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amazingphanisnotonfire-imagines · 4 years

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Sweet Pea//it’s easy to say, but it’s never the same

Request: Hi do you imagines based off songs? If you do please can I have reader x sweet pea with the song somebody you loved by Lewis Capaldi where the reader and SP break up and SP is seeing someone else and the reader is missing him. Ty in advance xo

hey! i loooove this song! and i hope you love this!

Do you know when there’s so many things happening that you feel like you’re drowning? It’s just one thing after another and you feel like you’re sinking further and further. It becomes harder to break through the surface and breathe.

For the past three months you’ve felt yourself slipping, this time however, there’s no one to save you.

It started with you and Sweet Pea arguing, that evolved to him breaking up with you and you moving out. Things seemed to snowball after that, it was just one bad thing after the other until they all piled up into one really shitty, bad news snowman.

You learnt two weeks ago from a very reluctant Fangs that Sweet Pea was seeing somebody else. He’d practically whispered it, but as soon as you heard ‘Sweet Pea’ and ‘seeing somebody else’ in the same sentence, you knew exactly what he’d said.

He then proceeded to tell you that he’d met her and that she ‘seemed nice but not nearly as nice as you’. He made you swear not to tell Sweet Pea and you’d promised, not that it was that difficult. You were planning on avoiding him for as long as possible, which you were hoping would be for eternity.

But now you’re all together at a wedding. Its a couple you all know from school, Juliet and Rebecca, and despite sitting through a very lovely ceremony, where both brides looked amazing, the only thing you could look at was him...well the back of his head. And the icing on the wedding cake? He brought her with him, and you’re here alone.

Sweet Pea would usually be the one to help you with this stuff. Whenever you felt yourself falling, he was always there to pick you up. To hold your hand and tell you that you can get through this. But he’s not holding you’re hand. He’s holding hers, and they both look so happy.

You don’t know what you did to the universe to piss it off so much, but apparently whatever you did warranted a pretty big punishment. Because not only did he bring her with him, you’re also sat opposite the two of them.

There’s four people in total between you and Sweet Pea, and it feels too close and too far at the same time. Fangs and his boyfriend Jake are sat on one side, and Toni and Cheryl sit on the other. The four of them exchange awkward glances to their other halves every so often when they think you’re not looking, and every time it makes you sink further into the satin covered chair.

Despite all the beauty and love that surrounds you, the only thing you feel is loneliness. The hall the reception is being held in looks amazing, flowers and fairly lights decorate the walls. There’s an abundance of cute little things for guests to do, from advice cards, to letters of love being posted in a tiny letterbox. Scattered around the tables are disposable cameras for guests to use and a photo booth sits in the corner beside the dance floor. You look at each of them longingly and let out a deep breath. The tables have a different flower sat on top of them, each of them meaning something to the brides. The table you’re sat at is sunflowers, and usually you love them, but now their brightness makes you angry. They are thriving in this environment, and your withering. Plus, it might just be you, but they all seem to facing Sweet Pea and that just makes you even angrier.

If you’d come here with him, you know for a fact you would have dragged him to look at everything, pointing at everything you liked and wanted at your own wedding. You would have stolen a flower from the centre piece to keep, treasured the photos from the photo booth and you would have danced more than you would have sat down.

Now though, you just want to go home, lie in bed and cry. You definitely look far too sad to be at a wedding, far too sad to be anywhere but in your bed to be honest. No matter how hard you try to plaster a smile on your face, it always wobbles when you catch sight of him.

He looks good.

His suit fits perfectly, and he’s got a little bowtie on which is a nice surprise. He’s changed his look slightly from the last time you saw him, his hair is no longer carefully styled, its fluffy and slightly curly and it takes everything in your power to stop thinking about running your fingers through it.

And her, she’s just as pretty. Her hair curled, her dress flowing and her lipstick? To die for. They look good together, really good and it makes you shrink further into yourself. The conversation flows around you and you feel yourself blend into the background.

“Excuse me!” Glass clinking from the top table stops all conversation and drags you back to reality. “Speeches!” Juliet cheers. “To my amazing wife. Can you believe you’re my wife? I have a wife! Guys...I’m married!”

“Get on with it.” Rebecca rolls her eyes at her, a soft smile playing on her lips as they look at each other. The two of them share a tender moment before Juliet turns to face the guests.

“Sorry dear.” She laughs. “To my amazing wife. When I met you at 15, I had no idea how much you would truly change my life. I only asked if there was anybody sitting beside you, I was scared and anxious about a new class where I didn’t know anybody and thought I would spend the rest of the year alone. But you said no, and some of my anxieties melted away. If only I’d known that that would set the precedent for the rest of our friendship, and then relationship. I am filled with anxieties, you know that better than anyone, but you’re always there to make me feel better. Right now, standing in front of our friends and families making this speech, I am terrified, but knowing you’re beside me, holding my hand and smiling, I know I can do it. In our vows, I said I’d take you as somebody to have, somebody to hold. And you can bet your sweet ass I’m going to take those seriously. I love you so much. To my wife!”

“To Rebecca!” Everyone cheers, raising their glasses. You force a smile, watching them kiss before Rebecca starts speaking, her brown hair falls in front of her face as she reads and Juliet moves it for her gingerly.

You don’t think you’ve ever longed for anything more. The softness and tenderness they have for each other has been there since they met. Its something that just comes natural to them. They love each other and everyone can see it, out of your school year, they’re the couple thats been together the longest.

You and Sweet Pea used to be like that. Nauseously cute to be around but actually the secret envy of all your other friends, single or not. Before this you used to be a romantic, the world was pink and red and full of hearts and joy. Now though, its just grey and sad.

Maybe you’ve always been cynical? Maybe Sweet Pea just helped you see the good in the world and now that he’s gone the effects have worn off. Like he numbed all the pain.

When you look at her, she’s so happy. A smile lights up her whole face and you wonder if thats how you used to look at him. A shaky breath escapes your lips as you down the rest of your drink.

“You okay?” Toni asks and you force a smile.

“Yeah.” You lie. “Just fine.”

----

The day has worn on and eventually fallen into night. You would have wanted to be home by now, but even if you had managed to escape, you wouldn’t have been able to sleep.

Sleep is rare now. It seems that if you sleep next to the same person every night for 3+ years, when they’re not there, its almost impossible. You wonder if he’s struggling to sleep too, if he’s finding an empty bed as tragic of you are.

Moonlight streams in through the delicate curtains and basks the room in a soft glow when it catches off the glittering decorations.

The speeches have been made, the cakes been cut and the couple have had their first dance, and through each of them you never saw their smiles falter. Not even just a little.

It seems you’ve become invisible. Fangs, Toni, Cheryl and Jake have long left you. Choosing to spend their time dancing and taking photos rather than sitting by you. You don’t blame them, you wouldn’t want to sit with your miserable friend at a wedding. You’d want to have fun and to celebrate.

They come over every so often to see if you’re okay, and you always say yes, no matter what. But as soon as they turn, your facade falls and you go back to longingly watching him.

You know for a fact you’re going to look miserable in the background of all the candid shots you’re in. Sweet Pea used to say that you looked beautiful no matter what, whether you were happy or sad or angry and annoyed. It was usually the latter when you would catch him taking photos of you, but a smile would always break through the frown making him grin and take even more.

You watch as he twirls her around, she spins and laughs before falling back into his arms and you feel yourself falling even further. There’s no words to describe how you feel, it just hurts. You’ve never felt like this before and you never ever want to again. You look around, desperate for someone to talk to, anyone to take your mind off the depressing situation you’re in, but there’s no one there. It feels like there hasn’t been for a while.

She laughs loudly, doubling over while she watches him do a ridiculously stupid dance. He’s grinning, his eyes bright as he continues, the dance becoming more dramatic as he watches her giggle. Your friends surround them, all four of them laughing and you pull your eyes away. No longer wanting to watch a memory that could have been yours.

Its only when you look down, your finger tracing the delicate pattern on the table cover do you realize that you’re crying. A single tear splashes on the white cloth, followed by another, and then another until you’re silently sobbing.

You wipe your tears, grab your bag and make a bee-line for the door into the hallway. You can’t escape quick enough from him, and her and everything.

Three months ago you could only escape with him.

----

“I thought I’d find you in here.” You pull your gaze away from the window and the stars, instead settling on the tall serpent leaning against the doorframe. Its the first proper interaction you’ve had with each other in months and you don’t know how to act.

Talking to him used to be the easiest thing in the world. You could talk for hours about practically everything and you’d still have more to talk about when you’re finished.

But now when you look at him, you just want to cry. You freeze, your throat closing as you watch him stand. He’s looking around the large room, a slight look of awe on his face, and to be honest, your expression mirrored his when you first walked in.

The decor is much different to the one that the reception is being held in. This is more grand. Its gold accents make it feel a lot fancier. In another world you can imagine great parties being held here, with people in masks and fancy gowns dancing the night away. A large chandelier hangs in the middle of the dance floor and when you stand underneath it, it makes you feel inferior. Its a feeling you’ve grown accustomed to though, its settled in your chest, something you carry around with you. That and a whole party bag full others, its not the main one, but its definitely there.

Sweet Pea makes his way across the room, pausing briefly under the chandelier and he looks far from inferior. If anything, its the other way round. To you, the chandelier doesn’t look worthy enough to shine above him. He looks at it the same way he looks at all things beautiful, like its a gift to the world and he’s the luckiest person to be able to see it. People used to say he looked at you like that, now you just see him look at everything that isn’t you.

You wonder if he feels the same about you, if he wants to cry every time he even thinks about you and him together, but the way he’s stood, the way he’s now looking at you, it seems like you’re the last thing on his mind.

What you would say when you saw him again has been the first thing you think of when you wake up, and the last thing you think of before you eventually fall asleep. Its played on your mind in great detail, even down to what you would be wearing. Where you would be? What you would say? What would happen afterwards? But just forcing yourself to look at him, something you never had a problem with before, is now one of the most difficult things in the world.

His top button is undone and his bowtie has been loosened, you assume by his girlfriend, the thought of which makes your heart clench. His jacket hangs lazily from his hand while the other one runs through his hair.

“I needed to get some air.” You reply simply, deciding to look out the window again. Its easier than looking at him, even if the shadows of the trees and the hills that seem to roll on forever makes you a little uneasy.

“People usually go outside for air.” He tries to joke, but it falls flat and he sighs, and crosses the rest of the room. He sits beside you, leaving a noticeable gap between the two of you. “Who would have thought we would be here?”

“Juliet and Rebecca have been destined to marry since the moment they met.” You reply, not bothering to look at him. Your heart wants you to, it wants you look at him because ignoring him feels like a crime. But your head is keeping you from it, it doesn’t want to break your heart even more, and it definitely doesn’t want you to cry in front of him. The only thing worse than heartbreak is his pity.

“No, I mean like, here, but not together.” He corrects and you take a quick glance at him.

“Oh...I dunno.” You shrug, trying to study his face. Closer up he still looks as attractive, but there’s something else to him as well. His eyes aren’t as bright, his lips aren’t as full, he looks a little paler. He looks kind of sad, like he’s painted a facade over it and as the night has worn on, its started to crack.

The two of you stay silent. You watch him through the large mirror on the opposite wall as he counts the golden swirls painted above your heads. You remember a time when you were together, people wouldn’t be able to get a word in when the two of you were talking.

“A few years ago if me and Fangs had come in here, we’d be leaving with half the decorations and then be going halves on like, a million new bikes.” He tries to joke again, feeling hopeful that it might go better now that some time has passed. But what feels like twenty minutes has in reality only been two and it makes him huff.

The front he’s put on finally falling as he slumps in his seat. His back leans against the window and he shivers a little from the cold air.

“What happened to us Y/n?”

“I suppose I let my guard down.” You shrug, letting yourself look at him properly. Yep, he’s just as broken as you are. You thought it would make you feel better, to see him just as upset as you are. But it doesn’t. It makes you feel worse. But the worst thing about it is that you still take it all away from him if you could. “I guess, I thought things were alright between us when clearly they weren’t. And then you pulled the rug and now...this.” You gesture between the two of you and he looks at the shiny floor.

You turn to stare out of the window again. Your eyes close tightly as you take a deep breath. The sight of him feels like a stab in your chest, like someone has stuck a knife in and then twisted it.

You imagine yourself falling into his arms, his holding you gently, tracing patterns on your skin while pressing soft kisses to your forehead. A sad smile flickers on your face, it feels so close, so real. Safe in his arms...Until.

“Y/n?”

“Yeah?” You reply, your eyes opening, but you don’t look at him.

“I’m sorry.”

“Its okay.” You lie. “I understand.” you don’t

“And I’m sorry I brought Riley with me.”

“Its fine.” You eventually force a smile, not wanting to seem any more bitter than you probably already do. “You guys look cute together.”

“Yeah.” He laughs awkwardly. “Thanks.”

Its silent again, something settling over the room. Its a feeling that makes it difficult for you both to breathe. You look in opposite directions, both waiting for the other to make the first move so you can leave. Whatever heartbreak you were feeling before, is 1000 times worse now. If you were drowning before, now you’re long dead and washed up on the beach somewhere.

