#Will is loving it. He enjoys watching gay on gay violence. or inciting it.

[quietwingsinthesky]

I think Jack Kline & Abigail Hobbs should be besties

[cottegecorepanarabread]

10 Things I Hate About Tsuki

I wrote this unspeakable fast. This is my comfort movie and my comfort ship so please enjoy this. Also people here for my sweater weather/coast to coast fic: I'm working on the next bit I just got so inspired with this idea. Oh and the linkage in my car broke so I can’t drive it for 2 days till it gets fixed. rip my caffeine addiction. 

So much credit to the writers of 10 Things I Hate About You and some lines are directly from that so I don’t claim those as mine

Hinata sat in the guidance counselor’s office. It was his first day. It wasn’t that he was nervous, no, his family moved around a lot and he was used to this. The school was just so big. 

The guidance counselor, Saeko walked thought the doors.

“So Hinata,” she said, “you are move around a lot. This school shouldn’t be too different.”

A ball slammed into her window.

“It’s full of the same shitheads as every school.” She turned to flip of the kids outside.

“Did you just- am I, uh, in the right office.” Hinata stammered.

“Yep but I have more trouble makers to see so scoot.” She shooed him away with her hand. 

Hinata got up and left not wanting to spend anymore time in that office. He walked down the crowded and loud hall. He felt a tap on the shoulder.

“Hey I’m Daichi and this is Bokato. We are supposed to show you around.” Said a tall brown haired guy.

Next to him stood a black and white haired guy, practically bouncing in place. 

“Sup I’m Bokato -oh I guess Daichi already said that. Your Hinata right? I’m glad you are here.”

“Oh, it’s nice to meet you guys.”

They walked though the halls together.

“So those are the beautiful people,” Bokato pointed at a group mostly blocking the hall, “don’t talk to them unless they talk to you.”

They continued to walk through the halls and about into the courtyard. Hinata attempted to take all of it in while Daichi and Bokato pointed out other groups of people.

“Those are the goths, indie kids, theater nerds, the kids talking all APs and Honors, and the jocks”

“Couldn’t be me,” Bokato sighed, “I’m in all standard classes.”

“What group are you guys in?” Hinata asked. 

He supposed they were jocks because of their builds, but they didn’t seem to know any of the other so called jocks.

“Oh we are the volleyball boys.” Bokato smiled.

“We have so many people who play volleyball at this school that we have to have multiple teams. They all just play each other if you are wondering how all that works.”

Suddenly two people walked past them. Hinata was struck by the beautiful boy walking with a short blonde girl. He laughed, tucking loose hair back. Hinata felt like he was hit by a bus.

“Who is that?” Hinata couldn’t pull his eyes away.

“That is Kagayama Tobio” Bokato frowned, “don’t even think about it he’s shallow and mean an-“

“And beautiful,” Hinata finished.

“It’s commonly known that Kageyama and his brother aren’t allowed to date,” Daichi added.

“I bet we can figure something out,” Hinata said and the other boys just sighed.

Tsukishima Kei walked into the office.

“So Mr. Tsukishima this is the third time this week that you have been told to stop wearing your headphones and when asked to take them off you said quote ‘go fuck yourself.’ Is this correct?” Saeko said will an aggressive smile.

“Yeah, I mean I’m in your office, aren’t I?” 

“I really should give you detention for that, but seeing as I don’t care let’s just say next time you get in trouble for them I take them. Ok?”

“I guess” Kei rolled his eyes.

“Great. Now get out”

He walked back to class, slipping on his headphones when he was far enough from the office. 

All I am is a man

I want the world in my hands

I hate the beach but I stand in California with my toes in the sand

“So,” Takeda started, “how did you guys like The Sun Also Rises?”

“It was so romantic,” said a girl in the back.

“Oh please. Hemingway! Romantic! He was abusive. We shouldn’t read books that highlight horrible men.” came a voice.

“Yamaguchi Tadashi,” Takeda sighed, “I should have known you should find a way to protest this. Yeah I get it, but I’m sorry I don’t approve these books.”

“Any chance we could get Yama to take his meds before he comes to class.” Said Terushima.

“I don’t know why you why think it’s cool to act like such a dick. 

“One day he’s gonna snap your arm in half and I’m not planning on stopping it. Mr. Yamaguchi, office now. I can’t ignore inciting violence.”

Suddenly Kei walked though the door.

“Sorry I’m late. I was sent to the office,” he pulled his headphones off, “did I miss anything?”

“Oh nothing just the toxic masculinity we allow to continue at this school,” Tadashi snapped. 

“Ok good,” Kei turned and left.

“I heard you were terrorizing Takeda’s class.” Saeko frowned.

“I was only stating an opinion.” Yamaguchi said calmly.

“Well, why are you in my office then?” Saeko raised an eyebrow

“Ok fine sorry.” Yamaguchi sighed.

“Thank you. You are free to go.”

“What you’re not gonna write me up for my dress code violations.”

“No I actually tolerate you,” Saeko frowned,” now get the hell out of my office.”

Yamaguchi stood and left the office.

“And if there are any more little delinquents out there don’t even think about coming in here.” Saeko yelled.

“Hey Hinata,” Bokato called.

“We brought you the volleyball permission form you asked for.” Daichi handed him the paper.

“And I heard that Kagayama needs a French tutor.” Bokato bounced on his toes.

“Thank you so much guys,”

The group walked through the parking lot to there cars. Hinata couldn’t keep his thoughts off Kagayama. Who let him be so attractive. He looked like he worked out a lo- 

A horn interrupted Hinata’s thoughts.

“Watch where you’re going dipshit!” came a voice.

Hinata looked to see who had yelled at him. In a lifted Jeep sat a boy with the top half of green hair and the bottom half bleached (look up a peekaboo hairstyle if you are confused). Piercings littered his ears and he had a ring through his nose. His face was covered with freckles, he had smudged eyeliner around his eyes, and he wore all black from what Hinata could see. He was a strange contrast to the silver haired boy in the passenger and the black haired boy in the backseat. 

He could feel the bass in the car from where he stood.

To be honest he was intimidated and slightly scared.

Daichi laughed,” That’s Kagayama’s brother, Yamaguchi Tadashi (they have different last names because I said so), and with him is Suga and Akaashi.”

“That’s Kagayama’s brother?!” Hinata shouted.

“Yep,” sighed Bokato, “You just had your first encounter with the shrew.”  

Once they moved the car pulled out. It stopped as it passed them, and the passenger window rolled down. Suga extended his hand and Daichi took it, blushing. 

“How was your day Dai?” He smiled.

“It was good, Honey. I’ll see you for dinner,” Daichi’s blush spread.

“HI AGAASHI!” Bokato shouted and waved to Akaashi.

He rolled the window down, “good afternoon Bokato-San,” he said quietly.

“You are hopelessly in love with him Bokato,” Daichi said after the car pulled away.

“As if you aren’t absolutely whipped Honey,” he laughed.

They both looked at Hinata and froze.

“Oh yeah, um, Sugawara is my boyfriend. I’m gay.”

“And I like Akaashi.” Bokato grinned.

“Yes Bo but what are you sexuality wise,” Daichi laughed.

“…Akaashi. Honestly, I don’t know but I just know that I like Akaashi.” he shrugged.

Hinata laughed, “you act like you haven’t seen me pinning after Kagayama all day. Oh, and I’m pan.”

[thecaffeinebookwarrior]

More Female Characters to Avoid in Your Writing

A long while back, I typed up some posts ranting about characters and tropes I disliked.  These were Male and Female Characters to Avoid in Your Writing, and they’ve become my most popular posts yet.  Recently, I was struck by some topical inspiration, and decided it was time for a sequel!  

One again, these are my personal, subjective opinions!  No one dictates your writing or portrayals but you, and no one can or should decide how you consume fiction.  Also, as you may notice, I actually like most of the ladies below;  I just don’t like certain aspects of their portrayal.

Enjoy, and happy writing everybody! 

1.  The Daenerys (i.e. the spontaneous war criminal)

Image source

Who she is:

The formerly heroic Mother of Dragons, who randomly charbroiled a city full of innocent people.

Why it sucks:

I’m not even talking about this from a feminist standpoint, or how one of the most consistently heroic and powerful female characters took an abrupt and undignified backflip into the Dark Side.  I’m speaking from a writer’s standpoint.  

Regardless of whether you liked Daenerys, she was rivaled only by Jon and Brienne as the show’s most consistently heroic character  From locking away her dragon children to ensure the safety of her subjects, to freeing countless enslaved citizens, she’s spent a decade proving herself to be an altruistic and noble figure.  And then, in the final two episodes of the entire show, the writers dracarys-ed that shit.

For some comparison, just imagine how ridiculous it would be if Jon Snow suddenly went batshit and started hacking up citizens because he was feeling stressed.  That’s about as plausible as Dany’s sudden passion for genocide.

