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prospektsghost · 3 years

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a little 2doc ficlet i was thinking about and decided to write, i have left tumblr and this blog for a while but this is something i came up with?? my first time writting in english since its not my first language

anywas HBD ya filthy old man

Cold. He always feels cold.

He tries to warm his hands, but he never can, and only assumes that he is trapped with this cold all his life.

"Do you ever regret it? Selling your soul I mean".

He had forgotten that 2D was by his side, somehow 2D... Stuart was always there.

Murdoc thinks about what the singer has just said, but his whole life has been a lot of horrible situations and after selling his soul... well.

He has his band, he has Noodle, who is like a daughter to him

He never imagined himself as a family man, but he had that weakness for her.

Russel! Russel was more like his father, since Noodle was little, Russel had taken more care of her than he had.

But she turned out to be... more like him.

Just like him.

What a role model he was.

And then there was 2D, dents, faceache, "D", Stu.

Stuart

He takes a long drag on his cigarette.

"No".

He finally responds after thinking about it for a long time, and realizes that his cigarette had been consumed, he clicks his tongue.

2D approaches him and Murdoc has to look up to see the expression on the keyboard player's face.

"You can have mine."

He says and goes closer to give him the cigarette, the blue-haired man has a smile on his face and Murdoc remembers how 2D is always at his disposal, he watches the boy ... no. The middle-aged man he sees in front of him, and for once in his life, really reads the expression on his companion's face.

And he doesn't like it.

But… he takes the offered object anyway.

"Got a light? left mine inside the house" he asks, raising the cigar to his lips.

"Sure"

2D takes the lighter out of his jacket bag, and as soon as he reaches for his hand to light the cigarette that is now between the bassist's lips, he feels the difference in temperatures between his hands when they have contact due to the proximity.

"Murdoc, you're freezing," he says as he lights the cigarette. "Why don't we go in with the others?"

After the cigarette is lit, Murdoc quietly mutters a "thank you" so slowly that he has 2D thinking about if he had imagined it, but as soon as he listens to the younger’s suggestion, his expression changes and after taking another drag he responds.

"No, no. I'm fine here. You go if you want" Murdoc pats him on the shoulder, but 2D is a stubborn son of...

"Come on, there must still be pizza in the fridge..." 2D persuades, grabbing his wrist and walking towards the entrance of the house, and at that the bass player tries to get away.

"Oi, no!" He makes a sharp pull that gets the singer to release him, but then he does not know if the pull or 2D's face hurts more when he turns to see him.

"Ok Mudz," says the boy, Murdoc will never stop seeing him as such, he realizes. As if they were still in old Kong. "I'll go".

2D stays until he nods, and turns to go inside the warm interior of the house.

Murdoc should be with them, he would like to but ... he still hasn't allowed himself to forget what he'd done to them.

He thinks about 2D's question before.

"Do you ever regret it?"

All the time.

He stays outside, in the cold, that he thinks is a representation of his whole being, since he was a child he has been cold, Sebastian never took good care of them, they had a house, yes, but this fell from dirt and debris, they had no food, the money was spent by his father on drugs and alcohol and Murdoc could not even protect himself from the cold that always entered through the window of his room.

And he realizes that he has become like his dad.

The front door opens and the sound frightens him a bit, loud noises always remind him of the old Niccals home despite all these years, causing Murdoc to drop the cigarette in the snow and it instantly goes out.

“Russel told me that if you were going to be here outside the path of a jacket, but all the ones you have in your room are made of leather and I don't think they are very good at working against the cold Murdoc…”

2D begins to ramble on and Murdoc no longer hears what he's saying why he suddenly feels warm, and not just because of the jacket the singer puts on his shoulders and smells like butter sugar candy.

“... so you can have mine”.

Unconsciously he smells 2D’s scent that now surrounds him, completely changing his, which he had inadvertently tried to replicate from his father.

2D fixes the jacket and smiles when Murdoc decides to put it on precisely.

“Shut up”.

2D's smile widens.

“I didn’t say anything”

Murdoc is surprised when 2D helps him to raise the zipper and looks at the singer, who now is watching him too, but he has to bow his head to do it and despite the calm face of the minor, Murdoc feels anger.

He doesn't like them to see from a higher place than him.

And 2D was that, taller, more handsome, his voice sounded like an angel's, talented, but he was stupid as shit.

Yes, and whose fault is it?

He feels his hands that had been at his side being taken, and 2D rubs them with his own, completely changing his line of thought.

"You're still cold," he says, and Murdoc doesn't process what Stuart wants to do and stops him when he brings his hands together to his mouth to blow warm breath against them.

Murdoc jerks them away, but 2D holds them tight against his so that Murdoc won't do something like... hit him.

"W-what the hell ...?!

“Murdoc …”

2D still doesn't let go of his hands and Murdoc gets tired of fighting, he's old now, too old.

And he's tired, tired of not enjoying himself and always running away from the things that make him feel good.

Of the things that make him feel loved.

2D's hands release his and Murdoc misses the contact immediately.

“How can you be so tender with me when I …”

“I do not know.”

He doesn't know? He doesn’t know?!

“I don't know why I put up with you” although his tone is calm, Murdoc knows that he's half joking half telling the truth.

Murdoc thinks that the minor has reconsidered and thought about how all these years he has made his life impossible, why he is insane, Murdoc is obsessed with him.

Stuart can no longer see Murdoc's face, since at his confession the older man has lowered his head, avoiding his gaze.

He looks ... vulnerable.

Like every night, when Murdoc no longer had to put on a show in front of everyone, he drank all his worries and he was there for him, Murdoc an open book of all bad decisions and violent childhood before him.

Like in Plastic Beach.

Stuart doesn't remember Plastic Beach with much appreciation, but he had seen the real Murdoc there.

He gets closer to the dark-haired man, who keeps his head down, thinking about how brilliant he is, how he used to admire him and although he doesn't really tell him how he feels, his songs are the ones that speak for him.

He has tried to change, but in the meantime he is also moving away from them.

He knows that Murdoc is sick, he is twisted inside, his father and brother may be the cause of that, because he is also afraid of being abandoned.

But they are not like the Niccals.

He will not abandon you.

"You are very complicated for me," he grabs the elder's hips, and Murdoc does not fight when he approaches him slowly. “But I am a renegade when it comes to you”.

Murdoc opens his eyes, remembering the song Stuart is quoting.

He had been in jail when “the now now” ... 2D creation came out, but when he escaped and traveled with them again, the giant screen with his face behind him had stunned him.

“Why do you look so beautiful when you are so sad?”

"Stuart..." Murdoc says with a warning tone, but he has used his real name, the one he always uses when he is serious and neither has he moved away from him or pushed him away.

Then Stuart continues humming the song, but now crouched so that he can whisper it in the brunette's ear and he feels how he shudders to hear his voice so close.

And he knows what his voice produces for Murdoc, he has always been in love with his voice.

When he feels the bassist lay his head on his shoulder, he smiles.

“Stuart, I'm not cold anymore”.

2D laughs, knows what that means and better walks away from him, Murdoc needs his space right now, but maintains a grip on the eldest forearms.

He doesn't know what causes him to say his real name, but he and Murdoc have known each other for years, long before Russel and Noodle.

Murdoc knows him too well and knows what contact is for Stuart.

He is interrupted from staring at the man in front of him when the door opens for the umpteenth time that night and Stu does not miss the way he shudders at the noise.

"If a couple of addicts don't come in, you'll catch a cold and I'm not going to take care of you!" Russel leans out and the two can see Noodle behind him, chuckling and gesturing for them to come in and the drummer wouldn’t get angry at them for staying outside.

Stuart turns his head to look at Murdoc, who is still looking at the door where the others went, but is smiling and his face looks calmer compared to earlier.

But he comes to his senses and when he notices 2D's hands on his forearms and the way he's looking at him, his throat clears.

"L-let's go before he gets all… you know" Murdoc makes some gestures with his hands and Stuart smiles.

Cute. I would never describe a person like Murdoc that way, but when the man grabs part of his sleeve to pull him in, that's what he thinks.

#2doc

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lorei-writes · 3 years

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Hi! I wanna say your stories are too cute! Do you have any advice to new writers?

Ahh, thank you! 😳 Haha, I honestly don’t know how to reply, people being so kind towards my works always leaves me a little speechless, haha. So... Thank you 😳

As for the advice... Well, let’s give it a shot.

[Lorei from the future: of course, I made it long. Why am I even not surprised anymore].

In short (I elaborated on those below the cut):

Never dispose of your old work.

Do not obsess over editing.

The initial growth may be rapid. Then it slows down and it is when you are more aware of your errors. It is okay like so. It shows your growth.

Forget about what you think you should be and focus on what you can be. Do not try to force yourself into any rigid frames of “should” and “should not”, of “but author XYZ does it and it works out for them”. It is not an excuse not to try, but a call to adapt things to work for you.

Write for yourself and be greedy of your time. That being said, if you feel like being generous, do it!

We are not perfect and will never be - a knowledge of a person is finite. Look for your biases and never, never forget you can be wrong.

Do not be scared after the sixth. It boils down to being humble and being aware that your experiences are only yours.

Experiment and have fun. Not all stories have to be finished. Sometimes we aren’t at the place in life when we ourselves have an appropriate ending for them.

See what you can learn from others and observe. Ask whether they’d be willing to give you any opinions on the matter. However, you do need a certain compatibility for that too.

Try to localise the issue you’re experiencing every time you stumble into one.

I presume you have already heard “just write”, which by itself is well, the most universal piece of advice. Just write and you’ll get better eventually, although... From my observations, it is not necessarily given. I suppose it could be rather frustrating to hear - just write what? How to write this “just write”? As such, allow me to elaborate on this “just write”, or at least what I think “just write” could entail for the benefit of the learner.

First, never dispose of your old work. You will need it later on, even after you’ve improved - to be able to look back and see your growth during periods of discouragement.

Second, do not obsess over editing. Sure, things can always be improved upon - and it will most likely be the case that sometimes it will not be just in your head and that indeed, somebody will notice. But it is okay this way. We are humans. Humans make mistakes. What humans do is also learning from them. You will get way more experience out of creating plenty imperfect works than if you were to write just one perfect piece.

Third, the initial growth may be rapid. Then it slows down - and much to my dismay, and probably to that of plenty other writers, it is when we are most aware of our errors. We have enough experience to recognize them, but lack tools to solve them. It is okay this way. This is just how learning goes and it will pass eventually. It does not mean you suddenly forgot how to write, quite the opposite - you’ve learnt more than ever before and started to notice things you were oblivious to before. Don’t be scared, it’s okay - just try to tackle them, one at the time.

Fourth, forget about what you think you should be and focus on what you can be. Listen. You will never be Ursula K Le Guin - and she will never be you. Art of any type is subjective, and it will never be so that one style is superior to the other. You may admire some authors and try to mimic their style - which by itself, I presume, isn’t that bad of a thing, it can give you some analytical experience - but eventually, you will find something in them that’s bothering you. Do not try to force yourself into any rigid frames of “should” and “should not”, of “but author XYZ does it and it works out for them”. If it doesn’t work out for you, it doesn’t work out for you - that’s it. That being said, since I think I may be wording myself poorly - it is not an excuse not to try or say, to avoid some things completely, because you don’t feel particularly confident about them, no. It is a call to adapt things to suit you. You will grow with time too - adapt again, do not shackle yourself!

To give an example to that - my imagination works in words. I hardly ever see any scenes, and if I do, they are usually extremely vague, blurred. But I also think in smells and feelings, colours, textures, plenty things which together create an experience. I struggle with writing detailed descriptions. For the longest time I thought I should be writing them, but... Really, as much as I know it is something I should make sure to check myself on, I stopped putting extra pressure on myself to make the descriptions VERY detailed. Does my reader need to know the precise layout of streets, or is it okay if I give them an idea on how more-or-less the system works and then walk them briefly through it? We all have our set of experiences we build up on. I’d rather collect a set of items with a certain atmosphere to them than torture myself with creating a precise vision. My readers don’t have to imagine things the way I do for the scenery to still work. Did it make my descriptions so much better? I don’t know. But it certainly kept me a writing-writer as opposed to i-cant-write-a-single-thing-right-writer and I think that’s plenty good.

Fifth, write for yourself and be greedy of your time. Your stories do not have to shatter the world or otherwise save it. All stories have some sort of audience that will be willing to listen to them, and they may be just as meaningful to other people - so honestly, don’t put any pressure on yourself with some sense of mission. That being said, if you feel like being generous, do it! Take requests! People don’t like what you wrote for them? Well, they asked for it and it was your courtesy to begin with. However, that brings us to another one...

Sixth, we are not perfect and will never be - a knowledge of a person is finite. Be curious and remember that no experiences are universal. In other words: ask questions, look for what other people say, read their experiences, educate yourself, and then, at the end of the day, decide whether your original outlook on the matter is still relevant. Examine whether the story you wanted to tell still holds up. Look for your biases and never, never forget you can be wrong - people can and may point our your errors. It is fine. Apologise and do better next time. (Although it may happen that somebody’s claims will not be based in reality - and then it’s back to learning and talking and... Basically, navigating through the world). Basically, step out of your shoes and try to imagine walking in those belonging to somebody else. This is particularly relevant when discussing cultures or presenting characters from marginalised groups.

Example relevant to me: If the only slavic characters in your work are uneducated or otherwise stupid, you have a problem with representation there. If all of them are addicted to alcohol, drugs, are part of mafia, are spies, are thieves or otherwise operate as criminals - you have an issue there. If your story is set in Prague, but you use Russian cultural themes and have your characters use stray words from other slavic languages (and it is not just a quirk of a given character, but more so a common thing to all of them) - you have an issue there.

Seventh, do not be scared after the sixth. It seems like a lot. It boils down to being humble and being aware that your experiences are only yours. And to the fact that if you know precisely nothing about something and want to write about it, you should do some reading first.

Eighth, experiment and have fun. If something grows more tedious than entertaining, you may want to let it go, at least for a moment. Not all stories have to be finished. Sometimes we aren’t at the place in life when we ourselves have an appropriate ending for them.

Ninth, see what you can learn from others and observe. This isn’t only about their experiences, but their craft too. Sometimes others know better. Ask whether they’d be willing to give you any opinions on the matter. However, you do need a certain compatibility for that too - sometimes your styles may be too different and one person could be converting the other to be more like them in terms of writing. This isn’t any good.

The last one, tenth: try to localise the issue you’re experiencing every time you stumble into one. It will make it easier for others to help you, or for you to help yourself.

#Anonymous #answered

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alicejohnson · 3 years

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I already made a messy post about this amazing book series here, but because I intend to use this blog as dumping ground for all of my thoughts properly now, I wanted to do an "official review".

Stars: ⭐⭐⭐⭐ (In my heart it's a 5-star rating, but the plot and the writing is not THE best)

The review in itself is pretty much spoiler-free, but thoughts and interactions with this post might not be.

What is it about: A found family trope that revolves around a made-up mixed-sex sport called Exy (imagine if lacrosse and hockey had a child). Oh, and all of the college students playing in the team are "troubled children". Also, it is LGBTQ+ :)

Warnings?: All of them. All of the warnings humanly possible. Graphic descriptions of violence, r*pe, child abuse, drug abuse, overdoses, death, self-harm, suicide. Someone made an entire list here. PLEASE do go over it before reading these books.

Writing: It is dialogue-heavy, and kind of cringy in the best way possible. There are times you know there's no one who speaks like that, but at the moment it sounds pretty good. It did get repetitive and some phrases are used multiple times during the entire series to the point of "yes, I know, thank you". But the banter is just immaculate though, characters' interactions are pure gold.

Plot: The story in itself is not entirely realistic, I've heard people compare it to a very good fanfic and I agree, it has mafia elements, cult-like behaviors, and sometimes it is just quite out there in the realm of reality, but it's really compelling and perfectly paced. Also, even when it's not as realistic, everything fits into place and makes sense so it's not annoying or just outright crazy. Take the plot more as a trigger for character development rather than anything else.

And it is actually a funny book. When I was not in pain, I laughed a lot. 10/10 :)

Characters: I love them so much it pains me. The way the author describes and portrays feelings and trauma is incredible. Also, it's VERY CONSISTENT. I can't remember a time I thought "wait, why is X acting like this?" (except when it came to trauma-induced behavior that I will never understand cause I've never lived through it or when I failed to unravel all the characters motivations cause again, they are very complicated people in a complicated environment).

The MC, Neil, is a cinnamon roll, and actually has one of the best arcs I've seen in a book. He grows, learns, he cares so much, and gave me all of the comfort. I understand why all of them are in love with him.

It has good representation, (females kick-ass and are treated equally by the team, I mean the freaking captain is a woman! Loved it) and characters with very different personalities, and almost no one important is completely one-dimensional.

(Andrew is my fucking comfort character and no one can change my mind)

I do recommend it, actually, I believe everyone should read this book and learn about consent, trauma, boundaries, sense of belonging, identity, and a very specific kind of love that I've never seen before.

Thoughts: This is going to be pretty short because I left all of my feelings in that post (Edit: I lied this is long af. lol) I linked at the beginning that made no sense, had lots of grammar mistakes, and typos, but I was just feeling it at the moment.

These characters came to my life to teach me that I should not just bend over for love. That my boundaries - both respecting others and my own- can be an entirely new love language.

We carry so much emotional baggage created by just existing in this fucking world that we start to believe we are unlovable, hoping for the day some magical creature will come and suddenly lift all of the weight from our shoulders. Love will now hold it for us from that moment on till forever, and that's just not true. It's never going to happen. Yes, love keeps us moving, but it won't ever be the solution to our pain.

But, the good thing is that Andrew taught me that, instead, when this magical creature does appear, we can lean on them, work on our issues by ourselves, and the days we can't it's ok too, cause they will be there.

We don't need someone to save us, we need someone who respects our boundaries, our pain, our experiences and still loves us without us needing to be fixed as a condition, without us putting ourselves in uncomfortable situations, without us feeling unlovable for feeling the way we do.

We live in a world where boundaries don't exist anymore, hell, in the middle of the pandemic we even take classes or work in our safe place, so this book reminded me that it's ok to have them and to communicate them to the people around me.

(Thank you Neil for learning with me how to ask for help)

The opposite to The Song of Achilles, these books strip everything out of romance and leave us with the raw horrifying experience of being alive, alone, and terrified and takes it to the maximum amount of trauma and pain.

But, at the same time, it teaches us to love in the middle of all that suffering and that there are good people that are willing to be with us. (Yes, Neil, there are people in the world who are horrible, but there are also others who are not)

Side note: I'm in awe at how much the foster system sucks in the USA. These books also tackle a lot of issues around police incompetence, the State's inability to protect children, social class differences, and the abuse of power authorities use on a regular basis. Chef's kiss.

“He'd come to the Foxhole Court every inch a lie, but his friends made him into someone real.”

#yes or no?#THIS IS A LONG ONE #Will I ever get over these books?#aftg #the foxhole court #neil josten #andrew minyard #book review #all for the game #andreil

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snowdice · 4 years

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Rats, Pizza, and Supply Closets (Part of the Cuffed Universe Series)

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Relationships: Logan/Remus/Virgil (a bit more Logan/Remus focus)

Characters: Logan, Virgil, Remus

Summary: Logan is very surprised by the fact that Remus did not come to this pizzeria with the goal to capture him, and now that they’re both here, it turns out their objectives align far more than expected.

AKA: The First Truce

This is a Cuffed Universe fic.

Previous fics in this series:

Tea, Cookies, and Handcuffs

Matboards and Subway Sandwiches

Espionage and Iced Coffee

Popcorn and Podcasts

Extras:

Moving Day

Notes: Non-consensual drug use mentioned, morally grey Logan, cop Remus, being restrained, one theoretical mention of eye injuries, human trafficking mentioned

Look at the boys! They’re getting along! Well.... Remus and Logan are getting along.

One would think, that is, one would think if one had even a single iota of sense in one’s monkey brain, that it would be difficult for a new hire to so quickly gain access to the location that one’s underground drug dealing operation ran out of. Particularly, one would think one would be cautious after having recently refused to pay for services from a cybercriminal.

