#i wanted you to know

[shebunie]

could you write about a reader who helps run an underground black market? while others are specialized in murder and money, her trade centers around secrets, blackmail, and information. she likes to see justice being served and will only give information if she feels the person’s reasons are honorable.

mizu came to her once to learn more about violet. there, mizu is forced to share her story with the reader. the reader feels that mizu’s revenge will bring justice and she told her some really helpful information. because of this good interaction, mizu decides to come back to learn more about fawler.

when she comes back, she realizes that the reader got into some trouble (maybe with shindo) because their reasons were not reasonable and they resorted to kidnapping and torturing her to get information. mizu decided to go rescue her, but it’s unclear whether or not she’s doing it out of affection or purely for the information.

𝐖𝐡𝐢𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐬

𝗠𝗶𝘇𝘂 𝘅 𝗜𝗻𝗳𝗼𝗿𝗺𝗮𝗻𝘁! 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝘀𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗱𝗼, 𝘃𝗶𝗼𝗹𝗲𝗻𝗰𝗲, 𝗿𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗻𝗴𝗲, 𝗱𝗮𝗿𝗸 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗺𝗲𝘀, 𝗶𝗺𝗽𝗹𝗶𝗲𝗱 𝘁𝗼𝗿𝘁𝘂𝗿𝗲, 𝗺𝗮𝘁𝘂𝗿𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗺𝗲𝘀, 𝗲𝗺𝗼𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝗮𝗹 𝗱𝗶𝘀𝘁𝗿𝗲𝘀𝘀 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟮.𝟱𝗸 𝐀/𝐍: 𝗛𝗲𝗹𝗹𝗼! 𝗦𝗼𝗿𝗿𝘆 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗹𝗼𝗻𝗴 𝘄𝗮𝗶𝘁, 𝗜'𝘃𝗲 𝗯𝗲𝗲𝗻 𝗯𝘂𝘀𝘆 𝗽𝗮𝗰𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗰𝘂𝘇 𝘄𝗲'𝗿𝗲 𝗴𝗼𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘀𝗼𝗺𝗲𝘄𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲, 𝘀𝗼 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘂𝗽𝗱𝗮𝘁𝗲𝘀 𝘄𝗶𝗹𝗹 𝗯𝗲 𝗱𝗲𝗹𝗮𝘆𝗲𝗱. 𝗟𝗼𝘃𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗶𝗱𝗲𝗮 𝗼𝗳 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿 𝗯𝗲𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗮 𝗱𝗲𝗮𝗹𝗲𝗿 𝗼𝗳 𝗶𝗻𝗳𝗼𝗿𝗺𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻, 𝗾𝘂𝗶𝘁𝗲 𝗮 𝗽𝗼𝘄𝗲𝗿𝗳𝘂𝗹 𝗽𝗼𝘀𝗶𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻 <𝟯𝟯

In the shadowed heart of the city, where the lights whispered secrets and the night held its breath, there existed an underground black market that thrived on the currency of secrets, blackmail, and information. In this clandestine realm, enigmatic and veiled in the shadows, you reigned as the orchestrator of whispers and dealer of knowledge.

A master of intrigue and keeper of delicate truths, you believed in a peculiar sense of justice. Only those with honourable intentions could pry open the sealed envelopes that held the city's darkest truths. For you, it was not about the money or the power, but the satisfaction of seeing justice served.

On a fateful night, as the moon hung low in the inky sky, a figure cloaked in mystery and determination stepped into your dimly lit sanctuary. 

“A newcomer, what business do you have to visit me at this hour?” You spoke, eyes never leaving the inked stained paper, with each brush stroke holding grace and poise.

The stranger, behind those orange-tinted glasses, were piercing eyes that seemed to carry the weight of unspoken stories, stepped further into the dimly lit room. Their voice, like a carefully orchestrated melody, cut through the silence. "I seek truths that have eluded the grasp of justice, and whispers that dance on the fringes of the consciousness."

