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agenzproject · 3 years

Text

Love above all

It’s been years. Years since I last felt the comfort in her texts.

I thought I could move on. How foolish I was. I find myself chuckling as I recall old me bravely telling her goodbye.

I stare out the window of the car as the quiet uber driver takes me to the hotel I will be staying in. London is exactly as I expected it to be. Gloomy, Grey and rainy.

Staring at the raindrops falling on the window, my mind starts chasing a train of thought. If there’s anything that movies have taught me, it’s that the heart must always be followed. And my heart, it yearns for her.

I haven’t heard from her since I turned sixteen, which was six years ago. I wonder if she still remembers me. I am sure she does not. Yet, I must satisfy this desire within the muscle that dominates my nerves.

We met through text, on a BTS fan account.

I didn’t even know her real name yet, ‘lover’ was enough to know her. We never shared pictures, yet I saw her in my dreams. I had never heard her voice yet; her words were enough to soothe me. I didn’t even know if she was a girl, yet I imagined being with her forever. I didn’t even know if she was real, yet I led myself to find comfort in my moments shared with her.

Was I chasing a dream, or was I going to reunite with the love of my life?

The sudden halt of the uber pulls me out of my thoughts and I look over to see that we have parked in front of the hotel I have a room reserved in.

I smile and thank the driver, to which he responds with an earnest nod. He is a nice man. As I step out, he calls out to me.

“You sure you don’t need an umbrella?”

I look up to see the sky painted Grey, my favorite colour. A smile takes its place on my face and I shake my head. “No, sir, I don’t think that will be necessary. Thank you for offering.”

He nods once again and waits for me to reach the Valet standing at the front door before he drives away.

The valet, a young man in his twenties with blonde hair and brown eyes, bends down in a curt bow upon my arrival and I nod at him.

As I’m about to enter through the sliding doors, I hear yelling and turn to see a man, who I assume is in his thirties, shouting at a girl who is no less than ten for running out onto the road and playing in the rain with her favourite clothes on.

The exchange warms my heart as I watch the girl nod and the father then lead her over to another building, soft yet angry as he does so. It reminds me of my own father. A strong-willed man with a firm hand on things. And it also reminds me of why I have to be in London like this in the first place.

I sigh at the thought, recalling all those nights he yelled at me.

I walk over to the receptionist and smile at the young-looking woman. She offers me a well-practiced smile in return. “How may I help you, miss?”

“I made a reservation under the name Aqsa Malik.” I tell her.

She nods and after seeing proof of my identity, hands me the key to my room on the second floor.

I leave for the elevator after thanking her but before I press the button, I notice two young ladies sitting in the lounge, close to each other. They clearly aren’t English and judging by the curly hair and Arabic written on the bags, I would assume they are from North Africa.

I feel a smile tugging at my lips as I press the elevator button after noticing the two marital silver bands on their ring fingers.

Inside the elevator, I inhale and exhale deeply, happy for those two women, who seemed only a tad bit older than me.

It is a good time to be homosexual. I hope that this works out for me too. I hope that the girl I came to see resonates with me. I hope she agrees that now is the right time. Because six years ago, if you were born a Muslim female, being lesbian always ended in tragedy.

I was hoping this would be an exception as I entered my three-star hotel room, heading straight for the bed, ready for some rest.

Before I slip into my bed-sheets for some sleep, I play a few songs that remind me of her.

Blue and Grey by V is what encouraged me to confess to her.

Rewrite the Stars from the musical, The Greatest Showman, was the song we listened to think of each other.

Talking to the Moon by Bruno Mars was what made me cry every night after we cut communication.

These songs lull me into a peaceful sleep as the soft rain keeps patting my window, giving the room a sense of coolness.

He yelled at me. He told me to forget her.

I wished I had just turned the tab off when my father got home, pretending as if nothing had ever happened. But I didn’t, and he ended up reading all of my texts with her, with a long lecture following afterwards.

Being a Muslim with an ex-girlfriend isn’t easy, especially when you’re just fifteen.

“You’re too young to even think about these things!” He yelled. “How can you determine your sexuality at just fifteen! Straight is the natural orientation of a person, drop this lesbian bullshit!”

I hadn’t cried. I didn’t say anything in response. It would have been of no use. Rewa had already broken up with me, albeit she had said she would still like for us to be friends.

I had apologized to my father a few days later and snuck online through another device, from where I was caught later on as well, all of this happening in a span of just two months.

Three months later, I had a friend contact Rewa’s social media and tell her I’m okay.

We both finally had the chance to talk again over Wattpad.

I smiled, satisfied as I texted her a detailed message on how I was planning to meet her, asking her as much details as the online relationship would allow me to.

I promised her that till the day we met, I would sing Blue and Grey every night the moon was visible in the sky. And I did just that.

But then a text appeared on my screen once she had received the message.

‘Aqsa, I think we should break up.’

Confusion filled my insides. Weren’t we already broken up? If she didn’t want to be in a relationship with me, why would she lead me on and sweet talk me like that so much?

I was furious. For a few moments, I had no idea what to say to her.

Then, I did.

‘Wait, aren’t we already broken up?

Did you seriously forget that you broke up with me?

Did you really sweet talk me all that much just to make me go through the worst moment of my life a second time?

Now I know what my dad feels like every time I go up to him with a half-assed apology with no intention of listening to him a second time.

Unless you have anything important to say,

Goodbye, Rewa.’

And that was the last thing I ever said to her. She didn’t answer and I deleted our chats, promising myself to never look back. Oh, how bad I am at sticking to promises.

Maybe I should’ve gone easier on her. She was just thirteen, after all.

I haven’t sung Blue and Grey to the moon since.

The words come out of my mouth as I stare at the moon, having woken up from my sleep at 3 a.m. My voice comes out deep and heavy, my heart aching with every worse.

Where’s my angel?

I’m sick and tired of everything,

Someone come and save myself,

‘Cuz I am feeling blue and Grey,

Everywhere I go, everything I see,

Can you look at me ‘cause I am blue and Grey?

Every time I smile, Every time I cry,

Can you look at me ‘cause I am blue and Grey?

Oh, I just wanna be happier,

Baby don’t you let me go,

I feel tired in the winter sky,

I just wanna feel stronger

The tears slip down my cheeks without warning as I sit at the chair, huddling into myself further.

I hope she remembers me when I pay her a surprise visit in the morning.

Anxiety is getting the best of me as I stand in front of her college dorm room. Should I knock?

What if her roommate thinks I’m weird? What if Rewa reports me to security? What if she hates me? What if she wants to have nothing to do with me?

I try walking away but then tell myself that I didn’t come all the way from Pakistan just to run away when I am right at her doorstep. I miss her, and whether she does or not, doesn’t matter. I have to see her.

