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Kid: You accuse me of having a favourite detective. Lies. I love Tantei-Kun and not Tantei-kuns just the same.

First one of my big collection of incorrect quotes to draw. The plan was to do one a day through October, but knowing myself I won’t do it. So at least have this one to commemorate the first day and for when the next ones will be done, it will be a surprise for everyone, myself included. :D

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Don’t mind me, just feeding myself

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justice is blind

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ok so yesterday i read jon ronson’s amazing book “so you’ve been publicly shamed”, and aside from being a great book with a lot of good insight on current internet callout culture, there was one specific part that i can’t stop thinking about.

it’s when he’s discussing one of the many cases of people who were publicly shamed he mentions through the book. the person in question is a woman who took a picture flipping off a monument to veterans and who then became the target of a massive harrassment campaign that got her fired as a result. 

because the picture lives on on google, the woman is in constant fear of losing any future job she might get, or of meeting new people in general. so jon puts her in touch with a company that’s dedicated to cleaning up people’s reputations online. what they do is basically to create a vast amount of online content about that person, so that the news of whatever they did that haunts them is pushed back to page 2 of google results, which, of course, very few people actually look.

the thing is that, in order to create this content, they need information about her, and so they start asking her the most inane things she might be into - like cats, disney or pop music. and then jon hits you, the reader, with this:

“The sad thing was that [name] had incurred the Internet’s wrath because she was imprudent and playful and foolhardy and outspoken. And now here she was, working with Farukh to reduce herself to safe banalities - to cats and ice cream and Top 40 chart music. We were creating a world where the smartest way to survive is to be bland.” (emphasis mine)

and this just… really hit a key point about this culture that i feel is rarely ever discussed. contrapoints briefly touched on it on her video about cancelling, when she talks about the contradiction between fans wanting creators to be “authentic” while also dragging them to hell for the slightest misstep, but she doesn’t really go in depth about it.

one video that does go in depth about it is pschyirl’s video on jenna marbles, “Why The End of Jenna Marbles Is The End of Authenticity”. it’s a great video that i highly recommend, and it basically points out how our current way of engaging with media disincourages creators to be remotely authentic, because authenticity requires being a human being, and part of being a human being is making mistakes.

and just… to me that just hits so deeply, and i think it goes way beyond social media platforms like youtube. there’s this contradictory demand that public figures “use their platforms” to raise awareness for important causes, while also holding the ones that frequently do to impossible standarts (jameela jamil immediately comes to mind). the safest way to be a public figure in 2020 is to be as silent as possible.

and this is often thought of as just a left problem, and don’t get me wrong, the “cancellation” aspect does tend to be left-wing leaning, but massive online mobs come from the right as well. and they also benefit from the essentialist discourse the left constantly clings to. in an essentialist world where creators are harshly judged as people by the media they make, it’s a lot easier, for example, to turn “cuties’s way of dealing with the sexualitization of children is not perfect and merrits critique” into “the director of cuties IS a literal pedophile”. the accusations are spearheaded by right wing people who are working on bad faith, but the essentialized version reaches the entire internet, and no one bothers to question it, and suddenly a female director who made a movie partially based on her own experiences growing up has to delete all her social media because of the harrassment she’s getting.

the message this sends to creators is to stay away from controversial subjects, even if those subjects happen to be relevant to you personally. it teaches artists to not take risks. and i can’t help but find it very, very sad.

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“Of course you have every reason to be upset. They beat you, broke you, and abandoned you when your powers didn’t fit their needs anymore.”

“Wh-what are you going to do to them?”

“Darling, I can do anything. What do you want me to do to them?”

“...Kill them all.”

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Chapters: 6/7 Fandom: Free! Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Hazuki Nagisa/Ryuugazaki Rei, Nanase Haruka/Tachibana Makoto Characters: Hazuki Nagisa, Ryuugazaki Rei, Nanase Haruka, Tachibana Makoto Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Daemons, Non Consensual Daemon Touching Summary:

He sees the bird perched on the roof on a Tuesday, a leg dangling over along with it. The creature is graceful, still except for the minute details of its feathers being tousled by the wind. Black and white and red - such stark colors. It's beauty captures him like a butterfly falling willingly into a net. His breath is stolen and he freezes.

