#another about someone fantasizing about murdering their coworker

[blondeboyfriend]

𝐖𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐌𝐔𝐓𝐈𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 (𝟏𝟖+)

𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐃𝐍𝐈

[ PAIRING ] Yoshikage Kira x f!reader [ AUTHOR'S NOTE ] I'd be lying if I said American Psycho didn't inspire bits of this fic. [ SYNOPSIS ] Against his better judgment Kira takes you up on your offer to grab some dinner after work. [ WORD COUNT ] 3k [ CONTENT ] Canon AU, POV switching (though most of it is written from Kira's POV), he is so goddamn mentally ill, y/n is crushing hard, masturbation, oral sex (f receiving), penetrative sex, handjob, murder, angst without a happy ending.

Yoshikage Kira never intended to go out to dinner with you. He was already fantasizing about a quiet evening at home as he finished up his work. He could picture it so clearly: sitting at his dinner table eating leftovers from the night before, eventually making his way to the couch to watch mindless television until the early stages of slumber enveloped him, then he would drink a warm glass of milk and do some light stretches before snuggling up under his freshly washed linen sheets, sleeping soundly until morning came.

But for reasons unknown to him, he felt compelled to take you up on your offer. Maybe it was how you walked by his desk six times before getting the courage to actually speak to him. Or maybe it was your feeble attempt at acting nonchalant about it and how cute it was when your desperation trickled through.

“I haven’t had the chance to try shabu-shabu since I moved here and I cannot be seen doing it alone. Think of what that’ll do to my ego.”

He chuckled even though he didn’t find your comment particularly funny. “Find a time when no one is around and go. Then no one will see you.”

“But I’ll know I’m alone. Like, I’ll have to live with that memory for the rest of my life.”

“What if the food is so good you forget about that part?”

“Kira,” you whined. “Come on. It’ll be fun.”

“I can’t; I have to return some library books. Why not ask someone else?” He leaned back in his chair, trying to see who was still toiling away in the office. “Ah, Natsumi would be a good choice. I bet she eats food.”

You attempted to quiet your laughter with your hands which annoyed him to no end. Who were you to put yourself on display in such a manner?

“I barely talk to her,” you finally said after reeling in your laughter.

“I don’t know what to tell you then. Maybe another night,” he suggested though he hoped you’d never follow up.

“I’ll pay! Please?”

He sighed, denying a cute thing like you was too cruel. “Will you have me home before 8?”

You reached out and put your hand on his shoulder. “Of course I will,” you replied, your tone comically serious. “You can count on me.”

He brushed your hand off of him while making note of how gentle your touch had been. Your hands were a sight to behold, just looking at them made all his blood flow straight to his cock. He crossed his legs and smiled sweetly, trying to maintain a veil of normalcy.

Kira knew he would be testing himself by going on a social outing with you. But it wasn’t as if he was an amateur. There had been plenty of times he didn’t let his urges get the better of him, even when presented with the perfect opportunity to indulge. He was more than capable of exercising self restraint. Besides you were his coworker. Killing you was far too risky. That in itself was enough of a deterrent.

“Do you have somewhere in mind?” He asked.

You nodded. “There’s a place not too far from here. It’s a few blocks down.”

“Have you heard good things about it?”

“No, terrible things. A guy got food poisoning and died in the bathroom with his pants around his ankles. They say his ghost haunts the restaurant to this very day with his dick hanging out.”

“Oh I love that,” Kira said quietly as he shut down his computer.

“Thought you would.”

He cleared his throat and looked up from his monitor. “I’ll meet you out front. I need to take care of a few things before we leave.”

You nodded and strolled off, unaware of the mental anguish that plagued him. Kira glanced down at his lap, watching as his cock fought against the fabric of his pants. He slowly got up, careful to obscure his erection with his quivering hands. Dizzy and humiliated, he skulked into the bathroom and quickly relieved himself. As he squeezed the shaft of his cock he fantasized about how your disembodied hand would feel stroking his tender flesh.

“Stop it,” he mumbled, hoping verbalizing his morality would make it appear.

Misery enveloped Kira as he washed his hands. He was careful to not look in the mirror, unable to bear the sight of himself. He breathed deeply as he unlocked the bathroom door, pulling it open only to be greeted by your expectant presence.

“I felt weird standing around in the lobby.”

He couldn’t follow your logic, but your earnest demeanor was precious so he didn’t think too hard about it.

“Great,” he choked out.

There was a sense of relief once the two of you were out in the world, away from the office. The air seemed lighter, the lights not so blinding and unforgiving. He was at ease as he walked beside you, your hands brushing up against his on occasion. Your disruption was more harmonious than he previously surmised. It was wrong to assume you were a woman of strife and discord. You were more benign than that. You were like petting a kitten that had been napping in a puddle of sunlight. Your presence carried the weight of a reassuring hug. He wanted to melt in your arms and drown in your sweetness.

Everything was painted in a blushy-orange hue as the sun slowly set. It gave your face an angelic quality as it danced across your face. To say you looked picturesque was an understatement. Nothing could shit on this moment; nothing could annihilate his peace. He was sure of it.

“This is… it,” you said sadly, noticing that the restaurant was in fact closed.

Suddenly everything came crashing down. Kira felt like he was going to vomit into his shoes.

“What a shame,” he said, voice straining. He was convinced he could cry at any moment.

Your eyes darted around. “We could get udon,” you said, pointing at a restaurant across the street.

Kira spun around and nearly moaned as relief filled his chest. It was directly across the street, its existence a good omen. He could have kissed you for pointing it out.

“Yes,” he said, wiping his eyes. “We can get udon.”

You gave him a confused look. Damn, he must really love udon.

Dinner went well. You both ordered the same thing, but that was only because Kira wanted to mirror you and what he perceived as your moral superiority. You talked about work, expressing similar grievances. He rarely voiced his discontent to anyone, let alone his coworkers, but you disarmed him. Everything he knew and held dear was now flexible; he didn’t mind bending a little for you.

You upheld your part of the bargain and covered the bill without a second thought. He contemplated paying for everything while you weren’t paying attention, but you were too quick.

“You could have at least let me pay for half,” he said as you signed the receipt.

You smiled. “Nah.”

The sun had set and the streets were not bustling with as much life. The sidewalks were practically empty. Eight o’clock was growing near, putting Kira on edge. His confidence in his self control was waning. It was time to go home.

“Well I’ll see you on Monday. Thank you for dinner. It was nice.”

“You don’t wanna hang out for a little longer? Maybe grab some tea? Pudding? Anything?”

He clenched his fists, nails piercing his palms. Your company was now a burden to bear. He knew you wouldn’t make it out alive if you stuck around.

“You know you wanna have tea with me,” you purred. 

A playful grin adorned your face. It was true. Kira did want to have tea with you, but not like this. He wanted to be with you under the warm gaze of a perpetual sunset. He wanted perfection, but the circumstances made it impossible, sullying it all. The longer he was around you like this, the more he wanted to hurt you.

“I doubt anywhere decent is open,” he said firmly.

“We can go back to my place! I actually have this really good genmaicha if you’re into that sort of thing.”

Fuck, he thought to himself. I am into that sort of thing!

“Alright, a cup or two won’t kill me.”

“Me neither. Let’s gooooo.”

He could control himself; he could show a semblance of restraint. Maybe spending more time around you would let him realize your true value. If he liked you enough, surely he’d want to keep more than just your hand around. And it would be nice to have a friend at work, someone to make him seem like a typical guy.

He sighed and convinced himself everything would be fine.

And it was. When the two of you arrived at your home, Kira was pleasantly surprised by its comforting warmth. It was no sunset. But it was close enough, disarming him all the same. He made himself comfortable on your couch. You prepared the tea, blethering about your interests. He watched you intently, taking in every little movement you made.

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” you said, placing a cup of tea in front of him. “But you have the eyes of a hunter.”

“What?!”

Suddenly he was trying to look as doe-eyed as possible. He couldn’t believe his mask was already slipping.

“It’s not a bad thing,” you laughed, nervously scratching the base of your skull.

“I’m sorry.”

“Oh my god, don’t be,” you cooed as you took a seat beside him. “It’s not a bad thing. I—I, uh…”

You cut yourself off by taking a big sip of tea.

“What was that last part?” He asked, taking off his Valentino jacket. 

He carefully folded it and hoped the wrinkling would be minimal. He then rolled up the sleeves of his shirt to feel less constricted, a little freer.

“Uh,” you mumbled, staring at his toned forearms. “It’s, like, attractive. I’m saying that objectively.”

You were courting him in the shadows. He wanted to shake you and beg you to stop, to end this nonsense, to kick him out of your home for his predator eyes. All the time Kira spent trying to shield you from it didn’t mean a thing. It made him ill. And it wasn’t as if he could tell you to stop being flirtatious because it made him want to kill you. If you knew that he was a demon with a thin veneer of sanity, he’d lose you forever.

“Thank you,” he said, sipping his tea.

“I’m surprised someone hasn’t scooped you up already.”

“I don’t really like to make myself… scoopable.”

“Fair enough,” you said, scooching closer to him. “So, you’re not seeing anyone then?”

He paused. “I am not.”

You placed your hand on his thigh, fingers grazing the inside of it. He stared down at your hand like it was a grenade.

“I’m not seeing anyone either,” you said bashfully.

Kira felt like he was going to implode.

“You know… I’ve always had a bit of a,” you coughed nervously, “crush on you. I don’t know why. I just feel drawn to you.”

His cock throbbed under his pants, begging to be freed. His carnal needs were taking over. He couldn’t remember the last time he actually fucked someone, and seeking solace in your cunt sounded endlessly appealing.

“Is that so?”

You nodded and squeezed his thigh. His body ached for you, all of you. He wanted to have every bit of it in his mouth and cover your skin with his cum.

“I need you, Yoshikage,” you said, pulling yourself into his lap. Your hands gripped his shirt.

He didn’t know what to say. You were seeing him too clearly. Hearing you say his name made it all too real. But still there was some allure to it. Rarely did Kira ever feel desired and it was clear as day that you wanted him. It stroked his ego in ways he never thought possible.

“Tell me how much.”

Your hands were now unfastening the buttons of his shirt.

“I’d rather die than be without your touch,” you mewled, rolling your hips against him.

Kira felt like his heart was caught in his throat.

You kissed his cheekbone. “Let’s go to my room.”

He followed you to your room and watched as you removed your work clothes. Your body was incredible, delectable, and he wanted to consume it. It was like a sun ripened peach, dewy and glistening under a full moon. He wondered how it would feel to sink his teeth into your flesh, how sweet your arousal must taste.

Kira did the same, carefully undressing and making sure his clothes wouldn’t look like crumpled paper once he put them back on. His ego sang as you took in his naked form. He knew he was physical perfection, a body in the image of a Bernini sculpture. Your eyes were wide, eager, and starving.

You crawled onto the bed, resting on your back with your legs spread wide. He had a perfect view of your slick cunt, one that nearly made him drool. Unable to contain himself, he got onto the bed and buried his head between your thighs. He lapped at your folds, the tip of his nose brushing up against your swollen clit.