And for the record, I’m not opposed to Daenerys becoming Mad Queen.  If it was done properly. This would mean informing the actress far in advance so she could modify her portrayal accordingly (which they didn’t), and building up to it through foreshadowing and established attributes.  Not at the last fucking minute.

Honestly, the only characters who remained narratively consistent to the very end are Drogon and Ghost, who are both precious babies who did nothing wrong.  

How to avoid her:

Decide as early as possible where a character arc is going.  Contrary to what Game of Thrones seems to believe, the character arc is important.  It should have a beginning, challenges that incite development, and a satisfying conclusion that showcases how a character has changed and evolved.  

And if you didn’t decide early?  You still have to come up with a conclusion that makes sense for your character, and not slap on the most unexpected ending possible in the name of Subverting Expectations.

On that note?  Subverting expectations isn’t always a good thing, and a reader predicting your ending isn’t the worst possible outcome.  Focus on telling a good story.  

2.  The Rayon (i.e. the transgender stereotype)

Who she is:

A transgender woman (portrayed by the male, cisgender Jared Leto) dying slowly of AIDS in Dallas Buyer’s Club.  Her role in the narrative is to teach the supposedly heterosexual (more on that later) main character that queer people are human beings.  

Why it sucks:

Rayon is many things in Buyer’s Club, and most are firmly rooted in stereotypes.  She’s a sassy, flirtatious, clothing-obsessed, self-loathing, drug-addicted prostitute.   She’s hypersexual, but never treated as romantically desirable.  She’s tragic, but also one of the few consistently comedic characters in an otherwise bleak film. 

It’s her job to gently goad the main character into treating her with basic respect, but he never quite gets there.  He refers to her with male pronouns throughout the entire film, and never acknowledges her as a woman.  At one point, he aims a gun at her genitals and offers her a “sex change operation.”  Which, is supposed to be comedic.

This isn’t to say that there are no sassy, flirtatious, clothing-obsessed, self-loathing, drug-addicted transgender sex workers, nor is there anything wrong with “stereotypical” trans people.  It isn’t the job of the marginalized to dispel stereotypes.  And if real trans people had created and portrayed Rayon, she could have been a realistic, dynamic, and compelling character.

And I say “created” because Rayon is strictly fictional.  Outside of this film, she didn’t exist.  

“Well, at least they tried to offer representation!”  you protest.  “What else was it supposed to be about?  A straight dude in the AIDS epidemic?”

Well, no.  Though the main character, Ron Woodroof, is presented to us as a violently homophobic, transphobic, womanizing asshole, the real Woodroof was, by all accounts, kind-hearted, open-minded, and bisexual.  

What could have been a powerful story of a queer man defying his diagnosis, living joyfully and meaningfully, and helping to prolong the lives of countless AIDS-sufferers, was instead watered down to a story of a straight, pugnacious asshole and his stereotypical, long-suffering, transgender sidekick who dies to Teach Him Compassion.  

How to avoid her:

Read books by trans people.  Consume media they create or endorse.  

List of youtube channels created by trans people here, and 21 books for trans awareness month here.

Put out a special call for transgender beta readers to point out mistakes, misconceptions, and offer tips on an authentic portrayal.

Garner insight into their perspective and experiences, and give them personalities outside of being trans.  

3.  The Piper Chapman (i.e. the unflavored oatmeal)

GIF source

Who she is:

The “protagonist” of Orange is the New Black, and its least compelling character.  She and Larry are the sort of people who would ask me for a threesome on Tinder.  

Why it sucks:

Piper’s hook is that she’s a privileged, affluent white woman who unjustly finds herself in prison for -- well, for crimes she committed.  But expected to get away with, because, Privilege.

This isn’t to say Piper is boring.  She’s far from likable, but being likable and being boring aren’t the same thing.  In another series, watching a relatively cushioned, naive, bourgeoisie woman string along various significant others, thoughtlessly incite violence, and navigate an unfamiliar prison setting would make for thought-provoking and hilarious satire.  

But when compared to her charismatic supporting cast, with richly developed backstories, motivations, and relationships, she’s painfully bland.  I would much rather watch a series centered around Suzanne, Nikki, Taystee, Poussey, or even Pennsatucky.  They’re just more developed, opulent, enjoyable characters. 

It could be argued that Piper is the viewpoint character, whom the audience is supposed to relate to.  But I can assert that I don’t relate to Piper.  At all.  Her lack of empathy towards others -- such as leaving Alex after the death of her mother, cheating on her fiance, and inadvertently starting a *ahem* white power gang -- alienated me to her.  

Which might not be such a bad thing, but Piper is (supposedly) the protagonist.  We don’t need to like her, but we should probably be able to relate to her.

Or maybe I’m just jealous that hot women aren’t inexplicably fighting over me.

How to avoid her:

Your protagonist doesn’t have to be the most likable character in your story.  They don’t even necessarily have to be the most interesting character in your story.  And certainly not the most morally good, powerful, or knowledgeable.  But the viewpoint character is the character who we spend the most time with, and from whose eyes we perceive the story.  It’s important that we understand and relate to them emotionally.

Look at examples like BoJack Horseman, Holden Caulfield, Tony Soprano, Beatrix from Kill Bill, Mavis from Young Adult, Nadia from Russian Doll.  All are complex characters, with varying degrees of moral ambiguity.  Yet we can empathize with them emotionally and identify with them.  Even if we’ve never been in their situation, we see where they’re coming from.

4.  The Charlie (i.e. the dead lesbian)

Who she is:

One of the few recurring openly queer characters in the incredibly long-running Supernatural.  A lesbian who’s journey was (sort of) brought to an end when she was killed and dumped in a bathtub to incite drama.

Why it sucks:

I love Supernatural  but it can be remarkably tone deaf towards queer people, women, and marginalized groups.  Which, probably merits fixing, considering its following is largely comprised of queer people, women, and marginalized groups.  

I probably shouldn’t have to explain why killing off women and queer people for drama is Bad, but I’ll delve into its history a little:  from what I’ve read, censorship laws of the twentieth century forbade the portrayal of queer people unless they were ultimately killed or “reformed.”  This is why so much LGBTQ+ fiction is essentially gay tragedy porn, and why gays are so frequently buried to aid in the emotional narrative of their straight counterparts.  

That’s not to say queer people can never be killed off.  I might not have an issue with Charlie’s death (especially in a show as violent as Supernatural), if she weren’t the only openly queer character at the time.  

And there’s plenty of room for representation!  If Dean was openly bisexual, if angels were vocally confirmed to be nonbinary, and if there were more recurring, respectfully portrayed female and sapphic characters, Charlie’s death might not feel like such as slap in the face.  But as it is, it feels like a contribution to an ugly pattern.

In fairness, Supernatural has since improved in its portrayal of queer people:  two gay male hunters were introduced and given a happy ending, an alternate universe version of Charlie was introduced to the cast, and God is portrayed as a bisexual man.  

Yes.  All of that happened.  You have to see it to understand.

How to avoid her:

Educate yourself on the history of censorship in the LGBTQ+ community, as well as hate crimes and decreased life expectancy.  Make sure you aren’t contributing to the suffering of queer people.

If you have only one confirmed queer character in the midst of a very large cast, I’m inclined to think you need more.  You could say I’m BI-ased on the matter, though.

Look up “fridging,” and think about how many stories use the death of female characters to incite drama for men.

5.  The Allison (i.e. the reformed feminine)

GIF source

Who she is:

She’s one of the most interesting members of the Breakfast Club, and that’s saying something.  A self-proclaimed compulsive liar who will “do anything sexual” with or without the promise of a million dollars (as well as one of the most quotable characters in the film) she demonstrates the emotional pain and complexity that’s often ignored or shrugged off as teen angst.  

And then she gets a makeover and a hot boyfriend, and suddenly everything’s better.  

Why it sucks:

It would be one thing if Allison’s problem was that she didn’t feel pretty or desirable.  But she never (to my recollection) offers any indication of that, and that’s part of what makes her such a refreshing portrayal of insecurity.  She’s emotionally neglected by her parents, and that is appropriately treated as devastating.  

It’s a complex and beautifully-portrayed problem that deserved far more than such a superficial, slapped-on solution.

Similarly, there’s no reason why Allison is paired up with the jock at the end of the film.  Neither showed any romantic interest in one another until her unnecessary makeover.  

A much better ending to her arc would be her finding acceptance among her newfound friends, and finally garner the recognition and acknowledgement she never got from her parents. 

I was torn between using Allison for this example, or Sandy’s makeover from Grease.  In both, girls are encouraged to alter their appearances to solve plot-related problems.  And both were “fixed” to conform to some standard of femininity or feminine sexuality that they didn’t meet before.

How to avoid her:

If a character feels the need to change their appearance to accommodate others or be respected, that should probably be treated as a negative thing.

Your character’s appearance can be a good tool to represent emotional changes.  If they alter their appearance, there should be a meaningful reason behind it -- outside of fitting into societal norms or garnering the approval of others. 