(Daemon AU)

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Chapters: 4/? Fandom: Big Hero 6 (2014) Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage Relationships: Honey Lemon/Gogo Tomago, Hiro Hamada/Tadashi Hamada Characters: Gogo Tomago, Honey Lemon (Marvel), Hiro Hamada, Tadashi Hamada Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Dark, Alternate Universe - Evil, Never Were Super Hero's, Serial Killers, Incest, Lesbians, Hot Murdering Lesbians, I don't know how to tag this Summary:

Being a hero is good, but being bad is better. (Evil-AU)

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Writing Commissions!

Hello! I am opening writing commissions!

$5 for a drabble, 500 - 1,000 words. 

$10 for a story 1,000 - 5,000 words.

$25 for anything over 5,000 words, capping at 7,500.

My specialty is angst, and I’m 100% okay with gore. Will write about OC’s and most fandoms. NSFW is accepted but it will be posted under an alternative pseud on Ao3.

I refuse to write shota, loli or bestiality.

For previews of my work here is a link to my Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baichan

PM or email me at baichan98@gmail.com

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When the World is Distant (Part Three, Final)

They introduce it to Kate, as much as America would like to surprise her, Clint brings up the point that this is Kate's decision and America agrees. This would change how Kate could interact with the world and so even though they are both sure that she will say yes they still feel the need to leave the decision to her.

Kate is interested and seems very eager but she does not get as emotional America did which takes some of the wind out of her sails. It doesn't completely put a stop to her excitement though.

Then Clint drops this bomb.

“This could get you back in hero work.”

Stars shine in Kate's eyes but America is left struck.

“Hero work?”

Kate looks up and there's a hint of guilt in her face. She knows America gave up her duties to care for her, now only on reserve in case of end of the world emergencies. (Because while Kate's prowess laid in her bow and leaderships skills, America could do things beyond human.)

“I want to help.”

The request breaks America's heart. She wants to go back too.

But things are different now and she's dedicated herself to Kate.

“I -” she can't just say no, she's Kate's lover who volunteered as caretaker, she doesn't have authority without hurting their relationship, “I thought...”

Kate and Clint both look at her. America swallows her doubts. It still feels necessary to voice her opinion.

“I thought we were moving on from that,” she whispers.

Kate looks at her desperately, “ America I worked so hard to be a hero and to have it taken from me was one of the worst things... I just...”

She closes her eyes, “I'm not ready to give it up.”

America's dreams of wedding dresses float away like white petals in the wind. It's not completely out of reach but she can see it in Kate's eyes that although she's in the situation she is she's not quite ready to return to civilian life. America tries to assuage her worries. If Kate was just working behind the scenes then she would be safer.

Clint looks at her, “You could also return to hero work. We would be able to help support you two.”

“I...” America wants to say no, but she isn't sure she can. That's not to say that she doesn't want to go back to hero work, she was just ready to settle down.

She looks at Kate and sees flowers of her own blooming.

“Okay.”

Kate’s work is not as exciting as it once was. Instead of archery she works through computers and intense investigation, assisted partly by Clint and occasionally by America. It feels important though, and she's glad to be able to participate.

Speaking of important things, her doctor’s suggestions of therapy and group meetings evolve to something even more important than hero work.

“I'm so proud of you,” America says to her gently, stroking her black hair softly.

Kate swallows nervously.

America walks with her into the room but Kate doesn't allow her to push her into the room. Three children, a teen girl, and a young boy and girl. They look up at her with big eyes. They, like her, are strapped into wheelchairs. The teen can move her shoulders in jerky increments. The younger girl can twitch her body but can't stand. The only boy’s head is strapped in and his tired looking mother sits with him and runs her fingers through his hair.

Kate's chest constricts. She was asked to speak to them because this happened to them like her. One day able bodied and then one day, not, from some accident or a nervous system affecting disease.