“How did you find me?” You ask and he looks at you surprised. He knew that whatever conversation he would have with you would be one sided, and so he wasn’t expecting you to ask him any questions. Not ones that weren’t hate fueled that is.

He also doesn’t know how to answer. Because the answer is weighted, and he’s not entirely sure he’s figured out the meaning of it yet.

He sighs and scoots a little closer to you, he looks at you before looking back at the floor while his hand reaches into his trouser pockets. After a few seconds he pulls out a polaroid and hands it to you.

Your eyebrows furrow when you recognize the person in it as you. Its a little fuzzy due to the lights, but its definitely you. You’re sat alone at the table, your chin resting on your hand as you look to the side of you. You look sad and you frown when you realize that is how you’ve looked for the majority of the wedding. But you’re frown deepens when you wonder what the hell he’s doing with this. He seems to pick up on this and quickly starts explaining himself.

“I borrowed Toni’s camera when she wasn’t looking, Riley had gone to the bar and so I was by the dance floor alone. I was looking around and saw you and well, you looked like that. I’ve always thought you looked pretty no matter what, but I dunno, there was just something about how sad you looked at such a happy event that made me want to capture it. I was just going to slip it into Toni’s bag when she wasn’t looking and hope she would just think she took it, but well I haven’t had the chance yet.”

Your speechless for a few seconds, your fingers glide over the photo and a few tears slip down your face, dropping onto the picture but you quickly wipe them away and hand it back to him.

“That doesn’t explain how you found me. This place is pretty big.”

“Afterwards I kept checking to see if you were still there. I kind of got a bit distracted by dancing but when I looked again you weren’t there so I came looking for you.” He admits shyly.

“I didn’t think anyone would notice if I left.”

“I always notice when you’re not around. Now more than ever I think.” It turns out that breaking up with you was the worst thing Sweet Pea has ever done, closely followed by asking you to move out. And it seems that bad decisions have been following him around for the whole 3 months.

Your speechless again as you look at him. His eyes catch yours and you feel yourself become breathless. The room feels so much smaller all of a sudden, you and Sweet Pea seem to be closer than ever. His eyes flicker to your lips for just a split second but you notice it and it makes your heart-rate increase.

Your whole body is screaming at you not to do this, its only going to hurt more, but when his hand cups your cheek and you lean into him you couldn’t care less. Your eyes flutter closed at the feeling of his lips against yours. It still feels like you’re drowning, but in a good way this time. You never want this to stop.

Thats the thing about moments and feelings. They never know how to coordinate themselves. The things you don’t want, seem to last forever, and the ones you do are over in mere seconds.

He pulls away first, his eyes wide as he curses to himself.

“I’m sorry Y/n.” He shakes his head. The soft smile that had taken over your features, vanishes when you notice the way he’s looking at you. “I shouldn’t have done that. I shouldn’t have done any of that.” He’s talking to himself now, repeating the words over and over again and its only now that you become angry.

“Actually.” You stand up. “Maybe you should have. Because apparently breaking my heart once wasn’t enough, you had to do it again. You broke up with me because of a few arguments. I can’t even remember what we were arguing about but you thought it was bad enough to finish a 6 year relationship. I loved you Sweet Pea, and stupidly, I still do. I have been waiting for you to come back and say you’re sorry. I’ve been waiting to take you back. But you got with somebody else.” You sob. “You found somebody else in three months after 6 years and you brought her with you. You’ve ruined every single memory of us, and now you’re ruining every thing else. You got the happy memories, the house, the friends and now the new woman. And what do I have?...what do I have?”

“Y/n.” He stands, reaching out to you but you shrug him off. Its the hardest thing you have ever done, but you walk away from him. You leave him standing underneath the chandelier, and it no longer seems as bright.

You glance back at him, just for one last look before you leave properly.

“I was getting kinda used to being someone you loved...and now I have nothing.”

#sweet pea #sweet pea imagine #sweet pea x reader #sweet pea x you #sweet pea x y/n #riverdale #riverdale imagine

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moonlit-imagines · 4 years

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Don’t You Dare

Loki Laufeyson x nibling!reader

warnings: death mention, my iconic infliction of pain on my lovely readers

a/n: no hate on loki i just saw a tiktok that made me go “oh dam thats kinda wicked” dont let this flop its 4:19am

prompt: this tiktok - in an AU where asgard never fell, instead thor gave his life to defeat his sister, and y/n took the throne so that loki couldn’t endanger their kingdom anymore. loki felt a sense of guilt after his father and brother perished, y/n found someone to blame

You’ll admit that these past few weeks...they didn’t go as planned. Your father just wanted to protect Asgard, but that cost him his life. Now you were left to the throne, completely unguided and utterly alone. Not even the Warriors Three were here to help. Too many had perished, maybe your family was cursed.

The only relative that remained was Loki, your uncle. Loki, the reason that you were orphaned and forced to rule over a kingdom that needed tending to since he didn’t feel like doing it himself. The audacity that he had to remain on Asgard was astounding, but he had been avoiding you at all costs while you began to rehabilitate the country.

“What shall we do about the wreckage?” An advisor had questioned, as if you didn’t have a million other things to be worried about. Of course it was a priority, but there was so much to discuss that any question was just a bit irritating.

“Rally up volunteers to clean the debris, some of it may be salvageable.” You walked along the palace halls with an entourage of concerned beings, they had so many important questions that you needed to answer, but you hadn’t even properly memorialized your father yet. He was all you could think about. “Make sure that all of out citizens have shelter while their homes are being rebuilt. We can spare some rooms here in the palace.” You came to a halt and pinched the bridge of your nose. “Will that be all for now?”

“Yes, your highness.” They answered and scattered away to tend to their business. This kingdom was already in ruins before Hela arrived. Thank you, Uncle.

These past few years...past few weeks had been quite difficult, would there every be a return to normalcy? Doubtful. But you had to be strong for your people, that was what they needed. A ruler that had the people’s best interest in mind. One who bore all of the hardships so that they could live happily.

You paced further down the halls to check for damages and anything out of the ordinary. You were a bit paranoid that there could be another attack, but it seemed like the trouble may have been over. Never hurts to double check. As you made your rounds, you passed your father’s former room, which was filled with memories that you would hold onto for lifetimes.

“I failed you, father. And for that, I’m sorry.” You tried to tell him, but he was long gone. You lingered on for a moment more and decided it was time to continue your surveyal. It was depressing walking these halls, every memory included someone who was no longer with you. Why must you continue to ponder the past? Why was that?

“Your majesty,” you heard a woman call from behind you, turning to find the last known Valkyrie approaching, “you have a visitor.”

“Do I?” You asked, not thinking twice about it. There was so much on your mind, you were foolish to forget the likes of Uncle Loki.

“I’ll leave you to it.” She called upon Loki to enter your presence and quickly vacated, not wanting to deal with any more drama of the throne. You stood silently and waited for him to state his business.

“Y/N...” He started, not knowing where to go after that part. “Please don’t hate me.” Your uncle begged, which only made your blood curdle. This was no time for a need of approval, this was just inappropriate.

“Uncle, you’re a disgrace.” You growled, which may have been a bit harsh, but you chose your words without a second thought. “I have other matters to tend to.”

“Please, y/n, don’t do this.” He went on. “We are all the other has left, I cannot take that for granted.” Loki insisted on following you about the palace, nearly in tears. You’d seen this act before, though, when he used it on your father time and time again. “Let me help you, y/n! The throne is a burden, you don’t have to do it alone!”

“That’s enough!” You snapped at your uncle, silencing him immediately. “You created this mess and I’m cleaning it up my way. I do not need your help like the others did. I know better than to depend on the likes of the God of Mischief!” Your words were like daggers to Loki, who believed everything that you’d just said. He stuttered a bit, trying to carefully make out another sentence.

“I-I’m...I’m trying, y/n.” Loki balled his fists, trying to truly keep it together for his nibling who was in true pain, pain that he actually blamed himself for. “I take no joy in my actions. They were reckless and immature.” He admitted, wincing at the responsibility he had to take. You could take after your father and forgive him, maybe give him another chance...or you could teach him a lesson once and for all.

“Uncle Loki,” you sighed, “I am not my father. Nor am I Odin or Freya. I am y/n and I do not take responsibility for you.” Loki’s lips parted slightly as his jaw dropped in disappointment. “You may be my uncle, but you are no longer apart of the royal family of Asgard. I cannot take any more risks on behalf of my people.”

“What?!” Loki gasped, hurt by this malfeasance. “You cannot do this, y/n! I’m the rightful ruler of Asgard!” He argued along the palace halls.

“That’s all you’ve ever cared about, Loki! You only crave power, but you refuse to acknowledge the responsibility that power comes with!” You were brutally honest, only causing more damage to Loki’s bruised ego. You hadn’t even noticed the tears that streamed down your face, showing your uncle your true feelings alongside your little speech. “Look out there, Loki! That was all you!” You pointed out the threshold of the palace to view the severely damaged kingdom he so badly wanted to rule. “Odin was an awful father, but he was the ruler that Asgard needed and you...” You shuddered out of pure rage. “You’re selfish! And it has been your downfall!”

“How dare you talk like that to me!” Loki shouted back, further solidifying your negative emotions, he would be regretting this shortly. “You’re out of your mind, little one. You can’t rule this kingdom alone, you’ll ruin it far worse than I ever could.” By this time, tears had stopped falling and you were left in a stone cold rage. You no longer needed to hear these insults.

“Enough!” You screamed in his face, succeeding in shutting him up. “Loki Odinson, you are hereby banished from the Kingdom of Asgard!” You declared, shocking your uncle greatly as he took a step back, trying to decipher if you were serious or not, but you weren’t a fan on mischief or trickery. “Leave at once, I will not ask a second time.”

“You must be joking, my nibling.” He tried to laugh it off, but you weren’t a bit amused.

“Don’t count on it, Uncle. Now go.” You stared him dead in the eyes and saw the heartbreak im his face. He finally accepted your instructions and nodded in defeat, leaving at once. He trudged in the opposite direction and you carefully watched as he left, but he took a slight pause before officially exiting.

“Y/N, little one, do know that I love you...and I loved your father, as well.” He confessed, then left you to yourself. Your lip trembled as you fought back the feeling of sorrow that flooded over you, the last of your family had departed, now you were officially alone. The struggle to contain your sobs finally ceased once your emotions got the best of you, so you collapsed onto the floor, sobbing as the weight of your world took over. The throne of Asgard guaranteed disappointment and agony, even as early as now.

This would only be the beginning on your path as a ruler. Something tells me that there is much more to come.

taglist: @alwaysananglophile // @rorybutnotgilmore // @locke-writes // @sweetheartliz07 // @queen-destenie // @natasha-danvers // @lokihiddles // @frostedgiant // @emygirl // @lotsoffandomrecs // @johnmurphyisbisexual // @teenwaywardasgardian // @pappydaddy // @captainshazamerica // @freya-xo // @ravenmoore14 // @purpleskiesstorm //

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mad-men-inc · 4 years

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A Brother’s Love

Summary: World renown villain, known only as “Dr. Septic” kidnaps one Chase Brody. The villain unmasks himself, revealing none other than Chase’s brother, leading the two to have a long overdue heart-to-heart.

Word count: 1526

TWs: mention of a failed suicide attempt.

The darkness flickered away at once as the blindfold was pulled from Chase’s face. He blinked as the light nearly blinded him, before he focused on the figure in front of him: Doctor Septic. Only, his helmet was poised between his hip and his arm. Angry confusion filled Chase’s face, before dumbfounded shock had his eyes widening as he realized: he recognized that face.

After a moment of hesitation, Chase asked softly, “... Sean?”

The villain laughed once, loud and mocking. “So you do remember your brother! I'm so glad to hear that, Chasey! Truly. Because now we can skip the reintroductions and get straight to the fun stuff. Welcome to my lair!” Sean spoke fast, the cadence of his voice drifting with dramatic flairs and hard, angry edges every so often, before he spread his arms and gestured to the room around them with his final sentence.

The room was lined with shelves -- or were they bleachers? -- all packed with animal-based robots with glowing green eyes; eyes identical to the one floating around Sean’s shoulders. Chase’s head tilted to look at them all, and the robots shifted to look right back at him, every glowing light searing into his soul.

His voice was still quiet, only now with a subdued awe, as he asked, “What... is all of this?”

“This, brother dear, is the proof that you were wrong! You said I couldn’t do it, laughed when I joined robotics, mocked every invention I designed. But you were wrong, Chasey, oh boy were you wrong. Not only could I build one robot, no! Look around you! I built hundreds!”

“Sean… I-”

“I don't want your half-baked apologies, Chase. Not now. Now, I want you to beg for your life. Make it good, or you’ll be joining dad in hell. See, you were wrong about me, and you were wrong about him, and you were wrong about Stacy. Does that get old?”

Fear and confusion flickered across Chase’s face as he processed the assortment of topics his brother was jumping to, his mind centering on the last one. “Stacy? What- what about her?”

“You think I stopped paying attention to the great Chase Brody when I left home? No, no no, I watched her dump you on live TV, taking the kids and leaving you with nothing but a nerf gun and a bottle of whiskey. Its funny- thats not how i expected you to follow dad’s footsteps, but I bet he was glad to see one of his sons weren’t fuck-ups in his eyes!”