You looked up from your work, a subtle curiosity in your eyes. "Not many dare to tread into these shadows without a clear purpose. What truth do you chase, and what drives you to seek it in the obscurity of this place?"

“I’ve come to fulfil a vow, revenge, I’ve come to know the whereabouts of a white man.”

Your keen eyes studied the stranger, gauging the sincerity in their words. The air seemed to thicken with the weight of their purpose. The inked quill paused on the paper as you leaned back, shrouded in the ambience of secrets.

"Revenge, in pursuit of a white man. Such tales often unravel threads that bind destinies," you mused, the subtle glow of your lamp casting flickering shadows on the walls. "But before I delve into the shadows of information, I must know more. Who is this white man, and why does he stir the flames of revenge in your heart?"

The stranger hesitated for a moment, as if deciding how much of their truth to reveal. Finally, they spoke with a mixture of determination and sorrow. "His name is Violet. He is a man of influence, a puppeteer in the daylight, orchestrating schemes that ruin lives. I've sworn to kill all four white men that resided in Japan, for cursing me with the blood of impurity, a demon."

Your expression remained unchanged, but a glimmer of sympathy flashed in your eyes. The pen resumed its dance across the parchment as you spoke, "Revenge can be a treacherous path, often blinding the seeker to the consequences. What do you seek from me? Information, evidence, or perhaps a way to dismantle this puppeteer?"

The stranger's eyes bore into yours, reflecting a mix of determination and desperation. "I seek all that you can provide. Names, connections, his hidden lairs, and the strings he pulls. I want to expose him for what he is and make him pay for the lives he's ruined, including my own."

Nodding slowly, you set aside the parchment and ink, the tools of your trade, and leaned forward. "A perilous journey, but I understand the weight of injustice and the burning desire to right the wrongs. I will help you, but you must understand the rules of this realm. The information I provide comes with a price, not in currency, but in actions. You must be prepared to navigate the shadows with precision and, if needed, dance on the edge of morality."

The stranger's gaze remained steadfast, a silent agreement passing between you. "I accept the terms. I will do whatever it takes to bring Violet and every white man in this forsaken place to justice and end their reign of manipulation."

"Good," you responded, a sense of purpose resonating in your voice. As the stranger rose to leave, the room seemed to absorb them into its shadowy embrace. The lights outside flickered, casting an ethereal glow on the figure disappearing into the night. The underground market, fueled by the currency of secrets, had found a new player in this unfolding tale of revenge and justice.

As the door closed, leaving only a faint echo in the quiet room, you returned to your desk, resuming your work with renewed purpose. The city's secrets were about to unfold, and justice, like a silent guardian, awaited its cue in the heart of the shadows.

In gratitude for your assistance, Mizu vowed to return, her purpose now intertwined with the unseen threads of fate that bound them. Time passed, like the silent footfalls of a forgotten melody, until Mizu returned, seeking enlightenment about another elusive figure—Fowler.

“I can’t help but notice your business, dear orchestrator,” Your sanctuary has been disturbed. Trouble had come knocking in the form of Shindo, a ruthless force that recognized no boundaries in its pursuit of information. You decide to humour him.

"Shindo, my old acquaintance," you replied with a calm demeanour, though a spark of caution glinted in your eyes. "What brings you to the heart of secrets? Your reputation precedes you, and I have no doubt that your visit is not a mere social call."

Shindo, a towering figure with a cold gaze, smirked as he approached your desk. The dim light reflected off the polished surface of his leather coat, giving him an air of calculated menace. "Cut the pleasantries. I hear you've been delving into matters that don't concern you. Secrets that dance on the edge of my territory."

You leaned back, steepling your fingers, your expression unreadable. "I simply provide a service, Shindo. Information flows like a river, and I merely guide its course. What concerns you is not my concern unless it becomes a transaction."

Shindo's eyes narrowed, and he leaned in, his voice a low growl. "There's a name echoing in the city— a samurai. What do you know about him?"