I knock at the door, swallowing down my fear as a shudder runs through my body.

I have to do this. There is no turning back now.

The door opens. A tall, dark skinned, African woman, looks down at me.

It is her.

My breath gets caught in my throat as I stare at her in awe.

It has to be her. Dark skin, curly black hair tied in a pony above her head, and about six feet tall. It is, without a doubt, Olanrewaju, my ex-girlfriend.

Holy shit.

I am not prepared for this.

“Um, can I help you?” She asks, concerned. Her voice is deep, yet smooth as she speaks in a British accent.

I just offer a weak nod, still taking her appearance in for the first time. I try to say hi but it just comes out as a guttural croak. Embarrassing.

“Um, are you okay?” She touches my shoulder. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you around before. What’s your name?”

Upon her touching my shoulder, my body tenses tenfold. She quickly retreats upon noticing my panicked expression.

“I’ll let you inside and give you a glass of water.” She takes a hold of my forearm, and gently walks me into her dorm.

I don’t register my surroundings as I continue to stare at her strong and bold figure. This is the love of my life and she doesn’t even know it.

She sits me down on what I assume is her bed as she walks over to the jug of water on the table. Thankfully, I caught her alone. Roommate isn’t home.

Rewa presses a full glass of water up to my lips and makes sure it all goes down, allowing me to inhale deep breaths, trying to regain my posture.

It takes a few minutes, but I get better.

I nod at her, offering a small smile.

She smiles back. “Now, tell me, what’s your name?”

I stare at her, my gaze piercing hers. “Aqsa.”

There is a flash of something in her eyes that I hope is familiarity and I think I am right when she takes a double take. “What?”

“Aqsa.” I repeat, as if I have no idea what history she might have with that name. “Why?”

She frowns in confusion, her eyes scanning my entire figure before she shakes her head. “Oh, uh, nothing.”

I nod.

“Where’re you from?” She asks. It’s no secret that she’s trying to figure out if I am the Aqsa she knew all those years ago.

“Pakistan.” I tell her.

Her frown deepens. “Where did you grow up?”

I have decided that I’m going to let her figure it out on her own and act as if I’ve never met her. “Why do you ask?”

She shakes her head a bit, then raises her eyebrows. “Middle East?”

She remembers. I nod.

Her breath hitches just a little and she visibly gulps, studying my features carefully.

“Do I know you?” She asks, her voice small and doubtful.

I stare into her big eyes and nod.

She exhales and looks away, leaning back in the chair next to the bed. She folds her arms across her chest, pondering the situation, her expression unreadable. But the tension in her posture can be sensed without having to try twice. “What are you doing here?”

“I told you I’d find my way to you, didn’t I?” I tilt my head, a soft smile on my face.

She clenches her jaw and I can feel the heavy emotion in the atmosphere that replaces her prior concern. “You also said goodbye.” Her voice is heavy.

I pursue my lips in a thin line and nod. “That wasn’t a promise. I promised that I would come to you when I could, though.”

“How did you find me?” Her voice is a bit steady, yet forceful.

I smile. “You told me you lived in London. I have connections around the place. I have the internet. I know you wanted to study mechanical engineering so searching in all the good colleges amongst the mechanical engineering students was the best way to go about it.”

She is looking at me now, her dark chocolate eyes searching my face for something. “You remember?” Her voice cracks as the words leave her mouth.

I nod, trying my best to not get teary-eyed five minutes into our reunion.

Rewa clears her throat and tries to regain her steady posture. “And what about you? What are you doing?”

Ah, small talk. I allow myself to relax. “I’m studying medicine. I’m in my third year. Also, I’m writing.”

She nods and points at something behind me. I turn around to see a small wooden shelf nailed to the wall above her bed, all of my books resting on top of it.

A small smile appears on my face and my jaw stings, an indicator that I am about to cry. “That’s all of them.”

“I had two since when you first wrote them four years ago and then I just gave up, trying to forget you.” She tells me. “But then Noah noticed them and bought more books as gifts.”

“Noah?” I turn to look at her, frowning a bit in confusion.

She sighs and sits back once again. “He thought that maybe I like the writer, so got all the books he could find written by her.”

I nod, that not being what I wanted for the answer. “Who’s Noah?”

Rewa sighs again. “Forget him. He’s unimportant.”

I clutch the glass in my hands tighter, my desire for knowing who Noah was increasing. I am a curious person. I try to shrug it off by distracting myself with something else.

“Where’s your roommate?” I ask.

She looks to the side to see an empty bed. “Semester just started, so she’s out with her friends.”

“You got any?”

Rewa nods. “One is at home due to an emergency and another is probably at her job right now.”

“Do you have a job?”

She shakes her head. “My parents are still paying for me, it’s all going smoothly. They say I have to start paying my own fees when third year starts.”

I nod. That sounds reasonable.

“They’re divorced, right?” I remember she mentioned it.

She nods and there’s an emotion on her face I have a little trouble trying to understand. She seems satisfied, yet in pain, as if she wished I didn’t remind her of her parents. But on the other hand, she seems happy that I cared enough to remember.

“How’s your sister?” I ask, recalling that she mentioned having a younger sister.

Rewa’s expression eases a little as she thinks of her sister. “She’s doing great. Last year of high school then college.”

“That’s good.” I nod.

The door to the room opens and we both turn to see a girl about Rewa’s age standing there, studying me with her critical green eyes, attempting to determine who I am. Her white skin is covered in patches of brown, as if she was playing in the mud.

Once she’s established that she doesn’t know me, she turns to Rewa for an explanation. “Ju?” Her voice is an indicator to the fact that she’s sensed something is wrong.

Rewa sighs. “An old friend.” Then she addresses me. “Aqsa, this is my roommate, Jessica.”

Jessica advances towards me in a friendly manner, extending her hand out for me to shake, her thin lips forming a warm smile. “Nice to meet you. You can call me Jess.” She has a Scottish accent.

I smile back and shake her hand, nodding. “Nice to meet you too, Jess.”

She nods, her curly, red hair bobbing as she does so. “Where’re you from?” She lets my hand go.

“Pakistan.” I answer. “You?”

“Scotland.” She laughs. “Anyways, I have to hit the shower. See you later.”

I nod. “See you.”

Once Jessica is gone, I turn back to Rewa. “Wanna go out for a drive?”

“You have a car?”

“I rented it.”

She seems to ponder over the offer for a bit, as if carefully weighing the pros and cons of going on a ride with her ex. Finally, she nods. “I don’t see why I can’t go.”

The walk towards the rented Honda is quiet as Rewa seems to be deep in thought while I take in my surroundings, not feeling too nervous to notice them anymore. It’s still cloudy outside, but I think it won’t rain till late in the evening.

I get into the car parked outside the campus and Rewa hesitates once she’s opened the door to the passenger seat. She bows down and looks at me. “Where are we going?”

