#‘how dare you as a black person complain about white people but not write entire dissertations about racism and beauty standards’

[halfricanloveyou]

yo, this is my blog and i don’t owe you activism on it. i’m here for fun and!to bitch about shit sometimes but i’m here for me and not you.

if you’re thinking of telling me what to post and how to post it or what to say and how to say it, consider maybe sucking my dick and balls.

[ponett]

Whenever I complain about graphic or dark content in media I watch, I keep hearing people retort with this apparently very popular opinion that people who enjoy comfy, wholesome things are actually more likely to be raging assholes than people who love things like death metal and gore. As someone who seems to enjoy comfy, wholesome things yourself and likely met many others who enjoy similar such things, do you agree with this opinion? If so, why do you think this happens?

So I've been sitting on this ask for like a week, not knowing whether or not I wanted to touch it because it kind of feels like being handed a live grenade

For one, I don't like being pigeonholed as someone who just likes "comfy" or "wholesome" things. Yeah, I enjoy My Little Pony and Animal Crossing. I made a game with cute furry characters and lots of bright colors. I also enjoy things like Berserk and Chainsaw Man and Doom and violent crime dramas and punk rock with vulgar lyrics and porn. Variety is the spice of life

Anyway: I generally don't think it's a good idea to make sweeping statements about peoples' moral or intellectual character based on what genres of story they enjoy, regardless of what direction you're coming at it from. But this is a very leading question that kind of skirts around the root problems

There's frequent (perhaps a bit exaggerated) pushback these days against people who prefer their fiction to be a warm blanket, a form of escapism meant to distract you from the real world. In particular, the dreaded "person who only watches kids' cartoons" is a form of this that gets brought up a lot. I don't think the root problem here is what media people enjoy or don't personally enjoy - taste is subjective, and I don't think it's a moral obligation for everyone to have diverse tastes in TV shows - but I do think some folks should try to get out of their comfort zone a bit more. Sometimes stuff that seems like it won't be for you on a surface level will really end up speaking to you, but you won't know until you give it a shot. Trust me, I've been there many times

It becomes a problem when people demand that media ONLY cater to that "warm blanket" attitude. And I think that's part of the reason why that stereotype you mentioned about fans of ""wholesome""" media being assholes exists. People who view dark or violent content as an inherent flaw because it's not what they like. People who yell at creators when they make bad things happen in their stories, because how dare you do this to my comfort characters? People who say movies should never have sex scenes. People who want "problematic" moral complexity stripped out in favor of black and white moral instruction. People who seem to hate any sort of interpersonal conflict in fiction at all

These attitudes can be the result of many different cultural factors, factors that can't all be traced back to Tumblr or what shows you like, but sometimes it's definitely because of that lack of broader perspective on media. You can tell when someone's opinions on The Right And Wrong Ways To Write Fiction were shaped almost entirely by, like, Steven Universe discourse. (Yes, this is a jab at Lily Orchard.) And when these people are very loud about their opinions, well, it becomes a trend people notice

Like. I don't know you. You sent this anonymously. But when you say you "complain about graphic or dark content in media you watch"... that could mean a few wildly different things! Maybe you're just venting about something that unexpectedly triggered you, and that's totally fine. But the wording could also imply that, like, you take issue with these things being present at all, and that you expect a person who likes "death metal and gore" to be more of a "raging asshole" than someone who likes the "wholesome" things you like. So... well, maybe you're more dismissive or judgmental of things outside your comfort zone than you realize?

Unfortunately, in case it's not already obvious, on the internet this shit quickly becomes a proxy battle over dozens of intersecting cultural issues at once where everyone is kinda just talking past each other. So it gets messy

For example, I have no reason to believe that the people who run the "Wholesome Games" showcases have anything against games that are dark or violent or contain adult themes. (They've outright said they don't. Many times!) But when you see people going "why is Spiritfarer allowed in the showcase? That's a game about DEATH and that's NOT WHOLESOME, why would you make me think about death?" or "Ugh, why does Disco Elysium have to be about a cop? Why can't we apply these systems to a game about a young witch who's trying to find a lost cat in an idyllic village instead?" it... Well, it makes me sympathetic towards the indies who don't feel comfortable with the "Wholesome Games" label and consider it limiting. But it also doesn't make me think that devs catering to a demand for more chill, nonviolent video games are categorically facilitating fascist censorship from the Christian right

It's complicated! The written word is imprecise and the internet is a nightmare

I've kind of gone off on multiple tangents here. Basically: I do think that people can kinda turn fans of "comfy" media or "adults who only watch Bluey" into an overblown boogeyman these days. I think people online generally have a habit of swinging too hard in one direction or another in their stances on certain things, overcompensating based on what group of people online are currently annoying them the most and turning said group into like The Main Problem With Society Today. But I also think that boogeyman only exists because of very real examples of people demanding that everything cater to their narrow comfort zone. Go like what you like, but also, y'know. Don't be that person

[incarnateirony]

I am intensely unclear why someone thought it was a good idea to try to google fu argue with me, of all people, about Tyler Perry.

When not even just myself but other people from the area are telling you, sit down, you don't understand the political climate, you don't understand the context these events happened in, or why they happened. And you don't understand the racial and systemic elements in play. You just don't keep talking over that shit about What You Think.

Like. Man. I'm just. I'm baffled. Just hours and hours of going in circles. Oh no how dare he [checks notes] agree to try to work with the WGA despite anti-union state laws to the point the NAACP got involved in negotiations only for the people kicking up dust to not join WGA and not actually be interested. And how dare he [checks notes] continue his playwriting tours that nobody protected him on before with a union when he self-funded, self-acted, self-wrote, self-directed, and self-sold-the-concessions but he screwed up and tripped in the wrong tour circuit and then AE banned SAG members from working on his stuff. How dare he not [checks notes] roll over and die by using local talent instead then.

One person shouldn't have that much influence! What, like, tv networks and adjacent partner studios? Isn't that like, every white producer ever? Well how did he make so much money ITS SUSPICIOUS? Well that indie series he did ground up himself earned him 300Million in profits to start and most of that went into his assets. To make the other stuff. That made the other big money. LIKE THE HOUSES--no like the giant studios that also help drive the local economy. And all those jobs. Paying the rates the unions want. But can't work at. If he wants the jobs to be available to local citizens. And not just LA imports. Wait until I tell you where The Walking Dead filmed.

Oh but he's rich he must be exploiting people. [checks his payrates at company] that's weird he's already paying about the amount the unions are asking for despite being in a much lower cost of living area and that's about equivalent with inflation to the rates I cited getting paid. Oh right, you forget, the only reason I got a chance to almost make it at all is because of him when I didn't have exorbitant startup money to pay a 2.5K entry bar. But he has a few houses! Man, aren't you a fan of an actor that has like. 12 houses? "You can't compare them!" ... white man act little show have 12 houses is ok, black man revolutionize city economy and generate thousands of jobs have 3 houses bad? Wot. "Not this again!" Yeah man I can't believe you don't hear yourself.

But he could take it away!! ...But he hasn't for 18 years. But he COULD. Yeah, and I COULD win the lotto tomorrow, but I won't. But he COULD!!!!!!!!! Him having that much money is SUSPICIOUS. ??? The money he publicly earned?? And invested??? To pay people fair wages voluntarily??? In a state that makes it impossible for a union to even use collective bargaining at all, and makes it illegal t force anyone to join a union for a job?

But he fired those people in 2008. You're saying the man is evil because he fired 4 people 15 years ago? Also overlapping a bunch of skeevy shit he was trying to root out of his company? Again, voluntarily? oh YEAH it wasn't THAT kind of skeevy shit it was ADJACENT SKEEVY SHIT HAHA UR SO OWNED. Bruh. Shut up don't even you'd hit anyone that justified that shit to you. Well he stopped hiring writers!...for his owns tuff, he still explicitly lets showrunners under his studios make whatever writing room they want. Well he can't possibly write that much alone! What? Why? Are you implying this black man is like forging shit? Stop making it about race! IDK man I don't see anyone complaining that Gaiman wrote Gomens TV alone. But ur mad at Gaiman! For scabbing. It's not the same thing. But aren't Perry's writers scabs? Well, if you want to call the entire state of Georgia scabs, sure. But that's real weird when it's a predominantly black entertainment industry forced to make their own way. He could hire ppl! ... of the 160 guild members in the whole state? Half brought in by his and colleagues business choices in the last few years? Half of the previous before that mostly retirees moving south, as retirees do? In like 2008 the what, 40 people in the whole state that even paid the union, you think they all fit his demographic? What's not clicking.

But union! Look man I'm pro union, I'm pro union all over my blog, but refusing to acknowledge that Georgia's laws are specifically union busting and that he's tried to work with the unions and basically been denied unless he, you know, illegally forces everyone to join the union in the city rather than tries to incentivize it, or that he's even been targeted by petty individuals with systemic oppression, sure is a weird series of things to not include in this conversation. I'm not sure why you want so bad to villainize a successful black man that has a few houses, generates a local economy, voluntarily pays really well, gives back oodles specifically to his local community in millions in charity all the time, and is considered a staple in making black entertainment mainstream, just because you don't want to back off that you read a shitty deadline article about him 15 years ago and grew An Opinion. "What oppression, the UNION?" bro, what the fuck, no, it's white supremacy. "Are you calling me a--" [bashes head off the wall]

[serpenttailedangel]

Legitimately, it really bugs me that I see people say “the real world is diverse, so this fantasy story should be as well” or “don’t you dare complain about ‘historic accuracy’ or ‘realism’ when you have [fantasy element] in your story” when complaining about European-based settings.

And like, I’m not upset--I want to clarify this--I’m not upset that people are writing diverse worlds. Literally I don’t give a shit one way or the other. You could hand me a book that’s racially homogeneous or a book where every character is blatantly meant to represent some different real world demographic and I’m good either way. As long as the cast have likable personalities and the plot is engaging, I don’t care what the characters’ skin colors are. I quite like changing up the region a setting draws inspiration from now and again for the sake of variety and that means I sometimes specifically seek out stories based on other cultures.

It’s just that lately I’ve noticed that any time I pick up a fantasy based on some part of East Asia, the Middle East, Africa, South America, etc. the stories are very racially homogeneous. Which no one seems to complain about. While any story with a more western setting, even one with some manner of fantasy element that would make widespread travel way less common like monsters that come out after dark each night and kill anyone not sheltered in a city, must be heterogeneous or else the writer gets dragged on social media as having it out for every race not included in the story.

I wouldn’t care if I saw the people who demand diversity be consistent, but it’s not consistent. It’s a double standard. It only matters when the setting is a historically white one. If none of the characters are white, If the whole cast is East Asian, it doesn’t matter that there’s no black characters because the complainers consider a racially homogeneous cast to be “racially diverse” so long as it’s not white.

And I know too. I know this is driven by people who will call a single individual “diverse” for being black, even though the word is not intended to describe a singular subject because its about how varied a group is. This is driven by people who treat “white” as a default and use “diverse” to describe anything that deviates from their assumed default. I know this because there’s no earthly reason to think a story with a cast comprised entirely of upper-class citizens from a single Japanese island is diverse unless you use that erroneous definition. It’s deliberate misuse of the English language to deceptively capitalize on the positive sentiments of the word’s historic use in order to sugarcoat an idea that would not get the same level of support if presented honestly.

.

I don’t remember what spurred my writing this rant back in September before shoving it into my drafts. I feel like I recalled a distant event regarding a book and got miffed, then felt nervous posting it. But apparently this is now a drama where game journalists are trying to stir up controversy over Final Fantasy making a medieval European setting that lacks demographics that weren’t particularly common to medieval Europe, so it feels topical to express this now.

[yandere-sins]

In His Clutches

Following up with what I said in my last post, I’ll try to do some requests for now until my mental health recovers enough to continue the Fox Wedding, and first on my list is a request I received over ko-fi and which got way too delayed because of yantober and christmas time >_< Please enjoy some Overhaul for a change!

Rating: Mature Warning: Yandere, Blackmailing, Forced Submissiveness, Rough Handling, Mentioning of Blood, Threats, Insults, Mentioning of Violence, Also Chisaki how he was before his arc I have no idea how he behaves currently lol Words: 2120

With the way your head met the linoleum floor, you wondered if the fluid you felt on your skin were tears or perhaps a bloody nose. Even if you weren’t screaming out loud from the pain yet, the impact hurt like hell, and you had to take deep breaths to deal with the aftermath. No wonder you felt an instant wave of dizziness hit you, but being unable to focus your sight and not have nervosity and your shaken mind puke all over the floor were the least of your problems.

Latest when something long and textured lowered down onto the back of your head, did you even realize what you had been forced to do with your involuntary fall to the ground. Without being able to make out anyone before you right away, you were definitely propped into a bowing position, forehead touching the floor, and when you tried to fight off what was holding you down, you looked entirely like a person pleading for forgiveness. “Look what filth honors us today,” a snarky voice picked up, and you could hear small feet pace before you. “The audacity that you’d even show here!”

You were about to complain and set the voice straight that you were not here because you wanted to, but rather because you’d been pulled into a car in the middle of the day and feared for your life if you didn’t move as you were told. But your head was turned to the side suddenly and ungently, and though you shoot daggers at the people before you, once you got used to the light blinding you, you felt a cold shudder run down your spine as your view cleared.

Penetrating, golden irises looked down from above, a body posture as unfazed and unbothered as only someone who knew they had the upper hand could have. The black mask moved slowly as the man before you spoke, never fully revealing his face, and yet the sight in front of you brought a shiver down your spine. “Like gum under my soles,” he agreed to the first voice, and you finally realized what was pressing you down. Polished, seemingly new, white shoes stepped all over you, applying and taking the pressure as he pleased but never giving you the chance to escape from the floor you were pinned to.

The realization of your failed plans began to slowly but surely manifest throughout your body, a light shivering overcoming you as you lowered your eyes, squeezing them shut. A meager attempt of wishing this was just a bad dream, and perhaps you could wake up in your bed soon and atone for what you had done, leave the country even and never come back. 