A girl putting on makeup isn’t a groundbreaking plot point, and girls who don’t perform to standards of femininity aren’t broken or deficient.  They don’t need “correcting.”

[afurrybutthememekind]

Rig ‘The Party’ Barrow

Sorry, @greenwarden-cog​, I wasn’t listening. Did you say ‘spend 3+ hours hunting down the perfect mods and to make my warden’? That’s what I heard at least. Rig is my canon warden but I have another warden I might make! Who knows! I sure don’t!

FRECKLESFRECKLESFRECKLESFRECKLESFRECKLESFRECKLESFR-

Rig Barrow-5′1-Alright, asshole, let’s get cracking! This bitchin’ mystery ain’t gonna solve itself!

He says he’s a timeless being but everyone is pretty sure he’s in his mid twenties. Everyone who did know his exact age is dead after all.

He exclusively owns the ugliest shirts in existence. His entire wardrobe is made up of clothes that Bautista took one look at and said ‘if you buy that I’m leaving you here’. He did leave him in a store once but he was only gone for ten minutes before he received a photo of Rig holding hundreds of dollars worth of fireworks. He does not leave Rig in stores anymore.

Despite telling everyone he sold his ability to love for the ability to be an ‘awe inspiring badass’ he’s had the big gay for Bautista for a few years. Just wait until he figures out he’s also in love with Nazeri too! He was extra mean to Marc immediately after figuring it out but he might just kill Asad himself so he doesn’t have to face the fact that he does indeed, have emotions.

His favorite pass times include making Bautista turn bright red with over the top sexual innuendo, smoking, and sitting outside watching wildlife. No one knows he does that and if anyone found out he’d kill them and then himself.

You may be thinking: ‘wow you can’t put him on a plane with all those piercings’ and you’d be right! But you also can’t put him on a plane because he keeps homemade explosives in his pockets! He nearly blows his own leg off on a daily basis.

More fun facts about Rig!

He only really smiles when he’s around Bautista and Nazeri. Devin and Trace get little grins/smirks. That also means only Bautista and Nazeri know he has dimples.

His favorite animal is the opossum.

His favorite color is actually blue but his favorite pick-up line is ‘My new favorite color is BLANK because now that I’ve seen your eyes I’ll never love another color again.’ That pick-up line has never worked once.

He’s known to exaggerate wildly or even flat out lie. If asked how he got the scars on his face you may hears things like:

‘I got drunk and decided to fist fight a grizzly bear. It was close, but I kicked its ass in the end.’

‘Aliens abducted me and upon seeing how drop dead handsome I am decided to try and steal my face. Too bad my skin it what keeps my power at bay. They were instantly vaporized.’

‘I died and went to Hell but it seemed like a total downer so I bailed. Got these on my way out.’

and his favorite ‘I cut myself shaving.’

Rig often describes himself as ‘The Party’. He has been kicked out of almost every bar he has entered because he always incites ‘parties’ that border on all out brawl/riots. He is not allowed to start ‘parties’ and Bautista regularly has to drag him away from large groups of people so he doesn’t start anything.

He cannot fist fight to save his life. The only thing that saves him is that he’s fast but more often than not he willingly allows himself to get the shit kicked out of himself because he likes when Bautista takes care of him afterwards. It's the only time he feels like he actually likes Rig.

Bautista has had to carry him on many occasions and it’s his favorite thing he’s ever experienced but if you ever accuse him of enjoying being carried he’d vehemently deny is and threaten you with acts of violence.

He oozes self confidence and charm but in reality people looking at him makes his skin crawl. Every drop of confidence is faked. He's still waiting on the "make it" part of "fake it till you make it".

Rig can both sing and dance very well. He secretly likes Bautista's music and taught himself to play Marc's favorite songs on guitar but would sooner light himself on fire before playing/singing them for him.

He has tried to learn other languages but since he barely has a grasp on English on a good day he did not retain anything other than how to order a beer in German, Spanish, and French.

Despite being so small he has a disturbingly high tolerance for alcohol. He can win a drinking contest with almost anyone.

[awkwardtaco056]

so now that i’m no longer in the Hell that was school and after finding the lovely blog @endcringe i’ve decided to talk about my own experiences with cringe culture, bullying, and why it’s Really Bad to not let people enjoy inherently harmless things, especially neurodivergent people (read more because this is gonna get long and triggering at times, TW for mentions of bullying, suicide, child abuse, a brief mention of incest shipping. I won’t be naming any of the peers that I discuss my experiences with, because my point with this post is Not to “cancel” anyone, I just want to speak out on my experiences)

I’m neurodivergent; I was diagnosed with ADHD when I was 8 years old. I didn’t know a lot about it, and a family member even painted it as “oh it’s nothing blah blah blah just apply yourself more. Because of this, I had no idea about the concept of hyperfixations until I was in my late teens. Due to that, I would obsess over random things and my family would shame me relentlessly for it. My mother said I had an “addictive personality” and that she feared I’d end up a drug addict or alcoholic because of it.

I look younger than what I am, I’m short, and small. AKA, the perfect candidate for being picked on by people bigger and stronger than me. People made fun of my art when I was around 13, but fortunately that was an instance where spite fueled me to improve drastically. However, just because I happened to take the shitty comments and have it fuel me then does NOT mean bullying people will have that effect all the time. At some point someone put my old South Park fan art on a cringe blog. I was temporarily hurt, and a little angry, but I realized that if someone was making fun of a 15 year old’s art, they probably didn’t have much going for them in life, so I moved on.

Fast forward to high school. Everything was horrible and I’m not exaggerating when I say I barely made it out alive. I was living in an abusive household up until January 2018 and I found comfort in many different interests. I’ve always found great comfort in music and the arts in general. In 2016, I drew a picture of a mermaid. I was inspired by the chocolate opal gemstone, and I thought it’d be fun to draw a gay chubby mermaid with dark skin and a rainbow tail and freckles. Junior year was lousy and I wanted something that sparked Joy. I was immediately told that “scientifically, mermaids wouldn’t look like that. Mind you, my take looked like this:

Obviously I wasn’t going for realism, I just wanted to draw a cute mermaid. However, they continued to tell me that they wouldn’t look like that, going as far as writing so on the back of said drawing. When I got angry at her for taking it too far (as I’d established before that I didn’t like it when people wrote on my art without permission), they got angry back, accusing me of being unable to take criticism. Heated by the accusation, I went as far as asking my art teacher if it was fair for them to say that, and she said no, stating that constructive criticism would be talking about how I could improve my lineart and coloring in the digital version. I took her actual helpful criticism and since then have improved Drastically in digital art. Even with that being said, I found myself hesitant to participate in things such as MerMay because I was leery of hearing that peer berate me for having cartoony mermaids. 

 During high school I grew to love many musicians, a lot of emo/alternative stuff, a couple being Twenty One Pilots and Melanie Martinez. I love how unique TOP’s style is, their open discussion of mental illness, and as someone who had a rough childhood, I connected with every single song on Cry Baby. It was like nothing I’d ever heard. I started listening to mashups featuring all these different artists I love, adoring how they could change the tone and sound so drastically. A peer Bully of mine in junior year condemned these two artists, declaring that they made “Bad Music” simply because it didn’t fit their tastes. They’d throw my drawings on the ground, write over them in pen, steal my headphones so I couldn’t listen to music, push me around, complain that mashups sucked and gave them a headache, and in general shit all over conetnt that was actively preventing me from committing suicide. 

Some family members were no better. Once high school hit, I began listening to Fall Out Boy, Panic! at the Disco, and My Chemical Romance. Their deep complex lyrics stuck with me. I would write down quotes from my favorite songs and thanks to hyperfixating, I remember each studio album in order My mother resented when I fell in love with the “Emo Trinity” because “the Columbine  shooters were emo and that event traumatized me” Despite that, not only did the Columbine tragedy occur in 1999 and none of the bands got together until the early 2000s, but I have a pretty good feeling those groups aren’t For gun violence. The other side constantly criticized the fact that I love FOB, P!ATD, and MCR because I’m black and “why must you listen to that white people music.”

 I grew fond of Dan and Phil in high school (and I’m still a fan to this day!), I loved Phil’s kindness and positive aura and I deeply connect with Dan’s sense of humor and personality. Their content made me happy during some very dark times in my life. It’s November 2017, I’m over a close peer’s house at the time, and notice PINOF is upon us. I drew the PINOF whiskers on my face, my plan being to quietly watch them in the corner of peer’s bedroom on my phone through headphones, the others were doing their own thing and I knew they didn’t like them, so I thought they’d respect it if I silently indulged in it. Unfortunately, the complete opposite happened. I was immediately shunned and locked out of the bedroom, told that I’d only be let back in if I washed the whiskers off because “absolutely not”. Me, being stubborn, washed them off temporarily but drew them back on in the room. Life during then was especially bad for me, as the abusive household I was in was getting worse. They noticed, of course, and even though all I wanted was to enjoy this small tradition in a time during a deep depression, I was immediately shoved out the room and locked out, only to have said peer’s family members notice. I’m a relatively shy person, so this was honesty a really harrowing experience that had a lasting effect on me. 

