And just to be sure that we’re all on the same page: there are no bright yellow school busses in Baltimore City. The police shut down public transportation and filled the streets with an army in riot gear. Thousands of teens on those same streets, trying to get home. How many were scared to make eye contact for fear of being the next Freddie Gray? How many were pissed-off enough to break a window or set a fire?
It was hot. It was so hot, he would’ve welcomed death. It was the kind of hot that dripped down his back, stuck to his thighs, and seeped into his veins, making it impossible to remember a time when he wasn’t so goddamn hot.
He climbed up the stairs to his apartment on the fifteenth floor, dragging his feet up the steps, the weight of his legs too much to bear under the thick heat. With each conquered flight, he allowed himself a few seconds of respite while he pumped himself up to take on the rest of the stairs - one more flight to go.
When he makes it, he slumps against the doorframe and breathes heavily, pulling a heavy hand through his sweaty hair. He groans slightly, but then thinks against it, as complaining about the heat required more energy than he was willing to emit.
Unlocking the door, he drops his belongings at his feet, whining at how hot his fifteenth-floor, one-bedroom loft is. Moving to New York City had never been in the plans, but when the opportunity to establish a homebase for his own record label came about, he knew he’d be stupid to pass it up. He’d always loved New York, always inspired by the industrial feel, never lonely in the city that never sleeps. He’d gotten used to the hustle and bustle of the city, and he enjoyed watching the seasons change throughout the year. He figured nothing could get much hotter than Los Angeles in July, but he didn’t account for what the center of New York City had to offer. At least LA had a breeze - at least LA had open spaces - at least LA had swimming pools. The heat in New York City nearly made him feel trapped, unable to escape the skyscrapers and concrete, closed in on all four sides.
He’d always liked the heat. It meant that he could cool off in a large body of water, the relief of silky waves something to write home about during the hot summer months. He’d felt at home in the water, never fearful of the ocean or diving into the deep end of a pool. He relished in how it made him feel weightless, how the water calmed his nerves and relaxed every muscle in his body. He’d always loved the heat, but he’d never experienced this. A heat that he couldn’t escape, a heat that he couldn’t find solace from.
He slowly makes his way to the windows - large, streak-free glass rectangles - and opens them up. The relief is minimal, but at least it provided a slight breeze that provided a relief lasting all of two seconds. Yellow taxi cabs honk below him, the flow of traffic at the intersection outside of his building coming to a halt. Without the traffic lights working, everyone forgot how to drive. He rests the heels of his hand against the windowsill, looking down on the street while his forearms glisten with sweat in the sun. He shakes his head knowingly and wonders if he had ever seen a more chaotic sight. He’d performed for screaming fans in stadiums that sat a hundred thousand people, but it was an experience to see the entirety of New York City shut down. The last city-wide power outage had been in 2003, but back then, he was still a young boy in Holmes Chapel, never thinking that he’d find himself here, with his own apartment worlds away from the small town he loved so much.
Hello! May I please get some HCs for the chocobros and how they would react spending the night with their S/O for the first time? The thing is it was completely by accident that they end up having to do so~
OKAY OKAY, SO I’m bad at this s/o thing bc i much prefer character/character shippy things, so
it’s very neutral and if you close your eyes it works for any ship really. BUT
I did it?? I think? I DON’T KNOW GUYS.
After being fussed over by royal attendants all day, then
dragged around the Citadel to blocks of princely meetings he paid little mind
too, Noctis only wants to feel some
semblance of normalcy again. So when he’s had a long day, Noct usually finds
himself making evening visits that end with him on their couch, feet propped up
on the coffee table, suit jacket slung over the armrest and tie hanging loose
against his chest. Popping a few of the buttons open on his dress shirt lets
him feel like he can breathe again. He makes a passing mention of having a
massive headache, but apparently finds himself well enough to stare at flashy
pixels for the rest of the evening; he gets up to turn on the gaming console and
grab the two controllers off the entertainment center, tossing the second one
at them (the one that will give them the 2nd player screen, because
even though it might be their house,
he is the prince and he’ll use that
as leverage— but only for important things, like making sure he’s got the 1st player, top screen view).