“We’re circling the next five blocks until we get tired.” I tell her.

She whips out her phone and I think she texts somebody that. A faint smile appears on my face. This is my Rewa. Wary of everybody, no matter how trustworthy they may seem.

She then enters the car and closes the door, fastening her seatbelt.

I start the car and smile at her. “You really think a bestselling author would try to kidnap you?”

She gives me a sheepish smile, a little pink creeping up her cheeks. “You only have one bestseller and I don’t want to take any chances.”

I nod, turning forwards, driving onto the road. “You’d probably win in a fight against me anyway.”

At that, she laughs and that is the most beautiful sound I have ever heard in my life. More beautiful than a waterfall splashing into a river below it. I want to be the one who keeps her laughing like that all the time.

Her laugh dies down after some time and we fall quiet.

“Do you still listen to K-pop?” I ask her, breaking the silence.

“Sometimes.”

“BTS?”

“Yeah. They disbanded though.”

“I know that.” I nod. “Can I play a song?”

“Which one?”

“I don’t know…” I think for a minute, observing the wet streets of London. “Spring day?”

She seems to ponder over it too before agreeing to play Spring day. Once the music plays in the car, something… settles within me. I feel… calm. I don’t know if it’s because of the song or because I’m finally meeting Rewa, but I enjoy this feeling.

The song ends in a few minutes and it’s quiet again. But this time, it’s welcome. It’s not awkward, it feels good.

“Can we be friends again?” I ask all of a sudden.

She doesn’t respond for at least two minutes before nodding. “Wont your dad find out?”

“He doesn’t need to know it’s you.” I smile. “Besides, I’ll be independent in two years and have a job, so no worries.”

“Wont he get you married after that?” She asks.

Why does she care about that? I suggested being friends. Maybe… she’s hoping we can be more? My stomach does a flip at that exciting thought.

“I’ll get out of there.” I tell her. “Do a job here, be free of their restricting opinions.”

She doesn’t respond.

“Will you give me another chance?” In the silence, I ask her the question I have been aching to ask for a long time.

“At dating?” She gets right down to the point.

I shrug. “If you want to. I just want to be a part of your life again.”

“So, it doesn’t matter how?” She asks.

I draw in a deep breath. “I just want to make you happy. I still love you. You can decide how I make you happy. I can be whatever you want me to be. My love for you exists beyond any label this world could slap on us.”

There’s silence again. Then she speaks up. “You’re still the same.”

I blink, eyes still on the road. “What?”

“Before, when we used to text,” She says. “You’d always say something that would fluster me so much. You’re still the same.”

At that, I smile, recalling all the many times I would say something cheesy and make her feel butterflies in her stomach. “Glad to know.”

She gives a soft chuckle in response. “I think we can start off fresh, with you as my friend. I still need time getting over Noah, so-“

“Noah was your date?”

“Yeah.” Her voice is quiet.

“What happened?” I ask, concerned. I swear if this Noah hurt her, I might just have to put ‘become a hitwoman’ on my bucket list, not that I haven’t already considered that.

She lets out a puff of breath, hugging herself. “I don’t know, we both wanted very different things from life. He was too serious about it and I wanted to focus on my future.”

“Oh.” That is all I can say. Noah hadn’t hurt her so there was no reason to be mad. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really.”

“So, we can be friends?” I smile.

“Of course.”

I feel all giddy on the inside.

I look to my side and smile at her, slowing the car down. She smiles back, both of us sharing eye contact for a swift moment before I turn back to the road.

I go back to the radio on the car and play Seesaw by Suga, a song and artist we both adore to pieces.

And at that moment, as Suga’s soothing voice instills a sense of safety and Rewa at my side awakes a sense of assurance, I feel complete.

Who knows?

Maybe I can make her love me again, we can resume our relationship and maybe even get married.

Live a happy life.

Six years later, standing at the altar, Blue and Grey playing in the background, as I hold Rewa’s hands, I realize just how right I was.

“I love you, Aqsa.”

“I love you so, my love.”

“I declare you married! You may kiss!”

And we do. A beautiful, passionate kiss, marking the beginning of our life together.

Some tales do have happy endings.

A Story by Riley Gray

#submission #short story #a gen z project #1k to 5k

2 notes · View notes

unohanadaydreams · 4 years

Note

Can you do 💍 and 💦 with Unohana and a fem!partner please!

YETH!! Unohana, ma’am pls let us adoring fans be carried away in your strong embrace. I was thirsting so hard that this is almost 2k words, so to everyone in lesbian with miss Unohana: come get your mf JUICE.

Also forgive me for using a non-manga cap, but google said only blood thirsty unohana and i cried.

RETSU UNOHANA + Arranged Marriage AU

“Will you marry me, despite the thorns?”

Proposal:

When Yamamoto summons her to the 1st division, she assumes the purpose is clerical error. On his part--of course. Her underlings know far better than to hand in faulty reports. She’s relaxed and unassuming in the soft morning light, not yet brought rigid by disrespectful patients and the unskilled hands of Academy interns. Yamamoto takes his time getting to the point and comments on the good old days--the uncertain future--the pretty bird song outside the window. They sip at delicate white tea, steeped perfectly, at ease.

Only once she’s thanked Yamamoto for the relaxing chat does he lean forward with a heavy sigh and spill the bitter truth of the visit. Unohana knew his plan to arrange the marriages of eligible captains—to garner a secure future with stronger children—but she had thought herself getting entangled in such a plot unthinkable. The strength he sought could not be manufactured. Only the most prejudiced adversity churned out the strength of Hell itself. The monster that wore her skin in youth could not be born in comfort and raised by loving parents.

Nonetheless, he persisted. Yamamoto raised his voice in that insufferable tone that spoke of ‘noble causes’ and the ‘good of everything’ and demanded her cooperation. Unohana gave him a wonderful back and forth—made him endure the arguments of every devil’s advocate she could summon. Backing down without an enjoyable fight (or performance) was beyond her. The mix of free flowing tea and frustration in Yamamoto’s voice made for a wonderful morning spar.

But all swords must be drawn, eventually. After all, Unohana had chosen this as her lot in life. She was the captain of the 4th division and would aid the Gotei 13 to the best of her ability, for as long as she was able. Her only terms of surrender were: that she be able to propose and that she marry a woman. Not that Yamamoto could force her to marry a man on his best day.

Explaining the exact process of artificial insemination--to a man so entrenched in tradition there was a monthly fight between he and the other captains over the banning of soul phones—was enough for Unohana to leave smiling despite the bitter news.

Unohana has never considered herself a romantic. Considering her peers—like Jushiro and Shunsui--, she might be considered hostile to the idea of relationships. Avoiding romantic entanglements had been self preservation when she first joined the 4th division. Plants don’t properly grow when forced to share space.