He looked up at you and watched as you grabbed your breasts, pinching your nipples between your fingers.

“Feels s’good,” you mumbled in a blissed out daze.

Kira gave your clit slow, languorous licks, savoring the sweet taste of your arousal. He found himself rutting against the mattress, desperate to feel some form of friction. The sounds of your breathy moans sent him spiraling into a pit of pleasure and despair. His urges were creeping around him, whispering in his ears.

I wonder if she’d make the same noises if you sliced her up a bit.

He closed his eyes and focused on kissing the inside of your thighs while he slipped his fingers inside you. Your moans grew louder, more comely, as he curled them.

“More,” you moaned as you laced your fingers in his wavy, flaxen hair.

Show her the real Yoshikage Kira.

“I want your cock,” you whimpered.

He got on top of you, his blue eyes lost in your haze of ecstasy. Lust radiated off of you, drawing him in. There was no way he could deny you.

He guided his cock inside you, tossing his head back as it was surrounded by the plush heat of your cunt. You locked your legs around him, clinging to his body like your life depended on it. He loved every minute of it; feeling wanted and needed was the best sensation in the world. He was sure of it.

His thrusts were languid and sensuous. Kira liked to take his time while fucking. He was never plagued by the overwhelming reflex to come as fast and hard as possible. He preferred to focus on the needs of his partner, slowly drawing out their transcendent moans. He was hypervigilant in his awareness. You couldn’t hide a thing from Kira. He noticed every muscle twitch, every gasp and groan, every gloriously enraptured expression.

“How does it f—feel?” You asked.

He didn’t want to speak. He felt safer with his mouth shut.

You tightened your cunt around his cock.

“Shit,” he choked out as he bottomed out.

You let out a deep moan and dug your fingernails into his shoulders. Your orgasm flowed through your body, replacing your blood with unadulterated ardor. Your sweet sounds filled the room, overwhelming him.

“I can’t,” he spat out abruptly.

He pulled his cock out of you and rolled gracelessly off the bed.

“Huh?” You were in a fucked out daze.

“I have to go.”

“Is this about the library books?”

He shook his head. “No. I j—I have to leave.”

“Can you at least tell me why?”

“I’m afraid if I stay I’ll do something to you.”

You gave him a confused glare. “What are you talking about?”

KIra stared down at his hands, hoping they would have an answer.

“There is something terrible happening inside me and I don’t want it to interfere with my work life.”

You sat up, your annoyance was tangible and took up space in the room. Your eyes were fixed on his erect cock.

“No one has to know.”

“But—”

“Come on. Let me make you happy before you leave, hm?”

His eyes darkened. “You want to make me happy?”

“Yes. I wanna be filled with your cum,” you begged.

He walked over to the bed and grabbed your right wrist.

“Jerk me off.”

“Uh. Okay,” you said, squeezing his swollen shaft.

Precum dribbled out from the tip, coating your hand and you serviced him. You didn’t look enthused, but you gave it your all.

“Good girl,” he choked out as his cock spurted cum over your chest.

Kira looked down at you, trying to memorize your face since this was the last time he’d see it. He would miss your goofiness and your sweetness, but living without it wasn’t impossible. Life would just go back to the way it was before, the way it should be. Home by 8:00 PM. A glass of warm milk. Stretching.

Surely you would understand why he had to do it.

“Whoa,” you said suddenly. “Wha—what’s that fucking pink thing behind you?”

He panicked and Killer Queen vaporized your body, leaving nothing behind. Kira fell to the ground and buried his face into the side of the mattress. The pain in his chest was sharp and raging. He wished he could go back in time and never agree to dinner. He would have forced Natsumi to go with you. He would have insulted you to your face. Anything to keep you away from him.

Kira was at a loss, alone in your home. He had no idea if anyone saw him come in or if anyone at the office knew you two had gone out. He cursed himself for being so reckless and began to sob. His hubris has gotten the better of him.

What a waste. But don’t worry. There will be another one.

Before you ask: yes, y/n was a stand user. Her stand was Baby One More Time and she could bring plants back from the dead.

[plutowrites]

honey oat latte ❤

Connie Springer x Reader

⊹ synopsis: barista!connie has a slew of admirers, y/n included. luckily for you though, he’s had his eye on you for as long as you had your sights on him.

⊹ genre: fluff. fluff. fluff.

⊹ contains: coffee shop au, barista!connie, college au & just pure honey oat latte sweetness

⊹ note: the lack of connie content on here makes me v sad. here’s my attempt in trying to change that. ty @bunny-xoxo for turning me into a huuuuge connie simp. you did this to me! also um i’ve never actually had a honey oat latte. wait. ive tasted an iced oat latte before does that count, kind of? it just sounds pretty and i based the entire fic around it lol. ok i hope you all enjoy! i love reading comments and replies, they make me so happy ❤

"Hmm, okay. So, that's why you wanted to come here instead of the coffee shop literally thirty seconds away from my building," Annie says, holding back a menacing smile, shooting you a look that screams you are not as slick as you think you are.

Apparently, you're not. You two just stepped into the building, and she's already got you all figured out. "I don't know what you're implying, hun. I just like the vibes of this place," you shrug. She must've noticed the ridiculous number of times your eyes flitted across the room to the front—the number of times your gaze followed a certain magnetic barista around as he made caffeinated drinks like an adorable, fluttering coffee fairy.

"The vibes? We're going off vibes now? Okay, noted." Tongue in cheek, she pulls out her laptop, littered with band stickers you don't recognize and fictional cartoon characters you absolutely do recognize but are way too wholesome and fluffy to be placed beside bands with death and murder in their names. You've always meant to ask her about her obscure sticker taste, but you also know Annie Leonhart is not one to explain herself. "Time to get some work done. Don't talk to me for another forty-five minutes."

When you need to study (as in actually completing the assignments on your to-do list and not the other type of studying you do with your other friends that ironically does not consist of any actual studying), you bring your blonde-haired friend along. She always means business and is not afraid to scold you if you get off track. Dare distract her when she's trying to do her work, and she will not hesitate to leave you stranded at the cafe, alone, mumbling something about how she was better off studying at home.

"Hold on," you tap on her knee to get her attention, and you're met with lethal, dagger eyes. "Let me get you a drink. What do you want?" Annie's gaze softens instantly.

Without thinking about her order for long, she says, "iced americano, thanks."

"You got it."

Somehow the line to order extends all the way to the front door, wrapping around the perimeter of the inside of the store. This all happened as you were settling in? You didn't remember this many people entering, or maybe you just weren't paying attention. Yeah, definitely that. You had something else on your mind, or rather, someone else.

Once you reach the front of the line, Connie (you gotta love name tags, right?) abruptly switches with his coworker working the register so that he is now the one taking orders. You feel your heartbeat pick up speed as he asks the next person in line to move up. You weren't expecting to have any conversation with him; you were perfectly okay watching him make your drink and then call out your name when he's done and that's it. Before, you were fantasizing about the way he would say your name, how it would sound coming from his lips as he held up your drink. You hate to admit it, but you were even practicing the way you would smile and say thanks once he's done, but now? Now, you had to improvise dialogue, and you were terrible at improvising.

"Hey, welcome back." His smile is warm and inviting, and takes up most of the space on his face. Did he honestly recognize you?

"Hi!" You enthusiastically respond. You should probably add something. Like now.

"You haven't stopped by for a while. Midterms have been getting to you?" The room around you is buzzing with conversation and electricity, the chattering and laughter making it hard to hear Connie despite him being so close in front of you.

"Yeah, midterms. A lot of them," you breathe out nervously, fiddling with your wallet.

He's nodding at every word you say, his mouth curved slightly but not into a smile exactly, just like he's concentrating on what you're saying extra hard. "Ah, yeah, I feel you. It's like after syllabus week the exams don't end until the semester does. I hate it, but hey, we're almost there." Connie talks to you like you're an old friend of his—so natural and familiar. He takes off his jet-black baseball cap with the coffee shop logo on it and runs a hand over his buzz cut, scratching it before putting it back on his head. "What can I get you today?"

"Can I get an iced americano and a honey oat latte?" You try to share your order as confidently as you could with Connie leaning in to hear you more clearly, biting his lip in concentration as he punched your order into the register. You're amazed that you didn't stutter at all with how seductive and mesmerizing he looks.

You just hope he hasn't caught you staring at him.

He smiles at you, again. "Of course."

"What are you studying, by the way? I don't think I've ever asked you." Until now, you haven't said anything to him besides your order and how your day has been. This sudden surge of boldness is new, but you just don't want the conversation to end yet. Talking to him makes you nervous, but it's also exciting. You can't distinguish which of the two feelings is responsible for the wild butterflies in your stomach, but you don't really care.

Connie's green eyes dart back and forth between you and the never-ending line behind you. You take the hint. With a sheepish smile, you add, "Sorry, it's really busy. Um, yeah, I'll pay by debit."

There goes that grin again. He constantly whips it out like a weapon. "First of all, it's on me. Second, my break is in five minutes... Do you want to talk then?"

———

 Annie rolls her eyes when you tell her the cute barista you’ve been making googly eyes at the entire time will be coming over to chat promptly. She closes her laptop and shoves her notebooks into her backpack. “Cool. I’m happy for you and all, but I’m not staying.”

You groan. “Why not? I need you,” you pout, enticing her to stay with your puppy dog eyes. She laughs at you.

There’s no way she’s staying.

“To do what exactly? I’ll just sit here awkwardly as you two talk. Yeah, not happening. Text me when you’re done though.” Annie stands up, zipping up her black puffer vest before sending you a pathetic salute. “Don’t mess this up, okay?” And with that, she’s off with her iced drink in hand.

The words don’t mess this up repeat in your head over and over again. You sigh, sitting back in the seat, staring at the now empty chair in front of you. Empty until someone sneaks their way into it suddenly.

Connie.

“Hey, I didn’t scare your friend away, right? Please tell me that wasn’t my doing,” he says, a little out of breath like he jogged over here.

You laugh gently, “Yeah, that was all you. She said something about not trusting a guy with a buzz cut,” you tease.

He clutches at his chest as if he’s in pain. “You’re kidding, but I do get that a lot. Some girls think it’s a red flag and it hurts,” Connie chuckles. You watch as he scoots himself in closer, taking off his cap and placing it on the table. “So, what do you say?”

“About?”

“Guys with buzz cuts. You trust us?”

“No opinion yet.”

His face lights up as if you just gave something away. “Yet? Okay, okay, as long as I’m getting some sort of chance here.”

The more you talk to him the more comfortable you become. You can tell that’s the type of person Connie is, the kind that makes everyone feel at ease when they’re around him. You take a long sip of your honey oat latte, and you feel his bright eyes resting on you. “Alright, let’s get to the good stuff. What are you studying?” you ask, changing the subject.

He beams, “Impatient, are we? I’m in the process of getting my master's in social work. It’s been…” Connie pauses, pondering the right word to use, “tough, to say the least, but I really enjoy what I’m doing, so I figure as long as that’s the case, then I’m not wasting my efforts.”

