#AND YOU CAN'T CHANGE A FEW LITTLE THINGS TO COMMUNICATE EFFECTIVELY WITH ME.

[sassypantsjaxon]

Okay, quick disclaimers: 1. I know some people don't like Horikoshi's worldbuilding, would say there's a lack of depth, etc, etc. I'm not one of those people, I just see it as my chance to overanalyze and fill in the gaps myself for these kind of headcanon/theory/whatever you want to call this post. 2. This post will briefly touch on my own personal headcanons of Mic being an orphan and Aizawa being a rich kid.

Okay! all that being said, I'm just going to throw some things at the wall about my own thoughts/headcanons about the world Mic and Aizawa grew up in, and you guys can let me know if anything sticks.

You ever think about how All Might is around 25 years older than Mic and Aizawa?

Given that he left Japan as a teenager and went to college in America, he probably came back and started becoming the Symbol of Peace in Japan in his early-mid twenties.

Mic and Aizawa would have been part of the first generation of kids who have never known a world without All Might

Like. Think about that. They would have grown up in a world that is just beginning to recover from the horrors (as compared to the relatively deceptively safe society we see at the beginning of the series)

Hizashi grows up in an orphanage with a lot of older kids who were orphaned by villain attacks and...not so many kids younger than him. Which is good for them, but kind of lonely for a kid like Zashi

There's a wall around the orphanage that is supposed to be for protecting them, but as villain activity decreases, it just starts to feel like it's keeping the kids in

Hizashi becomes a hero because he knows nobody else is going to save him

Shouta grows up in a high security gated community

He's always wanted to be a hero, and he's always been told it's pointless, because All Might will have eradicated villainy by the time Shouta's an adult this is of course a lie

part of the tragedy of Oboro's death is that they've heard their whole lives how large scale villain attacks like that are a thing of the past

They would have had drills for what to do in case of villain attacks when they were little kids starting school. These would have slowly been phased out by the time they were in middle school

Another thing that's changed since they were kids is the architecture

No more burned down, bombed out buildings that just sit around because there's no point rebuilding something that will just be destroyed again in a few weeks. No more business that are still open, but the windows are boarded up because they can't afford to keep replacing the glass

No more graffitied walls and fences and gates. No more anti-villain spikes on top of buildings and around cities

And all of these things disappeared so slowly that it's like one day when they're in highschool, they just look around and realize they don't exist anymore and wonder where it all went and when it happened

There was probably a population boom as All Might started to cement his place as the Symbol of Peace. People realizing their kids would have a safer world to grow up in and they didn't have to fear dying every other minute

People moving out of the safety of the cities back into more rural areas

actually hang on. that would kind of explain the racism and bigotry we know exists in the rural regions

this was supposed to be more about mic and aizawa and now i'm just spitballing worldbuilding sorry.

Mic and Aizawa are kind of in this weird inbetween of the fourth generation of quirk users, who grew up fully in the horrors of quirk wars, and the fifth generation, who grew up in the era of All Might and it's all just the past to them

Because even though they didn't exactly live it themselves, they did still see the direct effects of it

And that's the horror of this new war, because their students had been living the peace Mic and Aizawa were promised as children

[fantabulisticity]

If you know someone autistic who has difficulty telling the difference between rhetorical and literal questions, do me and them a favor and don't fucking keep asking if I tell you "that's all the context I have. I don't know anything else." And don't then get pissy when I keep telling you "I don't know" when you KEEP ASKING ME QUESTIONS. IF YOU ASK ME A FUCKING QUESTION THEN I AM GOING TO ANSWER IT. I AM FUCKING DISABLED. I CANNOT TELL THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN RHETORICAL AND LITERAL QUESTIONS ALL THE TIME. IF YOU DON'T CHANGE YOUR TONE OR PHRASING AT ALL BETWEEN A RHETORICAL OR A LITERAL QUESTION THEN YOU ABSOFUCKINGLUTELY DO. NOT. GET TO BE FUCKING PISSY WITH ME WHEN I ANSWER YOUR QUESTIONS. LEAVE ME ALONE OR I WILL FUCKING LEAVE. I AM SICK AND TIRED OF THIS SHIT. I AM DISABLED. I AM UNABLE TO TELL THE DIFFERENCE IF YOU DON'T USE VERBAL OR TONAL INDICATORS. IMPLICATIONS FREQUENTLY GO OVER MY HEAD. THERE IS ABSOLUTELY NOTHING I CAN DO ABOUT IT. I AM TRYING MY BEST DURING EVERY SINGLE SOCIAL SITUATION IN EVERY SINGLE PART OF MY LIFE. DO YOU KNOW HOW EXHAUSTING IT IS TO HAVE TO ANALYZE EVERY SINGLE SOCIAL SITUATION YOU ARE EVER IN AT ALL FUCKING TIMES???? LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE.

[creatingblackcharacters]

Hair for thought: a little mini lesson

I know this blog may seem more geared towards art than writing, and admittedly, I am pushing for visuals because I can be a very visual creator myself, so the two converge for me. So that may be an issue of communication on my end.

However, I do want people to consider that the way you "see" your character in your mind affects how you write them! So if you're here to learn to write better Black characters, the way you picture them has an effect!

For example, let's say you're writing your character. You want them to have a 4C afro. Do you know what 4C means? Do you know what that looks like? How it feels? How it changes under different environments and circumstances? How can you describe those things to give your reader an adequate picture of your character if you don't know what that looks like? How can you get creative with their looks if you don't know your options?

If you have a loving moment between your characters, and you want one to touch the hair of the other. First, do you know the importance of the vulnerability of touching your Black partner's hair? Second, how will you describe that, if you don't know the texture of the hair and what it looks like? You can't often "run your fingers" through it! You have to be able to know and describe the curl pattern and what could happen with it!

Again, I'm using hair examples because that's the next lesson, but this still works in general! Skin color, the way the light plays on the skin- if you understand lighting on brown skin visually, you can describe it! Our lips, the way they feel in a kiss! Pubic hair texture, for the nasty!

One major example I have of this is that once, a few years ago, I did a test in one of my favorite fandoms. I took about 100 stories, and I asked myself: how far can I get into this fic while assuming My Blorbo is Black? (I.e., how often do we assume that whiteness is the default and don't feel the need to properly describe our characters?)

The answer: through most of them 🤣 "Brunette with brown eyes" is the majority of Black people.

We have to be willing to address the unintentional bias in our minds that treats Whiteness, and therefore white features and the habits that come with them, as the default. It doesn't seem like it matters because it's "normal", except for I and other Black fans! It's not our norm! You have to understand how we look, and how we may interact with the world culturally (and again, we're not a monolith! But there are some consistencies!) and how that may "look" (be described) in a story.

I hope this may help clear up some confusion 😅 and again, I'm sorry if I didn't make my goals clear. I'm new at this.

[allycat75]

Just a reminder of why I am here, lest you think I actually believe a certain Dumb Fuck from Boston is actually reading this blog.

In case it wasn't obvious, addressing specific posts to a particular person is but a literary device (such that it is on Tumblr). This blog is a way for me to scream into a void and if you don't like what I have to say, please respectfully leave and try to refrain from misrepresenting me on other blogs. I may not be your cup of tea, but I will not be minimized.

What I am screaming into the void about:

Mr. Dumb Fuck roped us all into this by trying to convince us he is stunningly happy in a relationship when it is obvious to almost anyone he is not (and if he is, he has to be the most toxic boyfriend/hubby ever). He even tried to help his cause by doing a bad job on purpose, but that act to save himself came crashing down on those who called out the Emperor who had no clothes, hard. Because when we pointed out the many obvious inconsistencies, we were branded as crazy, stupid and jealous. Then there is the gaslighting with changing timelines, photoshopped pictures, ghost sightings/weddings, poorly acted jump scares and general mindfuckery. He can't now un-invite us to the party because he doesn't like what we are saying. We will defend ourselves from lies and manipulation and not accept the negative labels thrust upon us. Too often, women are dismissed for being irrational and this stunt highlights the incredibly antiquated and misogynist trope.