She was thankful for her conviction to wait, too. Unohana has planted long, lush roots over the years. Marriage might be nice at this point. Someone to share her thoughts and frustrations with--someone to kiss in the mornings and hold at night--someone to grow in love with. The thought of growing roots with someone was only…somewhat daunting.

The manila folder sat on her desk the next day contains only sparse details. A glossy photo of you, draped in the beautiful silks of an expensive kimono, is on top. She stares at it for some time, trying in vain to parse how well you’ll fit into her life purely from the superficial, before being rushed to the side of a shinigami lucky they weren’t torn completely in half by a hollow.

It’s after the sun has set that she finds time for the singular page of written information in your ‘file’. There’s more sentences dedicated to the accomplishments and pedigree of your noble family than your self. But she takes earnest note of your listed hobbies and passions, even if they are sanitized into one unfeeling list, and smiles at what you both have in common.

The proposal is awkward, considering it’s also your first meeting. A calm face and gentle voice can only ease someone so much when their entire life is in upheaval and Unohana isn’t sure for who’s benefit she’s being purposefully placid for. She suggests a short walk, away from the shinigami chaperones that accompanied you. The smile she gives them when they start to follow churns your stomach. But she asks easy questions and you give expected answers and she is perfectly wane while addressing you.

When you start to smile back, your shoulders no longer up to your ears, Unohana invites you inside. The room she escorts you to is in full bloom. Rows of vivid flowers are paired in well-made arrangements behind a pile of haphazard lain blooms on towels. Two cushions sit with empty vases prepared, between the piles. You can only stare--all of this for you?

Her smile is serene when she directs it toward you. “I find occupied hands do well to ease tensions.” With an easy grace, she gestures to a cushion and does not move to sit until you’ve taken the wordless invitation.

Your tensions rise at the change of pace, despite her words. You feel confused and your sentences are stilted as you stumble over them. You know how Unohana came to sit here, in the Gotei 13—any good noble knows the pedigree of important figures. This—casually arranging flowers--was not what you had expected. All day, you had been prepared for a thin veil of manners concealing a fierce and unknowable menace.

Unohana stops your hand from falling victim to a thorny rose with a gentle hold of your wrist. You start, wrestled from your thoughts by the touch. Eyes wide, mouth gaping, you watch her don thick gloves and de-thorn the stem with practiced sweeps of a pairing knife.

The pale yellow rose seems like a peace offering when she hands it back to you, “you’re nervous.” Flushed, you apologize. She hums, continuing as if you hadn’t, “It was careless of me to leave the thorns.” You settle the rose into your arrangement and your nerves slowly settle with it.

It’s there, trading bits of conversation and odd silence, that she asks. As though she even needs to. “Will you marry me, despite the thorns?” There’s no expensive ring or desperate declaration of love. Just a vase of flowers, beautiful in its riot of colors, that she turns for you--so you may see its best side. Remembering her diligence in protecting you, you say yes.

Wedding Night:

You’ve heard whispers of what misfortune can take place in a marriage bed. Despite the oddity of your marriage, you still feel the tickle of fear slide down your back upon entering Unohana’s bedroom—well, your bedroom. She wears a beautiful kimono, like you, but her hair is free and her face is bare beyond a kiss of eye shadow and blush. The gruesome scar trailing the top of her kimono had taken much of your attention during the ceremony. Now, your eyes are transfixed on the large bed.

“On the chair there,” Unohana pointed toward a simple wooden chair to your right, “put that on, if you will. The bathroom’s to your left.” Nodding, you unfolded the black clothes on the seat of the chair to find…a shinigami uniform. You turned to ask why, only to find the room empty.

The more you were around Unohana, the more you realized how much of a captain she was. Never really asking questions so much as telling and always assuming it would be done. Nonetheless, you donned the uniform, taking off your wedding kimono with some regret—it really was a gorgeous creation of silks and embroidery. You assumed the bathroom was for your hair and make up to be taken down and off. It felt odd being bereft of all your wedding trappings when finished. Hours of preparation undone so quickly, with so little fanfare.

You didn’t have time to analyze how it all made you feel. Unohana was in the room again, when you shuffled out of the bathroom. “Come this way,” she smiled. “Unless you’re ready to sleep?” Did she mean sleep or…? Actually. You didn’t want to find out yet. “Where are we going?” “My dojo.”

The room was smaller than you expected. And barren, compared to the image you’d conjured in your mind—a few cushions, a thick mat on the far side, and some wooden swords resting against a wall were what greeted you. The walls were decidedly barren of wicked, complicated weaponry. Unohana went for the wooden swords. “I prefer katas over meditation before bed, nowadays.”

You’d never done a kata. You said as much. The sparkle of mischief in Unohana’s eyes ensnared you--enough to agree when she offered a lesson.

First, you observed. Her body moved slow, focused. She was beautiful to behold and your eyes danced from place to place, observing the small ways her graces manifested as she commanded her body from form to form.

“There,” she said. “A simple set to start. Come here.”

Leaving the cushion on shaky knees, you took the wooden sword she offered. The first two stances weren’t hard to find, but to keep. Your arms were wobbling as you searched for the third stance. Unohana chided you, like she’d seen the mistake a thousand times, and slid behind you, her front pressing to your back until you felt molded into the correct position. Even her arms, her hands, seemed a second skin over yours.

You looked back and instantly regretted it. Her face was inches away. Flushed, you couldn’t help but think how scandalous this all felt. The intimacy of her strong form guiding yours into the fourth stance and the feeling of her muscles flexed, keeping you from collapse dizzied your thoughts. “Is this our wedding night?”

“It is,” her voice was steady--frustratingly unaffected. “B-but. Is that allowed,” you whispered. Her face was so, so close. “We make the rules. It’s our marriage.”

The idea of an unconsummated marriage filled you with dread. You had no desire to fulfill your wifely duties tonight, but your family had always emphasized its importance. Spluttering just that—the importance of consummation—you insisted on…well, something!

“You’re sure?” It was her first real question. Too overwhelmed by the press of her body to resist, you said yes. With a clatter, the wooden sword dropped from your flimsy hold as her arms circled your waist. The first kiss was like an attack, sudden and firm. You were certain her grip was the only thing keeping you from collapsing. Especially when her tongue slid between your lips.

The confident way she conquered your mouth, as you were sure she conquered everything, left you buzzing. You opened your eyes, gathering yourself enough to put substantial weight on your legs again.

Unohana’s pupils were blown wide, her face flushed. The physical proof of her affected state made you feel pleased--almost giddy.

“Do you feel consummated?” “Y-yes. But I don’t think I can do anymore katas.”

Laughing, she lifted you into a bridal hold in one smooth motion. “It wasn’t a bad wedding night, then.”

