#I can see the JFK influence for sure

[stroebe2]

As I expected the sound was fucking loud lmaooo feeling the bass in the walls and the seats but also what a wild ride how do you just get out of a theater and get on with your life after being exposed to 3 hours of movie about the worst evil humanity has ever conjured what if I killed myself

[briamichellewrites]

100

Bria was addicted to heroin, just like her mother. She called Chester in tears because she saw ghosts outside of her townhouse. He calmed her down before insisting that she visit the hospital. That ended the call. He looked up the phone number for the police in Manhattan to drop in and make sure she was okay after getting her address from Mike. They promised him they would check in with her. They found her crying and going through some type of psychiatric episode.

She was admitted due to being a danger to herself. Her cats were hiding in fear, so one of the officers made sure they were okay. They didn’t know what was going on with their human, but they didn’t like it. At the hospital, she was evaluated and was found to be going through heroin withdrawal, which triggered her psychosis.

They could hold her for seventy-two hours. Then, they had to let her go. Chester called Mike back after finding out about her hospitalization. Drugs. The police found a needle, a belt, and a spoon with residue on it. It confirmed their worst suspicions. She had been lying to them. Chester thought she was under the influence when she called him. They had to help her. Mike would see if either he or Brad could fly out to New York to be with her.

Brad wanted to, but he was on a tight schedule, so he asked him if it was okay with him if he went for a week. He gave him the go-ahead. They hugged and he told him to give Bria his love. He promised him he would do that. Before packing his bag, he went to find Shiloh. She was playing with Misty, who was watching her and making sure she didn’t get into trouble.

“Daddy!”

“Hi. Daddy has to go bye-bye because his friend is sick.”

“Uh oh.”

“Yeah. Daddy will be here with you. You be a big girl for him, okay?”

She smiled. “Okay! Bye-bye.”

Misty gave him a look that said, I got this. He scratched her head and thanked her. After packing his bag and grabbing his passport, he said another goodbye to Shiloh and Misty. Shiloh didn’t understand what was going on because she was too young. All she knew was that one of her daddy’s was going bye-bye. Brad kissed him and asked him to keep him updated. I will. They said I love you before he left.

He got to the airport and went to the ticket counter where he asked for a ticket for the first available flight to JFK International Airport. The attendant did some searching and saw that the next flight was leaving in two hours, so he just made it! He sighed in relief and thanked her. It was a family emergency. She emphasized with him. After paying for his ticket, he again thanked her and went on his way to security. It was not too long of a line, since it was early in the evening.

He was taking a late-night flight and would get to New York in the morning. As he was taking everything out, he noticed he had been in such a hurry, he had forgotten his neck pillow. He would have to buy one before the shops closed for the night. He got to the gate where he sat down in one of the chairs. After rearranging his stuff, he looked at the arrival/departure sign. He had an hour before boarding.

He bought a cheap neck pillow. Okay, it wasn’t that cheap. Airports were always overpriced, but it was the cheapest they sold. He also paid for a soda and a pack of gum – both of which were also overpriced. When he got back, he found a spot to sit down. After getting a drink, he got out his phone.

Hey, thank you for calling the police to do a welfare check on Bria. I don’t know if I told you that yet or not. I’m flying to New York in an hour to be with her. My mind is going crazy right now. Can you check in with Brad tomorrow to see how he and Shiloh are doing? He may need some assistance because he’s never been alone for more than a couple of days with a toddler. – Mike

Haha, yeah. He would do that. Chester replied to focus on Bria and not worry about things at home. Thank you! He greatly appreciated it! Shiloh was playing with her dolls while Brad sat with her. Daddy go bye-bye. He laughed and said she was correct. Was her baby going bye-bye? She shook her head no. No, her baby was hungry. She rubbed her stomach, her sign of hunger. Her grandparents taught her that. It helped her communicate what she wanted and alleviate tantrums.

She also knew the sign for tired, which was pretending to rub her eyes; more, which was putting her fingers on her thumb and tapping them together; and all done, which was brushing her hands together, as if she was wiping them off. Brad and Mike thought the signs were adorable.

Toddlers were not that easy to understand and the signs made it easier for them. She patted the doll’s back with her hand. Burp! She laughed and set her doll down gently on the floor. Was she hungry? She rubbed her stomach. Hungry. Together, they went into the kitchen. He put her in her high chair, so he could watch her while he made dinner. Misty also came in looking for food. She looked down at her. Silly, doggy! Brad agreed she was silly.

Bria was going through withdrawal symptoms. She had nausea, vomiting, and stomach problems as her body got rid of the toxins she had put inside it. It would take twenty-four hours for her to detox, where she would be carefully monitored by medical and psychiatric professionals. She had used the drug during a two-day binge with Ashley.

She had done so many drugs, she didn’t remember anything. Now, she was in the hospital. She took off her clothes until she was in her underwear because she was drenched in sweat. Her body shook as she felt a combination of heat and cold. A nurse came in and assessed her. She used a towel to clean the sweat from her. Bria started crying because she just wanted it to stop. The nurse told her she would get medication for her to relieve her symptoms.

Mike got to the hospital the next day and he went to the psychiatric ward. He asked for Bria Johnson. The nurse looked at some paperwork before having him follow her. She took him to the visiting area and told him to wait there while she got the patient. He thanked her. When she came out, he wanted to cry. She looked like a drug addict, not his best friend.

She was thin, her hair was greasy, and she had scars on her arms. He hugged her tightly because he was so scared to let her go. Mikey. He closed his eyes before he let the tears fall. Bria. They sat down together. He wiped his eyes with his hands. What the hell are you doing to yourself? He was angry, grateful she was not hurt, and terrified. All at the same time. She had lied to him and he believed her, even when Chester voiced his concerns.

What the hell was she going through that she needed drugs? She couldn’t remember. Anger. Depression. Fear of being hurt. He wiped his eyes. After reaching out his hands, she took them. His best friend. She was still there waiting for him. He was the only person who would never leave her.

And in that moment, we found the definition of forever

Hospital lights, the tears streaming from your eyes

A love greater than any drug, a friendship from heaven above

A love forevermore

@zoeykaytesmom @feelingsofaithless @alina-dixon @fiickle-nia

[hackettgram46]

Reese Getty

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[feralnumberfive]

Tbh I think Klaus, Luther and Diego were all dumbed down for comic relief last season. Diego especially seemed massively stupider than in s1 XD But I agree it's time they gave Luther some decent plot to me work with!

Oh yeah it definitely was Klaus and Diego too and not just Luther. S2 was noticeably "lighter" and not as gritty as S1, but Luther's change definitely stands out to me. I talked about this with someone (99% sure it was @thehargreevesfam) but S2 just didn't treat all three of them like the same people they were in S1. Granted Diego went a little coo-coo with his obsession over JFK but he wasn't as brooding as he was in S1 and definitely didn't seem as sharp as he was in S1. S2 seemingly wanted to bring more comedy into it, which I have no problem with, but it's a little odd to “dumb” down some of the characters to pull off comedic moments as funny as they were.

S2 Luther: Boo hoo my sister is married to a man when I want to date her also I'm kind of just following everyone around and not contributing a whole lot🧍

S2 Diego: Oh my god I can save JFK and not think about the consequences of messing up the timeline even more by not letting him die because I want to save the president just because I saw him on tv when I landed in the 60s!! This would be even funnier to think about if the Hargreeves are Canadian and Diego just thought "No way, I gotta save this US president from an assassination holy shit"

S2 Klaus: So hey uh my boyfriend is alive again and I'm going to just follow him around to try to save his life and do a few little cult things here and there and get chased by cult members and be the comedic punching bag again🧍

I really liked @christopher-the-cube 's tags because I think people forget that Luther is a legit astronaut and presumably pilot?? Technically we don't know what training Luther since he presumably he went to the moon trough Reginald’s technology and not NASA, but he at least has to know some advanced science and most likely had pilot training. It would be awesome to see him correct Five's math or contribute to Five working with math at some point.

Um Tumblr has now broke for me and I can’t insert screenshots now but @lazywolfeyes brought up a good point that it seems like Luther was “dumbed” down in S2 to try to make him more appealing to fans since a lot of people hated him in S1 and I 100% have to agree

“I thought Luther was hilarious in S2 and Tom has serious comedic chops but I suspect the dumbing down was to make Luther “softer” after the vitriol aimed at him from certain fans after s1 & to make him more likeable… but they are in danger of flanderising him if this trend continues. 

This is why I really wish fans wouldn’t have the influence they have on tv and film because they can alter characters and storylines. A bunch of loud fans on social media are not writers and should not be taken as seriously as they often are.”

So I really hope that S3 is going back to a more gritty and darker tone instead of the more comedic and lighter tone S2 had. And like @lazywolfeyes said, if they continue to push Luther down the path of becoming a repeated comic relief instead of his S1 self then it’s just going to tarnish the bold character he was in S1 and ruin the potential he has. This also applies to Diego and especially Klaus too, but I’m more concerned about the sudden change they gave Luther in S2

[suituuup]

comme une idylle

Beca gets an odd request from a stranger while in Paris

rating: G

word count: 2801

happy birthday @green-eyed-weirdo​  🥰 I hope you like it!

moodboard and beta by the lovely @snowonebutyou

ao3 link

*

“Dude, is this really necessary?”

Stacie hums. “It’s French fashion.”

Beca rolls her eyes. “I feel like if that were true, we would have seen some people wearing it by now. This just screams ‘I’m an American tourist’ to me.”

Stacie ignores her, adjusting the beret over her head as she stands in front of the mirror. “I think I look sexy with this. Very… chic.”

“Great. If you decide to walk around with that and a baguette under your arm I’m going solo on our tour.”

Stacie plucks another beret from the shelf and screws it over Beca’s head. “Aw, you look like Gavroche.”

“Fuck you, dude,” Beca mutters, taking it off and flattening her hair with her palm as she places the hat back in its initial spot. “I’m hungry.”

“You’re always hungry,” Stacie points out, and Beca can’t really contradict her.

Once Stacie has finally picked one of those ridiculous hats, they head up the cobblestone street and find themselves a brasserie (one of those restaurants where you can get just a drink or have a full meal) for lunch. It’s pretty hot (a bit too hot for Beca’s taste, but she’s hopefully applied enough sunscreen not to resemble a lobster by the end of the day) in Paris that day, but they find shelter under one of those huge parasols, a gentle breeze sweeping in ever so often as they gaze at the food options.

Melodic giggles draw Beca’s focus away from the badly translated menu and towards two tables over to her left. They belong to a redhead, who just happens to be as radiant as her laughter, and Beca finds herself staring a beat too long, catching Stacie’s attention.

“She’s cute.”

Beca’s cheeks heat up as soon as she realizes she’s been caught, and she looks back at her menu so quickly something in her neck twitches. She clears her throat. “What are you talking about?”

“Aww, you adorable baby bisexual. You should go talk to her. Or buy her a drink.”

“Dude, no,” Beca hisses.

Stacie is silent for a few beats, clearly listening in. “She’s American.”

Beca makes a noncommittal sound. “And?”

Stacie leans over, a smirk curving her lips. “Imagine how romantic it would be, you two meeting in Paris and finding each other again in the States. That’s Nicholas Sparks shit right here.”

Beca finds Stacie’s eyes over the menu. “You seem to have forgotten a slight detail: I don’t know how to talk to women.”

Stacie’s eyes roll skyward. “Maybe you should try.”

The waiter thankfully puts a temporary end to the conversation, and once he’s gone with their orders, Beca sees that so is the redhead and her friend.

“Well, there goes your Parisian romance,” Stacie says, sighing softly.

Beca doesn’t really think about the stranger again, not until the end of the day. Stacie insists on heading to the Eiffel Tower to catch the sunset (and probably take a bunch of pictures for her influencer Instagram account), and Beca ignores her aching feet, feeling like she’s already been complaining a lot today.

“Hi there.”

Beca twists her head to the left to find the stranger from the cafe. Her blue eyes nearly make her stumble. “Um, hi?”

“So this might sound really weird, but I’ve always wanted a romantic picture in front of the Eiffel Tower and my boyfriend just dumped me before this trip and well, I was wondering if you’d pose with me?”

That’s a lot of information in five seconds, and Beca blinks twice in slow succession. “Pose, as in…?”

“As in, kiss me?”

She hears Stacie gasp beside her and doesn’t even want to spare her a glance. Her ears feel like they just caught on fire and her voice is nowhere to be found.

It’s only when Stacie jabs her elbow into her ribs that Beca says something. “I, uh, I-- what?”

Well, close to saying something.

The other woman giggles. “You’re really cute. And I asked if you’d like to take a photo with me.”

“Kissing,” Beca echoes, just to make sure.

The redhead grimaces. “Sorry, you’re totes creeped out. I’ll find someone else.”

“She’ll do it,” Stacie announces before Beca can say anything else.

“What, dude,” Beca interjects.

“If you don’t I will,” Stacie mutters, and that shoves Beca into motion.

“Um yeah, sure,” she tells the stranger. A shaky nod. “I’ll do it.”

“Awes!” She hands Stacie her phone. “My friend Aubrey can take the pic.”

Beca notices the blonde standing off to the side and waves awkwardly before her friend slides her hand into hers and tugs her forward. Beca’s heart starts to race a little as they come to a stop at the top of the stairs splaying out over the Trocadero gardens.

“Wait, what’s your name?” The stranger asks, seemingly as an afterthought.

“Um, Beca,” Beca says.

“Nice to meet you, Beca. I’m Chloe.”