Luckily for Logan, it seemed Haynes had a few disconnected synapses in his brain, and all it had taken was a fake ID and some forged paperwork to get hired on as a handyman for the business he used for money laundering. In addition to his work dolling out controlled substances, Haynes also owned a local rip off of a Chuck E Cheese called Cheeezeee the Cheese Rat. It was a dirty establishment with questionable food offerings and even more questionable decor.

Many times this week, Logan had found himself distracted by the large mural of a rat made out of cheese who was holding a smaller hunk of cheese as though he planned to eat it. Logan couldn’t help but stare at the image in horror, his mind desperately searching for some meaning in the piece. Was it meant to be a visual representation of pantheism wherein all things no matter the way humanity views them are ultimately the same and are god? That god is the creator, consumer, and consumed and god is reality itself. Was is a commentary on thoughtless, damaging consumption whereupon in one’s hunger and lust one eventually consumes themselves thereby destroying the vessel which one seeks to feed? Was the commissioner just deranged?

“Dude, for the 50th time, it is just a mural of a dumb character for kids,” the woman standing at the counter in the middle of the kitchen said as she sprinkled what could maybe pass for cheese on slabs of glorified cardboard the establishment called pizza crust. “I don’t know what to tell you. Just stop thinking about it and fix the sink.”

Logan tore his eyes away from the monstrosity he’d been staring at through the kitchen food window for the past minute and turned his attention back to the tool kit he’d been provided. He selected the correct tool and climbed back under the sink. He listened to the sounds of the woman continuing to make the “pizza.” Honestly, even if Logan did not know they were selling drugs out of the back, he still may have reported them to the authorities based solely on their food handling practices. In fact, perhaps the food was a worse offence considering that those buying their drugs knew they were purchasing and consuming harmful substances.

The underside of the sink he was under was disgusting, but the work wasn’t difficult. He’d learned enough about being generally handy from his father when he was young, and he had brushed up on those skills in the first apartment he’d shared with Virgil as that landlord did not care enough to fix things in a timely manner.

He still had his head under the sink when he heard footsteps enter the kitchen. He recognized Haynes’ voice as soon as the man spoke. He was explaining a few things about how his operation ran to whoever else was there. He used vague terms, but it was still a rather risky move with Logan and the “chef” in the same room, though it was quite possible she was in on the drug selling as well.

Logan finished fixing the sink without paying the conversation much mind; he already knew why he was here, and it was not to glean information. Logan intended to swipe what the man owed him as well as a steep amount of interest for his trouble. Then, he planned to send all of the information he had acquired about the business to the local law enforcement and let them deal with the rest.

He slid out from under the sink and glanced up. Immediately, he met the eyes of one of the room’s occupants and froze. He and Officer Remus Royal stared at each other for a few long moments before Remus tore his gaze away and looked back at Haynes. Logan breathed a sigh of relief that he wasn’t stupid enough to attempt to confront Logan in front of the drug dealer. That would have very likely ended badly for them both.

No longer being directly watched, though he imagined Remus was still tracking his movement from the corner of his eyes, Logan cleaned up his tools slowly and stood. His next task was to change a few lightbulbs behind the stage of the animatronic show, and while things had inevitably just changed, he still planned to at least keep up appearances until he could come up with an escape plan. He left the kitchen and moved towards the supply closet. He stored the toolbox there and his hand hovered over one of the screwdrivers for a moment, but he ultimately decided to leave it be. Remus was an inconvenience, but he couldn’t see himself stabbing the man through the eye socket with a screwdriver. He turned to the box of lightbulbs, wondering if he should take them with him or just completely throw out any pretenses of still intending to complete his handyman duties. That decision was made for him when the closet door suddenly opened.

Logan tensed for a fight, mind analyzing the situation. He didn’t have the element of surprise and Remus was bigger, but it was a smaller space that was more familiar to Logan. For most opponents, he’d want to try to angle them away from anything that could prove a fatal or extremely harmful improvised weapon, but in all the times Remus and he had fought in the past, the man always gentled his touch before it could do any true harm and never applied excessive force. Logan had found himself extending the same courtesy. So, in this case, the strategy would be to try to push him towards more deadly weapons which he would be unwilling to utilize. Of course, Remus still had the advantage as he was nearer to the door and Logan was more pinned into the back of the closet, but there was also a light switch right next to Logan and if he could turn it off…

“What are you doing here?” Remus asked the second the door closed behind him.

Logan hesitated. “You seem surprised. Are you not tracking me?”

His body language seemed to communicate that he didn’t intend to jump at Logan in the immediate future, but Logan still eyed him suspiciously. “Believe it or not,” Remus said. “I do have other jobs to do besides chasing you. I honestly did not expect to find you fixing a sink in a crappy pizzeria.”

“You’re truly not here for me?”

“You sound hurt,” Remus teased. “Apologies, I thought you knew this was an open relationship. I see other criminals all the time. Don’t you see other cops?”

“You’re the only one who’s ever been able to even partially keep up with me.”

“Well, I’ve been told I have quite the stamina,” he said, eyes sparkling.

Logan shifted slightly to the side but stilled again when Remus’s eyes immediately tracked the movement. “Stamina doesn’t provide much advantage when stuck in a closet with your opponent,” Logan said idly.

“Oh, I’d beg to differ,” he said lowly.

“So why are you here?” he asked instead of engaging.

“I’m undercover to help bring down Haynes,” Remus said. “He’s into some even skeevier stuff than his rat-infested restaurant”

“I’m aware,” Logan said. “I was actually planning to send an anonymous tip to local law enforcement when I was finished here, though it seems that will be unnecessary now.”

“You were?” Remus asked. “Why?”

“He owes me money, and besides that, he’s an asshole.”

“Asshole might be an understatement for a human trafficker.”

“A what?” Logan asked.

Remus raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t you know?” he asked, and suddenly the rat themed restaurant for kids took on an even more dark nauseating tone.

“I wouldn’t have done any work for him at all if I’d had even an inkling that he partook in that business as well,” Logan spat. “I’m taking him down even harder now.”

There was a moment of silence where Remus considered him, eyes unreadable and head slightly tilted. “So, we’re both here for the same reason,” he said.

“I guess we are.”

“Huh.”

“If you attempted to arrest me, it would blow your cover,” Logan pointed out and tilted his head, “and it would make my objective more difficult as well. Considering the severity of his crimes, would you be willing to make a temporary alliance just to make sure Haynes gets what he deserves?”

“Are you going to drug me at the end of it?” Remus asked.

“We’ll institute a 20-minute grace period after we’re finished. You don’t attempt to arrest me, and I don’t attempt to incapacitate you after we complete our objective.”

Remus took a moment to think through the offer, and then shoved his hands in his pocket. “Deal.”

“Very well,” Logan said. “So…”

The closet door was opened suddenly by a figure in one of the restaurant’s uniforms. “Wha-?” he started, but Remus reacted quickly, grabbing the person and slamming his hand over his mouth. Logan leaned forward and shut the door once Remus has wrestled him inside.

“Virgil?” Logan asked.

“Oh! Hey Virge,” Remus said in surprise. “You’re working at a pizzeria now?” Virgil tried to respond, but whatever he said was muffled by Remus’s hand. “Oh, right,” Remus said. “I’m going to uncover your mouth, but you have to promise not to scream.”

Virgil nodded vehemently.

“Wait,” Logan said, his eyes narrowed on Virgil. “He’s lying. He’s going to scream.”

Virgil shook his head in denial.

“I know you Virgil,” Logan said. “I can tell when you’re lying.” There was always a crinkle between his eyes because he overcorrected on trying to look earnest.

Virgil made a muffled whining sound in the back of his throat.

“Look,” Remus sighed. “I’ll take my hand off your mouth. Don’t scream, and we’ll talk it out, okay Virgil?”

Virgil nodded again, crinkle still prevalent between his eyes, and Logan pressed his lips together to watch.

Remus slowly removed his hand from Virgil’s mouth. There was a short moment of silence. Then… “AAAAmphpmphmpmphpm.” Logan slapped his own hand over the man’s mouth when he started to yell.

“I told you he was going to scream,” Logan commented idly.

“Mphfmkr,” was the angry reply as he tried to fight against Remus’s hold.

Remus sighed. “I was trying to be nice to you, Virge. Now we have to gag you.”

Virgil’s struggling increased, but Remus was easily able to hold him. Logan and Remus awkwardly managed to exchange their hands, so Logan was able to turn around and search the shelves for something to gag him with.

“Here,” Logan said. “This rope is still packaged so it should be clean.”

Virgil whined it protest.

“Well it’s that or duct tape, Virgil and I don’t relish in the pain that would doubtlessly result from the process of removing it.”

“Fmf. Ff.”

It was a struggle to get the rope between his teeth, but they managed it after a bit of wrestling. “Can I borrow your handcuffs?” Logan asked Remus.

“This time he asks,” Remus snarked, but handed them over.

Virgil made muffled irate noises behind the rope as he was cuffed to the metal shelving unit; Logan imagined whatever the man was trying to say was quite inspired.

“Sorry Virge,” Remus said, patting him on the head. “See you later.”

They shut the closet door behind them, and Logan locked the door with the keys he’d been provided. He handed the keys to Remus. “You’ll let him out after?” he asked.

“Of course,” Remus said. “I’ve got the emo.”

Logan nodded and turned from the closet. “Let’s go get a rat,” he said darkly.

Want to read more? The next installment is:

Kisses and Thai Noodle Leftovers

#sanders sides #logan sanders #remus sanders #intrulogical #virgil sanders #intruanalogical #adriana writes #cuffed universe #cop remus #morally grey logan #non-consensual drug use #drugs mentioned #being restrained #eye injury mentioned #human trafficking mentioned

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nothesc · 4 years

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Hello you! There are two interviews on YouTube with Hajar and Lucas, but I don't understand one word :/

Could you tell me please what they're talking about?

Lucas: https://youtu.be/aqrKcW2rzbQ

Hajar: https://youtu.be/5EVbqe4kFdw

Hi! Sure, I’m sorry this took me a bit but I had to watch both interviews. It’s basically what they said on the written interview. LUCAS He starts talking about how he first auditioned for Skam and how once he got there he realized that they were all a family. He said that working in Skam is really magical, like they make things look easy. He also says that the actresses put something of themselves in their characters, especially Irene and Hajar. He says that Hajar and Amira’s story needed to be told, and he said that the best thing that Skam could ever give him was the opportunity to be there with Hajar to support her while telling Amira’s story. He says that one of the best things about skam is that they tell true stories, there’s no extra drama no one dies, no one sells drugs, no one is super rich, they’re stories that feel real so teens can identify with it. He said that while on s2 he had to portrayed the older brother that takes care of his sister while being there for her when she needs him, on s4 Dani is in love, he’s fascinated by Amira who, even though is younger than him, is so mature, and has a higher sense of morality than Dani and higher sense of future than him, and he doesn’t hesitate when falling into a relationship with her with all that means because he’s in love with her. He’s asked what Amira is for Dani and he says that she brings light to his life, that he’s known her for a long time and that now he sees in her the opportunity to have the love story he’s always wanted. They talk about how silence is very important between amira and dani, how it’s not an uncomfortable silence and he says that it’s the kind of comfortable silence you have with someone you’ve known your whole life When asked about how was filming s4 he said that in the beginning he was so nervous because Hajar’s been doing her role for such a long time and he wanted to be as good as her so he, as Lucas, would look alright. But that eventually he realized that what he really needed to do was create a Dani that helps Amira tell her story better, because he’s not the one that matters here, Amira and her story are. He said he’s very comfortable on Dani’s skin. That he was very anxious and nervous at first but that Hajar helped him a lot to relax. He again said that both Amira and Hajar’s stories are very important to tell. HAJAR She said that she didn’t realize she was the main of the fourth season till she was actually filming the first episode because it felt like it wasn’t real, she didn’t want to get her hopes up. She said that she didn’t have to change much stuff to play Amira this season than the way she played her previous seasons Amira wants to tell how it’s living as a hijabi in Spain and what comes with that. She wants people to know her and her world. Hajar says that telling this story was super important because she didn’t grow up with representation in tv shows until og Skam came along and she really loved it and she wished there would be a spanish version and then she ended up being the main of the spanish version. She says that to the director was very important that Amira’s parents weren’t strict, that they were loving and normal parents because Muslim parents are also like that and not only the way they’re portrayed on tv. She says that she told the writers that she needed the two groups of friends Amira has, because she also has them, because she’s part of both worlds, the Spanish and the Muslim one. She says that representation is really important because when you watch a tv show and you see someone that looks like you or believes in what you do you feel like you’re not invisible and you matter She said that the writers told her that they would write whatever she told them because her story was the one that needed to be told About Dani she says that Amira has always known what she wants in life and she’s so sure of it but suddenly someone comes along that shakes her world and makes her question things and realize not everything is so easy. About the silence she says that even though Dani and Amira have a really great communication, sometimes they don’t need words. Dani gets Amira, he understands what she says and what she hasn’t said. And that’s what makes them so special. She says she really misses Amira. She says that she loves all her castmates that they’ve all helped her so much and make things easier for her She feels like time has gone by too fast, she’s more mature now, and she’s felt so many things during these years. She’s learned a lot. This season they were feeling very nostalgic because they knew things were ended. She says that they cried a lot during the last scene and that it’s super beautiful. Again, sorry it took so long

#skam españa #damira

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love-geeky-fangirl · 4 years

Text

Ranking every Teen Drama I have ever watched

(Updated)

The Secret Life of the American Teenager

+ young Shailene Woodley and Molly Ringwald I guess

- everything else. Even Shailene Woodley's and Molly Ringwald's performances weren't that great because the writing is just oh so bad. The background music is bland and repetative and it sounds like out of some teenager's YouTube chanel. The plotlines are ridiculous and convoluted, which isn't neccessarily such a bad thing, because it is a teen drama show after all, the problem is the show seems to take itself too seriously. Other entries on this list also have ridiculously convoluted plotlines, but I'm ranking them highed because they don't take themselves too seriously and don't claim to be realistic like this show does. Seriously, from the title it suggests like this was going to be a real, uncensored look into high school but it's the furthest thing from it. Not to mention how problematic it is- God forbid someone suggests that a 14-year-old pregnant girl gets an abortion or gives the baby up for adoption without being seen as a terrible and despicable person.

Otp: Marc Molina x a job somewhere far, far away from these kids

Notps: every single pairing on this show

Best moment: literally none

Weirdest moment: "I'm such a whore!" "Well, you're my whore." What were the writers thinking??? Was this supposed to be romantic??

We Children From Zoo Station

+the aesthetic, the casting of Christiane, Detlef and Axel

-this was such a letdown. Honestly I was so hyped for it after seeing the trailer since I've read the book and didn't particularly like the movie- I feel like it's hard to fit all of Christiane's story into 90 minutes. That's why I was so excited about this show. Christiane's story covers so much, so it's easier to make it into a TV show when you don't want to ommit anything and butcher the story. But they somehow managed to do it anyway. They changed so much for no reason and completely erased Christiane's childhood trauma, which was important in the book. Now, I know you can say that it's just a loose adaptation, so it doesn't have to follow the book word for word. But I feel like if you already decided to tell her- a real person's story- you should at least do it authentically. Imo they shouldn't have tried to make the setting vague. It worked with Sex Education because the story of Sex Education is timeless. However, Christiane's story is not timeless. It's a true story set in the 1970s. If they were making a new show from scratch, I would have liked it. But this is an already existing story and they’re supposed to be just retelling it. My last issue is a nit pick but I wish the actresses playing Stella and Babsi were reversed. It just would've fit better.

Otps: all those kids x sobriety

Notp: Christiane x Detlef

Best moment: Christiane's first time in Sound was pretty true to the book

Weirdest moment: when Detlef became a gigolo because he needed money for his dog. Who tf thought of that?

Pretty Little Liars

+ makeup, style, the theme song, the drama and mystery that always kept me guessing, the cliffhangers at the end of each episode that made it so addictive, Emily's coming out story, Hanna and Spencer had some good lines

- the mishandling of some serious issues (namely eating disorders), romantization of student-teacher relationship, the timeline not making much sense, these writers seem to put more thought into the characters' outfits than the storylines

Otps: Emily x Maya, Hanna x Caleb

Notp: Ezria

Best moment: Hanna and Caleb in the shower (the sexual tension was cuttable with a knife)

Weirdest moments: Aria asking Ezra out in the middle of a make-up test (it was supposed to be cute but it was just cringy), Spencer trying to block A's text messages on a laptop, in the middle of a park (what? Spencer, you were supposed to be the smart one!)

One Tree Hill

+ Brooke, the theme song, Chad Michael Murray

- the casual drinking and driving (I mean seriously these kids play a drinking game at a party and then casually hop into a car and drive home??), too much basketball and cheerleading (that's not a bad thing per se but I just don't really care about neither of these things), it just seems too stereotypical and kinda bland?? I couldn't really get into it

Otp: Naley

Notp: Peyton x Nathan

Best moment: Naley by the dock

Weirdest moment: "I guess I'm just a riddle, wrapped in a mystery inside a bitch." It's not really a bad moment but a cringy line. I guess the writers though they were being clever but it just sounded bad.

Dawson's Creek

+ the clothes, the 90s aesthetic, the 90s soundtrack, many movie references, Pacey is a sweetheart, Jen is a feminist icon, dealing with mental health issues through Andie (it's rare to see in shows as old as this)

- the slutshaming of Jen really hasn't aged well, the storyline of Pacey being statury raped by his much older teacher was mishandled (it was either treated as scandalous, cool or in Andie’s case somehow shameful), same goes for Jen’s backstory- it was mentioned she was raped at 12 by an older man and then never brought up again, Dawson is the most unlikable protagonist ever and his friendship/relationship with Joey is codependent and possessive, the dialogue is sometimes pretentious and unrealistic, the timeline doesn't really add up- I can never tell what time of the year it's supposed to be, because it looks like it's always fall for some reason. And how did they sophomore year have two homecomings?

Otps: Pacey x Andie, Pacey x Joey (yes, both at the same time)

Notp: Dawson x Joey

Best moments: Jen helping Joey when that jerk was spreading rumours about her and then Jen and Joey locking Abby in the closet together (I love it when they stick together instead of tearing each other down), Pacey and Joey bickering

Weirdest moments: when Joey was upset because Dawson didn’t want to tell her how often he “walks his dog”, when Jen was about to have a treesome at a party and Dawson walked into the room and carried her out despite her kicking and screaming

Glee

+ funny, Sue Sylvester's iconic, great covers and a way to find new songs, the performances are aesthetically pleasing, lgbtq+ representation, tackling of serious issues, coming out story, a father who’s accepting of his son’s sexuality right away despite not really understanding it (it’s so rare to see, that’s why it’s so refreshing), the plotlines are ridiculous but at least the show doesn't take itself too seriously

-as I already said the 1st season was great but after that it just seemed like the writers made up a checklist of hard issues they should tackle and tried to tackle every single one of them while covering every single song and it just fell flat. Prime example- Quinn ending up in a wheelchair getting into a car crash to warn us from drinking and driving, singing I’m Still Standing and then suddenly being able to walk normally after. a few episodes Rachel and Finn got almost all songs, while other characters were criminally underrated and underused (Tina, Quinn, Mercedes). The teachers are questionable to put it mildly. Cringy moments- Finn singing You're Having My Baby to Quinn in front of her parents when it wasn't even his baby! Also no one except of Kurt looks like they could be in high school. And why are these cheerleaders wearing their uniforms 24/7??

Otps: Brittana, Sam x Quinn, Tina x Artie (unpopular opinion, I know), Mr Schue x unemployment

Notp: Quinn x Finn

Best moments: Quinn giving birth to Bohemian Rhapsody

Weirdest moment: Rachel's gross and painfully awkward crush on Mr Schue, Mr Schue joining the Glee club on the stage for a performance of Toxic and girls in the audience cat calling him (Ewww)

Euphoria

+ Zendaya's and Jacob Elordi's performances, tackling of serious issues such as drug addiction and overdose, anxiety and depression, abusive relationships and abortion in a better manner than most (if not all) teen dramas, the aesthetics, makeup and wardrobe, the musical number in the finale, the special episodes giving us insight into the characters' psychology, toxic relationships not being romanticized (which is sadly rare), teenagers sounding like actual real life teens (no "I reject reality" crap)

- lack of comic relief (why so serious all the time), sexualization of teen characters (I know this is something many teen dramas are guilty of but it's the most evident here), too much nudity (I know some of you are going to come at me with: "But it's realistic!" So what? It is realitic that teenagers get naked when they go into shower but does it mean we have to see it?? It seems to me like this show is trying too hard to be "boundary pushing" at times and ends up being scandalous just for the sake of being scandalous), these characters just aren't believable as high school juniors to me (they sound like high schoolers but they certainly don’t act, look or dress that way). There's no reason this show couldn't have been set in college.