It had been a gamble, really. A half-hearted attempt to break free from the monotonous life you were living and become someone exciting and filthy rich. Everything seemed too easy and safe when it was proposed to you; write the letter and send it off. Gloves, face masks, using the mailbox furthest from your home-- you had remembered EVERYTHING. And yet, you still got caught, so how-?

“How did we find out?” Kai Chisaki, leader of the yakuza clan known as the Shie Hassaikai and the recipient of your attempted blackmailing, spoke calmly and outwardly unfazed. From his hand hung the white letter you had used, the paper with the demand for money so the truth of their doings wouldn’t reach the wrong ears peeking out from it. Yet, when he lifted it up into your view, gloved fingers dug inside between the paper, pulling something out that you’d have never expected to leave behind. It was so small, probably only the rest of it after testing, barely noticeable. Still, you cringed, realizing that they had traced your DNA back to you by something so minor and silly as a hair. 

“I’m not a criminal,” you mumbled, noticing the distinctive, fearful shiver in your voice. 

“Obviously,” a small, black form, resembling a stuffed animal, huffed, and you were sure if he could have, he’d have rolled his eyes at you.

“They just told me what to do, and I- I just wanted to make some quick cash. You have to believe me! I don’t even know what they know! I only made the letter...”

The following silence was downright disturbing to you, a few seconds turning into the eternity one must feel before getting beheaded back in medieval times. A sigh eventually signaled the end of the nerve-tearing wait as countless ideas of what was going to happen to you now circled through your head. Finally, the foot lifted from your head and flapping the letter in his hand, Chisaki gave the underlings assembled in the room a signal. 

With groans and clicks of their tongues, bodies all around you began to move and disappear through doors that you couldn’t have made out with how perfectly they fitted into the white walls around you. You slowly lifted your torso off the ground again, looking after the last one of them disappear without even so much as a glance back over their shoulder, the doors closing automatically behind them. Suddenly, only the boss and you remained in this interrogation room, even though you were too afraid to dare and look at him. Instead, you focused your eyes on your hands, wondering why he’d want to be alone with you. If what you had always thought criminals did with people that defied them, then disposing of you didn’t seem like the work the boss would do. Truly, combining with the confusion you felt, the situation was only growing worse by the second.

“Working at a bank, inheriting the house of your parents, a pretty penny in your accounts. Sounds like a good life, and yet, you’d still resort to this.”

The envelope containing the letter landed right before you, sliding over the ground up to your knees. Biting your lip, you didn’t know what to say, especially when he almost sounded disappointed in you. His patronizing way of pointing out your faults didn’t make you feel any better or less scared, as Chisaki still didn’t appear to mean you well. Even the truth seemed like such a waste of air if spoken out loud, but what better was there to admit?

“... interesting.”

“Louder,” he demanded, his foot falling back down, this time on your hand, crushing it the longer you refused to speak up.

“I wanted to make it more interesting!” you gasped out loudly, clutching your hand close to your body the moment he let go. “I didn’t mean to harm you, Sir! You must believe me!”

This time you did look at him, with the most rueful eyes you could muster even, hoping to achieve anything, literally anything that would change the situation. “Hm,” he hummed in contemplation, and you gulped as you felt yourself run out of options. However, you didn’t expect him to sigh again before leaning forward, his eyes drilling into you as if he was trying to break you just with his stare. You had heard rumors. Rumors that he wasn’t quite sane and overtaken by his ambitions and germaphobia. Nonetheless, his eyes were clear, your reflection in them more fearful than you must have ever been in your whole life.

“You can beg better than that, I think,” he declared. 

In your panicked state of mind, you agreed with a short, firm nod, barely inching closer before noticing his eyes narrow reprimandingly, making you stop immediately. “P-Please don’t hurt me! I’d do anything! I was just the deliverer of the message! I know nothing, and if you let me go, I’ll never speak a word about what happened here--”

“Then tell me who made you write this letter.”

His instructions were clear, even though they made your blood freeze. “I don’t know…” you whispered, your body slowly shutting down as you realized it wasn’t the answer he wanted to hear. With a disapproving click of his tongue, a gloved hand reached forward, remaining at the corner of your eye for a split second. You ducked away from his touch, squeezing your eyes shut, but before you knew it, it was gone again, as if he decided against doing what he had wanted. Only now, you realized the tears collected in your eyes, not yet spilling but there as you had started to despair over the situation. However, there was no time to ponder about them as Chisaki spoke up again.

“Who,” he calmly said. “Tell me, and you are free to go.”

But you didn’t. You couldn’t. You had followed the instructions given to you online via an online forum you used to chat with strangers. You never actually met anyone personally before becoming a complice. You had always believed it was so much safer, but you were dead wrong. Sniffling, you shook your head, averting your eyes as you saw your chances of survival and escaping dwindling. “I have no idea…” 

Not much sound escaped you anymore as you lowered your head, defeated, accepting your due punishment for your stupidity. There was nothing you could have proven or handed to him to make you look any better. “Pity,” Chisaki said eerily calm, taking a deep breath before standing up, and you agreed. It was your life thrown away for the aspect of quick money. Naive thinking that you’d actually profit from this when in reality, you had simply been the decoy, or perhaps a lab rat, for the real masterminds behind the plan of blackmailing him. 

He didn’t say anything else as he watched you for a few moments more, rounding the chair he had been sitting on and walking towards one of the doors hidden in the walls, the sound of it opening making you snap back to reality. “W-Wait!” you called after him weakly. “What’s going to happen now?”

At first, you thought he’d ignore you, but just before disappearing in the dark corridor beyond this room, Chisaki stopped, being the only one to glance back over his shoulder at you. It was scary how little you could read the man from his eyes alone, no feeling whatsoever shimmering in them. 

“Now? You’re going to stay in here until you remember, of course. That or one of my men needs a new punchbag.”

And with that, he was gone, the door closing behind his back and leaving you all alone in the maddening white interrogation room. However, the worst was the ringing of his last few words that kept creeping back in your mind, causing you to cup your ears with your hands, hoping it would silence those thoughts. Thoughts of you - or rather, your blood splattered all across this room if his threat was to come true. 

Unfortunately for you and your anxiety-induced paranoia, you didn’t hear the words spoken beyond your whereabouts in the secret underground of the organization. Not the praising, “You showed ’em boss!” of Mimic as he ran after Kai, having waited dutifully for his superior. “How do you want to proceed? Should we get rid of them right away?”

Kai’s answer was hesitant as he thought about it, unusual for him as he always had quick instructions to give to his underlings. “No,” he eventually said, sternly so. Hand lifting to his neck, he felt the beginning of a new rash prick at his skin, scratching it as he got lost in thought. “The letter’s pretty good; maybe we can use their skill. And we don’t know yet who sent them. They’ll stay.”

He heard the confused and exasperated huff of disbelieve behind him, but his words were final, even if Mimic disagreed. “If they become troublesome, I’ll clean them up myself. No one is to bother them.”

And with that, Kai could devote himself to his thoughts, thinking about all the ways he could purify you. Perhaps, things finally wouldn’t be so boring anymore as you always complained to him on the forum he met you. If anyone, Kai was sure he could make your life much more interesting by his side, once he got rid of your filthiness that unfortunately still caused rashes to erupt from him, even though being so close to you made him feel so alive. 

But first, he’d have to delete the profile he used to trick you right into his clutches, as he couldn’t risk anyone else finding out about your whereabouts once they’d notice your disappearance. After all, it would take a lot of time to reform you, but Kai knew you were worth the trouble.

It was dirty work, but with your potential, how could he refuse if it was you?

[imkylotrash]

Black And White (Bonus Chapter)

Pairing: Saul Silva x reader

Summary: Saul pops the question. Meant to be read as the last chapter of the series. 

A/N This is the last chapter I’ll be writing for the Black And White series. Thank you so much for following along and making me smile with all your support and messages. I can’t wait for my new series to come out 💛

Series Masterlist

Tagging: @grey-girl @intoanothermind @anreeixcobra @kingunder221b @lflores2008 @alexiapayne12 @quuenofblacks @quarterback-5 @estelmei @bitchwhytho @music-of-melody @artsyle​ @baueoud @glowingatdawn @shadowhuntyi

Five years past quickly. In the blink of an eye really. You stay at Alfea with Saul and in time, you’re hired as a teacher. You never expected to love being a teacher as much as you do, but seeing these young people turn into adults with their own opinions does something to you that you’re not sure you’d find in any other job. 

“They’re getting good,” Saul notices as you’re watching over the graduates for this year. In less than two months they’ll be fully trained specialists ready to conquer the world. This time of year always gives you a feeling of nostalgia. You remember being in their shoes wondering where there’ll be a place for you. 

“They’re getting too comfortable though. One of them actually mouthed off to me the other day,” you say still surprised they had the guts. 

“You know, I remember a student much the same a couple of years ago,” he says daring to place his hand on your lower back. It still feels weird that you so openly can be affectionate towards each other even now. 

Farah came around a couple of months later when she realised that this wasn’t just a tiny fling. You have a theory that she mainly accepted it to keep her friendship with Saul but you didn’t complain. You understood her.

“I was not that bad,” you protest to which Saul raises an eyebrow. 

“You might want to give the others a chance,” Saul suggests looking back at the three others several feet behind you.

“Where’s the fun in that?” you reply careful to keep your voice down but clearly, Saul isn’t amused.

“I’ve been tracking since I was 5. I know these woods like the back of my hand,” you add quietly. Of course, he already knows this but he doesn’t seem to care right now. He’s not your Saul, he’s Mr. Silva and you hate it.

“Back of the line,” he says and you just can’t help yourself.

“Come on! I’m being punished because I’m too good? How does that even make sense?” you ask this time not caring if the others hear you. He can’t seriously be punishing you for being better than the rest.

“You just hate the fact that I’m better than you.” He pinches your side and you laugh thankful no one looks your way. You want the students to respect you, not see your boyfriend tickle you. 

“I’m fairly certain you’re mistaken,” he smiles. As much as you love his company, you shoo him away needing to focus on the students. There’ll be plenty time for you to talk tonight on your date. Your phone buzzes with a text from Harry reminding you that’ll he be arriving around 10 am tomorrow and you can’t help but shake your head. That boy has changed his time of arrival five times now. You send a quick reply before returning to class. 

The day passes by quickly and soon enough you’re walking hand in hand with Saul to the portal that’ll take you to Earth. 

“So, where are we going?” you ask once you’re safely through the portal. 

“You’ll see,” he says leading you to a black car which you find a little suspicious. It doesn’t take long before you realise where you’re heading but you don’t want to ruin the surprise so you keep quiet as the car approaches the planetarium. You’ve been talking about going to this place for almost a year now but your schedule hasn’t allowed you the time. Now, you’re finally here. 

“You like it?” he asks helping you out of the car. 

“I love it,” you whisper. He takes you straight to the stargazing area where he’s prepared with dinner in a basket and blankets to keep warm. You’re not sure what you’ve done to deserve him, but you know you’ll spend the rest of your life trying to give him even a smidge of the happiness he gives you. 

“This is beautiful,” you say sitting down on one of the chairs and craning your neck to be able to take it all in. The entire ceiling is filled with stars shining down on you. 

“Close your eyes,” he whispers holding your hand in his. You do as he says wondering what he’s got planned. 

“Open.” You open your eyes to see the image of the starry night has changed. The stars spell out “Will you marry me?” You look over at Saul who’s gotten on one knee holding out a ring. Tears well up in your eyes and you frantically blink to be able to see everything. You don’t want to miss a second of this. 

“Of course. Yes,” you whisper looking at the gorgeous ring in his hand. 

“You have to let me ask first, sweetheart.” 

“I don’t care. My answer is yes,” you burst out eager for him to put the ring on you. Inspecting the ring, you realise what it’s been reminding you off. 

“Did you?” 

“It’s my mother’s engagement ring. It matches the ring my father had.” 

“You won’t lose me. I’m coming back for you.” He reaches out to touch you and you let him.

“You don’t know that,” you say choking back tears. He gently grabs you by the waist and pulls you towards him.

“I promise you I’m coming back,” he whispers kissing your forehead. He gives you a minute to just breathe before gently placing two fingers under your chin to tilt your head up.

“You can’t promise something like that, Saul. No one can.” Images of your father leaving the house that morning flashes before your eyes proving that even with the best intentions, it doesn’t always go the way you intended.

“I can promise I’m coming back because I’ll need this back when I do.” He holds out his ring to you. It was his father’s ring and in the time you’ve known Saul he’s never taken it off. Carefully, he unlocks your necklace and adds the ring to the chain before closing the lock again.

“I love it,” you say cupping his cheeks and kissing him. You can’t get over how well planned this whole thing is. You never would’ve thought Saul to be such a romantic. 

“There’s no stress. But I know someone is waiting very impatiently outside,” Saul says regret already in his eyes which gives you a pretty good feeling of who exactly is waiting outside. 

“He can wait a little longer,” you smile kissing Saul again. You let him wait for half an hour before you head outside. Harry is leaned against the black car with a smirk. 

“I thought you two lovebirds had forgotten all about me,” he says pretending to be freezing, “It’s been 84 years.” His voice tremors perfecting the reference. 

“I thought you weren’t coming until tomorrow,” you say hugging him tightly. You’re so happy he’s here.

“That was the ruse to keep you from suspecting what was really going on. And I must say, I perfected my part.” 

“I’m already regretting having involved you,” Saul says but he hugs him all the same. The two have developed a sort of love / hate relationship where they fight like brothers but have each other’s back at all times. You’re glad they work so well together because you have no idea how you’d divide your time between them. 

“Can I see the ring? It’s the only thing grumpy over here kept to himself,” Harry says and you hold out your hand to let him inspect the ring. He takes a little too long just to keep Saul on his toes before looking up at you. 

“It’s as beautiful as the person wearing it. Congratulations.” He pulls you in for another hug. You’re not sure what the future holds for you but you know you’ll be able to face it all as long as you have these two in your life. 

[tepkunset]

@avatarfandompolice​​​ is a blog that likes to misuse progressive language in attempt to make ignorant, racist posts sound more intelligent than they are. While most of their blog consists of arguing about ‘zutara,’ (which I recently learned is a ship name for Zuko and Katara from an anon), there is also a large number of posts and reblogs under the premise of being “hot takes” on how unfair it is to address racism in fandom and in media.

