#black people are othered in society to put it bluntly . that is why white people get so upset when black people are cast as any role

[starrysharks]

i wonder if white people specifically white progressives realise that black people are only ever seen as their skin color first and foremost

[mitochondriaandbunnies]

While doing other things, I’m half-watching a 60′s cowboy show that I have deeply, deeply mixed feelings about-- under the cut for length and for my unstructured babbling about racism in 60′s TV.

As with many 60′s cowboy shows, it asks you to sympathize with a character who was once a confederate soldier and plantation owner... but also one of the main characters is the literal first ever Black lead in a western, and he’s really fantastic? And the whole premise is that they team up as bounty hunters, which is an exceptionally uncomfortable concept, but they also don’t exactly just hand-wave their partnership as easy or comfortable, either? It’s a very odd mixture of 60′s “racism can be solved easily through contact between races” naivete, total obliviousness to the rancidity of its concept, and very earnest attempts to punch above its weight emotionally and thematically.

Like. Frankly, the central “former slave and former confederate become partners” conceit damns the entire show from conception. It *wants* to be a treatise on how even the worst kind of racist can change (and therefore YOU, WHITE VIEWER AT HOME IN 1968, CAN *TOO*), but how well it succeeds at that kind of depends on whether one can believe the main white character in any way at all deserves an opportunity at redemption. (Is it better to believe anyone can change and attempt to atone, or are some things-- like owning a fucking person-- sins so abhorrent that the only absolution is death? Or, to put it differently-- is there a good reason to tell this story and not a story about someone who wasn’t a confederate?)

Both of the lead actors are excellent, and you do genuinely get the sense they felt they were doing something really positive. They have excellent chemistry (which... in and of itself is kind of. Hmm. Should they have excellent chemistry??) The writing is surprisingly thoughtful and consistently willing to bluntly address racism without perpetuating it (and doesn’t shy away from pointing out that the main white character is still racist because he lives in a racist society even though he likes the main Black character and has chosen to change and learn to be a decent person.) The episode I’m currently watching gets into how the “states’ rights” clause in the Emancipation Proclamation kneecapped any so-called countrywide emancipation, and has a long and serious conversation between two former slaves about how things have and haven’t changed for Black people in the United States. They connect over shared traditions, their mutual attraction is treated as beautiful and important, they’re given the bulk of the plot and important dialogue in the episode, and their romance is treated with gravitas. The lead actress in the episode has a whole speech about how it’s incredibly difficult to learn how to be a whole person when your life hasn’t ever belonged to you before. I can’t think of a lot of other shows from 1968 that did that...?

And yet! I can see why this has never been released on home media, and why it was cancelled after one season. It’s a fascinating piece of television history, but not really a show I can heartily recommend.

[martyrgargoyle]

MASTERPOST TO THE TYLER JOSEPH SITUATION FOR ANYONE CONFUSED!

On September 2nd, 2020, Tyler Joseph tweeted this:

Before this post Tyler has never spoken up about BLM. Many of his fans, especially POC have been asking him to please voice and show support since he has a large influence. Instead, he chose to downplay a movement based on the minority having the courage to face their oppressors that have brutalized and discriminated against them and demand change. Instead of holding this movement as serious and important as it is, he chose to make it a punchline to his insensitive and self centered joke and mocking the people that are risking their lives fighting for a difference.

Tyler Joseph has an estimated net worth of 20 million. That's 20,000,000. He also benefits from being white, cis (and het passing/straight), male, and physically abled. He won't risk being homeless due to being fired (other people signed to the same label has spoken out) or kicked out/evacuated if he spoke out. He won't risk brutalization by the police for speaking out. He would not risk being shot point blank for speaking out. All of these, and more, have happened to people that's fought for BLM. Protesters have been tracked down and arrested and killed. Yet a man with as much privilege as him refused to say anything this entire time.

He is in the position and has power to speak out and influence thousands with his platform and being an idol to a lot of younger teens that take his word as fact and will defend him. This is incredibly dangerous because it starts and gives a pass for racist mindset to younger people, meaning they could think BLM is a joke or not serious or lead to even worse racist thoughts due to them wanting to be like their idol.

Then Tyler proceeded to post this rant on mental health about 40 minutes after being criticized by many fans:

Okay so I have a lot of thoughts on this and dissecting his s*icide baity and victimizing rant.

1. While using humor can be a valid coping mechanism, it has a time and place as well as a subject matter. For me I can say a dark joke on my past abuse. But for someone else, it is not their right to make my trauma their entertainment. Especially if that person is someone that didn't/doesn't face the same trauma and is in a position to benefit from it.

2. Why is supporting BLM such a burden on him? He doesn't face the discriminated they do yet act as if they're a burden if he cannot make their suffering an entertainment. He acts as if saying Black people shouldn't be killed due to their race harms him and he's suffering due to it. Instead of even remaining silent (which is violent and dangerous as well), he went out of his way specifically to mock the movement.

3. He's weaponizing mental health as an excuse for his tone death joke. He's trying to make himself seem the victim for facing backlash and when he first posted these, it was spaced out and had a s*icide baity feel. He shouldn't put POC down to uplift mental health, both are such important issues but instead....

3. He says reminding us what he's 'fighting' for, which apparently is just mental health. But what about POC's mental health, in this case? What about a Black person being depressed and drained and scared because they see their family and friends being killed only due to their race? And on top of that, having to worry if it happens to them as well while constantly grieving? Is that not important or 'worthy' of his support? Or is he admitting he only 'fights' for something that'll cater to and provide for him as well? And that if he can't benefit, he won't care or deem it something worthy to fight for and that he doesn't care? He can't use his mental illness/your shtick as a reason why you will excuse and ignore (and cater to) racism.

But most controversial and insensitive of all he tweeted this with it:

Here he is upfront and clearly defending his joke, despite being told and aware of how insensitive it was. He is admitting he doesn't care about POC feelings or how it impacts them and the way his original tweet has hurt his fanbase. He is defending his mocking of the BLM movement and the people actually fighting while being less privileged than him. He is saying his feelings and his joke means more than POC dying for no reason other than their skin color. He is defending his insensitive tweet knowing it has hurt POC.

He is bluntly being racist and aware of it.

And finally, he tweeted the damage control:

And this is just as repulsive and wrong as his mental health excuse.

1. It was about human rights. There's no way to excuse or lie or downplay it. He literally made a joke about his POC fans begging him to show support and use him platform given his privilege and influence. He can't lie his way through this to excuse himself or try to make people that were understandably upset look like over reacting fools.

2. No room for that? People never said he has to only talk on BLM. If he's waiting for it to stop mattering or trending, it's disgusting. Black lives will ALWAYS matter, it doesn't change based on the hashtag trending or it gaining more attention. He acts as he can't care about two different things or that Black lives doesn't matter as much as a subject that affects you. No one said he can't talk and continue to bring awareness to mental health and for many POC it's more important than ever to have resources and support since they live in a world with a society literally designed to kill and target them. Instead of tweeting one thread or link to donations or awareness to the discrimination Black people face daily; Tyler made a joke, defended it despite it hurting POC, then threw a tantrum for an excuse on why he could never be assed to even pretend to care that much.

3. If it hurted someone? POC were literally telling him from the start it was harmful and damaging. He DID hurt POC but he didn't listen or care until he realized how damaging it is for his career? He isn't sorry he hurt POC, he's sorry he has hurt his career and reputation in exposing his immaturity regarding serious issues. He's ignoring and shifting blame and finally doing even below bare minimum. From the very first tweet to him defending it, he has alerted and told on himself for placing his feelings above Black lives. He deemed a joke on the expense of BLM meaning more than actual Black people's feelings.

Debby Ryan and Josh Dun has both liked his original tweet:

---

As well as these tweets he has had a questionable history. Involving:

Racist tweets from 2015 he never apologized for.

Anti-black lyrics such as in Lane Boy:

'I wasn't raised in the hood

But I know a thing or two about pain and darkness'

And while that can be and is a reference to how mental illness impacts even privileged, it just doesn't sit right with me personally.

He also uses hip hop and rap (a genre specifically tied in and dominated by Black artists and labeled as not real music/easy musix), per example of Heavydirtysoul (just entire second half is continuously putting rap artists down) and Holding Onto You, quoting the song 'Lean Wit It, Rock Wit It' by Dem Franchize Boyz to be below him. (Bridge 2, line one)

Tyler has also refused to publicly disagree with his brother's racist, transphobic, homophobic, right-winged views.

Has not spoken about police brutality before, such as ignoring it until a police officer got killed back in 2016.

---

Please feel free to reblog and add on/talk about your thoughts! :)

[justmenoworries]

Not Up For Interpretation - An Essay On Nonbinary - Erasure

(Trigger Warning: Misgendering, Transphobia, Nonbinary-phobia)

If you’ve been following me for a while, you probably know this was a long time coming. I’ve made several posts about my frustrations concerning this topic and how much it hurt me just how socially accepted erasing an entire identity still is. While representation marches on and things have become better for nonbinary people as a whole, we still battle with a lot of prejudice - both intentional and unintentional.

In this essay, I want to discuss just how our identities are being erased almost daily, why that is harmful and hurtful and what we all can do to change that.

Chapters:

What does Non-binary mean?

Nonbinary- representation in media

So what’s the problem?

How do we fix it?

1. What Does Non-binary Mean?

Non-binary is actually an umbrella term. It includes pretty much every gender-identity that’s neither one or the other so to speak, for example, agender.

Agender means feeling detachment from the gender spectrum in general. If you’re agender, you most likely feel a distance to the concept of gender as a whole, that it doesn’t define you as a person.

There are many identities that classify under non-binary: There’s gender-fluid (you feel you have a gender, but it’s not one gender specifically and can change), demi-gender (identifying as a gender partially, but not completely) and many others.

Sometimes, multiple non-binary identities can mix and match.

Most non-binary people use they/them pronouns, but like with so many things, it varies.

Some nonbinary-people (like me) go by two pairs of pronouns. I go by both she/her and they/them, because it’s what feels most comfortable at the moment. But who knows, maybe in the future I’ll switch to they/them exclusively or expand to he/him.

There is no one defining non-binary experience. Nb-people are just as varied and different as binary people, who go by one specific gender.

There are non-binary people who choose to go solely by she/her or he/him and that’s okay too. It doesn’t make them any more or less non-binary and their identity is still valid.

If your head’s buzzing a bit by now: That’s okay. It’s a complicated topic and no one expects you to understand all of it in one chapter of one essay.

Just know this: If a person identifies as non-binary, you should respect their decision and use the pronouns they go with.

It’s extremely hurtful to refer to someone who already told you that they use they/them pronouns with she/her or he/him, or use they/them to refer to a person who uses she/her.

Think about it like using a trans-person’s deadname: It’s rude, it’s harmful and it shows complete disrespect for the person.

Non-binary people have existed for a very long time. The concept isn’t new. The idea that there are only two genders, with every other identity being an aberration to the norm, is largely a western idea, spread through colonialism.

The Native American people use “Two-Spirit” to describe someone who identifies neither as a man nor a woman. The term itself is relatively new, but the concept of a third gender is deeply rooted in many Native American cultures.

(Author’s Note: If you are not Native American, please do not use it. That’s cultural appropriation.)

In India, the existence of a third gender has always been acknowledged and there are many terms specifically for people who don’t identify with the gender that was assigned to them at birth.

If you’re interested in learning more about non-binary history and non-binary identities around the world, I’d recommend visiting these websites:

https://nonbinary.wiki/wiki/History_of_nonbinary_gender

https://nonbinary.wiki/wiki/Gender-variant_identities_worldwide

https://thetempest.co/2020/02/01/history/the-history-of-nonbinary-genders-is-longer-than-you-think/

https://www.teenvogue.com/story/gender-variance-around-the-world

Also, maybe consider giving this book a try:

Nonbinary Gender Identities: History, Culture, Resources by Charlie Mcnabb

2. Non-binary Representation In Media

The representation of non-binary people in mainstream media hasn’t been... great, to put it mildly.

Representation, as we all know, is important.

Not only does it give minorities a chance to see themselves in media and feel heard and acknowledged. It also normalizes them.

For example, seeing a black Disney-princess was a huge deal for many black little girls, because they could finally say there was someone there who looked like them. They could see that being white wasn’t a necessity to be a Disney princess.

Seeing a canonically LGBT+ character in a children’s show teaches kids that love is love, no matter what gender you’re attracted to. At the same time, older LGBT+ viewers will see themselves validated and heard in a movie that features on-screen LGBT+ heroes.

There’s been some huge steps in the right direction in the last few years representation-wise.

Not only do we have more LGBT+ protagonists and characters in general, we’ve also begun to question and call out harmful or bigoted portrayals of the community in media, such as “Bury Your Gays” or the “Depraved Homosexual”.

With that being said: Let’s take a look at how Non-binary representation holds up in comparison, shall we?

This is Double Trouble, from the children’s show “She-Ra And The Princesses Of Power”.

They identify as non-binary and use they/them pronouns. They’re also  a slimy, duplicitous lizard-person who can change their shape at will.

Um, yeah.

Thanks, but no thanks.

Did I mention they’re also the only non-binary character in the entire show? And that they’re working with a genocidal dictator in most of the episodes they’re in?

Yikes.

Let’s look at another example.

These three (in order of appearance) are Stevonnie, Smoky Quartz and Shep. Three characters appearing in the kid’s show “Steven Universe” and it’s epilogue series “Steven Universe: Future”.

All of them identify as non-binary and use they/them as pronouns.

Stevonnie and Smoky Quartz are the result of a boy and a girl being fused together through weird alien magic.

Shep is a regular human, but they only appeared in one episode. In an epilogue series that only hardcore fans actually watched.

Well, I mean...

One out of three isn’t that bad, right?

Maybe we should pick an example from a series for older viewers.

Say hello to Doppelganger, a non-binary superhuman who goes by they/them, from the Amazon-series “The Boys”.

They’re working for a corrupt superhero-agency and use their power of shape-shifting to trick people who pose a threat to said agency into having sex with them. And then blackmail those people with footage of said sex.

....

Do I even need to say it?

If you’ve paid attention during the listing of these examples, you might have noticed a theme.

Namely that characters canonically identifying as non-binary are either

supernatural in some way, shape or form,

barely have a presence in the piece of media they’re in,

both.

Blink-and-you-miss-it-manner of representation aside, the majority of these characters fall squarely under what we call “Othering”.

“Othering” describes the practice of portraying minorities as supernatural creatures or otherwise inhuman. Or to say it bluntly: As “The Other”.

“Othering” is a pretty heinous method. Not only does it portray minorities as inherently abnormal and “different in a bad way”. It also goes directly against what representation is actually for: Normalizing.

As a general rule of thumb: If your piece of media has humans in it, but the only representation of non-white, non-straight people are explicitly inhuman... yeah, that’s bad.

So is there absolutely no positive representation for us out there?

Not quite.

As rare as human non-binary characters in media are to find, they do exist.

Here we have Bloodhound! A non-binary human hunter who uses they/them pronouns, from the game “Apex Legends”.

It’s been confirmed by the devs and the voice actress that they’re non-binary.

Nice!

These are Frisk (bottom) and Chara (top) from the game “Undertale”. While their exact gender identity hasn’t been disclosed, they both canonically use they/them pronouns, so it’s somewhere on the non-binary spectrum.

Two human children who act as the protagonist (Frisk) and antagonist (Chara), depending on how you play the game. (Interpretations vary on the antagonist/protagonist-thing, to say the least.)

Cool!

......

And, yep, that’s it.

As my little demonstration here showed, non-binary representation in media is rare. Good non-binary representation is even rarer.

Which is why those small examples of genuinely good representation are so important to the Non-binary community!

It’s hard enough to have to prove you exist. It’s even harder to prove your existence is not abnormal or unnatural.

If you’d like to further educate yourself on representation, it’s impact on society and why it matters, perhaps take a second to read through these articles:

https://www.criticalhit.net/opinion/representation-media-matters/

https://www.pbs.org/newshour/arts/why-on-screen-representation-matters-according-to-these-teens

https://jperkel.github.io/sciwridiversity2020/

https://www.forbes.com/sites/quora/2019/05/22/why-is-equal-representation-in-media-important/?sh=25f2ccc92a84

https://www.theodysseyonline.com/why-representation-the-media-matters

3. So What’s The Problem?

The problem, as is the case with so many things in the world, is prejudice.

Actually, that’s not true.

There’s not a problem, there are multiple problems. And their names are prejudice, ignorance and bigotry.

Remember how I said human non-binary representation is rare?

Yeah, very often media-fans don’t help.

Let’s take for example, the aforementioned Frisk and Chara from “Undertale”.

Despite the game explicitly using they/them to refer to both characters multiple times, the majority of players somehow got it into their heads that Frisk’s and Chara’s gender was “up for interpretation”.

There is a huge amount of fan art straight-up misgendering both characters and portraying them as binary and using only he/him or she/her pronouns.

The most egregious examples are two massively popular fan-animated web shows: “Glitchtale”, by Camila Cuevas and “Underverse” by Jael Peñaloza.

Both series are very beloved by the Undertale-fanbase and even outside of it. Meaning for many people, those two shows might be their first introduction to “Undertale” and it’s two non-binary human characters.

Take a wild guess what both Camila and Jael did with Frisk and Chara.

Underverse, X-Tale IV:

(Transcript: “Frisk lied to me in the worst possible way... I... I will never forgive him.”)

Underverse, X-Tale V:

(Transcript: “I-It’s Chara... and it’s a BOY.”)

Glitchtale, My Promise:

(Transcript: (Referring to Frisk) “I’m not scared of an angry boy anymore.”)

Glitchtale, Game Over Part 1:

(Transcript: (Referring to Chara) “It’s ok little boy.”)

This... this isn’t okay.

Not only do both of these pieces of fan-art misgender two non-binary characters, the creators knew beforehand that Frisk and Chara use they/them-pronouns, but made the conscious choice to ignore that.

To be fair, in a video discussing “Underverse”, Jael said that only X-Tale Frisk and Chara, the characters you see in the Underverse-examples above, are male, while the characters Frisk and Chara from the main game remained non-binary and used they/them (time-stamp 10:34).

Still, that doesn’t erase the fact that Jael made up alternate versions of two non-binary characters specifically to turn them male. Or that, while addressing the issue, Jael was incredibly dismissive and even mocked the people who felt hurt by her turning two non-binary characters male. Jael also went on to make a fairly non-binary-phobic joke in the video, in which she equated gender identities beyond male and female to identifying as an object.

Jael (translated): “I don’t care if people say the original Frisk and Chara are male, female, helicopters, chairs, dogs or cats, buildings, clouds...”

That’s actually a very common joke among transphobes, if not to say the transphobe-joke:

“Oh, you identify as X? Well then I identify as an attack helicopter!”

If you’re trans, chances are you’ve heard this one, or a variation of it, a million times before.

I certainly have.

I didn’t laugh then and I’m not laughing now.

(Author’s note: I might be angry at both of them for what they did, but I do not, under any circumstances, support the harassment of creators. If you’re thinking about sending either Jael or Camila hate-mail - don’t. It won’t help.)

Jael’s reaction is sadly common in the Undertale fandom. Anyone speaking up against Chara’s and Frisk’s identity being erased is immediately bludgeoned with the “up for interpretation”-argument, despite that not once being the case in the game.

And even with people who do it right and portray Frisk and Chara as they/them, you’ll have dozens of commenters swarming the work with sentences among the lines of “Oh but I think Frisk is a boy/girl! And Chara is a girl/boy!”

By the way, this kind of thing only happens to Frisk and Chara.

Every other character in “Undertale” is referred to and portrayed with their proper pronouns of she/her or he/him.

But not the characters who go by they/them.

Their gender is “up for interpretation”.

Because obviously, their identity couldn’t possibly be canonically non-binary.

Sadly, Frisk and Chara are not alone in this.

Remember Bloodhound?

And how I said they’d been confirmed as non-binary and using they/them pronouns by both the creators and the voice actress?

It seems for many players, that too translated to “up for interpretation”.

(Transcript: “does it matter what they call him? He, her, it, they toaster oven, it doesn’t matter”)

(Transcript: “I’m like 90 % sure Bloodhound is a dude because he could just sound like a girl and by their age that I’m assuming looks around 10-12 because I’ve known many males who have sounded like a female when they were younger”)

(Transcript: “I don’t care it will always be a He. F*ck that non-binary bullsh*t.”)

(Transcript: “Bloodhound is clearly female.”)

(Transcript: “I’m not calling a video game character they/them”)

(Transcript: “exactly. The face was never fully shown neither was the gender so I’d say it means that the player is Bloodhound. So it’s your gender and you refer to “him” as yourself. It’s like a self insertion in my eyes.”)

So, let me get this straight:

If a character, even a player character, uses she/her or he/him, you can accept it, no questions asked.

But when a character uses they/them, suddenly their identity and gender are “up for interpretation”?

This attitude is also widely prevalent in real life.

Many languages only include pronouns for men and women, with no third option available. Non-binary people are often forced to make up their own terms, because their language doesn’t provide one.

Non-binary people often don’t fit within other people’s ideas of gender, so they get excluded altogether. Worse, non-binary people are often the victims of misgendering, denial of their identity or even straight-up violence when coming out.

People will often tell us that we look like a certain gender, so we should only use one set of gendered pronouns. Never mind that that’s not what we want. Never mind that that’s not who we are.

Non-binary people are also largely omitted from legal documentation and studies. We cannot identify as non-binary at our workplace, because using they/them pronouns is considered “unprofessional”. We don’t have our own bathrooms like men and women do. Our gender is seen as less valid than male and female, so even that basic thing is denied to us. I’ve had to use the women’s restroom my entire life, because if I go into a male restroom, I’ll be yelled at or made fun off or simply get told I took the wrong door. It’s extremely uncomfortable for me and I wish I didn’t have to do it.

And since non-binary people aren’t seen as “real transgender-people”, we often don’t receive the medical care we need. This often renders us unable to feel good within our bodies, because the treatment and help we get is wildly inadequate.

It’s especially horrible for intersex people (people who are born with sex characteristics that don’t fit solely into the male/female category) who are often forced to change their bodies to fit within the male/female gender binary.

And you better believe each of those problems is increased ten-fold for non-binary people of color.

We are ignored and dismissed as “confused”, because of who we are.

Representation is a way for Non-binary people to show the world they exist, that they’re here and that they too have stories to tell.

But how can we, when every character that represents us is either othered, barely there or gets taken away from us?

We are not “up for interpretation”.

Neither are the characters in media who share our identity.

And it’s time to stop pretending we ever were.

For more information about Non-Binary Erasure and how harmful it is, you can check out these articles:

https://everydayfeminism.com/2015/08/common-non-binary-erasure/

https://www.dailydot.com/irl/nonbinary-people-racism/

https://nonbinary.wiki/wiki/Nonbinary_erasure

https://traj.openlibhums.org/articles/10.16995/traj.422/

https://medium.com/an-injustice/everyday-acts-of-non-binary-erasure-49ee970654fb

https://medium.com/national-center-for-institutional-diversity/the-invisible-labor-of-liberating-non-binary-identities-in-higher-education-3f75315870ec

https://musingsofanacademicasexual.wordpress.com/2015/05/11/dear-sirmadam-a-commentary-on-non-binary-erasure/

4. How Do We Fix It?

Well, first things first: Stop acting like we don’t exist.

And kindly stop other people from doing it too.

We are a part of the LGBT+ community and we deserve to be acknowledged, no matter what our pronouns are.

Address non-binary people with the right pronouns. Don’t argue with them about their identity, don’t comment on how much you think they look like a boy or a girl. Just accept them and be respectful.

If a non-binary person tells you they have two sets of pronouns, for example he/him and they/them, don’t just use one set of pronouns. That can come off as disingenuous. Alternate between the pronouns, don’t leave one or the other out. It’ll probably be hard at first, but if you keep it up, you’ll get used to it pretty quickly.

If you’re witnessing someone harass a non-binary person over their identity, step in and help them.

And please, don’t partake in non-binary erasure in media fandoms.

Don’t misgender non-binary characters, don’t “speculate” on what you think their gender might be. You already know their gender and it’s non-binary. It costs exactly 0 $ to be a decent human being and accept that.

Support Non-Binary people by educating yourself about them and helping to normalize and integrate their identity.

In fact, here’s a list of petitions, organizations and articles who will help you do just that:

https://www.change.org/p/collegeboard-let-students-use-their-preferred-name-on-collegeboard-9abad81a-0fdf-435c-8fca-fe24a5df6cc7?source_location=topic_page

6 Ways to Support Your Non-Binary Child

7 Non-Negotiables for Supporting Trans & Non-Binary Students in Your Classroom

If Your Partner Just Came Out As Non-Binary, Here’s How To Support Them

How to Support Your Non-Binary Employees, Colleagues and Friends

Ko-fi page for the Nonbinary Wiki

The Sylvia Rivera Project, an organization who aims to give low-income and non-white transgender, intersex and non-binary people a voice

The Anti Violence Project “empowers lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, queer, and HIV-affected communities and allies to end all forms of violence through organizing and education, and supports survivors through counseling and advocacy."

The Trans Lifeline, a hotline for transgender people by transgender people

Tl:DR: Non-Binary representation is important. Non-Binary people still suffer from society at large not acknowledging our existence and forcing us to conform. Don’t be part of that problem by taking away what little representation we have. Educate yourself and do better instead. We deserve to be seen and heard.

[alice-angel12x]

☁ Drider!Shouto x reader

Dystopian AU/ Monster AU

[Sorry if shouto is a bit ooc]

The world fell into ruin when the all powerful All For One took over all of japan. He took control of everything, and who ever dared defy him would face a horrible fate. Once he had control he shapped society the way he found entertaining. It's not like they could stop him. He had a large following that helped spread his rule and terror. Those who had a transmitter, or transformation quirk were safe. They were treated like people or held in higher regards. Those who had mutation quirk were called monsters and were locked away.

So All For One seperated people. Those who were safe where human. Brainwashing them into believing they were better then those monsters. Those who were Mutated were teated like wild and unpredictable animals, The monsters. They were mocked, humiliated, tortured, and locked away from the pretty cities, and only human Capitals. Some were unfortinate to be born with a mutation quirk, but some were forced to have this fate by All For One. By curing people with said quirks, some were criminals, rebels, or innocents to show his power. Those who are 'lucky' just get their quirk taken and turned into a slave.

What about those who were quirkless you ask. Well... They are slaves.

____

Just outside of the grand Capital, there was a large Dome loomed over the forest. It covered 50 miles worth of land. Inside was a forest, a river, rock hills, cliffs, and caves. Inside were the monsters. This is were they are locked away, and put into their natural habitat. Left to starve, except the occasional 'mouse' that was let inside for them to feed on. With no other food they are left with no choice. As the mouse tries to run and hide the monsters hunt it down and devour them. This hunt is recorded and broadcast all over the cities. As a sick entertainment for the rich, Powerful, and citizens. But for the quirkless slave or the mice it is a form of warning to stay in line and to know our place.

___

"Oh looks like our little mouse could not out run that pack werewolf," the commentator said with so much enthusiasm in his voice.

"Yeah John looks like he's dog food now," John's partner joked.

The slaves all watched in horror, as they watched their friend get eaten alive. The quirkiness were all in their cages and forced to catch the monitor, as a constant reminder that soon that will be their fate. To become a meal, a mouse for sent to die for entertainment.

"They ate Ochaco," a close friend of hers sobbed.

I didn't know her personaly, but she was a really nice girl. She didn't deserve to go out the way she did. I sat in my cage, trembling as I watched the carnage. Denki, Momo, Jirou, Sero, and know Ochaco.

They were all the unfortunate mice picked. I survived another month. Sadly my luck ran out the next month.

"Haha this little rat will do," said a gaurd as he opened my and quickly grabbed me.

I tried to struggle and break free from him, but something hard hit the back of my head. I blacked out.

........

"Welcome back everybody, it's that time again. Our favorite little game of survival. Today our lovely little mouse this month is Y/n L/n. A bit on the petite side, could probably squeeze tight spaces. She's a pretty face, it's sad it's wasted on a mouse. Well place your bets now folks. Who will she find herself being eaten by," John the host said with a laugh.

I opened my eyes to see that I was in a forest. It seemed go on forever, but quickly relieazed where I was. I was inside the dome.

"Jeff sound the dinner bell!" John said as the sound of the air horn filled the dome.

I ran, I didn't know where I just ran into the forest. There was no point in banging on the door. No one was going to answer. So I ran through the forest till I saw a clearing. The same clearing were Ochaco was eaten. I came to a halt right at the edge of the forest. I hesitated as flashed of Ochaco's mangled corpse appeared in my head.

Suddenly I heard growling behind me. I turned to see the pack of werewolves. The leader was a ashy blond with spiky hair and blood red eyes. I slowly started to back away, as he took a step foward.

"Sorry, nothing personal. Were just starving and everyone needs to eat," a red headed werewolf said with a sorrowful look on his face.

"Kirishima shut up! Lets just make this quick before some other monster gets her," said the leader.

"Bakugou, could you be a little more sensitive," Kirishima said bitterly.

"Yeah, well your sensitivity almost cost us last time," Bakugou shot back.

While They were arguing, I quickly made a run for it. Dying by werewolves is probably the worst way to go. I could hear them give chase once they relieazed I ran. Just beyond the open field was tall grass. I managed to loose the wolves, as I came across willow tree by a lake. I stoped their to take a break, when I heard hissing.

Looking up into the tree was a Naga. He had green hair and eyes to match his green tail. He was skinny and so malnourished he didn't have the strength to move anymore. I quickly left that spot and kept moving, till I came across some caves.

It was almost night and it started to get dark. So I went inside the cave, to learn to late that what is a hole in the ground three steps in. I fell into the darkness and blacked out.

_____

Dark and lonely. Thats what I would describe my life to be. A lonley spider in cave.

While the other people in the some wait for their next meal I'm working on making my way out of this hell hole. As I continued to dig my tunnel when I felt my webs vibrate, something fell into my webs.

I slowly made my way over to the cave entrance, surprised too see a unconscious girl tangled in my webs. She had soft silky h/c hair, and smooth s/c skin. I slowly started to inspect her entirely. As I did I found a mouse brand burned onto her skin.

Like me, a monster brand was burned on my side. I untangled her and placed her down softly on the ground. She felt So warm in my arms, I almost didn't want to let go. So I took her deep within the caves, too hide her from the monsters. But also to keep her here, with me.

___

I slowly started to wake up, as I sat up I found my self in a cave. Looking down I was laying on some sort of silk thread, or web. Actually the whole room was covered in webs. I slowly started to stand and started to rip the remaining webs on me.

Suddenly I heard something crawling. Then I saw it a Drider, though I never saw one before. He had half red and half white hair, with a big hurn on the left side of his face, all over his body he bore scars, and on the right side of his chest was the monster brand burned on his skin.

   "Umm, hello," I said as I slowly sat back down. He did block my only exit.

"Hello.... I'm suprised your not screaming, or trying to escape," he said bluntly with a neutral face.

"Well your blocking my only exit, and even if I scream no one is gonna hear me so, yeah... I'm y/n by the way," I said as I held out my hand.

"Umm, I'm shouto the Drider," he said simply slowly shaking my hand.

"So.. Umm, why did you spare me. I thought you would be hungry like the other people up there?" I said looking up at the ceiling.

"Well I have a slow matabalizem, so it takes a while for me to get hungry. I.. I was just lonely," he said with with a light blush.

"Oh... O-okay, I'd be happy to

acompany you, shouto," I said with a smile.

Shouto seemed stuned at first as he seemed to just stare at me for a bit. Suddenly it seemed his eyes began to water, then he pulled me into a tight hug. As he did he stood up to his full hight, which lifted me a few feet of the ground. I slowly and hestitanly returned his hug. His spider half looked like it was an albino verson of a black widow.

As I was studying I could hear him smelling me... It was weird but I didn't say anything. Suddenly I heard a buzzing noise.

____

I could hear them. The humans flying spies, they were looking for Y/n. Gently placing y/n down on the nest, I went to investigate.

I saw it the flying cameras. I quietly sneaking up behind it and quickly smashing it with a rock. They weren't going to take my friend away from me.

-----

As the weeks went by Y/n and Shouto got closer and closer. Y/n would help with Shouto's tunnel, and sometime shouto would go out to the surface to bring berries for y/n. She would clean up any wounds Shouto would gain.

As the weeks went on y/n became more, and more weak. The berried weren't enough to sustain her. She could even afford to move or spend any energy, or she will starve even more. So in desperation, Shouto worked on the tunnel even more. Till he finally did it, he finally tunneled his way outside the dome.

Quickly and quietly he scools y/n into his arms and escapes from this hell. Shouto travled for days, getting as far away from the city, and the dome as possible. When they finally settled down, high up in a tall tree, Shouto went out and hunted down a strong stag.

Cooking it and feeding it to y/n. As time went on y/n did regain her strength.

_____

I slowly crawled down the tree with y/n in my arms. I was so nerves, always worrying if somethi g would come and take y/n away.