#retsu unohana #retsu unohana x reader #bleach #imagines #bleach imagines #bleach headcanons #mars made it #unohana said: IM A LESBIAN HAROLD #i dont wanna talk about how long i spent on this #laksdjf;laksdjf

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weisstoseeyou · 5 years

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RANT TIME (gonna put most of this under the cut because it might get a lil’ long)

How do people like this actually exist lmao.

“Sun did way more than Yang ever did to help Blake”? Like???? Are we forgetting about their talk in Burning the Candle? The fact that Yang was the reason Blake went to the dance in the first place? All of their small but important interactions throughout the entirety of the show?

Sure, Sun followed Blake to help her, but the reason Yang couldn’t was because she was too busy losing a fucking arm to Blake’s abuser, and then being unconscious because of said event. But obviously that means literally nothing to people like this because “RT is just biased to Bumblebee because it’s more popular than B/acksun”, even though several show staff have pretty clearly confirmed that fan influence had nothing to do with it and things have been planned from the beginning.

No hate towards B/acksun or anything (and I’m not saying people have to ship Bumbleby, either), but it’s like people like this don’t even think that there might be a reason Bumbleby is more popular. Bumbleby has had some really good buildup, but it’s like the antis are just so goddamn blind to what’s in front of them that they lash out at the slightest notion that they’re being proven wrong by both the Bumbleby fandom and even the actual show creators.

They say that they’re not homophobic, yet they described Blake and Yang’s “lesbian love” in a pretty grotesque way, and are expecting people to move on when it becomes canon because it’s “not even important to the show.”

Yes, because validating a solid romantic relationship between two strong, main, female characters is definitely unimportant to the show. And wlw representation is obviously unimportant to the fanbase, too. *eyeroll*

Blake and Yang’s relationship is honestly one of the most revolutionary things I have ever seen in a show in my life. Their buildup and chemistry is incredible, and it’s honestly such a fucking honour to watch their romance blossom because I have never seen anything like it before.

Bumbleby has had more onscreen buildup than Re/nora has had, and yet literally none of the antis are denying its canonicity. It’s obvious that the reason for that is because Re/nora is a straight ship, no matter how much antis might say otherwise (no hate on Re/nora, either. That ship is blessed).

Not to mention all of the parallels that Re/nora and Bumbleby have had thus far, such as the soft, lingering looks and the handholding, and just the similar scenes in general. When Ren and Nora do it, antis accept that it’s romantic. When Blake and Yang do it, the antis say it’s just a supportive friendship thing and that we’re either reaching for something that isn’t there or reading into things too much. But they’re “not homophobic”? Y’all are sending off some mixed fucking signals.

It doesn’t help that this person who left that comment about the Bees in the first place said that they’ll miss Adam, too. If you think Adam was a cool/interesting character, or you liked his design and/or fighting style or something, then that’s fine. But if you act pissy because he died and then proceed to hate on Blake and Yang’s relationship and the people who ship them, I’m gonna start to see a problem there, because Adam was an abusive, murderous stalker.

Despite how Adam was as a person, Blake and Yang didn’t celebrate his death. Adam was too far gone, and he kept refusing to leave whenever they gave him the opportunity to do so. His death was his own fault. Even after losing his sword, Adam was the first to launch himself towards a part of the broken Gambol Shroud on the ground to use as a weapon. Blake and Yang only ran after the pieces of the sword after they saw what Adam was trying to do, and acted in self defence because it was either kill or be killed at that point.

I’m also getting real sick of people acting like the writers have ruined Adam’s character for the sake of Bumbleby, which is just completely untrue. First off - as previously stated - some of the CRWBY literally confirmed that things involving Blake and Yang have been planned since the beginning.

Secondly, Adam was always like that. The only reason the whiny antis can’t see that is because, like Blake said, “Adam is strong, but his real power comes from control.” When he was controlling the White Fang, he was able to use the power that he had to appear as more than he was, because he was able to control those beneath him and make them believe in his violent sense of “justice.” We know full well that Adam has always liked having power over others because he knows how to twist people into believing in his contagiously dangerous sense of thinking. Ilia is a prime example of one of those people, though fortunately Blake was able to save her just before she was as far gone as Adam was.

As soon as Adam had nobody left to control, we began to see him as who he really was without the guise of power to hide behind. He has always been obsessed with Blake. Events in past volumes have evidenced that. And it was obvious that - one way or another - he was always going to come to justice at the hands of Blake and Yang. It was a requirement for their story arc. They both improved as characters over the course of volumes 4 and 5, and came back together, stronger than they were before. If they had somehow lost that fight, all of that character development would have been for nothing.

I’ve seen people saying that either Blake or Yang should have died in that fight, and my only thought on that front is what the fuck. You’d rather one of the main characters die at the hands of an abusive asshole than have the abusive asshole himself die? Could you imagine the controversy that would have sparked if Adam had killed one of them?

The scary thing about Adam’s character is that there are plenty of people just like him in real life who act like they have ownership over the person they’re in a relationship with. What kind of message would that have sent out to abuse victims if Blake or Yang had ended up dying at the hands of him? Adam may be a villain, but there are some things a writer just shouldn’t make a character do.

People see themselves in fictional characters. Plenty of abuse victims in the FNDM that I’ve seen see themselves in Blake. It would have been completely and utterly fucked up if CRWBY made people like that watch her die at the hands of her abuser onscreen, especially just when she’s on the verge of finally getting into the loving relationship with Yang that she’s always deserved. Because Blake is such a brave, strong character, and Blake and Yang’s love for each other is so evident and beautiful, and it deserves to be seen. And to any abuse victims that might be reading this now, you are a such a brave, strong person, and you deserve all the happiness in the world.

Anyway, this rant got way longer than I would have liked it to, so I’m gonna stop here. Thanks for reading.

#bumbleby #rwby #blake belladonna #yang xiao long #punch adam taurus #rant #my thoughts #weisstoseeyou

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leilas-digital-scrapbook-blog · 5 years

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Giving Love a Bad Name – Confessions of a Fanfiction Writer

I know we’re supposed to blog about our major projects this week and I promise I will get to that soon, but I’d like to go off book for a moment to address something that’s been bugging me since last Thursday’s class. As someone who’s always tried to engage with fandom in as creative a way as possible, I hoped a class on user generated content would offer a fresher perspective than the usual amount of prejudice and self-righteous superiority that sadly seem to accompany the subject of fanfiction even amongst people that make stories and their passion for it their bread and butter.

Guess I should have known better.

In the world of professional writers, fanfiction is still a filthy word. It sums up everything that’s wrong with the people you’re sharing your stories with: the obsessiveness, the entitlement, the disregard for boundaries, the penchant for making everything about sex. Worse, gay sex, as unspeakably dirty as it’s hilarious. Be warned, writers: if you make it big, your stories will inevitably become a free-for-all at the mercy of those people. A worse fate than even George R. R. Martin could wish on his own characters.

