lips. you get the hint, leaning up to kiss him softly.

“i love you, (y/n).”

•••

taglist: @loveharrington @toky-9101 @buck-barn @butlegendsneverdie @tarons-mercury @1-800-fandomsdestroyedme @arrozsocarrat

#taron egerton #dennis severs #eggsy unwin #dean karny #eddie edwards #robin hood #taron egerton imagines #taron egerton x reader #dennis severs imagines #dennis severs x reader #eggsy unwin imagines #eggsy unwin x reader #dean karny imagines #dean karny x reader #eddie edwards imagines #eddie edwards x reader #robin hood imagines #robin hood x reader #imagines #fanfiction #fanfic #the smoke #kingsman #billionaire boys club #eddie the eagle

[pink-grapefruit-cafe]

fanfic authors tag game!

tagged by the ever lovely @freykitten

ao3 name: pinkgrapefruit

fandom(s): rupaul’s drag race (or that’s what i write) but within that, love island and harry potter.

number of fics: 62.... which is alot but in my defence most are very short.

fic you spent the most time on: multichaps aside because i’m famously good at procrastinating on them. i think summertime sadness took the longest but even that only took me about two weeks. i’m pretty fast.

fic you spent the least time on: i literally can’t asnwer this because most of my short fics i can sit and write nonestop. i’ve banged out most of my flower fics in maybe 3 or 4 hours. yeah i don’t know.

longest fic: currently it’s summer lovin’ and treat me nice tied at around 23K but neither are finished. my longest oneshot is ‘summertime sadness’ at 8849 words.

shortest fic: if we’re talking ones i actually think of as fics - ‘peppermint and tequila’ which was 685 words or kameron and asia building up to my other fic where they get drunk married.

most hits: well you’ve got summer lovin at 2325 and then if we have eachother, my kidfic, treat me nice and then the first none multichap is ‘(and then you say) i think we’re alone now’ at 1704 which is insane bc it was one of the first ones i wrote when i got back into writing. it’s literally 800 words.

most kudos: summer lovin’ at about 172. god knows it’s clearly my most popular fic. after my three multichaps it’s interlude 1.1 at 97.

most comment threads: treat me nice (never let me go) it has the most active ‘fanbase’ i certainly get the most anons about it and it usually gets the most comments when i post which is lovely because it’s not the easiest to write.

fave fic you wrote: oh god. i love ‘i do like you’ and ‘papillionlisse’ because i adore the characters i’ve written so fucking much. they were/are both so fun to write. after that - i loveeeeee liability and las fleurs de l’enfers bc they’ve got a bunch of flower metaphors and we stan. delicious is one of my best works i’d argue. also maybe bad idea. and say it soft (and it’s almost like praying). and then my entire flowershop series. fuck. i kinda love them all. damn.

ask frey. frey will tell you what my best fic is based on how much i complained.

fic you want to rewrite/expand on: i don’t know. maybe if we have eachother? it’s good and I like it but I feel like maybe i would rewrite it. i’m not sure how yet - but maybe i would. frey would like that.

share a bit of your WIP or share a story idea that you’re planning: 

i’m not doing anything particularly new or fun so have the start of the new papillionlisse chapter <3

They learn remarkable quickly that Nicky is unbearably peppy on a morning - the blonde girl rolling out of bed at 6am while Jan is still drooling on Jackie’s shoulder to practice some light morning yoga in only a pair of tight gym shorts and a sports bra. Her loosely curled hair is tied into a loose ponytail and sweat forms in droplets in the dip of her spine. 

Gigi wakes up from a fitful sleep (mostly caused by the cat laying across her chest) to the sight of Nicky in warrior two - her eyes blissfully close as her taut stomach twists, muscular thighs tense as she pushes herself into downward-facing dog. She spots Gigi’s staring as she looks up and pokes her tongue out in Jest - the brunette giggling slightly too loudly for the early hour as Crystal throws a stuffed honey badger across the room before burying her face back into her pillow.

Nicky winks and Gigi smiles back, sitting up as she gives up on the idea of going back to sleep. She pulls Quaffle onto her lap with a sigh pushing her fingers into his fur until he unfurls happily, stretching out between her legs. 

“Morning,” she whispers but it’s hoarse with sleep and it makes Nicky chuckle as she rolls into a handstand. 

“Bonjour mon chou,” She responds with a smile - her voice tense as she lowers back down. She stands up finally, grabbing her wand off the end of her bed to roll up the yoga mat and fire it back under the bed - her morning laxity getting the better of her as she lazily sends Gigi’s glasses onto her face with a flick of the wrist.

tag people: i’d like to see @janhytes and @imalwaysaslutfordrag try this <3

#fanfic author tag game #this was fun! #yes i tagged all my fics

[mintmemories]

tell me how all this, and love too, will ruin us [1/?]

fandom: the raven cycle/the dreamer trilogy word count: 800 warnings: fucking sadness, fairytale vibes

comment and give kudos here at ao3

Once upon a time, there lived a dreamer, his creation, and two children he made.

The first child was dull, uninspired, a flight of fancy that resulted in exhausting responsibility, but he was also vital. A lesson in humility. Always make a rough draft before the final masterpiece.

In spite of the lackluster child he fashioned first, Niall Lynch cooked a second child. This time, the circumstances were right. A dream is a wish your heart makes. The second was an equally charmed being in his own likeness. It is said that Gods are narcissistic, prone to fantastical thinking. This is true of dreamers too. Ronan was born magical, fitful, and undoubtedly Niall’s.

His magnum opus.

Just as spiders know how to weave webs from birth, dreamers have an unparalleled aptitude for fantasy. It could be said that Niall’s only crime was profiting off his talent, but those who say it know nothing of his nightmares.

After all, what else are nightmares but lies we tell ourselves while we dream?  

Despite this mastery – a child, two if you counted Declan – Lynch was a restive beast, a Sagittarius playing God. Niall did not care for the rules he had always been told existed; so, he made new ones. Homelife was a conjured mecca of things that were intended to be both warm and wicked because things could not all be good if they were meant to exist.

In a large barn, with rust-coloured paint peeling from rainwear, Niall stored a variety of sensical nonsense. In it, he stored visions of dark disquieting things and malicious machinery, each one beautifully crafted to deceive. There were seashell necklaces that smelt like the beaches in Kerry and perfume the confused the senses into feeling loved until it faded. In a rich oak chest lay a crown that, when touched, made you crave butterscotch and arsenic. Off in a tangle of richly coloured silk thread and cloudy quartz that made one relive their worst childhood memories was a watch that could stop your heart if you didn’t wind it every day.

His most treasured dream was not the thing named Aurora, but she was his most useful dream – a hard-pressed position to take in the thousands of things he had already created. She was especially valuable when it came to the children. Aurora Lynch was a tender creature, stitched together with good intention and whimsy. Her laugh was the taste of butter on toast, warm, melting, and satisfying. Best of all, she was loving. Everyone was her favourite and she was everyone’s favourite. A golden-haired delight whose sole purpose was to care. Aurora did not have to try to be anything. She just was. When the boys were very young, Aurora would read Declan and Ronan fantastical tales.

At night – the nights when Niall was off trading dreams for secrets – the three of them would climb into bed the largest bed in the Barns and curl up under rabbit-soft blankets together. Aurora would bring out a book that she stored in her bedroom closet on the highest shelf instead of where the regular books were. Her chosen book to read from was a large leather-bound book with a gilded debossed title that looked impossibly more art than word.

Her youngest, Ronan, would bunch at her side and curl against her stomach, rising and falling with every unnecessary breath she took. Declan would back against the opposite bedpost with sleep silt eyes, sceptical of secrets the book told.

The stories inside the book appeared like magic, changing each time.  A new one wondrous tale for every night. Aurora delighted in reading to them night after night, if only to remind her sons that chromatically scaled dragons did exist and, subsequently, to teach them that monsters could be defeated.

Aurora did not lie, but this was a lie. Aurora was not cruel, but this was an act of cruelty. This was the worst lie. The worst cruelty. In the climax of the stories, Ronan would lie in bed beside her with shaggy hair and a whimper in the back of his throat. Declan would climb over her knees to look inside the tome with a widening gaze, unflinching, trying to determine how the hero will ever recover.

“Happily ever after,” she’d say, and Declan would sigh in relief, Ronan could sleep soundly. The Barns was at rest. The boys were content.

As with all fables, these are the things that happen: the father dies, the mother goes to sleep, and the siblings cut off a heel or a toe in exchange for a perfect fit in a golden slipper. They tell themselves: This is what happy feels like.

This story is no different than the ones you’ve heard before.

I’m sorry if you’ve already learned this lesson.

#trc #the raven cycle #lynch family feels #trc fic #trc fanfic #trc fanfiction #the raven cycle fic #the raven cycle fanfiction #ronan lynch #declan lynch #niall lynch #aurora lynch #cdth spoilers eventually #mine #writing #hey ho i'm kind of proud of this #hope you all enjoy!

[artificialqueens]

Beneath the Amber Moon, Part 3 (Galactica AU Group Fic) – TheDane & Veronica

Heyyy!! Welcome to Part 3 of “Beneath the Amber Moon,” a group fic set in the Galactica Universe. Click here for Parts 1 and 2.

We hope you’re enjoying it! Let us know what you think!

Summary: Day 2 continues with scuba diving, manicures, hammock fun, a dripping wet mermaid, and a pinky promise.

/////

“You’re really good with them,” Alaska commented, watching Adore help Owen and Julia into their scuba gear.

Adore cleared her throat, saying loudly to Julia, “What kind of fish do you think we’re gonna see?”

“I wanna see a shark!” Julia exclaimed, and Owen cheered.

“Yeah, shark attack!”

“Oh yeah? You think a shark attack would be fun?” Adore tackled them both to the ground.

Alaska sighed. She’d been trying so hard, but it seemed as if no matter how she approached Adore, the younger girl didn’t want to talk about starting a family. She’d spent endless hours fretting to Jinkx about it. Who thought they should just back off and wait for Adore to be ready. But when would that be? Alaska was 38. She could feel her chances of being a mother slipping through her fingers with each passing day.

She swallowed. They wouldhave this discussion. And it wouldhappen this week. She needed to know once and for all where Adore  stood.

/////

Violet closed the door behind her, locking it and putting the key in her bag. It had taken all of her willpower, but she had gotten dressed, the sheer dress she was wearing already sticking to her skin, her hair braided in a crown. She took a deep breath, putting her sun hat on, ready to make her way to the beach, but then, she saw the last person she had imagined she’d bump into.

“... Courtney?”

Violet had come face to face with none other than Courtney Act, the woman about to let herself into one of the bungalows, a cloud of blonde hair around her head.

“Violet! Hi!”

Courtney smiled, her entire face lighting up in what looked like joy. Violet was almost as surprised by her expression as she was at seeing Courtney there. She had been forced to reconnect with most of Sutan’s friends, unable to get away without meeting them again after she had moved to Paris, but Courtney and Bianca had broken up before Sutan came barging back into Violet’s life, and Violet couldn’t remember the last time she had seen the other woman.

“... Don’t you live in LA?”

“Umh.. Surprise!” Courtney laughed uncomfortably, holding up her hands. “Adore invited me, and apparently hasn’t told anyone.”

“Ah...” Violet smiled. “That sounds a lot like Adore...”

Courtney nodded, muttering under her breath, “I’m going to kill her.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Nothing, nevermind.” Courtney smiled brightly, stepping up to Violet and pulling her into a tight embrace. “It’s so good to see you, you look beautiful!”

Violet knew she froze up, Courtney calling her beautiful only making her feel even more out of her own skin, like she didn’t deserve a comment like that, but Courtney took a step back, an apologetic expression on her face.

“Sorry. I know you’re not a hugger.” Courtney released Violet fully, the two woman standing front to front. “I couldn’t help it; it’s been so long. You seriously look sobeautiful, your skin is amazing!”

“I… Thank you…” Violet smiled. “It has been a very long time..” Violet looked at Courtney’s outfit, the blonde clearly wearing Jeremy Scott, the bright colors matching perfectly to Courtney’s bold and bubbly personality. “Are you on your way to the beach?”

“No.”

“No?” Violet felt surprised. “But everyone else is already there?”

“Yeah, I know. I didn’t feel much like swimming.”

“You?” Violet raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t that your thing? Easy, breezy, beautiful - beach babe?” Violet hadn’t expected Courtney's face to crumble, the smile disappearing completely from the other’s expression. Violet reached out, touching Courtneys arm. “... Courtney? Are you okay?”

“Not really, I- I just...don’t know what possessed me to come…”

Violet didn’t understand either, Courtney had to have known that Bianca would be there, and if there was one person Violet always tried to avoid, it was Bianca. She shuddered, imagining how much scarier the woman would be as an ex.

“I mean it all sounded so great, a trip with my best friend and people I haven’t seen in forever, like you, and then-”

Violet bit her lip. Courtney was incredibly social, the blonde needing others like a plant needs water, and if Violet knew her boyfriend’s friends at all, the water Courtney had received today had been filled with toxins.

“I just feel stupid,” Courtney sighed. “Adore isn’t even around. I have no one to...I just don’t know why I’m here.”

“Do you want to maybe.. Do something? Together?”

“What, really?” Courtney’s eyes widened, and Violet nodded.

“Beats going to the beach, right?” Violet smiled. She had been on her way there herself, willing and hoping that she could at least have something resembling fun for Sutan’s sake, but she would much rather spend time with Courtney, catching up and getting to know the other woman again. “Besides, maybe... It could be fun?”