You nod your head in agreement, “Wow, that’s amazing,” you admit, wide-eyed. If you had to guess his field, you would’ve said education; he gives you major middle school teacher vibes, but social work also has his name all over it too. “So you don’t plan on doing the whole barista thing forever?”

He makes a snorting noise. “Nah, I'm only getting my master's degree to hang it up in my mom’s living room. This right here is obviously my dream job,” he says jokingly, stretching out his arms and tilting his head to the side in amusement.

You roll your eyes, “You look like you love it here,” Connie raises his eyebrows at you, so you follow up with, “all I’m saying is I don’t look like you when I’m at my job, I look miserable.”

“Okay, for one, I’d love to see that, and two, yeah, no, it’s a pretty sick gig. I get to talk to interesting people and make them cute little drinks.”

“Not all of them are interesting, I’m assuming, or polite.” You take another sip, the sweetness of the latte was made just how you like it.

“You’re right. Not all of them are you, so.” Gosh. He’s so flirting. He’s such a  menace.

Heat rises to your cheeks. “You flatter me, but I barely interact with anyone here. I just get my work done and leave.”

His eyes light up at your words. “Work? Done? Really? Not to be a total creep, but I watch you sometimes and that is not what happens here, like at all.”

You let out a surprised laugh—did Connie just read you? Ignoring the way he completely called you out for coming to coffee shops with the intention of studying and lounging instead, you ask, “You watch me sometimes?”

Now it’s his turn to become flustered. Good, you think to yourself, it’s about time. A faint blush creeps up his throat. 

"Okay, stop, don't say it like that. I just— you know what, never mind," he laughs to himself. "I don't know how to bounce back from this." He takes a moment to close his eyes with the silly grin still plastered on his face. "If you study with me, I'll make sure you get your work done and treat you with all the lattes your heart desires." He peeks one of his eyes open to gauge your reaction. You can't stop the obnoxious smile that's currently spreading on your face, even if you dare try.

It's been weeks since you developed your huge crush on Connie and weeks of you religiously visiting this cafe in hopes of catching him working with his cute apron and cap on, and now here you are with him sitting right in front of you. You can't believe that all it took for something to brew between you two was to ask him what his major was. And all it took for him to ask you out on a date was to actually initiate a conversation. Shocker. Who knew?

"I don't know if you'd want to study with me. I'm distracting—that's what all my friends say."

He fights away a smile. "You're definitely distracting." Reaching over to his cap, he places it back on his head and gets up suddenly. "I hate this cliché, but my break is almost over, and I gotta clock back in, so uh, may I?" He juts his chin out in the direction of your drink, drawing out his hand as if he wants to hold it. Confused, you slowly give it to him.

Connie pulls out a black Sharpie from his apron pocket and writes something quickly down on the side of your cup, handing it back to you before waving a solemn bye as he heads back to work.

572-223-8289 is written in bold, boxy letters. He wrote his number on your cup; he is right, total barista cliché. 

———

You: Hey, it’s Y/N from earlier :)

You set your phone down on your desk. It’s been hours since you were at the coffee shop talking with Connie, and hours since Annie dropped you off at your residence. If it were up to your impulses you would’ve texted him the second you typed his number into your phone at the cafe but you feared appearing terrifyingly eager. You tried to contain yourself for as long as you could, which was until 8:04pm apparently. 

Connie doesn't reply until half an hour later—not that you're obsessively checking, of course. Your phone is merely face-up for "study time tracking," or so you convince yourself.

572-223-8289: phew.

572-223-8289: i was starting to suspect you threw out the cup after you finished your latte or smthing

572-223-8289: Get any work done today?

You: a little! Im at my desk studying rn actually

572-223-8289: see. you need me.

You: Do I, Connie?

572-223-8289: you can’t see why? I’d make sure you wouldn’t leave your table until everything was all complete

You: please you sound terrifying lmao

572-223-8289: oh shiittttt. went in with the parental figure shit way too soon. Ok i lied, we wouldn’t get any work done together but we would have fun. I swear.

You: no no i believe you. you seem like a fun guy

572-223-8289: and i can prove that i AM a fun guy

You: I think you’re under the impression that I’m reluctant to hang out with you when the reality is I’ve been trying to hang out with you for like forever

572-223-8289: i was very much under that impression and im so glad you cleared that up. If I ask to see you right now would you think im booty calling you? Serious question

You: Well, are you?

572-223-8289: absolutely not. I just want to talk and not text.

572-223-8289: i do like texting you btw i just

572-223-8289: like talking better

572-223-8289: ok so yeah thought about it a bit and let’s hang out during the day time. I don’t want to give off any certain vibes

You: you type so fast haha

You: i was gonna say that i wouldn't be opposed to meeting you now and you don’t give of ~those kind of vibes but sure, let me know when you’re free

572-223-8289: will do. Alrighty Ill let u get back to studying. Good luck! :)

If the excitement forming rapidly in your stomach accounts for anything, you know you won’t be getting any studying done tonight.

———

You fix yourself up a bit before heading in, checking your reflection in the black screen of your phone. Once you think you're good to go, you enter.

The second you step foot inside, you hear your name being shouted excitedly—your eyes lock with familiar, gleaming green eyes. Connie is grinning from ear to ear as he heads over to the edge of the counter to where you're standing. Luckily, the cafe's looking a bit slow, and no one is needing his attention, yet. You came in at the right time.

His palms rest on the countertop; he leans in over real close to whisper, "You really wanted to see me, huh? Our date isn't for another two hours."

"Who said I was here for you? What if I really wanted to try the pumpkin spice muffins?" A lie, you couldn't wait to see him later. The truth is you liked watching Connie work even way before you got to know him.

Some things don't change.

He frowns at you, "If you told me, I would've brought some for you when we hang out."

You exhale out dramatically. "Wow, you're really trying to embarrass me here," you chuckle into your hand. Shaking your head at him, you add, "Yes, Connie Springer, I'm here to see you. As usual. Like always."

He nods his head like he knew all along, which you're sure he did. "Out of all the people who come here to watch me work, you sure are by far my favourite."

"Excuse me, what? People watch you work? Holy shit, that's incredibly creepy." He sends you an amused look, his eyes wide like he can't believe you of all people are saying that. "Okay, I know I do it but like—" You sigh, "just answer my question."

He shrugs, "I guess I'm super cute. Isn't that why you come around here?"

You hold up your hand to stop him from continuing any further. "Okay, I'm gonna order something to remove myself from this conversation; I'll see you later?" He nods his head with a lopsided grin on his face, slowly blinking at you like a dreamy-eyed sloth. You take it as your cue to turn around and head to the line to buy your much-needed coffee.

Walking there, you look back to catch whatever Connie's doing, and much to your surprise, he's shamelessly watching you back. You begin to feel flustered, ignoring his vibrant eyes on you and focusing heavily on the shelves of decorated mugs and packages of roasted coffee beans to your left—an escape to look anywhere but at him.

Your phone in your pocket vibrates, and you check the notification immediately.

Coffee Fairy Connie: I'm pumped for our date. Pray that this shift goes by faster, pleaseeeeee

He's texting you back on the job? Extremely bold of him.

You really, really like him.

Coffee Fairy Connie: if I have to make another honey oat latte, I'll cry.

You: LOL OKAY, I know for a fact you only said that because you know I'm gonna order exactly that.

Coffee Fairy Connie: are you a psychopath or what

You: for liking honey oat lattes? geez man

Coffee Fairy Connie: no. I'm texting you while being in the same room as you, and you haven't looked up at me once. I'm begging you, look at me.

You laugh as you follow instructions and look up at Connie, who's holding up a large hot beverage in his hands and smiling menacingly. With his free hand, he motions you over.

Once you reach his end, he brings the cup down low enough for you to see the top of it. It's a honey oat latte with a frothy heart decorated straight dab in the middle with foam.

"Did someone order a honey oat latte made with love?" he asks, cheesily.

You feel flustered, unable to look him in the eyes yet again. "Thanks, Connie, that's really sweet of you." The kind gesture makes you want to take a picture of your drink and use it as your phone's lock screen. You were falling for this man, hard, and he doesn't even know it.

Once you retreat back to a nearby table, you whip out your phone and text him again.

You: I don't even want to take a sip from my drink. It's toooo pretty.

Coffee Fairy Connie: it's fitting. a pretty drink for a pretty customer :)

You: awww heart eyes for you

You: also, you know you don't have to respond right away, especially considering that you're working?

Coffee Fairy Connie: ok, but have you considered that it's hard when you're the one sending the texts

Sigh. He's constantly reminding you of the sickeningly sweet feelings you have for him with every text he sends you. It’s like there’s no way you could like him more and then you get a notification from him that confirms that yes, news flash, you can like him even more.

You: Connie, you’re very, very sweet and I will see you later when we hang out and I’m really looking forward to it. End of discussion.

You finally look up from your glowing screen with newfound confidence, thumbs still hovering over your keyboard. You watch Connie as he reads your message and when he’s done he slowly glances up at you. He’s looking at you like there’s no one else in the room which makes your heart do very funny things.

 After an incredibly long ten second sequence of the two of you sharing an intimate gaze that feels like a scene straight out of a romcom, he sends you a final wave before heading over to serve a customer waiting in line.

You sigh happily, eventually looking down at your drink again, more specifically the latte art that’s now slightly bleeding out to form a really wide heart, bordering on a circle-ish shape. You tell yourself once the heart looks completely unrecognizable, you’ll start drinking. It’s almost there, but not quite. 

For now, you just admire it.

❤taglist: @bunny-xoxo @blondeboyfriend​ @tetsunormous​ @carmillous​

[xaibaugrove]

Everyone in the Krew is Problematic

I was inspired to go on this rant by someone who recently brought up a question in a server I’m in, asking why so many people in the fandom seem to hate Mako and Makorra and why. This wouldn’t be the first time I defend Mako and it most likely won’t be the last, but it might be the first time I tear him and everyone else in the Krew down in the process, only to bring them back up. Hear me out though.

I think I’ve totally accepted that a lot of people in this fandom will always hate Mako and that I will have to perpetually defend him, I understand that this is the relationship I’ve chosen with this world. But what I still will never understand are the reasons why people hate/dislike him because compared to how much they love other characters in the Krew who honestly aren’t that much better than him (in some cases, even worse!), it doesn’t make any sense.

Let me also preface this by saying, I love these characters with all my heart and soul, probably more than I should love fictional characters, but this is the life I live and with that being said, I am going to tear them apart just to prove a point. Okay, here we go.

MAKO

Most of his detractors list the usual criticisms, which are valid when isolated. He cheated on Asami, he lied to Korra, he was a terrible boyfriend and essentially he treated the women he claimed to love or care about horribly. Gee, it’s almost like the man was a teenager with no experience in having long-lasting, healthy relationships and was raised in the streets by gangmembers while doing anything to survive and provide for his younger sibling after seeing his parents killed right in front of him and suddenly being orphaned…

I think Mako has been torn down enough, so I won’t get too deep into the tearing down part for him. It really does baffle me how someone can claim to be woke and not comprehend how someone coming from poverty could possibly be a product of their environment. Like, does everyone think that poor people automatically have hearts of gold and turn out like Little Orphan Annie? Why are people surprised that when someone has a shitty life, they might do shitty things?

