the way she talks about her mother.

Some Thoughts: Storm in the Room

With the reactions post-Storm in the Room, I feel that Steven doesn’t get enough credit. Going to Rose’s Room, searching for answers, and comfort even though he didn’t know that yet, Steven wasn’t setting out to create a perfect mother or project himself the ideal version of Rose. He starts, the moment he enters the room, by saying he knew it wasn’t real.

Everything Steven did with Cloud Rose, everything that happened between them, were reasonable assumptions we could make of Rose. And this is because the Rose we saw was from Steven’s expectations of what she would be like. And Steven was wary about idealising Rose the way the Crystal Gems did. He says this explicitly several times. Also, Steven’s view of Rose was tempered early on by Greg’s stories of her. 

So the Rose we see isn’t a sad Steven’s attempt at finding the perfect mother figure. Steven’s attempt at a reasonable and believable portrayal of Rose deserves to be acknowledged. Had it not been the case, the Rose we saw could not have evoked the feelings she did. It’s because of the depth Steven introduced to her from all his memories of her that it was made possible.

And what I want to talk about in this post, is how the images of Rose reflect which narratives he’s channeling as he tries to piece together, quite literally, the image of Rose.

The first appearance of Cloud Rose shows her with messy hair, parts of it stick up and around her. Her facial expressions are often wiggly, for lack of better word, and she shows her thighs a lot more than in the succeeding scenes, either in cross-sitting or running. 

This Rose is goofy and funny and casual. And it’s the Rose whom Greg’s stories have constructed in Steven’s memories. 

The same scenes we see Rose hitch up her dress in the same way (such as when she’s reading books with Greg on the bed) or similarly goofy, like stopping a ferris wheel with her bare hands, she’s with Greg. 

Even the line Steven takes from her video in Lion 3: Straight to Video, about “every X being unique and beautiful” is shot in Greg’s presence. Without realising it, Steven is remembering this image of Rose.

And she cares about Steven. She engages in his interests. It’s not so far a stretch because some episodes back, Bismuth was willing to do the same thing. Rose was a fun person. There’s a running joke that she would have loved cheesy and corny jokes. She probably told a few in her day. 

She probably wasn’t always as poised as presented in her portrait. Greg remembers the Rose he changed, when she was starting to understand human beings in earnest and come to terms with how they could exist with gems on the same level. 

Rose at that point still didn’t want to talk about her past, and Greg never made her. So Greg and Rose made new memories and didn’t dwell on the old. And those memories were filled with fun and laughter and love.

The moment sobers when it is Rose not Steven, who gestures the latter to sit down and stare at the expanse of clouds.

And we should know that what we’re about to see means something has changed. The first hint is that Rose’s body language changes. She sits perfectly straight, even though she’s cross-sitting the way she was earlier. And we don’t see her legs anymore. Her hair neatens and her expression calms.

What’s more, her hands assume the position Garnet did in Here Comes A Thought in Mindful Education. And that emphasises the kind of role Rose plays in this moment. Steven felt Rose taught Garnet how to manage her feelings, because it was a motherly thing to do. In a very Steven Universe fashion, the music changes from the bright xylophone to a quiet piano music, which is the mark of another Crystal Gem, Pearl. 

And when we go back to the senior Crystal Gems and their image of Rose, it is exactly the way she’s presented.

Cloud Rose is a huge presence, with Steven a small child by her side. She speaks deliberately, every word is one of wisdom. She is magnanimous and comforting at the same time. 

She tells him, “But we’ve been together the entire time.” And it brings back the idea of how our parents are always with us, and a part of us, because one way or another they’ve left a mark on us.

At the same time though, the similarities of the scenes between this moment and the one at Rose’s Fountain in An Indirect Kiss, lead to the same end.

Rose is viewed as a godly icon, very distant from Steven. She’s not sitting beside him, playing with him, kneeling on the ground anymore. He looks up to her, and he can’t reach her.

In both times, he realises she’s not really there. That he talked to the statue of Rose in the fountain, confided his deepest insecurities about how he didn’t know how to feel about her when everyone else did, parallels the empty image on his phone.

And it segues into the next scene perfectly.

Because Steven doesn’t know how to feel about Rose. Now, he’s more certain than ever that he doesn’t even know who she is. The Rose we see at the end has a blank face, because Steven can’t project anything on it. He’s thinking of Pink Diamond’s shattering, Bismuth, and the Rebellion, and all the people hurt by them.

When he sees Rose, he can no longer see himself, which is why her eyes, one of the facial features most like Steven’s, (next to his nose) are nowhere to be seen.

And this Rose is distant, because there’s no mitigating narrative linking him to her. In the other scenes, the room remained the same, because these stories he was told of Rose and who she was firmly rooted the first two Roses as part of the real Rose’s identity.

This Rose is foreign, because nowhere in those narratives did Steven think it possible to for her to do the things he learned she did.

And in that moment he begins to doubt. 

Because he can no longer see the image of his mother, he doesn’t know where he himself stands. A huge part of his identity is being Rose’s son. What happens when the “Rose” part becomes fuzzy, blurry, and unintelligible?

What happens to the Steven?

Notice that this Rose is silent. She offers no response to the accusations Steven hurls at her, about all the people she hurt and her act of leaving them all behind. 

At this point, we see the part of Steven that understands Rose is gone. That he’s never going to get these answers and there won’t be an explanation coming from her.

There are some things he’ll never get to hear about, some memories he’ll never know, some experiences he’ll never share with her.

And it’s sad and disheartening and lonely. In losing his idea of Rose, Steven loses a part of his identity. Such that he felt it would be better if he denounced Rose, cutting off the part of himself he didn’t want to think about: That he was created just to fix her mistakes.

It’s then that we see Rose’s face for the first time since we’ve entered the paradigm of Rose-through-Steven’s eyes. Not Greg’s, not the Crystal Gem’s. Because these new things he’s learned about Rose are things the others would never have known without him. How else would they have heard the Diamond’s song of mourning? How would they have known Bismuth was there all along?

And the things Rose said in the tape were meant for Steven, in a space only Steven could find.

The Rose speaking to Steven at the end is the Rose who’s already spoken to Steven directly before, through the tape.

A lot of negative reaction has been given to this moment, because it feels as though the tape absolves Rose of everything she’s done. It doesn’t and I don’t feel that was the point.

The point of her saying that, was to reaffirm Steven’s belief in Steven. To show that it wasn’t about Rose anymore, that Steven’s birth wasn’t about Rose but about him.

And it’s striking that’s the only time we see her face again. Because immediately after, Steven hugs her, and her face is obscured. 

That’s Steven’s recognition that he’s never going to hear any other words straight from his mother for him. He understands and he realises that nonetheless, Rose is exerting a presence in his life. He really is always with her and never alone. 

The past few episodes and everything leading up to them were about Steven’s realising his mother was still an individual, one who could made mistakes and rash, selfish decisions. 

He was afraid that upon realising his mother could be a selfish individual, could do huge selfish things that affected thousands of lives, he feared the act of his birth, the most personal thing about him, was meant to serve her self-interests alone too. He needed a concrete and tangible answer, which was what prompted him to go to the room. 

At the end of the episode, he didn’t think that anymore. He knows he has a lot of work ahead in figuring out Rose’s place in his life, but the lingering doubt of the very foundation of his existence is gone.

And because of that, he finally feels comfortable letting her go.

let’s talk about maryse in this scene: 

look at how she looks between magnus and max. she’s obviously using this interaction to judge magnus, but i think it’s in a different way. maryse has only ever seen magnus in a professional kind of context, never in a personal one. i think she understands that magnus is here to stay - which was alec’s goal - and now she wants to assess magnus in this new light. of course her shadowhunter prejudices are all there, but this is primarily a mother trying to get to know who is this person entering their lives. 

and then there’s this look: 

she sees the smile on alec’s face and i can see something changing in her. there’s toughness and also softness in her eyes. she can see that her son is actually happy, and that the man he is falling in love/is in love/loves is sweet and kind. and there is a ghost of a smile on her face as well. it obviously doesn’t solve all the problems, but maybe it’s a start? 

honestly i praise nicola for her acting, it’s so subtle and yet so deep. i hope there’s a chance for a redeeming arc for maryse. 

And she’s everything you wouldn’t want in a girl. She’s smart, and she can barely finish a book because she’s already planned on what book she wants to read next so she starts to read that book and forgets to finish the other. She’s crazy passionate about the earth and the well being of animals. My god does she love animals. She talks to them as if they could talk back. She cares about people even if they turn her a cold shoulder. She is all for the people and thinks that women should be treated with the same respect as what a man gets. She loves to talk about anything and everything. She’ll tell you about the stars and everything you need to know about dogs and horses. She’s the kind of girl you wouldn’t want. Not because she’s ugly because my god she is beautiful. And not just her physical appearance but her soul. It’s the purest and most raw and magical thing you’ll ever see. She’s the kind of girl you don’t want to touch in a physical way or emotional way. Not because she can’t handle it, because she can. She’s the closest thing you ever get to magic, I mean if you believe in that kind of crap. I sure didn’t until I met her in the coffee shop on 11th street. She was wearing all black and she had the most beautiful brown hair that would fall perfectly in front of her face even when she did pull it behind her ear. Anyways I didn’t touch her in anyway. I just admired her from the other side of the coffee shop. I guess I was a little afraid because I could already feel her existence was something that shouldn’t be messed with and I didn’t wanna screw her up. But I did. Her brown doe eyes locked on with mine and it felt like magic. Again not that I believe in it in that moment. The point is she’s not the kind of girl you want because she’s everything you could ever want in a “perfect girl” if there’s such a thing. She’s not the kind of girl you want because when you touch her for the first time it feels like snow falling and everything in between love. She’s not the kind of girl you want because when you break her heart you’ll see she won’t be the same. She won’t sing in the shower and she won’t radiate warmth from her smile when she looks at you. Like I said she’s magic and everything in between love and I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t love her knowing I had all the power in the world to destroy her. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t love her because she’s not the kind of girl who you just fall in love with. No, she’s the kind of girl who you fall in love with because she makes you see that everyone is equal and that animals do have feelings. She’s the kind of girl you fall in love with because you love the way she gets along with your mother and your father adores her. She’s the kind of girl who makes you believe in magic. She’s the kind of girl who makes you see that you have all the power in the world to do whatever you want if you believe and try hard enough. She’s the kind of girl who could be broken so easily if you hit the right spots and when you do.. when you do break her heart it leaves you feeling every bad word in the dictionary. It leaves you with a bitter taste every time you try and talk about her. It leaves you with nothing but a haunting memory of girl who cares more about everyone and everything because no one cared about her. She is not the kind of girl you wanna fall in love with because when you break her heart you’ll never be able to rid the taste of her strawberry lips from yours. You won’t be able to enjoy summer because it will remind you of the time you both sat under a big oak tree near a pond while she read books to you. Shes not the kind of girl you want because when you both part ways and head back home to the grey sheets of your bed it will flash you back to the time you first saw her naked and how you were so scared to touch something so raw and beautiful. She’s not the girl you want to fall in love with because you won’t be able to sleep at night when you part ways because you’re so busy wondering if she is loving someone else. So you see, she is not the kind of girl you want because she is just to damn magical to be real. Or maybe she is and you shouldn’t take my advice and tell me to go to hell but then again you’ll feel like hell when she cries for the first time because of you. So maybe she is the kind of girl you want but maybe she isn’t. Not because she doesn’t deserve love but because she deserves to be loved right, as if there’s a right way to love. My point is she’s herself and in this lifetime? That is something extraordinary and something that extraordinary deserves to be left wild.
—  Leave her wild// Deeply Feeling Series

#the cursed child#write more bibliomom#write about draco spatting ‘potter’ when he spots harry at Albus’ and Scorpius’ wedding reception#lmao#they see each other several times a year#and draco always greets him with that#and harry always hisses 'malfoy’ back#al and scorpius roll their eyes#they know they just do it for the vine

@plumadesatada well, you kinda asked for it and this is where my head went. maybe I’ll make it a series of drabbles :p

(Apologies for the lack of cut, I’m on mobile but I can add one in later)

The platform seems unusually busy this year, and for a moment Harry wonders if it’s just his imagination but he knows it’s not. He’s had the conversation with Hermione in her office about the sudden increase in the magic population in the UK. It’s taken almost twenty years, but the birth rate has finally gone up and they’re starting to recover from the death tolls of the Wizarding Wars.

These are the children born in the aftermath. 

The realization is making him weirdly emotional. But maybe that’s just seeing Lily with her own owl on her arm, her luggage being pushed by an obliging Teddy Lupin who despite being graduated for the last three years, showed up to see her off.