It’s a small activity, filled with sitting close enough to bump
shoulders, playing dirty to get ahead, and cursing at each other with a smile
on each of their faces, but Noct just wanted this. To come over, play some video games with his favorite person,
and unwind— and he does. So much so that when they get up to grab something to
drink from the kitchen, they return to find Noctis laying across the couch,
controller loosely still set in his hands, head resting where they were
previously sitting, out cold. In short, it ends up being an impromptu
He’ll wake up, long eyelashes fluttering, with his head in their
lap and their hand brushing through his hair. Noctis has a moment of tired
deliriousness where he’s trying to figure why the ceiling looks nothing like
the one in his room before he catches the other’s gaze. Oh.Right. He shifts in
their lap and makes a move to sit back up, only to be gently kept against them.
A blush rises against his cheeks as he tries to apologize, his voice a low,
sleepy rumble in his chest. They can tell he’s trying to play it off with a cool
attitude, but the redness tingeing his ears says otherwise. He’s probably
asking a million self-conscious questions in his head, most of which come
across as a blow to his imagined nonchalant-ness—he’s worried about snoring too loud, sleeping with his mouth open,
drooling on them— but he manages to
ask what time it is. 3am. With their hand still in his hair, nails scratching
against his scalp, and his eyes closing as he tucks his face against their
stomach and sighs, there’s no argument. He might as well stay the rest of the
accidentally staying over the first time is unquestionably because of an accident. This boy tries so hard to impress the one
he likes and what better way to do so than help them make dinner? He comes over
prepared: finds the recipe that morning, picks up all the necessary groceries, and
arrives at 6 o’clock sharp to get started. He’s only a little mad at himself
for forgetting his “Kiss the Cook” apron at home. Nonetheless, Prompto insists
that he do it all himself, arguing that they do too much for him as it is—and
maybe he feels a little guilty over the fact that they paid the quite
substantial bill for their last diner date at Galdin Quay in its entirety. The
least he can do cook a small meal for the two of them. Except it’s not small.
And it’s exceedingly more complicated (and expensive)
than anticipated; but it’s fine! He’s been watching a lot of cooking shows
lately, that’s definitely gonna pay
Except none of it is much help when he’s quite a bit flustered
being around someone that makes his heart flip in his chest just from meeting
his eyes, let alone actually laughing at his stupid puns (‘Penne for your thoughts?’ he said, pouring the penne into the
boiling water. And they had actually giggled, like, a real one! Not out of
pity!) But the combination of being nervous and jittery while trying to be a
literal Bobby Flay, causes him to forget to put the lid on the blender. There’s
a quick pulse, a decisively girlish screech, and then silence. There’s now
homemade spaghetti sauce splattered over the walls, down the counter, and,
mainly, all over Prompto. Down
his chest, in his hair and across his face. He thinks for
a moment that they’ll be peeved, but when he’s greeted with the sound of
laughter and a finger swiping at the line of sauce down his freckled cheek to
take a taste, he’s relived if not extraordinarily embarrassed.
By the time they’ve got his clothes in their washer, him in the
shower, and dinner finally done, it’s late; his clothes still need to dry and
food still needs to be eaten. When Prompto comes out of the bathroom, hair damp
and drooping without any gel, wearing some mismatched amalgamation of their
clothes he borrowed, it’s natural to suggest that he spend the night. He
agrees, perhaps a bit too eagerly, laughing and watching them break out a jar
of spaghetti sauce to replace the one now slowly drying against the wall.
Gladiolus tends to
pride himself on being smooth— in some part, it’s the charm that got him in
this relationship in the first place— but, damn, is he so much more sweetly conniving
than they initially gave him credit for. Usually he finds himself planning
dates on the weekends, but when he calls them on a weekday to let them know
he’s dropping by their place for a visit after work, they know something’s up.
It doesn’t hit them until they’re cuddled up on the couch, hand-in-hand and
stomachs full after a junk food filled night of Cup Noodles and a couple beers,
watching the nightly news. “A strong
storm front moving in bringing periods of light snow throughout the evening,
ending in a combination of sleet and freezing ra—“ A dusting of snow had
the entire city of Insomnia shutting down, let alone a whole inch. “It is advisable that people stay off the
roads if possible and take caution to avoid—“
Gladio pulls them closer to kiss the top of their head and
smiles into their hair, “Guess I’m spending the night then?“ And that’s
all it takes. Honestly, how had they not seen this coming? He’d planned this
since he heard the weather report two days ago; he knows what he’s trying to
set up. They have to resist laughing with a roll of their eyes when he excuses
himself to grab something out of his car and comes back with a small,
pre-packed sports bag filled with spare clothes, a toothbrush, a razor… he is
not trying to hide this at all. Talk about over-confident. Yet still strangely
coy enough to have never outright asked to spend the night without an excuse?