Otps: Rue x sobriety, Nate x prison

Notps: Nate x Maddy, Cassie x McKay

Best moments: "You did this to me!" and the musical number in the season 1 finale

Weirdest moment: the fact that Maddy lost her virginity at 14 to a 40-year-old man being mentioned so casually because apparently she was "totally in control". Excuse me what??

Skins

+ style and makeup- each character has a signature trademark (Sid and his beanie, Effy's eyeliner, Cassie's soft eyeshadow), their British accents, I'm pretty sure this is the only teen drama that follows multiple classes, teenage characters being played by actual teen actors, the characters looking like average people you meet in high school and not as if they just walked off the runway, dealing with serious issues such as drug abuse, eating disorder, parental abandonment etc (yes, some people claim the show romanticized it, but I disagree. It's not the show that romanticized it- it's the fans. The show tried to portray the dangers of drugs as well as possible. Think about it- every time characters used drugs it ended in a disaster. In the pilot they thought that Cassie overdosed and ended up crashing a car while rushing into the hospital. In later season Effy hit her friend in the head with a rock because she was having a bad trip. That's not romanticizing drugs.), Effy is iconic and honestly the first episode was enough to get me hooked

- every single teacher being a creep and having a thing for a student at some point, the show can get too dark and unncessarily dramatic at times. Did that many people have to die? Did Chris's death really have to be this graphic? Timeline doesn't really add up- are 8 episodes supposed to cover the whole year? It would've made more sense if there were more episodes in a season.

Otps: Chris x Jal, Emily x Naomi

Notps: Sid x Michelle

Best moment: ooh baby it's a wild world

Weirdest moment: Chris's graphic death

The OC

+ more grounded in reality than many others on this list, the theme song, the love stories, Seth and Summer are funny, the friendships are believable and the whole group has great chemistry

- too many unneccessary fights, Luke is the worst, everyone is way too casual about drunk driving, these parents are WAAAY too chill (I know this can be said about many teen dramas but it's the most obvious here. How did the Roberts and the Coopers let two 16-year-old girls go to Mexico alone?? With no supervision?? What?)

Otps: Seth x Summer, Ryan x Marissa

Notp: Luke x Marissa

Best moments: the “oh no, there’s only one bed” in the Mexico episode, Seth and Summer's first kiss and that kiss at the yacht, Ryan and Marissa's first date by the pool

Weirdest moment: these parents letting their teenage kids go to Mexico alone. It's irresponsible when they're 16 but apparently they let them go there and party every year. What?

Gossip Girl

+ every episode having a clever title, the style, the makeup, the 00s soundtrack, the glamour of it all (it feels like reading a very gossipy magazine!), all the scandals, this show never pretends to portray the realitic teenage experience so it can pretty much be as far-fetched as it wants to and you can’t question it, it gives you a chance to live the fantasy of being super rich, living with a penthouse, riding a limo to school and going to parties in New York City every night

- the final reveal doesn't make any sense, just like with PLL these writers seemed to have put more thought into the outfits and makeup than into the plotlines, romantization of a toxic relationship, having every two straight characters date or hook up at some point, which just felt forced, mishandling of serious issues (Blair's eating disorder, Eric's suicide attempt and Serena and Jenny's sexual assault from the pilot being brought up when it's convenient but not really dealt with and brushed off at other times), sexualization of teen characters

Otps: Dan x Blair, Serena x Nate

Notps: Chuck x Blair

Best moments: the Thanksgiving flashbacks, Blair and Serena running around New York and taking selfies in stolen dresses, Nate and Serena’s first time (although it was better in the books) and then their kiss at the white party, the sheer scandal of "I killed someone", Dan giving Blair a plastic tiara to make her feel like a princess

Weirdest moments: Chuck's father returning from the death and then dying again, by yeeting himself off the roof

Freaks and Geeks

+ probably the most realistic teen drama there is, the characters dress the way I can see actual teens dressing, funny, but also heatbreaking at times, probably the only teen show that included an intersex character, the characters being a little stereotypical but self-aware at least, young James Franco and Jason Segel

- the bullying being a bit too much at times and it's a bit unrealistic that the teachers would do literally nothing about it, too short- I will never understand why this got cancelled

Otps: Daniel x Kim, Lindsay x Nick, Amy x Ken

Notps: Sam x Cindy

Best moments: Sam breaking down at the end of Garage Door, Daniel and Kim getting back together in the rain

Weirdest moment: Cindy doing a 180 and becoming super mean when she started dating Sam.

Gilmore Girls

+ so many movie, literary and music references, the quotable lines (what a great way to learn about new movies, books and bands! It’s so unique for a TV show to make you smarter), the witty banter, the comfort of the first few seasons (it really feels like wrapping a warm blanket around yourself while holding a hot cup of coffee, I can’t explain why, but it’s such a comfort show), the quirky small town with many unique festivals, many entertaining and snappy fights where everyone has a point, characters dealing with real world problems (seriously, how often do you see a storyline about termites? Or a teenager with zit cream on a teen drama show?), this is also one of the few shows where teenagers are shown to have rules and restrictions and curfews (finally some kids growing up with strict parents representation) and doing homework and studying and not just partying and drinking and having sex all the time and that’s so refreshing

- but while it is refreshing to see teenagers waiting to have sex and not doing it behind every corner, the show is kind of sex negative. Every single time a (female) character loses her virginity it ends in a disaster. Even when she loses it after she’s married! It doesn’t make any sense, unless the writers just really hated women. Also slutshaming (”I got the good kid!”) ewww. The money and budget doesn’t make much sense on the show either and the girls seem immune to calories. I know some people might come at me for this with: “But it’s just a show!” but I think it’s harmful to show beautiful, thin women eat nothing but tons of junkfood all the time and never excersize and then fatshame people who do excersize but aren’t fortunate enough to be blessed with amazing Gilmore genes, and then throw around tactless references to eating disorders.

Otps: Lane x Dave, Jess x Rory

Notps: Lane x Zach, Rory x Dean, Lorelai x Christopher

Best moments: Then She Appeared, Rory’s valedictorian speech, Lorelai’s graduation

Weirdest moment: Lorelai and Christopher getting married in Paris at 4am. That’s not how it works in Europe. Do Americans think every single Europian country works like Las Vegas, where you can just get married whenever you decide??

#teen dramas #these are just my opinions #so don't take it personally #u might disagree #but idrc

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knightsandjedis · 4 years

Text

Let the pettiness commence

Let me be frank here when stating that if the quarantine weren’t happening I would probably remain the type of blogger to just re-blog posts without commenting or making my own posts. I enjoy looking at things more than commenting what can I say? I should say thanks and welcome to all the followers I’ve gained these past few years. You all are awesome and hope you all are staying safe during these troublesome times!

Alright, I’m going from civil to petty here and I should forewarn you if you’re a fan of Sarah J. Maas and her novels you’ll prefer to stay away then listen to my rant. Just being polite and giving a heads up.

Listen, there are periods where atrocious books become a major part of trending pop culture. Eventually, the hype dies down and people can take a deep inhale of relief. Around the 2010s time-period, the hype was focused on Twilight books. No matter where you went you felt suffocated by the hyper-fixation people had on this series. I’ll be honest I was an avid Twilight lover for a period until I wised up and had to recognize these books are horrendous and having a bad influence on teens during my era. Teens were getting Aids from drinking each other’s blood literally, they were drinking someone’s blood literally. While they’re still popular main society’s attention has begun to wane.

Pop culture has an new interest in Sarah J. Maas’s series: Throne of Glass (ToG) and A Court of Thorns and Roses (ACOTAR). At one time I was part of the fan-base obsessed with her books. During a bleak period where every book I purchased ending up a dud despite strong premises; Maas’s first books, in both series, were a breath of fresh air. They had characters you found hysterical and enjoyed the story-lines (even though the storytelling was meh at times) and you couldn’t help anticipating future novels to see where the novels took these characters. Both series died for me at the books: Queen of Shadows and A Court of Mist and Fury.

These novels were my wake-up call to Maas’ manipulative storytelling patterns and her inconsistent characterizations. She completely morphs characters depending on the scenario. A noble, decent character is turned heinous to either add unnecessary drama or to make readers turn their affections towards another character Maas’ manipulates into becoming “the hero”- typically a love interest. Usually, the first-or second in TOG- love interests are noble characters with a few flaws but nothing to make readers despise them other than the fact they’re not the prettiest men in the series. Literally, readers adore the male characters that are otherworldly attractive than an average looking male who is humane and unproblematic. Problematic much? The message I’m receiving is you should fall in love with a pretty face rather than explore the person’s entire being (this includes past history, personality, characterization, etc).

People will say I’m petty because I’m annoyed Chaol and Tamlin did not remain the love interests. This is absolutely untrue. I’m annoyed Maas had to pull absolute garbage reasoning out of her ass to make the characters despicable.

Let’s start with Throne of Glass. Celaena (I refuse to call her Aelin because the name visually repulses me, it sounds like something Maas stole out of better high fantasy novels) realizes she doesn’t find Dorian compatible and finds Chaol more of an equal. Chaol has flaws but his main one seems to be he’s good-looking but only average in comparison to Dorian and Rowan- whose sex on legs apparently. Maas realizes people will deny Rowan as a love interest (after he gets into a punching match with Celaena) so she has to make Celaena despise Chaol and interact towards him with hostility despite her recognition Chaol had his reasoning's for certain events in previous novels. Then, Maas takes Chaol’s character, who is known for being awkward around women and loyal to a fault, and make him have one night stands, cheating on women, and apparently the scapegoat for everything that goes wrong because Celaena can’t own up she made mistakes. Nehemia also died to give Celaena that necessary push to go against the king but it’s entirely Chaol’s fault for Nehemia’s death since Celaena can do no wrong. Horseshit I say.

Dorian is not a match, Chaol is the bane of Celaena’s existence so Rowan is her champion. Gag. I actually liked Rowan in Heir of Fire but I found it repulsive how Celaena keeps throwing herself at him in Queen of Shadows and growing dependent on him. When she put him in a bath and started throwing her favorite shampoos in I found it to be the most awkward scene. It’s a moment someone with limited knowledge of sexual encounters would conjure up. “Let me give my love interest a bubble bath!” I’ve read these type of bath scenes in other novels but they’re more maturely done. Although I have to remember these books are written for teens. Then, they become mates. A contradicting setup because he had a mate in the past. But, no one is compatible unless they’re mates in Maas’ world. So, mates are stuck together and seem to have a servant/master relationship in certain portions of the stories. Yuck, just yuck.

Readers if you have to state someone is someone else’s mate so you’re aware they’re a thing then it’s probably not a healthy relationship since you’re staying they own that person in Maas’ world-building.

I’m going to stop while I’m ahead when writing about Rowan and Caelena because they repulse me. Buuuttt not to the same extent as Feyre and Rhysand. I absolutely despise these characters with every fiber of my being. This is one of the most unhealthiest relationships I’ve ever read. Before I jump into why they’re disgusting let me just say I love how everybody hopped on the Feyre adoration bandwagon only when she got into a relationship with Rhysand. Nobody liked her until she got.into.a.relationship.with.Rhysand. Wow!

Listen, I understand why Feyre couldn’t stay with Tamlin after what he did (ahem what Maas decided he should do). However contradictory Tamlin’s characterization was the relationship had turned unhealthy. Yetttt, no one batted an eye with Rhysand was giving Feyre date rape drugs, forcing her to give him lap dances making her sick when she came out of the haze, and her being entirely repulsed when he made-out with her. Plus, I read Rhysand as a gay or bi character when he was introduced. I think he would be a better character as a gay male seeking a friendship than their disgusting love story. He goes from giving her roofies and at least seeming like a morally gray character to Feyre’s champion. Yeah, not buying the bullshit.

I pity Tamlin’s character truly- he was butchered beyond recognition. He goes from allowing Feyre to wander to her heart’s extent- as long as she wasn’t in dangerous areas- to locking her up because he thought it made sense. He’s suddenly possessive of her in the most disgusting ways (but Rhysand isn’t possessive in the slightest even when he calls Feyre his “mate!”). All these details were added to make Rhys’ character more heroic. Rhys goes from being a somewhat tolerable character in his actions to a fucking messiah. Rhysand goes from roofie expert to whisking Feyre away for her own safety. Rhysand assists Feyre under the mountain unlike Tamlin! (Because the queen didn’t give a shit about Rhysand and he wasn’t under her radar to the extent as Tamlin). He loves reading stories with Feyre unlike Tamlin. (Hmm, Tamlin offers to teach Feyre to read which she stubbornly refuses because she’s independent but Rhysand forces her to learn and he’s romantic!). And gasp, Tamlin ended up being the one who murdered Rhysand’s family hence their animosity (hahahaha how desperate are you Maas, I mean seriously how pathetic). Feyre, just like Caelena, was forced into this relationship with another abuser painted as a hero in storytelling. Rhysand and Rowan are constructed into heroes to make their disgusting actions justifiable in comparison to Chaol and Tamlin’s ruined characters.

I’m mostly focused on the main relationships since that’s all I keep hearing about. Changing subjects briefly, Maas’ does not acknowledge PoC or LGBTQIA unless readers are pointing out lack of representation. If they’re introduced you’re guaranteed either they die to promote the white lead’s agenda or forced to become a villain. What kind of statement does that make, Maas???? Also, her world-building is beyond odd. Random characters get introduced in weird scenarios that she has to force into the story-line just for sprucing purposes (Manon and the 12 and the 12 princesses from Earth or whatever). Really, what were the purposes of these characters???? And these kingdoms are written so bad. One realm has everyone wearing Renaissance era clothing while the next realm has people dressing hipster I mean wtf?

The reason for my rant is that I needed to get it out of my system. Lately, I cannot get away from these garbage novels. I’m on my Kindle the books are recommended. I’m on Goodreads her books are recommended and keep winning Book of the Year despite better novels being on the same list. I go on Facebook someone mentions deciding to give the series a spin under quarantine. I’m on tumblr (if you’re a fan then that’s fine, enjoy what you love) and artwork keeps popping up. I love it’s typically Feyre giving Rhysand lap-dances in the earlier part of the series where she’s desolate and sicken by these moments. People are quite forgetful when they want to ignore something in order to make Rhysand babe. I wish I knew how to block anything Sarah J Maas on here because I’m trying to escape. I want to read other authors’ novels and not have Maas’ smug face pop up on my recommendation lists. (Her books are on every list on Goodreads- every freaking list!) Hopefully, when quarantine ends the hype will quiet again but I’m getting ticked off here.

Just had to get it off my chest. I’ll probably go back to quietly ignoring the recommendations and artwork but I’m having a moment here.

#anti sjm #anti rowaelin #anti feysand #these books are trash #please make them stop appearing #anti throne of glass #anti acomaf #anti acotar #anti everything Maas

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irwintry · 5 years

Text

Black Leather

Warnings: swearing, alcohol, drugs

Summary: Calum is in a small band in the mid-90s, and Y/N stumbles into his show one weekend in October.

Word Count: 7k

Among the sea of eyes, his were the ones that stood out.

The bus had stopped by too soon. In the four minutes it took to walk to the stop, you were running instead, lungs heavy while hot coffee sloshed onto your jeans. After twenty minutes passed, you were headed down Broadway on the 68 bus, your fingers twitching against your knees to the sounds of morning commuters. You were late. You were so fucking late.

The sprint to Sever Hall hadn’t been worth the energy. It hadn’t been worth the splattered burn, red splayed in dripped shapes against your thigh. It hadn’t been worth the asthma induced, cross-country sprint, one that left you wheezing in the hallway outside of your classroom. When you stumbled into the room, it was a hundred-eyed gaze, and you soon realized you had been better off skipping altogether.

“Sorry,” you breathed out, holding your chest high as you met each pair of eyes staring you down.

He had been looking at you. His lips were tugged into an unfamiliar smile while his dark brows rose in surprise. It wasn’t an appearance he wore often, and it kept you frozen in place. You were used to the frown and the rigid stare.

You managed a small smile in his direction before finding a seat toward the back.

You knew his name. You knew his face. You knew that he had come from outside of the states. But that was the gross extent of your knowledge of Calum, other than the dingy attire and the fact that he was more brilliant than you would ever know. He spoke in class on the rare occasion, and the words that flowed from his lips were dripping in pure gold.

And on the back page of your notebook, you kept his quotes in black ink. You wrote what you could hear through his soft mumbles, and you wondered why he kept so quiet with a mind as beautiful as his.

He kept his nose in a book. You spent the last month and a half studying him when you could, mentally tracing over the creases in his skin when an unsettling opinion was spoken in class. You thought about how bright his smile was despite having never seen it. You thought about how his deep brown eyes would look in the sun. You thought about his taste in music, and you wondered if you would ever know him the way you longed to.

You were caught up in your daydream when his eyes flickered over. His stare pulled you out from the swirling headspace, and you were quick to regain your involvement in the professor’s voice. Yet, despite the collected exchange, you could still feel his gaze. It was a heavy and mysterious gaze, the kind that elicited unwarranted shivers. But you didn’t mind it. The sensation sparked desirable nerves.

The next fifty minutes were spent in a distracted haze. Even the tragedy of Oedipus could not compare to the hope of delving into Calum’s personality. He was well reserved, and you ached to crack his code. You ached to be the source of his rare smiles.

That had been the reason behind your abstracted mind. He had smiled when you walked in.

You wondered about it for the next few hours, your brain preoccupied as you absentmindedly stepped around leaves on the pathway. You kept your head low on your way to Sage’s while the crisp wind nipped at any exposed skin. Scuffed shoes met shallow puddles along the pavement, and you were careful to avoid muddy spots against the lawn. The pole of posters beside Hollis Hall suddenly tore you out of the moment.

You looked beyond the anti-gentrification and political agenda signs. You looked beyond club meetings and tutor session invitations. The one poster that caught your eye was crumpled and torn, and it read:

Knight Knuckles. Slip Tit. Mudslide. Killed for Casualty.

8pm, Oct. 13th. $2 Coverage.

87 Linden St, Allston, Mass.

You reached around for your backpack, pulled out your notebook, and wrote down the address. You weren’t going to go, you told yourself. It wasn’t your scene–– it would never be. You shut the notebook and stuffed it back into your bag, mind returning to thoughts of Calum and the sandwich you were about to indulge in. To finish your day, you made small rounds through Harvard Square and stopped by the poetry shop to further indulge in unlikely necessities. All thoughts of Calum ceased.

The back door was cracked open. A few guys sat on the steps before it, each with a cigarette in hand and a beer in the other, and they were laughing at some offensive joke while you stepped around them. They weren’t worth the hassle of arguing against–– they would simply make their opinions overshadow yours with the use of their superiority complexes. So, you stepped inside, and the hot air swelled around you.

About a dozen strangers crowded into the small kitchen, and another few were cramped into the living room. The home was void of any furniture, but you weren’t shocked. The squalid interior with its spray-painted walls and missing floorboards was proof that hardly a soul lived here. At least, you hoped.

You slipped two dollar bills into a jar, and a man with an eyebrow piercing grabbed your hand and stamped a bright red mark onto it without saying a word.

“Watcha want there, Maggie May?” asked another man. He was leaned up against the fridge, and he had a few piercings as well.

You rolled your eyes. “Eat my ass.”

The girl beside him snorted. “He wants to know what you want to drink,” she said. “Also, I love you. I’m Tori.”

“Hey, yeah, you too,” you sighed out, slipping your jacket from off of your shoulders. The discomfort was evident. “Y/N. Not Maggie May. And, what do you have?”

“Mostly just Pabst,” she replied and tilted her own beer your way. “Beer and stuff.”

You nodded. “I’ll take that.”