We finally made it to the ground , and I let y/n down. She stood still for awhile then she started to.. Roll around on the ground with a wide a smile.

"Were free Shouto. It feels so good," she exclaimed as she jumped up and hugged me.

"Y/n... Thank you for staying with me. Even when you were close to dying. I never want to lose you, and I treasure you, Y/n," I said as is quickly pulled her into a passonite kiss.

And I was happy went she slowly melted into my kiss. This is my paradise. She is my Utopia.

[jingabitch]

I Love Recycling

SUMMARY: wherein water is a scarce and precious resource and you are given to Jennie as her recycler.

RATING: Explicit

PAIRINGS: Jennie x reader; side Rosé x reader

WARNINGS: smut | watersports | future au | dystopian au | idol au | kai-bashing (sorry) | inherent power imbalance | some D/s dynamics

WORD COUNT: 21.6k

A/N: !!! i was honestly scared to post this and I’m still kind of nervous so I hope you guys will be kind 🥺🥺 if i get hate on this i’ll probably delete my blog altogether lmao. this is for the handful of followers who wanted blackpink watersports.

Year 2086

Most mornings, Jennie didn’t really enjoy waking up, and would sleep past noon if she didn’t have any morning appointments. Even when she did, she often snoozed her alarm until she couldn’t anymore before getting ready.

Today, however, Jennie woke up before eight in the morning, excitement making it difficult for her to go back to sleep. Instead, she came out of her bedroom to the common area of the dorm, much to the surprise of her group members.

“Unnie, what are you doing up so early?” Lisa, who was sitting on the floor in front of the coffee table having some fruit for breakfast, asked.

Chaeyoung, sitting next to Lisa and nursing a cup of tea, laughed at the question. “She’s obviously excited about today,” she teased, smirking mischievously up at Jennie.

The older girl rolled her eyes and headed to the kitchen to get some coffee. “What’s wrong with being excited?” she asked when she came back to the living room, sitting across from her two bandmates. She meant to sound tough and sassy, but there was a bit of vulnerability that she couldn’t quite hide.

Hearing it, Chaeyoung immediately backtracked. “Unnie, there’s nothing wrong with being excited! We’re sorry we laughed. I think it’s really great that you’re getting a recycler.”

Jennie blew the steam off the top of her coffee mug to avoid making eye contact with her dongsaengs. “Really?” she asked.

“Yeah, I mean, this has been your dream since even before we debuted, right? We’re happy for you, really.”

That cheered Jennie up a bit, and she smiled at them. “Okay,” she accepted, grateful to have such supportive friends. Getting a recycler had been a big decision, especially since she didn’t live alone. She’d initially been nervous to broach the topic with them, terrified that they would say no to such a big commitment and having another person living in the dorm with them, but they’d been cheering her on the whole time.

It was common for idols, as well as other members of society’s rich and elite, to have recyclers. After all, water was a precious resource, and rationed to each individual or family unit based on net worth, contributions to society, and so forth. The distribution system was regulated by an algorithm so complex most people couldn’t understand it, and there were, unfortunately, people at the fringes of society who didn’t get enough water to survive.

The solution, therefore, was relatively simple and straightforward. People who weren’t assigned enough water to survive could sign up to be recyclers and be assigned to members of society who were given an excess of water, and the name was somewhat self-explanatory. Basically, recyclers… recycled the water the elites drank.

Put more bluntly, they drank pee.

It was highly regulated, of course – applicants who wanted recyclers of their own had to go through health checkups and maintain a healthy and responsible lifestyle before they were assigned a recycler. There were background checks, home visits and it was overall a very stringent selection process. Even as the only daughter of a wealthy family, Jennie hadn’t been able to qualify. It wasn’t until she was an established idol with a group and a thriving solo career that she finally got the letter informing her that she was now eligible to undergo the selection process to have a recycler if she wanted it.

And, well… she definitely did. Recyclers, because of the nature of their relationship with their assigned donators, grew very close to them, a bond that often lasted a lifetime. It was exceedingly rare for recyclers to apply for a new donator – approximately 0.1% of recyclers did, usually because their handler abused them or had contracted a disease that made it unsafe for them to continue donating their urine. Jennie did not intend on being part of that 0.1%.

As an only child, Jennie had often been lonely growing up, and after watching a documentary when she was in her teens about the intimate bond between donators and recyclers, had craved that kind of companionship. Today, a long-held dream was finally coming true, and she was going to be bringing her assigned recycler home today.

She still had a little bit of time before she was supposed to get ready, so she opened her laptop and pulled up the file she’d been sent on her recycler. The file was comprehensive – full name, picture, age, educational background and other details. Enough for Jennie to start constructing an idea of what the girl she’d been assigned would look like, but not enough for her to understand L/n Y/n, the person. Still, she supposed, there would be plenty of time for that in the coming years.

Really, the agency had done a remarkable job of finding her the perfect companion. She’d had only a few vague ideas about what she wanted – a girl, preferably, because she was just more comfortable with having a girl around 24/7, someone younger than her so she could dote on her and fulfil her older sister fantasies, and cute. The last requirement was something that she’d reluctantly added at the request of her management company. Having recyclers was a symbol of stature, and played into idols’ image of being successful and wealthy. Jennie didn’t necessarily like it, but they wouldn’t have okayed her having a recycler who wasn’t photogenic, so she’d had no choice.

As much as she knew about her recycler, Y/n didn’t know much about her at all, because she’d requested that her identity be kept strictly private. With the amount of public interest in idols’ lives, she knew her seeking a recycler would be leaked if she didn’t take the utmost care to keep it secret, and even though it was inevitable that everyone would eventually find out, she wanted to keep it to herself just for a little while. A few weeks to get to know her recycler without public scrutiny, was that too much to ask for?

Anyways, given that her recycler didn’t know anything about her or who she was, she wanted to make a good impression. She’d been thinking of what to wear for days now and hadn’t been able to decide, but now time was running out and she had to choose something fast.

“Aaaargh,” she cried, ruffling her hair in frustration as she stared at her closet. Half of her closet was Chanel and the other half was filled with assorted haute couture pieces, yet she couldn’t come up with something that she was confident meeting you in.

Hearing her scream, Jisoo slipped into her room sleepily. “What’s going on?” she asked, yawning. Jennie had woken her up, and she sat down on the bed, sighing. She wished she was still in her own bed.

“Unnie, I can’t figure out what to wear,” Jennie complained, turning to her bandmate.

Jisoo blinked at her. “Why are you having such a hard time? It’s not a big deal.”

“But I want her to like me,” Jennie whined, sticking her head back into her closet.

“She’s going to like you no matter what, Jennie-yah,” Jisoo said, her eyes drooping.

“You don’t know that! How could you possibly know that?” Jennie cried, sliding the hangers one by one along the bar in her closet to look at all her clothes.

Jisoo sighed. “Just don’t wear pants. It makes it harder to… you know.”

Jennie, who had been looking at a pair of wide-legged trousers, turned back to look at Jisoo with wide eyes. “Oh my God, that’s true,” she said, sliding it over to the right and beginning to browse through her skirts and dresses instead.

In the end, she went with a simple ensemble – a white, off-shoulder, cropped blouse with a large bow on the bottom and a short black pleated skirt. Because she was a Chanel girl at heart, she paired it with a small black Classic Flap and heeled booties.

By the time she was ready to leave, she was running late (despite her early start today!) and dashed out of the dorm, yelling a hasty goodbye to her roommates. As she walked towards her car in the underground parking lot of the dorm, she sent out a quick prayer of thanks that YG had finally lifted the ban on the members driving. This whole thing would have been all the more awkward if she’d had to have someone drive her there.

------------------------------

As she pulled into the parking lot of the Bureau of Water Distribution, Jennie pushed her sunglasses to the top of her head. The security to get in was fairly rigid, since there were so many high net worth and prominent individuals who came to pick up their recyclers here. On the bright side, that meant no paparazzi, and everyone around her today would either be trained to ignore the fact that she was an idol, or famous enough that her presence wouldn’t faze them.

After parking her BMW, Jennie got out of the car and entered the building, psyching herself up to meet Y/n. It was just the most important day of her life, that’s all. You could divorce a husband, but recyclers were forever. She introduced herself at the counter and was almost immediately taken to a private room, where she was told to wait for her recycler.

With some time to kill, Jennie started looking around. The room was beautiful – marble flooring, leather couches, fancy furniture and art. This room was designed with its wealthy occupants in mind, and it showed. She squirmed in her seat nervously, her heart pounding from the nerves. If her recycler didn’t come soon, she was going to find her on the ground, unconscious.

Despite the anticipation, Jennie almost leapt out of her seat when there was a knock on the door. “Come in,” she said in a shaky voice as she stood up, her hands folded in front of her. The door opened and a stout lady in a pantsuit bustled in, clearly a member of the staff here from the lanyard dangling from her neck.

“Miss Kim, it’s nice to meet you. This is L/n Y/n,” she said, stepping aside so Jennie could take a good look at you.

You were clearly nervous, your eyes downcast and your hands, like hers, clasped politely in front of you. Without raising your eyes, you folded yourself into a deep bow, your torso parallel to the ground. “It’s nice to meet you, Miss Kim. Thank you for choosing me as your—” Your eyes widened in shock as you saw the person who was standing in front of you for the first time.

“Right, well, I’ll leave you two to get to know each other. When you’re ready to leave, just give me a call and I’ll give you the rest of the paperwork,” the staff member said before making herself scarce.

“Thank you,” Jennie said, nodding at the staff member as she left and shut the door behind her. Then she turned her attention to you. Your clear nervousness did a lot to put her at ease – she immediately slipped into nurturing mode as she saw how vulnerable you looked. Clad in the plain dress that came standard issue for recyclers, slightly hunched over, trying to make yourself smaller… the wave of tenderness that rushed over her almost knocked her clear over.

“Come sit down,” she said, sitting on the couch herself and patting the cushion next to her in invitation.

“Okay, Miss Kim,” you said politely, making a beeline for the couch. Clearly, you’d been taught to be obedient to your donator, but this was a little excessive, Jennie thought.

“You don’t have to be that formal, Y/n-ie. You can just call me Jennie,” she reassured you. “And you can relax. I don’t know what they taught you about how recyclers are supposed to act, but I really want you to become part of my family,” she continued, placing her hands over yours, which were still clasped together tightly.

Your gaze drifted from your hands in your lap up to her, and the apparent sincerity in her gaze as she smiled at you putting you at ease. It was still terrifying, of course – you hadn’t known until just now that your mysterious donator was a world-famous idol, and you didn’t quite know how to react. Still, the earnest expression on her face had you believing that no matter what, she would be right there with you. It was a nice feeling, and you couldn’t believe that someone you’d known for about five minutes was able to make you feel this way when no one in your life had ever succeeded.

“Thank you, Miss Kim— I mean, Jennie-unnie,” you amended hastily. “Sorry, it’s just that your file only had your last name, so I got used to calling you that in my head.”

Then you realized what you’d said and flushed scarlet, much to Jennie’s delight. It was reassuring to know that she hadn’t been the only one looking over your file almost obsessively.

“Don’t worry,” Jennie said, squeezing your hands lightly. “I’ve been excited to meet you too. I know my file was pretty empty, though, so I’m happy to answer any questions you have before we sign the papers.”

“R-really?” Your eyes lit up.

Jennie chuckled. It was so easy to make you happy, it seemed. “Go wild,” she encouraged.

“Does being your recycler mean being in the public eye a lot?” you asked the first question that came to your mind.

Jennie hummed thoughtfully. “It might,” she admitted. “But we’ll all do our best to protect you, so you don’t have to worry, okay?”

You nodded as you digested that, then asked the next question. “Will I be living in the dorm with the other members?”

“Yeah, at least for a couple of years. When the lease is up on the apartment, we probably won’t renew it. It’s weird for us to be so old and still living together.” Catching your dumbfounded expression, she laughed. “Why? Are you excited to meet the others?”

At her question, you immediately ducked your head, though she could still see how red your ears were. She laughed in delight. “Y/n, are you a fan?”

You yanked your hands out from under hers to cover your face, which was hot to the touch. “Maybe,” you confessed miserably. She definitely found this weird now and would request a different recycler; you’d screwed things up before it even began.

“That’s so sweet,” Jennie cooed, patting your head. “Don’t worry, I’m sure everyone will love you.”

That didn’t sound like she was upset. Peeking at her from between your fingers, you saw that she was smiling, so you slowly lowered your hands. “Really?” you asked with a small voice, and she nodded at you, still smiling.

“Okay.” You smiled shyly back at her, and Jennie could barely resist cooing over you.

“Are you ready to get the papers now?” she asked, and you nodded.

She used the intercom in the room to call the staff member back, and the paperwork was quickly dealt with. You both signed the copies of the agreement presented to you – one for each of you, and one for the Bureau’s records – and that was it, you were free to go. Before the staff member left, however, Jennie stopped her to ask where the restroom was.

“What? You have a brand-new recycler right there!” the staff member barely got out through peals of laughter. Jennie looked over at you and flushed. She’d asked out of habit, forgetting that this was your whole purpose.

“Take as much time as you need, you can leave when you’re ready. Have a nice day!” she said as she left. Jennie and you stared at each other with wide eyes for an awkward moment before you looked away, clearing your throat.

“Uh, right… how do you want to do this?” you mumbled.

Jennie gulped and looked around. She hadn’t really thought that far ahead yet. “Uhh… how do you prefer to…?” she asked uncertainly.

Your gaze snapped up to hers. “I’ve never practiced it,” you told her. “Donators usually like to train their recyclers themselves according to their preferences.”

“Oh…” Jennie was clearly way out of her depth, floundering for help, and you felt a deep tug inside you that compelled you to provide that guidance.

You placed your hands on her shoulders and gently pushed her back onto the couch, then got on your knees in front of her. It was here that you hesitated – was it too intimate to help her remove her clothing? Was this something she would expect of you? – and you slowly raised your hands, giving her plenty of time to take off her own panties if she wanted to.

Instead, she continued staring down at you as you slipped your hands under her skirt, resting against the smooth, warm skin of her hips. It boggled your mind that you were in this position – you, who’d entered Bureau protection at the age of fifteen, who’d led a miserable, unspectacular life right up till this point, had been chosen as Jennie’s recycler. And she was so nice, too. Maybe this was an apology from God for dropping the ball on your life so badly.

“All right,” you murmured. “Here we go.” Then you hooked your fingers in her panties and started drawing them down. You’d never done this in real life, but there was an abundance of written material for recyclers, so you knew in theory how it worked. Swallowing hard, you pulled the scrap of lacy fabric down her legs gently, then set them aside.

“Uh, okay…” You looked up at her. “So, how do you want to do this? Do you want me to close my eyes, or…”

Jennie just looked blank. Clearly, she hadn’t given much thought to the details involved in recycling. Well, you thought optimistically, this was preferential to the donators who fetishized the act.

“I don’t know,” she finally admitted.

“It’s okay,” you rushed to comfort her, squeezing her ankle. “We can figure it out together.” Sooner rather than later would probably be best though, since she was starting to squirm in her seat. Pushing her knees apart, you positioned yourself beneath her, opening your mouth and looking up at her face.

“Is this okay?”

“Uh, I guess?” She was still gnawing her lip uncertainly, though, so you sat back to regard her.

“Is something bothering you?” you asked, your brows knitting together in concern.

“I don’t know, this is just kind of weird, isn’t it?” she fretted. “I don’t want to accidentally spray you in the face.”

You bit back a laugh. You were literally drinking her urine, and she thought you were afraid of getting some on your face? That was kind of cute, you thought. “Even if you do, they always keep wet wipes and towels in the rooms so that’s not a problem. If you’re really worried, I can form a seal with my mouth, but I read that sometimes it’s harder to pee like that.”

“Okay, let’s try that first, and then if it doesn’t work, we can go with the wipes?” she suggested. Your new donator was honestly so cute, and it was so different from her onstage persona that you were confused. Compartmentalizing it all and prioritizing her current needs over your disbelief that any of this was happening was the only way you were getting through this, but there would be plenty of time later to sit and mull over your thoughts.

Shuffling back slightly, you bent down to press your mouth to her bare pussy, being extremely careful with the… placement of everything so you didn’t make it awkward. Once you were settled, you remained still, focusing on not moving your tongue at all. Not knowing where to look, you ended up focusing on the ceiling. As a result, you didn’t see Jennie’s face twist slightly as she tried to focus on releasing her bladder.

Even though you couldn’t see it, you heard her huff in frustration and effort and felt the minute movements as she clenched and released her pelvic muscles, trying to start the stream. You waited patiently, your hands resting in your lap, forcing your body to relax to avoid stressing her out.

Eventually, she managed to do it, a little spurt trickling into your mouth. After that, it felt like the floodgates had opened as she started peeing more forcefully, forcing you to gulp it down hastily if you didn’t want to choke.

Urine, you’d read, tasted bitter and/or salty, depending on the diet of the individual. You’d been prepared to get used to it, knowing that you didn’t have much of a choice, but thankfully Jennie didn’t taste awful, which was probably because of her healthy diet. It just made you all the more grateful to have been assigned to her.

The stream eventually petered out, and you waited for a second to make sure she was done before pulling back, not sure if she wanted you to help clean her off. You looked up at her uncertainly and found her staring at you with a look of such sheer contentment that you couldn’t help but smile back at her.

“Thank you, Y/n-ah,” she said, still looking blissed out, and you helped her get dressed before standing up. She stood up too and took your hand as she led you out of the building.

When you stepped out, you blinked, slightly disoriented. You’d barely left this place for five years, and now you were leaving for good. It felt weird – even though you knew that this day was coming, especially after you received the file on your donator, it still felt strange to be walking out like this, with Kim Jennie from Blackpink, no less.

Jennie caught your bewildered expression and paused. “Are you okay?” she asked, taking a step back so she was standing next to you again.

“Uh, yeah, just… it’s been a while since I came in,” you replied dazedly, looking up at the building. It looked so ordinary from the outside.

You didn’t have that many things, having led a fairly spartan lifestyle in the Bureau, so there wasn’t much to load up her car with. Jennie had been informed, of course – donators were expected to provide for all their recyclers’ needs, which was one reason why the income requirements for donators were so strict. You slipped into the passenger seat of the BMW, looking around with wide eyes and sitting carefully with your hands folded in your lap, not wanting to touch anything unnecessarily.

“Relax, Y/n-ie.” She laughed at you as she started the car. “Put on your seatbelt,” she reminded, pulling out of the parking lot. You buckled yourself in but continued sitting uncomfortably.

“Seriously, chill out. You’re going to be spending so much time in this car; you can’t possibly stay like that forever.”

“Okay,” you said shyly, relaxing just a little into the seat. The windows were all tinted so no one could see in, which was probably for the best, since you were not ready to be plastered all over the tabloids.

“So tell me more about yourself, Y/n-ie,” Jennie requested. “You mentioned earlier that it had been a while since you came in. When did you join the Bureau?”

“When I was fifteen,” you explained.

“Really? That’s young. I thought people could only sign up to be recyclers when they turned eighteen.”

“That’s true, but there are exceptions for extenuating circumstances, like where families are unable to provide for their children.”

“Oh,” she said awkwardly. “I’m sorry.” You could see her wincing, like she was afraid she’d said something wrong.

“No, don’t be,” you assured her. “I never had the best life anyway. It actually got better when I was emancipated from my family. I got to finish my GED and everything because I joined the Bureau.”

“Well, that’s good,” she said a little lamely, not sure how to process that. She’d always known she was fortunate to be born into a family that could afford to give her all the opportunities that had led her to where she was today but seeing the difference between her life and yours so starkly forced her to confront her privilege more directly.

She directed the conversation back to more neutral topics and the drive home passed relatively quickly. As they took the elevator up from the underground carpark, Jennie prayed with all her might that the others hadn’t decided to do something completely over-the-top and ridiculous to welcome you into their home. You already seemed overwhelmed with everything that was happening (and yeah, maybe she should have consented to letting you know her identity before today) and she didn’t want to stress you out anymore.

Thankfully, there were no streamers or anything like that, although all three of the girls were seated on the couch, eagerly waiting. When the door opened, they leapt up as one, rushing to the door. You were, of course, startled by the sight of the three celebrities all but tripping over themselves to come greet you, and hid behind Jennie, clutching the back of her shirt while you peeped at the others over her shoulder.

As annoyed as she was with the others for being so extra, she couldn’t help but enjoy the way you were clinging to her, seeking protection and comfort. This was exactly what she’d been craving her whole life, and on the day that she met you, you provided it for her so effortlessly.

“Guys,” she frowned at them, but none of them were buying it since they could all see the subtle signs of her happiness that she couldn’t quite hide. It was in the way her eyes softened slightly and the relaxed posture of her shoulders.

“Sorry,” Lisa giggled. “We were just so excited to meet our new roommate.”

“Well, this is L/n Y/n,” she introduced you, stepping aside so the others could take a good look at you. Deprived of your shield now, you seemed to fold in on yourself.

“Hi,” you said in a voice so soft it was almost a whisper. Your greeting was accompanied by an awkward little hand wave, and Jennie could see the rest of the girls melting over you.

“Okay, let’s get you settled in, sweetie,” Jennie butted in. You nodded and followed her to her room like a baby chick, and she busied herself with showing you around and telling you where your stuff was, trying her best to ignore the sound of the others sitting in the living room cooing and giggling to each other.

When she was done, which honestly didn’t take that long since the apartment was rather modestly sized anyway, they returned to the living room where Jennie sat on the floor in front of the coffee table and you knelt politely next to her.

“I’m hungry, did you guys order lunch yet?” she asked the others, looking at the impressive collection of takeout menus spread out across the coffee table.

“No, we thought since it’s Y/n’s welcome lunch, she could order!” Chaeyoung explained, smiling at you.

“You guys, that’s so nice!” Jennie was moved on your behalf, but you were basically frozen, staring with wide eyes down at the menus. You had no idea what to do – at the Bureau all meals had been provided (and none of you had ever had any money anyways), and back when you’d lived with your parents, takeout had been a rare luxury.

“Um, what do you like, unnie?” you immediately turned to ask Jennie, the person you were the most familiar with in the house, albeit not by much.

“You should choose what you like today, Y/n-ie!” Jennie, absolutely unhelpfully, encouraged.

“Uhhh…” You turned back towards the dizzying selection of menus. “Maybe we can just get some kimchi stew?” You went with the most simple, basic option you could think of. Your mother used to make it for special occasions, and it was one of the few good memories you had of your childhood home.

“Yeah, that sounds great!” Chaeyoung cheered enthusiastically, sweeping aside the mess to pick up the menu for her favourite stew restaurant. “What do you guys want? I’ll order it,” she asked the others, and soon all four of them were poring over the menu, their heads close together as they discussed what dishes to get.

Since you’d already chosen, you sat back on your heels, watching them. Really, for being one of the most popular groups in kpop today, they seemed surprisingly normal to you. You hadn’t known what to expect coming into their home, but they were doing their best to make you feel included and comfortable with them.

Even as you were looking on fairly contentedly, ruminating on your good fortune to have gotten such an amazing second family, Jennie reached over to your lap and took your hand in hers, squeezing it reassuringly. When you looked over at her, she smiled at you, trying to convey without words just how happy she was that you were here.

For the first time, you started to believe that maybe the Bureau had been right when they’d assured the recyclers that they would help them find new homes far better than the ones they’d left.

---------------------------------

After lunch, all the girls retreated back into their rooms for naps. You and Jennie ducked back into her room – well, you amended, it was your shared room now – and Jennie shut the door in Jisoo’s face as she tried to come in after them. “Sorry, unnie, but she’s my recycler,” Jennie said, giggling at Jisoo’s stunned face before closing the door.

When she turned back to you, however, her expression was a lot more uncertain. “I hope that was okay,” she said. “You don’t mind, do you?”

You smiled back at her. “No, of course not,” you rushed to reassure her.

“Oh, okay, good,” she replied with visible relief. “Um, I do have to…”

“Right, of course.” You’d watched her casually drink glass after glass of water with lunch, after all, so this wasn’t really a surprise for you. It had been a little disconcerting, sure, because you were pretty sure between the four of them they’d easily consumed a day’s worth of water for you during lunch, but then again, they were rich and famous idols, so that was to be expected.

“How do you want to do this?” you asked, though you didn’t have much hope that she had an actual answer for you, based on how lost she’d been earlier.

Predictably, she just stared at you with wide eyes. Your lips twitched. “Do you want to do this in the shower?” you offered. There were a number of positions you’d studied, but obviously you’d never tried any of them out. She nodded, and you made your way to the bathroom together.

You knelt in the shower and waited for Jennie to join you. She stepped in hesitantly, standing in front of you. “Hey,” you greeted, smiling up at her as you held a hand out for her to take. She placed her hand in it and let you pull her over. “You okay?” you asked, running your thumb across her knuckles.

“Yeah,” she said, smiling down at you. Letting go of her hand, you slipped your hands up her skirt again to pull her panties down and off. She stepped out of them, then stepped closer to you.

“You have to open your legs a little more,” you murmured, before ducking your head slightly so you could look up at her pussy. Getting the idea, she widened her stance, then frowned. It still felt awkward.

Seeing her discomfort, you shuffled back closer to the wall, then guided her into a different position. Her hands were braced against the wall above your head, and she’d raised one leg, her knee pressing against the wall for support. “Is this better?” you murmured.

She nodded, then closed her eyes, concentrating. In this position, your mouth wasn’t pressed against her, so the first spurt missed your mouth entirely, spraying your cheek and dripping down your neck. Ignoring it, you adjusted your position and came a little closer to catch the rest of it neatly. Her taste was quickly becoming familiar to you now, and as you gulped it down, your eyes wandered up to her face, catching the blissful, relieved expression she was wearing. Her eyes were closed and her mouth slightly open, her brow furrowed slightly as she leaned her face against her arm. It was so cute that you couldn’t look away for a moment.

When the stream finally waned and then stopped, the last bit dripped against her thigh instead of falling into your mouth. You went to clean it up for her, then hesitated, not sure if she would be comfortable with it. Jennie had caught your aborted motion and asked what you were doing.

You looked up at her with an embarrassed flush. “I was, uh, going to clean it up for you,” you admitted.

She giggled at you, resting her forehead against the wall to look down more comfortably. “Go for it,” she urged, and you drew your tongue up her inner thigh, following the trail. You paused when your tongue hit the crook between her thigh and her body, and she just smiled at you encouragingly, so you continued, lapping up the droplets that clung to her.

Jennie helped you get yourself cleaned up after, then tucked you in next to her for a nap. As you drifted off to sleep, you squirmed a little closer to her, seeking her warmth and comfort.

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The day that Jennie had come to pick you up from the Bureau, you quickly learned, had been a rare day off for all four of them. Most days, even if they didn’t have group activities and appearances, Jennie had her own solo appointments, like interviews, meetings with Teddy for her solo work, Chanel appearances and so on. Because you couldn’t be away from her for more than a few hours, you went with her for most of them, though you stayed behind the scenes.

Since you’d come to her with so little of your own, Jennie had been having a field day shopping for you. Whenever she was free, she’d be on her phone or laptop browsing the different shopping websites with you. At first you’d been reluctant to buy so many new things, only selecting cheap clearance items, but with her repeated encouragement, you’d gotten bolder with choosing clothes and accessories that you liked.

Today, you were dressed in a cute summery outfit, a loose V-necked blouse with ruffled half-sleeves tucked into high-waisted dressy shorts. Loafers completed your cute ensemble, and a Chanel pendant that Jennie had lent you sat between your collarbones.

Jennie was supposed to be focusing on the photoshoot, but her gaze kept drifting towards you, sitting behind the photographer and watching everything with rapt attention. After being in the spotlight for so many years, all of this was commonplace to Jennie, just another day’s work, but it was all new and exciting for you, and seeing your fascination with photoshoots and music recording was refreshing for her.

The photographer knew Jennie was distracted, but the expression she was wearing, soft and open, was far better than the neutral, slightly pouty one she usually showed the camera, so he didn’t complain or direct her attention back to the shoot. This was amazing stuff, and fans would go wild for these photos.

He’d wanted to include you in the photo shoot and tell the world about Jennie’s new recycler, but that had been strictly forbidden. Jennie wanted to be able to tell the public about her recycler on her own terms and when you were ready, and you definitely weren’t yet. It was becoming somewhat of an open secret in the industry since you followed her almost everywhere, but everyone knew that if they were the one to leak it to the public, they would be blacklisted by YG, so no one dared.

When the photoshoot ended, you went back to the dorm together, Jennie driving while you chattered on excitedly about what you’d seen at the shoot. It appeared that Jennie wasn’t the only one who thought you were adorable – the other staff members there had too and indulged your many questions. The makeup artist had even done your makeup, and you were still giggling about it when you left the shoot venue with Jennie.

Tonight, however, Jennie was a little distracted, because she was going to see Kai for the first time since she’d gotten you, and she was worried about leaving you at home. You’d started to get along well with the others, so she wasn’t concerned about that, but for the last two weeks or so that she’d had you, you’d barely left her side. Was it weird to get separation anxiety from her recycler?

When you got back to the apartment, Jisoo and Lisa were still out with their own appointments, but Chaeyoung was hanging out in the living room watching Netflix on the TV, so you skipped off to join her while Jennie went and got ready. She called you into her room before she left to use your services, and you slipped off the couch to enter her room.

By now, you’d figured out your favourite way to do this, and Jennie had bought a special chair for this purpose. You rested under the seat comfortably, your body on an incline with your head slightly back, while Jennie sat down. She’d decided that she liked it better when your mouth was pressed against her, telling you that it was because it made less of a mess but actually rather enjoying the warm, cozy feeling of your lips against her, so the chair was set up so that your face was almost peeking through the seat.

She was wearing a pretty dress, which was currently scrunched around her waist, her panties in your hand. From her position on your face, she was staring at your legs, which were stretched out across the floor. This was the position that was the most comfortable for both of you given the limitations of the chair, and even though she’d been self-conscious at first about the way you were basically looking directly up her ass in this position, you’d rightly pointed out how silly it was to get shy about that, all things considered.

You really were a godsend, she thought as she relaxed and started to urinate in your mouth. So sweet and kind to her and everyone else you were around, and really, having you around meant she didn’t have to spend as much time fighting with the other girls for access to the bathroom, which was great in itself, but this comfortable set-up felt like the epitome of luxury to her. She was starting to love the experience of pissing in your mouth, and she wondered if you were aware of just how much she liked it.

When she was done, you conscientiously licked her clean, as usual, another aspect of the whole experience that she deeply enjoyed, then she got up off your face. You smiled at her as you extricated yourself from under the chair, then held her panties out for her to step into.

“Have fun on your date tonight, unnie,” you chirped, seeing her to the front door where she put her shoes on. She gave you a hug and a forehead kiss before departing.

You returned to the couch, curling up next to Chaeyoung with your legs folded beneath you, and she unpaused the show you’d been watching. It was just the two of you tonight, since Jisoo and Lisa had plans too. You didn’t mind – after Jennie, Chaeyoung was probably your favourite. You rested your head on her shoulder as you watched the movie quietly.

When the credits started to roll, Chaeyoung switched off the TV and the two of you made your way into the kitchen to get dinner. As you were chopping up the kimchi for the kimchi fried rice, Chaeyoung, who was stir-frying the pork, struck up a conversation by asking you how your day had been.

Excited, you started chattering on about how much fun you’d had tagging along on Jennie’s photoshoot, continuing even after dinner was ready and you moved back to the living room to start eating.

Chaeyoung, who, like Jennie, was so used to photoshoots and the like that they’d completely lost their charm, thought it was absolutely adorable how excited you were about what to them were regular, daily events. When you finally wound down, she asked, “So what was it like for you growing up?”

You put down your spoon and finished chewing your food. “I didn’t come from the best family,” you explained. “I was emancipated when I was fifteen and joined the Bureau and lived there until I was old enough to come here.” Jennie knew most of the details surrounding your past, courtesy of sleepy late-night chats almost every night, but the others didn’t.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Chaeyoung apologized, thinking she’d brought up unpleasant memories.

You shrugged. “It’s all right. My parents tried their best, but there was never quite enough water and money. It was a relief for us all when I left, I think. And I’m here now, so it worked out,” you concluded, smiling at her.

“I guess you’ve been enjoying your time with us then?”

“What gave me away?” you giggled. “Everyone’s been really nice, especially Jennie-unnie. I’ve never had so many clothes and things.”

Chaeyoung was surprised by how happy you seemed to be. Even though recyclers were fairly commonplace, she’d always expected that they would be kind of unhappy about their lot in life. “Really? So you don’t mind the whole drinking pee thing?”

You’d just put a spoonful of rice in your mouth when she said that, and in your surprise, some went down the wrong pipe, causing you to choke and cough. “Jesus,” you wheezed when you finally recovered.

“Sorry, sorry!” Chaeyoung cringed. “That was a really personal question, wasn’t it?”