The little wifey is an awful person and by tying himself to her like this he tacitly provides his approval to her racism, antisemitism, fatshaming, arrogance, immaturity, clout-chasing and entitlement, forever. That hypocrisy cannot go unnoticed considering his former stance on these subjects and his role as the face of the insipid ASP. I am a member of a few of the groups the wifey and her crew target so no one gets to tell me I am taking this too seriously or I am being too sensitive. As Secretary of Education Miguel Cardona discussed during a recent talk on an unimportant, ego stroking website, passiveness normalizes destructive behaviors and beliefs toward marginalized communities, at a time when we in those communities feel unseen or unprotected.

The fact that he looks absolutely miserable, with no light in his eyes, and discusses his life as if it is not his own is more than a little unnerving. This is in no way to shame him, but rather out of a genuine concern for his wellbeing. If I were to encounter someone on the street acting like he did as described in the near career ending GQ article, I would be compelled to call someone to assist this man in distress. And I don't buy the excuse of "he's just tired" or "he is working hard".  He is running from who he has become and doesn't know where to go.  These posts are a way for me to work out frustration of not being able to help someone who is in clear need of it.  And yeah, maybe it is none of my business, but just as if I ran into the GQ version of him on the street, I couldn't just stand by and do nothing. 

This circus also shows how his behavior parallels the issues of the world at large and how we accept things we shouldn't. We have kept quiet about unchecked privlege, intent vs. impact, performative activism, being child-like vs. childish, ageism, greed and corruption, mental illness and wellness, self awareness, the power and weaponry of sexuality, toxic masculinity and misogyny, generational wealth, integrity, alternative facts and emotional truths, misinformation and disinformation, imbalance of power, value placed on hard work, attributes of healthy relationships, preciousness of time, and the effects we have on our fellow mortals, all of which has got us to now, on the brink of societal destruction. And we see this epitomized in the microcosm of this shitshow. I use this blog and the unlikely, fucked up muse that inspired it to think about how we all cultivate our points of view and perhaps pressure test what they really mean to us and how we express them in our daily lives. Others who find my blog may feel lost and alone, as we all do at times, in need of some comfort or inspiration. While the quotes, infographics and articles may be very pointed, they are there for everyone to enjoy and interpret. The Song of the Day, however, is purely about me and what I woke up singing or feeling. Nothing to do with BDF, but still for everyone to appreciate.

So that's about it. I hope you have more clarity about what I am trying to accomplish and again, if you wish to be negative, you can see yourself out. Thank you! 👋

[tamamita]

Maybe this is a stupid thing to express, I've just seen so much Isr*eli violence today and I feel like maybe you can help me understand. All I've heard from people talking about the situation in Palestine is that it's "very complex" and requires a lot of research into the history of the place to get a "better understanding" of it. But like. Why can't they work to solve the conflict without butchering people? Why is the international community allowing Israel to keep doing what they're doing? I guess the answer is their American alliance, but is there no one willing to step up and actually do anything about this? What can I do about this? I've raised money, I've boycotted, I've signed petitions, it feels so hopeless, is it all for nothing?

Politically, americans need a stronghold in the middle east and use Israel as a puppet state. If there was an armed conflict between Israel and the Arab state, the US would be the first to intervene on the side of Israel, thus keeping the other states from intervening. The U.S keeps vetoing any resolution the UN presents on anything relating to the illegal occupation of Palestine, effectively making the UN one of the most useless peacekeepers in the world. So Israel makes a valuable ally in the geopolitical game. With the Trump administration, several deals and political changes undermined a lot for the Palestinian struggle for liberation not to mention the large support for the Christian right. Furthermore, negotiations become challenging when the Israeli Regime keeps allowing Zionist settlers to colonize Palestinian lands and evict Palestinians from their homes, and with every UN resolution that is presented to prevent these actions, the Americans keep vetoing them away. As a result, Palestinians have no choice but to retaliate, and when they do, they become demonized by Western media. When a Palestinian Christian journalist was shot in the head, the US and Israeli government did nothing, showing that Israel is an apartheid state that will surpress Palestinian voices and continue its oppression of the Palestinian people. The international community (sans the US) does condemn Israel, but there is little they can do with the Veto system in place. However, US influence of the MENA region has decreased significantly over the past few years.

Religiously, there is the ever-growing Evangelical movement in the U.S that adheres to the idea that Jewish people should be allowed to return to Israel so that they can hasten the return of Jesus, who will convert them enmass (144.000 to be precise). This is also referred to as Christian Zionism and is a very popular doctrine among the Evangelical sector. The Christian right is extremely vocal in its support for Israel in the hopes that Israel will become fully Jewish (this means they won't take any other Christian life into account). This idea is rooted in the Book of Revelation where the idea of a Jewish nation will signify the end times, and only can the apocalypse take place once the Holy Land becomes exclusively Jewish. Israel becomes a large tourist attraction for Evangelical Christians as a result and there are even Evangelicals disguised as Jewish people (such as Messianic Jews) that go around and lure Jewish people in the hopes of converting them.

In short, Fuck Zionism and the settler colonial state in general, and the Evangelical Christian Church is an evil death cult that advocates genocide in order to bring about the apocalypse.

[youremyheaven]

Any word of advice for Sun girlies how to protect herself from evil eye?

light bubble meditation!! always visualise a circle of light around yourself. one of the best ways to build your "aura" or cultivate magnetism is to have an energy shield around you at all times. it's not rocket science, just close your eyes and visualise light surrounding you and keeping you protected.

some of the next tips are a little out there but if you're so inclined do try them:

Basil/Tulsi is known for its cleansing properties and we use it a lot in India. I recommend putting a stem of basil in your pillow (my nightmares went away after I did this) or putting a stem of basil in your bra when you go out (or your pocket). It's a powerful remedy against evil eye.

Consecrate an object of your choice, preferably something small and dainty (a crystal, a sea shell, a pebble, a feather, you don't want to pick something that carries any karmic energy) by chanting to it, meditating with it and suffusing it with your energy. Then carry it with you everywhere, in your bag or purse or whatever. It's like a good luck charm that's custom made for u

Pray to your Ishta devata. Sally Kempton talks a lot about goddess worship and I suggest watching her videos or reading her book Awakening Shakti but this is life changing!!! Obviously its not wise to casually dabble in Hinduism and deity worship so please study them, read as much as you can and gather as much info as you can. You'll naturally feel drawn to one Goddess over others and praying to her will keep you protected. Bhakti (devotion) is the greatest armour. I have called upon the goddess during times of immense turmoil and she's always helped me navigate with grace BUT you should never make a deity feel "used". If you're praying, pray everyday, not just when something goes wrong. Think of it as a relationship you build with someone. You have to show up and communicate with them everyday, only then will they want to be your aid in times of need. Give thanks. Always.

Black thread. I guess this could again count as appropriating Hinduism but 😬 compared to deity worship, this is nothing. Here's an article explaining it. Basically, wearing a black thread on your left leg will keep nazar away.

Burn incense/sage bc it purifies the energy of the space

SALT also cleanses. take a bath after mixing a few spoons of salt in the water and watch the effect it has on u.

The thing about evil eye is that it affects people who are spiritually fragile. They do not have an energy shield protecting them so they're susceptible to every kind of influence (they're easily influenced) and suffer the consequences of negativity more than others. Some people thrive in life no matter how much shit is thrown at them. Nothing affects them much. Others crumble easily in the face of even the smallest hardship or bitterness. That's bc they're spiritually weak. You have to build a spiritual base that is so strong nothing can shake you. Evil eye can't hurt you if your relationship with the divine is 💪🏼strong af bc God is bigger than any evil. And perhaps many of you dabble in astrology for fun and don't believe in God but vedic astrology kind of requires a relationship with the divine. Literally the remedy for any kind of issue in your birth chart is to pray.