/////

Violet settled into a seat on the porch, surprised that she and Courtney were getting along so well. They’d chosen to spend some time in the spa, getting their nails done. Violet opted for a basic gel in a pale pink that wouldn’t get destroyed if she actually developed any interest in going in the water.

Courtney, however, had gone all out. She was wearing false stiletto nails decorated with rhinestones and flowers. Violet had laughed when she saw them, Courtney’s hands looking like they belonged to an aging stripper that was trying to stay relevant.

Violet accepted her drink from the waiter, a quick thank you falling from her lips. She took a sip, the pineapple juice filled with sugar but it was that or an alcoholic drink and Violet wasn’t risking that for a while. Violet looked at Courtney, the other woman drumming her new nails on the table with a gleeful expression.

“Those are really..” Violet tried not to smile. “Something else…”

“Aren’t they great?! I’m in love…” Courtney pressed her hands to her chest.

“If you say so,” Violet stirred her drink, wondering briefly how Courtney planned on wiping, but it didn’t feel like the time or place to bring it up.

“Too bad Kylie’s not here for some nice little scratches.”

“How’s he doing?”

“He’s doing amazing.” Courtney smiled brightly. “He loves having a backyard. What about Frida?”

“She’s gotten used to Paris.” Violet bit her lip. “Or... Mostly I guess.” Frida was staying with their neighbor, Mrs. Johnson thankfully more than happy when Violet called on Facetime to see her dog. “Last week she chewed up a pair of Sutan’s shoes.”

“She didn’t.”

“She did.” Violet laughed at the memory. “He forgot to take her on her park walk, and she was not having it. It was 800 dollars right out the window.”

“Oh no!” Courtney giggled.

“Wait, I think I have pictures.” Violet pulled up her phone, flipping through her gallery, Courtney looking over her shoulder.

Courtney had never considered what kind of pictures Violet would have on her phone, the other woman still largely a mystery to her, but as she flipped through, she felt slightly privileged to get this inside view. She saw that most of her gallery was closeups of different kinds of fabric.

“Cool prints.”

“Aren’t they?” Violet lit up instantly, Courtney in no way expecting such bright reaction from her friend. “I was allowed into the archive at work.” Violet quickly flipped through. “Look at the way they’ve pressed this, and the beading? Can you believe the attention to detail it has required? I got to touch the velvet and the thread count is lush, it feels so luxurious.” Violet smiled brightly, completely animated as she talked about the different rolls of fabric that all kinda looked the same to Courtney. “It was one of the best afternoons of my life, we’re making a gown for-” Violet slapped her hand over her mouth. “Oh no.”

“What?”

“I’m not supposed to tell you.”

“Why not?”

“It’s...” Violet smiled. “Okay I’ll tell you, but you have to promise you won’t tell anyone.”

“Cross my heart and hope to die.”

Violet leaned in, clearly beaming with pride.

“It’s for the Met Gala.” Violet smiled, excitement radiating off her. “Can you believe it? Me, working on a Met Gala dress!”

“Of courseI believe it! I feel like that’s what you were born to do,” Courtney said, grinning. “You must be so incredibly proud.”

“It’s nice...”

“You’re the only person I know who would call landing their dream job at 26 ‘nice.’” Courtney laughed.

The waiter arrived with another round of drinks, Violet quickly texting Sutan back, Courtney shortly in awe at how Violet was able to use her phone with her nails, her own monsters already a problem the one time she had tried to open Instagram.

“So how’s the relationship?”

“It’s nice.”

Courtney raised an eyebrow, and Violet laughed, rolling her eyes.

“It is. It’s.. It’s very nice.” Violet leaned back a little. “Being apart wasn’t, it really sucked. Like, really fucking sucked.” Violet twisted her ring. “Though I did date around in Paris for a bit.”

“You did?!”

Violet nodded, a genuine smile now playing on her face.

“Anyone good? Tell me everything!”

“It’s not that juicy.” Violet shrugged. “Or, there was this woman who saved Frida at the park..”

“A woman?!” Courtney’s eyes were lit up with delight.

“Just a few dates here and there.” Violet smiled, clearly teasing. “It was...um...nice-”

“I bet,” she said, winking.

“Courtney!”

“Come on, we all know what nice means in Chachki.”

“It was.. ‘nice,’” Violet rolled her eyes, her fingers doing an actual air quote, before she leaned back in her seat. “None of it worked out though. They just, they didn’t understand, about work.” Violet crossed her arms. “You must know that too, how important work can be? How important work is.”

“Unfortunately...yeah,” Courtney chuckled drily.

“Sutan understands. Has always understood.” Violet smiled. “He’s exactly the same, if not worse.”

“Mmh?” Courtney smiled, Violet so clearly lying. Courtney had never met one who cared more about work, Violet constantly and consistently putting work above all else.

“Okay maybe not.” Violet laughed, gently kicking Courtney under the table. “I know I get... Intense.”

“That is one way to describe your general behavior in the workplace.”

Violet kicked Courtney under the table, making her laugh too.

“He has never once made me feel bad about putting my work first, about putting me first. I never had to explain, never had to justify, even when it meant...” Violet gestured, clearly meaning their breakup. “I’m happy. We’re happy.”

Courtney swallowed. What she wouldn’t have given for that same consideration from Bianca. Maybe they’d even still be together if...

But of course, this wasn’t about her. So she smiled and reached over to cover Violet’s hand with her own

“I’m really glad that things are going well for you. You totally deserve it.”

Violet blushed. “Thank you...”

Courtney glanced down at her hands, seeing her crazy manicure on full display again, and giggled, wiggling her fingers.

“Man, they really are hideous, aren’t they?”

“Absolutely hideous.”

/////

Violet sighed deeply, content washing over her. Choosing to spend the last bit of daylight in a hammock was the best decision she had made for the entire vacation. The breeze was wonderful against her skin, and the gentle rocking back and forth somehow kept her nausea at bay. She was almost falling asleep, when she felt something nip her toe. Violet jumped, quickly taking off her headphones, dropping her magazine, looking around, just see Sutan stand at the end of her hammock, a smile on his face.

“Hey lovely eyes.”

Sutan’s hair was still damp, her boyfriend clearly just back from the beach. “Hi..”

“Did you have fun with Courtney?”

“Actually?” Violet nodded. She had shot Sutan a short text, telling him that she had gone with Courtney to the salon. “I really did. It was nice.”

“Make room.”

“... What?”

“I’m coming in.”

“Coming in, coming in where?” Sutan grabbed the edge of the hammock. “Sutan what are yo- Sutan, no!”

Sutan laughed, climbing in, Violet shrieking with surprise until Sutan put a finger on her lips, shushing her with a fond look in his eyes. “Hey.”

“You already said that.” Violet smiled, crawling into Sutan’s arms. He smelled of sea and sun, his skin still hot to the touch. Violet breathed deeply, the scent of her boyfriend just underneath, a faint whiff of cigarettes clinging to him. Sutan kissed her, the taste of alcohol on his breath.

“I missed you today.”

Violet smiled, their mouths only inches from each other. “I missed you too.” Violet could feel Sutan’s breath, his chest rising and falling against her own, the fabric of the hammock pressing them together. Violet kissed him again, a lazy exploration of Sutan’s mouth.

“You taste like whiskey.”

“You taste like mango.”

Sutan smirked, and Violet could see the fine lines of his face. They laid together for a while, the hammock gently rocking back and forth. Violet couldn’t remember the last time they had this long to just be without getting interrupted by something, work or Frida or a phone call or something usually pulling them away when they were at home.

Violet played with the buttons of Sutan’s shirt, the little white plastic catching under her nails. “Brazil is a good look on you...” Violet smiled. Sutan always looked his best when they were somewhere tropical, the climate just agreeing with him.

“I wish I could say the same.”

“Sutan!” Violet cried out in mock outrage, hitting his chest until Sutan caught her fists, both of them laughing together, Sutan throwing a leg over Violet, causing the woman to blush.

“You blush so prettily.” Sutan smiled, leaning in and catching Violet’s lips again, her fists still caught in his hand. Sutan tightened his grip, and he could feel Violet moan, her fingers getting squashed together, the ache there without a doubt only fueling the desire Sutan could sense in her, his own cock only growing harder. Sutan lifted their hands, gently kissing the knuckles of Violet’s left, before he released it, gently and slowly pulling the right towards his pants, Violet catching on immediately.

“Here?” Violet whispered. “Are you insane?!” her actions betraying her words as she was already pushing his shorts down, Sutan’s dick springing free.

“There’s no one here.”

Violet quickly sucked two of her fingers, wetting them before she wrapped them around Sutan’s cock, Sutan feeling Violet’s other hand in his pocket, the sight of his girlfriend so readily and willing doing something so filthy making Sutan groan, he grabbed her hair, pulling her in for another kiss. Sutan tugged on the hammock, causing even more of a cocoon to form around them, the fabric effectively shielding them from the world, the two of them for all intents and purpose only looking like a couple that was taking an afternoon nap together, Violet’s arm hidden by Sutan’s body. Violet knowing his body so very well, the confident woman so different from when they first hooked up. Violet twisted her wrist just right, and Sutan came. The whole thing was over almost embarrassingly quickly, but the excitement and Violet’s attention was too much to handle, Violet catching his cum it with her other hand, Sutan’s post orgasm brain realising she had grabbed his handkerchief from his pocket, their lips still sealed as they kissed until neither of them could breathe.

/////

Courtney ordered some room service in her bungalow, then stretched out on the floor to do some yoga, hoping to calm herself, quiet her anxious mind. She was wondering how the hell she’d gotten into this mess, when she heard some splashing outside her cabin, heavy footsteps clambering up the steps.

She flung open the French doors to see Adore, dripping wet, with a guilty expression.

“Where in the fuck have you been?” Courtney demanded, and Adore pouted her lower lip.

“I’m sorry, boo. Are you mad?”

“Yes,” Courtney replied, hands on her hips, and then turned and walked inside, the shocked expression on Bianca’s face when she’d arrived flashing through her mind. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell B that I was coming!” She whirled back around, facing Adore, who’d followed close behind, snatching a towel from the shelf and tossing it to her.

“Well, I thought it would be better this way. Now we have some family bonding time!!” Adore wrapped herself in the towel as Courtney flopped onto the bed, closing her eyes.

“Adore-”

“I just can’t do it. Alaska has those eyes, begging me to talk. Stalking me everywhere. I didn’t even know she was coming today but she ambushed me on the boat at the last minute. And Jinkx is pretending it’s all chill, but...it’s definitely not chill.”

“You do realize you live with them, right? How exactly do you plan on avoiding them forever?”

“You realize you’re super annoying right now, right?”

“I’m not the one avoiding my girlfriends, while forcing my best friend to stay in the same resort  as her ex.”

Adore perched on the bed beside her, leaning a head on her shoulder.

“But you love me, right boo?” she asked, batting her eyes.

“Unfortunately,” Courtney sighed, sliding an arm around her and burying her face in her hair.

They both looked up at the sound of some quiet but insistant knocking, Adore’s face melting into a knowing smirk.

“And who might that be at this hour?”

“Uhh…” Courtney got up, butterflies filling her stomach, only to be replaced with relief when she saw Jujubee, a squirming Julia in her arms.

“Courtney!” Julia squealed, reaching out to her.

“Hi sweetie!”

“Sorry, but someone wouldn’t sleep until she showed you her Glimmer nightgown.”

“Do you like it?” Julia’s face beamed as Courtney lifted her up, proudly displaying her nightgown, which was a picture of Princess Lucie from Glimmer--Courtney sitting on a horse with a sword raised in the air.

“I love it! And I’m so happy to see you!” Courtney carried her into the room, sitting down next to Adore again, gesturing for Juju to sit too. “Thank you for coming to visit me.”

“You weren’t at dinner,” Julia said, her lower lip pouting, face looking remarkably like the 26 year old sitting next to them. “It made me sad ‘cause I miss you.”

“I’m sorry, Julia.”

“Dinner is supposed to be together time,” the little girl reminded her.

Courtney nodded solemnly, giving her another big hug.

“You’re right, it is. I promise not to miss any more together time, okay?”

“Okay.” Julia snuggled happily again her.

“Okay, muffin, you saw her. Now time to hit the hay, alright?”

Julia let out a whimper like she was about to protest, but then, seeing the stern look on her mother’s face, thought better of it.

“Will you be at breakfast?” she asked Courtney.

“Definitely.”

“Pinky promise?”

Courtney linked her pinky with Julia’s.

“Pinky promise.”

#rpdr fanfiction #group fic #vitan #jalaskadore #galactica au #lesbian au #fluff #mild angst #smut #beneath the amber moon #thedane #veronica #concrit welcome #raja gemini #violet chachki #courtney act #jinkx monsoon #alaska thunderfuck #adore delano

[aikainkauna]

Fanfic trope meme

Apologies to those of you who see this for a third time, as I’ve crossposted it to both LJ and Pillowfort. Feel free to comment over on there (or my other posts) if you like. And of course, feel free to grab this one and do it yourself, if you like.

***

Grabbed this meme from a couple of people on LJ. It's... well, apparently about fanfic tropes. Some of them more terrifying than others.

I have written:

-Hurt/comfort (Yeah, baby! Most of my fic is this.)

-Body swapping (Sort of? Souls slipping into each other's bodies for a bit? Jaffar feeling what Yassamin feels? Sex swap, I've definitely done.)

-Soulmate identifying marks (tattoo, red thread of fate, etc) (I have! The Throne of Solomon. And maybe The Past Forgotten counts, in its way. I may have written more, but I forget.)

-Snowed-in cabin/isolated together for extended period of time (The Jaffar/Pwinzezz Cavefic!)