“Kind of,” you shrugged, “but it’s okay. And to answer your question, I don’t really mind, I guess. Like, I learned at the Bureau that some people taste pretty gross, but Jennie-unnie tastes okay. And it makes her so happy.”

“Yeah, it really does.” Chaeyoung had to agree. In the past few weeks since you’d come to live with her, Jennie had smiled more, and doted on you like crazy. Plus, it was clear the arrangement suited her – the satisfied smile she wore whenever you emerged from her room together had become somewhat of an inside joke among the girls.

“Are you thinking of getting a recycler of your own?” you asked, resting your chin on your hand as you regarded her. Your expression was open and friendly, and Chaeyoung hesitated, looking away shyly.

“I don’t know if I’m ready for the commitment,” she confessed.

“I understand that,” you said, nodding. You really did – a recycler was a whole person that she would be responsible for, and you knew it was a big responsibility. “I think it’s really great that you’re aware of your limitations.” You reached over and patted her hand.

With a rush of bravery brought about by how nice you were being, she finally said, in a slightly embarrassed tone, “I’ve always wanted to try it, though.”

“Try what?”

“Uh, you know…” Having utilized her store of bravery, Chaeyoung hid her face in the crook of her elbow on the table.

“Oh,” you said, then, as the meaning of her words sank in, you repeated, “Oh.”

Even though her head was resting on the table, you could see her shoulders drawing up around her ears as she let out a miserable whine, regretting having said anything in the first place. Your lips twitched in amusement. This was honestly pretty funny, and even after being here for a couple of weeks, you couldn’t believe that little old you got to see the famous pop stars like this.

“It’s okay, forget I said anything, please,” Chaeyoung begged, finally lifting her face off the table to face you.

You pressed your lips together to stop yourself from laughing at her. “No, it’s okay, really,” you rushed to assure her when you were sure you could speak without gigging. “Have you talked to Jennie about it?”

Chaeyoung shrugged. “No, why would I?”

“She might be able to tell you more about it,” you said, then hesitated before making your offer. “Plus, if she doesn’t mind, I could… you know.”

That caught her attention. “Really?” she asked, perking up.

“Yeah, if Jennie-unnie is okay with it, I guess I don’t mind,” you said, shrugging. After all, you’d been around her long enough to know what her eating and drinking patterns were like, and she seemed to have a pretty healthy lifestyle, so you didn’t have any concerns.

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It was past midnight when Jennie came home, and you were already in bed, doing something on the laptop she’d gotten you last week. You looked up when you heard the door open and smiled at her when she came in.

“Did you have a good date?” you asked as Jennie set down her bag and sat at her dresser to remove her makeup.

She smiled at you in the mirror. “Yeah, I did,” she told you. It was true – Kai knew that she’d gotten a recycler since she’d been texting him with updates while he was on tour, and was interested to know how you were settling in, plus they’d had sex at his apartment after dinner, which was why she’d returned to the dorm so late.

As she went to the bathroom to shower, she thought about something weird that had happened, though. Kai had been almost too interested in you. At first she’d brushed it off, happy that he was taking an interest in you since you were now an important part of her life, but he’d kept asking intimate questions that she didn’t quite know how to answer.

Plus, she’d had to use the toilet at his apartment since she couldn’t hold it anymore, and after weeks of pissing exclusively in your mouth, it had felt strange and almost unpleasant. Would it be weird to take you along on date nights, she wondered. It was almost inevitable that you would meet at some point if her relationship with him continued, so it might be best to introduce you two anyway.

By the time she went back to the bedroom, clad in her pajamas, you’d put your laptop away and were snuggled up in bed, on the side closer to the wall. You smiled softly as she padded through the room to get under the covers next to you, turning onto your side to face her. Excitedly, you asked her for more details about your date, and she acquiesced, recounting every detail of it to her attentive one-person audience.

“Wow,” you sighed as you closed your eyes, “that’s so cool. I’ve never been on a date like that before.”

“Really? Never?” Shocked, Jennie turned onto her front and propped herself up with her elbows on the mattress so she could look down at you.

“Yeah, I went to live in the Bureau when I was fifteen, remember?” you said, opening your eyes.

“Right.” Jennie lay back down, starting to feel bad for you. If you were her recycler, chances were you’d never be able to experience many things that she took for granted.

“And you’re dating Kai from EXO too, wow,” you sighed. “I love EXO.”

“Well, maybe you’ll be able to meet them one of these days,” Jennie said lightly. Now that she knew you were excited about EXO, she felt a lot better about introducing you to her boyfriend.

“Maybe,” you said, before letting out a massive yawn.

“Okay, sweetie, good night,” she said, leaning over to kiss your forehead, before turning off the light using her phone.

--------------------------------

The next morning, you and Jennie slept in, and by the time you emerged from her room, the others were already hanging out in the living room. Jennie went to get breakfast for both of you in the kitchen while you sat on the couch with Lisa.

Chaeyoung, seeing Jennie, got up and followed her to the kitchen. After exchanging greetings and niceties, she got straight to the point, too excited and nervous to beat around the bush. Last night, she’d barely gotten any sleep from thinking so hard about your offer, and the more the thought floated around her mind, the more she found herself craving it.

“Unnie, can I ask you a question?”

Jennie, still slightly sleepy, grunted as she poured herself some coffee.

Understanding that that meant yes, Chaeyoung forged ahead. “Do you like having a recycler? Like, I mean, the actual recycling part,” she clarified.

Jennie turned to blink at her, the coffee pot still in her hand. “Are you asking me if I like having Y/n drink my pee?” she asked slowly. She wasn’t much of a morning person, and Chaeyoung could hear the gears in her head slowly grinding as she thought about the question.

“Uh, yeah,” Chaeyoung confirmed, a little abashed now as she rubbed the back of her neck.

“Yeah, it’s nice.” The thought of it put a little smile on Jennie’s face as she took her coffee and turned to lean against the counter, raising the mug to her lips.

“Great, that’s great. I was talking to Y/n-ie about it last night, and uh… I was wondering if I could try?”

“Try… what?” Jennie raised an eyebrow.

“You know…” Chaeyoung, now shy, looked down at the floor. “Recycling.”

“Oh…” After pausing to take a sip of her coffee, Jennie shrugged. “I mean, it’s her choice. If she says yes, I’m not going to stop her.”

Hearing that, Chaeyoung’s eyes lit up. “R-really?!”

Jennie blinked, not sure why she seemed so surprised. “Yeah, she’s still her own person. I can’t make these decisions for her. But only if she wants to, okay? You can’t pressure her into it.”

“No, of course not,” Chaeyoung assured her. “She was the one who offered, actually. Yay! Thank you, unnie!” she cheered. “I can’t wait to tell her about it.”

At the blatant display of enthusiasm, Jennie rolled her eyes and raised her coffee cup back to her lips to hide how cute she thought her dongsaeng’s excitement was. As much as she tried to play it cool, she could relate – she loved recycling too. It was probably a strange comparison to make, all things considered, but you’d spent more time down there with your lips pressed to her than Kai ever had, and she was starting to enjoy you cleaning her off way more than she should, given that it wasn’t necessarily an erotic act for you.

Still, she thought as she downed her coffee, that seemed like a problem for a different time, when they didn’t have to get to the studio to practice. Placing the mug into the sink to wash when they got home, she left the kitchen to eat breakfast and then get ready.

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Watching the girls practice for their new comeback was seriously the best thing that had ever happened to you, you thought as you sat in a corner of the dance studio with the dogs. You’d taken a liking to each other, and Kuma was lounging comfortably in your lap while Dalgom sat next to you, whining every time you stopped petting him.

Their comeback song was really catchy too – Teddy had really outdone himself this time, and you couldn’t wait for their comeback. It was so different, though, seeing all the behind-the-scenes prep for everything before the final product, and it gave you a way better understanding of how hard the girls actually worked.

Jennie’s skin tasted different, too, during and after dance practice, which was something you probably should have expected, but it didn’t occur to you until after she’d settled on your face, her thighs bracketing your face. Since you couldn’t bring her chair around with you, for obvious reasons, the two of you had had to figure out a more minimalist way of doing this while you were out of the house.

Since there were so many prominent people in YG, almost every room had some facilities to cater to recyclers, like a screen for privacy. It meant that Jennie didn’t have to spend as much time going to the bathroom down the hall, which did make them more efficient, because she had to pee all the time, but since the other girls didn’t have recyclers, it didn’t really help that much.

Still, it was nice taking breaks to feed you her piss. You always smiled at her, and had sweet words of encouragement, telling her she was doing a good job even if it didn’t feel like it. It was almost worrying how much she was coming to depend on you, not just for her physical needs, but for your companionship and emotional support as well.

Plus, having you lick her clean sent a little thrill down her spine every time, and that definitely helped to cheer her up. Although she shied away from thinking of it as an erotic act, it did feel a lot like unconditional acceptance, especially when she knew she was sweaty. You never even made a face, easily going with the flow (pun unintended).

It wasn’t uncommon for recyclers to form close bonds with their donators, Jennie knew. YG had many donators among its ranks – TOP from Big Bang had adopted one after he cleaned up his act enough that the Bureau considered him eligible, and his recycler, who’d been with him for three years now, was doing a remarkable job at keeping him on the straight and narrow. Being so directly responsible for someone else’s welfare had really made him more careful with his own body.

When the girls declared that it was time for a lunch break, you tagged along with them to the cafeteria. The food at the YG cafeteria was famously delicious, and you always enjoyed eating there. Plus, you got to see the trainees, idols and actors come and go, which was always fun, even if you sometimes had trouble not staring.

After lunch, the girls were going their separate ways – Jennie had to work on her solo album, Lisa was going to work on a dance collaboration, Jisoo was going to film for her new drama and Chaeyoung was off to an event. After waving goodbye to the other girls, you followed Jennie to the recording studio.

Seeing that you were alone there since you were a bit early, Jennie took the opportunity to ask you about her conversation with Chaeyoung earlier. Sitting you down on the couch, she rolled a desk chair over so she could sit facing you.

“Chaeng asked if she could try, uh…” Really, she thought, it was ridiculous how much difficulty she had talking about when it had become such a significant part of her life.

Fortunately, you remembered your conversation with Chaeyoung last night, and understood what she was trying to say immediately. “Uh-huh?” you nodded, looking at her attentively.

“She said you were okay with it, but I just wanted to check if you’re really okay. I mean, you don’t have to feel like you have to just because she’s my friend and all, and if you don’t want to I can tell her no—” Jennie was starting to ramble, so caught up in assuring you that you didn’t have to feel forced into anything because of your position in the household.

“No, I was okay with it,” you cut her off with wide eyes. “I was the one who offered. Is that what you were talking about this morning?” Come to think of it, Chaeyoung had left the kitchen in such a good mood this morning that you should have realized that something was up. You’d been playing with Lisa’s cats, though, so you hadn’t given it much thought.

“Yeah, she asked me about it in the kitchen,” Jennie confirmed. “I just wanted to check if you were okay with it.”

“Yeah, I don’t mind,” you said with a smile. “Oh, unless you mind,” the thought came to you suddenly. “I’ll tell her no if you don’t like it!” you rushed to assure her. You hadn’t even considered that she might have a problem with it when you opened your big mouth (again, pun unintended).

“No, no! I don’t mind. You can do whatever you’d like, of course. I won’t stop you.”

“Oh… okay. Great!” you said slightly awkwardly, not sure what else to say in this situation. Thankfully, Teddy entered the room and saved you from having to say any more.

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Based on the way Chaeyoung was staring at you over dinner, you were pretty sure Jennie had already green-lighted things with her. The anticipation in her gaze was almost disconcerting in its intensity, but truth be told you were kind of flattered that she was so excited about it. Jennie had a boyfriend, so you knew that this act was nothing sexual for her, but you’d learned during your time preparing to be a recycler that for many donators, having someone consume their urine directly from the source was often an intensely sexual experience.

From Chaeyoung’s almost predatory gaze, you were fairly sure she was one of those people. Still, she hadn’t said anything to you about it, so you figured she would probably just do it and then dismiss you to take care of herself.

After dinner, you all brought your dishes back to the bucket your delivery had arrived in and left it outside the door for the delivery person to retrieve. Usually all of you went back to your rooms after dinner, but tonight, as you were about to follow Jennie back into the room you now shared, Chaeyoung grabbed your hand.

You turned, your eyes following the hand clasped around yours to the determined gaze of the girl who owned it. Biting your lip, you nodded and followed her into her room instead. As you disappeared into Chaeyoung’s room, you didn’t notice Jennie watching you.

Even though you’d been living here for a few weeks now and had seen Chaeyoung’s room from the outside, you’d never set foot in it, since there hadn’t been a reason for you to up till today. As she shut the door behind you, you stood awkwardly, wringing your hands and shifting your weight from one foot to the other.

Chaeyoung, on the other hand, was way too excited to feel nervous, and giggled as she pulled your hands apart by grabbing one of your wrists. “Come on,” she beckoned, drawing you closer to her.

“How do you want me to do this?” you asked. Her excitement was contagious, and you couldn’t help but smile back at her. You were quickly learning that there was a part of you that loved to please others.

“How do you usually do it with unnie?” She responded with another question, and you blinked at her in surprise. Somehow, you’d been expecting her to already know what she wanted – after all, she was the one who’d been so enthusiastic about this.

“Uh, you remember that new chair that was delivered?” When she nodded, you continued, “She usually sits in it and, uh, it’s a special chair so I can rest under it…”

“Right,” Chaeyoung looked around her room thoughtfully, then frowned. “I don’t think I have anything that would serve the same function.”

“Oh, you don’t have to have anything like that,” you rushed to reassure her. “I mean, it’s not like there’s a chair in the studio or anything.”

“That’s true.” She perked up at that. “So how do you usually do it?”

“Well…” you knelt down and looked up at her. “Usually she stands over me, or if we’re at the studio she sits on the couch and I kneel in front of her.” Jennie had taken to the first position you’d shown her, even after you’d tried out all the different ones the Bureau had suggested to find the ones you liked best.

“Hmm,” Chaeyoung hummed. “This doesn’t seem that comfortable, though.”

Eventually, you managed to figure something out – you sat with your back against her bed, your head resting on the mattress, while she knelt on it, hovering over your face. As she looked down at you, sandwiched between her knees, she smirked, an expression that had you clenching involuntarily. This was new, you noted with some surprise.

“You ready?” she cooed, so like the sweet, thoughtful woman you’d gotten to know and like over the past two weeks, but also different somehow, confident and enticing. Entranced by this new side of her, you nodded, opening your mouth under her pussy.

“Good girl,” she praised, smiling down at you. She was holding her shirt up slightly so she could see your face more clearly, and she let out a sigh of relief as she relaxed her pelvic muscles, starting to pee. It missed your mouth at first, landing on your forehead, and she let out a giggled “Oops!” as she readjusted herself so that she was peeing into your mouth.

You’d offered to do what you did with Jennie to minimize mess, pressing your mouth to her, but she’d declined, and now you realized why. She enjoyed the visual of the urine descending the short distance from her pussy to your mouth, relished in the power to soak your whole face if she wanted. Your eyes were focused on her core, which was still gushing, but you could hear her sighs and whispered praises.

When the stream dwindled and eventually stopped, Chaeyoung sighed like she was disappointed – and she was. She’d been holding it for hours, since lunchtime, in anticipation for tonight, and it had been over so fast. This experience had been everything she’d dreamed it would be, and she was only sad that it had ended. She had no expectation that this would be anything other than a one-time thing, since the way she’d asked you, it had seemed like a research experience.

However, you weren’t done yet. There was still the cleanup process, so you lifted your hands to her bare hips and pulled her down gently onto your face. This time, she looked down at you with some surprise, and you returned her earlier smirk right before you dragged your tongue up her slit.

“Mmm, God,” she gasped, shuddering as you continued licking her clean. “What the hell are you doing?”

Now done, you licked your lips and grinned at her. “Cleanup,” you replied in a matter-of-factly tone. “I do it all the time for Jennie-unnie too.”

“No wonder she looks so pleased all the time now,” Chaeyoung grumbled jealously, and you giggled. It hadn’t escaped your notice while cleaning her that she was wet too, her slick possessing a markedly different flavor from her piss. You weren’t that naïve, and if she was amenable, you were more than happy to help her with that too.

After all, you had Rosé of Blackpink sitting on your face right now. Who were you to throw away such an opportunity?

“I want to please you too, unnie,” you cooed, batting your lashes at her. You were somewhat surprised at where all this bravado was coming from, but she seemed to enjoy it, so you were rolling with it too.

“Ugh, you’re so sweet, who taught you to say such sweet things?” she asked.

“I’m just being honest,” you responded coquettishly before sliding your tongue through her folds again.

Chaeyoung moaned, throwing her head back luxuriantly as she widened her stance to lower herself further down on your face. “Such a good girl,” she praised, starting to rock her hips back and forth, sliding herself over your tongue.

You’d never done this before, so your movements were a little clumsy, but your sheer enthusiasm more than made up for it, as you licked and sucked at her, letting her grind down on your face as she pleased.

“Stick your tongue out for me, sweetie,” she prompted, smiling down at you when you did. She fucked herself on your tongue, sliding along it until it bumped her clit, then sinking down on it. Your tongue was inside her now, and her clit bumped against your nose. All you could smell and taste was her, and when she looked down at you, she could only see your eyes since her pussy was firmly planted on the rest of your face.

“You look so pretty like that,” she said before continuing to fuck herself on your face, her movements growing faster and choppier as she chased her orgasm. Breathy moans and gasps spilled from her lips, increasing in volume and frequency as she grew closer. “Mmf, fuck, you’re so good at this,” she cried out a second before she ground herself down harder on your face, uncaring of your need to breathe as she came.

Her sloppy movements smeared her slick all over your face and in your mouth, and when she finally lifted herself off you, you took a deep breath before grinning cheekily up at her and making a show of licking your lips. “Did you enjoy that, unnie?” you asked, and she huffed out a breathless laugh as she shuffled out of that position straddling your face and lay back against her pillows.

“You know I did,” she teased. “Now come here, I want to return the favour,” she demanded.

Immediately, your head came up off the bed and you turned yourself around so you were kneeling on the ground, facing her. “Oh, uh, no, you don’t have to, I—”

She rolled her eyes. “Come here,” she ordered, holding her hand out to you, and you had no choice but to let her pull you close. She tugged so hard you ended up falling into the pillows next to her and knocking the wind out of your lungs. You squirmed around a little so that your head was resting on her shoulder as you looked up at her.

“If you don’t want me to, that’s fine, but I really want to,” she said in a low voice. “I want to see how wet you are from eating me out so good, Y/n-ie, and make you cum all over my fingers.”

Her words had you squirming, and you breathlessly agreed. She guided you into a kneeling position so that you were straddling her hips, then dipped her hand into your shorts, her fingers ghosting over your clit. At the same time, her other hand wrapped around the back of your neck, pulling you down to her.

“Do you like that?” she whispered against your lips as you shuddered. No one else had ever touched you before, and all of this was new to you. You nodded silently, biting your lip to hold back a whimper.

“Good girl, such a good girl for me,” she praised as her fingers slipped into your panties. “And so wet,” she exclaimed with delight. Dipping her fingers into your folds to collect some slick, she then started circling around your clit with slippery fingers. In response, your head fell onto her shoulder as you held on to her tightly.

“Fuck, you’re so pretty like this,” she continued with her filthy litany as she started fucking you with her fingers, letting you grind your clit on the heel of her hand. You let out a moan as you rocked your hips, feeling everything get wetter as you grew more aroused.

“Unnie, please—” you whispered, not knowing exactly what you were asking for. She knew, though, and sped up the movements of her hand.

“Are you going to cum for me? That’s right, sweet thing, cum all over my hand like a good girl,” she purred. Helplessly, you pushed your clit further into her hand and ground it in, shuddering as you came like she asked you to. She continued to work you through your orgasm, only withdrawing when you grew too sensitive.

Seeing how shiny her fingers were from the thick coating of slick on them, you flushed, but she just winked at you as she popped them into her mouth. “Delicious,” she commented, smacking her lips.

You giggled, her nonchalant attitude making it less awkward than you’d imagined it would be after everything that had just transpired. “Likewise,” you murmured, ducking back in for another kiss.

After staying there for about ten more minutes, trading kisses and flirtatious remarks, you figured it was time to go back to Jennie’s room and you said as much, slipping out of Chaeyoung’s embrace and off the bed.

“All right,” she acquiesced when you told her, yawning as she lay back in her pillows. “It was a good time, though. Do you wanna do it again sometime?”

Your hand on the doorknob, you turned to wink at her. “Definitely,” you said before leaving the room.

Jennie was sitting on her bed, flipping through a magazine, when you entered, and she looked up to smile at you. “Did everything go okay?” she asked, her expression completely neutral. She knew, of course, what had just happened between the two of you. You’d been gone way too long to have just drank her piss, and the walls weren’t soundproof. She didn’t mind, but just wanted to make sure that you hadn’t been coerced into anything.

“Yeah,” you replied with a bright smile, putting her at ease.

“Good.” She stood up and started walking over to the chair. You were familiar enough with each other now that she didn’t need to say anything; you got it immediately, rushing over and kneeling on the ground to help her with her clothes, then maneuvering yourself under the chair. In light of your new experience with Chaeyoung, however, this act took a different light now.

You weren’t stupid or blind; you’d known all along that Jennie was gorgeous, and you’d been a fan of Blackpink for years before you came to live with them. You just hadn’t thought about this act in a sexual light because you knew that it wasn’t really sexual for Jennie, and you didn’t want to be that creepy weirdo. Plus, learning about the technicalities of it all in the Bureau for years kind of sucked all the joy out of it.

Jennie sat down on your face, wriggling slightly to get into the position that was the most comfortable for her. From her vantage point, the only part of your face she could see was your chin, and she wondered if this was how Chaeyoung had done it too. Not that it was any of her business, of course.

Your mouth stretched open under her, and she relaxed with a sigh, listening to the hissing sound of the pee leaving her body and the quiet noises of you swallowing. You usually held on to the edges of the seat, and today she stroked her fingers across yours. Taking the cue, you released the seat, letting her guide your hands to cling to her thighs instead.

When she was done, you licked her clean as usual, but this time you couldn’t stop thinking about how it had felt to eat Chaeyoung out until she came, and you found yourself getting a little cheeky, sliding your tongue along Jennie’s slit a little slower and deeper than usual, flicking her clit just once before you closed your mouth.

Jennie, however, didn’t seem to react, standing up looking completely composed and turning to smile down at you. You helped her fix her clothes then went to take a shower, washing Chaeyoung off your face.

Once you were gone, Jennie let out the breath she’d been holding in a long exhale, lying on the bed looking up at the ceiling. She was pretty sure that had been accidental, but boy had it felt good.

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It was only a couple of nights later that Jennie took you to meet Kai. She figured there was no time like the present – plus, given her reaction to what was no doubt an accident on your part, Kai needed to take his conjugal duties more seriously.

Tonight, the three of you were in the private apartment he’d bought. He still lived with the rest of his members in their dorm, but most of them had investment properties. It was handy when they needed their own space, like tonight.

In all honesty though, you weren’t sure how you felt about Kai. Sure, he was handsome and famous and you’d been a little starstruck at first, but the way he was talking to you and looking at you was making you feel a little uncomfortable. It was difficult to put your finger on it, but when he looked at you, you wanted to curl up into a ball and hide. He was just asking way too many personal, intimate questions about your experience as Jennie’s recycler.

Now that dinner was over, you were all sitting in the living room, and you were seated next to Jennie on the couch, half-curled into her, automatically seeking her protection. She too had noticed that Kai was looking at you kind of strangely all through dinner, but didn’t know what was up with him.

“So, Y/n-ie…” he said, leaning forward. You turned from Jennie to face him. “Have you enjoyed being with my Jennie?”

You looked back towards Jennie uncertainly, slightly confused about what he was asking. “Uh, yeah,” you replied when you turned back to look at him. “Jennie-unnie’s been really nice, and the other Blackpink unnies have been nice too.”

“I’m sure they’ve been,” he brushed off your answer patronizingly, “but what I mean is, have you enjoyed being with her?”

Your eyes widened and you looked at Jennie again, this time begging her to intervene. Sensing your distress, she squeezed your leg. “Oppa, Y/n-ie doesn’t understand your question, and neither do I,” she said slightly sharply.

Instead of taking the warning, Kai laughed it off. “I’m just curious, you know?” he said with a shrug. “You can’t blame me. I bet she’s closer to you than I am.”

At your clear discomfort, Jennie changed the topic and Kai didn’t turn the conversation back around to you again, not wanting to jeopardize his chances of getting lucky tonight. Eventually, he invited Jennie to the bedroom with a flimsy excuse – “please come help me with something in the bedroom” – and you remained on the couch, reading the book you’d brought with you and listening to music with the noise-cancelling headphones Jennie had specifically gotten for you while they were occupied.

After they were done, Jennie came out of the room since she had to pee. (What? It’s good to pee after sex, okay?) Since Kai was still in the bedroom, she figured it would be comfortable enough to do it on the couch, and you easily acquiesced, getting into the position you both preferred.

This time, however, when you pressed your mouth to her, Kai’s cum dripped out, thick, salty and altogether unpleasant. You tried to school your features, but even though you hadn’t been together for that long you’d made up for that with the sheer amount of time you spent together each day, and Jennie caught the grimace in the instant before you hid it.

Still, she figured, she could talk to you about it later but right now she really had to pee, so she just started going in your mouth. You were pretty much an expert at this time, so you sucked it down without any problem, but because you really didn’t want Kai’s cum to be the taste lingering on your tongue later, you licked her clean perfunctorily, avoiding her slit as much as possible.

When you were done, you pulled away quickly, hiding your distaste – or so you thought – by smiling sweetly up at Jennie, the way you usually did. “All clean,” you chirped at her.

Attempting to hide her unease, she smiled back at you before heading back to the bedroom.

Kai was still lounging in bed, his arms folded behind his head as he smiled lazily at her. He was supremely confident of his own body – and, of course, why wouldn’t he be? He looked like an Adonis. “Come back to bed, sweetie.”

Jennie, of course, was more than happy to acquiesce. She lay back down next to him and let him cuddle her close, resting her head on his shoulder. “Jennie-yah… I want to ask you something.”

“Hmm?” she said, only half-paying attention. Her eyes were sliding shut.

“Is it nice to pee in someone else’s mouth?”

Opening her eyes, she adjusted her position to look him more fully in the eye. “Everyone keeps asking me that,” she muttered. “Is everyone really so curious about it?”

He shrugged, jostling her slightly. “It is a pretty big lifestyle change,” he pointed out.

“It’s all right, I guess.” For some reason, she didn’t feel entirely comfortable talking to him about it.

Bending to kiss her temple, he said, “I’m lucky to have you.”

Jennie smiled, bemused. “Not that I’m disagreeing, but why?” she asked lightly.

“Well, you’ll let me use her too, won’t you?”

She frowned, sitting up. “I’ll let you?”

“Yeah, I mean, you let Chaeyoung-ssi use her.” He still looked nonchalant about it, like he fully expected her to agree with him.

“Oppa, Y/n-ie was the one who agreed to that. I can ask her, if you really want to.”

To Jennie’s shock, he started looking really pouty and put out, like she’d done something to offend him. “Okay… yeah, will you please ask her for me?” he finally asked.

“All right,” she accepted, hoping that he would drop the topic. The atmosphere remained somewhat tense though, like he was still upset about it, and when she left with you, he was still sulking.

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Jennie had worried that your experience with Kai might affect your relationship with her, especially after you’d seemed to reluctant to drink from her after she’d slept with him the other night. Thankfully, by the next morning you seemed to be back to normal, enthusiastic and conscientious when she had her morning piss.

She was so relieved (ha) that you weren’t mad at her, and so reluctant to say anything that might exacerbate the situation, that it wasn’t until almost a week later that Jennie tried to broach the topic of Kai’s request. She didn’t really want to, because it seemed like you weren’t the biggest fan of him, but she’d promised. She made sure to wait till it seemed like you were in a good mood, when the memory of Kai’s weirdness wasn’t quite so fresh in your mind.

You were already in bed when she brought it up, and she was sitting at the dresser applying her skincare. “Y/n-ah…” she started.

“Hmm?” You were starting to fall asleep, half-listening and half-floating in space.

“What do you think of Kai?”

Your eyes snapped open, suddenly awake. “He’s all right, I guess,” you said politely, not wanting to upset her.

“Okay,” she accepted, and you sat in silence for a moment longer. “Would you… be willing to lend him your mouth?” she finally asked.

Your immediate instinct was to reject the request – vehemently at that, while making a disgusted face, but the tentative expression on her face gave you pause. “Do you want me to?” you asked instead. You thought she might want you to do this as a favour for her even if you didn’t want to since Kai was her boyfriend, after all, and her approach to this might be different from how she’d treated Chaeyoung’s request.

“Well, he wanted me to ask, but I won’t force you,” she said carefully.

“But will it damage your relationship if I don’t?” You picked up easily on the silent tension. As much as you felt uncomfortable around Kai, he was Jennie’s boyfriend, and you didn’t want to sabotage it. If you had to, you supposed you could do it. Just once, as a favour.

Jennie, of course, understood immediately what you were trying to say. “That’s not your responsibility,” she said firmly. “If you don’t want to do it, it’s fine. I’m not going to force you or guilt you. Anything that happens to my relationship with Jongin-oppa is ours to deal with.”

After mulling over it for a moment, you gave her your answer. “Then I don’t want to,” you said, shrugging. “Sorry, unnie, but I don’t feel great about Jongin-ssi.”

“Yeah, I don’t blame you,” she muttered. “He was kind of weird the other night. I’ll talk to him about it, and try to find out why.” He wasn’t usually like this around people, years of idol training and living with others giving him great people skills most of the time. A conversation seemed necessary if she was going to keep the both of you in her life.

With her skincare routine done by the end of the conversation, she got into bed next to you and turned out the lights.

“Good night, unnie,” you mumbled, squirming closer to her for cuddles, which she gladly gave you.

-----------------------------------

Since you had expressed discomfort about being around Kai, and she knew you being around would only make him more insistent on ‘trying you out’, as he put it, she decided to go on dates with him without bringing you. This decision had a few implications – first, you ended up spending a lot more time separately, which meant you were hanging out with the other girls a lot more; second, Jennie’s dates with Kai grew shorter than they had been before since now that she was used to peeing in your mouth, she never wanted to go anywhere else.

It was this combination of factors that led to a slight strain in your relationship with her. She didn’t want to say she was jealous, because she wasn’t. She was pleased that you were becoming close with the other girls, especially Chaeyoung. It just stung sometimes. Even when she was home, there were times when you would be hanging out with the others instead of her, and you were less clingy too. Some people might think that was a good thing, but in all honesty, she’d liked clingy.

As your relationship with the other girls – and your friends-with-benefits thing with Chaeyoung – flourished, it seemed like Jennie’s with Kai was headed in the opposite direction. Having to rush home after sex because she didn’t want to use his toilet was becoming somewhat of a sore point, especially since she refused to bring you to their dates. He’d also thrown a fit when she told him you didn’t want to drink him, and it had led to one of their only fights throughout the entire duration of their relationship.

“Hey, did you ask Y/n yet?” he’d prompted almost the second she got into his car.

Jennie looked at him askance. The most perfunctory greeting kiss ever, and now this? What was with this obsession? “Yeah, she didn’t seem into it,” she said vaguely, hoping that he would take the hint and drop it.

“What?!” he exclaimed instead, sounding furious. Jennie sighed. Okay, it seemed they weren’t going to go the chill, reasonable route.

Turning to look at him, she said, “She doesn’t have to, you know.” Truth be told, she was kind of put off by his attitude. Ever since he’d met you, he’d been acting like this was owed to him. Just because she had a recycler didn’t mean she was obliged to share it with anyone.

“Yeah, but you let Chaeyoung-ssi use it,” he pointed out. “I’m your boyfriend; shouldn’t I get the same rights?”

She raised a brow. “Rights?” she asked. “Chaeyoung doesn’t have a right to use Y/n’s mouth as she pleases, you know. Y/n is very much a willing participant,” she said, slightly bitterly. Okay, maybe she was slightly put out by your blossoming relationship with her dongsaeng.

“You know what I mean,” he grumbled. “You could just make her do it.”

“Make her? I don’t make my recycler do anything she wants to do. She’s not my slave,” Jennie pointed out.

“That’s not what I meant! You’re always twisting my words!”

Needless to say, that night had not gone well. Kai was still slightly sulky about it, sometimes making snide remarks about you. Truth be told, this side of him was not one she’d seen before, and she didn’t like it. Even though recycler rights were sometimes controversial, among their circles most people agreed that recyclers deserved the same rights of freedom of choice as the general population. Kai’s revelation that he was apparently not one of them was turning out to be a problem, because she now felt responsible for protecting you from him.

She hoped that tonight’s date would go better, since they’d declared a moratorium on talking about you. All day, though, she’d had to endure the giggles and sidelong glances you’d shared with Chaeyoung, and she was pretty sure you were going to be up to no good while she was gone.