This was terrible. She felt sick.

Licking her lips she says hello.

It's Billy who comes to visit first. He's smiling but Kate feels a bit sick at it. Maybe it's the bags under his eyes or the way his gaze sad and steady. After everything they’ve gone through together it’s strange to see how far away they are.

“How’s, Teddy?” Kate asks.

“He’s good,” He sits on the couch.

Licking his lips he closes his eyes, “It’s weird how different everything is, from when we first became heros.”

Different but not surprising. Being a hero had become everything she wanted. Billy was a hero of circumstance.

He smiles and it’s more genuine than the one he came in with.

“I’m glad you still get to continue being a hero in some way.”

He looks down and Kate knows there’s something unsaid brewing in his mind. She wants to press and it hasn’t escaped from the fact that Billy could heal her. Closing her eyes she takes a breath. She can’t. Opening her eyes to look at him again she knows he would have if he could.

Billy leans his head back on the cushion.

“How have you and America been?” He asks.

“Fine. I’m surprised sometimes.”

“Surprised?”

Kate takes a deep breath, “Sometimes I expect her to leave. This is so much for her. She takes care of me constantly.”

Billy leans forward a bit, “She stays because she loves you.”

“I know. It’s just... Not fair for her. I know she didn’t want me to continue hero work and I feel bad for being selfish... It’s just the thing I want most.”

The admittance is a relief and a curse. The guilt weighs on her acutely.

“I went through this with Teddy. I couldn’t stop him being a hero. I’m sure she’s just worried about you Kate.”

“I know. I know. But now, I’m just so glad I have a chance, even if it’s not the same to keep doing what I love.”

“If it makes you happy I don’t think America will stop you.”

Kate looks away, “I know.”

America lifts Kate up from the chair to lay her down. Even with the lack of feeling Kate enjoyed being in her arms.

“America.”

“Hm?” America lays her down, smooths her hair, and arranges her limbs.

“Do you really want me to not be a hero?”

Kate looks her in the eyes as best as she can. America looks to the side guiltily.

“I-I, want you to be safe.”

America grabs her hand, “It kills me that this happened to you. That this happened to you and I was right there.”

She closes her eyes, “But I know it’s what you want and I know it’ll make you happy. I just don’t want to lose you. I love you.”

Kate chokes up, “I love you too, America.”

America nods, brings Kate’s hand to her face and leans her cheek against it.

“Kate?”

“Ya?”

“Will you marry me?”

“What?!” Kate’s eyes open and she shakes her head a bit.

“America, you want to stay with me forever? Even like this?”

“Kate, that doesn’t matter to me. There’s no one else I want to spend the rest of my life with.”

Kate starts crying and America rushes to wipe them away.

“Hey, hey don’t cry.”

“I-I’m sorry, it’s ju-just, I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” America leans over to press a kiss to her forehead.

“Yes!”

“Hm?”

“Yes, I’ll marry you!”

America leans back sharply, face red and smiling so large it’s brighter than the sun to Kate. She scoops Kate up, ruining her careful arrangement of her to dance around with her cradled in her arms.

Kate screams, in surprise and joy.

America slows to look at Kate, adoringly in her arms.

“I’m so glad I get to marry the strongest woman I know,” she says.

Kate blushes and looks away, “I-I don’t know how you can say that so easily!”

America laughs and falls back on the bed, being careful of Kate.

“It’s because I love you.”

Looking at America and feeling so happy, so happy in a way Kate never even imagined feeling. Even if she never walks or moves her arms again, even if hero work doesn't work out, she’ll always have America.

Closing her eyes she imagines the wedding.

“Hm, I guess we’ll have to look at dresses,” Her voice easily reveals her joy.

“I think I might want to wear a tux,” America declares.

“Really? Why?”

America looks at her like she was the one to light the sun, “Because I’m marrying the most beautiful girl in the whole world and I want everyone to know.”

“Well I think you’ll have to take second in that because I’m the one marrying the most beautiful girl.”