Beca nods, tongue poking out to wet her lips. “Cool. Cool, cool, cool. So um,” she wipes her hands over her jeans. “How should we…”

“I’ll just kiss you now,” Chloe says, amusement clear in her tone.

Beca wants to dig herself a hole. But that thought vanishes as soon as Chloe starts leaning in, and her eyes slam shut the moment those soft, full lips brush against hers in a gentle kiss. She hears herself humming as her head tilts forward to chase the remaining distance between them, pushing a firmer kiss against Chloe’s mouth. It’s Chloe’s turn to make a sound this time, and Beca nearly forgets her own name.

She instantly forgets about the photo, and the fact that Chloe is a stranger, too caught up in how good this feels to really care. She does, however, come to her senses when she starts to lack oxygen and pulls away with a sheepish smile, her cheeks flaming.

“Damn…” Chloe murmurs, eyes alight. “I picked well.”

Beca clears her throat and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, avoiding her eyes. “Glad I could be of service,” she mumbles with an awkward salute.

(yes, yes, a goddamn salute because she’s a fucking dork.)

Chloe giggles and Beca suddenly feels high on the sound. “Too bad my friend and I have to leave tonight. I could have definitely gone for an encore performance.”

Beca isn’t sure how redder her face can get before it matches the shade of her plaid shirt. “That’s uh, too bad.”

“Well thanks for doing it for me,” Chloe says with a wink, then kisses her cheek. “Bye, Beca.”

“Bye,” Beca murmurs, somewhat still in a kiss-induced daze as she watches her go.

“Holy crap, dude,” Stacie says when she catches up with her. “You totally made out with her.”

Beca chuckles, rubbing the back of her neck. “We um, got carried away?”

Stacie punches her arm. “Tell me you got her number.”

Beca shakes her head. “She probably lives like, in LA or something.”

“Oh my god, you’re such an idiot.”

Beca has to agree; she’s the biggest idiot in the world.

The rest of their trip goes smoothly. Beca only has to listen to Stacie having sex once, which is a wonder, considering it’s Stacie, and the two fly back to New York at the end of the week, heads filled with good memories of their trip abroad.

“I still can’t believe you didn’t ask for her number,” Stacie says as they walk out of the arrival gate at JFK.

“Oh my god, would you let it go?” Beca groans, tilting her head back.

“She was so hot.”

“I know,” Beca whines. “But I won’t find her again so let’s just not talk about it anymore.”

“Fine.”

It’s a few days later, as she’s aimlessly scrolling through TikTok as she does every night before bed, that Beca sees it. She almost scrolls past it because ugh, couples, but the yellow summer dress and red hair catch her attention and have her sitting up with a jolt. Her breathes hitches in her throat as she reads the caption:

I hope this cute girl I met in Paris and asked for a pic of us kissing so I could pretend I had a romantic time in France sees this so I can take her out on a date

The video blew up, counting over a million likes and fifteen thousand comments. Her trembling thumb presses on the comment section.

Okay, TikTok, do your thing, we need to find this girl!!

Omg they’re so cute

Imagine they find each other!!

Beca swallows, licking her suddenly dry lips. “Imagine…” she breathes out as she presses on Chloe’s profile picture, hits follow, and then taps Message.

Hey, so… it’s Beca. The girl from Paris?

She locks her phone right after hitting send and buries her face in her palms, emitting a low groan. Her phone pinging less than a minute later makes her heart pound against her ribs. She reaches for it and peeks at the screen with one eye.

omg, hi!! it’s really you?

She figures maybe a few people have sent Chloe a message because hello, who wouldn’t, pretending it was her. So Beca thinks proving it is really her could be a good thing.

If by me you mean the dork who freaking saluted you after our kiss, yep that’s me.

Beca bites down on her bottom lip as she watches the three dots pop up on the screen.

I can’t believe it worked! I’ve been thinking about you a lot since that day.

Butterflies go off in her belly, and before Beca can ponder on how cheesy this is, she’s typing something back.

Me too. That was um, a really good kiss. And you’re pretty.

Oh god, I’m facepalming so hard right now. Sorry I… don’t really know how to talk to girls.

To her surprise, Chloe doesn’t seem put off by it.

You’re very cute. May I ask where you live?

Beca doesn’t want to get her hopes up, because the States are fucking huge, and she doesn’t see herself jumping into a long-distance whatever.

NYC. You?

I go to vet school in Ithaca.

Ithaca. Beca knows it’s in the state, but she googles how close just to make sure. Another message from Chloe comes through.

I’m usually in the city once a month since my best friend lives there. Would you… like to go out on a date when I’m around?

“Dude, chill out,” she mutters to herself when she feels a wave of warmth encompass her entire being.

Sure, yeah. I’d like that.

They exchange numbers and end up texting for most of the evening until Chloe announces she has to head to bed because she has an early lecture the following morning.

Beca is about to turn off the lights too, that idiotic smile still stuck to her lips, when her phone buzzes with a text message from Stacie.

DUDE!!! Watch this NOW

A TikTok link follows, and Beca knows what it is before she even opens it.

Wow. This really blew up, huh.

Stacie’s reply comes through less than five seconds later. That’s all you have to say?! Tell me you’re going to message her. I got dibs on Maid of Honor at your wedding, btw.

Beca rolls her eyes. She ponders telling Stacie but decides to keep Chloe to herself for a while. I’ll think about it.

She’s a fidgeting mess the morning leading up to their date. Chloe told her to meet her by the River Cafe in Dumbo, and Beca has spent entirely too much time deciding on what to wear, which really never happens.

Chloe is already there when she makes it to the park, and Beca buries her hands into her jacket pockets to keep them from wringing together. Chloe doesn’t see her right away, gazing up at the Brooklyn Bridge instead.

“Do you have a thing for iconic iron monuments?” She teases as she approaches, catching Chloe’s attention. She narrows her eyes playfully. “Are you gonna try and kiss me again?” A gasp flies past her lips as she exaggeratedly lies a hand over her chest. “Are you just using me to go viral on TikTok?”

Chloe giggles. “You’re a dork,” she says, grinning. “Hi.”

“Hey,” Beca breathes out, relaxing her shoulders as she smiles back.

“You like ice cream?” Chloe asks, nodding towards the vendor across the grassy area.

“Sure,” Beca says, and they fall into a step towards it. She takes her brain for something to say before things get awkward, but Chloe beats her to it.

“So what’s it like being a TikTok sensation?”

Beca barks out a laugh. “Amazing. One of my life goals for sure,” she jokes, cutting Chloe an amused glance.

Chloe giggles. “I honestly didn’t think it would blow up. But I’m glad it did ‘cause not finding you would have sucked.”

Beca clears her throat, looking down for a second. “Me too. I was really beating myself up for not asking for your number back in Paris.”

Chloe’s lips curve in a small smile, and she looks like she’s about to say something, but it’s their turn to order.

Ice creams in hand, they settle down on the grass to enjoy them. The weather is nice, not too hot with a gentle breeze rolling by once in a while.

“So what are some of your life goals, then?” Chloe asks once they’ve sat down.

“Making a living out of music is the main one,” she says. “I work as assistant producer right now, but the job is pretty crappy.”

“I may or may not have stalked your Instagram,” Chloe admits next. “You have an amazing voice.”

“Oh,” Beca lets out, feeling her cheeks heat up. “Thanks.” She clears her throat. “You’re into music?” Strangely something that hadn’t come up during their texting.

Chloe nods, smiling. “I was in an acapella group in college.”

Beca’s eyebrows shoot up, and she laughs before she can help herself. “Wait, seriously? You’re an acapella nerd?”

Chloe shoves her shoulder, laughing as well. “Shut up.”

“I guess we all make questionable choices in college, huh?”

Chloe huffs, throwing Beca a glare. Beca spots a sprinkle of amusement in her eyes, so she doesn’t think Chloe is truly mad.

“I’m just messing with you,” she says, softening. “I think any kind of music is neat. And singing without instruments is actually pretty impressive.”

“Thanks,” Chloe says lightly. “There’s just… something about music, you know. It soothes the soul and makes you escape the real world for a few minutes.”

A genuine smile curves Beca’s lips. It’s exactly how she would describe what music does to her. “Yeah.”

She eyes Chloe’s profile, still a little bit struck over the fact that this gorgeous girl is on a date with her.

“What?” Chloe asks with curiosity swirling in her eyes when she catches Beca staring.

Beca blinks. “Nothing. I…” she clears her throat. “You’re just really pretty.” She scrunches up her nose. “See? I’m awkward as fuck.”

Chloe chuckles and slides her hand into Beca’s free one. “I think it’s cute.”

Beca grumbles. “I’m not cute, I’m badass.”

Their time together flies by as they learn more about one another, Beca even managing to convince Chloe to show her some acapella videos. The sun sets without either realizing and the park is near empty, save for a couple strolling by in the distance.

“I should head back to Aubrey’s,” Chloe says when it gets a bit chillier. “I said I’d be home for dinner.”

Beca is a bit disappointed, but she nods, smiling. “Okay.”

She pushes to her feet and helps Chloe to hers, her eyes dropping to Chloe’s lips once they’re both standing.

“You know… I didn’t really care about the video,” Chloe murmurs, stepping closer. “I saw you at the restaurant and thought you were really cute. When I spotted you again later, I had to think of something.”

Beca raises an eyebrow. “I noticed you at the restaurant, too.”

“I know. You weren’t being very subtle.”

Beca huffs. “Shut up.”

Chloe simply laughs, her eyes sweeping down to Beca’s lips before she leans in. Beca is a lot less nervous this time around, and she hums as those familiar lips glide over hers flawlessly, her hands bunching up in Chloe’s top as she holds her waist. It’s over way too soon for her liking, but she has to remind herself they’re in public, and how she’ll probably get to do that again very soon.

“See you soon?” Chloe murmurs when they part, brushing her nose against Beca’s.

Beca nods and squeezes her waist. “Yeah.”

With one last kiss, she watches Chloe go in a similar state of a daze as in Paris.

Something tells her this is the start of something amazing.

[zontiky]

okay so i tried to save this ask as a draft and it got deleted because tumblr is just such a functional website like that <3 but the prompt was “the hargreeves as ghosts in the apocalypse with five” or something like that i’m going to scream

this is SUPER long so i’m putting it under the cut hfkjsd

pre-five: the hargreeves siblings are dead. wait i feel a drabble coming on ooh

The Hargreeves siblings are dead.

Ben isn’t very aware of this at first. He’s been dead since 2006 -- he’s quite used to it, by now. What he is aware of, first, is light. Blinding white light. And Vanya, in the middle of it. He doesn’t close his eyes because he can’t feel pain, but if he could he thinks she would have made him blind. There’s light, and heat, and power, and then he closes his eyes anyway because the ceiling is collapsing around him and it’s instinctual.

When he opens them again he sees ash. Ash -- and Klaus.

He’s gotten used to Klaus, too. Klaus has a memorable sort of face; even if he didn’t, Ben has seen it every single day for almost twenty years. He doesn’t know if it’s actually been twenty years, for him. He doesn’t know how time moves for ghosts. Klaus has assured him it moves the same as it does for the living. Ben isn’t sure Klaus, stoned out of his mind, bleeding sluggishly from his arm, knew what he was talking about.

Anyway.

Klaus.

He’s wearing the coat he’s been flaunting around for the past week. His shirt is see-through, with little stars on it, like a pale imitation of the sky. Ben remembers his pants had laces on them, he’s sure they did not a minute ago, before the brightness that threatened to wipe out his very soul -- his soul is all he has left, really. His gaze drifts down anyway, to check.

Yes. Klaus’ pants have laces up the sides.

“No,” Ben says. Klaus is laying in a heap on the ground, his fingers curled like his tendons have been cut.

His lips feel numb because they always feel numb. Because Ben can’t feel at all. He takes a step. “No,” he says again, louder, surer. “No!”

Klaus looks up at him. His makeup is smudged, like it tends to be. His lips are bitten raw, like they tend to be. His hair is a mess, like it tends to be, and like it will be, always, because Klaus isn’t breathing.

Klaus is lying in a heap on the ground. Klaus is standing above his own body. Klaus is reaching for Ben like he’s hoping to touch him for the first time in years. Just when Klaus’ cold, dead, fingers brush his face, a voice from behind says, so quietly, dripping with disbelief: “Ben?”

Ben shuts his eyes and wishes desperately he could cry.

He feels a hand on his shoulder, for the first time in so, so long, but he also doesn’t feel it at all. He feels-but-doesn’t-feel someone turn him around, until they are saying, “Ben? Ben!” and he has no choice but to open his eyes and face the music.

Diego is gripping his shoulders like he is a dying man and Ben is the answer. Behind him, Luther and Allison watch them, stunned silent. Allison’s hands are pressed to her mouth. She looks like she wants to cry. 

And Vanya. Little Vanya, painted white. Her head is hung as her shoulders shake with the weight of the destruction she has so inevitably caused. (Ben would say he always knew she was destined for great things -- but he can’t, because he didn’t.) (Nobody ever said great things had to be good.)