Also, sooo many people love Zuko, who actively tried to cause harm to Aang, Katara and Sokka numerous times, and sympathize with his troubled past. But like, sure Zuko had an abusive father and his mother peaced out of his life for whatever reasons but at least he had his uncle. Mako had his parents for maybe 8 years before they were murdered in front of him and then had...no one for the next 10 years? Except for Bolin, sure, but no other parental figure in his life. Dude literally had to become him and his brother’s own parent and joined a gang to survive, and after all that, the worst he does is acts as a bad boyfriend toward Korra and Asami and he is instantly thrown to the wolves. Something doesn’t add up. It’s just...I don’t get it.

Yes, the way he treated people was bad, but people can grow? That’s a thing humans can do. And he was a teenager, my god. No, we cannot allow our past to be an excuse for how we treat others, but we have to be aware that there is a growth process to being human. And being human in and of itself, isn’t pretty. You think Mako is problematic? Don’t get me started on your fave.

KORRA

Ok, I love this woman to death but she is ridiculously problematic. She pursued someone in a relationship and essentially forced Mako to cheat on Asami by kissing him against his will, that’s already pretty awful and shows a lack of empathy on her part, also kissing people without their consent is no bueno. But also I just have to say it for the people who might not know this. One of the fundamental reasons why Makorra didn’t work was because KORRA WAS ABUSIVE. Okay? It wasn’t just that Mako was inadequate at relationships and didn’t know how to people, it wasn’t that she was secretly confused and wanting Asami the entire time (biphobia at it’s best) one of the main problems in the pairing was that Korra was crazy abusive towards Mako. Seriously, why don’t I see this more often in those discussions??

If we need examples, I have dozens. Honestly, it’s really easy to see how terrible Korra was to Mako, I’d actually argue that she treated him worse than he treated her. I mean, they were both terrible to one another, but in Korra’s case she went through the motions of being completely infatuated with your first teenage crush, getting with said crush, then crashing and burning once you realize that you have no idea how to treat a romantic partner so after the butterflies wear off you subject them to all the wonderful aspects of your anger issues. Not only did she scream at Mako during every argument they had, she also threatened him with bodily harm if she got really angry. Remember how their relationship crashed and burned in Book 2? Here are the things that Korra did during that time. Let me reiterate, this was not okay.

Mako is visibly shaken by this!

This woman burst into her boyfriend’s place of work and violently kicked his desk out from in front of him with all his coworkers present. That is not normal behavior. That is a red flag. And after she came back, had amnesia or whatever and forgot they broke up after that scene, let’s not forget that Mako was legitimately Afraid to break up with her again. Korra made her partner frightened that they might suffer bodily harm if they upset her. Again, and I can’t stress this enough, this is not okay!

The little scene in Book 3 when Korra is lifting Mako like 100 feet off the ground with airbending while he’s screaming in fear just to make Asami laugh is cute, right? I’ll admit, I loved that little moment too, it’s one of the only instances of Korrasami development that we got, but also, there were sooo many things wrong with that scene lol. Not only does Korra terrify Mako for literally no reason, it’s also sort of just her continuing to exercise some degree of power over him for her own amusement. Almost like a subtle reminder to him saying, “I am stronger than you in every way and I can break your femur like a twig if I wanted to… but I won’t, so look how much fun we’re having!”

Now of course, there are reasons why Korra acts like this. She was isolated for almost her entire life and never learned how to treat people and be around people. The Avatar is human because they must live amongst the people they protect and that helps them develop empathy and cherish life. The White Lotus deprived her of that fundamental aspect of her duty as the Avatar and it showed throughout the beginning of the series. Clearly, she was young, didn’t see how her actions could negatively affect others and hurt the feelings of not just her partner but also friends and family (she was really awful towards a lot of people in her life!). But as the series went on, we see her having less outbursts and learning to control her temper more.

One can only assume that she does not have the same behavior with Asami because for one, I don’t think Asami would play that shit, she seems like she would electrocute a bitch in a heartbeat and not hesitate if needed, but also Korra is not the same shitty partner she used to be as a teenager. Again, kids do stupid things. Adults do stupid things. And we learn and we grow. Korra will probably make some more mistakes in her relationship with Asami. I don't think anyone can have one bad relationship and suddenly learn all the lessons they can from it and have a perfect one the next go around. I can totally picture Korra losing her temper and raising her voice at Asami if she gets frustrated and forgets who she’s dealing with. Managing anger issues is hard, I know this from experience, and it doesn’t magically get easier. Of course, if Korra does pop off, Asami would definitely put her in her place because she’s a bad bitch who doesn’t take anyone’s shit, next character.

ASAMI

You know her, you love her, you fantasize about her and you probably have her on your list of fictional characters you would totally bang if you had the chance (I know I do), yes, even your best girl is problematic. It’s interesting to me that a lot of people sympathize with Asami and very few openly criticize her (so few that I’ve never seen anyone say a bad thing about her). What’s there to criticize though? The poor girl was cheated on by Mako, had her feelings disregarded by Korra, who claimed to be her friend but pursued her then-boyfriend behind her back and then made up for it by simping for her for the rest of her life? Also her mom was murdered when she was just 6 years old, her father threatened to kill her once and physically abused her, then died right after they started repairing their relationship, essentially making her an orphan at the ripe age of 22. Suffice it to say, Asami has been through it.

So, how could she be problematic, you ask? Why, of course, through the classic Bryke technique of romance progression in storylines called Kissing People Without Their Consent

To be honest, I did gloss over this with Korra, simply because there were sooo many other issues with that woman and I just couldn’t go through every single one in as much detail but that doesn’t negate how serious this whole sneak attack kissing thing is. Sure, Asami is very emotional and lonely and sort of desperate too, (it's a little sad, really) but Mako is clearly uncomfortable and completely caught off guard by the kiss. This is also the second time this happens to him in the series! There are a couple factors that might contribute to why Asami does this and acts this way, maybe Korra’s general awfulness rubbed off on her (don’t make a dirty joke) but this is still wrong.

AND that’s...pretty much it. Kissing people without their permission is a big no no, though. Not wanting to gloss over that, but Asami really is a good person who just did a not-so-great thing. Getting burned by Mako twice probably made her a little less inclined to be as forward with anyone though, and it looks like she now takes her time and is patient in her relationship with Korra. It even seems like Asami is the only person Korra is afraid to upset, as Korra does seem more gentle and calm when around her. And who knows? Maybe Asami living a life where a majority of the time she got whatever she wanted when she wanted it might have also influenced her to be more assertive or even imposing within her relationships.

If anything, those three fools getting into relationships with each other just showed how not ready they were to be in relationships in the first place and also how not okay they were.

BOLIN

Originally I titled this as “Everyone in the Krew is problematic (except Bolin)” but then I remembered that Bolin totally kissed a woman without her consent so I deleted the shit out of that!

This asshole looks genuinely pleased with himself after essentially assaulting Ginger. Not a good look.

Sure, Bolin is baby. He will always be baby to me. But that does not erase the fact that he also actively supported a fascist dictator. Not only was the kissing without consent thing bad, but there’s also that. No matter how many times people around him warned him about the fact that he was on the wrong side of things, that he was helping someone who was putting people into concentration camps...Bolin wanted to believe the best of Kuvira. He ignored obvious signs that the woman was a dictator committing human rights violations like crazy and you know, there’s gotta be a reason for that too.

Maybe Bolin wanted to feel like he was doing something good for once. When you think about it, with his role as the comic relief in the Krew, and sort of constantly being infantilized by his older brother, I wouldn’t be surprised if the man developed some insecurity in his ability to do anything good or useful for anyone without screwing it up in some way. In Kuvira’s army, it seemed like he was actually taken seriously, he felt like he was doing something that mattered. Korra had being the Avatar, Asami had her business and mindblowing philanthropy (honestly, her ability to be as charitable as she is profitable is insane) and Mako had his police work (ACAB, tho). Bolin had...the role of being a joke. A superficial actor. A former pro-bending meathead.

Bolin lived his entire life following after his brother that once they were adults and Mako finally decided to live his own life for once, it left Bolin completely lost. And lost young men are perfect recruits for fascists.

So, in conclusion, my whole reasoning behind destroying the integrity of my favorite characters is to prove a huge point. All of these characters are problematic. They have flaws, some bigger than others (looking at you, Korra. Just...wow), but ultimately, even if your fave is problematic... that’s okay. A lot of people, mostly younger people it seems, are really obsessed with being right about everything that they do and stan. And that’s a wonderful thing, so much change has come about by the younger generations calling out people who do fucked up shit, don’t want or try to improve, and get away with it. But it’s also caused a lot of people to be unforgiving and completely unwilling to acknowledge when people do improve and try to be better.

Personally, I love my problematic Krew because having issues that you’re constantly working on internally is human. It’s human to make mistakes, it’s human to grow from those mistakes. And it’s inspiring to me, who is wholly imperfect, to see myself reflected in fictional characters who aren’t perpetuating unrealistic ideals of human nature, characters who are messy, crazy and ultimately human.

As one of my favorite manga artists and queen of impeccable character creation Rumiko Takahashi once said:

“I think that perfect people are not very interesting.”

And I will always wholeheartedly agree.

[royalbuffoons]

i dont actually think patrick killed/assualted people the crazy amount of people he said did in the book

i know its supposed to be a sorta “ooooh maybe he did or didn’t” but i think he might’ve done a few but not all the ones he was going on about

not paul or the more extreme graphic ones, i think those were made up by him as some messed up fantasy

and thoughout the book patrick is a very unreliable narrator (ex, the atm telling him to feed it a cat before a killing spree hints at imagination to me)

but sending those two escorts out injured and in tears and similar ‘’tamer’’ (and by tamer i mean not as horrendous as some of the things described) instances, might’ve happened

another thing, the book has a lot of parts where it’ll have characters treat patrick likes he’s so bland and forgettable he’s basically the same as all these people he works with to the point coworkers will have entire conversations with him and think he’s someone else to the point of calling him the wrong name multiple times, i think he sees himself as lesser than them in subtle ways if that makes sense (?) so all those incredibly violent murders could’ve been his coping with feeling embarrassed and worse than his colleagues (ex, mad bad that owens has the account he wanted, dreams about killing him cuz he’s a lil bitch lul)

but i think the way a lot of people interact with him are just how he imagines it, i dont think luis was so in love with him he would’ve started crying at his feet in a department store lol i think that was patrick fantasizing he was so hot that he’d have women and men wanting him then rejecting them

patrick isn’t the most lgbt friendly (duh) as we’ve seen, so luis being obssessed with him could’ve been just sort of fantasy for him to sort of gratify himself

honestly this is just an annoyingly long way to say, patrick bateman a truely screwed up person (thats putting it lightly) and his interactions with the people around him seem to mostly be made up by him as he gets worse and worse as the book goes on

[yetanotherbuffyblog]

There’s something about Anya...

[So I’m sorry I haven’t updated much. I told myself I would do more posts and watch more around the holidays, but then we got a free trial of HBO Max and I binged a lot of stuff on that instead.]