I’m used to seeing the world of fanfiction belittled and disparaged, of course, and I’m the first to admit that the community is often its own worst enemy. But for some reason it still hurt a little to sit in class and listen to people I’ve come to like and respect during these past few months buy into every bad stereotype associated with the form. Not because I felt called out (though yes, I do write fanfiction from time to time, and I happen to quite enjoy reading it too), but because of the underlying assumptions that 1. something that’s not 100% original cannot be art, it’s a violence in fact, especially if it twists someone else’s creation into something it was never meant to be (in this case, queer representation); and 2. there’s something wrong with creating exclusively out of love, without ever expecting to be paid for it. And I have Strong Opinions on that.

So let’s talk about fanfiction.

Actually, scratch that, let’s talk about my favorite subject – yours truly. As you may have gathered by now, I love fanfiction. A whole fangirly lot. My gateway drug into it was my obsession with Lost about 10 years ago and its pesky habit of offing every character I was foolish enough to get attached to. But lo! Someone was keeping them alive through their stories! I felt blessed. I got to spend more time in a world I loved, and I stopped flirting with the idea of giving up on the show every time another character I liked bit the dust. Everybody won.

Even more than as a fan, though, I appreciated the world of possibilities that fanfiction opened up to me as a non-native speaker. I come from a small town in the north of Italy; the access I had to foreign books in their original language was limited, and if I wanted to read something in English I’d have to spend quite a lot of money on one of the very few novels (usually chunky airport bookshop thrillers or housewife romances – not exactly my preferred genres) that shared a single shelf in the bookstore with German, French, Spanish titles. But fanfiction was free, accessible, and there was so much of it. If I didn’t like a story, all I needed to do was move on to the next. Suddenly there was an infinite library of engaging stories to help me make my English better. True, they didn’t all read like a published novel would – there’s a lot of unpolished, error-plagued, stream-of-consciousness-y material out there. But there are also so, so many beautifully written works, and believe me, even for a non-native speaker it’s very easy to spot the difference.

Fanfiction also gave me the chance and motivation to practice my English writing in a way school never could have done. I’ve been writing my own stories since I could hold a pen, but I didn’t dare write in English until I was a fanfiction-loving teenager. It was a marketing decision, really – my first foray into writing fanfiction was for a fandom so small that I wouldn’t be surprised to find out I’m the only Italian representative, so if I wanted any kind of feedback on my work I’d have to suck it up and try my hand at writing in a language that didn’t come natural to me. I would never argue that the feedback I got on my works made me a better writer – contrary to popular opinion, the fanfiction community is made up of the nicest, most supportive people, and alas, you’ll never get a comment on everything you did wrong with your structure or even just pointing out common grammar mistakes from them (though I was lucky enough to have someone explain to me how dialogue punctuation works differently in English than in Italian, so I guess something can be learned even from the Internet). It did motivate me to keep writing, though, and that made me a better writer. If you think I’m being too dramatic, dishing out this monster of a post nobody asked for just to declare my eternal devotion to fanfiction, it’s because it’s personal to me. I can’t even count the number of times I’ve been told that I write in English as well as native speakers, and fanfiction is a big part of why that’s true. I doubt I would even be in this course if it wasn’t for it.

And then, of course, there’s the gay thing. I’m not going to argue about how heteronormativity sucks and representation matters because I’m sure everyone’s as sick of talking about it as I am, but please try to understand how it felt for a gay person like me, used to be depicted in media as a plot device or token secondary-character representation if at all, to be able to step into a world where queerness was the default for once. Where queer protagonists had meaningful queer love stories and queer friends and got to save the world from the Apocalypse too. Or to fight the Empire or go to Hogwarts or everything else fictional straight people have had a right to do since the dawn of storytelling in addition to romancing the hottie of their choice. I’m not asking you to feel as passionately about it, of course, but (especially if you’re straight) you might try and empathize the next time you think a fanart of two boys kissing is something deserving of your amused contempt.

I hope I’m not coming across as the person that screams “homophobe” at everyone who disagrees with her because I guarantee that’s not what I’m trying to do here, but I think the general distaste for slash says a lot about the way our society sees heterosexual relationships as love and homosexual relationships as sex. Yes, there’s a lot of gay porn in the world of fanfiction. But you know what you’re most likely to find? Romance. Not in the saucy literary sense of the word, but in its simpler, most literal acceptation. Fanfiction is just one more way for humans to express themselves, after all, and love has always been front and center in our art. Love, not sex – even if it’s gay. In fact, explicit material doesn’t even make up the majority of what you’ll find on a fanfiction website. Don’t worry, I don’t want anyone to taint their souls by visiting one of those dens of iniquity so I pulled some stats myself. Here’s the number of works for each rating in three of the most popular fandoms on Archive Of Our Own, the current go-to website for the fanfiction community (sorry Fanfiction.net) – Harry Potter, Supernatural and the Marvel Cinematic Universe as of 9/3/2019:

Even counting both Mature and Explicit works as straight-up porn (which I don’t think is quite fair, but that’s a discussion for another day), they only make up less than 1/3 of the material. Kinda disappointing, for a medium that’s supposed to be all about filthy graphic gay sex. Imagine if only one in three musicals actually featured singing and dancing, or superheroes weren’t in the majority of superhero movies. They’re lucky fanfiction is shared for free, or I’d be screaming for my money back.

Maybe I’ve just been brainwashed by SJWs, though, and this has nothing to do with my being an immigrant or a lesbian. Maybe my inability to see what’s so bad about appropriating someone else’s intellectual property for your own amusement is a cultural thing. I apologize – as mentioned, I’m Italian, and we all know Ancient Roman culture was basically just a ripoff of everything those inventive Greeks came up with. It’s in our blood. Hell, our 2€ coin, the biggest, has the face of Dante Alighieri on it, a writer most famous for having written 14.000+ verses of self-insert real-person-fic in which the girl he fancied as a teenager, his favorite author, and God himself all fall over themselves to tell him how awesome he is and he gets to prophesy an eternity in Hell for his political enemies. Talk about wish-fulfilling entitlement. Not to mention all those creatively arid Renaissance “artists” celebrated for stealing characters from the Bible and Greek mythology (seriously, the fact that Greece hasn’t unleashed an army of lawyers on us yet is nothing short of a miracle) and putting them in their cheesy paintings. Other countries can rely on a much stronger moral backbone and endless imagination – I’m sure Shakespeare, Milton, Goethe, those creative geniuses at Disney and countless others never had to resort to something as cheap and despicable as borrowing other people’s characters to tell the stories they wanted to tell.