I grew to adore Sanders Sides as well, but the moment I found out most of my peers didn’t like Thomas, I was terrified.  I stopped watching Dan and Phil’s content for months and shied away from other fandoms too, only occasionally indulging in times of complete solitude. One time when said peers were due to visit my house for the first time, I saw the Phandom and Fander stuff I’d hung up on my wall in my little sanctuary that was my bedroom (it was the first time in years I’d had my own room), and I was filled with panic and fear. I took them down and hid them away, genuinely terrified of what they’d do to me if they saw. It’s still incites so much anger in me to this day because they turned around and ended up shipping incest, but somehow liking D&P and Sanders Sides was So. Much. Worse.

They were baffled by my actions, despite having humiliated me Twice by going on a private blog of mine separate from everything so that I could fully indulge and laughing at everything on there, once at a peer’s house, once right in school. I don’t think they realized how traumatizing it was to have a large group of people in public laughing at something I was deeply self conscious about for all of my life. I put on a brave face at the time, but ended up crying in the bathroom after first period began. I continued to be treated as lesser until things came to an ugly head August 2018 when I ended up in the hospital because I nearly attempted suicide. Years of child abuse, bullying, and being deemed “cringy” made me feel like I didn’t deserve to be alive, that everyone would be happier if I were gone.

After arguably one of the lowest points in my life, I cut them off and slowly began to embrace the Real Me. I started letting myself enjoy the things again, made true friends and even found love, my first boyfriend ever at 18. I still get choked up retelling it, but when PINOF 10 dropped, after he found out how much I’d been hurt over the incident in 2017, I was greeted with a photo of him with the whiskers on his face. I cried for a while, blown away at such a pure act of kindness. He listens to me ramble about my interests, he compliments my taste in music, he watched K-12 with me. 

This got incredibly long, but my point is this: Cringe Culture hurts people. You might think it’s whatever if the Thing doesn’t apply to your interests, but content you’re denouncing as cringy could be something that’s keeping them alive, that one flicker of light in a void of darkness. When I was contemplating suicide, I listened to The Black Parade, repeating Gee’s words to myself over and over, that nothing in the world was worth hurting yourself over. Some friendly joshing here and there is okay, but actively ripping someone to shreds constantly to the point where they have a mental breakdown in front of you and later on plan their own demise is disgusting. Nobody should abuse anyone for having harmless interests, no one. Unless you’re participating in p*dophilic/inc*st/s*xual assault/inherently abusive ships/content and pretending it’s not bad because “Fiction doesn’t impact reality!”, you have every right to like what you like and be happy. Read homestuck. Play Undertale. Draw up the Wildest OCs you can imagine. And stay away from people who try to rob you of innocent fun, life is too short and in this cruel, unforgiving world, you deserve to be happy, whether you’re a 13 year old who draws cute furries, a 16 year old cosplayer on TikTok, a VSCO girl, a 30 year old who writes/draws self insert art or a 20 year old who adores Invader Zim. 

Cringe Culture is just bullying under a different name, and it can lead to many instances of people, especially fellow neurodivergent folk to feel isolated and ostracized. Attempting to bully someone out of an interest they have isn’t going to fix them; it’s more often than not going to cause more damage. I suffer from diagnosed C-PTSD, anxiety, and depression, and sometimes I still find myself trying to over-justify my interests. To all who are roped up in bad homes and lousy “friends” who berate you for your innocent passions, I’m sorry you’re suffering, things will one day get better even if it doesn’t feel like it, and fuck those people. I’d also like to note that sometimes even if it seems more terrifying, it’s better to have one or two close friends you can truly trust than a whole group that walks all over you. You have every right to call them out for treating you poorly, and if things don’t improve, you also have every right to leave.

You have a right to live your True Self.

[a--world--apart--fic]

A World Apart - Chapter Six 1.2

Notes: Ask and you shall receive! Wednesday we’ll post just a sneak peak of chapter 7. Enjoy part two of chapter six! Discusses serious & dark adult topics. Please heed the trigger warnings! Tagged long post for mobile.

Rating: M

Trigger Warning: Assault, Violence

Word Count: 3918

Musical Accompaniment: Florence + the Machine - Howl

Tag List: @writtenbycandy, @hopefulmoonobject, @heatherfilliez, @theroyalweisme, @indiacater, @tmarie82, @enmchoices, @the-everlasting-dream, @diamond-dreamland, @lizeboredom, @drakewalkerwhipped, @youwontlikewherewewillgo, @mfackenthal, @kingliamthirst, @snyggflicka, @debramcg1106, @choicessa, @drakelover78, @starstruckzonkoperatorbat@blackcatkita , @drakewalkerfantasy, @jadedpixiescribbles, @walkerismychoice, @walkerduchess, @hamulau, @simplyaiden-blog, @hhiggs, @drivenbyfantasy, @penguininapinktuxedo, @viktoriapetit @breaumonts

Chapter Six ~ The Beaumont Bash 1.2 May 1914

This night has gone from passing strange to decidedly bizarre. It begins with the ivy leaves. Lord Rashad and Maxwell pass a golden plate of them around the circle, and each man chews his while trying not to wince. 


"And what is the meaning of this, Lord Rashad?" Liam tries to frame the question genially, not missing Rashad's insolent eye roll. The man needs to be shown his place, but Liam will have to be swift and merciless when he does it. Disturb the waters too briskly, and it could incite a mutiny. And Liam, of all people, knows how flimsy the bonds of this court can be when threatened. Snip the wrong thread, and the whole labyrinth will collapse. "Why are we eating ivy leaves?"



His wife's lover snorts. "They are sacred to Dionysus, your highness." How is it that every honorific out of this man's mouth sounds like a slur? The smoke from the brazier is thick and aromatic, and when Liam stares into the coals, he can see faint shapes that look like men, moving through a hellscape. But when he breathes the sweetish smoke in, the faint honeyed scent of kythi, pine and moonwort perfuming the air, it is gone. 


Rashad signals to Bertrand, whose face is already flushed from drink. "Step forward and be crowned the Lord of Misrule." Bertrand beams from ear to ear, stepping forward.



Maxwell lays a crown of ivy on Bertrand's head, and intones in a sonorous voice, "I call upon loud-roaring and reveling Dionysos,
 primal, two-natured, thrice-born, Bacchic lord..."(1)



The servants beat on a tambourine beyond the topiary, and blow discordant pipes. The wind picks up suddenly, throwing long shadows dancing across the lawn in the firelight, and strange shadows leap across the faces of the company. Liam swallows, trying to shake the deep unease that has begun to creep across his flesh.



Some sort of signal passes between Rashad and Maxwell, and then Rashad signals a footman. "Bring the wine." 


The footman hands Maxwell the bottles, and then departs. The young lord places the three bottles atop the sundial and fetches his saber. The blade whistles through the heavy night air and the corks roll at their feet like the heads of men, dark red wine dripping thickly from the bottlenecks. 


"A Beaumont tradition!" Bertrand crows with jovial bonhomie, though his voice sounds strange and low, another man's voice, a wild god's; looking out across the faces gathered here tonight, Liam feels displaced from time, as though he witnesses a ritual three thousand years in the ancient past, when men drank the blood of bulls and danced with ritualistic frenzy to the beat of the cymbals and the drums. 


"This wine, gentlemen, will make gods of men. It is the root of the love apple, satyrion, and ivy, macerated and stirred in a clockwise manner thirteen times then left to steep under the moonlight for three weeks." Rashad raises his glass.



"Dionysos, bearer of the vine, thee I invoke to bless these rites divine: florid and gay, of Nymphs the blossom bright, and of fair Aphrodite, Goddess of delight. 'Tis thine mad footsteps with mad Nymphai to beat..."(2) Maxwell is swaying, his eyes already inky wells of darkness. Liam would suspect he has already been drinking this wine, but in truth, he does not know.  


He raises his goblet, and they all toast Bertrand, and then Dionysus, and wine and women and their cocks. The wine is red and honeyed, with a slightly metallic bite. He does not want to drink it, but the other men are staring at him with eyes gleaming in the torchlight, and Liam knows he must. He downs the entire glass, and holds out his goblet for another.



They drink until the wine is gone, and then a servant brings out a platter filled with something reddish, oozing. Before Liam knows what's happening, Rashad and Maxwell have stripped Bertrand's shirt off, and the other men get the gist, all stripping to the waist, some pale and pudgy, others sleek and taut with whipcord muscle.



"We will paint ourselves like warriors of old, and become the masters of the wild hunt!" Rashad proclaims amidst cheers and howls. The sun has almost sunk entirely now, and a blood red crescent is swelling in the sky. The torches gutter as the wind whistles through the wind chimes in the branches of the trees, tossing the remaining ivy leaves in a whirl around them.