She was right. You saw her off graciously as always, giving her a hug at the front door and telling her you hoped she had a good time with Kai tonight, and that you would be waiting for her. The moment she left, though, you ran through the apartment straight into Chaeyoung’s room.

“Unnie!” you cried excitedly, throwing yourself on the bed so enthusiastically that you bounced.

Chaeyoung smiled at you. You weren’t dating, but you weren’t quite friends either, and she’d definitely grown very fond of you (and your mouth) over the couple of months that you’d been living in the dorm with her. Whenever Jennie was out without you, you’d come hang out with her, and by this point you had a pretty nice routine: you’d get delivery, then maybe watch a movie with the others before retiring back to her bedroom.

Tonight wasn’t any different, and you found yourself in the living room, eating fried chicken with the others while watching a movie. Chaeyoung was drinking a lot more water than usual, looking meaningfully over at you every time she reached for her glass. You knew this was in preparation for later, so you winked back at her every time.

All this flirting wasn’t lost on Lisa and Jisoo, and by the time the movie ended, the two of them grumbled good-naturedly about how they didn’t need to see all of this as they went back to their bedrooms. You and Chaeyoung giggled together as you bade them good night, knowing that they didn’t really mind it and were just teasing.

Once you were alone, Chaeyoung immediately took your hand and pulled you closer to her, going in for a kiss as your bodies collided. You slid your hands along her hips, groping her ass shamelessly.

“Mmm, we should probably take this back to my room before we get in trouble again for leaving fluids all over the living room,” she breathed against your lips. You couldn’t agree more and let her drag you into her room by your hand.

“Strip,” she ordered once the door was shut, already following her own instructions. You laughed at her enthusiasm even though you knew you would pay for it later, pulling your shirt over your head and shucking your shorts and underwear in one fell swoop. She did the same, and almost lunged for you.

“A little eager, aren’t we?” you teased even as you lay back on the bed.

“Shut up,” she growled. “I have to pee so bad, you don’t even know.”

“You were the one drinking all that water earlier,” you pointed out as she straddled your face. She was facing your body, so your face was basically in her butt. Not that you minded. It was a very pretty butt indeed. You wanted to squeeze it some more, but she was kneeling so that her legs were resting on your shoulders, restricting your movement.

“Don’t act like you don’t love drinking my piss,” she said, sounding strained as she looked down at you between her legs.

You winked at her from the gap between her thighs. “How could I even pretend? You’re so thoughtful, making all that delicious piss for me…” you breathed, a moment before she started peeing.

The first bit of it missed and glanced off your cheek, but you knew now that it was intentional. She loved watching the way her stream found its way into your mouth after first landing on your face somewhere, and you didn’t really mind either. The stream of dirty talk that she kept up the whole time was getting to you, and even as you gulped down her piss, your hips were rocking into the mattress slightly, seeking out that little bit of stimulation.

Chaeyoung noticed and leaned forward to pull your legs apart, which caused her pee to splash against your forehead instead. You made a noise of protest and she readjusted with a giggle, sinking a little lower so that her pussy was closer to your face.

“Mmm, it feels so good to pee for you, sweetie,” Chaeyoung groaned as the last of her urine dripped out.

“I’m glad you enjoy it, unnie,” you giggled. She widened her stance further to lower her pussy to you, and you eagerly started lapping at it. Meanwhile, she was holding your legs open and licked a broad stripe down your slit, from your clit to your tight, clenching hole.

“Mmf—” you let out a muffled groan into her slick flesh. She’d never done this before, and you were a huge fan. No wonder she got so crazy when you’d licked her for the first time.

You were busily eating each other to orgasm when the door swung open without any warning. At first, neither of you paid any heed, until you heard the disgusted exclamation coming from the entrance.

“My God!” Jennie cried out as she opened Chaeyoung’s bedroom door, only to come face to face with a more direct view of her member’s asshole than she’d ever wanted to see. Taking a step back, she turned away. “Y/n-ah, can you come here for a second?” she asked, directing her question at the hallway.

Now aggravated beyond all bearing, you groaned. “Unnie, can this please wait?” Not only were you busy, you really didn’t want to stop what you were doing right now to eat Kai’s creampie.

“No, it can’t,” she snapped, irritated. She’d been holding it since she left, and she needed to pee now. And how dare you talk back to her like that, anyway? Had you forgotten why you were even here to begin with?

“Fine,” you capitulated, sensing that this wasn’t the hill to die on. “Give me a minute, I’ll meet you in your room.”

With that, Jennie stalked off, and you sighed, tapping Chaeyoung’s hip to make her get off. “Sorry, unnie,” you apologized as you got up and started putting your clothes back on.

“It’s all right,” she excused graciously. “She seemed like she was in a mood, though. We might need to take a rain check.”

You pouted back at her as you started walking backwards towards the open door. “I don’t wanna,” you whined. “I’ll be right back?”

“Okay,” she chuckled, and you were on your way.

You arrived in the room you shared with Jennie to see her already pacing impatiently in front of the chair. “Hey, unnie,” you greeted as you sank to your knees to help her strip. You were obviously distracted and in a rush to get back to Chaeyoung, and moved quickly to get under the chair.

As Jennie sat down slowly, she caught a glimpse of your grimace, and anger flared through her, but first she needed to take care of her needs. Perhaps pettily, she sat without care and started peeing even before she was sure that you were in position, causing you to have to squirm under her to prevent a huge mess.

When she was done, you licked her clean as quickly as you could, and she felt a stab of irritation – she refused to acknowledge it as jealousy – that you could eat Chaeyoung out so enthusiastically but were now so reluctant to even clean her up. She stood up and scowled down at you as you got out from under the chair.

“What’s wrong with you today?” she asked snippily. Perhaps not the best way to start this conversation, but she was too angry to care.

You looked up at her in surprise. “Nothing, why?” you asked. If anything, you thought, you should be the one who was annoyed. You didn’t know what it was, but she’d been so eager that she’d started even before you were in the right position, and there was urine all over your face and neck, some even dripping into your hair.

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed you giving me an attitude,” she accused. “Every time I come back from Kai’s you act like this. I’m sorry if you dislike my boyfriend—” her tone of voice was most decidedly not sorry “—but you’re being so unreasonable! What are you, jealous?”

Your temper flared for the first time since you’d been living here. “Jealous?!” you scoffed. “Of your relationship with that ignorant manchild? I don’t think so. Sorry,” you sneered, turning it back onto her, “that I don’t like to eat Kai’s cum out of your pussy every time you fuck him. I’m your recycler, but I don’t need to be treated like that.”

With that, you stormed off to wash her piss off your face and body from where it had trickled before you’d managed to get your mouth firmly over her. Jennie, on the other hand, lay on the bed, feeling incredibly guilty for blowing up at you just now. She hoped you’d come back soon so that she could have a proper conversation with you about just now.

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You ended up spending the whole night with Chaeyoung. Even though you weren’t exactly in the mood to continue your exploits with her after your fight with Jennie, she was happy to welcome you into her room and gave you lots of cuddles, letting you rant patiently until you wore yourself out and fell asleep.

In the morning, you were still reluctant to leave the room and face Jennie, preferring to continue sulking in Chaeyoung’s bed. Unfortunately, nature called, and she dragged you out of the room for breakfast. You were surprised to see that Jennie was already in the living room, and when she saw you walking out, she immediately stood up and called your name. “Y/n, can we talk?”

Not in the mood to be reamed out again first thing in the morning, you responded coolly. “I’m hungry, can this wait until after breakfast?”

Chaeyoung, standing behind you, nudged you. She could see in Jennie’s expression and body language how much the fight with her recycler had bothered her and felt kind of bad for her even though she did think that Jennie had been out of line in what she’d said to you last night.

“Fine,” you grumbled.

“Thank you,” Jennie said quietly before turning and walking into her room. You followed, closing the door behind you but standing right in front of it.

“Y/n-ie, please,” Jennie pouted at you, patting the bed next to her. Obviously, you couldn’t resist that look, so with a put-upon sigh, you crossed the room to sit next to her.

“I’m sorry about last night,” she said. The unexpected apology threw you for a loop, and you blinked at her, speechless. “I shouldn’t have said those things and accused you. That was rude of me.”

“Uhh…” you managed to get out, sounding, of course, like the most articulate genius who had ever roamed this earth.

“And I’m sorry for getting in the way of your, um… relations with Chaeng. I should have been more respectful, and I support your relationship.”

“We’re not in a relationship,” you murmured. It was the only thing your mind could focus on at the moment.

“You’re not?” Jennie blinked.

“No, we’re just, um… friends with benefits, I guess,” you clarified.

“Oh.” Then, after a beat of silence, “Well, it’s none of my business anyway. I just want you to know that I think you deserve your privacy, and I was really rude last night.”

Feeling bad now, you reached over to take her hand. “Unnie, don’t say that. Of course it’s your business. You’re still my donator and I want us to be close too. I promise to be more open about it with you, okay?”

She made a face. “Not that open, I hope. I’m still traumatized from seeing Chaeng naked.”

You giggled. “You’ve lived together for years! You don’t mean to tell me you’ve never seen her naked before?”

“I never had to stare straight up her asshole before,” Jennie countered, causing the both of you to erupt in fits of laughter.

“Duly noted,” you conceded past giggles. “You seemed like you were in a bad mood last night too, unnie. Is everything going okay with you and Kai?” you asked with some concern.

She made a face. “It’s okay. He’s just having trouble adjusting to me having a recycler,” she explained. Last night they’d gotten into yet another argument over you – specifically, over her refusal to simply command you to get on your knees and drink his piss just because he wanted it. She didn’t quite understand why it was so hard for him to accept that you were a person, and she wasn’t about to force you to do anything you didn’t want to do.

Almost against her will, she started comparing Kai to you, even though she knew that was an unwise idea that was sure to have no good consequences. You, who was always there for her with your big eyes and big smile and a hug every time she felt bad, who knew the best and worst parts of her and didn’t shy away. It was unreasonable for her to expect the same of Kai, who was busy all the time with his own career and who obviously wasn’t as comfortable with her body as you were.

“I’m sorry I’m causing problems in your relationship, unnie,” you said, your eyes filled with remorse.

“No, it’s not your fault,” she rushed to assure you, pulling you into a hug. “He’s just being a dick right now.”

“I’m sorry for being mean last night too, unnie,” you apologized, looking at her with those wide, sad eyes that she couldn’t resist.

“It’s okay, baby, and I’m sorry I didn’t realize how unpleasant that whole experience was for you,” she said, making a little face. It hadn’t even occurred to her, but now that she thought about it, she realized how it would have been pretty gross for you, especially if you didn’t particularly like Kai. “I’ll talk to him about it to figure something out, okay?”

Your face was buried in her neck, but she felt your nod anyway.

---------------------------------

Perhaps she should have expected that the demise of her relationship would come soon after she started comparing you with Kai in her head. After all, there was no way he could have won that competition, even if he’d been the nicest man alive – which he definitely wasn’t.

Still, she hadn’t expected her relationship to end quite so soon and so abruptly. Sitting in the driver’s seat of her car in the basement carpark of Kai’s private apartment, she was crying too hard to be able to drive safely.

The night had started relatively well – Kai was on his best behavior after their fight the other night, and they’d had a nice dinner together. After that, however, when they retired to the bedroom, was when things started going downhill. Out of consideration to you, Jennie had brought a box of condoms that she tried to convince Kai to use, and he didn’t take it well, to say the least.

“What is this? Are you accusing me of something? We haven’t used condoms in months!” he said irritably, knocking the box out of her hands.

“Oppa, please, it’s not like that!” she pleaded.

“Then what is it? Are you off birth control?” he demanded.

“No… the IUD is still in,” she said meekly. YG had made them all get them before debut so that they wouldn’t accidentally get pregnant, even if they were having secret relationships.

“Then tell me why!”

“Why does there have to be a reason?! Isn’t it enough that I want you to use them? It’s my body too!” she yelled, getting defensive.

“I’m not saying no, I just want to know why!” he rebutted.

“Fine,” she said, her shoulders slumping slightly. “Y/n doesn’t like it when you leave your load inside me. It drips out after and she doesn’t like how it tastes.” She’d been hoping that the explanation would be enough, and they could get on with their night, but he grew even more angry at hearing the reason.

“Y/n?!” He exploded. “Who the fuck cares what she thinks? She’s your recycler, for God’s sake, not your girlfriend!”

“Oppa, please, she’s still my responsibility and we’re going to be together for a long time! I just don’t want to make her upset!”

“No, you don’t, so you’d rather sacrifice our relationship!”

“Our relationship? Oppa, please be reasonable, it’s just one little thing!”

He stopped short and looked at her somberly. “It’s not,” he told her. “You’re literally putting your recycler above me, above our relationship. You think her happiness is more important than mine.”

“It’s not! Oppa, please!” she begged, tears in her eyes.

“If you insist on the condoms… we’re over, Jennie-yah. I can’t be with someone who doesn’t prioritize me in her life.”

The ultimatum took her aback, and she stared at him with wide eyes for a minute, silently begging him to take it back, to explain that he’d just said that in the heat of the moment, and he didn’t actually want to end their relationship. But he didn’t, sitting down heavily on the bed instead and looking away from her.

Sadly, she began to collect her things from the room. “I didn’t want it to end like this, oppa,” she said softly.

“I know.” That was the last thing he said before she left.

With her vision still blurry from the tears, Jennie fumbled in her bag in the passenger seat to get her phone. She needed to hear your voice.

“Hello?” You picked up almost immediately, having had your phone next to you while you ate with Chaeyoung and Jisoo. Lisa was at the studio again practicing for a dance shoot. “Unnie? What’s up?”

Jennie sniffled. Hearing that, your mind shot into overdrive. “Unnie? Are you okay? Are you crying? Where are you?”

Right. Words were necessary. “We broke up,” was all she could say, though.

It was enough. You stood up so quickly that both Jisoo and Chaeyoung looked over with concern. “What? Are you still at his place?”

Jennie nodded, then realized you couldn’t see it. “Carpark,” she confirmed. “Can’t drive.”

“Okay, you just wait there, okay, unnie? We’ll come get you,” you assured her.

“Okay,” she sniffled, but didn’t want to hang up. “Y/n-ie? Can you stay on the phone?”

“Of course,” you promised. “Just give me a sec, okay?” She put the phone down and quickly explained what was going on to Jisoo and Chaeyoung, then the three of them got up and drove over to Kai’s apartment complex. On the way, you stayed on the phone with Jennie, continuing to talk to her about nothing while she just listened, letting you distract her.

You had some trouble with the security at the building, since of course they weren’t about to let some random people into the apartment complex, but since both Chaeyoung and Jisoo were in the car, they figured nothing bad could happen and finally let you in after you promised that you were just there to pick up someone.

It wasn’t difficult to spot Jennie’s car in the parking lot, since it was fairly empty, and you got out of the car and sprinted to her, pulling open the door on the driver’s side and peering in. Jennie was hunched forward, her hands grasping the top of the steering wheel and her forehead resting on her hands, and she turned to look up at you when she heard the door open.

“Y/n-ie—” she managed to get out, before bursting into tears again.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” you soothed, leaning in to give her an awkward hug and stroking her back. “Let’s get into the backseat, okay? Jisoo-unnie can drive your car home.”

Sniffling, Jennie nodded, climbing out of the driver’s seat and into the back. You followed after her, shutting the door, and Jennie immediately lay down with her head in your lap.

As you stroked her hair, Jisoo got into the driver’s seat and turned on the engine, starting the drive home. Chaeyoung followed in her own car.

Jennie continued crying for a while, then seemed to fall into a light doze while you draped your arm around her. You had to wake her up to get her back into the apartment, but you hadn’t let go of her the entire time, offering support and physical comfort where words failed you.

------------------------------------

Over the next few days, all the girls seemed to coalesce around Jennie, giving her hugs and making sure she was eating and drinking. The difficult part about being an idol was that even though she felt like shit about her breakup, she still had to go to fan meetings, interviews and events, acting like she was happy and chipper and that nothing was wrong.

It was during those times that she sought your support the most. You were always there in the wings or in the audience, milling around with the staff and sending her encouraging smiles and gestures whenever you saw her looking at you. During breaks and between commitments, you would always be by her side, holding her hand or giving her cute hugs and telling her what a great job she was doing.

Even as time passed and she started to get better, she continued to rely on your encouragement, which you eagerly gave. Your relationship grew closer than ever, and Jennie would have been pleased if she hadn’t been so confused. She’d initially wanted a recycler for the sisterly relationship she thought she could foster, but even though you were doing all the things she’d expected and hoped for, she didn’t think of you as a sister.

Instead, she found herself looking at you while you were doing other things, admiring the way your lashes rested against your cheekbones and the focused furrow of your brow. The times of day when she would seek you out because she had to pee became her favourite, purely because she had your entire attention.

Okay, that was a lie. She was starting to love the inherent eroticism of the act, even though that had never been something she’d considered before. The feeling of your lips caressing her slit, your eyes looking up at her with such joy and devotion even as she was peeing in your mouth, the conscientious way you always licked her clean after… she hoped you weren’t noticing the way she would bite her lip when she felt your ministrations on her.

Once, on a really hard day when she’d been at an awards show that included EXO, you’d been extra sweet to her when she decided she couldn’t take it and excused herself to go to the restroom. You’d found her in a deserted corridor, pacing around with her hands on her hips.

“Unnie?” you called, skipping over to her. “You okay?”

“Oh,” she relaxed as she looked up and saw you. “Yeah, I’m fine, sweetie. Just a little stressed out from everything.”

Reaching her, you gave her a hug that she gratefully sank into. “I’m sorry, unnie. Just a little longer, okay? Fighting!”

Pulling back to look her in the face, you were surprised when she instead leaned over to press a kiss to your forehead. “You’re always so good to me, Y/n-ie.”

You giggled bashfully. “It’s the least I could do, unnie. You’re always so thoughtful of me! I just want to make you happy too.”

Your cuteness made her want to hug you more tightly, but the urgent needs of her body had to take precedence for now. She let you go and pulled back, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. Stress drinking water was really not the way to go when at an awards show, she admonished herself.

“You look like you’re in a bit of a state there, unnie,” you teased even as you dropped to your knees in front of her.

“Oh, shut up,” she groaned, leaning against the wall and throwing her head back as you pulled her panties and safety shorts down. The short dress she was wearing may look impractical, but it was actually immensely helpful for situations such as this.

“It’s okay, unnie,” you soothed as you stroked her hip, shuffling closer. “I’ve got you,” you said right before pressing your lips to her pussy, your mouth open to catch her urine.

The feeling of your soft, warm lips on her pussy and the tender, reassuring words you said right before you put them there was almost too much for Jennie, and she had to close her eyes to regain composure before she did something ridiculous like try to grind her clit against your face. Focus, she reminded herself sternly. She wasn’t going to be one of those donators who exploited her recycler, someone who was in a position completely dependent on her.

By this point, peeing in your mouth was as natural to Jennie as using a toilet had been in the past, and it didn’t take any effort at all for her to start the stream. She let out a big sigh of relief as pee started jetting out of her. She’d really had to go, and the feeling of letting it out was almost euphoric, making her shudder with how good it felt.

Your gaze drifted up to her face, her brow slightly furrowed and her mouth open as she continued peeing in your mouth. You were gulping it down as quickly as possible, trying desperately to keep up with her stream, but you couldn’t help but notice how sexy she looked like that. You could almost imagine her making that face for a different reason, and slightly embarrassed at the direction that your thoughts had taken, you lowered your gaze once again.

As you did so, Jennie opened her eyes and looked down at you, struck by the view. You looked completely focused on your task of drinking the pee she’d held in her body for so many hours. Was there a purer expression of devotion, of care, than this? The last of her pee drained out of her into your mouth, and you smiled up at her before licking her clean.

This time, you took extra care to get every bit, swirling your tongue gently as you lapped at her core. When you were done, you pressed tender, wet kisses to either side of her, then one directly over her clit, gazing up at her as you did so. She definitely deserved a little bit more love today. Kai had been staring at her the entire time, and you knew she was stressed.

When you were done, you helped her back into her clothes silently. “Shall we head back, unnie?” you asked with a smile.

“You go ahead,” she demurred. “I need a minute before I can go back in there.” She intentionally phrased it so you’d think she was talking about Kai, and you squeezed her arm sympathetically before leaving her, licking your lips clean as you went.

When she thought about what she’d done next instead, she still flushed. Instead of cooling off, she all but ran into the restroom down the hall, a room she’d honestly thought she’d never have to set foot in again, and had her hand in her panties the moment the stall door clanged shut. With one hand frigging herself desperately and the other covering her mouth to make sure no errant noises escaped, she brought herself to a hasty, unfulfilling orgasm. It didn’t matter, though. It was enough to cool her blood for the time being.

After washing her hands and cleaning up, Jennie returned to the awards ceremony, where Jisoo immediately draped an arm around her shoulders and started stroking her hair comfortingly. You must have told the other girls that she’d been having a hard time with Kai here, she thought. She appreciated your concern, but it really made things all the more awkward for her when instead of freaking out about it, she’d been off masturbating to the thought of you drinking her piss and eating her out.

The situation eventually grew more serious, to the point that Jennie was sure she was doing a piss-poor (ha) job at keeping it a secret. How was she supposed to get her head on straight when you literally had your mouth on her cunt multiple times every day?

---------------------------------

You could, in fact, confirm that Jennie wasn’t keeping her growing attraction to you under wraps. It wasn’t her fault – she couldn’t exactly help the fact that she was often wet when you got on your knees from her. You could literally see the arousal shining on her pussy before she covered your face with it, and the way the slick smeared on your face was kind of a dead giveaway.

Still, you didn’t say or do anything because you didn’t want to make her uncomfortable, trusting that she would speak up if she wanted to. It would only make things awkward if you pushed her before she was ready. After all, if she turned you down or denied it, you’d still be stuck to her 24/7, for the foreseeable future.

No, it was better for things to remain the way things were, you determined.

Despite your better judgement, however, you were still a little shit at heart and took pleasure in riling Jennie up and possibly hinting to her that you’d be open to a development in your relationship. You were getting increasingly bold with the liberties you took under the guise of ‘cleaning her’, sometimes even giving her clit a naughty little suck just to ‘get it all out’, or sliding your tongue so deep along her slit that you could taste her arousal.

She never broke though, even though you could feel the minute movements sometimes as she rocked her hips slightly in response to your ministrations, and she often ran off right after getting up off your face, probably to masturbate somewhere. Every time she did, you’d sigh and lick your lips clean, wishing she would let you help with that too.

Chaeyoung, predictably enough, found the whole thing hilarious. Having a front-row seat to your mutual crushes on each other was seriously top-notch entertainment, she thought, especially since you were both so utterly oblivious about your feelings. As your feelings for Jennie grew, you stopped seeking Chaeyoung out for sex, and your relationship instead mellowed into a tightly knit friendship. There were no hard feelings on either side, since Chaeyoung had mostly been in it for the sex anyway. Being a gay idol was really hard, and you’d provided physical and emotional support for a period of time.

These days, you mostly hid in Chaeyoung’s bed to whine about Jennie and cuddled her when she felt like she would never find a girlfriend, given the restrictions on her life as long as she was an idol. Jennie, however, didn’t know that, and increasingly was filled with jealousy whenever you disappeared to look for Chaeyoung. Once, when she’d seen pictures of a wedding between two of her cheer teammates, you’d ended up spending the whole night with her as she cried.

Jennie tried to be understanding – she knew that she didn’t own you, and that Chaeyoung was clearly going through something. But she was going through something too, god dammit, and she wished you would cuddle her and kiss her forehead and tell her it was all going to be okay the way you did with Chaeyoung sometimes on the couch.

Well, it would be difficult for you to do that with her since her issue was that she was falling for you, but still.

Chaeyoung was fully aware of Jennie’s jealousy, too. It wasn’t like she was even trying to be subtle about it, looking over and sighing or pouting whenever she saw the two of you wrapped up cozily together.

Eventually, when it got boring for Chaeyoung to deal with the longing, sidelong glances and wistful sighs, she finally decided to talk to Jennie about you.

Predictably enough, Jennie was reluctant, but Chaeyoung had, by this point, had years of experience prying secrets out of her older member, and was now adept at it. Call her the Jennie whisperer, she thought to herself as she invited Jennie for coffee, just the two of them, like they’d used to as trainees when Lisa and Jisoo were off doing whatever it was the two of them did alone.

Sipping her iced coffee, Chaeyoung eyed Jennie, noting the sadness she thought she was hiding as she stirred the sugar into her drink. “Unnie, are you okay? You just seem really down lately,” she prompted the older girl.

Jennie looked up in surprise, then relaxed. “Oh, it’s nothing. It’s just Kai, y’know?”

“Unnie, that was months ago! What’s really bothering you?” Chaeyoung pressed.

Abruptly becoming defensive, Jennie’s shoulders drew up around her shoulders. “Nothing’s bothering me,” she said.

“All right,” Chaeyoung accepted, though it was clear from her raised brow that she didn’t believe her. “I’m glad we got to do this, unnie,” she continued with a smile. “We never get to spend time together anymore, just the two of us.”

“That’s true,” Jennie agreed. “We’re always so busy these days…”

“Yeah, and Y/n is always hanging around you too…”

It was like a cloud abruptly formed over Jennie’s head when she heard your name. “She’s not always hanging around me,” she muttered with some bitterness. Sometimes she was spending time with Chaeyoung, after all. It was just a little bit annoying for the person who’d been stealing time with her own recycler to be saying that.

“Unnie, come on! She never leaves your side,” Chaeyoung laughed. She was intentionally goading Jennie, but the older girl seemed to be falling for it hook, line and sinker without even realizing that she was being played.

“That is so not true,” Jennie huffed. Her jealousy got the better of her, and she snapped, “She’s always hanging around you these days.”

A beat of silence, then Chaeyoung said with delight, “Unnie, are you jealous?”

“What? N-no!” Jennie denied, flustered now. “Why would I be jealous? She’s just my recycler. She can sleep with whoever she wants.”

“Wait, who said anything about sleeping together? I thought we were talking about just hanging out.”

“We were, I mean—oh, fuck.” Caught red-handed, Jennie slumped miserably onto the table in front of her, hiding her face from her dongsaeng.

“You know, you should really just talk to her,” Chaeyoung said, uncaring of Jennie’s dramatics.

“I can’t,” Jennie protested, her voice muffled. “I have to be responsible for her. She’s going to think that I’m trying to pressure her.”

“Unless…” Chaeyoung trailed off, and Jennie raised her head to look at her.

“Unless?” she asked.

Chaeyoung winked. “Maybe she feels the same way about you.”

-------------------------------

Now that Chaeyoung had planted that thought in her mind, Jennie couldn’t stop thinking about it. She saw hints of it in the way you happily ran to give her a hug when she came home, the way you snuggled up to her at night, and in all the thoughtful little gestures that showed how much attention you paid to her. You brought her snacks and water during her meets and shoots when they ran overtime, and always encouraged her during practice and recording sessions.

As much as she tried not to overthink it, it was impossible not to read into the little ways you made her feel special especially when you were drinking from her. The cozy way your face nestled into her ass when she sat on the chair, or the almost reverent, worshipful way you looked up at her when she stood over you, the way you licked her clean so slowly and thoroughly that there was no way you were oblivious to how wet she became, and those sweet, soft kisses you’d taken to littering on her pussy when you were done licking her.

There was no way you’d do all that unless you felt some type of way for her, right?

Despite Chaeyoung’s intervention and her own increasing desire for more between the two of you, it actually took a rather embarrassing mistake on her part to force her hand.

Since she’d broken up with Kai, she’d entered somewhat of a sex drought, which meant it was easier than ever for you to turn her on, something you took pleasure in doing, especially at home on days when she didn’t have any schedules. She knew this, and yet she could never bring herself to stop you by getting up before you were done ‘cleaning’ her, always hungry for more.

On this particular day, your face was under her on the chair when she made the mistake of looking down at you between her legs. She could only see the lower half of your face, of course, yet the sight of your tongue so eager to please was definitely her new kryptonite, she decided on the spot. As you licked a stripe from her clit to her asshole, she shuddered and let out a soft moan, rolling her hips slightly to get more friction.

A second later, she paused and stiffened, hoping that you hadn’t heard that.

Unfortunately, from your giggle, she knew that was not the case, and started to rise, intending to beat a hasty retreat. Before she could get up, however, your arms shot out, grabbing her by the hips. “Unnie,” you whined.

“Y-Y/n,” she stammered, trying harder to shake off your grasp and stand up. Eventually, you let her, but when she turned back to look at you, you were pouting up at her through the hole in the seat.

“Unnie, don’t you want me to finish?” you asked.

“You— I— what?” Reduced to stammering now, she started backing away from you, and you hastily got out from under the seat to sit on the ground.

“I mean, I knew that you were liking it more than you wanted to admit,” you told her, your eyes wide with sincerity. “I don’t mind helping you out, you know.”

“But… but Chaeyoung…” Jennie was grasping at straws now.

You shrugged. “We haven’t slept together in months, unnie. I want this,” you said, leaning forward. “If you’re okay with it, that is.”

“Wait… what is it you want exactly?” She didn’t think she could handle just being friends with benefits with you, even if her libido was screaming at her to take what she could get.

“I want to be your recycler… friend… girlfriend, if you want…?” You peeked up at her from under your lashes, nervous now from laying all your cards on the table.

“Really?” She knelt on the floor to look you in the eye properly. “You really want that? You’re not just saying it because you think I do?”

“You do?” Surprise coloured your tone. “I thought you were just horny after your breakup.”

Jennie flushed. “Well, I mean, there is that,” she coloured. “But no… I really do have feelings for you. It’s probably part of why my relationship with Jongin-oppa didn’t work out.”

You giggled. “Well, if you don’t mind… I’d love to give this a shot,” you confessed.

“I would love that too,” Jennie breathed, leaning in to kiss you, because she needed to occupy her mouth with something before she blurted out something stupid, like that she loved you.

To her surprise and displeasure, however, you leaned back when it became clear what she was trying to do. “Wait, wait! Don’t you want me to brush my teeth or something?” you asked, clapping a hand over your mouth.

She laughed. “I don’t care, silly,” she said, pulling you closer with a hand on the nape of your neck. With that out of the way, you eagerly draped your arms around her neck and pulled her close for a kiss. It was soft and sweet and everything you’d dreamed of with her… until she broke away to pull you to her bed.

“Moving a little fast there, aren’t you, unnie?” you giggled as she straddled you. She hadn’t put her clothes back on, so she was wearing only a shirt.

“You’ve been teasing me for months,” she complained as she leaned down to kiss you again, this one deeper and filthier, leaving you breathless.

“Fair enough,” you said, letting her pull your shirt off. You retaliated by stripping hers off too, and then she shuffled down to take care of your shorts and panties. “What do you want to do?”

She moved with a sense of purpose and drive that indicated she’d thought about this a lot, shuffling up to your face and straddling it, facing your body. Leaning forward, she pulled your legs apart and ran her fingers along your soaked slit before raising her fingers to her mouth. “I’ve wanted to do this since I saw Chaeng on top of you,” she growled before lowering her pussy to your face.

You ate her out ravenously, excited after all those months of stolen moments where you gradually pushed the limits to see where she would draw the line. You already knew how she tasted, but you wanted her to use you for her pleasure, grind on your face and moan and scream when you made her feel good.

Diligently, you lapped at her clit, experimenting with different strokes and speeds until you found one that seemed to make her go crazy. She dropped her head, pressing her cheek to your thigh for a few seconds before regaining composure and redoubling her efforts to make you cum. Of course, this was a competition she was bound to lose, since you’d had a head start earlier.

“Unnie, your cunt tastes so good,” you moaned into her core between the sucking and licking. “Your piss is so fucking tasty too, I love it.”

Your nasty words spurred her on, and she ground her pussy against your face, groaning at the stimulation on her clit. “Fuck, you feel so good,” she huffed, forgetting about your pleasure as she chased her own relentlessly. “Such a nasty little slut for me, aren’t you?”

Since it didn’t seem like she had the bandwidth to, you took over stimulating yourself, rubbing at your clit with your fingers. “Yeah, I’m your dirty slut, unnie,” you gasped, before sucking her clit into your mouth and flicking it with your tongue repeatedly. The movement sent her stratospheric and she cried out as she came, gushing cream straight into your mouth.

“Oh, God,” she exhaled shakily when it was over, lifting herself off your face. “You’re such a good girl,” she praised, her fingers sliding along your cunt again and knocking your hand out of the way as she began fingering you in earnest, wanting to pay you back for the orgasm you’d just gifted her.

“Ah, unnie,” you moaned, your hips rising off the bed as you chased her touch. “That feels so good, yes, yes—” Your eyes closed, and you gasped, small, choked cries leaving your mouth as you came, clenching down on her fingers. She worked you diligently through it, only pulling her hand away when you started to make small noises of pain as overstimulation set in.