Either way, I can’t help it – I see the prospect of creating something that will resonate with people so strongly that they’ll make it a part of themselves, that it’ll compel them to make more art, to reach out and connect with other fans, as something incredibly beautiful rather than scary. Maybe this is my usual naiveté speaking, and I will come to eat my words. It’s certainly disturbing that a bunch of entitled fans bullied the Mass Effect developers into changing the series’ ending, and sending actors explicit fanart of themselves is straight-up harassment, but is fanfiction really the problem here? Or is it social network culture, with its power to destroy all barriers and foster hive mind? To give resentment a platform to spread and be heard? I promise that the average fanfiction writer wouldn’t campaign to get an ending changed. They’d just roll up their sleeves and write a better one themselves.

#my thoughts #aka leila goes off about her life story #user generated content #fanfiction #fandom #tmi alert

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scigaminim · 5 years

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( MADISON PETTIS, FEMALE, SHE/HER ) — ✧ that looks like ZARINA ZATARA! they’re the NINETEEN year old DAUGHTER of ZACHARY ZATARA (ADOPTED). [ they are also an UNDERGRAD STUDENT at paragon. ] i hear they’re CONFIDENT & ADVENTUROUS, but tend to be COCKY & UNRULY. her file says that her power is MAGIC/SORCERY. *wcs: illyana’s sorcerer apprentice, morgan roth ex girlfriend, roman darkholme’s roommate, andromeda isley quinsela’s dance partner*

Name: Zarina Zatara

FC: Madison Pettis

Age: 19

Height: 5’2

Sexuality: Lesbian

Father: Zachary Zatara (adopted), biological unknown

Mother: biological unknown

Powers: magical abilities from his father, further sorcery from Illyana

HISTORY ;;

Your earliest memory is dark, dank, cold. You’re so small, so young, huddled together with your siblings who you refuse to let go even before you can understand why. All you know is cold eyes and harsh hands, grabbing and pulling and carrying you without care, and no matter how much you cry and scream and plead - they don’t care.

They’re not your parents. They’re not anyone’s parents. You’re in what feels like prison as young as three, and as a toddler your only experience with love is how attached you are to your siblings. You don’t know who your parents are, you just know they left you here - no one is here for the three of you. No one loved you enough to keep you. You three have nothing but each other.

Your siblings protect you, despite you being a few minutes older than both of them. When your foster “parents” hit you, they defend you and get struck in return, leaving the three of you pained, miserable, devoid of hope, clinging to each other.

If it weren’t for your connection to your siblings, you wouldn’t make it through the worse days, but there’s.. Something. More than just the connection any triplets would have. There’s a link, a sort of sense for them at all times. When they hurt, you hurt. And vice versa. Their emotions fill your soul, the good and the bad, and that connection is like a fire that can’t be extinguished, keeping you going.

You’re five when someone comes to look at the youngest of your siblings. Youngest by sixteen minutes only, of course - but youngest nonetheless, and you’re enraged at the idea that they only want them. Not because they doesn’t deserve to be happy - but because you know the three of you cannot be apart. That if the connection is severed it will break all three of you, and none of you will make it.

It takes two days of planning, careful watching, and a lot of luck, but three little five year old children, terrified and desperate, make a break for it in the middle of the night. You don’t know how you escape, you just know you hold onto your siblings’ hands and you don’t let go for anything.

When he finds you, you’re scared, starving, desperate to stay with your siblings, mortified at the idea that he may be another to try and pull you apart. You can’t imagine anything worse than being taken away from them, but.. He’s gentle. He’s careful, and offers you all a soft hand an a promise of safety. A promise that you will never have to be apart from your siblings, and that you will never need to want for anything ever again.

Your young, tired mind wants to believe in… something, and your siblings convince you to believe in him, hungry stomachs and battered hands winning out over fear. And finally, you are given a home. Warm and bright, comfortable, full of everything you could ever imagine. Zachary takes care of you and your siblings in a way you’ve never experienced. It takes some time but you begin to ask for things, timidly at first - a second helping at dinner, a stuffed toy you saw in a shop window, a glittering pair of shoes that caught your eye. And he never says no, never lets you wonder what it might be like to have something you wanted.

It takes a year for you to call him dad, but when you do it feels… right. You know you could never leave this family, and you’ll never want to.

Your connection to your siblings grows and flourishes, becomes something so strong, impenetrable and enlightening, joining the three of you in ways you never would have comprehended.

Better than that, though - your new father teaches you something more. He teaches you magic.

Small tricks at first. Slights of hand, simple illusions, parlour tricks, slowly working up to real spells. Spoken backwards just like your father, and somehow you have an affinity for this. Magic strengthens you, gives you a sense of purpose, the feel of strength and power. But more than that - as you make friends within other families, at schools, you find that showing them your new spells gives you attention, adoration, people hanging off your every backwards word.

You find your calling, your love to perform, to channel your newfound magical powers to capture and amaze. You love the crowds, the squeals of delight, the applause and calls for more. Just like your father, like your aunt, you know this is who you are. You barely even think about the fact that your love for performing has anything to do with your fear of being alone - you don’t let yourself consider it. All you know is you love it, and you know that will never change.

PERSONALITY ;;

Zarina is very showy, she loves attention and loves to show off and perform. She’s all for dramatics and theatrics and very much enjoys performing her magic and showing off showing people what she can do

She can be a little.. self absorbed sometimes, she can’t help it. It’s a bad habit she has just from wanting the spotlight to be on hers at all time

Her need to be the best can sometimes make her a little tunnel visioned

Her siblings are more important to her than anything else. Literally anything. Even her performance and magic displays. They all have a kind of telepathic link that grows stronger when Zarina’s magical skills grow, which is in part why she puts so much effort into growing her powers.

Underneath all the bravado she’s very kind and good-hearted, she’d never intentionally hurt anyone or put someone in danger and she will always protect the people she loves

She has a lot of underlying fear of being abandoned/unloved stemming from their parents abandoning them so young. she never talks about it and never lets anyone know - only her siblings would know, really, and even then she refuses to actually talk through it, but it can make it hard for her to trust people because trusting means letting them get close and letting them get close is a big risk she’s not sure she’s ready to take most of the time

WANTED CONNECTIONS ;;

Her triplets!!! - Zarina loves them more than life itself, she cares for them immensely and has a huge connection to them both. Honestly personality wise i’m happy for anyone to do what they feel most comfortable with so long as they’re close with Zarina and nurture and love that bond they have as triplets!

A best friend - now this is going to be tricky mostly bc Zarina is so close to her siblings but she would definitely need someone outside of her little world who cares for her too. I love the idea of them being a complete opposite to her in a lot of ways, being more conservative and maybe even a little shrewd when it comes to magic and sorcery, they put up with her showing off but don’t exactly endorse it. They’d be good at bringing her down to earth sometimes and god knows she needs that, but not in a way that belittles or hurts her.