The Hargreeves siblings are dead. Their bodies are strewn across what is left of their childhood home, smouldering and burning, and Ben is very aware of that fact.

righto anyway. so they have an emotional reunion but its also kind of bitter? id have to actually write this for it to make sense so lets skip it for now lol

five shows up

he cannot see them obviously bc theyre all ghosts

god if i did write this it would be such a monster of a fic and would take me like 2 years to finish i already know fhkjdsk

somehow ?? they manage to influence the world around them maybe? idk maybe now that klaus is dead hes sober

or maybe hes high for all eternity?

for the purposes of this au lets say he died sober or in the late stages of withdrawal, and bc ghosts cant feel pain in action hes sober

so EVENTUALLY they figure out how to corporealize bc klaus is like blam wham ghost powers

asdlfk that sounds so stupid im sorry

he would say that tho imho,,, it sounds like something hed say,,,

if i DID write this it would be alternating povs also,,,

ok so out of all of them klaus and ben have the most experience homeless

and while being stuck in an apocalypse is not at all the same thing as being homeless it does help to have some knowledge

five doesnt eat the twinkie!! good for him

dammit okay. theres 2 options we can take here. in the comics five couldnt get back bc he fucked up his math and spent 15 years doing the wrong thing, but if u apply that here, with 6 other ppl checking his work this could be avoided and they end up skipping the whole assassin shtick and just hopping straight back to 2019, ready to prevent the apocalypse

OR five still gets hired for the commission but the sibs are tagging along

i think bc five isnt completely alone in this au unfortunately dolores doesnt exist :((

for each other the 2 paths tho theres also options?? bc they (ghosts) can go back in time and inhabit their past selves bodies? OR they could just,,, cease to exist

IM JUST NOW REALIZING HOW MANY PATHS THIS COULD TAKE,, AAH FUCK

okay gonna split this into parts. this is gonna be so long brace yourselves.

1) they go back in time because math checking and the ghosts swap out for their past selves

after multiple years of being stuck in an apocalypse together i think they would learn to get along with each other. like at least a little bit

which would make it easier for them to prevent the apocalypse

bc theyd:

trust each other more

already know abt the apocalypse and not have to wait for five to grace them all with his knowledge

are working as a team from the very beginning

have open lines of communication

yeah uh. so there

vanya is also already aware of her powers so the whole harold goading her into turning against her family and snapping to wipe out all life on earth thing? yeah that doesnt happen

oh and harold wouldn’t know how to do that in the first place because klaus wouldn’t throw out reggie’s journal! this solves so many problems wtf

there’s still commission issues bc they (and by they i mean five) are on the commission’s radar

so there’s still dope fight scenes sdlkfd pinky promise

okay idk. they stop the apocalypse and everything is okay the end hfkjd

2) they fix the math but only five can go back and the ghosts cease to exist

this is just sad! it would be sad okay! im sad! lets move on

subset of the past one: ben CAN go back with five because he was already dead and time travel affects them differently or something idk

aaaaaa

five & ben dynamic duo would be dope as shit BUT five would not be able to see him... so they use klaus as a middleman fjsdsfd

is there 2 bens? is one ben deleted in favor of the time-traveling ben? i dont know! i dont know my brain is melting

either way shit is happening yall!! obviously klaus is clued in, directly or indirectly it doesnt matter but he is on board the ‘don’t let the entire world end in flames’ train

3) they join the commission and then when five goes back in time they all go back

this is fun because now five is a highly trained assassin who is also lowkey a complete marshmallow for his siblings and once again TEAMWORK WOO

basically the first path but now five has a gun fhsdjk

4) they join the commission but five has to leave them behind and they cease to exist

five with a gun but hes sad now

i didnt go into how much losing his siblings would suck in the prev path but like. it would suck so much. he’s already lost them once if you think about it when he time traveled the first time and yeah he found the adult ghost versions but,, its different

and now suddenly hes stuck with these strange adult versions of the people he knows and he KNOWS them but also he doesnt? at all? they dont have all the years of shared experiences together? and theyre all grown up from the first ‘set’ of siblings he had which for five was like 40+ years ago??

SCREAMS

i have losing my mind disease (self-diagnosed)

subset: five has to leave them behind but they still exist because the commission is out-of-time kind of? idk but they’re still floating around somewhere and come back to impact the plot later or something

yeah idk. literally just wrote them down bc i didnt want them to die^2 hfkjwehd

subset: they still exist but instead of being just Somewhere they’re specifically at the assassination of JFK onwards because thats where five left them and they either go on ghosting and make an appearance in s2 OR they cease because them-wise they havent died yet but that doesnt make sense because ghosts can time travel so nevermind

i dont have the brain energy left to explore this one aaaa

okay jesus christ i think that’s all

I DON’T KNOW. i don’t know. i might write some more of this because honestly it is a very fine flavor of angst + hurt/comfort <3

[arcticdementor]

Martin Gurri's The Revolt Of The Public is from 2014, which means you might as well read the Epic of Gilgamesh. It has a second-edition-update-chapter from 2017, which might as well be Beowulf. The book is about how social-media-connected masses are revolting against elites, but the revolt has moved forward so quickly that a lot of what Gurri considers wild speculation is now obvious fact. I picked up the book on its "accurately predicted the present moment" cred, but it predicted the present moment so accurately that it's barely worth reading anymore. It might as well just say "open your eyes and look around".

…

In conclusion, 2011 was a weird year.

Gurri argues all of this was connected, and all of it was a sharp break from what came before. These movements were essentially leaderless. Some had charismatic spokespeople, like Daphni Leef in Israel or Tahrir-Square-Facebook-page-admin Wael Ghonim in Egypt, but these people were at best the trigger that caused a viral movement to coalesce out of nothing. When Martin Luther King marched on Washington, he built an alliance of various civil rights groups, unions, churches, and other large organizations who could turn out their members. He planned the agenda, got funding, ran through an official program of speakers, met with politicians, told them the legislation they wanted, then went home. The protests of 2011 were nothing like that. They were just a bunch of people who read about protests on Twitter and decided to show up.

Also, they were mostly well-off. Gurri hammers this in again and again. Daphni Leef had just graduated from film school, hardly the sort of thing that puts her among the wretched of the earth. All of these movements were mostly their respective countries' upper-middle classes; well-connected, web-savvy during an age when that meant something. Mostly young, mostly university-educated, mostly part of their countries' most privileged ethnic groups. Not the kind of people you usually see taking to the streets or building tent cities.

Some of the protests were more socialist and anarchist than others, but none were successfully captured by establishment strains of Marxism or existing movements. Many successfully combined conservative and liberal elements. Gurri calls them nihilists. They believed that the existing order was entirely rotten, that everyone involved was corrupt and irredeemable, and that some sort of apocalyptic transformation was needed. All existing institutions were illegitimate, everyone needed to be kicked out, that kind of thing. But so few specifics that socialists and reactionaries could march under the same banner, with no need to agree on anything besides "not this".

…

Gurri isn't shy about his contempt for this. Not only were these some of the most privileged people in their respective countries, but (despite the legitimately-sucky 2008 recession), they were living during a time of unprecedented plenty. In Spain, the previous forty years had seen the fall of a military dictatorship, its replacement with a liberal democracy, and a quintupling of GDP per capita from $6000 to $32000 a year - "in 2012, four years into the crisis there were more cell phones and cars per person in Spain than in the US". The indignado protesters in Spain had lived through the most peaceful period in Europe's history, an almost unprecedented economic boom, and had technologies and luxuries that previous generations could barely dream of. They had cradle-to-grave free health care, university educations, and they were near the top of their society's class pyramids. Yet they were convinced, utterly convinced, that this was the most fraudulent and oppressive government in the history of history, and constantly quoting from a manifesto called Time For Outrage!

So what's going on?

Our story begins (says Gurri) in the early 20th century, when governments, drunk on the power of industrialization, sought to remake Society in their own image. This was the age of High Modernism, with all of its planned cities and collective farms and so on. Philosopher-bureaucrat-scientist-dictator-manager-kings would lead the way to a new era of gleaming steel towers, where society was managed with the same ease as a gardener pruning a hedgerow.

…

Realistically this was all a sham. Alan Greenspan had no idea how to prevent recessions, scientific progress was slowing down, poverty remained as troubling as ever, and 50% of public school students stubbornly stayed below average. But the media trusted the government, the people trusted the media, and failures got swept under the rug by genteel agreement among friendly elites, while the occasional successes were trumpeted from the rooftops.

There was a very interesting section on JFK’s failure at the Bay of Pigs. Kennedy tried to invade Cuba, but the invasion failed very badly, further cementing Castro’s power and pushing him further into the Soviet camp. Representatives of the media met with Kennedy, Kennedy was very nice to them, and they all agreed to push a line of “look, it’s his first time invading a foreign country, he tried his hardest, give him a break.” This seems to have successfully influenced the American public, so much so that Kennedy’s approval rating increased five points, to 83%, after the debacle!

…

In Gurri's telling, High Modernism had always been a failure, but the government-media-academia elite axis had been strong enough to conceal it from the public. Starting in the early 2000s, that axis broke down. People could have lowered their expectations, but in the real world that wasn't how things went. Instead of losing faith in the power of government to work miracles, people believed that government could and should be working miracles, but that the specific people in power at the time were too corrupt and stupid to press the "CAUSE MIRACLE" button which they definitely had and which definitely would have worked. And so the outrage, the protests - kick these losers out of power, and replace them with anybody who had the common decency to press the miracle button!

…

Any system that hasn't solved every problem is illegitimate. Solving problems is easy and just requires pressing the "CAUSE MIRACLE" button. Thus the protests. In 2011, enough dry tinder of anger had built up that everywhere in the world erupted into protest simultaneously, all claiming their respective governments were illegitimate. These protests were necessarily vague and leaderless, because any protest-leader would fall victim to the same crisis of authority and legitimacy that national leaders were suffering from. Any attempt to make specific demands would be pilloried because those specific demands wouldn't unilaterally end homelessness or racism or inequality or whatever else. The only stable state was a sort of omni-nihilism that refused to endorse anything.

(I’m reminded of Tanner Greer’s claim that the great question of modernity is not “what can I accomplish?” or “how do I succeed?” but rather “how do I get management to take my side?”)

Gurri calls our current government a kind of "zombie democracy". The institutions of the 20th century - legislatures, universities, newspapers - continue to exist. But they are hollow shells, stripped of all legitimacy. Nobody likes or trusts them. They lurch forward, mimicking the motions they took in life, but no longer able to change or make plans or accomplish new things.

…

How do we escape this equilibrium? Gurri isn't sure. His 2017 afterword says he thinks we're even more in it now than we were in 2014. But he has two suggestions.

First, cultivate your garden. We got into this mess by believing the government could solve every problem. We're learning it can''t. We're not going to get legitimate institutions again until we unwind the overly high expectations produced by High Modernism, and the best way to do that is to stop expecting government to solve all your problems. So cultivate your garden. If you're concerned about obesity, go on a diet, or volunteer at a local urban vegetable garden, or organize a Fun Run in your community, do anything other than start a protest telling the government to end obesity. This is an interesting contrast to eg Just Giving, which I interpret as having the opposite model - if you want to fight obesity, you should work through the democratic system by petitioning the government to do something; trying to figure out a way to fight it on your own would be an undemocratic exercise of raw power. Gurri is recommending that we tear that way of thinking up at the root.

Second, start looking for a new set of elites who can achieve legitimacy. These will have to be genuinely decent and humble people - Gurri gives the example of George Washington. They won't claim to be able to solve everything. They won't claim the scientific-administrative mantle of High Modernism. They'll just be good honorable people who will try to govern wisely for the common good. Haha, yeah right.

…

Gurri divides the world between the Center and the Border. He thinks the Center - politicians, experts, journalists, officials - will be in a constant retreat, and the Border - bloggers, protesters, and randos - on a constant advance. His thesis got a boost when Brexit and Trump - both Border positions - crushed and embarrassed their respective Centers. But since then I'm not sure things have been so clear. The blogosphere is in retreat (maybe Substack is reversing this?), but the biggest and most mainstream of mainstream news organizations, like the New York Times are becoming more trusted and certainly more profitable. The new President of the US is a boring moderate career politician. The public cheers on elite censorship of social media. There haven't been many big viral protests lately except Black Lives Matter and the 1/6 insurrection, and both seemed to have a perfectly serviceable set of specific demands (defunding the police, decertifying the elections). Maybe I've just grown used to it, but it doesn't really feel like a world where a tiny remnant of elites are being attacked on all sides by a giant mob of entitled nihilists.

…

At the risk of being premature or missing Gurri's point, I want to try telling a story of how the revolt of the public and the crisis of legitimacy at least partially stalled.

Gurri talks a lot about Center and Border, but barely even mentions Left and Right. Once you reintroduce these, you have a solution to nihilism. The Left can come up with a laundry list of High Modernist plans that they think would solve all their problems, and the Right can do the same. Then one or the other takes control of government, gets thwarted by checks/balances/Mitch McConnell, and nothing happens. No American Democrat was forced to conclude that just because Obama couldn't solve all their problems, the promise of High Modernism was a lie. They just concluded that Obama could have solved all their problems, but the damn Republicans filibustered the bill. Likewise, the Republicans can imagine that Donald Trump would have made America great again if the media and elites and Deep State hadn't been blocking him at every turn. Donald Trump himself tells them this is true!

With this solution in place, you can rebuild trust in institutions. If you're a Republican, Fox News is trustworthy because it tells you the ways Democrats are bad. Some people say it's biased or inaccurate, but those people are Democrats or soft-on-Democrat RINO traitors. And if you're a Democrat, academic experts are completely trustworthy, and if someone challenges them you already know those challenges must be vile Republican lies. Lack of access to opposing views has been replaced with lack of tolerance for opposing views. And so instead of the public having to hate all elites, any given member of the public only needs to hate half of the elites.

You could think of this as a mere refinement of Gurri. But it points at a deeper critique. Suppose that US left institutions are able to maintain legitimacy, because US leftists trust them as fellow warriors in the battle against rightism (and vice versa). Why couldn't one make the same argument about the old American institutions? People liked and trusted the President and Walter Cronkite and all the other bipartisan elites because they were American, and fellow warriors in the battle against Communism or terrorism or poverty or Saddam or whatever. If this is true, the change stops looking like the masses suddenly losing faith in the elites and revolting, and more like a stable system of the unified American masses trusting the unified American elites, fissioning into two stable systems of the unified (right/left) masses trusting the unified (right/left) elites. Why did the optimal stable ingroup size change from nation-sized to political-tribe-sized?