Basically, this episode is when Anya’s situation as a vengeance demon comes to a head. After deciding that she’s got to step up her game, in no small part because her loneliness after being dumped at the altar and her friend Halfrek pressuring her, she unleashes a spider demon on a fraternity house after a slighted college student wishes their hearts got ripped out. After killing the spider demon, and upon being told its source, Buffy resolves that she has to kill Anya.

Uh-oh.

She goes and fights Anya. It goes on for a while, all while Xander is trying to bring a stop to it. During this duel, Willow summons Anya’s boss D’Hoffryn, and asks him to fix this. He goes and interrupts Buffy and Anya’s fight, and Anya begs him to undo the slaughter she unleashed. He does, and lets her go, in exchange for the life and soul of a vengeance demon. Anya assumes he means her, and agrees knowing she’ll die. Except he doesn’t--he takes her friend Halfrek. 

Anya now feels like she has no one and nothing, and we end on another sad note.

Whoopie.

-Buffy does actually stab Anya with a sword, though it doesn’t kill her because vengeance demons don’t die that way. Which is fine, okay, but plenty of demons in the series get killed by fairly mundane means, and that always bugged me. I guess I shouldn’t complain that things are going the way I want, it’s just that it feels contradictory to what we’ve seen before.

-There’s a flashback where we see how Anya became a vengeance demon--she cursed her cheating husband into becoming a troll, and D’Hoffryn took notice and gave her a job. It’s unclear if he was actually cheating, or if Anya (or Aud, back then) just thought that he was, but D’Hoffryn doesn’t seem to care.

-Also how DO you just turn a human into a troll? Seems like big magic to me.

-The subtitles on Hulu claim that they’re speaking old Norse in that scene; I wonder if that’s actually true? Hang on…

Okay so TV Tropes claims that it’s actually really badly pronounced Swedish. The actors were told that their voices would be dubbed over with actual native-speakers, but that didn’t happen so it’s apparently nigh-incomprehensible to native Swedes.

-After seeing Anya’s origin story, it’s not really surprising that D’Hoffryn also took notice of Willow and seems willing to hire her if she ever strays too close to that side of herself again. Then again, Willow seemed a lot more powerful than the usual vengeance demon, at least in raw offensive power, so I imagine that would blow up in his face if it ever went through.

-“Never go for the kill when you can go for the pain,” D’Hoffryn says when he kills Halfrek, which sounds like a good demon motto, but we do see that he seems just fine with letting his vengeance demons go and kill a bunch of people instead of, y’know, going for the pain.

-Also the fact that he’s willing to casually throw away his employees’ lives makes me think that one day his employees would be happy to turn on him if he lets his guard down.

-Really the whole ‘vengeance demon’ racket feels like a stupid thing in the long term. Yeah, it seems like it’s a great way for women to show agency and gain power for themselves, but no matter how polite their boss is to them on the surface, they’re still under his thumb. Anya left, okay, but by going through a lot of pain and humiliation, and he punished her coworker for something she didn’t do. It’s a harsh patriarchy, just dressed up in ‘vengeance demon’ paint to make it appealing in order to trap women who are upset about legitimate grievances.

Anyway.

-There were only twelve guys in this fraternity? Is that all? Did the rest flee? That’s a pretty small fraternity. Then again, maybe Sunnydale’s college is just pretty small.

-I like that we’re not letting Xander off the hook for dumping Anya at the altar. Because we shouldn’t! That was a terrible thing to do! But I do like that he still very much cares what happens to her, and doesn’t want her to die. 

-But as Buffy points out, she did have to kill Angel. And it worked out but it very easily couldn’t have. For all she knew, he was permanently dead when she killed him that one time. But she knew that she had to do it.

-But as Xander points out, trying to talk Anya out of this is apparently not an option? I’m not saying that it isn’t understandable that killing Anya is on the table, it seems that Buffy jumps to it very quickly. Then again, unlike with Willow, it’s not as if Anya’s killing people who have murdered and kidnapped and attempted rape. Anya’s killing a group of fraternity boys for humiliating someone, but basically because someone asked. And not even that! That’s not really what the girl wanted! And Anya had twelve of them killed!

But she’s not thrilled with it, and if Buffy sat and talked with her maybe she would have realized that.

-Anya has a musical number, that’s fantasizing about how great it’ll be to be married to Xander. Which is… very sad, considering how that all turned out. Darn you, Joss, for making me feel things.

-“From beneath you, it devours.” WHAT DOES THAT MEAN, MAN?! TELL US ALREADY!!

[I’m kidding, I don’t mind this build-up.]

-In all seriousness though, it seems the reason he doesn’t kill Anya is because he thinks she’d die anyway in whatever is going to happen soon. Which isn’t encouraging.

-Are all the major demons connected? Do they talk at the water cooler about what’s going on in the demon dimensions?

-Apparently Anya’s has ALWAYS been like this. It isn’t a demon thing.

-Buffy finds out that Xander lied about what Willow told him before the fight with Angel, and this goes… nowhere. Hm.

-TV Tropes also claims that Sarah Michelle Gellar was getting married to Freddie Prinze Jr. around when this episode was filmed, so she didn’t have that many days to film for the episode. They’re still married as of this blog post, if you’re curious.

[demetyilmcz]

but what a ghostly scene. {au self para}

  ❛  you wear the same jewels that I gave you      as you bury me ❜

tw: death mention, stabbing mention, funeral, general ghost vibes

This is not what she thought death would be. 

Humans have the folklore that souls would hang around the world when they have unfinished business with the living, or if their death was particularly violent and the soul could not find rest. Demet supposes she would fall under both categories. 

The funeral is pretty. She hadn’t thought Harry would be so meticulous with the selection, or that she would even get a headstone at all. He seemed to only see the monster while he held that silver blade, determined that he was making the world a better place by removing her from existence. You’d never guess it now, from the role he plays as a grieving fiancé. Demet has to admit that he does it well, and she wonders how much of everything she ever saw from him was as much of a performance as the show he’s putting on now. Did she even know him at all? The dull ache in her heart wants to scream yes, that it couldn’t have all been a lie, but maybe that’s just phantom pain from the dagger he put there. ( Sometimes when she looks down, she swears she can still see it sticking out from her chest. )

Strange. Esma and Rafael aren’t here. She always thought they would be. Maybe Rafael really has moved on with his life. Maybe she doesn’t matter to him anymore, had stopped mattering a long time ago. He never did respond to any of her letters, anyway. But Esma, that one’s a puzzle, something she doesn’t quite understand as her lifeless eyes scan the crowd of mourners. Friends, coworkers, everyone she’s ever known in London have turned up. But none of her family. Esma should be here, if no one else. Her sister still loves her, doesn’t she? Does Demet’s life really matter so little? The thought is a chill that crawls over her skin. Funny, she was never cold when she was alive. Her fur always kept her warm. Now it’s as if she’s encased in a cage of ice, and she thinks if she had breath, it’d fog up the air around her. She’s forgotten how to breathe. Is that another ghost thing?

Harry sits up front at the service, as the priest reads pretty things from the one book she never got around to reading. May God bless her soul. She didn’t realize Harry was particularly religious, he’s never mentioned it before. Demet floats forward until she’s standing in front of him. She wills him to see her, give her anything, but he only stares through her as if she’s nothing more than a window. Even as she reaches out to touch his cheek, and her hand passes straight through. Is this her new reality? To simply exist? Wander the earth forever, condemned to her loneliness? This isn’t what she wants. Demet wants her father. And her mother. And Burak. She wants to be with her family again. It had been some small relief, a consolation prize as she laid dying on her kitchen floor, that at least she would get to see them again. But it seems as if she’s been cheated out of that as well, now. Is there anything else the universe is capable of taking from her? She’s never been sure she’s believed in the idea of a god, but if any exist, they must take great amusement from her torments. 

Tears stream down Harry’s face as the casket that holds her mortal body is lowered into the ground, and really, he’s wasting his talents as a hunter, it’s clear that he’s made for the stage. He’s wearing the cufflinks and watch that she bought him, Demet notes, as he runs a hand through his disheveled hair. He always did like dressing well. Maybe it makes him feel more powerful. There’s a small satisfaction to seeing him favor one side, the side where her claws had scratched him. She did not go with grace. No soft gasp, no limp body to hold in his arms while she dies and he cries like he’s the victim of the scene — that the woman he loves turned to a monster, so he must act the hero and kill the beast for the good of humanity. He had to earn her death, while she screamed and thrashed and plead and cried and fought back. So many stab wounds. So much blood. Demet wonders how they cleaned her up well enough for the viewing. That’s probably what the modest black dress is for, covered from neck to toe. As if she would ever wear something so restrictive. 

He stands around, accepting sympathies and well wishes and offers of ‘if there’s anything you need’ from everyone they’ve ever known, and a part of Demet wants to scream. To tell them all that it’s his fault, she didn’t have to die, doesn’t have to be here now floating outside of existence. But her mouth opens and no air comes in, no sound goes out. Mute. Might as well be, she always felt mute in her mortal life too. Biting her tongue so much, the first taste of blood she ever had being her own, swallowed to keep her mouth shut. So many things she never said, for the sake of everyone else, and now they never will be. Perhaps she did this to herself, to some degree. If she had not been so ashamed to want things for herself, to not have to always be the dutiful daughter when none of her siblings seemed willing, perhaps she would not have been such easy prey. So effortlessly charmed by his sweet words, and the idea that for what felt like the first time in her life, Demet came first to someone else. Where would she be now if she had simply thrown out the slip of paper he'd left with his number on it?

And yet, there is no use to ponder the ‘what ifs’. None of them will change this plane of existence that she finds herself caught in now. She follows Harry as he leaves with his friends to go drown their sorrows in a pub, not because she feels any particular tether to him, but because she knows little else where to go. Her life in London revolved around him, and neither of her siblings came to her funeral. What else is there for her? So she goes, and watches him pour down drink after drink, bemoaning his poor fiancée to anyone who will listen. The bartender gives him a glass of top shelf whiskey on the house, and Demet thinks she should’ve used this ploy a long time ago. She could’ve played the weeping widow for a free drink. She sticks a finger in his glass, just to see if she can feel it ( the answer is no ), while a man she’s never quite liked claps him on the back and tells him that everything happens for a reason, even if it doesn’t seem like it now. If she were capable, Demet would throw the drink in his face. 

And why can’t she be a vengeful ghost? The kind people always claim are haunting their houses; throwing books off the shelf, turning on stoves and locking the doors. She feels like she deserves at least that much, some kind of recompense for this fate. Instead, all she has is this detached form that doesn’t even feel like a body anymore, but her mind forces into the conforms of one anyways because that’s all it knows. Incapable of anything other than floating around after the living, watching in silence as they get to continue doing everything she had taken for granted once upon a time. Useless.