America ruffles her hair, “Nope! I’m marrying the most beautiful girl on any timeline or universe! And I want her to look beautiful in a white dress and flowers in her lap and I’ll be there to worship you and a put a ring on your finger!”

She emphasises her point by grabbing Kates hand and lifting it up.

They laugh together, in a home they’re already making their own.

Kate sits in her chair, her white dress tight down to her knees where it flairs out. Clint stands ready to walk her down the aisle. Her hair is pulled up in a bun. In her lap is pile of white roses, cascading partly down her lap. America is at the altar, in a tux with a corsage of roses pinned to her chest.

“Are you ready?”

Kate stares ahead at the love of her life.

“Yes”

comission for @wombatking​

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When the World is Distant (Part 2)

America cares for Lucky and although it is simple caring for him compared to Kate's admittedly difficult needs, America finds herself increasingly frustrated. She's unsure why but she finds herself snapping at Lucky. She dislikes when he jumps on her, begrudges the gold hair she finds on the couch, and can't stand his slobber when she just passes by and he sniffs at her leg.

America finds herself thankful that he's not staying for too long, even though she knows Kate's much happier around him. She doesn't think she'd be able to control herself. She didn't sign up for this.

America thinks that sometimes, passingly. It's like a bad smell but no matter how many times she tries to clean it out of her mind it keeps coming back. She loves Kate, and she keeps telling herself that nothing has changed.

But everything has changed and she didn't sign up for this.

“Why doesn't Kate hang out with me today?”

America is shocked at the suggestion. Since the incident wherever Kate went America was sure to follow. Her position had evolved from girlfriend to caretaker and it occurred to her that this would be the first time where she would be free.

Still... It felt to her that Kate's existence relied on her. Or maybe it was the other way around and now she didn't know who she was if she wasn't taking care of Kate.

“Are you sure you can take care of her?” She asks in a last ditch effort. Unsure of what she truly wants.

Clint stares her down. America supposes that was a dumb question. She frets.

“What if something happens?”

“Like what?”

America rubs her hands together and looks away.

Clint sighs, “Look, America. We’ll just be gone a few hours. Besides, it’s more up to her anyway.”

“Then why did you ask me?” She frowns.

“To suggest that you relax.”

“I don’t... this isn’t.... It’s not like that...”

Clint pats her shoulder, “You guys haven’t been apart since she woke up. That’s not healthy.”

She’s like a mother who’s away from her baby for the first time. Curled up watching T.V. America finds herself unable to relax. Was she okay? Was she hurt? She knew Clint was perfectly able and willing to assist Kate in anyway, but it bugged America that she wasn’t the one doing it.

Hadn’t she decided it was her responsibility? Feeling antsy America changes the channel. News to cartoons to a drama. She watches a little of each but her mind is elsewhere. Eventually she gets up and makes herself a salad.

When Kate is delivered back to her, America feels a little more settled than she has since the accident. Kate is more lively, a little spark in her eyes. Clint took her out to park and they walked around. America is glad, Kate is too cooped up these days, her freedom and independence once taken for granted is now beyond her.

“He had a bird book and binoculars, I never realized Clint was such an old man.”

She laughs and it startles America slightly. How long has it been since she heard her laugh? Smiling herself she leans over and kisses her.

“I love you.”

The mouth stick was a blessing and a curse made in the form of plastic and metal. Kate was infinity thankful for it. Although it doesn't make up for her losses it helps her regain her sense of independence. She had felt helpless when she had had the urge to check her phone - silly she supposes, considering - and realized she couldn't use it.

It was one of things she had passingly mentioned to Clint, and apparently he had done his research. America was more focused on taking care of her, but Clint helped fill in the edges and make her more human. Bricks and mortar she supposes.

Now, even though someone had to place the stick in her mouth, Kate could use her phone freely, something once taken for granted. It was still difficult, comparatively. Her neck ached a bit after and she couldn't talk while using the mouth stick of course. Also it took more careful coordination that was extremely frustrating.