The night is spent doing lot of shitty movie watching, finding
the worst direct to television productions possible and binging them—
everything ranging from one about supernatural sharks, to another about a
scorned housewife that plays off like a daytime soap opera. Gladio’s infectious
laugh makes them both more than giddy and they find themselves making fun of
every little corny line and botched CGI until the credits roll then the early
morning block of infomercials start playing. Gladio stands up, back and arm
muscles pulling his tattoo taut as he stretches and yawns before hoisting them
up too. Tossing them a wink, he declares himself ready for bed and saunters on
into their room, shedding his shirt on the way. It’s like he’s lived there the
whole time, like this wasn’t something new. The casualness of it all is more
The shops began closing their doors and the plaza’s usual
throngs of people were thinning when Ignis
suggests calling it an evening; it’s getting quite late after a long night of a
reserved, high-class dining and walking the city streets together, popping in
and out of small boutiques and sitting on park benches, watching daring street
performers make their living. It’s painfully obvious that Ignis doesn’t often
find time to unwind— and, gods, does it take an hour or so to whittle the
advisory persona down— but from the way his shoulders slouch far more than usual, the
way his lips curve into a smirk instead of a tight line of concentration, the
way he backtalks and quips, anyone can see the ease the night has brought him. Being
nothing short of an extraordinary gentleman, he’ll offer to drive them back to
their place. He outright refuses to let them take the Insomnian subway system
at the dead of night.
So the plan was to end the night at their doorstep— walking them
up the steps, leaving a chaste kiss against their lips with a promise to see
them again soon— except when he retreats, leaving them floating on air in the
doorway, watching him get into his car with an almost dorky wave goodbye, Ignis
can’t get his stupid royal car to start. Gods, it’s making the saddest little
stalling noise and it’s nearing midnight, and Ignis is a little panicked when
the ‘check engine’ light turns on. When
he’s asked to come inside their house to figure out what to do next, he agrees,
a tad defeated. Once inside, they ask him to stay the night— not for sleazy
intentions. It’s simply that Hammerhead is far away and overnight towing is
expensive. Despite the fact that they know
he can pay for it, it seems senseless. Stay the night and wait until
Ignis feels alight with nerves. He clears his throat and tries a
few excuses as to why he shouldn’t
stay— it’s not out of ungratefulness, he assures them. Most of what he says is
trivial, nervous talking that stems from not wanting to sleep in his clothes,
or not having clean clothes to wear the next morning, or disturbing their
sleep. He plays it off as being a bother, but, really, he’s reluctant to let
them see him not at his best; as if this will change their whole view of him if
they see him so undignified in the morning, with his horrendous bedhead and un-pressed
clothes. It’s a level of personal that Ignis is not used to anyone seeing. But
when their hand is on his, and their waving off his excuses, he’s convinced to stay.
Regardless, they can’t stop him from being so apologetic for imposing
on them, acting as if he sabotaged his own car. And, wow, he is so awkward when he crawls into bed with
them, murmuring little apologies when his legs, bare from stripping down to his
briefs, brushes against theirs. They convince him it’s more than fine by
tangling them together to guide him closer into their arms, where he’ll find
that he spends the rest of the night.
Genre: A/U, Angst, Violence, Fluff, Romance, more in the future.
Pairing: Yixing x Reader
Word Count: 5.4K
Summary: Inhumans are people born with powers, feared by most all over the world. Inhumans are often killed before the age of three or kept locked up and tested on. EXO is a rogue group of Inhumans who broke free and are now looking to free fellow Inhumans as well as get justice for their kind. However, with their powers come limitations. With these limitations, they sometimes need a helping hand.
Hiya! So, there was just a storm in my area, but not really any lightning. Plenty of thunder. I put a jar out (didn't get any water cuz it fell off the railing :/) but there was hail! I scooped up a bunch and my question is: what can I do with melted down hail? Is it considered storm water? Or is it its own thing? Thank you!
I’d consider it storm water. We don’t get much thunder and lightening here in Portland, mostly just drizzle from October to June. So when we get heavy rain or wind or hail or snow, something out of the ordinary, I consider that storm water. I think hail would fall into that category. I’ve also collected and melted icecicles from snow and ice storms that have shut the city down. That seems dramatic enough for me! It made some kick ass war water.