I feel like many people have a passive understanding of prayer but it's a very purposeful exercise of faith. Finding time in your day and devoting it to God is a way to engage in conversation with yourself. If you hate/are afraid of God, that is a reflection of you and what you've been raised to believe. Once you really get into it, you'll understand that God is love and honestly prayer time is the happiest time of the day for me. My heart feels so full. Whenever I don't pray, I feel so closed off bc my heart is longing for that supreme love. You make your life feel purposeful by acting with intention and making the ordinary sacred and ritualising experiences. If you live like nothing matters, that's what will be reflected back. Your world and what you make of your experiences is a reflection of you 🫶 so make a temple of your mind

Sorry for long ramble but yk that's how I am by now 😌🤪

[whumble-beeee]

The Man in the Sweater Vest

The (Un)Official Guide to Hero-Keeping | Cont'd from Part 7

Content: attempted noncon, threatened mouth whump, disabled whumpee, trans whumpee, scissors, tied up/handcuffs, noncon unshirtening, noncon touch, past captivity references, graphic threats, blood, crapton of whump. As a treat :)

* * * * * * * *

Excerpt from: The (Un)Official Guide to Hero-Keeping; a self-help guide for villains and bounty-hunters

[Inevitably, there will be disagreements on how you should treat your captured hero. One villain might want to just hold the hero hostage long enough to finish their dastardly plans. Another will want to break the hero’s will entirely! Or anything else in between! 

But when working together with other villains, bounty hunters, henchmen, etc, it is crucial that everyone is on the same page about how your captured hero is to be treated, lest your hero end up with a few less limbs than you meant them too, or your months of breaking down the hero's fragile mind is undone by a single nice gesture.

Always communicate effectively, your hero will thank you for it (or curse the day you were born)!]

* * * * * * * *

Sweater-vest stumbled back, reeling from the punch and clutching his face before pulling his hands down and gawking at the blood staining his hands.

“STAY AWAY FROM ME!!” Stan screamed. 

An intense elation washed through his chest despite the surprisingly sharp exploding pain that crackled up the very bones of his arm when he punched the man, and the now freshly ripped open scabs and bruises from where he’d forgotten to account for the handcuffs and yanked on them violently, streaming new ruby red over dried light brown that already carved down his arms; 

Because he'd got him. He'd got him! Punched him, made him back off! Stan did that! He'd finally managed to actually do something about the atrocities being committed against him and it was so, so sweet. 

Relatively short-lived, though. 

Vaughn, the sweater vest man, started to giggle to himself as he wiped the blood streaming from his nose onto his sleeve. Elation gave way to tentative confusion. Then a sinister seed started to take root in Stan's gut, the roots already reaching out and tightening around his body.

“You-...” Vaughn giggled some more. “You– you think–?...”

He started fully laughing, speech overtaken by an apparent hilarity that Stan must’ve just been too shocked by the sudden mood change to understand. He was cackling. Then practically shrieking, crazy, loud, heaving laughs.

He must be crazy. 

Insane. 

Well and truly insane, the way he was shriek laughing into his shining red-stained hands.

His gaze snapped up to Stan, and Stan could practically hear the horror movie crackling effect with how fast it snapped up, crazy maniacal shudders still overtaking his body, piercing gaze turned wide, animalistic.

“You think you can HURT ME?! HURT ME?! AHAHAHAHA!!”

Suddenly Stan slammed into the wall, cuffed wrists pinned above his head, chest to chest with the crazy man and staring up into his crazy bloodshot eyes.

“You can't hurt me,” he growled into Stan’s ear through gritted teeth. ”I don't feel pain. I carved that weakness out a long time ago, my brain doesn’t register it anymore! And I did it so I could deal with horrible little brats like you–” he slammed Stan's wrists into the wall, “--however I see fit! So I could do whatever I wanted to them. So that even if they fight back, they always, always, always lose.”

He pulled back and leaned into Stan's face, staring the captive directly in his glaringly defiant, wide and shining eyes. Hot shaking breaths misted surprisingly minty breath onto Stan’s cheeks, nearly overpowered by the metallic tang of blood that still poured down his face.

“Always submit. Just like you're going to.”

Stan pulled down hard against Vaughn's grasp, struggling and wiggling and tugging and screaming and kicking and doing every single little thing he could to, if not escape, at least make this as difficult as possible.

“Get away from me!" He cried. "GET AWAY FROM ME, get OFF of me, I’m not gonna let you do this you sadist, you can’t do this to me!! LET GO–!”

A punch to the gut. Stan tried to double over and wheezed as much as he could with his arms pinned up, which delivered him right into another punch to the face.

 Then something cool and sharp stabbed into the soft underside of his chin, straining his neck with how far his head pushed back into the wall.

“This is why I like to keep my victims gagged,” Vaughn gritted. “That bounty hunter of yours never does it, no matter how I tell him to. Always has to do stuff his own way, never listens. All he does is talk talk talk, always has a retort for everything. So defiant, and so is every single subject he brings in.”

A dull aching throb emanated from where Stan’s head pressed into the wall. Black spots dotted his vision. 

“You–... y-you can't–”

The scissors pulled back and dove toward Stan's mouth, eliciting a loud cut-off scream of revolt as he cowered and squeezed his eyes shut from some vain, animalistic instinct to protect himself. 

Then he pried open his eyes again, confused when no cutting metallic pain ripped through the fragile flesh of his face.

The handle of the scissors were fuzzy, too close for his eyes to focus.

They weren’t that far into his mouth.

Just enough that if Stan tried to close it, his teeth would clip on the tip of the metal blades instead. 

The scissors lifted slowly, tapping on his top teeth, tilting his head up until he stared into Vaughn’s metallic blue eyes once more.

“I could always prep your throat with these if you like,” he drawled softly, letting go of Stan’s cuff chain and instead lightly grasping his thumb and forefinger under Stan’s chin, forcing his mouth open further. A small sob crackled out from Stan’s throat. 

“It would be so easy… I could just–” 

The scissors lurched further into Stan’s mouth, and Stan let out another involuntary squeak and an open-mouthed, unintelligible pleading of “no, no, no, no…” as tears started to sting at his eyes.

But he let him do it. 

He even still held his arms up, because surely if he tried to fight back now, with the scissors in his mouth quite literally pinning him to the wall… He didn’t even want to think of the consequences.

“Careful, dropje. Wouldn’t want to cut yourself. Be quiet, be still, be good for me, right? You can be good for me? You can finally shut the hell up. No more fighting.”

He let go of Stan's chin and let his hands wander lower, caressing Stan’s sides, the curve of his waist, making his entire body tense and shudder. His breathing turning loud and shallow as he cringed away. 

Vaughn just giggled.

“See? Isn’t this better? You’re not getting hurt, you’re doing what I say…” His fingers slipped under the waistband of Stan’s pants again. Slower this time. More deliberate. 

It took all of Stan's willpower to not start hyperventilating at what he knew was about to happen. He knew. It was always this, wasn’t it?

Vaughn’s voice lowered as he leaned closer, pressing his body into Stan’s. He could feel the fibers of the stupid damn sweater vest against his stomach, deceptively soft, almost pleasant. The hard blade of the scissors tapped on the tip of his nose. “Because you physically have no other–”

BANG!!

Stan screamed. 

Vaughn screamed. 

The ghost of the gunshot echoed off the cinderblock walls. 

Vaughn also nearly fell backward, pushing off of Stan just in time for Stan to fall to the floor in a duck-and-cover position and pray to whatever gods would listen that his last day on earth wouldn't have been spent dealing with two of the worst people he'd ever had the displeasure of being kidnapped by.

Wait, scratch that, his knee reminded him. He'd had worse.