A moment of silence passed between them, Chase choosing his words carefully as Sean bounced from foot to foot with excited rage. “Look at my temple, Sean. The right one.”

“It was a nerf gun, Chase. You wouldn't have-” Sean’s eyes flickered to his brother’s temple as Chase tilted his head, doing a double take as he noticed the angry star-shaped patch of light pink skin on Chase’s temple. “-a… scar. What..?” All at once, the rage was replaced with confusion, Sean falling still and quiet finally. The robots around them shifted uneasily.

“The show went on hiatus, for about 4 months. It was taking its toll on me, but, more importantly, I was trying to build a relationship with Stacy. High school sweethearts, remember? I stopped being so angry when she was around, because I didn't want to scare her. Dad called me a pussy, so I stopped coming home as often. Stacy stuck with me through those years. Helped me seek out help of my own, Sean. I went to therapy, after you left. Got a job, moved out by 19. Stacy came with me. Dad stopped reaching out, and I was scared he had killed himself, or worse, so I reached out instead. Got him to go to therapy too.” Chase paused, realizing he had gotten side tracked with the past.

“It had been a rough season for the show, the ‘great Chase Brody’ had bills to pay and not enough money for it, even while Stacy had a job of her own. So I.. Borrowed a friend’s gun. If Stacy hadn't found me, hadn’t brought me to- Dr. Hayward? I wouldn't be here. I wanted out of the show. Wanted to get a real job, pay Hayward back somehow, turn my damn life around. That was 5 years ago, Sean. That- that video you saw? That was my out. I had to cut my contract, but they wouldn't let me do it without ending the show, so that was my ending. And after we wrapped that day? Stacy drove us home and we made dinner, and I proposed to her. 9 months later, we had our first kid.” Sean had fallen impossibly more still. Chase’s breath was shuddering, he was tearing up, but he kept talking.

“I'm a father of 4 now. You’re an uncle. And dad is in rehab, but he gets to come home every summer and winter, and he’s still a grumpy bastard on the best of days, but he smiles when he sees the kids. He gives them piggy-back rides and sends them birthday cards, and- and you're right, he doesn't see me as a fuck-up, Sean. But it's because I turned both of our lives around -- not because I ended up like him. I'm never ending up like he was when we were kids, because I have kids of my own and I would gladly give my life for theirs,” Chase chokes on a sob, a smile dancing on his lips despite the words.

“And you know something? You could be just like dad is now. You can get yourself some fucking help- use these amazing robots for good purposes, instead of evil. You can come be their uncle, come be my brother again. I am sorry, Sean. I'm sorry I wasn't a good brother to you, and I'm sorry I didn't realize you needed help sooner. I should've done more, I should've gotten therapy for your sake, not Stacy's. But the choices we made before cant be changed; all we can change is what we do now. So what do you say, bro..? Come home with me. Please,” Chase’s tears finally spilled, the plea merely a whisper as his chest heaved with his sobs.

Sean doesn't respond, his body tense and unmoving, his eyes fixated on Chase’s face, unblinking and unfocused. The glowing green eye hovering by his shoulder makes a chirping sound, the noise loud in the surrounding silence. It nudges Sean’s shoulder, and the man flinches, blinking harshly. His head darts to look at the eye, before his eyes drift around the room at the robots. He eyes almost every single one of them, spinning in a circle so he could examine all of his creations -- before his eyes finally returned to his brother.

“How do I just… leave everything behind. How could you- how could you expect me to leave everything behind?” the rage filters back into Sean’s expression, but there’s something hesitant behind it- forced. He pauses, so Chase gives an answer.

“I don’t, Sean- I know you wont leave all of this behind, this was always your life, your calling, your dream. But- you’re using your brilliance for the wrong cause. You proved me wrong, you made it, you got to the top, but you’re sitting as public enemy number one right now, when you could be helping millions of people with so many different things!” It was.. A long shot. Chase knew that. His brother didn’t seem like one to do things for “the greater good,” but there was the smallest flicker of hope in him.

“Where… where would I go? With you? Fuck up your perfect little life.. It’s too la-”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence, bro. It’s never too late. It’s only too late if you give up. You won’t be fucking up anything if you come stay with me, but- but if you don’t want to stay with me, I can set you up in a hotel, or an apartment even if you want something more permanent. I can get you a therapist, hook you up with a job at some nice paying engineering job- anything you want, Sean. But this, where you’re at now? This is a road that only ends in pain and misery and a downward spiral I never want to see you follow through. Please, I- I want you in my life again, Sean. Please.”

Another short pause, where Sean eyes Chase. He takes a step closer, Chase holding his ground and remaining unflinching. Sean takes another few, leaning over Chase. They settle for a second, Chase looking with desperation into Sean’s eyes, before the cuff on his wrists pops open.

Sean moves back, Chase taking that as his cue to stand up. His legs shake, but he stands in front of his brother, rubbing his wrists for a moment. The two wait another beat, the silence creeping into awkwardness, before Chase pulls Sean into a hug. Sean startles, blinking owlishly, before he settles into the embrace, his head fitting snugly against Chase’s shoulder.

“Welcome back home, bro.”

#Jacksepticeye #Chase Brody #writers of jack #jacksepticeye egos #jse egos #writersofjack #sam writes #fun fact: this is part of a bigger story that im trying to write #im gonna write more for the story tonight probably #its tag is gonna be #the comic #until i think of a name for it #heroes series #heroes of the old world

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trulymadlysydney · 6 years

Text

The Boy Next Door

Of all the things she could’ve ordered, it had to be a sex toy. And of all the people who could’ve been her neighbor, it just had to be coffee shop Harry.

Helloooo my loves, this is part one of my college AU story!!! I was going to hold off on posting it, but what can I say? I’m incredibly proud of it and wanted you guys to share my excitement. This all started as a request from a lovely anon, and my brain took the request and spun it into this huge, long, college AU that I’m so excited and nervous for you guys to read. Enjoy!!! xx

***PLEASE DO NOT REPOST WITHOUT PERMISSION**

It isn’t that Nova Leary is shy, necessarily. It’s just that she’s the type of girl who enjoys keeping to herself and remaining anonymous.

The fact of the matter is that anonymity feels like a rare thing to have nowadays, living in Los Angeles. And anonymity is the one thing that Nova seems to cling to above all else.

Having grown up in a small town in North Carolina, she’d never faced the struggles of a Californian until she’d come here for school. She hadn’t needed spare change to park her car. She hadn’t needed to purchase a bus pass, because ultimately her car could’ve taken her anywhere with minimal traffic.

But now-- now she struggles to balance 19 credits a semester, because, as her mother would say, “You’ll never get a good job just by coasting along, Nova Gene. Challenge yourself.” (Her mother, bless her heart, had a PhD in astrophysics-- because of course she did-- so Nova couldn’t help but feel the pressure to measure up her entire life.

So challenging herself was the only option, really. And it isn’t that Nova minds all that much. Entering her third semester of grad school, she feels accomplished. As though she’s achieved more in her 23 years of living than most people her age. Sure, maybe Los Angeles may not have been her first choice. But hell, it certainly wasn’t her last.

Currently she sits at her dining table, one leg tucked up under her and the other dangling so that her toes just loosely graze the wooden floor of her apartment. She absentmindedly tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and types something into her laptop, chewing at the inside of her cheek when the results of her search appear fruitful.

“What are you looking at?”

Nova nearly jumps out of her chair when her roommate’s voice breaks through the silence. She quickly switches tabs over to her e-mail. Her inbox hasn’t received anything new since the last time she’d checked it, which had been four minutes ago when she thought Jessie was coming into the room. For the sixth time.

“Nothing,” Nova says, dismissively. “E-mails. Homework.”

Jessie is 29 and works for a law firm. Which sounds much cooler than it actually is, Nova thinks. All Jessie does is answer phones and file paperwork every now and then, and she gets to wear the heels she likes everyday so all in all, no one complains. (Except for the days when Jessie does, in fact, complain about every little thing that goes on in the firm and behind the scenes. Nova thinks she knows a lot of these people’s stories better than she knows her own, which is saying something.)

Jessie looks at Nova incredulously, and scoffs. “You cannot possibly have that much homework.”

“I do!” Nova says, pushing her glasses up on her nose and clicking the “compose e-mail” button. For what reason, she doesn’t know, but it makes her look like she’s doing at least something.

Jessie groans, clomping in her heels across the hardwood floor and over to the kitchen. She opens the fridge and bends down, which reveals a little too much of the pink lace she’s wearing under her short dress. When she straightens up, she’s got a beer in her hand. “Come on, kid You’ve gotta have some type of plans for tonight.”

“It’s Thursday.”

Jessie rolls her eyes, rummaging through the nearest drawer until she finds the bottle opener. “Have you never heard of Thirsty Thursday?” She takes a huge swig of her beer and hums in delight before holding it out in Nova’s direction. “You want one?”

“No thanks.” Nova smiles, because Jessie really is a sweet girl. She means well. It’s just that she and Nova are two incredibly different people. Which works out, really, because 95% of the time, Jessie is gone and Nova gets the apartment to herself. That isn’t to say Nova doesn’t worry about the older girl, but usually she’ll receive a call or, at the very least, a text from Jessie to let her know what her plan is for the night.

Nova settles back in her seat. “Where are you going tonight?”

“It’s Brad’s birthday,” Jessie says, and shoots Nova a look as if she’d rather die. “We’re going out.” Brad is Jessie’s sort-of-boyfriend, but he’s a dick most of the time. At least in the whole year and a half that Nova’s known Jessie, she’s hardly ever heard anything about Brad that she likes. Even when she’d met him in passing, he’d been dismissive and a bit arrogant and altogether unpleasant. Though, for whatever reason, Jessie’s been on and off with the guy for about four years now. So Nova figures she has to give him the benefit of the doubt.

“That should be fun!” Nova tries to sound hopeful, and Jessie smiles.

“I’m hoping so, but we’ll see. If he invites Steven I swear to God I’m leaving.”

Nova giggles and spends the next few minutes chatting with Jessie about Brad and his awful friends. Sentences like “you’re too good for him,” and “But Nova, did you see what he surprised me with last weekend?” are all that can be heard, and it’s a lovely distraction for both of them until Jessie’s phone buzzes.

She hops up from where she’s now sitting on the counter and swallows the last bit of her drink. “That’s my ride. You sure you don’t wanna come out with us? We can wait!”

“I’m good,” Nova says, shaking her head. “You’re sweet though.”

Jessie giggles, walking over to Nova and wrapping her arm around the younger girl’s shoulders. She leans down and presses a heartfelt kiss into Nova’s hair. “I love you, kid. You work too hard.”

“Who, me? Nahhh.” Nova shakes her head.

Jessie grabs her coat and begins to head for the apartment door. “Don’t wait up for me, okay? I’ll be at Brad’s tonight.”

It goes without saying, but it still makes Nova smile that Jessie lets her know. “Sounds good,” she calls. “Be safe! Wear protection!”

She hears Jessie scoff as she leaves, and it makes her laugh. Jessie is a lot of fun to be around, when she is around. But Nova knows that if she were to ever go out with Jessie and her friends it would be awkward for everyone involved. Nova’s never been the going out type, and all the friends that she would go out with lived back in North Carolina.

She sighs, placing her hands on the keyboard of the laptop and typing into the blank e-mail.

Note: Make new friends.

Backspace backspace backspace.

Note: Make friends in general.

It isn’t to say that Nova is lonely, however. In fact, she appreciates her alone time quite a lot.

This reminds her of the task at hand, and her stomach flutters. Cautiously, as if she’s being watched, she moves the curser back up to the tab she was in prior to Jessie’s departure, and double taps, taking her back to the screen that had made her cheeks redden.

Row upon row of sex toys fills her screen, and it’s quite overwhelming, really, because how on earth is she supposed to know which one to pick? She doesn’t want to make the wrong choice and get one thats too big. And what if she doesn’t like the feeling of something inside of her? The thought makes her insides flip and her ears grow hot. She groans, clicking the arrow to take her to the next page.

She knows she definitely wants one of these, it’s just a matter of which one she wants. It’s a difficult decision to make, especially because, despite being alone nearly every day she’s never really taken the time to experiment with these types of things.

That isn’t to say she’s never gotten herself off, of course, but she definitely hasn’t tried any other techniques other than the one she knows. And now there are several toys in front of her, all different shapes, sizes, textures, colors, (do colors matter?), some of them vibrate, some of them don’t... there are just far too many options for Nova’s liking.

What’s worse, she doesn’t even have anyone to ask about these types of things. She’s sure that Jessie, more likely than not, has experimented with one, but she could never just outright ask her for tips. Plus, reading the reviews on every single one of these feels almost invasive, if Nova’s being honest. Like she’s creeping in on these people’s intimate alone time, as if to compare notes. It’s strange.

Its 45 minutes and a few squeals and facepalms later that Nova finally thinks she’s found the one. 5/5 stars, not too big. Vibrations are optional, but should she chose to use them, it comes with several different speeds. Plus the reviews, as strange as it makes her feel to read them, all agreed on one thing-- maximum pleasure with minimal effort. (Not to mention the one review from a woman in Texas, who’d said that it was her first one and it had worked like magic.)