It’s nearly midnight when Harry leaves the pub, heading back to the little home they used to share. She remembers being so proud when they signed the lease together, a step towards their future. Looking at it now, all she can see is every shattered promise he ever made her. Demet wonders if Harry sees them too. He certainly didn’t waste time having the place cleaned up. You’d never know a murder was committed here only a few days prior, she thinks, as she floats into the living room. She expects Harry to follow, perhaps to sit in the lounger, kick his feet up and congratulate himself on a job well done while he watches television, but he never comes. So she seeks him out instead, finding him in the middle of the entryway, slouched against the wall with his head in his hands. It’s an image that surprises Demet, she’ll admit. She can hear the soft, choked sobs that wrack his chest, loud as the chimes that would ring from the clock on the wall in that quiet hallway. Oh. Maybe it was real, then. At least a little bit of it. 

She slides down, too, propped up on her hands and knees as she watches him with a mild fascination she would not have expected from herself. There is a certain schadenfreude in knowing he does not get to come out of this Scot-free and unaffected. Her name falls from his lips, the ones she used to fantasize about kissing all the time, muttered like a prayer or perhaps a curse, and Demet finds herself leaning in closer. What is she listening for, exactly? An apology? An acknowledgment of what he’s done? But no matter how long she waits, nothing else comes. Nothing except the sniffles of Harry’s tears. And maybe it speaks to how fucked up her mindset has always been, or maybe how much she loved him, but a strange sort of sympathy fills her chest watching him cry. She reaches for him once more, but it only passes straight through again.  If she could speak, if there was one thing Demet could say to him, she would ask, was it all worth it? Is this what you wanted? She cannot believe that it is, seeing him now.

And then she wonders, what if she is meant to forgive him? Perhaps that is the reason why she’s stuck here between a half-existence, when she should be with her family. If she lets go of this anger, and pain, and betrayal that she carries around with her, will that be enough? To give them both peace? It is a bitter thought, that she should have to bring peace to her murderer before she can achieve it for herself. And Demet knows, deep down in whatever is left of her soul, as she sits across from him in this dark hall, that forgiveness is a long ways away. 

It seems that you and I are still tied together forevermore, Harry. Was it always meant to be this way for us?

[jawbone-xylophone]

Coriander

[This is mostly an experiment to see if I can post this sort of thing on Tumblr. No actual smut on-screen, just Cross being awkward and confused. Set in the world of a drabble series I’m working on, Lust has joined the bad boys and they live in Nightmare’s castle of evil. Warnings for: accidental voyeurism, sort of? Intrusive gay thoughts, Chara enjoying Cross’s suffering.]

This was fine. Everything was fine.

Cross refocused on scrubbing bleach into his cape for all of five seconds before another distant moan wrecked his concentration. He cussed viciously while Chara giggled at his misery. There was nothing wrong here. He was washing his clothes, in the privacy of his room, while some of his housemates also did whatever they wanted to do in their own rooms. This was fine. Very fine. Totally manageable and very normal behavior.

The logic had been sound, at the time. Lust had chosen a room upstairs to minimize crowding, and ensure a bit more privacy for “health reasons”. Stars knew Error didn’t pry, and Dust tended to live in his own head. Cross completely understood. The fact that Lust’s room was directly above his own had been overlooked, but shouldn’t have mattered. And it wasn’t like Cross could tell him about the unseen cracks in his floor now! He could endure. He could ignore it. He had more important-

“Haaaahh~!”

-um.

UM.

WELL.

Somewhere in the background, Chara was laughing himself into a fit, rolling around on a phantom floor. You suck at lying, Cross!

Shut up.

Cross remembered the laundry in his hands and went at it with extreme focus, intent on a world of chemical lather and whiter whites, free of the awful mortal urge to drop everything and listen to the way Lust moaned like he was made for it. Cross couldn’t afford to imagine his housemate flushed a pretty shade of mauve, hands grasping and eyes rolling, shouldn’t wonder what those strange conjured thighs would feel like in his hands, beneath his fingers, shoved against a wall and clenched firmly around his waist.

Oh my god, Cross, just admit that you want him to sit on your face, this is sad.

Chara!

What? You do.

Stop trying to help, you’re not.

You didn’t deny that you want to die between those thighs though.

I can’t hear you, I don’t speak asshole.

That’s a fucking lie. Speaking of, wow, Lust has some fantastic lungs. Or whatever. Listen to that.

I am not-!!!

There was a pointed silence in his skull that only became more smug by the minute as he fixated on the high-pitched wails and barely audible damp noises coming through the cracks in his ceiling. They were very... rhythmic. Hypnotic. A pattern only made more interesting because Cross wasn’t sure how exactly the noise was being made. Lust obviously didn’t have anything in his mouth to block those long, low groans, so it couldn’t be the sloppy noise of wet saliva dripping from a fucked-out mouth around some slicked-up toy, or a few rough fingers exploring the wet heat of him as he sucked and licked, or some other conjured organ like a penis or maybe a spiraling tentacle sliding over that hot drooling tongue until Lust gagged for air he didn’t need-

Cross gasped out something that could have been a desperate sob and snapped out of the fantasy with wild eyes. That was not allowed. He was about 80% sure that fantasizing about someone without some sort of permission was a horrible breach of trust. Probably. Somehow. It was filthy. It was... there were lines! Lines not to cross. He had a blurred memory of a contract from almost a lifetime ago, something about intimacy between coworkers being strictly forbidden and punishable by demotion or worse. That sounded right. Respect, boundaries, not visualizing your brother in arms as a trembling mess of hot pink desire spread like a feast for the senses on his ruined sheets.

Not that Nightmare would actually care. As long as they jumped when Nightmare said jump and didn’t kill eachother, Nightmare rarely cared. If Cross had to guess, his boss would actually like it if they fucked Lust’s brains out here at home, since dimension hopping was a security risk. And even Lust’s chemical heats probably couldn’t stand against the combined effort of the entire gang fondling his ribs and nipping his shapely legs and clawing down his spine-

Holy shit Cross.

His mental voice trailed off in some sort of pathetic whimper as he buried his face in his hands. This was awful, everything was awful, this was fine, completely fine.

Cross had the distinct impression of Chara patting him awkwardly as the distant moans spiraled higher and his bones tingled with uncomfortable warmth. Chara’s priorities, without fail, were murder and chocolate. Not his well-being. If Chara was feeling some sort of pity then this was a new low and Cross could not handle it.

Hey.

He was not prepared to handle this, no.

Cross, pal, buddy, minion. Hear me out.

He was not listening, no way, he was suffering alone-

I know you’ll think I’m full of crap, but listen. We’re both weak unblooded noobs at this, okay, but I know more about being turned on than you do. If you want some sort of protocol and guidelines, I can do that.

Cross was-

Cross couldn’t-

Cross’s hands fell into his lap, laundry bucket completely forgotten.

Help me.

I’m here.

[gldngrl7]

Binge watch:

Unbelievable (Part2)

This story is based on a true story (names and some biologicals changed to protect the innocent and all that).

By some coincidence, a few weeks ago I watched an episode of something on ID Discovery that bore eerie similarities to this case. A masked serial rapist that knew personal information about his victims, forced them to bathe and then took the sheets. In that case it turned out to be a sheriff’s deputy who used his cruiser computer to troll for victims, which is what got him caught in the end. What’s even more frightening, is that he signed his second victim’s statement as a witness.

I couldn’t remember the name or which show it was on so I googled “Deputy Sherrif arrested for rape”.

Let me tell you...that was an eye opening experience. Our police departments have a problem, and I’m not even talking about the rampant racism.

So, according to A.N. Groth and Ann Burgess (she’s the real Wendy Carr in Mindhunter) most rapists fall into 1 of 4 typologies.

Power-Reassurance: socially inept loners with inadequacy issues. Typically they use only enough violence as required to ensure the compliance of the victim. They often disassociate the damage they do to the victim from what the world might do to them. They fantasize and often plan meticulously.

Power-Assertive or Exploitive: these guys choose victims of opportunity, use aggressive means to subdue their victim, and rarely use a weapon. The frat bro in Unbelievable falls into this category, using drugs to subdue his victims.

The Anger-Retaliatory: these are your ex-boyfriends/husbands, rejected coworkers that refuse to be humiliated by you. So they will show you who’s boss and humiliate you in the process. Sometimes the rapist is a stranger using their victim as an avatar for the woman or women they are incapable of confronting.

The Sadist: Just like it sounds. This guy is fulfilling long nurtured fantasies and the rape is only part of the fun for him. Likely to bring their own torture kit and take their victims to a place where they are assured of privacy. An assault is as likely to end in murder as not.

The rapist in Unbelievable was a Power-Reassurance, although the clues are made more clear by Amber’s memories. He covers her with a blanket when he perceives that she’s cold, he encourages her to be more careful with her own safety (disassociating his own actions with harm). After his conviction he wanted to talk, but only to Agent Taggart because “women make him uncomfortable” — that inadequacy is the hallmark of a P/R.

What happened to the Kirkland Victim? After Marie was charged with false reporting another woman was raped. It causes Marie’s fosters to question her recantation. But...we never hear about the rape again and it never seems to end up on Duvall and Rasmussen’s radar.

I love Karen’s Christian walk. Not Bible-thumping. Not shoving it on others. Just quietly walking the walk.

“I’m okay with that as long as it a llows for the possibility of him choking on his own vomit.”

“Karen Duvall! That’s not very Christian of you.”

“Read your Old Testament, woman. We’re big into vengeance.”

I admit when I started watching I assumed the “true story” of it all was more a Hollywoodized dramatic narrative than an actual true story. So I was afraid that the rapist was going to turn out to be someone under our noses all along. I just hoped it wasn’t Karen’s husband but then spent the back half convinced it was Officer Selig because he matched the profile and fit the description. I was surprised Karen wasnt constantly giving him the side-eye. At that point I still suspected they were telling the story I had seen on ID and expected the rapist to be someone in their work circle. Thankfully, neither was the case.

Watching the rapist get processed, stripped naked and his body picked at with a fine tooth comb was satisfying and too see him stripped of his freedom to choose, even moreso. He was uncomfortable and it felt good to see him get a taste of what he made his victims feel.

After he was processed we’re treated to a long steadycam shot of the rapist in the processing cell in full frontal, not a stitch of clothing in sight to cover himself. The shot lasts for about 15 seconds, as if the camera is staring him down, accusing him while he’s at his most vulnerable.

There is a certain satisfaction to be found when Det. Parker is faced with the truth about what happened to Marie, but it’s tempered in the thought that maybe he wasn’t 100% sure she’d been lying. Maybe he too felt that Pruitt bullied her into recanting. He has to explain multiple times that “it was a false report” and each time he seems to grow less confident with that assertion instead of more. So when he’s finally forced to look at the evidence it’s more like watching a nightmare come true than watching a vindication in real time.

When Det Parker approaches Marie years after her rape to attempt to assuage his guilt, his very presence triggers a near breakdown. At no point in her ordeal was a police presence ever comforting for her. At no point did they consider her safety a priority. You see this contrasted in the courtroom as Dets Duvall and Rasmussen sit with the victims and offer support as they make their victim impact statements.