His heart threatened to jump out of his chest completely, but he finally realized that in fact, he was still alive. So he opened his eyes to what he never thought to be one of the most beautiful sights in the world;

Deeby. 

Gun pointed to the sky and streaming a light grey smoke into a small puff of explosion that hadn't had time yet to dissipate. 

“What in the ever-loving SHIT are you doing?!” he shouted.

He was completely maskless, face now on full display, fiery eyes matching his equally fiery sneer. The sudden absence of the mask almost scared Stan more than the gunshot, the sight making his heart beat in his throat.

Then, for just a split second, Deeby's enraged eyes met Stan's stare. His eyes scanned down his body, looking him up and down, his face changing ever so slightly when his gaze caught in Stan’s chest. A slight crinkle of the eyebrows, a small tilt of the head. Then his eyes widened in some sort of realization, and Stan felt his heart turn to ice. 

Recognition.

No. 

He couldn't have realized who he was. 

Just because of the binder?!

Stan choked on his own throat as the collar suddenly constricted once more and he was dragged violently forward to his knees.

“Your fucking dog punched me in the face!” Vaughn shouted, jangling Stan around enough that he had to grab the collar just to gain back his breath.

“Just because–!” 

Vaughn jolted Stan's collar back hard and cut him off with a violent gag.

“I was disciplining him.” Vaughn narrowed his eyes at the mercenary. “Like we're supposed to.” 

Deeby’s jaw set. And still, he managed to find a slight smug smile within his fury. “That why your face is gushing blood, then? Disciplined him too hard?”

Stan didn't even realize when they started, but tears were practically streaming down his cheeks now, chest heaving in panic. “Deeby, Deeby, he was gonna–”

“Shut up!”

A kick this time, straight to the back of his spine, and Stan's throat strained hard into the collar before breaking free of Vaughn's grasp and nearly face-planting into cold concrete. He scrambled to get up, but the same foot planted on his back and slammed his chest right back to the floor, grinding the heel of its shoe into the captive’s spine. Stan clutched at the ground, screams barely bit back by force of sheer willpower.

“Christ, man! Stop it, get off!” Deeby yelled with uncharacteristic urgency.

The force pinning him down suddenly released, followed by the scattered footfalls of someone catching themself from nearly falling over. 

Stan just lay there limp. Heaving and shivering. He couldn't move. His limbs felt like heavyweights, the world tilted on it’s axis, and he was sure that if he lifted his head up, he would lose every last morsel of that protein bar he'd shoved down earlier.

But at least now no one was methodically turning him into a fine red mist anymore. 

Deeby stood between the two of them like an impenetrable stone wall, hand resting on the unlatched holster of his gun and pointedly ignoring Vaughn’s stuttering disbelief as he patted at the pockets of his jacket, pulling various probably very sharp things out and shoving them into his pants pockets.

Protecting him.

“You– You just–...” Vaughn finally composed himself. “You pushed me off! You're saving him? He needs to be taught a lesson!”

Stan tried to push up despite the dizziness. “Only–... D-Deeby, he was trying–”

“Shut up, Stan, I know, let me handle it! Here.” Deeby slid his jacket off and dropped it practically on top of his captive’s head, never once letting his gaze slip from Vaughn. Stan shakily pulled the brown leather of the jacket over his shoulders before he had time to think better of it, doing his best to just enjoy the show and not think about the implications of what was currently happening.

 “Because he wouldn't let you put your dick in him without a fight, right?” The bounty hunter said sarcastically. “Or– or– or because he wasn’t gonna let you mouth-gore him without complaint? Let you ‘teach him a lesson?’ Yeah, I am stopping you. Piece of shit.” The bounty hunter grabbed the scissors off the floor where they landed when Vaughn dropped them after the gunshot. Then he used them to point sharply at the door. 

“Get out.”

Vaughn scoffed and melodramatically rolled his eyes.

“You got the message from Lana then? Is that why you're acting like such a belligerent wittle babeee?” Vaughn posited in his most obnoxious baby voice.

Deeby bristled. Stan could've sworn for a moment he could see the man shaking. 

“Yes,” he said, slowly. “I talked to Lana. Your useless job is done. You can go back to being an even more useless sidepiece now.”

Vaughn’s shoulders tensed, and he laughed.

“Good! And I’ll make sure to tell Lana all about you taking the side of the disobedient dog of a test subject–”

“Yeah, go cry to your girlfriend about it, he's under my jurisdiction and I'm not gonna let you fuck that up because you feel the need to live out your perverse power fantasy with the helpless people you kidnap and torture. As if it isn’t torture enough to have to be in the same room with you at all.”

Vaughn clenched his fists at his side and forced on the worst imitation of a smile Stan had ever borne witness to.

“You better watch your tone, Deathberry,” he said, sickly sweet voice doing nothing to mask the hissing rage. “I could have you in the same spot as him in ten seconds. Don't ever–” he jabbed Deeby in the chest. “–forget that. You're only allowed to be out here roaming around with your fancy gun and your fancy cowboy boots because you're useful, otherwise you'd be locked up with the rest–”

Vaughn had just started to reach for the holster on Deeby's belt when, faster than Stan could perceive, a flurry of movement between the two men, a cry of surprised fear, the shuffling of feet and spinning of bodies and suddenly Vaughn was pinned back first to Deeby's chest, a wire that Deeby pulled from somewhere stretched taut between his fists and pressing a hard line directly under into the skin of Vaughn's throat.

Vaughn's hands quickly flew up to the wire to try and pull it off his throat, then just as quickly let go when he realized the wire would sooner cut through his hands before it would be pried off.

Stan couldn't help but stare.

“You're just about at the end of my rope, Verhulst,” Deeby growled, accent fully presiding now as he stepped backward and pulled Vaughn toward the door. “Don't you ever put your filthy hands on my gun.”

A slight rasp to Vaughn's voice was the only thing that denoted anything was amiss. “You sure this is about the gun, Deebs? Sure you're not taking your frustrations at Lana out on me?” 

“Trust me, if I was takin’ my frustrations at Lana out on you, bud, you'd be dead.”

Vaughn's eyes shot to Stan, and his smile broadened. 

“Ohhhh, I see. So what then, you are falling for the captive? I'm sure Lana would love to hear about how you're going soft, how you miss her, and how spectacularly you're failing at finding someone better so you have to–”

A small gurk finding its way from Vaughn's throat as he was pulled to a sudden stop.

“You know what, maybe I am. And maybe you should use your mouth to do something not completely useless for once.” He spun the both of them around to face Stan again. 

“Apologize to ‘im.”

What?

Vaughn stared at Stan, apparently more stunned by the notion of apologizing than the motion of having a garot wire to his throat. Stan… honestly had to agree.

“Come again?”

“Apologize to Stan. For tryin’ to rape him. It's the least you could do.”

“You want me to… apologize?? To the test subject? You really are losing it, Deathberry, let me go.”

The wire dug into his throat more. “Say sorry, doctor.”

Vaughn glared at Stan. Stan glared back as well as he could.

“I can't feel the pain of this, you know,” Vaughn's voice came, even raspier. “You're not doing anything.”

“You can still bleed out from a slit throat. Still drown to death in your own blood as it slowly fills your lungs,” Deeby dismissed lightly. “Still bleed out. Very quickly. I wonder what would happen if I hit your carotid–

“And I wonder how Lana would feel about you slitting her head scientist and boyfriend’s throat.”

“Probably call you a little bitch boy for invoking her name every time you need to defend yourself like a spoiled toddler ‘steada bein’ a man about it and defending yourself. Or maybe not. You’d never know, you’d be dead.”

“You wouldn't–”

Deeby twitched the wire across Vaughn's throat and a line of red bloomed across the light tan of his neck. Vaughn's face grew just a little bit paler. He brought his hands up to graze across the wire and felt the warm wetness smear across his fingertips.

“Apologize.” Deeby growled. “Now.”