Fans - this is really silly tbh but Zarina would love adoring fans, she’d absolutely get a kick out of people who just think her skills and talents and magic are amazing. Zarina would humour them a lot and always put on a show for them but would also be very protective of her fans, especially those who think so highly of her

Skeptics - def give her people who think her magic is nothing but a big crock and it’s all for show, she needs that challenge - and tbh would feed off it, because it’ll make her work harder to become better

Flings (both current and previous!) - my girl is no good at relationships she’s terrified of losing people so she doesn’t let them get close in the first place, aside from Morgan she’s unlikely to have many actual relationships so she would definitely have some flings and fwbs going on - female aligning only pls

#sidekick.intro #abandonment tw

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bertann · 7 years

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5 Things I’ve Learned

This isn’t the kind of post I usually write, but I’ve been thinking about where I am in life and I wanted to share a few things I’ve learned:

1. One of the most life changing thing I’ve realized is that people are just as worried about things as you are. While you’re worrying about what they think of you, they’re more worried about what you think of them. We’re all just giant meat balls of anxiety. That old saying of “They’re more afraid of you than you are of them” works for more than just spiders and snakes.

2. Those panic attacks you have before making a huge decision that may change your life are only momentary, and the strength you get from conquering it will make you a stronger person.

3. Putting yourself first isn’t selfish. It took me 23 years to put myself and my wants and needs first. You don’t have to sacrifice yourself to make sure everyone else’s needs are met.

4. Try to learn something new every day, every person you meet has something new to teach you. Surround yourself with teachers.

5. When an opportunity presents itself, don’t let your fear hold you back.

I’m going to tell you guys a little story. So as many of you know, about a year ago (holy shit has it been that long?) after solving the PLL mystery my friend Nick and I were invited down to California by Marlene. We were going to meet Marlene for lunch, meet the cast, watch them film, and have a personal tour of the PLL set before it got taken down. Sounds amazing right? I’ll let you guys in on a little secret- I wasn’t going to go.

Yes, you read that right. I wasn’t going to go. At first, I told Nick to go on without me and tell everyone I said hi- that I was taking 4 classes that term and I would be too busy to make it, that I didn’t have the money. It was true, I had no money and a lot of work to do in those classes, but here’s the thing... It was also an excuse not to go because I felt like somehow the hours of research, writing out theories, making videos, and watching the show weren’t enough to warrant me meeting the people I looked up to. I didn’t feel worthy.

I remember quite clearly. I was working on a script and shooting schedule for one of my classes and I just stopped what I was doing and asked the simplest and minuscule of questions... “Why not?” Something in my head switched, like there was some dusty old lever in the back of my brain that was never turned on before. Call it an epiphany or whatever, but finally realizing that I was the only person who was holding me back from everything I ever wanted to do was the greatest, scariest, most intense realization I’ve had in my life. Because it literally changed my life.

So, I took the leap. I messaged Nick and said I was in, and then I worked my ass off to get down to California to meet Marlene, Norman, and the amazing cast and crew. And guess what? I had the time of my life, and it gave me the drive and inspiration to work harder than I ever had before. I remember walking out of Stage 6 with Nick, we just kept turning to each other asking ourselves if all of this really happened. It did. And I have the visitors pass and pictures to prove it.

Another even more life changing opportunity also went this route in March of this year. Some of you may know the whole Commander Lexa debacle that happened last year, and if you don’t- I’ll give you a quick summary. So, I had been watching a CW show called “The 100″ for a while and just like everyone in the fandom- I had fallen in love with the lesbian commander on the show named Lexa. Being that I am gay, (and every gay person can attest to this...) I search for any sort of positive representation to see myself in something, to find a character like Lexa wasn’t just rare, it was unprecedented. She was strong, powerful, badass, smart, while still being compassionate and loving, something I see in so many of my friends who identify as LGBT but never get to see.

And, just like every other show, movie, video game, book, and piece of media out there- The 100 chose to end Lexa’s life in the most heinous, insensitive, and disgusting way possible. I don't know why Lexa was the straw that broke the camel’s back, but following her death- nearly half of the queer women on television were murdered and killed off.

What came out of the devastation was a convention called “Clexacon”. It was put together by the fans, for the fans, and was going to be held in Las Vegas on the anniversary of Lexa’s death. Some of you may have been following my blog back when Lexa died, and may have seen some of the things I was posting- but one of those people who actually saw what I had been posting was a documentary filmmaker who liked what I had to say. Alexia got in contact with me on twitter and asked if I was a writer, I replied yes and that was it- we were friends from then on. Now, what does this have to do with my story?

Well, It turns out that Alexia was going to be head of the photography/videography department at Clexacon. I had offhandedly mentioned that I had been a photographer for 10 years but didn’t have any intention of going because again, I was going to school full time, didn’t have the money, and I didn’t have a working camera. She asked to see some of my work, so I linked her to a few of my shots- she complimented them and said I could probably teach her how to work her camera. I replied of course and asked what model camera it was... Ironically it happened to be one of my favorite cameras to shoot with. So, what does Alexia do? She asked me for my address. “My address, why?” I asked her. “Because, I want to give it to you.”

I sat there at my computer, stunned. I repeatedly tried to tell her I couldn’t accept it, that it was too nice of a gift. I mean this camera body is something I couldn’t afford in my wildest fucking dreams and there was a woman who I had never met before and she was just going to give it to me with no questions asked. So she asked me again if I would go to Clexacon and be a staff photographer with her... And I stopped for a second and again asked myself “Why not?”, this time the answer was a profound “Fuck it. I’m doing it.”

And again, I worked my ass off to go to Clexacon. I’m not exaggerating when I say that this trip singlehandedly changed my life. I met so many people there that would eventually become my closest friends, supporters, and inspirations. One of the most important connections I made there was with someone who would eventually become my producer. And this leads me to where I am today.

Right now I’m taking 4 classes, I have 3 short films completed, I’m working on completing two different webseries, and I just started working on a feature length sci-fi script. Two weeks from today I’ll be down in L.A. for the second time in the last 3 months to start filming two of the short films I wrote. And guess what? I still go to a psychiatrist every week to make sure I keep making decisions that will better myself and not go back to hiding out in my bedroom wondering “What if?” instead of “Why not?”

Don’t let fear and anxiety keep you from achieving your dreams. I have no idea where I would be right now had I not changed my mind a year ago, but this is one thing in my life where I can decidedly say- I’m fine with not knowing the answer to that question.

-Rachel

#long post #but necessary #anxiety #fear #mental health #psychiatry #change #clexacon #PLL #i marlene king #Clexa #commander lexa #personal post #depression #get help if you need it

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