For the longest time, I’ve assumed that Peter had to have fallen in love with Juno during the very last minutes of Murderous Mask– between
“I don’t tell anyone my name. It would take someone very special for me to tell it now.”
on page 32 and
“You’re so cute like this, Juno. Until we meet again.”
on page 33, during which time he must have written the note where he explicitly gave Juno his name. All this time I’ve been operating under the assumption that they had some kind of exchange during those two pages that convinced Peter to trust Juno when he didn’t literally two minutes before. After all, why withhold the name for all of forty-five seconds? What did Juno say in those seven lines that resonated so powerfully with Peter that it changed his mind?
Summary: Written for @thexofiles Go Fic Yourself segment for War of the Coprophages. I’m paraphrasing, but I believe the request was for a fic where, instead of going to Massachusetts to avoid the fumigation of his apartment, Mulder spends the weekend at Scully’s.
The alarm went off and Scully groaned. Time to face the day and get ready and try to figure out how to accomplish it with another person in the apartment facing the same predicament. Maybe they should have talked about it the night before. She made the decision to start the coffee first and then check with Mulder to see how they could split their time with the bathroom.
Mulder was still asleep when she crept out of the bedroom and she decided it would give her the opportunity to take a quick shower and then they wouldn’t have to divide up the time all that much. She was washed and dried in under twenty minutes and Mulder was awake when she came back to the kitchen to retrieve her coffee.
“Morning,” Mulder rasped.
“Good morning,” she answered.
“I won’t be long.”
Scully sipped on her coffee for a few moments, but left it behind to go get dressed. Remembering the weather was supposed to be bad, she looked out the window. It had definitely snowed overnight, but only a few inches from what it looked like and the road was mostly clear. She put on a black pantsuit with a cream-colored blouse and went back to the kitchen to put some bread in the toaster oven.
Just as the toast finished, Mulder came into the kitchen, buttoning his cuffs. She could smell his presence behind her as she buttered and jellied the toast, sharp and fresh, before it ha a chance to wear off a little and become more subdued and settled. It made her smile and she wasn’t sure why.
i was just reading about how from about 1939 to 1943 the palestinian communist party (made up of both jews and palestinians) were shutting the city down so often that it was commonly known as red haifa. reading about these possibilities is pretty sad, since they didn’t succeed, but at the same time, hopeful, since they someday might.
Summary: The summer of Crown Prince Will Solace’s tenth birthday, he stumbles upon a boy on the beach who turns out to be a little more than he first appears.
The summer of Will’s tenth birthday, he gets lost on the beach.
The water is the color of sunlight, the sand burning hot under his bare feet by the time he realizes he’s lost track of the knobby, stone-gray turrets of the castle behind him. He can already feel the itchy heat on his neck that means a sunburn, his mind helpfully supplying the exact lecture he’s sure to receive from his father when he finds his way back.
William, I understand the impulse to wander, but you have to understand that, as heir to the throne, you have a responsibility to take care of yourself.
A guard said something to Louie that stuck in his head: Hiroshima had been hit by cholera. The city was shut down, he said, and no one could come or go.
At one of the work sites, a civilian told a different story: One American bomb, he said, had destroyed an entire city. The POWs thought that he must have meant one raid with many bombs, but the man kept repeating that it was one bomb. He used a word that sounded like “atomic.”
The word was unfamiliar, and no one knew how one bomb could wipe out a city.
Tom Wade got hold of a newspaper. Something the paper called an “electronic bomb” had been dropped, and many people had died. The POWs didn’t know what to make of it.
At Omori, the shaken camp commander gathered the POWs. “One plane came over,” he said, “and a whole city disappeared.” He asked if anyone knew what weapon could do such a thing. No one had an answer.
On August 9, Nagasaki, like Hiroshima, disappeared.
This is the last one I swear it just came to me and I had to ask, could you do Elriel + "Did you really just ask me that? Of course I do!"
This stupid non-canon ship will be the death of me dammit.
Azriel didn’t mind working at the cafe. They were flexible with his class schedule and his meager salary was just enough to pay for rent, a few groceries, and drinks with Rhys and Cassian every month.
The cafe was split into two parts: the actual restaurant and the coffee bar. The restaurant side served basic deli sandwiches and some soup options, and the coffee bar had all sorts of fancy drink options that were a real hit with the college students.
