#problematic of me

[kinetic-elaboration]

July 22: D/J, Thunderstorm

Daria/Jane, ~850 words, 28 minutes

*

The storm is still just black clouds on the horizon but the rain has already begun, so steady and quiet that Jane can barely hear it over the music from her stereo, when the phone starts ringing. No one else picks up. So she scrambles around on the floor until she finds the cordless, which she dropped down there last night, late, after the longest conversation she's ever had about nothing at all.

"Yo."

"You've got to get me out of here."

Her sketchbook's propped open on her knees, and she smiles down at it, just halfway. The words are dire, the voice that says them even and emotionless.

"Who is it this time? Sister? Mother? Father? D, all of the above?"

"Aunt," Daria answers. "Rita's boyfriend dumped her and her house is being fumigated."

Jane raises an eyebrow. "Is the boyfriend a giant cockroach?"

"Yes."

"Mmm." She's been playing Radiohead on repeat all day; it's that kind of weather, that kind of mood. She reaches back to turn the volume down just a little. "You can always hide out here." A moment's pause, uncertain, the corner of her lip pulled in hard between her teeth. "We could do that thing again." Coward's move, not being able to say it. But it's more than Daria has managed in almost forty-eight hours now.

A long silence stretches out over the line. "We could," she answers.

"We don't have to," Jane adds, quick, and too bright, because she can't read in those two syllables—so carefully formed, not a single crack or hint of emotion in them—what her best friend might be thinking, and that's so odd for her it makes her stomach feel like it's flipping right over in the middle of her.

But I'd like to.

"I can be over in a few minutes," Daria says, and hangs up.

Jane hides her sketchbook in the drawer next to her bed and stands up and tells herself they'll watch whatever's on TV and maybe talk about Rita and Barksdale sisters' drama and whatever was up with that cockroach guy, he sounds like a real prize. And that the rest was an aberration. And that she has to stop thinking about it, and thinking about it, and thinking about it.

She doesn't put on her boots, just walks downstairs in her sockfeet. Already she can hear the rain picking up, a distant rumble of thunder that crashes overhead for a long, long time. She glances out and up through the window, sees heavy storm clouds scudding in closer over the trees.

When the doorbell rings, she opens the door right away.

Daria's standing on the other side, drenched beneath a heavy downpour of rain. Her hair is flat and dripping, her clothes waterlogged, her eyes invisible behind her rain-splattered glasses. Behind her, a crack of lightning breaks up the clouds, sizzles through them with a flash of electric-light.

"It was just drizzling when I left," she says, as if this were any sort of excuse at all.

Jane laughs. "You look like a wet rat."

Daria's brows furrow, that sharp, angry V between them that Jane's always thought is more cute than anything, and she answers, "Thank you for that helpful commentary. Aren't you going to let me in?"

"Oh, no, I changed my mind, I think you should—"

She can't get the last words out. Daria grabs her by the wrist and yanks her over the threshold. The rain's coming down so hard, needle sharp and cold and she shivers through her socks from the chill of the pavement and the near-winter shock of it, that she's half as drenched as Daria in about three seconds. And dammit if she doesn't even care.

Because Daria hasn't let go of her wrist. They're standing almost nose to nose out here.

The first, last, and only time they've been this close was right before they kissed, right before Jane kissed her, standing upstairs in the middle of her bedroom after school. It's Daria who leans in first this time, so fast she misses on her first try, and gets the side of Jane's mouth instead. The second one lands right, lands perfect, and Jane's fingers tangle up in her wet hair, thumbs sliding along the wet skin of her cheeks. She's so out of breath from the cold of the rain and the unexpected insistence of this girl, pressing forward, her hands at Jane's waist, that it's all she can do to just hold on. Just hold on.

"You know we could be doing this inside," Jane mumbles, right up against Daria’s mouth. She almost can't hear herself over the sound of heavy rain against pavement, the constant white-noise sheen of it pouring down.

"Too late now," Daria whispers back—which strikes Jane as so funny that nervous, manic laughter starts bubbling up in her. Too late now. They're already soaked so what else could happen? Only a lightning strike right where they’re standing. Which is what this already feels like. Like lighting that has somehow struck twice.