-Found families (I guess the Samarkand gang counts for poor old Fadl? Even if Jaffar *is* his brother, so technically it is his family. But he does have his religious congregation and Zainab, and is... well, he always does seem to be seeking something, so he's the kind of guy to go for this trope.)

-Fairy tale/mythology AU (And not just when I am  writing in *actual* fairytale/mythology fandoms. Which I am doing most of the time, what with Thief of Bagdad being a 1001 Nights fanfic anyway. So I'm writing fanfic about a fanfic of some age-old RPF (fantasy AU!) about historical figures from the late 700s/early 800s...)

-Enemies  to friends to lovers (Yes, please! Aplenty. I'm surprised that  enemyslash/FoeYay/Hero(ine)/Villain(ess), whatever you want to call it,  isn't mentioned on this list.)

-Characters swap roles AU (Uh... I've written sexual switching in some isolated chapters? Like when Laura  briefly doms Torsten in The Fall of Angels, to help him get over some traumas?)

-Friends to lovers (With RPS, Veidtbone in particular, and Theta/Koschei. This also seems to happen whenever I write femslash.)

-Magical  connection (telepathy, etc) (Doctor/Master basically ruined me for all  my other ships what with their telepathic ability. So that now, it feels less interesting for me to write love/sex that *doesn't* have telepathy.)

-Fake dating/fake marriage accidentally turns into feelings (see next trope)

-Royals/political marriage turns into feelings (These last two are pretty much the same thing in ToB, as I've had Yassamin marry Jaffar a couple of times--like The Past Forgotten and The King's White Falcon, but without him laying a hand on her for up to a year, until she finally grows a brain and realises how loveworthy he is after all.)

-Seemingly unrequited pining (Emphasis on the "seemingly." Jaffar's unrequited   pining is painful enough in the movie, so there's no point in making him  suffer any more.)

-Accidentally fell in love with the mission target (Well, *kind of,* what with Torsten. Lars-Erik was definitely his mission target in the original film, and at the start of Because The World Belongs to the Devil, he made no bones about having wanted to kill Laura Erika [the teenage girl version of Lars-Erik in this AU, to those of you just joining in] when she was born.)

-They break up (but then they get back together) (With Jaffar/Fadl.  Fadl's stormed off in a huff at least twice in the past. And Doctor/Master is always the same old on-off car crash, isn't it? Although this is not a favourite trope of mine, as the setup would usually necessitate them being an existing couple in the first place,  and I tend to not write canon or "plausibly lovers" ships because   they're already happily together. What do Two and Jamie, Holmes and   Watson etc. need me for? They're already as good as married. Let them have their happiness.)

-Supernatural creature/human romance (Sort of. I've written Time Lords/humans, humans/djinn at least. And surely wizards count as supernatural romance, anyway?)

-Reincarnation/'25  Lives' AU (What's with the 25 lives? Is this some big fandom thing again? One of the darkest, most fucked-up fics I ever wrote was the Master killing the Doctor during sex and fucking him as he regenerated around him. As you do. And there's reincarnation in one of my Jaffar/Pwinzezz fics,  but I won't spoil it for the new readers by telling you which one it is.)

-Selfcest (possibly due to time travel) (I am scratching my head trying to remember when I wrote this and in which fandom, but I have the distinct feeling I've written it. I've certainly whacked off to  that World Of Simm!Masters clusterfuck what with the pink dress so many  times I... I think I broke two clit buzzers during that time. I've certainly drawn it. And drawn some Connies on Connies. And then there's, of course, Sarosh the Sexbot  who's a clone of Jaffar, looks-wise, but he is very distinctly just a robot, not a living character as such--not the sort with which you could  have a real, interpersonal dynamic. My problem with selfcest, in general, is that I like having that character dynamic--and that requires  the characters to be different from one another. If it's two characters  that are too similar--if they fulfill a similar role in the canons--it's hard to create a dynamic between them and to make it   interesting.)

-Polyamory (Swinging away ALL the bloody time with the Roses!Jaffar and Yassamin, and Torsten/Laura. Sometimes I miss the monogamous 'verses.)

-Amnesia (I've got a post-movie "Jaffar comes  back from the dead" WIP I'll probs never finish, because it doesn't seem to get off the ground. If I wrote this trope, I would have the characters gradually regain memory, though; complete mind-wipes are   horrid. I did have Handy lose the majority of his cognitive/motor/Timey skills in No More  and that was the main reason I had to... well, I'm not going to spoil it if someone hasn't read it yet, but it wasn't the cheeriest of fics. The Past Forgotten *sort of* has this, but I don't want to spoil as to how that happens.)

***

I could write:

-Daemons (Why the archaic spelling? I have written djinn, so I almost put this in the 'have written' section. I can't remember if I actually *have* written real demons, because I might have. Surely, Torsten counts...)

-'Everyone is evil'/mirrorverse AU (Well, mostly, if I want to explore "evil"   characters, I write about those types of characters in the first place, without having to turn anyone evil. Devilry is the 'verse for that. Hell, usually it's the other way around; I try to look for the human elements of the baddies, or at least explore their logic--what makes them tick, what makes them the way they are. So, IDK, I could've also   put this in the "unlikely to ever write" section.)

-And they were roommates! (This would be terrible and also hilarious, whatever characters ended up becoming my victims. Even if I'm more interested in those hurt/comfort plots, overall. And I have always found it *impossible* to live under the same roof with other people because I need peace and quiet and solitude too much. So this is almost a bit too much like the sorts of negative RL experiences I don't really want to get more of in fic.  But I *could* write it as a comedy for cheap lols, especially if the stress were resolved by hot bonking, ASAP.)

-'They  all work in an office' AU (Otherwise, I would've put this in the "just  no" category, but... the Barmakids were civil servants. So I *could*   write Jaffar and Fadl drowning in paperwork--"WHY DID WE EVER introduce paper into THIS EMPIRE?!?" and cursing their fates and Jaffar restraining Fadl from braining Harun al-Rashid with a paperweight. Same with Lina doing Zainab's books and trying to hold back The Fist of Death when Fadl carelessly drops a piece of his lunch over her perfectly calligraphied accounting.)

-'Falling for a coworker/teammate is a bad idea' except this is fiction so it works out (Maybe. Just maybe. But it'd also be in a medieval ToB context.)

***  

I will probably never write:

-'Groundhog  Day'/karmic time loop (I just never got the appeal of this. Sounds like the sort of thing experimental writers would like? The sorts who really  like filling in bingo cards and challenge lists?)

-Vampires/werewolves  AU (I'm not that big on either. Super-unpopular opinion coming up: I prefer sex to the sublimation of it that vampires are often all about; bloodsucking in lieu of sex, and/or being seen as way better than sex just always feel to me like a cheap cop-out from writers who are disappointed in sex, or afraid of it. I've never grokked it any more   than that stupid, stupid "chocolate is better than sex" quip from women who don't know what masturbation is--yes, it fucking well is sex, TYVM! I much prefer to make partnered sex better than it is IRL by adding supernatural stuff like telepathy to *that*. Immortality alone is interesting to explore, as are Gothic themes, but all the usual themes that vampires *specifically* usually represent just... either hold little interest for me, or then, I can explore them in other ways.)

-'Pride  and Prejudice' AU (I don't hate Jane Austen, but it's not my fandom. That kind of society stuff and being witty over teacups in bonnets has never really been my thing--if anything, I usually have my characters exist in their own bubble, isolated from society and its restrictive mores and social stresses.)

***

JUST NO!

-Coffee  house AU/food service AU (AUGH! Please, no coffeeshop AUs for me; the world is full of them already. Maybe I could write it as some terrible, short parody? Or doodle it? But no more than that.)

-Hogwarts AU (Haven't read HP. Young Adult isn't really my genre. I know, I know; I've just lost all my WLW cred.)

-High  school/university AU (I've done Time Lord Academy-era stuff with Doctor/Master, but I expect this means a sort of American high school/university AU with jocks and cheerleaders and shit. Hell, no. Again, the exact sort of horrid society stuff I would rather have my characters escape from.)

-Adopting/raising a baby (Erm, not unless you count Jaffar/Yassamin adopting a cheetah? They do have kids in some 'verses but there's none of that everyday baby stuff that this question/trope probably implies. I'm squicked by   babies, sorry.)

-Unusually specific occupation AU, like, the Author clearly has the same job (It worries me that this is, by virtue of its inclusion here, apparently seen as normal and acceptable..? When it's crap fanfic, inserting yourself into something that should be about the *established* characters instead. Jesus, I don't want to go in expecting a fanfic, and then find out it’s your diary instead! Unless you're Anaïs Nin. And even if you really *do* want to write about yourself, then just... write original fic? An autobiography? A blog? Write an OC that has your job. Don't do this false advertising where you insist it's fanfic when it's not. That's a dick move towards your readers.)

-Loyalty kink (see next trope)

-Alpha/beta/omega (Too creepy. I can write about piss, shit, incest, necrophilia and cannibalism, but not these last two. Any more than I can glorify the Nazis I've written about; I either take the piss out of them, as with Strasser, or just step outside of their politics and bring them into the land of happy sexings like with von Kolb, with the aim of dragging him out of that madness and leaving it behind.)

-Hot single parent(s) (Please. Rundvik: "You love children." Torsten: "I loooooathe themm.")

-Unrequited pining (Too much of an emotional squick. Has to be requited. I write fanfic to fix things, to avenge wrongs, to set things right. I don't write them to make the characters more miserable than they already are. Unless it's for temporary, character-development purposes, that is.)

#writing #meta #personal #meme #and no #idk what's up with the extra spaces in the formatting either

[sunlit-helix]

learning how computers work again. Very long post about CPU research for a workstation.

since im rambling about computers im typing out my thought process and maybe ill link it to a few nerds to see if my conclusions make sense or not.

Purposes for building my computer as a workstation:

Primary Goals: Efficiency at 3D rendering. Primarily using C4D, but in the long run, probably Blender. 4K footage processing.

Secondary Goals: Efficient in Adobe suite. Primarily After effects, Premiere, Media encoder.

Tertiary goals: Gaming.

My first question was: Should I render using my CPU or my GPU? Several quick google searches told me the choice did not matter much, it was mostly project dependent. Well I already have a decent GPU in my gtx 970, so let’s put off buying a new video card for now, and get a really good processor

Second question is:Single-Core or Multi-Core focus?

I read two articles. this one and this one

They both give CPU recommendations based on different factors. I learned something important, some processors are better at editing and gaming, and others are better at rendering and exporting. Basically, some processors are better at doing one thing really well(single-core speed), while others are better at doing lots of things somewhat well (multi-core speed).

I compared CPU’s by cinebench score. I use Cinema 4D for most of my rendering, so using a benchmark for telling me how fast something is in the program I use? pretty good. These are the charts I stared at for 27 years.

The articles I read suggested getting processors that are high end in both single core and multicore, so they’re just generally good at both things. Well, trouble is, those are really expensive. Processors that prioritize just one or the other are a bit cheaper, funny enough.

So for options under $1,000 I was deciding between the i9-9900k and the Threadripper 2950x, along with the other threadrippers. This took a long time to decide. the i9 is about $500 while the threadripper is $800. on paper the cinebench score is about 1,000 points higher, which about 38% higher. It took me some research to find out if that actually means it’s 38% faster at rendering and it turns out that’s true. But the ‘proof’ is a little shaky, I watched this video (x) with very few views, but actually watching the benchmark as it’s happening is convincing enough. If I’m going to be rendering videos in 4K I like, 40% is big. that’s the difference between a project taking 10 hours and 14 hours. 20 hours and 28 hours.

Here’s where things get a little more subjective.

The stats didn’t totally convince me. I mean, i can render 3D images out as PNG sequences, meaning that I can render a bunch of images overnight, and if it’s not done, I can use the computer during the day, and start rendering where I left off the night before. Having a computer that’s fast at rendering isn’t *Super* important for just rendering.

Likewise, Having a desktop that’s super good at single core either isn’t the most important thing ever. every 3d modelling program has ‘subdivision surfaces’ meaning that you can preview and edit models at lower resolution and render them at higher ones than the ones you’re editing. I could see having a good single core processing being good at sculpting and certain simulations, but... I hate sculpting. I hate character design in 3D in general. rotopology fucking sucks.

But one thing I remembered is that you are constantly rendering things as you’re editing them, while adjusting lighting and shaders. Having a better processor for rendering is going to massively speed up the workflow, not just the exporting and rendering process. 

Also, I’ve been... pretty content with the speed of editing -not rendering- in general with my 3D programs. Sometimes my scenes get too complicated but I can usually tell you why and adjust my viewport, and hide objects to compensate. So let me think, if I’m pretty content with the speed already, what’s the point of getting something spectacularly good?

Let’s compare single core Speed, AKA speed of editing, not rendering, using Cinebench scores.

The average score of the processor I’m currently using for editing, the  i5-6300HQ, is 131

The speed of the threadripper 179

The score of the I9 is 218

So whatever I pick, It’s going to be faster. And not constrained to a shitty laptop.

Meanwhile, Let’s compare the scores for multi-core processing.

the i5, my laptop, is about 466 

the i9 is about 2,000

the threadripper 2950x is about 3,200.

no matter what I get it’s a HUGE leap, but the threadripper is an even bigger leap over the i9. So if my issue is rendering, then this solves that issue. Still funny though, the I9 is far from a bad choice, it is after all, 4x faster than my current renderer. But it’s also not 6x faster. It is $300 cheaper though.

And for single core rendering, the difference between 179 and 218 isn’t huge. It’s not minor either, but it’s not nearly as big as the difference in rendering.