It’s likely a mixture of things. He’s about to turn to his two boys and ask them if they’ve got everything (for the millionth time because inevitably something has been forgotten—there’s always something forgotten) when Albus pushes past him with a happy whoop, wheeling his cart recklessly through the crowd. It takes him a moment to realize what has caught his attention, when he spies the blond hair and feels some of his nostalgia curdle. 

Malfoy’s face—caught off guard in an indulgent smile—also stiffens, the two fathers drawn together as their sons reunite animatedly. It’s only been three weeks since Scorpius had joined them for the Quiditch match up in Brighton, but you’d think it had been an eternity from the way Albus practically flings himself bodily at the taller boy.

Potter,” the other man spits, seemingly unable to say his name any other way.

“Malfoy.” Harry acknowledges him shortly. 

Somewhere behind him, James makes the wise decision to follow after his sister than hang around listening to his father and his oldest rival spit civilities at each other like hissing tomcats.

“Busy this year.” Malfoy comments, grey eyed gaze darting to his son when Scorpius laughs loudly at something Albus has said.

“Seems so.” Harry agrees, forced to smile hurriedly as someone recognizes him, squeezes his arm and says a hurried thank you before rushing on with their offspring towards the train.

“Still Mister Famous then.” Malfoy notes, thin smile ticking up a notch. “I do wonder people don’t have better things to talk about.”

Still infamous then, is on the tip of his tongue when he notes the wide berth people are giving the Malfoys, but he clamps down on the impulse. Scorpius might hear him, and from what Albus has told him the boy gets enough bullying from his peers without hearing it from his elders. And he promised himself long ago he’d never be That adult.

“Yea well,” Harry replies, flashing him a grin that borders of friendly but not quite. “We can’t all be married to the new Chief Sports Editor of the Prophet.”

Malfoy snorts at that, eyebrow raising as he gives Harry what he’s almost sure is an amused look. “Too true.”

“Ugh,” Albus says from somewhere near Harry’s shoulder, “Come on, they’ll be at this all day, lets get some sweets for the train.”

“You’ve already got sweets for the train.” Scorpius replies, but following after Albus anyway, dark and fair heads bobbing together as they move around each other, like planets orbiting one another, bound by an invisible force. 

“He’s getting tall.” Malfoy says, also watching the boys go and idly catching his son’s abandoned luggage cart with his foot, reminding Harry to do the same, managing to stop the listing cart before it rolls away.

“So is Scorpius.”

“Do you think we were that tall at their age?”

“I think others probably thought so.”

“Hm.” It’s a polite, almost congenial sound which Harry takes as his opening.

“I hear congratulations are in order.”

Malfoy turns to face him again, pale eyes wary but curious. “Oh?”

“I hear Astoria is expecting again.”

“Ah, yes.” Malfoy smiles, and this time there is no malice, no pretense at haughty collectedness. It reaches all the way to his eyes with a pure kind of joy, and for a moment Harry can see Scorpius’ face so clearly it hurts him to think of the kind of childhood either of them could have had were it not for the circumstances of their birth. “Yes. March of next year, we think.”

“Congratulations. I hope she’s doing well.”

Malfoy inclines his head again, his joy tempering into something gentler at the real implied meaning. “Yes,” he agrees. “Things are much better this time.”

There’s a crash by the convection stand, and without even turning Harry knows it’s something he’s going to have to pay for.

“Kids, eh?” he says, feeling sheepish at the look of paternal horror dawning on Malfoy’s face as he peers over Harry’s shoulder.

“Boys, here now.” Malfoy says, calling them like they’re well trained hounds as he pushes past Harry towards the stand. “I’m so sorry, do allow me to make amends.”

“Oh, no!” Harry rounds quickly, “My fault…probably…allow me.”

“Absolutely not, Potter, I wont hear of it.”

“Oh yes you bloody will.”

Covered in foaming pumpkin juice and sparkling tongue dancers, Scorpius and Albus share a look. 

“Do you think they’ll always be like this?” Albus asks, taking an experimental lick of his sticky hand, the juice and dancers apparently melding to make some sort of growing taffy. It’s surprisingly good. He should tell uncle Ron and George about it for the shop.

“Probably.” Scorpius replies, attempting in vain to scrape himself clean.

“Where on earth is oh.” Albus smiles sheepishly up at his mother as she comes to a halt in front of them. She glances between the boys, and then to her bickering husband who is all but manhandling Scorpius’ father out of the way. “Merlin’s Beard. Right, you two.

“Is she talking to us or them?”

“Them,” Albus says with certainty. He knows when his mother is directing that tone at him. “Definitely them.”

Names and naming

Mad Max Fury Road is full of names: weird, inventive, evocative names. But it also uses them brilliantly. There’s so much information packed into what names are spoken, when and how.

Names and titles are a classic way of revealing hierarchy. Joe is named repeatedly, and each time it shows his relationship with the person naming him. Nux’s “Immortan! Immortan Joe!” is all about his godlike status. The Organic Mechanic’s “Joe” is deliberately casual, not actively disrespectful but certainly not worshipful. 

Then there’s the ongoing tension in what Joe calls Angharad: “Splendid” most of the time, reverting to her proper name at moments of stress, when he really needs her to listen. In the canyon scene, he goes from “Splendid, that’s my child, my property” when he’s trying to rebuke her to “Angharad! Get out!” when he realises she’s at risk of hitting the rock.  It’s implied that she rejects “Splendid” – certainly the other wives only ever call her Angharad. (More generally, the wives use each other’s names simply, to get each other’s attention: I don’t get any sense of hierarchy from it.)

Other names are hardly ever spoken. Furiosa doesn’t call the wives anything. Charlize Theron has said this was because she is trying not to get emotionally attached.

On screen, Furiosa explicitly uses names to form connections. When she asks for Max’s name, it’s a deliberate attempt to achieve emotional engagement, because she needs him on side. And it’s rare for her: not only does she not name the wives, she doesn’t use the war rig crew’s names, either. In a movie that keeps its dialogue sparse, every word counts - and every omitted word counts, too.

Within the Citadel hierarchy, war boys don’t get named by anyone but each other. “I’ve got a war boy, running on empty,” says the Organic Mechanic. An imperator later uses exactly the same phrasing to introduce Nux to Joe: “I’ve got a war boy, says he was on the war rig”. It suggests that, from the top of the Citadel hierarchy, war boys are seen as interchangeable. One describes Nux as if he were a machine; the other - “says he was on the war rig” - implies his lower status, framing his evidence as hearsay. It’s clearly a huge honour for Joe to ask Nux his name. It’s also the only time we see a Citadel full-life acknowledge a war boy’s name.  

War boys in this film are both abusers and victims - terribly fragile, desperate for attention from the powerful class that exploits and uses them, not questioning its values. They go unnamed by their superiors, but they name each other as often as possible: “Morsov!” “Slit, what’s happening?” Though Nux shouts “Crew, out of the way!” at Ace - maybe they don’t know names beyond their own crews, or maybe he just doesn’t recognise Ace from behind.

They use names to encourage each other. Just look at the way they all shout Morsov’s name before witnessing him. “Witness me” is a plea for affirmation: see what I’m doing, make it mean something. Witnessing is an act of performative masculinity - I liked @bookishandi‘s post on witnessing Nux’s death. But it’s also framed as an act of mutual support (which I think is why it’s taken off so much in fandom).  Morsov’s death - which is really the viewer’s introduction to “witnessing” as a concept - is part of a scene that shows us the war rig crew working smoothly together.

The exception is Slit, who tries to undermine his colleagues instead, shouting “Mediocre, Morsov!” rather than “witness”, or telling Nux that Joe wasn’t looking at him, “He was scanning the horizon”. And of course Slit is the most insecure of the lot, begging for any scrap of attention: “I got the blood bag’s boot! Take me, I got his boot!”  

Imperators, and others from the Citadel’s powerful classes, are clearly known by their names. “Furiosa, she took a lot of stuff from Immortan Joe”, for instance. There’s no sense that war boys give this recognition to anyone not at the top of that hierarchy. The war boy who tells Nux about Furiosa talks about the wives as things - “stuff”, “prize breeders”. Nux’s own reaction to the wives - “so shiny, so chrome” - sees them as objects rather than people. And of course he goes on calling Max “blood bag”, even when he thinks they’re on the same side. It’s not a conscoius insult; it clearly doesn’t occur to him that Max might mind - any more than Nux minded the way the Organic Mechanic or the imperator talked about him.

Then there’s the scene when Furiosa greets the Vuvalini. Here’s what she says:

“I am one of the Vuvalini, the Many Mothers. My initiate mother was K.T. Concannon. I am the daughter of Mary Jobassa. My clan was Swaddle Dog.” 

This is a speech proving her identity, but how she does it is so revealing. She doesn’t use her own name at all. Instead, it’s all about a web of relationships, of connections, the ways in which she belongs. (She’s also proving that she belongs by demonstrating knowledge of Vuvalini society.) She lists her initiate mother before her birth mother – her place in the community before her lineage. Her tenses are interesting, too. Her clan was Swaddle Dog – she’s left, the clan may no longer exist, she’s talking about the past. But when she talks about being Vuvalini, it’s “I am”.  Even though she’s asking for recognition, it has none of the war boys’ neediness – she’s naming what she is, how she chooses to see herself. She’s not seeking approval or affirmation. 

And though the Vuvalini team work is smooth, they do it without shouting names – to the point where most of the Vuvalini characters don’t have names at all (which is very unhelpful for fandom, George). Citadel naming is intensely hierarchical, about who does, and doesn’t, get respect. Vuvalini naming is about community, identities built up through choices and relationships.

Of course, the film’s most powerful naming scene has nothing to do with the Citadel or the Vuvalini: it’s Max telling Furiosa his name. (OH MY HEART.) It’s the conclusion of Max’s emotional arc, his return to being a human being: accepting a name, accepting his own identity. Crucially, he accepts it by sharing it. Throughout the film, names are meaningful because they’re how people connect with each other. In the “My name is Max” scene, we see Max choosing to do that. Engage to heal. 

Angel in the Darkness (M) pt. 8

Originally posted by aestheticvbts

Summary: After a patient urgently pleads you to go and help a friend of his, you naively agree to it. Little did you know, that you would get more than what you agreed to, when he leads you to a brothel, to help a dangerous prostitute named Jeon Jungkook.

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader (ft. Jin, but not romantically)

Word count: 6.5k

Genre: Smut (M), angst, mafia!au, prostitution!au

A/N:This is a dark and filthy story! Graphic descriptions of sex (oral, penetration, etc), heavy dom/sub undertones, drug use, vulgar language use… This is a mature read! You have been warned!

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7 | part 8



“Again? Didn’t we already talk about this?” your mother scolded with a sigh, as you two entered your small apartment.

She had gotten a call from work at the rehab centre, that you had gotten into another fight with the kids at your school. And this became an alarming concern to her since this was the third time this month that you had fought with others.

“I didn’t mean too…” the nine-year-old you sniffled, as you shyed away from your mother’s harsh glare.

“Y/n this is the third time this month that your school has called me!” your mother exclaimed tiredly from the kitchen, getting ready to prepare dinner for the two of you.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered from your spot on the sofa, trying to withhold your tears. You knew your mother hated when you got into fights – you didn’t even like it either, but the kids always picked on you. You just wanted them to stop…

“You said you were sorry last time.”

“I know…” you mumbled in reply.

“Then why do you keep fighting?” she frustrated. “No matter what those kids say, you don’t put your hands on them.”

“But they wouldn’t stop!”

“Then tell the teacher-”

“They hit me first,” you interrupted. This caused your mother to pause in the middle of her footsteps.

“Why?” she asked in confusion.

“They just wouldn’t stop saying those horrible things, even though I begged them…”  you said as your tears started to fall.

Keep reading

Power Rangers + Language

Whatever you do don’t think about the Power Rangers learning to speak Spanish and Mandarin just for Trini and Zack, and maybe even Hindi for Kim, because sometimes they say things that just don’t translate and they want to always be on the same wavelength, and also because it makes the three of them light the FUCK up when they do it.

Don’t think about Jason struggling with the pronunciation of every letter in the Mandarin alphabet but Kim and Billy patiently walking him through it, or the way Zack learns every word of endearment in Spanish first and the curse words after because he cannot wait to see the look on Trini’s face, how Trini does the same with Mandarin because she wants to insult him but love him in the same breath, how Billy isn’t really all that good with the languages at first but picks up speed and picks up speed until he’s practically flying because that’s how he learns he figures out patterns and languages have patterns.