[nightcoremoon]

Callout post: me

lying, manipulative, hold grudges, constantly paranoid, would absolutely 100% check out a teenager if nobody was looking because "it's a harmless crime", liar, cycle through idealization and devaluation, 'sick of fat people trying to be the next civil rights issue and making it that much harder to get civil rights for people who are ACTUALLY oppressed like gee idk poc and muslims and the mentally ill and queer people', frequently fantasizes about committing violent acts against people I rationalize they deserve it including family members, untruthful, attention whore, pedantic AND pretentious, tells lies, doesn't believe in one sister's claim of sexual assault (went to smoke weed with the alleged perpetrator), UNAPOLOGETICALLY AGAINST ASEXUAL EXCLUSIONISM (LITERALLY FUCK YOU DUMBASS FOURTEEN YEAR OLDS WHO SHRIEK THAT QUEER IS A SLUR, SHUT YOUR GODDAM FUCKING WHORE MOUTHS YOU DUMBASSES AND GO THE FUCK OUTSIDE OR READ A BOOK), would absolutely punch a child over an insignificant internet argument, secretly sought out sexual pleasure from two friendly seemingly platonic encounters with two girls I just met within twenty four hours, overreacts to the slightest provocations and has bitches at or vagueposted at several people who did not deserve it, has used mental illness and physical handicap to evade trouble from being late for work because video games and laziness and excessive sleep, has spent maybe a thousand dollars on fast food in 2018 alone, evades bills for medical care from an actually great clinic, lying sack of garbage, gave up on calling out family's bigotry and is now an accessory to prejudice, despises terfs predominantly for their refusal to fuck me because of being trans and yet meanwhile would not engage in sexual relationship with another trans woman or cis man unless reeeeeeeeally drunk, can and will blame being sexually assaulted as a child which probably didn't even happen because I don't think I remember it, unabashed furry, probably as addicted to video games and masturbation AND LIES as I almost was to alcohol, pretended to have almost been an alcoholic just to "win" facebook arguments about addiction, doesn't give a fuck my dad almost died from heroin JUST because he's a *little* homophobic and racist and classist and xenophobic because of a christian upbringing, would literally fucking murder him if he EVER PUTS HIS HANDS ON ME AGAIN, only slightly depressed because of laziness and a lack of drive and ungrateful to my family because hey they didn't kick me out for being trans so HEY THATS SUPPORTIVE ENOUGH FOR SOME OTHER PEOPLE SO WHY CANT I BE HAPPY WITH THAT, legitimately salty about ~the friendzone~ and just makes fun of incels because everybody else does, takes the moral high ground for not being a misogynist even though I don't deserve a pat on the back a lap dance and a blowjob for not hating women, overly sensitive about stupid things, thinking about faking having a trigger warning for more discourse credit, HUUUGE ASSHOLE to men I deem unattractive for no other reason than every single ugly fat guy I've ever met has been an asshole, rationalizes it after the fact because they eventually say something shitty because all men are terrible, probably a little bit of a cisnormative misandrist because trans men tend to be much better people, finds trans men attractive (specifically and significantly more so than cis men) so must clearly be fetishizing them, relatively okay with people referring to me as deadnamed and the wrong pronouns so probably just lying about being trans to everyone including myself, not 100% okay with the hijab for 'no reason other than all organized religion is evil and opposed to its mandate and the shame it forces on many women in many situations the exact same way I'm opposed to no sex before marriage and wives being subservient to their husbands and treating women as property in the torah and quran alike because ITS ALL BRAINWASHING' so is clearly not unlearning islamophobia and doesn't want to let that go, hypocrite because I believe in the basics of judeochristianity

and loathe atheism and atheists entirely because their smugness and smarm literally sets my blood pressure through the roof of what is safe and normal and yet claim to hate all organized religion, mansplains yet gets so pissed off when other people mansplain to me, judgmental of other cultures because they don't have the exact same values that I have, james gunn apologist, talks and talks and talks about anarchosocialism all damn day but would beat the shit out of a coworker for leaving me to do things because they're lazy because "any job worth doing is worth doing well" and other capitalismisms, literally couldn't give less of a fuck that his mother is dying because people die but it's no reason to make my life slightly harder and making me work hard when I work because BOO HOO MY LEGS HURT FROM THE LITERALLY MOST MILD CASE OF MUSCULAR DYSTROPHY I COULD'VE BEEN BORN WITH, hasn't actually performed real suicide attempt ever but still claims to have done so to attain sympathy that may result in physical affection, countless other shitty terrible things that yeah I recognize are bad but CANT SEEM TO CARE BECAUSE I HAVE DEPRESSION... WHICH IS THE WEAKEST FUCKING EXCUSE IN THE WHOLE ENTIRE GODDAMN WORLD

I am not a good person, okay?

I just pretend to be sometimes.

I'm sick of doing it, I'm sick of trying to do well and earn people's approval by doing and saying the right things only to just be ignored which is a step up from receiving many anons that hey, never actually told me to kill myself, but did take my words out of context to paint me as a racist. I am not the kind of racist who would vote for trump and march with the kkk. that is one of very few good things I can say about myself. but I'm an arrogant, violent, and angry opinionated perverted manipulative judgmental lying asshole. I'm not a good person. I have let myself fall so much and I deserve to be alone. my only connections to people were built on personal gain and I swear to myself that I do love them but those feelings fall away in direct correlation to how much they interact with me. I could love you to the point of obsession and stalking and one month later be completely and totally disinterested. I'm a bigot who pretends to not be bigoted and just parrots what other people say not because I believe it but because it's the right thing to say, and I only say what the right thing is to say because whenever I say a good thing something good will happen to me and if I say a bad thing something bad happens to me. it's all just self preservation, nothing else at all. but now I'm at the end of a road of just trying to do good and I'm alone. out of the only two friends that I can really say that I have left, one is far away and trapped in a guilt spiral that I caused by being too clingy, and the other has been behaving in a way my mind has decoded as defensive around me which makes sense as I have been very... the best way to describe it would be the way a dudebro incel interacts with any person who possesses a vagina/breasts but sneakier. in both relationships I've pushed my own wants and desires in extremis... I can't for the life of me recall the last time I have ever offered something in return other than my own company or paying for a meal at a restaurant or I guess transportation. and instead of sex I just want them to express even the slightest bit of intimate platonic physical affection towards me but that's still a lot to offer someone who has clearly expressed the existence of a sexual and maybe something near the realms of romantic in one of the cases physical attraction because for this aspec it's practically the same fucking thing.

and I've manipulated them to attain this goal. at this point my shit brain has considered just fucking going to town on my wrists with a razor blade to draw sympathy so that I'll get a hug or something beyond just a simply hello/goodbye, and finding a way to induce tears to concoct a sob story to reach the same end result, and one time very briefly via threat and intimidation so you can clearly see that I've gone far too into irredeemable territory. I've been playing and replaying cry of fear because it's just too similar to my own issues and the first ending where he just kills everyone he loves and then himself... I see me in that ending. and it scares me so much more than the sprinting screaming twitching one hit kill chainsaw guy ever will. I don't want that to be me, I want to change something, but I just can't get the help that I need. I had hoped to go for a domino effect, where if I could be cuddled for like five minutes or something, I'd have the energy to be more hygienic, which would make me feel capable enough to take on two jobs, which would get me the cash flow I need to pay my bills and take care of my hormones, which would put me in the headspace necessary to effectively use psychological help, which would let me get over my illnesses and actually become a more successful person instead of the pathetic husk I am here in non-fantasy land.

but that won't happen.

I'm just sitting here in the dark angsting about how nobody will touch me in a way that would produce oxytocin, and it's making me so sick, so physically sick, that it's affecting my brain too. I'm in pain, nauseous, vengeful, spiteful, paranoid, judgmental, and lonely. I'm stuck and I can't even kill myself because my mind wants me to stay alive and suffer through all of this because "oh it gets better" people have been saying that for well over half of my life. I was six or seven years old when I asked my mother to kill me, and that same level of desperation and bitterness has only gotten worse as time goes by. when does it get better? I'll tell you when it gets better, after I'm in prison or comatose or forty five years old with a cane and bad eyes and high blood pressure and lung cancer from all the secondhand smoke I've breathed in my life. when my life is over, that's when it gets better. I DONT WANT THAT. I WANT A NORMAL FUCKING LIFE RIGHT NOW. I WANT NORMAL FRIENDSHIPS AND A NORMAL HOME AND A NORMAL EDUCATION AND A NORMAL CAREER AND A NORMAL FAMILY. or at least I want someone to hold me and make me feel like I'm not so horrible and broken that I can't be touched.

but that's too much to ask for.

[carleyjuel-blog]