Vaughn's eyes flitted back to Stan, fully appraising the wonderfully wide-eyed mess he'd had pinned against the wall only moments before. 

He narrowed his eyes. 

Took a deep breath. 

Stared daggers directly into Stan's soul.

“Sorry.”

Oh you bastard.

“Go jump off a cliff!” Stan yelled, erratically reaching into the jacket pocket he'd seen Deeby pull the protein bar out of earlier and luckily finding many more, one of which was immediately thrown directly at Vaughn. He couldn't even attempt to dodge it, and it hit him directly in the chest. 

The mercenary let out a singular loud laugh and spun Vaughn back around, letting the wire retract into what Stan now realized was a little housing box on his weird arm sleeve thing and shoving Vaughn at the door as hard as he could.

“Guess he doesn't forgive you. Better luck next time!” he laughed. Stan genuinely thought (and hoped) Sweater-vest would fall flat on his face, but he managed to grab the door and right himself before that happened. Shame.

“Now get out.” Deeby said.

Vaughn glared with a literal snarl, jaw half a second away from cracking in two. Right before he took a slow, deep breath and reset his features to a forced neutral. Then an easy smile. “As you wish, my liege.” 

He bowed exaggeratedly low in a show of mock respect, retrieving his scissors from the ground in a surprisingly graceful sweeping motion as he went. Deeby just rolled his eyes.

“Oh, and Stanny?” He drawled, peeking back from the door as he left and pointing his scissors directly at Stan's face with a flourish. “I look forward to seeing you soon~.” 

“Get outta here!” Deeby yelled with a threatening stomp toward the door, at the same time Stan stuttered out a very surprised and agitated “In hell!”

The door slammed shut. 

Stan could swear he could still hear Vaughn's deranged laugh echoing through the room even as an eerie silence fell over them.

He was finally gone. Finally.

See you soon.

He didn't completely understand why his breath continued to quicken. He'd won that encounter, right? Or… well, Deeby had. But still.

I look forward to seeing you soon.

He felt dizzy. More than the concussion could have caused. This was different, made him feel like he was suffocating, even though Vaughn was no longer here to strain the collar against his throat. Yet he could still feel the knuckles digging into the back of his neck.

I look forward to seeing you soon. In hell.

* * * * * * * *

Next

Taglist: @flowersarefreetherapy | @pirefyrelight | @cakeinthevoid | @painsandconfusion | @books-are-everything | @paperprinxe

[fairuzfan]

in your opinion, should ppl be confronting zionists at this stage? at almost 3 months into this genocide, i feel like anyone whose opinion was gonna change has already changed. but i know there are ppl out there who think we should be trying to bridge this gap between sides. it's obviously not the priority rn, the ceasefire and then the ultimate liberation of palestinians should be first and foremost, but when ppl talk about healing communities after the fact, what's your response to that?? as i am not palestinian or jewish myself, i feel like i dont have the right to be dictating that kind of course of action.

You know, I can't speak for everyone and I wouldn't try to pass this off as the prevailing Palestinian opinion, but honestly I'm a little tired of appealing to any type of zionist. In fact, I'm pretty sure my logical thinking has suffered these past few months, and I feel like I'm not making effective enough arguments. Things like constantly pleading for people to recognize your humanity is exhausting and for 3 months of it.... I don't know how people do it.

I've been invited to participate in talks and stuff at my university, and I have more coming up, about the history of Palestine and Zionism and colonialism but I can't help but think "what's the point of all this. people are dying in horrific ways. shouldn't that be enough to convince you?"

This is why I'm making more of a push to make art and encourage making art. Culture is a way for us to plan the revolution, as Fargo said in their essay (click), and provides for us a tool to imagine different, better, futures. We need to be aware of the sorrow, but we need to be able to do something with that sorrow.

I try to avoid arguments and analysis a bit (unless something really annoys me/is important to me) these days for that reason. I'm sure there are still some people in people's lives that they want to convince and I don't fault them one bit. I think if individuals genuinely see that people can change and want to take that initiative, I would never discourage them.

If you're talking about ME personally, I don't focus that much on it anymore. But I have either cut people out of my life or I've not had many zionist friends in the beginning lol. I make a point of introducing myself as a Palestinian who works in Palestinian cultural heritage for that reason.

EDIT: (addition) also wanted to say as a result of.... constant coverage and discussion, my factchecking is not as great as at the beginning so I try to avoid providing sources not directly from Gaza, Aljazeera, Middle East Eye, and a couple others. So if you do see me making more mistakes about sources and information, please do let me know. I cannot emphasize enough how bad I feel about things that are incorrect/not properly sourced so I would love to fix it if possible.

[philhoffman]

Loving Phil comes as easily to me as breathing. Easier, sometimes. From the first moment we met through the screen. Much like Paul Thomas Anderson, I saw PSH make a single gesture—a little smirk, barely able to restrain his soft smile, intelligent and warm—and fell in love with him. Or, more accurately, I saw him and was overcome by the feeling he was special, that he would be an important person in my life. And now here we are.

I’ve found myself saying the same thing a lot lately—“There are no words,” or something to that effect. The enormity of Phil’s loss, his absence over the last 10 years, is mind-boggling. It’s crushing. There are many great works of art and music and literature and film about grief and loss, warnings about what pain this intense could feel like, but even the masters can only capture a fleeting moment of it. It truly exists beyond words. 

Equally impossible to capture in words is the good, the beautiful, the glimmers of hope and love. It's often beyond mere glimmers—seeing the world through Phil's eyes is a sledgehammer of life. For a few years I've kept a notebook just for my thoughts to him. I was thumbing through it last night and read an entry in which I said the enormity of the happiness I felt since he entered my life was unlike anything I'd experienced before. It's far beyond a crush on an actor, lol. It's—words are failing me—absolutely everything. His films, his soul, his eyes, his community, all the words, the way he's shaped how I see my life, my relationships, my future, my world. I can't overstate it, really. He's stitched into the fabric now, the blood in my veins, his heart beating in my chest, arm around my shoulder. The most important artist and person I've ever known.

So there won’t ever be enough words to fully capture what every frame, every laugh, every freckle, every moment means—but there are a couple words that say enough for now, tonight, 10 years after Phil’s death. Like—I love you. Like—I miss you and I’m sorry and 46 is so, so young. Like—every night and every day, somewhere in the world, someone is watching one of your film’s and laughing or crying or raging or smiling along with you. You said you hoped the art would outlive you, outlive all of us, and it does, it will, and you’re always part of it and with us and remembered.

Like—now having the privilege to know your wonderful family and community, it’s easy to see how you turned out to be such a kind, thoughtful man and generous, passionate artist. Their refrain is true—great actor, even better friend.

Like—countless individuals are in recovery and alive because of you, whether they’re 10 years or 100 days or 1 hour sober. The support you offered friends and strangers during your life, the impact of your death from a drug overdose—I can’t begin to guess how many people you helped, how many even I've spoken to who credit you with helping to save their lives.

What I'm writing now is one of the hardest things I've ever tried to say in my life, I can't stop tearing up. I hope I get it right. This is the 10th anniversary of Phil's death—his life is now a decade away from us in the past, a milestone I've been dreading, a reality that shocks and breaks my heart.

Grief is timeless and endless. There are moments when it hurts just as badly as that first day. But with time, hopefully, that most intense pain bubbles up less often. It comes up on anniversaries, special occasions, when the sunlight and the breeze hit you just right, when little signs and reminders show up—but not every day. I think that's healthy. When I was relatively new to this loss, the pain fresh but I was deep, deep within it, I used to think, "How did anyone who loved him survive? Why aren't we all screaming all the time?" I understand now. Today I fell to the floor and cried and screamed about it—yesterday, too—but I don't every day, not anymore.