You hesitated for a moment, carefully choosing your words, "I've heard murmurs of a shadow in the night, a samurai navigating each crevice to find your white devil," you replied, keeping your tone measured. "But as you know, my dear Shindo, information is a delicate currency. If you seek to exchange, you must bring something of value to the table.”

Shindo's gaze intensified, and a sinister smile played on his lips. "I don't play games, woman. Give me what I want, and you may continue your little charade in the shadows."

Your response carried a subtle defiance, "Information is not a commodity to be demanded, Shindo. It's earned. If you wish to dance in the realm of secrets, you must learn the steps." The tension in the room thickened, a silent standoff in the theatre of whispers.

“Then you leave me no choice—" With a mere tilt of his head, a large man came into view "Take her," closing in you swiftly, you tried to pry yourself away from his grasp. 

Assessing the giant's imposing presence, you quickly analyze potential weak points and notice a subtle hesitation in his movements. Without revealing fear, you calmly address Shindo, "Physical force may bend the body, but the mind remains unbroken. We can find a more civilized resolution, gentlemen."

Shindo's icy gaze meets yours, contemplating your words. The room hangs in suspense, the shadows concealing the unfolding drama as the dance between power and subtlety continues.

Mizu, arriving at the dimly lit hideaway, to question you about Fowler's location, sensed the shift in the winds, the discord that had disrupted your sanctuary.

The wielder's eyes narrowed as she surveyed the aftermath, her fingers brushing against the ink-stained remnants of your meticulous work. The once-calm hideaway now bore the scars of a struggle, a battle waged in the name of hidden truths.

Determined, Mizu traced the whispers of witnesses until Shindo's name echoed through the clandestine passages. Fueled by a blend of concern and determination, she sought answers, discovering the brutality that had unfolded within the walls of your secret refuge.

“You're a stubborn one, all bloodied up and you won't even say a single thing.” Shindo snickered as he watched your shackled self breathe heavily, crimson red flowing down your body. 

Shindo's taunting words echoed in the hushed air, you spat at him, “I'd rather dwell in despair than give you what is not meant to be.” 

“He will cut you with a knife.” 

Mizu's eyes flashed with a mix of fury and concern as she stepped forward, her presence a force to be reckoned with. "Shindo, this violence serves no purpose. If you seek information, there are other ways to obtain it."

Shindo chuckled, seemingly amused by Mizu's defiance. "This one," he gestured towards you, "holds the key to the knowledge I desire. A stubborn whore who values secrets over their own well-being."

Mizu's gaze shifted between you and Shindo, her resolve unwavering. "Release them. I won't stand idly by while you desecrate the pursuit of truth."

Shindo, unfazed, signalled to his henchmen to loosen their grip slightly. As the pressure on your shackles eased, Mizu's,  eyes locked onto yours. As the room fell into a tense silence, the weight of the unspoken negotiations hung thick in the air. 

In that precarious moment, Mizu's motives blurred like reflections in rippling water. Was it affection that spurred her into action, or merely the pragmatic pursuit of information?

Mizu's gaze remained locked with yours, a silent exchange of understanding passing between you. Her motives were a complex dance of affection and pragmatism, each step carefully measured in the shadows of the dimly lit room.

Shindo, still revelling in the perceived power dynamic, grinned wickedly. "Well, Mizu, if you're so eager to play the hero, let's make a deal. I'll release this one," he gestured towards you, "if you come join me for tea."

Mizu's jaw tightened at Shindo's proposition, her eyes narrowing in a blend of defiance and calculation. She considered the implications of Shindo's twisted offer. "Tea?" She scoffed, her voice cutting through the silence. "You mistake me for a fool. Release them, and we can talk about information. But I won't indulge in your sick games."

Shindo's laughter echoed in the room, the sound sending shivers down your spine. "Ah, Mizu, always so serious. But you see, this isn't just any tea. It's a meeting of minds, an opportunity for understanding. And if you refuse, well," he trailed off, his gaze lingering on you.