Don’t think about the first time Zack forgets a word in English and blurts out the word for it in Mandarin and is ready to be humiliated by it but then he hears them all perk up and say, ‘Oh yeah that makes total sense’ and then they all freeze because they’d wanted it to be a surprise goddammit, and they’re still learning how to speak it, and even though Zack knew they were learning Spanish and some Hindi he’d never brought up Mandarin because he thought they were under enough pressure, and Zack cries; how then it comes out that they were learning Spanish and Hindi too and Kim’s shocked because she’s never slipped into Hindi around them before because it got bullied out of her in kindergarten but somehow Jason still remembered, and Trini can’t believe that these people love her enough to do this for her but she’s also curious about how on top of all their other duties and training and school Jason and Billy had time to start learning three new languages.

Don’t think about the Power Rangers coming over to Zack’s house and speaking to his mother in Mandarin and the way her heart eases when she sees that Zack has friends who love him that much, or how whenever Trini is tasked with babysitting her brothers and one of the other Rangers are around and her brothers start talking in Spanish the other Rangers will just switch with them and not say a word otherwise, or how Kim has gotten comfortable enough to start speaking more in Hindi and it inst until Trini comes over to work on homework with Kim and they start whispering back and forth in Hindi that Kim’s mother knows why the change happened.

Don’t think about Jason stressing over every poorly phrased sentence and broken word and just awful pronunciation because he wants to do right by his team, he wants to make sure they know how much he loves them all and how much he wants to do this right, so he practices until his mouth is sore and his throat is raw.

Don’t think about Billy taking bits and pieces of the language to heart and how sometimes even he will say a slang phrase from Mandarin in English that just makes no sense but the other Rangers GET IT.

And really don’t think about the first time Trini starts talking in Spanish at school because she’s with the Rangers and they’re her friends and she’s comfortable with them and using her language with them, some elitist asshole tries to start shit and every other Ranger jumps up and shuts that shit down so fast and hard the kid runs away crying.

Don’t think about the Rangers protecting each other’s rights to their culture and language and feeling safe.

I wonder why each little bird has a someone to sing to

i got a few requests for a companion piece to the gifts of beauty and song, my retold sleeping beauty fairytale, so here you go

so maleficent is the good fairy here, right, and the three fairies are the bad ones, so like fae do they each appear to be what they’re not. and aurora, given fae gifts and raised by fae, is nearly fae herself. maleficent knows that only an elf could hope to sway a fae heart, because elves are impervious to their glamour. maleficent kidnaps the young prince philip, and brings him to the elven realm. she tries to bargain a prince for a prince, but the king is unswayed. a human prince, he declared, is only worth an elvish servant, so that’s what she gets.

maleficent takes the servant and puts him in philip’s place, gives him that name, and watches as the servant elf is made a prince among mortals, watches as he eventually captures aurora’s heart, and saves her from her living death. watches as the elf servant turned prince becomes a king, as the almost-fae princess aurora becomes queen, and their two kingdoms become one and they rule the land of men together.

this, of course, begs the question – what happens to our dear human philip?

he is not the first child that has been bargained away to the elves, and elf queen thalia settles the young boy on her hip and raises an eyebrow at her husband, waiting. the child awakens by degrees, until he’s clutching her neck and blinking at the gathered elves. thalia is only grateful that he hasn’t started screaming, like so many of his kind do.

normally the children that are bargained to them are put to work in the castle, where they’re safe, where their clumsiness and their ignorance and their mistakes will be glossed over, where she and the king will ensure they will be politely ignored rather than harassed. they’ve lost a servant boy, and so she’s sure a servant boy is what this young human is meant to become.

except a woman of the court steps forward, and she’s old, old enough that it shows, that her curly hair has gone silver and wrinkles are etched deep in her face. lady ember is older than the forests they reside in, is older than her grandmother, than her great grandmother. everyone’s lost track of her exact age, but she’s the oldest elf in village. thalia likes her – she and lady ember have skin of the same dark shade. thalia hopes that if she is to live long enough, she and lady ember would look alike.

“i would like the child,” she says, eyes like amber, and for the moment she appears younger than she ever has. there’s something eager in her, and it brings a life to her that thalia hasn’t seen in a long time.

thalia looks to her husband, and king celedor gives a minuscule twitch to his lip which is an equivalent to a shrug. she sets the young human on the ground, and ember holds out a single hand. the child looks behind him, then in front him, and takes cautious steps forward. he steps until he can take her hand, his own looking small and pale in hers. “it’s been a long time since i was able raise a child,” ember says, “i would like to do so again. will you come home with me?”

and thalia understands. elf children take many hundreds of year to mature, and ember would not risk dying on a child before it could take care of itself. but humans are candles that burn at both ends – hot, and fast. within a decade or two the child in front of them will be able to survive on his own, will not need lady ember to coddle him for centuries.

he nods, and finally opens his mouth to say, “i am philip.”

“hello philip,” lady ember smiles, “i am lady ember of the mother tree. now you are lord philip of the ember tree.”

they are elves. they don’t do something as gauche as gasp, but the sentiment comes out just the same. celedor’s mouth drops open a millimeter and thalia’s right index finger twitches. raise a human child like a beloved pet they could all understand – but to adopt one, to truly adopt one that she’d just met and didn’t know and bequeath to him the estate and title the noble name of the mother tree?

lady ember leads her new son away, and the gathered elves can do nothing but stare.

~

prince elion – eli, to everyone who doesn’t want the prince of the elves nursing a personal grudge against them – comes home in the dead of night, when he can slip past the guards and the fawning people on the street and sneak into the royal quarters.

“mother,” he greets as he enters the library. his father sleeps early, but his mother doesn’t go to bed until nearly dawn. he kneels by her side, and she runs a hand through his hair, tugging the leather tie off when it gets in her way. his mass of dark curly hair tumbles around his head, and as he shakes it out leaves other debris fall out. thalia sighs, but doesn’t remark on it.

“your hunt went well?” she asks, although she knows the answer. eli is one of the best hunters in the kingdom, and his hunting parties – comprised of the strongest and best among the noble families – are notoriously profitable.

he grins, teeth extra white against his skin, “of course, mother. did anything interesting happen while i was away?”

“the faerie maleficent came and bargained away a human prince,” she says, “she wanted you in return. your father gave her a servant boy instead.”

eli laughs, too loud and boisterous, in a way he would never allow himself to laugh around his father or his subjects.

~

philip thinks perhaps he should be screaming, or crying, or causing some sort of fuss about this new life and this old woman who insists she’s his mother now. but he’s never had a mother before, and this new place is beautiful. they live in palace carved out of an enormous tree – the mother tree that their name comes from – and philip is given a lot more freedom as an elf lordling than he was as a prince.

he hopes the boy who took his place is nice to his father, and doesn’t mind long evenings with only the servants for company. being a prince can be very lonely. he knows from experience.

ember gives him rooms and toys, but warns him that he has a lot of work ahead of him. as a human, he’s at a severe disadvantage here at the elf court. elves are faster than humans, stronger and smarter and wiser. “it sounds to me,” philip says, “that maybe they’re just older. if i had hundreds of years, I could be all those things too.” ember’s eyes crinkle at the corners when she smiles, and he returns it.

philip knows hard work. he was set to rule a whole nation, was set to lead whole armies. he knows training and learning and patience. learning to become an elf lord seems like it will be a lot easier than being a human king.

lady ember and her servants are harsh, but fair. in their home, in the mother tree, he is a pampered lord. out of it, however – he acquires many scars from training, from falling and failing. ember and her staff run him ragged into the ground, because he must be able to keep up with elves.

they have hundreds and hundreds of years to practice, to become strong and smart and fast. philip doesn’t have that long, so his mother forces him to do more, train harder, learn faster than would be expected of any elf.

so he learns. the first time he beats his trainer at an archery competition, he feels a swell of pride like nothing he’s felt before. as he inches his way to the level of his teachers, and then surpasses them, the feeling stays.

they’ve always been kind to him. but as his skill grows, they come to respect him, and that’s far more valuable.

~

eli hears of the human that lady ember of the mother tree took as her own – of course he does, it’s all anyone can talk about. but he doesn’t actually get a chance to see the boy, because lady ember keeps him safe on her lands, in her tree that none of them dare trespass on. so he assumes, like many, that she keeps him coddled and safe, away from those who would seek him harm, away from a world that would seek him harm.

then, two decades from when she gave young philip her name, lady ember finds him at court. she tilts her head, and he bows. he may be higher in rank, but he was raised to respect his elders, and lady ember is certainly that. “prince eli,” she says, “your next hunt is coming up, isn’t it?”

“yes, my lady,” he answers, wondering if she has a request. he doesn’t mind tracking down a certain type of meat or pelt for her – he likes the challenge, and likes lady ember.

she smiles at him, and for some reason he feels as if he’s staring into the jaws of a dragon. “excellent. might my son join you? he grows bored of hunting on his own.”

the last thing in the world eli wants to do is keep an eye on a bumbling, spoiled human. but this human is also the lord of the mother tree, and he can think of no response that wouldn’t bring his mother’s wrath down on his head. “of course, lady ember.”

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How them 2000s live actions kids shows be
  • Normal Girl: *internally* I'm just a normal high school girl. I suck at math. I hate my parents. When someone asks me about my opinion on complex socioeconomic issues, I just go "What the heck!?" and start "texting" or something like that. My life would be just like yours, except for one thing: I have an amazing power... I can talk to cetaceans!
  • *at the docks, a bell tolls as our normal protagonist hears the voices of cetaceans bubbling in her mind*
  • Normal Girl: *staring deeply into the ocean*
  • Best Friend: Ahoy! What're you doing?
  • Normal Girl: Just staring into the oceanic abyss, thinking about how much I hate my parents. *internally* I have to keep my ability to speak to cetaceans secret or else... uh...
  • Best Friend: Haha, I feel that, friend. What a colorful life we teens live, our seaside environment awakening a rumbling darkness within ourselves of which we mull on our own with nothing but the unbounding depths of the ocean as our one escape. An escape which serves to only maim our fragile egos with newfound adolescent anxieties.
  • Normal Girl: What are you even talking about?
  • Best Friend: I don't know. I haven't slept in a week. Let's go to the mall.
  • *at the mall*
  • Normal Girl: *internally* My town might as well be called Lamesville. Nothing ever happens here, but the mall can be pretty fun. It's only place in the whole town with anything in it that isn't fish or excessive amounts of woodlice.
  • Best Friend: ...So I'd just dance and I'd dance until my feet broke. When that happened, I'd just get up and dance on my broken feet. And I did this until they were raw and blood was everywhere. I kept waking up in the morning extremely exhausted after this dream. I decided to record myself one night and it turns out I was dancing in my sleep. I haven't slept since I saw that. *leans in close to the normal girl* I'm afraid of what I'll do in my sleep.
  • Normal Girl: Wow, sounds weird... I guess. *sips coffee*
  • Best Friend: OMIGAWD! It's Chad Alphakid. He's coming this way!
  • *the normal girl and her best friend squee*
  • Normal Girl: *externally* That's Chad Alphakid. Who is he? He's only the hottest most coolest boy in this entire lame city. I've been crushing on him since I was like twelve.
  • Chad: Uh, okay.
  • Normal Girl: Did I just say that out loud!?
  • Chad: *sits at the table* Listen, I don't care what you or your friend think of me. I need help!
  • Best Friend: Have you murdered somebody?
  • Normal Girl: Do you need a girlfriend?
  • Chad: No, it's the ocean. The sound of her waves crashing against the shore is like a faultless siren song. There isn't a single night where I don't have visions of floating within her cold embrace. The allure of her boundless depths beckon to me like a lover. I'm afraid that if I don't get help soon, I'll find myself taken away by her to a fate unknown.
  • Normal Girl: *internally* Great, this is a chance to finally use my power to speak to cetaceans to my benefit! *externally* But why do you need us to help you?
  • Chad: You guys are the biggest fucking degenerate weirdos in this washed up town. If anyone knows how to deal with this, it's you two.
  • Best Friend: Haha, truuuuuu!
  • Normal Girl: I'm not a weirdo! I'm a completely normal girl.
  • Chad: Dude, you fucking talk to fish.
  • Best Friend: You do talk to fish.
  • Normal Girl: I don't talk to fish! *internally* I talk to cetaceans, they're mammals, not fish. Also, that's supposed to be a secret, dammit!
  • *at the shore*
  • Chad: Ah, Mother Ocean! Take me!! Take me!!! *attempts to run into the ocean, but gets held back by the normal girl and her best friend*
  • Best Friend: Simmer down, aqualad!
  • Chad: Why did you fools take me here, if not to release into the embrace of sweet Mother Ocean!?
  • Normal Girl: We talked it over and we decided that the best way to get you over your obsession is make you hate the ocean.
  • Chad: Does it involve you talking to fish?
  • Normal Girl: Yes, I mean no. I mean, fuck! Cetaceans aren't fish.
  • *the normal girl sits at the edge of shore, her eyes rolls up in her head as she proceeds to make fucked up porpoise sounds*
  • Normal Girl: *falls over limp*
  • Best Fried: She died.
  • Chad: Does this mean that I'm free to wade into Mother Ocean and meet my fate among her ever chaotic waes?
  • Best Friend: *lets chad go* Yeah, dude. I'm too far gone to care about things anymore.
  • Chad: *strips off all of his clothes* Good. I now understand that there was no avoiding this. This was always a forgone conclusion. My fate is with the waves. Sayonara, weird best friend guy.
  • Chad: *runs into the ocean*
  • Best Friend: *kicks the normal girl's body* Guess she really is dead.
  • Best Friend: *walks home as the night encroaches* My closest friend is dead, and Chad is probably dead too. I wonder where my fate lies?
  • Best Friend: *yawns* Maybe I should go to sleep and just dance myself to death finally. No, I don't think I could go to sleep even if I wanted to anymore. I'm probably going to die from exhaustion in the next few days, not having felt rest or comfort again. Or maybe I'll just stay awake forever. I feel like I was supposed to have an epiphany here, or some type of awakening. But, there's nothing. I feel like everything I've ever done has been pointless. God, I'm just really tired.
  • *back at the shore*
  • Porpoise: *beaches itself*
  • *a gray fleshy version of the normal girl crawls halfway out of the porpoises mouth*
  • Normal Girl: There goes my corpse! *drags her weird porpoise body towards the corpse* Why did I die with such a dumb expression on my face? Lame! I hope Chad didn't see.
  • Normal Girl: *looks around with beady eyes* No one's here. I can finally do this.
  • Normal Girl: *kisses her dead body on the lips* Blargh!
  • Normal Girl: *spits out blood* I bit my tongue when I died. Gross. I guess I can cross making out with my dead body and becoming a mermaid off of my bucket list, though.
  • Normal Girl: *sighs*