Tori lightly shoved the man away from the fridge to retrieve a beer for you. When your fingers brushed, she smiled. “What brings you here, then, Y/N? It’s usually the same crowd ‘round here.”

“Dunno,” you mumbled. “Don’t usually come to a lot of stuff like this, so I figured I’d give it a shot. It was kind of a last-minute decision.” You popped the drink open and took a sip. The taste was foul and cheap, yet you kept the sweating can close to your chest.

“Makes sense,” replied Tori. Her eyes narrowed, and it felt as though she was reading you like an open book. “Do you even know anybody here?”

You shook your head. “Not a soul.”

“Cool.” She grinned. A few people made their way downstairs. “See you down there, Maggie May. I’ll dedicate the first song to your poor, lost soul.”

You had begun to retaliate when she left your company, and you soon followed the pack down the narrow steps into the basement. The first level was Barbie’s Dream House in comparison. Down below, you were met with concrete floors and a harsh smell of piss and weed. A make-shift space was filled with boxes and trash bags, plus a stained futon over in the corner. Christmas lights were hung around pillars beside the performance space, and wires were scattered like snakes over empty boxes of Marlboro. You could only imagine how much turmoil the oriental rugs below the drum kit had been through. You pushed through bodies and stood below a mural, meanwhile admiring the glossy eyes of handsome strangers beside you. A cute man offered you a joint, and you politely refused.

The first band was ear blood, but you recognized the need for courtesy. You nodded along to the screeching noises, wishing you had bought earplugs specifically for the occasion. The second band’s sound had little representation, yet the tunes were simple, and the lyrics were crude. The can of Pabst was warm against your skin. A half-hour later, the third band had finished their set. Tori fulfilled her promise of dedicating her song to you, and you greeted the feeling of eyes like an old friend.

You leaned against the cinderblock wall and ran your fingernails along the rim of your beer. The night had been going on for longer than expected. You needed to use the bathroom as well, but you wouldn’t be caught dead using it here. A stinging dissonance filled the tight space, and you returned your gaze onto the final band.

And then your eyes met a familiar figure. A tall, mysterious figure with an infamous leather jacket stretched across broad shoulders. Small, dark hand tattoos stood out against his brown skin.

“Yeah, uh, we are Killed for Casualty,” spoke the lead singer. His voice was soft, just like the golden curls that framed his face. You had a feeling you would like this band. “Let’s fucking rock, then.”

A series of blaring chord progressions filled the small space, and the crowd came back to life. The crash cymbals drowned out the lead singer’s voice, but you hardly cared about the quality of the music. You hardly had the energy to enjoy the melody when all you could focus on was the man behind the bass. All you could see were his furrowed brows and his deep frown. His eyes shut tight as his body swayed with the beat.

You hid behind shoulders. You hid behind the thought of his smile and sweet voice melting against your skin. His lips touched the mic every time he sang, and you couldn’t look away. Calum had a light aura–– it didn’t matter what clothes or expression he wore. You saw another part of him, yet you didn’t even know him.

You nestled rim of your beer beneath your front teeth while you moved with the crowd, head bobbing along to songs you had heard on the radio before. There were songs you didn’t recognize, too, and those were the ones Calum lost himself in. So, you lost yourself in them as well.

“Holy shit, you guys are awesome,” said the other guitarist. His light fringe was surely a sight, but you admired his adrenaline. He had a bubbly, boisterous attitude that you longed to have in your life.

Calum’s face lit up as his eyes scanned the crowd. You hadn’t assumed he would ever see you, but the world froze when he did. Your blood ran cold as his smile fell, and you were seconds away from slipping into a fit of self-doubt before his smile grew again. And then he winked.

He had winked at you and resumed with the set as if it never happened.

You hugged your jacket against your body, heart stuttering at the thought of his flirtatious nature directed toward you. You had finally seen his genuine smile, and you had been the reason behind it, too. The music was drowned out by the thoughts in your head.

“Thanks, guys,” said the lead singer, his eyes bright as he spoke. “I’ve been Luke. That’s Calum on bass. Ryan on drums. Michael on guitar. We’ve been Killed for Casualty. Thanks for comin’ out.”

You took a deep breath, meanwhile, the crowd thinned out as the band packed up their things. You made your way along with the strangers, yet your plans to duck out were torn to shreds by a tap on your shoulder. The tap was quick–– almost as if it had been a mistake, but when you turned to face the culprit, Calum stood before you. And he was grinning from ear to ear.

“Hey,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. “Didn’t expect t’see you here.”

You shrugged. “Figured there was no better way to spend a Saturday night other than listening to music I’ve never heard before in my life.”

Calum laughed. “Oh, c’mon. I’m sure you’ve heard of Radiohead.”

“Oh, duh.”

His smile never died. He was looking at you, truly looking at you with crinkly eyes that you wanted to get lost in. “We–– uh, we have another show next weekend. It’d be sick if you came.”

“Yeah?” you asked, raising a brow, to which he reciprocated your gesture. “You really want me to come? Do you even know my name?” Your teasing tone hardly fazed him.

“Course,” he said. “You’re Y/N, and you’re almost always late to our Tragedy in Literature class. Like, always late.”

You pouted. “Don’t blame me. Blame the MBTA,” you replied, and he laughed.

“I always blame the MBTA.”

“It’s really the worst, isn’t it?” you asked him, and you felt yourself softening into the comfort of the conversation. In a matter of hours, you would be convincing yourself that the encounter never happened.

Calum’s smile was contagious. “Fucking awful. A man farted on me once on the red line.”

“You’re–– you’re kidding,” you said, but you soon fell into a small fit of laughter once he shook his head. “Jesus. I’m so sorry.”

“Speaking of awful––“ Calum pointed down to the empty Pabst in your hands. “Is that what they’re handing out? Christ–– Kev’s gotta get a raise. That shit sucks.”

“It was kind of disgusting,” you said, yet you shrugged it off.

“So, I gotta finish packing stuff up,” said Calum, “but listen–– it was really cool to see you. Hope you can make it out next time.”

Your lips twitched into a smile. “Only if you promise to dedicate that last song to me,” you replied. “It was my favorite.”

Calum grinned. “You’ve got yourself a promise, babe.”

The bus had been early again that following Monday. So, for the second class in a row, you were stumbling in late. Only a few heads turn in your direction, and immediately, you looked for the pair of deep brown eyes that made your heart flutter. You had only spoken to him once, but it had been enough to haunt you throughout the next day. It had been enough to spark something you hadn’t felt for anyone in years.

You found Calum in a heartbeat, and he had already been looking at you. He had already been smiling at you. You smiled in return and took your seat.

He spoke up once during class, and you placed the delicate words at the back of your notebook. After the class ended, you were quick to stand, heart racing at the thought of his smile so cute and goofy. You were too preoccupied to notice the man falling in step beside you.

“Like I said––” he began, voice so golden and smooth that you believed it belonged on the radio. The idea of Calum as a newscaster was a vision to behold. “––always late.”

You playfully hit his arm, and his laughter echoed around the halls. You were certain it was the kind of laugh that birthed fairies. “The bus system sucks,” you replied. “It’s the earliest one I can get, and it’s never on time.”

“Jus’ messing with you, love,” he said. His presence intimidated you, but it was the kind of intimidation that you never wanted to leave. It created the desire to hold him by the waist and carry him with you wherever you went. “Where ya off to?”

“I was gonna pop in Widener for a small study break,” you said, tugging your sleeves down so you could hold onto them with your fingers. “Then I usually get lunch before my last two classes of the day.

Calum huffed. “Mid-terms got you tickin’, too?”

“Something like that.”

“Harvard wants us all dead,” mumbled Calum as he held the front doors of the hall open for you. “That’s what I think.”

You had been expecting a chill from the morning, but the bright sun kept the air warm. You pushed the sleeves of your sweater back up your arms, and you stared at Calum in amazement. “You want yourself dead,” you said. “Do you ever get hot in that damn thing?”

“What, my jacket?” he asked, tilting up the leather as a smile grew. “It’s not about sweat, baby, it’s about fashion.”

Baby. You laughed the pet name off.

“’sides,” he continued. “It’s not about how hot I feel either. It’s about how hot I look.”

“I mean, yeah, it looks good.”

Calum raised a brow. You enjoyed watching his reactions out of the corner of your eye.

“But I always say that comfort comes before fashion,” you said as you kicked a few fallen leaves on the path before you.

He let out a chuckle. “Is that why you’re rollin’ in late with some big ass sweater on every day? Hell, you’re already late, so you could at least have the decency to show up with a coffee.”

“Honestly, I’ve thought about that,” you said. “And what do you have against big ass sweaters, huh?”

Calum shook his head. “Absolutely nothing at all.”

“Maybe next time I’ll wear a black one,” you replied. “Maybe then you’ll appreciate my fashion.”

“Can’t believe I’m being attacked at eleven o’clock in the morning.”

“You had it coming.”

He laughed again. “You don’t need t’wear black for me to appreciate you, love.”

The words warmed your chest. You smiled. “Well, I said my fashion, but it’s nice to know you appreciate me, Cal. Is–– is that okay? If I call you Cal?”

“Yeah,” he said. His smile hadn’t faltered throughout the entire conversation. “Reserved that nickname just for you.”

“Do you have any other classes today?” you asked him and placed yourself onto the steps of the library. You were still a few inches shorter at best. “Because you can join me if ya want.”

“I appreciate that,” he said, “but unfortunately, I’m already running late.”

Your jaw dropped as you laughed at his words. “And you make fun of me for being late. We’re gonna get kicked outta this fuckin’ school.”

Calum laughed along with you, and the sound was music. Everything about him was music. “I make fun of you because it’s cute to see you flustered.”

“Oh, fuck you,” you muttered, but your smile only grew. And so did your heart, too.

His eyes were golden in the sunlight, and they shimmered when he smiled. Sometimes, when he grinned so wide, his eyes squinted shut, and the sight left you woozy. You wondered if he knew how beautiful he was.

“See you ‘round, love,” he said to you, meanwhile taking a few steps back.

“Don’t forget about my dedication,” you replied. “I’m only coming this weekend because of you.”

Calum winked. “I won’t, darlin’. Study hard.” He turned down the path with a final wave, and you let out a sigh. And your smile carried on.

“You weren’t in class on Wednesday.”

That next weekend, you stepped off of the bus in Allston, your jean jacket hugged tight to keep warm down the tired streets behind music halls. The home was familiar, and it was packed full again. The bodies no longer stared at you like a stranger, but they still avoided you like one. Yet, Tori was there to keep you company as the night carried on.

You kept an eye out for Calum. The basement rocked with sound, air heavy as it filled with heat and smoke. The Christmas lights made you feel at home, yet none of it mattered when the one person you wanted to see wasn’t even there. So, you swayed to music from new bands you didn’t care about, wishing you hadn’t been stupid enough to fool yourself over a guy.

But, like always, he arrived when you least expected.

Tori gave you a wink and stepped away.

“Oh, yeah,” you said, chuckling. Meanwhile, his band had begun preparing their instruments. “I forgot I wasn’t.”

“You okay?” Calum asked you. “I can get ya the notes if you want.”

“I’m—oh wow, that’d be nice, thank you.” You grinned. “Yeah, um, I’m good. Turns out my alarm clock is a goner, so...”

Calum smiled. He was wearing a flannel tonight, and you decided that he could make trash bags look good. “Damn alarm clocks can’t be trusted.”

“They really can’t.” You eyed the rest of his band and furrowed your brows. “No drummer tonight?”

He glanced over at his friends before looking back at you. “Nah. We’re looking for a new one right now.”

You tilted your head.

“Ryan broke his wrist.”

“Oh, that sucks,” you said. “He was pretty good.”

Calum shrugged, but you could tell he was upset. Tonight, he had become the backbone of rhythm. “Yeah, well. Mike thinks he has a friend who knows some other drummer. He might be able to help out.”

“He just has to do my song justice,” you replied with a smirk. You hardly remembered the song, yet you knew it was your favorite of theirs no matter what. It was your favorite because Calum had winked at you before it, and it was all you could think about.

He nodded. “I’ll make fuckin’ sure of that.” He looked back over to his friend. “I should probably join them, then. Last song is yours,” he said, a grin spreading as he sent a wink your way.

He didn’t allow you to get a word in before he was jogging off and picking up his bass effortlessly. You weren’t sure how an instrument could make someone look so handsome, yet there he was, looking like the best damn man in the room.

“He’s fucking in love with you,” said Tori from behind. Her voice crept up your spine, and you yelped.

“Jesus,” you breathed out.

She laughed. “Cool your tits, Maggie May.”

“They’re ice-cold,” you replied. “And he’s not. We only just met last week.”

Tori shrugged. “You can totally fall in love in a week. He’s done it before.”

“He’s done it before?” you asked. The music blasted, and the bodies around you jumped and pushed. You hardly budged. Soon, you were shouting over Luke’s voice just to talk. “You know him?”

“Old friend,” she said over the music. “I’ve known him since like–– how many years ago was ’88?”

“Uh, seven.”

“I’ve known him for about seven years,” Tori continued. “He was a cute teen. Moved from Australia and played a shit ton of soccer. We started a band together in our last year of high school, but then he kinda disappeared for a year afterward. Came back and said he was going to Harvard–– said he had been with this girl. So, I assumed they broke up.”

You nodded along as she spoke.

“Anytime he’s with someone,” she carried on loudly, “it’s like he’s head over heels. He tries to act all shy and cool until you really get t’know him. And it’s pretty fuckin’ clear he really wants to know you.”

You tried to smile, but something about her words made it hard. Because you had never wanted to think about him loving someone else.

“You seem spooked.”

You shook your head. “Not spooked. Just a little in disbelief.”

Tori let out a laugh. “Why? Because I think he likes you? So hard to believe that?”

You shrugged.

“He is pretty damn cute,” she said. “So, if you hurt him, I’ll hunt you down.”

“You can hold me to that,” you replied. “I don’t wanna hurt him.”

“But you do want him?”

You nodded.

“Oh, hell fucking yeah.”

You laughed as she nudged you, and you soon returned your focus to Calum. His eyes met yours right away, and he smiled. This time, the fluttering in your stomach had become a heavy swarm, and you allowed it. You welcomed it.

The stress of the evening slipped off of your shoulders the more you danced. You no longer worried about what you would say to him or the words you had said in the past. You no longer worried about the feelings you wanted to repress. It was new, it was natural, and you wanted to deserve his company. You wanted to earn him.

When the final song approached, Calum kept his gaze on you, eyes brightening every time they met yours. His shy smile had etched itself into your brain. All he had to do was look your way, and you were his–– there was no one else. No one else in the room but you and him.

This stuff didn’t happen in a week. It never worked like this. But you blocked out the harsh noise of your pessimistic thoughts. You weren’t bound to doom what could be good because of your insecurities.

“This next one is dedicated to the person who thinks that 9:15 is the new 8:45. Or the one who just doesn’t bother showing up to class at all.”

You rolled your eyes, lips twitching while his face broke out into a grin. The song began after the silent exchange, and he kept looking at you. He looked at you until the crowd had dwindled and the music faded with their heads. He looked at you as if he had been waiting to have every ounce of your attention.

“Kicked ass,” you said, “as usual. You were a little flat at the end there, though.” Your teasing tone lightened while you crossed the floor toward him.

“Oh, really?” he asked you. He zipped the case of his bass closed and lifted it over his shoulder. “I didn’t realize you were a music critic. I’ll do better next time.”

You chuckled. “You better.”

Calum adjusted the strap on his shoulder, and you admired the comfort in his appearance. You wondered how he would react seeing you in the gray flannel he wore currently. He no longer intimidated you, not like he used to; you lost yourself in the strength of his gaze.

“You live around here?”

You shook your head. “I live down past Central.”

Calum raised his brows in surprise. “Shit, you live that far?” He folded his arms over his chest. “That’s why you’re rollin’ up late every damn day then, huh?”

“Yeah,” you said with a laugh. “It’s not that bad, though.”

His frown deepened. “I can keep ya company if you want.”

“Well, where do you live?”

“Like, a ten-minute walk from here,” he replied. “I’m a night-owl, so it’d be no problem. Only i-if you’re–– if you’re comfortable with that.”

You smiled once he stammered, and he blinked rapidly to cover up the fault in his words. Your heart was swelling. “Really nice of you to offer,” you said, “but you don’t need to go out of your way. The ride goes fast.”

Calum nodded, lips tugging into a small smile. “You sure?”

“Positive,” you mumbled. “But you can walk me to the bus stop if ya want.”

His face lit up in an instant.

The next show was at a new location.

Calum came to you that Monday with a torn flyer, hands shaking as he reached over your shoulder while you walked down damp pathways. You were going to arrive on time that day, and you were eager to rub it in his face until he stumbled up behind you. He appeared nervous to talk to you, yet the words he spoke were calm and collected.

“New place,” you observed, eyeing the messy letters. Meanwhile, Calum caught up in step beside you. “Looking forward to it.”

His eyes widened slightly. “You’ll come?”

“You think I wouldn’t?”

A grin spread on his face. Later on, he sat next to you in class.

That following weekend, you arrived at the house alone, bones shivering while the cold air crept under your skin. Calum stood at the base of the driveway with a cigarette in hand, and he was smiling like he always did when he saw you. Like he always did.

“Hey, Maggie May,” he said.

You groaned as you nearly fell into him, and he grabbed your arm to hold you steady. He smelled of cigarette smoke and earthy cologne. “Not you, too. Isn’t the song about a cougar?”

Calum shrugged and loosened his grip. But it was slow, almost as if he didn’t want to let go. “Who knows?” The cigarette slipped from his fingers, and he stomped it into the pavement. “Come on in. I wanna introduce you to the guys.”

“Oh, the guys?” you asked, chuckling. “Did know we were there yet. I’m honored.”

He looked back at you while he led you in through the back door. “You should be. They’ll like you, though. You’re cool, I guess.”

“That’s convincing.”

Calum laughed. He walked you beyond the men asking for coverage fees at the front, giving them subtle nods while you avoided eye contact. You continued to keep your head down low as he led you down to the basement. The house layout was similar, yet the room was larger, and the lights around the posts were purple bats instead. A few familiar faces were passing around a joint beside the drumkit.

“Hey, idiots,” said Calum. He placed a hand between your shoulder blades. “This is Y/N. Y/N, this is Luke, Mike, and Ashton.”

“The new guy,” you spoke softly, eyeing the strong arms of the stranger across from you. You could tell that, just by his build, he was going to rock the house. “Why are you all so fuckin’ tall?”

The new drummer, Ashton, laughed. His smile was the type to light up the entire room. “Maybe you’re just fuckin’ short,” he retaliated.

Michael chuckled along. “Ya probably need a step ladder jus’ to hug Cal.”

“She can’t even do that,” said Luke. “Her arms aren’t long enough.”

You narrowed your gaze. “Touché.”

Calum’s hand slid down to the small of your back. His touch burned through your clothes. “Okay, that’s it. Y’all can find a new band.”

“Are you leaving us, or are you kicking us out?” asked Michael. He placed the joint between his lips.

“Kicking all of you out,” said Calum, and he tugged the joint away from his friend. “It’s just me now.” He turned to you. “You wanna join my band?”

“Are you kidding?” You leaned into him, and he pulled your closer, hand finding your waist while he gazed down at you. His eyes were warm, and there was something new. Something hidden behind the crinkles that seemed to never cease when around you. Like you could finally feel everything Tori was telling you about. “Can I take Luke’s place?”

“Oh, hell yeah.”

“Hey!” Luke exclaimed, snagging the burning joint from Calum’s fingers before taking a hit. “No more for you.”

A handful of people made their way down the steps, their voices carrying through laughter and drunken screams. Calum’s grip on your waist loosened and dropped.

“Ready to fuckin’ rock?” he whispered to you.

The timber in his voice rattled through your spine, but the shiver only lasted so long before he was guiding you back into the crowd. He hardly spoke after that. The music did enough, and instead, he talked through gazes— warm, heartfelt eyes filled with something you hadn’t seen in a while, if at all. For the night, you felt like he admired you the way you had always wanted him to.