Clint watches her use it and Kate does her best to ignore it. Some part of her still wants to live up to his image of Hawkeye even though that life is beyond her now.

Then of course he has to spring this bomb on her.

“Do you want to continue hero work?”

The question arches through her. She's been shocked. Emotions rip through her almost violently. Excitement, hope, fear, an aching well of sadness that stretches deep in her heart. She wants to, she wants to so badly.

How dare he hang this forbidden fruit of her reach. She let's the mouthstick fall from her dropped jaw.

“How?” She asks both bewildered and guarded. She's too jaded to believe she can just have this precious part of herself back.

Clint taps his fingers, face tired. He still smirks though and Kate wants to trust him.

“You can do behind the scenes work.”

Kate isn't as let down as she feels like she could be. Of course it would be something like this, but this is still something.

Clint picks up her mouthstick, and waves it like a pointer.

“This opens up so much options to you.”

Kate dreams that night. Of a hardy doll broken to pieces, only the face remaining uncracked and movable. The metaphor is not lost on Kate. Sometimes Kate wants to draw. Sometimes she wants to turn the pages of a book.

Often she wishes to touch the string of her bow, to knock just one more.

America work. Although Kate’s parents pay for alot of her medical expenses and for her wheelchair and other pricey equipment, America does not want to rely on them. She knows Kate wouldn’t be happy. She looks for a job but she’s afraid to leave Kate alone. Unrealistic worries run through her head and part of her thrums with guilt because this is her not trusting Kate to be on her own.

She confides with Clint, although some part of her is repellent of him and would rather find a solution by other means. However America has learned to put her pride aside. What happened has affected everyone even if the most obvious effects are to Kate. Having to accept help from Kate's parents has hurt her pride enough that it's nothing to seek out from Clint.

They meet for coffee which irks her. She takes comfort in the knowledge that Clint is paying and she orders a sweet mocha and it's on a pastry revelling in the imagined notion of having one upped him.

“I need a job but I don't feel comfortable leaving Kate alone for such long periods of time,” America admits.

She get straight to the point not wanting to drag out this interaction longer than necessary. Currently Kate was at a physical therapy appointment.

Clint looks up as if he is thinking deeply.

“ well she can stay with me while you work.”

This is not an option. She knows it. Clint knows it. And not just because her Pride would be crushed at this assistance butt also because as much as he was helping, Clint had his own life separate from Kate. Unlike America, and and taking care of Kate was her responsibility.

“It's not really a permanent solution,” she mutters stirring her mocha.

It hits her suddenly. She wants to take care of Kate for the foreseeable future. For life? The thought runs its course. A wedding. What would Kate's dress look like? A slim white dress? One that hugs her still attractive frame? Or one with a large skirt enough to hide her wheelchair? Would she want to be pushed down the aisle? Or be carried, her wheelchair set up at the altar?

Flashes of herself, in a wedding dress, in a fitted tux hugging her curves.

She blinks back to the present. Clint has his phone out, searching for something. Whatever it is, it's going to be a real solution, she can tell by his demeanor.

“I've been doing research and I found something that could give you enough confidence to leave Kate at home for longer periods of time. Maybe not enough for long shifts of work, but it would be a step forward in independence for both of you.”

The way he's vague and pokes at her insecurities rubs her the wrong way, but America takes a breath to give her the patience to at least hear him out.

He lays his phone down in front of her, “It's called a Tecla Shield. It would let her use a smartphone more freely than a mouthstick.”

He pauses to take a sip of his coffee, “She'd be able to use it, start using it without assistance.”

America grabs the phone eagerly. At first she doesn't understand, glances at Clint and he leans over to tap the video.

It's genius. America watches a woman use her head to tap against buttons situated on the headrest of her wheelchair allowing her full and quick access to her phone. Kate already has a stand which quickly attaches to her armrest. And because her mouth is free Kate would be able to quickly send messages using text to speech. It would be expensive but America is sure that in the long run it's worth it.