One of those college students was Feyre’s sister, Elain. He had met her while at Feyre’s birthday party last month held at his shared apartment with Rhys and Cassian.
He’d never seen Elain before in any of his classes, so she certainly didn’t run with any of the engineering majors. When Cassian mentioned something about Azriel’s job at the cafe, it hadn’t escaped him that she had started listening pretty intently.
So he wasn’t too shocked when she showed up the next week.
She was a pretty girl with a unique style. Her skirts and sweaters were always bright colors and soft material. Some days she would wear flower crowns and they somehow suited her even in the middle of winter. She was a bright contrast to his dark style and jet black hair.
When she had first started coming in she would always sit in his section on the restaurant side.
Azriel was uncomfortable with all the customers, but none more so than Elain. At least at first.
His hands would fidget on his notepad, shaking when he wrote down her order - the same thing every time: a BLT with extra pickles and a lemonade. As soon as she said it she would smile at him brightly and he would mumble something about the food being out soon before vanishing to the back room.
She stayed forty-five minutes every day. She would eat, read, glance at Azriel every two minutes, and then leave as soon as he caught her eye long enough to give him a goodbye wave.
It was routine. Azriel could handle routine. And he didn’t dislike Elain, not by any means. She just… intimidated him. She was so bright and smiley and sunshiney and nothing that he understood at all.
But… he liked her. He liked her visits. After a few weeks he found himself anticipating her arrival every day, making sure to keep her table open and the pickles stocked.
And then he got moved to the coffee bar.
It was the most popular part of the cafe, and they had more than enough waitresses on the restaurant side. And according to the manager, Azriel’s “mysterious aesthetic” matched the coffee shop culture they were trying to advertise… whatever that meant.
So when Elain stumbled into the coffee shop side on his first day as a barista with wide eyes at the crowd full of beanie wearing, script writing hipsters, Azriel finally forced himself to recognize that she came to the cafe every day for HIM.
She had smiled brightly at him the same way she always did, cutting her eyes over to him every few seconds while waiting in line. When she finally reached the register and he went to take her order, she froze.
“Ummm… what do you suggest?” She had asked innocently. Azriel had to bite back a laugh.
“Well I drink an Americano almost every day.”
“I’ll have that then,” she had said brightly, standing up on her tiptoes excitedly.
After he had made her drink, he kept his eyes on her while serving the other customers. A guy ordering a mocha frappuccino had looked at him like he was insane when he laughed suddenly after seeing the hilarious face Elain made at the first sip of her drink.
It was clear she hated the coffee, but she stayed the whole forty-five minutes like she always did. He wasn’t able to look over at her or talk to her hardly at all since the coffee bar was constantly busy, but he knew she was there.
He did make a point though to catch her goodbye wave through the crowd.
This continued for a week. Every day he suggested her a new drink and she agreed immediately. And every day she could barely swallow it down and threw it away without another sip.
Then on Friday, there was a horrible thunderstorm that closed down half the bridges in the city. So on Saturday morning when Azriel was working, the coffee bar was - for once - blissfully quiet.
And there she was. In her bright blue raincoat and a yellow umbrella stumbling through the door with a huff as she pushed her wet hair out of her face. Azriel leaned against the counter and laughed.
“Nice umbrella,” Azriel called out. Elain jumped, the umbrella in question slipping from her hand and clattering to the floor.
“Oh shoot,” she murmured, making Azriel laugh as she bent down to pick up the umbrella. She whipped her head up at the sound of his laughter, whacking herself in the face with her wet hair. “For goodness sake,” she huffed as she finally pulled herself together.
Azriel was still chuckling as she hung up her coat and umbrella and walked over to the counter.
“It’s quiet in here,” she said, a blush blooming on her cheeks. “I’ve never seen it not packed before.”
“That’s because most people aren’t crazy enough to come to a coffee shop when half the city is shut down.”
“I’m not crazy,” Elain bit back. Azriel’s brow lifted in surprise. “I just like… coffee,” she said carefully.
“Elain,” Azriel deadpanned, narrowing his eyes at her. “Come on. Do you really like coffee?”
“Did you really just ask me that? Of course I do!” Elain shot back incredulously.
“Okay.” Azriel stood to his full height. “If you love coffee so much…”
He reached out and grabbed a small cup, filling it halfway with their traditional house blend. He sat it down in front of her smoothly.