You felt the weight of the unspoken threat in his words, and a flicker of concern passed through Mizu's eyes. The delicate balance between affection and pragmatism teetered on the edge, the room holding its breath in anticipation.

Mizu's voice, calm yet laced with determination, sliced through the tension. "We can discuss what you want to know. But know this, harm them, and you’re dead."

Shindo's smirk faltered for a moment, the first crack in his confident facade. He glanced between you and Mizu, weighing his options. The room seemed suspended in a fragile standoff, the outcome uncertain.

After a tense pause, Shindo nodded to his henchmen. The pressure on your shackles eased further, and Mizu's eyes never wavered from Shindo's gaze. As your shackles fell away, the samurai stepped forward, shielding you from Shindo's view. The room breathed a collective sigh of relief.

"Very well, We shall discuss matters over tea, and perhaps you'll see the wisdom in cooperation." 

Mizu, her eyes never leaving Shindo until he disappeared from sight, leaving you two alone in the empty, cold dungeon. The sword-wielder waited for a moment to confirm he had left before turning her attention to you.

Concern etched on her face. Gently, she examined the wounds that adorned your battered form. The faint rays of the moonlight cast a soft glow on her features, revealing a mix of emotions that played out in the depths of her eyes.

She approached you. With gentle hands, cupping your face as she assessed the damage, the cold metal of the shackles leaving angry imprints on your wrists.

"Are you alright?" she asked, her voice a low murmur in the dimly lit dungeon. You managed a weak nod, vision blurry as you couldn’t handle the pain any more, passing out in her hold.

Time blurred in the darkness, and when you awoke, the dim glow of the moon had given way to the soft hues of dawn that shone through the cracks of the cabin. Mizu, ever watchful, was seated by your side. As your eyes fluttered open, she met your gaze with a mixture of relief and concern.

"You're awake," she said, her voice a gentle whisper. "How do you feel?"

The pain lingered, but it was bearable. Mizu's care had brought a measure of comfort, and you managed a faint smile in response. Her hand found yours, a silent reassurance.

"What happened with Shindo?" you asked, the events in the dungeon still a fragmented memory.

Mizu's expression hardened as she recounted the negotiations. "He wanted information, and he thought he could use you as leverage. But we made a deal. We'll talk, share what we know, but no more than that. If he harms you, he's signing his own death."

A flicker of embarrassment passed through your eyes, realizing the gravity of the situation. Cerulean eyes softened as she sensed your vulnerability, her thumb gently tracing soothing circles on the back of your hand.

"Don't blame yourself," she reassured. "I won't let anything happen to you."

“I— I know.” You held your gaze, as the dawn's light painted a soft glow on your features, and for a moment, in the swordswoman's eyes, the weight of the world seemed to fade. “But you did not have to go through all that hassle to save me.”

Mizu felt a warmth within her that transcended the dimly lit surroundings. Tilting her head down while she turned around so that her back faced you.

"It wasn't a hassle, and you're worth every risk," she said over her shoulder, her tone carrying a sincerity that echoed through the quiet cabin.

As the dawn's light continued to filter through the cracks of the cabin, a newfound closeness enveloped the two of you. The air seemed to hold a lingering tenderness, and Mizu's words hung in the quiet space like a promise.

Silence settled between you, broken only by the distant sounds of the waking world outside. 

"I meant what I said," she spoke, her voice a soft murmur. "I won't let anything happen to you. We're in this together."

A gentle smile graced your lips, as you scooted closer to the samurai, leaning to place a light peck on their cold-tinted cheek “I appreciate everything you’ve done, Thank you.” 

Mizu's cheeks warmed at the unexpected gesture, hand adjusting the kasa on their head down to block your view from her flushed face. Letting out a low hum of agreement. 

"I'm just glad you're safe," She admitted, her voice a soft murmur.