Of course it didn't give Kate back the ability to eat or use the restroom by herself, but America could walk to the store and back without worrying, (for the most part.) Kate could read a book on her phone or watch Netflix. Even just at home this would give America the opportunity to not be Kate's world.

“America?” Clint asks, worry evident.

Rubbing her cheeks, America shakes her head. It's hard to talk, her emotions trapped in her throat like a hairball, and embarrassingly enough tears are falling freely down her face.

“It's just, so much.”

Clint nods awkwardly and hesitantly reaches over to pat America.

“It’ll be alright.”

America sobers up quickly. After everything she doesn't really want to cry anymore.

@wombatking

[violet-more-violent]

When the World is Distant (Part 1)

She wakes up to numbness. The first thing Kate does when she becomes aware of herself, before she even opens her eyes, is to try and move her hand. It doesn’t move. She tries to fidget her fingers, wave her hand around like a bludgeon, do anything, move anything, but nothing happens. Next she attempts to curl her toes, but her feet are concepts abstract to her.

Kate struggles but she manages to open her eyes, squinting at the light above her. She tries to move her head but it feels so heavy. Opening her mouth she finds it dry, her lips stuck together and her spit feeling congealed. She’s not sure what she’s trying to say, but it comes out as a croak anyway. Something moves, the unmistakable scrape of a chair, and she cringes, not knowing how much her head ached until then.

“Kate? Babe?” A quiet voice and then a face hovering.

Kate can’t really see her girlfriend’s face, the light acting as a halo and casting dark shadows, but the way she says her name is a treasure she holds close to her heart, the slight inflection between the ‘a’ and the ‘t’. Laying there, unable to feel her body Kate is still starstruck by how vulnerable her heart is towards America.

Licking her lips, America’s eyes flicker down. Snapping up, she scrambles around outside of Kate’s line of vision before returning to her side.

“It’ll be okay, I called a nurse.”

America reaches a hand down, hesitates when she’s about to touch her face and instead detours to approximately her forearm. Kate can imagine it, the gentle touch, similar to how they hold hands. America was always careful, she had confided in Kate once, told her how breakable she seemed compared to her own inhuman strength.

Kate had told her that she trusted her, and she still does, even as a spike of fear bolts through her, - another ghost feeling - because although she knows that America is touching her, she cannot feel it.

She opens her mouth to speak but words fail her and the only way she can stay strong, stay confident, remain the girl that is Kate Bishop, is by knowing that America is there.

Kate likes to impress. She likes the attention, blooms in positive reinforcement. Standing on the edge of the peer she feels especially daring. America is watching her. Kate stole glances behind purple sunglasses - noticing the red striped bikini top, the blue shorts, her curly hair pulled in a bun. The feeling of youth, infinite and electric struck her.

Jumping of the edge, a thrill ran through her. All eyes were on her. America’s eyes were on her. In that moment, Kate was inhuman. Is this what the others feel like?

She braces herself. The water is cold and a primal feeling of fear floods her. Most of her training is fighting her instincts, learning to think, to react, but this was not something a few years could simply wash away.

There was something under the water they tell her. A log. You hit it, they tell her. The doctors are frank. Her situation isn’t new or unique, and they are professionals. They tell her she injured her spine. They briefly touch upon physical therapy. They give her statistics. They make no promises.

Kate Bishop broke her  vertebrae. They show her

Kate Bishop might never move her body again.

Her parents follow her physical therapist’s suggestions and buy her a wheelchair. When she sucks into a straw situated near her mouth, it turns clockwise, and when she blows she moves forward. She is just as thankful for it as much as she hates it. Logically she knows that without it she would be entirely dependent to others, an even bigger burden on her lover and she clings to these small vestiges of independence. However it’s humiliating. It’s one thing to be immobilized in bed but to be propped up like a puppet with it’s strings cut, going to what feels like ridiculous measures just to move kills he inside.

Kate hates the wheelchair, and at night when she’s laying in bed staring at it she imagines destroying it, rendering it apart with her own two hands and throwing it out the window. She has dreams too, dreams of ballet, dreams of having multiple arms, dreams of strangling America. Her lover always holds her and she says something like, I love your touch, as her face goes blue.