…

The one exception to my disrecommendation is that you might enjoy the book as a physical object. The cover, text, and photographs are exceptionally beautiful; the cover image - of some sort of classical-goddess-looking person (possibly Democracy? I expect if I were more cultured I would know this) holding a cell phone - is spectacularly well done. I understand that Gurri self-published the first edition, and that this second edition is from not-quite-traditional publisher Stripe Press. I appreciate the kabbalistic implications of a book on the effects of democratization of information flow making it big after getting self-published, and I appreciate the irony of a book about the increasing instability of history getting left behind by events within a few years. So buy this beautiful book to put on your coffee table, but don't worry about the content - you are already living in it.

[basementdwellercreaturefeature]

Current  DA2 Thoughts

Per usual, I have thoughts. 

TL;DR Anders fucked up but that doesn’t make him irredeemable. 

Jennifer Brandes Hepler said, “Personally, my view of it is that Anders wants to blow up the Chantry AND wants to die for it -- that way he gets the revolution he/Justice believes is necessary, but still gives justice to those who died in the Chantry.”

First, yes. People died in the Chantry explosion. Not like, 5 people. A lot of people. Not up for debate. Second, it didn’t start the revolution or the mage rebellion, it was a tragic loss of life. Also not up for debate. The following events of Inquisition confirm this, even if you don’t read any external Dragon Age content. Anders’ actions did not start a mage rebellion.

What Jennifer Brandes Hepler said here touched me though. Anders, like Solas and Loghain, and other controversial characters in the canon, walks his own Din'Anshiral and believes his death is the only atonement he can offer to the victims. With the prompting of Justice, he moves toward violence as a catalyst for his revolution. It’s an illogical move rather than a strategic move toward mages’ freedom. It really is not even discussed in DAI as a significant plot element regarding the Mage Rebellion. Frankly, Anders... it was dumb. Love you the most, but it was dumb.

So I am never going to argue that Anders was right in his final solution because I think the political climate of DAI objectively shows us that he wasn’t. Was he right regarding mages rights? Different topic, one too dense for one post. To me, his final decision doesn’t really matter when it comes him being redeemable/empathetic or not. You want to talk about the merits or issues of the Circle? The potential crimes of Kirkwall’s Chantry specifically? Fine, then whether or not he was “right” matters in the context of those discussions. However, in regards to character study and the merits of his redemption, I feel that him being right or wrong is irrelevant. Here is why.

Kirkwall is a dumpsterfire. Weakened Veil, wealth disparity, alienages, blood mages and Abominations running rampant, poor control of both the Circle AND the Templars, abuse of both, overwhelming refugee influx from the Blight, both Orsino and Meredith and their own brand of crazy, etc. What we have here is a chaotic clash of both magic and material. Basic, real world problems and fantasy RPG elements. Let’s throw fucking Anders in the mix, see what happens.

How would a mage joined with the spirit of Justice not go a little batshit being there?

And that’s just Justice standing alone. With the kinds of injustice present in Kirkwall? I mean, think about it. We aren’t even factoring in a traumatized ex-Warden whose blood may have tainted Justice (or his anger, we don’t know for sure) into Vengeance. Just Justice in itself would have been difficult. Frankly, I am amazed that he was even sane for as long as he was and able to do as much good as he did in his clinic.

Elements of Justice improved Anders, ironically. In DAA, we see a something of a fuckboy who loves his cat and runs away from responsibility and who probably likes Nickelback. In DA2, our first introduction to Anders is in his free healing clinic in an impoverished area where he is offering aide to refugees and Kirkwall’s maligned and he has definitely moved on to Nirvana. Big difference there. Would he have remained a non-violent advocate for mage freedom outside of Kirkwall’s magic influence and internal chaos? Unclear, but I find it interesting to think about. Sometimes in my personal head canon AU Hawke got him out of there and they moved to a farm with cats before it all went to shit. 

JFK said, “Those who make peaceful revolution impossible will make violent revolution inevitable.” BLM taught me that when a group is oppressed long enough, when screaming from the rooftops and offering peaceful solution for decades doesn’t work, when years go by with no change, people get mad because they’re fucking human beings. So, when some protests engaged in looting and rioting and violence (even though it was minor and the news harped on it like a bunch of assholes) it didn’t invalidate the movement. What else do we expect when we ignore their cries for justice for so long? 

You shit on people for years and get surprised when it bothers them?

The question to me is not whether or not Anders was right... but is it fair to not expect this from him? In so many ways, that boy was setup to be a disaster. Childhood trauma, Circle trauma, becoming an Abomination after the taint, then the horrors of Kirkwall... Look at all these red flags we all ignored! But still, he works to improve the lives of refugees and mages in Kirkwall. Did our other companions do the same? No, they laugh off his pleas for mage freedom and dismiss him as a fanatic. What does that say about them? 

It’s strange to me that there is such a cry for empathy for Solas and not for Anders. People dismiss Solas’ actions because “he hasn’t done it yet” but he is advocating for the eradication of entire races knowingly and has already been partially responsible for hundreds of deaths in Haven and at the Conclave. Solas does this without being possessed by anything. Less of the argument with Solas I have noticed is whether or not he is “right” but more so if he is worthy of redemption because of player affinity, empathy, love in some cases. There’s a desire to save the Dread Wolf from himself, despite his past and future mistakes. Because his "intentions” are good and he wants to restore Arlathan. But with Anders, him being “right” often is the most discussed... as if redemption and grace has anything to do with that. Less popular is discussing the value of intentions. It appears to be a minority that want to reach out to the fucked up apostate idiot cat man and offer atonement despite all these external factors, which I think make mercy more... amiable? At least it did to me. The dissonance here is confusing and sometimes I wonder if it comes down to player preference. Solas is pretty damn smooth. Anders? Not so much. Complete dumpsterfire.

When romanced, Anders might be given the chance to live and atone, to come to terms with himself as an Abomination. Hawke can provide a more stable atmosphere and offer grace and mercy in the moments when he curses himself for joining with Justice and the chaos that decision wrought. Whether or not that is healthy or justified is up to the player to decide. But, I have to wonder what it would do to him seeing the mage rebellion prompted entirely by something else years later and the lack of revolution his actions caused. Mages reject him and his own self-hatred may be all-consuming at this point. While I love the idea of my favorite sewer-dwelling apostate and my kick-ass Hawke growing old together, it very likely would be an agonizing journey, ripe with toxicity and painful dynamics for both of them. Frankly, I have yet to decide what my canon decision is there. Thank the Maker its a video game and I can change my mind as often as I want to.

I see a lot of myself in Anders in a way I have yet to experience with other Dragon Age characters, so I can recognize that this factors into my level of empathy. But all the same, I wanted to share my thoughts. Even as someone who loves the guy, I can see that he is a complete fuck up who may be better off dead... then he is at least free. Unsure. What are your thoughts regarding fandom empathy and objectivity towards more controversial characters?  Now excuse me as I return to my Sewer Apostate Spotify playlist and cry for a good two hours looking and Handers fan art like an idiot I just feel for the guy.

[misadventures-of-balmy]

*Roleplays I am some asshole paid to write think pieces in response to a conversation with my dad’s “I don’t know what happened with everyone”*

Like all of you I have been wondering the last five years “How did we get here?” There’s been many think pieces, and hot takes. I’m sure we’ve all seen them, but to me they all come off as elite well to do people talking down on the poors for not being internet literate, or some other half baked rational that ignores the real issues at its core.

Confidence, it all comes back to confidence. These people are not stupid, they can see something is wrong, they aren’t happy after years of Republican rule, and the Democrat that was billed to bring change only brought more of the same.

I am not here to list all the ways that they are right but in the wrong ways.

But they lack the confidence to think outside of the box they were raised in. If you were subjected to american education you’d find a lot of history white washed. Settling the West good, Lincoln good, civil war bad, ending slavery good, WW1 bad, America good side, WW2 bad, America good side, Cuba bad, JFK good, JFK dead, Reagan LEGENDARY!!!! Etc etc

Now 40 years on from the 80s, we still experience the effects of so many of his policies. It’s safe to say that they have caused more harm than good. A generation of gay people erased, an unregulated financial systems, the spread of drugs into black american communities, the crack down on drugs afterwards, so much of our present today is soaked in the blood of Reagan’s decisions. His successors didn’t stray far either, even the fabled progressive Billiam Clinton didn’t stray far from his policies.

Bush Jr far exasperated all this, using 9/11 as a political spring board for multiple wars, and using the excuse to spy on Americans.

Obama continuing that to the point he personally ordered a drone strike to kill a teenage American boy because he MIGHT have been influenced by his dad, a fellow american who Obama also had extrajudicially killed.

My point is, they are right to say our system is broken and not helping anyone.

They are right to say politics is bullshit, and career politicians are only looking out for themselves.

They are right to dislike even hate Obama.

They are right to distrust mass media conglomerates.

They are right to loathe the “deep state” and the intelligence community.

They are right to not want anymore foreign wars.

They are right to hate our government and how it presently operates.

But their reasoning for doing so is wrong. Instead of holding up Obama’s warcrimes, they chose to follow a conspiracy theory claiming he wasn’t born here.

Because they lack the confidence to weather anything that presents even a slightly different take to them, they turn to alternative new sites that claim to be the truth “liberal media” doesn’t want to be heard. That in turn reinforces their crumbling world views, and gives them a false shred to cling to as they seek out conmen, and psuedo intellectuals to reassure themselves.

[sob-dylan]

4, 21?

4. do you think its ok to separate the artist from the art?

Oh boy. My opinion on this point changes a lot.  In an ask I answered a few days ago, I talked about how I think it’s important to view art as a marriage between authorial intent and viewer experience, rather than one dominating the other. But I guess in some regards, it depends on the what kind of art you’re talking about. 

I’m an architecture student (I guess you could argue that architecture is merely design, and not art, but whatever), so it’s pretty easy for me to say “yes! In fact, it’s imperative to separate art from the artist!” Architecture is a field that’s suffered from excessive emphasis on the authorship and rhetorical intent. I think that today, most architects would agree that user experience is light years more important that authorial intent. Just a couple months ago, during a review for a studio course, I spent a lot of time during my project presentation talking about all the different ways in which I honored the historical-modern blend of San Francisco’s SoMa district, (where my project was sited), particularly in regards to the facade design. One of the reviewers told me I was much too focused on the rhetoric behind my design, and not focused enough on the tangible, programmatic consequences of my design decisions. He was absolutely right! Looking back through history, this was an especially common problem in early modernist architecture. A famous example would be Philip Johnson's Glass House.

If you measure it’s artistic “success��� based solely on Johnson’s intent, it’s a masterpiece! ( At this point, I paused to go have an early dinner. During this time, I had quite a bit to drink, so if there’s any perceived shift of sorts at this point, that’s why! Sorry! ) It showcases both Johnson’s acute awareness of the prevailing aesthetic sensibilities of the time and his deep knowledge of architectural history, (it’s rife with Classical references). But if you choose to completely separate the art from the artist and judge it’s merit solely on the finished product . . . maybe it isn’t so great.  Perhaps it still can be regarded as an “aesthetic triumph,” but it’s got it’s problems. It’s a glass house in the middle of fucking Connecticut! What the fuck were you thinking, Philip Johnson! Thank god that now it’s only a museum and not a place that people actually have to live! No amount of “perfect geometry” is going to make this a comfortable place to inhabit. In fact, if I remember correctly, a lot the heavy-duty program for this project is actually underground, where climate control is much more manageable. Architecture may be an extreme example of why user experience could be considered more important than authorial intent— since the user experience of architecture, which has largely to do with bodily comfort, is (seemingly) more easily quantifiable and (perhaps) less subjective than the user experience of, say, a painting— but it’s extremity makes it the most salient. 

My understanding is that historically, in more scholarly circles, this question has had a lot to do with the “death of the author,” concerning whether or not an audience should consider authorial intent when consuming art. But it seems like, these days, especially on the internet, this question is usually meant to ask “is it okay to like art created by someone ‘problematic?’” To which my answer is 🤷‍♀️ I mean, I think Roman Polanski’s a horrible person but I also think Rosemary's Baby is a great movie. I wouldn’t call that separating the art from the artist, I would call that recognizing the merits of the film and the hard work of all of the decent people who collaborated on it, while also recognizing it was written and directed by a vile person. It’s important to regard everything and everyone with a critical eye. So while I don’t think you should ever totally disregard who produced a work of art and why, I also don’t think your opinion of an artist should determine whether or not you decide to consume their work, nor should it preclude you from recognizing it’s merits. And vice versa. Just because you love an artist doesn’t mean you should consume their art with a blind eye to all of the art’s/all of the artist’s shortcomings. (That being said, I’m not saying the reputation of the artist doesn’t/shouldn’t affect the user experience. If you know that you won’t be able to sit through a movie knowing it was written and directed by a child rapist, then by all means, don’t watch Rosemary’s Baby). In short, my opinion is: engage with any kind of art your interested in, but always engage with it critically. And if you’re worried about contributing to the wealth of someone you view as loathsome, you can get around that. In this day and age— for better or for worse— it’s pretty easy to consume art while making sure the artist doesn’t see a profit. Don’t want to influence Amazon’s decision to renew their licencing of a Roman Polanski movie, but still interested in what all the hype around Rosemary’s Baby is about? Then stream it illegally online! Mia Farrow’s great in it— I think it’s worth a watch! 