Nova types in her billing information and the address to which she wants it shipped, praying that it comes on a day when Jessie isn’t home, and when everything is filled out correctly, she inhales as deep as her lungs can take. She examines her purchase one more time, shocked that this is actually something that she’s doing. God, her mother would disown her if she knew.

She lets out her breath in one quick puff and closes one eye. She tilts her head so that she’s not looking directly at the screen, and smashes her finger down on the mouse. When her laptop takes her to the next screen, she can’t help but shriek when she reads, in bold, bright letters:

Thank you for your purchase!

It’s a week later and Nova finds herself at the local coffee shop like every college student from the young adult novels she (not so) guiltily reads. It’s stereotypical, yes, but it’s her favorite place. They constantly have weird music playing through the speakers and it intrigues her every time she’s come in. Sometimes they sell EPs of local bands on the counter where you purchase your drink, and Nova usually can’t help herself but to buy one. She doesn’t always love the music she buys, but she loves the aesthetic of it all, so she continues to take pleasure in feeling like a fake hipster.

Today, the shop is crowded, which makes Nova curse under her breath. She curses a second time after she’s ordered a her coffee, when she realizes there are no available seats in here. She frowns, glancing around the room. When did everyone realize this place existed? Why are they taking over her little corner of campus?

She’s about to go ask the barista to put her drink in a to-go cup, because maybe she can go sit on the grass outside or something, when they call out her order at the counter. Fuck.

She takes it and mutters a thank you, and inside she panics while she scans the room. She can’t just stand there awkwardly sipping her coffee. Especially because she has her laptop in her other hand, and she’ll just look silly standing there with it. But she’s not about to go up to a stranger, for goodness sake.

She scowls without realizing it, and she hears a chuckle nearby. She’s about to just chug her coffee and go when she hears a voice.

“You can sit here if you want.”

Nova turns around to find who the voice belongs to, and she relaxes a bit when she notices a somewhat familiar face.

She’s seen this guy around campus a few times, although she doesn’t know his name. He’s cute. In fact, Nova would go so far as to say he’s sexy-- although he’s nothing like any of the guys she’s dated previously. She’s only seen him in passing, but he’s had a smile for her every time.

He’s got a mess of curly brown hair that doesn’t seem to want to cooperate, with a long, stubborn curl resting on his forehead. He has a pair of glasses atop his head, and Nova wonders why he isn’t wearing them-- especially because he seems to be squinting at his laptop. One hand is wrapped loosely around a coffee mug, in which she spies just plain black coffee. How boring and yet incredibly intriguing.

Not to mention the deliciously thick british accent that seems fitting, somewhow, and makes Nova’s insides feel warm and fluttery.

He shoots her a friendly smile and nods his head towards the empty chair across the table from him. Right.

She sits quickly, setting down her own laptop and coffee mug and shimmying out of her coat. “Thank you,” she says. “I didn’t expect this place to be so crowded today.”

“Midterms,” he mutters dismissively, and Nova nods in agreement.

“M’Harry by the way.”

He watches her with amused eyes and it makes her feel small in the best possible way. She settles her coat on the back of her chair and grins at him. “I’m Nova.”

His eyes widen at her words. “No shit! Nova Leary?”

“The one and only.” She nods, and she doesn’t know how or why this guy knows her name. “How’d you know?”

“It’s not a very common name, for starters. But also, Mr. Shuff won’t shut up about you and how great your grades were.”

The statement alarms Nova until she realizes who he’s referring to. She furrows her eyebrows. “Rick?”

Harry snorts. “So you’re on a first name basis with the science professors then.”

Nova rolls her eyes, taking a sip of her coffee. “No. Rick taught my favorite class last year. I asked my counselor if I could take it again because I loved it so much.”

“He says you’re the only one who aced every single one of his exams,” Harry continues. “Show off.”

Nova shrugs. “I love science.”

“Apparently so,” Harry chuckles. He takes a sip of his coffee and turns back to his laptop, and Nova thinks that the conversation is over, so she opens up her own laptop and starts logging in on the home screen.

“So, Nova huh? That’s a cool name. Very futuristic of you.”

Nova looks up then, absentmindedly tapping her nails against the keys on the laptop. “Thanks. Chose it myself.”

Harry eyes her for a moment, unsure of how exactly to read her sarcasm, and she rolls her eyes. “That was a joke.”

He smiles then, seemingly relieved, and laughs softly. “Oh. Cool. So Nova’s your real name then?”

“Yup.” She takes a sip of her coffee and considers her words carefully. She knows it’s a unique name, one that Harry’s probably never heard before. But she doesn’t know if he’s actually interested in hearing the origin story of her name, or if he’s just making polite conversation.

“Where’d it come from?”

“Hm?”

“Your name. Like, what made your parents name you that?”

Nova feels her cheeks redden, because duh. Of course that’s what he’d meant. “You’re gonna make fun of it.”

Harry smirks that damn smirk once again and his fingers trace the rim of his mug. “Try me.”

“The night that they think I was... conceived...” She says the last word softly, because damn, it feels weird to know the night you were conceived. “My parents were at a music festival. They looked up and swore that there was a supernova in the sky.”

Harry leans in, genuinely interested. “That’s sick.”

It’s Nova’s turn to smirk. “It was a music festival. In the 90s. They were on several drugs.”

“Oh.” Harry snorts at how blunt-- for lack of a better term-- she is. He takes another sip of his coffee and speaks into his mug. “I mean... you never know. There could’ve been a supernova.”

“There wasn’t.”

“And how would you know? Were you there?”

“Technically yes.” Harry nearly chokes on his drink and Nova beams. “Besides. The last supernova was in 1604.”

“Wow.” Harry finally relaxes into his chair. “Pretty and smart.”

“Comes with the name,” she says, matter-of-factly. “When you’re named after a type of star, you kind of have to know your stuff.”

“I see.” Harry smirks like he knows something that Nova doesn’t, and it intrigues her. He tugs at his bottom lip and watches her for a moment. She can feel the tips of her ears turning red, and she turns to her laptop. She hears Harry let out a soft, nasally laugh before he, too, turns back to his laptop.

She surprises herself when she speaks this time. “I like your accent.”

Harry smirks, but he doesn’t look away from his laptop. “Thanks. Chose it myself.”

Nova rolls her eyes. “What an original joke.”

Harry giggles-- actually giggles-- and it’s so endearing that Nova physically can’t stop herself from smiling. “M’from England,” Harry says. “But I moved here when I was 16.”

“Oh yeah? Why’s that?”

“When my parents divorced, my mum got a job out here. And I was... I mean, ya know, I was a kid, right? So I just came with her.”

“I see.” Nova picks nervously at her thumbnail. “Sorry to hear about the divorce.”

Harry shakes his head. “Nah. Don’t worry about it. Still close with both of ‘em. M’glad, anyway. They drove each other fuckin’ crazy.” The way he pronounces the word “fucking” makes Nova swoon, but she refrains from telling him that.

He turns to his laptop. “Anyway,” he says again, typing away. “I like it here. A lot.”

Nova smiles, busying herself with her own work. “That’s good!”

They’re quiet after that, and Nova is actually able to go over a few pages of the notes she’d taken a week ago. She’d been studying for the past few weeks, of course, so she could recite this stuff in her sleep, but still. It doesn’t hurt to be prepared.

It isn’t even five minutes later, however, when he’s talking again. He’s asking her some question about Mr. Shuff-- Rick-- and his class, and next thing she knows she’s helping him with his study guide for the midterm. (The midterm she’d aced with flying colors, she reminds him several times.)

Harry is smart, despite science not being his thing. A lot of the concepts that come as second nature to her don’t quite click in his brain, but the way he talks about them, the way he asks questions, the way he perceives and listens and takes in everything she’s telling him is fascinating. (Not to mention the fact that he’s actually quite beautiful to look at.)

Nova hasn’t even noticed when an hour has passed, and she actually feels her stomach drop when Harry mutters, “Oh shit, I’ve gotta go.”

“Where?” She feels stupid for asking, but she can’t help herself.

Harry is already up and wiggling into his jacket. “I have to go to class. It starts at 3:30.”

Nova glances down at the clock on her laptop, which reads 3:25. Damn.

“Thank you so much for all the help, today, really. I feel like I kind of understand it now.”

“Anytime!” Nova says. “And you know, I’m here a lot, so. If you ever need help, you know where to find me.”

Harry shoots her a genuine smile, and she crosses her fingers (on both hands) under the table, praying that he’ll ask for her number. “Thanks,” he says, nodding. “I’ll see you around, Nova.”

And then he’s gone, and the shop already seems less bright. (A terrible metaphor but an accurate one nonetheless.)

Nova stares dumbly at the empty chair in front of her, and she lets out a sigh she didn’t know she was holding. Looking back, she probably could’ve asked him for his number instead of hoping he’d ask her for hers. But still. Ouch.

Her laptop has gone into sleep mode and she wiggles her fingers against the mousepad to “wake it back up.” She’s hardly even glanced at her notes this entire time, and she doesn’t even care. She’d gotten to talk about something she loved with one of the most attractive guys she’d seen in AGES... and she had gotten no way of contacting him again.

She reaches for the coffee mug, which has been untouched for the last hour, and frowns when she realizes that the decent amount of coffee she had left is now cold. So she sighs, drinking it down anyway and then closing her laptop. She can do the rest of her studying at home, where she can maybe distract herself a bit and not think about those enormous, beautiful green eyes...

She stands then, slipping into her jacket and dropping her used mug off at the counter. (She knows she could just leave it on the table and someone would come clean it, but having worked as a waitress all through high school, she knows the drill too well and figures she’ll just make everyone’s lives that much easier by doing this.)

With one last nod and a mumbled, “thank you” to the barista, Nova straightens her jacket and heads out the door.

It’s two nights later, and Nova is impatient.

It’s a Saturday night, 9 business days since she’d ordered her package. And still, no sign of it.

Who is she supposed to call about this? She considers looking up the number for customer service on the website she’d ordered from, but then what would she say? “Hi this is Nova Leary calling, is this dildo support?”

There’s a reason she’s never done anything like this before, and this is it.

She groans, flipping upside down on the couch so that her head hangs off of the edge of it. She opens up her Instagram once more and goes to the search section. In her recent search history are several different variations of usernames containing the name “Harry,” and each time she’d clicked on one to find it wasn’t Coffee Shop Harry, she cursed herself for not asking for his last name.

It isn’t that she’s trying to stalk him, by any means. In fact, it’s quite the opposite. She just wants to see how he’s doing. See if he’s taken Rick’s test yet and how he feels about it. But she cannot find him anywhere, and she’s beginning to think that maybe its not meant to be.

She hears a knock on the door and groans. She expects it to be Jessie, because most of the time when Jessie leaves, she forgets her keys. (Although Nova doesn’t know why she didn’t just put her house key on the same keyring as her car keys. It’s such a simple solution.)

Nova rolls backwards off the couch and shuffles to the door. She expects to see Jessie, already kicking off her heels and holding her phone in her hand, with her mouth running a mile a minute telling Nova about tonight’s plans and how Nova should totally join her “just this once girl, pleeeease?” She expects to turn Jessie down, and she expects Jessie to ask her to curl her hair because “I can’t do it like you, kid!”

What Nova does not expect when she opens the door is Harry-- Coffee Shop Harry- standing in the hallway and holding a white box with that god-awful smirk.

“Well well well. If it isn’t the supernova herself.”

She rolls her eyes but she does smile. “Hi.” She can’t even begin to explain whats happening in her chest right now. He looks even better than he did at the coffee shop, if that’s even possible, Good lord.

“Where’ve you been? Feels like I haven’t seen you since 1604.”

“Ha ha,” she deadpans, then nods at the box. “What are you doing here? How’d you know I lived here?”

“Well, turns out this campus is a lot smaller than you’d think. I live there,” he nods his head towards the next door over, “And this...” He takes a deep breath and his cheeks redden the tiniest bit when he holds the box out to her. “This was delivered to my place.”

It takes Nova a moment to register what he’s holding, and when she does, she gasps.

“Oh... oh my god...”

“Yeah... erm...” Harry shrugs awkwardly. “I was going to just leave it there and hope you realized but I figured...” The tiniest hint of a smirk tugs at the corners of his mouth once again, but he covers it and lowers his voice. “Figured you’d maybe want whatever’s inside of here.”

Mortified, Nova gulps and shakes her head. Promised Discreet Packaging, her ass.

Her fingers feel awkward and cold, but her face is hot and overall this feels like she’s experiencing the most intense out-of-body experience in her entire life. She opens her mouth, then closes it. She can hear her heart pounding in her ears, and thinks that maybe this is it-- maybe she’s dying. What she can feel of her body feels like its vibrating at a frequency unheard of by humans and most animals. When was the last known case of spontaneous human combustion? Is that what she’s feeling now? Should Harry get out of the way?

Harry clears his throat, drawing her from her thoughts and sending another heat wave up to her ears. “Uh...” she chokes. “Well... I... thanks.” She takes the box from his hands in what can only be described as slow motion, despite her best efforts to get out of this situation as quickly as possible.