"The god hears us!" Bertrand bellows, his teeth stained dark with wine. "The god has come!" 


All around Liam, their eyes glitter, pupils inky wells in the flickering light. Tariq begins to strip off his trousers as well, but Liam stops him with a firm shake of his head. 


"I smell them!" Neville says suddenly, his chin red with ochre or wine, dripping in the firelight. "I smell cunny!" 


Heads whip up around the brazier, and Liam's stomach curdles in revulsion. Only Maxwell looks slightly anxious, and Liam remembers his friend is a virgin, and wonders whatever possessed Maxwell Beaumont to take part in this madness. But he knows. The pressure is too much to refuse. Even Tariq, whom Liam has wondered about for years, is here tonight, when the man would normally prefer to avoid the company of the fairer sex. 


Rashad whistles, low and deep, and Liam hears the nickering of horses. They are led towards the men by the grooms, deep chested blacks and grays and a wild Gypsy horse that tosses its mane in terror at their smell. Rashad has brought his stallion, a big black called Lucifer, truly a warhorse, eighteen hands high. He mounts the beast with catlike grace, and watches Liam mount a frisky roan with his eyes like slits, searching for any show of weakness. Rashad would murder Liam if he could, and Liam knows it in that moment, and a sudden thought trembles on the edge of his brain, What if --



"Steady there, Bertrand, you'll make  a widow of the girl before she's ever a bride!" Hakim claps a hand on Bertrand's shoulder, and it takes two men to help Ramsford mount the horse without slipping off.



He cackles drunkenly. "Give me my horn, brother! I wish to summon the nymphs!" 


Maxwell makes eye contact with Liam as his brother jokes lewdly with Hakim and Rashad. "I'll distract them if you want to slip back to the house now," he whispers solemnly. 

Liam nods, barely. "I'll double back. Good luck tonight, my friend. If you do not yet have a lady in mind, may I suggest the one with the green and black sash? I'm afraid you may not find the pleasure you seek with one of Madame Louisa's strumpets." Because you are too soft, and they are too hard, he thinks. They will rip you to shreds. 


Maxwell grins sheepishly. "I'll do all right. Thanks for the suggestion." He wheels his horse around, and blows on the horn once before passing it to the drunken Lord of Misrule, and Maxwell turns back to Liam and gives him the barest of signals, his face entirely lost to the shadow of the night.

•••

Sophia feels a deep frisson of unease run through her at the sight of the moon, a fat red sickle hanging deep and preternaturally large in the sky. As the women wind through the gardens in single file, masked and nude, Sophia's foot catches on something, and she stumbles forward, just barely missing the sash of the woman in front of her, who hisses over her shoulder, annoyed. Sophia grabs whatever it is, and keeps moving. The torches gutter in the darkness, and a sudden wind has picked up, throwing the scattered ivy leaves in a whirlwind before her, whispering Run, run.



As the gardens end and the lawns stretch out towards a twisted wood, the women come to a complete stop. There is a smoking and scented brazier here, and the rich honeyed scent of kyphi is stronger now, almost intoxicating, mingled with moonwort and pine, teasing and taunting the senses. A sundial, seemingly innocuous, is covered in sticky red streaks in the torchlight. 


The wind rises, and the torches gutter for a sudden, warning moment -- and then the howling begins. All of the fine hairs on the back of Sophia's neck rise, and the woman next to her, nipples rouged red from the communal pot, clutches her arm and whispers, 
"What in the name of...?" Her fine, cultured voice shakes with terror. 


The whores answer the howls with ululating yips, while the noblewomen draw back, discomfort in their postures. But it is too late to turn back now. The ominous clatter of hoof beats seems to echo across the night garden, like the beating of a tribal drum, and Sophia does not want to turn, and yet she must.

Closing her eyes, she listens to the grey wolves in the wood howl with the men, calling to them to their pack. Sophia pictures them lined on horseback, lips curled back, teeth bared, hungry for the flesh of their prey and shudders, tightening her fists in a panic, gasping as she pricks her finger on the object she picked from the ground. She opens her palm and is aghast, balking at the notched stone carved with a symbol -- Thurisaz. She has seen this symbol once before; cast in the bone runes of a Roma fortune teller the night before she ran from Kane. She recalls the old woman's warning (that she did not heed) and her throat constricts.

The howling stops, and in the still, fleeting silence she takes a deep breath, forcing air into her lungs, steeling herself for what is to come should she be caught. Sophia focuses intently on the dark shadows between the looming trees, anxiously plotting a path to asylum. The lawn is long, but if she is quick and crosses through the gardens, she may escape the clutches of the depraved men behind her.

The long, low rumblings of a hunter’s horn is heard, its vibrations thrumming through her body, quaking the earth beneath her feet. There is one measured blow, then another and she is running, against the whipping wind fast as her feet can carry her to the black of the wood, the raucous laughter of the hunters and the drumming of hooves muffled by the sounds of her raspy breath.

•••

Sophia is not in the room, nor is she anywhere in the house, and Liam has begun to have a terrible suspicion creep over him. He thinks of the other men, stripped to the waists, chests and faces painted in red ochre not ten minutes before: Bertrand crowned in ivy, looking like a wild god, Maxwell and Rashad beside him with their pupils blown out in the torchlight. On their black and white steeds, they could very well have been ancient centaurs, half-men, half-beasts, come down from the hills to slake their lust on mortal women and drink wine until they go into frenzies of ecstatic, wild madness.



Liam, too, is painted and masked, and the housekeeper lets out a scream of pure terror when she sees him in the kitchen.



"Where is the girl who showed my lady to her room?" Liam bares his teeth. "I am your king and you will answer!" 


The servants pull a girl with a copy of the Grimm’s Fairy Tales in her hands out of the larder, and she blinks like a mole in the light. When the housekeeper prods her to answer, she stammers out that she put Sophia in the room "with the other women." Liam feels the blood drain from his face. With the servants on their knees in terror, he storms from the house. 


That's when he hears the haunting call of the horn. And Liam runs.

He mounts his horse in one quick movement, clucking his tongue so it breaks into a steadfast gallop. No one but I will lay a finger on you. His words repeat in his mind like a broken record as he rides, pressing his spurs into the side of the gelding, urging it to go faster, faster.

But it is too late to stop it. It is bedlam on the lawn now the horn has been blown, a cacophony of unsettling sights and sounds unfolding before him -- the garish moaning of women on their knees in the grass, thundering hooves, the boisterous roars of nobleman. He rides on, desperately searching for any sign of her, but there must be a dozen women with honey hair in the horde. So he calls to her, intending to keep his promise, no longer caring for social station or who hears him shouting her name.



•••

Sophia’s leaden feet pound the ground beneath her, each footfall more painful than the last. The horses are so much faster than her and the lawn is long, too long. Her heart beats frantically in her chest, her breath labored, thighs burning. She’s so exhausted she feels she could collapse involuntarily at any moment, though she does not slow her pace. The silhouette of a great oak is in her sights, and she will run until her feet bleed to hide in the crest of its branches, enduring what she must to free herself from the fate of what awaits her if she gives up and allows herself to be taken by one of the devil men.

She’s almost to the oak tree when, so faintly she’s almost sure she’s imagined it, she hears his voice calling for her through the thick of the noise. Liam! Against her better judgment, she turns away from the haven in the wood and runs back into the heart of the field, following the sound of his voice growing louder with every step.

The calls stop for a moment, then begin again, closer than before, but her name on his lips is different… the voice sounds coarser, darker, and Sophia cannot put her finger on why. Still, she pursues him, raring to feel safe in his arms and get away from the madness around her. Then, suddenly, she lets out a sharp cry of pain as a strong, unwavering hand grips her by the back of the neck, pulling her up onto their horse by her hair. She looks down at the hand bruising her thigh, squeezing tightly, and is horrified, for it is indubitably not the hand of the king.



"Hello, Sophia." It is the Queen's lover, captain of the Royal Horse Guards, the man whom Savannah warned the other maids about. A flirtation with him means death. 


How he knows Sophia's name, she knows not, and she struggles against him, clawing at his cheek, drawing blood. "Let me go," she begs hoarsely, and he laughs, low and dark.



"He thought to keep you all to himself tonight." Rashad's voice is threaded with vicious delight. "Well, let him see how it feels to have the thing he loves most taken from him." 


Sophia opens her mouth to scream, and then his lips are upon hers, hard and bruising. She bites his mouth and he draws back, bleeding, his eyes dark and terrible beneath his devil's mask. 


"Bitch!" he snarls, and his palm connects with her face, her head snapping back from the force of it. Sophia tastes blood on her tongue, thick and coppery, and she screams Liam's name. 


"Sophia!" she hears Liam's anguished howl as though from far away, and the world is blurring before her eyes, though she cannot tell if it is from the tears or the blow; branches whip at her face as they plunge into the dark wood, and Rashad is laughing, low and dark, filling Sophia with terror. 