“That was so good, unnie,” you said in a soft, tired voice as she collapsed on the bed next to you. Pulling her close, you nuzzled your nose against hers.

“Likewise,” she smiled before her lips met yours in a kiss, this one chaste and sweet after your mutual lust had been slaked.

“Thank you for giving us a shot,” you murmured, closing your eyes in contentment.

“No,” she corrected you, wrapping her arms around you. “Thank you for being mine.”

You knew what she meant, and your lips lifted in a small smile. You would always be hers, and she would never forget to appreciate it. Neither of you were willing to call it love yet, but you knew that would come. There was no rush – you were her recycler, you’d always be together.

[thecaffeinebookwarrior]

The Dos and Don’ts of Writing Smart Characters

Since I started this blog, one of the most common questions I’ve received has to do with the portrayal of intelligent characters.  This is also one of the most difficult to answer -- excluding questions about characters with specialized knowledge sets, which are fairly easy to answer with source compilations.  Most of the questions have to do with:  how do you portray a smart character believably?  How do you make the audience relate to them?  Can I still make them likable?  How do I avoid the pitfalls of popular media?

Well, I’m finally here to answer, utilizing examples from some of my favorite (and occasionally, not-so-favorite) media.  Let’s jump in to the dos and don’ts of smart characters!

1.  Do let the audience follow the character’s thought process.  

As demonstrated by:  Tommy Shelby from Peaky Blinders

Albert Einstein allegedly once said, “If you can’t explain it to a five-year-old, you don’t truly understand it.”  And the sentiment rings true:  true genius doesn’t need to dazzle with big words and technobabble.  Instead, it makes the complex appear simple.

The same rings true for brilliant characters.  BBC’s Sherlock (more on that later) ceased to satisfy in its later seasons because it began to rely too heavily on visual glitz to avoid actually explaining its mysteries and how they were solved.  Similarly, the biggest complaints with block buster franchises -- Star Wars, The Avengers, Game of Thrones -- is that they became obsessed with “subverting expectations” cleverly instead of leading the audiences to their most logical and satisfying conclusions.

Meanwhile, the smartest and most satisfying media dazzles not by staying over the audience’s head, but by illustrating how simplistic the solutions can be.

Let’s start with my boy Tommy Shelby, the charismatic, swaggering protagonist of the charismatic, swaggering crime drama Peaky Blinders.  Using only his intelligence (and complete disregard for his own life/suicidal tendencies, but that’s not the point here), Tommy claws his way up from the near-bottom of the social ladder (an impoverished Romani in early 20th century Birmingham) to being a decorated war hero, to being the leader of a feared razor gang, to dominating the race track business, to becoming a business mogul, to becoming a member of parliament and trying to assassinate the leader of the fascist party. He’s also one of the paramount reasons why I’m bisexual.

So how can such a drastic social climb be conveyed believably?  Because Tommy -- as the viewpoint character -- is placed in seemingly inescapable situations, and then proceeds to demonstrate that the solutions to those situations have been there the whole time.  I recently watched a brilliant video on how this is done, which can be viewed here.

Early in season one, for example, he responds to aggressive new methods by the police by organizing a mass-burning of paintings of the king, and uses the press this garners to publicly shame the methods of the chief inspector who’s been antagonizing him.  In the next season, he talks his way into a deal by bluffing that he planted a grenade in his rival’s distillery.  My personal favorite is in season four, when he responds to being outgunned by a larger, American gang by contacting their rival -- none other than an Alphonse Capone.

All of Tommy’s victories are satisfying, because they don’t come out of nowhere -- we have access to the same information he does, each victory is carefully foreshadowed, and we are reminded at every turn that failure is a very real possibility (more on that later.)  So when he wins, we’re cheering with him.

Other examples:  Mark Watney from The Martian, who explains science in its most simplistic terms and with infectious enthusiasm.  He would make every character on The Big Bang Theory cry.  

Also, Miss Fisher from the AMAZING Miss Fisher’s Murder Mysteries.  The dazzling, 1920s, female Sherlock Holmes of your dreams.  I cannot recommend it enough.

To apply this to your own writing:  Remember you won’t dazzle anyone if you smack them in the face with a “brilliant” plot twist.  They want to take a journey with your character, not be left in the dust.  

Also, for everyone in my askbox concerned that they’re not smart enough to write intelligent characters, just remember how simple the problems confronting smart characters can be.  Put them in a difficult situation, and provide them with a means of getting out.  Then, just let them find it. 

2.  Don’t assume the audience is too stupid to keep up (or try to make them feel too stupid to keep up.)

As demonstrated by:  Sherlock Holmes from BBC’s Sherlock.

Say what you will:  there were reasons why everyone was so captivated by this show during its first two seasons.  It felt fresh.  People had yet to become frustrated with the inescapable thirst for Benedict Cumberbatch.  The writing was sharp, and the editing clever.  And it wove a tantalizing web of mysteries that demanded solution.  The problem was, there weren’t any.

The most frustrating for many was how Sherlock faked his death at the end of season two, after which devoted fans spent two years creating intricate theories on how he might have pulled this off.  The creators responded by mocking this dedication in the opening episode of season three, by showing a fan club spinning outlandish theories (one of which included Sherlock and Moriarty kissing.)  This might have been laughed off -- at the time, many seemed to consider it quite funny -- if the creators had bothered to offer their own explanation of how Sherlock survived.  They didn’t.  And so began a seemingly endless loop of huge cliffhangers that promised -- and consistently failed to deliver -- satisfying answers.

The most egregious examples occur in season four, which provided answers to questions no one asked, and withheld answers for things everyone wanted to know.  For example, did you know that the real reason Moriarty engaged Sherlock is because he was hypnotized by Sherlock’s secret evil sister?  The same one who killed Sherlock’s best friend, whom Sherlock convinced himself was a dog?  Yes, that was a real plot point, in the climax of the series.  It’s an effort to befuddle the audience with brilliant and unexpected writing, but instead pulled them out of a story they were already invested in and made them far more critical of its pre-existing faults. 

It’s pointed out in the brilliant (if bluntly named) Sherlock Is Garbage, And Here’s Why that Moffat can be a great writer, but is a consistently terrible show runner, because he’s more interested in dazzling the audience with cleverness than actually telling a satisfying story.  The video also points out that the show often implied Sherlock’s brilliance, without ever letting the audience follow along with his actions or thought-process in a way that DEMONSTRATED his brilliance.  

I highly recommend giving the aforementioned video a watch, because it is not only a great explanation of how Sherlock Holmes can be best utilized, but about how writing itself can be best utilized.

Other examples:  The Big Bang Theory.  As Wisecrack points out in their wonderful video on the subject, the punchline of every joke is “oh look, these characters are smart nerds!” which is repetitious at best and downright insulting at worst.

How to avoid this in your writing:  Treat the audience as your equal.  You’re not trying to bedazzle them, you’re trying to take them on a journey with you.  Let them be delighted when you are.  Don’t constantly try to mislead them or hold intelligence over their head, and they will love you for it.  Also, cheap tricks do not yield a satisfying story:  readers will know when you went into a narrative without a plan, and they won’t appreciate it.

3.  Do remember that smart people can be kind and optimistic!

As demonstrated by:  Shuri from Black Panther.

Yes, brilliant people can be unhappy and isolated by their intelligence, or rejected by society.  But remember that intelligence isn’t synonymous with a cantankerous attitude, or an excuse to be a pugnacious ass to those around you!  

Part of the reason why Shuri of 2018′s Black Panther was such a breath of fresh air was the fact that she subverted almost all preconceptions about how a genius looks, acts, and regards the world.  And it’s not just the fact that she isn’t a sullen, middle-aged white man that makes her stand out:  Shuri has an effervescent attitude, and genuinely loves contributing to her country and family.  She referred to sound-proof boots as “sneakers” (and then explained the pun when her brother didn’t get it.)  She’s fashionable.  She teases her older brother, and cries when he is apparently killed.  She’s up on meme culture.  This makes her unlike pretty much every other genius portrayed in the MCU.

Except maybe the Hulk.  He can dab now.

Shuri is also allowed to take pride in her genius, and can be a bit insufferable about it, which makes her more enjoyable and rounded.  But she is an excellent example of how genius can be explored and portrayed in fiction, and I will forever be embittered that she was underutilized in Infinity War and Endgame.

Why, for example, are all geniuses portrayed as arrogant misanthropes?  Albert Einstein battled depression, but he is also said to have enjoyed blowing bubbles and watching puppet shows.  He was kind to those who knew him.  Similarly, Alan Turing behaved little like his fictional counterpart, described as “shy but outgoing,” with a love of being outdoors.  Nikola Tesla fell in love with a pigeon.  Why do we have to portray these people so damn gravely?

Other examples:  Spencer Reid from Criminal Minds.  Also an excellent portrayal of an intelligent person on the autism spectrum, as he struggles to interface socially but cares profusely for his fellow human beings.  He is brilliant, and completely precious.

Also, Sherlock Holmes -- the original version, and all faithful adaptations thereof.  Anyone who thinks Sherlock is an austere, antisocial jerk isn’t familiar with the original canon.  He blushed when Watson complimented his intelligence, for God’s sake. 

Then there’s Elle Woods from Legally Blonde and Marge from Fargo.  Brilliant, upbeat, optimistic geniuses.

To apply this to your own writing:  If you have a smart character who hates everyone around them for no identifiable reason, ask yourself why this is necessary and what this adds to the plot.  Are they angry about injustice, towards themselves or others?  Are they frustrated with an inability to relate to people?  Do they want to protect themselves or their family at all costs, including politeness?  If not, question why your brilliant character can’t also be kind to those around them.

4.  Don’t make your character perfect at everything they do.

As demonstrated by:  Wesley Crusher from Star Trek: The Next Generation.

Ah, Wesley.  Some call him the original Mary Sue, and it’s one of the only times I’ve seen the term applied with some accuracy.  He is somehow the most gifted and least qualified person on The Enterprise.  He’s Hermione Granger without the charm, jumping in to answer questions before any of the trained officers in the room have the chance to, always in the right.  His only obstacle?  Why, the boorish adults he’s surrounded with simply don’t understand his brilliance!

As early as the series’ very second episode, Wesley -- inebriated by an alien illness -- forcibly takes over the ship from Captain Picard, only to later save it from a threat with a reverse tractor beam of his own design.  

Wesley was obviously inserted as a means of attracting younger viewers, but failed egregiously, because he was too annoyingly perfect for kids to relate too, and not cool enough for them to be invested in.  I binge-watched the various Star Trek series in my youth for Spock, Data, and my wife Seven of Nine, not to watch seasoned military and scientific officers get lectured by an adolescent.  Even Wil Wheaton, who had the misfortune of portraying this character, expressed a dislike for him.  

Precocious children are great, if you get them right.  But get them wrong, and they can easily become your most annoying character, marring the face of otherwise great media.  The most important thing you can do for a brilliant character is endow them with weaknesses and flaws -- even something as small as Shuri’s fondness for teasing her older brother made her enjoyable, as anyone with siblings could relate to their dynamic.  

But, what if you want a supernaturally talented character who not only fails to be a ray of sunshine, but is something of an arrogant, antisocial jerk?  Can they still work, especially if they also happen to be a child? 

Yes, under one extremely important condition:

5.  Do keep your characters out of their depth!

As demonstrated by:  Number Five from Umbrella Academy.

Okay, he’s not exactly a child.  He’s a fifty-eight-year-old trapped in a child’s body, who’s traveled back in time from a post-apocalyptic future to warn his siblings of an incoming Armageddon.  In other news, Umbrella Academy is a weird show.  Unlike the comics, however, the apes don’t engage in prostitution. 

 The effect, however, remains the same:  a preternaturally talented child who talks down to everyone around him, including his (apparently) older siblings.  So why does he work while Wesley fails so egregiously?

For one thing, it’s demonstrated early on that Five has the skills to back up his sanctimonious attitude, with the delightfully ultraviolent Istanbul (Not Constantinople) sequence.  It also helps that he lacks Wesley’s squeaky-clean moral code, to the point at which he can get drunk in public or kill without remorse.  

But:  the element most vital to his success as a character is the fact that he’s kept completely, and consistently, out of his depth.  He knows the world will end in eight days, but he doesn’t know how this will transpire or how to stop it.  Ultimately, he fails again to stop the apocalypse, and must travel back in time with his siblings for another chance.  

Most authors have the impulse to demonstrate a character’s brilliance by allowing them to succeed against insurmountable odds, but the Umbrella Academy writers show tremendous wisdom in allowing Five to fail.  This allows the audience to empathize with him, and countermands the effects of his arrogant attitude.

This advice isn’t just true for pint-sized prodigies.  Look back over this list, and take notes of how often the most successful characters are allowed to fail, to have flaws, and to ascend past their comfort zone.  

Other examples:  Virtually every successful example on this list.

Tommy Shelby, a character of limitless ambition, conducts a new, perilous climb outside of his social rank each season, which almost always puts him in positions of mortal danger.  He faces threats both external (rival gangs, evil priests, and rising fascists) and internal (hello PTSD, suicidal tendencies, and crippling addiction) but either way, we understand that his fast-paced climb is not for the weak-willed or faint-hearted.  

Mark Watney is a brilliant scientist who has been stranded in an utterly impossible situation for which absolutely no one could be adequately prepared (spoilers:  it’s on Mars.)  We are drawn in by his plight, and how he could possibly escape from it, and there we come to admire him for his courage, optimism, and humor.

Shuri, though not the main character of Black Panther, is allowed to show off both tremendous gifts and vulnerability, as she is powerless to stop the apparent death of her beloved older brother.  She watches Wakanda’s takeover both as an innovator and a young woman, and a large reason for her success is that she is allowed to be both.  

How to apply this to your writing:  When portraying intelligent characters, take stock of how often they fail, their level of control over their surroundings, their vulnerability, and their flaws.  We don’t want to read about flawless deities.  We want to read about characters who embody and personify our humanity.  So remember they need to fall down in order to pull themselves up.

Happy writing, everybody! 

[graceslavenderhaze]

haunted {connor stevens}

synopsis: connor knows your soul and you know his.

authors note:

 friends to lovers? fuck yes! forbidden love? hell yes! ‘no one gets me like you’? double hell yes! ‘we balance each other out because we’re exact opposites?’ triple yes! 

also readers outfits are high key inspired by the iconic julie molina bc she’s a style queen.

fem! reader because request asked for a female reader, usually i write gender neutral unless specified. 

 i threw another jatp easter egg bc we haven’t gotten a renewal and i am on the borderline of becoming feral. 

also this is going to be split into two parts for maximum angst and fluff purposes.

Your parents were always hard on you. Tough love was their specialty, as one would say. So they had certain expectations for you. They wanted the best for you. So there were rules to make sure you always did the best. No going out late on school nights. No slacking off in school. No disobeying.

However any adult who had ever been a teenager should’ve know that challenging authority is a coming of age tradition. You snuck out on school nights for midnight society meetings. You managed to keep good grades in school while being involved in a few clubs to look good for college applications. And for your parents sake you’d managed to be obedient almost all of high school. The ‘perfect girl next door’.

But it was all bullshit. The only person who ever managed to see through it was Connor Stevens. There never was an odder pairing to walk the halls of shadow bay high school than the two of you. He rocked the classic ‘dark and distressed’ aesthetic. He was on the wrestling team and was popular. He was a natural born risk taker and ignored everything that had a warning sign. 

You on the other hand were everything Connor wasn’t. You clashed standing next to him with the bright colors you usually wore in your daily outfits and bracelets that adorned your wrists. You were in the environmental club, art club and theatre. You weren’t popular is the same sense Connor was, sure people knew your name but you were nice to everyone so it was a given that no one forgot the girl who gave out lollipops on valentines day so no one felt left out. You strayed away from trouble and gave distance to warning signs.

You met Connor through Hanna, well sort of, she was in environmental club with you and eventually talked to the midnight society about accepting a new member, you. Everyone knew of with you ,except Connor. He swore he’d heard your name before but he couldn’t put a face to that name at all. So he’d hung around after one of your environmental club meetings with the intention of bumping into Hanna and her introducing him to you. But the day he’d hung around Hanna had a dentist appointment and not knowing anything about Connor’s plan whatsoever, he was left in the dark. 

September, sophomore year

Connors eyes skimmed over the crowd of various classmates but he failed to find his red headed friend, his lack of subtlety gave him away. You were walking with your friends Carrie and Kayla. When you noticed the lanky boy dressed in all black. “I’ll see you guys tomorrow.” You said to your friends as you parted ways. Once Connor noticed you he tried his best to look as if he wasn’t spying.

“Hey.” You introduced yourself playing with the strap of your backpack as your looked at your classmate who was currently leaning against a tree. He turned acting as if he hadn’t been caught by you. “Hi. I was just.. hanging around.” He said brushing several fallen leaves off of his jacket that had fallen from the light fall breeze that had started to roll in. 

You nodded, “You totally weren’t spying or anything like that right?” You crossed your arms in front of you. His face went slightly red with embarrassment before he started to stutter. “N-no. I was waiting for Hanna.” He said with composure. 

You laughed dipping your head down for a second before looking up at him again. “She had a dentist appointment today.” His face drops flat. You tilt your head. “I knew that.” He rebuttal quickly. 

“You’re Connor right?” You asked. “You’ve heard of me?” He asked with confidence. “Oh yeah, Hanna talks about her friends a lot. Luke, the mr. perfect, Gabby, the smartest girl she knows, Jai, the comic book nerd that everyone loves and Connor, the lanky stalker.” You said with a satisfied smile. 

“I’m not a stalker.” He defended himself. You nodded. “I’m Y/n and I’m not a stalker either.” You said with a wink before you walked away. Connor smiled to himself before pulling out his phone and clicking the messages app. 

October, sophomore year

You laid on your bed, clad in your costume aimlessly scrolling through your instagram feed. Your parents had given you a sun down curfew and due to daylight savings it was dark by six. Halloween was your favorite holiday and you felt like a prisoner in your own house. It wasn’t fair, you followed their rules and were in turn met with more rules and restrictions. 

You sat up sighing, you had been so excited about this night for weeks. Hearing rustling at your window you stand up and cross towards it. Startled slightly when you see Connor there in his ghost face costume. You opened your window leaning against the frame.

“What are you doing still inside its halloween!” He said with excitement, like a kid in the candy store. If anyone loved halloween more than you, Connor came neck and neck. “I’m aware it’s halloween and keep your voice down.” You said to him looking back at your bedroom door listening for your parents footsteps before turning your attention back to Connor.

“Are you grounded?” He asked with a hint of confusion in his voice as to why you would be grounded. You didn’t answer, which only egged him on. “What’d you do?” He scoffed almost not believing you had it in you to do anything bad. You cross your arms sitting back against the windowsill. He noticed your mood change.

“Hey, you can tell me what’s wrong you know.” He said gently, no longer mocking or teasing. He laid his hand on top of yours his thumb stroking back and forth. “I didn’t do anything. I do everything they ask of me and it’s never good enough. They gave me a sun down curfew.” You said to him making sure your volume stayed low in fear of alerting your parents you weren’t alone. 

Connors eyebrows furrowed, “The sun went down at six. Seth has a later curfew than you.” He joked as he let out a laugh but once he noticed that you weren’t amused he stopped. “Sorry.” You let out a frustrated groan, “ I get perfect grades, I act like the perfect daughter that they want at my own expense, I sacrifice my own personality for them and its never enough.” You said looking out at the sky that had a full moon. 

Connor sat there in the full moonlight. Your colorful bracelets were discarded, your smile that always was on your face was gone, your eyes were slightly teary eyed, and looking slightly past you saw your room. your doors had artwork and posters on the back but the rest of the room was calm. 

“I think you’re enough. I know you’re enough.” He said in almost a whisper but even if he said it any louder no one else would hear other than the stars and the moon. Your attention turned back to him. “You’re just saying that.” You said looking down at your lap. He placed a finger under your chin and lifted your head back up so your gaze was back on him. 

“No i’m not. I’ll say it everyday until you start to believe it if i have to.” He said looking in your eyes. “I really want to kiss you. Is that okay?” Your voice was so quiet that if Connor wasn’t so close he probably wouldn’t have heard it. He smiled, “Yeah, that’s okay.” You leaned in and closed the gap between the two of you. Through all of this Connors hand was still enveloped over yours. Breaking apart with huge smiles you both giggled. 

“C’mon, we have halloween plans and your parents are asleep on the couch downstairs.” He said standing up and outstretching his hand to you. You hesitated, you’d never snuck out before. “You trust me right?” He said. “Duh.” You said. 

Turning around you grabbed a jacket then, went into your desk drawer grabbing your array of colorful bracelets and hastily putting them on. Turning around Connor still had a hand outstretched for you as you slipped your shoes on. Climbing through your window and regrettably, looking down. 

“Have you never snuck out before?” Connor said concerned about the way you were looking at the ground. You turned your head and shook it. He nodded. “I got you.” He grabbed your hands and lead you along the incline of the roof. Turning around so he could climb down. “It’s okay.” He said before climbing down leaving you up alone. You swallowed hard, was it too late to go back inside? 

“Okay, swing your legs over the ledge.” He said in a hushed tone. You hesitated for a second before slowly moving over the ledge. “There you go!” Eventually you got your legs steadily over the ledge. “Okay so place your right foot right there and then turn around and place your left foot parallel.” Your fear filled eyes met Connors. “I’m right here.” At a turtle speed you started to shift down the shaft. Slipping once or twice and white knuckle gripping the side of the shaft. 

“Are you okay?” You swallowed. “Is it easier getting up than down?” You asked. “Much.” He said bluntly coming closer to make sure you’d be okay if you slipped.  “Thank fuck.” You nervously laughed. “Okay now just go down one at a time.” He said standing at the bottom ready to catch you when you got to the bottom. 

“There’s no more.” You said after your foot slipped. “Yeah now you jump.” He said. “You said nothing about jumping.” You argued. “You’re a foot and a half off the ground, i’ll catch you. I promise.” He said. You turned looking down. “Do i just let go?” You said hesitantly, part of you wishes you stayed in your bedroom. But part of you is glad you didn’t. 

“Yeah. I’m gonna put my hands on your waist, is that okay?” He asked looking up at you. “Whatever gets me on the ground faster.” You said as you felt his hands fall onto your waist. After a few moments you loosened your grip on the shaft and then completely let go putting all your trust into Connor. 

Falling into his chest and your feet plant onto the ground your eyes stay shut as a reflex. Once you were still you opened them, turning around you looked at Connor who had a hard time reading your face. You started laughing. “I just snuck out. With a boy. That i kissed! My heart is racing!” You said taking Connors hand and placing it against your chest. He smiled looking at you. 

present day

“You are blowing things out of proportion.” You said to your mother as you were practically prison marched into your house. She scoffed at you. “Oh i’m blowing things out of proportion! What have we talked about and instilled into you your whole life?” She said rhetorically, she didn’t want an answer but you had one granted she wouldn’t like it. Your dad stood by the door silently as if you’d make a run for it. 

“To do everything and anything to be perfect regardless of who you have to destroy even if you destroy yourself!” You exclaimed crossing your arms. If your parents wanted to play manipulation games you could too, after all you were their daughter. 

“We break our backs to give you amazing opportunities and this is how you repay us? Lying and going behind our backs? Like an ungrateful brat!” Your father finally spoke up. You were never ungrateful for those opportunities, you just wanted to be a normal kid and when you were with your friends you felt like one. 

“I never said i was ungrateful! I just want to be a normal teenager, hang out with my friends and be myself! You guys have made me disregard all mentions of who i am for the sake of this nuclear family image that you so desperately want to achieve.” You said spilling out years of emotions. You hadn’t known how long they’d been in there. Bubbling over and just poisoning your happiness. 

“You just want to hang out with that trashy shawn hunter wannabe!” Your mother exclaimed about Connor. Low blow to an already low battle. “This has nothing to do with Connor and he’s actually a really great person! The only person who seems to care about the real me.” You exclaimed. Your parents were slack jawed. 

“You are to never hang out with that boy again, do you understand us?” Your father said coldly. You were taken aback. Your heart had sunken to your stomach. “We forbid it.” Your mother added on. “You forbid it?” You scoffed. 

“Do you understand?” Your father asked again. You crossed your fingers behind your back. “Crystal clear.” As you turned to go upstairs to your bedroom tears of anger and frustration filled your eyes. Opening your bedroom door and closing it shut. You looked at your window, you were already in trouble. What’s a little more? Shooting Connor a text you then climbed out your window. Connor was right, it did get easier the more you did it. 

After a sneaking around to his house being quick to avoid anyone who you knew would tell your parents about seeing you, you made it there in the average fifteen minutes it usually took to get to his house. “You look like you need a hug.” He immediately after opening the door pulling you into his awaiting arms. You wrapped your arms around his torso. You pulled away and he gently grabbed your chin a sad look washed over his face. “You’ve been crying.” His tone wasn’t questioning it was more of a matter of a factual. 

Your silence only proved what he thought. “Please just talk to me, i hate seeing you upset.” You exhaled a breath you didn’t know you’d even inhaled. He grabbed your hand and lead you to his couch for you both to sit down. He threaded his fingers and yours together, a habit both of you developed during the time you’d started dating. 

“My parents found out about everything and now they’re forbidding me from seeing you.” You said with a bitter tone in your voice, through the whole year you’d managed to keep everything up. Your grades, your attendance in the clubs, and anything else that tied to your limbs pulling you like the puppet your parents treated you as. “Did you sneak out to see me?” He said with a smirk.

“Possibly.” You said quickly biting down a smile causing him to lean in and steal a quick kiss. 

“Wow i’ve really corrupted you.” He whispered, up close you noticed the eyebags from the lack of sleep, his room had light shining that was brighter than usual, and a quick look into the kitchen when you first walked in showed freshly brewed coffee. “Are you okay?” You asked. You could tell the gears in his head were turning at half speed. 

“I’m always okay when you’re around.” He said slyly. You didn’t wanna pry but he looked exhausted. “Did you sleep last night? Like at all?” You said softly. He looked down. “Con, what’s going on.” He thought for a moment about telling you but he couldn’t. He’d be putting you in direct danger, offering you straight to the shadowman. So he did what he did best to protect those he cared best about, he pushed away. 

“Why do you care?” He said swallowing harshly, protecting you was breaking his own heart in the process in a way he thinks might not be fixable. You were taken aback. “”Because i love you, i have since halloween.” The pieces that broke? Yeah they just shattered into more pieces, those pieces all loved you fully. 

“Your parents are right, i’m not good for you.” He had to hold his own tears back before continuing. “You shouldn’t be here.” You had tears welling up in your eyes for the second time that evening. Both your broken hearts were breaking and you had no idea where this was coming from. 

“I don’t want to lose you, i don’t want to lose this.” There had been numerous times during your relationship where you and Connor swore that you were soulmates. There was no word for explaining it, it was just this immense feeling that was mutual and overtaking. Like a wave that constantly crashed over you both every time you saw the other smile. 

“Someday, i hope you’ll forgive me.” He said with his own tears going down his face, and you nodded. Nothing lasts forever. No matter how much you want it to. You stood up and his heartbroken eyes followed you as if you were the sun constantly orbiting. You went for the door. 

“Wait!” His voice beckoned, you turned. His arm outstretched holding out a jacket for you. “Here, take my coat.” You had no fight inside of you. You took it. 

“I’m not your girlfriend anymore you don’t have to.” He cut you off. “It’s an old one from sophomore year, i have a new one. Plus its freezing outside and we both know you look better in that than i do.” He rambled before stopping himself. You nodded and slipped the jacket onto yourself which loosely hung off your figure. He gave you a tight smile. You noticed from the zippers that it was the one he was wearing when you first met and kissed. That was salt in a fresh wound. 

You both stood there, he couldn’t turn back now and you couldn’t know what would happen in the coming week. Neither of you wanted to say goodbye. So you didn’t, you went to the door without saying anything else to him. Then, he just stood there watching. When the door closed he inhaled. 

His lights flickered and he realized he was running out of time. He had to get the cottage and do the ritual before it was too late for him. But he was already out of time. 

[robyndehood]

My Son's Story (pt. 1)

DISCLAIMER: I Know it's a bit of a long read, but it's important. Please read. I promise it isn't boring. Thank you!

Hi Everyone,

Intro

This is my first real attempt at Tumblr. Please contact me if anything I post violates a rule or is not considered appropriate. Anything I post, I truly mean no harm nor offense to anyone. But I need to write daily again to regain my gift and share it with the world. I have been working on my version of the "great American novel" for years. As a child, I was well on my way to becoming a successful author, but people had other ideas for my career path - and to put it bluntly - my contribution to society. Writer's block set in and then what was second nature to me - creative writing, became a lost skill. Or maybe a distant memory. Writers know that half the struggle as an artist is the dilemma of our own aspiration towards perfection. But nothing is perfect. It is a social construct and the antithesis of true beauty.

The Ultimate Birthday Gift

So, that said, let's talk about my son. He's three - he's actually turning four in December. He was born on my birthday and has been the greatest gift that I have ever received. I won't pretend that he is perfect or even generally compliant with my directions. But he's loving. He's empathetic. He's brilliant. He's beautiful. And most of all, he is the sweetest person I have ever met.

I am going to go slightly off-topic for a bit; just to paint the full picture. I don't want to ramble and I am definitely a believer that a short and to the point message is almost always far superior to a long and complicated message. But bear with me because this snippet of the backstory is essential. And my son's story is important.

Appalachia

We live in Pittsburgh, part of the Appalachian Mountain Range. There is no other way to say it than the unadulterated, ugly truth of it - Pittsburgh is racist. Very racist. Beyond that, there is a general lack of common courtesy to outsiders, customers of businesses, other patrons in stores, etc. And the rudeness, is actually pretty much unrelated to the racism. It sounds strange and surely, minorities who are on the receiving end of it would certainly assume that racism was the reason why they said "excuse me," "thank you," etc. and about half the time are ignored like they're a ghost. But don't get it twisted - there are many times the aforementioned behaviors by many Pittsburghers IS induced by racism AND a lack of common courtesy and manners. You see, their deep-seated tribalism is indoctrinated into many Pittsburghers so completely from a young age that they know no different. It would be difficult for them to understand this article and I'd bet anyone ten bucks that if enough PIttsburghers read this post - they will attack my analysis of Pittsburghese culture as though the post itself is a blitz on the entire city.

Brown or White?

I am latin and there aren't many latins in Pittsburgh. But when we moved to Pittsburgh when I was in seventh grade, people knew my last name. Summer had just passed and I do get brown. I can get brown very quickly in the right type of sun and I get brown eventually in the sun that exists in cloudy and northern Pittsburgh. In seventh grade, some boys decided it would be funny to call me "estupido," and up until two years ago, I avoided sun exposure that would reveal my "brownness" like the plague.

Subversive, Subconscious, and Secret Racism

So, not long after I started that strategy, I was treated as white. (Side note: latins can be any race; but it seems that societal constructs are seeking to change this long accepted designation and categorize latins as some in between, brown race and not an ethnicity. To be honest, I am ok with that and now proud to be latin.)

The reality of being treated white in Pittsburgh for many years was that I learned what white people actually said when they were only with other whites. The most common thing that was said was one white person mumbling to other white people that someone was a "dumb n******" or a "dumb monkey." I've heard white adults refer to children who were black as "n***lets." But it was always this crocodile smiling through their teeth behavior. They'd never dare say it to a black person. Instead, they'd just indirectly discriminate against them.

I do have to mention that by no means do all Pittsburghers behave this way. It's just too many of them. I don't know the percentage, but if I had to guess I'd say - 50% plus.

Yes, Racism Happens All The Time Even if You Don't See it Happen

Many white people will tell you that racism is gone because they don't ever observe it and Obama was president - a black president. Therefore, everything is now over. I can admit that I have experienced my share of discrimination when my skin darkens. But I had no clue how bad it was for black people out here until my son became the recipient of the ugliness of it all. To me, racists are by definition ignorant cowards; so it makes sense they'd pick on a small boy whose only family is his mother.

Evil Always Starts Slowly

If one reviews history, every evil dictator or regime began slowly chipping away human rights. By the time the citizens realized the dire state of their country, it was too late. Their freedoms were already taken away and mechanisms to fight back had also been methodically erased.

When my son was born - a boy who is half African (his father (if you want to call him that since he is basically not involved) is from Ghana); no issues arose for the first two and a half years. But then the indirect discrimination started. The same rules that applied for white children didn't apply to him. I could give so many examples. But let's just say, as a rambunctious boy, if my son mimicked a white boy's same rambunctious behavior, we were confronted and the white family was not confronted.

One day I made an appointment for my son's hair to get cut at Philip Pelusi. They made the appointment knowing that he was only two and a half. The receptionist let me know that the stylist was a "Grade A Stylist," so I would have to pay more. I was fine with paying more; cool. After the appointment was made, I mentioned to the receptionist that my son was mixed race. We ended the call and I began to get my son ready to leave. Within ten minutes, the salon called back and informed me that they didn't/wouldn't cut my son's "type of hair." I promptly returned the call and explained his hair was curly, that's all. They blatantly lied and told me that the stylist doesn't cut ANY curly hair. Right. So, if a white lady came in with curly hair she would be turned away? I doubt it. Either way, the stylist is "Grade A." She is also licensed to cut hair by the state. Shouldn't a requirement for state licensing require one to know how to cut all "types of hair"?; I saved the recording, by the way, and still have it.