“—just annoying as shit. Screaming and bouncing like a fucking slut, man. She was so loud. But who gives a shit, you know? Like, she’s a goddamn whore when she’s—“

Calum tensed at the sound of the men behind you. You could picture the scowl on his features, yet you didn’t dare to glance over. You wanted to pretend nothing had happened, that nothing had been said.

But you couldn’t.

Calum whipped around, and you were quick to grab his arm. “Do you guys mind not fucking disrespecting women like that?” he asked, the pitch of his voice lowering as the words slipped out with ease.

One of the men—you guessed the one who had spoken originally—laughed. Anger coursed through your veins as well, but Calum’s radiated off of him. You moved your hand up to his bicep.

“What? You really gonna do something?” asked the man. He looked down at you and smirk. “I’ll totally take it back if you give me a spin on your little bi—“

Calum lunged, fist flying toward the face of the man with a devilish grin. Immediately, someone tugged you back— you assumed Michael, but you didn’t bother to check. Instead, you were forced to scream over shouts and cheers while the boy you liked fought for you. He fought for you.

The other man had gotten in his fair share of punches, his frightening, rigid knuckles crunching and colliding against Calum’s jaw. Every crack echoed. Every grunt, every groan sent sparks through your nerves, and you felt tears pricking beneath your eyes. Limbs flew and bodies slammed against one another, but you stood there helpless. You stood there wishing you could blink away the fear and adrenaline.

Everyone was shoving each other as the fight spread throughout the crowd. Petty brawls broke out, and you were barely shielded by Ashton’s interference in front of you. But beyond the noise, you still heard Calum, and he was shouting for you.

Shoulders knocked against yours while you fought your way beyond the mayhem. The air was hot, thick with the scent of sweat and alcohol and everything in between, and all you wanted was to find Calum and get out in one piece. You just wanted to be alone with him, to make sure he was okay and to tell him how much he meant to you. To tell him how much his actions meant to you.

A hand reached out for yours. A bloodied and bruised hand with a familiar tattoo stretched across the thumb.

“C’mon,” he muttered once he got close enough, and he pulled you through the chaos to reach the base of the stairs. You were hot on his tail as he walked up, but you chose to remain quiet.

And you stayed quiet the entire walk back to his place.

He was angry, fingers tightly locked between yours while the breeze picked up around you. His pace was heavy, and yours was, too. The door to his apartment slammed shut behind the two of you. You fought the urge to pull him back and calm the frustration, but he was stomping up two flights of steps with you on his heels. You hardly had a chance to glimpse at his small space before you were being pulled into an old bathroom down the hall.

“Cal— Calum.” You pried his fingers away from yours as he paced the tiled floor. “Calum.”

“I’m sorry,” he said as he ran his hands through his hair. He turned to face you, and you were finally able to look at the damage that had been done. You finally saw what he had put himself through just to defend you. Or, maybe it was much more than that. “I’m sorry,” he repeated. “They just— I wasn’t just gonna let them say that shit to you.”

You nodded. “Thank you.”

But you wished you did to have to feel any gratitude. You wished you hadn’t been forced to watch him break his bones in order to keep harmful words at bay. He suffered a bloody nose, swollen lip, and bruised cheek, and you felt responsible for every single scratch that tore through his skin.

“Do you— do you have an ice pack?” you sputtered, hand reaching up to grab the air. Because you weren’t sure if you had the right to touch him.

Calum nodded, and you didn’t wait for a verbal answer. You hurried into his kitchen, and despite the cramped size, you lost yourself in the details. It was his kitchen— it was Calum through and through. You searched the drawers for a dish towel, trembling hands picking out a dark cloth before soaking it under the dripping faucet. Next, you retrieved an ice pack from the freezer before rushing back into the bathroom. Calum was leaned up against the porcelain sink, and he had taken off his jacket to reveal a thin white tank.

You kept quiet and approached him slowly, heart heavy at the sight of him so bloodied and broken. You thought about his touch and how it felt earlier on in the night. You thought about protective he was despite barely knowing you for two weeks. And lastly, you thought about how, even when provoked into unattractive behavior, he still managed to look so damn hot.

So, you didn’t speak as you pressed the damp cloth against his blood-soaked skin. He stayed still, watching you as you scrubbed lightly until all that was left was a pinkish residue. You felt the weight of his gaze, and it burned deep in your gut. You had said he no longer intimidated you, but tonight, that wasn’t the case. Ir was the kind of intimidation that drew warmth and left you wanting more.

He was close, so close you could hear your hearts beating as one. The heat of his breath touched your skin, and you were forced to steady yourself with one hand against his bare shoulder. You hadn’t noticed his chest tattoos before, but maybe you hadn’t been this observant. Maybe you hadn’t felt as much as you were feeling right now.

You set the ice pack against his cheek and sighed. “Why did you do that?” you asked him, chest heavy while you yearned to reconstruct your words. You hadn’t wanted to plant the blame on him.

Calum swallowed. “The words he was saying, I—“ His eyes watered as he peered down at you, and he winced once you adjusted the frozen pack onto his blossoming bruise. “Couldn’t stand for that shit. Couldn’t bear to hear him say it. And I— I didn’t wanna hear him say it about you.”

You frowned. The hand that had been on his arm moved down to his chest.

“You don’t have t’take care of me,” he mumbled, lips tugging into a soft smile.

“But I want to,” you said to him. Your fingers traced the edge of his tank.

Calum’s smile quickly fell, and the room was quiet. You wondered if he could feel what you were feeling, too.

“Put down the fuckin’ ice pack,” he whispered, words tight and intricate as his hands slipped around your waist.

And then he was leaning in, lips hot as they pressed against yours in a captivating, lustful kiss. The ice pack slipped from your hands, and you felt frozen in his grip. Desperate hands clutched your waist while the kept you pressed against the sink behind you. You tossed your arms around his neck once you got a feel for his smooth, plump lips aching to taste yours. His fingers maneuvered beneath the thick layer of your sweater in order to feel your skin; you just hadn’t been aware of how truly sensational his touch would feel against your back. His lips melted against yours.

You reached a hand around to hold his face, and he seethed.

“Jesus, fuck,” he spat, and your eyes fell to the fresh bruise you had just touched.

“I’m— I’m so sorry,” you breathed out, expecting him to pull away, yet he pulled you close and reattached your lips with as much passion as the first time. Your teeth clashed, tongues slipping against one another while the heat of the moment made your insides churn. Calum’s large hand splayed across your jaw to keep you close.

His lip was still swollen from the fistful impacts, yet he seemed unfazed; in fact, it only spurred him on. But the heat of the moment overwhelmed you. You wanted him, but you wanted to know you had him.

You brushed your top lip against the corner of his mouth, hands gripping the loose material of his tank while you leaned into him. He held you with strong arms, ones you never wanted to let go.

“You’re really fuckin’ something else, babe,” he mumbled into your hair, and you could feel his smirk. “You know that?”

You chuckled. “I think the name is Maggie May.”

The warmth of his laughter spread through you. His fingers danced along the ridges of your spine, and you leaned back to look at him. His smile was small, yet it was soft, and it held every confession you had wanted to hear.

The black leather jacket on the floor caught your eye. A moment later, you pulled your sweater over your head, and Calum stood across from you in awe. His gaze was intense as you reached down for the jacket and tugged it over your arms. The leather creaked, but the loved material had softened through wear-and-tear. It slipped on with ease, and you stuffed your hands in the pockets with confidence.

Calum was silent as he took your appearance in. His jacket sat draped across your torso with only a bra underneath; you could only imagine how the sight made him feel.

He smiled and told hold of your waist. “Well, then, Maggie May,” he breathed out, lips pressing against your cheek and down your neck. The sensation made your chest ache. “I got something to say to you.”

You tangled your fingers through his dark curls as his voice vibrated through you.

“You stole fuckin’ heart, babe,” he said. “I couldn’t leave you if I tried.”

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everydayanth · 4 years

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Some Observations On Talking About Race With White People:

Context: I am a white person. I studied anthropology and then went and traveled all around the US and talked to a lot of people about race. With so many people urging white people to use their voice and privilege to begin discussions with other white people in the wake of George Floyd’s murder, here are some things that I’ve learned:

1. It is exhausting.

You have to start from the most simple kernels of truth and work backwards from there with a lot of people. Many of whom have never in their lives thought about their skin color and what it means or says, who have never questioned their position as a majority or been in a society that asks them to. You start with the basic pieces and talk in circles for them or else they dismiss you. You feel like shit but laugh at some of their jokes so that you can talk about the issues or else they’ll just leave and dismiss the idea as liberal or you as a millennial, you understand the push and pull and the tug-of-war game you’re playing, but it’s still exhausting. Maybe you have a breakthrough and it’s worth it. But it doesn’t end. You might make progress one day and the person reverts back to old habits the next. But you keep going. You keep trying.

Keep trying. People change.

2. Keep trying, but stay safe.

There’s a lot of psychology involved, and knowing how to get through to someone is a skill but can be dangerous. Facing that obligation to talk to people in the face of racism and violence can give your courage, but sometimes it can make you stupid. Sometimes walking away is important. Sometimes simply not laughing at the joke is enough because there is no place to start. Sometimes you wish you could peel off your own skin because you don’t want to look like them, you are horrified at the idea that someone might think you are like them, there is a dread and that’s okay. It’s good, it means you are not like them because of your fear. When challenging people, especially in their psychology and philosophy and the way they think about life and the world around them, it is enough to keep trying. Sometimes to keep trying, you have to walk away.

3. Context matters.

In order to romanticize eras and think nostalgically of times when they were not alive or don’t have full context of, some white people will ignore the extra efforts minorities had to go through to fit in, and the silenced violence and struggle. For many older white people, individualism is a threat and they value homogenous cultural identities, romanticizing pop-culture eras like the 20s or 50s without stopping to reflect on the media/historical interpretation vs reality. There is a pervasive view that there was less racism in the 80s, or another era around then, because there was a predominant popular culture, without ever taking the time to stop and consider the extra lengths minorities had to go through to fit that culture, or how they were limited in representation and ability by a larger oppressive system. I really like the quote going around by Will Smith that “racism isn’t getting worse, it’s getting filmed.” But for many white Americans, what they see in the evening news and on their personalized social media feeds does not challenge them, but reinforces their bubbles to say “no, it wasn’t like this in the 50s/60s/70s/80s.”

There are plenty of ways to trick our minds into believing our own world views to avoid challenge or growth, and for some white people, reminding them of the biases of their context with details like: in 1929, Martin Luther King Jr., Anne Frank, and Barbara Walters were all born; with something as simple as that, contemporary familiarity has been added and placed over two names so heavily associated with the Civil Rights Movement and WWII for American-educated white people. Or talking about Ruby Bridges walking into a white school in 1960 and how many of our parents and grandparents were alive at the time, helps recognize that this isn’t new and it’s not that old. Explaining why the southwest US is so “Mexican” because when the US bought the land there were people living there, and asking about why they thought the land was empty (”history books/class”) and what they thought happened to the people (”I never thought about it”) has been the beginning of a redemption arc for several people.

Talking to ignorant white people about what’s currently happening in the world when they ignore it forces them to think about it. Keeping police brutality and racism in conversation forces people to look into it for fear of not contributing to social conversations or not being in the know, and having those conversations face-to-face means they are more than random tweets or social media opinions. Talking matters, conversations matter, context matters, and challenging people (and yourself) and their ideas and world views matters.

4. Sometimes you lose.

There is a comfort in a homogenous society, an easy way to spot the outsider. Many of the most racist people I’ve met and chatted with retain an us-vs-them mentality that happily accepts POC who they know personally, while generalizing and labelling all others as a threat and outsiders. There is a fear perpetuated by false information and lack of context that takes so long to dismantle it hardly feels worth it.

This mentality is often recognizable by its discomfort with language it doesn’t know, obsession with brands and their perceived identity, and patronizing explanations of just about everything. It takes so much patience to get through the arrogance and sometimes the other person is “just having fun” or “playing devil’s advocate to see what you really think” or “you should read x, y, and z, then you’ll get it.” There’s an arrogance sometimes and wading through that muck to get to the bigger problems can take a while. Spotting the hypocrisy can be infuriating.

It’s okay to stop and take a step back out of fear that you might hurt someone else by changing the person’s limited-accepting view. For example: by challenging a racist person ranting about “China is bad” and asking then why they accept their kid’s Chinese friend, you may fear risking that child’s friendship as the racist person talks themselves into believing they shouldn’t be friends. Sometimes letting a person rant about the exceptions to their view is a place to start a conversation about diversity and tolerance and acceptance and culture, but sometimes walking away defeated is more important and okay.

5. You are combatting fear and it isn’t rational.

The fear of losing authority extends a strong arm into political language, rhetoric, discourse and control. The fear of being controlled by masses and not having individualism, even while forcing others to conform, is an irony many willingly admit and agree with through that paternal view: I can be contradictory and demand free speech without consequence while telling you to stop with threats of government/legal action, but you can’t. There is a paternalism that stems from privilege and religion. It is exhausting to combat. It says drug users need to be locked up because it’s what’s best for them; it says abortion is wrong because I believe in a soul, because I am Christian, because my church says there is a soul present, and so my religion says it is wrong, therefore I want it illegal because of that and I know what is best for women. It says girls who are assaulted asked for it because paternalism requires a solid foundation of black-and-white truths in order to determine right or wrong and good or bad. That mentality struggles to see grey, to understand their own biases and why the political language matters in the first place.

This means it is often in favor of other black-or-white extremes such as strict gender roles, anti LGBTQ+, or anything else like race that involves a spectrum of identity values rather than a scale of one side or another. This also means there is more room for conspiracy and ungrounded theory to fill in, because a black-or-white mentality demands explanations for things it can no longer explain through the denial of spectrums – if you look at the color purple and have to decide if it’s red or blue and those are your only options, you have to have a reason to put it one place or the other, but regardless of the reason, both may be true since color doesn’t exist on a one-or-the-ther scale but a spectrum. This means there are reasons for their way of thinking, but they are often not logical or expressible in language that makes sense or discourse that can be dissected; it is devoid of introspection and often projects and lashes out at language and the way something is presented rather than the thing itself. Learning to get around that with simple examples of context and explanations that don’t rely on academic language is crucial to communicating with some people.

6. Being an ally is not easy, you have to listen and be willing to fail and grow.

I was ignorant at first, when talking to POC friends (and probably still am in some ways). I didn’t understand that I was unfamiliar, as a white person talking about racism and social issues, until a POC friend confided that they’ve never heard a white person capable of talking about race or understanding the complexities of the scale before. Suddenly I understood the generalization that white people are stupid and privileged. We built a bridge between us, simply by being open to a conversation about race, and then by later realizing and respecting that my openness will be challenged at first, because the majority of experiences for my own POC friends at the time were white people being ignorant or dismissive of race. I am not infallible, I make mistakes, but looking at how and why is the part that matters, and realizing that I also represent an experience and a race, and that I also have expectations, was an important moment for me. Understanding the balance of influence and being able to face it without the intent to take, but with the intent to understand, is important. Starting from the understanding that we all have biases, we are all racist based on our context in the sense that we judge people to protect ourselves, and that skin is a visible marker we often use for culture and heritage, we begin understand race’s role in modern society, and then we can talk about it.

I will also admit this was a point of pride for me. I am white, but I tan well and have dark wavy hair and my grandparents are immigrants so I know my heritage cultures. I have been mistaken for many ethnicities based on my location and other identity markers like clothing and body language, which initially made it easier for me to personally talk about race with others without waiting for permission, because I can relate. White women have walked up and grabbed my hair before, I have been in embarrassing situations where I didn’t match the expected environment or was judged for not properly coding-switching my language. I have been the only white person in many rooms, growing up in a black neighborhood; I have experience with poverty and was on the same free hot-lunch programs as my neighbors, and we avoided the same corners and colors together; I have been accused of trying too hard and not enough, talked to in random languages on the street with expected understanding, and I have a conservative family to remind me over and over again how hard I had to work at building this mentality and how oddly lucky I am that the world around me and my own curiosity made me constantly question those views.

It’s important to choose your battles and learn from your mistakes, to recognize your growth, to question and doubt yourself, but one of the most important things I’ve come to learn about being white and talking about race with POC is the ability to empathize without needing to relate. You don’t need permission to talk about race. You are one. Everything I said about my experiences just now? At the end of the day, I learned, none of it matters. It doesn’t matter where I grew up or what my experiences are, because I can’t relate to everything and knowing the limits is important. But the other side of that is knowing how to relate to the end emotion with empathy, even in your limitations. You can’t relate with everything and that’s true for everyone, but you can try to understand people and their emotion, you can empathize without first-hand experience by being vulnerable.

Many conversations that I’ve had with white people involve the insistence that they are more than white, like what I just did above, to prove that I can have a seat at the table: look at all these exceptions I have, validate my experience. That’s not important, and I’ve found time and time again that white people (myself included at one point) value that, first out of fear of being insensitive and racist, but also out of a fear of being rejected and invalidated. The best conversations I’ve had with POC about race had to start with me validating myself and my own experiences with an open mind, ready to understand theirs.

If you are white and you look to join or start a conversation about race with validation from others, that’s not starting from vulnerability or the potential that you’re wrong, it’s starting with the expectation that they give you something, and that never invites understanding or sincerity from either side. You have to be willing to learn and be wrong and know where you stand on your own, with your own validation, before you can begin to talk with others about their experiences or understand and empathize and grow.

You have to be willing to shine a light instead of be the voice. The best example I have of this is the 1968 Black Power salute. Sympathetic to the cause of fellow athletes Tommie Smith and John Carlos, Peter Norman, the bronze medalist and a white Australian, asked what he could do and he listened. They asked him not to raise his fist. In solidarity, he wore a pin, opening himself up to the harsh criticism of conservatives at the time. He was willing to suffer the backlash without demanding a role in the symbol, and I think that by doing that, he shows how to be an ally, how to talk about racism and listen and understand the meanings behind things. When Peter Norman died, Tommie Smith and John Carlos were pallbearers at his funeral, and I think that says a lot about friendship and alliance. Sometimes, you can’t relate to POC experiences, but you can listen, and you can understand.

7. Fear is the root.

Fear of sharing, of not having enough, of being tricked or taken advantage of. It is manufactured and created through our own context bubbles and media, and some of it is naturally culminated because of those propagating pieces, so people think it’s okay, that their racism is important, that it protects them.

We fear unfamiliar things, but pointing out to people that they are the ones who are ignorant and naive is tricky. The psychology that makes people deny and exist on a black-vs-white spectrum is nearly 100% a protection from feeling out of control, based on fears and a lack of personal context. Meaning that the most racist and judgmental people often rarely see people who are different from them in skin color (or when they are different in skin color, they blend in economic class or religion, etc.). They don’t have context to things outside of themselves, their familiarity is limited.

This is where the issues of white people thinking all [insert any minority here] “look alike.” Because of their lack of context, the key traits they notice are those in contrast to other white people rather than other people in general; rather than noticing a pointed chin or square face, a heavy brow or long nose, a white person without diverse contexts of faces or people might simply notice skin complexion or epicanthic folds and nothing else, they might not even consider body shape, because they are around other people of diverse shapes and heights. This is not an excuse, it’s sad, but it helped me understand where to start several conversations with racist people ranting about race, by considering their own lack of personal context. Starting with race being a cultural construct often, in my experience, does not work here, though I often found myself starting there and working backwards until I learned more about fear and politics and how people use them together to retain control in their lives.

Explaining how minority cultures are “good” can help, but often there is that rebounding psychology that says familiar is good, unfamiliar = bad. The fear of losing the majority, the upper-hand, the paternalist authority of determining right/wrong based on their views and forcing assimilation on others is deep-seated and rampantly unconscious, and that’s the dangerous part. In some conversations a simple “oh, you’re scared of losing your power” has changed an already-introspective person for the better in such an epiphany moment that reaffirms starting at the very basics with many white people - do you recognize that you have power here? And in many cases they recognize the existence of privilege but not the details of it, discussing those details can also add important context. But fear often makes people reluctant to understand, so looking at their own fears can be a place to start.