She hears Liam shouting for her, hears his horse plunge into the thicket after them. He's coming. Liam is coming for me. She twists in Rashad's grip, pummelling his chest and his face, teeth bared. Rashad pushes her down, holding her by the back of the neck, and they break out of the woods, beside a ruined shrine and a little spring.



He dismounts, his hand twining in her loose hair, holding her up by it, and she has never hated her long hair more, for the weakness it brings. He seems to be waiting for something, listening, his head cocked toward the wood. Sophia listens too, and she hears it: Liam fighting against the thicket, almost upon them now. 


Rashad forces Sophia to her knees, his hand twitching on the buttons of his breeches. He is waiting, she realizes, for Liam to come. He is playing some terrible game here, dark and twisted. 


"Unhand her!" Liam bursts through the trees and Sophia nearly sobs in relief to see his face. He dismounts, striding towards Rashad, who jerks Sophia up and kisses her roughly. Liam wrenches Rashad away from her, and then he is atop of him, his fist making a monstrous noise as it slams against Rashad's flesh. "Have you had enough?" Liam hisses, his face twisted with rage. 


Rashad begins laughing, laughing, the harsh echo filling the night. 


Liam hits him again and again, and then he is in a frenzy, and Sophia grasps at him, trying to pull him off Rashad, screaming in his ear, "Liam, stop!" but he does not hear her. He will murder Rashad tonight if she cannot stop him, and the realization of what it will mean chills her straight to the marrow. She dashes to the spring and fills her hands with water, which she throws upon Liam, breaking his concentration.

He shakes his head like a bull, coming back to himself. "Sophia...?" Liam asks, unsure. His hands are slick with Rashad's blood.



"He didn't hurt me, Liam," she says firmly, drawing him away. "Come, let's return to the house."



Behind her, she hears Rashad moving in the grass, so she knows he lives, but beyond that, she does not care.

•••

Sophia kneels before Liam on the bed, gently wiping the blood from his mangled hands with a cold cloth. She has wrapped herself in thin blanket, hiding her wounds from his view.

“Sophia --”

“Don’t, Liam,” she whispers sharply. “I want to return home at first light. Please, I cannot bear to be here any longer than we must be. I want…” she trails off. Drake, she yearns to say, but does not dare, for tonight she has seen to what violent lengths Liam will go to keep her as his own, and it strikes fear in her heart.

“I cannot just leave, Sophia. It would be unspeakably rude to the Beaumont’s, and they are a valuable alliance to the crown. The estate will look different in the light of day. I’m here now. You have nothing to fear,” Liam smiles gently, pulling her into his arms, the blanket falling from her body. He gasps seeing her in the light, stunned by the sight of her battered frame: deep purple welts on her back from Madame Louisa’s switch, bruises in long lines the shape of fingers on her thigh, burning red marks settling in the crook of her neck from being carried by her hair.

“Oh gods,” tears well in his eyes, his voice breaking. “You said he didn’t hurt you. That pompous animal will pay for his sins, Sophia. He will pay for what he did to you, my love.” Liam’s eyes darken, and Sophia tries, in vain, to swallow the bitterness burning in her throat at his hypocrisy.

“You will not kill a man in my name, Liam. Rashad has paid for his sins tonight at your hand, it is you who has not paid for yours,” she rises from the bed, ripping her hand from his. “I should never have come here with you. I am not your plaything.”

“My sins? I know you are upset my love, as am I, but I had no more control than you over what happened here tonight. You were never meant to see those horrible things, and for that I am contrite. I acted the moment I knew something had gone terribly wrong. Surely you do not blame me for the mistakes of a silly servant girl.”

“You forget, I too am a silly servant girl,” she spits his words at him, fuelled by the feelings she has kept tightly coiled since laying in his marriage bed with his queen. “You promised me no one would lay a finger on me but you and look at me!” Sophia grasps his jaw and turns his head to her. “Look at the marks left by the hands that have been on my body this night! I have been beaten, tormented and nearly…” she stops, a choking sob swallowing her words.

Liam rushes to her, holding her in a warm embrace. Her hot tears cascade onto his shoulders as she grips him tighter, weeping. “You promised me, Liam. You promised me. You promised.”

“Oh, my darling. I know. I know and I’m so sorry. No one will ever hurt you again, Sophia. I will protect you. Always.”

“And who will protect me from you?” Sophia gently pushes Liam away from her, thoughts of Drake swirling in her troubled mind, thinking of how she has never felt so safe in Liam’s arms as she does in his.

“You don’t mean that, Sophia. I would never hurt you,” his voice is small and frail, his face twisted in anguish, like she has shot an arrow through his heart.

“But you already have, Liam! Beyond measure. When you summoned me to you and Madeline, you swore I was safe with you, but I wasn’t, was I? I was so terribly drunk I could not stand, Liam. You barely gave me a choice. What’s worse is you would not even look upon me when the deed was done, like I was nothing to you.”

Tears are slipping down her cheeks freely, every bit of raw emotion she has buried deep since that fateful night pouring out of her like a burst dam. The anger, confusion, the pain, overwhelming and pure joy when she discovered… their child. And then, unimaginable grief realizing she could not keep it, not now. How could she after what they had done?

“I never meant to hurt you. I was so ashamed, Sophia. I love you, and I will be with you until my dying breath if you will have me. Without you, I am nothing. You are my strength, my joy. Madeline, what we did to put a child in her, that is the terrible price of wearing the crown.”

“And will our child pay a price as I have?” Sophia cries, so tired of keeping her secret that it spills from her mouth unwittingly. “Where does it end, Liam?”

Liam’s eyes widen at her admission, as do hers, and he stares at her for a long moment, assimilating her words. “Our child? No, it’s not possible,” he proclaims, mystified.

“I have not bled since early March.”

Liam falls to his knees before her and presses his forehead against her stomach, kissing it over and over, softly, weeping.

“I am with child, Liam. Your child grows inside me.”

Orphic Hymn 30

Orphic Hymn 46

[whatsinthecanister-blog]

Predator or Prey

(A/N: WARNINGS/TAGS: terrorism, violence, torture, mental anguish, hurt/comfort, Mental manipulation, emotional manipulation, homosexual love, bxb, gays, kissing, cuddling/snuggling, psychological torture, interrogation, threats of violence, threats, rescue missions, injury, permanent injury, injury recovery, mental breakdown, ptsd, and so on.)

This story is going down a very dark path in my head, just so you guys know... So tags might be going up along the way, so please keep up with that. Last thing I want is someone triggered because they didn't read the tags.Anyways... Enjoy, if you can.

ALSO: I switched Mute and Smoke's ages. Smoke is now 26, and Mute is 36.)

Chapter 1:

The attack had taken them completely by surprise. The collective team had been hiding out in an unused warehouse as they quietly tracked the actions of a local terrorist group, their deep cover preventing them from having much contact with the states, effectively upending any call for assistance. The only thing that could really save any of them was that Ash was in the middle of one such rare comm.

How the terrorists found out about them, Smoke didn’t know. All he remember of the first bit was an explosion rocking the ground beneath his feet, sending everyone scrambling.

Jack had been the first to get his gear, scanning the nearby walls in search of heartbeats, Monika’s hand on his shoulder as she watched his back for anyone coming up behind. The others had been quick to get geared up, finding defensive positions that would effectively aid in repelling the attacks.

That had been a while ago, hours it felt like, but it couldn’t have been more than a few minutes after the gunfire and explosions picked up that Smoke realized Kapkan wasn’t by his side anymore. The Russian usually wandered during operations to place his trademark traps in preparation for enemies lacking in caution, but that didn’t stop the young man from feeling sick about it.

So he’d gone out in search of the older, cautiously checking around every corner and doorframe as he’d been trained. Turning one corner had Smoke stopping dead in his tracks, fingers going numb as he caught sight of a familiar camo form pinned to the ground beneath a white-masked figure.

“Maxim.” Smoke cried, the assailant looking up from where his blade was at Kapkan’s throat, the russian’s gaze fierce and carrying an air of urgent warning to stop the younger man from doing anything foolish.

“Don’t move,” the terrorist ordered in a rasping sort of way, hand getting a better grip on the dark hair of the man beneath him, drawing a growl from the Russian who gave an rumbled insult. His gaze never left Smoke though, his heart sinking. Why’d it have to be the brit that would stumble upon them? The one person in the world Kapkan would gladly sacrifice himself for?

Smoke froze as ordered, holding his hands up slightly, shotgun pointed carefully upwards as his hidden gaze flickered back and forth between his ally and the enemy that now held all the cards. The gunfire in the background had died down, but Smoke was too focused on those before him to really care. He’d exhausted his signature bomb supply, but even if he’d had any left, Kapkan had no protection against the toxic fumes it created.

“Put the gun down.”

Lowering himself slowly to the floor with the intention of dropping his weapon had Kapkan twisting in his assailant’s grip and spitting something in his native tongue, causing Smoke to hesitate.