A soft giggle left your lips, placing your head on their shoulder as you embraced the warmth of the moment. 

[iwantedyou-toknow]

“Only I can embrace Gray-sama from behind!”

[butchfalin]

the funniest meltdown ive ever had was in college when i got so overstimulated that i could Not speak, including over text. one of my friends was trying to talk me through it but i was solely using emojis because they were easier than trying to come up with words so he started using primarily emojis as well just to make things feel balanced. this was not the Most effective strategy... until. he tried to ask me "you okay?" but the way he chose to do that was by sending "👉🏼👌🏼❓" and i was so shocked by suddenly being asked if i was dtf that i was like WHAT???? WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY TO ME?????????? and thus was verbal again

[cadaverkeys]

You guys rlly don't realise how much knowledge is still not committed to the internet. I find books all the time with stuff that is impossible to find through a search engine- most people do not put their magnum opus research online for free and the more niche a skill is the less likely you are to have people who will leak those books online. (Nevermind all the books written prior to the internet that have knowledge that is not considered "relevant" enough to digitise).

Whenever people say that we r growing up with all the world's knowledge at our fingertips...it's not necessarily true. Is the amount of knowledge online potentially infinite? Yes. Is it all knowledge? No. You will be surprised at the niche things you can discover at a local archive or library.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

The math just adds up!

[eosofspades]

i didn't have "i'm broken" teenage asexual angst i had "i'm literally being the only reasonable one about this concept and the rest of you are behaving like fucking freaks" perception issues

[millificent]

Every Nico Di Angelo fan focusing more on the background of the episode than the actual plot

[druid-for-hire]

[image id: a four-page comic. it is titled "immortality” after the poem by clare harner (more popularly known as “do not stand at my grave and weep”). the first page shows paleontologists digging up fossils at a dig. it reads, “do not stand at my grave and weep. i am not there. i do not sleep.” page two features several prehistoric creatures living in the wild. not featured but notable, each have modern descendants: horses, cetaceans, horsetail plants, and crocodilians. it reads, “i am a thousand winds that blow. i am the diamond glints on snow. i am the sunlight on ripened grain. i am the gentle autumn rain.” the third page shows archaeopteryx in the treetops and the skies, then a modern museum-goer reading the placard on a fossil display. it reads, “when you awaken in the morning’s hush, i am the swift uplifting rush, of quiet birds in circled flight. i am the soft stars that shine at night. do not stand at my grave and cry.” the fourth page shows a chicken in a field. it reads, “i am not there. i did not die” / end id]

a comic i made in about 15 hours for my school’s comic anthology. the theme was “evolution”

[wearenotjustnumbers2]

Yesterday marked the 100th day of genocide. Please, do not get used to this. Our people, killed, bombed, kidnapped, stripped, executed and starved is not normal. Our kids in pieces, their body parts collected in bags is not normal.

Israel has killed 23,700 human. More than 10,300 child. We'd need 177 school bus to carry the Palestinian children killed by Israel in gaza. 10,022 fatherless child. 8,352 motherless child. The wounded have their wounds rot and die waiting in front of the crossing. Maggots seen inside alive people's wounds. 5,500 pregnant woman will give birth in the upcoming weeks. 100 Days of Genocide. 100 Days of the world watching silently.

[throesofincreasingwonder]

"A story doesn't need a theme in order to be good" I'm only saying this once but a theme isn't some secret coded message an author weaves into a piece so that your English teacher can talk about Death or Family. A theme is a summary of an idea in the work. If the story is "Susan went grocery shopping and saw a weird bird" then it might have themes like 'birds don't belong in grocery stores' or 'nature is interesting and worth paying attention to' or 'small things can be worth hearing about.' Those could be the themes of the work. It doesn't matter if the author intended them or not, because reading is collaborative and the text gets its meaning from the reader (this is what "death of the author" means).