Avatarfandompolice is very sensitive about people pointing out that Avatar: The Last Airbender is not, in fact, flawless. That a show made by two white men featuring Asian and Indigenous characters and influences is fully capable of getting things wrong. That their western colonial views are influences all on their own, and it shows. Rather than listen to fans of colour point out things like these posts for example: [Link] [Link] [Link], avatarfandompolice has decided that such things must simply be fake, and has made multiple posts complaining it. This is not just regular ignorance, this is wilful ignorance. The dismissal of critique simply because they cannot fathom not everyone being able to handle the amount of issues they are freely educating others on, or people holding the ability to like something overall while also pointing out where it could be better.

It is my firm belief that you should never absorb media with an uncritical eye. If this was the case, if people just accepted everything given to them, then we would never see any progress. We need to be able to look back at something and say here’s what we did right, and here’s what we need to do better with.

The argument that A:TLA was made in 2012 and therefore should not be analyzed with a modern understanding of the world is downright hilarious, too. As if we aren’t taught to write literature analysis on books and plays that are centuries old in school. In particular regards to the whole cop thing... if anyone reading this seriously thinks that hate and fear of the police is just a 2020 trend, you can meet me in the pit. I was four years old when I learned how terrifying cops are. If your experiences differ, let me tell you that does not make them universal. And as for all the 20-somethings talking about it today, well, gentle reminder that as said by avatarfandompolice right here, the show aired in 2012. Little 10-year-old kids don’t have social media, (at least I hope they don’t,) and unless they grew up experiencing first-hand police terror, probably were not aware of it at that age. I do not know why avatarfandompolice insults people's ability to grow and learn. I can only guess it’s jealously from their lack of ability to do so.

Now let’s address their defences of whitewashing, which is easily the most backwards reaching I’ve seen on this issue in a while. Primarily their defence relies on four repetitive “points” —

Fake minuscule percentages to downplay the high prevalence and extremity of whitewashing in the fandom

Deflecting the addressing of whitewashing with rapid-fire fake scenarios and claims of “reverse racism” / “blackwashing”

Claiming whitewashing isn’t real because people only care about it with Katara

Claiming that calling out whitewashing in fandom is wrong because it hurts artists

I have only so much as dipped my toes into the A:TLA fandom, and even I have seen a lot of whitewashed fan art. If you do an image search for fan art, I guarantee within the first couple rows of results, there will be in the absolute least, a few examples. The idea of these artworks not substantially lightening skin is also just plain inaccurate. Just from a quick Google search, this is literally the first result for ‘Avatar The Last Airbender Katara fan art’:

Avatarfandompolice is also hyper-focused on the lightening of skin, and seems to be under the impression that this is the only component of whitewashing. I come to this conclusion because when someone pointed out the equal prevalence of depicting these characters of colour with Western European features instead of their actual eyes, noses, etc., they rip a giant turd out of their ass and scrawl the words “but stereotyping” over it. No, not all Asian peoples and Indigenous peoples look the same. The original poster made no such claim of this at all. Avatarfandompolice jumped to this conclusion all on their own... (which really says a lot in itself). It is entirely unrelated to the point. The point being the erasure of how these characters look, in favour of giving them whiter features. And guess what? This does hurt. But I’ll get to that below.

The lack of understanding of whitewashing is on full display when avatarfandompolice talks about “blackwashing”; the idea that colouring characters with darker skin is just like whitewashing. Firstly, there is no such thing as “blackwashing.” “Blackwashing,” “brownwashing,” etc. does not exist because it is a false equivalency to whitewashing. It is a false equivalency to whitewashing because white people are not even in the slightest loosing representation when a white character is re-imagined as a racial minority, whereas when racial minorities are re-imagined as white people, they are taking away from what is already very little representation for us. If we lived in a world where the statistics of representation were not so drastically disproportionate, then there would be something to talk about. But if you are really wanting to support equality, you should focus on equitably supporting those who actually need it, not white people. As for specifically depicting characters like Sokka and Katara with darker skin than what they have in the show, the same applies, (so long as it’s not racebending them as we really shouldn’t be taking representation away from each other, and the artist avatarfandompolice ridicules above has done no such thing,) because colourism also exists within nonwhite communities as well.

As for the fake questions about cosplaying, the answer is really simple: Cosplay however you want, but don’t make pretending to be a different race part of your cosplay. If you want to cosplay Katara, you can do it without painting your skin darker, aka brownface. If you want to cosplay Zuko, you can do it without editing yourself to look East Asian, aka digital yellowface. The racist history behind this is an internet search away, but I suppose that is too difficult for avatarfandompolice to do.

Avatarfandompolice has made multiple claims that people must not really care about whitewashing if they only call it out for Katara. It is laughable at best, and sad at worst, that this is the conclusion they come to, and not the fact that unfortunately Katara just happens to be subjected to more whitewashing than other characters. I assume this is from a mix of her popularity as well as being a WOC and not MOC. This is not to say that whitewashing does not exist with male characters—not in the slightest. Half the images on this “10 fan art pictures of Sokka that are just the best” list from CBR are whitewashed. Only that across fandoms, whitewashing is more prevalent in female characters, by my observations at least.

Finally—and this one pisses me off the most—avatarfandompolice claims that whitewashing is no big deal, but calling out whitewashing is too harmful to justify. How fucking dare you put the feelings of artists who can’t handle critique of their work (that they publicly share) over fans of colour, who are constantly subjected to seeing our identities and looks not being worth respecting. As if it doesn’t imprint on your mind from a very young age how only villains ever have your facial features, because they’re ugly and I guess that means you’re ugly. As if there is something wrong with you. As if respecting you is regarded as extra effort, and not just common courtesy.

Whitewashing is a form of colourism, which is a form of racism. It is the favouritism, unconscious or not, of white features and the erasure of visible characters of colour. It is not fandom drama. It is not being too lazy to focus on “real issues” because it is part of a real issue. It is yet another part of why fandom spaces are so uninviting to POC. We live in a society that favours lighter skin. Corporations make fortunes from selling products to bleach your skin, products to contour your features away or go as far as surgery, all to meet beauty standards set by and influenced by white colonizers. That does not exist in A:TLA, and that’s called refreshing escapism. But it’s hard to escape that when the fandom constantly reminds you otherwise. It is a perfect example of how the classic “just let people enjoy things” complaint is nothing but disguised racism, because it’s only ever said regarding white fans’ enjoyment, at the expense of fans of colour.

None of the characters in A:TLA are white. Redesigning them and recolouring them as if they are, be it out of accident or intent is wrong. If you get called out for it, apologize, learn from the experience and do better going forward. You’ll also improve your art this way.

Beyond excusing whitewashing, avatarfandompolice has overt racist posts as well. A Black fan said they like to headcanon Katara as being partially Black; “I swear Katara was a sister. Im convinced there ain't no way she didn't have some black in her.” Avatarfandompolice jumps in saying “She's literally an Inuit but ok” as if being an Inuk person means Katara can’t possibly also be Black. The OP never claimed Katara was not Indigenous, simply that they also saw her as Black. Black Indigenous peoples exist. Black Inuk peoples exist. It is overtly anti-Black to say otherwise. But what even is the point of talking to avatarfandompolice about that? You know, you would think in trying to put such a front up of caring about the Inuit, they would do the most basic learning of the proper grammatical use of Inuit and Inuk. (As is the case with a great many Indigenous Nations, Inuit is both the Nation and plural. Inuk is singular. “An Inuit” / “Inuits” as avatarfandompolice has used just makes their dressed-up racism all the more pathetic. It’s similar to as if you said “Chinas” instead of “Chinese”.)

But all this is nothing, nothing compared to the worst post I had the displeasure of seeing. In a single post, avatarfandompolice manages to squeeze in insult against low income people, Mexican people, Jewish people, and Black people in a mockery of financial help posts. Absolutely disgusting, childish behaviour from a place of privilege. As someone who has had no option but to make such a post before, more than once, let me fucking tell you that the embarrassment and desperation when in that situation is unparalleled. It is not done lightly. It is done when you are at the last resort of having nothing but hope that the combined generosity of others will be enough to save you and your family. And what adds a whole other level to the odiousness of avatarfandompolice’s post is that they specifically targeting low income minorities to boot. Because we’re all poor beggars, right?

All in all, for someone who prides themselves in calling others ignorant, avatarfandompolice has to be one of the most obtuse fandom blogs I have ever scrolled through. They are as vile as they are pathetic, and my sincere sympathy for anyone who has been unfortunate enough to interact with them. It has been a while since I so strongly recommend blocking someone.

[reading-between-truth-and-lies]

(Mod Shuichi taking after Mod Kokichi here and dumping appearance info for Shuichi.) His hair is generally as depicted in canon, but it gets noticeably more disheveled when he’s stressed and he fiddles/combs his fingers through his front bang when he’s anxious or deep in thought.  The detective still has his baseball cap/hat but when he wears it more situational, when he needs to address people directly being the most common. Or simply embarrassed. He keeps it in his briefcase at all times if it’s not on his head. When Shuichi’s taking classes or heaven forbid (seriously this guy just wants to work cases from his dorm room >.>) at the police station/doing field work, he wears roughly the same uniform as canon; ie gray or navy-blue double-breasted jackets over white button up shirts, matching pants (with deep pockets!) and comfy loafers. If someone Kaito and/or Maki manage to drag the detective off campus for something other then business, he wears a lot of sweaters/turtle-necks with  reefer or double breasted trench coats/jackets (all detective-like) and continues wearing his uniform pants. If it’s too warm for that, then it’s graphic tees of various mystery/crime/puzzle media, a punk jacket, a pair of black ripped jeans he still has from his high-school days and black boots. He doesn’t like going out when it’s warm.  Shuichi has a few proper pajama sets that he mix-and-matches and will also forgo them entirely to wear those graphic tees with his boxers. That depends on his mental state and energy level.

(What’s next below here is discussion of  Dissociative Identity Disorder. Neither writers on this blog have D.I.D. but Mod Shuichi will do her best to depict it as tastefully and respectably as possible, and is doing research into it)

Shuichi has a split personality (D.I.D or  Dissociative Identity Disorder. He best fits under the category “Other Specified Dissociative Disorder” due to varying symptoms.) They both respond to and identify as Shuichi Saihara but are near opposites in all other ways. We haven’t introduced nicknames for them yet, but I’ll use them here to make explaining them more digestible. As these nicknames have not yet been added organically to our world, please refrain from using them in asks, thank you.

Shyhara is the one who fronts most of the time. He’s generally timid, anxious, polite and the one most concerned with how either of their actions or words could harm others. He’s sympathetic with low self-esteem. Shyhara’s also a hypocrite, he wants to help others and give advice, but refuses to apply said advice to himself. He’s book-smart, not people-smart and can easily get overwhelmed in large groups. When that happens, he pulls the brim of his hat down further and doesn’t speak unless spoken to; if he’s out with someone he trusts, he’ll lean into/against them until he can get away and relax.

Hyde (a reference to Doctor Jekyll and more specifically for this, his alter Mr Hyde, the character as a whole is typically depicted nowadays to have D.I.D. as well.) can be snarky, rude and crass... Or alarmingly calm. He’s the one who’s most impulsive and gets a kick out of angering or scaring others; anything to assert dominance and power. One thing he won’t do is physically harm anyone, that’s one of only two rules he’s inclined to live by. The second rule is to protect the select few he cares about, and Kaito is one of them. They’ll bicker and fight but as soon as someone else tries to butt in, Hyde intends to make sure whoever dared regrets it. Even though he’s oft stamped out by Shyhara, Hyde is actually the host; the original personality.

Between the two, Shyhara is more aware of their body’s lack of energy and does his best to combat it; as apposed to Hyde, who has in the past, knowing run their body into the ground just to worry others. 

They’re both obsessed with fictional detectives and to a lesser degree Kyoko Kirigiri, their mentor and supervisor. Shyhara respects her immensely while Hyde would love to get in her head and poke around.

The biggest reason Shyhara tries to repress Hyde is because Hyde has a strong obsession with killers. The more diabolical and ingenues the execution, the stronger the attraction. Kirigiri has advised the Police to funnel any and all cases they want to send to Shuichi through her first, expressly for this reason. The police don’t always listen and will send Shuichi unsolved cases directly anyway from time to time.

(As far as Mod Shuichi has read) Something more uncommon for people with D.I.D is that these two tend to share memories, often riding shotgun for the other. It’s like they’re driving a car. That’s pretty much how they’d describe their head-space. One usually has control of the wheel, while the other’s in the passenger seat and the popcorn gallery, complaining the whole way.

Another thing of note that’s quite common for Shuichi is the two personalities talking to each other internally. When that happens, he’s unresponsive to audio or visual stimulus as all his focus is internal. Sometimes he can be snapped out of it if they haven’t gotten too deep, but the best thing is to just wait on him. One of them will come back after a bit, usually whichever was just fronting.

Switching can be painful and they don’t always get to control who’s fronting. Another cause for the headaches how they switch, it’s almost always ripping control from the other, or getting ripped away via other means.

It’s also possible for neither personalities to be present, it leaves Shuichi looking and feeling like a husk of a person. He can still walk and talk, but there’s just... No one home.

Mod Shuichi may edit all this down the line, but she’s got a nasty headache herself after writing this. 

Cheers ~Mod Shuichi

[lucidpantone]

Ok I totally get your point and your anger toward Wtfock "big" bosses and I also agree with you but one thing you might not be agree with me and I totally understand is that at some point we need to move on from s4, they didn't give a fuck to give us pocs the importance we need, but is not just their own fault, IF we really want a change then why we pocs still accepting working with this people? Why we pocs keep consuming their trash?; If we all keep on just complaining but we don't do something then there's no point, if we all are realistic with ourselves specially us pocs we should stop watching since Kato was announced as main, Noa probably read the script so he could have said no, Nora could also said something about it maybe ask for an apology from them to us before keep on going with next season, I totally understand is not that easy because they have a contract, they are working and those jobs gives them food, they are young and wathever else you want to add but on a matter like this one just extreme reactions like this one could make the change happen. Now a lot of people says they gonna watch for Nora to support her and I'm one of those but the truth is we shouldn't keep on consuming this content after the disrespect they portrait and they still probably gonna keep on portraying even with Nora there and the white allies I love them but once the season starts we all gonna be here watching and discussing the type of content still makes privilege grow and put our lives on risk and if you see things on their side they don't have any debt with an audience already forgive them or forget when the cute couples post and if they already talked it with the cast.