I Know Racism Like the Back of My White Hand In regard to what occurred in Charlottesville, Virginia this weekend, I am deeply saddened and angered. I am very sorry for the loss of a young woman who was killed because she was standing up against hatred and bigotry. I refuse to turn a blind eye to these incidents; which would be easy for me to do. I am white and progressive and I know that the polo clad, tiki torch toting neo-nazis do not represent the America that I stand for, however, I refuse to remain silent in this situation. I am very lucky. I sit on a throne of white privilege. I never get denied a job because of my name; hell, I even included a small headshot on one job application. No one has ever crossed the street while encountering me on the sidewalk because they fear for their safety. I glide through airport security receiving nothing but nods and the occasional toiletry inspection. I know that I am not the target of police brutality. I have been in situations where I certainly could, perhaps should, have been arrested and I have not. I walk away with a slap on the wrist, a warning. In Charleston, SC a twenty-five dollar parking ticket is one of the worst of my white grievances. Today I will not say, “This is not my problem.” The men that gathered with swastikas and confederate flags over the weekend shouting hate slogans, such as “You will not replace us” and “White lives matter” are not foreign enemies. They are not even masked! And perhaps if they weren’t enraged, their mouths twisted into snarls, you may even think they looked like your brother, son, coworker, classmate, or one of your more iffy Tinder matches. The terrorist who decided to plow through a group of protesters on Saturday, killing one and injuring many, is a white American man. He had a mother, he had been employed, and he had been educated in the same system as myself. Again these are not foreign enemies. Yet this scene was extremely familiar. Similar attacks have occurred around the world in recent years. In this case, the allegiance was white supremacy and neo-nazism fueled by the same fragile entitlement that led another terrorist to walk into a church and murder nine innocent people just a few years ago. Like the Emauel AME attack, the Charlottesville attack was an act of domestic terrorism, yet the president decided to forgo that definition and describe it as an “egregious display of hatred, bigotry, and violence that’s on many sides.” This is not surprising given his own history of hateful rhetoric that kept him afloat through his election, as well as the fact that there is hesitation to acknowledge that these young, white men are terrorist because of their appearance and the fact that they do not pledge allegiance to Allah. The president missed an important opportunity to speak up against this hatred. Instead he chose to maintain his neutrality. He has, and is, enabling these men to act this way. Now is not the time to be silent. It is very important for me to speak out because I am racist (but I am working on it). I was born and raised on an old tobacco farm in South Carolina. I was exposed to different levels of covert and overt racism in my community. I saw confederate flags proudly waving in front yards, stickered to the bumper of pick-up trucks, and proudly displayed in gun cases. I heard slogans like “the south will rise again” and comments such as, “I never owned a slave, I am tired of being punished for it.” The N word was just another slang word that could be used after briefly glancing around to make sure no “blacks” were close enough to hear. People scoffed about the recognition of Black History Month, they made racist jokes, some would reference the bible to justify their supremacy, and saying things such as “Birds of a feather flock together.” Once at a party, while I was making out with a young black man, someone grabbed a fist full of my hair, jerked me away, and said “Ew Carley, he is black!” No one in my community ever said, “I am a racist” or “I hate black people/Asians/Jews/Mexicans/etc.” I was never the witness to any race related violence, but other than these (hopefully) rare occasions like we saw on Saturday and on web sites where computer screens are used in place of white domed hats, people are not this overt. They mask their racism in ways that are appropriate to their own group, community, and/or family. Their racism may be very subtle- they may laugh at a joke or not condemn a friend or a family member for making an inappropriate remark, or they may be like the little pricks we saw Saturday who are just waiting to pick up their flags and fight. This is where the danger lies in remaining silent- you never know what fire you are fueling, what tiki torch you may be lighting. It is this covert racism, along with the Eurocentric view of the world that has allowed me to be a subtle racist for so long. It is why, in the past I have caught myself thinking when I see an interracial couple, she is so lucky to have married someone white. It is why I have made insensitive jokes. It is why I have feared that every black man I passed on a dark street was going to rape and rob me. It is why I have to continually watch my thinking, correct myself. It is why I work so hard to break down the prejudice in my own mind. Speaking the truth about these matters is the only way to actively work on myself and to change my ways of thinking. It is the personal work that we all have to be doing now! To condemn your white friend, relative, or community member for kissing or dating someone because they are non-white is a form of white supremacy. This condemnation comes from wanting to “keep your race pure.” If there is some way that is not accurate, please explain it to me. To make insensitive jokes, or to laugh when others do so, is just fueling racism. If you want to fly your confederate flag because it is your “heritage” know that now hate is also your heritage. This flag does not only represent your regret for the abolition of slavery but it now identifies you with a terrorist group. If you can argue for these things so strongly you should be able to question them as well. That is what I am asking you to do. I understand these views because for so long they were my truth. And it isn’t easy for the ego to question our views and beliefs. In college I took a Dialogue on Racism course and it changed the way I view the world. On the first day of class I had to participate in a mock debate supporting the right to display the Confederate flag at the South Carolina state house. I breezed through it because I had heard this argument, and at the time I even believed it. My opponent quickly destroyed my privileged view of the topic. After two hours of debating on multiple topics, I realized that I only knew one side of the issues surrounding racism. Several people dropped the class after this first day, most of them being blonde, white, and dressed similar to myself. This class taught me the importance of speaking up, of showing up, and it made me much more comfortable crying in a group setting. These are difficult conversations and realizations but it is necessary that we discuss these things. The easiest thing for white people to do right now would be to sit back and be silent. You have the privilege of turning off the news, your safety is not in jeopardy, you can tuck your children into their beds at night and sleep soundly, because it is very unlikely that they will be victim to a racially fueled hate crime. I fantasize everyday about moving to Portugal and removing myself from the blatant racial injustice of our society, but I know that now is not the time for me to turn away. If one person is oppressed, we all are. We must speak up against racism, we must initiate these conversations, and we must show up. I am angry, but I am hopeful. I was exposed to racism, and for so long I saw it as the norm, but I was also taught to love. It is this love that makes me feel convicted to share my truth with you. Martin Luther King Jr once said, “Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that.” Martin Luther King Jr also said, “"Our lives begin to end the day we become silent about things that matter." I am much too young for my life to end. We have to start where we are. Writing about these issues is obligatory for me. It is not an option, but I know that I must show up as well. I am part of a local group called Showing Up for Social Justice in Charleston, SC, chapters of these groups are located throughout the states. If you want to talk about any of these issues you can contact me.

[kane-and-griffin]

PSA

Hi kids!

This is a gentle public service announcement to let you all know that I’m no longer engaging in any more discourse about the kink meme. 

This has become a really polarizing topic, I think the fandom’s collective ability to discuss it in a constructive way has eroded quite a bit, and the “callout posts” about it have themselves begun to feed an alarming amount of sensitive or triggering content into public social media spaces, which, quite frankly, runs a far higher risk of landing in front of the eyeballs of someone who needs to avoid it than when it’s safely quarantined in spaces like LiveJournal and Ao3.

It is staying open for at least the next couple weeks, and I intend to keep writing Kabby fic for it and sharing that fic here, as well as on Ao3.  I’m a big proponent of people curating their own social media spaces, so if you need to unfollow, block, blacklist, etc. because that is a nope for you, that doesn’t bug me in the least and I don’t take it personally.  We all have to know where our boundaries are.

A few last words on this topic and then I’m done. 

(P.S. this post contains no potentially triggering references to any of the specific kinks or fics in question.  It’s safe for all.)

There are many fics on the kink meme and Ao3 that I can’t and won’t ever read.  There are many kinks that squick me out.  But if you’re asking me to condemn specific writers or specific fics because they upset you, just know I’m never going to do that.  Even if it’s a fic I would never read myself.  My position is always going to be that I’m a writer and I stand with writers.  Even when I disagree.  Even when what they wrote squicks me out. 

“But what about this kink? Surely you can’t defend that writer.” 

Yes I can. 

“Okay, but what about this???  This very upsetting thing involving your favorite character?” 

Yeah, even that one. 

Free speech is most important when it isn’t convenient.  It’s most important when you have to go to bat for the rights of people to say shit that makes you want to die inside.  It’s why the ACLU defends Westboro Baptist Church.  If I only held to my values when it related to people who agreed with me and did exactly what I approve of, then they’re not values, they’re personal tastes I’m trying to legislate on everyone else.

My best friend and I were discussing this on Twitter yesterday when this cropped up over there.  We have very, very different personal tastes.  As in, there are rarepairs I write for and kinks I enjoy reading that hit some places of really deep “please don’t discuss that fic while I’m in the room” discomfort for her.  And we’ve learned, over the past years, how to be sensitive and respectful to each other about those things.  I offered - without her asking - to write a censored version of one of my fics to remove a personal squick of hers so that she could read it and not feel left out of the fun the rest of the group chat was having.  She, in turn, never once judged or shamed me for writing the thing that made her uncomfortable in the first place . . . which is just as important. It’s crucial to our relationship that, just as I don’t judge her for her preferences, she doesn’t judge me for mine.  And I don’t judge other people for theirs, even when they’re MILES away from things I would ever consider erotic, or even feel comfortable reading.  Because another trigger which is very, very real - which for many of us is deeply lodged within our body and our sense of self - is the trauma of being publicly shamed, outed, maligned, or criminalized for your sexuality.

I am gay, and for eight years I was a youth minister at my church.  When I was in my mid-twenties, an anti-gay hate group found a video clip online of a documentary about LGBT Christians that I had been interviewed for, and they emailed it to the entire staff of the church where I worked, the school, and the office of the diocese.  Until you have been outed by force, against your will, to your pastor, your coworkers, your middle school health teacher, the school moms whose kids are in your youth group, and the fucking Archbishop, with a letter explaining that young people are in danger from your deviant sexuality; until you have been on the receiving end of a campaign of online harassment that went on for four years; until you have read a complete stranger write on her blog, not three months after your mother’s funeral, that she hopes your mom died without knowing she had a gay child, to spare her that humiliation; then you cannot possibly imagine the sense of sexual shame that I have carried for my entire adult life about the idea that the things I do in private behind closed doors, or even the things I think about in the privacy of my own mind, are fundamentally evil and wrong.  

This is why I do not make assumptions or judgments about other people’s sexuality.  There is a wide gulf between the things that turn you on in fiction and things that turn you on when done to live human beings (including not just your own sex life, but any other area such as the sex trade, trafficking, the porn industry, etc., where real human beings may potentially experience harm). 

If I can make a distinction between you enjoying a television show where people have murdered each other without assuming you are a murderer, I’m not going to come after anyone for what they masturbate to, no matter how squicky I find it, by assuming they would practice or endorse criminal sexual behavior in real life.  

If you were in a car accident, it might be really, really traumatic for you to watch movies or TV shows that show graphic depictions of car accidents.  That’s 100% legit.  It would be fair for you to expect a warning about that content so you know what you’re getting into and can skip that episode, close your eyes and look away during that part of the movie, or say “nope this isn’t for me, that’s not content I’m comfortable with.”  And nobody would judge you for that.  However, there are other people who have been in car accidents who might be fine with it.  It might not land in their body the same way.  They might find it cathartic to watch the thing that happened to them from a safe distance in a context which is fictional.  They might process the trauma they went through - which is the same as yours - in a way that looks totally different.  

None of this is universal.  There are no hard-and-fast rules about what sexual fantasies are and aren’t okay.  For example, I know at least two fics which I’ve seen alluded to as being content that should not exist because it triggers survivors of _____, which were written by survivors of that exact thing themselves.  You have every right to protect your own boundaries, but you cannot assume that everyone else’s boundaries are in the same place.  

This blog is and remains a primarily Kabby-only blog which I do care very much about keeping a safe space.  I have always, and will continue to, post occasional fic here with Raven or Bellamy OT3s, and am absolutely happy to help you out if there is a way I can be more helpful in tagging that content for you so you can blacklist it and keep your Tumblr safe if that’s something that makes you uncomfortable.  It is always, always okay to come to me with “hey can you tag this thing so I can filter it.” 

In terms of the kink meme, the fic I’m writing and sharing here is primarily Kabby.  I have written for some other pairings, which you can find on my AO3 in my collection of kink meme fills (Doctor Mechanic, etc.) but this is a Kabby blog designed for Kabby shippers, so the kink meme fics I’m writing are largely for them.  They are also all labeled very carefully when I share them to AO3 with the specific prompt I was filling, and a plethora of tags, in case the kink they’re about hits a button that is a nope for you. 

I am always, always open to helping you guys create safe internet spaces by opening up a conversation about ways I can tag fic more helpfully.  But just as I do not police who anyone sleeps with or what gender(s) they’re attracted to - because I remember on a visceral gut level the shame and trauma I felt when that was done to me - I do not police what anyone masturbates to, fantasizes about, is turned on by, writes about, or reads about.  

Before anyone gets the wrong idea that my inbox has been flooded with assholes, I should be clear that 99% of all the conversations I’ve had on this topic - whether people love the kink meme, hate it, can only handle parts of it, don’t read smut fic at all, or don’t care what anyone else does behind closed doors and just wants to go back to talking about whether Isaiah’s tweet this afternoon legit means Jaha got killed off??? - have been thoughtful and civil and great.  The Kabby fandom is awesome and the majority of the really ugly drama has been swirling around around at a distance from our happy little corner.  But I still get occasional anons about this which seem pretty clearly intended to draw me into conflict I have zero interest in, so I wanted to state, one last time, very clearly, that I’m not going to be engaging in any of those from this point forward, and explain as thoughtfully as I can the reasons why.

MOM LOVES Y’ALL A LOT, THANK YOU FOR BEING AWESOME