So I go back to my original goals. I want a computer to render out 4K footage so I don’t have to rent a render farm, or at least don’t have to do it that much. I don’t want to skimp out on computer parts, but I want things to be within a decent budget to. Waiting till I have the money to get the thread ripper makes the most sense.

BUT WAIT, I JUST SAW A REDDIT COMMENT. it says that it makes more sense to get a good video card than a processor. Well, I thought I solved that problem but I couldn’t find a good benchmark, so let’s research it again. I searched around a bit and finally found a benchmark that can compare CPU’s to GPU’s for rendering. Let’s figure this out once and for all. (article here)

VRAY PROCESSOR SCORES

Vray Video card scores.

I wish that these had prices listed next to them but basically heres my interpretation.

The threadripper 2950x is $800, and renders the benchmark in 40 seconds

the the cards that come close are the 2080TI and the TITAN XP which are both well over $1000.

The cards that beat it are 2 1080 TI’s which together will be over $1,500 and the titan V which is like over $2,000.

So my conclusion is, then, this processor about as good as all these cards but at a significantly cheaper price. This allows me to skip buying a good video card, and instead I’ll just put the 970 thats in my current laptop into my new computer. And in terms of gaming? This thing has been bottle necked by my decade-old processor the AMD phenom 2 x4 black edition that’s even worse than my laptop processor. I’m going to get a performance boost just by having my GPU free from a shitty processor.

Also while researching I just found out there is a benchmark site for blender, and it lists two gtx 970′s as having a time of 39 seconds which is really close to the thread ripper. So I suppose, then, an option would be to get a worse processor and another 970, but running two GPU’s has it’s own problems isn’t significantly cheaper than just getting one processor to handle the problems. Most games don’t take advantage of two video cards, many rendering programs only use the CPU and not the GPU. I haven’t done much research but I’m fairly sure having two video cards wouldn’t help render anything in media encoder/after effects any better. Having a better processor has more versatility than having two video cards, if they have the same speed. At least, that’s my conclusion for now, I haven’t found anything to prove otherwise.

Lastly, I’ve some research told me that adobe doesn’t support AMD processors as well as intel. this could be an issue since I’ll be putting everything through after effects and then exporting in media encoder, and maybe using premiere. So I looked up some benchmarks on that.

Seems fine to me.

Perhaps this amount of research has been overkill but It’s what I need to do to justify spending this much money on something. It’s worth researching because your individual needs might not be the same as everyone elses. I think the 2950x is my best option for rendering right now while still being good at single core stuff even if it’s not the “best” it’s still good.

It does mean the build will be more expensive though, so I’m still expecting to wait at least 4 more months savings before I build this machine.

I still have to research motherboards, Psu’s, ram, those PCI storage cards that are apparently faster than SSD’s and cheaper. I have a case picked out but since those are largely subjective I don’t like, have to decide on one yet either.

If you bothered to read this, thanks for reading and let me know if my reasoning is alright or bad!

[shirlleycoyle]

What Is Burning Man Without Burning Man?

This story appears in the forthcoming issue of VICE magazine, The Indulgences Issue. Subscribe here.

For the second summer in a row, Jonathan, a tech worker who lives in the California Bay Area, will soon head into the Nevada desert for an event that isn’t happening. He’s not alone. “I think definitely a lot of people will come this year,” he mused in June.

Jonathan, who works in privacy and security and asked that his last name be withheld so he could speak freely about his personal life, is one of several thousand people expected to flock to Nevada’s Black Rock Desert this year during the nine days leading up to and including Labor Day. That’s when Burning Man would traditionally happen, drawing close to 80,000 attendees for the mammoth event’s signature blend of art, music, celebrities, self-expression, highly alkaline playa dust, and fashionable goggle-based looks. But for the second year in a row, because of the coronavirus pandemic, Burning Man has been canceled—though Burning Man Project, the 501(c)(3) organization that governs the event, is planning a virtual one, which they also did last year.

Thousands of people, however, are expected to come to the Black Rock Desert anyway, for what’s now being loosely referred to as “renegade burn,” an unstructured event that carries the potential to be either a creative revival of Burning Man’s earlier and more DIY days or, for inexperienced campers, a potential disaster.

Since its first year, in 1986, Burning Man has evolved from an anarchic subcultural party on a San Francisco beach to a mega event awash in the money and excesses of the tech industry, whose denizens make up some of its most devoted and notorious fans. In 2019, Burning Man Project famously banned one ultra-deluxe so-called “turnkey” or “plug-and-play” camp, calling it part of a “cultural course correction” needed to bring the event closer to its roots. The camp, Humano the Tribe, was reportedly charging up to $100,000 per spot, according to SFist, and faced accusations that its fancy portable toilets leaked sewage onto the ecologically delicate playa, and that its participants were profoundly douchey overall. All of which raises the question: Are a couple of years in the metaphorical wilderness precisely what Burning Man needs?

A woman laughs after a desert thundershower in 1995. Photo by MediaNews Group/Tri-Valley Times via Getty Images

According to the Bureau of Land Management (BLM), which oversees federal public lands in the United States, including the Black Rock Desert where Burning Man takes place, around 3,000 people came out last year during the time Burning Man would have typically happened, and several people familiar with the event said they expected to see more this year. A “renegade burn” subreddit has just over 1,000 members and a private Facebook group has 800. Discussions about it regularly crop up in the main Burning Man Facebook group, which has nearly 120,000 members, with people arguing passionately both for and against it in threads that span hundreds of comments.

Several of the key elements that make Burning Man happen will obviously be missing. In a normal year, Burning Man Project’s Department of Public Works (DPW), a team composed of hundreds of people, spends about 100 days preparing in the desert beforehand, creating roads, street signs, and larger structures, like the titular Man who burns on the last night of the event, as well as the pavilion around him.

“DPW is only one part of the helpful infrastructure,” Logan Mirto told VICE. He’s DPW’s personnel manager and is part of a council that runs the department. “When it comes to thinking about a gathering out there, the bigger things are the infrastructure from other departments, the medical teams, and the Rangers; all that plays a huge role in mitigating the environment.” (Rangers are volunteers who function somewhere between camp counselors and lifeguards during the event and assist the paid staff.)

For Jonathan, who has attended Burning Man around a dozen times, the so-called renegade burn represents a chance for a different kind of experience: less structured, more intimate, and more self-reliant. “It’s more effort to go when it’s not built up for you, when you have to provide everything for yourself,” he said. “And that attracts a different crowd.”

“We call Burning Man the ‘Nevada Regional.’”

Besides being smaller, the event will obviously be more dispersed across the playa, less a city than a collection of atomized camps. The BLM has also prohibited some of the signature aspects of Burning Man, like art structures and installations, as well as, per a letter one renegade burner received, bonfires, fireworks, airplanes taking off or landing, or companies that service portable toilets. In other words, campers can bring out a Porta Potty, but it can’t be serviced or drained by professionals for the duration of its stay on the playa. And the people who come to Burning Man by private jet during normal times will have to drive in like ordinary plebes.

Heather O’Hanlon, a spokesperson for the Bureau of Land Management’s Winnemucca District, where the Black Rock Desert is located, said people are welcome to camp this year too. “There are no plans to close the playa and people are welcome to come camping using their own resources.”

But many in the broader Burning Man community are expecting heavy enforcement of the rules by both the BLM and local law enforcement in the area around the playa.

The 2015 Midburn festival in the Negev Desert near the Israeli kibbutz of Sde Boker in 2015, the Israeli version of Burning Man. Photo by Menahem Kahana/AFP via Getty Images

“You can bet your dusty ass that LEO [law enforcement officers] will be issuing tickets for every ticky-tack violation they see that even arguably violates the BLM guidelines or local laws,” one person wrote in a large Burning Man Facebook group, explaining why they didn’t plan to attend this year’s renegade burn. “Every camp where they count more than 50 people, every drip of oil from your car, every ‘structure’ they find that isn’t being slept in or used for cooking or shade is going to get ticketed. I suspect drug dogs will be more prevalent than in previous years (remember Marijuana is still illegal on federal land even though it’s legal in Nevada!) and we may well see a return to the unlawful traffic stops and searches on the way in and out like we saw back in 2018.”

“Worst case scenario, it’s a memorable clusterfuck,” Jonathan said with a laugh. He’s traveling out in an RV, after riding his motorcycle last year—and spending part of his last day with a flat tire, waiting for a tow to the closest mechanic. (“It wasn’t a big deal,” he said, since he had the wherewithal and the know-how to quickly build himself a shade structure while waiting.) Both years, he and the friends he’s camped with have made an effort not to stop on tribal land or in small towns, to avoid exposing people in more isolated or underserved communities to COVID-19.

Janet Davis, the chairwoman of the Pyramid Lake Paiute tribe, one of several Native communities in the area near Black Rock, told NPR the event’s cancellation was “a sigh of relief” for the tribe. Slightly more diplomatically, Burning Man Project wrote on their blog: “We are counting on the individuals enjoying the desert to do so in a way that takes into consideration the big picture and our return in 2022.” In a statement to VICE, they wrote, in part, “We here at Burning Man Project share this enthusiasm for visiting the playa in a year without Black Rock City, and we encourage our community to recreate responsibly. Planning ahead, playing it safe, being prepared, respecting local communities, and leaving no trace are central to making sure we all do it right.” (Their full statement is below.)

Clovis Buford has been to Burning Man about nine times; he’s also a regional contact for Austin, Texas, to Burning Man, meaning he acts, as he puts it, “as a conduit.” “I try to make sure I communicate Burning Man stuff out to the wider community here and relay any of our community concerns to BMOrg in the other direction.” (“BMOrg,” short for Burning Man Organization, is a colloquial name some people use for Burning Man Project.)

“If you’re out in the open desert, you’re responsible for your own experience,” Buford said. “Let’s hope everyone makes wise choices.” With the absence of roads and people potentially driving very fast across the playa, he said, “Personally I would want my tent lit up like I was calling the goddamn mothership.”

The chance to see a smaller, less built-up version of Burning Man also appealed to Meredith Fortner, who lives in Texas and has attended Burning Man twice, in 2009 and 2017. “I saw it as a chance to time travel, to see what it was like in the early days,” Fortner said. Almost as quickly, though, she decided not to go. “And then I read the fine print, that there wouldn’t be ice or any possibility of a medevac, and said, ‘Fuck that noise.’”

“People better be veterans if they’re planning to go without that safety net,” Fortner’s husband, Cooper Crouse, added. “The thing that’s trying to kill you is the heat, the altitude. There’s no humidity. You’re constantly fighting dehydration, sleep deprivation, and heat exhaustion, so any additional intoxicants add to that physical stress load. Everyone focuses on the substances without acknowledging how brutal that environment is.” (Unprepared newcomers taking on environments they’re not ready for has been something of a theme of the pandemic. Some wilderness search and rescue teams have been strained to their breaking point searching for missing hikers and campers across the U.S.)

The 2018 festival as seen from above. Photo by DigitalGlobe via Getty Images

For Fortner and Crouse, though, Burning Man has never really been the main event. Fortner is a longtime volunteer at Flipside, the oldest so-called “regional burn,” which takes place outside Austin over Memorial Day weekend; Crouse is a Flipside board member. (Like Burning Man, Flipside was also canceled this year.) Regionals are held all over the world, from Texas to Spain, throughout the year, and for some people they’ve become as important—if not more so—than Burning Man itself.

“We call Burning Man the ‘Nevada Regional,’” Fortner said, chuckling. The intimate, community-driven nature of regionals brings something very different. “You don’t get as many spectators at the regionals,” she added. “You need so many volunteers to run events, everyone has to pitch in—or should. For a 3,500 person event, we have medical, mental health services, site ops, perimeter, Rangers, fire team—and more. We try and instill in the community a culture of volunteerism. You can’t just go, like it’s a thing you can spectate, like someone who bought a ticket and that’s all.”

Clovis Buford has also attended Flipside about 20 times, and said he’s optimistic that both events will be “amazing” come 2022. “The art will be fantastic. You know, the Roaring 20s coming out of the flu of 1918 was quite the scene.” (Buford, Crouse, and Fortner all wanted to make it clear that they were speaking only for themselves, not as representatives of Flipside or Burning Man.)

Buford, who is 65, said that the cancellation of Flipside was hard. “It’s like a family reunion for me at this point.” He quarantined by himself for much of the past year, which wasn’t easy. “At this point I feel like we all had a year stolen and we probably oughta make up for it,” he said. “It’s certainly made me reflect on the very temporary nature of us being here.”

When Burning Man does reconvene, it’ll be in a radically changed world. Logan Mirto, DPW’s personnel manager, has spent his unexpected time off sharpening his other skills, like working on Burning Man’s podcast as a producer, and planning how to make the coming year even better for his crew. But he has also spent a good deal of time thinking about grief, loss, and how next year’s Burning Man will reflect those forces, which have borne down on nearly everyone in the world in one way or another.

“None of us who have gone through this are the same people we were,” Mirto said. “Burning Man is always a reflection of what people bring to it. There’s a place for grief in Black Rock City. There’s a place for exploration and release. It’s a city and it’s evolved to meet the needs of its community. The community is robust. It’s thousands of people. I’m not concerned they’ll bring all that energy to it. The people who have chosen to make Burning Man a part of their lives, they recognize what Black Rock City will provide, and I hope it will provide them the catharsis or release or closure they need to feel like life is resuming.”