Since you have disclosed that you are a person of color am going to address you specifically and very differently. I don't know how old you are.... I hope you’re young so you have alot of runway to grow and really start analyzing and evaluating the world around you and the game thats at play that you never even signed up for but we’re born into. When you utter this phrase “I totally understand is that at some point we need to move on from s4″ it actually breaks my heart a little because you are so unaware of how society has conditioned you into identifying problematic behavior that hurts you but has groomed you into just shrugging your shoulders and saying well “its not gonna change anything. 

So I guess I’ll just take the abuse and keep it moving” and the grooming of problematic contentment begins at an early age and is slowly spoon fed into your cognitive behavior. So eventually you get to a place where you utter the exact phrase you just did “well I know I have been abused but [I] should move on and [I] (the victim) should let it go”. Ask yourself why are you so content to allow feelings of hurt to be pushed around? Why do you shrug your shoulders? Why do you present the idea (that you yourself know is controversial) like allowing your voice to whimper off when you are in the right? Also lets get a few things strait. Noa and also Romi because lets get all the facts out there did not read this script and okay it. The original season just presented an influencer (Kato) falling for her rival (Moyo). Thats it. They were no racial undertones to that relationship in the script. However the big bosses of wtfock thought they would try shelve out some performative wokeness and made their first time inexperienced white female writer try to write about really complex racial topics she had no experience with literally write them on the fly. They were modifying the script as the season filmed so no Noa never agreed to this script. Also another point, “Nora could also said something about it” she did say something tho. At the beginning of the season and then at the end. Also Noa specifically has commented like 4 times at minimum at how unhappy s4 made him and also when he won that award he didnt thank production or his crew Noa went out of the way to thank the fans. No other person on that s4 team would have thanked the fans but Noa because we spent all season dragging the crew for their shit and Noa thanked the fans in his speech. He did what Rutgers refuses to do which is acknowledge the fans. He said “the fans are most important”, let that sink in why he chose those words. Also you say “lets move on”, lets find a way to break bread but you know what not moving on did for Nora’s season? Don't you wonder why the last addition to the balloon squad is a black guy? Why the balloon squad is bigger than any other balloon squad that has ever been created? Why Yasmina’s noora character is also woc and muslim too. Why Noa was the person sent out to pick up that award even tho he wasnt the main of s4? Why moyo isn’t in the fight scene anymore? Why these white dudes have privately apologized to Noa for their bullshit and now you see Rutgers publicly saying on the gram that “Noa deserves the world”. All those actions are a results of the fandom not moving on and hounding these people to change and wearing them down and of course their changes are always surface but they are noticeable. So lets close this theology session out. There is a saying americans voice often which is “don't hate the player, hate the game”. Meaning just because the odds are stacked against you doesnt mean you shouldn’t support the players within the system trying to break through. There has only ever been two women in the entire history of cinema to win an academy award for best director and one foreign production team to win best picture. If people took the notion of well the academy awards are racist (which they are) why even try? None of these people would have even broke the ceiling. Support the players because at the end of the day they are just trying to identify a weakness in the system. Never stop fighting for them because if they win, we all win. I once heard a quote that has stayed with me for a long time. When all the heroes in a story don't look like you, you can never picture yourself as the hero. So dare to dream anon, and be the hero.

[yuta-nakamots]

Beautiful Time - h.rj ; Part 5 of 6

Pairing - Vampire!Renjun x Reader

Genre - Suspense/Action

Warnings - Vomitting, blood, vampire activities, violence (this one is brutal)

Summary - Vampires are creatures forced to walk upon the earth for longer than humans could possibly imagine. One would think it gets boring after a while, but not to Renjun, the foreign exchange student who seems to know a little too much about the early twentieth century.

Word Count - 3.5k

A/N - this chapter is really rough, it was a little hard to write but I desperately want to finish this series already adlhfgsk. I placed a warning bar with emojis before all the heavy stuff happens so if you don’t want to read it, just continue scrolling until you see the ending bar with the same string of emojis // @serenejaemin this is the chapter with the little stargazing scene i mentioned a while ago

After spending your first week in Jilin getting to indulge yourself in touristy activities as a way of learning more about the city, the place where Renjun grew up, you decided that you’d like to enjoy human life just a little bit longer. There were still so many things you wanted to do and Renjun had no problem in allowing you to fulfill your desires, as long as he was right by your side through it all. The only one who complained was Chenle, to which you responded “you can wait a few more months. It won’t matter once we’re like, a hundred years old, stupid.”

Summer flew by and you began seeing posts from your friends about how they were all going back to school, having their first day of college, or starting new jobs and it reminded you of when you first met Renjun only a year ago, not knowing how different your life would be just a few months later.

Speaking of which, your one year anniversary with him was coming up and he had asked you what you wanted to do, the fact that he even kept track was surprising to you, the shock evident on your face. “Love, I may no longer keep track of my own age, but that doesn’t mean I don’t still keep track of our time together” Renjun stated, almost even offended that you’d dare think he could forget your anniversary.

You roll your eyes at him, feigning annoyance, but suggesting that you just want to spend time with him doing something calming. Renjun’s eyes light up as he exclaimed “ah! There’s a park I always used to hang out at. Would you want to have an evening picnic there and stargaze after?” You were more than thrilled at the idea, knowing he would enjoy it too due to his little fascination for all things related to astrology.

As you were in the kitchen making your sandwich for the ‘picnic’, because it would really just be you eating, you overheard Renjun and Haechan talking in the hallway. You couldn’t entirely make out what you were saying but you picked up on “hunters out”, “new vampires”, and “the Union” as they spoke in agitated tones, followed by Haechan yelling for Chenle and Jaemin to come out from their rooms. You weren’t sure what was going on but you didn’t mind when the other three said they’d be tagging along on your date.

The sun had just set by the time you arrived at the park, painting the sky a beautiful mixture of orange, yellow, and pink. Renjun practically demanded that the other boys stay at the playground so they wouldn’t interrupt your time together, Jaemin and Chenle mocking his tone and laughing at each other as Haechan flopped down onto the grass.

You basically had to pull Renjun away from starting a fight with them while begging him to go with you to look at the stream that ran through the middle of the park. He gladly went with you after threatening to punch Chenle and he helped you find a nice place to lie down just a little ways off from the main sidewalk near the rocks that lined the edge of the stream.

Once Renjun was lying on his back with you cuddled into his side, he starting pointing out different constellations and telling you stories about them. He let out a laugh when you managed to trace the Big Dipper, one of the only constellations you were able to recognize. “That’s a cute name for it, though most people call it Ursa Major” he explained, smiling down at you.

The conversation eventually led to some of Renjun’s previous experiences in the other places he’s lived ranging from stories of when he first met Haechan in Korea to how annoying Chenle was as a kid when he briefly stayed in Beijing with Chenle’s family. He told you about the album of pictures he had of Chenle at home and pleaded with him to show you them, Renjun only caving when you starting blowing air on his neck, causing him to scrunch up as he cringed from the odd sensation.

As you celebrate your own mini victory, Renjun took this as an opportunity to get back at you as he began tickling you, your body flailing around under his strong grip. You were too busy in trying to get away from his torturous hands that you didn’t notice that you had shifted dangerously close to a cluster of rocks nearby, yelping out in pain as your arm slammed against one of them.

You sit up quickly, pulling your arm to your chest after noticing the little droplets of blood starting to form on the fresh wound. Acting on instinct, you immediately cover it with the shirt you were wearing, applying pressure to stop the bleeding. Renjun let out a whimper as his eyes ran red and his fangs extended, the scent of your blood making him lose control over his vampire instincts.

Before you could even begin apologizing and find something to bandage yourself with, you heard a gasp from the main walkway, only about ten feet away from you and Renjun. You looked over and saw the figure of a boy approaching you. He had a thing frame, similar to Renjun but he was just a little taller and slightly more broad. He was wearing a red flannel over a white shirt along with light blue jeans with a black baseball cap which hid most of his face from your view.

As the stranger continued to come your way, Renjun closed his eyes and tried to force his fangs to retract, scared that this person spotted his vampire features. You were already mentally preparing yourself for the worst-case scenarios.

What if this guy is a hunter? Were there more hunters nearby? Would they think you’re a vampire too because of Renjun’s scent clinging to you? Could Renjun handle one hunter on his own? Or would you have to scream for Haechan and the other to come help?

❌🛑‼️warning: heavy stuff starts here‼️🛑❌

Your thoughts ran through your head and the only thing to pull you out of them was the piercing red eyes of the approaching stranger. They were like Renjun’s but brighter, even brighter than when Renjun fed from you, which was definitely not a good sign. Jaemin had once told you that the more hungry a vampire is, the brighter their eyes were. Renjun’s eyes were always a darker shade of maroon mixed with brown because you had set up a regular schedule with him, though when he fed, you noticed they’d turn brighter as he let his hunger take over.

The striking color of his eyes brought you back to your sense as you shook Renjun and forced him to turn around and look at the boy. Renjun turned around and let out a gasp once he saw what you were seeing, instantly moving to shield you using his own body.

“I’m so sorry, I just can’t help it, I’m losing my mind.” The stranger said as he continued his advance upon you. In less than a second, Renjun had the boy pinned to the ground as he yelled for Haechan. You were frozen in shock, too scared to move, especially when the larger boy was able to easily toss Renjun off of him, as if Renjun’s superhuman strength had no effect on him.

What happened next was all a blur to you, everything moving too fast for your eyes to process. You were only able to catch the red of the stranger’s shirt as he used his speed to attack you the second he had effortlessly thrown Renjun aside. All you felt was the familiar feeling of fangs sinking into your neck along with an electrocuting type of pain, causing you to let out an ear-splitting scream.

You felt a burning sensation traveling from his fangs into you, spreading all throughout your body as you finally registered what was happening and mustered all your strength to try pushing him away, even though you knew your efforts were futile. You knew something was wrong because Renjun’s bites never felt like this, they felt like little shots, never this mind-numbing pain that was coursing through you as your mind began to dissociate from your body.

Everything was starting to slow down as you saw Renjun getting up and running at you, slamming himself into the boy on you, bouncing off as if had hit a wall. You saw the other three vampires in the corner of your vision as they sprinted across the field, panicking as the assessed the situation, not sure of what to do.

You were already past feeling lightheaded, it felt like you didn’t even have a head anymore as the stranger kept taking blood from you. The more he took, the stronger he got. This much was evident to you as his grip on your shoulders kept getting tighter, feeling like your bones were about to snap.

None of the pain went away when his body was finally yanked away from you, bringing into view a faint outline of Jaemin and Renjun pushing the unknown vampire to the floor as Haechan came to stand over you. Your ears were ringing and you were barely able to hear anything, only catching Haechan’s voice as he turned around to yell something at the others and Chenle’s voice shouting a name as you watched the world slip away from under you. Mark Lee.

You woke up in Haechan’s arms as he carried you with your chests together, your legs wrapped around his waist and your chin thrown over his shoulder. You opened your eyes, which you quickly realized was a mistake, everything around you is just a blur as Haechan ran as fast as his power allowed him to.

Your body was beyond overloaded. You felt yourself burning, your mind feeling as if it were floating away off your own neck making you so nauseous that you couldn’t help it when your breath caught in your chest and you threw up over Haechan’s shoulder, your arms around him feeling all too weak.

The only thing your remember is Haechan’s voice in your ear, “you’re going to make it Princess. We’ll be home soon, you’re going to be okay.” He didn’t sound even half as confident as the message of his words begged him to be. He was convincing himself just as much as he was trying to convince you.

You felt the weight of your own body as a second wave of nausea hit you, all your muscles tensing as you coughed up more fluids over Haechan’s back mere seconds before you blacked out again.

The next time you came to, you were immediately met with the refreshing feeling of something cold all along your back, pressing against you until your mind was able to register that you were lying down on something. You didn’t care what it was, only that it felt nice against your burning skin, all the pain throbbing from where your neck met your shoulder, right where the bite was.

You try to raise your arm to touch it but your movements are restricted by some kind of binding holding you to the table. Your eyes open, annoyed by your lack of freedom, and you’re blinded by the bright lights above you making you even more aware of the migraine you had and causing you to throw up again, just barely able to turn your head to the side in time. You look down at yourself, your body strapped down onto a silver metal table, your clothes still covered in blood and dirt.

You knew where you were and you could hear Haechan speaking anxiously though you couldn’t hear another person around, figuring that he must be on the phone. “I can’t. No, I can’t do that. I don’t want to be in charge of another one.” A few seconds pass before you hear his voice again. “What do you mean you’re not going to come back in time? Mark’s bite was that strong?” His question filled with both shock and fear though you took note of the new name, assuming he was the one who attacked you. “Renjun I told you, I don’t want to...She’s your mate,” the mere mention of his name making you feel calmer as his smile flashes through your mind, “I- fuck okay fine I’ll do it. Just don’t get mad at me when you regret this decision later.”

His footsteps rang out through the room and he sighs as he saw your state, fresh vomit covering your chest and the table, dripping down onto the floor. You felt his presence next to you as you hear him sit down onto the wooden stool you remember seeing the first time you were in this room.

“I just spoke with Renjun. He wants me to turn you...right now.” Your eyes flew open as you turn to him about to yell something out of bewilderment but your mind was moving too quickly for you to form any coherent thoughts. “Princess, you’re going to die if I don’t and I don’t want to lose you. Neither does Renjun.” He admits before continuing, “you’ve wanted to be a vampire for a while. I know it’s earlier than expected and definitely the way we all planned, but this is a matter of your life and death, y/n.” He told you, his red eyes meeting yours.

You could tell he wasn’t joking around just from the tone of his voice, but when he calls you by your name instead of calling you Princess, the reality of everything suddenly hit you. A tear slips out of your eye as you turn your head, tracing the lines on the ceiling as you croak out a simple ‘okay’ to him.