As months progressed, little by little wherever my son and I went in "white areas," we felt hostile vibes. Other incidents occurred that couldn't be proven as racial discrimination, but I knew. Whites behaved as though my son didn't deserve to be around them.

Southern Hospitality

We traveled down south a few times in the past year. Yes, some of the south is very racist still to this day. But not where we drove. Suddenly people responded when we said "excuse me," "thank you," etc. No white families prevented my son from playing with their children. No one told me my son was a nuisance or put out that vibe.

The Lesser of Two Evils?

But we had to come back each time because we live here and I've been working my way out of the projects that I have lived in for four years. Shootings. Open drug use and sales. The smell of crack in the hallways. Infestations in other apartments that come our way no matter what we try. People peeing on the hallway floors. Yes, seriously. Young children being encouraged to bully and beat up other kids. Children stealing or attempting to steal my son's toys because their mothers buy them none. Gamgmembers as young as twelve.

So, I concluded: "yes, we will move, but until then, we only sleep in our apartment and we do not play at the projects' playground." I figured IF I saved a certain number of money since I have a car that I saved for and bought last year, we would make it in our new, chosen city (Tampa or Jacksonville).

But then the racism against my son in the "white playgrounds" became worse. One day he was playing with a five year old boy at an indoor playground. The mother had no issue with it. The father of the boy arrived half an hour in, promptly scooped the boy away from my son, and told his son that he had told him he was not to "play with n*****s." My son couldn't understand why he could no longer play with his new friend and kept calling to him, "friends again!" while sobbing because he thought he had upset the boy. I had to leave with my son because of it.

Another time, a ten-year-old boy taunted my son on an outdoor playground and called him a "dumb monkey." My son first attempted to yell, "I NOT DUMB MONKEY," a few times; but the boy persisted and even smirked in my direction. My son ran to me and asked me to make the boy stop. No parent in sight and again, I just had to leave with my son.

Enough is Enough

Finally, last month or so, my son and I were at our usual laundromat doing laundry. We had finished. My son skipped a few steps in front of me and tried to open the glass door but couldn't push the bar to open it because of his height. He placed (yes, placed..lightly) his foot on the door to try to give it a bit more of a nudge. I was a few seconds behind him so just pushed the door open and we went to our car to load our clean laundry into it. In retrospect, I saw an older white male go next door to the beer store right after we walked out of the laundromar. The beer store employee approached us as I loaded my laundry into my car and then intended to leave.

The beer store employee told me he was getting "reports that kids were kicking glass." He said kids. Plural. And what he said made me envision a bunch of grade school kids kicking around broken glass on the sidewalk or parking lot. I responded calmly that "I have one kid and he's been with me the whole time. He wasn't involved." The beer store employee wanted drama to transpire. It was obvious. He said in a threatening manner: "Just so you know, I have cameras." My son and I exchanged glances because we were confused. What kids? Kids were kicking glass. Where? What glass?

Again though, I calmly responded that my son wasn't involved and he should check his cameras. He told me he was calling the cops. So I got my three-year-old son in his car seat and set a time limit of ten minutes to wait. We weren't running when he didn't do anything. The cops of course showed up about a minute later. It's ridiculous because in our projects (different police department than the laundromat police department), there have been shootings where children were outside playing when several clips were emptied into crowds and the police station is a block away. I know people called and it took an hour for them to arrive on scene.

Long story short, the laundromat cops knew it was a bullshit call. The supposed "kicking glass" was because my son placed his foot on the door to try to open it when we were LEAVING. The police eventually informed us that was the alleged "kicking of glass." There was no kicking that happened. The door wasn't even dirtier, let alone damaged because my son tried to use his foot to open the door. Lightly, by the way.

Even though the police were kind to my son, for the next week, my usual gregarious child was terrified to go anywhere. He eventually told me it was because "the cops will chase me and take me to jail because I bad guy now."

He's over it now. Mostly.

But we still have to pick between the craziness of playing at our aforementioned projects or going to a "white playground" and risking my son being rejected. It's usually a 50/50 shot that he will be rejected. If he gets rejected, he gets very upset.

Again, these are problems we never faced on our travels down the southern eastern seaboard. We didn't get treated like this at the destinations or on the journey by car to and from the destinations.

I knew we were living in an extremely racist and rude area, but one day I found this. It's a map delineating the results of a study conducted by Google and others regarding the level of racism in different parts of the country.

I already knew this much. But it's good to know I'm right that we are in the worst part of the U.S. for racism and the kindness we received traveling to those certain southern states was no illusion. And I did ask locals before I found this map if I was right that people are kinder to all colors in whichever given area.

Not the Worst Thing That Happened But the Last Straw

People talk a lot about Karens these days. This lady looked like she jumped right out of a Karen meme. My son was two feet away from her while we waited in line and she said as obnoxiously as possible: "Can you handle this? Please get him out of MY space." Yeah, I didn't let it go. At all. Her argument was that she said "please" so it's OK to make my son feel like a "this" and not a little boy. I held him while he sobbed. Long story short, I decided right then anywhere has to be better than this.

It isn't me just knowing people are being nasty to my son and I'm upset. He understands. He had an evaluation for something and he tested very well. He cried about each of these incidents. He just wants to make people smile and make friends.

So, next month we are going for it. I'm no where close to the aforementioned goal. I have some savings. We may end up in shelters at first after savings dry up in a few weeks. But we cannot survive up here. Nor can we advance here.

Side Note

I wrote this mostly to inform others of the status quo and reality of racism and the real effects it has on one tiny boy. And I know it will just get worse if we stay since it's this bad already.

But if you anyone knows of any resources to help us get on our feet in a month in Tampa or Jacksonville (Tampa is my first choice, but either one.) I have applied for housing, even though I didn't and don't want to go back to projects; but I'd take one down there over watching my son endure so much pain any day of the week.

Ok, so final part: I'm going to say upfront I feel extremely awkward with this paragraph because this isn't my way (years before my son was born I was homeless for a stint and never sat with a sign or a cup. Just couldn't do it), but for my son, I'm going to drop my cashtag here. Everyone is struggling and I know there are people with much worse problems. I appreciate anyone who has read this far and can help spread the reality of what I wrote about. That's the reason for the article; but if help is received at all because of it, we would be grateful but it's definitely a far second most important reason for the post. Here it goes, for my baby, in case it'll change his life and give us that better foot up, here it is: $RobyndeHood

[jamr0ck83]

If Nobody is Racist, Then Who Exactly is Keeping Systemic Racism Going?

Everybody seems quick to insist that they’re not the ones who are racist.  So, then who is?  If it’s only the people you say, then why are we like this as a country?

Recently, someone with which I somewhat briefly attended grad school for education (And no, I don’t want to talk about what happened with that whole endeavor) posted the following image to their Facebook profile.

On its face, it seems like a completely reasonable and acceptable statement, and as such, it was generating some likes.  At the time I first saw it, I think there were 6.  But before I, too, submitted my approval of this image, I thought a little more about it, and its implications.  And I realized that I didn’t really agree with it.  I knew the person who posted it had no ill intentions, and I think they even found the image on the profile of another POC.  But the more I reread the sign featured, the more I was sure that it was not a true statement.  I knew that my stance was not going to garner nearly as many likes or other accolades as if I had posted a phrase like “Black Lives Matter”, which at this point, it seems like all reasonable people are able to agree that they do (or at least it’s the obvious appropriate thing to say in this moment).  I knew I might receive some pushback or criticism, and while that did admittedly make me nervous, I knew that I needed to speak up in this way and in this moment.  And I was willing to deal with whatever consequences came my way.  I decided it was that important for me to make a case for a diverging opinion.  So, I typed out the reply below and posted it.

I want to agree with this, but I'm not sure if I do. Please hear me out. It is entirely possible to be a Trump supporter and not be a person who has ever uttered a racial epithet or been otherwise explicitly or overtly racist. However, I do believe that there are degrees of racism, and if you're someone who has responded that "all lives matter" or "blue lives matter" when another person asserts that black lives matter, I would argue that you are on the spectrum of holding onto or entertaining some form of racist ideology. If you watched the video of George Floyd having his life choked out of him and then watched the footage of riots from that first night in Minneapolis and thought "It's a shame that guy died, but what they're doing now is uncalled for", this might indicate that you prioritize law and order (no matter how unjustly they are being enforced) over the life of a man whose only transgression was that he was black, and that, too, places you on that spectrum of racism. Racism isn't always waving a confederate flag and yelling at POCs to go back to where they came from. Sometimes, it's knowing that the politician you support will turn a blind eye to or even praise people who march around with tiki torches yelling, "Jews will not replace us" and wanting to vote for him anyway. Sometimes, it's hearing black people beg to have full access to the citizenship rights that are due them but deciding it's more important for you to vote for the guy who advocates for you to keep your semiautomatic rifle. If you are deciding that your wants (not needs) have priority over the humanity of POCs, then I would argue that you are on the spectrum of racism. And that demands some self-reflection. Complicity is part of what makes racism so destructive. What's the point of knowing better if you refuse to hold others accountable for doing better?

And then I waited.  I waited for blowback.  I waited for pushback.  I waited for agreement.  I waited for literally anything anybody might feel compelled to say.  But the only feedback I received was a single “like” whereas the post itself had garnered six additional since the posting of my comment.  So, people obviously disagreed with my stance but couldn’t bring themselves to make that known in any kind of direct fashion.  And frankly, that concerns me.  A great deal, in fact.  And there are a couple of reasons why.

Firstly, and this is something of which I was starting to become more aware even months before the death of George Floyd and these subsequent protests, white people are very quick to assert that they, themselves, are not racist.  They are also quick to assert that most people who look like them are not racist.  According to them, hardly anybody is really, truly racist.  But if that’s actually true, then why is this country such an absolute mess, and why have we been that way for centuries?  It’s as if the term “racist” is being reserved for truly egregious and over-the-top cases.  And everything else is just the way people are.  White people seem to have a very specific and narrow idea of what racism looks and sounds like, and that allows them to never truly have to consider whether they, themselves, might be racist.  Or if their family members are racist.  Or if the politicians they actively support are racist.  Under their definition of that word, it barely applies to anyone. And as a black woman who considers herself knowledgeable of both history and current affairs, I will confidently say that this is wrong.  

I have had people who cloak themselves under the banner of liberalism say some things to me that would make me raise an eyebrow if I knew at all how to move that particular facial muscle. And no, it’s not the times when the racial epithets and slurs are used that I feel compelled to do this.  It’s actually the times when I’ve made some sort of assertion about the impact of oppression on the lives of black people today, and I am met with sentiments such as “It’s not fair that we keep getting blamed for everything” or “You weren’t a slave, so the legacy of that institution doesn’t create any modern-day problems for you” or “Slavery ended over a hundred years ago, so why do you keep wanting to bring it up? Why can’t we all just move on?  Life is hard enough”. (That last phrase is a direct quote from a white woman who replied to something I said on Instagram regarding the role that white women have historically played in the role of oppressing black bodies.  She objected to my assertion that this is an issue that is rarely discussed, because dwelling on it would cause white women to feel discomfort, and that is in direct opposition to this silent societal code we all seem to follow that says that we must do whatever we can to prevent white women from feeling uncomfortable.  Ironically, she was shutting my argument down, because it made her uncomfortable.) Also, I’ve been told that the ways in which I have experienced oppression throughout my life just aren’t true, that I must be mistaken and that I am making something be all about race when it’s not about race at all.  And finally, I’ve been told the oldie but goodie “I don’t see color; I just see people”.

To the people that are brave enough to read this right now, I will submit to you that these statements and sentiments all reek of racism.  Every single one of them.  And every single person who uttered these phrases would have gone to the grave denying that they could be considered racist.  And sorry, people who made these statements, but this assertion by you would be wholly incorrect.  By so narrowly defining what racism is, we have given many people permission to absolve themselves from any responsibility for how it continues to thrive in American society. Nobody needs to look inward; nobody has to come to terms with any mindsets they might harbor that are truly problematic. And if nobody is willing to deal with anything or even acknowledge it, how are we going to change anything?  If we can’t even recognize and talk about what racism is, how are we going to put an end to it?  And the short answer is, we’re not.

My second concern is that, while it seemed like almost no one who saw my comment agreed with it, no one felt compelled to say anything, give any sort of reason for WHY they disagreed with it.  Maybe it’s because I’m black that they felt like they should just let me get on my soapbox and say what I needed to say, and that would be their form of allyship (even though at the end of the day, them doing this was just a dismissal of everything I said so they could go on with their lives, which kind of flies in the face of being an ally).  When these protests first started, I think many black people were reasonably skeptical about the degree to which we could rely on non-black allyship for the duration of however long we needed it.  We wondered if the outrage and fervor exhibited was sustainable.  And we wondered if white allies, specifically, were truly willing to endure discomfort if it would eventually lead to the advancement of our movement.  And I hate to say it, but I feel like the instance of this post about racism and who it applies to gave me substantial reason to believe that they are not.  The fact that there are people aligning themselves publicly to the BLM movement who are already seemingly unwilling to settle in their discomfort in order to be a more effective agent of change greatly concerns me.  It indicates to me that for some people (not all, but some) a lot of what’s going on right now is an exercise for them in anti-racism theater.  To put it simply and bluntly, they are not “in it to win it”, because “winning it” requires that they sacrifice more comfort than they are ready to do.  And while that’s certainly not everybody who calls themselves an ally, I worry that it represents a substantial number of people who we are currently relying on as allies who really aren’t.  And when they start drifting away from the protests and the posting of hashtags because this movement is no longer the fun, new thing we’re all doing, the people who remain are going to have to pick up the slack and work even harder to account for their absence.

To be clear, I’m not trying to knock anyone who wants to be an ally or make it seem like I want to nitpick at everyone and that there isn’t anything that any non-black ally can do that would truly please me.  If that’s what you are thinking now as you read this, I would implore you to reconsider. Because that perspective is one that stems directly from the notion that we are trying to hurt people’s feelings. It stems from this idea that it is our responsibility to make our white allies feel good about what they are doing right now so that they will continue to feel encouraged, or else they will walk away.  But this movement is not about pacifying white people’ feelings, whether they consider themselves to be allies or not.  We are not here to make you comfortable.  We are here to seek the justice that we are due.  We are here to seek the rights of citizenship that we have been routinely denied.  We are here to put an end to systemic racism.  Catering to allies’ feelings is nowhere on that list.  It’s not even a close fourth.  We need people to put their own individual feelings aside (discomfort, guilt, or whatever else) and help do what needs to be done.

And I realize this might be a harsh reality check, I do, because I know that many black Americans have spent a significant portion of their lives doing whatever they could to make white people comfortable.  During slavery, we performed their backbreaking hard labor so they wouldn’t have to but could still reap the financial benefits.  In modern times, many of us deliberately hold back a lot of ourselves in white people’s presence, because it’s always been an expectation that successful black people who have properly assimilated in the larger American society need to make sure that nothing we do resembles anything that might make them remember that we are not the same color.  For many black women, this means stifling their voices and hiding their frustrations, because nobody wants to deal with an angry black woman.  For many black men, this might mean being keenly and constantly aware of their physical stature and proximity to other people, because they don’t want anyone to find them intimidating in any way.  I think white people take these acts for granted because we’ve always done them, but they are not “just the way we are” or “just the way we like to be”.  They are a series of survival skills that we have been forced to adhere to, because to refrain from doing so would allow others to perceive as people they’d rather not deal with, if possible.  That means, we wouldn’t be the ones who get into the good school or get the good job or even get to keep our lives.

I have been deemed a quiet person my entire life, and while some of that is due to my genuine introverted nature, the majority is supplemented by the fact that, in most situations, if I am given the choice between being the quiet and unassuming black girl who nobody really has a problem with or the more vocal and passionate black woman that asserts herself but then has to deal with the consequences of nobody really wanting to be around her, I choose the former.  And I started choosing it at a very young age; I was definitely still in elementary school.  It starts that early.  Because we know that early.  We know that this country was not designed with us in mind unless it was to depend on our labor or our ability to entertain.  We know that the system is literally rigged against us in such ways that, if we were to inform white people of all those facets of oppression, they would accuse us of being paranoid.  Actually, that is precisely what happens when we try to tell people about our experiences of being black in America.  There are a lot of people out there who are masterful at gaslighting and being utterly dismissive of our struggles.  And that is a response that is literally for the sole purpose of driving the other person to the point of insanity.  So, for the most part, we stopped telling you things, because you weren’t really listening, anyway.  And we realized that, if we were going to make it in this country, then we really did have to work twice as hard, be twice as amiable in demeanor, and twice as resilient. Was that fair, for that to be put on us? Of course not.  But we shouldered that burden.  Because what was the alternative?  So, we did it, and we’ve done it fairly quietly for a very long time.

But we’re tired.  And we’re angry.  Because no matter what we do, people keep killing us for little to no reason and then justify it to say that we must have done something to deserve it. “Well, you should’ve known that wearing a hoodie makes you look threatening.”  “A toy gun could look a lot like a real gun, so that’s an honest mistake on the officer’s part.” “Oh, wait.  You were minding your own business sitting in your apartment when somebody shot you?  Well, were you really living beyond reproach and therefore entitled to keep your life? You sure you’ve never done anything wrong? Don’t you smoke weed sometimes?”  These are the ways people have justified our deaths.  And I would argue that all those statements and sentiments are couched in racism.  All of them. None of it is okay, and it all needs to end.  And we need everyone we can get to commit to joining us in this fight.  But if you’re really going to sit there and maintain the party line that racists are really few in number and that you, the non-black ally, don’t need to consider the ways in which you might harbor some racist ideology, then you’re not ready to be an ally.  And you can’t help us.  And you won’t help us.  Because as soon as things get a little less trendy or a little more uncomfortable, you will prioritize that over our humanity.  And that, in itself, is pretty damn racist.

[tarontherocketman]

Mr Madden | Madderton Teacher AU | Chapter 2

The sun seeped through the curtains in Richard’s minimalistic decorated bedroom as he stirred awake, willing himself to get up and get ready for his second day as a teacher. The butterflies started to kick in as he fully woke up, partly from the job still being new and scary, and partly from the knowledge that he was going out with Taron that night. Rich forced himself up and out of bed, making his way to the kitchen to shovel cereal into his mouth, then to the bathroom to brush his teeth and freshen up for the day. After getting dressed and taking one last look in the mirror, deciding his appearance was acceptable, he slung his backpack over one shoulder and made the commute to work, heading straight to the staff room to make a coffee to take to his classroom and drink while he prepared for the day. Not one minute after sitting as his desk there was a soft knock at the door, followed by it opening slightly and Taron’s head poking through the opening.

“Good morning, Mr Madden,” he chirped, pushing the door fully open and sauntering over to Rich, seemingly harbouring a confidence that he didn’t have yesterday, as if sharing messages with a kiss at the end the previous night had established a new, less professional comfort zone between the pair.

“Why good morning, Mr Egerton,” Rich mocked in return, an eyebrow raised. Taron laughed softly as he pulled up a chair next to the Scotsman.

“How’s the lesson planning going?” he asked kindly as he leaned in to see Rich’s computer, who turned the monitor around a bit for Taron to see.

“Well, it’s…going,” Rich sighed, not sounding at all confident.

“It’ll get easier trust me, you’ll start to learn what your students do and don’t like, what they respond well to, stuff like that,” Taron advised. Rich nodded along in understanding, reviewing his presentation, trying to visualise it as if he was a student rather than a teacher, now backspacing and retyping phrases where he suddenly wasn’t happy with the wording.

“Any more advice?” he asked Taron, who leaned towards the computer screen more, brushing shoulders with Rich as he did. Rich’s breathing halted briefly at the contact, knowing full well this was because it had been far too long since anyone had touched him further than a quick handshake.

“Colour,” Taron stated bluntly, “it’s simple. These kids love colour, it catches their eye far more than a piece of black and white text. Also putting important information in some sort of bubble or cloud seems to grab their attention and make them remember it. Although I’m saying all this as a Drama teacher, I know History might be a bit harder to get kids interested in, no offence.”

“None taken, it’s genuinely a boring subject if it’s not your thing or it’s been taught to you by the wrong person, hell I found it majorly boring at school! I only got interested in it after leaving school and learning it my own way.”

“What made you get interested in it? You could apply that to your lessons,” Taron suggested. Richard paused for a few seconds to mull over his answer before speaking.

“I think...because the way it was taught to me in school made me think it was just remembering dates and learning about wars, because for some reason I swear that’s all we used to do, and then when I left school I had a friend that went on to do it in university and I discovered through him that it’s more than dates and wars, it’s about culture and society, how much things have changed and why they changed, it’s actually a wealth of knowledge about the whole world and what it means to be human. People also think it’s only about what happened in the past, but it’s not, it’s an insight about what might happen in the future based on what’s happened in the past!” Rich dripped with enthusiasm about his subject, Taron simply sat smiling brightly. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologise Rich that was amazing you NEED to open with that in class today, it will get the kids inspired!” Taron encouraged, nudging Rich happily who agreed and sincerely thanked Taron for his help, the school bell bringing their moment to an end.

“First class on my own,” Rich declared nervously.

“Good luck! I’ve got 2 free periods now,” Taron boasted, Rich laughed and rolled his eyes. 

“Ah it’s alright for some! Bloody part timers,” he scoffed jokingly. 

“Seriously though, Rich, you’ll do great, they’ll love you!” Taron patted him on the knee and got up from the chair he’d pulled up, putting it back where he found it on his way out, having to wait by the door anyway for a stampede of kids to flood into the classroom and find their seats.

“Good morning everyone,” Rich greeted his class in the most welcoming voice he could as they started to settle. Taron gave Rich a last thumbs up before disappearing out of the door, letting it close slowly behind him as it had one of those mechanisms that slowed it so it wouldn’t slam, or rather, kids couldn’t slam it in anger when they would storm out of a classroom. 

“So guys, I know you all think history’s boring, and you know what? So did I when I was in school!” Richard began his motivational speech, Taron peeked through the door one more time, smiling proudly at his friend. Rich’s voice became quieter and quieter as Taron began to walk down the hall and the door was still closing. 

“It’s more than that, it’s culture and society, how much has changed and why it changed,” he heard Richard say in the distance, nearly out of earshot now, feeling a warm sense of pride inside of him again.

___________________________________________________________________

The bell for lunch rang at last, which of course always caused a commotion of hungry, restless kids all clambering up from their seats to get to the canteen as quickly as possible as if it was going to run out of food or something.

“Alright I’ll see you lot again this time next week, just please try your best with the homework yeah?” Taron called out over the noise.

“Yes, Sir,” a multitude of students mumbled back as they filed out of the classroom. Taron turned to the whiteboard, erasing what he had written through the lesson which was mainly thought clouds about dramatic expression and such. As he turned back around from the board he was taken back by a student still sat at the back of the classroom staring out of the window. A generally slim but ever so slightly plump girl with long blonde hair, pulled back in to a simple high ponytail.

“Uh, you ok Ella?” he asked, walking over to the lone student.

“Yep,” she snapped, forcing a polite smile.

“Why are you still here? You not hungry?” Taron asked softly.

“Nope.”

“Is everything ok?” he asked cautiously. Ella just looked away even more, hiding her eyes that were beginning to well up. Taron noticed and tried to not to make a big deal of it and make her uncomfortable, knowing students don’t like the teachers that freak out and jump down their throat when they’re having an emotional moment.

“Did something happen, Lovely?” he asked gently, keeping his voice low and soft. Ella sat in silence, and Taron let her decide on her own whether she was going to say anything.

“They hate me,” she finally burst out.

“Who?”

“Everyone! The students, the teachers, everyone in this fucking hell hole,” she seethed. Taron ignored the swearing in this particular context and nodded sympathetically.

“I’m sure they don’t, especially not the teachers, I don’t hate you!” he said with a small smile.

“Well maybe not you, but only because you’re the first teacher to acknowledge my existence for something other than picking on me in class while ignoring all the students actually misbehaving. The students definitely hate me though, why else would they trip me up in the halls, throw pens at me in class, call me horrible names,” she said with a shaky voice.

“Aw I’m sorry, Darlin’. Teenagers can be horrible honestly, I remember what they used to say when I was in school, they don’t know when to stop with the vile comments. Most bullies grow out of it when they leave school, the others end up in prison,” Taron laughed before quickly adding, “that was a joke you don’t tell anyone I said that ok?” Ella let out a small laugh, nodding quickly. “As for the teachers, they’re just busy, they have a lot of students to keep an eye out for and it’s a very overwhelming job at times. Always having to figure out who did what, who said this, who said that, we have far too many students to look out for and none of us EVER mean to ignore you or pick on you I promise. Admittedly some of us are more attentive and intuitive than others, I like to think of me as one of those teachers..?” he half suggested.

“Yeah, you’re one of the good ones,” Ella confirmed.

“See! And what about the new History teacher, Mr Madden? Have you had any classes with him?”

“I have History with him next, after lunch,” Ella said.

“Great! Well he’s lovely so I promise you’ll have a good lesson with him. What about final period?”

“Free study period,” Ella replied. Taron shrugged in triumph. 

“There you go! The rest of the day’s agenda sounds pretty good to me,” Taron said as uplifting sounding as he could. Ella laughed quietly.

“Thanks, Sir. What about the rest of lunch break though?” she asked with a heavy heart. Taron thought for a moment.

“Stay here if you want,” he offered. Ella smiled happily, sitting back in her seat.

“As long as you don’t mind me over there working, you’re welcome to escape here any time you need.”

“Thank you, Sir!”

Taron made his way to his computer, sitting down and pulling his phone out first to message Rich quickly.

T: hey there’s gonna be a girl in your class after lunch called Ella be extra nice she’s having a hard time right now, don’t tell her I said anything tho obviously x

Rich: yeah no worries, everything ok?x

T: yeah all good, just got her in my classroom for lunch break, other kids being horrible x

Rich: ah poor girl x

Taron slid his phone back into his pocket, turning back to his computer to get some work done.

“So Ella, who’s your favourite actor?” Taron conversed while typing away.

___________________________________________________________________

The day finally came to an end, meaning Taron and Rich could both get home to get ready for their meet-up that evening. Taron settled on a white t-shirt with a navy denim jacket, black jeans, and white lace up shoes. Richard going for a similar style with black jeans, a navy jumper, a grey long coat jacket and black slightly smarter shoes.

Taron sat at the bar the two had agreed to meet at, sipping at one of the two mojitos he had bought for him and Rich.

“Hey, Taron!” Rich greeted as he approached the table by the window that Taron had nabbed, sitting opposite him.

“Hey! I remember you saying you liked mojitos!” Taron gestured to the drink.

“I do! Thanks T,” Rich said warmly as he tucked his chair in and sipped at his drink.

“How did your motivational History speech go?” Taron asked.

“Oh my god it worked SO well, the kids seemed really engaged after I did it, thanks for the help.”

“Yeah no problem, happy to help,” Taron said, looking into Rich’s piercing blue eyes until the pair got uncomfortable and looked away with a small laugh.

“So, uh,” Rich began, not sure where he was going with it.

“Yeah..” Taron trailed. Rich took a long sip of his drink for an alcohol confidence boost, knowing one glass wouldn’t be enough.

“Fancy another one? On me,” he offered, already standing up ready to go to the bar.

“Love one, thanks!”

Rich wondered to the bar to order two more mojitos, having a mental conversation, kicking himself for being so awkward. It was such a different setting to chatting at school in between lessons or messaging over facebook before bed, this was so raw and real, just the two of them in a nice bar with cocktails and a window seat with a view. It was almost romantic, and neither of them knew exactly what to do in this context or even where each other stood on the matter. Was this just two colleagues meeting for a catch up or something more? Was Taron gay? 

Rich walked back to the table with the drink, mentally telling himself to man up and talk to Taron like a person, instantly taking a long sip of his drink and a deep breath.

“So are dating at the moment? Is that something that you’re-” he blurted out, but stopping himself. Taron- relieved that Rich had broken the ice first- made a low ‘uhh’ sound.

“It’s complicated, I promised myself when I started the job at the school that I wouldn’t get involved in anything like that while I was there, I’m sure you know what students are like by now.”

“Oh yeah definitely,” Rich agreed, nodding. 

“Then of course you had to show up and-” Taron caught himself, realising what he just said. “Oh, I mean, I-”

“Wait are you also..” Rich began tentatively.

“Am I- am I what? Wait, are you?” Taron stumbled.

“Ok ok wait, on three, yeah?” Rich suggested, “one, two-”

“Gay,” the pair said in perfect unison, quickly both sighing with relief and laughing a little to themselves.

“I’m so glad we were on the same page there,” Taron laughed.

“Fuck, me too,” Rich laughed back, still practically catching his breath from relief.

“I did wonder, but you can never assume you know?” Taron admitted, resting his chin on his hand, starting to be able to relax now.

“Yeah of course,” Rich agreed, “so as you were saying, I showed up and-?” he teased.

“Hah, yes, just ignore that yeah?”

“No no, go on,” Rich waved his hand, gesturing Taron to elaborate.

“Ok fine. I met you that day in the staff room and thought ‘oh shit this guy is gonna ruin my vow to not get attracted to another teacher’ and, he did,” Taron admitted, making Rich chuckle in reply to this.

“Oh did I now?” Rich asked suggestively, leaning in over the table closer to Taron, who mimicked this, now looking into Rich’s blue eyes again.

“You did,” he smirked, the two not breaking eye contact. Leaning in again towards each other, getting closer every few seconds, before Taron broke away, leaning back.

“Anyway,” he said as he cleared his throat awkwardly. “God I only met you two days ago,” he laughed nervously. Rich pursed his lips and thought for a moment about his next words. 

“And what an amazing two days it’s been,” he said confidently.

“Indeed it has,” Taron smiled, lifting his glass to cheers with Richard. The full moon now shining right behind them as the night grew later and later.

___________________________________________

Ta-daaaaa, I hope you guys liked it! I said it would be longer this time! So Ella is sort of a side plot I’m throwing in because I wanted to base a character on me and my time in school, I didn’t have any teachers supporting me at my side when I was badly bullied so I suppose I’m maybe sort of living out this fantasy through this fic seeing as I’m still ever so slightly salty about school in general bUT ANYWAY. Hope you enjoyed <3 

Tag list: @taron-eggmcmuffin @coffeetalkbaby

[lo-55]

Shattered Chains of Fate Ch. 9

Crown of Thorns

Before they set off for Seireitei the next morning Ichigo hands a backpack to each of his friends.

‘Backpack’ isn’t the right word. It’s a sling bag that will strap across one shoulder each. Kukaku had been nice enough to provide him with them. They’ve got basic medicines, rations, a small flashlight and a bowie knife, a few other things that came in strangely useful in Ichigo’s experience. Like a roll of tinfoil, and a ball of rubber bands.

“Once we get into the seireitei, we’re gonna make a flashy entrance. People are going to see us and they’re going to report on what we look like. As soon as we land we need to find the laundry, or the barracks, and steal uniforms.”

He holds a hand up to keep Uryu from objecting.

“I know you hate it. Deal with it. Orihime and I will be the most distinct. Chad and Uryu can probably change clothes, maybe hair styles and be fine. She and I will have to change hair color.”

They won’t have time to dye their hair, and even if they did Ichigo knows they were both loath to do so. Orihime prided her hair for Sora, her brother. Ichigo was just plain stubborn.

“There’s wigs in both of our bags,” and in Ichigos, his Chaldeas combat uniform in all its white and black glory. It will cover the rather distinct mark on his chest. He turns to their guide.

“Yoruichi. There’s different squads, what do we need to know about them? Characteristics, duties, positions. Anything.”

The cat has been staring at him this entire time. Ichigo doesn’t quite know what to make of it. She shakes herself out of it.

“You’re right. Each squad has different duties and different specialities. There’s also rivalries between certain squads. Each squad has approximately 200 individuals.”

“That’s not good,” Ichigo grimaces. “200 is small enough to be able to recognize people by face if not name.”

“Yes, but the turnover rate for unseated officers is low enough I don’t think it will pose a problem,” Yoruichi continues. She gives them a run through of symbols and squads associated with them, before moving on, “the first division is made up of those who are able to take charge. They rank highest, besides seated officers. They will be the second worst to masquerade as. The absolute worst will be the second division, who work as covert operations. They handle wetwork.”

“Assassins,” Ichigo understands. “And spies?”

“Sometimes. That also falls to the Third division, which serves as a secondary source of information gathering and is in charge of media, communication, and, for lack of a better word, propaganda. Fourth division is medics and combat medics. The fifth has historically been an emergency response system, and are one of the most combat ready.”

Ichigo nods along. Orihime would be best suited to the forth then. Chad, perhaps the fifth?