There is also a fear of losing parts of the self. For some white people, their travels or appropriative behaviors are the most interesting things about them (according to them), and so the idea of talking about race becomes a conversation challenging their own identities, which encompasses a fear of losing those identities. This is a tricky road for me, because I understand the exciting allure of learning new things and exploring new cultures. I think I can be susceptible to exoticism and tokenism, but that’s also what makes it important to talk about, because I challenge myself at the same time. That becomes a conversation about intent and meaning and culture, and I think it’s important to remember, as a white person talking to other white people, that you do not wear a badge of honor giving you permission to accuse and assume.

It can be easy to generalize and build assumptions about people, but there are other white people willing to talk about race, there are people who look white and are not at all, and by assuming people’s fears or intentions or consequences, you can easily become the asshole. For example: shamefully, I will admit that I talked to a “white girl” who was really into yoga once, and I made an internal judgement about her, but in conversation, it came up that she grew up in India, speaks Hindi and a bunch of other languages, and works as a translator. That was embarrassing for me, though I never said anything out loud, and I think that’s important too – that we analyze our internal judgements and think about them. I spent some time thinking about my initial judgement, what changed, and what I considered “acceptable” appropriation or identifiable appropriation and “acceptable” displays of culture and value, and I found that it’s complicated. It’s important to be aware of ourselves and not fall into a self-righteousness that ends up demanding to be the voice of others, but to listen and have conversations with those around us.

8. Context matters part II.

Talking proud white people through the history of European cultures before Rome, and explaining their own heritage, if available, has continually seen those white Americans stop and question what they know of their history and timeline. Talking about tribes and clans and nomadic groups, basically anything during the Roman Empire that wasn’t Rome, has forced many people to pause and question what they know of empire and colonization and conquest and all that they know of “right” and “good” and resource stockpiling, because suddenly there is a before, where they had only ever learned of the after.

Positioning their own heritage in a perspective that adamantly opposes the idea that guns and colonization were a natural progression of society, and instead asks why and answers: because they were built to invade and take, has made many people pause, and others simply nod and say yes, and that’s why it’s mine now. Which is chilling and frustrating, but does shed light on where to go next. Many white Americans were taught history in the context of victories and kings and presidents and drama, not slavery, servitude, or lives of normal people. Positioning their heritage as one of a conquered people enslaved by Rome suddenly has them questioning that same story they learned about the Trail of Tears and Native American history. And those moments of questioning, of being offered new information that challenges their familiar order of thoughts and cultural context, that can make all the difference.

9. People look different for #reasons.

The single most efficient tool that I have found to really make a difference in the way people see other people is educating them on what the differences mean. Because, in the same way that understanding why someone hurt you makes forgiving them easier, understanding why someone looks different from you makes seeing them as a whole easier.

Explaining to people things like: how skin color works, what it does to protect us, how history and culture and things like slavery and migration impact it, how hair works, what coils, kinks, and curls do for heat dispersion, what big lips or rounded jaws or epicanthic folds or big noses or curvy booties mean, how a human population’s general shape is impacted by their environment, and that it’s ALL IN THE NAME OF THERMOREGULATION, has made so many people go “oh wow, I never knew that, that’s so cool!” And suddenly skin color, hair texture, body shape, etc. are not longer a single reflection of a person’s culture or heritage, but an organ their body is using to maintain their health and keep them alive.

Telling someone that, based on genetic diversity of populations and a bunch of other stuff like migration and cultural mating habits, they are more likely to find a doppelgänger that looks most like them in another race, has also helped. Out of all your human traits and phenotypic markers, you are more likely to find another human with your similar body/face shapes and structure, but with a different skin color. Showing people these pictures and talking about two friends I had in college who looked exactly alike but one was from Afghanistan and the other from Mexico generally gets people interested in looking at people more intently.

[Note: sometimes it can be harder to find obvious pictures of women/LGBTQ+ individuals with different-race doppelgängers because of the use of makeup, cultural expectations of beauty, and general oppression and erasure of minority cultures, POC, and women, so these are mostly white men who look like other men.]

There you go, some observations about talking about race with white people as a white person. This is all I can do right now, in the midst of the suffering and grief, the fear and continual horror. A few observations stitched together, a little encouragement, some hot tips that have worked for me, and a whole lot of defeated sighing that I know isn’t fair. At the end of the day, I know it’s not all I can do, that it is what I can do. It is a position I take up because I know how easily I can walk through the door of the “white club,” and I have accepted the responsibility of stirring it up and getting people talking about social issues like racism.

It’s a strange thing, to automatically belong and hate it, to not fit an ideology but be expected to from the outside; I suspect we’ve all felt that one way or another, since it’s the subject of pretty much every popular franchise and story, it has to resonate in a big way somehow. So I know I’m not alone there, I know we’re all exhausted and feeling that there is no progress, that there’s nothing to do, that talking isn’t enough, that we’re stuck inside while people outside are suffering and there’s not a goddamned thing we can do, but it’s a lie.

We can talk to people. It takes a long time, and you can be tired, and you can be down about it, and you can be frustrated, but it matters, so you can’t give up. The urging of white people to talk to other white people is important. It makes a difference. You might not see it right away, but it matters.

If you keep at it, you’ll see some of the changes you can make: one day, that racist person starts to tell a joke and you see them stop and think for a minute and then say “you know, actually maybe that’s inappropriate.” Or you see that racist person start to get uncomfortable around their racist friends, or they start asking more complex questions about society, their opinions take longer to form, they ask for sources on information, they slowly grow more comfortable talking about social topics. There are some people I’ve been talking to regularly about this stuff for over a decade and they have not changed in anyway, but in the process of talking to them, in person or on social media, people around them noticed and began to think and question, messaging me to talk more or to say thank you. Changes happen, and people change.... slowly.

It can be scary to talk to white people about race, but if you are white, it is what you can do. Because no matter how you feel about it, at the end of the day, you walk in the door of the white club unbarred. That is a privilege, and that’s what people mean when they say “use your privilege.”

I hope this helps someone a little bit, because even though I keep at it, even though I know it’s what I can do, it still feels like all I can do, and it never feels like enough.

#racism #race #identity #culture #society #anthropology #cultural anthropology #observations #white people #philosophy #psychology #fear #privilege #white privilege #social science

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jovialjudgebonkalmond · 4 years

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Inevitable, Ch 2

Once again, obvious disclaimer, I don’t own the characters or universe in which the story takes place - yes internet I am that old, thank you.

Summary: Monty is alive, in jail. A recounting of his experiences and memories and basically all those flashbacks we weren’t given in season 4 that I am butthurt about. It is AU in the sense that he is still alive whilst Clay & Co are attempting to frame him for Bryce’s murder. Obvious spoiler alerts if you haven’t seen season 4.

Pairings will be Monty x Winston mainly. So far this is all from Monty’s POV but that may change down the line.

Warnings include violence, sex, drug use, rape, murder, and basically everything graphic and bad you can imagine. Will absolutely contain smut. Oh, and swearing. This chapter has the added benefit of mention’s of suicide (but given the show’s content I’m sure you saw this coming?), and also domestic abuse/child abuse. Oh and homophobic slurs.

Obligatory reminder: This is from Monty’s point of view. Clearly he didn’t view his actions with the totality of how devastatingly monsterous they were. I condemn his actions, he’s a rapist and deserved jail time. As we saw in s3 and in snippets of s4 he didn’t share that point of view. I think Monty is a dynamic character that’s interesting and I relate a lot to his back story. That’s why I was motivated to write this.

Ch 2 word count: 5,554 words (sorry not sorry guys)

Monty braced his hands on the edges of the tiny stainless steel sink, squinting as he gazed into the grimy sheet of metal bolted to the wall that was supposed to function as a mirror. He could see a blur of his skin, and the orange of his shirt...and that was it. His face was throbbing and he couldn't eat his breakfast. "Fuck." He muttered to himself, inhaling deeply and closing his eyes. He held his breath, his aching ribs adding to the cacophony of pain of his head and hand. His hand was swollen across his knuckles and stiff, the muscles in his right arm trembling just with the effort of hanging on to the sink. He reached up with his left hand and ran it over his jaw. It, too, was swollen. He opened his mouth as wide as he could, gripping his molars with his fingers and placing his thumbs at the base of his jaw. His body shuddered and his stomach growled loudly.

I know, we're gonna fix this.

He jerked his jaw down, over, and then up in a swift, fluid motion. It made a sickeningly loud pop and Monty held back a retch, his body going from hot to cold as he felt his adrenaline pounding through his veins uncontrolled. He took a few choking, deep breaths and began to pace in a small circle, breathing hard through his nose. He dropped to the floor gracefully into a plank position as he had a thousand times for football drills, braced himself on his hands while his broken knuckles screamed at him. He lowered himself to the floor and sucked in a deep breath, his nose almost grazing the concrete. He exhaled and pushed up, hearing his ribs crack loudly as they shifted. They felt wrong inside of him, like they didn't fit where they belonged and it made it hard to breathe. He inhaled and lowered himself again, pushing through the pain. He felt powerless. He carried on, not counting reps as he picked up a smooth and even pace. He was lost inside himself, no concept of time passing. There were no clocks, save for the one on the microwave in the common room and he wasn't there right now.

"Your mother, she hasn't stopped crying since they pick you up." His father stated with a heavy accent.He felt a pang of shame in his chest and closed his eyes for a moment, the shackles hanging like a dead weight off his wrists. He swallowed hard, his throat feeling suddenly dry and tight.

"I'm sorry." he said thickly, his back stiff. His fear felt alive inside of him, like it had a mind of its own. He avoided eye contact with his father. He could feel the rage radiating off of him and he felt the all too familiar dread sinking in.

"I bust my ass for this family, and this is what you do?" His father continued, leaning forward. Monty hazarded a glance at him from the corner of his eye, not daring to breathe. He blinked, feeling his mind beginning to reel.

"Answer me!"

Monty jumped and blinked again, feeling stupid and cornered. His heart was racing.

"What? What answer do you want?" He hated hearing the sound of his own desperation in his voice, the way it broke at the end.

"Is it true? What they're saying?"

Monty felt his body stiffen even more, if that was at all possible. He tried to shrug it off, blinking again.

"What are- what are they saying?" He stammered. It felt as though there was a fist clamped around his throat.

"You damn well know."

Monty stared straight ahead of him, feeling the all too familiar sensation of his blood pounding in his ears and through his veins. He clenched his jaw and stayed silent.

"They're saying that you assaulted a kid. That you sexually assaulted a kid. A boy! That true?" He couldn't help but notice the tone his father's voice took on at the word 'boy'.

"It wasn't sexual assault. I was just...messin' with him." Monty said, shifting his shoulders as though his shuffling could make his actions go away, like an irritating fly tickling his skin.

"You were messing with him?" His dad blinked, his eyes darkening, "The way they said? Why would you do that shit? To a boy? Are you some kind of faggot?!" The disgust in his voice was palpable, but it wasn't the fact that he was being charged with sexual assault that disgusted him so, that much was glaringly clear.

Monty's body felt hot all over, his eyes beginning to well with tears. He clenched his jaw again and stole his resolve.

"What if I was dad? What if I was?" He locked his gaze on his father's dark, furious eyes. The rage and contempt the look he was met with took his breath away.

"You're going to prison. You know what they do to guys like you in there?" He scanned him up and down quickly, as though sizing him up.

"And what do they do? Describe it." He mumbled defiantly, squaring his chin.

"You're going to get beat to shit. At the minimum. They will beat you down."

Monty leaned back, unable to stop himself. What the fuck did it matter now anyway.

"Yeah, well, at least none of them will be my dad."

He could see the storm in his father's eyes, and he was suddenly grateful he was in jail. The chair scraped on the concrete as his dad stood, towering over him with the blackest eyes he had ever seen. Mr. de la Cruz was staring at him as though he had known it all along.

"Are you a faggot?" He asked, with a tone that suggested he already had the answer.

Fuck it, he thought, and fuck you.

He looked up and locked eyes with the man whom he had feared, loathed, worshiped... his whole life.

"Sure."

The moment could have lasted an eternity. His father stared at him in disgusted silence before spitting in his face and walking out, leaving him sitting there alone in his shackles. It hurt more than a fist. He closed his eyes, feeling as though his heart was shattering in his chest. The spit was hot and sticky, burning his left eye it landed on. He clenched his jaw again, his eyebrows furrowing as he fought back his tears. He tried to wipe the spit off of his face but his shackles stopped him from being able to reach. He rubbed the side of his face on his shoulder as though he could wipe away his shame with it, his breathing ragged.

"Hey inmate."

Monty jumped, the voice knocking him back to reality. He stood carefully, his body aching at his lack of forgiveness to it, and looked at the C.O.

"Yes sir?"

"You have an appointment with your lawyer. Come on."

He blinked slowly, following the guard out of his cell. I don't have a lawyer..?

The guard marched him to a set of doors where he was pat down and shackled once more. They took him down a hallway he had never been down before, the shackles making his strides short and awkward, forcing him to hunch forward. It made him look small. The hall had rooms with windows that opened to the hallway. The guard opened one of the doors and Monty followed him inside.

There was a woman sitting at a large table with several file folders. Her black hair was up in a bun and she was wearing a pantsuit with a blouse. It was jarring, seeing someone outside of uniform or the orange jumpsuit. He shuffled toward the table and she glanced up at him, surveying him quietly with blue eyes he couldn't read. He sat down across from her and tried to shuffle his chair closer to the table with little success.

The guard stepped in and closed the door. The woman turned her attention from him to the guard.

"You can wait outside." She dismissed him. He looked as though he was going to argue with her but then thought better of it and left. Monty could see him watching them through the glass.

"Hello Mr. de la Cruz." She said, opening one of the files and glancing at it before looking back at him. "I am Eva Guerrero. I am a defense attorney and I work for a non-profit organization, and we were forwarded your case and I am here to offer you legal representation for your trial, if you choose to have one. I have spent some time reviewing your case and I have a few thoughts, and a few questions."

Monty sat there, staring at her for awhile. He blinked while he waited for his brain to catch up. It didn't.

"Okay." He said curtly, instantly on the defensive.

"You presently have two charges filed against you. That is correct? The sexual assault of Tyler Down and the murder of Bryce Walker..?"

Monty stood in the dim light of his bedroom, one of the bulbs in the ceiling was burnt out. It cast long shadows up the dark beige walls. It made the hole he punched in his white door look cavernous. He gazed at his reflection in the mirror, his breathing steady and calm...resolute. Tears trickled silently down his face, pooling on the wooden surface of his dresser. They slipped off the chips and dings in the surface and flowed off of the edge. His arm trembled as it held the cold steel of the gun, pressing into the side of his temple. His finger curled around the trigger, his other hand pressed on the top of the dresser to brace himself. There was only one bullet in the chamber, but he only needed one.

"Where are you, you son of a bitch!" His father roared, bursting into the room and yanking him from his thoughts. His blood pounded in his ears and he rounded on the taller man, not even feeling human anymore.

"You wanna go old man?!" Monty yelled, taking the gun away from his own face and leveling it at the chest of his father, finger still poised on the trigger. The man staggered back, clearly intoxicated. His face flashed shock for a moment before he began to laugh, contempt replacing his former fearful expression as though it had never existed. Monty's heart was hammering in his chest like it was going to explode. His body was moving outside of his control, his desperation having a mind of its own and an appetite for destruction.

"You going to shoot me?" The older man laughed again and muttered derisively in Spanish before closing the space between them, leaning into the gun. "Do it then. You're the man now."

Monty locked eyes with his monster, his boogeyman, and felt his resolve begin to crumble just as he always crumbled under his father's fists and rage. He lowered the gun and made to shove passed him to get through the door but his dad grabbed him roughly around his abdomen and chucked him into it. He heard it crack under his weight and his lungs strained as the wind was knocked out of him. He choked and gasped for a moment, in a heap on the ground still holding the gun.

"You're just a coward." His dad hissed, booting him hard in the ribs. He hated himself for not being able to hold back his whimper at the pain. "Were you fucking crying? Crying like a lady-boy? Like a faggot?!"

He sucked in a ragged breath and dragged himself to his feet, running haphazardly through the hallway. He needed to get the fuck out of here before this ended in regret. His dad pursued him, hot on his tail, stopping momentarily to grab a bottle of liquor off of the counter.

"Where the fuck do you think you're going you little shit?!"

"I'm getting the fuck out of here!" Monty yelled, opening the front door. His dad grabbed him by the scruff of his shirt and yanked him backwards, slamming him against the wall and backhanded him. He tasted blood. He shoved his dad as hard as he could, away from him and ran out the door without looking back. His dad staggered drunkenly and fell over. It didn't stop him for long, just slowed him down momentarily, Monty heard his drunken shuffling footsteps chasing him out the door.

"Come back here you coward!" He yelled, chucking the bottle at Monty. It shattered beside his feet and he stepped on the glass. It crunched under the soles of his shoes, gritty on the gravel driveway. The alcohol splashed up his pants, staining and stinking. He fumbled for his keys, hands shaking and jerking as adrenaline sent his nerves haywire. He popped the safety back on the gun and tossed it in the back storage compartment. He started the Jeep and threw it in reverse, slamming his foot on the gas and gunning it down the driveway. His tires screeched shrilly on the pavement and the SUV lurched with his sudden movements.

He put the Jeep into drive and stomped on the gas, not knowing where he was going. There was nothing but the sound of his engine, the tires rumbling on the pavement noisily and his suspension rattling every so often as he went over a bump or pothole in the road. And his seemingly-endless-blood pounding in his ears-level rage. His vision blurred with tears, the road and lights melted blurs whipping passed him with no recognition. He sobbed, unable to catch his breath. His chest felt empty, like a gaping wound raw and shredded on the edges. Minutes turned into hours and became nothing. Eventually he had no energy left to sob, no tears left to cry.

He eased off of the gas pedal and soaked in the emptiness that consumed him. The air around him was cold and light, the stars dancing above him and the moon hung over it all like a fucking spotlight for his shit show.

He slowed and stopped, realizing he recognized the house he was in front of. His heart skipped a beat. He shouldn't be here. He put the Jeep in park and pushed the door open, stepping out of the vehicle. He left the door open as he walked ponderously along the curb. The house was like a mansion, towering on top of a small expensively landscaped hill. With a huge, wall-like cement fence with wrought iron details on top. Four pillars boarded each edge of the horse-shoe shaped driveway, one of those fancy ones that you can drive in and out of in a half circle. The pillars had lamps on top made out of matching wrought iron that bathed him in golden light, like a caricature of an angel.

He didn't belong here.

He stood at the mouth of the driveway, his arms hanging limply at his sides. He sighed, turning to go when he saw a figure approaching him. The tall, slender, dark haired young man stepped into the light. His dark, brown eyes were muddied with confusion. He wore a light coat thrown over a grey cable knit sweater and olive coloured slacks, lacking his usual carefully chosen attire. It was evident he just threw it on in a hurry to run outside. His heavy brows furrowed, his expression flipping rapidly from confusion to concern.

"Monty- what are you doing here? My parents are actually home...you probably don't want to- why are you bleeding? Are you ok?!" He stumbled his words in a rush.

Monty stood there with his arms limp at his side for a few moments, trying to feel anything other than the brokenness that consumed him. He knew the desperation showed on his face like an open book and he loathed himself for it. He could never hide it, not in front of Winston. The other boy had a way of running his fingers over his spine and cracking him open like a dam waiting to flood the world. And tonight, he was nothing if not an open wound.

"Monty?!" Winston insisted, taking another step towards him.

"Bryce is dead." He said hollowly.

Winston blinked, glancing back to the house and then back to Monty. He closed the space between them, Monty's heart leaping into his throat. Winston took his hand and ran his fingers over his knuckles and palm with an aching tenderness.

"Okay, let's get out of here then." He said calmly. Damn him. Winston gave his hand a gentle squeeze and tilted his face to lock his warm eyes with Monty's avoidant gaze. Monty looked back at him knowing he wasn't able to hide his pain behind his mask anymore. He returned the gentle squeeze before walking back to the Jeep and climbing in, his heart racing once more. Winston climbed in the passenger seat, doing a double take at the gun in the back.

"Is that a gun?! What are you doing with a gun?! How did you even get a gun?!?!"

Monty clenched his jaw, starting the Jeep with a stuttering rumble. It was an old Jeep, and its age was showing. Monty couldn't help but feel uncomfortable having the boy who was used to so much luxury in his piece of shit SUV.