Harry hands over the box and his hands feel warm too. Possibly a little clammy. Or maybe those are hers. “Sure, yeah. Have a good night.”

Nova closes her eyes and wills them to never open, and Harry lets out a little “Ha-haa!” that crescendos in the most awkward and unnatural way. “No, that wasn’t... I didn’t mean... because of the...” He nods his head towards the box that feels like its going to melt out of her hand’s at any moment.

“Yeah,” she nods, willing him to please, for fucks sake, shut up before he finishes that sentence. “Uh. You too. Have a... good night.”

“Yeah.”

Neither of them makes any type of effort to pick up their feet and move, although for what reason, Nova isn’t sure. Especially because neither of them will look at the other. And Nova wants more than anything to just close the door and evaporate into nothingness but her feet seem to be glued to the carpet.

Of all people who could’ve been her neighbor.

Harry clears his throat once more for what feels like the 80th time that night. “Right.” He nods his head and shoves his hands in his pockets, turning on his heels to head back to his own apartment.

(But not before Nova notices how beyond red his ears are.)

Nova closes her mouth after realizing that a) its been open this entire time, and b) she’s been watching Harry until he disappeared into his own apartment, and she comes back to reality slowly.

Fuck.

When she’s back inside the safety of her own apartment, she sinks down against the door. She allows the box to drop out of her hands and land with a soft thud on the carpet while she hides her face. Why did it have to be Coffee Shop Harry? Why did it have to be a fucking vibrator?

Why did this have to happen to her?

She wants to scream, but that, of course, would do her no favors. So she groans, long and loud until she runs out of breath. How is she going to be able to face this? She won’t be able to use this now, knowing that Harry knows about it. There’s no way she’ll be able to use it.

Except, that is a complete lie.

Four hours later, after Jessie has texted her and told her she’s going to be spending the night at Brad’s, Nova eyes the box that is now sitting in the corner of the living room. It’s remained untouched since she’d gotten it, but she’d be lying if she said that she hadn’t been thinking about it. How deliciously teasing it must be on its lowest setting, and how torturously good it must feel on its highest one. She’d also be lying if she said she hadn’t been practically aching to know what it would look like, covered in her wetness, when she pulled it out from between her thighs.

And, to be frank, she’d be lying if she said she hadn’t been imagining what Harry would look like from down there, holding the vibrator firm between her legs, and watching her come undone with lust in his eyes.

She doesn’t know why she has that thought, and it makes her cheeks turn pink and hot but she can’t even help it. He’s been on her mind since the afternoon at the coffee shop, and now that she knows that he lives right next door, her thoughts are running even more wild than before.

And so she gives in.

Soon, Nova finds herself half sitting, half laying on her bed, knees curled up and naked from the waist down. She eyes the contraption in her hands and lets out a shaky breath. She doesn’t need instructions on how to use this or anything, but goodness, its so intimidating in her hands that she can’t help but feel a little lost.

But she knows what to do. And she needs to stop putting it off.

She clears her throat and sits up a bit more, and with her thumb she flips the switch of the vibrator to the lowest setting. It hums to life, and her eyes widen just a fraction.

Holy shit.

Even on the lowest setting, its powerful. Her hand thats holding the toy is buzzing, and her mouth practically waters. She needs to get this on her right now.

She’s still nervous, and she lowers it down between her legs. Slowly, so as to build up the anticipation. She thinks she knows what it’s going to feel like, but she doesn’t fully know. What if she doesn’t like it?

And then she feels it. Even on its lowest setting, it sends a tingle up her spine almost instantly. Her jaw drops and she can’t help the gasp that escapes her lips. Her knee-jerk reaction is to pull it away, and she sits there for a moment, taking it all in.

She definitely likes it.

She presses the tip against her clit again almost hungrily and allows her head to fall back against the wall. Her eyes flutter closed as she sighs out a quiet “Ohhh.” It feels so good, especially when she adds a bit of pressure. Fuck, why did she wait so long to purchase one of these?

She uses her thumb to increase the speed and groans the minute she hears the buzzing getting louder. She tilts the vibrator to hit her clit from an angle and lets out a half moan, half gasp noise that she knows she’s never made before. With a giggle, she thanks her lucky stars that Jessie isn’t home tonight and she can be as loud as she wants. Because, oh god, does she want to be loud.

She swirls the vibrator against her clit with a little flick of her wrist, and moans loudly just because she can. It feels good, and its even better knowing that she doesn’t have to suppress that feeling for anyone. Although truthfully, she’s not even sure she could suppress it if she wanted to. Not with how good this thing feels.

She allows herself to fall into a steady rhythm of rocking her hips against the top, and she’s nearly drooling. Every now and then she hits a certain spot that makes her toes curl and her breath hitch and she makes a note to focus more on that spot. She revels in how good she’s feeling, and her mind begins to drift.

It starts small. She thinks about how she wants to do this every night. About what a shame it is that she’s missed out on making herself feel this good for so long. About how she doesn’t need a partner to make herself feel good, and how wonderful that is.

But then, she thinks about having a partner. Someone to hold this against her while they kiss her neck or lick into her mouth. Someone with long fingers that could curl up inside her while they use their other hand to continuously roll this against her clit. Someone with a deep voice, so that the words “You like this, baby? Hm? Feel good?” sound like honey dripping off their lips. Someone with shaggy hair, green eyes, a thick british accent...

Fuck, she’s thinking about Harry.

Her legs kick out and her back arches just a bit when she hits another particularly good spot, and without even giving it a second thought, she turns up the speed. She lets out a long, loud moan and involuntarily bucks her hips up against the vibrator. Her head hits the wall once more with an embarrassingly loud thud, but she doesn’t even care. She can’t be bothered to even begin to care; not when this feels so good and her mind is completely engrossed with thoughts of Harry.

She imagines what he would look like down between her legs, eyes trained on her face and bottom lip tucked between his teeth. Her cheeks turn red when she allows herself to whisper his name softly under her breath, but it feels so good. She starts to do it again, but cuts herself off when she hits her clit from a different angle.

Her whispers turn into a moan that almost sounds like a shout, and if she wasn’t so wrapped up in how good she’s feeling, she’d be worried about the fact that the tail end of Harry’s name was completely audible. But how can she even think about that when she can hardly even think at all? That familiar tingle in her belly is beginning to blossom, and all she can focus on is getting there.

And so she bucks her hips with a bit more aggression this time, and completely releases any and all inhibitions. A chorus of “fuckfuckfuck” and “shit oh my god” and “yes holy shit yes!” pours from her mouth and echos off the walls of her all too quiet apartment. She doesn’t even have time to make the conscious decision to allow herself to cum, and its almost ridiculous how quickly she’s reached her orgasm. Especially considering how all she’s done with it is rub at her clit. Her free hand grasps and tugs at the comforter of her bed, and her bottom lip stings because of how strongly it’s wedged between her teeth. This is hands down the most intense orgasm she’s ever experienced, and she didn’t even have time to insert the thing inside of her or switch to the highest setting.

She is loving every single second of it.

When the feeling passes, Nova is left completely breathless. She flicks the vibrator off and drops it onto the bed beside her, and then she just stares.

Fucking hell.

She gives herself time to catch her breath, and it feels almost like a struggle to keep her eyes open. It’s the loveliest, most intense thing she’s experienced in a while, and she feels herself slowly returning back to earth, one shaky breath at a time.

When she straightens out her legs, her thighs twitch repeatedly-- almost like aftershocks. Is that supposed to happen? She doesn’t know, but right now, she’s too tired to be worried about it. With a stretch, she curls and uncurls her toes, allowing them to crack and pop. It feels surprisingly good, because she hadn’t realized how hard she’d been curling her toes the entire time.

And in the midst of it all, her thoughts drift back to Harry. She thinks of how kind he must be during the aftershocks. How smug he’d be that he’d made her feel so good. And how hard his cock would be... how delicious it would taste...

Nova swallows when she realizes that she’s salivating at the thought of him, and she feels her cheeks grow hot once more. Another twitch of her thighs snaps her back to reality.

She can’t be fantasizing about him like this. Absolutely not. He’s her neighbor, and she’s only had one conversation with him. (Two, if she considers the one she’d had with him earlier. Which, she doesn’t.)

So why on earth is the thought of him using this vibrator on her so sexy, and why had it brought her to orgasm in under five minutes?

Suddenly, Nova feels embarrassed. Even more embarrassed than before. Which is stupid, because she knows she’s alone in the apartment and has nothing to hide. But still, she feels so vulnerable. Exposed. Naked.

Which reminds her that she is, in fact, naked from the waist down.

“Fuck,” she mutters under her breath. She rolls off of her bed and her knees wobble ever so slightly once she puts weight on them. She tries not to think about her twitching thighs and how wet she feels. And most importantly, she tries not to think about Harry anymore.

Although she’s almost positive that he’d take care of her in these intimate moments after the intensity passed. He’d probably get her a clean pair of underwear and one of his hoodies, which would smell like him, and he’d probably help her clean herself off. Not to mention, of course, how good he’d probably smell....

Shut up, Nova.

She shakes her head and retrieves a pair of pink cotton panties from her top drawer. Nowhere near sexy, but they’re comfortable and that’s what she needs right now.

She bets Harry would love them.

With a groan she gathers up her PJs, as well as the vibrator, and heads into the bathroom. Her face feels hot the entire time she’s washing off the tip of the toy with a damp cloth. (Is that what you’re supposed to do? She’d read online that she needed to keep the vibrator clean, but is this correct? Why does this shit confuse her so much?)

Fifteen minutes later, Nova is in bed and the vibrator is stored safely and discreetly in her closet. She still feels awkward and giddy, like a little kid almost, and her thighs continue to buzz every so often with another little aftershock.

She’s fading fast, and its hard to even focus her mind right now. But what she does focus on is the one person who’s been her driving force behind nearly everything for the past hour or so.

She hugs her pillow closer and allows herself to imagine its him. Imagining the scent of his bare chest, the warmth of his skin, and the gentle thumping of his heartbeat. She imagines his fingers in her hair, trailing lightly down her back, and his thick accent humming and muttering her praises in her ear. “Such a good girl for me.” “Rode that so well.” “Look so pretty when you cum.”

Nova knows she’ll have to deal with this in the morning, of course. Or rather, not deal with it at all. She knows she’ll eventually see Harry again, and she knows herself well enough to know she will probably never make eye contact with him after tonights incident. (She has the fleeting, sleepy thought that tonight could be referred to as The Great Dildo Incident and it makes her giggle so hard that she starts coughing.)

For now, though, she’s happy. And warm. And sincerely exhausted after fucking herself to the thought of her cute british neighbor.

And so for now, that is enough.

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someobscurereference · 6 years

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one-happy belated fwa day!!! youre one of my favorite authors and im always checking in to see if you've written more (seas the day is really good btw i WEPT i love it). two-i love that protective sentence starter thing you reblogged bc god im a sucker for that stuff too and in honor of it i was wondering if you had any 'protectiveness' hcs for the trio + their lords (+ niles and beruka if thats not too much XD)

I’m even later replying to this than you were sending this ask, so the reward for most belated goes to me, haha. Sorry for the delay! I’ve had a really busy few days. But thanks so much! I’m so glad you enjoy my fics!

(Referring to this post) Secondly, in honor of you loving protective tropes as much as I do, I would love to gush about them for a while. I’m not sure I have any HCs, per say, since I don’t tend to think of HCs on my own/without prompting, but! I will do my best.

Firstly, all the retainers are canonically so protective of their lieges. Normally that comes out as “X is the best and we love them so much!!!” to “They deserve that vacation the most!” to “I will go above and beyond to do literally anything for you for any reason.”

But also canonically (Birthright ending) Laslow and Peri disregarded direct orders from Xander himself because they had a bad feeling and wanted to protect him? They gathered up all the soldiers in the castle to go fight for him? They were explicitly told not to and yet they did anyway, even though they knew they’d be in trouble if they were wrong. But they did it!! Because they love Xander!! Canonically!

Literally any interaction the Nohr retainers have with their liege is just about how much they love them. Not really protective but wanted to mention it again.

Speaking of Xander just now, his Support with Laslow ends with him saying “Please don’t die. That’s literally all I’m asking of you.”

So you know if Laslow were ever in danger like Xander was in the Conquest end (or even something more lowkey but still dangerous), Xander would disregard Laslow’s request not to help/follow/whatever and would protect Laslow anyway.

Probably with a demand that Laslow explain himself and what happened right after. But still 100% protecting him, standing in front of a fallen Laslow, sword at the ready.

Peri would also be there and Xander would do the same for her. But also if you wanted XanLow, there are def overtones of that too

I’m saying that Laslow (or Peri, but especially Laslow for XanLow overtones) is Xander’s number one fear because he already lived through the deaths of his past retainers, which he blames himself for, and if he saw Laslow in a similar situation, it’d be Nightmare Time

Xander, like Mr. Incredible from that iconic scene, meaning it perhaps both mentally and physically: “I’m… not strong enough…”

I’m weak for that. My favorite type of protectiveness, tbh. “I can’t… lose you again…” Oof, my heart.