In real life she might not be strangling America, but America has to feed her - and wipe her mouth if any of it drips down from her lips- she has to undress her so she can bathe and then sit next to the tub on a stool and wash her. Kate thinks that her life had ended that day. Is this really living? She does nothing, has to be taken care of like a child, and it’s becoming more obvious in the way the specialist, the physical therapists, and even the people around her speak to her that she won’t be getting better.

Apart of her is waiting for America to end their relationship. She was no longer Hawkeye, no longer one able to carry her own weight. She is a burden and feels infantilised with the way she has to be cared for. When she approached America it was to get a girlfriend, not to obtain a twenty-four hour nurse.

America pushes the wheelchair for her. Kate is tired. For the past three days she’s been refusing to get out of bed, and until now America has been trying to respect her wishes,just doing the necessities and letting her lie in bed. Now, America has dressed her up, doing her best to let Kate pick out her clothes, even in her uncooperative state and it wheeling her to some unknown destination.

“It’s a beautiful day, would be a shame to spend it inside, babe.”

Kate has noticed that the nickname “princess” is off the table. Now that she is truly taken care of like a princess it’s suddenly taboo. Kate almost wishes she would say it, even if it would hurt her more than it’s ever done before.

Kate wants to ask where their going, but she’s sulking.

“I could have enjoyed it from the window,” Kate mumbles.

America is silent but Kate can hear her grip tighten on the handles, which no doubt bear the dents of her inhuman strength.

She hears it before she sees it. Loud barking, panting, laughter and calls of dog names.

“Is this… A dog park?”

She can sense America’s smile more than she can actually see it. No, what she sees is Clint and Lucky.

Happiness washes over and is then quickly replaced by apprehension. She doesn’t want him to see her like this. It was different, she was different. She had last told him how she was going to be independent from him and now here she was, always dependent on someone for the rest of her life. She feels betrayed. By America, by her body. She doesn’t even get the choice of turning away from him and closing her eyes won’t change the fact that he’s looking at her.

She starts crying. It’s not fair, why this? Why now? No one had told her or allowed her to prepare for this. For any of this. For the wheelchair, for Clint to be witness.

“D-don’t look at me,” she sobs, lowering her head as much as she can. She wishes she could cover her face.

America is there, petting her hair, asking her, “Babe, what’s wrong? I thought you’d be happy?”

Clint stands awkwardly, guilty. He knows what part he plays in her current misery.

Kate attempts to calm herself but it’s like everything within her comes undone, unravels and she sobs relentlessly. Finally Clint approaches and pats her knee. Lucky sniffs her, nudging her hand for pets.

She cries harder.

“It’s okay kiddo,” Clint says awkwardly, “Just let it out.”

His permission soothes her. Her crying turns from sharp to feeling cathartic, and she manages to reel it back to hiccups.

“I’m s-sorry,” she chokes out.

“It’s okay to cry.”

“No… I- I just gave up everything to do something so stupid.”

America grips her arm tightly but she can’t feel, “Babe, no.”

Clint shakes his head, “It doesn’t matter what happened. What matters is what you’re going to do now.”

“Now?” She practically screeches.

Clint shoots her with a look that squirrels her.

“You don’t think your done? Do you?”

He get’s down on his knees, looks up at her with such a sad, tender expression that is keeps her rapt. What did he mean? There wasn’t anything for her now. She was a doll to be dressed and fed and moved at others will. She says nothing, hope and despair at the tip of her tongue.

“Kate, there is still so much you can do. You’re life isn’t over.”

Kate looks away.

“… Like what?”

Clint attends her next physical therapy session. Surprisingly it is not his presence that changes Kate’s determination on the matter. Contrarily, she asks him to leave because she can only take his birdlike observation for so long before it becomes overwhelming. Lucky, though, makes things infinitely better. She realizes that she has not changed to him.