The masked man gave a yank, pulling Kapkan’s head upward to an uncomfortable degree, knife cutting deep enough into the fragile flesh to draw a thin stream of blood. “Drop it or I’ll kill him.”

Smoke dropped the gun almost immediately, taking a step back to give the masked man the assurance that he wouldn’t use it.

“Drop the vest. Mask too.”

Odd, but Smoke complied anyways, even as Kapkan gave him a venomous look. “Хищник, а не добыча!” He snapped, the man over top of him putting more pressure to the small of the russian’s back with his knee, making it more difficult for him to breath.

“Don’t do that!” Smoke pleaded, desperately wanting to rip the somewhat larger man off of his companion, but well aware of the consequences any aggression would derive, so he remained where he was, hands up and face twisting in fear and concern.

Kapkan tried to jerk his head free of the terrorist’s grip, having a hard time of doing so with the way he was pinned, his attempts only seeming to amuse his captor. His desperation to protect Smoke was overwhelming, causing the russian to overrule his usual tactical calm in an escape he knew was futile.

"On your knees or I'll cut his throat."

The threat was very real, Smoke's brows furrowing ever so slightly as he began to obey, igniting Kapkan's legendary anger. It was rare for the russian to lose his temper, but the times that he did were enough for the team to hope they'd never incite it again.

"Прекрати идиот! Бег!"

What happened next happened so quickly that Smoke wasn't sure of what was going on before it was too late. Kapkan got one of his arms loose and began to twist free, the terrorist scrambling to keep his hold.

Brown eyes locked with blue, and Smoke could see the older man's gaze soften for the briefest of moments "я люблю тебя."

There was a flash of silver then Kapkan was face down in an ever-growing pool of crimson.

"Nooo!" Smoke screamed and started forwards just as a heavy boot connected with the side of his knee. A sickening crunch echoed his cry of pain, gloved hands reaching down to grasp at it as someone got him in a headlock.

Smoke's mind was in a chaotic battle for control, the pain radiating up his leg demanding attention, but his fingers were too busy trying to get between his neck and the arm of whoever was behind him, choking as he struggled to inhale.

"Not so fun for you, is it?" A dark voice questioned as he writhed and kicked, "to choke and suffer like those that breath whatever you mix into those canisters."

Pushed forwards Smoke caught himself on one arm, the other grasping at his neck and he coughed. His lungs burned and he felt the beginning of a headache coming on as another body was slumped down next to him. A sidelong glance was enough for the brit to identify the other survivor as Doc, the older male quickly looking him over from where he knelt. Funny that he wasn't worrying about himself.

"Which one's this one?"

"The medic I think."

"We don't need a medic."

"Then shoot him."

Smoke moved to get up again when one of their captors lifted his gun for the back of Doc's head, a swift kick to his injured knee enough to send him back down to the ground.

"Stand down."

The order came from behind, everyone present turning as best they could to identify the newcomer. He was clad in a balaclava with a skull holding a blade between it's teeth was painted onto it.

The silence was nearly eerie as everyone seemed to hold their breath, though out of respect or fear, Smoke wasn't sure which. All he knew was that this man was the leader. Either that or a very important figure to whoever this terrorist group was, but he didn't care to try to find out either. His gaze had turned back onto Kapkan, and he had to fight back the tears that began to brim.

"You said this one's the medic. Which one is this?"

Smoke reached up to grip a thick wrist as a gloved hand yanked his head up by the hair, the young man glaring up at the masked man before him. "This's the one that gassed half of Adil's group."

"Oh really?" The raspy voice questioned, the leader slowly getting down on one knee in front of Smoke, the young man glaring as best he could amidst the pain and emotional anguish he was currently suffering. "Tell me, did you create those yourself? I must say I've never seen a gas cause those types of affects before."

Unsure of how to respond, Smoke looked towards Doc, his companion giving the slightest shake of his head as if to warn him.

"Ah ah, don't look over there," a hand roughly turned Smoke back to face the man crouching before him, "you look right here, and answer my question."

Swallowing as he waited for a few moments in defiance, Smoke finally set his jaw. "No," he finally answered, refusing to let his gaze wander from the hard grey before him. "They were supplied. I don't know who made them."

Smoke couldn't see the larger man's face, but by the way he was looking at him, he could only guess that the other was smiling. "Hm. Shame."

Dread began to build up in Smoke, the young man watching as the assumed leader of the terrorist group pushed himself to his feet, gaze shifting over to Doc. "Leave him here, but bring the Brit."

Doc moved as if to get up, but Smoke moved faster, fist connecting with the stomach of whomever was closest to him, quickly sweeping his legs out from under him. The first fell with a surprised grunt as the young soldier tried to grab at the enemy commander. His attempts were futile, however, as he found himself on the ground with three bodies pinning his own.

"Something that's always amused me is how your soldiers fight upon capture." That rasping voice murmured, everything silent save for Smoke's heavy breathing. "Even when you're so obviously outnumbered, you still fight." Booted feet wandered closer as Smoke glared, teeth clenched as the unknown terrorist knelt down in front of him, head tilted in an almost condescending way. "Don't lose that fire. You'll need it."

"What about the medic?" Someone suddenly questioned.

"Leave him."

"But he can call in reinforcements! Give them intel!"

There was a low chuckle as the skull-faced man turned towards a suddenly skittish comrade. "There are others, aren't there? Survivors?" He questioned, that of which seemed to confuse the other. "I'm not... sure. We haven't had time to ensure that there wasn't." The shorter answered, shifting ever so slightly.

The grey-eyed man was smiling again, an odd glint in his eyes. "Then the medic will have to choose," he answered, turning to face Doc now. "He can either throw away his life and others who lie here possibly alive and wounded for one man. One that he can't save at all on his own or," that cold gaze turned towards Kapkan's lifeless body a few feet away. "He can work on saving those he can."

Smoke ground his teeth together as he tried to avoid looking at Kapkan's body, lower lip trembling as he fought to keep back the emotions threatening to break through the anger and fear. Those words kept ringing through his mind... я люблю тебя. я люблю тебя. He hadn't been able to say it back...

When the bodies atop his own lifted, Smoke immediately tried to get to Kapkan, slipping in the blood as hands grabbed at his arms and jerked him upright. "No! Let me go!" He shouted, thrashing as he attempted to reach the downed russian, desperately wanting to say those words back to him. я люблю тебя.

"Maxim!!"

His throat was sore now. Doc looked at a loss of what to do, confusion and trepidation dancing over his face as three enemy soldiers stood over him, ensuring that he didn't attempt to help his comrade.

"Gus! You gotta save him! Please you gotta save him!" Smoke shouted as he fought the hold his captors had on him, booted feet scrabbling to get a foothold. He was losing sight of Doc, of Kapkan.

He hadn't said it.

я люблю тебя.

He hadn't been able to tell him.

I love you.

[negahc]

June 29th, 2020

American LGBTQ Civil Rights Movements

Libba Beaucham and historian Glen Kyle presented a livestream about LGBTQ Civil Rights Movements in the United States! Libba and Glen went over important events in the movement, organizations involved in the cause, and resources to learn more. We want to thank all those who came to the livestream with great comments and questions.

Watch the livestream on YouTube or Facebook!

Members Livestream: Medieval Illuminated Manuscripts

Historian Glen Kyle presented a livestream program on Medieval Illuminated Manuscripts to our Digital Members! Glen discussed how they were made, what they were made of, and the historical significance of the manuscripts.

To enjoy this program and more, become a Digital Member of the History Center. Digital Memberships are as low as $3/month or $35/year. Become a Digital Member at www.negahc.org/member. Once you become a Member, you will receive invites to Members-Only events.

June 30th, 2020 - 4 PM EST - LoFi History

The History Center is now on Twitch! LoFi History is a special Twitch stream with historian Glen Kyle and musician Libbaloops. Glen will take your questions from the chat about all things history as Libbaloops creates live electronic music.

This program is only available on Twitch, a livestreaming website. You do not need a Twitch account to watch, but you do need a Twitch account to ask a question in the chat.

Twitch Channel: https://www.twitch.tv/lofi_history

This program is made possible by the Ada Mae Ivester Education Center and the Cottrell Digital Studio.

July 1st, 2020 - 2 PM EST - The Declaration of Independence

Join historian Glen Kyle as he presents a livestream program on the creation of the Declaration of Independence. Great for all ages!  Facebook Live: Northeast Georgia History Center (NEGAHC) YouTube Live: https://youtu.be/tAf3JdBbeEo This program is made possible by the Ada Mae Ivester Education Center and the Cottrell Digital Studio.

July 3rd, 2020 - 2 PM EST - Members Livestream: Meet Thomas Jefferson

Members of the Northeast Georgia History Center are invited to a special Living History livestream program with Thomas Jefferson!  Great for all ages. Historian Glen Kyle will portray Thomas Jefferson and take your questions in-character.