The grief is ever-present but it changes. The change hurts. It can feel like a betrayal, like guilt, like abandonment. That's the season of grief I'm in, weird complicated emotions I'm struggling with. I've felt it in my gut ahead of this anniversary and kept it bottled up so tightly, ashamed. "Letting go" are the words that kept coming to mind, but I fucking hate that phrase. I'm not letting go of anything. But tonight I heard from two of the people closest to Phil, who both shared the same feeling that this year is different. That maybe Phil is telling us that it's okay to move forward—not move on, move forward—and find new ways to love and honor and remember him. Let go of the ways that aren't serving us or him anymore. There will always be new ones. He is buried so deep in our hearts, in who we are, that we could never be separated—we will always find him.

In a way, a weight is lifted off my chest. In another way, I've been crying so hard I'm going to be sore tomorrow. Nothing is going to change in my day-to-day, I think. I can't even imagine what would. But this is a new step of our journey, I can feel it in my chest. Of my journey, at least. I'm terrified and hopeful and so, so, so deeply in love and in gratitude with this incredible, larger-than-life, beautiful force of a human who changed the world—the whole world, and my world. Blessed doesn't begin to cover how I feel knowing my life is tied to his, that I'll be learning from him for the rest of my days. I'm still beyond devastated his were cut short so soon.

I love you, Phil. The man, the spirit. Nothing else matters more than that. I love you.

(Oh, and I'll always buy the donuts. For you, for us. Always. I promise.)

[v3nusxsky]

As requested I moved it over here, from the piece with Emilybactually dying. This could be a part two or a stand alone piece. Fully up to you.

Using the idea of Emily going into hiding in season 5-6, and how that would effect her wife in this case. Then with Emily returning either sooner and dealling with the aftermath of a suicide or an attempted one. With JJ likley having to reveal the news to Emily. Hopfully we go down the attempted route (so it can be angst with a happy end) , it could involve Y/n joining Emily in Paris. That could be interesting to play out.

Can't live without you

*Authors note~ a part two for my people who wish to feel the angst and more of me writing while in the car*

Trigger Warnings~ angsty mentions of "death"suicide

Prompt~ see ask^^^^^

The muffled voices and irritating beeping was agitating you. If this was heaven then you'd rather deal with the devil, perhaps it would be less annoying there. You want to find your Emily but the with everything being black it was hard to do so. Yet you felt a pull, preventing you from surrendering to the darkness, dragging you back to the land of the living. That's where your bleary eyes caught sight of white walls and blonde hair, the voice of your best friend, JJ pleading with you to come back now.

You gave her hand a little squeeze to indicate your unsuccessful attempt. "Water?" You managed to croak out gaining the blonde's attention. After she gave you some water so you didn't feel quite so horrid now. "Why" JJ whimpered and you knew exactly what she was referring too. "Jay I can't live without her" you sobbed finally breaking down in the hospital bed as the fact you'd have to live on without your Emily sunk in.

That was four months ago, you hadn't progressed much since then, your depression only dragging you in deeper to its lonely pits of misery. That's why Hotch sent JJ on a case overseas, her work as communications liaison made her the only suitable agent for the case. Paris was her destination but she knew why she was here and truthfully it scared her more than any case could. It was too soon for one, bringing Emily back created an air of danger but also keeping you apart wasn't something that could continue any longer.

They met in a cafe, ironically the cafe that was where the blonde handed over the fake id for her. But now you were the topic of conversation. Emily wanted to know everything about everybody, she missed her family so much. A few peoples stories broke her heart, like morgans and Reid and of course she knew Garcia would have Serigo. But yours? Well she felt worse than when she coded in the ambulance. You'd actually tried to take your life by her grave. The story similar to Romeo and Juliet.

JJ knew there was no keeping Emily in Paris after delivering that news but what she wasn't expecting was for her to be scared. Truth was, she'd changed so much with her near death experience and what if you felt differently about her now. What if the team resented her for almost dying? Could Derek ever forgive her? But little did Emily know JJ was feeling similar. She didn't want to deal with the team hating her for keeping such a secret. It wasn't as if she had a choice and you were so broken by this that she was sure you'd never forgive her now.

The plane ride was silent, both women in thought when Hotch phoned. The plan changed, Doyle made an escape and therefore it was deemed no longer safe for Emily or you. Yes Doyle wanted you too. After all you managed to settle down with Emily where he failed. So the team needed to be smart about this. Another death would be too suspicious so the only sensible option was for you and Emily to flee the country again. But first the team would be told this time so it wouldn't be so bad in the fallout.

Being called to the round table meant one thing. A case. And truly you didn't have the energy for another right now. You wanted to go home to your bed where Emily's jumper lay and wallow. It was the only time you felt close to her since her tragic death. Her clothes, even though they no longer smell like her, but they were all you had left and there was no way you'd even be here after your multiple attempts to end your life without them. Every time one of the team caught you they would hand over one of her shirts or hoodies and hold you while you cried in ver how unfair this is.

"As you all know, Doyle is after y/n. We decided on a protective measure for you however I made a decision four months ago that effected all of you. It was necessary and I take the full responsibility" Hotch stated in his usual way of giving absolutely nothing away. Nothing made since until you heard "hi sweetheart" in a voice that could only be hers. No amount of artificial intelligence could clone her. "Em?" You gasped shell shocked to see your love by the blonde, frozen stiff as if it was a dream you'd awaken from any second now. You'd had them before, ones where you saw her and heard her but couldn't touch her anymore.

When it hit you it hit hard, you ran up to Hotch and started to weakly hit against his chest, "you lied! You fucking lied!" You sobbed out before weakly collapsing against the floor crying uncontrollably. You missed her so much, grieving her death only for it to be fake. That much was proved when the raven head had hugged and apologised to everyone and finally made her way to you, scooping you off the ground and holding you in the way she would when you had a panic attack. "Shh sweetheart I know. I know, I missed you so much Angel. But I really need you to listen to the plan okay?" She murmured to you kissing your head as her body rocked soothingly back and forth.

"No! No you can't leave me! No not again. No!" You volume raising the more that sunk in, "I just got you back" you whimpered causing JJ to come closer in an attempt to comfort you. "Get the fuck away from me!" You almost growled, "I can't stand you right now" you spat at the blonde and Hotch before snuggling into your undead lover. Hotch explained the plan and reasons why and again apologised for having to lie but it was for Emily's safety. This time you would leave with Emily, for your safety and hers. When the team caught Doyle you could return home to your family. But for now you and Emily were shipped off to Paris once more with false identities to heal and grow from this. If it's possible for you two to repair the hurt you both sustained.

Word count~ 1205

[bunnyandcoffeeposts]

Saving a Bad Situation

If you ever have a day/outing/conversation that just isnt going the way you want it to, everything just feels icky and wrong, and youre starting to think absolutely nothing can salvage it, consider Starting It Over! Not everything is going to perfectly all the time, but if you feel like you're losing control of a situation this play-pretend strategy can help you get back on course! Here are some ways we've used Starting Over to help get things back on the right track:

We were having quite a yucky morning - We woke up because of a bad dream, our morning tea wasn't made right, we forgot to eat breakfast until we were way too hungry, and we found out the plans for the day had changed drastically. It felt like the whole day was going to be miserable. So we Started Over! We got back into bed and set an alarm for 5 or 10 or 15 minutes, then closed our eyes and just laid under the covers hugging a stuffie until our "reset period" was over. We could pretend that the change of plans had been made the night before and so that was now just the plan for the day "like always", we remade our "first" cup of tea, reminded ourself to put toast on, and that bad dream was from "yesterday" morning!