Every work has themes in it, and not just the ones your teachers made you read in high school. Stories that are bad or clearly not intended to have deep messages still have themes. It is inherent in being a story. All stories have themes, even if those themes are shallow, because stories are sentences connected together for the purpose of expressing ideas, and ideas are all that themes are.

[inkskinned]

because sometimes there are invisible tests and invisible rules and you're just supposed to ... know the rule. someone you thought of as a friend asks you for book recommendations, so you give her a list of like 30 books, each with a brief blurb and why you like it. later, you find out she screenshotted the list and send it out to a group chat with the note: what an absolute freak can you believe this. you saw the responses: emojis where people are rolling over laughing. too much and obsessive and actually kind of creepy in the comments. you thought you'd been doing the right thing. she'd asked, right? an invisible rule: this is what happens when you get too excited.

you aren't supposed to laugh at your own jokes, so you don't, but then you're too serious. you're not supposed to be too loud, but then people say you're too quiet. you aren't supposed to get passionate about things, but then you're shy, boring. you aren't supposed to talk too much, but then people are mad when you're not good at replying.

you fold yourself into a prettier paper crane. since you never know what is "selfish" and what is "charity," you give yourself over, fully. you'd rather be empty and over-generous - you'd rather eat your own boundaries than have even one person believe that you're mean. since you don't know what the thing is that will make them hate you, you simply scrub yourself clean of any form of roughness. if you are perfect and smiling and funny, they can love you. if you are always there for them and never admit what's happening and never mention your past and never make them uncomfortable - you can make up for it. you can earn it.

don't fuck up. they're all testing you, always. they're tolerating you. whatever secret club happened, over a summer somewhere - during some activity you didn't get to attend - everyone else just... figured it out. like they got some kind of award or examination that allowed them to know how-to-be-normal. how to fit. and for the rest of your life, you've been playing catch-up. you've been trying to prove that - haha! you get it! that the joke they're telling, the people they are, the manual they got- yeah, you've totally read it.

if you can just divide yourself in two - the lovable one, and the one that is you - you can do this. you can walk the line. they can laugh and accept you. if you are always-balanced, never burdensome, a delight to have in class, champagne and glittering and never gawky or florescent or god-forbid cringe: you can get away with it.

you stare at your therapist, whom you can make jokes with, and who laughs at your jokes, because you are so fucking good at people-pleasing. you smile at her, and she asks you how you're doing, and you automatically say i'm good, thanks, how are you? while the answer swims somewhere in your little lizard brain:

how long have you been doing this now? mastering the art of your body and mind like you're piloting a puppet. has it worked? what do you mean that all you feel is... just exhausted. pick yourself up, the tightrope has no net. after all, you're cheating, somehow, but nobody seems to know you actually flunked the test. it's working!

aren't you happy yet?

[biggest-gaudiest-patronuses]

Of the 19 hijackers who carried out the Sept 11 attacks:

15 were from Saudi Arabia (a powerful/oil-rich country the U.S. works hard to maintain diplomatic relations with)

2 were from the United Arab Emirates (also a powerful/oil-rich country the U.S. works hard to maintain diplomatic relations with)

1 was from Egypt, 1 from Lebanon.

None of the hijackers were from Iraq.

None of the Sept 11 hijackers were Iraqi.

None of the 9/11 hijackers were from Iraq.

[iwantedyou-toknow]

Xx

[gatorinator]

“Walrus on your doorstop” this “fairy’s more unrealistic” that my professor just uttered the sentence “there was one day I found a real octopus in my backyard” this man hasn’t left Utah his entire life. How was there an octopus in his backyard in Utah. He then said “I do not have time to elaborate we need to cover a lot today in class” GIRL WHAT DO YOU MEEAN

[nonbinary-arsonists]

Sleepytime for the gang! <3

continuation of this

Caine's reaction:

[autistickaitovocaloid]

Today in vc we discussed the concept of a gmod funeral so I drew my interpretation.