I feel like Camilla is obvious enough that you know what to expect from her already but I’ll gush anyway

She would torture and slaughter a person if they had injured Selena or Beruka too badly.

Absolutely crushes everyone in her path for them (just like the rest of her family)

But very bad injuries get especial cruelty. No mercy. Camilla is Frightening.

And then she’d probably coo over Selena or Beruka for a while as they healed, even to the point where they have to ask her to stop, it’s fine.

Selena obviously adores Camilla and fights for her in a heartbeat. She’d be mad as hecky if someone managed to hurt Camilla, especially on her watch. Mad at the person and herself.

Selena is very Passionate in her defense of Camilla and she is willing to improvise if need be. Plus wild on emotions. Very much like one of the scenes from that horror au I wrote.

Beruka is more lowkey than those two, obviously, but she’s Very Displeased at the thought of Camilla being in danger/harmed on her watch. She’s not the type to go out seeking senseless revenge or needlessly torture or do any of that stuff–if a person is dead, they’re dead, and nothing can really change that–but she is the type where that the memory of her failure would linger and she would double her efforts to protect Camilla after that.

Selena and Beruka offer to do even more/do even more without being asked when Camilla is the one hurt. Camilla coos and gushes over them in turn.

Leo isn’t a super protective type, I think, but there are limits to what he’s willing to do or sacrifice as well. See: Leo & Odin support, where Leo is no longer willing to send Odin out on crazy impossible missions anymore despite the fact Odin completed them all 100% perfectly in the past because he simply values Odin too much now. Even though Odin pulled off impossible, made-up missions in the past, Leo still won’t risk it.

In Leo’s support with Niles as well, Niles basically says “You are my reason to live, you gave me a life, I’ll do anything for you, etc” and Leo says “I mean, thanks, I have to appreciate that, but also Do Not Die.”

So Leo isn’t the type to go threatening to kill anyone who touches a hair on their heads (Camilla) or will go marching up, sword in hand (Xander) (though he could def protect in battle in need be), but between “I would die for you, my reason to live” Niles and “Please, I wanna do cool things that might kill me” Odin, Leo probably has the “Please don’t die” thoughts a lot.

In turn, while Niles and Odin are probably just as traditionally physically protective as Selena+Beruka/Laslow+Peri, I think of Niles and Odin as more coddling to Leo too, even though he doesn’t need/want it

As kind of a mirror to Xander, though, instead of saying “Please live,” Leo says to Odin “Please continue to use my title if you leave so we’ll always be connected” and I’m big into that as well. Not quite protective but? I feel like there’s something there I can’t quite articulate.

These are more general facts than protective scenarios but that’s mostly because I can’t think of anything specific right now, lol. Sorry.

I listed all these things but my biggest protective trope thing is when Character A nearly dies/is believed to be dead and Character B/C Freak Out (and then are overcome with relief when Character A is revealed to be okay.) Which I didn’t list here because I feels too self-indulgent, haha. But that is my favorite type of protective trope. Absolutely weak. I want 20 fics of it. With every mix and match of the characters above.

(”seas the day” was almost that trope but near drowning is already very self-indulgent for me and I was worried a panic about Odin’s near death would too indulgent, lol. But!! I love it!!!!!)

I hope this list was what you were hoping for!

#my text #asks #fe14 #long post #sorry for the delay but thanks for asking!

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nivks · 6 years

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lol u have no idea!! i was having the roughest day at work and i was so stressed out then when i fixed the problem i overheard someone say nick grimshaw was coming while i was midstep walking to my bag. i had vertigo for like a second and nearly faceplanted onto the floor

but yes im in ldn and he was super lovely and POLITE we get so many rude people at work it was a nice change. we only said like 5 sentences to each other and he said thank you to me and i think he did a double take for a moment bc i was looking at him like this it was embarrassing af lol. also he is so much more muted in real life and he was very sweet to some old friends that he bumped into but yeah it was so hard i love him sfm i was on cloud 9 for DAYS also hes not as tall as i expected

YOU HAVIN A ROUGH DAY THEN OVERHEARING THAT NICK GRIIMSHAW WAS IN??? THATS!!!!! its like hes THERE FOR YOU without even trying

#i have never heard of someone meeting him and not liking him in person and thats?????#so beautiful #imagine being that genuine good of a person that when people talk about 'meeting the Real Life Celeb!' its #all positive #i hope ur havin a good day anon!#anonymous

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ganymedesclock · 7 years

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Do you think lion sharing fits the storytelling theme of VLD? If the clone theory is true then there are 7 people who can be Paladins. Thats 2 extra people who have no definite role in the team. What can they do for the story if they're not Paladins?

First part of this I have a beef with:

Not every role requires a Lion to be important. Think about how much Coran does, in every conceivable factor of the team’s life, to keep things running smoothly. His job is hard and super demanding! As the main guy doing maintenance on the castle he’s singlehandedly responsible for their survival on many occasions. And yeah he goes on missions and fights, too! He’s under enough stress that in s4e4 we see him turning to questionable brain worms just to try and keep up.

Kolivan? Olia? You think these people and their entire rebel organizations- who were pulling most of the weight during s4e5 and s4e6 especially after Voltron was incapacitated on Naxzela- are meaningless?

You can’t even go, “but Clockie this is a spaceship battle series” because everybody else has spaceships and weighs in on space battles! Hey remember when Allura (not bonded to a Lion) led the entire population of a Balmera (also, not bounded to a Lion) and took out the Drazil robeast? The entire rebel fleet’s not gonna stand around scratching their noses the next time Voltron gets attacked by a monster.

This is a very prevalent fandom attitude, and it bothers me a lot, especially because it treats Lance’s discussion with Keith in s3e5 as insecure bellyaching and not an incredibly solid and astute point: this is not a participation game, this is war.

This means no, they are not going to always have everybody conveniently lined up with the right colored Lion. Sometimes people are going to have conflicting objectives as Keith did in s4e1. The team can’t afford to just stick it out for the one person they want to be Black Paladin. Having multiple candidates who can jump in and rotate as needed is just plain smart tactical sense.

A huge amount of the rebellion hinges on Voltron’s massive firepower and unique properties, and on it as a symbol of hope. S4e1 and s4e2 are showing us that as the paladins get more confident and capable, they’re pursuing solo missions more often and in greater detail- and these things are incredibly important. Keith was investigating a profoundly worrying undercurrent in the empire, and if he hadn’t been separate from the team he wouldn’t have been able to hone everyone’s focus in on Haggar’s battleship in s4e6. If Pidge hadn’t been off on her own in s4e2 they wouldn’t have basically doubled the size of their fleet with Olia’s rebel alliance.

But if they’re the only people who can possibly work their Lions at all, that puts the rebellion in massive danger. It means any time they’re doing anything, there’s a gaping Voltron-shaped hole in their defenses. This has been an issue since even before the Lion switch- look at s2e6! An entire endangered population nearly died because Keith wasn’t there to pilot Red. And that’s not ragging on Keith.

Logically here nothing is gonna take these people’s protagonist status from them. It isn’t like, if the clone Shiro theory is true, then Shiro and his clone are going to have to have a fistfight over the Black Lion and the loser is banished evermore.

And personally, I think that ultimately the initial introduced formation was introduced for a reason. Black may have seen potential in both Keith and Shiro but Shiro spoke to them in a way that Keith didn’t and it wasn’t just because Red got to Keith first and claimed dibs. I think that what we first saw was a kind of ideal, optimized match.

However, the Lion bonds are not a glorified locking mechanism- the Lions are sentient beings. By developing an intimate relationship with Shiro and his mind, it stands to reason Black is going to come to care about the same people. That means that Black, like Shiro himself, is going to make decisions with the welfare of the entire team in mind and not just “whose butt is in my cockpit, is it Shiro, if not, Sorry No Heroics Today”

Especially since Black in the past arguably led to some of this trouble by prioritizing their paladin’s wishes over the team’s wellbeing- remember, Black willingly carried Honerva towards the rift and let Zarkon hide her from the rest of the team.

And Black, when choosing someone who was a reflection of their heart, who mirrored who they were as a person- chose Shiro. Shiro, who’s charismatic and a natural leader, yes, but also comes to the cast burdened heavily by personal regret and the idea that he caused harm to others without meaning or wanting to.

This tells us pretty clearly that Black feels at least in part personally responsible for what happened with Zarkon. And the part they would most likely feel guilty about was helping him against the team.

So if anything... Black connecting with other people besides Shiro, and not sticking it out for him and staying unresponsive- would make perfect sense as a remorseful being that’s desperately trying to do right by these people they’re trusted with.

You can say very similar things for Red towards Lance, and Blue towards Allura. Red- the loyal, the driven, the self-sacrificing, is stated by Allura to have connected with Lance not only when Lance supported Keith connecting with Black, but also reached out and did what he could to help ground Keith from the deeply upset place he was operating out of.

Red obviously selected Lance to be Keith’s right hand because Keith was at a point where he needed someone who would connect with him and help him focus- who would reach out to him if he started spiraling downward. Because Red- the most powerful and most vulnerable of the Lions- would know that Keith alone and emotionally compromised is a death sentence.

So Red grabbed Lance, because Red knows Lance will worry about Keith as much as he does.

Blue looking to Allura? Blue is a nurturer, a guiding soul, and not one worried about Lance because she knows that Lance is not only in good hands, but he’s good hands himself- “worrier” is not Blue’s nature. So Blue takes to herself Allura, who, at this point, is highly upset, who feels like she desperately needs to get out and do something, but who Red- her father’s Lion- turned down.

(because Keith and Allura, while they work together, can facilitate some pretty bad ideas in each other as seen in s2e6 and Allura would be unlikely to reign Keith in as much as she’d be more likely to go down with him)

So instead, Blue invites Allura to come into her arms, to have more of a front line role and support her team but also to be nurtured a little because at the end of the day Allura is young and walking off some incredible heartbreak. And Blue’s dual nature is that she is someone who seeks to nurture her paladin but also someone who encourages her paladin to nurture others.

The Lion switch makes sense as long as you consider the Lions as sentient entities who are also reacting to the situation. And taking that and applying it to Lion sharing... people can have multiple friends. Lance bonding with Keith doesn’t mean Hunk means nothing to him any more.

Each of the Lions might have one person they prefer, but they don’t hate the others. Especially because refusing to connect with anybody but their bonded paladin would hurt that paladin sometimes- Shiro probably would’ve been much worse injured if Black hadn’t let Keith in to protect him in s2e1.

I personally think that each Lion has one champion- notice how in vlogs and otherwise, Keith has never been called the Black Paladin- “Paladin Of The Black Lion”, maybe, but there’s that element of detachment and evasion. And Keith still wears Red’s colors when he wears paladin armor- and that’s meaningful.

However, as the whole team grows closer together, they don’t just have one configuration for success. I wouldn’t be surprised if ultimately we’re headed for something where all of our major players (the original five plus Allura plus, if clone theory, clone Shiro) are going to be able to potentially work with any Lion as needed. After all, they’re building skills to work with each other- it makes sense that with the team getting used to, say, Pidge, and Pidge’s mentality and way of viewing the world, each of them are going to be better equipped to understand Green, and Green’s mentality and way of viewing the world.

#voltron legendary defender #vld #Lion Switch #readmore #Anonymous

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computerguideworld-blog · 5 years

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Computer Program That Calculates Prison Sentences Even More Racist Than Humans

New Post has been published on https://computerguideto.com/must-see/computer-program-that-calculates-prison-sentences-even-more-racist-than-humans/

Computer Program That Calculates Prison Sentences Even More Racist Than Humans

A computer program used to calculate peoples risk of committing crimes is less accurate and more racist than random humans assigned to the same task, a new Dartmouth study finds.

Before theyre sentenced, people who commit crimes in some U.S. states are required to take a 137-question quiz. The questions, which range from queries about a persons criminal history, to their parents substance use, to do you feel discouraged at times? are part of a software program called Correctional Offender Management Profiling for Alternative Sanctions, or COMPAS. Using a proprietary algorithm, COMPAS is meant to crunch the numbers on a persons life, determine their risk for reoffending, and help a judge determine a sentence based on that risk assessment.

Rather than making objective decisions, COMPAS actually plays up racial biases in the criminal justice system, activists allege. And a study released last week from Dartmouth researchers found that random, untrained people on the internet could make more accurate predictions about a persons criminal future than the expensive software could.

A privately held software, COMPASs algorithms are a trade secret. Its conclusions baffle some of the people it evaluates. Take Eric Loomis, a Michigan man arrested in 2013, who pled guilty to attempting to flee a police officer, and no contest to driving a vehicle without its owners permission.

While neither offense was violent, COMPAS assessed Loomiss history and reported him as having a high risk of violence, high risk of recidivism, high pretrial risk. Loomis was sentenced to six years in prison based on the finding.

COMPAS came to its conclusion through its 137-question quiz, which asks questions about the persons criminal history, family history, social life, and opinions. The questionnaire does not ask a persons race. But the questions including those about parents arrest history, neighborhood crime, and a persons economic stability appear unfavorably biased against black defendants, who are disproportionately impoverished or incarcerated in the U.S.