Through neither person's intention, an important conversation was miscommunicated or misinterpreted, or a little bit of both. We both were long past upset and neither of us wanted to snap at each other. So, I said that I'd Like to Start the Conversation Over. We hung up our call, we both took a deep breath, and used our own mistakes, and our now better understanding of the other person's thoughts and needs to work through the conversation more carefully and considerately. We started the call over, greeted each other just like we hadn't talked at all that day, pretend that the previous talk never happened, but still had a productive and positive talk

I really wanted to play video games with Mama, and Mama really wanted to play video games with me! So, understandably, she moved rooms to the computer that has her games on it. I wasn't sure on how to communicate beforehand that I wasn't ready to change rooms, so the quick change with no transition period made me feel jostled and upset. So i said "I'm almost ready to go to the computer" and put in censored text that i would like to play pretend for a few minutes. We both pretended that we were still in bed and when i felt comfortable enough said that i was ready to "go" to the new room, covered my eyes for a few moments as we "went to the new room" and then took a few minutes to get adjusted. Physically we stayed sitting at the computer the whole time because there are a number of stairs in between, but it still gave me the effect of that transition period i needed

This is something mainly used with the littles or on days where emotional regulation is more challenging, but that doesn't mean that its little or autistic exclusive; everyone needs to hit the reset button sometimes! No, not everything in life is going to go exactly how we want it to, and we all need to be able to adapt to things out of our control, but that doesn't mean something "small" has to ruin your day, or that you can't take a breather before giving something a second go!

This is just something we've found helpful for us and been using more often lately to keep issues from snowballing out of control, and has also been a good exercise for us to better communicate our needs and feelings. It's a lot easier to say I Need To Start Over than trying to work through articulating emotions while upset. Its easier (and usually more protective, for us) to explain how we felt and what we felt went wrong once we're calmer. No, this probably wont work for everyone, we used to find it too hard to play pretend, but since getting back in touch with our imagination its become much easier, but its an extra tool you might want to add to your emotional and communication toolboxes and consider trying out!

[snek-panini]

It's been a few weeks since I had new books to share, but I finally got photos taken of the newest ones so today's the day. Here, have a book:

This is Across Tides and Currents, a Good Omens siren AU by Sodium_Azide and @doorwaytoparadise (hi. I hope I tagged you right). My favorite thing about this AU is that, at its heart, it's about learning to communicate with someone who is so different from you that you can't even physically speak each other's language, and yet you've still got so much common ground that you find a way. It's way lighter and more fun than that description makes it sound, though, so go read it if that's your thing.

The cover on this is Lineco book cloth, scrapbook paper printed to look like leather, and blue foil htv. The foil was actually a nightmare to do. The first time I applied it, it wouldn't stick no matter what I did, and the bits that did stick peeled off as soon as I touched them. I had to peel them up very carefully, cut a new image, and try again. Thankfully it worked the second time but I don't know that I'll be using the foil type again unless there's no other way to get the color I want. The non-foil metallic was so much easier to work with.

More book photos under the cut!

I went with a coptic bind for this one for a few reasons. The first was that I wanted to try one on a quarto-size book to see if I could. I also wanted to try the mitered corners thing I did when I bound Strange Moons, and see if I could have the same effect on the interior. (That bit didn't work out so well; the front is fine but I mismeasured the inside and the lines didn't match up, so I trimmed some pieces of cardstock to cover that up. I really like the layered look though, so that's fine. It's quirky.) The third reason is that not long before I decided to bind this one, the authors published a new chapter after two years of no updates. That's the best possible reason to have to change plans, and the glueless bind means that if they ever do that again I can just redo the stitching to add more pages. Win-win.

Getting whimsical with title pages here. This took way longer than I thought it would, probably because I don't like graphic design and I did it in Word where I do the rest of my typesetting. Usually what I do is grab an image and put text around it or on top of it and then just play with fonts and sizes, but this time I drew the lines and then made the text follow them. This is the first time I've used the word art feature since...probably 2009? I'd forgotten how. I have no doubt there are better ways to do this but if I'd had to learn a new program at that point I'd have quit. And I do think it was worth it--it's cute and fun and looks about how I imagined it.

Couple of photos of the inside. Sorry the first one's blurry, I had someone trying to get my attention when I took these. The section break image came from rawpixel, I just made it gray instead of black so it's more subtle. The fic has very nice illustrations that I specifically got the artist's permission to print and then I failed to get any photos of them when I did my little photo shoot. They look very nice, though. I swear.

The last image is something I've started including in my latest books. I'm calling them "A Note from the Bookbinder" and it's basically just me talking about why I chose that story, the experience of reading it for the first time, stuff that's going on in the fandom, stuff about the process like the new chapter coming out as I was preparing to print. It's kind of...like marginalia? Part of fanbinding is preservation and that's linked to archival work, and something I know archivists love is marginalia and diaries. I don't like writing in my books and I've never found any fun in journaling, but sometimes that kind of context is important so I'm trying to add it. Someday, decades from now, I may not remember all the details, so I'm trying to preserve them. IDK, this got philosophical on me. Go read about mermaids now. Promise it's a good time.

[puck-the-devil]

Hi! I heard you can use spells to transform people?

I wish to be turned into a non-human, yet still humanoid creature, still easily recognizable as myself without having to communicate who I am to people I know, without causing any more bodily pain than I already have and with neither curses nor major negative side-effects, leaving my mind unaltered except for what's strictly necessary, such as how to move any new body parts I may gain, or how to use any new magic I may acquire, AND if anything goes wrong by my definition, I will be able to be turned back to my normal.

*yawns, blinking and stretching*

Alright, alright, hold your horses. It's been a while since I've been on here. Asking a guy to grant you a wish without even introducing yourself, hmm? Most Fae would consider that rather impolite, you know. Especially since you're asking for a favor from a fairy without offering anything in return. Just because I can do something doesn't mean I will.

*sighs*

But very well, I'll bite this time since your wish sounds...moderately interesting with its various specifications and it's been a while since I've done one of these. I'll see what I can do. Not knowing your true name only allows me so much to work with.

Furthermore, despite your stipulations, you've still left a rather large amount of things about this wish ambiguous, so I only hope for your sake you don't mind what becomes of you in that regard. Like if you turn into a purple, anthropomorphic giraffe, for example.

Finally, I'd also like to mention that there are very few wishes that can't be undone one way or another (as is the general nature of magic in that by building in a way to break a spell, it usually becomes more powerful), so your little clause at the end is mostly unnecessary, but I'll keep it in mind to humor you.

*takes a deep breath and shuts his eyes, concentrating*

"It is this being's certain will

To not be human and yet still

Despite whatever might befall

Be humanoid and known to all

As who they are with unchanged mind

Unless their new form is designed

With new additions as discussed

Then so must their mind readjust.

They want no pain or side-effects,

And if not what this soul expects,

All magic results of this spell

Can change back until all is well."

[jessicas-pi]

The Moment of Impact

You know me, always coming up with new AU ideas.

When Caleb Dume is fourteen, he is a freshly traumatized mess who just felt the destruction of everything he held dear.

And to top it all off, he is hit with nineteen years' worth of future memories, from that second up until the moment he dies.

Understandably, Caleb panics.

It takes a while for him to get his head together, and in the end, he decides the best, maybe the only, thing to do is to follow the path already laid.

Maybe he makes a few changes.

Saves a few lives.

Doesn't stray quite so far, because he already knows the way home.

Quite a while later, he meets Hera on Gorse. He's been looking forward to this for a long, long time.

And so has Hera.

For Hera, the moment she can never forget—the moment she lost her mother—is also the moment she Remembered.

Kanan develops a theory, and does a bit of mental math.

These... moments of impact. Assuming it's the whole crew, assuming they will all remember... when? He can guess. The massacre of Lasan. The Duchess. Ezra's parents.

Ezra's parents. Force, that was a year ago. Does he already remember?

As much as Kanan and Hera both want to drop everything and run grab the kid... they don't know what it will change; if the ripple effect will ruin everything. They can't.

Two years later, with Lasan reduced to rubble, Zeb has no such worries.

He couldn't save Lasan. He was too late for that. But he has knowledge now and he is going to use it.

His first stop is Lothal.

Ezra's Remembered for three years. On the sly, he's been experimenting with Force powers and mind tricks and he's got a pretty good hustle going.