You watch through barely open eyes as Haechan comes to stand over you, biting open his own wrist and bringing it to your mouth. He grabs your jaw between his thumb and forefinger, separating your lips enough for his blood to drip down into your mouth, the sour acidic taste making your face scrunch up in disgust. “Swallow it.” He commands, his voice is lower and more authoritative than you’ve ever head.

As you force his blood down your throat, he bites into you right next to your first marking, making the pain flare up again. You didn’t think it could be any worse than it was earlier, but you were wrong. You began writhing in pain and screaming until your head felt like it was going to burst, the only thing proving you were still alive was the feeling of Haechan’s hand on you. He places it on your forehead, applying pressure that momentarily made your headache less severe as he massages your temples, though the relief was short-lived.

His hand travels down your arm to your hand, letting your grab onto him and use him as your own stress ball of sorts. You squeezed his hand so hard it causes him to wince though he doesn’t make any effort to pull away, only whispering out “I’m so so sorry Princess. I hope you can forgive me someday.”

❌🛑‼️heavy stuff ends here‼️🛑❌

You can’t tell how much time goes by, your body continuously feeling as if you were being bathed by flames, your head much too heavy for your neck to raise, any movements at all warranting another round of brutal suffering against you. You want to curl into a ball and claw your skin off to rid yourself of the pain.

You’re so wound up by all the pain that you barely even notice Haechan’s hand leaving yours, being replaced by a smaller, much more familiar one until you hear “Oh, angel, my love.” Your eyes slowly flutter open, knowing better than to blind yourself from the lights this time, and you find Renjun’s face over yours. Even though he appears upside down, you’re still able to let your gaze rake over his face, taking in the features you adore so much being covered in scratches and bruises.

You want to ask him to kiss you, but the only thing that comes out of your mouth is a cry of pain. Renjun’s eyebrows furrow together in confusion as he bites into his own wrist and bring it to your mouth, just as Haechan did. You refuse to drink his blood, not wanting to go through another round of pain, moaning as the motion of turning your head makes the skin around the bites flare up, sending more waves of tension up to your head.

“Love, please let me help you. I promise you, it won’t hurt. You were never supposed to be in pain.” All you can do is let out a heavy breath as you surrender to Renjun and wait for him to connect his wrist to your mouth, though it never comes. Instead, you’re met with the feeling of his lips against yours, his tongue gently pushing its way into your mouth as you part your lips, allowing him access. You feel a liquid flow over your tongue, a sweet flavor coating your mouth leaving you wanting more of it after you swallow it.

When Renjun pulls away, you realize it was his blood that you just drank, the addictive taste of it being the exact opposite of Haechan’s. You felt the pain start to fade, one of the powers you knew vampire blood had. As you prepared yourself to be plunged into another world of torture when Renjun moved to press his lips against your already abused neck, you feel him shy away only to press another kiss to your mouth, his lips lingering as he said, “It’s you and me against the world, angel. Only us from here on out.”

He sunk his fangs into your neck and you instantly relaxed as the familiar tingling sensation washed over you, the cooling effect covering you like a blanket, almost ridding you of all the pain. It takes a while for the euphoria to wear off, which you are more than thankful for, as it finally allows you time to think clearly and recollect yourself. “What did he do to me?” You ask Renjun, not sure whether you’re referring to the incident in the park or to Haechan, so he just tells you the full story.

“Mark, the guy from the park, is a newborn vampire, only a couple of months old. He didn’t have any training whatsoever and hadn’t fed since he was turned which is why he lost control so easily when he smelled you.” He explained to you, running a hand through your hair affectionately.

You leaned into Renjun’s hand, causing the corners of his lips to turn upwards in a faint smile. “Is that why his eyes were like that?”

Renjun nodded at you before continuing on. “When I was fighting with Mark, he entered his survival mode so that’s why he couldn’t control his venom from entering you while he fed. He unintentionally turned you...sort of.”

“Sort of?” You echoed.

“He’s a newborn so his venom isn’t as strong as someone older like me or Haechan. It’s not strong enough to fully turn you but it would have been enough to start the process of turning you, leaving your body in a state of half-human and half-vampire. Your body would have worn itself out fighting from both sides which is why Haechan had to fully turn you before you got stuck.”

“Why weren’t you here?”

“I had to bring Mark into The Union for assaulting someone because the others are still too young to do it themselves.”

“Why did it hurt so badly? I thought you said it wouldn’t hurt?”

“It hurt because Haechan is not your mate, darling, I am. It wouldn’t have hurt if I turned you. I know you’re still in pain right now, it’s from Haechan’s blood running through you. Please don’t be upset with him, it wasn’t his choice. It wasn’t any of our choices.” Renjun’s gaze shifts away from yours as if lost in thought. “How are you feeling?”

You try to wet your throat, feeling like it only gets drier and drier as more time passes. “Tired...thirsty as well.”

Again, you watch as Renjun bites open his wrist, though this time your gladly lick the blood from his skin, relishing the soothing effect it had on you. “Sleep, my love, your body needs it.”

Renjun leans down to kiss you once more, his fingers intertwining with yours. He sits down next to you, as you allow yourself to fall into slumber for the last time.

A/N - this chapter is really rough, it was a little hard to write but I desperately want to finish this series already adlhfgsk. I placed a warning bar with emojis before all the heavy stuff happens so if you don’t want to read it, just continue scrolling until you see the ending bar with the same string of emojis

[melanch0lyism]

Here it is bois- Jagged Little Pill full plot synopsis

So, a lot of people in the JLP tag have been asking for a detailed synopsis of the show. I’m here to deliver! This goes out to @sunveiins and @lovebug1313 who I think were the first couple of people to start asking and wanted to be tagged to know when this was posted. Hope this helps for anyone who can’t get out to see the show!! (Also sorry this was delivered a bit later than promised I’m the worst sksdfn)

Warnings: Drug addiction, sexual assault, heavy topics like that and obviously spoilers if you want to go see the show for yourself

ACT 1:

-Mary Jane Healy is a mother obsessed with being seen as perfect, the best at everything, and with her family’s squeaky clean image. Literally all her energy is invested into making sure nobody knows that a single thing is wrong in her life.

-The show opens at Christmastime, and she is writing her annual family Christmas letter (the purpose of which is basically to brag about how great the Healys are doing and how she’s winning at life). 

-She writes about how her husband Steve got yet another promotion at work. Her daughter Frankie is in high school, as artistic and expressive as ever. (“In fact, right now, she’s upstairs with her best friend Joann working on a little craft project. *Lights on Frankie and Jo upstairs literally making out* “We always emphasize the importance of female friendships.”) And her golden boy, her perfect oldest son Nick, has just been accepted early to Harvard. (Right Through You)

-A celebratory breakfast for Nick reveals that the family is actually falling apart. Steve works so much that his marriage to MJ is now distant, hostile, and non-intimate. MJ is pressuring Nick to be perfect and keep up the family’s image. She’s constantly arguing with Frankie, who is adopted and feels the fact that she is black is being erased by her family in this white trash Connecticut town. (All I Really Want)

-Nick’s friends at school congratulate him and encourage him to come to a party that night to celebrate. Frankie and Jo complain about their complicated relationships with their mothers (Jo’s mom does not accept that she’s gay). (Hand in my Pocket) 

-MJ has a prescription for opiates as she had been in a car crash earlier that year. When they are unable to refill the prescription, she gets in touch with a dealer. (Smiling) WARNING THIS SONG WILL BREAK YOU EMOTIONALLY :)

-In class, a student named Phoenix (a good boy 12/10, the only man in the show apart from Steve who deserves rights) defends Frankie’s writing as the rest of the class ridicules it. The two start talking and developing feelings for one another, and they plan to meet up that night at the same party Nick had been invited to. (Ironic)

-Steve calls MJ to say he has to work late again. They get in an argument. Steve loves MJ and wants to work on things between them, but MJ is having none of it. (So Unsexy) Nick consoles an upset MJ who tells him that he’s “the only thing she’s done right.” She asks him to hang out with her, but he says tells her he was planning to go to the party. Nick sings about the pressure he feels from his mom to never screw anything up. (Perfect)

-Frankie and Nick roll up to the party. (Lancer’s Party [So Pure]) Frankie finds Phoenix and the two bond over their complicated home lives. Jo, who was dragged to a church function by her mother instead of being able to go to the party, joins the song. (That I Would Be Good)

-Bella, a friend of Nick’s, had gotten drunk at the party. The next morning the students are circulating pictures of her passed out with her shirt pulled up and talking shit about her. Frankie and Jo go to check on her and make sure she’s ok (despite the fact that they literally do not know her). Bella tells them that another friend of Nick’s named Andrew had raped her the night before while she had been drunk, but that no one will believe her. Frankie and Jo assure her that they believe her.

-Frankie goes home to confront Nick, who she knew had been with Bella and Andrew at the party. Nick brushes it off, citing Bella having been drunk and being known for her tendency to be dramatic. Their argument is overheard by MJ and Steve. Frankie tells Nick that as the only witness, he has to go to the police. MJ and Steve insist that he do nothing, as he had been drinking at the party as well and there could be consequences if that gets out. Also- insert subtext that MJ went through something similar to Bella in her college days. (Wake Up)

-MJ goes to church for the first time in years to pray for help with her addiction, her marriage, and her children. (Forgiven) (No one asked but this is my favorite song in the show, such a powerful moment. Idk if they do this still but at the ART they made it snow onstage, which really added to the sense of isolation the characters were feeling. One of the like 5 points in the show where I bawled my eyes out.)

ACT 2:

-Steve finally convinces MJ to go to marriage counselling with him, where she insists the problem is entirely his. (Not the Doctor) Big argument. Steve is frustrated that they haven’t had sex in almost a year while MJ says they shouldn’t need to since she knows from looking at his internet history that he watches weird porn every day. She feels unheard and unappreciated for all she does. He tells her she doesn’t have to do so much and starts singing a love song to her that gets hijacked by Phoenix and Frankie singing to each other. By the end of the song, the two end up in bed together. (Head Over Feet)

-Jo walks in on Phoenix and Frankie. While storming out of the house she runs into Steve and MJ and tells them what Frankie is doing upstairs. Phoenix gets the fuck out of there, so Frankie's alone to deal with her parents. She gets very upset that her parents aren’t ok with her choosing to have sex while they don’t care about what happened to Bella. She runs away from home, telling them some piece of paper doesn’t make her their daughter. That turns into yet another big fight between Steve and MJ.

-Frankie takes a train alone to NY. (Unprodigal Daughter) She tells Phoenix over the phone that she loves him, and is pissed that he isn’t ready to say it back. 

-Students at the school discus how outrageous they think Bella’s accusation is. Bella comes to the Healys’ house to talk to Nick, but only MJ is there. MJ tells Bella that the same thing happened to her in college (likely the first time she had said it out loud). After Bella leaves, Nick, feeling the guilt of being the only person with the power make people believe Bella, tells MJ the full extent of what happened the night of the party. He had been in the room when Andrew assaulted Bella, but had been drunk and in shock and did nothing to stop him. (Predator) Nick tells MJ that he wants to go to the police and help Bella bring Andrew to justice. She tells him what’s done is done, and the only thing telling the truth would accomplish is ruining his own life. Nick accuses her of only caring because harm to his reputation is harm to hers. 

-Jo comes to New York to pick up Frankie (who ran out of money and became desperate) and ends whatever undefined relationship/FWB situation they had going on. (You Oughta Know) (Holy shit. This one song alone deserves a tony. I cannot stress this enough- Lauren Patten is a GODDESS. I’ve never seen a standing ovation in the middle of a show before this.)

-MJ has overdosed on her painkillers and ends up in the hospital. (Uninvited) Steve arrives at the hospital and the fact that he didn’t know she was struggling rUINS HIM. (Mary Jane) They finally agree to actually put work into fixing their marriage. 

Steve, through tears: “I never meant to make you feel like work was more important than you or the kids. I didn’t realize how much I’d missed, I’m sorry. I’ve made so many mistakes. I’m such a mess.” MJ: “I’m detoxing from opiates. I win.”

MJ admits to Nick that she was wrong, and tells him to go to the police- Bella’s story is more important than their family’s reputation. Nick had already told the police what had happened.

-Everybody attends a rally Frankie throws for Bella, believing her now that Nick had come forward. There’s an important moment between Nick and Bella where he apologizes and she's mad that he gets to be the hero, that her saying it had happened wasn’t enough. (No) (Side note: in the ART version I don’t think Nick had a line in this song, letting Bella speak, and he just held up a sign that said “silence is violence” which was so much better.)

-The time has come for MJ’s next Christmas letter. She decides it will be the last one she writes and is honest for the first time about what had happened in the past year.

She writes about how she is in awe of Frankie, who spent the past year fighting for justice for Bella. MJ publicly admits her own past of sexual assault. She mentions that Andrew is being taken to trial and will not defend himself- he wants Bella’s to be the only story told. MJ and Frankie reconcile. (Thank U)

Instead of discussing Steve’s work again, she talks about how they are both in therapy individually and as a couple. He took up guitar lessons, but only knows how to play one Alanis Morissette record.

She opens up about her overdose and her experience in treatment.

Frankie dares her to send out the letter, and she does. “Merry fucking Christmas!” (Wow MJ Healy telling all her friends she has flaws? We love character development)

-Everyone reflects on what they learned (very cliché but it works). Frankie and Jo rekindle their friendship. Jo has a new girlfriend. Frankie and Phoenix decided to be friends. (You Learn)

[antihero-writings]

His Butler Cemetery, Chapter 3: The Problem of the Nights

Fandom: Black Butler | Kuroshitsuji (manga)

Fic Summary: Four visits to the cemetery, each growing in emotional intensity, and spanning backwards in time. (Spoilers for the manga!!)

(I'll put the links to chapters 1 & 2 in a reblog!!)

Chapter Summary: “Young Master, Edward. If something you held most dear suddenly shattered one day...What would you do?"

"Dear, God. What a terrible ordeal you've tasked my sister with...."

Character Focus: Edward and Lizzie Midford

Notes: Eyyy remember this fic? The one I planned to finish in October 2018? Hehe...Yeah...