What she says: “I’m fine”

What she means:Good For You is such a deep song when you think about it. Think of all the pain. All Evan wanted was to have people in his life, people who cared about him in some way; in any way. He lacked the socialization that humans need, they need companionship in order to survive. Evan basically lived alone and lacked the security to go out and talk to anyone. Yes his Mom was trying her best and was in pain, but Evan needed a mother. she wasn’t there, so obviously he clung to another family. He didn’t mean to hurt his mother, he didn’t mean to hurt the Murphys. He thought he was doing the right thing. And his realization of his mistakes and how it’s effecting people at the end of the song needs to be taken more seriously because this whole time, Evan didn’t see how he was hurting people, he thought he was helping.”

Black Girl, NYC

Greetings people. I identify as a Black female who was born and raised in NYC. I am slowly progressing through my study of education and history in college. Other then that, I spend (probably) an unhealthy amount of time reading and writing sci fi and fantasy. But by high school, I got sick and tired of the same story featuring blonds and brunettes saving the day with their straight, lean male heroes so I turned to my librarian seeking something new. She pointed to Octavia Butler and the rest was history. I’ve been seeking diversity in media ever since.

Family life and Culture

I grew as the middle child of six siblings with my single mother and grandparents. Yes, my working-class household fits the stereotype. We even have an absent father *sighs* But, hey shit happens. And with the biological father turns out not to be the best father figure, shit had to go right out the door. Yup. But make no mistake that this is a norm. Most households on my block do have both parents involved in their children’s lives. Our circumstances called for us to have one. That’s all.

The house was full, loud and rambunctious. We made up a good portion of the children on the block (unsurprising) and basically ran it. There’s a whole novel that could be fleshed out of my childhood if I wanted to. Our neighborhood is very tight knit. Next door neighbors were treated like Aunts and Uncles. When summer came around, we were sometimes divided into groups as the parents who were off from work overlooked us while braiding our heads. Blackouts became an all night bbq and sleepover on each other’s porches. Crooklyn by Spike Lee was a good representation of what it was like in fact. Somewhat. Minus the brownstones, plus a couple more fights (lol).

My grandma was a nurse who’s pretty big on us knowing our family history. She made sure to talk a lot about our Gullah Geechee roots. We also had some Dominican culture influence since her closest friend and our Madrina was, well, Dominican. But she is fairly strict on gender norms and how my sisters and I should act especially with brothers. She antagonized me the most growing up because I continued to ignore this. We don’t get along but i can’t say i don’t get why she’s the way she is. She has a pretty dark past. My mother, a latchkey kid of the finest stock, is more laid back and gives all of us free range to make our own mistakes. Most times. Other times, she’d rather lecture us. Depends on our crime.

I don’t know what my grandpa used to do. He retired waaaaay before my grandmother. I also don’t know much about his culture. He’s 1st gen Jamaican who fully assimilated into American culture. Well, beside his food choices. Now, he gambles and goes to church. When I was younger, he used to teach us how to gamble too. And how to cheat and not get caught. We got a lot of free fast food while he taught us. He has gotten more frugal the older he got. And more isolated.

Dating and Relationships.

I don’t date. I have no interest. Well, no, that’s not exactly true. I’ve considered it but I rather have not seek out anything outside of platonic right now. I have a tight knit circle of friends and several other groups of friends I associate with depending on the activity. I’m realizing it seems like I’m using the term “friends” loosely but I swear I’m not. I’m a virgin and I feel nothing about being one until someone goes “*gasp* You’re a virgin really?” and then I end up on high defense saying “So?” Believe or not, that messed with me a lot.

My love life and lack of interest in having one has always been a struggle. In middle school, the group of friends I hung with were becoming more infatuated with love and sex. Yes, middle school, fifth through eighth grade, ages nine to thirteen. But, when they would talked about who’s hot or not, they would look at me funny when I didn’t join in the discussion. Instead of explaining myself, I simply copied other’s reactions and gushed along with them. This instinct followed me through High school til stopped out of annoyance. I became a listener and adviser in their relationships because I really do love stories in many shapes and forms. And I would never turn down hearing a story.

Language

My primary language is English and AAVE. I’ve been living in a neighborhood filled with Blacks and Latinx. Most of my friends are Black and Lantinx. I didn’t meet a white person my age until college. Okay that’s a partial lie. I’ve been in a summer camp that was made up of predominantly white children. But as the only black kid in my age range, I was sorta uncomfortable. I never made lasting friends there. After High School, I spent a year abroad in Tena, Ecuador where I learned Spanish and Kichwa. I still suck at both languages.

Clothing

Lots of my clothes when I was younger were borrowed or hand-me-downs. Half of them still are. It’s like thrift shopping without the hiked prices thanks to its popularity by rich white people (Thanks rich white people!) All my siblings’ taste varies. In my case, I’m fond of combining loose and tight clothing (tight jeans and a loose sweater/ baggy jeans and a tight top). No makeup. Silver accessories.

I used to have a short bob cut permed. I hated it. But I rather a perm then getting my hair straightened with a hot comb because the back of my neck and big ears would always get burned. It wasn’t until I made a friend with a natural afro that I realized my natural hair was even an option.

Academics

Lol I was a nerd with bad grades.

Religion

My family practices Santeria, which has historical roots in both Catholicism and Yoruba thanks to slavery (Yay slavery!). However, because the religion is not fully accepted or well-known, I tend to say I’m simply Catholic if asked. Apparently, a Black Catholic is hard to believe. It is assumed all Black folks are Baptists or some branch of Christianity. I have no idea where that stereotype came from. But I can give some guess. (*cough cough* Tyler Perry….).  

As I stated before, I love scifi and fantasy. I especially love urban fantasy involving witches. I blame this love on Practical Magic and Eve’s Bayou, my childhood faves. It’s because of this love that I wish to see more stories with witches of color. And no, I don’t mean that one evil/mysterious southern/Caribbean Voodoo/Hoodoo witch hollywood loves to portray so much. That always plays into the “Black is evil” trope. Give me some damn variety!

I would squeal so hard if the mythology involved in a story isn’t even Eurocentric. I’m not joking. This is serious. When my religion was simply hinted at in the Raven Boys series (It was also a great way of making even more obvious that the character was definitely not white.) and Kenya Wright’s Habitat series, I squealed. All the authors did was write the names of some of the Orishas and I couldn’t help but put my phone down for a moment and inwardly scream with glee. That being said, if a writer does decide to use afrocentric or any religion involving “witchcraft” as a basis, I would personally ask that they make sure is is not a closed religion.

Santeria is, in fact, a closed religion. And while I don’t mind mentions of it in fantasy and even a main character stating they practice it, do not go any further than that. Don’t even research the practices within the religion other than what is public knowledge (And if you don’t have any public knowledge, just ask) Respect that there’s a limit. Anything further spelunking  is consider rude, disgusting, disrespectful and dangerous. There’s things that I don’t even know because I haven’t been properly initiated. And the internet has a lot of these practices exposed when it shouldn’t be so please don’t look into it. Please.

Food

Most of the cooking in the house has been done by my grandmother. Because of her various relationships, our food has always been a mixture of Black American, Gullah, Lantinx and Caribbean influences. It is so good. So, so good!

The only thing I don’t eat of hers is her seafood gumbo because I don’t like shellfish. One of my sisters said I should have my “black card” taken for my distaste. I said she could take it if she can name more black movies than me. She still can’t take it. My other sister wishes we could switch places because she loves crab but is allergic. The crazy girl actually sends her husband to buy some benadryl so she can eat some if we ever have some on the table. Smh. Siblings.  

Holidays

My family on both sides are quite fond of reunions. On my grandpa’s side, the family uses Fourth of July and Christmas to get together. On my grandma’s side, they tend to host annual summer reunion and send out RSVP invitations complete with schedules of the whole two to three day event. I didn’t mention this under my family life, but both sides of my family are boujee to different degrees. Lots of black sorors and frats members on both sides. I can’t believe that slipped my mind typing.

I’m a little iffy with Christmas. It’s more of a holiday for the older generation and our niece and nephews. The younger generation, however, don’t particularly care for the holiday. For some of us, it’s because it’s not really Jesus’s Birthday and Santa was whitewashed. For others, it’s because we don’t care to feed into the corporate holiday. For most of us, it’s a combination of the two. But we do love getting together when we can. My older sister and I have conspired to celebrate kwanzaa instead for the past two years. So far, it hasn’t grasped the interest of anyone else in the family.

Struggles

  • Being nerds from a young age, my siblings and I have been called “Oreos” or“Not really black” by kids in school on more than one occasion. We shut them down by fighting. Probably not the best strategy but it was best one I could think of in middle school and below. Made it easier to go back to reading my manga.

  • I got compared to my sisters a lot. It was the absolutely most annoying thing ever. And a major source of my insecurities growing older.

  • Need I address colorism? My highschool was filled with it. #TeamLight v #TeamDark. I was on neither team, because in the region I live, skin color was a pretty long spectrum. I fell in the between. Who came up with this?

  • I’ll admit it. I hate my own tears. They make me feel weak. Which isn’t true…I know. But, it is a mentality I always had. I have depression and PTSD. This isn’t really a secret. I tell people if I’m asked. But have you ever had someone look at you and say, “Really? You don’t seem like the type.” ……

  • I am a black female. I’ve been labelled “Strong” and “Independent” the older I got. By my mother. By my siblings. By my peers. And I get those labels. Even from friends. I loved those labels. I call myself by those labels. I mean, who doesn’t want to be seen as strong and independent? Those are positive affirmations, right? I think they would be. If that wasn’t all the positive labels we could get. Somehow, society has decided we are beings that are incapable of being multifaceted. I was indirectly taught to hate my own tears because black girls don’t cry. You can’t cry and be strong. What a terrible mantra fed to black girl at a young age. So, instead you tell everyone “It’s fine.”

I told my therapist it was fine. Until she told me straight up it was not fine. And it was okay to cry. I don’t like to cry. But I still (involuntarily) did it.

Things I’d like to see less of/Things I’d like to see more of:

  • I’m sick and tired of seeing black and latinx folks being portrayed as only fantasy gangs members. We are not only gang members. That’s a terrible popular myth the media put out there and I hate it even more so when it’s portrayed in SFF genre..

  • I’m tired of having one black person in a novel being described as having skin the color of “midnight.” And he’s (it’s always a he) not even that important to the story

  • I hate how every time someone decides to add a person of color, they have to be ambiguous brown. I’m not saying ambiguously brown don’t exist and don’t need representation but is it really that had for a dark brown skin person to play a major role in a story that’s not about slavery? Speaking of which….

  • Why we always gotta be slaves? Or better yet….

  • Why don’t we exist at all in High fantasy stories? Urban fantasy? Brooklyn wasn’t always the gentrified white town it is now. Still isn’t. How are you erasing people of color from NYC??? We make up way too much of the population to be completely erased

  • Stop racial coding other creatures to surround your white human characters. Especially as the bad guys. That’s just shitty writing. Step up your game!