A 2016 ProPublica investigation analyzed the softwares results across 7,000 cases in Broward County, Florida, and found that COMPAS often overestimated a persons risk for committing future crimes. These incorrect assessments nearly doubled among black defendants, who frequently received higher risk ratings than white defendants who had committed more serious crimes.

But COMPAS isnt just frequently wrong, the new Dartmouth study found: random humans can do a better job, with less information.

The Dartmouth research group hired 462 participants through Mechanical Turk, a crowdsourcing platform. The participants, who had no background or training in criminal justice, were given a brief description of a real criminals age and sex, as well as the crime they committed and their previous criminal history. The persons race was not given.

Do you think this person will commit another crime within 2 years, the researchers asked participants.

The untrained group correctly predicted whether a person would commit another crime with 68.2 percent accuracy for black defendants and 67.6 percent accuracy for white defendants. Thats slightly better than COMPAS, which reports 64.9 percent accuracy for black defendants and 65.7 percent accuracy for white defendants.

In a statement, COMPASs parent company Equivalent argued that the Dartmouth findings were actually good.

Instead of being a criticism of the COMPAS assessment, [the study] actually adds to a growing number of independent studies that have confirmed that COMPAS achieves good predictability and matches the increasingly accepted AUC standard of 0.70 for well-designed risk assessment tools used in criminal justice, Equivalent said in the statement.

What it didnt add was that the humans who had slightly outperformed COMPAS were untrained whereas COMPAS is a massively expensive and secretive program.

In 2015, Wisconsin signed a contract with COMPAS for $1,765,334, documents obtained by the Electronic Privacy Information Center reveal. The largest chunk of the cash $776,475 went to licensing and maintenance fees for the software company. By contrast, the Dartmouth researchers paid each study participant $1 for completing the task, and a $5 bonus if they answered correctly more than 65 percent of the time.

And for all that money, defendants still arent sure COMPAS is doing its job.

After COMPAS helped sentence him to six years in prison, Loomis attempted to overturn the ruling, claiming the ruling by algorithm violated his right to due process. The secretive nature of the software meant it could not be trusted, he claimed.

His bid failed last summer when the U.S.Supreme Court refused to take up his case, allowing the COMPAS-based sentence to remain.

Instead of throwing himself at the mercy of the court, Loomis was at the mercy of the machine.

He might have had better luck at the hands of random internet users.

Read more: https://www.thedailybeast.com

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cleannation2018-blog · 6 years

Text

Pizza Hut Wendys Suit

Cleannation

Vs.

Pizza Hut/ Wendys

T. Andrews has brought a person pan pizza on friday. Today I order the same thing I order all the time when I am ordering pizza. not at that location but any time i am ordering pizza. Light sauce extra cheese sausage and pineapple. I wait probably 20 minutes for my personal pan pizza to be made. Just as he comes out with my pizza I smell HIV. I know what HIV smells like due to past experiences at other stores. Actually I am in the middle of other suits with other stores due to HIV being wiped on numerous of stores food products and products in general. Walmart in particular. I am not a prissy kind of chick that screams at the sight of Mud or dirt or “germs” buts AIDS Is scream kick and yell at obviously and its EVERYWHERE. I Have noticed the aids smell on a lot of products across stores like CVS 7 Eleven WALAMRT SAFEWAY AND GIANTS –THOSE are the stores I frequent on a regular basis. Reading it may sound hard to believe but I’ve gone to atleast two walmrt stores and been THROUGH a store---nearly every product I picked up has been tainted with the smell. Its gross negligence or PURPOSEFULLY done either way PEOPLE shouldn’t have jobs including the president. There’s no way a consumer is coming into ANY STORE over the course of two weeks and finding all the products contaminated---- Yet it’s true. How I will never know. I feel like they trying to make it normal. HELL NO. I brought a new product I expect a new product---a risk to every consumer and the CEO of these stores are unconcerned and the president of the United States is unconcerned. From here it would appear illegal and negligent like these people are putting consumers in harm’s way especially children who are not paying attention. Adults who are not paying attention. I actually am not eating properly. I’ve been eating sealed products like chips and even that is compromised some days to the point I eat nothing and soda I’m starving so I ventured into ordering. At this point im hoping a camera and needing a job and wanting to stay out of jail will keep people in line but it Is not. I have been advocating that HIV positive workers be banned from working at stores and due to the contaminated mess Wal-Mart’s store is that they be banned from entering stores all together. But back to the purpose of the suit against Pizza Hut and Wendy’s they will be included in the same suit as it happened on the same day and in retrospect are connected due to the timeline. Back to what happened on the second of March 2018. Written 3/2/2018. He comes out with the pizza and I smell Hiv. I Ponder for a second. Then I ask for a refund. I am angry leaving the store because one Pizza Hut disrespected humanity and myself by hiring HIV positive workers and entrusting them with LOADED guns and NOT telling CUSTOMERS they are hiring HIV positive workers. What you choose to do with your BUSINESS is YOUR business BUT YOU took my right to decide if I want to EAT HERE. You place doubt on EVERYONE walking in the door. AND I HAD NO FUCKING IDEA. I showed you what would happen if I know someone with HIV is working there. The fact that your flagrantly took my rights and choice is spit in your face and take your JOB and your company. And the whole it’s your choice to run your business how you please—is following law. But the law needs to be UNDONE clean people with sense are not eating with PEOPLE or from PEOPLE who have AIDS. You cannot put DIRTY and clean in the same sentence. They need to be removed from working especially around food and clothes and the like. Imagine buying a brand new car or a brand new sofa and someone wiped hiv fluids on the surface. DISGUSTED. And Whats even worse I have to worry if when I say LIGHT sauce because I HATE tomato sauce or pizza with too much tomato sauce has pissed someone off or scratched someone’s funny bone and someone thought it was funny to put HIV in my food. Fuck no This is a food place meaning I can customize my food anyway I LIKE. I paid money. It should be encouraged to show you’re a worthy food place. I’m not worrying about shit beyond did you do it RIGHT you owe me money for you not having common sense. I went to Wendy’s next and the whole way there Im thinking do these people KNOW each other. Call themselves being upset because I don’t want to catch AIDS. And I turned out to be right. People shoot humanity and human decncy down every day. I am now an over developed cynist. Turned out to be right. I ordered two double stacks for 1 each and a small fry. The first burger I opened smelled like Vagina. Think God I thought to smell it. It was refunded. None of these meals were eaten thank God but IT DISHEARTENS ME THAT THE world I use to know where WHAT I was going to order is no longer the concern WHERE can I eat safely. Do They LOOK trustworthy. YOU TURN customers into FBI agents. You take the free civilized world we live in when you hand it to inferior diseased criminal minds like hiv positive people. It is a HUMAN thought to want to NORMALIZE a disease especially a disease like HIV but it is a crime. The only way to normalize it is to give it to people INFECT people. It is a crime. and I find it amazing you have that much trust in criminal humanity that you are giving people with loaded guns free blank checks and the only security you are offering is a cameras that will be reviewed after someone has eaten a meal. No sir. No MAM It is the most infuriating THING I one cant enjoy my food but that Two YOU HAVE GIVEN INFERIOR INFECTED PEOPLE POWER. i say the wrong thing on twitter and WALAH my food is being posioned. Thats not a civilized soceity specifically when THE WAR HAS BEEN started by criminals and it is A WAR. When I spend money on food. I expect to enjoy it not worry I will be picked out because I am black or fat or because I said something on TWITTER about my food being contaminated by AIDS. It is the most infuriating thing that the GOVT is insinuating hiv PSOITIVE people are GOING TO play god and SHRUG if a clean person gets via food or some other criminal activity it. No sir noone will be playing GOD In my life. I live my life the way I do purposefully. I will be getting what i SO. The law and govt are meant to be the consumers eyes and ears. Protectors considering nooone knows everything and most people know some but noone knows everything. The govt has quite frankly startled and disspointed me. My diet is 80 percent dairy. Im a likely candidate to be picked out either from milk ice cream salad or mayonnaise. Its scary. And those are OBVIOUS food that conceal HIV an food can be wiped with it. Its a scary thought. Are you really saying THE GOVT PASSED A law putting the general public in harms way? I am going to have to stop this, Little ol me a nobody with no secret service. I'm usually not a politician or someone who goes to bat for things on this level but FOOD is half of my life. I have no choice. ONE of the amazing things about being alive is that we get to make our decidions there are probbaly a billion food items in earth,. In the past two weeks ive been drinking soda and chips. Its a disgusting sad story. I dont have AIDS and Im living like I do. Its the most dehumaning thing I have eevr experienced AND pizza Hut adn Wendys JUST EMPHASIZED MY POINT. tHE aids THING was brought to my atention before Wendys ND PIZZA HUT----brought my spirits down. These people dont have much to live for., Taking someone elses life will not be a hard task. Ist unsettling The GOVT WAS allowing them to work and free access to stores. Its coming to an end. There is no other way.

Relief

Close Pizza Hut and Wendys adn the sum of its assetts

REMOVE ALL HIV positive workers from employment and remove access to stores

0 notes

vitalmindandbody · 7 years

Text

Barack Obama’s original sin: America’s post-racial illusion

For African Americans, Obamas presidency has been largely defined by his reluctance to engage with discrimination and a racist criminal justice system

In the first hours of the new year in 2009, just weeks before Barack Obama was to be inaugurated as the next president, shots rang out in Oakland, California. A transit officer named Johannes Mehserle shot an unarmed 22-year-old black man who lay face-down in handcuffs on a public transportation platform. His name was Oscar Grant.

Dozens of witnesses, many of whom were returning to Oakland after New Years Eve celebrations, watched in horror. Some captured his killing on smartphones. Shortly afterward, black Oakland exploded in palpable anger, with hundreds, then thousands of people taking to the streets, demanding justice.

Perhaps this outcry would have happened under any circumstance, but the brutality of Grants death in the few weeks before the countrys first black president was to take office felt like a shock of cold water. Police brutality had long been a fact of life in California, but the country was supposed to have entered into a post-racial parallel universe. The optimism that coursed through black America in 2008 seemed a million miles away.

A local movement led by Grants family unfolded across the Bay Area to demand that prosecutors charge and try Mehserle. Protests, marches, campus activism, public forums and organizing meetings sustained enough pressure to force local officials to charge Mehserle with murder. It was the first murder trial of a California police officer for a line of duty killing in 15 years. In the end, Mehserle, convicted of involuntary manslaughter, spent less than a year in prison, but the local movement foreshadowed events to come.

As for President Obama, he turned out to be very different from candidate Obama, who had stage-managed his campaign to resemble something closer to a social movement. He had conjured much hope, especially among African Americans but with great expectations came even greater disappointments.

Yes, we can

In the heated race for the 2008 Democratic nomination, Obama distinguished himself from the establishment candidate, Hillary Clinton, by campaigning clearly against the war in Iraq and vowing to shut down the Guantnamo military internment camp. As the campaign continued, he spoke of economic inequality and connected with young people who were underwhelmed at the prospect of voting for yet another old, white windbag in the form of John McCain.

Black peoples enthusiasm for the Obama campaign could not be reduced to racial solidarity or recrimination. Obama electrified his audiences, as in this speech from January 2008, after the New Hampshire primary:

Weve been warned against offering the people of this nation false hope.

But in the unlikely story that is America, there has never been anything false about hope. For when we have faced down impossible odds, when weve been told were not ready or that we shouldnt try or that we cant, generations of Americans have responded with a simple creed that sums up the spirit of a people: yes, we can. Yes, we can. Yes, we can.

It was a creed written into the founding documents that declared the destiny of a nation: yes, we can.

It was whispered by slaves and abolitionists as they blazed a trail towards freedom through the darkest of nights: yes, we can.

It was sung by immigrants as they struck out from distant shores and pioneers who pushed westward against an unforgiving wilderness: yes, we can Yes, we can heal this nation. Yes, we can repair this world. Yes, we can.

But it was only in March 2008 that Obama finally gave a comprehensive speech on race, in which he pulled off the feat of addressing the concerns of African Americans while calming the fears of white voters.

Obama had been pressured for weeks to rebuke his pastor, the Rev Jeremiah Wright, who had delivered a sermon titled God Damn America, referring to the wrong the United States had committed in the world. Obamas political enemies had unearthed the sermon and tried to attribute Wrights ideas to Obama. Obama used his platform in Philadelphia to distance himself from Wright, whom he described as divisive and with a profoundly distorted view of this country.

He went on to contextualize Wrights angry comments and condemnations as based on his having come of age in a US where legalized discrimination where black people were prevented, often through violence, from owning property, or loans were not granted to African American business owners, or black homeowners could not access FHA mortgages, or blacks were excluded from unions or the police force or the fire department meant that black families could not amass any meaningful wealth to bequeath to future generations.

No one running for president had ever spoken so directly about the history of racism in government and society at large. Yet Obamas speech also counseled that a more perfect United States required African Americans taking full responsibility for our own lives by demanding more from our fathers, and spending more time with our children, and reading to them, and teaching them that while they may face challenges and discrimination in their own lives, they must never succumb to despair or cynicism; they must always believe that they can write their own destiny.