In a statement, Burning Man Project told VICE:

Many Burners consider the Black Rock Desert their home away from home, so it’s only natural that some will decide to head out there this summer. We here at Burning Man Project share this enthusiasm for visiting the playa in a year without Black Rock City, and we encourage our community to recreate responsibly. Planning ahead, playing it safe, being prepared, respecting local communities, and leaving no trace are central to making sure we all do it right.

Through observations from our staff, it is our understanding that the July 4 weekend, normally a time when some Burners visit the Black Rock Desert separate from the Burning Man event, was a safe and responsible time of recreation.

Burners adapt to all sorts of situations, and this summer provides another opportunity for the beginning of a new era. We have all the confidence in the world that our community and culture will continue to be great stewards of our desert home.

Follow Anna Merlan on Twitter.

What Is Burning Man Without Burning Man? syndicated from https://triviaqaweb.wordpress.com/feed/

[everyhowlmarksthedead]

HANK ‘TRANQ’ LOZA x READER ⨟ PROMPT

Anon asked: could you write a fic/imagine of your promptlist (the new one) angst #21 and #22 with hank loza💖

21. “Please, talk to me”.

22. “You’re hurting me”.

Word Count: 1.3k

Author comments: This work wasn't re-edited, so I'm sorry if you find grammar mistakes! I hope you all enjoy. Gif credits: @angels-reyes.

Tag list: @starrynite7114 ​ @chibsytelford ​ @dazzledamazon ​ @mara-mpou ​ @sammskellington ​ @gemini0410 ​ @1-800-imagines ​ @briana-mishell24 ​@sassymox @whyisgmora @aquamento @sadeyesgf @viviansafizada @samcrobae @jade770 @witchy-wish @rebel-without-cause-x @xx--day-dreamer--xx @spiced-reads @tita127 @ifoundmyhappythought @enamouravecleslivresetlechocolat @angelxshiba  ✨ (if you wanna be tagged, send me a message!)

💬 : i think i have strength enough to have a beer

Long day. Bad week. Worst month. Finally, you have four days off from the hospital. You're driving on the way to Tranq's house, when your phone dings, lightning the screen. He replies to your last message telling you that he's at the club, and that you can come if you want. Actually, no. You don't want. You just want to lie down on the sofa, with him holding you and filling your face with a bunch of kisses. Stopping by a side of the road, you take the phone with a heavy sight dying in your lips.

💬 : okay

He just read it, but there's no answer back. Sometimes, you hate him. It's supposed he promised to spend the night together, but now seems like another Mayans party is more important than your mental health. He's not your boyfriend, not officially at least, but everybody knows that you're hanging out; even so, you can't reproach him for nothing because of that. You have to settle for being around him for a while.

The yard is full of Mayans from other charters, looking like a big meeting and a celebration. Parking your car before reaching it, you step out covering your mouth with a hand to drown a yawn. You're dressed with the white uniform of the hospital and a leather jacket. Your hair tied in a braid is a little mess and there are two slight eye bags over your cheeks. Yes, you look like shit, and Angel has to highlight it as soon as he sees you.

“Damn, mami”. He hugs you tightly, leaving a kiss on your temple. “Hey, Coco! Bring a beer to our nurse!”

“Thanks”. You just say, letting the oldest Reyes lead you inside the clubhouse.

But your steps stop dead when you find Tranq sitting in a couch with one of Vicki's girl on his lap and her waist being surrounded by the man. They're laughing with other members crew, sharing some drinks and old stories. Angel doesn't give credit either. Letting yourself go from his grip, you turn over your sneakers going out of there. No words. Just some tears running down your face, while you go downstairs to the yard.

“(Y/N)! Wait”.

You don't turn at the characteristic hoarse voice of the man, continuing your way to the black car parked outside.

“Hey, hey, wait! Where are you going?”

Tranq stops you, holding your forearm to make you face him, clicking the tongue loudly when he finds out you're actually crying.

“It's just a fr—”.

“I don' care, Hank. You don' owe me any explanation”.

“No? Then, why are you crying? Why don't you stay? Please… talk to me”.

“'Cause I came for you, but you're already busy”.

“She's my friend”.

“So am I”.

“The fuck are you talking about?”

“I don' sit on my friends lap and I don' let them touch me as you do. That's ‘the fuck’ I'm talking about”.

Tranq has both eyebrows raised up, crossing his arms against his stomach, because he knows you haven't finished talking.

“I'm… tired. It's been a bad month, and you promised me that…”

You think you're sounding so stupid that you don't continue de sentence, rubbing your face with both hands and cleaning the tears. Then, you have a deep breath.

“I'm sorry, Hank. I'm just… going home. Enjoy the party”. You just said licking your lower lip.

“Lemme' grab my things and I'll follow you”.

“I wanna be alone”.

“Why?”

“'Cause you're hurting me right now”.

He just nods with pursed lips, realizing he fucked up things for not giving you the place and the respect you deserve. Under his constant look, you step in your car to turn it on, and drive away from the clubhouse.

Your flat is empty, assuming that your two house-mates are having a party somewhere around Santa Madre. So it's kinda good have some time alone, crying without no one asking you what happened. You take a warm shower until the tips of your fingers wrinkle. After that, you lie down on your big bed hugging a pillow, without having a dinner. The little hunger you have, you lost a while ago. You're trying to figure out why he acted like this. Why he didn't keep his promise. And why he was holding a Vicki's girl, being or not being friends. But, who are you to asking for anything?

The cry appears again, more bitter than before, trying to keep yourself awake waiting for him to come, even if you told him to not doing it. Having the little hope that he would to do it anyway. But you end up falling asleep alone.

When you open your eyes, feeling somewhat rested, instinctively your left hand travels to your phone. Unlocking it you check on the notifications, but there are no calls, or messages from him. Maybe it means that you broke up last night, in case you were having a relationship. A knot grows inside your chest, leaving down the phone to rest your face on the pillow spitting a sad sigh. Some minutes after you decide to get up from bed, walking barefoot through the main hallway towards the kitchen, stopping your legs when you see Hank sitting at the table with a mug of coffee supported against his lips, having a sip.

“Morning”. He just says, sounding a little nervous, putting the drink over the wood.

“How did you get in?” You ask with a fine thread of voice, noticing how much your throat hurts speaking.

“Patricia was leaving when I came”. The man gets up from his chair, doubting between getting closer or not. “Are you ok?”

You just shrug your shoulders in silence.

“I'm sorry about last night, I swear to God”.

“It doesn't matter, Tranq. She's your friend”. Even if it sounds like a passive and aggressive comment, it's not intentionally.

“And you're mi reina. You were right. There are some things I mustn't do 'cause I owe you a respect”.

“You don' owe me nothing, Tranq. It's your friend, that's all”.

“Yeah, but at the end of the night, she just wanted to ‘make it up to me’ because I was fucked up by you”.

Your heart jumps hearing those words, quickly creating a movie in your head of what happened, letting your head falls down to your chest. You're about to cry again when he wraps your body between his arms, kissing your head.

“I did nothing”. He's quick to say. “I went home when you left… Uh, well… I actually sat for an hour at your door, waiting you to call me, at least to tell me that I was being an asshole. I didn' want to bother you, so I just went home”.

You surround his back with both arms, resting your cheek on his chest, tightly and closer. You feel stupid, so he does.

“Listen… I was thinking about packing some things and spend these four days at LA”. Pulling himself away, Tranq cups your face in his huge hands. “Just you and me, riding the coast. What you say… Would you like?”

You nod with your lips pursed in a blissful smile.

“Or we can go to Chihuahua. You're always saying you would like to visit it”. Suddenly he sound excited about traveling together for the first time, after six months together.

“Chihuahua”. You say then starting to laugh, after clearing your throat.

“Ok. Pack your things while I prepare you some breakfast”.

Leaning forward, he presses his lips on yours, placing his hands on the back of your head to push you a little closer.

“I love you, okay? Only you, mi reina”.

#mayans mc x reader #mayans mc #mayans mc imagine #mayans x reader #hank tranq loza x reader #hank tranq loza #tranq loza x reader #tranq losa x reader

[clementineverett]

Chasing Waves - Chapter 1: Global Warming

I FINALLY FINISHED THE FIRST DAMN CHAPTER HOLY MOLY

I HOPE YOU ALL ENJOY!! :D

[Ao3 link]

Summary: Clementine chuckles before asking, “So, what’s the verdict?”

Gabe meets her gaze and nods. “I’m in.”

OR: Wanting to escape his dad’s expectation of joining the army after graduation, Gabriel Garcia stumbles across his opportunity in the form of the annual National History Bowl Championship.

Chapter 1: Global Warming

Of course.

Of fucking course Kate would tell him Mari’s ballet lessons ends at 5:00, not 5:30.

Gabe turns away from the reception desk with an exasperated sigh. As annoyed as he is, Gabe admits to himself that maybe he does run on Hispanic time. Consistently showing up to school fifteen minutes late for the past three years is an achievement his dad and Kate like to remind him on the daily. Given his track record of punctuality, he admits Kate made a smart move.

However, Kate had underestimated how eager Gabe still is to take the beat-up car he affectionately calls “Sexerella” (or “The Gabemobile” around his family) out for a spin. He had worked at Howe’s since the beginning of the year to save up for it -- a beige sedan older than he is that sports a few shallow dents. His old neighbour Pete offered her for $800 cash. Dad even inspected the car and commended on her well-maintained condition, given her old-ish age. Only the brake pads needed replacing.

Gabe considers grabbing an ice cream cone and waiting out the next thirty minutes at a nearby McDonalds, but gas is expensive and Gabe isn’t exactly balling, okay? So he plops down on the bench in front of the dance studio and prays there’s wifi. But before Gabe pulls his phone out, he peers into the windows of the studio and his breath catches in his throat.

Of all the people he expected to see today, Gabe definitely does not expect to see Clementine. Clementine, with the wide amber eyes, the curly hair often tucked under a baseball cap. Clementine, as in the girl he hasn’t maybe completely been lowkey crushing on for the past three years. Clementine, as in his best friend’s adopted sister who is not only totally out of his league, but also probably off-limits.

(Not that Duck had ever explicitly stated it -- Duck doesn’t even know, for starters. It’d be a cold fucking day in hell before Gabe would ever admit to Duck that he maybe has a thing for Clementine.)

And today, Clementine is helping an older woman (the instructor probably) correct the postures and stances of younger students. He knew she did ballet, from Duck’s offhand comments about dance rehearsals over the years. Gabe internally regrets not tagging along with Duck to her recitals.

Which isn’t weird, right? The Gordon household was essentially his second home, after all. But come to think of it, he had never exchanged more than a handful of sentences at a time with Clementine.

On an average day, Gabe would come upstairs from the basement to grab a glass of water in the kitchen after a grueling match of Melee with Duck (No Items, Fox Only, Final Destination). He’d stammer out a hello to Clementine, who’d normally be studying in the dining room or curled up on the couch with a mug of tea, and then run back downstairs before he could run his mouth and say something stupid like he usually does around cute girls.

He’s only here to fetch Mariana and get back home, easy peasy. Don’t look like a moron. Maybe even say hi to Clementine. But most importantly, don’t look like a moron. Or a creep. With that thought, Gabe rips his eyes from Clementine and glues them to his phone.

Browsing on his phone makes the half-hour wait go by smoothly. Students pour out of the door, signalling the end of the lesson. Mari isn’t among them, unsurprisingly. Gabe remembers how excited she was when Kate and Dad finally saved enough to pay for ballet classes.

Sucking in a deep breath, he pushes the studio doors open and suddenly pauses in his tracks. The sound of violins flood the room.

Clementine moves effortlessly across the floor, arms flowing above her and then behind her like a silk banner caught in a gentle breeze. She eases onto one foot and spins on her toes -- once, twice, three times -- then glides into a stance, with her arms reaching in front of her, her leg stretched behind, and her foot high above her head. Gabe is mesmerized.

And the door promptly collides with his face.

He stumbles backward and lands hard on his bum. Gabe instinctively presses his hand to his cheekbone where the door had hit it. It’s tender and smarting like a motherfucker. In that moment, he prays for two things: 1. that the bruise won’t be too obvious, and that 2. no one saw that.

Unfortunately for Gabe, God does not answer prayer number 2.

“Oh my god, are you okay?” Gabe looks up to see Clementine standing over him, her eyes wide in surprise and concern. Great, he cringes internally.

“Yeah, I’m good,” Gabe replies as he struggles to his feet. “Hi, Clementine,” he greets her, his face burning in utter embarrassment. Real fucking smooth, Garcia.

“Hi, Gabe,” Clementine says, brows furrowing in worry. “Are you sure you’re okay? That looked like it really hurt.”

“I’m fine, really,” Gabe refuses to meet her gaze. “Have you seen my sister, Mari, by the way?”

“Gabe!” he hears Mari call out as she rushes to him. “What happened?”

“Accident,” Gabe quickly responds. “Anyways, Kate sent me to pick you up, so,” he adds, “are you ready to go?” Gabe’s just a little desperate to leave. He’ll nurse over his bruised face and bruised ego the moment he gets home.

“Yeah,” Mari replies, nodding.

“Okay,” Gabe says. He stammers, “I, uh, I’ll see you at school next week, Clementine.”

“See you around,” Clementine replies. “You should probably get some ice for that.” She gestures to the bruise starting to form on his cheek.

“I will, thanks,” Gabe answers, absentmindedly scratching the back of his head.

“Okay then,” Clementine says. “I’ll see you next class, Mari.” Gabe huffs out a sigh when they reach the parking lot. Plan: Don’t Look Like A Moron has crashed and burned miserably. No survivors here.

Mariana snorts.

“What?” Gabe asks.

“That was kind of sad to watch back there,” Mari says lightly.