21. what’s a conspiracy you believe in?

I genuinely believe that the mafia had a hand in getting JFK elected. 

[zankivich]

The Arrangement: CEO’s Son/Dom!Shawn x Black Sub Reader Chapter 6

a/n: Hi. I know no one reads this so not really gonna bother. Like if you liked. Reblog if you care at all. Maybe buy my broke as a ko-fi so I can survive this semester? K bye. 

WARNINGS: Soft smut? 

*Shawn’s point of view*

A night out on the town is exactly what he needed. When his best friend Brian flew to town, it meant to clear his schedule and probably have 911 on speed dial for any ambulance like purposes. With the state of his relationship with his dad at the time, he was in desperate need for things to make sense again. And they weren’t. They just fucking weren’t. Enter Brian.

“Shawn motherfucking mendes! Did you miss me? Tell me you missed me!” His best friend snorted practically hopping into his arms in the middle of JFK

“Not enough to carry your dumb ass,  get the fuck of me!” He chuckled.

“I am so fucking excited to be back in this city man. The pussy is just something different out here, ya know? Now if only my best friend flew me out more than once a year.”

He threw Brian’s bags into the trunk of his car and ignored his best, but idioctic, friend.

“Yea, I invite your ass out here more than once a year and my dad will have both of our asses. That’s assuming you don’t kill us first.”

“You wake up in Tijuana one time, and suddenly I’m a bad influence?”

“We were in the fucking Bahamas, Brian!”

“So, not my sharpest moment! I got us home didn’t I?”

“No, jackass, my dad got us home. You got chlaymdia and a fucking sunburn. Now get in the car before I leave your ginger ass here!”

“Fair, that’s fair.”

Brian had been on his soccer team in the first grade. They’d been best friends ever since. When his dad moved the entire family out to California, Brian was with them for every holiday and every break they could find. The two were inseparable. Brian was a jackass, and he got Shawn into far more trouble than he did anything good. But he was his best friend. He’d been there for him, the first time his dad cheated on his mom. The first time he got his heart broken. When his dad had taken everything from him. So, there was a loyalty between the two of them that was unmatched. They’d do anything for each other. Anything.

So, there’s no one else he’d rather sit on his couch with in the middle of the afternoon and smoke the kind of weed that made your knees numb. That’s the kind of friendship he needed.

“What the fuck have you been up to lately?” Brian coughed around the bowl. “I haven’t heard from you in forever.”

He chuckled up at the ceiling which was maybe the most prettiest ceiling he’d ever seen. Wow.

“Man, my dad is totally up my ass about ‘ continuing his legacy’. I like ‘work’ now. Real shit. And then... I’ve been fucking honest to god the sexiest woman I’ve ever laid eyes on. Not enough hours in the day I guess.”

“Yea, what else is new?”

He shook his head. “Nah bro. You don’t understand. Like even I don’t know how I pulled her. She’s thirty years old. My dad’s fucking terrified of her. She got three of the top artists of the year under her belt, and she lets me make her cum until she passes out. It’s fucking addicting.”

Brian passed the bowl, and Shawn worked on taking three big hits, the smoke filling his lungs and taking over his whole body.

“Hold up. You’re fucking the same chick like...consistently? Since fucking when?”

“Since...Since she gave me the best orgasm of my entire life? Since...I don’t know, since my dad makes me so fucking stressed all the time I feel like I’m gonna explode. I mean it man, it’s bad. It’s worse than I ever could’ve imagined.”

Brian, for all the jackass that he definitely was, still turned to his friend and gave him a glance check of wellness. That glance to look for damage, to look for signs of mental distress, of pain. Brian knew. He always knew better than anyone.

“Then why don’t you just tell him to stick his job up his ass, man? You knew you didn’t want this from the beginning. You can get out from under him!”

They’d had this conversation since Shawn had turned twenty-one and his dad insisted he start learning the ropes. The company would be his one day, assuming he stuck it out until his old man keeled over.

“I can’t. He’s got me; we both know it. I either fall in line and get my inheritance next year, or I leave now and I’m fucked. H--He promised he’d give me my masters then. He promised.”

“Yea, but your dad is maybe the most evil bastard I’ve ever met. No offense. I just don’t want to see you waste your life away doing this shit that makes you unhappy only to find out that it wasn’t even worth it in the end.”

“I know man,” He responded glumly. “I know.”

Too somber of a topic for getting high, they each settle a little more bonelessly into the couch and lean on each other’s shoulders as the high take it’s full effect.

“So the Shawn Mendes is fucking the same girl on the daily? You two exclusive or something?”

“Nah man we just...have an understanding. We lead really stressed out lives. I kind of want to boss someone around a little bit, and she wants to not have to give any orders for a change. We just work well.” He shrugged.

“Oh, so it’s just casual sex then?”

“Yea...Casual. Sure.”

“Well, you don’t sound so sure.” Brian snorted. “You catching feelings or something?”

“No! No. I--I’m not, man. She’s just weird. She’s not like the girls I usually fuck around with. She’s a little harder to read.” He shrugged.

“No shit, man she’s fucking thirty!”

He didn’t know if he should tell Brian about Miami. About holding her during the show. How they slept together, just slept, in her hotel room. How it was the most well rested he’d felt in months. It wasn’t the conversations they usually had. Shawn hadn’t had a serious girlfriend in over three years, and there was a reason for that. Women were too much of a headache, always wanted more than you could give them. As long as he was single, he was in control. And it wasn’t like y/n even wanted to be with him. Half the time he couldn’t figure out if she hated him still, if she still viewed him as just an extension of his father. The part of him that wanted to change that, that wanted her to view him at something else, didn’t vibe well with the voice in his head that kept reminding him it wasn’t supposed to matter.

So, they get dressed up. Shawn orders them a car to stop at all the places in NYC that one only went to if they had money, power, fame, or some combo of the three. The city was his stomping ground of sorts. He felt good there, much better than he did in LA. Things can move just as fast in LA, but somehow it feels a little less artificial. Maybe it isn’t, maybe he’s an idiot, but he doesn’t really care. Just needs to not think for a while.

***

*y/n’s point of view*

Friendship dates are instrumental when you work together. It’s important to have a space that isn’t dominated by work or business. So, once a week, as long as your schedule permitted it, you and Tiana would just go for best friend time. It could be  drinks, dinner, a movie, a yoga class when you were both feeling particularly dumb. On this week’s agenda you were taking a sculpting class. You liked clay, and Tiana liked the fact that they served wine. It was easily a win-win situation.

“So… How was Florida?”

Your hands stumbled on the piece of clay you had been in the middle of scoring and you definitely ripped a whole in it. Idiot.

“Florida? Why do you ask? What happened in Florida? Nothing.”

She raised an eyebrow and stared at you like you were crazy. Maybe you were crazy.

“Bitch is you crazy?” She snorted.

Fair.

“Bitch you the one asking dumb ass questions.”

“Mhmmm . . . So I spoke to Mike the other day.”

You paused in your work and looked over to see her twirling her little wine glass in her hands like the rude little gremlin she was.

“Is that so?” You huffed. “Spit it out, wench.”

“Oh don’t mind me. My niggas barely uber to see me. Let alone fly by jet.”

“Oh for fucks sake. You and Mike gossip more than my mama and her friends.”

She cackled and took a sip from her glass. “And we love it, sis! Now if you don’t unbunch your soaked ass panties and start sharing details, I swear fo’ god. What are best friends for anyway?”

“There is nothing to tell, heffer.” you sighed going back to your precious clay. “He just needed some very specific release and came to Miami to get it.”

“Yea? Well Mike says he stayed through Orlando.”

“Mike needs to keep his mouth shut before he gets fired.”

“Why would you lie to me of all people. Who am I gone tell about you and Shawn Mendes’ rendezvous?”

You rolled your eyes and threw your tools to the table. In hindsight, Shawn had been burning a whole in your mind the past few months. And you hadn’t talked about it all, had no one you could really share it with. Tiana was your ride or die. If there was anyone in the world you could talk to? It was her.

“Okay. Okay fine.” You sighed. “I was kidding though. He was really frustrated and he didn’t want to wait for me to come back to NYC. So I jokingly told him he could come to Miami. I didn’t know his ass was going to show up! And when he did...we fucked at first. And it was fine. It was good like it always is but then…”

“Oooo. Bitch don’t clam up at the good part. What happened next?” She encouraged.

“You know when Ariana does needy and the moon rises and it’s like kind of a romantic, maybe sad, bop?”

“Yes?”

“Well...You know how I get into my feelings sometimes. I guess I maybe leaned my head on his shoulder a little bit. And then he--he wrapped his arms around me. For the rest of the show. Even Break free. Didn’t take his arms away the whole time... That’s weird right? Like why would he do that?”

“Because he has sipped from the valleys of the African diaspora  and he is hooked, bitch!”

Tiana bust out laughing getting them dirty looks once again from the white women who came there to nurse their minor alcoholism. Oh well.

“Very funny. I’m serious, Ti!” You whined. “I don’t...do this. I don’t know how to do anything but hooks up. And with a man almost six years younger than me?”

“So you want to date him?”

“No!” You hissed beneath your breath. “No...well I mean I don’t know. It doesn’t matter because he doesn’t want to date me okay. It was just a lapse in judgement.”

“Yea, okay. I’ll be the judge of that. Tell me what the hell else happened?”

“Well we spent like three or four days together. And he just kind of hung out while I worked. And we had sex...a lot. Like three or four times a day. It was so intense. And then every night for the show we would go out and watch and he kept putting his arms around me. What the fuck does that mean, Ti? ”

“It meannnns he likes you bitch.” Ti rolled her eyes. “What else could it mean?”

“You know who we’re talking about here. It’s Shawn. Shawn doesn’t do anything but get women into bed with them. We both know that.”

“Yes. We also both knew that he didn’t hook up with a woman more than once. You two have been screwing longer than most of your past relationships. So let’s stop pretending that we’ve got this white boy squared up when obviously we don’t.”

You sighed letting your face come to rest on your clay covered hands.

“I just...I can’t afford to let him catch me slipping, Ti. Whether I like him or not doesn’t matter. I can’t let his dad get in the way of my goals.”

Tiana nodded and placed her wine glass down to take your hand in hers.

“Girl, I get it. White men are trash and as much as we make fun of them, there is a fear there that we cannot let go of. But you cannot, I repeat, you cannot let that man dictate your life. He’s not worth it. He’s had not a damn thing to do with your success, and he will not lead to your downfall. Now if Shawn turns out to be more than what we thought he was, then let that be enough. Don’t ruin it for Manny’s sake. He doesn’t deserve that much of your energy.”

And that was why she was your best friend. She was the most intelligent person you knew. She was funny and wild and crazy, but she kept you centered in a way that no one else could. And she always made shit make sense. Even when you were fought it with every fiber of your being. There was no use. Tiana was always right.

“Yea, okay. Let’s just let it die for now. I don’t think even Shawn knows what he wants yet tbh. No reason for me to think too much into it now.”

“Whatever you say sis. whatever you say.”

***

*Shawn’s point of view*

It’s dark. There are bodies everywhere and the strobe lights illuminate a face every once in awhile. Brian’s talking to some blonde that’s five inches taller than him. There’s a brunette to his right that keeps whispering in his ear and playing with his hair. He’s not drunk enough for this. His whole vibe is off, and he’s not quite sure why. Why can’t he fall back into who he’s always been.

“Do you wanna take me home tonight?” She murmured wrapping one of his curls around her finger.

He snorted. “I don’t exactly take people home sweetheart.”

“Oh...Well, do you wanna come over to mine? I live close by.”

“Yea, maybe later. I’m gonna get another drink, you want one?”

“S--Sure. Thank you.”

He slides off the couch in search of more bottle service. He’s got a feeling that there might not be enough in the state.

Brian finds him searching for answers in a shot glass. He slides his hands sloppily along his shoulders and he already knows what he’s about to say.

“Bro! This chick’s all over me. Can I use your spare room?”

He shrugs. “Sure, whatever man.”

“What about your girl? You ready to go back?”

“I don’t know man. I’m just not feeling it.”

Brian’s eyes widened in confusion. “The fuck is there not to feel? Just pull your dick out and find friction.”

“Just go grab your girl and let’s get the fuck out of here, aye?”

He tried to focus his eyes on his, which just resulted in his head wobbling a little bit. Shawn sure hoped he didn’t have whiskey dick, cause he’d never heard the end of it.

“You seriously not getting any tonight?”

Oh he was getting some. Just not the likes of what NYC’s latest size negative two of the month had to offer.

Apparently Blondy and Brunette are friends. When Brunette finds out Blondy is getting in the car, and she isn’t there’s a little bit of a hick up. Somehow Brian still convinces Blondy to get into the car. His best friend might have at least mediocre game. The ride back is full of obscene kissing noises, and Brian trying to convince this poor woman he’s going to be able to make her cum tonight. Home couldn’t come fast enough.

Shawn: come over.

y/n: oooo I feel like Cinderella being cuarted at the ball.

y/n: Negro it is one am. No.

Shawn: I’ll send you a car. Come in those horrid little fluffy pjs I saw in your suitcase in Orlando. Idc. I’d get you a pumpkin carriage but I think the dealership might be fresh out of those.

y/n: YOU WERE NOT SUPPOSED TO SEE THOSE. YOU WERE NOT INVITED TO THE TOUR.