  • I love Black love

  • I love Gay love. I wish more would follow moonlight’s example and show poc are gay too and gay doesn’t always equal to stereotypical femininity.

  • I love interracial love HOWEVER, can we pair people of color with other people of color as well? I’m starting to hate seeing it always a white person paired with a Poc. Variety damnit!

  • Friendships between boys and girls that don’t transform into love.

  • Friendships between girls that didn’t start out as a rivalry.

  • Different body types besides the skinny and tall. Make a main character that’s fat for once. It’s not a problem.

  • Magical characters of color that aren’t “Noble Savages” or “Wise Monks” that used their magic for personal gain for once instead of waiting for the white hero to come.

  • Nerdy black characters who aren’t 100% competent and cries. One that isn’t in a five token band that always gonna be compare to the white main character. Make the nerd the main character!

That’s all I can think of at the top of my head. But my list really does go on. 

Read more POC Profiles here or submit your own.

5

I’m trying to piece together what happened to Jumin’s mom.

The really popular opinion is that one post that posited that she has mental health issues and is incarcerated somewhere.
Personally, I like that theory. A lot. It’s true to MysMe’s underlying mental health theme. And this is Tumblr. We want to take care of our mental health community.

But I think the story is a different kind of sad.
I think Jumin’s mother is exactly like all the other women. I think she married Mr. Han for money. I think Mr. Han cheated on her a lot. And I think they divorced when Jumin was young, and Mr. Han won custody.

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The Mother Dearest Theory

I almost named this theory “Return of the Mother of all Theories” but I thought “The Mother Dearest Theory” would probably be more fitting considering what this is going to be about. If you haven’t caught on by now with the name, let me fill you in… This theory is going to outline why I think Mary Drake is possibly the new A.D. 

I KNOW I KNOW I KNOW “But Rachel, what about Melissa/Twin/Any other possible character?” Simply because… There are too many things that point to Mary that I just can’t ignore anymore, and in true PLL fashion there is possibly Hitchcock involved. From the very beginning when Mary was introduced, she rubbed me the wrong way, something about the way she talks and carries herself screams psychopath to me (and trust me… I’ve spent most of my life researching them.) What she says doesn’t necessarily coincide with what she does, and things have been gradually building up to the point I can’t ignore the signs anymore.

 So, let’s start at the beginning so to speak… I’m going to talk about the twins from the Halloween story. We all know how it goes, one twin gets jealous of what the other twin had and then one twin stabs the other. Mary stabbed Jessica, Mary went to Radley, Mary met Pastor Ted and had Charlotte, Mary pretended to be Jessica, Mary got pregnant with Spencer by pretending to be Jessica with Peter (which is the huge secret Jessica and Peter had that they had a deal with), and Mary is batshit fucking crazy.

 Also let me ask this question, did we all just up and fucking forget this happened? 

How the hell did we forget that Mary dressed up as her dead sister to scare Alison (AND PUT HER IN THE HOSPITAL) and for that matter… How in the bloody hell did Mary know what Jessica was buried in if she wasn’t there burying herself. And for that matter, it would mean she ways the one who not only buried her- but she was there when Alison was buried as well. If you remember in season 5 when Alison came back to rosewood and Jessica’s body was found, Alison got a video of her mother being buried with a text attached saying “I buried her the same way I watched her bury you.”

 To be fairly truthful whether Mary stabbed Jessica doesn’t matter, the facts are that Mary spent a lot of time in Radley where (like I’ve outlined multiple times in other theories and it actually comes into play later…) Mary assumes Jessica’s identity which confirms not only that she was the mother Bethany was talking about and the “is it like mother like daughter?” Was referring to Mary and Charlotte and not Jessica and Alison, which is confirmed by the flashback of Jessica screaming at Alison that Cece was at Radley calling herself Alison. 

 Now to my favorite part… The Hitchcock aspect. Does everyone remember that scene where Hanna was being tortured in the barn and she hallucinates that’s Spencer is there stroking her hair and singing a song? (The same song and scene that they recreated with Mary and Spencer in the 7x10) 

Yeah that’s not a coincidence, look at Mary’s history… She assumes Jessica’s identity, she assumes Charlottes identity as A.D., she’s now assuming Spencer’s identity. Yes, my friends… PLL is pulling a reverse Psycho where Mother assumes the role of Norman instead of the other way around. Think about it, what’s the FIRST thing she does? Buy the lost woods, just as Norman Bates did with his mother and the bates motel. And just as Norman Bates assumed the identity of his mother, Mary seems to take the personality of her daughters on- becoming A.D. As Charlotte was A, and now becoming more caring, calm, and subdued like Spencer… Also people have been passing around this photo:

 I’d like you to notice something, look at the make-up and body language of both the scene where Spencer’s with Hanna and this scene compared to Mary’s tea cup scene… That ISN’T Spencer in there… That’s Mary. Confirmed by the fact Andrea was wearing the EXACT dress she was wearing.

Also, since we know for sure Mary and Archer we’re working together (and that she was helping torture Alison) guess who the only other person was who knew about the barn? Yep. Mary. And what just happened last episode? Hanna getting locked in like she was back in the barn, considering Archer is dead… There’s really only one other person who knew. Mary. 

Mary seems to have a pattern of assuming the identities of people she’s close with, so naturally that next step would be Spencer. Mary showed up before Charlotte died and A.D. Was introduced just as Charlotte appeared once Mona lost the game as A after season 2. 

Mary bought the Lost Woods where Hanna was kidnapped and tortured. And for that very matter how in the living fresh hell did she get that money in the first place? Mary was known to be working with Archer and we know for a fact whoever A.D. Is not only worked with Archer but knows the girls killed him. 

 We know for a fact that Mary was involved with everything because she LITERALLY SAYS TORTURING ALISON IS WHAT CHARLOTTE WOULD HAVE WANTED. Just like some antagonist I know of who seems to be targeting the girls because they think they had something to do with Charlotte’s death. 

We also know Jessica had some sore of heart condition and trouble getting to sleep (as per her prescriptions) that I don’t know… Would probably coincide with a devastating childhood trauma involving her twin sister? Which would only make Mary hate Jessica even MORE causing her to assume Jessica’s identity. “But she was in Radley!” Doesn’t it seem odd to anyone how the twin story was put in chronological order to where oddly a Radley sanitarium car shows up at the house the exact DAY the twin story is told? 

 This would also mean Charlotte, Mary, and Bethany were all in Radley at the same time and if that doesn’t scream trouble incoming I don’t know what does. This also brings me to the obvious blatant lie that Mary and Charlotte didn’t know each other. She literally called herself Cece Drake. The same last name. And Mary says with quite confidence “You’re the only man my daughter truly ever loved” 

Side-note, whoever is revealed as Jessica’s killer could’ve possibly made the mistake of thinking they were killing Mary instead of Jessica, in which case you’d think it would throw the theory off course- but it actually doesn’t. It could’ve been Charlotte and she lied about it, it could’ve been someone who thought Jessica was Mary by mistake, it could’ve been Mary herself. But the signs point to Mary as being her killer, or at least being there as Jessica was being buried per her clothes a la zombie Jessica in 6x20. 

Now as per why… Simple answer, Mary wants everything that she feels was taken from her. She wants the life that she feels was taken from her. She wants revenge for the daughter she lost. She wants revenge on the families who had what she always wanted. 

 As for Charlotte’s killer (If she’s dead at all…) I will tell you that you’d do well to watch Mona. Or even possibly someone who appears to be Mona. They’re going to bring in Melissa and Wren to make it appear as though they have something to do with it, revealing things that we’ve wondered about them for a long time… 

And Melissa’s luggage bag handle may have been missing but I would like to remind you… Who paid off the mechanic and drove the huge truck that nearly ran over Emily to get it back?

 I hope the theory was well worth the wait, it was good to get back in the theory game again. 

Don’t worry, we all go a little mad sometimes.

conchacunt  asked:

So given the information we saw in season three and how Haggar and Zarkon had Lotor after they became quintessence zombies, do you think that has any effect on how powerful Lotor is or on how he reacts to quintessence?

Okay, so, here’s something small that I’ve been chewing over since s3e7.

Let’s assume getting fried into space zombies didn’t actually change their genetics, just their appearance.

Honerva had golden eyes and dark-colored hair.

Zarkon had no real hair, and red eyes.

So where between them did they produce this vividly blue-eyed, white-haired child? Lotor looks more Altean than Haggar does at this point which would seem to suggest he draws from both of their pre-quintessence genetics.

But neither of them have blue eyes to give him and Haggar’s hair isn’t naturally white. It bleached out because of her overexposure to quintessence. That’s not something you’d pass onto a kid unless her genetics changed- in which case Lotor should have monochromatic glowing eyes as both Haggar and Zarkon do now.

We also have no confirmation Haggar is Lotor’s mother- she just remains the most likely candidate as Zarkon’s now canonically confirmed wife.

But what if Lotor wasn’t exactly… conceived normally? As I’ve said before, Haggar talks about Lotor like an experiment.

Since my theory that Haggar was the queen of Altea was sunk decisively, Haggar’s not of the royal bloodline, and we don’t know if she had that particular Altean power the way that Alfor and Allura seem to have. And Haggar’s very scared of Allura’s power in some way, suggesting she knows about it. Possibly, wants to use it.

You know someone who does have both white hair and blue eyes?

Allura’s entire family- the royal line of Altea.

Coran didn’t see Altea being destroyed, but Zarkon would have had Altea and all its people, including Alfor and, were she still alive at the time, Allura’s unnamed mother.

They could’ve taken things. Like, y’know, blood samples.

Now, remember s3e5? How the Alteans on the other side needed someone from Allura’s bloodline, with Allura’s power, to awaken that ship and move it?

Remember how Lotor was the one who switched that ship’s beacon on- which would seem to necessitate him boarding it and activating its systems?

It also doesn’t exactly make sense to me that after being undead for ten thousand years, Haggar and Zarkon would look up from their intergalactic conquest to decide they really want to have a kid together. Especially since both of them have apparently been uptight workaholics for most of their lives with very little time or patience for anything but each other. And Zarkon has no reason to worry about an heir, he already died once and walked it off.

So…. what if Lotor is more of an experiment than a child? Someone spliced together genetically? 

2

i love how this clip showed us this very important side of the bakkoush siblings’ relationship. elias heard sana arguing with her mother, and knew that she was out there playing basketball, and knew that it was her way of trying to release the tension, because elias has known sana her entire life, and this isn’t the first time he’s seen her throw a basketball like this

it was so lovely, the way he approached her at first, how he started playing basketball with her a little before asking her about yousef. and how you could tell it immediately started to calm her down, because all of a sudden this wasn’t just her playing by herself, she wasn’t alone in this moment anymore, and elias wasn’t saying anything yet, he wasn’t confronting her. he was just there, playing with her like he always used to, since they were little kids, just being the older brother that she knows cares about her. and it’s only after sana has calmed down that he casually starts asking her questions. and his tone isn’t accusing. he remains calm and caring throughout their entire conversation. he’s reassuring, he’s comforting. because it’s true that he doesn’t ever want sana to be sad, it’s true that knowing she isn’t feeling alright hurts him. and so he wants to be there for her, and try to maker her feel better about this situation that he knows she feels conflicted about.

the best thing about this conversation is that it wasn’t about elias getting answers. he didn’t go to her for his own benefit, to quench his own curiosity. elias most likely already had the answer to his initial question, he knew that sana liked yousef. so he didn’t ask her to find out, he asked her to give her the opportunity to speak, and to be there to listen to her, and share his thoughts in order to reassure her. because he knows that she didn’t get that opportunity moments earlier with their mother. and it’s a pretty big deal, an older brother talking to his little sister about the boy she likes, especially if said boy is his own friend. it could’ve been awkward, but he’s not letting the conversation feel that way. and when sana tells him that she isn’t sad, and he can tell by the smile on her face that she means it in that moment, that’s when elias finally stands up and walks away. because he had accomplished what he came to do: make sure his little sister was okay and cheer her up

Huntress in the Snow

What if Rhys had met Feyre back when she was still a little girl, alone in the woods and hunting for her family? Inspired by this beautiful work of art, here’s the hypothetical meeting between an abused, tired Rhysand and a tiny Feyre.

 

Rhysand rarely leaves Amarantha’s court Under the Mountain.

He rarely leaves her bedroom, for that matter. Life is just a frenzy of lies, sex, dancing, drinking, hatred and torture these days and he has long given up on making his existence bearable. He doesn’t really care anymore.

He doesn’t care for the stares they give him, the names. He doesn’t care for those pitying glances. He doesn’t care when Amarantha is straddling him, using him, her fingers pulling his hair.