“The sixth division runs internal affairs. Even if Rukia had not been their captain's sister, it would have been someone from the sixth sent to retrieve her. Seventh doesn’t have a particular speciality as far as I know, but they are typically sincere people. The eighths division is made up almost entirely of women, and they are the reservists and jacks of all trades. They work closely with the thirteenth. Rukia’s own division.”

“Are they mostly women as well?”

“No. They typically do the most work outside of the soul society, sending people to the living world and protecting people from hollows. Ninth division is also combat oriented. They are entrusted with the defense of the seireitei. They count the paperwork of all high ranking officers as well. The tenth is in charge of inter squad cooperation and joint task forces. The eleventh is full of heavy hitters and combat specialists. They are one of the largest divisions, and also the one with the highest mortality rate. Twelfth is research and development. We should avoid them as well.”

Ichigo taps his fingers along his leg. “Orihime should find something from the fourth. She’s the only one who can heal, and can probably pass her abilities off as a zanpakuto if needed. None of the rest of us could be in the eighth, and the thirteenth seems too close to each other to be fooled. I don’t know enough about science for the twelve.”

“I could probably pass, but I would rather not,” Uryu agrees.

“That’s fine. I think it’s best if I say I’m in the eleventh. I have the sword and the fighting ability too. Chad, I think you’d be best for ninth. And Uryu, sixth. We need to avoid one through three if we can.”

“Ichigo…”

Ichigo looks up at Chad. “Huh?”

“When did you start planning like this?”

Ichigo doesn’t know how to answer that. He learned on the battlefields of france. He learned in the streets of london. He learned on the decks of the Golden Hind, the plains of america, the mountains of the middle east and the deserts of egypt. They had been weaker, they had been lesser. They had heart and desperation, but they had to fight smarter not just harder. It was the only option. He had to learn or he had to die.

“Chaldea, I guess,” he finally says. “We need to be quick and careful. This is a rescue mission, not a war.”

Chad looks at him for a long moment. Finally, he nods.

“Okay.”

They break apart and come back together around the ball that Kukaku hands them. She looks at Ichigo intently.

“This energy needs to be balanced between all of you equally. Your power is insane. You’ll have to put barely any into it.”

“That’ll suck,” Ichigo says bluntly. “I’m not good at holding back.”

He runs his fingers through his hair. “No choice though. Let’s go.”

Before they can start, Ganju grabs his wrist. Ichigo keeps himself from elbowing him in the face.

“What?” Ichigo asks, turning to look at him.

“Why are you going through all of this for one shinigami? Why is she so special?” Ganju asks. For once he looks absolutely serious. Ichigo stands straighter and lifts his stubborn jaw.

“It’s because she saved my life. And my family’s lives. She gave her power to me, and because of that she’s going to die. I owe her,” he said again, “And I will repay that debt.”

Ganju searches his face for something. Whatever he finds must satisfy him. He lets go of Ichigo, but Ichigo grabs his arm before he can get far.

“Why are you coming along? It’s not like you have a stake in this. You’re not one of our friends. You’ve never even met any of us before this, and you clearly hate shinigami.”

Ganju looks ready to say something, but Kukaku shoves her way between them and cuts it off.

“Enough chit chat, let’s go already. You’re wasting daylight, idiot.”

Ichigo can’t argue with that. They circle the sphere and Ichigo lets only the barest of his reiryoku bleed into it.

He’s not oblivious. He knows the difference in his power and theirs is about where he and Mash had been when they’d first began. She was endowed with the power and skills of a great warrior of ages past and he was little more than an amateur mage who fought punks on the side.

Now he’s got his own power, his own sword, and he’s been trained by the best warriors to ever walk the earth. He’d learned at the knees of literal legends. He’d faced down gods and demons and he’d lead armies.

He had the power, he had the experience.

It’s time to go.

They climb into the canon, form the sphere, and the chant begins.

Kido isn’t so different from magic. The only difference is the type of energy that’s being used. Reiryoku and mana are the opposite of two coins, the body and the soul. The living and the dead.

Ichigo figures now he stands somewhere between the two. He doesn’t fully understand. He doesn’t need to.

All he needs to know is how to fight and win, for the sake of his friends.

*

Ichigo will admit, it’s somewhat terrifying how  big this goddamn continent is. They’ve been marching for what feels like forever. He knows that the northern army has been holding the celts back for at least a week. He doesn’t know how much longer they can last, and they themselves are still a good week from the white house.

The stress of the situation was still heavy on Ichigo’s shoulders, but Kyo was a good person to carry part of it. Mash is under just as much stress as he is, but she must be made of stronger stuff than he is.

She presses on with all the faith in the world that they will stand victorious when the dust settles.

Ichigo has less faith, and more bullheaded refusal to accept any other outcome.

Kyo, he can tell, doesn’t understand this.

They stand in a field of death. Celts lay at their feet, blood drips from Ichigo’s sword and stains his cheek. His orange hair is dyed red in places.

These are soldiers who were born only to fight. They were made to die at the behest of a wicked queen and an artificial king. They never knew childhood. They never knew joy or a future. They only knew the present, they only knew what they were made to do.

To fight. To kill. To die.

“This is wrong,” Ichigo says, his hands fisted at his side and his jaw set in stubborn anger. In one hand his sword weeps bloody tears into crushed flowers at his feet. A mansion sets in the background, once grand, and around them stretches the ruins of a garden. A headless cherub gushes brown water into a red basin.

Kyo reaches down and plucks the flower from its place on the ground.  Ichigo knows well he has the heart of a poet and the mind of a scholar.

“Orchids,” he says, showing Ichigo where the violet petals stretch through the violent stains.

“I doubt we can get perfume from them.” The stench of rot and death hasn’t set in just yet, but it will. Ichigo would rather not stick around.

“No, but they’re out of place here, don’t you think?” He must see the scowl on Ichigo’s face, for he goes on without prompting. “Orchids are a spring flower. One of the four gentlemen. They’re a rather old concept in art.”

“Old for you must mean ancient for us,” Ichigo tries to turn the subject, but Kyo merely shrugs.

“You humans live short, scared lives. And we, long and terrible ones. It’s the way things are…”

It’s there again. The look in Kyo’s eyes. The one he’d had when he was first telling Ichigo about Rukongai and seireitei, and the empty throne that sits atop the world. There’s a longing for change, Kyo is too stubborn and ambitious not to have it, but there’s something else holding him back.

Ichigo scowls and closes the distance between them in a single stride.

“You just sound defeatist. So it’s hard, so you’ll have to fight. So you just give up? Are you going to give in to the status quo when you return to Soul Society?” Ichigo demands. He grasps Kyo by the front of his shihakusho and drags him so close that their noses almost touch. Brown eyes meet brown, one set wide and the other narrowed. “Half the fight is always mental. If you talk like that, you’ll never win, and nothing will never change!”

Ichigo bites out his hardest truth. “A victor should talk about how the world should be. Not how the world is.”

Kyo opens and closes his mouth, gaping like a fish. Ichigo has never seen the man so wrong footed before. Even when Ichigo had shoved part of his soul into Kyo’s body, there hadn’t been time for him to be so stunned.

Now he gets to see those brown eyes shift. From shock to understanding to a near burning determination that his calm demeanor barely betray’s.

Ichigo is getting good at reading him.

He can see the blossoming dream inside his heart. Soon time will erase everything, but maybe, just maybe, some things will remain. Impressions, hopes. Dreams.

Kyo lifts the orchid up between them, purple and red in equal turns, and incinerates it with only a whispered spell.

* *

They’re forced to split apart upon entry.

It’s not ideal, nothing about the situation is. All the same, Ichigo deals with it.

He finds himself spat out into a street with no name and no distinction with Ganju, who lands in a pile of sand while Ichigo himself land catlike on his feet. Yoruichi still sits on his shoulder, steady and growing familiar. She isn’t Fou, but the presence is welcome all the same.

It takes all of ten minutes for someone to find them.

Typical.

Ichigo glances at Yoruichi on his shoulder. “Are you staying, or do you wanna step to the side?”

Yoruichi considers him with those wide golden eyes of hers. He always feels like she’s looking more than skin deep.

“I’ll be off to the side. Don’t get into too much trouble.”

“Give me some credit,” Ichigo rolls his eyes and bends down enough that Yoruichi can hop to the ground comfortably.

He tilts his head at Ganju. “Hey. I’ll take the stronger one. Do what you want with pretty boy.”

“Oh?” one of the opposing shinigami smiles and flutters his weird feather eyelashes at him. “You really think I’m pretty?”

It wasn’t meant to be a compliment. Ichigo grimaced at him. “You look like you spend twenty minutes in front of a mirror every morning. If you don’t exfoliate, I’m a hollow.”

“Well, Yumichika, looks like this guy has got you pegged!” the other one, a blond man who has his sword propped on a shoulder, grins at Ichigo. There’s red around the corners of his eyes. Make up? Tattoos?

“I’m not pegging anyone, thanks,” Ichigo says dryly.

The three dead people stare at him blankly.

“Huh?” pretty boy, Yumichika, asks.

Ichigo shook his head swiftly. “I’m not explaining that.” At least Yoruichi snorted at him.

“Well, doesn’t matter. All I need to know is that today…” the bald man started bouncing around on his toes with his sword out in front of him. Dancing? “I’m lucky! Lucky, it’s my lucky day!”

“Ichigo!” Ganju hisses, grabbing his shoulder. “I’m not fighting these guys, they’re way too strong! I’m gonna run.”

“What? No. If you run we might get split up! That’s a terrible plan, just hold him off until I finish my fight.”

“Hah?” Ganju scowls at him. “Since when are you the boss?!”

“Since I knocked your ass flat on the ground, that’s when!”

“I don’t care what you say,” Ganju scrambles out of the sand box he made. “I’m outta here!”

Ichigo watches him go sprinting before he looks to Yoruichi. “Oi. Keep an eye on him, would you?”

Yoruichi gives a long suffering sigh. “I suppose I must. He is Kukaku’s brother, after all.”

Without another word the cat trots off at Ganju’s heels, keeping pace easily.

Ichigo is left with the two locals.

“...Did that cat just… talk?” Yumichika points after the runaway, his perfectly trimmed brows furrowed.

“Ee-yup.”

“Yumichika,” the bald one nods to his companion, who grunts in response and takes off after Ganju. Ichigo has no choice but to let him go and trust Ganju to handle himself. He doesn’t know if he can take the both of these guys at once. They’re clearly close. He’s sure they’re a terribly effective tag team too, and he really doesn’t have time for this.

“Your friend. He could tell we’re stronger, and he ran. You would have been smart to do the same,” the bald man says, eying Ichigo speculatively.

Ichigo merely shrugs. It’s not in his nature to back down from a fight. It never has been, and now it is even less.

“I figure, if you are stronger you’ll catch up,” They aren’t, he can see clearly.  “I’ll have to fight you either way. Besides, if you’re not then I’ll just kick your ass now and move on.”

He shifts himself, draws his sword and bares his teeth.

The man laughs, sounding far too delighted. This is someone who revels in combat.

“That’s a pretty good reason,” he praises, drawing his sword from his scabbard. Ichigo blocks the blow that comes, and ducks the swipe of his sheath. Ichigo bounces back and comes against him again, a whirl of blade. He twists out of the way of another blow and smashes his elbow above the man's eye, splitting his brow. He barely moves back from the blade that slices through his own. Blood drips into his left eye, a mirror of the damage he’s inflicted. They separate.

It’s the bald man, his opponent, who brings them to a pause. The air isn’t as heavy as he would expect. This man may want him dead, but Ichigo can tell; he’s fighting for the fun of it.

(Ichigo loathes to admit it, but he is too. Rukia is going to die, Ganju is being chased by someone dangerous, and Ichigo is here having  fun )

(It makes him sick to realize that the life of one person weighs less heavily than all of human history.

Rukia is his friend, how can he think such a thing?)  

“That was good. You’ve got good reflexes. You’re stong. What’s your name?”

Ichigo doesn’t see a reason to pretend to be anyone he’s not.

“Ichigo,” he says easily. “And you are?”

“Ikkaku Madarame. Third seat of squad eleven. Ichigo huh? That’s a good name.”

“You think so?” Ichigo arches a brow, privately waiting for him to say something about strawberries.

“Yeah. They say guys with ‘ichi’ in their names are strong and forthright. So…”

He lifted his sword again, his scabbard in a reverse grip behind him and grins like mad. “What say we be friends, Ichi?”

Ichigo wishes Urahara were here, if only so he could crow an ‘i told you so’.

Ichigo levels his sword and can’t help the curve of his mouth. “Fine. But only if I win. If I lose. I figure I’ll be dead.”

“Deal!”

They come together again.

“You seem young,” says the chatterbox, Ikaku. “But you’ve adapted to my fighting style well.”

Well? What can he say, he’s met a lot of dual wielders. EMIYA, other EMIYA, Diarmuid saber, Diarmuid lancer, Scathach, Jack the Ripper, and more. He’s fought with them, trained under them. His hand still itches to hold a sword that isn’t there.

He settles it on his hilt instead.

“Who taught you to fight?” Ikaku asks. He wipes away the blood on his brow with an ointment. Ichigo makes mental note of it. For now he settles on keeping one eye closed, and waits for Ikaku to try to take advantage of his ‘weakness’.

“Who’s to say? I pick up what I can from everyone I know,” he says truthfully. “Are we gonna talk or fight?”

“Fight, obviously! Now,” he slams his sword and scabbard together. “Extend! Hozukimaru!”

Huh. A duel wielder and a lancer all in one. What an interesting person.

It doesn’t matter. Ichigo crosses the ground between them. He pours his power into his blade, until it shines pale white and blue. Ikkaku brings his halberd up to block, but Ichigo cuts through it like butter.

Zangetsu slices through Hozukimari like it’s not made of wood and steel and soul.

Zangetsu carves through Ikkaku’s chest and stomach. It’s not deep enough to kill, but the blood flows heavily. Ichigo finishes it with a hard elbow to his jaw, and Ikkaku falls to the ground.

Zangetsu returns to his resting place on Ichigo’s back and Ichigo gets to work. He has no intention of killing if he can help it. In this case, he can.

He uses part of Ikkaku’s own balm and his first aid kit, one of the things he’d packed in his bag, to seal the injuries. Ichigo hasn’t got time to wait around for Ikkaku to wake up, but this is a good chance for him to get information.

So he sits and changes his hair color, and watches the clouds roll by while Yoruichi plays cat and mouse with the pretty boy.

* * *

The whitehouse is a twisted vision.

Ichigo has seen pictures of his classmates on vacation in front of it, and pictures online or in books. He knows, at least vaguely, what it’s supposed to look like. It’s not supposed to be a twisted desecration of red thorns eating away at pale stone dragons.  

Ichigo eyes one of the macabre statues, wrapped in thick, strangling vines made of the same blood red bane that Gae Bolg is. So many thorns. Scathach had called them unbearable. Ichigo is caught somewhere between pity and anger at the berserker that’s caused so much pain and suffering. He was born for this, created from a wish and twisted by Medb’s black heart.

A pitiful creature to be sure. Ichigo knew Cu Chulainn well. He was a creature of duty and loyalty, of compassion and determination. Once he decided he wanted to protect someone that was the end of it. He would battle an entire army on his own, suffer uncountable pains, and still die with his pride intact. He had.

Ichigo doesn’t miss the way his own Caster eying the thorns, his red eyes dark. If Ichigo remembered right, he had died at the point of his own spear during Medb’s quest for vengeance against him.

Ichigo bumps his shoulder with him and gives him a questioning look.

“ ‘m fine,” he assured, touching Ichigo’s shoulder. “I sworn m’self to you, Master. Have faith in me.”

“Will my loyal dog not use my name?” Ichigo rolls his eyes. He still manages to get a cracked smile from the druid. Caster lifts his staff and settles his shoulders.

“After you.”

Ichigo leads the way inside.

It’s just them again. His core servants, and now Florence Nightingale. For a medic, she’s one of the scariest berserkers he’s ever seen. He’s not sure even heracles would win a fair fight with her when she’s determined to save someone.

Indeed, when they finally step into the interior, where Cu Alter and Medb are waiting for them, she wastes no time explaining that she’s going to cure them.

Although, Ichigo has never heard someone say that the best course of treatment would be  suicide .

He privately agreed with the king of savages. Nightingale is crazy.

That doesn’t mean she’s not wrong. Ichigo can see it plainly. Cu Alter, the king that Medb created, really has had his joy sealed away by his duty to destroy. There’s no pleasure in the fight for him, and for a warrior such as he it must be equal agony to the red thorns that pierce his hide.

Ichigo shift, Kyo at his side, while his band steps forwards in formation. Mash and Rama take the front, a strong defense and a strong offense that can switch easily to long range at a dimes turn. Cu Cullainn and Nightingale bring up the rear, supporting them with runes and healing spells, while Medusa stays staunchly at Ichigo’s side.

Her hair floats around her, a hissing halo that rattles with chains. Her scythe has manifested in her hands.

Ichigo lifts his right fist, the command spells burning in his skin. He only has two left, and three spells in his combat uniform. This will be their final fight. They have to win. They have to.

If they lose, they lose the world. Everyone’s suffering and sacrifice will be wasted. Yuzu and Karin, and even his dad will be lost forever. His mother will have never even been born.

“Go!” He shouts, his voice cracking through the air.

Rama aims at Medb while Mash tries to keep Cu Alter at bay. Ichigo’s Caster uses the distraction to start weaving runes into deadly traps, while Nightingale reverses the worse of the damage as she’s able.

It’s going well. They’re this close to overwhelming the duo when Medb does something that Ichigo will never be able to forgive.

She summons 28 demon god pillars to the northern army.

Cu Caster get’s in the final shot.

Gae Bolg still does not kill the wicked Queen of Connacht, but it’s master does deliver the last blow that sends her glittering into dust on the wind.

That one instant of victory, however, is all Alter needs.

Gae Bolg leaves his hands.

Ichigo knows the details of the Noble Phantasm. A spear that affects probably, and turns ‘trusting the spear’ into ‘piercing the heart’. Once it’s active, there is no dodging it. There is no blocking it with anything shy of a realty marble.

It does not pierce Rama again. Nor does is strike down Mash, or Nightingale, or Meduse, or even their own Cu Chulainn.

Ichigo chokes.

He doesn’t feel it, not really. But he sees it. He sees the red jutting out of his chest. The hole that has pierced through his heart. ]

He chokes. Blood drips from his lips, down onto the spear. Brambles crawl beneath his skin, spreading the hole until black gapes within the red. Blood pours down his chest, staining the white of his shirt.

Ichigo chokes. Black bleeds into his vision from all sides and his mouth tastes like blood and chalk and void dust.

White drips down his lips.

Darkness consumes him.

* * * *

“Alright,” Ichigo tugs his wig in place one more time, double checking that there’s no orange hair poking out to give him away. Ganju is next to him, tying the shihakusho in place with a grimace over his face.

“I hate this,” he grumbles. He secures his sword back in place. His armor is barely hidden under the sleeves of his new uniform.

“You didn’t have to come with us,” Ichigo pointed out.

Ganju scowled at him. “Yes I did.”

“Your sister didn’t tell you to-”

“It’s not about my sister!” Ganju snaps. Ichigo shuts his mouth at the look in his eyes. Burning with anger and grief.

“It’s about… my brother,” Ganju’s hands were shaking. “He was killed in cold blood by a shinigami. He was a genius, a lieutenant, and a good man. But he was betrayed and killed by his partner. I was young… So I don’t know everything. But I will never forget that shinigami’s cold eyes, when she dragged my dying brother back to our home. Or the way he  thanked her for it. I’ve never understood. But you.”

Ganju grabs him by the front of his shirt. “You’re different from other shinigami. So I followed you here, so I could understand. Why he loved the shinigami until he died. I want to see for myself what shinigami are like!”

Ichigo meets Ganju’s eyes squarely. “I’m not a real shinigami, so I can’t and won’t speak for them. I’ll let you see for yourself, Ganju. Just as long as you watch my back.”

Ganju gives him a short, single nod.

Yoruichi, who has spent the entire time standing in the corner while they ready themselves, flickers her tail and stands.

“We should get going. The longer this takes, the more danger we will be in. Everyone will be on high alert, and while this can help us blend in in the confusion, we still need to stay on our toes.”

Ichigo nods sharply.

They duck out of the barracks they’d stolen into and start down the pathway. Ikkaku had told him Rukia was in a white tower, and they could see it from here. The problem was that none of them knew the way to get to the white tower. They’re just wandering around blindly.

There’s nothing for it.

They walk on.

Ichigo looks around as they go. Some of the walls carry Lily of the Valley on them, stamped in careful black ink.

“Mary’s tears,” Ichigo muses, mostly to himself.

“Huh? No, they’re plants,” Ganju argues, looking at Ichigo like he’s just lost his mind.

Ichigo scowls at him. “I know that. They’re Lily of the Valley, but some people call them Mary’s Tears. There’s an old legend in the west in the living world that they grew from the tears Mary cried when her son was crucified.  They’re a sign that their messiah is coming back.”

“That’s very interesting,” comes a smooth (terribly, awfully,) familiar voice from behind them.

Ichigo feels his heart tighten. He turns.

Kyo stands behind them. Brown hair, brown eyes. He’s older now. His face is more angular, the last of his puppy fat has melted off his face, and he’s finally taller than Ichigo. His smile is polite and geniel. Ichigo is almost fooled. He can still see the sharp intellect behind them.

A white haori hangs off his shoulders. Kyo has been made a captain.

It’s all Ichigo can do not to reach for him and hiss out the truth.

But this isn’t the place. He cocks his head and frowns.

“I’m friends with Jeanne d’arc,” he says straight faced. Ganju at his side has gone tense and still. Ichigo elbows him. They’re more than a little suspicious out here like this. Two men and a cat.

Except, Yoruichi is now gone.

Two men and no cat.

“Is that so?” Kyo looks faintly amused, even as he assesses them sharply. It’s barely hidden in his deep eyes. Ichigo knows him well enough to see it, and to see something unexpected. A faint recognition. “It’s rare for someone in the eleventh division to be so knowledgeable.”

“How did you know…?” Ichigo is not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Kyo does not speak his name, he does not broach any subjects. It stings far worse than Ichigo had ever imagined. Hadn’t Nero felt something familiar about them too? But she hadn’t remembred them, and neither does Kyo.

“You were with third seat Madarame after he lost the fight with the Ryoka, weren’t you? The eleventh rarely tolerate people who aren’t in their own squad.” He had waited at Ikkaku’s side for field medics, with his own choppy work keeping the barely conscious man stable. It shouldn’t be a shock that someone saw them and spread the word. But how did Kyo recognize him from just that?

“Oh, right,” Ichigo says like that makes sense. In his mind he’s screaming.

  Kyo, kyo! Don’t you see me? Do you remember? We’re friends, we’re friends! We fought in america, we travelled the continent, look at me goddamn it. I know the name of your sword, I know where you were born. Kyo-  

“Excuse us,” Ganju grabs Ichigo by the back of the neck and forces him into a sharp bow. “We need to get going. Invasion and all that.”

“Yes, of course,” Kyo says smoothly. He gestures behind him. “I won’t keep you. We all must do our best to protect Seireitei.”

“Right…” Ichigo barely keeps his hands to himself.

He’d promised. He  promised .

His mouth opens to say something, to beg time between only them, to send Ganju away if he must. But down the street comes a pack of blood hungry shinigami, looking for a piece of the invaders, and Ichigo has no choice but to let Ganju drag him away by the collar of his shihakusho.

A woman with a badge on her arm appears at Kyo’s side as they’re being pulled away, her brown eyes wide and curious. Kyo draws her attention away and that’s the last Ichigo sees of him. It drives him insane.

* * * * *

He comes in the dark.

Silver hair and a white haori, he manages to go utterly unseen by all. It’s a skill even Sosuke Aizen has trouble mastering without the aid of his illusions. Gin’s footsteps are light, barely a whisper against the hardwood of the office building. Even the omniskido would be hard pressed to beat his skill with sneaking around.

It’s one of the things that Aizen prizes him for. The other being his unfailing loyalty and his willingness to do whatever he was told, with or without answered questions.

These things include going out to spy on the young would-be Ryoka. Everything is happening exactly as he’s expected. They’ve even brought the Shihoin heiress back to Soul Society with them. How useful.

“Well?” he asks, without further prompting. Most of his attention is still on one of the monitors in front of him that details the boy sitting outside the Shiba house. A camera fly can only get so close with Shihoin around, so he must settle for watching the human stare at stones in his hand like they’ve personally offended him.

The boy must be mad, to come with such a small group, but this is a while different type of crazy. Sosuke is fairly certain he’d seen the human-shinigami- possible -hollow speak to the rocks.

“He’s got good reflexes,” Gin says, peering over Sosuke’s shoulder. His presence is familiar and not unwelcome. Few get so close, even when Sosuke pretends to be gentle and kind. He keeps them all at arms length, the brown nosers and sycophants.

“I saw that much. You know that’s not what I’m asking.”

Gin smiles widely at him and lifts, from out of his pocket, the innocuous looking marble. It swirls with blacks and blue’s and glows faintly it’s own ethereal light. A faint red in the center bleeds purple into the blue. Incomplete as it is, it still reacts to interesting things and people.

Gin drops it in his hand. It’s warm to the touch, nearly burning. He’s never seen the red in the center flicker so bright before, like a tiny ball of fire in the very center. There’s something not quite right about this intruder. Ichigo Kurosaki. Sosuke has known him for many years, even if he’s never gotten close enough to see the boy in person. That would involve getting far to close to Urahara and Shihoin, and if he is honest even Sosuke is not foolish enough to go up against legendary assassins in their own home field.

“It tried to burn a hole in my pocket when I got within fifty feet,” Gin reports succinctly. “What does that mean?”

Sosuke has no idea what that means. But one of his rules of his own behavior is that he never admits to not knowing something. So rather than say as much to Gin, he offers him his own faint smile, the kind that puts other people at ease but sets his most faithful companion on edge.

“You’ll see soon enough,” he says instead. “Now. Are you ready to be the bad guy, Ichimaru?”

Gin’s smile, snakelike and cold, only grows. His eyes curve upwards.

“What other kinda guy would I be for you?”

* * * * * *

[r3b3lgrrrrrrrl]

A LunaTic and her Gunn (Part 75)

"Pitts✈LA✈Philly"

@creatureofthen1ght-v3

@lovemythsworld

@crystalbaby12

📷 manip cred @southsidequeenie

Colson wakes up groggy on the back of The Bus. Reaching for Luna with his eyes still closed, he's irritated when he remembers she's not there. Pulling his phone out, he looks to see if she called or anything. Nothing.

"She's always off somewhere...." He sighs, thinking to himself. Appreciating that Luna's independent but also feeling a bit lost himself when she's gone. Finding her was like growing an extra limb. When she's not near, his body has a phantom ache for her. "Lemme hit her up." He decides.

Shooting her a quick Snap, he sees his laptop sticking out of one of his bags. He pulls it out and digs through his red LV travel bag. Finding the things he wants, he settles back onto the bed.

Popping the flashdrive in that Luna gifted him for his birthday, he opens the file.

Sliding his hand down his pants, he starts stroking his cock in anticipation. Colson jerks off to himself fucking Luna for the first time. Watching himself with her. How they move and talk with each other. Her dominance and submissiveness, driving Colson to the brink. Throwing himself back, he explodes when his mind wanders to her warm mouth sucking his dick the morning she had given it to him to watch.

"God Damn, Loons..." He thinks of his future wife as he chuckles to himself.

Still sexually pleased by her. Even 3K miles apart.

-------------------------------------------------

Landing at LAX there's an unseasonable chill to the air. Luna pulls on a soft gray sweater. Knocking her bandana off. Shoving it into her bag, She pulls out a pair of sunglass.

Hopping an uber to Frannie's, she notices a Snap from Colson. He looks miserable.

"What an Asshole..." She laughs to herself. Snapping him back with sass and love.

--------------------------------------------------

"OH MY GLOB! OH MY GLOB! OH MY GLOB!! OH MY GLOB!!!! Paris burts out, squeezing Luna.

Luna having told her and Frannie about her engagement. P let's her go, wanting to pop a bottle, asking Frannie if she has champagne. Luna and Frannie laugh as they hug and Frannie gives P directions. Still holding tightly onto Luna. Her bestfriend's a bit cynical and rightfully so, considering her own current divorce.

"I'm so happy for you!" Frannie gushes to Luna.

Knowing her Soul Sister all too well, Luna pulls out of the hug. She winces a bit, forgetting to take any pain meds for her gunshot wound.

"What was..." Frannie goes to ask.

Luna interjects. "Buuuutttt....??" She asks with eyebrows raised.

"But don't make the same mistake I did. I don't care how much you love him. Get a prenup. At least for your family's history." Frannie sighs, advising from knowledge.

Luna pulls her back into their hug. Squeezing Frannie tight. She had half expected this.

"I hear you, Frans." She says softly in her ear.

Both girls squeeze each other. Over a decade of love, life, pain and understanding passing through them. The pop of the champagne bottle startles them as they break apart, laughing.

"LOONS IS IN LOOOOOVE AND GETTING MARRIED!!!!" P shouts, handing glasses off.

The three bestfriends cheers and laugh together. Luna asking to keep it kinda low key until she tells her grandmother and Colson his daughter. Her two friends nodding.

The girls have lunch. Talking and sharing champagne. Admiring the sweetness of her ring. Luna telling them the plan to get married in TownHall before the first weekend in August. Inviting them to both the intimate affair and the weekend rager. Frannie and Paris laugh at Luna's usual unconventional way of doing things. Excited about the festivities. They share a joint before Luna has to go. She has a performance with Ashley tonight.

The three bestfriends hug when Luna's uber arrives. Congratulating her again. Giving her Love and Kisses with their See Ya Soons.

-------------------------------------------------

"Spill it." Paris says to Frannie once they've waved Luna GoodBye. "It's just quick. We seen 'em together, what? Once? And we were tripping balls. Everything's glorious when you're tripping balls." Paris throws her arm around Frannie's shoulder as they walk inside. "Then let's hang out with em. AND." She snaps the fingers of her free hand. "We gotta start planning her birthday party soon. Soooo... We're gonna need to talk to him anyway." P makes very valid points with her grin. Heading inside Paris can't help but ooze for her friend. She loves Luna and she love Love. Pulling up an old picture of them, P Congraulats one of her bestfriends on the sly. Or so she thinks.

"The peanut butter to my jelly. The Rock to my Roll. I love you and am over the moon!!!

💖🎉🎡🤘💫✨😍"

---------------------------------------------------

The Boys are in Philadelphia staying in Rittenhouse Sq. Right in the heart of the city. Colson, Slim and Baze have friends who live off of Lombard. Ashleigh hangs back, glad to be rid of their madness.

Walking over Colson gets a Snap from Luna.

Laughing, he plucks a flower off a bush. Popping it behind his ear. Grinning as he Snaps her back.

"What up, Dawg!!"

They're greeted by their friend Tyree. Finding LaMar in the kitchen rolling up. Its Dark and Hell is Hot blares through the Philly condo. Cracking beers, slamming shots, they burn and catch up.

Soon heading to Cheerleaders, a stripclub/sports bar close by.

------------------------------------------------

"You got something you wanna tell me?" Ashley blurts out to Luna.

"Well, Hello to you too, Pal." Luna responds laughing.

"Why's Paris BooLoven' you on Insta?" Ashley questions her.

"Seriously? What's it say?" Luna sighs.

"Nothing really but that she loves you and is Over the Moon" Ashley air quotes.

"Okay... Listen, I didn't call you because it literally happened last night and I wanted to tell you in person today..." Luna begins to explain.

"Okayy..." Her bestfriend peers at her.

Holding her phone in her hands so that Ashley can't see her fingers, Luna continues.

"Colson asked me to marry him last night." Luna tells her.

Stunned, Ashley says "Noooo..." With wide eyes. "What did you say?" She asks.

Luna shrugs before breaking into a grin. "I said Yeah."

Ashley squeals, grabbing for Luna's hand. Looking at the contraption on her left hand.

"What is this shit?" She asks bluntly.

Laughing, Luna explains how he forgot the ring but made her one out of his guitar string. And to shut the fuck up because she loves it.

"No... That's really... REEALLY You&Kells." She laughs, grinning.

Ashley pulls Luna in for a tight hug. Congratulating her bestfriend, telling her how happy she is for the couple. They link arms as they head to the stage to rehearse for tonight. Talking wedding plans along the way.

--------------------------------------------------

Cheerleaders is loud. Colson paying more attention to the Indians game than the girls.

Slim noticing the difference. Still his normal goofy, loud self, Colson interacts with the girls, talking and signing autographs but declines them on his lap.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Mar notices it also.

"He's getting maaaarried...." Baze teases Colson.

"YOOO!??" Ree flips around entering the conversation. "Tell me it's to that sweet piece of ass you did Bad Things wit!"

"Who???" Mar jumps back in.

Colson laughs, pulling a picture of Luna up on his phone. It's a simple sideshot of her.