Shawn: Please? I’m too drunk to argue with you. My best friend is about to seriously dissapoint this poor woman tonight in my guest bedroom, and it’s gonna fuck up the whole vibe of my space. Some good sex must be had tonight.

y/n: the amount of bullshit that comes out of your mouth on a daily basis. Truly remarkable.

Shawn: I’m sending you a car. You don’t even have to take your bonnet off.

y/n: You are not fucking me with my bonnet on. My black grandmama anscestors would haunt my ass with negro spirituals for the rest of eternity.

Shawn: Noted. I’ll see you in forty five?

y/n: Ugh. Whatever.

Fucking finally.

***

He’s still in his jeans from the club and reclining on his bed as the alcohol races through his system when the app alerts him that she’s on her way up from the lobby. Thank god for fancy passcodes that mean he doesn’t have to let her in. He lurches up out of bed to meet her at the door. His guest bedroom is on the other side of the apartment, and he’s hopeful that the sounds won’t make it over to them. He just wants to focus on her tonight. Nothing else.

Since their weird little bubble in Florida, they hadn’t talked about any of it. Y/n arrived back in town and immediately asked to be tied up, gagged, and whatever else meant that they were focused on nothing but the bedroom. It didn’t hurt his feelings at all. This is what they were good at. This was the whole point of everything that they were right? Not to make things complicated but just to fuck and to let themselves release everything out into the bedroom. And that’s exactly what they were going to do tonight. He would make sure of it.

On the other side of the door, she’s standing there in tennis shoes and all silk pajamas. It’s a short and camisole nighty combo that he has every intention of ripping with his bare hands. But it’s cute. She’s cute.

“You went out tonight.” She notes, her eyes raking over him until he’s twitchy and needy.

He nodded. “Yea.”

“Did you hook up with someone?”

Something about the fact that he’s had something to drink just tells him to be honest. He can see her, maybe even more clearly than he was used to, and he had not a single ability in the world to bullshit her anymore. Not tonight.

“No. No I didn’t. There was a girl there who tried, who wanted to come back with me, and I--I thought about it. I did.” He hummed. “But I texted you instead.”

He can tell she wasn’t ready for the honesty. He can see the way her jaw untightens just slightly, the way she relaxed just barely. Who the fuck is either of them kidding?

“Explain to me why I’m here again?” She asked cocking her hip against his door.

She had braids in again. He didn’t know how to tell her that he’d been thanking God for protective styles since she flipped them over her shoulder that one time while she rode him into her desk chair. He was dangerously drunk.

“Stop talking. Come here.”

He cups his palm around the back of his neck and pulls her lips against his. She releases a little half whimper half sigh when he bites her bottom lip and moves his tongue to where she needs him to go. They’re still halfway in his apartment and halfway in the hallway when he pulls her legs up around his waist and presses her into the wall next to his doorway. But she still gives him everything that he needs instantly. Still pushes her hips against his. Still scratches at his scalp like no one ever has. Still had a grip to her thighs that makes his mouth water and his dick hard. When her ass is filling his hands and then some, there’s not a question. That woman from the club wasn’t going to give him this. Wasn’t ever going to be able to make him feel the way that she could. So why fucking lose this?

He slammed the door shut and took her back to his room, body laid out perfectly amongst his sheets. His fingers reach for his belt, and she’s giggling as she kicks her shoes halfway across the room. She’s really beautiful when she smiles. Fuck.

She went to reach for her camisole and he was hopeless but to stop her. His hands locked around her wrists pinning her to the bed. And she peered up at him with those big ass eyes of her, wild and brown and blown with lust. But her skin is soft as a fucking feather. And her cheek bones sit high and prominent and perfect. Her lips are thick and plush and he knows there’s no filler in them because every time she kisses him it’s like heaven. And he’s drunk. He’s so fucking drunk. The problem is that way too much of it is just her, and that never used to be reason enough

He kisses her. But it’s not like it was at the doorway. It’s not like the first night they spent together, or any of the other kisses after that. It’s soft. It’s slow and methodical and searching. Her eyes flutter close and she parts her lips and this time her tongue is leading the charge. But he doesn’t stop her. Would never want to stop her from kissing him like this. His hands go lax on her wrists and she reaches to pull him closer instead. They fall flat on the bed, her body wrapping around his. He loses himself in her kiss, in her touch. She’s just there filling up every space that’s ever existed in his life And he wants her. God does he want her.

“Shawn.” She mumbled against his mouth.

“Shhh. Let me touch you.” He begged.

Her eyes softened and she nodded allowing him to rip that pretty camisole he’d been thinking about since he opened the door. That’s as rough as it gets. When he’s met with the soft skin of her breasts he can’t do anything but be tender. He roles her nipples between his thumbs, licks along the valley of her sternum, and her moans are incredible. He’s stuck on her. And the one way to work through that, the only way to not fall consumed by her, is to touch and lick and kiss. And she lets him. Lets him and lets him and lets him.

“Touch me.” She gasps.

And so he touches.

***

The sun streams through his curtains, and it’s the second thing that wakes him up that morning. The first is the warm body pressed against his chest. When she wakes up in the morning she stretches her whole body, but it all originates from her spine. It makes her look a little bit like a fish out of water, or a mermaid. But he kind of likes it. This time her stretch sends her deeper into his arms, and he’s totally okay with that. Her eyes open and they stare at each other. It’s silent. Just the two of them. After that.

“Hi.” She whispered snuggling a little deeper into his pillow.

He licked his bottom lip, voice tired from lack of use. “Hi.”

“Do we....Do we talk about what that was?”

“Really? This early and you already wanna talk?” He smirked.

“It’s in my blood. Don’t make fun of me.”

She flicks his bicep and it’s the most ridiculous thing he could ever imagine. It’s too early to deal with her ridiculousness.

“I’m hungry.” He sighed and rolled over onto his back.

“Well get to cookin. The movie where the black woman serves the white man is a straight to dvd feature, and I am only interested in box office hits.”

“Well that sounds lovely, however I meant much more of the, ‘you riding my face until you cum’ type hunger. Or is that not high enough at the box office for you?”

“Hmm...well we certainly can try!”

He can’t help but laugh as she settles her thighs over either side of his head. Her thighs are things of miracles and he’s just a bit obsessed with them, just a bit obsessed with her. His hands settled on her hips and he can’t help but look up at the way the sun hits her chest and face. She’s beautiful.

His tongue traces languidly at her heat. He’s not interested in driving her up a wall this early in the morning. Just wants to fuck her through the fog of their wake up. So, he licks deep into her. He lets his tongue dip inside and then runs the flat of it against against the entire length of her pussy. Her clit is already erect and at attention. He settles his hands onto her knees and rubs at her thighs. She plays with his hair and grinds slowly against his tongue as they work her towards her release.

“Fucking shit, Shawn,” She whined. “That’s so good.”

He tilts his chin up and follows her shaking hips, his lips attached to her clit. He just wants to devour her.

“Baby I--I’m gonna cum!”

She’s never called him baby before. Not once. And it sparks a reaction that neither of them could have seen coming. He flips her over onto her back--thank god for neck and back day--and chases her pussy like it’s the last coke in the desert. It might very well be.

“Oh--Yes! Yes!”

The knock on the door can’t come at a worse fucking time.

He pulled back and wiped at his mouth eyes still completely zoned in on what’s happening between her legs.

“NOT FUCKING NOW BRIAN!”

Her fingers dig into his hair and pull him back between her thighs. It’s hotter than he could imagine.

“Bro I just need to borrow your jeep for like thirty--an hour--two hours tops !”

He pulled away from her with a slurp. “You touch that fucking jeep and it’s the last thing you’ll ever do!”

“Melanie has to get to a study group for her philosophy class!”

“Who the entire FUCK is Melanie?!”

Her fingers are in his hair again. She leans up to nuzzle his throat with her perfect lips and take his ear lobe between her teeth.

“Can we please? You got on a private jet to visit me in Miami. I think a jeep is the least of your concerns.”

He whined and nuzzled back against her softly. “I love that car.”

“Maybe work on loving this pussy a little more?”

Well that was certainly doable.

“Yea, okay.”

*five minutes later*

“Okay! Well uh...I’m just gonna take the jeep. I’ll bring it back, bro promise!”

He pulled back one more time. “Get the hell out of here, Brian!”

“Jesus Brian! GO!” She yelled in unison.

….

“Tough crowd!”

***

“Shawn, I’ve got to go!” She giggled.

He was much more interested in kissing his way along her neck and collarbones.

“Mmmm. No.”

“I have a brunch with a very important client, and thanks to you I’m going back to my house in a dumb man shirt.”

He snorted and ran his tongue along the length of the collar.

“This is saint laurent.”

“This is me leaving!” She insisted tugging out of his grasp.

He followed her to the door, the length of her braids only bringing more attention to the way her ass swayed in those shorts. Jesus.

“Can I ask you something? Before you go?”

She paused at the door and turned to him, letting her back rest against the wall.

“Sure.”

“You felt it last night, right? I’m not crazy, am I?”

She bit her lip, and shook her head softly. “No, you’re not crazy. I felt it.”

“And it means something, right? It is something?”

It takes a little longer to get a response out of her. But slowly but surely she nods at that too.

“Yea. I think it is.”

He took a deep breath trying to discern for himself whether he was about to fuck everything up. When his fingers mold to the apple of her cheek and she peers up at him with these big, soft eyes he knows there was never any choice for him. He’d been kidding himself since the beginning. This time when they kiss neither of them are holding back.He lets himself be gentle. He holds her against his chest and he doesn’t think at all about the consequences, or what it might look like. He just wants to kiss her silly. He does. She does the same for him.

He pulled back to check for fear of hesitance in her eyes. There is none. How is there none? And so he just...goes for it.

“I like you.” He admitted softly. “Like a lot.”

She ran her thumb along his lip, tugging at it  until it smacked back into place.

“I like you too. A lot.”

Her eyes are warm and soft even now. She’s so inviting and she just seems to pull the truth out of him with ease. He just wants to be honest with her. Even when it’s scary. Even when it doesn’t make sense.

“Well uh...I’m not gonna lie I don’t really know what it is you see in me. I--I know what I am. And I know what I can offer. For some girls it’s enough, but for you...I don’t know that it could be.”

“You don’t need to talk down to yourself to get me to like you Shawn.” She murmured.

He snorted. “I know that. I’m just saying what we both know. I know I can be an asshole, and a cocky asshole at that. But I can’t even think of touching a woman who isn’t you. I’ve never had that happen before. Not in my whole life. I guess I just--fuck. Will you go out with me? Like to dinner? As human beings that don’t just make each other cum.”

“Dinner hmmm?” She hummed.

“Yea, dinner.”

“You really want to be seen with me in public? What would your dad think?”

“I don’t...I don’t care what my dad thinks. I want to take you to dinner. Do you want to go with me?”

The pause she takes is long enough to kill him. For sure it is.

“I...Yea. I do.”

It brings a smile to his face against his better judgement. He didn't usually do smiles. Really got in the way of his image. A look of smug indifference was his go to. But this woman was quickly ruining everything he ever thought that he knew.

She lets him kiss her against the door. Let’s him hold her face in his hands. It feels good. Feels right.

“Hey, if we go on a date it’s not gonna stop you from domming me is it?”

He laughed. “Of course not.”

“Okay. You can kiss me again.”

“Thank you.”

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[lino-writes-sh]

A Jimon Athlete AU  (1/?)

No content warnings in this post, but I anticipate a teen and up rating for the rest of the fic for language. No posting schedule.

Word count: 1170

~~~

~~~

Jace is just about dead on his feet as he steps out to the arrivals hall at JFK. He pulls his luggage along with one hand and hauls his gear duffel with the other. He scans the waiting area for the unruly brunette and darting wide eyes of his brother, but the crowd gets in his way and he’s pushed along like the rest. 

Point is, JFK airport sucks. 

But at least he’s back home. 

At the mouth of the exit, the flood of people disperses like an estuary into open sea and he finds Alec hovering anxiously between other happy reunions. Jace calls his name, and again, louder, until Alec perks up and a bright smile spreads right across his face. 

Jace starts powerwalking and Alec full-on jogs and they’re in each other’s arms in seconds, luggage temporarily abandoned, and duffel bag swung over Alec’s shoulder, pushing them closer together. 