[inkskinned]

okay i almost never address the very small amount of internet fame i have. and sometimes yes it sucks. people often repost my work, or clip it out of context, or flat-out steal it. but like it can be very funny. once a follower dm'd me to say a guy on hinge was pretending to be "inkskinned", and actually had even started his own insta. when she said "i've followed her for years i don't think you're her", he said - actually r.i.d is like seven people, we just made those initials up. (rude). when i found his insta and messaged him, he begged me to just lie and say he was r.i.d because "it's hard for men to date."

once someone said she should be allowed to plagiarize my work because she was a body-positive influencer and that if i "made a big deal" about this and "got her cancelled", i would be doing damage to my own community and i was never "actually" an ally.

i bear these things with the aura of a martyr, the way my catholic father raised me to. i message privately. i handle things quietly and quickly. i do not complain because i am very, very, very, very blessed and i know that. mercy and gentleness literally pour out of me every morning when i wake up, and then i have to mop the floors for how very Good i am.

however today is the first time i have ever had a very specific problem that neither requires me to correct this person nor throw them to the dogs but is somehow worse than years of hatemail, reddit thread death threats, and pinterest reposts:

someone quoted me and just got it, like, a little wrong.

[o-chitose]

rewatching dexter after ten years gives me so many thoughts

[gludgenbell]

Hi I'm still alive btw have some disciple ver. bingyuan

found little binghe in the woodshed with a ruined hand :(

[leglimh]

i have barely played dandys world but i really like angryhugs and shrimpo

i think shrimpo just misses the ocean and is homesick thats why he bullies everyone

[cologona]

Yeah nothing Jason does would work in the real world. Good thing he does not live in the real world. He lives in Gotham, which operates on the logic of Hollywood movies from 40 years ago. Oh wait- perhaps that’s integral context for his character!!!

[shepscapades]

99. Pathetic — Blame Candy

My palm's pressed up against my face My brain is scattered all over the place I'm working harder than I need to be Because you won't allow my life to be easy Ooh, it's problematic even though you'd profit too You're having trouble sleeping, and I think I know why 1460 days since we were alright But now you're just pathetic, I said it You are pathetic

Ooh, I've been sitting on this one for so long! The first 8 or so songs on dbhc X's playlist portray the gradual deterioration of Xisuma's psyche throughout season 8 under Android 24's command and control; Pathetic actually comes right after Again & Again on the list, as Xisuma's dread turns to self-deprication spun by 24's demands and manipulation. His self-appointed derpiness kind of becomes a weapon turned against him, and the playful self-bashing becomes something 24 canonically uses against him (see: Evil X always calling Xisuma a derp, and 'foolish axolotl' etc) to admonish his efforts and ideas.

Even though this song is on Xisuma's playlist, I imagine most of the lyrics (namely, the ones bolded above) are coming from Android 24, coming from an annoyed, flippant, and demeaning place.

[modormouth]

@tyrantchimera and i were contemplating on a weird eldritch Jenova (remake ver.) would look like a la Bloodborne's Great Ones. So here's a rather visceral looking Jenova (Blight of the Cosmos).

[hoomanbeaning]

✨ devil's minion core ✨

[drawnfamiliarfaces]

🌼Totally Spies🌼 new season in year of 2025??? here we go???

[noodles-and-tea]

No but… seriously

[ophii]

what year is this again?

additional doodles idk

[folkdevilism]

I'm perpetually in awe at the number of people who are well in to their twenties and beyond who still think an on-screen portrayal of something, regardless of nuance or background context, automatically equates to inherent glorification or real-world endorsement of the actions being portrayed.

[ripeteeth]

bloodstains on blorbos and bruises on bottoms,

twenty-year age gap and tentacle cock come,

sobbing meowmeows all tied up with strings,

these are a few of my favorite things.

i’m writing a love song for problematic tropes

[unrelatedsideblog]

Zoro's blushing being not very visible on his darker skin, so during kisses and beyond, Sanji touches his face and neck a lot to make sure he's warmer than usual and confirm that this bastard is blushing

[ex0rin]

Wyatt Russell as John Walker | Thunderbolts* Big Game Trailer