He sniffs at her and recognizes her, licks her hand and even though she cannot feel it, the action warms her. It reminds her that she did not die that day, even though she can no longer feel the warmth of the sun anywhere but her face.

When they’re moving her legs and arms she watches Lucky, his attention wavers occasionally, but besides that he’s more interested in her. He seems, to be asking in his one eye, like a charm against the Evil Eye, if she was alright. She was not.

But she felt better than she had in days. More sure of herself, it was like a fog had lifted enough that she could see the horizon, and even if Kate had no way to get there at least it was clear.

Clint leaves Lucky at her and America’s place. America agrees but her face seems pinched. Kate almost tells Clint to keep Lucky with him, but as much as feeling like she’s inflicting a burden on America makes her feel guilty, it is nothing new and the relief of having Lucky is great.

Lucky stays.

Commission for @wombatking

[violet-more-violent]

give and take {Overwatch; Shimadabros}

The first time Genji bathed in the blood of another he was thirteen, he enjoyed his training and playing games with his brother, even if Hanzo kept insisting he was too old for Genji’s childish antics. A clan elder had given him a light thin blade and told him it was time to test his training.

Hanzo was asleep.

It didn’t occur to Genji the difference in their training, that after a certain time Hanzo is taken from their weapons practice, and studies in his room with a tutor. Hanzo’s comments on how he wasn't allowed to handle a real sword at his age doesn't quite resonate either. Genji wishfully chalks it up to skill.

Now having snuck into a police officer's house and silently slit his throat Genji doesn't think about those things. He thinks about how warm the blood was and how it's cooling to a tacky mess on his skin. He thinks about how the dead don't really look dead. He thinks the moon is half full and the night is large and open over Hanamura.

He is taught to look up to Hanzo. Whatever Hanzo says he does and he goes with him everywhere. He's told to always protect his brother, that they will be all they have and that if need be he should die for his brother.

Genji has stopped no less than three assassinations. He no longer flinches at the bite of a knife, used to pain and blood. Genji is willing to die for his brother but he’s the only one to believe Hanzo would die for him too.

It's dark and cold and he's so sorry. He won't do it again he promises, please, please...

Genji had disobeyed and he's sorry and it was cold and dark. Cowering in a small room that smelled like iron and fear, Genji promised to never fight Hanzo again.

His father hugs him one final time, laid out on his deathbed incense wafting in the air to ward death off for as long as possible. He touches Genji’s face and looks at him with an expression that would haunt him until he died, eyes burden with an internal conflict and well hidden guilt.

“I wanted more for you, my son.”

Genji refuses. He plays games in the arcade and flirts with anyone who will give him the time of day. He comes home late but always returns, putting his skills to sneaking out windows to work. Genji never leaves a number, just arcade names. He knows he is being a burden. He knows connections are dangerous.

He knows this can’t last.

Publicly the Shimada clan can do nothing and he has already taken out numerous assassins. How strange for them to not be coming for his brother.

(At least not all of them.)

He visits the river, sewing rocks into their pockets to weigh them down. He knows he is not free. Genji won’t - can’t - leave his brother, as easy as it would be to pack his meager belongings and never come back.

Coming home he’s greeted with Hanzo sitting, sword laid across his lap and cradled in his hands. The Shimada banner sits behind him, large and oppressive. His face is expressionless.

Genji falls to his knees, eyes wide, passive. His hands give away the slightest tremor.

(He cannot fight his brother.)

[violet-more-violent]

Writing Commissions!

Hello! I am opening writing commissions!

$5 for a drabble, 500 - 999 words. 

$10 for a story 1,000 - 1,499 words.

$15 for 1,500 - 1,999

$18 for 2,000 - 2,499

$22 for 2,500 - 2,999

Anything longer will need to be negotiated.

My specialty is angst, and I’m 100% okay with gore. Will write about OC’s and most fandoms. NSFW is accepted but it will be posted under an alternative pseud on Ao3.

I refuse to write shota, loli or bestiality.

For previews of my work here is a link to my Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baichan

PM or email me at baichan98@gmail.com