He's also desperately lonely.

He never met Kanan or Hera or Chopper or Zeb or Sabine, not yet, but he still misses them so much.

So much that when he bumps into Zeb on the street, he accidentally blurts out his name in sheer joy.

Zeb has acquired a ship at this point, and he and Ezra make a journey out into the wide galaxy, on their way to find Kanan and Hera.

Kanan and Hera are very hard to find.

Zeb and Ezra make a detour.

This time around, Sabine erases everything on the Duchess. Every scrap of information, every last little thing. There is no trace it even existed. It will never be rebuilt.

But she takes longer this time, being extra ever-so-careful, and gets caught, and locked up.

She's plotting her escape when a face she's never seen but would still know anywhere peeks out from the ventilation shaft in the ceiling.

Kanan and Hera, like the worried parents they are, have been monitoring Imperial communications from the Mandalore Academy when they hear a report of a Lasat and a Jedi breaking out a student who was just arrested for treason. It's accompanied by a holo of a very large, very colorful explosion.

"So much for leaving the timeline alone," Kanan remarks dryly. Hera is already on her way to the cockpit, instructing Chopper to set a course for Mandalore.

It's time for a family reunion.

[kalinara]

I was skimming through my dashboard and I saw a post that I thought was really interesting.

In the post, the person stated that they missed when fandom was more interactive, when it came to fanfic writers and fan artists, rather than today, where it was like the content creators were machines that didn't need positive feedback, but were just there to create product.

I'm paraphrasing, because I can't find it again. It stuck with me for a bit though.

See, I think this is the natural effect of discouraging constructive criticism.

I can appreciate that very few people enjoy logging into their email or messages and seeing a comment regarding a project that they've spent so much time and effort on and seeing "Well, this is what I think you did wrong."

I can appreciate that for most folk, fanfic is a labor of love, something that they're sharing with the community. They're not craftsmen honing a craft, per se. They're not looking for advice on how to improve.

That's understandable. But I think it misses something really important: that constructive criticism, heck, even a polite yet negative review is still ENGAGEMENT.

It's a conversation in a way that kudos aren't. It's a conversation in a way that gushing praise really isn't.

I'm not saying a writer has to agree with the criticism. People are people and sometimes people are full of crap. But the fact that someone took the time out of their busy day to actually engage with a writer about something they created, and to talk about it, and think about it, and examine what worked for them and what didn't...

That does mean something, in my opinion. I've been a fanfic reader, primarily a lurker, since I first took baby steps onto the web in 1996. Back before AO3. Back before fanfiction.net. I remember webrings, and mailing lists, and geocities. I even, vaguely, remember bulletin boards.

As I said, I was a lurker primarily. I didn't talk much. I followed the discussions. Sometimes I'd agree with it. Sometimes I'd disagree (quite strongly). I very rarely commented or reviewed.

But when I did review, that was because I really wanted to. And when I did review, I put a LOT of effort into it. I'd talk about what I thought the author did really really well (which was a lot! Or I wouldn't have bothered.) I'd mention what didn't work so much for me, and what I thought might have worked better. It'd take hours, sometimes, to figure out exactly what I wanted to say - what I would want to HEAR if I'd written the story. I always tried to leave the kind of reviews that I wanted to receive on my own work.

I'd never write a review like that now. The etiquette's changed. I recognize that the kind of review I wrote back in 1998 would be incredibly rude now. But when I look at the comments I've left nowadays - they're quick. They're meaningless. Even on fics I've truly loved. Sometimes I don't even comment. Just a kudo. Sometimes I forget to do that. It's not personal, but I've got things on my mind.

It occurs to me that even the word is different. "comment" vs. "review". There are very different expectations.

I see people sometimes talking about how what they really want is comments, though. And interaction. And I get that, but when you limit the type of interaction that you're looking for, then I think that you're going to get less of it.

I'm sorry. But sometimes I'll read a fic that's okay, but not great. It's got wonderful ideas, but they could be developed better. It's got good character voice, but some of the word choice is a little off. It doesn't sing.

At least, to me. Maybe it's just a matter of personal taste. Maybe it's a craft issue. The author didn't ask for my opinion, and that's fair enough. But am I going to leave lukewarm praise and nothing else? Maybe. I have before. But more likely, I'm just going to hit the back button and look for something else.

It's easier to give feedback now than it was in 1997 in a lot of ways. Kudos buttons are lovely. Instant review buttons/forms that don't require a perpetually shy anxious person to send an email to a stranger are wonderful things. I probably do leave more comments now than I did back in 1997.

But when it comes to actual substance and engagement...I'm not sure there's even a comparison. Why bother? If I feel really strongly about something in the fic, well, I can write a blog post about it instead.

It is kind of funny that this means that I get the engagement out of it, rather than the author, but that's how it goes sometimes.

[gornackeaterofworlds]

💔🎈❗️🥀🍓💋🐞 for my beloved caiji pretty please 🙏

Reblogging ask games when I know I barely developed the characters or plot yet is gonna end me..

💔 (broken heart) - Who has your character hurt most? Physically or emotionally? How did it feel? Do they regret it?

Initially I wanted to say her sister, but I actually think that's untrue depending on your scale of how bad something is. So, my true answer? Her parents. It...well it's hard to place how it felt. Y'know the song from Epic, Monster? Does she regret it? Not in the tiniest little bit. She BRAGS about it. Eventually..

🎈 (balloon) - What does your character do at parties? Are they a wallflower or a party animal? Do they go with friends or alone?

Parties are never to have fun, not for Caiji. They're networking, plotting, scheming events. You find out information and make your next move, you gather things to hang over others. She does drink, though due to her... incredible size a few glasses of wine is the same as water to her. Though she does drag her sister everywhere

❗️(exclamation point) - What was the scariest moment of your character’s life? Does it still affect them?

This is so far in the plot I can't even hint at it. But it's me, ofc I'll hint at it. So I'll take this moment to remind people, for completely unrelated reasons, to glance at the worst content warnings..

🥀 (wilted flower) - How does your character deal with stressful situations? Is their fear response fight, flight, freeze or fawn?

None? Where's the "throw all your values to the wind and strategize the easiest possible way for you to live" response? Taps the Monster from Epic sign

🍓 (strawberry) - Does your oc believe in anything? Are they superstitious? Religious? Atheistic? Has anything in their past made them this way?

Hmm. I actually never thought of this in depth. Yokai understand that magic is its own science, it operates outside of reality and changes it as it pleases. There's no gods, if that's what's implied. But they do worship strong historical figures. Caiji, specifically, has a very complicated relationship with this kind of ideology. She's the daughter of two of the physically strongest and most resourceful and cunning, but has an incredibly strained relationship with the most mystic-inclined individuals. So her views are definitely warped in terms of who she looks up to. And it will be explored, but she also has very little mystic abilities. Her lack of communication with that side of society is part of what got her in this position in the first place.

💋 (kiss) - Is your oc a good kisser? Have they kissed anyone before? Do they even enjoy kissing? What was their first kiss like in comparison to their most recent?

At first, for the longest time, I had the urge to make Caiji very sexually experienced. She's rich, she's hot, she's powerful. But...she's also alone. She doesn't have the time nor vulnerability for that kind of thing, and she's only like 21? She's likely not kissed anyone, no, and her anxiety to do things perfectly and be knowledgeable ahead of time probably makes her a very nervous and awkward kisser. She would enjoy kissing. I won't be showing explicit sex in Butterfly Effect, I'll barely be showing kissing, but multiple characters do smash. And she's one of them

🐞 (ladybug) - What does a perfect day look like for your oc? What do they do? Who do they see?

This is the hardest question. Because it depends on where she's at in her development. Where the comic is now? Being able to sleep and have her family take care of everything for her, as they mostly do now. Having her..rivals dead or obedient. Being given a prophecy of prosperity and peace instead of what's to come