"Damn, she got more tattoos than you do, Son!!" Mar exclaims.

"She looks like a fucking badass, Homie. How your lanky ass score that??" Ree busts Colson's balls.

"She knows what it is." Colson smirks.

Slim, Baze, Benny and Rook burst out laughing at him.

"Yo. LunaTic will fuck you up, Kells!" Rook calls him out.

Slim turns to their friends, explaining how Luna does NOT take anyone's shit. Including Kells. Joking that in the last two months that she's been around, he's seen her open more cans of whoop ass than Stone Cold Steve Austin could've ever ordered.

The Guys laugh hysterically at Slim's reference. Benny, Rook, Baze and Colson knowing it's true.

"Yo! So, you got a RIDA!? When we gonna meet Mrs. Homie?" Mar asks.

"She's in Cali right now performing but she'll be back before tomorrow night. Come to the show. We'll kick it after." Colson tells them.

Both men nod in agreeance. Wondering about this LunaTic who seems to have tamed such a Wild Boy.

They carry on drinking, laughing and teasing Colson.

--------------------------------------------------

"HOW YOU FEELING, WAZZMATAZZ?" Ashley asks, stalking around the stage.

She's the Headliner of the concert. Opening with Now or Never, Colors and Eastside. She nails a stripped down version of Closer before bringing Luna out.

"I SAID HOW YOU FEELING!??" She screams to their roars. "I did a song with my bestfriend. It's currently sitting at #1. And I'd like to think that it's because it's the truth." She continues, adjusting her earphone as she walks the stage. "All art is based on some sense of truth, and if our art is number one, it's because WE'RE NOT THE ONLY TWO PISSED OFF!!" She screams to the energetic crowd. "So I've got her with me tonight. The ONE, THE ONLY, THAT BROOKLYN FUCKING BIIITCH!!" Ashley screams introducing Luna to the venue's  explosion.

Luna comes out in a plain white tank and black skinnies.

"Did I hear people are pissed off?" Luna asks excitedly as she comes onto the stage. "FUCK right we are!!!!" She bellows to the audience's screaming agreement. "Let's show 'em how angry!!" She shouts looking at Ashley as the opening chords play.

Both girls begin to bounce with the melody, swinging their arms and legs wildly. Ashley blasts into the opening chorus as her band nails the chords. Fire exploding in the background.

🎶I🎶

🎶Keep a record🎶

🎶Of their wreckage🎶

🎶And their lies🎶

🎶We're starting to recognize🎶

🎶The weapon in our minds🎶

🎶They talk shit🎶

🎶But we won't take it 🎶

🎶This time🎶

🎶As I realize🎶

The band drops out as Luna comes in strong. Unyielding.

🎶I'm out for blood🎶

🎶And it won't be sweet🎶

Ashley's band picks back up as Luna sings. Bouncing and jumping around the stage, using her hands to express her points. Dipping low to touch fan's hands.

🎶Tired of having the rugs🎶

🎶Pulled from beneath our feet🎶

🎶Done trusting lies🎶

🎶Done trusting Men🎶

🎶Picking each other up🎶

🎶And putting ourselves🎶

🎶Back together again🎶

The masses chant with her. Growing louder as Luna calls out Society's standard of women. Luna dead panning certain lyrics.

The Girls cross paths, tossing their mics to each other as they hit separate corners of the stage.

🎶Come on Little Ladies🎶

🎶Give us a smile🎶

🎶No we ain't got nothing🎶

🎶To smile about🎶

Ashley and Luna rip through the lyrics as the lights pop and smoke billows. Belting together how they don't owe You a God Damn Thing.

Ashley kicks back in hard with the chorus. The stage explodes again with fire. The crowd venting along with the two bestfriends.

🎶I🎶

🎶Keep a record🎶

Ashley continues as her and Luna bounce and jump across the stage. Grinning and tossing each other satisfied looks as the crowd rages with them.

It's a volcanic experience as Ashley and Luna dance and sing across the stage with each other. Filled with passion and genuine resentment.

🎶I'm no sweet dream🎶

🎶But I'm a hell of a night🎶

Ashley taunts before Luna slides in.

🎶No I won't smile🎶

🎶But I'll slow you my teeth🎶

🎶And I might let you speak🎶

🎶If you just let us breathe🎶

Luna squats, bouncing up and down. Singing her lyrics. The Band dropping so Luna and the audience can scream together.

🎶We're tired and angry🎶

🎶Digging up The Hill🎶

🎶So scared🎶

🎶Is what you should be🎶

Luna and Ashley come face to face taunting the other to smile. Telling each other there's nothing to smile about. Fire igniting and lights blaring as they let loose about how they don't owe anyone a God Damn Thing.

Ashley singing about keeping a record of all wreckages and lies. Firing exploding as the two artists bop around the stage, screaming about injustice.

Playing and pushing off the other. They really are a force to be reckoned with. On and off stage.

The keytar comes on solely as Luna and Ashley hit MidStage together. The loud room singing with them claiming Luna's heart's desire.

🎶Women like me🎶

🎶Can be real nightmares🎶

🎶Completely aware🎶

🎶But I'd rather be🎶

🎶A real nightmare🎶

🎶Than die unaware🎶

🎶Yeah🎶

🎶Women like me🎶

🎶Can be real nightmares🎶

🎶Completely aware🎶

🎶But I'm glad to be🎶

🎶A real nightmare🎶

The Girls both kick their limbs out while changing the last lines. Luna dipping down in front of her.

🎶So, save us🎶

🎶Your fucking Prayyyyerss!!!🎶

Before slaying the chorus together. Bouncing, grinning, bopping and jumping as the floor ruptures on fire around them with crowd.

Watching them, the two bestfriends are magnetic. Knowing each other's range, limit and place. They perform together as if they were back in Luna's bedroom. Jumping off of props instead of beds. In hindsight it's a beautiful thing to see how far they've both come. Never losing their core.

Grinning at each other, they storm into the chorus with the crowd. Thriving off each other on stage. Tossing mics as they pass, dropping them to signify certain lyrics.

Finishing the chorus together, Ashley goes first as The Girls hit separate corners of the stage.

🎶I'm not sweet dream🎶

🎶But I'm a hell of a night🎶

Luna singing after her. Ending the song.

🎶No, we're no sweet dream🎶

🎶But we're a hell of a night🎶

Coming back together, the bestfriends laugh and thank the crowd before Luna heads off.

Luna FaceTiming Sean as Ashley closes out the show with a hitting performance of Without Me.

"Heeeyyy!" She grins into the screen.

Chuckling, he asks what she wants. Luna explains how she's at WazzMaTazz. Ultimately, asking if she can borrow his jet tonight to get back to Philly for Colson's show tomorrow.

"What's in it for me?" The business man asks.

Luna laughs at Sean, replying that he'll have the pleasure of not feeling her foot up his ass.

"Alright, alright... You little Brooklyn Bitch..." He agrees with a laugh. "When you need it?" He asks.

"Uhhh.. Gimme like 2-3hrs?" Luna asks.

Diddy agrees, telling her he'll text her the details. Thanking him graciously, Sean warns her to stay out of trouble. Shaking his head as she smirks that she'll try, they say GoodBye.

Hanging up Luna sees she has a Snap from Colson.

She opens it, thinking of how much she loves him.

Once Ashley's OffStage, they hang out with the other performers. Luna especially enjoying her conversations with Fletcher and Ellie Goulding. Luna being fans of theirs and vice versa.

Before long, Luna's saying her GoodByes. She's off to the hanger. Flying from CA to PA. Across the country for the second time in less than 24hrs.

-------------------------------------------------

The Adderall finally wearing off, Luna's feeling the weight of the day. She pops two 30s and sips on an Old Fashioned.

Sleeping for most of the 6hr flight. She arrives on the East Coast as the sun begins to rise. Luna has to look at her phone to figure out what day it is. Surprised that it's Tuesday.

------------------------------------------------

Finally at the hotel, Luna takes a quick shower. Managing not to wake Colson until she wants to.

Crawling into bed with him, Colson's on his back. Luna kisses his cheek. Then his jaw. Down his neck to his collarbone.

He starts to stir as she lightly drags the tip of her tongue down his body. He doesn't have any clothes on. Luna kisses the top of his mound, his short pubes tickling her face.

Kissing his inner thigh, Colson reaches for her. Running his hands through her blonde hair. He calls out her name with a groan as she swirls her tongue around his hard cock's head.

Taking him in her mouth, Luna sucks Colson's dick, sliding and her gently twisting her wet hand along his base. Letting her free hand roam his body.

It being early in the morning and her suction firm and steady, Luna only needs to deep throat Colson a few times before he oozes into her mouth.

Both satisfied with her work, Luna swallows his load before washing her hands and climbing back into bed with him.

Laying on his chest, Colson strokes Luna's hair as he asks about CA. She gives him the details of her day. Him talking about how she'll meet Tyree and Lamar tonight.

They come up with the idea of flying Casie out to NY on Friday. He's thinking lunch with her, Patti and Emma. Telling them all together. Luna thinks it's a smart idea. They drift off together, cuddling.

Don knocks on their hotel room door around 11A. He doesn't bang anymore.

---------------------------------------------------

To be continued.....

[soul-heart-and-beyond]

♡ ( Rip to our bones)

Send me a ‘ ♡ ’ and i’ll talk about what type of relationship i could see our muses having

(I’ll just make a copy of this for Ludwig and John to put on their own respective blogs. Though I’m not certain all of them would meet or get to know each other.)

Launchpad + Dewey

A brotherly bond that would practically rival that of his with Huey and Louie. Though he knows that Launchpad likes to try and spend his time with everyone, he’s usually ready to throw down when it comes to any sort of gig the two might have planned. Whether it be binge watching stuff, reading comics, discussing about fictional stuff, some outside sports here and there, and the like! Launchpad’s like the older brother Dewey wanted, instead of the one that he got, but he still loves Huey too. He just vibes more with Launchpad. Together, you’ve got an unstoppable, unforgettable duo!

Falcon + Dewey

(Taking in some parts of their first meeting and today’s episode) Just like how Falcon wants nothing to do with Dewey, the same goes for him. It’s not really the stiff and tight beaked personality that Falcon has, but just for how the both of them were eventually risking the other’s life by dropping them off of a large building (probably a small skyscraper to be honest). The boy isn’t traumatized by that, he’s been through worse, but associating himself with someone who’s always looking for that money, and somehow keeps pairing himself up with Mark Beaks unknowingly is probably someone that’s good to avoid.

Flintheart + Dewey

“Oof, it’s that one weird old guy that keeps trying to kill my great uncle and is.... super obsessed with him.”, Dewey would say before veering his head away from looking at the other. He can respect Flintheart’s tenacity and perseverance, after all, he’s gone through some of the same problems about not being taken seriously or given what he wants even though he’s probably either earned it or it’s common courtesy. but what he can’t is the other’s want for vengeance. So what if Scrooge made Flintheart what he is? He should be thanking the guy and moving on with his life, do some stuff that can be good to others instead of nasty plots and schemes on how to take out the recently richest duck in the world. And Glomgold can try whatever scheme he’s got in store for him, but Dewey will just have to be extra careful on what’s really important.

Launchpad + Duckworth

Something that was definitely transparent but revealed to show more consistency than some other unlikely pairings. It probably wouldn’t be the case hadn’t Duckworth died, since that opened his mind more to possibilities, and probably his time in the Afterlife did make him lose some empathy for a bit. However, by interacting and learning more about Launchpad, he’s recovered some of what he lost, and learning to enjoy the things that he had and didn’t have before. That and something else blossomed between them. Whenever they might have been conversing with each other, he’s started to find himself somewhat liking the duck’s qualities, and some of his faults even. Normally that wouldn’t have happened before, but then again, he’s grateful for how Launchpad does put up with him when he isn’t feeling too optimistic. Now he prefers to spend time with the pilot and is able to have fun once again.

Falcon + Duckworth

They are pretty similar in some aspects, which would normally be something that would help draw some people together, but not these two. Duckworth definitely has the edge on giving out more quippy remarks that the falcon may not appreciate, and is more than willing to go into a back and forth session if the other wants to participate. Yet another part where they may diverge is how they deal with loyalty and trust. Duckworth’s more devoted to those that are willing to trust others, be honest with people, and he’ll gladly do what he can to defend those that need a hand. Falcon is more os someone who doesn’t share those interests and beliefs, which does put them at odds with each other as Duckworth might ask, “Where is your loyalty? Do not say that it is as transparent as me for I can solidify mine. You can follow suit.”

Flintheart + Duckworth

One of the most unlikely people to really interact with each other, especially after how Duckworth died by Flintheart’s plan, indirectly. He still doesn’t like the idea of trusting and letting the other go free with what he’s done, but he also won’t take out the duck’s life as revenge for that would just be giving in to his anger and hatred over the years. Something that should not be listened to as taking one’s life as payment for another’s should never be the first option. If he wants to be better and not stoop down to Flintheart’s level, he’ll just have to let the duck be until he messes with him and his family again. However, now that he’s getting a bit of fun out of this, maybe taunting Flintheart with his own voice and physique wouldn’t be such a bad idea...

Launchpad + Fenton

“Is that really supposed to be some sort of joke? Because it’s not funny, Launchpad.” He really dislikes how Launchpad keeps trying to think of him as a robot, and he’ll keep trying to prove it to the other to get him to stop it. Fenton probably doesn’t know that it could be just mild teasing from how they first met, but it should make sense since Launchpad met him when he was Fenton first and Gizmoduck second. But, he does like it whenever they do veer away from that topic and talk more about mechanical things, and maybe a little more, considering that Fenton himself is a little bit of a superhero fan and has some stuff o his own to share with Launchpad. Though he may not like Darkwing Duck....

Falcon + Fenton

It’s certainly going to have some gray lines of tension here since their introduction is not going off on a good start. While he can commend the other’s dedication to their work, he can’t really defend or appreciate how Falcon likes to see everything so bluntly, black and white, but he’s somehow the only gray out of all of this. It’s selfish, bias, and more importantly, rude to other’s and how they could be able to change, but for Fenton, he just sees this as Falcon’s excuse to continue doing what he does. It might be something the professional tells himself to get away from facing the truth for the things that he’s done for his previous employers. It’s one thing to put the blame on others, but it’s another to try and separate yourself like you’re better than them but just do what you’re paid to do, and that’s what keeps them from having any really positive conversation. Sure, they can make fun of Mark all they want, but that isn’t going to make the problem between them go away.

Flintheart + Fenton

Flintheart would probably be the last person Fenton should really interact with, if not him then Mark, but given how he’s always willing to lend others a hand with his ideas or just be an overall nice person, something’s bound to go wrong. He hasn’t really gotten any instances where he could see Flintheart’s evilness and hatred on full display, and the faux funeral for Scrooge doesn’t really count since he only got to see Flintheart just do some disrespectful dancing. Besides that, he tries to believe that everyone, even Flintheart can change for the better too if they want to, like those anger management classes, and he’d be happy to help the rick mallard with that, but working for him might be something that he won’t allow. Given that Glomgold Industries probably doesn’t have that many appealing aspects to them and he rather not feel like he’s betraying Scrooge and Gyro after what happened with the Waddleduck incident.

Jim, Negaduck, Black Arts, Garbonzo, Brandon, and Rubber Chicken are down below:

Launchpad + Jim

Now who coulda saw this one coming?! A washed up star and his favorite number 1 fan that still remembers him upon the countless others that have forgotten him? You bet that Jim would love to get a taste of what it feels like to be a star again, even if it’s from one person. However, he can’t let that go to his head as this is practically the only one he’s got left that really cares, despite all the fainting. But, it might not hurt to have someone to bump heads with when it comes to returning to his role, for real this time...

Flintheart + Jim

While trying to give the real life Darkwing Duck gig a try, he finds that it’s definitely not as easy as it was on set, but that’s to be expected. Real life isn’t a game and neither is the battle between good and evil! Sure, he’d loved to be sponsored and given money by anyone that would fund a revival campaign of Darkwing Duck again, but he also cannot let the actions of Flitnheart Glomgold go unpunished. He doesn’t care how many times he’d have to put the duck in jail as long as it gets Flintheart to stop trying to be such a terrible member of society, and maybe not find out who he is in the process so he could get some of that good green moolah.

Launchpad + Negaduck

A reverse palette swapped Darkwing Duck that’s also sporting some different liberties taken on the iconic Darkwing Duck design? It might be a little odd, but it could be interesting that the guy chose a more striking set of colors compared to the cool and night patterned colors of the original. However, the black does help and oh wait, this guy’s going on about stuff that hasn’t happened here? What’s a Negaverse? Why does this guy sound like he knows him already? Ah, it’s just a weird Darkwing fanboy. 

All of this is most likely going to get Launchpad put on Negaduck’s permanent to kill list, and he doesn’t care how long it takes, he’ll abuse and bruise the until he can get that satisfying moment, but it may take a while, and patience is not something Drake really has a lot of. Not for idiots in his book anyway.

Falcon + Negaduck

A well know Public Enemy in one universe and practically the ruler of his city in his own, up against some orderly goon that knows how to handle himself in a fight against many odds and situations? Negaduck may like the fact that Falcon can handle himself, but he’s not gonna like it when Falcon uses that to prevent him from doing whatever he wants. Hopefully Falcon can count those with unchecked rage again, as this condiment colored duck is another one of those with anger issues.

Flintheart + Negaduck

It would be Elegance in Violence, but for these two? Nah, just go wreck stuff up and don’t care about it. Drake can really admire the rich duck’s taste in senseless violence, but doesn’t like that he sets his sights on someone so low like Scrooge McDuck. What’s there to that has been that’s dangerous? He could probably take on the whole family with enough planning and resources, so why hasn’t Flintheart done that already? Another thing that might separate them is how that Flintheart isn’t as willing to go through with his plans unlike Negaduck. When Drake wants you gone, he’ll try to find a way and he doesn’t care how as long as it’s got class and you know he’s the one that killed you. He won’t cower, and even if he did, there’s usually a plan behind that.

Launchpad + Black Arts

It would seem pretty unlikely for Launchpad to try and befriend a Beagle Boy, most people wouldn’t given their family background and reputation, but Black Arts is happy to have someone outside of his family or his teacher to talk to. It gives him a chance to have a life, a mind outside of what his Ma wants for him, and while his teacher is cool, it’s always good to have more people to talk to to feel less isolated from the world. Sure, he’s got the internet to help him on that, but for face to face communication or interaction... not so much. Still, he like Launchpad and is willing to show him some magic someday!

Duckworth + Black Arts

It’d be really against his liking to let Duckworth get away with the embarrassment that happened the night he was summoned back by him, but he can’t help that for some reason, the ghost is apparently getting him to laugh, talk about stuff that normally he wouldn’t spill, and overall trying his hardest to ridicule him, but still treat him differently than the rest of his family. What, did the demon like him or something? And why did feel like he was having a good time with the butler? Maybe it’s probably because he didn’t have someone to fill that father figure role in his life...

Flintheart + Black Arts

Now this is probably his first real employer, but that might not last long once he knows more about Flintheart like from what his mother would tell him. Then again, he got a glimpse of that first hand at Scrooge’s birthday party. Black Arts is really iffy about this loose nut as while he’s loaded, the things he tries to do are far out of any sane person’s range of commitment, and he feels like he should do the same.

Launchpad + Garbonzo

While they haven’t met yet, Garbonzo would find Launchpad to be really an oddity of sorts for how sunny he can be, but still like that about him. Maybe not some of the more oafish parts, but then again, he can be clumsy too at times with himself or others. However, he’s wondering how Launchpad has been helping Black Arts in terms of creating friendships with other people, and even more interested in whatever magic is surrounding Launchpad. It’s not normal, and it doesn’t seem like there would be any good to come from it either.

Launchpad + Brandon

Now this is an annoyance for the buzzard as he would really want to try and stay away from the clumsy pilot. A sunny personality like his is nice, but that isn’t what someone like Brandon deserves, and he knows it. So, the best way for them to still be them is to stay away from each other, as the more and more that Launchpad might be around Brandon, the more and more Brandon will try to push him away. Hopefully bringing to light that not everyone will be your friend, or want to anyway.

Launchpad + Rubber Chicken

Whenever Clovis will meet Launchpad, either OG or a new DT17 reboot, it’s most likely going to be that one tough but simple minded goof with his thin and nimble worrisome ward. Well, Clovis isn’t really the ward type, but you get what I mean. He’s most likely going to open up Rubber Chicken to taking on new dangers if he can get past tackling the fear of them, and have someone to talk to for advice whenever he needs it as Clovis is a nervous wreck.

[letterstomycountry]

On Cruelty

It’s been awhile since I last posted around these parts.  Awhile ago I swore off posting about politics on facebook (you know how that goes), which has reduced my social media stress substantially.  But occasionally, I still see something that grinds my gears enough that I feel like I need write about it somewhere.  

I guess this is a sign that the afore-mentioned compulsion has finally hit it’s fever pitch and, consequently, like a refrain from an old Marshal Mathers single, I’m back to sing the tune.

We are living in strange times.  White Nationalism, an ever-present but (until recently) largely marginal cultural phenomenon in the modern era, is on the rise.  While the stain of White Supremacy has always been with us in a cultural sense, White Nationalism--as a political force--has been largely confined to the fringes of society in the past few decades.  

We can see its manifestations bubbling up in milder forms as bigots scream at brown-skinned people in public, presumably because they believe they can intuit a person’s nationality or legal immigration status simply by the color of their skin.   We also see it in its more catastrophic forms like mass shootings fueled by hatred of immigrants, where American citizens are also liable to be shot and killed.

White Nationalism and White Supremacy are inter-linked but separate ideas.  White Nationalism is a conscious socio-political ideology.  White Supremacy, however, is a cultural force that permeates our collective decision-making and choices.  It is a presumptive sense of subjective “normalcy” that blinds us to our own discriminatory behavior.   It is the reason why Police officers are more likely use force against Black citizens, and why employers are more likely to hire a similarly-educated White job applicant than a Black job applicant.  We can charitably assume that police and employers are not consciously deciding to treat Black people differently.  But the data shows that they often do.  That’s because White Supremacy is a disease of cognitive dissonance.  We often don’t realize we’re treating others differently in the moment, but upon reflection and self-analysis, the same becomes clear.

To put it bluntly: White Supremacy is what happens when you live in a world where the majority of your peers are White, and stereotypes about minorities are culturally ubiquitous.  It is what happens when your interactions with others are gilded with assumptions drawn from the family you were raised in, the media you consumed your whole life, and your own limited personal experiences.  These are the shadows on Plato’s cave that we use to construct our reality.

White Supremacy can blind us to the humanity of others.  Offenses that we might feel the desire to treat with compassion when committed by one group suddenly become intolerable transgressions when committed by another group.  The concept of “legality,” which we often loosely apply to our own actions, becomes a justification for the most exquisite cruelty when applied to other human beings.

Which brings me to this headline:

There are, generally, two types of reactions to this headline:

The viewer feels a sympathy for the suffering visited on these children and a sense of confusion and outrage.

The viewer feels not an ounce of sympathy for the children or, if they do, they dismiss it by suggesting that the parents are responsible for their children’s plight by living as undocumented immigrants and raising children in America.

You can browse my immigration tag for a fairly thorough discussion of why I feel being undocumented is not a crime at all in any meaningful ethical sense (while you’re at it, I recommend you take a gander at Economist Bryan Caplan’s academic article, which notes that there is a consensus among the majority of economists that open borders would literally double world GDP).

But let’s be clear: what happened here is that Trump’s ICE performed a raid that swept up a bunch of undocumented immigrants and left a lot of young kids without parents.  We’re talking elementary-school aged kids in many cases.  Many of these families have been here for years.  And aside from their immigration status, the parents have minded their own business and have clean records:

..[T]hose children and families who spoke to 12 News impacted by each raid stressed their parents and friends are good people.

“I need my dad and mommy,” Gregorio told 12 News. “My dad didn’t do anything, he’s not a criminal.”

“Their mom’s been here for 15 years and she has no record,” Christina Peralta told us. “A lot of people here have no record they’ve been here for 10-12 years.”

There is no good policy reason for this.  There is no good ethical reason for this. 

The fact that “it’s the law” is not a response here.  I know it’s the law.  I am suggesting that the law is wrong.  

Furthermore, even if it is the law, the Executive branch has a lot of discretion with how it enforces the law.  As former Supreme Court Justice Jackson explained, the decision to prosecute is a policy choice, not a stiff obligation:

If the prosecutor is obliged to choose his cases, it follows that he can choose his defendants. Therein is the most dangerous power of the prosecutor: that he will pick people that he thinks he should get, rather than pick cases that need to be prosecuted. With the law books filled with a great assortment of crimes, a prosecutor stands a fair chance of finding at least a technical violation of some act on the part of almost anyone. In such a case, it is not a question of discovering the commission of a crime and then looking for the man who has committed it, it is a question of picking the man and then searching the law books, or putting investigators to work, to pin some offense on him. It is in this realm—in which the prosecutor picks some person whom he dislikes or desires to embarrass, or selects some group of unpopular persons and then looks for an offense, that the greatest danger of abuse of prosecuting power lies. It is here that law enforcement becomes personal, and the real crime becomes that of being unpopular with the predominant or governing group, being attached to the wrong political views, or being personally obnoxious to or in the way of the prosecutor himself.

In other words, the decision to harshly enforce immigration laws is a policy choice.  It is a policy choice the same way that it is a policy choice when a police officer decides to let you off with a warning rather than give you a ticket.

Let me say this loud and clear: being undocumented in of itself should not be a crime.  The reason is simple: nobody is responsible for where they are born.  In many cases, undocumented immigrants are born to places with extreme poverty and violence in their native countries.  Conversely, you committed no heroic or respectable act to be born in America.  Your parents had sex on American soil and now you’re here.  That’s it.  Your entitlement to the rights and privileges of American citizenship is an accident of the birth you had no control over.

Now imagine being born into a place with endemic violence and little economic opportunity.  Your family lives at constant risk of violence and starvation.  The conditions are so bad that you would travel 1,500 miles knowing that you could be turned down at the border or that your children could die in the journey.  And yet, it is still a more preferable risk than staying where you are.  Imagine you lived in similarly desperate conditions.  Would you do that for your family?

Of course you would.

Make no mistake: this is how desperate these people are.  And our government is turning them away.  

It makes little sense to say that the parents are responsible for this from an ethical standpoint.  In most cases, immigrants from Mexico and Central America are coming here to flee poverty and violence in their home countries.  So by all accounts, as parents, they are doing the right thing by trying to get to America to save their kids from a terrible fate.  I am fairly certain most people would do the same if faced with similar circumstances.

Even when considered from the perspective of a person who wants to “Make America Great Again,” deporting undocumented immigrants still makes little sense.  These are people who are thankful for America and desperate to live and work in it.  Aren’t these the type of people you would want here?  

And if not, what’s the reason?  

Seriously.  I wish people who view headlines like this without a hint of sympathy would think really hard about why they don’t want Mexican/South American immigrants here.  Because that’s largely who we’re talking about here.  

Because in my mind, I can only think of one reason.

Title image source 

[nuson84]

The Body of a Black Autistic

I feel like an uninvited guest in my own body, not seeing through my own eyes but rather watching a reality that I'm not a part of play out in front of me. I recognize the person in the mirror as me from the indentation on my forehead from some careless fall as a child. The rich mystery dark skin that as a child I tired scrabbling raw for I thought of it as dirtier. I love my long slightly feminine eyelashes that I got from my mom, my large thick lips which I owe to my ancestry. The disconnect I feel come not from a dislike but what I can only describe as mechanical. I feel like my body is a machine that I'm operating but know not the function it designs to perform. I know not what my meaning is or purpose, and with this very thought I think why I haven’t found a church to take me or a place I am need. I have hands and yet haven’t built anything of use, feet but have gone nowhere. I am blinded but not cause of a lack of slight but rather I choose to cover my eyes during the scary parts. I have come to understand fear as simply not knowing but my ignorance is of my own choosing. I have an Instagram but rarely if ever I post not out of modest but of what it revealed of me a part that I don’t always recognize of in the body I’m in.

Now is probably as good as any to state that while I understand that some might have described similar feeling by those in the train’s community. I never feel that I was born to the wrong gender, I say this because I don’t want to cheapen any understanding of that trains people have about they own identities. Finding one own identity for many is a life journey for accepted and if you know that the body you in isn’t the one you meant to be in then the courage come when you can accepted your truth. Some may find another explanation if not deny than it surely Depersonalization disorder and if I was to simplify it a medical diagnosis where one feel disconnected from one’s body. I already WebMD it and while I sure studies have been done; I feel this to be a lazy diagnosis. Let me go more into detail, this feeling isn't the same as depression for I have at different points in my life been depress I know the different. When I was deep in a depression state, I thought of suicide but then feeling that if this body isn't mine, I would be trap within it behind closed eyes and a darkness that is endless. I believe in a soul but much like taking your car off a bridge into the ocean if the windows are roll up then you are trap, bury beneath the ocean unable to escape.

I never quite know what to do with my hands putting them in my jacket packets in the winter months and during the summer taking hold of them in one another. For most of my life I have been left off cop’s radars, being pulled over only once for a burned-out headlight. I tied remembering where my hands were at but as I reward back, I found that most of the tape to be blank. Even when it just me I find that I will at times sit on my hands so of to not reach for some idea thing. Smartphones have made it a lot easier to busy my hands as I scroll through my Twitter feed. Being black and on the spectrum is of course reason to be cautious as society see my race as a threat and cops see my actions as suspicious. People who are on the autism spectrum tend to be view as suspicious add on being black then you’re also now in the eyes of a cop a threat. In this age of smart devices, it a bit easier hiding in yourself behind a screen and simply being as everyone else.

The public show symptoms of autism but being black can still single you out and get you shot. A phone is a gun and I constantly remind myself this when pulling out my phone. It happens all too often to be by chance and giving that most diagnosis of African Americans come later than that of they white peers. I'm lucky cause I can be self aware of traits reminding myself to make eye contact and to take my hands out my packets when walking into stores. American will quickly remind you that you’re other forcing you to learn whites feeling of uncomfortable is a sign that you should then feel endanger. Not the same when you on the spectrum and black. Because you’re unable to pickup on other body language you’re unaware that jumping up flapping your arms is seen as a threat by them.

I led a tour of my body with my hand recognition every scar, every line, as mine own. It's not a comfort that one feel by the sense of a touch but more as so an invading of another space. Every scar I leave upon it feels like a violation of another not me. Growing up I played with actor figures and though they body differ I knew that the arm connection to the shoulder. In this connection I was able to identify each part of each one of my action figures. Matching the plastic green legs to that of plastic green hips, their simply shaped together and became one. If I had to pin an exact extremity that I feel most disconnect from it would be my legs. Legs that wobble like stilts I can't speak for all on the spectrum, but I do know a few who had described something seemly in feeling like a disconnect from one own body. It not something easier Google as most don't know how exactly to describe it, many had called it not having awareness of their body. Most that I know on the spectrum tend to walk in a skipping fashion or drag their feet. Many females who are on the spectrum tend not to be aware of their development bodies and will continue to dress like adulation. My cousin whose also on the spectrum is nonverbal and tend to at times not be aware of pain, not in the sense of not feeling it but a delay reaction. Autism people aren't lost in their own world but rather trapped in their own bodies without a mean to expression themselves.

Depersonalization disorder is marked by periods of feeling disconnected or detached from one's body and thoughts (depersonalization). Diagnose are objectionable to racism as well sexism and I make it a point not to accept a false or positive as an answer. The only time white men are diagnosed with anything is when one carried out a massive shooting. Our election officials think a man identifying as other is crazy, but what to say of the man who subscribes to Soldier of Fortune. There are those who feel more comfortable seeing a white man with a gun than seeing a brown woman wearing a hijab. This to them is depressing they feel it they right to stare and own. I don't like wearing shorts mainly cause as a child I had terrible eczema on my legs. Even though I'm not that child anymore I still don't like wearing shorts. People feel it they place to asked me why when it 90 degrees out I’m wearing jeans. All of me must be reveal if not then I must be hiding something. About a week ago a woman I met online asked me to show her my dick, so she could size it up and I did. I didn't want her to think I was hiding anything but whereas other guys take, they shared of dick pic. A part of me feel exposed and when she bluntly said, “oh I need more dick to satisfy me “. It didn't bother me, more so her words were read but I was not at all hurt. I’m not attached to an ideal of masculinity and don't defend it as an identity.

So yes, I’m scared and share this because it not shames that I feel or a secret hiding behind brand clothing. Identity isn’t as simple as checking a box or putting other. It’s not rejecting what is projecting but rather not letting it be the only thing that defines you. I’m not someone ideal of a characteristic portray of masculinity. If they say I carry myself queer then be that which is made I don’t have anything to prove. I’m autistic and black kinder awkward and love geeky shit. Its not a identity but who I am and at 35 it no longer bothering or do I feel the need to impress. I’m the best version of me and I the only one who have to live with me.