“I’m sorry, what?” Elain’s eyes were huge.
“You like coffee, right? Then plain coffee shouldn’t be a problem.”
“Right,” Elain said slowly, nodding her head. “Coffee. Plain coffee, of course I like plain coffee. I drink plain coffee all the time, it’s like my lifeline you know? Can’t study without coffee, am I right?”
Her nervous fake laughter was the most adorable thing Azriel had ever heard in his entire life.
“Oh for sure.” He nodded back to her, biting his lip to keep back his smile.
“Okay. I’m just gonna… drink this now.”
Azriel propped his chin in his hand and watched as she lifted the cup to her lips. She winced when the smell hit her and his shoulder started to shake with restrained laughter.
Closing her eyes tightly, Elain threw back a decent amount before setting the cup down in front of her.
“Good job,” Azriel said. “You still haven’t swallowed it yet though.”
Elain nodded, her face red in pain. She squinted her eyes back shut as she forced herself to swallow the drink in full.
She took in a deep breath, licking her lips.
Azriel kept it together for about two seconds before he burst into laughter. Elain groaned, pushing the coffee away from her and putting her head on the counter.
“Is it really that obvious?” She moaned.
“Oh painfully so,” Azriel said. In a rare moment of confidence, he put his index finger under Elain’s chin and lifted her face to his. “You know you could’ve just ordered water.”
Elain blushed profusely, dipping her eyes away from his gaze.
“I know, but… I thought that would make it even more obvious why I come here every day.”
“And why do you really come?”
“You know why.”
“Yeah. But maybe I want to hear you say it.”
Elain took a deep breath, biting her lip.
“I like being around you,” she whispered. “You look at me like… like I matter. You don’t make fun of the bright colors in the middle of winter, or the flower crowns. You just seem to see… me.”
Azriel stared at her, his mouth parting at her words. Instead of saying anything though, he leaned across the counter and pressed his lips to hers.
He felt her sigh into his mouth, her lips so soft under his own. She tasted like peppermint chapstick and…
“You taste like coffee,” he said with a laugh.
“So do you. If we’re going to do this more often you need to start carrying around a toothbrush.”
WARNING: before you continue, be aware that there is strong language contained in this post—strong words were said, and I will relay them.
“We reject the president elect!”
So here’s what happened tonight. I had the privilege to join 3,500+ other University of Minnesota students, staff, and alumni in a peaceful protest against the new president-elect, Donald Trump. Now since I’ve already had to address this issue with several people via Facebook recently, I’ll start off by clarifying. This protest—at least for me—was not an attempt to take power away from Trump. This protest was about much more than that—unity and protection in the face of fear.
“Love trumps hate!”
I’ve never before been a part of something as incredible as this. We started off, early in the evening, standing on the University of Minnesota campus in a crowd, chanting and waving signs. At about 6-something, we started to march. We marched along Cedar Ave and Riverside, then mostly along Franklin. We stopped outside of the GOP headquarters on Franklin for a while, raising our voices in protest. Even there—we did nothing to harm our surroundings and public property. I heard people—on seeing the “FUCK TRUMP” graffiti already present on the front wall of the GOP Headquarters— say, “Well, yes—but we shouldn’t condone vandalism.” That wasn’t the point of our protest.
“Say it loud, say it clear—refugees are welcome here!”
The point was unity. People from 7 different organizations, and hundreds of different backgrounds and walks of life all came together under one banner that night. I saw Muslim men and woman marching with us, yelling, “Her body, her choice! (My body, my choice!)” and “Trans lives matter! Queer lives matter! Gay lives matter!” even though in some cases they may not support these things in their religion. They stood with their LGBT brothers and sisters and their pro-choice sisters in solidarity. I saw white people yelling, “Fuck white supremacy!” at the top of their lungs, right next to Native, Hispanic, black, Muslim, Asian men and women. I saw white men and women chanting along with Latinx people in Spanish—some of us didn’t know what we were saying, but this didn’t matter. We still stood by them in their fight, as they did with ours. What I saw—instead of an angry group of individuals who are upset because they didn’t get their way—is a group that stood up together in the face of anger and fear. I saw a group who joined hands in love and acceptance. I saw a group that was very respectful—as a short woman who was in the middle of a crowd, I had several different people run into me throughout the night. Every single person apologized to me with a smile—and the men apologized immediately, stepping back, so that I would know that they respected my space. I have never felt so safe in a public space before—and doesn’t that say something sad about our spaces, if I feel safer at a protest.