Although if Winston had any opinions, he kept them to himself. Monty glanced at the gun in the corner of his eye, barely tilting his face before looking at Winston for a moment and putting the vehicle in drive.

"It was a gift." He muttered, nonchalantly. Winston looked taken aback but didn't ask anymore questions as Monty drove off. Monty turned up the music, indicating he didn't want to talk anymore. Winston reached over and held Monty's hand that was resting in his lap. Monty didn't fight it or pull away, allowing the other boy to gently stroke his fingers. He felt the pounding rage and anxiety, poised for the attack, slowly recede under Winston's unfairly soft touch.

"They found him in the water...by the docks." Monty said thickly, the dam threatening to break again. "They say he was shot...he was murdered."

"Murdered?! Holy fuck..." Winston gasped, sucking in a quick breath. It was clear he was rattled. "Who would do that?"

"Oh I think I know." Monty said, a clearly menacing tone to his voice. "Cops hauled me in for questioning. Cuffed me and chucked my ass in the back seat and everything. What a fucking show."

Winston looked taken aback.

"But Bryce was your friend?! Why would they think you killed him?!" Winston asked, despite the gun sitting in the back of the Jeep like a verifiable elephant in the room.

"We had a fight before he was killed." Monty grumbled, stepping on the gas a little. "He was killed homecoming night."

Winston took a deep breath, surveying Monty carefully.

"While you were with me?"

"If I was fuckin' there he wouldn't be fuckin' dead right now!" Monty yelled. "I should have been there. I could have stopped it. Someone beat the shit out of him and shot him and threw him in the fuckin' water and I was off getting laid!"

Winston stayed silent for a few moments, gazing at the scenery as it whipped by. If his outburst or speeding bothered him, Monty couldn't tell. He seemed surprisingly unruffled by his rage. After more time passed Monty's resolve and anger subsided, having nothing to feed off of. He took a deep, tremulous breath.

"I'm sorry." He muttered, "I don't blame you. It wasn't your fault I wasn't there for him. It's mine-"

"Monty, don't blame yourself for this either." Winston cut him off. "There was nothing you could have done. You couldn't have known that would have happened and if you had tried to stop it they very likely would have killed you too. It would have taken someone incredibly dangerous to have done this. I didn't know Bryce very well, but he wouldn't have gone down without a fight."

Monty flinched, gripping the steering wheel tightly with one hand and his other hand trembled in Winston's. He drew in a shivering breath and shook his head, his brows furrowing deeply.

"If I had died too so be it. I should have been there, protecting him. I always protected him... he died alone."

His lip quivered as his eyes welled with tears once more. He wanted to punch himself in his own god damned face. He blinked rapidly, pushing his emotions back down and swallowed hard, flipping his turn signal on.

"That's not a road?" Winston said in confusion.

"That's the point." Monty said, his words catching when the Jeep thumped in and out of a rut jerking both boys around inside.

"I've never done this before." Winston said with a small laugh, "Gone off roading."

"What?! Are you fucking kidding me?!" Monty shook his head, putting the Jeep into 4x4 and glancing at the other boy. "Rich kids." He muttered incredulously. Winston shrugged and flopped around, his shoulder bumping into Monty's as the Jeep thrashed from side to side over the uneven ground. He laughed helplessly, shaking his head. He was knocked backwards as the SUV lurched upwards and then once again bumped into Monty and then the side of the door as it landed roughly, the suspension audibly creaking.

"Jesus can this thing even handle this?!" Winston wondered.

"It was built for this." Monty chuckled, easily matching his body's movements with the jerking of the Jeep, "How about you, pretty boy, can you handle it?" He almost purred, quirking an eyebrow teasingly. Winston shot him a half exasperated dirty look and shifted his weight surreptitiously and then he smirked, meeting the other boy's challenge.

"I think we both know I like being tossed around a little."

Monty responded by gunning the SUV over a ditch in the dirt road, and Winston grabbed the handle over his head to maintain his balance and ride out the bucking of the vehicle. The two shared a look and Monty grinned devilishly. He pressed the accelerator down slowly and evenly, the Jeep's tires kicking up sand that billowed around them like an angry cloud. He adjusted the steering wheel and pulled the SUV into a tight turn, the force tossing Winston to one side as he held the tires in a rotation. He sped up as the Jeep spun in a circle, the sand flying around them like debris in an explosion. The lights of the city and the moon over the ocean melted together, becoming a ribbon of colours swirling dizzyingly around them.

Monty wasn't watching where the Jeep was going, he didn't have to. He had perfect control of the vehicle's movements, he had done this countless times with the guys. He was watching Winston, couldn't take his eyes off of him if he had even tried. He watched the way his chest moved when he breathed, the way his expressions changed and the way his eyes were just so damned alive. Monty loved the way he would laugh or yelp, and knew exactly how to get each reaction. The thrill of it made his face feel flushed, his blood pounding for an altogether different reason. He bit his lip and closed his eyes for a moment before pulling the Jeep out of the doughnut turn and slamming on the brakes. Winston let out a little shriek as he was once again tossed from side to side, and then also back and forth with his long legs tangling like a clumsy giraffe.

"If I knew it was that easy to make you scream I would have done this a long time ago." Monty laughed, cutting the engine and smirking at Winston, his heart fluttering in his chest. Winston glanced at him through the dark lengths of his eyelashes and moistened his lips. His cheeks were flushed and his breathing was a little ragged after being thrashed around like a rag-doll mercilessly for the last god-only-knows how long.

"I could think of a few other ways you could make me scream." He said breathily.

Monty yanked his seat belt off and practically dove at him, his hands grabbing the other boy's wavy hair as their lips crashed together. Monty had one leg on his centre console, the other was in between Winston's legs. Winston's fingertips dug into his back as he kissed back, his bruising lips meeting Monty's furious hunger with a relishing eagerness. Monty kissed him and pawed at him like he wanted to devour him and Winston's hands flew to his pants and popped the button with ease and unzipped them, running his hand over the other boy's obvious erection. He wanted to be devoured, consumed, destroyed. Monty gasped and made a soft, strangled sound as he broke their kiss.

"Fucking hell." He hissed grinding his hips into Winston's hand, "I want you." he added, his voice catching. And I shouldn't, he thought, I can't... this is going to be the death of me.

Winston laughed lowly, continuing to run his hand up and down Monty's rock hard length. He kissed him again, biting his bottom lip lightly as he pulled away.

"Take me home." He said flatly, his hand still rubbing Monty's achingly hard cock.

Monty blinked rapidly, his train of thought thrashing around not unlike Winston was being thrashed around moments ago.

"W...what?" He stuttered, gasping quietly and suppressing a moan with limited success.

"Take me home, Montgomery," Winston said, staring into Monty's eyes as he massaged his balls, "And fuck me properly."

"I don't think I can drive like this." Monty groaned as Winston's hand slipped away, tucking his throbbing cock back into his pants and zipping them back up with some difficulty.

"You're going to." Winston smirked, kissing him deeply and then pushing him away as he adjusted his own bulge in his pants.

Monty swallowed and looked at the lawyer before him. He had declined the legal aide appointed by the court, and he had assumed it was left at that. That he'd be deemed guilty and just rot or die where he fucking belonged.

"I didn't kill Bryce." He said coldly.

"I am aware. We've been contacted by someone who has compelling evidence for your innocence."

"Charlie?" Monty asked, meeting her eyes carefully. He already knew the answer to that question he realized with sickening dread.

"No, Charlie went to the police shortly after you were apprehended and confessed to lying to them to cover for you and that he had no idea of your true whereabouts that night. A boy named Winston Williams... contacted us seeking legal aide on your behalf," The lawyer said, reaching for one of the folders. "He can place you at his house at the time of the murder. He said you made some texts and the cell phone towers would be able to confirm your location which would be quite far from the location where Bryce was killed. He also has an article of your clothing that would possibly be useful, if people can confirm you wore it that night and haven't since."

Monty swallowed hard against the lump in his throat, willing his face to remain stagnant and leaned back, shaking his head. The betrayal by Charlie stung like the weight of a sword to the hilt of his spine. And then there was the Winston of it all.

"He just doesn't fucking give up, does he?" He muttered with an agonized hitch in his voice despite his best efforts.

"I mean, if I knew someone was innocent of a crime, I would want to speak out."

"Did he tell you I beat the shit out of him the night we met and I called him a fucking faggot?" Monty lashed out, he would have crossed his arms but his shackles prevented him from doing it so he just squared his shoulders and jaw and stared coldly at the woman in front of him who only wanted to help him. But he didn't want her fucking help, or Winston's for that matter.

The woman held his gaze, completely unfazed by his demeanor.

"He did, in fact, tell me that." She said with a quirked eyebrow. Monty was taken aback but tried to do his best not to let that show.

"So why the fuck would he want to help me." He said hollowly. The lawyer shrugged.

"Does that really matter? You're looking at life in jail or worse, right now with these charges."

"Maybe I fuckin' deserve it." Monty said, tilting his head challengingly.

"Maybe you do." She agreed calmly. "But I don't think you do. I think that's an easy way out. I think you're fucking giving up, throwing it away because its easier than facing the person you are and the problems you have. Its easier than admitting your life isn't going where you wanted it to, and that you regret the things you've done."

She tossed a file in his direction.

"I think life has been unreasonably hard on you, Montgomery, and I think the people and systems that were supposed to protect you and keep you safe didn't. I think you had a violent upbringing, and that you survived for a long time by yourself. I think the fact that you'd rather go to jail for a crime you didn't commit than willingly admit out loud that you spent the night with a boy who's only crime was maybe to love you enough to want to save you is cowardly. I think you feel like you don't deserve his concern, or his love for that matter, so you're running scared from that too. I think you've been scared for your whole life. And I think its time you fucking let that go. Because the people who've helped you become the young man standing before me would love to see you sitting here wallowing in your self pity. They'd love to see you disappear like another fucking statistic. I would like to think that someone who has survived as long as you have, someone who's fought as hard as you have would take all that anger and tell them to fuck themselves and build a real life for himself, and be fucking happy to spite them, in spite of them."

Monty felt his pulse tick in his neck and looked away before fixing her with a glare. That hit a nerve.

"I think you fucking think too much." He snarked, and smirked with a cocky lift of his eyebrow. "What would you know about it anyway."

She smiled calmly, and met his arrogance with her own ego.

"I had a bad childhood." She said flatly, not knowing she was using his own words against him, "I did eight years in federal for armed carjacking."

Monty sat there numbly, dumbfounded for a moment.

"And they let you be a lawyer?" He asked incredulously, "That explains a lot..."

"It wasn't easy, Montgomery, it took me almost twelve years after my sentence to even begin rebuilding my life. They said I would never amount to more than my crime. But I fucking did it and they can suck my dick." She began to collect the folders he hadn't even looked at yet, leaving one in front of him as she stood up.

"You're a lawyer, you're not supposed to talk like that." He mumbled, feeling panic flutter in his chest as his lifeline was packing up and leaving and it was all his own fault for pushing her away.

"Not in front of a judge anyway." She countered, snapping her briefcase shut.

"Think about what I said. I won't close your case yet, but don't waste anymore of my fucking time. Keep that, and read it." She warned as she walked away. She opened the door where the guard was waiting and he heard the sound of his boots as he came to fetch him.

His mind was reeling, spinning out of control as he shuffled behind the C.O. awkwardly holding his file.

"You have some mail." The C.O. said offhandedly. Monty blinked, wondering what it was. Was it a court summons? Was it Winston? Was it his family..? They stopped at the doors and the man uncuffed him around the wrists and ankles.

He handed Monty the letter, his expression unreadable.

"It came in awhile ago...but sometimes things here get lost on purpose."

"Why are you being nice to me?" Monty asked, suspicious as he took the letter.

"You're a human being. And I'd like to believe we can help people in here... sometimes."

"You must be new." Monty sighed. He walked back to his cell without a backwards glance. None of the other three inmates he shared a cell had returned yet, they must be at lunch. Monty's stomach growled insistently but he ripped open the letter instead, wanting the privacy to absorb the blow that was about to come. The paper was a file printed from the jails website, someone was requesting the right to visit him and it required his approval or denial.

Charles St. George.

#montgomery de la cruz #monty de la cruz #monty x winston #winston x monty #winston williams #13rw fanfiction #13rw #wonty

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ninasfireescape · 5 years

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The ‘Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker’ review no one asked for

I wanted to enjoy it. I really did.

I was one of the people who didn’t dislike The Last Jedi. Sure, I didn’t love it. When I watched it, I thought it was too long and had made certain characters choices I wasn’t too happy with, but overall it was enjoyable and left me feeling satisfied. It was not as good as The Force Awakens however and hearing JJ Abrams was returning, I thought he might be able to restore the final episode to its former glory.

That indeed seemed like the case for the first hour. The gang were back together, it was quick-paced, I had an emotional investment in what was going on (and it seemed like they were taking the Finnrey route I wanted them too). I couldn’t exactly follow every plot specific but does that really matter in Star Wars when it’s so exciting? The bit on Star Killer base was genuinely inspired, I was laughing away at once again what terrible shots the stormtroopers were and at Hux being the spy. Every scene with Lando in was gold.

It was just after they got to the water planet that things started to go wrong. I’m not sure quite what it was exactly that made it so disappointing from this point onwards. Perhaps the gang splitting up or the rather horrifically done Leia death scene. I know they didn’t really have much choice with what footage they had but having watched each member of the original trio died, this death was devoid of emotion and predictable. And she died to make Kylo Ren hesitate for one moment. What a waste!

Then the pointless force ghosts! Seeing Luke was nice but it felt like he was just there to add clunky explanation since the plot made so little sense at this point. And when Han appeared, I actually laughed. It was so inconsistent with the tone of the film and he appeared all while Kylo Ren was standing in the middle of a stormy sea that he could fall into at any moment, right in the most climactic section of the film, just to have a conversation with the son who killed him! It was the most outrageous example of a fan service cameo that just didn’t assimilate with the rest of the film.

I don’t actually have a problem with Rey Palpatine. If anything, I thought it was really cool she was a Palpatine. I really didn’t want her to be a Skywalker because I felt it would be predictable and repetitive. Her being a Palpatine also sends the message to young viewers that blood relations don’t make a family which I think is very important for children to hear. Honestly, the only problem I have with it is that it means some poor lady had sex with Palpatine. I agree that it was a ridiculous retcon of The Last Jedi but then I didn’t like the reveal about her parents in TLJ anyway because of how it was executed. Another thing that bothers me about it is the utter lack of information we get about Villanelle Rey’s mother. Already we don’t know much about her father other than that he’s Palpatine’s son but with her mother, we get nothing. With Rey having wondered about who her parents were for so long, surely it would make sense for her to want to know more about her mother and maybe even take her surname in place of ‘Palpatine’. I also firmly believe Rey’s mother should have been played by Hayley Atwell because she looks so much like Daisy Ridley. And while Jodie Comer is an amazing actress, I think 1. She deserves a bigger role in the Star Wars franchise and 2. Her casting as Rey’s mother exemplifies Hollywood’s fear of casting older actresses as mothers. A twenty six year old as a mother!?

About Zurii, I always appreciate new female characters in Star Wars and I thought she had a great design. However, it is blatantly clear what her purpose in the film was. It was to stop people calling Poe gay, inserting a female character for one scene (she barely spoke in her other scenes so I’m not counting those) with no backstory of her own, just to prove he is attracted to women. Well, first of all, he can be bi, secondly, that’s not going to stop people shipping Finnpoe at all. I didn’t clock until afterwards when I saw people talking about it online, but it was super problematic to make Poe a former drug dealer. Sure, the only Latino character in this trilogy. Also, it in general complicates the little we know about Poe’s backstory so far.

With Rose, all our worst fears were confirmed. She just wasn’t there. She appeared in a couple of scenes and had some lines but you’d think she was no more than another miscellaneous rebel, no more significant a role than Billie Lourd’s character. Did they really give into the white fanboy pressure? How could they erase Rose when she was such a good character? She was tough and fought strongly for her beliefs, but she was also compassionate, sensitive. Now, I never particularly shipped Finn and Rose in TLJ. I thought it seemed a bit of a rushed romance and Finn didn’t seem that invested in the kiss they shared. However, you can’t just pretend they didn’t kiss in the last film. They interacted a few times but there was no sense of any bond between them. Where there relationship stood was unclear. Were they now a couple or had they had an offscreen conversation where they decided they were better off as friends? Who knows?

And now onto the worst part of the film: Kylo Ren and more specifically that kiss. Gross. Okay, to be clear, I wasn’t entirely opposed to a redemption arc for Kylo Ren. Sure, it would be predictable, but it’s not like Kylo Ren’s crimes are any worse than those of Darth Vader and he was still capable of redemption. I liked Kylo Ren as a villain. He perfectly depicted that type of whiny, entitled white man who we see so commonly in real life, but again, he could have achieved some redemption if it were implemented correctly. What we got in the film was not this. He was still committing genocide at the start and carried out one good deed which was saving the woman he had a crush on. For this one good act, he was entirely forgiven and somehow all of the genocide wasn’t his fault. And he got rewarded with the woman! If anything, I’d call that act selfish since he only wanted to save the woman he liked. Adam Driver did the best he could with it but everything about it was awful. And it was out of character for Rey to kiss him and forgive him. She stabbed him little more than half an hour earlier! At the end of the last film, she slammed a door in his face. It makes no sense to me how she could suddenly be so invested in him becoming a better person. There’s also the fact that wasn’t included in the films that Rey and Kylo Ren are related (aunt and nephew to be exact). I wasn’t aware this was Game of Thrones! And according to Wookiepedia, Rey was 18 at the start of the films and is now 20 whereas Kylo Ren is now 30. A ten year age different would be fine if Rey were older but at this point, the age gap is uncomfortable and very borderline.

If they’re going to make the claim that it wasn’t actually Kylo Ren who was doing the evil deeds but some dark force corrupting him, they should have explained how the mechanism works. At least in the prequels, we got some sense of Anakin slowly being corrupted. To me, it reads like in some horror films when the abusive characters are found to have been possessed by demons or something. It trivializes abuse which is something very real, acting instead as if no abusers can actually be responsible for their actions and it is the cause of some supernatural force instead. I suppose the kiss doesn’t have to mean anything. After all, Leia and Luke kissed in the original trilogy and Finn and Rose kissed and apparently that meant nothing.

I firmly believe the series intended a Finn and Rey romance. Lest we forget The Force Awakens, Finn awkwardly asking Rey if she had a boyfriend. That was clear coding for him having a crush on her. In that film, the two developed such a strong bond, and they have so much more chemistry than Rey and Kylo Ren ever had. All the scenes with Rey and Finn (and Poe) were full of light and emotion. The scene at the end where the three of them hugged was honestly the high point of the film. Now, when I left the cinema, what was plaguing my mind the most was that throughout the film, Finn had a secret he wanted to tell Rey. It was first suggested when they thought they were going to die in the quicksand. “Wait, Rey, I never told you!” It had to be that he loved her. What else could it be? Supposedly, it was that he was force sensitive. I don’t believe that for one second. If he needed to tell her that, why couldn’t Poe be included? And why did he never get the chance to tell her? It was a build-up I got invested in with no payoff. It must have been that he loved her. So, if that was the case, that leaves us with two options. Either there was a Finnrey subplot that got cut but they forgot to cut these scenes out (or simply couldn’t be bothered to), or they thought it would be funny to have the black supposed male lead chasing after the white female lead who didn’t love him back because she was instead in love with the genocidal white villain. I ship Finnrey so much and find the second option so horrific but I wouldn’t put it past the writers. Finn played such a significant role in the first half of the film, as he should since he’s meant to be the male lead in the series, but after that, he was dangerously underutilized. At least the ending where no one ends up with each other is compliant with my headcanon that Rey, Finn and Poe (and I don’t mind Rose being in the mix too) all end up married to each other and adopt a bunch of porgs.

And lastly, the lesbian scene. Pathetic. We don’t know the character names and I can’t even find out who the actresses were that played them. Okay, they kissed which is a pretty big deal (even though kisses apparently mean nothing in Star Wars) and it’s certainly a step forward from the Avengers: Endgame ‘’’’representation’’’’, but it’s still rather useless considering the big deal JJ Abrams made about how there would be representation.