I never forgot about this fic... life just kinda got in the way and I moved on to other things. I have so many fics on my computer that I just can't seem to figure out how to finish, and this chapter was one of them. Lately I've been trying to go through some of them and either just slap an ending on them, or split them into multiple chapters so it's more manageable, haha. So I just picked a way to end it, even if I'm not entirely satisfied XD

I actually really really like Edward as a character, and was kind of inspired by the quote above to write this. I was excited to write for him for this fic, and really really liked this chapter, so I couldn't go without posting it at some point!!I hope people still like it, even though it's been so long...I'd deeply appreciate it if you could leave a comment to let me know!!

By the way, I am NOT caught up on the manga, so please don't spoil anything from the recent chapters for me!!

Chapter 3, the Problem of the Nights:

Edward never could win against her.

Father would laugh and say that the Midford women had always been strong, and it was no cause for shame.

Still, there’s something particularly humiliating about getting your ass kicked by a cute little girl….Especially when she’s your younger sister.

The world would coo over her: her pretty shoes, her curly blonde hair, her frilly dresses, and sigh in awe that someone so cute could be so skilled with the sword.

And, if he was perfectly honest, she was incredible. He would never deny that, never say the praise was undeserved. Often he was her biggest fan, her loudest cheerleader, and if anyone dare lay a finger on her, or say a single syllable of slander, they’d certainly have a sword to answer to.

And, he supposed, her proficiency was good for him too, in a way, because it pushed him to work harder.

But no matter how many days he spent waking up early to wave his sword at empty air, no matter how much mastery he had compared to his classmates, he could never catch up to her. Sometimes it felt like the race was rigged, and he wasn’t moving at all.

He applauded her, admired her.

But sometimes he would throw his sword into the wall and demand that it listen to him. That he, a thirteen-year-old boy could and should be better at swordplay, than a ten-year-old girl who decorated her world in pink plushies and bonnets.

When the other nobles chatted with Lizzie, and about Lizzie, and then turned to him to ask what he’d been doing, sure he had a story to top hers…

Sometimes he would hold his head high and boast of his accomplishments, and Lizzie would have only the loftiest of compliments to add.

But other times that question would ring through his head, and his tongue would fall limp in his mouth.

Because no matter how much he’d done, if he was the top of his class, he could never triumph Lizzie.

What have I done lately? Not much compared to Lizzie.

Mother was not the kind of person who would answer for you; unlike most mothers she wouldn’t boast of her children smallest accomplishments. In fact, in even their greatest endeavors she could find “room for improvement.” He wasn’t complaining: this too was a good thing; he would never be where he was now without that.

But sometimes he just wished she would just wrap her arms around him and say that she was proud of him.

There was Father at least, who was the softie of the family. Who would clap him on the back and tell Francis not to be so hard on him, that he’d done more than well. His eyes would shine as he promised he was a champion in his own right, as well as his eyes. And that helped. Still…

Still, he didn’t feel like much.

It wasn’t that he was bad at things, or dumb. He was quite smart, good at school, but he didn’t…excel.

The thing about Lizzie is that there were only a few things she practiced, but she excelled at them.

Jack of all trades, master of none, so they say.

And no one notices you unless you’re very good at something, or very bad at it.

So he faded into the background. Lizzie’s cheerleader. His parents’ son. And he told himself he was alright with that.

Beneath all those intermingling feelings of pride and jealousy was a question:

How could such a small girl hold so much fight inside her? How could those gentle eyes hold so much fire?

It didn’t make sense. She was supposed to be sweet, and gentle, and soft. So what was it that drove her to get the gold when he could only ever snag second place?

He got his answer when he met Ciel.

The twin boys, one of whom she was destined to marry—some day, after they had learned how to be gentlemen in a world of men who weren’t gentle.

Well he couldn’t approve of that without meeting him first.

The twins were…so small. Smaller even than Lizzie. Big blue eyes like stormy days.

One marched up to him and demanded who he was, and what he was doing there, and that his name was Ciel, and he was to be the Earl some day. The other, hid behind his father’s pant leg, and muttered his greeting from afar. And when Mother scolded Mr. Phantomhive to keep them in line, and comb their hair properly, even the bolder one shirked into the shadows.

He finally understood what Lizzie had that he didn’t:

Something to protect.

When he took up the sword, it was for the sake of the sword itself, and a name.

When she took it up, she did so for something more than the trade, the passed-down-name, the skill. The sword was a means, not an end. There was something—someone—she loved, or was learning to at least, and if that person were ever threatened, she didn’t want to stand on the sidelines and cry. She wanted to stand between him and danger and do everything in her power to keep the hurt at bay.

She didn’t care about being well-versed in the sword: she just cared about protecting him. The sword was simply how she’d do that. And, well, the irony of being something is that you’ll only be good at it when you’re looking beyond it.

And it was that, that passion, that idea that there was something beyond, that this was all in preparation for a war against anything that stood to harm him, that was why she excelled. Because he didn’t have anything calling him to it, besides the fact that the Midford’s had always been good at it. As long as he didn’t have a reason for it within himself, he would never excel.

So, from then on, he never complained, silently or aloud. From then on he was nothing more than her firmest supporter, and when people asked what he had done lately, expecting his story to top hers, he could be okay that he would never be better than her at some things.

And then, one snowy December, when they were putting their finishing touches on their Christmas tree, and competing to make the best cookies, someone arrived at their door to tell them they found Mr. and Mrs. Phantomhive in a pool of their own blood…and the twins…they didn’t find.

She didn’t cry. She didn’t immediately burst into a thousand shards of glass like he would have expected.

He would have liked it better that way. Because he could deal with that. Because he could do something, he could run up to her, hug her, kiss her, comfort her. Be the big brother.

No, the Midford women had always been strong, and she was no exception. She didn’t fall to pieces. She went into her room, put on a black dress and bonnet—(as was proper). And she went to the funeral, as all good little noblegirls should.

And all throughout the service, as they lay Rachel and Vincent to rest, beside two little graves they all knew were empty, as the vicar read from a Bible a passage about sheep, and finding your way home, he kept glancing at her, kept waiting to see the tears to stream down her face, for her to fall to her knees.

Her eyes were big, and blank, and full of almost-to-the-surface tears, yet she was sugar and spice and everything nice; the picture of an English noblewoman.

She went about her day, whole, composed, proper. And no one could have guessed that grief wasn’t another thing she excelled at.

But he’d never quite forget that night. The sound he heard, even through the passing years.

That night, after the funeral, after mother sent her off to bed with a few proud words, and father kissed her one to many times, after Edward grabbed her hand and asked “Are you sure you’re okay?” After she said “Yes, I’ll be fine.”—

He woke up to the sound of screaming.

He shot up in bed, wondering if he’d dreamed it, heart yammering, breath burning. He didn’t bother to light a candle, just stumbled out of bed, and ran down the halls, calling her name.

When he reached her room, she was sitting on the floor beside her bed in her little white nightdress, and tear tracks staining her face; in pieces. A perfect gold stain on the world.

She reached her hands weakly out to him as he knelt down before her, and wrapped her arms so tight around him that he thought she might break him too…and she cried into his nightshirt until she stained it. But he didn’t care.

Many little girls run to their parents in this situation. But he knew, if she had gone to their parents, mother would have told her there was no use crying, they weren’t coming back, and father would have doted on her, and she wanted neither…or rather, something in between. So she came to him.

This wasn’t the last time.

During the day she would go about her life as normal.

But every night she woke up. It was always somewhere between 14:00 and 16:00 he heard her screaming, calling the name of the sky. Either that, or he would hear a faint knock on his door, and see the face of a broken little girl in need of her big brother.

It became muscle memory for Edward to comfort her. To throw off his covers and run to his sister’s room, or he would pat the blankets beside him to say come here, and either way he’d wrap his arms around her tight, as if trying to wring the tears out of her, and she would sob until they burned rivers in his skin. He would brush his hands through her golden hair, whispering things in her ear like shh, and it’ll be okay, and singing old lullabies, all the while knowing knowing the quiet would come. And he would pray. Pray that things would be okay. Pray that the one who created the universe would grant some solace to this sweet little sheep.

He would pray, and the next day, with tears barely barred from his own cheeks, he would kick the wall, and demand why and how a merciful God could do this to someone like her. Why he would take good people from the world.

—(He would pray, and he thought one day he heard Him say They aren’t yours to keep.)—

Sometimes she asked if they could go to the cemetery in the morning. They would dress in their finest blacks, looking like ink blots on the world, onyx with gold filigree in the cracks. She would carry bouquets of flowers, the petals sifting off in the wind, and add them to those there, left by the miscellaneous others who cared for them…And she wouldn’t cry then, no. She wouldn’t cry until it was past the witching hour.

She didn’t give up. Didn’t stop living. For all intents and purposes she was the same as she’d always been…but something was missing when they crossed blades.

She woke up less and less as time went by. Eventually her visits to his room were stray nights in the grand scheme of things, and she didn’t cry so hard. Sometimes she’d just sit with him, or ask to play chess, or chat with him till the morning came.

And then one day, after the grief didn’t burn so badly in her chest—

Her fiancé came back without an eye, and with a pitch black butler.

He didn’t talk about what he’d gone through, or how he’d come back. He didn’t speak of that day his parents died. He didn’t mention how his brother died—he didn’t mention much of his brother at all.

He wasn’t that brazen, bold, grinning child they knew before. He was dark, and serious…and he never smiled.

And Edward was glad to have him back…yet from the start he couldn’t help but feel…uneasy. Like something was wrong. Something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. There were too many questions, too many gaps in information, and the darkness that seemed to flock to this boy now didn’t help.

And Edward, though Lizzie’s fire was only stronger since he came back, her skill even more unmatchable, was at last able to get a few good hits in sometimes.

He couldn’t believe he never saw it before, his reason beyond the sword, the task of carrying on a name... it was there from the beginning.

He knew who it was he had to protect.

[pandoraimperatrix]

brvceselina replied to your post “I’m in a bad mood and I want to write fluff people Please send me...”

gotham!verse batcat where bruce tries to teach selina how to cook would be super cute :´) (maybe around s3??)

Baby BatCat | 2k | Fluff | Same universe as Four Names for Love | Read on AO3

Bruce looked over his table when he heard Selina stir, she had climbed over his window around eleven and basically ignored him, walking straight to the sofa and falling asleep face down almost immediately.

Two years ago, maybe less than that, Selina ignoring him like he was a piece of furniture would have hurt, but after living with her he learnt a lot, and that sometimes ignoring him would be her way to show intimacy. In her world Selina had to be always hyper-aware of her surroundings, ignoring something or someone meant carelessness, meant danger, meant harm or even death. He knew she could have crashed anywhere else, his house was far from being the more convenient place for her to take a catnap, far away from the dark alleys where she pranced. He always wondered how she managed to get to the mansion by feet. No wonder she was so tired.

She hummed softly, eyes still closed, he rested his chin on his hand, looking at her, the research all over his desk forgotten.

Selina sighed, one hand pushing her curls from her eyes.

“Stop staring, you weirdo.”

Bruce’s chair squeaked when he jumped surprised, he turned his gaze away and tried to mask his reaction with a fit of coughs.

“What?”

“Geeez.” She made in a judgemental tone, her eyes were open when he dared to look at her again, her face had a red mark made by the sofa, he felt a jolt of fondness. “I’m hungry.”

“I think there is still bouillabaisse in the fridge.”

“What?”

“Bouillabaisse.”

“Bless you.”

Bruce had to bite the insides of his cheeks to not laugh at the face she was doing.

“It’s soup. Fish soup.”

It might have been the light but she looked slightly green.

“Why do you choose to live like that, kid?”

“I thought cats liked fish.” He mumbled.

“What did you say?”

“Me? Nothing. What do you want to eat? I could make you a PBJ sandwich.”

“No thanks. Last time you gave me something made with a green bread and it tasted like dirt.” And yet she ate the entire matcha bread sandwich that he actually had made for himself before she invaded his house uninvited again. “Don’t you have any pizza?”

“They don’t deliver here and it’s” he looked at his watch “three a.m.”

She looked so sad he actually felt his heart break.

“We could make it.” He blurted.

She straightened her back, attention grabbed, but she still didn’t look convinced.

“Do you know how to make pizza?”

“You’ve eaten more complicated dishes cooked by me.” He retorted slightly offended.

“Yeah, but you had help from your butler before.”

“I did not!” Now he was far from being slightly to be full offended.

She stood up from the sofa and walked in his direction until she was leaning over his desk.

“Prove it, then.”

Bruce swallowed hard, Selina noticed that his Adam’s apple was beginning to show.

“Alright.” He stood up too and she drew back a step, he was a couple inches taller than her now, how the hell did that happen?

He had such a decided look on his face as he pushed his sleeves to his elbows and marched to the kitchen that she had to press her lips hard to stop the smile trying to colonize her face like he had done with her heart.

 She jumped on the counter and watched as he separated the various ingredients from the cupboards.

“Regular pizza dough will take forever because you have to let it rise for at least an hour, so we’ll have to make a different version. It doesn’t taste as good.”

“As long it’s eatable… What will be the toppings? Do you have any cheese?”

“Let me see…” She averted her eyes blushing softly when he bended over to look farther inside the fridge and a silver of his lower back appeared beneath his ever-present black turtleneck jumper. “I think we only have feta… I think we could pair it with some cherry tomatoes, olives and spinach.”

“You are not putting spinach on my pizza.”

He sighed.

“I’ll put on my half of it.”

“As long as I don’t have to eat it.” She answered and then added in a lower tone “spinach on pizza… Ridiculous.”

Bruce pretended he didn’t listen, hiding his smile to not show how he actually enjoyed their banter.

“Right, I have everything but the tomato sauce, I think that’s on the pantry. I’ll be right back.”

Selina’s belly made a hungry sound. She took a piece of the cheese Bruce left on the counter. It was white and smelt more milky than greasy. She put in her mouth. It didn’t taste bad, but she still preferred good old yellow American cheese.

She was on her third piece when Bruce was back with a mason jar.

“It’s homemade by Alfred.”