“Missed you,” Alec mutters. Jace holds him tighter. 

~~~

Alec catches Jace up on everything he’s missed all the way to the car park. The souffle Izzy made the other day, his annoying new boss, that time the neighbour’s dog ate a bee... It goes on in a similar vein until Alec’s excited voice gains a hesitant, even embarrassed, undertone. The change is almost unnoticeable but Jace has been listening to this idiot talk for most of his life. 

Although strangely enough, all he’s talking about is the Yankees. 

Jace meets Alec’s eyes over the roof of his car and he knows the look means he has something he desperately needs to say. 

“Out with it,” says Jace, pretending to be put-upon with an unimpressed stare.

Alec mulls it over, then tells Jace to get in with a sideways head jerk. 

They’re pulling out of the car park when Alec finally says, “I need you to use your sports connections to get me the closest seats possible to the bullpen at the next Yankees home game.”

He says it quickly, almost like if the words go by soon enough, it’ll absolve him of whatever perceived embarrassment they might incur. What embarrassment, exactly? Jace wouldn’t know, because he’s clearly missing something here unless being a dedicated Yankees fan has suddenly become a cardinal sin in the Lightwood household. But sure. He’s back in New York and it’s a good day out. Jace’ll humour him. 

“I play soccer, Alec. In Seattle,” says Jace, because there is a chasm of difference between a being an MLS player and an MLB player. Ease of getting front row tickets to a Yankees home game being one of them. Does Jace even have that kind of influence?

Alec can’t see the sideways look Jace is giving him, eyes on the road and all, but Jace is sure he can feel it. “Since when were you a Yankees fan, anyway?” asks Jace, grinning, because it’s been way too long since he’d been able to tease him in person.

“What do you mean?” Alec says defensively. “I watch baseball. From time to time. Who else am I gonna cheer for?”

Jace keeps smirking.

“Look,” says a defeated Alec. “Don’t tell Izzy until I get this...thing...sorted,” 

  The story that ensues, in Jace’s humble opinion, would make any brother rub his hands together in delight at the wealth of blackmail material at his disposal. Of course, Jace is listening diligently, because he’s a nice brother, but he might be rubbing his hands together mentally. Just a little. 

It goes like this. Alec met a guy in a gay night club. This guy was absolutely stunning with dance moves to match (”Alec, I’m very sure don’t need to hear about his ass for your explanation to make sense.”) and they hit it off like a house on fire. At some point, about when Alec’s memory started getting being more alcohol than brain cells, Izzy dragged him home. He woke up the next morning with a hangover gifted by Satan himself and realised he had no identifying information of his mystery man. Not even a name. 

(“None,” says Jace, though it’s more of a question than a statement.

Alec sighs and tilts his head to the side. “Well, I knew he was Asian.”)

A couple months and an unknown number of visits to the night club later, mystery man has remained just that and Alec has started looking back at the night bittersweetly with the melodramatic ache of a missed connection. Or at least, Jace assumes he was. Which is beside the point. On mothers day, the Lightwoods, minus Jace, although he facetimed briefly, congregated at nice bar-restaurant (”It’s a new place actually--Lower Manhattan--their pulled pork sliders are amazing, I’ll bring you sometime, I think you’ll like the--” “Alec.”). The TV there was playing a Yankees game and Alec was watching it absentmindedly only because his seat was giving him a clear view. 

“And he was there. On the TV,” said Alec, dazedly looking ahead.

Jace frowns. “In the audience? You spotted him in an audience closeup?”

Alec laughs like he’s re-living the incredulity. “You’d think. No, the starting pitcher twisted his ankle or something, so they call in a reliever and the next thing I know I’m looking at his face while the commentators read off everything I need to know about him. Magnus Bane, Yankees relief pitcher, number sixteen, twenty-five years old, drafted from the Spanish league División de Honor this year, lowest ERA of any rookie in Spain. He’s been with the Yankees for--”

“Okay, okay. I get it,” Jace interrupts, because while that’s all very fascinating, Jace doesn’t need to hear a play-by-play of this guy’s entire career and the look on Alec’s face tells him that’s exactly where this conversation is heading. But that isn’t the only thing that look tells him.

“You’re in deep, huh. Leave it to you to fall in love with a pro baseball player,” says Jace. He’s not smirking anymore.

“Yeah,” says Alec. “I think we really had something.”

And it pains Jace to hear it because he can see it play out right before his eyes. A hotshot baseball player almost gets lucky with some young guy and wants nothing more with him once he’s out of that night club. They go their separate ways and Alec comes home to lick his wounds, nurse his broken heart. 

Jace can’t deny the love-struck wonder on Alec’s face, he’ll do anything to help Alec find the right man. But at the same time, Magnus Bane is going to hurt his brother. Jace is sure of it. 

“I’ll get them for you. But I get to come as well,” Jace says. He’s not sure how he’ll do it, but he will.

“Naturally,” Alec says, smile blooming. “Hey,” he elbows Jace gently, glancing over for a second before shifting his gaze back to the road. “You’re my brother. I love you.”

Doesn’t matter how far away, he reminds himself, we’re brothers.

“Love you too, dude,” Jace says. He watches the New York skyline whizz by. It’s good to be home. 