Obama couched his comments in the language of American progress and the vitality of the American dream, but the speech was remarkable nonetheless in the theater of American politics, where cowardice and empty rhetoric are the typical fare. In that sense Obama broke the mold, but he also established the terms upon which he would engage race matters: with dubious even-handedness, even in response to events that required decisive action on behalf of the racially aggrieved.

He spoke quite eloquently about the nations original sin and dark history but has repeatedly failed to connect the sins of the past to the crimes of the present, when racism thrives, when police stop-and-frisk, when subprime loans are reserved for black buyers, when public schools are denied resources, and when double-digit unemployment has become so normal that it barely registers a ripple of recognition.

Before Ferguson, Obamas Philadelphia speech was as close as he had ever come to speaking truthfully about racism in the US, even though he presented himself as an interested observer, a thoughtful interlocutor between African Americans and the country as a whole, rather than a US senator with the political influence to effect the changes of which he spoke.

The informed observer

Barack Obama, the informed observer, seen in 2009 at the White House. Photograph: Matthew Cavanaugh/EPA

Obama would continue in his role as informed observer even as president.

Obama has and will always poll high among African Americans, but that should not be mistaken for blind support for him or the policies he champions. As long as members of the Republican party treat Obama in a brazenly racist manner, black people will defend him because they understand that those attacks against Obama serve as a proxy for attacks on them.

Early in his administration, however, with the full effects of the recession still pulsing in black communities, conflict between the black president and his base could be detected. Black America was in the midst of an economic freefall as black wealth disappeared.

As black unemployment was climbing into the high double digits, civil rights leaders asked Obama if he would craft policies to address black joblessness. He responded, I have a special responsibility to look out for the interests of every American. Thats my job as president of the United States. And I wake up every morning trying to promote the kinds of policies that are going to make the biggest difference for the most number of people so that they can live out their American dream.

It was a disappointing response, even if that disappointment did not manifest itself in his approval ratings. In 2011, with black unemployment above 13%, 86% of black Americans approved of the overall job the president was doing, but 56% expressed disappointment in the area of providing proper oversight for Wall Street and the big banks.

For African Americans, Obamas presidency had been largely defined by his reluctance to engage with the ways that racial discrimination was blunting the impact of his administrations recovery efforts. Obama has not shown nearly the same reticence when publicly chastising African Americans for a range of behaviors that read like a handbook on anti-black stereotypes, from parenting skills and dietary choices to sexual mores and television-watching habits.

There is something disingenuous in focusing on poor and working-class black people without any discussion about the ways that the criminal justice system has disappeared black parents from the lives of their children.

When Obama talks about absentee black fathers, he never mentions the disparity in arrests and sentencing that is responsible for the disproportionate number of missing black men. Few media discussions about Obamas candidacy mentioned curbing the nations criminal justice systems voracious appetite for black bodies: a million African Americans are incarcerated, and one in four black men between 20 and 29 are under the control of the criminal justice system.

Over the course of his first term, Obama paid no special attention to the mounting issues involving law enforcement and imprisonment, even as Michelle Alexanders The New Jim Crow described the horrors that mass incarceration and corruption throughout the legal system had inflicted on black families.

None of this began with Obama, but it would be naive to think that African Americans were not considering the destructive impact of policing and incarceration when they turned out in droves to elect him. His unwillingness to address the effects of structural inequality eroded younger African Americans confidence in the transformative capacity of his presidency.

The legacy of the American spring

There was one moment when black America collectively came to terms with Barack Obamas refusal to use his position as president to intervene on behalf of African Americans.

Troy Davis was a black man on death row in the state of Georgia. It was widely believed that he had been wrongfully convicted, which would mean that in the fall of 2011 he was facing execution for a crime he had not committed.

Daviss cries of innocence were not a voice in the wilderness: for years he and his sister, Martina Davis-Correia, had joined with anti-death-penalty activists to fight for his life and exoneration. By September 2011, an international campaign was under way to have him removed from death row. The protests grew larger and more frantic as the death date crept closer. There were protests around the world; support from global dignitaries rolled in as the international movement to stop Daviss execution took shape.

The European Union and the governments of France and Germany implored the United States to halt his execution, as did Amnesty International and the former FBI director William Sessions. A Democrat in the Georgia senate, Vincent Fort, called on those charged with carrying out the execution to refuse to do it: We call on the members of the Injection Team: Strike! Do not follow your orders! Do not start the flow of the lethal injection chemicals. If you refuse to participate, you make it that much harder for this immoral execution to be carried out.

As Daviss execution drew near on the evening of 20 September, people from around the world waited for Obama to say or do something but, in the end, he did nothing. He never even made a statement, instead sending press secretary Jay Carney to deliver a statement on his behalf, which simply noted that it was not appropriate for the president to intervene in a state-led prosecution.

In the end, the black president succumbed to states rights.

It was a moment of awakening for Generation O and of newfound understanding of the limits of black presidential power, not because Obama could not intervene, as his handlers insisted, but because he refused to do so.

The Troy Davis protests were certainly not in vain. The day after the state of Georgia killed Davis, Amnesty International and the Campaign to End the Death Penalty called for a Day of Outrage in protest. More than a thousand people marched, eventually making their way to a small encampment on Wall Street that was calling itself Occupy Wall Street.

Occupy Wall Street demonstrators take to the streets in New York in 2011. Photograph: KeystoneUSA-ZUMA / Rex Features

The Occupy encampment had begun a week or so before Davis was killed, but it was in its fledgling stages. When the Troy Davis activists converged with the Occupy activists, the protesters made an immediate connection between Occupys mobilization against inequality and the injustice in the execution of a working-class black man. After the march, many who had been activated by the protests for Davis stayed and became a part of the Occupy encampment on Wall Street. Thereafter, a popular chant on the Occupy marches was We are all Troy Davis.

The Occupy movement would develop into the most important political expression of the US class divide in more than a generation. The slogan We are the 99% and the movements articulation of the divide between the 1% and the rest of us offered a materialist, structural understanding of American inequality. In a country that regularly denies the existence of class, this was a critical step toward making sense of the limited reach of the American dream.

Despite the movements difficulties in coherently expressing the relationship between economic and racial inequality, its focus on government bailouts for private enterprise while millions of ordinary people bore the weight of unemployment, foreclosures, and evictions addressed some of the most important issues affecting African Americans. It was hard to ignore that black homeowners had been left to fend for themselves.

Not only did Occupy popularize the notion of economic and class inequality in the US by demonstrating against corporate greed, fraud, and corruption throughout the finance industry, it also helped to make connections between those issues and racism. The public discussion over economic inequality that followed rendered incoherent both Democratic and Republican politicians insistence on locating black poverty in black culture. While it obviously did not bury the arguments for culture and personal responsibility, Occupy helped to create the space for alternative explanations within mainstream politics, including seeing black poverty as a product of the system.

The vicious attack and crackdown on the unarmed and peaceful Occupy encampments over the winter and into 2012 also provided a lesson about policing in the US: the police were servants of the political establishment and the ruling elite. Not only were they racist, they were also shock troops for the status quo and bodyguards for the 1%.

If I had a son, hed look like Trayvon

The killing of Trayvon Martin in Sanford, Florida, in the winter of 2012 was a turning point. Like the murder of Emmett Till nearly 57 years earlier, Martins death pierced the delusion that the US was post-racial.

Till was the young boy who, on his summer vacation in Mississippi in 1955, was lynched by white men for an imagined racial transgression. Tills murder showed the world the racist brutality pulsing in the heart of the worlds greatest democracy. To emphasize the point, his mother, Mamie, opted for an open-casket funeral to show the world how her son had been mutilated and killed in the land of the free.

Martins crime was walking home in a hoodie, talking on the phone and minding his own business. George Zimmerman, now a well-known menace but then portrayed as an aspiring security guard, racially profiled Martin, telling the 911 operator: This guy looks like hes up to no good, or hes on drugs or something. The guy was a 17-year-old boy walking home from a convenience store. Zimmerman followed the boy, confronted him, and eventually shot him in the chest, killing him shortly thereafter. When the police came, they accepted Zimmermans account. Martin was black and the default assumption was that he was the aggressor so they treated him as such. They tagged him as a John Doe and made no effort to find out if he lived in the neighborhood or was missing.

But the story began to trickle through the news media and, as more details became public, it was clear that Martin had been the victim of an unlawful killing. Trayvon Martin had been lynched.

Within weeks, protests bubbled up across the country. The demand was simple: arrest George Zimmerman for the murder of Trayvon Martin. The anger was fueled, in part at least, by the overwhelming double standard: if Martin had been white and Zimmerman black, Zimmerman would have faced immediate arrest, if not worse.

The protests were national, as they had been for Troy Davis, but they were much more widespread. This was the impact of Occupy, which had relegitimized street protests, occupations, and direct action in general. Many of the Occupy activists who had been dispersed by police repression the previous winter found a new home in the growing fight for justice for Martin. Protests in Florida and New York City reached into the thousands, with smaller protests in cities across the country.

For weeks, Obama deflected questions, commenting only that it was a local case. It took more than a month for Obama to finally speak publicly about the case, saying: If I had a son, hed look like Trayvon When I think about this boy, I think about my own kids.

But he also said: I think every parent in America should be able to understand why it is absolutely imperative that we investigate every aspect of this, and that everybody pulls together federal, state and local to figure out exactly how this tragedy happened.

Activists demand justice for Trayvon Martin in Times Square in 2013. Photograph: Adrees Latif/Reuters

Obama could not come out and say the obvious, but the fact that he spoke at all was evidence of the growing momentum of the street protests that had been building for weeks. Martins killing was a national and international embarrassment. Black people may have understood that Obama could not lead a social movement against police brutality as the president, but how could he not use his seat to amplify black pain and anger? It was exactly for moments like these that black people had put Obama in the White House.

It is impossible to know or predict when a particular moment is transformed into a movement. Forty-five days after George Zimmerman killed Trayvon Martin in cold blood, he was finally arrested. It was the outcome of weeks of protests, many of which had been organized through social media, beyond the conservatizing control of establishment civil rights organizations.

In the summer of 2013, more than a year after his arrest, George Zimmerman was found not guilty of the murder of Trayvon Martin. His exoneration crystallized the burden of black people: even in death, Martin would be vilified as a thug and an aggressor, Zimmerman portrayed as his victim. The judge even instructed both parties that the phrase racial profiling could not be mentioned in the courtroom, let alone used to explain why Zimmerman had targeted Martin.

Obama addressed the nation, saying: I know this case has elicited strong passions. And in the wake of the verdict, I know those passions may be running even higher. But we are a nation of laws, and a jury has spoken. We should ask ourselves, as individuals and as a society, how we can prevent future tragedies like this. As citizens, thats a job for all of us.

What does it mean to be a nation of laws when the law is applied inequitably? There is a dual system of criminal justice: one for African Americans and one for whites. The result is the discriminatory disparities in punishment that run throughout all aspects of American jurisprudence. George Zimmerman benefited from this dual system: he was allowed to walk free for weeks before protests pressured officials into arresting him. He was not subjected to drug tests, though Trayvon Martins dead body had been. This double standard undermined public proclamations that the US is a nation built around the rule of law. Obamas call for quiet, individual soul-searching was a way of saying that he had no answers.

Out of despair over the verdict, the community organizer Alicia Garza posted a simple hashtag on Facebook: #blacklivesmatter. It was a powerful rejoinder that spoke directly to the dehumanization and criminalization that made Martin seem suspicious in the first place and allowed the police to make no effort to find out to whom this boy belonged.

It was a response to the oppression, inequality and discrimination that devalue black life every day.

It was everything, in three simple words.

Garza would go on, with fellow activists Patrisse Cullors and Opal Tometi, to transform the slogan into an organization with the same name: #BlackLivesMatter.

Zimmermans acquittal also inspired the formation of the important black Youth Project 100 (BYP 100), centered in Chicago. Charlene Carruthers, its national coordinator, said of the verdict: I dont believe the pain was a result, necessarily, of shock because Zimmerman was found not guilty but of yet another example of an injustice being validated by the state something that black people were used to.

In Florida, the scene of the crime, Umi Selah (formerly known as Phillip Agnew) and friends formed the Dream Defenders; for 31 days they occupied the office of the Florida governor, Rick Scott, in protest at the verdict. Selah said: I saw George Zimmerman celebrating, and I remember just feeling a huge, huge, huge collapse Ill never forget that moment because we didnt even expect that verdict to come down that night, and definitely didnt expect for it to be not guilty.

Selah quit his job as a pharmaceutical salesman to organize full time.

No one knew who would be the next Trayvon, but the increasing use of smartphone recording devices and social media seemed to quicken the pace at which incidents of police brutality became public. These tools being in the hands of ordinary citizens meant that families of victims were no longer dependent on the mainstream medias interest: they could take their case straight to the public.

Meanwhile, the formation of organizations dedicated to fighting racism through mass mobilizations, street demonstrations and other direct actions was evidence of a newly developing black left that could vie for leadership against more established and more tactically and politically conservative forces.

The black political establishment, led by Obama, had shown over and over again that it was not capable of the most basic task: keeping black children alive.

The young people would have to do it themselves.