Spring Court is covered in masks right now, but Rhysand might as well be wearing one, too. He doesn’t recognize himself in the mirror anymore. He murmurs things in her ears, he lies, promises, he kills on her behalf, he smirks and laughs and betrays, and he isn’t sure he can ever get back from that.

He’s doing it for Velaris and his beloved ones. That is what he tells himself, over and over and over again, when he’s buried inside her or when he snaps someone’s neck. It’s the only reason he’s still holding on. Velaris. Mor. Amren. His brothers. His court.

Court of Dreams. It’s like a bitter joke, ashes in his mouth. He doesn’t know if he will ever see them again. Doesn’t know if he wants to- after what he’s done.  

He probably won’t ever see them again. This nightmare will never end.

Life is miserable. Rhys doesn’t care.

With the way things are developing right now, his old enemy Tamlin is going to join them in a few years- 42 years have passed and that fool, that idiotic fool hasn’t managed to break the curse. If he realizes that he could save them all, Rhysand doesn’t know. Perhaps Tamlin is just trying to protect those he loves as well. Perhaps he’s trying- perhaps he’s fighting.

Perhaps he’s not.

Rhysand doesn’t care.

He also doesn’t care that Amarantha sends him to the human realm today. To find a group of fae from Dawn Court that have escaped; find them, bring them to her, watch her torture and kill them and fuck her afterwards. It’s nothing to him. He’ll play his part. He’ll be urgent and passionate- I’ve been aching for you, my queen, my everything, woman of my dreams- only you, only ever you- he’ll make her scream his name and kiss her afterwards.

All the while, he’ll be somewhere else. He’ll be talking to Amren, quietly. He’ll be drinking with Cass and Azriel, playing cards. He’ll be dancing with Mor. He’ll be walking through the streets of Velaris.

That’s the only thing he has. And even those memories are further and further away from him with each passing day. Rhysand is afraid that he’ll wake up some morning and find that there’s no fight left inside him- that he’ll just give up.

He looks around.

He’s in a forest, close to the wall. It’s spring, but snow still covers the trees and the ground. He will encounter no humans here- none of them would be so foolish, so daring to get this close to the wall. He sits down next to a stream, closes his eyes and just doesn’t think. A few, scattered moments of peace- he takes what he gets.

Just a few moments. Then he’ll hunt those poor bastards down.

Feyre is twelve, and she’s been roaming this forest for a year now. She’s been following the village’s hunters; copy the way they set their snarls, carry their bows. She has a dream: she’ll hunt so much food her father will get better again. Nesta and Elain will get fatter, rounder, and they will both find very handsome men to marry. Then it’ll be Feyre and her father, and she’ll hunt for him while he reads at home, and in the evening, she’ll cook for him and paint a little.

So far, she hasn’t ever shot anything bigger than a rabbit, and that one time was on accident. The snarls are what works better.

Nesta turned fifteen yesterday. Feyre knows her sister has hoped their father would say something, but he has forgotten all of their birthdays. Nesta has looked like murder all day long. Elain tried to talk to her, but she locked herself in their room.

Elain and Nesta are very sad, Feyre knows that. They remember more of their mother and they talk about her sometimes, exchanging bits and pieces of who she used to be. In the beginning, right after they moved into the little hut at the village’s edge, they tried to be there for her- but they have too much to worry about, now. They never even play with each other. They don’t thank her when she brings food home.

Feyre makes her way through the trees. She must always stay away from the wall- dangerous creatures are there, fae. She’s so afraid of them she has nightmares sometimes.

But today, some inner voice tells her that the wall is not dangerous. That no fae will hurt her. And almost by themselves, their feet make her walk closer and closer to the buzzing, invisible thing that separates their human world from the fae.

When she comes onto a clearing, she sees a man. He is sitting on a fallen tree branch next to a river and his head his lowered, almost as if he were praying. He doesn’t carry weapons, but his clothes are fine and elegant- he must be a rich merchant, lost in the woods.

Perhaps she’ll get a reward if she leads him out of here. Curiosity gets the better of her. “Are you okay?”, she calls over to him, and that is the exact same moment he looks up and meets her eyes.

It knocks the breath out of her. He’s a fae. His ears are long and pointed, and there is something otherworldly in his features that marks him as different.

This is it. She is going to die. Nesta and Elain and her father will starve because she’s not there anymore. How could she be so careless, hunting so close to the wall?

The man takes in her unwashed hair, her threadbare clothes, her make-shift bow. “You should not be here”, he rasps. “You should run.”

Feyre tries to be a still as she can be. The man doesn’t get up, doesn’t come closer. As if he knows that she’ll start screaming if he does.

“Go”, he commands, angry. “Don’t ever come here again. Understand me? Don’t go into the forest at all. Stay at home.”

And she should do just that, run until she’s far away from him, but…

“I have to”, Feyre says. “I have to hunt.”

“No, you don’t. A small girl like you should stay with her family.”

“You don’t understand.” She steps closer, her bow still ready in her hand. “My family will starve if I don’t. I am doing all of this for them.”

The man breathes in, sharply, and she swears that she sees devastation in his eyes. “What?”

“My father can’t take care of us.” Why the words are spilling from her mouth like that, Feyre doesn’t know. “And my sisters are scared. I have to be strong, even when I’m afraid- for them.”

The man stares at her.

“Are you going to hurt me?”, Feyre asks. She tries to hide that she is scared of that fae. She tries to pretend that she could shoot him, if she wanted.

He shakes his head, slowly. “Of course not.”

“What are you doing here, then? Shouldn’t fae be on the other side of the wall?”

The man smiles a bitter smile. “Usually, we should. But I…was allowed a little freedom today.”

“Are you a hunter, too?”

He closes his eyes. “I suppose.”

“Then you’re a little bit like me.”

“Well.” He laughs. “Not really. But I am doing this for my family, too. All of this.”

Feyre doesn’t know why, but for some strange reason, it makes her very happy that the man has a family. That he’s not alone.

“That’s good”, she smiles. “You should go be with them, not sit in the forest by yourself.”

He nods. “You’re right, of course. As should you.”

Feyre steps as close to him as she dares. The fae is very pretty, she realizes. All the older village girls would probably be in love with him. But he looks sad, she thinks, and she doesn’t know why, but it makes her heart ache a little. She wants him smiling.

“Here.” The fae nods his head and suddenly, a basket filled with bread and meat appears in the snow. “Take that home to your family. It should give you enough food to eat for the next few weeks. I can’t- I wish I could do more. But my hands are quite literally tied.”

“Is this some sort of trick?”, Feyre asks. “Some bargain? Some fairy magic?”

The fae shakes his head, a flicker of amusement on his face. “No bargain, little girl. Although I’m impressed you’re already so wary for your age.”

Feyre picks up the basket. This is better than the time she shot the rabbit. This is all of her birthdays combined. “Thank you- what’s your name?”

“Rhys”, he says, looking at his hands. “That’s what my friends call me.”

“That family you told me about?”

“Yes”, Rhys says softly. “My family.”

Feyre smiles at him. It comes so easy, the smile- because something deep inside her core tells her that she doesn’t need to be afraid of him. And she trusts that. “Thank you, Rhys. Your family is lucky to have you. You just saved mine today.”

He still looks so very sad. “Then that’s something”, he says hoarsely. “Before you go- one thing.”

And suddenly there are talons in her head, and she can’t move anymore.

“It’ll be over in a few moments”, Rhys says. “But I can’t let you remember me. She’ll find out, somehow. She’ll break you just for fun.”

Some white blanket is thrown over her mind, and the next second, Feyre finds herself alone in the woods.

What just happened? Why is she here?

Oh, yes- she remembers- the rich merchant who she met on her way here showed mercy and handed her the basket-

What on earth is she doing so close to the wall?

Feyre turns around and runs. Today is such a good day. She feels happy, not just because of the gift…but because of something else.

And maybe she can get through all of this.

Maybe she’ll find a way out of this someday.  

Rhys has never done something like this, but he forces himself to forget her. He pushes her image into the very, very back of his mind, he uses his magic on himself and forces himself to forget about that girl in the snow, that tiny, little huntress.

Because for some reason, he knows that she is important. For what, he doesn’t know. But he’ll do what it takes to keep her hidden from Amarantha.  

It makes him cry out in pain to use those talons on himself, but-

Rhys finds himself standing somewhere in the forest.

Why is he still here? He should go- hunt those Dawn fae down.

There’s a weird feeling of goodness in the back of his mind. Of happiness. And he remembers- that those he loves are out there. That somehow, someday, he’ll see them again. That there is a reason for everything.

He feels hope, and he doesn’t know why.

I have to be strong, even when I’m afraid- for them, whispers a voice inside his head. He knows who said it-

A girl-

He can’t remember. But that feeling lingers.

That night, when Amarantha is on top of him, moving and moaning about how good this feels after a kill, all he can think is the clock is ticking, you bitch. You’ll go down soon. Someone will come and end you.

When she leaves him, he showers and washes her scent off him. Someone is out there, he thinks. Someone good. This world is not completely lost. And for some reason, he cares again. Cares about what happens. Cares about who wins. Suddenly, he wants to fight.

That night, he has the strangest dream. It’s a hand, unpacking a basket full of bread, apples and meat. A small hand; a child’s hands. But it makes him so inexplicably happy he thinks about that dream for days.

A few years later, when Rhysand has long forgotten about everything, he dreams of that same hand again.

Only this time that delicate, female hand is drawing flowers on a table.

And something inside Rhysand whispers, soon.

Soon.

Soon.

Harry Styles - “Confessions” Part Four


Alright… there’s gonna be a part 5. But, let’s do this! Part four of the ‘Confessions’ series!! Hope you guys like this one as much as you’ve liked the others. Let me know! It’s a touch happier … or is iiiiit?

Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Five - Part Six - Part Seven - Part Eight


Harry groaned as he awoke, the sunlight poured down on him and he felt a layer of sweat on his forehead from the light as well the body pressed into his. When he lifted his head, finding that it rested on the back of his couch instead of his pillow, he had a moment of confusion before he remembered. You being curled up in his arms, still fast asleep against his chest, also helped jog his memory. 

It took him a moment to realize what had woken him but he quickly realized it was his phone buzzing in his pocket. He knew there was no way to pull it out and answer it without waking you so he let it continue until finally it stopped. Harry sighed, taking in a deep breath as he rest his head on top of yours, his cheek resting against your soft and sweet smelling hair. 

He was just starting to drift off back into his nap when his phone began going off again. Apparently whoever was calling him really needed to have a chat. He opened his eyes and sighed, wondering how he could possibly do this. He didn’t want to wake you but it seemed whoever was ringing him wasn’t going to give up. He shifted a bit to the side until eventually he was able to slide out from under you, helping you lay back gently onto the couch, thankfully still fast asleep. 

He didn’t even care about the phone call in that moment as he stared down at your slumbering and peaceful face. All he had seen the last while was pain and heartache but now it was all gone, just for a little bit at least. He couldn’t help as he leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to the corner of your mouth, bringing a large and ringed hand up to brush a few hairs off of your face. The moment was then ruined by the phone once again going off. He knew he had no choice now but to take it.

When he left the living room, heading down the hall towards the kitchen, he pulled the phone out and felt his heart rate increase when he saw his mom’s name and face flashing across his screen. Why would she be calling him so many times? He hadn’t told her what was going on, he told his sister as he had gone to stay with her the night he had told you but she had sworn not to tell their mother. 

“Mum?” He questioned, answering the phone finally, as he opens the back door in the kitchen and steps out onto the back porch. “Is everythin’ alrigh’?” He questions as he leans against the railing of the deck, running his fingers over the hard wood. 

“You tell me, Harry.” Came her reply. No hello, no greeting, no asking how he was. Yeah, Harry knew in that moment that she had definitely found out. 

“Did Gem tell you, then?” He mutters, hoping it was from his sister and not that the media had gotten wind of the situation. Even with both parties involved having signed an NDA, which he hated having to see your face as you had to agree not to talk about how he knocked up a girl, these things could still get out and he dreaded the moment that they did. 

“She shouldn’ have had to, Harold, why haven’ you come to me abou’ all of this?” Harry sighed, hanging his head, unsure of how to answer. The truth was that he was afraid of his mothers disappointment. He felt he had made her so proud up until now and what a way to ruin that than with a situation like this. He had already broken the heart of one important girl in his life, he couldn’t handle doing it to another one just yet. “So it’s true then? You got a girl pregnant?” 