“What on earth are you talking about?”

“The door slamming on your head?” Mari responds. “I saw the whole thing.”

“It was an accident,” Gabe insists.

“You mean how your brain fries itself whenever you’re around a girl?”

“You’re crazy,” Gabe interjects. “It was just an accident. And my brain doesn’t fry itself, okay? I know how to act around girls,” he asserts with a thump to his chest. “I’ve had girlfriends before.”

“A girlfriend,” Mari corrects with a grin, “and that was in middle school? How long did that last again?”

Gabe swats Mari on the arm playfully. “You know, maybe leaving you on the side of the road is a good idea.”

“You wouldn’t,” Mari scoffs.

Gabe rolls his eyes before admitting with a fond sigh, “No, I wouldn’t.” He ruffles her hair wildly. “You’re my little sister, after all. It’s your job to annoy me.”

“Gabe! What the heck!” Mari yelps, ducking away. She combs her hands through her hair with an annoyed huff.

“Don’t fucking swear, Mari,” Gabe lectures, deadpan.

Mari rolls her eyes. “You’re such a dweeb.”

“Love you too,” Gabe teases as he unlocks his car.

“I’m guessing you’re picking me up from ballet from now on?” Mari asks with a smirk as she climbs into the passenger seat.

“Yes,” Gabe adds as he locks in his seatbelt, “but it’s only because Kate asked me to, since I have a car and I’m pretty much an adult now.”

“Riiiiiiight,” Mari singsongs, wiggling her eyebrows.

“You know,” Gabe suggests, “I was thinking of stopping by good ol’ Ronald for some ice cream, but since you’re being mean to me right now…”

“Oh come on,” Mari pleads. “Please? Can we?”

“I don’t know,” Gabe sighs, shrugging. “You really hurt me, Mari.” He dramatically places a hand over his heart and sticks his bottom lip out in an exaggerated pout.

“Alright, alright,” Mari concedes with an eyeroll. “I’m sorry, Gabe. Okay?”

“That’s better,” Gabe grins as he backs out of the parking spot. From the corner of his eye, he spots Mari fishing something out of her pocket. “What’s that?”

“It’s Pipo’s,” Mari replies quietly, showing him a portable cassette player.

Gabe nods solemnly. “Pop the cassette tape in.”

Gabe catches a glimpse of the tape’s label: Mi vida, mi corazón. He smiles as familiar salsa tunes drift through the car. The wind roars through the rolled down windows and threads through Gabe’s hair. Today, he’d forgone his beanie.

“This is the tape he always plays when he dances with Yaya,” Gabe recalls.

Mari chuckles. “Yeah. It’s his favourite.”

Gabe smiles wider at the fond memory. He used to find it embarrassing when he was younger. In hindsight, it was actually really adorable. Now Gabe would give anything to watch his grandparents dance again. To see Yaya laugh and smile like she did before. Just once more.

“I miss Pipo,” Mari murmurs.

“Me too,” Gabe sighs. “You know,” he changes the subject, “he kept a journal when him and Yaya left Cuba in 1980.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I found it on a shelf at him and Yaya’s house,” Gabe says. “Dad must have been a baby when they left.”

“I wonder what made them leave Cuba,” Mari wonders.

“Cause of some guy named Fidel Castro,” Gabe responds. “He imprisoned and executed a lot of people who were against him. Even people who were thought to be against him.” Gabe grimaces. “I don’t blame them for leaving, it must have been really scary back then.”

“You got that from all documentaries you’ve been watching, haven’t you?” Mari asks.

“I wanted to know all the shit that was going on at the time,” Gabe says with a shrug.

“Books exist, you know,” Mari points out, “and they’re a lot less noisy, too.”

“But do books have moving pictures and explosions?” Gabe replies with a dismissive wave of a hand. “And besides, does it really matter how I learn?” He taps the side of his forehead. “Knowledge is power.

“Inglourious Basterds doesn’t count,” Mari drawls. “And besides, why would anyone want to know about what a bunch of old guys did years ago? Boooring.”

Gabe gasps sharply. “First of all, Quentin Tarantino’s movies are fantastic,” Gabe objects, “and secondly, that was the only history-related thing you actually managed to stay awake for. If you had just stopped falling asleep in the middle of the other actual historical films, I’m sure you would’ve found it interesting.”

“I fell asleep because they were uninteresting,” Mari responds sarcastically.

“Come on,” Gabe says, “how do you not find it interesting at all? How things came to be? Why our family came to the States in the first place? The wars and global events that literally affected everyone? How is that not interesting?!”

“I mean that’s cool, I guess,” Mari remarks, “but it’s just not my cup of tea.”

“Fair enough.”

“Hey,” Mari chuckles, “at least learning some history is more productive than bashing your head on the sidewalk all summer, like you did last year.”

“For the record,” Gabe starts, “I did finally master that kickflip, so it was totally worth.”

---

They hear the yelling before they even make it out of the driveway.

Gabe glances at Mari, who winces.

“Just go to your room, okay?” Gabe assures her. Mari nods meekly.

Inhaling deeply, he turns the key and swings the door open.

“Unless you want to dig up my CO’s fucking corpse-”

“David, it was an accident,” Gabe hears Kate plead. She’s clutching her left hand with a towel that’s stained bright red. Pieces of shattered glass lie scattered around the kitchen floor where they’re standing. “Maybe if we can actually afford a dishwasher, this wouldn’t have-”

“Do not start with this again,” his dad roars back, “that is the absolute last thing I need when I come home from work to support this family and pay off Pa’s treatments-”

Gabe retreats to his room, locking the door behind him before flopping onto his bed. He pops his headphones in, selecting a random song on his phone and maxing out the volume until the thundering drums and screeching guitars drown out the world.

He hates it when they get like this. Which is rare to begin with, though, since Kate usually goes along with whatever Dad says. Not that he can blame her, honestly. It’s the easier thing to do.

His phone beeps, shaking Gabe out of his thoughts. A text message from Duck.

Duck Gordon (6:17 PM): THE END IS NIGH

Gabe snorts and types out a reply.

Gabe Garcia (6:18 PM): Wat

Duck Gordon (6:18 PM): Senior year starts next week bitchez

Right. Gabe swallows nervously.

On one hand: fucking finally. It wasn’t that high school had been bad. It had just been so… average. He got decent grades, skateboarded with Duck, and generally stayed out of trouble. His high school life, so far at least, is nothing like those melodramatic teen soap operas Mari likes so much. Not that he wants his high school experience to be filled with messy love triangles and skeletons in the closet. But all those movies and TV shows Gabe had seen over the years made high school seem so magical, you know?

On the other hand: he graduates from high school… and then what?

“Not today,” Gabe groans to himself as he sits up on his bed. He’ll cross that bridge when he gets there.

Gabe pulls up his laptop, an outdated thing his uncle Javi passed down to him. He can’t run League of Legends on it anymore (he needed to quit anyway, since it really brought out his temper) and it’s a little laggy, but it still does the job when it came to watching YouTube and scrolling through social media. Gabe decides to finish up on the last hour of this documentary he’s been watching about the bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. He pops the disc in the laptop and makes a mental note to drop off the DVD at the library tomorrow, since it’s due that day anyway.

He’s about half an hour in (and close to tears) when a loud knock rattles his door. The doorknob jiggles. “Gabe?” It’s Dad. Gabe instantly flies to the door and opens it.

“Why did you lock your door?” Dad snaps.

“Force of habit,” Gabe replies quietly. “Sorry, I won’t do it again,” he quickly adds.

“Good,” his dad comments curtly as he tiredly runs a hand over his head. Gabe can’t help but notice how even more salt and pepper-y his dad’s hair has become. “I need you to take Kate to the clinic tomorrow morning. Can you do that?”

“Yes, dad,” Gabe answers. He watches his father intently, noting the clenched jaw and the tension in his shoulders. Don’t set him off again. Just be the obedient son he needs you to be right now, Gabe thinks to himself.

“Gracias, mijo,” Dad says. “I know I can count on you.” Dad gives him a squeeze on the shoulder before smiling at him fondly. “Look at you, starting your last year of high school next week,” he breathes a deep sigh. “It only seems like yesterday you were running around in your diapers.”

“Now I’ll be graduating,” Gabe replies, smiling back.

“And then you’ll be enlisting, just like your old man.” His dad beams at him proudly.

Just like your old man. The words echo in his head. Gabe’s mouth goes dry. “Of course.” He swallows hard.

He doesn’t remember exactly when Dad started expecting him to join the army. (Since forever maybe?) But Gabe had always went along with it. Although it always fills his heart to see his dad puff his chest out in pride because of him, the thought of inevitably enlisting also fills his stomach with dread.

“By the way,” Dad starts, interrupting Gabe’s train of thought. “What happened to your face?”

Gabe instinctively touches his bruised cheek. “I ran into a door, that’s all.”

“You should get some ice for that, mijo,” his dad clasps him on the shoulder one last time before turning away. “There’s some soup in the kitchen, too. Don’t stay up too late.”

The kitchen is cold when Gabe steps in. The window is thrown open. The floor is free of glass. A pot sits on the stove. Kate leans on the counter by the window, smoking a cigarette. Her hand is wrapped in gauze, the blood dried to a dark, brownish red.

“There’s some food on the stove,” Kate says before taking another drag of her cigarette.

“Thanks,” Gabe replies as he helps himself to a bowl. “How’s your hand?”

“It’s been better,” Kate mumbles. “Nothing too serious, though. The cut’s not deep and I’ve cleaned it as best as I can.”

“Well,” Gabe begins, “Dad wants me to take you to the clinic tomorrow, so…”

Kate sighs, shrugging. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt to have someone look at it.”

“We can go before your shift starts,” Gabe suggests. “I’ll drop you off at your work, too.”

A small smile forms on her face. “Thank you, Gabe,” Kate says.

“What happened, earlier?” Gabe asks quietly. “If you don’t mind me asking…”

Kate looks so drained, with her slumped shoulders and shining eyes. “It’s nothing, really. I dropped your dad’s army glass, that’s all.”

Gabe frowns. He knows how important that glass is to Dad. Gabe would be upset too if something sentimental to him broke. But Kate also got hurt, you know? Yelling at her, especially when it was an accident, just… left a bad taste in his mouth.

Kate must have seen the look on his face, because she quickly adds, “Don’t worry about it. Your dad and I talked it out. We apologized. We’re good now.”

Gabe nods, a little wary. “If you say so.”

---

  Gabe normally likes to sit window-side and towards the back row. Not the very last row, though, where the teacher's voice drowns out into a low, coma-inducing drone and the heat of the afternoon sun entices sleep. And not the very front row either, where the teacher can watch your every move.

Except today, Gabe slides into a desk at the front row and lets out a nervous breath. Sitting at the front of the classroom naturally makes you more attentive (at least, according to a few internet articles). After all, AP World History may be his last class of the day, but it’s his first Advanced Placement class, ever. Sure, Gabe isn’t a terrible student. But he’s not exactly top-of-the-class material -- just enough to make Dad and Kate happy. And besides, he’d also been in an Honors class before (in freshman year). It can’t be all that different, right?

Gabe watches as students enter the classroom and immediately recognizes most of them as the top-of-the-honor-roll types: those who’ve been taking AP classes since sophomore year (and even freshmen, for some of them), whose sights set high for Ivy League. His stomach sinks a little.

His mouth goes dry and his stomach knots when Clementine enters the classroom. No duh she’d be in this class. Gabe always saw her name on the honor roll, and knows how often she studies, as it was the one activity she was always doing every time he would be at Duck’s house. Plan: Don’t Look (Even More) Like A Moron is officially back in motion. This is going to be a long-ass year, Gabe internally grumbles to himself.

“Hello, class,” Mr. Everett greets as he begins to pass around the course outlines. “Welcome to AP World History. As you know, this class is equivalent to an introductory college course.”

Gabe swallows nervously. Mr. Everett does the roll call before briefly explaining the basics of AP tests and scoring. Gabe follows along, jotting down important information.

“A common theme you’ll notice throughout the course is that no matter the era or the civilization,” Mr. Everett scrawls the next words he says on the chalkboard, “there is always war and conflict.” He underlines the words, further emphasizing them.

“Instead of just talking about the syllabus today,” Mr. Everett turns to the class, dusting his hands of chalk, “I’d like to start off this year with a discussion.”

Mr. Everett returns to the chalkboard and writes in all capitals: IS WAR JUSTIFIABLE?

Every hand in the room shoots up.

Gabe notices that most of the answers his classmates give are a variation of Sometimes. Not that it was wrong or anything -- everyone has a right to their opinion, after all. But Gabe’s sweating as he mentally prepares himself, running through the points he wants to make and recalling the facts he’s learned from the documentaries he watched.

“Gabriel?” Mr. Everett’s voice pierces through the fog of his nervousness.

“Yes,” Gabe stands in his desk and clears his throat. “Right, um. I don’t think war is justified. Ever.”

The classroom immediately breaks into a buzz.

Mr. Everett shushes the class before he turns back to Gabe. “And why do you think that?”

“Because,” Gabe begins, suddenly feeling every eye on him. He inhales a deep breath before saying, “it’s just not right that the people at the top can declare war while everyone else pays the price. While innocent people pay the price.”

“Pretty sure the people who enlisted knew what they were signing up for,” pipes up a classmate. A few stifled giggles erupt behind him.

“That’s not what I meant,” Gabe bites back. He clenches his hands into fists to still them from shaking before he continues, “I meant like, men, women, and children who never asked for war, whose homes were invaded. People who were killed because they were at the wrong place at the wrong time, like Hiroshima and Nagasaki.”