Selina shrugged. It was all the same to her. She didn’t even was sure about the difference between tomato sauce, tomato soup and ketchup.

“Let’s get it started.”

“Are you sure you know you’re doing?”

“Yes. Do you want to learn?”

“I’m not really the cooking type…”

“Come on, Selina. It’s fun. I promise you.”

She still looked unsure but jumped off the counter and took off her jacket, hanging it behind a chair as she went to wash her hands on the sink. Selina’s body shocked against Bruce’s when she gave a little jump of surprise when she felt him tie an apron behind her.

“So you won’t get flour stains.” He said, so close and the goosebumps had nothing to do with her jumpy reactions.

Selina just hummed in agreement and Bruce walked away, she supressed the urge to sigh. Despite Bruce’s insistence that they were boyfriend and girlfriend now they haven’t kissed or done anything like that since the day on the roof, and it wasn’t like she wanted to. She wasn’t weird! But sometimes he would look at her and she felt heat brewing inside, or he would touch her hair softly or caress her hand and she would let him.

“Don’t you need to read from a recipe book or something?”

“Uh uh” he made absently organizing the ingredients before them in a line “I have the recipe here” he taped his temple “my mom taught me.”

“Oh…”

“She wasn’t the greatest cook, couldn’t make anything complicated or fancy, but she did a lot of voluntary work abroad before she married my dad. She joked that she was a chef in all kinds of college kid’s cuisine.”

He almost never talked about his parents, and she could only imagine how painful it could be.

“Bruce… You don’t need to do this. I can have the fish soup.”

“What? No. Let’s do it! It will be fun.”

Selina looked at him for a while, searching any signs of deceit, then she gave him a small smile.

“Show me.”

“First you have to mix the water, the flour and the baking powder for the crust.” He poured the water slowly in the bowl with the four and the baking powder “we start mixing with a spatula and then we can use our hands.”

“Urgh, it’s sticking on my hands!” She complained.

Bruce grinned.

“Needs more flour.” He poured a little more on her hands. “Be gentle. If you work the dough too much it will be too heavy.”

“Alright, geez.” Kneading the dough made her thing about her cats, how somehow they would offer her their bellies to trick her into petting them only to get a bite or a scratch.

“Now we use a rolling pin to stretch the dough.”

“Can you do that spinning thing with you finger like a cartoon?” She teased.

“I can try… But we might ending have to explain why there in dough on the celling to Alfred.”  

“You mean you might have too.”

“Would you betray me like that, Selina?”

“You’re so naïve…” She said in a mocking baby voice. “it’s cute. But also dumb.”

He gave her a large smile.

“So you think I’m cute?”

She scoffed, but her face was bright red.

“That is what you get from what I said?”

“Well, you did say I’m cute.”

“I said that you ignorance was cute and also that you are dumb.”

“You say mean thing about me all the time, Selina, I filter most of it.”

She really looked amused by that.

“Where is this sass coming from?”

“I learnt from the best. Now, let’s put the dough on the pan.”

They giggled as they moulded the dough into a round shape, their fingers competing to press the loft material to the tin pan.

“What now?”

“Alfred’s red sauce.” He said struggling to open the lid. “This stuff is really good.”

Selina rolled her eyes and took the mason jar from him, opening effortlessly.

“It’s just tomatoes.”

“Nothing is only just, Selina. And Alfred this sauce from scratch, he even grows the tomatoes himself.”

“You can get ketchup for like tree bucks.”

“You will get it later.”

“Whatever. How do I put it on the pizza? Just pouring?”

“No, use a spoon.” He handed her on. “And spread it evenly.”

He watched transfixed as she worked. Her brows furred, the sliver of the tip of her tongue out in concentration.

“Done.”

“Now the cheese. I think we can just crumb it with our hands.”

They did the work and Selina stole a few more pieces. She was licking her fingers when he finished their task with the cherry tomatoes and olives, the spinach on his side of the pizza and sprinkled oregano.

“Now all we have to do it put it inside the oven and wait.”

“It wasn’t hard.” She admitted. “But I still think buying one ready is better. I don’t even have an oven.”

“But making it is more fun, isn’t it? And if you like it we can make more often when you visit.”

Maybe it was the way he looked at her, so hopeful, or how he went out of his way to make her happy, but Selina felt warmth pooling inside her. She welcomed herself into Bruce’s personal space and raised a hand to his chin

“You got a bit of flour…”

Bruce first looked at her with eyes opened wide, his eyebrows almost touching the roots of his hair, but as her hand lingered, he relaxed, and cupped her hand against his face, his lid trembling shut.

“Selina…” He sighed her name.

“Yes?” She answered softly.

He opened his eyes, still holding her hand.

“Can I?”

She swallowed hard and nodded wordlessly.

Bruce dipped to meet her in the middle, her lips were soft and warm as he pressed his against them gently. The kitchen was filled with the comforting smell of baking pizza. They parted and Bruce opened his eyes to find her, huge, green so dark. She threw her hands around his neck and kissed him again, it was different from the other times, she was tentatively moving her lips over his now. His hands went to her waist as he tried to keep up, but he was scared he would do something wrong and she would never kiss him again. When he noticed that he had been frozen she already broken the kiss again. Her brows furred in confusion, she was detaching herself from him when he leaned into her in a desperate move tried to capture her lips again, but his miscalculated move made their teeth clink painfully.

“Ouch.”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry!” He exclaimed horrified.

But when he looked at her she didn’t seen annoyed, and one hand even remained on his neck playing with his hair as she rubbed her mouth with the other before they exchanged a look and fell in a fit of giggles.

“Did I hurt you?”

“No, you dum dum. I’m fine.”

“I just… I have never…”

“I know. Me neither.”

“You know what would help?”

“What?”

“Practice.”

Selina playfully rolled her eyes and walked out from their embrace.

“Isn’t that pizza ready already?”

Bruce sighed.

“Yeah, I think so. Let’s eat!”

 Selina smiled at her seven years old daughter as she devoured a slice of homemade pizza. Then rubbed off the flour stain on her chin.

“What is it, mommy?” Asked Helena noticing her mother’s eyes become distant and watery.

“Nothing, honey. I just remembered something.”

“Something sad?”

“No. It was something fun.”

“So why are you sad?”

“I’m not.”

“Mommy…”

Selina sighed.

“Alright. You will get it when you grow up but, sometimes, the nice memories are the ones that hurt the most.”

“Oh… Because you miss those times?”

“Exactly, you are very smart. Now, you can have just one more slice, you already had plenty and Holly will be hungry later when she comes back.”

“Can I call Babs?”

“Didn’t you see each other earlier at school?”

 “Oh my god, Dick! No! Dad! Tell Dick he can’t put chocolate on the pizza!”

“It’s my pizza, Lena! You don’t have to eat it.”

“But you are desecrating the sanctity of pizza!”

Dick and Selina groaned.

Alfred who was sitting with his cuppa, watching and forbidden from helping snorted.

“Goodness, Miss Helena!”

“Ignore her, Alfred. She got her flair for dramatics from her father.”

“How come I am the one getting insults?” Mumbled Bruce “Dick is the one putting candy on pizza.”

“Thank you for defending me, B.” Said Dick in a mocking offended tone.

“See! Dad gets it!”

Selina smiled at Dick.

“I think Dick’s pizza will taste good.”

He hugged her by the waist grinning.

“So you’re both weird.” Said Helena failing in hiding her jealousy.

“Said the girl with spinach on her pizza.” Retorted Dick.

Alfred sighed loudly.

“Can you stop judging each other tastes and just finish this? You said you would make dinner tonight and I said yes as long as everything was clean afterwards, but I’m starting to think you will find a stupid reason to fight and leave my kitchen in chaos.”

“Geez, Alfie!”

“Yeah, you have such little faith in us, Al.”

“I just happen know each and every one of you very well.”

A little ball of dough hit Alfred on his forehead.

“Oops.” But Bruce didn’t look sorry at all.

“That’s it!” Said the butler getting up.

They all screamed and laughed as Bruce tried to run away from Alfred. Selina coming to Bruce’s aid and the kids taking Alfred’s side as pizza night turned into food fight night.

[redstarwriting]

Secret Ingredient

Thor x Stark!Reader

Request: “Can I request a Thor x reader something fluffy? Both of them are baking or something and thor is a complete doofus and it's all happiness bcoz I'm CRAVING happiness rn. Thank you so much for considering!”

Word Count: 1,393

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: Sarcasm, language, holiday themed

A/N: Okay wow, this is way past overdue. I am high key sorry I stopped posting randomly, school really took up literally all of my time. I can probably say the same thing will happen when I go back for spring semester, but I will try my hardest if I ever have free time to write!! This one was really fun, I’m just really sorry I didn’t get it tout sooner. I personally celebrate Christmas, but I didn’t want to leave out other holidays, so I hope my lil Hanukkah toss in is okay!! Enjoy!!

───────────────────────────────────

The holidays were always a complicated time for your family. Your dad is not the most religious person, but your sister is four years old and wants nothing more than Santa to come down the chimney and surprise her with all the things she’s wanted all year long. Your dad, of course, is also the best dad in the world, so he happily plays along and only complains to Pepper every now and then. And perhaps the absolute biggest downer of all, your grandparents were killed around this time. That really gets to your dad. He acts like everything is fine all the time during the holidays and just in general, but you know he’s struggling deep down.

On the other hand, your boyfriend loves the holiday season. Due to him being a literal Norse God, he absolutely adores celebrating Yule. He never fails to inform you of every detail of his people’s way of celebrating. In fact, this year you’re going to New Asgard to celebrate the days of Yuletide with him. Nothing about the holidays can make him sad, so you’re stuck in a crossroads between him and your dad. Oh, and the fact that you won’t be there for Christmas day this year also hurts your dad’s heart. You swear you saw it get a little dimmer when you let him know.

However, there is one thing you know that will always cheer him up. Food. And that’s how you ended up here, in your kitchen with your boyfriend with a Christmas playlist blasting. “This is very fun, (Y/N)! Now, what can I do to assist you?” Thor asks, grinning from ear to ear. You bought him an apron that says “Kiss the Cook” on it, and you’ve never been prouder about something in your entire life. What a sight it is to see the God of Thunder cheesing in a cheesy apron. “Well if you could get me some eggs and butter out of the fridge that would be ideal,” you tell him, and he hurries and does that. But he also drops the carton. “Not to worry! If they are broken it is okay, we need their insides anyways.”

“You know for a God you’re pretty damn clumsy,” you chuckle, bending over to pick up the eggs. Luckily, only two broke, so you weren’t out of business... yet. “My love, what else can I do?”

“Ummm- oh! Can you get all the icing out? And the cookie cutters? I want these cookies to be cute as all hell.”

“Yes of course!” You hear some shuffling and then a loud crash. You quickly turn around to see Thor on the ground, a box of cookie cutters spilled out around him. You can’t control your laughter, and he just smiles. “This is obviously very funny for you, but I am afraid the cookie cutters are now dirty,” he says, hoisting himself up from the ground. You just roll your eyes in response. “Thor, baby, we can wash them. With water. They won’t stay dirty.”

“Ah, yes. I forgot about that,” he says, beginning to pick them up and toss them in the sink. While he was singing along to an instrumental version of Carol of the Bells and getting soap everywhere around him, you finished mixing the batter and began placing it on the cookie tray. “Do you wanna try?” you ask your boyfriend, who is now quite literally just standing behind you and peering out from behind your shoulder. “May I?” You hand him the batter, stepping aside. “So all you have to do is- nope, okay you can also do that,” you begin explaining that for this specific cookie you must roll the batter into little balls and place them at least two inches away from each other because they tend to spread out quite a lot, but he just slapped down a glob of batter onto the tray. “It appears I have done it wrong.”

“That’s okay, we can give that one to Loki.” Thor chuckles at this, handing you the batter again to finish up the batter before you put it in the oven. “Okay, now we put them in for about 10 to 12 minutes, always start with the lower time because you can always put them in longer but you can never fix them if they’re burnt,” you say out loud to yourself, which causes Thor to look at you with a shit eating grin because he thinks you’re absolutely adorable. After you put the trays of cookies into the oven, you turn to Thor and give him a smile. “And now we wait! But we should probably get all the icing ready,” you move to the store-bought icing because you know Thor attempting to make icing with you would just be… messy. “So, we have red, green, white, blue, black, brown, silver, gold, and yellow. Perfect,” you mumble, and Thor intervenes. “May I ask why we have blue? The colors for Christmas are red and green, are they not?”

“They are, but Hanukkah is blue and silver and we’re including Hanukkah, especially since Pietro and Wanda celebrate Hanukkah. As for the other colors, there are characters we’re gonna be making. Inclusivity, Thor,” you tell him, grabbing the cookie cutters he got out a while ago and sitting them next to the icing. You sigh with contempt, proud of yourself when you feel two strong arms wrap around your waist. That’s when you hear the famous intro to the most popular Christmas song in existence. You immediately zip around, facing your boyfriend, and begin singing the lyrics. “I… don’t want a lot for Christmas… there… is just one thing I need…” Thor looks at you with an amused look on his face. This isn’t the first time he’s heard you belt out the song to him this year, but he loves it every time. “Is… youuuuuuuuuu,” you finish the beginning, and before you know it, you’re being picked up and danced around the kitchen. You and Thor “waltz” and mess around, using a whisk and the head of Pepper’s mixer as microphones. Through your laughter and singing, you hear your little sister’s voice. “Ew,” is all she says, and you and Thor stop, looking over at her. “Ew? I think you mean, ‘aw, how adorable.’”

“No, she definitely means ew. You two, are way too relationship-y. Baking cookies together? Disgusting,” you hear your dad say, entering the room behind Morgan and picking her up. “Shush!! And get out you weren’t supposed to be back until 7!”

“She got out of karate lessons early, something about holiday cheer. I’ll leave, but only if I get to taste the cookie dough,” Tony says and you groan, giving him a little dollop. “Mmm, sugar cookies. Good choice, sweetheart.”

“Leave!” He chuckles, walking out of the kitchen and heading upstairs to entertain Morgan for a little while. “As much as I love him, he can be so unbearable,” you say to Thor, causing him to chuckle. “Well, you two are very similar. You are possibly the only person who can actually get Tony Stark to leave a room,” he says, and you roll your eyes. “Morgan and Pepper have him absolutely wrapped around their fingers, too, babe.”