“No Trump! No KKK! No racist USA!”
And I saw a group that brought hope to those around them. Wherever we went, I saw relief and happiness on people’s faces. The people in the Cedar-Riverside neighborhood—a neighborhood that has a lot of people of color of various religions—watched us march with grins on their faces and raised fists in solidarity. People cheered us on—even those people who were stuck in stopped cars because we were in their way. I saw men and women roll down their windows to high-five protesters. I saw people climbing out of sun-roofs to cheer us on and join in our chants. The shop workers and owners along Franklin and Riverside came out of their stores to watch us, with huge smiles on their faces. They looked like they felt—for the first time in a long time—accepted and loved by their community again. I saw people crying from relief and happiness as they saw how many people stood with them. I was high-fived, hugged, slapped on the back, and cheered for all evening by people on the sidewalks. A pair of older women waved a bunch of us over and shook our hands and hugged us, saying, “Thank you! We love you! Thank you so much!” as we continued to march. Parents brought their children to this protest—children who were very interested in the election, and who feel the loss as keenly as the rest of us. Children who didn’t have a say, but who still want to raise their voices.
“Education not deportation!”
And as far as the police go—I saw people walking up to police officers and extending their hands in friendship saying things like, “Thank you for keeping us safe.” Our goal was never to antagonize anyone—though a lot of people took it that way, of course. Our goal was safety, healing, love, and acceptance. Our voices may have been loud, and our words may have been harsh, but our message was one of peace.
“Show me what Democracy looks like! This is what Democracy looks like!”
We did stop interstate traffic on 94 for about an hour. The police blocked us off by Cedar Ave and waited. We knew we weren’t in any danger—we had no weapons, no threats of violence, and nothing but love and community to show. The police—after everything—didn’t want to hurt us. They simply waited. When we felt we were pushing it, we slowly cleared off the interstate and walked back up Cedar Ave, still cheering and chanting.
“Fuck Dorito Hitler!”
It was almost surreal. After we cleared the streets—no damage was left in our wake. I know this because myself and another person drove our friend back to her home afterward—and we took Franklin and 94 there. It was a weird experience—driving over the spot where mere hours before we had been sitting, hands in the air, chanting, “Hands up, don’t shoot!”
“Whose streets? Our streets!”
Our community has spoken. We will not tolerate hate and violence in our
streets. We stand united in the face of
fear and violence—and we will stand, and protect each other from harm. No threats of violence or actions of hate
will stop us from protecting each other—because that’s what we have to do in
the face of this danger. We stand
together, united, and will never be silenced or defeated
Next weekend starting Friday at 11am our city shuts down and lots of adults attend “luncheons” that have open bars and mediocre food.
Last year, by 2pm on Friday, I had consumed enough alcohol to keep me drunk until way past midnight. In fact, I didn’t have another drink after 2pm and I was still very well intoxicated when I went to sleep around 1:30am. My wife got fairly annoyed with me because when we went to our hotel room to change our clothes at 2:30pm, I passed out on the bed for I’m not really sure how long but I’m guessing an hour. I drank water the rest of day/night just so I could enjoy myself and not have a wicked hangover the next day.
This year, I am NOT, I repeat, NOT going to go down the same path as last year. I will pace myself and even when people hand me another drink, I will either give it away, or pretend to drink it.
My goal last year was for every drink, eat a mini ham slider. I only managed to eat 3 ham sliders before that was a bust.
I want to enjoy myself, have some drinks with friends, BUT I also want to remember what happened the next day. No more double crowns on the rocks chased with beer. No more hanging out with the pretty girls passing out free bourbon. No more sleeping it off and making my wife mad.
I look at her there in the shadows of the shut-down city, her hair falling onto her face, and I can see her trying to figure out if I’ve lost it. And I have to fight the urge to take her by the shoulders and slam her against a shuttered building until we feel the vibrations ringing through both of us. Because I suddenly want to hear her bones rattle. I want to feel the softness of her flesh give, to hear her gasp as my hip bone jams into her. I want to yank her head back until her neck is exposed. I want to rip my hands through her hair until her breath is labored. I want to make her cry and then lick up the tears. And then I want to take my mouth to hers, to devour her alive, to transmit all the things she can’t understand.