~~~

~~~

Hey folks, feel free to hop into my asks and tell me anything about shadowhunters because everything I know about it comes from fics only. Cheers!

[cheydoesfandom]

So basically canon season 2, moved up a few years to culminate in the stonewall riots, rather than jfk's assassination.

Maybe exclude all that dad bs bc it's awful and messes up the future.

The concept started with "hey, Klaus was already in 68/69" so he lands back in Vietnam with time to save Dave.

I'll put the rest under the cut bc it's kinda long/rambley/stream of consciousness, written at like 1 am, and definitely incomplete. I have only watched the show once and not touched the comics, but there's also some fandom influence bc I've been reading fics (specifically Klaus, Ben, and 5 centric mostly).

Or not, bc idk how to do a read more on mobile, oops.

Anyway.

This would be near the end, maybe a week at most, and Klaus either convinces him to desert or somehow keeps him alive until their next leave and THEN desert, or until their tour is up,, which was my first instinct, but I may be allowing fanfic to cloud Dave's depiction as refusing to desert, i need to double check that, or end up getting wounded but not dead and an honorable discharge.

He has a suitcase and COULD go to 2019, back at the middle of season 1. He DOESN'T  because a) ben is here this time, and he might not come with the case and b) five will find them eventually and then they can ALL use the case and c) I want Allison and Vanya to have their SOs.

At this point, I started mapping out how the others settled in New York in the late 60s (exact years tbd based on the gaps in season 2 canon), so...

Luther landed in the middle of the queerest block in Manhattan 1st, and was swept up and accepted as their own before he even knew he was. They call him a bear, and say it's desirable, and he's ready to hear them out. He goes to clubs, does party drugs bc fuck everything, he's pissed and exhausted and maybe kinda queer, but he never used a needle or smoked anything but weed, he'd watched what it did to Klaus. The first time someone danced up against him, so slender and small in comparison, Luther felt good, it felt RIGHT, to put his arms around him and dance a little closer and no, actually, this doesn't work. He wouldn't do drugs again, and I just can't imagine him not cishet, but I guess maybe, if he had a lot of time to reflect and figure out who he is without Reginald looming, which I suppose he would have if he was the first to return, so never mind green light, Luther is a bear and he likes twinks. Or, really, just about anybody he can envelope in his arms and hold close and safe and protect them. (Not 100% sold on this, open to suggestions)

Allison and Diego are in the middle here. Idk exactly, I need to check the dates. Also no idea what Diego is up to without the president to save. I kinda wanted to give him a queer awakening, but like, Luther said gimme soooo…… I kinda had the thought of Diego as a drag queen, but I'm not sure. And idk if Allison is bi or what. I kinda want trans!Allison, but mtf, so she'd already come out and transitioned, but I also feel that Reginald wouldn't allow this, not from any of the trans* kids. Not bc he's just a queerphobe, but because it's "a waste of time and resources". Maybe Allison was the only one to convince him that she would be more effective if she had these changes made. Yes. Yes, okay.

Allison is trans and black in the late 1960s, but it's new York, so there's a scene, and she's thriving, and meets the man of her dreams. They get involved in the local politics and the gay rights movements. Allison needs to not accidentally be given credit that belongs to Marsha and the other leaders of the community.

But that still leaves Diego, and I just don't know what to do with him. What would Lila be doing? I haven't even thought about the commision/handler, but that would be mostly the same. Idk Diego's motive yeeeeet. (With nothing to "stop", he probably just goes vigilante again? Ends up inthe neighborhood, sees a drag show? Idk, idk what Diego's up to, alright?)

Klaus probably shows up right before Vanya, a few weeks maybe, in Vietnam. He gets Dave back to the states somehow, explaining what's going on anxiously in a hotel room.  Ben was there with him, and they couldn't use the briefcase bc he might not come along. Dave accepts it fairly well and they maybe decide to see his folks before leaving town. Klaus had asked, "wanna go make history?" and, at Dave's nod, declared they were heading for Manhattan. They drove cross-country, enjoying the open road, and rolled into the city a week before the riots.

Vanya was next, with amnesia. Sissy and her husband are each other's beard, and brought her home to recover, she introduces her to the club life. He gets upset that she's brought the chance of suspicion by fucking in their house, by talking about leaving him. How would that make him look? At best like a pathetic loser who can't please his wife, and at worst like the fucking fag that he was!

Five would still arrive last, seeing the aftermath of whatever goes wrong, but idk what it is yet, then jumps back like a week or whatever.

This is about all I have. Like I said, this is a concept that isn't fully fleshed out, and needs some serious research if it were to be done properly, and I do not have the time/energy for that, honestly.

But in the end, they stop the apocalypse, go back to 2019, and get to just live their lives and heal and all that good stuff they need so bad.

And that's all I've got. Please leave a reply or drop an ask if you have thoughts or questions that might drive it somewhere!

[back-and-totheleft]

Romantic, freewheeling, containing fathoms

IT'S early in the piece but maybe the best way to explain the allure of Oliver Stone’s romantic, freewheeling autobiography is to tell you how one of my best friends took on the experience.

My mate, a self-confessed Stone nut, downloaded the audio version of Chasing the Light - as read by the author - and then proceeded to drive around Cork city with the Oscar-winning director and screenwriter for company. “Love how he paints a picture of post-war optimism in New York circa 1945-46,” he messaged me. “Take me there...” Throughout his storied but turbulent career, Stone has certainly taken us places - the steaming jungles of Vietnam, the (serial) killing fields of the American heartland, the fervid political theatre of El Salvador, the grassy knoll. Even if we didn’t always like the destination, more often than not it was worth the journey.

Reading Stone's words in Chasing the Light, it’s impossible not to hear that coffee and cognac voice. The words roll from the page, sentences topped off with little rejoinders, just about maintaining an elegant flow. Drugs are mentioned early and often, while the word “sexy” features half a dozen times in the opening chapters alone. As in his best movies, Stone displays a positively moreish lust for life, at one point referring to how the two parts of the filmmaking process, if working well, are "copulating".

The book tells the story of the first half of his life, up to the acclaim and gongs of Platoon, and it’s clear that his own sense of drama was underscored by his family background, which is part torrid European art flick, part US blockbuster. His mother, Jacqueline - French, unerringly singleminded - grew to womanhood during the Nazi occupation of Paris. She downplayed her striking appearance as the jackboots stomped the streets but quickly scaled the social ladder, becoming engaged to a pony club sort. Enter Louis Stone.

Considerably older than Jacqueline, Louis quickly zoned in after spotting her cycling on a Paris street. In no time Jacqueline has jilted her fiancée (who, remarkably, appears to have turned up as a guest at the wedding), Oliver is conceived and one ocean crossing later, William Oliver Stone is born.

This family contains fathoms, Stone's father straight-laced and Commie-hating on the surface, yet a serial adulterer (even threesomes are mentioned) and positively uxorious towards his own mother. "It was sex, not money, that derailed my father," he writes. Louis's infidelities nixed Jacqueline's American dream, and Oliver’s with it. Jacqueline ultimately cheats on Louis, not simply via a fling but a whole new relationship, and with a family friend to boot.

What’s even more interesting is Stone’s reflections on *how* it was dealt with. Already dispatched to a boarding school, he learns of the disintegration of his family down the phone line. It has the coldness of some of the best scenes from Mad Men, children of the era parceled off to the side even as momentous events in their home life detonate in front of them. As things veer ever more into daytime soap territory, Louis then tells his son he's "broke", echoing the impact of the Great Depression on his own father's business interests.

By now, Stone is unmoored. He has secured a place in Yale but blows it off for a year and heads to Saigon to teach English: "I grew a beard and got as far away from the person I'd been as I could." On his return he decides he is done with academia; he'll be a novelist in New York, much to the distaste of his father. "That's why I went back to Vietnam in the US Infantry - to take part in this war of my generation," he writes. "Let God decide."

And here we are at the pivotal moment in Stone's adult life. Plunged into the strange days of 1968 in the jungle, he recalls a scene in which his patrol group comes under attack, imagining itself surrounded. Time elides and a metre may as well be a mile, explosions going off everywhere and bullets flying amid paranoia and uncertainty that borders on the hallucinogenic. "Full daylight reveals charred bodies, dusty napalm, and gray trees."

Tellingly, Stone focuses on this arguably cinematic episode while other incidents in which he is actually wounded don't receive the same treatment. By the time he leaves Vietnam he has served in three different combat units and has been awarded a bronze star for heroism. So many of his peers were drafted, yet he had decided to go. You never get a direct sense that his subsequent career is in any way a type of atonement, yet it is never fully explained. "Why on earth did you go?" he is asked. "It was a question I couldn't answer glibly."

From this point on, Chasing the Light mainly becomes a love letter to the redemptive power of the cinema, pockmarked with acerbic commentary on Hollywood powerplays. Stone's firsthand experience of jungle combat gives him a sense of perspective that no amount of cocaine or downers can ever truly neutralise, and it also imbues him with a sense of derring-do. At NYU School of Arts, his lecturer is Martin Scorcese, an educational home run. Watching movies is a place a refuge, writing them a cathartic outlet. It leads to visceral filmmaking, beginning with his short film Last Year in Vietnam. That burgeoning sense of career before anything else brings an end to his first marriage - "'comfortable' was the killer word". The seeds are sown for the plot that would germinate into Platoon.

As he moves past the relative disappointment of his first feature, Seizure, the big break of writing Midnight Express, and then onto the speedbump of The Hand, his second movie, Chasing the Light becomes a little more knockabout, though no less enjoyable. Conan the Barbarian, for which he wrote the screenplay, became someone else's substandard vision, Scarface a not entirely pleasant experience as his writing efforts move to the frosty embrace of director Brian de Palma. Hollywood relationships rise and fall like scenes from Robert Altman's The Player. His second marriage, the birth of his son, the slow-motion passing of his father, and all the time Stone is chasing glory on the silver screen.

By his late thirties it feels like he's placing all his chips on Salvador, a brutal depiction of central American civil war based on the scattered recollections of journalist Richard Boyle and starring the combustible talents of James Woods and John Belushi. His own high-wire lifestyle is perhaps best encapsulated in his reference to Elpidia Carrillo, cast as Maria in Salvador: "Elia Kazan once argued against any restrictions for a director exploring personal limits with his actresses, and I wanted badly to get down with her," he writes with delightful candour. Yet ultimately "I convinced myself that repression, in this case, would make a better film." Note: in this case.

Salvador was a slow burner, not an immediate critical or commercial success, but then in the style of a rollover jackpot, it started climbing the charts just as Platoon is about to announce itself to the world. Despite some loopy goings-on, that shoot in the Philippines had never gone down the Apocolypse Now route of near-madness, the drama mainly confined to warring factions within the production team. Ultimately, Platoon was the movie mid-Eighties America wanted to see about Vietnam. The book finishes in triumph, Stone clutching Oscars for Best Director and Best Picture.

There are piercing insights and inconsistencies dotted throughout. Stone lusts after good reviews but rails against the influence wielded by certain writers, such as Pauline Kael. He makes frequent reference to his yearning for truth and factual accuracy, yet hardly raises a quibble with The Deerhunter, the brilliant but flawed movie by sometime ally Michael Cimino which - particularly in the infamous Russian Roulette scenes - delivers an entirely concocted depiction of North Vietnamese forces. But then again, Stone revels in what he says is the ability to "not to have a fixed identity, to be free as a dramatist, elusive, unknown."

We've come to know him more in the decades since - through the menacing Natural Born Killers, the riveting but wonky conspiracy of JFK, the all-star lost classic U-Turn, even the missed opportunity that was The Putin Interviews. As my friend, who is the real authority, correctly observes, Chasing the Light is also weighted with nostalgia for a time when political dramas and anti-war films were smashing the box office, something hard to imagine today.

The second volume, if and when it arrives, will surely make for good reading - or listening. Buckle up your seat belt and take a spin.

-Noel Baker, “Oliver Stone’s freewheeling autobiography tells the story of the first half of his life,” Irish Examiner, Jan 17 2021 [x]

[mcgnto]

Have you ever noticed that ( ERIK LEHNSHERR ) from the ( MARVEL UNIVERSE ) looks a lot like ( MICHAEL FASSBENDER )? But ( HE ) also go/goes by ( MAGNETO ). Having the ability of ( MAGNETISM MANIPULATION & UNWAVERING LOYALTY TO HIS CAUSE ) sure makes them a force to be reckoned with. Rumour has it they are ( 44 ) and is working as a ( LEADER OF THE BROTHERHOOD OF MUTANTS )

hey  there,  hi  there,  ho  there  !!  i’m  c,  and  i’m  bringing  my  babies  erik  lehnsherr  &&  grant  ward  to  you  about  400  years  later.   life  snatched  me  but  here  i  am  finally.  i’m  terrible  at  remembering  to  respond  to  tumblr  messages  so  if  you’d  like  to  plot,  you  can  hit  me  up  @ serial killer of kisses#0440 

𝖜𝖍𝖊𝖗𝖊'𝖘 𝖍𝖊 𝖋𝖗𝖔𝖒?

timeline  wise,  erik  is  pulled  somewhere  post  days  of  future  past  and  early  into  apocalypse.  given  that  the  x-men  were  constantly  fucking  up  their  timelines  and  futures,  he’s  from  an  alternate  timeline.  which  one?  good  question.  we’ll  pretend  we  know  and  just  smile  and  nod.  either  way,  this  isn’t  his  timeline  and  it  definitely  isn’t  the  world  /  year  he  left  behind  so  he’s  going  to  be  culture-shocked  by  2020.   

the  last  thing  he  really  remembers  is  his  daughter’s  death  and  apocalypse  strengthening  his  powers  to  become  a  horseman.  so  suffice  to  say,  he’s  simmering  with  rage  and  is  very  broken.   he  still  hates  humans,  maybe  more-so  than  ever  before,  and  he  thinks  they’ll  always  be  a  plague  —  never  see  them  as  equals  —  and  their  extinction  is  the  only  way  to  ensure  their  kind  survives.   he’s  an  extremist  and  his  methods  are  questionable  as  hell  but  he’s  not  entirely  wrong.  

this  quote,  in  my  opinion,  sums  up  erik  to  a  t:

“  that  you're  wrong. you  think  you're  right.  and  that  makes  you  dangerous."

𝖇𝖆𝖈𝖐𝖌𝖗𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖉

erik  lehnsherr,  also  known  as  magneto,  is  a  canon  character  from  the  x-men.  my  version  of  him  follows  the  x-men  first  class  timeline.   you  can  read  more  about  him  here  on  the  wiki  but  i’ll  give  you  a  brief  overview. 

he  was  born  in  dusseldorf, germany,  into  a  middle-class  jewish  family.  his  father  was  a  decorated  WWI  veteran  but  that  wasn’t  enough  to  save  them  from  the  struggles  of  discrimination  when  the  nazi’s  started  rising  to  power.  the  family  moved  to  poland  shortly  after  he  was  born  but  were  separated  at  the  auschwitz  concentration  camps  when  he  was  fourteen.  erik’s  powers  first  manifested  when  he  ran  towards  one  of  the  gates  —  trying  to  get  to  it  before  they  closed  as  he  was  forced  to  watch  his  parents  get  ripped  away  from  him.   the  metal  warped  and  twisted  as  the  soldiers  grabbed  him,  reports  of  which  were  made  to  dr.  schmidt.  instead  of  being  sent  out  with  the  other  children,  erik  was  taken  to  the  medical  wing.  his  powers  were  exploited  and  often  used  against  him,  dr.  schmidt  focusing  in  on  his  anger  and  using  it  to  control  his  powers.  (  his  mother died  because  he  couldn’t  move  a  simple  coin  with  his  abilities.  in  grief,  fury  washing  over  him,  he  destroyed  everything  in  the  room  and  murdered  all  of  the  guards.  )   he  was  experimented  on  for  years,  schmidt  weaponizing  his  anger,  and  when  he  was  finally  free  he  spent  years  trying  to  track  down  the  man  responsible  for  his  pain  and  suffering.

by  the  time  he  finds  shaw,  his  intentions  are  clear.  he’ll  kill  him  by  any  means  necessary,  even  if  it  means  his  own  death.  it’s  charles  xavier  that  saves  him  from  drowning  in  his  efforts  to  sink  shaw’s  submarine,  the  professor  dragging  him  up  out  of  the  water.   though  erik  never  really  trusted  the  CIA,  he  agreed  to  help  charles  with  some  of  the  other  mutants  they’d  found  —  to  help  them  hone  their  abilities,  and  give  them  a  place  they  belonged.   he  grew  to  care  about  charles  and  these  other  mutants,  respected  them  even,  but  his  ambitions  always  came  first.  he  also  feared  that  a  mutant  holocaust  was  an  inevitability  and  his  fear  kept  him  from  truly  trusting  others.    finally,  when  he  confronted  shaw,  who  shared  a  vision  of  a  world  led  by  mutants,  he  found  he  agreed  —  but  he  couldn’t  allow  the  man  to  live.  he  murdered  him  slowly,  much  to  charles’  horror.  with  the  soviet  union  and  the  united  states  teaming  up  against  mutants,  erik  was  prepared  to  kill  them  all.   so  much  for  preventing  the  cuban  missile  crisis.   as  charles  and  erik  were  fighting,  rolling  around  on  the  ground  as  both  tried  to  get  the  upper  hand,  a  CIA  agent  shot  at  erik  and  he  deflected  one  of  the  bullets.  a  stray  bullet  ricocheted  and  hit  charles’  spine,  paralyzing  him.   unable  to  comprehend  the  pain  he’d  caused  someone  he  loved  —  and  knowing  their  interests  no  longer  aligned  —  erik  and  several  of  the  other  mutants  left  to  start  the  first  incarnation  of  the  brotherhood  of  mutants.   a  family  was  divided  like  after  a  messy  divorce.  

from  there,  we  don’t  know  a  lot  about  what  happened  with  erik  until  days  of  future  past  picks  back  up.  we  know  he  was  arrested  and  detained  in  the  pentagon  by  1973.   he  allegedly  curved  a  bullet  that  killed  JFK.   they  break  him  out  of  prison  to  help  try  and  save  the  world  and  inadvertently  meet  his  timeline’s  version  of  pietro  ‘peter’  maximoff.   he’s  erik’s  son,  but  he  never  discovers  this  information.   to  this  day,  he  doesn’t  know  the  truth.  in  truth,  erik  had  been  trying  to  save  JFK  —  who  was  a  mutant  —  but  unfortunately  he  wasn’t  able  to.   trask,  who  created  the  mutant  detecting  machines  in  the  future,  had  been  killing  off  mutants  one  by  one.  many  of  their  former  students,  people  they  cared  about,  had  died  as  a  result  of  it.   tortured,  too.  so  suffice  to  say,  both  erik  and  charles  thought  the  other  had  abandoned  them  /  failed  them  and  it  was  messy.   he  agrees  to  try  and  help  them  stop  the  future  from  happening,  in  the  interest  of  saving  more  mutant  lives,  but  does  try  to  kill  mystique  when  their  plans  start  going  awry.  he  fails  and  earns  more  distrust  both  from  charles  and  the  nation.  yes,  he  went  all  evil  villain  and  did  a  monologue  on  live  tv.  he’s  that  bitch.  he  fully  intends  on  killing  trask  but  mystique,  who  changes  her  mind  thanks  to  charles’  influence,  shoots  him.  it  grazes  his  neck,  just  enough  to  garner  his  attention,  but  it’s  enough  to  give  her  the  opportunity  to  knock  the  helmet  from  his  head.   in  the  end,  after  his  abilities  are  used  by  charles  to  free  himself,  he  flees.   ya  yeet.  

at  some  point  after  this,  he  moves  to  poland  and  decides  to  live  among  the  humans.  he  meets  a  woman  named  magda  when  he’s  living  as  henryk  gurzsky  and  they  have  a  daughter  named  nina.  he’s  seemingly  happy  with  his  little  family,  working  at  the  factory,  until  an  act  of  kindness  turns  the  tides  against  him.   he  uses  his  abilities  to  save  a  co-worker  and  someone  reports  him.  police  show  up  without  any  metal  to  confront  him  outside  their  house.   nina,  terrified  and  young  much  like  erik  was  when  his  powers  manifested,  had  the  power  to  control  nature  and  had  birds  attack  the  police.  one  of  the  officers  was  trying  to  shoot  the  birds  and  an  arrow  struck  nina  and  her  mother  magda  instead.   erik,  in  his  grief,  used  the  metal  locket  around  his  daughter’s  neck  to  kill  every  single  police  officer  in  the  clearing  and  then  dropped  to  his  knees  to  mourn  the  loss  of  his  family.   

en  sabah  nur,  aka  apocalypse,  finds  erik  shortly  after  this.  he’s  at  the  factory,  about  to  murder  all  of  the  workers  who  allowed  this  tragedy  to  happen,  when  en  sabah  nur  takes  his  revenge  for  him.   the  god  then  takes  him  to  auschwitz  and  strengthens  his  mutant  abilities  to  give  him  the  power  needed  to  destroy  it.   he  agrees  to  be  a  horseman,  to  join  en  sabah  nur  in  bringing  about  the  apocalypse.   shortly  after  this  happens,  he  goes  to  sleep  and  wakes  up  in  this  timeline  in  2020.  he  doesn’t  know  who’s  done  it,  or  it  was  something  the  x-men  did  to  try  and  stop  the  apocalypse,  but  he’s  livid  and  probably  wants  to  go  home.   there’s  nothing  here  for  him  —  no  revenge,  no  purpose,  so  if  he  can’t  ...  catch  him  starting  up  the  brotherhood  again  and  waging  war  on  humankind  again.   

𝖕𝖊𝖗𝖘𝖔𝖓𝖆𝖑𝖎𝖙𝖞

erik  carries  a  lot  of  anger  around  with  him.  it’s  the  trauma,  the  grief,  and  the  after-effects  of  years  of  abuse.   he  knows  best  how  to  function  when  he’s  angry,  feels  it  gives  him  direction,  and  thinks  that  happiness  leads  to  vulnerability.  he  thinks  now  that  if  he  cares  for  someone,  let’s  them  get  close,  there’s  a  possibility  he  will  hurt  them  or  they  will  get  hurt  because  of  them.   his  abilities  work  best  when  he’s  angry,  almost  like  he’s  been  conditioned  that  way,  so  he  finds  he’s  most  effective  when  he  gives  into  the  anger.  

at  the  end  of  the  day,  his  hatred  is  directly  linked  to  fear.   he  fears  that  mutants  will  be  persecuted  for  being  different,  for  not  living  up  to  what  humans  feel  is  normal,  and  that  they’ll  be  experimented  on  or  killed  if  discovered.   he’s  seen  firsthand  what  a  genocide  looks  like  and  because  of  that  fears  that  another  will  happen  if  they’re  not  carefull.   again,  he’s  not  wrong.  

𝖆𝖇𝖎𝖑𝖙𝖎𝖊𝖘

he’s  a  class  4  mutant  who  can  generate  and  manipulate  magnetic  fields.   you  can  read  more  about  his  abilities  on  the  wiki  here  but  i’ll  give  you  some   examples.

magnetogenesis:  the  ability  to  create  magnetic  fields. magnetokinesis:  the  ability  to  control  magnetic  fields. ferrokinesis:  the  ability  to  control  metal.  ( thanks  to  apocalypse,  he  can  now  control  metals  found  in  the  earth.  )