“Yes, mum.” Harry mutters, running a hand through his hair before his fingers begin to play nervously with his bottom lip. “Well, I go soon to have a paternity tes’ done, bu’ as of now we are almos’ certain tha’ I am the fathe’,” 

“And Y/N left you?” Harry hadn’t spoken to his sister since before he left for LA so of course she wouldn’t know that you had for some reason agreed to join him on this little adventure. “The one girl who could handle your lifestyle, put up with everything she’s had to, and you go and do this to her.” That was exactly what Harry hadn’t wanted said to him. He already knew all of this but to hear that disappointment, the disbelief, in his own mothers voice hurt almost as much as he imagined it would. 

“She’s here in Los Angeles with me.” His mother was silent on the other end. “We broke up, yes, bu’ she knew…” He sighs. “I don’ deserve her to, bu’ she came to help me through this.” He hears his mothers answering sigh as she took this information in. 

“Wha’ are you going to do, Harry?” Her voice was full of concern now. She had gotten out her reprimanding and now it was time to make sure her son was okay. No matter how upset with him she was, he was her son and she would support him through this. 

“I don’ know, mum.” Harry had done so well at keeping the tears at bay but in that moment he broke again. The tears fell a few at a time down his stubble covered cheeks, his green eyes shining as he hung his head, resting it on his arm that was supporting his weight on the rail of the deck. 

“Oh, Harry.” She sighed, picking up on the brokenness of her son on the other end of the phone. 

“I can’ do this,” He turns and takes a few steps over to a deck chair, falling into it as he wipes at his wet cheeks and stares off across his green lawn before he closes his eyes, resting his head against he back of the chair. “Wha’ do I do, mum?” His voice was so quiet as he begged him mother to help him through this even though he knew that she couldn’t. No one could. 

“We will take this one day at a time, love, okay?” She offers, her voice calm and reassuring. “I’ll fly out there as soon as I can.” 

“No, mum, you don’t have to do tha’.” Though as soon as she had offered, Harry knew he needed her to. He needed that motherly hug, that parental guidance as he began to navigate his own way into potential parenthood. 

“Too late, I’m lookin’ at flights now.” She argued and Harry knew it was a lost cause - not that he would fight hard for her not to come anyway. “You and Y/N need someone to help you through this.” 

“Thank you.” Harry didn’t even have to say it as more than a whisper but Anne picked up on his gratitude fully anyway. 

“How is she doing? Y/N?” As Harry thought back to you, fast asleep and peaceful inside, he had to bite at his lower lip to keep the tears from falling again but when he opened his mouth to speak nothing but a jumbled mess of words came out. 

“She’s.. I.. i-i mean..” And then a small, quiet sob fell from his mouth and Anne sighed. “She’s never goin’ to forgive me, mum. I’ve lost her.” He squeezes the bridge of his nose between his fingers as he looks down at his feet, more tears leaking down his damp cheeks. He didn’t even try to wipe them away now. It would be pointless as his eyes were burning with fresh tears, surely not stopping any time soon.

“Harry, love, true love always finds a way.” 

“Mum, this isn’t some romantic movie. This isn’t going to jus’ resolve itself and everyone is goin’ to be all happy in the end. I fucked up, cheated on the most importan’ person in my life, lied to her about i’ and only told her when I had to because I found ou’ I had gotten the girl I cheated with pregnant. Would you forgive Robin if he did tha’?” Anne was silent and Harry knew it was because she knew he was right. “No matter how much her and I love each other, this is i’. She won’ forgive me and I’m tryin’ to come to terms with tha’.” But with the tears still falling down his cheeks he knew he was no where near close, if he ever really would be. 

Just then, Harry turns as the back door opens and out you step. You had woken moments before to find Harry gone but heard his voice outside and came to see where he had gone off to. You had heard what he’d just said and he watches you as you walk across the deck and comes to take a seat beside him. 

“Your mum?” You ask, gesturing towards the phone. Harry gives a nod, simply watching you, trying to see if you were going to say anything more but you don’t so he looks away and sighs. 

“I should probably go, bu’ le’ me know when you’ll be here and I’ll le’ you know about the paternity test.” He says to his mother who takes a deep breath on the other end of the line, still full of concern for her son but now that she had heard your voice on the other line knew he would talk no more about the situation. 

“I will, Harry. I love you.” Harry couldn’t help but smile. Even so much as his mothers voice made him feel better, knowing that she still loved him after he fucked up like this helped a lot. He only wished he could hear those three words from the girl sitting beside him. 

“Love you too, mum.” 

“Give Y/N my love as well. Bye now, darling.” With that, his mother ends the call and Harry sighs as he puts the phone down on the seat behind him and looks over at you, finally wiping at his damp cheeks. 

“Mum sends her love.” He mutters. You can’t help but smile, biting at your lower lip. “She’s comin’ out here. Gemma told her abou’ all of this and she said she wan’s to help up through this.” 

“That is very sweet of her.” And not shocking at all. Anne had always been the best support system you and Harry had in your relationship. She would listen to you both, helped you through tough times and much to your benefit told Harry when he was being an idiot. “You hungry?” You eventually ask after it was silent between the two of you for a few moments. 

“Always.” He answers, looking over at you as you smile a bit. He returns it, one corner of his mouth upturned in a genuine grin. 

“Let’s go out to eat. Somewhere nice where we can just enjoy some good food, strong drinks and .. nice company.” You lean over, nudging him a bit with your shoulder. 

“Sounds much bette’ than sittin’ here all nigh’ bein’ sad.” Harry responds and you agreed, which is why you had suggested it. There was only so much more silence you could take before it drove you more insane than you already felt. 

“Hear anything about going to do the test?” You wonder later in the night after a nice meal at a restaurant the two of you had gone to many times on many dates in the past. It had exactly what you wanted, good food, good drinks and great privacy. 

“He sen’ me an email while we were eatin’.” Harry responds, shrugging a bit as he drives back towards the house with you in the passenger seat beside him. “It’s tomorrow mornin’.” 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” You questioned but thinking about it, you knew why. The two of you had been having such a lovely evening. He didn’t want to ruin it by talking about anymore of this baby stuff. The two of you had shared jokes, laughs, and stories. Even 4 years together you could always find stories to tell one another and Harry was happy to see that they could still do that. Maybe there was hope after all. 

“Didn’ wanna bring it up.” He answered, focusing on the road before him. “You don’ have to go with me. It is gonna jus’ be quick, he said.” 

“Are you sure? I don’t mind.” You would prefer not to, of course, but you had come to support Harry so you would go if he needed you to. 

“I’ll be alrigh’.” He smiles over at you and reaches over, resting his large hand on your leg for a second. When he goes to pull away, you grab for his fingers, tangling yours with his. You just needed to feel his skin on yours, those long fingers between yours, their warmth, the coolness of his rings. He looks over at you, a small crease between his brows but he gives you a smile, mimicking the one you were giving him. 

“What do you they even do for this test? I mean.. what kind of test is it?” You had been wondering that ever since the lawyer had brought it up in the meeting earlier this morning. How did they go about testing if Harry’s DNA matched this baby’s when it was still in that woman’s stomach? 

“He sent me a bi’ of information on it bu’ it seems like they jus’ take my blood and her’s. The baby’s DNA is in her blood now and so they can see test it if it matches mine.” He explains. “It’s all very scientific.” You give a small laugh but were stunned by this information. You had no idea paternity could be tested like that. It was a bit fascinating, actually. 

“So you don’t want me to come hold your hand while they stick you with a needle.” You jokingly ask, pinching the back of his hand a bit. He laughs and shakes his head. He then has to release your hand as he needs two hands to pull into the driveway, pulling into the garage. 

“I think I’ll manage just fine.” You give him a grin before sliding from the vehicle and the two of you head inside. “Oh, my mum jus’ sent me her fligh’ details.” He tells you as the two of you go to collapse on the couch and he pulls out his phone. “She ge’s here tomorrow nigh’.” 

“Oh, good. It will be nice to have her here.” You sigh then, pulling your legs up to your chest and bite at your lip. 

“You alrigh’?” Harry questions, tossing his phone down beside him and leans back against the couch, looking over at you. You look over at him, resting your cheek against your knees. 

“I just feel tired, no matter how much I sleep. I feel like I just got done running a marathon. I could sleep for like a year.” Just to add on to your words, a yawn manages to escape your lips. Harry gives a small laugh, taking in how adorable you were. He resisted the urge to wrap his arms around you and cuddle you. 

“You can go take another nap. Don’ le’ me stop you.” He gestures towards the hallway but you smile and shake your head, uncurling your legs and you let out a sigh. The room fell silent then, neither of you saying anything, just staring at the wall in front of you both. 

Your heart pounded in your chest as you thought about how close he was to you, and for some reason in that moment you felt the urge to kiss him. You missed the feel of his lips on yours, the way his body surrounded you, the feel of his touch - gentle and warm. It had been so hard to be so close to him the last few days, no matter how mad at him, or how hurt and heartbroken you were, there had always been that draw towards the man beside you and it was back in full force in that moment. 

“Hey, Harry?” You end up saying, not looking over at him, continuing to keep your eyes fixed on the wall but you see out of the corner of your eye as he looks over at you. 

“Yes, love?” He questions, curious at what you were about to say. He was picking up slightly on your anxiousness and wondered what it all of a sudden could be about when things had been fine just a second beforehand. But you didn’t know what to say. You couldn’t get any words out though. So, you decide to shut off your brain from thinking logically, you instead just gave in to the feelings coursing through you and ignored the way your head was screaming at you. 

You instead listened to your heart in that moment, the part of your heart that adored the man beside you, that was completely in love with him and leaned over quickly, not giving yourself enough time to back out and pressed your lips to his. 

He gasps a bit against your lips but quickly kisses you back, his fingers coming up to tangle in your hair. You rest a hand on his cheek, the other on his chest as you lean into his chest. He turns towards you a bit more, bringing his other hand up to your waist, pulling you a bit closer. The feel of his lips on yours, the pressure they left on you, the buzzing in your chest, you felt alive for the first time in weeks and for once weren’t thinking about the entire situation. In that moment the baby didn’t matter, the cheating didn’t matter. You loved this man, you didn’t forgive him, but both of you were so emotionally unstable right now, you needed this. 

You soon pull away from him, both of you breathing deeply. Harry was feeling this pang in his chest, butterflies in his stomach, even. He was feeling the best he had in so long, he missed your touch, your kiss, so badly and here they were again, back on his. He didn’t know what that meant but as he pulled you back in for another kiss, he just didn’t care. This could be your last kiss ever and he would be okay with how perfect it was. Nothing ever gave him that happiness, that soaring feeling, that sense of completeness like your kiss. 

“I love you.” You pull back and whisper, looking into those green eyes of his that you loved so much. You just had to say it, even if it was just for one last time. 

“I love you, too, sweetheart.” Harry gave you a small smile. He knew this most likely didn’t mean the two of you were okay again, he knew you were far from that, but he wasn’t going to complain about your sudden affection towards him. He would take this over crying and arguing any day. You give him one last smile before pulling back completely. 

“I’m going to go take a bath and then probably get in bed, maybe read a little and call it an early night.” You tell him, pushing your fingers through your hair. 

“Want some company?” Harry offers, completely joking though would of course do it if you were up for it but you laugh and smack playfully at his chest. “Goodnight, love.” He reaches over, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple. 

“Good luck tomorrow morning, don’t let them hurt you too much with that needle.” You say as you stand up, making your way across the room. 

“I’ll try.” You both exchange grins before you leave the room. That night, later, as you lay awake all you kept thinking about was the feel of his lips on yours once more. And for the first time in weeks, none of all this mess mattered and you finally were able to fall asleep with a smile on your face. 

We Are Young: Chapter 10

Throne of Glass High School AU

Summary: Senior Rowan Whitethorn is new to town. It doesn’t take him long to get use to a new school, make new friends, even join the local hockey team. But it also doesn’t take him long to meet sophomore and figure skater Aelin Galathynius. And it doesn’t take him long to realize one thing; he can’t stand her.

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“Now on the ice, representing Rifthold Royals Figure Skating Club, Aelin Galathynius!” 

“It’s been quite a ride for seventeen-year-old Aelin Galathynius these past few years, and not all of it good. As most of you remember, she was slated to skate at Sectionals two years back, when she dropped out due to the sudden loss of fellow skater, Sam Cortland.” 

“But it’s amazing to finally see her competing here today, Embrys. All that good and bad, it makes you what you are in the big moments. And we’ll see if it ends up being positive here in Perranth.” 

“Niece of Worlds Champion Olron Galathynius, skating her short to The Assassin’s Tango - Aelin Galathynius.”

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My Soldier

Here we go! My first Alex imagine! Hope you like it as much I enjoyed writing it! Leave your comments behind, I’d appreciate it very much! (Picture doesn’t belong to me! I found it on google pictures!)


“(Y/N) my dear, can you hang up the laundry outside, please? I’m quite busy with preparing lunch.”