“Well, so do you! You also have the strongest Avenger wrapped around your finger as well,” he says, winking at you. You raise an eyebrow at him with a confused look. “I don’t have Bruce wrapped around my finger.” You can literally see him give you a “seriously?!” look before he says, “Okay, that is it. Prepare yourself, I am not going to hold back with this,” he says, approaching you wiggling his fingers. “Thor, don’t you dare!” you scream, starting to run around the kitchen as he chases you, ready to tickle the living shit out of you. “Say it was a joke!” he says, catching up to you and attacking you with tickles. Needless to say, your dad didn’t actually leave, and he recorded the whole thing. Although the holiday season was bad for him for many years, celebrating it with his wife, two kids, and God-who-is-like-my-third-child was amazing. Your cookies are also really damn good, and every Avenger enjoyed them and every time they asked what the secret ingredient was you answered with the cheesiest thing imaginable. Love.

[pensurfing]

I Surrender.

By the time I actually post this, it’ll be near the end of the year and I’ll be near my burnout. Each year, usually I take an unannounced, but quiet, break. 

2020 feels different this year. Usually, I return in January; but this time I don’t think I can return. Too much happened in so little time and as a small creator, business, entrepreneur, small EVERYTHING I can’t ignore what lurks over my head. An ultimatum. 

I was in denial about it.

I thought maybe if I pushed making the decision back as far as I could, something would change. That as long as I worked hard, promo’d my sales and merch, did as many virtual cons as I could, something would change. Networking in newer groups, looking around for clients, and wanting to make new merchandise; name it. I did it. Work hard and reap the benefits later; while that is true there is also no shame in knowing when to quit as well. I was in denial about how long the pandemic in the States would last. I was in denial about needing help with my mental health. I was in denial about so many things in my surroundings. The biggest thing I was in denial about was my importance, impact, and ability to move forward with where I was with my art journey. The biggest reason why I was able to keep it up was due to the constant questions of “How’s it going? What are you up to? How are you?” No one (at least the way I see the world) actually answers this truthfully. So I just kept saying fine and for a while, I genuinely believed it. I lied to them. But to be fair, I lied to myself too.

I was angry about it.

I stayed here for so long.

SO. 

Long.

I was angry that I felt ignored; angry that I reached out and others had their hands tied as well; angry that I still managed to make sure others didn’t drown like I was drowning & didn’t think to help myself because I’m stupid; angry that the pandemic did last this long in the States; angry at me for not pulling some magic trick out a hat that I’m not sure existed; just angry. (tw: self-harm, vivid imagery) I was so angry I took it out on my debit card and self-sabotaged my good spending habits. I took it out on my legs and arms and broke a seven-year long streak of not hurting myself; I carved myself up entirely and punched the bricks of my house. I took it out on people. I don’t quite know how yet, but I feel like I did. Maybe I had a shorter temper than normal; I stopped reaching out and making sure I fully listened to their problems. I kept caring more about them than myself during this phase. And they just kept taking. And I became an empty cup, they moved on; I see that I’m just disposable. Which, isn’t wrong. All I could handle and still can handle is heavy convos with my therapist. (I don’t have her anymore, that’s right. I can’t afford her anymore.) All I could handle was trying to write it out, map it out, talk it out.

I was angry I didn’t see a point anymore. I felt like I didn’t deserve the tiny wins I did see because I didn’t go through some kind of threshold of pain and suffering to earn it. I was angry and the crumbs tossed my way in the name of “diversity” and “trying to hire black” because of guilt and white performance. I was angry being lead on with a tiny thread of hope because that thread was bigger than the nothing I’ve gotten this entire time. I was so angry and blaming myself for things that were completely out of my reach and capability. I was just really angry.

I tried begging my way out of it.

I looked for online classes of any sort to traject myself into a sort of hope. Buying hundreds of dollars in books, classes, anything in information I just didn’t have prior to the pandemic; and now because of the pandemic, the information will be obsolete as the world adjusts and readjusts to its changes and collapse in remaking itself. Making flash sales on my website if it meant seeing eight dollars by the end of the month. 

I didn’t stay here long because of my own twisted viewpoint of begging.

I was depressed about it. 

I stayed here the longest. It was already enough having the above marinate within me; add to the mixture of new relative drama, relatives passing away, and just not being in a healthy household... I grew tired. I stopped taking care of myself. Anyone with depression can tell you that dealing with that darkness is an uphill battle; usually, the first to go is my hygiene. But I just slowly stopped drawing altogether. I don’t draw when I’m not together. I’ve mentioned this many times over the years verbally and in written form on here. So I just kept taking breaks. I had a small string of commissions here and there, but that was the only illustrations I could create and that was its own battle. 

I tried mentioning it to people I was close to, but after a while hearing “it be like that sometimes” just isn’t helpful and isn’t worth explaining the story. So I just stopped talking. And not having my therapist made it harder. Especially because I have a lot of emotional dumpers who don’t understand boundaries. I don’t blame them, but after a while of nonconsensual emotional dumping I had to stop listening to another group of people because I just couldn’t handle any more weight; either they didn’t see I was drowning or didn’t care. It doesn’t matter anymore. 

I couldn’t enjoy the walks recommended by many; not even my favorite restaurants; or shows; or books/mangas; food in general; people in general.

Listening to music at least helped the “I’m sinking” feeling. But it was quickly ruined with “well intent” friends with; “Maybe if you drew something you’d feel better”, “Sketch, paint, it’s therapeutic”, “dRaW”. You get the picture. It had a double sting because it acknowledged two things: These ‘friends’ don’t know much about me and what brings me happiness; This isn’t about my happiness, but more about their own selfish requests to see more work from me because they don’t know anything else besides “I’m an artist, I draw, therefore that is all I am and all that can ever make me happy”.

See it this way: You have a friend. Friend is a musician. Your friend is slowly going deaf and loses their hearing. You can at least do small, everyday sign language. But not enough to handle a full conversation. Until your deaf friend can afford that hearing aide, talking to them will be a bit harder. But instead of learning more sign, you complain about how the person can’t hear as well anymore, so they become “quieter” and you stop reaching out to them. Projecting the “why can’t you just listen”. “You know what will make you feel better? If you play your music again, make mixes. We miss that.” “You sing, why not sing to make yourself feel better.” If the person cannot hear, how can they continue to make sure their craft is correct? In tune? On tempo? If a person is not in the mood or mental capacity to draw, then how can they draw? If all you can see is that you only know about friend is that they are a musician, can they really be a friend? Or just acquaintance?

Projecting the thing you get joy from said ‘not ok’ person and just demanding they do more of the thing you enjoy isn’t helpful; but selfish. Because in that case it isn’t about the person, but you and your expectations and things that you get from said person. Once they stop giving you the thing, then it’s about ‘how-dare-you-not-give-me-my-thing’. And I stopped caring to go through this consistent loop and being talked over when trying to explain myself.

I sat in my bathtub more than I had in years; the irony is this is comforting. So for weeks, this is where my mind and mental capacity have been. Sitting in my tub, with a blanket, my phone, and my switch. I’ll stay there all day and go to bed; sometimes I’ll sleep in the tub and stay there all day. I listened to music. Just daydream. I write a bit more now for my own purposes. It’s been nice. But not enough to get me out of a funk.

I finally accept it.

I’m just a person to be there and happy for others and their things. I think I finally get that now. I’ve slowly removed myself from social media and with the expectation of performance. I’m not a performer; I’m supposed to just be the audience. While this isn’t an “I quit” because this is all my job experience the past few years now, this is just an “I surrender”. I’m used to the fact in my waking life I’m no person’s ‘favorite’ or ‘go to’; so I guess now I’m coming to terms with that with work and with drawing in general. I have company clients I’m wrapping up work for but after that, I’ll be taking down my commission information and artist alley gallery. etc. I’ll shut down the store; I’ll do one last sale and either give away/throw away my extra items.

I just have to start entirely from square one. Maybe negative one? I went on what feels like the world’s longest pity party to say I’m taking a break, and seeing how the world broke in 2020 there is a chance I won’t be able to come back. And I don’t want people jumping me say “how dare” “you don’t try hard enough” or “shut up and just wait until next year/try again next year”

I’m covering my bases. If things look up then I’ll just happily delete this later.

But I can’t just ignore the reality of it all. I’m not ok and I haven’t been. And I just want to stare at my ceiling guilt-free for a bit. (I did this last night and it is fucking gross looking, gotta clean it.) 

Stay safe, stay indoors, and stay clever.

[[TL;DR: After continuing to get beat down by the world the past two years, this year pushed me past a tipping point. I can’t keep being a lukewarm illustrator at best and I am slowly wondering if I even want to; I want the space to figure that out. And don’t want the same friends who tell me “draw this, color this” to hound me on that decision either: it has the same energy when a kid with asthma can’t breathe and you talk over them and say “just inhale and exhale”.]]

I hereby release me from the pressure to post consistently because honestly, it is the only time I hear from anyone anyway So this is me choosing silence for a bit.

[krugerevengeinej]

Boarding School AU Part 2

Part One Here

AN: I’m finally working on this again after like a thousand years wow. Unsurprisingly this will be ninety percent Kanej because I’m biased and can’t write any of the other ships to save my god damn life. Also, this is pretty angsty but I’m in a Mood right now. There is no plot here.

·         Whenever there’s a football game all the Crows end up being there. It doesn’t matter how or why but, they’re always there. Especially Matthias, he’s actually playing in the game because he’s a Jock, and Nina goes to ‘support the team’ -because she’s got a thing for him-

·         They don’t usually go as a group, even though they’re all friends, but they end up finding each other. It’s an important ritual at their school, so almost the entire student body goes even if they hate almost everyone and have zero school spirit (Kaz).

·         Nina shows up first, she’s usually early and she just watches the football team warm up. (And lowkey checks out some of the cheerleaders too)

·         Wylan and Jesper show up right on time, always in a pair; they’ve been nearly inseparable for the past few months and it’s cute but also a bit nauseating.

·         Nina also brings a small cooler of snacks and drinks, knowing her friends will show up later, inevitably hungry and cranky but they know they need to be there. It’s an excellent opportunity for catching gossip.

·         Speaking of which, Kaz and Inej are always late. Sometimes they show up together, other times they don’t, but they’re arrivals are never further than a few minutes apart (And they always have coffee cups from the same coffee shop)

·         No one seems to notice their timing though; they just slip silently into the group like they’ve been there the whole time.

·         It always rains on the day of a game. Even during the summer, Nina and Jesper are convinced it’s a curse. It’s very light rain but the wind blows it into everyone’s face and under the canopies the school puts up, so everyone ends up damp and cold, but they always go.

·         Jesper is the smart one and brings a waterproof sleeping bag and zips himself inside of it. He looks ridiculous but it’s warm and dry; sometimes he and Wylan share one and it’s super precious. The others just wear sweatshirts and then complain about getting wet.

·         There was one-time Kaz brought a blanket and let Inej use it. Then she fell asleep on his shoulder, but he refuses to acknowledge it.

·         After the game Nina rushes to get, and all of them end up sneaking off campus and hanging out in a diner or something. They talk about school, the drama, jobs they might be taking. Or they hover over Wylan while he hacks into the school’s database.

·         There are some genuinely innocent teenager moments though, like the time they played truth or dare, and Nina drank from a ketchup bottle.

·         After an hour or so they disperse. Most of them go back to their dorms, sometimes Inej will leave with Nina. Other times Nina doesn’t hear her come in until about 3 am because she’s with Kaz, or spying on a teacher, threatening someone, etc. A good portion of the time they also just hang out in his dorm and watch bad movies but it’s absolutely platonic.

·         No one wants to confront them about it but those two spend a lot of time together (or at least missing).

·         Apart from the Crows no one knows that Wylan is the principal’s son so he’s been trying to stay under the radar because his dad would recognize him. He ends up dying his hair brown and cutting it short because he thinks it’ll help him blend in.

·         Needless to say, Jesper is very sad about it, but it helps ease Wylan’s anxiety, so he understands.

·   ��     Inej is on the cheer team. She’s really good at it, and she’s tiny enough to be a flyer but if she did that, she’d actually have to go to all the games. Thankfully she’s good enough at blending in no one on the team seems to notice she’s only ever at the practices.

·         She gets all the self-absorbed popular girls to tell her the hottest gossip. She’s the go to gal for emotional support, comforting and kind, just listening quietly and nodding along.

·         It’s very easy to earn their trust, just saying “you can text me anytime sweetie,” or, “no matter what I’m here for you.” They always confide in her. She can’t count how many times she’s gotten texts at 1 am from someone crying saying their boyfriend cheated on them, or just spilling secrets about other members of the team

·         She screenshots anything incriminating and sends it directly to Kaz. Somehow though, no one suspects her when that information is being held over their head, or magically gets released to the entire school.

·         It doesn’t make Inej feel bad though, from what she’s learned literally pretty much all those girls are horrible people.

·         Nina is also friends with most of those girls, and pretty much everyone at their school. She knows all the popular kid drama, and rather than quietly observe it she likes to get involved.

·         She’s pranked teachers and gotten into fights. She goes to all the parties and she always has an opinion about the latest event.

·         Wylan is in the computer science club, pretending to be coding innocent computer games whenever the teacher who runs it is watching. But as soon he’s unsupervised he’s breaking into the school’s database or sending encrypted emails to students to blackmail them (and teachers too).

·         Since a few weeks after Matthias transferred though he’s been getting some emails too… Ones with compromising information and pictures of the crows.

·         They usually try not to hang out in a group anywhere on or near campus where they might be seen, but it seems like someone put the pieces together. And figured out they’ve all been working together.

·         There’s black and white photos of Wylan with his computer screen open to Principal Rollins’s email, a voice recording of the time Kaz got too cocky and threatened a student in person, a screenshot of Jesper’s student information showing that his father hasn’t paid  his tuition in over a year, a picture of Inej breaking into a teacher’s classroom, and a very private text conversation between Nina and Matthias.

Thanks for reading!