If you are interested in Digital Memberships, they are as low as $3/month or $35/year. Become a Digital Member at www.negahc.org/member. Once you become a Member, you will receive invites to Members-Only events.

This program is made possible by the Ada Mae Ivester Education Center and the Cottrell Digital Studio.

In this episode of Then Again, Glen and Marie discuss their experiences studying and visiting abroad! They recall their time in England, the historic sites, the American experience in England, and the differences in education abroad.

Listen now at: Then Again Podcast

Check out these photos from Marie’s time at Oxford!

By Libba Beaucham, Director of Media and Communications

This year marks 51 years since the Stonewall Uprising in the Greenwich Village neighborhood of New York City that sparked the Gay Liberation Front. On June 28th, 1969, the Stonewall Inn, a gay bar, was raided by police in the early hours of the morning. Police raids at the Stonewall Inn were not unusual as it was owned and operated by members of the Genovese mob. Police raids often resulted in the arrest of patrons who did not wear “gender-appropriate” clothing in accordance with a New York ordinance at the time.

It’s hard to say why this particular night led to rioting, but it is not surprising given the discrimination queer people faced. The police conducting the raids were used to more passive behavior from the patrons, but that was not the case on this night. In oral history interviews with witnesses and patrons of that night, we learn that violence escalated as police arrested queer patrons. The interactions between the police and those being arrested became aggressive and incited witnesses to respond by throwing bottles and debris. This escalated to the Stonewall being set on fire, briefly, before police reinforcements extinguished the flames.

Over the next five days, protests and rioting continued until the local queer community organized meetings to discuss further protest and action. From these meetings came the Gay Liberation Front, a more visible and radical movement to defend the rights of queer people that would lead to a huge increase in queer rights organizations, protests, and action.

On June 28th, 1970, the Christopher Street Association in Los Angeles held a March to commemorate the Stonewall Uprising. This was the beginning of today’s Pride parades which celebrate the queer community.

The work to ensure the rights of queer people did not begin with the Stonewall Uprising. Between the 1920s and 1960s, queer people attempted to organize with great challenges and some success, they created underground literature, they fought against discriminatory laws, and many took the risk to simply be themselves in a time when that meant risking their very lives. The Stonewall Uprising was a call from the queer community to other queer people to “come out” at last and fight for their rights with pride.

By Lesley Jones, Archives Manager

This week From the Archives is a booklet entitled “Portraits in Food” from the Gainesville radio station WDUN. Radio station WDUN was created in 1949 by John Jacobs Jr., who also helped create the Northeast Georgia History Center! The FM station was the very first in North Georgia, and continues as a source of news and sports in North Georgia today.

The booklet is for a cooking school sponsored by WDUN in 1962. Inside is instructions on how to use a meat thermometer, proper food storage, and many different recipes. The cover has seen better days, but the inside is in great condition!

Our Gainesville Reads program has been going strong, virtually, with weekly Zoom lessons for our wonderful students. Recently, our Gainesville Reads students collaborated on an original story! Program Managers Libba & Diana guided students in deciding the characters, setting, plot, theme, conflict, and title. Ms. Libba created a comic book version of their story to share with family and friends, so we wanted to share it with you as well!

We are so proud of our Gainesville Reads students and their ability to work together, use their imaginations, and write an original story!

Gainesville Reads began in January as a program for students in 1st, 2nd, and 3rd grade who would benefit from tutoring in reading. We had a great start to the program and look forward to when we can have students back at the History Center with their tutors.

We are incredibly fortunate to have SEVEN interns this summer! Each week we will be giving a spotlight to a few of our amazing interns. We are incredibly lucky to have them, so please give them a warm welcome!

Sophia Monsibais, Historic Photography Intern

My name is Sophia Monsibais! I studied photography at University of North Georgia and graduated Fall 2019. I love fantasy and incorporate an ephemeral feeling into my photos. Making things is another passion of mine, and I enjoy learning about aesthetics of objects throughout history - especially clothing and toys. 

YouTube

Instagram

Facebook

This newsletter and special programming is made possible by the Ada Mae Ivester Education Center and the Cottrell Digital Studio. 

[bogwisdom]

All of those incredible asks, b

Thank you so much b!!!! This took me forever to do but it was a nice distraction :) 

Racist with a Terrible Headache: if you could just get up drive anywhere, right now, where would it be?

If I had a car here in Valencia, I guess I’d drive to Altea, which is like two hours south. In the U.S. I’d drive to that dark sky park up north

Bruce Campbell the Bigamist Demon: what is the biggest surprise you've ever had in your life?

Honestly I surprise myself with my own behavior constantly, lol 

Mildly Upset Meteorologist: what would the weather be like if you could control it?

It would be sunny like 25 days a month, and it would actually rain or storm the days where it wasn’t. None of that oppressive cloudy bullshit

Creepy Death Photographer: what is something you're morally ambiguous about?

Telling people things that will hurt them even if they’re the truth. Sometimes I think it’s probably better to just not say anything, if you can live with it

Mulder in One Son: what's the most awkward situation you've been privy to?

OMG! My cousin marrying some dude she went to high school with years later after they reconnected on some dating website. He’s crazy (like anti-Semitic and very homophobic, even though like half my family is gay) but treats her well? It’s all so weird. 

Florida Gothic Aesthetique: what is a situation where you were overwhelmed but you pulled through?

Where to begin, tbh. If I’m still alive in two weeks I’ll say this month was probably the most overwhelming of my life. Too many emotions, too many things to do. 

Homeowners Associations are HORRIBLE: what is a community you really enjoy being a part of?

Spartans! I love MSU so much and see other spartans all over the place, like I met some dude at 3 a.m. in Valencia who had just graduated from MSU. We’re everywhere 

Dogs? I don't know: what historical figure would you consider a kindred spirit?

Oh god, I don’t know. Maybe Aldo Leopold just for fisheries and wildlife reasons

Phillip Padget Eat Your Heart Out: what is something about yourself you feel others do not see?

Nothing, tbh!! I overshare and am pretty much some version of myself around everyone

Flesh Eating Magic Mushrooms: name three things you do NOT want to be covered in

Olive juice, millipedes, and poison ivy

The Kid Eats Brains: what are your favorite brain foods?

I think blueberries are a brain food? I miss blueberries. I swear Spaniards haven’t even heard of them 

It's a Metaphor for Teenage Speed Use: talk about peer pressure you experienced

The closest thing was my friend Tyler convincing me to smoke a joint w her in the park once when I wasn’t in the mood, but it was hardly traumatic obviously

Even Luck is Terrifying: what's the luckiest thing that's ever happened to you?

Meeting Julian maybe? Hard to say if that was good or bad luck, but it was definitely luck

Screw You DONALD: what is something you feel guilty about but was justified?

I felt guilty for a long time about not ultimately choosing the hardest possible major/career path, but fuck that

Literally Fear Itself: what is the embodiment of fear itself to you?

The idea of Room 101 is terrifying, which is a little meta I guess

Cigarettes are Bad by the Way: what are you addicted to?

Physical contact of any kind. I need to be held or something or I’ll start to feel physically worse after 36 hours or less

Kathy Griffin Incites Mass Violence: why did you want to punch the last person you wanted to punch?

One of my good friends because she’s unbelievably self-righteous at times and thinks her life is on a better/more “right” track than mine 

Jinn, the Coolest XFiles Monster: what are your three wishes?

I’ll be realistic and selfish. 1. To understand why I feel the way I do about anything/everything. 2. To not make any more decisions that hurt people I care about. 3. To be less moody overall but it’s getting exhausting 

Cult Worm, Name of My Band: name three things that gross the hell out of you, like this episode

THIS episode for real, omg. But also eyes, millipedes, and STDs. 

Half Man Half Reptile Completely Incoherent: if you were half man half animal, what would you want the half animal to be?

Not sure how it’d all work, but maybe an eagle?

The Kid has Bugs for Hormones: what is something you yearned for but did not receive?

Ooh emotional intimacy with just about everyone I’ve ever known

The Kid has Bugs for Hormones: what is something you yearned for but did not receive?

Oh, so many things. The smell of the employee hallway at the mall where I used to work, Smashing Pumpkins music, the way the air feels in April, etc. I think if i met someone who wore the same deodorant as Anthony I’d probably start crying 

Burt Reynolds is Literally God Here: link me to three of the nicest songs you know

Lover, Lover, Lover by Leonard Cohen: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FYkJuAb0mMk

I’m Bound to Pack it Up by The White Stripes: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rE90fWBT__0

Honesty Is No Excuse by Thin Lizzy: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GQTq4RaVQYQ

This Lizard Man was Adorable as Hell: what's your favorite thing about being human? what's your least favorite?

My favorite thing is being able to use tools and understand my surroundings fully-ish. My least favorite is everything we’ve done to the world that’s destroyed it 

The Band-Aid Nose Man: what really disappoints you about the world?

People not giving two shits about the environment