“Of course, Anne.”  The young woman responded to her future mother-in-law, making her way towards the bathroom. She took a hold of the laundry basket where the freshly washed laundry was neatly folded and put in, then carrying it to the backyard. The weather was beautiful, a perfect summer day and the sun was shining warmly on the sky, not even a single cloud was to be seen.  (Y/N) loved days like this. It changed her mood to a better one. And now that war had taken place, she needed a little distraction even more.

She walked through a sea of different flowers, feeling them brushing her uncovered legs and the touch left a comfortable sensation behind. When she arrived to the hanger, she placed the basket to the ground, bent down and grabbed the first piece of clothes and hung them up, attaching it with two clothes pegs. As she continued doing her task, her mind easily drifted to the young man that she loved with all her heart.

It was not a long time ago that he left off for war but for (Y/N) it felt like a whole eternity. Living without him for a special amount of time was a deep agony. She missed him being around her. His smile, his eyes, his hugs and even his terrible jokes. When Alex told her and his family that he was going to fight against the Germans, it crushed (Y/N)’s heart. She knew letting him go was a huge risk, he might never come back to her, safe and sound. And they were very close to marrying each other. (Y/N) had been so excited to finally settling down with him, living a live as a married couple. But Alex was needed, she was aware of it, every young man in the village they’d been living in was needed there to help their French brothers. And (Y/N) could do nothing against it. She knew pretty damn well that if Alex wouldn’t leave, people would talk about them behind their backs, even shaming them that their children had to fight but Alex was not.

Anne took the news for more badly than (Y/N). She fainted right after Alex made the announcement and when she woke up again, it took all of their strength to calm her down. (Y/N) couldn’t blame her for it, she raised her son after all and if (Y/N) was a mother, she would have probably reacted the same way. She promised Alex that she would stay with his family as long as she could to take care of them and support them, but he had to promise her that he would come home back to her.

“You have to.” She forced out crying, clinging onto his body. “You have to come back to me. Otherwise I wouldn’t know how to live without you.” He kissed her deeply as a promise for his return.

“I’ll see you hopefully soon.” He told her before he went out of the house.

Not a long time ago she had received his last letter. He told her that he was alright and a heavy stone fell from her heart. He described about the hard times he went through and how many times he had faced death but still was alive. “For you.” He wrote. “I’m alive for you, my love.”

(Y/N) couldn’t remember how many times she read all of his letters with tears in her eyes. Reading his own words felt like he was still there with her, whispering them into her ear. This was the only way she could calm down for a while. Plenty of times she had raised her hands up to the sky, praying to god that he would send Alex back to her. She knew Alex was strong and willing to fight. He had the heart of a lion.

She had read in the newspaper that three hundred thousand soldiers were saved and made their way home to their families. If Alex was among them, she couldn’t know. They had fortunately not received any bad message of his death. So she hoped whole-heartedly that he was in one of those trains that carried him back to her.

(Y/N) pitied the fallen soldiers. Their families were waiting for them like she did, but the only thing they would be confronted with would be an announcement that their son couldn’t make it. She respected their braveness, and she would always keep them in her prayers.

While (Y/N) was still doing her task and being deep in thoughts, a young soldier was sneaking his way toward her, paying attention to not making any sounds that would reveal his position. He held a large bouquet of her favorite flowers in his hands. Seeing her again in real after countless nights of dreaming about her made his heart jump in his chest and he was more in love with her than ever. The last steps were always the agonizing ones but he also crossed this obstacle.

(Y/N) suddenly felt a pair of hands covering her eyes, preventing her from doing her work.

“What the hell?” She exclaimed, as she saw nothing but darkness, her body stiffening immediately from the touch.  “Who in god’s name is that?”

“You can guess three times.” She heard someone whisper into her ear delicately. A wave of different emotions was overwhelming every part, every cell and every fiber of her body. Happiness, excitement, love, relief. Everything at once. She knew exactly who was right behind her.

“A-Alex?” She whimpered, tears flooding down her cheeks. The hands released her eyes and she was able to turn around. And as she looked into two familiar green eyes that she longed to see so terribly, she could finally breathe again.

“Oh my goodness!” She gasped, covering her mouth with both hands. Heavy sobs left her mouth and before the young man in front of him could respond, she threw herself at him, crying on his shoulder. Alex wrapped his arms around her tiny frame, pulling her towards him. Having her in arms again after all the horror he went through was an indescribable feeling. Both clung onto each other like their lives depended on the other one. Once (Y/N) back away slightly, she took his handsome face between her hands.

“You came back. You really came back. Dear god, I can’t believe it!” She peppered every centimeter of his face with affectionate kisses before she captured her lips with his. “Oh my god! Thank you! Thank you, thank you, thank you! Thank you so so much!” She hugged him again tightly.

“Love, easy!” Alex laughed. “Let me breathe.”

“I’ve been worried sick about you.” (Y/N) admitted, easing her grab on him. “You didn’t send any letters anymore and I thought I lost you. Oh my god!”

“It’s over now, darling. I’m here. I’m back and I’m not planning on leaving any time soon.” He kissed her lightly. “I kept my promise, didn’t I?” He handed her over the bouquet of flowers which created a smile on (Y/N)’s lips.

“I love you, Alex. So much.”

“I love you too, beautiful.” He said. “Where is mother? I missed her terribly.”

“She’s inside, preparing lunch. Jesus, she will be out of her shoes when she sees you again.” She intertwined their fingers and dragged him into the house. “Come on, let’s go surprise her. She’ll love this one.”

When they entered the house, (Y/N) called after her second mother. “Anne? Are you still in the kitchen?”

“Yes, love! Lunch is almost ready. If you could help me laying the table that would be very lovely, my dear.”  

Alex’ eyes shone brightly as he heard the sound of his mother’s voice again. It was not only (Y/N)’s but her voice in his head that encouraged him during the battles. He indicated (Y/N) to be quiet whereas she nodded with her head.

He slowly stepped into the kitchen where his lovely mother was doing the last preparations for the meal. Anne hadn’t noticed him yet. She was quite busy with running back and forth, looking for spices for the salad.

“What smells so good in here?” He asked innocently, making his mother freeze in her position. She thought first that she misheard his voice but when she looked up to the door where the young man stood, she couldn’t believe what she saw. Her whole body began to tremble.

“Jesus Christ!” Anne exclaimed, running towards her son. “My boy, my baby!” She cried.

“Hello, mother.” Alex mumbled, hugging her and kissing her head gently.

“Oh my baby boy, you’re here! Are you okay? Are you hurt?” She was looking for any bruises on his skin.

“Mum, I’m fine, don’t you worry.”

“Alex.” The older woman sighed. “I missed you so much, my son.”

“I missed you, too mother.”

(Y/N) was gazing at this mother-son moment with new tears in her eyes and a smile on her lips.

“You won’t leave again, will you? You’ll stay here?” Anne asked worried.

“No mum, I’ll stay here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Anne sighed in relief and led her hands to her face to wipe away all the tears that ran down her cheeks.

“Oh my, you’re surely hungry, aren’t you? Where is (Y/N)? (Y/N)?! “ She looked at her.

“Yes?” She asked.

“The table. The table is waiting for you!”

“Your wish is my command , madam!” She saluted with a laugh and with Alex she prepared the dining table where afterwards they had a very nice time together.

***

She felt him stir again in his sleep. This happened very often since he came back home. Every night he would fidget back and forth in his position, crying out for help because he was tormented by nightmares. (Y/N) knew that war had changed him a lot no matter how much he tried to cover it. Nothing would be the same anymore. His body twitched at every tiny little sound but he tried to pretend like it wouldn’t bother him. He tried to be the man that he was before he left, but (Y/N) knew by heart that this man was not there anymore. She was willing to help him. To help him fight against the bad memories that he made.

She supported herself on her elbows, glancing at Alex. Turning on the night lamp beside her, she noticed that his whole body was covered with sweat.

“No, don’t shoot… Please…” She heard him whimpering in his sleep. “Please, don’t shoot… no.. no..” His expression showed a hint of distress and fear. “Help… help me… please…”

“Alex?” (Y/N) shook his shoulder slightly to wake him up, to save him from this agony. “Alex, darling wake up.”

“Help…Help… please help me…” Alex kept whining over and over again.

Seeing him in a state like this, all vulnerable and terrified, tore her heart apart. She couldn’t bear to see him hurt and in pain.

“Wake up, Alex. It’s only a dream. Wake up.” She shook much harder and harsher, causing him to finally open his eyes. Alex panted heavily, looking at her with fright.

“(Y/N)?” His chest lifted and fell heavily, while he tried to regain his breath.

“It’s okay, my dear.” She brought him to an embrace. “It was only a nightmare. You’re safe, my love. You’re safe.” She ran her fingers through his hair, a gesture that would calm him down. “It’s okay, Alex. Everything is fine. You’re home. You’re safe.”

“I thought I was back there. I really thought I was going to die.” He sniffled.

“No, darling. Look at me.” She laid her hands on his cheeks. “Everything is okay, Alex. You’re home, not back there. You’re home with me, your mother and your father.”

Her words made him calm down for a little bit. His tensed body relaxed.

“You made it alive out there, my hero.” (Y/N) said.

“I’m not a hero.” Alex mumbled.

“Yes, you are. You did everything that you could to defeat the enemy Alex. You kept fighting for justice and safety. I really desire you bravery and your strength , my dear. You faced death so many times but yet you’re alive. You never gave up. You just went on and on. And I don’t know anyone who is as selfless and willing as you are. I admire you.”

She offered him a soothing smile.

“You may not have won this war, but you gave everything that you have, my love. War does not always mean winning but also losing. One side always loses. But I’m sure the Germans soon will be defeated and the deaths of the fallen ones will be revenged.”

She put kiss on his temple.

“You’re going to heal, my love. I promise. You may not forget what you went through and I don’t expect you to do so but you will be better after a time. Not today, not tomorrow and the day after. But you will heal. And until then I’m going to support you, hold you, trying to do everything you want me to.”

Alex nodded his head, feeling far more better from the words that she spoke.

“We’re going to beat every nightmare that you have. I’m always there, lying next to you and keeping you safe.”

“I love you, (Y/N). I can’t wait to marry you.”

“I love you too and I can’t wait to marry you.” She responded. In a few weeks, they would be bonded forever and both of them were looking forward to it. With (Y/N) on his side, Alex knew that he was complete. She was his life safer. His light that guided him through darkness.

They laid down again, talking about their wedding, future children and everything that their heart desired until they fell to a deep slumber. With (Y/N) in his arms, Alex was finally at peace.

Behave - Bruce Wayne x Amazon!Reader

Summary : You’re Diana Prince’s, aka Wonder Woman, little sister…And you’ve always been the rebel amongst the amazons, the black sheep. You left long ago, and got hitch with the famous Bruce Wayne, when a problem  brings you back to your home island of Themyscira.

Warning for language and mention of NSFW stuffs.

My masterlist blog : https://ella-ravenwood-archives.tumblr.com

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-(Y/N), are you going to behave ? 

It’s always the same question. Over and over again. Yeah ok, true, you weren’t the calmest kid and your curiosity often lead to a lot of troubles but…Diana was kinda the same and no one ever told her to “behave”. 

Even now, as you were a grown ass woman, it was this good old question, that you just couldn’t stand anymore. It was moments like this, that made you glad you left all those years ago. 

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

Being Diana little sister wasn’t easy. It wasn’t easy at all. When you were born, much in the same way than her, molded in clay and brought to life by Zeus, your big sister was already a hero. 

She was already adulated by all on Themyscira island. Everyone always told you : “You see Diana ? Be like Diana”…And in a sense, you became a bit like her. 

Only, when the other amazons told you to take Diana as an example, they were talking about how well she fought, about her principles and other things like that ! Not her…stubbornness and strong will. 

Ultimately, being strong willed was a good thing but…Well, the only thing you took after your sister is the way she has, sometimes, that “I do whatever I want” kind of persona. But maybe a bit to much to the extreme. 

Because as a child, Diana listened to your mother, your aunt (that you unfortunately never met but heard a lot about), and other amazons while you ? You, you had trouble with authorities. 

You couldn’t stand people ordering you around. You hated when someone said you couldn’t do something…But the worst was that their explanation as to why you had to do things they said were stupid. 

“Do as I said because I’m an adult and I know better”, who decided of that ? “Don’t do that, we’ll explain to you later why you can’t do it”, that was so dumb ! Instead of explaining to you why you couldn’t do things, they’d just expect you to follow their order and…well, that wasn’t your nature. 

Besides, it was almost unbearable to always be compared to Diana. To always hear that she was better than you because of this, or because of that…Fortunately, you didn’t grew to resent her, but you did start to resent your entire people. 

None of them understood you. Not even your mother. 

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