#alexia reviews #star wars #star wars spoilers #tros #tros spoilers #the rise of skywalker #the rise of skywalker spoilers #anti tros #anti reylo

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homestuck-kinstuff · 4 years

Note

Hello I was wondering if I could get a tarot reading for my John timeline? Thanks

Hello John,

Absolutely, it's a genuine pleasure to see your name in our inbox. I hope everything is going well for you. 💜

Pleasantries aside, I have the details of your reading below the cut:

Beginning

The Sun, Reversed

The Sun, your Radiance and Joy, was often shaded or hidden from view. You were unhappy as a child, finding it hard or nigh impossible to see the good that was right in front of you.

This is not to say that you weren't looking. It's likely you didn't ignore this happiness. Rather, you were simply unable to see it. It's possible you suffered from depression early on.

The Fool, Upright

The fool, by nature, is the embodiment of naiveté. A complete blank slate, with all the innocence and blithe enthusiasm of a child.

New journeys are indicated by this card-- and the Fool is brimming with excitement for the road ahead. The Fool, being what he is, knows nothing of the dangers that may befall him, and so he stumbles forward with blind optimism.

If this is a game universe, I would say this card represents your excitement preceding, and then your unknowing entry into it.

Middle

Knight of Swords, Upright

This card represents a person who is filled up and absolutely carried away with an idea. Filled with this vision, this person propels themselves forward with unbridled ambition.

Though we admire the knight's energy and dedication, we should be warned that their quick action may not be well thought through, and unforeseen obstacles and consequences may lay waiting.

Strict meaning of the card aside, my intuition tells me this card may represent your timeline's Dave. However, you would know better than I. If that doesn't feel right, I recommend taking a quick look at the meaning to this card. Another facet of it's identity may align better with what you remember of your timeline.

2 of Cups, Reversed

The communication in what was once a strong partnership has broken down. There is an imbalance, or tension in this relationship where once there was total unity, balance, and respect.

It's difficult to find equal footing with them, to get back on the same page.

Something shook your relationship with the person above. Usually thick as thieves, you're now suffering greatly.

If we assume the card above represents Dave, you may not have known what led up to this breakdown in communication. Dave likely pretended everything was fine, or ignored the issue entirely until he wasn't able to anymore.

It may have seemed like he became suddenly hostile out of nowhere, and you likely had no idea what it was you had or hadn't done, and were therefore unable to make amends.

This is entirely speculation, however. You would know better than I.

Towards Your End

Queen of Wands, Upright

This card represents a feminine figure in your life who is fiery, determined, and strong. They are a natural leader, who's courage in the face of adversity is an inspiration to everyone around them.

This person likely helped you a lot in this point in your life. They may have pushed you in the right direction, had a shoulder and open ear, or offered a sturdy support when you needed it most.

4 of Pentacles, Reversed

Conservatism can be beneficial, but not like this. Your fear of loss could easily tip the scales from practical collection, into obsessive hoarding. Particularly of material or worldly things.

Why do you feel you need such strict control, John?

If this is a game timeline, I'd wager the objects hoarded were some kind of game construct. Grist, or treasure, or weapons. Something of that nature.

Regardless, greediness and possessiveness are big themes here.

You

Knight of Cups, Upright:

The knight of cups is a man who is in touch with his emotions and intuition, and can then channel those things into action.

You feel deeply, and trust your instincts when making decisions. You may be the sort who is inclined to trust these intuitions more than hard fact, but it's also likely you value the opinions of those you're close to, almost to a fault.

Challenges

The Devil, Upright:

If ever there was a card to represent the finicky concept of evil, The Devil would come the closest.

This card represents the fears, obsessions, and insecurities that hold humanity back from their potential, making them slaves to their own shadows.

If this is a game timeline, I get the impression this card represents some kind of world-shattering boss type, an entity you likely could not defeat on your own. My intuition strongly suggests this card represents Lord English.

In a non-game timeline, this card could embody any fear, obsession, or insecurity that can consume a life and turn it upside down. A good example would be drug addiction.

How you Faced them

Justice, Upright:

Justice indicates the very cusp of rebirth. But to achieve this rebirth, a self reflection is needed. The answers you find will be critical in facing these challenges.

Intuition states this alludes to the retcon device, and the strange, backtracking, canon-altering shenanigans you had to partake in, but I am not at all certain. I do, however, feel fairly certain about one fact, no matter how baseless it may be.

In the end, you dispensed Justice. It may not have been quick, it may not have been clean, but it was done.

The End

Ace of Swords, Upright:

This is a powerful card. It holds the potential for immense power and almost assured success.

But you should also be warned of it's double-edged nature. This power can be used to shelter and protect, or cut down for ruthless self gain.

If this is a game timeline, the retcon device may have been compromised, and used to bring about your end. It's also possible when using the device, it took you out alongside your intended target.

In a non game timeline, you may have found yourself in a position of power, where many possibilities opened themselves to you. This could have lead to your downfall, either by corrupting you, or drawing the corrupted to you: bringing about your end.

Advice

Knight of Wands, Upright:

This card represents a "Man of Action." This individual embodies the passionate pursuit of a vision. Because this person is very focused on action, they may also err on the side of impulsiveness, or become unrealistic or brash.

As someone who is in touch with your emotions, if you feel very strongly about something, it can become all-consuming. It may be hard for you to see outside of this goal. This ideal may have been held in your mind for so long, you no longer see it as separate. After all this time, however, this concept may no longer be accurate.

It's time to let go a little. Allow yourself to enjoy little things again. Pointless, childish things. Allow yourself to be silly. Don't destroy yourself to accomplish a goal, no matter how passionate you may be. Silliness can sometimes be even more important.

Temperance, Upright:

It's time to bring some balance back into your life. You've been living in excess, living in extremes, living from one mad thing to the next.

It's time to walk the middle road, and regain your sense of calm. Strike a balance between work and home, spirit and body, friends and the passionate pursuit of an enemy.

Loosen your grip on what is tight in your fist. Curl your hands on what may be slipping through your fingers. Breathe John, breathe.

The Magician, Reversed:

The Magician is the representation of pure willpower, the manifestation of the ancient phrase, "as above, so below." The magician takes all that is available to them and molds it to their will.

Reversed as they are, you may be using these gifts of creation selfishly, or you might be getting further and further from the truth.

Either way, some self reflection may be needed. You should take some time to reevaluate what guides you, your actions, and your personal truth. It is always good to know oneself and what drives you. It can be your most powerful asset.

Thank you for sticking with me, I hope this was illuminating. Do let us know if there's anything else we can do to lend a hand.💜

Kind Regards,

🌹Mod Rose🌹

#homestuck kin #homestuck #hs kin #anon #kin #anonymous #hskin #hs kin blog #mod rose #tarot reading #tarot #tarot card readings #john kin #john egbert #john egbert kin #john homestuck

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quentinxdelancret · 4 years

Text

Discord Text Thread || Quentin & Dorian

Discord thread featuring: Quentin and Dorian

When: September 26th-27th

Mentions: Jaycee

Description:Quentin texts Dorian after their date and then asks if it’s okay to sleep over. He texts him again the next day and things get a little more personal. {sleep over thread to follow}

Trigger Warning: drug mentions and light dirty talk.

Quentin. I bet you can’t guess what’s been on my mind all day....

DORIAN What’s been on your mind all day, handsome?

Quentin. You!

DORIAN Awww.

Quentin. You doing alright today, darlin? Not missing me too bad are ya?

DORIAN Yeah, I’m doing okay. I am missing you though. How are you?

Quentin. That’s good. Not that you’re missing me, but that you’re good. I’ve been pretty good myself, can’t complain. Definitely missing you too though.

DORIAN it’s good to know the feeling is mutual. what have you been up to today?

Quentin. It is isn’t it? I haven’t been up to too much. Working on my next cover and leveling out. How about you?

DORIAN Ooh, what’s the plan for the next cover? I’ve just been chilling today tbh. Having a lazy day.

Quentin. Well, since you’ve been on my mind nonstop, I was thinking something sweet. It seemed relevant. oh yeah? Want some company?

DORIAN Yeah? Like what? Yes please.

Quentin. Hmm, I’d tell you but I don’t wanna ruin the element of surprise. ahhh, thank god!

DORIAN So cute.

Quentin. Yes, yes you are.

DORIAN Nooo, you.

Quentin. Me? Naaah. It’s totally you babe.

DORIAN I refuse to accept that. it’s you.

Quentin. Ughh, fine. But only if I get to kiss you again. Fair?

DORIAN You can kiss me as much as you want.

Quentin. Oh yeah?

DORIAN Yeah.

Quentin. Ooooh, I hope I don’t make you regret that lol how are you so perfect?

DORIAN I doubt you will. I’m not.

Quentin. Seriously, I’m gonna smother you if you keep being so hard on yourself. New rule, you can only be hard on me

DORIAN I’m sorry. When you’ve been through as much awful shit as I have, it’s difficult not to be hard on yourself.

Quentin. I understand, I promise I do. But, you’re so fuckin amazing, baby. You should know that, and I’m gonna make sure you realize it every time I’m around.

DORIAN You’re gonna make me melt. You can’t be that sexy, speak French, and be nice to me. I’m gonna fall head over heels.

Quentin. I could say the exact same thing about you. Except the French part.. but I could teach you the basics. like French kissing

DORIAN I think I already know quite a bit about that.

Quentin. Yep, yeah you definitely do. You kiss like a pro.

DORIAN Heh. Thanks babe. You’re a pretty damn good kisser yourself.

Quentin. I’m glad you think so. Cause my lips are gonna be all over you every chance I get

DORIAN All over me?

Quentin. Uhm... yes?

DORIAN You hesitated.

Quentin. ha, hardly. Just don’t wanna get punished before I get started.

DORIAN You totally did hesitate. Why would you be punished?

Quentin. Oh, darlin. You can trust when I say there would definitely be no hesitation. Idk, haha. You’re the one who likes to be in control.

DORIAN Okay, good to know. You’d have to give me a reason to punish you and so far I have not seen one.

Quentin. That’s good. I’m not sure how extent these punishments get. But, I’m not ready to find out just yet either.

DORIAN Heh.

Quentin. Something about the way you say that always seems so naughty. I like it!

DORIAN Good.

Quentin. soooo... can I stay the night?

DORIAN Oh... yes. I’d like that.

Quentin. you hesitated.

DORIAN Only because I wasn’t expecting you to ask me that.

Quentin. No? I’m pretty addicted to you.

DORIAN oh are you?

Quentin. I am, It’s terrible. I can’t eat, can’t sleep, can’t do anything without wanting to be with you.

DORIAN I have that much of an effect on you already?

Quentin. Is that bad? That’s totally bad isn’t it?

DORIAN No. it’s sweet and flattering.

Quentin. Are you gonna break my heart Dorian Taylor?

DORIAN No! I don’t have any intention to at least. Are you gonna break mine?

Quentin. Hmm, depends on whether you break mine first.

DORIAN 😒

Quentin. Don’t make that face. I don’t want to break your heart. I just wanna love you

DORIAN oh you just wanna love me huh? & I can make that face if I want to.

Quentin. that’s what I said. fine be mean lol

DORIAN Cutie. I’m not mean.

Quentin. you’re right, you’re not.

DORIAN I can be if I’m pushed to the point where I feel like someone deserves it. But not for no reason.

Quentin. I feel that. Me too.

DORIAN Mhm.

Quentin. you don’t believe me? Haha

DORIAN No, I believe you. I just didn’t know how else to respond lol.

Quentin. Ah, haha okay. I’m really not that mean ever. Maybe a little cold but not really mean.

DORIAN Good to know, baby.

Quentin. I don’t think I’d ever be cold with you though. You’re a too sweet.

DORIAN You’re my bad boy with a soft spot for only me huh?

Quentin. haha you think I’m a bad boy? I definitely have a soft spot for only you though.

DORIAN you told me you were.

Quentin. Oh hahaha Maybe I’m a little bad

DORIAN

😅

Quentin. 🙈

DORIAN you’re so cuuuute.

Quentin. I’m something. Hahah

DORIAN You’re sexy and charming.

Quentin. Oh, wow. Smooth.

DORIAN Heh.

[ THE NEXT DAY SEPTEMBER 27TH ]

Quentin. I swear people think I’m crazy. All I do is smile idiotically at my phone lol

DORIAN You’re so adorable. What do you have going on today? I was sad when you had to leave.

Quentin. I did have an interview. But it’s over now, and I’m just laying on my couch talking to you.

DORIAN an interview?

Quentin. Yeah, KJ 104.3 The buzzz

DORIAN Oohhh interesting.

Quentin. Yeah, it was alright. But they always give me shit for starting out as a cliche cover band and continuing to do covers.

DORIAN Fuck them then.

Quentin. Yeah, fuck em all! Doesn’t help my brother, aka my drummer is on holiday. So I was solo

DORIAN I miss you.

Quentin. aww babe. I miss you too, very much! do you wanna see me?

DORIAN 🙈 😘 Yes.

Quentin. I can come back over.

DORIAN Do you want to?

Quentin. Yes, I do.

DORIAN Okay great.. I didn’t wanna pressure you into doing something you didn’t feel like doing.

Quentin. I always wanna see you

DORIAN Yeah? Glad it’s not just me.

Quentin. Oh yeah, definitely not just you darlin.

DORIAN You are soooo hot.

Quentin. you keep making my blush. you’re hot. So scorching baby

DORIAN Awww, I bet you look so cute when you blush. Thank you babe.

Quentin. I think we have a real issue here

DORIAN What’s that?

Quentin. I don’t know how I’m ever gonna keep my hands off of you

DORIAN I’d say you don’t have to but there are some places where you have to keep your hands to yourself lol.

Quentin. some places?

DORIAN Yeah there are some public places where we could get in trouble for being too handsy.

Quentin. oh haha. I thought you meant on your body

DORIAN omg lol. No.

Quentin. ha, good to know.

DORIAN 🤣

Quentin. could you imagine? You can touch me every where. Just not there

DORIAN Lol. I’m sure there are people like that, I’m just not one of them.

Quentin. yeah, no Christian Grey here thanks

DORIAN Lmaooo.

Quentin. Although, I did use to have an use with somethiiiing ha I’ll keep that to myself for now though

DORIAN you used to have what now?

Quentin. nothing lmao

DORIAN it just seemed like you made a typo lol.

Quentin. maybe I did

DORIAN I’m just confused

Quentin. No I definitely did lmao just go with it lmao

DORIAN I can’t I need to know what you were trying to say.

Quentin. lmao God I was just trying to say, I used to have an issue with a certain something. But not anymore

DORIAN Hmm. I probably wouldn’t have understood what you meant anyway, since I refuse to read the books or see those movies.

Quentin. You refuse? I wasn’t actually referring to the movie though lol. Just myself in general.

DORIAN Yeah. I’ve read a couple excerpts online and have read a bunch of think pieces about how it’s not a positive representation of the BDSM community. oh okay. Thought you were referencing the books or movies.

Quentin. Nah, I’ve seen the movies and they kinda suck. But the books, just wow. I don’t care about any of those though. Just you and me

DORIAN The writing that I did read from the first book was... very poor. But idk, maybe it improved throughout the series who knows. How romantic. Are you almost here?

Quentin. Yeah, it’s not very good at all. I am, just stopped for some rolling papers. Do you smoke?

DORIAN Nah, haven’t smoked in years lol. I don’t mind if you do though.

Quentin. That’s awesome! I applaud you. It’s a nasty habit, but I wasn’t actually talking about cigarettes lol

DORIAN I know what you’re talking about lol.

Quentin. well okay then

DORIAN at least I’m pretty sure I do.

Quentin. Hahaha. I was just talking the magical grass.

DORIAN okay so I was right lol.

Quentin. I don’t really smoke anything else besides cigarettes which is gross

DORIAN people smoke a lot of things nowadays.

Quentin. Like opiummm that shits whack ha

DORIAN yeahhh... y i k e s.

Quentin. I did that once when I was like 19z suddenly I was 20 and I didn’t remember shit lmao -z maybe I don’t need any more weed lmao

DORIAN oh shit lol. I’ve never done any hard drugs, I’m proud to say.

Quentin. Really? You just don’t want to... or?

DORIAN Don’t want to.

Quentin. That’s cool. I wish I had your will power

DORIAN I’ve always been really strong minded.

Quentin. that’s good though. Where do you stand on other people doing them?

DORIAN Um. I can’t tell people how to live their lives but I don’t want them to do it around me and I can only hope that they’re being as safe as possible. It would actually really trigger me if it was done around me.

Quentin. Oh, okay.

DORIAN Yeah..

Quentin. So, around you like... on them around you or actually doing it around you?

DORIAN Doing it around me. But also if it’s on them around me in a place where we could get in trouble if someone found it, that’d obviously be a problem too because I’m not tryna catch a charge.

Quentin. Right, makes sense. I guess this would be a good time to tell you, I have a bit of an addiction.

DORIAN I figured there was a reason you had so many questions about it.

Quentin. Well, yeah. I really like you. I don’t wanna mess this up.

DORIAN I really like you too.

Quentin. I’m a little scared to say any more about it. Not gonna lie.

DORIAN Be honest with me, baby. I told you from the jump that I needed that from you. The fact that you even care about how it makes me feel says a lot about how you feel about me.

Quentin. I just don’t wanna lose this, Whatever this is. You’re kinda intimidating ya know? But I don’t really have anything to hide. I do like to feel good though. Everyday. Fuck, I just ruined this didn’t I?

DORIAN No.

Quentin. Are you sure?

DORIAN Yeah. I’m just a little thrown off. And wondering what exactly it is that you do but also wondering if I’m better off not knowing.

Quentin. I mean, I’m pretty sure you’ve seen glimpses of me throwing around shrooms in the general chat. But that’s not my main addiction. I’m kinda bias and don’t really think it’s that bad of a drug. But again, I take it a lot, and half the time you can’t even tell I’m on anything

DORIAN I very rarely go in the group chat so no I haven’t.

Quentin. Oh. Well shit. I really don’t do shrooms a lot though.

DORIAN it is what it is, Quentin. Thanks for being honest.

Quentin. Look, I’m not like, I’m not trying to make light of any of this. But, I could totally go without doing shrooms. That’s not the issue, it’s the molly. It’s why Jaycee and I split up. but since you’ve known me, have I been like a fucked up mess?

DORIAN Molly? I’ve never heard of anybody being addicted to that. As far as I knew, that was a really recreational drug. And I also didn’t know you’d been with Jaycee. Oop lol. No you haven’t.

Quentin. Yeah, it usually is I guess. It’s just like I said, I like to feel good. Idk, it’s not a good thing to be addicted to or admitting. I’m sorry. ha, yeah. We were. And I’m glad I haven’t. that counts for something right?

DORIAN Do you have any intention on slowing down or? Not for me of course but for you. Because like I said I’m not gonna tell you how to live your life, I just want you to be safe. But if you’re acknowledging that you have a problem, then that gives me the impression there’s something you wanna fix.

Quentin. I didn’t really, no. I guess maybe it I found something that replaced that high. I don’t know. I know I have a problem, but knowing it isn’t as easy as fixing it. I’m sorry Dorian.

DORIAN It’s s okay. You don’t need to be sorry.

Quentin. Should I not come over now?

DORIAN Babe. No. I still want you to come over.

Quentin. You sure?

DORIAN You keep asking me and I won’t be. 😛

Quentin. Ah, crap. Okay lol

DORIAN I appreciate that you care so much though.

Quentin. I really do. I really like you, and how I feel when I’m with you. I just, don’t wanna mess that up.

DORIAN That’s so sweet, baby.

Quentin. you’re sweet.

DORIAN Oh yeah? Do you want a taste?

Quentin. Soooo badly.

DORIAN How badly baby?

Quentin. So bad it hurts. But like, in the best possible way.

DORIAN Then hurry up and get your sexy ass over here.

Quentin. yessir.

DORIAN 😏

Quentin. God damn you’re fire.

DORIAN Aw shucks. Making me blush.

Quentin. ha, and I’m only getting started.

DORIAN I can’t wait to kiss you.

Quentin. Good, cause I’m never gonna stop.

#text #texts.#chats:dorian #chats:discord #ft.dorian #ft.jaycee #tw:drug mention

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