“Well, it was because Japan refused to surrender,” another classmate challenges. “More people would’ve suffered and died if America had invaded Japan instead. Would you rather lose millions of lives or just several thousand?”

“Two hundred thousand,” Gabe corrects, blood pounding in his ears. “War is more than just a numbers game. Sacrifice two hundred thousand people to save more? Okay sure, but two hundred thousand people still died, you know? And most of them were just regular old folks minding their own business when the bombs hit. They didn’t deserve to die. Life is precious but life is irreplaceable too. The lives that were saved because of the bombings aren’t replacements for the lives that were lost.”

“So what,” someone responds, “countries should just do nothing then, like how Britain dealt with Hitler in the late 1930s? Should people just stand by and do nothing while something like the Holocaust happens?”

Gabe goes silent, brows furrowing in thought. When he meets the gaze of his challenger, he’s greeted by their smug, triumphant expression. “No,” Gabe finally admits, grudgingly.

“So then doesn’t that make war justifiable?”

“I’m not saying that countries should do nothing,” Gabe declares, his blood boiling. “But war often comes with war crimes, too. Both the Allies and the Axis raped thousands of women. Both sides bombed each other’s cities -- cities filled with innocent civilians. Cities like Hiroshima and Nagasaki. I think countries should step in and stop things like the Holocaust from ever happening. But even if the cause you’re fighting for is good, raping and killing innocent people isn’t. And that is never justifiable.”

The bell rings, a sudden shrill noise that startles Gabe out of his thoughts.

“All right, I’ll see you all tomorrow then,” Mr. Everett says to the class. “You all have a good day. Gabriel, can I see you for a moment?”

When Gabe is done packing his things, he makes his way to Mr. Everett’s desk. “You wanted to see me, Mr. Everett?”

“Yes,” Mr. Everett says, nodding. “I just wanted to commend you on what you said in our class discussion.”

“Oh,” Gabe responds, scratching the back of his head. “Thanks.”

“Have you ever heard of the principle of ahimsa?” Mr. Everett asks.

Gabe shakes his head.

Mr. Everett raises his eyebrows. “I’m surprised, because a lot of what you said reminds me of that. We’ll actually be touching on it in the course. But anyways, ahimsa is an important principle in Hinduism, Jainism, and Buddhism. It means to not harm. Non-violence. Ahimsa has greatly influenced theories of war and military ethics, and was also central to the independence movement of India.”

“The one with Gandhi, right?” Gabe faintly recalls from previous social studies classes.

Mr. Everett nods. “All forms of resistance against the British Empire were non-violent and it actually worked, as India finally achieved their independence in 1947. In fact, it worked so well that it influenced the Civil Rights Movement right here at home.”

Gabe nods thoughtfully. “Huh, no way.”

“Yeah,” Mr. Everett says. “Well, I also wanted to talk to you about joining our History Bowl team. I really think you’d make a great addition, and I’m not saying that just because I’m the sponsor teacher.”

History Bowl. Gabe had heard of that before -- isn’t that some kind of Jeopardy for history or whatever? Where a bunch of Ivy League types from different schools gather round and flex their knowledge or some shit? Gabe is certainly not Ivy League level, and the idea of being stuck in a whole room of them… ok well, he is in AP World History. But still. Gabe’s about as average as you can get, honestly. And besides, who wants to study for fun? He’s got enough classes to worry about.

Mr. Everett must have read his mind or something, because he says, “I know it’s not as glamorous as the football team, but I really do think you’d be great at it. At least consider?”

“Thanks,” Gabe replies a little sheepishly. “I’ll think about it.”

“Great,” Mr. Everett says, “You have a good day then, Gabriel.”

“You too,” Gabe replies as he leaves the classroom.

---

Gabe spots his uncle sitting on the porch as he approaches his house. A worn box sits next to him. “Hey, Javi. What are you doing here?”

“Hey, buddy,” Javi says. “I was hoping Kate would be here. I’ve got a package to drop off.” He gestures to the box.

“How long have you been waiting?” Gabe asks. “And what’s that?”

“Just ten minutes, no biggie,” Javi replies, grinning, “and these are your abuelo’s cassette tapes.”

“You have his cassette tapes?” Gabe questions.

“Just some of it.” Javi says. “I hear music really helps with memory. Maybe your dad can take them with him when he visits your abuelo.”

Gabe peers into the box. Cassette tapes stack on top of each other, almost spilling over the brim. “Those are… a lot of tapes.” He turns to Javi and quietly asks, “Why don’t you go with my dad?”

Javi looks away, scratching the back of his head. “I love your dad,” he sighs. “He is my brother, after all. We just… don’t see eye-to-eye on a lot of things.” His gaze rests on the box. “Let’s just say your dad doesn’t agree with how I’m… processing all of this.”

“Was that what it was about?” Gabe mumbles, studying his uncle’s face. “You know. Two weeks ago, at Yaya and Pipo’s house?” He recalls the yelling being so loud from he could hear it from the backyard. His abuela crying, pleading with them to stop. A door slam that seemed to shake the walls and the air around them. A loud tire screech. Javi nowhere to be found after. His dad dark-eyed and tense and silent for the rest of the night.

“Sort of, yeah,” Javi answers, quietly.

Gabe decides to change the subject. “So why does Pipo have a lot of cassettes?”

Javi smiles, eyes tinged with fondness and melancholy. “He made a mix for every event,” Javi sigh. “Like, every event. Not even just for milestones and holidays, but for days when it rained, when the sun shined. I think he has a whole tape dedicated to cafecito.” Javi shakes his head, chuckling. “Freaking obsessed.”

“More than dominoes?” Gabe asks, almost astounded.

“More than dominoes,” Javi affirms. “That man really loves music.”

Gabe chuckles, shaking his head. “Well, since Kate’s out, I can let you in and you can put it on the coffee table or something.”

“That’d be great, thanks.”

Gabe unlocks the front door and steps inside. He plops his backpack on the floor of his bedroom and double checks his pockets to ensure his wallet, phone, and keys are still with him before heading back towards the door.

“By the way, I need to pick up Mari from school and drop her off to ballet,” Gabe says to his uncle. “Do you need me to drive you back to your place?”

“No I’m good, my car’s just down the street,” Javi responds. "Actually, is it okay if I tag along? I feel like it’s been ages since I really spent some time with you guys.”

“I hope my dad won’t mind,” Gabe wonders hesitantly.

“I hope not,” Javi says, sighing. “Listen, no matter what’s going on between me and your dad, we’re still family.” Javi then playfully nudges him in the shoulder. “Now come on, I’ll treat you and Mari to McDonalds.”

Gabe grins. “You sure you want to wait out until Mari’s lessons are over, though?”

Javi cocks an eyebrow up. “You’re gonna wait out the whole hour?”

“Hour and a half,” Gabe corrects. “Plus, it’s kind of a waste of gas to keep driving back between home and the studio. Global warming, am I right?”

Javi snorts. “Since when did you care about global warming?”

“I always have,” Gabe shoots back, “but especially since I started noticing gas prices, you know?”

“Of course,” Javi says with a laugh.

When Gabe pulls up in front of Mari’s school, she climbs into the backseat and sets her duffel bag of ballet stuff next to her. “Hey uncle Javi,” Mari greets. Gabe feels her nudge at the back of his seat. “Are we heading to the studio right now?”

“Yup,” Gabe replies.

“But it’s only 3:15, and class starts at 4,” Mari points out, “can’t we wait at a McDonalds or something?”

“Well, Javi is planning to treat us after your lessons anyway,” Gabe responds, “and besides, it’ll be 3:30 by the time we arrive to the studio. You can wait another thirty minutes. Go practice or something.”

“Oh, I see what this is about,” Mari drawls, glaring at him through the rearview mirror before smirking. “You’re just eager to see Clementine, is that right?”

Gabe nearly swerves the car. “What?!” He sputters.

“Who’s Clementine?” Javi asks excitedly.

“No one,” Gabe interjects hastily.

Mari simultaneously answers, “His girlfriend.”

“I don’t have a girlfriend!” Gabe yells, knuckles white as he grips the steering wheel hard.

“She’s the teaching assistant for my class,” Mari says matter-of-factly, completely ignoring Gabe, “She’s really pretty, and she also goes to Gabe’s school. I think she’s also Duck’s sister?”

“Aww,” Javi sings, grinning.

“She’s not my girlfriend!” Gabe yelps indignantly, cheeks flushing.

“Uh-huh,” Mari sarcastically mutters.

“Mari,” Gabe hisses, glaring fiercely when they make eye contact through the rearview mirror.

“All right, all right,” Mari grumbles. “I’m sorry, Gabe.”

“Thank you,” Gabe huffs, annoyed. He relaxes his grip on the wheel.

“Clementine is amazing at ballet, though,” Mari says with wonder, “I want to be just as a good of a dancer as she is one day.”

“I believe in you, Mari,” Javi replies, “You can achieve anything you set your mind to.”

“Thanks, Javi,” Mari says, smiling. “Maybe it’s not a bad idea to get some extra practice in,” she admits.

“Told you,” Gabe remarks, and spots Mari rolling her eyes at him through the mirror.

Predictably, Gabe doesn’t see Mari exit the studio when the lesson finishes. Gabe pushes the doors open (and steps through them quickly before they can crash into his head again).

“Clem, you should come with us,” he hears Mari practically beg, “My uncle, Gabe, and I are going to McDonalds. It’ll be really fun.”

Gabe freezes in his tracks. She’s doing this on purpose, isn’t she? She’s totally shitting him right now. Seriously, Mari? Wow.

“Gabe!” Mari calls out to him. She’s beaming brightly and sporting puppy dog eyes. He knows that look and sighs internally. Okay, so she’s definitely not trying to mess with him. Somehow, that makes it worse. “Can Clementine come with us? Pleeeease?”

“Um,” Gabe mumbles, scratching the back of his head. He desperately tries to force down the blush that begins to rise in his face.

Okay. So. It’s not like he wants to say no because honestly? That’s a little dickish. But Plan: Don’t Look Like A Moron failed spectacularly last time and Gabe definitely does not want to risk embarrassing himself in front of her again. He’s not sure if he can survive it.

Before Gabe can reply, Javi calls from behind him, “Of course, of course. The more the merrier.”

“I do have an hour to kill before my shift starts,” Clementine says, shrugging.

Mari beams. “Great! I’ll grab my stuff.”

“You, uh, work with the Gordons, right?” Gabe finally manages to unswallow his tongue and speak. “I can drop you off at the diner before your shift.”

“If it’s any trouble-” Clementine starts.

“It’s not,” Gabe replies sheepishly. “Really, it isn’t. It’s on the way home, anyway.”

Clementine nods gratefully and smiles. “Thanks, Gabe.” Gabe’s heart immediately accelerates. “I’m just gonna pack up and change.”

Gabe nods, his eyes unconsciously following her as she exits the studio. Did she really just smile at him? Was that real? He didn’t imagine it, right? Holy shit.

“What happened to ‘global warming?’” he hears Javi ask slyly. Gabe doesn’t turn, fearing his face is bright red.

“I’m just being nice,” Gabe asserts defensively.

“If you say so,” Javi casually replies.

---

“Please,” Javi begins, “I insist, Clementine. You’re our guest.” The four of them are standing in front of the counter. Gabe hears an exasperated sigh behind him -- another impatient customer, probably. They’ve been holding the line up for only a minute or so. Jeez.

Gabe watches as Clementine hesitantly puts her wallet back into her pocket. “You’re too kind, thank you.”

“No worries,” Javi says before addressing Gabe. “Gabe, why don’t you and Clementine find us a booth? Mari and I will wait for our order.” His uncle’s eyes glint playfully.

“Uh yeah, sure,” Gabe replies. He contemplates maybe killing his uncle as he and Clementine sit down at an empty booth.

“By the way,” Clementine begins, “Good job in the class discussion today.”

Gabe’s eyes widen in surprise. “Oh. Thanks.”

“What made you join AP World History, by the way?” Clementine asks, brows furrowing in curiosity. “Not that I’m saying you’re not smart or anything, but I didn’t think you… well, it’s just that I haven’t seen you in the other AP classes before-”

“I’m not exactly the AP student type, I know,” Gabe admits, nervously laughing.

Clementine chuckles with him. “I’m sorry, I just wanted to ask.”

“It’s okay,” Gabe replies. “I, um, kind of switched into that class last minute, I guess? It was sort of a spur of the moment.”

“Really?” Clementine cocks her head sideway in curiosity.

“Yeah,” Gabe responds. “Well, um, I’ve always liked social studies, and I also watched a lot of history documentaries over the summer. Made me realize how much I liked learning history. So I figured, why not?” He scratches the back of his head absentmindedly as he shrugs. “How about you?”

“I really like history, too,” Clementine replies. “I want to do a minor in History when I go to college, and you know, the AP class would be great for the transfer credits.”

“What are you planning to major in?” Gabe asks.

“Dance,” Clementine answers. “Hopefully at the University of Georgia. They have a pretty good ballet program.”

“That’s great,” Gabe says. “You’ve, uh, been doing ballet for a long time, right?”

“Yeah,” Clementine says, “Since I was 7 or 8. I really love it. But how about you? What are your plans after high school?”

Gabe’s eyebrows rise. He’s caught off guard. “I…” He trails off, lost in thought. What the hell is he supposed to say? “I’m still figuring it out, to be honest,” Gabe finally answers.

“No worries,” Clementine responds. “But if you plan on going to college, you should join the History Bowl team. It’s a great opportunity and looks really good on college applications.”

“Mr. Everett talked to me about that earlier today,” Gabe notes.

“He is the sponsor teacher,” Clementine says. “And this year, I’ve been made captain of the team. We need more members -- one more at least. It’s just me and Sarah now, since Arvo graduated last year.”

“Arvo?” Gabe recalls the familiar name. “You mean that really smart Russian kid? Didn’t he graduate early?”

“Yup,” Clementine sighs loudly. “He also got accepted into MIT’s engineering program.”

“Wow,” Gabe says in awe. “That’s… pretty impressive.”

“It becomes less amazing the more you hear about it,” Clementine drawls. “Arvo never failed to remind me every single week.” Gabe notes the way she rolls her eyes with deliberate annoyance.

“Duck told me he was kind of a dick,” Gabe replies.

“Oh, he definitely was,” Clementine says with a hint of a grin. “Big brain, bigger ego. But because of him, we did get pretty far last year. And this year, I really want to win the National Championships. So,” Clementine pauses, exhaling a deep breath, “I’m asking you to join the team.” “Me?” Gabe asks incredulously. “I’m no Arvo, though.” He looks down at the table.

“I’m not asking you to be Arvo,” Clementine replies. “Besides, it’s clear from the discussion today that you’re passionate about history, and you seem to know a lot about it. Give yourself some credit. We’d be lucky to have someone like you on the team.”

Gabe’s heart skips a beat. “I, um…” He trails off, attempting to fight the heat beginning to rise in his face. “Can I think about it, at least?”

“Of course,” Clementine says. “Well, tomorrow is Club Day, and I’ll have a table set up in the atrium during lunch. Come talk to me when you’ve made your decision.”

“Sounds good,” Gabe responds.

“If it helps,” Clementine starts, “the grand prize for the Nationals is a scholarship. Divided among the teammates, of course.”

“Really?” Gabe asks with a piqued interest.

“Yeah,” Clementine says, “it’s a pretty decent amount. But I think you have to use it within a year before it expires.”

Gabe hums and nods thoughtfully. “I’ll let you know tomorrow?” He asks.

“Sure thing,” Clementine replies.

---

Gabe is in the living room watching TV when he hears the keys turn and the front door unlock. His dad steps through. Gabe quickly checks the time on his phone. It’s nearly 10:00 PM.

“Hi dad,” Gabe greets him. “Long day at work?”

His dad nods. The exhaustion is apparent on his face. “Yes, mijo. Have you eaten dinner yet?”

“Yeah,” Gabe answers. “Kate put the food in the fridge, by the way.”

Dad suddenly pauses. “What’s this?” he asks, pointing to the box on the coffee table.

“Javi came by earlier today,” Gabe tells him. “He dropped off a box of Pipo’s tapes.”

His dad frowns slightly, brows furrowing as he chews on his cheek. “Okay,” his dad comments quietly. “Anyways. Come sit with me,” he invites him. Gabe nods, and follows his dad into the kitchen.

“How was your first day of classes?” His dad asks as he opens the fridge.

“It was good,” Gabe replies as he reaches into the cupboard to grab a plate for his dad. “We just got our lockers and course outlines, that’s all. Real lessons start tomorrow.” He sets the plate on the dining table. “But we did have a class discussion in AP World History today.”

“An AP class?” His dad notes. “You know, it doesn’t really matter what kind of grades you get. As long as you have a high school diploma, the military will accept you just fine.” He shrugs dismissively.

“I just wanted to take it this year,” Gabe asserts quietly.

“Okay,” Dad responds. “What did you talk about in class?”

“Whether war is justifiable or not,” Gabe answers. “A lot of the class said it was justifiable sometimes.”

“But what did you say?” His dad asks.

Gabe immediately regrets bringing up AP World History. “I said it wasn’t justifiable,” Gabe murmurs. He studies his dad’s face, trying to decipher the unreadable expression he now wears. “Why?” Dad says with an eyebrow raised. “Sometimes we have to fight back when bad guys threaten the rights and lives of other people.”

“I guess,” Gabe says uncertainly. “I was talking more along the lines of, um, war crimes. Like murdering and raping innocent people. Stuff like that.”

“That doesn’t really happen anymore, mijo,” his dad says pointedly. “There are international laws that stop that from happening now, don’t you know that?” His dad lets out a harsh sigh before taking a bite of his food. Gabe winces slightly.

“I know. I just, I don’t know,” Gabe mumbles, shifting his gaze down. “I was just offering another view. That’s all.” He half-lies.

His dad only nods and continues to pick at his food. Gabe takes his leave and heads to his room.

He shuts the door behind him quietly and sits on his bed, lost in thought. Gabe had been on fire earlier today, adrenaline pumping and blood boiling and thinking on his feet. He had a lot to say in class, but all the points he wanted to repeat to his dad seemed to just… evaporated from his head or something.

I’m just tired, Gabe justifies to himself. And Dad’s tired too. A debate is the last thing he needs.

Though, Gabe really did enjoy the class discussion today. He normally hates debates -- Gabe usually never knows enough to effectively participate, and he hates how tongue-tied he  can get. Except today, Gabe actually did know enough, for once. There was something incredibly satisfying about being able to prove your points with cold, hard facts. Like a perfect one-two punch. And damn, did it feel good.

Maybe joining the History Bowl team isn’t a terrible idea. Sure, it’s not quite the same as debating morals and whatever like they did in class today. But Gabe has always found his history and social studies classes so much more interesting than his science classes. He liked learning about importants events that happened, and how and why they still affect people today. It always intrigued him.

And besides, Clementine did mention the scholarship grand prize. If they win Nationals, then he’d have no choice but to attend college. Dad would understand. He would see. Surely.

But I’m nothing like Arvo, Gabe admits to himself internally. Winning Nationals sure as hell isn’t a guarantee. It’s a slim chance, especially with the likes of someone like himself. Someone like me, Gabe thinks. He is… painfully average.

But, he has to try, right? Taking a chance can’t hurt. It’s not like it’s totally hopeless -- Clementine mentioned Sarah was on the team too. And they’re both really smart. He’s not on their level, sure, but Gabe can compensate with a lot of work and effort. Winning Nationals is definitely possible, he decides.

Dad will understand. Dad will see.

---

Gabe pushes through the crowd of students, his mood slightly souring with every shove of a shoulder. Just when he’s had enough and considers charging through the swarm like a bull on the loose, Gabe stumbles into empty space.

He spots a simple poster (HISTORY BOWL CLUB, it reads) hanging down the front of the table. Clementine and Sarah sit behind, chatting.

“Hey,” Gabe calls out breathlessly, giving a small wave to Clementine. She waves back. He approaches their table.

“Woah there, you’re gonna have to wait in line,” Clementine says sarcastically, gesturing to the considerable lack of students around them.

A grin plays on his lips. “Hilarious,” Gabe replies with equal sarcasm.

Clementine chuckles before asking, “So, what’s the verdict?”

Gabe meets her gaze and nods. “I’m in.”

#TWDG #TWDG fanfiction #Gabentine #Gabriel Garcia #Clementine #Javier Garcia #David Garcia #Kate Garcia #Mariana Garcia #Duck #Lee Everett #High school AU #Chasing Waves #S L O W B U R N #eventual gabentine #7402 words #help #my fanfiction #multi-chapter #The Walking Dead Game #TWD Game

[cardigans-and-bowties]

Lots of 2-4am feelings 

CW: transphobia, murder, ableism, police brutality, and a lot of worldsuck. Also religious/spiritual stuff toward the end apparently.... I didn’t plan it, it just happened.....

I'm literally talking about researching anti-trans murder ... .Also very emotional and therefore unnuanced in ways that it might be if I were to actually discuss these issues with someone......

I don't really know who to talk to about this because most of my friends that I would tell are asleep or just really shouldn't be put through the emotional labor of listing to this. So I'm mostly just venting. I'm editing biographies for my LGBT group's Transgender Day of Remembrance event. It's certainly not the first time I've stayed up at some ungodly hour recording things about people we've lost (the first 1000+ on the list we have and then some), but it's not like it stops being sad. I've felt different about it throughout the year and a half I've worked on it, but the anger is sad, the defeated is sad, the hope that we can make it better is sad, the numbness is sad. 

I'm not sure there's much more disheartening than trying to find the birthday of a dead person despite the fact that you know that you probably won't find it. This also isn't the first time I've done this. There are a lot of folks who don't have recorded ages, let alone birthdays. But I thought maybe *just maybe* in the age of technology I could find the birthday of someone who died in the US in 2010. But after seeing an article about how the murderer's lawyer made a joke that killing a trans sex worker wasn't that bad, I had to stop. And this was after spending a half an hour reading and rereading the details of Simon Bush's murder (and finally finding the sentencing date of the murderer) and thinking about how many ways it could have been stopped and how fucked up the whole system is. 

Just in the US, if the legal system gave a shit about the mentally ill, Simon's murderer wouldn't have been able to kill them. If the legal system gave a shit about the mentally ill trans people, Kayden Clarke and Sean Hake wouldn't be dead. If the legal system gave a fuck about mentally ill trans women of color, Kiwi Herring and Laverne Turner wouldn't be dead. If the legal system gave a shit about trans people of color, Rae'Lynn Thomas's killer - her mother's ex-boyfriend who was apologetically transphobic towards her - would have been investigated as though he had committed a hate crime and Marsha P Johnson's murder wouldn't have been written off as a suicide despite a still unknown murderer bragged about killing her at a bar the day after. If the legal system gave a shit about transgender people, most of the people on this list wouldn't (in all likelihood) have murderers who have never seen a night on the inside of a jail cell for what they did. 

This really doesn't even scratch the surface of the tip of the iceberg in a glance of how trans people are abused by the US legal system (and I didn't even touch on how people are treated in jail... I know there are people that I've read about who died misgendered and ignored in jail but I just don't have the energy to dig that deep right now). This isn't even looking at the role that class plays. This isn't even looking at it on a global level - nearly every fucking country is guilty. Thousands of deaths aren't acknowledged because they are legal in some countries. Over 800 trans people have been recorded as being murdered in Brazil alone. European countries aren't exempt either. People are still murdered - still pushed to suicide. 

Shit like this doesn't happen out of nowhere. A bunch of people don't decide "hey lets kill that person that look trans" for no reason. Boyfriends don't kill their girlfriends because theyre scared of their friends discovering she's trans by some fluke one-person "crazy"-man decision. Multiple doctors don't just refuse to treat a dying trans person because they're an asshole in the vacuum of space. There is context for everything. An infographic went around recently about rape culture and how passing comments reinforce the jokes which reinforce the catcalling which reinforces larger, more physically violent acts. Its the same thing here. 

Cis people still wonder why trans people have to make such a big deal about pronouns or names. Or complain that they "can't enjoy anything because all the LGBTs are so fucking sensitive". I’ve seen three separate fucking facebook threads about gender reveal parties - all of which featured a pack of Cisgender Susannes saying “we just can’t enjoy anything anymore” or “well I don’t see a problem with it”. Your joke is not more important that someone's mental health. Your comfort is not more important that someone's safety. 

I was angry for such a long time. I still am - but anger used to be the main emotion - I was in a rage at everyone. I was hopeless. Now I'm trying my damnedest not to be. I've gotten to the point where I am forcing myself into some kind of hope. I am reaching for anything to make me feel like this world doesn't hate queer people. I am doing everything I can so that my walk on this earth can make it easier for the people who walk on it after me. Sometimes it is fucking hard. When it's 1am and I still cant so much as find a last name and age for someone killed in 2010 (because she was trans and homeless) it's hard not to be pissed the world. When it's 2am and I'm looking at Leelah Alcorn's last typed words again, reading for the 1000th time her age and thinking for the 1000th time "she was so fucking close to being able to get out of that house", remembering the names of the other teens who died the same way she did because the world around them treated them like they were sub-human, remembering that 41% of transgender people attempt suicide because of this shit place, remembering that we don't have anything close to accurate number to know how many actually do commit suicide, it's hard not to be pissed at the world. 

I worry myself fucking sick worrying if one of my friends could be next. They take public transport,  they go to protests - my best friend has sent me pictures from an STL police line featuring full riot gear. Most queer people I know are mentally ill. I am worried fucking sick. I see the numbers and I just have to suppress what I can as far as this personal worry goes. 

I think the only reason I'm not completely jaded (if you can believe it) is God and the fact that we were made and that we are loved and that we are all connected to each other through that. We are bigger than us and we were made to love each other - to be each other. Everything is connected. The systems I talked about earlier - they're all connected. But they were created broken. I have no faith in that. But if we were created by something perfect, that means there is hope for people. As fucking cheesey as it sounds, if we loved each other - genuinely listened and tried to understand - there would be so much less pain. I think a lot about how this connection goes both ways. That's how empathy works. That's why oppressions are connected. The genuine understanding and emotions and ability to help each other so deeply is so beautiful. That is the main thing that keeps me from being hopeless. If we focus on healing ourselves and each other it has the potential to reach others. If I spread good in this world, it will affect more people than I know. And that is how change can happen. It starts from the individual and it spreads. Each person affects each person and that has the opportunity to be so beautiful and I have to hold on to that hope. The world only changes through people. As shitty as everything seems, it can be less shitty if more people are trying. By God’s grace, we can find still love in a world that produces this many volumes of pain.

I dunno, ya'll (I say as if someone will have read this far down this wall of 3am rambling). I'm just having a lot of feelings. I've got to keep doing what I'm doing - helping people, being a better person, trying to do what I can to do anything to help this fucked up world, keeping just one person from having to feel as much pain..

#personal #also possibly triggering - I'm talking about reading about a ton of trasphobic murders and suicides